#but apparently it's not too late to eat every type of cookie in the house

[cryptid-crusader]

Bro I am just so grumpy tonight. :/

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #076

Do you think you look good with red hair? I do, honestly. Apparently a lot of people did. Do you like the color orchid? I certainly do. What is your favorite middle name for a girl? I don't have like, a set favorite middle name. It really depends on how well it flows with the first and last names. Do you prefer common names or unique names? Definitely more uncommon ones. Have you ever done a photo shoot with a friend in the fall? Not, uh, really. One year I was present with Summer and her other friend to do like a witchy shoot for Halloween, but we went out WAY too late (poor planning) to where the pictures were absolutely horrible. So dark that they never really saw the light of day anywhere on socials.

What is your favorite type of Christmas cookie? I honestly really like those little gingerbread men cookies, but I can't remember the brand... They pop up in stores 'round that time of the year, though. When was the last time you took a selfie? The last time I got my hair dyed. Does your hair have any natural curl to it? It has a natural wavy-ness, but "curl" is a strong way to put it I think. Which insect annoys you the most? Gnats. Do you prefer hard rock music or soft rock? I like both, but generally harder rock. Have you ever dressed up as a fairy? I don't think so. When was the last time you kissed someone? Yesterday evening. Girt hung out here a little bit after we went to his nephew's bday party. What was the last song you heard? I'm not sure, other than I think it was in Girt's car. His nephew's bday party location was an hour away, and I'm incredibly thankful he was totally willing to come get me, so I got two hours between there and back of just him singing, ha ha. He was so concerned it would eventually get annoying and meanwhile I'm like totally at peace, lmao. When was the last time someone gave you flowers? Not since Tyler randomly brought an unnecessarily large bouquet just for coming to my house for I think like the first time... I was really thrown off by it because it was absolutely too much just for coming to my house. Like yeah, it's a considerate gesture, but I eventually learned from another friend that he got INCREDIBLY obsessed with partners RIDICULOUSLY quickly. Like, I think he once proposed to a girl after a week. It explained why he made a massive fuckin deal about me breaking up with him just for not talking to him every moment of every goddamn day. Do you sleep naked? No, I would feel extremely vulnerable. And I just hate my body so damn much that even *I* want to see it as little as I can. Is smoking a turn-off when it comes to being interested in someone? It is, yes. Have you ever dated someone who had kids? No. I don't know if I'd be up for that. Well, in the case of very young kids, I KNOW I wouldn't be. Have you ever been pulled over twice in one day? No. Have you ever been told you’re a flirt? No. Do you have a favorite sibling, if any? No. What’s your favorite scary movie? I really enjoy The Blair Witch Project as well as The Crazies, and I also find Silent Hill to be a comfort movie with my bias for the franchise. Are you easily frightened by horror films? Nope. What’s your opinion on vegetarians? I respect them a lot and wish I could be them, lol. HOWEVER I will point out that I do not respect the vegetarians who suddenly think they're hot shit and above everyone else just because they don't eat meat. Those suck. When was the last party you went to? Oh, actually yesterday. It was Girt's nephew's bday and we went to this SUPER cool trampoline park, but it was SO much more than just trampolines to jump on. The best way I could possibly put it is that it looked like a kid's heaven, ha ha. It was SUPER fuckin loud but thankfully there were party rooms where the noise was much more muffled and tolerable so you could chill and talk. J (I think I'm gonna just call his nephew that from now on) had an amazing time and I'm honestly also real proud of myself because I was in a very uncomfortable environment for an extended period of time and didn't have to take my anxiety med. Mom and Girt were really proud too and it meant a WHOLE lot. Do you have a favorite album? Sure do: Black Rain by Ozzy Osbourne. EVERY fuckin song is a total banger. Is there a song stuck in your head right now? There's not, really. Has someone that you loved told you that you’re a waste of their time? Not exactly that, no.. Who’s the last person you were in a car with? Girt. What’re you currently looking forward to? Girt and I having our lil "Halloween night" soon. An event in WoW called Hallow's End is also starting Tuesday and goes to the first of next month and I still don't have the mount that is a mega rare drop from the seasonal boss the Headless Horseman. You can run the dungeon once a day on each character, aaaand I have a lot, ha ha. Mount collecting is my main reason I play the game so damn am I ready to check this fucker off. Was your last kiss on a bed or standing? Standing. Do you want to start over with anyone? Well, yeah... but that's not how the world works. Do you know anyone who has a hearing deficit? Yeah, Ashley's father-in-law's mom, I think. Something like that. I don't know how that woman is still alive, honestly. What is your favorite colors for a cat? Orange!!!! Would you miss winter if it never came back? Why or why not? Yes. :( I love the vibes of Christmas-y weather and honestly one of the most amazing things I'VE experienced in nature is the incredible, peaceful silence of when it's snowing. That shit is like magical to me. I'm really hoping we get a good snow this year so hopefully I can take some pictures! Did you ever play around a hydrant when you were younger? Okay this seems like such a strange thing to do, but I did???? I seem to remember this occasion where there was a leak in one down the road, and me, my lil sister, and my favorite neighbor at the time were doin' whatever around that. If you wear them, what is the average length of skirts you wear? I DON'T wear skirts because I hate my legs, a lot. If you had to live your life carrying a shield, what would its design be? Hmmmm... something nature-y, I think. ACTUALLY another WoW reference but they have these style of shields where it's like, tree bark, but with an attractive swirly-ness to it. I'd totally have one of those with maybe some moss and little flowers poking through. And if the tree bark was like, abnormally strong, because it IS a shield and bark is pretty easy to tear apart. Do you have any competitors at work or school? If so, who are they? I'm in neither. What are your general afterthoughts when you’ve finished a book? I feel accomplished and happy. I don't read enough... Do you budget when you go grocery shopping? Why or why not? I'm not the one that does the shopping, so... My mom is careful with money, though. She has to be. When is the last time you heard scary music? Well I was watching Game Grumps earlier and they were getting through a tough level that had tense music playing. When you were younger, did you have a toy troll? Oh my god, I'm assuming you mean those lil guys with the big, colorful, spiked up hair? I do remember having at least one. Do you like moose? I think moose are gorgeous and I would love to see a live adult one in a safe space. I know people are always surprised by JUST how big they are. Do you put collars on your cats? Absolutely, that's a necessity to me, unless they're microchipped. You never know when your cat might somehow get outside, and that collar with a tag might be the only way they come back home. Do you have anything that says “Princess”? EW no, I don't even think I was into that shit as a little girl. Do you like celery? No, I absolutely hate it. Have you ever collected stamps? No. I did, however, collect stickers as a kid. My childhood dresser was COVERED in them. Did you cry while watching The Notebook? I have AT LEAST shed one tear every single time I've seen it, lmao. It's been maaany years, though. How many home videos of yourself have you seen? A lot. My mom recorded many things of me and my sisters. When’s the last time you rode a carousel? Oh jeez, I have no idea... What field trip did you last go on? Uh, that woulda been for some band competition in high school. I don't remember which exact one, I've been to a few. Do you play with your own hair often? Not really, no. I just ever really fix stray hairs parted to the wrong side. Do you like Mickey Mouse? I don't not like him, but I'm not into him, either. All of Ash's kids had a phase (Emerson is still in it, ha ha) of loving children shows with Mickey and the gang and I'll tell you, you get tired of ALL their voices eventually, lol. Do you like oranges? So here's the thing, I don't eat oranges because I HATE the white shit that's veined all throughout the fruit; I like the taste of the orange itself, but not that crap. In elementary school if I ever had to pick an orange for part of lunch, I literally just sucked out the juice, lmao. Nowadays Ma wants me to try I think a... mandarin orange or something like that that apparently doesn't have all the white veins, I just haven't yet. Do you hate when grapes have seeds in them? It is absolutely not my preference, but it's fine. We had wild muscadine grapes at my old house in the woods and they have pretty large seeds, but it's just as simple as spitting it out. I miss that house, we were pretty out in nature... What would you do if you found out your mom was a stripper? I would be EXTREMELY fucking stunned. My mom doesn't support that kind of stuff because she feels it's demeaning to the person doing it and objectifying, so... Whose house were you last at? My sister's place. Ma and I usually watch the kids every Friday. Let’s be honest do you think people really like you? No, honestly. I feel like I'm really annoying and disappointing. Would you ever run a marathon? I WOULD if I was in shape, actually LIKED running, and it was for a cause. When’s the last time you wet the bed? It was arounddddd... 2018-ish, I think? It's SUPER strange, I had this really weird phase of premature incontinence (like I was literally on a med and had to set an alarm in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom) that was STUPID fuckin embarrassing, but it was a real issue. We have no idea what started it, but it eventually stopped being a problem, thank GOD. What is your favourite song by Coldplay? I think "Fix You" is technically their best song, but I personally enjoy "Paradise" the most, I think. I want that played at my funeral. When was the last time you spoke a different language? Mom was asking me how you say something in German. Save all the animals that die during road kill or save 1 human from a fire? Absolutely all the animals that fall victim to the road. I'm sorry, but one human does NOT equate to the ridiculous amount of animals that die from our vehicles. Have you ever painted a picture of somebody? I have of myself, but only because it was a school art assignment. When is the next time you will go to a party? Hmmm... probably not 'til Emerson's birthday February of next year. Have you ever done anything naughty in a hot tub? No. Is your cousin dating anyone? I don't know shit about the cousins my family still associates with, if I'm honest. If you’ve had a bad day, who is most likely to cheer you up? Girt, really. Sometimes Mom. Is there anyone you dislike, that you have to see/speak to regularly? My sister's husband Nick. He is just ew. Does anyone have a romantic interest in you, that you don’t return? I wouldn't know. I doubt it. When was the last time you ate a cookie? Earlier today actually when Mom got back from church. One of the old ladies gave her a cookie from KFC that she kept for me. Is there anything happening tomorrow, that you’re looking forward to? No, I don't think so. How many alcoholic drinks have you had in the last week? None. I've actually been wanting a drink lately, though. When was the last time you drank strawberry milk? Dude, I haven't touched that shit since the first time I tried it in elementary school. I HATED it. Do you have a clock in your room? No. Do you own a pair of fingerless gloves? I actually have quite a few in my dresser that I primarily wore in high school. Did you have a good driver’s ED teacher? Quite frankly? No, because he nearly got us potentially killed. I was trying to merge into the highway, but other drivers were being dicks and not going into the other lane, and he was telling me to go EXACTLY when I would have caused a crash if I tried moving over. Please move the fuck over and let people in the acceleration lane merge into the actual highway, jesus. Which of Britney Spears’ songs is your favorite? "Womanizer" is a fuckin CLASSIC and honestly just a super catchy song. Who was the last non-relative woman you spoke to in person? Girt's mother and sister. What’s a topic you’ve drastically changed your opinion on? A LOT, but one is about gay rights. Once upon a time I was a homo/transphobe and that person FUCKING disgusts me. It's humiliating to know I ever thought like that. Are you in a good mood today? I am. I not long ago learned that a Silent Hill-related announcement will be made by Konami on the 19th and my excitement is SO FUCKING BEYOND compare, oh my actual god. It's no less than a meme in this fandom that every "leak" and SH-related rumor is false, but this is like, OFFICIAL shit and I'm NOT okay alsdkfjqlkweja;lekr Which would bother you more: being told you’re not likable or being told you’re not sensible? Not likable. Have you ever experienced sleep paralysis? No, and I hope I NEVER do. That shit sounds absolutely horrifying. Have you ever bathed in a river or a lake? Not "bathed," no, but I've swum in both. When you were 15, what did you want to grow up to be? Uhhhhhh... shit... I THINK a movie director? Maybe a game designer? Have you ever had a dream in which you died? Yep. Have you ever driven or ridden on a motorcycle? No, I'm too scared to.

[helliontherapscallion]

Safe

Pairing: SBI family x reader (platonic, one shot), BASED OFF FROM CHARACTERS NOT ACTUAL PEOPLE

Warnings: child abuse/neglect, bullying, alcoholism, death of a parent, mentions of panic attacks, injury, mentions of a dog’s death, mentions of eating disorders, mentions of suicide attempts, depression

Word count: 7,730

(A/N): if you’re not feeling safe at home or are being abused, please contact the proper authorities. Here’s the abuse hotline: 1-800-799-7233, my DMs are always open if you want to talk 

You met Tommy and Tubbo when you were in third grade. You were a relatively quiet kid, the type to always keep to themselves and abstain from social activity. Mrs. Jansen, being the nice woman that she was, let the entire class choose their own seats.

“Welcome to your first day of third grade, class! I’m Mrs. Jansen and I look forward to getting to know all of you. As you can see, there are enough desks for all of you. You may sit with who you want.”

You shifted around uneasily and gripped your book in your hands as your classmates hurried to get the back seats. After every seat was taken, you walked to the only seat left in the front. You were between a girl and a boy. They introduced themselves as Dorothy and Samuel, and were relatively kind to you. 

As the class passed their second week, two boys that sat in the back row made themselves apparent very quickly. They were both rambunctious, always disrupting the class with their giggles and whispers. Mrs. Jansen had warned them multiple times that she was going to separate them, but it seemed that they didn’t think she’d do it. One day, she finally had enough.

“Tommy, Tubbo. I’ve given you plenty of warnings, I’m going to have to separate you. Dorothy, Samuel, can you please switch places with them?”

You could feel dread wash over you. Why was she putting you between them?! What did you do wrong to deserve this? You could swear that you’ve done all your chores, you even made your mom smile at you! She never did that. 

They pouted as they sat next to you, Tommy on your right and Tubbo on your left. You already missed Samuel and Dorothy. “Thank you. (Y/n), make sure they behave.”

You shrunk down into your seat as you felt Tommy’s glare burning holes into the side of your head. Tubbo, on the other hand, was watching the lesson with bored eyes and  his chin propped up in his hand. You tried to take notes, but you kept getting distracted by Tommy’s heated glare. You were going to fall behind, you couldn’t have that. Mama wouldn’t like that. 

After the final bell rang, you hurried out of the classroom to avoid Tommy’s wrath. You could hear him shouting for you to stop, but you never stopped until your hand was grabbed and yanked backwards in the empty playground. You fell back onto the pavement of the basketball court and whimpered at the sting in your palms. 

Tommy glared down at you, “you gonna cry? Serves you right. Never tell on Tubbo and I. Got it?”

You tearfully nodded and he grinned maliciously at you, “good. Tubbo, let’s go. Wil and Tech’s probably waiting for us.”

The brunet was staring at Tommy with a shocked expression, unmoving. Tommy rolled his eyes and huffed before he grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the crowd of families. Tubbo looked back at you with an apologetic expression and watched as you looked at your scratched up palms. 

You wiped at your tears as you stood up and started to walk home. Your neighbor’s dog behind the wired fence barked at you as you hurried past it. You never liked that dog; it was a drooling, angry, ugly furball. It scared you, but not as much as Mama did when she drank her adult juice. She was scary when she drank it. You tried hiding it from her once but she grounded you from eating dinner and snacks for half a month. You didn’t try to hide it again. 

You trudged up the creaky wooden stairs of your porch and tried to open the door only to find it locked. You tried to knock on the door but Mama didn’t answer so you just sat on the front porch waiting for her to open the door. She did so when the sun was setting, surprise and then anger shining through her hazy eyes. She yelled at you before she sent you to your room for the night without dinner.

The next day when you were sitting alone at a lunch table, someone plopped down in the seat next to you. You jumped and scooted away from them, looking up only to see Tubbo. He was smiling at you.

“Hey, I’m really sorry about Tommy, he gets mad easily.”

You eyed him warily and clutched your open book, “...it’s okay.”

He grinned and scooted closer to you, peering over your shoulder at the book. “What’re you reading?”

“‘Harry Potter’.”

“Oh I love that book! My favorite character’s Ron, who’s yours?”

Surprisingly, the conversation was pleasant before he was dragged away by a glaring Tommy. You might actually make a friend after all. Later that day after school, Tommy once again stopped you in the school yard. This time, he shoved you to the ground and started to shout at you. 

“You do not talk to him, freak! You’re gonna mess him up, he talks to me and me only. Do you unde-undastunend?”

You gulped and shakily spoke up, “yes, and it’s ‘understand’, not ‘undastunend’.”

His glare intensified before he reared back a fist. You yelped as you curled into a ball with your hands protecting your head. Before he could hit you, you heard the stomping of shoes against the concrete.

“TOMMY STOP.”

You could feel a hand on your back and a gentle voice asking if you were alright. You hesitated before you looked up to see an older boy with a mop of curly brown hair on his head and wire glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He reminded you of Harry Potter. Looking past him, you saw a tall pink haired boy glaring and lecturing Tommy, holding the struggling boy in place with a firm grip on his elbow. Tubbo was just behind him looking down and shifting on the balls of his feet.

“I am so sorry about Tommy, are you alright? He didn’t hit you did he?”

You shook your head and the boy heaved a sigh of relief, “that’s good. I’m Wilbur and that’s Technoblade, we’re Tommy and Tubbo’s brothers. What’s your name?”

“(Y/n).”

He smiled at you, “that’s a lovely name.”

“Wilbur, let’s go. This one,” Technoblade shook Tommy’s arm, “needs to talk to Dad.”

You watched as Tommy’s movements stopped and he looked up with wide eyes. “No, please don’t tell Dad. Please-” 

Wilbur stood and helped you up before grabbing Tubbo’s hand and lead him away, “you aren’t weaseling your way out of this.”

You watched the brothers leave, feeling guilt wash over you. You didn’t want to get him in trouble, punishments were the absolute worst. Even though he shoved you and almost punched you, he didn’t deserve any punishment. With guilt weighing down on your shoulders, you walked home. At least Mama was in a good mood, she made you some mac n cheese for dinner. 

The next day, Tommy trudged up to your desk and put a tupperware dish on your desk before sitting down in his seat and ignored you. Tubbo sat in his seat next to you and smiled at you.

“Open it,” he jumped in his seat slightly as he watched your expression change to shock. In the container laid five chocolate chip cookies. You had only had cookies once in your life and that was during a class birthday celebration a year ago. “They’re our Dad’s secret recipe, I helped make them! Um, Tommy wanted to apologize to you.”

You glanced at Tommy. He was glancing at you over his shoulder and blushed a bright red when he saw you looking at him. Tubbo cleared his throat and gestured at Tommy. The blond crossed his arms and looked off to the side. “Sorry,” he mumbled halfheartedly. 

After that, they started to sit next to you during lunch. Tommy was a bit cold towards you, but you found yourself beginning to relax around Tubbo’s friendly aura. Soon enough, you started to supply him with more than a few words per sentence. Tommy eventually got bored of eating in silence and would join your conversation. You three became thick as thieves that year, you even met their Dad. He was very different from Mama; he never yelled at you, he was always giving you snacks, and he even smiled at you often. 

That house became like a second home to you. Eventually, you ended up spending more time at the Minecraft residence than you spent at home with your mom. Over the years, she got worse with her drinking. She was always passed out on the couch and when she wasn’t, she was swaying on her feet in the kitchen staring at a portrait with dazed, wistful eyes. You can remember when you first realized that she had a problem and always being unhappy and drunk was, in fact, not normal for a parent. 

It was a warm spring day in seventh grade. Luckily, you had your health class with Tommy and Tubbo. You were currently learning about alcohol dependency and the effects it had on the body. The teacher listed all the symptoms your mom had; the uncontrollable urge to drink, the aggression, the shakiness and dizziness, everything. When you came to the realization that your mother might have a problem, the teacher started to explain the disorders and diseases that could come from heavy drinking, most of them having the potential to be fatal if the drinking persisted. You felt like you were drenched in icy water as your body seized up in fear for your mother. You stared unseeingly at your notebook at the symptoms of alcoholism and associated disorders. You didn’t want your mom to die. You had to do something before it was too late for her.

“(Y/n)?” You jumped and looked at the person who called your name. Tommy and Tubbo were giving you worried stares. “Are you okay?”

You shakily started to put your supplies away into your backpack. The class had been dismissed and you didn’t even realize it. “Y-yeah. It’s just- I’m worried.”

“Yeah, I’m worried too,” Tommy laughed as you followed the two out of the classroom and to the courtyard. “That essay’s gonna be awful.”

“Oh god we have an essay?”

“Yeah, Mr. Smithers assigned it to us before the bell rang, are you sure you’re okay? You’re usually on top of this stuff.” Tubbo threw a worried glance towards you.

“Yeah, just a bit distracted today. I uh, have to go home. Like right now, my mom wants me home right after school today.”

You sprinted off towards your house. When you reached your neighborhood and ran past the wired fence. The bulldog that lived there was now old and gray. You found out that his name was Buster and he was actually a total sweetheart if you slept next to him on the other side of the fence on more than one occasion. Buster watched from inside his doghouse as you sprinted into the house. Luckily for you, the door was unlocked and your mother was passed out on the couch surrounded by glass bottles. You locked the door behind you as you rushed over to her intensely watching for any sign of movement. She looked dead, her skin was pale, her hair matted, and her mouth gaping open showing off her yellow stained teeth. She wasn’t moving, were you too late?

Just as you started to panic, she snorted and started to breathe. You slumped in relief as you stepped over the beer bottles into the kitchen. The table was sparkly clean with a pristine picture frame resting in the middle, a stark contrast of the beer bottles that littered the floor and the piles of dirty dishes in the sink. It was of a man standing stiffly in a military uniform saluting at the camera with a stern expression. He was an exact copy of you. Well, you were an exact copy of him; that man was your late father.

“Hey Dad, how was your day? Mine was awful, I learned about alcoholism and cirrhosis today and- and I’m worried about Mom. She’s been drinking a lot lately.”

You stared at your dad’s face behind the glass as if expecting a response. You wanted some reassurance from the man. You wanted him to tell you everything was going to be okay and that he’d handle it so you could be a normal kid. Like usual, his steely expression didn’t budge one bit. 

You sighed to yourself sadly and trudged to the refrigerator opening the door. The beer bottles stared back at you tauntingly. Your fingers twitched on the fridge door as you contemplated the consequences of throwing away the offending glass bottles. You remembered in second grade when you hid your mother’s alcohol she punished you by withholding food from you. She’d probably do worse this time, but the consequences were worth it if you were going to save your mother’s life. 

It took you ten minutes of tossing alcohol into the garbage can until the fridge was left barren of the drink. Without the green bottles, the fridge was completely empty with the exception of milk and a few probably rotten eggs. You struggled to take the trash out to the curb and started to work on homework in your room. 

At seven at night, you could hear her roll off the couch and stumble into the kitchen. A series of frantic rustling and banging sounded downstairs before you could hear pounding footsteps storm up the stairs. Your door flung open to reveal your red-faced, livid mother. 

“What the fuck did you do?”

“M-mom I hid them because we learned about alcoholism and cirrhosis and-” You cut yourself off when she walked over to you with her arms extended towards your trembling frame. You tried to scoot as far away from her as possible, but she grabbed your shoulders with clammy but firm hands, shaking you roughly.

“Are you saying I have a problem?! You spoiled fucking brat, you’re the problem! Everything was amazing before you came and fucked up my life. You took him away from me. YOU FUCKING KILLED MY HUSBAND.”

You could feel tears start to drip down your cheeks as you remembered that day in first grade when you begged your dad to get you some McDonalds for dinner. When he relented, you cheered and your mom laughed at your excitement. She was so full of life back then; her hair was shiny and bouncy, her skin was unmarked and flawless, her eyes were lively and bright. Her laughter was perhaps your favorite memory of her. Then everything went to shit when your dad never came home and your mom got a phone call saying that your dad was killed in a car wreck on impact. You could remember your mother’s heart wrenching sobs as she collapsed to the floor and pulled you tight against her body. As if she was trying to protect what was left of her husband.

You were snapped back to reality when your mom shoved you back onto your bed. The happy, beautiful woman that you saw was replaced by the shell of a broken woman. Her silky hair turned dull, her smile turned into a grotesque scowl, her loving eyes turned cold. She truly was a husk of her former self. 

“Stop crying, you’re not the one who’s life was ruined. I want you out of my house in ten minutes. You’re gonna not step foot anywhere near here for two weeks. If I even see you on my property before those two weeks are up, you’re fucking dead.”

You frantically nodded and watched as she stumbled out of her room. You packed what you would need in your spare backpack and ran out of the house past your mother sobbing and babbling incoherently to your dad. You flinched when you could hear a bang and the sound of glass shattering when she threw a bottle at your retreating figure. 

You ran until you couldn’t run anymore. Your legs brought you to the park where you spent most of your childhood. Everywhere you looked, you could see glimpses of your mom and dad pushing you on the swing, Tommy and Tubbo running from you playing tag, Mr. Minecraft putting a bandaid on your scraped knee. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you pushed yourself up and went to your safe place. It was a little nook deep in the vegetation where nobody could see you. You originally found this place when you were playing hide and seek with Tommy and Tubbo. They never knew where you hid.

Tears moistened the soil underneath you as you pulled out a blanket you had hid in a plastic grocery bag and spread it out on the floor. You curled up on it and cried freely into your hands. You didn’t sleep much that night. 

That was the first time she had kicked you out for that long. You barely ate in those two weeks, wolfing down any food you could get your hands on at lunch. Lunch for you was the small scraps of food that Tommy and Tubbo shared with you. Mom never packed you lunches or gave you money to buy things anymore. To make matters worse, they had told their dad that they thought you had some form of eating disorder. 

About a week into your exile, you finally visited the Minecraft residence after avoiding them for a week. You remembered how the blond man pulled you aside into the kitchen. He gently sat you down and pushed a plate full of chicken and vegetables in front of you. You looked at him confused as he gestured towards the plate.

“Eat that, I heard you haven’t been eating much lately.” When you made no move to eat, he smiled at you. “Go ahead, it’s okay if you don’t eat it all. Just eat some of it.”

That was all you needed to hear, you began to eat quickly like a starving wolf. It’s been a while since you had more than half an apple to eat, let alone an actual homemade meal. When you were done, you looked up to see the older man looking at you worriedly. 

“...Are you not getting enough food at home?”

You scrambled to find a lie, “my- my mom is away a lot on business trips. We don’t really eat much.”

His worried expression grew tenfold as he moved to kneel in front of you and put his hands on your shoulders. “You need to eat three meals a day, especially now that you’re growing. You’re always welcome here when your mom’s away, our door’s always open. Is she away now?”

“Yeah, she won’t be home until next week.” You felt bad for lying to the man that put bandaids on your scraped knees and took you to the father daughter dance in fifth grade when he heard that your dad was dead. He was always so kind to you, which you never quite understood. Despite feeling bad for lying to him, you felt incredibly relieved that you didn’t have to be alone anymore. 

From then on out whenever she kicked you out, you went to the Minecraft residence. They welcomed you with open arms and treated you like you were a part of the family. You and Techno bonded over your love for reading and mythology, Wilbur made sure you took care of yourself, and Philza (he told you to just call him Phil at that point) treated you like his own child. You didn’t think that it was possible for you, Tommy, and Tubbo to be any closer than you already were, but you three became inseparable. You told them everything one night when you couldn’t sleep. You told them how you felt like you were the cause of your mother’s decline and your dad’s death, how she would usually punish you, her ‘hobby’. They were about to tell Philza, but you begged them not to. After a while of pleading and assuring them that she’d never hit you, they hesitantly agreed and made you promise to call them whenever you felt unsafe in your home. 

You kept to that promise, calling them whenever she would get too drunk to know what she was doing. They would calm you down from panic attacks late at night and invite you to their house in the daytime. They felt like your actual brothers and you started to refer to them as such. You three gave each other a shoulder to lean on and gave each other comfort when needed. One night when you were in your freshman year, however, your mother caught you sneaking out to see them after she sent you to your room. That was when she started to hit you.

Just as you were about to sneak out the front door, your mother started to scream at you incoherently. When you flinched away from when she got up in your face, she became even more enraged. 

“WHERE WERE YOU GOING? I BET YOU’RE WHORING YOURSELF OUT, AREN’T YOU LITTLE SLUT?”

Without thinking, you yelled back at her, “I would never! Why-” You were cut off by a harsh slap to the cheek sending you to the ground. She quieted down and stared at you and her hand, a glint of shock shining through her dazed eyes. Without a word, she turned around and left to go talk to your dad. You sat there listening to her rant about how she failed as a mother, how she wanted to do better but she didn’t know how, how she wished that he was there with her. You scrambled up and ran to your room. You looked at yourself in the mirror, there was a bright red mark on your cheek in the shape of a hand. There was a small cut where her wedding ring connected with your cheek. A single drop of blood dripped down your cheek and curved down the dip of your chin before dripping onto your shirt. Without doing anything else, you plopped down onto your bed and sobbed into your pillow, crying yourself to sleep.

When you woke up in the morning, you realized that you slept through half of the school day so it was useless to go to school now. You reached up to run a hand down your face only to hiss and pull your hand away. You once again looked at yourself in the mirror.

You looked terrible. Your eyes were bloodshot and swollen like you were crying in your sleep. Hair was sticking up in all directions and matted slightly. The slap mark was gone, but the cut had bruising around the edges with dried blood crusted on your cheek and on your pillow. It was a small cut, but it bled a surprising amount overnight. You couldn’t see Tommy or Tubbo like this, they’d flip out. Luckily for you it was a Friday and you had the weekend to heal. 

Your mother gradually started to hit you more and more. It started off as a once-a-week thing whenever she was really angry, but then it divulged into something that would happen daily over the smallest things. You became her punching bag for her to release some steam. Makeup became your best friend at that point; you used what little savings you saved over the years for dollar store makeup.

Soon after it became a struggle to hide the cuts and bruises from Tommy and Tubbo, so you gradually started to avoid them. Your face, once synonymous with the Minecraft residence and Tommy and Tubbo, became a rarity. They tried their hardest to contact you, but you always dodged their calls. After a few months of you dodging Tommy and Tubbo, you finally told them that you didn’t want to be friends with them anymore. 

It broke your heart to say it, but it had to be done. They were getting too close to the truth and you couldn’t have that; the government would take you away from your mom and she’d end up dead. You were the only one keeping her alive at this point, she lost all motivation to eat. The only thing she did nowadays was hit you, drink, and hug your dad’s photo to her chest. 

The beatings got to the point where you could barely walk without feeling pain. School became something that you’d rarely attend. Tommy and Tubbo stopped trying to talk to and call you. Buster, your previous confidant, had long since died so you were truly alone in the world. The neighbor’s yard looked barren without the dog house and the graying dog. The only person you had left was your mom. 

When you had accidentally burnt dinner late at night, she completely snapped. She grabbed your arm and held it on top of the burner. Pain hit you immediately as you screamed and cried apologies to her. When you instinctively hit her with your other hand, she dug her nails into your arm and pushed your arm closer onto the burner. Nerve endings screamed at you to get away from the pain. The pain was becoming too much, so you looked on the countertop next to you for something to defend yourself with. A metal fork was lying close to your other hand. 

You grabbed it and, with a distraught apology to your mother, drove the prongs deep into her arm. She screamed in pain and let your arm go. You ripped yourself out of her grasp and started to run for the front door. A force collided with the back of your shoulder making pain explode in the area. You didn’t know what happened at first, but after hearing the shattering of glass, you realized that she threw a beer bottle at you. You could feel the sting of alcohol and glass mingling with your open wounds on your shoulder. The sting was almost as bad as your arm, but you didn’t stop running especially when you glanced behind you to see her running at you with a knife raised and the fork protruding from her arm.

You flung open the door and sprinted out without bothering to close the door behind you. As your bare feet hit the sidewalk, you could hear your mother stop at the end of the stairs and shout at you to come back. You never stopped.

You didn’t stop until your feet took you to the Minecraft residence’s front door. Nobody was on the street as it was about eleven at night. You hesitated to knock on their door, you ignored the family for the past six months, and you weren’t sure if they even wanted you there. After five minutes of thinking, you just sighed as you walked back down the wooden stairs and walked back towards the sidewalk.

“(Y/n), what are you doing here?” You froze up at Tommy’s sleep riddled voice. You stayed frozen as you heard him stomp over to you. He placed a firm hand on your injured shoulder and forced you to turn around. His angry expression faded into a concerned one when he heard you start to sob and flinch away from him. 

“Wha- shit are you bleeding?” You nodded slightly and he gently turned you back around to see a patch of darkened cloth on your shirt. You could feel him shaking as he grabbed your arm and pulled you into the house. He plopped you at the dining room table and told you to wait there. With that, he sprinted up the stairs and brought back a serious Philza holding a first aid kit. 

When he saw you bruised and battered, you could hear him take in a sharp intake of breath and saw unbridled anger flash across his face. You flinched away from him when he approached you. 

“Hey,” he said in a gentle voice, “I won’t hurt you. Can you show me where you’re hurt?” 

You eyed him warily like a scared wild animal and reluctantly moved your burned arm away from your chest and showed it to him. This was the first time you saw your forearm; it was an ugly red that expanded up the majority of the underside of your forearm with skin burned off at the edges. Yellow, fluid-filled blisters were starting to form. 

You could hear Tommy’s horrified gasp as he turned to run out of the room. You kept your gaze downwards as Philza warned you that he was about to put disinfectant on your wound. He apologized to you when you whimpered in pain at the sting of the alcohol on your exposed nerves. After he was finished wrapping your arm, he asked you to show him where else you’re injured. You turned around so he could see the growing patch of blood staining your now ripped shirt. You could feel him gently move your shirt to the side and heard him wince. 

“Shit, there’s glass in here. I’m going to have to get some tweezers to get it out. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” You were then alone in the kitchen for a moment before he came back with a worried Wilbur and Techno in tow. The brunet pulled up a chair next to you and asked if it was alright to hold your hand. After you hesitantly nodded, he grabbed your hand and started to run his thumb over your knuckles. Techno held a light close to your shoulder as Philza started to tweeze out the green tinted glass from your shoulder. 

Every time you would suck in air through your teeth and muffle your yelps with your other hand, Wilbur would whisper reassurances to you and hold your hand tighter. After the glass was out, the wound was disinfected, and wrapped in gauze, Philza told the boys to leave the room. He grabbed both of your hands and gave you the best reassuring smile that he could.

“Tell me what happened.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you felt tears well up in your eyes, “I tried Phil, I really did. She never got better no matter what I did.”

“What do you mean, are you talking about your mom?” You could hear the angry undertone of his voice. You tensed up and nodded.

“She… she needs help. She was never the same after Dad died, she started drinking. It started off with only one beer a day, but after seventh grade she was going through an entire case in a day. She’d punish me if I said or did anything about it. No dinner for a week was a popular one until she started to ban me from the house for weeks on end. She never went on business trips, Phil. She got a knife today. I-I thought she was actually gonna kill me this time, I was so scared.”

Without another word, he pulled you into a tight hug, letting you sob freely into his shoulder. “It was my fault, I couldn’t help her! She- she needed me and I couldn’t help her.” You said between sobs. He hugged you tighter and started to rub your back, making sure to avoid your shoulder. “None of this is your fault, you can’t help someone if they don’t want help. Sometimes you can’t fix someone who’s too far gone.”

“Am I too far gone?”

“No, you aren’t. We’ll help you through this, we won’t let anybody hurt you ever again. You’re gonna go on to live a good life.” You passed out in his arms after a while of crying. 

When you woke up, you were in Tommy and Tubbo’s room. The two boys jumped to your side and pulled you into a tight group hug. After you tried to apologize to them for how you treated them in the past six months, they shushed you and just sat there in silence hugging you. 

Later that day you found out that your mother was found by your neighbor on the front porch with her wrists slit and empty beer bottles surrounding her. She was breathing, but just barely. Currently she was in an unstable condition in the hospital. You had a full breakdown when you found out that she almost killed herself because of you. You had run out of the house and to your safe place in the park. You hadn’t been there in a few years, so you hoped that it was still there. 

Sure enough, it was still there albeit a bit overgrown. The blanket in the plastic bag was in the same place where you left it. You had no idea how long you were sitting there crying and having a panic attack, but when you came to your senses it was dark outside. You could hear crickets chirping and the rustling of leaves in the entrance of your hideout.

A brunet head poked itself in and smiled when he saw you. Tubbo fully came into the nook and gestured for someone to follow. Tommy’s blond hair made itself apparent before he joined you two inside.

“Nice little place you have here. It’s… homey.” Tubbo rubbed his hands together and blew warm air on them. You threw one side of the blanket at him and pulled your knees up to your chest. “Thanks, I used to sleep here sometimes… How’d you find me?”

“We could hear you,” Tommy pulled out his phone and typed something on it before pocketing it and sitting next to you. He covered himself with the blanket as Tubbo followed suit. You sat in silence before Tommy broke it. 

“How long has she been hittin you?”

“Tommy!” Tubbo scolded him.

“She started about six months ago.”

“Six months ago… that was when you cancelled plans! I knew something was wrong Tubbo.”

Tubbo said nothing as he looked at you with a helpless expression. Just as he was about to open his mouth, you interrupted him. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. Everything’s my fault. I’m the reason my mom’s in the hospital right now fighting for her life. I wasn’t there for her.” You would’ve started crying if it weren’t for the fact that you just felt so drained and numb.

“The fuck do you mean? She was about to kill you! You told us that she was about to stab you, what else were you supposed to do, just let her kill you?!” Tommy exclaimed.

You shrugged, “maybe. If she did she’d be happy, I was just a burden to her. I- I just wanted her to be happy and I would never be able to do that as long as I’m alive. If she killed me she wouldn’t be in the hospital right now.”

“What the fuck (y/n),” Tubbo shouted, startling you. He never shouts, let alone swears. “How could you even say that? I don’t know what I’d do without you, everything would be so boring and nothing would be the same without you. Fuck her happiness, she’s a wretched woman if the only way she can be happy is when you’re dead. Fuck her.”

You and Tommy stared at the seething boy in shock. He never shouted when he was angry, he only did that once when he found out that Tommy was being bullied. Whenever he sweared, that’s when you knew his emotions were hitting him at full force. Tommy quickly recovered from his shock to join him, “yeah fuck her, man! She can go suck a dick.” He was interrupted by his phone buzzing.

“Dad’s here, c’mon he’s worried sick about you.” After they helped you out of your safe place, they both wrapped an arm around your shoulders and walked you to the parking lot. You could see the headlights of the lone car in the lot turn off before the door swung open and a figure rushed towards you. You pushed yourself behind Tommy and Tubbo and hid behind them fearfully. They both turned around and put a hand on your shoulders. “It’s okay, it’s our dad.”

You peeked over their shoulders and saw a mop of disheveled, long blond hair. Philza looked like he was just told that there was an antidote for a fatal poison he just ingested, despite the flash of hurt that showed on his face. His blue eyes were accentuated by the redness of his sclera and you can see the relief painted in them. A gentle smile was on his face as he moved his arms up. Without another word, you launched yourself at him and pulled him into the tightest hug you could manage with your shoulder.

“Are your accusations true, Mx. (L/n)?” 

Your gaze flickered over to your mother sitting on the other side of the courtroom. She looked at you with no expression on her face. Her wrists were wrapped tightly in a white bandage that was a stark contrast to the bright orange prison uniform and the silver of the handcuffs. She wasn’t the woman you knew when your dad was alive. The life was sucked out of her the second she picked up that phone call.

You looked back at the lawyer, “yes sir.”

“I have no further questions, your honor.”

“You may return to your seat, Mx. (L/N).”

You stood up and walked as confidently as you could past the dull eyes of your mother and back to your seat between Tommy and Tubbo. You held their hands tightly as the trial moved onwards. Buster’s owner even stepped up to the witness stand to give his testimony. Apparently he knew about the abuse from your late night conversations with Buster. He had contacted CPS and the police multiple times but the case was always dropped for some reason that you couldn’t bring yourself to ponder. A few of your previous teachers even showed up to give their testimonies. Their words, though true and slightly sweet, rubbed you the wrong way. If they ‘knew something was happening at home with you’, then why didn’t they do anything when it was happening? You tried to focus on the rest of the trial. 

Your mother’s only witness was herself, and she did a piss poor job at it. She was basically digging her own grave with every word that came out of her mouth. The entire time, she was staring at you with her infamous dull eyes. 

“Do you have any further points you would like to add, Mrs. (L/n)?”

“Yes, I have always loved my child. They were my husband’s pride and joy, the splitting image of him. Their rightful place is safe with their real parent at our home.”

You could feel Tommy attempt to stand up, but you pulled him back down; now was not the time for him to start yelling in anger. Tubbo squeezed your hand in reassurance and glanced at you. You were staring at the woman you called your mother with pain and hate filled eyes. You wished her words were sincere, but you knew fully well that they weren’t. The words that left her mouth would’ve been one hundred percent true  and genuine when your dad was still alive, but he’s buried six feet under in a military cemetary now and he has been for years. You would’ve given anything, even your own life, for those words to be true a month ago, but you knew better now. Mothers don’t treat their kids like this, they’re supposed to give their children their unconditional love and take care of them. As far as you were concerned, she was no longer your mother. She forfeited that title the second she turned to the bottle. Philza is and will always be more of a parental figure than she’ll ever be. 

After the jury left to discuss, the court was in a recess. You slipped out of the room and speed walked to the bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror. You could see heavy eye bags under your dull eyes. The dullness of your eyes, to your horror, reminded you of your mother, so you splashed your face with water. That fixed it, your eyes were slightly brighter. You could still see the faint outline of the scar on your cheek from when she first hit you. Small scars littered your face from the more recent wounds she gave you before you ran.

A knock sounded at the door, “(y/n), the recess is almost over.” It was Techno.

You patted your face dry and went to leave the bathroom. The pink haired boy that you now saw as your older brother was waiting patiently for you on the other side. He put a gentle hand on your shoulder and led you back to the courtroom. There, the rest of the Minec- no, your family was waiting for you. Just as you reached them, the judge announced that the jurors would be arriving back. The entire courtroom stood as they walked in.

“Have you reached a verdict?” The judge asked.

“We have.”

“Mrs. (L/n) and Mr. Langsburg, would you stand and face the jury? You may read the verdict.”

“We the jury of the state court find the defendant guilty under the charges of child abuse and child neglect.”

Tommy clapped a hand on your shoulder as Tubbo squeezed your hand. They both smiled widely at you. You, however, didn’t acknowledge them. You were only staring at the empty eyes of your mother as she was looking at the jury. Her reaction was akin to her breaking a pencil, like it didn’t matter to her. Like all the years abuse that she put you through didn’t matter was as trivial as breaking a pencil. 

“So say you all?”

“Yes, your honor.” 

“I hereby sentence Mrs. (L/n) to twelve years in the state penitentiary with no opportunity of parole. Mr. Philza Minecraft shall be bestowed the custody of Mx. (Y/n) (l/n) as they do not have any next of kin. Court is adjourned.” With that, she banged the gavel and the courtroom exploded in the bustling of people. You never took your eyes off from your mo- no, the monster with the dull eyes as she picked at something in her nails boredly. Just as she looked up to meet your gaze, Tommy pulled you into a tight hug, lifting you off the ground slightly. You were passed around the family in the courtroom for their individual hugs. Philza’s was comforting, Tubbo’s was congratulatory, Wilbur’s was warm, and Techno’s was slightly awkward, yet soft. 

At home, you spent most of your time in the spare room Philza had given you. He had offered to help you decorate it, but you had no idea where to start. You were never allowed to have decorations in your old room. You kept the room simplistic and your possessions light. 

You often stared at your dad’s portrait on your nightstand wondering what your life could’ve been like if you never asked him for McDonalds that day. Your family probably would’ve been stationed in who knows where and moved around often, as is customary in most military families. You probably would’ve never met Tommy and Tubbo in third grade. You probably would’ve never met your now older brothers and new father. You didn’t want to imagine a life without them. 

After a few days of you being locked up in your room, Tommy and Tubbo came into your room with mischievous grins. You knew them like the back of your hand, so you knew the second you saw their faces that they were about to do something. You sat up and looked at them suspiciously. 

“What are you doing?”

“We’re not doing anything, (y/n). Right Tubbo?”

“Right Tommy.” Tubbo nodded curtly. They still had grins on their faces. They walked over to your bed before they picked you up and walked you out of the room. You didn’t have the energy to fight them, so you laid limp in their arms. They eventually took you down to the living room and plopped you down onto the couch between them. Techno tossed them a blanket when they then used to wrap you tightly into a blanket burrito. The home screen of Disney Plus was pulled up on the TV and the curtains were drawn. Philza and Wilbur exited the kitchen with glasses of water and two big bowls of popcorn.

They smiled widely when they saw you squashed between your brothers, putting a bowl of popcorn in your lap and three glasses of water nearby. The two next to you dug into the popcorn as the rest of the family made themselves comfortable on the couch. 

“What are we doing?”

“Movie night! We’re gonna binge the Marvel movies, your favorite!” Tubbo grinned at you, practically bouncing in his seat.

“Just double checking, the order is Captain America, Captain Marvel, Iron Mans One and Two, Incredible Hulk, Avengers, Thor-”

You cut Wilbur off with a mumbled “first Thor, then the first Avengers movie.”

“Glad I asked then! The timeline would’ve been thrown off.” 

As the movies progressed, you started to finally feel like you belonged as a part of the family. Laughter came easier to you, mingling effortlessly with the family’s laughter. Every time you laughed at a scene, they would give you a smile and laugh alongside you. Eventually after about halfway through Captain America: The Winter Soldier, everyone had fallen asleep on the couch. Soft snores and the quiet sounds of the occasional fight scene filled the room as your eyelids started to close involuntarily. You looked around the room at the rest of your family. They all looked peaceful in their slumber. Tommy and Tubbo’s protective hold of their arms around your shoulders made you feel safe. It was in that moment that you realized that they would never let anyone hurt you ever again. You were a part of an actual, loving family. With that, you let yourself fall asleep into a peaceful slumber surrounded by the people that loved you the most. 

General taglist:

@crybabyjabby  @izzybobizzy13  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @bunnyz-pxstel  @averytiredfanfictionwriter  @dcml04  @sparkling-gayyyy  @bbigbbrainn  @thaticecreambish  @kiinokochii  @satansphatass  @bxkubitch  @bxmentchildxx  @roxy3457  @montygator17  @feverish-dove  @the-fictionwriters-hairdo  @jichuuchaeng

[asimpforarmin]

Not so Safe? 💛

Content: Armin Arlert x Reader, Modern AU, two dorks being awkward

Summary: You and Armin go to the beach during quarantine as a way to get away from the stressors of life, keeping safe during it.

WC: 2,123

Genre: fluff?? maybe i guess. Wholesome stuff.

Warnings: None

A/n: This is my first fic on this account and also the first one I’ve written in a long time, so this might be bad, idk. Btw check out this playlist: https://youtu.be/1_2lm4tS9N4 It’s really nice and I listened to it while working on this. Ok bye-

You were bored, just slouching in bed late at night waiting for something to happen. Since quarantine hit, you really haven’t been able to see your friends, well not without a screen. You’ve been keeping up with your closest friends, Connie, Sasha, and Armin, and playing Minecraft with them when you don’t have (or don’t do) your schoolwork. You’ve been missing actually hanging out with them though.

So you decided to group message them about it, see if they wanted to go do something, taking safety precautions of course. Turns out Sasha’s mom wouldn’t let her go anywhere because she was worried for her, and Connie was staying with family out of state. But Armin could come.

You moved to private messages to talk to Armin about it, so you don’t spam the group chat or make Sasha and Connie jealous.

“Hey, are you free on Friday?” you asked.

You quickly saw him typing back to you, “Sorry, no, but I can do something on Wednesday or Thursday.”

You sat up a bit, “Alright, either one works for me.” You had that equivalent of awkward silence between texts where neither of you know what to say. “Which one do you prefer?”

He responds after a moment of thinking. “Wednesday’s fine. What do you wanna do?”

You thought it over for a moment, not actually expecting to get this far. “I know that ice cream shop down the road’s open. We could get some ice cream and head down to the beach for a while and just screw around if you want.”

“Sure. Which ice cream shop again?” He questioned. Armin lived not too far from you and had been over a couple times.

“That one we pass when you come over. Taking a right from my house it’s on that corner, a few shops down from the gas station.”

“Oh that one! Ok.” He responded.

“Did you get your bike fixed?” You asked. You all had bikes and would go places on them before the whole virus thing happened. Thing is, Connie crashed into Armin after hitting a pothole and totaled his front spokes.

“Yeah, it’s all ready to go. Do you have a cooler?”

“I know there’s one somewhere in the garage that I can find and clean out.”

“Alright, I’ll see you Wednesday?”

“Definitely.”

You were excited to see at least one of your close friends during the pandemic. You set your alarm for tomorrow, which was Monday. You only had to wait until Wednesday to see him.

~~~~~

Wednesday rolled around soon enough and you had just finished the last of today’s schoolwork. You packed up a backpack with some extra snacks, water, and some bandages in case either of you fall.

You texted Armin “Hey, where do you wanna meet?”

“I can just meet you at the ice cream place if you want.”

“You sure? That's kinda far from where you are.”

“I’ll be fine, it's not terribly far.”

“Alright, well I’ll see you there.”

“Cya,” he signed off.

You put your phone in your backpack, before dusting off that old cooler, filling it with ice, and putting it in your bike basket. You set out for the shop feeling good. You haven’t been outside in a while, and feeling the wind against your skin felt perfect.

You went down the road a ways, pulling up into the shop’s parking lot. You pulled your bike over and leaned it against the curb with the kickstand, and waited for Armin.

About 10 minutes later, the blond comes into view, pulling into the lot, spotting you, and heading over. You look up at him, pulling your mask up as he does the same. He wipes his brow as he’s hauling his bike over. “Hey, how are you?” he asks, looking down and putting his kickstand to the curb.

Your smile, “Good, how about you?” In all honesty you were great now that he’s here. You haven’t seen him in person for around 11 months and you’ve missed him.

He looked back up at you and you could tell he was smiling even under his mask.

“I’m fine, happy to be outside,” he sighed.

“Hey, your hair’s a little longer,” you pointed out.

He blushed a tiny bit, “I’ve only gotten it cut once during this and now since everything’s reopening, my mother’s scared to take me to get it cut again. The only reason she let me come on this trip was because it’s contactless.”

“I see, well either way it looks cute,” you reassured him.

He let out a small laugh, “Thanks.”

“Anyways,” you say, going up to the front of the building, “what flavor do you want?” You put some gloves on before reaching for your wallet.

“I’ll just have the cookie dough.” Armin pulls out his phone to pay that way.

“Hey, I can pay for both of us if you want,” you say, looking over at Armin.

“It’s fine, I have my own money,” he politely declines.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s my pleasure,” you say, taking money out of your wallet, enough for the two of you. “What size do you want?”

He puts his phone back into his pocket, looking up at the size chart. “I’ll just have a medium.” You nod and go up to tell the person at the counter your orders. A few minutes later, your orders are in the window. You hand the cashier the money, then take off your gloves and grab your ice creams. You put the bowls in Tupperware and then in the cooler.

“You ready to go?” You ask Armin. He nods, clicking his helmet back into place and getting on his bike. You get back on your bike too and the both of you head out.

It’s another 10 minutes before you get to the beach. It isn’t the best weather for this kind of visit. It’s overcast and a little bit foggy, but it’s still a nice place to hang out.

The both of you lock your bikes up and take your ice cream out of the cooler. You hand Armin his dessert and open your own.

“Wish the weather was better,” you commented, looking up at the grey sky.

“Well if the sky’s not clear, that means less people will come,” Armin points out, looking over at you. You nod and look around for a spot to sit down. “We could go over there,” Armin suggests. He’s pointing at a couple boulders decently spaced apart up on the hill away form everything.

“Ok,” you say. You both start going over. There’s no one else at the beach besides a few random people chilling at the shoreline. Armin hops up on the boulder to the right and you get on the left one.

“Thanks for paying for this,” Armin sheepishly says, taking a bite.

“It’s no problem, I’m happy to,” you say. God, you wish you could hug him. Quarantine’s been horrible to your social interaction, plus you may have an inkling of attraction to him. Even to just hold his hand would be ethereal. But you can’t. You need to stay safe, and you don’t know if he feels the same about you.

“So, um, how’s your week been so far?” He inquires.

“It’s been okay. Hating school as usual, but besides that I’ve had a good time keeping up with you all,” you say.

He takes another bite before speaking, “If you want, I could help you out with your work if you’re having trouble.” This wasn’t the first time he offered, but you felt like too much for agreeing last time.

“I’ll think about it, I’m managing alright for now though. How about you? How’s quarantine been treating you?” You ask him.

“I’ve been able to keep up with things for the most part, but it does get tiring. It’s good to finally get out of the house again.” You nod and both of you just sit there for a moment, eating and looking out at the ocean. You couldn’t see that far out because of the fog, but what you could see was nice.

The waves slowly crashed against the sand and rocks while you heard gulls above you. You cherished this moment, as simple as it is. Even if your feelings were unmatched, he was still your best friend. You get butterflies whenever he’s around. He makes you happy and anxious in the best ways possible.

Armin looks up before taking out his phone. “Looks like it’s supposed to rain in a bit.”

“That’s a bummer, I wish we could stay out here longer,” you say.

“We can always come back. I’m still free tomorrow.” You perked up at his suggestion.

“Same, we can do that,” you quickly reply. He nods his head in agreement.

“Same time?”

“Sure.” You both went back to eating for a moment. “We should  do this more. This is fun.”

“I do quite like this. It’s relaxing to take a break every now and then,” he says.

The two of you keep talking, about home, friends, hobbies, school, etc, when you felt a raindrop on your cheek. You look over at Armin, who looks up at the rain.

“Guess it’s time to go,” he says, slightly frowning. You stand up, getting the trash from your ice cream and start walking over to the trash can. It’s under one of those buildings that look like metal car awnings, but with benches and the board that shows the directory and rules of the beach. Armin follows suit.

“We really should have checked the weather,” you say, disposing of your trash, “I don’t feel comfortable with either of us biking in the rain on the road like this.”

Armin throws his trash away, “We’ll be okay, it’s not a whole lot,” he says. “Besides, you can call someone if you don’t feel comfortable.”

You sit down on a bench, looking on your phone. “Looks like it’s not supposed to stay for too long. We could just stay here for a while if you’re okay with it.” He sits down next to you and nods. He looks between you two and sees the small gap.

“Sorry,” he says as he moves further away.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you say. You want to tell him how you feel, you really do, but if he doesn’t feel the same, you’re afraid things won’t go back to normal.

You start to say his name at the same time he speaks, which causes you to both chuckle. “You go first,” he says.

“Go ahead, I’ve already forgotten what I was saying.”

“That quickly?” he smiles.

“Apparently.”

“Well I- I don’t know how to put this properly, but…”

“But what?”

“I want to do this more often, and I know you already said that but I really miss hanging out with you.” He looks over at you, waiting for your reaction.

“I miss you too,” you say. You felt your cheeks darken as your face warmed up. You look over at him, he was just the same as you. That gave you the confidence you needed. “I really like you, Armin.”

He looks up at you suddenly, “You mean like, more than friends?” he asks you nervously.

“Yeah. More than friends. I have for a while but I just haven’t said anything.” You look away until he says something, not wanting to face him as he’s making up his mind, but he answers almost immediately.

“I do too! I- I mean I just didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure if you felt the same.” You felt your breath hitch in your throat, wanting to say something, but you just didn’t have the right words.

“Well, um, we should definitely do this more often then,” you finally say, giving him a smile.

“Do you uh, want to hold hands?” he asks shyly.

“Should we?”

“It’ll be fine as long as we wash our hands when we get home.” You nodded and stuck out your hand. He took it as he moved a bit closer to you.

You two just sat there for a moment, taking everything in. The rain, each other, the sounds coming from the road. Even though it seemed so new, it felt good. It felt right. Armin started speaking again, talking about how he’s been thinking of this moment for a long time. You smiled and continued the conversation for a decent half hour, still clasping hands.

You finally heard the rain let up and the sun began to shine through the clouds.

“You want to go down to the shore for a bit now?” You asked him.

“Of course,” he said. You got up, taking him by the hand down the hill.

[welllpthisishappening]

But Once a Year (3/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 9K and change, but also stuff happens AN: I cannot tell you guys how much I appreciate you continuing to appreciate this story. It’s exceptionally nice, and I think you’re wonderful. Here’s a whole slew of feelings and tradition and magic. Like, lots of magic. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the start

————

This is a problem. 

Multiple problems, honestly. Like, at least seven different problems that Emma can think of off the top of her head, and obviously the most pressing is getting back to the right part of her timeline, but only marginally less distressing is the overall domesticity of her life at this point of her timeline. 

It’s more than the pillows. Of which there are just an absolutely ridiculous amount, actually. They hover in couch corners and fall to the floor with alarming regularity because, between the two of them, Hope and Lucy are something akin to forces of nature, hopped up on Christmas-type sugar and the cookies that people apparently just hand out on the street in Storybrooke. Someone’s always got some sort of baked good, freshly out of the oven — and while Emma’s discovered she’s particularly partial to Granny’s snickerdoodles, she can’t imagine any of this is very efficient. 

For Storybrooke’s economy, or whatever. 

There’s no bank. Emma looked. And asked. Several dwarfs, actually. All of whom immediately bowed and narrowed their eyes at her like she’d totally lost her mind, which seems pretty accurate at this point. Five days after waking up on that couch, with all of its pillows and questionable comfort, and only a handful of people actually know what’s going on. 

Not Hope. 

And no one actually told her to do that, but Emma figures it’s kind of like deciding to take her boots off in the house. Polite. Plus, a growing determination not to traumatize a ridiculously cute four-year-old, even when that four-year-old appears to be far more adept at stealing cookies than anything else. 

Crumbs line the counter in the morning, and there’s usually a bit of evidence directly outside Hope’s bedroom door, signs of a late-night theft that shouldn’t make Emma smile. She does anyway. Can’t seem to stop it, which might be problem number four. Three is definitely Killian’s consistent lack of jacket, which admittedly is a very surface problem, but the button-up shirts are all ridiculously patterned, and trying not to ask who initially took him shopping is like, problem, three sub-a. 

So, no one tells Hope that her mom isn’t her mom. Technically speaking, at least. They go through the motions, and Emma smiles when she’s supposed to, and she eats what is undoubtedly the world record for snickerdoodle consumption by a wayward princess, but trying to be herself, while also not being herself continues to be a rather daunting prospect. 

Particularly because whomever Regina believed would know more about Neverland vegetation and its ability to ruin everything is taking their sweet time responding or showing up in Storybrooke, and they’ve tried what feels like several thousand things to get Emma back, but magic beans were a no-go, and some very fancy wand didn’t do anything except infuriate Regina with it uselessness, and it’s still Christmas, so there are apparently a metric shit ton of traditions and expectations, and—

“Wait, what?” Emma asks, perched on the edge of her desk in the station because that’s at least something she’s used to. Less so to Killian’s presence at the only other desk, and she doesn’t remember the only other desk being quite so close to her’s, but it’s entirely possible that’s a trick of her not-quite coherent mind. 

Might be problem six. Maybe seven. Making it six gives it power, and acknowledges how much the state of his tongue continues to affect her cognitive abilities. Of which there were already very few, especially while she was exhausted in Neverland, and Emma’s not willing to risk anymore. 

“It’s something of a requirement,” Killian says, not for the first time. Princesses have a ridiculous number of requirements, Emma’s rather quickly learned. And he can’t seem to sit straight in any chair. Also ridiculous. 

“Does that not hurt your spine?”

Shrugging, he smirks at her and that’s been happening more often. Not that she’s keeping track, or anything. She’s just—aware, that’s totally the right word. Of him, and what he does with his face and his patterned shirts, and there’s been no bare arm again, but Emma’s still not really his wife, and she knows the hours he’s spent holed up in one of the copious rooms in their quasi-mansion have been dedicated to research. 

And getting his wife back. 

That’s fine. It’s fine. Definitely not a problem. Hasn’t even crossed her mind. 

Emma doesn’t want him to want her. Like, ever. 

And they’re waiting for her dad, anyway. To report back on some magical failing in Wonderland. Seriously, everything is so fine that it's almost a problem as well. It’s too fine. Everything is—

Great. 

“Are you concerned about the state of my spine, darling?”

Melting is not an option — so far as Emma is aware of, but it’s certainly very appealing in the moment. When that moment includes tilted lips and an angled neck seemingly designed to ensure Killian’s hair falls artfully across his forehead, as if the strands are there to frame his eyes and the hint of light in them. 

She takes a deep breath. 

The light brightens. Or she imagines. 

“A tree lighting, though,” Emma says, not-so-subtly changing the subject. Killian’s brows jump. Up his forehead and past those strands of hair she’s only passably obsessed with. “Isn’t that kind of...I don’t know, it’s not very fairy tale.” “Regina lights the candles with magic, if that helps.” “So why do I have to be there?” “The monarchy usually stands on a platform, waves lovingly to their subjects and—” “—God, how is there more?” Emma balks, but that only gets her a more powerful smirk and eyes that are far too blue to be fair, and they still haven’t painted the dining room. She’s not going to ask about that. 

She’s not. 

“This is something of the central hub for the rest of the United Realms,” Killian explains, “and with Regina and the Charmings here, it makes sense that people...flock.” “Like birds.” “Not the ones your mother can commune with, but I suppose the metaphor is appropriate.”

“Who decided to hold Regina’s queen election?” Eyeing her speculatively, Emma does her very best not to wither under Killian’s expression. She’s not altogether confident it works, but they’ve almost come to something like an understanding, and it’s very easy. This, them. No, not them. There’s no them and while Emma’s done her fair share of staring, there can’t be a them now because that will undoubtedly fuck with the timeline and probably everything else, just to keep inspiring problematic lists, and her increasing desire to kiss him until he also has to deal with wobbly knees is just something she’s going to have to deal with. 

“Maybe I won’t remember when I get back,” Emma reasons, but that one word comes out as wobbly as her knees have been and Killian purses his lips. “Ok, fine—tell me something totally random, then. A fun-fact, as it were.” “Random.” “Do you not know what that means?” He rolls his eyes. “I know at least three more languages than you do, so—” “—No you do not!”

Nodding, Killian smiles over the edge of his coffee mug, and neither one of them mention that his proclivity to drinking a gallon of coffee every morning could probably be this so-called fun fact. “English, obviously, and—” “—Ok, I can clearly speak English,” Emma argues. She nearly bites her tongue in half at the force of Killian’s answering look, part amusement and even more heat and that only circles her back around to the melting thing. 

“Aye, but I definitely know more curses than you do, so that’s got to count for something. Also that’s simply my base language, as it were.” She sneers. He chuckles. Into the mug, but it feels like the emotion behind it sinks under Emma’s skin and times up with her pulse, less erratic than it had been those first few nights, and she’s actually started sleeping consistently. “Then of course, I’m rather familiar with Latin.” “Dead, it doesn’t count.” “Impressive, though.” “Sounds like you’re fishing for compliments, Captain.” “Unnecessary, when I know you’ll be all wide-eyed and amazed in a moment,” Killian promises, swinging his legs to prop his feet on the edge of her desk. “There’s also Greek, and—” Waving her hands, Emma doesn’t explicitly try to swat at his legs, but he’s just so goddamn close, and still exuding heat, and she’s starting to have some assumptions about that as well. Of the possibly magic and decidedly—no she’s not doing that. They’re not that. Not like this, anyway. And Killian doesn’t immediately move, but that only lulls her into a false sense of security, the metal of his hook is cold enough that she yelps when it circles both her wrists.

“Fairy,” he finishes, and Emma refuses to believe he leans forward on purpose. 

“No.” “You keep objecting to my facts and you’ll give a man a complex, Swan.” “Why would you know Greek, you’re a—” “—Fairy tale character?” 

Emma presses her lips together. So as not to make an undignified noise. She’s already whimpered enough, and cried more than she thought possible and the hitch in his voice threatens to shatter several things. Moving her hands is impossible, which is probably for the best, but all of her would very much like to cup his cheek, if only to see if he’ll kiss the inside of her wrist, and she’s like ninety-two percent positive he would. “Pirate prince,” she corrects lightly, and does get her a smile. “Do you have an official title here?” “Captain.” “That’s it?” “Not impressive enough, huh?”

There’s no music on in the station, but they’re clearly dancing all the same — around each other, and the maelstrom of feelings Emma is doing a God awful job of ignoring, and at some point one of them is going to have to pull away from the other. In more ways than one. 

“I didn’t say that,” she shakes, “and don’t bother telling me it’s another argument, I don’t care. I’m just—curious, I guess.” “About me?”

Nodding is the least dangerous response when she’s so worried about tripping over her own feet in this metaphorical waltz, but it’s one of the more accurate things she’s said since she got here, and now she’s got an excuse. No repercussions, nothing exactly permanent about these conversations, or this information, and no one’s told her whether or not she’ll retain her memories once she gets back, but they also don’t know she’ll get back so—

Fuck it, honestly. 

“Yeah,” Emma replies, not bothering to gloat when Killian’s the one whose eyes go wide first. 

“Oh.” “Is that unexpected?” “Maybe at this point.”

Humming, she files that away, preening slightly under the not-quite-compliment. “Not an answer though. Habit of yours.” “Not really, you’re just very demanding in this incarnation.” “Product of my situation, I guess.” He laughs. It’s something that happens more often here than it did when Emma knew him — knows him, whatever tenses get confusing in time travel. Still, the sound consistently manages to catch her off guard. Free and easy, and the magic that rustles in the back of her brain might deserve its own list. 

Or another conversation with Regina. “The Royal Navy,” Killian says, an answer Emma nearly forgot she wanted. Her eyes widen. He looks triumphant. “See, told you.” “Like an Enchanted Forest GI bill, huh? See new lands, learn new languages.” “Something like that, aye.” “How’d you get to fairy?” “Did you meet the Lady Bell before—” “—I got yanked out of Neverland?” Emma quips, and it might be a defense mechanism. Making jokes, but she also hasn’t gone into detail about the plant-thing yet, and that might be because she doesn’t want to freak him out. 

Anymore than he already is. He spends at least an hour in that room every night. 

“Yeah, I did,” she adds,” after she kidnapped Regina and told us Greg and Tamara were dead, which...y’know—” “—Wasn’t the worst thing in the world?” “Does that make me a horrible person?” Killian shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” “Are you going to tell me you learned fairy language from an actual fairy?” “Not much else to do on a hellish island for several hundred years, and it’s a rather complicated tongue. Takes some practice.” “Oh, you’re doing that on purpose now.” The speed of his grin is like molasses. Emma assumes. She’s not sure she’s ever encountered molasses in real life. Even so, the whole thing is bordering on obscene and the opposite of the Christmas spirit and—“Alright,” she concedes, “learning fairy is actually pretty impressive.” “You flatter me, love.”

“What’s your favorite fairy curse word and do you think anyone would be totally scandalized if I used it during this super fancy, exceptionally royal tree lighting?” 

Absolutely, goddamn obscene. The tip of his tongue finds the corner of his mouth, and his eyes get noticeably darker, Emma’s pulse picking up until she’s sure they can hear it on the other side of town, and there’s already barely any space between them, but that appears to be decreasing with every passing second. She’s got no idea who’s moving. She might be moving. 

God, she hopes she’s moving.

Losing control of her limbs may send her off some ledge. 

And she’s just about to throw caution to the seemingly ever-present wind that comes off the harbor, because the front of this patterned shirt looks particularly yankable, but the station door creaks, and a muscle in Killian’s jaw jumps and David clicks his teeth exactly once when he walks in. 

“Interrupting something, am I?” “No, no,” Emma stammers at the same time Killian mumbles “absolutely not,” and neither of those things sound all that honest. 

She’s never gone into cardiac arrest, but if this is what it feels like, it’s kind of disorienting. 

“You hear about the tree lighting, Emma?” David asks, and that’s obviously where her inability to tactfully alter the course of a conversation comes from. Killian rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, slumping back into his chair. 

Exhaling feels like an admission of guilt, but Emma can’t have anything to feel guilty about here, and she hopes Killian’s getting sleep. On the couch. He keeps sleeping on the couch. 

Of course he does. 

“Do I have to wear a gown or anything?” “It’s outside,” David says, “there are trees involved.”

Killian’s hook pokes at his chair arm. “Only one tree, as far as I knew.” “Why are you like this?” “You’re charmed by it, I know,” he chuckles, eyes flashing towards Emma. Coincidence, she’s sure. Her cheeks are very warm. 

She’s very warm. Passably magical, maybe. 

David sighs. “No, there are no gowns. It is in fact only one tree, and Em—you don’t have to say anything. Regina will thank people for coming, Snow will open up the meal and that’ll be that.” “Should I know what the meal is?” Emma asks, and her gaze doesn’t automatically drift towards Killian either. It just, sort of—meanders there, naturally. His tongue is still doing that thing. 

“I was going to get to that part eventually.” “There’s kind of a reception,” David explains, “with cookies.” “Shit, how many cookies can one United Realm eat?” “An exceptional amount,” Killian mutters, and Emma might guffaw. While realizing why her other version had been baking so much before. 

“You don’t have to do anything,” David adds, “just show up and smile, and you’ll get some cookies out of it.” “Will I not get cookies if I don’t smile?” Not able to stop whatever noise rumbles out of him, the force of Killian’s grin makes Emma glad she’s sitting down again. “I’ll swipe you some if you don’t.” “Very gallant.” “Happens from time to time.” Flirting in front of her father is wrong. That’s if this counts as flirting. As far as Emma knows, most of their banter has been a product of their mutually ridiculous lives, and whatever situation they’ve found themselves in at the moment, but this moment doesn’t hold any danger and it is so goddamn easy. 

She smiles. 

Killian beams. 

David sighs again. “Anyone want to hear about Wonderland now? Or how the White Rabbit can’t draw any portals? Or—” “—This is a really extensive list,” Emma grumbles, and Killian’s smile is going to get stuck on his face. Permanently. She’s very charmed by the crinkles around his eyes. 

“Tinker Bell is here.” Slamming his feet back onto the floor, Killian practically snaps to attention, and Emma’s body goes through another reaction she does not expect. What feels suspiciously like jealousy rattles down her spine, rooting her to the spot and drying out her mouth and David’s far too observant. 

He clicks his teeth again. “When?” Killian asks, already standing and offering Emma his hand. She takes it, not thinking about what that means — or how it affects the half-green tint clouding her vision, and her heart misses a beat. As soon as his fingers lace through hers. 

“Just now. Went to Regina’s, but I had to come here, so one of Snow’s birds told me.” “You can talk to the birds too?” Emma balks, stumbling while Killian all but yanks her towards the door. 

“No, no, they carry messages now.” “Ah of course.” “Did Tink say anything yet?” Killian demands, David already shaking his head and they’re picking up speed. All but jogging down Main Street and towards Regina’s office, and the nickname probably isn’t important. It’s fine. Everything is fine. It’s all going to be good. 

Even when the fairy in question snaps towards the office door as it swings open, practically lighting up when she notices Killian and Regina’s eyes go noticeably thin. Staring at Emma like she’s trying to read her mind. 

Her fingers are still tied up with Killian’s. “Hook,” Tinker Bell exclaims, and she doesn’t have any visible wings so she can’t fly out of her chair. She tries all the same, arms that bump Emma as they hug her not-quite husband and he mutters a greeting. It takes a moment for Tinker Bell’s gaze to find Emma, trying and failing to keep her expression even, and Killian might chuckle. 

She kicks his ankle. 

“Emma,” Tink breathes, “it’s good to see you again, you have to get the hell out of this timeline.”

“So, that’s it,” Tinker Bell finishes, shrugging like Emma’s not dangerously close to fully breaking down and Killian’s thumb keeps tapping the side of her palm. Because he’s still holding her hand. Cool, it’s cool. She’s not totally preoccupied with that. 

Regina’s totally staring, anyway. 

“Will-o-wisps,” Killian says, “I thought that was a rumor.” More shrugging. There’s too much shrugging for Emma. “I’ve never heard of it in practice,” Tinker Bell reasons, “but can you think of another plant in Neverland that could do such a thing? That rumor you’re talking about always mentioned how it would draw a traveler in, bewitch them with lights and—were there lights, Emma?”

She nods. Swallows, or tries at least. But her tongue is expanding again, and her heart might be shrinking, and the whole thing feels like a very cruel trick. 

“Pan would have known about all of that,” Tinker Bell continues, “and used it to his advantage. If he could get Emma to follow the light, then she wouldn’t be a problem anymore.” “But I didn’t actually move anywhere,” Emma argues. “There was no following the light.” Regina exhales. “Probably more metaphorical, giving into what the light offered.” “Which was?” “This, obviously. What we talked about, and what you thought you couldn’t ever have while you were stuck in Neverland, convinced of a whole slew of wholly negative things. So, there was no walking, but—” “—I wouldn’t have just run away!” 

Voice cracking is a sign of impending mental breakdown, Emma’s sure. As are Killian’s tightening fingers, although she’s starting to depend on those fingers just a bit because sitting hadn’t even crossed her mind before and now that might be the only reason she’s still standing.

That keeps happening. 

“Doesn’t sound like you had a choice,” Regina says, “if Pan wanted to tempt you, will-o-wisps seem like the perfect way to do it. See the light, get pulled into this future, he gets Henry, and everything he wants.” “But Henry is here. He’s—he’s a grown man, with a kid and—” “—None of that is set in stone,” Tinker Bell interrupts, magic roaring in Emma’s ears. Killian’s going to cut off the circulation to her hand. “With you out of the way, Pan’s got a straight shot at the heart of the truest believer, he can change what you would have eventually done. Make sure he gets the magic that’ll save Neverland. That’s why everything else is falling apart.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Magic,” David clarifies. “All of it acting strangely? Turns out that is because of you, kid.” Scoffing makes her lean forward awkwardly, but Killian doesn’t mention the strain it’s undoubtedly putting on his arm, and letting go of her hand is disappointing for about two seconds. Before it turns into his arm around waist. 

Regina’s expression turns calculating. 

“Again,” she says, “it’s what we talked about. Things falling apart because you got pulled off the board. Into this exceedingly tempting place.”

Widening her eyes at the unspoken judgement doesn’t do anything to alter Regina’s face, but Emma didn’t really expect it to and her eyes hurt. From not crying. She can’t possibly cry anymore. “I’ve never been to Wonderland, though. How could I fuck up its magic?” “You’ve been other places, love,” Killian murmurs, “and all of that has ripple effects. Savior saves one place, and other realms reap the benefits.” “Is Neverland in the United Realms?” “No.” “Just like that?” “Just like that,” he echoes, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “What do we do now, Your Majesty?”

Taking a deep breath, Regina lets it out almost immediately — staring at limbs and their out-of-place placement for a moment, before glancing at Tinker Bell. Who shrugs, again. Emma’s going to scream. Before she cries. Maybe then all the emotions will balance out. “We figure out a way to get Emma back to the right place, so she can save Henry and defeat Pan, then we hope that things haven’t been altered so much in the past that this version of the future crumbles entirely.” “What was that about no pressure before?” Emma huffs, David laughing under his breath and the feel of something on her hair is absolutely not Killian’s lips. “And honesty, what options do we have left? As far as time travel goes.” “Eh, we're far from exhausted on possibilities,” Regina says. “Just need to get creative.” Tinker Bell’s gasp is very loud. “Have you tried—” “—No,” Killian cuts in, sharper than anything else he’s said. “That’s not going to work.” “But you haven’t tried.” “Because it’s not an option.” “Oh, that’s very negative.” He hums, and Emma waits for the rest of the conversation. Another verbal volley, but it doesn’t come and Tinker Bell looks very disappointed. She’s got another migraine. “How long do you think we have until this future just—disintegrates?” Emma asks. 

She counts to twenty-four before anyone replies. “Maybe a couple days,” Regina replies, “a week at most.” “So—Christmas, then?” “I bet he didn’t plan that on purpose, just one of those crazy happenstances.” “Yuh huh.” “Try and sound more convincing next time, that one sucked a bit.”

Hearing the so-called queen of these supposed United Realms utter the word sucked without a hint of irony is not what Emma expects to be the straw that breaks her back, but it is and her back hurts, and all of her aches, and saving people is her gig. She’s got to figure out a way to do that. No matter what. 

She can’t do that while standing here. With three matching looks of concern, and one of absolute and total fear boring into the side of her head, and Emma’s also very good at running.

That would suggest she’s got control over her limbs, though. Stumbling down the stairs, she makes it about three-quarters of the way down before the whole thing is too challenging and her lungs appear to be disappearing, or possibly melting, and something in her spine cracks when she falls forward. 

Hair brushes Emma’s knees, shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs and the volume of her breathing and the hand that lands on hers doesn’t surprise her as much as it should. “In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Killian instructs, only for Emma to flat out fail at that too. 

Becoming a very frustrating theme. “Why are you so worried about my oxygen intake?” “It concerns me that you’re not, actually.”

Letting out a breath she definitely could have used, Emma’s head lolls. Towards his shoulder and the very solid nature of him, and he doesn’t try to roll her off. Just shifts his arm so it’s back around her waist and that does make it a bit easier to keep her lungs functioning. 

“Was it all of reality collapsing, or Regina using that particular word?”

Emma groans. “Mind reading’s kind of a violation of privacy.” “Invoking my pirate excuse.” “That’s not a thing.” “Eh,” he says, and she hears the smile. That’s...nice. “Having no regard for laws is something of a requirement for piracy.” “This is not working as well as you think it is.” “I respectfully disagree. We’re going to fix this, you know that, right?” “I can’t imagine how.” “Sheer stubbornness hardwired into your personality.” Laughing hurts her very tight and anxiety-riddled chest, but Emma can’t help herself and she’d been right about the smile. Magic flutters under her skin, a steady pulse that’s slightly different than her normal pulse because it’s also more consistent and Killian’s nose is close enough to brush her cheek. If he wanted. 

She wonders if he does. She’d like him to. 

But that’s another problem, and more danger than anything Neverland could offer, and—“Fuck Peter Pan, honestly,” Emma proclaims, Killian’s response warm on her skin because it also includes a sound drifting close to a guffaw and she supposes his mouth is as close as his nose. What with the general structure of faces, and all. 

He kisses her cheek. 

Quick — barely there, really. Over before it has a chance to register, but Emma’s certain she’s been catapulted into the stratosphere, and he blinks almost hyperactively at her. She’s right about the palm thing too. 

He turns into her hand as soon as it finds his cheek. 

“Apologies,” Killian mumbles, retreating back into formalities and behind walls Emma had been clinging to only a few days before. Now they’re just kind of annoying. “Force of habit.”

“Was it the fuck Peter Pan that got you?” “You’ve always been something of a wordsmith.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Emma smiles. “Can I—can I ask you a question?” “No need to preface it, darling.” That’s something like the eighth time that’s happened. In the last two days. Second in the last hour or so. Emma’s not counting that either. “Do you remember this?” “Currently?” “Don’t be an ass,” she snarks, but his hook is around her wrists before she can even try to lift her hands. “The will-o-wisp attack. I—well, it was my turn to watch and I was kind of wallowing because of everything that had happened, and—” Telling him she wanted to kiss him then and now and possibly for the rest of time is also very appealing. And terrifying. Emma bites her tongue. Coward. 

“No,” Killian shakes his head. “I don’t.” “Is that weird?” “Decidedly.” “So, then—wait, I’ve got another question.” He lifts his eyebrows. Smirks. Has the absolute cheek to lift his thumb and brush tears away from her skin, and Emma resolutely refuses to acknowledge the shiver that goes through her at that. “What was with your huh’s, then?” “Last night, you mean.” “I said Echo Caves and you totally froze. Is that—” “Quite a lot of things happen in Neverland,” Killian finishes, “and not all of them have happened for you yet.” “Menacing.” He hums again, takes a deep breath that clearly isn’t a sign he wants to kiss her again. When he does not actually kiss her again. Fine, fine, fine, super. “Not all of it,” he says, although the words sound suspiciously like a promise and neither one of them blink when a bird flies through the open window nearby. 

“Are those birds flying in sync?” “Stop talking, you’re going to get us in trouble.” “What was that about pirate code, or whatever?” Grinning up at him and his scowl, Emma can’t help but be a little proud that she’s managed to distract the great and passably royal Captain Killian Jones during the United Realm’s annual tree lighting. Which in retrospect, does seem kind of strange since Emma can’t imagine they actually have Christmas in the Enchanted Forest. 

That’s a conversation for a different time, though. 

For now she’s willing to keep playing distraction, and it’s very fun to flirt. With Killian, specifically. She’ll consider the repercussions of that later, too. 

“As far as I’m aware,” Killian whispers, trying to keep Hope from jumping into the nearest snowbank, “your mother has instructed them to appear at certain and integral points in the ceremony. For dramatic effect.” “Kind of gaudy, isn’t it?” “A requirement of royalty, so it would seem.”

The muscles in her cheeks are starting to ache. From overuse, and that’s—another problem. Being here a tease. That one strand of hair that always manages to fall towards Killian’s right eye is the worst. 

“How long have you been holding onto that particular opinion?” They haven't turned the tree on yet, so whatever light reflects in his eyes is more theoretical than anything. Regina must have practiced this speech at some point. No way this is all improvised, not with the dramatic pauses and introductions and— “Oh shit,” Emma mutters, the ends of Killian’s ears going red because Regina is introducing them and Hope is nothing more than four uncoordinated limbs and Henry snickers very loudly.

Ella elbows him in the side. 

Emma likes her daughter-in-law. She hasn’t allowed herself to think about that title, or the granddaughter it comes with, but she’s getting very good at putting thoughts in boxes and only partially acknowledging what they mean and Killian's hand finds her again. 

Magic rushes from the top of her head to the very bottom of her feet, standing a bit straighter in another pair of boots, and Killian’s whole body moves towards her. So as to make it easier when he openly gapes at her. 

That must happen a lot too, though. No one bats an eyelash. “If you’re all done,” Regina drawls, but Henry isn’t and Ella can’t contain her laugh either. Mary Margaret looks overjoyed. Even as her birds break formation. 

Emma nods. “All good.” “Gods, the whole lot of you are annoying. You know—” Waving one hand, candles burst into flame without a word, multi-colored lights appearing on every branch, and it takes Emma a moment to realize that everyone in the crowd is holding an ornament. 

“What are they for?” she asks Killian, not bothering to lower her face over the cheers. People are cheering for the tree. “They’re wishes, Mama,” Hope cries. “From everyone!”

He nods when the four-year-old doesn’t explain anymore — already rushing towards Mary Margaret and her ornament. “That’s why people come from all over. Aside from the festive nature, and the talented birds, it’s an old superstition. Place an ornament where the candle was, and you’ll get your wish.” “What happens to the candle?” “Supposed to bring it home, and light that space with the feeling of the solstice.”

In any other situation, exhaling as forcefully as she does would be embarrassing. As it is, Emma figures she’s got a thousand excuses and the hand in hers gives no indication of letting go any time soon. So, seems like a wash. “Gods, that’s nice.” “Aye, it is.”

Hope puts an ornament on the tree. 

So does Henry. 

And Lucy. The list goes on and on, but all Emma can do is stand at the end of Granny’s counters and eat her weight in Snickerdoodles. 

She's the worst, frankly. 

Snow starts to fall just as Emma’s wavering between that happy medium of pleasantly buzzed and legitimately drunk, and she’s got to ask someone who doles out the liquor licenses in this realm because it appears Granny’s hand has grown a bit heavy over the years. 

Lucy scampers towards the far window as soon as she notices the storm, already talking a mile a minute and detailing plans with Hope and Neal — and this happy medium makes it impossible for Emma to be too frustrated by that, but she also hasn’t actually asked what happened to Neal or why he doesn’t appear in Storybrooke, so it seems it’s more difficult to rid herself of the self-imposed asshole moniker than she’d like. 

And the bell over the door rattles like it’s the goddamn town crier, another familiar face stepping through the frame. With red highlights in her hair. “Are we doing this, then?” Ruby asks, flanked by a woman Emma doesn’t recognize and another redhead who is obviously not Ariel and it’s strange to see Mulan out of armor. 

“Cap?” Ruby presses, when no one responds quickly enough, “this is happening, right?” Glancing at a wary Henry and back towards a clearly confused Emma, Killian grits his teeth. While she does her best to come to terms with nicknames, and another tradition and Hope tries very hard to climb up Emma’s side. 

So as to yell in her ear easier. 

“It’s snowing, Mama. We’ve got to play!” Emma blinks. “In the snow.” “It’s a...thing,” Killian explains. “Gets almost—” “—Bloodthirsty,” Mary Margaret says, which is not the most shocking thing that’s happened so far, but Emma’s buzz is starting to ebb slightly and someone’s knocking on the door. Another redhead, with her hair in braids and what looks like suspiciously like a crown on her head and David lets out a joyful noise when he notices the guy behind her. 

Mary Margaret tugs at the edge of Emma’s sleeve. She might be nearly drunk too, actually. If her slight wobble is any indication. “In the past,” she starts, “there’s been some notably magical snowstorms here. It was quite an event when Elsa first arrived, but then well—you helped save her, and her sister.” The redhead waves, as if she knows she’s being talked about and Emma can’t fathom how she makes that connection, but she’s getting better at puzzles. “And now,” Mary Margaret continues, “it’s become something of a ritual.”

Ruby gags. “Oh Gods, don’t say it like that. Sounds ruthless.” “Isn’t it, though?” Henry challenges. “The gist is, that Elsa shows up after the tree lighting with her snow powers and we have a snowball fight.” She’s too drunk for this. Definitely well past buzzed at this point. “A snowball fight,” Emma repeats, half a dozen nodding heads replying with equally large smiles and the almost audible sense of anticipation hovering around them. 

Hope widens her eyes. It’s a very good trick. “She practices that,” Killian mutters, more mind reading that Emma doesn’t bother to point out because the redhead is shouting "come on, let’s go'' and that sounds like a command. And bloodthirsty is a very appropriate adjective. 

Teams are quickly formed, alliances announced and the guy Emma realizes is named Kristoff claims “honor must be defended” enough times that it appears to be a catchphrase. Laughter rings out around them, dancing on the magically-induced snowflakes and off the lights, and there aren’t as many candles on the tree anymore, but some flames continue to flicker, casting shadows across faces and snowballs. 

As they fly past Emma’s ears. 

“Your aim could use some work,” Killian says, breathing heavier as he ducks behind a snow drift they’re using as a blockade. Emma sneers. “Where’d the kid go?” “Ours?” She nods. Tries not to die. Only marginally succeeds. Killian doesn’t appear to notice. Force of habit is a very strong rationalization, it seems. “She’s allied herself with her much more impressive brother, who—” Lifting out of his crouch, Killian cups a hand to his mouth, like that will help the volume of his ensuing insult. “—Has clearly been practicing snowball creation in the Wish Realm and only knows how to win by cheating!” “I learned it from you,” Henry calls back. 

David’s laugh is loud enough to disrupt a whole flock of birds. Perched on the branches above his and Mary Margaret’s head. 

Goosebumps make a glorious return to Emma’s arm — and quite possibly her soul, which only seems like an exaggeration until she notices the spots of color on Killian’s cheeks and the bits of snow clinging to his hair. His eyes get bluer when she brushes the moisture away. Have to, if only to explain Emma’s fluttering magic and fledgling pulse and a snowball slams into her left shoulder blade. “Gotta hide better,” Anna calls, the blonde behind her, who is definitely Elsa, shaking with the force of her laughter. Everyone keeps laughing. Everyone is so happy. It’s—

A goddamn Christmas Utopia. 

“You did offer yourself up a bit,” Killian reasons, Emma gasping at the betrayal. Pulling on the front of her now-damp jacket, he tugs her back against his side and they’re very close. Too close. Possibly not close enough. 

“And what would you suggest o ye master strategist?” “Little wordy, don’t you think?”

“I retract my compliment, then.” “Ahaha,” he chuckles, “a compliment, was it? Well that’s totally different, then. Now, if you just stay here with—” The rest of the sentence gets caught up in his grunt and groan and Emma’s not particularly disappointed to see Hope’s return to this side of the snowball fight, but she’s also fairly certain there was a me looming on the tip of Killian’s very distracting tongue and she’d like to hear that. Selfishly. “Oh, switched allegiances again, have you, little love?” “Henry can’t enchant the snowballs,” Hope says, like that’s supposed to make sense and it almost does because Emma has magic, but she’s never tried to use it on snow. At least not yet.

“I don’t—” she starts, only to cut herself off. At the overall circumference of Hope’s eyes, and the color of Killian’s and there’s something to said for sheer force of will. “Gimme a snowball, baby.”

Excitement immediately colors her daughter’s face, smile wide enough that it’s probably a record and Killian doesn’t say anything. Watches without a single shift of his chest, which means Emma is staring at his chest, but he’s also obviously not breathing, and her lungs can’t stand up to much more of this. 

An admittedly lackluster snowball gets plopped in Emma’s upturned palm, and she blinks away the cold like this is old hat. Or something less lame sounding. Snow packs together like—well, magic, she supposes, a perfect sphere that isn’t quite iced over, but won’t fall apart when one of them throws it and obviously Hope’s got to throw it. 

“Ok,” she says, nodding encouragingly. “Who did you want to take down?” Killian’s lips disappear. Behind his teeth. To stop himself from grinning like a maniac, or so Emma very quickly convinces herself. 

“Uncle Kris,” Hope announces, and this family’s apparently only grown in the last decade or so. Maybe Emma should be more concerned about her heart. And its ability to burst. 

“We can do that. Just—toss it up, and…”

She’s got no idea, really. Just generic hope, and a surplus of feeling, but Emma’s always been told that magic is emotion and she’s not sure she’s ever been more emotional, which is a scathing commentary of her life, but this is also her life and— Killian scoops Hope up, an impressive act of balance and dodging incoming snowballs, and Emma will use that emotion as a reasonable excuse for what she does next. Reaching forward, her fingers curl around the brace at the end of his arm, not able to actually touch skin because he’s wearing a leather jacket, and that’s only sort of messing with her mind. But the motivation is the same, and she’s got all those suspicions and thoughts and—

The most powerful magic in the world. 

“Throw it, love,” Killian directs, Hope’s arm pulling behind her like she’s a professional baseball player, and Emma squeezes her eyes shut. Warmth curls at the base of her spine, inching up her vertebrae until it takes root at the base of her skull, spreading out through her brain and the rest of her limbs and he definitely kisses her hair again. 

She’d been counting on that, just a bit. 

Muscles loosen under her skin, no sense of tension or that ever-present anxiety Emma’s always just assumed was part of her genetic makeup. Shouts echo around her, in addition to the snow, but she can’t quite hear any of it over the explosion of magic between her ears, and Hope’s cry of success will probably be branded on Emma for the rest of her life. 

She hopes so, at least. 

Opening her eyes to find Kristoff sputtering, and Anna as impressed as she is indignant, Emma only barely has a chance to catch her breath before there’s a kid flying into her arms. It’s harder to hold her when she doesn’t let go of Killian. And Killian doesn’t pull away. 

He watches both of them. Traces over Emma’s face, the same way she had in the hallway, and something happens. Something important. Passing between them, and cementing itself in her gut and her soul and his lips twitch. At her magic, probably. “Thank you,” Killian mouths, Emma nodding against Hope’s hair. She kisses it. Out of habit, or whatever.

Strands of hair are damp against Emma's temple by the time they traipse back to the house, Hope asleep on Killian’s shoulder. Enchanted snowflakes linger on the back of her jacket, hovering on her eyelashes for maximum effect and peak cute, which didn’t need any help if Emma’s being honest and she might be willing to err on the side of that particular feeling right now. So as to keep the feeling, all year long and maybe even indefinitely. 

Or whatever they said about Ebenezer Scrooge. 

After he learned to love Christmas. And other humans. 

Emma’s still not thinking too hard about that particular word, though. So, maybe complete honesty’s something of a stretch, but the kid is undeniably adorable and it’s admittedly difficult to think straight when Killian is—

Killian. In italicized and underlined lettering, meeting Emma snark for snark, and snowball for snowball, and she really wants to know his Monopoly cheating strategy, but that’s a problem for an entirely different list because that list has impossible words and improbable feelings and he’s staring at her.

Where she’s leaning against their front door. 

Using possessive and collective pronouns isn’t helping her cause. 

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. For the benefit of the sleeping kid, Emma figures. Not the state of her pulse, or the magic he could feel, and the cyclical nature of time is just toying with her at this point. 

She nods. “Better than, somehow.” “Oh, that’s a little negative, Swan.” “Kind of my schtick, isn’t it.” “Not always,” Killian says, another pair of words that shouldn’t sound like a promise and clearly do not care. Emma feels her smile. Like, possibly in the very core of her being. At least between her ribs, where the growing sense of belonging has decided to linger, this feeling of home and possibility and staying here is not a possibility. Tinker Bell will figure something out. 

Emma will — that’s how Savior’ing works, after all. 

“You know,” Killian adds, Hope humming into his neck and there’s quite a lot of neck. Emma might be staring at his neck. “At some point we concoct this very impressive buttered rum recipe, that’s notoriously good at warding off chills.” Digging her teeth into her lips does not do anything to disperse the butterflies in Emma’s stomach, but she’s also not all that interested in them leaving. “Concerned about my breathing and my overall body temperature?” God, she’s an idiot. 

Flirting isn't quite second nature, though — and Emma’s even less accustomed to flirting as a two-way street, but this feels as easy as it has and will and there’s those tense-based issues all over again. Killian grins. Slow, and measured and inching almost close to lecherous, sparking a handful of other other ideas that—

Immediately disappears when the four-year-old wakes up. 

Brushed teeth take precedence, as do picking out pajamas and Hope is in possession of more pajama sets than Emma knew could exist in one set of drawers. Then there’s a bedding routine, lifting comforters and crawling under sheets and Emma doesn’t know the story requested of her. 

She’s got no idea what happens after Prince Charles spun around with his sword. 

It’s got to be impressive, though. 

“Oh, Hope I—” she exhales, fear creeping back into the forefront of her mind. Until fingers find they’re way back into hers, and they’re just as warm as they always are and it takes Killian less than three minutes to promise a different story on another night. 

No tears are shed, so that’s got to be a victory and Hope’s eyes are already fluttering closed when Killian flicks off the light. Lingering in the hallway, Emma’s not sure what she’s supposed to do or where she’s supposed to go, but there’s a hook pressed into the small of her back and buttered rum turns out to have a ridiculous amount of cinnamon in it. “Shit,” Emma mutters into her glass, and Killian looks far too satisfied. “This is really good.” “Took some trial and error, but we got there eventually. Or get there for you, I suppose.” Sipping instead of responding is another cowardly move, one Emma won’t ever admit to and it doesn’t matter because he can read her mind. At least her face. Open book, and all that. 

“I’m sorry.” Killian blinks. “For what, exactly?” “God, throw a dart. Everything I—showing up in your life and making the right Emma disappear, maybe, and that’s got to be fucking with you, and—” “—You’re not the wrong Emma,” he interrupts, with enough force to pull her up short. Buttered rum drips on her chin. So, she’s a picture of romance and flirting potential. “Just a little early, that’s all.” “Not what you said when I got here.” “Aye, well that was the bastard version of me. He’s a—” “—Bastard?” “Absolutely,” Killian nods, “and maybe a little unsure of himself when it comes to you.”

It’s her turn to blink. More than once, only a little concerned the scene in front of her will change, but it doesn’t and it won’t and there’s got to be a limit on time travel. Emma’s reached her quota by now, she hopes. “Because I’m a mess now? I mean, this version of me. Not the wife one.” “You’re worried about Henry. And I understand that, did then as well. I just—you want to know why the Echo Caves gave me pause? Because if you got tugged right after that, then all you’re sure of is that I think I could move on from Milah, but nothing else has happened for you yet. No promises or—” Swallowing, he sets his glass down and there wasn’t much room between them, but there’s even less now and Emma’s got nowhere to put her hands. Except on his thigh. Where it bumps hers. “Leaving behind that bastard who wouldn’t give you the magic bean was always something of a challenge, but you made me want to. Made it easier to do just that. Because eventually you do trust me, and you believe in me, and—”

He exhales. Licks his lips. Emma can’t move. “The thought of losing that terrified me,” Killian finishes. 

They’ve stopped dancing. Are standing stock-still in the middle of the floor, while other people twirl around and wait for them to get their rhythm back. And Killian doesn’t blink, which is equally frustrating and overwhelming and a much more positive adjective that Emma can’t be bothered with because she’s too busy saying, “I...like you?” “Was that a question?” “Maybe,” she admits, “it’s not really my forte, and I told Neal a bunch of shit in the Echo Caves too, so—is...did my parents name their kid after him?” “Yuh huh.” “Don’t sound particularly pleased.” “We’ll get to that,” Killian says, “Rehash the liking stuff, please.” Maybe laughing at inappropriate times is actually his greatest talent. Emma’s head drops, bumping Killian’s shoulder, but then there’s an arm back around her waist and there’s so much of him, and that’s always been the problem. Opposite of a problem, really. 

“You just—” Emma mutters. “Came back, for us and me and I...that kind of terrifies me too, but you always make sure if I'm ok, and that’s—not a ton of people do that.” “Becomes something of a habit.” “I’m going to ask you a question.” “Still don’t need to preface it.” “Are you Prince Charles in the story?”

Surprise is a good look on him. All of them are, but Emma’s already crossed one emotional threshold and like wasn’t really the word she was thinking about before. “Aye,” Killian says, soft enough that it’s difficult to hear. 

“Does that make me the princess?” “In almost every story I tell.”

The warmth moves to her cheeks, and the same skin Killian’s fingers graze, coming dangerously close to the edge of her mouth and barely parted lips. “So, uh,” Emma stammers, “not our first time travel adventure?” “Gets confusing when you haven’t done that other part yet.” “Time travel might be overrated, honestly. But we get back, right? That’s—I mean, you’re here.”

Nodding, his nose replaces his fingers and it’s oddly endearing. “If you remember this in the past, I refuse to be held accountable, alright?”

“Seems fair,” Emma laughs, and she thinks she hears him swallow before he responds. “You give up your magic, for me—which is something else I never entirely pay you back for, but then we get pulled into the portal, adventures ensue, including that very impressive spin move, and then your magic comes back.” “How?” “With that wand Regina used before, that’s why she thought it would work.” “You’re skipping over things,” she accuses, and flirting might not be the only two-way street. He’s getting easier to read. “Was that was it you? Helping with my magic?” Shrugging isn’t easy when they’re so tangled together, but Killian’s ears are as red as Ariel’s hair and Ruby’s highlights and—“The only reason I magic’ed that snowball was because I was holding onto you. Control’s not something I’ve got much of right now.” “You would have been able to figure it out.” “Not with a kid waiting, and all those people and—” Problems be damned. Lists be damned. Time itself, be goddamned. “Paying me back is a stupid thing to think.”

“Swan.” Shaking her head, Emma moves before she can reconsider how incredibly dumb this is and possibly even more dangerous, but he keeps staring at her and it’s so easy and normal, and if she were someone who breathed with any sort of regularity, that wold be an appropriate analogy. Killian shifts too, so that helps. 

And she definitely mumbles kiss me like some harlequin romance heroine, but he doesn’t laugh and he doesn’t object and the fingers that find her hair help ground her. To this plane of reality. Nice exists for about half a second, before it rather quickly evolves into need and desire and there are hands everywhere. Emma’s and Killian’s — tracing each other like this is the first time all over again, and her back arches once she clamors into his lap. 

Rocking down at the same time he rocks up draws out several sounds Emma’s never heard before, and would not mind hearing on loop. Fingers search out skin, pushing into the tuft of hair at the nape of his neck, and she can’t tilt her head enough. To get the right angle, or more of his tongue and his tongue’s already swiping at her lips. 

He groans again. When she opens her mouth, lets him trace as much as he’d like, and Emma would like even more, but she’s always been kind of greedy when it comes to him and really oxygen is vastly overrated. 

She can’t keep her eyes open. 

Can’t imagine how anything gets better than this, or them and there’s that pronoun again. 

Both of their shoulders heave when they finally have to pull apart, more black than blue in Killian’s eyes and— “We’re really good at that,” she mutters, working a laugh out of him. That he presses against her neck. And under her chin. Drags across her jaw, and up towards her temple, kissing whatever he can reach and everywhere he lands and it takes a power she did not know she possessed for Emma to keep herself from demanding he take his clothes off as well. 

She opts for the next best thing. “Thoughts on sleeping in your own bed?” 

The eyebrows, honestly. Flying up, and reacting quicker than he can respond and Killian kisses her. Soft and easy, and as normal as anything. “Vast,” he says, mostly into her mouth, “and it’s difficult to fall asleep without you, so it’d be nice to actually do that.” “Yeah, ok. That works.”

[emy-loves-you]

Wrong Numbers and Useless Gays (Chapter 7)

Happy Halloween!

Warning: Minor burns

Chapter 6 | Masterlist | Chapter 8

V- (8:04 AM) Happy first day of Halloween!

L- (8:05 AM) Virgil, it’s October 1st. Halloween isn’t for another 30 days.

V- (8:05 AM) We must be celebrating different holidays. Halloween lasts from October 1st to October 31st. For the entire month, you watch cheesy Halloween movies and decorate your home in black, purple, and orange. Spiders and bats become your daily esthetic. There are no exceptions to this rule.

P- (8:06 AM) I have arachnophobia and most of our decorations are green. Is that alright, Kiddo?

V- (8:06 AM) … There is one exception.

L- (8:07 AM) This is preposterous.

R- (8:07 AM) Calm down, Specs. Let our Dark and Stormy Knight have his holiday. We don’t want another incident of Pi Day, do we?

V- (8:08 AM) What happened on Pi Day?

P- (8:08 AM) Logan wanted to spend the day memorizing as many digits of Pi as possible. Roman told him that Pi day was only for baking pies. Logan decided to etch as many digits of pi as he could fit into the crust of a pie before baking it. Sadly, baking isn’t Lolo’s exPIEtise.

R- (8:09 AM) He almost burnt the house down. It was hilarious.

L- (8:09 AM) I will back down from this argument, if only to preserve my dignity. Since you decided to text us at 8 AM, I assume that you have plans to celebrate your “first day of Halloween?”

V- (8:10 AM) Yep. I’ve got my Scooby-Doo VHS tapes, an entire gallon of iced coffee, and enough decorations to cover every square inch of my house. Life is good.

R- (8:11 AM) Wait which tapes?

V- (8:11 AM) Zombie Island, Witch’s Ghost, Alien Invaders, and Cyber Chase. The 4 best Scooby-Doo movies to ever exist.

R- (8:12 AM) Now I REALLY wanna watch Scooby-Doo

V- (8:12 AM) What’s stopping you?

L- (8:12 AM) The desire to have a stable income

R- (8:13 AM) I’m starring as Van Helsing for our theatre’s production of Dracula. I’ve got rehearsals and performances almost every night.

V- (8:13 AM) Sorry. I’ll watch it in your stead.

R- (8:14 AM) Gee, how thoughtful of you

(October 8th)

L- (2:32 PM) Virgil, did you seriously buy MORE chocolates?

V- (2:32 PM) Do you like them?

L- (2:32 PM) That’s not the point.

L- (2:33 PM) This is the 7th set of sweets you’ve sent us in the past 8 weeks. First of all, this is extremely unhealthy. Second of all, how much money have you spent on these? Third of all, you tend to send chocolates specifically when you’re planning something that we disapprove of. So what, pray tell, are you planning this time?

V- (2:34 PM) Wow, I didn’t realize you were keeping track of that.

L- (2:34 PM) I keep track of everything. Quit ignoring the questions.

V- (2:35 PM) Okay. First of all, if they make you happy it doesn’t matter. Second of all, if it makes you happy it doesn’t matter. Third of all, if it makes you happy it doesn’t matter :)

L- (2:35 PM) …

V- (2:35 PM) Besides, you wouldn’t want me to STOP sending you sweets, would you?

L- (2:36 PM) … Curse you and your knowledge of my sweets addiction.

V- (2:36 PM) :)

(October 15th)

L- (5:47 PM) VIRGIL!

V- (5:48 PM) Hm?

L- (5:48 PM) DID YOU SERIOUSLY TP OUR HOUSE?!?!?

V- (5:49 PM) You have no proof

L- (5:50 PM) [*Photo Attachment*]

[The photo is of a door. There is a square of TP taped to the door, the words “VIRGIL WAS TOTALLY NOT HERE” written in sharpie]

V- (5:50 PM) See? I was totally not there.

V- (5:51 PM) And I sent you pre-apology chocolates, so you can’t get mad!

L- (5:52 PM) I CAN STILL GET MAD

V- (5:52 PM) NO YOU WON’T OR I’LL STOP GETTING YOU CHOCOLATES

L- (5:53 PM) YOU WOULDN’T

V- (5:53 PM) TRY ME BITCH

R- (5:55 PM) I don’t know WHAT you did, but Logan called me, screeched your name, and hung up. Keep up the good work, storm cloud ;)

(October 22nd)

V- (3:42 PM) Hey Pat?

P- (3:42 PM) What’s up, Kiddo?

V- (3:42 PM) You bake, right?

P- (3:43 PM) It would be very hard to run a bakery if I couldn’t, Kiddo!

V- (3:43 PM) True

V- (3:43 PM) So what do you do if your cookies catch on fire?

P- (3:43 PM) WHAT

V- (3:44 PM) [*Photo Attachment*]

[The photo is of an oven. The door is open, and inside is a tray of Pillsbury ghost sugar cookies. They are all on fire]

P- (3:44 PM) PUT IT OUT

V- (3:44 PM) HOW

P- (3:45 PM) DON’T YOU HAVE A FIRE EXTINGUISHER?!?!

V- (3:45 PM) WON’T THAT RUIN THE COOKIES?

P- (3:45 PM) THOSE COOKIES ARE GONERS. ACCEPT YOUR LOSS

V- (3:46 PM) [*Photo attachment*]

[The photo is of the same oven. The door is still open, yet the entire inside of the oven is covered in foam]

V- (3:46 PM) Now what?

P- (3:46 PM) First of all, turn off the oven.

V- (3:47 PM) Done

P- (3:47 PM) Okay. Now answer me this: HOW THE FUDGE DID YOU MANAGE TO CATCH PREMADE SUGAR COOKIES ON FIRE???

V- (3:48 PM) I DON’T KNOW! I JUST PUT THEM IN THE OVEN AND SUDDENLY THEY WERE ON FIRE

L- (3:48 PM) Are you alright, Virgil? Did you sustain any burns or other injuries?

P- (3:48 PM) HOLY STARS I SHOULD’VE ASKED! ARE YOU OKAY VIRGIL?

V- (3:49 PM) I’m fine. I burned my wrist but it’s not that bad.

L- (3:49 PM) Will you please send a picture of your injury?

V- (3:49 PM) [*Photo attachment*]

[The photo is of a left hand. The hand is long, slender, and pale. The nails are long and painted black with cat noses and whiskers. The person’s wrist has a minor burn wound, around the size of a golf ball]

L- (3:50 PM) You are correct, Virgil. It appears to be a minor burn, no need to contact the hospital. However, I would greatly appreciate it if you tend to your burn at your earliest convenience.

P- (3:50 PM) Go wrap up that burn, kiddo! Make sure you add burn cream, too!

P- (3:51 PM) AND OH MY GOSH I LOVE YOUR NAILS! They’re PAWsitively PURRfect!

L- (3:51 PM) Please stop

P- (3:52 PM) Alright. Wouldn’t wanna have a CATastrophe, would we?

L- (3:52 PM) Please. I beg of you.

V- (3:53 PM) Okay, all patched up. What do I do about my cookies?

L- (3:53 PM) Make sure your oven has fully cooled down before attempting to clean it.

P- (3:54 PM) AND DON’T DO THAT EVER AGAIN, MISTER!

P- (3:54 PM) You nearly gave me a heart attack!

V- (3:55 PM) Sorry, won’t happen again.

L- (3:55 PM) I assume that this means you will be buying post-apology sweets? I assure you that it is unnecessary, Virgil. Your health and safety are more important than confectionaries.

L- (3:57 PM) Virgil?

L- (3:57 PM) Please refrain from buying more sweets.

L- (3:58 PM) I’ve already gained 3.4 pounds alone from these “Gifts”

V- (3:58 PM) Too late, already bought them

P- (3:58 PM) You don’t have to, Kiddo!

P- (3:59 PM) And Lolo, don’t blame V on your weight gain. I know Ro’s not the only one sneaking whole jars of jelly from the cabinets at night.

L- (3:59 PM) Virgil, how much are you spending on these sweets?

V- (4:00 PM) Would it help if I said that I get a discount since I purchase chocolates almost weekly?

L- (4:00 PM) VIRGIL

V- (4:01 PM) :)

R- (6:58 PM) Why does all the interesting stuff happen while I’m at work?

V- (6:59 PM) Get wrecked Princey

R- (6:59 PM) :(

V- (7:00 PM) Don’t worry I got you sweets too

R- (7:00 PM) :)

(October 24th)

L- (2:32 PM) VIRGIL!

V- (2:33 PM) Did you get your sweets? Send me a pick! I didn’t get to see the end result

P- (2:33 PM) [*Photo Attachment*]

[The photo is of three vases, each of different colors. The light blue vase is filled with tulips made of white chocolate. There are also chocolate-covered straberry and a giant chocolate lollipop with the words “I appreciate you a chocoLOT!” The red vase is filled with milk chocolate roses and another chocolate lollipop that says “Good luck slaying Vampires!” The navy blue vase is the most elaborate (probably just to mess with Logan). It’s filled with dark chocolate tulips AND roses, with a whole jar of crofters nestled into the middle of the bouquet. It’s lollipop reads “Weight and Cost are just #s!”]

P- (2:34 PM) These are ADORABLE, Virgil!

L- (2:34 PM) How much did you spend on this, Virgil?

V- (2:34 PM) Did you not read your lollipop?

V- (2:35 PM) Don’t worry about it, I wouldn’t buy the chocolates if I couldn’t afford them :)

L- (2:35 PM) My digestive system can’t afford them.

V- (2:36 PM) Well I couldn’t give you pre-apology chocolates so I had to give you epic post-apology chocolates.

P- (2:37 PM) Well, I cannot wait to eat these! Seriously, I’ve already eaten half a tulip. And these vases will look so pretty holding ACTUAL flowers! Thank you so much, V! But remember, you don’t have to do this. We don’t need apology sweets!

V- (2:38 PM) I know, but it’s comforting to know that there’s at least ONE way I can interact with you guys beyond texting. I’m sorry that I’m still not comfortable talking face-to-face yet.

P- (2:38 PM) That’s completely fine, Kiddo! Take all the time you need. We’ll be here when you’re ready.

L- (2:39 PM) I agree.Though I still do not see the purpose of excessive spending on our behalf.

R- (2:39 PM) Well I find it extremely thoughtful, storm cloud. I would type an entire ballad of how caring and kind you are, but I must get back to work. I shall speak with you tonight, fair raven.

V- (2:40 PM) Thanks, guys. It means a lot to me.

(October 31st)

L- (10:17 AM) How are you feeling about your “final day of Halloween,” Virgil?

V- (10:18 AM) Incredibly depressed

P- (10:18 AM) Aww. Why’s that, Kiddo?

V- (10:19 AM) You guys know how I travel around with my friends, right?

V- (10:19 AM) Well apparently we have to travel out today. We won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.

R- (10:20 AM) I’m deeply sorry, my precious stormcloud. If I may ask, why do you have to travel tonight?

V- (10:20 AM) My friends like to go to parties out of town, and I go to make sure they don’t get themselves killed.

P- (10:21 AM) I’m sorry you have to miss Halloween, Kiddo. I know how much you were looking forward to it.

V- (10:22 AM) I’m still gonna wear my costume. Just because I can’t celebrate at home doesn’t mean I can’t celebrate at all.

L- (10:22 AM) What costume have you decided to wear?

V- (10:23 AM) [*Photo attachment*]

[Photo is the bottom half of someone’s face. They’re smiling, with black lipstick and fake Vampire teeth. There’s red liquid running down their chin.]

P- (10:23 AM) That looks FANGtastic, Virgil!

L- (10:23 AM) I hope you have an amenable experience at the party, Virgil.

R- (10:24 AM) I agree! You look amazing and I hope you enjoy the party, storm cloud. Do not worry, I will watch The Nightmare Before Christmas in your stead!

V- (10:25 AM) Wow I feel so grateful

R- (10:25 AM) :)

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

Taglist: @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @arodynamic-enby @sanderssides-angst

[allsassnoclass]

Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

Ficmas Day 1 for @calumsclifford <3

Pairing: Michael Clifford/Ashton Irwin

Rating: Teen and Up

Key Tag(s): Fake/Pretend Relationship, Office Party, Pining, Fluff, no warnings needed

Word Count: 15,665

Read on AO3

—

“And you asked Luke and Calum, but neither of them could do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you asked some other people, who also said no?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there a reason you didn’t ask me?”

Michael had not come up with a reason beyond I’m in love with you and that seems like a recipe for disaster.

“Uh,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d want to. I mean, I already ask you for so much.”

“That’s stupid,” Ashton says. “I like fancy parties, and spending time with you, and helping you. If you’re really set against telling them the truth, then I can be your fake boyfriend for the night.”

Michael has been letting everyone at the office believe he has a boyfriend for the past few months. Things become complicated when they ask to meet his boyfriend at the company winter party.

—

“I need you to be my boyfriend!”

It’s a testament to their experience as friends that neither Calum nor Luke look surprised to have Michael burst through their door haphazardly.  He knows his cheeks are flushed from the cold and running up the stairs and his coat probably isn’t buttoned properly and he only has one mitten on, but he’s in a crisis.  Calum and Luke don’t even bat an eye, although Luke lifts himself up from where he was tucked against Calum and frowns.

“Which one of us were you talking to?  Also, Calum and I are in a monogamous relationship already.  Sorry, Mikey.”

“Not my actual boyfriend,” Michael says, kicking off his shoes.  There’s snow clinging to the sides, and he steps gingerly over any damp spots in the entry before flinging his coat down on the armchair and flopping right next to Calum on the couch.

“What other type of boyfriend is there?” Luke asks.

“A fake one.”

That finally gets Calum’s attention, who had been pretending that the news was somehow more riveting than Michael’s crisis.

“What did you do?” Calum accuses.

“Nothing!”

Calum’s eyes narrow.

“I maybe have let everyone at work assume that I have a boyfriend and now they expect to meet him at the company holiday party.”

Calum sighs heavily, as if he hasn’t been Michael’s accomplice in far worse situations.

“How did that happen?”

“It just did,” Michael shrugs.  “Someone asked if I had a girlfriend back in September, and I said ‘boyfriend’ and they took it to mean that I have a boyfriend rather than want one.”

He had only been working there for three weeks when someone asked the question, and he had been so tired of not setting the record straight at the first possible opportunity.  It’s tedious to laugh off something like that and then have to come out later, and Michael figured that if anyone was going to be homophobic at least he would find out then instead of later when he had time to possibly grow to like them first.

Thankfully it hadn’t been an issue, as two other people in the department have same-sex partners.

Everyone there respects his privacy, so he hasn’t had to make up too many details, and it’s been nice to not have to acknowledge just how long it’s been since he last got to kiss a guy, let alone date one.

“Just tell them you don’t have one,” Luke says.

“If I was planning on doing that, I would’ve done so three months ago when this whole thing started.  Besides, I think there’s a betting pool involved, or at least a lot of behind my back speculation.  There are stakes now.”

“This is what you get for lying,” Calum says, shaking his head.  Michael pouts.

Michael was always told that one day, his little white lies would come back to bite him in the butt.  He doesn’t make a habit out of fibbing, but sometimes it’s simply easier to say something less-than true in order to save further pain down the road.  Insisting that he had done all of his homework by himself was easier than admitting that he and Calum did half each, and he got more free time out of it.  Telling Calum that Luke ate the last cookie instead of him saved Calum from a foul mood, because he’s unable to stay mad at Luke.  Telling Ashton that he was not, in fact, planning him a birthday party made the surprise that much sweeter.

When he told his coworkers that he has a boyfriend, he had expected this to be like every other little, insignificant lie he tells.  Now, he is paying the price.  He’s probably paying the price for every single lie he’s ever gotten away with in the past.

“This is a bit extreme for karma,” he says.  “Anyway, it’d be one night only, and apparently the party is pretty fancy.  Since headquarters is just over in Minneapolis, we’re invited to join theirs.  There’s a raffle with big prizes, plus a free catered dinner.”

“If it’s with headquarters, neither of us can go,” Luke says.  “My cousin works there.  She’d recognize me or Cal, and she definitely knows we’re dating each other, not you.”

“Really?” Michael asks.  “Shit.  You two were my best bets.  I needed to pick someone who wouldn’t fall in love with me.”

“You know,” Luke says.  “We do have another friend who is single and who you want to fall in love with you.”

“No,” Michael says.  “Absolutely not.”

“Come on, just think about it,” Luke says.  “Ashton would probably have a great time, and you’d get to show him off, maybe kiss him under the mistletoe...”

“He’d do it,” Calum says.  “He bends over backwards to help you already, and he loves schmoozing at fancy parties.  Plus, depending on how fancy it is you might get to see him in a suit.”

“No,” Michael repeats.  “The last thing I need is to have Ashton pretend to be my boyfriend.  If he was going to fall in love with me, he would’ve done it by now, and I don’t need a taste of what being with him would be like without any of the substance.”

Luke huffs and sits back.  Calum merely raises his eyebrows.

“Good luck finding someone else to go along with this.”

Michael flips him off and gets out his phone to start making calls.  He gets through seven refusals before he finally considers that Ashton may be the best viable option.

“No luck?” Calum asks, smirking.  Michael slumps against the couch and rubs at his eyes.

“Roy said that this is probably the universe giving me a sign.  Also he’s busy on the night of the party.”

“I can’t picture Roy and you pretending to date, anyway,” Luke says.  “Honestly, I think all of those would’ve failed.  Your coworkers would see through you in an instant.  You’d become the laughing stock of the office.”

“I could’ve at least had fun with Jack,” Michael says.

“He would’ve been laughing at you and texting Alex the entire time,” Calum says.  “Call Ashton.  Better yet, go to his house and talk it out in person.  Luke and I are supposed to be on a date in 30 minutes.”

“He’s expecting you,” Luke says, typing out something on his phone.  “He made baked ziti and needs you to help him eat it.”

“Did you tell him?” Michael asks, sitting up so fast he gets dizzy.

“I just said that you’re in crisis and will be coming over.”

“He’s going to laugh at me.”

“You deserve it,” Calum says, placing a hand on his shoulder.  “But you also know that he’s going to do everything he can to help you, and he’ll have better suggestions than me or Luke.  We’re good at getting you into trouble, not out of it.”

Michael sighs.  It’s not that he thought he could somehow keep this situation a secret from Ashton, but it’s still mortifying to consider confessing to him that he’s done something stupid enough to require finding a fake boyfriend in order to continue a long con he’s pulling on his coworkers.

He should probably tell everyone that he never had a boyfriend to begin with, but that seems like too little, too late when he has already panicked and told everyone that his boyfriend will come to the holiday party.  Michael is not a quitter.  This may not be a competition, but he will win, and winning means not facing the embarrassment of admitting the truth.

“Okay,” he sighs.  “I can’t believe you two are kicking me out in my time of need so you can go on a date.”

“Talk to Ashton and you might get a date for the holiday party,” Calum says.  “Then you can stop being a third wheel and we can double date instead of kicking you out.”

“I hope this works out for you, Mikey,” Luke says.

“Don’t give me false hope, please,” he says.  “It’s been years.”

Michael stands in silence, the others knowing better than to try and convince him Ashton could possibly like him, too.  He ran out of hope for that a long time ago, and he’s been attempting and failing to get rid of this pesky crush ever since.

“Stay warm out there,” Calum says, standing and following him to the door.  “Tell Ashton we say hi.  If there’s anything else we can do to help, just ask.”

“You’re sure that neither of you can be my boyfriend?” Michael asks one last time, slipping his arms into his coat and fighting with the zipper.

“Sorry,” Luke says, not sounding very sorry at all.  “Ask Ashton!”

“Fuck you,” Michael calls back cheerily, stepping out the door.

Leaving the sanctuary of the apartment complex for the cold of a Minnesota winter sucks, especially since his car has cooled down almost all the way again, but Ashton’s house isn’t too far away.  Michael is the outlier, living in a suburb while the others stayed closer to the heart of St. Paul.  He likes being close enough to the cities to easily commute for work and have access to all of the events happening, but it’s nice to not have to fight traffic for every little thing, even if the roads outside his house aren’t always plowed as nicely as the ones outside Ashton’s.

He traverses the familiar streets until he finally pulls into Ashton’s driveway with just enough room behind Ashton’s car that he’s not blocking the sidewalk.  Ashton has some Christmas lights up, just a string of simple blue ones following his roofline.  Michael sits in his car and watches them blink on and off, giving the impression of the stars they can’t see from light pollution, or of gently falling snow.

Ashton appears in his kitchen window, reaching into the cupboard next to it, surrounded by warm light.  He glances out and spots Michael’s car, face splitting into a smile and giving him a wave.  Michael has been in this position a million times before, but he wonders what it would be like if Ashton was calling him into their house after a long day, without having to leave at the end of the night.

He’s been spotted now.  Michael has no choice but to get out of the car.

“Hi,” Ashton calls from the kitchen when he lets himself in.  “Make yourself at home!  Dinner’s almost ready!”

Michael likes Ashton’s house.  It’s small, but in a way that mostly feels cozy rather than cramped.  The outside is white but the door is a light red, verging on pink, and each of the rooms inside is painted a different color, something which Ashton always says he’s going to change but has never gotten around to doing.  Michael hangs up his coat on one of the many hooks by the entrance, then toes off his shoes and flexes his fingers, trying to get some warmth back into them.  He runs cold, so winter is a constant struggle to keep his fingers from freezing off.

He steps into the living room, painted a pale green with mismatched furniture and warm blankets thrown over every surface.  Michael helped pick out the rug that dominates most of the floor space, and it makes him happy every time he comes over to see it.  Ashton doesn’t have a tree yet, but there’s a space for it cleared in the corner.  The dining room and kitchen are one room right off the living room and painted yellow.  Michael wanders over to the baking pan covered in foil, lifting up the corner to inhale the scent of freshly-cooked pasta, cheese, and sauce.

“Hey, no premature tasting,” Ashton says.  “If you’re going to be in the kitchen, make yourself useful and set the table.”

“You could say hello before you start ordering me around,” Michael says.  Ashton stops flittering around long enough to pause in front of Michael, hands on hips and smile on his face.  There’s steamed broccoli on the counter that definitely added to the current frizziness of his hair, and he’s wearing an off-white cable-knit sweater with the sleeves pushed up.  Michael hates himself for the way everything about this situation makes his heart flutter.

“I said hello when you first got here.  You’re the one breaking in to eat my food without a word of greeting.”

“Hi, Ashton,” Michael says, accepting the brief hug Ashton offers.  “You’re welcome for helping eat your food so the leftovers don’t overtake your fridge.”

“If I knew how to adjust the cooking times on this recipe for smaller portions, I would.”

That’s a lie.  Ashton enjoys feeding his friends.  Michael has at least one dinner a week at Ashton’s house under the excuse of him making too much food for one person.

Michael gets out two plates and the appropriate silverware and sets the table.  He gets out his favorite glass, a novelty Star Wars one with art of the celebration of Endor printed on it, and gets the matching Tatooine one for Ashton because he knows it’ll make him roll his eyes.  There’s apple juice and water in the fridge, and by the time Ashton has brought all of the food over Michael is sitting patiently at the table, hands folded neatly in front of him.

“So,” Ashton says once they both have a good helping of baked ziti, broccoli, and garlic bread on their plates, “Luke said you’re in crisis?”

Michael sighs.

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I’ll try,” Ashton says.  Michael shamefully recounts the sticky situation he has brought upon himself, avoiding eye contact the entire time.  Ashton chews slowly once he’s done, taking his time swallowing before he figures out what he wants to say.

“Hm.”

“Yeah,” Michael says, for lack of anything else.

“And you asked Luke and Calum, but neither of them could do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you asked some other people, who also said no?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there a reason you didn’t ask me?”

Michael had not come up with a reason beyond I’m in love with you and that seems like a recipe for disaster.

“Uh,” he says.

“If you don’t think you could pretend to like me, that’s fine.  I was just curious,” Ashton says, stabbing at his broccoli.

“It’s definitely not that,” Michael says.  “I didn’t think you’d want to.  I mean, I already ask you for so much.  I’m eating your pasta right now.  It didn’t seem fair to ask you to do this, too.”

“That’s stupid,” Ashton says.  “I like fancy parties, and spending time with you, and helping you.  If you’re really set against telling them the truth, then I can be your fake boyfriend for the night.”

“Oh.  Okay.”

Ashton smiles, all dimples and sunshine.  Michael wants to bask in Ashton’s smiles forever.

“Awesome.  Crisis averted.”

It can’t be that simple, but Ashton’s easy confidence makes it feel like it is.  Michael doesn’t know why he was freaking out about the situation.  If anything, his crush on Ashton will make everything more believable, and Michael can pass himself off as a really good actor if questioned.

The rest of the night passes like every other dinner they’ve had with the two of them.  They talk about their weeks and about any random topics they choose, then Ashton picks a CD and they do the dishes, Ashton washing and Michael drying.  Ashton convinces him to stay later and watch a movie, and Michael lingers too long afterwards.  When he eventually tears himself away, it’s only after a late-night cup of hot chocolate and multiple uncontrollable yawns.

When he goes to bed that night, he steadfastly does not think about how he will be calling Ashton his boyfriend in a few weeks.

-/-

Michael doesn’t talk to Ashton about fake dating again until the day before the party.  He’s been forwarding the office emails about it, so Ashton knows the date and time, that this is a suit-worthy event, and what the food options are.  Otherwise, though, their time together has been filled with everything except mentions of the party and the con that will go down there.  Michael has been avoiding Luke and Calum due to all of the teasing, so he and Ashton go shopping for Luke and Calum’s presents together, Michael pointing out things that Ashton’s family might like on the way.  Ashton has a list of Christmas movies he wants to watch that they begin steadily working through, and Michael begins a snowball fight one day that Ashton wins.  Thankfully, Ashton agrees to make him cocoa and cuddle him after stuffing snow down the back of his jacket.  Michael’s face gets red enough that Ashton frets he might be coming down with something.

The something is being hopelessly in love.

Ashton texts him on Friday asking if he wants to come over early so they can get ready together and talk through their boyfriend story.

Boyfriend story.  He’s supposed to refer to Ashton as his boyfriend tomorrow.

He shows up at his house as requested, and Ashton greets him with a cup of hot cocoa, freshly made just the way Michael likes it.  Ashton stocks up on cocoa mix as soon as it hits October, making it at any and every opportunity.  On days when multiple people are over, sometimes he’ll make it from scratch, breaking out the cocoa powder, sugar, milk, and chocolate to create the best beverage Michael has ever tasted, sometimes with a secret ingredient Ashton makes him guess.  Michael rarely gets it right, but the praise he gets from Ashton on the days where he does manage to identify the extra flavor makes every loss more than worth it.

Ashton takes his with marshmallows, but Michael prefers whipped cream.  It warms him more than the beverage to see the pile of whip on top, stocked just for Michael.

“You put up your tree!” Michael calls while Ashton prepares his cup.  There are no presents underneath nor stockings on the wall since Ashton spends Christmas day with his family, but the small fake tree is erected every year to help him get into a festive mood.  Michael steps closer and recognizes most of the ornaments on it, either from previous Christmases or because he was there when they were bought.  Pieces of a tiny drum set hang from a set of branches near the front, each part paid for by a different member of their friend group as a gift after Superbloom Studios opened.  Michael bought the high hat.

“Second week of December.  It’s tradition,” Ashton says, shuffling into the room carefully with a mug in each hand.  Michael reaches for his, careful not to spill when he takes it from him.

“I saved your ornament,” he says, nodding to the coffee table where a small wooden “M” sits, painted to look like the torso of a snowman.

“Thanks,” Michael says, setting down the cocoa and picking up the ornament.  It was originally a joke gift, but now every year Ashton ensures that he puts it on the tree.  There’s a nice open branch near the bottom that he takes advantage of, giving himself time to admire the tree once more before finally sitting.

“So,” Ashton says.  “How did we get together?”

Michael takes a sip of his cocoa, burning his tongue just slightly.

“You have whip on your nose,” Ashton says, just like he does every time.  Michael sighs and swipes a thumb across it, sucking the whipped cream into his mouth so none of it goes to waste.

Ashton clears his throat.

“So.  Boyfriend story.”

“Boyfriend story,” Michael agrees.  “We have to have been together in September, but otherwise I’ve been really vague.  We can make up whatever we want.”

“Okay,” Ashton says, nodding.  “We should probably stick as close to truth as possible, so our meeting story can still be the same, but maybe we started dating mid-summer?”

“The lake trip?”

“Yeah!” Ashton says.  “Do you remember that night, it was like our second night there, where we just sat at the end of the dock and looked at the stars?  Everyone else was at the bonfire, so it was just us.  Maybe I asked you then.”

Michael remembers that night clearly.  He had gone down to the dock to get some space, needing a breather after all of the activity of the day and Ashton walking around without a shirt basically since they got there.  Even so, when Ashton eventually joined him it was like a sigh of relief.  He knows more about stars than Michael does, so Michael leaned back and let him point out different constellations and make up stories for unfamiliar ones, trying not to stare at the shadowy profile of Ashton instead of the sky.  The small waves of the lake rose and fell, covering his ankles then dipping lower in a steady rhythm mimicking his heartbeat.  Ashton kept their arms pressed together almost the entire time.

He had wanted to kiss him, so he pushed him in the lake instead.

“Yeah,” Michael says.  “That sounds good.”

“Okay, good.  Great!  What else do we need to figure out?  How serious are we?”

“Uh, medium?” Michael asks.  “It’s been five months, so nothing too daunting but more than just a casual thing.”

“What’s the PDA going to look like?”

“Uh,” Michael says.  Ashton takes a sip of his cocoa.

“I mean… are we still in the honeymoon phase?  Will we be holding hands a lot?  What’s our game plan if we somehow end up under the mistletoe?  I don’t think anyone can make us kiss without opening themselves up to a workplace harassment suit, but are we going to do a cheek kiss?  Are you okay with me kissing you?  What about--”

“You need to slow down,” Michael says.  “Give me some time to think, jeez.”

“Sorry,” Ashton says.  “Boundaries are important.  I don’t want to cross any.”

“You won’t.  I’m down for anything.”

“Really?” Ashton asks, skeptical.  He sets his cocoa down and moves until he’s right next to Michael on the couch, then slings an arm around his shoulder, tucking him close.  Michael melts into his side easily.  “So something like this would be fine?”

“You mean what I do with you, Calum, and Luke at every opportunity?’

“Okay,” Ashton says, adjusting so his hand is now on Michael’s thigh.  It’s more unfamiliar, a different weight in a more intimate spot, but not unwelcome.  Michael suppresses the shiver it sends through him.

“Still okay,” he says.

“Alright,” Ashton says.  After a moment of consideration, he takes Michael’s mug from him and replaces it with his own hand, clasping them together palm to palm.

“Wait, I don’t like this,” he says, adjusting so their fingers are threaded together instead, then undoing it and just holding their hands flat against each other.  Michael lines their hands up, fingers following the same lines.  He wonders if Ashton can feel the calluses that form whenever Michael has time to pick up a guitar.  The metal of his rings is warmer than Michael anticipated.  Every moment that they stay frozen like that makes Michael’s heart pound harder, even though they’re simply touching hands, something ordinary and barely worthy of comment.

“Your hands are freezing,” Ashton says quietly.

“Your hands make mine look so tiny,” Michael says.

“They are tiny,” Ashton says.  “I’m trying to figure out how to hold them.”

“Like this.”  Michael laces their fingers together again gently, one space over from how Ashton had done it.  “Who knew that holding hands would be the thing to trip you up?”

“I guess I haven’t had anyone’s hands to hold in a while.  I’m out of practice on this whole romance thing.”

“You’re doing alright so far.”

“Well, this is the easy stuff.  Are you sure you’re down for anything?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, heart leaping into his throat at the possibility of what that could mean.

Ashton hums, then shifts so he’s facing Michael.  His eyes search his face and Michael does his best not to show any of his thoughts, especially how much he wants Ashton to do one particular thing.  He steadfastly keeps his gaze locked on his eyes instead of letting it flicker down to his lips.

Ashton leans in slowly, telegraphing his movements, and presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, nose pressing into his cheekbone and breath against his face.  Michael can’t stop his inhale, catching a whiff of Ashton’s favorite cologne, just from the proximity.

“Still okay,” he manages to say.  Ashton doesn’t lean back, comfortable staying in Michael’s space, probably close enough to hear how loudly his heart is beating.

“And if I moved a few inches to the left?”

Michael swallows.

“Still okay.”

For a moment he thinks that Ashton might do it, just to see how far he can press.  Michael will always meet him challenge for challenge, and he has the perfect excuse for it.  Ashton’s just so close, and Michael might never have this opportunity again despite fantasizing about it for years.  It would be so easy to now.  He almost turns and presses their lips together himself, but Ashton pulls away right before he finds the courage to do so.

“Okay,” Ashton says, picking up his cocoa again.  “We can play it by ear.  We’ll just do what feels natural and appropriate for the situation.  Sound good?”

Michael nods.  Ashton glances at him over his mug.

“Are you sure?  You’re in charge here, Michael.  I’m willing to do whatever you want me to.”

“No, that’s good,” he says.  “That’s the best way to do it.”

Ashton observes him for a moment longer, in that way that makes Michael feel like he’s revealing too much.  Secrets from Ashton are the hardest ones to keep, but he’s had a lot of practice.

“If you say so,” Ashton says.  “If I do something you don’t like, just tell me.”

“Yeah, same to you.”

Michael picks up his mug again.

“What do you think our worst date was?” Ashton asks.  Michael snorts into his cocoa, because only Ashton would put that as a high priority part of their boyfriend story, but they spend almost all of the time until they need to get ready coming up with increasingly ridiculous scenarios and arguing over whether either of them would plan that as a date in the first place.  Michael has long since finished his drink by the time Ashton checks the time and says they need to get ready.

Michael doesn't start to feel nervous until he's standing in front of the bathroom mirror, struggling with his tie and feeling ridiculous for it.  The office encourages business casual, so he rarely has to wear one, but apparently because the party is joint with headquarters the dress code is stricter.

Michael was not made for formal wear.  He feels best when he gets to dress down, and he knows that his preferred hairstyle doesn't always align with a clean suit and tie.  For a long time, he didn't even have a suit coat that fit right, but his parents paid for one for his birthday over a year ago with the idea that it'd help him get a better job.  It did eventually work, but he never breaks it out unless he has to.

“Hey Michael?" Ashton calls from outside.  "Do I need a tie if I wear a red shirt instead of a white one?"

"Do whatever you want," Michael responds.  "Just be sure you're not showing all your chest hair.  Can you tie my tie?"

Ashton pushes the door open.  Michael catches a flash of red out of the corner of his eye before he turns and takes in the full picture.  Ashton looks stunning, and even though Michael expected that it takes his breath away.  His suit fits his shoulders nicely and tapers at the waist, and the red compliments his skin tone well, bold and vivid.  Michael is pleased to see that only the top two buttons are undone, keeping things appropriate, but there's a thin gold chain peaking out just below his collarbones.  He wants to trace it with his finger, then let his hands wander lower.

"Wow," he says.  "You clean up nice."

"My hair is a mess.  I need to put some gel in it before we go," Ashton says, batting Michael's hands away from his tie and taking over.  "Are you nervous?"

"A little," Michael admits, tilting his chin up to give Ashton better access.  "This would be a bit nerve-wracking even without the fake boyfriend thing.  I don't think I'm going to know many people there."

"Well, you'll have me."  He tightens the tie, then cups Michael's cheek.  He leans into it, leaching the comfort provided.

"There," Ashton says.  "I have the most handsome boyfriend tonight.  He was even considerate enough to match his tie to my shirt.  Everyone is going to be jealous."

"Thanks," Michael says.  He steps back and hands Ashton the container of hair cream on the counter, watching him rub a bit of it between his fingers then comb through his hair, adjusting the way it's artfully tousled and smoothing the sides until he's satisfied.

"Maybe I have the most handsome boyfriend tonight," he says.

"Now you're just trying to butter me up," Ashton replies, grinning at him.  "I already agreed to this.  The flattery is unnecessary, but not unwelcome."

"Can't I just think you're a good looking guy?" Michael asks, trying to keep the tone teasing like he would with Luke or Calum.  "You're a sexy motherfucker, Irwin; I hate to break it to you."

"That's rich coming from you."

"We don't have time for this," Michael laughs, pushing him out of the bathroom.  "I can't show up late to my first office winter party just because you won't take my compliment without trying to one-up me."

"There are worse reasons to be late," Ashton protests, planting his feet so Michael has to actually put in an effort, stumbling when Ashton suddenly relents.  He catches Michael with a cheeky grin.

"Move," Michael laughs, savoring how close they're standing, tethered together by Ashton's hands on his elbows.  "We have to go."

Ashton’s eyes search his face, suspended in the moment like he knows that Michael wants nothing else than to live here forever.  Michael sways forward, magnetic pull too strong, but Ashton steps back in the same moment, moving them out of the bathroom and tugging him towards the door.

“Bundle up,” Ashton says.  “I hear it’s cold outside.”

-/-

The venue is simultaneously huge and very difficult to find.  Ashton puts the address in his phone, but he’s a bad navigator and recent snowfall makes the roads slick, complicating the driving process more.  They’re supposed to get more snow tonight, but Michael can find Ashton’s house in any context and situation, like a homing pigeon on the return journey.  It would be his most useless skill if he didn’t end up in the driver’s seat after almost every gig they go to, Ashton always too hyped up and focused on the music to enjoy driving home.

The nearest place to park is a block away and lands Ashton in a snowbank.  Michael gets out first and offers him a steadying hand, and Ashton beats him to paying the meter.  He links their arms as they walk, breath fogging in front of their faces.

“It’s a beautiful night, sweetheart,” Ashton says.

“Sweetheart?”

“Just trying out some pet names, seeing what fits, honey.  Darling?  I feel like I shouldn’t be saying babe if we’re both wearing suits in front of your fancy work friends.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Michael says, as if he hasn’t bit his tongue against calling Ashton babe before.  He’s not the type of person who can pull off platonic pet names.

“We’re really flying by the seat of our pants here.”

“It’ll be fine, right?” Michael asks.  “No one has a reason to think I’m lying, so they’ll believe us even if we mess up.”

“They will,” Ashton says.  “I’m going to be so in love with you they’ll wonder if we’re eloping tomorrow.”

Michael’s heart leaps into his throat.  When Ashton puts his mind to something, it happens.  He might really have to watch himself to ensure that he doesn’t fall for their lie, too.

“Is this it?” Ashton asks under his breath as they arrive at the doors.  A couple in front of them pull them open, the woman in a longer dress and the man wearing a peacoat over his suit.  “Damn, Michael, maybe I should’ve worn a tie.”

“It’ll be fine,” Michael says.  “No one is going to be paying attention to us.  Besides, you never have to see these people again.”

Ashton hums, holding the door for Michael and following him into the venue entrance.  He lets out a low whistle once he sees what’s inside.

The floor looks like it’s marble.  There’s a chandelier, golden light reflecting off of crystalline shards to pepper dots like stars across the space.  Evergreen trees stand in the corner, gold and silver lights hidden within the branches and surrounded by red and blue baubles. If this is the entry, Michael can’t imagine what the actual event space looks like.

“Hey.  Coat check,” Ashton says, nudging Michael out of his chandelier-induced trace and towards the area where an employee waits to take their coats in exchange for a numbered ticket.  A different employee at the entrance then asks for their names, because apparently this party needs a guest list , before they finally enter the main event space.

It’s just as stunning as the entry.  There’s a larger chandelier in this one, hanging over rows of tables with red and gold tablecloths.  Each table has a centerpiece, some with evergreen boughs and pine cones, some with ribbon and candles, each one stunning.  Near the front of the room, Michael thinks he can make out an open dance floor and a small stage through the clumps of people in suits and fancy dresses.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he says.  “This is a party for people who make six figures.  I do not belong here.”

“I thought you audit a bank for farmers,” Ashton says.  “Don’t normal work parties include ugly sweater contests and too much eggnog?  Why the fuck do farm bankers need suits and chandeliers?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Michael says, eyes scanning over the people he can see in a desperate attempt to find a familiar face.  Only half of these people are from headquarters, but Michael still only knows the people in his department.  He doesn’t have much contact with people outside of it due to the variety of companies making up their conglomerate, each with a different set of staff.

“Michael!” someone calls.  It takes a moment to spot Harry coming towards him, which shouldn’t be possible because Harry’s suit has colorful flowers on it.  He’s holding hands with a man Michael recognizes as his husband only because Harry never shuts up about him, making his way through the crowd with a level of enthusiasm that Michael can feel himself automatically mirroring.  Harry’s joy has always been infectious, getting Michael through a few long days since he got hired.

Ashton shifts closer and Michael’s adrenaline spikes with the knowledge that the ruse starts now.  Harry is Michael’s favorite coworker: if they trick him, they can probably trick everyone.

"Hello," Harry says once he gets close enough to be heard over the sound of everyone else in the room talking and what seems to be faint classical music in the background.  "You're the first person I've recognized here."

"Same," Michael says.  "I wasn't expecting it to be this crowded."

"Headquarters is big," Harry says.  "At least we get free food and to see Lou in a suit."

Harry's companion rolls his eyes.

"You haven't even introduced us and already you're objectifying me.  I'm Louis, Harry's husband," he says, sticking out a hand.  Michael takes it.

"Michael," he says.  "This is Ashton."

"Michael's boyfriend," Ashton adds, taking Louis's hand next and making Michael’s heart stutter.  It rolls off Ashton’s tongue so naturally.  He’ll probably be hearing him say that in his dreams for the foreseeable future.

Harry lights up like a Christmas tree.

"Ashton," he enthuses.  "It's so good to meet you.  Alexis owes me fifty dollars."

"What for?" Michael asks.

"Well, we were betting if Ashton was your boyfriend or not.  You never actually told us which one of your friends it is, but I could tell by how you talk about him.  She thought that was too obvious for how cryptic you were being."

"You talk about me to your work friends?" Ashton asks.  Michael tries to shrug nonchalantly.

"All the time," Harry says.

“Do I need to be worried?” Ashton asks.

“Yeah,” Michael says.  “I’ve revealed all of your deepest, darkest secrets.”

“It’s cute,” Harry says.  “You can tell he thinks the world of you.”

“I don’t even mention Ashton that that much,” he protests.  “Not nearly as much as you talk about Louis.”

“No one can top Harry for that,” Louis snorts.  “I swear, no one I meet through him ever needs an introduction, because he’s probably already told them everything they could possibly want to know.”

“If it makes you feel better, I know nothing about you,” Ashton says.  “You can introduce yourself to me.”

“Well, don’t mind if I do,” Louis says cheekily.Ashton easily sweeps him into conversation, listening intently to his stories as a drama teacher and asking the right questions to keep things going.  Michael has heard half of this information from Harry already, but Louis breathes a new life into it.  Michael watches him speak, noticing the way that Harry easily leans into him, how they seamlessly finish each other’s sentences and subconsciously know exactly how they fit together.  Louis gestures and Harry shifts so he won’t get hit, leaning back into his space with a hand on his back within the next second.  Their eyes light up when they glance at each other in between breaths, and Michael feels a pang in his gut.

He wants something like that, someday.  It’s the same thing that he sees with Calum and Luke, or Jack and Alex.  He wants to share those small touches and brief looks with someone else and know that they’re returned fully.  He knows that he sometimes displays his fondness all over his face when he looks at Ashton, but it’s not the same when he has to look away to keep from getting caught.

At least he doesn’t have to look away tonight.  He can probably spend as much time as he wants admiring Ashton’s smile and eyes and jawline and everything without repercussions.  After all, he’s supposed to be in love, and someone should appreciate that one stubborn strand of hair brushing Ashton’s forehead.

“...Right, Michael?” Ashton asks, words finally reaching Michael’s ears.

“Yeah,” he says, blinking himself out of his daze.  He feels his cheeks heat up in a blush.  It probably won’t be the last time tonight.  “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“I was telling Louis about Superbloom Studios,” Ashton says, bumping their shoulders together.  “Mentioned how you helped Matt and I learn how to use the equipment way back when we first bought it, and now there are secret Michael Clifford demos that legally can’t see the light of day without copyright infringement.”

“You’ve had much better musicians pass through your doors since,” Michael says.  “Want to reveal who your most recent client was?”

Ashton mimes zipping his lips.

“You know I can’t until they announce the album.  We’re trying to make the Twin Cities a hot spot for Top 40s artists to record, not chase them all away by breaking confidentiality.”

“But a song you produced could be on Top 40 radio soon?” Louis asks.  “That’s impressive.”

“We’ll see,” Ashton sings.  “I’m not in the habit of counting my chickens before they hatch.”

“No, you’re just in the habit of being a tease.”

Ashton quirks an eyebrow.  It makes Michael itch to do something, although he doesn’t know what.

Eventually, he decides to just roll his eyes and cross his arms, pouting a bit.  Ashton slips an arm around his waist and presses a kiss to the side of his head, the first real point of contact since entering the event space, and his stomach somersaults multiple times in a row.

Harry and Louis look amused, not suspicious.

“I like this side of you,” Harry says.

“What side?” Michael asks.

“The in-love one.  You’re… lighter.”

Michael opens his mouth, but ultimately doesn’t know what to say to that.  Ashton replies instead.

“I like it, too.”

They spend the next few minutes talking to Harry and Louis, filling time while other people who seem leagues more comfortable with this event fill the space.  Eventually the clock must tick over to the starting time, because someone steps up to the podium at the front of the room and taps the microphone asking for attention.

“Is that our president?” Michael asks Harry, completely not paying attention to the short opening statement about the “success of the company” and how it’s been a “phenomenal year full of milestones and achievements.”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers back.  "He'll get up and talk again later, after dinner.  Speaking of, we should find a table."

Harry looks over everyone until he sees someone he recognizes, grabbing Louis's hand to start covertly making their way through the crowd, glancing back at Michael and nodding in the direction he's going.  Michael grabs Ashton, who seems like he was actually trying to listen, and follows them.  As weird as holding his hand earlier had been, weaving through the people standing around with a hand around Ashton’s wrist is comfortable and familiar.  It's nothing that they haven't done before at crowded shows pushing towards the barricade or particularly busy streets, but Michael doesn't have to let go once they reach their destination if he doesn't want to.

Their destination ends up being a trio of tables near the center of the room flooded with people that Michael finally recognizes.  Alexis, Miranda, Dalmar, Imani, and Jason all wave when they arrive, surrounded by who Michael assumes are their own plus-ones.  They slip into seats next to Alexis and her partner, trying to make as little commotion as possible with the president of the company still talking at the front.

While Harry is his favorite coworker, Alexis is arguably the most entertaining.  She gets away with pranks and backtalk that Michael is too worried about job security to ever consider, but her after-work gatherings are always a highlight of the week.  It would be possible that management is keeping her around solely to boost morale if not for her eye for detail that has saved mistakes from appearing in many projects and reports.

"Hey," Alexis whispers, leaning across Michael to grab Ashton's attention.  "I'm Alexis.  What's your name?"

"Ashton Irwin," Ashton says, giving her a smile.  Alexis swears, dropping her head down to the table.

"You owe me money," Harry stage whispers.  She takes a few bills out of her purse without looking and throws them in his general direction.  "Thank you!"

"I want to be included in the next office betting pool," Michael whispers.  "I want to cheat you out of fifty dollars next time."

"It's not hard," Harry says.  "She always bets to lose."

Alexis flips him off.

The president continues to drone on, and Michael starts bouncing his leg up and down out of boredom until Ashton places a hand on it to stop him.  He mouths an apology, but Ashton simply slips off his puzzle ring, handing it over.  Michael hopes his smile conveys how grateful he is to have something else to fidget with.

When the president finally stops talking, Michael pays attention to his surroundings just enough to realize that tables are being dismissed to go get food one by one.  It looks like they won't get to join the line for a while, to his great disappointment.  He's getting pretty hungry and the thought of Alexis interrogating Ashton without a distraction makes him nervous.  He hands back the ring and switches to tracing the poinsettia pattern woven into the tablecloth, trying not to fidget more while Alexis introduces Jamie and points out the rest of his coworkers at the other tables to Ashton.

"So," Alexis says, leaning on her elbow and propping her head up with her fist, "Michael has told us a few things about you, but how did you meet?"

"At college," Ashton says, draping his arm across the back of Michael's chair as he turns to face Alexis more fully.  "We met at a party once, but we didn't really talk until a mutual friend brought us together.  He's been one of my best friends ever since."

"Oh, you two have been together a long time," Alexis says.

"We didn't get together until this summer," Ashton corrects good-naturedly.  "It was a lot of pining before that.  I mean, you've met Michael.  I never stood a chance."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Michael frowns.

"Falling for you was inevitable, sweetheart."

Michael blinks at him.  That's not something he ever expected to hear, a little over the top even for their fake romance, and he absolutely does not have a response prepared.

"Aw, that's sweet," Alexis says.  "Please tell me you guys are actually a normal couple and not a pile of goop like those two over there.  Believe me, I love love as much as the next person, but if Jamie and I are the only two here who aren't completely and grossly obsessed with each other we're going to move to the straight coworkers’ table."

"Hey," Harry says, breaking his conversation with Louis to flip her off.  Alexis returns it without even glancing at him, an ingrained part of their banter by now.  It’s surprising that they haven't gotten reprimanded for it in the office yet.

"If we were as bad as them, you wouldn't have lost fifty dollars just now, don't you think?" Michael asks.

"He has a point," Jamie says.  "Besides, everyone is entitled to a honeymoon period."

She takes Alexis's hand on the table and squeezes.  Alexis rolls her eyes but squeezes back.

Ashton asks them how long they've been together, then effectively keeps the focus on everyone else at the table instead of them.  One of his many skills is making everyone in the room feel like they are the most important person, and Michael is glad that he doesn't have to try to deflect or make up stories right now.  Maybe it'll be easier later.  Ashton already has everyone he's met wrapped around his finger and hanging off his every word, drawn by the magnetic energy he carries that made Michael first talk to him at that college party all those years ago, but some part of Michael still feels like everyone is going to see through their facade.  He knows that theoretically no one cares, but the confirmation of the betting pool makes him jittery.  It shouldn't be a big deal, but now he hasn't just lied about having a boyfriend, he's lied about the boyfriend being Ashton , and somehow that's worse.

Still, he can't let Ashton pull all of the weight.  He needs to start selling this, too.

Should he initiate some sort of PDA?  It's not like he can naturally grab one of Ashton's hands, because he's still leaning on Michael's chair, and anything else feels out of place.  Besides, they said that they'd do what feels natural, and none of this is natural to him.

He's overthinking this.  He should just pay attention and try to enjoy the night, but that seems like an impossible task with Ashton and Alexis boxing him in on either side.  One of them is significantly more distracting than the other, but Michael finds himself wishing that they could just be alone, enjoying one of Ashton's home-cooked meals and the next Christmas movie on his list.  Whatever catered dinner they have here isn't going to compare to the way any food tastes when Michael knows that Ashton is the one who made it for him while they enjoy it at his dining room table, and as much as he feels lucky to get on so well with his coworkers, he can do without their company if he has Ashton with him instead.

“Mike,” Ashton says, nudging him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Time to get food,” Ashton says, standing.  Michael looks around the table and sees that everyone else is already making their way over to the buffet line.  Ashton waits for him and sets a slow pace on their way over.

“You’re really spacey tonight.  You okay?”

“Yeah,” Michael says.  “I’m fine.”

Ashton gives him an unimpressed look.

“Seriously,” Michael says.  “I’m just overthinking.  I’ll be much more enjoyable once we eat and I relax a bit.”

“What can I do?” Ashton asks.

“You’re really playing up the doting boyfriend thing.”

“Hey, no,” Ashton says, pausing.  He looks around, then lowers his voice.  “I’d ask that even if we weren’t boyfriends right now.  You’re important to me, Michael.  If I can do something for you, I want to.”

“Thanks,” Michael says.  “It’s not a big deal, though.  Like I said, once we’re eating and I have other things to focus on it’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”  Ashton nods once, then takes Michael’s hand.  It feels more natural now than it was earlier, smile breaking out unbidden on his face as he squeezes back.

“Come on,” Ashton says.  “Food time.”

The buffet is full of delicious options, with pit ham, chicken, pasta, potatoes, roasted vegetables, fruit, hummus, different breads with various spreads, and a cheese platter.  Michael and Ashton collaborate to get a little bit of everything, something Ashton probably is only doing to make Michael happy given how closely he guards his food whenever they eat out.  If that’s the intention, it works.  Michael wants to taste everything, and he can only do that with two plates.

The soft instrumental music makes a return for dinner, gentle conversation starting up at the table once they sit and a staff member brings water around.  Michael samples each dish on Ashton’s plate, letting Ashton take what he wants from his, finally settling enough to keep up his typical banter with Alexis, Harry, and their partners.  He talks a bit with the other table, settling another bet between Imani and Dalmar and watches Imani collect twenty dollars for having the closest answer to when Michael and Ashton started dating.  Her absolutely gleeful expression makes Michael snort, erasing some of the discomfort of the lie.

Staff members for the event space come around with options for dessert, and Michael is once again delighted when Ashton chooses something different from him, an apple crumble while Michael gets a slice of cake.  Ashton pushes the plate towards him when it arrives, encouraging him to take a bite.

“Thanks,” he says, taking a forkful.  The sweet tang of the fruit doesn’t compare to the sweetness in Ashton’s expression.  Michael gets distracted by the pleased noise he makes at his own first bite and the way he licks his spoon after the last one, watching entranced until someone taps a microphone at the front, cutting the background music off abruptly.

“Before we get the party portion of the evening started, I want to make a few more quick announcements,” the president of the company says.  He continues to prattle about numbers and figures that Michael can’t follow without them written out in front of him, but he understands as well as everyone else what “winter bonus” and the amount that come after it means.

“Are you going to use that on my Christmas present?” Ashton whispers, leaning close to speak into his ear.

“Shut up,” Michael says, elbowing him.  “Maybe I’ll use it to get away from Luke and Cal for a bit.”

“Lake trip part two, this time just me and you?” Ashton asks.  Michael doesn’t let himself consider what it would be like to exist at that same cabin from the summer alone with Ashton, with no other people or endless summer fun to distract him.  The central heating is awful, so they’d probably spend a lot of time by the fireplace, possibly getting cozy under a blanket.  They’d be able to go skating on the lake near shore, maybe after a late brunch.  Ashton might sleep in for once in his life.  Michael would love to be sleeping in the same bed instead of confined to one of the other rooms, cold and alone.

He’s not considering it.  Instead he smiles, shakes his head, and gently pushes Ashton away, trying to refocus on what the president is saying rather than the man next to him.

“The raffle will take place at the end of the night, so be sure to stick around if you want a chance at any of the gift baskets or certificates.  We have a beautiful backdrop for photographs in the back corner if you’d like a memory from the night, and leftovers from the buffet are now open.  We’re lucky enough to be joined by one of Minneapolis’s fantastic live bands for the dancing portion of the evening, so please enjoy yourselves!  Take time to celebrate, enjoy each other’s company, and make the most of this beautiful night.  Here’s to many more like it!”

Michael applauds politely along with everyone else, sipping his water while he watches the band set up.  Based on the instrumentation, he has absolutely no idea what genre of music they’ll be playing.  The only thing that makes sense is the piano and vocalist, but there are also two electric guitars, a drummer, an upright bass, a cellist, a saxophone, and a trumpet.  The singer introduces them as Eds and the Airplanes, then they launch into something between 1940’s big band and modern bubblegum pop.  Somehow, everyone in the room seems to be in favor of it.

“Huh,” Michael says.

“I know these guys,” Ashton says.  “They recorded with us in October.”

“Oh, so you can tell us that but you can’t say who else records with you?”

“They tagged us on Instagram,” Ashton says.  “They don’t care if anyone knows what they’re up to.  Besides, their manager loves me.  It’s fine.”

“Must not love you that much if you’ve never told me about the band.”

Ashton shrugs, but before he can elaborate Harry is there, tapping them both excitedly on the arm.

“Let’s go dance!” he says.  “Lou can teach you how to swing dance if you want.  I think you can cha-cha to this song.”  He does a quick few steps in place on beat, then smiles.

“You can cha-cha to it,” Louis says, appearing over Harry’s shoulder, “but that doesn’t mean that you should.  Swing is the way to go here.”

“We’ve taken ballroom dancing classes,” Harry says, pleased.  “Come on!  Alexis said she’d only get up and dance if you two do, and if Alexis does it the rest of the department will.”

Michael will take every opportunity to push Alexis out of her comfort zone, so he gets up and pulls Ashton with him.  There are a few other people doing some semblance of dancing on the outskirts of the dance floor space, mostly older couples, but as soon as Louis and Harry step onto it everything livens up, Louis twirling Harry around and then both of them move around the floor for a few seconds before Louis breaks their hold and rounds on the group.

“Okay, pair up!  One of you has to be the lead, aka me, and the other gets to be the follow, aka Harry.  Ready?”

“I’ll lead.  Good rhythm,” Ashton says, intently watching Louis and trying to mimic his position. He takes Michael’s hand and puts a tentative hand on his waist.  Michael does his best to focus and follow the intense three minute crash course that follows without stepping on Ashton’s toes.  Ashton catches on right away, and Michael finds it easy to follow him once he gets the basic step down.

“Think you’ve got it?” Louis asks when the next song starts, something around the same tempo and equally as peppy.

“Hell yeah,” Ashton says.  He starts the basic step, then twirls Michael and get him to move his feet.

“I think you’re enjoying this too much,” Michael says.  He’s led in another spin, Ashton switching hands and Michael trying to remember which one he needs to grab to set them back to rights.

“No such thing,” Ashton replies.  “I get to listen to music, be close to you, get the heart rate up a bit… what’s not to enjoy?”

“There are other ways to achieve all of that,” Michael says.  Ashton wiggles his eyebrows, and Michael laughs and stumbles over the next few steps.  They wait a few bars, then start again in rhythm, four steps with and around each other, Ashton tugging Michael across his body in circles, spinning him out only to pull him back in again.

“Maybe we should go ballroom dancing,” Ashton says.  “This is fun.  Harry and Louis might have the right idea.”

“I wasn’t expecting dancing tonight,” Michael says, “but I do think we’re the best-looking couple on this dancefloor.”

“Want to try a lift? Dirty Dancing style?”

Michael laughs so hard at the image that they have to pause in their dance, and by the time he recovers the song has ended and transitioned into something slower.

“Come on,” Michael says, leading Ashton back to the edge where the rest of his coworkers have congregated.  They pass Harry and Louis on the way, both of them locked in a different style of dance to match the new tempo.  Harry winks at him when they catch eyes.

“You didn’t tell us he could dance,” Alexis says to Michael.

“I’m a man of many talents,” Ashton says.  “Michael can’t be expected to remember all of them.”

“He’s humble, too,” Michael says.

"Ashton Irwin, I thought that was you!"

Michael turns to find an unfamiliar woman approaching.  Her hair is dyed with blues, greens, and yellows, a mixture that's both artistic and striking, especially when paired with the tight black dress she's wearing.  She's pretty, with dark lipstick and a gold necklace drawing attention to her bust.  If Michael didn't have the most beautiful person in the room next to him, he probably would give her a double take.

"Ashley!" Ashton says, immediately sweeping her into a hug.

"Can’t say I expected to see you here," she says.

"Me neither!  I didn't realize your band would be playing tonight," he says.  "Guys, this is my friend Ashley.  She manages Eds and the Airplanes.  We met when she booked our studio a couple months ago."

"Met, went on two dates, became friends instead, you know how it goes," Ashley says.

Michael's heart plummets, then completely stops when he sees the panicked expression on Ashton's face.

"Dates?" Alexis asks carefully.  "When was this?"

"Summer," Ashton says quickly.  Ashley frowns.  "Back in the summer.  June, I think.  Before I started dating Michael, obviously."

"Dating Michael?" Ashley asks.  "When the fuck did that happen, because it sure wasn't while my band was recording."

Oh holy shit.  Their entire story is going to get blown apart because Ashton went on some dates with this incredibly attractive, music-smart woman, dates that Michael had no idea about despite theoretically being one of Ashton's best friends.  They've seen each other consistently each week since college.  When did Ashton have time to sneak around on dates?  More importantly, why would he keep this from Michael?

Ashton is floundering for an explanation.  Michael can't hear any of his attempts over the ringing in his ears.

"I have to--I have to use the bathroom," he says.  He's leaving before anyone has a chance to try to stop him, weaving in between the tables as fast as he can without breaking out into a full-on sprint.

Everyone is going to know that he lied.  Even if Ashton manages to charm his way through a salvageable story, why would anyone believe that Ashton would go for someone like him if Ashley is right there?  If they didn't work out, why would he and Ashton be able to make it a full five months?

He pushes open the bathroom door, thankful that all of the stalls look empty.  It's the type of fancy bathroom with a small armchair in the corner, and he sinks into it, cradling his head in his hands.

Fuck.  What if everyone thinks Ashton is a cheater?  What other reason would his coworkers have for Ashton's panic and the way Michael ran away?  Why else wouldn't Michael know who Ashley is, if her relationship with Ashton was completely innocent?

Why didn't Ashton tell him about her?

The door opens again and Michael jumps.

"Michael?" Harry asks, eyebrows drawn together in concern.  "What's wrong?  I saw you leave the dance floor pretty quickly."

"I--"

He lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair then rubbing at his face, hoping desperately that Harry isn't going to laugh at him.

The cat's out of the bag, anyway.  There isn't any way for them to recover from this.

"Ashton's not my boyfriend," he says.

Harry shuffles closer and crouches down by Michael's chair.

"He's not?" he asks slowly.  Michael shakes his head.

"I don't have a boyfriend.  I never have.  I just didn't want to correct you guys when you all thought I did.  I don't know, I guess it was nice to pretend for a bit, but everyone was so eager to meet him here, so I asked Ashton to fake it with me."

Harry hums.

"There's a woman here he went on some dates with.  I didn't know about them, but they didn't meet until October, and I think she just accidentally busted the whole thing."

Harry hums again.  He’s frowning, mouth turned down in a way that makes Michael scared that he just lost his best work friend.

“Sorry.  I shouldn’t have lied.  This is probably just karma.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says.  He stands, then leans against the arm of Michael’s chair, putting an arm around his shoulders.  “If it makes you feel better, you had me fooled.”

Michael laughs mirthlessly.

“That’s because I’ve been in love with him for years.”

“Oh, Michael,” he says, squeezing him tighter.

“Yep,” he says, popping the last consonant.  “Haven’t had time to get a real boyfriend when I’m hung up on him.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says.  There’s nothing else to say.  

“And the worst thing is,” he starts, words falling unbidden now that he’s let himself speak, “now that I met her it’s like, how could I compare?  I mean, she’s beautiful, and her hair is so gorgeous and fun and mine’s been dull and blonde for so long because otherwise it’ll fall out, and she obviously knows a lot about music while I’ve barely picked up my guitar in the past few weeks and just--”

He sighs and stands, shrugging off Harry’s hands and heading towards the sinks.  His hair is a bit messy, resistant to his efforts to comb through it.

“Nothing anyone can do,” he says.  “I can’t hide in the bathroom all night.  Do you think Alexis and the others are going to hate me?”

“No,” Harry says.  “They might think it’s weird for a little bit, though.”

Michael focuses on his hair again, trying to stop the subtle shake in his hands.  He and Ashton can just leave early, photo-ops and the raffle be damned.  Michael can work around awkwardness, but if that’s all that this night is going to turn into he’d rather be back home playing video games.

The door opens again.  Michael tenses, only to see in the mirror that it’s not some stranger or his boss, but Ashton.

“Hey,” Ashton says.  He looks at Harry and nods, then turns back to Michael.  “You okay?”

“Fine,” he says, messing with the knobs on the sink.  “What’s happening out there?”

Ashton glances at Harry again.

“Do you two need a minute?” he asks.  Ashton nods, but Harry waits until Michael does too before he leaves.

“I, uh, had to tell Ashley about what’s going on, but I don’t think anyone else knows.  Everything is okay.”

“Really?” Michael asks, turning finally.  “How did you talk your way out of that one?”

Ashton shrugs.  “I’m good with words.  Ashley caught on pretty quickly, too.”

"Did you really date her?" he asks before he can stop himself.  Ashton sighs.

"We went on a few dates, yes.  Two of them.  Well, more like one and a half before we decided we were better suited as friends."

"Oh," Michael says.  "Why?  She seems nice and fun.  She obviously likes music, and she's pretty.  You'd think you two would be a good match."

"Well, we aren't," Ashton says.

"Okay," Michael says.  Ashton nods once.  It feels weird and tense, an unusual dynamic for them that Michael doesn't know how to fix.  "Sorry, I guess."

"Don't be," Ashton says.  "I never should have started it.  It's a good thing it ended where it did."

"Why?"

Ashton sighs, coming over by the sinks to lean against the counter.  The bathroom isn't that large, but Michael hadn't realized how far away he felt before he had him within arm's reach.

"I... was just using her, I think.  I was hung up on someone else and thought that if I dated her, I'd be able to get over it.  That wasn't fair to either of us.  She caught on and said we should be friends instead."

Michael's breath catches in his throat.  Ashton has been doing his own pining, going so far as to try to date other people to get over this mystery person, and he's been doing all of it without Michael's knowledge.

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?" he asks, hoping that it doesn't sound hurt.  "I didn't even know you liked anyone.  I could've tried to help."

Ashton takes a breath, tracing the marble pattern on the countertop with his finger for a long moment, close to where Michael is resting his own fingers.  He wants to reach out and tie their hands together, but Ashton looks up at him before he can.  There's something heavy in his gaze that makes Michael feel like whatever he says next could break him if neither of them are careful.  Still, he leans closer, trying to let Ashton know that he's listening.  He's always listening to him.

"The person I was hung up on... or, well, am still hung up on, I suppose, he--"

The door opens again and both of them spring back, breaking their bubble like they're school kids caught skipping class to make out in the bathroom.  Michael's cheeks flame, but the man who enters doesn't spare them a glance, headed straight to a stall.  

"We should rejoin the party," Ashton says.  Michael can't stop the disappointment that fills him, despite knowing that Ashton is right.  Besides, public restrooms aren't exactly the most pleasant hangout, not even one fancy enough for an armchair in the corner and little vials of lotion by the sinks.

"Okay," he says.  "Everything's good?"

"Everything's good," Ashton replies.  Michael nods and squares his shoulders, following Ashton out of the bathroom and back into the bustle of the party.  The band is still playing at the front, but Michael drags his feet, pausing and tugging Ashton with him towards the beverages to get another drink of water.  Ashley intercepts them on the way over.

"Michael? Hey," she says.  "I'm sorry about what happened back there.  I obviously had no clue what you two were doing and I didn't mean to throw a wrench in things.  I think we covered it pretty well, though.  You're secret's still safe."

She winks, charm oozing out of her in a way that partially reminds him of Ashton.  Once again, he wonders why they didn't work out.  Whoever Ashton likes must be pretty special.

He pushes the thought away.  There's no use getting upset over it when he still has to put on a show of being happy for the rest of the night.  He has to at least be able to fake it, and that means distracting himself until he can get home and wallow.

"It's okay," he says.  "You didn’t know.  It's not like you could’ve guessed what was happening."

Ashley laughs.  "You're right about that.  Still, I support it.  You two make a good pair."

Michael glances at Ashton, who looks like he's either trying to psychically communicate with Ashley or gut her.  Michael clears his throat, trying not to wonder who Ashton wishes he were a pair with, instead.

"Thanks," he says.

"Well, I need to get back to the band in case they need me.  I'm sure I'll see you both sometime later."

"Yeah, later," Michael says.

"See you, Ash," Ashton adds.  Ashley smiles and gives them both a small wave with her fingers as she turns.  Michael watches her walk away.

“Come on,” he says eventually.  “I want some water.”

The band transitions to another slower song, something jazzy featuring the piano and upright bass.  Ashton puts a hand near the base of Michael’s spine as they walk, finally getting little plastic cups of water and wandering to an empty space to sip it.

“This isn’t how I expected the evening to go,” Ashton says.  Michael snorts.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s not you,” Ashton says.  “But I do think we need to raise your spirits a bit.  It’s your holiday work party!  You’re with friends, enjoying live music and getting to dress up.  Come dance with me again.”

“You think very highly of your dancing skills,” Michael says.  “Don’t let it go to your head.  You’re no Fred Astaire.”

“I’m impressed you know who that is,” Ashton says, downing the rest of his water and throwing it in a nearby trash bin.  Michael makes an affronted noise that goes ignored.  “Regardless of you insulting my dancing, it was making you smile earlier.  Come on.  You can’t let one false alarm ruin your night.  Dance a few songs with me, then we can take ridiculous pictures with their winter backdrop and wait for the raffle before heading back out into the snow.”

“I don’t want you to step on my toes,” Michael says.

“I promise I won’t,” Ashton pleads.  “Please?”

Ashton peers at him earnestly, eyes soft.  He starts to smile, knowing that Michael is going to cave against his best attempts, and when he takes Michael's hand and starts to walk towards the dance floor, Michael unsticks his feet and follows him.

"You're lucky I like you," Michael says.  He tries to sound begrudging, but it probably doesn't work.  Ashton can read him too well.

"I am," Ashton says.  He stops abruptly, making Michael run into him, and turns.  "Seriously.  I'm lucky to have you in any way you let me.  You're so wonderful, and I'm grateful that I can call you one of my best friends."

Ashton brings their hands up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of Michael's palm, watching his reaction through his lashes.  Something indescribable lodges itself in Michael's throat.  For a moment, he wonders if he can tell Ashton all of the ways he wants him without messing everything up.

"Come on," Ashton says, breaking the moment.  "Let's dance."

Another slow jazzy song is playing when they make their way to the floor, and they join other couples in an embrace.  Ashton keeps their hands together but slides a gentle hand around his waist to his lower back, resting heavily there and pulling them closer together.  Michael finds a spot for his hand on Ashton's shoulder, but with how close they're standing it's more like a hug than anything else.  Ashton starts them in a gentle sway.

"Hey," Ashton murmurs, close enough that Michael feels his breath puff against his cheek.  It reminds him of the moment after Ashton kissed his cheek on his couch this afternoon, when Michael thought he might try to kiss him on the lips next.

"Yeah?"

"Harry and Louis are making out in the corner.  It's very unfitting for a work function."

"What?" he asks.  Ashton turns them so he can see, and sure enough his eyes find Harry's floral suit near the edge of the room, the man himself locking lips with his husband.

"Huh," he says.  "I hope our manager sees them and says something about it.  You'd think after being married for a few years they'd have calmed down."

"It's kind of cute," Ashton says.  "It's nice that they're still that in love with each other."

"I guess," Michael says.  "I don't know.  I don't think I'd want to be that gushy with someone, you know?  I don't need to always be touching or making out to know that we like each other, hopefully.  I don't know if I'd enjoy that, especially somewhere as public as this."

"What would you enjoy, then?" Ashton asks.  Michael shrugs.

"What we're doing here, I think.  It's nice, but not suffocating.  We're enjoying each other's company and all, but what would be the point of even going out if we were going to be hanging off each other the entire time?  We could just do that at home."

"I thought you'd be a bit more cuddly."

Michael will be the first to admit that he loves a lot of physical contact, and back in college he probably would have said he wanted it all the time.  He would love to show off his partner and relationship as much as possible.  Now, though, it's a bit different.  Ashton doesn't hang off people as much as the rest of them do, but that's okay.  Michael has learned to read him over the years, and there's something to be said about subtle glances and soft words kept between just the two of them, tucked close to Michael's heart, things Michael has stopped mentioning in his lovesick laments to Calum and Luke.  Some things are made more special when they're only shared between two people.

"In private, yes.  Of course I'd want to be as close as possible to you.  But I don't really want everyone else seeing that, I guess.  I want some things to be just for us."

"I understand.  I like that better, too."  Ashton clears his throat.  "Theoretically."

"Theoretically," Michael says, thankful that his face is partially hidden from the angle that they're dancing.

That's the type of relationship he would want with Ashton.  It's been too long since he thought about what he would want in a relationship with anyone else.  It could be different, but it certainly wouldn't be better.

"I hope you get that," Ashton says suddenly.  "I know we're pretending now because you didn't want to tell your coworkers that you don't have anyone, but I hope you find someone soon.  I want you to be happy."

"You too," Michael says.  It’s not a lie, even if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.  He's not going to get a happy relationship until he gets over Ashton, and he's already spent so many years liking him that he doesn't know how to stop.

Ashton hums.  Michael thinks he might understand, given his own secret pining that he's been doing.  He wants to ask again why Ashton didn't tell him.  He doesn't know if he's ready for the answer.

The song ends, transitioning to another upbeat number that has younger people jumping and older people shuffling along together.  Ashton suddenly swings Michael out in another twirl, and then they're back to swing dancing, two steps and a ball-change keeping them on beat.

"Warn a guy next time," he says when he comes back to him.

"Spin incoming," Ashton says, sending him right back into another twirl.  Michael laughs through it, and Ashton's responding smile is the best thing Michael has seen all night.

-/-

Michael ends up dancing with Ashton for the rest of the night, losing track of fast songs and slow ones with intermittent breaks to bother his friends and catch a breath until the band announces that it'll be their last one of the evening.  It feels strange that Michael has spent so much time stressing over this night only for it to be nearly over.  When the song finishes, Ashton dips him like they’re in a movie.  Looking at him framed by the overhead lights, Michael can almost believe he has a halo.

They make their way back to the table they started at for the raffle, Michael sitting and Ashton making a detour to get water.  Everyone in attendance got their name put in as part of the RVSP, but Michael doesn't even know half of the prizes.  In reality, he's ready to stare at Ashton and trace individual strands of hair through his curls with his eyes rather than listen, memorizing every detail he can.

"Hey," Alexis says when he sits down.  "You looked like you were having a good time."

"I was," he says.  "Dancing is more fun than I thought, but don't tell Harry I said that."

“I already know,” Harry says.  “You and Ashton should join us when we go dancing.”

Michael gives him his most sarcastic smile.  Alexis studies his face, eyes looking for any signs of deceit in a way that makes him sit up straighter.

"Does he treat you well?" she asks.  "Things were really weird once that Ashley girl showed up."

"He does," he says.  "I promise."

Alexis continues her scrutiny, but she must be satisfied with her findings, because she nods.

"Good," she says.  "I like him, but I like you more."

"Thanks," he says.

"What about me?" Harry asks.  Alexis flips him off, and things at the table are back to normal by the time Ashton returns with two cups of water, one that he hands to Michael.  The president taps the microphone again before Michael can properly thank him, so he elects for squeezing his hand and hopes it suffices.  From Ashton's smile, it does.

The first few raffles are for various baskets following themes like movies, a taste of Italy, and art.  Michael zones out as people he doesn't recognize get their names called (and sometimes butchered), thoughts wandering to his expectations of the night and what actually happened.

He and Ashton never got their picture taken with the backdrop.  It's not the end of the world, but Michael wishes they had thought to do that.  It may be fake, but it'd be the only couple's photo of them that Michael may get, and he'd like to remember some things about the night, like the feeling of dancing in Ashton’s arms and how radiant he looks.

For all of the fuss about PDA and mistletoe, they didn't have to contend with any of that, either.  Michael's not sure if he's relieved or disappointed.

"Ashton Irwin!" the president calls.  Michael startles as the rest of their table erupts in cheers.

“Huh,” Ashton says, standing.  “I didn’t know I was included in this.”

“Go get your prize,” Harry says, shooing him forward.  Michael watches him make his way to the front and come back with a basket.

“You can probably have half of this,” Ashton whispers to him, showing the basket.  There are two mugs in it, but there’s also a lot of coffee, and Ashton doesn’t care about how fancy his caffeine is.  He takes it black the majority of the time and uses it more as a tool to wake up than an enjoyable beverage.  They ignore the rest of the raffles in favor of pawing through the basket, taking out items to pass around the table when the others ask about them.  There’s some fancy hot cocoa mix that makes Ashton’s eyes light up, but the majority of it is coffee that Michael has to resist the urge to open up and smell.  Knowing him, he’d make a mess.

Michael is so focused on the coffee that he barely registers the end of the party, the president’s words going in one ear and out the other until everyone starts standing and shuffling towards the door around him.

“Hey,” Alexis says.  “You can’t leave until we take a picture.  Dalmar wants one of the whole department.”

“I want one of us,” Harry says.  They wait a minute to let some of the crowd clear out, then Michael is swept up in the tide heading towards the photo backdrop.  There’s cotton on the ground to give the impression of snow, and one side has pine trees decked in gold and a starry landscape behind while the other has silver accents and a sparkly wire reindeer.

“Very thoughtful of them to coordinate a gold and a silver option, I assume so everyone can choose the backdrop that best matches their outfit,” Ashton says, voice low.  Michael snickers.

Ashton joins the other plus-ones off to the side while Michael is corralled into a department picture, sandwiched between Alexis and Imani.  Once Dalmar promises to email it out, Harry makes him stay for a picture with him and Alexis, then another one that includes their dates.

“Do you want one with just you two?” Harry asks him after.  Michael glances at Ashton, then nods, handing his phone over.  He hasn’t checked it all night, and there are a few messages from both Calum and Luke that he’ll probably ignore until morning.

Ashton puts an arm around his waist for probably the last time tonight and decides to use the privilege for evil, jabbing him in the side and making him squirm and involuntarily laugh.

“I hate you,” he says.

“No you don’t,” Ashton responds cheekily.  Michael turns back to where Harry already has the camera up.

“Say cheese,” he says.  Michael smiles.  Harry gets a few shots in before Ashton presses a kiss to his cheek.  Michael hopes he doesn’t look too startled before he starts smiling again, letting himself relish in the moment.

“Got any good ones?” Ashton asks once he pulls away.

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry says.

“Ashton,” Ashley calls, appearing in the crowd and waving him over.  He glances back at Michael.

“One moment,” he says, then heads towards her.

“So,” Harry says casually, handing over Michael’s phone.  “There’s really nothing going on with you two?”

Michael lets his gaze land on Ashton, locked in what looks to be a serious conversation with Ashley.  She gestures and he makes a face that she returns, but he can’t tell what they’re discussing.

“No, not on his end.  He has someone else he’s after.”

“Someone who isn’t you?”

Michael shrugs.  “He didn’t say.  There’s no way, though.  I think I’ve used up all my luck for the night.  Karma says nothing else good can happen now that the lie worked.”

“It’s Christmastime, Michael,” Harry says.  “Maybe you’ll get a miracle.”

Ashton hugs Ashley.  She says something into his ear and he nods.  Michael sighs and forces himself to turn back to Harry, who is still looking at him with his head tilted like a puppy.

“He cares about you a lot; it's been obvious to all of us here tonight.  Don't discount that just because you're scared.  Maybe it's time to tell him," Harry says.

"I've been doing this for years," Michael reminds him.  "It's never time."

"Hey," Ashton says, reappearing.  "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Michael says.  "See you later, Harry.  Tell Alexis I say goodbye, too."

"Good luck, Michael.  Remember, Christmas miracles!"

Michael gives him a tight smile and starts towards the coat check.  They killed enough time with the pictures that they don't have to wait in line too long before they're bundled up and ready to leave.

"What did Harry mean about Christmas miracles?" Ashton asks, putting on his gloves.

"Nothing," Michael says.  "He's just being optimistic.  What did Ashley want to say to you?"

"Oh, you know," Ashton says.  "Just that it was good to see each other and finally meet you."

"Meet me?" Michael asks.  "She didn't even talk to me.  Why would she want to meet me, anyway?  I'm just an auditor."

"You're not just anything.  Besides, I've probably talked about you a lot.  Come on.  Time to brave the cold."

Michael frowns at the abrupt change, but Ashton is already heading towards the entrance, so he scrambles to catch up.

A gust of wind greets then outside, thick snow swirling in the air around them.  Michael braces himself against it, huddling down in his coat and shoving his hands in his pockets.  Ashton leans close, flexing his fingers where he's gripping the handle of the basket, and they shuffle down the sidewalk as one.  Once Michael gets to the car, he immediately turns on the defroster and heat, hating the first few minutes of cold air until the car warms up properly.  Ashton grabs the scraper from the back before Michael can, brushing snow off the front windshield and scraping away the frost that had gathered in the time they were at the party.  When he gets to the driver-side window, he makes funny faces at Michael while clearing it off.  It warms him more than the heater does.

"Thanks," Michael says once he's done.  "I hate scraping.”

"I know," Ashton says, brushing snow off of his coat where it had gathered on his shoulders.  "Hey, I got a gift card in my basket.  Let's swing by before you drop me off."

"It's a little late for coffee," Michael says.

"This place is open until midnight, and they have great hot chocolate.  Come on.  You got me a free meal tonight, so let me give you a free late-night cocoa."

"Fine," Michael says, as if he wasn't going to cave as soon as Ashton suggested it, as if he himself wouldn't mind prolonging their time together if it's just the two of them.  "Put the address in.  The roads aren't that bad yet."

-/-

The coffee shop is a small place on a corner, one of the only shops still lit up at 9:30 at night.  Snow has gathered on the window ledges and the corners are blocked by frost, but warm light and swashes of browns and yellows still spill out, giving the entire building an inviting atmosphere.  Ashton holds the door for him on the way in, the bell above the door tinkling a greeting with the welcome rush of heated air.

The inside is just as cozy as Michael's first impressions suggested.  A few mismatched tables are scattered around the room with wooden chairs tucked against them, but it's the armchairs near the back that make him smile, big padded things arranged around a crackling fireplace that would probably swallow him if he sat down in them.  A bookshelf sits off to the side, old paperbacks and worn hardcovers nestled amongst other trinkets on warped wooden shelves, sinking under the weight of the years.  A Christmas tree stands in the corner, what looks like homemade ornaments adoring it and a few boxes in shiny wrapping paper underneath.  Calm Christmas music plays faintly over the speakers, and a barista calls out from where she is wiping down a table that she'll be with them in a moment.

"I've never been here before," Michael says.

"If you lived with me instead of out in a suburb, you would've by now," Ashton says, brushing snow off of Michael’s shoulder.  "It's one of my favorite places to go once winter hits.  I don't care for coffee, but I love everything else about the place.  It's a great source of inspiration and relaxation."

"Of course it is," Michael says fondly.  "Every place is a source of inspiration for you.  You probably found inspiration at my work party."

"Maybe that was more about the company than the location," Ashton says.

"I guess there were a lot of interesting people there, like Ashley.  You can probably get some material from Harry and Louis, too."

Ashton stares at him for a long moment.

"Are you being deliberately obtuse as a way to let me down?  Or do you really not know yet?"

"Hi, what can I get you?" the barista asks.  Michael is getting really sick of people interrupting Ashton when he's about to tell him something.

Ashton orders two small hot chocolates, one with whip and one without, then leads Michael to a table in the back corner.  It's an odd choice when they have the entire shop to themselves, but Michael doesn't fight it.  He's too distracted by the tantalizing smell of the hot cocoa and the mountain of whip on top of it, so much so that he burns his tongue on the first sip.

"Careful," Ashton laughs.  He reaches forward and swipes the whip right off Michael's nose, popping it into his mouth.  Michael's brain shuts down and takes its sweet time restarting, staring at Ashton gently blow on his own cocoa and take a much more cautious sip.

"So," Ashton says.  "I had an alternative motive for getting you to come here tonight."

"Is this payback for making you come to the party with me?  Are you going to ask me for a favor?"

"Not a favor," Ashton says.  "Well, I suppose you could come to the studio's New Years Eve party with me, if you wanted."

"I was already planning on going," Michael says.  I've been there every year since you opened.  I wasn't going to miss it now."

"See, this is what I was talking about with you being deliberately obtuse," Ashton says.  "Do you want to go with me?  As my date?"

Michael frowns.

“Did you tell everyone you have a secret boyfriend?”

Ashton sighs and cradles his head in his hands.  “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you.”

“Say what?” Michael implores.  “Is it too much for you to stop being so cryptic and just tell me what you want me to understand?”

“Michael, I really, really like you.  Romantically.  I have for a long time.  I want to know if you’ll go on a date with me.”

“What the fuck?” Michael asks.  Ashton’s face crumples.  “No, not like--how long?  Because I’ve been in love with you since college!”

“What?” Ashton blinks.  “I thought… I mean, I’d hoped, and there were moments, but I didn’t realize it had been that long for you.”  He smiles, letting it grow on his face until it’s overwhelming.  Michael mirrors it.  “Holy shit.  This is great!”

Michael laughs.

“Do you really like me?”

“Yes, Michael.  Of course I do.  I knew I eventually would as soon as I met you, I just put it off for as long as I could.  You’re magnetic.  It was inevitable.”

Michael doesn’t know what to do with the joy bubbling up in him, threatening to overflow like a volcano with all of the heat of one.

“So, Michael Clifford, want to be my date to the Superbloom New Year’s party?  And my boyfriend?  My real one, in case that somehow wasn’t clear by now.”

“Yes!  Please, yes, I would love to,” Michael says.

“Good,” Ashton says.  “But I do have one more confession to make.  I still haven’t told you why I wanted to come here right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look up,” Ashton says, pointing above their heads.  Michael follows his directions and is met with a small sprig of green leaves with tiny white flowers hanging from the ceiling.  “We never did get a mistletoe kiss, which was extremely disappointing to me.  Will you indulge me now?”

Michael turns back to him, seeing hope shining in his eyes, and nods a little too eagerly if the way Ashton giggles at him is any indication.

“Alright,” Ashton says, standing.  “Come on.  I’m not about to make you lean over the table.”

He takes Michael’s hands, tugging him to standing.

“I’m weirdly nervous,” Michael confesses once they’re face to face.

“Don’t be,” Ashton says, taking a step forward.  “If it’s bad, we’ll just try again.  I have the feeling I’ll be kissing you a lot in the future.”

“Yeah,” Michael breathes.

“Ready?” Ashton asks, eyes flicking down to Michael’s lips and then back up.  Instead of answering, Michael leans in, Ashton meeting him halfway in the best kiss Michael has ever had.  In the grand scheme of things, it’s utterly unremarkable, but to Michael it’s everything: the feeling of his cold hands enveloped by Ashton’s, the calm atmosphere of the coffee shop they’re in, the taste of hot chocolate still on Ashton’s lips, and the satisfaction of finally, after years, knowing what this sensation is like all melts together to form something that feels like complete and utter happiness.

Ashton drops their hands so he can cup Michael’s jaw and kisses him again, and then again, and then they stand there smiling at each other until Michael finally starts giggling.

“Our hot chocolate is probably getting cold,” he says.

“God, I love you,” Ashton replies.  Michael knows that he’s blushing, but for once it’s not out of embarrassment or the cold outside.  He’s never felt this level of joyful peace.

Ashton kisses him once more, quickly, before he finally goes back to his seat.  Michael joins him, taking a sip of his drink.  He can’t help but think that Ashton’s homemade cocoa is better.

The man in question reaches out and takes one of his hands, holding it across the table and beaming, showing off his dimples, and Michael once again can’t resist smiling back.

Maybe Harry is right.  Karma stands no chance against a Christmas miracle.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #440

from a day or two ago.

Do you drink a lot of soda? I definitely do. :/ I'd lose weight so much easier if I could drop the habit. Are tomatoes the best food in the world? I don't like tomatoes unless they're very fresh and on a mayo and bacon sandwich. Have you seen The Blindside? I actually haven't. Do you have a favorite local pizza place? Not really. There's a place I like that isn't huge, but I don't have like, a serious passion for or loyalty to it. Would you date someone 10+ years older than you? Meh, I think ten years is my cut-off. Are you due for a haircut? For sure. >_< Are you dealing with any health-related problems right now? Yeah. Even with my APAP mask, because I apparently move it too much in my sleep, I'm struggling with my sleep apnea nightmares/terrors. Do your parents like the music you listen to? Most of it. Do your parents approve of your beliefs? Not all of them, no. How many different digital cameras have you owned in your life? How about cell phones? Cell phones, idk. I've had two "pro" cameras. Do you typically do your make up the same each time? Or do you like to change it up often? It's pretty much always the same. Who is the last person you were in a room with just the two of you? What were you doing? Mom. We worked together on my room. What do you usually order at Subway? Turkey, bacon, American cheese, pickles, banana peppers, and chipotle on I want to say Italian bread. How long is your mother’s hair? It's hard to say, because it's all poofy now versus wavy like before it had to be shaved off. Don't repeat it to her ever, but she has, uh... "old lady hair" now, ha ha. What is your favourite car brand? I don’t care. Whose chore is it to clean the bathrooms in your house? My mom does it. Pick your three favourite fruits. Strawberries, kiwi, and uhhh... apples. Or pineapple. Have you ever played Cards Against Humanity? Yeah. We used to play that a lot at Colleen's house on nights we had some drinks. Who were the last friends you went to hang out with? Oh jeez, idk. I haven't hung out with a friend in a long time. How many chairs are in the room you’re currently in? Zero. I'm in my bedroom. Are you bored right now? I'm bored almost every waking hour of my days. Have you ever seen a pelican in real life? I'm actually not sure. What’s important about April? My younger sister's birthday is in April. Is there anyone who hates you? Jason probably does. Would you consider adoption? Not for me personally. What’s the largest animal you’ve ever had as a pet? Our late boxer mix. Do you own any kind of helmet? No. Do you ever put fruit on your cereal? Noooo. How do you usually celebrate your favorite holiday? My younger sister comes over here and we open our presents with Mom, who also cooks a nice breakfast. We then go to my older sister's house for the day to watch the kids open presents from their extended family. I say "extended" because the kids obviously aren't going to wait for us to get there to open the majority of their gifts from their parents, ha ha. What’s a few facts about the last person that talked to you? She's from New York, has five kids, has survived cancer (one almost advanced to a fatal level) twice, she loves owls, and recently graduated with her bachelor's in social work (it's never too late, people). What would happen if you had a baby with the last person you kissed? We're both cisgender females. Where is the biggest scar on your body? It's probably where I had a cyst removal, which is in a spot I can't see. Would you date someone who was addicted to drugs? Absolutely not. I am NOT getting involved in that. If you could go back and change something in the past 5 months, would you? I'd go to the gym sooner. Have you ever kissed anyone with a tattoo? Hmmm... I think Tyler actually may have had a The Legend of Zelda tattoo? I can't really remember. If not him, then no. Have you ever kissed someone you weren’t dating? No, but I've been kissed by someone I wasn't dating. Do you know anyone who drinks a lot? Yes. What were you afraid of the most when you were a kid? Being separated from/losing my mom. Do you like to make the first move? No. When was the last time you completely broke down? A few weeks ago when I was having a PTSD episode. Are you listening to any music? No; I'm watching Gab play Final Fantasy X. Is your hair long enough to put in a ponytail? No. Has someone ever told you they want to spend the rest of their life with you? Hm, it's funny, I don't see him anymore. Have you ever peed in the woods? No. Have you ever played Twister? Yeah, I liked playing it as a kid. Are you looking for a boyfriend//girlfriend? Not actively, no. I really don't need one right now. Out of all of your friends who have you gotten in the worst fight with? Of all friends I've EVER had, probably Colleen. Of the friends I still have, maybe Sara. What is the last microwaveable meal you had? I've been on a SERIOUS grilled chicken pesto kick lately. Mom buys these small Healthy Choice (or some brand like that) bowls that you put in the microwave and then pour the noodles and chicken into the sauce after and mix, and oh my GOOOOOOOOOOOD it is so good. What would you consider a talent of yours? Assuming the worst out of every imaginable situation. If Hogwarts was a real place and you were able to attend, what class do you think you’d excel at? According to those little quizzes I've taken, I lean mostly towards Hufflepuff, but with Gryffindor traits as well. Would you rather learn more about space or more about the ocean? Well, ideally, space, but I think learning much more about our ocean would be more beneficial to our planet and our prosperity on Earth. Do you have a mental illness? If yes, how have you learned to cope with it? If no, do you ever suspect you may have one? I have a lot. My bipolarity, OCD, and PTSD are *mostly* under control, but I most certainly still have trouble sometimes. My anxiety and AvPD are still rabid fucking hounds. My depression was well-managed not even that long ago, but life circumstances have it so it's been more aggressive than what was usual. Do you have a favorite character from The Avengers? I dunno, I like Loki ig. Thor is cool, too. It's been WAY too long since I've seen that movie. What type of cake would you like right now? Double chocolate cake sounds great rn. @_@ What was your dream job when you were a child? Are you going after that dream or not? Why? Paleontologist, and no, because I don't want to travel for work, and I could also never handle the heat during site excavations. Even though it may not work all the time, what usually helps make you feel better when you’re upset or down? Watching one of my comfort series on YouTube from channels I enjoy. Why do you personally take surveys? It's a method to just get all these thoughts out of my head and to vent when I need to without actually directly burdening someone with my problems. No one has to read 'em. It's purely for my benefit, and also to pass the time, which I have too much of. Are there any words that you can’t stand? Derogatory terms for certain groups of people. What are words that you love? Words like "serendipity," "bliss," joyous, bubbly words. I'm blanking on actual terms. If you had an endless supply of money for clothing only, what would you load your closet with? Ohhhh, lots of shit with studs and spikes. :') I've wanted a studded leather jacket since I was in middle school. Have never gotten one because of how pricey they are. :( I'd also get some KILLER boots and just obtain a more gothic wardrobe. I'd love corsets too if my body ever shrinks back to a point I'd be comfortable wearing well-made ones. What is your favorite type of cookie? Chocolate chip. What is your favorite type of candy? Strawberry Sour Punch Straws. What color would you like to paint your nails next? I don't paint my nails. Realistically, they probably won't be 'til my entirely hypothetical wedding, in which case they'll probably be black. What do you think is creepy that society accepts as normal? Urinals, alsdkfja;klwejr. Like I get men's bathrooms give the option of using a stall, but still... side-by-side urinals are so weird and a breach of privacy to me. What is the silliest secret about yourself that you sometimes feel the need to hide? That I enjoy forum RP. I tell NOBODY because I fear being judged and found as weird. Like seriously, in my "real" life, maybe two people know. What do you think is a good date other than dinner and a movie? I want a picnic date really bad kalj;dkl;jwe. Do you dread certain days of the week? If yes, what day/s and why? No. They're all very similar. Do you ever give money to homeless people? No, admittedly. Mom instead likes to sometimes offer them bottles of water or if she's really feeling generous, a cheap meal at like McDonald's or something. She doesn't like to hand out money because, well, we know what a vast majority of homeless people spend it on. Do you like to brag or are you modest? I get really uncomfortable bragging, so I try to be as modest as I can be. What your favourite thing to have on toast? I love giving it a light toast, then adding a thin layer of butter, cinnamon, and sugar. It's bomb. Do you know how to surf? Would you ever like to learn? No to either. If you eat oatmeal, do you have it plain or do you have certain toppings that you like to add to it? I love sprinkling some sugar in there. Would you prefer to spend time with your whole family all at once, or would you rather quality time with one family member at a time? Depends on what I feel up to, but I tend to enjoy family time as a group more. That way, I don't have TOO much pressure to be constantly social. I can just listen sometimes. What is the funniest or strangest thing you’ve ever heard somebody say in their sleep? I have no idea. I worry what people have heard ME say/scream in my sleep. Do you own a pair of slippers? Yeah, they're meerkat ones! :') Choose one: Butterfinger, Milky Way, Snickers: Absolutely a Milky Way. Who was the last person to comment you? My mom. I'm cool, I swear. How many arguments have you had with the last person you kissed? A lot over all these years, but I'd say that's normal when you've been friends since you were 8 and 10. Do you know anyone who has been arrested? Yes. What are you planning on doing after this? When I'm done taking this survey, I'll probably either go to bed or play a bit of WoW. Idk. Will you be up before 7 am tomorrow? I have my alarm set for 7, actually. Ever been the only one trying to fix a relationship? Mhmmmm. -_- What was the last bad thing that happened to your phone? The case that came with the phone got a big crack in it. Have you ever been with someone while they were throwing up? Absolutely not. I would start vomiting. I can't handle the sound or the act in general. Have you been to the beach this year? No; I haven't been in a long time, and I am noooot complaining. Have you ever skipped school just because you were tired? Yes. Are you tan? God no. Do you own any leather? No real leather, no. I never would. Have you ever bought a shot glass? No. Do you have a therapist? Yes. We actually just talked today. Well, technically yesterday. What’s the worst name your mom has ever called you? I don't know. She doesn't really call me bad names. Have you ever listened to Christian music? Not of my own volition, but I've heard it because of other people controlling the radio. Are you the ‘creative child’? Yes, I'm considered that one. Did you like your life when you were in middle school? God no. That's when everything started going downhill. Have you ever been 'popular’? No. Has someone ever tried to convert you? Yes. Are you a fan of muffins? I LOVE muffins. What’s your most recent obsession? It's kinda chilled out now, but when Resident Evil 8: Village released, I was CRAZY over it. I watched SO many different let's plays of it. I think it's safe to say it beats out RE4 as my favorite installment.

[five-rivers]

Fruits

For @greyheartwriter for the Phic Phight!  Enjoy!

.

.

.

Thanks to the Fenton Faded Folio Fixer, the waterlogged, ripped, and slightly singed journal of Jack's favorite and most notorious ancestor was now readable. Or, at least, carefully scanned photographs of the pages could be read. Jack could hardly wait to read it. He and Maddie had stayed up until the small hours of the morning inputting pages.

If only they were young again, able to pull all-nighters... Alas, it was not to be.

Still, he was very high energy when he got up that morning. As usual. He bounced down the stairs in front of his wife, letting his enthusiasm out.

"Hey, Mads, what kind of cool historical ghost fighting techniques do you think we'll find in ol' John Fenton-Nightingale's journal? My grandpa told me that he once fought a demon ghost with his bare hands, can you imagine?"

He heard a choking sound from the kitchen, and bounded in to find his son, Danny, choking on his cereal. He gave Danny a hearty slap on the back, and Danny started gasping for air.

"You okay there, Danny boy?"

"I'm, yeah, I'm fine. I just- Late for school! Gotta go!"

Danny rushed out the door without any further explanation. Jack scratched his head. "Huh. Isn't it still pretty early?"

"It's Saturday," said Maddie, concerned. "Should we go get him?"

"Nah, he'll figure it out soon enough!" said Jack. "It's good to see him so eager to go! Speaking of eager, let's go see how good ol' John ripped ghosts apart in the good old days!"

.

"Blood blossoms are extinct, right?" Danny asked Sam, watching her water her plants in her greenhouse, hands on his knees. "I mean, definitely and absolutely?"

"As far as I could find out," said Sam. "I talked to all of my gardening contacts. Only one had ever even heard of them, and she was convinced it was just a weird rose. I mean, even from where I was tied, I could tell they weren't, so... What's this about, anyway? Did your parents find out about them?"

"No, but they're about to. They got the Nightingale journal legible."

"Dang. I thought you trashed it."

"I tried! I really tried! But then Dad got it in his head that ghosts were trying to destroy it because it held secret ghost fighting secrets-"

"I mean, true, but go on."

"-and they got really enthusiastic about it. They build a whole machine just to read it!"

Sam put down her watering can and patted Danny on the back. "Well, hopefully there isn't anything in there that's worse than blood blossoms."

Danny groaned. "Why would you say something like that?"

.

"... and they're great on sandwiches!" exclaimed Jack.

"They certainly sound amazing," said Maddie as she typed on the lab computer. "They would be an amazing asset, but I can't find anything about them online, or even anything that looks like them. Show me the picture again? Maybe I can run it by some people."

"Sure thing, Mads!" Jack handed Maddie the relevant page. "Do you know a place called the Spine?"

"Not off the top of my head, why?"

"Because John says that's where he hid a bunch of seeds, just in case those dastardly ghosts tried to destroy them!"

"He hid them in the spine?" repeated Maddie, looking up from the computer. "Are you sure?"

"That's what he said!"

"Jack, what if he meant... the spine of the book?"

Both of them rushed across the lab to where the journal was stored in a ghost-proof box. Maddie picked up a pair of scissors.

"I'm really sorry if I'm wrong, Jack," she said.

"Don't be! It's what John would have wanted!"

She flipped up the lid and took out the wrecked book. "Maybe that's why the ghosts were so insistent on trying to destroy this, now. They knew about the seeds."

"I wouldn't put it past 'em!"

Maddie picked apart what was left of the binding, and, sure enough, a little cloth bag was nestled alongside the folded backs of the pages. Carefully, Jack picked it up and untied the top. He grinned widely and showed the shriveled red-brown fruits inside to Maddie.

"They're here, Maddie! Wait 'til I tell the kids! They'll be so excited! A little piece of family history, right here, in our hands."

"Wait, Jack," said Maddie, grabbing his arm. "I don't think we should tell them."

Jack's face fell. "Why not?"

"Well," said Maddie, frowning, "you know how they are about ghosts. I think we should keep these secret. So the ghosts don't find out, like they did with the journal."

"You don't think Jazz or Danny told the ghosts about the journal, do you?"

Maddie shook her head. "No, not necessarily. But they could have told their friends, and the ghosts could have overheard. This is just really important to our work and your family history, and I'd hate for it to be destroyed because of a mistake like that."

"Alright, we'll keep it secret, then. At least until they're ready to use! We can use the Fenton Stockades! The kids never go down there."

.

"You haven't heard any more about the journal?" Danny asked Jazz a week later. He leaned nervously against her doorjamb. He'd been having flashback nightmares to the seventeenth century or whatever hell year John Fenton-Nightingale had been from.

"What journal?" asked Jazz. "I read several. Psychology Today?"

"What?" asked Danny wrinkling his nose. "Isn't that a magazine? No, Dad's ancestor's journal. The one he and Mom thought was full of old ghost fighting stuff."

"No," said Jazz. "Why? Is it full of old ghost fighting stuff?"

Danny shrugged. "I didn't look at it super closely before I tried to torch it, but, yeah."

"That was you? Why?" asked Jazz, looking up from her book and swinging her legs off her bed.

"Because the guy tried to kill Sam," said Danny, scowling.

"Th- Our ancestor, who lived in the sixteen hundreds tried to kill Sam?" asked Jazz. "Jeez, I don't hear about half the things you guys get up to, do I? Why would he try to kill Sam?"

"He thought she was a witch. Thought I was a demon, too."

"So the demon Dad was saying he wrestled..."

"Probably me, to be honest."

"Just so you know," said Jazz, "I am intensely disturbed."

"That's two of us. Just, keep your ears out for them talking about blood blossoms or anything like that, okay?"

"Sure thing, little bro. And blood blossoms are?"

"Incredibly painful to ghosts. Or to half-ghosts who happen to be in ghost form." Danny made a face, remembering. "I was in so much pain I couldn't even think about turning back."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No," said Danny. "Not really."

"Well, if you change your mind..."

"Thanks," said Danny.

.

"Heh- achoo!"

"Sounds like you've got some allergies there, Danno!" said Jack. "I used to get them when I was your age, too!"

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Danny. When his allergies had failed to show up the year after he became half-ghost, he had thought he had seen the last of them, but apparently they had just been lying in wait, because now they were worse than ever. He resisted the urge to rub his eyes.

If he ever found out what plant was doing this to him, he was going to destroy it with extreme prejudice.

"We'll pick up some allergy medication next time we're at the store. Which kind did you like, again? Allegra? Claratin?"

"I don't care," said Danny. "Whichever."

"Well," said Maddie, putting a pot on the table, "maybe this will help you clear up your sinuses, at least for a little bit. I put lots of spices in it." She ladled rosy pink soup into first Danny's then Jazz's bowls.

"It's an old family recipe!" said Jack, proudly.

Danny was immediately suspicious. Sure, he was probably just being paranoid, but he couldn't help but remember that John Fenton-Nightingale had eaten blood blossoms. Danny doubted consuming something like that would be good for him, no matter what form he was in.

He made a show of sneezing very hard and knocked his soup off the table.

"Aw, man," he said, staring at the mess.

"Don't worry, Danny-boy! You can have some of mine!"

"No, no," said Danny. "I'm actually not feeling all that hungry... I think I'll just go to bed." He fled the dining room without waiting for a response

.

"Jack," said Maddie, "do you think Danny was acting strangely at dinner today?" She still wasn't used to how her voice echoed in the Fenton Stockades, even after all these years.

"Yeah. Man, he's got some brutal allergies, huh?"

Maddie pruned a branch off of one of the larger blood blossom bushes. "Did you see the way he was looking at the blood blossom soup?" she asked.

"Not really! I was too busy looking at mine, and, man, was it delicious or what?"

"Thanks, Jack," said Maddie, smiling briefly. Her thoughts turned back to Danny, and the smile fell. "The book said that the fruits were good against overshadowing, right?"

"Right-o, Mads!"

"How long until these start bearing, do you think?"

.

The answer to the question was two weeks. For two weeks, Maddie lived not knowing whether or not her son was a ghost. For two weeks, Danny lived in a state of steadily increasing anxiety and paranoia.

He could feel Maddie watching him. He could feel her doubt. Literally. It made him sick. Or was that just the allergies? Either way it was brutal and Danny found himself taking every excuse he could to get out of the house. He rarely ate at home. He couldn't trust the food.

Jazz didn't think it was healthy. Neither did Danny, but it wasn't his fault.

"Do you have any proof?" asked Jazz, exasperated.

"Proof of what?"

"That Mom's acting weird, or that she's trying to poison you."

"No," admitted Danny. "But that doesn't mean she isn't."

"You've lost ten pounds, Danny, and you were already a stick. People will think you're anorexic." She paused. "You're not actually anorexic, are you?"

"No!" said Danny. "That's stupid. I'd eat if I could trust anything. Which I can't."

"Please, Danny. At least eat a cookie. I watched Mom make them. She didn't put in anything weird. Except for raisins, I guess."

Danny glanced down at the plate on the table, mouth watering. They smelled so good, and he was so hungry.

"Okay," he said, "but you have to watch in case I die or something."

Jazz rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said.

Danny picked up a cookie and bit into it. "Are you sure these are raisins?" he asked, picking the bite back out of his mouth.

"They were in the raisin box," said Jazz.

"They taste kind of funny," said Danny. His pulse had picked up. Crud, was he having a panic attack? Over a cookie?

"I guess they were kind of old," admitted Jazz. She took a cookie herself. "They're not bad. Danny? Are you okay?"

Danny, leaning on the counter, shook his head. "Can't breathe," he wheezed.

"Oh my gosh, you're swelling up," said Jazz.

Danny's vision tunneled and went dark.

.

"... anything new in his daily life? His diet?"

The voice was unfamiliar to Danny.

"We got some new plants last month... We've been trying them in cooking."

"In the cookies?"

"The fruits, yes, they're an heirloom variety."

"Could you bring some in? I'd like to run a few tests, but my initial diagnosis is that Danny has a severe allergy to something he ate."

There was an annoying beeping sound.

"Of course." Oh, that was his Mom. She sounded worried. "When do you think he'll wake up?"

"Any time now. But there are some other things I'd like to talk to you about that we found. Would you mind stepping out with me for a moment? Alright, so..."

"You can stop pretending to be asleep," said Jazz.

Danny groaned. "I told you so."

"You did," agreed Jazz.

"What have they noticed?" asked Danny, opening his eyes to see a hospital room.

"Not much, don't worry. I think they just want to ask about your portal scar."

"Mhm," said Danny, rubbing his chest. "So..."

"Severe allergic reaction. They hit you with an epi-pen."

"Cool. That worked?"

"Apparently."

.

"Are you sure you got rid of all of it?" asked Danny, standing well clear of the front door.

"We're positive, honey," said Maddie.

"Yeah, Danno," said Jack. "We got it up with the Fenton Pollen-o-Matic! Just, let us make this up to you, okay, sport? We didn't mean for it to turn out like this."

"I know," said Danny. He squared his shoulders and walked inside.

.

Danny sat on his bed, cross-legged. He had to check this now, rather than later, even if the thought of what was probably going to happen made him cringe.

No, he had to think positively. After all, what were the odds that the universe hated him that much?

Pretty high.

Okay. Positive thoughts not working. Time to bite the bullet.

He pulled on his core, summoning his transformation rings. They appeared, bright and white around his waist. They started to separate, and-

He was hit with a wall of blinding pain. His rings snapped back together.

Typical, really.

He reached for his phone and dialed a number.

"Hey, Tucker. How long did it take for those blood blossoms to go through your system?"

[lyrazehedgieboiii]

Sonic catches Amy reading / writing sonadow fan fiction?

LMAO YES, THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS ONE, I WANTED TO DO THIS SOOOOO BAD. ALSO SORRY THIS WAS LATE.

Sonic was over at Amy’s house, enjoying some cookies and tea, because goddamnit, her double chocolate-chip cookies were to die for.

  “Thanks for inviting me over, Ames. These cookies are sooo good!” Sonic moaned in delight. Amy giggled.

   “You’re welcome, Sonic. I made some for Tails, but the poor little guy was up all night working on an invention, so I put some cookies on the counter for him, and wrote a note, so he knows I made them.” Amy said, as she put the tray down on the coffee table. “Anyways, I’m going to change, you can turn on the T.V. Okay?” Sonic nodded. She went to her room, and Sonic watched as her sway her hips. He got a little excited, but controlled it. He turned his head back and turned on the T.V. Please be Comedy Chimp, please be Comedy Chimp-

And it’s a drama. Wait no. It’s a play. It’s Hamilton. Wait, wasn’t it supposed to be on Disney Plus on July 3rd? Oh welp, might as well watch this. Sonic remembered the time he and the gang found Amy’s script, and they acted to it. He looked in the drawer that it was originally in, only to find a book labeled ‘Sonadow.’ Curious to what it was, he opened it, and skimmed to a random chapter. It said ‘Pregnancy Test.’ He started reading until he realized that Shadow and himself were the protagonists of the story. Shadow was the pregnant one. This book was in Amy’s house. In. Her. Drawer.

   “Okay I’m back-” Amy stopped in her tracks when she saw Sonic holding the book. She immediately thought of excuses and stories to why she had that book. She wrote it, but was glad that she hadn’t written her name down in the book, otherwise it would get very weird between them. “That’s n-not mine...” Sonic appeared quite flustered.

    “Then who does it belong to?” Sonic asked, his eyes twitching in what seemed to be anger.

    “...Would you believe me if I said it belonged to Lyra?” Amy replied, hoping Sonic would actually fall for that.

   “Makes sense, I guess. I mean, I thought she shipped...well...us?” Sonic blushed deeper while saying.

   “S-she has many ships, so don’t expect her to have just one...” She knew that Lyra had OCD’s when even thinking about Sonadow, but it was the only reasonable excuse she had, she didn’t want it to become awkward between them.

  “O-Oh...y-you haven’t read this, have you?” He asked her.

  “I saw the title and understood immediately...” She said cautiously. She knew Sonic very well, but at a time like this, she was very confused as to what his reaction would be.

  “That girl is going to publicly humiliate me one day.” Sonic nervously chuckled. Amy repeated his actions, not sure of what to do now.

  “I-I’ll give it back to her later, why don’t you just eat the cookies and pretend you never saw that?” Amy said in a rushed expression. Sonic noticed and decided not to think too much of it.

  “...Okay...” He hesitated before saying.

- TIME SKIP!!!! -

Amy was sitting in her room, doing something on her laptop that had her complete focus, Sonic observed. He made some sounds on purpose to see how Amy would react, but she didn’t even seem to notice.

   “What is she doing? She’s never this distracted.” Sonic thought out loud, only to hear Amy giggle while typing something in. She looked like she was about to swoon. She started cracking up, and put the laptop on the edge of the bed, which was on the other side, and she got on her back and tried to take deep breaths. Sonic snuck in through her windows, which have no glass and are covered by tapestries. He started reading whatever she was typing and saw Shadow’s name.

  “Ah~ I just love Sonadow~ It has a better chance of being canon than SonAmy will ever have.” She said, completely unaware of the second person in her room. Sonic got up and cleared his throat. Amy’s eyes immediately widened, her eyesight never leaving the ceiling. “IS SOMETHING LYRA WOULD SAY HEHEHEHEH...” Amy nervously continued saying, before taking the computer.

   “Then how come you were writing it?” Sonic asked in a disapproving tone.

    “Uh...Lyra was asking me to edit it, so I was helping?” Sonic still looked unconvinced. he yanked the laptop out of her hands.

   “Why the fuck do you think that SonAmy has a less chance of being canon compared to Sonadow?” He questioned, waving the laptop in the air.

   “Well, you would never like me, and you’re always arguing with Shadow and you just seem like you enjoy his company more than when you’re with me.” Amy replied sadly, her ears drooping.

  “Ames, I enjoy your company! I just tease him that he’s slow, that’s all. No romantic feelings for him. Just rivalry and friendship!” Sonic exclaimed. Amy giggled.

 “But wouldn’t you like to be more with him?” Amy asked, scooting closer.

  “Eww, no. He’s too emo. I prefer girls.” Sonic said, dropping the laptop on the bed, and putting his hands behind his head.

   “Yeah, I know. I see how you always flirt with them...” Amy responded with a melancholy tone. Sonic noticed this and got an idea.

   “Welp, I gotta go...run, and stuff like that.” And with that, Sonic zips off to who-knows-where. Amy quickly grabs her laptop and clicks the publish button.

- MEANWHILE WITH SONIKKU -

Sonic went to Lyra’s house to get something, and he went back to his hut in less than two seconds.

  “Okay, Sonamy. What are lemons...” Sonic zoned out, wondering what on Mobius citrus had to do with Sonic and Amy. Sonic wasn’t a huge fan of having anything with lemons in it, and he knew that Amy doesn’t really make sour or bitter foods. He clicked on what said Sonamy boom lemons, and saw that there were a lot of chapters. He went to the first one, and started reading. “Oh. OH. OHHHHH MY CHAOS, HOLY SHIT! THAT’S A LEMON?! AND WHY THE FUCK IS MY DICK ONLY FOUR INCHES IN THIS STORY?! IT’S MORE THAN THAT-” Sonic stopped himself when he realized that he was upset over his member size and not the fact that Amy was taking control of him in this story.

   “I need something...AH! Here! This is perfect.” Sonic smirked at his idea, and then ran to Amy’s house to bring his idea to action.

  “Sonic?” Amy answered the door, and her face was showing shock. Sonic walked towards her, until she was leaning against the back of her couch.

  “My beautiful Ames, my gorgeous Rose, how would you like to go on a date with me?

   “I-I-I-I...what?” Amy asked flustered at the sudden and definitely unexpected question.

   “Did I stutter? If anything, you were the one stuttering. I know, I’d be stuttering too, if I were to ask me out on a date~” Sonic repeated himself, adding a witty comment in that.

  “Are you Sonic?” Amy cautiously questioned, hoping this wasn’t another prank by Morpho.

  “I am, Amy. Sonic the Hedgehog, Fastest Thing Alive.” Sonic proudly stated. Amy giggled.

  “So you are. Why are you asking me out on a date? Is this to prove that you’re not into Shadow?”

  “No. I’m asking you out because I want to, and you better say ‘yes’ or I’m just going to nag you until you do.”

  “Okay, okay. Yes. I’ll go on a date with you, but what’s up with your sudden flirtiness? You never act like this, let alone with me.” Amy inquired. That made Sonic smirk.

   “Why not? I have to be your dream hedgehog, otherwise you’d ship Silver with Shadow.” Sonic responded. Amy shook. Sonic got worried by her weird uncharacteristic actions. “Amy! Why are you shaking? Are you okay?” He saw that her eyes were glossed with tears. “Amy! Are you crying?” He honestly didn’t know what to do, hug her? That’s what Amy does whenever someone’s crying. He wrapped his arms around her, genuine worry crawling over his features. Amy flinched as soon as his hands touched her, and she backed away after taking in everything.

-----------STOP HERE------------------- There are two endings for this story. Right under this is the humorous one, and below that is the one for hopeless romantics.

      “Okay Sonic, game’s over. What do you want?” Amy asked after attempting to ignore the weird twitch and tingles in her body.

     “Whatever do you mean, Amelia?” Sonic responded in a dreamy tone. Amy rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

    “Do you even like me? You only flirt with every other girl, apparently not me...unless you’re trying to get or prove something...” Amy hesitatingly tells him, puzzled as to why he was acting charming to her. Sonic’s cheeks and ears turned a deep shade of red.

   “...Maybe, but I only flirt for a reason-”

   “Don’t give me that shitty excuse, Sonic the Hedgehog. You’re a terrible liar, and I don’t want to hear it.” Amy sassed out, which wasn’t surprising to Sonic, because ever since they all moved to Hedgehog Village, her attitude changed, as so her habits.

   “But it’s not...I actually like you! And if I have to chase you for the rest of my life to prove it, so be it! I’ll run everywhere just to look for you! I want you~!” Sonic whispered in her ear, after giving it a nip and kiss.

   “Please don’t. I don’t want our reputations tarnished because you decide to run after me like some kind of weirdo. Honestly, I should’ve written that you were the pregnant one,” (anyone noticed the fanfiction reference? :D) Amy stated bluntly. Sonic took two steps towards her. He leaned his face in her’s.

  “Say that again, Pinky.” Sonic warned as her arms went around his neck. He heard a ‘POOF,’ and sweatdropped.

   “What did you call me, Blue Boy?” She queried. Sonic started to sweat and blushed once again at the sudden closeness. His confidence then returned out of nowhere.

   “I called you, Pinky. What’s the matter? Don’t like it?”  Sonic smugly replied. Amy glared at him.

   “It’s not that, it’s just that I’m getting turned on by the second~.” Amy lustfully said, biting her bottom lip. Sonic widened her eyes.

  “W-WHAT?!” Sonic shrieked out, not knowing whether to pounce or to run away.

   “Why are you acting all jumpy? You literally just bit my ear in a seducing tone!” Amy yelled out at him, her sexy act forgotten. Sonic looked heavily disturbed at Amy’s choice of words.

   “Seducing?!” Sonic squeaked. Amy was trying her best not to swoon at how adorable she found that squeak to be.

    “Yes! Don’t you want me?!” Amy hollered, her own cheeks burning up.

    “Okay, fine! Yes! Now can we get to the part where we say how we feel and kiss?” Sonic uttered out.

     “I love you!” Amy exclaimed. You shouldn’t be shocked by her boldness, as she’s been like that all her life.

    “I-I l-lo-love you too!” He responded. There was practically steam coming out of their ears by the amount of blushing that was happening.

    “Let’s kiss!” Before Sonic could respond, Amy pounced on him and tackled his lips. They both felt fireworks soar through their body, shivering at the new sensation that they gave each other.

   “Give me a strip show, baby~” Sonic inaudibly murmured in her ear.

   “Only if you use protection.”

   “What’s the fun in that?!”

HOPELESS ROMANTIC ending----------

   “I-I’m sorry.” She breathed out in a troubled voice. She slammed the door shut, and ran to her room sobbing. Sonic was confused. What did he do wrong? He knocked on the door, before remembering that this was Amy Rose. She never opened the door when she was upset, she just wants to be alone.

  ‘Well, not today!’ Sonic thought, as he broke down Amy’s door. He was going to have hell to pay, but it would be worth it. He went to her bedroom door and heard her crying. He did the same thing that he had did with Amy’s front door, and saw her face-first on the bed. He tip-toed towards her, and crawled on top of her. She looked so fragile in this state, that he just wanted to hug her sadness away.

  “Ames, if you’re ready to talk, why are you crying?” Sonic gently raised her chin up and asked.

  “Haven’t you wondered why I even like Sonadow fanfiction?” Amy asked her love interest. Sonic thought for a moment, and realized that not even he knew why she liked it. It was probably the most random thing she’d be into, and the ship itself was very random.

  “Never really thought about it during the thirty minutes in which everything happened. It actually makes me think about it now.” Sonic told her. She wrapped her arms around his torso, which caused Sonic to stiffen. After a few moments, he began to rock her side-to-side to calm her down.

  “I thought you’d never love me, so I tried to keep my mind out of reality...” She said, sniffling in between. “At first, I started reading fanfiction. I saw SonAmy fanfiction, and it broke my heart seeing it. I read Sonadow, and it still hurt, but I just couldn’t get enough of it, next thing I know, I’m writing a popular story on Fanfiction platforms and the compliments and comments I get makes me feel happy. Even though it injures my heart too much...” Amy sobbed. Sonic lowered his eyelids.

  “Amy, if it’s giving you a heart-ache, then why do you still do any of that?” Sonic queried. Amy gave an emotionless chuckle.

  “People say that I make them happy writing the fanfiction. They smile, and I’m happy that I make them happy. Even if it pains me to do it.” Amy smiled. (Lmao don’t worry, it doesn’t happen to me) Sonic couldn’t tell whether it was because she was happy genuinely, or her clouded, closed mind was telling her that she was happy. She clearly wouldn’t be happy if it gives her pain.

  “Then stop it. It hurts you, so you should stop. You’re basically telling yourself to feel the pain.” Sonic told her while stroking her quills gently. He kissed her forehead and continued. “Start connecting with your friends and soon-to-be-boyfriend, please.” Sonic said, trying to keep a straight face as he felt her jolt up.

  “When you say soon-to-be-boyfriend, do you mean, you?” Amy asked, trying her hardest not to wag her tail in excitement.

   “Who else? Plus, don’t hide your tail, I wanna see it~.” Sonic lustfully whispers in her ear. She took her hands off her of her tail, letting it sway in happiness. Sonic, being a perverted, hormonal 19 year old, got an idea.

...

...

...

  “SONIC! WHAT THE FUCK-” Amy squealed as Sonic actually had the nerve to pull her tail.

   “I wanna see more~”

   “You wanna see more?” She mused. She raised up her dress a little more...

    “YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO MARRY ME IF YOU WANT TO TOUCH ME!” Amy exclaimed, taking Sonic off guard.

   “I JUST BECAME YOUR BOYFRIEND! ONE STEP AT A TIME, AMES!” Sonic yelled back.

   “SO?! IF YOU WANT THIS BODY, THEN YOU’LL HAVE TO VOW TO IT!” Amy continued. Sonic made a face.

   “WELL I LOVE YOU, MY BEAUTIFUL ROSE!” Sonic unexpected shouted.

   “ISN’T SCREAM THERAPY WONDERFUL?! IT MAKES YOU REVEAL YOUR THOUGHTS MUCH EASIER THAN JUST SAYING THEM! ALSO, I LOVE YOU TOO, YOU LITTLE SHIT!” Amy screamed.

   “WILL YOU BE MY GIRLFRIEND?!”

   “ONLY IF YOU BE MY BOYFRIEND!”

    “GOOD!”

    “FANTASTIC!”

And they all lived happily ever after, (Eggman is in his lair fangirling with me) THE END.

[purplesurveys]

1041

survey by chasingghosts

What is the age gap between you and your parents? 27 for both. Technically, 26 years with my mom since she had yet to celebrate her birthday when she had me, but she was going to turn 27 all the same. Guh. I can’t believe I’m just five years away from that and I’m still nowhere near building my own family.

How many bathrooms does your house have? Is this enough? Two. I’d say it’s enough. Two people in the family rarely have to go to the bathroom at the same time so it works out for us.

Have you sent a letter to anyone in the past year? Yeah. I used to give Gabie a handwritten letter every Christmas along with her gifts. I still plan on writing her one, but obviously the content will be vastly different now.

Have you ever video chatted with someone you met online? I did this with Carley a handful of times; we’d video chat when I came home from school which was around the time she would get ready for school. She was such an extrovert who was so lovely and bubbly around me, and I’ve always felt bad that she had to contend with my shy ass with my mic always muted lol.

Are you hungry or thirsty right now? I’m neither but I can go for a light meal right now, which is great because I got myself a chicken barbecue sandwich and a caramel macchiato from Starbucks as a treat for myself tonight :) I went through five video call meetings just for today alone, went through several breakdowns while at work, and am also on my period, so I thought I deserved a break.

When was the last time you ate something, and what did you eat? Literally just had a bite from my sandwich.

Have you ever seen the film Boondock Saints? Nope. Sounds nothing like my type of film.

Do you own a pair of gumboots? Nah. I don’t like walking in floods anyway, so I don’t plan on getting a pair.

What colour is your favourite mug? Copper.

How far away from your town/city is your state's capital city? I already live in my province’s capital.

Have you ever worked somewhere where you had to clean the toilets? I haven’t.

Do you know anyone named Doug? No, not really a common name here.

What cut of jeans is your favourite and why? Do mom jeans count as a cut? I’ve been all over those throughout 2020. They’re stylish and yet so comfy, which are two words that seldom go together.

Do you rate people's attractiveness on a scale of 1-10? Uhhhhhhhh unless a friend asked me to rate someone they know, I don’t really think in these terms.

Name a few of your favourite actors. Kate freaking Winslet. Also Kristen Stewart, Emma Stone, Audrey Hepburn, Brie Larson, Florence Pugh, and Eddie Redmayne. I’d name Timothée Chalamet but I have yet to see a work of his.

Do you collect anything, or have you ever? The first item I ever collected was notebooks. In my past relationship (is it obvious I’m not over it yet and probably never will be? Ha) I initially liked to collect receipts from places we went to and ate at. I’d also like to be able to grow a collection of wrestling memorabilia, particularly action figures and belts. It’s not really a life goal of mine but it’d still be a cool thing to achieve.

So, how has your week been so far? I mean it’s only Monday, so nothing much. I cried and broke down a lot today which wasn’t a good start, but tomorrow’s a holiday so no work; and for Thursday I was invited to the Christmas party of the department I initially interned at and apparently they’ll be sending over a Christmas kit over to my place so I’m looking forward to these! It’s super touching they remembered and still invited me even though I’m not a part of the team anymore, so I wouldn’t have missed the party for the world.

Is there anything that you could cry about right now? Definitely, and being on my period at the moment makes it so much easier to cry. But I already cried too much and too hard earlier today and it felt exhausting, so I’m trying to avoid it tonight.

How old were you when you learned how to tie your shoelaces? I was five. I probably would’ve made myself learn later but one of our ‘exams’ in kindergarten was to show that you know how to tie your shoelaces, so I had to ask my grandma to give me a crash course.

Have you ever slept in a car overnight? Why did you have to? Yeah. I had to pull several all-nighters in college and work at 24/7 coffee shops, but I usually gave up by around 2-3 AM and would sleep in the car by then.

When was the last time you used Facebook? Earlier this evening, but I couldn’t scroll too much because spoilers for Start Up are everyyyyyyfuckingwhere and I’m still several episodes away from the finale, which aired last night.

Do you have a PO Box or does your mail get sent straight to your house? Our mails and parcels get sent straight to our door.

Are you interested in entomology? Do you know what that is? Never been. I think it’s great that insects have a lot of capabilities and contributions that we often take for granted; but I personally find a great deal of them icky as well lol so I wouldn’t say I’m interested in this branch.

Have you ever had to claim insurance? What for? Hmm I don’t think so. Not my own nor my parents’. Do you like to listen to albums start-finish without skipping or shuffling? I’ll do this sometimes with my favorite albums, yes. Fuck knows how many times I listened to After Laughter from start to finish with no skips; it was my favorite for a while.

Do you have any unspoken enemies, or maybe frenemies? I’m not the biggest fan of Patrice, but it’s not something I broadcast to people because why would I? I’m sure she slightly does not like me too, so we’re even.

What was the last thing you broke? That would be my last phone charger cord. I’ve since had it replaced though.

Do you have a favourite state/province/territory in your country? Not necessarily an overall favorite but I do have a favorite place I’ve traveled to, which is Sagada. I need a second vacation to see if it still lives up to my expectations and if it would still be able to give me an experience as cathartic and therapeutic as my first trip there, but for the last five years it has sat on the throne.

How many vowels are in your street name? Is this question too mundane? Three. I mean I’ve never been asked this on a survey before, so I wouldn’t call it that.

What are your three top favourite flavours of ice cream? Cookies and cream, chocolate chip cookie dough, coffee.

How far away is the nearest Target? At least a couple thousand miles away.

Do you prefer Target, Kmart or Walmart? Idk and idc.

Have you ever farted in class or somewhere else you shouldn't have? No. I suppress my farts, even when I’m alone haha it’s just my least favorite bodily function.

What's your middle name? Would you change it? I’m not giving it away. I wouldn’t change it and I’m definitely not giving it up even if I get married. I’m keeping my middle name then just hyphenate my surname so that I get to keep all three names.

When was the last tie you wore heels? What was the occasion? September. Job interview for a position I didn’t really want but still chose to undergo because it was still an interview.

Do you find yourself lost for words often? I guess yeah, depression does tend to do that to me.

Did you share baths with your siblings/cousins when you were a child? Yep, I remember sharing the shower with my sister as late as when I was 10. Then puberty happened to me and I did not want to continue the practice anymore, haha.

Have you ever been a member of an online dating site? How did it go? I joined Tinder while I was in a relationship (she made an account as well at the time so it was fair game) literally just to people-watch. I wasn’t interested in cheating; I was just genuinely curious to see how the app worked. I put on a fake name, age, location and my profile photo was of a cat I saw in school so it was impossible to tell it was me.

Do you know what your neighbours even look like? I would not be able to recognize them if you lined them up with a bunch of other strangers, to tell you the truth. I’d probably be able to recognize the carpenters working on the house currently being constructed in front of ours though; they’re super nice and they’re crazy over Cooper haha.

How many siblings does your best friend have? Angela is an only child.

Do you put ketchup on your fries? No. Ketchup does not go anywhere near my fries.

Have you been lucky enough to make out with anyone in the past week? LOL lucky enough...but no, I haven’t done that in a while.

Have your parents ever worked in the agriculture business etc. on a farm? Neither have.

Do you have an ex that makes you angry with literally everything they do? No.

Are you easily susceptible to brain freeze? No but tooth sensitivity, yes. I have a certain tooth that acts up whenever I eat ice cream, and it can get soooo inconvenient and uncomfortable for a few seconds.

[love-fireflysong]

Day 20: Dare

Fandom: Until Dawn Character(s): Beth Washington, Josh Washington, Hannah Washington Words: 1728 Rating: General (minor language, plans to poison your best friends and yourself!) Author’s Notes: Super late holy shit. But it’s fine. Have some cookies. Just don’t take any from Josh...

This fic is not sponsored by Dare Cookies. Honestly, that’s probably a good thing.

When Beth walked into the kitchen that morning, to say that she had not expected the sight before her would not be a lie. There were many things she anticipated seeing when walking into her kitchen, Josh covered head to toe in white powder was not one of them. Well, that was a lie actually. Truthfully, Josh was exactly the type of person she could see running a secret coke lab, just not from the family kitchen. At least, she really hoped not. Reporting her brother for running a cocaine lab in the middle of their kitchen was not what she intended to start her day with.

“Are you, are you covered in flour?”

While Josh didn’t move from where he was standing at the counter, he did look over his shoulder at her affronted. “Um excuse me. This is cornstarch, not flour. Learn the difference Beth, god.” He gave a disdainful sniff, and then proceeded to sneeze violently into his arm.

Beth rolled her eyes. “Sorry. Cornstarch. Why in the world are you covered in cornstarch then.”

“Making cookies.”

Beth just stopped to stare at her brother with narrowed eyes, mouth opening and closing as she tried to find some form of words, only to groan and rub at a spot between her eyes. Words were quite literally failing her right now, and she didn’t even know where to start.

“Hey Beth, what’s taking so long—why is Josh covered in flour?”

Beth turned to see Hannah behind her, who stopped to stare at Josh in turn. Before she could figure out how to even start answering her question, Josh had butted in with exasperation. “It’s cornstarch, people! God, does no one in this house know what basic fucking baking supplies look like?”

Beth ignored Josh, an easy feat when he’s been part of their everyday lives since before they could talk, and gave her twin a flat, unimpressed look. “He’s making cookies. Apparently.”

Hannah’s forehead creased in confusion. “But, cookies don’t need cornstarch...”

Beth nodded slowly in agreement, her next words coming out as a tired sigh. “They also don’t need soy sauce, mustard, and mayo, and yet, here we are.”

True to her words, surrounding Josh on all available surfaces were bags upon bags filled to the brim with numerous bottles of soy sauce, mayonnaise, and two(!) kinds of mustard. All of this was ignoring the dozen boxes of cookies scattered around the kitchen and the roughly four bags filled with cornstarch alone. There were questions out there that Beth never wanted the answers too, and this right here was roughly seven of them.

Unfortunately for her, Hannah didn’t share the same thoughts. “Do I want to know what kind of cookies you’re making?”

“No, no you don’t. I don’t want to know. Neither of us want to know. So let’s just grab our shit from the fridge and get back upstairs where it’s safe.”

Josh ignored Beth just as easily as she did him earlier, instead reaching over to grab one of the bottles of soy sauce and proceeded to dump almost the entirety of it into what she hoped was a bowl. A bowl of what, she didn’t want to know. “Special cookies, Han. For three very special people.”

“...if those cookies are for us, I will end you here and now Josh, don’t think I won’t.”

Josh snorted as he lifted his whisk to inspect the consistency of his soy sauce/cornstarch concoction. “Oh please Beth. We both know that you could probably snap me like I twig.” He grimaced for a second, seemingly unhappy with the thickness, and added some more cornstarch. He coughed at the rising cloud of white that erupted from the bowl. “Nah, these are for me, Chris, and Ash later.”

“Alright. Gonna be honest here. Was not expecting to have to call the police because there was a murder-suicide pact tonight.”

“Sad thing is, probably the least exciting call they’ll ever have coming from our house.” Hannah gave a long-suffering sigh as she reached for one of the empty boxes of cookies on the table nearby, this one Ultimate Maple Creme.  “Is there a reason you bought like, a million boxes of four different flavours of cookies?”

Josh shrugged nonchalantly at the question, and reinspected his brown sludge. Happy now with the results, Beth and Hannah watched him reach of a plate of what they recognized to be the cookie halves of the Ultimate Fudge Chocolate. “We’re playing truth or dare tonight.”

Hannah held up the empty box of Dare brand cookies higher. “I don’t think that when people play truth or dare, they mean the cookie brand.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because you don’t share my brilliance. See, this is how we can tell that I was the only one who got any imagination in this family.” Josh started to carefully take his thick sludge and began to ice the cookies with them.

Hannah was a little more hesitant with her next question. “What exactly are you doing to all these cookies anyways?” Once again, not a question Beth wanted the answer to.

This time, Josh did fully turn to face the two of them, and oh boy was he a sight. He was almost completely covered in cornstarch with random flecks of soy sauce and mustard covering his hands and the apron he had probably stolen from the home-ec room at school. In one arm was a bowl filled with what Beth assumed to be the unholy amalgamation of soy sauce and cornstarch and the other held the whisk, covered in said mixture. The large, maniacal grin on his face and insane look in his eyes was enough to complete the image that their brother had officially snapped. “Oh, am I glad you asked, Han! You see, this is where my brilliance comes into play! I am slowly and painstakingly replacing the creme in every single one of these cookies with my own!” He waved the whisk wildly and Beth backed up to hopefully avoid the spray of brown, but it was thick enough that nothing actually flew thankfully.

Beth hated herself for the words coming out of her mouth, but they were out into the world before she knew it. “And what kind of cream is that?”

Josh changed the tone of his voice so resembled that of a teacher giving a lecture. “It changes for every cookie of course, but they all start with the same cornstarch/water base as a thickener. From there, it all changes! For the maple, I add some dijon mustard for color. Chocolate gets soy sauce. Lemon, just a smidgen of regular mustard.” Josh turned back to the row of chocolate cookies on the counter. “And the coconut gets mayo, simply because an icing of just cornstarch is boring and I am not all about that life.”

“Kind of making it sound that your not all about life in general right now.”

Josh didn’t give much of an answer other than a shrug. “That’s because you don’t understand my genius.”

“Evil genius more like.”

“Is there any better?”

God help her, but Hannah moved closer to watch over Josh’s shoulder as he continued to ice the cookies. “And what are you doing with the normal fillings?”

Without looking, Josh pointed towards a couple of containers to the left of him. “Failures and fillings are over there if you want them.”

Beth was definitely more then a little hesitant when she looked in the bowl of ‘failures’. Only to sigh in relief at the sight of what was just a bowl of broken cookies that Josh hadn’t managed to separate properly. Which wasn’t a surprise. These weren’t exactly Oreo’s he was dealing with, so it was probably harder to split these without one or both sides of the cookie shattering. The other container was just filled with maple and chocolate creme centers as he promised. She reached into the first bowl and picked out a maple one that was missing about a third of the cookie on top, popping it into her mouth as she handed Hannah a similar chocolate one.

“Surprised that these are even here. Thought you would have eaten every single mistake.”

The look that Josh gave her was so unimpressed that she almost choked on the cookie in surprise. “Beth. I have been at this for literally hours. Trust me, I got sick of these things like two hours ago. There were so many mistakes.”

Hannah stuck her hand in a bowl to grab another broken chocolate fudge, but carefully added some of the discarded maple creme on top. “So how exactly is this game supposed to work? Whenever someone picks dare they have to eat a cookie?”

Josh shook his head in clear disappointment as he gestured at himself. “Oh Hannah. Hannah, Hannah, Hannah. Once again, only one who has any imagination, right here.” He returned back to his tray of cookies, carefully placing the other half back on top of the soy sauce creme, cleaning up any that leaked over the edge as he did so. “Of course not. It’s very simple really. Someone picks either truth or dare, and the person asking asks their question or gives their demand. The fun comes in refusing! If anyone refuses to either answer the truth or do the dare, then they have to eat a cookie as repentance.”

Beth watched Josh put the tray of now completed ‘chocolate fudge’ cookies into the fridge to harden as she ate a piece of maple creme from the bowl. She noticed that there was already a couple of other trays in the fridge and made a note to warn Sam not to touch a single cookie when she came over later in the afternoon. “And are Chris and Ashley aware that there are going to be cookies?”

“Nope.”

She sighed. “Are they even aware that they’re gonna be playing truth or dare tonight?”

“Nope.” 

The pop of the p was so self-satisfied that Beth turned to look at Hannah, but saw that she was already on her phone before she could open her mouth.

“Already putting Poison Control on speed dial.”

“Probably a good idea honestly.” Josh didn’t even pause from grabbing the four boxes of lemon creme’s, another four containers of cornstarch, and two bottles of regular mustard as he replied.

[lovemesomesurveys]

Oh, the places you’ll go.

Bring it around town Post Office: When’s the last time that you mailed a letter or a package to someone, and who was it to? The last thing I mailed was a birthday card for my Nana back in September.

Library: The last book that you checked out from the library? I haven’t checked out a book from the library since high school.

Veterinarian: What was your pet’s last visit concerning? She was due for her last shots.

Pet Store: Which animals do you tend to go check out first?  The doggos.

Drugstore: Last medication or item that you picked out from here? I haven’t been myself in quite awhile, but my mom just picked up my prescriptions last night.

Grocery Store: Do you usually have a big list or a small list when you go? Big if it’s a grocery shopping trip. If it’s just a quick trip to the store in between grocery shopping trips then it’s small.

Church: Do you attend church every Sunday? Do you believe in God? Yes and yes.

Bank: How much was the last check you deposited? How about the last amount that you took out? I don’t even recall the last time I deposited a check. It’s also been awhile since I last withdrew any money.

Hospital: Have you ever been admitted into the emergency room? For what? Yeah, after my accident.

Doctor’s Office: What was the last doctor’s appointment that you had? Which type of a doctor? My pain doctor this past Thursday.

Police Station: Have you ever been arrested before? Ridden in the back of  a police car? Nope.

Fire Station: Have you ever been a victim of a house fire? No, thankfully. However, last year we came home one night to fire trucks and our neighbors all standing around because something caught fire in the house next to mine, which is connected, and it was causing heavy smoke that came over to our garage and was coming out the sides. It was really smoky. We literally pulled up to this without having any clue what was going on or the extent of it, but all we thought about was my dog in the house. I was FREAKING out to say the least. My mom jumped out and ran inside and brought her outside first thing. She was really frightened by all the commotion going on outside and apparently our neighbors had been banging on our door for awhile cause they were worried we sleeping and unaware, but she wasn’t physically hurt. Anyway, yeah it was a crazy sight to come home to that’s for sure. Thankfully, neither the neighbor’s house nor ours were on fire. The issue happened in their garage and it was out by the time we got there, it just caused a shit ton of smoke and because our houses are connected it carried over to our side. It’s just wild because we had been out of town that whole day and happened to come home just in time. They were going to knock our door down otherwise.

School: When did you graduate high school? Back in 2008.

Gas Station: How much gas can fit in your gas tank? I don’t have a car or drive.

Mechanics: Does your vehicle break down a lot?

Clothing Store: What’s the last clothing item you bought from a store, and which store was it? Bought some shirts from Boxlunch online.

Bookstore: Do you prefer to get your books new or used? Preferably new, but I don’t mind used unless it’s in like really bad condition and beat up.

Coffee Shop/Cafe: What do you typically order when you go here? Lately it’s been a caramel macchiato with soy, light foam, and extra caramel. 

Fast Food Restaurant: What are a few of your favorites? I don’t have a favorite anymore, I just get random cravings for one of them once in awhile.

Sit-Down Restaurant: What’s the longest you’ve ever had to wait before being seated? Probably over an hour.

Dentist: Have you ever had a cavity before? How about a root canal? A tooth pulled? Braces? Yes to all but braces.

Movie Theater: Last movie you saw in theaters before the pandemic hit? The Invisible Man.

Art Gallery: Which art forms do you appreciate the most? Literature, music, and cinema. 

Zoo: What is your favorite zoo animal that you would like to set free? Giraffes.

Aquarium: Favorite kind of fish? I don’t have one.

Museum: What kinds of artifacts fascinate you? I just find historical artifacts in museums interesting in general. I think about the people who once used those things and what their stories might be.

Amusement Park: Favorite ride to go on? I love most of the rides at Disneyland.

Courthouse: Have you ever gone to court before? Nope.

Hotel/Motel: Where were you, the last time you stayed at a hotel? It was during my Disneyland trip back in February before shit hit the fan and everything changed.

Club: What is the last song that you danced to? I don’t recall.

Bar: What’s your favorite alcoholic drink? None. I don’t drink anymore. 

County Jail: Is there anyone that you’ve visited in jail? Yes.

Airport: Are you more likely to fly in an airplane, or pick people up/drop them off at the airport? My mom often has to pickup and drop off our family friend and her son at the airport and I’ve gone with her many times. I’ve only been at the airport for myself a total of 4 times, most recently was back in February for aforementioned Disneyland trip.

Train Station: Have you ever ridden a train before? Nope.

Concert Venue: What’s the last concert you saw? Green Day back in 2009. I’m way overdo for a concert. Who knows when I’ll ever go to one, though.

Sports Arena: Which sporting event would you be most likely to sit through? I don’t want to go or sit through any.

Flower Shop: What’s your favorite kind of flower? I don’t really have one I just usually say roses as my default.

Ice Cream Shop: Favorite flavor of ice cream? Cone or dish? Any sprinkles?  Strawberry, mint chocolate chip, or birthday cake. Possibly a “fun” flavor if I go to an actual ice cream shop. I like to get a dish because I take forever to finish my ice cream, so cones end up being too messy and a nuisance. I don’t care for sprinkles, honestly. If I add a topping it’d be syrup or like cookies or M&Ms or something if at an ice cream shop. Speaking of all this ice cream, it’s been like 4 or 5 years I think since I’ve had any. I was never a big ice cream eater, but I liked it now and then. This has been the longest I’ve gone without, though. Haven’t thought much about it until now.

Bakery: Favorite type of baked good to eat? Brownies, cupcakes, donuts, cinnamon rolls.

[bionic-beth]

[swervavery]

Chocoholic | Daniel Seavey

Pairing: Daniel Seavey x Reader

Summary: An alternate universe where you crave the food that your soulmate eats. The more one eats, the more the other will crave it.

Warning(s): None

Word Count: 1430

A/N: I really liked the idea for this imagine, but I’m not sure how I feel about the finished product. Please let me know what you think, any kind of feedback is highly appreciated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I get off the phone with my friend and turn on the TV, glad to finally hear about something other than her impatience to meet her soulmate and get them to stop eating shrimp. Apparently, this is the third time her soulmate has eaten it this week, which wouldn’t be a big problem, if it wasn’t for her shellfish allergy. It must suck to crave something you literally cannot eat. Luckily for me, my soulmate doesn’t have any weird food habits. I do find myself craving apple juice quite often, but that is about it.

I get up from the couch to have another chocolate chip cookie. While on my period I usually resort to ice cream as my comfort food, but lately I’ve gained an obsession with chocolate. This week has been especially bad, and I have eaten every single piece of chocolate in my house. I am now on the second to last cookie, and I groan as I realize I’m going to have to leave the house and get more chocolate. I have been living on the couch for the past two days and I know that I look like a mess. The thought of having to shower and make myself look somewhat acceptable triggers another groan to leave my throat. What one does for chocolate.

Daniel’s P.O.V.

We are finally finishing up in the studio after a long day of recording, and I’m packing up my stuff when Jonah suggests we order take-away pizza to bring back home with us. We all agree and settle into the car while Jonah is on the phone. The drive to the pizza-place takes almost ten minutes, and we’ll have to wait at least another fifteen before our pizzas are done. Corbyn spots a grocery store further down the street and asks me to go with him to get us something to drink. I agree, and we head over to the store. Inside, we walk towards the sodas, but I stop short at the sight of the chocolate isle. I’m pulled towards it, my feet moving like they’ve got minds of their own. I have had an insane craving for chocolate the past three days, and it has been annoying the hell out of me, because I hate chocolate. Yet here I am, looking at all the colorful bars, not wanting but seriously needing it.

Y/N’s P.O.V

I push open the door to the grocery store close by my house. I had showered, put on pants, and “fixed” my hair, aka made it look slightly less like a bird’s nest. Even though I didn’t really want to leave my couch, I really wanted chocolate. Walking through the mostly empty store I make my way to the candy section. My stomach cramps up, and I hardly notice the other person standing in the isle, only focusing on getting my chocolate and going home to my couch and Netflix.

My hand instinctively reaches towards a bar of plain milk chocolate, and I am surprised when instead of getting hold of the chocolate, my hand crashes into another. I look up to see a tall, blonde boy with eyes so startlingly blue I almost gasp out loud. We look at each other for just a second too long, making the air around us thick with awkwardness. He clears his throat, and I avert my gaze, suddenly finding the floor remarkably interesting.

I glance up at the boy again, opening my mouth, hoping my brain can come up with something to defeat the awkward silence. Thankfully, I’ve been in a lot of social encounters, and my brain naturally comes up with witty, intelligent comments, fitting the situation I’m in. A couple of hours after the interaction. For now, all that comes out of my mouth is a low “umm” sound. The boy in front of me simultaneously starts with an “ehh,” and I see redness cover his cheeks, no doubt matching mine. He moves his head and hands in a weird little gesture, and I interpret it as a silent offer of the chocolate. I smile slightly, grab the bar off the shelf, and automatically tell him “thanks”.

I contemplate turning around and leave, but something is holding me back. “You’re a chocoholic too?” I ask the blonde, mentally applauding myself for managing to form a coherent sentence. He shakes his head, something between a smile and a grimace forming on his face. “Not really, I’ve just been craving it lately.” I nod my head in understanding, before responding, “I usually prefer ice cream, but I’ve recently been getting more into chocolate.”

Daniel’s P.O.V.

Another awkward silence settles between us, but I can’t bring myself to end the conversation, if you could call it that. Suddenly, Corbyn comes around the corner, calling out to me, “Dan, I’ve got the drinks! Should I get you some apple juice as well?” I don’t know if I want to hug him or yell at him for the interruption. “Yeah, that would be great, thanks.” The cute girl in front of me lets out a tiny laugh, and I glance back at her as she says, “That’s so weird, I don’t love apple juice, yet I somehow always crave it.”

Studying her standing there, bar of chocolate in hand, something inside my brain clicks. “You don’t think…” She looks at me quizzically, not understanding where I’m going with the conversation. “That, like, you and I are…” Her eyes widen and her mouth opens slightly as she catches on to my thoughts. I quickly realize how weird and creepy I must seem to her, and mutter out, “never mind, of course not, that’s just stupid….” I turn around and walk away, embarrassment flooding through my body.

Y/N’s P.O.V

I hastily walk after him, softly calling out “hey” as I grab his arm. He turns around, and for a second I’m speechless once again, but my head clears enough for me to tell him, “I never caught your name”. He looks both hesitant and relieved at the same time, staring at me with his captivating blue eyes, “It’s Daniel.” I hold out my hand for him to shake while introducing myself, and once our hands touch I feel a chill run up my arm and spread through my whole body. “Well, Daniel, I don’t know if we’re soulmates, but I think you’re cute and I’d love to hang out sometime.” He takes a moment to react, and then he quickly pulls his hand away, fumbling around in his pockets. “Y-yeah, for sure, sounds great! Just let me, umm”. Daniel pulls out his phone, and I get my own, opening the contacts app and handing it over to him. I type my number in his phone and he types his, then we swap phones again. Silence enfolds us again, but this time it feels less awkward. There is an electricity in the air, fueled by the knowledge of what we might be to each other.

Our moment is once again broken by Daniel’s friend, who yells “Daniel, stop flirting and let’s go!” Warmth spreads over my face, and Daniel takes a small step backwards towards the entrance. “It was nice to meet you Y/N”, he says, slowly walking towards the doors. “You too Daniel”, I tell him, watching him reunite with his friend who smirks and mutters something to Daniel, earning himself a punch in the arm. I smile to myself and walk to the register to pay for my chocolate.

I’m finally back in my couch, remote in hand and scrolling through Netflix while munching on chocolate. I consider finding a new movie or series to watch, but

decide against it. Instead I pull up Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and re-watch old episodes of my favorite comedy-cop show. My phone beeps, indicating a new message. Reaching over to the table, I pull it up and see a notification for a new message from cute grocery-store-guy. I smile as I open Daniel’s message, the TV and chocolate forgotten. It was really nice to meet you today, Y/N. I have to work this week, but what do you say I take you out to lunch or dinner on Saturday?  I’m about to respond, when three bubbles pop up, showing Daniel is writing another message. Also, I don’t know if we’re soulmates, but I actually can’t stand chocolate, so maybe you could stop eating it, just in case?  I chuckle to myself and settle in for an evening of chatting with Daniel, no longer needing chocolate to distract me from my period cramps.

[creativewritingpracticestudio]

Scarring(Fred Weasley x Reader)

This takes place in book 5, when Umbridge is in charge. After Fred is placed in detention, you discover the scars that occurred from the punishment Umbridge gave. You comfort Fred and help his scars heal and then threaten to beat the ever-living crap out of Umbridge. And then the two of you have a nice date.

Trigger Warnings: Scarring, Severe Punishment

“Sorry, angel, won’t be able to hang out with you until tonight.” You frowned up at your boyfriend, Fred Weasley, whom you had just asked to hang with you in the common room for a few hours. “Why not? Wait..don’t tell me you have detention!” He gave you a sheepish grin, eyes flickering mischievously. You sighed in exasperation. “Fred, we’ve talked about this. You need to stop getting into trouble so much! I want to spend time with you!” You crossed your arms and pouted. Fred spun you around and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you from behind. “Oh, come on baby, don’t be mad at me! You know you love me! And anyway, it’s not my fault Umbridge can’t take a joke. George and I get in trouble all the time! I promise I’ll make it up to you another day.”

You slowly uncrossed your arms and turned to face your boyfriend. “How?” He grinned. “I’ll set us up a picnic on the astronomy tower. We can sneak up there another night and watch the stars and eat!” Your face lit up and you jumped into his arms, squeezing your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. “Really? Oh, Freddy, you’re the best! Alright, I forgive you! Be careful though, alright? Umbridge gives me the heebie-jeebies.” Fred chuckled. “I’m not scared of her, even if she does look like a toad. I love you, yeah? I should go meet George so we can get to detention.” You gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I love you too, Fred. See you later tonight!” You waved goodbye to him, and then sprinted towards the common room.

That night, you waited in the common room, reading a book on various types of fairies and elves. The chair was cozy, the fire was warm and it’s crackle was soothing, and the book was rather boring. After a minute, you dozed off. Some time later, you were awoken by the sound of the common room door opening. Your half-lidded eyes glanced over towards the door, and you shot out of your chair when you saw your ginger-haired boyfriend and his twin making their way into the common room. You darted across the room and threw yourself into Fred’s arms. “I missed you! How was detention? Did she make you declaw her cats or something?” You pulled away. Fred laughed. “Yeah, sure, something like that. Creepy old git, that one.” You smiled. “Oh, and hey George! How was detention for you?” “Crummy. But we plan on getting into trouble a lot, so we’ll get used to it.” George then yawned, rubbed his eyes, and headed for the boys rooms. “Later, Fred. Night, (Y/n).” “Night, George. Going to bed already?” He nodded. “Tired.”

You turned back to Fred, and frowned. “Are you alright? You look pale as can be.” Sure enough, his skin was white enough to blend in with snow. He also appeared to be shaking. How had you not noticed? Had George looked like that too? Fred’s hand was wrapped around the sleeve of his opposite wrist, as if trying to hide it. You narrowed your eyes. “Fred, are you hiding something, baby?” He laughed your question off like it was silly. “Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous, I’m right as rain. Let’s go cuddle on that chair, rather comfy looking wouldn’t you say?” You grabbed his wrist before he could move to the chair, ignoring his loud protests. “Oi! Baby, I’m fine, I swear, you don’t need to-“ He abruptly stopped talking when you pulled his sleeve up. A short, horrified cry escaped your lips, and your hands flew up to cover your mouth.

Fred’s arm was scarred, bloody letters carved into his skin. The blood was mostly dried, but the scars were pink and fresh and deep. It looked excruciatingly painful, to say the least. Fred pushed his sleeve back down and wrapped his arms around your shocked form, hugging you to his chest, burying his face in your hair. Tears were streaming down your face. He quietly calmed you down, telling you it was okay and he was okay and soothingly stroking your hair. You pulled away, wiped your face, and grabbed his arm, pushing him into the chair by the fire. “I should be comforting you. I’m not the one who got hurt. What the hell did that bitch do to you?” You inspected the cuts, pulling the first aid kit from your bag you carried around. You gently cleaned out the dried blood from the scars as he explained what happened, occasionally wincing from the pain.

“She had me and Georgie write sentences down with these quills, yeah? They looked normal enough, but like three sentences in our arms started to hurt, and eventually it got so bad we pulled our sleeves up and...the sentence was just carving itself into our skin. It was dripping blood and all that, right scary sight for sure. She told us to keep going anyway, though. Sick bitch. Baby, it’s okay. It doesn’t even hurt that badly anymore. You don’t have to worry about me.” Your face was red with anger, and your hands were shaking as you cleaned out his scars. You were pissed, absolutely fucking pissed. How dare that ugly, pink-wearing little goblin do something so cruel and unnecessary? And over what? A prank? You looked up at Fred. “I’m gonna kill that bitch. For you and George.”

You kissed his scars softly and stood up. Fred chuckled and pulled you up into his arms. “I’m sure you are, soldier. Just be careful, alright? I don’t need you getting detention just for my sake. Me and George are gonna get in trouble plenty more times before the school year ends anyhow, so we might as well get used to this.” “But it’s not fair! She can’t do this, it’s torture! We’re children, Freddie.” He grinned at you. “I know, babe. But who’s gonna stop her? No one is. They’re all scared of her. We might as well just get used to it. I’m more worried about her using it on the little kids; me and Georgie are 7th years, we can take it, but those 1st and 2nd years can’t.” You shuddered. “Fuck, I didn’t even realize she might use that on the children. This is so sick, absolutely disgusting.” Fred nodded and kissed you on the forehead. “I know, babe. I know. It’ll be okay. I’m alright. Let’s get to bed now, yeah? It’s awful late and you’re bloody cranky in the mornings anyway.”

You playfully swatted his arm. “Screw you, Freddy-Weddy.” He gave you his trademark Cheshire Cat grin and bowed dramatically. “Maybe another time, princess. Aye, I’m gonna head off, alright? Get some sleep, don’t stay up all night planning Umbridge’s Murder. We can do it at the picnic.” “No promises. I love you.” “I love you too, angel. Good night.” “Night, Freddy.” The two of you parted ways and headed for your rooms. You sat on your bed for a while, staring at the moon, wondering how you were gonna stop Umbridge. No, stop. Freddy said not to think about it. Think of something else. The picnic! The anger melted off your face, and you smiled. You fell asleep that night to the thought of watching the stars and eating pudding.

After a while of Umbridges cruel punishment, you started to get used to it, as did everyone else. The twins got in trouble almost every day, so their scars never faded properly. Unfortunately, kids weren’t spared from the punishment. Fred and George had taken to reassuring the younger ones that the scars would eventually fade. You became the Madame Pomfrey of Gryffindor, helping people clean out and bandage their scars. Of course, for the kids like Fred and George who got in trouble a lot, this was futal, since the scars just ended up coming back. Fred started planning your date the day after his first detention with Umbridge, and after a week, he was ready.

On the night of the date, you did your hair and makeup and dressed in your best dress, spraying yourself with Fred’s favorite perfume. You met him in the common room, dressed in his best outfit. He grinned at you, his eyes taking over your form. He pulled you to him and kissed you. “Wow. You look beautiful.” You smiled. “Thank you. You’re looking good as well, Gred. We should bring Forge with us.” He laughed. “Not happening. Him and Angelina are snogging in one of the bathrooms right now.” Your jaw dropped. “They’re dating?” “Apparently. Now, time to blindfold you.” Wait, what?!” Fred covered your eyes with his hands and began to lead you in an unknown direction. “Is this necessary?” “Yes, very. It’s a surprise.” “But I know where we’re going.” “That’s not the surprise, angel.”

He lead you for about 5 minutes, twisting and turning and jerking you occasionally to make you laugh, until he came to a stop and pulled his hands off of your eyes. You gasped. You were on top of the Astronomy tower. A picnic blanket was laid out, with all kinds of cakes and cookies and brownies and pot roasts and fizzy drinks. Some rose petals were scattered around the table, as well as a few little prank toys that Fred invented and knew you liked. A few candles lit the scene, as did the millions of stars in the sky. It was beautiful. You turned and grabbed your boyfriend, hugging him closely and almost crying. “You’re amazing! Oh my god! This is the best thing anyone’s ever done for me! Where did you get all of this food from?” He grinned. “House elf’s whipped it up after I gave them some spare hats and coats. Do you like it?” You grabbed his face and kissed him. “Yes! I love it. And I love you. Thank you so much, baby!” “I love you too. Now let’s eat before we get caught and I have to go write more lines, yeah?” And with that, the two of you sat down to eat under the stars.

Remember to like, reblog, and send requests!

[acecorvid]

Guilt and Longing [Spideyfam Drabbles]

Apparently all I do with this Spiderfam is write Gwen angst so here’s a compilation of little headcanons/drabbles of Gwen and her feelings regarding this new dimension:

Gwen & Peters:

“I’ll do it. I’ll stay and close it while you all get back to your dimensions,” Peter B. said definitively. There was no room for argument in his confident voice. Of course it would be him, Gwen thought. Of course another Peter would be lost.

The first time Peter B. had chimed in, saying that he would stay behind, Gwen immediately protested and insisted it would be her. She couldn’t sit back and watch yet another Peter Parker die. She had stood over the dying body of her best friend, watching the life fade from him after she’d failed him. It was the worst pain she had ever felt and when she was thrust into this universe unexpectedly, the news of Spider-Man aka Peter Parker found dead had only deepened that wound. Now, another Peter Parker was going to give up his life and Gwen could only stand by and watch. She couldn’t save a single one.

Gwen inhaled as Peter B. looked between the faces of all the spiders, sure that Miles wasn’t up to the task. She averted her eyes, shaking her head. It seemed she would always feel weak and useless when it came to the Peters of the world.

When Miles pulled it together and found his courage, Gwen could have hugged him and never let go. He did what she could not do. He saved him. One Peter Parker was going to be alive and well because of him and Gwen never wanted anything bad to happen to another Peter Parker ever again.

-

-

-

Gwen & Aunt May

The breath had left her body when the door opened and Aunt May stepped out. Aunt May, her neighbor, the aunt of her best friend, the woman who was like a mother to her. She stood quietly as she watched her and Peter B. interact. This moment wasn’t about her. This woman had recently lost her nephew, the boy she had raised as a son, and here she was being greeted with a slightly older, slightly messier version of that same boy. And with Peter, oh Peter, Gwen recognized that look on his face. She knew immediately that his Aunt May was someone he had to say goodbye to, someone that he lost and was now seeing again. Their faces reflected the same hurt, the same longing, the same feeling of coming home. It was what Gwen felt when she saw Peter’s face on the news before she read the headline, the same feeling she got when she looked into Peter B’s eyes. So she stood back and waited, she could wait.

That wait ended with Gwen sitting at May’s kitchen table, eating freshly baked cookies and waiting for the others to arrive for a training session that afternoon.

“Gwen, dear,” May said, passing Gwen another plate of cookies and sitting across from her. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I-uh, oh um I’m pretty focused on these cookies, Aunt May. I should get the recipe from you before I go back to my dimension so I can-”

“Gwen.” All May did was say her name, but there was a firm, no-nonsense tone that made Gwen freeze up. She sighed, letting her shoulders slump, and she put down the cookie she was about to shove into her mouth to keep herself quiet.

“You- you were my neighbour growing up.” Aunt May smiled in a way that made Gwen think that she knew, that the Gwen in this dimension was also a neighbourhood girl. She would have to look into that deeper another time. For now, she had something to confess. “Peter was my best friend.”

May understood instantly, her tone sympathetic. “You lost him, too.”

Gwen looked up at May, tears welling up in her eyes as she nodded, “Yeah. I uh- I wasn’t fast enough or smart enough or I was just too cocky. I didn’t save him.”

“Sometimes,” May said, nibbling on a cookie. “Sometimes I think the same thing about my boy. Why couldn’t I have done more? What could I have done differently to keep him alive. But Peter was always going to do what he was going to do, dear. No matter what reality he’s in.”

That made Gwen wince. “He wasn’t- he didn’t have powers in my dimension. He was a normal boy. But he wanted to be like me.”

May reached over, taking Gwen’s hand in her own. “He doesn’t need powers to be the same Peter. You couldn’t have stopped him, there was not failing or not saving. That boy. Oh that boy tries and tries and he doesn’t let anything get in his way. And that can be brave and heroic, but it can also be foolish and reckless.”

Her Peter had been the exact same, but then again, so had Gwen. When she got her powers she had been quick to jump into action, she had been as reckless as Miles and Peter and she had been so sure of herself. So sure that she was doing the right thing, that she was the only one who could. Watching Peter die, that had been her wake up call that this isn’t for fun. That there was more responsibility to her power than she had cared to admit. And now, surrounded by spiders, surrounded by a family of hot-headed heroic types, she knew that there were many ways to be a hero and that she wasn’t the only one.

“I- I was so scared to talk to you, Aunt May. I still, I meant I still haven’t really in my dimension except for at Peter’s funeral and I-” Gwen inhales shakely, barely holding back tears. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I can’t say that to my Aunt May because she doesn’t know that I’m Spider-Woman and I can’t put that on her. But I needed to tell you that. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect him. Any of them.”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Aunt May stood up and moved around the table to embrace Gwen patting her hair as she soothed her. Gwen clung to waist, sobbing against her. “There is nothing for you to apologize for. You are not to blame. You’re so young, you cannot carry the responsibility for all these lives, my girl.”

She said nothing as May held her, even though she heard the door open behind them and felt Aunt May shoo them out when she took her hand off of Gwen’s head, Gwen continued to silently cry and let May hold and comfort her until she was able to compose herself. When her cries settled, May bent down and took Gwen’s face in her hands, wiping her tears away with her thumbs as she looked her straight in the eye. “I do not blame you, Gwen. And one day, I would love for you to not blame yourself.”

Gwen bit her lip and nodded, she wasn’t sure how long it would take her to get there, but with promises to Peter B. and now Aunt May, she was going to try her best to get there.

-

-

-

Gwen & her dad

It turns out Gwen was right. There was another Gwen in this dimension. She was older, somewhere in her mid to late twenties, the same age as the Peter in this dimension. Somehow, seeing a slightly older version of herself wasn’t nearly as weird as it was seeing a much older Peter Parker every day, but it definitely gave her a start when she saw her. This alternate Gwen was incredibly different though. She was smart and accomplished. Gwen knew she was smart herself, her and Peter had always competed for the best grades in school, but Gwen loved music more than grades and science and everything that this Gwen apparently loved. The music spoke to her more than equations and that was what Gwen wanted to pursue. She wondered if her dad would be happier with this Gwen as his daughter.

Except she didn’t have to wonder. Captain Stacy seemed incredibly happy to have this Gwen as his daughter. This Captain Stacy didn’t have to be disappointed that his daughter wasn’t going to college after graduating high school - this Gwen clearly had more than a couple degrees. He didn’t have to pester her about getting a real job because band gigs weren’t a steady income - this Gwen obviously was the head of some sort of scientific research department. And he certainly didn’t have to worry about his daughter not responding to phone calls because she was swinging through the city fighting bad guys and the police as she tried to capture Peter’s real killer and clear her name.

Following them around the city definitely wasn’t Gwen’s finest moment. She wasn’t proud of herself for doing it and it certainly didn’t make her feel good about herself. She wished her father would look at her with the amount of pride Captain Stacy looked at his Gwen with. Instead, her father looked at her with disappointment and when she was wearing a mask… she never thought her father could ever look at her with so much anger and contempt - and yet.

Of course, thinking about the tension between herself and her father is what distracted her as she moved to swing off the building and head back to the spidey-house; which meant her web missed the next building; which meant she fell directly onto the hood of a car; specifically the police car driven by Captain Stacy.

“Ow…” Gwen groaned, rolling over to slide off the car and rub her sore shoulder.

“Hey get off of- oh-” Captain Stacy had started yelling but was silenced when we realized there was a masked figure slumped over in front of his car. “Are you, you’re with the other guy, right?”

Gwen was frozen. Here she was, standing in front of Captain Stacy dressed as Spider-Woman and she wasn’t being held at gunpoint, wasn’t faced with a threat of life behind bars with her best friend’s death being thrown in her face once again. He was strangely calm and sounded surprised but pleased to see another vigilante spider before him.

“I-um, yes sir. Spider-Woman, reporting for duty and all that.”

“We thought there was only one of you before but now there’s two more! Why haven’t we seen you before?”

“Oh I, just visiting. Got a whole different city to protect y’know. So I’m only in the neighbourhood for a little while.”

Captain Stacy nods, “Well, you didn’t hear me say this but we appreciate the help.”

That floors Gwen instantly. Captain Stacy wanting the help of the vigilante spiders. Her help. Suddenly she wants to cry but she pulls herself together.

“I- it’s no problem.” Gwen rubs her shoulder awkwardly and gestures behind her, up to the building, “Well, I should be off.”

“That was one hell of a fall, you sure you’re okay?”

“What? No I’m fine Da- UH! Duh! Superpowers and all that! Happens all the time! Well, no not all the time, actually I’m really graceful. Most of the time. Not that time. I uh-”

Captain Stacy has been giving her a puzzling look the entire time, “You sound familiar,” he finally says and Gwen stiffens. She would try to throw her voice like Miles but she didn’t think of that this time. Plus Miles always sounds silly when he does it.

“Just uh- must have one of those voices I guess! Anyway!” Quickly Gwen shoots a web and swings herself out of the situation. She hears Captain Stacy call after her, maybe another thank you, maybe a simple goodbye, it doesn’t really matter because she doesn’t hear him and she isn’t going back. Instead, she parks herself down on another rooftop and pulls out her phone that doesn’t work in this dimension. She stares at the old unanswered messages from her father and thinks that if she has any chance of resolving things with her own father, she’s going to have to go back to her dimension eventually.

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