#i also would like him to have a lot of baubles or at least round elements and large round accessories bc i think thats my first impression o

[welcometoteyvat]

[leaks] kaeya’s skin is looking good but I’m also eyeing the supposed lion dancer boy

[dcforts]

[day 11: sharing is caring] 

That’s just what they need.

It’s not enough that they’ve been digging up graves in the snow and that they’re dirty and tired and aching – the weather had to play its part and send them a storm.

From where they’re stuck in the middle of nowhere in Wisconsin, home seems far, far away.

“Do we know anyone around here?” asks Cas from the passenger seat and Dean closes his eyes and sighs.

“Yeah,” he says  disheartened, “We know Garth.”

*

It’s not that Dean doesn’t like Garth. In fact, he likes him very much. And he’d be happy to see him. It’s been a while and his warm smile it’s never a bad sight.

It’s just that – he’s a lot. And he brings up some stuff.

He may pretend like it never happened but Dean remembers how he first reacted when he’d found out that he’d been bitten and how he acted around his family. And then there’s the fact that Dean doesn’t like bothering hunters who got out of the life. He feels that who he is and what he carries with him, it’s something that they’ve put behind them and don’t wish to see again.

Not to count the bitter feeling that surges in him everytime he’s reminded that Garth not only managed to retire and have a normal life, but he double did it. There are not many hunters, or werewolves, or hunter-werewolves for the matter, that can say that. Dean certainly can’t say that.

Still, when they call him and Garth says he’ll be happy to have them, Dean feels relief flooding over him, if not for the prospect of a warm and dry place to rest for a few hours, just enough to wait for the storm to calm down.

He can manage.

Or at least that’s what he thinks until he and Cas are huddled together on Garth’s front porch and even above the wind Dean hears Christmas songs blasting from the inside.

His eyes find Cas, who’s looking back at him, alarmed, but the doorbell has already been rung and it’s too late to back out. Garth opens the door with his patented smile.

“Guys!” he shouts above the music, “You made it!” he hurries them in the tiny entrance and closes the door.

Dean finds himself enveloped in a cocoon of warmth and lovely aroma of pine wood and cinnamon. His cheeks and hands tingle and he lets out a sigh.

Garth comes back into his view; Dean opens his mouth to speak but he has already wrapped his arms around him. “It’s so good to see you,” he says in his usual cheerful tone. He moves on to squeeze Cas into a similar hug and Cas stiffens and tentatively pats his back. Garth gives out a little laugh, “That’s it, buddy,” he encourages.

“Hello, Garth.”

Alright, Dean thinks, maybe it’s gonna be a little funny. 

But then he notices the two-feet-tall inflatable Santa that’s bumping against his shins and when he looks up he’s stunned into silence. It actually takes his eyes a moment or two to register what’s surrounding them: the garlands on the doors, the tinsels around the banister, the baubles hanging from the ceiling all above them. Judging from the giant Christmas tree he can spot in the living room, he’s pretty sure the rest of the house isn’t in much better condition.

Garth himself is wearing an bulky red knitted cardigan with reindeers all over it. Seeing that, combined with the songs and the decorations, Dean feels the need to ask, “Uh – Garth? Are you guys celebrating something?”

Garth slaps him on the shoulder and laughs like he’s made a great joke. “It’s December, Dean-o! Every day is a celebration. The most magical time of the year, right?” he says beaming “You’ll have to wait for the carols but you’re right on time for hot cocoa!”

Dean feels dread creeping in. He takes a step back, “Wha- Garth, no – we don’t mean to -”

Apparently Cas is on the same page as him because he also starts saying, “This is your family time,” and steps back with him. “We don’t want to intrudr –“

Garth shakes his head vigorously, “Guys, guys, guys,” He holds up his hands to shut them up, “It makes Bess and I very happy to have you here to share it with us. Sharing is caring. And we happen to care a lot about you two,” he says making a silly voice and pointing a finger at them. 

Yeah, nevermind, this was a terrible idea.

Cas throws him another freaked out look Dean can’t help but reciprocate, but Garth pays no mind to their lack of enthusiasm and shepherds them cheerfully into the living room. Dean feels even more out of place among the pastel walls and the embroidered pillows, the toys and the dolls. He tries to make himself weight less so that he doesn’t leave traces of dirt on the carpet. Everything seems soft and cozy, which is a real change from the hard leather seats and the icy wind.

“So, how was the journey?” Garth is asking Cas, as if they’re coming back from a cruise. “It’s been so long, man. Just the other day I was thinking ‘When I’m ever going to see them again?’ and then - ”

Dean gets distracted as he feels something tugging at the duffel bag he’s carrying and when he lowers his gaze there’s a blond head and two little hands trying to hold on to the fabric. “H-hey,” he says, shifting back a little to get out of his reach. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea to have clean, innocent baby hands near a bag that was in a graveyard an hour ago. But the kid takes an unsteady step forward and grabs it anyway. “This is – no, no – uh, G-Garth?” he calls, horrified.

Garth stops drowning Cas in questions and shifts his attention to the ground. He laughs and picks up his kid, totally unbothered, “Sammy, these are not toys for you,” he shakes his head, “He’s such a curious kid.”

Bess comes down the stairs right in that moment, wearing a green cardigan that matches Garth’s. “I thought I heard you two!” she says, even if Dean is pretty sure they’ve barely said a word since they’ve come in. “Garth, why don’t you bring their bag in the guests’ room? I’ll be right out with the drinks.”

There’s another round or “No need -,” and “This is really not necessary -,” and “We don’t want -“ before Garth yanks the bag from Dean’s hold with one hand.

He always forgets how strong he is.

“Of course you’re gonna stay. There’s no way I’m letting you leave in the cold and the dark. Come on! You know me,” he disappears down the hallway shaking his head and saying, “We’re gonna have so much fun.”

Bess gives them an encouraging smile, “Relax guys, take off your jackets, sit on the couch.”

*

So they do. Sit on the couch.

They both let out a sigh when they sink into the cushions and Dean would call Cas “old” if he hadn’t made the exact same sound.

“This was a bad idea,” whispers Dean.

“You think?”

In the sudden emptiness of the room, with It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year in the background, and the giant Christmas tree twinkling in the corner, it’s weird to just - sit there.

Dean is dirty and smelly and feels marginally better only when he looks over at Cas who seems so much out of his comfort zone that he might as well be a tropical bird.

He takes a hopeful look out of the windows behind the couch but the weather seems to be even worse than it was five minutes ago.

“Are you still cold?” asks Cas.

“No.”

“Good.”

They look away from each other again.

In the last few weeks they’ve settled in a pretty hectic routine. Find the case, drive to the case, work the case, drive home, rinse and repeat.

It’s a well-oiled machine, but that doesn’t leave much time for – well, anything else. Definitely not sitting around and relaxing – and it’s just awkward all of the sudden to be alone in a place that is not a sticky diner, or a dusty motel, or a morgue.

It sounds depressing but that’s the hunter life for you. Without even noticing you become your job and it gets easier to just put your head down and work.

After three hunts in a row, Dean realizes this is the first time they’re actually taking a break. He looks over at Cas, his messy hair and the hands folded in his lap, and he feels the need to say something conversational.

What comes out is, “Last time I was here, Garth fixed my teeth.”

Cas’ face scrunches up in confusion but then Garth comes back.

“Have you seen Cas?”

Dean blinks at him and then slowly and dubiously points at his right.

“No, I mean,” Garth laughs, “The little one. I’m so excited for you to meet him,” he says, leaving the room again.

“How do you lose a kid?” Dean asks under his breath, looking around. His attention is drawn to a group of pictures on the little table beside the couch. There’s a bunch of the family on holidays, and then a bunch of the kids. One of the frames says Castiel and, on the bottom, Always our little boy.

“Hey, Cas,” he picks it up to show it to him, “Want me to get you one of these?”

Cas glares at him and doesn’t dignifies him with an answer.

Dean smirks and shrugs, “Fine, we’ll get the one that says Sammy. Can’t wait to see his face on Christmas morning.”

Cas doesn’t look at him again but Dean sees the corner of his mouth stretch a little so he calls it a victory.

*

Then Garth comes back and finally sits down in the armchair across from them. “He’s asleep. I forgot he was asleep!” he rolls his eyes at himself, “Cas,” he says, clicking his tongue, “he’s the best. He’s got this look, you know?”

“Wait, who are we talking about now?”

“Him. No, uh -” Garth laughs and bangs a hand on his forehead. “Sorry, I keep getting confused. Alright, alright, lets call our Cas 'Little Cas' and we’ll call you, 'Big Cas'.”

Dean stifles a laugh.

"I don’t think-" starts Cas, but it gets drown out by Bess coming back with a tray.

From the steaming mugs comes the rich smell of chocolate and on the surface Dean can see mini marshmallows shaped like little trees. He watches as Bess and Garth pick up their mugs and toast before taking a sip and notices with a smile that even their mugs are matching. Bess’ says “Mine” and Garth’s says “Yours”. He thinks it’s cute, whatever.

But then he looks down at his own mug and realizes that there’s something written across it too. It says “Perfect” and when he dares to look in Cas’ way his whole body blushes when he reads “Together” on his.

He takes a sip of chocolate and tries very hard to avoid Cas’ eyes and stop blushing. He fails on both fronts and burns his tongue.

At least it tastes great and the sugar warms him up and makes him feel much more comfortable.

Cas drinks it too without making a fuss over molecules and Dean wonders if it’s because he’s very polite or if he’s a pain in the ass just when they’re alone.

 *

Finally Cas meets Little Cas and Garth keeps telling them how smart he is, because apparently he’s learned how to use the remote.

Dean snorts, “That’s already more than Big Cas can do,” and Cas shoots him a deadly “Stop calling me that,” that shuts him up for five minutes. Dean agrees it was a bad idea anyway.

Kids love Cas, for some reason. Little Cas stretches his arms towards him the whole time he’s in the room and Cas just pretends he can’t see him, as if avoiding eye contact is enough to make him stop. It amuses Dean greatly.

Even Gertie, when she comes in with a gingerbread cookie, looks between them and chooses to give it to Cas.

“I only have one,” she tells Dean, who is totally not offended.

But then Cas says, “It’s okay,” with his soft voice, “We’ll share it.”

And for some reason that makes Dean’s heart flutter. It’s something in the way he casually snaps the cookie in half and hands him a piece.

Somehow it’s different than sharing a car, a motel room, a bed, all kinds of weapons and bags and just space, in general.

Dean doesn’t know what it is, but somehow there’s a difference.

*

Garth is fairly disappointed when he finds out that angels don’t know Christmas carol by heart just because they’re angels.

At some point he just starts playing the piano and expects Cas to start singing along.

Dean says it was a hard blow for him as well, knowing that he couldn’t play the harp, just to enjoy the way Cas rolls his eyes with his whole head.

“What about Holy Night?”

“I- I don’t know that one,” says Cas, for the thirteen time in a row and Dean would love to stay on the couch and watch him awkwardly handle the situation if he wasn’t afraid Garth would eventually try and bring him into it.

So he jumps up at the first occasion to follow Bess into the kitchen right under Cas’ betrayed look.

“What songs do you know?” Garth’s voice carries through the walls.

“Uh, I know Led Zeppelin?” says Cas and Dean almost drops the mugs as his heart expands.

Now he kind of regrets having left the room but then Garth is saying, “Oh no, silly, I mean Christmas songs,” and Bess is asking him, “Do you play any instrument?” so he focuses back on her.

Dean puts down the mugs in the sink and opens up the tab, “Uh - just the guitar – a little bit. Never had much chance to practise.”

“Oh, you should. Then you can bring it up here sometime and play for us at the church.”

Dean scoffs, “You sure they’d want to see me again, after last time?” he asks and can’t hide the genuine uncertainty from his voice.

Bess rests a hand on his arm, reassuring, “Well, it’ll be different. Last time we said, ‘This is Dean, he’s a hunter’. This time, we’ll be saying, ‘This is Dean, he plays the guitar’.”

It’s such a simple concept but it hits him like a brick. He needs a moment to try and see himself from another point of view and he really doesn’t know what to say. Bess doesn’t seem to mind. They dry the mugs in silence and when Dean looks up to smile at her, she smiles back.

Dean, he plays the guitar. It could work.

They go back to the living room and Bess and Garth duet over Silent Night and it’s only a little embarrassing.

*

It gets dark pretty soon after that.

Before they bring their kids upstairs they all take part in the traditional – apparently daily – lightning of the tree. They turn off the lights and when Garth says  “Ready?”, Gertie says “Yes!” and he lights it up.

Only, in the dark Cas gets really close to him and when Garth says “Ready?” Dean can hear him too say “Yes,” and so he turns towards him just as Garth plugs it in and his breath catches in his throat as he sees his face light up with the colours dancing on his skin.

Bess turns on the lights again and Garth puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and it startles him.

“Amazing, right?” he says, “Gets me everytime,” and only then Dean realizes that he’s missed the whole thing.

“Yeah,” he says.

*

Watching them at the table is always a jarring experience.

But just a "How’s the – dental practice going?" is enough to kick off the longest most absurd recount of Garth’s last few years and Dean finds himself laughing heartily with a hand on his chest, having forgotten all about the raw cow hearts on their plates.

They talk about things to do in Winsconsin and Dean tells them about that one time when he was a kid and got sick on cream puffs at a fair. Even Cas talks about Claire non-stop for a solid minute an a half, which is honestly impressive.

Bess and Garth want to know all about Sam and Eileen. When Dean says they’re splitting up more these days, Bess nods and says, “Yeah, I imagine you all enjoy a bit of privacy.”

Dean hears loud and clear the implication that him and Cas are like Sam and Eileen but doesn’t really know how to correct her, so he doesn’t. 

He knows he can’t blame her. He’s not totally oblivious to the way they look from the outside. Working together, living together - just that would be enough to assume. But Dean hasn’t looked at anyone else in years either so – yeah. He knows how it looks.

Cas doesn’t say anything either, and doesn’t show any signs as to whether he’s picked up the implication but Dean can never really be sure with him.

That’s about around the time Dean realizes he’s shifted towards him and has an arm draped on the back of his chair.

Cas hasn’t said anything about that either. Dean doesn’t remove it.

Garth proposes a toast to Bobby and Dean loves him a little bit more and then Bess asks them what they’re doing for the holidays and looks shocked when he says that they haven’t really thought about it yet. 

“But Christmas is in two weeks!”

Dean is about to say that they never really did holidays and they’re always on the road anyway, so it doesn’t matter and they don’t care, but for some reasons he settles for, “I guess – if we’re not working – then we’ll get Sam and Eileen and just -”

He doesn’t know what they’ll do.

Garth makes that face he makes when he finds him adorable.

It makes his skin crawl.

“What would you like to do?” he says and Dean feels hot all of the sudden as Cas looks his way as well.

“Nothing,” he blurts out, feeling his face reddening, “I mean, just stay at home, relax. That’d be great.”

Bess smiles, “That doesn’t sound like such an impossible plan now, does it?”

Cas softly says, “No, it doesn’t,” and Dean’s heart starts pounding.

“Next year we could get the families together,” jumps in Garth and that makes him laugh again.

From the fact that he doesn’t think right away that it’s the most horrible idea that Garth could possibly have, he realizes he’s having a good night.

And even later when he brings to the kitchen the last of the plates and sees Garth and Bess share a kiss and a laugh over the sink, he smiles. He’s careful not to make any sounds as he puts the plates down on the counter and tiptoes back to the dark living room.

Cas is standing near the tree, looking at the decorations and Dean silently joins him.

They smile at each other briefly and go back to watch the tree.

Considering how they’ve started the day, Dean thinks it’s not a bad way to end it.

*

The guest room is – well, like the rest of the house, colourful wallpaper, soft carpets, floral-scented bedsheets. And a Santa on the nightstands with cheeks that light up. Dean puts it under the bed first thing cause it creeps him out.

Garth says, “Are you gonna be alright in here?”

“I don’t sleep,” reassures him Cas and Dean wants to retort that for someone who claims he “just lays down” he sure knows how to steal the covers.

“Yeah, Garth,” he says instead, “We’ll be up early and leave through the backdoor.”

“Well, guys,” Garth says on the door, his eyes swelling up, “It’s been so good to have you here.”

“Yeah, thank you for everything, Garth,” Dean says and he really means it. “We had a good time.”

Garth shakes his head. “You guys make me cry.”

He pulls him into a hug and then moves to do the same with Cas. 

“Come back, whenever you want. And have a very merry Christmas.”

Dean closes the door behind him and leans his back against it with a deep sigh. “If I’d walked home instead of coming here I’d be less tired, I think.”

Cas huffs a laugh as he unties his shoes.

They undress in silence and slips under the covers.

Dean turns off the lights and looks up at the ceiling.

"It’s nice,” Cas says unexpectedly in the dark, “what they have."

A weight drops on Dean’s chest.

"Yeah,” he agrees in the end, “it's nice."

After a moment, Cas speaks again.

“Dean?”

“Mh?”

“We don’t have to – go home straight away,” there’s a pause. The familiar shape of Cas shifts next to him, “We could find some cream puffs for you to get sick on.”

“That’s sweet,” Dean huffs a laugh. “I appreciate it, Cas.”

He settles more comfortably against his pillow.

“I mean it,” Cas keeps going, and his whisper is a lullaby, “We don’t have to find another case. We could just go meet Sam and Eileen in Illinois. Drive home together.”

Dean likes the idea very much.

“Yeah, we could do that.”

He feels his eyes falling shut.

“We could make it home in time for Christmas,” Cas’ voice is saying.

Dean’s lips stretch into a smile.

“Yeah, let’s do that, Cas.”

He falls asleep. 

joining @bend-me-shape-me in doing this!

[hotchley]

the first christmas

please don’t judge the title or quaity of this, it’s 00:50 and i’ve not proofread it. we’re just going to go with it.

summary: it’s baby hotchner’s first christmas that he’s actually going to remember. it’s mostly pure fluff with like the smallest amount of angst, but the ending is happy and nobody dies or gets hurt so we’re classing it as a win. and fluffy.

trigger warnings: implied/referenced child abuse

read on ao3!

Christmas was fast-approaching, and they still weren’t ready. Initially, Dave had wanted everything to be perfect. Now… he just wanted everything to be ready before Aaron woke up. SSA Hotchner had taken a tumble into a river and emerged from it as an eight-year-old. Well, a sort of eight-year-old. He had memories of being an adult, but they were fuzzy at best. And his speech, the way he did things, and his size were that of an eight-year-old.

Jack seemed to be having the time of his life. Dave was just worried they were going to do something horrifically wrong. Like Christmas. Hotch never really opened up about his plans for the holiday season, and now, every time someone tried to get him to open up about what he wanted to do, he clammed up. Or he’d change the subject.

One time, Spencer had asked, and he’d run out the room before he could even finish the question.

They stopped trying to ask him after that. Jessica had no idea what his Christmas traditions had been growing up as her family had only moved when he was going into his senior year, and after him and Haley got married, she still never really knew what the two of them got up to. Jack had seemed uncomfortable when they asked him. After much prodding and gentle confirmation that there would be no judgement, no matter what he said, Emily managed to pry the information from him.

In the years between the divorce and Haley’s death, Christmas was spent with Haley and Jessica, with Aaron there but not really there because you could cut the tension with a knife. After she died, Hotch had always sent Jack to his grandparents for Christmas because then he could see his cousins and spend time with the family he rarely saw. Which meant Hotch usually spent Christmas as an adult alone and sad.

He couldn’t believe none of them had ever realised, but then JJ and Will would always go and see her mom. Spencer would go down to Las Vegas. Derek and Penelope would go to Chicago and then to visit her parents grave. Dave’s plans varied on who was in the area and Emily usually went as far from her family as was possible. But they had all at least had someone. Hotch had nobody.

Rossi suspected that was how he spent a lot of his childhood too. There was no other reason that he would be so small. Because Rossi remembered Jack and Henry when they were the age Hotch now was. They were both healthy and lively. Hotch seemed far too small and far too nervous for a child that was supposedly safe.

He shook his head and stared at the sight before him. The tree that he had gotten at the last minute was still bare because every time he tried to decorate it, something just wouldn’t look right. Garcia was going to come round with cookies and the rest of the team would also be arriving at various different times with assorted items. He knew that meant presents.

Garcia arrived thirty minutes early. When he opened the door to her, he was greeted by bags. Lots and lots of bags.

“Penelope, what have you done?”

She walked in with the two smallest and lightest bags. He sighed and picked up the rest, following her into the hallway as she toed off her shoes and hung up her coat.

“Well Hotch won’t open up about Christmas so we don’t know what traditions he remembers or did. Which means we need to do all of them. I have decorations, cookie ingredients, stockings, films, books and of course, everything you need for the perfect hot chocolate. And he may still believe in Santa so there are some carrots and mince pies.”

“Wait. Cookie ingredients? I thought you were going to bring them?”

Garcia didn’t respond. She’d walked into the living room whilst she had explained what was in the bags and Rossi suspected it was because she hadn’t heard him. He sighed and followed her in. She was staring at the tree.

“What is that?” she whispered, seemingly horrified.

“Look don’t judge me. I tried to decorate it. Multiple times. But every time, something just didn’t look right and I had to start over. I’m a perfectionist. Sue me.”

She turned and stared at him. “Rossi, I don’t know what planet you’ve been living on, but a Christmas tree isn’t supposed to look perfect. It’s supposed to be fun. And I know you want to surprise bossboy, but I think he should be involved. After all, he probably doesn’t remember a single Christmas fondly.”

Rossi realised she, as always, was right. “I guess I got so caught up in trying to get everything to be perfect for him that I forgot it was meant to be fun.”

“Would you look at that? He’s willing to admit when he’s wrong. Where is baby Hotchner at the moment?”

“Upstairs, napping. I don’t think he slept well last night. I also don’t think he likes being called baby Hotchner given that he’s not actually a baby.”

“Well what am I meant to call him? If I say Hotch, then it sounds like I’m referring to the big, mean to unsubs but sweet to the rest of us, federal agent. And Aaron just feels wrong.”

Rossi smiled at her antics. “Maybe. We’ll come up with a better nickname at some point. Do you want me to get him or will you be okay?”

“Oh I’ll get him! Kids that have just woken up are the cutest thing ever!”

Twenty minutes later, Garcia came down the stairs, her hand being held by Aaron.

He looked tiny, even for a child. His pyjamas, which consisted of a green dinosaur top and matching bottoms (only the bottoms had different dinosaurs all over it whilst the top was a single red one) seemed to swallow him up. His hair was falling in his face and incredibly floppy, only made worse by his recent waking up.

It was an adorable sight, watching him rub one eye to get the sleep out.

Dave crouched down, even as his knees winced. Aaron stared at him with wide eyes.

“How are you feeling little one?” he asked.

Aaron shrugged. “Miss Penny said that we were going to do something fun because of Christmas, so I guess I’m okay.”

It took Rossi a moment to understand what he was saying. He doubted any of them- aside from Will- would actually be able to understand his accent immediately for a long time.

“Yeah. We are going to decorate the Christmas tree that’s over there, and then we’re going to bake some cookies. Then, we can all sit on the couch, drinking hot chocolate and watch a film that you’ll get to pick. And after that, when it’s time to go to sleep, we’ll read a special Christmas story!” Garcia said, more excited than the actual kid.

Aaron turned to stare at her, a little disbelieving. “Really?”

She nodded. “Yeah baby Hotchner. Really.”

He still seemed suspicious. “No catch?”

Garcia’s smile faded and she sat beside him too. “No baby. No catches.”

Hotch regarded her for another moment then turned to Rossi. “Promise Mr David?”

Dave’s heart cracked a little. “I promise.”

“Okay. How do we decorate the tree?” he walked over on little legs to stare at it in awe, before moving onto the bags. He looked at Garcia for permission to look through and when she nodded, he smiled so brightly that Dave wanted to freeze the moment and live in it forever.

Garcia turned to Dave. “Rossi, I-”

“Don’t. Not now. He’s very perceptive. Aaron, we can decorate it however you want. You’re too small to put some of the stuff on, but if you tell us, we’ll do it for you. You can do the branches that are lower down.”

Aaron dropped the tinsel. “However I want?”

Garcia nodded. “It’s your tree.”

Aaron grinned and immediately started dragging all the decorations that he wanted to use towards the tree. Both adults got the hint and stood up, walked over to him and started talking about where the best place to put the various items was.

JJ and Derek came in halfway through the decorating process. Aaron froze momentarily, but when they both smiled and complimented the very hectic tree he relaxed and carried on like nothing had happened.

Morgan lifted him up so he could put the star on and Hotch let out a childish squeal that none of them were ever going to let him forget, and just like that, the tree was done. There was tinsel in all the colours of the rainbow draped over random branches, and baubles hanging off every available surface. The lights were wrapped around each section, going the opposite way to the tinsel and the star at the top was crooked. In Dave’s honest opinion, it looked horrific. But Aaron’s smile and pride in his creation made it beautiful.

When Spencer joined them, right before they started making the cookies, Aaron went into shy mode and hid behind Dave’s legs, peering out from behind him to see Spencer joking with Morgan and Penelope.

“Do you want to go and say hi to Mr Spence?” JJ asked gently.

Aaron shook his head. “Last time he was here, I ran away so I don’t think he wants to be my friend.”

JJ looked shocked. “Of course he wants to be your friend! He gets why you ran away, it’s okay darling. You don’t believe me? Okay. Hold my hand, and I’ll show you how much Spencer wants to be your friend. Come on, let’s go.”

He looked doubtful, but Hotch liked and trusted JJ so he stopped hiding and went over to where Spencer was.

“Hotch! Hi there!” Spencer greeted.

Hotch looked up at JJ who smiled encouragingly.

“Mr Spencer, are you angry at me for running away?” he asked.

Spencer frowned. “No. Of course not. I was a little bit upset, because I thought you didn’t like me, but now I get why you ran away and it’s okay. We’re still best friends forever right?”

Hotch nodded, face very serious. “Forever.”

“Well now that’s been established, lets make some cookies,” Derek said.

“You just want to eat mine,” Garcia scoffed.

“I’d rather eat something else of-”

Garcia hit him. “Not in front of baby Hotchner.”

“Miss Penny? When is Miss Emily going to be here?” he asked.

As if on cue, the door swung open to reveal her. “You really shouldn’t keep the spare key under your doormat. Anyone could just waltz in.”

Hotch threw himself into her arms and she stumbled back slightly. “Oh hello child.”

He looked up at her, cheeks slightly flushed. “Hello Miss Emmy. We’re going to make cookies.”

She smiled. “I love cookies. Do you?”

He nodded. “Miss Penny made some a week ago, but these are going to be special because they’re Christmas cookies. She decorated the tree as well, but I got to tell her what to do. Come and see it!” he said without breathing before dragging her to see it.

The others just shrugged, not willing to dampen his spirits.

“I love him as a kid,” Derek commented as they watched him explain the tree in extensive detail.

Baking cookies consisted of Garcia telling the others what to do and then doing it for them because they couldn’t do it right and Aaron giggling at all of them for being silly. His eyes lit up when Garcia gave him the bowls and a spoon before telling him to eat the cookie dough.

He watched the oven very intently. Reid sat beside him, and before anyone knew what was happening, Hotch was running over to them and asking if they wanted to hear what Dr Spencer- not Mr- had taught him.

Garcia let him decorate a whole batch. More icing ended up on his poor countertops and Aaron’s clothes than on the actual cookie, but if you didn’t look too closely, his reindeer and snowman actually looked like they were the things they were meant to be. And then Derek let him have two, which led to Spencer chasing him all over the mansion- not the house- to burn off the energy.

After several hours, they both collapsed on the couch. Aaron climbed into Garcia’s lap, eyes bright and cheeks red.

“I had so much fun Miss Penny!” he exclaimed.

“I’m so happy for you. Do you want a hot chocolate? We can put… marshmallows and cream and cinnamon in it,” she said.

He smiled. “Please Miss Penny.”

“Okay kiddo. One hot chocolate coming right up.”

He settled onto the couch, nestled in between Dave and Penelope when she came back and handed him the mug, full to the brim with cream and other assorted toppings that were definitely going to ruin his teeth.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever had,” he whispered to her, as though it was a very important secret.

“Even better than Mr David’s spaghetti?” she teased.

Aaron paled and seriously considered her question for a few moments before giving the slightest nod. Garcia squealed then went silent when Dave shot her a strange look. It was halfway through Nativity! that Aaron drifted off, the events of the day finally catching up to him.

Derek was the only one able to carry him up without waking him, so the moment they all realised he was indeed sleeping, they switched the film off. Whilst Derek took the sleeping Hotch to Dave’s guest room that they were going to redecorate as soon as possible, Emily grabbed the first book off the pile and followed. The rest stayed downstairs to wrap the presents that Garcia had left in her car, just in case.

Upstairs, Derek and Emily were watching Aaron sleep. Emily read him Stick Man, deciding it was the best story they could have picked.

“He’s so small,” she whispered.

“He shouldn’t be,” Derek said, switching Aaron’s nightlight on before stepping out the room, leaving the door slightly open.

Emily sighed. “Why are we so full of sadness on Christmas Eve?”

Derek wrapped an arm around her. “It’ll all be fine. There. Optimism.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled at him fondly. “Let’s just go help the others wrap, and by that I mean eat the mince pies meant for Santa.”

It was Derek’s turn to roll his eyes.

Dave woke Aaron up slightly later than normal, deeming the events of the previous night reason enough to let him sleep in.

“Merry Christmas little one,” Dave said.

“It’s Christmas?” Aaron said.

Dave nodded. “And I want you to come and see something. You don’t need to get dressed or anything like that. Actually, do you need to pee?”

Aaron nodded, so Dave let him go.

When he came back, Dave stood, ready to just go downstairs when he picked up on Aaron’s hesitance.

“What is it?”

Aaron stared at the carpet for a few moments.

“Little one, you can tell me.”

Aaron didn’t say anything but made grabby hands.

Dave smiled. “Of course.” He picked Aaron up, regretting it almost immediately but only setting him down when they were about to go into the living room.

“Close your eyes. I promise you it’s a good surprise.”

He only hesitated for a moment before complying and walking in, both hands covering his eyes that were almost certainly squeezed shut.

“Open your eyes,” he said, flicking the light on at the same moment that Aaron did.

“Merry Christmas baby Hotchner!” Garcia shouted.

The others chimed in with their own festive greetings.

Aaron seemed overwhelmed, so Spencer went and knelt beside him, explaining exactly what they were going to do, which calmed him down as he started smiling and seemed very excited for all the presents that were under the tree and addressed to him.

Hours later, when Aaron was resting his head on Spencer’s lap so his hair would be played with, Jessica and Jack arrived, having left her dad’s house early. They watched the scene play out from the doorway, smiling when Dave walked over. He nodded in acknowledgement, not wanting to disturb the scene they were all watching.

“He looks so relaxed,” Jack said.

“I still can’t get over how well you’re taking this,” Jessica admitted.

He shrugged. “I’m just trying to not think about it too much. If it means Dad is going to smile and have some better memories, then I’ll choose to focus on that instead.”

Dave smiled at that. They would worry about the cure later. For now, they would give Aaron some better memories.

When they were winding down for the day, Aaron went up to Dave and Penelope, Spencer holding his hand as the two of them were Best Friends Forever and had to do everything together- Aaron’s words.

“Mr David? Miss Penny?”

They paused in their washing/drying duties and turned to face him so he knew he had their full attention.

“Yes?” Penelope said.

“This was the best Christmas ever.”

Penelope scooped her into his arms, and when the others realised they were hugging a definitely touch-starved Aaron, they all came running over and in that moment, there was no evil or bad in the world because for the first time, child Aaron Hotchner felt completely and utterly safe.

[sxvxrxssnape]

minerva mcgonagall’s personal mission to make severus love christmas part 5

aka snolidays/snapemas day 11 and 12 (hot chocolate, baking) // pre-PS/the years between. minerva and severus friendship // content warning: panic attack and mentions of lily potter. i feel like this should be considered a snapetober entry oops. word count: 4287  @blog4snape

The night ended with more hot chocolate as the five stood together and watched a choreography of lights move above the pond, creating elves loading a sack full of gifts onto the outline of a waiting sleigh, watched it become glowing reindeer pulling it off the ground, rising in height and getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared and the light show began again. 

It felt like magic and he refused to believe none was involved. 

He fell asleep fully clothed that night, contentment and milk chocolate running through his veins as he begrudgingly made another mark on the imaginary scorecard. 

Minerva was definitely winning.

Saturday was spent finishing the potions for the infirmary, bottling and stoppering the dozens of phials, and methodically scrubbing the cauldrons clean as he read from a book hovering above the wash basin, the pages turning with a flick of his head. 

He dropped the potions off at the hospital wing, secretly pleased that Poppy was far too busy with a floo call to a student’s parents to bother giving him more than a thankful nod and a wave of her hand. He didn’t mind their conversations, but when three students were laid up sick on starched cots, Severus preferred to be as far away from the infestation as possible. 

He spent the night reading, a cup of tea in hand, the soft glow of candlelight nearby to illuminate the words of one of the books he had picked up from Diagon Alley. 

Sunday morning found him sprawled out on the couch in his living quarters, fully dressed once again, with the candles snuffed and the book astray, the teacup still nestled between a cushion and his thigh. 

He spent the day holed up in his office with a correcting quill, the stack of essays he kept putting off, and no less than four packets of crisps. It was dinnertime by the time he finished reading all the scrolls of parchment, his fingers cramping and eyes bleary. He had the beginning of a headache forming, but the grading was nearly caught up on. 

The remainder were short-answer questions, at least.

He wasn’t sure he could sit through another stack of eighteen inch essays for at least another month.

Perhaps two. 

The crisps had made him nauseous, so rather than attending dinner in the Great Hall, he flooed into the staff lounge and helped himself to his precious french press that had been left behind. As the coffee grounds soaked, he glanced around the room and took in the stockings.

There were some new additions.

There were his and Minerva’s - white, cable-knitted with fur trim, bearing their names embroidered in black thread - but also a bright blue with Filius’ initials, a pastel-pink made from crushed velvet with Pomona’s name spelled out in tiny yellow flowers, a black with silver snowflakes bearing Aurora’s family crest, and a neon orange war crime that could only belong to the headmaster. 

All of them had candy canes peeking out. 

There was a tree in the corner now - a tall, proud-looking noble fir - looking like an oversized houseplant when it was devoid of lights and decorations. He finished making his coffee and sat down at the round table, eyeing it carefully.

The rest of the castle was still surprisingly devoid of holiday decorations, but if this tree had already arrived, it was only a matter of time before the rest of it started creeping in. Soon enough, the place would look like a tinsel factory had exploded inside of it and the number of trees within the castle walls would put the Forbidden Forest to shame. 

He scowled at the thought. 

Later, he realized he had spoken too soon. 

Monday morning brought a fresh shower of snowflakes, a drop in temperature, and about thirty-six douglas firs into the Great Hall. These were already decked out with lights, ribbon, and colorful baubles. Some of the trees had clearly chosen sides, cheerily standing tall with the weight of red and gold ornaments, while others were laden with green and silver, blue and bronze, or gold and black. 

Garland clung to the old brick, neatly tied with red ribbon and perfect pinecones, spaced out above the portraits and high, arched windows. 

He didn’t want to think about the rest of the castle. 

There was white chocolate peppermint tea waiting for him at the staff table, so he conceded that not everything that morning was absolutely terrible. 

Tuesday was a bad potions day.

Not for him as a brewer, of course, but as a professor. 

By the time both his classes ended, eight different cauldrons had either melted, exploded, or absolutely disintegrated without a trace. He lost a full jar of moonstones because one student had decided to bring the entire fucking container to her table rather than count them out beforehand like he had advised, and it had taken all his self-control to stop himself from breaking down right in front of the class of sixth years. 

He had collected those moonstones himself, wandering the Forbidden Forest all fucking night, with only a lantern to light the way. They were supposed to last him at least another two months before he would need to venture out again - and the last time he had gone out, he’d nearly sprained his ankle on an upturned root and gotten a tree branch to the fucking face. 

Tuesday evening found him four drinks in, asking the house elves to please bring him some hot, salty chips from a local shop, and when the darling little elf returned with the newspaper cone, he babbled stupidly for two solid minutes from gratitude alone. 

Wednesday was a headache, a blur of back-to-back classes, a lot of frustrated yelling at completely inept students, a full pot of that wonderful white chocolate peppermint tea, and a sudden decision to not assign any more homework for the rest of the year.

Not because the awful little slimeballs deserved a break, but because he did. 

The elves made mushroom and wild rice soup for dinner, alongside everything else they always made, and Severus took more comfort than usual in the hot meal. 

Wednesday night was his turn to patrol the castle, so he stayed up half the night wandering the empty corridors. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he entered the Astronomy Tower, groaning as he realized Aurora was still there, carefully packing away her supplies post-lesson. 

“Oh, don’t act like you aren’t glad to see me.”

“Believe me when I say I’m not.” Severus returned, stepping to the edge and looking over the grounds. Most of it was cloaked by shadows, but the silver light from the moon was still enough to softly make out the silhouettes of the greenhouses and Hagrid’s little hut. “What, no comment on how I’m out past my bedtime?”

Aurora laughed, putting a bronze telescope back into its case and fiddling with the straps. “Not this time, no.” She glanced up at him and warned: “But don’t you ever make me miss out on family dinner again or you will regret it.” 

Thursday morning he slept in. 

He barely had enough time to pull on his teaching robes and run fingers through his hair before he had to hightail it to his classroom, frazzled and out of breath. He hadn’t had time to prepare the chalkboard the day before, and was quickly writing out the recipe in his messy scrawl, when the seventh years started filtering in.

“Alright, you’re going to need number three pewter cauldrons today,” he called out over his shoulder, finishing the last line of script. “Fill them with two liters of room temperature water and put your burners on low. Today we’re going to be brewing a more complex -”

“Professor?” 

He scowled at the interruption. “What is it, Mr. Greenwood.” 

“I think your robe might be inside out.”

He blinked and tried not to let his face flush with embarrassment. “Thank you, now as I was saying -” he continued awkwardly, shrugging out of his robe and flipping the sleeves inside out. 

“Your shirt buttons are fucked up too.” 

“Language!” he scolded, swallowing down the sharp coil of emotion building at the back of his throat. “And do not speak to me like that.”

“Hey, you’re the one walking in here, unprepared, with your clothes all fucked.” Greenwood muttered. “Just what were you up to before class, sir?” he grinned, his comment eliciting a few chuckles.

“Detention, Greenwood.”

“Now, wait a second!” the boy faltered.

“Do you wish to make it two?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he raised an eyebrow in questioning contempt. “Because we can surely arrange that.”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

He finished the lesson on autopilot, quickly fixing the buttons on his shirt in the supply closet, fingers shaking nervously as he muttered angrily to himself. He shrugged back into his robes, double-checking they weren’t inside out again, and downed a calming draught on a whim - the shiny light blue bottle catching his eye from its place on the shelf - before returning to his desk. 

He made sure to scowl at each of them in turn and surprisingly enough, not another student made an unwarranted comment about his appearance, his teaching, or even each other. It kept him from reaching for another calming draught when he felt its effects lifting. 

Friday found him having a panic attack.

Then again, if no one opened the door to the broom closet he had squandered in, if no one came face-to-face with his crouched down, fingers tangled in his hair, not-quite-yet-out-of-breath, full body trembling self, could anyone really prove he was having an anxiety attack?

He’d barely made it through his second class and had dismissed the second years twenty minutes early, sans homework - and oh, Merlin, they were going to think he'd gone soft - before attempting to return to his personal quarters.

It didn’t quite work out as planned. 

His knees had felt shaky and he’d felt as if something were gripping at his throat, pressing down on his lungs, and he had to sit down and ground himself before he had a full-on breakdown in the middle of the corridor. He’d found himself stumbling, as he hid behind the closest doorway, the tidal wave of unchecked emotions too much.

His resolve was breaking.

He tried to focus on his Occlumency shields, tried to push back the unfiltered pain and fear he refused to think about - could not think about - because if he did, he was afraid he would never be able to function again. He was afraid he would break.

The dam was already broken though and now, now the rest of it felt inevitable. 

Now he was simply gasping for breath, tears welling in his eyes that he refused to let fall, sitting on the floor of a dusty broom closet, bathed in the dull yellow light that flared whenever it sensed movement, like some sort of spotlight - a beacon honing in on him, existing solely to put his downfall on display. 

Far too many thoughts were flitting around his head, crashing into each other and making it difficult to tell them apart, to pinpoint just what had been the trigger, the reason behind his weakness - because surely, that’s what this was right now: weakness.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor and he tried his best to muffle his ragged gasps, hand curled into a fist and pressed into his mouth, teeth sinking into the pale flesh, threatening to break through from the force he was using, so desperate he was to not make a sound. 

It didn’t work.

The footsteps paused, their owner faltering. 

Voices were speaking from the other side, hushed and mumbled, and with another stroke of panic, Severus realized they belonged to more than one. Students, most likely, and he curled tighter into himself, vehemently wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

“Are you okay?” a hesitant voice traveled through the aged wood. 

He didn’t answer, but he figured his breaths were answer enough.

“Are you having a panic attack?” a different voice called out, sounding just as unsure as the first. “It sounds like you’re really struggling.”

“Do you need help?”

“They probably can’t answer, dummy.” a third voice spoke up, but this one wasn’t addressing him. They were all familiar, but his brain wasn’t letting him process anything to fruition. “Hey, if you can hear us knock on the door.”

He considered ignoring them, but in the end he knocked.

“Good!” the first voice praised. “Alright, knock if we were right about the panic attack.”

Again, he knocked. 

“Do you want help?” the second student asked. “I’ve helped my share of students through these.” He suddenly recognized Casper Jenkin’s voice, one of his seventh year Slytherin prefects. 

He groaned; as if this situation could get any worse. 

“I’m gonna take that as a no.” Oliver Greenwood’s voice muttered, so apparently yes, it could get worse. He was stumbled upon by his own snakes - and his disrespecting seventh years, at that. 

“Do you want us to get someone?” Allison Bone, the original speaker, questioned. “Madam Pomfrey or your Head of House? If you’re all the way down here, you’re probably a Slytherin, huh?”

He choked out a laugh at that. 

“Laughing!” Bone approved. “Laughing is good! That means you’re getting control of your breathing. The worst part of it is over now.” 

“I’m going to open the door, okay?” Jenkin told him, and the doorknob started turning. “It’s probably pretty cramped in there - definitely won’t help.”

“Don’t!” he let out, just as the door opened and he found himself blinking up at his snakes, the three of them blinking down at him, equally dumbfounded, and he wanted to scream at whatever joke of a higher being had shifted the cards enough to lead him here. 

“Oh!”

“Professor Snape?!”

He lifted a shaky hand to his face, brushing back disheveled locks of hair. “Get out.” he whispered, low and angry, not caring about the semantics that it technically didn’t apply. 

“Are you sure you don’t need -” Bone started, then faltered at the growing expression on his face. “Right, we’re leaving.” 

Greenwood eyed him a second longer than his companions, but rather than the teasing glint he usually held whenever addressing him in class, he wore something softer. “Sorry.” he mouthed, genuine concern flickering for a brief moment before he also left. 

He put his head in his hands and started laughing, softly at first, but when it became an ugly sob, he fought to regain his composure, nails digging into his scalp. 

He managed a deep breath, wiped his face on the sleeve of his robe, and hurried to his personal quarters. He was moving on autopilot now, slipping out of his teaching robes and into a jumper, grabbing a bit of floo powder and calling out a quiet, “may I come through?” when the flames turned a brilliant green. 

He stepped into Minerva’s quarters, bypassing her concerned look and collapsed onto the old couch, pointedly ignoring her as he stared at the vaulted ceiling. 

“Severus?”

“Panic attack.” he mumbled.

He remained silent after that, listening to the rustling of parchment and paper, the soft scribbling of a quill nib making its way across the page. For a few minutes, that was the only sound, until suddenly Minerva stood up and opened up the floo. Hushed voices followed, then silence, and he finally sat up when he heard the distinct pop of a house elf apparating into the room. 

Dorset, one of the school elves most identifiable by his height, was balancing a tray on one hand and a heavy-looking box on the other. He placed both on the kitchen table, nodded at the two, and apparated away.

“What’s this?” Severus asked, his voice gravelly and tired, as he stood up and approached the table. 

The box was filled with an assortment of items - butter, eggs, icing sugar, flour, and the like. He could see a bag full of dirigible plums sitting right on top and he smiled despite himself. The tray was holding two ceramic mugs, their contents hidden by the mountain of whipped cream and cinnamon they were topped with. 

“Sit down with me.” Minerva said simply, picking up the tray and bringing it to the couch. She sat down at one end, placing the cups on the coffee table, and waited. When he sat down, facing her, she handed him a warm mug. “I asked for hot chocolate.” she told him, eyeing him carefully. “Specifically the gingerbread one we had last week.”

“I liked that one.” Severus mumbled, staring down at his cup.

“I know.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, sipping on their hot chocolate, and Severus could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away as it was replaced by warm comfort. 

“You look awful.” she finally spoke up.

He smiled ruefully, but it felt more like a grimace. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“Have you noticed, how every time you experience feelings of distress, someone always tends to interrupt before we can talk?” she asked, watching him. “I think we’ve been putting it off long enough, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“We never got to talk about Yaxley.”

“We didn’t need to.”

“We also never finished our conversation about how you ask for my company whenever you venture out of the castle.”

Severus gripped his mug tightly. “You said enough.”

“You still flinch when people touch you.”

“Can you blame me?”

Minerva paused, studying him in a way that left him feeling exposed. “They’re all connected.”

He kept silent.

Her next words were unexpected. “What about Lily?”

“What about her?” he growled out, anger taking hold and manifesting into shaking hands. He swallowed down the bile he could feel rising, the taste of milk and chocolate suddenly acrid on his tongue.

“You never talk about her.”

“That’s because I don’t have anything to say about her!” Severus finally yelled, nearly dropping his mug. He set it on the coffee table and balled his hands into fists, refusing to break eye contact with the professor before him. “Lily died four years ago, but she stopped being my friend long before that! Do you want to talk about the guilt I carry, knowing it was my fault she died? Because no amount of talking, nothing I do will ever be enough to make up for the fact that I killed my best friend! And I hate myself for that, but Merlin, do I hate her too.”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” he burst out, the words he could never dare himself to say aloud now slipping off his tongue without trouble. “She was my best friend and then she sided with them, with him, after what he did to me! And that’s when I knew she was never really my friend! She saw what he - what he did,” he was starting to gasp for air again, “and she still, she - he -” 

He focused on steadying his breathing, arms wrapped around his torso. 

“I don’t.” Severus finally amended, in such a soft voice he wasn’t sure it even carried. “I want to hate her so much - and I am so angry at her, angrier than I’ve ever been at anyone - but I don’t hate her. I can’t. Maybe I wasn’t her friend, in the end, but I know she was mine. I lost so many people in the war, but she’s the one who hurts the most, so no, I don’t want to talk about Lily.”

Minerva hummed. “You sort of already did.”

He scowled.

“Drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”

Some of his anger fizzled out as he finished the drink. When they were done, Minerva stood up and started pulling out the contents of the box, lining them up on the counter. He joined her, watching as she leafed through a cookbook he hadn’t noticed. 

“We’re going to do some holiday baking now.”

“Are we?”

“If you’re not going to talk to me about what led to all this,” she gestured in his general direction, “then we’re going to bake some things for the staff party tomorrow.”

He nodded, sighing. “Where do you want me?”

They spent a few minutes in stilted silence, as he washed the bag of dirigible plums and cooked them down into a sauce, stirring in ground cardamom and honey. Meanwhile, Minerva whisked double cream and cornstarch with vanilla sugar and salt, the pot resting over low flames. He added the plum sauce and smiled as it came together and turned into the warm orange color he remembered. 

“What next?” he inquired, after the thickened mix had been poured into a mold and tucked away in the cold cupboard. 

“Biscuits?”

The sugar dough came together easily enough, pale yellow and perfectly smooth, and as they sprinkled flour over the table to roll it out, Severus started fiddling with the holiday cutters. 

“I can hear you thinking.” Minerva spoke up a few minutes later, dusting her hands off on a clean towel. She reached for a tree-shaped cutter and started pressing it into the dough. “Are you ready to talk now?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Sure you don’t.”

They finished cutting out all their shapes, moved their biscuits into the oven, and cleaned off the kitchen table. Minerva was opening small jars of sprinkles while Severus whisked together icing sugar and egg whites. He focused on dividing the royal icing into small bowls, adding droplets of colored dye and stirring carefully as if they were a temperamental potion, when he finally broached the earlier subject: “They are all connected.”

“Pardon?”

He didn’t look up, merely repeated himself. “They’re all connected.”

Minerva pulled the baking tray out of the oven and cast a cooling charm before bringing the perfectly baked biscuits to the table. Severus picked one up and absentmindedly broke it into pieces. He shared it with Min and picked up another biscuit, carefully dipping this one into the bowl of red icing and shaking off the excess. 

He reached for the star sprinkles. “I try not to think about any of it.”

“You’ll have to, eventually.”

He thought about the broom closet. “I know.”

Minerva dipped a star biscuit into the bowl of yellow icing and handed it over to Severus, who immediately covered it with three different colors of sprinkles. They worked in tandem for a few minutes, dipping and sprinkling all their biscuits, and eventually a spoon was introduced to their project and Severus found himself drizzling thin stripes across some of them.

“I’m giving this one a Dreadful.” Minerva decided, picking up what was supposed to be an ornament, originally dipped in white icing, but then covered with uneven globs of blue. 

“Fair enough.” Severus shrugged, levitating the dirty dishes and moving them to the wash basin, spelling the water on. He picked up a candy cane-shape that had been rolled in yellow and violet sprinkles and then drizzled with green. “This one, however, is deserving of a Troll.”

Minerva spelled the dishes to wash themselves and then raised an eyebrow at him. “Severus, you decorated that one.”

“I’m aware.”

The yule log cake was a little more time consuming to make. He sat down at the table and watched Minerva separate eggs and whisk the whites with sugar until it foamed.

“It would be faster if you spelled the whisk.” Severus offered.

“We tried that once.” Minerva laughed, not slowing down. “It worked great at first, but all of a sudden, the whisk was flinging meringue all over the room.”

“How delightful.”

Meringue was light and shiny and the brightest white he could imagine. Min filled a piping bag with the foam and showed him how to pipe little mushroom tops on the baking paper. When he took the bag from her, he was surprised to find it bore no weight.

“Do you not know how to hold a piping bag?”

“Evidently not.” he grumbled, looking at his hand and the fluff of meringue that had spilled out of the bag and over his hand. 

“You’re supposed to hold the end closed, you numpty.”

“Numpty?” Severus muttered under his breath.

“Elphinstone always did the same thing.” Minerva shook her head, fixing the bag and finishing the job. “No matter how many times I corrected him, that man couldn’t hold it right. Always went off about how he’s the ministry liaison for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Min, I don’t need piping meringue mushrooms in my skill set.” She took in a shaky breath and set down the bag. “See? Perfect.”

“Min-”

“Don’t just stand there, Severus.” she scolded, thrusting the cookbook in his hands. “Get to work measuring the dry ingredients. You can make the cake while I make the frostings.” 

He started sifting flour and cocoa powder. “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”

“Of course I know that.” she humphed, putting the tray in the oven and spelling the dishes clean. She unwrapped a stick of butter and stared at him. “Do you know that?”

“Minerva, I only met your husband twice.” he deadpanned.

She flicked a bit of icing sugar at him. “Don’t be smart with me. I’m not the one repressing all my emotions and pretending they don’t exist until I can’t stave off the impending panic attack and end up crashing in my colleague's quarters because of it.” 

“Fine, you win this one.” he muttered. “You are the pinnacle of mental health, professor.” 

“Excellent.” Minerva grinned, but her smile seemed a little bitter. “Does this mean you’re going to talk to me now?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Numpty.” she repeated. 

---- a/n: i was in the mood for angst tm also the ending feels a little rushed but it is 3am rip. im not gonna finish this series by christmas but my goal is new years. time exists in a vacuum anyway and is not real. ps. let me know what you think pls!! it gives me all the seratonin

[chaoticowlpost]

34. Bauble?

I’m big dumb I thought of bobble heads when I read this dhfdsjfgd

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

Draco refused to ask for help.

It was Harry’s fault he wanted him to pack the eggs for the Easter Egg Hunt, held annually by the Weasleys, this year. It wasn’t supposed to be his job but, as it were, Molly asked for Harry’s help with decorating the candied eggs.

In Draco’s opinion, they should have just done it by magic, but Molly said that it gives the food coloring a weird taste and, well, who was Draco to argue. 

So there is was, shifting through Grimmauld’s attic for the plastic eggs they stored from last year. He’s been shifting through dusty items for almost an hour now, silently cursing his boyfriend for forgetting where he left the box.

“Have you found them yet?” And, speaking of the devil, Harry’s voice sounded from somewhere in their house. 

“Er, yeah,” Draco responded, refusing to sound incompetent. 

He supposed it could have been worse. He could be watching over all the Weasley children while the rest of the adults set up the burrow for the event.

A small shudder ran through his body when he imagined babysitting the mass of children, all still at the stage of being highly energetic. He pitied Ron and Hermione, really.

Sighing to himself, he began searching faster, flicking his wand around to lift various boxes and open locked cabinets. After lifting a box filled with Christmas ornaments, however, he found another box beneath it.

Peering inside, he found these circular objects that looked like the eggs they had last year. Even better, they were decorated! Much better than the ones they used before.

Probably because they belonged to a pureblood family.

Ha, he thought. I told you I could do it.

Pulling himself up from the ground, he waved his wand towards the box and had it float behind him as he made his way down to the living room.

Harry was still in the kitchen when he passed by, not paying mind to Draco as he sat himself on their carpet and began taking out his favorite eggs one by one. Upon closer inspection, he realized that there was something... off about them.

He frowned, lifting one to his face. There was no opening, he realized. Then again, the ones from last year didn’t seem to have an opening either, and they had to be twisted to open.

He tried twisting them open, first with his own hands because he was capable, dammit, before giving in and trying to use magic. Still, the round toys remained shut. 

Figuring it was because they haven’t been used in a while, he checked to make sure that Harry was still busy before discreetly slicing the egg in half.

Draco grinned, feeling proud of his innovative solution, and began filling the eggs one by one with assorted pieces of candy and chocolate. He worked quickly to slice every egg open and seal them with magic, just adhesive enough to be pulled apart if the children tried.

In 2 hours, he had more than enough eggs ready, beating Harry, who was still decorating the sweets by hand with a small paintbrush. 

“I’m done!” Draco singsonged, bouncing into the kitchen and seating himself on an empty space on the counter. “I told you I could manage to do it alone.”

Harry didn’t respond immediately, but Draco understood. It took a lot of concentration to decorate those eggs, especially with his deteriorating eyesight. He waited patiently for his boyfriend to finish decorating that one egg before straightening himself with a tired sigh.

Harry grinned at him and stretched himself before walking over to where Draco was sitting, pulling his legs apart so he could slot himself between them and wrap his arms around Draco’s waist.

“I knew you’d manage,” Harry said, placing a soft kiss on his lips with a smile. “I think I’m going to take a break. It feels like my head is going to fall off my neck if I keep going.”

“Alright,” Draco agreed, resting his forehead against Harry’s. “It’s almost time for dinner, anyway. We might as well get started.”

“Can I see the eggs you made?” Harry asked, his green eyes shining bright in front of him.

“Don’t trust that I did it correctly?” Draco teased with a small grin. Harry simply rolled his eyes and pressed another kiss to his lips.

“I’m sure they’re just fine,” Harry said. “I just want to see if there’s enough since there’s more kids now, or if I should head to the store and buy more.”

“I think you ought to buy new ones anyway,” Draco drawled, pulling away to lean back on his hand. “There’s something wrong with the ones I found.”

“Is there?” Harry asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “But we hardly used them. They should be fine.”

“They wouldn’t open,” Draco shrugged. At Harry’s confusion, he continued. “I cut them open with magic and filled them with candy before sealing them again.”

“That’s odd,” Harry frowned. “Let me take a look.”

Draco just nodded, not really in the mood to stand, as he watched Harry walk into the living room where all the eggs were stored. 

“Er, Draco?” Harry asked from the other room.

“Yeah?” he responded, still lounging on the counter. His mother would be appalled if she saw him now.

“Can you come in here for a minute?” his boyfriend asked. Irrationally, Draco felt nervous. Surely there was nothing wrong with how he decided to sort the candies. Besides, Harry was always kind to him.

“What is it?” Draco asked wearily, heading over to where his boyfriend was peering into the box full of candy-stuffed toys. 

“You packed the candies... here?” Harry asked unsurely, holding one of the finished eggs up.

Draco nodded. “It took a bit longer because they were hard to open, but they’re all packed, I swear.”

He watched as Harry’s eyes flicked over from the egg in his hand, to the box on the floor, then to Draco, eyes wide with confusion.

Suddenly, he burst out laughing.

“...Harry?” Draco asked hesitantly, wondering why his boyfriend had justgone hysterical.

“Draco, love,” Harry said gently, a laugh or two bubbling up from his chest every now and then. “These are baubles.”

“...baubles,” Draco repeated, tilting his head to the side. Harry just shook his head with a grin and stepped towards Draco, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Yes, they’re Christmas baubles,” he explained patiently. “They’re meant to go on a tree.”

Embarrassed, Draco said defensively, “Well then why aren’t they on a bloody tree.”

“Because it’s not Christmas,” Harry chuckled.

Meekly, Draco asked, “Does this mean I have to go back to the attic?” Because really, it’s dusty in there, and possibly very dark now that the sun has set. Also, he worked hard on those stupid egg- baubles.

“It’s alright,” Harry said, carding a hand through blond locks of hair. “I’l just explain the situation to Molly, but they should be fine. What matters most to the kids is the candy inside, anyway.”

“Alright,” Draco said uncertainly. On one hand, this meant that everyone would know he didn’t know what a bauble was. On the other hand, it was most likely going to be fine either way, and he was tired and itchy from the dust that gathered earlier.

“You go ahead and start on dinner, I’ll just make a call,” Harry said, patting his bum lightly before letting go of him.

Draco nodded and headed back to the kitchen, pulling out ingredients from the freezer and setting them up. Dinner, he could do, at least.

Somewhere from the other room, however, he heard:

“Hey, Molly? So we have the eggs, but you might have to explain to the kids that-”

-————————————————-

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[fanfics-with-coffee]

Cold Days, Warm Nights

What could go wrong when you and your boyfriend goes to the Christmas market for a date? Hopefully nothing if your loud mouthed hero could learn to keep his mouth shut sometimes.

This is a secret Santa gift (also posted to my AO3) for the lovely @hisfireheart but I hope everyone here will enjoy this cute fic too, despite being wayyy past Christmas. Time is just a concept anyways. (This secret santa was hosted on @myherowritings​ ‘s discord server)

Genre: Seasonal fluff! Pairing: Bakugou x Bri Words: 4000+

The buildings were passing by, the sun softly reflecting on their windows and storefronts. Even the snow was shimmering, slowly melting away where it was too thin. Luckily the bus was keeping you warm inside, a murmur of excited couples and parents talking to their children was keeping the mood high. You couldn’t help but carry a soft smile on your face, half-listening to them and half lost in your own head. Luckily you were present enough to see that your stop was coming up. It was empty enough so you could just grab your bag and get out of your seat, smoothly approaching the door, prepared to step out into the winter paradise.

As difficult as the snow could be, it couldn’t be said it didn’t help the atmosphere this close to Christmas. And they were impressively quick with removing the snow from the road, letting every commuter rest easy knowing they wouldn’t be late. And people could just enjoy the cold weather, the warm drinks, and the festivities. It was one of the things you had been waiting for, the festivities. Especially the Christmas market, the one you had heard so much about from friends who had been earlier years. How they had gushed about the lights which shone long past midnight and the food which could be smelled from streets away. If the cold hadn’t given you a stuffy nose that was.

Finally, the doors to the bus opened, letting you and a couple of other people off at the stop. You made sure to watch your step, not wanting to trip the first thing you do. But the street was steady and you kept your balance, walking a few feet away before daring to take in your surroundings.

And you looked up. The buildings crowding the view and the streets that were squeezed in between them in a claustrophobic state had suddenly taken a step aside, allowing a stone-paved market place to spread out. The sky had suddenly come into view, giving you a view of the blue space, and the clouds lazily drifting across it. But there was no way you could see the other side of the square, at least not from this angle. Instead, you saw the multiple stands set up by the buzzing people, some were big tents you could walk into. Others were walk-by tables with knick-knacks or foods splayed across the surfaces. And somewhere in the distance music could be heard. But the pride and joy of the festival could easily be seen from where you were standing, a tree towering above everything. Clad in lights and colorful glitter, ribbons, and baubles. It was breathtaking, no doubt about it. Yet there was something missing and you didn’t need to think to know what it was.

Your date.

“Oi, Bri, are you blind or something?” A voice disrupted the sirene environment, forcing you to turn your head towards the awfully familiar voice. It came as no surprise that you recognized it as Bakugou met your eyes. Standing only a couple of paces away under an old-timey lamp post which was– of course– also clad for the occasion. You were even less surprised that he was bundled up in so many layers, it was impossible to see just how many he had. Who even knows how many were hiding under his outerwear.

“Nope, it’s just hard to recognize you when you look more like a coat hanger than my boyfriend.” You smiled smugly while approaching him, taking in his form, or rather the lack of it, as you did so.

The thick beige jacket was obviously layered over another thick jumper and the loose jeans were most likely hiding undergarments like tights. You could even see the red, warm socks sticking up above the high edge of his boots yet the scarf around his neck was hiding most of his face. It did delight you though that the silly beanie you had bought last year, the one with the round tassel which he said looked like a ‘damn cat toy’, was pulled down on his head and covered his ears.

“Maybe if you think I look like a damn coat hanger, we could find you one and you could go on a date with that thing instead.” He pulled his scarf down below his chin, finally letting you see his face properly. And let you see the unamused expression he was giving you, apparently not too pleased with your jab at his outfit.

“Nooo! I want to go with you! Plus this outfit may actually give us some privacy. No way people can see I’m here with THE ‘Dynamight’ when you look like that. So I’m a fan.” You smiled, pulling on the front of his jacket, going up on your tip-toes, and tilting your head up to indicate that you wanted some affection.

It came as a habit for him to lean down, giving you a peck on the lips quickly before pulling back. Had he thought about it, it would be questionable that you would’ve received a kiss after how you’ve been acting since meeting up. But having done it so many times before, greeting you with these kisses, he didn’t have the time to think about it.

“Mgh, careful, or that’s the only kiss you’ll be receiving for the rest of the day.” He threatened, pulling up the scarf to save himself from the cold.

“What? Oh come on, I doubt that. Now let’s go take a look around or I’m going to get frozen to the ground.” You bounced on your heels, taking his gloved hand in yours before dragging him along with you. But it only took him a moment to catch up with you, walking right beside you in between the first red stalls.

“Careful, dumbass, you’re gonna slip if you bounce-walk like that. I’ve already seen two extras fall on their asses.”

You just hummed in response, used to his worrying expressed in the rather crude remarks or comments. You were much more interested in finally exploring the market and everything in it.

As you two entered, your heart began beating a little harder. What you had been spectating from the outside was now all around you and with each stall you passed, the energy was raised. The hand holding yours was also tightening as the crowd got denser but you could still easily see between the other groups of people. He had always been like that since you began dating. Or at least since he began holding your hand in public for more than 2 minutes before getting too embarrassed and pulling away, opting to just stand close to you instead. He held your hand as if he was afraid you’d get swept away by a flood of people if he dared let go. The fact that his gloves were warm also helped you forget the fact that yours were way too thin for the season.

You swerved between bodies, casting looks to the different hand made crafts as you passed by, looking for something to catch your eye. There were so many things you struggled to know where to start until you saw a stall that looked interesting. Filled with Christmas ornaments, what stuck out to you was the little needle felted Santas and reindeers.

“Bakugou, look! Aren’t those cute? They even have matching Mr. and Mrs. Claus ones.” You had stopped right in your tracks to point towards the counter where they proudly stood. He looked to you before following your hand. There were a couple of other people standing around it, holding different ornaments and chatting to each other. Bakugou didn’t say much, instead pulling you along to take a closer look.

As you got closer to the stall, you also shuffled closer together to fit in right in front of the counter. The warmth from whatever heater they were using to keep the owners warm was also radiating out to anyone who got close, letting them shield themselves from the cold. And hanging along the roof of the stall were fairy lights, reflecting off the beads used as eyes for the reindeer’s carefully hung alongside them. It was a delightful sight and you wasted little time picking up one of the needle felted Santas and inspecting it.

“Look at this one, it’s cheeks are all rosy. And you can hang it in the tree, too!” You giggled, turning your upper body to show Bakugou what you had found while softly pulling on it's string. But to your surprise, he had already been looking at you, but not at what you were holding. His bright red eyes met yours for only a second before he looked to the little thing you were holding.

“Huh? Uh yeah, I guess you can..” He sounded a little distracted when he responded, leaning in closer to take a better look at the Santa. As he did, you could feel his hand land on your waist, making sure you couldn’t drift apart as you stood there. For once you were happy your nose and cheeks were already rosy from the cold, otherwise you would’ve suddenly looked a lot more like the Santa you were holding. “Do you need more ornaments, Bri? I thought yours looked pretty packed already when I saw it last time.”

“Ah I guess I don’t… Oh well, it was cute but you’re right.” You let out a disappointed sigh, placing it back where it stood right next to his wife. You stood and looked at some of the other things they sold but there wasn’t anything else you felt like buying so soon enough, you two departed.

You kept walking, jumping from stall to stall to see what they had. One sold woodworkings of different kinds, another had metalwork with a rustic look, a third sold candies which lined the walls in bright, fun colors. Wherever you looked there was something that you could imagine yourself buying and you wanted to take a closer look at all of them. Your boyfriend came with you each time you expressed an interest in this and that. But each time you ended up either feeling like it wasn’t something you needed, or doubted yourself so you left them behind. Bakugou didn’t say much about it, instead talking about your plans for the holidays and what you should eat together.

You entered one of the larger tents where they sold all kinds of clothing, Bakugou following right behind you.

“Do you remember what recipe we used for those butterscotch candies last year? You know those that my old hag really liked, she keeps pestering me about asking you to make her a batch of them.” Bakugou was basically looking over your shoulder as he spoke, watching you look at one of the many dresses they had hung up on the tent walls. His chest was just barely pressing against your back, a comforting reminder that he was there.

“Sure, I know I saved it somewhere on my phone so that shouldn’t be a problem…” You spoke softly, letting your eyes roam over the material. You pulled it out with one hand to get a better look, getting lost in its pattern.

“... Do you like it? Do you need more dresses?” Bakugou had paused for a moment before he had spoken, noticing how you looked at the dress. But after he had asked, you just sighed again and let it go while shaking your head.

“No, not really...”

You didn’t really need any of the things you had found at the market and Bakugou kept asking about it. ‘Do you need it?’ was something he had kept saying all afternoon. While you appreciate that he stopped you from making unnecessary purchases, it was getting a little much. He was a man of necessities, if he didn’t need it to have a comfortable life then he probably didn’t have it. Not counting the All Might merch hidden in his closet that is. But he struggles to understand why you get things you don’t need, making shopping with him a little difficult sometimes. Like now.

But you didn’t think too much about it, instead looking around the tent for something else to look at before going out into the cold again. And what you see makes you smile from ear to ear. A whole wall filled with ugly Christmas sweaters. You wasted no time bouncing over to the wall, a delighted gasp leaving your lips. You grabbed one and held it in front of you, turning around to show the blonde who’d you left behind, stunned at your sudden rush.

“Well? What do you think, babe?” You smiled and did a pose as you showed off the sweater, letting him read it.

“I have a big package for you?” He stared at it with a sudden deadpan look before looking back up at your face. “Seriously? And with a half-naked Santa on it? That’s so fucking dumb.”

“I know right? That’s kind of the point!” You laughed and hung it back up, pulling out another one and holding it in front of you. The bells on it jingled and you did a little dance, your giggles mixing in with the sound of the sweater. And then you grabbed another one, the big plushie Rudolf on it awful but also kinda cute.

“You’re not buying one of those right? They’re absolutely terrible.” Bakugou had finally walked up beside you to look at all the shirts too, touching one that was just covered in Christmas tinsel while wearing a disgusting face.

“I dunno, maybe it’ll be your upcoming Christmas present? What do you think? I could even buy one of those two-person ones so we could wear it together.” You pulled yet another shirt off and held it out in front of the two of you this time, giving him a goofy smile. It was at that moment, with the shirt in front of him and the dim lights reflecting in your eyes while you laugh, that he felt his heart skip a beat. And for a split moment, he considered if it was such a bad idea to share an ugly Christmas sweater with you.

“Tch, be careful with what you’re saying, princess. You don’t want to get on Santa’s naughty list right before Christmas.” He retaliated but the pause before he said anything hinted that maybe you could actually convince him. But that was for another day, and if it was to be a Christmas gift you couldn’t buy it now anyway.

“Alright, fineeee. But I think we’d look cute.” You smiled and hung the sweater back where you found it before finally turning your back on the shirts. You were about to say you two should leave but in the corner of your eye, you saw something new. Mittens, gloves, and beanies were all set up at the front of the tent.

You walked up to the boxes with the different handwear and looked around. Then you found something that made your eyes light up. A pair of beige gloves in leather, their inside and edges decorated with soft light and grey fur. Hanging off of the opening were two strings with cute fluff balls at the ends. They looked amazing and by trying one on, you realized how much warmer they were compared to the thin textile ones you had. You admired them for a bit, not even noticing Bakugou who had sneaked up beside you again, watching your hands.

“What about those? Do you need new gloves?”

“Actually, I do.” You smiled as you looked up at him and then back at the gloves, taking off the one you were wearing to hold them in your hands. “I think… I’m going to buy them.”

You then looked up to see the prize and suddenly you froze. They were… very expensive. They must be real leather or something, they were quality anyways. But to drop that amount of money just like that wasn’t something you could just do, especially not this close to Christmas.

“Oh, uhm well maybe not. They’re a bit much, plus mine work fine. I’m not outside that much anyway.” You felt a pang of sadness in your chest but put the gloves back, turning to Bakugou who was just watching you silently.

“Alright. Well, I’m getting cold and hungry so do you want to go buy something to eat then instead?” He looked towards the exit casually and you realized that you were actually getting pretty hungry yourself so it sounded like an amazing idea.

“Sounds good! We could go eat it by the tree too, we haven’t been there yet and I want to see the band playing.” Both of you headed to the opening of the tent, standing beside it to discuss the plan.

“Why don’t you go buy the food and I’ll get some dessert from that pastry cart we saw a while back? We can meet at the tree when we’re done.” He pulled out some money and handed it to you.

“Cool! I want that saffron one with the vanilla filling!” You were excited to try out the pastries, they had looked amazing when you passed by. Bakugou nodded before motioning that you should get going. You put your hands in your pockets to hide them from the outside before nodding back and heading down the street.

The sun had set quite some time ago and even more of the lights were now lit. Fairy lights and stars hanging from stall to stall above the temporary streets. Some people had set up blinking Christmas lights that changed from red to green to white, all to catch people’s attention. Clouds had also rolled across the sky, hiding the moon from sight. All around you couples were walking, hand in hand. Their breaths showed in the cold air as they softly spoke or laughed with one another. Then you see one of the food stalls sponsored by a local café you frequently visited.

It took a couple of minutes before you could order and a little longer to get your order but soon enough you had a bag with your food and carrying a holder with two hot chocolates. Using the big, bright tree to navigate the market, you made your way to the center.

The fantastic fir was the centerpiece of the winter market, multiple benches having been placed around it for people to sit. Other benches and picnic tables were scattered around the big place where people could sit down, rest, and eat whatever they bought at the market. And across the space from you, you could see the band still playing, a choir singing Christmas songs while kids sang along in the audience. While looking around you see the tassel which you had been watching bounce all day and your boyfriend just happened to be attached to it as well.

“Hey, Bakugou! Are you blind or something?” You grin and walk over to him, seeing him look up from his phone bewildered by your sudden shout. “Sorry, I just had to. But I got the food and…” You hold up the cup holder proudly. “Hot chocolate.”

“Good job, now let’s find somewhere to eat.” He smiled a little at the news, not even he could decline the sweet warmth of hot chocolate on a cold winter night.

After having eaten the food and the pastries, you only had half of the hot chocolate left which you had decided to drink while standing near the band to enjoy the music. You watched the musicians as they played, it looked so easy for them and they looked so happy playing in front of everyone there. You took a sip of your beverage, letting its warmth slide down your throat and into your belly, letting it warm up your body from the inside out. Then you feel a soft bump of your hand, then another one. You look down and see Bakugou’s finger trying to hook onto yours. Looking up at his face, he’s intently staring at the band, his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly as if he was focusing on something. How could he be so timid after years of dating still surprised you sometimes. But you smiled at him even if he wasn’t looking and grabbed onto his hand. He tensed for a second before relaxing and adjusting his hand so he could intertwine his fingers with yours.

“I can’t believe I didn’t buy a single thing at the market apart from food.” You complained, though not seriously. It just felt a little silly after being so excited for the market. You took the moment to inch closer to the taller man beside you, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Why? I mean, you obviously liked some of the stuff you looked at.” He let his crimson eyes fall on you, confused by your comment. If you wanted to buy something, why hadn’t you?

“Well like you said, I didn’t really NEED any of the stuff I looked at. It’s just stuff so I didn’t want to waste money on it.”

“Alright, but why do you regret not buying anything then?” Bakugou just didn’t get it at times. You couldn’t help but let out a sort of melancholy laugh.

“Because I really liked it… But it’s stupid, they’re not necessary.” You were getting embarrassed by your own problems now. But it seemed it finally struck a chord with Bakugou and he blinked in surprise at mostly himself.

“... Well if you really liked it then you should buy it. Everything you own doesn’t have to be a necessity, as long as you enjoy them and they make you happy. O-or something like that. Just because I don’t like having useless crap doesn’t mean you can’t get shit like that. Just don’t spend it on stuff you won’t use.” Bakugou didn’t dare to look at you after saying something so corny, instead choosing to look at the band. You, on the other hand, looked up at him with wide eyes. You took a short step away from him to really get a proper look at his face. He noticed your staring and ended up staring back, a blush clearly spreading across his cheeks but if you asked, he would claim it was the cold. You weren’t sure what to say though, at these words of encouragement and he couldn’t stand the silence.

“So, uh… maybe you shouldn’t be getting necessities as a present either so…” He let go of your hand and stuffed it into his pocket, pulling out something you couldn’t quite make out. “Don’t blame me for it not being wrapped though.”

He held out his hand and laying on his palm were the gloves you had been looking at before. You took a second before grabbing them with one hand, looking at them in awe.

“But… These were really expensive, Bakugou”

“So? I don’t mind, and they’re good quality so they’ll last you way longer than any of your shitty ones.” He grabbed your cup, letting you take off your old gloves and putting on the new ones. You put your old ones in your own pocket before looking back at Bakugou and grinned.

“They’re so soft! I love them… Thank you.” You looked into his eyes and then a thought popped into your head.

You grabbed his scarf with one hand, pulling it down and pulling him down so you could comfortably put your other hand on his cheek. With him holding the cups of hot chocolate, you had no problem stealing another kiss from him. This time pressing your warm lips against his for a couple of seconds. This kiss was probably warmer and sweeter than any hot chocolate you could make so you savored it for as long as you could. Just before you had pressed your lips against his and closed your eyes, you had seen the shock in his face but just as quickly he had closed his eyes too, melting into the kiss like ice on a sunny day.

“I love you, Katsuki.” You whispered when you finally pulled away and opened your eyes, watching his own eyes open. You stared right into those deep vermillion eyes of his, feeling a smile grow on your face as you spoke.

“I love you too, Brianna…” He was still a little dazed when he spoke and you let go of his scarf, letting him straighten his back. As he did so, something fell into view and landed on his head. And then another and yet another. Snow had begun to fall all around you, some melting against the stone ground while others stuck to stall roofs, trees, and lamp posts.

You looked around, as did he, and watched as others looked up at the sky and kids excitedly ran around or tried to catch the snowflakes in their mouths. It was cute.

“Well I guess I had great timing with my gift, huh” Bakugou muttered as he looked up to the sky too.

“Yeah, it couldn’t have been better. But it’s getting cold and late, maybe we should start to head back. Plus I kinda want to buy some of the stuff I saw today.” You took your cup from his hand and then grabbed the now empty hand with yours. You started to leave, walking towards the exit of the market together.

“Sure but don’t buy everything, I kinda need to figure out a new Christmas gift for you now... You’re pretty annoying, you know that right?”

“Sure, Bakugou. Sure.”

[beck-a-leck]

Could you do 19 and SoS1? (Or any HM if you can't think of anything!!)

Ask and you shall receive!

I had every intention of making this a cute Fraeger piece for you but somewhere in the writing process it turned into introspective Raeger/an experiment in writing a sensory experience lmao. (It was going to include a scene when something catches fire, totally not taken from my real life experiences but...)

This also made me really want to make some mulled wine.

Send me a Winter Holiday Prompt with a Character of Fandom and I’ll write a little fic!

I hope you like it!

19. Sipping Mulled Wine

Raeger set the heavy soup pot down on the stove top with a solid clunk. He scanned his counter, everything in place, all the ingredients prepared – time to get to work. He placed in the center of a square of cheesecloth the zest of several oranges – the first of the winter’s harvests from Oaktree Town’s orchards – four cinnamon sticks, and a half-handful of whole cloves. He tied them all into a bundle and dropped it into the bottom of the pot. Then he scooped in some dark brown sugar, poured in fresh-squeezed orange juice, and healthy measures of port wine and orange liqueur. He turned on the burner and blue flame flashed to life beneath the pot. Raeger gave the contents a stir until the sugar dissolved. He let it sit to come to a boil and turned to the next step.

Proper mulled wine required garnish. Raisins had been soaking in orange liqueur and cinnamon since yesterday. Fresh oranges had been sliced into thin medallions. Next was to toast the almonds. He set another pan on the stovetop, tipped sliced almonds into the pan and turned on the flame. He shook the pan gently, keeping the nuts in motion, tossing them over each other to avoid burning. In the dry, hot pan they soon grew aromatic and gained a toasty golden color. He heard the mulled wine begin to boil, and reached over to turn the heat down to a simmer. It would have to reduce to half before the next step.

The low heat would draw out the best of the spices, boil off the alcohol of the stronger liquors, and concentrate their flavors. Already, the pot was releasing aromatic steam, the mixed scents of the spices and fruity liquor filling him with a warm contentment.

This was an old family recipe. His childhood winters had been perfumed by a pot of mulled wine on the stove, left warm all day to be sipped through the holidays and long winter nights. It had even been Raeger's first taste of alcohol, when at the age of thirteen his grandfather had deemed him grown enough to have a cup at New Year's. It... hadn't been as good as Raeger had imagined. The spiced fruity aroma of the drink suggested none of the dry bitterness of the red wine and the sharp tang of alcohol. Of course, as he had grown older, he grew fond of a good red wine, and found love for the mulled wine on cold winter nights. Raeger made sure to make at least one pot of his grandfather’s mulled wine every winter – though with the town livelier than ever and with plenty of friends to gather around, he made plenty.

The almonds were ready, toasted to a rich flavor. He tipped them from the pan into a serving bowl and slid them across the counter to join the liquor-soaked raisins and orange slices. Beside them, a dozen wine glasses stood ready for a scoop of the raisins and toasted almonds before being filled with the mulled wine and garnished with an orange slice. His eyes scanned over the rest of the counter top; nearly every inch was covered with food and drinks. The restaurant was decorated, the walls hung in streamers and baubles, the tables covered with festive cloths, candles flickered merrily from gold and silver painted glass jars, giving the whole dining room a warm glow.

Soon the restaurant would be busy. Packed to the seams with villagers, every seat filled with more standing around to chat. The walls would ring with cheerful voices. People, happy to celebrate with friends and loved ones, their bellies full of food and good drink. There wouldn't be a moment of peace and quiet until very late tonight. But that would all happen later.

Now, the only sound to be heard was the whisper soft hiss of the stove flame, and the low bubbling of the mulled wine, the gentle splash of water, and the soft rasp of the dish cloth. Raeger savored the silence as he cleaned up the last few dishes.

With everything clean and dry and put away, he checked the mulled wine again. It had reduced in the pot, boiling off water and alcohol to sweeten and mellow out the flavors. Time to add the wine. He carefully poured in the red wine, going slowly so as not to spill or splash. The last thing he needed someone noticing at the party was little flecks of red on his white shirt. A chef should be neat after all.

With the wine added, the soup pot was almost full. He stirred slowly, turning the flame up again to heat everything once more. He watched carefully and stirred, needing the wine hot, but not boiling. When it was ready, lifting aromatic wafts of steam into his face, he turned off the stove, fished out the spice packet, and set the pot close to the glasses and garnish on a trivet. He picked up a glass and ladled some of the wine into it. A taste test first, then a real glass after.

Raeger held the glass to his nose and inhaled deeply. It smelled like the holidays to him. Cozy and comfortable, warm and inviting. He caught the mild scent of the red wine, he had picked something a little sweeter and less tannic for this brew. Around the wine, there was the richer fruit scents of orange and grapes, the spice of cinnamon and cloves, and an ever so slight hint of molasses brought out of the brown sugar. He blew gently into the glass to cool it down, and then took a sip, knowing it would taste even better than it smelled.

The spices hit his tongue first, the cinnamon tingling all over and the cloves rising into his nose once more. Then there was the wine, mild and sweet, carrying the brunt of the alcohol now. The port deepened the wine's flavor, and the orange liqueur had picked up and enhanced the sweet and slightly sour and bitter flavor of the orange juice and zest. The sugar had mellowed out the acidity, leaving behind a very slight hint of caramelization.

The sip of the mulled wine was warm all the way down his throat and into his stomach, where it bloomed into a happy contentment. Raeger closed his eyes, smiled, and hummed appreciatively. It was perfect.

He scooped a spoonful of raisins and almonds into his glass, and topped it off with a full ladle of the warm mulled wine, and perched a round slice of orange on the rim. Raeger checked the time, the fashionably early party goers would be here in another five or ten minutes. For now though, he had the whole place to himself.

With nothing left to do but wait, Raeger settled onto a bar stool with his drink and turned to stare idly out the window. Little snowflakes were drifting down to the ground, dancing around on slight gusts of wind. The last of the winter daylight was waning, giving the view from his windows an icy blue hue to the east, and a weak yellow-orange cast to the west. It was cold out there, the kind of cold that made you sneeze at first, but also made the air smell cleaner than seems possible. The mulled wine would be appreciated tonight, as would the rest of his food.

That, Raeger thought, was the best part of the holidays; seeing others enjoying his food, happy and comfortable and brought together beneath his roof. It was a lot of work and stress and planning – he’d been getting ready for tonight for weeks – but in the end it was all worth it.

Raeger took a long sip of his wine and drew a deep breath. He mentally went through everything that had been on his to-do list all today, and he mentally checked everything off, right down to the pot of mulled wine. He thought of all the stress, all the planning, cooking, and cleaning, and decorating, he gathered it all up and released it all in a contented sigh.

He took another sip of warm mulled wine.

[matildainmotion]

Extreme Times, Transitions and Your Extreme Powers for 2021

This time last year I wrote a piece entitled ‘An Encouraging Blog about Despair’ – this was in early January, before the pandemic. My son loves that moment in a story when someone says, “Well, at least things can’t get any worse,” and then, right on cue, a whole lot of worse-ness happens. This year I am not going to attempt to be encouraging – I think we need something else, to match the gravity and uncertainty of the times, that recognises all the worse-ness that has happened. But what? Right now I am not sure. Let me see if I can write my way to find it.

The thing that has saved my sanity through the year has been the working on and writing of a novel. It has kept me sane but also driven me mad, but at least it has been my madness, of my own making as opposed to the world’s. It has been astonishingly difficult. Often, I have felt more articulate about the toughness of the process, than about the story I am trying to tell. The images I have used to describe it have included marathon running, mountaineering, white-water rafting and tightrope walking. I am struck by the extremity of these metaphors. I have done none of these things in real life, and yet I have had a visceral sense of their accuracy. Most of my writing has taken place where I am now, crouched on the children’s bedroom floor. I do not look like I am engaged in anything wild or dangerous, but I like the idea that both my making and my mothering – activities that are often seen as domestic, docile – are in fact extreme sports. 

Photo credit: Viola Depcik, as part of the online exhibition: Portraits in Motherhood and Making during lockdown.

For now, I have come off the mountain of the book. Come January I will set about editing it – an attempt to turn the manuscript into something someone might actually want to read. This morning, I am in a moment of transition. What to write in the dark bedroom, before the children wake? Christmas wish lists and new year’s resolutions are the traditional seasonal texts, but I notice I have two counter impulses to these – two very different lists I want to write. 

The first is not a wish list, but a list of the unwished-for. A backwards-looking list of some of the worse-ness of the year, not as a plea for sympathy, empathy, not out of a need to confess, or because I am looking for advice, but because it feels important to name it. In these last months, on those precious trips out of the house, I have had many two-metres-apart exchanges of the “How are you doing?” kind. “Okay. We’re surviving,” I reply, and then come away, with my groceries in hand, my mask hanging round my neck, feeling desolate, surprised that I should feel it so deeply, when I was not expecting any more from the exchange. I think it is because I want to lay bare the utter ugliness of the year, like when you pull the fridge out and expose the amazing accumulation of dirt underneath. I know that we have been lucky, so when I list some of our un-wished for times, I do it in full recognition that others have had it worse, much worse. 

Here is a selection of my unwished-for list:

Easter – everyone in the house either shouting or crying or both. Still ill. My husband and son red in the face. My mother and daughter, white. 

Then the times – more than one -when my son, who is on the autistic spectrum, needed a play fight, to channel the aggression he displays when he feels threatened (and a threat may be as slight as a joke he did not understand, a small change of plan). I offer to fight him, and as I face him, hold his wrists, the energy in his body, but also in mine, is far from playful. 

A recent one - a double meltdown – my daughter screaming whilst we are Xmas shopping because she and I cannot remember something I said three days ago about her and a bauble she was hanging on the tree. Meanwhile it is raining. She is refusing to wear a coat. She runs away from me, up the pavement, beside a busy road, whilst my son, who cannot bear loud noise, lays down on the concrete and puts his hands over his ears. I am caught between the two of them – one on the run, the other on the ground. Masked people watching me, the rain coming down, the dark coming on. 

Three in the morning and no one is screaming or sobbing but me – the children are sleeping peacefully, and I am not. 

There is an edge to this – it is allowed to be hard, but it feels dangerous to expose the difficult details. It has not all been like this, but I do not want to sweep these times aside and hurry on. So I set them down, one by one, on the page. Then I can begin list number two. 

This is a list not of changes I resolve to make in the new year, but ones that came on their own, and are ongoing, unresolved. A list of the transitions already underway. Because these arrive unbidden, this is a list of the moments when I understood that change is happening:

When I find I cannot read the instructions on the side of the ‘stuffing mix’ and I realise I need reading glasses. 

When my period is two weeks late one month, and two weeks early the next. The skin on my eyelids grows dry. I read this too can be a symptom of the perimenopause.

When my daughter is at last weening (shhhh, don’t tell her, or she will object) and her favourite game is to play at being a ‘dumb baby’ who cannot remember where its mummy’s boobies are. She runs about the room, looking behind bookshelves and under covers, until eventually the baby realises that the boobies and the milk are on its mother’s chest. She does not want the milk now, she wants to play at being the silly baby, because she is turning into such a competent ‘medium big girl’ (her current definition of her size).

When my mother (granny) no longer wants to cook meals for us, but would rather that I cook for her. 

When my son starts to grow a greater awareness of his separateness to me and I find him in tears one night because earlier in the day he heard The Beatles song “She’s Leaving Home” and grew afraid that this might happen to him – that he would leave one day, leaving only a note behind.

When my husband and I realise we are going to need to move again, find somewhere we both want to be, to settle, where we can grow older.

When the children wait for snow, go out keen to find the ice on top of puddles to crack and splinter, but the winter stays mild, wet. 

And then there is the ‘transition period’ the whole of the UK is supposed to be undergoing, moving out of the EU, whether we like it or not. Lorries, stationary, but in long lines of transit, waiting to cross the border. And then there are the transitions- endless- from one tier to another to try to control the virus. 

I think of others’ transitions too, of friends, and friends of friends: people waiting for a baby to be born; waiting for a loved one to recover, or die; transitions of age, gender, status. 

What to do in response to these unchosen changes? I almost admire my daughter’s wish to fight them. Her maxim is not ‘to keep calm and carry on,’ but rather to keep screaming, whilst being carried. I am impressed by the volume of rage in her four-year-old frame as she attempts to stop things:

“You have to stop the car now,” she cries from the back seat, when we are in the middle of the road, “Right now. You have to do it. You have to, you have to, you have to…Mummy stop! Now! You have to stop!” It is a work-out of the will that can go on for hours and which leaves us both exhausted. It is extreme, and it makes me think back to the extreme metaphors for which I found myself reaching in trying to describe my writing process with the novel. 

I counsel her in acceptance, but I recognise my own desire to scream against the times, to stop the world. Perhaps I need to flip things round - to harness the power of the scream, even as I accept the ways things are. Often I think of acceptance as passive, equanimity as cool and quiet. But I am not sure balance, as figured in this way, is the right metaphor for our times. The feat of balancing required now is that done by the tightrope walker, cliff face climber, white-water rafter – an athletic equanimity, a muscular form of acceptance that takes all our might, all our will. 

Maybe it is time to reclaim the male image of the superhero. I like the way in the film of The Incredibles, the superheroic is recognised as a form of divergence from the norm, a daring difference, how the super ability can become a disability if the surrounding culture judges it as such. The image helps me to see my differences as potential superpowers. 

A third and final list then comes to mind, a forwards-looking one, that might support me through the transitions of this time, and on into 2021 – a list of my extreme powers. If it comes to needing to grow food, hunt, light fires – wilderness survival skills – I will be useless, but I can do the following:

I can survive on little sleep. 

I can hold onto the thread of a creative project or conversation through multiple interupptions and across many days.

I can imagine disaster, very fast, in almost any situation.

I can mother two intense children, both often awake till midnight.

I can name the elephant in any room. 

I can write a novel in the hour per day when my children are watching TV (this is a slight exaggeration - when school was happening I had a little more time, but on a list like this you are allowed to exaggerate). 

That’s it for now. I do not think we need to know or understand how our superpowers, our athletic abilities, can be put to good use. I do not think it is our job to calculate this, but rather only to keep in training. Ready. Skills honed. And also to notice, name and honour one another’s skills. I think I should write a list of my children’s superpowers too. As I write this, the children have woken and my husband is now showing my daughter the trailer for the latest Wonder Woman movie. My daughter likes her outfits, especially the golden bracelets. A glittering dress sense will be on my daughter’s list of wondrous powers. 

The other day my husband shared with me a quote, from a Hopi leader in the year 2000, which seems relevant to my three lists as 2021 begins:

“There is a river flowing now very fast.  It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid.  They will try to hold on to the shore…..The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above water.  And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate.”

Writing a novel has felt like white water rafting, but actually being alive right now feels like that too. This year I offer, not encouragement amidst despair, but something more extreme - a call to arms, to your arms, my arms, arms that can carry children, stir soups, make stories - superhero arms strong enough, not to grip, but to let go of the shore. Mid river as we are, I want to celebrate each other’s extreme, extraordinary abilities. So, tell me your lists: the list of things you did not wish for, the list of changes underway, unresolved, and then the list of the superpowers you are hiding, honing, as we are swept along. What powers, however ordinary, bizarre, or seemingly superfluous, do you have to offer?

[windsroad]

for part 2 of “fics I may never finish” have chapter 1 of my critical role regency au! there’s another chapter and a half after this.

Chapter 1

The country surrounding Emon did not know what hit it when Vax’ildan and Vex’ahlia Vessar arrived.

Sir Percival de Rolo, fairly new to the country himself, did not know what to do with them, either. He had recently rented Greyskull Manor after making his fortune through the navy. He had made back all he had lost, at least monetarily—no one was quite willing to ask after what he had lost otherwise. However he had, to the best of his abilities, not rocked the boat.

But Mr. Vax’ildan Vessar and Miss Vex’ahlia Vessar… they were entirely willing to do so. Gleefully so, it seemed, as though they did not recognize the rules they were breaking. Which was not surprising, Sir Percival conceded. The Vessar twins were the natural children of one Mr. Vessar of Syngorn. They had been raised by their mother, outside of good society, with little knowledge or care of their parentage. Mr. Vessar, an ambassador to Emon, had recently called for them to join him. He claimed them publically and wished them to enter society.

Or so they say.

Sir Percival, as much as he liked to stay removed from anything one could remotely call troubling, found the stories of them interesting. And he had a duty to fill as the most prominent member in the country to greet any newcomers. So Sir Percival found himself writing invitations.

Vex and Vax sat together in their father’s drawing room and stared in dismay at the invitation they had just received.

“We’ve been invited to a ball,” said Vex, surprise hiding the bit of worry in her voice. “I mean, invited, on purpose, to a private ball.”

Vax waved it aside, tossing an embroidered cushion as he did so. “He’s just doing it because he has too. We don’t have to go.”

Vex rounded on him. “Brother, you don’t mean to say you’re not going? We must go!”

Vax leaned forward in a conspiratorial gesture. His dark hair hung loose around his shoulders, shadowing his face and aiding the dark look. “Vex’ahlia, you needn’t impress them! They’re not worth it.”

Vex shook her head. “No, I… I want to go. Please, let’s go. I can’t without you. Think of the fun we could have!”

Vax sighed and leaned his head back in defeat. “Fine. But only for you, Stubby!”

Vex smiled and settled back into her seat, satisfied that she’d successfully convinced her brother of her way. She picked up the task she had been pursuing before the footman had been delivered the invitation—cleaning and restringing a hunting bow. A decidedly unfeminine task that their father disapproved of greatly. 

“But you must be careful of these titled men,” continued Vax. “All stuffed shirts, the lot of them. I know you can handle yourself whatever may happen, but that’s no reason for you to go out and get your heart broken by conniving—conniving—”

“Me!” said Vex, looking up from her bow once again. “If those with high standing trouble you, surely you don’t think I haven’t noticed you noticing that charming girl with the red—” 

“You’ve defeated me,” said Vax. “No need to continue.”

They both paused a moment. Vex attended to her bow. Vax fiddled with some trinket he had picked up god-knows-where.

“Do you think she’ll be there?” he asked.

“One can only hope.”

Vex insisted that she and Vax must prepare for the ball. They must appear wealthy when they wreaked havoc upon the upper echelons, she said. Vax slipped into a small shop selling trinkets and baubles while his sister sifted through ribbons, hair decorations, anxieties. He’d always had a bad reputation—and the bad habit to go with it—of a filcher. Sometimes he saw pretty things he felt no one would miss and his family’s money purse would certainly appreciate.

He didn’t need the money now. It was merely out of habit that he looked at wares in the window. But walking inside, something of his was stolen instead.

The man at the shop counter—the owner, Vax thought—was a well-dressed man of dark complexion and charming visage. As Vax walked in, the man smiled brightly, aimed like a sunbeam. Vax found himself forgetting the baubles he’d admired.

“Good- good day, sir,” said Vax, stumbling over his words. He cast about in his memory for the name he’d seen on the sign outside. “Mr. Gilmore, you are?”

The man laughed a charming, rich laugh, and stuck his hand across the counter. “And you are Mr. Vax’ildan Vessar. The whole town is talking about you,” he said. “You must call me Gilmore. I foresee us becoming great friends.”

Vax grabbed Gilmore’s hand in greeting. “I usually prefer to stay out of people’s attention,” said Vax’ildan, shaking Gilmore’s hand and smiling like an idiot. “Gilmore it is. But then you must call me Vax’ildan.”

“Vax’ildan!” said Gilmore. “You move so fast!”

Vax laughed and realized he was still pumping the other man’s hand. “Vessar is my father,” he said, letting go and casting his hand out to some object, any object, to put on the counter between them. “It is not the name I was raised under, and I feel no ownership towards it.” 

They paused. Vax took a breath and looked down to see what he had grabbed. “I would like to purchase this, ah, thing.” It was a small figurine, not three inches tall, of a white horse rearing up on its hind legs.

Gilmore packaged the figure prettily, and they exchanged the money and item. “I hope to see you around,” said Gilmore.

“Of course,” said Vax helplessly, taking one last glance.

Vax finally let the breath he had been holding go as he stepped outside. He was in trouble.

Vex rifled through ribbons and fabrics, trying to find just the right item she needed. Her brother had taken off, which was normal for him. She did not mind—she could handle herself just fine, thank you.

The bell above the shop store tinkled as two voices came in behind her.

“So you think I should get her a ribbon? That will do it?” said a smooth man’s voice.

“Sure! She’s always using those. For dresses and hair and things.” The second voice was gruff, deep.

“I trust you, you do know her best…”

Vex stopped what she was doing and turned to see who had come in. This was a situation she simply had to involve herself in.

They were an odd pair. One was short, very short, of a slight build, dressed extravagantly well. His dark hair was pulled from his face neatly, and his chin was shaved smooth.

The other was much his opposite. Tall, well-built, with a thick beard and bald head. His clothes appeared like those of a farmhand.

“Hello!” said Vex, putting on her most charming smile. “May I ask, who is this gift for? I think I could be a great help.”

The shorter man flashed back an even more dashing smile. “A young woman out by herself!” he said, bowing. “People will talk. I am Scanlan Shorthalt. A pleasure.”

“Grog,” said the giant man. “Strongjaw.”

Vex’ahlia curtseyed in turn. “Vex’ahlia Vessar,” she said. “People are already talking.”

“I have heard some tales of the Vessar twins,” said Mr. Shorthalt. “The girl you ask about is Miss Pike Trickfoot. We were discussing what I might bring her as a gift.”

“I thought some ribbons,” said Mr. Strongjaw.

“You know what would be grand!” said Vex, her mind turning. She was aware of certain rules of etiquette, and she took great pleasure in ignoring them. One does not invite others to other people’s balls. “I know that there will be a ball at Greyskull Manor. Buy her something she can wear—not ribbons, maybe a comb—and ask her to wear it there.”

Mr. Shorthalt leaned back on his heels. “Miss Vessar, that is quite good,” he said. “I will have you know that I and my students are providing the entertainment at this ball. I should be quite glad to see her there.”

“So I will see you there! That is wonderful! Will I also see you there, Mr. Strongjaw?”

He pointed at himself in shock. “Me? I’m just Grog. I’m not usually. People don’t invite me to balls.”

“Oh, you must go!” said Vex’ahlia. “It will be great fun. I shall be upset if you do not.”

Grog looked down at Mr. Shorthalt. Scanlan shrugged. “Well, thank you for your help, Miss Vessar.”

Vex watched them leave, chatting about parting ways so Mr. Shorthalt could purchase flowers, before she finally picked out her ribbons, paid for them, and left to meet her brother.

[michiigii-writes]

Of Shadows and Tyr (1.5/??)

A continuation of our DnD campaign’s first session right here.  Because there is a limit to text on text posts. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In the beginning:  There was a city (2/2)

We spent about a week living in the Church of Tyr.  Elyssia provided us with a constant stream of free food, and it was a safe, dry place to stay.  Craven and Valzan were also always around, but I spent the most of my time with the Tiefling girl.

She never spoke.  I was pretty sure she could understand common, from the way that she listened to the rest of us speak, but the most she ever said was during that first fight with the slavers.  I wondered if she knew how to write or draw, but she tended to keep herself otherwise occupied, so I never got much of a chance to ask.

She had scars all over her arm and neck, like she had been shackled for a long time and the bonds had chafed.  I tried touching her to cure her wounds, the first evening at the church.  She looked so small and guarded, and had clearly had a rough life; I was worried that there was some kind of wound that she was keeping to herself.

I was promptly bitten for my efforts.

I had hoped that clearly being an ally would have warmed me up to her even a little, but she definitely did not like to be touched ever.  I drew back with a grimace.

“I’m only trying to help you,” I grumbled, keeping my low but feeling annoyance bubble into my tone.

For a reply, she bared her teeth at me in warning.  I frowned, then recalled a different spell that might work.

[May you find sweet grass and gentle water,] I murmured, sending healing words her way.

The spell wasn’t as strong as if I had touched her, but I saw her sit up a bit straighter in shock as she felt the healing take effect.  I couldn’t see or feel if what I had done was enough, but seeing her surprised yet calm was enough to satisfy my efforts.  At the very least, she was well, and I had to be content with that.

For the rest of the week, she remained in my sights, not necessarily beside me, but always nearby.  I’m not sure who thought of her name first.  It might of been me, joking referring to her as “my shadow” whenever I spoke about her.  It might have been Elyssia, nodding to how the young Tiefling always managed to find the darkest, most secret corners of a room.

It was definitely not Craven.  The giant somehow found out that she liked all things that glittered in the light, and from then on, he called her, “Shiny.”

But by the time our company decided to go out and explore Kendrith as a group, we had somehow all elected to refer to call her, “Shadow.”  And she seemed to like it just fine.

Craven and Valzan had a few errands they wanted to run, before investigating about the slavers we had come across.  I heard mention of “books,” so I wanted to go, and wherever I went, Shadow tended to follow.

It was another bright day; I found the weather rather pleasant in comparison to the humid, warm days we had in the swamp.  Shadow walked to and fro behind us, while Valzan and Craven walked ahead.  As usual, I kept my distance from Valzan, but I had to admit he was growing on me.  He treated Shadow and I with the same courtesy he paid Craven.  I still kept my horns tucked away in his presence, whipping my hood up when he approached, but more than once, I had accidentally let my tail peek out while talking to him.  I was getting comfortable around the human, and that troubled me, a little.  Was Valzan the exception, or had it been the humans in my past?

Time and experience would have to tell.  Maybe there was a reason Master didn’t want me to return until a good year had passed.

Not too far from the church, Shadow ended up distracted by sparkling glass shards by the side of the road.  Tail swishing back and forth under the cloak that Elyssia had provided her, she crouched low and fixated on the twinkling remains of what might have been a bottle.

Our party ended up right within reach of a nearby game stall.  There were targets set up, and according to the hawker, if we hit a bulls-eye with a throwing axe, we would get a voucher for a free drink at a local tavern.

I heard “free.”  Considering I had about two silver pieces to my name, that was enough to get my attention.

I waited for Valzan and Craven to play, first.  Craven managed to snag three free drinks!  I was impressed, but not too surprised; the Kalashtar barbarian was huge.

I was, however, surprised when he gave his prizes to Valzan.  Who turned down something that was free?  And Craven didn’t seem particularly wealthy, to me.

When it came to my turn, I did my best, but I clearly had never used a throwing axe, before.  I could hit the targets, but not well enough to win anything.  For my last throw, I could see that it was about to fall just a little too low.  Wanting that stupid coupon, I drew on my Druidcraft and encouraged a light puff of wind to boost the axe up, a little.

I was too encouraging.  The axe ended up blown too high above the target.

"You better not be trying to pull any funny business,” the stall-keeper said suspiciously, looking between the target and I.

Feeling cornered, I forced a laugh.

“Well, if I were going to cheat, you would think I’d be more successful,” I joked, mentally kicking myself for being so eager about a free drink.

The stall-keeper seemed to agree, but I don’t think he completely bought it.  He offered me another try, but I declined; only the first round was free, and it would probably be cheaper to just buy myself my own drink.  Valzan asked the man where we could get information, and he was told that a woman who worked at the tavern where our coupons applied might help us.  Convenient, but good enough for me!

Our next stop was to the library.  I’d never seen so many books in one place, before; I had thought Master had a grand collection, but even all of his tomes would barely take up a shelf.  I was also relieved to see that the librarian was half orc(?).  I hoped humans like Valzan were the rule and not the exception, but I really didn’t want to test it in the library.

Craven walked off in search of books on plagues and blights, of all things.  I opted for herbs.  I was only familiar with swampy things, and it would be nice to see what could be used for healing or poison from local flora.  Shadow followed suit, even finding me a couple books with some excellent diagrams.  Nothing with words, though...I was becoming more certain that she didn’t know how to read or write.  I considered teaching her for a moment, before throwing the idea away.  I wasn’t patient enough to teach, and if she wanted to learn, she was clearly determined enough that she would have made some signs of it.

Still, I wanted her to have something to take from the library.  The books were free.  Everyone should take advantage of free.  I knew she liked shiny things, and Valzan had recently given her a brass bell that she liked, but I asked her what kind of books she wanted.  However, she either didn’t hear or didn’t have time to answer, because Craven took that moment to materialize.

He wanted to know if I knew anything about creeping blights; according to him, the land of his home was slowly dying by some unknown evil.  He said he realized that I was in-tune with nature, and knew about growing things, so he felt that I was his key, or destined to meet him, or something?

He got a bit fuzzy, after that, turning red and tripping over his words.  I thought he was being silly, in an endearing sort of way, and couldn’t help but smile a little.  Shadow, on the other hand, seemed irritated with him, hissing her displeasure.  That seemed to cool Craven off, and rather than let me really respond in any way, the giant lumbered off, muttering to himself as he was wont to do.

I looked at Shadow, and saw that she looked ready to leave the library.  I grabbed a book on healing herbs, and one on poisons, and when the librarian said I could take a third, and snagged a book with a lot of rather beautifully illustrated gemstones.  With my hand, the librarian set some kind of enchantment that would return the books automatically, once a week was up.  I liked it; that would prevent me from accidentally paying late fees, and I wouldn’t need to worry about losing the books.

When we left the library, I handed the book on gems to Shadow.  I had meant well, but from the way she looked at me, she was very clearly offended that I thought she would enjoy a children’s book.

“She’s probably older than she looks,” Valzan pointed out.

I rolled my eyes and tried not to groan, while Shadow moved to the side of the group furthest from me.  It’s not like she mentioned what she did want to check out!  How was I supposed to know!?

I clearly wasn’t doing a good job getting on Shadow’s good side.

And, to add insult to injury, she excepted a shiny marble from Valzan.

“How is that not condescending?!” I exclaimed, while Shadow contentedly added the bauble to a pocket of what I was certain contained a growing collection of shiny things.

Instead of answering, Valzan shrugged dismissively.  The desire to grab a less shiny rock and throw it at his head occurred to me, but instead, we continued to our second stop:  A pet store.

Craven was under the impression that he could find a bear for a pet.  The shopkeeper was surprised, most likely because that seemed more like an exotic/black market kind of pet.  However, when he offered up hedgehogs as an adequate alternative, I was on Craven’s side:  bears are to hedgehogs as falcons are to finches.  They are not equal.

Naturally, Craven got even more upset when the shopkeeper suggested a squirrel, instead. 

To use as bait.

None of us were pleased!  Craven began roaring about what a terrible person the shopkeeper was, and I’m pretty sure when Shadow called him a squirrel murderer, his nose started bleeding.  Valzan ushered us out, but when Craven suggested we return after dark to Free the Enslaved, I readily agreed.  I wanted to Speak to the animals, to see if they were all in danger or just the squirrels, but there wasn’t enough time; already, we were out the door.

It didn’t take us long to reach the top of the hill, finding the tavern where we could redeem Craven’s vouchers was situated.  A creaky sign with the words “Scout’s Mug Bar and Inn” hung over the doorway that we entered, Craven stooping slightly to fit through.  I braced myself for noise, but it was early enough in the day that there weren’t too many patrons.

Shadow moved straight to a table in a secluded corner, dark but safe; I and the rest followed suit.  Craven, of course, immediately ordered every dessert on the menu.  I tried not to let my eyes pop out of my head as plate after plate of confection and pastry were brought by the waitress and placed before him.  I was about to ask how he could possibly eat all of those desserts by himself, when I saw him push all the plates to Shadow.  

...Of course they weren’t just for himself.  I made a note to myself to be a little less snide toward Craven.

Eyeing all the desserts, I surreptitiously slid what looked like a slice of apple pie towards myself.  Shadow didn’t seem to notice.  And while she did have a good appetite, I doubted she could finish everything.  Besides, the pie was warm and smelled heavenly.  I never got to eat anything like this, in the swamp.

Valzan, ever dutiful, was already in the process of asking for Mildred, the woman who would most likely have information for us.  By some stroke of luck, our waitress was Mildred.

Things were coming together smoothly!  Perhaps things would be simple from now on, I thought.

Suddenly, a bang came at the bar’s entrance; someone had slammed open the door.  A dishevelled man rushed in, eyes wild, hands wringing in worry.

...of course it wouldn’t be that easy, I sighed inwardly.

“My daughter!  They took my daughter!” he exclaimed.

I sat up straight, head whipping around to look at the man in surprise.  His daughter?  Taken?  That was awful!  The very idea made me sick.

And yet, for some unfathomable reason, all the patrons of the bar started laughing at the man.

What on earth is going on?

---tbc--

Continuation here!

[daybreak-academy-fanfic]

Daybreak Academy: Chapter 96

You Deserve Kindness

Summary: In which Brain gives Anora one phone call. Word Count: 1,591 First | Previous | Next ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆

“You're twisting that ring again.” Brain chastised. Anora blinked before looking up at him.

“Am I?” she asked, as if she couldn't feel her own fingers play with the ring on her left hand. Brain cocked an eyebrow at her before taking her hand into his own.

“Just give me the word, and I'll chuck it for you.” he informed her before bringing her hand up to kiss her knuckles.

“Please don't.” Anora told him as she gently took her hand back.

“Then let me kill him.” Brain suggested. “This will end in one of two ways, Anora. You know it will.”

“You're not killing Ephemer.”

“Oh come on, just one little hair?”

“Nope.”

“Then the ring…?”

“Not leaving my finger.”

Brain huffed, folding his arms in defiance. “At least stop twisting it, then.” he requested. “You're going to hurt your finger if you keep doing that.”

She could do that much, for now. At least until Brain wasn't looking at her anymore. For the days after Christmas, Anora almost refused to take the ring off. She put it on after she took her morning shower and she took it off as she turned her light off for the night. She wasn't sure when she started twisting it though. It almost glided over her finger when she did. It was soothing. Brain knew it soothed her too, but he did have a point- twisting the ring could lead to chafing. She wouldn't be able to wear the ring at all if she rubbed all her fingers down from the endless twisting.

They were supposed to pick up Charlotte at the airport today. The weather had decided otherwise with a full blown snowstorm. Charlotte's flight had been delayed, and now everyone was doing their best to stay warm. Dawn had taken to spending the day cleaning the kitchen. Kieran made rounds to make sure that every fireplace the farmhouse had was roaring and manageable. Brain had decided to visit Anora in her room. The two sat on her bed, facing each other, with Anora's legs wrapped tightly around Brain's torso.

In an attempt to not touch her ring, Anora sighed as she laid her head on Brain's shoulder. Her hand absently squeezing his shirt instead. A faint flicker of taking his shirt off did cross her mind- but she ultimately didn't feel up to it. Brain rested his head against hers as he let out a small sigh of his own.

“How about this- you get one phone call.”

Curious, Anora picked her head back up to give Brain a raise of her eyebrow. His expression wasn't easily readable, which didn't help matters much. Instead he wrapped an arm around her before he leaned over for his phone. He sat them back up, offering the phone to Anora.

“Assuming the snow doesn't knock the phone lines out, I'll let you call one of the other Dandelions.” he told her. “We all have each other in our phones in case of an emergency. Just pick one, besides Ephemer, and we'll hit them up.”

For a moment, Anora didn't know what to say. She looked at the phone, then back up at him with more skepticism than before.

“You don't have Pyra in your phone?” she wondered. It almost sounded accusatory.

“Do you?” he countered with a raise of his eyebrow. At this, Anora bashfully looked away as she gave a shake of her head. Brain laughed at her.

“One call, Anora-bird.” he once more offered. “Who's it gonna be?”

Anora looked down for a moment as she thought it over. She looked up at Brain, giving a curious raise of her eyebrow. “Can I call someone by proxy?” she wondered. Brain smiled.

“Say no more.” he assured her as he started to go through his contacts. Not long after that, he put the phone on speaker mode so they could hear the phone dial.

“Hello?” the regal voice of Lauriam came from the other end.

“You're on speaker Lauriam.” Brain immediately told him.

“Is everything alright?” Lauriam then asked, sounding rather confused.

“Is Strelitzia there?” Anora piped up. She didn't mean to sound so small, but a sudden knot had made its way into her stomach.

“I think so.” Lauriam agreed. “Give me a moment.”

Both Anora and Brain gave a nod as if Lauriam could see it. As they waited, Anora gently placed her head back down on Brain's shoulder.

“Hello?” Strelitzia much softer voice spoke through the phone speaker.

“Hi Strelitzia.” Anora greeted with a little grin.

“Anora!” Strelitzia gasped. “Are you alright? You sound so tired.”

“It was a rough Christmas.” Brain told her, leaning his head against Anora's. “There was an unexpected gift that threw everything off.”

“Oh.” came the little sound of understanding. “Well, I hope you're still doing fine otherwise. I have the perfect gift waiting for you back at campus! Oh, and Brain, I also found something for you too! There was this adorable little bauble I saw at the chalet we're staying in, and it reminded me of you.”

“Aw, you didn't have to do that.” Brain told her as he put on a half smile.

“You won't be saying that when you see it!” Strelitzia giggled in return.

After this, a small silence filled the air as they tried to figure out what to talk about next. It was Anora who decided to speak up.

“Strelitzia…?”

“Yes?” came the answer, a bit too quickly.

Anora looked at Brain for a moment, then looked down at the phone again.

“Thank you.”

There was a faint sound of Strelitzia taking a surprised gasp for air. “F-for what?” she wondered.

“Everything.” Anora decided. “When Ephemer and I broke up, you were the first to go out of their way to make sure I was alright. I told Ephemer that he shuts me out when he's upset. But you know? I've done the same thing to everyone else too. A lot. I wish Ephemer had been a lot like you. Taking me somewhere safe, finding a way to get me to talk. I wish I could have found a way to get Ephemer to talk like that. So… I guess what I really want to say is that I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but thank you. For everything.”

“Anora, I...” Strelitzia tried to say, but found that she couldn't finish her thought. She faltered for a few moments before deciding on what to say. “Do you remember -truly remember- the first moment we met in person?”

Confused, Anora and Brain gave each other equal looks before looking back at the phone.

“It was at the formal, wasn't it?” Brain asked.

There was a small sound on the other end that indicated that Strelitzia had shook her head. “No,” she even said, “Before then.”

“We met before then?” Anora then wondered. She really couldn't recall the very first time she had met Strelitzia. They were talking with notes at the concrete slab for months.

“Yes. Well, also no. Do you remember when you were waiting for your house results to come back?”

That was when a jolt of shock coursed through Anora's veins. It had been so long ago that she had honestly forgotten. Of course, it's not like she would easily remember the face of someone she made eye contact with once during a rather stressful time.

“That was you?” was all she could say in surprise.

“Yes. You reminded me of Joanna, and I… I loved you from that moment onward. I didn't know if we'd ever really talk in person. You looked so… alone, but you also needed to find your footing. That's why I didn't talk to you then. You deserve kindness, Anora. You deserve the world. But in your journey, you may have to leave people behind. People that care, people that don't. I'm still learning this because I really, really love you, but I'm not the one meant to be with you.”

“I'm not leaving you behind.” Anora informed her friend. Her face scrunched as if Strelitzia was insulting her instead. “You're my friend.”

“I… I wasn't entirely referring to myself.”

Anora's eyes darted back and forth as she tried to figure out what Strelitzia meant. When her eyes finally fell on her ring, that was when she understood.

“Oh.”

Another silence filled the room now. Brain wasn't sure if it was his place to change the subject yet, so he allowed the silence to prolong.

“How was your Christmas?” Anora carefully started to ask. “You mentioned you were at a chalet?”

“Oh, yes!” Strelitzia immediately agreed, grateful for the change of subject. “Our grandparents rented it out for us. Well, our whole family. There's Nonna, and Poppy. We don't have many aunts, but there is Uncle Salvador with his adorable daughter Juno. She's about three now, I think. They brought along some friends; there's a boy about Juno's age named Girouette. They're really good friends already, it's super adorable. And then there's Girouette's mother Ciel, and his sister Alouette. I think she's 10. Or 15. I can't really tell- they're a very beautiful family. I'm super jealous.”

Brain and Anora shared an equal laugh as Strelitzia went on about her vacation. Anora snuggled a bit closer to Brain while they listened to Strelitzia. Being with her family felt great, but a part of Anora was ready to head back to school. There as a new chapter of her life starting, and while she was afraid, she was ready to face it head on.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @pseudoapollonian!

Happy Holidays to @pseudoapollonian! Hope you enjoy your Stereky Secret Santa for the year <3

Read on AO3

*****

Because Family Is More Than Just Blood

Stiles squinted suspiciously through the glass, crouched almost uncomfortably in such a way that his thighs were starting to burn. He really needed to work out more if crouching was making his muscles complain.

Or maybe he was technically squatting. Were crouching and squatting the same thing? They seemed like the same thing when put into action but maybe the circumstances determined whether it was a crouch or a squat.

He supposed crouching could mean any number of things associated with lowering oneself, like bending at the waist or flat out bending the knees and ducking.

Shit, were ducking and crouching kind of the same thing?

Didn’t matter! The point was, Stiles was positive that he was being sabotaged.

“It’s not working,” he proclaimed. “It’s definitely not working.”

“It’s working fine,” Derek insisted from his spot at the table. He’d wandered into the kitchen a while ago to grab a bite to eat and had kind of never left.

Instead, the Werewolf had poured himself a bowl of Corn Pops—seriously, all sugar, fuck Werewolves—and then leaned back against their small kitchen table to watch Stiles crouching in front of the oven.

Squatting. Crouching? Whatever!

“It’s not working,” Stiles insisted again. “I swear, if this oven ruins my very important first ever pie on the first ever holiday we have in this house, the oven and I, we’re gonna share some words. Mine will be in the form of a sledgehammer.”

“Worked fine for my cheese muffins this morning.” Derek took another bite of his Corn Pops, the crunching sound of the hard cereal audible even from where Stiles was squatting.

Crouching? Whatever!

“Well maybe the oven likes you better,” Stiles insisted, rounding on Derek to level him with a glare. “Don’t rub it in, Derek. Fucking rude.” He faced the oven again.

“Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘a watched pot never boils’?”

“This pie,” Stiles proclaimed loudly, pointing at the oven while half-turning towards Derek behind him, “is a Stilinski tradition! It will not be ruined by an oven who shows favouritism!”

Derek shrugged, spooning another bite of cereal into his mouth. “My muffins were a little burned, so not that much favouritism.”

Stiles sputtered and flailed one hand angrily at Derek, which had him land on his ass on the linoleum floor right in front of the oven.

At least he didn’t have to argue with himself over whether he was crouching or squatting anymore.

“Why would you tell me that?!” Stiles demanded, then whipped back around to face the oven, pointing a threatening finger at it. “You over-bake my pie, I’m seriously buying a sledgehammer!”

That earned him a laugh from the Werewolf behind him and Stiles resisted the urge to turn around and glare again. This was serious business, there was no room for laughter! This pie was sacred!

And it was especially sacred now, because this was going to be the first ever holiday event in their new place and that was important! It was like breaking in their home to future holiday events!

Stiles knew it wasn’t as important to the others as it was to him, but this had been a long, hard, somewhat frustrating road. But he’d made it, dammit! He had beaten the odds, conquered over the non-believers, earned the title of Werewolf whisperer—even if it was self-appointed.

It hadn’t been easy knocking down the walls of one Derek Hale and forcing him to let someone in for his own good. Stiles was stubborn, and Derek was tired, so it eventually worked out in Stiles’ favour. While their friendship had been rocky at times, Stiles acknowledged all friendships were, even his and Scott’s.

But it was the shift in their friendship that had been slow and frustrating. Sure, Derek had let him in, they’d become friends, things had worked out, but it was hard becoming more. Derek had made it very clear he cared about Stiles, and Stiles was about as subtle as a punch in the face, so Derek evidently knew that Stiles cared about him.

Derek didn’t want to proceed, though. Too many things had happened to him in his life. Too many deaths, too many losses, too many painful memories. So every time Stiles took a step forward, Derek took ten steps back. Eventually it turned into a race of who could move faster and, luckily for Stiles, he was pretty quick for a human.

They’d started slow, because Stiles wasn’t an idiot and he knew Derek needed slow, and eventually things had moved in a smooth progression forward. Stiles started hanging out at the loft more, Derek cleared out a drawer for him, Stiles’ favourite brands of coffee and cereal appeared in the pantry. The little things made it clear this was moving forward for both of them.

The problem was, Derek had bought the loft kind of as a placeholder. He hadn’t planned on sticking around in Beacon Hills forever, and he had a lot of bad memories associated with the loft. So when he started talking about selling and moving, Stiles had offered to help him buy a new place for them to move in together. Very subtly, of course, because Stiles was the king of subtlety.

Not like he’d said, “That sounds awesome, but we need a huge kitchen because with how often the pack comes over, I’m going to murder you in your sleep if we don’t have a huge kitchen. Also, something reasonably affordable because I’m not made of money like you.”

Of course that wasn’t what he’d said. At all. Not even close.

Fast forward four months and they owned a house. It wasn’t huge by any means, but it was comfortable. Derek had kept the price to a minimum so that Stiles wouldn’t choke at the mortgage amount that came out of his bank account monthly, and Stiles got his huge kitchen.

They were happy. It was nice. Stiles loved living with Derek. Officially. In their own house. It was the best, really.

But this was their first holiday event in their house with the pack, and he needed it to be amazing. He wanted it to be amazing, because he wanted Derek to have only good memories of this new home they shared.

They were doing what they’d done for all the other holidays this year—albeit, at someone else’s house until today. The pack was coming over with empty stomachs and food, and they were going to have a huge Christmas potluck. Stiles was excited because his dad was going to make his grandmother’s Pączki, which Stiles only allowed once a year. They were basically Polish donuts, but the most amazing Polish donuts in the world. Literally. So fucking good.

It was a Stilinski tradition. His dad made his grandmother’s Pączki, and Stiles made his grandfather on his mother’s side’s famous strawberry-rhubarb pie. They always had two desserts at Christmas, but that was what Christmas was about in the Stilinski household.

Food and laughter in the kitchen.

And apparently also for Werewolves, because Derek had spent the previous night prepping for the potluck and all morning cooking and baking. Because they both needed the oven, Boyd had offered to make the turkey, which Stiles had only agreed to because Erica made the best stuffing in the world. He could eat a whole plate of just stuffing, it was so delicious.

Kira had opted to make a ham, just so there was some variety, and the rest of the pack had picked out various dishes and vegetables that they would be bringing. Originally, Stiles had wondered if it might be too much, but then he remembered pretty much the entire pack barring him, his dad and Melissa were Supernaturals and man could they eat.

Now he was thinking maybe he should’ve made two pies.

Derek wandered past Stiles to the sink while eating the last bite of his cereal, drinking down the overly sugary milk and then rinsing the bowl. He left it in the sink since the dishwasher was already running, then moved back to Stiles’ side, where he’d taken up his crouching position in front of the oven once more.

“Stiles,” Derek said, one hand at the back of his neck and bending down to kiss the crown of his head, “the pie will be fine. You don’t need to babysit it.”

“I won’t have time to make another one if the oven rebels.”

“The oven is not rebelling, it’ll behave,” Derek promised, squeezing once at the back of Stiles’ neck. “Come on, help me finish up with the decorations.”

Stiles knew this was a trap. Derek was horrible at decorating, especially when it came to Christmas trees. Stiles had seen what he did with Christmas trees and he would implode if he walked out there and saw a red bauble right beside another red bauble. These were things Derek did! Not even on purpose, he was just bad at decorating.

It was why Stiles and Erica had been in charge of the paint when the house had been bought. Derek had wanted to paint the kitchen black. Black! Who painted their kitchen black?! No one, especially not Derek Hale, because thankfully he had Stiles who managed to talk him down to a very nice pearl colour with a navy blue accent wall which looked much nicer.

And not like a fucking dungeon.

Stiles inhaled deeply, warring with himself. It was leave the pie to the rebellious oven, or suffer the consequences of a horrible decorating job in the living room.

“Fine,” Stiles muttered after a brief internal debate. He could not handle a ruined tree on top of a ruined pie. Only one disaster allowed.

Checking his phone had the timer set properly, Stiles followed Derek out into their living/dining room area and got to work helping him finish up with all the decorations.

Honestly, he was still pretty bummed about the lack of ability to deck the place out in mistletoe, but he didn’t feel like killing almost all of his friends, so it was best they forego that holiday tradition. Besides, the wolves were all very open with each other, they didn’t need random mistletoe to kiss each other when they felt like it.

Erica was lucky Derek wasn’t a jealous boyfriend, because she took every opportunity that presented itself to smack a big wet one on Stiles. Actually, maybe Stiles was lucky Boyd wasn’t a jealous boyfriend, because he was very scary when he was angry. Boyd didn’t get angry often, but when he did, it was scary. So scary. Stiles still had nightmares.

They were still arguing over where to hang the last set of fairy lights—“Stiles, why did you buy eight boxes of lights?!”—when the doorbell rang. It was still too early for the pack to arrive, but predictably when Stiles went to grab the door, yelling threats over his shoulder at Derek about the lights, it was the sheriff.

“Yes! Pączki!” Stiles proclaimed, reaching for the tupperware his father was holding.

The older man held it out of reach and gave Stiles a look. “This is for later. You don’t get to hog them all just because you were first getting to them.”

“What kind did you make? Did you do the Nutella ones? Please tell me you did the Nutella ones!”

“Nutella is not Polish,” the sheriff insisted while heading for the kitchen. Stiles noticed him glance at the oven, like he wanted to be sure Stiles had made the pie, as usual.

Of course he’d made the pie! Who did his father think he has, a heathen?

To be fair, this was their first Christmas not living in the same household, so his dad probably wanted to make sure all Stilinski traditions would continue despite no longer living together.

“Dad!” Stiles whined.

The sheriff put the Pączki in the microwave for safekeeping, then patted his son’s cheek lightly on his way back out of the kitchen. “I made one, just for you. It pained my soul, but you know I always make you one.”

Grinning, Stiles fist-pumped and followed after his father, only to let out a loud exclamation at the atrocity of what Derek was trying to do with the last set of fairy lights. He was wrapping them around a lamp.

A lamp!

The poor guy was hopeless, he was lucky Stiles was so patient. A saint, really. Nobody else could survive the walking disaster that was Derek Hale and his attempts at decorating anything.

“I bought some beer, if you’d like to help yourself to one, John,” Derek informed the sheriff.

“Thanks son.” When he disappeared back into the kitchen, Stiles grabbed at the fairy lights and then proceeded to order Derek to run them up along the top of the curtain rod and down the two sides. It wasn’t the best place, but it was the only space they had left, and was better than wrapping them around a lamp.

Seriously, a lamp? A lamp, Derek?! Good Lord!

After averting that disaster, Stiles was heading back for the kitchen to check on the pie while his dad and Derek chatted in the living room when the doorbell rang again. It was still much too early for the pack to arrive, but when he opened the door, Kira was there with Liam and Mason, the three of them insisting they’d been ready for hours and hadn’t felt like waiting around at home anymore.

Stiles knew that some people in the pack would only be around for a little while, considering they had families at home—Liam’s parents, Kira’s parents, Boyd’s grandmother and so on—but that kind of made their early arrivals more meaningful because it was obvious they wanted to share the holiday spirit with their pack as much as their family.

Scott was the next to arrive, followed shortly thereafter by Erica and Boyd, who’d then argued with Scott over whose job it was to pick up Isaac. Melissa saved the day by arriving moments later with Isaac. Stiles had known the others would forget the poor guy, so he’d given that very important job to one of the only people he knew would remember to actually pick him up.

Not to say Boyd, Erica and Scott didn’t care about Isaac, they were just very into their own worlds right now and Isaac often got forgotten on the sidelines as the still-single friend. The perpetual third wheel, which was what Stiles used to be until Derek. He had to look out for his own kind, and Isaac seemed to appreciate that if the beaming grin he got was anything to go by.

Stiles had expected Lydia and Allison to be next, but surprisingly it was Jackson. Normally he liked being fashionably late, but apparently the prospect of good food and better company made him a little softer around the edges. It made sense, considering Jackson had mellowed out the past few years, not to mention his parents were never home.

He was one person Stiles was sure would take an eternity to kick out at the end of the night, if he left at all. He might just sleep on the couch...

When Lydia and Allison did finally show up, the last of the group and still half an hour early, Stiles figured there was no point in pretending this wasn’t going to be a wild and crazy night. If any big bads showed up during his holiday dinner though, he was going to go postal on whatever it was and it was going to wish it’d never heard of Beacon Hills.

Nobody messed with Stiles’ first holiday party at his home that he owned with his boyfriend. Nobody!

“Is that the famous pie?” Erica asked when Stiles brought it out to the small table. They’d opted not to have a formal sit-down dinner, considering there weren’t enough chairs, and there was too much food to accommodate both the dishes and plates.

“It is,” Stiles agreed, setting it down on the side table that was reserved for the desserts. The dining table had all the actual food, and it barely contained it all. Derek and Boyd had been forced to bring out the kitchen table for the desserts.

“Looks yummy.” Erica started to lean over to stick her finger in it and Stiles slapped rather violently at her hand.

He was pretty sure he hurt his hand more than he hurt hers.

“What are you, a savage? If you’re gonna ruin the sanctity of my pie with your grubby hands, have the decency to use a fork.”

Erica grinned at him, all teeth, and flashed her amber eyes. It seemed she was only interested in riling him up, because she plastered a wet kiss on his cheek, Stiles letting out a sound of disgust at the amount of drool, and then she pranced away to go hang off Boyd. He was currently having a heated debate with Mason and Liam about Lacrosse being a bastard sport and how it was ruining other good sports that existed.

The girls were all sitting on the couch chatting about something or another, Melissa was fussing over Scott because he’d worn a tie that he hadn’t managed to tie properly—why he had a tie, Stiles didn’t know, but he suspected it had something to do with Allison—and Isaac, Derek and the sheriff were discussing the difference between Pączki and American donuts.

Stiles smiled a little while watching the pack interact. It had been a long, difficult road to reach this point, and some days he still couldn’t believe they’d survived it. Things had been pretty crazy for a while, what with the whole Kanima thing, and the Alpha pack and the Darach and just general insanity and everything coming to kill them. The Nemeton had been an asshole for a few years but it seemed to have mellowed out lately, which was nice.

Not having someone or something trying to kill them on the regular was pretty great.

“What are you smirking about, weirdo?” Jackson demanded, appearing beside him silently.

“I’m not allowed to be happy? I mean, look at these awesome decorations. I did an amazing job getting this place festive.”

“You suck at colour coordination.”

“You’re just colour-blind and a Grinch,” Stiles countered. Jackson snorted, but Stiles knew he was pleased to be there despite not particularly loving Christmas.

When it became clear the wolves were going to start eating each other if they didn’t get any food into their stomachs, Derek said the food was ready to eat and everyone grabbed a plate and headed to the table so they could serve themselves buffet-style.

The humans got to go first, because if the wolves went first, there’d be nothing left. Melissa was very adamant that the dessert table was off-limits until after the real food had been eaten and Stiles was grateful because he didn’t want to have to fight off the wolves for that, too.

He grabbed a little bit of everything, still smiling to himself while eying all the food he had to choose from. He loved that the pack knew each other so well that they didn’t have to talk about anything and everyone already knew they wouldn’t double up on any of the food. And that they all wanted to ensure everyone had a good meal.

Kira had made ham because she knew Mason hated turkey with a passion, and she’d wanted him to enjoy his Christmas dinner.

Erica had made the stuffing she knew Stiles adored, but mama McCall had brought another variety that she’d mixed in some turkey broth because Jackson was allergic to some of the ingredients in Erica’s.

Scott had gone out of his way to ensure there was some grilled corn on the cob because he knew the sheriff loved corn on the cob, but he’d also brought some other vegetables since the rest of the pack were “animals” and didn’t like corn because they were crazy, according to his father.

Derek had gone out to buy some nice wine and a case of beer because, while the wolves couldn’t get drunk, he knew the humans might like to have something nice to sip at while eating dinner.

All in all, it was a pack that took care of each other. A pack that looked at everyone in their little found family, and ensured that nobody felt left out and that everyone understood they had a place here. It was truly the most inclusive and loving family Stiles ever could’ve asked for.

“What are you so happy about?” Derek demanded when he went to join Stiles. He’d opted to sit in the armchair so Derek had perched himself on one of the armrests and was leaning into him heavily, pressing his lips to Stiles’ temple and leaving them there for longer than necessary, like he was just savouring the moment.

“My pie didn’t get ruined,” Stiles informed him.

“Mm, liar,” Derek teased, but he didn’t press for the truth and just kissed him again before sitting up a little straighter so he could eat.

Boyd came to perch himself on the other armrest, he and Derek talking over Stiles about how the renovations at Boyd and Erica’s place were coming along. Erica plopped herself in Stiles’ lap when she realized there was no space left, and he only allowed it because she dumped the entirety of the stuffing she’d spooned onto her plate into his.

His father had capped him at three spoonfuls so having an extra two from Erica was a Godsend, even if his stomach would be angry with him later for overfeeding it.

“Stilinski, McCall is eating all the Pączki,” Jackson called from across the room.

“You stay away from my Nutella Pączki!” Stiles shot back, waving his fork threateningly towards where Scott was poking at all the Pączki, evidently trying to determine what was in them so he could choose one. “I hope you washed your hands!”

Scott turned, pretended to lick his palm, and then grabbed at a Pączki while maintaining eye contact with Stiles. The sheriff appeared behind him to whap him across the back of the head, and asked who wanted pie.

Stiles was pleased and a little honoured at the number of people who shot their hands up. Derek went to grab the ice cream from the freezer and Stiles started collecting all the various dinner plates so he could see about starting another load of dishes.

Kira helped him gather them up while Allison and Liam grabbed another set for the desserts. Everyone moved around each other easily in the kitchen, even though the pack hadn’t been around at the same time very often since he and Derek had moved in. They were all so attuned to one another it made it easy to move together. It was how they were when they were fighting enemies, as well. Perfectly in sync, able to determine what any one member was going to do, and balancing each other expertly.

Kira helped Stiles empty and reload the dishwasher and then they went back out to the main room. Derek had saved Stiles a piece of pie, bless him, but then proceed to help himself to more than half of it. Stiles didn’t mind, he and Derek shared food all the time, and he was petty full from all the stuffing anyway.

They’d insisted on no gift-giving this year since a lot of them were new homeowners and paying off student loans and whatnot, but Stiles knew nobody would abide by that rule. They’d all bought at least one small thing for each other and Erica excitedly started passing out gifts. Stiles was concerned at the predatory grin on her face when she handed over his from her and Boyd, and he felt like it would probably be best to open that one in private.

After another round of gathering dishes—Derek and Scott this time—the pack hung out together in the living/dining area and talked about plans for the next few days. Most of them had time off, barring Melissa and John, since they worked in industries that never stopped. Scott and Allison were heading up to a lakehouse for the rest of the week with Allison’s parents, which Lydia was extremely jealous about. Jackson was going to visit Ethan in London in a few days, and Liam and Mason were going to play video games to unwind and get ready for the new semester since they were still in university.

Erica and Boyd had grand plans to continue their renovations—something Erica looked more excited about than Boyd did. Stiles knew that Derek was planning on Skyping with Cora in the morning, and then they’d probably get to work on the back deck since it was rotting through at the base and Derek wanted it to be ready for barbecue season in the summer.

All in all, everyone sounded like they had some good plans and quality time coming up, and Stiles still couldn’t believe this was his life. A huge found family, an awesome boyfriend, a house he partly owned, a successful Christmas dinner and a Nutella Pączki.

He couldn’t stop smiling.

Even when it seemed to take forever to kick people out. Considering most of them had other places to be, it was surprising how long it took for them to slowly trickle out. Jackson, predictably, was the last to go, but he and Stiles made plans to meet up before he headed out to ensure he’d bought Ethan a decent Christmas present.

While Stiles was sure it was fine, Jackson wanted his opinion, and who was he to say no? So he promised he’d help him out, bid him good night, and shut the front door once Jackson had climbed into his new Maserati and peeled away.

Stiles sighed and leaned back against the door as soon as their last guest had vacated the premises. He looked around at the mess left behind and couldn’t help but laugh a little. Having that many Werewolves in one small space was already a challenge, so he had to be glad none of their furniture had gotten destroyed.

He figured they’d learned from Thanksgiving, when Isaac and Jackson had been roughhousing at Erica and Boyd’s, and had broken a side-table. Erica had almost murdered them and the two had to grovel for weeks before she forgave them.

Well, Isaac grovelled. Jackson just spoiled her and bought her a whole bunch of pretty things she’d been coveting and had basically bought her forgiveness. Isaac had whined about it, but to be fair, it still counted. Jackson could afford to buy her forgiveness, and it wasn’t against pack rules to do that.

After all, people bought Stiles’ forgiveness with food all the time, including Isaac. Wasn’t Jackson’s fault he could afford to meet Erica’s very high expectations for buying back forgiveness.

“That was fun,” Derek said, moving up to Stiles and placing his hands on either side of his head, bracketing him against the door.

Stiles grinned. “It was, wasn’t it?” He reached up to wrap his arms around Derek’s neck, pulling him down close enough to kiss him, but refraining. “We have a lot of cleanup to do tomorrow.”

“Mm,” Derek agreed, tilting his head so he could mouth open kisses along Stiles’ jaw towards his ear. “Isaac and Scott agreed to come help. Lydia said she’d drop in with some lunch and coffee and help supervise.”

“Goddess,” Stiles groaned, eyes sliding shut when Derek found that spot on his neck that made his knees weak. “I love coffee. But for that, we need to go to bed, so we can wake up to have the coffee. Sleep?”

“Not now,” Derek said, biting lightly at Stiles’ neck one last time before pulling back, keeping him bracketed against the door. “I’m still hungry.”

Stiles grinned at the predatory look in the wolf’s eyes, which flashed Alpha red when Derek smelled the evident spike of arousal that shot through Stiles. “I suppose I haven’t given you your Christmas present yet.”

“Is it you?” Derek leaned in to bite along his jaw again. “It better be you.”

“Not exactly, but I’m okay giving you multiple presents.” Stiles ducked out from under Derek’s arms and moved around him so he was backing away from him. Derek turned to look over his shoulder, still braced against the door, eyes bleeding red again. “Come and get me big, bad wolf.”

Derek grinned, a purely animalistic thing, and Stiles turned to race up the stairs, knowing full well Derek only let him win so they would end up in the bedroom instead of on the hallway carpet again.

Rugburn was a bitch, but Stiles tolerated it for Derek.

Derek was his home. Derek was his family. And even if the oven had over-baked his pie just a little bit, this was still the best ever first Christmas in their new home.

He was glad he had an amazing family to share it with. And an even more amazing boyfriend to end the night with.

Some days, Stiles was very happy Peter Hale had bitten Scott, because if he hadn’t, Stiles never would’ve met Derek.

And that would’ve been a damn shame.

END.

[lins-fandom-hub]

a thoughtful handmade gift

Another idea from my list of HPHM Christmas story ideas. This takes on little Em’s point of view and will happen during MC’s sixth year (her first year). Dawn Everett and Hillary Redstone belong to me as well.

---

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly...”

A smile crept onto little Em’s lips as she hummed the Christmas tune she remembered so well, her hands busily working with the twine she was fashioning into a large metal ring. The scent of all the colourful flowers sitting before her, scattered all over the table, brought back several memories of olden days when she would help her father around the greenhouses. Plants of both magical and mundane properties never failed to intrigue her. She loved gardening and Herbology just as much as Professor Sprout, and that was definitely saying something.

“Looking good, Em!” she heard her friend, Dawn, approve with a thumbs up and a wink. Em glanced over at her dorm mate and chuckled as she watched her weave some red poinsettias with white baby’s breath flowers, nodding in approval.

“Thanks, Dawn. Nah, you’ve definitely got an eye for design,” little Em complimented her back. “These colours look wonderful together.”

“And once they’re done--” Dawn quickly gave her wand a flourish and sealed the stems together with a bow. “--they’ll be the candy to anyone’s eye!”

She then plopped the crown onto Em’s head, making the two badgers giggle. Indeed, though, the red and white flower crown with mint leaves sprouting from the buds gave a royal elegant air to the girl who wore it, and she grinned in thanks.

Ever since the making of the flower crown club, the two house mates have grown very close--who would have thought that the youngest sibling of the infamous curse-breaker Jacob Lin would befriend a peppy girl who bounced on her toes like a cheerleader all the time? Yet there they stood, two new friends who founded the club together. Not only did it help Dawn expand her network with other students, but it also gave little Em a positive image. Bullies have been targeting her to the point where she always came out with injuries--it was a good change for once to be someone her peers could look up to and admire.

The brief moment of happiness was short-lived, however, and soon another first year--Hillary from Slytherin--ran in with a worried look in her eyes.

“Guys, we have an emergency,” she said, approaching the two and almost toppling over the table full of flowers in her haste. “Professor Flitwick just told me that we’re out of Christmas wreaths to decorate the castle corridors. Without the wreaths, Christmas at Hogwarts wouldn’t be complete.”

“What?!” Dawn’s jaw instantly dropped at the news. “We’ve got a lot of Christmas trees, but not enough wreaths?”

Hillary nodded in assent. “Seems so. I’m pretty sure they wanted to save enough evergreen to keep the trees full. At least that’s what I heard from Flitwick and Hagrid.”

“That’s unacceptable! We have to decorate every inch of the castle to make it feel like Christmas!” Dawn cried, slamming her fist in her hand. “Even Filch has to agree!”

“And that’s after we’ve seen him in his pyjamas!” Em recalled with a laugh. “Of course we’ll help with making the wreaths, Hillary. With a little more festive cheer around the school, it will lift anyone’s spirits up.”

She waved her wand and muttered, “Orchideous.”

Instantly, more poinsettias and Christmas roses, holly and mistletoe all emerged from her wand, as well as enough evergreen branches to make a huge Christmas tree. The sight of the huge pile made the other two gape, and they stared at Em, wide-eyed.

“That’s--whoa,” Hillary murmured as she picked up a few of the evergreen branches. “These are beautiful.”

Em nodded as she picked up a branch of holly and twirled it round in her fingers. “My mom used to hang holly garlands everywhere around the house. Anything to liven the place up in time for the holidays, she’d set it somewhere. It’s only right we do the same for the school--make something festive for the season so they’d feel the cheer anywhere and everywhere.”

“The entire school needs to feel the spirit. We’ll make as many wreaths as we can, then!” Dawn decided, clapping her hands. “After all, the more the merrier!”

“Isn’t that for people at parties?” Hillary inquired, cocking her head at Dawn who just giggled.

“Well, it goes for just about anything!” the blonde responded with a laugh.

And so the three girls got set to work, lacing and weaving the flowers into the evergreen and enlarging the metal rings used for their flower crowns to make the wreaths big enough for anyone to see. Amidst the poking needles of the branches and the humming of Christmas carols, little Em silently thanked her sister and her friends for helping her with all those incredible spells--they were only the ones she needed, and she wouldn’t ask for anything more or else the journey through magical education would be ruined for her.

Instantly she thought of Diego, and it made her cheeks grow slightly warm, her grip almost lost on the mistletoe branch she was working with.

“And done!” Hillary announced, throwing her fifteenth wreath on top of the ever growing pile on the table. “I think this should be enough.”

Indeed, the three girls had managed to make forty-five wreaths within the last two hours, their fingers tired and numb after endlessly working without a break. Em simply sighed as she set her last wreath on the pile and gave her two friends a smile. Despite the blisters and the cuts, she felt a bubble of pride swell inside.

“These look wonderful, guys. I’m sure they’ll love them,” little Em said. “Now let’s bring it over to them before we miss out on dinner.”

Sure enough, everyone who came around to see the newly made wreaths in the halls felt a surge of happiness course through them, a smile effortlessly growing over their faces at the sight. With all the colourful baubles and blossoms and even the occasional mistletoe branch interlaced in the evergreen, it definitely felt like Christmas had come to Hogwarts school.

[the-kingofsnakes]

Chapter 2: The Oruwin's Nest

Part II: Harry POV

Harry's eyes widened as he peered at the box in the professor's hand. It was small, whatever it was but it was also his mother's so he knew that he would cherish it forever.

"Can I open it?" Harry whispered out.

He didn't mean for his voice to be so soft but he was already on edge from the previous events and English really did sound awful coming out of his mouth. It always felt like his mouth was full of chalk dust when he spoke it and he had to work around how a snake would think and speak versus a person. He couldn't help the small gasp that he involuntarily let out when the professor smiled at him slightly and gave him the box. Harry ripped at the wrapping paper and let it fall to the floor as he tore open the box to reveal a silver ring with two interlocking hoops on the top that looked like arms linked together. 

"The knot on it is an iteration of the true love knot. I have a similar one with an eternity knot on it instead on a necklace I constantly wear. I made them myself just before we graduated from Hogwarts and we used them as friendship rings. I thought that you would enjoy having something she used to wear for your birthday."

Harry could only nod his head in agreement as he took the ring out of the box. He had never gotten a real gift before much less anything that had to do with his mother. He wasn't allowed to ask questions about her at the Dursleys unless he wanted to get hit with something. His aunt and Uncle viewed his mother's name as the foulest curse word imaginable to the point that even the flower wasn't allowed anywhere near the house. He started to place the ring on his right thumb only realize the small metal probably would fall right off when he changed into a snake.

"Could you… maybe make it bigger? So that it's a bracelet instead of a ring or would that be wrong?"

"Why do you wish for that?"

"Well, it's just that when I were to eventually turn into a snake then the ring would probably fall off because it's so small but if you could turn it into a bracelet then it would maybe fit in both of my forms. ...I think."

"Very well then. Since it was made with magic it is possible." 

Harry watched in awe as the small ring got thicker and grew so that it was a small bracelet just as he wanted instead of a ring. He wiggled it onto his arm before it was done and found that it stopped growing once it was around his wrist and actually shrunk down a bit so that it fit nicely against his skin.

"Awesome." Dudley whispered out from beside him.

Harry felt the sentiment entirely but could only grin at his new present as Snape explained that since it was magic and was now his then he was the only one who could remove it. He had made them with that aspect in mind in case they got stolen and while originally they were intended for just he and Lily he had changed her ring to be able to store a bit of Harry's magic inside of it so that he would be its new owner instead of her. 

"We should be off soon. I believe it's time for you to gather your things now as we still have a long day ahead."

The boys did as they were told and went to gather their belongings only to find that they had none. Dudley suggested that his parents had probably stashed their clothes, other than their pajamas, in with their own this morning when they were packing. Neither boys noticed Snape frowning as they came back from the bathroom with only their pajamas. 

"Is that.. all that you have?" 

"Apparently." The boys say in unison.

"I see. Then our first stop shall be to get Mr. Dursley a locket."

"A locket sir?" Dudley asked hesitantly. Harry wasn't sure why Dudley needed a locket but he knew not to question adults to closely.

Professor Snape seemed to not feel that Dudley needed a reply as he just walked out of the cabin and left the boys to follow. Harry shrugged when Dudley looked at him like the man was crazy but they decided to follow him outside anyway as they clutched their pajamas in their arms. They arrived outside only to find the odd professor holding his right hand out with a long stick in it, like he was trying to hail a taxi.

"What'sss the stick for?" Harry whispered to his cousin as they got closer. The leaves crunched under their feet as they made their way to the man.

"Your guesss is asss good as mine at thisss point." 

"For the record Mr. Potter," Harry straightened up as stiff as a board, "I do not mind if you speak in parseltongue so long as your cousin is willing to translate if you are trying to ask me something." Snape said without turning around.

"Th- Thank you sir."

"Um, what's the stick for Professor?" Dudley asked once they got next to him.

"Hm? Ah. My apologies, this is my wand. I'm trying to hail the knight bus so that it can take us to diagon alley."

"Did he just say diagonally?"

"No. Diagon alley. It'sss two words I think."

"What? Is there a reverse lane and sideways avenue as well?"

"I don't know! Why don't you ask him?" Dudley snapped impatiently at him.

Harry decided he was going to do just that when the biggest bus he had ever seen pulled up in front of them in a flurry. At least he was pretty sure it was a bus. The thing was dark purple and looked more like a van if it hadn't been for the two stacks of windows encased in metal that protruded off the top of the van base. It looked more like a backwards camper if you asked him. The bus opened its door to reveal a short white haired man with big round glasses on his face who turned and greeted them all with a smile. Harry thought he very much resembled a small owl when he did so.

"Why hello there! How many for the bus? Three? That'll be one gallon and thirteen sickles then!" The owl man said to Snape in quick succession.

Snape gave the man what looked to be coins and went straight onto the bus without so much as glancing back at them. They followed closely behind him this time and stared at the floating seats as they walked by. 

"No luggage?" A tall brown haired man asked them as they passed on their way down the aisle. He had on a uniform similar to the driver with black slacks and a black vest and shirt combination with a bus hat on his head.

"No Stan. Now leave us be and let Ernie know we're headed to diagon alley please. I'd prefer to stop at Madame Elaine's Treasure Trove if possible."

"Righto Professor Snape!" The man replied quickly and tilted his hat at them as he walked away.

Snape sat down on one of the floating seats and eyed them expectedly making the children squirm a bit before they followed his lead once more. No words were spoken between them as the bus started moving. An announcement came on from the driver that they should buckle up before they really got going. The three of them did as they were told as they looked down to see seat belt attachments now next to them. Harry had just buckled his in when the bus jerked forward. The strap did nothing to keep him in his seat due to his small size as he went flying through the air. Midway through his ascent panic took over his senses as he changed into a dark red leaf viper and landed in a pile of suitcases that had fallen off of the overhead rack.

He heard Dudley and the Professor shout for him as the bus jerked once more. Harry burrowed himself under the suitcases and tried not to get squished. Eventually the bus stopped and the suitcases were moved around him to reveal a very concerned Dudley and Professor Snape. Harry slithered out of his spot rather slowly and changed back to human with a dazed expression on his face. He was pretty sure he heard Dudley ask if he was alright but the vibrations in his jaw were still translating sounds for him that humans wouldn't normally worry about.

Going from snake to human when he was trying to hear something was always strange. Sometimes he missed entire words that were spoken and other times he just had to take a few seconds to reply. He found that his hearing was relatively the same in both forms for some reason: vibrations were sent to his jaw and then he could somehow make sense of them. Sometimes he could translate rather loud vibrations and other times he could only translate normal ones depending on the snake he chose to be. 

Once they were off the bus and said their goodbyes Harry went back to holding onto the seam of Dudley's shirt once more as a safety net. Snape led them through the odd traffic of the crowded alley and Harry ignored the strange stares and whispers about him as his jaw vibrated slightly with the sound currents. He led them into a shop that looked oddly enough like an open treasure chest that said Madame Elaine's Treasure Trove on the sign above the old door. 

Madame Elaine, or who Harry had assumed was her, looked a lot like Dudley's Aunt Marge if she were as thin as a toothpick. Her attitude however was the complete opposite of the woman as she smiled kindly at Harry and didn't comment on his unruly hair. The shop itself looked like a big antique store with baubles and trinkets everywhere. Harry swore he saw a necklace move by itself even though he knew it was impossible. Maybe he really did need glasses?

"Verus! It's so good to see you again!" The woman yelled from behind the counter.

"Verusss?" Dudley asked in a hushed tone.

"Nickname?" Harry supplied while cautiously eyeing the woman behind the counter.

"I was wondering if you had a locket and a booth currently available Elaine?"

"Oh of course! Anything I should know about?"

"Not really, just a reducio and engorgio charm combination, an extension charm and some atmospheric charms for the inside."

"You are aware that you'll have to catalogue the extension charm correct?"

"I was hoping you could make an exception as it isn't for me."

"Oh? You don't normally give out presents. Who's it for then? If you give me a good reason I'll keep it off the books."

Snape turned towards them at them and eyed them expectedly. Harry wasn't sure if they were supposed to leave or explain that the locket was for Dudley for some reason. He didn't have time to ask before Dudley was pulling him along to go peruse the shop, who had apparently picked up on the social cues that the professor was trying to impress upon them before he could. His cousin drug him all the way to the back of the store to look around without so much as a second glance. There was even more weird stuff in the back like jewelry boxes that glowed and metal eyes on locks that followed you. 

The cousins eventually went their separate ways to explore the shop while the adults talked. Harry had every intention of looking at all the small shiny things. He truly did, until he heard squeaking behind a rather old looking bookcase. He followed the squeaking vigorously passed old grandfather clocks, through rows of strange globes, and even under a table until he finally cornered the mousey morsel. All of his instincts were telling him that he was hungry, the mouse was food, it's fresh. While the human part of his brain was screaming at him that was not proper behavior for a boy to do. That mice are not food when he's human but he's hungry. He hasn't eaten anything more than that bit of broccoli from yesterday. He didn't remember the last time he ate before that. He swiped up the snake with deft hands and raised it to his mouth, ignoring the fact that it was very much alive and covered in fur. He ignored the footsteps coming from around the corner as he lowered the squirming mouse. He faintly registered Dudley staring at him but couldn't make out the expression on his face. His only concern was the mouse in his hands and how fast it would take him to eat it.

"Harry look at- Harry no! Drop the mouse! Drop it! We will eat later. Now drop the mouse!" Dudley shouted.

Harry glared at his cousin for interrupting his impromptu meal and screamed when he was suddenly drenched in water. Harry reflexively dropped the mouse, ignoring the thud and subsequent scampering, and wiped his eyes of the water that he was somehow drenched in. Glancing up afterward to see a small storm cloud fading from atop his head.

"I'm not a stupid cat!" Harry said once he opened his eyes and saw the smirk on Dudley's face.

"You're right! You're a stupid snake!"

"You can stop now Umdri." Dudley replied in a low tone like he was talking to someone else.

Harry huffed as he thought about searching for the mouse again until a new noise caught his attention. Chattering that he could only describe as one similar to a chipmunk was speaking animatedly near him. Harry gawked at the scene before him as Dudley seemed to be speaking to an eight inch gremlin with blue skin and a red stripe on its head who was standing on his shoulder and holding onto his neck for support. It had big floppy ears on the sides of its head and two small black horns protruding from the top. Its eyes were a deep purple color and it had black sharp nails on each of its hands. Both its hands and feet seemed to have three digits with its feet looking similar to a bird's. The strangest thing about all of it had to be that both Harry and Dudley seemed to be able to understand the tiny creature.

"Glad to be of help Keeper Dudley!" 

"What is that thing and how did it get me soaked with water? Also how can we understand it?"

"Well first of all he's not an it he's a him and his name is Umdri. I'm not sure how you can understand him but I know I can because he bit me when I was trying to help him get away from another snake that's in here."

"Honestly Prince Harry, it's like you've never spoken to another magical being before! Didn't your Oma teach you anything?"

"Ugh, again with the Prince stuff! Did that snake tell you to call me that? How many times do I have to tell them that I'm not a prince for them to understand! Also I don't know what the hell an Oma is, so no!"

"Ah! Well then… that is odd. No matter, I shall explain as much as I can to you little princeling! I am what wizards call a Coco Rumsey Catcher. Although we prefer the term Oruwin. As for what you are little highness; you are a prince of snakes and when you grow big and strong you shall be a king of snakes!"

"King of snakes? How is that even possible? There's no such thing as a king of snakes."

"Well of course there is! There is only one creature known as the king of snakes Majesty! They are known by many names sire: the great hatcher of dragons, the protector of creatures, the golem sister's champion, the petrifier of wizards, the most hated of spiders! Why I am referring to none other than the great basilisk! That is what you truly are majesty! Most creatures bow to your decree, others hide in fear and the muggle snakes are your most faithful retainers. The wizarding world is where you truly belong and where you shall rule with your mate until your designated end as fate sees fit!"

"I'm not some great big snake king! I'm just Harry! Boring, ordinary Harry Potter who has dead parents!"

"Of course you are not a king yet majesty! You still need to grow up. In due time you will grow to be the king you were meant to be. Now, Keeper Dudley I wish to find a home that I can grow my precious seedlings in and preferably one that you may also call home if you so desire! Shall we go searching my Keeper?"

"Seedlings?" Harry asked his cousin. 

He didn't feel like trying to ask the Oruwin more things since he thought it would be a lost cause. 

"He takes care of flowers and other magical plants. He can do small elemental magic to help with their growth which is how he made the small storm cloud. He was trying to find a nice field to grow some plants in but then he got chased into here by that other snake. I helped him out and now he calls me Keeper. Said he wants to stay with me if possible but that his search for a nice field with a low chance of predators comes first."

Harry hummed at this new bit of information. His head felt like it was going to explode. Sure he was glad Dudley made a new friend and it made sense that said friend wanted to try to do what he was supposed to before he decided to stick with Dudley but his happiness was short lived and replaced with panic quite quickly. It was bad enough that every other snake he had ever come across had called him a prince or some variation of but now this tiny magical creature said he was supposed to be a king when he grew up? He barely knew anything about the wizarding world, Professor Snape hadn't exactly been helpful so far, and according to this new guy he was supposed to rule in it with a mate! 

No, no, absolutely not. He didn't want to be a king. He didn't even really know what a basilisk was but it didn't sound like anything good. He just wanted to get out of this shop, get the rest of his school supplies and wait out the rest of summer so that he could learn how to do magic at Hogwarts. In order to do that though he needed to find Snape. Now. He found him still chatting with the shopkeeper at the front desk and it seemed that the only thing had changed from when he left the man was that he now had a silver beehive pendant in front of him on the counter. He heard Dudley come up behind him and faintly registered Umdri chattering away from his perch. He paid them no mind as the Professor looked at them with a pleased expression only for it to turn into confusion seconds later.

"Mr. Dursley why exactly do you have a Coco Rumsey Catcher standing on your shoulder?"

"I saved him from a snake in here. He's trying to find a place to grow plants that doesn't have a lot of predators but he also wants to stay with me so it's a bit tricky."

"I see. I believe I have something for you that will assist you in both of these endeavors."

Snape grabbed the beehive and brought them into a medium sized room off to the side of the shop. He set the little pendant on the ground and the boys watched as the nest grew in size. It was silver in color and looked like it had just been plucked off a tree with a pointed top and a relatively flat bottom. The black truncated oval opening near the bottom that looked like it had been painted on was now big enough that they were able to step into it easily.

"How?" Harry asked with a breathless tone.

Snape quickly explained that the inside actually had another world he had created by using magic and that he intended for this place to be a safe space for the boys to go to if they needed, whether in the muggle or wizarding world.  

"I've put an altered enlarging charm on it so that it's easier for you to enter. Normally you would have to use your wands in order to use any magic however I've altered this spell so that once it comes in contact with this ring." He lifted his right hand to show them an ornate silver ring that had celtic markings on the sides with a diamond O in the middle that had the bottom lines extending from it a bit.

"Then you will be able to enter it without casting. The symbol is the ancient futhark rune Othala, which loosely means home." He said to them as he produced a similar ring to Dudley and gave a rectangular pendant version of the same color to Harry that he quickly fastened onto his bracelet.

"In its smaller form it I made it appear that the opening was painted on to not attract attention but in reality it's an open hole to a hollow nest. It will shrink back down in size once you are inside and will grow once more when you are ready to leave."

Before any of the three wizards could move the Oruwin jumped off of Dudley's shoulder and ran straight into the nest. Dudley called and ran after him only for Harry and Snape to follow closely behind. 

The inside of the nest was filled with plush green grass and blue skies. It even had a sun, trees, mountains and Harry could swear he smelled water coming from somewhere. Snape told them that there was a lake a few hundred feet away along with fruit bearing trees and vegetables growing in natural patches. He even added game such as rabbits, toads, deer and a few snakes and foxes for predators. If the animals got to be too much then they could discuss measures to tone them down but that the populations should stay relatively fine due to everything having a limited food and water source.

Once they looked around some more Dudley and Harry both expressed an interest in having some kind of shelter created in the new space and were soon kicked out by Umdri who said that he would be more than willing to assist them so long as they let him stay and tend to the grounds while they were on the outside. All three wizards agreed and soon exited the nest. Dudley picked up the pendant and put it on his neck after he grabbed its chain from Snape. Both thanked the professor for the extremely generous gift and thanked him even more when he explained that it was already paid for. Food was the only thoughts on their minds as Dudley recounted the event of Harry going after a mouse in his human form.

[sp4c3-0ddity]

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot like A Christmas Carol

Chapter Three:  No ‘Doctor Who’ Christmas Special Prepared Him for This

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two

Read on ao3

~4800 words

i completely and wholeheartedly blame @hailqiqi...and in the interest of sharing reserve some for @rueitae. but i also thank them too for the editing and talking me out of rewriting this chapter!! but now the damn tune is stuck in my head how did this happen i don’t even celebrate Christmas!!

There’s no way Lance is sleeping tonight, not after visits from two ghosts and one whatever the quiznak Bob is and the promise of another, so he doesn’t even bother. Instead he stumbles downstairs to the living room and boots up the Mercury Gameflux he should really return to Pidge.

(Never mind that she’s having so much fun without it - and him - at a party.)

Well, he might as well take advantage of being the only one home, and a mindless video game he beat more times than he can count is as good a distraction as any. This Christmas already proves to be a bad one, a poor representative of the holiday and nothing like the ones of his childhood while his family goes on vacation. Quiznak, he never did get to introduce Allura to Christmas on Earth…

Lance jerks the controller’s joystick a little harsher than necessary, and his avatar on the screen launches itself off a cliff. He scowls as the music lowers in pitch, his lives ticking down by one.

The blue light emanating from the screen flickers, an electrical hum filling the air. A sigh escapes Lance while the shadows coalesce in the corner of the room, and he pauses the game before the cloaked figure blocks his view of the screen.

“Oh, great,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Let me guess: you’re the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, and if the last guy was Bob you’ll be…Zarkon?” No, that can’t be right; the figure’s too short and not nearly bulky enough for him. He raises an eyebrow and guesses again, “Haggar?”

“I am most certainly not Haggar!” the figure hisses in a familiar voice that sends a shiver down Lance’s spine, and his worst fears - or fondest hopes? - are confirmed when they push their hood back.

Lance jumps, the controller slipping from his fingers when he yelps, “Allura?”

Allura crosses her arms, her pink cheek markings gleaming the dark. “That is my name.”

Lance stands up slowly, his heart in his throat and his breath trapped in his lungs as he steps towards her. “Really? You’re the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?” And rather than saying anything else he’s wanted to say to her - he should’ve kept a list… - since she gave her life for the universe, he wonders, “Shouldn’t you stay cloaked?” He gestures towards her hood. “I thought the whole point of the cloak was that the future was always changing so you can’t really know it.”

Allura frowns, looking utterly unimpressed, and observes, “You sound like Bob.”

“So is that a—”

“It’s a bit stuffy under the hood, so I decided against it. Besides”—a hint of a smile crosses her face—”wouldn’t you rather see someone familiar for your last journey through time?”

“Does this mean you’re the last one?” Lance wonders hopefully. Maybe after Allura’s visit comes to an end - the thought of it ending makes his chest tighten - he can finally get some beauty sleep.

(And oh, will he need it if he keeps finding silver hairs.)

But Allura doesn’t reply except to grab his wrist, and Lance blurts, “Wait, the TV—”

His surroundings dissolve, the blue-lit darkness of the living room giving way to a conference room Lance recognizes immediately from the Garrison.

It’s a much smaller party than the one Bob showed him, with the table shoved against the wall and heavily laden with dishes both familiar and foreign and…alien. A wreath decorated with a red bow hangs from the door, and a streamer reading CONGRATULATIONS DEFENDERS underneath a more seasonal MERRY CHRISTMAS hangs from the ceiling.

He almost doesn’t recognize Pidge standing at the front of the room, not with hair long enough to sweep her shoulders or wearing an elegant green dress rather than the Garrison uniform most of the guests don. She raises a glass of what looks like champagne and clinks a fork against it, attracting the attention of everyone in the room.

A smile lights up her face, bright enough Lance wishes he could pretend she directs it at him. “We’ve come so far, Defenders,” she says. “Just a few years ago we were only in the prototype stage, and finally tomorrow our first ship launches with the Garrison’s best pilot in the cockpit.” She flashes a grin and a wink at the unfamiliar man standing beside her and adds, “I’m sorry, Keith; we’ve let him usurp you.”

Laughter fills the room, and another familiar voice says, “He’s welcome to it.”

Lance spins around, his eyes widening when they land on a smiling Keith standing with Hunk and…himself.

An older version of himself, one with a hint of gray in his hair and who looks a touch sullen judging by the glares he keeps shooting at the man beside Pidge, the one she named “the Garrison’s best pilot”. The champagne flute in his - or in future Lance’s - hand is already empty, though no one else’s is, and for one painful heartbeat Lance thinks he understands.

He wishes the pilot launching into space was him.

Everyone toasts the launch, and it’s then that Lance notices that Pidge doesn’t drink from her glass. Instead the pilot beside her takes it and—

—he and Allura stand right behind him in a blink, in time to watch Pidge rest a hand on her stomach and mutter, “I’d kill for an empanada.”

“After this, I’ll take you,” the man promises. His fingers interlace with hers, a silver band glittering.

Lance’s stomach knots with dread. He steps back, unsure if he wants to see this but unable to look away when they share a brief kiss. “Is she—is she pregnant?” he asks Allura.

Allura, oddly silent where Bob had been all too happy to make frequent observations, confesses, “She is. She told him just this morning.”

“Told who?” Lance asks.

But before she can reply, his future self marches his way through laughing scientists both human and alien, heading right for Pidge and her…whatever that guy is to her.

“Lance?” Pidge says, her voice breathy with surprise. “You came?”

The man/pilot looks decidedly displeased rather than shocked. He wraps a protective arm around Pidge’s shoulders, and—

“Hey!” Lance screeches as the scene changes from the warm and crowded conference room to a chilly and well-lit sidewalk. He rounds on Allura and says, “I was watching that!”

Allura sighs, her eyes darting away from him, and says, “I wanted to spare you that.”

“I thought I was supposed to be learning something from this time travel,” Lance says, throwing up his arms in exasperation. “How am I supposed to learn if I don’t see what you want to show me?”

“I’m not sure the specifics of your and Pidge’s fight will do you much good,” Allura tells him.

Lance’s heart sinks. “What fight?”

“They…change,” she admits, smiling weakly. “It’s the nature of trying to predict the future. Sometimes you try to sway her away from her betrothed because you once had an affair—”

“We did what?”

“—and others you demand answers for why she didn’t choose you for the mission.”

“W-what?” Lance’s jaw drops. “But I’m not even a—I’m not a pilot anymore!” He blinks, remembering that Allura is showing him the future, and wonders, “Did that change and she still didn’t choose me?” And why does that feel like a smack to the face, for Pidge to pass him over like that?

“I’m afraid…it hasn’t,” Allura says.

The scenery shifts from a suburban street to the familiar inside of his family’s farmhouse. A Christmas tree stands in the corner, its branches heavy with a bizarre mix of ornaments.

Allura picks one up - Lance immediately recognizes it as an angel that Silvio decorated one year in school, though its paint is more chipped than he remembers - and wonders, “What is the reason for these?”

“Uh…to make the tree look pretty?” Lance supplies with a shrug.

“Yes, but they all look so different.” Allura pokes a classic red bauble. “And why do you all worship a fuzzy tree this time of year?”

Lance chuckles - did he really never explain this part of Christmas to her? - and says, “We don’t worship the tree. It’s just for decoration.”

“What if it starts a fire?” she wonders. “It’s made of fibers, isn’t it? And that’s easily ignited so—”

“Allura,” Lance says, grabbing her attention with a hand on her shoulder, “it’s just a tradition. Sometimes we do things because they’re a tradition. Didn’t you have stuff like that on Altea?”

Allura’s gaze drifts down, her affect so somber his stomach twists with regret, but she nods and concedes, “Yes, and I suppose you would find them just as alien as I find yours.”

“Right,” Lance agrees. He rubs the back of his neck as they drift into an awkward silence - oh, he hasn’t missed those with her - but the clinking of metal utensils on glass plates distracts him.

Lance leads the way into the noisy dining room. The first thing he notices with a squeeze in his chest is that his Meemaw is nowhere in sight. The next thing, judging by the number of children Lance doesn’t recognize, is—

“You’re the only one of your brothers and sisters unmarried,” Allura points out. She raises an eyebrow at where future Lance - at least a few years older than the last future Lance - sits between Veronica and his mami.

“When are you going to bring that new girl home to meet us, Lance?” his mami wonders. Her words, directed at his future self, cut through the cacophony of a million other conversations.

“I don’t know,” future Lance says with a dismissive wave of his fork. “I still haven’t figured out if she’s the one, you know?” He avoids her eyes in favor of spearing a chunk of turkey and stuffing it into his mouth.

“I haven’t seen you eat like that in a while,” Allura notes with some amusement.

Lance, utterly unamused, rolls his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on Allura,” Veronica cuts in with a frown. “You were so excited to introduce her to us, but now you keep putting us off the scent.”

Future Lance sets his fork down as a grimace crosses his face. “Maybe Allura was the one,” he retorts.

The air is too thick and solemn for what should be a pleasant holiday meal with family, but a hush falls over the table.

Veronica’s hand falls onto future Lance’s shoulder. “Lance, even if she was your soul mate, you can’t just…consign yourself to widowhood because someone you dated for two months died. Hell, Shiro and his ex had one of the most solid relationships I’ve ever seen, and even he’s married to someone else now.”

Lance can’t help a sideways glance at the ghost of Allura standing beside him, can’t help the twisting in his gut when she doesn’t meet his eyes.

Future Lance throws up his hands and snaps, “Then I guess not all defenders of the universe have to put up with this!”

“Lance!” his mami chides, but Veronica replies tartly, “What are you talking about? You’re a farmer now, or did you already forget?”

He gasps, his heart heavy with regret and his shock leaving him speechless. Would he really talk to his sister, no matter how snide, like that on Christmas Eve?

But the scene changes before he sees what happens next.

Lance instantly recognizes Sam and Colleen Holt’s living room, minus one bull terrier and plus shredded gift wrap littering the floor. Krolia, of all people, sits cross-legged on the floor with a boy Lance has never seen in his life - though, well, he probably hasn’t been born yet - in her lap. She grins at the boy - he’s three years old at most, Lance guesses - before sticking a bright green gift bow on his reddish brown hair.

The boy giggles the way only a small child can when Krolia blows a raspberry against his cheek.

Lance stares with wide eyes; he never thought Krolia the maternal sort…and why is she with the Holts anyway?

Allura redirects his attention with a touch to his shoulder. He glances at her, eyebrow raised, and she points at the living room doorway, half-hidden by a Christmas tree. Pidge stands there, agitatedly sliding a ring up and down her finger, with Keith, who appraises her with a furrow in his brow.

“I swear your mother will end up spoiling him worse than mine,” Pidge complains. Her heavy frown softens when her gaze falls on the boy in Krolia’s lap, and it hits Lance who he is.

“She has a kid?” he screeches, rounding on Allura. Nausea turns his stomach - oh, quiznak, if he throws up, will his vomit be as immaterial as his body? - and questions buzz through his mind so rapidly he can’t think which to ask first.

Lance looks between the boy and Pidge, searching for all the physical similarities and differences. Hair like hers in color and texture, a light dusting of freckles on his nose despite the season, maybe a little small for his age, but his eyes are gray rather than bronze like hers.

“He’s a…he’s a cute kid,” he observes, but with a tightening in his chest Lance wishes for him to be his too.

“I suppose,” Allura concedes, “but I never really understood the appeal of children at that age. They make such messes and smell worse than a Kaltenecker.”

“Hey!” Lance exclaims, but she only rolls her eyes before jerking her head back towards the scene.

“…sorry that happened, Pidge,” Keith says. He pats her shoulder in an awkward approximation of comfort. “Anything Krolia and I can do for you?”

Pidge shakes her head before finally slipping her ring - her wedding ring? - off and tucking it into her jeans pocket. “It’ll be—it’ll be fine,” she says. “I’m an upstanding Earth citizen and a former Paladin of Voltron! There’s no way the judge will let my husband have full custody…is there?”

She sounds so uncertain - what’s happening? - that Lance’s heart aches for her. He steps towards them, longing to be the one to comfort her rather than have her suffer Keith’s feeble attempts at sympathy - obviously his strengths lie elsewhere - when a glint at her ears catches his eye.

“The earrings…” The vines glitter and scatter light from the nearby Christmas tree, almost mocking him. “Allura, have Pidge and I - or future me, I guess - talked lately?”

“I…no, you haven’t,” Allura admits with an apologetic smile. “You haven’t spoken since your fight at that first scene I showed you.”

“But she’s wearing earrings I bought her,” Lance says, frowning.

“Those were from you?” Allura’s eyes widen slightly in surprise before she laughs. “Oh, did I ever tell you, Lance?”

“Tell me…what?”

Their surroundings melt away, Keith comforting Pidge and Krolia playing with her son dispersing faster than smoke, until they stand in front of the well-lit church in Varadero. Churchgoers pass under the gate after midnight mass while a few peel away to walk to the nearby cemetery.

Allura leads him after those while she confesses, “Before you asked me on that date, I thought you had feelings for Pidge.”

Lance snaps around to look at her. “I—what?” His conversation with the ghost of Keith’s dad rings in his head and he wonders, “Was it…that obvious?”

Allura shrugs before shooting him a rare teasing grin. “You forget I had four spies that reported only to me.”

He blinks at her, confused, until a surprised chuckle bursts out of him. He takes her hand and reassures her, “I promise all I saw when we were together was you, Allura.”

Her grin falters as she says, “I believe you, Lance, but you and I…sometimes I wonder if we both would’ve been happier had I told you no.” She tugs her hand from his grasp, and before he can stammer a startled reply or an assertion that she’s wrong - but is she? - she leads him into the gloomy cemetery.

As they walk further in, passing through gravestones as if they’re not there, he wonders with a gut-wrenching fear if he’s about to see his mami’s grave.

(For what purpose? So that he can learn she died disappointed in her youngest son?)

But the gravestone they halt before is unmistakably his.

Lance’s breath catches in his throat as he reads the simple stone carving. Nothing inscribed on it so much as indicates he was once a Paladin of Voltron, a hero of the universe, and there’s little more than an inscription declaring him a “beloved son, brother, and uncle”.

It tells so little of who Lance is - who Lance was - that a scowl twists his lips. Who was this Lance to leave so little behind when he died?

“Lance,” Allura says, jerking him from his bitter musings, “do all humans live such short lives?”

He can’t breathe while he takes in the numbers and does the math. “N-no,” he chokes out. A lump lodges in his throat - will he really end up mourning his own death? - as his eyes narrow at the gravestone. “What did I even spend that life doing?”

“Farming juniberries,” Allura tells him. “You rarely saw the other Paladins - you only met Hunk’s children once - and you…well, you even stopped visiting Altea and never returned to space.”

Lance falls to his knees, but he’s somehow still dry-eyed, staring unseeingly at the gravestone. “Why? You—you love it there. You died to bring it back, so why would I never go back?”

Allura kneels beside him and rests a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know for sure, but I can guess…”

“Then do it.”

“I suspect it became too painful for you to see our friends moving ahead with their lives while you…idled.” Her fingers tighten on his shoulder. “You lost your purpose when the Lions left, so now you must—”

An indistinct voice cuts her off as three people bundled in jackets and scarves - a chilly evening, he guesses, though he’s practically a ghost now and can’t feel it - approach. A tall, middle-aged woman with a beanie pulled past her ears leads the other two towards them.

Rachel always was sensitive to the cold.

Lance’s heart skips a beat when he recognizes the other two with her as Hunk and Pidge, and—wow, they both aged well, Hunk with his goatee not even a little spotted with gray and Pidge with a more mature beauty in the way she holds herself and the hint of wrinkles around her eyes.

(And who’s the lucky quiznaker that gets to grow old with her? Definitely not him.)

"...missed the funeral," Hunk is saying to Rachel as they draw closer. "We were both in space."

Lance's gut twists oddly at Hunk's words, both at the implication that they weren't at his funeral and that they went into space without him.

(Of course they did if Allura's assertion that he never returns is right.)

"I understand," Rachel says. The three of them pause in front of the grave. "You both have busy lives, so I think he would too."

"I don't—I don't know," Pidge says with a waver in her voice. She sniffs and huddles closer to Hunk, for warmth or comfort or both, and he wraps an arm around her. "He wasn't so forgiving of it last time I saw him."

She speaks without bitterness, as if she only states an objective fact.

"Either way," Rachel says a little awkwardly, "we are grateful that you visited since I'm sure you'd rather be with your own families for Christmas."

"Lance was our family too," Hunk tells her, smiling. "I can't forget him even if it's been a while since we met."

Pidge drifts away from him, passing through Lance until she stands right before his gravestone. She traces the inscription of his name with a fingertip and quietly muses, "He was a lot more than what this says..."

Rachel pinches her eyes shut and nods. "H-he was," she says, "and we'll remember him for it."

"Can I—can I have a minute alone?" Pidge asks.

Rachel's eyes widen with surprise, but she says, "Oh, sure." She paces away, and Hunk follows after Pidge reassures him she's fine.

Lance holds his breath, watching Pidge examining every centimeter of his gravestone. He doesn't dare glance at Allura, not when he wants to take in every second of this no matter how tightly an invisible hand squeezes his heart.

Pidge reaches into her jacket and tugs out a slim plastic case to set on his grave. "I think I waited too long to play this with you," she says in a surprisingly steady voice.

Behind him, Allura gasps, and when he finally turns to her questioningly, she says, "I recognize that game."

"What?" Lance looks over Pidge's shoulder. "Killbot Phantasm 26?"

"Yes...Pidge used it to barter for the dress I wore to my date with you," Allura explains. "I'm glad she eventually tracked down another copy."

Pidge...really did that? Lance returns his attention to her, hanging on every word she says to him - or to the future and very much dead version of him:

"How you died...it sucks, Lance," Pidge says. She sniffs, wiping at her nose with her sleeve, and continues, "You would've rather died in a-a heroic blaze of glory and not in something so normal and random like a hit-and-run."

"Oh, I..." But Lance doesn't know what to say; does he really die in such a forgettable way?

Pidge's hand covers her mouth, muffling a sob. "I wish I—quiznak, why were we both so stubborn? Who f—who cares whose fault it was? I shouldn't have—after everything we—I'm sorry I waited till it was too late, Lance." She crumples, finally bursting into gut-wrenching tears.

Lance's own eyes burn as he kneels beside her. He tries and fails to wrap an arm around her shoulders before stammering, "P-Pidge, you - all of you - mean everything to me."

But of course she doesn't hear him.

The cemetery melts away to an even cooler and more dismal night. A simple stone obelisk rises before him, a plague at its front. In the distance - and with a tug in his abdomen - stands the Galaxy Garrison’s main hangar, its exterior strung with red and green blinking Christmas lights.

A small floodlight washes the obelisk in a white glow that reflects off the metal plaque. Lance squints at the engraving and reads:

Dedicated to the heroes of Earth and beyond that defended us in our hour of need.

His jaw drops as he scans the names inscribed below, recognizing every single one as someone he befriended, fought beside, and loved, from Shiro to Keith and the Blade of Marmora to Pidge and her family and Hunk and Allura and Coran and—

“M-my name,” he says numbly. “It’s not…it’s not here.”

Lance holds his breath as he reads the names over again, his gaze catching on Veronica’s, but with his heart sinking, he knows he won’t find it.

And the disappointment is so crushing that tears finally escape his eyes. “Why am I not here, Allura?” he wonders. Feeling oddly detached from his actions, his fingertip traces his - or his sister’s - last name. “I-it’s stupid, isn’t it? Keith always almost…scolded me for wanting attention, but they forgot me…”

“If it’s any consolation,” Allura offers from just behind him, “this memorial wasn’t commemorated until most humans that fought to free Earth of the Galra had died. Someone who fought with you would never have forgotten.”

Somehow that hurts even more, as if his teammates, his friends, his family never spoke of his role - if he had one at all. Bob’s parting words return to him in sharp relief, but he can’t help feeling their irony.

Is he enough if no one bothers to remember him?

(Is it his fault if he’s so easily forgotten?)

“It’s—it’s not,” Lance admits, “but thanks for trying.”

He can’t tear his eyes away from the list. Every single person with their name engraved on the plaque deserves their place, but they forgot him.

He doesn't notice Allura touching his shoulder, doesn't notice the shift from the memorial to the farmhouse's living room, still illuminated by the screen stuck on a video game pause screen, doesn't notice much of anything until his dead girlfriend and personal version of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come wraps her arms around him and lets him bury his face in her shoulder.

"Well, this is awfully familiar," Allura says. "Are you...mourning your own death or Earth’s short memory?"

Lance sniffs and holds her a little tighter. "N-no, I'm—am I really that forgettable, Allura?" He pulls away to look her in the eye.

When she frowns and reaches up to cup his cheek, his skin tingling right where her thumb brushes the mark she left on him, he sees both everything he's lost and, for the first time, everything he still has to lose. "You're not," she reassures him, "but one day, you might be if you're not careful."

Lance lets go of her and turns to grab a tissue from the box on the end table only to realize she's transported them to his bedroom. Instead his gaze catches on the broken picture frame.

He picks it up, careful to avoid the sharp edges of broken glass, and guesses, "This intervention was your idea, wasn't it?"

"It was," she admits.

"Why?" he wonders, although he thinks he already knows the answer.

Allura smiles, though it holds an edge of sadness. "If there's anything I could change about my life after I met you and the other Paladins, it's that I shouldn't have let the past rule my future so much. And you..." She gently takes the frame from him and stands it up on his desk. "I can see you're on the verge of making the same mistake."

"Am I?" Lance still can't help the flicker of doubt despite everything he saw tonight. "I don't know, Allura...I want to uphold your legacy.”

“What about my legacy makes you think you should cultivate juniberries?” Allura demands, tone sharp enough that he flinches. She picks up the small vase with a single flower on his desk and pinches a pink petal between her fingertips. “Juniberries grew wild on Altea. They were prized precisely for how nearly impossible they were to cultivate.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Lance wonders.

“Because you’re on the brink of losing your way, Lance.” The corner of her mouth quirks up in a slight smile. "Find a purpose," she advises him. "It seems you work best when you have one."

"It feels like I lost mine when you died," he admits. “You never even told me what’s special about the Blue Lion.”

Allura sets the vase down. “I thought you would’ve figured that out for yourself, intuitive and supportive and nurturing as you are.” She winks, and where once the gesture would’ve warmed his face, now it fills him with a cool understanding.

Lance rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Could’ve fooled me.” Then he sighs, running his fingers through his hair, and confesses, "I missed you so much..."

"And that's all right," Allura says. She takes his hand and adds, "But you'll miss so much more if you're not paying attention to what and who else you love." She leans up and kisses his cheek, that odd, familiar affection he hasn't felt from her in years so startling his face warms, but before he can so much as respond she's gone.

Lance's heart pounds as he reacquaints himself with her absence. He dries his snotty nose with a tissue and sits on the edge of his bed, mind reeling with all this new - and old - information.

Quiznak, how does Pidge handle so much data at once without getting overwhelmed?

He can ask her that himself...can't he?

Lance isn't sure what impulse pushes him towards his closet. He rummages around, searching for the one cardboard box he tucked away just because he thought he could hide from the reminders like a coward.

The grin that pushes at his lips when he opens the lid and beholds his belongings from his Paladin days surprises him.

He finds the Blue Lion slippers first, shoving his feet into them - they are a little chilly now that he has enough of a body again to feel the cold - before digging through the rest of the box's contents. His bayard is there, of course, as is the glove that came with the Mercury Gameflux, myriad knickknacks and souvenirs and gifts from different planets he visited, and—

Lance's fingers brush against a small, slim box. He grabs it and opens it before setting it aside and standing.

It's time to change his plans for the holiday.

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

written for my Caryl secret santa: Caryl, back in the good ol’ days <3

Sweet Exchange (also on 9L)

The last of the leaves falling from the trees and the chill setting in their bones told them winter had officially arrived, and with it, Christmas. Celebrating holidays hadn’t occurred to them amidst the running and fighting and scavenging and surviving, but with things finally settling down and the Woodbury lot talking about Christmas being a few days away, the prison was abuzz with the idea of a party.

It’d taken some getting used to, having people around again—and especially ones nearly incapable of protecting themselves—but their small family had slowly opened up. The groups had begun working together, and they’d started construction on a covered outdoor mess hall, prepping the yard for spring planting, building a corral for the animals they intended to have, and going on runs to help provide for the group-at-large.

Daryl had returned from one of those runs not two days ago. He liked being out on the road, preferred it actually, but there was something to be said for having a place to come home to. And home it had become. Not because of the place, though having walls and some semblance of security helped, but because of the people waiting for him, depending on him, welcoming him back.

Still, he found the sheer number of them stifling sometimes. The noise and problems, chatter and complaints, company and neediness, the need to fill quiet spaces with unnecessary words…it all exhausted him, and he often excused himself when too many gathered around.

Like now.

He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to garner warmth. Guard duty had become nearly unbearable after the sun set, but he only had himself to blame since he’d offered to stay on watch while everyone else enjoyed the Christmas festivities.

He cupped his hands around his mouth, breathing hot air onto them before shoving them back into his pockets and scanning the grounds below. The night was dead, and not just because of the handful of walkers roaming the horizon. The air stung, the temperature much too frigid for anything living to want to encroach on their territory. Still, he kept his eyes peeled, even as he wondered what the merry-making inside looked like.

Was Rick wearing that dumb elf hat with the big ears on it that Michonne had found in a storage closet last week? Was Carl pretending Judy was the baby in the manger again? Was Beth leading the group in a round of Christmas carols? Was Carol decorating that wimpy Peanuts-style Christmas tree that Glenn had dragged in? Was she keeping warm? Maybe wearing that red sweater she’d claimed that made her eyes shine like stars and her cheeks look extra rosy? Was she smiling at the kids’ antics? Rocking Judith to sleep? Was she chatting it up with that guy, Greg, the one he’d noticed gravitating towards her lately? Did she enjoy the man’s company? Did she even miss his presence, notice he wasn’t around?

He shook his head, clearing away the frustrating thought that she might not even have noticed his absence, and focused on the yard around and far below him.

It’s not like he had any claim to her. Sure, they’d paired up last winter, after they’d lost the farm, but only because nearly everyone else had someone to keep warm with. She’d started flirting with him then, causing his cheeks to flush and his mind to go numb until an unimpressive ‘stahp’ was all he could muster. She’d mustered all the strength she had and hugged him fiercely after he’d found her in that tomb, nearly gone with dehydration, and he’d silently gulped in air, his breath sucked away by the adrenaline still boiling from his frantic pacing a few minutes before and the debilitating relief that he’d found her alive. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he’d come to care for her, and it scared the shit out of him. And after that…when he’d ditched them because he couldn’t escape his past, he’d known deep down she’d forgive him for traipsing off with Merle, even as the fear that she wouldn’t gnawed at him. But she had—and had even welcomed him and the jackass back into their fold.

He heart seized at the memory of Merle’s walker stumbling towards him. Had it really only been a month ago? A month since he’d ended the dead thing wearing Merle’s face? A month since he’d returned to the prison—where he belonged, he’d stubbornly told Merle—shuffling through the gate and finding his way to Carol? Since she’d taken one look at his expression and let a small “oh” out on a breath before eating up the distance between them and wrapping her arms around his neck? He’d nearly resisted the embrace, arrogant enough to believe he could hide his grief and handle it without the support of someone who cared about him, but the words he’d mumbled to Merle—can’t do things without people anymore, man—rang in his ears, and he dropped his head onto her shoulder and silently wept. If anyone in their group understood the emotions roiling through him, the bitterness and anger, the gratitude followed by the shame, the hatred and relief, the agony of it all, Carol would.

He swallowed hard against the sadness that still came over him in waves. Carol knew, better than anyone he’d ever met. She empathized but didn’t make excuses for him, called things as she saw them. And saw the man he’d become without his older brother casting that menacing shadow he’d never been able to shake until her.

She intrigued him, this woman who’d suffered her own abuses and come out the better side of it, so different from him. Kind and sweet and strong as hell, where he’d become silent, bitter, and defensive. He’d tried to fight it, attempted to remain indifferent, but he craved her presence. Felt drawn to her in a way that made his heart beat fast and his breath catch in his throat.

And instead of sitting inside celebrating a Charlie Brown Christmas with her, he’d offered to freeze to death alone. What an ass.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, his left hand finding the small trinket he’d left there and turning it over and over in his palm.

He’d happened upon it a few days ago. He and Michonne had searched for the Governor for two weeks before returning to the prison. On the way home, they’d discovered a small group of farm houses tucked into a grove they’d never discovered before. A small community belonging to a long-gone religious sect, if he had to guess. They’d made quick work of scavenging and had come away with a few useful items. And he with the small gift in his pocket.

He’d paused when he’d first seen it, shocked that something so perfect existed, then snatched it up and hidden it away before Michonne noticed and set about teasing him. She ribbed him relentlessly, and something about making him blush amused her. He didn’t need to give her any more ammo for her arsenal.

“Hey, you ready to go inside?”

He peered over the watchtower bars to see Ty staring up at him. “Party all done?”

“Mostly. Kids have gone to bed, and everyone else was headed that way when I left.” Ty started climbing the staircase. “You missed a lot of good fun in there.”

Daryl didn’t feel a need to respond. The dour mood he’d set himself in only had sarcastic remarks, and Ty didn’t deserve to be on the end of his self-pity trip.

“We left you some dinner,” Ty told him as he reached the landing. “Still warm too, I think.”

“Thanks.” Daryl passed his machine gun to Ty and grabbed up his crossbow, slinging the worn strap across his chest. “Stay warm; it’s only gonna get colder before morning,” he predicted as he started down the stairs.

“I’m gonna try.”

Daryl ambled toward the cell block, trying to shake away the darkness that had settled in his mind, but too much time alone, in his own head, with his morbid thoughts—and all because he preferred playing the outcast—had soured his mood and left his heart feeling cold.

As if he weren’t freezing already.

He hurried inside to warm up, hoping everyone had dispersed and he could eat his dinner in peace.

He closed the cell block door, effectively shutting the biting air outside, and made his way to the dining area. Red, silver, and gold baubles and garland graced the wimpy tree in the corner, nearly weighing it down with their joviality, and a few shreds of string and what had likely been gift wrapping still littered the floor. Laughter rang down the halls, taunting him in his loneliness, and suddenly the thought of eating dinner alone surrounded by sights of the season didn’t seem so appealing.

Heaving a sigh, he ignored the cheery, intermittent voices from the cell blocks and headed to the stove. He poured himself a cup of warm coffee and snagged some of the turkey jerky he’d made and a small can of fruit before heading toward his cell.

The main room stood empty, the low voices he’d heard coming from sheet-covered cells throughout the block. The noise would drown out any sound he made, but he still walked carefully, not in the mood to encounter any straggling partiers.

He’d nearly made it to his cell when Carol popped her head out of her room and spotted him. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you!”

In your cell? he wondered despondently, nodding noncommittally in response.

“I was just bundling up to come find you.”

Daryl stopped outside of his room as she moved towards him, wearing one of the winter jackets and a scarf they’d pilfered. “Couldn’t find my gloves. But now that you’re here….mind if I join you?”

She had noticed him missing from the party…and had set out to find him? He felt a fluttering in his belly. At least she wasn’t spending the rest of the evening with Greg.

Suddenly her hand was on his arm. “You okay?” she asked, looking concerned.

It don’t mean nothin’ special. Shake it off, Dixon, he scolded himself. Act like a normal human being for once. “Yeah. Just cold.”

“Well, let’s get you warmed up. Mind if I sit with you for a while?”

He shook his head in response, too overcome with images of her helping him get warm to form words.

She pulled back the curtain covering his cell, and he dipped inside with her right behind him. Flipping on the small lamp and leaning against the desk, he motioned towards the bed, offering her the more comfortable seat, but she shook her head. “You’ve been on guard duty for hours. You get comfy and relax.”

“You sure?”

She smiled sweetly at him, nodding, and he moved to the bed, setting his coffee cup on the ground at his feet as she turned the desk chair around to face him. He placed his crossbow in the corner by his bed and slipped out of his jacket, leaving it pooled around him as he sat.

Carol removed her scarf and heavy coat and draped them over the back of the chair as she plopped down. Her proximity made him nervous, and though he didn’t want her to leave, he didn’t exactly want her so close—only a few feet away—with the curtain sealing them off from others. It made his heart thunder wildly in his chest, his thoughts run rampant. With the others around, he found it easier to act indifferent; hell, he wouldn’t be able to handle the ridicule if they knew how desperately he craved her, how often she occupied his thoughts, so he played it safe and kept it cool. But when they were alone—and that had started to happen more and more frequently—he felt sure she could read his thoughts, hear his heartbeat running fast. It was dangerous to have her so close. And yet so far, he reminded himself.

“Did you see our tree?” she asked, merriment on her face. “The kids went crazy when they saw the decorations Michonne and Glenn brought out. They almost knocked it over a few times, all of them trying to decorate at once.”

He didn’t trust himself to speak without sounding harsher than necessary, so he harrumphed in response, giving a small nod, and started eating the turkey jerky.

“Carl wanted to sing, so he and Beth led everyone in some songs, but when Carl started Jingle Bells with ‘Jingle bells, Batman smells,’ Rick called it quits.”

He granted her an amused look but otherwise remained quiet and continued munching.

You’re an idiot, he scolded himself. She’s been running miles around that race track in your mind for hours. Now she’s here in front of you, no one else around, and you clam up like you got lockjaw.

He glanced up at her and saw that his silence had subdued her mood.

Why can’t you act halfway decent?

“Hershel read the Christmas story,” she continued with a bit less enthusiasm. “And we let the kids open their gifts…mainly books from the library, and the chalk and the puzzles you brought back the other day.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Was nothin’.” Her intense stare made him want to fidget, but he willed himself to refrain.

“It meant the world to the kids. It’s not gonna be often…if ever...that we get to open gifts again,” she explained softly. “It lifted everyone’s spirits.”

He gave a small nod and started gnawing on the inside of his lip, unsure how to handle her praise. He felt comfortable in front of walkers and with weapons, but kind words from this slip of a woman with the bright blue eyes and he melted, powerless, like snow in the sun. Slowly, ever so slowly, she was thawing him out.

Her talk of gifts reminded him of the one in his pocket. He’d meant to wrap it, to wait until she was on guard duty and leave it on her bed or perhaps tuck it into her hands before he set out on the next scheduled run, but something in this moment prodded him.  Give it to her…now or never, he told himself. Just ‘cause you’re an ass doesn’t mean you gotta keep bein’ one.

Setting his snacks aside and avoiding her gaze, he fumbled around with his jacket, trying to find the pocket with her gift in it. “I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I got somethin’ for you. For Christmas.” He withdrew a fisted hand from his jacket. “Didn’t….get a chance to wrap it.”

He raised his eyes to see her staring at him in wonder. “Ain’t much,” he mumbled, holding his hand out towards her.

She cupped her hands together beneath his, and he watched her as he placed the gift into her hands. A panoply of expressions crossed her face: surprise, happiness, excitement, anticipation. Holding the jewelry in one hand, she picked up one of the pieces with the other. “Oh, Daryl,” she breathed.

The large stud earrings had creamy-white pearlescent petals with a tiny golden center, and silver rimmed the edges, giving them a regal appearance.

“Cherokee rose. I just thought…well…it’s—”

He stopped stuttering when she abruptly moved from the chair and sat down next to him, but before he could speak again she leaned toward him and slipped her arms around his neck.

“Thank you,” she whispered near his ear, hugging him close.

He froze in place, her touch burning his skin, her scent, light and floral, overpowering his senses, her breath sending shivers down his spine. His heart staccatoed against his ribcage, and he felt certain they could hear it in the next cell block.

She was going to kill him long before he’d ever gather the courage to tell her how he felt  

He slid his arms around her, tentatively holding her like he’d done not so long ago. That hug—borne out of relief and desperation, he knew—had surprised him, but since it’d been a matter of life and death, he understood it. This…this felt entirely different. Full of gratitude, happiness, and a sort of intimacy he couldn’t help but both crave and fear.

“They’re beautiful,” she enthused as she withdrew, looking at the earrings in her hand like they were diamonds. “Cherokee roses...” She met his gaze, and for a moment he thought she might cry. “Thank you.”

“You remembered,” he murmured.

“I could never forget. It was the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. And...I saw the one out on the grave...” she admitted quietly.

He felt the twitch of his eye, his tell of discomfort when someone got too close, and looked away. “Thought you were gone.”

He heard the sadness in his tone, felt his heart clench at the memory of almost losing her. Of finding her. Of bringing her back to the group and having her with him, with them, again.

She covered his hand with one of her own. “I know,” she whispered.

“Didn’t know how else…to pay my respects. Didn’t know how else to say goodbye. I was so angry that we lost… We went lookin’ for you…after we found T, found Lori. I didn’t want you to…be one of them or, or stay one of them. I couldn’t…it’d already been a few days and I couldn’t leave you like that.”

He saw the forgotten scarf on the ground, the knife she’d used to defend herself. Recalled how he’d jammed that knife over and over again into the floor, the wall, hoping to release some of emotions threatening to spill over. He hadn’t meant to tell her how he’d discovered her hiding place, but now that he’d started he couldn’t stop.

“I found a walker with your knife in its neck, and…I hated the thought of you down there by yourself, tryin’ to find a way out, fightin’ them things by yourself.” He shook his head, his eyes full of fire and hurt and miles away. “I made them leave me down there….in the tombs. I…after losing T and Lori, with Rick head-sick, and me tryin’ to keep everyone alive and make sure Asskicker had food, I…I couldn’t take it anymore. I made them leave me alone. Wallowin’ like a damn fool when they all needed me… I worked myself up to be able to…to put you down if I had to. We promised, and I would have, but…”

“But you found me. You brought me back.” Carol ducked her head trying to meet his gaze, and he finally met her eyes, coming back to the present. “Thank you…for saving me. For finding me.” She reached up and brushed his hair away from his eyes. “For the Cherokee roses that’ve given me strength and hope. And now I get to keep them…keep you…with me always.”

His heart seized in his chest, and he thought he might’ve stopped breathing for a moment. He stared at her, her words washing over him like a healing balm. She couldn’t mean what she’d said…could she? He’d used the rose to lend her hope when she’d lost it; now she was using it to bind them together. How she could do that, could turn the moment from maudlin to miraculous in a few heartbeats, left him speechless.

He cleared his throat, breaking the tension that crackled in the air, and he felt time snap back into place.

She held his gaze as she put the earrings on. “I love them,” she declared. She turned her head from side to side, showcasing them. “How do they look?”

He couldn’t help staring. In the dim light of his lamp, she looked soft and inviting, her smile blazing brightly at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “They’re perfect,” he breathed.

Carol covered his hand with one of hers. “Thank you,” she said softly, her words heavy. “I have something for you too.”

He furrowed his brow as she moved to her jacket and rifled through its folds. She glanced at him once conspiratorially before withdrawing a package wrapped crudely in soft leather and tied with a string. “Here.” She proffered the package to him, returning to her seat next to him on the bed.

Daryl swallowed hard, entirely unprepared for this exchange. It’d taken all of his willpower to give the earrings to her. But to know she’d thought of him too, had prepared and wrapped a gift, and had it in her pocket as she’d set out to find him tonight meant he’d been right: he was an ass for avoiding their first Christmas.

He untied the string and peeled back the cloth to reveal a coiled piece of leather. “What is it?” he murmured as he unwound it. The leather strap had a familiar-looking connecting piece at each end, and he realized he held a new, better version of a crossbow sling.

“I know you said yours was giving out,” Carol explained. “And I want to make sure you stay safe.”

“How did you…?” He trailed off in wonder, noting “D I X O N” emblazoned across the middle of the strap.

“That guy, Greg…? He’s a leather craftsmen. When I found out, I asked him to help me. We’ve been working on it for a few weeks; just finished today. I wanted to give you something nice. You do so much for us, for all of us, I wanted to do a little something special for you.”

He stared at the sling, unable to meet her gaze, his mind spinning. Useful, practical, and something she’d come up with on her own…she’d helped handcraft a personalized gift for him? ‘I want to make sure you stay safe,’ she’d said, but walkers were the least of his worries. She’d disarmed him with gentle words, kind eyes, sweet smiles, and tender touches. He’d fallen prey to her willful spirit, her fierce loyalty, her fathomless heart. She’d captured him as a wounded animal, angry, biting, bitter, and full of scorn, and softly, gently, methodically wooed him to her. And he didn’t care that he was her prisoner.

“Carol…”

The jealousy he’d felt as he’d watched her with Greg the past few weeks turned into embarrassment, and he thanked the heavens she couldn’t read his thoughts. He felt sheepish knowing she’d spent time with Greg because she’d been working on a gift for him. He really was an ass.

“This is…perfect.” He finally raised his head to meet her eyes, and as relief washed over her face, he realized how long he’d sat silent.

“I’m glad you like it. Should be the same length as the original; hopefully it fits right.”

He gazed at her, in awe of the compassionate, fiery, powerful force of nature before him. “Thank you.” He imbued the words with all of the sentiments he didn’t know how to voice yet.

Carol’s face broke into an understanding smile. “Merry Christmas, Daryl.”

He nodded. “Merry Christmas.”