#I just wish I could do more than just share posts and like fundraisers and spread the word on the problems people need to see

[mrblazeflappybird]

I wish I was old enough to put my privilege to use.

#like i may be a trans bi white boy but I look like a cishet white boy #You couldn't tell I'm neurodivergent if I didn't tell anyone (probably) #I have all this priviledge and I can't use it because I'm too young to do anything that makes an impact #I wanna be a politician or go into politics and do human rights #I wish I could do that now because i'm worried by the time I'm old enough the world will be in peices #I just wish I could do more than just share posts and like fundraisers and spread the word on the problems people need to see #I want to actively help improve things but right now my role is to “like comment and share” #It sucks seeing people suffer and not being able to use the priveledge I've been blessed with to try get ignorant people to understand #Anyway sorry for the tag rant #I just want to do something more than just post about things on my tiny tumblr blog and pray someone else can do something #because I cant yet #and that really sucks

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟑   ❛ 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ❜   |   QUEEN'S OFFICE, MID MARCH 1991

❧  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

   ❛  Beatriz, like her grandmother before her, lived by the belief that Uspana was her true firstborn. When her daughter’s mourning period concluded, she returned to work on its behalf. She was not a simple figurehead. Her job was not to pose for pictures, to fundraise money for good causes, to lift the spirits of the weary with a benevolent smile. She did the work of a statesman, and she did it well. She was a politician. On any given day, her attention divided in a thousand directions—domestic versus foreign affairs, diplomacy and economics, tempestuously petty interpersonal dynamics on which national matters of life and death too often depended. Staff abounded to keep it all in order, but Beatriz had always been a hands-on executive. She knew what skeletons lurked in the closets of allies and adversaries alike, and she knew the details of bills and proposals less careful eyes overlooked. She enjoyed sparring with representatives. She harangued her ministers for sport. It wasn’t ideology that drove her so much as the desire to win. More than merely dedicated, the queen thrived in the high-stakes, head-spinning world of governance. It was one in which her weaknesses were strengths. The people of Uspana knew her reputation, but most of them credited it with the long era of stability that she seemed to have held together, almost single-handedly, through sheer force of will.

❧ TAKE TWO FUCK TUMBLR i took the screenshots for this ages ago, and !!!!! i wish that i’d had the time and energy to redo it, but :/ fine enough to just post. i wish i could say beatriz gets better, but ... idk, man, this is just who she is, which sucks sdkfshj

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

TRANSCRIPT:

{Conversation}

[L] She canceled again, didn’t she?

[B] Not quite. It’s business as usual, is all. They’re taking a coffee break in a moment, so she’ll see you for a few minutes then. [L] {scoffs} Of course.

[B] Look at you. Such a tired trio.

[B] I’m glad to see your faces. These last several weeks have been difficult for everyone. Time to come together.

[B] That’s what I wanted to share with you. Everything is the same for us—well, except for you three. How can we have orphans in a family so large? That’s how you feel, I presume.

[B] You don’t know this, but he had all sorts of inquiries about Safya’s estate within mere days of … Well. Mourning is over, and there is a definitive, sweeping answer. An eviction, in fact. That was her home, and I intend to preserve it as such indefinitely.

[L] I don’t understand. What about Gil and Mateo? [B] You would understand if you let me finish, Leonor. Anyway, this is hardly your concern. You wanted to live alone.

[B] Boys, you will take up residence at Nakawe Palace. Damian and Julian are there, Arnaut’s pair will be around … You will be with me, with your grandfather—right where you ought to be. [G] Mother Beatriz, will Papa be there?

[B] These apartments are for those who belong to the Crown. You belong. Some others do not. [G] Can he visit? [M] We’ll still see him, Gil.

[B] Before you get any ideas: don’t mistake this for a discussion. I was just going to send a moving van to pick you up, but your grandfather was convinced that would be somehow cruel.

[B] Leonor, give me a moment. I have something to say.

[B] Why would you go out like this? They’ll notice. [L] Who will? [B] Come on now. The papers, obviously.

[B] You look awful. To start, go home and wash your hair. These things matter.

[B] They’re going to eat you alive. Do you hear me? They will because they can, and there’s little I can do about it. [L] {softly} They already are …

[B] Exactly. This is my one warning. Let’s not disappoint.

[M] Why didn’t you say anything? [L] Why didn’t you? [M] That’s not fair.

[L] Don’t call him. He should hear everything from her people. It’ll be easier for everyone that way.

[M] Easier? You know that’s not true.

[M] Wait—where are you going? We have plans!

[M] Leonor!

[teddybeirin]

Hiii! Hello.... 2!! 🧸💕 We're remaking this post because the previous one has slowed down quite a bit, and we're still a ways away from our goal.

TLDR: We're trapped in an abusive household & need help getting myself & our cat safely out of here, into someplace (anyplace) free of violence.

The gofundme for our escape can be found here:

Which has more details (& I am going to update it soon, after some things are taken care of hopefully today) but to add on, the cats (including mine) are still in the line of fire whenever I am not in the room to take the shouting/everything else, currently our family is impeding my access to proper food worse than usual as well, which sucks so goddamn bad :'D (I promise to share pictures of my kitty after we're out of here, & a safe distance away - to where this ask for help being easily identified if it is come across by family wouldn't put me in immediate danger, because she is so cute. You'll just have to take my word for it that she is the cutest little cat in the whole wide world for now 🐈💝)

There's no set date in mind that this needs to be met by, & I'm jumping off into the unknown anyhow with no place lined up as that just isn't possible for me. But things here have continued to worsen and get more intense, as time goes on, so it is my hope that we'll get out of here as soon as possible

With the lack of regular meals and exhaustion from lack of sleep and having to constantly manage family tension and blow-ups and household chores, it's been even more difficult to complete our main work on top of everything, despite being online it's still physically intensive (and not very good for ptsd-brain), but we are still doing our very best to keep up with that as it cannot be dropped. We still have rent to pay to our family as long as we are here.

Aside from donating to the gofundme, other ways that you could help are by commissioning artwork from us (our art-related blog where all the info for that is & will be updated is here, & more options for commission stuffs coming soon!!) or by booking a paid reading if divination strikes your fancy, or of course by reblogging this post, retweeting the tweet companion for this post, or if you feel so inclined sharing the gfm elsewhere, anywhere you like. Everyone is dealing with their own struggles right now, and it's completely okay if you can't spare any moneys to help us out of here, every single bit of help no matter what it is is appreciated.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read & to help us!!! Seeing the gfm move closer to its goal, and reading over the kind words and well-wishes we've received since asking for help like this, has already truly made a huge difference for me. It's been so difficult to hope for better, especially when I was trying to get out of here all on my own, but I feel strengthened by all of your guys' kindness and warmth. I can't thank you all nearly enough for that. 💗

#teddyposting

[catsockpuppet]

I really, really wish to share my dumb opinions on SM characters. So… Um..

Here ya’ go. I’m gonna add more characters as I think of them but right now I have Skid, Pump, Ethan, and Streber.

Skid: I think he draws a lot, usually the kind of stuff that’d make a teacher go ‘umm! time to call CPS!’. I imagine that he draws a lot of things related to what he sees around town. Eyes, the clown, Frank, etc., Which- a teacher would immediately report if they saw a kid drawing some weird guy in a white van offering them candy. (I mean, they’d probably report drawings of Eyes as well. Also this is even if he is in school/isn’t homeschooled.) I think he wants to be a mortician when he’s older, especially after Hollow Sorrows.

Ethan: OKAY, none of you are gonna agree with me here but I do not care. I feel like Ethan is probably socially insecure. They probably overthinks everything they say and avoids going and hanging out in public. Like, I imagine that someone will invite they out and they just comes up with ‘oh.. I’m busy that day.’ despite really wanting to go (and being free). Also, Trans. Trans. Trans Ethan. Their intersex, poisonjabs told me (they didn’t but shhh). They really like space and astronomy. I don’t think they’re talkative about it, more-so that IF they go hangout it will end in going into the woods to look at the sky. They probably also play guitar because, of course they do. For a job, they work on customizing old kids toys. They don’t do OOAK dolls, but they do stuff like this YouTuber. I think they have a lot of stuffed animals, most of them being goats. Also, asexual Ethan. Desperately tries to help Streber feel better after Halloween, but they suck at comforting.

Pump: Weird HC, but I think he speaks Italian. Where’d he learn Italian? No clue. He just knows. (I’m kidding, Susie takes Italian classes in school and teaches him bits and pieces. Mostly insults.) He loves going camping entirely because he’s allowed to make a fire, once it starts he is glued to it. His favorite food is popcorn and onetime he asked Radford if he could eat his hair because it looked yummy. He draws with Skid, although he mostly just throws pretty colors onto the paper and calls it a day. When he’s older, I feel like he’d be an horror author. But right now he wants to be like Kevin. (Funnily enough, I also HC that Kevin enjoys writing.)

Streber: It’s like, really fucking sad. Or— more angry, than sad. Even before it lost its arm, he was going through it but tried to hide it. It tried to do the haunted house because, ‘it loves Halloween! Maybe this’ll finally make it happy?’ But it didn’t go as planned, and now he lost an arm. He probably stays inside all the time now, only leaving when friends (Ethan) make him leave because he’s just been rotting away in bed. He and Kev never liked each-other until post Tender Treats. Streber used to work backstage for the drama club, not because he didn’t like acting but because it liked working on things. It really, really wants to visit Rhode Island and see Mercy Brown’s grave (as well as the other Rhode Island vampires, but mostly Mercy Brown). The haunted house was part of a college fundraiser, it just volunteered to lead it and made friends join. Once it does graduate college I can imagine it going into some kind of engineering career and doing small programming gigs for extra cash. Streber is chubby, you. You can see it in Tender Treats. He’s drawn differently than say, Lila or Kev. Obviously it likes vampires, but I feel like thats a bi-product of it really liking history and learning about the Rhode Island vampires and now has an obsession with historical vampires.

Jesus christ, this is long. I’m not re-reading any of this because I’m tired, so, enjoy this. I want to go more in-depth on how characters interact but I may do that on another post because of how long Streber’s got.

#streber spooky month #headcanon #spooky month headcanon #spooky month #ethan spooky month #pump spooky month #skid spooky month

[decompose1]

re: your post abt bottom surgery, that is super true and i agree, but bottom surgery (at least for trans women, and im talking abt a full vaginoplasty) requires like a full year of recovery, meaning they couldnt work for a year at least. there may be services to help fund the surgery itself but ive never seen anything abt helping trans ppl after the surgery, do you know of any resources like that? /nm /gen my wife has wanted bottom surgery for a while but it kind of seems like shes conceded that it wont really be possible :[ (also srry for the random anon i was gonna just reply to the post cuz we're mutuals but i got anxious)

Recovery is probably the WORST part of the financial burden and that's the bit i'm currently working out! I'm really lucky that i currently don't pay rent which is a funny thing to feel lucky about, i'm borderline homeless, but my game plan has been to get all the government benefits i can (like food stamps!) so i have some help, and file an extended leave form with work! Your work is required to let you take extended leave for a medical procedure without risk of job loss, legally.

Aside from that, it's gonna be TOUGH, but the plan is a lot of budgeting and asking for help. Any trans surgery- but especially bottom surgery- is a very "YOU WILL NEED TO ASK FOR HELP" thing, i'm afraid. Make a game plan for people who you know can help bring you food and medicine, who might be able to help you physically or with rides to the appointments, and preferably, if at all possible, people who could help you pay for food or rent. If this isn't possible, i would DEFINITELY check around to see if your city has any trans/queer centers/orgs. These sorts of places often have community funds, or can help get you in touch with fundraisers and/or help boost yours. THESE ARE VERY VALUABLE RESOURCES, SO DON'T BE AFRAID TO TALK TO THEM! Queer organizations in my area have helped so much with putting me in contact with people who could help me so i seriously recommend it. You WILL need to rely on friends and community a little (and family if possible, but i know that's not one i'm leaning on, so i don't assume everyone else can.). It sucks to feel like a mooch, but remember that when you're recovering from a big surgery like this, it's your turn to be one. You'll need help!

Fundraising and budgeting ahead of time is ALSO a massive help! I know it can suck loads and not everyone can be publicly out in their city, but i would recommend, if you can, sharing your fundraiser to LOCAL pages. You're more likely to get help from people in your direct community than strangers online (though you might also wanna share it to them too, for as wide of a net as you can!)

BEST OF LUCK, I'M WISHING YOU THE BEST! i'm sorry if this wasn't all that helpful :')

#sidenote: that recovery time is about how mine looks and #definitely don't be afraid to ask bosses about whether there are any things you could do remotely while you're feeling better! #i know NOBODY wants to work during surgery recovery but #it is a possible option to make finances more manageable #DON'T DO THIS IN THE WEEKS AFTER SURGERY THOUGH. talk to your doctor about remote work possibilities #if there's anything you can reasonably do in a comfortable recovery position it can help!

[gleefrankenfic]

How to Sign Up For...

Sign-ups will go live at NOON TODAY (Aug 14) CST

SIGN-UP DETAILS

For the first time ever, I am opening this project up to the fandom at large! However, I am capping the project to 9 authors. That gives each author 1 week to write starting August 28 and wrapping up on Halloween. I know this isn't ideal, but I just don't think it will be fun for the authors if they have to write too far ahead of Halloween. The spooky vibes just aren't there in July.

If you have followed this from the beginning, than you will know that this started in 2020 as a rather last minute, small project I roped a few writer friends into doing with me because I thought it would be fun. In 2021, I planned ahead a little bit more so we could post chapter by chapter rather than all at once. Since this story wouldn't even exist without them, I am grandfathering in any authors who have previously participated in Frankenfic. I hope you understand 💖. If I can't be fair, I can at least be transparent.

Sign-ups will close in one week, at midnight (or when I have reached my cap). If I have not reached 9 authors, I may extend the deadline.

NUTS AND BOLTS:

What is a “round robin” story? A collaborative storytelling technique in which each chapter of a story is written by a different author. Someone starts the story by setting the scene, then the next author picks up where they left off and moves the story along, on and on until everyone has written a chapter and the last person wraps up the story and brings it to a close. 

Prompt: In their latest scheme to fundraise for Regionals, The New Directions decide to host the spookiest haunted house that Lima, Ohio has ever seen. But when strange things start happening on the set of their haunted house, it may be the spooksters themselves who get the biggest fright.

Length: Write as much or as little as you want! 

Timeline: Each writer gets a week to create their section. If your turn comes and the timing is terrible let Esperanto know and she can try to switch things around. Writing will start the week of August 28.

Tense: The story will be written in the past tense

Pairing: Kurt/Blaine. 

Rating: The story will be rated no higher than M on Ao3. Please write accordingly.

HOW WILL SIGN-UPS WORK?

For the first time ever, I am opening this project up to the fandom at large!

But I will be capping the total number of authors 😔. I wish I could promise everyone who wants to can be part of this, but I just don't see a way to do that and still keep things fun and I will make it first come, first serve. I am also going to be transparent here and share that I have already reserved some slots for the writers who have been doing this with me from the beginning. If this feels unfair to anyone, I can only offer my apologies and affirm that I am genuinely trying to organize this is a way that is respectful. One of the best ways I know how to do that is to be transparent, which is why I'm explaining how this will work.

With a holiday story like this, I just don't think it's fun if we have to start writing super early and I also don't think readers will be as excited to read much past Halloween.

This started as a fun idea I roped a few friends into doing with me on a very tight timeline. Last year I got a little more organized, started a little earlier, created this blog, but after asking the same people who were involved the first time around I counted how many weeks we had until Halloween and determined I didn't have anymore open slots.

#announcement

[girlcalledwhatsername]

I posted 3,712 times in 2022

That's 602 more posts than 2021!

146 posts created (4%)

3,566 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@girlcalledwhatsername

@twice-as-many-stars

@zeawesomebirdie

@sleevesareforlosers

@anarchist-mariner

I tagged 1,334 of my posts in 2022

#art - 29 posts

#mcr - 24 posts

#undescribed - 18 posts

#ableism - 17 posts

#my chemical romance - 16 posts

#asks - 15 posts

#literature - 14 posts

#punk - 11 posts

#poetry - 10 posts

#loki - 10 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#and they are getting ready to uphold psychiatry and gaslight you into thinking you have to hand over your agency and autonomy to them ❤️

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I think comedy peaked with "My name... is James Acaster. Death comes for us all." why are people still trying

87 notes - Posted November 7, 2022

#4

People with miles long DNIs have quite some nerve interacting wily nily with my posts without checking and realising I fall in their dni category like, ten times over. Babe if you need such a huge list of people to not even look your way, one would think you would be more careful about not interacting with such people yourself yet here you are, putting horrid tags on my posts and subjecting me to rancid takes in the dni if I click further.

92 notes - Posted October 9, 2022

#3

It bothers me still that Andy Samberg and Jack Black amongst others fully participated in the Color the Spectrum campaign even though autistic adults who have followed these figures tried to bring to their attention the fact that fundraisers promoting ABA are ableist conversion-therapy funding bullshit that don't even involve any actual autistic people having any say in it. And it bothers me further that supposedly progressive people keep hyping up these figures and these seems little backlash that's big enough for them to even notice. This isn't to shame people who admire these celebrities, there's always going to be some "unproblematic white man" celebrity or another that the internet latches onto, and I'd go so far as to not even immediately assume anything other than ignorance on the part of these two men, but the fact is that the most influence that can be had is from their own fanbase.

I wish the people who post so much about Black and Samberg hyping them up all the time and bring up School of Rock in every other conversation would devote some time at least to join in those autistic voices that had tried to reach out to these very influential men. People like these who are seen as paragons of virtue while having a huge following could make a huge difference in ending the honestly torturous techniques that these ABA therapies are developing. Y'all talk a big game about holding people accountable but it only ever follows after someone already pisses you off and it's always about punishing people rather than trying to change their behaviour in a way that actually benefits marginalised folk.

Calling out ableism isn't just for vague old tweets from some small creator whom you found cringe, it's also for celebrities you actively like whose involvement in these movements has major impacts. Read what autistic people have said about ABA if you aren't aware, but surely if you believe these idols to be the good people that they are, they would be willing to learn to be better? Or do us autistics have to wait for them to do something cringe till you will get mad enough to bring it up?

272 notes - Posted September 2, 2022

#2

Me, hyping myself up to stop zoning out just long enough to get in bed: come on, come on, be brave, come on, we can do this, please, it has been thirty minutes and it's cold, look at the blanket it will be so nice there, come on,

273 notes - Posted January 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

🍂This user is always happy to see ao3 surpass their donation goals btw.🍂

This user is glad to see publically-funded archives of all kinds and especially those with a history of standing against censorship, especially fully volunteer-run ones with artists generously sharing their works for free, especially well organised ones that I respect the hell out of.

2,327 notes - Posted October 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#mildly embarassing #blogs i rb'd the most we are friends now ok?

[more-than-a-princess]

@cadcnce​ asked:  What trend would you wish to see on here? What are things that you don’t wish to see on here?

Questions for the Mun meme - Accepting!

What trend would you wish to see on here?

Acceptance and Open Communication. Forever and ever.

Acceptance that people have different writing styles, topics, and interests and that is entirely okay. Even, and especially if, those things are different from how you write, prioritize, and have an interest in. That doesn’t make them a bad person or a terrible roleplayer or mun: they just have a different way of roleplaying.

And open communication about RP plotting and topics. It’s great when you can make friends with your writing partners OOC, but at bare minimum? Check in with them if you’re stumped with a thread/have writers block, or just aren’t interested in writing that thread/interaction/dynamic anymore. Unsure about how to answer an ask/have no muse for a particular prompt? That’s also just fine! But communicate that with your writing partners, and even better, ask to plot or suggest something that does inspire the both of you to write. If you’re uncomfortable with the way a thread is going, speak up. And normalize dropping and finishing threads that no longer are fun to write, but communicate with your partner that this isn’t the end of the interactions (if you don’t want it to be, that is!).

People can and will overthink anything and everything on tumblr. I think many of us are just susceptible to doing so, whether we’re new or veterans of the RPC. There’s certainly a degree of overcommunicating and oversharing about some things, but the state of an RP or thread? I doubt anyone would mind if their partner shared with them that they’re struggling and could they start another thread, or they have an idea for a specific pair of muses, or that it’ll take a little while to get back to a particular thread because even if the muse isn’t currently there for it, the mun is still invested in it. 

What are things that you don’t wish to see on here?

Besides political posts/fundraising posts...it’s passive-aggressive requests for interactions. Particularly when the blog in question has starter calls/memes/open threads already.

Not that I want to invalidate someone’s desire to write with others/more people, that’s not the point. Because I do believe that the desire/interest is there, they do want to write with others/more people.

 The point is: it is discouraging when, after engaging with starter calls/sending memes/replying to open threads/etc. that you see mutuals frustrated that ‘no one is interacting with me!’

Because that can’t be it, when you see either yourself or others engaging in starter calls and sending things in: what’s missing is that a specific blog/portrayal/you name it isn’t interacting.

That might be a ship partner for a ship you’re really feeling right now. That might be a new blog you just followed back. That might be someone whose writing/threads you’ve admired for awhile and just haven’t interacted with yet.

But no matter the case? 

Sometimes, you just need to reach out to that blog directly or send things in yourself. Sending prompts in is always a gamble as to if the blog 1. replies and 2. it goes past that reply if you’re looking for a thread, but that’s the risk you have to take on here I think. And if there’s someone you really want to write/plot/ship with? Ask them. Straight up chat with them and say ‘Hey! I really like your muse/blog/portrayal and would love it if we could plot or send in some asks/starters! What do you think about (insert plot/verse/ship here)?’

If they turn you down, just keep your head held high and interact with those who are showing interest. Rejection sucks no matter the situation, but it often says a lot more about them than you.

#more-than-a-princess answered #more-than-a-princess musings #cadcnce #(Questions for the Mun meme) #(This entire reply could be summed up as: ALL OF US MUNS JUST NEED TO COMMUNICATE MORE EFFECTIVELY) #(EVERY LAST ONE OF US) #(I know I'm not exempt from this either)

[lemonjoonah]

Wrapped Together (M)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Word Count: 18K Rating: M Genre: Christmas AU, Romance, Drama  Warnings: Protected sex, oral (m. rec.), referenced illness/death of parent, swearing, classism. Summary: Despite your best efforts to keep your head down, to self-preserve and endure what will no doubt be the worst Christmas of your life, you are still roped into volunteering for the hospital's annual gift wrap fundraiser. The enticing factor that lured you out? The promise of a new shift partner, Kim Namjoon. Though your first day together starts off with a slight miscalculation of his skills for wrapping, he soon becomes your essential ally in the fight to get through this lonely holiday season.

| Secret Santa Collab | My Masterlist |

A/N: A big thank you to @kimtaehyunq​ for asking me to join her Secret Santa Christmas Collab, this was my first collab ever and I absolutely loved it. And of course to my beta readers @m00nchild-shi​ and @ladyartemesia​ thank you for helping me gain the courage to post this. I hope that this fic is able to bring a bit of comfort to those celebrating the holidays a little differently this year, so please enjoy!

...

-5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Amidst the chatter of the office, a dull rumble reaches your ears and vibrates the desk beneath your fingers, waking you from the repetitive haze of your hundredth call report. The moment of confusion switches to frantic action when your brain finally catches on and recognizes it as your own personal phone. Scurrying through your purse, you nab it just in time, but after checking the caller ID you desperately wish you hadn’t. 

You knew this call was coming, you’ve dreaded it since you felt the first freezing snowflake on the tip of your nose, when you heard the first carol blaring over the radio, and saw the first tacky inflatable gracing a lawn on your street. It happens every year, like clockwork, though this will be the first time she’ll be enlisting one and not two. Unable to put off the dreaded moment any longer, you answer, accepting that if you rip the band-aid off now and decline her invitation to join the wrapping fundraiser, it’ll be one less uncomfortable moment later. 

“Aunt Emma, hey it’s been awhile.” She’s not exactly your aunt, but you’ve known her ever since you and your mother settled down here ten years ago. With little other family nearby she was one of the few you and your mom could always count on. Making your task to turn her down all the more difficult now.

“My dear, how are you holding up? I’m so sorry to do this but I'm calling with some rather unfortunate news.”

“Oh?” You exclaim, careful not to sound too hopeful that you might be free of your heavy burden.

“Yes, well it’s regarding the wrapping fundraiser. I wanted to put you on the same shifts as myself or Maria. I didn’t want to have you alone, since, well, you know... but there are so many rookie volunteers this year. And with you being part of the organization for so long, I was hoping you work with one of them instead for the evening shifts? It’ll just be you and him, do you think you could manage it?”

“I-I uh...” Now this is something you had not expected. You spent the past few weeks worrying about how you might have to work side by side with pitying glances, condolences, and referenced scripture from the usual staff. Any thoughts and prayers for your loss would likely turn you into a pool of tears. Not something you want to happen in public, or private for that matter, but if you are partnered with a newcomer, one who knows nothing of your past, maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “I can do that.”

“I knew you could! I’ll put you down for the weekday evenings from the seventh up to Christmas. You’re off work at four, right? I’ll send you more details later, but do you want me to be there to introduce you to the other volunteer?”

“No!” You blurt out, insisting in a volume far louder than necessary, but you can’t risk her acting on the offer. Introductions when done by Emma are dicey at best, with one solid breath she has the capacity to share every bit of your sad history, leaving you exactly where you’d rather not be. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. No need to put yourself out like that, you can just tell me their name now and save yourself the trip.” 

“Thank you dear, always so considerate. One second let me just grab that for you...” She pauses on the phone line, as you look around your office in worry, not wanting to get in trouble for taking a personal call on the clock. “Ah here it is. You’ll be working with Kim Namjoon...” 

...

-Less than 3 Weeks Until Christmas-

After finishing work you head off to the mall for your first day on wrapping duty. It should be a relatively quiet night, since the majority of the crowd typically disperses at this time, heading home to be with families for dinner. Your own sits in a paper bag on the passenger seat of your car. A solitary meal as you battle the rush hour traffic. Finishing off the last of the salted fries with a lick of your fingers while you secure a parking spot. 

Flipping down your visor you scoff when confronted with your appearance, your makeup melted off thanks to the struggles of your earlier shift. You dab and blend a fresh blot of concealer on the dark bags beneath your eyes, determined to erase any evidence of your doleful days and sleepless nights. 

The rented store space is already set up, with a long table propped up right at the entrance. Dressed with a variety of paper and ribbon and looking particularly festive. The other volunteers give you a brief greeting and run down before they leave and pass the duties off to you. With them gone you take a seat, looking down at the selection you have to offer this year, trying with all your might not to focus on the empty chair beside you, one that is usually fill by your-

“Hi, sorry I’m late...” Your gaze flicks up from the table, startled to find a giant of a man. Greeting you with a smile warm enough to melt your frozen expression. 

“H-hi,” You stutter out, staring at his handsome face framed with light brown locks, feeling as though you’ve seen it before, but can’t quite place where. “You must be Namjoon?” You ask, running through the list of actors and singers in your mind but coming up empty on who he reminds you of.

He nods, before confirming your name too, and launching into the reason behind his tardiness. “The traffic was not in my favour today.” He gestures to the table and the vacant seat behind it. “May I?” 

“Of course.” You quickly scoot the folding table over so he can slip by the barrier that separates you from the mall. He takes off his coat to reveal a whole suit beneath, though he soon disposes of the jacket and tie too. You try not to gulp as he rolls up his sleeves in front of you, his arms flexing as they reveal themselves. 

“Pretty quiet?” He asks looking around the mall. 

“It usually is around now, give it an hour or two.”

“Have you been doing this long?”

“A few years...” You mumble, not wanting to dive too deep in that well, you quickly turn to pin the question on him instead. “What prompted you to volunteer? Did Emma enlist you during her recruiting effort?”  

“She did, I found her posting the flyer at my workplace.” Namjoon chuckles. “But I’ve seen you all set up here before, and since my usual Christmas plans with my family have changed, I thought I’d join you all instead.”

“Oh, so you’re not spending Christmas with them?” 

“No, they’ve gone to visit my sister and her family in her city this year. I unfortunately have a few work commitments I can’t get out of to make the trip in time, but rather than just mope about at home I thought I might be of some use.” Namjoon smiles again, his fingers folding the corner of the wrapping paper in front of him. “What about you, any plans?”

“No, I usually spend it with my mom, but she won’t be with me this year...” Or any year going forward, you consider while you give him a weak smile. She was the very reason you joined this organization all those years ago, when Aunt Emma was making her rounds and signing up everyone she could at the hospital, you and your mother were there for an appointment, your mom offered up both of your services lending you to a tradition that would extend for years through her treatment, remission, and the final return. 

“So we're in the same boat?” 

“I guess so.” His grin is so contagious, despite the differences in your situation you can’t help but agree.

Your first client of the evening comes forward and drops a small pile of kids toys in front of you both . “Thank god you're here. If I bring these home unwrapped my kids won’t hesitate to spoil the surprise.” You divide the presents between you and Namjoon while the mother keeps talking and flicking through the different styles of paper offered. “At least if they’re wrapped I can say I saw Santa at the mall and he gave me these early. They are so hard to fool these days.” 

“I take it you’ll want the Santa stickers?” You ask pointing to a closed box behind you, hidden away from the wide and prying eyes of young children passing by. 

“Yes, thank you so much!” 

“No problem.” You assure her while putting the last piece of tape on the stack of video games. Though when you look over to check on Namjoon you find that he has barely even started. He cut off a sheet entirely too big and is attempting to fold it around the boxed animatronic pet. Your eyes stare at the state of the poor paper unable to look away from the crumpled carnage. But the shock soon turns to amusement over his determination to salvage the mangled sheet, and you find yourself biting your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Luckily the woman in front of you hasn’t noticed but once you're finished with yours, you reach over for the assist. 

“Here, I can take over that one. Could you do the ribbon for me?” 

 Namjoon nods opening his mouth in an embarrassed grin. He does manage to secure the strand around the package but loses the spool before he can cut it. The red ribbon rolls all the way to your foot, before you stop it with a tap on the sole of your boot. Namjoon winces, while you let out a chuckle before bending over to hand it back to him, and finish wrapping the other present. 

The attempt at a ribbon curl unfortunately goes the same as the package before it, with him completely at a loss and using the wrong edge of the scissor blade. Trying to save him you make another suggestion. “If you want you can always use the premade sticker curls.” 

Namjoon nods and places them on the two packages along with the vibrant sticker of a cartoon Claus winking as he delivers the warning, ‘Do not open ‘till Christmas, Santa’s watching.’

As you load up the presents into a bag, Namjoon takes to the cashbox, looking expectantly from the client with his dashingly dimpled grin. 

“Oh right.” She comments with an awkward smile. Opening her Gucci bag and matching wallet, the corners of her lips turning down when she rifles through several triple digit bills unable to find any smaller denomination. 

The stand is by donation only, but the implication has always been that one should compensate the fundraiser for the service provided. You can usually tell when someone intends to leave no payment at all, and unfortunately you know this act all too well. She’ll apologize and say that she has to run to the bank and get some cash, but you’ll never see her again. Namjoon, unfamiliar with this ploy, continues to give his eager smile, and to your utter shock she submits, handing him a hundred dollar bill. 

Namjoon thanks her profusely as she melts too under his gaze muttering, “Not a problem.” Before walking off clutching her now wrapped gifts. 

You look to Namjoon in disbelief while he locks the money away in the cash box. Only breaking the silence when the client is fully out of earshot. “How the hell did you do that?!”

“Do what?” He raises an eyebrow completely oblivious to what he just achieved. 

“She... she... you got her to donate, and such a large amount. How?”

“What do you mean how? People give that much all the time don’t they?”

“No, they don’t!” 

“Oh...” He gives you another of his knee weakening smiles. “Sorry I assumed, I guess I’m just used to it.” He scratches at the back of his neck looking down at the table.

“Used to it? Where on earth do you see, do you get used to, that kind of generosity?”

“Through my job I suppose?” His grin turns to a look of embarrassment. “I work in art procurement, currently under contract with the museum. I seek out collectors and convince them to donate or loan out their assets.”

It would seem that getting people to open up their wallets is practically his profession. “Well... looks like manning the cash will be the perfect job for you.” That smile of his is a dangerous weapon, and one you would be remiss not to use in the fundraiser’s efforts. Though it still leaves one question unanswered. “But I have to ask...” Your previously concealed giggling comes to the surface. “Why on earth would you volunteer for a holiday wrapping station if you don’t know how to wrap?”

A blush reaches his cheeks. “Last year when I was here... I left with far more than I was expecting, and feeling as though I should have given more. So I figured if I couldn’t be with my own family, I wanted to do this instead.” He starts habitually folding a paper scrap. “And maybe I’d learn a useful skill-”

When a streak of red is left on the paper trailing behind his finger you jump to interrupt. “Is that...”

“Fuck.” He mutters pulling his index close to examine it. “Yeah, those scissors are sharp, didn’t realize I drew blood though.”

You immediately start rummaging around in your bag. “I know I have a couple in here, one second.” You pull out a small box of bandages and peel apart the papers to reveal the adhesive.

“You carry band-aids in your purse?” Namjoon asks, with a raised brow.

“You're the one who cut their finger trying to make a ribbon curl.”

“It wasn’t a criticism, sorry I just thought it was... nice.” He holds up the injury and you're careful to wrap the strip around it.

“Yes well,” Your face heats up as you catch yourself lingering. “Try to stay away from the scissors unless absolutely necessary. I’d rather not have to make a trip to the hospital.”

“That would be counter productive wouldn’t it?” Namjoon laughs outright. 

...

Despite you being the only one to wrap you both manage the evening surprisingly well, pulling in a record donation amount.

“You must be good at your job,” you mutter with a smirk, as you finish counting the lockbox. “I’ve never seen people so happy to part with their money.”

“I only showed them how good of a job you did,” Namjoon explains. “I’ve never seen someone put so much care into wrapping.” 

“First impressions for a gift can be important too.” You justify as you secure the cash in a deposit bag. “They put a lot of care into selecting the gift, why shouldn’t I exemplify that?”

“Even the gift cards?”

“Especially the gift cards. I have to make them memorable somehow don’t I?”

“True.” Namjoon concedes, with a small frown.  “Listen I’m sorry if I didn’t make a good first impression on you myself. If you want I can call Emma and we will find someone else to help you.”

“No, I enjoyed working with you. It just caught me off guard that you didn’t actually know how to wrap. If you get bored of handling the cash I could try and teach you if you’d like... you said you wanted to learn right?”

“You’d be willing to show me?”

“Definitely, though let's stick to the premade ribbon curls. I’d rather not have to use anymore band-aids if I can avoid it.” 

After pulling down the gate and locking up the station up behind. Namjoon accompanies you to the bank to drop off the deposit before you part ways for the evening, with you going out one exit and him another. 

The sudden blast of cold air forces you to huddle in your coat, and crank the heat the very second you step into your car. As the windows to thaw and frost retreats, you spot your tall wrapping partner waiting at the bus stop. 

“Now why would he...” You’re left perplexed judging from the description of his job and quality of his attire you assumed him to drive some sort of flashy car, never would you think he would take public transportation. 

You drive over and stop right in front of Namjoon, rolling down the window. “Where do you live?”

“The Swan Estates, but if you don’t leave near there that’s fine I don’t mind bussing home.” Namjoon looks down the road. “It should be here soon.”

“It’s no problem, I pass by that area on my way home.” You reach across the car for the handle opening the door. “Come on get in. It’s too cold to wait for a bus.”  

Namjoon nods, and eagerly hops into the car holding his hands close to his vents with a sigh. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I didn’t think to ask, I just assumed-”

“That I could drive?”

You nod giving him a sheepish grin this time. 

“As you saw earlier I’m rather accident prone. I think it’s safer for everyone if I leave the driving to others.” He chuckles looking out the window. “What about you? When not rescuing people from cold transit stops or wrapping disasters, what do you daylight as.”

You grimace at the question knowing your answer is nowhere near as impressive as his. “I’m a phone-rep for Interlude Shipping, I work in their tracking department.”

His reaction is not the usual glazed expression you get when you reveal that you work in a call centre, but a look of awe. “You must be so busy this time of year, how do you have energy for volunteering too?”

“I’m used to it.”

“Do you like it there?”

“It’s... a paycheck. I needed a full time position with benefits right out of school and that was what was available. I would have preferred something else but...” You stop yourself, scolding how much you almost revealed. Finding it far too easy to talk to Namjoon. He doesn’t pester you to continue but lets your abrupt end linger in the silence until he points out his house within the estate. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Namjoon nods in agreement with his dimples on full display. “Looking forward to it. Thanks again for the ride.”

After he leaves your car another nervous giggle you’ve been holding in finally escapes you. Three weeks working with this kind, considerate and downright gorgeous man. Though there’s no ring on his finger, he has to be attached to someone. Men like him don’t walk around single for long. Your shoulders fall at the thought, despite the fact that you have no intention of forming an attachment at this time... it’s still too soon. 

Before you even pull out of Namjoon’s driveway, your phone vibrates from the cup holder you stashed it in. Aunt Emma’s name popping up on the display. You press the green button to accept and put her on speaker while you pull out onto the road. 

“Hello my dear, just checking in to see how the first night went?” 

“Good, no great actually. I think you’ll be happy with the result.”

“And your partner? Everything working well with him?”

“Yeah,” You confirm looking up in the rearview mirror taking one last look at Namjoon’s house. “He’s really nice, we already have a system in place so I think we’ll work well together.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. I was worried at first, wondered if I had made the right decision-”

“You did!” You encourage her, not wanting her to change her mind, and make another switch.

“Great, so we’ll carry on as is then. I’ll message Maria to let her know, I think she’s still on shift at the hospital though...” Aunt Emma mutters to herself. “Speaking of which I had to stop by there today and guess who was asking about you?” 

You freeze in the front seat of your car, unable to say his name, but that doesn’t stop your chatty Aunt from continuing on despite your silence. 

“That Jackson, such a nice young man, it’s a pity you-” 

“Aunt Emma, I’m so sorry but I should go. ” You cut her off unwilling to listen to her disappointment over your own personal matter. “It’s getting late and I have work in the morning.”

“Oh of course, no problem dear. Call me if you need anything.” 

When you arrive at your cold and empty apartment. The silence greets you with the usual punch to your gut, just as it has for the past eight months. She should be there to say hello and ask you about your day, just as she always had. But all that’s there to welcome you is the stack of dusty Christmas decor boxes thrown in the corner of the living room. Unwilling to spend another minute alone you sulk off to bed, ready to put another day behind and start the next. But for the first time in a while, you are actually looking forward to a fraction of the never ending cycle. 

...

Whoever said Christmas time is the most wonderful time of year, clearly never worked a customer service job. They’ve never been yelled at for four hours straight, gone to lunch, and then endured another four. With a couple weeks still left until the looming deadline of Christmas you can only imagine what you’ll have to listen to in the coming days. The woes of a parent trying to track down their child's number one gift... it’s enough to send chills down your spine. Just once you’d like to find someone happy on the other end of the line, someone who didn’t need something from you, someone who called just to say hi, and indulge you with a friendly chat. 

With the last call of the day done you throw on your coat, and bolt out of the office before anyone else. Elated by the fact that you have somewhere else to be, happy that someone else is expecting you. Namjoon beats you to the station today, chatting with the other volunteers as they leave. One of them pats you on the arm and delivers a sad smile, you seize with fear and the worry that they had discussed you, but when you find Namjoon beaming without a hint of concern the weight lifts and you can once again forget your loss for now. 

“Hey, how was work?” He asks.

“Good... good.” You cover with a smile not wanting to drag him down. He doesn’t look convinced his eyes narrow and the corner of his lip twitches, but you reciprocate before he can confirm. “How about your day?”

“Quiet, I’ve spent the past few months alongside the curators putting together an exhibit and with it finally finished all that’s left is to wait until it’s over.”

“So you had to stay here for Christmas only to wait for it to end? That’s too bad.”

“There are a couple other tasks I have to attend, an auction, and an event for the patrons, but the tear down on the 24th is pretty important, some of the lenders will want their pieces back in time for Christmas.”

“That’s such a miserable deadline for so much work. Why would they ask you to give up your Christmas Eve to do that? Surely it can be done after the holiday can't it?”

“Not this one, it’s ‘The Gift of Christmas’ Past’ exhibit,” Namjoon explains. “Many people were good enough to donate their family heirlooms for the majority of the season, but come the actual holiday, it’s time for them to return home.”  

You just about fall off your chair in awe. You’ve seen that exhibit advertised everywhere, even been tempted to go yourself, but the thought of going alone has prevented your attendance. “I had no idea, that’s such a popular exhibit, you worked on that?”

“I did, I even helped come up with the idea for it.” Namjoon beams, with a small amount of red rises to the surface of his cheeks. “The curators at the museum have been more than accommodating. I never thought I’d get the chance to step into their roll myself. I was lucky to be given the chance, so you can understand why I had to stay and help them once it’s finished. Of course it’s given me some other opportunities I would never have had in the past too, like the ability to help you here.” 

You nod still looking at him in admiration, while in your mind a further divide falls between you. As friendly as he is to you, it’s obvious that he’s way out of your league. Even if you wanted to pursue something more with him, someone of his status... really it’s a wonder he even looks in your direction, let alone chose to volunteer at this tiny holiday wrapping station.  

Your conversation is interrupted by a mall goer with a bag of gifts. Namjoon helps as best he can, supplying you with tape as he learns over your shoulder. Loaning you his finger to help you knot the ribbon around the gifts. With a sizeable donation left in Namjoon’s care you are both left alone at the table again.

Between clients you do your best to show him how to wrap the small boxes and ready cut paper at your disposal. Though his folding has improved, his use of tape can be considered... excessive. “You shouldn’t need more than three pieces on a present like this.” You chuckle as you catch his hand before it can apply the seventh piece of tape. 

“But your packaging looks so durable compared to mine. How is it supposed to hold together if not for more tape.”

“Years of practice with tighter folds and better adhesive placement.” You analyze his work. “You might be an up and coming art curator but wrapping is my craft.”

Namjoon laughs and grabs a fresh sheet along with the scissors. 

“Should I go fetch my band-aids?” You ask, gazing at the sharp implement with trepidation. 

“No I’ve got this, I’m ready to earn my redemption.” Namjoon folds the paper several times before cutting a rounded edge. “Wrapping might not be my forte, but this I mastered long ago.” He opens up the paper grinning madly as he reveals a perfect snowflake.

You giggle at the innocence of the piece in question. “That is quite impressive, when did you become such a proficient?”

“I’d say I peaked at eight. One evening when it was just my sister and I, we covered my whole house with them. Every surface, every window, plastered with paper snow. Though my parents were less than enthused I like to think of it as my first full art show.”

“What on earth possessed you to do it?” You ask, trying to imagine the look on his parents as they returned home to the indoor flurry.

Namjoon looks up with a heavy expression, for such a lighthearted story why does he look so wary to tell you “A mutual fri-”

But as chance would have it he is once again interrupted by another coming to your station. When the post dinner rush hits you hardly get another chance to chat. 

...

-2 Weeks Until Christmas-

The week passes in much the same way as the past two days, but with each evening session Namjoon is able to improve upon his wrapping skills a little more. To the point where you are comfortable to leave him alone for a few minutes to man the station.

“You’re sure it’s all right if I just run to the washroom for a minute?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could put up the be back in five minutes sign if you-”

“Go, I can hold down the fort... just leave the band-aids.” You are ready to let out a big sigh when Namjoon holds up his hands in defeat. “Just kidding, I promise, now go.”

You hurry off as fast as you can swearing when you find a line up. By the time that you are finally able to return you find Namjoon finishing up with an attractive woman and her single gift. You smile at her as you join him behind the table, she pauses, caught off guard for a moment but then hands him the donation along with a slip of paper. 

Namjoon opens it as she walks off. Blushing profusely before throwing it in the trash along with the wrapping scraps. 

“What was that about?”

“Nothing... she just must have gotten the wrong impression.”

“Did she give you her phone number?”

Namjoon nods looking down with guilt. 

“And you're not going to keep it? She was gorgeous.”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Right, I assume that wouldn’t go over well with your girlfriend.” You speculate, seeking to figure out his status once and for all.

“No girlfriend.” Namjoon mutters.

“Boyfriend?” 

“No boyfriend either.” Namjoon smiles. “I just wasn’t looking to get her number.”

You look at him in disbelief. If she wasn’t good enough, there’s no way in hell you could ever dream of being with him.

...

The drive home in the evening is rather quiet. Namjoon’s fingers drag across his lips as if in deep compilation. 

“Any big plans for your couple days of freedom?” With Aunt Emma’s team working the weekend that gives both you and Namjoon some time off, but unfortunately apart. 

“What? Oh yes, I suppose.” He answers as though you dragged him from a stupor. “I have an auction to go to tomorrow for work.”

“Buying art for the museum are you?”

“Not exactly in the market to buy. But if you're not busy you should come along, I would love some company.”

“Not because you would love a drive?”

“No, not at all, I was planning on booking a car tonight. I could come pick you up on the way.”

You shake your head. “No, if we’re going together I’ll drive. No need to waste your money on something like that. What time should I pick you up?”

“I’ll have to double check and get back to you but likely late in the morning?” You nod in agreement as he pulls out his phone. “What’s your number?”

You give it to him and your cell vibrates in your pocket as he sends off a text a second later, leaving you with his own.  

“So I guess I will see you tomorrow now then.”

“It’s a date.” Namjoon smiles as he gets out and leaves you in the car. 

You snort in disbelief, staring after him while he runs off to the front door of his house. No, there’s no way, he can’t be serious, it’s not a date, date. The phone vibrates again, reminding you of the unread message he sent, prompting you to look at it before you drive off home.

This was the only phone number I actually wanted.  See you tomorrow,  - Namjoon  

...

You lie in bed caught between denial and anticipation for what’s to come in the next day. Every moment that excitement bubbles up inside, you are forced to push it down with the weight of scepticism. Namjoon was looking to distract from his lonely Christmas, you are just the band-aid to his superficial wound, but would that be so bad? Haven’t you been using him the past week in the same manner, a mode of distraction? The only difference is the depths of your injuries. While his might be a simple cut repaired by time, yours is a laceration straight to the heart, damage that will soon bleed through a flimsy bandage, but at least you can hide it for now, you can conceal the extent of your misery and enjoy the comfort that is him for the holiday. Ripping that band-aid off won’t hurt, not compared to the damage that has already been done.

You look back at your phone smiling at his message, confirming that this is what you want for now, when to your surprise another comes in. 

KNJ: Are you awake? 

You double check the time, 12:23 a little late for a friendly chat isn’t it?

YN: Yeah, everything okay?

KNJ: That depends, what are your thoughts on Hallmark Christmas movies?

You pause in confusion, questioning his motives for such an odd query. Coming up dry you can give him the most truthful answer you can. 

YN: They’re chestnuts.

KNJ: Chestnuts? 🤔

YN: Palatable only when thoroughly roasted. 🔥🔥🔥

Your phone starts ringing a second later, the caller Namjoon. You pick it up to hear him laughing on the other end. “I’ll have to remember that. You up for burning a film? I could use another open fire, there’s a pretty horrible one on their channel right now.”

“I’m sure I could spark an ember of criticism. How bad are we talking?”

“There’s a made up country, a town that looks like it exists solely for the purpose of celebrating Christmas-”

“And let me guess, a prince?”

“You know it?”

“Nope, just following the trend of tropes.” You grab your earbuds and venture out to the living room wrapped in your blanket, a beverage in hand, and ready to turn on your own TV. With one bud lodge in your ear to listen to Namjoon the other is free to take in the cringeworthy dialogue. “My god why were you watching this?”

“Couldn’t sleep, and I thought this would also help put me in the Christmas spirit, but I can’t stop laughing at how bad it is.” Namjoon chuckles deeply as the heroine stumbles over a mere pebble and falls into the hero’s arm. 

“I don’t think you have any right to laugh at that part.” You join him in laughter. “You two appear to have some similarities.”

“Wait, so does this make me the clumsy lead and you the dashingly perfect love interest?”

“Oh most definitely, I’ll be saving your Christmas.”

“I suppose you are pretty perfect.”  

You’re thankful that Namjoon isn’t there to see your response, silently choking on your glass of water, followed by spilling your sip all down your shirt, further emphasising your next point. “I’m not perfect.”

“Well you should let me see that side sometime, or I will continue to feel like this poor woman who is confronted with someone way out of their league.” 

Namjoon thinks that you're out of his league? “No, I’m sorry but in order for me to save your Christmas based on this movie I have to play the perfect hero.” Of course the leading lady swoons in her prince's arms. “I just wish the characters had more depth, I’ve read kids books with a wider emotional range.”

“Me too. And the timing,” Namjoon scoffs. “It’s always so perfect. They always meet at the perfect moment and latch on immediately only to have everything work out in their favour, and it all claims to be a Christmas miracle, it doesn’t work like that.”

“That sounds like someone’s been scorned before on Christmas.”

“Not scorned no. More like a missed opportunity, one that I’ve regretted for a long while.”

 “Anything I can help with?” You ask. “As the supporting lead that is my mission is it not?”

“Maybe, I’ll have to think about it. Unfortunately my dilemma isn’t so easy to solve.”

“I don’t think anyone's dilemma’s are ever as easy or clear cut as theirs.” You yawn as you lay down on the couch and watch the pitiful drama unfold. “Their world is perfect and always has their back through some sort of mystical power or being.”

   “I think people in the real world call that god...” Namjoon chuckles.

“Yeah well, our god is a shitty writer if this is what their creations come to expect.” You murmur, stifling a yawn.  

“Is that a crack in your shining armour I spy?”

“No, just commentary.” Though your own internal defences are askew, and the longer you watch the more you understand why. It’s jealousy, jealousy of how quickly they overcome any tragedy, and how they do so with a picture perfect life, as if the creators left all the negative emotions, the realistic impacts of trauma, on the cutting room floor. If only you were that perfect love interest that Namjoon wanted you to be... maybe you can keep the facade until the end of the holidays, at least one of you can have a better Christmas for it. 

All you have to do is continue ignoring the most painful parts, a practice you are well versed in considering the boxes still looming in the shadowy corner, still unmoved after all this time. You know nothing good will come from unpacking them, there is no comfort inside, the only thing that could help is long gone, the story which your mother used to read to you every Christmas before you moved here. You’ve hunted through those boxes so many times while she was still here with you, but now that she’s gone you don’t even have the desire to look, nor the strength to store them away. 

...

You wake hours later with a loud crumpling sound in your right ear. Your bud still in place, and your call time continues to count past the 7 hour mark. “Namjoon, are you there?” You inquire with a groggy yawn. 

“Fuck... yeah, did I wake you?” 

“It’s fine, sorry I fell asleep.”

“Don’t worry I did too. But unfortunately I seem to have lost an airpod at some point in the night.” The rustling continues as he chats to you. “I refuse to lose another to this couch, it’s taken so many from me already, you’ think I would have learned by now.”

“Oh, then this is a regular occurrence for you? Chatting up women until you fall asleep,” you scoff.

“No! God no, I just usually fall asleep listening to music and then my cushions eat them when I lower my defences.”

“I leave you to battle it out with your sofa, but what time should I pick you up?” 

“Eleven okay with you?” 

You double check the clock, ensuring you have enough time for a shower and to look presentable. “Yeah that works. I’ll see you then.”

...

You pull into the packed parking lot of a large warehouse. With Namjoon looking dapper in a blazer and peacoat. You yourself are glad to have chosen to dress a bit classier than your usual garb for a Saturday afternoon. When he said it was for work you couldn’t risk dressing down. 

But there is still an air of confusion about your reason for being here. If he’s not attending to buy something for the museum or a client, why is his presence required? The items up for auction are not exactly what you expected, with the majority of it being furniture and woven rugs. You tilt your head in confusion as Namjoon eyes up an old wooden desk. 

“Sorry,” He mutters, seeing you as he comes to from his distracted state. “I have a personal weakness for such items.”

“Don’t be, but is that why we're here?”

“No, although it is tempting.” He nods over to a collection of old black and white sketches on the wall across from you, graphite scenes of the city from long ago judging by subject matter and the yellowing of the paper behind the frame. “They’re the real reason we’re here. When I heard of this estate sale I knew that some of those works would likely come to market. I’m here to find out who buys them, and hopefully see if we can secure a possible loan for the museum in the future.”  

“So how do you do it? How do you convince them to part with such pieces other than that dangerous smile of yours?”

Namjoon humours you, flashing his most coveted weapon. “Many of the artworks found at estate sales like this, they’ve fallen into disrepair. They often haven’t been cared for, likely kept in some musty room where the humidity damages them. The museum has a team of top rated and highly respected conservators who would be able to properly preserve it and slow any further deterioration, and in exchange for their services we ask for a short term loan of the art. 

“A win-win.” 

“I like to think so, but some people are rather protective of their investment. It can be a tricky negotiation which I have been on both sides of when I worked for the private sector.” 

“Which do you prefer more?”

“Definitely the public. The museum doesn’t pay as much, but the audience and notoriety far greater. I really hope that I can continue my work with them once my initial contract ends.”

“I assume securing this for them will help in that goal?” You nod to the pieces, admiring the sought after collection. 

“One can only hope. Who knows, maybe I’ll get my Christmas miracle like the movies promised.” He jokes, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you on. 

While you and Namjoon continue to look around at the lots up for bidding, he proceeds to fawn over the wooden art and furniture, taking pictures and looking up the makers. 

You can’t help but enjoy his interest, watching his eyes go wide and his mouth gasp when he’s found something which intrigues him. “Have you ever purchased something for yourself at one of these?” 

“A few things, tables, chairs, and books too. It’s a great place to find unique pieces, or things lost to the past.” He gives you a shy smile. “Is there anything you’d like to look for?”

A possible item springs to the forefront of your mind. “Do they have any books here now?” 

Namjoon grins at your request and leads you over to several crates filled to the brim with books. All the copies inside look to be older editions of epic novels, nothing like what you hope to find. Your heart sinks as you let out a sigh of disappointment.

“Can I help?”

“Nah, I think I’m out of luck. I was looking for a kid’s picture book. I briefly met someone at the wrapping station who found a copy second hand, must have been at a sale like this. I was hoping I would have the same success, but that seems like a bit of a far reach.” Had it not been their gift to someone else you would have made them an offer for it or even gotten their name at the very least, but you were so distracted at the time... all you can see and remember to this day was the book in front of you.

“I’m sorry-” Namjoon starts with an unnecessary apology, it wasn’t his fault that you lost the favourite book of your youth, that you missed the chance to give your mother one last glimpse of the pages with you before she passed.

“It’s fine,” You cut him off not wanting to dwell on the loss or risk deteriorating that perfect cover right here in front of him, in front of everyone, when he has something important to attend to. “Should we go find seats before they start the auction?”

Namjoon nods, seeming to examine your eyes with careful study, but he will find no tears, no dampness there, those are locked away tight. He escorts you to a seat near the back. “This way we can get a better view of those bidding without looking out of place.”

The auction lots pass by with many remaining silent. Namjoon points out several antique dealers to you that are snapping up many of the pieces. But the rest of the buyers all appear to be waiting for the same prize that Namjoon is. 

“Do you have any favourites to win?” You whisper to him as the collection is carried into view.

“I’m hoping for anyone I’ve dealt with in the past.” Namjoon nods in the direction of a middle aged woman dressing in a fur trimmed coat and strands of pearls draped around her neck. “Mrs. Coleman already has a few works in one of the exhibits, and Mr. Roth over there.” He turns to a man wearing a tweed jacket and a sturdy wooden cane in hand. “Is one of the most notable patrons of the museum.”

Silence falls in the room as the auctioneer takes up the gavel again and describes the works. Many around you sit up a little straighter as Namjoon’s eyes dart around at those he thinks might attempt to purchase.

The bids flood in, with very few gaps for breath as the numbers are rattled off. It takes only two minutes before the going price is more than your annual salary. You lower yourself, pooling in your seat as the extravagant wealth is thrown around you. 

Once the pace slows, Namjoon's face highlights his concern, his eyes glancing back and forth between two people, the older lady in mink he spoke of before, and an unknown man with a cell pressed to his ear. 

As the wooden hammer drops so do the corners of Namjoon’s lips. 

“And sold to the gentleman on the phone number three-two-eight, number three-two-eight for sixty-five thousand.” The auctioneer announces. 

“Shit.” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“What, what happens now?”

“Now we have an anonymous buyer who I have no ability to meet or advise.” He sighs, hanging his head, with his fingers dragging across his mouth again.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper as he nods next to you taking several deep breaths. Your hand reaches out to his arm and he turns to you with a small smile.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll figure something out, but I might as well make the most out of my time here.” With the auction now over he rises from his seat and approaches one of the museum's patrons with an outreached hand. “Mr. Roth, good to see you, you’ll be attending the final night of the exhibit I hope, and who is this with you...”

While Namjoon continues to make pleasantries and exchange business cards you keep your eye on the sketches watching as they are rolled behind the desk and packed away in crates. You approach the area where one of the clerks is recording and distributing the information for the now rightful owners, with a mob of bidders descending on him for their newly purchased items so they might leave as soon as possible. 

It would seem that this business too is feeling the crunch of Christmas. A flurry of paperwork is exchanged in haste passing from one hand to the next, until one signed receipt of purchase escapes his notice and falls to the ground in front of you. Picking it up you wait for the crowd to clear, giving the clerk a chance to recover before you approach with the lost sheet, setting it on the desk before him. His confused gaze soon changes to outright shock over his loss when he realizes what you’ve returned.

He thanks you profusely, causing you wonder how much strife he would have encountered had you not been there to return it. “No problem, you look like you have a lot on your plate.” You smile politely, attempting to soothe your fellow casualty of the Christmas rush. “I just have a question for you though, if that’s okay?” 

“Not at all how can I help?” He agrees, his stance far more relaxed than it was with the horde a few moments before. 

“My friend, he was hoping to get in contact with the purchaser of those sketches there, on behalf of a museum. I don’t suppose there’s any way we could get a hold of them, is there?”

“I’m sorry but not at liberty to divulge that ma’am.” Your rising hope falls, you knew it would be a long shot but you didn’t want to leave without trying. “However... if there’s a phone number or information regarding the museum’s interest I can include that in the paperwork to send off along with the purchase.”

“Really? You would do that?”

When the clerk confirms, you immediately turn on your heel and take a step in Namjoon’s direction before bumping into his solid chest, not realizing that he had already come to find you. 

“What are you doing-”

“Getting you that miracle.” You grab one of his business cards from his hand, and turn back around to give it to the clerk who tucks it into the envelope along with the other documentation. “Thank you.” You smile at the clerk who returns the gesture.

“And you said I have a dangerous smile?” Namjoon mutters as he leads you away with a chuckle. “What did he say exactly?”

“That he would include it with the paperwork for the sale. I just hope they will reach out and call you.”

“Me too.” Namjoon smiles, but it doesn't quite appear to reach his eyes. “Shall we head out. I think I’m done here.”

The drive home is rather quiet, the weight of Namjoon’s gloom hanging in the air and he makes no attempt to hide it. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just trying to figure out where to go from here,” he groans. “Those sketches were going to be the start of something new for me. I know the buyer might still come through but I’m not going to hold my breath. I need to keep searching for what comes next, I’m just a little lost, but I’ll find my path again soon.”

“You make it sound so easy.” 

“Sometimes it is, sometimes life will drop it right in front of me and other times I will have to search for it, but that’s a problem for after the holidays.” Namjoon looks out his window at the lights which start to come alive as you drive home. “Are you ready for the big day?”

“Christmas?” You give a nervous laugh, “No, I haven’t even put up any decorations.”

“Why not?!” Namjoon asks in alarm. 

“Just haven’t really felt the need this year. There’s no one there to enjoy them but myself.”

“Which makes it all the more important to put them up.” Namjoon sits up in his seat, his whole persona changing. “I could help you if you’d like?”

You wince over the quandary. With your decorations sitting in your living room under an inch of dust it might arouse some confusion, and his heart would likely sink if he knew how long they actually rested there for. “I’m not sure I’m quite ready for it yet. Maybe another time?”

...

-1.5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Work continues to degrade as the countdown progresses. The only thing getting you through the shifts is the thought of Namjoon’s help at the stand. But as soon as Christmas is over, you wonder if your friendship will go the same way as the festive season, cast aside like the wrapping of the gifts you tended to in the weeks prior. 

After a few days of busy shifts you’re both thankful to make it to another close. But when you are packing up the station Namjoon’s phone starts to ring. He looks down in confusion at the number without a contact attached. “Do you mind?” 

“No, not at all.”

He grins as he answers the phone pacing further back into the vacant shop space and away from the sounds of the echoing mall. You continue to count off the deposit, and roll the wrapping paper. Trying your best not to listen, to give Namjoon his privacy, however you can’t help but notice the happiness in his tone, spotting his dimples from across the room when you sneak a glance. When you grab to move the last box of bows Namjoon ends his call. Tears glisten in the corners of his eyes accompanied by the widest smile you’ve ever seen from him.

“That was- that was the buyer.” He explains as he comes to help you with the final box, taking it from your hands and placing it on the back shelf. “He wants to meet with me this weekend.”

He’s so close, vibrating with an overwhelming delight. His arms move around you as though he is about to pull you in for a gracious hug. You start to congratulate him as he embraces you, “Really?! That’s gre-” only to be cut off when his lips come for yours instead. Once the shock evaporates, you start to appreciate the heat of the moment, the warmth of his skin, the softness of his mouth. Your hands reach up to his toned shoulders and neck pulling him down, diminishing the space between you. Breathing him in like this with your eyes closed, nothing else matters in the moment, nothing other than his firm chest pushing back against yours, his hands on your waist gripping at your shirt.  

With a deep sigh and a bite to his own lip he pulls back. “Sorry I just-”

“Don’t, don’t apologize.” You cut him off this time.  

“I can’t even begin to thank you.” 

“I hardly did anything.” You laugh at the extremeness of his appreciation, though a small part of you dies when you realize his kiss was nothing more than a gesture of gratitude.

 “That’s not true...” He responds, giving you his wide eyes and a shy smile.

On the drive home your companion can barely contain his delight, breaking into random smiles and laughter as he informs his coworkers of the success via text. 

“There’s this event...” Namjoon starts, as you pull in front of his home. “At the museum on the twenty-third, a week from today, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.” 

“Next Wednesday? But we have a shift at the wrapping station.”

“I spoke to Emma a few days ago and she agreed to cover if we both wanted to go.”

“Emma, making a change so close to Christmas? I don’t buy it. What did you offer her in return?” You ask with a critical gaze. The woman runs such a tight schedule, only something great or important would have prompted her to agree.

“My next year of service.” Namjoon confesses, he looks down at his feet as though he might buckle from the embarrassment. 

“Next year? You already promised to work it?”

“If you want me there that is. I’ll practice more in the meantime, I promise I won’t leave you to all of the difficult packages.” Namjoon chuckles. “But what do you say, will you go with me?”

“Ye-yeah I would love it’s just...” You stutter trying to come up with a good excuse but your brain draws a blank leaving only the truth. “I don’t know how well... how well I’ll fit in there.”

“What? No, why would you think that?” Namjoon places his hand on your leg while you drive. A move which causes the both of you to pause in reaction and him to retreat. “Trust me when I say you belong there more than anyone else.”

You nod your head and give him a small smile, wishing more than anything his hand would return. “I’ll come if you want me there. What’s the attire?”

“Semi-formal, and don’t worry about driving I’ll pick you up.” 

...

-2 Days Until Christmas-

You stand in front of your mirror, wearing a dress which fits your shape perfectly, but stretches your pocket book significantly. The price tags hanging down from the zipper taunt you, tempting you to rip them away, to commit to the indulgence. Even if it’s only for a night, the payoff in the end might be worth the overpriced lace. You give in with a snip of the scissors and a swallow of guilt, letting the printed cardstock hit your bedroom floor. 

 You’ve spent the past couple of hours leading up to this moment in a fit of stress cleaning, disposing of the dust bunnies. Now at least if Namjoon comes over after... you won’t be completely off guard.

The phone on your bedside vibrates with a new message.

KNJ: Just pulling in.

YN: Be right down.

Sliding your shoes on and grabbing what you need, you leave your empty apartment with a growing smile on your face. The moment you can see the car from the buildings foyer both Namjoon and the driver exit the vehicle, though Namjoon is quick to wave the driver back to his seat, choosing instead to hold the door for you himself. 

The thoughtful gesture is made more appealing as if it gives you a full view of your date in his dark three piece suit, his hair tamed back framing his handsome face, whose gaze appears to be giving you the once over for you too.

“You wrap up nice.” Namjoon jokes.

“Of course, I couldn’t embarrass you now could I? Have to land that first impression.”

“You would never. Besides I’m sure my colleagues will be fascinated to know who has enough courage to teach me how to wrap.”

“And how do you plan on introducing me to those colleagues of yours? As your date or your teacher?” You laugh.

“I was actually hoping I could introduce you as my girlfriend.” 

“Your girlfriend for tonight?” You panic, not expecting this development. “Wait, is this one of those fake dating scenarios? Did you tell them you had one and then-”

“I think we’ve been watching too much Hallmark.” Namjoon laughs and shakes his head. “No this is not one of those scenarios, but I’ll take whatever form of companionship you are the most comfortable with.”

He gives you the stare of a man who is looking for more, but you know he won't need you once the holidays pass. His loneliness is temporary, yours is permanent. You’d rather not get your hopes up only to have them lost as he fades away in the cold gloom of January when his family returns. “Let’s see where it goes.”

Upon arrival Namjoon leads you through the massive doors by hand, taking your coat and checking it. The main hall just off the entrance is filled with patrons and staff all mingling and drinking while dining on tiny hors d’oeuvres. You look at the crowd with apprehension.  

Namjoon’s fingers interlace with yours again, a grip clearly intended to give you confidence. “I’ll introduce you to some of the staff first.” 

Several people congratulate Namjoon on the exhibit as he passes, he responds giving them a brief thank you as he ushers you through the crowd. Stopping at a small group of two, who greet Namjoon with a warm welcome. 

“Thank god you’re here, people have kept asking for the brains behind the exhibit.”

“And why didn’t you answer them.” Namjoon smiles before turning to introduce you to them, following up with the man who just spoke. “This is Eric Nam, a curator who I worked on the project with.”

“Don’t pass the torch, we both know it was your idea, I just helped put it into motion.” His coworker smiles gazing at you. “And you must be the one Namjoon has talked so much about.” 

The heat rises to your face as you look to Namjoon who confirms the statement with his own embarrassment. “Thank you Eric for sharing that with her...”

“No problem, it’s the least I could do for someone who gave you the insp-”

Namjoon coughs and shakes his head, cutting off his verbose friend. 

You're about to question your partner himself when the other colleague of his starts asking you questions. “What do you do for a living Ms....” You remind her of your name while Namjoon spotting refreshments wanders off with a whispered promise to get you both a drink. 

“I-I work for Interlude Shipping, in their tracking department.” You explain clasping your hands together in an attempt to settle your nerves.

“Oh, how nice...” The false quaintness in her tone is matched with a smirk as she takes a sip of wine. “Maybe you can help me find out if my sister’s present will arrive in time tomorrow.” 

“Valerie...” Eric growls. 

“What? I’m merely curious about her employment.” She smirks at him before continuing to her inquisition. “How long have you worked there? Did you have to get a degree for your role?” 

“No,” This is exactly what you were afraid of coming here, you just didn’t think the judgement would be coming from someone who works with Namjoon. “I started there right after high school. I didn’t have the luxury to go to an elite school to work in a place like this.” 

Eric comes over and claps you on the back. “Neither did Valerie; she just has family on the board.” Giving a coy smile to his coworker who scowls and stalks off without another word to you.  “In fact you’ve actually done more work here than her in the past month. I hear you’ve been helping Namjoon secure the collection we’ve been after?” 

You nod looking off after the departed curator, worried as to what impact your interaction could have with Namjoon’s position here.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s just bitter that Namjoon didn’t ask her to accompany him here.”

“Oh, does she- do they-”

“Fuck no, but if she’s not everyone’s first choice she’s not happy.” Eric gets in a little closer. “You don’t have to worry about Namjoon looking elsewhere, if he’s at all hesitant it’s just because he’s a little cautious with you.”

“Why would he be cautious?”

“Why would who be cautious?” Namjoon asks, handing you a drink as he appears by your side again. 

 “Mr. Roth, that man should be careful. I heard he had hip surgery recently.” Eric responds, cutting in with a lie to cover your discussion. “It's good of him to still join us tonight, but enough about that, why don’t you go show her the exhibit before it gets too crowded in there?”

Namjoon offers up his arm in agreement. “I suppose we can get started on the tour, if you’d like.”

“Yes please,” You answer, threading your arm through his. “Thanks again Eric, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” 

The stand next to the entrance bears all the names of those involved in the creation and a countless list of those who loaned out pieces to make it possible. “There’s so many involved, how large is this exhibit?”

“Not too big, you’ll see why there’s such a long list soon.”

When the door opens you find yourself in a hallway amidst what you can only describe as a snowstorm. The walkway, made to look like an alley set adrift in snow, with flickering lights and paper creations hanging from the ceiling. “Did you make any of those?” You ask, grinning as you squint through the flurrying beams.

“No, I left those to the talents of the students who came by on school field trips. It didn’t take them long before we had enough.”

“Find any new prodigies?”

“Several.” He answers, before pointing to the mounted photos on the wall. “But these works here are some of my favourites.” The pictures are framed to seem as though the viewer is looking in through the pains of a window to happy holiday scenes. From unwrapping presents around the tree to the busy crowds of your very own mall, each image sets out to draw from you a sense of nostalgia. 

“I can see why.” You find yourself lingering on the last of the photos by an accredited local photographer, savouring the display as much as you can, worried that it might end too soon. 

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon whispers, taking your hand in an eager urge to press on, “There’s plenty more to look at.” He points to the end of the hallway, where you find another door, though this one is dressed with a knocker and wreath looking as if it’s the entrance to someone's home.

You open the door to reveal a series of rooms connected by one long hallway. The first you step into you washes over you with warmth and comfort, the sound of a cracking fire surrounds you while the light of fake embers flows from the side. Set up through the room are tables of items from old to new ranging from Christmas tree ornaments, and household decorations to handwritten cards. “All of these-”

“Were loaned by families from the region, they gave a piece of their history and traditions up for most of the season so everyone could enjoy it. Over here we have...”

You could spend hours sitting and admiring in this room alone, but more than anything you want to push on more to see Namjoon’s excitement in sharing it with you. Each room features a different spot of the home. A chilly shed with vintage toboggans and sleds, a kitchen, stuffed with cookbooks and the smells of baking featuring countless cookie cutters of every shape and size. 

The next room is a little unusual and different from the rest, throwing you off for a moment, when the distinct scent of pine hits your nose. In the centre you find what look to be the replication of a massive trunk, and above false branches twinkling with lights. All round in a circle you find toys in glass cases spanning generations, when it hits you. “Are we under the Christmas tree?”

Namjoon gives you his coveted dimpled grin. “Yeah, do you like it?”

“I do. I can’t believe you managed all of this.” You exclaim hurrying between each display like a kid on Christmas morning. From wagons, and Rubik’s cubes, all the way to Furbies and gaming systems he has the whole collection of popular toys throughout the years.  

Namjoon beams with pride once you’ve circled the entirety of the fake trunk and the presents beneath it. “Only one room left, but I think you’ll like this one the most.”

You're ushered into the next, a dimly lit space, a bed with a quilted cover stands in the centre, and on the walls you find countless story books, pinned open to so their stunning art is on display, papering the room with climatic holiday scenes and loveable characters. In one you find Scrooge meeting the ghost of Christmas past, in another you witness the Grinch save the sleigh from a perilous fall. Namjoon was right, this is without a doubt your favourite. While people filter in and out, you take your time looking at each set of pages. Your pace slow and steady, until you reach the special story that stops you entirely, the book you lost long ago, and have been trying to find ever since. Drawn on the pages before you is a little blue koala, with a pale purple nose, round ears, and a smile that lights up his face as he cuts out dozens of snowflakes. Namjoon stands behind you with a hand on your shoulder as you gaze at the book you know to be titled ‘Koya’s Christmas.’ 

You take a deep breath, while trying not to bend to the tears that threaten to break from your eyes. Focusing your attention instead to seek out the owner of the book, but unlike most there is no nameplate attached to this desirable artifact. “Namjoon, who loaned this? Is there any way I could contact them?”

When he gives you a sad smile, your gut clenches over the possibility that this might be a similar issue to what happened at the auction, a lender who wishes to remain anonymous. The only difference here being that you’ll fight Namjoon for the information if you have to. You’ve already let this book escape from you last year, you refuse to let it happen again. “Please, I’ll-” Just when you are about to plead with Namjoon’s integrity, another memory of your past walks into the room, but this one unfortunately has more tragic ties. “Shit,” you whisper, shifting to put your date between you and the newcomer. 

Namjoon catching the change in your expression immediately reaches out in concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

“There's someone I know just over there,” You nod in the direction behind Namjoon. “I’d like to avoid him if I can. Sorry, it-it’s complicated. ”

 Namjoon puts his hands on your shoulders, eyeing a path the closest exit without letting go of you. “Do you want to leave?”

“If that’s okay?” And just when you thought you were free, when you were ready to make a break for the door. The man in question, spots you and calls out your name.

You turn to face him, trying your best to keep your tone even and your lips pulled into a smile. “Jackson? Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s been so long, not since...” Thankful he stops, not dragging up the subject you wish to avoid. 

Namjoon moves closer, moving his arm from your shoulder around your waist, a comforting and protective gesture. “Dr. Wang... I had no idea the two of you were acquainted.” 

“You know him?” You ask Namjoon, your concern rocketing over what else your date might become privy to. 

“Dr. Wang was the phone bidder. I invited him here tonight to see the work we do.”

“The exhibit was impressive, I can’t wait to see what you have planned next.” Jackson confirms. 

“I should go and let the two of you discuss-” You ready to step away when Namjoon’s hand grabs yours and Jackson calls your name again.

“No reason for you to leave, we should catch up.”

“May-maybe later?” You plead with him fighting back the tears, pushing down the memories his presence drags up. “Sorry I just, I need to go.”

You pull your hand free and race to the exit.  

“Wait.” You can hear Namjoon call behind you. Though you continue to proceed out the exhibit and towards the closest exit outside, breaking into the cold evening air, only to find that he still followed. “Let me call for the car and we can go together.”

You stop in realization that your running will not deter him, he’ll pursue you unless you give him a reason otherwise. “No you should stay, this is your big event, I won’t ruin it for you.”

“Not without you.”

“Please Namjoon,” you beg, adamant that he return. “I don’t belong in there, I don’t fit in and I never will. Even when I try...” The ghosts of your past have a way of finding you and destroying your facade.

“I’ve told you before you belong in there more than anyone else-”

“That’s not true. I can barely keep myself together. I can’t, I can’t go back in, I'm sorry.”

“I don’t understand, what does Dr. Wang have to do with it? Did he hurt you? Did he-”

“No! No, he did nothing of the sort. Jackson was always very kind to me. Don’t let me affect your plans or any arrangement, you should go back and talk to him, I just can't be there.”  

“You think I’m going to just drop you for him, especially when he makes you so uncomfortable? No, I’m leaving with you.”

“Fuck, just... please listen to me. He is a good man, he’s a good doctor, you would be foolish to give up this chance.”

“A good doctor...” Namjoon pauses as a grimace hits his face. “Does he have something to do with your mother?”

“How-How do you know about that?” 

“I didn’t mean to pry, I swear. It's just, when I was first talking to Emma about you, out of concern she opened up about your past... about your mother, about your loss.”  

“She told you?” Aunt Emma, you should have known she would do something like that, god forbid at least one person not know your history. “Then all of this, these past few weeks were they all out of pity?” You should have known, there was no way he would like someone like you. It was all out of sorrow for what you’ve been through.

“Not pity no, I like you, I like you a lot. When Emma said you were pushing her and so many others away... I concealed it out of fear of losing you too. I wanted you to open up about it until you were ready. I was just trying to help you get through this.”

You look up at the museum, drawing a distressing connection between Namjoon’s daily life and you. “Why? You think I’m some abandoned project you rescued from a deceased’s estate? One for you to mend, and later show like an achievement? You should have just left me where I was, instead of breaking me further.”  

   Namjoon’s hands immediately pull back from you. “I never meant to hurt you. Only help you move on, you can’t deny that you are frozen in place. You have so much more potential, but you're living in denial.”

“I live there because it hurts less...” You snap back in fury, as he exposes your painful flaws. “I live there so I can work, so I can help others.”

“But what about you? When will you let someone help you?”

You step away unable to answer his question, turning your back on him you race to the sidewalk to hail a nearby taxi, refusing to let him see a single tear fall. 

Once home, you crawl into bed after throwing the dress to the floor. This was so far from the evening you had hoped it to be, with you instead left alone to ruminate on Namjoon’s words. Despising all the evidence he laid bare against you, turning it over again and again in your mind until your morning alarm startles you out of your stupor. Signalling for the last shift before your break for the holidays. 

...

-Christmas Eve- 

It’s finally here, the worst of all days at the call centre. With your eyes heavy from a lack of rest you take a seat at your desk with an extra large coffee in hand. On your computer you have this morning's team email pulled up, and attached to it a list of de-escalation tactics. You’ll need them today because if people don’t get their package by the end of the routes this evening, there’s no hope for tomorrow morning. 

The call board on your phone is already lighting up like a Christmas tree, but you know those little embers to be fuelled by wrath, fury and unkept promises of delivery dates.   

You try your best to remain calm during the egregious conversations. Offering up tips and tricks to parents who are worried that this will be the year that their child gives up on Santa because your company failed to deliver. 

Your lunch break can’t come soon enough. But when you finally check your own phone it’s littered with texts from Namjoon. Messages of concern, apologies, and the hopes that he will still see you at the wrapping station tonight. He even sent a picture of your abandoned coat and promised to bring it along. 

Fuck, you had completely forgotten about you wrapping shift together. Just one more night, then you can put it all behind you again. If you can just keep your cover for a few more hours then it’ll all be over and Aunt Emma will have what she was promised. 

You send Namjoon a quick message confirming that you will be there, but not promising any more before you head back to your desk. 

The calls get progressively worse with several people using foul language and demanding to speak to your supervisor, you try to talk them down as best you can knowing any call passed on to the higher ups will reflect poorly on your efforts.

Until one woman calling in search of her package finally wears you down, insulting you, your profession, even your family.

“Ma’am I’m sorry but if you continue to speak to be in such a way I am well within my right to disconnect the call.” A desperate bluff, your superiors would rather them end the call than you, you’ve been penalized for it before, and you’ll be damned if it happens again. But unfortunately she calls your hand.

“You will not! I have spent hours on the line trying to reach anyone. The shortsightedness of your company and staff is all too apparent.” 

“It’s the holiday sea-”

 “I know what time of year it is, but it seems your staff doesn’t realize Christmas is tomorrow!” 

“You ordered your package past the guarantee date, we could not insure-”

“Now you listen to me, if there was any form of intelligence in that office you’d be working hard to ensure that all packages make it out before tomorrow morning, but instead you just sit on your ass fielding phone calls and giving excuses so you don’t have to actually go out and do honest labour. You must be the biggest disappointment to your family, not even having a proper job. How can you go home and face them knowing you've left so many without their gifts?”

With the woman's last insult, something inside you finally snaps, giving you the freedom to do what you’ve dreamed of for so long. “I don’t,” you pronounce, building up to take your final shot at both her and your employment. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to let you go, as I’d rather not listen to your nonsensical bitching. So merry fucking Christmas to you ma’am, I suggest you go spend it with your own family if they’re willing to put up with your pompous ass.” You hang up the phone and pull off the headset, refusing to answer the next blinking light that comes on to replace it.

You just sit there looking at it denying the next caller their chance at verbal abuse, and your company's lax policy to protect you from it. The chatter of apologies continue to echo around you as your coworkers press on, but after the years of abuse you can no longer hold it in. Your company always said that this position was a stepping stone to greater things, that opportunities would come you just had to wait a little longer, but after being shackled by circumstances, and no forthcoming higher step to take, you refuse to press on any longer. 

...

You pull into the mall parking lot, far too early for your slot at the wrapping stand, with the contents of your desk now stationed in the trunk of your car. Taking refuge in the women's bathroom cleaning your face of the tears you shed on the way over as you try not to think too much about what you’ve just done. After refusing to concede and admit to any wrong doing you quit, telling them to shove their shitty policies right back where they came from.

Namjoon was right... and with the mall closing early tonight you’ll only have two hours with him, two hours to smooth the tension over and allow for an amicable goodbye while maintaining your cover. 

He’s already waiting for you, with your coat in hand, when you show up. The look of pity that you never wanted to see grace his face directed at you. “Are you okay?”

“Fine... I just would prefer if we didn’t talk about last night. I’m sorry for what I said, and now I just want to let it all go if that’s okay with you?” You smile up at him extending the olive branch.

Namjoon nods looking down at the floor as his hands habitually fold a scrap piece between his fingers. The silence between you is drowned out by the carols echoing down the emptying halls of the mall.

“Didn’t expect it to be so slow.” Namjoon mutters after what seems like an age with no one coming to the stand.

“On Christmas eve? Yeah generally people are home by now, spending time with their-” You force yourself to stop, unable to say a word which will bring sorrow to your heart and loneliness to Namjoon’s.  

 “I’m sorry I can’t do this,” Namjoon interjects. “I want to talk about last night, I need to talk about it.”

“Now is not the time.”

“There’s no one here but you and me. It’s just us, the mall is closing, it's our last shift, if not now when?”

“Anytime but now. The last twenty-four hours have been the worst in my life since-since...” You take a deep breath burying the wave of sadness and regret back down in your chest refusing to let it out. “Please, just forget it okay?”

“Not until you stop shielding yourself like that.” Namjoon scolds you. “I’m tired of you living in fear that your tears will erode your cover, and that your anger will tear it away entirely. I’m tired of you thinking that people will only appreciate you if you maintain this perfectly wrapped state. You might think it’s pretty, that it’s convenient for everyone else, but you are only keeping others out.” 

“Maybe I keep it on so that you won’t be disappointed in what you find when it’s discarded. A sad woman, with no direction, no dreams, unable to cope with loss, and I suppose I can add unemployed to the list now. Is that what you want to see? Is that what you want to find?”

“That’s not all you are... and as for your job, I’m sorry but fuck it. It’s about time you moved on to better things, that place was only holding you back, you deserve so much more.”

“No I don’t, do you want to know why I worked there? Do you? I took that job to make sure she got the care she needed. I promised her when she got better I would quit and find something else, but she never did. But if I leave now I’m accepting the fact that she’s gone... that she doesn’t need me anymore, because I couldn’t do enough to keep her here.” The first tear falls breaking through the long standing divide.

“Staying there wouldn’t have brought her back. Tormenting yourself by remaining frozen in place, won’t bring her back. It’s Christmas for god sake and you are being kind to everyone else but yourself.” 

“This isn’t Christmas for me. If it was, she would be here... not you. I’m tired too. I'm so tired of looking at her chair and- and-”

Namjoon wraps his arms around you pulling you forward as your emotions tear through the shroud. He moves you to the back of the vacant store sitting you among the boxes. “I’ll be right back okay?” You nod, while he tugs the table in and drags the gate down to indicate that you are now closed. When he returns his eyes too are starting to redden. His hands brush through your hair, the side of his palm pressing on your cheek and catching your tears. After seeing one of his own fall you crush yourself against his chest, clinging harder to him than before. His lips touch the top of your head, his hands rubbing on your back and arms as he waits, waits for you to be the first to pull away. The lights for every other store shut off around you the music lowers, all that’s left is the retreating chatter of those going to celebrate the eve of Christmas, and still you hold on to him. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a very good substitute.” He whispers, encouraging you to finally lean back and admit your denial, accepting his efforts to help, when you yourself wanted to do the same for him. 

“Don’t say that, it was never going to be a happy holiday for me, just something I needed to get past. But for you, I at least wanted to make yours better, I’m sorry I wasn’t a very good one either.”

“You never were a substitute. You were the one I wanted to spend the holidays with. A different Christmas than usual but no less enjoyable.” 

“That’s sweet of you to say.” You smile, but you doubt it’s true. “I suppose we should go...” 

“What about all the supplies?”

“Emma will come by in a few days to collect it all.” You grab the small donation from the lock box and seal it in the plastic pouch, while Namjoon rummages through his own bag. “Do you still want a ride home?”

“If you're offering, I would love one.” The flap of his satchel closes as he stops his search and instead goes with you to the bank and finally your car. You hadn’t checked the forecast for tonight so finding your car buried in a few inches of snow comes as an unexpected sight. At least with Namjoon’s help cleaning it off is a quick task.

Once inside you both warm your hands on the sputtering heater, changing them on the wheel as you continue to thaw your fingers while you drive. 

“Do you have any plans for the next couple of days?” Namjoon presses, though hesitant in his tone.

“Maybe look for some jobs, and take a good long nap?” You answer with a dark chuckle, still preferring to miss the entire holiday if you could. “You?”

“No, nothing in mind. But if you wake up and want to come over, you're more than welcome to spend it at my place.”

You return both hands to the wheel as the road becomes more difficult to drive on, your tires slipping here and there on the ice beneath the snow. “I’ll think about it, though depending on how much snow we get tonight we might both be stranded at home.”

You pull through the neighbourhood gates and up Namjoon’s driveway. With the car stopped he once again dives into his leather bag and pulls out a thin rectangular gift he looks to have wrapped himself. Dressed as per usual, with far to many pieces of tape, he hands it over to you. “I know this won’t make up for everything, but I want you to have this. Consider it a very belated Christmas gift.” 

“Belated? But Christmas isn’t until tomorr-” You take the present and succeed in pulling back the wrapping to reveal the book that you were reunited with just the night before. “Oh...” You look up from the cover to find the return of the sad smile on his face you saw in the museum. “But if this is late then, last Christmas, it-it was you? You were the one at the stand... with this?”

...

-One Year Ago-

You are counting down the hours and minutes until the mall closes, until you can pick your mother up from her doctor's appointment and head home, to your promised tradition of putting up the decorations. The past few weeks have been so busy, with work, volunteer shifts, and her treatments at the hospital, you’ve made it all the way to Christmas eve with the tree and ornaments still packed away in boxes, sitting in the corner of your living room since December first. 

Aunt Emma is currently taking your mother’s position at the cashbox, thanks to the scheduling of the last minute check up. You light up your phone again checking the time, only an hour left. 

“You can head out if you want my love,” Aunt Emma offers while swaying and humming to the carols. “It’s quiet enough for me to manage myself.”

You grin embarrassed by your desire for a hasty departure. “No it’s fine. I’m still waiting for the phone call to say she’s done, otherwise I’ll just end up waiting at the hospital.”  

“Suit yourself.” She stands up to look down the halls of the mall. “Oh, I think we might have someone, he’s heading this way. He’s cute too, you should give him your number and put that mother of yours at ease.”

“Aunt Emma, I don’t need your dating-” You look in the direction she was speaking of losing the rest of your words when you find a tall beaming man coming closer to your station.

“If you need me I’ll just be in the back fetching more ribbon.” 

“But we have plenty.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” She waves herself off when he makes it to your table.

“Hi,” He greets you with the warmest smile and an even tone. “I was wondering if I could get these wrapped together?” He holds up a bag of gifts which he hands over to you.

“Of course. Any preference on paper?”

“Whatever you think is best, it’s for my mom. Just a bottle of her favourite perfume and something a little more special.”

You open the bag to find a small box containing the fragrance, and the other what looks to be a kids picture book. But what initially seems to be an odd choice for his mother, slams your chest with nostalgia when you see the cover and read the title.

“Koya’s Christmas.” You laugh with delight, you can’t stop yourself from smiling when you examine the artistry. The memories it brings back is enough to make your eyes well with tears.

“You know it?” The man asks, looking pleasantly stunned. 

“Know it? I had it memorized as a child. I loved it so much I couldn't bear it when it was packed away at the end of Christmas each year.”

“Me neither, I flat out refused to let it go, I read it year round to the point where our old copy is currently falling apart on the shelf. Even made snowflakes to put in my windows like he did.”

“That’s right, that scene was one of my favourites. May I?” You gesture asking him for permission to look through it. He nods just as excited as you by the concept of something so sentimental. As you flip through the book you recall the beautiful storyline of a koala living in Australia, one who is so upset that they must celebrate Christmas in the summer, never getting to have a while Christmas described in the songs and shown in the movies. But once Koya talks to the leaves in the trees, and the other small animals of the forest, the realization hits that none of them would be able to stay there if it was cold enough for snow. 

You are so close to tears when you reach the page where the little koala realizes it’s more important to have friends for the holiday than the frozen flurries. Proceeding to stay up all night cutting out perfect snowflakes to hang in the windows for all to enjoy at the family's Christmas Eve party. 

“Where did you find a copy? I’ve looked for so long, I lost my own in the move here.”

“I actually found it by chance, amongst a bunch of rare second-hand books at an auction.” The man itches at the back of his head. “Sorry, I can’t be of more help in locating another.” 

“No it’s fine. I’m just glad I got to see it again. I’ll have to tell my own mom that I was lucky enough to see a copy, she loved it as much as I did.” 

You quickly wrap the two gifts in the one sheet as requested. Handing it back to him before you can be tempted enough to make an excessive offer of your own on his mothers gift. 

“Thanks again.” He hands you two twenties for the donation. “My mom usually helps me with the wrapping but I didn’t want her to see this, you’ve made her Christmas.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

When he walks off you notice that he makes several glances back to you, holding a smile each time. 

“So did you get his number?” Aunt Emma pokes her head back out from the stock area. “Maybe his social media, his dick-dock or whatever it is you kids do these days?” 

“No, I did not get his tiktok.” You answer, unable to contain your laughter. “I was distracted by-” You’re ready to defend yourself when your phone starts vibrating on the table, the screen lit up with the number of your mother’s doctor’s office. You answer it, excited to share your account of the book. “Hey mom, you all finished? You’ll never believe what I just wrapped-”

“Sorry dear this is Laurie, I’m just calling on behalf of Dr. Wang’s office. We were hoping you could come by as soon as you can, the doctor would like to meet with both you and your mother before she leaves for the day.”

“Y-yeah, I’ll be right down.” You hang up the phone taking a deep swallow of fear, the moment of happiness and nostalgia vanishing with the prospect of the news to come. It’s never been a good sign when they’ve wanted to meet with you both in person. 

Aunt Emma catches on in an instant, pushing your coat on your shoulders and your purse in your hand. “Go, I’ve got this. You give your mother a big hug for me, and I’ll stop by soon to see you.”

...

While you try to relive, to pull back and hold on to, that moment from a year ago, Namjoon nods confirming your suspicions.

You mentally kick yourself for not recognizing him, for not remembering a single thing about him except your connection with the book. But after everything you had gone through, in that night alone, the devastating news regarding your mothers health had blacked out everything else. You took her home that night, trying not to cry, trying to be strong for her. Helping her into bed for some much needed rest, leaving your previous plans boxed up in the corner... where they remain to this very day. And the year only got worse leaving your mind engaged elsewhere, far from the man with the kind smile and similar taste in literature. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you sooner.”

“No, it’s fine, it was a while ago, and I’m the one who should be sorry,” He whispers. “The moment I stepped outside that day, I realized you needed it more than my mother needed a second. I went back, but you were already gone. I was selfish though, rather than leaving it with another, I wanted to be the one to give it to you myself, I wanted to see you, to talk to you again, and so I kept it. I even put it in the exhibit on the chance that you might find it. When I met Emma at the museum and found out that you’d be doing the fundraiser again it seems like fate, but then I heard about what had happened since I saw you last. I realized how foolish I had been, how I had stolen your chance to share it with her before she passed.”

You reach up to your face attempting to wipe away the tears before Namjoon can see anymore, but he catches your hands before you can hide your grief.

“When you saw the book that day, you have no idea the impact it had on me. Watching you react, your emotions so close to the surface. You didn’t care where you were, what you were doing, all you could see was the memory in front of you. I wanted to create that for everyone.”

“Then the museum exhibit-”

“Was a result of my meeting you, my breakthrough idea which got me a chance to curate was thanks to your reaction. I was going to tell you when we were there, why you deserved to be there more than anyone else, but everything fell apart so quickly.” 

“I’m so sorry, I never intended to ruin your night. I just-” You take a deep breath, finally letting out the words you’ve been holding back. “I was scared. Jackson was one of my mother’s doctors, he was always friendly and kind to the point where my mother would joke that he would make the perfect son-in-law. We even went on a date, but when she passed... it was difficult, painful for me to see him again. Finding him there last night, I was so worried you would learn about what had happened, and that you would look at me with the same pity he did, so I ran.” 

“You didn’t ruin it, I deserved what you said for not being more open with you about what I knew. I was scared of losing you. So no more running, no more hiding okay?”

You give him a nod, unable to speak through the tears as you gasp between sobs. He hugs you across the cars divide. “Now will you please come inside? At least for a bit. It’s Christmas Eve and I can’t let you go home like this. I have the snowflakes up and everything but we both know it’s not enough without someone else to see them with.” 

You shake your head, now laughing despite the tears, “You really know how to reel me in.”

“I’m just admitting that I don’t want to be alone on Christmas,” He looks at you with a raised brow. “And I don’t think you want to be either.”

...

Namjoon’s house is the very opposite of your apartment, filled with warmth and light, wooden furniture and plants in every corner. The Christmas decorations bring another layer of himself into the fold. As promised, his window pains are full of snowflakes and the sills... you squint at several small blue lumps perched beside the glass. Moving closer you recognize them as clay koalas made by the skill and hands of a much younger age. Namjoon catches you staring at one position in a dozing state. He takes it off the ledge and hands it to you to give a better look. 

“Careful with that one though,” He points to another figure stationed in the corner. “It’s ears like to fall off.” He rolls the round bit of clay out of position chuckling as it exhibits the trait. 

“Did you make these?”

“When I was a kid. My mom held on to them.” Namjoon muses as he continues to fidget with the figurine. “She dropped off a box of decorations before going off to be with my sister and her family.”

“I’m glad she did.”

“Me too. But even with all the trimmings and decor here this year doesn’t feel quite normal.” He replaces them both in their rightful positions of honour and gestures to the massive couch behind you. “Make yourself comfortable,” he insists, before wandering off to the joint kitchen. “Is there anything I can get you to drink?” 

“I’ll have whatever you're having.” You take a seat on the monstrous cushions, which ease you in before swallowing you in comfort. Making it easy to see how this beast of a sofa has eaten several of his several earbuds. 

“Beer okay?”

“Perfect.”

He comes round with the drinks and takes a seat beside you. Turning on the television he lets it play with low volume in the background so you might continue your conversation if you wished, but at the same time eases the pressure from you if you’d rather not. 

You smile down at your beverage as the overly dramatic film plays out. Your mind still lingering on the damage that you might have caused with your hasty departure the night before.

“Have you talked to Jackson since, is he still going to loan the sketches?”

“He wants to, he sent me an email today saying so...” Namjoon pauses taking a sip of his drink, swirling the contents around in the can. “He asked if you were okay too. I haven’t responded yet, I wanted to talk to you first and get the full story, rather than speak on your behalf. But it’s clear he has feelings for you, if you told him how you felt, I’m sure you could still work things out if you wanted to.”

“No, I don’t think it’s feelings but his concern. He’s just too good of a person not to worry, and I’m sure his own guilt has a place in there too. Jackson and I never would have worked out, we went on that date, we didn’t have much in common, there was nothing there that I wanted to pursue, not like my time with you.”

Namjoon’s eyes perk open as he smiles. His arm reaches around, pulling you in to lean on his side and shoulder. As the strained plot plays out before you. 

“Why do you insist on watching these.” You ask as your eyes become heavy after a few minutes. Leaning into Namjoon more he lays back putting his feet up and sliding you down with him to do the same. Your head now resting on his chest the deepness of his voice carrying down to your ear. 

“They’re like the snowflakes-”

“A paper thin plot full of holes?”

“Funny and true, but not what I meant. I know they are by no means real, but they have this way of adding to the feeling of the season. I didn’t realize how much of a tradition it has become for me and my family until this year, when watching them alone just felt wrong. The movies were an excuse to sit down with them, to talk and laugh. The other night when I called, it wasn’t that I couldn’t sleep, I just wanted to spend the time with you.”

“But why me? You could have anyone, even Valerie seems to-”

“Why would I want anyone else when you helped me achieve something I’ve long dreamed of? You may think this cheesy but at the end of all these films, when everything comes together wrapped in a perfect bow, that’s how I’ve felt in every moment with you.”

“You’re right, very cheesy, but not unwanted.” You look up at him from his chest finding only sincerity in his face. “Now if we’re to continue in this similar Hallmark course of action, I do believe this would be the part where you kiss me again.”

“But I’m just the clumsy lead,” Namjoon jokes. “I’m pretty sure that’s your-” You lean in doing just that, cutting him off and pushing him against the couch as you kiss him. His chest quaking with silent laughter soon turns to rumbling groans as you fulfil the expectation of your role. “Though this would also be the part where I tell you we should wait before giving into temptation.”

Your nose scrunches up in displeasure over the notion of such abstinence. “Then let's omit that line, and go off script for the rest of the night.”

Namjoon takes his turn, flipping you over to push you down onto the plush cushions, where you sink under his weight. “Gladly,” he growls, his mouth trailing down your neck pulling on the collar of your sweater to seek further in. 

Desiring the same you discard your own knit garment, before moving on to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, pushing it back until he is forced to tear his hands from the sleeves himself and whip it down to the ground. 

Sliding between your thighs he wraps your legs around his back and picks you up off the couch. With an arm wrapped around your waist, he continues to kiss you while you squeal from being lifted into the air. 

“Bedroom?” You ask, excited by the possible prospect.

He nods, looking up at you with a smirk. “If that’s okay? I’d rather not risk losing you to the couch too.”

You giggle at the notion, while Namjoon heaves you up again to get a better grasp, his mouth tucking into your chest. He fumbles for the door now behind you looking as though he might break it open if the knob won’t turn to his grappling grip. You reach back to assist and push it open. The cool air of the room hits you, causing you to cling to Namjoon’s warmth. 

With two more steps you’re lowered onto the bed, where he grips the waist of your pants, unbuttoning and tearing them down your legs. Laying on the edge of the mattress, you watch as Namjoon kneels down between your legs. His hands glide up your bare legs and pause at the tops of your thighs massaging them as he asks to go further. “May I?”

You take his fingers and press them down on the dampening fabric. Namjoon groans and dips the tip of his index below the material peeking inside to find the warmth of your cunt. It’s a pity it’s so dark in the room, you would have liked to see his smile. 

But it seems you're not alone in this desire, as Namjoon gets up and reaches over flicking on the lamp beside his bed. “No more hiding, I want to see you, all of you.” 

“I want that too. I want you.” 

He smiles kissing you with both hands before rolling over and pulling you on top of him. You return the favour by taking off his pants and boxer briefs releasing his erection. Running your fingers down the soft skin of his shaft, curling them around the base. Tilting his cock towards your mouth you take the tip, teasing your tongue on the rim of the head. Namjoon groans in delight, thrusting his hips up, you take it again as far as you can manage, enjoying his reactions to your tongue trails downward, tracing the swelling veins of his dick. With another drag of his cock you release him with the pop of your lips and he reaches down to grip your arms, breathing heavily with closed eyes.

“I thought you said you wanted to see me?” You chuckle at his undoing.

“I do, but I also want to last.” 

“Condoms?” You ask, continuing to stroke his cock while you adjust to straddle his thighs.

“In there.” He mutters, pointing to his bedside table breathless and helpless to your touch. Only looking up when you have to free him to reach for the box and unwrap its contents. His own hands help you to roll it down his shaft. 

You guide yourself down on his cock while Namjoon arches against his pillow and mattress. His fingers tracing up your stomach and ribs. You reach back to unclasp your bra just as he reaches your chest, and lean down into his touch. 

With his firm grip you rock your hips clenching on his dick and grinding your clit on his pelvis. The louder he gets the faster you move, trembling as you chase your own high and pivoting down further. When Namjoon’s hands grip your hips pressing you into him the pressure becomes far too great pushing you over the edge, sending waves of pleasure through you until you collapse on his chest. He holds you in place as he thrusts from beneath, gasping as your climax continues, coaxing you to clench down on him, straining his thrusts until he comes. 

Dotting the side of your face and neck with his lips at a soft and slow pace, he succeeds in forging another smile in your still gasping lips. He tilts you off and beside him in your blissful haze so he may dispose of the filled barrier. When returning to your grasp you cling to him and he you, dragging the covers up and over the both of you.  

“I could get used to this.” You whisper, curling into his warmth. No longer afraid of the emotions that the holiday will bring. Glowing over the prospect of not facing Christmas morning alone, but wrapped together with Namjoon in the sheets of his bed. “Maybe even consider it a new tradition?” You joke with him looking up to witness his smile.

“If that’s a tradition...” Namjoon whispers, coming in for another kiss. “I plan on celebrating Christmas everyday for the foreseeable future.”

#bts smut #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #bts x reader #rm #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts christmas au #bts angst #bts fluff #bts wrapped together

[koutarouthighs]

『 soft cotton 』

S U M M A R Y ― sometimes out of necessity, sometimes out of desire, and other times out of convenience, you end up wearing their clothes.

post type ➺ headcanons fandom  ➺ haikyuu!! characters  ➺ tsukishima ⧾ iwaizumi ⧾ terushima  genre ➺ fluff rating ➺ t+  tags ➺ established relationship; clothes share/swap; nudity if you squint (bare thighs); party environment described but not in explicit detail; word count ➺ 2.8k request ➺ [YES/NO]      ↳ request status: OPEN

⤭ tsukishima is confused the first time he finds you in one of his shirts. before his brow wrinkles in that telltale way of frustration, you hold your hands up in surrender and explain that while you were helping his mother in the kitchen, you spilled soy sauce on your white top and she offered to clean it for you while dinner was in the oven. ⤭ after that, you don’t end up giving him that shirt back. it’s an old one, that doesn’t have much sentimental value, but there’s something jarring about tsukki seeing you in his clothes; an out of body experience, almost. he doesn’t understand why anyone else would want to wear anyone else’s things - isn’t that why you buy your own clothes? ⤭ and he has to ask the other guys about it. why does she wear my shirt to bed? why doesn’t she just give it back? and boy, do they have a field day with him. he can be so dense sometimes. doesn’t he see? you wearing that shirt is like you carrying a piece of him with you, even when you’re far away.  ⤭ his clothes engulf you, absolutely dwarfing your frame due to the height difference between you. tsukki has always thought of you as tiny, not fragile, but now, seeing you swimming in the fabric that makes up his ratty old tee, he thinks he has begun to understand why you like to wear this shirt over any of your more expensive, more fashionable ones. ⤭ he might be an asshole about it, but tsukki finds ways to gift you more of his clothes indirectly. he accidentally spills soda on your shirt one night when you’re staying in, watching a movie and eating pizza. another day he grabs at the hem of your shirt when you’re walking away and tears a hole in it. somehow, you still haven’t caught on, but he doesn’t ask you for the shirts back anymore. in fact, when you start to return them, he gets almost as irritated as he did when you had to ask for the first one out of pure necessity.

more below the cut ↴

“i’m sorry, kei,” you brush the fabric free of wrinkles as it settles at your mid thigh, covering the shorts that are currently adorning your lower half. you slowly look up at him, a warmth on your cheeks that signals your shyness, “i’ll bring back this one with the others next time i see you, okay?”

a scoff leaves his lips and he’s tugging at your wrist, pulling you forward on the couch until you’re tumbling down to meet him. your knees settle on either side of his waist and he watches as the fabric of the shirt pools around your thighs, “don’t worry about it. your washer makes them smell like old lady anyway. i don’t want them back.”

the way you tilt your head to the side, cocking an eyebrow and dropping your lower lip in confusion never ceases to amuse him. tsukishima reaches up and brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, inhibiting your speech even as you ask, “i-i can wash them over here, if you want, kei.”

he’s shaking his head again, snagging at you until you’re flush with his chest, your face tucked against his neck. it’s not necessarily odd behavior for him to want you so close, however it is strange that he’s not asking for his clothes back. he used to put up so much harder of a fight.

“nah, they were shitty shirts anyway,” he sloughs off the string of words like they were meaningless, however you know the weight they hold. you also know better than to tease him too far, rather to take the prize you’ve silently won through heckling and hard work. the shirt on your shoulders feels warmer, somehow, with the knowledge that you have his blessing to keep it as if it were a gift from him in the first place.

your hands run up the length of his shoulders until you are hooked around him entirely, clinging to his lanky body like a koala. he smells so good, especially after a shower and a shave, which you suspect he’s done earlier today based on the scent of his aftershave still lingering on his neck. you nuzzle your nose further against his jugular, feeling the way his heartbeat pounds the blood in his veins. a low hum escapes your lips without your permission, but tsukishima must not mind your slip of the tongue, but instead is encouraged by it, sneaking his chilly fingertips underneath the hem of the familiar item of clothing until he finds your ribs.

he’s practically lulled you to sleep with the ministrations of his fingerprints mapping out each of your ribs, in tandem with the warmth he provides and the skin-on-skin contact you’ve beseeched with your own hands. your eyelids cannot stay pried open any longer, and so you allow them to shut. somewhere between now and then, tsukki drags a blanket over your shoulders, angling his body to be in a more comfortable position without jostling you too much to the point you’re far too awake to fall back asleep.

just before your mind is consumed by that dark realm of slumber, you hear a low murmur in your ear, “they looked better on you anyway.”

⤭ iwaizumi would not admit it in the beginning of your relationship, but there was something about seeing you in his clothes, namely a t-shirt with his old high school jersey number on it, that just made him feel a certain way that he could not explain. ⤭ it starts with you forgetting to wear a jacket on a date one night, but you don’t ask. iwaizumi sees you shivering and wordlessly removes the bomber jacket from around his shoulders and places it on your own, waiting until you’ve slipped your hands into the sleeves before he grabs for your hand again, interlocking your fingers at the knuckles.  ⤭ after that, you start to become more comfortable asking him for his hoodies and even though he gives you a bit of a frustrated comment after you accidentally take one home, when you stop asking for his jackets, he gets confused and concerned.  ⤭ with iwaizumi’s job, he gets a lot of free merchandise from the team(s) he works with. and by proxy, you get a lot of t-shirts and hoodies and other items passed down to you because he would accumulate too many things otherwise.  ⤭ you refuse to wear anything the first time, though. because without iwa wearing it around the house at least once, it won’t smell like him. he thought it was weird at first, but eventually you started noticing more clothes piling in on your side of the dresser that you’d seen him wearing a few times. and then, when he sees you step out of the bathroom after your shower with that team japan long sleeve shirt on, if you catch him quickly enough, you’ll notice a small, fleeting smile on his lips.

﹢

“hajime?” your call comes from the kitchen, and iwaizumi can hardly hear you from his place in the bathroom, showering after a long saturday of practice games. he rubs the towel against the top of his head, drying his hair before responding, “yeah, just a minute, babe!”

when he steps into the kitchen, you take him by surprise. you always do, even now, years after your first date. settled on your shoulders is an old seijoh promotional t-shirt he remembers having to wear to a fundraiser. but the seafoam green fabric settles against the tops of your thighs, exposing the remainder of your legs to the chilly breeze coming through the apartment windows. you always crack the windows when you’re cooking or baking; something iwaizumi noticed when you first moved in.

“iwa-chan?”

iwaizumi has to blink once, so harshly that he sees stars on the backs of his lids, before he can focus on you. he tilts his head and licks his lips, “yeah, sorry. what did you say?”

that laugh that rings in his dreams floats across the space between the two of you, and he fights a smile so he doesn’t look like a dope while you’re trying to ask him a question. he steps forward on the guise of hearing you more clearly, and then reaches out to push your hair behind your ear, his fingers itching to brush against the stitches of the fabric holding the shirt together on your pretty frame.

“i asked if you wanted the spicy steak tonight, or if you wanted me to reign in the heat,” your voice comes easy, simple and soft, and iwaizumi catches himself turning gentle at the sound of you. your palms abandon the cookware for a moment to extend towards his body, slipping beneath his top to rests on his hips. your thumbs brush over the warm skin, still slightly reddened from his time in the shower.

he’s so lost in the primal, territorial sensation he gets that starts as a prickling in the base of his neck, seeping down his spine and curling around every bone in his body. he wants to kiss you, to show you how he feels rather than telling you, and so he does. 

iwaizumi has never been one to deny how he feels.

your breath is stolen from your lungs when he lurches forward to capture your mouth with his own. his palms are rough as they search your torso for somewhere to land, settling on your shoulders so he can keep your upper body pinned to him. you release a small squeaking sound from the back of your throat, but he’s already swallowed it before you can feel self-conscious. 

“haji,” you gasp when you feel his fingertips dig into the muscle of your shoulders, and a laugh follows suit when his lips withdraw from yours and you can see the intensity in his gaze, “wh-what’s gotten into you?”

he’s not really sure, if he were to be honest with you. maybe it’s the nostalgia of the color fabric of the tee that you’re wearing. maybe it’s the way he wishes that he’d continued to play volleyball in a more direct way. maybe it’s the way the shirt falls just far enough to keep you from exposing anything too tantalizing.

or maybe...

“it’s just you,” he answers, pulling you by the thighs so he can pick you up and deposit you on the counter top. your legs sashay, ankles brushing his legs, and you can’t help yourself from twirling your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. iwaizumi takes a deep breath before repeating himself, as if saying the phrase again might solidify the statement, but this time he adds: “it’s just you, in my shirt. you’re absolutely beautiful.”

your whole body burns at the compliment, and you bashfully blink downward, but iwaizumi is quick to lean in for another kiss. before too long, he’s got you drowning in his affections, his palms beneath your shirt to map out your skin, and the dinner you were previously preparing has been completely forgotten.

“iwa,” you murmur between the clacking sounds your teeth are making as they collide, “d-dinner, what...”

you feel his chest reverberate with a growl and then his mouth is on your neck and his fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt, “forget dinner.” his voice is rough and his touch is gentle, “we’ll just order out tonight.”

⤭ terushima is the one to ask you if you want to wear his clothes from the very beginning. he loves seeing you wearing his flannels and tees and hoodies. he always tries to find one that pairs well with your outfit so that way he can reason you into wearing his clothes whenever you go out.  ⤭ if he comes home to see you curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, just absolutely engulfed in the warm fabric, it makes his whole body tingle. he goes and changes after work and will definitely slip underneath the blanket you’re hidden under to wrap his arms and legs around you. ⤭ when he asks you for clothing advice, at first you wonder if it’s because he’s trying to change up his look. but, after a few strangely specific questions, you finally realize that he’s trying to tailor his wardrobe to be something that you could always find easy to wear. ⤭ the desire to see you in his clothes is partially from being territorial, but mostly because he just thinks you look hot as hell when you’re wearing his clothes. you always manage to make his clothes look ten thousand times better, mainly because it’s you wearing them. it never fails, he will always make a comment about how good you look wearing just his big tee to bed, even if your hair is all mussed and your face is still shiny from your skincare. ⤭ sometimes you’ll catch him stealing your clothes, too. you wear big tee shirts that are comfortable, and sharing is caring! he loves to pick on you when he wears your clothes, pointing out the designs printed on the shirts and how adorable you are for wanting to wear such cute little things. 

﹢

“god, pretty girl,” his voice is rough as it runs ragged against your ears, his hands on your waist from behind, “you know how it makes me feel to see you in my clothes.”

and of course you do. yuuji is no quiet thing when it comes to how you make him feel. so, you lean into him, if only to egg him on until he’s begging you to head out of this little house party. his fingers slip into the back pockets of your jeans and you find yourself stumbling into his chest, palms fumbling over his torso to try and clutch at his shirt to steady yourself.

“teru,” you chide, pinching his cheek before leaning up to kiss him. you pull away before he’s gotten warmed up, leaving him following you by craning his neck. a chuckle escapes your lips and you press your index finger against his pursed mouth, “we came here to celebrate kiyoko and tanaka. can you keep your hands to yourself for just a few more hours?”

“baby,” he’s whining in your ear now, all needy with his lips pouted and his irises widening, “you can’t be serious! you know that’s my favorite shirt to see you in! i think you did this on purpose!”

his fingers tug on the material of the flannel that’s draped over your shoulders, pooling around your hips and framing your body just perfectly. you watch as his irises struggle to focus, pupils dilating as he looks down at you. his mouth twitches in expectant words, but he’s interrupted by someone else who steals your attention.

while you’re busy talking to one of your old friends from high school, terushima is given the opportunity to take in your appearance for the first time since he met you at the party earlier, and the sight of you engulfed in his flannel and a pair of his crazy socks that peek out from the cuffs of your jeans makes his chest constrict so much so that he grasps at his shirt with his fingertips, barely curling his digits around the fabric of his tee before he realizes what he’s doing.

a slow, gentle blinking of his lashes brings him back to earth, where he can stare at you some more, all unbeknownst to you. he doesn’t mind admitting to anyone who wants to know that he loves to watch you when you’re just existing. he likes to notice the little things about you, to catalog them in the back of his mind so he can remember them on days when you have to be apart for longer than he wants to be.

your attention is diverted when you feel his palms against your hips, his chest brushing your back as he leans forward to kiss your shoulder, “i’m gonna get a drink, yeah? you want anything?”

“water,” you nod, reaching back with one hand to run your fingers against his undercut, “thank you, teru.”

another kiss is deposited to your cheek before he unravels himself from you and heads towards the kitchen, hands shoved deeply into his pockets. and you tilt your head so you can take in a deep breath of the collar of the flannel that you’re wearing, and somehow it feels like you’re there with him despite the distance between you. 

#tsukishima x reader #iwaizumi x reader #terushima x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #terushima yuuji x reader #tsukishima x you #iwaizumi x you #terushima x you #iwaizumi hajime x you #tsukishima kei x you #terushima yuuji x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #hq x you #tsukishima headcanons #iwaizumi headcanons #terushima headcanons #hq headcanons #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!! headcanons #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! x you #eliza.hc #eliza.writing #eliza.tsukishima #eliza.iwachan #eliza.terushima #eliza.haikyuu

[grace-lost-in-space]

The Update

Everything has been really hard and today was my breaking point. As most of you know, I have three social workers. One with my home nursing agency, one with DCFS (the state), and one with the state of Ohio because that is where the original report was made when my mom dropped me off in Cleveland at a hotel by myself and I had to get myself to the clinic the next day. I still have no idea how I made it there. My doctor later told me he did not expect me to make it out of that admission alive. And the worst part was that when my mom dropped me off at the hotel, she told me "I hope you die." Well, I am really glad that I did not die. Maybe. I think.

So fast forward to today. My state social worker and my Ohio social worker both messaged me. My state social worker was called in because of the abuse allegations against my mom (when I had the black eye, etc). I have not seen her since her first visit 3 weeks ago. She asked how I am doing and then, in all of her glory, asked if my mom can help me find a new therapist. Because, you guessed it, I still have Legs as a therapist because of the psychiatry issue. This social worker promised me she would help me find a new therapist but told me she wanted me to keep seeing Legs until she found someone. Now she decided to put that responsibility on my mom OF ALL PEOPLE. My Ohio social worker messaged me to tell me that she has tried to contact the home nursing social worker for two weeks now and the HNSW has not returned her calls. I told her that I only ever met her once and she never did visit again. The HNSW is the one who is supposed to be helping me get the medicaid waiver and also get into a group home. Obviously that is not happening and the Ohio social worker is a little more than angry.

And to make things extra worse today, I had a session with Legs. She was 30 minutes late. She is never late, so it would not have been a big deal if she had just told me that she would be late. Her computer was messed up (not her iPad, so the video session would have worked either way) and that she would be running late. She did not do this. So what did I do? My brain combed through every scenario until it convinced me that she died or that something bad happened to her, since she never warned me that she would be late. And then as I was crying when she started the video chat, she said (and I have the whole session recorded) "Grace, I need you to stop. I need you to stop being upset, okay? You say you want people to think you are smart...well...then stop being upset and stop crying."

There was more. A lot more. But if I type all of it right now, it will send me back into my 7 hour meltdown and I am just now coming out of it so I want to keep it that way, at least for tonight. It was awful. She was telling me "I told you I didn't forget your session. My computer was messed up (she sees me on her iPad) but you don't believe me. You don't trust me." Which actually is not true. I kept trying to explain to her that I was crying/worried because she is never late and I thought something bad had happened since she never messaged me to warn me that she would be late. But she still found a way to turn it around on me.

All of this is a mess. All of it.

And then, as if everything else was not already falling apart, I got my labs back. My hemoglobin is back at transfusion level. I have to go to Cleveland next week to see the hematologist and have another transfusion and then hopefully set up regular iron injections to prevent this from happening again.

I am nervous for the appointment. I am always so scared of going to Cleveland alone. It is a really, really, really long drive there and back and I have to do it by myself. It is really hard but even harder when you are non-speaking. I still do not have words. I just want my words back more than anything. I think the first thing I would do is scream to anyone who would listen about how Legs treats me and about how so many others treat me because they assume that non-speaking correlates with intelligence. It does not. I am smart. And I do not need to "stop crying" if I want to be recognized as smart.

Another thing that several people have messaged me about over the past months/year/weeks is an AAC. This would be an app on my iPad like Proloquo2Go. It is for non-speaking people and it gives them an actual voice. Actual opportunities to speak. My speech therapist (Dr. Cough) suggested this app about a year and a half ago but I was hesitant because 1. it costs A LOT and 2. I really wanted to try for a while longer to get my words back. Unfortunately, it has been two years and I have not been able to speak. It has made everything harder, especially during hospital stays and at appointments because I have to write everything down on paper and people get very impatient and on a few occasions, I have even had providers/nurses take away my notebook so I could not keep writing. That would be like someone putting their hand over a speaking person's mouth. It has been awful. So I think I am going to kind of put the idea out there of fundraising for the app so that maybe, just maybe I can have an easier and more reliable way to communicate and one that will help people actually listen to me and take me seriously. Plus I want to be able to interrupt Legs. Right now she just puts her hand over my pen when we are in her office on Mondays and tells me to let her speak.

So I feel really self-conscious about this and also scared but I am going to give it a try anyway. If the only thing you are able to do is share this post, I would be so, so very grateful. If you are able to donate, I will be equally as grateful and please know that whether you share the post or donate, you are helping me get my voice back, even if it is through an app.

The app is called Proloquo2GO and it is for my iPad. It costs $250. I would be using it to communicate with everyone around me and most importantly with my doctors and my therapist. Right now, I am having to use a pen and paper and that has been tough in more ways that one.

Do you guys think it would be okay to try and fundraise for it? I have a PayPal account. I just feel so sad and so embarrassed that I have to ask for help. I feel like my life has been nothing but asking for help from doctors and my mom and therapists and now you all. I feel so sad. And I am really, truly sorry if this post comes across as pushy or anything of the sort. I just really want a way to have my voice back and after doing a lot of research and a lot of messaging with others, this seems like my very best option right now. And please know that I would be forever grateful and that you would be making an honest difference in my life, whether you share or donate, or send well wishes my way. I am so thankful for the community here. I will put my PayPal link at the bottom of this post. I hope that is okay. I am really nervous for this part. But here goes nothing. Or maybe here goes the start of learning to advocate for myself and actually being able to advocate for myself for once. There are other apps with a similar concept but this is the one that my speech therapist and others on my team have recommended over and over 💙.

paypal.me/savinggrayce

#hope #help #voice #support #mental health #mental illness #abuse #independence #sad #proloquo2go #speak #speaking #verbal #update #recovery journey #community #communication #speech #health #recovery #selective mutism #autism

[mcheang]

The girl squad overhear Adrien and Marinette talking/arguing about Lila; they learn that Adrien knew Lila was lying and told Marinette to take the high road. When Adrien again says that the lies aren't hurting anyone, the girls confront him and explain just how the lies could hurt them. They also learn about Lila harassing Adrien and threatening Marinette. Bonus: Chloe redemption and having her care about Adrien as a friend.

Friends stand up for each other

Post Ikari Gozen. This is a draft.

While bonding with each other, Kagami and Marinette relate about their familial akumatizations. Marinette told about Weredad, Befana and Bakerix. Kagami talked about her mother and her own experiences.

Marinette: did I mention I’m sorry.

Kagami: do not be upset. You were nervous. Besides, you didn’t mean to, unlike that Lila girl.

Marinette: you know Lila?

Kagami: not exactly. I was busy practising one afternoon, then all of a sudden a random number sends me a picture of a stranger kissing Adrien.

Marinette startled. “Wait, if you never met Lila, how did she get your number?”

Kagami: Adrien thinks she must have copied off his contacts list.

Marinette: that is so wrong

Kagami: indeed

Marinette: lying is one thing, but this is downright harassment and invasion of privacy.

Kagami: lying?

Marinette: Lila likes to make herself sound grander than she really is. Apparently she’s Ladybug’s best friend.

Having met Ladybug, Kagami raised her brows skeptically. “With how Ladybug values her privacy, I’m surprised anyone believes that claim.”

Marinette sighed. “My friend Alya runs the Ladyblog. She gets very excited over any rumor about Ladybug.”

Kagami: like thinking Chloé was Ladybug despite being saved by her from Stoneheart?

Marinette: it is so nice to finally meet someone who does their research.

Kagami: I developed an interest after my own akumatization. But back to this liar, why haven’t you exposed her?

Marinette: I tried to. But she puts on this sweet front and people think I’m just jealous about Adrien.

Kagami: if they could see us now, they might change their minds.

Marinette: I doubt it. Things have gone too far. And the only other witness who believes me is Adrien, and he wants to take the high road and let Lila’s lies crumble on their own.

Kagami frowned. “He told me as much when I asked him what he was going to do about her.”

Marinette: be honest with me, do you wish we didn’t have to take the high road.

Kagami: the question is, would we be taking it if it didn’t involve Adrien.

Marinette snorted. “Alya would scramble to bring the truth to light asap. Rose would want to warn everyone so nobody gets their hopes crushed. And Alix already has her brother coming up with fantastical ideas, she doesn’t need someone else to do it in school too.”

Kagami: then we have our answer.

Marinette stopped. Kagami followed suit.

Marinette: we do, don’t we.

Kagami: It’s a shame that, based on what you’ve said, people would say we’re jealous.

Marinette: so how do we prove we’re not?

Kagami: I need a chance to improve my planning skills (especially since she ruined Ladybug’s first plan) and this is an excellent way to bond.

Marinette grinned.

The next day, the girls in class were astonished to see Marinette and Adrien arguing in the distance.

Lila hasn’t arrived yet. (Tikki may have locked her in her bedroom.)

Curious, Alya led the group to spy on their endgame. They were just around the corner, out of sight, but able to hear everything.

“...too long and her influence is only growing stronger.”

“She’s done nothing serious yet.”

“Are we supposed to wait until something bad really happens before Lila’s exposed?“ This again? The girls barely hid their groans. On a side note, how did Marinette convince Adrien to join her team?

“We’ll stop her before she goes too far,” Adrien assured Marinette.

“Really? Like how you stopped her from taking Kagami’s phone number? Lila’s already convinced Mylene to let her join in on her fundraiser. What if she steals the funds?”

“Relax. Lila’s not going to do anything that daring. She’ll probably just flake as usual.” Wow. Adrien really thinks bad of Lila now. What did Marinette say to him?

“Adrien, we’re talking about a girl who loves to get what she wants. Do you honestly think Lila will be satisfied with a simple no show. She’ll insist she handle the funds to make up for her absence.”

“We don’t have any proof she’s a thief. Ok, she’s a liar. But who doesn’t lie?”

“Adrien…I saw her steal your dad’s book.”

“What?!” Adrien’s outcry expressed what the girls were thinking.

“How do you think I know she’s a liar. I saw Ladybug confront her right after I saw her dump a book in the bin.“

Pause.

“Do you honestly think she won’t stoop so low as to steal Mylene’s funds if she didn’t even care that you were under house arrest?”

Silence before Adrien struggled to say, “She didn’t mean for me to get pulled out of school.”

“Oh come on!” This time the outburst came from Alix, one of the first to recover.

Adrien and Marinette turned around. Adrien paled. “Were you girls eavesdropping?”

Alya glared at him, “Why so upset? It’s not like we’re hurting anybody.”

Adrien cringed from the mocking tone.

Rose looked tearfully at Marinette. “All this time, you were trying to protect us, weren’t you? And we only accused you of being jealous.”

“You’ve finally seen the light. Hallelujah!”

Adrien: you girls aren’t going to tell anybody else, right?

They stared at him in disbelief. “Of course we are. Duh.”

“But then Lila won’t have any friends in our class!”

Alya scoffed. “Like I’m letting Nino listen to anymore of her garbage.”

Mylene nodded furiously. “Ivan and I trusted her!”

Alix: I have to tell Nathaniel. It’s what friends do. Oh, and Kim, too I suppose.

Rose: And Kim will tell Max, who will tell Markov.

Juleka: That leaves Chloe and Sabrina…but they don’t like anyone else but you, Adrien.

Adrien stammered. “It’s mean of you to do that.”

Alix laughed. “Oh, we’re mean? How about you? Did you care to tell Alya her blog credibility is being ruined?”

Mylene: Did you think to warn us that Lila might always be absent at our volunteer parties.

Marinette: Did you consider Kagami’s feelings when you told her you would do nothing to scold Lila for upsetting her.

Adrien looked down, unable to find an answer.

A sharp voice barked out. “Get back, you peasants!”

Chloe had arrived. “Need I remind you Adrikins is still new to having more than one friend. His only real teachers are cartoons with their happily ever afters. While I don’t really care if Lila steals and brags about falsehoods, I care if she does that to you, Adrikins. Dupain-Cheng told me about the photo and asked me to talk sense into you!”

Chloe was plan B. Marinette had asked Kagami to share the photo. Chloe was outraged. She saw that it was a forced kiss, and learned from Kagami how Lila was basically a snoop.

Adrien: Chloe, what do you mean exactly?

Chloe: I don’t care about exposing that liar…much…let’s wait for a slow day before we bring out the popcorn. What I care is that she’s sexually harassing you. i see her constantly moving into your personal space as you lean back. i saw her force that kiss on you so can have a souvenir you never agreed to. Now I hear she’s been snooping around your room, instead of actually studying. Adrikins, I love you, I know what our parents can be like, but that doesn’t mean you should let everybody walk all over you like that.

The girls pause as they take in what Chloe has been saying. Lila has been sexually harassing Adrien.

Adrien croaked out, “What should I do?” He wasn’t asking Chloe. He was asking everybody.

Marinette softened. “If you can’t say no yet, then ask for help. Tell Nino and the guys how Lila’s been bothering you. They’re your friends. If you can’t tell any of us your troubles, then who? Friends are here for each other, no matter what.”

Adrien nodded slowly. While he didn’t like being a tattletale, he also admitted he wanted Lila as far from him as possible. And if Lila was wrong, then he should tattle then? Right?

Alya: as for exposing Lila…

Chloe: we are not doing any exposing until we get a slow day.

Alix: When is a school day not a slow day?

Sabrina: When we learn to expect an akuma at least once a week.

Alya: There was an akuma 4 days ago.

Juleka: There should be one soon, then.

Mylene: How about 2 days after the next akuma attack? That gives us enough time to research, time for the akuma excitement to die down, and time before the next akuma shows up.

Chloe scowled: fine.

Alya: I’ll get right on it!

After that, Lila was irritated that whenever she tried to approach Adrien, someone would block her path, asking for help or stories or whatever. And Mylene had kicked her out of her charity after deciding that Lila was so busy, she didn’t want to interfere with her work with Ali. Ugh. Maybe Lila could convince Mylene to let her handle the cheques later. And the girls didn’t seem to want to hang out with her anymore. Before they always invited her out, but now they claim they’ve accepted her busy schedule. When Lila claimed to be free, someone asked her to help them with some chore.

After the debut of Monsieur Rat, Lila was called to the Principal’s Office. When she came back, she was accompanied by Mrs Rossi and Damocles.

Damocles: Class, I believe Miss Rossi here has something she would like to say.

Lila gritted her teeth as she forced out the words: “Ladybug is not my Best Friend. I don’t know Prince Ali. Jagged never had a kitten….”

The list went on, so many were her lies. While Ms Bustier gasped in betrayal, the girls were secretly munching on candy. Except for Chloe who was openly savouring her honeyed popcorn. Lila glared at her, suspicious of her involvement. Damocles coughed but said nothing. The boys were shocked and angry. It was one thing to unknowingly sexually harass Adrien, it was another to take advantage of their trust.

Mrs Rossi: As of now, my daughter will be heading to a convent school. The nuns there are known for being alert to their students’ activities, and are used to liars. It will also be far enough away that Hawkmoth can’t akumatize my daughter, who apparently thinks I would not be interested to know she has been akumatized who knows how many times!”

Lila: I told you it was only 2 times!

Mrs Rossi: akumas are newsworthy information! (Ok, how she missed out on the heroes defeating the villains is beyond me. For a diplomat, she is ridiculously oblivious about Paris.)

Alya: then who cast that illusion of Ladybug on Heroes Day? Lila was certainly around to be akumatized.

Lila gaped at Alya, who showed no surprise at her exposure. was she behind this?

Chloe gave a wave. “Bye bye, Lie-la”

After this, the girls were insistent Adrien learn to expose any wrongdoings or he is only enabling the bully. Chloé was more of the opinion he should learn to stand up to his father. Nino was on Chloé’s side for once.

#miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #lila salt #adrien salt #ml salt fic #adrien redemption #adrien learns #marinette & kagami #chloe redemption #lila busted #lila gets exposed #lila is exposed #post ikari gozen #long post

[ferret-not-microwave]

Les Amis Modern AU: What They Wish Others Believed About Them (Part 5)

[I kind of wrote this in response to some general trends in characterising the Amis. There are some stereotypes which I'm not quite comfortable with.]

[Hey, y'all! I'm so sorry for not posting this series for a long time, I was flattened for the past 12 days by COVID-19. We have Cosette and Marius today, and I'm so glad that I am feeling better enough to write about them. Cheerio!]

Cosette:

• Is fed up of being considered dainty, fragile, weak and excessively nice, a bit of a pushover. She is anything but. Living with crappy foster parents don't really let you do that. She can stand up against bullshit with biting sarcasm if necessary. It's just that Cosette doesn't rise to the bait very easily, because she has trained herself to ignore battles which don't need her attention. But that doesn't mean that she needs to be protected all the time.

• Is sick of having to relate her childhood traumas in order to not be judged as being a privileged airhead. Cosette likes buying nice things. She likes fashion, and she has some habits from Catholic school, still. She spends a lot of money on her friends and loved ones. She is sunshiney and injects bougie humour and fun into meetings. That doesn't mean that she knows nothing about the shitty world, and that she doesn't actively try to make ethical choices in her consumer behaviour and social commitments. She really dislikes the "Ohhhhh" moment coming from someone judging her for her privilege when someone tells her story to them. Why presume that people are shitty for no reason, damnit?

• Is sick of being mistaken as straight. On one memorable Pride, she was called "straight passing". She dislikes the term immensely. She thinks that people do not have the liberty to immediately assume that she is heterosexual because Marius is her partner. Similarly, people do not get to assume her sexuality because she presents stereotypically femme.

• She feels insecure and uncomfortable when people fix too much attention on her in relation to someone else, as if to scrutinize her. It happened twice amongst the Amis, once when Marius introduced her as his crush for the first time, and once when they came to know that she and Eponine knew each other since childhood, and that Eponine's parents were her abusive foster parents. She likes it better if she were befriended for being herself.

• She feels a little frustrated that people didn't get her conflicting feelings towards Eponine. People immediately assumed that she forgave and forgot everything Eponine had done or said when they were children, in her "characteristically sweet way". Actually, the first time she saw Eponine, her fear reared its ugly head again and she almost ran out of the Musain. There was much dancing around Eponine (who seemed worn out and super uncomfortable as well) and it is only with Marius and Courfeyrac's help that Cosette could start a conversion with Eponine. She did it not be particularly forgiving (though she eventually forgave her anyway), but because she needed to leave her emotional baggage behind and move on.

• A large part of Cosette's forgiveness towards Eponine was fuelled by the knowledge of Eponine's own abuse at her parents' hands. As someone who had faced quite a bit of the same abuse, she needed to put her foot down. Cosette was extremely angry about it, and her anger made sure that Eponine could separate from her parents faster, and eventually get custody of her siblings.

• She hates, hates, hates it when people remind her that she's lucky to get an adoptive father like Valjean particularly after she has a row with him. Just because her foster parents were shitty doesn't mean that she cannot speak against some of Valjeans imperfections! And children often disagree with their parents. She doesn't need to be dampened with the idea that she should basically think Valjean to be perfect because of her past. She is fiercely loyal to Valjean, and doesn't need anyone to test that.

• Cosette is protective of Marius. No one gets to mow Marius over with judgements and snide comments. In fact, Marius found himself being not so much the butt of jokes anymore after Cosette teaches him to stand up for himself. At the same time, Cosette does not helicopter parent Marius. She does tease him within limits, and does not usually interfere when he has disagreements with the Amis. It is a fine balance which does exhaust her sometimes.

• Cosette can be mischievous, even impish. She can land punches (whether they hurt or not doesn't matter), ace paintball/mudslinging matches, play the best pranks on April Fool's Day and curse like a sailor if needed. She is especially proud of the wide-eyed look she still gets from some of the Amis at her antics. She can also get people out of trouble faster than you can say "bail".

Marius:

• Marius feels scared of being judged. It is really, really difficult to understand your own privilege when you come from a super rich, super bigoted family (read grandfather). He has taken lots of embarrassing knocks and call-outs every day till now, but he is learning, and learning fast. The Amis know, and for them he isn't some peripheral person anymore, but an integral part. But sometimes he wakes up with nightmares of being kicked out as a wokeboi and a fraud by the whole group. He often stumbles over his words because he panics that maybe what he is trying to say is problematic. It takes him months to take any initiative in the Amis because he suffers from imposter syndrome all the time.

• Marius hid all information about his favourites (he loves strawberry rosé macarons and silver needle tea, for instance) because he thought that he would be judged as a rich brat. Funnily, it was Ferre who had figured these out and was the first Amis to give him a small tea chest and a box of macarons as a birthday gift (followed closely by Courf and Jehan with a huge birthday party). It took time for Marius to understand that just because he got a bit panned for his political opinions the first time, it doesn't mean that the Amis hate him.

• Quite unlike popular belief, Marius and Ferre do get along very well. They share a lot of niche interests (poring over etymology dictionaries and having a love of museums and trivia nights). They did discuss that first "to be free" moment, and Marius had placed his request to be given more chances to undo his problematic stances. (There was also another "to be free" moment that had left Ferre stunned, but it's a them thing). It hurts Marius when people immediately think that he's probably annoying Ferre when they hang out.

• Marius is not stupid. Please. The whole idea people have that he is stupid because of his awkwardness and shyness is plain mean at times. No, he doesn't need to be talked to slowly, like talking to a child. Whenever he has the courage, he brings up a lot of valid points in Musain meetings. He is extremely resourceful in handling money and talks with boring rich people, and fundraisers have never been better without him. He is juggling a double Masters degree with internships and volunteer services, and picks up languages at the drop of a hat (including Elvish).

• Marius has also had that dangerous phase when, in a bid to be as radical as possible, he fell into trouble way too many times. Even the most even-tempered of them all (read Jehan) has outright cried in exasperation on finding Marius glaring at a policeman in a protest, promising to burn the place down with a flare if they didn't back off from hitting protestors. Marius has similarly taken punches and hits, and there was a time when Joly would hover around him to administer first aid as quickly as possible. It took Enj and R a whole day to explain to him the merits of self-preservation and that revolution today does not necessarily involve a militant loss of life.

• Marius has also that phase when he drove a college sophomore to tears with his radical speech. Aka attacking the heck out of the kid's problematic Facebook post. Cosette had to give him a talk. Marius is learning about how to be a zealous but kind activist every day.

#marius pontmercy #cosette #les miz #les amis #les mis #les miserables #marius and cosette are such sweethearts #marius is an underrated noodle boi #modern au #les mis as #ferret's freshly microwaved post

[mimi-cee-hq]

Since First Year - Tsukishima x Yachi

31 Days of Haikyuu!! - Day 17: Favourite Pairing - tsukiyachi :D

Summary: Tsukishima has been pining for Yachi over the years. High school, college, and afterwards, he wonders if he ever had a chance in the first place. A series of snippets of Tsukishima and Yachi's relationship over the years.

Tags: Cute fluff, Pining, Canon-compliant (I think), First year, Third year, College, Sendai Frogs, Sendai City Museum, (these are all basically hints about scenes in the story lol)

This one-shot was inspired by @limach-an's tsukiyachi fanart. And I also blame @innovativestruggles for sharing it with me and for loving tsukiyachi more than I do.

Note: If tsukiyachi is your NOTP, you can just filter out the tsukiyachi tag. I’m pretty good at tagging them.

Words: 1,958

*****

Drool fell out of Tanaka's mouth, Hinata was asleep as well, and Nishinoya looked like he could pass out any minute. Kiyoko, holding a tray of food in her hand, looked at Tanaka, wondering what to do with him. Yachi panicked at the sight of Hinata's head on the table.

"He's fine, Yachi," commented Tsukishima. "Just let him sleep."

Yachi bit her lip, glancing at Tsukishima then back at Hinata. "I guess you're right," she replied. As Tsukishima continued to munch on his shrimp, Yachi giggled at him. "You're actually eating," she pointed out.

Tsukishima directed his eyes elsewhere. After the Shiratorizawa match, he had worked up a large appetite, which was absent on a normal day. He took another bite from the shrimp but didn't bother to eat the meat in its tail. His hands were still taped up.

"Umm...," she said while scratching her cheek. "Do you want me to help you with that?" Tsukishima prompted her to go ahead. As she peeled off the skin, she nervously peeked at Tsukishima every so often, as if she wanted to say something. "Y-You were really cool," she finally said after giving him the meat.

Tsukishima felt his cheeks heat up. He remembered feeling proud of his brother when Yamaguchi thought Akiteru was cool. He knew that Yamaguchi looked up to him as well. But it was embarrassing to hear it straight from Yachi. With cheeks still red, he muttered a thanks in reply.

"Nishinoya was cool too!" Yachi continued. "And Sugawara too! And I can't believe Hinata jumped into the net!" she laughed. Oh. So it wasn’t just him. But perhaps he should have expected that.

"Yachi," Kiyoko called out to her from across the table. "Could you help me get Tanaka's bowl?"

"Okay!" she replied, leaving her seat.

Tsukishima scowled, fully aware of the empty spot to his right. He continued to eat, biting a bit too firmly on his food. "Tch,” he clicked his tongue, getting frustrated at the strange feeling in his stomach.

*****

"Here," Yachi handed the booklets to the team’s two new managers. "Hopefully, this will help you get oriented," she explained. "I already went over most of the information with you, but I made these in case you missed something or wanted something as reference."

The two first years gawked at the booklet. It was filled with information like names of the members of the team, the volleyball rules specific for the Japanese high school league, and the year's schedule. But that wasn't all. It was laid out with detailed attention to typography and graphics and it was pleasing to look at.

"Are you a professional graphics designer?" one of the managers asked.

Yachi rubbed the back of her head with a timid smile. "I would like to be one," she replied.

The two ran off, after receiving instructions from her. Tsukishima commented, "You're going to be busy with those two this year."

"I don't mind being busy with something like this," Yachi smiled. "I'm glad more people are interested in our volleyball team. Remember when I made that fundraising poster in first year?" Tsukishima recalled it clearly. "I don't even have to do that anymore. I'm glad that I joined the team and I got to see everyone grow."

Tsukishima noted the gentle smile on her face. "I'm glad we both joined," he mumbled to himself.

"What was that?" Yachi asked.

"Nothing," he calmly replied. "Why are you talking like we're not playing anymore? We still have the rest of the year."

"Ah! That's right!" Yachi exclaimed, covering her mouth.

Tsukishima smirked at her reaction. Although, he said otherwise, they really did only have a year of high school left. Staring at the top of Yachi's blonde hair, bundled to the side, he sighed, not wanting things to change.

*****

Hinata: Happy New Year!! Please take care of us this year too!!!!!!!

Yamaguchi and Yachi laughed their heads off while Tsukishima covered a chuckle. Hinata sent them a picture of him and Oikawa making a Kagamimochi out of sand. But it literally looked like crap.

“It looks so wrong when you make that with sand!!” exclaimed Yamaguchi.

“That sitting - wait, squatting pose there isn’t doing them any favours either…!” said Yachi.

“They look so proud of their creation. It’s making me mad,” Tsukishima said, somehow still annoyed by them.

It was already New Years Day when they got the text. Yachi came over to Tsukishima and Yamaguchi’s dorm to visit for the first time in a while. After high school, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi went to Tohoku University while Yachi went to Miyagi University. Although they all lived in the same area, they didn’t see her very often. It was expected, but Tsukishima thought it was nice to see his high school friend again, not that he’d admit it.

“I guess I should go home now,” Yachi said as she stood up from the futon. “This was fun,” she smiled at them. Tsukishima walked her to the door as Yamaguchi started to clean up. “I’m going to miss you two.”

Tsukishima smirked at her. “Well…,” he started, “you could see us more often if you dated me.”

He heard a chopstick fall on the floor. Yamaguchi went stiff. Yachi blinked at Tsukishima, likely wondering if he was serious. “Tsukki, you shouldn’t joke about that,” she laughed. With her coat already on, she opened the door. “I’ll see you two next time,” she grinned.

Right after the door closed, Yamaguchi accidentally let out a snort. Tsukishima immediately glared at him. “I can’t believe you just did that,” Yamaguchi decided to let out his laugh anyway. Tsukishima rolled his eyes and sighed. It was worth a shot, he guessed.

*****

Tsukishima saw Yamaguchi at the other side of the stadium waving him down. He grimaced, clearly recalling that he told them not to come and watch him play for the Sendai Frogs. Both Yamaguchi and Yachi insisted but, trying to deter them, he didn't bother to say when and where his game was. Of course, they found out anyway. To be honest, he didn't want them to come because he knew they would just embarrass him.

“Yamaguchi! Yachi!” yelled out Koganegawa with a large wave. When they got there, Kyoutani greeted them with a nod.

Tsukishima was right. He blushed, knowing they shouldn’t have come. Not when Yachi was wearing a Sendai Frogs jersey with his name on it. He groaned with a strong inkling that Yamaguchi probably talked her into wearing it.

He thought his crushing years were over. But after some food and dessert a couple hours post game, he still found himself averting his gaze from Yachi. Even Kyoutani raised his eyebrow, noticing Tsukishima’s behaviour.

And somehow after their evening drew to a close, Tsukishima found himself carrying Yachi home in his arms. With her head tucked in his shoulder and arms wrapped around his neck, he reluctantly decided to cherish this moment as long as it would last.

He stopped walking to shift her weight to a more comfortable position. "Are you sure you're okay?" asked Yachi.

"Yeah, we're almost there," he replied, wishing what he said wasn't true. "Next time, don't wear heels," he lied.

"Alright."

Yachi hugged him a bit tighter, Tsukishima realizing just how cold the air had gotten. He sighed, deciding he'd have to walk a little faster for her sake.

*****

Tsukishima never expected this to happen. His manager walked Yachi through the Sendai City Museum and later introduced her to Tsukishima and his co-workers.

“Hi Tsukishima!” Yachi said with a bright grin.

“You two know each other?”

“Yeah! Since our first year of high school!”

Since first year… It had been that long. But here she was in front of him, with an opportunity to work together again.

Yachi was hired on contract from her mom’s design firm. Over the next few months, he worked with her to put together pamphlets and posters for the museum. She didn’t need much help from him. The company gave her quite a few resources for her to use. But he took the opportunity to sit and work beside her, saying that it would be much easier for her to ask for help that way.

As time went on, it seemed like they got even closer than they were in high school. Tsukishima would tease her whenever she started to overthink about her work, noting that some things didn’t change. But she would give him a jab right back at him, telling him to get back to work.

But there were times when Tsukishima would see glimpses of hope - glimpses that Yachi was actually interested in him. Normally, he would pick up on people’s emotions easily, nut because he had been pining for so long, he doubted his judgement, knowing it could be clouded by his feelings.

One day, Yachi suddenly started crying. “It’s nothing,” she told him. “Just forget about it.” But he hugged her and told her she could share with him if she wanted.

At first she mumbled her response. When Tsukishima asked again, she clearly replied this time. “I’ll miss you.”

It was the end of her contract. He wasn’t looking forward to this either. But from the way she was crying, he wondered if perhaps she did have feelings for him.

Tsukishima began to analyse back to the past months, looking for clues he might have missed. There were days where she placed her hand over his during his rough days. Another day she placed a hand on his cheek when he was distraught over the results of his work. She would also hug him whenever she thanked him for his help.

At first, he thought close friends would do that too. But as she sniffed, trying to hold back her tears, he wondered if he was special.

“Yachi,” Tsukishima asked, “can I test something?”

“What do you mean?” she replied, wiping her tears away with her sleeve, trying not to touch her mascara.

“Just push me away if you don’t like it.”

 Yachi blinked a few times, not knowing what to do, but she shyly nodded afterwards.

Tsukishima drew his face close to hers, tentatively stopping a couple inches in front of her. Yachi’s eyes grew but after a moment between them, they fluttered shut.

Tsukishima, on the other hand, took a step back to just stare at her. She actually liked him. Yachi caught him wide-eyed, covering his mouth. “What was that?” Yachi said as she pounded his chest with her fist.”

“I-”

“That was so embarrassing!” Yachi exclaimed as she hid her face in her hands. “Why would you do that?”

Tsukishima groaned, not wanting to have to explain why he was being so… stupid. “Well, I’ve liked you for so long that I… was surprised.”

“What???” Yachi freaked out. It seemed like she didn’t expect his admission either. “Just how long?”

He mumbled.

“What?”

“Since first year.”

Yachi's eyes grew wide. Of course her reaction was expected. Who would be pining for the same girl for so long?

Tsukishima hid his face, embarrassed from admitting his feelings.

“So… aren’t you going to kiss me?” Yachi shyly asked after calming down a bit.

“Mmm… maybe a bit later,” he said to tease, but a blush still covered his cheeks and still looking elsewhere.

“What?”

“You can wait, right?”

“Ugh Tsukki!!!”

“Kei.”

“What?”

“You can call me that instead.”

Yachi was dumbfounded. With his initial embarrassment gone,Tsukishima started to have fun teasing her, but he noticed a sly smile growing on her face.

“You can wait, right?”

Tsukishima was caught off-guard, then laughed. He couldn’t help but think how cute she was and put an arm around her as they left the museum.

*****

I hope you liked it. I feel like I got lazy in the end. lol.

FYI, the New Year’s college scene was based off of this translated post from Twitter for New Years 2020

General Taglist: @dorkyama @the-black-birb @hqprotectionsquad @nagichi-boop @moonaaluna @muffins-puffins (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

#haikyuucreations #tsukiyachi #tsukishima x yachi #tsukishima kei #yachi hitoka #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fanfic #hq fanfiction #hq fanfic #haikyuu fluff #mimi's fanfiction #tsukiyachi fanfic #yamaguchi tadashi #koganegawa kanji #kyoutani kentaro

[thekillerssluts]

My Relationship to Performance Has Changed

A great rock-and-roll show means openness, confrontation, and a kind of danger, and those ideas right now feel too heavy to lift.

Last October, before the second pandemic wave took off in New York City, I had one last band practice in my backyard in South Brooklyn. Five of us were working on songs from my new solo record. Normally we’d play in the basement, but it’s pretty low-ceilinged, and we’d read Zeynep Tufekci’s recent Atlantic article on viral spread, so we were all hyper-focused on air circulation. My bandmate Sara had contracted COVID-19—and recovered—in March, but the rest of us had no immunity. Besides, we suspected that we were in for a long winter and might as well hang out outdoors.

It was warm in the sun. After hauling the drums, keyboards, keyboard stands, guitars, and amps outside and plugging everything in, I hadn’t wanted to bother setting up microphones, so we had to play softly to hear ourselves harmonize. When we paused for lunch, someone leaned out of a fourth-story window in the apartment building next door and yelled: “Are you done or are you just taking a break? I have things to do, but I really miss live music!” “Me too, man!” I called back. “Should be just a break.”

Six months and a difficult winter later, the break is ending. I’m seeing more and more Instagram posts for shows that aren’t just wishful thinking. Low-capacity indoor shows are popping up in New York. Outdoor—maybe even full-capacity indoor—concerts are coming this summer. Am I ready to play? Ask me every other day and the answer changes. I’m torn. I’m desperate for sound engineers to get back behind the board and bartenders to start earning tips. I want venues to thrive again, both as places for art in neighborhoods and for the sake of the network that keeps music culture alive in America. I want my booking agent to feel excited again; he loves music so much. And I want musicians to make a living. So many people have been so screwed by the past year. I guess I just want everyone to get paid.

But the actual performance; the rebuilding of the sonic cathedral, as Dave Grohl wrote last spring; communally reaching for rock-and-roll transcendance? I’m not there yet. I’m not concerned that I’ll get sick. I received my second vaccine shot at the end of March and am ready to high-five strangers on the subway. My hesitance has an element of crowd-shyness, which we’ll all get over. But in my own performance, I don’t know how to meet this moment. A great rock-and-roll show means openness, confrontation, and a kind of danger, and those ideas right now feel too heavy to lift.

I used to think of performance in purely aesthetic terms. In the movie La Strada, a clown wearing angel wings does a high-wire act across a crowded piazza. For his finale, he brings out a table on the wire and, while balancing, tries to sit and eat a full plate of spaghetti. The heroine of the movie watches him with an almost religious ecstasy. When I first started performing, I strove for transcendence and stupidity, high concept and low art. My focus was on keeping myself in the air.

When my band Arcade Fire was playing mostly to people who hadn’t heard us before, we felt that the best way to get them to open up was to blow the windows and doors out. At an early show in Lawrence, Kansas, my brother, Win, bashed Styrofoam tiles out of the venue’s ceiling with his mic stand. We pushed as hard for an audience of six people (two of them my parents) upstairs at AS220 in Providence, Rhode Island, as we did in front of tens of thousands in the desert at our first Coachella show (during which I accidentally cut Win’s guitar cable in half by repeatedly smashing a cymbal into the ground).

At a certain point, as people got to know our music, my relationship to performance changed. The energy from the crowd was greater than anything coming from the giant speaker stacks. The audience wasn’t a challenge to overcome, or an opponent to conquer. We became a team. Not in an abstract, lovey way but how a sports team operates—pushing one another to do better, sometimes failing, sometimes frustrating one another, sometimes just joking around.The high-wire act of live performance—Will the music come together?—was still there. I’ve even sometimes tried to make the metaphor real, climbing arena scaffolding with a drumstick in my teeth and a drum strapped over my shoulder to play 30 feet in the air. Some of our crew members hate it—“Will! You have children now!”—but climbing up there doesn’t actually feel that dangerous, and a little nervousness is good. I’m reaching for primate simplicity and catharsis: The crowd needs tension to experience release.But now I have no desire to make tension. I want people to feel safe and comfortable, and I wonder whether creating a feeling of danger and openness is antithetical to that. I know that cultivating a perception of safety and actually making people safe are different. On tour, in a big venue, every night our management and local security have a briefing. It’s partly to set a vibe—People are here for music. Everybody be chill. If some teenager sneaks into a closer section, please let them. But the briefing is also serious—where the medics are located, what the escape routes are. Most of the time, these safety measures are invisible. I worry that post-pandemic precautions, as welcome and necessary as they are, will be depressingly visible. Some elements, such as temperature checks, will be inane. Some, such as requiring vaccination, will be important. Regardless, they will also set a tone—not You are entering a place for music, but You are entering a secure location. Dancing is hard when you’re looking at your feet; singing is hard when you’re thinking about everybody else’s breath. I bet the crowd could get over this. I’m not confident I could. With limited capacities and tight procedures, I worry that the stage will feel like the VIP section of the VIP room at a members-only club. Sterile, lonely, all of us chillingly aware that we are part of a ticketed event.

I have another concern that’s hard to shake. After this pandemic year, I’m more aware of the responsibility I have not only to the people who buy tickets, but to the driver making deliveries to the show and to the family of the woman working arena concessions, people who really don’t care about what I’m doing onstage. Vaccination numbers will grow, and the pandemic will end, God willing. I’m not worried about the spread of the coronavirus in particular. But these links of responsibility remain. The analytical part of my brain turns off when touring starts. Before scrambling back to normalcy, I want to make sure that this sense of connection becomes embedded in how I think. I would really love to just be a musician—but I’m also an employer and a player in an industry that has chewed up and spit out plenty of people, especially in this past year.

My hesitations are all about shows, though, not music. Over the past year, I’ve rarely played music with others—a few practices and filmed performances; work on the new Arcade Fire record in November; a handful of Zooms with bandmates to help a school’s PTA fundraiser or support a candidate in the city-comptroller race. But in all of those instances, I’ve experienced an ease, a rightness to the communication—not through the screen with whoever was listening, necessarily, but the people I was playing with. That connection felt restorative, like having a night of deep sleep that repairs parts of yourself you don’t know how to access.

I know people are ready for live music, ready to forget themselves in a wash of sound, ready to loudly talk with their friends over the song they don’t like that much. And so, for heaven’s sake, go to Neumos in Seattle when shows come back. Go to the Hideout in Chicago. See your favorite band, or somebody new. Plenty of artists don’t share my nervousness. I don’t want to add worry to the world; I’m just figuring out my new relationship to performance.

The magnolias are out in New York, and some of the apple trees are blossoming. Temperatures are creeping past 60. The vaccines keep rolling out. The future seems more possible. If I miss an emotion from live shows, it’s not any moment of transcendence. I miss the time just after, when, dazed and excited, you still feel the reach of some universal gesture, but the only thing concrete is the people around you.

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/04/world-changed-what-makes-live-show-successful-didnt-arcade-fire/618625/

#Arcade Fire #will butler

[flowerslut]

Waiting Game

  Words: 2657 Rated: T+ for canon-compliant mentions of suicide Summary: The story fell out in pieces, leaving Jasper and Emmett to sort through them to form the narrative on their own. Bella wasn’t dead; a fact Alice neglected to let anyone else in on. Alice was flying somewhere; it was unlikely that it would be back there, to Denali. Edward wasn’t coming home; it was assumed that Alice was heading wherever he was. Bella wasn’t dead, and Edward didn’t know it.

(New Moon gap-filler.)

A/N: Originally written for a Twilight charity fan-zine.

I humbly ask that if you read this story, please take a minute out of your day to go to MTHG.org and read about the Quileute tribe's Move to Higher Ground initiative. As a fandom it's important to acknowledge the true harm that has been inflicted upon this indigenous community and to educate ourselves accordingly. If you're able to, please consider donating to their cause. If you’re unable to make a monetary contribution, please share their cause in any way that you can; whether it's on social media, texting it to your friends, or bringing it up to family members. It's important to bring awareness to their situation now, before tragedy strikes and a natural disaster causes harm to this small, vulnerable community.

Today's story is part of a two-part fundraising initiative I've taken to Tumblr. Tomorrow I'll be posting an original song that will be available for download upon proof of donation to the Quileute tribe (any amount counts; even $1 is a great help.) 

I’d also like to take this moment to request and encourage any Twilight content creators out there to take a moment this week/month/year to post one work dedicated to raising awareness and funds for the Quileute tribe. It was a beautiful thing to see everyone banding together last summer with the release of Midnight Sun, donating en masse, raising awareness, and encouraging education. I’d like to keep that momentum going through 2021, as well. 💗

(Story under cut)

“I just feel bad, you know?” A foot against the base of a tree only had to press slightly before the thick wood groaned and cracked, threatening to fall to the forest floor below. The snow was deep enough that Jasper imagined it would cause a mighty flurry to erupt around them, but he wasn’t about to stop Emmett from doing whatever he needed to distract himself. Grief rolled of him like a steady stream, relentless in it’s flow. “Like if we’d stayed, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“But we didn’t stay, and it did happen,” Jasper spoke gently, pushing back the guilt he’d only recently allowed himself to move on from. Alice had reasoned that it was likely that any type of incident that threatened Bella’s life, whether vampire-related or not, may have driven Edward away from her eventually. But Jasper knew that Alice had held onto hope even all these months later.

It really was a shame that Bella had died.

“It’s ridiculous,” Emmett finally pushed harder against the tree, and when it cracked and snapped beneath the force, catapulting snow into the air around them as the hundred-foot giant fell, neither man flinched. “It didn’t have to be like this. It wasn’t just his choice. She could’ve been one of us by now. It’s what she wanted.”

Emmett’s grief was a passing storm, Jasper knew.  Emmett always handled change and tragedy and disappointment far better than any member of their odd little family. No matter how much the taller man cared for the now-dead human girl, Jasper knew that it wouldn’t take long for Emmett to move on.

As for their brother…

Jasper was dreading having to fill Carlisle and Esme in on the news. It didn’t feel right to deliver the news over the phone, so after a few vague voicemails and an even more ambiguous phone call, the pair were ending their hunting trip early and would be back at Tanya’s before midnight.

Not for the first time over the past couple of days, he wished Alice were still there. Empath that he was he had never been good at comfort, outside of using his ability to force it into the atmosphere. But still, Alice had tasked him with it regardless, informing him that Esme would take it hardest and it would be best to have them both back at the house before revealing the news.

And Edward, Alice said, absolutely could not know.

Rosalie had shocked Jasper by raging at that particular detail, her frustration trumping her initial shock and guilt so thoroughly Jasper had done a double-take, staring at the blonde curiously.

“He deserves to know,” Rosalie asserted, folding her arms over her chest as she eyed her shell-shocked husband, sitting at a nearby couch, his head in his hands. “It’s not fair for us to keep something like this from him.”

“I’m just relaying what Alice said,” Jasper deflected her irritation with half of a shrug, Tanya’s phone feeling particularly heavy in his hands. “It’s not like it would be easy information to get to him.”

Now, almost two days later, the knowledge that Bella Swan was dead sat in him like lead; heavy and unrelenting. Tanya and her sisters had expressed their sympathies, although Jasper could sense how bizarre they felt, watching Emmett frown and mope over some human girl. Carmen and Eleazar had volunteered to help them track down Edward, but Jasper quickly dismissed the offer, telling them what Alice had spoken.

Edward could not know. Not yet, at least.

“When Alice comes back, we’ll regroup,” Jasper spoke, watching as Emmett eyed an even-larger tree, likely considering knocking another one to the ground. “But when Carlisle and Esme come back, I’m going to need some back up.”

Emmett smiled thinly, nodding as he pulled his eyes off the tree and back toward Jasper. “Esme is going to be so wrecked.”

Jasper did not nod, but he did grimace at the idea of the matriarch of their family so distraught. It hadn’t mattered that the woman had only known Bella for a small amount of time. Esme had cherished and loved Bella the same as she did any of them.

It was as he was gathering the breath to speak, when Jasper stopped, his head turning back toward the direction of Tanya’s home in the distance.

Rosalie’s voice reached them only a millisecond before he’d felt it; sharp, piercing terror and guilt shooting through the somber atmosphere. Jasper was moving just as they heard the first shout.

“Emmett!” Rosalie screamed, “Emmett help!”

In all the races Jasper had entertained over the years, Emmett had never once beaten him, no matter how many times the taller man played dirty. But in all the years Jasper had been with the Cullens, through all her dramatic fits and tantrums, he had never once heard Rosalie sound so terrified.

So when Emmett beat him back to the property, snow flying around the men as they raced back toward the house, Jasper didn’t even find himself shocked. If someone could bend space and time through sheer strength alone, Jasper was sure Emmett would find a way. Anything to get to his wife.

They met a hysterical Rosalie half a mile from the house, and at first, little made sense.

“Rosie, Rosie,” Emmett held her tightly as words tumbled out of her too quickly and too disjointedly to make any sense.  “Slow down, what’s going on?”

“I told him,” she screeched eventually, her words catching as the guilt and fear wrestled within her, “I messed up and I told him because he deserved to know and I—” when her words caught on a fully-formed sob, Jasper forced himself to look away. And as his eyes found Tanya and her sisters, appearing at the edge of the forest, worry coloring their faces, Rosalie finally let the rest of her words tumble out. “I miss my brother.”

And in that moment, Jasper knew what had happened.

Rosalie had told Edward Bella was dead.

Alice had strictly emphasized how that couldn’t happen. But now the boy knew. And Jasper didn’t have to be a mind-reader to guess how the impulsive teen was going to react.

“Oh, no,” Emmett whispered, clinging to his distraught wife. Jasper made eye contact with him and immediately knew that their minds were on the same page.

Now, Edward wouldn’t be coming back.

————————————

The story fell out in pieces, leaving Jasper and Emmett to sort through them to form the narrative on their own.

Bella wasn’t dead; a fact Alice neglected to let anyone else in on.

Alice was flying somewhere; it was unlikely that it would be back there, to Denali.

Edward wasn’t coming home; it was assumed that Alice was heading wherever he was.

Bella wasn’t dead, and Edward didn’t know it.

Thankfully it didn’t take long for Rosalie to calm. But while Emmett comforted her and soothed her guilt—guilt that Jasper could feel eating away at her stubborn facade—Jasper quickly and quietly explained to Tanya the situation. 

“What can we do?” The strawberry blonde asked, sharing a horrified look with her sisters. 

“I don’t know. I need to talk to Alice.”

And by the time they all made it back into the house, Esme and Carlisle had made it back from their trip.

One look at Rosalie, completely beside herself and shaking like a leaf, had forced the pair into action.

“What’s going on?” Carlisle demanded as Esme flew to Rosalie’s side, enveloping the girl in a tight embrace, her eyes as wide as saucers. “What happened?”

There had been plenty of things that Jasper never wanted Carlisle Cullen to find out. When he and Alice had first joined back in the fifties, that list had felt a mile long. Each fact about his past felt like a confession. Each story a token to pay for judgement never received.

Jasper watched Carlisle take so much in stride through the years that eventually, even after slip-ups, Jasper found himself comfortable enough to talk about it with the older man. To look him in the eye when the conversations transpired. He respected Carlisle, even cared for the man.

But how on Earth was he supposed to tell him that the boy he thought of as a beloved son might never be returning?

The hour that followed had been excruciating. 

Emmett and Rosalie had disappeared soon after Carlisle and Esme’s arrival. It was only after Jasper asked when Irina hesitantly told him that they’d borrowed a car to drive to the closest airport in Fairbanks. From there, their plan was to call Alice and demand to know her location so they could help.

Not one to judge a plan made with good intentions Jasper had simply nodded and tried to tune out Esme’s grief.

He’d been right to suspect that the woman would take the news the hardest. If anyone Jasper had ever met deserved happiness, Esme did.

She’d already lost a son in a previous life. It felt cruel for history to repeat itself this way.

When the phone finally rang, Jasper answered it immediately.

“Hello?”

“I don’t have much time,” Alice spoke, her strained voice immediately soothing some of his anxieties just by the sound alone. “I have to make it quick so the flight attendant doesn’t interfere.”

“Where are you going?” He spoke, feeling the nerves in the house immediately begin to rise. He knew Carlisle and Esme were only in the next room, listening in as Eleazar and Carmen lingered close by.

“I’m going to stop Edward. There’s no getting a hold of him, so don’t even try. Our only chance at stopping him is by getting to him as soon as we can.”

“We?” That surprised him. It didn’t sound like an invitation. But quickly his surprise faded. Of course Bella would want part of whatever intervention Alice was staging. “And where, Alice?”

“Italy.”

“No,” he shouted the word before he could stop himself, and when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps he lowered his voice, curling himself around the phone as he walked in the opposite direction, “Alice, no.”

“If I don’t do this, Edward is as good as dead, Jasper.” Alice didn’t even sound surprised at his sudden outburst, of course. “Bella is alive, and once he sees that, I think we have a shot.”

“And if he doesn’t see that? What is he planning on doing? Join the Volturi?” It made little sense, but when it came to Edward’s fits, not much did. Of course, he was sure the alternative was more likely…

“He’s going to ask them to kill him.” She spoke, confirming his fears. “He knows they’re the only people who would willingly do it. And if they don’t want to do it willingly, he’ll force their hand.”

Jasper swore then, turning to see Carlisle standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a frown etched deep into his kind face. He knew the man could hear every word Alice was saying, even despite her lowered voice and hushed tone.

The two locked eyes for a moment before Jasper forced himself to look away and continue speaking.

“How?”

“I can’t be sure, I keep seeing him do different things, he keeps changing his mind.”

“What’s he picking between?”

“A killing spree through the city, attacking the guard, lifting a car over his head in the main square,” Jasper hissed at that, hating the fact that Edward was truly considering all of these things for Alice to get even a vague vision of them. Alice continued without a beat. “Mostly things that would expose them—he knows that’s he fastest way to force a reaction.”

“Alice, I don’t think you can stop him on your own.” Not that he doubted Alice’s abilities for a second, but if Edward was so ravaged by grief and hopelessness that he’d resort to murdering innocents, he couldn’t help but fear what his brother might do if Alice tried to stop him on her own. “I can be there, just give me some time to get to the airport.”

“No, you can’t.”

“You’re going to have company anyways once Emmett figures out where you are.”

“Tell Emmett no.”

“He and Rosalie are likely at Fairbanks International now.” He was surprised she wasn’t aware of that. He was sure they would have been calling Alice non-stop by now. Truly all of her attention was focused on Edward.

“Well, go after Emmett and Rosalie and bring them back.”

“Alice, I think we could be of some help there. Seriously.”

“Think about it, Jasper. If he sees any of us, what do you think he will do?”

Jasper sighed at that. But when he realized Alice was waiting on a verbal reply he closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair. “He’ll act faster. He’ll know we’re just trying to stop him. That we’ll tell him anything to get him to listen.” Even if it was the truth, that Bella was alive, Edward would absolutely never believe them, especially with Alice knowing his true intentions.

“Exactly. I think Bella is the only chance—if there is a chance…”

“Be honest, Alice. What is the chance? It sounds like he’s got a head start on you two.”

“I’ll do everything that can be done, but prepare Carlisle; the odds aren’t good.”

“And what happens then? If you fail. You’ll be in Volterra with nothing but a human at your side. Aro will,” he swallowed, trying hard to ignore Carlisle’s concerned gaze on his back, “he won’t want to let you go if he sees into Edward’s mind.”

Of course, Alice had the goddamn audacity to sound amused at the idea. “I’ve thought of that.”

He forced a few calm breaths, then. “Alice, you need to promise me you won’t put yourself in danger. I refuse to let this situation get worse than it already is. And it’s already bad enough. Promise me you’ll get out.”

“Yes, I promise.” But her words were too practiced. Too ready. No matter how much he trusted his wife, Jasper didn’t believe her for a second.

“I can be there soon, please. Alice, let me help. I’ll have Rosalie and Emmett come back to wait here with Carlisle and Esme. Do not do this alone.”

“Don’t follow me. I promise, Jasper. One way or another, I’ll get out.”

Jasper sighed. “If anything happens, all bets are off.” There was a moment of silence then, and when Alice didn’t contradict his words, he found himself feeling only the slightest bit better. If things went south, he’d be there, and nothing on god’s green earth would stop him. Alice had to know that.

Whether she’d seen it was something he didn’t want to know. (Because that would mean her failure was more likely than she was leading on.)

“Be safe, Alice,” he whispered, clinging to the phone with both hands now, knowing that soon she’d be gone, “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

He stood entirely still for several seconds before the beeping of the dead line brought him back to reality. Alice was on the way to a viper pit and here he was, standing in a too-big kitchen with marble countertops clutching a cordless phone like it was his lifeline. Told to sit and stay and wait, as if he’d ever been good at any of those three things in his goddamn life.

When Carlisle placed a hand on his shoulder, he nearly jumped, so taken off guard by the motion that the older man immediately apologized.

But when Jasper finally turned his eyes onto the man who had accepted he and Alice into his family over fifty years ago, it was easy to push the hesitance aside when Carlisle asked firmly, “What do we do now?”

And like always, Jasper had an answer for him. But not one he wanted to provide.

“We wait.”

#twilight saga #twilight fanfiction #MTHG #cmon content creators! #share a snippet of a WIP with a donate link! #post that link without fanfare! #encourage donations and offer content in return! #use your platforms for good you funky renaissance weirdos! #anyways this is mainly jasper/Alice bc 96% of my content is #so be sure to unclench those cheeks and try not to be a loser about that