#maximalism christmas tree

[hermaximalismhome]

[hermoodymaximalismhome]

[youruncleolaf]

if god was a minimalist we wouldn’t be here

[mrsterlingusa]

"Oh Christmas Tree !"

[void-tiger]

Oxytocin low. Send hugs.

[megalopolousity]

My interior decoration pinterest is all neon, washi tape "confetti", and 1970s swooshes. I will not be blamed for any epileptic friends not being able to come visit me once I hang up this tinsel fringe backdrop as permanent decoration.

[riverwoodcottagevintage]

Silent film star Harold Lloyd's magnificent Christmas tree!

[greenleafgoddess]

cute light up bonsai tree. can decorate easily for a mini christmas tree for workplaces or schools!

amazon link:

[ornamentalmushroom]

[bradshawsbaby]

Looks Like Christmas

Pairing: Rooster x Wife!Reader

Author’s Note: This is another contribution to @notroosterbradshaw​’s #hello december playlist challenge! It was inspired by Michael Bublé’s version of It’s Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas. Cass, thank you so much again for putting together this challenge! It’s been such a fun way to celebrate my favorite time of year with some of my favorite characters!

For those who read it, see if you can spot the reference to Underneath the Tree in this one!

Warnings: Enough Bradshaw family fluff to give you a toothache.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas Toys in every store But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be On your own front door

Humming softly along with the Christmas music that was jingling from the speakers of the entertainment system, you leisurely made yet another lap around the Christmas tree, carefully arranging the string of multi-colored lights across the dark green boughs in a way that would maximize the twinkling effect once all was said and done. 

It was a slow process, made all the slower by the fact that you kept stopping every couple minutes to take a few steps back and admire your handiwork from across the living room, but you didn’t mind. Stringing the lights on the Christmas tree was actually one of your favorite parts of the decorating process, right behind actually getting to decorate the tree. What other people, including your own husband, found to be an incredibly boring and tedious chore, you found peaceful and relaxing. Getting completely swept up in your task, you would have had no idea how much time had even passed, had it not been for the fact that you were keeping a mental tab of how many Christmas songs had played since you’d gotten started.

By the time you finally reached the bottom of the tree, the familiar strains of It’s Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas had just started swirling around the living room. Moving to the other side of the room, you crossed your arms over your chest and tilted your head to the side, eyeing the tree critically.

You rather had to agree with Michael Bublé. It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas. And you absolutely loved it.

Yesterday had been a complete and total whirlwind, with it being Nick’s first Thanksgiving and all. You’d been frantic about making the day as special and memorable as possible, on top of seeing family and friends, to the point that Bradley had forced you to go sit down on the couch and actually enjoy the time you had with your four-month-old son.

“Honey, I know you have your heart set on it, but we don’t have to decorate the apartment for Christmas tomorrow,” your husband had told you later that night, once you were both in bed. “You must be exhausted. Why don’t we just take tomorrow to rest?”

“Not decorate for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving?” you blinked, certain you’d misheard him. That was like blasphemy to your ears. You’d been decorating for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving for as long as you could remember, a tradition you’d had no qualms about introducing Bradley to.

Bradley chuckled, kissing your surprised frown away. “Yeah, should have figured I’d get that reaction,” he teased, wrapping an arm around you as the two of you snuggled up under the covers. “It was only a suggestion, babe.”

“Don’t even joke around like that,” you told him, your eyes crinkling in humor as you started to laugh softly. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry, my little Christmas Queen,” Bradley grinned, tucking your head under his chin and pulling you close to his chest.

You were more than happy to proudly wear the moniker of Bradley’s Christmas Queen. Christmas was your very favorite time of year, and nothing brought your heart more joy than bringing the warmth and happiness of the season into your home. Each ornament, each decoration, each little knick-knack that you placed around the apartment told a story—stories from your childhood, stories from Bradley’s childhood, stories from the life the two of you had built together. That was why today was so meaningful to you.

And this Christmas would be the most special one of all, you thought with a smile, lifting the sweet little Baby’s First Christmas ornament that you and Bradley had picked out together, before your precious little bundle of love had even been placed in your arms.

Running your fingers over the delicately embossed bauble, the sound of beloved Christmas carols filling your ears, you didn’t even hear the sound of your husband’s footsteps behind you at first.

“Look who’s up from his nap, just in time to help Mommy decorate the tree,” Bradley’s smiling voice came from behind, wrapping around you like the coziest, most well-loved blanket.

Turning with a bright smile, your heart melted at the sight of Nick sitting up in Bradley’s arms, eagerly reaching out to you with a large, gummy grin.

“There are my boys!” you cooed, carefully placing the ornament you’d been holding down on the coffee table and hurrying over to your two favorite guys, holding your hands out to your son. “Did you get a good nap? Huh?” you asked in a sing-song voice, tickling Nick’s belly lightly before taking him into your arms.

“Well, it was alright,” Bradley yawned, stretching his arms over his head. “Oh, you were talking to him,” he added with a teasing smirk.

You rolled your eyes playfully, pressing a kiss to the top of Nick’s head. “Listen to Daddy, huh? Already with the bad dad jokes,” you stage-whispered to your son in a conspiratorial voice.

“I heard that. Don’t listen to her, Nick. Your old man is a gold mine of comedy,” Bradley insisted, resting a hand on your son’s back as he leaned over to peck your cheek.

“Maybe unintentionally so,” you winked, rocking the baby in your arms as he buried his chubby fingers in your hair and began tugging.

“Sounds like Mommy’s been spending too much time around Uncle Jake,” Bradley sighed, which elicited a loud laugh from you. “See, Nick? I always know how to make her laugh.”

“Mmm, you do,” you nodded, leaning up to peck his lips. “I’m sorry for teasing. You are very funny,” you assured him. “Daddy is very funny,” you added, looking down at Nick.

Your son just babbled incoherently in response, a little bit of drool dripping down his chin in his enthusiasm, which you wiped away with a gentle finger.

“It’s already looking great in here, honey,” Bradley said, hands on his hips as he began gazing around the living room.

Your husband had been an absolute champ getting the tree and all your decorations over to the apartment in time for you to start decorating today. Being that there was only so much room in your apartment, a lot of your stuff had been put in storage, also known as Penny and Mav’s basement. With Mav’s assistance, Bradley had managed to get everything up to your place by the time you’d woken up that morning.

Which is why he’d happily accepted when you’d suggested that he go lay down at the same time you were putting Nick down for his nap.

You didn’t mind getting things set up on your own, content to listen to your favorite Christmas songs as you opened boxes and determined where everything needed to go. But you were glad that your husband and son were here now, ready to help put the most important touches on the tree.

“Thank you,” you beamed, shifting Nick in your arms and gently taking a hold of his hand as he attempted to pull on your necklace, the necklace that Bradley had given you to wear on your wedding day. The necklace that had belonged to Carole. The necklace that you hardly ever took off. “I should especially thank you for being so patient in wrapping up the lights for the tree last year. It made my work so much easier this year,” you laughed, stepping closer to the tree so Nick could look at the lights in question.

Though you loved getting ready for Christmas, you could fully admit that you were not a fan of cleaning up after Christmas. Taking down the decorations was the most depressing day of the year in your book, and you got rather impatient when it came to putting certain things away.

“Honey, you know that’s going to be a disaster come next year,” Bradley had chuckled last January, watching you unwind the lights off the tree and throw them into a heap on the floor. “Let me wrap them up,” he said, patiently winding them around his arm until they were bound in perfect, neat little loops.

“My knight in shining armor,” you told him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Every Christmas Queen needs one,” he winked, capturing your lips with his own.

“Very true,” you laughed, beaming as he helped you put away the rest of the decorations.

“See? I told you a little patience would pay off,” Bradley smirked, pinching your butt playfully.

“Well now you’re officially on light-wrapping duty for the rest of our lives,” you joked, giggling as you adjusted one of the snaps on Nick’s onesie.

“Whatever you say, baby,” Bradley nodded, smiling down at you with a sweetly indulgent twinkle in his eyes. “So should we start decorating then? I know you’ve got us on a strict schedule,” he winked.

“You’re absolutely right about that, Lieutenant. I’m the Admiral when it comes to Christmas decorating in this house,” you teased, jokingly pulling rank.

“Trust me, Nick, we better do what she says,” Bradley warned your son, lifting him out of your arms and settling him against his side. “No one takes decorating more seriously than Mommy.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you smiled, walking back over to the coffee table to pick up the ornament you’d been holding earlier. “Look, sweetie, this ornament is just for you,” you said, holding it out to show Nick. “Daddy and I picked it for you before you were even born. It says Baby’s First Christmas,” you explained, pointing to each word. “That’s you. You’re the baby,” you cooed, poking his belly softly and kissing his nose.

Nick gurgled happily once again, bouncing in Bradley’s arms.

“Oh, yeah, he’s a big fan of that,” Bradley beamed, pressing an affectionate series of kisses to the side of your son’s face in quick succession.

“Do you want to put it on the tree?” you asked with a smile, holding the ornament out to your husband.

“No, you do it, baby,” Bradley insisted, patting Nick’s back gently. “You’re the one who went through hell to bring him into the world. Seems only right,” he added with a lopsided grin.

God, you loved him so much.

“Can’t argue with that logic,” you nodded, winking as you stepped over to the tree and chose a spot right in the center, carefully draping Nick’s ornament over the branch.

“Look at that, buddy. Front and center,” Bradley murmured, pointing enthusiastically at the tree until Nick’s gaze followed the direction of his finger. When your son just stared at the tree, mouth hanging open, Bradley began laughing. “I think he likes it, honey.”

“Do you? Do you like it, sweet boy?” you asked, grinning when you witnessed another luminous smile light up your son’s face. “Do you want to help Mommy and Daddy decorate the rest of the tree?”

Nick let out a loud little babble in response, which you and Bradley took for eager assent.

Decorating the tree took much longer than it had in years past, namely because you and Bradley kept passing the baby back and forth between one another as you grabbed ornaments out of the box and began dispersing them across the branches, stopping every now and then to point out a particularly shiny or interesting looking one to Nick. Your son, the sweet, docile angel that he was, just stared at everything you showed him with wide eyes, seemingly as entranced with Christmas as you had always been.

“Looks like we’ve got another big fan of Christmas in the family,” Bradley winked, setting your son’s bouncer down at the foot of the tree so that the two of you could get a break, while still keeping Nick included in the festivities.

“It’s in the genes. Very powerful stuff,” you replied, your eyes dancing with merriment as you knelt down to carefully settle Nick in the bouncer and strap him in. You smiled and dropped a kiss on his forehead when he began kicking his feet happily.

It was only when you stood back up to continue decorating the tree that you realized the music you’d been playing had come to an end. It had been playing for hours, since you’d first started setting up.

“Oh, baby, can you go turn the music back on?” you called to Bradley from where you were currently standing at the back of the tree.

He didn’t verbally respond, but a moment later, you heard the familiar notes of a classic tune floating across the room once more. And then suddenly, there was a strong pair of arms wrapping around your waist from behind, and a very familiar mustache brushing against your neck as your husband began peppering you with kisses.

“Mmm,” you sighed contentedly, lowering your hands to rest them over Bradley’s forearms and closing your eyes, enjoying the feel of his kisses.

“I love you,” Bradley whispered against your ear, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back, leaning against his chest and reveling in the feel of his strong, protective arms holding you close.

“I was thinking,” he began slowly, his voice sounding like warm honey as his lips moved against the shell of your ear. “Maybe once Nick is asleep for the night, you and I could have a little private fun by the tree. You know, just like last year,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your ear.

You smirked, though your cheeks flamed at the memory of the time you two had spent under the Christmas tree last December. “Hmm,” you hummed, turning slowly so that you were facing him and wrapping your arms around him. “Only if you can guarantee that you’ve been a good boy this year,” you winked.

“Oh, very,” Bradley nodded eagerly, pecking your lips. “The best.”

“Then I’d say it’s a very strong possibility,” you told him, your lips pressed against his.

The look of absolute victory on your husband’s face made you grin from ear to ear.

“But first we finish decorating,” you told him, wagging a teasing finger in his face.

You didn’t think you’d ever seen him move so quickly to fill in the empty spots on your Christmas tree.

Another hour or two slipped by as you and Bradley put the finishing touches on the tree, and then finished decorating the living room. Between the hot cocoa that Bradley made, the music chiming merrily in the background, the lights twinkling all around, and your sweet baby boy cooing happily in your arms, you couldn’t think of a better day you’d ever had in your life.

At one point, you turned around and saw that Bradley had taken Nick back into his arms, walking him around the tree and pointing out all the different ornaments, and the bright, multi-colored lights. You stopped what you were doing at once, taking this opportunity to just soak in a beautiful, candid moment between the two people you loved more than anything else in the world. 

Getting to see Bradley become a father, getting to witness the way he loved your little boy, was a gift that you never wanted to take for granted.

Struck by a sudden burst of inspiration, you hurried over to the drawer where you had left the small Polaroid camera that you had recently purchased. Holding it up to your line of sight, you quickly snapped a photograph, Bradley turning his head to look at you only after you’d done it.

“No paparazzi, please,” he joked, holding up a halting hand in your direction.

“Sorry,” you smirked, lowering the Polaroid as the film popped out. “A hot man with a baby? Too sexy to resist,” you teased. 

Pulling the photograph out of the camera, you waved it slightly, giving it a few moments to fully develop. When it did, you looked down at it and beamed. It was a beautiful, perfect shot, and one you would cherish always. Both Bradley’s and Nick’s gazes were transfixed on the Christmas tree, Bradley pointing towards an ornament that had been his when he was a little boy.

“What do you think?” you asked, holding the picture up for him to inspect.

“Oh my God,” Bradley breathed out, eyes widening as he looked down at the picture. He just stared, not saying anything else for a moment.

“What is it?” you asked in confusion, glancing between him and the Polaroid picture several times.

“I have to find something,” Bradley said suddenly, gently placing Nick in your arms and marching deliberately over to the cabinet where you stored all the photo albums in your possession.

“Baby, what is it?” you asked again, stroking the back of your son’s head as Bradley began flipping determinedly through a few older albums.

“Look at this, honey,” he exclaimed suddenly, evidently finding what he had been looking for. “Come look at this,” he told you, moving over to the couch and sitting down.

Curiosity piqued, you sat down beside him, settling Nick comfortably on your lap.

“Look,” Bradley smiled, pointing at a small photograph, almost the same size as the Polaroid you’d just taken. The caption beneath it read Bradley’s First Christmas in Carole’s strong hand.

When your eyes beheld the image that Bradley was pointing to, your breath caught in your throat instantly.

It looked almost identical to the photo you’d just taken of Bradley and your son. The man in the photograph was holding a little boy in his arms, hand lifted as he pointed eagerly at one of the ornaments on the Christmas tree. His bright, laughing smile and mustache were the mirror image of your husband’s, just as the baby boy in the photograph looked like your son in every way.

“It was my mom’s favorite picture,” Bradley said softly, gazing at you as you stared down in shock at the photo of him and his father. “She took it while we were decorating the tree, same as you did just now, honey. I just—I can’t get over how much—look,” he breathed out, laying the photograph you’d just taken next to the picture in the photo album.

The similarity was almost too great to be believed.

“I feel like it’s my parents’ way of saying that they’re here with us,” Bradley whispered, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “With you. With me. With Nick,” he went on, resting a hand on your son’s back. “It’s just—it’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

“Me?” you asked in surprise, eyes widening as you looked up at him. “I didn’t do anything,” you argued, shaking your head slowly.

“Honey, you did everything,” Bradley insisted, cupping your cheek in his hand. “You’ve made this place our home. Everything that we have is so special because of you. And I just want you to know how much I appreciate that. How much I appreciate you. Thank you, baby,” he told you, resting his forehead against yours. “Thank you for being my home.”

You felt tears trickling down your cheeks as you reached up to touch your husband’s face, gazing into his warm brown eyes. “Thank you for being mine.”

Setting the photographs down on the coffee table, Bradley pulled you into his lap, Nick starting to doze off on your chest as the three of you sat bundled up together, taking in the peaceful glow of your newly decorated Christmas tree.

“This is all I ever wanted,” you whispered, laying your head in the crook of his neck as you rested against his chest. “This is all I need for Christmas.”

Bradley smiled, kissing you softly and wrapping his arms around you and Nick. “This is all I need forever.”

[hermaximalismhome]

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

🎄Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories🎄

a Stephen Strange x Hope Collins fic

Chapter Two

genre: angst, catharsis, healing...and above all, love ❤️

characters: Stephen Strange, Hope Collins (OFC); established relationship

word count: 3.0k

moodboard by @strangelock221b 💙🩵💜

The weeks ticked down towards Christmas, and Stephen remained as occupied with his work as in any other month of the year. And still Hope held steadfast to her promise to ask nothing but his tolerance as she rang the season in. Every few days, when he emerged from attending to his Sanctum duties or his ongoing studies, or returned from a far-flung mission or from Kamar-Taj itself, he would find she had added some new decoration or holiday detail, making not only his quarters, but the main floor as well, ever more festive. Her Artist's eye insured that she kept everything tasteful and in accord with the surroundings. Hope's latest addition had been an evergreen garland for the fireplace on the main floor, lit with colorful fairy lights and frosted candle holders of varying heights bearing ivory or red candles, nested along the greenery.

Whenever he complimented her newest handiwork, Hope would give a modest little shrug as she thanked him, moving onto the next subject of conversation without so much as a pause--though Stephen could absolutely feel how pleased she was. Thus, their equilibrium continued, and despite his ambivalence about the holiday season, he found himself quietly looking forward to each new surprise.

One such surprise was Hope's newfound dedication to attending the weekly vigil service each Saturday evening of Advent at a small Roman Catholic parish in Brooklyn. In their occasional discussions of philosophy and faith, she had given Stephen the impression that although she was lapsed from organized religion, Hope still held a true belief in a higher power. Indeed, he always saw her as a living example of the biblical maxim 'do unto others...'. And of course, she had understood and respected the beliefs he had come to hold about soul & spirit, and good & evil, based on his experiences and encounters with mystic realities.

In response to his curiosity on the first Saturday she shared her plans, Hope fell back on a familiar explanation. "It's a tradition that does my heart good to honor," she told him frankly. "It connects me to my family even when we're apart. With those who've passed on...and with past generations." He didn't miss the flicker of grief in her eyes and in the set of her mouth at her reference to those who had passed on, though soon enough, her honest smile replaced the sorrow. "Besides which, I love the music...the lights on the tree...the aroma of the incense they save for the most sacred moments. That sense of being one with a community of like-minded souls is vital to my experience of the Christmas season." Stephen found none of this surprising, for such was her nature, and part of the reason she had conquered his heart with no effort at all.

With a scant two weeks until Christmas Day, the Sanctum felt ripe with Hope's inimitable brand of holiday cheer. The sights, the scents, the flavors, and the very sounds that filled his rooms, became reminders of his own Christmases past, though Stephen refused to entertain those memories as he knew they'd only leave him morose.

Even the Sanctum kitchens had their own unique decorations, courtesy of some of Hope's grammar school-aged students; a couple dozen had given her handmade, crayon-colored Christmas cards and Tempera-painted winter scenes of snowmen and Santas, Angels and Christmas trees, or sledding and skating children, which found their way onto the walls and the refrigerators. She'd even fashioned a miniature tree as a tabletop centerpiece, festooned with a popcorn & cranberry garland and a tiny paper chain of red & green construction paper loops. In a surprising moment of clarity, Stephen remembered the several years when he still believed in Santa Claus and had helped his mother create the same sort of decorations for their tree, and how excited he'd been counting down the days until Christmas morn. Memories of a simple happiness that he'd quite forgotten had been his. Gazing at Hope's little tree brought a warmth to his chest he would like to share with her - but he stopped himself each time, knowing full well that if he let that recollection bubble forth, it might open the gates to other memories not as pleasant.

Most evenings now found Hope settled on the sofa wrapping presents or penning personal greetings in Christmas cards, while her favorite Christmas movies played on television, setting what she considered the ideal mood. Stephen eventually ended up joining her some evenings, and once he took his place beside her, she very willingly set aside her project in favor of cuddling on the couch with him. He ended up adopting the habit of fixing them hot chocolate, and in Hope's homey company, he discovered that he didn't even mind the movies he'd once found trite and too sentimental since his undergraduate days. Besides, they made Hope happy--and her happiness had become key to his own.

On the 18th, Stephen was called to Kamar-Taj for an emergency meeting of all the Masters of the Sanctums and those in charge of the various disciplines. A rift in Earth's reality had opened inside the Kibo caldera of Mount Kilimanjaro, and whatever entities had worked that magic, it appeared they were trying to wake the dormant volcano into eruption. He only had time enough to fire off a cursory text to Hope, warning her he might be away for several days--and advising her not to worry. Then he was off to Tanzania, along with Wong and a dozen other Masters to beat back the incursion and seal the rift.

'Twas a grim Stephen that returned to the New York Sanctum just after midnight on December 21st. Hope was sound asleep, and he didn't have the heart to awaken her. He was sporting a split lip and multiple abrasions to his face, neck, and hands, and though he had been charm treated in the Kamar-Taj Infirmary, he still had a slight but nagging cough from smoke inhalation.

Yet he had gotten off more lightly than most of those who had to battle the dragonlike creatures that seemed to be ideally suited for a volcanic environment; that breathed fire and fought ferociously to maintain their foothold. Two Masters had fallen to their flames, and three more had suffered severe enough burns to be placed in magic induced comas while Healers worked around the clock to hasten the regeneration of new, healthy skin. Wong, who had suffered a broken wrist, bore the same sort of wounds as Strange and the other Masters did. Stephen was heartsick over the lost lives and the pain of his brothers & sisters, and his body ached all over.

Casting the Mirror Dimension on the master bath, he bundled up his rent robes and buried them deep in the hamper so Hope wouldn't see how badly they were damaged and bloodstained. Stephen had already repaired Cloak, and it had flitted off upon their return to the Sanctum to see to its own ablutions. He soaked in the tub of hot water and Epsom salt for nearly 90 minutes, trying to put the pictures frozen in his mind of the battle and the wounded behind him. Fearing that sleep would still elude him once he finally went to bed.

In the wee hours before sunrise, he slipped carefully and quietly between the sheets, and by some lovely instinct, Hope turned to him. She stirred a bit when he placed her hand above his heart--for he always found that soothing--and after a few moments she whispered, "Missed you, magic man. Is everything alright?"

Stephen sighed in the darkness, unwilling to disturb her peace with the truth, and murmured 'yes', and then, 'I missed you too'. What he wanted most was to forget everthing for a little while, and when she rested her head on his shoulder, he nuzzled the tender haven of her hair, focusing on Hope's softness until he was able to drift off the sleep.

Stephen rarely indulged in the luxury of sleeping in, but this day it had been a necessity. Though he felt physically refreshed when he finally left his bedroom, his spirit was all too weary, and he remained disconsolate in his very bones. No matter the season, he would've felt this way following the outcome on Kilimanjaro--but somehow looking at Hope's cheery holiday trimmings made it even worse. When he found her in the kitchen baking cookies, the sweet sight of her, so incongruous with the miasma he was lost in, prompted him to issue her a fair but regretful warning.

She had just moved a batch of cookies onto a wire rack to cool, then turned to greet him--but her smile faltered the moment she saw the misery on his face. "It went badly, then." Stephen nodded, and then she was sliding her arms beneath his, holding him tight, murmuring against his neck. "I'm so sorry, Stephen. Do you...do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head and simply held her close, grateful that she was his true and loving sanctuary. When they parted just a little, Stephen cleared his throat before speaking. "Hope...honey..." he began, cupping one hand against her cheek, "I really appreciate how patient you've been with me this past month. And I appreciate everything you've done to bring Christmas to our..." He paused when his voice cracked, taking a moment before continuing, "...to our home."

Empathetic as usual, Hope simply reached to cup his cheek in her hand, and he wished he could just let himself melt into the moment. "But I dunno if the miracle you're hoping for is gonna happen this year. The past few days were pretty rough and given that...and the ghosts of my Christmases past...well, I think it's best if you lower your expectations about the holiday. I don't want to disappoint you but...well...I'm not gonna be catching the Christmas spirit this year."

Hope sighed and turned her face enough to place a soft kiss on the base of his thumb. "It's alright, darling. I...I understand." She sighed and stood tall enough to kiss his mouth, then whispered against his lips, "Whatever you need, Stephen. However things go." She embraced him warmly, then moved enough so she could look him in the eyes. "I spent five Christmases wondering how things might have been if you had survived Thanos. I know what's most important to me now--so in the end, all I really want for Christmas is you."

Stephen managed a small but genuine smile. He had expected no less. Undaunted, Hope briskly changed the subject. "How about I fix you some lunch and you go unwind with some mindless television? I'll bring it right to you."

"Actually, there's a little something I want to take a look at in my study...if you don't mind too much..."

"Of course, of course," she answered gamely, then swatted him softly on his way, "Gourmet grilled cheese and tomato soup are the special today, and the only tip I require is a couple dozen kisses."

"You can add those to my tab, honey," Stephen chuckled, then headed down the hall to his study, grateful for the distraction which he knew awaited him on his desk. Getting lost for a little while in a recently discovered manuscript might be exactly what he needed to get through the day.

If you enjoyed this little fic so far, you can read more about how Stephen & Hope met and fell in love in my stories 'Friday in the Park with Stephen' (meet-cute, flirtation & fluff), and 14,000,604 (hurt/comfort, angst, passion/smut, lovers reunited against impossible odds).

In addition, I've written a couple of one-shots/prompt fills as part of their ongoing series, The Wizard and the Artist

tagging: @strangelock221b @mousedetective @icytrickster17 @ironstrange1991 @darsynia @ben-locked @hithertoundreamtof23 @aeterna-auroral-avenger @lorelei-lee @stewardofningishzida @thelostsmiles @mrs-cookie @paperclippedmime @groovyqueer @mckiwi @dragonqueen89 @strangeflashholmes221 @strangesunicornsparkle

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Thanks for tagging me to do your excellent poll tag game, @myladyofmercy 😊

rules: list 5 of your favourite books on a poll, so your followers can vote which book they think captures your vibe the best

Tagging: @sergeantpixie @jonairadreaming @purplesigebert @mistressaccost @mynameisbirdie @panalegs27

Book summaries from Goodreads below the cut:

Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca:

"Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again..." Ancient, beautiful Manderley, between the rose garden and the sea, is the county's showpiece. Rebecca made it so - even a year after her death, Rebecca's influence still rules there. How can Maxim de Winter's shy new bride ever fill her place or escape her vital shadow? A shadow that grows longer and darker as the brief summer fades, until, in a moment of climatic revelations, it threatens to eclipse Manderley and its inhabitants completely...

Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go:

Hailsham seems like a pleasant English boarding school, far from the influences of the city. Its students are well tended and supported, trained in art and literature, and become just the sort of people the world wants them to be. But, curiously, they are taught nothing of the outside world and are allowed little contact with it. Within the grounds of Hailsham, Kathy grows from schoolgirl to young woman, but it’s only when she and her friends Ruth and Tommy leave the safe grounds of the school (as they always knew they would) that they realize the full truth of what Hailsham is. Never Let Me Go breaks through the boundaries of the literary novel. It is a gripping mystery, a beautiful love story, and also a scathing critique of human arrogance and a moral examination of how we treat the vulnerable and different in our society. In exploring the themes of memory and the impact of the past, Ishiguro takes on the idea of a possible future to create his most moving and powerful book to date.

Nick Hornby's Juliet, Naked:

Annie's put fifteen years into safe, slightly obsessive Duncan, and now she'd like her money back, please. It's time to move on. But she lives in Gooleness, the north's answer to a question nobody asked. Is she really going to find real, proper, feel-it-deep-down-in-your-boots love on a damp and windy seafront? Or perhaps she should follow her heart and pursue Tucker, the reclusive American rock star, who keeps emailing her his smart advice. But between Annie and her second chance lie a few obstacles. There's Malcolm, the world's most judgemental therapist, and Barnesy, the north's most extrovert dancer. There's what men and women will do and won't do for love. And, of course, there's Tucker...

Chris Van Allsburg's The Polar Express:

Late one Christmas Eve after the town has gone to sleep, the boy boards the mysterious train that waits for him: the Polar Express bound for the North Pole. When he arrives, Santa offers the boy any gift he desires. The boy modestly asks for one bell from the harness of the reindeer. The gift is granted. On the way home the bell is lost. On Christmas morning, the boy finds the bell under the tree. The mother of the boy admires the bell, but laments that it is broken—for you see, only believers can hear the sound of the bell.

Michael Cunningham's The Hours:

In The Hours, Michael Cunningham, widely praised as one of the most gifted writers of his generation, draws inventively on the life and work of Virginia Woolf to tell the story of a group of contemporary characters struggling with the conflicting claims of love and inheritance, hope and despair. The narrative of Woolf's last days before her suicide early in World War II counterpoints the fictional stories of Samuel, a famous poet whose life has been shadowed by his talented and troubled mother, and his lifelong friend Clarissa, who strives to forge a balanced and rewarding life in spite of the demands of friends, lovers, and family. Passionate, profound, and deeply moving, this is Cunningham's most remarkable achievement to date.

[shmaptainwrites]

hiiii

if you're comfortable how do you think Wilson would be during holidays with his lover

hey nonnie! since i myself don’t really celebrate anything during the holidays i’m gonna go with 3 options for this one! also disclaimer i don’t celebrate christmas or hanukkah so this is just from my very limited knowledge of both 💀

option 1 — you celebrate christmas

in this case i think wilson is pretty used to semi celebrating christmas alongside hanukkah and so if you lived together you’d have the tree and the menorah in the living room and just make the house super warm and welcoming, BUT it also means you are so busy because pretty much all of december is packed with various parties and functions and family visits on both ends and even though it’s hectic you both have lots of fun and get to maximize your holiday season and not to mention all the little gifts you both get each other all throughout the month (it increases the feeling that the festivities are never ending)

option 2 — you celebrate hanukkah

if you also celebrate hanukkah i think you guys would have so much fun, just reminiscing over childhood memories, different things your parents would do for you, explaining little family traditions that had come about because of the holidays. there’s probably a lot of cooking and a lot of time spent with family again and maybe if you’ve been together long enough your families insist on doing a joint dinner together on one of the evenings and as crazy and chaotic as everyone is, you both haven’t had this eventful of a hanukkah in a long time and it brings a lot of joy and fond memories and hopes that things can be like this in the years to come

option 3 — you don’t celebrate anything

in this case i think wilson initially tries to tone down the holiday celebrations because he’s unsure what you’re comfortable with, but when you notice he’s not really doing anything and you ask him about it he explains that he didn’t want to push you into being a part of anything you might be uncomfortable with because he knows what it feels like to have christmas shoved down your throat and he didn’t want to make you feel like he was pushing you in a certain direction. you assure him that you’d actually love to learn more about how he celebrates the holidays which makes him light up since he’s able to share all of the fun little things he does and you learn more about how he grew up and the little things that stood out and were important to him as a kid and it really just shows you a whole new side of him (not to mention a quiet christmas going out for chinese food together)

anyways this was such a sweet ask and all options are great imo 😂 i hope you enjoyed nonnie!

send me your sfw RSL character x reader thoughts

→ accepting asks for james wilson, cruise, and peter müller

→ i’ve seen up to 5x12 of house — NO SPOILERS PLEASE

[fischerfrey]

A Christmas Prince; The Royal Wedding

Chapter 3: The Princess and the Ogre

Summary: Royal protocol threatens to dictate everything about Dawn and Quincey's wedding. Olympia's charity play faces obstacles.

Words: 3k

Characters:

Dawn Harvelle and Evander Alderly @potionboy3

Quincey and Olympia Alderly, Tess Brandon

Gaia Alden by @cursed-herbalist

Also featuring:

Pandora Lovelace & Nymeria Lee by @gcldensnitch, Jimmy Crouch, Maxim Raeburn, Rosa Yaxley & Evan Harvelle by @potionboy3, Rocky Weasley by @magicallymalted

Beginning | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Want to read the first fic in the series, A Christmas Prince? Click here!

Chapter 3: The Princess and the Ogre

“Your Majesties, Your Highness,” said Evander. He had a distinct look of dishevelment about him that Dawn had not expected to see.

Quincey’s personal security guard had already stepped in, ready to escort Evander out of the premises.

“It’s alright, Mr. Flitwick,” said Quincey. “He appears to be in no shape to do us any further harm.”

“Queen Isabella,” said Evander. “Merry Christmas.”

“What is it you want, Evander?” asked the queen.

“I know I deserve to be met with such hostility,” Evander continued. Dawn’s dad and Tess had made their way next to Dawn, as if to serve as his personal guard. Dawn thought it was kind of cute. Tess whispered: “Is this the bloke who…”

“Who tried to steal Quincey’s crown? Yes,” Dawn whispered back.

“Frankly, I’m amazed to see your face here, cousin,” said Quincey.

“After the… unfortunate incident last Christmas, I lost almost everything I had,” Evander explained.

“Just desserts!” Olympia chimed in.

“I don't expect you to forgive me,” said Evander. “But I wanted to say I'm sorry, and Merry Christmas…”

The entire family was looking at Evander in something of a shock. This was the last thing Dawn had expected and he was willing to bet it had not crossed the minds of anyone else in the room, either.

“And congratulations,” finished Evander, looking at Dawn and Quincey now with an expression that could almost be described as genuine. “To you both.”

He turned to leave, and Quincey stepped forward. “Wait.”

Evander stopped in his tracks, turning back to face the king. Quincey sighed and said: “I don't know how you'll ever regain our trust. But we're still family. And it's Christmas.”

Olympia looked like she was about to punch some sense into her brother. Dawn exchanged looks with his dad and aunt.

“He may stay,” Quincey told the head of security and Evander looked seemingly relieved.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Olympia might actually murder you.”

Evander looked at Olympia who scowled. It seemed forgiveness didn’t come to her as easily as her brother, though Dawn wasn’t sure where all this goodwill on Quincey’s part was coming from.

~

Queen Isabella exchanged a few words with his wayward nephew, who then hovered awkwardly near the tree but didn’t touch any of the decorations. A passing waiter gave him a mug of steaming hot glühwein. Dawn decided to go over and see what he was really up to.

“Count Evander,” he said as he approached.

“Mr. Harvelle,” he replied. “Or Your Highness, soon enough.”

“What brought you to us on this… fine December evening?” Dawn asked.

“I knew you would all be together, and I thought: what better time to make my apologies?”

“I guess,” said Dawn, squinting his eyes.

“I know you don’t like me or trust me, but I’m not here to cause any trouble,” said Evander. “I’m just trying to make things right between me and my family.”

“It’s my family too, now, so if you try any shit–,” started Dawn but Evander stopped him on his tracks: “I won’t. I don’t want to go against you and my dear cousins ever again. The first round was quite humiliating enough.”

Dawn was a little pleased to hear it but hoped it wasn’t too obvious. “Quincey’s right, Olympia might actually kill you.”

“Yes, I imagine obtaining her forgiveness might be a little too optimistic.”

~

As the evening went on and the tree began to look sufficiently decorated, Evander had gained enough ground to sit on one of the couches and talk about his past year. He and his mother Amelia had a falling out and that had resulted in her cutting off all the money. It must have been a blow, but Dawn found it hard to sympathize with a count when it came to these things.

“So, what did you do?” asked Tess.

“Well, I moved to a more… modest housing arrangement,” Evander explained. “Oh, and I sold my car, that one was… difficult.”

Dawn rolled his eyes, but Tess chuckled and said: “It must have been.”

Evan sat next to Dawn and said under his breath: “Should we be worried about that one?”

“I’m always worried about Evander,” Dawn replied.

“Maybe I should kick his ass?”

Dawn laughed quietly. “Oh my god, dad.”

“I would probably lose.”

“No, you’d totally win.”

“Win what?” asked Quincey, walking up to them.

“Fist fight against Evie,” Dawn explained.

Quincey seemed to think about it for a while and then said: “You would definitely win.”

Evan grinned and Dawn smiled but then his expression turned more serious, and he asked: “Why did you let him stay?”

Quincey shrugged. “I think everyone deserves a second chance.”

~

Everything went mostly without an incident although Olympia did throw a glass bauble at Evander when he dared to laugh at Tess's joke too merrily in her presence. Dawn thought it was funny, but the queen informed them all that the bauble had been a gift from the American ambassador and now he would wonder why it doesn’t feature in any of the royal photographs.

Back in his bridal suite™️, Dawn exchanged a few messages with his friends back home. Well, back in Bristol since this was home now. It was late, too late, with Dawn’s early morning looming threateningly in the horizon.

the bristol squad; panda: wait cunt evander is back?? panda: NO panda: COUNT panda: autofill1!!! maxim: oh my god rocky: 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 dawn: where’s the lie panda: it was a typo nym: no it wasn’t jimmy: it was a freudian slip

Just when Dawn was putting his phone away, he heard a knock on his door. He crept out of bed, wondering whether it was Evander, come to assassinate him. Suddenly it made perfect sense why he had come back, acting all humble and apologetic. He certainly had some devious plan to kill Dawn and get the throne. Just in case, Dawn picked up a decorative candelabra on his way to the door. When he opened and was instead faced with Quincey, dressed in his pajamas and a fancy dressing gown, he hid the makeshift weapon behind his back and smiled.

“Quince!”

“What were you going to do with that?” the king asked, half puzzled half amused.

“Defend myself, of course, your palace security is lax, I know that from experience.”

“Dear lord…” said Quincey and grabbed Dawn’s face, kissing him. Dawn pulled him into the room and maneuvered the door shut. Quincey took the candelabra from him and deposited it on a nearby side table.

“Jesus, you could have killed someone with that,” he said.

“That was the idea, although I was expecting it to be Evander.”

“Why would Evander come to your rooms at this hour?” Quincey inquired. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“To kill me, of course.”

Quincey laughed. “Of course.”

“Are you allowed to be here?” asked Dawn.

“Well, no, technically not.”

“Ooh, naughty,” Dawn teased.

“But I wanted to see you,” said Quincey with a soft smile.

Dawn, not immune to Quincey’s smile, kissed him and pulled him to bed.

~

The next morning, Dawn was dressed to the nines in the custom made Alderlian wedding outfit insisted upon by the queen. He felt like a complete fraud.

“It’s magnificent,” said Pince.

Rosa was frowning but remained silent.

“I can’t wear this,” said Dawn. He couldn’t even name all the different items of clothing involved.

“You must,” said Rosa. “It’s a symbol of Alderlian continuity.”

“No, it isn’t,” argued Dawn. “I want to talk to Quincey.”

“The king is busy, at the moment,” said Pince. “But I’ll make sure to note down that you want a word with him.”

“He’s going to be my husband and I need to schedule a meeting with him?” Dawn asked. He tried his best to remain calm, but this was all getting ridiculous. He wondered what Quincey was going to wear for the ceremony.

“Help me get this thing off, I need a break,” said Dawn and Rosa rushed to help him remove the outfit. None of it felt right.

~

The kitchens were empty, since it was some time until lunch, but breakfast had long since been served. Tess set a big, steaming cup of tea in front of Dawn and sat opposite to him.

“You’re my hero,” Dawn said.

Tess gave him a smile. “This is all a bit…”

“Much,” finished Dawn and Tess nodded, sagely.

“Have you settled in?” Dawn asked.

“It’s definitely been interesting to spend so much time with Evan, of all people.”

“Are you getting along?”

“Sure, I always liked him,” said Tess.

“That’s a relief,” said Dawn. “I didn’t realize they wouldn’t let me drag you two everywhere with me.”

“We’ll be fine,” Tess reassured him. “I’m just a little worried about you, though.”

Dawn sipped his tea carefully, as to not burn his tongue. “I feel like it's not my wedding. All this pomp and circumstance. It's like, at this point, I'm almost dreading the big day.”

“Marrying into royalty, of course there’s always going be parts of your life that won’t be just your own, but I think there’s a reason why the king fell in love with you, and it wasn’t your complete adherence to rules and protocol,” said Tess.

“Honestly, Tess, I didn’t think I would ever get married, much less married like… well all this,” Dawn said, motioning around vaguely to everything around him. “But shouldn’t it be about… royalty or not, about being with the person I love, with... with all the people that I love there with me?”

“When did you get so wise?” asked Tess.

“I was always wise, you just refused to see it because you were bitter that I put glue in your hair,” said Dawn.

“That’s very true.”

Dawn took a deep breath. “Christmas without mum is always going to be hard. But getting married without her being there…”

“I know,” said Tess. “I always think about her when something big happens in my life. Like when I graduated or when I launched a new tea line.”

“I guess we're both feeling that, huh?”

“I miss her every day,” Tess said.

“Me too.”

“Which reminds me,” said Tess and dug something out of her pocket. “I was supposed to give this to you as part of your wedding gift, but I figured you might need something to watch your back before the big day.”

Tess took Dawn’s hand and put a necklace on his palm. It was clear quartz with a fine leather cord. Dawn remembered seeing it on Tess many times. Dawn’s mum had given it to Tess as a present when she started high school, to bring her luck, and Tess had worn it throughout the years, up until university and beyond.

“I can’t take this,” he said, immediately.

“Yes, you can,” said Tess, and closed Dawn’s fist around the necklace.

“It’s yours.”

“You need it more than me,” said Tess. “I don’t have any big, life altering events in my horizon.”

“Tess…”

“Your mum would want you to have it. I know she would.”

Dawn sighed.

“I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Then…” Dawn started. “Thank you.”

He pulled the necklace over his head and maybe it was in his head, but it did bring him comfort. It made him feel like everything was going to be alright.

“She’d be proud of you, you know,” said Tess.

“Would she?”

“Yes. So proud.”’

~

On the car ride to Olympia’s dress rehearsal, Dawn got a rundown of The Tale of Princess Froon.

“It’s a folktale,” Olympia explained to Dawn, Evan, and Tess, but mostly Evan. “The original is much more brutal than the version told to children. Kind of like Grimm’s fairytales. A fair maiden who granted Santa Claus his magical powers, sounds wholesome, no?”

“Very,” said Evan.

“Princess Froon was coveted for her ability to grant magical powers. One day she was captured by a big, hairy ogre named Grundel…”

“Like Shrek!” said Dawn.

“No, nothing like Shrek. Grundel traps Princess Froon inside a castle made of ice…”

“Like Frozen?” Dawn tried again.

“Not at all like Frozen, Dawn, shut up. Grundel was going to eat her for breakfast, when his pet turtle…”

“Turtle?” asked Dawn. He couldn’t resist.

“Yes. His turtle found a little baby in the woods. And when he brings the baby to the castle, she cares for it and nurses it back to health. Her kindness melts the ogre's heart, and he falls in love with her.”

“The end?” asked Dawn and Olympia threw a piece of confectionery at him.

“No,” she continued. “The ogre sets the princess free, so then she turns the baby into Santa Claus. And she kisses the ogre to say goodbye and thank you, and he turns into a dashing knight in shining armor. The end.”

“And it's all true?” asked Evan.

“Obviously.”

“Fair enough,” Dawn said.

“Honestly, it’s not any less mad than strange women lying in ponds distributing swords as a basis for a system of government…,” mused Evan.

“Who's playing the ogre slash knight in shining armor?” asked Dawn.

“Just the reason for my mother’s ire,” said Olympia. “Her name’s Gaia Alden, the daughter of baron Alden.”

“Oh,” said Dawn. Suddenly it made much more sense why Isabella was so against her daughter taking part in this play.

~

The thing about Olympia’s play was that it was completely put together by amateurs on as low a budget as possible. The entire idea was to collect money for the orphanages of Alderly so the children could have a nice Christmas, complete with a heap of presents. The participation of so many members of the nobility itself had garnered quite a high society crowd. It was all in good fun, for a good cause. Olympia had told Dawn that they’d pretty much done everything themselves from sets to costumes.

“Why must you trap me here, Grundle?” Olympia spoke her line. Dawn was no actor, but he found the princess’s portrayal to be believable enough.

“Your fair beauty hurts my eyes,” said Gaia Alden, donned in the mask of the fearsome ogre. “But that is not why I trap you here. I trap you here because I want your magic!”

“You cannot force me to use it. I must believe in my heart!”

“Then I shall eat you. And your magic shall seep into my flesh and stones!”

There was a brief pause in the action and Dawn, from his front row seat, could see everyone racking their brains for how to handle this.

“I think it's ‘bones’,” Olympia whispered.

“That's what I said, isn't it?” asked Gaia. As an audience member, Dawn would have bought stones hook, line, and sinker. Maybe Grundel was a stone troll.

“Never mind. Let's move on to scene 12.”

“Right, yes,” Gaia said, clearing her throat. She motioned to her prompter and had a brief discussion with him. Just as the director was about to call action, everything went dark. For a minute, Dawn suspected a blackout but then his phone buzzed. It was Quincey calling.

“Hey,” he replied.

“Dawn,” Quincey said. “The unions are calling for a general strike. Are you still at the theater?”

“Yeah, we’re here,” said Dawn, keeping an eye on Olympia, who was frantically discussing with Gaia and some others of her theatrical troupe.

“The theater workers are also going on strike, in solidarity,” said Quincey. “I’m afraid the performance is cancelled.”

“What? Does O know?”

“I have to go,” said Quincey. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Quincey hung up and Dawn was left staring at his phone, flabbergasted.

“O!” he called out, climbing up on the stage. “What’s going on?”

“I wish I knew,” said Olympia.

“It looks like the play is cancelled, Your Highness,” said Gaia, going through her phone, probably looking at news.

“Maybe they’ll get everything figured out before–,” Dawn started.

“The premiere’s tomorrow,” said Olympia. Dawn decided not to question why he hadn’t been made aware of this, same as many other things going on in Alderly.

“I’m sorry, Olympia,” said Gaia. “You made a brilliant Princess Froon.”

“Fuck,” said Olympia.

“C’mon, O,” said Dawn. “It’s going to be alright.”

“People are going to want their tickets refunded,” Olympia said. “But we used most of the money already. On the kids.”

Dawn put a hand on Olympia’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out. Come on, we have to go before your security detail thinks Miss Alden and I kidnapped you.”

“That would be bad,” said Gaia.

“Alright,” Olympia sighed, and they headed out of the theater hall.

~

“Merry Christmas, your highnesses,” said Gaia once they were outside. “For what it’s worth, I'm sorry we won’t be able to do the play. It was fun.”

Olympia smiled. “You made a brilliant ogre, Gaia,” she said.

“Thanks…?”

“And an even better knight in shining armor,” the princess added, taking both of Gaia’s hands in hers and leaning in to kiss her cheek. Something about the gesture made Dawn avert his eyes. Gaia left in her own car and Dawn and Olympia entered theirs.

“Fucking hell,” Olympia said.

“Can the crown pay the refunds?” asked Dawn.

“Not easily.”

“Well… shit.”

“Mother did tell me not to do this,” Olympia said, leaning her head back against the leather seat.

Dawn thought about all the hard work Olympia had put into making this play happen and an idea began to formulate in his mind. “Most of your crew is just your friends and peers, right?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“What if we did the play at the palace?” Dawn suggested.

“What?”

“What if we just cleared room and put up a stage for the play so then you wouldn’t have to refund?”

Olympia seemed to think about it for a moment. Eventually, she said: “It could work.”

“Yeah?”

“I think it might. Oh my god, I’m texting the idea to the guys right now,” she said and took out her phone, starting to type. Dawn grinned. Maybe the Christmas play could still be saved, but then there was still the country.

tag list: @lifeofkaze, @gcldensnitch, @endlessly-cursed, @cursed-herbalist, @magicallymalted

(ask if you want to be included or removed)

[riverwoodcottagevintage]

Christmas in Tidewater Virginia