#one tiny chapter a day until santa comes knocking

[thetarttfuldickhead]

A Jamie-centric pre-OT3 Christmas story told in 25 short chapters.

Masterpost / AO3

1. Prologue

This is a Christmas story. It begins—

—in December, in London, and with the whole of AFC Richmond spilling out from a theatre in an animated gaggle of waving hands and raised voices.

“Nah, you’re wrong, bruv,” Isaac told Jamie emphatically. "This shit's way better than Mickey's Christmas Carol." 

Jamie rolled his eyes at that insane opinion and set out to explain how Isaac was as wrong as wrong could be (but respectfully, like), while behind them Moe was explaining something about capitals to Thierry and Bhargava handed Dani a tissue.

After Ted had shown them Scrooged for their last team movie night, a heated debate on the best adaptation of A Christmas Carol had led to a seven night movie marathon ending with Isaac taking them all to The Old Vic for the stage version. 

Jamie, something of a theatre expert thanks to Keeley, had helpfully informed everyone that talking to the characters or shouting suggestions during the performance was not allowed, because even though that was still a fucking stupid rule – just imagine someone trying to introduce that to football games, the fans would riot and they’d be right to – that was the sort of thing Jamie did now: he was helpful. Was a team player. Gave useful tips to people before they made fools of themselves, rather than gleefully afterwards. It wasn’t always as much fun, no, but sometimes good in a different sort of way. And it wasn’t like he had much of a choice, anyway; the team had made that plenty clear when he returned to Richmond.

“All right, lads, I’m off,” he called to them now, giving up on trying to convince Isaac of the errors of his taste. Too cold for it. “Got me car over by Park Plaza.”

“See you tomorrow, boyo,” Colin said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Good night, Jamie.” Sam’s smile was still just this side of tentative, but it seemed sincere enough and Jamie couldn’t help but smile back. He was all right, Sam.  

With less than three weeks until Christmas, the London night was chilly as Jamie made his way through it. No snow, naturally – though not unheard of, a white Christmas in the English capital was uncommon indeed. Not that chances were much better up in Manchester.

Manchester. The thought of it brought a small frown to Jamie’s face. He knew he ought to go up there after the game on Boxing Day, to visit Mummy and Simon. Before he was loaned to Richmond he’d always spent Christmas at home; last year, he’d blamed the distance and the fixtures for not being able to make it.

It hadn’t been a lie, but hadn’t been the whole truth either. Secretly, Jamie had been relieved for the excuse to stay away. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his mum – he always wanted to see his mum – but he hadn’t known to deal with the crushing weight of all the things he couldn’t tell her; of all the things he didn’t want her to know. It had sat heavy and silent between them, a barrier that only seemed to grow higher and higher as he was sent back to City, as he fled City for Lust Conquers All, as he begged his way back to Richmond.

Now things were better, with him and with the team (and from his dad there’d been nothing, not for months now, and maybe this time—but no. Jamie didn’t want to think about Dad now), and it was time, really, to man up and make it up to Manchester. To come clean to  Mummy and have things go back to normal.

Jamie had no fucking idea how to do that. The idea of disappointing her left a sour taste in his mouth and his stomach churning.

Still frowning, Jamie unlocked his car and slipped into the driver’s seat. The Tube would have been quicker, but he hadn’t been in the mood to be recognized tonight. It was all right if people wanted to talk football, but at least one out of three still wanted to yell at him about Amy. Which was really unfair, because nothing on that show had been real, had it, and Amy knew that.

Amy had known that, right?

Didn’t matter now. Stupid shit, over and done with. Jamie Tartt had other things to worry about.

He pulled out of the car park, turned right, and began his journey home.

---

This is a Christmas story, and maybe it begins here too—

­—in a house in Chelsea, on that same December eve, and with Roy Kent keeping an eye on the oven and the time, while over by the table Keeley and his niece were adding increasingly intricate details to the gingerbread dragon-unicorn-princess-whatevers they were making.

Outside, an Aston Martin passed by on its way from Waterloo to Richmond. Roy would have recognized the car, had he seen it, and Keeley too (rather intimately), but the kitchen window was facing the other way and neither of them did.

“Look, Uncle Roy, this one looks just like you,” Phoebe exclaimed, proudly exhibiting a cookie man with curious antlers and a dour expression that did indeed make him look rather like the retired player.

Keeley laughed. “Ha! Yeah, it does!”

Roy growled. It was his fond growl. It was all right this, Keeley and Phoebe and the gingerbread covering every surface in the kitchen; all right in a way not a lot of things had been since he ended his career by sending Jamie Tartt flying to the ground half a year ago.

As for Jamie Tartt… He drove past the house without looking at it twice. He’d never been inside Roy Kent’s home; never known exactly where he lived.   

That would change, before morning broke on Christmas Day. Because this is a Christmas story, and those always come with miracles.

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Chapter 11]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

everything in its place

cw: anxiety attack(s)

wc: 4k

“But I don’t wanna go to bed.” 

Joseph stands at the center of the living room in plaid pajamas, an airplane themed blanket tossed over his shoulders, and a pout on his face. A bright red stains the waterline of his eyes as he rubs at them as if he can will his tiredness away. Hide it beneath the blanket he pulls tighter around him. Smother it until it vanishes, or is small enough to at least hide it from his mother. 

“I know you’re excited, big guy, but you gotta. Santa’s comin’ tonight, ‘member?” Beth coos. She’s kneeling in front of him, hands on his shoulders as if afraid he’ll lose balance and fall at any moment. The poor thing is dead on his feet, swaying as the silent lullaby of sleep beckons him to give in. “He can’t do his job if you’re awake, now can he? Besides, the sooner you fall asleep, the sooner tomorrow will come.” 

Just as Joseph begins to yawn, Tommy swoops in behind him, arms wrapping around his small frame in a bear hug. He’s instantly swaddled, blanket pulled tight around him as if he were a mummy, leaving him no room to fight. Soporific giggles escape the boy’s chest as his father lifts him in the air, limp legs dangling and swaying as they begin to march off towards the back of the house. 

“C’mon,” he urges, playfully grunting as if the child’s weight is too heavy for him. “I’ll tuck ya in nice and tight. Gotta build up your energy for tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Joseph yawns back just as his mother joins in behind them. 

Everything is warm. Viridity shrouds your eyes with rose tinted glasses and the glow of the Christmas tree diffuses like little halos. You are elated — happily content being shoved against Simon’s side, legs curled underneath yourself on the couch, head resting against his shoulder. Something sordid still lurks there between the fibers of your muscles; the sinews that hold you together. A pestilential rot that refuses to wash clean, but for the moment at least, it’s nothing but a gentle vibration. A meaningless hum of your bones that doesn’t quite reach your brain. 

“Tired, sweetheart?” Simon asks. He doesn’t move — stays politely still as you blink the bleariness from your eyes. 

“Maybe a little,” you admit with a laugh. You lift your head from his shoulder, and the absence of him feels wrong. When you turn to look at him, you find Simon already staring at you. 

“Been a long day,” he agrees. Long legs stretch out in the empty space in front of him before he scoots away from you, standing. “C’mon, let’s get you settled. I’ll show you the room.” 

A weightlessness lifts you off the couch as you trudge after Simon, following in line behind him. Quiet giggles bleed through one of the doors you pass in the hallway, and you can’t help but chuckle as Joseph, once again, declares his excitement for tomorrow. His joy emanates from the door — that room is too small to hold back the cheer of a young soul. 

Simon leads you to the end of the hallway toward the very back of the house. A room sits tucked on the left side of the hall, just across from the bathroom, where a lamp illuminates a queen sized bed with argentine sheets. Barren walls close the room in, but you find that if you squint hard enough you can see old marks. Tiny holes from long gone tacks, perhaps used to hold up posters. It’s painted over; hardly even visible. A slight dent makes its home next to the door where the doorknob knocks against it. 

“Used to be my bedroom,” Simon informs, shoulder leaning against the doorway as you step in. “Well, mine ‘n Tommy’s, anyway.” 

Your thoughts are flooded as you picture Simon as a child. Small frame, smooth skin — or maybe he was always large. A heavy, broad boy who gave his parents trouble as he ran around the house causing mayhem. An imagined giggle echoes in your mind, a shrill squeal of unadulterated joy. You wonder how often the two of them played together here, the secrets they would whisper to one another at night, or the dreams they had. 

You’re only brought back into your body when you notice that his bag is sitting next to yours at the foot of the bed. 

A blink clears your vision, and it’s still there. Two bags. A single bed. The steady thudding of your heart jumps into your throat where it makes its new home. It’s impossible to swallow, to force it into submission, back into the cage where it belongs. Stiff joints refuse to work with you as you turn to face Simon. He looks around the room wistfully, yet with a tinge of something darker. Something haunted. 

“Are… are you and I sharing this room?” you ask timidly. 

He nods. “Mum’s got her bedroom upstairs, Tommy ‘n them got the old office, so we get the guest room.” He pauses, eyes scrutinizing your face before he pushes away from the door, heavy feet causing the floor beneath him to creak. “That alright?” 

Choking on your words, you stutter through a sheepish smile, though you’re not sure it’s enough to cover how mortified you are. Molten blood suffocates your veins, and you feel it coagulate and clot. Really, it shouldn’t mean anything; sharing a bed with someone. You and Row have shared beds plenty of times together with one another and it’s never meant a thing. 

Does it only feel terrifying because you want it to mean something? 

“Yeah, no, that’s fine. I just- I’ve never- uhm.” All you can do is spew nonsense. It worsens the heat building in your face, bleeding through your skin, antagonizing the tips of your ears — you wish you would just shut up but you always have to explain yourself in some way. 

“Hey,” he says, raising a hand to stop you. “If you’re not comfortable with it, that’s fine. Can always sleep on the floor. Or out in the livin’ room if you don’t want me here at all.” 

For a moment, your brain entertains the idea of him in both scenarios. A hardwood floor is hardly a proper surface to sleep on, and the thought of him shoving his large frame onto Mrs. Riley’s small loveseat nearly makes you cringe. 

“What? No, I can’t do that to you. I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor in your own home. Or, at least your family’s home,” you retort earnestly. “I can take the couch.”

“Not happenin’ sweetheart,” Simon says, small smirk pulling at his lips. “Really think I’m lettin’ you sleep anywhere but a proper bed? If you’re comfortable with it, we’ll both take the bed, and if not, then I’ll take the floor, or you can kick me to the livin’ room. Those are your three options.” 

“But-”

“No. No nuances here.” It isn’t until his hand brushes against your arm that you realize just how close he is to you. His attention drifts, fingers picking at a piece of fuzz on your clothes before flicking it somewhere to be forgotten on the ground. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, I’ve slept on worse before. And you’ll only hurt my feelings a little bit,” he teases. 

While your body freezes, your mind is nothing but a whirlwind of thought. Torturous, you feel trapped; unable to speak your mind or your thoughts. How do you tell him that you don’t think you can sleep next to him not because you’re uncomfortable, but because you’ll crumble at his touch? Fade into nothing but soot and ash that would blow away at the mere huff of his mirth? You’d lay next to him, and like Icarus, you’d melt before you even get to brush against his warmth. 

And still — you refuse to let him sleep on the floor. 

“No. No, it’s fine, the bed is good,” you say with a nod. 

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Certain?” he pushes. 

“Certain,” you repeat. 

He stares at you for a moment too long and you feel your bones turn to jello. He’s giving you an out; the time to change your mind. Gelatin muscles and rubber tendons — you’d collapse if it weren’t for the panic constricting around your body. You swallow it down, willing it away just long enough to convince him you’ll be fine. 

“Alright,” he says as he takes a step back. He glances at your bags, still sitting neatly next to one another, before nodding. “I’ll step out. Let you change. Gotta grab presents out of the car anyway, so take your time.” 

After confirming the plans, Simon begins to back out of the room. Hand on the door, he begins to shut himself out, though he quickly pauses in order to point at the bed. “I get the side closest to the door, yeah?”

“Okay,” you nod. 

You aren’t able to breathe properly until the door latches shut behind him, and your knees nearly give out. Stumbling back, you collapse onto the springy mattress and throw your face in your hands in an attempt to muffle your groan. How anyone can stand to be around you when you’re so graceless is beyond you. Your mother always told you that you would outgrow this awkwardness one day. Turns out, you’re just as small as you’ve always been — you haven’t outgrown a single thing. 

The only thing that calms your thoughts is a series of gentle, controlled respires. Anxiety sizzles then fizzles out, leaving your nerves scorched, but not completely useless. You rise. Dirty clothes shucked off and fresh pajamas holding you close. You stare at the bed, and it stares right back at you, just as confused. How the hell are you going to have any room on that mattress with Simon next to you? 

A problem for later. 

Simon is in the hallway when you open the door. He stands, hands shoved into his pockets as he faces the wall, eyes blankly staring at picture frames. Dozens of them sit in asymmetrical lines, haphazardly shoved together. A collage that had suddenly grown too large to fit properly. If he notices you — which you’re sure he does — he doesn’t say anything as you cautiously approach him, eyeing the glinting glass. 

Some of the pictures are old — much older than either you or Simon. Black and white film displaying young, happily married couples. They grow and morph. Love slowly decaying into contentment. There’s undersaturated photos with brutal lens flare burning the image, digital pictures with crisp quality. The younger the film becomes, the older the couple gets. The more their smiles fade. 

Swallowing, you stare at the man. There’s something familiar about him with his dark eyes and tight lips, but that recognition fades as he gets older. He becomes skinnier. Wasting until his flesh pulls at his bones like a skeleton with sunken eyes, gaunt face and sallow skin. His stomach distends, dark eyes dull with a benevolent contempt for anything within his gaze. He vanishes from the pictures eventually; replaced by kinder faces. 

“Who’s that?” you ask, curious finger pointing to the wasting man. 

Simon is silent for a moment before he responds. “My father.” 

“Oh,” you chirp meekly. A part of you had already guessed. You were curious as to the absence of such a presence at a family gathering, why only his mother is here, but you of all people already know how fickle family can be. 

“He’s dead,” he says, answering the question burning on your tongue. 

You swallow. “I’m… I’m sorry.” 

Huffing, Simon shakes his head. His weight shifts but his eyes stay glued to the pictures. It takes a moment to loosen up his jaw enough to respond. “I’m not. Glad he’s gone.” 

His reply catches you off guard. You don’t think you could ever be glad about either of your parents being dead. It’s… a strange thought to have. One you’re not sure you can hold against him. Never for a moment did you revel at either of their funerals. Really, you couldn’t stop crying. Then you think of sharp blades, gasping breaths, blood on linoleum — and you remember that some people’s parents don’t deserve to be mourned. 

“Well, that’s something we have in common at least. Dead dads, and all,” you attempt to humor. 

Much to your surprise, it works. A gentle titter reverberates in his throat as he finally tears his eyes away from that dead, wasted man and he looks at you. His eyes gleam in the pale living room light that bleeds into the hallway. A gentle burn that melts the darkness of his irises. He’d melt in the palm of your hands if you asked him to. 

Perhaps he already has. 

It isn’t long before you’re under freshly washed covers with your head on an unfamiliar pillow. The only thing that is familiar is Simon — the scent of him especially. That faint, smothered nicotine and fresh cotton. You wonder if he can feel the thud of your heart ring throughout the mattress. If its reverberations crawl up his spine like the heat of him crawls up yours. 

There is something strange about forcing yourself to be apart from him after being glued to his side for most of the evening. Like driving a wedge between two magnets. You feel his pull like you’re the earth and he’s the sun. Forever caught in the cosmic storm of one another, and yet something even stronger holds you back. 

It’s all consuming — this terrible obloquy that fluctuates in weight. One moment, it’s as light as a feather. A timid thing that can do no more harm than a single flake of snow. Other times, it’s a brutal storm. Unrelenting and frigid, tearing you apart. Perhaps it’s the bed. The connotation. The blood that has yet to soak the sheets and stain the mattress.

Your blood. Your tears. 

My offer is still on the table if you find yourself having trouble.

Your heart trips. Stumbles on itself, skipping a beat and forcing your blood to run cold. No matter what, you always carry a piece of him with you. He shoved it inside of you like a blade, and you’ve been too terrified to pull it out. Afraid to see how much blood would come out with it. The rot that’s festered inside of you because of him. You’re choking. Breath caught in your throat like a windpipe between slender fingers. Eyes bulging. Ears ringing. Soft lips on skin hiding sharp teeth waiting to tear you apart.

You sit up like you are able to run from the feeling. It doesn’t help. It’s still there. Writhing beneath your skin. Burrowing in your bones. It’s always there. Will always be there. Dormant and waiting to erupt. To tear open the tender flesh only a monster craves. You have not belonged to yourself in years, and you fear that you never had to begin with. 

You never will again.

“What’s wrong?” 

Simon’s gentle susurrus hardly reaches you over the sound of the blood gushing through your ears. Your head snaps to look at him in the darkness and you see the fuzzy image of his frame laid flat on his back, one hand behind his head. You swallow, your throat dry and sticking to itself, and you try not to tremble.

“Can’t sleep.” It’s blunt. Quick. If you speak any further, you’ll deteriorate. 

Cautious fingers brush against your arm and you try not to flinch at his presence. He pauses, then moves slower, torso curling as he lifts himself off the bed to further his reach. His arm snakes around your back, and then to your other arm before he carefully pulls you back down to earth. 

“C’mere,” he says before leaning you back with him. 

Anxiety quells into confusion as Simon situates you on your side, head resting on his chest. His arm stays around you, supporting your head as his hand lays politely on your waist. Ragdolling, you go along with him as his free hand grabs yours. His thumb gently prods at your fingers, prompting your fist to relax and unfurl before he places it flat on his chest above his heart. His breaths come heavy and deep, chest expanding beneath your palm, prompting your own diaphragm to do the same. Slow, deep breaths that calm your heart and your nerves. 

Your eyes grow heavy. Everything grows heavy. Soon the ringing in your ears becomes drowned out by Simon’s steady pulse beneath you. 

Morning arrives with a childish squeal and dull sunlight. 

You’re still in Simon’s arms, curled into his side, face buried into the scent of him. His hand rests on top of yours where he taps at the space between your knuckles. There’s a quiet knowingness in his touch. A hushed relation he attempts to etch into your skin. You do not know why, but you think he might be the only person in the entire world who might somewhat understand your pain. At least, he’s been the only one that doesn’t try to instantly smother it away. 

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers

Smiling against his side, you sigh. “Merry Christmas, Simon.” 

Joseph hardly waits for you and Simon to enter the living room, disheveled and groggy, before ripping into his presents. Even Beth and Tommy are half awake, curled up on the couch next to one another as they grin and coo over their son. Mrs. Riley, however, is on the edge of her seat the entire time, helping to collect shredded wrapping paper and crinkled bows. Somehow, she looks even more excited than her grandson.

The windows nearly shatter with the shriek he lets out at Simon’s gift. That large box concealing the model plane he’s been begging his parents for sits in his wide stretched arms. Beaming blue eyes lock onto Simon as his feet happily stomp against the ground as he thanks his uncle for the present. You catch the look of relief Beth gives him out of the corner of your eye. 

As the morning speeds by, the Christmas tree looks more and more naked with each gift that’s opened. Barren and empty. It dwindles down to nothing but shiny ornaments and crooked tinsel, yet it still bears fruit. 

Simon retrieves one small, lone gift hidden within the folds of the tree skirt. 

“Here,” he prompts, holding it out for you. 

Blinking, you look back and forth between him and the object, fingers too timid to reach for it. Your name is written on a small tag in small, curt handwriting. “For me?”

“Go on. Open it.” 

Guilt clouds your mind as you gingerly take the box into your hands. It’s light. Hardly any bigger than the size of your palm, yet the bow on it is nearly twice as large. Expertly knotted, perfect loops, and long, curling ribbons. You purse your lips into a line as Simon leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, shoulder knocking against yours in the process. 

“But… You shouldn’t have. I… I didn’t get you anything,” you murmur. 

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Came all the way ‘ere with me. That’s more than enough.” 

At this point, you know better than to try to argue with Simon, so you carefully tug on the bow. Soft silk becomes undone and flutters into your lap as you pop the top off of the box to reveal a fluffy white mess. A miniature version of an arctic fox sits upon red velvet. It’s cartoonish, with an extra pointy nose and round, azure eyes, and is more akin to a stuffed animal with soft, faux fur. A short chain protrudes from the top of its head with a small clasp on the end — a keychain. 

“Mrs. Price helped me pick it out,” Simon concedes. 

“I love it,” you say, nearly choking on the word. You continue to stare at it for a moment, fingers brushing over its fluff before playfully poking its plastic nose. When you look back up at Simon, you find him already looking at you. Always looking at you. “Thank you.” 

A smile quietly pulls at the corner of his lip, scar tissue stretching and folding in on itself. “Glad you like it, sweetheart.” 

The butterflies that sentence plagues you with lingers all the way until dinner, and even then they still persist. They churn, twisting up a tempest within your stomach until your nerves jitter and jolt. You’re nearly knocking over your glass at the table as you try to conceal that new blaze inside of your chest. Douse out the flames with a simple sip of water. You wonder if the glowing embers left inside of you illuminate the soot covered bones of your ribs. Certainly they have to do something to get rid of that insatiable darkness. 

Mrs. Riley has prepared a lovely meal, largely in thanks to Joseph, of course, who had the very important task of helping his mother whisk the gravy for the mash. It’s the first homestyle meal you’ve had in ages. Honey coated ham, Yorkshire pudding, roast beef — you don’t think you’ve eaten so much in so long. When you first start, you can’t see the bottom of your plate, and when you finish, it’s practically sparkling clean. Might as well skip the wash and put it back in the cupboard. 

When dinner and dessert are finished, everyone helps clean up — like a well oiled machine, as Tommy says, to which Joseph quotes back clumsily as if it’s a mantra he hears often. There’s time for one quick Christmas movie before yawns begin to infect everyone and the hands of the old grandfather clock in the living room strikes ten. Dainty chimes echo quietly throughout the house. Soft and careful, as if not to wake anyone, further proving that you should’ve been asleep long ago. 

Everyone begins to migrate to their rightful place after that. There’s Mrs. Riley, who shuffles up the stairs to her room. There’s Tommy and Joseph, who giggle in the old office room to one another as they talk about the airplane they’ll have to paint together when they get home. There’s Beth, who’s taking a well deserved break away from her two rambunctious boys as she washes herself in the shower. 

Then, there’s you and Simon. 

A hazy penumbra obscures your vision as you lay next to him. There was no question about it when you both crawled into bed; there would be no separation between the two of you tonight. You curl beneath covers with his arm wrapped around you, an ear pressed against his chest as you listen to the proof of his existence. He is the most tangible thing you’ve ever had hold you, and despite his ruggedness and scars, he is also one of the softest. Something that can embrace you without pins and needles nettling your skin. 

Chest expanding, you breathe him in. You want to bottle up his scent and carry it around with you. It’s vague. Natural. 

You hate cologne. 

“Thanks for comin’ with me,” Simon speaks up, breaking the fragile silence hanging in the air. 

“Of course.” You pause, chewing on the tip of your tongue as you try to get the second half of your response out. “Thank you. For bringing me here. I don’t think I’ve… you know. Just- Thank you. I’m glad I came.” 

It’s impossible to tell if you’re hearing things wrong, but you swear Simon’s heart beats faster. Thumps in his chest like a war drum attempting to play a love song. It’s flimsy. Unpracticed with novice rhythm. Still, it only grows stronger as his head lifts from his pillow, neck curling forward as a strong arm holds you tight. 

His lips press against the crown of your head, lingering just long enough for your own pulse to drown his out. 

“Me too, sweetheart.”

[em-mermaid]

We Have a Child, Now What?

The first chapter of my Tiny Tom fic is finally here! I’ve been rotating this since the first episode with him and it is time to share it with all of you. I hope you enjoy!

WC: 1718

Chapters: 1/?

Relationships: Jimmy/Joel (more will be added later)

Tags/CW: Implied sexual content, giving a child up for adoption (tags will be updated as story develops)

Summary: Joel convinces Jimmy to make a baby with him for his secret santa, but now that the child is here Jimmy wants to keep him. If only it was easier to compromise on custody discussions with his (not-so) unrequited crush and the hermits while coming to terms with his past and his culture. All Jimmy really wants to do is raise his new son and kiss a pretty man.

You can read it on AO3 here!

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Chapter 1: Meeting Tiny Tom

Jimmy startles awake to someone pounding at his front door. A glance out the window tells him it is only just after dawn, sunlight not yet making a full appearance over the nearby mountains. He groans and rubs the sleep from his eyes. Maybe, he thinks, if he stays quiet they will assume he is still asleep and come back later.

Much to his dismay, the visitor continues to rattle the door with their loud knocking. Fine. They win this time.

“I’m coming,” he shouts towards the door, his voice still raspy from sleep. Thankfully they hear him and the noise stops. He moves to roll out of bed and winces when standing causes a tight pressure to grow behind his eyes. It fades into the background after a moment, but not before he identifies it as dehydration. Right, yesterday. He really didn’t want to think about yesterday.

After grabbing the nearest set of clothes and throwing them on, he begrudgingly climbs down the ladder. He pauses to slide on his boots before opening the door.

Joel. Of course it’s Joel. He’s leaning casually against one of the columns of the porch with his arms crossed. Jimmy frowns at a light bruise above Joel’s right collarbone as memories of the previous day come flooding forward.

The excitement Jimmy had felt when Joel asked if he would try to make a baby with him. Their laughter as they chanted and ran around the lore tree. The way his heart raced as Joel grabbed his hand and led him towards the Stratos inspired house. The feeling of Joel’s lips and warm skin against his own.

The crushing disappointment he felt afterwards when Joel said this was a no strings attached situation. How Jimmy sobbed himself to sleep feeling used and now knowing his feelings weren’t mutual. That if they had succeeded, he wouldn’t even be able to keep his own kid.

He’s brought back to the present by Joel clearing his throat and lifting an eyebrow. Jimmy’s yellow wings puff up behind him defensively. “What do you want?” he demands, glaring at Joel.

Joel doesn’t seem affected by the outburst, forever hiding behind a facade of nonchalance. He simply moves to stand upright and shrugs. “I just came over to tell you that it worked and we have a kid now.”

Jimmy’s jaw drops in shock and a glimmer of bittersweet hope sparks in his chest. “We do? It worked?”

Rolling his eyes Joel retorts, “That’s what I said, yes. I found him under the lore tree this morning when I went to add some decorations.”

“He?” Jimmy asks. Joel nods in response before Jimmy continues more enthusiastically, “Where is he now? I want to see him!”

“He’s still by the tree. I left–”

“You left a child unattended?” Jimmy interrupts loudly, not giving Joel time to respond before pushing past him and flapping his wings to catch the cold morning air. Within seconds he lands heavily near the tree, looking around frantically until he spots the child sitting on a blanket in a small fenced-in area under the shade of the tree.

He forces his wings to relax as he looks around and notes the lack of danger as well as the fact that the kid is happily playing with some small blocks of wood. Joel lands beside him and huffs in irritation. “I was trying to tell you I left him in a safe place with some toys. I’m not an idiot Jimmy, I know how to take care of children.”

Jimmy looks towards Joel in surprise before remembering Hermes. Of course Joel would know not to leave a child in an unsafe location. He feels a pang of jealousy in his chest, thinking about how much Joel cares about Sausage and their kid, decidedly pushing down the flicker of desire for Joel to look at him the same way. That wasn’t helpful right now.

No, Joel had made his views on their relationship very clear. Jimmy shakes his head to banish those thoughts before approaching the child. His child.

The young boy looks up at him curiously as he approaches, purple eyes gleaming as they spot his bright feathers. Eyes that exactly match the color of his own.

“Hello my sweet boy,” Jimmy coos softly as he sits in front of his son. “You like my feathers don’t you?” The child makes grabby hands towards his wings and Jimmy laughs lightly. “Here let me help you.” He reaches down and picks him up, sitting the boy in his lap and pulling his wing closer. He plucks a loose feather and hands it to the child, who clumsily grabs it with his small fingers.

While he is studying the feather, Jimmy takes the time to truly look at his child for the first time. He has dark, nearly void-black skin that is peppered with small light gray freckles, particularly on his arms and across his nose. His hair is a vibrant silver and sits in tight curls against his head. He is wearing a purple onesie and soft gray socks. Judging by how the child sits in his lap, wobbling slightly but able to hold himself up, Jimmy figures he must be just under a year old.

Jimmy can feel his love for the boy blooming in his chest. A strong desire to protect and nurture swiftly overwhelms him. He pulls his wings around himself and the child in his lap. Taking a shaky breath, he sees bright purple eyes look up at him.

The small boy babbles at him and Jimmy is sure he has never smiled this fondly at anything or anyone. This child is already his whole world.

His wings puff defensively when someone nearby clears their throat. Poking his head out from the feathery cocoon, he sees Joel staring at him with an eyebrow raised.

Flustered by the interruption and embarrassed about forgetting Joel’s presence, Jimmy cradles the child against his chest and stands. “He’s perfect.”

Joel barks out a laugh. “Yeah, perfect for my secret santa.” The statement feels like a punch to the stomach. Jimmy recoils, stumbling backwards a couple of steps, wings coming up to protectively surround the child in his arms.

“No,” Jimmy shakily replies. “I won’t let you give him away.”

Joel’s face contorts into mild concern. One hand halfway reaching towards Jimmy as if to stabilize or comfort him, before he decides against it, hand returning to his side. Joel’s expression shifts back to careful neutrality and he clears his throat before responding.

“I’ve already told you that I am putting him up for adoption. And I’m not going to tell you who's getting him, because I know you will just go steal the child back. But,” he pauses, looking between Jimmy and the boy in his arms, “I’ll let you name the child. If you want to.”

Jimmy huffs at this before looking down and adjusting the child in his arms. The boy is still staring at his wings and Jimmy moves to run his hand through his silver curls. Jimmy takes this moment to take stock of the situation. He is, of course, still furious with Joel for continuing to insist that he was giving the boy away. But at the same time, he is not going to pass up the opportunity to name his own son.

But how could a name capture such a perfect child? This decision would follow the boy for the rest of his life, granted he decided to keep the name. The pressure of the decision seems to force any name he had ever known from his mind.

Looking back up to Joel and shuffling his feet awkwardly, Jimmy admits, “I, uh, can’t think of any names.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Think of any name.” Jimmy looks back down towards brilliant purple eyes. Of course Joel wouldn’t be taking this seriously. He thinks for a moment before the perfect idea strikes him. This is his son after all.

Jimmy glances up trying his best to contain his grin. “Any name?” Joel nods, eyeing him suspiciously. “How about Jimmy Jr.?”

“Ji- ugh, no it can’t be Jimmy Jr.” Joel exclaims throwing his hands up in frustration. “Because obviously they are going to think it’s from you. It’s a secret santa.”

Well there goes that idea, he thinks. Okay any name, he can do this. Maybe a name that could compliment his own? “Alright, um, Tiny Tom.”

With a clap Joel declares, “Tiny tom it is! There we go. Tom, our child.” Joel reaches out to take Tom, but Jimmy avoids his hands by taking a step back.

“Can I at least keep him around for a day or two?” Jimmy asks desperately. Maybe he can buy some time to figure out how to make sure Tiny Tom stays with him.

“No, I need to take him to my secret santa.” Joel states, keeping his arms extended towards them.

A tightness makes itself known in Jimmy’s chest and tears threaten to spill. His voice wavers as he pleads, “Then let me at least say goodbye.”

Joel lowers his arms and takes a single step back. “Fine, but make it quick. The secret santa presents are due soon.”

Jimmy brings his wings around himself and Tom, blocking Joel from view. He cradles Tom tightly in his arms and kisses his forehead. A little hand presses against his face as a tear falls.

“I’m coming back for you,” he whispers. “Joel might be taking you for now, but I will find a way to get you back. I love you, my beautiful Tiny Tom.”

He takes a shaky breath and tries to blink away some of the tears. Another breath, and he pulls back his wings and straightens his shoulders. Something flickers across Joel’s face when they make eye contact, but it is quickly replaced by another too-neutral expression.

Stiffly, he steps forward and passes Tom to Joel. He watches as Joel adjusts Tom in his arms and leans down to take a pair of small headphones out of a nearby shulker. After placing the headphones over Tom’s ears he adjusts his elytra straps and pulls out a rocket.

With a nod and a simple goodbye, Joel takes off and quickly disappears over the mountains.

[trashmouth-richie]

HIH10

Eddie jokes, moving your shoulders into the perfect position he sees fit. “Alright b—Tooty, open your eyes.” 🥹😭🧡

‘Soul on fire and the barricade around his heart completely down, grass growing where they lay now, he is enamored by you. The smell of your hair, how tight you are squeezing him around the back of his neck. Your thighs clutching him. He’s a mess. Melting more than Frosty did on the warmest day of the year.’

He’s never been so hungry for affection in his entire life, and you were feeding him crumbs. Couldn’t you see he was on his knees begging, pleading for more?

‘What the hell would he want to do with you if there were so many other women, better looking, and definitely sexier— ready to be his flavor for the night? Being with Eddie was a joke and you were the punch line— why would a guy like him settle down with someone as vanilla as you?’ TOOTY! NO YOU’RE PERFECT.

He runs a hand through his hair and points back at the door to Benny’s, “I— I’ve never given a shit about any girl I’ve been with.” Okay Mr. Suave, chill.😂😂😂

Eddie had never been jealous of silverware before but he would give his left nut and his guitar away to be that lucky heated spoon for just one minute.

‘Eddie is gripping the counter tighter than an old woman gripping her life alert as she tumbles to the ground.’ LMAOOO NOT A LIFE ALERT LADY!!

Every line is memorized, the color is painted more beautifully than that asshole on tv painting sceneries of birds and rivers. NOT YOU COMING AT BOB😂😭

Placing the cinnamon rolls into the center of the warmed oven, you turn to find him behind you, silver Christmas ornament bulbs hanging from his nipple rings. “Think Walt would hire me to dance on stage for Christmas?” If Walt won’t the coven will.😂🤣

Eddie & Tooty & Wayne celebrating Christmas together? Our beloveds🥹

‘fingers clutching to the silky wrapped handles of the gift bag with Santa’s fat white ass climbing up into a chimney on the front.‘ 🤣🤣

The necklace is heavy, something weighing it down but you can’t be sure what it is, it’s not until you glance at his hands that you notice one of his rings is missing, the chunkiest of them all, the pig head is no longer on his middle finger, but around your neck instead. “There,” he announces in finality, his eyes dip to your lips, the necklace and back to your eyes, “aren’t you just the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” <- screaming, rolling on the floor kicking my feet up in the air….. I’m fine. 🥲

Thrashing on his guitar, Eddie starts the tinny opening to Metallica’s Wherever I May Roam, followed by Gareth beating into his drums. One of my all time favorite songs. 🖤

‘the bride is getting a piggyback ride from a balding man you recognize to be wait what? Wayne Munson, reliving his glory days and having the time of his life as her white veil is worn around his head, cigarette hung limply from his thin lips.’ OKAY WAYNE I SEE YOU 👏🏼

“this next one is for the biggest brat, pain in my ass, absolutely the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever known, we haven’t played this song in years, but I know it’s her favorite.” 😍😍😍

*The twins show up* Me: “These bitches…”

“this next one is for the biggest brat, pain in my ass, absolutely the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever known, we haven’t played this song in years, but I know it’s her favorite.” BITCH!!! MAN UP AND ASK HER!

Floating higher to the galaxy he swore he would take you to, tank full of gas, dancing you around in his arms on Saturn’s rings, diving head first into Jupiter’s springs. <- ABSOLUTE FAVORITE!!

GAH DAAAAAMN. I’m screamin’…. Knocked this chapter out of the park! So much fluff followed by a tiny bit of angst and just a smidge of spice 😮‍💨🔥…. When those bimbos showed up 😤 BUT ANYWAY, I’m so excited for next chapter! Our idiots deserve the absolute best! I can’t wait for Eddie to show her how a real man treats his woman. 😍 Obsessed with this story and you!!🧡

B I love you.

HIH 9

I was dying laughing writing Wayne giving the bride a piggyback ride 🤣

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 31: Home For Christmas

Chapter 30

Read on AO3

Christmas morning began with a solid weight on Claire’s back that knocked the wind out of her. Eyes still closed, she let out a stifled oomf, and heard a low chuckle beside her. (They’d both made sure they were fully clothed before falling asleep for this exact reason.)

“Aye, good morning, leannan.”

Claire groaned; of course the man was already awake, and had probably been more than capable of stopping Faith from pouncing on her. When the tiny slaps to her head began, he finally intervened.

“Alright, alright, let’s be nice.” The weight was removed, and Claire finally opened her eyes, rolling over to see that Jamie had lifted Faith bodily off of her, and was holding her up on his shins, holding her hands: playing airplane.

“Merry Christmas,” Jamie crooned up to Faith, and she squealed, kicking her legs. If Jamie didn’t have her hands, she’d have toppled over. But Claire knew he’d never let her fall. “Aye, merry Christmas, lass.”

Claire sighed heavily and forced herself to sit up, smiling lazily at the pair of them. “Merry Christmas, baby girl.”

Claire might as well have not said a thing; she was still giggling at Jamie and kicking her legs. Claire gave him a look, and he winked at her before letting Faith gently plop on the mattress between them. 

“Hi,” Claire said, bending down to kiss her. “Merry Christmas.”

Faith hummed in response, squirming out of bed by climbing over Claire.

“Merry Christmas, Sassenach.”

Claire looked up to see Jamie sitting up, hair tousled, clothes rumpled from playing with her daughter, a lazy, peaceful grin on his face. Even as Faith relentlessly tugged on Claire’s hand, groaning impatiently, Claire leaned over to kiss him.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

Faith could be held up no longer, and soon both adults were being led to the tree, crouched over so as to have one each of her little hands. Gillian, thank God, already had coffee brewing, having already been trampled by Faith herself on the air mattress. Gillian had offered to get a hotel room this year, not wanting to overcrowd Claire now that she knew Jamie would be joining them, but Claire would not hear of it, and neither would Jamie. Both ladies were wearing their matching set of Christmas pajamas, and Jamie dramatically remarked how left out he felt to not have received his own pair for this year.

“I’ll remember that fer next year,” Gillian said wryly, handing them each their own festive mugs of coffee.

Air mattress out of the way and coffee distributed, Faith was tearing into the first of three bigger boxes before anybody could stop her.

“That’s from Auntie Gi, darling,” Claire said, nestled tightly against Jamie, laying her still sleepy head on his shoulder, smiling contentedly. Claire knew exactly what was in those three identically sized boxes, and she fully expected the joyful stimming that erupted from Faith. It was an Animator Doll, the Anna one. Claire had seen them in the Disney store and decided that Faith absolutely had to have one, then Gi had offered to get her one, and so had Jamie.

Faith handed the unwrapped box to Gillian without so much as looking at her before she moved onto the next one, a gesture that very clearly meant: free her from her box immediately.

The three adults chuckled, Gillian muttering to herself as she headed to the kitchen to get scissors.

“That’s from Mummy,” Claire said, though she was sure it was falling on deaf ears. Claire had gotten the Elsa one, and the box was shuffled over to Gillian, still just beginning to open the Anna box. Faith moved onto the third box, Claire reminding her it was from Jamie as she got up from the couch, abandoning his warmth to help Gillian with the boxes before they fell behind and Faith had a fit.

The third doll was Merida, the one Jamie insisted he get for her. Faith hummed loudly and flapped her hands, squealing with delight. She looked over to see Auntie Gi and Mummy busy trying to free Anna and Elsa, so she picked up the box to shuffle over to Jamie in her silent request.

“D’ye like it, Faith?” Jamie said, setting his mug down to take the box. “She’s our lass, aye?”

Faith nodded, then bounded back to the tree.

“Faith Julia,” Claire called. “I won’t finish opening these until you say thank you.”

She hastily kissed Gillian’s cheek, to which she replied, “Ye’re welcome, Pipsqueak,” then Claire’s, answered by “You’re welcome, lovie,” and then Jamie’s.

“Ye’re very welcome, mo chridhe.”

The next few gifts were from Santa: a few DVD’s Faith had been asking for (one day she pulled up a list on her tablet of every single Disney film ever made alongside their DVD cover and started pointing to the ones they didn’t own, some that Claire hadn’t thought about in years) and a few she had not, a plush of the pig and chicken from Moana, a new puzzle, and a set of Merida pajamas. By the time Faith got through tearing all the wrapping off, all of her new treasures were freed from their boxes and plastic wrapping. The pajamas had come last, and before anyone could stop her, she was pulling her nightgown over her head.

“Faith, wait, that’s not — ”

Before Claire could remind her that she was to get dressed in her bedroom, and that anywhere else was inappropriate, Jamie was already holding the shirt over her head, smiling at her as she poked her head through. Claire shook her head, trying to suppress the smile that insisted on making its way across her face. She just sighed, letting Jamie finish dressing her, and Gillian snorted into her coffee mug.

While Faith got started arranging her dolls and toys on the coffee table and finding spaces for her new DVD’s among the rest of her collection, the adults began their own gift exchange. Gillian and Jamie exchanged gifts first, each giving the other Scottish-themed holiday baubles, causing all three adults to laugh. Claire got Gillian a shot glass with a bawdy quote that served her all too well, and Gillian got Claire a small potted succulent, the pot having been hand painted by her.

Claire was nervous; she was always a terrible gift-giver. Frank had been content to receive the most generic man-gifts known to humankind, but Claire knew full well that Jamie deserved more than that. Yet even as she handed him the box, she was worried she’d still gotten just another generic man-gift.

Jamie grinned at her as he took the box, opening it with care, as if to not disturb the wrapping. He would be the type to open presents that way. He set the paper aside and opened the box.

“Open the card second,” Claire said quickly as he picked up the envelope. He looked at her sideways, then set the envelope aside. After unfolding the wrapping paper, he pulled it out: a gray Scottish tweed cap.

Jamie was grinning ear to ear, examining the fabric. “It’s authentic,” Claire chimed in. “Made sure of it.”

“It’s braw, Sassenach.”

“I saw on Facebook your father had one in a lot of your photos, but I never saw you with one. So I thought I’d give you a bit of Scotland for Christmas.”

His grin spread wider, if that was even possible. “Thank you, Sassenach. I love it.”

“Put it on,” Claire demanded. “I want to see.”

Jamie chuckled, but he obliged, and Claire’s heart fluttered.

“What d’ye think?”

Claire leaned in so their faces were inches apart. “You’re as dashing as ever.”

He captured her lips sweetly, both of them grinning into the kiss.

“Oi,” Gillian barked. “Ye’ve an audience, here.”

They broke apart, still grinning, and Claire rolled her eyes. “Alright.” She swiped the cap off of Jamie’s head and put it on herself. “Open the card now.”

Jamie chuckled, taking up the envelope. “Ye dinna look bad yerself, lass.”

Claire stuck her chin up proudly. “A girlfriend always ensures she looks good in the clothing she buys her boyfriend.”

Jamie shook his head as he tore open the envelope, a blush creeping up his neck.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“What?” she demanded, shoving him by the shoulder.

He glanced at Gillian and then sighed in resignation. “I was thinkin’,” he whispered in her ear so that only she could hear, “what ye might look like wearing just the cap.”

Claire’s stomach flipped, her breath stuttering. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

He bit her earlobe in response, and she squealed.

“Oi!” Gillian shouted. “There’s a bairn. No’ to mention me.”

The pair of them just laughed, and Jamie continued tearing into the envelope. Claire remembered exactly what she’d written; she’d agonized over it for hours and days:

Merry Christmas, Jamie. You’ve changed my life for the better in every imaginable way. I love you.

Your Sassenach,

Claire

He kissed her again, and Gillian was no doubt rolling her eyes.

“Trust me, mo ghraidh,” he said. “Ye’ve changed my life, too. Made me whole.”

Claire briefly indulged his beautiful words, stroking his jaw, before pulling away so he would look at what was inside the card.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a subscription to something called Flaviar,” Claire explained. “Once a quarter you get all these samples of rare whisky. Right up your alley.”

Jamie beamed. “This is unbelievable!”

“You can go on the website and customize your account with your personal preferences,” Claire went on.

“Sassenach…” he laughed. “It’s great. It’s so great.”

Claire smiled back at him. “I’m glad you like it.”

With one final kiss (and an eye roll from Gillian), Jamie picked up his gift to Claire and handed it to her, a large square box. He looked just as antsy as she had felt giving him her gift. She tore open the paper with no such grace that he’d possessed when opening his. There was a plain white box, and Claire opened the lid and gasped. She reached in and pulled out a miniature greenhouse of sorts: a white framed structure of clear plastic, open on one side. There was tissue paper packed inside the structure, and Claire unburied a box labeled: Medicinal & Herbal Tea Indoor Herb Garden Starter Kit.

Her heart positively melted as another small gasp escaped her lips. “Jamie…”

“I noticed yer wee balcony garden a while back, Faith’s party I think,” he said. “Figured ye missed yer wee herbs in the cold months. So.”

“Oh, Jamie…there’s so much here!” She turned the box over and rattled off the list of seeds included. “Chamomile, Lavender, Lemon Mint, Calendula, Yarrow, Sage, Rosemary, Fennel, Lemon Balm, Peppermint, Hyssop…” She trailed off, realizing no one else had any bloody clue what she was saying. “This is more than I was even able to find myself.”

He shrugged. “Amazon has it all.”

“It’s perfect. It’s wonderful.” Her heart was fluttering; she felt like a kid in a candy store. “This, did you get this on Amazon, too?” She gestured to the greenhouse.

“Oh. I made that.”

Claire was gobsmacked, her mouth falling open. “Made it?”

“Aye. Wasna too difficult. Ye could just put them on the windowsill, but I thought it would be nicer in something a bit more decorative.” He suddenly looked very shy, as if apprehensive of the quality of his own handiwork.

“It’s beautiful.” She cupped his face in her hands, having put the box of herbs in her lap. “All of it. You are amazing.”

He was blushing, and Claire wanted to kiss every inch of his face that was splotching red. He still had no idea how bloody wonderful he was.

“There’s, ehm, one more thing.” He pointed to the packed tissue paper inside the greenhouse, and Claire reached inside, pulling out a small, long and narrow box. She tossed her head back, laughing out loud. It was a little dirt poker with a ceramic heart on the end that read: “I Dig You.”

Claire tossed it to Gillian, who also began snorting with laughter. “Oh, that’s awful.”

“Aye, aye,” Jamie said, laughing. “I couldna resist.”

“Oh, God…” Claire said, still laughing as she cupped his face again. “I dig you, too, love.”

Claire felt very much like Faith with her toys, wanting to tear into her gift and begin planting everything immediately. Sadly, it would have to wait, as there was much to do today before they met the Murrays at Jamie’s apartment.

“Faithie,” Claire crooned. She had finished filing away her DVD’s and was now surveying the dolls and toys she’d arranged atop the coffee table. “It’s your turn, lovie. Remember your gifts?”

She did not respond at all or give any indication that she’d heard her.

“Faith, come here,” Claire said, getting an idea. She took off Jamie’s cap. “Do you want to wear Jamie’s hat?”

She immediately picked her head up and scampered over to them, grabbing greedily for the cap. Claire let Faith feel the textures inside and out before plopping it on her little head.

“You look lovely,” Claire said, poking her nose. “This was my gift to Jamie. Where are your gifts, baby? Do you remember?”

Faith just giggled, spinning around with her hands on her head, on the hat. Claire sighed with a laugh, taking her by the shoulders and redirecting her to the tree. “Here, darling. See? Give one to Auntie Gi, one to Jamie, and one to me.”

Claire knew what was inside the shoddy wrapping; Faith had brought them home from school and they’d wrapped them together. She watched as Faith obeyed, handing one to each of the three adults, and Claire had to pull her into her lap to stop her from bolting off. They all opened them at the same time, Claire letting Faith “help” to keep her engaged.

“Oh! Look at that!” Claire said with exaggerated excitement, despite having seen it already. The other adults gave similar verbal reactions. “Oh, who is that? Who’s that, Faith?”

It was a large foam snowflake, each of the three decorated generously with glitter of all festive colors, a photograph in the center. The teacher had asked how many adults were in Faith’s life that would need one, which Claire appreciated. Faith still did not like to be photographed, so only half of her face was visible, due to the fact that she was hiding in Angus’s fur. But, it was better than the ones with her hands covering her entire face. And it was rather sweet, really, the way she was hugging her dog.

“Who is that, Faith?” Claire said again, pointing. Faith jabbed her finger into the picture, humming and bouncing in her lap. “Yes, who is it?” With an explosive squeal, Faith poked herself in the chest over and over. “Yes, good job!”

“Good girl,” Jamie echoed, and Gillian said, “Yay!”

“Who else?” Jamie chimed in, pointing at Angus in the photograph. “Who’s that, Faith?”

Faith gave another little shriek and pointed at Angus, chewing at his Christmas treat in the corner of the room on his bed.

“Ah! Good job!” Jamie gave her tiny thigh a squeeze, and the women cheered quietly as well.

“Thank you, baby,” Claire crooned, hugging her tightly and kissing her temple. “I love my present. Go give hugs.” She passed Faith over to Jamie, who held her tightly to his chest in his lap.

“Thank you, m’annsachd. I love it very much. I’m gonnae put it right on my tree when we get to my house.” He gave her one final squeeze before sending her off to Gillian, who had to call Faith’s name several times to get her to actually come to her.

“Thank ye very much, my sweet wee lass.” She gave her a loud kiss on the cheek. “Best present yet this year.”

Presents all distributed and Faith’s ornament hung on the tree, they moved into the kitchen for their Edible Arrangement breakfast. When Claire had explained to Jamie the Christmas traditions, he’d offered to pick up the ingredients for the cookies. When he’d asked, “What don’t ye have?” and Claire had answered: “Uh…the cookie mix and the icing?” he’d laughed out loud. Evidently, he’d thought they’d be making them from scratch, which was quite bold of him to assume, considering who he was dating. In the end, Jamie brought over ingredients for homemade sugar cookies, and the four of them had a grand old time forming the dough, rolling it out, and using the cookie cutters, all with Christmas music playing, of course.

While they were baking, Jamie encouraged Faith to pick out one of her new Christmas DVDs to watch. Claire had mentioned that she was not a fan of using streaming services, wanting to feel the physical copy in her hands and have a space where it belonged that was in her control. So Jamie purchased half a dozen movies that were already streaming somewhere, being that he wanted to watch a Christmas movie with his girls, but wanted to do it in a way that Faith would be happiest with.

And so, Jamie sat squished into the corner of the couch with Claire curled into him like a kitten, Faith at attention between the cushions with Gillian on the other side of her, with Home Alone playing on the tellie. Claire was nursing her second mug of coffee, warmed by it head to toe, along with Jamie’s occasional kiss to her head, or the deep rumbling in his chest that echoed against Claire’s back when he laughed.

Last Christmas, Claire had confidently told Gillian that it was the best one she’d ever had. And now, the future was bright with possibility, the promise of each holiday getting better and better with Jamie there. Hell, each month, each week, each day, every hour, minute, and second was better than the last with Jamie in her life.

God, she was never letting him go.

——

Jamie had given his sister a key to his apartment for her to use in the event that they were late coming from Claire's apartment because of Faith or any other mishaps. They were, in fact, perfectly on time, arriving at 1:30 exactly, giving them plenty of time to get things in order for the arrival of Jamie’s family.

And yet, Jenny’s rental car was there waiting anyway.

Jamie sighed, rolling his eyes as he parked his car.

“Shoulda known,” he said. “Maybe she’d come when I wanted her to if I told her four.”

Claire squeezed his knee, and he could tell she was trying not to laugh. “She’s going to have all the food out already, isn’t she?”

“Aye, that she is.”

Faith insisted on being carried by Jamie, refusing to even let herself be unbuckled from her car seat until Jamie tried. This left Claire and Gillian to handle the presents and Angus. Gillian had driven over Claire’s car so Jamie could spend the night with his family after they had to go back to Claire’s.

Jamie announced his presence as he unlocked the front door, but there was no need. Everyone was sitting in his living room, everyone except Jenny. Before he could ask, his father cut in:

“We tried tae offer help,” he said wryly. “Yer darling martyr sister shoved us out of the kitchen and told us she didna need us mucking anything up.”

“Out of my kitchen,” Jamie grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Aye, well, Merry Christmas, everyone.”

“Merry Christmas, son.” Brian stood up out of the recliner to embrace his son, cupping Faith’s head gently as he pulled away. “Merry Christmas, lassie. Great to see ye again.”

Jamie took note that his nephew was playing the Wii again, and he briefly wondered which of the three adults had known how to set it up. Unless the wee imp already figured it out.

“Merry Christmas, Claire,” Brian said warmly, embracing Claire tightly. “This is Gillian?”

“Yes! My best friend, and a Scot to boot,” Claire stepped aside.

“Pleasure,” Gillian said, shaking Brian’s hand. “Thank ye so much fer having me.”

“Any family of my son’s lass is family of mine,” he said, genuine as anything.

Ian greeted everyone next, and it only took a few seconds before Maggie was on Claire’s hip. Jamie watched with weak knees as she babbled to the baby and made adorable faces at her, reveling in the sound of their mingled giggling. Offers of playing with the baby was the only way to get Faith to allow herself to be put down, and then Jamie was off to the kitchen.

“Merry Christmas, Janet,” he said, watching as she finished arranging appetizers on a large serving plate.

“Merry Christmas, brother,” she said, her voice chipper.

“I see ye’ve got yer son on more of those mind-numbing video games.”

“Och, come off it. It was the only way to get him out of my hair.”

“Ye could have waited fer us. I could have helped.”

“Nonsense. I’m used to being the host on Christmas. Why should that change?”

“…Because ye’re not the host this Christmas?”

She shot him a dangerous look, and he gave up, putting his hands up in surrender. “We’re just inside when ye’re finished, o gracious host.”

Jamie produced the ornament Faith had made him and let her place it on the tree, and Ian and Brian remarked how lovely it was, how fine it looked on the tree. Shortly after, Jenny fluttered in with the tray of arranged food, and then the whisky and wine was flowing. Wee Jamie was pulled away from the Wii so the repeat marathon of A Christmas Story could be put on, and the adults sat and talked and laughed while Faith went back and forth between her mother’s lap, Auntie Gi’s lap, Jamie’s lap, and the baby mat that Maggie was playing on.

Jamie was going on and on about how great Faith was doing at the stables, how well her transition had gone between therapists. He knew full well that around this time last year, Jenny had been overly concerned with the propriety of this relationship, whether or not it was a relationship back then not mattering in the least to her. He emphasized how important it had been for there to be a boundary set between mom’s boyfriend and horse therapist. Jessica and Faith were developing a really special bond that was really lovely to see from the outside.

Not to mention that standing there with Claire and cheering her on together was one of the highlights of his entire week.

“What day of the week did ye say she goes?” Ian asked.

“Fridays,” Claire answered.

“Oh, and there’s a break fer the holidays,” Ian said, sounding sad. “I would ha’ loved to see her ride. We’ll be flying back before it starts again.”

Jamie’s chest warmed, and he felt Claire melt against him, and looked down to see her genuinely touched.

“I…I have videos, if you want to see,” Claire said tentatively.

“Oh do ye?” Ian lit up, and Jenny and Brian beamed.

“Yeah, hold on…”

Jamie watched as Claire clicked through her photos and found all the ones grouped by location at the stables. She scrolled all the way back to last September, and Jamie’s heart flipped.

“I’ve never seen these,” he said, leaning in.

“Oh,” Claire said, and he could feel her blush before he saw it, heat radiating from her sweater-clad form. “Well, at the time it didn’t seem appropriate to show you. But yes…there are quite a few that you…haven’t seen.”

Before long, Claire was sitting back as Jamie and his family combed through every photo and video of Faith at the stables. There were hundreds from her first day alone, and when they got to Halloween, Jenny smacked her brother’s arm.

“Oh, come on! Dinna tell me that wasna planned!”

“It wasn’t,” Claire said. “Faith chose it because Merida rides horses.”

“She’s sae smart,” Brian said, oozing with pride. Jamie’s eyes twinkled.

“Oh…look at this one…” Jenny put a hand on her heart. “The way he’s looking at her, even all the way back then!”

Ian and Brian nodded in agreement, smiling. Jamie leaned in and felt his breath catch in his throat. He remembered the moment clear as anything.

“Could I get one of her with Pippi before you put her away? Without the helmet?”

“Aye, of course.”

Faith hadn’t wanted to move just yet, and Jamie hadn’t seen the harm in letting them have one more moment together. And apparently Claire had snapped the exact moment where Jamie was struck by how amazing it was that the stars had aligned just so to allow him to have even the smallest part in this child’s life, remarkable as she was.

Even all the way back then.

“I used to stare at that one,” Claire admitted sheepishly, quietly, as if trying to confess to Jamie alone. “Random times during the day, I’d find myself looking at it. And I still managed to convince myself until July that that wasn’t strange at all.”

Jamie chuckled wetly, blinking away unexpected tears. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and fervently kissed the crown of her head.

“It’s like I knew,” Claire said, even quieter, as Jamie’s family started playing a video on the phone. “Like I knew that someday she’d be yours.”

Yours.

Jamie’s eyes lifted up to see Faith rocking and flapping her hands on Maggie’s play mat, bottom lip tucked firmly under her teeth, humming.

Mine.

“That,” Jamie whispered into her curls, “is the greatest gift you could give me, Sassenach.”

She kissed his cheek, and they returned their attention to the phone. After several minutes and several repeated, “Oh, beautiful!” “She’s a fine rider!” and “What a braw lass!”, the conversation steered in different directions. Jamie noticed that Claire kept turning her head toward wee Jamie, and during a lull in the conversation, she called out to him.

“Your uncle told me you play football, is that true?”

“Aye!” the lad burst proudly, eyes immediately lighting up. He shuffled closer to her, standing in front of where she sat on the couch.

“That’s amazing.” Claire beamed. “I wish I could see you play. I bet you’re so good.”

“I am,” he said, nodding curtly. “Ye can come next Christmas, and watch me then!”

Claire looked up at Jamie, who nodded encouragingly. “Yes, I’ll have to do just that.”

“I’ve got videos of some of his games,” Jenny chimed in. “If ye really want to see.”

“Of course I do!” Claire’s voice was filled with genuine excitement, and little Jamie was alight with joy.

“I want tae see! Let me watch!”

“Dinna crowd her, now.”

“No, it’s alright. Do you want to sit with me?”

The boy bit his lip and scrambled into Claire’s lap, and she accepted him into her embrace like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jamie watched, his heart melting as his nephew snuggled closer and closer into her, giggling every time Claire cheered for him on the screen. When he was able to tear his eyes away from them, he looked up to see Jenny beaming at them as well. She looked up, and their eyes met over Claire’s head, and Jenny’s smile widened.

It struck Jamie that of course his wee nephew would feel left out with all this talk about Faith, and he was far too young to understand that her achievements were all the more special because of her disability. So naturally he would feel like nobody cared as much about him as they did about Faith. And it was just so like Claire to notice that, and to take the initiative to make him feel included, make him feel special.

“Oh! What a save!” Claire exclaimed, and little Jamie laughed. Apparently he’d been playing goalie that day, and had actually managed to toe away the ball that was headed at him at about half a mile an hour. “You saved the whole game!”

Jenny flicked her eyes back to the screen. “Aye, that’s one of my favorites.” She ruffled her son’s hair, and Claire smiled at her. Jenny glanced up at Jamie once more, and she winked at him. In that moment, Jamie heard her loud and clear.

She's a keeper, brother.

Before long, dinner was served. When Claire complimented the ham, both Jamie and Jenny answered with thanks, and Jamie shot Jenny a look.

“Just because you put it in the oven doesna take away the marinating and seasoning I did.”

Claire just laughed, shaking her head at the two of them. “I can’t imagine what it was like to have raised those two,” she said, leaning over to Brian.

“Aye, ye’ve no idea.” They shared a laugh like lifelong friends cracking an inside joke, and Jamie had to laugh, too.

Could she have fit in any more perfectly?

After dinner was present time. Wee Jamie was bouncing off the walls nearly as bad as Faith. The kids of course went first, and Jamie made sure to emphasize that his nephew’s gift was from him and Claire both. She had helped him pick it and they split the cost. It was a wooden train set, complete with curves and ups and downs and Thomas and a few friends. Jenny chided both of them for buying something so expensive, but Claire waved it off.

“It’s from both of us,” Claire insisted. “And look how happy he is.”

“Thank you, Uncle! Thank you, Auntie!”

Jamie’s stomach flipped. “Lad—”

“You’re very welcome,” Claire interrupted, accepting the crushing embrace he was squeezing around her legs. “I’m so glad you love it.”

“Aye, you’re welcome, lad. But—”

“No, Jamie, he can call me that. It’s okay.” Claire said quickly. “If that’s how it makes sense to him, then I don’t see why not.”

He looked back and forth between the lad’s shining face and Claire’s flushed cheeks, then up at Jenny, who shrugged with a smirk.

“Aye. That’s…that’s fine.”

By the time Jamie’s head stopped spinning, Faith was already halfway finished tearing open the first box that she’d reached for. It was a horse for a barbie doll to accompany the rest of the gift in another box. Wee Jamie tore open the gift from his grandda while Faith reached for the other box, and Jamie watched with bated breath, knowing exactly what was inside. Claire crouched down next to her daughter, cheering on Faith’s paper tearing excitedly.

“Oh, Faithie, look!”

Jamie met Jenny’s eye; she looked nervous.

“It’s a barbie with a dog, and he looks just like Angus!” Claire opened her mouth to keep talking, but her breath caught in her throat, and her fingertips rested tentatively on the fabric taped to the plastic of the box, right over the dog inside. Her mouth hung open, and she looked up at Jenny, her eyes glistening.

“Where…did you get this…?”

“I made it,” Jenny said sheepishly.

Claire’s mouth fell open wider, and she blinked rapidly. Faith, completely oblivious to her mother’s emotion, thrust both boxes toward her, demanding they be opened. Jamie stepped in to help, having already grabbed the scissors in anticipation of this request. He sat down next to Claire and put his hand on her knee.

“I sent her a picture of Angus,” Jamie explained, poking the fabric on the box. “And Jen hunted down a small enough print, made a pattern, everything.”

Jamie freed the plastic dog first and untaped Jenny’s creation, then slipped it on.

“Look, Faith, see?” Faith took it in her hands eagerly. “Now he’s just like Angus.”

Barbie’s dog now proudly wore a rainbow, puzzle piece-patterned vest that read, in tiny, carefully stitched lettering: “Autism Service Dog.”

“See, lass?” Jenny chimed in, kneeling in front of Faith. “This barbie is just like you.”

Jamie’s heart was fit to burst as Faith flapped her hands with glee, and Claire half laughed, half sobbed beside him.

“Jenny…” Claire croaked. “This is…beyond…” She sniffled and swallowed, quickly swiping tears off her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater.

“Every wee lass deserves to see herself in Barbie,” Jenny said it like she was reciting a cheesy toy advertisement on the tellie, but Jamie could see the emotion behind her eyes.

Claire leaned forward and threw her arms around Jenny, and she squeezed right back.

“That means…so much to me. More than I can ever say.”

“You’re very welcome, Claire. So very welcome.”

Jamie felt tears pricking his own eyes, and might have succumbed to them if Faith hadn’t been moaning impatiently about freeing her doll and its horse from their confines.

Jamie’s girls pulled away from one another, each smiling wetly.

“If my son can call ye Auntie, d’ye think it’s alright if I call ye Sister?”

Claire’s smile grew impossibly wider, and she nodded. “I would be absolutely honored.”

And suddenly, for Jamie, every single thing was right in the world.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 17

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N:  i wrote this while watching hamilton on disney + and then proceeded to watch love never dies, so i’m pumped. hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

The babysitter rushed after the two girls down Fifth Avenue, only noticing the vibrant colours of their winter coats lined with white faux fur that mixed with the white of the fresh fallen snow on the ground. All that could he heard down the streets were carollers and child-like glee. Y/N followed Gwen the fastest her six year old legs allowed her until they stopped at the front of the beautifully decorated Cartier shop. The two girls fawned over the beautiful shimmer of every single necklace and diamond on stand for the richest of all the richest. Y/N, however, was more interested in a red box of three Christmas ornaments with the most adorned, precious and precise craft. 

      - I’m gonna have all of them when I’m an adult. - a young Gwen smiled at the shop front, ignoring their breath catching babysitter who was praying to the gods the children had lost all their energy. - And I’m gonna wear all of them all the time.

      - You can’t wear all these earrings all the time. - Y/N retorted, eyes still glued on the Christmas ornaments. 

      - I’ll wear them as necklaces. - she rebuffed. 

      - Ladies, we should be going. - Ms. Wellington held both her hands out for the girls which both took gleefully, eyes still glued onto the Cartier glass as they were hushed onto the car.

The car took them back to the Forrest house which was covered in garlands and fairy lights looking like a winter wonderland. The young Y/N rushed down the halls onto the common room where several maids and handymen were putting the last details for the Christmas Eve dinner. She watched with pure glee and childhood innocence the Christmas tree being crowned with an acrylic and crystal angel. 

       - Good morning, Miss Y/N. - one of the maids spoke up as the young girl rushed through the crowds and into the kitchen which was boiling with heat due to the heaters and constant cooking. The no more than 39 feet tall girl watched in awe as the cooks prepared various amounts of precisely decorated sugar cookies. 

She put her tiny hands on the marble balconies, bracing herself to take a closer look at the cooks and maids preparing what would be Christmas dinner desserts. One of the maids noticed the face of the soon to be handmaid starring at them and went from behind her, grabbing her and sitting her on the marbled tops. 

      - Trying to get a peek of the Christmas desserts aren’t you, missy? - Y/N giggled at getting caught. - You can’t be naughty, Santa is still watching. 

      - I’m never ever ever naughty. - she crossed the arms over her Christmas dress embroidered with Christmas imagery. 

     - That it’s true. - the maid laughed, handing her one of the sugar cookies which Y/N’s eyes sparkled at. - It’s our little secret. 

     - What secret? - Y/N gobbled up the cookie as Mr. Forrest walked into the kitchen quarters. - How come you’re not with Gwenie watching TV?

     - I wanna help. 

     - You always wanna help. - the head of the mob family sighed, taking a slightly medium sized wrapped box off his jacket and handing it to the soon to be handmaid. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, mouth agape in surprise. - Gwen got her bracelet and I thought you’d want something nice too that doesn’t come from Santa.

     - Can I open it? - she questioned excitingly picking at the bow on top of the red box. As he nodded, Y/N ripped the paper off revealing a shiny red box with a little ribbon which, when pulled, open a little drawer lined with white cushioned satin. In the middle stood a gold Christmas bauble which glistened whenever the light hit it. - It’s so pretty.

     - It’s pure gold. - he lifted the bauble for her to see it more clearly. - Ms. Wellington did say you were inclined for Christmas decorations.

    - What is gold? 

    - It’s a precious metal. Men kill each other over it. 

    - It doesn’t look that precious. - Y/N closed the box, holding it close to her chest. -  It silly to kill people over metal. 

    - Well, some would say men will kill each other over women with hearts of gold. 

    - Sounds painful. - she grimaced making Mr. Forrest laugh at her comment. 

    - Why, some would even say you have one of those precious metalled hearts, Miss Y/N. 

Y/N sighed, watching her reflection on the mirror as she tied her hair back before reaching into her suitcase, grabbing an old yet still in pristine shape red box with the golden writing fading due to time. Mindlessly, she smiled, opening the little drawer to stare at the intact bauble that always hanged on the Christmas tree every single year. She wondered if her salary would be enough to buy some decorations for the penthouse as Sebastian didn’t seem one to decorate or at least over do it as the only thing he had a Christmas garland surrounding the lift’s door.

    - Y/N! - Gwen screamed from outside her door, proceeding to bang one of her fists against it. - C’mon, we don’t have all day. 

    - I’m sorry, Gwen. - Y/N put her red box back, getting her bag and phone before unlocking the door. Gwen was wearing a faux fur white coat with her only Birkin which she hoped to have a collection of someday. - Remember when Ms. Wellington used to take us to Fifth Avenue?

   - I wonder if Cartier has a new stand this year. - Gwen gave her a soft smile as the two girls went downstairs. Her eyes lingered on the handmaid’s neck noticing a soft bruise there. - Hey, when did you get that bruise?

   - Oh ... - Y/N’s flew to her neck. - It’s a curling iron burn. 

   - No, that’s look like a hickey. - she smirked. - Soooo, who is he?

   - He’s no one. - Y/N tried to run away from the subject, standing a bit further away from Gwen in the lift. She, however didn’t seem to let go of the conversation and what was Y/N supposed to say? Why yes, Genevieve, this hickey was caused by your husband to-be? Gwen would have her head on a stick in the middle of Times Square for everyone to shame her. - Will you knock it off? It’s really nothing, it’s just a curling iron burn.

   - Oh c’mon, Y/N. Why are you being so secretive? Is he married or something?

   - What?! No. - no other time had Y/N replied so quickly. - There isn’t a he.

The shopping trip was filled with Gwen asking more and more questions about who had made the bruise despite Y/N saying various times that she had just burned herself with her curling wand. Luckily for her, Gwen had gotten distracted by the Hermes’ concession stand which gave her plenty of time to go into a less higher end shop and buy as many Christmas decorations as her salary pay check allowed her. She had gotten lost in the glimmer lights and shimmer of Christmas, smiling at everything she could find. 

After she had paid for an unholy amount of Christmas baubles and garlands, a particular dark jumper caught her eye. It wasn’t branded, it was probably cheap but it did felt nice and she wondered how good Sebastian would look in it. He always looked better in his casual attire rather than the perfectly tailored suits he was known for and besides, she did needed to get something for him for Christmas before she left with Gwen for the Forrest household. 

Once Gwen was done shopping for herself and everyone else who she considered high enough to be in her gifting list, the girls were driven back to the penthouse where Gwen took to retreating to her bedroom probably to be with Christian while Y/N started to wrap garland around the staircase rail. She was rather found of decorating and with the help of some staff managed to locate an old Christmas tree which she filled and filled with baubles and lights making it bright enough for people on the other side of the Atlantic to see it. 

    - Angel, what have you done to my house? - Sebastian had left his office to grab himself another cup of coffee to find Y/N still decorating.

   - It’s Christmas.

  - Yeah, I’ve noticed. - he rubbed the back of his neck. - Listen, angel, Mr. Williams is coming over for a meeting and I think you should go to your bedroom. 

   - Mr. Williams is not threatening. You said it yourself. - Y/N finished putting various baubles on the tree, staring at it with a proud smile on her face. - Doesn’t that look beautiful? 

   - Angel, you find beauty in everything. - Sebastian grabbed the Christmas star from the pile of decorations she had. - Saving the best for me?

   - Oh ... of course. - she shifted her weight from feet to feet. Sebastian had learned to understand whenever she felt embarrassed or shy and that sounded like one of those moments. Chuckling, his hand laid rest on her natural waist, while the other holding the Christmas tree star placed the ornament on her warm hand. Before she could question him, his now free hand came to rest on the other side of her waist and with a proper grip onto the fabric of her jumper and skin, he lifted her up. 

   - Go on, angel. Finish it. - he spoke up and with a child-like glee only present in the young handmaid, she placed the star on top of the tree. Gently, he lowered her down, twirling her so he was face to face with her. - Y/N, I ...

   - Mr. Stan, I see you decorated. - Sebastian grip hardened against Y/N and in a swift move, he placed her behind his back, observing as one of his least favourites walked in. How Mr. Williams had been his father’s favourite was still a mystery to him. How someone who beg, borrowed and stole their way to the hope without as much as getting a stain in his suit was someone who was still respected in the mob irritated him, yet again, he kept him around mostly in his father’s memory. - Miss Y/N, ever so lovely. 

   - Mr. Williams. - she bowed her head ever so slightly, before taking back to her bedroom. 

   - Some would comment on allowing a handmaid to decorate your home. 

   - Some would be smart enough not to comment on my decisions. What is the meaning of this meeting? You should be in France by now. 

   - It’s really about Miss Y/N, some associates have questioned about your ... closeness. - Sebastian rolled his eyes at the words. - She’s an unmarried woman accompanying a promised man to a cabaret, people ought to comment, Sir. 

   - All of my associates have seas and seas of mistresses besides Miss Y/N was only filling in for my fiancée as she was not feeling well. Whatever you are trying to imply, I suggest you shut it before you get off this house with a shot wound. 

   - Your father would’ve been more discreet with his mistresses. - his blood was boiling at the mere thought of calling his angel a mistress. It sounded dirty and unfitting of the own purity that came along with her but it sounded even worse coming from the middle-age balding man who was everything but a great man even less a good associate. - Your mother, may she rest, she never ev...

  - Don’t speak of my mother and next time you wanna accuse any of my employees of being everything other than my employees I suggest you buy a new identity because I will fucking kill you. Now, GET OUT!

Y/N was perched by her door, ear against the wood as she tried to listen to the argument which surely had become heated based on the screaming she could hear. She peaked through the door, watching as some bodyguards escorted Mr. Williams out. 

Sebastian sighed, walking over to the silver tray that held most of his liquor and spirits and poured himself a glass which he seemed to down in no time. She sighed, looking at the black bag with the jumper she had bought him, he probably needed something nice right now. With that idea tattooed on her mind, she went down the stairs, reaching a very stressed Sebastian. With a soft touch, she called out for his attention.

   - You need a break. - she smiled softly, hand coming to caress his cheek.

   - Mob bosses don’t take a break, angel. 

   - Everyone needs a break. It’s Christmas season, you’re eventually gonna burn out if you don’t take a break. 

   - Y/N ... - he sighed. - I can’t take a break but I’m happy you care. 

   - I’m sure you can take a break, Mr. Forrest never worked during Christmas season and he’s doing just fine. - she shrugged before handing him a bag. Sebastian furrowed his brow, gaze moving from her to the bag. - It’s not much and I was gonna give it to you for Christmas but you look like you need a treat. 

   - You shouldn’t waste your money on me. - he opened the bag which showed a knitted black jumper. - It’s great, angel. Thank you.

   - You should use it when you take that break. 

Meanwhile, outside Mr. Williams was waiting for his ride. Out of everyone that could’ve inherited the mob boss title of the Stan family it had to be Sebastian. In his mind, Sebastian was too emotional to run the family and the arrival of the handmaid had surely started to show how unprepared he was to run it. No mob boss should show weakness yet there it was, the mob boss weakness displayed for everyone to see. With a swift move of his wrist, he placed his phone by his ear. 

   - I need a favour. 

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld​ @captainchrisstan @lookiamtrying @sarge-barnes-sir​@stuffforreferences

[thetomorrowshow]

i will make the sky collapse ch. 6

First  -  Previous  -  Read on AO3!

Last chapter, but don’t fret--there is a sequel in the works! So far, it has just surpassed the length of this one! Expect the first chapter in a few weeks! It isn’t finished yet, so if there’s something particular that you want to see in it, let me know!

cw: blood, claustrophobia, violence, broken bones, depressing thoughts of death, hallucinations, slight gore within a hallucination, doctors

~

Crutchie wasn’t sure how long he had been locked in this closet. It was always pitch black, unless Snyder was in his office on the other side--then some light peeked in through the crack under the door.

For a long time, Crutchie had just cried, scared to death and certain he was going to die alone in this tiny space. Eventually, though, Snyder had enough of it, and had opened the door just to scream in his face and kick him a good few times. Now Crutchie just lay there, curled up on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees. He watched under the crack with tired, red-rimmed eyes, occasionally seeing a pair of shoes walk by, mostly seeing nothing but the legs of the stool and the beginning of Snyder’s desk.

Crutchie was alive, but exhausted. He’d slept for some amount of time, but surely not long. He still felt sticky all over, coated in blood and sweat as he was. He’d made a big deal over how small the space was, but he wasn’t sure that he could move anyways. His legs felt permanently affixed to his chest, his arms impossible to move from where they were curled. His stomach complained every couple of minutes--now that he’d gotten some food into himself, it was all offended that it wasn’t regular. Not that he thought he was ever going to see food again--or water, for that matter. Crying had left him immensely dehydrated. Every bone in his body was in complete and utter agony (he was almost certain his left arm was broken in some way). All of these ingredients added up to overwhelm his senses, making it so that Crutchie was unable to react to anything, motionless and barely present.

Still, he tried to hold onto the thought that he was alive. It had been his mantra this whole time, he couldn’t let it slip away now. Not like all his other thoughts. All that existed in Crutchie’s world right now was pain and discomfort. Even trying to discern whether or not Jack would have signed that paper was too much to handle. So instead, Crutchie stared at the small bit of light through the crack, and repeated the same phrase over and over--I’m still alive. I’m still alive. I’m still alive--until his brain turned to mush.

-

Every time Crutchie was conscious of his surroundings, not much varied. Each time, he wondered how long he’d been out for. Then he’d slump against the floor and stare into the office, if the light was on in there. If not, he closed his eyes and went back to nothingness.

Everything felt so . . . slow. Feverish, almost. He couldn’t have been here all day, right? Not that Crutchie could really remember what a day felt like. He must’ve got his head knocked pretty good.

Even his vision was blurry at this point, causing everything to seem shimmery and even less real than before. He tried to call out once or twice--even if he was coming to beat him, Snyder would at least break up the monotony enough to keep him safe--but his throat couldn’t make a single sound. At some point, he was certain that he’d been gagged. Reaching up, though, the only thing sealing his mouth was the same tacky blood as was covering the rest of his body.

When, at some point, the light in the room had been off for a very long time, Crutchie thought it might be nighttime. Or it might only be an hour later, just Snyder had left. Or maybe he just forgot what light properly looked like. It could be any of those, but Crutchie tried to believe it was nighttime. If it was night, it was another day he had survived the Refuge. Another day he was alive. Another day the strike continued. Another day Jack wasn’t found.

He could sacrifice himself for that.

-

Even though it was maybe-night, Crutchie didn’t sleep. He didn’t even close his eyes, except on occasion to blink. He just lay there, feeling the life drain from his body with every rattling breath. He’d been proud of how he’d smiled through the punishments so far, but now he wasn’t sure that he would ever smile again. He couldn’t even move his mouth. It had been so good for sales, too.

Not that it would matter, he reminded himself. Unless he gave Snyder the information, he was going to die in this closet. Assuming he was here until Snyder decided to beat up on him again, or until he talked. Maybe he was left for dead here, or maybe in the morning, he would be dragged out and put back to work. Even if he was sent back to work with the other boys, he wouldn’t last longer than a day after this. He hoped he’d be released to go home, as unlikely as it was. Not that it really mattered.

Crutchie had lost everything in the strike. Both his life and his position as a newsie had been forfeit as soon as the cuffs had closed around his wrists. His pride had vanished then too--there was no way he could make it with the other boys when they’d seen him taken down so easily. He’d barely been able to fight back, so even if, by some miracle, he found himself in the lodging house again, they would never take him seriously.

His crutch was gone, somewhere, presumably either broken or on the side of some street. Jack had first found it for him in a garbage can outside a pawn shop, then helped him clean it up and add padding made of an old shirt. Without that crutch, well-loved and useful, Crutchie would never walk out of here--and that was assuming he could get the other things back.

Last of all, Jack. If what that paper said was true, Jack was already halfway to Santa Fe. He had always promised Crutchie that they were family, brothers, would die for each other. Well, here was Crutchie, ready to hold up his end of that deal. Where was Jack? Gone. Probably.

Without anyone to shout against, Crutchie was finding it easier to believe that Jack would leave him. This closet was crowded with his demons and he couldn’t escape, could only blink slowly as the despair teamed with his physical agony to take him down. This closet teemed with torment, and Crutchie couldn’t even move.

A silent sob rose in the back of his cracking throat.

-

Crutchie was drifting.

Sometimes he wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t--was he in a closet? Under the floorboards? That felt more accurate, with all the thundering footsteps coming from above. He had been forgotten, stuffed into a coffin under the floor like he was already dead, like his body was something shameful that had to be hidden away even before he breathed his last.

Other times, he thought he could hear voices. So many boys, and even a few girls, all just talking over one another: fast and then slow, excited and then scared, angry and then joyful. Sometimes it grew so loud that Crutchie put his hands over his ears, crying and begging for quiet, before the darkness snapped into clarity and he realized that not only were his hands still curled against his chest, but there was no noise, not even from him.

Sometimes colors danced before him, flashy purple and green and orange, then slowly became dogs, colored strangely and barking and growling and attacking him, tearing his body to shreds right in front of him. He couldn’t help but laugh, though, even as their fangs dug into his flesh and pulled out great chunks of it. They were dogs, and funny-looking ones. He’d always loved dogs.

Every once in a while, though, he was conscious enough to tell real from not. In those moments, the closet was dusty and suffocating and made his spine itch under the white noise of pain. The office was silent, maybe dark, the stool that was visible under the crack still and shadowy. In those moments, Crutchie could feel his forehead burning, practically radiating heat, could feel the chills that wracked his entire body. In those moments, Crutchie felt relief, mixed with disappointment. Relief, because at least there was no floor above him, no screaming voices, no silly dogs devouring him. Disappointment because he was still here. Disappointment because Jack hadn’t come for him. Disappointment because he hadn’t faded away.

Those moments never lasted. The clarity was gone as soon as it had come, and Crutchie was back to whatever feverish dream was next. Every time he began to drift again, though, he sent out a prayer to whoever was listening, just asking that all the boys would be fine and the strike would succeed. He needed his brothers to have a better life, a better fate than his own. They had to survive, even though he wouldn’t. They had to.

-

When Crutchie woke next, it was back to the dark room. The voices from his last hallucination seemed to have bled over into reality, which was honestly frustrating. Why couldn’t this just end already?

Until the light switched on, and Crutchie realized that the voices might be real.

He blinked once or twice, his swollen eyelids sticking, trying to figure out what they were saying. Even in his mostly-dead, delusional state, he could’ve sworn he’d heard one of them before.

“--No idea,” one of them was saying. “At least--doesn’t--where--Snyder?”

Crutchie repressed a shudder, knowing it would sap him entirely and he wouldn’t hear another word. What were they talking about?

“No,” the other one--older, he thought--said. “If--somewhere--ought--him already, eh?”

“I don’t know,” and that was definitely the familiar voice. Was it . . . a . . . Crutchie actually . . . couldn’t remember. Who he would know, that is.

“Wait!” the person continued. There was a little bit of noise that Crutchie couldn’t discern. This was exhausting. Couldn’t he go back to being under the floorboards? “He took--why, if--can’t--out his crutch?”

His crutch?

“--believe--you certain--alive?”

Was he?

For some reason, Crutchie had to prove it to himself. He was alive. He cracked open his mouth, blood flaking off, trying to say something. Nothing came out. He ran his dry tongue over his split lips, and the taste of blood, the sensation of something, anything, brought his world into slightly sharper focus.

“He has--be,” the voice said, and--Katherine? Wasn’t she--what? “Crutchie is strong--just give up!”

They were looking for him.

Sure, Crutchie was dying, but he had to get out of this closet. Maybe if Katherine was here, Jack was too. Then they could go to Santa Fe together, with all the rest of the boys waiting for them there. All of them, even those who had left.

He just didn’t want to die alone.

Crutchie reached down deep within him, past exhaustion and nothing and non-existence and agony and despair and into the last reserves of hope. And with it, he pushed, pushed as hard as he could, to make some sort of sign appear. Something to show he hadn’t given up.

His right hand fell from curled around his chest to the floor.

“--was that?”

Silence, in which Crutchie continued to stare and see nothing. He barely even processed the sound of footsteps moving closer, until something was rattling the door his knees were pressed against.

“Locked,” a gruff voice said, “but something--in there. Find the key, Miss Plumber?”

Something began to bang against the door, making them shake even harder and so loud, and Crutchie wished the dogs were back. The loud voices were always the worst--he just wanted to go quietly. Instead, this awful noise rattled his brains around. He opened his mouth again, meaning to ask it to stop. No sound came out.

Then a click from the doorknob, and then--

This time, Crutchie screwed his eyes shut, unable to handle the intense amount of light that was now bathing him. He vaguely registered a gasp, so he did his best to squint up at whoever was there.

That was definitely Katherine, but he had no clue who the man was. Wasn’t Jack, wasn’t Snyder. Didn’t matter.

“Oh, Crutchie!” Katherine said, her mouth slightly behind her words. Her face was filled with horror; the man beside her had disapproval etched into every line of his face. That was bad, very bad. Crutchie shut his eyes again.

He opened his mouth for a third time, trying to say something normal like Katherine, what are you doing here or wow, am I pleased to see you or goodbye, but again, nothing came out.

“Water,” the man said, “and quickly, Miss Plumber. I’ll get him out of all of this . . . blood.”

Crutchie couldn’t even flinch as someone picked him up, with a bit of trouble--his clothes were stuck to the floor. He tried to focus on the air--fresh, open, with room to think. He pried open his eyes again to see the man leaning over him.

“Can you tell me your name, son?” he asked, not unkindly, but just sternly enough that Crutchie felt an unpleasant shiver run through his body. He couldn’t speak though, and couldn’t move, so instead he blinked twice--less as an answer, more as an acknowledgement. Adults hated it when you didn’t acknowledge them.

The man’s mustache bristled, and he pulled a handkerchief out of nowhere. Crutchie realized he had water now, as he dipped the cloth into it and rubbed it across his face. Crutchie let a bit of breath release through his nose in a sigh, his eyes rolling back and closing. Where had such cool water come from? He was happy to die now, it felt so good.

“Crutchie, please stay awake,” Katherine said, and Crutchie frowned a little bit. He was just relaxing, not taking a snooze. What was her problem?

A hand took his and he hissed as his bruised and broken fingers were made to move, but opened his eyes when the hand left. It was so strange, having a soft touch on his face and in his hand. He wanted it back.

Crutchie met Katherine’s eyes, silently begging to have her hand back in his. Instead, she began to pull off what was left of his shirt. “Oh, Crutchie,” she said again, peeling it away from his skin. “Sir, we need a doctor.”

The man brought a cup of water to his lips, pausing in his ministrations. Crutchie opened his mouth obediently, was too tired to choke when it spilled down too fast. It felt nicer than it had on his face--bringing moisture to the cracks in his throat, spreading relaxation to the rest of his body. For the first time, Crutchie properly realized that he’d been arranged so that he was lying flat on the floor, arms and legs spread instead of curled up.

“Send one of my men,” the man said, and Katherine was gone in a moment. Crutchie lifted his chin slightly, trying to show that he wanted more water. The man noticed, tipping some more into his mouth.

Something touched his neck and Crutchie flinched back, remembering Snyder’s hand gripping his throat so tightly he couldn’t breathe. It immediately left, and Crutchie looked up to see the man holding the cloth away from him, staring at Crutchie’s neck like it had personally offended him. Where was Katherine? She was good at talking things through, maybe she could explain who this was and what was happening.

“A doctor is on the way,” Katherine said, coming back into Crutchie’s field of vision. A doctor? He grimaced, shying away from the nearly empty cup of water. He couldn’t afford a doctor. Why would he need one, anyway?

Crutchie swallowed a few times, trying out the noises he could make. The cloth was back to rubbing his face, sometimes ghosting through his hair. Crutchie coughed lightly, then grunted. He grunted again, shaking his head minutely.

“What is it?” Katherine asked, and suddenly she was right in his face. He only continued to shake his head, making the motions larger until it hurt his head too much. He grunted once more, not quite able to move his tongue properly to make words.

Katherine understood though, somehow. She rolled her eyes. “You need a doctor,” she said. “Stop being difficult about it. I’ll pay, or Governor Roosevelt if he’s willing.”

Crutchie wasn’t quite sure who that was, but he closed his eyes and sighed as deeply as he could. Why was Katherine here? Shouldn’t she be helping with the strike? Why had Snyder even let her in?

He must have been making some sort of noise, because Katherine shushed him gently, once again holding his hand. He relaxed a little bit, allowing the man to wipe away some of the dried blood on his chest and Katherine to gently rub life into his fingers. He was alive.

-

The doctor’s examination was far too long for Crutchie’s comfort, and happened on the floor of Snyder’s office. The doctor prodded him all over, frowning and muttering. He said something to Crutchie--incomprehensible, of course--then gripped his left arm tight and--

Crutchie’s world exploded into pain; he was sure he would be screaming if he had a voice. Instead, he distantly was aware that he whimpered. His hearing and sight had cut out completely, his head was spinning, his arm suddenly numb.

“--set. Nothing much can be done--ribs, but rest. Is it--turn over?”

Katherine was up close again, smiling tensely, breaking through the non-sight. “Crutchie, the doctor needs to see your back. Is that all right?” she asked loudly, her words slow.

Crutchie stared at her floating face. Why was she talking like that? It wasn’t until after she nodded that he realized she was waiting for an answer. What had she asked?

He nodded a little too, then panicked as she and the doctor took him by his shoulders and pushed him onto his stomach. His ribs ached, back spasming painfully. He choked out a few tears.

A hiss of a breath came from behind him as someone cut what remained of his shirt off his body, using water to loosen it enough to come unstuck.

“Stitches, on a few of these,” the doctor said. “The others are too old. They’ll scar badly, but these that are still bleeding should leave nothing but a tiny mark after I’ve stitched them.”

Crutchie grimaced. He’d gotten stitches once, hadn’t he, from an older newsie several years ago after falling onto a particularly sharp stone. This was different than that, though--for one thing, it was probably going to be more than four stitches. For another, this was a person he didn’t know or trust working on a part of his body that he couldn’t see. Instead of pushing himself away with non-existent strength, though, Crutchie just gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.

It was over after several long, agonizing minutes, at which point the doctor turned Crutchie back over, handed Katherine a bag of bandages, and told her to wrap his entire chest and any other part of his body that he would allow. Crutchie looked down at himself to see that he was mostly clean, and shuddered at the multitude of ugly gashes in his flesh. The doctor also gave her a bottle of something, then tipped his hat and left.

The other man was also gone, but Crutchie wasn’t sure how long ago he had vanished. Now it was just him and Katherine: her dabbing a warm, soapy cloth on his wounds, him making little choked noises in the back of his throat at each stinging touch.

He looked down to see his left arm--the one that had hurt so much when the doctor wrenched it--was wrapped up heavily, barely moveable. Was it broken?

Crutchie blinked, and there was a cup of something hovering in front of his mouth. He let his mouth fall open, catching the bitter drink as it trickled down, bringing relief to his throat but a bad taste to his mouth. He coughed a few times as it was pulled away, then steeled himself for speaking.

“K-Kath?”

Instantly, Katherine was there, patting the cloth at a cut on his face. “Yes? What is it?”

Crutchie thought for a moment. There was so much he could say. Did he want to ask how she was here, what was happening, who the other man had been? How had Snyder let them in? Where were the boys? How long had he been in the shadowy closet? What day was it?

“W . . . did . . . we win?”

Katherine smiled, and Crutchie couldn’t find the energy to even move his mouth in response. “Yes. Yes, we won. You won.”

Crutchie closed his eyes, twitching when Katherine poured some of the stinging water onto that bad cut on his chest. They won. His sacrifice hadn’t been for nothing. Maybe he’d even been a catalyst. Maybe, because they were thinking of him, they won.

Crutchie let himself bask in that selfish dream, feeling the present fading away. He could sleep properly now, now that there were no walls forcing him into a tiny ball, no thugs kicking him around, no boys coming to the window in the middle of the night. He could sleep. They won.

[lifeofkaze]

An Art of Balance #13

A/N: Nothing like a (not so) little Christmas chapter at the beginning of spring. As always, KC belongs to my beautiful friend @kc-needs-coffee

Word Count: ~ 4.000

______________________________________________________________ 

Chapter 13: Topaz & Jasmine

Lizzie wasn’t sure if she had ever been as happy to pack up her bags and board the Hogwarts Express as this year around. Running from her problems wasn’t going to solve them, but taking a break from them for the holidays was a welcome change.

Slumped into one of the plush seats of the Hogwarts Express Lizzie leaned her head against the cold window frame, idly drawing tiny swirls on the fogged glass. She listened to Tonks and Tulip loudly discussing the possible damage they could wreak with a Christmas cracker while Penny, Skye and Rowan played a game of Exploding Snap. Murphy had ditched them to sit with someone else this time.

The warm air streaming from the fully turned-on heaters made her eyelids grow heavy and she fought the urge to fall asleep. Snoozing around Tonks and Tulip was never a particularly good idea.

When the train finally pulled into Kings Cross Station, the emotional mess Lizzie had left behind at the castle already seemed far, far away.

As she saw her mother waving at the incoming train amongst the mass of other parents picking up their kids, a big smile stole onto her face. It widened as she noticed the tall young men standing next to her. Jacob and Duncan hadn’t been supposed to arrive before the day after tomorrow. Lizzie literally jumped off the train and into her brother’s outstretched arms, her woes all but forgotten. She was looking forward to catching up with them over a cup of her father’s famous hot chocolate in front of the fireplace; she had earned herself a few days of peace.  

 *

Apparently, the snow had followed them all the way from the Scottish Highlands down to England. When Lizzie opened her curtains on the morning of Christmas Day, she squealed in excitement like a little girl upon seeing their garden and everything else in sight covered in a layer of powdery snow.

They were no stranger to snow, of course; they got plenty of it at Hogwarts every winter. But having a white Christmas at home wasn’t something they got to experience every year.

Lizzie opened her window and scooped a handful of snow off the windowsill. She formed a ball from it and aimed carefully. With the deadly precision she had acquired over the years of being a Chaser, she threw her snowball against Duncan’s head, who had just stepped out of their front door to observe the winter wonderland as well. She quickly ducked with a shriek as her brother’s boyfriend shot a snowball of his own back at her. It sailed into her room through the open window, hitting Mouse, who was snoozing on Lizzie’s bed, square in the face.

The huge grey cat startled awake and shook herself, glaring at Lizzie accusingly. She hurried to shut her window and offered the grumpy pet a treat as compensation.

“Sorry, darling,” she cooed and scratched the cat’s chin. “Merry Christmas to you.”

Mouse blinked at her slowly before turning a few times and snuggling back into the warm blanket.

 *

Lizzie returned to her room from the extensive breakfast with her family, arms laden with gifts of all kind, and carefully placed them on the bed around her cat. Mouse lazily raised her head, eyeing up a ribbon still attached to one of the boxes. Lizzie let her chew on it and sat down on her carpet, pulling the huge bag with gifts she had exchanged with her friends on the train towards her.

Ever since Tonks had gifted all of her friends little dancing Christmas trees shouting festive obscenities a few years back, Lizzie resorted to opening her presents in private.

Half an hour and a mountain of wrapping paper later, Lizzie was admiring the wonderful gifts her friends had picked out for her. Like every year, Skye had equipped her with a full set of the newest Wigtown Wanderers merchandise, including a jersey, scarf and sweater. She just wasn’t giving up on converting her to what she deemed the only acceptable choice of Quidditch team.

Penny had given her a beautiful new quill and a notebook bound in an intricately patterned leather to write down her thoughts. Godric knew, that was something that would come in handy.

Tonks’s present – a black-and-yellow mug – had looked perfectly inconspicuous at first, but luckily the little prankster had forgotten to remove the ‘Zonko’s Joke Shop’ label stuck to the bottom of it. Apparently, it was meant to spit its boiling contents into its owner’s face at random intervals. Lizzie placed it gingerly back into its box, shoving it under the bed with her foot.

Rowan’s present was arguably the most thoughtful of them all. She had chosen a beautiful picture of Lizzie and herself goofing around. It had been taken at the end of last year down at the Black Lake. She had put it into a simple silver frame; turning it around, Lizzie could read the small dedication written in Rowan’s neat hand on the back of it.

“For my best friend.”

Lizzie swallowed the lump building inside her throat and placed the picture carefully on her desk, next to the one of her Quidditch team. She hesitated, eyes lingering on Orion’s beaming face as he had one arm around Skye’s shoulder and the other around hers. She resolutely placed her hand on the frame and upended it, front facing down as if she could shut out her thoughts that way.

‘No’, she chided herself inwardly, ‘not now, not ever.’

She joined Mouse on the bed, who was enjoying herself immensely inside the pile of crinkling paper, sipping her tea and watching the small dragon miniature Charlie had gotten for her flap around the room; from what she remembered of his lectures, it seemed to be a Hebridean Black.

A gentle tapping on her window distracted her from the tiny model circling her lamp. A grey owl sat perched on the windowsill and ruffled its feathers to free them from the snow. Lizzie got up and let the grumpy looking bird hop in. It carried a small package, neatly clad in minimalist brown wrapping paper. A note and a twig of small white flowers were secured to it. Lizzie stared at it for a moment in confusion before she remembered. It had to be from her Secret Santa.    

She procured a handful of food for the bird that was staring warily at her cat. Gulping it down, it hopped back to her open window and took to the air on its way back home.

Lizzie turned the present around in her hands and removed the branch. She recognised the distinct fragrance of the flowers immediately; it was jasmine, one of her favourite flowers. It usually bloomed in summer; the bush this was cut off from must have been standing in a greenhouse somewhere. She thought she had seen one back at the castle.

Her curiosity sparked, she removed the wrapping paper, revealing a small box clad in green velvet. Lizzies eyes widened in surprise as she opened it, revealing a beautiful pendant lying on its dark cushion. It was a sheer yellow stone, set in a golden, unregular circle. Her mouth went dry as she carefully removed the necklace from the box, running the delicate gold chain through her fingers.

That was certainly not what was supposed to be a Secret Santa gift.

Perhaps the note that had come with it would give her a clue as to who had decided to be so generous to her. She opened the envelope and took out the card; there was only a few words written on it:

“Unfogging The Future: Page 394. Merry Christmas and Happy belated Birthday, Chaser.”

Lizzie furrowed her brow and turned her head searching the room for her trunk. Thankfully she had taken her copy of the textbook with her instead of leaving it at the castle. She quickly flicked through the pages until she found the one required. Her confusion turned first into wonder and then into the softest smile.

“The Yellow Topaz is a birthstone for those who took birth in the month of November. It was believed by the Egyptians that it contained the rays of the sun. It is meant to provide its bearer with inner peace, bringing calmness to the mind and soul. Eradicating evil, it helps those destined to bear it to overcome regrets of the past and increase the power of focus and concentration.”

She closed the book again and picked up the necklace. She held it against the light, marvelling at the unusual colour before stepping in front of the mirror and putting it on; the pendant rested just below her throat.

Lizzie didn’t have to think twice whom she had to thank for this. Her hand went to her throat, touching the smooth surface of the stone. She was unable to contain the smile on her face. Her cheeks were already hurting and she covered her mouth with her hand.

She thought about what the book had said. This stone was supposed to help her let go of things she regretted. Apparently, this was Orion’s way of cleaning the slate and letting go of the unspoken things that had hung between them.

Lizzie wasn’t sure if she was happy or troubled about this, but she felt giddy, suddenly buzzing with energy and the urgent desire to let it out. She grabbed her clothes and almost skipped out the door with a bounce in her step.

Time to show Duncan how to properly throw a snowball.

 *

New Year’s Eve had come and gone as the Christmas break slowly drew to an end. It was almost time to board the train that would take them back to Hogwarts once again. Shutting out all and everything for a few precious days filled only with the love and warmth of her family had been like a dream, but now Lizzie felt reality silently creeping up on her again, firmly knocking on the door to remind her it was still there.

The sensation hit her every time she walked past a mirror and saw the yellow stone resting against her neck. She had rarely taken the necklace off since Christmas Day; although she didn’t really believe in the concept of birthstones, the feeling of the cool stone against her skin had something weirdly reassuring about it. She had quickly developed a habit of toying with the pendant, moving it back and forth on its chain.

It was the last day at home before they were set for their journey back when Lizzie and Penny finally managed to meet up for a trip into town. Both girls being half-bloods, they knew their ways around the Muggle world. They spent their day roaming around the shops and enjoying their last free moments before classes, homework and the general daily madness that was Hogwarts were to rope them in again.

They were still laughing when they entered a small café off to the side of a busy street, stowing their bags away under the table in front of the French doors leading to a small patio at the back of the room.

The small seating area was full but not crowded; as soon as the door closed behind them, the bustling of the town was shut out, the atmosphere peaceful above the quiet conversations of the other guests.

They were chatting about how they had spent the holidays, sipping on their tea and nibbling some biscuits.

“Seems like you and your sister were spoilt rotten by your parents,” Lizzie laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of somehow being showered with presents like that.”

Penny chuckled. “Look who’s talking. That new necklace you’re wearing is stunning; was it a gift from your parents?”

Her necklace must have slipped out from under her shirt somehow. Blushing lightly, Lizzie started fiddling with the pendant once again; she had done this so often over the past few days, she didn’t even notice.

“Not exactly,” she mumbled sheepishly.

Penny furrowed her brow. “Then who is it from? Charlie?”

Irritated, Lizzie shook her head. Charlie would never give something like jewellery to her.

“We always play Secret Santa with the team before the Christmas break, and whoever got my name,” she explained, “sent me this.”

She held the stone into the light for Penny to better see it, its translucent yellow colouring darkened to amber by the little light washing in from the snowed in windows.

Penny’s eyes widened. “But that is not a gift to give someone over a game. Do you have any idea who it might be from?”

Lizzie tucked the necklace underneath the collar of her shirt, gripping her tea cup with both hands. The warmth stinging her fingers distracted her from the fuzzy feeling creeping up from her stomach.

“I’m pretty sure it’s from Orion,” she sighed. “He is really interested in Divination and Astrology; we had a conversation about birthstones a few weeks ago.”

She was careful to emit what had been written in the note that had come with the package.

Penny inhaled sharply. “Really? That’s so thoughtful! Fits him, I suppose.”

Lizzie concentrated on sipping her tea, only humming vaguely in response.

Sensing her friend being preoccupied with something, Penny tried to catch Lizzie’s gaze that was fixed on the grained wood of the table. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”

Lizzie looked up hastily, subconsciously putting her hand to where her the topaz rested under her shirt. “Of course I do.”

“What’s the matter then?”

Lizzie sighed deeply and shook her head. “I don’t know; can we talk about something else?”

But Penny’s curiosity was stirred. “Is it because of what happened at the Weird Sisters concert?” she asked gently.

Lizzie’s head shot up. “Is there anyone who hasn’t seen us?” she cried in dismay, drawing glances from the other tables. She quickly lowered her voice. “How come you never talked to me about it?”

Penny only shrugged. “You know how it is; I see everything, I know everything.” Her eyes sparkled and she lowered her voice as well. “So, out with the facts: is there something between you and him?”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows and made a point of slowly taking another sip of her tea, looking at her prying friend over the rim of her cup. “I thought you knew everything,” she remarked wryly in the hope of buying herself some time.  

Penny didn’t let herself be distracted though. She was burning to get confirmation on what had crossed her mind more than a few times by now. “Is this why you were acting so anxiously lately?” she asked eagerly. “Something happened?”

“No,” Lizzie mumbled, now avoiding her inquiring eyes.

“But?” Penny prodded further. She could sense there was something her friend wasn’t telling her.

“No ‘but’,” Lizzie hissed angrily. Why couldn’t Penny just leave it at that? She had absolutely no desire to deal with her emotional mess sooner than she had to. “Nothing happened, nothing’s going on, nothing more to talk about.”

Penny was taken aback by Lizzie’s sudden change of mood. She knew her friend to always have an open ear for gossip and had more than once displayed her own relationship problems in front of her.

“Alright, I got the message; no need to snap at me,” she soothed her, still bewildered. “But you would be really cute together,” she couldn’t help but add cheerfully.

“Great how everyone seems to have an opinion on this,” Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Charlie said so as well.”

That took Penny by surprise. “He did? I thought he’d be jealous.”

Lizzie sighed again, but now she sounded more resigned than angry. “Why would he be? I don’t know what else I can do to convince people we are nothing more than friends. Why does no one understand?”

Penny could see how deeply Lizzie felt about this topic. “Maybe because it just doesn’t work very often, you know,” she answered softly. “There is almost always one wanting more than friendship.”

“Not with us,” Lizzie insisted.

“Are you sure? I mean, you actually kissed.”

“That didn’t mean anything.” Lizzie’s anger flared up again. Would they never give it a rest? She wished she hadn’t told them when they had been playing that stupid game in the first place.

Penny chose not to dwell on the subject to not ruin the mood any further.

But now it was Lizzie’s turn to rant on about it. “No one gets why we’re friends; I’m honestly sick of it. If Charlie was a girl, no one would bat an eye about our friendship. But a boy and a girl being friends is something nobody can even imagine working out. They just can’t see the bigger picture of it all.” She was talking herself into a rage and knew it, but she didn’t care.

“Take Skye, for example. I know she hates every moment I spent with Charlie with a passion, but not because he’s on another team; she’s perfectly fine with me and KC being friends. No, she is just dead set on getting the House Cup and afraid someone might distract me, so it would diminish our chances at winning,” Lizzie huffed.

Penny had gone silent at the mention of Skye. Lizzie remembered how Skye had told her she and Penny were still having issues.

“But that’s her, isn’t it?” Penny spoke softly. “It’s what makes Skye; she fastens onto something and doesn’t let go, for better or for worse.” She sounded incredibly sad.

Lizzie recalled what Skye had asked her to do after their last practise. As aggravating as she might be sometimes, she was still one of Lizzie’s closest friends and she wanted her and Penny to finally get over what had happened.

“It’s still strained between you, isn’t it?” she asked sympathetically.

“Yes,” Penny sighed. “It’s not the first time I’ve been in a situation like this, but never with such a close friend. Talking to her is so awkward; I don’t know how to act around her anymore.”

“Just act like you did before. All Skye wants is for things to go back to how they were, so she can concentrate on what matters to her. She gets a lot of pressure from home, you know?”

Penny looked up in surprise. “You think so?”

“I know it,” Lizzie corrected her. Ethan Parkin wasn’t the most pleasant person, but Lizzie knew how much Penny adored the star of the Wigtown Wanderers, so she kept her thoughts on him to herself.

“Skye thinks she has a legacy to uphold, which is why winning the House Cup means so much to her,” she elaborated instead. “And everything distracting her makes it harder for her to focus on her goal. Skye just wants things to go back to normal so she can be her old, over-ambitious self again.”

“And you think acting like nothing happened might work?” Penny still sounded very doubtful.

Lizzie shrugged her concerns off. “What do you have to lose? Many problems tend to solve themselves given some time.”

“So, your advice is, act like nothing happened and be friends with her again?” Penny asked again pointedly.

“Basically, yes.”

“Sounds like an advice you should listen to yourself then,” Penny muttered. “You running from Orion can’t be particularly good for the Hufflepuff team, can it?”

Lizzie groaned at her bringing Orion up again. “This is something very different.”

“Is it though?”

“Yes, it is!” Lizzie insisted stubbornly. “There is nothing wrong with him and me.”

Penny shook her head. “We’ve known each other for too long now, Liz; this doesn’t work with me.”

“But it’s true though; Orion and I aren’t a thing right now and we will certainly never be in the future.” Lizzie clarified with a finality she hoped would discourage Penny to prod into it any further.

But the other girl was an expert at picking up the underlying emotions in her voice. She had made out the hint of frustration that had stolen into Lizzie’s determined statement. It sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than Penny.

“Why?” she simply asked back.

Lizzie blinked in confusion. “What do you mean, why?”

“Why won’t you ever be a thing? Seems a bit harsh to completely rule things out forever.”

Lizzie’s eyes flickered to the side. She had subconsciously pulled her necklace out from her collar again, her nimble fingers toying with the yellow stone absentmindedly.

“No, it’s not,” she muttered. “We just can’t.”

Penny didn’t respond to her. If she knew one thing, it was people that needed to get something off their chests were best left to talk on their own accord.

And really, after a moment Lizzie let go off her necklace and picked up her teaspoon instead, nervously running her thumb over the shining silver over and over again.

“I really shouldn’t tell you,” she tried one last time.

Penny remained silent, giving the other girl time to figure out her next words.

“Alright,” Lizzie finally caved. “You know the tutoring sessions Rowan and I have with Orion?

Penny raised her eyebrows. “Yes, I never understood why you of all people are needing them in the first place.”

“That’s the point,” Lizzie replied. “Neither of us does. It was all Rowan’s idea.”

Now Penny was visibly confused. “Why would Rowan fake bad grades?”

Lizzie looked at her intently before she continued. “You must promise to keep this  to yourself, alright? Not even Rowan must know I told you this.”

Penny nodded in agreement.

“See, Rowan has had a crush on Orion for ages now. I know,” Lizzie added at Penny’s apparent surprise, “I had no idea as well. I offered help in setting them up and we needed a framework to do it.”

“So you’ve been taking lessons with Orion to get him interested in Rowan?”

Lizzie nodded. Coming out of Penny’s mouth it all suddenly sounded utterly ridiculous.

“This is why Orion and I could never be more than friends, you know? I could never betray Rowan like that. She is my best friend after all.” Lizzie raked her hand through her hair erratically, leaving her ponytail looking worse for wear.

“It all such a mess. I’m just glad she seems to be the one person who didn’t saw us dancing.”

“Yes, I believe she was at the bathroom when it happened,” Penny hummed in confirmation. “My goodness, I had no idea.” She seemed perturbed at the idea her friends had been able to hide such a major piece of information from her.

“What do you want to do now?”

Lizzie shrugged. “I don’t know. Follow my own advice maybe? Try to act as if nothing happened and hope things go back to normal. Or do you think I should come clean with him about what has been going on?”

Penny contemplated it for a moment. “I’m not sure this would be a good idea. You would have to rat Rowan out and Orion would probably be mad at both of you. That would actually help no one.”

“What then?”

“Have you thought about talking to Rowan about all of this?”

She saw Lizzie wince at the thought of confronting her friend. “Think about it, you could come up with something different together. And I would also advise on cancelling the tutoring,” she added.

Lizzie looked uncomfortable at the thought. “But what if I don’t want to?” she asked sheepishly. “Orion is a really good teacher. My grades shot through the roof since I started studying with him.” Lizzie chuckled wryly. “Who knows, I might come to actually enjoy Herbology in the end.”

Penny remained firm though. “I still think it would be for the best. At least until you have sorted yourself out.”

Lizzie didn’t reply; she seemed to be deeply lost in thought at her words.

“Believe me,” Penny told her gently, “it is never worth to risk a friendship over something like that.”

[inkedroplets]

Maybe This Christmas Will Be Better

Lena doesn't hate Christmas, she doesn't. She just doesn't like to celebrate it, at least not anymore. Not that will stop Sam from getting her to join her for Christmas. In a bid to escape Sam's invitation and some of the bad memories associated with Christmas, Lena decides to spend the week at the last place she thought she would ever return

Chapter 1/? It’s a Cabin, Not a Lair

Read on AO3

Lena didn’t hate Christmas, really she didn’t, she just had no desire to actually celebrate it. There was nothing she would have liked more than to keep her head down and work straight through Christmas. She had more than enough work to carry her well into the new year and it most assuredly wouldn't be the first time she had spent a major holiday cooped up in her office instead of out making merry. She might have succeeded in doing so if not for Sam making it her life’s mission to ensure that didn’t happen.

Her office had always been sparsely decorated —save for a few personal photos that were now stowed in one of the drawers of her desk with a lock— and she preferred to keep it that way. Not that it had stopped Sam from setting up a tiny Christmas tree in the corner of her office during one of the few times that Lena was actually out. Upon discovering it the next day, Lena had done a very thorough check for anything on the tree that could possibly be sentimental before tasking Jess to throw it out. Later, when Sam had come up to Lena’s office looking for a signature her gaze had passed over the spot in Lena’s office where the Christmas tree had been without saying anything and Lena had decided to do the same.

Thinking that the matter was settled, Lena thought nothing more of it until the next morning when she had come into work and found a nearly identical tree where the first one had been, only this one was ever so slightly taller and had far more ornaments festooning it. A subtle warning of the conflict escalation that would occur if Lena threw any more trees out. Not wanting her office to turn into Santa’s Village, Lena had grudgingly waved the white flag and left the tree alone. She simply tried her best to ignore that the tree was even there in the first place. What she couldn’t ignore were Sam’s daily invitations to spend Christmas with her.

Under normal circumstances, Lena would have let Sam wear her down eventually. Spending Christmas with her and Ruby was a far sight better than going home for Christmas. Going home for Christmas meant bandying words with Lex and her mother from opposite ends of an absurdly long table while counting down the seconds until she could leave, really not all that different from any other visit except for doing so in the shade of a gigantic Christmas tree that took up a quarter of the dining hall. But it wasn’t just Sam and Ruby that she wanted Lena to spend Christmas with, it was Alex. The two of them had been dating for nearly six months and if things weren’t already serious, they surely were now that they were spending Christmas together. And if Alex was coming to visit for Christmas that most likely meant that Kara would be along for the ride and Lena couldn’t think of one person that she wanted to see less than her on any day of the year, much less on Christmas.

Kara and she had broken up last Christmas and over the phone, no less. The two had had their share of arguments but the one they had on Christmas had been the first (and last) knock-down, drag-out fight that had started with tears and ended with the two of them going their separate ways. Lena had been the one who had ended it and seeing as she had been the one to put a strain on their relationship in the first place it had seemed fitting that she was the one to pull the plug.

Lena had never put much stock in the old ‘Time Heals All Wounds’ platitude and after a year she was more than ready to present her findings and declare it bullshit of the highest order. And as tempting as it sounded to see Kara again, she was in no rush to open up old wounds that had never really healed in the first place. It hurt enough without being reminded of just what she had lost

Hearing the fast approaching sound of footsteps from outside her office, Lena turned her attention from the Christmas tree and back to the email she had opened on her computer and not yet read. Even without spying the telltale black heels as she stopped in front of Lena’s office door to rap her knuckles on it briefly, she knew it was Sam. No one was ever in a rush to get to her office besides her. Sam and Kara, a voice so helpfully reminded her just as Sam burst in.

“Sure is Christmassy in here,” Sam said in a tone usually reserved for commenting on the weather. She plopped herself down on the couch near the window, eyes still glued to the tree, the lights wrapped around it blinking on and off in a pattern that Lena knew far too well for her liking.

“Yes,” Lena said, not looking up from her computer screen right away. “Completely by choice, too.” She turned her monitor off and joined Sam on the couch.  “If I come in here tomorrow and find you’ve brought in an inflatable Santa I will make an example out of him.”

Sam shook her head, tutting. “I think disposing of a body is above your poor secretary’s pay grade.”

“Not with how much I pay her,” Lena replied deadpan. Lena surveyed the tree with the same careful eye she had for her work before finally rendering a verdict. “It’s nice.”

“Such a way with words.” She nodded. “I have a much nicer one back home. It’s losing needles like it’s going out of style and it took Ruby and me nearly three hours to get put up and decorated but it looks nice all lit up.”

Lena could sense the sharks beginning to circle and found herself too amused with Sam’s stubbornness to be annoyed. “Maybe next year you’ll go plastic,” Lena suggested.

“I’ll have to run that up the flagpole and see if Ruby bites.” Sam shook her head and made a face. “She’s very much entrenched in the ‘real tree’ camp. Getting her to budge won’t be easy.”

“Takes after her mother.”

Sam nodded in agreement, grinning proudly. “But if it is the last year the Arias household does have a real tree, you really should stop by and see it.”

“I will,” Lena said. “After-”

“After Christmas,” Sam interrupted, swatting Lena on the arm. “I can promise you that Christmas at my place will be infinitely better than staying shut up in your office or going back home to spend it with your family.”

“Mmm.” Lena hummed. “I don’t know if the bar could get any lower than a Luthor family Christmas, to be fair, Sam. And I might agree with you about spending Christmas in my office but someone has been nice enough to make my office, as you put it, ‘Christmassy’.”

“If it’s Alex you’re worried about…” Sam said, her voice losing some of its levity.

Alex was one of the reasons that Lena had no intent to take Sam up on her generous offer. She liked Alex. After getting to know her, the two of them had grown rather close, although that was before Lena had broken her baby sister’s heart. No matter how generous Lena knew Alex to be, she couldn’t imagine her wanting to see Lena after everything that had happened.

“It’s Alex,” Lena admitted after the silence between them had begun to shift towards uncomfortable. “And I don’t know if I can see Kara again.” She made a face as if to say ‘Are you happy now?’ and let out a beleaguered sigh. “Besides,” she added, not liking the concerned look on Sam’s face one little bit. “I already made plans,” she lied.

Sam blinked. “You made plans?”

“Yes,” Lena said, crossing her arms over her chest, returning Sam’s skeptical expression with a defiant one of her own.

“And you decided this when? Because I’ve been asking you to come round for Christmas for a week now.”

“Yes, I vaguely recall you asking me, day in day out without respite.” Lena smiled and felt the makings of a plan begin to stitch itself into being. For all Lena knew, it had been there simmering back in the recesses of her mind, waiting to be brought to the forefront. A lot of her ideas come to her like that. Not perfect and far from fully formed but with enough substance for her to get started. “I decided today, actually,” Lena said. Just now, as a matter of fact.

“I thought I would head up to Mt. Norquay for a little R&R.”

“A Luthor family Christmas in the books?” Sam asked, treading carefully as she always did when it came to Lena’s family.

“God, no. My mother hasn’t been able to stomach the cold for years and she and Lex are getting together at the manor like they always do, which makes the idea of putting a little more distance between me and them even more appealing.” Lena would much prefer putting an ocean or two between them as a buffer but she would settle for a mountain or two. “And, I still don’t think that my mother even knows I bought a cabin there.”

Lena’s mother had an uncanny ability for learning things that Lena would much rather keep from her but Lena thought—hoped—that particular purchase still remained secret. She had bought the cabin on a whim although not her own. Kara had wanted to go on a snowy retreat and instead of finding some four-star hotel in Aspen that they could spend a week or two at, Lena had bought a cabin for the both of them. It had seemed a perfectly reasonable purchase at the time and it would have been if they had gotten a chance to use it. They had broken up right before their trip and the cabin had joined the long list of property and assets that Lena owned but didn’t actually touch.

She should sell it. Not to make anything resembling a profit. She had paid top dollar to expedite the sale and even with it being a seller’s market she wouldn’t come close to recouping what she paid for it but getting rid of the place would be like flicking off another switch in the fuse box that was her and Kara’s relationship. It had ended and it was probably for the best if she stopped holding onto what had remained.

“If you’re trying to sell me on being okay with you going to a cabin that nobody knows the location of to spend Christmas all by yourself, you’re not doing a fantastic job, Lena,” Sam said, interrupting Lena’s thoughts. She shook her head and breathed out heavily through her nose.

“It’s a cabin, Sam, not a secret lair.” Lena patted her arm consolingly. “I’ve spent plenty of Christmases alone and with how busy we’ve been this month, I could really use a vacation and I know that you like me way too much to force me to be your third wheel on Christmas. That’s just cruel.”

“You wouldn’t be a third wheel…” Sam looked ready to argue but it appeared that some of the wind had been taken out of her sails. She would have never set out to make Lena the third wheel but few ever did. It was something that happened when no one was looking except the one it was happening to.

“It’s your first Christmas together,” Lena said, knowing that Sam didn’t need the reminder but giving it to her anyway. “Do it right.” Like I should have.

Sam sighed and Lena knew that she had won if you could call weaseling out of spending Christmas with Sam winning. “Anytime you change your mind, Lena, and I mean that you’re more than welcome to come by and if I inadvertently make you the third wheel you can tell Alex an embarrassing story about me.”

“Oh, I always planned on doing that,” Lena teased. “But I’ll keep that in mind. I really do appreciate you inviting me.”

“You’d just rather spend your Christmas on some inhospitable mountain than in my cozy apartment.” She nodded sagely. “I totally get it.”

“I’m going to Canada, Sam, I’m not spending Christmas on Mt. Everest.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam stood up and peered at the calendar on Lena’s desk. “When are you leaving?”

“I guess, tonight.” Lena shrugged. Tonight was as good a time as any seeing as L-Corp would be officially closed for the holidays from tomorrow. She was an expert at flying on little to no notice beforehand and it wouldn’t take her all that long to get a bag around.

"Tonight?"

Lena nodded. “I’m sure that I can get a flight out tonight.” Even with it so close to Christmas there was almost always a seat, especially in first-class and if even that was unavailable, Lena could always talk (or buy) her way into the jumpseat on a plane, it wouldn’t have been the first time and it definitely wouldn’t have been the last.

Sam looked far from thrilled about Lena’s decision but had seemed to have made her peace with it because she raised one hand as if in surrender, reached out, and took Lena’s hand, their fingers interlacing. “They have reception up at that cabin?”

“It’s the twenty-first century, Sam. I’m sure that I’ll have a cell signal.” Lena patted Sam’s arm consolingly.

True to her word, Lena found a flight without even having to put any feelers out. The mass Christmas exodus wouldn’t officially begin for a few more days and besides a few middle-aged salary men, first class was nearly completely deserted which suited Lena just fine. The last thing she needed was someone trying to make small talk next to her while she tried to make the most of the flight and dive as deeply into her work as she could before the plane landed.

She had used the time to take a half-hearted stab at making leeway on a proposal that she was going to present to the board in January and throwing together a rudimentary list of things she would need during her week in solitude, nowhere on it did she find room for a Christmas tree, real or plastic.

The first thing she realized upon stepping out of her rental car at the foot of the path that led towards the cabin was how cold the air was. Even with her down jacket zipped up clear to her chin, she felt the wind nipping at her as she stood there looking up at the slightly hazy outline of the cabin in the distance. From where she was standing it looked to be perched rather precariously high up, looking almost… Inhospitable. Grimacing, Lena tightened her grip on the one suitcase she had packed, wishing she had packed a bit lighter before setting off up the path under a cloudy sky with very little moonlight to light her way. There were several trail markers that made it nearly impossible to actually lose the trail but as a particularly strong gust of wind lashed against her cheek, she suppressed a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold. I knew I should have just stayed in my office.

After nearly twenty minutes of walking through ever-deepening snow, dragging a piece of luggage that was beginning to feel like it was attached to her hand like a ball and chain she finally laid eyes on the cabin. It was a two-story  A-Frame that looked as if it had sprung out from under the snow like an overly tenacious sprout. The stairs leading up to the deck were completely covered in snow that Lena plowed through as best she could, her feet feeling like they had frozen solid in their boots.

She imagined pulling up a chair to the fireplace and lounging there until she had properly defrosted while she dug around in her pocket for the key to the cabin. It took her two tries to ease the key into the lock and a few precious seconds to actually get the key to turn in the lock so that she could throw open the door.

Instead of a roaring fire, Lena was greeted by pitch darkness. She fumbled for a switch on the wall, flicked it a few times, and cursed under her breath as she thrust her hand into her jacket pocket to grab her phone to use it as a flashlight. Had she been expecting the cabin to be in working order after all this time? She had come up to the cabin just the one time to get it ready for Kara and had just finished putting the finishing touches on everything before their big blowup and she had then been tasked with taking down all the decorations she had just put up and winterizing the cabin before putting it in the rearview which made it all the more ridiculous that she had chosen here of all places to spend Christmas.

The fuse box was around here… She had shuffled like a mummy past the fireplace towards the back of the cabin where the kitchen was, very nearly catching her hip on the corner of one of the counters as she did so. Holding her phone out in front of her she spied the fuse box, praying that there would in fact be light, and flicked the main breaker. She let out a little cry of relief when the light nearest to the door flickered on and went around the rest of the cabin turning on lights the way she had done once when she was younger and stayed up late watching horror movies when everyone had been out. She had been too scared to sleep and had instead spent the remainder of the night with every light on in the manor while she tried to distract herself by reading.

Once all the lights were on and Lena had kicked off her boots, she turned her attention to the non-existent fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. Thankfully the firewood rack next to the fireplace was mostly full which meant the only thing she had to worry about (at least tonight) was getting a fire going. She clumsily stacked a few pieces of firewood on the grate, working slower than she normally would have thanks to how cold her hands were. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was to pinch her finger as a way to round out the night. Why, oh why, did I think buying a cabin with an actual fireplace instead of an electric one was a good idea? she asked herself as she balled up newspaper to stick between the logs. Because you thought it was more romantic, another voice answered.

Lena rolled her eyes, taking a fireplace match from the box on top of the mantel, struck it, and shoved it between the kindling and the newspaper. She watched the flame blossom and begin to spread before she removed the match from the fireplace, shook it out, and laid down where on the floor still wrapped up in her parka, exhausted. She was tired but far too cold to get any sleep. Once the cabin had warmed up a bit she would trudge up the narrow staircase to the second floor to the loft and pass out until morning. She rubbed her hands together and groped for her phone on the floor beside her. Sam had wanted her to call once she had arrived and she would have if getting to the cabin hadn't been such a debacle. She would send a text instead and fill Sam in tomorrow at a more reasonable hour.

She typed a quick message and gave it a quick once-over, grinning to herself in spite of the cold.

 Arrived. Not dead. Fire successfully made. Tomorrow I start inventing the wheel.

She had her thumb poised to hit send when she realized that her phone had no signal.

"For fuck's sake," she groaned. Was it Murphy's Law that stated: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong? Lena was almost certain it was although she didn't much care what it was called, she was more worried that the lights might go out or that there was a buildup of soot in the flue and the whole cabin would catch fire. At least I would be a bit warmer before I had to traipse down the mountain to my car, she thought, surprised at how much that rather grim thought seemed to cheer her up. It really shouldn't have surprised her that there was no reception considering how hard the snow was coming down. Come morning, Lena was sure that it would be cleared up by then and she would be able to send Sam an 'arrived safe' text or call her and regale her with the tale of her harrowing journey to the cabin and close out with her successfully getting a fire started. Or maybe when she got back to National City she would. She didn't want Sam to worry, and knowing her she was already doing that. It was Sam just being Sam but Lena thought she had far more important things to worry about, like making her and Alex's first Christmas together a special one. That thought brought with it a painful memory that Lena forcefully returned to a back shelf in her mind and closed her eyes, trying to focus on the sound of the wind lashing harshly against the cabin.

Lena opened her eyes and was seized with one inescapable truth: She was burning up. She had drifted off and had been asleep long enough for the fire to heat the cabin quite nicely. She tugged at her coat with clumsy hands and fanned herself, scooting back from the fire a ways. Yawning, she tossed her coat onto the floor and fanned herself. She tossed another log on the fire and stood up on very shaky legs. She glanced over at her suitcase still propped up by the door and debated rummaging around in it for her pajamas or simply shuffling off to bed while shedding her clothes as she went like a snake, taking full advantage of the privacy the cabin offered. The latter won out and Lena worked her sweater up and over her head, tossing it onto the floor next to her coat. She had just reached behind her to unhook her bra when she heard what sounded to her like the sound of boots from outside. Too sleepy to immediately shift into high alert, Lena concentrated, trying to block out the sound of the wind and isolate the sound she thought she heard. She heard nothing for a moment before there was an even louder crunch of snow from outside and the unmistakable sound of footfalls approaching. Panic coursed through her like an electric current and she bent down to scoop her sweater up off the floor before changing her mind and grabbing a particularly club-like bit of firewood that was waiting to be burned. If this is payback for having Jess throw that Christmas tree in the trash, it seems disproportionate. Lena watched with mounting horror as the doorknob turned left and then right before she heard the scrape of a key sliding into the lock. Instead of retreating, Lena took a step closer to the door, the piece of firewood raised high over her head, ready to bring it down on the head of whoever walked through the door. She choked up on it like a bat and felt a blast of frigid air send goose pimples racing along her body as the door blew open with the force of the wind. She locked eyes with the stranger who looked to be wearing a balaclava, felt a rush of adrenaline nudge her firmly into the 'fight' response, poised to strike when the stranger let out a scream that Lena found achingly familiar. The stranger's hands shot up and they took a step back into the snow. "Don't hit me, Lena, it's me!" They gave the snow-covered wrap around their face a tug and pulled it away to reveal it was just a scarf and not a balaclava. A mess of blonde hair came spilling forth and Lena found herself staring back at the bluest eyes she had ever seen. "Kara..."

[thedreammweaver]

Not Over Any Oceans Chapter 6 (Nygmobblepot, The Santa Clause 2 au, Santa!Oswald, elf!Zsasz, elf!Penn, Toy Santa!Burtonverse Oswald)

Chapter 5 Chapter 7

Warnings: blood

Oswald huffed impatiently as Vixen landed on the balcony of the Santa suite. He carefully got off of the reindeer and snuck inside, hoping Penguin wasn’t in there. He startled when he heard a familiar voice “Santa?” It was Penn who was crawling out from under the bed to greet his boss. Oswald was relieved to see his second most trusted elf “Penn, what are you doing in here??”

“Hiding.” Penn whispered. A wave of guilt came over him “This is all my fault...”

“There’s a way you can make it up to me.” Oswald whispered “Can you get to the pantograph?”

“I-I think so.”

“Good, I have an idea.”

   Oswald had tried to sneak to the pantograph when Penn signaled to him it was all clear but he’d been intercepted and was now trapped along with Zsasz. Oswald was struggling to break out of the festive ribbon they’d been tied back to back with by the toy penguins. “Why don’t you just use your magic?” Zsasz asked, also struggling.

“I’m out...” Oswald admitted, having used most of it on Edward. He hadn’t spotted penguin yet, he feared the toy had already left and was he starting to lose hope about anything turning out right that evening.

       Edward the dog stretched as he woke up from a long nap in one of. his favourite sleeping spots which was a cranny in the workshop where excess stuffing and fur for stuffed animals was kept. He got up lazily and pushed the door to the room open with his nose. There’d been some scary noises but they were gone now and had been quickly forgotten by the dog who was now trotting through the halls looking for....anyone. He heard talking in the main room and started running faster. He barked happily as he turned a corner and set eyes on his owner. “Eddie!” Oswald said happily as the dog ran over. Edward propped himself up on Oswald’s legs but was confused when the man didn’t immediately start petting him, he whined at Oswald trying to get his affection. Oswald struggled a bit in the ribbon tying him to show Edward he wasn’t keeping from petting him on purpose. Edward got off of Oswald’s legs and pouted, he was about to walk off when he spotted a part of the ribbon hanging down inbetween the trapped pair before him. If he couldn’t play with his master he would play with whatever this shiny thing was, he jumped up to grab it with his mouth and tugged. As he tugged naturally it started to untie which only encouraged him. Eventually he’d untied it completely and Oswald and Zsasz were able to escape. Zsasz immediately ran to where the elves were being locked up to free them. Oswald paused to praise his dog, petting him fervently “What a smart boy you are, Edward! Who’s my smart boy?” Edward didn’t understand why he was being praised so much as he chewed on the ribbon but he accepted the praise all the same. Zsasz opening the room where the elves were set off an alarm and the toy penguins as well as their master were soon upon them. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Penguin yelled at Zsasz. He smirked as he noticed Oswald “Well look who came crawling back. Penguins, get them!” He ordered. However before the penguins could advance any further they were distracted by a whistle coming from the door to outside. It was Penn, in his hand he had a fish. Penguin was getting impatient as his army didn’t obey “You idiots, I said get them!!” The toy penguins were no longer paying attention, all of their focus was on Penn as he threw the fish outside and moved out of the way. The toy penguins immediately started clamouring outside in what was a stampede of flippers, most of them breaking themselves or eachother in the process. Penguin growled and stomped before trying to keep his cool. He checked his watch “I have a while before I have to deliver all that coal, I can deal with you on my own.” He was referring to Oswald who bolted into the room with the pantograph.

“I knew you were a coward.” Penguin muttered entering the room where Oswald was hiding. Oswald had squeezed himself under a table and was watching intently as Penguin waddled around looking for him. He leaped out as Penguin stood in front of the conveyor belt of the pantograph and tried to push the toy onto it. Penguin evaded him, grabbing him by the arm and throwing him hard into the wall. “Face it, you’re just jealous that I’m a better Santa than you’ll ever be.” Penguin growled to Oswald who was still trying to recover in a crumpled heap on the floor. Seeing Penguin heading for the door galvanized Oswald into forcing himself up and rushing Penguin, getting his hands around the toy’s neck and pulling him back into the room. What followed was a tangle mostly in Penguin’s favour as he was much heavier than Oswald. He’d ended up on top of the other man and was about to try banging his head into the floor to knock him out so he could get on with his coal delivery but he noticed Oswald reaching for a screwdriver that’d fallen from a table during their fighting. Oswald nearly had his fingers around the tool when he felt a searing pain in the space between his neck and shoulder. He was facing the floor so he couldn’t see what Penguin was doing but it only took a few seconds before he registered the sharp things piercing his clothes and flesh as teeth. The toy was fucking biting him. Oswald frantically searched for anything to get Penguin off when he spotted something under the work table before him, within reach. It was an umbrella, red and white, how festive. He grabbed it by it’s handle and managed to hit Penguin in the head with it which made the toy let go and get off. In a few seconds both of them were on their feet, Oswald pointing the umbrella at Penguin. “And just what are you planning to do with that?” Penguin laughed. Oswald found himself filled with determination as he noticed penguin was once again in front of the conveyor belt “This is from when I used to kill people, you know. It could have a knife in it or shoot bullets. I actually don’t remember. So you should just- um.. surrender now so I don’t have to hurt you!” Oswald wasn’t used to threatening violence anymore but he certainly wasn’t lying, there were quite a few of his old umbrellas lying around and he really didn’t remember which ones did which. Penguin looked like he was believing Oswald a bit but he gave him a stubborn look “No.” Oswald pressed a button on the handle only for the umbrella to open and...start playing music. It was spinning and had toys dangling from the points. “Shit...it’s the cute one..” Oswald muttered, throwing the umbrella aside. He could feel defeat encroaching until he noticed he’d actually startled Penguin into jumping backwards onto the conveyor belt. Penguin was laughing “You really had me going there but if you don’t mind I should be-“ Penguin paused as he realized he couldn’t move his feet. He tried again but it was no use. Penn had put glue all over it earlier at Oswald’s request. “What is this?!” Penguin demanded. Oswald was too busy going over to the controls to answer him, he switched the function to ‘shrink’ as it had previously been set on ‘replicate’ and started it up. “What are you doing?!?” Penguin yelled as the conveyor started moving. Oswald just smirked as he watched the toy go in. There were sparks and smoke from the machine again and when Penguin came out from the other side he was much smaller of course. Oswald was surprised but grateful as Penn ran over to place a glass bowl over Penguin as if he was a spider that’d found it’s way inside. He was pounding against the glass but of course being stuck and tiny he couldn’t do much. “Oswald!” Oswald startled at his mother’s voice, but only momentarily as he soon ran to hug her. “I have a surprise!” She said pulling away from Oswald and pointing to Ed who was currently reeling from having just been on a flying reindeer. He was looking around the workshop in awe. “Edward?” Oswald approached him. “What are you doing here?”

Ed snapped out of the trance he was in to focus on Oswald instead “I- erm- your mother is very persuasive and talked some sense in to me I guess..” Ed was blushing and fiddling with his coat “I came to the realization that maybe I...um...that I..”

“He wants to marry you.” Gertrud finished for Ed.

“Y-You do?”

“Yes..” Ed’s face flushed even redder. Oswald’s joy was quickly overtaken by urgency “Well, shit, then we only have like what? Twenty minutes? An-and who’s going to marry us-”

“I can do it.” Zsasz assured as he ran over after making sure everything was alright with the other elves.

Oswald looked at his head elf in disbelief “Really?”

“You’re not the first Santa that had to get hitched on short notice.” Zsasz explained.“I think you should probably be getting ready now.” He reminded. Penn took Oswald’s hand to lead him away while some elves did the same with Ed.

     Oswald was ansty as Penn patched the bite in his neck up and while Gertrud was fixing his hair and trying not to cry at the fact her only son was about to be married. “I should’ve known I’d somehow end up covered in my own blood on my wedding day.” Oswald huffed, looking at his disgarded bloodstained suit. He in his Santa attire now which was baggy on him presently. He was only missing his coat which Zsasz said he would be given later for whatever reason.

If they were having second thoughts Ed and Oswald could do little to protest as they were pushed together outside in front of Zsasz by the elves who were very eager to have a new member of the family as well as have their Santa back. “I hope you don’t mind if I make this quick.” Zsasz said, gesturing to a big clock on the front of the workshop. “Please do.” Oswald would’ve liked a proper ceremony but he supposed that could wait for another day. Zsasz cleared his throat but before he could speak an elf ran over to push Oswald and Ed closer as well as make them hold each other’s hands before running back into the crowd. Zsasz rolled his eyes and continued “Do you, Edward Nygma, take Oswald Cobblepot aka Santa Claus to be your husband?”

“I do.” Ed said bashfully, shuffling his feet.

“Do you, Santa, take Edward Nygma to be your husband?”

Oswald took a second to glance at his mother who was crying, she looked proud, he imagined his father standing beside her looking proud as well “I do.”

“I now pronounce you Mr. and uh- Mr. Claus. You two can smooch now.” He chuckled. As Ed and Oswald kissed there was a chorus of ‘Aww’ from the elves. When the pair separated a sort of glittery puff of smoke enveloped Oswald and when it dissipated he was back to how he was pre de-Santafication, festively plump and with shoulder length white and black streaked hair. “Wow.” Ed breathed, looking Oswald up and down. Oswald suddenly felt self conscious “Is..that a good wow..?”

“Yes, it’s a good wow.” Ed assured. Oswald’s attention was pulled away by the clock chiming. “Oh god, I gotta go.” Oswald was about to head for the sleigh until he remembered something “Zsasz, I need my coat.”

“Oh, yeah! Hold on a second.” Zsasz ordered before running inside and quickly coming back out. He handed Oswald the coat but Oswald immediately noticed it wasn’t his usual one, the coat had the same bright white trim as the other one except it was a beautiful reddish purple with a bright red sash which complimented it perfectly. “Oh, Zsasz..”

“I figure if your most outlandish demand is a purple suit then...that isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever heard..”

“Zsasz, I-“

“You’re a really good Santa, I’ve recently been reminded of just how good..”

Oswald patted Zsasz on the shoulder and put the coat on.

    Oswald was about to depart but he stopped to turn to Ed. “You wanna try that sleigh ride again except this time with the truth?”

Ed pondered for moment “I..well, I-“ Ed was cut off when something bumped his leg. He looked down to see a bulldog staring at him curiously. “Aaw, who’s this?” Ed asked, picking the dog up. Oswald cleared his throat “Uh..erm..his name is Edward..”

Ed’s brow furrowed and he looked at the dog in his arms, as if checking for a resemblance “You named your dog after me?”

Oswald was blushing and fiddling with the reins in his hands.

“That’s...really cute.” Ed said softly, setting the dog down. “I was going to say yes..I would like to try that sleigh ride again.”

Ed paused as Oswald helped him up into the sleigh “Not over any oceans.”

“Don’t worry, Eddie, I wouldn’t let you fall...ever.”

     Ed was still marveling at the fact they were flying when Oswald interrupted his thoughts. “So you wanna tell me how your Christmases actually were?”

“Um...well, I didn’t lie when I said my parents didn’t put any effort in..but they did drop me off at my grandma’s every Christmas since I was a toddler and she did her damnedest to make sure I would believe in Santa. She put out milk and cookies, of course, and then carrots for the reindeer-“

“That’s always a really nice gesture, cause they love carrots.”

“She also put out a cot so Santa could take a nap.”

“Santa doesn’t have time to nap for the record.” Oswald said defensively.

Ed breathed a laugh at Oswald’s seriousness and continued “And in the morning the cookies would be gone and the milk would be gone and the carrots would be gnawed-“

“Gnawed? The reindeer don’t gnaw carrots they eat them whole.”

“Ozzie...can you stop fact checking me please?” Ed chided fondly.

“Sorry, sorry. Continue.”

“The cot would be mussed and there would be the most amazing presents under the tree. One year it was a rocking horse that I called ‘Harvey’ ironically..” there was spite in Ed’s tone as his thoughts drifted to Detective Bullock “Another year it was a wagon that I used mostly to carry books in and it was all magical..”

“Why did you stop believing?”

Ed rolled his eyes “Don’t you know already?”

“That feels like cheating, I want you to tell me.”

Ed cleared his throat “Well..my grandma was trying to get custody of me and I wished so hard that- I wanted to be with her so bad, and I was so sure but they said she was too old and I.. I-I was devastated.” Ed’s tone had turned very sad “I didn’t tell her that I’d stopped believing and our last Christmas together went like all the others...it was actually almost more special to think she was the one doing all those things for me. That year there was this beautiful doll under the tree with green eyes and strawberry blond curls that had a dress and bonnet made of green silk with...with pink lace on the collar of the dress and on the edge of the bonnet...” Ed was choking back tears as memories were flooding him “My grandma knew if I took the doll home my father would have never let me keep it so it stayed at her house and...later that year she died and never got around to leaving it to me in her will so...I never saw it again...” Ed wiped away the few tears streaming down his cheek. There was a few moments of silence before Oswald cleared his throat “You know, I think I left my watch in the back of the sleigh, would you look back there for me?”

Ed nodded and crawled half over the seat to look, he was about to ask what this watch looked like when his eyes caught something green and pink and frilly under the seat. His hand was shaking as he reached over and pulled the object out. He was met with big green glass eyes framed strawberry blonde curls. Oswald couldn’t help but let a smile cross his face as Ed sat back down, doll in his arms. “You’re really raising the bar for husbands everywhere, you know..” Ed squeaked through tears hugging the doll to himself. Oswald wrapped his arm around the taller man, feeling very much like he was already pretty good at this whole husband thing.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 255: "Hospital”

Previously on BnHA: Aizawa and Present Mic found out their dead best friend Shirakumo was necromanced by All for One and Ujiko and turned into everyone’s favorite villain mom bartender M.D., Kurogiri! Gran Torino and Naomasa were all “hey you guys should talk to him and see if you can restore his memories through the power of friendship” and so they all sat down together to do that. Kurogiri was all “so tell me how is my son Shigaraki Tomura, I love him so much, he is so emo and I must protect him” and Aizawa and Mic were all “THIS GUY HASN’T CHANGED ONE IOTA” and Aizawa started crying and was all “SHIRAKUMO LET’S GET MARRIED AGAIN AND BE HEROES TOGETHER LIKE WE ALWAYS WANTED.” Oh and also we found out Aizawa only fake expelled his previous students and it was just so that he could PREPARE THEM FOR LIFE!! and afterwards they got to go back to U.A. again and live happily ever after. And so basically I’ve lost track of how many hugs Aizawa needs here now but it’s a lot.

Today on BnHA: Shiraguri’s brainwaves start going all wonky and everyone is like “OH SHIT IT’S WORKING” and Aizawa and Mic decide it’s time to shift this drama into overdrive, so they get right up against the glass and start shouting “YOU’RE OUR FRIEND!!” and stuff over and over until IT FINALLY WORKS!! and Kurogiri’s face shifts into Shirakumo’s. Somehow the effect is incredibly sad and moving rather than terrifying as fuck, but unfortunately all Kumo can manage to get out is “hospital” before his mind overloads and he passes out. Fortunately for our heroes, “hospital” is actually an awesome clue which can totally lead them to Tomura and Ujiko’s location if they play their cards right, probably! Or at least Hawks seems really psyched about it, idk. Anyway so the chapter ends with Ujiko going FULL MAD SCIENTIST and wreaking havoc on Tomura’s body in order to -- I’m pretty sure, anyway -- turn him into some kind of fully sentient ultimate high end Noumu. Welllllll shit.

so that sure was a fun little wrinkle last week, huh. the two biggest scanlators deciding that in the spirit of the holidays, they were going to stop translating WSJ series and instead support the official releases out of the goodness of their hearts and definitely not at all because Shueisha was eyeing them threateningly and making little throat-slitting gestures. that was a ride. these are interesting times lol

but at any rate, if this is how it’s going to be for now then I’ll adjust! it is nice to have everyone support the official release, and obviously the image quality is way better, and Caleb’s translations are by and large pretty good. and obviously we’ll get used to reading the chapter on Sundays instead of Fridays (hell, I remember when the SJ leaks still came out on Wednesdays, so it’s not like we haven’t done this same old song and dance before lol). but Friday did happen to be a more convenient day for my schedule personally, so it might take a bit of adjusting for me to figure out what my posting schedule is going to be moving forward

anyways so I’m sorry this recap is so ridiculously late, but here we go at last!

so the Tartarus guard, who by the way is very clearly Seiji’s dad (WHEN ARE THE SHIKETSU KIDS COMING BACK), is tapping frantically at his touch screen even though it’s not doing anything, and he says he’s detecting unusual brainwaves. omg

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK IT MEANS, OBVIOUSLY THEY UNLOCKED THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP, MAN! THEY DID IT

omfg. the guard just says “he’s agitated.” I’m going to need you to have more hype than that my good sir. please

holy shit Nao

attention everyone, HAS ANYONE SEEN NAOMASA’S FUCKING CHILL, BECAUSE HE SEEMS TO HAVE FUCKING MISPLACED THAT SHIT. someone please explain to this man that there is a time and a place to play good cop bad cop and this is not it. “oh, Shirakumo is starting to recover his memories? well then [busts into the prison cell and grabs him by the collar and slams him against the wall] WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR!?”

(ETA: so apparently Nao’s detective instincts are cleverer than mine. he saw that Kumo was potentially going to emerge, but probably not for long, so he gave him the most important question so he could focus on answering that. good job! still not a lot of chill but hey.)

meanwhile Aizawa is all “if what they said is true I’m looking at my friend’s corpse”, while still crying by the way, and yeah, so MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE. this year Santa decided to change it up and just make everyone real sad. happy holidays

lord he’s leaping to his feet and shouting “WHO DID THIS TO YOU”

meanwhile I can’t stop staring at Present Mic with his tongue sticking out. why are you sticking your tongue out. why are anime characters like this. you know, Stain also used to stick his tongue out. Present Mic U.A. traitor confirmed

also!! so many people have beef with Ujiko, though! pretty soon they will have to take a number and get in line

oh no Kumogiri is malfunctioning

Aizawa’s all “ANSWER ME SHIRAKUMO” and OH MY GOD LOOK AT THIS

I HAVE NEVER SEEN AIZAWA SHOUTA SO INTENSE AND I CAN’T TEAR MY EYES AWAY FROM THE SCREEN AHHHHH

so there’s some more of “WE WANTED TO BE HEROES TOGETHER” and “YOUR NAME IS SHIRAKUMO OBORO” and all of that other “SNAP OUT OF IT ALREADY” stuff, and you’re damn right I am eating ALL THAT SHIT right up, hell yes. IT’S A TROPE FOR A REASON PEOPLE

oh my god

bwo...hh...?

(ETA: I feel like I should explain that although I have a subscription to Viz, I really hate how their chapter viewer is set up, so I read the chapter on one of the vertical scroll-to-read sites instead. I prefer scroll-to-read for a lot of reasons, but the biggest one is so that I can read the chapter slowly (since I’m writing as I go) without spoiling what’s in the next panel. that being said, this next page is one of the few where Viz obviously got it right, so I’ll be posting the full image.)

SDFLSDLFKHSDLKJGOISDJFOSK

（┐° o °  ┐） ( ｣｡╹o╹｡)｣

feelingsfeelingsfeelingsFEELINGS

(ETA: on a reread I am fascinated by the fact that that bandage on his nose actually seems to be A PERMANENT PART OF HIS FACE APPARENTLY lol what.)

READ THE FUCKING ROOM, DUDE. also look how tiny Gran Torino is. he thought we wouldn’t notice through all of our tears. but we did. would you like me to fetch you a box

ha ha ha so now back to the drama

heh so anyway, the fact that this smoke Shirakumo face still looks like a child is straight up destroying me. how are you guys. how is everyone. feliz navidad

FKSLDJSLK HOLD UP

IS HE TRYING TO SAY “SHOUTA”, I CAN’T, I’M?!?!!!!

ADSLFKJALSKDJW

(ETA: I think you can see Shirakumo’s eye rolling back here as he fights against the brainwashing omg. this chapter’s fucking art, though.)

YESSSSSS you keep on ticking off that checklist of clichés, Horikoshi!! I’m so weak for this shit it’s not even funny. actually that’s not true, this plotline is usually hit or miss with me, but I’ll tell you what though, if there’s one guaranteed way to have me freaking the fuck out rather than sighing and rolling my eyes, it’s to have AIZAWA FUCKING SHOUTA be the one pounding on the wall of glass and screaming at his former lover to fight the layers of conditioning waging war on his mind. ohhhhhh god

lol the brainwave detecting screen is losing its fucking shit also and beeping like crazy. this tension is so thick you could plant a flag in it yeesh

is this Kumo remembering stuff??!

(ETA: thank you to the anon who pointed out I posted the wrong image earlier lol.)

why do shounen characters always recall events from a third-person camera view. curse this ambiguous flashback

AHHHHH

HOSPITALLLL ahh what??? “SHOUTA, HOSPITAL.” oh my god. Shirakumo I commend you for not having your first words after dying and being brought back to life and brainwashed for 15 years and then waking up in a straitjacket in a prison cell be, “FUCK ME OH FUCKING SHIT WHAT THE FUCK.” you and I are very different people but I respect that

HOLY SHIT HIS HEAD EXPLODED

so now everyone’s freaking out and we’re zooming in on Kumo’s eye again. by the way this is going to kill me when it’s animated oh god

OH NO THE PANEL WENT BLACK AND IT GOT ALL SILENT

(ETA: hmm I don’t think Caleb Cook knows what “whump” means nowadays. whump is what I wish we had here. instead it’s just lots of hurt but very little comfort. JUST LOTS OF PAIN AND SADNESS.)

Horikoshi please have mercy oh lord. also I see their hands touching, you. they honestly should be gripping each other fucking white-knuckled, this is all very traumatic. I think that if Shouta was holding Mic’s hand while his other hand was pressed against the glass I would probably start sobbing for real

what the fuck

did they knock him back out?? they seem really calm and optimistic about all this lol

oh godddddd

HE’S NOT CRYING YOU’RE CRYING SHUT UP. GOD, MIC, WOULD YOU PLEASE JUST GIVE HIM A HUG ALREADY??

so now they’re bidding farewell to Nao and Gran -- and HOLY SHIT --

okay hold up -- I just realized -- Kumo was trying to give them a hint about Ujiko’s location. holy shiiiiit. PLEASE START INVESTIGATING HOSPITALS, NAO AND GRAN. holy shit the Noumu arc is heating uppppp

Aizawa’s asking what’s happening with Kurogiri now, and I feel like he maybe should have asked that immediately after the fact rather than as an afterthought while they were getting ready to leave but okay

Nao says he kind of “short-circuited or something” and yeah that tracks with what we saw. though it sure does make that “THAT’S ALL FOR TODAY FOLKS, GOOD JOB BOYS, YOU GET A GOLD STAR” business just SUPER WEIRD though, but let’s be real, Nao has been swinging and missing with striking the right tone all day today

and now Gran is apologizing to Mic and Aizawa for the exquisite emotional torture he just put them through, but he says something is bound to come from it. WELL YEAH NO SHIT IT HAD GODDAMN BETTER

Aizawa apparently hasn’t run out of sad/tired/haunted expressions yet, if you can believe it

pretty soon everyone is going to be sad, tired, and traumatized! heh. it’s going to be so fucked up hahaha crying smiling emojiiiii

oh hey and we’re cutting to another flashback of AFO doing what he does best, being callously dismissive of human lives!

this guy. right here. is a rat bastard. for real. also Horikoshi sure picked a hell of a chapter to go all out on the art again, jesus. this is probably the first time I’ve looked at AFO’s fucked up face and actually thought “yep, that’s a mutilated human man” rather than “shouldn’t you be out floating in space with your asteroid friends trying to smash the Millennium Falcon?” so anyways yeah this panel is a big NOPE from me, thank you

but on the other hand, when Horikoshi uses those art powers for good, such as carefully penciling in every last individual hair of Aizawa’s perpetual five o’clock shadow, that I don’t mind so much!

yes. yes good

so now they’re vrooming off, and we’re hanging back with Gran and Nao for a minute

YESSSSS GOOD JOB NAO!!

looooool it’s ringing up the head of the HPSC and her phone’s buzzing and she’s giving it this hella dramatic look. like this is some patented Todoroki-level dramatic whooshing right here

that’s just how dramatic this entire arc is going to be, hopefully

WAIT WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW

IS THAT A CODED MESSAGE FOR HIM TO GO CHECK OUT THE HOSPITAL. AND HOW BUSY ARE YOU, HAWKS. ARE YOU THE “I AM IN SOME DEEP, DEEP TROUBLE” KIND OF BUSY, OR JUST THE STAYING-IN-CHARACTER KIND OF BUSY. YOU CASUAL BASTARD, WHO CAN EVEN TELL WITH YOU, I’LL JUST HAVE TO SCROLL DOWN TO SEE

oh hh my go

“LITTLE LATE TO ASK ABOUT THIS STUFF” so he comes from the Bakugou Katsuki school of tutoring, eh

I love that he actually followed through on explaining the PLF’s philosophy to Twice. and Twice is such a good boy. he’s studying so diligently. look, he didn’t ask to join a doomsday cult, it just kind of happened so now he’s just doing his best to figure it all out

and it definitely was a coded message, then. smoooooth, HPSC lady, smooth. so I wonder if the fact that she gave him a specific hospital implies a time jump. because I don’t think she’d have him investigate just any old hospital until they had a better lead and/or a more solid idea of what they were looking for

lol what the fuck

well I sure do not have any idea what this man is talking about

-- HOSDFLKJDLY SHIT WE’RE CUTTING TO UJIKO WE ARE CUTTING TO FUCKING UJIKO RED FUCKING ALERT!!!

HE’S TALKING ABOUT TOMURA I’M NOT CALMMMMMMMM AHHHHHH

FUCCKLKL FUCK THE WHAT HOLY SHIT WHAT DID HE DO

oh my god oh my god oh m

he made Tomura a Noumu. holy fucking shit that’s what he did. of course. so he’ll be able to possess multiple quirks, but because he benefits from Ujiko’s years of high end Noumu research, his sense of self will remain intact

AND DOESN’T THIS PROCESS JUST LOOK EVER SO PLEASANT. jesus christ. he’s not even allowed to lie down, for some reason this procedure can only be done while he’s hovering over the bed Exorcist-style with his mouth locked open in a silent scream (ETA: or is that actually his laughter we’re seeing?? because this panel wasn’t raw enough already I guess??) while random spurts of blood come chucking out all over the place. well that’s just

and Tomura fucking volunteered for this. how many scores of others didn’t?? holy fucking shit Ujiko. it’s not easy to be the most evil man in a chapter where a foil-wrapped potato with eye holes started waxing poetic about all the children he harvested and killed like some kind of bloodthirsty sommelier, but YOU FOUND A WAY. dancing a fucking jig while your so-called masterpiece is being gruesomely tortured in the foreground. man if there’s any justice in the world, we’ll find out in this arc that Ujiko used science to make himself immortal so that once he’s finally captured they can just keep killing him over and over again. I do not like him!!

so that’s it! we really are doing this thing, holy shit. Noumu arc here we come. see you guys next decade har dee har

[mlepclaynos99]

💛 Family (Christmas Morning) 💛

The last chapter to the 12 Days of Peraltiago I’ve been writing!

Summary: It's Christmas morning at the Peralta-Santiago household!

Read on AO3

Or

Amy had the best memories of Christmas morning; waking up to the smell of her mother’s cooking, the excitement to open up presents that would have her up earlier than ever, rushing to wish her parents a Merry Christmas before trying to sneak a present, betting with her brothers on who could finish breakfast the fastest, and then the opening of presents that every kid looked forward to. She would remember Christmases where she would sit in her dad’s lap waiting for him to figure out how to assemble the elaborate dollhouse she had gotten as a gift and the other times she spent running around the house to stop her brothers from taking her presents to tease her, only do the same to them. But what she remembered the most was among the chaos of 8 children running around on Christmas morning, her parents always made sure that as the morning mayhem was over, they would pack themselves in their living room, and everyone would sit around, keeping their new toys aside for some time, playing games and singing together.

Jake on the other hand, had no holiday memories; his only excitement during the season was for winter break from school which meant no homework, he could stay up all late watching all his favourite movies and TV shows, and eating ice cream or anything else he whenever he wanted. The first few years he had tried to remember what his parents would do for the holidays only for nothing to come up in mind, perhaps because his parents were constantly arguing and if there were any happy moments, he had shoved them so far back in his mind with the horrible ones. All he remembered about the holidays was his mom leaving super early and telling him to wake up only for him to never listen to her, and the same amount of money she would always leave for him to order his favourite pizza for dinner. Christmas morning was like any other morning for him; just him all alone at home letting the time pass until he fell asleep on the couch. The one faint memory that made him smile was the brief moment he would wake up in the middle of the night to feel a blanket being put over him and his mom’s whispered good night before she kissed his forehead.

Now they had had their own family and their own Christmas mornings.

The Peralta-Santiago Christmas morning always started off with Jake being the first one up as he let Amy sleep in just long enough for him to brew her the cup of coffee she needed every morning. Jake was never an early riser, but having kids changes how you sleep, in that now he and Amy got to sleep when the kids slept. But Christmas morning was the exception he always made for his wife and kids.

He always heard Amy’s reminiscent stories about how she loved waking up the smells of cinnamon and sugar, that made her want to run to the kitchen, and he knew it wasn’t the smells of Cinnamon Toast Crunch he would eat on Christmas morning that she was talking about. Jake knew he wasn’t a great cook, but he also knew he wished his kids would one day grow up and tell happy stories about Christmas – that when they thought of dad on Christmas, it would bring a smile to their face, not a sadness.

So dutifully, he would plug in the fancy earbuds Amy had bought him as a gift two years ago (even after they promised no big gifts in preparing for their daughter’s arrival) and began making breakfast for his family. Jamming out to Taylor Swift, he rolled up the sleeves of his reindeer pajama tops to make the pancakes his wife and kids loved. Diligently working in the kitchen, he didn’t notice when Amy had walked into the kitchen.

She had woken up to an empty bedside and today was the only time she didn’t mind, knowing there was a steaming hot cup of coffee waiting for her in the kitchen along with her husband (who she would describe just like that coffee). Arms wrapped around herself to keep from the cold as she watched Jake busy at work, using the same focus he used when he was at work to place cinnamon rolls made by his best friend into the oven, which she knew was because she had made a passing comment about loving them. Walking up to him as he turned back to his pancakes, he looked around their kitchen and understanding exactly what he was looking for – which being married for 7 year does – she picked up the cookie cutters off the dish rack. Wrapping her arms around him, stopping him in his search with a smile, she held the two metal objects in front of him.

“Snowman for Bella and gingerbread man for Mac.”

Turning to face after taking the cookie cutters, Jake found himself engulfed in his sleepy wife’s arms and he wished he could have stayed there for the entire day as she leaned in to kiss him.

“Merry Christmas sweetheart.” He mumbled into the top of her while she rested her head on his chest, their fronts meeting so he could put his arms around her.

“Merry Christmas babe.” She placed her lips against his neck, holding him tight knowing this was moment of peace before their kids woke up and there chaotic Christmas cheer in their home.

Finally parting back from him when a yawned escaped her, Amy leaned against the counter, watching Jake chuckling in his own amusement as he poured chocolate chip pancake batter filling the outlines of the cookie cutter on the pan, making breakfast in festive shapes for his kids. He really was one of those dads and it took everything in her power to not pull his cheeks, realizing he was above and beyond what either of their dads every did. Seeing him yawn, she forwarded her mug towards him, which he absentmindedly sipped from too busy with his pan. Amy wasn’t lying when she later told their kids it looked like he would once again being fed the gross jellybean flavours from their BeanBoozled game. Quickly apologizing as she bit her tongue to hold back her laugh, she fixed him his type of coffee as he started making pancakes for her sans chocolate chips.

As he set up their breakfast table, Amy knew she had to double check she had put all the presents under the tree and all the stockings were completely stuffed. Doing her part in the living room, she picked up the cookies and milk the kids had left out for Santa and moved the coffee table aside knowing they needed the space for the kids to open their presents. Bringing out the Christmas themed throws and placing them on their couch, she looked around the house satisfied as Jake pulled out the cinnamon rolls, letting the fragrance of the spice fill their home. Only able to kiss his cheek as a thank you for bringing a piece of childhood into her Christmas morning, she felt his arm linking into hers as he proudly smiled on.

Walking into their son’s room, they found it empty and look at each other with worried looks before they heard giggles from the room next door belonging to their daughter. Shaking their heads, they walked into Bella’s room finding their two-year-old and five-year-old talking amongst themselves as if hiding a big secret. Clearing his throat, the two kids looked at them like they had been caught hiding cookies Bella’s dresser again but relaxed as Jake brought out his deep Santa voice.

“Merry Christmas children!”

Separating themselves as the kids squeals jumping off the bed, Jake immediately kneeled down and had his arms opened for them to fill. Almost knocking the wind out of him as the two kids jumped to give him hugs, yelling Merry Christmas, Amy kneeled down in laughter as the kids turned to her.

“Merry Christmas Macaroon!” She kissed the top of Mac’s head as he yelled Merry Christmas, clearly this being his favourite day after his birthday.

“Merry Christmas Bella!” She repeated the same with their daughter who had not inherited the same energy levels as Jake, rather was more like her mother and softly kissed Amy’s cheek before she wished her with an equally soft voice.

“Mewry Chwistmas mommy!”

“What about dad?” Jake sat cross legged on the floor with now empty arms and a pout on his face that made Amy remember she had three kids at times.

“You already got hugs!” And sometimes, she joined in the childish behaviour, especially when it came to getting their children’s attention.

Bella rushed back to Jake’s arms, casually sitting on his lap and putting her arms around his neck as he grinned proudly at Amy.

“I’m her favourite!”

“Mom’s my favourite!” Mac spoke up before Amy had the chance to say anything and Jake looked on offended as it was Amy’s turned to proudly smile while squeezing their son in a tight hug.

As the children laughed about their parents being silly again, Amy suddenly remembered how they all ended up in the same room and turned to the kids, knowing very well they were up to something.

“So what were you munchkins doing?”

As if it was a cue that set them off, Mac and Bella ran back to her bed. Getting off the floor slower than their kids, Jake and Amy shared a look wondering what was going on, a knowingly look that they were about experience the joys of being a parent or the not so fun side of parenting.

For the first time, they watched both their children shyly shuffling their feet and keeping their eyes lowered as they forwarded a folded paper to them, Mac nudging his baby sister to say “Merry Christmas” with him. Accepting what they realized was a card, they sat down on the tiny toddler bed, Bella once again climbing onto Jake’s lap. Amy opened the card revealing Mac’s kindergarten writing spelling out happy holidays and stick figure drawings of the four of them. He definitely had Jake’s writing and artistic abilities, but what made the parents smile prouder than they had been earlier was the scribbled “from Mac and Bela”, their daughter’s misspelled name written in a pen Mac had clearly picked up earlier this morning. They both knew this was probably a school craft Mac had made before the holidays, but his thoughtful gesture of helping his sister scribble her name onto it made it all the more special.

“This might be the best present we’ve ever gotten, don’t you think?” Amy looked at Jake while the brother and sister hi-fived at their success.

“Definitely! It’s best present from the best children.” Sandwiching their kids into a hug, Jake looked up at Amy both wanting to tell the other about amazing their kids were. Carefully closing the card, Amy knew it was going to go up on the fridge and in a special box in her closet after the new year.

“Now pancakes are getting cold! No one want breakfast today?” Jake picked Bella up as she clapped her hands in excitement, watching Mac run out of the room knowing exactly what was waiting on the breakfast table.

Less than an hour later, the kitchen was full of empty dishes and fireplace held into empty stockings. Amy had taken up cleaning the kitchen while Jake made sure the kids would be bathed and ready for opening their big presents. They must have really worked out their timing in the last two years as Amy had just taken a seat on the couch when she heard her three favourite people running out of the rooms ready for presents.

Before they knew it, there was wrapping paper all over the place, the kids had been laughing as they uncovered all the gifts they had gotten. Mac was jumping in front of Amy, asking her to show him how his remote-controlled robot toy worked while Bella was once again seated Jake’s lap, patiently watching him assemble her new activity table asking questions about every part he was adding on and then removing when he misread the instructions.

Looking eyes from across the room, Jake and Amy shared a serene smile. It was perfect & the day had just begun.

A short while later

As candy canes lay on the coffee table, a display of tiny gingerbread houses along their kitchen island, Jake & Amy heard their children singing along to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. The bright lights reflected the ribbons, bows, and wrapping paper all over the living room carpet, which they walked past to stand under the mistletoe placed in the corner by their framed holiday cards to sneak a moment away from the kids busy with their toys. 

Soon changed from their matching PJs to their matching sweaters and Santa hats, they sat down on the couch with their children in their laps. As snow gently further covered the city outside, the family of four was sipping on Jake’s signature hot chocolate watching Christmas movies.

In the middle of watching Elf, when Bella was almost asleep against Jake’s chest and Mac was busy in the movie resting on Amy’s arm, Jake glanced over at Amy. Sharing a soft smile with the woman who had every part of his life better, he looked down at their children momentarily before he finally said the words she had never heard in all the years of being with him.

“I love the holidays.”

Reaching past their kids, Amy grabbed his hand before they turned back to their movie. She blinked back a tear knowing he had always loved the holidays, but never had a family to make him realize the same. Snuggling in closer to their kids, she ran her free hand over Mac’s hair, feeling lucky enough to be the one to build a family with him. And the gratefulness for their perfect little family just grow more with every Christmas morning.

[pomnavi]

Chapters: 3/?

Fandom: 血界戦線 | Kekkai Sensen | Blood Blockade Battlefront  

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Klaus von Reinherz/Leonardo Watch

Characters: Leonardo Watch, Klaus von Reinherz, K.K. (Kekkai Sensen),

Tags: Christmas Presents, Sweaters, Knitting

Summary:

Leo wants to get Klaus a present for Christmas, but he’s not sure what to get him (and he’s woefully low on funds). Plus, would getting your (super hot) boss (that you may have a crush on) a present be coming on too strong? He’s not sure what to do, until K.K. gives him a great idea >:)

Chapter 1: Inception of a Bad Idea

Chapter 2: An Attempt was Made

Chapter 3: The Final Result

Leo stared at the work in his hands with worry. He had initially planned on making a sweater, and had even gone to the trouble of getting Klaus’s measurements from Gilbert secretly after explaining the situation to him.

There were only a couple days left till Christmas though, and he had messed up a few times and needed to undo and redo project at least twice. So far, he only had about 6 inches of the bottom of the sweater done, and hadn’t even started on the sleeves. Leo thought back on the past month; there just wasn’t enough time between Libra and his part-time job, especially when he couldn’t use the downtime at the office because Klaus was there.

It was clear to Leo that it was too late to try and finish it with the time he had left. He thought about scrapping the idea all-together and using what little money he had left to try and buy Klaus a present, but once he deducted Michella’s allowance, and his food and living costs, he only had about twenty dollars.

But he didn’t want to go that route. He really wanted this present to be special, and to maybe try confessing his feelings at the party. Even if he went Christmas shopping now, Leo didn’t have any good ideas about what he could get Klaus that would be special and within budget.

Also, what did you get a man that was so rich he had a private butler?

He groaned, rolling over in bed with the knitting supplies strewn about. The pattern book fell out of the supply bag, right next to Leo’s head.

Leo grabbed the book with one hand, and leafed through again, looking for ideas. Maybe he could turn it into something else?

+++

Leo stayed up late right before the day of the party, putting the finishing touches on his present. He wrapped it carefully with a goofy wrapping paper design that had cartoon reindeer and tiny santas all over it. He then sharpied on “To Klaus” on the little card attached to a red ribbon with the nicest handwriting he could muster, before setting it aside with his suit and passing out for the night.

Christmas day had arrived, and Libra’s hard work securing the city had paid off. There was little chance of a catastrophe big enough to interrupt the party happening, Steven made sure of that. Leo wasn’t needed at the office today, so he spent the rest of the day in a mild panic, going over what he would say to Klaus over and over again.

About an hour before the party started, Leo was mostly dressed and ready, but he was seriously debating just not showing up when he heard a firm knock at the door. Leo used his all-seeing-eyes and saw Zed, standing there patiently in custom formal wear, holding a discreet gold paper bag with tissue. He quickly opened the door.

“Zed? What are you doing here?” Leo asked. Zed gave a small smile before entering Leo’s tiny apartment.

“K.K told me to come get you for some reason. She didn’t say why, but I figured we could share the taxi to the party hall.”

Leo groaned but closed the door behind his friend. Zed walked in, and calmly sat on Leo’s only sitting area in his apartment, his bed. He motioned for Leo to come join him. Leo knew that Zed wasn’t stupid, and that the rest of the office had an idea of what his problem was. He sat next to his friend and buried his head in his hands. Zed patted him on the back.

“Today is going to be an important day for you right?”

Leo nodded.

“I don’t know how it’ll turn out, but as Huma say, ‘Sometimes you just have to man up and go for it’” Zed said with humor.

Leo smiled a little at that. “That’s something you definitely heard from Zapp!”

“Right, and sometimes that idiot has a point.” Zed sighed. Leo looked up at Zed and saw his face soften as he kept speaking. “Between the two of us, I thought I was going to be the one to make the first move. But that idiot knows just how to mess up my plans. He told me while we were walking to lunch one day, like he was talking about the weather! No preamble, no indication of any feelings beforehand, just the most ridiculous confession in Huma existence.”

Leo grinned. “That does sound like Zapp. What did he say?”

“He said, and I quote,” Zed put on his best Zapp impression. “Hey Zed, wanna date? I’ve got a movie and wine at my place, let’s hang out tonight.”

Leo laughed. “That’s literally the worst thing I’ve ever heard. But I guess it’s tame for him”

“Yeah, I know. But it was fun.” Zed readjusted his tie. “And I got my revenge later anyways.” Zed checked the time and then stood up. “Leo-kun, we really must get moving if we don’t want to be late. I know telling you not to worry won’t mean much, but it’ll be fine. The rest of Libra will have your back if you feel like drinking to forget later.”

Leo brightened at Zed’s words. “That’s right, the drinks are free tonight!”

Zed rolled his eyes and gathered both his and Leo’s presents. Leo stood up and put on his jacket, finally fully dressed and ready to tackle the ordeal ahead of him. They locked up his apartment and headed downstairs.

A/N: I totally missed the holidays as the deadline for this fic, but I'm still hoping to finish it lol.

[bijackkellys]

thunderstruck ; part three

safe haven.

Fandom: Newsies (All Media Types) Relationships: Jack Kelly/David Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer Word Count: 4,352 Dedications: a huge huge shoutout to my beta and gf @mistyw273 without whom this fic would not exist! tag list (if you’d like to be added to this list just send me an ask or dm!): @dimenovelcowboy​ @santa-fe-maniac @pulitzers-world @yo-let-me-get-a-milkyway @verified-dumbass @jewishdavidjacobs @agentsnickers @thetruthabouttheboy @the-games-changing Author’s Note: yes i know what i said and i'm aware that it's been WEEKS since i posted and i have absolutely nothing to say for myself. except that i'm the worst. and also that i'm going to stop making promises and tell you guys straight out that i'm probably not going to be any better at updating from this point forward, especially considering i'm working on college apps and sat prep right now. but it's fine! i hope the fact that this chapter is only like 10 words less than all the other chapters so far put together sort of makes up for it? but i kind of hate this part; i have a ton of exposition to get through so i'm really really sorry if it sucks and you've waited this long for like 4.3k of bullshit. i'm also sorry that i still haven't introduced kath—she will get here in the next chapter and she will play no small role in this fic, i promise!! we've just got a lot to get through leading up to that. anyway, thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed so far, and if you're still here despite my questionable reliability (or lack thereof) i love you, personally. tws for this chapter includes a minor panic attack, mentions of vomiting but it's pretty brief, and that's about it.

read it on ao3

MEDDA IS SINGING when they get to her apartment. 

Even through the closed door, Jack can hear her voice lilting down the corridor, a bittersweet melody that he can’t quite remember but loves all the same. It makes him falter, makes his throat close up as warmth and the ache of missing her spread through his chest in time with each other. He doesn’t know what she’ll say when she sees him, and the thought of her viewing him as a killer nearly makes his knees buckle. Distantly he thinks that it doesn’t matter what the world has been told as long as she believes him.

“Is this it?” the older boy says behind him, gesturing to the door that Jack is staring at. He’d mostly been quiet the whole walk here, but now he’s looking at Jack expectantly.

Jack nods and pushes back the tide of emotions swelling in his chest. If he waits any longer he might never be able to do this. He knocks twice on the door, and her singing cuts off abruptly; he hears her voice saying “Coming!” and then the lock clicking as the door swings open.

“Hi, Miss Medda,” Jack says hoarsely. 

She stares at him. For this brief, terrible moment, he thinks she’s going to turn him away, and then she’s crying and oh, she pulls him into a hug. Something he’s been trying to hold back since he found himself running in the streets hours ago spills forth. In her arms he can’t stop the tears; he feels suddenly twelve years old again, scared and small but not alone, not anymore.

“You’re alive,” she’s saying, over and over, like a mantra. “Oh, baby, you’re really here.”

Jack clings to her tightly. “I didn’t do it,” he breathes, desperate for her to know as she runs a hand through his hair. “The fire—that wasn’t me.”

“I didn’t believe them for one second.” Medda pulls him back at arm’s length. “But where have you been?”

He winces, looks away. “The Refuge. I just escaped.” Her mouth opens again but he shakes his head slightly and she nods, understanding immediately. 

“It’s okay, sweetie. We’ll talk later,” she says, and cups his cheek with a gentle hand. He leans into it, starved of positive contact like this for so long. “Jack Kelly,” she says warmly, her eyes shining—he’s gotten so used to hearing his name spit at him like a curse—“I thought I’d never see you again.” She huffs a laugh and smiles at him, wiping at his eyes with her thumb. “Don’t you ever disappear on me like that again, you understand?”

He gives a watery chuckle, maybe his first in months. “I’ll do my best, Miss Medda.”

She pulls him into another hug, squeezing his shoulders tightly, before her eyes come to rest on the two boys still standing awkwardly in the hallway. “And who are your new friends?” she asks.

“Oh, this is—” Jack breaks off, realizing abruptly that they had never gotten to introductions. The younger of the two steps forward and puffs his chest out.  

“I’m Les, and this is my brother, David,” he says brightly. He’s been solemn since Jack met him, no doubt jarred by his experience with the Snatchers, but Medda’s warmth is notoriously infectious. Even the kid’s older brother—Davey—cracks a smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says politely, and Medda beams and waves a hand.

“None of that. It’s Miss Medda to you, darling. Come on in,” She steps out of the doorway and gestures inside, placing a gentle hand on the small of Jack’s back as she ushers him in. He’s grateful for it, a grounding presence that reminds him he’s really here in front of her. “Stay as long as you like, boys.”

In the last few hours alone, Jack has felt like he’s been thrust into an entirely different world. Entering Medda’s apartment is a burst of shining familiarity; there’s the elegant wooden piano in the corner, the blooming plants lining the windowsills, the photos of the theater and the paintings Jack has done over the years hanging on the walls. The faint smell of cinnamon in the air. He may never have lived here, but it feels like coming home all the same.

“I’ve still got the clothes you’ve left here, if you want to change,” Medda tells him. “I’ll get something going for us to eat—how does Sancocho sound? I don’t have any plantains, and now I know it’s not quite the same without them—”

“That sounds incredible, Miss Medda,” Jack says, his mouth already watering. For as long as he’s known her, Medda has always made it a point to give him and the other boys a taste of home however she can manage. She’d tested recipes for Sancocho for months until she’d perfected the warm, rich stew that always drew up distant memories of Jack’s mother. 

Medda smiles at him and bustles into the kitchen, pulling vegetables from the fridge. “David, Les, is there anything you two don’t eat?” she calls to them.

“Oh, we keep Kosher, so no pork, shellfish, or meat and dairy together? And Les can’t have peanuts. Sorry,” Davey responds quickly.

“No worries, darling, this recipe doesn’t call for any of that anyway. Dinner will be ready in a couple of hours—Jack, why don’t you go clean up and get some rest? You look exhausted, baby.”

It’s one of those things he doesn’t fully realize until she points out, and then it hits him full-force; he thinks his legs will give with the impact of it. He’s tired and starved and wants absolutely nothing more than to take a hot shower and eat and sleep through the next day—and in truth the only thing holding him back is the still-stinging bite of the cuffs around his wrists. 

“Uh, Miss Medda—you got a screwdriver somewhere around here?” he asks tentatively, rubbing at the skin underneath them.

Her gaze drifts to his hands and she winces in sympathy. “In the office down the hall. There’s a toolkit on the shelf—you need some help, Jack?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’ve got it,” he says as he heads into the room.

It turns out to be harder than he expected. He spends a good ten minutes hacking at the cuffs with a screwdriver, but all he really succeeds in doing is scraping his wrists raw. He’s getting desperate, though—the longer he’s stripped of his powers, the less he feels like himself, and the silver steel is nothing but a jolting reminder of everything that’s happened. He needs to find a way to get these stupid things off. 

“It doesn’t look like you’ve got it.”

Jack’s head snaps up to see Davey standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. His expression is hard to read, half-concerned but laced with something else, and he’s sort of tentative as he steps into the room and kneels down beside Jack. “Here, let me.” He holds his hand out for the screwdriver. 

Jack gives it to him and splays his hands out in between them. Davey switches out the head of the tool for a tiny flathead and gets to work on the right cuff, astonishingly careful. His slender, practiced fingers pry open a tiny panel on the side of the cuff, exposing the circuit board underneath.

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” Jack notes.

Davey pauses his movement for a split second and then continues without looking up. “I was captain of my high school robotics team for two years,” he responds. “And I’m an engineering major.”

Jack clings to this small piece of information; it’s the first thing he’s learned about Davey since they met, and he’s already desperate for more. “Where do you go?” he asks. At this, Davey tenses up, and Jack bites back a wince. “I’m not trying to interrogate you,” he says flatly, after a moment. “Guess I just...thought you’d changed your mind about me.”

Davey’s dark eyes latch on to Jack’s for just a moment before darting away. “I don’t know yet,” he answers finally. He prods at the wires of the cuff; there’s this crinkle in his brow that Jack can’t help but think is sort of endearing. “Miss Medda seems like a really good person,” he continues, still barely looking at Jack. “And she clearly loves you a lot. It’s possible you could be lying to her, too, but the way you were when you saw her—no one’s that good of an actor.”

“So what’s your holdup?”

“I’m not sure what to believe.” Davey twists the screwdriver and bites his lip, then meets Jack’s gaze at last. “After you—after the hospital burned down, the whole city was in chaos. No one knew what to think or who to blame—the police revealed that the sprinkler line had been damaged, and that some of the exits had been sealed, and that the fire started because the power box had been tampered with.”

Jack’s stomach twists. “I don’t understand...you—you’re saying it wasn’t an accident?”

“I think if it had been, it would’ve been contained a lot faster,” Davey says darkly. “It hadn’t even been a week before The World published a full story about how it was Strike’s doing. Jack, there were witness statements, sources explaining how your powers could’ve caused this—”

“I was trying to save people,”

“A lot of people thought you had done it by accident. Or that you’d...snapped, or something.”

“I nearly died in that fire.” He isn’t entirely sure he hadn’t, to be honest. Everything since then is blurry and out of place, and he feels like he’s been set right back to grappling desperately for a handhold, like he’s in the center of an inferno all over again—

There’s a click of metal on metal and the cuff on his right hand clatters to the floor. 

“Got it,” Davey says, and suddenly Jack can breathe again. Even with the cuff still circling his left hand, he feels electricity surge through him, that familiar hum of lightning beneath his skin. A part of him he hasn’t felt in so, so long. 

Sparks dance over his fingertips, and the air fills with static. He can see the hairs on Davey’s arms standing on end and despite everything, fights the urge to laugh. Davey looks at him, eyes wide with amazement, and Jack wonders if he can taste the power in the air, too. 

“Thanks,” Jack says, breathless as he runs his hand over the torn skin of his wrist. 

Davey nods and gently takes his left hand, starting the process again and evidently more sure of what he’s doing now. “Jack,” he begins, but whatever he’s going to say next, Jack doesn’t let him finish.

“Someone set me up,” he says fiercely, trying hard not to sound as desperate for Davey to believe him as he really is. “Whatever evidence and witnesses they had—it was fake.”

“Okay, but why?” Davey presses. “Why go through all this trouble to frame a dead man? How did they get The World to publish a bunch of false information? And if someone really is trying to pin this on you,” there’s a click, and the cuff around Jack’s left hand pings against the ground, “who set the fire in the first place?”

-

Jack can’t remember the last time he’d had a hot shower. Even before the fire—and god, Jack is really about to start categorizing his life events as before and after his death, like that’s not absolutely insane—the lodging house never really had a surplus of hot water, especially with so many of them. Standing under it now, though, everything else melts into the background. There are scars and bruises along his skin that he hadn’t even noted before, but the water is like instant relief; he doesn’t have to think, just lets it wash him clean.

By the time he gets out, the effects of the drugs, which have been weaning away for hours now, seem completely gone. Everything is sharper, like he’s been thrusted into high-definition, his thoughts clearer and his memories—well, his memories becoming more painful by the second.

It’s not easy, trying to push it all back. As he pulls on fresh clothes, Jack stares at himself in the mirror, at the jagged scars raised against his chest and the tiny spots that pockmark his forearms where he remembers needles going in, and tries to reconcile this picture of himself—exhausted and hollowed out and afraid—with the identity he’d spent so long building up from the ground. He doesn’t look like Strike, New York City’s favorite vigilante. He looks like a scared kid.

He doesn’t know what to do. Something bigger than himself is brewing in the city, he knows it, he has to stop it. But he doesn’t know how. People are counting on him and Jack just wants to forget any of this ever happened.

There’s so much noise. Davey’s questions are ringing in his ears and behind them there are voices telling him he’s never, ever going to get out, and he thinks he might be on fire. Everything is too hot and too loud and hurts.

There’s nothing in his stomach to throw up, but he dry heaves over the toilet anyway.

Jack sits back on the cold tile floor and drags his knees up to his chest. He could just go—break out the money he’s been saving and skip town, hop on a bus all the way to Santa Fe. Crutchie could come with him, and he could change his name—again—and start fresh. Never see this place again.

Except there’s an arsonist on the loose in the city. There are Snatchers all over the streets, and maybe Jack wants nothing more than to leave it but New York is still his city, still his place to protect. He can’t just leave.

Jack tilts his head towards the ceiling, biting back the urge to scream. The unsteady silence is broken by a tentative knock at the door, and then Medda’s voice—“Jack, honey,” she says, “Dinner’s ready. You okay in there?”

Slowly, he picks himself off the floor, pulls the loose hoodie hanging on the door on over his clean t-shirt, takes a shuddering breath. “I’ll be right out,” he calls through the door, and glances at his reflection one more time. He can be Strike again. He can do this. 

And even if he can’t, he has to.

-

The Sancocho is perfect, warm and spicy and brimming with the taste of home. By the time he’s inhaled maybe three servings and helped clear the dishes, Jack is so exhausted that he doesn’t even make it to the guest room. He just stumbles towards the couch and collapses there with the sunlight still spilling in through the windows, falling hard and fast into a heavy sleep.

It’s dark when he bolts awake. He feels hot and breathless, his heart racing against his ribcage, and whatever awful memory had invaded his dreams left the sharp taste of metal in his mouth. Sparks flicker across his fingers, blinding blue-white in the darkness, and Jack curls his hands into fists to quell the lightning brimming in his veins. His eyes dart to the clock on the wall; it’s just past one in the morning. He doesn’t think he’ll get back to sleep any time soon.

He maneuvers around the coffee table to stumble blindly towards the kitchen instead. A dim glow catches his eye, then; Davey is sitting at the bar stools, hunched over his laptop.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Jack says, and Davey starts and then swears.

“Jeez, you gave me a heart attack,” he huffs as Jack chuckles lightly and fills a glass with water. “I thought you were still asleep. And...no. You?”

Jack shrugs. “I slept okay, got a few good hours. But I don’t think I can go back to bed. What are you doing?” he asks, nodding towards the open laptop.

Davey hesitates. “Miss Medda let me borrow her computer. I’m trying to contact the rest of my family,” he replies, his gaze flitting between the screen and Jack’s eyes. “When Les and I ran off there were already Snatchers at our house. None of them have powers, though. Just Les.” He works his lip between his teeth. “They said not to contact them in case the Snatchers found some way to trace it back to us, but I set up a separate email account and sent them a vague message, hoping they’ll know it’s me. I just need to know if they’re okay.”

Jack’s chest twists in sympathy. Davey’s family is just one more example of all the lives the Snatchers have torn apart—and Jack is the poster boy for their whole agenda. He has to fix this, for Davey, and for the rest of his city. “You’ll see them again soon, Davey,” he says—yet another promise he can’t afford to break—“I’m gonna make this right, okay?”

“How?” Davey scoffs. “You don’t even know where to start.”

Jack slips his hands into the pockets of his clean hoodie and feels the familiar weight of the flash drive he’d placed there. Actually, he might have some idea. “Can I use the computer?” Jack says, barely waiting for Davey’s nod before taking a seat on the barstool beside him and plugging the flash drive in. 

“What is that?” Davey’s brow furrows.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I took this from a computer in the Refuge’s control room, hoping I’d find something important. Maybe something here could give us a clue of what’s really going on.” There’s only a handful of files on the drive, and they’re labeled with numbers instead of actual names. Jack opens the first one and feels his heart sink. “Shit. It’s encrypted.”

“Let me try,” Davey says, pulling the laptop towards him and typing furiously. The computer makes a few error noises in protest as he works through the code, but Davey is laser-focused, seems to know exactly what he’s doing. He’s some kind of genius. “Got it,” he announces after a few minutes. Sure enough, the screen flickers, and rows of text begin to replace the numbers and symbols from before.

“That was incredible,” Jack tells him.

Davey shrugs and ducks his head, smiling just a little before turning back to the screen. “They look like email exchanges. Between some guy named Snyder—” Jack feels a cold trickle of shock run through him at that name, “—and...Joseph Pulitzer.”

“Wait, Pulitzer?” Jack leans forward to read over Davey’s shoulder. “As in the CEO of The World?”

“He’s running for mayor in next month’s election,” Davey explains. “It looks like he’s trying to get Snyder’s support? He’s promising money to fund the Refuge. But why would—shit.” There’s something dawning on his expression as he looks up at Jack, eyes blown wide. “Jack, a lot of his campaign has relied on anti-super propaganda. And...The World was the one who first published the story about you setting the fire.”

The realization crashes into him, hard and fast. “He’s the one who framed me.” Jack feels a hot rush of anger surge through him. “For what, a political platform? So that he could give the people a common enemy? Holy shit, did he set that fire for this...twisted agenda?” 

“I can’t believe this,” Davey shakes his head, leaning back in his chair and tugging his hands through his dark hair, shell-shocked. “How could he do something like this?”

How could he?

“I’m going to kill him,” Jack says fiercely, and the lights above him flicker. He stands up, feeling wild, brimming with untamed fury—innocent people died for Pulitzer’s insane power grab, and he has to pay for that. He can’t get away with this, he won’t; Jack can’t find it in himself to mitigate his anger right now, he needs to find Pulitzer and fix this.

“Jack—Jack!” Davey’s hand latches around his wrist and a shock like static electricity bursts between them, making him pull back. “Wait. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“What, you just want me to let him walk? He killed people, Davey. Innocent people.”

“You don’t actually know that yet.”

“I know enough,” Jack snaps, pulling back. “This can’t all be a coincidence, it makes too much sense. He has to be behind this, behind everything.”

“I’m not arguing that.” Davey is astonishingly calm; Jack doesn’t know how he can keep his resolve right now, after finding out something this sick. “But what are you going to do, break into his house and murder him? What is that going to solve? Things are only gonna get worse for supers.”

Jack hesitates. Davey is right—a personal attack on one of the most influential people in New York would make him even more of a villain than he already is. And every super in the city would suffer from it. He can’t make this some sort of revenge plot; he has to be smart about it. He takes a shuddering breath. “Then I’ll expose him. These emails—”

“—aren’t enough. All you have from this is a theory. Pulitzer would just find a way to spin it, make you look like the bad guy here. Again.” He shakes his head. “He holds all the cards right now. We have to find hard, indisputable evidence. What we need is a way to get close to him.”

“We?” Out of everything, that’s the word Jack gets hung up on. Davey’s making it sound as though they’re partners. 

Davey looks at him for a second. “I believe you, Jack,” he says finally. “I’m sorry I didn’t before. I don’t think you set that fire, and if we’re right, and Pulitzer did frame you, and we can find proof...we might be able to stop everything. Shut down the Refuge for good.”

“No, no—I’m not dragging you into this any further than I already have,” Jack stops him before he can go any further. His whole time as Strike, he’s been a solo act for a reason—not for lack of Race or Specs or Elmer trying to get him to let them join him—but because he can’t bring himself to pull someone else into this life. Especially not someone like Davey, who’s an engineering student, and a genius, and has a family. He’s got his whole life ahead of him. “I appreciate everything you’ve done to help me so far, I really do, but I can take it from here. You and your brother just lay low and stay out of trouble.”

“You can’t do this by yourself,” Davey argues. There’s something hardening behind his eyes, something bright and sharp and determined. “I’ve already shown you what I can do, so let me help you.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

He snorts, defensive. “I can handle it.”

“You think so?” Jack stares him down, skin buzzing. “I almost died because of this, and I may not remember everything about the Refuge, but I can tell you that it wasn’t pretty. If we try to take Pulitzer, there’s a good chance we don’t make it out alive.”

Davey doesn’t break his gaze. “But if we do it together, we double our odds,” he says quietly. When Jack snorts and turns away, Davey keeps going. “This is so much bigger than you or me, Jack. If we can pull this off, we could make New York safe for supers again. I promised that I would protect Les, but I can’t do that as long as there are Snatchers roaming the streets and as long as Pulitzer has power. And you can’t protect this city if you’re dead.” 

Jack wishes he didn’t have a point. “You could get hurt,” he counters. “You don’t even have powers.”

“You’ll protect me,” Davey replies swiftly, and something in Jack’s stomach twists.

“You have an awful lot of faith for someone who didn’t trust me an hour ago,” he says grimly, eyes darting away from Davey’s fierce ones.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Davey presses, unrelenting, and god, the offer is tempting. Davey clearly knows his way around his computers and technology, a skill that could be really helpful here, and more than that, Jack stupidly, selfishly doesn’t want to do this by himself. He wants a partner. He’s tired of being alone, and he hates himself for it. 

“We do this on my terms,” Jack says finally, and in the corner of his eye, he can see Davey smiling. “I say get out, you get out. You’ve got to be smart about this. Got it?”

“Understood,” Davey nods. “I’ll be okay, Jack. I promise. So where do we start?”

“It’s like you said, we have to get close to Pulitzer.” Jack sits back down, racks his brain for anything that could help. Pulitzer is a private person, watching the rest of the city from high off the ground; getting close to him would require someone who already knows him well. He can practically see the lightbulb over his head when it hits him—he knows the perfect candidate. He just hopes she’ll be willing to join them.

“I know someone who might be able to help,” Jack says, already drafting an email—coded words like the two of them used to use when he was just starting out as Strike. “She interned as Pulitzer’s personal assistant for a while when she was in high school, but the last time I saw her she was a journalism student, working for The Sun. She may not work for him anymore, but she knew Pulitzer as well as anyone.” Jack takes a deep breath and pleads silently that she’ll believe him, then sends the message. 

“And you think she’ll know what to do?” Davey asks.

“I’m sure of it.” Jack has always had faith in her; he knows she’ll come through, will fight for what she believes in. “If cards are what we’re playing,” he tells Davey, suddenly brimming with a newfound sense of determination, “then Katherine Plumber is our ace.”

[strangebrews]

perfect complements

chapter 3 // on ao3 // chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 4

------

Tommy remade the potato salad—potatoes cooked. Though overcooked, this time around, so that they dissolved into a mush of starch and mayonnaise when they hit Alfie’s tongue, but then again, it was bound to turn into that form at some point. Saved Alfie the labor of chewing, is how he spun it when Tommy eyed him from across the table. A silly justification, but Tommy did not object.

The Christmas feast was more of a snack, really. Tommy had tried with the salad, served it alongside some frozen peas and cubed carrots. There were charred chicken breasts at the bottom of his trash bin, concealed by the vegetable wrappers, but he refused to admit to those. One failure was enough, though after Alfie’s comment about the potatoes, Tommy was a bit curious how he would excuse something entirely inedible. 

The only other thing that was on the table were their glasses filled with cranberry juice, a Santa-shaped candle holder and Alfie’s fruitcake. He’d baked it with extra walnuts—an hour before their agreed time—the middle still warm when they bit in. The candle holder was brought over from his house as well—one of the many decorations on display there. 

Tommy had delivered on the music, just as he’d promised. One of the items among his odd blend of belongings was an old record player, paired with a box of Christmas records. His grandpa’s, he explained. Though the truth was that Tommy simply liked Christmas and everything related to it—he had bought the set on sale at some antique store, a long time ago. Lying about it meant that he could avoid the exhausting explanation of why someone like him could be caught humming along to Jingle Bells, something everyone always demanded upon finding out. 

With the music, an unlit candle in the middle, and the crumbs of what used to be cake on their plates, quaint, is how Tommy described the scene before him—as opposed to the pitiful he would’ve used just a few months ago.

Perhaps people could be thawed after all. 

-

It began snowing somewhere in between dinner and dessert, the flakes dusting the grass and trees outside.

They were washing dishes at the sink, their night coming to a close. Alfie had used the typical It’s getting late line, half-hoping a Christmas miracle would occur and Tommy would insist on him staying. But he didn’t, so Alfie forced the miracle into existence by offering to help clean the tiny mess they’d made.

Alfie was standing beside Tommy, drying the plates, their shoulders only a few inches apart, and he wished it was draftier in here—so that he could blame leaning into Tommy on a sudden gust of wind. Though the air was painfully still, and the task ended quickly.

The only miracle which occurred was Alfie finding the present he had for Tommy hidden under his jacket, as he dressed to leave. He’d forgotten about it, excitement expanding behind his ribs.

“Ah, right—Merry Christmas, Tommy Shelby.” Alfie admitted it was a challenge to choose a gift for someone who did not want to be unwrapped, but Alfie had been taking note of the bits of interests and characteristics that sprouted out of Tommy when they were together. He hoped they had not misled him.

It was a jar, filled with alternating layers of sand and seashells, encased in seawater. A little piece of Margate. Alfie had a whole collection of them—it was a hobby, of sorts, that he began after learning that the family would be selling their summer home soon. He created them using materials scavenged from around the property, because he was particularly fond of that town—nostalgic for the childhood bliss. And considering Tommy was constantly fussing over straightening the picture frame, it seemed he was fond of it too. 

Tommy took it from Alfie apprehensively, surveying it in his hands.

“I don’t have anything to offer.” He meant it gift-wise, though the phrasing came out ambiguous, and he did not correct himself. Any interpretation was acceptable, really—Tommy had nothing to offer. Red splotches began blooming on his cheeks. Tommy was cold, and he was emotionless, and he was distant, too selfish to consider that perhaps, buying something for a man who had been showering him with gifts for months would be an appropriate idea. And now he was giving him another one, Tommy once again empty-handed.

This had happened before—he perpetually shivered within a white wasteland, but he would refuse to extinguish Alfie’s warmth with his own chilled existence.

“I wasn’t expecting anything in return.” Alfie explained, hand idling in the space between them. 

“I can’t.”

“But—”

“Understand that I can’t.” and he handed back the jar, careful to not accidentally brush Alfie’s fingers.

And that was that.

He turned his attention to the table, pretending to busy himself with the hem of the tablecloth and did not look up until he heard the click of the door shutting behind Alfie.

Pitiful. The word had just been hiding beneath Tommy’s lie.

-

Uncertainty was a concept that Alfie had difficulty with. Ironic, considering the person he had been aching for since late September was the embodiment of that, along with a bundle of other unknowns.

Contact had broken off after that interaction. No window messages, no knocks on his door. He could have even pretended that the house beside his was vacant once again if it weren’t for the gift still lying on his counter, taunting Alfie for his own stupidity. 

He spent New Year’s Eve on the couch—counting down the seconds in his head as people danced on the TV screen—and took a single sip of champagne, just in case. For good measure. To avoid another layer of regret from piling onto the current heap pinning him down. 

-

It only took about 3 days into the new year before Alfie developed his resolution—he would continue to bake for Tommy.

He had seen the inside of Tommy’s refrigerator and tasted his cooking on multiple occasions, so it would be inhumane to deprive him of the only good food he had access to. That was, at least, how Alfie justified his own desperation. 

New recipes, that was the alternate explanation—the one he would turn to if ever prompted. He’d been rummaging around in the basement, storing away the holiday decor, when he came across a forgotten box of recipes his mother had given him. The last one in the set.

They were sorted by name—bagels, biscuits, breads, buns—and Alfie decided he would bake alphabetically, eventually exhausting the list. All 30 variations. 

And then, if Tommy had still not made any contact—because that was the underlying purpose of this plan, Alfie admitted to himself—then Alfie would stop. Entirely.

A month should be enough for him to finally accept the expiration of their friendship.

-

Alfie made and remade the first 5 recipes, never fully satisfied with how they tasted. He rolled, sliced, sprinkled and mixed, writing down his exact movements on a scrap of floury paper, hoping that it would somehow solve the issue, but he was still unsatisfied with every result.

It was because they were new recipes—needing to practice was natural—but he did not have that time and worried that serving Tommy something that tasted wrong would offend him even further.

He packaged the products of his baking tightly on disposable plates, bowls and sheets. There was no need to make Tommy feel obligated to return the ceramic dishes, and aluminum would hold in the heat well enough until Tommy found them on his doormat.

Which Tommy did find them, judging by the disappearance of the silver packages. Alfie successfully forbade himself from checking the giant trash cans outside of Tommy’s garage.

-

On the 6th day, Alfie realized he had not baked in something other than his pajamas in this new year yet.

The recipes were perfect from day 7, onwards.

-

If you squinted hard enough and ignored certain details, this little cycle of indirect give-and-take was basically the same thing as the routine they had before. You had to squint very hard, but Alfie did so gladly.

Tommy never responded, but purely out of habit, Alfie checked the empty window at the end of the hall every day.

So it was fair to say that his heart fluttered when he realized that there was now a white blob in it.

I think I’m going to do some renovations.

Day 20.

-

On Day 21, Alfie responded to the message. His immediate reaction the day before was to rush next door and ask in person—before inviting himself in onto the project—but a few deep breaths and some peppermint tea to settle his excitement produced this decision. 

What kind of renovations?

On day 22, he received a response. 

Some painting. Maybe some furniture. Some decorations. It was as descriptive as Tommy tended to get. Alfie smiled to himself.

He waited until day 23 to write back—even if this did turn out to be the tail-end of their relationship after all, there was at least one outstanding benefit that Alfie had reaped from it: more patience.

Very nice. Some bright colors will complement the flowers nicely. He stayed up the night leading into day 24.

-

Across the stretch of grass and behind the glass, Tommy tossed around in his own bed. 

He had extended the olive branch—he had done this intentionally, partially tormented into doing so by the scene from Christmas rattling inside of his head. 

Tommy Shelby was used to loneliness. He had pushed and been pushed away by enough people to eventually grow indifferent to being alone. Though in none of the other situations was anyone so persistent in continuing to care, however small the gestures might be.

Knowing Alfie, he had conjured up some reason for why he was still baking—probably something about it being ‘inhumane’ to deprive Tommy of good cooking. It was nice of him to do so, Tommy thought, but the food turned sour in his mouth without Alfie’s commentary as a side-dish.

Therefore, the renovation was a cluster of a few things: a legitimate goal, a weak apology, and a cryptic excuse to re-ignite their friendship. Because in 23-plus days, Tommy had learned that he preferred to be alone, together.

[superprincesspea]

Knock, Chapter 19

Everyone gets one mistake

Simon/You

Chapter 1    Chapter 2    Chapter 3    Chapter 4    Chapter 5  

Chapter 6    Chapter 7    Chapter 8    Chapter 9    Chapter 10

Chapter 11   Chapter 12   Chapter 13   Chapter 14   Chapter 15  

Chapter 16   Chapter 17   Chapter 18

When Simon yanks the door of the RV open you expect to see Negan’s devilish grin peeling across his lips but you don’t. Your savior isn’t Negan, Dwight or any of the others. Sitting in the driver's seat is an old man, untamed grey hair tucked into a beaten up Phillies hat and a beard that’s reaching for the curve of his belly. You think of Santa Claus but more importantly you think, if it came to it, you could take him.

“Get in!” he urges and your pistol slips, quietly, back into its holster while you share a look of agreement with Simon. This isn’t just your best chance, it's your only one. 

There are no other passengers inside the RV and as you stumble towards your seat you catch sight of a tiny plastic trophy which reads, “Worlds best Grandpa.” It’s not enough to fill you entirely with trust in this stranger but it's something. 

“So where you folks headed?” he says, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. 

“Just…” you pause, “out of Virginia.” 

“Well, I’m on my way to Pennsylvania so I guess you can join me until then,” he offers and Pennsylvania is as good anywhere, taking you further north and more importantly further away from Negan. 

“We’d appreciate that, Sir,” Simon replies, taking your hand and wrapping it in a cloth he’s ‘borrowed’ from the kitchenette.

In between thinking you were going to die and suddenly being rescued you’ve completely forgotten about the cut. Your heart clenches and you allow a tear to roll down your cheek as you stare out of the window. It had only been a day and you had already almost gotten Sylvie killed.

What kind of mother were you? Maybe this was the wrong choice? Maybe it had been the hormones that talked you into leaving. Maybe if you just went back then Negan would forgive you… Your mind is racing, your heart sinking. What if you and Simon couldn’t do this?

“We’re ok,” he whispers, his hand stroking soothingly along your hair.

You blink your tears away before turning to look at him but your face is puffy and he knows you well enough by now to know you’re upset.

“We’re allowed one mistake,” he says, smiling as his thumb brushes across your cheek to sweep away the tears.

“If anything would have happened to her I-”

“Nothing happened. Getting away today was always gonna be the hardest part. When we’re settled it’ll be smooth sailing, I promise.”

You know it's a white lie and maybe Simon is telling the lie to himself as well as you but he looks so damn sincere that you can believe him. After all that's why you’re out here in the first place. Together you can get through anything. 

Eventually the RV pulls up in a layby surrounded by trees on one side and an empty gas station on the other. 

“This looks like a good place to hole up for the night,” the driver says, hefting himself from his seat before pulling out a shotgun. 

Your hand quickly settles on your pistol, ready to use it if he makes any move to hurt you. He doesn’t. He opens the door of the RV and from the windows you watch him checking the perimeter. 

“You think we can trust him?” you ask Simon who’s now standing, watching his every move with more scrutiny than you are. 

“If he wanted to do something he’s had plenty of opportunity to try and why stop in the first place?” he says and you agree. 

Being a Savior has definitely made you paranoid. It's been a long time since you’ve accepted help that didn’t come with strings but maybe not everyone was like that. You weren’t like that, not anymore. Sylvie needed to be raised in a world where people could be good and kind and generous. That was one of the reasons you’d left the Sanctuary in the first place.  

“They call me Rusty,” he says as he returns to the RV and you wonder if all that white hair was a bright shade of red once upon a time.

Simon introduces you and Sylvie and Rusty nods, edging closer, looking about as nervous as you and Simon must look to him.

“Why, she looks brand new,” he says, peering at Sylvie with the awe of a man who hasn’t seen a baby in a long time and probably didn’t expect to see one again. 

“6 days today,” you say, brushing your finger against her perfect chubby cheek. 

“Well ain’t that something,” he beams. “Now I can’t offer much but what I have is yours to share.”

“You’ve already done enough,” Simon insists but Rusty won’t hear it. He begins pulling canned food from his kitchenette and sets up a camping stove and some fold out chairs outside for a cookout.  

It’s a real treat sitting by the stove with a blanket over your legs and the smell of baked beans filling the air. It's ordinary and feeling ordinary is one of the best feelings in the world when you’re so used to feeling afraid. 

You and Simon don’t say much, you’re tired and you don’t want to accidentally slip up and mention Negan or the Saviors. You might not know Rusty but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know the Saviors. Saying the wrong thing to the wrong person could be very costly this close to the Sanctuary. 

Fortunately Rusty doesn’t seem to pay any attention to your quiet. He fills  the silence as he fusses over the food and while you eat he doesn’t pry. Instead, he talks and talks and talks. Talks like he hasn’t had anyone to talk to in a while and you think that maybe he’s glad you don’t have much to say. 

He tells you he’s been on the road for a long time. He started out in New Mexico where he’d been visiting his little brother, Hughie. They’d held out together at first but things had, as Rusty put it, “got messy.” 

You don’t press him for more. The Sanctuary wasn’t the first, second or even third group you’d been a part of. As far as you could tell things got messy everywhere eventually. The picture of a wife and two grown up sons that sits on his dashboard tells you all you need to know about what he’s trying to get back to and before you settle down for the night he admits, “I wouldn’t have picked you up if it wasn’t for the little one.” 

You don’t blame him for that. You wouldn’t have gotten into his RV if it wasn’t for Sylvie but accepting Rusty’s help was a good call and it was clear he was a good man.  

You travel with Rusty for two weeks, helping find fuel for the RV and food whenever you can get it. At one point you reach a crossroad and make the decision to stay with Rusty until he makes it home. After all, you have nowhere better to go. 

His house is on the outskirts of a small town and he points out the stores as you drive though. Like most places it's deserted except for the dead and you watch Rusty examining their faces as you pass them by. You know what he’s looking for and you hope to hell he doesn’t see it. Not like this. 

His house is at the bottom of a long drive and the gate is closed, which is a good sign. But you don’t let yourself have hope, if you do then you know you’d only be setting yourself up for disappointment. When the house comes into view it looks untouched except for the weeds which have started to grow across the porch. 

In your heart you know it's empty and you hold Sylvie a little tighter as you watch Simon and Rusty break open the door to get inside. After ten minutes only Simon comes back, his face grave. 

“What is it?” you ask him and he cups your cheeks, his hands feeling so warm on your skin as he tilts your head to look at him. 

“I love you,” he says, pulling you against him, careful not to crush Sylvie who is in her usual spot on your chest. “I love you both so damn much.”

======

Its taken me way longer than expected to come back to this story (and writing fanfiction) but I didn't want to leave it with a loose end so not only have I finished this chapter but the last one too :)