#make the week before thanksgiving even more stressful than it normally is

[polaraffect]

the last month of this semester has got me considering disappearing to another country more than any other moment of my life has before, which truly is saying something.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

The Thanksgiving Episode

Chapter 11 of You Are In Love

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: modern!Poe Dameron x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word Count: 2.3k

Author’s Note: everything will be fine… at some point. Also, I hope everyone who celebrates has a great thanksgiving, send my love to y’all

Unfortunately, your plans to stay locked up in your apartment forever are thwarted when you realize you have work, and that Rose is closing with you.

Most of your morning is spent trying to reassure yourself that Rose won’t hate you and there’s nothing to worry about. Still, your hands shake as you open up the back door and tie on your apron, preparing yourself for the worst.

“Hey!” Rose says when she enters the kitchen, a bright smile on her face. It takes you aback, but you recover quickly and grin at her in return.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!” You exclaim as she hurries over to squeeze you into a quick hug. It probably hadn’t been more than a week, but you’d become so used to seeing her on a daily basis that even going a few days feels like you’ve been separated for eternity.

“I know!” The two of you make your way to the front of the shop, where the line is dwindling down as it gets closer to closing time. Even being with Rose for just a few seconds works wonders to calm you down; she could never truly hate you, especially not over something as silly as accidentally kissing a mutual friend.

It’s nice, being able to just chat and catch up with Rose as you work, the number of customers dwindling the closer you got to closing time, until you flipped the sign to ‘closed’ and it was only you and Rose inside the shop.

“Thanksgiving plans?” Rose asks, wiping down the counter as you sweep.

“No,” you start, continuing with your tasks, “I normally just hang out at home, start watching holiday movies.”

“Well, we - me and Rey and Finn and Poe - do this ‘friendsgiving’ type thing where we all just bring food and hang out, if you want to come over?”

Despite the way you feel your heart stutter and stop at the mention of his name, you can’t deny how nice that sounds, to spend a holiday with the little family you’d found. It sounded absolutely perfect, your mistake pushed to the back of your mind to make room for your excitement.

“That sounds really nice.”

“Perfect!” She grins, causing a smile to grow on your own face, “We’ll start planning soon, I’ll let you know when we have more details about what to bring and when to come and all that.”

Ever since you started college, the holidays have been a rough time for you, especially such a family-centric holiday like Thanksgiving. For years, you’d been spending it alone, trying to pretend like it’s just a normal day and that you don’t feel a twinge of jealousy when you’d see the pictures your friends post of happy families gathered around a dinner table on your feed.

But now, it seems like this year will be different. Instead of the typical dread you felt as November progressed, you felt a strange type of anticipation, of excitement, bubbling up in your gut. It reminds you of the way you used to feel about the holidays, back when everything felt magical and you waited desperately for the first snowfall.

You spend the day before Thanksgiving in a baking frenzy, movies and music playing as you prep and mix and bake and cool, and repeat over and over again. You’d volunteered to bring dessert, and you’d planned on just making a pumpkin pie but then you weren’t sure if everyone liked pumpkin pie so you decided to make a pecan pie too and then you decided you might as well make a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

And while that normally would have stressed you out, you find yourself more calm than you’ve been in a while. It’s wonderful, to zone out and focus on measuring the right amount of each ingredient, of switching your brain from baking mode to cleaning mode when one treat is in the oven, and then back to baking mode to start on your next dessert.

This is the way holidays should feel, you think: a whirlwind in the best way possible. You’re fueled by adrenaline, not anxiety. You knew that if you only show up with a pumpkin pie, no one would be upset, removing the pressure you’d feel otherwise to make each dessert absolutely perfect, allowing you to simply enjoy yourself.

Once your baking is complete, you take a long, hot shower before dressing in your coziest pajamas, resisting the urge to spend the rest of your night watching holiday movies. Instead, you watch a few reruns of your favorite feel-good TV show and head to bed, feeling exhausted and excited for the day to come.

You aren’t supposed to be meeting at Rey and Rose’s apartment until lunchtime, so you spend the morning slowly, enjoying a nice breakfast and taking the time to really take care of yourself. You package up the desserts and get yourself ready, spending a little extra time to mentally prepare yourself for seeing Poe.

In the weeks since the incident, you haven’t spoken to him at all, your dead flowers remain on your nightstand. You’d been too scared to talk to him and too scared to get rid of the flowers, and now you’re regretting it, you can practically feel the awkwardness already.

But you try your hardest to push those thoughts out of your mind, taking a few deep breaths and focusing back in on getting ready and just enjoying the holiday with your favorite people. Because even after what happened, what you did, Poe’s still one of your favorite people ever.

Surprising to no one, you’re the first to arrive at Rey and Rose’s, greeted by a very flustered Rose who’s convinced her mashed potatoes still aren’t quite right. You greet her with a shoulder bump, your arms laden down with desserts. You remind her that everything she makes is perfect, and shout out your greeting to Rey, who’s still getting the dining room set up.

Sometimes it amazes you, how the two of them work so well together. In so many aspects of life, they’re complete opposites. Rose is a planner, through and through, and Rey is a last minute, ‘go with the flow’ type of person. Rey thinks if you’re not early, you’re late, and Rose always shows up just on time.

Though, their opposition is what works best about their relationship: Rey sleeps on the left side and Rose on the right. Rose cooks, Rey does the dishes. They’re so in love with each other, and you know that those little differences are what make them so wonderful. All you hope for is that one day, you can have a relationship that works as smoothly as theirs.

Soon, Finn is entering the kitchen with his contributions to the meal, which is just a variety of alcohol that you assume was taken from The Resistance. As soon as his arms are free, he’s wrapping everyone into a hug, taking his time to give everyone a proper squeeze. Hugs used to make you uncomfortable, but now you know there’s nothing better than a hug from Finn, he always knows the perfect amount of pressure to apply, how long to keep you wrapped in his arms.

The four of you are crowded in the kitchen, just laughing and catching up as music plays softly from someone’s phone when Poe arrives, carrying what looks like twenty different containers. A friendly, loving argument breaks out, with Poe repeating “You just said ‘side dishes’! That's a vague term!” over and over while you and Finn look on and struggle to contain your laughter.

You’d almost forgotten about your mishap until Poe’s greeting everyone individually, and there’s a part of you that assumes he’ll just skip over you, give you a wave and ignore you the rest of the night. Instead, he comes over and tugs you into a one armed hug, planting a kiss on the top of your head. All of the tension leaves your body.

Soon, all of the food has been arranged at the table, and you and your friends are sitting down to eat. You’re overwhelmed with your feelings, overtaken by how much love you have for your friends. You’d spent so many holidays alone, being able to spend one with the people you loved most in the whole world seemed like a miracle.

Hours are spent at that dining room table, everyone eating and laughing and having a good time, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Eventually, the meal is replaced by your desserts, and your friends pile on the compliments, making you feel beyond cared for.

After you all help with the dishes, or at least try and help with the dishes before Rey shoos you all away, you arrange yourselves in the living room, spreading out across chairs and couches and the floor. The whole day, and the days leading up to it, have felt hectic and frantic, making this lounging even better.

Even though spending time with your friends like this is a regular occurrence, there’s just something extra special about it being a holiday, something that makes it extra wonderful to be with your favorite people.

Because of your late lunch, by the time dinner rolls around no one wants to move, too full to even think about getting up from your seats. Poe, though, heaves himself up off the couch with a groan.

“I’ve gotta go, my dad’ll be here in an hour or so.”

Everyone protests, shouting at him to stay even as he waves you all off and gathers up the containers he brought before pulling on his jacket and shoes. At this point, everyone mustered the energy to get up and say goodbye. You, though, try and linger, wanting to steal a few moments away for you to just talk with him, to make sure that everything is really ok, that your mishap has been forgiven and hopefully forgotten.

You end up cornering him in the entryway, after the rest of your friends returned to the living room.

“We’re good, right?” You ask, whispering so only Poe can hear.

“Of course we are,” he squeezes your hand for extra emphasis, “my dad’s gonna be in town for a few days, but we should meet up, catch up and hang out and everything.”

He sounds nervous, uncharacteristically so, but you just brush it off, ignore it as stress for the impending arrival of his dad, who you know he loves more than anything and most likely is trying to make his visit as perfect as possible.

“That sounds great,” you tell him, even though it actually sounds awful and you’re already feeling nervous, “have a good night.”

“You too,” he responds with one last squeeze to your hands, and then he’s out the door.

You take a minute to collect yourself, to stop yourself from thinking the worst about Poe’s odd behavior, and then head back out to the living room.

“What was that about?” Rose asks as you emerge from the front hall and seat yourself on the couch next to Finn.

“Oh, I just left something in Poe’s car last time I was with him, I wanted to see if he still had it.” Rey and Rose nod in understanding at your lie, but Finn isn’t so easy to convince.

Luckily, though, he doesn’t say anything beyond an “mhm” as you sit next to him on the couch.

For the next few hours, you stay in the comfortable atmosphere of Rose’s living room, filled with warmth from the drink in your hand and your friends around you. Eventually, you all call it a night, wonderfully full and feeling wonderfully happy, with exhaustion starting to creep in.

Finn gives you a ride home, and you laugh so hard you’re spending most of your time in the car crying and struggling to breathe. You’re not sure how Finn’s able to hold it together enough to drive. When he parks outside of your apartment, you have to spend a moment bracing yourself for the cold, after which you lean over to plant a friendly kiss on Finn’s cheek in lieu of a goodbye.

“At least you didn’t kiss me smack on the mouth,” he tells you as you pull away, and you can tell he’s fighting a smile as your mouth drops open in shock.

“That was uncalled for!” You exclaim, struggling to get words out through your laughter.

He laughs even harder, cackling as you smack him on the shoulder before shouting a goodbye as you race out of the car, running from the cold until you reach your building. You send Finn one more wave before you head up to your apartment.

It’s perfectly warm when you enter your front door, the lamp you left on casting the space in a golden light. You kick off your shoes and change into comfy clothes, settling in on the couch with a fluffy blanket. You feel happy in a way you haven’t before on a holiday, and you realize this is how things should be.

You shouldn’t have to spend holidays alone. You shouldn’t have to spend holidays agonizing over whether you should reach out to try and get together. You shouldn’t have to spend holidays wondering if your best friend hates you after a silly mistake.

Tonight, you feel none of those things.

You warm up the leftovers Rose pushed on you as you left, and turn on your favorite holiday movie, ready to get in the spirit now that Thanksgiving is over, feeling a weightlessness you haven’t felt on this day in ages.

A few hours later, when the world starts freezing over and snowflakes flutter past your windows, your phone buzzes with a message.

Plans tomorrow? We should talk soon

Tags: @disabledameron @andromeda-dear @dailyreverie @stevenngrant @aellynera @creatively-analytical @tiquinntheghost @luckynachos @fallinallinmendes @sabxism @ghostsongwriter-22 @poopirate @loonymagizoologist @stvnnie @campingwiththecharmings @outmodead @welcometostayingawake

[anemonay]

2023 wrap up ( thanks @spaceoperetta for the idea, hasn't even considered doing one!)

-very long, been a big year for me-

tw: d/ru/g usage discussed positively

- also worst depression since college, but at least it's not the manic-depressive mixed state I was in for most of those 4 years

- BUT I also found the first ever antidepressant that works for me a couple months ago! I've been on a mood stabilizer that's "worked" for me for years in terms of controlling the hypomania, but I would still sink into low, low depressions. Now I just feel capable of happiness, but I need to rebuild those neural pathways since they haven't been used in so long

- my husband and I's relationship is much, much better. Once we moved things got really not great, and he is a lovely and great person but I think he'd never had to /actually/ deal with anything or question himself before and being in a new place, with someone holding him accountable, who wouldn't just ignore any of the ineffective things he was doing or any of the negative things occurring freaked him out a bunch, especially because he had no distress tolerance skills. I have my own stuff to work on too, but his refusal to accept what he doesn't understand really exacerbated my emotional reactivity and now I have to unlearn all of those habits.

- I found a therapist who works with my brain!

- my best friend moved to my city, and it was only supposed to be for like 10 months but she met her boyfriend and is blossoming and getting opportunities in her field like crazy so she's staying longer which means we can hang out more!

- knees got worse, but I finally went to physical therapy (because I maxed out my insurance OOP with the name other medical things I had to do this year) and it helped a bunch!

- a ton of drama with my husband's family. His youngest sister randomly decided that I am abusive (not even during like any interaction or anything, she just randomly started having an attitude with me 2 weeks before their annual (white, well-off people) family vacation), and then was cold to me during the vacation, and went on a walk with my husband where she essentially tried to convince him that I AM abusive. (Husband also handled it poorly - he's the "everyone is right in some way" type and didn't tell her she was completely out of line, but that has also gotten better thanks to couple's therapy). Then over Thanksgiving she decided to create drama with the older sister over her own poor behavior when older sister was doing absolutely nothing mean or wrong. It's been really stressful, we didn't even do a zoom call for Christmas this year which they normally try to make happen no matter what.

- I lost my job at a startup (blessing in disguise) and got a new job. The company is great, but I hate the work. It's not what I applied to do, it's way more technical and I would like that if ANYONE had the time to train me. But they lost a ton of people going from fully remote to hybrid, so everyone I work with has less experience than I do actually. I'm also struggling to do it because of how lost and flustered I feel.

- I picked up journaling and that's been so great and helpful.

- I went to Portland! I adored it very much. Though towards the end something about it felt vaguely threatening/heavy/scary. But I definitely want to visit again.

- I reconnected with my childhood best friend! We definitely grew in different ways but the foundation is still very much clicking. I'm going to stay with her and her husband in Seattle and visit again in May. She's so, so wonderful and I missed her so so much I'm tearing up writing this. We've continued to message frequently since, and once Baldur's Gate's cross play feature is out (fingers crossed) we're going to play together.

- I learned that stimulants don't work for my brain. ADHD stims caused anhedonia, coffee just triggers migraines, and Modafinil semi kinda maybe works but not well. I've managed to quit coffee for a week or so now. It's definitely an addiction. But chai tea lattes are filling the void. And the void also means that I'm getting back into tea! A childhood Internet friend is the one who got me into tea, and it feels very heartwarming to remember them through it.

- I lost my first cat together with my husband. You will be missed dearly forever, little man.

- I found my favorite d/ru/g! Technically I think it's 2-fdck that's my favorite favorite if my testing was correct, but basically ke/tam/ine and its analogues in general. It's so amazing and it checks all my boxes. I haven't personally experienced any negatives from it, though if you ever try it please read up on appropriate doseage, periods between use, and all that. It's helped me a ton with figuring stuff out, feeling motivated, and rewiring my brain. I'm weird and drugs have never worked the same for me as other people now have I ever had it impact my life negatively so please don't take my experience as advice or normal.

- I tripped for real for the first time in forever over Christmas break! My meds make it really, really difficult. Most people can't trip at all no matter how much they take on these meds. But I just kept raising my dose and bam, finally! I also had my first ever LSD epiphany and I feel like I can really move forward with my life. Tripping has also always helped my brain reset - like turning a computer off and on instead of just locking it or hibernating. I always feel so refreshed.

- I generally just feel more compassion for myself and more capable of being the person I want to be. Sometimes it hurts because it feels like I was on such a good trajectory, and then a ton of negative things happened to me with no support system and everything in my life just stopped. And then I was getting better and then COVID really broke me - at least when the bad stuff was happening I had stimulation, but COVID liked my brain. I think I still have it in me to be happy in the ways I want.

I hope we live in unprecedented times where history is made! Precedented times and the continuation of the normal just means the rich get richer and people die at the hands of oppressors. I hope things change for the better, greatly and permanently.

[ifmywishescametrue]

Wait, I know I’m late but outtakes for “Like Dominoes” ???

Outtakes for one of my favorite fics ever?? 👀 hello?

If you were ever planning on sharing them, you’d honestly make my week :)

omg yeah i didn't know i had outtakes for the longest time but i can definitely share them now. i'll try to provide context but it's been a long while since i wrote them, so the memories are more than a little hazy lol

all of that below the cut, because it's pretty long!

outtake one:

written to take place sometime after chapter 23, i guess? i think at one point, the fic was supposed to go for longer and actually include thanksgiving with bucky's family, or at least a few paragraphs that covered what happened there. but, that didn't happen, so this scene wasn't needed. i still like it, though, even if it's incomplete (and not proofread lol)

It’s still dark when Bucky wakes up, the kind of pitch black that lets him know even with his eyes closed that it’s before dawn.  He rolls over to mash his face into the pillow, and it takes a moment to realize that on a normal night, he shouldn’t have been able to do that quite so easily. 

Blindly, he reaches out to the other side of the bed, only to be met by cold, empty sheets. He lifts his head, squinting into the darkness, and the neon blue of the clock says it's 4:36. Far too early to wake up alone.

A muffled clang is just faintly audible through the walls, and Bucky tosses back the covers to find what he already knows will be the source. 

He catches the scent of vanilla and sugar when opens the bedroom door, and he follows the light casting down the hall back to the kitchen. 

Every surface is covered in something. All sizes of mixing bowls and baking trays, silicone stirring spoons, and a dusting of flour here and there. In the middle of all of it is Tony, with his entire focus on one misshapen gingerbread man and a steady hand outlining his body in white icing from a piping bag. 

Bucky folds his arms over his chest and leans against the archway, waiting for him to finish before breaking into his concentration. “Baking cookies couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?”

Tony jolts a little, hand tightening on the bag to make a stream of icing shoot out onto the counter. It narrowly misses the next cookie in the row, and Tony wipes it away with his finger. 

“It's technically tomorrow, isn't it?” He looks over his shoulder at the time on the microwave. “See? A few hours into it already.”

The corner of Bucky's mouth twitches. “And where did you get all these supplies? Last I checked, we didn’t have at least half of this.”

“There’s a 24-hour supermarket about thirty minutes away.”

“You went to the store in the middle of the night?” Bucky asks, brow furrowed. His eyes drift down Tony’s body, taking in his rumpled t-shirt and baggy flannel pants. “You’re in your pajamas.”

Tony shrugs, “There’s not a whole lot of room for judgment from other people also there at two in the morning.”

Bucky drops his arms and comes further into the kitchen, and Tony sets down the piping bag as he approaches. He looks tired, with shadows under his eyes and specks of powdered sugar in his unkempt hair. Bucky reaches for him and pulls him closer by the hip.

“What's the matter?” he asks softly.

“Why are you assuming something’s wrong?” 

“Well, in my admittedly limited life experience, people don't usually go on baking frenzies before sunrise if they're doing perfectly fine,” Bucky says, brushing away the cinnamon from Tony's cheek. “I mean, you could be the first, but you're looking pretty dead on your feet, baby. What’s keeping you up?”

Tony shuffles closer, resting his forehead against Bucky’s sternum, and sighs at the first sweep of Bucky’s fingers through his hair, “I fell asleep for a little while, but then I had this weird dream that I was in the lab and there was an issue with the project but I couldn’t figure out the problem and everything was going wrong, so I woke up feeling stressed, and then my mind started drifting to everything else that I have to do, which reminded me that I wanted to do something to thank your mom for being so nice and welcoming over Thanksgiving break, but I couldn’t think about what exactly. Some article online suggested a handwritten note, but that felt kind of weird. You know, writing my feelings or whatever. That’s just awkward for everyone involved. So I landed on their second suggestion, which was basically this. I wasn’t really sure what she would like, though, and I didn’t want to wake you up to ask because you’ve got that early shift today, so I picked a couple of different recipes, and then I had to go to the store to get everything I needed, and now we’re here.”

Bucky hums, dipping his head down to press a kiss to the top of Tony’s. “Your mind is quite the place to be in, isn’t it? Must be like a maze in there.”

“More like if you took a bunch of different balls of yarn and threw them in the washing machine together, then tried to untangle it after,” Tony snorts. “But anyway, I figured since I’m already making stuff, I’d do peanut butter cookies for Rhodey, and those chocolate cookies that Steve and Nat like. Make it like an early Christmas thing for our friends and your family.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky says, pinching the bridge of his nose, and Tony sighs again.

“I know, I know. It’s too much, and I’m overwhelmed now that I’m actually doing it, and I have about a million regrets, but I’ve started it, and now I have to finish it even if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Or you could finish in the morning,” Bucky suggests. “After you've gotten more than an hour of sleep.”

“Or I could finish now and sleep when I'm dead,” Tony counters, flashing him a grin. 

Bucky looks around the kitchen again. Almost all of the gingerbread people are frosted, and the peanut butter cookies look to be cooling on a rack off to the side, while the chocolate chip ones are already packaged in tupperware. The timer on the oven is set to go off in a few minutes with a batch of something else, and there's another baking tray waiting on the stove to go in next. 

“How much more do you have?” he asks. 

“Not a lot. Just those last two batches, and then I can come back to bed.”

Bucky trails his hands along Tony's back, kneading his thumbs into Tony's shoulders for a moment. He does it again when Tony nearly moans at the touch.

outtakes two-four:

so when i first outlined this story, the ending was pretty much completely different. howard was still supposed to show up, but bucky was going to agree to his offer to divorce tony. it was meant to be a selfless thing (in bucky's mind, at least) to give up his relationship with tony so that tony could have his normal life back. but the more i wrote and the closer i got to the end, i just kept asking myself "would bucky do that, though?" and the answer was no. it didn't make sense anymore and going through with it as planned would've only served the purpose of creating angst for angst's sake. so i scrapped that ending, but some of it was already written. i guess it doesn't technically make these "outtakes," but it's a few pieces of the original/alternate ending.

for the first, here's a snippet from the aftermath, when tony's moving out of the apartment:

“You were supposed to go home for Thanksgiving,” Bucky says, and Tony pauses with a shirt held tight in his hand, his shoulders hunched and tense. “Your dad told me that he called you. Said he wanted to fix things and you turned him down.”

Tony shakes his head with a humorless laugh. “And did he tell you all his conditions? The weekly check-ins, monitoring my bank account, quitting my job in the lab because he wants to own every idea I’ll ever have. Oh, and let’s not forget that he still can’t wrap his head around the fact that I’m only into men, so I’d better find a girl that he can approve of to help clean up his image after everything else I’ve supposedly done to him. Gave me a list of candidates and everything.”

Bucky swallows hard, guilt turning his stomach. “Tony, I -”

“No,” Tony cuts him off, spinning around. His eyes are cold, and Bucky’s never seen him like this before. “I turned him down because I don’t need him. I don’t need someone controlling my life and making my decisions for me. I thought I was done with people who did that, but I guess not.”

Tony looks at him for a second longer, and Bucky feels frozen under his hurt, angry gaze. He should’ve known better, he thinks. Should’ve approached everything differently and taken even just a minute to think it through before it got this far.

He opens his mouth to say just that, but Tony sighs and turns back to roughly zip up his bag. “I’ll come back some other time for the rest.”

Tony’s shoulder brushes his own as he walks past him out of the bedroom, and the front door slams shut behind him before leaving him in the quiet.

and here's a scene of bucky talking to natasha about it:

“You didn’t just live together. You shared a bedroom and everything. Casual sex partners don't do that,” Nat says, but she doesn't stop there. “Neither one of you ever saw anyone else, and you would have both been pissed if you did. You kissed him without it leading to sex, you held his hand wherever you went, and you called him 'babe' more than his actual name. In fact, I'm pretty sure you never even called him his name to his face at all. I hate to break it to you, but that's just called being married. Actually, truly married.”

“Well, we were married, but that doesn't mean we were together. He didn’t want that, and frankly, I think it's a little sexist that you don't think two men can hold hands and just be friends.”

She gives him a flat look. “Is that really the argument you're choosing?”

Bucky nods, completely ready to double down. He's pretty sure it falls into the categories of at least two logical fallacies, but he doesn't care much for ethical debate right now. “Yeah, it is. It's a reflection of toxic masculinity, and honestly I thought you were better than that.”

“You were literally fucking each other.”

“As friends.”

“Married friends.”

“Friends who happened to be married,” Bucky corrects. “Just like I already told Steve.”

“And as I've said, neither of us believe you.”

Bucky shrugs, “That doesn't seem like my problem.”

Natasha looks at him with agony in her eyes. “Why are you so incredibly stupid?”

“It's not my fault you didn’t understand our dynamic.”

“Did you even understand your dynamic?”

Bucky hesitates and almost tells the truth. But if he doesn't say out loud that sometimes it was easy to forget that none of was real and sometimes he pushed boundaries on purpose just to see how far it could go, how many pieces of himself Tony would let him keep, then it's easier to pretend that everything is exactly the way he wants it to be and that he doesn't really want the one thing he can't have. If he tells the truth to Natasha, he can't keep lying to himself.

Bluntly, Natasha says, “You’re in love with him.”

He stops breathing for a second, and his heart skips over itself. It’s so much worse to hear it out loud. To hear her admit it when he can’t. Not in any way that matters, anyway.

“I do love him,” Bucky says slowly, “in the same way that I love you or Steve and sometimes Sam if he isn’t being annoying. That’s why I’m doing what’s best for him.”

a continuation of that i scene, i think? idk there was a gap between them in the document but i think it was supposed to be connected eventually lol:

“Please, Nat,” Bucky says, voice breaking on her name. “I’m really begging you to just let it go. And tell Steve to let it go, too. It’s not like that. It can’t be like that.”

and for the last "outtake," the laser tag line was always there in some way. i think this was supposed to be part of a getting-back-together scene:

“And why not?” she questions, unrelenting. “Because it would ruin things? You could lose him as a friend? Last I checked, you already did. I don’t why, because you won’t tell me, and despite the fact that I’ve called him a dozen times in the last two weeks, he won’t tell me either. All I know is that you fucked up, and he’s gone, which means you’ve got nothing left to lose.”

“You remember that bet we made?” Tony asks. “Laser tag. You said that I could have anything that I wanted.”

“Course I remember. You never used it, though.”

Tony twists his hand into the blanket, so tightly that his knuckles turn white. “I never used it because I already had everything I wanted.”

[miscelunaaa]

spin cycle 14 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x female reader

genre: drabble series, slow burn, idiots to lovers, fluff, lil bit of angst, eventual smut

summary: This random guy has started doing laundry at your favorite laundromat each week (at the same time as you, no less!) and to be honest, it’s going to be a problem. You’re just not sure how yet.

rating: 18+ for eventual smut

word count: less than 500

warnings: Swearing. Grocery shopping. Controversial opinions about traditional American Thanksgiving foods. Roomie denying her feelings for Namjoon. Mild holiday-induced stress.

notes: Nope I am definitely not using Roomie as a mouthpiece for my opinions on Thanksgiving nOPE WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT??

notes 2: Hi! I’ve been really weirdly active for the past several days and am now exhausted 😅 So!! I might be taking a posting break next week so I can just log out for a couple days and focus on myself. I’ve got some mild personal stuff happening that needs my attention. Nothing to be concerned about, I just think I need a break, if I can make myself take it. I need to finish up my Ask My Muse prompts, and just do a lil bit of house keeping before all that though, so stay tuned!

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You’re walking through the grocery store. It’s Monday evening. The appointed holiday is a mere three days away, and as it approaches, Roomie is becoming more and more neurotic. You’re not always present for the weekly grocery run, but she insisted on bringing you to this one for some reason. She probably needs the emotional support, judging by how frazzled she seems.

It appears that she’s fostering some serious feelings for her FWB and now that you’ve noticed, you can’t unsee it. Every detail she’s planning for the Thanksgiving feast drips with the desire to impress him in some way. Since—shit, what’s his name again? Joon? Namjoon??—is coming over, she’s pulling out all of the stops. Honestly, you’re in awe. Roomie’s usually stone cold with the men she brings home, kicking them to the curb the moment they (or she) start feeling attached.

He seems like a nice guy, though you’ve only spoken maybe ten words to him. To be honest, it’s kind of cute to watch her squirm a little about a man for once. It’s helping you move past your own boy weirdness. You’re already dreading the next time you see Jungkook.

“Okay, all of these chickens are way too big. Why are they all so fucking big??”

“How big is way too big? And—wait—chicken? If you want to impress him—”

“I’m not trying to impress him.”

“Right. Chicken though? Isn’t turkey better? I know we did chicken last year but …”

Roomie sighs in exasperation as she picks a bird and gently places it in your cart. She starts to walk away and you push the cart after her. “My sweet, innocent, obviously non-cooking person, it is not. A nice chicken is the superior bird. I’m not breaking down a turkey. I’ve never done it. I’m not going to risk a meal for a holiday by cooking something I’ve never cooked before.”

You find yourself nodding. This all makes sense. The two of you have always kept Thanksgiving simple. It’s your holiday together, and neither of you cared to get too fancy before.

“And for this holiday of dubious origin, I like bucking tradition. Subverting the norms.”

“Hey, I think Brussels sprouts are on sale. Do we want them this year?”

“Yes. Can’t subvert all norms. What kind of pie do we want?”

“Apple. Does Namjoon know you’re anti-traditional Thanksgiving food?”

Normally she wanders around the grocery store with careless abandon and you just follow her with the cart, letting her enjoy the feeling of being unencumbered. Normally she’s efficient, but when planning a meal like this, you think she probably thrives with the freedom. Your question, however, stops her in her tracks.

“What makes you think I care about what Namjoon thinks about my menu choices?” Her tone is sweet to the point of acidic.

You drop the subject, but not without shooting her a knowing smirk. She makes a face back, but it doesn’t quite hide her shy smile.

Thank you for reading! Drop me an ask and tell me what you think. Find me in various places at my carrd :)

©miscelunaaa 2022. My work is only found on this blog and under my ao3 pseud. Do not, under any circumstances, copy or repost my work. Thank you.

posted: 3.28.2022. updated 4.2.2022 with front matter fixes.

[nygmobblepot-trash]

*Thanksgiving at the Nygmobblepot household*

-Oswald sends Ed to address the staff

-Ed reads the paper he's supposed to read to the staff and dies inside

-Oswald thinks its a brilliant idea to make his very tired and very very angry staff work the holiday and not pay them any extra

-Ed decided to toss the paper and take matters into his own hands

-He gives Oswald's staff the rest of the week off starting on Thanksgiving and gives them a bonus

-Staff don't believe Oswald would want that at all but no one is brave enough to call out Ed

-The bonus comes from Ed's own paycheck so Oswald doesn't go ape shit

-Oswald wakes up on Thanksgiving pissed as hell

"Where the fuck is everyone?"

-He smells something in the kitchen and goes to investigate

-Its Ed and he's cooking???

"Ed we have help for this."

"Yeah I sent them home for the week."

"You fucking what?"

"How many times do you have to been shot or stabbed by your own employees before you realize you should maybe treat them better?"

-Oswald doesn't believe Ed will do a good enough job as he wants his mother's cooking. Ed informs him quite angrily that he can infact read a recipe

-When it comes time to eat Oswald takes the first bite and its.... incredible???

"How is it?"

"Its okay... I guess." This asshole can't be good at everything. What the actual hell?

-Ed takes the next bite and his wheels turn

-Without any change in emotion he stands up and scrapes his food into the garbage

"Ed. I was lying. It really is good. Please eat."

"I can do better."

-Ed returns to the kitchen without another word and Oswald quickly follows

-The kitchen is a mess with other failed dishes. How did he miss all this the first time?

-Oswald is stunned

"Hey Eddie?"

"What?"

"How long have you even cooking?"

"Erm. 26 hours."

"Oh."

-Ed needs for things to be perfect and will not stop until he succeeds

-Oswald who only checks on Ed from time to time and reaps the rewards from Ed's hyperfixations has never seen the negative

"Do... do you normally work on things non stop?"

-Ed is very confused by this question

"How can I do other things when I have a problem that I need to solve? I don't have time for breaks."

-It all clicks for Oswald and he realizes how much stress he puts on Ed on a daily basis

I fucked up real bad. How could I know he never told me.... no he tells me constantly. I ignore him. That's why he let the staff go. He understands them. Shit. I need to fix this before he stabs me.

"Ed you can always improve. We'll be here until the end of time until you figure out the perfect combination."

-Ed stops what he's doing and gives Oswald a look of pure hatred

"Are. You. Calling. Me. Stupid?"

Oh no no no no no.

"That's not what I meant! I am simply saying what you made is very good. Better than anyone I know could make, could ever make. You can improve the recipe every year. You don't have to hurt yourself making it perfect. What you're doing isn't healthy. So I am begging you to just eat the wonderful food you've made and sleep. The problem isn't making the best possible dish. The problem was making a good one and you went above that. Your task is done Ed. Please."

"I only need one more try."

"Nope."

"... you really do like it?"

"Yes. I would like to eat it before it gets cold so please go sit down."

"Fine."

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, part 13 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

It is the longest and shortest month as November becomes December. Her second trimester is in full swing, and she finds herself reduced to sweatpants and leggings until she bites the bullet and buys herself a couple of new pairs of maternity jeans. At least she’d made a habit of stress knitting chunky sweaters for many years.

She spends Thanksgiving at home, after turning down Aunt Natalie’s offer of family Thanksgiving. She’d tried to make her own mashed potatoes and dressing because moms should probably know how to cook, but ended up throwing out both her pots, and ordering in from the open Indian place two blocks away.

Thanksgiving sucks anyway. The pilgrims were murdering colonizers and turkey tastes like napkins.

Somewhere in Oklahoma, Annabeth is sure, Piper just looked up to the sky and smiled, satisfied.

Fuck, she misses her so much.

In the absence of her closest girl friends, she finds that she feels that loneliness more keenly than ever before, especially now. Not that she thinks either of them would be particularly thrilled about the baby--particularly one of them--but at least she could complain to them about the constant peeing and painful boobs and they wouldn’t be too grossed out by it.

Piper would have given her such an amazing pep talk while she waited for her father at the airport. Piper understands having a strained relationship with your dad, and the fragile hope when everyone is trying to do better.

This isn’t even something she can talk to Luke about. He’s been surprisingly open about baby stuff, particularly the material, like buying a crib. But he has no patience for absent fathers. He and Thalia have that in common. And she and Leo don’t talk about feelings.

Annabeth and Dr. Vesta have spent the last two sessions deep diving into this, talking about her history with her mom and her dad and how she can move on with or without them. Boundaries and the baby, and what that means to be the adult child of her parents.

She still feels utterly unprepared. She feels like her dad is going to take one look at her, see the unplanned pregnancy by a guy she isn’t dating, and bolt. Or that he’ll spend all weekend with just her, and then decide he would have rather been at home, with his other family, even if it meant carrying lacrosse equipment.

From across the airport parking lot, she spots him as he comes to a stop in the middle of the flow of people, waving at her and blocking traffic.

She just takes a deep breath, and heads in. “Hi, dad,” she says. His smile is wide, and he opens his arms wide, pulling her in tight.

“It’s so good to see you, dear,” he replies.

Even a few weeks ago she might have pulled away. But now, god, now she just wants to burrow into her dad’s arms, safe from the world.

“I am so glad you’re here.” And she means it.

“I am so glad to be here.”

Then it's the normal airport things, he checks a bag, she calls an Uber because she’s never actually owned a car. And they are off to see the sights and sounds of New York City.

She thinks it's been two years since he was last here. She hopes so, she hopes it was when he visited early into her move, and that he hasn’t returned and she’s refused to see him. But he doesn’t look out the window at the city, his eyes stay on her.

She knows she looks so different from the girl he knew before. She’s down to a nose ring and a couple of extra ear pieces, and her tatts are all hidden under her chunky sweater. She’s had this pair of black Doc Martens since grad school, though if the swelling doesn’t stop, soon she’s going to have to buy another pair. She’s wearing her maternity jeans, a calm, conservative dark wash, under her purple sweater and winter coat. But she feels so different. There is the hair. Shorter than he’s ever seen, mature and severe. And the fullness that is just starting to creep in around her face.

But he doesn’t comment on it. All he says is, “I’m so glad you invited me, dear.”

She wishes she knew what he was thinking.

Or maybe she’d be better off not knowing.

The Uber drops them off at the little diner that Percy took her to once, after a late night concert, swearing up and down that it had the best breakfast in New York that wasn’t made by him or his mom. And while she can’t comment on Mrs. Jackson’s cooking, she does agree that it almost holds a candle to Percy’s homemade croissants, the eggs and waffles nearly up to his levels.

“This is good,” her father says between bites of hash brown. “How did you find this place?”

“We have some stuff for the evening,” she says, not answering him, “so eat up.”

They engage in some typical small talk: she asks him about his research, nodding along as he explains his recent trip to England he’d taken in October in order to get his hands on some RAF letters from 1941. It sounds really interesting, as he lightly sketches the tactics involved and his arguments for the paper he was writing, and how he hoped it might fit into his next book. She had always liked hearing him talk about his work.

When she had been young, in the few years after he and Athena had fallen apart, and before he’d remarried, she had spent a lot of time in his office, building things with legos in the corners and drawing with her crayons. Sometimes he’d read her his work, the history and battles washing over her.

Just the two of them, here, now, reminds her so strongly of that time. Lulling her into a false sense of security

“So,” he wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Now that I’ve bored you to death, what’s been going on with you, dear?”

For a moment, she thinks of telling him, imagining where he is the father he was when she was six years old, squishing spiders and telling her that it was okay that she slipped and fell, not everyone was good at ballet, and that she was probably smarter than the boy in class who had finished his multiplication tables better than her.

But she swallows around the biggest of revelations. “I… might have an upcoming job.”

He perks up. “Oh?”

“One of the lawyers at Luke’s firm is moving her practice to a new building, and she asked if I would be interested in helping renovate it.”

“That’s wonderful!” he beams. “After that Eta award, they’ll all be chomping at the bit to work with you.”

“I… I don’t know about that,” she says. This project is a long ways away, and she doesn’t want to put the cart before the horse. “But I have been polishing up my resume, reaching out to references, and stuff.”

But his smile doesn’t dim. “Please let me know if I can help. I can reach out to people on your behalf, or even look at your resume or…” He pauses, considering. “That is… if you wanted, of course.”

“I’d… really like that.” She takes a sip of water, swallowing down the lump in her throat. “Can I send you a draft of a cover letter?”

“Oh, please!” He nods, enthusiastically. “I’d be happy to. And--and don’t be afraid to reach out and check up on me if it takes a little longer than you’d like.”

Opening lines, all around. “Definitely.”

It feels… really good.

They drop his stuff at his hotel, then make a beeline for the Rockefeller Christmas Tree, and then Saks Fifth Avenue shortly thereafter, walking companionably down the street, their progress slowed to a crawl as he stops at every single window display, fumbling out his phone for a picture, even though she’s told him that it’s better at night, when everything is all lit up.

He doesn’t get any faster by the time they reach Bryant Park for the Christmas markets, insisting on seeing the wares of every single stall, observing all the little wooden statues, every possible iteration of the Empire State Building, and helping himself to as many free samples as he can get away with.

“Got enough food there, dad?”

“I haven’t had stollen in years!” he says with pride, arms laden with fruit bread. “Not since I was doing postdoc research in Stuttgart. This is the real deal! Try some!”

She helps herself to some of the bread.

It’s sweet--very sweet--almost more of a cake than a bread, with little gummy fruit bits that she knows she’ll be picking out of her teeth later.

“What do you think? Do you like it?”

“Mhmm,” she nods, wishing desperately she had some mustard to swallow it down with. Oh dear sweet Jesus some mustard stollen sounds incredible right about now.

In the end, they spend so much time at the market, sipping hot chocolate and eating various candies and pastries and whatnot, that it’s sunset before she knows it, and she has to drag him away from the display of little model airplanes at one of the toy vendors on the outskirts of the park so they can go up to the observation deck at One Vanderbilt.

It’s new--very new, but it’s made such a splash that even Annabeth, disconnected from the architecture world as she is, couldn’t ignore it. A 1400 foot office, restaurant, and public art building, it towers above Midtown, staring down the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, and all the other iconic high rises of New York, its glass-encasement making you feel like you’re literally walking on air.

At least, it’s supposed to. All Annabeth can feel is her stomach churning.

“Oh goodness,” Frederick breathes, face pressed up against the glass window. “My goodness. Just look at that view!”

Annabeth is entirely too preoccupied with the floor, the endless reflections of the city below and the people around making her head spin.

Maybe all that stollen was a bad idea.

“I think I can see all the way to Bear Mountain!”

She manages to straighten up, swallowing bile, carefully teetering her way over to the window. Her father still looks out, but she can’t pull her gaze away from down, staring at the city which held her for years: its streets, its bars, its people.

It’s… smaller than she expected, somehow.

She’s seen this height and angle in tons of movies, establishing shots to bring the viewer into the magical universe of New York City, but seeing it for herself, standing as a god above the people of Manhattan--it lessens it, almost. New York isn’t a whole dimension unto itself, it seems. It’s just a place.

Her father sighs. “This is the sort of place your mother would love,” he says, almost to himself.

Annabeth can’t help but stiffen. And of course, this would be the one time he notices.

His fingers curl against the glass. “Have you… seen her lately?”

Annabeth snorts. “If she saw me, she’d have to admit that I’m not in rehab. And we can’t have that.”

And only realizes that was the wrong response when he turns to look at her with a frown, leaving the view below behind completely.

“I don’t know what that means.” He finally says, “I just...didn’t you move to New York to be closer to her?”

“Well, yeah. But that was two years ago.”

When she realizes, her stomach drops in a way which has nothing to do with the stollen or her baby.

Her dad doesn’t know.. He doesn’t know what happened to her.

She’d told him in the early days that she was leaving for independent projects, before she’d stopped answering his texts. But he has no idea what went down between Annabeth Chase and Athena Pallas at a swanky New York City lunch spot two years ago.

Under her father’s kind but piercing gaze, on top of the city, the questions and her history hanging in the air like the snowflakes which have just begun to fall, Annabeth does the only thing she can do: she bursts into tears.

She’s cried about this before. Many many many times, in various states of sobriety. But she’s never cried about it in her father’s arms.

It takes a long, long time for her to get the whole story out. Not because it's that long, but because she can barely finish her sentences without getting lost in her own snot. She tells some of it out of order, the dinner before the expectations, and then only bits and pieces of the aftermath, but eventually, she lays it all out. The dreams she’s been chasing, her own and her mothers, and Athena’s dismissal. The fateful lunch, and her own self destruction. Everything right up to just a few months ago, the Eta Awards on Percy’s birthday, where she found out her mother was so ashamed of having a community architect for a daughter, she told everyone Annabeth was in recovery.

Her dad doesn’t say much, save for a small, sweet, “It’s alright,” while he rubs her back. He doesn’t remove his arms from around her. And when she’s properly done with her story, he doesn’t say anything for a long time.

“Oh Annabeth,” Is how he starts, and she can’t imagine what he’s going to say next.

He’s still rubbing his back. And the silence stretches on as she prepares to face the great confrontation. The one that she’d been dreading for two years, or maybe even twenty. The one where her father, nodding, agreed, saying that her mother was right, that she’d never amount to anything, and that she was a waste of all that time and money. For a thousand conversations for the early days of her father’s marriage, when Mary had had new babies, Annabeth had been an annoying left over, and her dad had been away for work.

She doesn’t want to hear him say he didn’t love her, even if she had wondered and suspected more than a few times over the years. Her dad was the only one who’d ever said that he loved her before. It sounded like he meant it. She didn’t think she could stand to lose it.

That’s why she’d pulled away, she thinks. God, she should be taking notes for her session with Dr. Vesta on Thursday.

"Oh, my poor poor Annabeth,” he murmurs. “I am so, so sorry you've kept this all to yourself for so long."

She shifts her head, trying to get a good look at him, but his arms are already squeezing her tighter and planting a kiss on her temple.

“I can’t believe Athena said that to you.” Her whole life, her father had talked about her mother with a sort of bemused sadness and even some wistfulness. She’d never heard this tone, the anger, the venom on her mother’s name. “I mean, I can, of course I can. I just… oh, Annabeth, I am so sorry.” He pulls back, and he made a point to look her directly in the eyes, something he didn’t always do, “You know she’s wrong, right?”

Does she? Probably, objectively. But…

She shrugs. “I’m working on it.”

The silence hangs between them. He seems shocked that he can’t find any words to say, opting instead to draw her into another hug. A long one.

A really nice one, though.

It feels like ages before he finds the will to speak again. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this alone,” he mumbles. “Had I known, I…”

What could he have done? What would he have done? Would any of it have helped at all? She wishes she could comfort him, lie to him and tell him that he could have made it all go away, that he can go back in time and fix things. But he can’t. There’s no changing what happened.

Maybe she can assuage his worries somewhat, though.

“I wasn’t alone,” she says into his shoulder. “I… had a friend.”

He pulls back, eyes hopeful. “You did?”

She nods. Emphasis on ‘had.’ “Thalia. She kept me from doing anything too drastic.”

Feeling the tears well in her eyes again, she turns back to the window.

She hasn’t thought about Thalia in months, she realizes, somewhat guiltily, having spent all her spare energy crying over Percy. Thalia had held Annabeth together with alcohol, loud music, and a bad attitude that Annabeth had fiercely coveted. Those first few months, she practically idolized her friend, sticking metal in her face and covering her body with ink to mold herself into the shape of the punk princess that Thalia had imagined for her.

However badly she broke Percy’s heart, she must have broken Thalia’s, too.

“I think I remember that name,” her dad says, “from just after you switched to freelancing.”

She wonders if he’s pretending to make her feel better. She doesn’t have any clue if she had mentioned Thalia in the early days.

But she doesn’t want to talk about her anymore. That’s a scar that hurts too deeply right now.

He seems to sense her reticence. “In any case, I’m glad you had someone to help you.”

Annabeth frowns into the mirrored glass.

Thalia… hadn’t helped her all that much, really. She had been a dear friend, a trusted confidant, a lifeline, but she had not been much for healing, much preferring to let it fester instead. Better to let it burn.

She thinks of Zeus Olympianides at Halloween, and her own father now. And she knows she’s in a better place than Thalia.

If nothing else, she has a better dad.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says.

He embraces her again. “Me, too.”

Good to know that crying is a Chase family trait.

***

Day two, they hit the museums.

They start with the Met, of course, and Annabeth just thanks her lucky stars that her father isn’t into classical antiquities. Still, it’s an amazing place, and they have a wonderful time, before meandering across Central Park to the Museum of Natural History. After a late lunch, Annabeth had suggested checking out the Guggenheim and the Neue Gallerie as well, but her dad doesn’t have much of an eye for modern art, so they compromise on walking around the Park some more.

It’s a beautiful day, cold but bright, clean air crisp with the promise of an evening snow. Making their way down south, they arrive at Wollman Rink, already packed with couples and families, the air full of laughter and cheers and snatches of Christmas carols.

She had been worried that her dad wouldn’t want to go skating, afraid he might think it just a touch too childish.

Boy is she being proven wrong.

“You alright there, dear?” he asks, skating a circle around her as he comes to a stop in front.

Annabeth, never really one for grace, skates with her knees knocked, one arm out for balance as she clutches the barrier. How the fuck is he so good at this? “Hanging in there,” she says through gritted teeth. “Where did you learn to skate?”

“Oh, ages ago,” he says, drifting backwards. “You know I played hockey in high school?”

Her eyes bug out of her head. “No?”

He nods, not even looking where he’s going. Bastard. “I was even on a shortlist for recruitment, I believe. But, well, my teammates were… shall we say, not very academically inclined, and after my last fight, I couldn’t very well write essays with broken fingers, could I?”

Fight? His last fight? As in, last of many?!

And then he skates away, weaving in between the clumps of people on the ice, leaving Annabeth with so, so many questions.

Her skates are a little too tight, and she has serious concerns for the health of her child which obviously vastly outweigh any imagined sense of embarrassment on being so bad at skating, she takes a breather with some hot cocoa, sitting on a bench and watching her father skate around. She’s worked up a bit of a sweat, despite the weather, so her coat sits pooled around her lap.

A little ways down the rink, she sees a little girl, probably three or four years old, her hair up in space buns, giving much the same performance on skates as Annabeth had just a while ago. Arms outstretched, she wobbles towards her father, who kneels on the ice, his arms outstretched, waiting for her to fall into his arms. When she reaches him, he gives a little cheer, picking her up, and spinning with her in a circle, her arms and legs wrapped around his torso, screeching with delight.

Smiling, so enraptured, she barely notices her own father come to sit down next to her, his hands wrapped around his own cup of cocoa. “I like your tattoos,” he says.

She blinks, then looks down. She had completely forgotten--the sweater dress she had picked out today only had short sleeves. “Thanks.”

“I like this one,” he points to a stylized Delta symbol in her inner elbow. “I remember, you used to draw this in all of your notebooks.”

…That she had. “Thank you,” she says, hoping he’ll understand what for.

After skating, they go for dinner on the Upper West Side. A little more expensive than she’s used to, not that either of them can’t afford it, but she had picked it because of its proximity to the Lincoln Arts Performing Center.

She had suggested it, yesterday, shyly, hoping he wouldn’t want to. Or hoping he didn’t even hear her. No dice--the words had barely come out of her mouth before he agreed, almost jumping for joy.

It’s only her father’s excitement now which forces her feet to move from where she’s frozen, stock still on the steps of the theater.

“Everything alright, dear?” he asks, looking back at her.

She doesn’t answer, only flashing him a tight smile as she takes his arm, steering them to the box office.

Maybe this was a bad idea, she thinks to herself as they settle into their seats in the balcony. It’s the same section as last time: close enough to see h--to see the stage, but far enough away to melt into the faceless crowd.

She rebuffs all attempts at pre-show conversation. The last few minutes of orchestral noise consist of Frederick, his head buried in the program, and Annabeth, doing breathing exercises as she crushes hers in her fist.

She can’t read it. She can’t--she can’t even open it.

The orchestra begins to tune, the oboe tone piercing through the muffled roar of the audience, which falls to a breathless, excited hush.

The orchestra begins to play. Curtain rises.

Honestly, she’s impressed with how long it takes before she starts to cry. The Mouse King creeps on stage, his footfalls perfectly soft, back gracefully bent. It could be him. He’s certainly tall enough.

She doesn’t really stop after that point, just manages to keep it quiet.

During intermission, she sits, glued to her chair, fingers tight around the program, and nearly confesses the whole sordid tale when her father asks her what’s wrong. But she isn’t quite ready to ruin his ill-gotten positive regard.

And she still hasn’t seen Percy yet.

She can’t leave before she sees Percy.

She feels like she should marvel a little more as the characters enter the land of sweets. The set and the costumes are beautiful, of course, bright and sparkling, a feast for the eyes. But her eyes remain fixed on Clara. She desperately wishes they’d gone with a dancer with red hair or something. Her blonde curls bounce under the stage lights, her wide eyes shining with wonder.

Annabeth will have to send her little girl to ballet classes. She’ll have to.

She nearly rests her hand on the stomach at the thought, but she stops herself. What if her dad sees?

Gripping her armrests, she swallows around the lump in her throat, and attempts to lose herself in the familiar story. It’s not like Swan Lake. She knows this one. She can follow the plot.

And then the sweets start to dance.

She still hasn’t checked the program. She still doesn’t know who Percy is playing. It makes it harder. Every time someone new comes out to dance, she has to brace herself for him.

He isn’t Chocolate or Coffee or Tea, and by the time Mother Ginger comes out, she’s half convinced herself again that he actually had been the Mouse King, and that she hadn’t recognized him through the mask. Then the children run out from under Mother Ginger’s skirt and she is once again overwhelmed. Her daughter (oh, she hopes it’s a little girl, please) will surely inherit all her father’s talent, and Annabeth doesn’t know if she’d be able to sufficiently support her. God, maybe she’ll turn into one of those terrible moms from Dance Moms. Because really, can she possibly avoid being as bad a mother as Athena?

She has all of the Waltz of the Flowers to think on it.

The only advantage to that is she is already crying when the Cavalier steps out to join the Sugar Plum Fairy.

It does not prevent her from letting out an audible sob.

She shoves her hands to her face, in an attempt to keep quiet, splaying her fingers. She cannot miss this. She refuses to miss the few moments she has left to look at Percy.

She’d been an idiot to think he could have possibly been the Mouse King. She’d have known his thighs anywhere in those tights. It is as terrible a reminder as everything else. Pregnancy is doing terrible things to her libido.

But watching him dance has always been about so much more than that.

Percy Jackson is himself when he dances. In sparkles and the most becoming makeup, he is entirely himself. She’d learned that the very first time she’d seen him perform. Every jump and spin was done not just with his body--and what a body--but with his heart, too. He’d wanted this his whole life; he’d worked himself to the brink for it. Every plie and releve is done with gratitude.

He is a great actor, too, telling a fantastical story with his body alone. But part of that is because he puts so much of himself into his actions. He looks at the Sugar Plum Fairy now with a kind of awe, the reverence of a man who has found a magnificent woman, one who constantly surprises and delights him.

Annabeth has seen that look on his face before. She’d seen it over a sticky table and a couple beers. She’d seen it on a picnic blanket on Long Island. She’d seen it on a park bench on a sunny day. And she’d seen it in soft blue sheets, the night her daughter was made.

Percy looks so taken with his partner, now. So consumed with love.

And why shouldn’t he be?

The Sugar Plum Fairy, balancing herself on toes and ankles and looking as easy about it as you please, is beautiful. There is a technique and artistry there, and Percy, a master himself, can surely pick up things that Annabeth, with all her clumsiness, just can’t.

They are two masters at work in the same glorious craft. Her toes are probably bruised and cracked. She has probably worked just as hard for this as Percy has--possibly even more. She’s the fucking Sugar Plum Fairy. Little girls the world over dream of this part. Even Annabeth, with neither the time nor talent for ballet, had indulged in it a time or two as a six-year-old.

This is what Percy deserves. A once-in-a-million dream.

When they had met, at least, Annabeth had been some sort of fantasy. Punk princess, anarchist architect, devil may care. What’s not to like about a friend with benefits and a tongue ring? And knowing what she knows now about Percy, about his past and all those princesses, she can understand the gutter punk appeal.

But she was never really any of that. She was a fraud. The attitude and persona, sure, but even how unaffected she was by everything about him. He’d shown himself to her, time and time again, and she’d just thrown up mask after mask.

And look at her now: sensible shoes, nice dress before she can’t hide it anymore and has to switch to all maternity clothes, down nearly all of her face piercings. Every day her belly grows, undeniable. Soon there won’t be enough oversized t-shirts and empire-waist dresses to hide it.

She shakes her head to try and clear it, the ends of her horrible, awful, garbage mom hair tickling her ear.

Percy Jackson, father of her child and love of her life, is dancing with one of the most beautiful women in New York. And she is sitting in the audience, watching, with mom hair.

The tears get worse.

Her only consolation is that the ballet is almost over. Then she can put on her Harvard t-shirt, crawl into her own bed, and tell her belly all about the future she saw for her tonight, of Clara and Mother Ginger, and visions of Sugar Plums Dancing in her head.

Her only consolation is that she knows she’ll never tell him.

[flourgirl]

When The Party’s Over

Part II to “Even If It’s a Lie”

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader, Peter Parker x Gwen Stacy, Harry Osborn x Reader

Summary: The closer that Peter gets to Gwen, the more he realizes how irreplaceable you are to him.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: A few curse words here and there.

A/N: There’s going to be a third and final part to this story, so if you’d like to be tagged in it, please shoot me an ask or a reply and I’ll gladly add you to the tag list. Hope you guys enjoy this new part and happy reading :-)

“Counted all my mistakes and there's only one Standing out from the list of the things I've done All the rest of my crimes don't come close To the look on your face when I let you go” -Where Do Broken Hearts Go, One Direction

It had been 17 days since you had last seen Peter and all you could do was sit in your favorite coffee shop and stare at all the muffins in the case. Peter loved muffins. His favorite flavor was banana nut, and usually the two of you would jam out to all of your favorite songs while you waited for them to come out of the oven.

“Y/N,” Betty said, snapping you out of your daze, “Are you alright? You’ve been staring at the pastries for, like, five minutes.”

MJ put down whatever book she had decided to read this week. “Yeah, if you want one, go for it. You deserve it. Here, I’ll pay.” 

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wadded up $10 bill, dropping it onto the table in front of you, and returned to her book.

“You could get a slice of cheesecake,” Betty suggested. “I know how much you like the raspberry one from here.”

But all you could think about was how you wished Peter loved you the way that he loved those stupid banana nut muffins.

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered, crossing your arms and closing your eyes to take in the soft jazz music that was playing alongside the chatter of the café. “But I’m keeping the ten bucks.”

“Maybe it would help take your mind off of things if you met someone new,” MJ suggested without even looking up at you. It was honestly amazing how she could carry on a conversation while still being so engrossed in her book.

“Yeah, Y/N,” Betty agreed, “You’re so smart, and pretty, and you made all of the baked goods currently taking up lots of precious space in our kitchen.”

“You’re a stress baker,” MJ added. She was right. Over the past two and a half weeks since that night, you had baked three cakes, four pies, and seven different kinds of bread. Maybe tonight wasn’t the night you tried out the new focaccia recipe you had been eyeing.

“I don’t know, guys,” you said, slinking further down into your chair. “I just don’t think I’m ready for that sort of thing.”

“That’s okay,” Betty reassured you. “Take all the time you need. But we’re here for you, Y/N.”

And that’s how the rest of that day went. Lots of suggestions on ways to stop thinking about Peter and you shooting them down. No matter how Betty and MJ tried to make you feel better, your mind was stuck on the nine voicemails and thirty-two texts he had sent you saying how he was sorry for whatever he did and how he just wanted things to be normal again.

Except you didn’t want normal. You wanted him. You wanted his bad puns and the way his sweaters smelled when he let you borrow one. And the worst part was, he didn’t even know what he did wrong. He didn’t know that he had broken your heart.

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

It wasn’t like Peter didn’t like Gwen. She was outgoing and confident, and he liked how it felt like she was always the center of attention. People wanted to talk to her, or sit next to her, or even have her know that they existed.

But she wasn’t anything like you, and the more time that Peter spent with her, the more apparent that became. She didn’t rant about reality TV or get so overwhelmed during public speaking assignments that the only way she could calm down was with a hug from him. In many ways, she was perfect. Except for the fact that she wasn’t you.

“We’re still on for Flash’s party on Saturday, right?” Gwen asked as she walked with Peter out of the lecture hall where they learned about vascular mechanics.

Honestly, Peter hadn’t even remembered that she had asked him to go to that until she brought it up just now. He was too stressed out wondering whether or not you’d ever speak to him again. 

But what did he do to make you upset? He had promised that if you wanted to leave the party, you could tell him and the two of you would go. Except you never said anything. You just got up and left, without even saying goodbye. You hated him and it killed him to not know why.

Despite this, he wanted to be the good guy and not disappoint any more people, and so he took Gwen’s hand in his and said, “Yeah, definitely. I’ll be there.”

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

If someone had told you that you’d run into Harry Osborn in the middle of Arthur Avenue, you’d say they were crazy. And if that same someone said that you’d ask him on a date, they’d be even crazier. But somehow, some way, that’s exactly what happened.

You were on the way to interview a third-generation restaurant owner for your Italian class. You had never been very good at foreign languages, but you would use any excuse to take a trip to Little Italy. The nervous knots in your stomach from the possibility that they would only speak in a dialect that you couldn’t understand was worth it, because this little nook of the city was home to the best arancini in all of America.

To be honest, it seemed unbelievable that he’d be there, at that exact time, in that exact place to where you’d run right into him. You had been too busy reviewing the notes you had taken during the interview to see that you were on a direct path towards face planting into his torso.

“Fuck,” you grumbled, staring down at your notes scattered on the sidewalk at your feet. The guy you had just ran into kneeled down to gather them into a neat stack, handing them back to you.

“Y/N?” he asked, which caught you off guard. Who the hell was this? It wasn’t until you stared at his face for a few seconds that you recognized him. That guy that Gwen was with at the party. He looked a lot different in his button down and khakis compared to the sweatshirt and baseball cap he had on when you had first met him.

“Uh, hi. You’re Gwen’s friend, right? Henry.” You knew his name. You just didn’t plan on letting that you knew it.

“Yeah, but it’s Harry. Sorry about that, by the way. So, anyway, what brings you all the way down to Little Italy? It’s pretty far from campus,” he told you, as if you didn’t know that. I mean, you had walked all the way here, hadn’t you?

You shrugged, looking away from him. “I guess I could ask you the same thing.”

It was the first time in a while that someone wasn’t fawning over him just because he was rich. Honestly, it was really refreshing. “I asked first,” he noted, mimicking your crossed arms with a smirk.

Who does this guy think he is? 

“Listen,” you sighed. “I really don’t have time for this. I need to get back to my apartment and finish up writing this essay that’s due at midnight.”

“So you’re taking Italian, I presume?” he asked, it suddenly becoming quite clear as to what you were doing on the other side of the city.

“Yeah. And let me guess, you were eating brunch at some fancy, expensive restaurant that your dad owns, drinking some $100 bottle of wine while some nerd you pay does your homework, huh?”

“No,” he laughed. “I was helping put together Thanksgiving dinner baskets for underprivileged families down at the soup kitchen.”

It was only then that you noticed how annoyingly handsome he was. Essentially, he was the male version of Gwen. Same blonde hair and preppy style that just screamed “I have a trust fund.”

“Of course. What, did you need a good photo op ever since the Daily Bugle ran that issue where they called you a spoiled playboy who loves to party?”

You had no intentions of entertaining him, especially since he was a friend of Gwen’s. The girl that had kissed Peter right in front of you, and pretended like she couldn’t remember your name. The girl that Peter was probably with right now.

“I’m not going to pretend like that wasn’t part of it, but believe it or not, I’m not actually as big of a selfish asshole as the papers make me out to be.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, I can tell by the cashmere sweater vest and leather loafers that you’re wearing that you’re so down to earth.”

There was an awkward silence, and Harry decided to change the subject before he pissed you off even more. But what he chose to mention next was the one thing on the planet that you didn’t want to talk about.

“So, uh, I guess your friend Peter is with Gwen now,” he started, which had somehow managed to make you dislike him even more than you already did. Sure, there was no way for him to know how you felt about the whole situation, but it still pained you to think about how you had become an afterthought to who you thought was the guy who would always have your back.

You blinked back at him, frowning. “Yeah, I guess so,” you muttered. And then there was another awkward silence.

“Well, I’ll let you go now. It’s obvious I’m taking up some very precious time in your day,” he said, offering a weak smile. “Maybe we’ll see each other around campus.” 

It suddenly dawned on you that you might have been just a little too hard on him. He seemed nice enough, even if you weren’t a big fan of the company he kept. Before you could even really think about it, you called out, “Wait!” and walked over to meet him when he had turned around.

“I’m sorry,” you admitted, nervously toying with the hem of your sweater. “I’m just in a really bad mood.”

“It’s fine,” he reassured you, although he wasn’t quite as confident as when the two of you had started your conversation. “We all have bad days. I hope yours gets better.”

“It could, if you’d let me buy you a coffee,” you said, genuinely smiling for the first time in a while. Sure, it was nice to think that Peter would probably be upset once he heard that you had asked someone out and he knew nothing about it, but a small part of you was asking just because Harry Osborn seemed like the kind of guy you’d like to have around.

“Sure,” he answered back, running a hand through his hair, which seemed to be in a perpetually perfect messy-but-not-too-messy state. “Have you ever been to Hungry Ghost in Brooklyn?”

Your eyes lit up. “That’s actually my favorite café! They have this really awesome grand piano in the middle of the room, and every Friday they have an open mic where anybody can sign up to play it.”

Your enthusiasm honestly surprised you. It was nice to have something to talk about that didn’t somehow involve Peter.

“Actually, I’m signed up to play tomorrow night,” Harry told you, “Do you like jazz?”

It almost seemed too good to be true. You loved jazz. “Definitely,” you confirmed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Alright, cool. Let’s make a deal. I’ll let you buy me a coffee if you come watch me play tomorrow night.”

“Deal,” you agreed, before turning back towards your apartment, all giddy with excitement to tell MJ and Betty about what had just happened.

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

“You probably didn’t know this, but Y/N’s been hanging out with Harry Osborn,” Ned said, walking into the common room wearing his “special” Hawaiian shirt, which Peter knew meant he was going someplace fancy. “They’re kind of dating.”

Peter looked up immediately from his linear algebra homework. He had an uneasy feeling in his stomach about what Ned had just revealed, but he didn’t know why. He was with Gwen, and if you wanted to date Harry Osborn, then you could. But still, he found himself being just a little bit jealous that some other guy was filling in for him.

“Oh,” Peter said, looking back down at his homework. He couldn’t focus anymore, so he just shut the notebook and threw it from where he was sitting on the top bunk onto his desk. “How long has that been going on?”

“Two days now, but they’ve been spending every minute together since. Betty said that they bumped into each other on the street and she just asked him on a date out of nowhere,” he replied, tying his shoes to go meet his girlfriend for date night. “I just thought I’d let you know, in case you saw them when you were out and got mad at me for keeping it from you.”

“Thanks, dude,” Peter sighed, lying on his back, “You’re a good friend.”

“I know. Anytime, man. Now I gotta go. M’lady awaits,” he said. Peter didn’t even have to look to know that his roommate had just tipped his imaginary fedora.

Harry Osborn wasn’t even your type, Peter thought. You didn’t like guys as “pretty” as him, and you had always been more into brown eyes, not blue. So what was the appeal? His trust fund? Peter knew that you weren’t that shallow. It was just that, well, he couldn’t imagine you falling for someone like that.

You’re with Gwen, Peter kept reminding himself. So many guys would kill to be in your place. It wasn’t until he checked the time that he realized that he was actually about 20 minutes late to meeting her for the party. The stupid party at Flash Thompson’s tacky apartment that he didn’t even want to go to in the first place.

It was an understatement to say that Gwen was pissed when Peter knocked on her front door over half an hour late to the time they had agreed upon.

“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting,” she complained, smoothing out her sparkly silver dress that caught the light just right when she moved.

“I’m sorry,” Peter sighed, grabbing her hand as they walked down the street. “Uh, I guess I just lost track of time.”

“Whatever,” Gwen said, “Just don’t let it happen again.”

When they finally arrived at the party, the bowls of potato chips and mini pretzels were nearly empty. The floor was sticky, and Old Town Road boomed from the speakers in the living room. 

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” Peter told Gwen, leaving her to greet all of her friends that had been waiting for her to show up. 

As Peter wandered towards the keg, he couldn’t stop thinking about you and Harry, and all the things that he didn’t know about your newfound relationship with some guy you had just met. He still didn’t know why he was so upset about it. He should be happy you had found someone you liked. In high school, all you ever talked about was finding the perfect guy, and if that was Harry Osborn, who was Peter to make a fuss about it?

But that didn’t stop Peter from filling up his plastic cup more times than he should’ve that night. It wasn’t until he was being dragged back to his dorm room by Gwen after puking on Flash’s couch that he realized what was wrong. He wanted to be that guy. The one who got to hold your hand and cuddle with you during scary movies. The one that got to love you and be loved by you.

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

Taglist: @hommyy-tommy @itsgonnabeohtay @alltimekyn

P.S.: Sorry to all the people I forgot to tag on this one! I didn’t know that when you answer asks privately, they go away from your inbox. Please shoot me another ask or reply to this post so I don’t miss you again!

[ivyaugustetc]

the dead poets during finals week: a very appropriate headcanon

author's note: HEY BESTIES LOOK WHO FINALLY DECIDED TO WRITE ANOTHER HC!!!! i'm on a semi-hiatus because of school but thanksgiving break is coming up (and now that i've learned the actual origins of thanksgiving jesus CHRIST do i feel no bueno for celebrating it) so I will have more time for writing and stuff! i'll get chapter one of my laurie fic up on my @nightofthelivingdreamer account and possibly start writing house md hc's? how do we feel about those? anyways, ENJOY, i missed you all <3

neil: okay so we know neil, happy sweet adorable ball of sunshine that is always a joy to be around...but we also know neil's father. neil's dad expects SO MUCH out of neil grade wise that neil literally becomes an autonomous drone during finals week. he is running on coffee and spite and no he's not going to suddenly stop talking to everyone (especially todd), but he's not going to be the most outgoing person ever. occasionally he'll make comments like "i would much rather be stabbed in the eye with a butter knife than be studying this right now" and make everyone laugh. after finals are over? all that happy adrenaline that he suppressed for a whole WEEK comes rushing back and TADA HAPPY NEIL IS BACK AND HE HAS TO MAKE UP A WHOLE WEEK OF FESTIVITIES.

todd: todd is stressed <3 he, like neil, has the whole parent factor going on, but that stress really comes from himself. he remembers how well his brother did on finals n stuff that he's set himself up to a very high standard. and yeah, it's stressful. he's more quiet than usual (and charlie's like wh i didn't even know that was possible) and more reserved, and is more often found in the library, studying alone rather than with the group, but he has this system where he studies for like half an hour and then spends ten minutes writing poetry, and it kinda works for him? like his brain is so active that the poetry kinda turns out to be alright? it's a weird byproduct of the stress but he's not complaing :)

meeks: oh god meeks is like a war veteran who has seen SO MANY FINALS in his days that he is 100% prepared three months in advance and has a big ol master plan about how he's going to get amazing grades on EVERY SINGLE DAMN TEST. he's got together a study group for each subject, as well as a schedule for when they all meet. with the groups he's more vocal, asking questions and helping as many people that he can, and when studying alone he becomes so focused and concentrated that the poets would have to say his name a couple times really loudly before he even noticed someone else was in the room.

cameron: see cameron is like meeks, but wayyyyyy more stressed. he's the same amount of prepared but thinks he's way less prepared, which causes him to go into a cautious scramble trying to be way more prepared than he is, even though he's already prepared well enough. i feel like his parents would say the same thing mine do, which is "you're either overprepared or you're not prepared", which literally inflicts terror on me as it would richard. so he is in a frantic state of study study study study that he will not be out of for at least a solid two days after finals are over.

pitts: pitts is so zen about this shit. sure, he's a bit stressed, but so is everyone else. he's normalized the stress and realized that everyone else is just as terrified as him, and that literally makes all the difference. he tags along to meeks' study groups, but he's less vocal. he works on stuff on his own, but he's not super mega focused on it. he's just going with the flow and using whatever study techniques have worked for him in the past, and you know what? it works! he gets high B's and low A's on all of his finals and feels good about it! after finals he doesn't have some outpouring of relief or energy, because he just kinda...chilled through the entire process, and now he can continue to do that but in all other aspects of life. anyways that's why pitts is my favorite thank you for coming to my ted talk MOVING ON

charlie: do i...do i have to explain. seriously. sir charles doesn't give a flying fuck what the school board has to say about him and his learning experiences, especially not when the come in the form of a lil NUMBER. he thinks the whole system is arbitrary and treats it as such. he sits in on study groups but he's wearing sunglasses and playing bongos the entire time. and if someone asks him what he's doing or tells him to stop, he tells them that he's "contacting higher beings and humbly asking them to bestow their infinite knowledge on him for the test". and does this work? this bitch passes everything with the BARE MINIMUM. and when i say BARE MINIMUM, i mean BARE MINIMUM. the minimum is so bare that if he had forgotten to put his NAME on any of the tests he would have failed them. but is he mad about it? absolutely not, that is a cause that must be celebrated. he's truly shown "how dumb can i be without being not smart?" and all of its limitations. everyone's oddly proud of him. so am i.

knox: oh god this bitch is so stressed. he is SO STRESSED. and he never learned how to manage that type of stress so now he is stressed all the time and cannot do a thing to stop it. he's studying but he's not really retaining the information? he's really studying to study. of course the other poets see this and yogi master pitts takes knox under his wing to show him that study does not always equal stress. knox does not understand. knox sits in the back of the study groups pitts dragged him to with his knees tucked up to his chest, frantically trying to figure out whats going on. he ends up getting decent grades, but the mental trauma he has just gone through allows him approximately no relief. it's very "hey, how did finals go, knox?" "leave me alone don't say that word i will k word everyone in this room." typa beat.

chris: chris studies by helping other people study. its her thing. and everyone at the school knows this by now, so it's like every day that a sobbing freshman comes to her, asking for her help, and chris literally cannot stop herself from spontaneously becoming a teacher in every class in order to help them. before she knows it she has a line of younger (and older) students asking her for help. she barely gets time to study for her own finals, but she studied so hard for everyone else's that she passes all of her own with flying colors. stan mom chris because i love her more than words can say honestly.

ginny: ginny is probably most comparable to meeks in that she has seen it all when it comes to studying. she's just a lot more intense. she's a font of random knowledge that never really goes away, so when studying, she focuses mostly on jamming every bit of knowledge into her head because she knows it'll stay there. this results in a lot of pacing and muttering to herself, as well as giant stacks of flashcards for every subject. it sorta looks like a cult ritual, but it works so well that chris starts telling all the kids she's helping to study about it, and suddenly the halls are filled with kids holding stacks of flashcards in their hands, muttering as they walk. it is actually terrifying but the school average goes up, so no one really questions it.

chet: okay we know my man chet does everything with his reputation in mind. he's got football to worry about and blah blah blah basically he has to pretend that he doesn't give a shit about these finals. but omg guys...he does. he cares so much. he is being tutored by chris and ginny in every subject there is. he has flashcards falling out of his backpack. and he will not STOP until he can understand what the hell is going on in chemistry class. he passes with a range of A's and maybe one B (most likely chemistry) and he is SO PROUD. and every time one of his football buddies asks how he did, he probably says something like "yeah, i flunked every single one." and gets cheered on, but inside he is SO PROUD OF HOW HE DID and that's really all i need in life love u chet <3

[regrettablewritings]

Preference: Surviving the Holidays

Characters: Dewey Finn, Peter B. Parker, Tadashi Hamada, Bruce Wayne

Dewey Finn: Thanksgiving

Dewey’s relationship with Thanksgiving was wack, for lack of a better word. Really that could be said for his relationship with most holidays, but what made Thanksgiving stand out ever so slightly was just how obsessively tied to gatherings with loved ones it was when compared to other holidays: You could party for Christmas; you could party for New Years; you couldn’t really party for Thanksgiving. And given that most of his time growing up was just himself and his ma . . .Yeah, the guy wasn’t too crazy about what he considered to be a sham of a holiday. (Plus, he didn’t vibe with the parade.)

And none of that lessened as he got older, with his relationship with his mother becoming more and more strained. After a while, the most he really got from the holiday was tagging along accompanying Ned to his own family’s place. But once Patty came along, that window of opportunity closed.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t long for it. Quite the contrary, it had become sour grapes for Dewey: He could gripe and sneer about Thanksgiving being a “boring-ass” wannabe day all he wanted to; the truth simply was that deep down, he knew he wouldn’t really mind the idea of being in the presence of somebody who loved and appreciated him enough to share a meal with him. Or to be thankful that he was in their lives and wanted him to know it.

That, and he missed the option of not having to stay cooped up in the apartment he mooched off in, eating Kraft Mac straight out the pot while imagining others elsewhere eating homemade baked macaroni as a side to a much more delicious and filling meal.

You personally didn’t feel especially impassioned by the day one way or another to be frank. At least, not usually. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you -- maybe it was because the two of you had just moved in together and wanted to make a statement, or maybe the spirit of the season had finally possessed the both of you, or maybe it was because the delirium of moving in two weeks before a holiday had finally taken its hold (moving is statistically one of the most stressful events in a person’s life, after all) -- but there was a newfound determination in trying to “get this right.”

Of course, there’s nothing and no one who says that a house only becomes a home once it has been christened by a successful feast. But there was a sense of maturity that did come with the idea of holding down even a dinner for two that wasn’t picked up from the deli down the street, or delivered by some knock-kneed cyclist. And it was a maturity the both of you were far too eager to acquire.

Never mind the fact that most of your kitchenware was still lost amongst the boxes (what few of them you could fit in the glorified Fruit-By-the-Foot box you called an apartment). Or that you guys were on a budget. Or that the dinner table was an old plastic collapsible one reminiscent of the tables put up at parties held in gymnasiums. You two were adults, goddammit, and you were going to pull this off at least once! Just once, and things would go back to normal.

. . .

Like most things that tended to involve the great Dewey Finn, you had no idea how this happened.

There was no turkey, no green beans or corn on the cob or even mashed potatoes or a pumpkin pie. Instead, what cluttered the table was a plate of Bagel Bites, tater tots, a plastic case of Lofthouse cookies, and, of course, some Kraft Mac. Neither one of you said anything. At least, not out loud. But the sheepish expressions you gave one another said everything.

Time had gotten away from you both. As did proper ingredients to prepare the more traditional meals associated with the day. You supposed that, in a panicked haze, the both of you wound up grabbing and putting together whatever you could to salvage your pride efforts but you began to suspect that that might not’ve been enough.

“. . . At least we beat Snoopy’s meal,” Dewey tried. A beat passed. Then a snort.

“S-shut up!” you cried. How dare he criticize an animated beagle’s meal of popcorn and toast? Though you had to admit, he had a point: You’d take pizza-decorated bagelettes over popcorn any day -- including Thanksgiving Day, apparently.

In the end, it wasn’t the most . . . traditional situation. And it certainly wasn’t enough to change Dewey’s mind about the day. But you both had to agree: It was a feast that certainly christened your new home together as your own. And for that, you were quite thankful.

Peter B. Parker: Hanukkah

While it wasn’t the most important holiday on the Jewish calendar, Hanukkah still held a heavy level of importance in Peter’s heart. Growing up, it had served as a foundation for so many things in his life: In certain traditions, stability was established; in the togetherness it garnered, there was love; and in the activities partaken, there were memories. Memories of helping Aunt May in the kitchen and of Uncle Ben determining him to be old enough to recite the proper prayers. Of lighting the menorah and setting the room aglow with the history of a miracle . . .

It was therefore a huge regret of Peter’s when he had foregone observing both the winter holiday, as well as many others in his culture during the more recent years when his life began to slip and slide out of control. So when he reemerged from Miles’ dimension, ready and willing to take a chance on life again, it was only natural that Peter was also ready and willing to bring back more positive habits and influences – celebrating Hanukkah included.

And with you, now present in his life and curious and eager as ever, he couldn’t help but feel all the more encouraged to share it. And maybe perhaps show off. Just a little.

For example, once you removed the whole Spider-Man situation, Peter was a pretty simple guy. Especially when it came to foods: Far be it from Peter B. Parker to turn down a burger with some fries or some pizza or street food. So that’s what made it stick out all the more when, after the first night he announced his decision to attempt making challah. Followed by some latkes. Maybe a babka as well. And some sufganiyot. Never mind that he had never actually made some of these without the more experienced Aunt May taking up most of the task. But he was determined and literally and metaphorically hungry for success, and who were you to question his ambitions?

. . . Apparently somewhat saner and more aware than he was. The babka and latkes were simple enough, thankfully. But the sufganiyot? Peter couldn’t fry like that; not with the best materials money could by, when said money was provided on the budget of two people trying to make it in one of the pricier boroughs of New York. And the less said about the challah process, probably the better. . . . Though you still had plenty to say.

“You’re a spider, Peter – why is your weaving coming out so weird?” you questioned, eyeballing the tangled mess of dough. Peter huffed, trying to keep his glower on his failed efforts, rather than redirecting it at you.

“It’s not my fault the guy moves too fast,” he said, referring to the tutorial you had both played on loop. He muttered something along the lines of “for beginners, my ass.” At this rate, the real holiday miracle would be if you not only braided the challah correctly, but also if you didn’t burn down the raggedy apartment. You wanted to say that there would be no shame in calling it and just going to one of the nearby Jewish bakeries for a loaf, but your partner seemed invigorated by spite-induced determination to see this task through.

Never mind that the strands of dough flopped against one another in spite of his best efforts. At this point, it resembled less of a perfect princess braid and more like a flattened Tangela. It was pitiful, really, but you had to admit: The pout his failed efforts had earned him was cute. You didn’t want to think lightly of what he was deeming a situation, but it was quite nice seeing him like this at all. When you had first met he was quite nearly the opposite, all grumpy and aloof and wanting nothing to do with you.

Who would’ve guessed that in due time, he’d become the very man who stood before you, eager to interact with you and bond with you, sharing moments like these . . . Moments which you wish he would just go ahead and enjoy along with you.

“Hey, Peter?”

“Ye -- ” A small blast of flour collided with his crooked nose, stopping the man short. “HEY!” He cracked one eye open just enough to glare at your grinning face.

“Don’t be such a Grinch, Peeby -- ”

“Wrong holiday,” your boyfriend snarked as he wiped his face.

“Hush. Anyway, we still got a few more nights to figure this out,” you reminded. You placed a quick peck on his powdery cheek for good measure. His shoulders slumped with a sigh. As much as he didn’t want to say it, he knew you had a point. Maybe he had gotten a bit too (literally) wrapped up in getting all this right. Though he did feel his spirits lift somewhat as you placed your hand over his with assurance.

Somewhat. All that was missing was --

Pff!

“UGH! PETER!” Your hands flew to your face in an effort to wipe away the fistful of flour that now caked it. All the while, the offender himself laughed. He was probably going to have to appease you with some chocolate gelt “for damages” but as far as he was concerned, it was worth it. After all, what better way to share these important moments than with his favorite person?

Tadashi Hamada: Christmas

A local little cafe in the heart of San Fransokyo was simultaneously the best place to be for the holiday season, and the worst. The great things about it were the cute store-bought and homemade decorations that decked the cozy halls of the establishment; the seasonal baked goods and sandwich specials that made the Lucky Cat smell like cinnamon or roasted turkey; the cozy feeling that welcomed you like a hug whenever you walked in.

Alternatively, there was the whole to-do with picky or rude customers coming in from out of town; the saturation of Christmas music screeching through the speakers; and way-too-hype women taking up tables for hours at a time after spending the day shopping (and clogging the already small aisles with the bags from said shopping).

But all in all, Tadashi made it all better.

Having grown up in the Lucky Cat, he’d long since learned how to cancel out the grinchiness the holiday season brought out, and was more than happy to help you do the same using his own methods. If you focused on the little things, he figured, you could attach sweeter memories and associations to them. Especially if you veered a little off the usual path.

Sure, there was joining him in the kitchen to prepare and bake cranberry-speckled pastries and frost cookies to resemble familiar holiday characters and items. But there was also stringing popcorn garlands together (“Tadashi, you’re the youngest 70-something year-old I have ever met.” “Hush, you; I’m doing you a favor by laying my Christmas cheer all over you.” “Phrasing, ‘Dashi, geez!”). But at the end of the day, there was one thing in particular that your boyfriend did to sweeten the deal. The one thing only someone like Tadashi could do: Snowball fight a la manipulation of barometric pressure.

Following the incident with the snow machine two years ago, Tadashi had to make a promise to Aunt Cass to only use it outside. Away from the house. That suited Tadashi just fine. After all: What better way to pelt your loved one in the face using snow warfare than to do so in a wide-open space like the park? And while those fortunate (and unfortunate) enough to have come upon the unusual winter wonderland he had created, the facts still stood: This was about you and him. You vs him, diving behind mounds of snow, screeching with both joy and discomfort whenever the snow made an impact against bare skin, eyes tearing up from the cold . . .

You could’ve done this for hours, especially since you were pretty positive Tadashi was letting you win. If only he hadn’t called for an armistice.

“ ‘Armistice’? For what? You scared I’ll beat your butt again?” you taunted through chattering teeth.

“No, you ding-dong,” Tadashi shook his head. “Look at you: You’re clearly at your limit with the cold.”

“Nuh-uh!” As if to betray you, your body gave a sudden jolt; a release of shivers like a spring being let loose after coiling. As if unimpressed, the young man reached for your gloved hands and gave one a gentle squeeze.

“Does that hurt?” he questioned.

You winced. “N-no . . .”

You heard him click his tongue. “Ah. Enforced armistice.”

“No fair!” you whined.

“If you sign the treaty, I will include hot cocoa when we get back.”

. . . Well, he could make a mean hot chocolate. Not too sweet, not too bitter, it was perfectly creamy with only the slightest hint of cinnamon for kicks. It was the perfect thing to relax you, causing you to come undone as it’s warmth spread about you inside while the warmth of the kotatsu took care of you on the outside.

“Comfy?” your boyfriend asked. You purred, foregoing a more proper answer just to take another sip of the glorious hot drink. Your enthusiasm earned you a chuckle from him as he inched closer to you. Just enough to hold your hand in his. “For body heat purposes” he might’ve insisted, had you asked. Not that you minded it: It was just what the evening needed to feel complete. Not the goofy, awful ugly sweater he wore that made Rudolph’s nose blink when you pressed a certain spot; not the gentle crooning of Christmas classics sounding from the miniature stereo Tadashi had set up; not even stockings carefully lined along the makeshift mantle, or the presents glimmering beneath the lights of the twinkling tree.

Just the warm feeling of togetherness. That this beautiful man you get to call yours is so willing to share how he celebrates with you. And that you, it turn, get to celebrate with him.

“Hey, you made her cocoa?!” Hiro’s complaining ripped through the air.

And his small but nevertheless vibrant family, of course.

Bruce Wayne: New Years Eve

Let’s face it: New Years Eve sucks. All everyone wants to do is throw a party (even when they actually don’t really want to), the parties are either obnoxiously loud or awkwardly quiet (there is no in-between), there’s never any food because all people wanna do (or have been convinced to do) is drink, and the alcohol is usually crap by the time you get there because everyone already knew to tackle the good booze as soon as they arrived.

Suffice to say, you had some gripes when it came to New Years Eve. And in spite of the luxurious images that tended to come to mind, parties thrown by the wealthy weren’t any different from the average one thrown by the common man. Really, the only difference was that the alcohol was of higher quality and the gatherings were usually held at some large hall like a hotel ballroom or even at a prestigious gallery.

But even if you’d known that beforehand, you still would’ve accompanied Bruce to one such party. Bruce wasn’t fond of them himself, but he needed to at least make an appearance to save face with all the moochers and bigwigs from neighboring industries and enterprises. You were honestly just there for support, though it was just as agonizing for you as it was for him.

Well, at least you didn’t have to actually talk extensively with anyone, you mused. You’d been nursing your drink for the last half hour or so, trying to walk that thin line between going about undisturbed while also not coming across as frigid or wallflowery. Not too far off, you could see Bruce smiling at another partygoer: A buxom ginger, surely an important figure in her own right, but clearly seeing no harm in grinning coquettishly at the affluent Prince of Gotham. You felt no trace of jealousy within you, however. You knew Bruce’s real smile, and the one he was currently providing her wasn’t it in the slightest.

No, the real one was the one he flashed you when he glanced over at you to make sure that you were doing fine off and alone. A sweet, glorious smile that reached his eyes. Though, there were also traces of exhaustion. And you suspected that the smile you returned held just as much because soon after that, you watched him excuse himself from whatever conversation he’d been trying to carry before making his way over to you.

“How’re you holding up?” he inspected.

You shrugged and sighed, “It is what it is. I’m making peace with the fact that the last thing I would’ve eaten this year would’ve been an assortment of cocktail wienies, what I think might’ve been pate, and ginger ale.” You’d meant for it to come across as more humorous, but the dry tone you had delivered your words in ruined the effect.

Bruce winced and offered yet another smile: A wobbly, more sheepish one.

“You ready to go home?”

God, yes.

“No, no,” you replied. “Really, it’s fine. Besides, it’s almost midnight anyway -- it probably wouldn’t look good if Bruce Wayne ditched a party his glorious hosts have so graciously invited him to.”

You watched as your significant other raised his brow. “Honey, I’m Bruce Wayne: I’m known for ditching parties.”

“Oh,” you said simply. Fair point. To your minor relief and slight embarrassment, he huskily chuckled.

“C’mon,” he sighed, placing his hand on your lower back as guidance. “My ass is sore from all the butt-kissing. Let’s go home where it’s warm. And quiet.”

“And we can actually eat!” you chirped, a little too excitedly. Once again, your embarrassment was met with approval.

The outside was both quieter and just as noisy as the inside of the celebration. Quieter because of the muting effect the fallen snow had, but also more lively because of the surrounding restaurants and streets and bars filled with people cheering and blowing party horns and singing in slurred joy. You liked it better than the party, if you had to be honest. But maybe perhaps because as you wandered the snow-caked streets to reach where Bruce had parked the car, you felt his gloved hand wrap around your own.

Of course, it was probably just to keep your hand warm -- maybe even just to make sure you kept pace with him, or that if you wouldn’t fall if you hit a small patch of black ice. But in a little corner of your mind, you couldn’t help but romanticize it: It was like he was accompanying you into the new year in a way. Just you and him. No loud parties, no pressures, no being anywhere or with anyone you didn’t want to be.

“Thanks, by the way.” Bruce broke the silence in a puff of cold air. “I know these really aren’t your thing -- I mean, personally, they aren’t mine, either, but you really didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to. But I appreciate that you . . . that you did.”

Your cheeks burned, though not from the whipping cold of the late December air.

“Of course I did . . .” you reasoned. “I know it sounds goofy but . . . we’re in this together, y’know?” You gave his hand a small squeeze. He squeezed yours right back, but with a bit more power. The warmth of it traveled up into your chest and cheeks. You licked your chapping lips.

“Besides,” you continued, “if I had just stayed home, I would’ve been bored. And probably would’ve given my New Year’s Kiss to Alfred.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, who knows? New year, new me, right?”

You couldn’t have imagined what Bruce would’ve responded with next if it weren’t for the sudden distraction: The air, disorderly and sloppy mere seconds before, had all at once seemed to become uniform with the sounds of chanting. A count down.

You’d lived through so many New Years before, you weren’t quite sure what made this one different. There was no reason for you to pause as you did, your heart suddenly thundering in your chest at the realization of what was to come. It was just another year, right? A new year with new promises, new disappointments, new surprises both good and bad, new --

“ -- two! One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”

You had barely had a moment to register the words before you became distracted with registering something entirely different: A pair of warm lips pressed against your own, the feeling of large arms wrapped about your waist to pull you in close.

As he parted from you, Bruce flashed you one of his real smiles once more. One that denoted the mischief only you were truly privy to.

“Beat him to it,” he teased.

And for as shocked as you were over the exchange of the midnight kiss, you couldn’t help but blink . . . and find yourself in a giggling fit. That was why this year felt different: You had never had a boyfriend on New Years before. Scratch that: You had never had Bruce for New Years. And that made a world of difference. You didn’t want to make any assumptions but . . . it was a pretty great way to start a new year, if you did say so yourself.

[kerie-prince]

We're Worlds Apart (4)

Draco Malfoy x American No-Maj!reader

series m.list | general m.list | previous chp

warnings: a curse word if you squint, sassy Draco

summary: Draco Malfoy is a pureblood wizard. Magic runs through his veins and has been since his birth. You're a Wiccan No-Maj; a non-magical being with ordinary blood through your veins, but practices what you call magick. And this very practice upsets your neighbor.

a/n: a day late bc i got distracted watching game of thrones lmao i have adhd so i honestly should've known better than to have something so attention demanding in front of me :P

(gif cred)

Three more days.

Three more days until your brother and his girlfriend come to your Buffalo suburban home to spend Thanksgiving. You came home from work on a better day than the ones from the week before, only to walk inside and was almost convinced you entered the wrong house.

Your mother took the liberty of decorating your house while you were gone. The place looked like an IKEA catalogue. Green and cream colored throw pillows were on your black leather couch, your small dining table had a fall-themed centerpiece and a blood orange table cloth. New dining chairs, all of them matched, unlike the mismatched ones you had before. And that god-forsaken ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ wooden sign hung in your kitchen. That damn thing is leaving first thing in the morning.

“Ma, what the hell did you do to my house?” The more you looked, you groaned at what you saw. Your grandmother’s tapestry was no longer hanging at its original place, now hung hidden behind the tv. “Oh, don’t give me any grief about it. Y/B/N is coming and I don’t want the place looking like the Spirit store.”

You knew you couldn't really fight her on this. It would be more frustrating to have to argue and still not be able to put everything back to how it was until she left. Taking a deep breath, you walked yourself to your room to get changed into comfortable clothes and light some sage for your nerves.

Three more days.

—

One more week.

In a week's time, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were to come to New York to spend the month of December with Draco and to say he was excited was an understatement.

He was excited, nervous, and many other feelings that he was too stressed to name. The guest room was prepared for the two of them to share, all he had to do was figure out what to do with them while they were here. He had taken a week off and had no idea what to do. He still hadn’t gone around the city he lived in. He could always ask his friends at Saint Marie but for some reason, he was too shy to.

He could always ask Mrs. Charles for recommendations on what to do. She was a sweet muggle neighbor that he came to like as well as her husband. He could also ask you, but it’s been over a week since he spoke to you in your yards. From glimpses into your window, you seemed so exhausted. Not that he really cared, but he remembered that you would try to get along better and so far, all he’s done was give a nod towards your direction when he walked into his home as you were leaving yours.

His bedroom blinds were always closed now because he knew that if he were to see you doing your… whatever you do in your room just once, he’d change his mind about the whole thing. It still bothered him, but not as bad as it did when he first saw it.

Draco’s stomach growled as he sat on his couch, bringing him out of his thoughts and walked over to the kitchen. To his despair, his pantry, cabinets, and fridge were all empty. Guess I’ll have to grab something. He pondered on what he was in the mood for as he ran out the door. Draco figured he'd just figure it out as he drove around the streets downtown.

Since moving to America, he found so many new cuisines than he had ever imagined. He usually always ate at home, and if his family ever ate outside of home they usually went to the finest restaurants in France. Of course, they were all wizard-owned restaurants. But in New York, he’s been introduced to new things. For one, he had his first ever hamburger with Blaine. Ashley took him to a Chinese restaurant, and Ian bought Draco a traditional New York pizza.

Yes, all these things existed in London. Maybe not so much New York-style pizza, but there was pizza. Draco, however, never had the opportunity to try any of these foods. Lucius was extremely strict about eating out. It was never necessary considering he could afford the best quality foods to be made at home. When they did eat at restaurants in France, it was only because a higher official at the Ministry had invited them for a night out.

Around the streets, the bright lights of buildings and restaurants lit the streets as he drove around them. Draco turned into a street he hadn’t been into yet in hopes to find something else he could find to try. There were a couple places he hadn’t been into; a Greek restaurant, a Brazillian one, and a couple shops. There was one shop close to the end of the street. It was sandwiched between two boutiques and had a neon green and purple sign in the front. Soul Beads. In front of the building was a man with a weird sign in one hand and an even weirder thing that seemed to have made his voice louder in the other. Draco couldn’t make of the rubbish he was yelling into the thing from inside his car.

Draco pulled to the curb to walk around the street and check out the restaurants. A bell jingle caught his attention, turning around to see one person he didn’t really expect to see here. “Draco?” your face showed the same expression as his. He watched as you closed the door to Soul Beads and walked up to him. The weird man that stood in front of the store yelled out, “DON’T TALK TO HER, THIS BITCH HERE WORKS FOR THE DEVIL!”

“Do you know him?” Draco asks with a quirked eyebrow. The stranger kept yelling profanities at you but Draco saw how you couldn’t be bothered by it. “He does this every couple weeks. What brings you out here?” Your hands were stuffed tightly in your pockets for warmth.

“Do you own the street? Can I not be here?” he asked sarcastically. You faced him with a deadpan look as to ask him again without having to say the words to him. Or call him a smartass. Which he is. With a roll of his eyes, he continued, “I’m looking for something to eat but I’ve never been to these places before.”

“Ah,” you started, “Well I don’t know what kind of stuff you’re used to, but I suggest the Greek restaurant right across. Over-priced, but the best gyros you’ll ever have in Buffalo.”

“It’s yee-roh, not jahy-row.” Draco corrected. He couldn’t tell if you were irritated or confused after he said that. Probably both.

“You know Greek?” you asked.

“I studied it when I was a child. My tutor showed me the word once and hit my hand when I had mispronounced it. Learned the hard way to never do that again,” flashbacks to the older woman teaching him the language cursed his mind for a few seconds.

His stomach growled even louder now in the silence between them. Draco blushed in embarrassment, shifting around to look away so you wouldn’t see. You slightly chuckled and tapped his shoulder. “Come on, neighbor’s treat.” And you walked onto the busy street.

This bloody woman is crazy to be crossing a busy street he thought as he rushed to follow you across the street. He got scared as a car got too close and ran to the safety of the sidewalk. “You’re gonna get yourself bloody killed one of these days like that,” he scolded. “If you’re gonna live in New York, you’re gonna have to deal with annoying pedestrians and sometimes be an annoying pedestrian. Be glad you don’t live in Manhattan, they’re worse. A person could be hit by a car and he’d just get on up and keep walking.” you informed.

Draco would be lying to himself if he said that didn’t spook him a little. Sure, he’s seen a few students get hexed, some by him, but they’d never just dealt with it and continued walking in the halls. They’d either have to hope their friends knew the counter curse or they’d end up in the hospital wing and had Madam Pomfrey help them back to normal. These muggles really are just… strange.

The restaurant looked old and desperately needed a remodel but by Merlin, it smelled amazing. “Now, are you getting a yee-roh sandwich or are you getting something else?” you mocked his previous correction with a playful roll of your eyes. Draco looked at the menu but it didn’t matter as he didn’t know the first thing about Greek food. What the hell did my father force me to take lessons for? “Do you want me to just order for you?” you asked as he kept browsing for too long. There were only 12 things on the menu but it still confused him.

He held back a snarl as he agreed to your help. He stood aside as you ordered and waited until it sounded like you were done, then headed up to the window to pay. “Oh, you don’t have to. I insisted I would pay,” you tried to push his hand away and reach for your credit card but he proceeded to hand the money to the cashier. “It’s nothing.”

“Here or to-go?” the lady asked with a thick New York accent. The two of you just looked at each other waiting for someone to say something. “Do you want to just-”

“Eat it here?” He looked at the small space and saw only one unoccupied table by the window. One of two tables. No longer growling, his stomach was shaking nearly violently, indicating that he can’t wait any longer. It was a strange feeling to be starving. Never had he ever had to wait for food at Malfoy Manor nor at Hogwarts. Whether it was house elves or first years, someone always ran to get him food with a snap of his fingers. “Yeah, here’s fine.”

The lady handed your plates to you as he went to claim the small table before someone else did. He looked around the space with a slight disgusted look. It’s not that it was run by muggles, but just because the place looks so old and kind of dirty. Even the house elves at the Manor lived in better conditions. The corner he sat in made him feel slightly claustrophobic. How do they sit and enjoy anything like this?

You sat the food on the table and shook your jacket off on to the chair. Draco watched as you placed the plates as neatly in front of you both. He couldn’t help but notice the rings that covered most of your fingers. Some were simple silver bands, some bronze bands, and some looked like wire that had a wrapped, colorful rock in the center. They were mismatched but coordinated at the same time. If that made any actual sense.

You started some simple small-talk, “So, what brings you all the way out here?”

“I got a better job opportunity,” Draco responded. His voice sounded uninterested, and his eyes stared at the plate. It had three pieces of meat on a bed of white rice, a small salad and a little dipping bowl of some white sauce. He dipped the meat into the sauce and as he tasted it, he nearly groaned in content. The flavors danced around his mouth and he had to hold himself back from devouring the whole plate in a matter of seconds.

He could feel you staring at him but chose not to look up to see judgement in your eyes. Whether it was with amusement or not. The food was so good and he would most definitely order another one to-go on his way out for his lunch break tomorrow. I’m definitely bringing Blaise and Theo here.

“What kind of job do you do?” Draco stopped chewing his food and swallowed nervously. He should’ve expected this kind of question sooner or later, but here he was sitting in silence trying to figure out what to say. He couldn’t just tell you that he’s a Healer because then that would lead to more questions and that’d be more answers he couldn’t give you. “What, you don’t wanna tell me?” you furrowed your eyebrows at him as he continued his silence.

Finally, the word popped in his mind, “I’m a doctor.” Hopefully that ends that conversation.

“That’s cool, what kind of doctor are you?” Shit. There’s more than one kind?

“Uh, I work with people who come into the hospital with major injuries like a broken arm and such,” Draco stuttered.

“So, an emergency room doctor. You work in the ER then,” you concluded with a hand over your mouth as you chewed. “Y-yeah, that.” Draco tried not to sound suspicious. “What about you?”

You cleared your throat, drank some of your soda and pointed out the window, “You see that store over there? Soul Beads? That’s my store.” It was weird how coincidental it was that of all streets to drive into and of all people to run into, he ran into you coming out of your personally owned store. Looking back at you, he saw your face relax and smile at the building. “What do you sell? I’m assuming it’s not food seeing as you didn’t invite me in.”

Now it was time for you to stutter, “Oh, just candles and stuff. Nothing too flashy.” You poked at your food and took small bites of it. There was an awkward silence between you two for about ten minutes before you started the conversation before, “Assuming you don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, will you just be working that day?” Draco didn’t know much about the holiday, only that he was getting paid more that day.

“Yeah, I’ll be at the hospital for the night. Probably until four in the morning.”

“Well that sucks. You’ll miss out on the greatest American tradition that is Black Friday,” you chuckled.

“What’s that?” Yet another thing Draco didn’t understand.

“Black Friday is when people fight to the death for a discount on things like appliances and tvs. It’s quite amusing to watch,” you slightly exaggerated. Keyword slightly. Draco had wide eyes as he heard the description. “I’m sorry, to the death?”

With that, you laughed so hard you placed one hand flat against your chest and the other held the table with a tight grip as if you were to fall from your seat. He then realized you actually didn’t mean to the literal death and mentally scolded himself for being so gullible. You continued laughing and he rolled his eyes before chuckling to himself. You leaned back up and wiped some tears underneath your eyes, “Oh my god, I needed that laugh.”

A shiver went up Draco’s spine once he caught a glimpse of your smile. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you smile at all. Before your little argument, you would smile towards him and all the other neighbors all the time. But this never happened before. He looked away from your eyes and tried to find anything else to look at. Tilting his head up, he saw an air conditioning unit. Oh, that’s why.

Small talk ended there with a clear of his throat and proposed to go home. Draco saw how you looked a little disappointed and forced a small, kind smile on your face, “Yeah, it’s getting kinda late and I don’t want to keep my mother waiting. God knows what she’s done to my house while I was gone.” He wasn’t going to keep pressing on the matter as he figured they still weren’t close enough for that. One dinner didn’t make them friends in his book. It wasn’t terrible, though. Maybe he would do it again.

Walking to their own cars, she said “See you around, neighbor,” and got into her car and drove off. He just nodded his head as he always did and drove off as well. They arrived home at the same time and walked inside without looking at each other, thinking that it would just be weird to keep saying goodbye.

—

It was finally Thanksgiving, and Y/B/N and Stephanie were going to be over around three in the afternoon. Your mother was more of a pain than usual, waking you up at six in the morning to do last minute cleaning, grocery shopping, and starting on roasting the ham. The loud argument over ham or turkey in the grocery store the week before lasted for an embarrassing two hours after your mother caved and let you pick the main entree for dinner.

Once you got an hour to yourself, you went to your closet in the hall and grabbed a small glass jar then walked to your backyard for some lavender. You walked to the kitchen for a stick of cinnamon, placed the items on the kitchen counter and walked quickly to your room for something small. Your eyes found a loose ribbon on the floor and grabbed it then went back to the kitchen.

You put all the items into the jar and browsed the kitchen for one more thing. There was a bouquet of flowers on the dining table that your mother bought. Perfect. You grabbed a couple flowers and took the petals to mix in the jar. Once you were done, you chanted to yourself three times:

“Goddess, please take the negativity out of this kitchen.

Replace it with positivity and love. So mote it be.”

You heard your mother waking up from her nap from the guest room and ran into the kitchen to hide the jar somewhere she couldn’t see it. The spell can’t exactly work if she sees something to nag about. She walks in the kitchen and sees you looking suspicious.

She looks at you with squinted eyes - mainly because she had just woken up - but said, “I’m not gonna ask what you’re up to. Can you make the potato salad? I like the way you make it better.” You silently agreed as you looked for the things in the fridge and grabbed a large bowl to mix it in. Your mother walks up to one of the cabinets to grab a pot to boil the potatoes with, only to find the thing you tried to hide. “What’s this, honey?”

You stammered over your words trying to find an explanation before she cut you off, “It’s pretty with all the things in there. You should keep it out.” She placed it beside a photo on the countertop and walked away to fill the pot with water. You were surprised she didn’t ask any further questions. You continued cooking and had a hopeful smile on your face. Maybe it won’t be so bad tonight.

The doorbell rang and you both looked at the clock on the wall. It read 1:55 and you looked at each other in confusion. “Y/B/N must be early,” your mother guessed and went to the door to let him in. The greeting was loud as she greeted him in. You could hear your little brother’s laugh with enthusiasm as he walked into your kitchen, “What’s up, big sis?”

You placed the utensils down and ran up to him with your arms up, “I’ve missed you too, baby brother.” He was much taller than you as he picked you up and hugged you tightly. You slightly swung your legs to give him the signal to let you go. He got his height from your dad, leaving you short thanks to your mother. Your brother had a big smile on his face and you reciprocated the smile. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen each other.

“Oh, lemme introduce you. Steph, c’mere!” He looked over his shoulder and called for the special guest. A beautiful woman with long, chocolate brown hair and doe blue eyes walked next to Y/B/N. “It’s so nice to meet you, I’m Stephanie.” She held her hand out causing you to quickly wipe your hands on your apron. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

“Y/B/N has told me so much about you. I was so nervous to meet you,” Stephanie admitted with a slight blush on her cheeks. “I wonder what this dummy told you. I bet you I can tell you more embarrassing stories about him,” you jabbed his arm.

“That’s not fair, I didn’t say anything all that bad. You’ll hex me or some shit,” he had his hands up in defense.

“Y/B/N!” Your eyes widened and you laughed nervously, “Don’t listen to him, he’s an idiot.”

Stephanie looked back and forth at the two of you and finally settled on you, waving a hand, “Oh no, that’s okay. I practice, too.” Wait, what? It seemed your mother thought the same exact thing, only out loud. “Yeah, Stephanie also does the same thing you do. Crazy, right?”

Your mother stood shocked before them, not saying anything. Your brother had a smile that wasn’t exactly fitting the situation. Stephanie had a kind smile, and although you were visibly surprised that your little brother’s girlfriend was, of all things, also a Wiccan, you were laughing inside at your mother.

This is gonna be the most interesting Thanksgiving ever.

—

next chp

(っ◔◡◔)っ taglist: @beiahadid @malfoy-styles-wife @fivenightslaughter @juneballoon999 @leydileyla @fangirlanotherjust @originalsoulcollector @opiomancy @lipstickandloveletters @ninacotte @daedric-sorceress @frecklesandfirecrackers

[rhosyn-du]

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Chapter One

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321​ Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue​ Tags:  Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3, Tumblr Master Post

Chapter One

“Lightwood’s Mortuary, you stab ‘em, we slab ‘em. How may I direct your call?”

“You know,” Izzy said, “that joke would land a lot better if you hadn’t turned green last week when I mentioned getting to do my first cadaver dissection.”

“First of all,” Jace said, abandoning his laptop in favor of flopping back onto his bed, “it’s creepy that you say ‘getting to’ instead of ‘having to.’ And second of all, no one wants to hear about how much fun you had slicing up dead bodies over Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Max wanted to hear about it.”

“Max also can’t wait to get to middle school because he heard you get to use actual fire in science class,” Jace pointed out.

“Max is just into science like his big sister,” Izzy countered breezily. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Christmas.”

“Please,” Jace said with far more enthusiasm than the situation probably warranted. “I’m desperate enough for any distraction that will take me away from trying to memorize third declensions that I would love to discuss whatever family holiday drama is so colossal I’m hearing it from you instead of Alec. Is Robert planning to show up uninvited to Christmas dinner with his girlfriend again? Oh! Did Mom finally snap and kill him? Is that why Alec isn’t calling? Is he helping her hide the body?”

“Oh my god,” Izzy laughed. “Dad and Annamarie are spending the holidays in Provance with her family, and there are no bodies to be hidden. This is what you get for taking Latin instead of Spanish like a sane person.”

“This coming from a woman who’s studying both,” Jace pointed out.

“Yeah, because a basic understanding of Latin and fluency in Spanish will both help me get into med school, and I need all the help I can get if I’m going to get into Grossman. Besides, I’d never imply anyone in this family is sane. If you studied more, you’d know that ‘Lightwood’ is just Latin for ‘totally fucking cracked.’”

“Please,” Jace snorted. “It’s not even a Latinate name. It’s Germanic. ‘Lightwood’ is Old English for ‘totally fucking cracked.’ Speaking of which, what’s the Christmas disaster?”

“It’s not a disaster exactly,” Izzy hedged, and Jace felt a sudden frisson of actual unease. Izzy normally had no problem speaking her mind. “It’s not a disaster at all, actually. It’s just. I invited someone.”

“Oh.” Jace relaxed. He didn’t know why Izzy was making such a big deal out of this. In the years since the divorce, Maryse had often encouraged her kids to invite any friends without a place to go to join them for holidays. Izzy’s own roommate had come for Thanksgiving last year. “That’s cool.”

“No,” Izzy said, like he was missing something obvious. “Jace, I invited someone. Someone I’m seeing. Seriously.”

“Oh,” Jace said again, this time with dawning comprehension. “That’s great, Iz. I’m happy for you. Wait, Mom’s not doing her overprotective, no-one-is-good-enough-for-my-children thing again, is she? Is that why you called, you need me to run interference?”

“No, no,” Izzy reassured him, although her voice still held an underlying tension. “Mom’s been great, actually. They knew each other already, so that probably helps.” Jace heard a shaky inhale before Izzy continued. “You, um. You know her, too, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Jace said with forced ease, wracking his brain for any clue as to what could have Izzy so freaked out. Whatever it was, Jace wasn’t going to add to her stress. As far as he knew, Isabelle had never even been serious enough about someone before to even use the term girlfriend or boyfriend, let alone bring them home for Christmas. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“It’s Clary,” Izzy said in a rush. “I’m dating Clary.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and Jace was glad he was already lying down.

“Clary?” he repeated. “M—” He just barely stopped himself from saying “my Clary.” Because she wasn’t, not anymore. Not for a long time. “Morgenstern?” It was a clumsy recovery, but it was the best he could manage. “You’re dating Clary Morgenstern?”

Jace and Clary had met at the beginning of Jace’s junior year of high school. Clary, a year younger, had just lost her mom, and the two initially bonded over the shared experience of having lost parents. But Clary was fierce and bold and so full of passion even in the depths of her grief that Jace really couldn’t help falling in love with her. They’d dated for nearly two years—practically forever in high school terms—and even though they’d both known they were growing apart by the time Jace had to choose between his first-choice college in Boston and staying in New York to go to NYU, Clary would always hold a special place in Jace’s heart as his first love.

“Yeah,” Izzy said on a heavy exhale. “For a while now. That—that’s why I called. I didn’t want it to be weird, you know? For us all to just show up and for it to be a surprise. But I guess I probably shouldn’t have done it over the phone, either. I just didn’t think—”

“Izzy,” Jace said, much more calmly than he felt. “Breathe. It’s okay.”

“God, I should have told you sooner,” Izzy continued as though he hadn’t even spoken. “I just knew it probably would be weird for you, so I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure—”

“But you are now,” Jace interrupted again. It wasn't really a question. “Sure.”

“Yeah,” Izzy breathed. “I’m so sure.”

“Then it’s not weird,” Jace lied. “I mean, come on, my sister is dating someone who makes her happy and who I know will treat her right. What kind of idiot would I have to be to complain about that?”

“Really?” Izzy pressed. “Because I told Clary I wanted to talk to you before we finalized plans. So, if it is weird for you, or even if you just don’t want to be the only single person at the table on Christmas—”

“I won’t be,” Jace interrupted.

There was a pregnant pause, and then Izzy squealed so loud Jace had to pull the phone away from his ear.

“Oh my god, Jace! That’s amazing! Why didn’t you just say you were bringing someone, too, you jackass? Do you know how worried I’ve been about telling you about me and Clary?”

Which wasn’t what he’d meant at all—he’d only meant that Maryse was single, too—but Jace couldn’t resist the excitement in Izzy’s voice, not after her earlier panic.

“If I’d known you were all freaked out, I would have said something sooner,” Jace improvised. “It’s kind of new, and I haven’t even had the chance to tell Mom yet.”

“Let me,” Izzy insisted. “I’ve been trying to get her to admit that she and Luke are an item for ages, and maybe knowing that we’re all happily attached will be the push she needs.”

“Hold up. Mom…and Clary’s stepdad?” Jace was starting to wonder if this was some bizarre stress nightmare brought on by impending finals.

“Yup,” Izzy confirmed, popping the “p.” “They’re not even subtle about how much time they’re spending together, but Mom keeps talking about how they’re ‘just old friends.’” Jace could practically hear the eye roll.

“Anyway,” she continued, “if I leave now, I can catch Mom closing up the bookshop and maybe finally get her to crack. Don’t worry about Christmas plans. I’ll take care of everything. Talk to you later!”

“Iz, wait,” Jace started, but he was interrupted by the telltale beep of the call ending.

Jace stared at his phone, wondering how, exactly, he’d managed to make such a disaster of things. He couldn’t deal with this right now, he decided, tossing his phone aside. He just had to get through finals, and then he could come up with some excuse for why his nonexistent girlfriend couldn’t make it for Christmas. An excuse that wouldn’t make Izzy suspicious. Or Clary. Or Alec. Or— Fuck. Not thinking about it.

He turned his attention back to his laptop only to realize after several minutes of staring blankly that he wasn’t prepared to think about Latin anymore, either. Fuck it. He was going to spend the rest of the evening on the couch, drinking beer and watching stupid people doing stupid things on TV and thinking about absolutely nothing at all.

Because Jace just couldn’t catch a break, he found both the couch and TV already in use. He wanted to be annoyed, especially since he knew this was at least the dozenth time this semester his roommate had watched Return of the Jedi. Part of him was annoyed. But another part of him was…not annoyed. And that was yet another thing Jace wasn’t going to think about.

Jace’s first impression of Simon Lewis, when he’d walked into History and Literature of Music their freshman year, had been that he was kind of hot, in a nerdy way. His second impression, when he actually talked to Simon a few days later, was that the guy was annoying as hell. Over the course of the year, as they somehow ended up hanging out with the same group of friends, it became a tolerable sort of annoying. So tolerable, in fact, that when Jace found himself desperate for a roommate the next summer when Raj bailed on him last-minute, he’d agreed to let Simon have the second room in the surprisingly affordable apartment he’d found.

Jace’s third impression of Simon came four days after they’d moved in together, when he happened to be walking down the hallway at the exact moment Simon stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, a stray droplet of water trailing down his surprisingly well-defined abs. In that moment, Jace must have lost his mind, because he had the sudden, almost overwhelming urge to follow the path of that droplet with his tongue and, oh. Oh no. Jace had been wrong this entire time. Simon wasn’t just annoying. He wasn’t just nerd-hot. He was annoyingly hot.

And Jace was maybe just a little bit in trouble.

Because he’d seen the kinds of people Simon dated. Thoughtful. Driven. Well-adjusted. Unlike Jace in pretty much every way that mattered. Not that Jace dated, but he wasn’t the kind of person Simon hooked up with, either, he was pretty sure.

(Jace confessed his fourth impression of Simon to Maia several months later, after many, many shots of tequila. Maia laughed at him for a solid five minutes, but she also poured them another round and never mentioned it again after they sobered up because she was actually a pretty good friend despite how much she always seemed to enjoy Jace’s suffering.)

“What’s wrong?” Simon asked around a mouthful of instant ramen. Jace refused to acknowledge that the way his cheeks puffed out when he ate was cute.

“Just.” Jace shook his head. “Holidays. Family stuff.”

“Your sister planning to make Christmas dinner again?” Simon asked.

“Worse,” Jace said, flopping onto the other end of their stained Goodwill couch. “She’s dating my ex.”

Simon winced. “Ouch, dude.” Simon poked at his noodles with a pair of well-used disposable chopsticks. “You still have feelings for your ex?”

“What? No, of course not. It was ages ago, and we were practically still kids. And the breakup was mutual.” He made a face. “But Izzy’s bringing her home for Christmas.”

“Okay, yeah, that could be a little awkward,” Simon conceded.

“It gets worse,” Jace admitted. “When she told me, I kind of panicked and said I was bringing someone home, too.”

Simon frowned. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

“I’m not,” Jace told him. “Which is kind of the problem.”

“Wow. You really know how to make things difficult for yourself.”

“Thanks,” Jace said. “Very helpful.”

Simon shrugged, then said, as casual as if he were offering to toss Jace’s towels in with his to make a full load at the laundromat, “You could always take me home with you.”

Jace stared. “What?”

“I mean, I’m going to be in the city anyway,” Simon continued, “and it’s not like my family does Christmas. I think Mom and Becky can manage the traditional Chinese takeout and Fast and Furious marathon without me.”

“Your family watches The Fast and the Furious on Christmas?” It was the only part of that Jace was emotionally prepared to process.

“It used to be Die Hard, but Mom’s got a thing for Vin Diesel, so now we alternate years.”

Jace stared a moment longer, waiting for any of this to make sense. On the television, Boushh threatened Jabba with a thermal detonator.

“Right,” Jace said when it was clear the situation wasn’t going to make sense of itself. “Okay. Rewind to the part where I’m supposed to take you home with me for Christmas and, what, pretend you’re my boyfriend?”

He could picture it all too easily. Simon wielding his enthusiastic charm to keep Izzy out of the kitchen while Jace helped Maryse make dinner. Simon joining Alec in coaxing Jace toward the piano when it was time to sing carols. Simon flushed and smiling after a couple mugs of Magnus’s deceptively alcoholic eggnog. Simon’s hand in his because that’s just something boyfriends do.

It was a horrifyingly tempting prospect.

Jace pushed those thoughts away, crossing his arms over his chest and directing all the scorn he felt at himself into the stare he leveled at Simon. “What’s that supposed to accomplish other than giving me a headache?”

“Hey,” Simon said, setting the dregs of his ramen down on their secondhand Ikea coffee table, “I’ll have you know that I make an excellent boyfriend.”

That wasn’t exactly news. The fact that Simon was friends with basically all of his exes said as much. But Jace wasn’t about to let on that he paid that much attention to Simon’s dating habits. Or to pass up such a good opening. “That why you’re single?”

“Not the one currently desperate for a holiday date here, pal,” Simon pointed out.

“I don’t know, you seemed pretty eager to be my holiday date just a second ago,” Jace said, adding a wink just to be obnoxious.

“It was an offer, jackass. One which I now deeply regret.”

“Which you should,” Jace told him, turning to the TV and pretending to watch. “Now we can both forget this conversation ever happened, and I can go back to figuring out what I’m going to tell my family about why my nonexistent significant other can’t make it for Christmas this year.”

“Right,” Simon muttered, picking up his bowl and turning his own attention back to the movie.

Jace told himself he didn’t feel just the tiniest bit disappointed.

“The thing is,” Simon said several minutes later, as Boba Fett tumbled into the Sarlaac pit, “my cousin Rachel is getting married on Valentine’s Day. And my Bubbe Helen is still pretty cranky with me for breaking up with Maia.”

Jace frowned at him. “You and Maia dated for like a month and a half. Over a year ago.”

“Yeah, well,” Simon said, “Bubbe Helen really liked her, but I think maybe that’s because Maia’s the only person I’ve ever brought to a family function. So, I was thinking maybe if I brought someone else to Rachel’s wedding, she’d get the hint and drop the Maia thing. And then you suddenly needed someone to take home for Christmas, and I thought we could, you know, help each other out.”

It was a terrible idea, and Jace meant to say so. He really did. But what came out of his mouth instead was, “You want to introduce me to your grandmother?”

“I mean,” Simon said with a shrug, “she’d probably be happier if you were Jewish, but I honestly think she’d be happy to see me with anyone who’s not a total asshole. Ever since she found out Maia and I aren’t together anymore, she’s been acting like I’m going to end up a lonely old maid or something, which I totally don’t get, because A, I’m only twenty-one, and B, she doesn’t think it’s a problem that Becky’s single and Becky’s two years older than me.”

“Glad to know I meet the very minimal requirement of not being an asshole.”

“Not a total asshole,” Simon corrected with a teasing grin.

“You’re really making a compelling case for trying to convince our families that we’re a couple,” Jace said drily. But he was maybe just a little bit weak for Simon’s smile, so he added, “But you might as well tell me how exactly you think this would work. Theoretically.”

“Theoretically,” Simon repeated. “Right. Well, we’d need to come up with a game plan, obviously. And rules. Rules that we actually follow, because that’s where things like this always fall apart, when someone ignores the rules.”

“Where things always fall apart,” Jace repeated. “Is this something you do often?”

“What? No! I just mean like in movies and stuff. Fake dating is practically its own genre, so we have a ton of examples for how not to do it, and…” Simon frowned as his voice trailed off. “And now that I’m saying this out loud, I’m realizing how dumb it sounds. You’re right. We should forget this conversation ever happened.”

“Or,” Jace said slowly, knowing he was going to regret it but unable to stop himself, “we could spend some time coming up with a plan and then decide if we think it will work.”

“Wait, really?” The slow grin spreading across Simon’s face did nothing to ease Jace’s sense of impending doom, but it did fill him with a soft warmth that made the doom easier to ignore.

“Why not?” Jace shrugged with practiced nonchalance. “I’m done with classes at noon tomorrow if you want to do it then.”

“I’ve got a break from then till three if you don’t mind meeting near campus,” Simon said. “Say, Java Jones at twelve-thirty?”

“Sure,” Jace agreed to the background of Jabba’s sail barge exploding. He hoped that was less metaphorical than it felt.

~~~

“I thought we were planning a couple of fake dates, not staging a major military operation,” Jace said as he surveyed the notebooks and stacks of paper strewn across the rickety cafe table in front of Simon.

“Oh, sorry,” Simon said, hastily shoving exactly one of the many notebooks into his backpack. “I was just reviewing notes for my econ final while I waited.”

“Is all of this really necessary?” Jace asked, attempting to clear enough room on the table for his coffee and the banana muffin that was attempting to pass for lunch.

“It’s so necessary,” Simon told him, reaching over to steal a piece of Jace’s muffin. “I don’t want to end up like Melissa Joan Hart in My Fake Fiancé.” He popped the piece of muffin into his mouth. “Or Melissa Joan Hart in Drive Me Crazy. Oh! Or even worse, Melissa Joan Hart in Holiday in Handcuffs.”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Simon sighed heavily. “I’m saying we need clear, well-defined rules if this is going to work.”

“Is rule number one ‘don’t be Melissa Joan Hart’?” Jace asked, snatching his muffin away when Simon reached for it again and taking a pointed bite.

“No,” Simon said, with far more seriousness than Jace thought the situation warranted. “That’s rule number two. Rule number one,” he continued, opening a blue notebook to a fresh page, “is ‘absolutely no sex.’”

Jace choked on his muffin.

“If there’s one thing everyone seems to agree with, it’s that things always break down when that rule gets broken,” Simon continued as though Jace weren’t struggling to breathe around a mouthful of muffin and why Simon thought they even needed a rule for that.

Jace washed the remaining crumbs of muffin down with a generous swig of coffee, then leaned back in his chair with a deliberately cocky grin. “I mean, I know I’m damn near irresistible, but do you really think you need a rule to keep from jumping me?”

“Rule three,’’ Simon said, scribbling furiously in the notebook, “treat each other with the same respect we’d treat people we’re actually dating.”

“Hey, I would have the same question for someone I was actually dating.”

Simon looked up from the notebook. “That explains so much about your dating history.”

Jace flipped him off, and Simon flashed him a shit-eating grin. “Nope, sorry, rule one. But,” he continued, serious once again, “we should have rules about what kind of physical affection we are comfortable with. Like, I know we don’t normally do hugs, but it would be weird if we never hugged in front of your family if we were dating, right? What about holding hands, is that too much? And what about kissing? I’m definitely cool with cheek kisses, but I don’t know—”

“Simon,” Jace interrupted before he could get too worked up. Or make Jace think about more things he really shouldn’t be thinking about. “You’re allowed to hug me. And hold my hand. Honestly, I’m sure I’d be fine with anything you’re comfortable doing in front of my family, so how about we just go with this: casual touches are fine and for anything else, I’ll follow your lead.”

The look Simon gave him was so searching that Jace almost worried for a second that Simon would be able to see right past his crossed arms and feigned nonchalance to the part of him that was less worried about showing physical affection than how much he wanted it, the part that avoided hugging Simon because he liked it.

“Okay,” Simon said finally. “But you have to promise you’ll tell me if anything I do bothers you even a little bit.”

“You mean like singing Shake It Off at the top of your lungs in the shower?” Jace asked.

“That was one time!” Simon protested. “I was up all night studying and under the influence of too many energy drinks. We agreed never to mention it again.”

“No, you told me never to mention it again and I laughed at you.”

“See, this is why we need rules. You’re already breaking number three.”

“Yeah, because we’re not pretend-dating yet,” Jace said. “That one might be a little rough, but I’m sure I can manage with some practice.”

There was that searching look again, but then Simon nodded like Jace had said something particularly insightful. “You’re right, we should practice.”

“We—what?”

“If we’re going to convince people who actually know us that we’re dating, then we should practice first,” Simon said, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “Not just the rules we know are going to be hard, but all of it, so we can work out any kinks in the plan before showtime.”

And maybe it was reasonable, but it was one thing to put on a show for his family, for Simon’s family, for a few days at a time in places that might be familiar to each of them individually, but that weren’t theirs. It was entirely another thing to do it here, in the cafe they went to at least twice a week, or on campus where they’d first met and had to keep on attending classes for at least another year, or even worse in the apartment they shared, around their friends—

“I really should have thought of it earlier,” Simon continued, blissfully unaware of Jace’s inner turmoil. “My best friend back home, she’s an amazing liar. Like, seriously, she got away with everything when we were kids. But any time she needed me to back up her story, she’d make me practice with her like a hundred times until she knew I could convince her mom and stepdad, even after I got good enough that I didn’t have to practice to convince Mom. Man, those two could sniff out the tiniest discrepancy in any story. Like, if normal parent bullshit detection is a one, my mom’s is probably a solid three, but Fray’s parents? Eleven, easy.”

“I’m pretty sure no one I’m related to has supernatural bullshit detection,” Jace told him. “And it’s common knowledge I’m a better liar than you are, so if you can fool your mom without practice, so can I.”

“Maybe,” Simon conceded. “But a little bit of practice couldn’t hurt, right?”

Jace was pretty sure that it could hurt, actually, but he was also pretty sure he was the only one in danger of getting hurt, so it probably wasn’t worth consideration. Especially weighed against the hopeful enthusiasm in Simon’s expression.

“What did you have in mind?”

“We could start by pretending we’re on a date right now,” Simon suggested. “We’re already sharing a muffin. So, just treat me like you’d treat anyone you were on a date with.”

“My dates don’t usually involve this many notebooks,” Jace told him. “And if my date stole my muffin, the date would be over.”

“Come on, you’re not even trying,” Simon said, gathering up the papers and notebooks. “You’d really ditch your date over a muffin?”

“Absolutely,” Jace insisted. “They’d have to be seriously good in bed to make up for it, and I’m pretty sure rule number one says you’ll never get muffin-stealing privileges.”

“If the biggest benefit to sleeping with you is getting to share your muffins, then I’m not the one missing out,” Simon told him.

“You selling your body for muffins now, Lightwood?” an amused voice interrupted. “I bet I know a few people who’d toss a bran muffin or two your way for a chance at that ass.”

“Which is why you’re not my pastry-pimp, Roberts,” Jace said, smirking at Maia as she helped herself to one of the table’s empty chairs. “I only trade this ass for top tier, gourmet muffins. If your muffins don’t have at least two Michelin stars, I’m not interested.”

“I give him a week until he’s working corners for Entenmann’s,” Simon told her. “He was just threatening to walk out on our date over a bite of mediocre banana nut.”

Maia’s eyes widened. “Your— Oh, shit, sorry,” she said, scrambling out of her chair and throwing them both an apologetic smile that Jace was pretty sure wouldn’t be directed at him if he were sitting with anyone other than Simon. “I swear I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just thought you were studying or something. You guys have fun, and I’ll just—”

“It’s a practice date,” Jace interrupted, “not an actual date. And Simon’s a dirty muffin thief who won’t even put out, so I’m not sure it really even qualifies as any kind of date.”

Maia looked between the two of them, then slowly lowered herself back into the chair. “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what exactly is a ‘practice date,’ and why are the two of you on one?”

“Jace needs a fake boyfriend to take home for Christmas, and I need a fake date for Rachel’s wedding,” Simon explained, snatching the last bit of Jace’s muffin without remorse. “And we thought we should practice dating before trying to convince our families that were actually, you know, together.”

“That’s a terrible idea, and I regret any part I played in the two of you becoming friends,” Maia said flatly.

“Yeah, that would probably worry me more if you didn’t say that like twice a week,” Simon told her.

“Oh god, Simon, what did you let Jace talk you into now?” another voice asked, and suddenly there were three more people crowding around their tiny table, because apparently all of their friends were at Java Jones today. Which, in retrospect, Jace should have expected, given how often they all hung out there.

“It was actually my idea,” Simon told Maureen, sliding his chair closer to Jace’s to make room for her, Bat, and Lily. “Jace is taking me home to meet his family over the holidays, and I’m taking him as my date to my cousin’s wedding.”

This proclamation was met with a stunned silence that was broken when Lily turned to Jace and punched him in the arm.

“Ow! What the hell?”

“That’s for abandoning me, jerk,” Lily told him. “Not that I can really blame you—either of you,” she added, giving both Jace and Simon an appreciative once over, “‘cause damn—but I thought we had an understanding.” She sighed heavily. “Now that you’ve gone over the dating Dark Side, who’s going to be my wingman? You’re probably going to start doing all kinds of relationship-y things and talking about feelings—” she said it like it was a dirty word “—and crap like that.”

“I am not going to talk about my feelings,” Jace said, at the same time that Simon said, “We’re not actually together. We’re just pretending.”

“They’re planning to try to convince their families they’re dating even though they’re not,” Maia explained. “Because they apparently think that’s not just a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Oh,” Lily said, sounding oddly disappointed.

“Fifty bucks,” Bat announced, “says that when this blows up in their faces, Jace is the first one to break down and call Maia in a panic.”

“Hey,” Jace protested.

“Oh, you’re on,” Maureen said, ignoring Jace entirely. “Sorry, Simon, but no one panics quite like you.”

“I’m in,” Lily said, “and I agree with Maureen that Simon will break first, but his call to Maia will be interrupted by Jace calling five minutes later.”

“Why am I the one getting all of the panicked calls?” Maia wanted to know.

“Because you’re the only person at this table who isn’t an asshole,” Simon told her, “but nothing’s going to go wrong, let alone panic-inducing levels of wrong, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Dude,” Jace said, “she’s an asshole to me.”

“You like it,” Maia and Simon said in unison, causing the rest of the table to collapse into laughter.

“Okay, fine,” Maia said around her giggles several minutes later, “if you’re all betting, then count me in, too. I bet that these fools,” she looked pointedly at Jace, then at Simon, “don’t call me when this whole thing goes to hell, but I somehow end up having to haul their asses out of trouble, anyway.”

“I rescind my assessment of you as not an asshole,” Simon told her.

“I’d think twice about calling the woman who’s going to haul your ass out of trouble an asshole if I were you,” Bat said.

“Back to this pretending to be together thing,” Lily said. “What exactly does that entail?”

“That’s actually what we were trying to figure out when you guys showed up,” Simon told her. “We started a list of rules, but we only made it to four so far.”

“Your list should definitely include making out,” Lily said decisively. “Having made out with both of you, I can say with confidence that you’re definitely missing out if you don’t. In fact, you should try it now so we can let you know if it looks authentic.”

“You just want to watch them make out,” Maureen said.

“Yes,” Lily told her. She didn’t add ‘duh,’ but it was implied. “I always want to make hot people make out. But in this case, I’m also being helpful.”

The ensuing argument over the line between helpful and self-serving was thankfully cut short by the opening guitar line of Blonde Redhead’s Barragan.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta take this,” Simon said, holding up his phone. “I’ve been playing voicemail tag with Becky all week.” He looked at Jace. “Talk more about this later?”

“Sure,” Jace told him.

“Tell your sister I said hi,” Maia called after Simon as he headed away from the cafe’s crowd.

“You know,” Jace told her in a low voice, “you could always tell her hi yourself instead of always asking Simon to pass messages.”

Maia gave him an unimpressed look. “After everything I just heard, I’m pretty sure you’re the last person in this room I should be taking relationship advice from.”

“Bite me,” Jace told her, but he didn’t disagree.

[blissfulparker]

Seasick pt.3→peter Parker

Parings→peter Parker x reader

AU: best friends to lovers! Fake dating!

Summary→ when you lie to your mom about having a boyfriend before vactation peter steps in to help. But being in a fake relationship isnt as easy as you thought. especially not easy when you two have feelings for one another. 

Warnings→rude comments, mostly fluff, still slowburn, and sadly I’m a slut for the one bed trope so yeah😔

A/n→ this is a little late I know! It’s also pretty long, a lot longer than I thought. I hope you enjoy! I’m going to try and do weekly updates but I’m now in school so I’m not sure how much I can update. Masterlist is coming for this soon so if you wanna be on the taglist send me an ASK!(I also lost the original seasick Taglist I’m so sorry!!)

Soft blue Hawaiian shirt, grey khakis is what Peter wore. You told him to dress casual, and even after he told may he didn't need any help packing, he was still hoping she slipped in some good outfits. He looked out the small window getting a glimpse of the waves crashing outside, it didn't help his fear, it only fed it. But he needed something to distract his mind before tonight. He was already scared of his decision even though technically it hadn't been one full day on the cruise.

“So..uh..” he turns and sits on the bed. “How long has it been since you've seen your family?” He starts a conversation.

“My mom and dad? Christmas. My sisters? Thanksgiving. And my aunts...gah i don't even know how long but...um...i talk to my aunt laya a lot so she will be the most excited.” you tell him as you slide the hoop earring through your ear. After this trip, Peter might know the most about you more than anyone in the group, that scared you a little bit.

But christmas, thanksgiving? Those were all so far away. He knew you, MJ, and Betty took a road trip for spring break so he did not question the lack of seeing your family then. The idea of not seeing your parents since christmas shocked him because he saw May almost every weekend when he wasn't busy and called her every other day. He couldn't really imagine ever not wanting to see her, he's sure that when he gets settled down one day he'll move into the neighborhood he grew up in with May nearby.

“Wow.” he mumbles to himself before his phone rings.

Two missed messages from May, a text from ned, and a notification from an app. He goes to May first. Hers simply just tell him to have fun and not stress out, call him if anything happens. Ned on the other hand is more playful.

Ned: Having fun loverboy?

Ned: You two kiss yet?

His teasing words make Peter roll his eyes and shove his phone back into his pocket.

“Who was that?” you come out of the bathroom all dressed up. The dress is long and down to your ankles but a slit going up the thigh. The soft blush that tickles your cheeks and the gloss that brings up your lips. It was almost like aphrodite crafted you herself. Your skin looked so soft and golden. At this moment, you looked so golden.

“U-Um just May.” he clears his throat and presses his lips together. You walk up to him and hold his shoulders. You stand close and lean in, he wants to press his eyes shut for this feels so much like a dream, your touch, your scent, spending a whole week on a cruise with you, all of it feels so much like a dream.

“Im taller than you.” you groan as you let go of him. He wakes up, he wakes up from his daydream and looks at you with confused eyes.

“W-What?” he stutters and you sit on the bed taking off the wedges you had just strapped on. You are already hating the dinner and you didn't even show up yet. You slip on some sandals, something easy to kick off after the night ends.

“To save you, I'm just gonna wear flats.” you tell him standing again and this time you're now eye level and face to face with him. He doesn't really understand why you can't be taller than him but you're far more stressed out about this dinner than he is.

“You look really pretty by the way.” he tells you. For your understanding hes saying this as fake peter, the fake boyfriend peter. But to him, deep down, he means it with his whole heart.

“Thanks.” you look down and then look back up at him looking at his shirt. You come up and unbutton one button so it doesn't look like he tried so hard. “You look really pretty too.” you smile and then look over to the door.

“Are you ready?” and just like that you two were off to one of the most confusing dinners of each other lives.

-

When you two arrived at the restaurant he immediately noticed how nice it was, all the families, couples, friends were dressed well for a night under the ocean's stars. He swallowed hard before you took him by surprise, grabbing his hand you held it tight.

“Hey,” you looked at him. “Don't be nervous okay? I'll take most of the lead, just follow me.” you told him and he nodded.

“I think it's normal for me to be nervous about meeting my fake girlfriend's family for the first time.” he laughs it off a little just thinking back to the pep talk Ned gave him before he left. Don't be scared peter, it's just (y/n). He reminds himself as he takes a deep breath.

As you two approach the table he can start figuring out whos who. He knows your mom and your dad already, he can see two women who look to be in their mid twenties who look like you, your sisters. Then he sees what seems to be your aunts at the table as well.

“Oh, (y/n) its been so long.” your sister kisses your cheek and you hum into the kiss. Her eyes then pan to peter, your biggest stressor.

“And you must be perry?” her voice is already annoyed and you groan as you're not ready for the things she's about to say to both you and peter.

“Peter, actually.” he reaches his hand out for her to take and she does with a wimp grasp. She shakes it almost as if he was sick and just wiped his nose. She looks at him with a more disgusted look, her bright red lips in more of a scrunch and she takes her hand back quickly when shes done.

“Right.” she nodded and then looked at you. “He's so…cute.” she scrunched her face before sitting back down. Ouch. Peter thought.

“Oh and the fun begins.” you whisper in his ear as you two sit next to each other. At first the two of you were stiff but then realized that would make it too obvious. He pretended to get an eyelash so it looked like you two were comfortable. His hand also rested on your shoulder as the conversion began.

“So…” your other sister who had not had a proper introduction leaned in to pay attention to you and peter. “When did you two lovebirds meet.” just by her words, she had gotten attention from half the table.

“Oh i can tell this story angel.” he rubbed your thigh for everyone to notice. He was good, better than you thought. You never took peter as a leader, especially for someone as a kid who would almost every time cry after having to present something--which he of course stopped after he got into highschool.

“We grew up together basically, I met her through our mutual friend. I'm sure you all know MJ.” he pauses and you catch your sister already rolling her eyes as she brings her wine glass to her lips. Your other sister was still amused but it was only to be polite to peter. “We spent highschool together and then we had a europe trip going into our senior year and that's where we found out we had mutual feelings but we sorta put them to rest after we--” and he goes on a little, you're more fascinated after the story with how far he told it. His hand rests on your thigh and suddenly you're relaxed with your lie.

“Wow, that's so sweet.” your youngest eldest sister, maya, hums as she takes a sip of her drink. “Like little soulmates.” she scrunches her face and once again you were annoyed. Yanked out of your paradise just like that.

“And now they go to Columbia, of course.” your older sister hums under her breath and Peter furrows his brows a little but ignores it.

“Peter majors in computer science and is minoring in physics.” you wrap your warm around his shoulders and get close. “He had all A’s last semester and is top of the class, he also works at the stark tower, he maintained an internship there every summer in highschool.” you kiss his cheek.

“And he went for you?” your sister asks in the most petty way possible.

Peter didn't have any siblings, his closest thing to a brother was Ned, his closest thing to a sister was probably betty. He knew families could argue, have feuds, but he never thought a sister would be this rude to another. Especially not an older sister to a younger one.

“Yeah he did-” you start but your mother glares you a look. Peter's hand rests a little more harshly on your thigh to remind you he was here.

“You should be giving (Y/N) a reason to stay then, she talked about transferring to NYU at thanksgiving. (Y/N) are still planning on transferring?” Peter's eyes went straight to yours after your mother's words. Did MJ know? Did Betty know? Did Ned know? Were you going to transfer without telling anyone? He even notices how your face goes from smiling to scared and shocked after your little secret is revealed.

“I-uh,” you look over at peter. Your sister smirks almost like she was glad. “I'm still thinking.” you chuckle off and look down at your dress, you look down at peters hand.

“All of us transferred mom, it's only natural she’ll do the same.” your sister says with a sigh, a more evil one and peter knew that too.

The table started on something else again. taking the focus away from you two as they started talking about your sister and her life. You were just glad that things didn't go too far.

You and Peter eat in silence. This was probably some of the best food in his life but it was hard to enjoy because of all the things happening.

“(y/n) you should try a juice cleanse,” your sister chipped in. “i heard it helps lose weight and with stress.” she gives a smile and even through your sisters pretty eyes, soft hair, coconut scent, and beautiful summer dress, she was still the worst.

Peter starts to open his mouth but you quickly push him back a little as a smile rises to your own lips.

“No, I don't think I will.” you tell her before going back to eating the same pasta you've been ordering on this cruise since you were 16.

How could sisters be so mean to each other, especially at such an old age. Peter was shocked by the comments about him to you. Maybe the reason you never brought them up was to save yourself, to spare yourself the pity.

He watches as your dad pays the bill, he watches as the family gets up and you do too. Your mom pulls you in for a kiss and hug before she sends you off for the night, the sister who did the least teasing gave you a hug but peter a most lasting one with a kiss to his check which made you roll your eyes. Your eldest sister gave you a quick hug before giving Peter a fake smile, and your aunt who barely spoke the whole night pulled Peter into a hug first.

“Take care of her kiddo, she deserves it.” she whispers into his ear and he gives him a soft nod and smile.

“I will.” was probably some of the truest words to come out of his mouth the entire night.

-

The hotel door slams shut and you once again make your way to the bathroom. Leaving peter in the middle of the room he turns on the T.V. and starts to unbutton his shirt. At this point he doesn’t know how things will go, he thought it was just going to be a family who was excited to see him, not ones who will tear each other down.

As a kid, Peter dreamed of siblings. Having a brother and a sister, playing airplanes with them and maybe getting into fights over toys but nothing like this. That’s why he’s always dreamt of his own family one day too, he wants one but is always conflicted with his secondary job as the cities hero.

He takes off his shirt and throws it into the suitcase, he picks up an old AC/DC one from years ago but still was comforted by it.

“Hey pete I’m out of the—woah—“ you cover your eyes as you just saw him half naked. He immediately covers himself up with the shirt, a look of shock takes over his face as he burns red and his mouth drops open.

“S-Sorry! I didn’t know that you would come out—“ he stuttered and then slid on his shirt.

“I’m just gonna…take the couch…” you grab a pillow and he stops you.

“Why?” He asks as he crawls into the left side of the bed.

“Because it’s one bed, and besides I dragged you into this mess the least I can do is give you the bed.” You tell him and he shakes his head.

“You said the bed is big enough for the both of us remember? So it’s fine we won’t touch each other.” He shrugs and you give him a look of defeat. “After everything tonight I think you deserve it.” He told you and you sighed climbing into the bed. The sheets feel just as soft as last summers, the cotton plump around your body and the bed memory foam. Makes you think your dorm bed is a rock. Makes peter almost fall asleep instantly as he’s never felt anything like this before expect the times he sleeps at the stark tower.

“Sorry about tonight.” You fumble with the sheets. He bites down on his lip before answering.

“You never told me about any sisters, you never told anyone about any sisters.” He says and you take a deep breath.

“Can you blame me?” You chuckle and his eyes filled with pain for you, he sees how much the friend group really means to you now, how you use them as an escape from your normal life. But a luxury life like this couldn’t be so awful all the time could it?

“I mean sisters fight don’t they?” He tries to help but you rub your face in response.

“Yeah, over toys and makeup, hair straighteners and shampoos, maybe school and boys but you’ve only seen the surface of them peter. if you thought that was bad come back on Friday and tell me what you think.” You roll to the other side. Peter wants to reach out and touch you, he wants to touch the hair that fell loose, he wants to comfort you so you don’t hurt the whole time.

“What did my aunt Layla say anyways?” You asked from the other side and his heart begs to tell the truth but he can’t blow the cover, can’t make things awkward.

“Just..she was happy. Tis’ all.” He told you and you seemed to believe it.

“Thank you for everything by the way.” You turn back to him and look at him fully. You never noticed how he has a scar on his eyebrow, or all the freckles that paint his face, or even the colors of his eyes are different on the outside. You never noticed anything until now. “You’re really, really good at this.” You told him with a soft chuckle.

“You too.” He nods, swallowing hard he watches you turn back to your side and leave him be. Soon enough he can hear your snores and drifts off himself.

Day one down and he knew this would be the longest week of his life.

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[carolina-bleus]

~Something You Read: From Rick to Michonne~

“I cannot believe he actually logged into class this morning from his bed! I think he’d just woken up like five minutes before. He could barely hold his eyes open and had bed hair and everything. Who even does that?” Michonne scoffed.

Rick chuckled. “That sounds exactly like something Shane would do.”

“Mr. Horvath even had to tell him to put on a shirt...which got a lot of grumbling from some of the girls.”

“You included?”

Rick outright laughed at the look of disgust Michonne shot him through his phone’s screen.

“Richard Sutton Grimes, I am offended! You know I have better taste than that. No offense to Shane, but it would have to be the end of the world and we’d have to be the last hope for continuation of the human race before I’d even consider him anything other than a smug nuisance.”

“Ouch! So I’ll take that as a no.”

“Take that as a hell no!”

“Michonne Colette Richardson with the potty mouth! I’m gonna tell your mama and daddy.”

“What’s the worst that could happen? I get grounded and confined to the house and not allowed to go out with my friends? Too late, Miss Rona already beat them to that,” Michonne replied glumly.

“Yeah, it sucks. I can’t believe this is how we’re spending our senior year of high school. I thought everything would be back to normal by now.”

“I don’t even know what normal is anymore.  I certainly hope this isn’t our new normal...going to school online, not being able to hang out and only seeing each other “face to face” through a screen in class or during phone calls.”

“I never thought I’d say this...and if you tell my mama, I’ll deny it...but I actually miss school. Not the work,” Rick quickly added. “I miss interacting with everybody, even Eugene and his mullet.”

“Really, Rick? Of all the classmates you could name, you pick Eugene...and his mullet...and not me?”

“You know you’re not just my classmate. You’re my best friend, Michonne. Of course I miss you.”

More than you even know, Rick thought.

“I miss you, too. The two of us haven’t been in the same space in what feels like forever and I’m over it. We don’t even get to go the mountains for Christmas this year,” Michonne lamented.

The Grimes and Richardson families were extremely close. The teens’ parents grew up together in King County and had been close long before Rick and Michonne were born. The families had been planning to spend Christmas break in a vacation home rented out for the holidays. But, now instead of a big Christmas celebration in the mountains, the families were doing as they had for Thanksgiving and keeping their celebrations small and confined to immediate family. Gift giving was even different this year.

The families decided to keep it simple and follow a modified version of the five-gift rule. Each household pulled the name of someone from the other household. The gift recipient told the gift giver what category they wanted their gift to represent. Luckily, Rick and Michonne pulled each other’s names. But even if they hadn’t, they would have managed to get a gift for each other a gift anyway. Michonne wanted “something you read” and Rick asked for “something you want.” Michonne’s gift was already wrapped and ready on Rick’s nightstand.

The canceled vacation and altered holiday routines were just another reminder of how different things were this year. Rick and Michonne had been inseparable since they were babies. They’d seen each other just about every day before pandemic brought their in-person interactions to a halt. The physical separation was something neither teen had really gotten used to even after so many months.

Michonne sighed. “You think it will be like this when we get older if everything does go back to normal and we can get on with our lives?”

“What do you mean?” Rick asked.

“We’re about to go off to college in some form or another and start the next phase of our lives. Do you think this is what it will be like...never seeing each other except through calls or whenever there is a holiday?”

“You think we’re going to grow apart?” Rick asked with a tilt of his head.

Michonne shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope not. But I never thought I’d live through a pandemic either. Life’s funny that way.”

“I know you want to explore the world and go to all these exciting places during and after college. But what about later? Do you think you’ll come back home? To your family?”

To me?

Rick had been in love with his best friend for as long as he could remember. He’d never quite found the words to tell her. He thought maybe he’d ask her to prom and do it then but prom most likely wasn’t going to happen this year. Rick worried if he’d even get the chance to hug Michonne again before they went off to different colleges next fall.

“You mean come back home to live?”

Rick nodded. “Yeah.”

“Is that what you’re going to do...come back home after college?”

“That’s been the plan.”

“Have you ever thought about living somewhere else?”

“Not really...but I guess I would for the right reason.”

And the right person.

“What reason would that be?”

You.

Rick shrugged. “I guess I’ll know when I know.”

Michonne looked away briefly before clearing her throat. “Oh...well, we don’t have to worry about that for a little while longer, anyway.  Soon it will be Christmas break. And then it will be New Year’s Eve and we can put this hellish year behind us and start looking forward to the future...wherever that takes us.”

“Michonne, I---

A knock sounded on Rick’s door.  It opened and his mom stood in the doorway.

“Honey, I know it’s distance learning but you still need to get some rest for tomorrow. Michonne, you do as well,” Mrs. Grimes added, knowing without question who Rick was talking to this late.

“Yes ma’am,” the teens replied in unison.

“Alright. Goodnight you two. Love you both.”

“Goodnight, Mama.”

“Goodnight, Auntie Suzanne.”

Once his mother closed the door behind her, Rick turned back to the screen.

“Rick, what were you about to say before?”

“Oh...umm...just that I hope you like the Christmas gift I got you.”

“You always pick out the best gifts, so I’m not worried. Well, I guess we better head to bed. Talk to you in the morning before classes?”

“Of course. Goodnight, Michonne.”

“Goodnight, Rick.”

The best friends ended their call and Rick slouched down with a sigh. He had been about to confess his feelings to Michonne right then and there. Her conversation about them growing apart scared him. He didn’t want to lose her.

But what if telling her how I feel pushes her away?

Needing to get his feelings off his chest somehow, Rick tore a piece of paper from his notebook, grabbed a pen and began to write.

Dear Michonne,

You’ve been my best friend since before we could talk and I hope you remain so even after I tell you what’s in my heart. Michonne, I love you...I’m in love with you. Whew! It feels good to FINALLY say that. I’ve loved you since...well, honestly, I can’t think of a time when I didn’t love you in some way.  Every moment that’s meant something in my life has had you in it...holding my hand when I was scared on our very first day of school, when you helped me study for and win the spelling bee in third grade, when we took down the school bully, Phillip, on the playground in fifth grade, being each other’s first kiss in sixth grade and each other’s date for our first high school dance, sitting and crying with me when my grandpa died from the virus, stressing about applying to college early decision and celebrating together when we both got into our dream schools. The serious moments, the fun moments and everything in between...you’ve been there.  And somewhere along the way, my love for you grew beyond friendship.

I can be my whole self with you because you bring out the best of who I am and you inspire me to want to be even better.  You’re the one person I can tell anything and everything to without hesitation. You’re the only person I want to tell everything to. So, you’re probably wondering why I never told you how I feel. Well, I haven’t told you for the same reason your question about us drifting apart scared me...I don’t want to lose you. I can’t imagine...I don’t want to imagine...us not being in each other’s lives. I didn’t want to risk pushing you away or making you feel weird. I still don’t want that. But this year has taught me more than ever that life is short, time is precious and you have to let the people in your lives always know how you truly feel about them while you can.

Whatever you feel for me, please know that your happiness and our friendship are the most important things to me. And I want us to always remain friends, and in each other’s lives, whether or not we ever become a couple. I know we’ll be walking different paths for the next few years, but I hope those paths always lead us back to each other.

This is my first love confession I’ve ever written so I’m not really sure how to end it. I guess, thank you for reading it.

Love always,

Rick

P.S.- If you don’t feel the same way, you don’t have to say anything. We can just pretend this never happened.

Finished, Rick neatly folded the paper in half, wrote Michonne’s name on the front, and placed it on his nightstand beside Michonne’s gift.

Now the question remains if I’ll ever give it to her.

*****

Before Rick knew it, there was only one more week until school let out for the holiday break. He’d decided to have a change of scenery and attended school in his dad’s study today. Returning to his room, Rick plopped down on his bed and reached for his phone that he’d left on the nightstand. To his horror, the phone was there, but Michonne’s gift...and more importantly, Michonne’s note...were both gone.

“MAMA!”

“What?! Why are you yelling?”

“Mama, where’s Michonne’s gift?”

“Your Aunt Sheila and I did our socially distanced gift exchange this afternoon. I dropped their gifts off on their porch and ours were waiting there in a box. I already put them under the tree.”

“So you got Michonne’s gift from me off of my table?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to the piece of paper that was there as well?”

“Well, it had Michonne’s name on it, so I put it in a nice envelope...since you neglected to do so...and added it to her present.”

“Oh, Mama, you didn’t,” Rick groaned.

“Yes, I did. It was beside Michonne’s gift. It had her name on it. It was meant for her right?”

“Yes, ma’am. It was.”

“So why are you looking like I just destroyed your world?”

Because you may just accidentally have.

“Uh...it’s nothing,” Rick hedged. “I uh...I just wanted to exchange gifts in person.”

Mrs. Grimes nodded sympathetically.

“I know sweetie. We all wanted to do that this year, but we have to take the necessary precautions to keep everyone safe.”

Unfortunately, my heart might have just become collateral damage.

The morning after he wrote it, Rick had decided not to give Michonne the letter. He still felt the same way, but he just couldn’t run the risk of his confession altering their friendship in a negative way. However, now all he could do was wait and hope Michonne didn’t take an early peek at her gifts like she used to do when they were kids.

Rick looked at the date on his phone...December 10...fifteen days until Michonne opened the letter. He smiled wistfully at his lock screen.  It was picture of him and Michonne that she forced him to take on the last day they saw each other before their world got turned on its head. They were lounging in the hammock in his family’s backyard just talking about their hopes for senior year and beyond. It had been a perfect afternoon. He’d almost told her how he felt then but backed out at the last minute. Now the decision to tell had been taken out of his hands.

Man, I hope I didn’t make the biggest mistake of my life.

 *****

As the days to Christmas dwindled down, Rick didn’t notice a change in Michonne or their interactions. They still spoke every morning and every night and she acted the same as always. Rick didn’t know if that meant she hadn’t yet read the letter or that she had and was just not saying anything because didn’t have any romantic feelings for him.

Rick had tried to bribe Michonne’s younger brother, Noah, to find and destroy the letter. But that ended in utter failure. Noah couldn’t find the letter and he got yelled at by Michonne for snooping around her room. But Noah was true to his word (and the fifty dollars Rick sent to his cash app) and never implicated Rick in the plot.

~Christmas Eve~

Rick’s nerves were shot.

One more day until I know if I need to ask to go live with Granny Grimes down in Florida to finish out senior year.

Rick hadn’t spoken to Michonne at all today, which was a rarity.

Maybe she’s avoiding me.

Rick trudged glumly down the stairs so lost in thought that the sudden ringing of the doorbell scared him.

“Did y’all order food?” Rick called out to his family.

“No! It might be a package though,” his father yelled back.

Assuming the delivery person left the package on the porch, Rick pulled open the door without hesitation. He nearly fell over when he saw who was waiting.

“Michonne?! What are you doing here?” Rick started to push open the storm door, but caught himself. “Wait, a second.”

Rick grabbed his mask off the hallway table and put it on before stepping outside. The teens stood on opposite ends of the porch.

Michonne offered a small wave. “Hey, Rick. I came over because I wanted to see you.”

“Why? It must be important if you came in person.”

Oh, man. Is she going to break my heart in person?

“I promise to explain. But, first, I need you to answer some questions.”

“Questions? Why?”

“You’ll see.” Michonne pulled out her phone and unlocked it. “Okay, have you experienced any of the following recently...fever, cough, or headaches?”

“No.”

“Good. Fatigue...muscle or body aches...loss of taste or smell?”

“No.”

“Sore throat...nausea...diarrhea?”

“Michonne!”

“Rick, just answer the question.”

“No.”

“Has anyone in your family experienced those symptoms recently?”

Rick shook his head. “No.”

“Where have you been in the past fourteen days?”

“I’ve been home.” Stressing out over a letter.

“You haven’t gone anywhere outside? Not even to the grocery store?”

“Other than the porch or backyard, I’ve been in the house.”

“Good. I’ve haven’t gone anywhere for the past fourteen days either. I’ve been in the house and avoiding anyone who doesn’t live in my house...basically a self-imposed quarantine.”

“Why?”

“So I could do this.”

Michonne removed her mask and walked over to Rick.  She reached up and removed his mask, smiling at the question in his eyes before leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on his lips. After a moment of shocked delay, Rick quickly responded by wrapping his arms around Michonne and deepening the kiss.

Needing a breath and a moment to process it all, the couple slowly broke off their kiss and stared at each other with twin smiles on their faces.

“I take it you read the letter?” Rick asked.

Michonne nodded. “Exactly fourteen days ago.”

“You read it the first night?! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’ve never had anyone confess their love for me before...at least not outside of a daydream. I needed time some time to deal.”

“And do you feel the same way?”

“Rick, I quarantined for fourteen days just so I could kiss you. What do you think that means?”

“Maybe I just want to hear you say it.”

Michonne rolled her eyes but couldn’t keep the smile off of her face.

“I love you, too, Rick.”

“Romantically?”

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as I can remember.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Michonne shrugged. “It’s the same reason you didn’t. I was scared and I didn’t want to lose you in case you didn’t feel the same way.”

“But we both feel the same way. So...we’re a couple?”

“Almost. There is something you have to say first.”

“What?” Then it dawned on Rick and he flushed, suddenly shy. “I wrote it in the letter.”

“Maybe I just want to hear you say it.”

Rick chuckled at his words being thrown back at him, before he turned serious.

“I love you, Michonne.”

Michonne’s face lit up with a smile that took Rick’s breath away.

“Now, we’re a couple,” she declared.

Rick took Michonne’s hand and led her over to the porch swing.  The couple drew close under the blanket Rick’s mom kept there for the chilly winter nights.

“Guess I won’t have to open any gifts tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?” Michonne questioned.

“Christmas came early. I have everything I want now.”

Michonne smiled and pulled Rick into a hug.  When they separated, a sudden question occurred to Rick.

“Hey, did you open my actual gift I got you to read?” Rick asked.

“Not yet, I was waiting until tomorrow. I only opened the letter because I thought it was a card. I’m glad I didn’t wait though because that letter was truly the best thing I’ve read in my entire life.”

Rick blushed happily at Michonne’s words. 

“Well, maybe you’ll read something even better one day.”

“Like what?”

“Our wedding vows.”

Michonne’s eyes widened before she smiled sweetly, “Yeah, maybe one day.”

The couple shared another kiss before they cuddled against each other and slowly rocked in the swing, enjoying the Christmas lights shining across the neighborhood.

@richonnefics

[leigh-kelly]

Completions and Connections: Quarantine Christmas

So 2020, huh? Ugh. Santana and I had started the year amazingly, with Tyler turning a year old and me kind of setting up a schedule that let me go on assignment more than I had in his first year—though, so much less than I had before I had a wife and a son to want to be home with. Things were good...and then they weren’t. But obviously everyone can relate, you know, it didn’t happen in a bubble or anything.

I was in Sweden when Santana called me utterly freaking out. Because I was always pretty isolated from the news when I was traveling and she hadn’t seemed especially worried about COVID until shit hit the fan, I was taken almost entirely by surprise. She told me that it looked like everything was going to shut down, she didn’t know what was going to happen with the borders and she wanted me to come home as soon as possible. Honestly, in hindsight I should have had her bring Tyler to Sweden where there was actually a competent federal government, but obviously that’s not what happened.

I called my boss immediately and within hours, I’d abandoned my shoot and was on a plane bound for New York. Nothing else really mattered to me except getting home to them and since everyone was in a collective state of what the fuck, no one even argued with me about it. Two days later, Discover pulled all of their foreign correspondents anyway, so I pretty much got out just in time. We figured it would be two weeks, a month maybe, and then things would get back to normal. Little did we know how wrong we were.

Back in New York, things were...weird. People packed up and left the city in droves, everything looked abandoned and I immediately wished that we had a place in the mountains that we could go to. We probably could have bought something, that was true, but Santana had her practice and we both knew she wouldn’t abandon that, she’d worked too hard for it.

Yeah, so speaking of that. Tyler’s daycare shut down with everything else, I was home indefinitely, but my wife, my beautiful, amazing wife, still had to go to work every day. That was the scariest thing for us, knowing that she could be exposed at any given moment, knowing that she could bring it home to Tyler and I. We knew she was as safe as could be, she stockpiled PPE on a regular basis because she dealt with disease anyway and was super precautious about protection, but we couldn’t help but wonder if it would be enough. For two days, we discussed whether she should go stay with Unique and isolate from us, but Tyler was still nursing and we thought it would really mess him up if she was gone. We had no idea if we were making the right choice, but it was a choice we had to make.

Everything was a major adjustment. Tyler and I had to learn a new routine during the day where I pulled ideas from Pinterest to do with him and ordered about a zillion boxes from Amazon full of activities. I took him out on walks in the early morning before people were outside, letting him breathe the fresh air when it was safe and taking pictures of the empty city, figuring at some point Discover might want them for a series and quite honestly, missing being behind the lens of a camera. I learned to bake bread, I made elaborate dinners and I fought so much boredom, remembering every day that it was better to be bored than dead.

It was different for Santana though. Though she wasn’t working with diagnosed COVID patients, she never knew what was walking through her door. Each night, she came home with marks under her eyes from her N-95, a band indent around her head from her face shield, and her face just so tired from doing the best she could to provide her patients with care in the midst of everything else. So I held her tight, I told her how much I loved her, how proud of her I was, but that didn’t help on the nights she heard that a patient had died, that didn’t help when she heard from contact tracers that someone had been to her office who tested positive and she shut herself up in the guest bedroom away from Tyler and me and waited anxiously for her latest round of test results.

But onto the more positive, our boy absolutely thrived. Turns out I was kinda good at the whole stay at home mom thing and I was glad that I found fulfillment in that. Plus, I wasn’t halfway around the world when he took his first steps, didn’t miss him say “mama” for the first time and all of that good stuff. We FaceTimed with my parents and Santana’s all the time, made sure they got to see him grow. When things got a little better in the summer, Tina would join us on our walks with her son and the two boys would babble away to each other from their respective strollers. And most importantly, we learned to look for the good, we tried to ignore the worst in people and see the best because it was really the only way we could get through it.

Christmas was three days away and though we wouldn’t do our customary dinner with Santana’s parents, she and I were still really excited that our boy was in love with the lights on the tree, that he was big enough to sit on the counter with us while we made Christmas cookies, could sit through half of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer before he got fussy. Maybe Christmas was really different then it had ever been before—and Christmas was obviously so important to Santana and I—but that didn’t mean that it couldn’t still be magical.

“Office is officially closed until December 27th.” Santana burst into the house that evening, her red scarf wrapped around her neck and the biggest grin on her face as soon as she pulled off her mask. “Let me shower and change and then I’m going to give you two the biggest kisses.”

Like she did every day when she came home from work, Santana immediately stripped off her clothes and put them in the washing machine and jumped right in the shower. I missed being able to kiss her as soon as she walked in the door, but we both knew it was much safer to wait twenty minutes until any surface germs were off of her. Tyler didn’t exactly get it, he still whined and waited outside the bathroom door, but he was always the first one she kissed, our sweet little boy.

“Come on, Ty, let’s make Mama an espresso so she can sit down and relax with us when she gets out.”

I took the baby into the kitchen with me and made Santana’s afternoon drink, sprinkling a little cinnamon on top, because it was almost Christmas after all and I wanted it to be special for her. When she came out of the shower, she took Tyler from my arms and kissed him all over his face, laughing right along with him and his sweet little giggles. Then she sandwiched him between us and kissed my lips, smiling as she did. I knew that her job was more stressful than ever and the five days off would do her some real good.

“What’s on the Christmas agenda tonight, Britt?” She asked, putting Tyler on her hip and taking her cup from me.

“My parents want to FaceTime, if that’s okay with you.”

“Obviously, we haven’t talked to them since last week.”

“Yeah, well, you know how my mom is.” I shrugged, thinking that she was probably a little pissed that we told her not to come for Christmas and Ty’s birthday, but it was what it was. “It probably won’t be long, who knows?”

“Are you okay, babe?”

“Yeah I guess I’m just aggravated with her. She’s asked me like four hundred times if we changed our minds about her coming. This is like Thanksgiving all over again.”

“I mean, I get it, it sucks. Everyone wants to be with their families and I can’t wait until this is over so we can take Ty to Colorado, but we’re just not there yet.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Obviously, Britt, you tell me all your secrets. You couldn’t even hang onto my birthday gift for more than a day after you got it this year.”

“I love Christmas Eve with your parents, it would have been nice to have mine here, but I kind of selfishly am looking forward to this year being just the three of us. Last year poor Tyler was so tired when we got home from your parents’, Christmas Day will be better with him on his regular routine.”

“I agree, and I honestly am looking forward to just relaxing with you guys, no stress, no drama, no dealing with my grandmother who can’t even bring herself to look at our son.” She shook her head. “Plus, it’s our anniversary, I do love the idea of not having your parents in the apartment that night.”

“Oh really?” I smirked and she laughed, before Tyler pat her face and shouted ‘Mama!’

“I know, baby boy, Mommy and I are totally ignoring you. “Let’s go play for a little while before we have to start dinner.”

So I was obsessed with watching Santana on the floor with Tyler. It started when he was a baby and she’d lay beside him got tummy time. I could never resist taking out my camera and getting a few shots of them together, especially because he was the spitting image of her and they just looked absolutely beautiful together. Santana always teased me about how many pictures I had, but I couldn’t help myself ever. They were too much and I loved them with everything in me.

Santana got so involved with playing with Tyler that I assured her I’d make dinner and slipped off into the kitchen, leaving them on the floor playing with his ball tower. It was hard to believe that our kid was almost two, that it had been so long since she and I reunited on Christmas Eve in the grocery store. But it was perfect. It really was, even in the midst of 2020, I had nothing to complain about in my life. We were healthy, we were happy and though we’d really been isolated from everyone else, we knew how loved we were.

We had barely finished eating dinner when my phone rang and I sighed a little when I looked down and saw that it was my mother. I really didn’t want another fight with her and as much as I wanted her to see Tyler, even through the screen, it had been hard. She was a hippie at heart and she didn’t do well with feeling like the government was controlling her, so I had to explain only about a thousand times that it was for her safety and everyone else’s.

“Hi Grandma.” I held the phone in front of Tyler and he grinned and waved.

“Hi Mamaw!”

“It’s my little Ty! Oh how I want to kiss your face and squeeze you!”

“Here we go.” I mouthed to Santana who rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you think Grandma should come for Christmas? I promise, I’ll bring lots of presents.”

“Mom!” I turned the phone away from him and toward me. “Not cool.”

“It’s just me and your father, Brittany, it’s not like we’re bringing the whole world to see you.”

“We said no. We’re not seeing Santana’s parents, we’re not seeing our friends. The case count is rising and it’s only going to get worse after Christmas. We refuse to put anyone at risk.”

“Whitney, listen.” Santana took the phone from me, sensing my frustration. “I promise the first thing that we’ll do when this is over is come to Colorado, okay?”

“But it’s been a year since I’ve seen my grandson, your parents have at least seen him outside.”

“I know, and if you lived closer, we would see you outside too, but that’s just not what’s going on.”

“It just doesn’t feel like the holiday season.”

“It’s one year, Mom.” I took the phone back. “That’s it. And I’ve told you this more times than I can count. You calling and harassing us and trying to bribe Tyler isn’t going to change that.”

“I think dinner’s ready, I have to go.”

She hung up the call before I could say anything else and Santana came behind me and squeezed my shoulders. I relaxed into her body and she kissed my neck, knowing that always got my mind off of anything else. But then, Tyler started crying and I kind of wanted to punch my mom since he enjoyed talking to her so much and I didn’t think it was fair that she was taking out her frustrations on him.

“C’mere, baby.” I lifted him out of his high chair and gave him a squeeze. “It’s bath time!”

It was kind of funny how after Tyler was born, I became so much less awkward around people. Whenever I was able to stay put in New York, I had taken him to his Music Together class, to the park, wherever I could, you know, back when those things were still open and having him almost made me have some kind of common ground with other human beings so I didn’t just blurt out whatever was on my mind as often. Not to say it didn’t still happen, I was still me, after all, but I think Santana and I both really changed once he came along, in the best way possible.

The next day, we FaceTimed with the Changs, Kurt and Dave who had been working from home and isolating outside of the city since March and Mercedes, who had been pulling a real Taylor Swift and writing album after album in quarantine. While Tyler napped, Santana and I finished wrapping the last of his presents and got them all situated to put under the tree for the next night. I was beyond excited for the non-traditional Christmas, just ready to watch Christmas movies and drink hot cocoa in our pajamas and I knew Santana was too.

The next morning, Tyler woke us up before six and I told Santana to stay in bed while I went across the hall to get him. He completely beamed up at me, though his eyes were still tired, and I lifted him into my arms to bring him into our bedroom. Once he was in the bed, he crawled around, pawing at Santana’s face and she finally sat up with a laugh, kissing him all over his face.

“Merry Christmas Eve, little dude.” She told him. “You know Santa’s coming tonight.”

“Santa! Santa!” He clapped, though neither of us were really sure he even knew what that meant.

“What do you want to do today, babe?” Santana asked me and I shrugged.

“I mean, we’re doing the Christmas movie marathon tomorrow and you know, we ate all the fudge your mom dropped off...”

“So you want to make fudge?”

“I mean, you’re the keeper of Maribel Lopez’s secret fudge recipe, it only seems right.”

“If you want fudge, you get fudge.” She smiled and I did a little happy dance in the bed. The fudge was honestly so good that sometimes, when I was gone for longer than I’d like and I was hitting that homesickness point, Santana would send it in a care package. Yeah, my wife was cute like that, she didn’t stop sending me care packages just because we had rings on our fingers. The best, seriously.

So we made the fudge. Then we went for a walk in the park, where there were thankfully not too many people to have to dodge and we looked up at the sky, thinking it really looked like snow was coming. A white Christmas would be nice and probably the most un-2020 thing to happen so I really kind of was looking forward to it. Once Tyler was asleep in his stroller, we went home and Santana carried him upstairs to his bed and we went to do one last double check on the gifts.

“You’re sure you’re cool with being Santa tonight?” She asked me.

“We couldn’t take him to Macy’s and he needs to have a picture with Santa, of course I’m cool with being Santa. We got the suit and the pillows and the beard, I’m so ready.”

“You’re really the best mom, you know that right?”

“Please...you’re like super mom or something.”

“Just let me give you a compliment, Britt.” She rolled her eyes. “I hate that everything has sucked pretty bad in the world, but him having you around every day, and me not having to freak out about if he was safe while I went to work is definitely the best thing that ever could have happened.”

“It feels really good to be able to do it. I don’t know, looking at the map in his nursery showing me in New York for the past nine months has been really good, I feel like I miss a lot when I’m gone.”

“Do you not want to do it anymore?”

“No, I do, I’m just grateful for the time. And to be honest, I don’t think my job is ever going to go back to looking like what it used to, so maybe that means a lot more time with you both.”

“We’re so lucky, you know? I thought about it a lot this year, like what if I would have been single when this happened and isolated from my parents and my friends. It’s hard enough some days, but going through it alone...”

“Yeah, I know. I totally do. Even in the shittiest year, the world is a whole lot better with you and Tyler in it.”

After another hour or so, Tyler woke up and was ready to play. We pulled over his learning tower in the kitchen and he stood at the counter with us as we cooked our Christmas Eve feast. Just because it was the three of us didn’t mean we weren’t going to do tamales and a pork shoulder like we did every year at Santana’s parents—although luckily, we’d prepared the tamales ahead of time—and even though it was a little early, Santana poured bourbon into our eggnog and we started celebrating.

After dinner, I went upstairs and changed into my Santa suit. Maybe people would think it said something about gender roles or what the fuck ever that I was the one to dress up as Santa, but it wasn’t like that. I just thought it would be really fun and figured we could get our Christmas picture of Tyler. While Santana had him in his bedroom, I slipped out of the door to our apartment and waited with my mask in the hallway for Santana to open up to my knocks. When the door swung open, she held Tyler in her arms and I gave my best ‘ho ho ho’ carrying two gifts for him.

“Mommy!” He shouted, clapping his hands and giggling. “Mommy!”

“That’s not Mommy, silly boy.” Santana laughed, eyes sparkling. “It’s Santa Claus.”

“No, Mommy!”

“Alright.” I chuckled, taking off my beard and hat so as not to confuse him. “You’re right. C’mere, buddy.”

Santana just laughed and laughed as I took him into my arms and handed her the gifts. He was a smart one, that was for sure, and he patted my cheeks as I carried him over to the Lord Tubbington proof Christmas tree and sat down on the floor with him.

“You’re right Ty, Santa isn’t coming until after you’re asleep, I was just being silly. But look, we have some presents for you.”

We sat with him as he took his time opening his gifts, a new pair of Christmas pajamas and a copy of Olive the Other Reindeer to read at bedtime. He was really excited about the book and roughly turned the pages, trying to see all the pictures. Then, we took him up for his bath and got him settled into his new pajamas and into his bed. Santana read to him and I sat back and watched, just so in love with the two of them. I didn’t even bother to take pictures though, I just wanted to be in the moment and Santana occasionally looked over at me and smiled. Even with the shit year we’d had, it really was the perfect Christmas Eve and once Tyler’s eyes slipped closed, I leaned over and kissed Santana on the lips.

“Merry Christmas, my love.” She smiled.

“The merriest yet.”

[letsperaltiago]

🌟 HAPPY 12TH OF DECEMBER: DOOR TWO 🌟

Welcome to door two of four!

Behind my Christmas calendar’s second door is a... dating, kind of early-relationship, Peraltiago Christmas oneshot! ♥️ 

Summary: Amy feels like Christmas is crumbling around her and when the stress becomes too much, boyfriend Jake steps in and takes care of it.  Takes place somewhere right before S03 E10: Yippie Kayak. 

Rating: G 

 Words: 4k (just barely)

Read on AO3 here

🎁⬇️OPEN DOOR TWO HERE ⬇️🎁

my gift to you is all my heart

Christmas 2015 is the most special one so far, Jake dares to admit - and that’s coming from a guy who really couldn’t care any less about the season of families pretending to be picture-perfect and a 'shallow but pour some glitter on it'-kind of joy. Slap some red and green colors on an otherwise dysfunctional world and call it a happy place for a month or two.

It’s not that he wants or aspires to hate Christmas; it’s not that he wants to be the cynical one in a crowd of happiness and optimism. There just happens to be a lot of wounds, never fully healed scars, from the many lonely Christmases he spent as a child and teenager. Between his dad considering his parental role a part-time job and his mother working full-time to make a living for them, there wasn’t much - if anything at all - for Jake to love about the holidays and more specifically Christmas. On the contrary, the season rather emphasized how dysfunctional his family was...

Perhaps this year, he really hopes, the season of joy and light will feel more… like a season of joy and light. This year he has Amy which is an experience he’s never, obviously, had before and something he’s more than excited to try. His girlfriend loves Christmas and hopefully, it’ll rub off on him even though he’s surely the Grinch in their relationship the second Thanksgiving hits. It’s almost as if, for a month or so, he and Amy’s dynamic is completely flipped upside down. Not that he's calling his girlfriend a Grinch! Although, a secret to no one, Amy does take on a more serious role in their relationship. All that aside: the second the holidays come around, Amy is the most bubbly and cheery about silly, in Jake’s opinion, stuff like napkin-like turkey, too many pies, secret Santas, seizure-inducing fairy lights, and the only thing worse than normal vegetables: baked vegetables… Meanwhile, he’d rather isolate himself in his apartment, with his mayo-spoonsies and Die Hard, as the delusional world outside goes on.

Then again: he hasn’t had Amy around, at least as a girlfriend, before.

It’s a few days before Christmas eve. An evening he’s not looking forward to since Amy’s leaving tomorrow to spend the day and weekend at her parents’ place - which means not with him, and it’s definitely activating his so far decently subdued inner Grinch. How come Christmas wants to come off as this super jolly season when actually it forces him to be away from his girlfriend? What a scam.

About an hour ago he arrived at Amy’s place to find the door locked, which was weird considering that it was her precious day off. Luckily Amy’s already figured out that her boyfriend is of the clingy kind, which she enjoys, so she’s given him a key to her place. This so he can - quote Amy - “Come and go as you please. Like a cat. A really cute, hot cat.”

He’d chuckled at her comment, then kissed her out of sheer happiness because he has a girlfriend that wants him to have a key to her place! A girlfriend who wants him to drop by and cuddle her, laugh with her and annoy her - whenever!

And so here he is: flopped down on his girlfriend’s couch, watching Die Hard, since it’s the only Christmas movie he can stand to watch. He’d sent her a text telling her he was here, making sure he wouldn’t scare her whenever she was to arrive, but alas never heard anything back. This he suddenly realizes as Hans Gruber is taking the people inside of Nakatomi plaza hostage. He hopes she’s okay, suddenly feeling a bit worried. However, the feeling doesn’t last for long. Basically stumbling through the door comes Amy holding what looks like a thousand shopping bags, which impresses Jake so much that he misses the worried frown and sweaty glow on her forehead.

Being the good boyfriend he is, something he takes a lot of pride in, he of course jumps from the couch to help her. “Hey, babe. Need any help?”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

His offer just barely manages to make it out of his mouth before she’s already dismissed him and disappears into her so-called happy place - in reality, a room dedicated to all of her books and crafts.

Even though he doesn't comment on it, it's unmistakably unusual behavior for her. “You sure? I can do whatever you need; help you unpack, make you some coffee, look cute…”

In her little office, Amy is marching, all at once systematically and chaotically, around the room like the devil is after her. It’s as if he isn’t there, as if she’s avoiding him, and just barely takes the time to stop and throw him a vague glance. “Jake, please. I just need some space. I have presents to wrap and… stuff.”

Oh. Space. The word doesn't go by unnoticed and makes Jake's stomach drop. Space is usually not a good word when coming from a partner, he’s experienced, and this time around it seems to sting that much more than back with Sophia. Is this the end of him and Amy already?

Everything they've done runs through his mind with the speed of light. Things were going so well, he thought. Just yesterday they’d been snuggling on her couch, sharing lazy kisses and giggles as their favorite show (they have a show!!) played in the background. Things like “I love my family but I can’t wait to see you again after Christmas” and “Can you believe how far we’ve gotten since this time last year?” were said, making Jake feel so infatuated and sure. They'd even kissed and made stupid remarks at each other under the mistletoe Jake put up in the door frame leading to her bedroom.

Now, suddenly, it seems as if he’s the last person Amy wants around. Without even consciously deciding to do so he backs away from the tiny office, thus allow his girlfriend some… space. God, he hates that word and every memory associated with it.

Communication is key, Jake knows. However, it’s not as if it went well the last time he kicked down the doors when a girlfriend asked for space. Hence why he doesn’t dare to kick down any doors, literally or metaphorically, when the one to Amy’s office is closed.

He doesn’t know what to do; he doesn’t know what he can do? Make coffee - he can do that right? At this point, he isn't sure of anything. His heart starts beating faster and faster against his ribs, and he knows it’s because, maybe not that deep down, he’s afraid. Afraid of losing the possibly best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Coming from behind the shut door Jake can hear thumps and paper rustling. Jake isn’t the big Christmas-connoisseur but even so, he finds, what he believes is, Amy’s present-wrapping abnormally loud and chaotic - something that seems as unlike Amy as can be. He’s brewing a pot of coffee, for the both of them, something he hopes will be well-received, when suddenly the sounds coming from his girlfriend’s furious wrapping-project goes silent. All at once, with a thump, as if she’s hit a wall.

The silence lasts, and though Jake expects the rustling to pick back up any second, it doesn’t. He can feel himself grow considerably more worried. A big part of him, the one that’s still suffering Sophia’s actions even though he is fully and completely over her, haunts him. It feels a lot like being in a tug-of-war between pressing his way into the room, thus whatever is going on with Amy, and staying back and out of his girlfriend’s sudden need for space.

What does it for him is the sound of a loud mix between a groan and a whine. He has to go in, he quickly decides. Gently he pushes open the door, just enough for him to peak his head inside the room, and the sight before him certainly doesn’t calm his nerves: Amy, sitting at her little office desk with her computer before her, with her face buried in her hands and ripped wrapping paper surrounding her. He can’t tell if she is, but just the thought of her crying makes his heart wrench.

“Amy?”

The way her posture completely changes in reaction to the sound of his voice, from hunched over the desk to sitting straight up, as if she’s hiding something surely can’t be good. Even though she tries to be discreet about it, Jake can tell how she quickly wipes her eyes with the back of her hands. In a motion she hopes is discreet but isn't. If Jake’s poor heart wasn’t scratching the bottom of his gut already then it definitely is now. Still, he pushes the door wide open and tries one more time with a voice so soft and attentive that usually only comes out when they’re being really emotional; something he’s trying to grow into and better at. For her.  

“Ames… Are you okay?”

Even though there’s no one else but them in the apartment - hopefully, it is Brooklyn, after all - he closes the door behind him to give them some privacy.

“I’m fine, Jake.”

Fine is definitely not how she sounds, a shakiness to her voice, and how she looks averting his gaze, rather diverting her eyes to her laptop screen. To make it even clearer she starts typing - she isn’t fine. Anything that can keep her busy and from unveiling the true colors of the situation seems to be on her agenda.

The urge to back out is so strong, overwhelming, and Jake quickly recognizes the old, certainly bad habit. Although this time around, with Amy before him like this - hunched over and so far from the confident Amy he knows - he also feels the opposing yearning to stay and challenge his former habits. For himself, for Amy, for them - the best six months of his life. Seven, to be precise. The fact that he cares to keep up with this, how long they've been together, says a lot about where he’s at. With her he’ll count every month, week, day, hour, minute and second he gets to be with her.

Emotions are key. He needs to do emotions - the very serious kind.

“You’re…” he halts for a second, feeling as if he’s about to jump off a cliff - not that he's ever tried it before. But it must feel scary. Kind of like this right now. “You're not fine. Obviously.”

Slowly he walks towards her and, after hesitating with his hands waiting in the air above her, contemplating whether it's what he should do or not, he places his hands on her shoulders. The way she stiffens under his touch has him alarmed, but just as quickly as she's tensed up she relaxes. As if she realizes she can safely surrender whatever fears or worries she has to him.

“Tell me what’s wrong - please. Is it something I did?”

“No!” She flies around in her seat to face him to hopefully undo whatever worries about them she's ignited. The first thing Jake notices then is her somewhat red eyes and a look that begs for him to believe her. Hesitantly, he does. Still, it doesn’t make the sinking feeling in his stomach vanish.

Amy turns back around in her seat to face the lit laptop to hide. Frustrated she runs her fingers through her otherwise perfect hair and ruins her perfect ponytail; small tufts of hair on the loose and going in whichever direction they please. Something he's only used to seeing first thing in the morning or late in the afternoon before bed. And even though Jake loves sleepy Amy, morning hair, makeup-free face and all, he wants nothing more than to fix her hair for her, carefully weave the flyaways back into the otherwise still somewhat neat ponytail.

“Ames, I’m just kinda worried. Tell me what’s up, please… Even if it has something to do with me.” His hands never let go of the soft grip on her shoulders as he says this. Right now holding on to her feels like the only grounding element in his universe. She suddenly feels tense under his touch again and he hates that he might be the one doing this to her.

“It’s really... stupid.”

His eyes wander across the lit laptop screen in hopes of a possible hint. USPS Tracking Service.

“I’m sure it’s not stupid, babe.”

“I just-” her hand reaches for the mouse but then hesitates as if touching it will expose her. Either way, she decides to go for it; she grabs the mouse and opens the program containing, what he recognizes as, her day to day calendar - the step down from her life calendar. "I bought this really beautiful necklace for my mom for Christmas…”

He figures they’ve got some time ahead of them and gently pulls over an extra chair for him to sit on. In his seat next to her he follows the cursor on her screen, flying all over the different dates, boxes, color-coded labels and appointments - the many perfect elements of a Santiago-calendar.

“But then earlier, a few subway stops before home, I got an email from USPS saying that the package's arrival would be delayed! So I tried to work a timeslot into my schedule, for me to shop for a new gift from my mom, but it’s impossible." Every word flies out of her so fast she can barely catch her breath and the last part basically comes out of her in the tone of a wail. Jake can easily sense that she’s riled up and is making it hard for herself to calm down. With every word, she grows more and more frantic, panicky, as she switches back to the window with her calendar. What he sees shows, indeed, no room for gift shopping. He knows she thrives on it but he sometimes wonders how his girlfriend lives her life, densely packed, like this.

“I knew it’d be hard to fit in, with me working a full shift tomorrow, the polar swim and then leaving for my parents’ right after, but I thought it'd be possible! Turns out it isn’t... I’ve tried to re-arrange the next 24 hours in my calendar in every way thinkable and nothing works. Nothing.”

“Honey...” he consoles, calmly placing a hand on top of hers. On his face is a small smile, one that can rest in the fact that there was indeed nothing wrong with them, even though he of course feels some concern for his girlfriend who is clearly completely beside herself. Though she's finally speaking up rather than shutting him out, it's obvious that it doesn't come easy to her and there's a vulnerability to her panicky explanation. But it's not, never will be, something that'll scare him away. "... It's okay."

"No, it's not, Jake!"

Yelling isn't exactly the right term but it's clear that the two are of a different point of view.

"I had ordered my mom the perfect Christmas present, one that would so surely beat my brother David's, and now? It's ruined. I won't receive the stupid present in time and I don't have time to shop for a replacement, which, either way, will be less good. I might as well stay home for Christmas this year and spare myself the embarrassment."

It takes a beat of silence for Jake to assemble his thoughts and form an answer. The smile from before is once again back; he knows how to kill her insecurities - with kindness.

"While I would not mind you staying here with me..." He leans in to place a soft peck on her shoulder. "... I'm sure there's no way your mother would want you to stay away simply because of something as silly as a present - no offense."

"Jake, I appreciate your support but you don't know her like I do."

Though the situation reminds Jake of just how stubborn his girlfriend can be, something both frustrating but also endearing, he also remembers just how stubborn he can be. Maybe this time, for once, the latter can come in useful. If there's anything more stubborn than a panicked Amy then it's without a doubt a Jake who wants to see his girlfriend smile. He's a man on a mission - Amy's very own John McClane.

"Okay... I know I have a questionable track record but hear me out..."

She looks at him and for a second, upon seeing the anxiety in her eyes, he stutters to assemble himself one last time before showing her, at least trying to, that he can take control and help her handle her problems - even the worst which honestly isn't as bad as she might think. Softly, making sure to not alarm her, he reaches over to remove her hand from its tight grip on the mouse and replace it with his own. With it, he moves the cursor on the screen to point at the blue '9 AM to 5 PM'-time slot labeled Work, followed by a yellow 'Polar Swim'-slot at 5.30 PM.

"... I was supposed to be off a bit earlier tomorrow but let me fill in for you instead. You can leave at 4, go get your mom a gift, which she by the way will love, and make it back in time for the polar swim. I'll stay till 5 for you. I'll run the arrangement by Holt so you don't have to worry about it."

The silence is loud but not loud enough to hide her thinking; it screams through the way she bites her lip and eyes wander all over his face in search of some kind of truth. She turns her entire body in her seat to fully face him and, somehow, she suddenly looks both cheered up but also remorseful.

"Jake, thank you, but you don't have to do that for me. I know I'm just being crazy. My mom can do without a gift this year."

"Amy Santiago," he reprimands before grabbing both of her hands in his, making sure to keep a hold of her gaze in the process. "Maybe I don't have to but I want to. Ames, let yourself live out the full 'Peralta boyfriend'-experience. Also, stop calling yourself crazy when, in reality, you just care a lot. That's good; to care like you do."

Finally, after it being gone for so long, he catches a glimpse of her characteristic glow. Her eyes are also once again shiny and inspired, and he knows he's doing something right. Everything within him wants to do right for her. For a moment they quietly stay back, in each their seat, and look at each other with admiring eyes. Both wondering how they got so entangled in the other's very much different lives. Yet both eternally grateful. Amy's the first to break and throws her arms around his neck.

"You're the best, Jake," she declares with newfound peace of mind. "Thank you so much."

"No need to thank me." His arms have returned the favor and are securely wrapped around her waist. He's forever sure; nothing feels better than holding her like this. Happy. They stay like this for who knows how long, for seconds or hours, until Jake suddenly retreats into his seat and offers her a cocked brow along with a teasing smile.

"By the way... What's up with the wrapping paper-mess?"

"I had to test the new wrapping paper I got!"

He chuckles. God, he adores her.

"But why the mess?" He hicks a ripped piece of paper lying at his feet.

"Turns out I've bought the worst kind of wrapping paper and I got... pissed." She timidly looks down but still smiles, Jake hopes it's because she knows he likes her love and passion for all things crafty. They go silent and he can tell she's thinking. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, rather insecurely and not affectionately like she would with a double tuck.

"By the way..." She clears her throat then looks at him. Right in the eye. "I'm sorry for earlier. I didn't mean to cut you off and push you away like I did. That wasn't okay - at all. I just-" the words get tangled up and caught in her throat to which Jake reacts by reaching over and softly clutching her knee followed by a comforting squeeze. In his eyes, she sees an invitation to speak her mind and she wonders, every day, how she ever lived her life without him by her side like this. The least she can do is explain her actions, ones that were actually just caused by a stupid defense-mechanism.

"I just didn't want you to see this... unfavorable side of me, I guess. I know I can be a bit much."

"Amy," he coos hearteningly. "Of all the sides of you that I've seen, or you will come to show me as this relationship evolves, never have I ever found any of them unfavorable. You're not 'a bit much'... You're everything I want and need."

Though he doesn't dare say it, not quite yet, this feels a lot like an undefined definition of love - one, he's quite sure, comes from everything she's taught him, shown him, and made him feel these past seven months.

She leans over the gap between them. Their lips collide in a kiss so meaningful that it speaks louder and more clear than any words ever could. He tastes like cinnamon and coffee, and with him she feels safe, like there are no ugly truths about her for him to see through. Every day with Jake is like coming home is. It's no longer just unlocking and walking through a door: it's being herself, even during critical moments, and still feeling welcome in her boyfriend's embrace and eyes. Her hands cling onto his cheeks for dear life, pouring all her emotions into the soft movement of her lips, and it's the most accepted and cherished her A-type self has felt in a partner's presence. Who would've thought that this kind of string of emotions would be a reaction to the touch and care of Jake Peralta?

On his part, with the three magic words just barely clinging to his tongue, he internally decides to hold back and keep them for a more suitable moment. Even if, something he's learned from their relationship, there is no such thing as 'the right time'. 'The right time' is only a theory made up by hopeful, sometimes also hopeless, lovers. Much like themselves just barely a year ago. But with this one declaration, what he hopes will be the greatest I love you of his lifetime, he does want some control. The moment shouldn't be surrounded by ripped wrapping paper and tipped over shopping bags.

Hopefully, she can wait just a bit longer. Then he'll tell her, even yell at the top of his longs, that he loves her. He loves Amy Santiago.