#and its been on and off snowing this morning and the sidewalks are still covered

[cuz-reasons]

Also hey if you follow me and like read my fics uhhhh my computer decided to just not find its hard drive and I can't get it to the repair shop until I'm not at risk at eating shit on the way down the hill. So uhhh brief hiatus on those

[littleplantfreak]

A Candle’s Memory

Pairing: Umemiya x Reader

Cw: Fluff and slight hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1782

I did this as an exercise that turned into me writing for longer than I was supposed to because I felt sad about leaving it unfinished. The Prompts were candle wick or an old flame rekindled (I did both) and the theme was : Preservation in preparation for the coming winter, we try to hold onto the last bit of warmth. Write about letting go, or not wanting to.

Oh! Thank you @birinboom, min skat and my lovely beta reader. I wouldn’t have posted it without you 😘

Thunk

Snow hitting your window snaps your mind out of the book you were reading and breaks the immersion completely, causing more anger than fear. You know the face that pops up outside the window immediately as you give him a bored look. For a 12 year old, Umemiya's more dependable than most adults, dragging himself out of bed at 6:00AM to shovel the older neighbors' sidewalks. His cheeks and nose are stained red, and his sniffling causes the window to fog up.

When you crack the window halfway, the warmth is sucked out of your room, the wind blowing the candle you were using as a reading light out. Dog earring the page of your book, you reach out as your hands cover his cheeks, hoping to bring him some form of warmth. You really have to pity his poor skin with the way he gives it no more care than to wrap a scarf around his neck and sometimes bury his face deep in it to keep away frostbite.

"Whatcha readin' this time?" He asks, feeling the blood return to his face now that there's warm skin over his own frigid cheeks. The candle blown out stares him down while the wax cools as if faulting him for its death.

"Treasure Island. You should read it after I'm done." Because he should. You know his taste, and this is something he can get behind. Pirates and adventure for a boy who's got an equally adventurous dream roiling in his bones. He never asks what it's about, and you never tell him, both content at the surprise.

"I'll pick it up on my way to school," Is all he says to that before taking the matches off the side of the table and relighting your candle. He hops down a little ways, setting out to do at least two more sidewalks before he has to go back home and get dressed.

This routine continues until it stops snowing. Or at least you would think it would. He doesn't have any real reason to come back once it's warm enough, you'd think, but when he shows up on a morning without snow, you're a bit confused.

"I saw the candle going again and decided to stop by." He says immediately. It's still cold, but his face is much less irritated by it without precipitation.

"Are you...on a walk?"

"Something like that!" He says leaning into the window, giving no concern over how close he gets to you or the burning candle he almost knocks over. It'd be silly to say you didn't have a crush on him, especially with his constant morning attention and how his smile seemed to light up your room more than your candle ever could.

His eyes go to the book you're reading once again. This time the cover reads Hamlet. When he meets your eyes again, you let out a breath you'd been holding.

"This one is a tragedy, so you might not like it as much." It's more than you've ever said about one of the books before.

"Do you like it?" He asks, gray eyes dancing between looking at your bedhead and the pretty eyes that caught his attention the first time he saw you through the window.

"I do."

"I'll give it a try." He shows a softer smile, less thousand-watt and more warm sunny day. You're not sure if he can tell just how breathless it makes you when he does that. Surely he has to know. The thought of him smiling like that makes your heart twist in an unpleasant way, but you'll be damned if you ever let that monster win against showing him nothing but the smile you return to him.

The one morning you wish he'd come, he doesn't. The dread you feel lays heavy like a rock in your throat as the moving van comes that afternoon, dragging you away from your window. Before you leave, you look from the outside where he'd stand, seeing from his point of view what it looked like sans burning candle. Surely it must look more comforting with the flame and its golden halo.

When you think about him coming back to the dark empty frame, no longer allowed access, the tears you thought would be so easy to hold back fall painfully. The bookmark you lay out on the windowsill that your parents bought you as a birthday present sits limp and dead, and you wonder if it'll blow away before he finds it.

It does not blow away before he finds it, luckily. The unlucky thing is that you're gone. He's been kept away by a fever he didn't think would get worse after the first day. Try as he might've to meet you, the room spun, and he quickly and often became accustomed to the toilet those three days he was bedridden. The bookmark had small pressed petals and a pink tassel to match them. He holds it tight, looking at the window and feeling like it was a closed door.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

When you move back to your hometown, you're well out of high school. The town has changed for the better as you walk through, seeing the community flourish with potted plants in front of stores no longer kicked and smashed, and kids walking together, no nervous glances to the alleyways anymore. You've got an inkling as to who's responsible for the change, but you brush aside thoughts of him even now, the nostalgia keeping you from reading any books you'd shared back then. You'd learned fast back then that rereading them only caused stormy waves to wash over you, soaking you in a delicate sadness.

There are plenty of books in the world. A few are off limits. If you saw him, though, would it allow you to read them again, the way you so desperately wish to? Sometimes you wonder if it's the books you miss or the interest Umemiya gave to both you and the pages.

You buy your old house from your parents, who never got around to selling it. It's run down and dusty, and the rooms are the same as ever. You can't bring yourself to take any room but your own from back then, setting it up differently except for the desk against the window.

The old scentless candle is now replaced with a sweet lemon one that you allow to burn while the window stays open well into the later evening. The lack of scent back then was only due to your parents who weren't pleased with your staying up past bedtime, hours into the next morning, and then sleeping when you got home from school until you started the cycle once more.

The house feels better now that you've got it clean, at least. There are carpets to rip out, and leaks to check. The backyard is overgrown, and the light in the shed refuses to work, but this is home. It feels more like home than the house you'd moved to all those years ago.

The next day, you walk back to your house from the library with a stack of three books nestled close to your chest. You can't help your eyes flickering to the large figure making his way to the door you've just come out of, and when you hold it for him, you're more sure than ever.

"Umemiya Hajime, is that you?" you ask, voice a little more enthused than you'd wanted it to be. He looks once, then to the door before he double takes. You can see the cogs turning in his mind, with the cutest pout you didn't know a grown man could make. Your name falls from his mouth like a question. "The one and only," you say, and your smile turns fond, remembering just how much tinier he used to be. You were always taller than him, at least from your seat at the desk, but now he towers above you.

"It's really you," he breathes for a moment, looking at the differences and picking them out easily. He feels like it was just yesterday that he leaned too close to your candle, singeing the end of his scarf by accident. He remembers the look of panic when you realized he was on fire and started smacking at him with your book. You'd ended up having to buy that one from the library due to the soot and small scorches to the cover from your rescue. He still has it on a shelf in his room, insisting he'd pay you back, but you said it'd be a late Christmas present despite it being closer to Valentine's day than anything. When he brought it up back then, you'd waved it off, stuttering something about how it was more about intention than actual calendar dates.

"Are you visiting?" He asks, not having heard that you were around from anyone, but you always were a bit more introverted.

"I bought my old house and moved back actually. There was a job with a 20-minute commute from here, so I figured it'd be great to be somewhere familiar. I didn't know Makochi changed this much." He sees the crinkle of your eyes and the smile you throw to him when you say the last sentence, knowing you've always been fully aware of his dreams. Seeing that was worth more than any praise. The look was praise itself, maybe, given how it filled his chest with a warmth that had him laying a hand there as his fingers played with the neck of his shirt as he tried hard not to fist the fabric.

"If I'd known, I would've stopped by sooner."

"You know now, so stop by whenever you want," you laugh, because years ago, he would never have been shy about it. The book you see he's holding has something pink attached. A memory surfaces, spanning over years of living in a separate, different place, only to settle right where a story ended. At least you thought it had ended, but maybe you'll have to crack it open again just to be sure.

"This time, you can come in through the door."  You walk off with a wave, thinking about lighting that lemon scented candle again when you get home. You let it burn long enough last time for the memory to shape the wax into a nice, even pool, which will help the wick burn slow and steady once you relight it.

[jonathanbiers]

a list of liminal spaces/situations where reality feels a bit altered to use as inspiration or writing prompts!

feel free to also use as an ask game if you like!

mirrors in a dark room

playgrounds at midnight

when you're moving out of a house and checking your room when it's almost or completely empty and sorted out

rest stops on highways

a room lit by candlelight only

an empty laundromat at night with the washing machines still on

deep in the mountains

churches at night

abandoned gas stations

hospitals at midnight

abandoned warehouse

out-of-commission lighthouses

empty parking lots

rooftops in the early morning

early in the morning wherever it’s just snowed

trails by the highway just out of earshot of traffic

schools during summer

bowling alleys after close

a cornfield next to a long country road

being the last person awake at a sleepover

hospital waiting rooms

airports at night

foggy cemeteries

abandoned prisons

hilltops in full moonlight

empty barns

marshes

a body of water shrouded in fog

hiking/biking trails during winter

winter twilight

back allies between houses

empty roller rink

dirt roads on fall evenings

libraries after closing

the woods during a rainstorm

roads covered in snow

train stations after 10pm

the air outside right before a massive storm

the woods just after twilight

the beach in winter

the bottom of swimming pools

secluded back corner of a library

windy roads at night when you can only see what's immediately in front of you

empty skatepark on a warm night

anywhere immediately after a really bad fight

the lakeside anytime between 2 and 6 am

firework shows when you’re sitting on the grass

being the only one downstairs on christmas  

stepping outside in the early morning when it has just snowed

when its dark and you see snowflakes falling down in the light of a lamppost

that one clear spot in the forest with trees surrounding it

a parked car in a snow/thunderstorm

corn fields with the wind blowing over them

malls about to close for the night

woods at twilight/dawn

being on a train after midnight

theme parks at night

being alone in an elevator for a few minutes

looking down at the trees from up high

the ferry about to take off in the middle of the night

tree houses

4-6 am on a winter morning

the feeling of being chased

condensation coming out of your mouth when it's really cold in the morning

arcade just after close

stepping out on an unfamiliar metro/train stop

greenhouses that have been left to grow alone

biking/walking on the main road when it's dark and no cars are around

foggy swamp

bakery just after opening, everything is fresh and warm and the sun hasn't risen yet

hotel corridors in the middle of the night

foggy mornings in a meadow

flickering streetlights

long, dark hallways

the middle of a park when its snowing

train tracks in the forest

bonfires in the quiet

a little lake in the middle of the forest

lonely swings swaying with the wind

the woods on a night with a full moon

rest stops

empty metro stations that are usually crowded

gas stations on long mountain roads

the old part of a city when you’re the only one in the street

under an old bridge

knowing you're not alone in a space where you can't see anyone around you, like a forest

junkyards

a dimly lit stairwell

empty sidewalk outside of a small venue when you can hear live music through the walls

corner store in a small town

parking garage at night

an empty field with old/out-of-commission industrial equipment/large machinery

graffiti'd train car

[polksaladbutler]

Could you pls write an imagine with Austin and the reader staying inside during a snowstorm? Make it super fluffy pls!

hope it’s fluffy enough sorry if it’s not hun :(

it’s cold outside [ austin butler ]

warnings: none! not proofread lol

it has been snowing non stop ever since you and austin had spent the past couple of days in new york. granted, it’s up north. it’s gonna snow, however it was excessive. it was practically up to your waist by now. there was absolutely no way you were going to go out in that weather.

your husband had just came home from filming, he wasn’t back indefinitely, he had to go back. this was his break, now he’s spending his break stuck in a penthouse with you, gazing upon the snowy city.

he hadn’t complained but you had this gut feeling that he hated it. well, not really but you’ve put some sort of thought into your head that he doesn’t want to spend time with you much longer. the penthouse was pretty big, big enough to not see each other for a day or two. instead you spent all your time together, cuddle up one another in the same rooms together.

the snow hasn’t stopped yet, it’s been snowing since last night. however, you weren’t expecting this much snow, neither was austin.

who was soundly sleep next to you, his hair messed over his face and over the pillow. his eyes shut, moving around as if he’s playing a virtual reality game. a slight smirk was plastered on his face, no telling what he was dreaming about.

you looked out the window, seeing slight flurries of snow. your penthouse window was high up, you rose off the bed— staying as quiet as you can. —to view the city from your bedroom window.

you watched the winter service vehicle as it plowed its way through the snow on the road, dumping the piles snow closer to the sidewalk. you thought the snow was so pretty, you were dying to run out in the snow and jump around in it.

“still snowin’?” austin spoke. you made a slight jump as you turned with a confused expression. “hm?” “is it still snowing?” he groaned, stretching with his hair wrapped between his fingers. “yeah. the snow service people are doing their thing so there’s that.” you smiled, turning back to the window, you stood upon your tiptoes continuing watching the people of new york struggle living their daily lives with the snow.

“it’s cold. put on some pants baby.” austin suggested as he placed his two hands up under his head. “but i really like these shorts.” you whined, waddling back to bed and rushing under the covers. “i like them too but i don’t want you to be cold.” he muttered.

you looked at austin from over the covers, picking apart his morning aura. “i like your nerve mr butler.” you said as you place both hands on his torso, feeling up his body. “—you don’t even have a shirt on!” you argued with a smile on your face. he didn’t respond, he knew his wrongfulness got the best of him.

“i guess we can both cuddle up together then. how ‘bout that?” you said moving your body closer to his and weaving your legs through his, placing your head on his chest. you listened to his heartbeat, tapping to the same pattern on his abs.

he traced the side of your body, hovering over you ever so slightly. the soft hums of the song are you lonesome tonight vibrates his chest. “babe, that tickles.” you softly laughed. “now i’ve got all the more reasons to do it.” he began tickling your sides as his other arm held you from getting away. “stop it aus- tin! get your hands off me!” you squealed.

“why should i? give me one good excuse?” he smiled. “i- i don’t know! just stop!” you continued to laugh, trying to remove his hands from you. “alright alright.” he laughed and stopped the antic. he allowed you to lay your head back on him with no repercussions. you were catching your breath as you finally got back to normal with a smile still on your face.

you felt his hand wrapped around to your waist, he began toying with the hem of your shorts. “not right now pretty boy.” you chuckled as you smacked his hand. “no?” you shook your head. “wanna just lay here?” you nodded.

“hey austin, i have a question.” you looked up into his eyes as he looked down at you. he hummed in response. “do you get tired of me? did you want to stay in cincinnati?” you were scared to ask but you’d be damned if you didn’t.

“what are you talking about pumpkin?” he laughed at your apparently weird question. “— i was counting down the days to come back home to you… i swear yn, do you think i’m gonna stop loving you one day?” he furrowed his eyebrows at you. “there’s a possibility…?” your pitch went high at the end hoping to get away from the conversation, if that did help, you buried your face into his bare body.

“nah uh, look at me.” you slowly raised your head back up, austins hand made his way up to your chin, holding your face up so you wouldn’t tempt to look back down. your eyes connected, it felt as if yours was burning from his stare. your eyes moved around his face, observing his five o’clock shadow that he hadn’t shaved since he came back home. his plump bottom lip stuck between his teeth. “hey.” he caught your attention yet again.

“don’t ever think for a second i would stop loving you. i wanna be with you till we grow old… i love you.” he emphasized. it meant a lot to you when he said it. it’s not often you get to hear it, you both think it starts to loses its meaning once you say it too much.

“love you too.”

[polizwrites]

A Close Call

This is a slightly belated fill for @whumptober #2: Delirum prompt as well as my @halloweenhorrorbingo  Dealing with Extreme Cold,  @buckybarnesbingo  Cold, @warmandfluffybingocards Huddling for warmth and  @stuckyversebingo  Last Resort squares.   

Fandom: MCU/Marvel Rating: Teen Pairing:  Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Tags: pre-war, shrimpy!Steve Rogers, pining!Bucky Barnes, hypothermia, mutual pining.   Word Count: 817 words

The cold was seeping into Bucky’s bones, and he knew Steve had to be even worse off. He’d told him to stay inside, that he could run their route this morning just fine by himself.   Considering how much snow had fallen in the city overnight,  he figured no one expected their paper on time anyways.    

But Steve was stubborn as a mule, insisting that if they split the route, they’d both get done faster and could spend the rest of the day listening to the radio, curled up on the couch under every blanket they owned.  “Besides, as long as I keep moving, I’ll stay warm enough,”  he argued, jaw jutting out as he pulled another sweater down over his head.  

“Fine,” Bucky shot back.  “But I’m carrying the papers for every stop south of York street.”

“That’s way more than half, Buck!” Steve protested.  

“Is that so?” Bucky grinned, pulling his scarf up over his nose and cheeks as they headed out into the weather.  

Neither of them had counted on the bitter wind blowing in straight off the  ocean,  howling its way up through  Brighton Beach and Coney Island  to Vinegar Hill, sending needles of icy sleet into their faces.  The sidewalks were slick and treacherous,  especially when wearing boots with soles worn smooth from use; Steve had nearly fallen twice already. 

As they slung newspapers onto the stoops of their subscribers,  Bucky found himself wishing he’d made another pot of coffee and left it sitting on a burner turned down to low; sure, it would have been bitter as sin by the time they got back, but it would at least have been hot.   At least there was another can of chicken noodle soup in the cupboard; that would be easy to heat up.   

He turned to share his plans with Steve, only to see his companion standing in the middle of the sidewalk, a confused look on his face as he held a newspaper in one mittened hand.   “Buck?  Did we do this street already?”    

“Yeah. We just passed the bakery.” 

“Oh.  I guess I missed it.  I’m so tired all of a sudden. Lemme just rest here for a little bit.”  Steve sat down on a snow-covered bench,  wrapped his arms around himself and started to shiver.   

Bucky didn’t like the looks of that at all.    “C’mon, Steve.  Let’s head home. We can get the rest of these done later.”   He tucked a hand under Steve’s armpits to nudge him to his feet, planning out the quickest way back to their apartment.  

By the time they were through their front door, Steve’s teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.   Bucky thumped on the radiators, hoping to  get some hot water flowing, but no such luck. 

He racked his brain for another way to warm Steve back up; the only thing he could think of was an old Boy Scout trick.  “Okay, strip down to your skivvies and get in bed. I’ll join you in a moment after I put some soup on.” 

“ ‘kay,” Steve mumbled, fumbling with the buttons on his coat.  The fact that he didn’t protest gave Bucky pause, even as his traitorous heart skipped a beat.   He hurried over to their kitchenette, lighting the stove burner and setting out a pot before rummaging in the cupboard .  He nicked a finger on the sharp lid of the soup can before dumping its contents in the pot, adding water and setting it on the stove.    

Bucky turned around to see Steve slumped over on the couch, still mostly dressed.   “Stevie?” 

He slowly raised his head as Bucky approached.  “ M’ fingers ‘re all tingly. Can’t figure out why.” 

“C’mon, pal.”  Bucky pulled Steve to his feet and half-carried him to the bedroom, sitting him on his bed and helping him remove his clothes as Steve weakly protested. 

“ ‘M cold.” 

“I know.  Just trust me.”   Once he’d gotten Steve down to his undershirt and boxers,  Bucky got him to lay down and pulled the covers over him.   He then quickly stripped down, grabbed the blankets off his own bed and tossed them on top before crawling in next to his friend. 

Steve’s skin was cool and clammy as Bucky pulled him close.   “I’m not tryin’ to get fresh, Steve, promise.” It wasn’t quite a lie; he’d never take advantage of anyone - much less his best friend - like this.    

“Thas’ a dirty shame.” Steve slurred as he tucked his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck.   “Feels so good t’ finally be in your arms.” Bucky stilled as a pair of chilly lips pressed against  his jaw. “Could stay here forever with you.” 

“You’re delirious, Steve.”  Bucky rasped out, scarcely believing his ears. 

“Pro’bly,” Steve sighed.  “Lemme dream a bit more, ‘kay?” 

“Sure.”  Bucky brushed a kiss against Steve’s forehead;  he’d check on the soup in a little while.  

[josiebelladonna]

black moon | kinkmas | day eleven

chapter title: “vision thing”

pairing: alex skolnick x fem!oc

tags: merman!alex

ao3 link | kinktober/sister piece “eclipse”

minors dni...

...

...

...

...

yeah ❄️💋❄️💋

While they were down in that mountain spring, there was a moment in which Christine had envisioned Alex as a merman. It was a fleeting moment, but she had nevertheless considered it. She pictured him with that long tail in lieu of his legs and his wet hair tousled over his shoulder: a mere image that had only just popped into her mind as she opened her eyes yet again, but that time, she had found herself in the front room of a small cabin somewhere.

She lifted herself off the mattress, and she took a glimpse out the small window over the head of the bed. Vast drifts of snow spanned the hilly landscape beyond the glass, while pieces of frost covered the outside of the windowpane itself, and she couldn’t help but shiver at the feeling of it all.

Christine lifted herself out of her cozy bed all the way. She was still in her long black underwear, and a part of her believed that she had no need to remove them, either, as she brushed her teeth and then sauntered into her cozy kitchenette for a bagel, a bowl of oatmeal, and a cup of coffee before she got dressed for the day. There was a part of her that wanted to stay in and be cozy in the safety of her home all day long, away from the bitter cold, but there was so much to do.

Her thick corduroy jeans over her legs and a sweater over her body, followed by her long coat and then her big black boots, and her dark hair in a taut ponytail at the back of her head, and she was dressed to kill for the day.

Another day of work at the sea laboratory there on the shores of Homer, Alaska. She had no idea as to how she had arrived there or how she had landed the job in the first place, but there was something so exciting about getting up every morning to observe and help out sea creatures on the banks of the southern Alaskan shores.

She stepped out of her cabin and she walked along the sidewalk which in turn brought her out of the workers’ village. The lab was a part of a warehouse, with large metallic grated doors to open for any sort of fallen creature of unusual size.

There was one entity that she had been studying up there in Alaska, and one that her colleagues seemed rather skeptical on terms of the existence of such a thing: merfolk, especially a merman with black and white scales and hair upon his head. She had only seen him twice before, the first time on accident while she was observing orcas and she mistook him for a small one, and the second time with intention to ensure that her eyes hadn’t fooled her.

This time, she wanted to catch him in the act.

The snow had covered the landscape, and yet, she could sense more on its way at some point in the course of the day. Indeed, as she reached the side door of the laboratory, a cold gust of wind billowed up and sent a series of shivers down her spine. She peered over her shoulder and she brought her attention up to the sky, the incoming gray blanket of clouds.

The snow was coming, and she had no idea if she would be able to catch that merman in the act.

It seemed strange to think about merfolk up in Alaska but she was nevertheless sure of it. She had seen him with her own two eyes, twice, and he had to come out to play again before the snow came in for the day.

The docks of the marina stood right across a narrow street, and she brought her rubber gloves, clipboard, and binoculars along with her. The first time she saw him, he swam with the orcas and then surfaced to the water above, to which she believed to be in the vein of a flying fish, given he was half human. She would have to catch him in the act

“Alright,” she muttered under her breath. She held the binoculars up to her face, and she scanned the choppy waters beyond the rocky jetty which lined the southernmost side of the marina. “Where are you.”

Christine scanned the horizon, followed by the waters closer to her. Like trying to find a needle in the haystack, that is until the next wave rose up down below her line of sight.

Something black loomed underneath the swell of the wave. Something black and long, and too long to be an orca as well.

His head emerged from the water, and she caught a full view of his face, placid and soft, as if he had been sleeping when the waves picked him up and swept him away from his hiding place somewhere in that particular part of Cook Inlet, or the Gulf of Alaska itself. His black hair matted on his forehead, but she made out the shape of the silvery plume upon his forehead. A black and white merman, in his truest sense.

And that wave dragged him all the way to the shore.

She put down her binoculars upon her chest, and she picked up the clipboard, and she hurried down to the weather station there at the shoreline to meet up with him once he beached.

She set her instruments in the cubby hole of the weather station, and she watched the wave form a crest with him embedded within. The wave swelled and crashed down onto the shore before her feet: at least he was there at the shore and not upon the rock jetty right up the coastline from there.

But his body washed ashore, as limp and listless as a piece of driftwood. Christine hurried down to meet up with him. He had no color in his face, but the gills on either side of his neck fluttered and waved with his way of breathing.

“Alex, you have to be freezing!” she exclaimed over the roar of the winds. He never moved.

He was still breathing, but he needed assistance. He needed to be away from such a harsh environment.

“Oh, my god,” she remarked as her eyes scanned over those smooth black scales. Smooth black scales in junction with the pale skin of his body, which in turn went with the black curls as well as the gray plume at the crown of his head. His fins were long, slender, and lacy, and his rudder fin spanned wider than any thresher shark that she had ever witnessed before then.

Snow bunny needed to put this boy in some water. And yet, since he lasted this long, she wondered if he could survive in the cold water tank back at the lab. Given she was alone there at the shore, she faced a rather daunting task of carrying him back to the warehouse. Another gust of cold wind swelled up and his little body recoiled at the feeling. He would die out there.

A literal fish out of water, and she knew that it was the cold clouds which hung down over their heads and bodies that brought such a deep shudder to his body.

Thinking quickly and with her rubber gloves firmly on, she stooped down before the merman, and she slid her hands underneath his beached body. With her knees, she brought him close to her body. It was difficult given he was much heavier than he really looked, but she managed to hold his head and shoulder upon her chest.

Christine let out a low whistle and she doubled back to the marina itself as well as the laboratory. It was difficult given the wind blew all around her, and the merman weighed her down, and there was a slight slope right outside of the warehouse itself, but something inside of her kept her going. She swore that she was to help him, come hell or high water, even if it meant that her knees buckled every so often and she wanted to take a rest. But the storm was coming, and this poor boy needed some assistance. This boy needed a hero in the form of a human woman who had been willing to put her body on the line.

At one point, she closed her eyes, and she let her own intuition guide the way up the very slight hill to the very crest. Though he was a merman, she had a tiny ray of a good feeling inside of her, that his heart linked up with her own, and that they were meant for one another at some point. She had to help him all the while he showed her the way, all the way up to the top of the hill.

Christine opened her eyes again, and she huffed and puffed from running so hard and so fast this whole time. The top of the hill entered her sight, and soon, it leveled out. It was agonizing, such that her legs burned from the running, but the end was in sight. The big heavy grated doors of the laboratory stood in her view.

With a loud grating noise, they ground open for her, and Christine bowed her way into the warm and dry spans of safety for herself and for Alex. The doors slammed back down to the concrete with a loud metallic crack! right behind her, and right as the snow began to fall outside.

Out of breath, she padded up the narrow metal steps which led up to the glass water tank for beached creatures, and before she believed that her chest would burst from her lungs and heart pumping and working as hard as her, she almost threw him into those clean waters. Alex landed with a hefty splash.

Panting, she bowed over the railing with her arms dangled down before her. She watched him below the surface, and those long black lacy fins spanned out from the heart of his long black tail. He genuinely resembled a thresher shark, and the biggest one that she had seen in years at that point.

“Come on,” she whispered, and he tilted his head down towards the bottom of the tank. “Come on, come on, come on—you can do it.”

As he tilted his head back to the bottom, she spotted his long black curls out from the sides of his head. A big black octopus which appeared to loom underneath the crown of his head.

The pale skin on his upper body blurred away with the wash of water all around him. When he leaned further and further back down towards the bottom, all she could see was the skin on his chest as well as his entire belly and a slight outline of his arms.

Still out of breath, she held onto the railing before her, and she watched him sink down towards the bottom of the tank like a big black and white stone.

There was a part of her that wanted to swim with him, to run her hands over his bare milky skin as well as those slick black scales, and yet she knew that water was freezing cold, only slightly warmer in comparison to the water of the harbor and beyond. The feel of her hands on his body to wake him up, but as soon as she thought about that, he extended his arms up over his head and he darted forth to round out the full backflip underwater.

His spine bent back far enough to where all she saw at a moment’s glance was nothing but a long black tail.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself. “My boyfriend’s a merman.”

He skirted around the base of the tank with his arms spread out from his body, and for a moment, Christine believed that he was in fact a shark straight out of the wild.

And then he darted up towards the surface.

His black hair matted down upon the crown of his head and shoulders: the silver plume over his forehead seemed to glitter under the pale white lights over her head.

“You feeling better?” she called down to him.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” he replied, and his silky, round voice echoed over the oval walls of the tank. “Sometimes all I need is to dunk myself in a patch of water somewhere to jostle me awake.”

“Jostle you awake?” she asked, as she folded her arms over the railing.

“Sometimes when I’m asleep, I’ll bump my head on something,” he explained. “Happens to fish all the time. I’m half fish so it happens to me, too.” He knitted his eyebrows at the sight of her. “Are you a scientist?”

“Marine biologist,” she answered. “I was watching the orcas one day and I saw you with them. I told my colleagues about it and they didn’t believe me.”

“Oh, what the hell!” He chuckled at that, a big hearty belly laugh that came from deep down inside of him. “I love swimming with the killer whales, mainly because they go everywhere. I like to go everywhere, too.”

“Don’t we all?” she offered him with a slight chuckle and a little smile.

“How’d you know my name, by the way?” He squinted his eyes at her.

“I had a hunch,” she said with a shrug. “How do you like Alaska?”

“I love it,” he said. “I love how cold the waters are up here—it feels really good on my skin and I swim better, too. I love Hawai’i and the Philippines, all the tropical waters, but there’s just something special about the Gulf of Alaska, though.”

“Have you gone around the North Pole?” she asked him.

“Ooh, yeah—not often, though. It’s a pain in the butt to go up there this time of year because of all the ice, but once April or May rolls around, I give it a shot. The couple of times I went up there, I made my way around and I hung out in Greenland for a long time—we’re talking a year or so.”

“Always wanted to know what Greenland is like,” she confessed.

“If you like Alaska, you’ll probably like Greenland,” he assured her. “It’s good for a traveling merman like myself—I’ll say that much.”

Christine shifted her weight against the railing: it was funny to hear him say he was half-fish when he was obviously half thresher shark.

“Do you have a family at all?”

“I did,” he said, albeit in a gloomy tone. “Let’s just say I’ve had my heart broken a couple of times.”

“Aw.”

“And pretty recently, too.”

“Oh, man. I wish I could do something.”

He shrugged.

“What can you do?” he asked her.

“Put on a wet suit and climb in with you?”

“Would you?” He raised his eyebrows at that.

“I think I would,” she promptly replied, and with a smile on her face. “I am a scientist, after all. I want to study you.”

He squinted his eyes and cracked her a smile once again.

Christine doubled back to the nearby closet to change out of her clothes and into the snug black wetsuit she used while she waded in the pool. She kept her hair tied back as she put on her flippers followed by the small oxygen tank on her back and the goggles over her eyes. She adjusted the corners of the wetsuit all around her body once she returned to him and the edge of the pool. She would treat it like a regular scuba session as she crouched down to the pool’s edge and stuck one flipper-clad foot out over the cold water.

Alex was still emerged over the surface, albeit a bit low so his chin touched it. He resembled to an actual shark in the waters.

“Come here,” he declared.

“What do you say?” she teased him.

“Come here,” he declared. “Please?”

“Okay.” She snapped the collar of the wet suit and then she sat down upon the brim of the glass. She gazed down at him there in the tank, the water only a few degrees warmer than it was out there in the ocean.  

He liked it cold. He liked it as chilly as he could possibly withstand it, though he could swim in places that seemed much colder, like up above the Arctic Circle.

It was crazy, especially when she knew about those cold depths down below the surface. But she trusted Alex, however: she trusted him to the ends of the earth.

She stayed still there on the edge of the tank, and she stuck the breathing mechanism into her mouth. With her goggles on, and her gloves still upon her hands, she took in a gulp of air and bowed forth into the tank below.

The water and the tiny bubbles swirled all around her. The cold of the tank took her in its arms.

She opened her eyes, and there was Alex right over her head. His upper body loomed like that of a sea turtle, but she lowered her gaze to the middle of his body, to his full rounded hips and what rested in between there. Even as a merman, she could see that he had a major hard-on.

He lunged for her, and she darted back away from him.

“Don’t make me chase you,” he warned her with a sly look on his handsome face. She pressed her hands on her hips and she sashayed the shape of her body at him. He chuckled at her, and then he showed her his tongue.

Christine paddled away from him, but then he reached out for her to touch her body.

“Come to me,” he whispered: his voice crept over her like the winds over the ocean prior to incoming storm. The snow had already begun to fall outside of there, but the real storm was about to take place right before their eyes.

“Touch me,” he begged her. “I’m lonely and I have scars that can’t be seen. You took me to safety—I need you, my good human.”

She took a glimpse down to below his waist, and she recognized that long shape a mere few inches underneath his belly button, just out in the open as if it had no restraints whatsoever. She reached down and she ran her fingers along the shaft as it was there nestled upon his black scales. If he was healthy, he would have ejaculated for her: but he never did.

“You’re dry as a bone,” she declared through the flux of oxygen.

“I want to feel,” he pleaded to her, and he rested his hands upon her shoulders. His hands were soft and silken, even though he had been tumbled by the waves and the sand and the salt.

It was then she realized that she had to make him climax all to be healthy. She locked eyes with him, and she rested both hands on him. Though she had rubber gloves on, she could feel the tightness of his skin as if she was actually about to have a round with him. Indeed, she realized that the rubber served as makeshift protection.

She ran her fingers down his shaft, all the way to the tip, and she ran the tip of her finger around the rim of the hole there. She stuck her finger in there to tickle him, and he lunged back a bit.

“Ooh—!” He gasped at the feeling.

“There we go!” Christine declared.

She reached forth under the shaft, and she spotted the precious spot. She wriggled her fingers along the surface of his testicles, and she tickled him. He writhed from the feeling, and then he bowed his head, so his hair spanned out from the back like a bunch of kelp at the water’s surface.

She moved in closer to his body to better feel him: though she wore a wetsuit, her breasts brushed up against his chest. She kept her eyes locked onto him.

A human woman pleasuring a creature who was half-man half-thresher shark.

His chest rose and fell in steady succession.

She pushed her shoulders down which in turn spread out her chest for him. He closed his eyes; she fondled his shaft as well as his balls until she could feel something liquid upon the back of her hand. She took a look down, and she saw the pearly cum out the tip.

He parted his lips and a line of bubbles trickled out from his mouth like a line of cigarette smoke. He then took her by the hand, and he brought her back up to the water’s surface. The water spread over the crown of his head and smoothed down the silvery streak at the right side; Christine followed suit and she took the mechanism out of her mouth all so she could breathe.

He leaned forth and kissed her on the lips, like a pair of smooth ripe cherries right off the tree branch.

“Thank you,” he breathed to her. “I needed that so much.”

“And I needed that, too,” she confessed with another kiss on his lips.

“No one knows about this,” he told her.

“Not a soul,” she replied. “I always shower after I take a dip in the pool, anyway. What should I do with you?”

“Tell your colleagues about me,” he coaxed her. “Take your notes, write your report, show me to them. But don’t ever tell them about the encounter here. They needn’t know that you helped open me up after I had such awful experiences in the past.” He flashed her a wink, and she kissed him a third time.

“What’s past is prologue, baby,” she told him in a low voice. “Time to heal. Time to see and lick your wounds.”

[dialnoisenow]

If I want to bake bread before football day, I have to get out of bed earlier than 1030. And then move faster. This could be in the oven now.

This morning I dreamt our goat was sick. It occured to dream me, I havent been feeding it! This poor goat, no wonder its dying. So I asked dream husband and he said he was feeding it. Then dream me got it in her head to take it for a walk during a blizzard. Goat got out as goats do. So I went to my friend's house because logically she would know what to do, she irl had goats. Shes not home. No one is. House is shrouded in shadow, it's cold, and dark in the way light pollution reflects from the clouds. I opened the glass gate to their house and all their baby goats and ducklings ran out. Now I gotta get everyone back in and they all ran which way and me with no experience is trying to corral them like cats going "pspsps" in a snow storm. I must have gotten the lot, except for one and my goat which happened to have ducked under some storage near the garage. Jokes on me, it's not storage it's an oddly bright tunnel that looks like a green house and covered in spider webs. "Better not" dream me decides and when I turned around now I'm at an entirely different location, as dreams go, in a decrepit alley way about to go into an apartment of a house I've never been but dream me has. You know, dream houses, places never visited irl that you come back to dreams and theres that deja vu/familiarity. Anyway, I'm trying to get inside and I'm stuck in the foyer and I also have to greet all these people and they're all randos that I know. I'm ignored by like half of them and then my cousin and his wife show up. They're dressed in really 90s clothing. Like those vibrant blues, pinks, and purples that made up school picture backgrounds with that weird textured denim and the patterns on those paper coffee cups-yea. The line stops and it's just us awkwardly standing there and it reminds me of my wedding when I had to greet/thank people for coming and the procession down the stairs to the bar got clogged up so I had to make conversation with a friend of the family's son-Anyway, cousin and wife are here now and dream me picks now to congratulate them on the birth of their son and they say "ok" after a long pause of staring me down and then the procession picks up and they move on. "Oh, I get it," I say lucidly to whoever is next to me, Lorraine, I think. "These are all people I think are mad at me. Great." Well now is the time to leave, so I go outside onto the sidewalk and a whole bunch of art pieces are displayed all over the ground on blankets the way people sell things on the sidewalks. My dream aunt, who is not one of my aunts but like a combo of all of them, starts an open critique on a charcoal piece. It's a still life of a lot of pots in candle light on the sidewalk and there are words written in chalk that I cant make out. She tells me it started off strong but my usage of the lighting doesnt make sense with the direction of the shadows.

Mind you, before all of this there was another dream where I was in my basement. Our basement has old glass paned windows that dont have curtains on them. If you dont turn the light on, you can still see everything fine and can navigate ok in the dark due to the light from the windows and in this case from the stark contrast of a moonless night in winter. The blanket of white provides enough to see. Or it did, until a figure stepped out in my basement and started walking towards me and completely shrouded, blocked out everything.

So, I skipped new moon last night cause I was just so tired. Feeling pretty guilty about that but also, this is kind of why Inception as a story about dreams didnt really work for me. Yeah, it was good but my dreams are too batshit crazy to accept you're just moving the roads around in ways roads dont go. Granted, I think about Inception everytime I have a weird dream so point you, Christopher Nolan.

[gukyi]

in the frosty air | a jjk drabble

summary: two weeks ago you and your roommate slept together. which would be fine, if you knew you both felt the same about each other. but you don’t. and now it’s christmas, and jungkook is still gorgeous and gentle and wonderful and here, and and you don’t really know what to do about that.

{college!au, roommates!au}

pairing: jungkook x reader genre: this is just an angst train tbh, but it has a happy ending! word count: 1.6k warnings: mentions of past alcohol consumption, this centers around everyone’s favorite capitalist holiday, being sad in the wintertime a/n: OHHHHHHHHHH *internet breaks* anyway yeah i’m back baby!!! here’s a little drabble to celebrate because i can’t help myself when it comes to jungkook. love me or we both go down coming soon!

“This Christmas is pretty fucking lame, isn’t it?”

You whip around at the sound of his voice. “Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I figured,” Jungkook chuckles, bending his head down as he crawls through the open window to join you on the fire escape. The temperature is freezing and the wind is stinging your skin, but it didn’t really feel right to be spending tonight inside. “Saw the window open. Thought you might be here.”

“Yeah. I was probably gonna head inside soon, though.” In the hopes that you would be curled up in your bedroom before Jungkook even got home. Seeing him lately has been hard. “How did your final go?”

“It was alright.” You don’t have to keep looking at him to feel Jungkook taking a seat next to you, crossing his legs over each other as he stares out into the city below you. It snowed a few days ago, and the sidewalks are still covered in that dirty slush that always lingers, wet and cold and black from car tires. Just being beside you makes your heart race, makes your chest tighten. “I was pretty stressed out about it, but then I just sort of remembered that I did my best and that was all I could do, you know?”

“That’s good.” You wish you had that mindset. You spend days studying for an exam and once it’s over, you spend days dwelling on all the things you might have gotten wrong. It’s a philosophy you apply to most aspects of your life. Why you did the thing you did. Why doing the thing you did was the worst thing you could have done. How you will recover from it. If you even will. 

Jungkook sighs. You turn to look at him, just briefly, glance at his side figure, and notice he’s wearing nothing but a giant zip-up hoodie. Isn’t he cold? “It doesn’t really feel like Christmas.”

“Yeah.” You don’t have anything else to say to that. It doesn’t. Which is a damn shame, because you and Jungkook spent the entire beginning of this month turning your tiny, two-bedroom apartment into a winter wonderland. You got a tree to put up next to your TV and decorated with the weirdest ornaments you could find. You hung up those dangly white Christmas lights on the balcony of your fire escape, the ones meant to look like icicles dripping from the metal railing. The radio has been playing nothing but Michael Bublé and Mariah Carey. And yet.

It’s not hard to wonder why this Christmas is such shit. Your spring internship fell through a week ago. Your parents rented a lake house and assumed you wouldn’t be coming with. All of your other friends have gone home already. And Jungkook, perhaps the last person in this whole goddamn city you would have wanted to spend time with, you can’t even bear to look at. 

“How did your finals go?” Jungkook asks, trying to keep the conversation going. 

“They were fine.” At least that torture is over. But living with Jungkook, seeing him every day and knowing that what you have done you can never undo--it’s endless. 

There’s silence. It’s like the two of you simultaneously have no idea and know exactly what to say. Like the words are lingering on the tips of your tongues but your lips are sealed shut. Opening them won’t be like a can of worms. It will be a dam, a waterfall of I’m sorrys and What nows. One week ago, in the heat of the night and in the haze of drink after drink, you and Jungkook made the worst mistake two roommates could ever make. 

“Are you going home this break?” You blurt out the words before you can stop yourself. 

Jungkook sighs. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s okay if you want to.” I get it. I’m not sure if I’d want to hang around and see me either. 

He shrugs. “I just haven’t decided yet.”

He knows that you’re staying. The two of you were so looking forward to spending Christmas together. Now look at you. Jungkook was the perfect roommate. Then everything changed. 

“Okay.” He’s probably just trying to figure out a way to let you down easy. 

Next to you, Jungkook rustles a hand through his pocket. “By the way, uh--I just remembered. I got you something.”

You don’t even have time to object before Jungkook is placing a small fabric box into your open palm, resting on your lap. You look down at the item, at the way your hand seems to envelop it. 

“You didn’t have to--”

“I wanted to.” Jungkook is firm in his response. “Besides, I got it a while ago. Figured now is as good a time as any to give it to you.”

There’s not really anything else to do except open it. Carefully, with trembling fingers, you pull off the lid. Inside sits a dainty silver locket resting amongst a pile of folded tissue paper. You gasp, your breath coming out in smoke in the cold winter air. 

“Oh my God, I--”

“I overheard you talking on the phone saying you wanted one,” Jungkook admits sheepishly. “I wanted to give it to you before I forgot.”

Fingers shaking from the cold, you pull the locket from the box. It dangles from its chain, a delicate little thing, barely the size of a fingerprint. Even on this hazy winter evening, it still catches the light.

For the first time tonight, you look up at him. His eyes are a swirling brown, a deep chocolate. They are unreadable. He offers a small, guarded smile your way, lips pink in the chilly air. “Thank you,” you tell him honestly. This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for you. 

You can’t accept this without returning the favor. Wordlessly, you get up from the fire escape, rushing indoors for a moment as you grab your gift from your bedroom. It’s been sitting in there for at least two weeks now. You hold your hand behind your back as you make your way back to the fire escape, sitting down next to him once more. 

With a small flourish, you reveal your own present. They’re drumsticks. 

“For you,” you tell him, that same small grin on your face. “Since you’re always drumming on everything. Thought you could use something to do that with.”

Jungkook looks positively starstruck. He takes the sticks in his hands, feels the wood with his fingers, tracing over the logo at the bottom. You aren’t very well versed in the world of drum equipment, but your friend in the orchestra told you it was a good brand. 

“Wow, Y/N,” he says, mouth agape. “This is... this is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever gotten me. Thank you.”

“Always.”

And that’s the truth, isn’t it? No matter what you do, no matter what you say, you will always be there to give Jungkook what he deserves. To make his life just the tiniest bit better. Doing thoughtful things for him has never required effort on your part. There is just a part of you that will do them, because he deserves it. Because he is so gentle, and loving, and kind, and wonderful. 

You sit there for a little while longer, relishing in the brief respite of your gift exchange. It’s softened the ice, warmed the air, broken the tension. Even if only a little. But it’s enough to keep you out here, sitting next to him. It’s enough to keep you from drifting away. 

“I don’t regret that night.”

The words feel like biting wind. 

“What?” You turn to him. 

“I don’t. I’d do it again. A thousand times over.” Jungkook is resolute. He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed in determination. 

“Jungkook, what happened that night--”

“Is something I’ll never forget,” he finishes. “Do you know how fucking long I had been waiting to do that? To hold you? Kiss you? To spend the night with you?”

Each syllable presses deeper into your chest, imprinting themselves on your heart. You stare back at him, too shocked to say anything at all. 

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” Jungkook adds on, quickly backtracking. “I sort of... got that message when I woke up that morning and you were gone. But I just wanted you to know that that night didn’t change anything about how I feel about you.”

Jungkook’s got it all wrong. You were the one who fucked up. You were the one whose feelings won’t change. “I thought you were the one who didn’t feel the same.”

Jungkook chuckles, this sad, forced cough. “Are you kidding? I’d do anything to relive that night. You’re my favorite person in this whole world, Y/N.”

If the weather were just a little bit warmer, if the wind wasn’t as dry, perhaps tears would fall. But instead, you blink back at him and it feels at once like your heart weighs a million pounds and nothing at all. “Me too,” you choke out. “I never want to be without you.”

Your fire escape is barely big enough for one person, let alone two, but that doesn’t stop Jungkook from reaching over and pulling you in, pressing a chilly kiss to your frozen lips, the heat of his mouth warming you up from the inside out. It’s cold tonight, yes. But Jungkook makes you feel like it’s summer all year long. 

You smile against his lips. They feel like home. They taste like peppermint lip balm and coffee and ice. 

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks. As if he was even thinking about going home anyway. 

“Yes,” you whisper back. 

It feels a lot more like Christmas now. 

“Then I’ll stay.”

↳ don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback! i missed you guys!

[karasuno-volley]

HAIKYUU THIRD YEARS + SAYING I LOVE YOU FOR THE FIRST TIME

( ft. aoba johsai + karasuno )

plot: how the third years say i love you for the first time.

pairing: seijoh / karasuno third years + gn!reader (slight fem!reader implied for asahi + oikawa)

a/n: fair warning, i did google personalities for makki/mattsun so i can get a sense of how they act. :) shoutout to haikyuu wiki. liking/reblogging welcome, no reposting though! also, hmu if you want to be put on a taglist !! love, volley.

PART ONE  | PART TWO | PART THREE ?

     Oikawa Tooru would never admit it, but he is helplessly in love with you. He isn’t sure why, but this feeling comes in waves. One day it is subtle and stirring in the back of his mind, the others, when your lips collide and your breath is hot on his neck, it’s a tsunami. Now, with your head in his lap, the movie you had chosen plays idly in the background. Neither of you are paying attention-- you’re distracted by his long fingers from one of his hands in both of your own, and Oikawa’s distracted as his free hand runs through your hair. It is a soft moment; Oikawa feels like he’s drowning, but in a way that resembles falling asleep. He knows he has to say it now, to say it first. If he has to find similarities here, perhaps it’s breaking the surface to see the sun above. Perhaps it’s the first breath he’s ever taken, and exhaled with a soft-- “I love you.” You hear him, of course. It’s quiet and lovely and wraps your heart in velvet. You find his eyes, kiss the pads of his fingers to your lips. What is there to say? “I love you, too.” Just like that, Oikawa is drowning in you.

     He does not mince words, you know this. Iwaizumi was calm and supportive, even when you decide to get ice cream in the dead of winter. He doesn’t order anything with you, but insists on paying for you. As the pair of you walk idly through a nearby park, he can feel his senses adjusting to you, for the first time in forever. It’s not like he’s never focused on you-- it’s quite the opposite. However, now, with you taking small bites of your mochi and the snow falling into your hair from the looming trees, it’s all he can do to not look at you. He’s distracted by your lips as you speak, your eyes as they convey all sorts of emotions. Iwaizumi can always read you, that’s his strength. But now, at least to you, he doesn’t seem to even be listening to your story.

     You stop suddenly on the walking path, and he does, too, though obviously startled. “Are you okay?” You ask. His eyes don’t leave you. “I love you.” He says it like he’s dumbfounded, as if stumbling across an answer he’s been looking for for far too long. You only smile, picking up one of your mochi from its container and putting it between his lips. When he bites down, it’s strawberry. He can’t stop himself from thinking that it matches the taste of your lips perfectly.

     It wasn’t like the pair of you were doing anything special. In fact, it was the opposite. The rain had ruined any plan you had of taking your boyfriend out for a picnic, so you were a bit down on the idea of doing nothing. However, when you walk into his house a bit later after Takahiro had offered the idea of just hanging out, you see it. A checkered blanket, a basket. A few bentos and drinks laid out. “Makki? What is this?” You ask, and you can’t stop a smile. “Uh, a picnic?” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Smartass.” You say, but join him anyways, happy to be doing anything other than the ordinary.

     You two talk for a few hours, much longer than you had actually planned. You knew you had homework to do, but it really only felt like minutes. “Hey, I have to tell you something.” Makki doesn’t even look at you when he makes his confession, really. Only a few quick glances your way. “I love you.” You sit there for a moment, face blank. He panics, thinking he’s made a mistake. Maybe you don’t feel the same way? He’s about to backtrack horribly, but then you kiss his cheek. When he finally gets a new view of you, you’re blushing, taking another sip of water. “I love you, too.” He’s never seen anything so lovely.

     You never knew how funny Mattsun could be until you started dating. Constant cut-and-dry jokes lead to light-hearted dates. It could be a walk in the park, bike rides, a trip to a convenience store: whatever the situation was, it usually led to more laughs than anything else. His teammates didn’t usually get this side of him, and you know this. It’s a savory feeling that you couldn’t get enough of. He never smiled enough, but now that you two are dating, even Oikawa admitted on more than one occasion that something had changed in him for the better.

     Now, as he guides you down a cherry-blossom filled path, he’s oddly silent. “Mattsun?” You say, trying to catch up with the boy’s long strides to get a look at his face. You worry something might be wrong, until he says: “You know I love you, right?” You laugh, and then he stops, turns to you. Mattsun’s eyes are lively, bright. A new emotion. “I tell you I love you, and you laugh?” He’s incredulous, but not angry. You pause, your smile slowly morphing into something slightly more like shock. “You… You’re serious?” “Yes!” He says, throwing his hands into the air as he continues walking. You’re a half step behind him as he laughs. “God, I’ve been working up the nerve all week to tell you that!” You step in front of him, hand on his chest to force him to stop moving. You kiss his lips, smiling. “Mattsun, I love you.” You turn, high-tailing it down the sidewalk. He chases you, arms waving in the air like a madman. “Hey! That’s my line!”

     “Koushi, please.” You beg, both his hands in your own. “Please? It’s been forever.” Your boyfriend only laughs. “What? We went out three days ago! Besides, we both know we have stuff to do.” “Do we?” You give him the best puppy eyes you can manage. Something in Suga’s expression alters, his eyes turning soft and melted. He sighs, a small smile appearing on his lips. “I…. uh, fine. But we’ll just get ramen or something, okay?” This changes your frown into a fast and easy smile. You kiss his cheek quickly before continuing on past your house and towards the small ramen shop on the corner before you realize Suga isn’t actually following. 

     His hands in his pockets, he watches you with a dumb smile on his face that hasn’t gone away quite yet. “Hello?” You say after him, turning on your heels before he finally comes back to his senses to catch up to you. “What was that? Lost in thought?” You ask, laughing. “What? No, it’s nothing. I just love you.” Before you could reply, Suga runs past you to beat you to the front doors of the small cafe. “You what?” You call after him, disbelief all over your features. “Come on! You don’t want your ramen to get cold, do you?” “Suga, it’s a restaurant! It’s not going to get cold!” You chase after him, your heart lighter than it’s ever been.

     Perhaps he should have known this already, that you’d be upset. He looks at you stupidly, and you have half a mind to hit his shoulder. You don’t, but God, are you close. “Sawamura!” You whine, and Daichi seems to snap out of it. He isn’t used to you calling him anything but Daichi or any number of pet names. “C’mon, darling. Don’t be so upset. It’s just one grade.” He gently takes the exam from your hands, looking it over. In fact, he isn’t. His eyes glance towards you the whole time, watching as you pull your hair up, run your hands down your face. “What am I supposed to tell my mom? If I don’t pass this class, I…”

     “Your mom will understand.” Daichi says, slowly handing the paper back to you. You take it, adding a few creases to its smooth surface. “If it makes you feel any better, I still love you.” He isn’t sure why he chooses then to say it. Maybe he wants to see the frown on your face dissipate. Maybe he just wants to hear you say it back. You look around the empty hallway, and find the pair of you alone, before you turn back to your boyfriend. “How’s that supposed to make me feel?” “Hopefully better?” Daichi asks hopefully, a dumb grin on his face.

     You did not want to be sick today. That was easier said than done, however, especially with allergy season on the rise. You hadn’t told Asahi you weren’t going to school that day. In fact, the medicine you had taken early in the morning caused you to sleep through most of the day. You only wake from your sleep when there’s a knock at the door, and you rise groggily to answer. When you do, you see Asahi there, sheepishly holding a bag from Shimada Mart. “Hey, I, uh… brought you some stuff?” It wasn’t a question, but it was sure phrased like one. “Asahi, what are you doing here? How did you know?” He smiles, almost a little embarrassed. Normally he wouldn’t show without at least texting to let you know he was coming over. He’d never actually seen you in anything but casual clothes or your school uniform. Your pajama pants were covered in different dogs, a loose white t-shirt a horrible substitute to your favorite blouse.

     “You didn’t answer my texts. Can I come in?” “If you want to get sick, sure.” You open the door for him, and Asahi enters, taking his shoes off at the door. He surveys the couch where you had obviously just been resting. “Go lay down.” He nods towards the living room. “I’ll go make you some tea.” You don’t have the strength to argue. When Asahi returns, two cups of tea in hand, you’re already asleep. He sets the cups down as quietly as he can manage, settling himself in by you. His hand takes your own, and you adjust for it easily, even in your sleep, the back of his hand pressed against your lips. He says it, but there’s no way you hear. Asahi doesn’t mind, though. He can always tell you again when you wake up. For now, he leans back, covers you in a blanket, and settles in for a long evening.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

bright lights and baseless worries - q. hughes

When ya girl is finally on a monthlong break from school, she’s able to get in more than one piece a week. I knew I wanted to do some holiday piece for Quinn, and 100% got this idea in the shower the other day and just sat down and got to writing. In my totally unbiased opinion, it’s very cute, and I’d love to hear what you think - I love reading the tags on reblogs and having y’all in my inbox!

word count: 3.3k+

“Do you want to meet my parents?” 

Your fork stopped halfway to your mouth, the spaghetti threatening to fall off the end. “Do I want to what?”

Quinn laughed, taking a sip of water as he sat across from you at his dining room table. “Do you want to meet my parents? They’re flying in after the next roadie, in a week and a half or so. They really want to meet you, but I get if you don’t want to, or you feel like it’s too soon. I’ll make up an excuse for you, say you were called into work for some big project or something that you can’t get away from.” 

You weren’t sure if there was some unspoken protocol for when was too soon to meet your boyfriend’s parents, but you were pretty sure six months wasn’t pushing it. “Quinn, I’m still in university,” you said with a laugh. “There’s no work for me to get called into. And I’d love to meet them, if you’re sure that’s what you want. I don’t want you feeling like you have to because your parents want to meet me. I want it to be because you want it too.”

“Of course I want you to meet them,” he said, smiling softly at you. “Almost more than that, I want them to meet you. Sure, you’ve seen each other over FaceTime and they know what I’ve told them about you—”

“All good things, I hope?” You quipped.

The corner of his lips twitched. “Nothing but the best. But you’re incredible, and I want them to be able to meet  you, so they get to see how amazing you are in person and don’t think I’m crazy any more for how much I talk about you, So there’s that.” 

You ducked your head, tapping your fingers against the dark grain of the table. “Well, I’d love to meet them, Q. Anyone who’s spent any length of time around you knows how much you love your family, and I’m so excited to finally get to know the people who raised you into the incredible man you are today.”

Quinn blushed shyly. “It’s going to be great.”

---

Vancouver in December had always been one of your favorite things. Vancouver any time, really, but the holiday season really let your hometown shine something special. Literally. From the first of the month, all of downtown was decked out from tree to storefront to lamppost in yards of bright, sparkling lights. And then there was the massive, hundred-foot tall Christmas tree that lit up the square in front of the art gallery, throngs of couples and little kids running up to its branches in a bid to get their picture taken. It had finally started to snow a few weeks ago, so a light dusting covered the sidewalks, giving way to the shoe prints of the hundreds of passersby. 

Downtown was where you found yourself now, wandering around on a Wednesday afternoon after you had been let out of your final, your purse on your shoulder and nothing but sheer worry in your heart. Quinn had come back from the road trip that morning; his parents were set to fly in tomorrow morning. His parents were set to fly in tomorrow morning, well under 24 hours away, and you had no clue what to get them. You had been in clothing stores, homegoods stores, souvenir shops, but were no closer to figuring out what to buy. You had been about to buy a nice bottle of wine, one of yours and Quinn’s favorites, but then you wondered if maybe it was weird to give wine at a first meeting, or if they’d look at you funny for gifting a bottle of pinot grigio when you were only 21. And it had to be something they could bring back on the plane, so nothing that was too fragile or something that might spill or anything with over 3.4 ounces of liquid. You should have thought about that before considering the wine. 

You had texted your roommates in a panic, but letting them know that i’m meeting quinn’s parents tomorrow and I have no idea what the FUCK to get them please help hadn’t yielded any particularly useful suggestions. Aliya had suggested a tie for his dad, which Sara had vetoed immediately, saying that a tie was both far too formal and far too strange a gift to extend. Sara, who was the apartment’s resident caffeine addict, had recommended a few of her recent favorite types of “artisan, hand-roasted coffee.” It had seemed like a good idea at first, with everyone and their mother getting into craft versions of every drink imaginable, but then you started overthinking it, thinking that maybe they wouldn’t like the roast, or the undertones, or it would be too bitter and they’d drink it and hate it and then they’d hate you and — 

You huffed, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes and leaning up against the column of some storefront you had spent less than five minutes in. Quinn chose that exact moment to call, and his timing couldn’t have been any more welcome. “God, I’m such a mess right now,” you said by way of greeting. 

“Everything good?” He asked lightly, but you could hear the concern laced under his voice. 

“Yeah,” you said, nodding, “but I’ve been to at least a half-dozen stores in downtown and I’m starting to get worried because I still have absolutely no clue what to get your parents tomorrow and nobody seems to have any good ideas.”

“You realize you don’t have to get them anything, right?” Quinn asked. “Seriously, they’re not expecting it, and I promise they won’t think any less of you if you don’t.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Q, my mom’s going to skin me alive if she heard I showed up empty-handed to meet your parents, but that’s besides the point. I want to make a good impression.” Your voice cracked. “I really want to make a good impression.”

He sighed on the other end of the line. “I know you do, babe, but I guarantee that no matter if you buy my dad a Rolex or show up in your pyjamas, they’re going to love you.”

“But how do you know that?”

“They’ll love you because I love you.” He spent a few more minutes on the phone with you, trying his damndest to reassure you that Jim and Ellen weren’t nearly as scary as you somehow thought they were, that they’d welcome you with open hearts and open arms just like his brothers had. The Devils had played in Vancouver the month prior, and much to Quinn’s delight, you and Jack had gotten along like a house on fire. Jack had made good on a promise he had made while he was in British Columbia, sending you a cache of Quinn’s baby photos as soon as he got back to his apartment in New Jersey. 

You slid your phone back into your pocket after ending the call, feeling marginally more reassured that his parents wouldn’t immediately demand you break up with their son if you didn’t spend the equivalent of a year’s tuition on welcome gifts for them, but nervous nonetheless and no closer to your goal than when you drove into downtown hours before. 

---

You tapped your heel nervously on the floor of Quinn’s living room, fingers nervously twisting your rings around as Quinn leaned up against the couch, glancing between you and his phone. “Mom says they’re almost here.” Quinn would have picked them up from the airport himself, but he had had a morning practice, and then they decided to get settled into their hotel room, so them coming over to his apartment before you were all set to go out to dinner was the first time either of you were going to see them. He looked at you, your brow still furrowed from overthinking. “I know you’re still worried, and I get that, babe. I was terrified when I met your parents for the first time. But you’re going to do amazing.” Your parents lived in Surrey, forty minutes away in the same house you’d grown up in, so it was a much less formal affair when they had asked to meet Quinn. You went over to their house for brunch one weekend, and that was it; Quinn was right, though. That hadn’t meant he was any less nervous. If anything, it only amplified his worries because if he wasn’t able to make a good first impression in one of the most low-stress environments a person could think of, what would that say about him? What would your parents think? But just like he said, it had been such a non-issue that by the end, he was wondering what he had been worried about in the first place. 

“I know it’ll be fine,” you conceded, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “It just seems different, somehow. Like, I’ve met people’s parents before, friends and exes and people at school, and of course I wanted them to like me. I think it’s just…” You paused, looking up at the ceiling and trying to gather your words, “I think it’s because I see this, us, going somewhere. I see it lasting. So if you’re going to be in my life for the foreseeable future, then so are they, so it just seems that much more important that I like them and that they like me.” 

Quinn bent over, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Don’t worry.” The doorbell rung, and you took the thirty seconds it took for Quinn to go over and open it to turn your phone on, checking in the camera to make sure you didn’t have a piece of kale stuck in your teeth. You didn’t, but you really should have known better. Quinn would have told you. 

You stood up, plastering a smile on your face as he pulled the door open and his parents stepped into the entryway. His dad had just hugged him when his mom pulled him in, rubbing his back as she greeted him. “So good to see you, Quinn, Chag sameach.”

“Chag sameach, Mom,” Quinn said back, before stepping back and nodding to you. You stepped forward hesitantly, Quinn’s warm hand on the small of your back quelling your fears as much as he could. 

He had barely opened his mouth to introduce you before his mom burst forward. “Is this her?” 

You relaxed slightly, nodding. “In the flesh. So nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Weinberg-Hughes.”

She waved you off. “Ellen, seriously. Don’t worry about it. It’s so nice to finally get to see you in person!” She pulled you into a hug that looked just as heartfelt as the one she had given her son, and it only took a few seconds for you to relax into her touch. 

“Jim,” his dad greeted you with a warm handshake. 

You turned back towards the coffee table. “I, uh, got these for you two when I was downtown the other day.” You handed his mom a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and his dad a potted succulent, something you originally hadn’t been too sure about but Quinn had assured you his dad would love. “It’s got a travel-safe box that came with it, so it’ll be good to go on the plane ride back,” you said. 

His dad smiled. “Quinn told you I’m not much of a green thumb, hm?” Quinn’s eyes widened; his dad laughed. “It’s true, I love plants but I seem to somehow kill everything I touch, so this really is a wonderful gift. Thank you.” 

“Did you light the candles yet?” His mom asked. 

Quinn shook his head, nodding to where his menorah sat on the sideboard. “I wanted to wait for you.” If his mom was going to be there for the first night of Hanukkah, he was going to wait for her if he valued his own well-being. The candles were already in a box off to the side; Ellen opened them and placed first the shamash, then the first candle all the way to the right as Quinn went into the kitchen for a lighter, coming out a second later. You made to move out of the room, unsure if it was disrespectful to stay. You got your answer quickly. 

“Stay,” Quinn said. “I’d like it if you stayed.”

“It’s part of the tradition that the whole family — whoever’s around, obviously, stays for the lighting. That’s you, now,” Ellen explained. Your cheeks burned, but not out of embarrassment. Out of the fact that Quinn had been exactly right, just like you knew he would be, just like he had told you he would be. His parents welcomed you quicker than your own best friend’s had, and five minutes after meeting them in person for the first time his mom had already all but called you family. You were giddy inside. You perched on the couch as she and Quinn recited the Hebrew blessings, a soft smile on your face as you watched the interaction. You knew your boyfriend loved his mom. That much was clear, from the times you were both on FaceTime to the phone conversations you overheard to the way that he spoke about her with Brock, or Elias, or really anyone who would listen. But it was something special. 

You gathered in the living room after the menorah was lit, your heels abandoned by the door and your body curled into Quinn’s as the four of you waited for the candles to burn down. Ellen and Jim supplemented Jack’s childhood stories of Quinn with some of their own, one of which had your boyfriend groaning into your shoulder, asking his dad if you really needed to know that story in particular. Jim just laughed, clapping his son on the back, telling him that the embarrassing anecdotes were really a litmus test of sorts. “If she doesn’t run after hearing this one, you’ll know that she’s a keeper,” he said while winking at you. You stayed. 

You had a 6:30 reservation at a restaurant downtown, some place one of the other guys’ girlfriends had recommended when you sent a message in the group chat earlier asking where to take Quinn’s parents because I def don’t want to seem pretentious but like they also need to know that I have taste. He drove with his dad in the passenger’s seat, leaving you and his mom to share the second row. “Have you ever seen his freshman year roster photo from Michigan?” she asked, pulling out her phone. 

Quinn groaned from the driver’s seat. “Mom, do you really need to show her?”

“You’re so young, it’s cute!” Ellen protested.

“I was 17 and didn’t know how to do my hair yet and was so nervous for the photographer to take it that my smile looks like it was frozen onto my face.”

You ducked your head, poorly concealing a snort of laughter. “Okay, if it’s half as good as Quinn makes it seem, I’ve got to see this one.” Ellen handed her phone to you just as Quinn pulled into the parking lot; you handed it back a minute later, the grin on your face still evident as he parked the car, walking around to your side to open your door. 

Picture didn’t scare you off?” he asked jokingly. 

You stood up quickly, pressing a brief kiss against his cheek. “Not at all.”

The food was incredible, not like you had expected any less. The salmon was maybe the best you had ever had, and the crème brûlée you and Quinn shared was nothing short of spectacular. You had left the last bite for him, knowing how much he loved the dessert, but he shook his head with a small smile, gently pushing the bowl back to you. The gesture hadn’t been missed by his mom, who had poorly concealed her happiness at her son’s kindness. You headed back to Quinn’s apartment after a walk by the harbor with his parents, a little after nine. “We got you two a little something,” his dad said as his mom reached into her purse. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” you said quickly as Ellen pulled out a small, flat wrapped package.

“It’s nothing big,” she promised. “Just something we thought would look nice in here,” she gestured around the living room with her spare hand., holding it out to you. “Happy Hanukkah.”

Your face burst into a grin as Quinn looked over at the photo, his thumb moving absentmindedly over your shoulder. “Happy Hanukkah, Ellen.” You ran your thumb carefully under the seams, popping open the paper with as much precision as the moment was affording you. You unfolded it, looking up at your boyfriend. “Hang on. Is this…?” 

He nodded. “I think so.” You were looking down at a picture, set in a silver frame that shone so much you could see your reflection. But it wasn’t a normal picture, one that you’d throw up on your Instagram story or delete from your camera roll without a second thought. It was from that September, a few months after you and Quinn had started dating and the first time he had taken you to meet the boys. You had already met Brock and Elias a few weeks earlier when they came back into town for training, but it was the first night he had really let you into his life in that way, started to take down some of his walls and trust you with every part of himself. You had been curled up with Quinn on a couch in Brock’s living room, towards the end of a party he had thrown to welcome everyone to the start of a new season. You didn’t even remember what Quinn was talking about, but as you looked down at the photo, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist and your head resting on his chest, you realized that it could have been Poptarts or Disney movies or the deepest darkest secrets from the furthest parts of your soul, because it was you, and it was him, and that’s all that mattered. You didn’t even realize you had started to tear up until Quinn handed you a tissue. “Thanks,” you mumbled. You looked back up at his parents, crumbling it in your hand. “Seriously, Jim, Ellen, thank you for this. I don’t know why I’m reacting like this, but thank you for getting it. It means a lot.” 

His dad gave you a hug as his mom moved over to Quinn’s kitchen, plucking her bouquet out of a vase and walking back over to hug first her son, then you. “Don’t worry about it. If you’re half the woman Quinn says you are, and I think you’re more, then you deserve the world.” 

Your cheeks heated as they walked through the front door. Quinn gently took the picture from you, admiring it as he padded over to the sideboard and placed it next to the menorah, whose candles had long since burnt down. He walked back over towards you, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. He pulled back, a wry smile on his face as your foreheads pressed together. “Do you finally believe me?”

He didn’t even have to explain his words, because you knew. Finally believe him that you didn’t have anything to worry about, finally believe him that his parents would love you, finally believe him that thing you had going on wasn’t one he wanted to give up on. Not now, not ever. Your head nodded before your words could catch up to you, spilling out of your mouth like they had always been there. “Yes.”

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Only Time Makes It Human 3

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: hi and sorry for the long wait, I had to squish my brain real hard to get this chapter out, but I hope you like it, I decided a chapter about growth wasn't enough and y'all gave me an idea for angst so I just splashed it there and we'll delve into it more on the next chapter. 10/10 the idea works well enough for me to bring Levi and reader together even more. So don't call me out on being random. This is raw, un fucking edited, I'll edit later 💗

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Tags: modern au, college au

Warnings: mentions of blood

Special kudos if you figure out why I used this gif ;)

The problem with your feet being numb in the morning when you woke up wasn't supposed to phase you as much as it currently did, but the weathering cold that had barged its way to your room silently begged to have you feel something other than the everlasting whirlpool of regret.

Which was -unsurpisingly- something you had been spiraling into a lot lately.

Your ringtone -or rather the caller that had caused it to go off- nontheless remained mercilessly unforgiving to your current condition. The brute vibrations that accompanied your once favorite song ripped through the air and bounced on every wall inside your room before it wooshed inside your eardrums.

You fucking finally had to change that ringtone, you thought.

Your feet, moist and heavy as they buzzed with the aftermath of the coma-like sleep you had just gone through, struggled to wiggle from underneath the comfort of your blankets. Your hands instinctively rubbed the underside of your nose as you sniffled all the cold of the room around you. Throwing the blanket off of you, you groaned at the non stop ringing of your phone.

The few steps to your desk felt like an eternity of having to walk with a badgy weight on your feet, but the faint feeling in your body didnt come to an halt even after you picked the device in your hands. Your eyes couldn’t really adjust well to make out the ID of the caller, of course, sleep hadn't rubbed off your eye lids yet, but still you slid the emerald button to acceptance with no resistance.

“Hey” you sleepingly moaned.

“Hellooo! (Y/n)!” Hange called enthusiastically for the other line, her joyous voice piercing your eardrums “Where are you booo?”

“I just woke up why?” you yanwed.

Pacing your eyes around your room you noticed the dull daylight creeping in through your blinds, signaling the gloom of another potentially snowy day for Trost. You blinked as you took notice of the few articles of soon to reside in the laundry bin clothing as well as the dress that hung from your closet door.

And then, it all snapped.

“Oh. shit!”

Anxiety rushed through you like a bullet to the gut, gushing numbness and waves of cold sweat from the point of impact. Forcefully, you ripped your phone off your ear and double tapped at screen to make it light up. The date read December 25, and below it, laid numerous notifications of your alarm and even a pop up reminder from last night to not forget the food you had to take with you.

Thinking back to that, your head started spinning like crazy, the familiar, yet bizarre feeling of your stomach dropping overtaking you. You hadn't cooked, rather, you had spent all night drinking and sulking on your own, cursing yourself for all your choices up to date.

"Yes, oh shit!” Hnge laughed “Oh! You forgot?”

"Hangeeee stop screaming oh my god no I didn't forget, I'm on my way okay?"

A little yelp came out of your mouth as the cable of your charger prevented you from taking another step closer to your bedroom door; letting out a curse under your breath though you quickly unplugged your phone, and rushed over the mess of your room and out to your living room.

"But you said you just woke up."

"Ahhh," you scratched your head, feeling your loose t-shirt sliding down your shoulder "no!" You said, then in a sterner voice you repeated "No! I uhm, I was just-"

Your poor excuse to communicate after having just woken up didn't startled Hange. If anything, she seemed to find it amusing because she burst into joyous, bubbling laughter at the sound of your despair. And you couldn't blame her for it; were you under any other circumstance you would be laughing with yourself as well.

"It's fine. Erwin and I are making a cake for shorty so if you want to cook here you have plenty of time yet. I'm going to say it though, we could really use your pastry skill."

You let out a sigh as you took your phone off your ear and pressed on the speaker icon. Your hands worked fast to grip onto the hem of your shirt and then, even faster, they managed to pull it off of you in shift movements.

"I'm just going to have a shower, dress up and I'll be on my way. It shouldn't take more than 30 minutes."

Hange exhaled in utter relief through the phone and you could practically feel her sheepish smile as Erwin shouted a big fat 'thank you' from the depths of his kitchen. Bringing out a hand to grap your shower cap -the only shower product you loathed using- you ripped the cap off its place on your cabinet and messily shoved all of your hair in it in rushed movements.

"Got any questions before I hit the shower Hange?"

"Please ask her" Erwin was heard and you cocked your head to the side at the sound.

"No Erwiin, we got it under control okay?"

"No we don't."

Shaking your head to prevent yourself from zoning out, you clicked your tongue before opening your mouth to address your two friends. Asking as to what they were referring to was easy, although it was obvious that Hange felt confident in succeeding in the task Erwin was referring to. Knowing Hange though, you thought you could guess perhaps what exactly was going on.

"Please don't mix food coloring with spinach juice to make the cake green like two years ago."

Erwin's laughter was pretty much evident through the other line as Hange went on blubbering about how she wasn't going to do it again giving extreme emphasis as to why she couldn't understand the reason it tasted bad in the first place but would go with what you said nevertheless. At that point Erwin was laughing hysterically, telling you how Hange was once again, indeed, thinking about it and the sound of his laughter grew even louder than Hange's words.

"Do you have food coloring?"

"Yes Hange I have food coloring."

"Plea-pleaee bring some. Dammit Erwin what's gotten into you- gotta go (y/n) see you in a while."

The beeping sound from the other line left you little to no time to properly reply to your friends with a much wanted greeting, though, you didn't think much of it. You were going to spend the whole day with them, so getting upset over not getting the chance to say goodbye over the phone wasn't something that should have caused guilt to spurt in you.

But surely, this wasn't the only cause of your overly bubbling guilt. The actual cause of the knot in your gut laid to the fact that within the time span of two weeks you had managed to to drag Levi and yourself into a rather steep rabbit hole. There was going to be a serious impact of your relationship with your friends had the two of you made it known to them; everyone would scold you -and they'd be right at that- and maybe this time they'd pick sides as to what wrong or not. And you didn't want that.

Although you secretly wished everyone went with Levi. Or at least you had come to the conclusion that that was what you deserved.

You had been feeling bothered and repulsed by what had caused you to make out with him that night, given the fact that you had been the one that initiated the kiss. And just as much, you had been feeling furious over Levi allowing this to ever happen. But looking back at it now, you couldn't say you regretted getting close to him even in such way. And that was probably the most infuriating thing of all.

Nevertheless, there was also the fact that you would be seeing Levi today and frankly you didn't know what to do with that. Should you act like everything was fine? Should you simply ignore him? Was Petra going to be with him?

Speaking of Petra it would be best if you straight up let her know of what had happened. Acting shady with another woman's man behind her back was outrageous for anyone to do and you hated being in that position like the next person.

Your stomach twisted dangerously at your spiraling thoughts, but you chose to ignore the tight knot, attributing the loud growl you had heard to one caused by your excessive hunger.

Perhaps, your shower was going to help you sort out your thoughts and intentions.

With a twist of your wrist the water started sprinting out of the tap in your shower. Your eyes were fixated on your phone, your thumb roaming through Spotify in hopes to find the perfect song to company your bath with. You simply said good for a Christmas playlist that Spotify suggested, tapping on that, a list of numerous jolly songs popped up in your screen and you simply pressed the big shuffle button before putting your head on your cabinet.

..

The walk to Erwin's house was very much and as previously expected, quiet. The sidewalks on your way were all covered in sugary white snow, decorating each different apartment complex in the non urban side of Trost along with the standard holiday decorations.

Taking a deep sigh you brought the back of your finger to the metallic button of Erwin's doorbell. Blinking rationally, you looked around at the marble front door frame of his apartment complex, your blood subtly rushing to your feet. You dragged the tip of your combat boot over the snow, curling your toes on the fuzzy material that covered the inside of the shoe.

You were beginning to become impatient as you waited on the doorframe, Erwin was taking way too long to open the door and you were practically freezing out there; the dress you wore did almost nothing to keep you warm. Despite you taking precautions by wearing a cardigan and the leather coat that you had snatched from your brother, the cold still pierced through your sheer black pantyhose, as if your efforts to stay warm were ridiculous.

The sound of footsteps was what startled you next but still your head didn't turn to the source of the buzzing noise. Your nose simply nuzzled to the scarf you had wrapped around yourself as you rubbed your face onto its warm fleece material.

"Uh, hi."

This time you could help but turn around to check who had thrown a greeting at you.

A familiar puff of ginger hair greeted you as you snuck your nose out of the edge of your scarf, two big and round hazel eyes stared right at you as you blinked rapidly back at them.

Great. Just great.

"Hey."

Petra wiggled her nostrils once to the left and then to the right, seemingly scratching the awkwardness in the atmosphere away. She blinked her eyes a few times into yours, her lips pursing together slightly as if she was coming up with a good comeback to your greeting, yet it never came.

"uhm, what's up?"

Your fingers slightly clutched the edges of your coat, crossing over your chest as you felt your jaw start clattering. Your pupils gathered at the corners of your eyes, catching small glimpses of Petra as you eyed her up and down.

She too had opted for a cardigan and a dress. A very safe choice if you were in a place to express your opinion but hers, despite being adorned with numerous tiny and dainty coral and red flowers, looked so thin and tule like and it barely covered her thighs, so much that you felt a pinch of concern run through you that you were slow to decide on whether you wanted to brush off or not.

"I'm.. good." She managed to let out, but you noticed how her lip trembled.

She was definitely shivering, if that wasn't concerning enough you didn't know what was, and she looked so frail and out of place that she could definitely beat you at it. Plus, the lack of a warm jacket struck somewhat of a nerve at you. Even feeling so much guilt over being in her presence you couldn't help but feel your motherly friend instincts wash over you; why wasn't she wearing something warmer? And why were you seconds away from taking off your jacket to offer it to her when you knew she wouldn't even accept it.

"Damn, Erwin's sure taking long, do you want my jacket?"

"Uh-"

Once again and mostly out of instinct, your finger tapped over the metallic button, covered by the edge of your sleeve. Suddenly, the familiar buzz of the intercom growled in your eardrum and you shook your head to its direction automatically.

"I'm so sorry!" Erwin said. "Come in!"

"Hey Erwin!" Petra spoke before you had a chance to say your wanted reply.

Even if you couldn't see him, you knew how shocked of an expression he was wearing.

Taking the few steps into the apartment complex's yard, you rushed to the next door and waited for the known buzz which signaled that Erwin had finally let you inside. With awkwardness spread over your face though, you pushed your lips into a thing line, holding the door back as you signaled to Petra that she should be the first to come inside.

"Thank you." She muttered.

"No prob."

You watched as Petra hesitated to push the elevator button; with a set of trembling fingers her palm rested only a few inches before the metallic button that was lit in a red arrow. With another smile you came closer to her and went to check in which floor the elevator was currently at. Whether she flinched intentionally or not, you didn't know.

"Wanna share a lift? It'll be a while till it comes down again." You offered.

"Uhm, yeah okay."

Once she responded, Petra tapped onto the elevator button with her thumb.

Petra looked at you and clung onto the edged of her cardigan once again. You took notice of how she looked a little more casual and unkept, despite being dressed on point; the lack of a jacket and her tousled naturally wavy bob betrayed an unwillingness to be present to today's event and it's was painfully obvious.

"I'd like to" Petra hesitated, "I'd like to talk to you about something."

"Oh sure, what is it about?"

"It's about Levi."

Dead silence fell as Petra didn't dare turn her gaze to your direction. The little screen over the elevator button still showed that your lift was taking long to come down as if it mocked you, but you couldn't find it in you to tap into the button once again.

"Would you like to grab some coffee with me tomorrow?"

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

To say that you were panicked would be an exaggeration and probably a degradation to Petra's feelings. Her breathing was heavier than your own, frankly because for her it must have been even more uncomfortable than it was for you. You couldn't blame her for that.

Nonetheless you couldn't help but be genuinely curious as to what she had wanted to tell you? It was evident that she knew something. What's slipped you was whether or not she want to bash you for your actions.

She had every right to do so.

"Yeah. Of course, uhh, tomorrow sounds good."

....

Christmas day wasn't as bad as you had expected it to be when Hange had announced to you that Levi would be coming alone with Petra.

For starters, the food was in plehtora; Erwin had cooked your jolly favorite roasted chicken, Mike and Nanaba had brought an enormous plate of their creamiest, most mouth watering souffle, Levi had made some god tasty pumpkin soup and Hange had taken actually good care of fixing a custom non alcoholic cocktail to each one of you.

All of this drool worthy deliciousness had caused, and non surprisingly at that, your body to submit in that peaceful demi slumber that tagged along with the fullness of your tummy. Frankly, it had been so long since you had enjoyed such a good meal and you didn't think you would be enjoying another one until Mikasa's birthday.

Thus, the cool evening sir that entered the room when Erwin opened the window door to the balcony, found you laying on the floor right next to the tangerine fire that danced in the fireplace. You could faintly feel Nanaba's hand scratch at the roots of your hair, her almond tipped nails slowly running in purringly mellow lines over your sculp that sent you to pure delight.

Levi's eyes danced over your form more than he'd like to admit so. Ever so slightly his pupils would travel up and down your thighs and calfs, examining the material of your sheer back pantyhose but whatever emotion overcame him wasn't the animalistic lust he had expected to feel.

He felt rather guilty. And not only for staring at your legs. For bringing himself upon the situation he was in.

It wasn't easy to think with a throbbing head but in Levi's world this poor condition was translated as a prompt to try to get out of whatever shithole he had found himself in. Maybe. Because there was also a certain part inside of him that bashed him to no end about his previous and degrading actions to both Petra's and his person, which part he completely and rationally justified.

With a quick glance at Petra, Levi brought his hand to his face to hopefully wipe any of the numbness his guilt had got him feeling. Petra seemed to enjoy herself as per usual. With her soft smiles and the mellow sway of her hair over her shoulder, she'd often reach for the hem of her white wooly cardigan to cover her shoulder while cooing into the soft material and onto the side of the couch she was seating in.

It would be hard for anyone to guess that the two of them had broken up.

She was unsurprisingly sitting as far off him as she could; the fact that they hadn't announced to anyone they had broken up because they didn't want the Christmas party at Erwin's to be ruined didn't mean she owned Levi to act like his faithful and bubbly dog.

It happened that night after he had stood her up at the movies.

Levi had gathered all of his determination and had managed to push all thoughts aside from the back of his brain, as he was despairate to ignore that feeling your make out session had brushed on him. He had walked up to Petra, all dissolved and stoic, his chest swelling with anxiety. He had stared at her with an agape mouth, he had been muttering words so honest that he felt were fatally brute and Petra had digested them all without any difficulty.

And before he knew it, he was over and done.

Petra hadn't cried, she hadn't wept, she had only answered him with a smile that she'd rather just be friends with him if things weren't going to work between them.

And to an extended it tortured the ravenette, mostly because he remembered the hurt look in her face before she had managed to hide it with her usual mellow smile.

Taking another sigh, Levi stared at Petra's hand while she played silently with the lettuce hem of her dress. Her hazel orbs were fixed on you, who laid before the fireplace like a stray cat on the tire of car during a snowy day. Levi couldnt exactly place the exact emotion behind Petra's expression, though it would be perceived by most as a saddened one. There were specs of regret gathering at the corners of her eyes, reluctance gathered at her slightly puckered lips and a hint of determination to the front tips of her eyebrows.

Maybe Petra's inner strength was something that Levi deeply admired.

Levi made no effort whatsoever to reach out to her to ask what was going on, not even to show some seemingly convern. The more he looked at Petra, the more it felt utterly wrong for him to simply stand next to her, knowing what he had do behind her back. Whether he loved her or not, it wasn't like him to be caught up in such stupid drama.

"Shorty!"

Levi looked up to an enthusiastic Hange with much tousled hair and a big grin on her face that spread from one ear to another. With another, more thorough glance, he quickly became aware of the cake in her hands; a cake covered in white frosting, decorated with soft pastel green letters that wrote a simple birthday wish to his person. He couldn't help but let out a sigh.

"For you!" Hange smiled further "Erwiiin, come light up the candles!"

Looking around the room he noticed how all of his friends' gazes were on him. Mike and Nanaba remained cuddled on the couch opposite to the one he was on, Petra was mellowy smiling at his eith her cherry lips pressed into a thin line and you were fiddling with what seating arrangement was most comfortable for you at the moment.

"We're celebrating another year where you went up in age and down in height, how delightful." Mike commented, causing laughter to spark between the small group of people around you.

After the spur of happiness died out your eyes met with Levi's, briefly and then they traveled anywhere else in the room altogether.

"Let's light up the candles!" Smiled Erwin as he flicked the small metallic button of his lighter.

"I don't want too many, shit. The last time you took my lungs out."

"Not our fault that you're old Levi!" You spoke, earning a half smile by the ravenette.

"Very old!" Hange agreed.

"Tch, I'm only turning twenty six shut your shitty mouths!"

The warm light of the fire licked each waxed strip of wick that hung from the candles, illuminating Hange's face in warm orange light. Once done with lighting up the candles, Erwin plopped himself in between Levi and Petra, crossing his hands over his knees as he shifted his bottom in the most uncomfortable seating on a couch you had ever witnessed.

You merely caught a glimpse of Hange kneeling before Levi as you dragged your gaze over to Petra, fixating it on her for the thousandth time this evening.

There only was one thing in your head that bounced between the crevices of your brain like crazy. Just one simple words that held so much behind it.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow you were going to apologize to Petra and try to make amends. Being the despicable toxic person you had turned into didn't suit you. Owing up to your mistakes was the first step to redemption and you weren't afraid to take it.

As you fell into a spiral of thoughts and guesses about tomorrow though, you couldn't help but subtly ignore the cheerful sing alone to Levi's birthday song.

.....

"Thank you for coming!"

Petra's hair was messily swaying all over her face, falling a direct victim to the frozen December air, yet she smiled as if nothing was going on.

The park around you was covered in snow. White was primarily the color that was plastered on everything, save for the dry stems of trees that were once covered in forest green leaves.

Your peeping hot coffee did nothing to warm up your hands, despite your best wishes and in the moment you had called victim to some specs of jealousy over Petra's gloved hands as they rubbed soothing over her own coffee.

"Of course, I had been meaning to talk to you as well."

"Oh you did?" Petra spoke with her eyebrows following the little surprise that was masking her tone. "To be honest, I didn't think you'd come."

"Yeah about that-"

"Can I please go first?" Petra cut you off.

Her huge hazel eyes that blinked into yours from your left side left you little to no space to deny her wish. Thus, by taking a sigh, you pushed past the quick beating of your heart and gestured her to go first with a kind smile on your face.

"Okay oof, thanks!" Petra huffed "look. Levi and I broke up. Now I know that you'll say it doesn't concern you, and frankly it'd be ideal if it didn't, but I know it does, because Levi explained to me what happened."

At that Petra slightly paused.

Naturallye first thing that came to your mind was the need to express an apology. Although, you weren't that sure if Petra would perceive the apology as sincere, you felt like you ought to give one to her. Yet her eyes blinked into yours further as she took another turn down the path you were walking on and you wordlessly followed asuit.

"I love Levi you know," she sighed "but Levi loves you. You're not over each other and it's painfully obvious, I mean you did just collided to eachother quite literally, not giving a single care about whether you couldn't have each other or not."

A sheer red colored tint painted your cheeks at her words.

Your skin pricked you, burning up a stingingly painful path to all of the pores on your face as shame took the form of an earth shattering wave. Your heart started heaping beats, hollering into the depths of your chest and you could hear it bounce inside your eardrums as if your whole body was hollow save for the jolting organ and the echo of the sound it made was bouncing around each fleshy wall.

Petra was right and you couldn't help but accept but stand the as she was lightning you with her words.

"It hurts to see that someone that I love doesn't love me back but it hurts more to see that you two are very miserable without eachother. I really thought you were a bitch you know."

At the sound of that, you let out a startled laugh.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you just gave us looks when we'd shoe up together somewhere or you'd simply leave, but I don't like turning my back on people and judging them like that. I'm in no place to judge anyone a coping mechanism."

Petra sighed. Her fingers curled strongly onto her cup, while her left palm went to support the cup by the bottom as she angled it on her lips. She made a tiny gulping noise as she drank a sip from her latte, her nose crinkling up as the hot beverage brushed over her sensitive tongue. In turn, you sipped similarly, mimicking Petra just hoping it would serve as a sign for her to go on with her speech.

"I might be hurt, but I vouch to help you and Levi resolve what's going on and get back together."

"You do?"

"Mhm"

"Petra I, I don't know what to say you- you're a literal angel." You admit and the guilt in your stomach only growled in its awakening.

You and Levi had hurt a wonderful person. Petra didn't need to be nice to you, she didn't need to offer to help you with anything but once you made yourself step inside her shoes you were able to see why she had perceived you the way that she initially had.

"I'm sorry."

Your voice was silent and stripped of any emotion other than shame yet Petra was beaming at you in response.

Her warm smile was elegant and comforting as she stared at you, taking another gulp of her drink with a soft giggle. Your eyes were locked with hers, saddened (e/c) irises staring into her hazel ones, as she smiled even more little by little.

It was strange.

There was a different kind of bubbling inside your chest and you knew because your heart wasn't hammering anymore, not was your stomach trying to be ripped apart in tiny pieces after it vored into your other intestines. You felt serene, at peace even.

It clicked to you that this is what must feel to be forgiven.

"It's fine, plus you guys kinda deserve each other." Petra laughed at your chocked inhale, pressing a comforting, gloved palm to your shoulder. "I'd rather find my happiness when I'm not in between two people that struggle to find theirs."

Petra nuzzled to the comfort of her jacket, giving you a scrunched up bunny smile. You knew it's not that she hoped you could be best friends after this. She simply wanted to make sure that she could do her best to help two people find happiness. And it wasn't all that bad, you figured. You didn't know what you would do were you in her place.

In a way, you admired Petra for being so strong.

"Besides, girls shouldn't bring down other girls."

"Yeah, and I'm sorry about what I did behind your back. I own up to my mistake. I can't take it back but I can promise that I won't become this toxic ever again."

You shot an apologetic side smile at her as you followed her tracks.

Taking a new look in your surroundings, you deeply inhaled the cold air, filling your lungs in shivering winter freshness. A few specs of snow were adorning Petra's hair as the fell from the sky in a dainty manner, licking the stray threads that popped from her wooly gloves.

There definitely was a commotion a few blocks away. You could hear sirens go off not so far from your spot but you chose to ignore them, it was typical for a city person to filter out unnecessary noise, and having to live in Trost added tons to what you had to filter or not.

"It's December twenty six and the two is back to being a Mayhem." Petra sighed.

"It's like we're Gotham or some shit."

"Gotham?" Petra blinked at you, earning a gasp from you.

"Step one to being the friend of someone who's majoring in comics-"

"Oh, friends yay!"

Shaking your head, to ignore the child like enthusiasm, you continued, "Please know the most well known fictional city, it's Batman's city too."

"OH!" Petra's mouth fell agape as she took in the information, but she quickly giggled again as she saw that you easily took a gulp of your beverage "you're right."

For what seemed like a second you felt at peace once again. Petra bubbled about how she wanted to apologise to Levi about her rather cold behavior last night, and explained in the most non detailed way how it was the memory of the passing of her mother that had caused her to become this grumpy.

"Don't worry Petra! But beware, you could be turning into Levi version two point oh and-"

A loud sound startled you, sending both you and Petra back a few steps. Dumbfounded, you stared at each other and around you, locking eyes with different by passers that were just as shocked as you.

"Maybe we should go back!" Petra suggested. You simply nodded, hearing a good amount of running footsteps coming to the direction of the block you were in. In any way, getting caught up with a manhunt wasn't in your plans for today

"Yeah maybe we shou-"

Your words were cut off absurdly, harshly and shockingly all together. As gunmetal orbs locked with yours, your eyelids shot open, hour mouth dropping to the snow covered concrete.

"Levi?"

Wait, Levi? That was actually so random

Before you could manage to process what was going on around you, or why on earth Levi had just popped up from the alley right across you another head splitting sound filled the air.

Levi -yes, this was indeed Levi, you just didn't really know how to process this- collapsed on his knees like a rag doll, his torso and head giving in to the exhaustion of his body. Once he fell, you stood frozen, shieldimg Petra with one hand as the two of you watched in horror while crimson started littering the sugary snow.

"Call an ambulance." You spoke dryly, eyes still wide with horror.

The people who had seemed to be after Levi quickly fell onto the hands of the hands of a handful of police men who were on their tracks, but you couldn't care to look at their faces. You just run towards Levi, always followed by a petrified Petra, your feet giving in as you kneeled right next to him, your fingers gingery ghosting over him just to inspect what was his condition.

You listened as Petra spoke with the emergency center in horror, explaining what was the scene before her eyes while struggling to keep herself from trembling.

"What's going on?" Shy muttered once she detached the phone off her ear.

"I'm pretty sure now is not the right time for a story, but Levi used to be in a street gang in his teens."

"Oh boy."

Oh boy indeed.

Here's your gentle reminder that constructive criticism makes me cry because I'm a baby

Taglist: @sasageyowrites @liddolwhynot2000 @ackermans-freedom-inc @callmepromise @nobody-knows-anymore @levisbrat25 @thethyri @hawkssnugget @berrijam @melancholicmonologue

[seacottons]

— christmas with ateez

notes: fluff, mildly suggestive dialogue.

— park seonghwa

"But it's not fair! I gave you your present early!"

The male merely spun around, ignoring your whines as he adjusted the flickering lights over the fireplace. The wood crackled merrily in the fire and casted a brilliant orange glow onto the man's chiseled face.

"Yes, and I love it, but I never agreed that I'll give you your present early," he spoke as he jabbed the wood with the poker stick, sending bursts of sparks in the air, "Just be patient, love. Only a few more days."

"Okay, but," you grumbled as you sat crossed leg onto the couch, arms crossed and lukewarm coffee long forgotten on the table, "It still isn't fair."

With a sigh, your lover stands up to walk into the bedroom, before towering over you with a palm sized gift box. Taking the cover off, he dipped his hand inside, "Alright, fine. Since you won't stop acting like a baby, I guess it's only fair if I return the favor. You're going to love this," your eyes grew wide in anticipation as he simpered mostly to himself. He drew out his empty hand, only to shoot you a heart with his index finger and thumb. You guffawed momentarily, jaw dropping and heart sinking. Disappointment washed over you as he nearly doubled over with laughter.

"Park Seonghwa! You're not funny!"

You attempted to push his chest away with your fuzzy sock-clad feet, only for him to settle down in between your legs, hand propping his face up as he gazes at you in amusement. A mischievous glint sparkled in his orbs, one that you matched with a subtle glare.

"I was going to save this for Christmas, but you're so stubborn and insistent," reaching back, he pulled out a tiny, blue velvet box, hands working it open to reveal a ring, its brilliant, prismatic colors beaming against your shocked face as it caught the bright lights overhead, "I take it you know what this is for, right? I've been thinking about this for a while now, really, and I wanted to wait for the perfect opportunity to ask you, will you marry me?" His face fell instantly as tears streamed down your face, his brows knitting in worry as you broke down and wrapped your arms around his throat, nearly cutting off his air supply and circulation as you nodded aggressively against the column of his neck, voice hoarse and weak from the onslaught of overwhelming emotions, "Oh, you're such a big baby. My big baby."

— kim hongjoong

The sound of spools and scissors clattering down onto the floor snapped you out of your train of thought.

"This is too hard," Hongjoong flops down onto the floor of the living room, a whine escaping his throat, "I give up. I can't make an ugly sweater!"

Numerous colors of thread, ribbons, felt, and pom-poms littered the floor. The sound of snipping pierced the silence, and you smiled as you finally cut out the shape of a snowman. "You're just too much of a perfectionist, baby," you smile as you reach down to fluff his hair, "It's not supposed to look good. That's the point."

"But I can't help it," he whined as he rolled over so that his head rests in your lap, "It needs to look good! Even if it is supposed to be ugly. It still should look decent."

Rolling your eyes playfully, you lean down to place a peck against the tip of his scrunched nose, "Relax, Joongie. Just have fun with it."

You munched on gingersnap biscuits as you amusedly watched him as he fringed the edge of a red ribbon for the cuffs of his sweater. His brows furrowed in concentration as he added more stitches and pieces of fabric scraps onto the emerald-green article of clothing. An hour passed and you grew tired, hands trembling while readjusting the thread on the spool. Hongjoong was still going at it, stubborn hands picking and taking away at decorations he had already added onto his sweater.

"Stop, it looks great like that," you nudged him playfully, a yawn escaping your mouth as you leaned your head against his side, "Hurry up and finish, Joong. I'm sleepy."

He contemplates momentarily, hesitant hands outstretched over his sweater on the floor. Dropping his hands in his lap, he glanced at you for a split second, hands reaching to brush the hair out of your face as your head nodded with drowsiness, "Alright. I'll take your word for it, baby. Now let's get you into bed before you sleep on the floor again."

— jeong yunho

"Come on! The last store is closing in thirty minutes!"

The snow crunched beneath your boots as you pulled along your best friend through the numerous window shops. Lilac and blue shadows danced along the snow-covered sidewalk as shoppers briskly walked about in droves to shop for holiday gifts. Twinkling lights hung along eaves of the buildings, lampposts, as well as the bare trees in town. A variety of holiday songs can be heard throughout every turn, each shop displaying sparkling wreaths and flashing lights to beckon customers in.

Giant candy canes flanked the streets, leading to a monstrous sized evergreen tree in the center of town. Yunho's cheeks and nose flushed red from the cold, and despite trembling in his boots from the onslaught of sharp flurries beating against his face, he takes one look at your beaming expression and is instantly filled with a strange warmth that not even a crackling fireplace can provide.

He'll admit, maybe today wasn't the best day to get dragged by his best friend to go window shopping for all your mutual friends, but his soft spot for you prevented him from disagreeing. While you rambled on and on about how it would be cute to buy Jongho a muscly teddy bear and Mingi a sparkly crown, his mind drifted to when you stopped at a particular store and suddenly ceased your talking to gaze open-mouthed at a large snow globe filled with iridescent glitter, sparkling snowmen, and penguins. The afternoon sky was flecked with shining amber and pink clouds that illuminated your sparkly eyes, and the smell of cinnamon tea and roasting chestnuts filled the town's air.

He smiled to himself, already mentally preparing the gift wrap color and ribbon. Hopefully, this year his wrapping skills will improve. Maybe he'll just let Seonghwa help him out.

"Yunho, are you even paying attention to me!?"

— kang yeosang

You woke up to an unusually bright light, brows furrowing and eyes scrunching shut. Peeking your head over your lover's sleeping frame you noted the piles of snow gathering against the window you decorated with silly, little window clings last night. Frost stretched into arabesque patterns on the glass window panes, the crystals glistening gold in the morning sunlight.

The second your foot grazed the icy tiles of your bedroom, you opted to remain in bed and steal some of Yeosang's body heat. Lifting his limp arm, you tucked yourself into his hold, face buried against his chest. The shift in movement stirred him from his slumber, and he sat up bleary-eyed and confused.

Peering down at your frame silently, he settled back against the bed, tugging you closer and placing multiple pecks onto the crown of your head. Mornings like these were your favorite. You loved to cling onto your lover like second skin as the two of you slept soundlessly. He was always so, so warm and soft, and his embrace always felt like home.

The extra hours of sleep felt like mere minutes, and by the time you peeled your eyes open for the second time, Yeosang was no longer in the center of the bed spooning you. Sitting up with a deep inhale, you grimaced at the glistening snow outside, the icy wind howling and sending tuffs of ice scattering about. The sound of padded footsteps caught your attention, and you were suddenly overwhelmed with the scent of cocoa.

Yeosang stood in the doorway with an unamused expression, two steaming mugs of hot chocolate in hand and chocolate stains on his beige, fleece sweater, "Oh good, you're awake. You slept like a rock while I nearly set the kitchen on fire."

"What did you do.." you mumbled, fists reaching up to rub at your eyes, "Should I even ask?"

You're suddenly aware of the faint smell of something burnt in the air and the thin haze of smoke lingering throughout your apartment.

"Don't worry," he mused as he handed you the red mug of hot chocolate, your eyes instantly drawn to the dollop of cream and marshmallows floating on the surface. He settled onto the bed beside you, leaning in to give you a chocolate-stained kiss, "We needed a new microwave anyway."

— choi san

"See, your shower wasn't that bad," you cooed gently as you swaddled your boyfriend's cat, Byeol, in a fluffy blanket, carrying her out to the living room. You bumped into a hard chest, Byeol instantly taking the opportunity to dive out of your arms to scurry away. Snapping your head up, you were met with a smirking, cardigan-clad San who leaned against the doorframe.

You dropped your gaze to the dangling mistletoe in his hands, scoffing playfully at the sight. Throughout your entire apartment, mistletoes hung from every doorframe and corner with San's stubborn insistence. Leaning forward, you cupped his dimpled cheeks bringing him in closer to slot your lips against his own in a chaste kiss.

"I told you, you don't need a mistletoe to ask me for a kiss," you murmured against his mouth as he placed numerous pecks onto your glossed lips. Pulling you taut against his chest, he burrows his head into the crook of your neck, and you feel his lips twitch up into a knowing smile.

"But I've been getting more kisses thanks to all the mistletoes," he laughed against your skin, arms coiling tightly around your frame, his hands fondling your rear, "Even more than Byeol. So, I think I might just keep them hung up even after-"

The sound of glass shattering startled him, his frame jolting up instantly, eyes wide as saucers.

"That better not be my new snow globe."

Peeling himself from your hold, San scrambled to the bedroom, the sounds of his cries reverberating throughout the apartment. Reaching down to pick up the forgotten mistletoe, you laugh as he scolded Byeol, who in return dashed out of the room without a care in the world.

San stood in the doorway with a broken snow globe in hand, a pout eminent on his features, "I'm giving Byeol coal for Christmas," he spat angrily as you walked over to him, eyes rolling and hands working on unbuttoning the cardigan he had on to continue what he had previously started, "I knew she should've been on Santa's naughty list."

He suddenly ceases his rant, peering at you with a questioning gaze.

You raised your arm high in the air, and the mass of green dangled in front of San's curious face. His eyes flickered from the mistletoe to your face repeatedly, before his crestfallen expression morphs into one of mischief, "And you are most definitely on San's naughty list."

— song mingi

Mingi lets out a loud shriek as the roof of his gingerbread house topples over into a mess of frosting and gummy treats. Peeking over from your side of the table, you nearly laugh at the sight of him apologizing to the fallen gummy bears smeared with excess frosting, "Ming-Ming, try adding more frosting! It'll help."

"This is a lot harder than it looks!" he complained as he delicately squeezed a line of vanilla icing onto the edges of the cookie, "I nearly killed the gummy bear family. My hands are just too big and clumsy-"

He squeezed his eyes shut as he once again placed the remaining piece of gingerbread cookie onto the house, one eye peeking open to stare in awe at the stabilized cookie house. His eyes glimmered with joy, mouth stretching wide into a contagious grin as he silently points at his creation in fear that his voice will send it crashing down for a second time that night.

Mingi's gingerbread house was cute, you'll give him that. Smears of frosting stained the sides and the roof, and excess frosting dripped from the seams connecting all the pieces together. His hands scrambled to pick out the first of his decorations.

"Let's see," he hummed in satisfaction, "Baby, help me out. Peppermint candies or gum drops for the wreath on the door?"

"I don't think your gummy bear family will approve of their kind being used as a wreath," you giggled, your sock-clad feet intertwining between his legs underneath the table as you reached into the bowl of treats to plop a few in your mouth, "Pass me the red icing, please."

"You're absolutely right," he says in a matter of factly, eyes wide and curious as he squeezes dollops of icing onto the sides of the gingerbread house, "The gum drops will be the flowers around the house. Y'know, just like Spongebob's house?"

When he wasn't met with a reply, he peers up curiously, mouth dropping instantly with a loud gasp, "No! Stop! Don't eat the gingerbread men! I need those!"

— jung wooyoung

Crouching down, you admired the way the frost glistened in the sunlight, your fingers reaching forward to trace the arabesque patterns on the tree trunks and leaves. A flying mass of white flung over your head and onto the tree bark, another hitting you square on your bum. A high-pitched scream rung out almost immediately from your throat, your frame stumbling onto the snow littered ground.

You whipped your head back at the source of laughter from behind you, and your eyes instantly squint in aggravation at the cackling male behind you. Wisps of ebony locks peek out from his red beanie, framing his amused face and cheeky grin. He trudged towards the snowmen you two built ( the same one with the goofy, crooked smile he insisted looked like you ) and struck a pose on one leg, arms stretched high to form a heart as he winked at you, his long, lilac shadow stretching onto the expanse of soft snow.

"Baby, haven't I taught you to never turn your back on your enem-" He startled as a tiny golf-sized snowball slammed and crumbled onto his nose. Brushing off the snow and clenching his jaw, he then released a huff through his nose and whined, boot-clad feet stomping into the snow, "Ah! I was being cute for you! Don't ruin my moment!"

His nose grew considerably more flushed from the impact of snow, and he drew back, threatened, when you stomped your way towards him, a sheepish smile finding its way onto his features. Attempting to assert dominance, he cleared his throat, eyes smoldering as he leaned in close towards your face with a faint smirk, "It's okay to be a sore loser, you know?" Reaching down, he pats your bum free of the remaining snow, snickering to himself when you slap his hands away, before releasing a loud cry of surprise when you push him back to land on the smaller of the two snowmen.

"No!" he whined instantly, "Baby! You made me crush your twin." He scrambled up to assess the damage as you cackled beside him, his eyes practically slits as he pulled you in by your scarf, "That's what you're going to look like too, after I'm done with you."

— choi jongho

This year, your boyfriend disagreed to all your attempts to buy a faux tree for your living room, and instead flaunted his strength as he single-handedly chopped one down and dragged it to his car. The pungent smell of cedar was overwhelming in your tiny apartment, but you thought it was well worth the trip to see Jongho so proud and satisfied with himself for doing all the hard work with no aid.

He carefully stood on a stool as he wrapped golden tinsel around the tree, his brows furrowed on concentration, "Tell me if it's crooked, baby," he crouched down as he reached the end, hand outstretched in a silent gesture for the scissors. You placed the box of hand painted ornaments and ribbons down, hands reaching in to grab at a few, only to be stopped by Jongho, "No, no. It's okay, I can do it. Don't worry, love."

"But I want to-"

"Ssh," he places a finger to your pouting lips and stops your futile attempt to persuade him, "Let Macho Jongho do all of the work, princess."

Crossing your arms with a roll of your eyes, you watched him tie multiple bows of ribbon along the edges of the tree. Jongho always regarded you like delicate glass, never allowing you to do any tiresome work if he was around. In the beginning, it was quite endearing, but moments like these you wanted to pull on his ear and demand him to accept your help. Besides, decorating the Christmas tree was the highlight of the entire holiday.

A muffled cuss caught your attention, and you perked your head up to gaze at the frustrated male across the room. You watched as he struggled with the fairy lights, the thin metal coiling around his arms and fingers, "Babe," he called out in defeat, "I need help."

"I thought you'd never ask."

[hiatuswhore]

ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ɴᴇᴡꜱ — ᴍᴊ

WORD COUNT: 2.1K

A/N: This has been sitting in my Google docs for like two years now and has been rewritten way too many times. I really enjoyed this though! Feedback please.

SUMMARY: Copy cat killer or return to reign hell. Anywhere at anytime. They’re there and daring you to turn the corner.

previous — masterlist — next

Breaking News. Copycat or Return?

Kate Bishop . 21. Missing.

Every news outlet and social media platform rave in hysterics as nostalgia enamors me. The six-year reunion comes in three days and I watch the world sensationalize my trauma. Old news videos and photos plaster the cover of platforms that I am comfortable with and my parents call to make sure I am okay. I am fine, or at least that is what I tell them. My mother tells me it is okay if I wish to come home and hide away from the world. My father fails to lighten the dower energy of the facetime call, before hanging up he asks if all my windows are locked and to double-check my pepper spray. Everything is still functional and all windows remain locked. Right before I hang up my mother asks one last time, “Are you sure you do not want to come home. Just until this everything calms down?”

“It would be an hour commute to work mom and I would still have to pay my rent. It’s okay. Michelle and I will be just fine,” I say nothing as my mother refers to her as my friend. After dating for six years and our recent engagement, the conversation of my bisexuality still lingers in the air like a weird boundary none of us will cross. The early morning fog of the Pocono Mountains provides little visibility. It is even worse at night, especially in the rain.

In Dellington, the fog was at its worst in January of 2010. The temperature was well below freezing and the campus was all doom and gloom. Snow had fallen a few days prior leaving the ground covered in ice and slush as the days passed. That night Lamda was throwing, I never cared for fraternities. Why bother with the cesspool of infections and assault allegations.

As they say, the night was a movie. Peter Parker managed to hook up with both Liz Allan and Betty Grant, on the same night but not at the same time. He was stumbling through campus walking from Betty’s apartment when he took a dive to the ground. Initially, he thought his legs simply turned to jelly, and the tequila flowing through his body now aimed to take him out. The cold wet ground made him chuckle as he rolled onto his back. When he opened his eyes the world was crimson red and he clamped his eyes shut at the stinging sensation. Only a few feet away, Wanda Maximoff laid tucked beneath the bush next to the central fountain on campus. The bloodstain that smeared the sidewalk showed clear proof of dragging. Peter screamed in the dead of night, many of our peers could recall hearing him scream for help. His eyes stayed not on the many stab wounds but on the blood staining her cheeks. Someone drew a smile on her face with her own blood.

Classes were canceled the next day. A vague crime alert had been released a few hours after Peter’s discovery but when we woke the next morning a second detailed email hit all of our phones. The entire campus was buzzing about the situation, the central fountain was blocked off with police tape. We all received strict instructions not to bother the area. Even the proposal of a vigil in the surrounding area was prohibited.

The posts across social media were the most sordid part of it all. Yes, we all knew Wanda but not for all the kind words that many felt the need to share. She was an art major and on the cheer team. It was rare she was seen without one of her teammates or one of the rugby boys. Her friend group of so-called best friends all hated each other. It was no secret that Liz Allan and football star Vision would constantly cheat on each other. The secret was they would sleep with each other's friends. Wanda and Liz were attached at the hip.

Though the police tried to be discreet, it came as no shock when both Liz Allan and Vision were picked up. I had been walking across campus cursing myself for not wearing a heavier jacket when I was stopped. The officers were asking for everyone's student IDs and where they were headed.

“Accounting lecture,” I say, trying my best not to watch as Liz Allan is escorted by us toward a squad car. The following questions are so obvious and I wonder if cops have to train on subtly.

“Do you carry a knife?” I counter the question with another question, should I? The miniature interrogation made me late for class. After class, I spent the following four hours in the library before grabbing lunch and heading back to my room. I was thirty minutes into my nap when Michelle rushed into the room.

“It was Liz Allan! They let Vision go he had an alibi but they’re keeping Liz in custody,” Michelle said, holding up her phone I squint trying to clearly see the video of Vision being escorted out. When I say nothing Michelle rolls her eyes before disappearing out of the room and into the hall to share the news. I only turned beneath my comforter and went back to bed.

The next day articles flooded the campus that regarded the murder. Liz Allen’s high school prom photo was the cover of most articles others used her cheering photo. In both pictures, she looked put together and she smiled largely. I found it hard to believe Liz could have done any of it. She made no confession but the story was strong. Cheer captain Natasha Romanoff confirmed that Liz had recently learned of Wanda’s tryst with Vision. The last couple of cheer practices had been tense and a passionate fight broke out between the two at Lambda that night. Though she had slept with Peter that night the pair had parted ways from his room long before Wanda was attacked.

That night I had a late class. We shared a moment of silence for Wanda and her family. That family only included her twin brother who asked for everyone to be respectful of his time of mourning. As I walked back to my room from class the fog was thick and I found myself looking over my shoulder. I only did one or twice as a piercing migraine took the forefront of my attention. The few people I passed murmured lowly amongst themselves.

It was foolish. I did not believe Liz to be the killer and yet I still walked through campus with ease. In the fog, I feared no approaching shadows or worried about the sound of footsteps hitting the cement. I wish I had been wrong.

“Liz didn’t do it. Someone was killed last night,” Michelle said, the next morning as I brushed my hair. I frowned as I unlocked my phone to find another crime alert. This time the email included several safety tips in regard to moving around campus at night.

“What happened?” I asked. I remember the frantic look in Michelle’s eyes, almost as if she was going to be sick.

“I had my eight am class and the cops are all over campus. Make sure you have your ID they getting on people about it like crazy and searching like crazy,” She said, pulling the school windbreaker over my head I frown.

“What are they searching for?” I asked but she only sent me the link to the local news article released thirty minutes prior. The cops were on the search for Carol Danver’s head. She was on the girls' rugby team, they had won their state tournament a month or two prior. My attempts to branch out and meet new people freshman year brought me an unpleasant interaction with her. Carol had a way of making things sound nice even though she was being plain rude. She told me I would never be good enough for the Rugby team, she did not use those exact words but I cannot describe her wording--she was just that good. And now she was dead.

No arrest followed this murder like Wanda’s. My peers and I were all amongst each other sharing watchful eyes. In the crowd we all knew someone dark festered, pretending to be like the rest of us. Michelle and I decided for my late-night classes we would walk together. The two of us found ourselves in close proximity for most of the week, many students left campus completely. My parents had wanted me to come home as well. I should have listened but in actuality, I was intrigued by it all.

Campus Killer. Not very original but that is what we were calling them. Everyone had an unspoken agreement that the killer was a man. Like a ghost, we were certain this man knew how to move around campus. Snow was coming. The campus had sent several emails talking about the poor weather to come. They advised us to not leave our dormitories after dark and if we do to be accompanied, especially female students. Michelle returned to our room with a rolled blunt, I did not question how she got it but only if I could join her. That night we smoked out the window and I listened to her ramble aimlessly. She fell asleep long before I did, so I stared out the window and watched as the snow fell to the ground. No fog to aid our campus killer but now a small blizzard to blind us from what they do in the dark.

That night Liz Allan had packed her car to leave. She did gather all her things but she never made it off-campus. The killer left her propped up again her car, in her lap sat Carol Danvers head. Fresh blood drew a smile on both their lips. It was game to the killer. Killing Liz Allan was their way of telling us they could get us anywhere, anytime. It did not matter how many eyes were on us.

President Hawkinson moved spring break up early in a rushed hurry to clear the campus of all students. I offered rides to people who lived near my parents, I ended up driving three girls from my dorm hall home. I was almost home when I realized I had forgotten my wallet, it was still light out so I turned back. When I reached campus it was dark and the emptiness made it eerier. I wish I could tell you more past walking through campus toward my dorm.

The next day I was in the hospital with bandages wrapped around my head and stomach. My parents were at my bedside and detectives had many questions, none of them I could answer. When my parents gave me my phone my socials were buzzing with notifications.

(Y/n) (L/n), 21. Survivor.

My high school graduation photo was the cover of many of the articles discussing me. I returned to campus against my parents' wishes two weeks after classes had begun again. Michelle was at my side for every second of it, she helped me through the stares and loud whispers. Before we knew it, it was April. The fog and snow were gone and with it the campus killer. I grew the courage to kiss Michelle at graduation and we settled on an apartment off-campus in town.

The Campus Killer became a distant memory, until today of course.

Michelle says nothing about it as the news channel talks about the attack on me being the campus killer's final act. I only watch as she twiddles her engagement ring on her finger, we spent the morning arguing about last night. When I woke up she greeted me without hello’s but where were you last night. I cannot answer the question. Glancing out the window I stare down at my ugly car and a migraine plagues me.

I remember driving home from work, the rain was heavy. The fog worried me but I made it home, I remember getting out of my car and—the trunk. I—yeah I walked around it toward the front door and came home, right?

Michelle storming from the table pulls me from my thoughts. I quietly follow her down the hall and I can hear sniffling. She calls her Mom and I listen as she cries about her fear of me sneaking around with someone else at night.

I cannot explain the ache of how tightly my chest constricts. The sob that leave her sends a shiver down my spine. My fiancée worries I was with someone else last night, quite frankly I fear I was too.

[bright-eyes-strawberry-lies]

The Weather In PJO (brought to you by gods and demigods)

*alternating colors for ease of reading

**page numbers look weird because they're copied/pasted from ebooks

“Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I’d ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We’d had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn’t have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.” - TLT pg 33

“One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.” - TLT pg 65

“Outside, it really was storming, the kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses. There was no horse or eagle on the beach, just lightning making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery. [...] Long Island never sees hurricanes this early in the summer. But the ocean seemed to have forgotten.” - TLT pg 156

“There was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling boom!, and our car exploded.” - TLT pg 176

“I was still in bed in cabin three. My body told me it was morning, but it was dark outside, and thunder rolled across the hills. A storm was brewing. I hadn’t dreamed that.” - TLT pg 491

“It started to rain. Volleyball players stopped their game and stared in stunned silence at the sky.

I had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of me.” - TLT pg 520

“BOOOOOM!

The windows of the bus exploded as the passengers ran for cover. Lightning shredded a huge crater in the roof, but an angry wail from inside told me Mrs. Dodds was not yet dead.” - TLT pg 629

“The weather had completely changed. It was stormy, with heat lightning flashing out in the desert.” - TLT pg 988

“In the distance, Los Angeles was on fire, plumes of smoke rising from neighborhoods all over the city. There had been an earthquake, all right, and it was Hades’s fault.” - TLT pg 1191

“I was standing on a deserted street in some little beach town. It was the middle of the night. A storm was blowing. Wind and rain ripped at the palm trees along the sidewalk. Pink and yellow stucco buildings lined the street, their windows boarded up. A block away, past a line of hibiscus bushes, the ocean churned.” - SOM pg 10

“After a few more minutes, the dark splotches ahead of us came into focus. To the north, a huge mass of rock rose out of the sea-an island with cliffs at least a hundred feet tall. About half a mile south of that, the other patch of darkness was a storm brewing. The sky and sea boiled together in a roaring mass.” - SOM pg 598

“A storm raged that night, but it parted around Camp Half-Blood as storms usually did. Lightning flashed against the horizon, waves pounded the shore, but not a drop fell in our valley. We were protected again, thanks to the Fleece, sealed inside our magical borders.” - SOM pg 1045

“Sleet and snow pounded the highway. Annabeth, Thalia, and I hadn’t seen each other in months, but between the blizzard and the thought of what we were about to do, we were too nervous to talk much.” - TTC pg 11

“Old spirits are protecting the bad boat.”

“The Princess Andromeda?” I said. “Luke’s boat?”

“Yes. They make it hard to find. Protect it from Daddy’s storms. Otherwise he would smash it.” - TTC pg 210

“Clouds seemed to be swirling around its peak, as though the mountain was drawing them in, spinning them like a top. “What’s going on up there? A storm?”

Zoë didn’t answer. I got the feeling she knew exactly what the clouds meant, and she didn’t like it.” - TTC pg 751

“I will do my best to destroy his boat with storms, but he is making alliances with my enemies, the older spirits of the ocean. They will fight to protect him.” - TTC pg 886

“We were standing at the dining pavilion, just where we’d last spoken before I went on the quest. The wind was bitter cold, even with the camp’s magical weather protection. Snow fell lightly against the marble steps. I figured outside the camp borders, there must be a blizzard happening.”- TTC pg 915

“The wind whipped cold off the bay. In the south, San Francisco gleamed all white and beautiful, but in the north, over Mount Tamalpais, huge storm clouds swirled. The whole sky seemed like a black top spinning from the mountain where Atlas was imprisoned, and where the Titan palace of Mount Othrys was rising anew. It was hard to believe the tourists couldn’t see the supernatural storm brewing, but they didn’t give any hint that anything was wrong.

“It’s even worse,” Annabeth said, gazing to the north. “The storms have been bad all year, but that—” - BOTL pg 359

“I had no choice. I called to the sea. I reached inside myself and remembered the waves and the currents, the endless power of the ocean. And I let it loose in one horrible scream.

Afterward, I could never describe what happened. An explosion, a tidal wave, a whirlwind of power simultaneously catching me up and blasting me downward into the lava. Fire and water collided, superheated steam, and I shot upward from the heart of the volcano in a huge explosion, just one piece of flotsam thrown free by a million pounds of pressure. The last thing I remember before losing consciousness was flying, flying so high Zeus would never have forgiven me, and then beginning to fall, smoke and fire and water streaming from me. I was a comet hurtling toward the earth.” - BOTL pg 618/619

“Mrs. O’Leary howled. I patted her head, trying to comfort her as best I could. The earth rumbled—an earthquake that could probably be felt in every major city across the country—as the ancient Labyrinth collapsed. Somewhere, I hoped, the remains of the Titan’s strike force had been buried.” - BOTL pg 1005

“I remembered what Tyson had told me at the beginning of the summer. “The old sea gods?”

“Indeed. The battle came first to me, Percy. In fact, I cannot stay long. Even now the ocean is at war with itself. It is all I can do to keep hurricanes and typhoons from destroying your surface world, the fighting is so intense.” - BOTL pg 1066

“Then the entire sea grew dark in front of us, like an inky storm was rolling in. Thunder crackled, which should've been impossible underwater. A huge icy presence was approaching. I sensed a wave of fear roll through the armies below us.” - TLO pg 153

“I saw a bank of storm clouds rolling across the Midwest plains. Lightning flickered. Lines of tornadoes destroyed everything in their path— ripping up houses and trailers, tossing cars around like Matchbox toys. “Monumental floods," an announcer was saying. "Five states declared disaster areas as the freak storm system sweeps east, continuing its path of destruction." The cameras zoomed in on a column of storm bearing down on some Midwest city. I couldn't tell which one. Inside the storm I could see the giant—just small glimpses of his true form: a smoky arm, a dark clawed hand the size of a city block. His angry roar rolled across the plains like a nuclear blast.” - TLO pg 216-218

“Over the city, a thunderstorm boiled—a wall of absolute black with lightning streaking across the sky. A few blocks away, swarms of emergency vehicles gathered with their lights flashing. A column of dust rose from a mound of rubble, which I realized was a collapsed skyscraper. [...] Wind whipped her hair. The temperature was dropping rapidly, like ten degrees just since I'd been standing there.” - TLO pg 468-470

“She faltered as a mighty groan cut through the sky. A blast of lightning hit the center of the darkness. The entire city shook. The air glowed, and every hair on my body stood up. The blast was so powerful I knew it could only be one thing: Zeus's master bolt. It should have vaporized its target, but the dark cloud only staggered backward. A smoky fist appeared out of the clouds. It smashed another tower, and the whole thing collapsed like children's blocks.

The reporter screamed. People ran through the streets. Emergency lights flashed.” - TLO pg 470-471

“Listen to me!" I said. "Kronos's army is invading Manhattan.'"

"Don't you think we know that?" East asked. "I can feel his boats right now. They're almost across."

"Yep," Hudson agreed. "I got some filthy monsters crossing my waters too."

"So stop them," I said. "Drown them. Sink their boats."

"Why should we?" Hudson grumbled. "So they invade Olympus. What do we care?"

"Because I can pay you.” - TLO pg 654

“Water sprayed his face, stinging his eyes. The wind picked up, and Hyperion staggered backward.

"Percy!" Grover called in amazement. "How are you doing that?"

Doing what? I thought.

Then I looked down, and I realized I was standing in the middle of my own personal hurricane. Clouds of water vapor swirled around me, winds so powerful they buffeted Hyperion and flattened the grass in a twenty-yard radius. Enemy warriors threw javelins at me, but the storm knocked them aside.

"Sweet," I muttered. "But a little more!"

Lightning flickered around me. The clouds darkened and the rain swirled faster. I closed in on Hyperion and blew him off his feet.” - TLO pg 903-904

[mellointheory]

inhaling smoke, i just awoke

Red wakes up because he’s cold.

It’s winter in Hypixel City, and even the amount of toxins the city puts into the air doesn’t keep the weather from getting cold. Red used to live near a factory that, despite its other drawbacks, kept the air around it warm. He moved away from the factory after he lost his job at the pharmacy. Of course, at that point there wasn’t much of a factory to move away from.

He fights the urge to stay in bed, even though his blankets are thin. It’s only when a glance at his alarm clock tells him it’s 10:46 AM that he gains the motivation to get up. His hands are numb and he blows on them periodically as he gets dressed. There are stains on his palms and fingertips; skin spotted in dark purple and blue. He was working on something new before he went to bed: a recipe of his own that should give the user enhanced eyesight. He tried it last night and all it did was give everything he looked at an edge of bright orange or cyan. He still has the residual headache from it behind his eyes.

Red and white hoodie. Headphones. Bag full of enhancements--the kind that people will actually buy. A baseball bat painted with candy-cane stripes, just in case. Then it’s time for him to go to work.

He ended up in the dockyards of the city after the pharmacy incident, partially because no one would come looking for him here and partially because it was full of exactly the type of degenerates he could sell to. This was where the unwanted of the city ended up; hybrids and cyborgs who’d gone to the wrong place for their surgeries, stray creatures trying to scrape through living in alleyways. One of them ducks into a gutter as he passes; a kind of modified creature with fur and wings. It’s probably been commissioned by some rich person in the upper quarter of the city, then tossed out as soon as they got bored with their living artwork.

Red turns up the music in his headphones and shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets, trying to keep them warm. It’s snowing out here; flakes of grey slush raining down. He could almost mistake it for ash if it didn’t melt when it touched his skin.

A neon sign, its glow still noticeable despite the late morning due to the dark clouds hanging in the sky, catches his attention.

Munchy, it reads in cursive yellow text. Below it are the glass doors of what appears to be a small bar. It’s a little early for one to be open, and there’s far more patrons than he would guess from a place like this. They must serve breakfast or something. He’s not dumb enough to sell in someone else’s establishment without talking to the owner first; but this has more potential customers than anywhere else he’s passed and he’s loathe to let the chance go.

Red pushes one of the doors open with his forearm and walks inside, exhaling as warm air swirls around him. He walks up to the counter and sits down, resting his elbows on it and sliding his headphones down around his neck.

“Can I get you anything?” A blonde man in an apron turns towards him, sliding a cup of coffee across the counter to someone sitting a few seats down.

“Um, yes.” Red straightens his back, smacking his palms down on the counter. “Could I talk to the owner?”

The man squints at him through green eyes, vaguely suspiciously, then shrugs. “Sure. He’s through those doors,” a finger points at a pair of double doors at the other end of the bar.

Red spins his bar stool in the direction the blonde man directed and gets up, walking over the strip of linoleum floor between squeaky-clean booths. He pushes the indicated doors open and find what appears to be a small casino. His gaze passes over the poker and pool tables and catches on a figure behind a desk all the way at the other end of the room. He takes a step forward.

“Excuse me,” a voice at his elbow says, and he turns to see a cat.

A catboy.

The man is standing behind a counter to Red’s right, soft fur and pointed ears and huge eyes. He’s patterned like toast, is Red’s first thought. Soft, cream colored fur that shades to tan on his face and almost black on the backs of his ears. His hands that rest on the counter are delicate and covered in short fur as well, except for soft pads on his palms and fingertips. Red wonders if he has claws. His blue eyes are mostly pupil at the moment, dilated in the low lights of the empty casino.

“You need to leave your weapon here.” The cat hybrid says apologetically. He has little fangs that glint against the pink inside of his mouth when he speaks.

Red reaches up and pulls his basketball bat from where it’s strapped to his back, extending his arm full length to hand it to the other man. The cat hybrid leans forward to grab it as close to the handle as possible and Red glimpses his tail curling up behind the counter to help him keep his balance.

Coming here was a very good idea.

The thought stays even when he walks up to the desk at the other end of the casino and sees a demon sitting there.

The demon’s name is Bad and despite his initial disappointment that Red was not in fact a traveling muffin salesman, he gives Red permission to sell his enhancements in that area. Red may have glossed over all of the benefits of the various concoctions he creates, but he receives the go-ahead that he needs.

If anyone bothers you, feel free to let me or Antfrost know! The demon said cheerily as Red was on his way out. The catboy nodded in agreement, eyes staying downcast when he handed Red back his baseball bat.

Red half hopes that someone will mess with him. He waves a goodbye to the blonde man working behind the bar and hooks his headphones up over his ears again as he strides out into the cold of the street.

He sells half of the supply he packed, and only one person tries to rob him. That’s a downright phenomenal day of business, honestly. He starts to head home when he gets hungry in the late afternoon. The sun is low in the sky at this point, and that combined with the heavy cloud cover of winter has it dark enough for the street lights to be on. Its not night, but there’s a grey gloom over everything that’s only faintly dispelled by the blue-white street lamps every once in a while.

Red hums along to the music in his headphones as he walks. It’s finally stopped snowing. There’s about an inch of snow on the ground, trampled to grey slush on the street and sidewalk, and in the gutter stained various colors by whatever toxic muck runs through there. He spies a patch of untouched snow near the base of a building and squats down, pressing his forefinger into it.

The snow stains red, chemicals bleeding off of Red’s skin into the pristine whiteness. A trail of crimson trails after his finger as he drags it through the snow.

He draws a penis.

“Excuse me?” A voice asks hesitantly, and Red looks up. The catboy from earlier today is standing above him, huddled in a dark green coat. Like an angel from above, back in Red’s life already. Antfrost, the demon had said his name was.

“Hi, Antfrost.” Red beams, standing up and shoving his headphones down around his neck so he can hear the man properly.

“Hi, I—didn’t catch your name.” Antfrost glances down at the penis Red drew in the snow.

“I’m Velvet, but most people call me Red.” Red sticks out a hand.

“I can see why.” Antfrost stares at the red stains on his skin, hesitates, then reaches out and clasps Red’s hand. He shakes it once, then pulls his back. His fur is like soft silk and the pads on his palms are warm enough to leave the faint ghost of his touch on Red’s skin.

“Do you sell sedatives?” Antfrost asks abruptly, shoving both his hands into his coat’s pockets. Red notices that his tail is nowhere in sight, which means it’s probably tucked away into his pants to stay warm. The thought is unbearably endearing to him.

“What kind of sedatives do you want?” Red asks, swinging his shoulder bag around in front of him and unzipping it to look through it.

“A mist or something?” Antfrost tries to peer inside the bag, although odds are that he doesn’t know what any of the potions’ colors and appearance actually mean.

“How wide of a range do you need?” Red zips his bag shut again and folds his arms.

“Big.” Antfrost’s pupils tighten to little slits, and he frowns. And now he looks dangerous, a fanged man with narrowed eyes and some goal not yet revealed to Red. It’s fascinating.

“I don’t have anything like that with me,” Red starts, and before Antfrost can open his mouth he continues, “but I can make some for you within an hour. When do you need it?”

“Tonight.” Antfrost says resolutely. “How much will it cost?”

“For you? Free.” Red turns and starts down the street again. Antfrost follows a few feet behind.

“Are you sure?” The cat hybrid asks.

“Of course I am. Your boss did me a favor, so I’ll pay it forward.” Red glances back at him. “I can make that in half an hour, if you don’t mind waiting at my place till it’s done.”

“That’s not a problem.” Ant puts his hood up. His ears make little points in the top of the fabric.

Red’s apartment is only a few minutes away, but it’s long enough for his hands to get numb. His headphones double as earmuffs, so he puts them back on as they walk to keep his ears from getting cold. He’s thankful for when they finally make it up the stairs to the small, three room apartment that he calls home.

Damn, not even the first date and Antfrost has already come home with him.

Red fumbles with his keys and unlocks the door with cold fingers, kicking it open and nodding at Antfrost to go inside. He pries the keys out of the lock and closes the door behind them, exhaling. He doesn’t have heating, but the walls and insulation make it at least a little bit warmer than outside, and as soon as he starts cooking what Antfrost has asked for, it’ll heat up in here.

The front door opens directly to the small tiled kitchen that Red uses almost exclusively for manufacturing. The counters are occupied by synthesis stands and bunsen burners, and the open cupboards are full of jars of multicolored chemicals. Red sets his bag on the ground and rolls up his hoodie sleeves, nudging his chin at Antfrost. “Can you pull the pots out of that and put them in the fridge?”

Antfrost nods, turning around from where he was ogling the liquid-filled glass on Red’s shelves. Red slips past him and reaches up, pulling down four different bottles and putting them on the counter. This is a simple recipe, it shouldn’t take him long. He starts the blue flame of the burner and holds his hands over it, letting his numbed fingers warm up.

“How large of a radius do you need this to cover?” Red swirls a vial of zolazepam hydrochloride, then checks the temperature of the flame and turns it down slightly.

“I don’t know, big?” Antfrost rests his elbows on the counter, staring at the swirls of bubbles in the depths of the liquid. “Like, small stadium sized.”

Red whistles, sloshing tiletamine into one of the vials in the synthesis stand. Some of it splashes on his fingers, adding to the stains on his skin. He doesn’t mind. Antfrost is definitely planning something very, very interesting tonight. Hopefully no one can trace the origins of the sedative back to Red. He adds a few more chemicals to another vial, caps them both, and presses a button to start the process. He puts a few pumps of nitrous oxide into the mixing chamber.

“It’s like a cock-fighting ring,” Antfrost bursts out.

“You mean a strip club?” Red raises an eyebrow.

“Wh--no.” Antfrost blinks. Pauses. Gathers his words again. He’s cute when he’s flustered. “It’s like a pit where they get genetically modded animals to fight and bet on it. They have a bunch of chimeras trapped in there.”

“So you want to get them out, huh?” Red turns a valve and watches as the two vials mix, emerald green and golden liquid swirling together.

Antfrost nods.

“Why tonight?”

“They keep them all locked up except for the fights.” Antfrost explains. His ears flatten back against his head as he speaks. “But they’ll all be out in their cages tonight. So if I can knock the entire place unconscious…”

“You can get them out.” Red finishes. “What are you gonna do with them after? Keep them in your basement?”

“Drive them to the edge of the city and let them out.” Ant’s tail has slipped free from wherever he was hiding it, and Red is so distracted by its back-and-forth swishing that he almost forgets to turn down the flame exactly when the mixture is boiling at 211° Fahrenheit.

Antfrost wants to be a hero.

Red grew up in the bowels of Hypixel City, pinching pennies like his parents taught him to. He only stayed off the streets due to an unusually high tolerance for chemicals that landed him a job at a pharmacy, mixing drugs for addicts trying to get their fix through the guise of medicine. He’s experienced with cynicism, with people busy deciding something wasn’t their problem simply because they didn’t have the strength to care. And here was this hybrid man, planning an optimistic rescue mission just because he knew animals were being hurt and it made him sad.

Kindness. Red wonders when it became something unfamiliar to him.

The liquid he’s mixed evaporates into a faint yellow mist that he splits into three different vials. He caps them and lines them up on the counter. Antfrost reaches for the one still under Red’s hand and, impulsively, he slides it farther away from the hybrid’s grasp.

“I’m coming.” Red declares. Antfrost looks up, pupils dilating and expanding to make his blue eyes suddenly seem three times bigger. Fuck, that’s cute.

“Are you sure?” He asks, screwing up his face.

“Absolutely.” Red nods.

“Can you fight at all?” Antfrost steps back and gives Red a once-over.

“I don’t carry a baseball bat around just because it makes me look sexy.” Red reminds him.

“Okay, sure,” Antfrost says doubtfully.

“When do we leave?”

Antfrost looks around for a clock on the walls, turning in a slow circle and finding none. Red shakes his sleeve back from his wrist and holds his arm out to let the hybrid read the time. It’s 5:43 in the afternoon.

“I have to get back to Bad’s bar and work.” Antfrost yanks his hood back up over his head. “But I’ll come get you around midnight, if you’re still up for it.”

Red leans against the wall to let him pass. “I will be.”

Antfrost casts a glance over his shoulder, eyes glowing faint blue from the inside of his hood. “Are you sure? You really, actually want to help?”

“Don’t have a reason not to.” Red shrugs.

There’s a long silence, then Antfrost finally says a soft thank you and leaves.

[highqueenofelfhame]

Hi Em! Could you write something with the word mirror?

this isn’t what you asked for because it isn’t fanfiction but it is involving a mirror idk i hope you guys enjoy it a little bit lol

Leaves crunched under her feet; shoes smudged ash on the sidewalk. She moved down the road, the smell of burned hair stinging her nostrils as the wind splayed her hair across her face. The breeze caused the smallest of bumps to erupt over her soot-covered skin, the unusually cool bite barely registering in her mind. She moved slowly, numbly, blindly through the street, unable to form a coherent thought about the events of the day. There seemed to be a towering black wall blocking out of her memory that refused to budge as she attempted to recall her morning. Something had happened, that much she knew, but it was merely a shadow behind her that she couldn’t quite reach.

As dusk approached, the sky was murky with clouds of smoke curling from lumps of debris. The heavy smell of fire filled her lungs and sent sharp chills up and down her spine, almost shooting holes in that wall in her memory, that thing she couldn’t quite grasp. Still it remained out of reach, as difficult to retain as reaching out and catching a handful of wind.

At the end of the road, there was a manor house, gray stone blackened by the tongue of flame. She stopped at the bottom of the staircase, green eyes shifting up to the once-grand building. Everything about it was familiar but unfamiliar. Her body had been moving down the street and toward this building on its own accord as though she were a pawn in a chess game or a magnet meeting it’s other half. If someone had come up and asked what she was doing here, words would have failed her. What was she doing here?

She took the first step, black boot leaving an imprint in the ash that littered the stone steps. A twig snapped in the heavy silence, and she whipped around, hair spinning out and cutting through the air. Nobody was there. It was only her on the abandoned road in the middle of an equally abandoned neighborhood. There didn’t appear to be another soul in the entire universe. Just her and this house with a symphony of howling wind cutting the silence.

By the time she reached the door, she felt like her entire body was vibrating with energy, tension, and anticipation. The large door was already cracked open and a slight push had it swinging in on its hinges. It was dark — it took several moments for her eyes to adjust. The only light source was a dim illumination of an overcast sky coming through dirty windows and tattered curtains. The white marble of the flooring was tarnished and cracked in some places. Every step was punctuated by the crinkling of dead leaves. Vines twined down the walls, twisted up through the broken pieces of the floor to reach up and out. The whole setting reminded her of a fairytale.

A skeptical part of her remained aware that anything or anyone could be hidden in the shadows.

Step by step she edged deeper into the manor, taking in every fragmented detail of the dilapidated place. It was impossible to be sneaky within the walls of the manor with how littered the floors were. If someone dangerous was lurking about, they would have known about her entry the moment she stepped foot inside.

Her eyes shifted around the first room she peered into – a sitting room. The furniture had been burned to heaps of black crumbles on the floor, nothing left but the wirework and metal that made up the skeletons of once luxurious and elaborate settees and chairs. Paint and paper peeled from the walls, curling and laying on the ruined wooden floors. They had once been glossy but now had no evidence of shine. No one had been here to take care of the home in years, maybe even decades. Not since well before the fires, since well before the town was ruined. The paintings that had once been intricate and priceless were destroyed and worthless. It was a shame, she thought. Seeing the fragmented remains of once vibrant color tickled something in the back of her mind. Maybe she liked art. Maybe she was an artist. Her lips turned into a frown when she couldn’t even remember that much about herself.

The next door, the white one in the middle of the hallway, caught her eye. Where the rest of the manor had been in ruins, this room was untouched by flame or time. Instead, the white paint of the door was pure —the color of freshly fallen, sparkling snow. She wasn’t even sure what the original color of the first door had been. Perhaps it, too, had been white, but the damage had it in ruins. It made little sense that this one looked as though painters had just finished the job.

She peered inside, lips parting in surprise at the warm light that illuminated the room. There was no dust on the mantle; the marble floor was polished to the point that she could make out the dirt and ash that marred her pale skin. The furniture, which was regal and made with silky floral designs, looked brand new as though not a soul had ever sat on its cushions. The walls had the lower half painted, the upper half covered in fleur-de-lis wallpaper that glistened in the golden light illuminating the space. The metallic nature of the paper itself reflected at certain angles in such a way it almost hurt her eyes to look at. Above her, golden filigree twisted and curled around and around. Beautifully painted men and cherubs perched on fluffy clouds in the bluest of skies on the ceiling. If the rest of the house hadn’t been in utter ruins she would have been entranced to inspect every inch of the artwork. Instead, her hands curled into fists. Something deep inside her was screaming that this was wrong and unnatural. It sent unease running along her nerves, a tremor working its way from her fingers to her toes. She may as well have been shivering for how profound her anxiety seemed to be.

She turned her head to survey the rest of the room but was stopped by a wall covered in mirrors. The room was reflected perfectly, not a thing out of place. It was her own appearance that stood out in stark contrast. For a moment, she forgot that this room was the red flag. Instead she felt as though she was out of place, like she was the one that didn’t belong. She moved toward the mirrors, almost as though a phantom wind urged her along, guiding her until she stopped before the largest mirror in the center of the wall.

Gone was the soot that had covered her body. All that remained smooth, pale skin. No traces of dirt remained. The burnt ends of her hair had grown back, once again long and flowing to her waist. Somehow it had more luster and shine than her chocolate locks had ever held, from what she was able to remember through the brain fog. Her eyes were bright and alight with wonder, not plagued by whatever tragedy she failed to recall. Even her cheeks had color to them like rose petals had been pressed into them; her lashes were long and thick. This morning the glimpse of her reflection had been dirty and ragged. The filthy denim jeans she wore looked fresh off the rack in the mirror before her and even the white shirt that hung from her frame was spotless and free of a single wrinkle. By some strange magic her clothing seemed to fit better. Everything about her had been gaunt and grim in the shop window down the street when she had pulled herself to her feet. In this mirror, however, she was clean from head to toe. Brand new. Immaculate.

When she looked down at herself, she appeared as she had walked in. Her hair was short and choppy, ends singed from fire. The old clothes she wore and her skin were covered in dirt and ash, scars and blisters. Her nails were black from the mud packed beneath them and broken. Once black boots were more gray than black, old from years and years of shuffling around through town. Soot was caked on so thickly that when she swiped over it, there was a small heap on her fingertip. When she looked back in the mirror, however, everything was perfect. Not a hair out of place.

Her fingers rose, brow furrowed as she touched the mirror gently. More curious than the perfect room in the crumbling mansion, more curious than the reflection that reflected incorrectly, the mirror—which stretched wall to wall, ceiling to floor— rippled like water beneath her touch. Waves distorted the once perfect reflection, the view almost making her nauseous. She staggered back, taken by surprise as her reflection wobbled from the effects. The liquid mirror rolled out to the edges of the ornate golden frame like the ocean. Unable to ease her shock, she reached out again to feel for any discrepancy in how it should feel. What she expected was a cool hard surface that she associated with mirrors and planes of glass. There was no reason for it to feel like any icy lake in the middle of winter, but she swore it had.

When her fingers nearly touched the mirror for a second time, it distorted again. This time, though, to her utter horror, something was reaching back at her.

It happened very quickly. So quickly that she was unable to get away from the mirror, unable to stumble back, unable to get out of the room. From the center, a hand extended, every curve reflecting parts of the room at odd angles – the ceiling, the floor, the paintings and the golden carvings, the candles, and the crystals that hung from the chandeliers. As she tried to step and stumble away her feet seemed cemented to the floor. Her body froze in place as ice-cold fingers wrapped around her wrist—fingers that were frozen and solid, not at all like those of a human— and yanked her through the mirror and into a world that was nothing like her own.