#best christmas gift from mother nature to me

[nkogneatho]

the feeling of self-fulfilness and achievement is the greatest shit ever. everybody clap for me i climbed the highest mountain and the most dangerous one in my state <3 THAT TO AT 2 AM with a torch because i wanted to see the sunrise

[mickandmusings]

i. equal parts

pairing: poe dameron x solo!fem!reader

part of my upcoming 'princess, smuggler, pilot' series!

word count: 7.3k

summary: bre solo, daughter of han solo and general leia organa, decides to swap her life of smuggling with her father to aid her mother and the resistance. when she lands on base, she meets up with an old friend, who helps her acclimate to life on land.

warnings: i gave the solo reader a name (sorry,) angsty moments, fluffy moments, typical canon star wars violence, chewie being the best star wars character, this author loves the star wars christmas special from the 70s, in the timeline we're gonna pretend the reader is younger or the same age as Poe

based off a request!

-

Bre Solo relished in the pressure of true shower's water against her skin. In her far too quickly approaching future, sonic showers would be her only option, so she relished in the water shower of her father's ship. The smell of her Nabooian floral soap filled the air, encouraging her to take a deep breath of the warm steam. In only a matter of hours, her father would drop her down on her mother's military base, and everything about her beloved life on this ship would be a mere memory. Tears sprang in her eyes, and she swallowed them down hastily. She wanted this, right? Her mother needed her, needed more help in the fight against evil, again.

Her chest ached as she thought about all that would be taken from her: no more days laughing next to Dad as they repaired something on nearly every inch of the ship, no more sitting on the galley counter as Uncle Chewie cooked her favorite soup from Kashyyyk, and, perhaps her most favorite, no more seeing a new stretch of galaxy every day. In an act that was far too reminiscent of her mother, Bre swallowed down her emotions and hurried as she washed her long hair. As she stepped out of the shower and dried her hair, she tied her hair into a simple leisure braid. Sure, Bre and her mother had a massive falling out, but she could not part with the infinite number of Alderaanian braids she had learned. Securing the towel around her frame, she stepped into her cabin and picked out her warmest pajamas.

Glaring down at them, she found her fingers lingering on the embroidery decorating the shirt pocket. As she dressed, she thought about when she had gotten them. The pajama set had been a Life Day gift from her mother several moons ago, and her heart ached as she thought about the matching set being somewhere out in the galaxy. A midnight blue set had been purchased the same day as her maroon, both inscribed with the same initials: B. P. S. She thought of her brother-her twin brother-who shared the same initials. Bre had no idea where he was in the wide galaxy, but she thought of him everyday. Pushing all of her thoughts down, Bre made her way back to the cockpit where her father and uncle sat.

Without a word, because none were necessary, she sat snugly in the same copilot seat as her Wookiee uncle, his lanky arm pulling her closer. As her head rested on his upper arm, those pesky tears behind her eyes festered forward. This would be possibly the last time she would be able to relish in Chewie's warmth for some time. She could no longer hide her sadness, burying her face in Chewie's fur as she shook with silent sobs. Chewie's voice was laced with concern. Chewie had been around since before she was born, so understanding his language of growls came as second nature.

["Starlight? What is the matter?"]

Chewie's love and sincere sympathy had never wavered, no matter what happened in her family. Even when her brother betrayed the family, or when her parents split. Her Uncle Chewie had been her constant, and now, she would no longer have him. Bre didn't say a word, only continuing to sob into his fur. It was several moments later when her father's voice broke the silence.

"You give me the word, kid, and this craft is on the turnaround."

Han Solo had always been sympathetic towards his daughter (they were too much alike if you asked Leia Organa,) but even more so in his older age.

"You know I can't Dad, as much as I'd like to. Mom needs me, and no matter what you say, she needs you too. She could use you and Uncle Chewie for help with-"

"Okay, B, now you're startin' to sound like 'er." Han chuckled under his breath, the comment making Bre and Chewie laugh.

"I just don't want to leave either of you. I know it's important I help Mom, but I wish both of you would be there."

["What matters most is that you're here now."]

Chewie's reply was heartfelt and wise, but it simply wasn't what Bre wanted to hear. She leaned her head back against his strong shoulder, and it wasn't long before her father's hand grasped hers, holding it close in an act of comfort. Bre knew what she had to do, what she had to give up to aid the Resistance, but she wasn't sure it was what she wanted to do.

-

On the Resistance base on D'Qar, Poe Dameron hopped out of his currently smoking X-Wing. General Organa would soon be hot on his heels rambling about his broken ship, and he'd have to pull out his toolbox and work on the damage. His dark brown eyes cut across the hangar bay, the salt-and-pepper locks of the aforementioned General stuck out next to a dark-haired girl that stood next to her, hardly an inch taller than the short woman. Poe noted the taller figures looming over them both, General Han Solo (a name he had heard more times in his life from his father) and his copilot, a towering Wookiee named Chewbacca. Poe's eyes widened in realization: the dark-haired figure wasn't just any new recruit: that was Breha Solo, the daughter of some of the Rebellion's most famous figureheads. She shifted uncomfortably between her two parents, who seemed to be attempting to further the distance between themselves. She visibly sighed, cutting her eyes to her Wookiee uncle, who gave her a seemingly (Poe didn't speak Shyriiwook) reassuring growl. She smiled brightly, leaning into his embrace before following him back into the ship behind them. Poe was awestruck, it had been years since he last saw her.

Then, they were just children. Poe could remember her vividly, despite the passing of time. She had worn a dress, completely white save for the swirling pattern embroidered on the front that spanned to each shoulder. Her hair had been long, but not nearly as long as it was now. Well, Poe wasn't actually sure, he had never seen her with her hair entirely down. He only observed through tightly-wound braids and intricate twists. Her parents had visited Yavin IV to meet his parents, and, like children often do, they became close friends in mere hours. They had played with his toy X-Wings and Y-Wings and her stuffed Wookiee, and eventually fell asleep to an Ewok themed children's holoprogram. That was so long ago, before they grew up, before his mother died, before-Poe stopped his train of thoughts, not wishing for a painful resurgence of memories. With a nudge to his ankles, BB-8 captured his attention, momentarily distracting him from his own mind.

"What is it, BB?"

A series of beeps followed, but to Poe, it was if BB-8 had spoken perfect Basic.

["General Organa is asking for you. She says its important."]

Poe nodded, and thanked his droid counterpart before walking in the direction of the family reunion that had gathered on the edges of the hangar. Leia's brown eyes caught his own, and she smiled a perfect senatorial smile at him. Poe had been a member of Leia's cause long enough now to know what each of her smiles meant. Now, she was deathly serious, and waiting (almost) patiently for Poe to arrive at their meeting spot. He beckoned his weighed-down legs to move faster, the BB unit at his feet rolling along merrily.

"Commander Dameron," Leia started, a glimmer of mischief in her eye.

"General," he responded, followed by a small nod of his head to his superior.

"Captain," he followed, addressing Han. Neither of them had time to respond, however, because a clanking noise came from inside the ship. Leia's eyebrow cocked up at Han, who shook his head wearily as he trudged up the ramp. A hearty Wookiee laugh followed a distinctly human one, making even the stoic General Organa break out into a grin. In an instant, Bre was back, now stumbling down the ramp with a duffel bag on one shoulder, her hands carrying a container that seemed to hold some type of food Poe did not recognize. Her green eyes were glassy as they found Poe's brown ones. She gave him a smile, one he recognized well, it was the same as Leia's own fake smiles. She placed the items down on the firm ground of the hangar before sighing heavily, turning to meet the two figures behind her. Poe swore he saw tears on her face, but when he looked again, they seemingly had disappeared. Chewbacca wrapped her tightly in his arms, his furry hands patting her head softly. With one last embrace, he mumbled something only Breha seemingly understood before she was stumbling from his grip and into the embrace of her father. Leia now stood facing Poe, allowing her daughter a moment with Han. Poe caught a glimpse of her head resting on her father's shoulder before he too turned to give them privacy.

"Poe, my daughter, Breha, will be staying with us. She will be working for the Resistance under special orders. She's to be bunked near my quarters. I trust you can take her to the bunker, show her around the base."

"Of course, General. Any specifics?"

"Show her everything." Leia's grin finally met her eyes, the gleam in them prominent. She then turned to her daughter, who was now waiting with her father's arm around her shoulder. With one last hug, she bids him farewell with a heavy heart, before turning to face Poe. Now this close, Poe did a double take. His eyes blinked heavily as he looked at the girl again. She was a nearly spitting image of her mother, save for the one part of her father she could not deny: his eyes. They were glimmering with the same charm of the Corellian pilot, and were much, much lighter than her mother's-both literally and figuratively. The green of Breha's eyes lightened her entire face, while Leia's brown seemed heavy and weighed down by what she had been through. Perhaps, Poe thought, Breha didn't have half the weight on her shoulders as everyone else running around the Resistance base.

"Breha, this is Commander Poe Dameron. Commander, this is my daughter, Breha."

Poe nodded silently to the girl in front of him, which she returned with a smirk much more notable to be on her father's face. She turned to give her father one last wave as he started his ship's engine, and Chewbacca gave her a large, hairy wave of his hand. With a smirk and a wink, Han Solo was back in the stars, taking a piece of Breha's heart with him. She shook her head and winced, taking her food container off the solid floor. Poe followed suit and grabbed her duffel bag.

"You don't have to, I can take it myself, Commander. It's-"

"It's fine, really. The General wanted me to show you to your quarters, show you around the base. It's just Poe by the way, you don't have to call me by my rank, Breha."

"It's Bre."

"What?"

"My name. Call me Bre, no one calls me Breha except my mother."

"Okay, Bre. Nice to meet you."

The dark-haired girl chuckled.

"Something funny?" Poe asked, genuinely curious.

"Did you think I had forgotten you so easily, Poe Dameron? This is hardly our first meeting."

It was Poe's turn to laugh, shaking his head at the quick-witted girl.

"The last time I saw you, I was wearing X-Wing printed pajamas, and you carried a stuffed Wookiee everywhere you went. I'd say we've both changed a bit, Bre."

Poe looked over to see that Breha's face had reddened, her eyes darting to the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. A smile suddenly broke across her face, and it lit up her entire face.

"That Wookiee doll was made by my Aunt Malla, Chewie's mate. It was my favorite thing as a kid. She made him all kinds of accessories and outfits. He had a mini satchel like Chewie's and a lovely set of red Life Day robes."

Poe smiled as she reminisced. During their walk to her quarters, Poe felt as if no time had passed between the pair. Bre was not as high-strung as her mother, as Poe once believed she might be. Bre had a sort of air about her-light-hearted, funny, and easy to have a conversation with. Despite her looks, it was clear to Poe that Bre held her father's personality inside her mother's looks. She would do nicely here. Sure, the Rogues would take some time to come around to her, but they would enjoy her humor. A distant whirring filled Poe's ears, causing he and Bre both to turn their eyes to the end of the hallway. Flashes of orange and white greeted them, a frustrated beep filling the air.

"BB, buddy, I wasn't leaving you! I was showing Bre here to her room, helping her drop her stuff off.

BB-8 buzzed back in annoyance, something only Poe could understand.

"Okay, fine! Bre, this is BB-8. BB, this is Bre Organ-"

"Bre Solo, and it's lovely to meet you, BB," Bre smiled widely, a true, honest smile, perhaps the first one Poe had seen from her yet. She dropped down to BB-8's height, rubbing his head affectionately. BB whirred around in excitement, relishing in the idea of a new friend. Poe laughed as they continued down the hall.

"He was upset that I hadn't introduced him to you yet," Poe started, pushing the strap of the (ridiculously heavy) duffel bag up his shoulder. "He seems to like you. Do you speak droid?"

"No," Bre spoke, shaking her head. "We grew up with a droid, C-3PO. Of course you know 3PO. He speaks Basic though, so there was no need for us to learn. He speaks lots of languages, actually, like, Dad use to curse in Corellian, so Be-uh, I would always try to get 3PO to tell me what they meant."

Poe pondered on her broken sentence, but decided it would be better to ignore it. This was the first time he'd seen her in years after all, there was no limit to what could have happened in her family, maybe she didn't want to talk about it. Hell, Poe certainly didn't want to talk about all of the things that had changed in his own life. On a whim, he quickly changed the subject.

"You understand Shyriiwook though, right?"

Her eyes lit up, nodding enthusiastically.

"Yes!" She wrung her hands almost nervously, fiddling with the flat, silver ring on her right pointer finger. Poe looked at it quizzingly, attempting to get a good look at the emblem etched into it, but could never quite get it in his sights. "I grew up around Chewie my entire life, he's always sort of been there. He lived with us when he wasn't on Kashyyyk, and I've spent the last few years flying around with Dad and Chewie. You pick it up pretty quick."

She smiled humbly, and Poe could almost feel the heartbreak in her voice as she talked about her distant family. Poe rattled his brain from some other subject, but luckily, the action was unnecessary. A pristine voice echoed down the hallway, followed by a clamoring of metal against the floor.

"Princess Breha! Oh, how wonderful it is to see you again!"

Bre's smile widened at the golden droid, her eyes shimmering even in the dim light of the hallway.

"3PO! It's so good to see you, too! And as I've told you before, there is no need for formalities, call me Bre." Her eyes widened, delicate hands reaching for his red arm. "Your arm!"

Poe's eyes rolled, and he blocked out 3PO's incessant chattering at Bre looked at the droid with the utmost concern. Poe pushed the bag back up his shoulder again, the clattering of glass taking him by surprise. Even BB looked up at him questioningly, wondering what the source of the noise was. After a moment, the golden droid was on his way, muttering something about General Organa. They set off on their course again, only the sound of BB's whirring filling the room. Their walk was lengthy, and Poe's stomach began to rumble noisily. His mind raced, when was the last time he'd eaten since he left for his mission? It'd been too long, he decided, because he could not remember.

"Would you like some?" Bre held out her food container to Poe, who gave it a look-over. Apparently, Bre had heard his stomach too.

"What are they?"

"Wookiee-ookiees."

Poe furrowed his brows, not familiar with what she was talking about.

"They're these baked treats native to Kashyyyk. Malla typically makes them, but Chewie's not a half bad cook either. Otherwise Dad would've never survived all these years. They're very good."

Frankly, Poe was so hungry he would've eaten Bantha cookies for all he cared. He indulged in the sweet treat offered, taking a big bite. His eyes widened, chewing quickly.

"That was amazing," he said after he'd finished, brown eyes full of newfound joy. The food in the mess hall was less than subpar, more for sustenance than enjoyment.

"Would you like another?" Bre asked, polite as a princess should be.

"Absolutely I would," Poe indulged, happy to see the same enjoyment glittering in her eyes. Bre loved sharing little bits of Kashyyyk, for it was her favorite part of all the galaxy she had seen. She pictured it in her mind: its towering green trees that expanded for miles, Malla and Chewie's home within them. She thought of Life Day celebrations: Chewie's big hugs, her mother's singing voice, and her father bringing she and Ben to their beds next to Lumpie. She shut the thoughts down again, her heart hurting just thinking about it.

"Ah!" Poe stopped in front of a door. "Welcome to your home away from home."

The bunk wasn't shabby, just standard: Resistance-issued cot, storage unit, and, perhaps the most important, the adjoined refresher. The feeling of her hot shower from last night ran through her senses, and she relished in it one last time. Poe dropped her heavy duffel on the cot with a sigh.

"Well, this is your room. General Organa's quarters and office are all the way at the end of the hall, along with the other higher-ups. She wanted me to take you on a tour of the whole base, but if you wanted to get settled or-"

"I'll take you up on that, just let me get this bag settled. Close the door, though."

Poe closed the door hesitantly, turning back to Bre. She stopped halfway through unzipping her bag, her eyes cutting up to Poe.

"I know you're my mother's right-hand and her golden pilot, but could you just be Poe for a second? Promise that what you see doesn't leave this room?"

Poe nodded blindly, too curious as to what she was going to do to even object. Bre shook her head before rummaging in the bag, mumbling slightly.

"Dad would kill me if he knew about this."

She pulled out a very large (very, very large) bottle of amber liquid, Poe recognizing it as Corellian whiskey immediately. His eyes widened, following as she slid it under her small storage compartment. Just after, she pulled an equally large bottle of blue Spotchka from the bag, shuffling it in the same spot.

"Holy shit, Solo! Yeah, my dad would be pissed too if I stole that much alcohol from him!" Poe's eyes were large as saucers, giving him the same look as a Porg. Bre's dark eyebrows furrowed. She cut her eyes to Poe, that famous Solo smirk painting her face.

"My dad gave me this, Dameron. He wanted me to have it. He certainly wouldn't be pissed about the alcohol. He'd be mad at me for doing it in front of the General's pride and joy. He taught me to be a better smuggler than that, especially with high demand contraband."

She closed her bag and stood, ready for Poe's obligatory tour. When he thought of everything the daughter of General Organa would be, it certainly wasn't Bre. She was named for two legacies of respected and elegant royalty on both Alderaan and Naboo, prime examples of the expectation of royalty. As she shut her cabin door, Poe took note of her hands, scarred but smooth. He had the same scars, they came from working on ships. He finally got a good glance at the flat ring on her hand, now noting the distinct outline of a 'B', seemingly for name. It was shiny and without scratches, in pristine condition. On the same hand was a band made of glittering gold, a single red rock on the band. Poe noted the color-it was a Corellian ruby. These rocks were hard to come by, and even harder to find the funds to afford it. Having a Corellian smuggler as a father probably helped in that situation, Poe supposed. Looking at Bre now, he noted, just like the rings on her fingers, Bre was equal parts princess and smuggler. (Maybe more three fourths smuggler, but Poe was feeling generous.) Her traditional braids across her head contradicted the oil stains on her pants, but, when he looked at her face he saw it clearly: just like her parents, she held every emotion in her eyes. Whether they were brown like Leia's or green like Han's, they could talk a good talk, but their eyes gave away everything. Poe noticed the pain in her Endor-forest green eyes, completely contradicting her bright smile.

Poe wasn't entirely sure why Bre was here after all these years of an obviously strained relationship but he was certain she wanted to be somewhere far, far from D'Qar, her mother, and nearly anywhere like this base: there was no where for her to run from herself in such tight quarters. The realization made Poe shudder, the same feeling coursed through him.

-

[maremartinelli]

SUNFLOWERS TO MY LOVE

Sirius Black X Potter!fem!reader

Summary: Where Sirius spends the Christmas holiday at the Potter's house and brings a little gift to his girlfriend.

Words: 1.1K+

Warnings: Reader James's twin sister, mention of the Black family, quick mention of sex, cute couple and Sirius VERY in love.

Author: Saying that English is not my first language, I apologize for any errors that may appear throughout the story. If you don't understand, notify me✍🏽 And another thing, I'm thinking about writing to the hot (sorry) Billy Russo. What do you think?

MASTERLIST

Y/n Potter was a sweet, quiet, intelligent and naturally funny girl. Unlike his twin brother. James Potter.

Sure, he was smart and super funny. But what Y/n was calm and calm about, James was the hurricane himself.

And because of that, he freaked out at Sirius when he found out that Black was dating his twin sister. Which resulted in James punching his best friend in the face in their 4th year at Hogwarts.

But, thanks to Merlin, the two get along well and James accepted their relationship.

He seemed worse than parents at the time, telling and advising his sister what she should or shouldn't do with Sirius. Unlike Fleamont and Euphemia, who LOVED hearing the news about their relationship and had decent conversations with their daughter.

Now, three years later. Everything was going from good to better in Sirius and Y/n's relationship. As one was more peaceful than the other, fights were generally avoided.

Not like they never argued, but that didn't always happen at the end of fights.

It was currently the end of the year holiday and the Marauders decided to return home rather than spend Christmas at Hogwarts.

It was December 23rd and snow was falling lightly outside.

Y/n was in the bedroom finished drying her hair, while James was talking to Sirius in the fireplace room, who had just arrived.

"Hey! Sirius, dear. It's good to see you" Euphemia was passing by to go to the kitchen to prepare dinner, saw Sirius and smiled happily at her son-in-law.

"Effy!!" He looks back and smiles widely. He gets up and gives his girlfriend's mother a tight hug. "Happy to see you too"

Euphemia smiles and puts her hand on Black's shoulder.

"And how are you at home?" She asks more softly. Because the matter was delicate.

Sirius lowers his shoulder a little and says, "You know. They'll never get better. But I was lucky to come here for the holiday."

"That is good!!" Euphemia smiles and pats his shoulder twice. "You know you're very welcome here, right?" She smiles and Sirius nods.

"Right"

"Well, I'm going to go prepare dinner. You're going to stay here for the whole holiday, yes?" The twins' mother asks, looking hopefully at her son-in-law.

Sirius scratches the back of his head shyly.

"I would just stay for dinner today and come back on the 25th"

"Capable. You can sleep here. We love your presence" Euphemia smiles.

"Even more Y/n..." James says quietly, while looking at the walls of the room, even louder for the two of them to hear.

Sirius smiles as he rolls his eyes and Euphemia looks on reprimanding her son.

"James!!!"

James laughs.

"I'm sorry, mom"

Euphemia smiles and then turns to Sirius.

"Think better, the house is open for you"

Sirius shakes his head smiling and Euphemia then heads to the kitchen.

"By the way..." she turns and the two boys turn around. "Y/n is upstairs, in her room. She must have gotten out of the shower already."

Sirius smiles from ear to ear and nods.

Then, Euphemia turns around and goes to the kitchen to prepare dinner. While James was stretched out on the sofa near the fireplace and Sirius was still standing.

"Well, I'm going up to see the love of my life. Then I'll come down so we can talk more" Sirius smiles, winking at James and then picks up a bouquet of sunflowers, which was on the armchair where he was previously sitting.

James rolls his eyes smiling.

"Come on, I'll help mom in the kitchen" James gets up and pats his best friend's head.

Sirius reflexively closes his eyes and smiles, then goes up the stairs to Y/n's room.

As he walked up the stairs, he could hear a melody coming from James' twin's room.

From the tone of the music, he could tell it was from a Muggle record player.

The door to Y/n's room was half open. Sirius stops in front and can see his girlfriend humming the song while looking in the mirror and finishing her eyeliner.

Y/n was still singing when she saw Sirius smiling and admiring her in the mirror.

"Love!!" She turns around happy and smiling. "Goes into"

Sirius opens the door completely and approaches the dressing table where his girlfriend was sitting, giving her a kiss on the head and another on the lips.

"Hi, honey" he smiles and bends down to be as tall as she was. "I missed you"

"Me too, darling" Y/n smiles and kisses her boyfriend's lips again.

"Here, I brought it for you" Sirius says and removes the bouquet of sunflowers that was hidden behind his back.

Y/n's eyes shine, and Sirius's are filled even more with love.

"Merlin, they're beautiful" Y/n holds the bouquet and smells the flowers. "Thank you, love" she looks passionately at Sirius.

"All for you" he kisses his girlfriend's forehead before getting up and heading towards the bed. "So what was the girl doing?" He sits on Y/n's bed.

"Yesterday I went out with my father, and in one of the stores I saw a magazine with a beautiful eyeliner tutorial. I was testing it on myself. I had just finished it when you came in" She says, while placing the flowers inside the vase she had in the room. "look, I think I kind of killed it" Y/n stops in front of her boyfriend and closes her eyes.

"You always rock!!" He smiles proudly and holds his girlfriend's waist, pulling her towards him and the two of them falling back onto the bed.

"AAAH" Y/n screams in fright and laughs.

With that, Sirius had his hands on the girl's waist, while she had her hands on her boyfriend's chest.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" Sirius says looking at Y/n.

Y/n's cheeks turn red.

"You're blushing!!" Sirius pokes Y/n's cheek, teasing her.

Y/n feigns offense and tries to get out of her boyfriend's arms. But it's in vain.

"I'm not, no. You are"

Sirius laughs loudly.

"Don't fool me, doll," Sirius says, with a mischievous smile on his face.

"No...nooooo!!" Y/n says slowly and Sirius tilts his head to the side.

"A is??"

Sirius then starts tickling Y/n's side as she starts laughing uncontrollably.

"Siri-Sirius" she said aloud.

Sirius turns them both around, changing position. This way, he was more in awe of his girlfriend's body, so he could tickle her more.

"Okay, okay!! I really turned red" Y/n says loudly and then Sirius stops tickling and puts both hands on the side of her head.

"Really?"

"Yes yes!!" Y/n kisses her finger and puts it on Sirius' lips.

He laughs.

"I'll only believe you if you do this eyeliner on me"

Y/n widens her eyes happily.

"Serious??"

"Yes, doll"

Y/n lets out a happy squeal and then rolls over on the bed to get out from under Sirius and grab the tube of eyeliner.

"Okay, sit there and lean against the headboard" she says, returning to the bed and Sirius obeys.

He leans back and stretches his legs. Motioning with his hands for Y/n to sit on his thighs.

Y/n walks up to him and does as asked. Accommodating himself so he could have a better view of Sirius' eyes, to better practice the eyeliner style.

"Hey, hey. Just don't move around too much." Sirius says swallowing hard and Y/n understands the message.

She laughs loudly.

"Okay, I'm sorry," she says and then leans in to do her eyeliner.

With that, James walked past the girl's bedroom door, widened his eyes and turned around.

"By Merlin!!!" He says loudly and the couple looks.

"That's not what you're thinking at all," Sirius says and they both laugh.

James turns back to Y/n's room with a frown in his eyes.

"Apparently I'm going to have to sleep on the couch today. I don't want to hear ANYTHING strange in the early hours of the morning" James says and then walks to the next room. Which was his.

Y/n just rolls her eyes smiling and turns back to Sirius.

"Oh, I'm glad he's going to sleep on the couch. That way we can last longer" Black says with a crooked smile in his eyes.

"SIRIUS ORION BLACK!!" Y/n scolds and he laughs.

Author: I'm open to requests, so if you have any, please go to my question box on the profile and ask!!! And if you liked it, like and reblog🫶🏽

[thedevilsoftruth]

Hey!, I just finished rewatching moon knight and now scrolling through the moon knight tags when I came across a post about how Mr knight is actually Marc Spector and Steven Grant is a playboy billionaire in the comics and I was shook. Then I came across your post of you ranting about the differences from the show to the comics, which blew my mind!, and now I’m so intrigued and curious about the true lore of moon knight, every time I try to search about it on google I just get references from the shows (so frustrating) I can’t afford to buy the comics, so if you can/want could you please tell me all the important and interesting facts/lore that’s in the moon knight comics?

Sorry for the long message, just came across your page and pressed follow, love your content!. ❤️

AAAAAAGGGGHHHH HOLY SHIT. HOLY SHIT. GIIGLING AND KICKING MY FEET IN THE AIR. HEY, LOOK MA, I MADE IT!! I GET TO EXPLAIN THE MOON KNIGHT COMICS LORE TO SOME GUY ON THE INTERNET!!

in all seriousness, this made my day. I'm so glad you enjoy my content, and I will happily explain to you the MK lore!

I completely get you on the not wanting to but the comics thing. Comics are expensive. Honey, imma be real with you, readcomiconline.li is where it's at. It's where I read all of the comics I didn't have.

So before I go on a tangent and explain things, and this goes for anyone wanting to start reading the comics, heres a little list of all the comics I've read so far in what I understand to be chronological order.

It's a little bit cheesy and a VERY long run, but Marc Spector: Moon Knight from 1989-94 is maaayybbeee where you want to start off, but maybe not. I didn't start off with this run, but even as bad as the old comics are, they're a bit important.

But, I HIGHLY suggest you start out with the Lemire and Smallwood run from 2016. It was the first run I completed, and it's an amazing run and VERY important to read. Many people say it's the best run. It's certainly a run, I'll tell you that. ( Also I didn't read that one online, I received it last year as a Christmas gift. Also readcomic doesn't have all of the issues, so be warned on that. )

Next I read From The Dead. And I moved on to Vengeance of The Moon Knight from 2009. And after I'd suggest reading Age of Khonshu, Devils Reign and then The Midnight Mission. You can read all of these for free on readcomiconline.li ( don't type in comics plural because it will direct you to the wrong site ) be warned though because there are a lot of ads and you will get jumpscared by anime boobies.

~~

Now moving onto what you asked me for. The important stuff, right.

I'm new to this whole comic reading stuff as well, and for anyone else reading this who knows more than I do, please add additional information I missed down in the reply section. It would mean a lot. So now I'm going to give a you a quick run down on Marc's origin story. ( And for a quick disclaimer, I will come off as not taking myself seriously in some parts of this post because I don't take myself seriously lol. )

Marc Spector was born on March 9th, 1987 in Chicago Illinois into a Jewish family. His father was Elias Spector and his mother was Wendy Spector ( his younger brother being Randall Spector )Elias was a rabbi who manged to escape Nazi prosecution during the days of Hitler and all that jazz. Because Elias was a rabbi, Randall would get picked on at school a lot, and Marc would be there to stand up for him. Even at a young age Marc was exposed to a lot of violence. That could come from growing up yk... Kinda poor and having to stand up for your lil bro.

Marc's violent nature was really born when a close family friend of his, Yitz Perlmen was discovered to be a secret serial killer who targeted Jews. From what I understand, Perlmen tried to Kill Marc ( mind you Marc was like 11 or 12 ) but Marc had escaped but his traumatic experiences led him to form D.I.D

As seen in the Lemire run, the first time Marc had encountered Khonshu was when he was 12 and was getting diagnosed for his D.I.D Marc wasn't told to his face from the doctor about his disorder and was told to step outside the office. Marc tried to evesdrop on the conversation, and from outside of the doctor's office, he meets Khonshu. Khonshu tells him, " That man in there is not your true father. I am. " Mind you, Marc is 12!!! 12!!!! Khonshu began manipulating Marc since he was twelve because he was, obviously really fucking young, and traumatized. Khonshus tactics were to strip Marc away from his religion and culture and make him submit to him.

So anyways, Marc was sent to Putnam Psychiatric Hospital and would stay there until he was 18 when his father funeral came along and he was let go for a week to go visit his family. This is where we learn Marc's relationship with his father was complex. Marc tells his mother, Wendy, that his father must have been happy to send him away because he was embarrassed by him. Wendy and Marc have an argument, which ends in Marc saying he's going to the bathroom, when he actually leaves to his childhood bedroom and escapes out the window when he hears Khonshus voice.

Marc later enlisted into the U.S marines Corps and served as a private for a couple years. But on Marc's second tour to Iraq, superiors started to report his odd behavior and they found out that Marc had lied about his disorder, leaving him to be discharged. Marc joined the CIA and served with his brother Randall. Randall was jealous of Marcs talents and killed Marc's girlfriend, Lisa, because she was going to expose a gun scheme. Marc then like... Threw bombs at Randall and shit and then assumed he was dead...but he wasn't.

Marc left the CIA after that and started doing illegal boxing, where he met his soon to be best friend, Jean-Paul Duchamp ( usually refered to as Frenchie ) and they became mercenaries together and started killing a bunch of people, in Marc's case, for mooonnneeyyy!!! Get that bag, girlie. And then Marc got put on trial for war crimes!! His crime being yk...assistanting the president of this south African country called Bosqueverde as one does.

And then he started to do missions under this group call the Karnak Cowboys and fell in love with one of his groupmates, Layla El-faouly, as seen in later issues of The Midnight Mission. Then she fucking died when an escape went wrong.

So anyways Marc meets this funny lil guy named Raoul Bushman ( he is not funny lil guy, he's killed hundred of people, probably) So Marc works for him with Frenchie and they, together, set to north Sudan to raid a dig site. ( This should start to sound familiar, as it was briefly touched on in the show when Arthur's guys captured Steven and put cuffs on him and slammed him in the back of their car ) Looks like raid shadow legends went down again, and things started to get not so epic when Raoul killed the lead Archeologist of the dig site, Peter Alraune in front of his daughter Marlene. This pissed the ever loving shit out of Marc because even though Marc likes violence, he doesn't enjoy violence against innocent people, and so he punches the fucker but uh oh! The Raoul Bushman Strikes Back, and he fucking KILLS MARC IN RETURN AND EVERYONE ELSE EXPECT FOR FRENCHIE AND MARLENE AND THIS ONE MF WHO TOLD HIM HE WOULD TELL HIM WHERE THE DIG SITE WAS. ( really Raoul left Marc mortally wounded, but he was on the brick of death, basically)

Marc was able to regain conscious and drag himself halfway to Khonshus tomb ( which is what Raoul was looking for ) Marlene and a bunch of other citizens find Marc and they carry him to Khonshus tomb. Marc hears Khonshus voice for yet another time, and Marc is revived and becomes the Moon Knight we all know and love. Then he basically killed Raoul's guys and then fell in love with Marlene.

So that's his origin story. Now onto the stuff I know as fact but it won't be explained in chronological order because I haven't read a ton of comics to explain it in chronological order.

He used Steven as a a way to handle money and build wealth so they could have recourses like vehicles, weapons and a ton of other random bullshit ( go!! ) that they don't need. Jake was used as a new York taxi driver so that he had his eye in the streets and knew when shit was goin down. They're both kind of horny. Jake literally spends some of his free time in a strip clubs drinking rum. ( As seen in the midnight mission and implied on in the Lemire run. )

His relationship with Marlene was long, but didn't last because, if I'm recalling correctly, Marc had a mental breakdown and decided to basically stop working for Khonshu so he could be with Marlene. But soon after he started hearing Khonshus voice again and Marlene couldn't take anymore of it, so she left him.

And then there's that bullshit with The Midnight Man. All I know is that he passed away from cancer and had a son named Jeff Wilde. Jeff aspired to Marc and wanted to be his sidekick, kind of like Robin and Batman in the Lego Batman movie with a little less adoption, but Marc kept on refusing as a way to protect Jeff. The Jeff had this whole thing where he turned evil or some shit idk and I guess Marc killed him? I'm not sure. Please, moon knight gang, let me know what happened in the reply section because I'm ignorant.

Marc had his independence from Khonshu after banishing Khonshu to Asgardian Prison ( seen in Age of Khonshu and discussed in The Midnight Mission) and decided " fuck you, I don't need need you anymore. Imma do my own thing and you can't do nothing about it " and then he became Mr. Knight. Mr. Knight is kind of a detective and he consults with policemen ( as seen in From The Dead ) Moon Knight is the one who does all the fighting.

From where Marc's development is at right now, Marc was running a thing called the Midnight Mission, which was a place where citizens would go to to report strange things happening in the city.

Additional, fun information:

Marc has a daughter named Diatrice. He only knows about it because Jake had a secret relationship with Marlene on the side after Marc and Marlene broke up.

He sleeps all day in the tomb of Khonshu and fights crime at night. He's like a bat!!

His ringtone ( as seen in the midnight mission) is The Killing Moon by Echo and The Bunnymen. ( Y'all should listen to it, if you haven't. it's really good. ).

He drives a red convertible car ( as seen in the Brain Micheal Bendis run, don't read it it's REALLY bad and insufficient. ) and also a motorcycle ( as see in Vengeance of The Moon Knight)

He was originally supposed to fight mainly just werewolf's and um... Writers at Marvel had different ideas.

His favorite drink is an ice cold vodka ( as seen in the Midnight Mission)

He had a mansion and then his money went bye bye and now he lives in a haunted house ( as seen, once again, in the Midnight Mission)

Frenchie is also gay! Hes married to a man named Rob! ( And this is only from what I've heard, by he apparently had a secret crush on Marc at some point.)

And yeah. That's all I have for ya today. Thank you if you made it this far, and I hope I was able to satisfy your curiosity a little bit!

Goodknight everyone!!!

[cellythefloshie]

;; What My World Spins Around

Dedicated to @ladylooch for @wyattjohnston 's winter fic exchange 2k24

Summary: Christmas day sparks a series of unexpected gifts that lead you and Timo to face a question the two of you had been avoiding since his trade to the New Jersey Devils almost a whole year ago. What will your future hold, and will you be spending it together?

Tropes & TW: Brother's Teammate, Exes To Lovers, Friends with Benefits to Lovers, "we were on a break", gift giving, reader wears glasses, trade angst, - there is no smut in this fic - Injured Timo - written as if he will remain on IR until mid/late February.

Word Count: 4k+

A/N:  I was getting a little worried as the January days have been passing like falling dominos! But alas! My 2k24 Winter Fic Exchange entry is complete! A huge thank you to @wyattjohnston for organising the event and being so supportive when I ended up in your messages feeling like I was never going to be able to write a proper story again after months of not really writing because of my new job. And another huge thank you to @matthewtkachuk for letting me jump into their messages for the same reasons, and when I needed a little help to gain my confidence with Timo. I very much appreciate it! Now, for my lovely recipient, @ladylooch ! Thank you for giving me an opportunity to explore a player that I have only really admired from a far! It was so much fun doing the research and uncovering his career through the NHL in the last 7 seasons! I hope that I was able to touch on all the things you love about Timo and expected from this fic every time I dropped into your anons to ask questions. Enjoy!

There was only a single moment of calm on Christmas morning, and it could only come after gifts had been opened and breakfast had been eaten, and you intended to take advantage of it. The children could be heard in the family room, preoccupied with one of the many toys they had been spoiled with from their parents, Santa, and naturally, yourself. Being the fun live-in aunt came with a cost, not that you minded. You loved your family and your matching Christmas pajamas that would be plastered all over your family’s Instagram page for the coming weeks. And with the children distracted, you used your rare moment alone to enjoy your own gifts. 

Curled up in an armchair by the tree, you held your new book in your hands, your fingers holding each side carefully as you did your best not to crease the binding of the paperback romance novel. You had only been sitting there thirty minutes at most, but you were a quarter of the way done when you heard a pair of footsteps shuffle into the room. You didn’t have to look up to know who they belonged to. You had been hearing them her entire life. The slow, heavy step of slipper clad feet over hard wood could only belong to your brother. 

You had half expected him to be sleeping in front of the television with a Christmas movie playing on repeat for the kids already, but you could hear him shuffling around the Christmas tree just over your shoulder. The scratch of his slipper was harsh against your ears. 

“Making all that noise, you better be taking that tree down–” you finally spoke when the noise was becoming too much, all without looking up from the pages of your book. 

The tree never came down until after the new year, but in your mind, there was no other excuse he could have for making so much noise. 

“There’s still a present back here for you,” he claimed, and you peaked over the edge of the pages. 

“What is it?”

“Don’t know, but it’s not from me,” he told you, and his hand came into view in front of you. 

In it, he held a deep red envelope with your name written across it in an elegant cursive. It was unlike any you had seen before. It wasn’t your brother’s hand, or your sister in laws. Nor was it your mothers. The unfamiliarity of each letter left your brows to furrow as you placed your book down in your lap and took it from your brother’s hand. 

You opened it slowly, careful not to rip the pretty envelope as you pulled out what looked like a basic Christmas card. It was only when you opened it that you realized the magnitude of the gift: dinner reservations at your favorite restaurant in San Jose. 

It was the one restaurant where you spent every special occasion. Your birthday, anniversaries, celebrating your brother’s milestones, had all been spent there at the same table since your brother had been traded to San Jose almost a decade ago. But it was also a restaurant you had been avoiding since your own boyfriend had been traded from the team - giving you very little to celebrate as the status of their relationship had been called into question when he left. 

Were you single? You wouldn’t say so. 

Were you taken? You didn’t know the answer to that question either. 

You hadn’t broken up, but you were on a break. 

It was easier, or so that was what you both claimed, when there was a whole country between them. Timo was on the East Coast playing with the New Jersey Devils now, and you were on the West helping your sister-in-law raise her two children while your brother was busy in net for the San Jose Barracuda and the San Jose Sharks on the rare occasion. 

You could have gone with him, but that was a reality you chose to ignore. You couldn’t justify going to Jersey with him, not even when he asked. Your entire life was in San Jose, and uprooting it for someone who struggled to commit until your brother had found out you were sneaking around together, and hadn’t even thought about proposing in the five years you were officially together. 

Seeing the reservation sent memories of Timo flooding through your mind, your stomach feeling as if it were suddenly tied into knots as you looked up at your brother with a sad smile. 

“This isn’t from you?” You asked slowly, your voice on the verge of breaking. 

His large shoulders shrugged. “Not from us, but you should go. I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

***

Your dinner reservation wasn’t until the new year after the chaos of gift giving and family events were over. That also meant the restaurant scene was quieter. There was no waiting in line just to tell the hostess you had a reservation while they were turning others away on a thirty minutes or more waitlist. It also brought a certain peace. One that was laced with the gentle melody of classical restaurant music, the gentle clink of cutlery against fine china, and the subtle sound of wine being poured into your glass as you eyed up the menu you practically had memorized. 

“I didn’t order any wine,” you spoke, your gaze rising from the menu as one hand left the leather cover to push your glasses back up the bridge of your nose. 

The server didn’t stop his pour until he was satisfied with the fullness of the deep red wine in the glass. He then offered you a soft smile and displayed the label of the bottle to you. The wine was your favorite. The same one you had ordered every time you had dined in their establishment - which, in reality, was only two or three times a year. There was no way they would have remembered.

Lowering your menu further to place it down on the tabletop, you turned in your seat. You looked one way, and then the next looking for a familiar face. Your brother. Your sister-in-law. Timo. Anyone. But the surrounding faces in the restaurant were those of strangers, and the seat across from you at the table remained empty. You were alone, and would spend the remainder of your evening alone, too. 

Through the three courses of an appetizer, main course and dessert, you enjoyed it alone. The wine, and your favorite dishes, should have been enough to keep you distracted, but your mind found no peace as you stared at the glass of red wine. It became closer and closer to empty with each sip, but it couldn’t answer the question that haunted you in the back of your mind. 

Who had gone out of their way to make this reservation for you? 

Your questions were only fueled further when the bill was delivered to the table. You reached into the depths of your purse and pulled out your wallet, but you were met by the same smile he had when you had questioned the wine. The bill had  already been paid for. 

***

Dinner was just the first gift of many that you would receive in the month of January. The second came in the mail one day – the date one you couldn’t quite remember. It was a package among junk mail, its stiff cardboard box sandwiched between color flyers. You hadn’t expected a delivery, so you were going to leave it resting on the table for your brother, or his wife, but with a clumsy step you had walked into the table. It sent the flyers fluttering to the floor and your name became all too clear on the shipping label. 

You carried it with you up to the privacy of your bedroom before you opened it. The shock of the gift sending it to fall from your lap to lay open on the bed. Inside, a book. But not just any book, your favorite book. A special edition, signed by the author. 

Pushing up from your bed, you rushed down the hallway to the children’s room where your sister-in-law was with the kids. Their laughter was a pleasant sound to your ears, coaxing a smile as the question slipped from your lips without a proper announcement that you had come home, “that book that was on the table downstairs, that from you?”

She looked up from the children with a smile, her hair falling into her face before she could push it back with a single hand. “No, that wasn’t us,” she said, her smile knowing. She knew just who had sent you the book, but she wasn’t about to tell you. 

The next gift came on Valentine's Day. You were at the part-time job you balanced with helping with the child care of your brother’s kids. It was there you received a bouquet of flowers, your favorite flowers. They came with no card. It came with teases of having a secret admirer from your colleague, your brother when she arrived home, and the children. But now, you had an idea of who had been sending you all the gifts, but had yet to receive any confirmation. 

All your speculations were put to rest when you received one final gift box on the 20th of February. It was a large black box with a teal ribbon that sprawled halfway across the dinner table. You stared at it for a long moment, your hands sweating as they came together to nervously rub at each other. Teeth bit at your lower lip, and your lungs struggled to take a single breath as you reached out and tugged at a single strand of ribbon that made up the bow. It fell so fluidly away from the box it almost left you in awe as it draped over the table top but your eyes could only fixate on it for so long before your hands were lifting off the top of the box revealing bright red tissue paper inside. 

It was a harsh contrast from the cool hues of the teal to the heat of the red tissue paper - or maybe that was just the raise in her body temperature as you stood at the head of the table as you finally realized who had been sending you all the gifts since the holiday season. The box was stuffed with New Jersey Devils' merchandise. Everything from hats to t-shirts, to pucks and photographs. The box was filled with everything shot of a hockey stick and a set of hockey equipment – but what it did have was a hockey jersey. Black and red, and gorgeous with a 96 on the back and on the sleeves. And across the back, the name of your admirer, your boyfriend, your ex-boyfriend, whatever it was. Meier. 

You lifted it out of the box slowly, sighing as beneath it another gift came into view. A single ticket to the game against the San Jose Sharks in seven days. He wanted you to go, but could you? You had both been apart for so long already that the closure it would give you would do more harm than good. It left you to wonder that maybe it would just be easier to move on–

***

The San Jose Sharks had become a team that struggled to fill their seats beyond an 80% capacity most nights. They were falling back into a rebuild with fan favorites and rookies alike, getting traded away for draft picks to bolster the Sharks' future. But it came with a cost. Fan loyalty wavered, their faith in management wore thin. But on February 27th when Timo Meier returned to SAP Center, the fans followed. His name was on the backs of many and slid off the tongue of all. Some cursed him for leaving, others were excited to welcome him back if only for one night, and you were lost, silent among them. 

You walked with your head down, the large New Jersey Devils jersey hanging off your shoulders as you wound your way through the crowd to get to your seat. It was high up in the area, but not so high that you felt like you were in the ceiling. You could see the ice, but from down there, you were sure Timo wouldn’t be able to see you. The thought left you nervous. 

Going to the game had been a tough decision, but the thought of going and there being an empty seat left you felt guilty. Your attendance wasn’t a hard set decision on what your course of action with Timo would be. You could attend and decide that it was over - or it could reach the end of the game and you could decide that you wanted to try again. Or Maybe, he had decided it all for you. You could decide you wanted him, but the gifts had been a thank you for putting up with him, and a goodbye. At least then, after you were done crying, you might make a couple of bucks after selling it on eBay. 

You sat in your seat with your stomach in your throat, your eyes fell on your phone one minute, and then the next. Every second felt like hours, but then time seemed to freeze as the players flooded the ice to warm up. You held your breath, reading the backs of every single player that took to the ice until the parade from the tunnel was over. You sat there for a moment, your hands curled into fists in your lap and your nails pressing into your palms. Timo wasn’t among them. He wasn’t skating in circles, shooting a puck on the net, or talking up the trainer. He wasn’t on the ice at all. 

You stood up slowly, your eyes squinting as if you had just happened to miss him. You pressed up on your toes even, giving yourself an extra inch to see him, and yet, you still could not see him. 

In a breath from your lips, you cursed so quietly that even your own ears couldn’t hear it. He invited you all the way down there, to what? Not even play? You huffed out an exaggerated breath as you stepped back so that your legs were pressed into the seat of your chair. One hand reached back to lower it for you to sit, but before you could, you felt the warmth of a large hand on your shoulder. 

Turning in place, you saw the back wall first, the number of the section in bold a few seats away, but above you, as you tilted your head back, you saw the edge of one suite. Reaching past it was a single arm clad in a suit you knew could only belong to one person. 

“Timo,” his name was a whisper on your lips as your gaze found his. 

You were breathless as you stared at him. You had almost forgotten just what shade of blue his eyes were. Not too blue that they looked cold or harsh. They were soft and bright but had an almost gray tone, like the sky as a storm rolled in. Your lip quivered as you took in the color, as if you were seeing them for the first time. And if they hadn’t been enough to captivate you so fully you had forgotten about the tens of thousands of fans that gathered for the hockey game, Timo also wore that soft smile of his that had always left you smitten with him. 

“You made it,” he spoke as he leaned over the edge just to get a little closer to you. 

“I wasn’t going to miss this,” you told him with a smile, “but I thought you’d be out there.”

Your head cocked as you pointed back over your shoulder with a thumb towards the ice where his teammates were warming up from the game. 

Timo shrugged in response, his smile wavering and his eyes shifting away from yours for a moment. He was disappointed that much was clear. Had he been expecting you to be keeping tabs on him? “Been on IR since December-”

That’s right! You remembered seeing that headline circulating your social media pages months ago. You had even skimmed one article for the reason - a mid-body injury - and you had assumed that he had healed up and been back in the roster by now. But you were wrong. 

Worst of all, you just should have called. Or texted. Anything. You should have reached out, wished him well. You should have made sure that he was okay. Maybe then the two of you could have figured out just what was going on between the two of you. Yet, you stood before him not knowing his intent, or your own, but happy to see him. 

“That’s right, but then why fly all the way out here?”

“Or you,” he said your name with a smile as he pulled back just enough to find his seat. He was just behind you, just slightly elevated. When he sat all the way back, you couldn’t see him, but as the light went dim, Timo leaned forward, keeping his arm reaching out just enough that his hand could rest on your shoulder for the duration of the game. You could feel the warmth of his touch on your shoulder throughout the night, it only left you when Timo had gotten up throughout the game – including when he stood and waved to the crowd after they played a tribute to his time on the team high above on the screens.

It was a tribute that left you in tears. 

Image by image, one video clip after the next, you were forced through the years you spent with Timo. You weren’t in a single shot, no one else in the arena knew you existed - but you could fill the gaps between each game, between each milestone because you were there for every single one. You were just sneaking around when he took his rookie lap, but you were his girlfriend by the time he scored 5 goals in two periods and everything in between - right until the trade when you felt more like an ex-girlfriend than his partner. Yet, even after so much time apart, you loved him. You could feel it then and there as you sat surrounded by people who applauded him. You could feel it from your head to the very tips of your toes. 

You wanted nothing more to turn around in place and yell it at him. To proclaim it there as the crowd roared along with the game, yet you watched in silence, and welcomed the warmth of Timo’s touch again as he settled to watch the rest of the game with you. 

The two of you remained there long after the game was over and the stands were left empty. You stared down at the empty ice, his hand giving your shoulder a careful squeeze before he spoke out, “get your ass up here.”

“They aren’t waiting for you-”

“We’re in town for the night. I can get a car back to the hotel… com’on, I should be able to help you up,” Timo assured, his arm training outstretched to you as you stood. 

You took his offer carefully, your one hand collapsing with his as the other gripped at the edge of the suite. With his help, you climbed up and over the side, before you settled in the hold of his embrace. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he whispered into your hair, and your grip on him grew a little tighter. “I’ve missed you.”

You choked back a sob, “I’ve missed you too. So much.” More than you had realized, “but you like New Jersey?”

“Love it,” he sighed, “but-”

“But?” you asked weakly. 

“You aren’t there,” you felt his entire body rise and fall in a heavy sigh, and then came the cold of the arena to creep up on you as he pulled away. But he didn’t go far. He moved just far enough away to dip a hand into his pocket. Then, he offered you one final gift. 

Timo dropped a square velvet box down into your palm. It was small, but it felt like the weight of the world in your hands as your neck snapped back to look up at him. 

“Don’t worry,” he half chuckled, “I'm not proposing, but it is a promise.”

Lifting your hand up, you pushed open the box and let your eyes all on a dainty gold ring with a large ruby accompanying an equally beautiful diamond that glimmered in the light. 

“We were still so young when we first met, you remember?” He asked slowly, one hand finding your hip to draw you back in while the other found your cheek and stroked your hair from your face. 

You nodded, your eyes still fixated on the ring. 

“We still had so much growing up to do, and we did a lot of that together. Two kids screwing around, and even as things got more serious, it didn’t feel like much more than that,” but he didn’t need to tell you that. What he had felt, were the very things you had been feeling, but while you were scared he had been feeling trapped and was using the trade to get away from you, you had been hoping it would have finally been enough to commit to you. 

Almost a year later, you were finally getting your answer. 

“But it should have been. I should have proposed. Two, maybe three years in. Before the trade happened. So long ago,” he said your name like it was a curse, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, trying to hide the emotion that crept up on him as he spoke. “I owed you so much more, and I’ve wasted so much of our time growing up. But I needed it. I needed that time to realize what I had, what I had lost - what I can’t afford to lose, and it’s you. It’s always been you."

“I understand that after all this time, it's too late. That you’ve moved on - or maybe you haven’t, but you want to. You don’t have to say yes, because after what I’ve done I’d be surprised if you’d even say yes to a date with me but not promising to you was the greatest regret I’ve ever had and I’d like to try and make that right, if you’d let me.”

You stared at the ring for a long time in silence. Your eyes flickered from one glimmering gemstone to the other. It was flashy for a promise ring. Expensive. One you would wear on her right finger and not her left  - because the offer required no thought. You were going to accept. 

You loved Timo, and it was clear that he loved you, too. 

“As much as I would love to see you grovel,” you grinned a little too wide as you held out your right hand. It was bare, waiting. 

“There will be so much more time for that.” His words were a playful promise as he reached out for the ring and slid it down into its place on your finger. It was perfect. 

Tears burned as they built up in your eyes at the feeling of the ring around your finger. It was one you would have to get used to, but felt right. This was the way it was meant to be. You and Timo, and you hated how long it took for you both to reach that conclusion, but you were grateful you were finally there. Pressing up onto your toes, you threw your arms around Timo. You welcomed the strength of his arms around your body, and then you welcomed his kiss. Your stomach became giddy with butterflies as if it were the very first time and you smiled, knowing it wouldn’t be the last.

[harrysfinelinevol1]

christmas with you

harry styles x female OC

summary: written in harry's pov. a small one-shot detailing a sweet family christmas with harry's wife and his child. he's gone overboard with presents for them both, but will a special surprise from her beat out any gift he had given?

word count: 6.7k

warnings: smut

Bliss.

That was the best word I could use to describe how I was feeling at this moment. Just utter bliss.

We sat in the back of a quaint old church, quietly listening to the melodic carolling, and I had never been happier. No amount of sold-out shows, albums produced or awards won could ever inspire this much happiness within me.

I looked to my left and took in the sight that was responsible for all my joy. My wife and my child.

My nearly two-year-old, Finn, had his chubby little hand wrapped around a strand of his mother's hair. She didn't mind, she was absentmindedly stroking his head as she cradled him against her chest and listened to the music. Finn was behaving immaculately throughout this, despite my wife, Cara, being convinced that he wouldn't be able to make it through the first 20 minutes. I was more optimistic, choosing to have more faith in my child's ability to sit through a carol service despite it being close to his bedtime.

My optimism had paid off however and the feeling of being sat with my small family on Christmas Eve listening to carols was something I wouldn't trade for the world.

I took my focus off my son for a bit and looked up at my wife. She looked ethereal in the low candlelight, her face glowing despite the stress that came along with Christmas Eve. Granted that stress was mostly caused by me not getting the right Christmas crackers from Waitrose, even though I'm not entirely sure how you can get the wrong Christmas crackers. Nevertheless, I had been in the dog house for most of the day and therefore was stuck on child duty. Luckily I had found a website where Finn and I could track Santa's movements across the globe and although I'm pretty sure Finn hasn't quite grasped the concept of Santa yet, he was still enthralled with the graphics that kept popping up whenever "Santa" reached a new place.

Back to my wife. Despite the ticking off and the nagging I had endured today, I had never been more in love with her. There were not enough words in the English language to describe how I felt about her. She had entered my life when I needed her the most and had stuck by my side through it all. Then she had gone and given me the greatest gift I'd ever received. She made me a father and for that, I was eternally grateful.

I sat there for a while, just admiring them. The way Finn nuzzled his head into his mother's chest as he grew more tired, and the soft kisses she pressed to his head as she shifted him into a more comfortable position. I watched on as he began to get a bit fussy, a clear sign he was ready to sleep, but my wife barely batted an eyelid. She soothingly rubbed his back and soon enough his eyes were drooping and with a huff, he slowly fell asleep. As gently as I could, I looped my arm around Cara's shoulders and pulled her into my side. A lazy smile grew on her face as she settled her head on my shoulder and continued to cradle our child. I peeked down at my sleeping son, the feeling of happiness growing so much in my chest that I thought I would explode.

"I love you both so much," I whispered quietly to my wife, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"We love you too," she murmured back, "Best dad ever."

My heart swelled more at those words if that was even possible. When I found out Cara was pregnant, I had spent months stressing that I wouldn't be able to be a good dad due to the nature of my work and spent many sleepless nights fearing that I wouldn't be present enough for the both of them. Once I had opened up to Cara about it, however, she came up with the solution in seconds.

For the first six months of Finn's life, I essentially fell off the face of the planet. I set up a recording studio in the basement of our London home so I could keep writing but also be right there for Cara and Finn. It meant Cara could have her support network around her as they lived nearby and I put my foot down hard whenever anyone suggested touring. I missed it, touring had been my favourite thing to do, but the minute Finn was born, he was my new favourite thing. The moment he was placed in my arms, I thought nothing would ever top that feeling ever again. Yet every day I seem to top that feeling again and again. Even on the hardest of days, they both will make a smile creep onto my face.

It was actually Cara who pushed me back into touring again. I was adamant about staying in London till Finn was at least 1, but Cara insisted. I had released an album that I worked on during her pregnancy and the first months of Finn's life and she knew I wanted to perform it. So at 7 months, we packed up our lives and they joined me on tour. It was stressful but entirely worth it. There was nothing like the elation I felt when I would run off stage and be met by my smiling baby and gorgeous wife.

I had toured for a year and a bit, finishing up about a month ago, more than long enough to appease my fans and myself. I was now working on my next album, as well as undertaking a few side projects but with the majority of my focus remaining on my family. Especially as Cara was going to start a new job in January. She was going to be working part-time as a lawyer for a charity she was incredibly passionate about. It thrilled me to see her be so excited about her new venture and I was willing to do whatever it took to help her realise her dreams. It meant that I was going to be taking over on the childcare front and honestly, I had no complaints.

Plus, I recorded some of my last album with Finn securely strapped to my chest in his baby carrier, and for some reason, Cara was very turned on by the sight of me being a dad while singing.

As I said, no complaints.

I felt a small nudge in my side, and I looked up to see the carol service had finished and the people around us were already up and collecting my belongings. I had properly zoned out thinking about my family. I blinked out of my stupor and looked over at my wife who was amusedly observing me.

"You back with us?" she jested as she slowly got up, trying not to disturb the sleeping baby in her arms and reach down to get her coat. I jumped into action, snagging up her coat from the pew and carefully lifting my son onto my chest so she could slip it on.

"Sorry, went somewhere else for a second there," I replied, cradling Finn's head against my shoulder so he stayed sleeping.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Just thinking about us. Finn's first years," I said, slipping my free hand into hers as I kept a secure hold on my son. I watched as her face lit up, her eyes twinkling with love and adoration as she peered up at me.

"That right? You're too sweet," she cooed as we left the church, picking up the pace on the way to the car so Finn wouldn't be disturbed by the cold air.

"Only for you, my darling," I grinned back at her, slipping my hand out of hers so I could rummage around in my pockets for the car keys. Once they were found, I quickly unlocked the door and Cara helped me settle Finn into his car seat before we clambered into the front seats, blasting the heat to warm us up.

"Fuck, it was cold in that church," I exclaimed as I rubbed my hands in an attempt to warm them. Cara fixed me with a harsh glare, gesturing to my sleeping son in the back.

"Harry, what have I said about swearing in front of Finn?! I swear I just fall on deaf ears half the time," she chastised as she turned the key in the ignition, starting up the car. I sheepishly smiled back at her.

"Sorryyyyyy," I drew out, and she chuckled and shook her head.

"Those puppy dog eyes might have worked when you were 25 Styles, but they sure as hell don't anymore."

"Growing up sucks," I huffed, slumping down in my seat.

"And yet you still act like a child," my wife teased back.

My mouth widened in indignation, "What's got into you this evening?!"

"Won't be you," she swiftly replied, and my mouth fell open even wider.

"Angel! You're joking right?!" I asked desperately. She just shrugged non-committedly, and I crossed my arms like an angry toddler. I was one step away from stomping my foot.

I could see the glimmer of amusement growing on her face and a cheeky smile was playing at the corner of her lips. I couldn't help my own smile that threatened to emerge at her enjoyment and soon all was forgotten.

I switched on the radio to a gentle classical channel in the hopes it would keep Finn asleep throughout the drive but Cara looked in the rearview mirror at our son and sighed.

"I'm going to have to wake him up to feed him when we get back. I should have done it at the service, but I felt weird whipping a tit out in church," she explained.

I chuckled at her words before replying, "You feed him, and I'll get dinner ready. If you're lucky, I might throw a champagne cocktail into the mix."

"Oh god, yes please," she gasped, "I've been hoping you would say that all day."

"Is that why you've been so crabby with me?"

"I have not!" she cried indignantly, "I was just slightly annoyed about the crackers,"

"I think the word "slightly" underestimates it, darling."

We bickered most of the way home, even though both of us weren't angry at all. Cara just liked winding me up and I would never back off. We almost got Finn to the door without waking him but then I dropped the house keys, and in my attempt to pick them up, I bashed my head on the doorknob. Cursing ensued and soon, Finn's sleepy eyes were blinking at me in confusion. When he saw I wasn't smiling and clearly in a lot of pain, he let out a piercing wail, which had me hurrying to the door in order to unlock it before he disturbed the entire neighbourhood.

Cara was less than sympathetic, only giving me an annoyed glance as she carried our screaming baby up the stairs to try and get him settled. I flounced off the kitchen, huffing as clearly no one cared about my sore head.

I busied myself with dinner, smiling as I could hear Cara reading Finn a bedtime story through the baby monitor. The Gruffalo was his new obsession of the month and we had maybe read it to him at least 50 times now, but he was still enthralled every time I picked up the book. I'd like to note that my storytelling was a thousand times better than Cara's, as I would often act out the books I was reading, whereas Cara preferred a calmer approach. Granted, my actions would rile Finn up to the point of him not sleeping after, but where's the fun in just sitting still?

I got started on the champagne cocktails, in the hope that if I had one ready when Cara reemerged, we could forget about the whole keys incident. Luckily, it worked a charm, when she came into the kitchen, dressed in my shirt and some sweatpants, her eyes clocked the drink and therefore she looped her hands around my waist from behind and pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder.

"Did he go down ok?" I asked, peering over my shoulder as I continued to stir the sauce.

"Like a charm. Your son sleeps like a log," she commented, pulling away from me and reaching for her glass. "God these are fantastic H."

I grabbed my glass too, and clinked it against hers, sighing as I took a sip, the sweet yet bitter drink warming my head slightly.

"Dinners almost ready sweetheart, wanna eat it at the table or in front of the TV?"

She stared at me like I was stupid for even asking.

"TV obviously. Paddington's on." I laughed quietly, my wife's obsession with Paddington was second to none.

"Alright love, go sit down, I'll bring this through," I gently pecked her lips before she left, just to remind her that I loved her more than anything.

It was as I was plating the food, I felt a wet snout press against my leg and I almost screamed bloody murder. My border collie, Milo, had this infuriating habit of sneaking up on you out of nowhere and scaring the life out of you.

"Jesus Milo," I cursed as I tried to calm down my heart. Despite his jumpscare, his soft brown eyes melted my demeanour and I gave him a little pat on the head and snuck him a piece of chicken that I had set aside for him. Pleased with his treasure, he trotted off in search of my wife, who I knew he preferred anyway.

"Jammy bastard," I muttered before picking up the bowls of food and bringing them into the living room. Cara was already curled up on the couch watching the film, and I glared at Milo as he had stolen the spot beside my wife. He just blinked lazily back at me from where he had settled his head on Cara's knee.

"Thank you my love," she smiled softly at me as I passed her the bowl, and even though I couldn't sit next to her due to my oaf of a dog, the gratification was enough to see me through.

I couldn't keep my eyes off my wife the entire time, watching with pure adoration as she watched the movie. She cried when Pastuzo died, laughed herself silly when Mr Brown dressed up as a woman and gasped loudly when Paddington almost fell down into the fire.

Her gasp disturbed Milo, who had had enough of my wife now and therefore padded off to his bed in the corner of the room. As quick as lightning I got up and slid down next to her, pulling her legs over mine and looping my arm around her shoulders.

"That bloody dog. Always steals you from me," I grumbled.

"It was your idea to get the dog."

"Yeah but now he loves you more than me! How's that fair," I sighed in frustration but she soothed me by running one of her hands through my hair.

"You pick up his shit at 7am then, he might like you more," she suggested, and I shook my head.

"You do such a good job of it though," I said, closing my eyes in bliss at the feeling of Cara's hands in my hair.

The movie ended shortly after that, but we remained cuddling on the couch for a while, enjoying the peace that surrounded us as we knew it wouldn't last long. Tomorrow most of my family would be descending upon us as well as Cara's brother, so it was going to be actual chaos.

I groaned as she stopped her movements and swung her legs off me.

"Nooo come back, it felt so good," I whined, my eyes still shut.

"I can think of something that would make you feel better," she replied coyly and my eyes snapped open, hoping she was suggesting what I thought she was.

"Angel..." I groaned before she cut me off.

"And you can have it..." I leapt up at her words before she raised her hand to stop me, "...if you finish wrapping Finn's presents first."

I flopped back down on the couch in disappointment, knowing Finn had at least three more presents that needed to be wrapped.

"You're such a tease," I squinted up at her and she giggled at me before going to leave the room, swaying her hips as she did. My eyes were firmly glued to her arse.

"Better get wrapping Styles..."

Now, if there is a record for how fast someone could wrap three presents, I would have beaten it by miles. My hands were a flurry of movements, and it was probably a shocking job, but Finn was a year old and didn't really have a concept of good or bad wrapping.

I took the stairs two at a time, trying to be quiet as I passed Finn's room and flung the door open to the master bedroom.

My mouth dried up as I took in the sight in front of me. My wife was naked on the bed, her blonde hair splayed out on the pillow around her and her hand was firmly in between her legs. Her back arched off the bed as she brushed her fingers over her most sensitive spot and my mouth dropped open.

"What took you so long?" she purred, continuing her movements between her legs, "I'm almost there."

At her words, I was over to her in a flash, batting her hand away from her mound before hooking her legs over my shoulders and burying my face in her pussy.

"AH...fuck Harry," she cried out, her hands going down to tangle themselves in my hair as I devoured her, my tongue running up her slit and circling her clit, nipping it slightly.

I moved one of my hands off her thigh and slipped it round her leg, making her jolt as my fingers feathered her centre. I moved the other hand to her breast, squeezing it roughly as I pushed my finger inside her and continued to lap at her folds.

“Oh fuck… Harry… oh my…” she gasped as I continued thrusting my finger, pushing two in at this point and I could feel her getting closer and closer. So in true Styles form, I stopped.

"No, Harry, please don't stop," she cried, wiggling her hips in an attempt to relieve the ache I knew was radiating between her legs. I unhooked her legs from my shoulders, and moved up her, flinging off my top in the process.

"If you're coming tonight, you're coming around my cock," I murmured in her ear, knowing how much it would turn her on. Sure enough, she reached for the button on my trousers and began frantically trying to open them, as I pressed soft kisses along her jaw just to make her job harder.

Eventually, she got them off, and I reached down to yank my boxers off too so we were both naked, pressed up against each other. As I lined myself up with her, I took a moment to admire her beneath me. She looked incredible, her hair mussed up from moving around on the bed and a light sheen on her skin from our activities. I leaned down and pressed the softest of kisses to her lips, my necklace trailing against her chest.

I broke away and pressed my forehead to hers as I pushed into her, both of us moaning loudly in ecstasy as I filled her out, my tip brushing her most sensitive spot. Luckily Finn's room was quite a way down the corridor to protect his innocent ears.

I began slowly at first, willing to take my time with it as I wanted to savour it all, but my wife had other ideas.

"More," she whispered huskily in my ear and I had to comply.

"Fuck me, my girl wants more," I groaned as I reached down and grasped one of her thighs. She wanted more, she'd get more. I thrust harshly into her, her grip on my back tightening as I picked up the pace. With my other hand, I pulled her arms above her head, pinning her wrists down. It did the trick, and she began crying out my name as she came closer to her orgasm.

"Please," she barely managed to speak at this point and I smiled to myself, proud I could still fuck her hard enough to the point she was incoherent.

"Give it to me. That’s it, give it to me now," I demanded as I pounded into her, groaning as I felt her muscles clench around me. I slowed down slightly as her climax fired through her, her eyes shut tight as she let out an ungodly moan.

After she had settled, I continued to slowly rock into her, chasing my own end as she blinked up at me, staring at me like I'd hung the moon and stars.

"My angel, my love," I sighed as I ducked down to kiss her neck and her jaw. I let her wrists go and she lazily looped them around my shoulders, pulling me into her.

"Let go for me," she encouraged in my ear and my thrusts became more sloppy as the ball in my stomach tightened and tightened before I was tipping over the edge and releasing inside of her.

"Fuck!" I gasped out, burying my head in her shoulder, my hips shuddering against her as I rode out my orgasm.

I went to pull out of her but was met by a grumble of discontent, so I carefully settled down on top of her for a bit, just listening to her breathing. I almost fell asleep before Cara knudged me.

"Get off me now you lump," she ordered and I laughed loudly as I carefully pulled out of her, wincing at my sensitivity.

"And they say romance is dead," I joked as I climbed off the bed before picking up my wife and carrying her into our en-suite. I set her down in the shower before grabbing a cloth and carefully wiping our releases away, pressing gentle kisses to her thighs as I did so. Her hand never left my head as I worked, her fingers tangling in my locks. We then washed our bodies quickly, desperate to get back into bed.

It was just as we got ourselves settled into bed, with the lights off, that Cara piped up again.

"Did you put the stockings up?"

"Fuck!"

-

The next morning, I was feeling a bit selfish and it was Christmas Day after all. I woke early, having a one-year-old had me up by 6am most mornings even though Finn was starting to sleep later. Recognising the benefits of my situation, I decided to have a little fun.

I was spooning Cara, my arm firmly wrapped around her waist so I slowly moved my hand downwards until I found the lace band of her underwear. She moved lightly in her sleep, but her eyes remained shut so I continued my movements. I pushed my hand under her pants, my fingers quickly finding her centre which was becoming slicker with desire the more I played with her.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she lazily smiled up at me, moaning slightly at the feeling between her legs. This wasn't the first time I had woken her up like this and she loved it every time.

"Want you," she mumbled, eyes still heavy with sleep but flashing that please make love to me again look.

"Anything for you, my love," I murmured back as I pulled my hand away and pushed down her underwear and mine. I gently lifted her leg and slowly pushed into her from behind.

Cara and I have always had a vibrant sex life, and we hadn't held back from exploring each other's kinks but this kind of sex was my favourite. Slow and lazy in the early morning, when I could really appreciate her quiet gasps and moans emitting from her perfect lips. I revelled in the softness of her skin and the beauty of her natural features that still held remnants of sleep.

I bought us slowly to our climaxes, holding her close as she shuddered against me, the tightness of her muscles around me helping me find my end almost simultaneously.

After I had slipped out of her and cleaned her up, I realised by some miracle, Finn still wasn't up and I had a few more blissful moments to hold her before the chaos of the day ensued.

"Merry Christmas H," she whispered in my ear as we lay together, pressing a small kiss to the skin just below my ear.

"Merry Christmas Angel," I responded turning my head to rub my nose against hers. I was about to lean in for a kiss before a rustling sound came through the baby monitor.

"Mumma, Mumma," Finn's voice squeaked and I chuckled, before pushing myself upright, my wife doing the same.

"I've got him, you go sort out the dog," she ordered, automatically going into mum mode at the sound of her son's cries.

"Yes ma'am," I saluted her causing her to glance at me, already annoyed.

"Harry, we've got an awfully long day ahead of us, do not get on my nerves," she warned, fixing me with a harsh glare.

"Me!? I would never, darling," I sent her a cheeky grin, already knowing that somehow I would definitely get on her nerves today.

She huffed and flounced off to deal with our son, while I got dressed for the day and went to let Milo out to do his business. I got started on breakfast and some bucks fizz for Cara and me because I knew quite a quantity of alcohol was going to be needed to get us through today.

As I was frying the bacon, I could hear the soft pad of Cara's feet on the stairs as well as her talking away to Finn.

"Can you say Santa buddy? San-ta" she cooed at him.

"San...ta" Finn managed to get out and my heart swelled with pride at such a simple action.

"Well done Finny! Mummy is very proud of you! And because you've been so good, Santa might have bought you some presents!"

"Presents mumma?" I heard him squeak in response as they got closer to the kitchen.

"Yes, lots of presents my darling. But shall we go see Daddy first?"

"Dada, dada," he squealed and a large grin worked its way onto my face at my son's excitement over seeing me. His squeals of delight got louder as he saw me and I came over to the both of them to pick up Finn out of Cara's arms.

"Merry Christmas Bud!" I exclaimed, peppering kisses all over his face as peals of laughter poured out of him.

"Christmas Dada!" he responded, delighted at the attention I was giving him. Cara took over on the breakfast front, watching us with extreme fondness on her face.

At that moment Merry Xmas Everybody by Slade came on the radio and I started dancing around the kitchen with Finn on my hip, loudly singing along to the lyrics. Finn was in bits, laughing at my movements and slapping my face in appreciation with his little hands. I'd performed for millions of people across the world but Finn and Cara were the best audience by miles.

After the song had finished, Cara took Finn back out of my arms shaking her head at my behaviour, "You know Finn, your daddy is supposed to sing for a job! It's a miracle we have any money!"

"Cara!"

-

Our families soon arrived, Gemma's kids using me as a jungle gym from the minute they came piling through the door. I had my nephew wrapped around my leg, and my niece sitting on my shoulders. In return, Gemma was carrying around my comparatively calm son, who was not making her life difficult in any way.

We decided to do presents at ours, which was probably the worst idea I've ever had. It meant double the wrapping paper all over the floor and double the chaos. Kids were screaming, adults were trying to control the carnage and Cara and my mum quickly escape the room in search of another drink. Leaving me in charge.

Eventually, I got the other kids sorted and took my little family off into a corner to open Finn's presents away from all the chaos. I had him in my lap, my hands holding his little tummy as he opened up all his presents, laughing with glee each time a new toy appeared. As I said, every day Finn inspired a feeling of joy in me that surpassed any similar feeling I had experienced before.

"Santa is the bestest, isn't he daddy!" Finn exclaimed breaking me out of my thoughts.

Yeah, Santa is the best. Santa also owes Daddy close to £500 for all the toys that Santa has supposedly gifted.

Finn clambered out of my lap at this point and toddled over to my mum to show her all his new gifts, leaving Cara and me sitting on the ground facing each other.

"Where did all those extra presents come from eh? I thought we agreed on five?" Cara scolded seeing as Finn had just happily unwrapped eight presents.

"You know I can't help myself love, I want to spoil you both." She huffed at my reply but didn't argue anymore. I knew it made her immensely happy to see Finn so overjoyed with his gifts.

"Speaking of," I continued, reaching over to grab her pile of presents from the tree, "Your turn."

I gently placed the presents in her lap, loving the way a shy smile grew on her face at the sight of her gifts. She carefully unwrapped the first one, to try and preserve the wrapping paper. My son took after me, frantically ripping presents apart with no care for mess or recycling but Cara was insistent we try to reuse wrapping paper.

First, she opened up the book I'd bought her, one from a series she was reading and she had been on my case about the next one for weeks. Little did she know, I'd bought it months ago, knowing my wife too well. Even though she knew she was getting it, her eyes glinted with happiness and she gave me a small kiss in appreciation.

It usually took me and Cara a while to unwrap gifts, we were quite touchy people, so every gift was usually followed by some small physical act of affection.

She moved on to the next box out of the three, this one being quite large and she eyed me suspiciously as she began to unwrap it. She gasped when the box came into view, the iconic Burberry logo shining up at her.

"Oh my god Harry," she whispered in shock, and I twisted my rings in anticipation, hoping to god she liked it.

She tentatively lifted off the lid of the box and raised her hand to her mouth when she saw the Burberry coat lying in there. I knew she'd always wanted this coat, I had caught her staring at pictures of it one too many times on her laptop. I just hoped she didn't mind me buying it for her.

"Thought it would be nice for you to have a new coat," I nervously explained, "You know, for when you go back to work"

I was desperately trying to gauge her reaction as she sat there staring at the coat in her hands and I began to get a bit worried before she launched herself at me, arms flung around my shoulder. I immediately embraced her back, overjoyed at her happiness at my gift.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she squealed into my shoulder, pulling back to press a long kiss against my lips.

"That's ok sweetheart, knew you had been after it for a while," I chuckled as I lovingly cupped her cheek, noting the way her eyes were shining with happy tears.

"I love you so much," she whispered, and I almost felt like crying at her words. I could never understand how I had got so lucky with this literal angel that had fallen into my arms, she was everything I had hoped for in a partner and so much more.

"I love you to angel. Always," I responded, linking my pinky finger with hers and kissing our interlocked fingers, something we had always done ever since my One Direction days.

I shifted her off my lap and then handed her my final present, "Come on, one more, then I wanna open mine."

She chuckled at my childlike impatience and reached for the last gift, a small box.

"This better not have been expensive," she warned me as she was unwrapping it. As usual, her warnings went unheard, and she raised her hand to her mouth as she saw the signature blue of the Tiffany's box underneath the paper.

"Harry," she started, tears welling up in her eyes again, but I raised my hand to stop her, sensing a fight coming my way.

"Don't fight me on this baby, I wanted to get this for you. Stop worrying about the price." In all honesty, the coat had cost more anyway.

With shaking hands, she opened up the little bag and pulled out a gorgeous silver angel necklace. I had been in New York a couple weeks ago and saw it in the shop window and I just knew I had to buy it. I hadn't even planned on it but I knew it was perfect for her.

"Oh my god Harry, it's beautiful," I heard a voice gush behind me. I turned around and saw my mother staring at the necklace with a look of wonder on her face. She then turned her eyes to me, a look of pride overcoming her face and she leant down to press a kiss on my forehead.

I knew what she was trying to say to me through those actions and I gave her hand a squeeze in return. My mum had been instrumental in teaching both me and my sister how to treat our significant others, and despite my parent's rocky relationship, I'd like to think Gemma and I came out alright.

My attention turned back to my wife, who was admiring the pendant, tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked up at me then, her face full of elation before leaning forward and pressing a soft and gentle kiss to my lips before pulling away and resting her forehead against mine.

I reached down and pulled the necklace out of her hand before reaching around her and securing it behind her neck. Her hand came up to feel the necklace against her chest but her eyes never left mine. Sometimes I couldn't believe I'd been with this girl for over ten years and I was still this gone for her.

"My presents are gonna be shit in comparison," she chuckled but I shook my head at her joke.

"Anything that you gift me is something I'll always treasure," I assured her, squeezing her shoulder as she smiled bashfully back at me before reaching over to get her presents.

She had got me quite a few, and I rushed to get through them all. There was a new pair of headphones that I really needed, seeing as I broke the old ones, as well as several cool t-shirts she had found in vintage shops, recognising my love for t-shirts with wacky designs. Plus I think she wants me to stop wearing the 'safe sex' t-shirt around the house as it wasn't exactly family-friendly.

I eventually reached the last present, it was a small box with an envelope attached to it, and if I hadn't been so curious about its contents, I would have noticed how nervous Cara got.

"Uh, so this one is from both Finn and me," she explained, beckoning Finn over to us and I smiled as he crashed into his mother's arms causing my wife to grunt at the force of it.

"Finn mate, slow it down yeah," I chastised him as I began to open the card.

"Wait, wait, open the card last," Cara frantically stopped me, and I eyed her with suspicion.

"What are you up to darling?" I queried as I put the card back down and reached for the box. I opened it and found a stunning gold necklace inside, with three circular pendants hanging off it. At closer inspection, I found that two of them were engraved, with a C and an F.

"It's our initials. I know you wanted a necklace with someone to do with us on it and that's the best I could do," she explained humbly.

"The best you could do! Cara this is incredible, love, I have no words," I admitted, turning over the necklace in my hand, sniffing slightly as tears pricked my eyes. I had mentioned to Cara recently that I wanted something I could wear that represented her and Finn. I had already got tattoos for both of them but I wanted something I could hold onto to.

"It's beautiful love," I gushed before turning to Finn and tickling his little tummy to make him squeal, "Thank you for the necklace bubs."

"Welcome dada!" he patted back my knee in response, squirming out of his mother's hold so he could clamber into my lap.

I looked over the necklace again, my brows furrowed in confusion. "Why are there three pendants? Unless you wanted to engrave Milo's name in too!"

"Why don't you open the card," she said inconspicuously. I shot her a confused look before I opened the card.

Dear Daddy (Harry) it read.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS!

I love you so so much! I hope you enjoy your gifts. We especially hope you enjoy the necklace and that it comes to good use in the future. Especially because I have a question to ask you. As much as you and mummy are super fun, you're kind of old and slow, and you have boring jobs which means you can't play with me all the time. So this Christmas, I was wondering if you and mummy could give me a playmate. I don't mind when, but I would love a sibling!

Lots of Love

Finn (and Cara) xxx

My heart stopped in my chest as I read the words written on the card. I could tell Cara had written it because, no offence Finn, but my son definitely was not that articulate or neat yet.

"Are you serious?" I looked up at her in shock, my eyes glistening with hopeful tears, "You wanna make me a daddy again?"

"Only if you want to," she replied nervously, looking down at her lap as if she was scared to see my reaction. I gently cupped her chin and pulled her head up to face me so she could see the joy written all over her face.

"Cara Elizabeth Styles, I would love nothing more than to have another baby with you. In fact, I am begging you to let me put another child in you," I rushed out, gripping her hands tightly if that helped let on how desperate I was to see her pregnant with my child again.

"Ok then," she murmured quietly to me, a smile growing on her face, "Let's have another baby."

I choked on a sob before I yanked her towards me, bundling up both Finn and her in my arms and squeezing them tight, overwhelmed with exhilaration.

"That's why there's an extra pendant. For the baby," she explained and my heart swelled even more.

"Best Christmas present ever," I whispered, "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Bliss.

That was the best word I could use to describe how I was feeling at this moment. Just utter bliss.

-

Hey guys. Long time no see. Firstly, I feel like I apologise immensely for disappearing off the face of the planet and never explaining what happened. I found myself putting way too much pressure on myself to write all the time for you guys and it just wasn't attainable. The pressure got so bad that one day I just stopped writing and gave up. But I love writing and it does bring me joy, there are always so many ideas running through my head that I want to write, including this piece (I did start writing this before Christmas which explains the theme of the story). Going forward I will continue posting from time to time but don't expect it anywhere as near as frequently. I will write when I have time and I want to, but I have an extremely busy life that makes it hard to always fit things like this in. Furthermore, I am moving away from reader-insert fics and instead using original characters. Personally, I find that more enjoyable.

Thank you for the continued support even when I was MIA, I promise I read every message and comment left on my account and appreciated every one, even if I didn't reply.

Lots of love,

Sloane xx

[elliemarchetti]

Enchanted to Meet You

Hello @corcracrow, your Secret Santa here! I know I haven't filled you with questions as I would’ve liked, and you probably have the feeling of not knowing me that well, but unfortunately real life has hit hard both on my creative process and my free time. Anyway, I don’t want to spoil the mood for I'm very happy to reveal myself and I hope you likethe first chapter of the fic I have prepared for this year’s @acotargiftexchange

Plot: The Archeron sisters are prominent members of the Upper East Side, as are the Vanserras. Elain is fresh out of a disappointing relationship, while Lucien is the neglected seventh child of a couple who haven’t loved each other for a long time. Will they be able, after a chance meeting at a Christmas party, to build something they could cherish or will gossips and meddling families stifle the budding interest they feel for each other?

Words: 2241

Elain looked around, a glass of champagne held firmly in her right hand. The celebrations were going well, Feyre was having fun, laughing at a joke delivered by her new boyfriend, while Nesta twirled on the dancefloor like a ballerina in a music box, barely noticing her partner. It was the second Christmas party they attended this year, but since their business was booming, she guessed it wouldn’t be the last. At least the host picked some quality wine, a competent catering and classy live music. All the participants belonged only to the best families of the Upper East Side although, and she suspected not by mere coincidence, the Nolans were missing from the guest list. Some had already begun to whisper ill-will about their absence, but since the event was being held on one of Rhysand’s properties, Elain had the privilege to screen out those who were no longer welcome in her vicinity. She was aware she shouldn’t have been so naïve, a marriage proposal so hasty and at such a young age could only come from the heart when net worths like theirs weren’t at stake, but since she still struggled to figure out what to do with her feelings about it, she thought it wiser to let those social climbers stay in the dark place they called home.

Graysen had defined the architecture of his house as designer modern brutalism, but Elain, for the short time she had spent within its walls, had thought it nothing more than a luxurious prison. There were few windows, practically no natural sunlight, it didn’t have a balcony, a veranda, or even a garden, and although the underground swimming pool and spa had done their duty when she needed to relax, everything, including the obsessive order kept in the rooms by a bevy of maids she had never met, appeared fake. Like the love of its heir, after all, like the glittering gifts of his mother. There was no sentiment in everything they did, and since nothing was more distant from the teachings of her father, Elain had decreed that what happened before it was too late was for the best. Not that she would’ve completely ruled out the idea of a divorce if she found out after she married him that Graysen had joined their families only for financial benefit, but it was a nuisance she preferred to avoid, just like the fast-approaching gossips.

Luckily, someone was ready to save her, or so it seemed from the twinkle in the russet eye she met.

She knew Lucien Vanserra only by name, but his story was almost legendary and the reason most rich parents won’t let their kids go to public schools anymore, even if they were renowned and the courses were the best in the US: coveted heartthrob while still in college, a young professor not in her right mind developed a crush on his socially anxious best friend. When he’d rightly rejected her, she had decided to disfigure him with a kitchen knife. Lucien had been quick to push his mate away from the blade, but had been hit in turn, losing his eye and, despite countless surgeries, finding half his face permanently disfigured by a deep white scar, in stark contrast with his amber skin.

“I wanted to wait for some mutual acquaintance to do the honors, but given the situation it seemed like an appropriate time to come and introduce myself,” he said by a way of greeting, extending a manicured hand. The sleeve of his green jacket ran up a little, showing off a probably priceless watch, matched with the eccentric gold prosthetic with which he had replaced the missing eye.

 “We’ve really lost our manners these days,” Elain joked, offering him a firm shake. It was her mother who told her, before she died all those years ago, that a weak hand was a sign of a weaker character, and after the misunderstanding with the Nolans, she was determined to convey confidence in every detail of her being. That was why she had chosen the dress she was wearing, with a neckline not too exaggerated but not even as chaste as she would’ve once preferred, the skirt narrower on the hips, where previously would’ve been tulle and wide pleats.

“Who do you think is the rudest?” Lucien asked, scanning the people by the bar. Being caught red handed, those who had distracted themselves from their conversations to glance curiously in their direction suddenly turned back to their interlocutors, making Elain smile bitterly. She could already imagine what they would say about them at the next brunch they were going to attend, she could already hear them referring to Lucien as the Beast to Elain’s Beauty regardless of the fact he was extremely charming, his disability just a means to spout malice.

“After careful consideration, I think Keir wins the prize,” Elain admitted, glaring at a blond-haired man who was displaying his voluptuous daughter like a beast at the farmers market to a group of older guests. The young woman seemed incredibly uncomfortable but didn’t leave her father’s side until a scary guy, all cradled in black, asked her to dance.

“He has been trying for nearly a year to convince my father that she and my brother would be a good match, but I think Eris’s interest lies elsewhere,” Lucien replied, nodding at Nesta’s current dance partner. His hair was a little more orange than Lucien’s, way shorter but still long enough to be tied at his nape, and although his skin was lighter, the resemblance was uncanny despite the age difference.

“She’s a though nut to crack,” Elain warned him, wondering if at least this bachelor would last a few months with her. The previous suitor didn’t get to the end of the third, retreating in his chase because of her cold and detached attitude.

“Who knows, they might have found each other, then,” Lucien muttered, drawing a surprised laugh from Elain. She was happy not to be an only child, but sometimes being three sisters and with such different characters was a real challenge. She couldn’t imagine how Lucien managed to get along with everyone in his large family, although, being the seventh, it probably meant nobody paid him much attention.

“Are you as difficult as him?” she asked, once the silence stretched for a little too long. She was enjoying their conversation, the ease with which Lucien opened up, as if he wasn’t used to be associated with the same high-class circles as the rest of the presents. His quick remarks had the same taste as notes passed under the desk during boring lessons, thrilling and personal, even if they talked about nothing of substance, and his presence was grounding, capable of freeing her mind from unpleasant thoughts and calming her anxiety.

"If I want to, but fortunately it’s not something I have often to retort to,” he replied, before downing the glass of liquor in his right hand in a single sip. “And are you the gentles of the bunch as is rumored?”

Elain thought about it for a second. Regardless of how she wanted to behave, her nature wasn’t as wild and showy as Feyre’s or as relentless and demanding as Nesta’s: her qualities lay in diplomacy and understanding of her surroundings, she liked to observe more than act, and make thoughtful decisions to prevent mistakes. She was reserved, always composed, and knew how to keep her opinions to herself, but that didn’t make her any less dangerous, just easier to underestimate.

“I suppose so, or maybe I’m just really good at my job,” she replied, finishing the champagne herself and depositing the flute on an empty tray.

“Which, if I’m not mistaken, is sadly required,” he murmured in her ear, sending a shiver down her naked back. Elain followed his line of vision, and saw her father suspiciously pale and unsure on his legs.

Her eyes involuntarily rolled back in her skull. It was always the same damn story: he was the CEO of a multi-million-dollar company, not a small-town carpenter unfamiliar with open bars, therefore he should’ve known better than to get wasted before midnight, but punctual like a Swiss clock, he proved to be unable to complete even such a simple task. Elain didn’t expect him to suddenly stop drinking, despite all the help his daughters offered and the professionals they were handsomely paying, but she felt like it wasn’t too much to ask for him to not make a fool of himself at public events.

“I could show you where the backdoor is,” suggested her interlocutor, offering his arm with a wink of his good eye. “That’s where I usually sneak out from anyway.”

Convincing her father to move away from the corner of the room where he had retreated, probably in vain search of the poorly positioned bathroom, wasn’t as simple as it may sound, but once they succeeded, Lucien helped her to keep him upright, to make as few guests as possible notice his state.

“After you,” he told her with a polite smile, when they finally reached their destination, before opening the plastic door and bowing to let her pass like the humble usher of one of the luxurious hotels where he too surely used to stay when he did something his parents wouldn’t have approved of.

As soon as she stepped out, the acrid smell of New York immediately flooded her nostrils, and she was sure that if it hadn’t rained so heavily a couple of fat rats would’ve welcomed them back into the real world too.

“My usual luck,” Elain muttered, trying to keep from shivering in the cold. Her jacket had remained in the wardrobe, as to attract as little attention as possible, but the taxi Lucien had kindly called was at least a couple minutes away, so she could only hope that the thin fabric of her dress didn’t show off her nipples hardened by the winter air.

“My mother told me cream goes great with green,” Lucien whispered, and before Elain could ask him what the hell he was talking about, she felt the weight of his blazer settle on her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she murmured, meeting his gaze perhaps for the first time since they’d taken shelter under the tiny plastic canopy. He wasn’t pitying her, he wasn’t amused nor even annoyed, he simply seemed used to helping strangers in need and vaguely sorry that their time together had come to a premature end.

“No need to thank me Cinderella,” he replied, very tenderly, the corners of his mouth slightly raised. “But now we have to load your father into the carriage.”

The taxi had indeed arrived at the only exit of the dead-end street, as close as possible to its future passengers. The pouring rain didn’t take long to soak her hair, and Lucien’s white shirt stuck to his arms, the muscles tense from the effort. The cold seemed to have brought her father a little back to his senses, but his tremors, mixed with an innate lack of coordination exacerbated by the alcohol, weren’t helping.

“Your jacket…” Elain started, once she was seated, but the owner shut her with a shrug.

“See it as a reason to look for me if you ever want to see me again,” he replied, and with that, he closed the door, gesturing for the driver to start moving.

“Where am I taking you, miss?” asked the man, who was already taking the road furthest from the entrance of the venue to avoid the paparazzi camped nearby despite the adverse weather, when he realized she wasn’t going to give him directions soon, the girl too focused on the encounter she just had. Blushing for the embarrassment, and with her mind focused mainly on the heat emanating from Lucien, whose shadow remained on her in the form of his velvet jacket, she absentmindedly provided him her address.

In a moment of clarity, Elain forced herself not to be delusional. Such a handsome and charming guy was certainly already taken, or at least he had a roster of sexy lovers. But then why be so nice? Why help with her father? She was still up wandering the kitchen and asking herself questions she couldn’t know the answers to when Nesta returned home, fortunately alone.

“Judging by your state no redhead was lucky tonight,” she tried to joke, but Nesta’s expression was deadly grave and she plopped down on one of the chaises longues in the living room dimly lit by the fireplace.

“Do you think we should send him back to rehab?” Elain asked, sitting down on the expensive rug the subject of their conversation had bought on his last trip to the Middle East.

“I say give him a second chance, but only one,” she replied, her gaze following the dancing flames.

“You should’ve stayed at the party,” Elain scolded her, resting her head on her thigh, left bare by the deep slit of her dress. “The situation is under control.”

“I can’t have fun when I know you’re shouldering his addiction alone,” Nesta replied, stroking her still damp hair, destroying definitively the elaborate hairstyle. Elain didn’t say anything else, but for some reason, as Nesta recounted her version of the evening, her eyes kept slipping to the door in hope a certain gentleman would ring the doorbell just to say goodnight. 

[rissarants]

Farewell, My Favorite Fever Dream

Note: If you're only interested in my final show's recap, scroll down a bit. Obviously, spoiler warning. My Previous History with Sleep No More Before this past Saturday afternoon, it had been about a decade since I last checked into The McKittrick Hotel. What I thought would be my final visit was in October of 2013, my best friend and I attended another Sleep No More show that was promptly followed by Panic! At The Disco's album release party. It was an incredible evening, despite the "give me a vodka cranberry, this time with vodka" incident that resulted in a bartender gleefully sending me into a drunken spiral. It was my fourth show and I assumed it would be my last. After all, how many times could a person justify seeing the same show? (After perusing the Sleep No More subreddit and discord... apparently a lot. How the hell are you all affording this?!)

Content with my experiences and convinced I had seen all there was to see, I put that obsession behind me.... or so I thought.

The mysterious and cryptic world of Sleep No More lingered in the back of my head like a haunting melody that refused to fade. Occasionally I would reminisce about the blue-tinged forest maze, the smell of the hotel lobby, and recall my 1:1 with Hecate. I relished retelling my experiences to people who had never been to the show. During the peak of my obsession, I had recapped a couple of my visits here on Tumblr (Sleep No More and The Third Time's The Charm) and I would return long after this blog had grown dormant just to reread those posts. I had toyed with the idea of returning, but as I grew older and life became more expensive, so did the show. I couldn't justify dropping that amount of money on something I had seen four times already. Then came the closing announcement. Suddenly I found myself pulling up the site, going over current ticket prices, and wishing I could take that leap. But I was no longer the financially irresponsible 20-something without real responsibility. I'm in my thirties, a mother, and have things like preschool tuition to worry about.

After a casual conversation with my in-laws over Thanksgiving dinner, the topic of Sleep No More was brought up. Immediately I was gushing about how much I adored the show, my past experiences, and how I had never reached that elusive 6th floor. As a result, they ended up buying me two tickets as my gift for Christmas. They had sprung for the Oz's Guest tickets, so we were able to get priority entry, a table, and a complimentary coat check. It was an incredibly generous gift, and I was nearly moved to tears. I was finally going back. My Final Show Recap After an excruciating month of waiting and obsessing, the day had finally arrived. I was going with my husband who had never attended but heard my stories and was looking forward to seeing it for himself. I wanted him to go in mostly blind and only gave him the most basic of tips (e.g. if an actor offers their hand, take it. If you hear techno music, run towards it.) He understood that we would not be going on this adventure together, I refused to be one of those obnoxious couples who held hands the entire time. Half of the fun is going with someone, separating from them once you enter the hotel, and then talking about what you both experienced afterward. For myself, I had done a bit of research before this final show and was hoping to follow the loops of characters I hadn't paid attention to before. While I had this initial plan, I also promised myself that I would go with the natural flow of things. I had been warned about the aggressive crowds and didn't want to let anything like that spoil my final visit. We arrived early, were checked in swiftly, and given a pair of playing cards (aces, which meant we would be in the first group.) Before I knew it, "The Man Who Knew Too Much Prelude" was filling my ears as we navigated the pitch-black maze that acts like a portal to the Manderley bar. We had a table waiting for us, but since we had aces there was not enough time for a drink. Our group was called, and Steve and I were separated almost immediately. I ended up on the elevator and he was in another group that went up some stairs.

I was the first person off of the elevator and the doors shut quickly behind me. For a split second, I thought I may have been dumped out on the 6th floor, but unfortunately, it was the 5th floor. I spotted the familiar bathtubs and beds of the King James Sanitorium and began to wander. I weaved through the Birch Forest maze, which was every bit as eerie and confusing as I remembered. I saw Matron Lang hanging out in her wooden hut and watched her through the window for what felt like a long time. Eventually, I grew a bit bored and wandered down to Macbeth's bedroom.

I watched the scene where Lady Macbeth eventually convinces her husband to murder Duncan. It was at this point that I considered trying to follow Macbeth throughout the first loop and chased him to the canopy where a sleeping Duncan lay. I watched as Macbeth smothered him with a pillow, a long brutal scene where we had to stand there helplessly as Duncan fought back angrily, eventually weakening and giving up with a final twitch. Macbeth tried to wash his hands in a basin, only to realize that they were now covered in blood. I still can't believe that I somehow missed this pivotal moment in my previous shows. At this point, a sizeable crowd had gathered around the (quite handsome) actor who played Macbeth and I noticed a few aggressive women were shoving their way to the front. It was then that I decided to hang back with Duncan's dead body to see what would happen next. I believe it was Banquo who came in, found the body, and began ringing the bell. Malcolm and Macduff arrived, and they all expressed their grief, eventually bringing the body down to the crypt. Again, a pushy crowd had begun to gather and I craved space. I went up a flight or two and heard the unmistakable techno beats of the witches' second prophecy/rave/blood orgy thing. I immediately changed course and followed the beats to the long, dark, hallway topped with a neon sign that once read "Hello There" but now simply stated "Hell here." The rave scene is still as impactful as it was the first time I had seen it... complete sensory overload. I ended up in a spot where I was front and center, watching as Hecate whipped the other witches up into a frenzy. The beat dropped and the strobe lights kicked in, causing the scene to be presented in short flashes. The Boy Witch completely nude, on top of a table wearing an animal's head. Macbeth presented with a bloody infant. The guttural screams of the witches' power.

I stayed after the rave to witness the Sexy Witch do her exhausted, eerie dance behind the bar as Hecate watched. Afterward, Hecate and Agnes had a tense moment where the former gathered the latter's tears in a little glass vial.

It was at this point that I decided to follow Agnes back to her apartment, the Tailor made his creepy appearance through her closet, and the loop restarted. I tried sticking with Agnes for as long as I could, getting to see her dance with the Tailor, steal his money, and eventually make her way to the hotel lobby.

It was there that I was reunited with an old character I remembered fondly: the Porter. While I did not have a true 1:1 with him in my previous shows, he did give me the note that eventually led to my cherished Hecate 1:1. That was then followed by a frantic, yet fruitless attempt at finding her ring.

This time I hung back and observed as the Porter had his tea scene with Agnes, followed by a drunken dance as he cleaned up the hotel. I have to say that this actor was incredibly good, mixing a bit of rage, sadness, and silliness as he leaped around the room pulling sheets from lamps. After the Boy Witch arrived to taunt and then cruelly reject the Porter, one of the other white masks (audience members) was whisked away into the Porter's office for a 1:1. At this point, I admit that I was feeling a little confused about what to do next. I was approximately halfway through this final show and had an anxious feeling about wasting the precious moments I had left. I recalled reading how you could gain access to the 6th floor 1:1 by encountering a nurse on the 5th floor. I decided to check it out quickly, hoping that I would get lucky.

Instead, I ran into Nurse Shaw, who was doing an odd dance in the window between the bathtubs and the forest. I followed her through the woods and ran into Matron Lang who seemed transfixed by the Nurse. They both seemed to mirror each other's movements and the Matron started moving through the maze in an attempt to catch up to the Nurse. She was unsuccessful as the Nurse disappeared back through her window, and I decided to follow a slightly dejected Matron Lang back to her hut. She walked up the steps to the wooden hut and turned around, staring right into my eyes. It was at this moment that she extended her hand. I suddenly felt breathless as the sensation of butterflies tinged with fear filled my chest. Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized I would be experiencing a 1:1 at my final show. I slowly took her hand, and she pulled me up into the hut.

My 1:1 with Matron Lang She was silent as she shut the door behind me, followed by the window, and then turned to face me. She slowly removed my mask, all the while never breaking eye contact, and whispered something along the lines of "That's better." I tried to say thank you, but the words caught in my dry mouth, my tongue suddenly feeling foreign and useless.

She offered me a seat, went to her desk, and prepared a cup of tea. As she did so, she locked eyes with me in a small mirror. She was not smiling. I wanted to look away, but it was so unnerving that I felt like I had to hold her gaze in fear of seeming rude.

She handed me the cup of tea with a spoon and leaned forward expectantly. I didn't know what she wanted, so after a couple of awkward beats, she gently grabbed my hand to guide the spoon into the tea and then into her mouth. I fed her the tea about three times, slowly and trying not to let my shaking hand spill any liquid onto her face.

The entire time she stared at me. I'm sure she blinked at some points, but I swear it felt like her piercing eyes never moved.

After the tea, she quietly told me a story about a young child who was all alone. "Once upon a time there was a poor child with no mother and no father. Everything was dead, and there was nobody left in the whole world. Everything was dead. The boy went on search day and night and since there was no one left on earth he wanted to go up into the heavens. The moon looked at him so friendly! But when he finally got to the moon, the moon was a piece of rotten wood. And then he went to the sun, and when he got there, the sun was a wilted sunflower. And when he went to the stars they were little golden flies stuck up there like the shrike sticks them on the blackthorn. And when he wanted to go back to earth, the earth was an overturned piss pot. And he was all alone. And he sat down and he cried, and he is still there to this day, all alone." (Apparently, this is from Büchner’s Woyzeck. I had to look it up when I got home.)

As she whispered this story, her eyes began to fill with tears, prompting mine to do the same. She held my palm, tracing the lines and occasionally squeezing my hand. She then leaned far back in her chair, pulling my hand with her so I had to lean forward. Without warning, she flung forward, grabbed my shoulders as I gasped, and whispered "It'll have blood they say, blood will have blood." She got up, put my mask on, and showed me the door. As I left, she shut the door behind her, and I was back in the woods with other white masks who were staring at me intently. I walked past them as I tried to regulate my breathing and figure out what to do next. After that adrenaline rush, the rest of the night was a bit of a blur. I bounced between characters as the crowds grew larger and more unruly. I saw the angry Taxidermist searching for something, finally caught the ballroom party, and helped another white mask catch pregnant Lady Macduff when she passed out. I saw the Bald Witch's transformation, the rave one final time, and then followed the Sexy Witch to the apothecary.

She knelt down, dress still hanging off of her with her chest exposed. She washed the blood off of her skin and hair in a small bowl, then stood and handed me a towel. I helped towel her off slowly, she then fixed her dress and grabbed me close to whisper "Blood will have blood" in my ear.

I followed her out to the last banquet and had a front-row spot for the finale. I'll never be able to properly describe how that scene makes me feel. The slow-motion acting, the allusion to 'The Last Supper", Macbeth's frantic "NO", followed by the snap of the noose. Absolutely chilling.

The wood groaned under the weight of the swinging body, with the creaking eventually drowned out by "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" by Glenn Miller. We were all herded out of the hotel in a haze, greeted by a loud jazz band playing old-timey renditions of current popular songs. It's a jarring switch of moods, which only seemed to exacerbate my post-show disorientation.

The 6th floor still eludes me.

Is that all there is?

[thelarriefics]

WINTER FIC REC: Below you’ll find fics that take place during the winter season. 

📖 A Very Darling Christmas by @aquamarinedaffodil (133k)

It’s Harry’s first holiday season since he opened the little bakery at Astor Square and according to his best friend Zayn, he is hopelessly unprepared. With the start of the local Christmas market right around the corner and an already hectic schedule, Harry really can’t afford to get distracted.

Then again, neither can Louis, who is in the middle of directing rehearsals for a winter musical with his drama class and promised his colleague Niall that he’d focus all of his energy on the musical.

But you know what they say: promises are like pie crusts — made to be broken.

📖 like cranberries on a winter evening by @evilovesyou (57k)

Louis hates Christmas. With good reason, too. And no, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

When research for his next novel leads Louis to the website of a quirky little hotel in Northumberland, there is exactly one room available for the two weeks that Louis really wants to get away from his family.

Will the fairy lights, kind smiles, homemade pastries, and genuine friendships awaiting him in Harry Styles’ hotel be enough to cause Louis a change of heart?

📖 Baby, Won't You Look My Way? by @peachbootylouis (50k)

Or the where Louis’ routine centered life runs like clockwork until a chance hook up throws a wrench named Harry into it all. But as it may turn out a change in plans could be what Louis has needed all along.

📖 Cabin Fever by @germericangirl (46k)

One cabin, one bed, two ex-boyfriends. What could possibly go wrong?

📖 Take A Chance On Me by @peachypetalhazz (39k)

When Harry receives two tickets to see one of his favourite bands, he'd expected that his best mate would accompany him. However, it is soon learned that the intentions behind this so-called gift were far more wondrous than he initially thought.

📖 love drunk, waiting on a miracle by @hellolovers13 (30k)

Harry has a bit of a crush on a customer. Thankfully, the feeling is mutual.

These are their first 24 days together.

📖 California stars by @justanothershadeofblue (27k)

A month in the life (and diary) of one Harry Edward Styles, miner-become-farmer in the brand new state of California, and his hired hand, one Louis Tomlinson. AKA Harry goes to San Francisco for supplies, but ends up with more than he bargained for.

📖 One for the Books by @neondiamond (25k)

When Harry decides to move to London a few weeks before Christmas to pursue his dream and become the new owner of a bookshop after seeing an ad online, everyone he knows tells him he must be out of his mind. As he gets acquainted with his new life and meets a handful of incredible individuals—one of which he happens to grow particularly fond of—he slowly comes to the realisation that it may just be the best decision he's ever made.

Or the one where there’s a bookshop, a cat, OT5 friendship, a budding romance, and all the festive vibes.

📖 as in olden days by @scrunchyharry (18k)

Château Frontenac hotel, Christmas 1925 When his father insisted the entire family spend Christmas abroad in one of his new investments, Harry dreaded the prospect of being trapped for weeks in the biting Canadian cold, so far away from the roaring excitement of his London life. As he crossed half of the world to be buried under a thick blanket of snow, he never imagined he would meet a charming bellhop who would do his best to keep him warm.

📖 And winter came... by @noellehenryfics (16k)

A While you were sleeping AU.

📖 This Winter's Day by @becomeawendybird (14k)

Louis is Harry's stablemaster, and when he falls ill and his mother turns to Harry to help her try and find someone he can settle down with, it's only natural that Harry suggests himself.

📖 I Can Build Your Heart A Home by @loveislarryislove (10k)

Harry and Louis kind of secretly sort of dated in high school. Now it's two years later and they're both back in town for Christmas and it's awkward. Until it isn't.

📖 The Clock Strikes New Year by @jacaranda-bloom (9k)

Harry was homeless, but now he has Louis. Louis was lonely, but now he has Harry. And there’s more than one way to see fireworks on New Year’s Eve.

📖 All I know is I'm in trouble ('cause the atmosphere's so cold) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed (8k)

While on a holiday with his best mate Zayn, Louis meets Harry, who seems to dislike him from the start. It's just his luck he ends up getting stuck on a ski lift with Harry. Except maybe the universe knows better and he really is lucky.

📖 Alpha Heater For Sale by @harryslonecurl (3k)

It read: Alpha heater for sale! Winter weather got you down? Call Harry for your warm, furnace-like needs!

📖 Rapture by @allwaswell16 (3k)

It was New Year's Eve in Victorian London, and a lonely vampire could no longer resist the stunning lamplighter he watched night after night.

Or, a vampire Harry fic because what says the holidays like Victorian vampires?

📖 a taste of bliss by @beckydoesthings (1k)

It's New Year's Eve, and Louis is working. As much as he hates it, there's a few benefits to working a holiday. One is the free champagne. The second may or may not come in the form of a curly haired sous chef named Harry.

[sailtomarina]

A Winter Ball for Two

Draco x Hermione | @hp-yuletide-bliss Day 9: Winter ball | WC 2050 | Rating: T

She was enchanting.

Draco could at least admit that.

He might find his tongue tied up in knots, or find sudden, intense interest in the cracks of the castle walls wherever she drew near, but he could not deny that Hermione Granger looked like a winter fairy dressed and glowing as she was in the flickering light of the hundreds of candles floating above their heads.

The Great Hall was decked from corner to corner with its usual Christmas icing, but additional care had been taken to make the event feel extra special in light of the school’s inaugural Winter Ball, to be held annually after their Eighth and final year. The students had truly pulled out all of the stops with their eagerness to bring joy back to the haunted halls of their youth.

Granger spearheaded those efforts as Head Girl, delegating tasks to Professors, Prefects, and volunteers alike. Draco might have been spared if not for his best mate being her counterpart as Head Boy. Theo refused to let Draco hide himself away in his dorm room, or, on the rare occasion, the library. He’d found himself dragged to the Heads’ private rooms and pressured into providing any valuable input the sole child of Narcissa Malfoy could give. He’d grown up in the lap of luxury, after all. Organizing and attending balls were as natural to Draco as riding a broomstick.

He’d expected to be left alone with Theo in the common room, for Granger to avoid him like the plague that he was. He’d seen how others couldn’t help but stare at his arm, as if willing his mark to burn through the sleeve. 

She hadn’t done that.

Granger sat in with them most nights, curling up in an armchair, her armchair as Draco started to see it, cushioned by squishy pillows and swimming in a blanket large enough for a Quidditch team. She started plying them with treats and hot beverages, even going so far as to remember their likes and dislikes and supplying accordingly.

Knowing what she did of his family and home, and bearing the weights of their past, Granger was surprisingly curious about his experiences. She asked him about his family traditions, his most memorable gifts. His experiences growing up in the Malfoy household were much gentler than Theo’s, whose sole comfort had been his mother, one lost after her untimely death.

They, in turn, learned about her and, by default, Muggle traditions.

“I’m telling you, Granger, Father Christmas has to be a wizard. I mean, how could he not be? Fireplaces? Flying reindeer? Time manipulation?”

Theo had taken the opportunity to steal the witch’s chair when she’d gone for a tea refill, and she’d been forced to join Draco on the sofa to address his theory.

“Doesn’t it strike you as odd how entrenched he is in Muggle tradition? It makes me wonder just what kind of man he was–was he simply a philanthropist who wanted to bring joy to all children, Muggle and Magical, rich and poor, no matter their nationality or beliefs, or did he have some other underlying agenda?”

They’d gone on to argue over whether or not one wore pajamas to open Christmas presents–the only way Draco would ever concede would be if she showed up in crimson lingerie, otherwise clothing appropriate for pictures and visitors it was–as well as their expected courses at the dinner table. They both agreed Yorkshire pudding and redcurrant jelly were requirements, but Draco had put his foot down at her insistence that roast beef could be anywhere near the level of a perfectly prepared turkey.

“Why not both?” Theo mused.

“Shut it, Theo,” Draco snapped, “I don’t want to hear that from a wizard who eats his weight in sausage rolls every Christmas.”

Theo had merely winked, sending Granger into a fit of giggles.

“Oh, yes, Theo does love his sausages,” she managed to get out, before dissolving once more into laughter. Draco refused to acknowledge how cute he found the snorts that peppered her glee.

And now, here he was, lurking behind one of the many towering fir trees lining the Great Hall and attempting to blend into the foliage.

It hadn’t been difficult to avoid notice. Very few students, or even teachers, paid him much attention other than to glare or mutter insults. The sooner he could leave, the better. He wanted to be here as much as others did, which meant not at all.

“Why don’t you ask her to dance?”

Of course, Potter would find him.

Draco turned to face his long-time rival, taking in his relaxed stance, the bulkier form he’d built in his time since those days as Undesirable No. 1. Adulthood looked good on Potter.

“I’m surprised to see you here.” He ignored the question, choosing to redirect instead.

Bright green eyes flashed, and Draco couldn’t help but feel like he’d been easily read. Then, in a curious show of nerves, Potter bit his lip and looked off into the crowd.

“I couldn’t resist.”

Draco traced the line of sight. He saw Granger dancing with Theo, her head thrown back in a laugh, the graceful line of her neck bare and delicate. He searched for the expected fiery red hair of the Weaslette, only to find her far off to the right and decidedly not the target of Potter’s desire. So, who was he looking at?

A horrifying thought tickled the back of his mind.

Was he looking at Granger?

“Why don’t you ask her to dance?” he found himself asking the same question he’d dodged earlier. 

Had they found love during their lost year, despite Weasley’s presence? Had Draco stumbled across some sort of love triangle? Granger had never indicated her attachment to anyone, but Draco had assumed the obvious. How could anyone not fall for her in close proximity like they’d been?

“Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose?” One thick, black brow rose in consideration as Potter stared straight at him, his arms now crossed over his chest. 

“What do you mean?” Draco was confused. Defeat the purpose of what? 

He nearly let his younger self sneer out an insult at the way those eyes rolled into Potter’s head.

“How can I spend any time with Theo if I’m dancing with Hermione?”

Wait, what?

Potter and…Theo? 

“No offense, but how? And when?” Draco asked, nearly sputtering in disbelief.

“Well, I’d have thought the intricacies of gay sex would lie outside of your particular interests, but if you really want–” He broke off with a laugh at Draco’s choked gasp. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. You make it so easy sometimes, Malfoy.”

“I do not,” he muttered. He hated that Theo and Granger both said the exact same thing.

“I’d heard about how he helped last year here at the castle from Neville, the way he was there for the younger kids no matter their house or blood status. That couldn’t have been easy for someone with his background.”

That knowledge had surprised Draco, as well. He hadn’t been around last year, either, but it didn’t take long for Theo’s actions to make themselves known throughout their mutual circles. Theo’s father had been…less than pleased, but that hadn’t stopped his mate from doing whatever he could to help. Theo was a better man than Draco, by far.

“So when Hermione brought him around, I already had a good impression. After meeting him, though?” Potter’s face softened, his expression wistful as he glanced back towards the dance floor. “How could I not fall for him?”

Not only was he the Chosen One, the damn Savior of the Wizarding World, but he was every bit the sort of person Draco would have wanted for his closest friend. He was brave and, Draco could admit it now, kind.

One song ended, then another began, slower, sweeter. Draco summoned up every bit of courage he could find. There wasn’t much, but it was enough.

���Let’s go, Potter.”

Again with the arched brow. Then, a crooked smile, one Draco couldn’t help but reciprocate.

Within moments, he stood before her, sweat building at the nape of his neck. He resisted the urge to wipe his hands against his robes. She turned at his approach, her partner now also facing away towards Potter.

“Malfoy? Is there something wrong?”

Sweet Salazar.

Her skin was flushed in the heat of her movements, tiny curls spilling out of her updo and framing her face in a way that had him yearning to brush them back, to lean in and breathe in deep. Her chest rose and fell heavily, chestnut irises pierced through with flecks of gold staring up at him in question.

“Would you do me the honor of this dance?”

Curiosity melded into pleasure, her lips spreading wide to show off her perfect smile. He wanted to make her smile like that everyday.

“It would be my pleasure.”

She placed her hand in his, and he smoothly moved it up to his shoulder, stepping in close to sweep her up into his arms. It didn’t matter what song played, or whether or not she knew the steps–as far as he was concerned, there was nobody else but them. Hermione seemed just as caught in the moment as he, her face upturned and rosy lips parted as she traced his features like she meant to memorize the moment for the future. He knew he would.

She floated weightlessly in his embrace, her steps following him without hesitation. A raise of his arm and a spin had him admiring the silver-white twirl of her skirt around her slender legs. It didn’t matter what she wore, however. He still would have thought her just as enchanting were she in her favorite joggers, her mane tied up in a wand as it often was.

“You look beautiful.”

She blushed at the praise, eyes darting away for a split second like she couldn’t believe him.

“So do you.” Her head jerked back and eyes widened comically, and she hastened to correct herself. “I mean, you look handsome. Your robes, they bring out your eyes.”

He found it impressive that she could blush even deeper, and couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “I don’t mind ‘beautiful’, but you’re free to compliment me however you’d like.”

The hand that was resting on his shoulder came up to thwack him lightly on the back of the head.

“Ow!”

“That’s for teasing me,” she said with a scowl, but he could tell she didn’t really mean it. 

“As long as you don’t punch me in the nose again.” Could that have been the moment that she really caught his attention? Not her blood status, nor her annoying academic superiority, but her swift right hook?

Her head tilted one way, then the other. “I don’t think I will. I quite like your nose how it is.”

Well, in that case.

He brought his face down closer to her own, and she squeaked at the sudden nearness of him. 

Fucking adorable.

“Hermione?”

She stared unblinkingly back at him, as caught by the sound of her name on his lips as she was by his proximity. “Yes?” she whispered, so softly it was only his eyes on her lips that read the word.

“Would you let me take you out this weekend?”

“Out?” she echoed, still barely audible.

“Out. You. Me. A date.”

“A date?”

Had he broken her? She looked lost, like she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming. Maybe he’d read her all wrong, and the perceived closeness of the past weeks was nothing but his imagination. Perhaps his request blindsided her, coming from someone she only saw as a friend of a friend, or, worse, someone she barely tolerated.

The possibilities roared through his head and his movement slowed, no longer hearing the music. He wanted to leave. He should have left earlier, before Potter and his bloody bravery.

“I’m going to–”

“Yes.”

Strings and woodwinds roared back to full volume, laughter from the other dancers surrounding them as he returned to the ball. To Hermione. She looked up at him now, serious, expectant.

“Yes?”

Hope unfurled like the spreading warmth of a crackling fire as her lips turned upward and creases formed at the corners of her eyes.

“Yes.”

Cross-posted to Tumblr and AO3

Well, this certainly went a tad deeper than I had intended. I wasn’t planning on doing much backstory on their relationship, but couldn’t help myself with Theo in the mix. He’s such a darling, and I loved inserting a bit of him and Harry into the background.

[demigoddessqueens]

my lady, the artist

This is based per a DM request from @lady-mandalorian-fett for an OC. Had such a fun time writing this one

and this is my first request for this 🎥

Also read here on ao3

How could one begin to describe her? Ebenezer always knew she was a constant presence in his life.

Childhood friend, wife, mother of his child and the secretary for his business. The art she gracefully crafted on the side added an element of life to the building and in their home. Though he was known as a stringent miser, the emotions slipped through the cracks whenever he saw Victoria’s art.

But there was more to it, as it was for such a woman. In learning more to change his life, the harrowed Scrooge re-examined the life that had been gifted to him. Only he never truly realized it until now.

Past showed him how the torch had long been lit since the beginning. Yes she loved him, always did since they were children, despite the feelings he long held for Isabelle. The guilt he felt when Ebenezer realized why Victoria kept her distance for a while, and how he never bothered to check on her at that time. Even after the heart-breaking separation from Isabelle, he thought creating happiness and starting anew was best in marrying her. But the lingering sadness still remained, and his obsession with money clawed at his heart, despite Victoria’s reassuring protests.

Present was eager to show the older man that there was still a spark that had yet to flower as before. The sight of his nephew and employee’s toasts pulled at Ebenezer’s emotions, until she came into view. Victoria had insisted on taking their young child to visit those of her family before returning back on Christmas. But it was the words she spoke that echoed in his mind.

“Deep down, I know he cares. There’s a heart underneath those layers, and call me a fool or what have you for wishful thinking, I still believe he’s capable of true change. If not for me or his child…”

Yet To Come revealed the bleakness of his absence in Victoria’s life. A father taken too soon, and a husband that was mourned by one who still wanted to see the good in him. Even as doom threatened him, Scrooge’s protests called out to the love he let slip through his fingers.

After he awoke from the harrowing visions from the night, Scrooge reveled in the newfound appreciation and love for life. He’d tell her, make things right again with Victoria, and live life to the fullest every day with her and their child. His two greatest loves.

After preparing for the Christmas Day, Victoria had returned from her trip. Sweet, beautiful Victoria with her exquisite features and natural grace. Scrooge ran like a mad man to her, cupping her face into his hands as the locks tickled his face when he kissed her.

“I love you, and I wish to never be apart from you, my love. My treasured wife…”

[jokerislandgirl32]

Zach and American Girls Headcanon

Y’all forgive me, this is probably going to seem like such a cursed headcanon, but I do not mean it in any bad way! This is actually a headcanon I love for him.

But… here it is, I think Zach’s mother collected American Girl Dolls and their book series, and she passed her love for them on to Zach!

You can read the full headcanon below the cut!

I was an avid American Girl fan as a child. I have 9 dolls total, 7 of which are in the Historical Doll collection, and during the massive cleaning/revamp I’ve been doing in my room I have been planning a display location for my dolls with their books.

And of course the selfshipper in me thought of Zach…

Last summer @creativegenius22 and I were gushing over Zach and she mentioned that his swimsuit had a historical theme to it, which it obviously does, and since both of us enjoy history we naturally headcanoned that Zach himself just had to be a history lover too, lol.

So that, in combination with my American Girl display idea resulted in this….

My headcanon is that his mother became an avid collector of the dolls when they were still owned by the Pleasant Company and continued to grow her collection with each new release. She had a special room in their home where she displayed the dolls with their books. Each time a new doll, book, or doll’s outfit was released she bought them. If she had holiday or seasonal themed clothing for the dolls, she dressed them up whenever Christmas, their birthdays, summer, etc., rolled around.

(Image and info on the dolls can be found via this link to this great doll blog for anyone interested)

At first Zach was annoyed by his mother’s insistence that he appreciate the dolls and read their books, but Zach reluctantly gave in to his mother. He grew to know every doll’s name and story, and once he’s learned their stories, he realized that their stories were not just “sissy girl stories.” They were actually filled with drama, humor, angst, and awesome historical facts.

Zach’s mother didn’t really allow him to play with the dolls, but he sometimes snuck into the “doll room” and took the dolls from their displays to reenact some of his favorite scenes from the books. As Zach grew older he stopped this, but he never forgot the dolls, and he secretly developed an appreciation for history because of his association with the dolls and their historical journeys.

So much so that he decided to embody his favorite dolls/characters: the turn of the century (1904-1907) best friends and adoptive sisters Samantha and Nellie through pieces in his wardrobe. His swimsuit (loosely) resembles Samatha’s bathing suit and his pajamas (closely) resemble Nellie’s nightwear.

And why were these two Zach’s favorites? Because they are my favorites he felt like he related to Samantha. She was upper class and was an orphan, although he was not an orphan he felt distant from his parents making him feel like something of an orphan. Nellie was also an orphan and he loved the idea of them both becoming sisters and finally feeling like they had a family by the end of their story: something he longed for from his busy parents.

As a side Headcanon, I also imagine this being a topic of discussion in my AU. Zach learns that Violet has a few of the dolls herself, including Nellie and Samantha, and he realizes they have yet another thing in common, so he admits his love of the dolls/books to her. And, knowing this, Violet would gift him one of the doll’s book series or a doll at some point.

So there is my Zach American Girl Headcanon! I know it is odd, but it makes me so happy!

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Christmas Reruns 2023 Day 8: Have Yourself a merry Little Christmas (1/3)

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t!  One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia.  A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns.  So here you go!  Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

Word Count: 2166

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Note: This story was first posted in 2014

Chapter 1: It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Notes: This story was originally written in 2014. Killian is perplexed by all the lights and music and hustle and bustle that starts to appear around Storybrooke just after Thanksgiving, but luckily Henry helps him figure out what this “Christmas” is all about. He makes it his mission to help Emma overcome the pain of her past so she can truly get into the spirit of the season.

It all began to appear at the end of November, as far as Killian could tell. Last Thursday, Swan had invited him to join her and her family for the celebration of something called “Thanksgiving,” a holiday, as best he could tell, which consisted of gorging oneself on exorbitant amounts of food and then watching a sporting event called “football.”

The next day, the entire feel and tenor of Storybrooke changed in an instant—brightly colored lights adorning every conceivable surface, evergreen wreaths twined with ribbons, gracing doors and walls, portraits and figurines of a rather portly man with a long white beard and a red coat wherever one looked. Most mystifying of all, the fairies, who Regina had managed to free from the sorcerer’s hat, had erected a replica of a stable in which a woman, several men, cows, horses and a donkey knelt before a tiny baby lying in what looked like a manger.��

Even the music that blared from every shop and eating establishment had changed. It appeared a holiday entitled “Christmas” was fast approaching.  Judging by the songs of the season, Christmas involved a jolly man who drove a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer (one of which had a red, glowing nose), a deity who came to earth as an infant born of a virgin, families and loved ones spending time together, peace and goodwill among all, and gift giving.

It was utterly bewildering.

Killian sat in his booth in the diner, sipping his coffee and waiting for Swan’s lad to join him for breakfast when the most perplexing sight of all met his eyes.

The bell above the door chimed, and Killian’s eyes widened as he watched a very bad-tempered Leroy step inside dragging a gigantic fir tree behind him. A generous coat of snow covered the dwarf from head to foot and fell from the tree in clumps.

“Leroy!” Granny bellowed. “You’re tracking snow all over my diner.  What do you think you’re doing?”

“Sorry, sister,” Leroy muttered in a voice which proved he was anything but. “You asked me to bring you a Christmas tree, and a Christmas tree I brought.  Ain’t my fault Mother Nature chose today to dump on us.”

“You couldn’t have shaken the damn thing off before you came in?” Granny continued, her hands planted on her generous hips.

Leroy glared. “Look, you don’t like the way I do the job you gave me?  Do it yourself.”

Granny rolled her eyes, and then threw up her hands. “Fine, just put it in the corner, get it decorated and stop blocking my doorway.”

Christmas involved bringing trees indoors and decorating them? What an odd custom.

Leroy grumbled under his breath as he hoisted the massive fir onto his shoulder and crept laboriously toward the corner Granny indicated. He fought with the tree for some time, cursing under his breath as he tried…and failed…to hold it steady while simultaneously securing it in the stand Granny had placed in the far corner.

“Hey pirate!” Leroy called from beneath the tree’s boughs. “I could use a hand or two.”

Killian grinned, set his coffee back upon the table and got to his feet. “Alas, dwarf, I have but one to lend.”

Leroy emerged from the tree and fixed a surly scowl on Killian. “Not in the mood for jokes.  Just get your leather clad ass over here!”

Killian sketched a mocking bow and ambled in the dwarf’s direction. “As you’ve deigned to ask so politely, I’m at your service.  What precisely do you need of me?”

“Just hold the damn thing steady while I get it screwed in.”

Killian complied, holding the tree still, while Leroy tightened screws fastening the trunk into a stand of sorts.

“Now, next job: untangle the lights and string them on the tree,” Leroy commanded.

“Er…” Killian said, scratching behind his ear, “what the bloody hell does that mean?”

Leroy glared for a moment before rolling his eyes. “Don’t you know anything about Christmas?  Grab that string of lights over there, untangle it, and wrap it around the tree.”

The bell over the door chimed once more, and Killian looked up to see Henry, rosy cheeked from the cold and bundled within an inch of his life, walk in. Mentally heaving a sigh of relief, he turned to Leroy.  “Sorry, mate,” he said, “I’ve plans to dine with Swan’s lad.  I’m afraid you’ll have to find someone else to assist you.”

Leroy continued to mutter as Killian made his way back to his booth, but otherwise, mercifully, kept his opinions to himself.

“Hey Killian!” Henry called as he peeled off his hat, scarf, gloves and coat and plopped down in the booth.

“Good morning lad,” Killian greeted with an affectionate ruffle of the boy’s hair, “how are you this frigid morning?”

“Starving,” Henry said, grabbing a menu. “I could eat an elephant.”

Killian laughed. Such was the lot of a pre-teen boy.  Swan had complained just last night that her lad was eating her out of house and home.  “I’ve yet to see elephant on Granny’s menu.  Suppose we settle for pancakes and bacon?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Killian flagged down Ruby, who appeared with the lad’s usual hot cocoa with cinnamon.   He placed their orders, and then sat back in his seat, watching with amusement as Henry swiped a generous dollop of cream from the top of his beverage with one finger and then happily licked it clean.

“So why’d you ask me to have breakfast with you?” Henry asked after taking his first sip and sighing with contentment.

Killian grinned. “Does a man need a reason to ask his mate to dine with him?”

“Well, no,” Henry said, “but when you called last night, you said you had things you wanted to discuss.”

“True enough,” Killian remarked after taking another swig of his coffee. “As the days pass, it becomes increasingly evident to me that I need to ascertain just what this ‘Christmas’ holiday entails.  I asked you mum about it, but she seemed unwilling to discuss the matter.”

A shadow passed across the lads face. Killian watched him closely.

“Yeah,” Henry said, uncomfortably, “she doesn’t seem to want to have anything to do with Christmas. I was hoping now that she’s gotten settled in her new apartment, she’d let me help her decorate, but she doesn’t want to put up a tree or stockings or make cookies or anything.”

“These are traditions of the holiday?”

“Yeah, and Mom wouldn’t even discuss any of it,” Henry took another sip and frowned. “It was kind of like that last year too.  She finally put up a tree for me, but she really didn’t want to.”

“And it’s important to you to observe these traditions?” Killian asked carefully, trying to assess the root of the lad’s obvious unhappiness.

Henry shrugged. “Yeah, but, I mean, it’s not that.  My other mom is doing all the Christmas stuff and so are Grandma and Grandpa.  It’s just that I’m worried about Mom.  It doesn’t seem like she’s just being a Grinch or something; Christmas seems to really upset her.”

What precisely was a “Grinch?” No matter.  The import of the lad’s words was clear enough.  “Would you like me to talk to your mum?”

“I was hoping you would,” Henry admitted. “If anyone can make her feel better it’s you.”

Killian grinned. “It would be my pleasure, Henry.  I’ve plans to meet your mother for lunch.  I’ll broach the subject then.”

“Thanks, I’m really glad she has you.” Henry looked away uncomfortably.  “Look, Killian, about what I said back when the Shattered Sight spell hit…”

Killian waved the lad’s words away with a negligent move of his hook. “Don’t concern yourself mate.  You were cursed; I’d hardly take your words to heart.”

“Still,” Henry said, “I just, you know, wanted you to know that I didn’t mean it. I do like you, and, well, I like how happy you make my mom.  I never saw her this happy, even when she was just about engaged to Walsh.”

Killian clapped Henry on the shoulder. “It’s mutual lad.  I enjoy the time we spend together, and I love your mother more than life itself.  I must say it’s heartening to hear that I make her happier than a charlatan in simian form.”

The wolf girl returned with two steaming plates of pancakes. Killian grinned in amusement as he watched Henry tuck into his breakfast with the gusto of one who hadn’t eaten in a week.  When the lad’s worst pangs of hunger were apparently sated, Killian returned to the subject at hand.

“Now, to return to the original topic of this discussion. I was content to merely watch the town’s dealings with regard to Christmas until I received your grandmother’s invitation to the town Christmas party.  Now I find it incumbent upon myself to learn what is expected of me with regard to this holiday.  For example, what precisely does a ‘dirty Santa gift exchange’ entail?”

Mary Margaret, as the current mayor of Storybrooke, had evidently decided that the best way to foster town unity and holiday spirit was to throw a party upon the occasion of Christmas. It was to be held on the eve of Christmas itself, and Swan’s mum had assured him that it would be an evening filled with joy and laughter.  She’d further assured him that he was free to spike his cup of eggnog with as much rum as he pleased.

“It’s awesome,” Henry said around a mouthful of bacon. “It’s kind of like a gift exchange and a game all wrapped up together.  Everybody brings a wrapped present, and then…”

The lad went on to describe a game worthy of a pirate—full of theft, strategy and the winning of loot.

“So, it would seem gift giving is an important part of this holiday?” Killian asked.

“Yeah,” Henry said, drawing out the syllable. “It’s not, like, the most important part of Christmas, but people like to give each other gifts at this time of year.  It’s a way to show people that you care about them.”

“Aye,” Killian said, nodding his head, “but that leads me to my next question. What precisely is a man expected to give to the woman he loves?  I’ve heard multiple renditions of a song which seems to provide a roadmap, but I find it difficult to believe that Swan would wish me to gift her with drummers and pipers and lords and dancers and multiple aviary creatures.  And what use could she possibly have for eight maids a-milking?”

Henry chuckled. “That’s just a song; no one actually gives their true love that kind of stuff!  But can I be there if you decide to give my mom eleven pipers piping?  Please?”

Killian took a bite of his breakfast and grinned. “I think I’ll avoid that particular spectacle.  I must say, I’m much relieved.  I hadn’t a clue where I was to find ten lords a-leaping.  If that quite motley list is not an example of the proper Christmas gifts for a man to give his true love, what is?”

Henry shrugged. “Nothing in particular, I don’t think.  Just give her something heartfelt—something that shows her how you feel about her.”

“That, I believe I can manage.”

Henry shook his head in evident disgust. “I’m sure you can.  You and mom are so sappy together it’s kind of sickening.”

Killian ruffled the lad’s hair again. “Just wait, Henry.  Your day will come.  One day you’ll find true love, and then you’ll be as ‘sappy’ as anyone.”

“Maybe,” Henry said skeptically. “So is that all you wanted to know?”

“I have but one more question to ask,” Killian said, dragging his last bite of pancake through his remaining syrup. He took his bite, chewed thoughtfully, and then looked at the lad.  “It seems mistletoe is quite important given its prominence in the music I’ve heard during the past week.  To my knowledge, it’s nothing but a weed, something of a nuisance.  Might I inquire what its purpose is during Christmastime?”

Henry groaned, and then buried his face within his hands. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise you’ll never use it with mom when I’m around.”

–Up next, Killian takes Emma to lunch (and for a walk in the snowy woods), and gets to the bottom of just why she’s so resistant to anything related to Christmas. In true Killian fashion, he helps lift her spirits and get over some wounds from her past.

NEXT CHAPTER->

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

As my third night of this grueling nightshift comes to a close, I breathe a sigh of relief and cry tears of joy. Not because I have survived another night, though yes that is important, but because I have finished the one thing that I set out to do back before November ended. Though I am supposed to be on holiday, I knew that I would finish this, no matter the cost. There are so many things I could say, about how much you have done for me, how important you have become to me on this journey. But I know that not a single one of them would sum up the immense amount of gratitude that I truly hold for you, V. The things that I have learned from watching your love for Stephen, the strength that it has given me about my own feelings for Tony, they are the things that I am truly thankful for.

Before I met you, I would have kept my love for him silent, mourned in my darkness and never spoken out about it. I would not have sought help here to process everything that I was feeling, how I want to feel these things. And the more I watched you, the more I realized that I truly didn't have to feel bad about the love I have in my heart for him. It's okay for me to want him here, to want him to have survived so that I can still dream of him. And while there are many, many others that I extend my thanks to, you were the first one that showed me loving a fictional character is okay, no matter what people say. And for that, I gift you this, one last thing before I rest my weary soul for the winter.

Thank you, beautiful flower, for all you have done for me - myself and for Tony - on this long journey. And I look forward to seeing where we go from here. Merry Christmas, my dear.

Oh my heart💗 - in all the best of possible ways!

I am so grateful that something that comes as naturally to me as breathing touched you in such a way that you felt freed to love and mourn and heal. I suppose I didn't get that you'd tried before to tell me this; I can be dense that way at times. But I understand now and I will forever love & treasure this amazing, beautiful, shining labor of your love. Love that comes from an immense heart, and that deserves to find its expression without hesitation or concern for appearences to the wider world.

The details of the gorgeous piece take my breath away. A ring on Beauty's finger...and a baby bump as well! Stephen looking so comfy (especially in that hoodie) and relaxed, holding not only his beloved, but the future they will share. I first saw this when I was half-awake, watching the end of the PBS Tabernacle Choir Christmas special (so I was in no fit state to reply) and as I fell back to sleep, my mind's perpetual fancy had me imagining Stephen finally saying, 'Yes...yes, let's make a baby together...' What a wonderful dream that would be!

I love seeing Tony & Damon together and happy, and that you included Tony's injuries from when he sacrificed himself to save the Universe. And a ring on Tony's finger too! I suppose it won't be too much longer until Stephen & Beauty invite their friends to take on the mantle of godfathers to Baby Strange (baby girl, much to Beauty's understated longing, as it took her mother six pregnancies to get her girlchild). After the first sketch you gifted me, I never would've imagined more--so this is the sweetest surprise and I'll adore it forever. In fact, I'm going to work on a way to make it my icon (although it may mean editing it down to just S&B, but I know you won't mind).

Mere thank you's will never be enough to portray my gratitude, so I will simply say: go rest your weary mind and soul, and may your dreams be blessed with those things you long for most, for you've more than earned that joy. Come Spring, I will be looking forward to hearing and seeing the ideas & artist visions that come to you in your hiatus! You have all my love ~ V

💜💙💜💙💜

[inkshadow]

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, @decadentias​ !!! WE LOVE YOU !!!

      ❝ i think at this point and with the amount of time that we've been together, you have just about everything under the sun but... i hope you like it all the same. ❞ there were a plethora of gifts under the tree for arya from just andrei alone, and even more from the rest of the family. but from him specifically, there were a multitude of skincare products in the smaller, neatly wrapped presents, accompanied by larger presents like lingerie, handbags that she'd been eyeing over the holiday season, nice bedroom and bath robes, and upgraded baking utensils for the kitchen. there was also a playful voucher in there for her to use whenever she wanted to get away from the children. andrei settled a hand at the small of her back and kissed her temple. ❝ i know that tradition is that we open christmas morning but i did not slack off this year. ❞

     ❝ and neither did i, ❞ chimed altair from the hallway, entering the room with a single tiny present. tiny, in form of something akin to a CD, but hopefully held enough sentiment for the mother of three ( plus five ). ❝ worked really hard on it, hope you like it mom. ❞ inside was a piano recording that he'd done all by himself at the studio of an original composition that he thought of upon missing home one winter evening. but specifically, it was inspired by his mother, his favorite star in the whole world.

     elsewhere, duri had prepared a lovely dinner for erin, one that he'd surprised her with when he phoned her asking if she could come over and help him rearrange a few things. obviously sounded proud and hurt on the phone, as though he was distraught not being able to move larger pieces of furniture by himself because it required two people to get it off the ground. she'd bought it, assumed that this was her chance to really rub it in his face that he couldn't do everything by himself but boy was she wrong. instead, she was greeted with a candlelit dinner exhibiting duri's softer side, a side that he only showed to nari, and in the hopes that it would make her feel somewhat... normal. human. just two fucked up, lonely people in the world enjoying each other's company when they needed it most. the spread was divine, with tenderly cooked steaks, several side dishes both american and korean, and his best wine reserve label. for her present, he'd bought her a new clutch purse and inside was a wallet sized picture of the only picture they'd ever taken together, with duri giving a rather grumpy face as she pinched his cheek to further annoy him. appropriate, he thought. ❝ i promise i didn't poison your food. merry christmas, erin. ❞

     one other pair decided to do something a bit brighter for the season, though really it was insu's attempt to get lee out of the house during her finals week. sure, perhaps it was a bit reckless and other days, insu would have absolutely left her alone but this was the only free night he had and he somehow managed to pull it off. there the couple stood after about an hour of bickering and fighting over how finals were more important than doing anything christmas related but thanks to her stubborn nature, she didn't notice where they ended up and her back was turned around to it. surrounding them were lights all over the park dedicated to holding light shows but what stood beside them was the largest christmas tree in the city, decorated with what seemed like hundreds of ornaments, wrapped around with large sashes of glittery fabric, and a large crystal star at the top. he rested hands at her shoulder and turned her around, letting her bask all of its glory as he leaned down to wrap arms around her waist, his chin at her shoulder before turning his head just enough to kiss her cheek. ❝ maybe if you stopped being huffy about school for a second, you can take a moment to just enjoy this. i know you work hard, but you're allowed to play hard too. thanks for coming out with me tonight, even though i know it pained you to do so. i love you, lee. merry christmas. ❞

[glamourgirlz1]

Padded headbands | glamourgirlz.co.uk

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