#snowflake extension

[mariamagdalenaposting]

DID YOU GUYS KNOW that the Tor Project has developed a proxy server you can run as a literal browser extension??? I'm by no means an expert on this but I was just reminded that I even had it installed by an update coming in, I never noticed it! It's so crazy that you can be part of a global network of traffic obfuscation and help people circumvent internet censorship in their countries just by installing a BROWSER EXTENSION

Naturally, I believe literally anyone who regularly accesses the Internet through a desktop browser and lives somewhere where the Internet isn't heavily censored already should install this, as mentioned before, it is literally no effort.

Here you can learn more about it and also find a link for the extension for your browser:

Also please rb, I have the feeling this is pretty unknown

Also, if you know more about this, please fill in the technical details as I'm just a little guy

[official-firefox-nightly]

Oh yeah, for sure. I've gotten 4 since I've turned the kindness option on and it fills me with seratonin (same whenever I see the extension turn green on my computer)

Honestly it'll probably cure my depression (/hj)

Snowflake Information Here

I... Get more pleasure than I should out of the Orbot notifications about other ppl using me as a node to help hide their internet traffic. u go stranger <3

[moonstruckme]

A Christmas Special

summary: after Christmas Eve at Remus' flat, thick snowfall prevents you from going home. He's more than happy to host you

cw: mentions of alcohol, smut mdni, p in v, oral (fem receiving), praise, inexperienced reader, shy little idiots in love

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 11k words

Remus isn’t sure entirely how he’d gotten strongarmed into hosting Christmas Eve at his flat. James and Lily usually host, but James claimed that this year their house was in too much a state of “baby mayhem” to have any hope of being tidied enough for a gathering. He’s said it in such a lovesick voice Remus couldn’t push back for long, his friend’s happiness so potent it was like looking into the sun. Sirius had begged off quickly, saying that his “bachelor pad” was too small to have a group over. As usual, when Remus spoke last, the matter was settled before he’d gotten the chance to have much of a say. 

He’s made an effort to live up to the hosting legacy passed down to him by the Potters, but it’s a flimsy attempt at best. Thankfully, the snowfall outside is doing a fair amount of the work for him. Remus’ street is coated in fresh, gleaming powder, enough that the trees look weighted down with it and his neighbor had put her little dog in a knit sweater to go into the yard and do its business. It’s still coming down, the snowflakes visible in crisp contrast against the darkening sky as they drift lazily to the earth. 

Inside Remus’ home, the Christmas tree is nearly covered in tinsel to make up for his scant supply of ornaments, he’s run out of stockings to put up above the fireplace and has had to use one large sock (that one will have to be for Sirius), and he’s still stringing up popcorn when a knock sounds on the door. 

Remus is surprised (he’d told everyone to come at six, but that was only because he didn’t think anyone would actually show up until a couple hours after), but that dies away when he unbolts the door and opens it to find you on the other side. 

“Hi,” you say, teeth nearly chattering as Remus ushers you inside. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was worse than I expected.” 

“It’s hardly quarter after six.” Remus takes your coat, tsking. “People do seem to become worse drivers around the holidays, don’t they?” 

“Well, I suppose not everyone on the road tonight might be used to driving in the snow,” you allow, ever forgiving. 

Remus smiles. “Merry Christmas, love.” 

Your lashes kiss as you smile back at him, unwrapping your scarf. “Merry Christmas.” You’re merry as can be, cheeks dimpling and eyes sparkling under the twinkling lights Remus is suddenly very glad he decided to purchase for the occasion. “Where is everyone?” 

“Well,” Remus says, heading back for the couch, “Sirius is hitching a ride with James and Lily, so if I had to guess I’d wager that James is just putting the finishing touches whatever food he’s decided to bring while Lily tries to rush him out the door. And then they’ll go to Sirius’ place and have to wait for him to finish wrapping the presents he undoubtedly just remembered today.” 

You sit beside him with a half-exasperated laugh. “I was thinking I’d be the last one here,” you admit, “but I’d forgotten how they can be when it comes to these things.” 

Remus shrugs. “Easy to forget.” Lily is usually able to marshal James (and by extension, Sirius) most places on time these days, but the frenzy when they actually have things to prepare is inevitable; Remus has learnt to account for it. He reclaims his half-finished string of popcorn, clumsily stabbing the needle into another kernel and wincing when it goes through easier than expected, pricking his finger. 

“Oh no, did you hurt yourself?” you lean over, trying to see his hand. 

“No, just a scratch.” Remus has about a billion of them by now. He’s far from coordinated on a good day, but the unwise decision to have coffee earlier has resulted in shaky hands that make working with a needle somewhat hazardous. 

You watch him try again, and it’s really the distraction of your cute frown more than anything else that messes him up. His needle goes through the fluffy edge of the popcorn, stabbing him and giving the string hardly anything to hold onto in the process. The flake falls to his lap for his efforts. 

“Remus, your hand’s not a pincushion,” you say, and you weren’t yourself he’d almost think you were chiding him. You reach over, taking the needle and thread from him. “Here, let me do that.” 

“I didn’t mean for you to come here early so I could put you to work,” Remus protests, watching as you string up the next piece of popcorn with nimble fingers. Jealousy wars with admiration, but his esteem for you wins out. “You’ll never come back for New Year’s if this is what you have to look forward to.” 

You smile down at your hands. “Sure I will. You’ll still be there, won’t you? And I really don’t mind helping, it gives me something to do.” 

Remus smiles back even though you’re not looking. “Alright, well I guess that means I can start rolling out the gingerbread dough. Thanks, love.” He touches his hand lightly to the crown of your head as he stands, letting the urge to press a kiss there pass as quickly as it arises.

He goes into the kitchen. A second later, you decide to follow. Popcorn swishes against the floor behind you as you make your way over to the bar counter, sitting on a stool with your string trailing all the way back to the couch. 

“You’re making gingerbread cookies?” you ask, watching with eager eyes as he plops the dough onto the floured counter, rolling it flat. 

“Mhm. You like them?” 

“Never had one.” 

Remus feels his eyebrows inch upwards. “Seriously?” 

You look almost sheepish, as though this is a crime which you expect to be held against you. Honestly, you’re not far off; had James been here, you would have been questioned and scolded to hell and back, and then he would’ve made Remus give you some dough to try, salmonella be damned. 

“No,” you answer him. “We made ornaments out of them in school, once, but we weren’t allowed to eat any. I always thought they were so cute, though, with the little people cutouts.” 

“They’re the best,” Remus agrees, pressing out the shapes and laying them on the baking sheet. “If you finish that quickly enough, I might even let you help me cut out a few.” 

“Yes!” you cheer. He laughs when you start working quicker with the needle. 

“Don’t hurt yourself. The privilege of cookie cutting is not actually contingent on your labor.” 

“I know,” you say, but your hands don’t slow. Remus has barely finished filling his second baking sheet before you’re done, having made more progress in the last twenty minutes than he had over nearly an hour. 

Remus’ hip touches yours as he shows you how to give the cookie cutters a little shake in the dough, freeing the shape before lifting it and placing it on the sheet. It’s not a painfully difficult task, and still he’s impressed by how quickly you catch on. You’re a machine of efficiency. You seem to enjoy rolling out the dough almost as much as pressing out the shapes, falling into a quick, happy rhythm. Before long you’ve pushed Remus out of the way (Lily would be proud, he thinks), urging him to go and hang up the popcorn garland before everyone else arrives. 

You haven’t seen each other in over a month, both of you caught up in the hustle and bustle of the season, and you catch up as you work on your separate tasks. Remus talks to you about his job, the students who plague him and the ones he wishes he could take home after work each day, and how none of them had liked the film he’d put on the day before break. (“Mister Magoo’s is a classic!” you protest as Remus shakes his head. “They’re too young to get it,” he says. “Our classics are just old to them.”) You tell him about your new cat, and the sweater you’d crocheted her for the holiday which she despises above all else, and he promises to come over sometime soon to meet her. 

You’ve poured yourselves spiked eggnog and sampled a few ginger cookies (“They’re twice as good when they’re fresh,” Remus says. “Don’t let the others’ tardiness rob you of the experience.”) by the time the door bursts open again, Sirius of course not bothering to knock. 

“Hello!” he calls from somewhere behind a tower of presents. “Merry holiday to you, Moony!” 

You get up to help, and so Remus is compelled to do so as well, taking a couple of sloppily-wrapped boxes from Sirius’ arms. 

“Merlin, it smells good in here,” James declares as he comes through the door, Lily carrying a beaming baby Harry on her hip behind him. James’ eyes fall on you. “Awe, you beat us here?”

Remus scoffs, setting down the gifts by the tree and leaving you to arrange them as you see fit. “Not very difficult, when you’re over an hour late,” he says. “You’re lucky Y/N’s good company, or I’d be more cross with you.” 

“Sorry,” says Lily as Sirius makes a dismissive sound, flopping onto the couch. “We had some trouble fitting everything in the car with Harry’s seat, and then Sirius—” she shoots him a glare, and he grins like she’s sweetly cooed his name “—wouldn’t leave without his hat, even though he’d lost it.” 

“One only gets to wear one’s elf hat every so often,” Sirius justifies, unperturbed. “I wasn’t going to miss the occasion even if it took me all night to find it.” 

“It nearly did,” Lily shoots back, but then James is at her side, having discarded his load of food and presents and now vying to hold Harry. 

“Come here, my handsome little guy.” 

“Used to call me that,” Sirius quips with his mouth full of gingerbread cookies, a heaping plate seeming to have found its way into his lap. 

Remus isn’t going to smile at that poor attempt at a joke, but once you laugh he can’t help it. 

“Only on special occasions,” James replies, taking Harry under the arms and hoisting him into the air. Harry laughs, and it’s probably the most contagious sound Remus has ever heard. Everyone smiles; James most of all, grinning ear to ear as he does it again. 

“He never lets me hold him,” Lily complains fondly. 

“Because I know how much you like seeing me with him,” James says breezily, making a face at Harry above him. “You’re mad with lust right now, Evans, don’t try to deny it.” 

“Sleaze,” Sirius says to him, the bell on his hat jingling when he tilts his head.

“I know you are, but what am I?” 

“I,” Remus cuts them off, “am hungry. And I’ll bet Y/N is too, since she’s very politely refrained from snacking much while we waited for you lot.” 

James' attention actually leaves his son for half a second to look at you and see if what Remus says is true, and you go instantly bashful. It doesn’t seem to matter how long you’re friends with them; having attention drawn to you will always find you avoiding everyone’s eyes. Lily comes to your rescue, ushering you into the kitchen like she needs somewhere to channel her mother hen urges while James is monopolizing Harry. 

“I hope you really are hungry,” she says, “because James has made enough bhaji to feed us all for a month.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Soon even James is stuffed and you’re all a bit tipsy on eggnog. Some of your natural anxiety fades as everything starts to feel slower and more fluid, your insides warm and soft as wax. 

“No, because it was so obvious,” Sirius says. He’s telling a story about a girl he’d seen at a coffee shop that he’s sure was enamored with him. James, naturally, agrees completely, but Lily and Remus aren’t so sure. “She did the—the thing. Y/N, back me up. When a girl makes eye contact with you and then looks off to the side, it means she’s not interested, but when she looks down, it’s because she’s nervous, right?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I think you made that up,” you tell him, tiny bits of laughter running in between your words. “Anyway, is her being nervous necessarily a good thing?” 

“She was nervous because she’s obsessed with me,” Sirius insists. 

“Or,” Remus says, “she was nervous because you were staring at her, and she thought you were going to follow her home.” 

“And probably kill her,” Lily agrees. 

James’ eyebrows shoot up. “Merlin, you two are dark. Our Padfoot’s not putting out murderous vibes. He’s got too much boyish charm.” 

Sirius nods appreciatively, but Lily only shrugs, careful not to jostle Harry where he’s sleeping on her lap. “Girls have to think of those things.” 

“Bleak.” James looks slightly troubled as he kisses the side of his wife’s head. “Well, I think she was in love with you, Pads.”

“Yeah,” Remus rolls his eyes, “he should show up at her house and find out. It’d be romantic.”

“And on that note,” James goes on, ignoring him, “shall we do presents?”

You all agree, and Sirius looks at James with an older brother’s entitlement. “Go ahead and distribute them, Prongsie.” 

James, well used to this, doesn’t even question it, scampering back and forth between the tree (which you can’t help but notice is somewhat lacking in the ornament department but quite sparkly) to deliver your presents at your feet. After a few rounds of this, you can’t stand it anymore and get up to help, laughing through the protests of your remaining three friends. (“He’s got it, love,” Remus says, and Sirius adds, “He’s got energy he needs to run off.”) Between the two of you, the bottom of the Christmas tree is bare within a couple of minutes, small piles of presents next to each of your friends. You go to sit back by the pile meant for you, touched at the fact that you seem to have something from every person there. 

“S’not fair that James and Lily get to do couple’s presents now,” Sirius complains. “I’m going to start buying gifts for you like you’re one person, see how you like it.” 

The biggest pile is obviously for Harry, and you all start there, no small amount of eagerness in James’ expression as he tears open the first box. “The Velveteen Rabbit,” he reads aloud. “Wow, this is kinda hefty for a children’s book.” 

“Who’s it from?” Lily prompts, as if you don’t all already know. 

“Shit, I forgot to check.” 

“And that’s why we read the box,” Lily says, and you get the sense this is a conversation that’s happened more than once, “before we start ripping, love.” 

“It was me,” Remus volunteers, lips pulling into a half-smile. 

“Course it was,” James says, taking a break from sticking his tongue out at his wife to smile at Remus. “Thanks, Moony.” 

“You had the opportunity to get him Goodnight Moon,” Sirius tsks, “and you just let it pass you by.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, but then Lily says, “He already has that one, it’s his favorite,” and you watch as he tries and fails to suppress the shy smile that takes him. It shifts the scars on his cheek and lights his eyes with a warm tenderness. 

He looks especially pretty under the Christmas lights, you think. The warm glow suits him, bringing out the amber in his eyes and richening the various brown shades of his hair. It makes his skin look softer too, smooth even where you know he has stubble around his jawline. You want suddenly to reach out and touch it. You’re glad you’re sitting too far from him to act on the urge. 

You’ve noticed Remus over the years, of course. It’d be impossible not to. You’ve always harbored a tiny crush on him, but you keep it shoved deep down in your gut where it can’t hurt anyone. You think the world of him, but you love your little group of friends more than anything else. You’re not unaware of the fact that Remus is a more crucial fixture in it than you are; if anything happened between you and it made things awkward for everyone, you’d be the one to go. 

“Oh, is this a hat?” Lily pulls something tawny brown from a box, and you realize they’ve gotten to your gift. “Oh my god, it has little antlers!”

You try not to smile too hard as she shows it to James and he coos, taking it from her hands.

“No way, he’ll be like our little Prongsie! I’m going to put it on him.” 

“Don’t wake him,” Lily warns, but James waves her off.

“He can sleep through anything,” he says, settling the baby beanie on Harry’s head. Sure enough, he doesn’t stir. 

“That’s so darling.” Lily presses a hand to her chest. “Y/N, where’d you get this?”

You feel your face heat and hope the lighting is hiding the bashfulness in your smile. “I made it,” you admit. “I know we’re already well into winter, but I hope he can still use it a little.” 

“Um, he’s never taking it off. Like, ever.” James leans around Lily to press a smacking kiss to your cheek. You laugh, trying not to shrink in on yourself from all the attention. “Thanks, love.” 

Once all the cooing over Harry’s presents is done, the rest of the gift opening proceeds with decidedly less fanfare, though no shortage of gratitude. You get a bunch of purple eyeliners from Sirius (you’d complained to him a few weeks ago that they’d stopped selling your old one, and he’d been thoughtful enough to find you options to help decide upon new one), a cookbook from James and Lily (“Now you can stop eating all those frozen meals,” James tells you with a meaningful look), and a set of mittens from Remus (“They’re alpaca,” he explains. “Supposed to be extra warm, and your hands are always freezing.”). The rest of your gifts are received happily too, and then Remus’ living room is covered with the wrapping paper Lily had tried but eventually given up on getting everyone to put in piles as they went and you’re all starting to yawn. 

“Alright,” Lily says after a while, “it’s well past Harry’s bedtime, and ours, and I’m sure Remus would like his flat back.” 

“Booo.” Sirius lays back on the couch, letting his head loll over the edge of the armrest. “Domestic life has made you lame, Evans-Potter.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” James drawls, gathering Harry against his chest, “I saw you yawning, Pads. Let’s go.” 

You stand with the rest of them, going to find your shoes by the door. “Thanks for everything, Remus,” you say. “It was great.” 

“For a first time hosting,” James allows, jokingly prideful, “I suppose you did a pretty decent job. Big shoes to fill, and all that.” 

Remus smiles, but it falters when his gaze settles on something behind you. “Are you all going to be alright getting home? It looks like it’s really picked up.” 

You follow his stare out the window. He’s not wrong. The unusually thick snowfall you’d arrived in has morphed into something that looks more like a blizzard, the wind whipping white across the black backdrop of sky outside Remus’ flat. 

James looks between the scene outside and his family once before seeming to make a decision. “Yeah, we’ll be alright,” he says, watching Lily as he talks. She nods her approval, and James’ voice becomes more solid. “We don’t have far to drive.”

Remus nods, still looking worried. His brows furrow as he turns to you. “What about you? Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” It’s the only answer in these situations, though you’re sure Remus would be alright with the alternative if you felt very strongly. “It doesn’t look too bad out there.” 

Remus casts another dubious glance out the window, and a particularly loud gust of wind whooshes past as if to spite you. “Are you sure? It looks fairly bad to me.” 

“Yeah,” James says, “don’t you live rather far?”

“It’s not that far,” you fib, at the same time as Remus says, “She does.” 

You laugh awkwardly, pulling on your coat “It’s not. Anyway, I’ve driven in a lot worse than this.”

Lily gives you a small smile. “That’s hardly reassuring.”

“You can stay here,” Remus offers, but you’re shaking your head before he’s even gotten the words out. 

“That’s sweet of you, but I can make it home.” You give him your most competent smile. “If I end up driving off the road and have to camp in my car, at least I’ll have fantastic mittens to keep the frostbite from my hands.” 

He gives you a deadpan look. “While I’m glad you’re excited to use my gift, I’d rather if it didn’t come to that.”

“You can’t get in a crash and die on Christmas,” Sirius says. “It’d be, like, a massive downer for us every year.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you insist. 

“Babe, I don’t care if we have to lock you in here,” James says, frowning in a way that doesn’t look particularly formidable when he’s swaying back and forth to rock Harry on his chest. “There’s no way you can drive all the way to your place in this.” 

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, wrapping your scarf.

“Okay, you know I would never usually say this,” Lily says, gnawing on her lip as she watches the snow blow past outside, “but I think you should listen to the boys. It looks too scary out there to drive that far.” 

“It’s…” You look between them, your argument dying of fruitlessly on your tongue. James seems prepared to blockade you inside Remus’ flat, and even Lily’s giving you a stern look. Your gaze lands on Remus, and the last of your resistance melts away.

“You really should stay here,” he says kindly. “Actually, I’d feel a lot better if you did. Okay?”

You sigh, slipping your scarf back over your head. “Okay.” 

“Phew!” Sirius says, pulling you into a one-armed hug. “Glad that’s settled. See you all soon, thanks for Christmas Moony!” 

“He’s so tired,” Lily says after Sirius is out the door. 

“Wiped,” James agrees, adjusting his grip on Harry so that he can wrap one arm around Remus’ neck. Remus leans down into the awkward hug, begrudgingly fond as he pats his friend on the back, then kisses Lily on the cheek when James moves to you. 

“Thanks for the gifts,” James says, grinning down at Harry’s knit antlers after he releases you. “He’s never taking this off.” 

“He means it.” Lily sends her husband a look as fond as it is weary as she hugs you. “I’ll probably have to bathe Harry while James is asleep so he doesn’t catch him without it.” 

Your face is feeling hot again. “I’m glad you like it,” you say with a little shrug, but your friends are used to your shyness and only smile and wave on their way out. 

And then the door shuts, and you and Remus are left alone in the quiet. 

“Are you tired?” he asks you, moving back into the living room. Lily had sneakily taken care of a good deal of the cleanup, but there’s still a few half-empty glasses of eggnog strewn about which Remus begins gathering. 

“Not really,” you answer honestly, beating him to the sink and forcing him to hand you the glasses to wash. “Are you?”

“No,” he agrees. The look he shoots you has to be the gentlest form malice has ever taken as he takes up the dish towel and stations himself beside you. “Fancy a film?”

“Mm, a Christmas film?”

“Obviously.” 

The dishes are finished quickly thanks to Lily’s interference, and Remus makes you some hot cocoa while you scroll through movies, calling out possibilities. The only conflict between you is your equal complaisance to whatever the other prefers, and you eventually settle on the first one you’d seen just to put an end to it. You take your cocoa gladly when Remus passes it to you, blowing gently while he settles a blanket over the both of you. Your knees are curled towards him and he has one leg crossed over the other, angling him towards you. 

The first few minutes of the film are spent in that contented quietude that the two of you so often fall into when you’re alone together, but then Remus asks you, “What is it?”

You look over at him. “Hm?”

“You’re frowning.”

“Oh.” You laugh. “I’m just thinking about snow.” 

His lips quirk. “It is kind of the bane of your existence tonight, isn’t it?”

“No.” You smile down at your hands, hoping it's not obvious how not unpleasant you find your circumstances at the moment. “That’s not it. I was thinking, I kind of hate how it always has to snow in these movies. It makes any Christmas where it doesn’t snow feel like it’s not up to par. Or not quintessential enough, or something.”

“Mm, I see.” Remus looks back to the screen, considering. “Does that make this your quintessential Christmas, then? Are we living up to the movie standard?”

You watch him while he watches the TV, blue light cast over his handsome features. “I guess so,” you say.

The longer you sit there, the closer you get. You blame it on the late hour, your bodies relaxing towards each other on the couch. Remus’ arm brushes yours when he lifts his mug for a sip, and your knees dig into his thigh under the blanket. Soon you’ve drooped enough that you’re leaning nearly entirely against him. You don’t notice until Remus puts an arm around you to encourage your head to his shoulder. You tense but don’t sit up, and eventually his head comes to rest atop yours. 

“Are you crying?” he murmurs during a scene near the end. 

Your reply is equally soft, not wanting to jostle either Remus’ head or his shoulder with your speech movements. “I really like this part.” 

“You know how it ends. It’s going to be okay.” 

“I know.” You sniffle, bringing a hand up to wipe your face now that you’ve been caught. “I know it is. It’s just really profound.” 

“Sure it is.”

“It’s the spirit of Christmas, Remus. Goodwill to man.” 

“Okay.” He rubs your shoulder, and you pretend not to feel his shaking with quiet laughter. “Okay, I agree with you.” 

A while later: “You’re tired,” he accuses.

You hum a denial.

“Sweetheart” —your stomach flutters, and there’s a jolt somewhere behind your ribcage; you ignore it— “you’re practically falling asleep right here.”

“Are you tired?” 

He shifts slightly, stubble tickling your forehead. “No. But you are.” 

“I want to finish the movie.” 

He seems to debate this for a moment, then his shoulder relaxes beneath you. “Alright.” 

Soon the credits start. Neither of you move. 

You let your head slump more heavily onto his shoulder. “Your place really does look lovely. Thanks for having me.”

“Of course, love.” You can feel his smile squish up against the top of your head. “Would you go so far as to say my hosting measures up to James’?”

You chuckle, gesturing to yourself. “I’d say you’ve gone above and beyond, for sure.” 

Remus laughs too. “Perfect. Tell him so, would you?”

You’re going to agree when a great yawn takes you. You keep it quiet, but there’s no avoiding the way your chin digs into Remus’ shoulder, your shoulders rising with the prolonged inhale. He moves away from you. 

“Ready for bed?” He smiles down at you as you run a knuckle under your eyes, collecting tears from your lashes. 

You shrug an admittance. “Sort of. But I don’t want to kick you out of your own living room if you’re not tired yet.”

“No, I’m pretty wiped too,” he says. “Anyway, I’m the one kicking you out. You’re staying in my room.” 

You had a feeling he would say something like that. You grab a throw pillow, getting situated with your head near the armrest. “No, I’m not.” 

His laugh is disbelieving. “Yeah, you are. You’re my guest, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.” 

You tug the blanket off his lap, curling up with your pillow stubbornly. “I’m not going to steal your bed. You’ve already done so much. You’ve helped me try gingerbread cookies and given me nice mittens and hosted an amazing Christmas. Let me sleep on your couch, please.” 

“While I appreciate all that,” he says, “no.” 

“Remus.” You’re near pleading at this point. “Your back will hurt.”

“Your back will hurt.” 

“Not as badly as yours.” You give him a hard look. “I’m not taking your bed.” 

There’s a brief silence, terser than your usual ones but no more awkward for it. You stare each other down. 

“Right,” Remus says, reclaiming the remote from where he’d set it on the coffee table. “I suppose we’d better start another movie, then.”

“Remus, come on.” You sit up, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. “You’ve just said you’re tired. Go to bed, please.”

The TV flickers back on. “I’m not leaving this couch.” 

“Well, neither am I,” you laugh, completely serious. 

He rolls his eyes, then snuggles up to you under the blanket. You take this as a sign that he’s not really very cross with you.

“You’re much more argumentative than usual tonight, you know that?”

You huff, laying your head back on his shoulder. “I could say the same about you.” 

“True, but I know I’ll win out in the end.” 

“You can think that if you like.” 

“Want to watch this one next?”

“Sure.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus watches as your eyes drift closed, then twitch back open, over and over again. He thinks his bony shoulder is the only thing keeping you from falling over the precipice of sleep. If he were James Potter, he’d simply pick you up with ease and carry you to his bed, but Remus can’t say he’s entirely sorry for this extra time with you, even if neither of you are awake enough to make much conversation.

Silly as it sounds, he enjoys just sitting here with you nearly as much as talking. Your cheek squished into his shoulder, your legs curled up atop his. You’re warm and weighty against him. 

He should have known it would be a hopeless endeavor trying to get you to agree to take the bed. You’re a gentle thing by nature, but stubborn in your selflessness. Even if you had gone, Remus knows he wouldn’t have slept all night anyway, too preoccupied with thoughts of you all wrapped up in his sheets, your face pressed to his pillow, getting your shampoo smell on the pillowcase. He doesn’t know if it smells like him (does he have a smell?), but he would have wondered all night if it does, if you were noticing. 

Your head nearly rolls off his shoulder, and a pitying sound escapes Remus when you jerk awake to set it right. He lets his head rest on yours so it doesn’t happen again. Your eyelids droop closed almost immediately, and Remus begins dragging his thumb across your shoulder blade, a nice, slow back-and-forth. You’re quiet for a long while. 

“Are you trying to put me to sleep?” you murmur, words all sloshed together. 

It’s a conscious effort not to let his thumb slow. “No,” he says. 

You hum. 

“Unless you mean it’s working.” 

Another long silence. “It’s not,” you reply, head growing heavier on his shoulder.  

He chuckles. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed, hm?” 

“You go to bed,” you mumble, and if he thought you were capable of it he’d say there was some bitterness lining your words. 

Remus sighs. “You’re too nice for your own good,” he tells you. 

“No,” you reply, softly, plainly, like it’s a fact, “that’s you.” 

He picks his head up off of yours to see your face. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm.” Your eyes are closed. You don’t know he’s looking. Your face is wholly relaxed, no hint of pretense about you. “You’re the best I know.” 

Something warm and wheedling works its way through Remus’ ribs to the soft gooey core of him.

“Well,” he tells you honestly, “you’re the best I know.”

You seem unconcerned. “Another impasse for us.” 

He actually laughs at that, instantly guilty when it jostles you on his shoulder and your eyelids peel apart. He can’t regret it, though, when you look at him the way you do. You’re glowing in the light coming off the tree, soft and warm and lovely, and yet you’re looking at him like he’s the only place your eyes want to go. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

You come gradually more awake, eyebrows twitching towards each other just slightly. “Remus,” you murmur, and he finally does what he’s been wanting to since you’d shown up at his door hours ago. He kisses you. 

Your lips are pliable, parting for his almost instantly, like you’d been waiting. His hand coasts from your shoulder to cup the back of your head, keeping you close as your nose slides against his. You both all but fall back onto the bed you’d made yourself on the couch. He’s careful not to put too much of his weight on you, but when his tongue brushes across the inside of your lip and you inhale, he draws back. 

“I...” He pants into the space between you. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

You make a sound that’s half hum, half whine, and bump your chin up into his. 

Remus loses himself again with frightening quickness. It’s even better now that you seem more sure, your mouth asking, coaxing against his. You taste like gingerbread. A low, embarrassing sound pries free from the back of his throat when you wind your fingers into the hair at his nape, and he slips his free hand beneath your back, getting as close to you as he can. Your legs make room for him automatically, knees tipping open so he can slot between them.

“Do you—” you breathe when his attentions move downward, tilting your head to the side to grant access as he mouths at the skin just under your jaw. “Do you want this?” 

The word leaves him in a soft exhale, muffled against your skin. “Yes.”

You swallow. He feels the movement in your throat. “Are you sure?”

His eyelashes brush your jaw as his kisses slow, become more tender, more intentional. “Lovely girl,” he murmurs. “You’re silly, you know that?” His mouth meanders it’s way over to your pulse, getting stuck there and sucking at your skin lazily. “I mean, you’re smart.” The words are all mushed up against you. Noticeably amused. Remus quit the eggnog hours ago, yet he feels half drunk. “You’re really smart, honey, but you can be so oblivious sometimes.” 

You don’t respond, and as much as he loves the sound of your voice, he’s hoping your silence is in his favor right now. He wants you wrapped up in him, wants to engross you so completely you forget how to form your lips around speech. 

“Do you want to move to my room?” 

You take a breath. Fuck, even the sound of you breathing is nearly enough to undo him. He moves back to your mouth as if to intercept it, nipping at your lower lip. 

“Is this a ploy to get me off the couch?” 

“You’re relentless.”

Your lips curve against his, and he mirrors them without thinking. You stay quiet.

“Fine. I promise it’s not, okay?” 

Your laugh is fizzy like champagne, and it warms Remus’ chest like it too. “Okay,” you say in that lovely voice. “Okay, let’s go.” 

❆ ❆ ❆

You always thought Remus was all softness. He’s made up of soft looks, soft colors, and hair that you can now confirm is soft as dandelion fluff. But this night has defied your expectations in a thousand ways. And your Remus, soft, gentle, kindhearted Remus, is scraping at your throat with his teeth. 

You have to suck your lip between your teeth to keep from making a humiliatingly desperate sound when he passes his tongue over his work, another crescent moon that’s sure to be purple by morning. Your hands are beseeching in his dandelion fluff hair, keeping him close while his hands are busy lower, one gripping the fat of your hip while the other drags tantalizingly slow up and down your side. He’s kissing you like you have all the time in the world, sometimes rough but no more urgent for it, and you’re breathy and molten and useless beneath him. 

You’re brimming with adoration and something else too. Something that you think you could almost identify—you’ve felt it before, but never like this. 

“What do you want to do?” There’s a raspy quality to Remus’ voice that would send you to your knees if he hadn’t already taken them out from under you. He dots leisurely, open-mouthed kisses up the column of your throat, soothing over spots he’s already nipped and sucked into oblivion. Your head feels fuzzy. “Sweetheart?” 

Christ, is he trying to send you into cardiac arrest? Remus doesn’t stop kissing you even at your silence, finding your lip still held between your teeth and encouraging it free with his own. You try to remember what he’d asked you. What do you want to do? You have no idea. Where would you even start? You want him to keep talking to you in that raspy voice, that’s for sure. You want…you want to keep kissing him, to know what his hands would do if you let them beneath your clothes. You want to keep investigating this warm feeling in your gut. See where it takes you. 

Remus’ kisses slow, then stop. He pulls back to look at you. In the dim street light coming in through the window, you wonder what he sees.

“You alright?” His voice is soft, gentle, saying it’s okay if you’re not without saying it. 

You take a breath. It shakes a little on the way out, but you don’t think he can tell. “Yeah, I’m good. Just nervous. But not in a bad way.” Nervous-happy. 

“Don’t be,” he implores, lips brushing your cheek. “It’s only me.”

Exactly, you think. It’s you. 

“What do you want to do?” You turn his own question back on him. 

His smile is tinged with bashfulness. “I mean, whatever you’re alright with.” There’s a tentative quietness to his voice. “Have you…”

If it were possible for you to get any warmer, embarrassment would do it. “No,” you say, shrinking away from him though there’s nowhere to go. Whatever the end to that question might be, the answer is no. 

“That’s okay,” he says quickly, dropping another kiss on the corner of your mouth like a cure-all remedy. “That’s okay, you just tell me if you want to stop, yeah? If you don’t like something, or you want to slow down—anything at all, you let me know.” He kisses you again, further up on your burning cheek. “Okay?” 

You swallow. “Okay.” 

“Don’t be nervous.” He says it like a promise, hand stroking your side again as if to soothe you. His lips find your shoulder, nosing the fabric of your sleeve. “Can I take this off, lovely?” 

You nod, words all stoppered up in your throat, then realize he can’t see you and do it yourself. He has to pause as it comes off, taking the opportunity to do away with his own sweater. He tosses it onto the floor beside the bed. You do the same, and your bra quickly follows. You’d always thought (largely influenced, admittedly, by trashy novels) that this was the part where the guy stops what he’s doing and openly oggles the shirtless woman in front of him, but Remus has seen tits before and wastes no time in getting his mouth back on yours, pressing you into the mattress.

His skin is as heated as yours, the areas where you touch deliciously warm despite the cold still whipping past his bedroom window. You allow yourself one sweeping, appreciative pass over the muscles on Remus’ back before your hands go to your bottoms, shimmying them down your legs. A long-fingered hand finds the exposed skin of your thigh and kneads reverently. You swallow Remus’ groan. He kisses you more deeply, long, savoring passes of his tongue along the inside of your mouth until his lips move downward. 

One hand stays at your hip while the other strokes up and down your thigh, spit cooling in a path down your stomach. You try to relax as he passes your navel, but the anticipation is hard to shake. You’re nearly trembling when he kneels between your legs, kissing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

“Is this okay?” he murmurs. 

It’s all you can do to nod, gasping when his teeth drag over one of the stretch marks there. You clutch at the sheets above your head like a lifeline. 

“We can stop anytime you want.” 

You inhale raggedly. “No,” you manage. Your breathlessness is obvious in the quiet room. “I want—I want to keep going.” You pause. “Do you?”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, love, that sounds good to me.” 

Good, you’re about to say, but Remus’ next kiss lands on your slit, and your voice withers and dies in your throat. He uses a hand to push one of your legs out further while bringing the other over his shoulder, spreading you open. His breath fans hot over your cunt.

You’re writhing at the first broad stroke of his tongue. He wraps his fingers around the outside of your thigh, keeping you still while placating you at the same time. 

Remus takes his time, lapping experimentally at your entrance before making his way upwards. You gasp as his tongue skims over your clit, burrowing your hand in his hair before hesitating. 

“Is this okay?” you ask. 

His hummed assent has you tightening your grasp. He brushes over your clit one more time, and when this gets a similar reaction from you, begins sucking on it gently. You’re panting, and Remus has to move his grip to your hip to hold you in place, squeezing indulgently at the fat there while he narrows in on what you like. Before long you’re trembling all over, tugging feebly at his hair as you squeeze your eyes shut against the odd sort of bliss that’s taking you under. 

“Remus,” you breathe, and it’s a miracle that he hears you but he does, raising his head with a lewd suctioning sound. 

Remus looks at you questioningly with eyes almost all pupil. 

“Come here,” you plead. 

He obeys, crawling back up you to peck at your bitten lips. “Doing alright?” he asks you.

“Yeah,” you promise. You cup his head in one hand and wrap your leg over the back of his as if to prevent him from leaving. “Just wanted to kiss you.” 

You feel him smile against your lips. He slots his mouth over yours, and you dedicate yourself to his top lip. He tastes like sex, braver now as he explores your mouth. He drags your bottom lip between his teeth, and you make a high, breathy sound. His grip on you tightens. 

“Do you think—can we—”

He hesitates, kissing softly at the corner of your lips. “Are you sure?” 

“I want to. Do you?” 

Remus actually laughs, muffling the sound against your cheek. “Yeah, I fucking want to. I’ve wanted to forever.” 

You can’t think about that. Think about that and you’ll fall to pieces. 

He noses affectionately at the underside of your jaw, slipping down you once again to stand at the end of the bed. He steps out of his pants and grabs a condom from the drawer of his nightstand. “You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like, yeah?” 

“Mhm,” you promise, anticipation coiling up snugly with that other thing in your stomach. They don’t feel all that distinct from one another. 

“Alright,” he says, palm slipping under your thigh. “Can I lift this up, love?” 

You nod, and he grasps the soft underside of your knee, bringing your leg up to your stomach as he lines up. You gasp as he pushes in slowly, watching your face to make sure you’re doing okay. You’re already slick and worked open from his mouth, but it’s still a bit shocking.

His thumb strokes beside your knee as your walls adjust to the size of him. “How’s that feel?” 

“Good,” you say honestly. There’s a note of desperation to your voice. “I can—more, please.” 

He’s quick to accommodate you, pushing deeper as he folds himself over you to recapture your lips. Your breaths shallow. His free hand moves to your breast, kneading gently at the soft flesh. He gives it a firm squeeze at the same time as he moves inside you, and you nearly bite Remus’ lip off, a half-suppressed keening sound escaping you. 

“So good,” he mumbles. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Taking it so well.” He lifts his head, kissing your temple. “Think you can handle a bit more?” 

Your response is barely more than breath, but he catches the affirmation, pressing another firm kiss to your forehead before he bottoms out inside of you. Your head lolls back, fuzzy with the strange pain and even stranger pleasure. Remus tightens his grip on your leg to keep it up, dotting kisses down the side of your face. 

“Good girl,” he says hoarsely. “Still doing okay, lovely?” 

“Yeah,” you say, somewhat dizzy. “Remus, it feels so good.” 

“Good,” he croons. “It should feel good, love. Ready for me to move?”

“Mhm.”

He pulls out slowly, dragging against your sensitive walls. He starts mouthing at your neck again before he pushes back inside you, filling you up all over again. A slew of expletives roll out of your mouth, unbidden and entirely unlike you, as Remus begins pumping your breast again, the rhythm matching that of his thrusts. He sucks the flesh of your neck between his teeth, and you bite down hard on your lower lip to repress what promises to be a high-pitched and deeply mortifying sound. 

Remus praises you amply, soft kisses and reverent touches and a raspy “Fuck, sweetheart, just like that.” Your head floats or swims or both, your body tensed all over and yet completely plaint to Remus’ touch. He moves back to your mouth, discovering your bottom lip held captive between your teeth. 

“Come, don’t do that,” he chides, easing it free with gentle kisses. “Let me hear you, bet you sound so pretty.” 

The Welsh accent that’s grown faint after years of living away from home is emerging now, as is the crude vocabulary it's tied to in memory, a host of barely comprehensible profanities spewing from Remus’ lips when you clench on him again. His grip tightens on your tit, and a moan tears from the back of your throat. 

“That’s it,” he praises, head dipping to kiss the soft spot he’s found underneath your ear. “There you are, lovely girl.” 

The coil in your core grows impossibly tighter, your thighs quivering as you approach a peak you’ve never known before. Remus feels it, cooing softly even as he drives into you harder.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart?” You nod dazedly. “Good, good, just let it happen, I’ve got you.” 

“Come here,” you demand again. He wastes no time in obliging you.

He kisses your lips sore as you dig your nails into his shoulders, pulling his body flush against yours, the feeling inside you growing so great you don’t know where to put it, don’t know if you can contain it. You can’t remember ever feeling this close to someone, Remus’ touch the only thing keeping you from hurtling off some unknown precipice.

“Let go,” he urges, and you do. You trust him to catch you. 

It’s bliss like you’ve never known. You cry out, and Remus’ hand slides down from your breast to spread wide and flat against your ribs. Steadying. He kisses soothingly at your jaw as you gasp and pant your way back to him, grip slackening on his shoulders. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, though you really haven’t done much at all. 

“Are you—” You swallow, choking on the emotion that’s risen unbidden in your throat. “Are you close?” 

Remus smiles, coming back to your lips like he can’t help himself. He pecks you once, twice. “Sweetheart, I’m more than close. I’ve barely been holding myself together since you kissed me.” 

Well, he’d actually kissed you, but you’ll take the compliment anyway. 

“Do you think you’ll be alright if I move again?” he asks. “It’s alright if not.” 

“You can,” you say, leaning up on your elbows to see him better. “Is there…anything I can do to help?”

The smile fades from Remus’ face, leaving something far more tender in its wake. “Just, keep looking at me like that?” He says it almost like he’s embarrassed, voice quiet with supplication. 

You want to tell him you’d never needed asking to look at him, but you don’t, keeping your eyes on his obediently as he pumps into you. He really must have been close, because he’s cursing again not long after, accent twisting his syllables with a gruff pleasure. Your walls contract at the movement, still sensitive, and that’s all it takes. Remus digs his fingers into your waist and makes sounds you’re sure you’ll dream about, panting, breathy moans you sit up to smother against your lips. He follows you back down onto the mattress, mouth slotted against your own. You hold him to you until his breaths even and his grip on you loosens. 

“Was that alright?” he asks, some of the rasp still lingering in his voice. 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, dizzy with affection. “Yeah, it was good,” you promise him. Understatement of the year. “Really good, Rem.” 

“Good,” he echoes, lips brushing the skin under your eye. You don’t know how you know, but you can feel the amusement building in him just before he asks, “Tired yet?”

You guffaw. The force of it jostles him on top of you, and his lips curve against your cheek.

“A little bit, yeah.”

Actually, you hadn’t realized how exhausting sex would be. If it didn’t mean having to take your eyes off Remus, you’d have closed them and passed out by now. 

“Good,” he says again, hands sliding down your waist as he moves to stand again. You make a small sound as he shifts, and Remus shushes you, slipping out from inside you. You watch fascinatedly as he removes the condom, sticky with cum. He tosses it in the wastebasket under his desk and walks away from you.

“Hey,” you protest. “You’d better not be sneaking off to sleep on the couch.” 

His chuckle echoes in the bathroom, followed by the sound of a cabinet opening. “So mistrustful,” he says when he comes back in with a damp towel. “What’ve I done to arouse such suspicion?” 

Your fuzzy brain gets stuck on the word arouse in his teasing tone, and it takes you a second to answer. “Well, I’m here and a blink away from falling asleep, so you tell me.” 

“Fair enough.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, taking your thigh in his grasp to move it aside. “Alright if I clean you up, love?” 

You startle, coming up on your elbows to see where Remus is holding the towel between your legs. “I didn’t realize it’d be so messy,” you admit. “You don’t have to, though, I can do it myself.” 

“I don’t mind,” he says, thumb soothing over your knee. “S’my mess anyway.” He seems to have not quite agreed with himself to say that last part aloud, a blush spreading over his cheeks. 

“Sure,” you say, mostly to alleviate his embarrassment. You let your weight lean more heavily on your elbows, trying your best to look relaxed. “Sure, if you’re alright with it.” 

“Might be a bit sensitive,” he warns. You’d guessed as much, but it's worth it for all the praises he rains down upon you as he works, finishing with a kiss to the side of your knee. 

You miss him humiliatingly when he goes to the bathroom again to discard the towel. It’s all you can do not to reach for him when he comes back, but luckily Remus reads your mind anyway, slipping under the covers and tugging you to him until his lips rest against your forehead. 

“That was really great,” you tell him. 

“I thought so too.” 

“You’ll stay here, right?” 

A low laugh. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m staying here.” 

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus hasn’t known anyone to sleep in longer than Sirius, but you seem to be vying for his title. The sun has long since passed above his windows when Remus wakes, and still he has time to spend idle hours marveling at the closeness of you. His nose is cold above the covers, but everywhere your bodies are pressed together is warm, your palm flat against his chest and one of your legs wormed between his own. Your fingers twitch as you dream. 

It has to be early afternoon by the time he rises, slipping his hand carefully from beneath you and plodding into the kitchen. The blanket is still on the couch where you left it, throw pillow creased with your indentation. Your mugs are discarded on the coffee table with globs of once-hot cocoa stuck to the bottom. Bright light refracts off the snow outside and into his kitchen, making everything look shiny new. 

Remus puts on the kettle first, letting that warm up while he rifles through the cabinets for his big mixing bowl and starts whisking together ingredients. A bird chirps outside as the kettle gurgles, and somehow the peace of Remus’ kitchen feels more complete knowing that you’re sleeping just down the hall. 

Until, apparently, you’re not. Your footsteps are so silent he startles when you appear, still blinking yourself awake as you cross your arms over the sweater you’ve thrown on with your bottoms from the night before. Remus’ sweater. And Remus had thought he’d come to terms with the idea of you here, in his apartment like the best Christmas gift of all time, but apparently not, because his heart stutters and stops at the sight of you. 

He’d thought you’d looked adorable in the soft glow of the Christmas lights the night before, and again tucked into his sheets this morning, but you’re almost ethereal now. Sunlight bathes the planes of your face and gleams off your hair, making you appear almost like you’re emanating the bright light rather than standing in it. You smile at him, seraphim. 

“Morning. Sorry I didn’t ask,” you say, fingering the hem of Remus’ sweater. “I was cold and you were gone, I hope you don’t mind.” 

Mind? Remus can’t even think. 

“Course not,” he manages, but just barely. It’s more an exhale than a statement. “Did you sleep alright?” 

“Really well,” you say. His sleeves cover your fingers as you rest your elbows on the counter, and your gaze has gone a bit shy again, but Remus can hardly blame you. You both seemed to have experienced unusual nerve the night before. He only hopes you aren’t regretting your part in it. And now that he’s had some time to think, he hopes even more that you’d truly wanted it in the first place. “Did you?” 

“Yeah, thanks.”

You lean a bit closer in a way that he doubts either of you are even slightly unaware of, peering into the mixing bowl. “What’re you making?” 

“I’m experimenting,” he says, though he wishes now he weren’t. He wanted to make you something good, but his confidence in his adaptation is waning now that you’re in the room. He should have gone with something basic, tried-and-true. “Or, I’m attempting. Gingerbread pancakes?” 

His voice crawls up into a question, as if he really has no idea what it is he’s trying to make (maybe that’s closer to the truth), but Remus’ regrets vanish instantly at the genuine elation that lights your expression. 

“Really?” 

A laugh startles out of him, giddy. “Yeah, does that sound alright?” 

“More than alright,” you declare with full seriousness, seating yourself at the bar counter. “That sounds amazing, Rem, thank you. Merlin, I owe you so big for all of this.” 

“I think you’ve more than made it up to me.” It slips out without permission, Remus too high on the flow of your conversation to filter the words through his brain before they reach his mouth. His loathsome, traitorous mouth. “I mean, I’m sorry—fuck, that sounds awful—I only meant that I’ve had a really good time with you here. I’m glad you stayed.” 

Your eyes have widened. Remus expects his face is about five shades pinker than normal. 

“Not that I’m only glad because of—or, I’m always glad to have you. As a friend, too.” 

There’s a tiny pinch in your features, gone before he can diagnose it. Somehow, you seem even more uncomfortable. “Right.” You give him a thin smile. It’s a hearty attempt, but you’re too genuine a soul to fake it. Remus hates himself for it. “As a friend.” 

They’re his own words, but hearing them from your mouth and with that piss-poor smile feels like having a fire poker jammed between his ribs. 

With his track record this morning, Remus really should be taking a vow of silence, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “Just friends, then?” Hesitance makes his voice sound quiet even in the silent kitchen. He looks down, stirring the batter to avoid watching the answer take form on your face. 

“I mean,” your tone is a match to his, “is that what you want?” 

A short, soft laugh escapes him. “I think I made what I want fairly clear last night.” 

There’s a short silence. “I thought I did, too.” 

It’s a conscious effort to keep stirring. Had you? Remus had kissed you, he’d brought you to his room, he’d been the one to ask if you wanted to do more. And you’d been game for it all, sure, but he can’t help but wonder if you were just going along with him. If maybe you’d thought it was just a fuck, something to pass the time while you were both snowed in, no strings attached. Remus could understand that. He could disentangle the strings from last night if it’s what you want. But he’s liked you for years. He could love you oh so easily. He’s practically teetering on the edge of it already, though you’ve only been friends all this time. 

Remus spoons some batter into a waiting pan on the stove. He’s debating asking what exactly it is that you thought you’d made clear when you speak again. 

“I understand if it’s too much for you.” Your voice is quiet. He looks up, and your shoulders are hunched as if you’re trying to hide yourself. You shrink further under his gaze. “We can stay just friends if it’s…if that’s what you want. I want whatever’s easier for you.” Your next words are so impossibly soft, Remus has to strain to hear them over the low sizzling of the pancake batter. “I really want you to stay in my life.” 

“What?” It’s a staccato, loud enough that it surprises you both, Remus stepping toward you while you nearly flinch back. “Sorry.” His hand goes up, reaching into the space between you as if he can soothe you from feet away. He lowers his volume. “Sorry, I just—I didn’t realize that was even on the table. I would never want to not be in your life.” 

“I just mean that I don’t want to make things weird for you, or for everyone else—”

“Hey.” He manages to cross the distance this time, his hand landing on your wrist atop the counter. Remus isn’t sure why he needs it there so desperately, but he suddenly feels much better. “There is nothing that could make any of us not want to be friends with you. I can speak for everyone in that regard. Okay?” 

You look at him consideringly for a moment. Remus holds your stare, letting you see his certainty.

“Okay,” you echo, sounding unsure. He’ll deal with that later, he decides.

“Okay,” he says once more, and it’d almost be firm if it weren’t so gentled by the tenderness he can never seem to get rid of around you. Even so, what he says next doesn’t sound particularly tender. It’s not very kind to you, he knows, but Remus is selfish, and he feels (selfishly) like he’s done his part already. He tries to phrase it as nicely as he can. “Can you tell me what it is that you want, please?” 

You try to shrink again, and Remus’ grip tightens on your wrist instinctually as if to keep you from running off. He swipes his thumb over your skin apologetically.

“Remus, come on.” You sound almost upset, but it’s hard to tell with your voice so quiet. “I know I’m not that good at—at covering myself up. I must have hearts in my eyes half the time I look at you.” 

Remus would give a month’s rent to know what you can see in his eyes right now. Even if he’d been hoping for an answer something like that, he hadn’t expected it. And for you to act like it’s been obvious…he does his best to think back. 

You’ve always been a shy thing. It had taken James months to get you to be remotely yourself around them, and though you’d seemed to warm to Remus first, you’d always retained some of your bashfulness when you were alone together. He’d chalked it up to the result of two people, quiet by nature, with no wildly extroverted James or Sirius or Lily to run interference. 

You’ve always been kind to him, but you’re kind to everyone. How is anyone supposed to suspect favoritism from a soul as indiscriminately sweet as yours? 

He recalls your voice last night, thin and reedy and fragile as the cattails that had bordered the creek behind his house as a kid. Wary of getting swept along by the current, but willing to go if Remus would take you. Do you want this?

He’d called you oblivious for asking. How could you wonder, when he’d been the one to kiss you and has probably been looking like he wanted to for years? He’s certainly been thinking about it for as long. But perhaps your obliviousness is another congruity between the two of you. 

So much for opposites attract. 

“I think I’m an idiot,” he says, and mercifully, a smile far more real than the last sneaks onto your face. 

“You are not,” you reply, ever forgiving. 

“Don’t tell Sirius,” he warns, “but I really think I am.” His voice drops to a more earnest register. “I had no idea, love, I’m sorry. Maybe you’re better at hiding things than you thought. But if you don’t want to be friends, I don’t want to either.” Remus hesitates. “Or, I always want to be your friend, just—”

“Remus?” 

Finally. Someone needs to stop him. “Yeah?” 

“Your pancake…”

He turns to find a thin spire of smoke rising from the pan. “Oh, fuck.” He grabs a spatula and quickly flips the pancake, but there’s no saving it. The bottom side is completely blackened. It’s inedible. “Sorry, I…I’m not sure I have enough batter for much more.” 

“It’s fine.” There’s laughter in your tone, and that’s more than enough to make up for it. “It was a really sweet thought, that’s what matters anyway.” 

Remus turns to find you’ve slipped out of your seat and are standing uncertainly on the threshold of the kitchen. His heart warms with incandescent, aching fondness. 

“Would you come here?” he asks. 

You comply with an eagerness he wonders how he’s never noticed before, stepping forward to let him fold you into his arms. Your wrists cross over his mid back and the tip of his nose mushes into your hair as he touches his lips to the top of your head. He can’t believe he could have been holding you like this all along if only he hadn’t been so thick. He supposes he’ll have to make up for it now. 

“Let’s do away with asking about want, does that sound alright?” He rubs lightly between your shoulder blades, wonders if you like the feel of his breath on your forehead. “How about you tell me if anything comes up that you don’t want, and I’ll do the same.”

“Yeah.” Remus knows he likes the feel of your voice on his skin, your chin moving against his chest. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

“Good.” He smiles, pressing another kiss to your head. “Okay, should we venture out to find something for breakfast? Or lunch, I suppose it is by now.” 

You ease out of his arms. “I really should go home.” There’s an apology already embedded in your tone, but you add one anyway. “Sorry, but my cat’s been there all night by herself, so…”

“Right.” Remus ignores the dull throb behind his sternum, which is really a bit dramatic. He’ll see you soon, surely. “Yeah, that makes sense. Think you’ll be able to drive?” 

“I mean, I looked outside.” You shrug, backing towards where you’d hung your coat the night before. “The roads here are cleared, which I hope means they’ve gotten to most of them already.” 

“That’s good,” he says, though he feels the opposite. Your poor cat, he’s pitted completely against her now. She’s done nothing to deserve the resentment he’s directing at her, almost petulant in his malcontent. “Good, good.” 

You’re both silent as you put on your shoes, your scarf. It’s not unusual for the two of you, but it lacks its usual easy contentedness. Your eyes flit up as you pull on your new gloves, a silent thanks in them that you know Remus won’t let you voice aloud again. Despite the upset in his chest, he smiles. 

“I…listen, I have to go home,” you tell him, looking down as you wriggle your fingers more snugly into the gloves. “I have to feed my cat. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to…leave.” 

Remus can’t see how that changes anything, but he recognizes it for the olive branch it is. You’re both so uncertain, and you’re trying to alleviate his worries about what you leaving right now means. He can return the favor. 

“I don’t want you to leave either,” he says, “but I get it. She seems important to you, best to keep her fed.” 

“Exactly.” You smile, relieved. “But, I mean, if you’re not doing anything, you could come meet her? We could pick up breakfast on the way. Or I could make you something there.” 

Remus can’t believe his luck. And, once again, his stupidity in not getting there himself. Why is it that all of a sudden, everything that has to do with you seems so absurdly difficult? At least one of you is thinking clearly. 

“Yeah, that would be fantastic.” He’s grinning hugely, totally unlike him but liking it very much. “Let me grab my coat.” 

“Wait.” There’s a newly familiar breathless quality to your voice, and when Remus turns you’re already coming forward to meet him. Your palm slides against the stubble along his jaw as you stretch your neck, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “There,” you say, timidity shrouded beneath a good layer of happiness, “now we’re even.” 

Remus laughs, loud and startled. He wants to be generous with you, he really does, but he still thinks you’re far from even. “I’m not sure about that, sweetheart,” he says warmly, pressing a brief kiss to the corner of your eyebrow, “but we'll get there.” 

[thecranberriesslut]

Cabin no. 5

Summary: You're the new recruit for task force 141, you end up having to share your cabin with your superior officer Ghost, who doesn't quite believe that you're up for this job. The tension in this particular cabin could be cut through with a knife.

Pairing: Simon!Ghost!Riley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Power imbalance, Restraining, Profanity, Mean Ghost, Possibly Slightly Misogynistic Ghost, Degradation, Using force, Eventual smut, Dirty themes, Sort of Dark Ghost

Wc: 2,1k

Notes: Hey sluts, if you've missed my writing (although I'm sure I'm not that popular) here you go, this is a rare treat on account of I have finals soon and I'm just sososo busy, but i just had to write this... Anywayss enjoy, tell me what you think please, read at your own risk, blablabla. Also did not proof read this and wrote this in 2 hours without breaks, do not care if there are grammar errors.

Your old, worn-down boots scraped the slightly frozen terrain as you walked to cabin number 5—at least, that's what it said on the key they gave you when you arrived—you could almost feel the sharp rocks through your boots. You had gotten them at the beginning of your military training from your father; he said they'd last you a lifetime—maybe your know-it-all military captain father didn't know everything—but now they were one rough combat practice away from falling to pieces, as were your morals, unbeknownst to you.

Task Force 141, one of the most highly respected special operation units there is, and you—partially due to your father's influence—knew everything there was to know about this team. You had sent in your application only weeks after you finished extensive military training under your father. You had never expected to hear back from them, partially because you found it hard to believe that nepotism would have any influence in who was accepted into military task forces. But here you were, standing outside the cabin assigned to you by some apathetic-looking man at the main building, freezing your ass off.

The cabin was a small wooden box, but the light inside drew you in like a moth to a flame. You tried to calm your nerves by squeezing your fists very tight and letting go, but it did nothing for your racing heart and tight chest. You were told that you would be sharing a cabin with one of your commanding officers due to low funding for accommodation between missions. Also, the fact that you were the first female member of the 141 led you to the intellectual conclusion that this person would be a man. As a slashing gust of wind found the exact spot in your jacket that was ripped and penetrated your bones like an ice pick, you decided to suck it up and get inside that cabin.

You opened the door silently, hoping that your bunkmate would be asleep by now. But much to your demise, there, on the ratty old bunk, sat a big, hooded man, with no other part of him uncovered but his big, dark eyes. The light illuminated the dark forest path from where you came, and you could feel the wind blowing in stray snowflakes before you shut the door quickly behind you. This man on the bed—he just stared at you. He didn't move an inch, he didn't say anything; there he sat with an unreadable look in his cold eyes and his forearms tensed up like you were some kind of threat.

When the realization hit you, you almost cursed yourself out. In your surprise upon seeing the man, you had forgotten to salute your superior. You lifted your left hand quickly and firmly above your eyebrow as you set your bag down.

“Sir.”

“At ease,” he muttered with a dismissive, low voice muffled by his balaclava.

You put your hand down and let out the breath you had held unconsciously. After gathering yourself, you decided that you wouldn't be hated by your bunkmate. It would be a month before the next mission in Russia, and you weren't looking to share only awkward silence and deathly stares with the person in your room every single night until then. You forced your lips into a smile as you made your way to him, your slender arm extended in front of you. He stood up from his bunk, and your eyes followed him until your neck was physically unable to move any further back.

Jesus, fuck, this man was tall.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and kept your hand extended out for him. He took your hand in his and returned your handshake with a firm grip, his hand swallowing yours with ease.

“It's great to meet you. Heard so much about the 141,” you told him with sincerity. You wouldn't want to call yourself a fan of a military operational group, but—you were a fan.

“From your father,” he said dismissively. It wasn't a question; he knew that your father was a highly respected captain. He knew that if it wasn't for him, the 141 would have remained without its own nepo baby. Your eyebrows furrowed at his tone, but you knew better than to talk back to a superior officer, especially in your position.

“Yes, from my father,” you repeated. If he was going to try to insult you, you would just pretend not to realize it. You waited for him to pull away from the handshake, but his grip remained firm.

“You're mostly a sniper, no?” he assumed.

You could feel the anger rise to your cheeks. All your life, you had been dismissed as a soldier because of your gender, but on your first day in the 141, from your superior? God, you wanted to kick him in the nuts... instead, you smiled.

“I have the required training for a standard field operative.” You forced your voice to come out as professional and contained, but inside, you were screaming.

“Yeah, I'm sure your father trained you well. Be completely honest with me right now, officer—do you not realize the sheer size difference between you and everyone else on this team?” he asked as he let go of your hand.

You wanted to be angry at him for inequality, discrimination—anything—but you weren't stupid. Of course, you were smaller than them; it's biology. But what most men lack is reflexes, grace in their movements, swiftness… and that's exactly what you bring to the table.

“I understand your concerns, sir. But I assure you that I have the required skills. You do know that not all power comes from size.”

You could swear you saw a smirk under that balaclava.

“Well, we got a month to test that out, smartass, and I'm not making it easy for you,” he said before turning his back to you and laying down on his bunk. The bunk let out a big creak as his body weight lowered onto it, and you were left wondering what would ever come of you on this team.

You unpacked your stuff silently as he lay there. You couldn't tell if he was asleep or not—if he was, he was just as silent as he was awake.

“Uhm, sorry, where are the shower rooms?” you asked after you got done unpacking, your voice a mere whisper, although you doubted that a Task Force lieutenant would be very hard to wake up.

He groaned slightly and shifted in his bunk.

“Three cabins down. Be quiet when you get back.”

You said nothing as you made your way out of the door, almost dropping your shampoo bottle but catching it just in time.

The showers were, expectedly, old, damp, possibly covered in mold. The tiles were a seasick shade of green, and the overhead lights kept flickering like a scene from a horror movie. You sighed a breath of relief when you saw the shower stalls—at least you wouldn't have to be naked in front of the Task Force that you borderline idolized.

You turned the nozzle, and to your surprise, the water was instantly hot. The second the steaming water hit your tense shoulders, you let out a sigh. The water washed away your entire day of traveling to base in a cramped train, walking outside with your shitty boots, and that whole debacle with your lieutenant—whose name, you just realized, you didn’t catch. The shower walls echoed with dripping water and your quiet hums as you imagined how amazing it would be to get into bed and just go to sleep.

After your shower and getting dressed in the damp shower corridor—your clothes sticking to your skin like shorts on a hot summer day—you were walking back to your cabin when you felt like you were being watched. You looked around, but all the windows in the surrounding cabins were dark. Everyone was already asleep. You looked ahead into your own cabin, and it too just stood there, dark, quiet.

You knew it was stupid, but still, you picked up your pace to get inside quicker.

When you opened the door, your breath hitched in your throat. The bunk next to yours was empty… before you had time to think, the door to your cabin flew shut, and you felt a big arm come around your neck from the back, catching you in a chokehold.

You drew air into your lungs to scream, but before you could, a hand came over your mouth. You trashed in the tight hold the best you could, stomping on his feet and trying to use your hands to pry his arm away from you, but without result. You felt his face behind your ear, his breath causing goosebumps on the right side of your body, the goosebumps weren't the only thing you felt, because the heat in your body, and the damp spot that begun to form in your freshly changed panties, was undeniable.

“Where's your extensive training now, officer?” It was your lieutenant, of course it was him, how didn't you realize that this was one of his tests… which, you were failing miserably. You tried to explain yourself under his hand, but he moved it to your chin and pulled your head back against his shoulder, you winced at the roughness.

“Shut up and listen to me.” He said, his voice rough like gravel. You nodded your head the best you could in his grip and swallowed your fear.

“You should be able to get out of this, you think something like this couldn't happen out on missions?” He continued, to you, it felt like taunting.

“Mhmm.” You hummed a silent agreement.

“You're jeopardizing my men's safety by not being able to pull your weight in this team.”

“I could fight you, Sir, I just don't want to hurt you.” You tried to sound convincing, but the truth is that he left you exhausted, unalert, and completely by surprise. Your voice came out as a shaky mess, and at this point, no matter how fucked up it might be, you weren't sure you wanted to get out.

“Aw, how sweet, you don't want to hurt your superior officer, but tell me, do they give a fuck about rank in the middle of a battlefield somewhere in assfuck Russia?” His voice started out gentle, but towards the end he was practically yelling. You were used to this, you were a soldier after all, but you were so tired, and he was suddenly, so very scary, also the pit in your stomach wasn't helping, it was making you weak. You tried to claw at his arm once more, but you genuinely didn't want to hurt him and potentially get kicked out.

“You're weak, weak, and soft… and in this line of work, weak and soft gets you killed.” He drew out the words to maximize their hurtfulness, but you weren't hurt, you were turned on.

God, how fucked up is it to be turned on by this? You tried to rationalize your feelings with the forced abstinence that came with a busy military schedule, but you still felt like a gross pervert, until you felt something hard against your back. Your eyes widened in shock as your superior officer's undeniably hard dick pressed against your back unapologetically.

“Maybe I don't want out.” You said with a growing sense of confidence. You could feel his hand shift from your jaw to your neck as he squeezed, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to let you know that he could make it hurt if he so pleased.

“What did you say to me?” He asked with, what sounded like gritted teeth. After the warning squeeze, he let you out of his hold, you stumbled forward and regained your balance as you turned to face him. After a couple of coughs, you managed to say.

“Thanks, pleasure.” You said sarcastically, although your voice was hoarse and the dried tears on your face evident. His face remained stone-cold as he scanned your body.

“Don't think I can't tell when a soldier is trying to flirt with their CO.” He said casually, but with a dangerous edge to his tone.

“I would never.” You shot back.

“Good, 'cause if you tried to flirt with me, I'd have to report you for sexual harassment… or throw you down on the bed and make you regret your smart fucking mouth.” He said, so casually that it gave you an involuntary shiver. He looked at you once more with his expressionless eyes before making his way to his bunk once again, before he sat down, he turned to you.

“It's Ghost, by the way.”

[strwbrychffoncke]

"santa, baby,, 3.2k words synopsis: after being spoiled by sylus all year round, you struggle to find the perfect thing to gift back— so you decide, what better than to gift yourself ? contains: sylus x f?reader (no phys. desc. but later described to be wearing a dress so take that how u will) not specifically lads mc but u are a hunter (there's just one line from his melodic waves (?) card + called "miss hunter" by the twins) ,lots of fluff ,starts off w unestablished relationship (& later unfolds.. the feelings are mutual) ,slight yearning ,angst if you squint hard enough ,sylus throwing money at u bc he can ,decorating ft. the twins ,kinda needy sylus ,teasing (goes both ways) ,soft!sylus ,kissing -> makeout ,slight marking (receiving) ,sylus slings you over his shoulder (wander in wonder style.... heart eyes) ,implied suggestiveness + twins shenanigans at the end LOL that should be it.... note: managed to write an excuse into the story for releasing this after christmas heh.... i seriously was so stuck & maybe it was bc the amount of fics i cranked out after not writing fics for so long?? but i still like this & hope you will too :x dedicated to the sylus lovers: i love u i hope u can forgive me for being late w this

-

sylus has never been one for the holidays.

he didn't really have a reason to celebrate anything, so he didn't go out of his way to do so, continuing with business as usual while barely registering when these dates would come and go.

the only tell that such holidays were close was the small decorations set up around the base, courtesy of the twins.

he grew accustomed to walking into his office, a small christmas tree set up on his desk along with a string of little red lights draped across the front of it, small crow embellishments hanging around the place and paper snowflakes strung from the ceiling.

and he doesn't think he can forget the sight of the twins struggling to fit a ridiculously-sized (and real, mind you) spruce tree through the front of the door.

at the time, sylus only shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"what do you two think you're doing?"

"oh, hi boss!" they'd said in unison before kieran continued.

"well, you know, christmas is coming up already," he started.

"-and you don't have a christmas tree!" luke finished.

"...did you two cut this one down yourselves?"

"why, of course!" they answered together proudly.

sylus only sighed in response.

"do whatever you wish..." he trailed off, walking out of the living area back down the hall, some classic holiday song fading as his steps receded further.

this was all until you entered the picture.

as your relationship (whatever it may be) continued to grow with sylus, so too did your visits to the N109 zone, and by extension, his mansion.

for this reason, your more frequent visits reflected in the usually dark mansion: a cute yet out-of-place mug in the sink, pink towels in one of the bathrooms, some clothes left astray in the guest bedroom, even some cute lamps and decorations in the main living area (that sylus would make a teasing comment about once noticing, but make no move to take down, even encouraging you to add anything else you like. to him, his space was yours).

but in your most recent visit to sylus' place, you noticed the sheer lack of any change since you'd last stopped by about a week prior.

—not that he was one for decorating in the first place, but did he really not have any festive cheer anywhere in his little den?

when you barged into his office and spoke out about how the place looked exactly the same when christmas was so close by, joking about him having no holiday spirit, he only let out a hearty chuckle before offering you his card with a simple "then why don't you fix that, sweetie?"

he watched amused as your eyes glimmered with excitement, snatching up his card before happily scampering away to your laptop to begin your shopping, his eyes following you all the way till you were out of sight.

"such a simple kitten," he muttered to himself, smirk adorning his lips before he got back to work.

in no time at all, the halls were adorned with shiny silver tinsel (in which mephisto had so generously helped you put up), a faux black christmas tree was set up in the living area with cute twinkling lights, and silver and red ornaments came in several boxes (among all the other small decorations you had to put up in other various rooms).

when luke and kieran stumbled upon you opening the ornament boxes, they basically offered themselves up to help you with the tree.

you tilted your head at them, confused.

"you two really want to help me?"

"please, miss!" luke begged.

"we won't cause any trouble, swear it!" kieran finished.

"no, its not that— you can help, that's fine, but—"

"yay!" they cheered in unison.

"—if you guys like to decorate, then why didn't you put up any decorations for christmas?"

they blinked at you behind their masks.

"did you miss our decorating job?" luke tilted his head.

"yeah, we did more than we usually do!" kieran piped up.

you blinked at them.

"what are you—"

"didn't you see the little christmas tree in boss' office?"

"and the little hat by mephisto's perch!"

"not to mention our hand-cut snowflakes... those are difficult, you know???"

"...you call that decorating?" you deadpan. "what's so different about them this time, then?"

"ah," luke began, excited.

"we put up a bunch of mistletoe!" they spoke in unison.

"thats—"

"now, lets get to the tree!" kieran quickly changed the subject.

"yeah, im itching to put these up!" luke finished, eyes trained on the boxes of ornaments.

in your momentary shock, they seemed to have closed the distance in the blink of an eye, sorting through the boxes themselves and beginning to map them out on the tree.

while they begin their fun, you imagine being caught under the mistletoe with sylus, imagining the look in his eyes as he looks down at you before closing his eyes, leaning in, his lips moving closer and closer—

you snap back to reality, shaking the image out of your head.

you breathe out a sigh to try and calm your racing heart, turning around as you wonder if sylus put the twins up to that, or if they decided to hang them all up on their own accord.

you push the thought away as you join the twins in embellishing the tree, ignoring their bantering as they babble about how perfect mephisto would act as the tree topper instead of some lousy star.

-

"hey," you pipe up, hanging an ornament on a free spot between the branches. "what would you two like for christmas?"

the twins stop for a moment before looking at you behind their masks, tilting their heads.

"huh?"

you look back at them.

"what do you want for christmas?" you ask again, eyes darting between both masks trained on you.

the idea being foreign to them, they think about it for a long moment before ultimately shrugging.

"dunno," they answer in unison.

"well, try thinking of something. a new gun, another type of weapon, new matching masks, anything at all."

"hmmm...."

while they're lost in thought, muttering to each other about how their current gear could benefit from an upgrade even if its still perfectly intact, your mind drifts back to sylus.

what would sylus want for christmas?

you think about everything that he has, how he so easily either hands you or swipes his card without batting an eye, and where you are right now: in his mansion.

what could you possibly gift to a man who already has everything?

-

a couple of days later, sylus takes his leave for a deal, expecting it to be over quickly. he tells you to stay at the mansion if you wish while he's gone before he's out the door (not without taking one lasting glance at the decorated tree, a pleased smile subconsciously curling on his lips before the door clicks shut).

having him leave is both a blessing and a curse: you can easily brainstorm more ideas of what to get for him out in the open, but your heart seems to long for his presence within an hour of him gone.

which is how you find yourself plopping down into his office chair, spinning back in forth in it as you let out a sigh, allowing the lingering scent of him to envelop you as you think.

anything you thought up either seemed too simple, or it was something he could easily have.

jewelry? he had plenty, for you and him both, and could easily obtain more.

cologne? he already had a small collection, but would favor the ones that you said you liked the most.

vinyls? not a bad idea, but you weren't sure if you were willing to sort through his entire collection to find one that he was missing (or if one you got him would even be his taste).

when you asked the twins, they both answered "a new karaoke machine!" to which you swiftly shut down and left the room, mumbling about how they were no help at all.

not that his actual singing voice was any bad per se, but....

you shuddered at the ego boost he'd undoubtedly get from receiving such a gift from you.

like you needed to inflate it any further.

your mind wanders to him; the way he seeks you out in the form of bugging you, always finding a way to turn the tables on you and tease you after he started something, the way he'd never back down when you bite back, the constant petnames and lasting glances—

the way he'd playfully (or not) respond to something you said, on several occasions:

"i'm not sure friends is the right term for us, kitten."

you jolt at the memory of his words hearing his voice crystal clearly, remembering how close he was when he murmured them to you, the way you looked back at him wanting so badly to close the distance when the moment was interrupted, leaving you wondering if there was truth to his words (the look in his eyes definitely suggested it) or if he was simply teasing you again.

and suddenly, it hits you.

what if... i gift myself to sylus for christmas?

you ponder the idea for a moment.

as ridiculous as you think it is, you want more than anything to go through with it anyway.

in the worst case, he may just laugh it off and tease you to no end.

embarrassing at most, sure, but nothing you (probably) couldn't live with.

and in the best case?

"..."

you shake your head, taking deep breaths as you try not to work yourself up with your wishful thinking before rolling the chair back slightly.

with the anticipation of sylus' reaction to this genius idea, you start thinking about an outfit that would be fitting for the occasion.

and given the nature of your gift, the only thing you really need is some ribbon.

-

sylus was tired. the meeting of the deal lasted much longer than anticipated, and all he wanted was to return back to the mansion and spend his precious time with you.

he had half a mind to call it off and blow the place up for wasting his time before dashing back to you, pulling you close and never letting you go.

—but this client would serve to benefit him, so he restrained himself enough to power through it

(images of your cute, angry expression at pulling such a stunt almost tempted him but the thought of you berating him crossed his mind served in helping him to resist the urge).

when the day finally came to return home to you, he wasn't afraid to hide how eager he was, wrapping everything up swiftly before letting them deal with the rest, and hastily making his way back to you via driving.

when he arrived back, the first thing that floated through the entrance was some festive, almost flirty christmas tune.

he shut the door, making his way through the place before pausing at the sight before him.

-

sylus had texted you over an hour ago, with a simple "be home soon, kitten," leaving you to run around and prepare your surprise, ultimately resulting in your current position.

"come on..."

you're sat by the foot of the tree, trying to tie the last piece of ribbon over your head when it slips from your grasp yet again.

"ugh..."

for your outfit, you settled on a cute off-the-shoulder knitted dress paired with some stockings, leg warmers, and some pretty jewelry to finish it off— it was the cutest outfit you could put together while also ensuring you'd stay warm (considering you weren't too sure how long you'd have to wait, and the mansion seemed to have a natural cold air about it, even with the fireplace running).

you'd tied the ribbon into bows around each of your wrists and ankles, even going as far as to add a silly stick-on bow that was meant for wrapped gifts onto your chest, giggling to yourself at the absurdity of your plan.

you grasp the ribbon you're struggling with, curling it around your neck instead, thinking it a better place to tie a bow when a voice interrupts you.

"well, this is a surprise."

you almost jump at the voice, turning your head to meet with the man of the hour, hands on on his hips, head slightly tilted, and most notably...

his sharp, crimson gaze directed completely on you.

sylus' eyes drag over your figure, admiring the way the dress hugs you, accessories sitting pretty (your bare shoulders seeming to beg for his attention), adorned with cute ribbons all tied up around you, short laugh escaping him at the sight of the bow stuck to your chest.

"we-welcome back," you breathe out, suddenly nervous under his intense gaze.

he slowly steps towards you.

"how did this pretty little kitten find her way under my tree, hm?"

at his tease, you manage to get over your initial shock enough to bite back a response.

"you know what it means for something to be under the tree this month, don't you?"

he's right before you now, eyes dancing with amusement as he continues gazing down at you.

what a sight you were this up close.

"hmmm, its been awhile. why don't you remind me," he bends down to your level. "kitten."

"well," you tilt your head slightly. "during this month, presents are placed under the tree, waiting to be opened by their recipients on christmas day."

"go on..."

"the presents are also wrapped up in pretty paper and sometimes decorated with bows."

"uh-huh," he nods along.

you've dragged out the explanation knowing he already knows all of this, and he's still waiting for you to explicitly say why you're there yourself.

"so... it seems you've gotten a pretty expensive gift this year."

he smirks.

"oh? the sender must be quite.. generous."

"quite generous, indeed." you agree.

he kneels down properly now, hand reaching out to grasp your chin between his fingers before tilting it up.

"this... gift... wouldn't happen to come with an instruction manual or anything, would it?"

his free hand is slowly tugging at the bow you'd just tied around your neck, loosening it as he keeps the end grasped between his fingers.

his gaze holds both mischief and something else.

admiration? adoration?

who knows.

you laugh.

"nope. the only thing you need to know about this gift," you reach a hand out, holding it against his chest. "is that it's all yours."

and thats what does it for him.

the second he processes those words, no other response is given except his lips crashing into yours, his scent (the real thing) enveloping you as you're slowly consumed by him.

before you know it, you're lying on your back against the floor, sylus hovering over you as he continues, lips dancing with fervor against yours, silk ribbon lost somewhere between you both leaving your neck more barren— not that you really noticed.

when he separates to catch his breath he does so for only a moment before diving down to kiss your jawline and down your neck. your arms are wound around his neck, panting as you try to catch your breath.

"sylus..."

"you are all i've ever wanted," he speaks against your skin, kissing across your shoulders before nipping at the skin.

"well, i th-thought, you might appr-eciate the pre-sent, hah" you manage in between gasps due to his ministrations.

he pulls back to look into your eyes, the love and adoration circling his dark gaze so deeply you momentarily get lost in them.

he cups your cheek in his warm hand, watching as you immediately nuzzle into it.

his eyes rake over you again, now slightly disheveled, still catching your breath in puffs of air through your parted lips, watching him expectantly as pretty marks already begin to bloom across your exposed neck and shoulders.

he shudders.

"i think... id like to play with my new gift someplace else."

before you can ask him what he means, your vision is turned upside down as he easily lifts you up with one arm, slinging you over his shoulder before standing upright, and making his way towards his bedroom.

though, on the way, he's interrupted (much to your embarrassment).

he's halfway down the hall when a voice pipes up out of nowhere.

"boss! oh- and miss hunter!"

its none other than the twins.

"sylus, sylus! put me- put me down!" you plead from behind, hitting at his back and kicking at his front.

"what is it?" sylus speaks curtly, paying absolutely no mind to your pleads and hits, instead bringing his free arm to hold your legs down firmly against his front.

"first of all, welcome back!" kieran starts.

"secondly, we were wondering..." he trails off, feeling a little strange.

"—when we'd get to open our presents!" luke finishes for him, kieran nodding along excitedly.

sylus deadpans.

"what?"

"well, miss hunter said she would get us presents—"

"—and we want to know when we can open them up!"

sylus lets out a short, pleased laugh.

"is that so? well, miss hunter, what do you think?" he turns his head slightly, awaiting your answer.

you've given up fighting him at this point, having gone limp in sylus hold, but respond anyway.

"you're supposed to open them christmas morning—"

"but didn't we miss that because boss was gone?" kieran interrupts.

"yeah, you insisted to wait for him so that we could open them all together!" luke accuses.

sylus' expression takes one of surprise suddenly.

"oh? is that true?"

"yes!" the twins answer for you.

"well in that case.. you can't make them wait forever, miss hunter," sylus teases, dragging out the pet name as he jostles you slightly in his hold.

the movement elicits a sound of surprise from you, gripping onto sylus shoulder with one hand and his arm that's holding you securely with the other, steadying yourself before lifting your head up slightly, enough to speak into sylus' ear.

"they can open them once we're done!"

you glance back at the twins as a pleased smirk curls on sylus' lips.

"you'll get to open them soon enough, just practice exercising a little more patience. we'll be ready shortly."

and with that, sylus walks past the twins, whisking you away to his bedroom and making sure to lock the door (should the twins get any ideas in their inevitable impatience).

a light snow had begun to fall and a quiet calm enveloped the base as sylus took his time to unwrap you, savoring you and keeping you warm from the cold, finally uniting together and become one another's in the truest sense, words of love and affirmations warming you both to your cores.

and sylus thought maybe, just maybe, the holidays really were worth celebrating, so long as it was with you.

-

extra:

the twins had watched sylus make the rest of his way down the hall with you in tow, waving at you as you mouthed apologies behind his back before you both disappeared behind his door.

"do you think theyre—"

"oh definitely," luke answered, knowing what his brother was thinking.

"hell yeah, boss man!" kieran cheered, fist pumping in the air.

"but in that case... how much longer do you think we'll have to wait?" luke wondered aloud, mask turning to look at his brother.

"hmmm...." kieran gave it a long thought.

"..."

"we're definitely not opening them tonight."

-

a/n: omg i finished it??!!? im quite pleased w this one, might need one more editing job later but i feel satisfied.... to the rafayel kissers.... what would u say if i said i had not a single idea for his fic.... im sorry ill figure it out, promise, i'll take a short (short) break from this one before trying to draft it & see how it comes out... thanks for your understanding......

[ac3may]

"Mountain Time"

(Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri)

F1 Requests = Open

It's not my favourite thing I've ever written, but it's been sitting in my drafts for a while. It's due a part 2 with so much further for the idea to go. But in celebration of pre-season testing and to mark the end of winter break hopefully you enjoy.

Description: "Reader tags along on McLaren's winter break team-bonding trip to the mountains, maybe Oscar doesn't have to continue being as perpetually single as he believes himself to be"

Masterlist

Who I Write For

Words: 1.4k

“Team bonding.”

That’s what Zac had called it when he’d insisted Oscar spend the first of his few sacred weeks of winter break cut off from society in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.

The lack of internet was the least of Oscar’s worries, but he certainly would’ve preferred it be a conscious choice he made from the shores of Australia with his family instead.

His attitude wasn’t helped by the ass-crack-of-dawn flight he’d been stuck on. Despite the luxury of a private jet, he may have preferred crying babies to the soundtrack of Y/N and Lando’s cutesy words across the aisle.

Lando and your relationship had been going steady for over a year, and with you being a key presence in the McLaren garage over the past season the extension of an invite wasn’t surprising. He loved you and Lando separately, but with his own love life non-existent the constant reminder of loneliness was often a punch in the gut.

Rolling through the crisp snow Lando’s soft gaze hasn't left the overwhelming joy that decorated your face since the jet touched down. Pine trees and snow-blanketed mountains could be seen for miles surrounding the luxurious cabin that stood, twinkling with fairy lights.

Gaping in child-like wonder, you take in every inch of the property. Neither McLaren driver could help but chuckle at the girl before them as you clamber excitedly from the car. Footprints mark the snow below as you gaze around joyfully.

“Easily impressed?” Oscar smirks light-heartedly. A comment Lando belly-laughs at, almost folding himself in half, although his eyes never leave you. Following your lead the pair of them climb from the vehicle. Oscar, ever the efficient, immediately rounds to the boot of the car to collect his luggage. Lando however, detours to you, taking your hand and twirling you elegantly as snowflakes begin to fall.

Rolling his eyes, a light-hearted chuckle mixed with a scoff, is the next sound to leave the younger driver. Lugging his bag and beginning up the stairs to the porch he calls out, “C’mon love birds!”

Snapping your attention from your handsome man you let out a squeal of excitement. Darting across the freshly fallen powder. Lost in excitement your sense is overridden as you continue to keep pace up the wooden stairs. Before your head can catch up with your movement you feel your arms whirling, any attempt to keep your balance as your feet slip and slide from under you.

“Ahhh!” Yelping in terror, fingers fumble to grasp the handrail, the icy layer threatening your balance. Hopelessly unable to stabilise yourself, within seconds you're conceding to gravity you brace for the incoming hit from halfway up the stairs. The fall that never comes. Instead, warmth seeps through the thin layer of your sweater. A hand, in a flash, wrapping tightly around your wrist eases you back to your feet. A further hand comes to rest gently on your lower back to keep you steady.

Feeling the rush of panic depart at the safe hold you glance timidly upward toward your saviour.

Meeting a, concerningly familiar, pair of deep hazel eyes, you hope the red rushing to your cheeks can be mistaken for the chill in the air. Breathing heavily, the steam caused by the frosty temperatures provides a visual representation of the way your breath mingles.

Spluttering in shock you don't have a chance to formulate even a muttering of a word before your boyfriend claps Oscar on the shoulder heavily. His grip on you releases immediately. “Thanks, mate,” the elder of the two grins, “let’s go klutz! Time to find our room.”

“Zac! Andrea! What?!” “I know this is team bonding and all but surely we deserve at least a little privacy!” Perhaps it was the twinkle in his boss's eye, or perhaps it was the fact his PA had told him not two weeks ago that Zac had been planning the trip since Easter, but Oscar was having a hard time believing this was all a last-minute mixup.

According to their team principal, the cabin had been booked last minute and was the only accommodation available to cater to the demands of the team trip. As a result, the pair allocated Lando and Oscar to share a room. Something that wouldn’t have been such a concern if it was just Lando and Oscar.

“Come on you guys…” Extending your words with a whining tone, you disrupt the arguing of the four men. “It’ll be fun!” You grin optimistically, “like a big sleepover!”

And with that, they’re left to watch your bobble hat bounce as you hop away up the grand pinewood staircase.

You’re settled against Lando’s chest, lights dimmed and reading peacefully. Your boyfriend tangled comfortably around you, scrolling on his phone.

A beam of light floods the room, distracting you from the pages briefly as the bedroom door opens and closes. It’s the rush of Lando’s heartbeat, pounding directly below your ear, that diverts your attention entirely.

Flicking your gaze toward him you see his phone abandoned on the sheets, his eyes glazed as he stares across the room. Turning curiously it’s not hard to determine the cause of his lust-filled look.

Across the quaint and rustic cabin room, Oscar rummages through his suitcase. The towel haphazardly draped around his shoulders does little to stop the droplets of water that fall from his damp hair, accentuating the bare back muscles that flex delightfully every time he moves.

Momentarily distracted yourself, as eyes trail to the plaid pyjamas hanging low on his waist, you take a second to collect your thoughts before you pinch at Lando’s side.

Your palm reaches quickly to silence his yelp of complaint as your eyebrows dance teasingly, eyes flicking towards his teammate in jest.

It wasn’t the first time you had caught your boyfriend’s loving look towards the younger driver. He’d caught you staring many more times than appropriate too. It had become a running joke and expected practice within your relationship that if you aren’t staring at each other then the Aussie is the one who’s captured your attention.

You continue teasing him quietly in your own bubble, Lando hastily attempting to shush you. Fearing attracting any attention or questions from across the room.

Oscar, however, paid you no mind as he shook out his freshly showered hair and tugged a shirt over the messy mop before flopping into his child-sized twin bed.

“Lights out?” He questioned, finally sparing the pair of you a glance.

Oscar had been tossing and turning for at least an hour now. Not only was he stuck in the most uncomfortable bed known to mankind. But within ten minutes of his shower, he had felt the temperature drop and there was no amount of layers that could warm him up again.

“Osc, mate, I can hear your teeth chattering from here.” Lando’s grumble eventually breaks the tension.

All three of you had been trying to sleep to no avail. “Sorry,” Oscar mutters, his discomfort immediately evident to you and Lando through the lack of sarcasm.

Perhaps the tiredness was fogging your brain because your next move was braver than you had ever dared to be toward the Aussie.

Prodding at Lando’s side you murmur, “Invite him to join us.” The disbelieving look he returns is almost laughable. “What?! I can’t do that!” His tone is hushed but astonishment undeniable.

“Can you two quiet up? I’m never going to sleep if you keep smooching.” “We are NOT smooching!” Your boyfriend declares, louder than necessary. Rolling your eyes you roll into your own space and bite back, “No need to sound so offended.”

He’s immediately pulling you tighter to his body, flashing a sheepish but cheeky grin.

“We were coming up with a solution to help us all sleep actually.” You informed the boy across the room. “Oh yeah? And what would that be?” He responds, open to trying anything, but sceptical of your ability to help nonetheless. “Well, penguins use body heat to stay warm right?” Lando contributes, “We were wondering if you wanted to try a similar tactic?”

Oscar’s brain shortcircuits the second he processes Lando’s words, “as in…?” He can’t quite compute the request.

“Get over here you big lump!” You demand, whipping the covers down on the left side of the bed. “We're the only source of warmth in this stupid cabin, come to bed before any of us get hypothermia.”

And really how could Oscar possibly argue with that?

[walks-the-ages]

anyways, if you use Firefox and have a Mozilla Account, and you are a trans man or you are intersex, or you just generally believe in intersectionality and solidarity within the trans community, please consider leaving a Review on Shinigami Eyes expressing your disappointment,

that they are now openly marking people Red for daring to talk about transandrophobia, exorsexism, or just daring to exist as an intersex person with "afab transfem" in your bio, because the trans women behind Shinigami Eyes are now openly saying you are "transphobic" if you talk about your experiences as a trans man, or if you dare to have a "confusing" label like "afab transfem" which is a term a lot of intersex people use, but is not limited to intersex identities-- but trans rad fems refuse to talk to intersex people or people who don't have perfectly binary-boxed identities with experiences outside of their own, so they're now saying its "an attempt by special snowflakes to co-opt trans women's oppression" or some shit like that.

Anyways, if you actually care about the entire trans, nonbinary, and intersex community and not just one subsection of it, please leave a review about why you're no longer using or no longer trusting Shinigami Eyes for being exclusionary to trans men and intersex people, and for embracing radical feminism by demonizing all trans men "because they're men"

[magiturge]

I assume you ship nashxeuonia.. if so, do you have any headcanons for them???

i do like eunash yes, though i dont have a lot of specific headcanons.. i have GENERAL thoughts about them since im not super confident in characterizing them so i hope these thoughts suffice

if i ever came around to invest in writing them, i want to write them in such a way that is agonizingly close to walking across the boundary that is friendship / allyship into something closer but never will. never something spoken. a situationship at most that will always be held back due to the nature of nash’s existence and purpose as a sleepwalker.

given how i feel that nash can never stay in one place due to trying to keep a low profile despite being a kind person at heart ( i.e baroniza pie comp standing in for qin, wishing to stay in upper tenmou with eunoia but cannot ), that behavior is shared across many interactions. i feel that she cannot stay no matter how much her heart and mind yearns for a comfortable familiarity. i think that nash finds a comfort in eunoia but is also conflicted in her feelings that eunoia is an android but she is so very alive but with how eunoia is so open to her about how she has access to many things being made by cielcay and how she implies having more influence than it seems.. i think she naturally finds it hard to trust her despite how open eunoia can possibly be with restriction.

it is hard to embrace the hug eunoia presents with open arms despite how badly she wants to, its just not possible.

i also think.. ah well, i think this thought needs more brewing but

i have a eunash thought exercise that there exists a “real” eunoia that the android eunoia hivemind are modeled after that lives relatively quietly in where the writ in stone dream is located. i would like to write the disconnect between the “real” eunoia and the eunoia(s) nashatra has come to know.

i want to write a further agony to the idea around frozen soul, that there is so much more to the dreamsphere and by writing extension the world that we know. even when nashatra feels she finally has a grasp on who eunoia is, even with details omitted such as motive and intention, this eunoia stands in the way. her existence poses more questions.

i apologize if these arent the softest or sweetest headcanons, especially when compared to other pairings i draw where there is some dallop of domestic sweetness. i just, have a feeling i will have a world of fun spinning pain of not truly belonging, that the purpose projected onto you by a role you never asked for preventing you from living the life you want. that even when somebody welcomes you with open loving arms you cannot leap into them and lay there forever.

ha.. i think i ended up on more of a nashatra, character speculate than eunash.

ill be sweet a little to compensate.

i like to imagine sometimes, nashatra will afford even a bit more time than she feels she should to spend more time speaking to eunoia. that the moments she has conversation with eunoia about even the silliest things are the warmest she feels despite eunoia’s general symbol being a snowflake.

i think that they do indeed have moments of physical affection that is never explicitly written or spoken to be romantic, but you can feel the tension of yearning for something more that you cannot have. i dont think theyll ever kiss, i dont think they will ever utter i love you to one another, i dont think theyll do a lot of things associated with being romantic but i think ..

i think the day eunoia mourns, will speak volumes about love.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: The Snowflake Method

As a snowflake grows from its center core, it expands in all directions, breaking off into additional branches that give it greater volume and spatial scope.

The snowflake method of fiction writing applies this concept to the craft of storytelling.

The Snowflake Method

Created by author and writing instructor Randy Ingermanson.

A technique for crafting a novel from scratch by starting with a basic story summary and adding elements from there.

How to Use the Snowflake Method

To begin using the snowflake method, think of a story idea and describe it with a one-sentence summary.

Example: “Two teenagers discover a secret cave that contains treasures that a group of criminals has been hunting for.”

The snowflake method then requires you to build that sentence into a paragraph, using that paragraph to create various character descriptions.

From there, you use those descriptions to create a series of storylines that involve those characters. This process of outlining a novel spans outward until you have a fully outlined novel, just as a snowflake expands from a single drop of water.

The 5 Steps of the Snowflake Method

Choose a premise and write it up in a one-sentence summary.

This single sentence will be the foundation for your entire novel’s outline.

Expand that one-sentence summary into a full paragraph.

Use that sentence to write a one-paragraph summary to explain the main story of the novel. It should also identify core characters, and break their narrative into a structure with a beginning, a middle, and an end.

If you wish to conceive of your story with a three-act structure, think about the primary exposition, the inciting action and development, and the climax.

Note that a story can have more than three plot points.

No matter how many you choose, each of these plot points will be a spoke stemming off from the central hub that is your premise.

Create character summaries.

Rooting yourself in the narrative you’ve just written out in a single paragraph, begin to explore the major characters who will populate your story.

What are their core characteristics?

What is each character’s point of view?

What roles will they serve in relation to the main premise?

Build your character summaries into full profiles.

Now it’s time to add a few more extensions to your snowflake by creating full characterizations from those summaries.

Consider the characters you’ve just roughly sketched and ask:

What is each character’s name?

Which of these will be the main character?

What are their biographies and backstories?

How will each character’s goal, each character’s conflicts, and each character’s epiphanies help them overcome those conflicts?

What do they look like?

What are their affectations?

Expand to a multi-page synopsis.

By this point, the snowflake method has generated a core story, a multi-part plot structure, character names, & multiple character profiles (or character synopses).

You are now ready to expand these elements into a brief 4-page synopsis.

As you encapsulate the whole story in full pages, focus on a list of scenes, who is in them, and what events will occur in them.

Are there any major disasters?

Remember that every event is building toward the end: the story’s climax.

A great story with a weak ending will quickly be forgotten.

Once you have these elements drafted, your literary snowflake is complete, and you’re ready to dive into the first draft of your novel and start writing fiction!

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References Writing References: Worldbuilding ⚜ Plot ⚜ Character

[trans-axolotl]

Donate to Deaf/Disabled People Incarcerated in the US

Video description (credit to HEARD): [Black background with snowflakes in the top left and bottom right corner. In the middle is the text, "HEARD's 2024 Commissary Fund Holiday Fundraiser". Video fades to Esperanza, a young light skinned Latinx with brown hair held in a ponytail, wearing a black long sleeve shirt with design of white bird and grasshopper and grass front on it, sitting down on a brown chair behind a white blinds, using ASL. Video fades to Roxanne, a white genderqueer person with shoulder-length brown hair wearing glasses and a black zip-up sweater. Roxanne is sitting in front of a gray background with a white door, using ASL and their tattoo is visible. Video fades to Trinity, a young Black person with hair covered by a blue bandana, wearing an orange hoodie in a complicated design. She is sitting in front of a black background, signing. The video fades to black background with snowflakes in the top left corner. Text reads, "Donate Today: bit.ly/heard-holiday24". [at]behearddc and HEARD logo are on the bottom-left and right corners, respectively.

Transcript: The holiday season is often seen as a time of connection and care. But for deaf/disabled people incarcerated across the United States, it’s a period of heightened isolation and struggle. HEARD's Commissary Fund is a direct way to help people survive inside by providing funds for essential items like food, hygiene products, and stamps for communicating with loved ones.

Did you know that a tube of travel sized toothpaste often costs five times more inside prison? These extensive markups on costs and fees put the burden on deaf/disabled incarcerated community members and their loved ones, many of whom are multiply-marginalized themselves.

For over 4 years, HEARD has sent commissary funds to deaf/disabled incarcerated community members during the holiday season. Through over a decade of advocacy, we have seen that commissary support is a lifeline for people inside. This winter, we are calling on you to help us continue this work.]

deaf/disabled people often face access barriers, language barriers, and heightened isolation within prisons--make sure our community knows that they aren't forgotten this holiday season.

act in solidarity with our deaf/disabled community members incarcerated and separated from community right now--donate at this link.

[motherofdogs1010]

Of Messiahs and Seeds III (Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader)

Summary: Emperor Paul of House Atredies has set forth with expansion of his empire on the planets that have resisted and has now come across the last stronghold that resists him: Terra Millennium...

Warnings: dark! fic, 18+ only, eventual DUBCON, eventual forced marriage, eventual pregnancy, violence, language, drinking, chubby!reader, dark!Paul Atreides, possessive!Paul, obssessive! Paul, spoilers for Dune Part 2

Dividers @firefly-graphics Banner @vase-of-lilies

Series Masterlist

The Apollo Colony was the first to lose contact and it felt like the beginning of a long game; one where Y/N knew her rule was soon to be tested.

And the dreams had only gotten worse and more frequent; Y/N found that practically any time she closed her eyes, Paul was there to whisper in her ear and it was beginning to be difficult to figure out what was reality.

Y/N looked at the heirloom crystal in her hand as she sat on her balcony; she wondered how her mother would be handling this right now.

The moon hung bright and full as always with her scaly children sleeping below as she stood up, her nightgown clinging to her body as she saw the city around her with the people happily bustling around for the night life.

She sighed as she walked into her bedroom, winter was coming in a few weeks and the winters were always harsh on Terra M above the equator. It looked like a tundra when the winters arrived and felt like the inside of a ice cube, which prompted so many resources to keep everyone afloat.

Paul felt pleased with himself as he sat in his room, the hologram of his future bride in front of him. He had invaded her dreams, filling them with their promised future that he had seen; he could practically feel her hair through his fingers, and hear the newborn cries of their son as he came into the world.

It was all falling into plan, Terra M was about to go into its harsh winters and be left vulnerable if he was correct. They heavily relied on their built-up resources to make it through the three-month-long brutal winter since the population lived above an equator.

Those dragons of his beloved would go into hibernation underground; that would leave one defense gone and away. He wouldn't dare to hurt them, they were an extension of his love and he knew how she cared for the scaled beasts.

"Paul", his mother said as she entered the room.

Her blue eyes bore into his as she said, "It's been taken care of, Irulan will no longer stand in your way."

"And her father?"

"Both poisoned, my son. None will be the wiser to question their deaths."

"Good."

Yes, everything was falling into place.

There was just one final thing left to do.

The smell of ash made its way into her nose as she felt the harsh winter air against her skin, she breathed out and saw her icy breath as she exhaled. Her skin prickled from the cold as she looked around, seeing the white, virgin piles of snow around her as she tried to get her bearings.

"Hello, my love."

Quickly turning around, Y/N saw him, saw Paul standing there with his cheeks and nose pink from the cold.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, "Terra has done nothing to the Empire."

"It isn't what Terra has done, but rather what you have done, my Queen."

Paul slowly began to circle her, the crunching of snow under his weight as he did. Snowflakes fell at a soft, slow pace as he spoke, "You have overtaken my mind, left me vulnerable to feelings that I thought I was immune to feeling again."

"That is not my fault", she argued.

"Oh, but it is", Paul smirked, "your very existence is your fault and that is something that your people will pay for."

"My existence?"

"Your very existence goes against nature. How old are you? I purpose much older than I as your people live very well into their thousands. Flesh which should wither and wrinkle remaining youthful and plump."

Y/N was silent.

Jolting awake, Y/N found herself alone once more as she scooted up the bed and pushed her hair back. She tried to steady her breathing as she felt as if it she looked out into the darkness, she would be able to see the glimmer of him smirking.

🌎

"We must devise a plan", Lord Felix argued, "they have taken the Apollo Colony. The only logical choice for them to grab next is the Venus Colony and we must devise a plan of attack."

The Council meeting was buzzing with ideas, and arguments of what to do as Y/N listened to the proposed ideas. It was true, she needed to confront the Empire and its might but it has to be logical, fool-proof.

"Lord York", she finally said, the man looking at her. "Get as much information on the Great Houses and the Empire's armies. There will be a weak spot."

"And once we have the weak spot, your grace?"

"We rip them out like a weed, one by one."

TAGLIST

@ninastyless @james-bucky-barnackle @astarborntowrite @maggiecc @radiantdanvers @croatianprincess @deluxeplanteater @szapizzapanda @khaleesihavilliard @deathsimp @frickyea-guacamole19

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Opposite Sides of the Battlefield

Thank you to @cucumbersouffle for the beautiful angsty art that inspired this fic. Hope you enjoy! (And yes when ideas appear I would like to once again collab with you, if you want to)

Summary: Bucky meets Steve again, this time on the opposite side of the battlefield.

It's all so easy to him. The motions are all the same — inhale, aim, exhale, fire, and his bullets hit their mark. The only difference is that there's an eldritch god in his brain instead of Hydra, and that he's fighting for something he believes in.

His mission this time around is to escort the statue of Bast to its destination and with him are Spiderman, Luna, Mantis, Magneto and the king of Wakanda himself — T'Challa, the Black Panther. The enemy is unknown as of yet, but Bucky is always prepared. He checks Roterstern over, making sure everything works smoothly and bushes a finger over the trigger. The eldritch monster whispers in his mind again, distorted voices hissing something he can't quite make out and he shakes his head, trying to get rid of it.

"Are you feeling alright?" Mantis asks, concerned.

"I'm fine. Focus on the mission." He pushes the voices aside, running through the motions once more. He is one with his weapons, they are but an extension of his body and he's the one in control. He notices Mantis' antennas droop when he looks away but brushes it off. He doesn't need to form connections here, not when his team changes with each mission. He's a soldier, friends are unnecessary.

Spiderman pats Mantis on the back, offering some comforting words that Bucky can't be bothered to listen into. The annoying high-pitched voice of the being called Galacta begins to countdown and Magneto moves to the front. T'Challa stands by the side door after receiving Luna's snowflake and he hangs just behind Magneto, exhaling deeply.

When the door opens, his team spills out of the room and his mind slips back into soldier mode. There is only the mission to complete, and anyone who gets in his way will be removed. He hears T'Challa disappear into the corridor to the right, ready to dive into the enemy's backline and Spiderman swings off to the left to do the exact same thing. Mantis follows T'Challa while Luna follows him and Magneto.

"They have two tanks, Venom and someone I couldn't quite make out." Spiderman's voice comes over his earpiece.

"Noted. I'll keep an eye out." He spies Venom swinging off in the distance and pings the team immediately, keeping an eye on Luna. Knowing Venom, his target is probably her and he needs to keep her alive. Magneto pushes up to the point they need to capture and all hell breaks loose.

Venom dives just behind him and he spins around, unloading his magazine into the black goo as Luna runs towards him, narrowly avoiding a black tentacle. Venom lets out a roar when he launches his tainted voltage, lashing out with more black tentacles that stick to him but Luna quickly heals him back up.

Bucky lets out a grunt of thanks and pulls the mass of black goo towards him before it can escape, unloading more bullets into where he assumes is it's head and slams his metal fist into the slimy mess, grimacing behind his mask when he hears the squelch. He will need to get his arm cleaned after this fight, who knows if anything got inside it and also he really wants to scrub that black goo off him as soon as possible. Venom screeches, scrambling to get away as it regenerates but Bucky hunts him mercilessly, aided by Magneto who has dropped back a little to help and finally lands the hit needed to dispose of the enemy.

"One tank down. Locating the other." He leaves Magneto and Mantis who has rejoined them to capture the point, scouting a little ahead to see if he can spot where the enemy has regrouped. Luna remains behind to heal up T'Challa and Spiderman is hanging out somewhere high above the battlefield, waiting for an opportunity.

"Roger that!" Spiderman chirps, way too enthusiastically for Bucky's taste. The kid is brave for fighting in such a huge war, but a part of him believes that someone like him shouldn't be doing that in the first place. It's a war, not some alley brawl, and consequences are dire. Still, if the kid chose to fight for his universe, then he'll respect that decision. Maybe keep an eye out for the kid whenever he can.

He really is getting soft, isn't he.

He pauses in his tracks, the battlefield is way too silent. This isn't good. He glances up at the sky, half expecting a portal to open up right above the point but there's nothing. Not even after he's stared at the sky for a good few seconds. That's weird. He looks back at the corridor in front of him, mind racing as he tries to predict what the enemy team is up to when suddenly a figure that definitely does not belong to his team appears in the corner of his vision.

Shit.

He whips his head around, Roterstern held at the ready and fires but his bullets bounce off a familiar item, falling to the ground with a 'ping'. His eyes widen when he realises who he's up against, feet rooted to the ground.

Of all people to be up against. It had to be him. He knew, he knew there was always a possibility, the fact that that man would sometimes be on his team meant he could be on the enemy team too. This wasn't the first time he'd gone up against that man, but this was the first time he was all alone with no one to help him.

"I'm sorry, Buck."

His lover — no, an alternate version of his lover stands in front of him, shield held up. His breath catches in his throat and he feels his chest tighten. It never gets easier. Each and every time he faces Steve as an enemy, he struggles to pull the trigger, memories flooding his mind. He can't ever do it properly, the soldier disappears whenever he sees Steve and he feels like a kid in Brooklyn all over again.

Sometimes the enemy Steve can't bring himself to attack either, and they stand there, facing each other until the sound of battle calls them back. When they rejoin the fight, they try to avoid each other, barely making eye contact. None of their teammates ever question it, everyone has their own inner demons and have learnt never to ask about each other's.

His hand trembles, his mind screams but the rest of his body refuse to cooperate. He can see it, the red, blue and white shield inching closer, its edge pressing against his neck, the coolness of the metal. Every instinct howls at him to move, to run, to defend himself but he can't. He just can't.

He can't bring himself to hurt the man he loves again.

"Steve…?" The word almost comes out as a whimper. He can feel the pressure on his throat, it's digging into his flesh and he's starting to find it difficult to swallow. His metal fingers dig into the wall behind him, chest heaving but this Steve doesn't stop. The shield continues pushing into his throat, splitting his skin to reveal the blood that flows beneath and Bucky finds himself panicking harder. He has to run, get out somehow or he's going to die. He knows he will come back to life some seconds later but death still hurts, and his team needs him.

His chest hurts, his breathing heavy behind his mask and tears prick the corners of his eyes. This is not his Steve, he's not hurting the one who means the world to him, but his body still refuses to cooperate with him. His body still refuses to move, to fight back, even on the cusp of death and he can't believe the last thing he'll see is Steve's empty blue eyes.

Steve's eyes are empty.

His mouth opens, but no words come out. Is this it? Is he going to fold like this? Is this how his first death this mission will go?

"Bucky!" A red figure swings into the corridor, landing a right hook on Steve's face which sends the super soldier stumbling backwards. He gasps, the pressure finally lifted from his throat, and coughs. Mantis approaches him, a worried expression on her face and heals him before pulling him out of the corridor, Spiderman swinging behind them.

"We have to retreat!" Mantis calls out. "Pushing the statue takes priority now!"

"Right," he gasps. "The statue."

He can't shake the glassy look in Steve's gentle blue eyes that always flickered with passion and gentleness. It's haunting, and his heart aches every time he thinks about it. What happened that pushed his one and only to the brink? He looks back at the corridor as they run, feeling his heart plummet and forces himself to look forward. He wants to save that Steve, to catch him before he falls but he has a mission that comes first.

That Steve isn't his Steve, they're different people. His mind knows that but his heart still sees them as the same person. He focuses on taking steps forward, towards the statue and grits his teeth. Without Mantis and Spiderman's timely intervention, he would've been dead. He cannot afford to repeat that mistake again, not if he is to successfully complete this mission.

I'm sorry, Steve.

He has to become the Winter Soldier. For the sake of the mission. There can be no distractions.

He cannot save this Steve.

[dvckssauce]

Since Deltarune update is Deltasoon, I’m going to make one last theory.

I know we’ve been seeing the “Angel” as a ball with wings in the prophecy symbol. It was the case in Undertale. I no longer believe this is the case in Deltarune, since Toby Fox enjoys making amalgamations of monsters, symbols, etc.

So thanks to extensive research and brainrot, I NOW see it as two hands holding up a ball.

Because who in-game has made that position before with direct symbolism in connection to the Angel?

Noelle Holiday.

She even has little white balls/snowflakes emitting from her Snowgrave spell that take up the entire screen when activated!!

((I added this for more proof because even in other interpretations of the Deltarune Symbol, it STILL looks like two hands, even more so with five fingers and palms in this one.))

Anyways, Noelle has been repressing her feelings and emotions even through years of therapy, trauma management, due to an unknown incident related to her missing sister, December Holiday (who is definitely trapped in a dark world).

I think this game/program is for Noelle, if not December and the rest of the Holiday family. Just like how Undertale was for the Dreemurr family.

Our goal, as the Player, is to banish the Angel’s Heaven, which I have interpreted as a Dark World that Noelle or December will choose to live in, or even take upon the mission to expand the Dark World to a point that triggers the Roaring.

Queen has already told Noelle to “choose a world that makes her happy” and recognizes her immense power that can create an even more powerful world/fantasy.

December is cursed in some way, where she cannot return to the Light World. This is inferred from Susie’s quote about Dragon Blazers, where “your sister gets cursed.”

Noelle will have to make a choice at some point, which is inevitably going to be the worst example of a choice to make, as the game is all about how OUR choices don’t matter.

Because she is going to choose to be with December, in the case that she cannot return to the Light World, and will use her powers to expand the Dark World/Light World as she is a LIGHT mage.

((This could also be extended to how December might also be a Light Mage, or even a Dark Mage! It would tie nicely with the duality of text screens when we are first introduced to the Deltarune.))

I believe this will be the ending we receive through the Weird Route, because it is a rather interesting, and false happy ending. Because it would bring the end of the world, as the balance has been severely thrown off, BUT Noelle will be reunited with her sister in her Heaven.

Which also leads me to believe that Another painful ending option would be that Noelle leaves December in a Dark World that will have to be closed, and thats the end.

This could be fueled by the lyrics of Don’t Forget. ((could be tied to Ralsei, but December seems to be more likely in my opinion due to the “Shining in the cold” line and the “Don’t forget, I’m with you in the dark” line.))

I don’t have much else to say, other than Deltarune seems to be a bit more grim and somber when it comes to the storytelling and ending. Maybe it’ll be especially difficult to reach a Happy Ending, where everyone can return to the Light World safely. But I wouldn’t put too much stock into it.

I’d love to hear some feedback, questions, or comments because the release of Chapter 3 and 4 could throw so many theories into a flaming pile of garbage, or fuel them in a similar way. Thanks!

((EDIT: I forgot to add one of the more insane ideas I had in a Deltarune chill sweat.

Gaster’s machine that Alphys built in Undertale.

That is a deer head. It is missing the physical “horns”, it would’ve been too on the nose to include actual antlers. But the thick coil wires around it are supposed to mimic that.

The deer monsters in the Holiday family are responsible for Gaster’s design of the DT extractor.

In Deltarune, POWER resides the most within Noelle, Dess, and/or the entire Holiday family. Specifically, the ability of their power to extract determination. Spampton’s “REDACTED” statements about Kris and Noelle “[Making]” something, it is clearly Determination or Power. (….or Termination?)

The world-changing POWER of one of these individuals is going to set off the Angel’s Heaven. And when it does, Gaster is going to escape into Undertale somehow, and try to replicate that awesome power he witnessed that was used to CRASH Deltarune, but harness it at a level only meant to extract determination at low amounts.

That’s why Determination is the most important thing in Undertale, and for Deltarune it is Power. Again, this is just some crack theory.))

[trulybetty]

choices.

pairing: joel x reader word count: 628 warnings: none, just a itty bitty ficlet that we're yeeting out with no edit estimated reading time: 3 minutes summary: I'm procrastinating and Joel is Christmas shopping. ao3: linked

Joel was defeated before he'd even stepped foot in the department store.

The piped in Christmas music was too loud, the place too damn hot and he was staring at the two options in his hands, his brow knit together so tightly you'd think he was trying to solve the mathematical complexity of undoing one of Tommy's equations resulting in an odd number of cuts on a kitchen renovation.

To him, there wasn't a damn thing different between the two dolls—same wide eyes, same ridiculously sparkly dress—but he knew better, he knew his kid. Sarah was seven years old, the kind of seven that noticed everything. She'd never say it, but he'd know it. He just wished he'd paid more attention when she'd been chatting his ear off on the way home from school the other week. His free time was limited and that meant this was his last chance to finish shopping for Sarah.

Joel exhaled through his nose, he shifted the box edges in the palm of his hands, like maybe holding them a little differently might give him the goddamn answer.

You drifted by the aisle again, Ellie's list clutched in your hand. Extensive, and punctuated with her trademark illustrations including doodles of aliens and guitars. You were still scanning for the Lego set she had not stopped talking about for weeks. The kid already had the cunning of a detective. You were starting to suspect the actual set did not exist, just a ruse to suss out whether Santa was truly real or not.

But, as you scanned the shelves, looking for what could be the impossible, you noticed Joel Miller stood still in the same spot you'd noticed him in earlier.

"You're still here?" you asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Joel didn't look up from the dolls in his hands, "What's the difference between Deluxe and Ultimate Edition?"

You stepped in next to him and looked over the options in his hands, they truly were identical dolls and you weren't entirely sure why this had kept him rooted to his spot.

"That one has a red scarf and that one has a blue scarf?" you proposed after a moment of contemplation, "sorry."

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he nodded to the crumpled note in your hand, "At least yours gave you a list. Sarah just mentioned this in passing on the way to school: 'Dad, the Snowflake Doll is the best one, and the other one is lame'." He held both boxes up for inspection, "Now we've got Snowflake Deluxe and Snowflake Ultimate."

He gave a quiet sigh and slipped the 'Deluxe Edition' under his arm and returned the other to the shelf. Maybe Deluxe was better than Ultimate, at least sounded better. He knew Sarah would say nothing if it were the wrong one, she was that kind of kid. But he had to pick something, time was not on his side.

"If it makes you feel better, I'm pretty sure Ellie has made up this Lego set as a means to find out if Santa is real."

Joel snorted, he was familiar with the young girl, Sarah and Ellie becoming thick as thieves despite their polar differences since you and your niece had moved to town during the summer.

"Well," he said, checking his watch, he was running late, "good luck with your Lego search. If it doesn't show up, just tell Ellie Santa got stuck in customs."

You smirked at the idea, knowing Ellie would love this plot twist, "Might just do that, thanks Miller," you said, taking off to scour the aisle once more, missing the beat or two Joel took to watch you before he set off for the checkouts.

[confusedmothboy]

hey!! can we hear more about ranger eddie? i want to hear about this so bad.

yes ofc!! im so sorry this took so long to answer i kept forgetting about it 😭

everything about this loser is under the cut

so i've already yapped about him immediately post crash but im gonna do it again. when they were rescued, it took about a week for tabloids to start hounding him to come out, which he did, which led to more hounding. eddie, being rescued in what would have been mid-senior year, tried continuing the classes he had as a sophomore, except the harassment he and the other survivors who tried to return faced was more than he could handle, and he couldn't stand the embarassment of being so behind his peers. he studied for months, took the SAT, essentially testing through sophmore and junior year, then, when he was 19, got his GED. almost immediately after, he and travis move away to ithica, NY. eddie needed a job while he was studying at cornell, and he found a park ranger position at taughannock falls park that paid well.

interviewer: "so i see you had a bit of an unusual gap on your resume, most kids get jobs around junior year, but this is your first?"

eddie: "something came up during that time"

interviewer: "i get it, stuff happens. well, your application notes said you're a bit of an outdoorsman? former boy scout? we get a lot of those out here."

eddie: "no, i've just spent a lot of time around nature."

interviewer: "that could mean a lot of things. you a rugged survivalist, or did you spend your summers up on a nice, well-mowed campsite in mommy and daddy's rv?"

eddie: "are you familiar with new jersey's high school soccer teams?"

interviewer: ???

eddie: "do you maybe remember -it was national news- last february, 1998, those people from the plane crash they found out in the woods after 19 months? does something about me look familiar? does 19 months of rugged survivalism count as adaquate experience for a job like this?"

he's an opprotunist. he milks the trauma the public thinks he got out there for as long as he can. average grades and an unfinished high school education makes it improbably he'd get into an ivy league school? well, cornell, have you considered that he's a special traumatized snowflake whose biggest dream of all is to go to your school? try rejecting that admissions letter. turned in an assignment late? oh, sorry professor, he was having horrifying flashbacks for exactly the amount of time it takes to get caught up on the new episodes of law and order. he gets an extension.

"eddie's a logical guy, why woudn't he realize that this job would keep him from moving on from his time in the wilderness?" i hear you ask. well, at this point eddie's not logical in a sane way. he tries to treat himself the same he would have in the times before the crash. if eddie in the spring of 1996 wouldnt have a problem working as a park ranger for four-ish years, eddie in the summer of 1999 shouldn't either. he also subconsciously doesn't know what to do with himself once he's back in society. like nat, he had a purpose in the wilderness. so he returns to the wilderness part-time to keep himself sane. and it works surprisingly well for a time. eddie's not one to be scared of wandering around the woods for days at a time, because the dangers are nothing like what he had out in the wilderness.

he puts a lot of emphasis on his role of "savior", finding lost hikers, dogs, kids out there and getting them back safe and sound. he's almost obsessive about it, taking weekends away to roam the woods just to make sure no one got left behind. he doesn't talk to his co-workers, they all know who he is and know that he thinks they're incompetent compared to him.

so how does it fall apart? in december of 2002, eddie's doing his normal patrol when it starts snowing. he doesn't like to be out during early winter, but he has to finish his shift. he's humming to himself when he sees fire going in the distance. obviously, he goes to check it, and finds a group of college age kids had started it. that wasn't unusual, he has to kick a lot of teenagers out of the woods after the park closes. but unfortunately, he stumbled on some sort of frat hazing ritual. they're all wearing cloaks, at least that's what eddie said in the report, some of them are singing around the fire, one of them is sleeping in the snow wearing basically nothing, blackout drunk.

obviously, this sets off just about every awful memory eddie has from the wilderness. he fucking loses it. he's hearing voices, he's shaking and hitting the drunk guy awake, he's seeing those culty animal masks in the shadows, he tazes one of the guys with his bear tazer, it's Bad. he doesn't stop until they all get rid of their cloaks and run away, and he realizes that there is a lawsuit incoming. he finds a hoodie with their school and frat on it that one of the guys left behind, and fucking tails these guys back to their house. they talk, he explains a lot about who he is (a stupid move that he realized could be used to blackmail him in the future if these guys are out for vengance later) he ends up paying each of the people involved a thousand out of his own pocket, tanks his savings and emergency funds, and returns to the park at damn near sunrise to hand in his badge.

thankfully, no one preses charges, so eddie's able to go back to his classes and find a new job as an intern with almost no trouble. travis, who finished getting his GED just a few months before, had to work a second job because he's not going to college. rough times of empty fridges, and they joke about needing to get back into hunting and trapping. over the next four years, they keep shoving pennies into their savings accounts before eddie gets his doctorate in 2007 and starts working as a professor, the same place he works 14 years later when the adult tl would take place

holy yap 😭🙏 hope that answered all your questions on him

[rei-ismyname]

Magik and Colossus reach an understanding

I'm truly sorry for the Greg Land art. Ugh

The Extinction Team had some interesting dynamics, one of which was Colossus' struggle with The Juggernaut's power and Magik supporting him. Cyttorak is a cruel master but Ilyana has extensive experience with all things demonic. She doesn't like being called snowflake, however. At all.

The siblings took time off from being Phoenix people and travelled to his realm, The Crimson Cosmos. Pete makes a good argument, but Cyttorak says nah.

BEGONE

Hilariously, he wants to keep him because he's a hero. Violence and destruction is a constant for them, without any of the hiding folks like Cain Marko have to do. In trying to oppose him, it's revealed a demon lord is all powerful when in their domain.

After AvX went to shit and the siblings tried to take each other down, they took some time for a post-game chat. Pete, especially, is not dealing well.

Then Magik drops the bomb, putting the 'snowflake' business to bed for good.

Colossus is... not happy about this revelation.

It's pretty wild to learn that she was not acting in good faith at all, but then again they never expected to become the Phoenix Five. I think there's some misplaced anger on both sides, but ultimately they're both pretty messed up.

He loses his shit and attacks her while Magik twists the knife. She insists on a change of scenery and takes them to Limbo. With her first sword strike she breaks the curse, freeing him from Cyttorak.

'Remember what Cyttorak said? That a demon lord is all powerful in their own realm?'

'So you could have cured me anytime?'

Yep, and now he knows what it's like. She drops him back in Siberia and he says next time he sees her he'll kill her. The Rasputins stay at odds for a few years, but eventually Kitty Pryde brings them back together. It's hard to tell with Piotr but I think he learned something. Magik apologises and admits it was a shitty thing to do. Growth!