#claus’s genuine laugh makes his voice crack

[bookuya]

genshin x gn!reader┊fluff: mustache

ingredients: you like to take a strand of your boyfriend's hair and bring it to the top of your lip, creating a beautiful mustache.

calories: diluc, kazuha, xiao

serving size + contains: modern au for kazuha・fluff・slight crack・cuddling/touch・lmk if i should make a pt. 2 and for what characters!

no matter how tired he is diluc always smiles when his gaze lands upon you. his stress feels as if it's slowly disappearing, with you on his lap and your hands gently brushing through his velvet hair. your humming and rambles of the most random things are practically music to his ears. his arms are wrapped around your waist and it's almost like you were both made for each other, your figure comfy in his hold and his eyes closed like he's in a dream.

you're curling a hair strand around your finger when you abruptly stop talking, the silence lightly alerting diluc awake from a close slumber. his eyelids open and he watches a happy grin slowly make its way to your face.

"hey luc," you say with a slight hint of giggles in your voice. "watch this."

and he does. he watches in confusion as you bring your hand up to your face, holding his vibrant lock of hair above your lip and under your nose.

"it's a mustache!"

you finally let out a laugh you've been holding in and slightly lower your hand, right to your chin. it's supposed to resemble a beard but the way diluc's hair is so obviously still connected to his head makes him chuckle.

"you look wonderful darling," he states in a genuine tone. you think it's a tiny bit frustrating (but still cute) on how oblivious he can be sometimes. there's a little confusion left in him but most of it is replaced by amusement, an effect from your actions.

you only pout in response and let go of his hair, choosing to wrap your arms above his shoulders instead. "you're supposed to laugh!"

he blinks at you. then the ends of his lips turn up into a smile before he responds with, "i mean it though, you look beautiful in anything."

diluc pulls you impossibly closer and nuzzles his nose against yours, making you yelp and try to break out of his sudden tight hold. you can't pretend to be mad anymore when a rare laugh bubbles out of him in sincere joy.

while your voice is a lullaby to him, his laughter makes you feel like you're on cloud nine. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

everything around you feels like a dream come true. the swaying grass of the meadow, the tree above providing shade, and the male seated in front of you with his hand on the back of your head. it all feels so relaxed, especially with the peaceful silence guiding the way. your head is on kazuha's chest and his hair is down, no ponytail in sight. it's times like this that make you appreciate the world.

"penny for your thoughts?" kazuha's smooth voice brings you back to him. you scoot closer and sit up straighter, his hair kissing the side of your face and your line of vision meeting his own gaze.

"nothing much," you reply with an added yawn. a funny idea pops into your mind from the sight of your lover's hair and it suddenly changes your mind. "okay... maybe i'm thinking about something."

"would you like to talk about it, dove?" his fingers brush lightly against the back of your neck as you lean further into his touch. "i would not mind at all."

you giggle from how serious yet at ease kazuha sounds. you don't speak, only responding by taking his hair in your hand and tucking it under your chin.

a remarkable smile appears on your face. "look, now i'm santa claus! except i'm young and hot."

the action makes kazuha return your smile but the words you say make him laugh. it's a quiet yet full of joy kind of laugh and it makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

he reaches for your hand and brings it towards him, his own hair onto his chin as if it was a beard. "now i'm santa," he speaks and you giggle again.

his other hand trails around your waist and he intentionally pokes at your side, making you yelp from the surprise. another chuckle escapes kazuha and he tilts his head to meet your gaze.

"and i guess that would make you my present."

you silently coo at the adeptus below you in both adoration and surprise. both of you are chest to chest lying down on your bed, his eyes shut close and his face at peace. despite all his statements of adepti not needing sleep, he looks pretty restful right now (not that you're complaining, you would love for him to get a break anytime any day.) you genuinely didn't mind him falling asleep in the middle of a cuddle session.

your boyfriend is not long-haired, nor does he plan on growing it out. either way you can't help but take the long strand beside his face and bring it to the top of your lip, making a mustache. it imitates one you might think a sous chef would have and you giggle quietly at the thought.

"what are you doing...?" a groggy tired voice makes you look at xiao, his eyelids fluttered open and eyes looking directly at you. you don't turn away in embarrassment. instead you lean even closer, your nose just barely brushing against his.

"good morning sunshine," you sing. his hand reaches up and tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, a peaceful look on his face just from the sound of your voice. "how was your nap?"

"i wasn't sleeping... my eyes were just closed." both of his arms move to hold your figure closer to him. "what are you doing?"

"oh this?" you gesture to his lock of hair between your fingers. "it's my mustache! you can have it if you trade me yours."

"i have nothing of the sort." he snorts and leans his head back, the strand of his hair escaping your hold. you let out a sound of dismay and pout in return.

low and behold, a look of warmth passes over xiao's eyes and so does a smile appear on his face. his lips curve for a very quick moment before going back to a straight line.

you can't contain a smile from making its way to your face. it's him who makes you feel so full of excited energy and you who makes him feel like he can forgive himself.

a match not made in heaven, but made by two loving souls from their own hands.

tags: @noirkkat, @tiny-aroace, @ben6ett, @abyssheart, @starglitterz, @blisschi, @heavensbeloved, @mystic-helena, @kachuuha-deactivated20210720, @xmellows, @rim0na, @velionqs, @glazelilyy, @yanbub, @urujiako , @eternism, @zaultar, @seerie, @blossomiich, @mika-zuko, @bluexiao, @akinokisetsu, @childe-support, @ariesreii, @storytravelled, @aelatus, @give-xiao-almond-tofu

bold: i can’t tag you for some reason!

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #diluc x reader #diluc fluff #genshin diluc #kazuha x reader #kazuha fluff #genshin kazuha #xiao x reader #xiao fluff #genshin xiao #bookuya

[calamity-unlocked]

OO FOR THE DRABBLE PROMPT MAYBE 29 47 or 25 w/ marcy and anne hghdgheheh if U WANAN

CLAUS the reason I chose this one (25) is because of these lyrics in Allies or Enemies!! Remember when I could tell you not to smile when you were mad? // And you would always crack // And we’d both be laughing in the end // Now you’re not so quick to forget

Ahhh, The Crane Wives, aka the main source of songs if you wanna cry about Anne and her trauma

Writing prompts are closed!

Words: 1260

~

Mr. Boonchuy abruptly stopped humming his favorite sappy love song when he heard a soft sound coming from his daughter’s room. Thinking he was imagining things, he waited, moving his ear a little closer to the hardwood door.

There it was again. The quietest of gasps, a muffled sob desperately trying not to escape.

He immediately dropped the pile of folded laundry he was holding and swung the door open, his well-honed dad instincts kicking in. He expected to see his eight-year-old kid crying over a bad knee scrape or a broken toy. Luckily, he was armed with both duct tape and band-aids.

Instead, the vibrant room was empty.

“Hello?” he asked to still air. “Anne?”

“In here,” whispered a strangled voice.

He blinked in surprise. The voice was coming from the big closet where Anne carelessly crammed all her clothes into without any kind of logic or organized system. Disregarding the peculiar point of origin, what threw him off the most was that it wasn’t his daughter’s voice.

Although with how many times she came over these days, she might as well be.

“Marcy? What are you doing inside the closet?” He gingerly opened the door and was faced with the little girl. Marcy had her legs pulled up and kept her chin tucked against her chest. A single tear streaked her face, but her expression wasn’t one of sadness. Her jaw was clenched and she was frowning with anger and confusion.

“Nothing!”

“Ohh boy. Here, have a tissue.”

He wished he could say he had the small package of tissues on hand because he was a well-prepared dad, but the truth was that his wife had chosen Dear Galileofor today’s movie night and he never managed to get through that movie without spilling a few tears.

The girl sniffled and accepted the tissue, but didn’t use it. Instead she pressed her lips tightly together to stop them from trilling. She pointedly didn’t look at Mr. Boonchuy.

He scraped his throat, unsure what to do about this situation. “Are you gonna come out?”

She vehemently shook her head, and Mr. Boonchuy sighed. Resigned, he ducked his head and wiggled his way next to the kid, hissing when his right shoulder blade pressed against the sharp corner of a plank. He grabbed his legs and tucked them in crisscross applesauce, so they were both sitting next to each other. It was uncomfortable, but the little girl seemed to appreciate the gesture.

“So…” he started. “Do you want to tell me why Anne is still playing in the backyard and you’re hiding in here?”

For a moment, he thought Marcy would stubbornly keep her silence. But the girl was a talker at heart and soon the words flowed out of her.

“I never want to talk to Anne ever again,” she said, the words jostling out of her like rattled sobs. Her little hands clenched into fists as anger and sadness clashed within her. “She’s stupid and mean and irrational. I thought we were compatible but now I think I’m going to die alone.”

“Oh.” As a Dad, he felt the obligation to defend his daughter. On the other hand, Marcy was genuinely upset and he felt immensely sorry for her. “And why is that?”

“We were planning our wedding.”

“Your… wedding?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, as if to say, duh, keep up. “We divided all the tasks. Anne wanted to make the guest lists, so she let me choose the venue. And I decided I’m going to build a replica of a 2.3 kW NSTAR ion rocket so we can have it on the moon.”

“The moon,” he repeated.

This time Marcy definitely rolled her eyes. “We can’t get married till we’re eighteen, and by then commercial spacefaring will be very normal. People will have weddings in space all the time.”

“Of course,” Mr. Boonchuy smiled. “So… what is the problem?”

Marcy stiffened a little as she remembered why she was upset. “Anne agreed at first, but now she’s saying it’s stupid because we can’t kiss on the moon. And I said that she doesn’t know how big the technological advancements will be – maybe it is possible! But she didn’t believe me and now she doesn’t want to do it anymore. I got mad and yelled at her, and then she yelled at me back. And now I’m thinking maybe we shouldn’t get married.”

“Oh no, don’t say that,” he stammered, trying to think of an anecdote that fitted this situation. Should he tell her about his own wedding? Or was it better to reassure her and convince her she shouldn’t yet be worrying about marriage?

Before he could make up his mind, someone stepped into the room. Both he and Marcy instantly recognized the familiar light footsteps.

“Marcy! Are you in my room?” Anne asked. He could just faintly see his daughter through the slits in the closet door.

Marcy ducked behind Mr. Boonchuys back. “Quick, hide me! I don’t wanna talk to her!”

He froze and tried not to make a sound, trying to remain as impartial in this conflict as possible. Anne went straight for the closet and the door creaked open, letting in a beam of sunlight that momentarily blinded him.

“Dad?” she frowned. Before he could come up with a reasonable explanation why he was stuck inside her closet, she noticed the figure behind him. “Marcy?”

“Go away, Anne!” Marcy murmured. She peeked her head around Mr. Boonchuy’s body and shot the brown-haired girl a glare.

Anne pouted and squatted down to be at eye level with her friend.

“Happy face? C’mon, Mar Mar.”

“I can’t smile at you. I’m mad.”

Anne nodded solemnly, as if accepting that statement with remarkable maturity.

She didn’t stop making eye contact. She just kept staring at Marcy, her face neutral and devoid of emotion. Marcy was staring back at Anne, her brows pointed down as she struggled to keep up her angry expression.

This went on for a minute or so, and Mr. Boonchuy wasn’t sure if he should break the silence. Just when he was about to, Marcy cracked.

She giggled, her anger vanishing like snow in the sun. The sound of her laughter magically made a big grin appear on Anne’s face. She shuffled a little closer to her friend.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you and called your idea stupid. Do you still want to marry me?”

Marcy blew her nose in the tissue and nodded. “I’m also sorry for yelling at you. And yeah, I do.”

“Friends?”

“Friends. And fiancées.”

Mr. Boonchuy smiled warmly as Anne reached out her hand and helped Marcy stand up. The two embraced and, their fingers linked, moved out of the room.

Look at that, his own kiddo, solving conflicts like a mature adult. Every day he was a little prouder to be her dad.

“Why is the laundry on the floor?!” his wife’s called out from the hallway, sounding very displeased with the mess she must have found.

“Oops, my bad.” It took him a few tries to hoist himself out of the cramped space and he bumped his head multiple times. He speedily raced out of Anne’s bedroom and sheepishly picked up the scattered garments. His wife had her arms crossed and tapped her floor as she shot him a judgmental glance. When all the unfolded clothes were back in his arms, he leaned over and pressed a kiss against her cheek. “I’m so happy I married you.”

She melted, her annoyance forgotten. “Me too,” she chuckled.

#still working on these! gonna take a bit of time #hope you liked it claus!! #amphibia #answers and such #insulationsun #calamity's writing #ask meme #writing promt meme

[y0itsbri]

kinktober day 3 -- lingerie @gallavichthings

the devil in disguise

ian has a deep appreciation for mickey's halloween costume.

beta read by @mishervellous ❤️

words: 1.3k

"when you said you wanted to do a couples costume, i thought you meant with me!" ian rifled through his closet, trying to put together a last minute costume while mickey changed in the bathroom into his costume so he could coordinate with fucking tami. ian could have been an angel, but no, that simply wouldn't do.

to be fair, ian should have seen this coming after lip decided to put in an ungodly amount of extra hours at the shop. tamietti's went hard for halloween, and this year was not going to be an exception. he cursed lip for inadvertently stealing his husband away from him for the night.

this was impossible. ian banged his head against the wall.

"you die out there, firecrotch?" mickey called, voice strained.

ian was thoroughly confused with whatever elaborate feat was going on behind the closed door.

"no," he called, hopeless. he tried again, "you need any help in there?" ian reached for the knob only to find it locked. motherfucker.

"aye no peeking!"

"are you almost done? i need your help," ian sat back on their bed, sinking into their mattress and tapping his fingertips along this thigh.

he couldn't decipher all of mickey's mutterings through the wooden barrier, but the 'jesus fucking christ fucking gallagher' was unmissable.

ian grinned devilishly. he was always in the mood for a grumpy mick.

mickey unlocked the door with a click and stepped out in a red blur, discarding his old clothes on the floor in his corner of their room as if ian's world wasn't currently being absolutely rocked merely three feet away.

it took mickey a moment to realize that his normally chatty husband had yet to say a word. shit. maybe ian didn't like this kind of thing.

he bit the bullet and faced ian head on, only to meet a love-shook caricature of his husband -- wide eyes, blushing cheeks, and mouth agape, damn near salivating.

oh.

mickey smirked and flexed his arms not so subtly, "what d'ya think?"

ian unfroze from his trance, caught. he groaned and flopped back onto the bed, lifting his head and peeking at mickey between his fingers, "you're going to fucking kill me."

because there mickey was. clad in a fucking red, silk, corset cut just for his body. the red ribbons crossing in the front, carving his figure in all the right angles.

after a moment of deep appreciation and an unexpected awakening, ian allowed his eyes to scan the rest of mickey, which wasn't bearing any better for his blood pressure.

sheer, fingerless red gloves were stretched across mickey's hands, faded knuckle tattoos still visible. the glint of his ring seemed more prominent all of a sudden.

ian's eyes made their way up his arm, chest, neck. a sequined devil horn nestled into his dark hair and reflecting the low light of their bedroom lamp, giving mickey a literal red aura.

enjoying the show, mickey spun around, biting his lip. ian continued to ogle.

red fishnet stockings covered mickey's muscled thighs under almost-too-short-not-short-enough leather shorts embroidered with orange flames. pointed wings attached with some elaborate belting situation between his shoulder blades, and an arrow tail slinking around his hips.

"i think this is hell," ian closed his eyes, willing the blood to go back to his brain by the sheer power of force.

mickey chuckled darkly. "that so? ian gallagher on the naughty list?"

ian cracked an eye open, "what are you, fuckin' santa claus now?"

mickey smacked ian's stomach as he sat on the bed next to his idiot of a partner, "fuck off, ho."

"don't you mean ho ho ho?" ian couldn't resist.

"and we're done," mickey made to stand up but ian caught him by the arm, sliding his hand down until he reached the hem of the glove, inching his own fingertips underneath and sliding against his skin. his voice went deeper in the way that he knew made mickey melt.

"lemme make a deal with the devil?"

he tugged and pulled mickey onto his lap so that he was straddling him, knees digging into the soft mattress.

"what does the mere mortal have in mind?" mickey teased, voice light but eyes dark.

"kiss me and i won't tear your costume to shreds," ian ran his hand up mickey's back, catching on the wings clumsily before tracing his silk clad skin back down to his thighs. "you're looking hot as hell." the statement carried heat behind it.

mickey's breathing picked up as he considered the weight of his options.

ian grinned, trapped under mickey's control, but waiting patiently for the signal he knew he would be allowed.

a breath. two. three.

"c'mere," mickey leaned.

ian crashed his lips against mickey's own, his mouth a fire hot cinnamon. ian groaned. did mickey really have a mint for this? motherfucker thought of everything.

ian traced his hands over the mickey's chest as they kissed, following the lines of silky ribbon crossing back and forth. back and forth. lower. lower. lower.

the textures of silk and leather and skin mixing together under his hands, grasping at whatever he could reach.

mickey's weight pinned him to the mattress, helpless.

he felt fingers caressing his hair as his mouth felt warmer as they melted into each other.

what felt like an eternity in damnation later, mickey broke them apart. they took a moment to assess their equally disheveled appearances while fighting to catch their breath behind a laugh.

ian made a grab to pull mickey back in, certain he would comply, but mickey was quicker.

he rolled off with a grunt, tossing a half empty water bottle at ian's still body and nudging his leg when he didn't respond.

"you ready to go?"

"go where?" ian picked up the water bottle and idly traced its shape with his fingers.

a flick. "the party? tamietti's? your sister-in-law? ring any bells?"

ian sighed as he nestled further into their bed, "i still don't have a costume."

mickey waltzed towards their dresser, a slight unbalance in his step, and flung an old flannel on the bed.

"lumberjack. you've already got the scruff, thank you very much." he added quiety, grinning lopsidedly to himself. he was genuinely so proud he had convinced ian to abandon the clean cut army man look and to not shave for a few days to see what would happen and dear god was he enjoying the consequences.

ian finally sat up and chugged the rest of water bottle in one go before setting on their nightstand. it took a moment for mickey's words to register, but when they did -- yeah.

"you're a genius."

ian leaned up to grab mickey again, but he side stepped ian's attempts and straightened his outfit. "no sir, you gotta get changed. we need to leave like... ten minutes ago. tami's gonna have my ass if we're any later."

"tami better not go anywhere near that ass," ian grumbled, but complying with mickey's requests.

"don't worry, logger, you're the only wood for me."

"oh mickey, now that was bad."

mickey grinned as he shimmied in his satin outfit, smoothing over the wrinkles that ian had put there mere minutes before.

ian could easily stare at this image of mickey all night. as he was buttoning up his flannel, he made a mental note to buy mickey some more red.

"i think red is your color, mick." ian let slip, shoving his wallet in his pocket.

"yeah?" mickey grinned, "you too, stud," he ruffled ian's hair and pushed him out the door.

#kinktober #gallavich #gallavich kinktober #gallavich kinktober 2021 #GK2021 #my posts #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #shameless #mickey x tami

[professor-maka]

On Holiday

I’ve managed a NYE fic instead of a Christmas/Holiday fic. Maybe the start of something longer. 

Thanks to @sahdah for the eyes. ❤️

Find it on FFN or AO3.

---

It starts on New Year's Eve.

Blake dares her to kiss whoever ends up next to her at midnight, so she resolves to simply end up alone at midnight so that she's not technically breaking the dare. The balcony is small and secluded, which means if someone isn't already out here sucking face, she's the only one whose found it—or is likely to find it at 11:58. She faintly hears a murmur of anticipation below and knows she's almost survived this one with her first kiss squarely intact. Maka has no wish to kiss a complete stranger, or anyone really, thank you very much.

The soft click behind her surprises her, the sound of a shutting door. She whirls around to see a patch of white faintly shining under the moonlight and little else—there is no light on here, purposefully so. Still, the stark hair is enough to give him away. She knows him... or at least, knows of him. Solomon "Call Me Soul" Evans is a boarding school friend of Kid and Blake, just another spoiled rich kid cruising his way through life. Still, as he slowly steps closer, eyes fixed on the waxing moon and seemingly still unaware of her presence, his face looks so broken that it makes her heart crack just a little in sympathy.

She faintly hears the countdown begin downstairs.

10...

Well, a dare is a dare, and while Maka has been known to achieve work arounds in the past that have made her the undisputed Truth or Dare queen, she also never backs out of a dare. Someone is here, so she will try to kiss him. Really, it might not be so bad. There are far worse candidates at this party. Far worse.

Yeah, okay, so he's a trust fund baby, but so's Kid, and she's never minded that. And anyway, even though she's told herself he's just some spoiled little rich boy, she's noticed he tends to stick to quiet corners and keep to himself during parties, and though they've been around each other many times, he's rarely spoken more than two words to her together, so maybe she's just been projecting.

9...

He isn't far, and as she takes one soft step towards him, then another, the faint clack of her low heels on marble have him spinning in her direction, eyes like saucers in the low light.

8...

She's close now, close enough to reach out and grab him, and she will soon, if he'll let her. Her heart begins to race, adrenaline kicking in, her stubborn will taking over. Maka Albarn never says die, so she will do this—and maybe kill Blake later—but still. She will kill him with her honor intact.

7...

His eyes resume a more normal appearance, and the surprise soon morphs into the look of boredom that's the only expression she's ever seen him wear until less than a minute ago.

6...

"Sorry, I'll just—"

He makes to slide away, so Maka stops him with a hand to one surprisingly firm bicep. His eyes widen again.

5...

"I need a favor," she says, no time to choose her words. His surprise begins to slide into boredom again, and she hates that the clear mask he wears is so damned familiar, hates that he tilts his own head forward just enough for eyes that shine as brightly as the blood moon to be obscured by his star kissed hair.

4...

"What?"

One word and a slight tilt of the head is all the acknowledgment he offers.

3...

"I need to kiss you, if I you'll let me..."

Maka trails off and bites her lip nervously, hands fidgeting with her charm bracelet but eyes never straying from his as she watches that mask drop again, eyes as wide as his suddenly gaping jaw. He snaps his jaw shut, swallowing visibly.

2...

"O...kay?" The word stutters from his lips, and he looks—honestly, she can't even tell anymore, her heart racing past any capacity for reason.

The artist in Maka had long since found him beautiful from afar, like some gorgeously exotic animal who could never belong among the mundane throngs of humanity around him. The acknowledgment had been begrudging but genuine, her creative soul stirred in spite of herself. But a few brief meetings under sterile halogen and distant sightings in the low lights of parties could not have prepared for her for the reality of standing before him under the moonlight as she's about to kiss him, about to feel the warm lips he darts his tongue out to lick nervously, slightly chapping in the cold desert night.

1...

Her heart is going to explode, she's sure of it. Maka has never heard her own pulse in her ears so deafeningly. Her world narrows to her heart beat and his lips as she leans forward, closing her eyes. She could end up kissing his chin this way and she knows it, but not even her boundless courage can face this eyes wide open. Somehow, someway, her lips collide with something soft, slightly chilled, and shockingly eager. A hand that decidedly does not belong to her finds her lower back, and she allows her own hands to snake up until they meet thick hair, slightly stiff with too much product.

The chill of her lips warms quickly with the motion, and then she feels something hot darting between and gasps, though whether from surprise or the pleasant tingle pooling in her belly and spreading clear down her her toes, Maka can't say. The fireworks that explode in light and sound above them mirror that feeling, amplifying it, bolstering it, and driving her to give as good as she gets. Her courage rises, making her bold, and she slides her own tongue along his, relishing the peculiar warmth of it, the unexpected pleasure of such an embarrassing level of intimacy with a virtual stranger.

That thought shocks her back to reality, and she breaks off their kiss, taking a quick step back, breathless. He looks just as breathless, but whatever unreadable expression crosses his face passes quickly, replaced with a bitter smile.

"Star put you up to this."

It's not really a question.

"I chose dare," she admits, still dizzy from the cascade of emotions crushing her.

"Figures." It's a quiet grumble, punctuated by a laugh as bitter as that smile. "Sorry," he adds, smile fading into neutrality, eyes growing guarded.

"Oh, no, don't be! You were doing me a favor!" Her voice is too bright, heart still racing. Why does he look like someone just told him Santa Claus isn't real? Even in the swirl of her own fear and embarrassment, she knows something is wrong here, and she's not coming out as the good guy.

Oh gods, she's dragged this poor boy into Blake's shenanigans and broken him somehow. And now that she's realized that he doesn't deserve—well—whatever that look is on his face, her own fear and embarrassment are swept away by anger. She is going to absolutely murder her godbrother; she feels like she should be on To Catch a Predator, even though they're both 21 and he had kissed her back, damnitall.

"Yeah, okay." He suddenly slouches down in his jeans and button up, looking a foot shorter and, in spite of that habitual mask of indifference, somehow defeated.

"Anyway." Her right hand finds her bracelet again, but she manages to keep her eyes steady and on his, anger simmering. "If you'll excuse me, I have a godbrother to kill."

Maka manages to keep her head high as she marches away, throwing open the balcony door with abandon, her embarrassment come anger fueling her.

Not looking back, she misses his thoughtful frown as he touches his fingertips to his lips, and how his eyes never leave her, lingering in the doorway long after she's gone.

#ProMa writes #been awhile fam #mwah! #SoMa fanfic #soul x maka #soul eater #soul eater fanfic #I did a thing

[braindeadskeletons]

Hello!! Can I have a matchup please?? It seems like every time I ask someone for one, something happens in which they can't 😂😂 but that's fine lol,, I'm a cisgender bicurious female of which the curious part is aimed towards males! The only men I've ever liked are fictional smh,, my friends tend to think I'm bubbly and very open, and they relate me to the colours orange or yellow! I'm also British and I have a love for horror movies and psychology. I would go on but,, happy writing!! Love ya

I'm a very naturally femine person in appearance. My room is full of pastel colours, mainly pinks and purples, alongside plushies and lots of duck ornaments! Since my favourite animal is a duck (fuck geese they scare the shit out of me). Despite this, a lot of people don't expect this? Apparently I seem like the kind of person to have a much simpler or perhaps darker room. So I usually tend to shock people when they see what my room looks like lol. I love unique fashion! Stuff you see on cat walks - christmas themed dress, teacup shaped t-shirt, whatever! You name it, I've probably seen something like it! Because of this, I also have a love for weird decorations. My kitchen is flamingo themed, my bathroom is winter themed (yes, I have a santa clause toilet), and my office is fulled to the brim with 90s and 80s memorabilia. Stuff you wouldn't find nowadays without some digging!! I'm currently in college taking an accounting degree, also alongside business. After that, I also wish to take a literature course to help with my fanfiction writing (perhaps I could eventually write a novel? I don't know haha) Crude humour is the key for me to be happy. As much as silly humour and stuff is great, say something vaguely offensive and I'll crack up! As long as it's not meant to be taken genuinely, then I'll find it funny. Although I have to be close to the person for me to actually start laughing at stuff like that

Hey there! I'm so sorry this was a wait! I basically had some stuff come up and it delayed my work a lot. Plus the added time from the added information you gave me, which I thank you for by the way <3 I had a lot of fun writing this! I hope it doesn’t disappoint lol. Instead of delaying this further let's just get right into the matchup, shall we?

I match you with Undertale Papyrus!

This might've been a little too obvious huh? I just couldn't help it, you two seemed like such a natural pair! I try not to go with matches that are too obvious but sometimes you just have to go with it.

The first thing that naturally attracted Papyrus to you was how open and bubbly you are! He can relate a lot to that himself and seeing how much of a natural you are while interacting with others just convinced him further that he just had to talk to the pretty lady! Of course, the moment you two start talking you both hit it off. It’s kind of physically impossible for anybody to hate Papyrus or for Papyrus to hate anybody. You know those fanfics on AO3 that are slow burn, friends to lovers, 140+ chapters? That’s what this is. There is no better way to put your relationship before you both are dating. Papyrus means well, and by god is he a good person, but he’s a bit of an airhead when it comes to romantic attraction. You could literally tell him that you want to marry him and have ten monster/human hybrid children and he’d still be like ‘BUT,,,AS FRIENDS,,,?’ You’ll need to wait for him to understand his feelings himself. It’ll hit him at one of the dumbest times possible. For example:

----------

You: geese are just,,,,kinda,,,,horrible

Papyrus:

You: fuck geese

Papyrus: 

You:

You: Papyrus are y-

Papyrus:  I THINK I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU???

----------

Yup. Just like that. No warning, no proper build-up, nothing could have predicted this. It’s just silly moments between the two of you that make him so smitten. Like you’re such??? A dork??? How could he not fall in love with you?? It’ll be a huge smack in the face for him that he’s fallen in love with you. Probably it’ll be the same for you if you’re the type of person who is oblivious with love. If not, then it was horribly obvious he likes you and you were simply waiting for him to say something first. The blushing, constantly trying to impress you, his lovestruck gazes at you when you laugh at his antics, etc. The signs were all here if you’re able to spot them. Now that Papyrus is aware of the fact that he likes you he isn’t going to let this opportunity pass by. Time for the dating manual!

This part is actually going to be the worst. Yes, the hard work and effort are absolutely precious and you’re very flattered he’s trying to “court” you as he puts it but it’s going to be overwhelming. Unless you’re fully on board with flowers being left at your door, love letters, great “acts of love”, serenading you with a not so great voice, randomly inviting you out to “friend dates” that are actually regular dates in disguise, complimenting you every waking moment, and more you might want to stop him and just tell him you like him too. Once you tell him you feel the same way,  prepare for the most wholesome hugs and kisses from the big goober. Fully expect to wake up the next day and everybody already knows you’re his date-mate. Papyrus is going to tell everybody and their great grandmas that he landed himself with the greatest human ever. 

So you mentioned that your kitchen is flamingo themed? Uh,,,don’t get used to it. Not that Papyrus would ever openly try and change your home, he loves your decorating! He doesn’t really understand how people wouldn’t expect you to have such an adorable home! He has named all the duck ornaments, become well acquainted with your stuffed animals and the real animals, is slightly afraid of the Santa Claus toilet because Santa is the evil man sans told him about, etc, etc. But we all know how he gets in the kitchen. If you care about the wellbeing of your flamingo decorations maybe move them somewhere else? Papyrus swears that he won’t set fire to your home but we both know how that goes for everybody involved.

----------

Papyrus: HUMAN

You: Yeah?

Papyrus: HOW ATTACHED WERE YOU TO THE FLAMINGO DECOR

You:

Papyrus:

You:

Papyrus:

You: Hun, I love you

You: but if you fucked up the flamingo decorations I swear to god-

----------

This is a regular conversation you two need to have. Somebody, please stop him.

He really really loves your sense of fashion! Since the two of you have been dating, he’s actually gotten into it a bit himself. Papyrus tries not to invade your privacy but one time he stumbled into your office and saw all of your memorabilia dedicated to the 90s and 80s and immediately fell in love with the aesthetic. It’s all he could talk about for weeks and god knows he isn’t stopping anytime soon. Try introducing him to some more fashion! Papyrus probably won’t get enough of all of it. Watch him show up to your home dressed like the whole circus.

When Papyrus hears of how you’re studying right now, he’s going to go on a little bit of a rant about how he knows plenty of stuff about school! Not really. He just thinks he does because he has his face in a shrub at Toriel’s school. This isn’t to downplay his intelligence of course but monster education and human education have a lot of differences. When it comes to accounting Papyrus isn’t exactly going to understand anything, but he will be very supportive! He may not understand much about accounting but he surprisingly knows a lot about business?? Yeah, it’s a little strange but I guess you shouldn’t be that shocked. Papyrus is supposedly the ‘mascot of monsters’ and he’s also friends with the monster ambassador. To say the least, he’s surrounded by a lot of really important people. If you’d like, he’ll even take you to meet a couple higher-ups! Whatever he can do to support you he will.

As for your love for writing, Papyrus would probably have to redirect you to Alphys. Don’t take this the wrong way, it’s just that the humans on the surface have been a little…intense...for Papyrus and Sans. He’d like to take a break from any sort of writing for a long long time.

Onto the final section! Date nights! Which for Papyrus might as well be every night. His idea of an ideal date would probably be something extremely outlandish, but he knows humans can’t handle a lot of the stuff he can so he tones it down. Making dinner and watching a movie is good enough, right? Papyrus knows you love horror movies in particular. This poor guy is trying his very best. Please be patient with him. He wants to prove that he can protect you and be the bigger monster but he’ll end up clinging to you the whole time and maybe even crying?? Just a little. As a treat. 

Yeah, so go gentle on the horror movies. Poor guy is gonna pass out.

His main goal during the date will be to make you smile at every possible turn. You’re in luck with the crude humor! Now you may be thinking ‘but Papyrus isn’t crude, he’s such a sweetheart!’ and you’re not wrong really. Most of the stuff he says is entirely on accident or he’s just genuinely oblivious to the implications of what he just said. If anything that only makes it all the more hilarious to witness. If Papyrus catches himself with what he said he’ll try apologizing profusely only to be met with your adorable smiling face. He may not get what’s so funny but seeing how your smile reaches your eyes makes whatever he just said worth it.

#AAAA IT IS D O N E #It was so fun writing this lol it just took me so long again I'm very sorry about that! #thank you for being patient <3 #thank you for sending this in! #Undertale #Undertale matchup #Undertale Papyrus #Undertale Papyrus x reader #matchup

[nuggets-and-french-fries]

Eggsy Unwin: Ho, Ho, Ho.

This is day 9 of the imagines for December. I know I’m a day behind but please ignore that fact.

This was requested by the wonderful @sarahegerton96. I really hope that you like this and I hope that it’s ok that I gave you a daughter. Please excuse all the mistakes in this.

Request: Eggsy smut!

Enjoy!

===

It had been more than a month since Eggsy left for a mission and with each day that passed where Sarah didn’t hear from him, her worry grew. She always tried to put on a brave face for her daughter and for those around her but the only one that could really see through it was Eggsy’s mother, Michelle. Of course Michelle was told that her son was simply on a business trip but Michelle knew the feeling of missing him all too well.

A few days before Christmas eve, Sarah woke up feeling really lonely and she wished that she could have woken up in her boyfriend’s strong arms and saw his sleepy but smiling face. He was her home and without him, it just wasn’t the same. Just as she turned over to go back to sleep, Annie started to cry. Sarah jumped out of bed and went to calm the two month old. “It’s ok little one. Mummy’s here.” Sarah said as she picked the little girl up. Annie decided to give her mother a rough day and wouldn’t stop crying no matter what Sarah tried. “Annie, please.” Sarah begged. Finally after two hours, Annie fell asleep but unfortunately Sarah’s phone rang and it woke the baby. Sarah grunted in annoyance and answered the call.

“Really Eggsy?” Sarah spoke. “Hello to you too.” He joked but cringed when he heard his daughter let a shrill cry. “Hold on.” Sarah said as she put the phone on speaker so she could try and feed the baby. “Ok. What do you want?” Sarah asked tiredly. “Long night?” Eggsy asked. “No. Annie hasn’t stopped crying. I barely got her to sleep and you called and woke her.” Sarah explained as the baby unlatched and started screaming again. “I don’t know what to do baby. I’m at the end of my rope.” Sarah said as her voice wavered. “Take a deep breath and close your eyes for a second.” Eggsy instructed. Sarah did and nothing worked. “It didn’t work.” Sarah responded with annoyance. Eggsy chuckled. “I have an idea. For this to work, hang up, go to our closet and pull out one of my shirts. Swaddle her in it and then text me when it’s done. I’ll facetime you and we will see if that works.” Eggsy explained. The couple hung up and Sarah set about doing what Eggsy said.

Even though she was now wrapped in her daddy’s shirt, still Annie screamed and cried “Please let this work.” Sarah muttered as she texted her boyfriend and waited for him to facetime her. When the call came through, Sarah was quick to answer. “Really babe? My jacket?” Eggsy whined slightly. Sarah glared at him. “Sorry. Ok, let me see our little girl.” Eggsy said and Sarah pointed the phone at the crying baby. Eggsy started talking to her and she stopped immediately. Sarah rolled her eyes. “ Of course this works. Trader.” Sarah mumbled to the now silent baby. Eggsy chuckled at Sarah’s remark. “Of course it worked, she’s my little girl.” Eggsy replied proudly. “And what am I? Chopped liver?” Sarah remarked. “Aww babe, she just loves her daddy. That’s all.” Eggsy spoke. “Did you painfully push her out of your ass? Did you have to cope with nine months of pure and utter torture? Do you have to deal with cracked nipples from nursing her? I don’t think so.” Sarah snapped. “I know my love and I’m sorry but I can’t help who she prefers.” Eggsy replied with sympathy. “While when you come home for Christmas, you can care for her and I’ll sleep and you can deal with everything.” Sarah suggested. That’s when Eggsy looked at her with regret. “You’re not coming home for Christmas are you?” Sarah questioned with sadness. “No. This is taking longer than what we would like. I promise that when I do come home, I’ll take of her and you can have some well deserved you time.” He said. They spoke for a while longer before Eggsy had to go. As soon as the call ended, Annie was crying again.

On Christmas eve, Annie’s crying still hadn’t stopped and Sarah just chalked it up to her missing her father. She did whatever she could to settle the infant but as usual, nothing worked. That is until Michelle came over with Daisy for Christmas dinner. Michelle walked through the door when Annie was having a melt down and saw her daughter-in-law trying to calm her granddaughter. “Here honey, let me take her. You go and get ready before your other guests arrive.” Michelle said as she took the baby and Daisy into the lounge room. Sarah hurried off and got herself ready. She had invited some other people over for Christmas as well and because she knew that the other families had kids, Sarah had asked her cousin Richard to play Santa. 

When Sarah walked back downstairs, Annie wasn’t crying. Sarah was shocked but then she heard Eggsy’s voice. She walked around the corner to see Annie and Daisy talking to the man. “Hi baby.” Eggsy called when he saw Sarah enter the room. “Hi.” Sarah smiled sarcastically. “I love you.” Eggsy said. “I love you too, meanie.” She replied with a sugary sweet smile. Eggsy laughed and Sarah went to check on the food. When Sarah was certain that the food was ready, Annie let out a loud cry again. Sarah knew that the call had ended. Daisy ran into the kitchen with her hands over her ears. Sarah picked up the small girl and kissed her cheek. “She’s loud isn’t she?” Sarah asked feigning a pout. Daisy nodded and took her small hands off her ears. “Why is crying?” she asked. “Well, I think she just misses your brother.” Sarah replied with a smile. “I miss him.” Daisy said as she laid her head on Sarah’s shoulder. Michelle walked into the kitchen and took in the sweet sight before speaking. “I’m going to change this one’s nappy. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Michelle spoke kindly. “Thank you so much for coming early. It means more to me than you will ever know.” Sarah replied. Michelle simply smiled and left with Annie.

About an hour later, everyone had arrived and Annie had thankfully stopped crying, allowing her mother some peace and quiet but when Someone played a video of Eggsy from years passed, the baby started up again. Annie just wouldn’t quite and she was growing annoyed. It was a miracle that Sarah hadn’t snapped already. Michelle noticed the utter frustration on Sarah’s face. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a breather. I’ll try and calm her.” The woman spoke. “If she doesn’t calm down, Eggsy’s scarf is in her room in the top drawer of her dresser.” Sarah explained but before she could leave, The front door opened and she saw a man dressed in red. This was her last hope. If Annie didn’t stop crying at this, she was going to ask Michelle to stay for the night so that she could sleep and not have to deal with the crying. Sarah walked to where Annie was and picked the infant up. “You going to stop crying for a minute so Richard can hold you?” Sarah whispered to her daughter but nope, the baby cried even more. 

Sarah walked over to where the kids were all standing around Santa and it didn’t register with her that it wasn’t Richard dressed as Santa. One by one, the kids all spoke with Santa and by the time Sarah passed Annie to Santa, the baby was now red faced with her tiny hands balled into fists. Sarah was hesitant to pass the baby to Santa but decided to let him hold her anyway. As soon as Annie was in Santa’s arms, the baby stopped crying. That’s when it clicked. Annie had only stopped crying when Eggsy was around. Sarah looked around and saw Richard sitting in his regular clothes. She looked at Santa again and he winked at her. Yup, it was most definitely Eggsy behind the costume. Sarah sighed with relief. Eggsy talked to his daughter and she looked at him intently. A few minutes later, Eggsy passed Annie back to his girlfriend so that he could ‘leave’. The kids all said goodbye to Santa as he left but really, Eggsy just went upstairs. Michelle and Richard smiled at the mother and nodded at her as if to let her know they could look after things down there. She smiled and walked to her bedroom where Eggsy was waiting for his two girls.

“You are amazing. you know that?” Sarah asked as she kissed him. Annie looked at her parents and when they broke apart, Annie was once again in her daddy’s arms. Sarah smiled genuinely. “Silence at last.” She joked and Eggsy kissed his daughter’s head. “God that makes me want another baby.” Sarah said. Eggsy snapped his gaze to her. “Really?” he asked with surprise. Sarah nodded. Eggsy swallowed harshly and his eyes went dark with lust. “Go put her to bed and I’ll go and say goodbye to everyone and then I can welcome you home properly big boy.” Sarah whispered in his ear before kissing just below his ear. Eggsy moaned and nodded.

Sarah said goodbye to everyone and thanked Richard and Michelle for not spoiling the surprise for her and Annie. “You’re welcome. Merry Christmas.” Richard said as he walked to his car. “Well missy, I do believe you have a gift to unwrap upstairs.” Michelle teased and Sarah laughed. “Please keep in mind that I’d like a grandson.” Michelle replied with a wink. Michelle hugged the young woman goodbye. “Merry Christmas.” Michelle teased as she and Daisy walked to their car and left. Sarah shut the front door and leaned against it with a cheesy smile on her face. She stayed there for a couple seconds before she made sure that the doors were locked, the lights were off and everything else was secured. When she was satisfied, she made her way to her boyfriend and daughter.

Sarah walked to Annie’s room to make sure she was sleeping and thankfully she was. Sarah then made her way to her and Eggsy’s room. “Well hello there Mr. Claus.” Sarah greeted seductively. Eggsy smiled at her. Sarah walked up to him and sat on his lap. Eggsy wrapped his arms around her waist and she removed the fake beard so that it hung around his neck loosely. “Fuck I missed you.” Sarah whispered as she kissed him slowly and passionately. She pulled away tugging on his lower lip. “I missed you too.” He muttered against her lips. She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. All of a sudden, a frown grew on her face. “When did you get home?” She asked with a brow raised. Eggsy smiled sheepishly at her. “I came home the day I called and woke Annie up.” He admitted. “Where the hell were you staying then?” She replied. “Roxy’s.” He said simply and Sarah laughed. “How did I not guess that? I’ve stayed in that fucking room.” She said through her laughter. Eggsy joined in. “Are you happy?” Eggsy asked when they had calmed down a little. “I’d be ecstatic if you’d fuck me already.” She responded. “That can be arranged but you need to strip for me and lay on the bed.” He instructed. Sarah jumped up and followed his instructions. “Good but you need to prop up against the headboard.” He said and she did.

Eggsy looked her and took the beard off and threw it on the floor. Sarah looked at him with lust. He then removed the hat and wig, tossing them on the ground as well. Sarah could now see the handsome man she fell in love with. What she didn’t know was that when she was downstairs, he removed the belly and the clothes he was wearing underneath. Her gaze on him made his cock throb with excitement. Eggsy’s fingers slowly undid the buttons and belt, removing them once they were loose. Sarah started to drool when she saw that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Soon, the boots and pants joined the pile on the ground. “Fuck.” Sarah said when her eyes traveled up and down his naked form. She licked her lips and Eggsy motioned for her to get on her knees in front of him. She happily wrapped her lips around his cock. She moaned at the feel of him in her mouth. Eggsy bit his lower lips in pleasure. When Sarah ran her tongue over his balls, he sucked in a breath. “Oh god babygirl, that’s it.” He praised. Sarah let a moan escape her throat as she sucked on his balls. The vibrations sending shivers down his spine. Sarah went back to sucking his cock. She sucked him a little harsher and Eggsy was putty in her hands. He could feel himself loosing control.

“On the bed now.” He commanded and Sarah did as she was told. He climbed over her and kissed her hungrily. He pulled away and looked at Sarah. She nodded her head and he pushed his way into her. Both of them moaning at the feeling of each other. Once he was sure he had enough control and wasn’t going to cum, he started to move, setting a fast and steady pace. Sarah could feel herself melting into his touch. “Fuck baby boy, faster.” She panted. Eggsy complied and moved to pound into her pussy faster. “Eggsy I’m close.” She cried out. Eggsy grunted as she clenched around him. “Me too.” He panted and moved his hips faster. Both of them cumming hard. When they came down from their high, Eggsy pulled out and moved down to her pussy. His tongue ran over her sensitive clit and she bucked her hips. “Fuck. Daddy that feels so good.” She whimpered as his tongue assaulted her clit. A few minutes later, she was cumming again. “Good girl.” Eggsy praised as he climbed over her again and captured her lips in a searing and bruising kiss.

Eggsy flopped next to her and she laid her head on his chest. “Goodnight Daddy.” Sarah said as she yawned. Eggsy smirked. “Goodnight my little Ho, Ho, Ho.” He replied and both of them burst out laughing. “Dork.” Sarah said through her giggles. “I’m your dork.” He replied and kissed her. Both of them falling asleep in each other’s arms finally.

Tag List: @rocknrollmadden @jobanan23 @superthiccthighssavelives @dogmom2014 @mairyleo @hauntedflamingo @softeggsy @eggsyobsessed

#december9

[strangest-loser]

Something just like this - Klaus Hargreeves X Blind! Male Reader

We do it for the gays on this blog my dudes.

Warnings: slight homophobia (blink and you will miss it), mention of drugs, and some language to make granny cry.

Also I assumed Klaus was born in Germany so translations at the bottom.

Enjoy!

_________________________________________

Getting high was the only thing that mattered, at least to him, drowning out the voices that only he could hear was more important than his general health or his relationships with his siblings and with ordinary strangers. That's what happens when you are haunted by the dead, confused, scared and screaming for Klaus to give them answers. Answers he didn't have. So he got high.

A high was the only thing he would chase until he met him.

It was a fairytale story at all, Klaus was a mess and he couldn't be responsible for himself never mind anyone else. It started with a high, as most things with Klaus did. Sitting on the side of a road after waking up in an alleyway, hungover to high heaven and hearing about 20 different voices in 6 different languages, calling to him for help, help that he couldn't give. Being about 5 seconds away from repeatedly smacking his head off a brick wall, Klaus almost didn't notice the commotion coming from the coffee shop across the street.

It's never been easy for Klaus to watch people get picked on, not as a child and not even now as an adult, bullies infuriated him, his father was a bully. So seeing three grown men pushing someone around ground his gears so much that he sobered up enough to push himself off the ground and made his way over to the men cracking his knuckles, not in the mood to approach this in the same way that he approached most things in his life, for the first time in a while he was deathly serious when he let a roar out at them. "HEY!" He yelled, thinking quick on his feet "Back the hell away from my brother before shit gets nasty!". Watching the three men before him turn to him, all three cracking a nasty smirk before yelling back at him. "What, you coming to save your little fag brother here ?".

Now Klaus was pissed, bullies were one thing but being blatantly homophobic was just a horrible thing that made him feel nothing but rage. As soon as he reached the group he reeled back and his fist collided with the first man's nose, hearing a healthy snap insured him it was broken and the yell of pain insured him that it fucking hurt. The other two looked about ready to jump in and avenge their friends honour until catching a flash of the black ink that held residence on his wrist. Apparently even these pricks knew not to go picking fights with the umbrella kids cause they picked up prick no.1 and quickly left mumbling how he wasn't worth the energy.

Klaus turned to leave in search of another high when a voice cut through the chatter of the street around them.

"I actually have two sisters, just so you know".

Turning to the owner of the voice, Klaus was met with probably one of the most attractive men he had ever met, soft brown curls sat atop his head, he stood about a head shorter than Klaus and wore a brown kit sweater over black skinny jeans, brown timberlands, a red scarf and a black denim jacket. His pale face was littered with freckles and a small scar sat on his chin, but, the most striking feature was his cloudy, blue, unseeing eyes.

"No brothers, just sisters". At this the mystery boy cracked a smirk and Klaus right about died. After getting his head around the beautiful stranger he managed to finally speak.

"Figured they wouldn't know that, I'm Klaus by the way" he said holding pointless eye contact with the man in front of him, but it still felt polite.

The smirk was replaced by a genuine smile.

"Thomas".

_________________________________________

~ 18 months later ~

Drugs were never the same to Klaus after that day, heroin was just the stab of a needle with no benefits and pills were just like breath mints with no buzz. After he met Thomas he suddenly didn't need to smoke up or get lost in artificial bliss.

Weekdays in nightclubs turned into coffee dates and weekend benders turned into movie nights at Tommy's apartment ( the irony of a blind man watching movies still made Klaus chuckle when he thought about it ) and with Thomas's support he breezed through rehab. It was one of these movie nights that Klaus recounts as one of his most treasured memories.

They were sitting in the cozy living room of Thomas's apartment that Saturday night in the middle of November, some generic and cheesy rom-com playing mindlessly in the background, and the fire roaring courtesy of the person with working sight. Klaus walked in from the tiny kitchen clasping two mugs of tea and made his way over to the worn sofa, carefully stepping over Ziggy, Tommy's guide dog, a beautiful chocolate lab with a heart of gold. Klaus set his mug of regular tea on the table before handing Thomas his cup of something distinctly herbal

"Prize if you can guess what it is just by smell" be said and let a small smile grace his lips when Thomas furrowed his eyebrows and responded with ease "if it's not green tea you are sleeping on the couch". Thomas was witty and a massive flirt, that's how he and Klaus both were with each other, it still didn't stop a blush to rage it's was across Klaus's neck and face, he was never thankful other than in those moments that Tommy couldn't see him. Before Klaus could stutter out a remark Thomas sniffed at his cup and let out a shocked laugh and, as a massive toothy smile broke out on his face, spoke again.

"Klaus you did not do what I think you did".

A laugh broke out from the taller man as he spoke to the elated man before him.

"So I may or may not have called Cassie in London and she may or may not have sent over a huge box of your favourite salted caramel green tea" he said with a matching smile of adoration for the man sat before him.

"Klaus get this cup out of my hand before I spill it all over you" Thomas said and as soon as the cup hit the coffee table he launched himself into the ex-addicts arms with a joyous giggle. "Oh my lord Klaus I could kiss you right now".

Klaus stayed silent and just hugged Thomas tighter to him, 'you can't kiss a man who doesn't feel the same way' was all that was running through his brain.

About two hours and a mug of tea later the two men sat with Thomas's head on Klaus's shoulder and Friends re-runs playing in the background before Thomas spoke up again.

" K, will you tell me what you look like again". He spoke softly, almost like he was too scared to say it out loud.

Klaus let out a soft sigh and smiled softly. "I can guarantee you it hasn't changed since the last time I told you" he chuckled out earning a small slap on the chest from a grinning brunette man who then proceeded to shift so that he was kneeling on the sofa, straddling Klaus's legs as he laid both his soft hands on his face and spoke. "Well I guess I'll have to find out for myself then" he said softly as he ran his thumb over Klaus's cheekbone. If Tommy heard the audible hitch in Klaus's breath he didn't let it show as he continued his exploration of the face of the man he had come to adore in the time since he played his night in shining armour that morning in May of last year. The soft pad of his thumb circled Klaus's face and skimmed his chizzled bone structure and he spoke again, "I reckon you are really handsome you know that" Tommy said with a smirk on his lips as Klaus let out a laugh. "is that so?" He countered as Tommy's thumb ended it's journey by sliding across Klaus's slightly chapped lips before pulling the bottom one down slightly before letting it go. "Yeah it is" was all that he whispered before he slowly leaned in and captured the lips of the man who stormed across the road towards a coffee shop at eight in the morning like a drunk superman and punched a homophobic asshole in the face, for him.

It was easily the most magical moment in Klaus's life, fuck superpowers and seeing the dead, fuck getting high off a powder until you can't remember your own name, if Klaus could have something just like this for the rest of his life he could die a happy man.

Oxygen broke the two apart and Klaus dragged them both to the only bedroom in the apartment.

Safe to say Klaus did not sleep on the couch that night

_________________________________________

~ 9 years later ~

Klaus Hargreeves chased after a giggling Ellie-Anna Vanya Hargreeves as she weaved through their old english home just outside of Brighton. Letting out a shriek of joy she ran into the conservatory what held her other father Thomas and a very old very retired Ziggy and another service pup named Marley.

Ellie-Anna let out a shriek of joy at the sight of Tommy and jumped into his lap away from the hands of Klaus. Tommy laughed before asking the obvious question.

"what is with all the commotion guys?"

Klaus let out a laugh before answering him. "well it seems our kleiner Engel here decided she wanted to play chase instead of help me pack us all up to fly to Aunt Allison's for Christmas, isn't that right Mäuschen ?" Klaus said looking down at his beautiful daughter. Who simply giggled and shook her head, playing the innocent card.

Tommy sighed and pretended to stare sternly at Ellie-Anna which only prompted more giggles as she was more than aware of her father's lack of sight. "Come now mein Schatz, we have to get ready or else Santa Claus won't come to you little one". Clearly horrified at the prospect of not getting a present this Christmas Ellie-Anna lept from her father's lap and raced up the stairs as fast as her little five year old legs would carry her. This prompted a laugh from her fathers as they watched her go before Klaus turned to Tommy. "You saved me mein Liebhaber, I will love you for all my life, now I better make sure our little angel doesn't pack only princess dresses" he said before laying a final kiss on Tommy's lips and jogging back up the stairs

Thomas turned to glance at Ziggy who looked at him with kind, knowing eyes. The family they made was the only thing Tommy wanted for the rest of his life.

Something just like this.

_________________________________________

Translations:

kleiner Engel - little angel

Mäuschen - little mouse

mein Schatz - my treasure

mein Liebhaber - my lover

[welllpthisishappening]

Kiss Her Once [For Me]

To say that the last year has been hectic would be the greatest understatement in the history of the modern world. Or, like, libel. In print, it’s libel. 

Because the last year has been filled with political promises and campaigns and far more press conferences than Emma realized were possible. And now, with Washington D.C. ahead of them, the only thing Emma really wants is to figure out how many boxes she’ll need to move all her stuff. 

That is, of course, until Killian finds her sitting in the middle of Regina’s hallway, a distinct lack of alcohol in her system, and the guarantee that he’s got a plan. For fun. Of the festive variety. It includes mistletoe. 

Oh hai there @distant-rose​ I am not your secret anything at all because you totally knew I was writing this and maybe unwittingly provided the setting and I’m sure Kristen Gillibrand would be proud of this. Probably. Anyway, here are a lot of words and alcohol jokes and some kissing because of who I am as a human being. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you guys roll. 

“If you’re not currently putting out an official statement on this office’s opinion on the questionable working situation of the North Pole, then you need to put the phone down.” Emma does not, in fact, put the phone down.

And she absolutely ignores the footsteps moving towards her, shoes that are far too shiny shifting into her line of vision as her fingers fly over the screen. At some point she is going to figure out where Killian Jones gets his shoes shined.

It can’t be one of those places in Penn.

They look way too nice for that.

She’s totally going to ask. Someday. At some point. Maybe after she finishes her forty-second text message to Will.

Or, like, fiftieth. That’s a rounder number.

He sighs when he crouches in front of her, the sound morphing into something that almost becomes a groan when what may very well be his right knee cracks. Emma’s lips twitch.

She absolutely did not mean for that to happen.

But that seems to be par for the course when it comes to Killian Jones and his far too shiny shoes because Killian Jones always seems to know exactly what to say to push her buttons and make her smile and almost laugh after a particularly trying press conference.

And the last few months have been nothing short of hectic – a campaign and winning, which wasn’t entirely surprising because Regina was very good at public speaking and being charming and she really did mean every single thing she said, a rarity in modern politics. But all of those things meant that Regina Mills was no longer just a New York State Assemblywoman from District 74. She was now a U.S. Representative with promises for federal funding to fix the MTA and a rather vocal opinion on the travel ban that led to several sleepless nights for Emma when her phone wouldn’t stop ringing.

And, most importantly, for the entire goddamn office, it meant moving to Washington D.C.

Soon.

A few weeks soon.

Right after the holidays soon.

The kind of soon that makes Emma positive she’s the world’s worst mother for forcing her kid to pack up all his belongings and schlep several thousand miles away from his friends to a brand-new school in the middle of the year. She’s far too experienced being the new kid to even imagine any of this is going to go well.

Her phone buzzes in her hand. It draws a not-so-quiet laugh out of Killian and he can’t possibly be comfortable like that, but he doesn’t appear to be making any effort to move.

“I’m going to take a stab in the dark and guess that’s not actually Santa Claus,” Killian says, finally getting Emma to lift her head and she kind of regrets that. He’s doing that thing with his face. The smirk thing and the twist of one eyebrow and it regularly gets politicians to do his bidding and little old ladies on the Upper East Side to promise they’ll support Ms. Mills one-hundred percent and Emma assumes her lurking in the hallway of Regina’s questionably large brownstone is probably hurting his schedule.

He’s very big on schedules. She assumes being chief of staff will do that to a person.

“You’re a genius,” Emma drawls, eyes flitting back to the phone when it makes another noise and Will is just sending her slightly passive aggressive emojis now. “Oh my God, that one doesn’t even make any sense.” “What doesn’t?” “I was not talking to you.” “Yes, well, I’m the only other person in this hallway, Swan, so if you weren’t talking to me then I think we’ve got some other problems on our hands.” “Don’t your calves hurt?” His other eyebrow moves. It’s genuinely the dumbest thing she’s ever seen. “Are you worried about my calves?” Emma ignores that too. Her phone sounds like it’s going to explode. And she’s not really worried about Killian’s calves, but he’d helped get her this job what feels like several million years ago, promising Regina he had a good feeling about a single mom with minimal political experience, but plenty of journalism experience and Emma really did believe in what they were doing.

That hasn’t happened very often for her.

“Shut up,” Emma grumbles, but that only serves to draw another laugh out of Killian and he doesn’t move very gracefully when he tries to sit down. She bites her lip. And sends sixteen middle finger emojis back to Will.

“You shut up.” “That’s incredibly mature.” “Swan, you are sitting on the floor of someone else’s very expensive home with one of your feet halfway out of your shoe.” She narrows her eyes at his very good point – and, really, Emma has no idea why she wore these shoes. Well, no, that’s a lie. She wore the shoes because she’s never worn the shoes and they’re kind of sparkly and decidedly festive and she can’t seem to wrap her head around everything that is simultaneously ending and beginning.

They’re going to take Washington by storm.

Or something less lame. A better headline that that.

A headline that inspires confidence and change and a different word than that because that’s someone else’s catchphrase and Killian is the only person who came out into the hallway of someone else’s very expensive home to see what was wrong.

“They’re already making my feet hurt,” Emma admits, and for as powerful and political as the smirk is, his real, genuine smile is, at least, ten thousand times better.

Killian hums, the crinkles around his eyes unfairly endearing. “You know you never answered my question, actually.” “I was too busy wondering how many limbs you were going to break when you sat down.” “Ah, that’s rude. Did you get champagne?” “Was that the question?” “Swan,” he sighs, but there’s no sense of frustration to it. It’s easy and simple, which is ironic all things considered because their relationship is really anything but and Henry wanted Killian to come over instead of Will. That’s probably the reason for all the emojis.

“I have not gotten any champagne yet, actually. Mostly because I’ve been trying to remind Scarlet of all the rules at home and--” “--Wait, wait, Will Scarlet is in your apartment right now?” Emma nods and The Wall Street Journal could probably do some very impressive investigative work trying to figure out whatever happens to her pulse as soon as she hears the change in Killian’s voice. “Yeah, yeah, he said he didn’t want to spend any more time with any of us and promised he was more than happy to watch Henry so, and I’m quoting here, you can actually get off your couch and be mildly entertaining, Emma.” “Scathing.” “I think he’s been holding it in the whole campaign. It’s not easy dealing with everyone he had to deal with.” “Yeah, God forbid a campaign manager work more than forty hours a week when he’s helping the greater good.” “You should get that on a pin.” Killian chuckles, a hand in his hair and eyes staring straight at Emma. “So are you going to do it, then?” “Do what?” “Be mildly entertaining.” “Wow,” Emma breathes, dragging out the word until it sounds like she’s almost genuinely offended. She doesn’t answer Will’s last text. “That seems to suggest you think I’m not, Jones. Not only am I entertaining. I am genuinely fun when the occasion calls for it.” Killian tilts his head, disbelief practically rolling off him. “That so?” “I was fun on election night!” “You had half a glass of champagne, scheduled sixteen pressers, told several different people what to put on social media, which is not your job by the way, and then ignored Mary Margaret’s attempts to set you up with that guy from the Sierra Club.” Emma groans at the memory – head falling back against the wall she’s considering forwarding her mail to at this point. These shoes were a mistake. God, she hopes that’s not a theme for the rest of the night.

And, really, Mary Margaret’s heart is always in the right place. She knows everyone, after all, head of Regina’s scheduling and appearances and she’s got an actual rolodex still because I don’t trust it if I can’t write it, a motto both Emma and Ruby regularly mock.

But, sometimes, Mary Margaret is also a little pushy and a little too certain and if Emma only occasionally believes, then Mary Margaret wakes up with belief pouring out of her and the guarantee that everyone is destined for someone else.  

It’s nice.

It’s also the single most annoying thing in the world.

“That guy was just as uncomfortable as I was,” Emma promises. Killian doesn’t move his head. “He was! And, you know, I can’t just--” She cuts herself off, nearly biting her tongue in half in the process. It’s more uncomfortable than the blisters she’s certain are already forming on her feet.

Killian blinks.

“You can’t what?” “C’mon it’s not--” “--No, no, you were going to say something. And we both know that people don’t say things without thinking about them first.” “Ok, that is fundamentally untrue. Also, this is not a presser. I’m not obligated to give you any kind of answer.” “Fake news,” he mumbles, kicking lightly at her ankle. It’s a weird balancing act that does something else ridiculous to Emma’s pulse and they’re going to fix Washington from the ground up, she knows it.

Emma needs to find some boxes.

“That’s not even clever.” “I beg to differ. You did that thing with your lips.” She jerks her head up so quickly she’s briefly worried that she’s sustained some kind of concussion and that would probably make packing very difficult. Emma’s breath catches, far too loud in a hallway that is still questionably deserted and she can just make out, what sounds like, A Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack playing in the background. Killian, for his part, doesn’t say anything else, but his eyes do widen slightly and Emma hopes he doesn’t do permanent damage to his scalp from gripping his hair so hard.

“Is that code?” she asks, voice far too low to be acceptable in a workplace environment. She is getting incredibly distracted by whatever Killian’s tongue is doing in his mouth, pressing against the inside of his cheek like he’s considering his options and the most politically correct answer.

And, really, in the last few years there have been moments.

Almosts.

Could have beens.

More of those pesky maybes Emma is always so fond of.

He’d look at her a little too long or she’d brush her hand over his back when she walked by him, but nothing more than that. Because they’re doing something bigger than this and she doesn’t have time for more and--all those reasons she’s given Mary Margaret and Ruby and even, sometimes, Elsa six-hundred thousand times.

Killian shakes his head slowly, hand falling back to his side and Emma doesn’t think she imagines the way his fingers flex slightly. Like he’s trying to stop himself from moving. “No code,” he says. “Just--”

They’re usually much better at having conversations.

It’s definitely A Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack and someone laughing and Emma’s positive Will is going to give Henry way too much chocolate.

“Why’d you come out here?” Emma asks, and she hopes the question doesn’t sound as aggressive as she’s worried it is. Killian’s eyebrows fly into her hairline. “That wasn’t supposed to be some kind of accusation.” “I feel like I just asked about something you’d already said no comment on sixty-two times.” “Nah, only like forty-six.” “Ah, well, that’s totally fine then.”

She laughs, smile feeling more natural. “I”m serious though. You didn’t...I was just driving Scarlet insane and learning about emojis I didn’t realize even existed.” “I think that’s the extent of his creativity, honestly.” “Look who’s scathing now. I’m serious. There’s no need to double check on me or anything. I promise, I’ll stand up and ignore what a bad decision these shoes were and--” “--I don’t think the shoes were a bad decision.” Maybe Emma did concuss herself before. Dizziness is probably a symptom of that. She licks her lips to stop herself from doing anything decidedly unprofessional, the sincerity in those words ringing in between her ears.

There’s probably a joke about the record to be made. She doesn’t say it.

“Thanks,” she says instead, and Killian’s answering smile is something decidedly unfair and entirely festive. Emma has no idea how, but she assumes something that bright should probably hang on a Christmas tree. “But you’re doing a real shit job of avoiding my question.” The grin gets bigger.

“I have an idea.” “About?” “Something fun.” “This is not the explanation I was hoping for,” Emma sighs. Killian winks, shifting slightly to grab something out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

It’s a plastic bag, full of...something that looks like it was only recently alive and Emma refuses to be held accountable for whatever expression she makes in response. If only because it gets Killian to laugh again – that one, specific laugh, that she, maybe, sort of hordes for herself because it sounds purer than anything else she’s ever heard or something equally ridiculous. She’s only ever heard it when they’re by themselves.

“Stop staring at it like that,” Killian mutters, that same lack of frustration in his voice. He sounds like he’s trying not to keep laughing.

“I’m not!” “Swan, you are, love. This is not what you’re thinking it is.” “Ok, ok, ok, what am I thinking then o ye Christmas soothsayer?” “That’s a good title.” “Killian!” His eyes flash when she all but shouts his own name at him – eyes wide again and distractingly blue, but they’ve got nothing on whatever the tip of his tongue does when it presses against the corner of his mouth. Emma swallows.

She wonders how many boxes they’ll actually need to move.

And if Regina’s going to pay for the trucks. That only seems fair.

“This is real, unfiltered mistletoe,” Killian explains, leaning into Emma’s space. It’s suddenly very warm in someone else’s hallway. And someone in the other room is shouting something about alcohol and bingo.

“Were those the words you were looking for in that order?” He shrugs. “It sounded way more dramatic that way.” “And that’s what you were going for then?” “Correction, that is what we are going for.” “I don’t understand,” Emma admits, eyes flitting back towards her phone screen when it lets out a string of buzzes that probably affects the brownstone’s foundation. “I think Henry and Scarlet are building a gingerbread house.” “You’re never going to be able to get that kid off that sugar high.” Emma groans. “Maybe I’ll just murder Scarlet instead.” “That’s the spirit, love. Although we did talk about design a couple days ago.” “Wait, what?” Killian nods again, lips quirking up. Emma needs to stop looking at his lips. “Are we still talking about Henry? When did you see my kid?” “I just told you, a couple days ago. You were stuck in that presser about the end of the year stuff and getting ready for Washington and--” “--And you were hanging out with my kid?” Her voice does that aggressive thing again.

Emma winces at the tone, but Killian doesn’t look entirely surprised. His lips shift again, another head tilt that makes several strands of hair fall artfully across his forehead and she’s always been far too overprotective. But she and Henry have been a two-person unit for as long as Henry’s been a person and while most of the office has found a way into the lives, no one has settled into the center of everything as easily as Killian has.

Henry was really upset he wasn’t coming over that night.

“He had a lot of festive thoughts to share,” Killian reasons. “And, like, I said. He was waiting and you were running late. It wasn’t...it wasn’t a big deal, Swan.” Emma bites her lip when he realizes – not necessarily an apology for discussing gingerbread engineering with her kid, but rather because he wants to discuss gingerbread engineering with her kid.

She needs several dozen glasses of champagne.

“No, I know it’s not.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Emma nods. “Why are you carrying around bags of mistletoe?” “Ok, it’s one bag of mistletoe and I already told you. I have an idea.” “Usually that requires explaining the idea, you know.” He makes a face – half an eye roll and an almost smirk, although those both may because she’s trying to get her shoe back on. They will, eventually, have to get back to the party.

“How recently has Mary Margaret tried to set you up?” Killian asks, the last question Emma expects. “It’s got to be recently right?” “Jeez. Were your thoughts on gingerbread houses that pointed?” “No, no, although there’s got to be an appropriate frosting to building ratio. And we did stage a rather heated debate, using parliamentary procedure no less, about whether or not Die Hard is a Christmas movie.” Emma has no idea what noise she makes. It can’t possibly human.

It seems to bubble out of her, a sound she’s positive she’s never heard in her life because it may honestly be a giggle and the tips of Killian’s ears go red.

She pushes her hair back behind her ears, desperate for something to do with her hands that isn’t yanking on his tie. “Parliamentary procedure, huh?” “He mentioned something about Model UN at the new school.” Emma’s eyes widen, a size that can’t be healthy. “He did?” “Did he not?” “You tell me.” Killian nods, resting his forearms on his bent knees. “I think he’s been looking stuff up, Swan. He’s very good at being prepared. That’s all you.” “Please, if I was prepared for any of this, I’d already have half my stuff packed and know my kid was looking up clubs he could join. Model UN, really?” “Apparently they’ve got a partnership with George Washington. It’s very prestigious. Lots of awards. College scholarships.” “Jeez.” “You’ve got a proactive thirteen-year-old, love. That’s not a bad thing.” “Tell that to my very bruised mom ego,” Emma mumbles. She lets her head fall back again, another threat of concussion when her eyes flutter closed, and Emma is incredibly proud that she doesn’t gasp when Killian’s fingers tap against the side of her thigh.

“I can teach you some of the terms.” Her eyes snap back open. “Did you know those off the top of your head?” “You, love, are in the presence of the best delegate at Cornell University’s Model UN several more years ago than I am willing to admit.” Emma makes that noise again. “No way.” “Oh yes. It was very impressive. I know all about caucuses and drafting resolutions and dealing with crisis committees. Trust me, between the three of us, we’ll save the entire world as soon as we get to D.C.” He can’t possibly mean it the way it sounds – like a promise and a guarantee and a string of words that Emma wants to believe in as well, but can’t possibly afford to be wrong about. She only just realizes he’s never moved his fingers.

“Two questions,” Emma says, partially so she can get him to do the eyebrow thing again. He does. “What did you decide on regarding Die Hard and are you ever going to explain why you’re smuggling real mistletoe into Regina’s house during a party only some of us wanted?” “Did you want the party?” “Oh my God, if you were a journalist, I’d steal your credential.” Killian chuckles, fingers tightening slightly. “No you wouldn’t. You’re far too upstanding for that.” “Generous.” “Honest,” he amends. “And Henry was adamant that a movie being set at Christmas does not automatically make it a Christmas movie, but I’m very persuasive and very good at debate and--” “--Is that the same thing as Model UN?” “No, can I finish now?” Emma sticks her tongue out. It makes him laugh again. The right one. “Anyway, we decided that there were some exceptions to the rule because, strictly speaking, Meet Me in St. Louis is also not a Christmas movie, but it had Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, so--”

“--That song was in a movie?” “Swan! Also, how did you not know that?”

She shrugs, leaning forward to tug the bag out his hand. There’s a ton of mistletoe in there. “Go ahead and lord another fact over me, Jones. And then, seriously, explain your plan because I would actually like to get some champagne if Regina bought the good stuff.” “She’ll be offended to find out you think she didn’t buy the best stuff.” “I’m going to murder you.” Killian shakes his head, far too much confidence and Emma is loathe to admit it’s also pretty goddamn attractive. “You are not. And your kid would be disappointed. Also, you’re kind of on the right track.” “The track never seems to be ending.” He clicks his tongue – and they’re going to rip the bag of mistletoe if they keep yanking it out of each other’s grip. “Patience is a virtue, Swan.” “Separation of church and state.” “That was clever.” “Oh my God, make your goddamn point or I’m going to get ridiculously drunk without you.”

“Well, that would ruin everything,” Killian says, doing something positively sinful with his tongue. “The plan, my dear, is to give those people in the other room a taste of their own medicine. Did you know that Mary Margaret and David have been casting longing glances at each other for years on end?” “A person could be blind and still know that.” “Exactly. So we are going to force them out of the woodwork, as it were. We’ve got mistletoe. We’ve got festive music and a whole list of interpersonal relationships that are less against the rules at Christmas time.” “Holiday,” Emma corrects on instinct, and Killian nods seriously. “How many interpersonal relationships are we talking about here?” “By my last count at least three. Possibly four if we're lucky.” “Three?” He nods again, a flash of amusement in his gaze that has Emma considering this ludicrous plan. If only because it does, actually, sound kind of fun. She can be fun. With Killian Jones. And his shiny shoes.

She wonders if it’d be weird if she spent the rest of the party barefoot.

“We’ll start with the easiest,” Killian explains. “Mary Margaret and David are so in love I’m surprised we haven’t had to fill out paperwork or gotten word of the elopement already--”

“--Please, Mary Margaret would never elope.” “Fair. But we’ll start with them. Get the kissing and then move up the ladder while getting progressively more and more drunk.” “Is the alcohol a requirement, then?” Killian makes a noise in the back of his throat – not quite an agreement, but something that makes Emma’s pulse thud in her veins and her heart feel as if it’s going to explode out of her chest. He offers her his hand when he stands up.

She takes it.

“A perk,” Killian grins. “When’s the last time you got drunk, Swan? Not a few sips or just buzzed. But really, truly drunk?” “I have no idea.” “Exactly. Plus we need an excuse.” She laughs, head falling against his chest out of instinct and several other words she refuses to acknowledge. She doesn’t, after all, have an alcohol excuse yet.

“Yeah, ok. Let’s cause some romantic ruckus.” “Good name,” he says, not letting go of her hand when he directs her back down the hallway.

She leaves her shoes on the floor.

Regina’s living room – or sitting room? Emma isn’t sure of the technical term and there are so many rooms in this brownstone, it is honestly ridiculous – is some kind of winter wonderland, fairy lights hanging from the ceiling and something that’s less tacky than garland and something else that may be actual holly draped over the doorway.

“You think you can hang something up there, love?” Killian asks softly, knocking his shoulder against Emma’s in a way that’s far too familiar to be entirely far when that room is already so warm. No one’s notices them. They’re probably all drunk already.

Emma is only kind of frustrated that they’re so behind schedule.

“Where?”

He jerks his chin towards the holly and Emma makes a noise in the back of her throat. “How am I supposed to reach that? And then what do we do after that?” “Are you suggesting I don’t have a plan?” “If you do, I haven’t heard it yet.” Killian flashes her a look – not quite exasperation, but maybe more endeared and Emma barely hears his don’t yell when he wraps an arm around her waist, an inexplicable display of upper body strength that makes want to shout and punch him and then, maybe, kiss him.

Except not that last one. Definitely not the last one.

“Oh my God,” Emma hisses, kicking her toes into Killian’s calf. “What the hell is wrong with you?” “Why are you kicking me? And keep your voice down, someone is going to look over here.” “I’m going to murder you.” “It’s entirely possible,” Killian admits, and Emma makes another noise when he hitches her further up his side. “Do you have steel toes? You must be some kind of mutant.” “I genuinely hate you. Was this the plan?”

“It would be if you’d get the goddamn mistletoe up there.”

Emma gapes at him – and it is a wholly unprofessional Christmas miracle that no one has noticed what they’re trying to accomplish in the doorway. It’s definitely because they’re all getting ridiculously and completely drunk on the other side of the room.

It’s been a very long year.

“And where exactly did you put the mistletoe?” Emma seethes. She shifts slightly, which may be the worst mistake she’s made in her entire life because it only ends with Killian’s arm tightening and his eyes widening and there is far too much of her touching nearly all of him.

“In my jacket.” Emma assumes it is entirely unprofessional and possibly a little unethical to be slightly pleased with the wrecked sound of his voice, but she’s also several inches in the air and she’s willing to blame the lack of oxygen at that altitude.

Or whatever.

Maybe it’s just his hand.

“And you didn’t think to take it out before you started exercising your feats of strength?” Killian shrugs. It moves Emma again and she’s only slightly hopeful that her heart stays in her chest cavity when she notices his teeth find his lower lip. “I was trying to be stealthy about this. Although, I’ll be honest, love, this is not helping our covert operation.” “If I tell you I hate you again, are you going to make some kind of journalism quip?” “Yes, absolutely. Get the mistletoe out of my pocket, Swan.”

Emma sticks her tongue out again – complete with another vaguely immature noise and Killian has to press his head into her shoulder to stop from laughing too loud. She can’t believe no one has noticed them.

And it takes some twisting, an impossible shift of her arms and a possibly dislocated shoulder, but she does, eventually, manage to get the mistletoe hanging off the holly.

“That was so much more complicated than it had to be,” Emma grumbles, back on her feet and she’s not surprised to see the smile on Killian’s face. “If you laugh, I’m seriously going to kick you again.” “You are violent when causing a romantic ruckus, aren’t you?” “Where’s my alcohol?” He does something ridiculous with his eyebrows, offering his hand again and the whole thing is equal parts ridiculous and unprofessional and, absolutely, a little unethical. Emma tries to keep her breathing even. “Your wish is my command, Swan.” And, really, Regina has pulled out all the metaphorical stops on this one. There’s more alcohol on the other side of the room than the most overpriced Midtown bar and enough no one loves alcohol more than politicians when they’re off the clock.  

Killian doesn’t ask Emma what she wants, just hand her a glass and--”whisky, neat.” “That’s right,” she says slowly, disbelief clinging to every single letter because she can’t imagine how he knew that and it shouldn’t feel like that big of a deal.

“I’m incredibly perceptive. And you’re a bit of a creature of habit.”

“Is that a compliment?” He hums over the top of his own glass, a hint of something in his gaze that Emma isn’t sure she’s entirely prepared for. “Absolutely.” She’s just about to say something – something she can blame on the whisky and the general temperature of that room, but then there’s a shout and a general oooooh and Mary Margaret and David are standing directly under the mistletoe.

Their mouths fall open in tandem, eyes widening to the size of several different saucers and Ruby sounds like she’s going to fall off the chair she’s clearly claimed as hers.

“Aw, c’mon,” David mumbles, but there’s a hint of color to his cheeks and Emma’s pretty positive it’s not just because they were outside.

“Oh my God,” she says. Killian makes another noise of confusion, although the sound turns into more of a groan when she starts swatting at his side.

He catches her around the wrist, leveling her with a stare that slinks down her spine. “The violence, Swan. It’s got to--” “--Mary Margaret and David are totally dating.” “Wait, what?” “Did you know that?” “I mean obviously not. What...how did you come to that conclusion?”

Emma is glad she’s not wearing her heels anymore. It would hurt to bob on the balls of her feet like she is, excitement and a latent romanticism that’s easier to remember during the holidays. “Look at ‘em,” she says, rushing over the words. Killian’s fingers haven’t moved yet. “There is snow in Mary Margaret’s hair.”

Killian leans forward – tugging Emma’s back against his chest in the process and it’s inadvertent, it has to be and definitely is and she probably won’t think about that on loop when she does, finally, get boxes to pack up her life and move to Washington D.C. – hooking his chin over her shoulder and she swears she can feel his laugh work its way into her, settling into the pit of her stomach and the rather gaping spaces around her heart.

Mary Margaret’s got her hand on one of her cheeks now, more calls from the peanut gallery about rules and tradition and we knew it. Emma barely hears any of it over the ringing in her ears, the sound of her own pulse an impossibly loud metronome.

“Were you two just outside?” Killian calls, growling slightly when Emma elbows him in the stomach. “Your limbs, love.”

David glares at them. “If I say I was double checking security stuff are any of you going to believe me?” “No,” Ruby and Elsa say at the same time.

Regina shakes her head deftly. “If you were worried about security you wouldn’t have brought Mary Margaret with you. There’s no way you’d put her in any actual danger.” “Ah, that’s gross,” Ruby mumbles.

“Or it’s incredibly romantic,” David argues. That only draws several more shouts though and Mary Margaret’s other hand flies to her other cheek. David hisses in a breath of air. “Ok, that’s not what I meant at all and--” “--You’re under the mistletoe, chief of security and bastion of safety,” Emma says. She’s going to blame the whisky. And Killian’s hand, flat against the curve of her hip. And maybe because she can feel him breathing against her.

“Are you drunk?” “Not yet.” “But working on it,” Killian mumbles, loud enough that only Emma can hear.

“Well, this is an antiquated tradition,” David says. “And we don’t have to do anything, just to satisfy you lot and--” He doesn’t finish. Mary Margaret makes sure of that. It may, honestly, be the last thing any of them expects. She turns on David, a flash of determination in her eyes that Emma is only too well acquainted with because Mary Margaret gets what Mary Margaret wants and the sound that ricochets off the walls of Regina’s whatever room as soon as the two of them start kissing under the mistletoe is decidedly joyful and still just a little unethical.

Mary Margaret has to push up on her toes to reach David, but that only last a second and then he’s got an arm around her waist and her toes are skimming the floor and one of her flats falls off.

“She made a better shoe choice than me,” Emma mutters, working another laugh out of Killian.

“Ah, yours are sparklier. Where are they, incidentally?” “In the hallway still.” “Of course.” “Are they still making out?” Killian nods, cheek brushing up against Emma’s hair. “I think we’ve started something that can’t be stopped, Swan.” “With great power comes great responsibility.” “Oh, that was funny.” “See,” Emma says, spinning on the spot and that’s only kind of mistake. She has to throw her hands up to keep her balance, palms flat against Killian’s chest. His lips twitch. “I can be fun.” Killian doesn’t answer immediately – and part of her hates that, hates whatever look he’s directing her way, slightly appraising and slightly cautious with a hint of that same something Emma cannot cope with at any point, but especially with more whisky in her system than she’s had in months and Mary Margaret and David still kissing a few feet away.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Killian whispers, one side of his mouth tugging up.

“Told you.” Emma only moves because the peanut gallery is shouting again. “What do you mean the whole time?” Ruby screeches, standing up and ignoring Regina’s tongue click when she knocks the chair over.

Mary Margaret shifts her weight on her feet, scrunching her nose. “Exactly what those words mean in that very specific order. It’s been--well, kind of a secret and--”

“--And we all know you all had your suspicions,” David adds. “So don’t act like you’re surprised. Whoever put the mistletoe up just kind of forced it out into the open.” “Oh my God.” “Oh my God,” Emma breathes, tilting her head up to find Killian’s thrown back with the force of his laugh. “Maybe we’re actually romance soothsayers.” “That’d be a very impressive talent,” he says.

“I can’t think of any other explanation.”

“There absolutely isn’t one. Should we be drinking more?” “I can’t think of any other explanation.”

“I’m not sure that made sense, love, but I think Lucas is shouting something about shots, so…”

Shots, it turned out, meant shots bingo, a game that Emma was half certain Ruby was making up as she went along without many rules except the goal to get its players as drunk as possible.

It’s working.

“B-12,” Ruby calls, brandishing the ball in front of her like it’s several pieces of gold stolen from the Federal Reserve. “Anyone closing in on bingo yet?” “I think we’re all going to die before we get to bingo,” Mulan mumbles. “Should we be watering down these drinks?”

Regina narrows her eyes. “If you people water down the alcohol I bought for you, I’m going to fire all of you.” “Or we’ll just all have to get our stomachs pumped,” Killian mutters. It’s mostly to Emma, again, or still, but she’s lost track of just about everything at this point, including proper sentence structure and anything that isn’t how incredibly solid his arm feels next to her. “I think it’s time for phase two, Swan.” She’s only a little frustrated by how difficult it is to turn her head.

“What was phase one?” “Mary Margaret and David.” “And there are three phases?” “Yeah, although three may be admittedly kind of difficult.” “And we’re in phase two right now?”

“We’re about to be. How deceptive do you think you can be?”

Emma lifts her hands in the air, another challenge she doesn’t entirely appreciate because she kind of feels like she’s moving through soup or unfreezing after a considerable amount of time in the same, awkward position and the metaphor is stupid. “That’s not doing a lot to inspire confidence in the plan, Swan,” Killian adds.

“Oh, you’re going to tell me the plan this time, huh?” “I would if you’d stop interrupting me.” She’s got to come up with some other response than sticking her tongue out. It also keeps getting Killian to smile at her though, so, maybe in the grand scheme... “G-52,” Ruby says, although it comes out more like a slur and Emma swears Killian’s smile could rival every single light on the tree in Rockefeller Center.

Several different people groan when they do another shot.

They’re definitely going to die before they even get a chance to try and fix America’s piece of garbage political system.

“This is going to require some talent on your part, Swan, you understand?” Killian asks as Emma takes another sip of her drink. Elsa makes a strangled noise at that – she’s breaking the BINGO rules, apparently. “That’s not helping either.”

“Maybe you should be the one doing this then,” Emma says. “You’re clearly lacking in some faith here, Jones.” “That’s not true.” It’s one of those moments again – far too sincere and far too meaningful and Emma shivers when she downs the rest of her drink. She’s only one spot away from BINGO. That’s probably a sign or something.

“I’m going to drop mistletoe in Ruby’s hair,” Emma announces. “Screw your plan.” She reaches forward, tugging on the lapel of Killian’s jacket. He moves willingly, or, drunkenly, hair dangerously close to his brows when his head drops slightly and his hand lands on Emma’s hip like there’s a magnet involved.

Emma’s fingers don't shake when she pulls the plastic bag out of his pocket, although it is getting more and more difficult to breathe the longer she lingers in Killian’s space. And it doesn’t take long, standing up and making it seem like she’s refiling her drink and the whole room is already forty-seven sheets to whatever metaphor she’s running with at this point, so Emma doesn’t really need Killian’s wide eyed gaze and half a smile to help direct her towards Ruby.

It’s kind of nice anyway though.

He winks when the piece of mistletoe gets caught in a strand of Ruby’s hair.

“And now we wait,” Emma whispers, dropping back next to him. He tugs her drink out of her hand when she moves, ignoring her protests and flashing her a smile instead.

“We’re a team, Swan. That means we share the spoils of our reward.” “I’m sure those words make sense to someone who’s had far less whisky than I have.” He hums, letting his head rest against the side of hers and--

“Ru, you’ve got something in your hair,” Mulan says, reaching out towards the mistletoe. Emma holds her breath. “Oh. It’s, uh...it’s mistletoe. How did that get there?”

Ruby makes a noise that might be disbelief. “Is she actually blushing right now?” Emma whispers, glancing at Killian. He looks a little stunned.

“I feel like I’m seeing some kind of romance unicorn.” “That was funny.” “A two-way street, love.”

Emma is going to say something. She is. She’s going to say something wonderful and poetic and it’ll change everything, but she keeps getting interrupted by drunk coworkers and her own thoughts and-- “Rules are rules,” David yells, Mary Margaret’s arm slung around his shoulders. She’s sitting on his legs. “Pucker up!” “Regina, can we fire him for that?” Ruby asks sharply. It gets her another head shake.

“I think I’d get sued. And like he said, rules are rules.” “Pucker up,” Mary Margaret yells, repeating it until there’s a chorus echoing in the room and Emma gapes at Killian.

“Maybe we haven’t done such a great thing after all, Swan.”

“They’re all insane.” “Ah, shut up all of you,” Ruby hisses, but any sense of anger disappears as soon as her eyes move back to Mulan and their kiss isn’t quite as charged as Mary Margaret and David’s. That’s another sentence Emma didn’t entirely expect.

It’s softer and a little careful and Ruby’s cheeks are still tinged pink when she pulls away.

Mulan may actually giggle.

“Or maybe we’re actually miracle workers,” Emma mumbles. She grabs Killian’s glass out of his hand and downs the rest of whatever he was drinking.

“It’s a very fine line to walk, I think.” “Good thing I took the heels off, huh?” Killian chuckles, pulling Emma closer to his side. “You’re going to have to put them back on eventually, you know.” “That is incredibly stupid.” “Eloquent as always. You ready for phase three?” “Are you?” Emma challenges, wobbling slightly when she stands up. Even without the heels.

Killian grins.

And he wasn’t lying – the last one is the most difficult, Emma threatening to kill you when he explains who they’re going to mistletoe next. “I’m not doing it,” Emma says, back in the hallway and people are starting to leave. It’s got to be close to midnight, her phone vibrating in her hand because this was not the time she and Will agreed on. “I’m not.” “Swan, we agreed--” “--And you never once said that we were going to try and get Regina to kiss someone.” “Robin,” Killian corrects. “We’re trying to get Regina to kiss Robin. Because she wants to. And possibly has in the past. I’m, like, ninety-six percent positive.” “That is not one-hundred percent.” “Nothing in life is guaranteed, love.” “God, I hate that you’re right.” “About which part?” “The cliché and the maybe kissing already. They are always around each other, aren’t they?” Killian nods seriously, twisting the pieces of mistletoe between his thumb and finger. “At some point, you’re going to have to realize that I’m almost always right. And this is the end of the plan. You don’t want to come up short of the finish line, do you?” “That’s another cliché.” “Yes, it is. This one is going to be simple. I promise. They’re--” He spins when the footsteps move towards them, Regina jerking back slightly when she notices Emma and Killian standing there. “Why are you two lurking in my doorway?” she asks.

“We’re not, Your Highness,” Killian says, the only one who would dare say such a thing. Robin does his best to hide his laugh behind his hand. It does not work. “I’m just trying to convince Swan that she does, in fact, have to put her shoes back on to go back outside.” Emma gasps – glaring at him and kicking lightly at his left ankle. Killian’s eyebrows are ridiculous.

“Does this mean you’re leaving?” Robin asks, a note of impatience in his voice. Emma stops kicking Killian. She’s far too busy being stunned. “Also, what’s in your hand?” “Ah, I was hoping you’d ask me that,” Killian answers. He twists one arm around Emma’s shoulders, taking a step towards the clearly stunned maybe-pair in front of them and dangling the few pieces of mistletoe over Robin’s head. “Rules are rules, guys.” The force of Regina’s glare could cut diamonds.

Or steel.

Or adamantium.

“Where did you get that?” she hisses. “Oh my God was it you two all night? That’s--”

“--The rules, Your Highness,” Killian interrupts. “Or so you were quick to point out to your subordinates.” “I do not think of you as my subordinates.” “Subjects?” “I’m not sure that’s how democracy works, exactly,” Emma mumbles, and she can feel Killian’s smile when he lets his his cheek rest against the side of her hair.

“She’s got a point,” Robin says.

Regina rolls her eyes. “She’s got alcohol poisoning.” “Whose fault is that, really?” Emma asks. “Stop buying the good stuff.” “It’s almost like I like all you horrible people.” “Almost.” “We going to get this show on the road here?” Killian cuts in, waving his hand and shaking the mistletoe.

Regina stares at him for a moment and Emma’s only slightly worried they’ve overstepped some invisible line and she might not be entirely prepared to move to Washington D.C. but she’s even less prepared to lose her job and--

“This is heavy-handed,” Regina mutters, but she doesn’t say anything else before turning on her senior advisor and kissing him with the kind of enthusiasm that makes Emma certain this is not the first time they’ve done it.

“Huh,” Killian says. He holds his hand out so Emma can slide her feet back into her shoes and there probably aren’t actual sparks involved, but it feels like that kind of night. Robin and Regina are still making out.

Emma is only kind of, sort of, completely jealous.

She hopes there were sparks.

“I thought that was supposed to be super difficult,” Emma accuses. They’re already moving out the door, neither Robin nor Regina acknowledging their departure and there’s a few inches of snow on the sidewalk outside.

“A Christmas miracle, I’m sure.”

“I think your perception of miracles has been a little skewed by the amount of rum you’ve had.” “How did you know I was drinking rum?” Emma shrugs, feet already aching despite the few steps they’ve taken. “Incredibly perceptive.” “That so?”

She wishes he’d stop doing that – half a sentence and half a meaning that may be all meaning and it’s difficult to think when there are snowflakes landing on the tip of his nose. Emma reaches up slowly, fingers barely brushing over his skin and the stubble on the curve of his jaw and she hadn’t even noticed him trying to hail a cab until the cab is honking at them and the driver is leaning out the window shouting a string of words that are neither Christmas-related nor miraculous.

Killian’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into Emma’s palm. “We’re taking this cab home.”

She doesn’t argue. Or say much of anything on the drive back towards her apartment, not sure what to think when he refers to her apartment as home.

The cab driver says something else when they skid to a stop in front of Emma’s building, but she barely hears it when Killian’s pulling her back against his side and reaching into her pocket where her keys always are. He knows where she keeps her keys.

That usually doesn’t mess with her head like it is now.

She’s usually not as drunk as she is now.

She takes her shoes off as soon as the door closes behind them.

“They really are very good shoes, love,” Killian says, leaning against the nearest wall with a smile on his face and that same piece of hair falling artfully across his forehead.

“Not worth my pain, honestly. And you didn’t have to bring me home.” “Wouldn’t be very gallant otherwise.” “You’re being gallant now?” He nods, moving slowly towards her and eventually one of them will stop trying to touch the other. Probably. “Definitely.”

They make their way up the stairs slowly, more keys turning in locks and gazes that linger just a hint too long and Will is sitting on Emma’s couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table when they walk inside.

“Nice of you to show up,” he drawls. “Hey, Jones. Wasn’t expecting you.” “How’d gingerbread house construction go?” “Way better than whatever you and the kid planned. Looks like you guys had some fun.” Killian scoffs, a bit of laughter there too and Emma doesn’t mean to lean into him. She doesn’t. Really. But he’s so goddamn warm and even more solid and she really did have a good time tonight. Emma may be a little disappointed she didn’t get kissed under the mistletoe, but that’s neither here nor there and it’s fine and-- “There’s lipstick on your collar,” Killian says, nodding towards Will and Emma nearly trips over herself in an effort to stand up.

“What the hell, Scarlet?” Emma snaps. “Were you making out with people while Henry was awake? In front of Henry?” Will rolls his whole head. “Who do you think I am?” “Someone with lipstick on your collar. What time did Henry go to sleep?” “A normal time for a thirteen-year-old hopped up on an acceptable amount of holiday-themed sugar. And it wasn’t really people, it was--” “--Oh my God, Belle left early,” Killian finishes, an arm around Emma’s waist when she all but sags against him.

“Is everyone in this office making out with everyone else?” “You tell me, Em,” Will says. He pushes off the couch, barely pausing to squeeze her shoulder and grab his coat off the hook on the wall. “You better get some boxes in here. You’ve got a ton of stuff to pack.” “Is that your not so subtle offer to help me pack?” “Absolutely not. Make sure you drink some water before you fall asleep.” Emma makes some kind of noise that only serves to hurt the back of her throat, Will’s laughter ringing in the air around them even after he leaves and the force of the alcohol in her bloodstream seems to hit her suddenly. Like several different freight trains.

“Ah, that’s why I don’t drink much anymore,” Emma mutters, burying her face into Killian’s chest. She definitely imagines the lips that brush over her hair.

For sure.

“You need to get some sleep, love,” Killian says, a hand moving up and down her back. “And maybe some water.” “Is that you agreeing with Scarlet?” “Not at all. That’s my knowledge of preemptively dealing with hangovers.” “Gallant. Again.” “Something like that for sure.”

“Alright,” Emma nods. She leans back against her better judgment, vision swimming slightly and heart thundering in her chest. “I’m uh--I’m going to sleep. And this was--” “--I always have fun doing vaguely deceptive things with you, Swan.” Her laugh is shaky at best and swooning at worst, another nod that makes the Earth feel as if it shifts on its axis. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. If I walk into my room now will you lock the door?” “Yeah, of course.”

Emma smiles, tugging lightly on his jacket again and she doesn’t entirely remember the next few hours. There’s definitely sleeping and some water, but then there’s light streaming in her windows and voices coming from the other side of the apartment and she does not expect the plural in that sentence.

She moves slowly, tugging a sweatshirt on that isn’t hers and maybe matches up with one of the voices in, possibly, her kitchen. It does. She’s not entirely surprised. She totally knew.

“Hey Mom,” Henry says, sitting on the edge of the counter with a bowl perched on his legs and a whisk in his hand.

Emma wasn’t even aware they owned a whisk.

“Hey kid,” she breathes. Killian’s standing at the stove, tie gone and jacket gone and his feet are bare on the linoleum floor. It’s ridiculously endearing. “What time did you get up?” “Awhile ago. Did you see the gingerbread house Will and I made? Killian said he’d help me build some more sugar trees later today.” “Did he?” Henry nods enthusiastically, almost dropping the bowl in the process. It gets both Emma and Killian to move at the same time, which is either the single worst thing that could happen to her or the single best.

She’s really not surprised he stayed.

Something something gallant. And maybe kind of romantic.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Henry continues. “We’re going to build a whole forest and practice some more Model UN stuff and--” “--Henry did you wake Killian up?” Her kid whisks whatever is in the bowl harder. It’s the single most absurd thing Emma has ever seen. And it makes her heart feel as if it’s grown forty-seven sizes.

“I was on the couch, Swan,” Killian reasons. He’s totally making bacon. He must have gone to the bodega and bought bacon.

Emma may die in her own kitchen. From romantic hangovers.

“Yuh huh,” she says slowly. “If you walk away from that pan are you going to burn my whole apartment down?” Killian shakes his head. “Alright, then…” “Yeah, ok.” They shuffle back towards the front door, Killian’s jacket hanging in the same spot Will’s was. He’s got his hands in his pockets when she turns on him, eyes cast towards the bare feet that may honestly be taunting her at this point and--

“I couldn’t bring myself to leave,” he says before Emma can start the interview.

She really hates that she gasps.

Killian seems to take that as a positive though, stepping into her space until his toes threaten to brush against hers. His smile is tempered, as if he’s worried about Emma running out of her own apartment and, well, that’s fair, but she’s also definitely hungover and she really wants bacon and-- “Why?” “What?” “Why couldn’t you leave?” Emma asks. “I mean...I know I wasn’t exactly a gracious host. I probably should have made sure you could get a car--” “--I’m perfectly capable of getting a car, Swan.” “Then?” He shrugs, reaching back to tug on the hair at the nape of his neck. Emma bites her lip. “I didn’t...” he starts, “I didn’t want to. And I...well, you can take care of yourself, but I wanted to make sure. I don’t--if something happened.” “Like what? I choked on my own vomit?” “That’s far less romantic than I was going for.” Emma gasps again. It’s honestly the worst. “Oh. Yeah?” “Yeah,” Killian says, another promise that feels more important than anything else she’s heard in the last twenty-four hours or an entire political campaign. “I really like...being around you, Swan,” he adds, softer when his hand falls to her waist. “Full stop and in general and not always with the alcohol, but the alcohol was also fun and--well, I know you're worried about everything changing, love, but nothing is going to change and you’re still going to have, at least me and that’s not always the best, but--” “--Shut up,” Emma cuts in, and she doesn’t try to grab the mistletoe out of his jacket.

It feels kind of pointless anyway. And she's fairly positive this is the phase four. 

As far as first kisses go, it’s definitely not the best in the history of the world. Emma’s mouth feels a bit like it’s filled with cotton and her head feels a bit like it’s going to snap in half at any given moment, but Killian’s hand moves to the small of her back and he makes this one, particular noise when her tongue brushes over his lower lip that may be the single greatest sound she’s ever heard.

She’d like to bottle it. Or something less weird.

They linger in each other’s space for a moment – lips and teeth and tongue and Emma smiles against his mouth when her fingers find their way into Killian’s hair. She presses up on her toes to reach him easier, letting him pull her flush against him.

That makes her groan.

And he laughs against her.

“I didn’t really want you to leave,” Emma admits, mumbling the words into his jaw and that time she’s certain of the kiss pressed to her hair.

“That’s not something you have to worry about.” “I guess we should fill out some paperwork or something.” “I think I’m going to be drowning in paperwork for the foreseeable future.” “‘Tis the season or whatever.” “Eloquent,” Killian says again, another quick kiss that ends as soon as Henry starts shouting the bacon is burning.

“C’mon. There’s nothing worse than burnt bacon.” They do, eventually, get Henry to stop whisking what Emma learns is waffle batter and the bacon isn’t burned, but just crispy enough and Killian rolls his eyes when she laughs at the phrase unmoderated caucus. But then there’s more smiles and frosting and a gingerbread house that looks much better with some landscaping around it.

Will sends several dozen emojis back to Emma after she texts him the updated photo.

And he doesn’t ever help her pack. Killian does, labeling boxes and putting away kitchen utensils Emma didn’t know she owned, pausing every few minutes to press her against the nearest wall and kiss her senseless.

Without the mistletoe.

That doesn’t change once they get to Washington D.C., smiling against each other as soon as the clock strikes midnight in a new apartment with half-emptied boxes and the certainty that they’re going to change the goddamn world.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #distant-rose #i just want you guys to know that i also won best delegate at cornell model un once #i was really good at model un

[marlahey]

we stumbled in the dark; i knew we’d be alright (part two)

a shawn mendes rpf fic rating/warnings: still t and tame; references the death of ellie/ava’s parents. more misc notes: please ignore my total disregard for ontario’s educational system. and that this timeline is entirely made up and intentional vague, though I will try my best to maintain some kind of sense. for the first time in ages I can see almost all the major moments of this story, so I promise I won’t drop it. although I do want to take a poll: shorter, more frequent updates, or longer chapters with longer waits? shoot me an ask if you care.  pretend I didn’t forget to give shawn an opening act it’s fine. happy album drop day! come cry with me about it. first person to spot a reference to one of my favourite films of all time gets a prize; i’ll also be tagging this and any asks/updates with wsitd for your future reference! if you want to leave comments in that tag that would be amazing.

read part one here. 

ottawa; then “Are you sure you can handle this?” 

Ava’s expression is dubious at best as she watches you tap a restless and awkward rhythm on your jeans. By some miracle you managed the four and a half hour train journey from Toronto without bursting at the seams or spilling the beans to Hannah: your sister’s new PA gig she’s been hiding for months is for Shawn Mendes. You’re sitting in Shawn Mendes’ dressing room, waiting for him to finish last-minute level checks. 

Your sister had handed you floor tickets.  “Is it weird that I normally tune out his shows?” she’d asked, as she picked you up from the train station. “I usually have so much to do. I figured if I was going to treat you, I may as well you know, experience it properly myself.” “You’re asking me that as I haven’t spent the last four hours listening to his voice,” you reply. “Is it also weird that I feel like I might self-combust any second now?” Ava rolls her eyes. “Remind me to start restricting your caffeine intake if this works.” This is this meeting. You, Shawn, Ava, Andrew. Shawn’s manager (and presumably Shawn himself) are going to pass judgement on whether or not you can manage yourself as a normal person and not freak out in the presence of an international pop star only a year and half older than you. Your sister was very clear: you’d finish high school at a distance before you could even set foot in a stadium for sound check, any and all social media would have to stop completely, and–  “I know you’re a responsible kid,” Ava had begun when the arena was finally in sight and you’d craned your neck to see the top. It seems unimaginable that a single voice could fill the entire thing. “And Shawn’s not that sort of guy–” “God Ava, what is he going to do, proposition me?”  “I’d literally murder him.” You choke on a laugh, but it fades when your sister looks at you, her eyes serious. The eight year gap between you feels impossibly wide, sometimes. “I know you, and him, and something like that wouldn’t happen. But that doesn’t mean that you won’t...” She makes a face, as though she knows the words she’s about to utter are ridiculous. “catch feelings.” You can only stare at her. “If you think that I’m going to walk around like some lovestruck–” “No.” Ava’s parked now. She reaches across the console for your hands. “No, you’re not. But you’re young, and so is he. You’re both only human.” You can read your sister’s face well. There’s an apprehension there that you haven’t seen in many years. Your throat feels tight, suddenly. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” “Isn’t it your job to make sure he does’t get hurt?” You ask, going for levity, but failing when your voice cracks a little. “I don’t want to be the reason you’re out of a job, either. You love being on his team.” “It is my job,” Ava concedes, but her hand is cupping your cheek, her fingers threading into the red strands of your hair that your mother gave you. “But you’re my family. You’re always going to come first.” She smiles. “Besides, you’re a catch. What’s to say Shawn doesn’t fall in love with you first?” You snort. “As if.” You were certain, in the car, just as you are certain now, moments away from being in the same room as Shawn for the first time. You can’t love someone you don’t really know, and you’re pretty confident in your ability to separate your admiration for his music (and his objectively stupidly handsome face) from actual feelings. You’d have to know Shawn to have those kind of feelings. And you can’t imagine how orbiting the periphery of his life on tour is going to change that. So it’s fine. You’re totally fine.  “I’m fine,” you tell Ava.  She raises an eyebrow at you, but it’s more teasing than anything. You promptly stick out your tongue at her, which is of course the moment that Shawn chooses to open the door.  It’s been a while since you’ve blushed past the colour of your hair. Shawn smiles; if that’s laughter behind his eyes, he’s as truly Canadian as you and doesn't give into it. “Hi,” he says, “I’m Shawn.” It’s the most normal opening interaction from someone who is so not normal that you have to bite down a hysterical laugh. Shawn’s smile only widens as he looks from Ava back to you. “I’ve interrupted something, haven’t I? A sister thing. I’ve seen that look before. Aaliyah’s friends always made fun of me.” “I doubt they do that now,” is the first thing you manage, having finally unstuck your voice. You’re not sure, but what looks like a faint blush colours Shawn’s ears. You just embarrassed Shawn Mendes. Two things happen at once: you feel badly, and you realize. Just a boy.  “I’m sorry,” you blurt. “You’re fine. You aren’t um, interrupting. In fact, I’m probably interrupting because this is you know, your dressing room.”  Ava clears her throat. You feel like melting into the floor. Shawn is just watching you, that maybe laughter still lingering. “I’m Eleanor.” You wince. He notices. “Not a fan of your own name, huh?”  “No one–” Come on, get it together. “No one really calls me that, anymore.”  You don't know why you phrased it that way, even though it’s the truth. But you can tell already: Shawn is too polite to ask. Instead he glances at your sister. “Len and Lenny, right?”  You didn’t know it was possible to be this embarrassed. “Most people call me Ellie.” You shoot a half-hearted glare at Ava, who just shrugs in a what do you want from me? sort of gesture. You turn back to Shawn and remember your resolve. “It’s nice to meet you.” His smile is gentler now, as if he’s trying his best to make you comfortable and you’re just making his job hard. Relax, god. He’s just a person, not Santa Claus. “I’m excited for the show,” you say, grappling for something concrete to talk about. “Thank you for the tickets.” Shawn looks so pleased that you momentarily lose yourself again. “No problem! Av has gone to exactly a third of a gig since we met, so I’m glad you’re here. She can actually experience it and I can finally know whether she hates my music or not.” Your sister doesn’t let anyone give her nicknames. You have to resist the urge to whip around and accuse her of violating a sacred sibling trust.  He’s looking at Ava with such a teasing grin that you can’t help but smile. The knot in your stomach unfurls a little. Your sister, for her part, just swats at him with the badge dangling from her fingers. “Who wanted kombucha after the show?”  Shawn’s mouth clamps shut at that. He raises his hands in surrender and your brain gets momentarily stuck: international pop star who drinks kombucha. Ava’s gaze is full of affection; it’s as familiar as it is strange. I know you, and him. “How’s school?” Shawn asks. You’re honestly getting whiplash from all these turns in conversation, but you manage to hold on. “Grade 11 right?” Just how much does he know about you already? You nod. “Busy,” you say, because it’s the truth and an easy answer to the most mundane part of being sixteen. “We had a fire drill yesterday.” “Really?” Shawn’s ability to look genuinely interested is baffling. “How long were you outside for?” “Like, forty-five minutes? It was the worst.” You don’t have to pretend to be slightly melodramatic. Hannah had started trying to tell your math teacher that he was violating her rights. “I didn’t have my phone.” “Oh man. That’s nuts.” Shawn then proceeds to launch into a story involving the boy’s locker room and the smoke detector at school. The reality of him as an eighteen year old boy is so jarring. It’s almost hard to focus on his words; all of this is so surreal.  “...they were sure they were gonna get arrested. It was crazy.”  As if he’d timed it, the man who could only be Shawn’s manager appears in the doorway. You catch Ava stiffen a little out of the corner of your eye and instinctively sit up a little straighter. You are a normal, responsible, non-hysterical young adult.  Shawn, either oblivious to the sudden tension in the room or attempting to diffuse it, jumps to his feet. “Andrew, hey.” He turns towards you, as though you’re somehow already friends. “This is Ellie.” You extend your hand; Andrew looks at it a moment before accepting. You attempt to shake firmly. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Ellie.” “You too,” you say honestly, though your nerves probably betray you. “Thanks for having me.” Andrew looks from Ava back to you. “Has your sister filled you in on our discussion? That you might be joining us for this last leg of the North American tour?”  You nod. You’re acutely aware of Shawn looking at you, sitting again, but you’re too nervous to actually look back at him and try to figure out what he thinks of this whole crazy thing.  “You’re not going to miss school? Your friends?” Andrew asks, his tone conversational, but you feel the weight of the test here. "You sure you’re okay with spending all this time on a tour bus?” “We,” you start, swallowing past the pinch of fear that this is too personal to share, “We used to move around a lot. I’m pretty comfortable with it.”  You throw an apologetic glance at your sister, who just smiles at you, nodding. Despite your fear of looking at Shawn, there is something magnetic about his presence. You can’t read his expression, but when you say, “And I’m actually fast tracked through University Prep courses,” his eyebrows fly up. “You’re finishing early?” he asks, sounding less surprised and more impressed. You allow yourself two seconds to bask in it and nod. “Wow that’s awesome.” Even Andrew seems placated. “That’s certainly impressive. Your teachers won’t mind if we pull you away?” “I’ve spoken to her school,” Ava interjects for the first time. “She’s set up to finish at a distance. I already have all the material for the rest of this year.” This is the first you’ve heard of that, but you figure it’s best to pretend otherwise. Just how certain was your sister that this...this idea out of a teen daydream was actually going to work?  What are you going to do if Andrew says no? The silence stretches into something agonizing. It takes everything you have not to shift in your seat, before Andrew stands upright from his lean on Shawn’s chair. “Well it was nice to meet you Ellie.” You attempt to smile. “You too.” “Ava, could I borrow you? Shawn, I’ll see you in  five minutes.” “Thanks,” Shawn says, but he’s looking at you again. Not breaking eye contact feels like another test.  Your sister rises to follow her boss out and suddenly you’re alone in a room with someone you’ve followed through a screen for almost as long as you’ve had a phone.

Breathe. “I’m not making you nervous, am I?”  You have to clamp down on another hysterical laugh. “Um, a little? Is that weird?” Shawn opens his mouth to speak, but you’re so horrified at yourself that you don’t let him. “Oh god I’m sorry–” “No, no please.” Shawn reaches out like he’s going to touch you and you can’t decide if that would makes this better or worse. “Don’t feel bad. I know...” He pauses, shakes his head a little, and leans back. “I know this is all kind of a lot.” His expression is so sincere, like he’s worried you won’t believe him. A blush you don’t even understand rises up your neck. “It’s not just you,” you admit, fiddling with the ring on your left hand, staring at the pearls. You’re sort of losing control of your filter and you can only hope it’ll eventually stop. “I mean, it is. Your music is amazing. You’re right in front of me but you don’t seem real.” You force yourself to look at Shawn now. He’s not laughing at your ridiculous sentiment; that small kindness emboldens and warms you both at once.  There’s something almost open in his eyes, as though all he wants is to understand you. The words very nearly crawl back into your mouth, but you push them out. You want him to understand this, most of all. “I just don’t want to mess this up for my sister.” Shawn does lean forward then, so far that his knees nearly bracket yours. You have to pull back under the pretence of taking a breath just so you don’t accidentally touch him. His swallow tattoo stands out in sharp relief on his hand; it’s even more beautiful from this close. The magnet pull of him drags your eyes up, and Shawn’s face is suddenly incredibly serious; you almost forget to breathe out. “You won’t.” He says it with so much certainty that your throat tightens at how badly you want to believe him. “I know we just met Ellie, but Ava’s been with me for months now and I’m not letting her go without a fight. She’s just been absolutely amazing.” Do not cry in front of Shawn Mendes whatever you do–  Shawn ducks his head a little to catch your eye again, that gentle, easy smile returning. “But you already know that.” He waits there until, by some miracle, you can smile back at him, and then sits up. “As for the me not being real part...” Shawn’s smile is still soft as he holds out his hand, as if for a high five. You stare at it, then at him. He just tilts his head, a go ahead, so you reach out. It takes all your concentration not to shake. You touch your fingertips to the top of his palm; you wonder if he can feel your pulse racing there. His hand dwarfs yours. You’ve never been so aware of how small you are. “See?” Shawn says, an almost tease in it now. You can only pray that one day you’ll stop blushing in front of him. “Definitely an actual person.” The door reopens; you promptly jump at least a foot. Ava’s vaguely alarmed expression does you both in. “Fuck Ava what the hell?” you gasp, and Shawn dissolves into peals of laughter. Pretty soon all those nervous giggles finally break free.  “Time to go, Shawn,” Ava says, her confusion clear, which somehow makes it all the more hilarious. You clap your hands over your mouth to try to stop. “We’d better get down to the floor, Len. The doors open in three minutes and I am not getting crushed by a horde of teenage girls.” You stand to gather your sweater and your bag. And yourself, more generally. To your surprise when you turn back, Shawn is still in the doorway, waiting for you.  “See you after?” he asks, glancing at Ava, who smiles at him in that particular way that has always reassured you, no matter what, since you were very small.  “We will. I expect an amazing show if I have to stand for the whole thing.” Shawn grins, somehow a little cocky and a little vulnerable both at once. “You bet.” “Good luck,” you call, and as Shawn picks up his guitar that other reality, the one which he’s a stadium selling pop star, hits you all over again.  “Have a good time!” With a wave, Shawn turns out of the doorway and disappears. Your knees are shaking. Ava wraps her arm around your shoulders as you finally reach her and steers you out.  “You’re okay, kid. You did it.” She’s laughing at you a little, but you don’t care.  “I can’t believe you left me alone in a room with Shawn Mendes.” “And you survived, which was the whole point.” You’re almost afraid to ask; thankfully your sister knows you well enough that you don’t actually have to form the words. “We're gonna try it out, okay? There’s three more stops on this Canada leg. You’ll come with us, then we get a week off before we go to the States. Thankfully your summer vacation works out, so you’ll stay at Hannah’s for that week.” “And then?” Ava waves and smiles at a security guard, dropping a Platinum lanyard around your neck, who nods at her and lets you pass through a door that leads out onto the main floor. “And then, either we’re getting on a plane or Shawn’s gonna need a new PA.” The certainty in Shawn’s face flashes through your mind. “Ava...” “Hey, hey.” Your sister pulls you to a halt at the metal barrier, where maybe a dozen other people are already congregating. People are streaming into the arena. The fact that they’re all here for a boy who’d been so kind to you just minutes ago is overwhelming. “Listen, I don’t want you to worry okay? I was going to take you to this show regardless. I just want you to have fun.” Ava pulls you into a hug; it feels like the first time you’ve been able to relax since she called you this morning with a train ticket in your email. You let yourself fall into her, inhaling the familiar smell of her shampoo. “He’s even cuter in person,” you mutter into her hair. Ava snorts. “Yeah, sorry. Should have warned you.” She takes your hand and pulls you forward, until you can wrap your hand around the cold metal that keeps everyone a foot or so back from the edge of the stage. “Ready?” Lights dim. The screams are genuinely deafening, but your throat will probably be as raw as everyone else around you by the end of the night. Ava grimaces. All you can do is laugh.  Two hours later, your throat does hurt. You’re mildly afraid you won’t be able to speak. You can still feel the beat of the drums in your chest, behind your ribcage, inside your heart. You can’t stop smiling. Ava sneaks you carefully back into the depths of the arena and drops you off in Shawn’s dressing room, muttering about kombucha and rolling her eyes.  And if you thought pre-show Shawn was cute, nothing prepares you for flushed and bright-eyed Shawn, who arrives just as you gingerly drop yourself on the couch. “Ellie, hey!” Words. Come on. “Shawn, hi.” You’re not sure what comes over you, but the giddy feeling still hasn’t gone away. “I just– that was amazing. You were incredible.”  You’ve never seen someone smile as brightly as Shawn does when he’s onstage. Even though you’re not in the arena anymore, it’s still almost blinding to look right at. “Thank you. I’m so glad you had fun.” He glances around the room, as though your sister is hiding in a closet. “Where’s Ava?” You shrug. “Something about kombucha?” He laughs. “You must think I’m ridiculous. It’s delicious, I swear. And good for my  voice.” You struggle with a smile, not wanting him to think you’re teasing. “What did your sister think?” You pause, just to watch him squirm. When he looks vaguely offended you can’t help but laugh. “She liked it, she did. Though she’d never admit it. She’s a consummate professional, you know.” Shawn nods seriously. “Of course.” “She likes Never Be Alone,” you say, looking at the door and lowering your voice as if you’re sharing a secret. His eyes glimmer with amusement. “You know that harmony you do? When everyone sings?” Just talking about it is giving you goosebumps. Shawn nods. “She teared up.” He grins, but beneath that you can see that he’s touched, too. You’re so endeared, all of a sudden; a voice in the back of your mind says, careful. You can see now why so many girls around you burst into tears the moment he stepped onstage. You let silence linger, until you can’t quite bear it anymore. “You can ask me, you know.” “Ask you what?” You can’t keep his gaze. “Why Ava has to drag me on this tour with her.”  Shawn does that thing again where he ducks his chin to catch your eye. Eventually, you decide, you’ll be able to look right at him without having to steel yourself first.  “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, so gently you almost can't pretend your throat still hurts from the show. “It’s none of my business.” You have to swallow before you can speak. “If this whole thing works out, we’re gonna be around each other all the time. I don’t want it to be weird.” There is too much kindness in Shawn’s expression as he waits patiently for you to say the words out loud. You have to look at his sparrow. “My parents um, my parents died in a car accident when I was eleven.”  You take a breath. Then another. You can’t remember the last time you’d had to tell someone that, who didn't already know you as the poor orphan child with a nineteen year old sister who was so unprepared but who did absolutely right by you anyway.  “Ava took care of you?”  You nod. “Always has. She’s amazing.” It’s probably a measure of something, of how comfortable Shawn’s made you already, that you can smile at him. “But you already know that.”  He chuckles. “You know, I have no idea if you can actually get kombucha here or not.” “She’ll hate you.” The thought is hilarious. You feel lighter already. “I usually give a pick away every show,” Shawn says, reaching back for his guitar and plucking the tiny red disc from the neck. “Do you think she’d still hate me if I tried to give it to her?” “Oh god, absolutely.” When your sister returns with a small case, Shawn drops to one knee and presents her with the pick. You laugh so hard your stomach hurts. Ava glares and puts down the drink, dragging Shawn to his feet with her free hand. “Get up, stupid.” “I’m glad you came, Ava,” he says, earnest and honest still, despite how his shoulders shake with laughter. “Consider this a token of my appreciation.” She looks from him to you, before plucking the pick from his hand. “This was clearly a terrible idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Ava beckons you. “Come on Lenny, we have to sneak you out before the mob hits the busses. Shawn, Andrew’ll come to get you in a few.” Shawn dutifully lifts his hand in acknowledgement and hands you your sweater. “I’ll see you soon then?” he asks. You suddenly remember. Three more stops.  “Yeah.” It’s so unreal. And yet, here you are. “See you soon.” (part three)

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #wsitd #mine: fic #FINISHED BEFORE THE ALBUM DROP #COME CRY WITH ME IN HALF AN HOUR

[distinctivelibrarians]

The List

(cross posted to ao3 here!)

There's a list pinned to the Back Door. Everyone adds to it, everyone takes away from it. It started as a joke, a way to process the ridiculousness that is the Library and their lives. No one thinks about taking it down.

It started off as a joke.

No one thought about it when Cassandra muttered about previously thinking dragons were a really cool idea.

Except Jenkins, who pointed out that 'really? Giant, monstrous creatures with a propensity for carnage and destruction were a 'cool idea’ Ms. Cillian?’ By that point, they’d all learned to tell the differences between Jenkins’ various tones of reprimand - it hadn’t taken long honestly - and Cassandra knew he was more surprised than genuinely annoyed, so she’d just grinned and shrugged.

No one would own up to tacking the list by the Back Door. Hell, it takes a while for everyone to even notice the list by the door at first. And it’s not even a list a first. Just a scrap of notebook paper with the words ‘Cool Ideas’ scribbled across the top, a bullet point and ‘dragons’ just under it, scratched out with red pen.

No one owns up to scribbling ‘minotaurs’ as the second bullet point (it was Jacob. Jenkins give him a Look ‘cause he’s the only one that figures it out, and he just shrugs. What can he say, he liked the myth).. No one needs to own up to crossing it out, because they can all recognize Eve’s neat, efficient handwriting, even in bright red and looping a little in annoyance. There’s not much emotive power in a simple ‘No!!!’ but she manages.

The first disagreement of course comes shortly after that.

Cassandra had written in Santa Claus, even before they actually met Santa Claus; it showed up December 1st, and no one really thought about it until they got back Christmas day.

Eve scratched it out rather vehemently. And then demanded to know who gave Cassandra the glitter pens to rewrite it and surround it with smiley faces. Since Ezekiel crossed out that one, and then threw up his hands with Eve when it reappeared again in neon permanent marker, it was obvious that Jacob was the one responsible for helping Cassandra find the colorful writing tools that Eve tried to hide. He was entirely unrepentant, and even Eve had to crack a smile when he handed Cassandra a bright purple marker without breaking eye contact with Eve across the room.

That ‘Santa Claus’ stayed.

Fairy tales was next on the list, put there just so all of them - including Jenkins this time, with perhaps a little too much violent glee - could scratch it out.

Ezekiel was banned from adding to the list shortly after that when he added a sub-list under ‘fairy tales’ that just said ‘Jack’. Not that it stopped him. He just added a new synonym each time his was crossed out. They got through ‘thieves,’ ‘jack-of-all trades,’ ‘puss in boots,’ ‘rogues,’ before everyone just left ‘Johannes factotum.’ Mostly because the reaction to that had been somewhere along the lines of ‘what the hell Ezekiel.’ But Jenkins had snorted out a surprised laugh, and Ezekiel was stupidly proud of that. Thank you wikipedia.

Cassandra added fairies. Jenkins and Eve looked her dead in the eye as they used white-out on it.

(It was added again, much later, with the addendum of ‘Ariel only,’ and allowed to stay.)

No one calls Ezekiel out when he adds ‘haunted houses,’ if only because he’s the one that hands Cassandra the red marker to cross it out and scribble ‘take that!’ next to it, after they spend most of a day gone somewhere they won’t say.

Frankenstein’s monster is the next to be added, a little while later, well after it looked like everyone had kind of forgotten the list - they’d been busy with ghosts, Dulaque, Prospero’s return...

It takes a little while for anyone to notice that Ezekiel’s added Frankenstein’s monster, but it startles a laugh out of the rather dour looking Jacob, so Cassandra comes over to see and rewards Ezekiel with a big grin. Eve sees it later, snorts and shakes her head, but Ezekiel catches the slight upturn to her lips, like she’s trying not to laugh. Jenkins just rolls his eyes in that way Ezekiel knows means he’s amused, and he’s annoyed about that. So, mission accomplished.

That’s the only one on the list that remains unmarked for awhile.

Cassandra’s the one that adds ‘shapeshifters.’ Jacob’s the one that gets the most enjoyment out of scratching it out so hard there’s actually a tear in the paper. Cassandra volunteered one of her glitter pens for it, only to snort when he almost broke the damn thing. Jacob grins sheepishly and presents her with a new set with more colors later that day.

Zombies is added soon after that. Video games next to that.

No one says a word when the list disappears for a day, only to show up the next, completely untouched except for the fact that there’s no evidence of either having ever been on there. Jacob looks vaguely guilty for a little while before he disappears with Ezekiel for a bit. They both come back and rewrite ‘video games.’ Under it, they write ‘in moderation’ and highlight it. They grin at each other and leave it at that.

Flynn makes his first contribution to the list. Everyone’s pretty sure he doesn’t quite get it when he comes back the next day to see ‘Shakespeare’ crossed out in red marker, glitter pens, and black sharpie with a couple expletives scribbled next to it.

Eve takes pity on him and pushes him to look at the other entries and their margin notes for explanation. It takes a couple moments before he laughs. And then he adds ‘time machines,’ just to see Eve grumble and huff and go after it with white out.

No one writes werewolves. Until Ezekiel does, and then they all stop holding their breath. Well, mostly all. Jacob and Flynn get a funny looks on their faces, torn between tension-breaking laughs with the rest of them and looking sick to their stomachs.

Eve practically kicks the three of them out of the Library for a talk after that.

When they come back, Jacob has a bouncy ball and is getting way too much enjoyment out of tossing it and watching Ezekiel go after it and Flynn is relaxed and flitting about again, hardly a care in the world, so Eve counts it all as a win.

Cassandra adds ‘clowns’ and ‘magicians.’ Everyone kind of just looked at her, and all she could do was shrug and mention that she’d liked the idea of them at birthday parties as a kid. She still laughs when she comes back to the list the next day and both entries have been scratched out with frowny faces next to them.

Jacob and Ezekiel add and scratch out ‘vampires.’ Cassandra and Flynn counter by writing it larger, in colorful, glittery glory over most of the remaining space on the page (though there’s not much at this point). Cassandra even adds a couple hearts and smiley faces. Jacob and Ezekiel grumble and groan, but they’re fooling no one when everyone but Cassandra catches them watching a chirpy, bright Cassandra with a smile.

There’s no more room on the original List by that point, but it stays pinned up by the Back Door.

No one owns up to pinning the blank piece of paper under it, though at this point, there’s a suspicion going around that no one’s really thought to voice. They just smile up at the ceiling, the same way Flynn typically yells that way, and go about their day.

#the librarians #ezekiel jones #jacob stone #cassandra cillian #eve baird #flynn carsen #jenkins #my writing #ff #long post #should I be posting this at 1 in the morning? nope #am I doing it anyway? yep

[chantalkrcmar]

Our New Normal

Now that we’ve been in Mumbai for 3 1/2 months, I feel like I can say we are settled into into our new normal. Of course, the adjustment process will likely continue in fits and starts much longer, but it feels like we have turned a significant corner. When I was in Kerala for work last month, I would tell people there, “I’m going home on Wednesday.” By that, I meant back to Mumbai. There was absolutely no hesitation when I was saying the word “home.” It felt good.

Our new home no longer shocks me much anymore — a big sign that I have shifted. For instance, I still notice, but am no longer surprised, by the countless motorcyclists I see doing crazy dangerous stuff. A popular one: Daredevil drivers speeding through terrible traffic, their helmets hanging on their handlebars, their mobile phone clamped between their ear and shoulder. And another common one: a family of four, dad driving, mom holding two month old, three year old sandwiched between mom and dad. Dad is wearing a helmet but no one else is. Also recklessly speeding. Do I like almost being run down by them? Nope. Am I surprised by them anymore? Nope.

I wish I could get photos — or, better yet, videos — of these insane motorcyclists but I am always too focused on my own safety (or Anamika’s safety if she is out walking with me) to stop and take pics.

And who is the least surprised by anything anymore? Anamika, of course. Anamika actually adjusted long back. She talks about our friends in the US and about Somerville (For example, this morning when we were talking about getting some Christmas decorations, she said, “We can buy a Santa for Somerville and for India.”) but it’s matter-of-fact now. She no longer seems confused by her dual-country existence; in fact, it’s been a while since she’s hesitated when trying to figure out where we now live. And she is always proudly telling people: “I go to the American School of Bombay — Kurla Kohinoor Campus!” Man, do I wish for her unformed vocal cords. Anamika’s pronunciation of Hindi is impeccable. Still, when I ask a rickshaw driver to take us to Kurla Kohinoor, I am met with blank stares until I have said it four different ways (all of which sound totally the same to me). :-) She on the other hand says it like a pro.

We are connecting with other folks in our apartment compound. Especially Anamika. Our compound has the friendliest group of security guards and cleaning staff. Anamika enthusiastically greets them: “Good morning Arvind Sir!” “Good night, Felix Uncle!” She often hangs out with them and regales them with stories all in English. They understand none of it but politely nod and smile. And they really look out for her. We have a tiny playground space in our compound. When she fell off the swing there, Wilson Uncle, one of the men who cleans the buildings, came running to fetch her — and to tell off Rahul, who might have pushed her a bit too vigorously, for being a negligent parent. :-)

There’s also a doodh wallah (milk man) who delivers milk to the apartments in our compound every morning. Since it such a novelty, Anamika used to love opening the door and ceremoniously accepting the packets of milk before ferrying them off to the fridge. Sadly, the novelty is gone so she barely ever runs to the door to get the milk from him anymore. Poor guy use to be greeted by an adorable 3 1/2 year old brimming with excitement, and now all he gets is a middle aged or elderly person accepting the goods at the door. But Anamika’s enthusiasm has not entirely worn off. This past week, we were walking down the stairs in our building and she saw the doodh wallah on the ground floor waiting for the lift. She shrieked, “It’s the doodh man!” which sounds really funny to an American (that would be me) who thinks she’s saying, “It’s the DUDE man.” A bit redundant, no?

Our compound is gated but the gates are never locked. (thank goodness! A gated community is not mine or Rahul’s style.) So there’s a group of kids from the neighboring slum, mostly boys, who often come and play in the playground. Anamika loves them! Her favorite is ten year old Sushil. A very handsome and charming boy, he’s got a winning smile, a mischievous gleam in his eye, and a love of attention. So he and I chat a bit in Hindi and he mostly clowns around for Anamika. The genuine belly laughs he gets out of her are impressive!

Since Anamika goes to the American School, she had Thanksgiving break. We did not celebrate, but we had a fun stay-cation. One of the many things we did that long weekend was do a long day trip to Elephanta Island with another family we know. Elephanta is an hour ferry ride from the Gateway of India in South Mumbai. On the island are caves with fourteen hundred year old carvings and monkeys galore. It’s a fun place to marvel at the stone work, play hide and seek, and strategize how best to avoid the aggressive monkeys. Cows are ubiquitous in India, and typically vey docile. But Rahul encountered one that followed him and head butted him, in hopes he would drop Anamika’s roasted corn. Rahul emerged victorious from the stand-off — but barely! Since we could not stop laughing at the whole thing — and our pal Jessie was so busy recording the encounter — our friends and I were of no help. (Sorry, my Love.)

India is not one of the cleanest countries in the world (to put it mildly). Prime Minister Modi even started a public cleanliness campaign called “Swachh Bharat” which includes raising  public awareness and doing some public works projects such as toilet building. In my observations over the past many years of coming to India regularly, it seems to be working. People used to blithely throw trash on the roads and footpaths, and men would regularly drop their trousers and pee anywhere they felt the urge. This kind of behavior is not as common anymore, though it still happens more than it should. I find most of Modi’s policy initiatives abhorrent (Rahul and I often play the “Who’s a Worse Leader? Modi or Trump?” game.), but I will give him credit for Swachh Bharat. It’s not as successful as the Modi government claims (especially the Open Defecation Free India part of the campaign), but it seems to be working in many other ways.

One of my proudest moments since moving to India occurred on the ferry ride to Elephanta -- when I had my chance to do my Swachh Bharat bit. A ferry passenger had the audacity to throw a plastic bag into the sea from the ferry, and I thought it my civic duty to make it clear that what he had done was beyond the pale. I resorted to public shaming. In an intentionally loud voice I told him he was a disgrace because he was not honoring the Prime Minister’s   “Swachh Bharat” campaign. An unfortunate number of Indians fawn all over Modi, so basically telling someone who likely reveres the Prime Minister that he is disrespecting the Prime Minister, I thought, was a small stroke of genius. :-)

And we are now starting to prepare for Christmas. Anamika is one lucky kid (and we are lucky adults) since we celebrate Indian holidays, as well as the ones that have gone more global, such as Christmas. We do the endless fall festivals here, culminating in Diwali, and now we are heading into Christmas. Our neighborhood is adorned with a variety of secular (It seems everyone loves Santa Claus!) and non-secular (many Roman Catholic churches in Bandra, so Christ is everywhere) decorations. We have a medium sized fake Christmas tree in our livingroom, decorated with a combination of homemade ornaments (compliments of Rahul and Anamika), as well as ones bought on Hill Road. We recently went to a birthday party at the Taj Lands End Hotel where they have a gigantic, beautiful christmas tree in their lobby. As we walked past it, Anamika declared without a hint of envy or irony, “Oh. It’s just a bit bigger than our tree.” Given that it’s probably twenty feet taller than our tree, I cracked up.

You be the judge...

Christmas shopping on Hill Road, a street in our neighborhood chock full of shops of all kinds (You want glitter and glue? Go to Hill Road. You want cheap sandals? Go to Hill Road. You want  pain puri? Go to Hill Road. You want Christmas decorations in the month of December? Go to Hill Road.), is a total hoot. Normally, shopkeepers and hawkers fill the sidewalks with their wares; people even set up blankets with their goods piled high on top of them in the streets. During this season, it’s even more chaotic. Ad-hoc Christmas shops (nothing more than card tables set up in nooks and crannies all over Hill Road) pop up with colorful stars, Santas, reindeer, snow globes, you name it. Rahul, Anamika and I hit Hill Road to round out our Christmas tree decoration collection. It was quite the experience as we sweated bullets (I never associate heat and humidity with Christmas!) keeping Anamika safe from all the traffic as it whizzed by, as well as keeping her from breaking every snow globe on Hill Road. :-)

Since, unlike most shops that are directly on the street, this one had a safe stretch of sidewalk in front of it, I actually was able to get one photo of Anamika doing some Christmas shopping on Hill Road...

And we are starting our favorites (a sure sign of feeling at home)…

favorite bookstore: Trilogy (Amazingly curated by amazing bibliophiles — and just plain nice people — it’s the antidote to box book stores…Trilogy is down a cramped, smelly alley, so it’s almost impossible to find. Once you push through the front doors, and into their intimate, beautiful space, the world melts away. They have a feminist book section, too! Need I say more?!)

favorite cafe: The Bagel Shop (yes, that’s the name. The bagels are not NYC bagels, but they are not bad. Their homemade juices are amazing. Living in a tropical zone with a huge variety of fresh fruits has its perks! And their outdoor patio with fans whirring all over is a winner.)

Rahul and Anamika playing the Dot Game at The Bagel Shop...

(Because we get questions about our water bottles, let me explain: Anamika’s water bottle is a pink Peppa Pig one; Rahul’s is a pink Hello Kitty one; mine is boring old blue.)

favorite road to walk on: Veronica Road (Being narrow and twisty, traffic is at a minimum. It’s also cool since it’s flanked by old colonial era buildings and random Catholic statues and mini shrines.)

favorite chai: a cup at 17/31 MHB Colony (That would be our home. I swear Ambubhai makes the best cup of chai in all of Mumbai. Perhaps in all of India. Come try it and see for yourself!)

favorite place to go running: Bandra Reclamation Pathway (A five minute run past the slums near our apartment takes us to a sweet pathway along one of the bays of the Arabian Sea. When it’s not too smoggy from pollution, we see downtown Mumbai across the water, and I really enjoy all the palm trees they’ve planted along the pathway.)

favorite place for a date: The Saltwater Cafe (Rahul and I still don’t get out much, but we do get out more than when we were in Somerville and Dadi and Dada (Grandma and Grandpa) were close to 8000 miles away.)

favorite weekend activity: When we’re not busy with Anamika’s packed social calendar (This weekend, she had three birthday parties and a christmas event to attend. I’m not at all jealous of the fact that she has so many friends here. ;-) ), you can often find us swimming at the pool at Sun n Sand Hotel right on Juhu Beach, right on the Arabian Sea. We pay for day passes and swim to our hearts’ content.

A random thing about living in Mumbai that I love: the flowers. They are simply gorgeous. Mumbai is truly an urban jungle — emphasis on “urban.” And it is easy to despair the lack of green space here. But when the riot of flowers confronts my senses, I am reminded that nature does exist, and that beauty is all around. (Sorry for the corny Hallmark card quality of that phrase.) 

I took this pic one morning as I was walking to my yoga class…

One other thing I love about our neighborhood are the murals that surprise you on various walls. Of course, I particularly like this one...

Not to end on a sad note, but life ain’t all a bowl of cherries. One thing Rahul and I are not getting used to — nor should we — is seeing so many desperately poor children on the streets. Desensitization, which can happen so easily, is a soul killer, so we are trying to avoid it. Even worse, it maintains the status quo. On Friday night, we were driving to a little school christmas concert. On the left of our uber, we were approached by a man selling christmas accessories (street hawkers, selling everything from tissues to plums and everything in between, are so common here), including reindeer antler headbands, one of which Anamika just had to have. So as I was making that purchase out of the window on my side of the uber, Rahul was giving money to two poor little girls who had approached on his side of the uber. How’s that for a moment of glaring inequality?!