#sally cinnamon

[lyrics365]

Carnation

幻でも構わない そっと微笑みかけて 踊り続けるのさ 蝶になる　蝶になる 隠し事がある方が ちょっと素敵に見えて 手の上なのさ 蝶になる　蝶になる あなたの声は懐かしい抱擁 爛漫と赤いカーネンション 少し哀しい 花ひらいて愛がわかる 枯れないようにと書き留めて あなただけはあなただけは 想いは駆ける風のなか 耳をすまして 聞こえてくるさえずりは 始まりの音 はためいた旗のもと 私何も分からないの そんな風に誤魔化しても 認めた文字の端 震えてた　震えていた 風見鶏は廻る廻る 連なる光　翼にして あなただけはあなただけは 想いは駆ける風のなか 花ひらいて愛がわかる 枯れないようにと書き留めて あなただけはあなただけは 想いは駆ける風のなか 耳をすまして 聞こえてくるさえずりは 始まりの音 はためいた旗のもと あなたの声は懐かしい抱擁 爛漫と赤いカーネンション 少し哀しい

[mne-bolno]

i swear to god there is nothing sounding more british that the sally cinnamon intro

[reginarix]

Esercizio: Stesso incipit, due racconti: versione commedia romantica e versione thriller psicologico.

Eccolo.

Finalmente lo vide, sul marciapiede, nel via vai dei pendolari che si allontanavano di fretta dalla stazione. Di solito si riconosceva da lontano perché  indossava  un lungo impermeabile chiaro, ma in quella soleggiata mattina di primavera Gianni portava solo una giacca scura su una camicia viola. Lina lo stava aspettando da un po’ ormai.

Pensò che anche questo non era affatto un buon segno, e temeva di conoscere il perché non avesse preso il solito treno per andare al lavoro. Ma almeno ci stava andando, e questo era comunque un sollievo.

Lei sapeva davvero tante cose di lui. Lo vedeva ormai da mesi quasi ogni giorno. Non è che lo seguisse, no, no, no. Soltanto… lo teneva d’occhio, ecco. E le sembrava che per lei la giornata iniziasse meglio se sapeva che in giro c’erano quegli occhi chiari e quella testa rasata a zero.

Lo vide dirigersi verso l’uscita, sempre con quell’aria distaccata e seria. Non sorrideva mai e non scambiava chiacchiere inutili con nessuno. A fatica ricambiava il saluto quando qualcuno lo riconosceva. Ma era molto educato! Lo aveva visto spesso cedere il posto alle signore o alle persone anziane. Una volta aveva tenuto aperto il portone anche a lei!

Che panico! Lei gli aveva sorriso in modo assurdo, non aveva potuto trattenersi! Lui l’aveva guardata negli occhi, Dio che occhiata le aveva dato! Era irritato? Annoiato? Gli stava facendo perdere tempo? Non aveva saputo interpretarlo… Poi lei era passata cercando di ricomporsi, ma non era stata in grado nemmeno di dirgli “grazie”. Aveva potuto solo rivolgergli un altro sorrisino imbarazzato. Lui le aveva risposto con un cenno con la testa, perplesso, e aveva proseguito verso il suo ufficio. Lina cercò di non pensare a che impressione pessima gli avesse fatto: aveva analizzato la scena sotto diversi aspetti, torturandosi pensando a com’era messa male in quel momento. Dal cappotto rovinato, allo chignon già in disordine di prima mattina, le occhiaie, il pallore… Che figura! E poi non avergli detto nemmeno una parola! Un vero disastro… Forse lui aveva pensato che fosse muta. O straniera. Muta e straniera. Ma non una stupida oca, dai, non voleva che lui la ritenesse stupida!

“Meglio non pensarci più…” si disse mentre camminava dietro di lui. Eddai, no,non lo stava seguendo! Solo che in quella direzione, guarda un po’, c’era un bar con le migliori brioche del quartiere e lei aveva l’abitudine di andarci ogni mattina. Sì, ecco.

E comunque dopo quell’episodio aveva notato che la riconosceva. Non la salutava, ma la riconosceva. Lina ne era stata certa. E ne aveva avuto conferma alla figuraccia seguente: quando una sera, in treno, i suoi stupidi capelli troppo lunghi si erano impigliati in un finestrino. Lui era andato lì accanto e l’aveva aiutata a liberarli. Lei imbarazzatissima, come al solito, era rimasta senza parole, con quel sorrisetto idiota da ragazzina delle medie, incantata nel vedere le sue dita liberarle i capelli… Le dita di lui tra i suoi capelli! Le sembrava di sognare dopo averci fantasticato così tanto! Era stato davvero gentile. Sembrava comunque freddo e distaccato, ma quella volta aveva un’espressione quasi divertita. Almeno era stata in grado di ringraziare! Lui aveva fatto una battuta su tutti i capelli che lui non aveva più perché li aveva persi così (oddio sì, era anche spiritoso!) e lei aveva trovato il coraggio di presentarsi. Così aveva finalmente saputo il suo nome.

Pensandoci Lina sospirò: da lì in poi presero a dirsi “Buongiorno” e “Buonasera” quando si incrociavano, ma nulla di più… Non avevano più scambiato nemmeno due parole. Porca miseria.

Lui stava proseguendo per la sua strada, certo, ma qualcosa non andava, era… come dire? Lento, distratto, svogliato… Solo qualche cambiamento nell’andatura, ma a lei non era sfuggita, lo conosceva troppo bene. Sì, insomma, ormai lo guardava da tempo! Era preoccupata.

Mentre continuava a fissare quelle belle spalle camminare qualche metro davanti a lei, pensava a quando riusciva a sedersi nei suoi paraggi in treno: nascosta dietro un libro adorava guardarlo starsene rilassato sul sedile, con gli occhi chiusi, gli auricolari nelle orecchie… Sembrava riuscisse a nascondersi nel suo mondo e non lasciasse entrare nessuno. Chissà che musica ascoltava! Ma non poteva attaccare bottone e chiederglielo! Era chiaro che non gli piacesse venire importunato dalla gente: più di una volta lo aveva visto zittire qualcuno con una sola occhiataccia. E gli bastavano poche affilate parole per terminare una conversazione che gli veniva imposta. Non voleva assolutamente trovarsi in quella situazione! Mai!

La sera prima lo aveva visto davvero abbattuto. Si sentiva male, ne era certa, in treno era rimasto in tensione per tutto il viaggio. Si era accorta che lui controllava il proprio respiro, fissava un punto indefinito fuori dal finestrino. Aveva bisogno di restare vigile e attento, come se tenere gli occhi chiusi gli peggiorasse la situazione.

E lei si era tormentata tutto il tempo: voleva aiutarlo, ma aveva il terrore di venire allontanata bruscamente, ci sarebbe rimasta troppo male. Lo lasciò in pace fino alla sua fermata, lei scendeva prima di lui. Quando gli passò accanto fece una gesto del tutto istintivo e irrazionale: gli posò una mano sulla spalla. Voleva essere un saluto? un conforto? Non lo sapeva, davvero. Ma lui la guardò e le rispose picchiettandola un paio di volte con le dita. Come dire “tutto ok”? “grazie”? Non sapeva nemmeno questo. Accidenti alle parole che non vengono dette!

Ma non l’aveva cacciata, anzi, le era sembrato un gesto molto amichevole.

Aveva pensato tutta la notte a lui e a cosa dovesse fare. Era stato terribile per lei non sapere cosa gli fosse successo, perché stesse così male, come poterlo aiutare… Però era chiara una cosa: si era comportata da vigliacca e non poteva perdonarselo. Quindi aveva preso una decisione. Continuò con i suoi discorsetti motivazionali nella mente mentre accelerava e si avvicinava a lui. Fino ad affiancarlo sul marciapiede.

- Ciao.

Glielo sparò lì, un po’ affannata e un po’ imbarazzata. Sapeva di essere arrossita ma cercò di tenere duro e continuare.

- Ciao?

Rispose lui, indugiando, suonò quasi come se fosse una domanda. Le sembrò la solita voce ferma, forse non stava male, e lei stava facendo tutto questo perché era una pazza visionaria… Comunque a questo punto non poteva più tirarsi indietro. E poi lui non stava scappando quindi forse poteva parlargli ancora…  “Lina! Se non ora, quando?!” si spronò da sola e disse:

- Ehm… come stai oggi?

- Bene, grazie. – Rispose lui, un po’ guardingo… Era adorabile con quell’aria confusa che scalfiva il suo solito sguardo gelido. Ma Lina aveva un discorsetto pronto e non poteva perdersi nei dettagli, seppur incantevoli, di quella rughetta tra le sopracciglia, di quella testa perfettamente  rasata che lei aveva tanta voglia di accarezzare o di quella smorfia che le stava facendo piegando le labbra all’insù… Oh mio Dio! Era un vero sorriso quello?

Ricambiò il sorriso, immaginava di essere ormai diventata paonazza. Ma non voleva soffermarsi troppo a pensare di essersi incantata a fissarlo nel bel mezzo del suo discorso… Beh, non era ancora iniziato, ma… va beh. E così, lo disse tutto d’un fiato, ecco:

- Ieri in treno ho visto che non stavi bene… e mi sembrava inopportuno disturbarti… stavi facendo training autogeno, giusto? Sì? Bello! Cioè, no, scusa, non è bello, perché lo facevi perché non stavi bene, non è una cosa bella… Comunque mi è dispiaciuto non esserti d’aiuto… e sì, lo so, non è che ti avrei potuto aiutare chissà che… se uno sta così gli altri non…

- Ehi, frena! Stai parlando così in fretta che fatico a seguirti. Cosa c’è?

- Sì, scusami… Io… Ecco… io sono stata così male…

- Oh, anche tu!? È influenza! Sì, hanno detto che…

Lo afferrò per la manica della giacca e lo fermò:

- No, non per l’influenza!

Lo fissò esasperata: lui era sconcertato. Ma incuriosito. E comunque ancora non era scappato e non l’aveva cacciata. Le opportunità però si stavano esaurendo.

“Non era così che doveva andare...” Fece un bel respiro e cercò di recuperare la calma per ricominciare.

Erano fermi a guardarsi, in mezzo alla gente che camminava. Con il braccio libero lui le scostò una ciocca dal viso e gliela sistemò dietro l’orecchio. Oh. Mio. Dio.

E così, Lina perse la lucidità. Completamente.

- Io… beh, io stavo male perché ero preoccupata per te. E ti ho pensato tutta la notte. E stamattina non eri sul solito treno allora ti ho aspettato alla stazione, ma non sapevo nemmeno se saresti arrivato con quello dopo… Ma poi…

- Oh… Ok… Io non… - Oddio, adesso balbettava anche lui!

“Cosa diavolo stai dicendo Lina??!! Concludi in fretta, ragazza!”

- Il fatto è che… che… se solo avessi potuto chiamarti… sarei stata più tranquilla, ecco.

- Oh… - Esclamò lui, pensieroso.

Lina era fuori di sé dall’agitazione: aveva rovinato tutto. Non c’era niente tra loro in realtà. Ma comunque aveva rovinato tutto. Lo aveva terrorizzato.

Ma lui le prese la mano che ancora (ancora!) lo tratteneva per la giacca e se la mise sottobraccio. Come un gentiluomo con una dama dei tempi andati. E così ripresero a camminare.

Lei era ammutolita a stargli così vicino, ormai non capiva più niente. E lui le chiese:  

– Quindi... stai chiedendo il mio numero?

- Beh, sì… non so perché mi sia venuto fuori tutto il resto, ma quando sono agitata straparlo e faccio danni, hai visto… Io stamattina volevo solo chiederti il numero di telefono…

- Direi proprio che me lo hai chiesto. In un modo piuttosto contorto, ma senza dubbio con una certa eleganza…

Sorrideva! Oh sì, lui le sorrideva! E non l’aveva nemmeno insultata!

Che disastro, anche questa volta… Ok, non era necessario che la prendesse in giro però… Almeno se ne sarebbe andata mantenendo una certa dignità:

- Sì, sì, ma in fondo vedo che oggi stai meglio, quindi… non importa, va bene così…

- No, no, no, ora ci scambiamo i numeri! Non potrei più vivere sereno con me stesso, adesso che so, che ogni volta che io mi ammalo, tu ti preoccupi così… Direi che abbiamo un po’ di cose da chiarire… Ecco, questo è il tuo bar preferito, vero? Ti vedo entrare qui tutte le mattine…

Questa poi! Lo aveva detto a bassa voce, un po’ intimidito nello svelare l’attenzione che aveva nei suoi confronti… Allora anche lui teneva d’occhio lei!

- Colazione? – Propose lei

- Più o meno. – Rispose lui.

Non lo aveva mai visto sorridere così! Era bellissimo.

Presero una tisana al finocchio per lui e una camomilla per lei. Che razza di ordinazioni! Ma avrebbero presto scoperto che nella loro storia nulla sarebbe stato banale! Si diedero malati al lavoro e parlarono tutta la mattina.

E non si fermarono più.

"Until Sally I was never happy I needed so much more Rain clouds Oh, they used to chase me Down they would pour Join my tears Allay my fears

Sent to me from heaven Sally Cinnamon you're my world"

G.

SGN, 20/05/2023 12:14

[k1ngdomfa11]

<3

You're her world

[jpopstreaming]

🆕 「 Please Tell Me the Story」 by Sally Cinnamon Available for streaming worldwide!🌐 Added to our weekly playlist 🎧 https://spoti.fi/3lgjH73

[newwavesylviaplath]

hbd @bluerthanvelvet444 <3 i hope u like it!!

[toastedfries]

Merry Christmas :DD

Merry Christmas friends! Sorry (again) for the impromptu hiatus. I've been busy with so many big assignments and exams.

Not a lot of progress has been made since I last updated (I'm a little mad at myself for this). I was able to write and sketch some of the interactions but it's still not much for two months. I'm getting back on the grind and hopefully I'll be able to finish the CGs and GUI off so I can focus on sprites and writing. I'm not sure when all this would be finished, at the rate my school is pumping out events and assignments January might even be a stretch. I'll try my best to manage all this and keep you updated.

I can't stress how grateful I am that some of you are sticking around despite the constant disappearances. I really do hope that Heartbeats will be worth all the wait and support :>

[sk8rambler]

me when stone roses

[gsstories]

Real World AU: With Gen

*Crack scenes lmao*

-Bad Habits-

Gen: *just chilling*

Gen: *sees bottle of alcohol*

Gen: …

Later…

Fionn: *looking for bottle*

*Finds Gen by the sink with said bottle*

Fionn: You wouldn’t dare…

Gen: *gives a Cheshire Cat smile, dumps the liquid into the sink*

Fionn: You little-!!

-Disguises-

Gen: …

Gen: I would rather eat sand then go out looking like that.

Fionn: *is pissed off*

***

Sally: Geeeen, get down from there!

Gen, on the ceiling fan: I will not wear that! Over my dead body!

*Ends up wearing the disguise and keeps flipping off Fionn the entire time*

-Shopping Trip-

Gen: Stupid stupid…

*Girls be laughing at Julie and Sally*

Gen: *is offended in their part*

***

*Said girls be getting arrested for shoplifting*

Gen: Hehehehe…

Everyone: *looks at her*

Gen: What?

-Raining-

*its raining*

Gen: …

Gen: *starts climbing out the window but she held back by Howdy and Poppy*

Poppy&Howdy: STOP!

Headcanon time!

• Gen will often tell Sally and Julie not to run so fast when playing and often she and Poppy have to patch them up when they get injured.

• Prefers to stay at the house since she doesn’t like people much.

• Will pet Barnaby when she stressed.

• Enforces the rules but might break a few laws if any of her neighbors be wronged

• May act like a cat when mad, hissing and everything.

• Is Lesbian

• Will understand the concept of modern technology pretty quick.

• Will scold Fionn if she finds him drinking or smoking and will keep pestering for the rest of the day.

Real World AU belongs to @chez-cinnamon Thought it would be fun to make some crack scenes! Hope they make ya laugh!

[bunnywand]

what exactly did ian brown mean when he wrote "sally cinnamon" - The greatest (and possibly only) lesbian jangle pop love anthem of the late 1980s ❔

[bookstattoosandtea]

Audio Tour, Exclusive Excerpt & Giveaway: Total Creative Control by Joanna Chambers & Sally Malcolm

Audio Tour & Giveaway: Total Creative ControlBy Joanna Chambers & Sally Malcolm Narrated by Simon Goldhill Creative Types, Book 1 Sunshine PA, meet Grumpy Boss… When fanfic writer Aaron Page landed a temp job with the creator of hit TV show, Leeches, it was only meant to last a week. Three years later, Aaron’s still there… It could be because he loves the creative challenge. It could be because…

[vannimamibaking]

Apple cobbler from Sally’s baking addiction website for the monthly challenge. I would definitely do more apples to the base, but that’s just our family’s preference. It’s a great tasting quick Apple dessert.

[beababoobies]

Hey there you said you needed a Hazbin Hotel request? I got just the thing. Is it okay you do a Alastor x witch reader? Like reader was a witch before she died and is basically pretty powerful especially in magic? I like to think she covers up her body because she’s covered in tattoos that look like magic ruins or ritual symbols. Idk i just thought it would be cute of Alastor falling in love with a classy yet a badass witch who can put him in his place.

Heya Anon! Yes, Absolutely! I love my witchy friends (shoutout to Tatianna because she follows my blog.) I wasn’t sure exactly on which type of Witch you were referring to, so I decided on a random mix of diff witch cultures! Please shoot me a request if that’s not what you had in mind and I can re-write this for you. Thanks a ton for the request!

From Experience

Alastor x Fem!Witch!Reader

words : 1k , no warnings!

You let out a sigh as you started the spell you had been planning for weeks now. You had to go to Lust to get aphrodisiac rose powder, cannibal town to get the dried blood (and have a coffee and chat with Rosie, of course.) you even attended to Blood Moon festival very shortly to get some black tree root straight from the source from your friend Sally Mae. The candles had been lit - your spirit guides told you it was ready. You closed your eyes softly as you started to read out the incantation in your head.

You sighed softly through your nose as you felt yourself slowly start to float, the bone-marrow candles you had bought starting to glow a blood red colour as you felt the power of the spell start to wash over you, the magical ruins carved into your body lighting up, making you glow softly, and it was all coming together nicely, perfectly one might say - 

“Hello, Darling!” 

You let out a small scream and opened your eyes, falling to the floor with a small thud, groaning as you open your eyes to the familiar face smiling back at you, chuckling softly as you rub your head gently, rolling your eyes. Not an evil spirit. Okay, an evil spirit. But a very familiar one. “Alastor, what a surprise.” You said as he walked over to you, offering you his hand and you took it, hoisting yourself up and letting out a soft sigh as you saw the spilt wax across the floor. 

“How rude of me to interrupt you! Allow me.” He hums softly, and you watch as the candles are returned back to their original state, turning back to him with a smile, brushing your now messed hair back into place, tilting your head. “Back again so soon?” You said with a chuckle, walking into your kitchen to get a cup of tea, him following quickly behind.

Now that you thought about it - he was back very, very soon. You had last seen him yesterday for lunch, and just two days before that for an evening stroll. After seven years of absence, you could’ve sworn you hadn’t even seen him this much before he disappeared. This meant he either needed something, or he was playing you in a big plan.

“Oh, well you just make the best steaming cup of chamomile, my dear.” He compliments, sitting at your small window-side table. You chuckled, taking a spoonful of the mix you had taken years to perfect, crushing the leaves, adding in just a bit of cinnamon. You had even figured out the best tea bags. Possibly your best spell ever. You dismissed your worries as your own overthinking, sighing as you poured the boiling water into the mugs.

“No sugar for you again?” You say, eyes not looking back at him as you pull the cane sugar out from your cabinet, spooning a couple helpings into your mug. “You know me too well, darling.” He says and you blush softly, putting the cane sugar back, bringing both the mugs to the table, placing one in front of him, and one in front of yourself.

“So, why are you back so quickly, hmm?” You said teasingly, leaning back in your chair, mixing the tea in your mug lazily, toying with the spoon as you watching him dip the boiling liquid - always uncanny, how he could do that - before looking back up at you. 

“One could say I’ve taken a bit of a liking to you, my love.” He says with a smile, and you feel your face get hot - from more than just the steam from your tea. He chuckles softly at your reaction, taking another sip from his mug, leaning back in his chair and watching you try to find the right words. Platonically? It’s hard to decipher a man who’s walked out of a couple decades before your time. 

“One might even say you… like me?” You say, testing the waters as you discard your cup back onto the table, crossing your arms over your chest, skepticism all over your expression causing Alastor to let out another chuckle. “One could say that. But I hate that way of saying it.” He responds flatly, putting his mug down as well, tilting his head at you. Trying to read a man who’s face was always carved into that sharp-toothed grin was hard.

“While we are speaking of taking a liking to things.” He says, holding out his hand, a small jar of black sand from the burning desert - one of a kind, unbelievably expensive, and your eyes widened. You swallowed thickly as you eyes the small vial, looking up at him with a small grin. 

“I’m not giving you my soul for this. Tempting, though.” You said with a playful smile, watching him place it delicately on the table. “Oh, no, darling, it is yours for the price of this cup of tea. A friend gave it to me in exchange for a… favor.” He says with a small chuckle, watching you pick up the vial cautiously and inspect it, turning it upside down and watching the pitch black sand move around in the glass. 

Oh, the things you could do with this. 

“And why should I take your murder sand?” You say with a smile, looking back up at him as you toyed with vial carefully, raising your eyebrows, watching his eyes trail down to the vial and then back up to you. 

“Well, I’ve heard it’s good for love spells.” He hums softly, taking another nonchalant sip of his tea, watching you nearly cough on your own spit over the statement, collecting yourself before piercing your lips together, eyes going from him to the vial over and over. 

“And how would you know this, hmm? You some sort of ritual expert now?” You said with a playful smile and tone, clutching the vial in your hand and leaning forward, chin resting on your palm. 

“Let’s just say I can speak from experience.” 

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

title: a very furby christmas

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: t

word count: 3.6k

joel miller masterlist | all masterlists

summary:

it’s christmas eve 1998 and joel miller thinks everything is perfect.

well, until his brother admits he didn’t get sarah the one present she wanted - the furby. now, joel has to go out on christmas eve to find the year’s hottest toy that’s been sold out for months.

turns out, you’re on the same mission. and you’ve both found the last furby in town.

author’s note:

this is just a silly lil feel good holiday fic that’s been plaguing my brain. if you are too young to have experience the furby craze, i implore you to look it up. however, if you do remember, i hope this gives you a happy dose of nostalgia. gingerbread dividers by @saradika-graphics

tags/warnings:

pre-outbreak, no use of y/n, holiday/christmas fic, the last toy trope, no smut, age gap - not explicitly specified but joel is 31 and reader is mid-20s, the great miller gingerbread construction competition, operation get sarah miller a furby, some kissing.

“Dad! Wake up!” Sarah shouts, bursting into Joel’s room. She leaps onto the bed, bouncing on her knees and jostling him around on the mattress as he groans.

“Sarah, baby, it’s too damn early,” he says, pulling the quilt over his head. “Go back to sleep.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve!” The bouncing stops as she lays beside him, tugging the quilt down. “It’s time to make cinnamon rolls. And we gotta make cookies for Santa.”

Joel blinks, his daughter’s face coming into focus, bright brown eyes and a gap toothed smile filling his vision. Her hair is a wild mess from sleep and her unicorn pajama shirt is stained with toothpaste. At eight years old, she’s starting to lean out, her cheeks no longer as round and her limbs at that stage of awkward adolescent lankiness. He wants to sleep, wants a few more hours of rest after a jam packed holiday season of repairs and deadlines and supply issues, but looking at her smiling face and remembering that she’s getting older…

Well, that gets him moving.

“Alright. Let’s get downstairs and make Santa the best cookies he’s ever had.”

She squeals, scrambling off the bed and racing out of the room, light footsteps descending the stairs as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and gets up to find a t-shirt in the pile of laundry he’s neglected to put away, opting to dig through its wrinkled contents for what he needs each day instead.

He makes his way downstairs and to find his daughter rummaging through the fridge and pulling out eggs and milk for their customary Christmas Eve cinnamon rolls and the jangle of keys in the doorknob lets him know that Tommy has arrived.

“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, Millers!” His younger brother announces. “Sarah! It don’t smell like cinnamon in here!”

“Dad woke up late,” she shouts back. Tommy grins at Joel as he passes, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

“‘Course he did,” he says with a wink. Joel rolls his eyes as he gets the electric mixer from the top cabinet for Sarah and preheats the oven for her.

“Y’know, Santa can take all those presents he’s got ready for you and leave them at other houses for nicer kids,” he says. Sarah’s eyes go wide.

“He wouldn’t!” She yelps. “I’ve been good all year!”

“Don’t listen to your daddy, sweetheart. He’s just bein’ a sensitive Sally,” Tommy says. She breathes a sigh of relief, her attention returning to her task of cracking eggs.

“I just really hope Santa brings me a Furby,” she says wistfully. “I want one of ‘em so bad. Chrissy got one when they came out in October and they’re so cool!”

“I’m sure Santa will come through,” Joel says, catching Tommy’s eye and winking. Tommy’s brows pinch together as he mouths, “What?”

Joel widens his eyes at him, a look that screams, “What do you mean, what?!”

Tommy continues to look confused and Joel squeezes his eyes shut, turning back to his daughter to help her with rolling out the dough she’s mixed up. She continues to chat about her excitement for tomorrow, especially because her big sister has agreed to stop by in the morning.

“You didn’t forget that she’s coming, right?” Sarah asks.

“‘Course not, sweetie,” Joel replies distractedly. The hours Joel works aren’t always conducive to a prompt after school pick up, so most days Sarah spends time with a volunteer from the Empowered Girls program that she calls her “big sister”. He always forgets her name, but he knows she’s a student working on her master’s degree in elementary education at University of Texas. Did he forget she was coming? Yeah, maybe, but he’s got bigger problems right now.

Like the fact that Tommy is acting like he has no clue he was supposed to get Sarah that damn Furby for Christmas.

Once the cinnamon rolls are in the oven and Sarah returns to her room to get dressed for the day, Joel smacks Tommy on the back of the head.

“Ow! The fuck?” He asks, rubbing the sore spot. “What was that for?”

“Tell me you didn’t forget that perfect little girl’s goddamn talkin’ demon toy or I’ll do it again,” Joel warns, already raising his hand. Tommy scrambles from his seat, hands held up defensively as he backs himself up against the counter to get away from his brother’s assault.

“You didn’t tell me to get one!” He insists. Joel stares at him incredulously.

“I sure as hell did! I gave you fifty bucks three weeks ago and asked you to get one because I’d be workin’ OT until Christmas Eve and it would be too late by then!”

“I thought the fifty was for me. Like an early gift or somethin’.”

Joel closes his eyes and attempts to take a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, he feels no more calm as he looks at his brother.

“Great. Now I’m gonna have to go to the goddamn toy store on Christmas Eve to find one of these things.”

“I’ll go for you,” Tommy offers. Joel hits him with a look.

“No. I ain’t makin’ that mistake again. You’re stayin’ here with Sarah and I’ll go get the Furball.”

“It’s Furby,” Tommy corrects. Joel reaches out and smacks his head again before he can protect himself.

Sarah returns to the kitchen, dressed in her Rudolph t-shirt and jeans and smiling brightly as she says, “I’m ready to make cookies!”

Joel smiles apologetically. “Bad news, sweetheart. I gotta run down to a job site and check in on somethin’. Looks like a plumbin’ emergency.”

“On Christmas Eve?” She asks, smile dropping from her face. “But we have to make the cookies!”

“I know, I know, but Uncle Tommy will stay and help you. Ain’t that right, Tommy?”

“Yep. And we’ll make cookies better than any your daddy has ever made, too.”

Joel’s teeth grind together at the dig but he keeps smiling at his daughter. “Right. See? I shouldn’t be gone too long.”

“I guess,” she says forlornly. Her arms wrap around Joel’s legs and squeeze tightly. Joel smooths a hand over her wild hair, glaring at Tommy.

“Sorry, sweetie. But the sooner I head out, the sooner I can get back, okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbles against his thigh. “I’ll make sure Uncle Tommy doesn’t eat all the dough before we bake it.

“That’s my girl,” Joel says.

________

You knew you shouldn’t have waited this long to go shopping for your little sister’s Christmas gift, but you’d picked up extra shifts at your part time job since you weren’t flying home for the holiday break and time just slipped away from you. Now you’re entering your fourth store on a desperate hunt for the one toy she hasn’t stopped talking about since it came out in October.

“It’s called a Furby and the more you talk to it, the more it learns,” she told you, showing you the fluffy toy in a catalog one day. “Isn’t it so cute?!”

“It’s…something,” you replied, staring at its dead eyes. “And that’s what you want for Christmas?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if Santa will bring it for me. I told dad about it, but he’s been really busy with work and I don’t know if he remembered to tell Santa.”

You wander around the store, looking for the garish pink and blue sign that lorded over the toy display. You finally spot it, crossing your fingers as you quickly approach what looks like a mostly barren shelf. There’s something on the bottom row, but your experience in other stores has showed you that often people abandon their unwanted items in the Furby display, leading to false hope.

“Please, please, please,” You mumble, moving quickly now. You’re trying not to break into a run in the middle of the store but after so many disappointments, you can’t be blamed for your steps turning into a light jog.

A pair of unseeing mechanical blue eyes stare back at you from the bottom shelf as you get closer. Pristine white fur, pointed ears, and a little yellow beak encased in plastic.

The last Furby.

You’re so close to success you can taste it.

You reach for the toy, ready to scoop it into your arms and take a victory march to the lone cashier left working, when a tan hand emerges from your left, landing on the box just as you touch it.

“‘Scuse me,” a deep voice says, southern drawl blanketing the words. You look up, gaze meeting the warm brown eyes of a handsome man, tall and broad with messy dark curls. He smiles, all smooth charm as he says, “I’m goin’ to need this toy.”

You stand firm. “I think I was here first, sir.”

The charming smile drops. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Look, I need this toy for my daughter. I’ve been lookin’ for one all over town.”

You place your free hand on your hip. “I need it for my little sister and I’ve also been all over town today. If you needed it so bad, why didn’t you get it sooner?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” he replies. You roll your eyes. “Come on, please? Ain’t there somethin’ else your little sister is dyin’ to have?”

“She’s talked about this toy for months,” you tell him. “And she’s worried Santa isn’t going to bring it, so I wanted to make sure I got her one.”

He smiles softly. “Sounds like my daughter. She handed me no less than five letters to Santa to mail off askin’ for one.”

“So why didn’t you get one before tonight?” You ask curiously.

“My dumbass brother,” he says. “I‘ve been workin’ overtime for the last few months, so I told him to go out and get one. He didn’t listen.”

“That sucks.”

“What about you? What made you wait so long?”

It should probably feel weird, having a full conversation with a stranger while you’re in a stand off over a Furby, but the man’s smile has your stomach twisting, wanting to know more about him and oddly thrilled that he wants to know more about you, too.

“I picked up a lot of extra shifts since I’m on break. I go to UT,” you tell him. “Time just got away from me.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with the feelin’.”

A crackle sounds over the store speakers, a bored voice announcing, “Attention Toys R’ Us shoppers. The store will be closing in five minutes. Please make your way to the front of the store to complete your purchases.”

The man’s expression grows panicked. You sigh, taking your hand from the box.

“Get it for your daughter,” you tell him. “Keep that Santa magic going for a bit longer.”

“Are you sure?” He asks. “What’ll you get for your sister?”

You look around the store, spotting a sporting gear display. You take off in its direction.

“I’ll figure something out!”

________

“It’s a Furby!” Sarah shouts, shaking the box in her excitement. “Look, dad! Santa got me a Furby!”

“Is that so?” Joel says, sipping from his mug of coffee with a splash of Bailey’s, his own personal Christmas tradition. “See? I told ya I sent out all those letters you wrote.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She chants, running around the family room in her red plaid pajamas. Tommy, still barely awake, nods as Sarah shows him the list of features on the back.

It’s close to 9 a.m. but the Miller brothers had a late night of wrapping presents and drinking whiskey in order to have the tidy pile of brightly colored boxes ready beneath the tree for Sarah in the morning. Joel had also gotten her a new journal and a pack of Jelly pens, a few bottles of nail polish, and two new Beanie Babies for her collection. Tommy had sprung for a set of shin guards for when she starts soccer in March, something she was excited for ever since the girl she’d been paired with in her big sister after school program had played with her a few times.

It’s not much, but it’s what he could manage. Sarah is happy, her eyes lighting up with each gift she unwraps, and that’s all that matters to Joel.

A knock sounds at the door and Sarah races down the hall, Joel trailing after her trying to remind her not to open the door to strangers. The young girl doesn’t listen, instead throwing open the door and launching herself into the arms of someone surprisingly familiar.

You look up, eyes going wide in surprise he’s sure mirrors his own. Sarah drags you in by the hand, excitedly introducing you, giving Joel a name for the pretty face he’d been thinking about all last night.

“Hi, I’m Joel,” he says, holding a hand out to you. You slip your palm against his, warm and smooth, shaking his hand. The smile on your face is mischievous, the secret the two of you share dancing in your eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you tell him. “Hope I’m not too early, Sarah said you open presents around eight and to come after that.”

“No, no, ‘course it ain’t too early,” he assures you. He realizes he’s still holding your hand, even as silence settles between you. With a laugh, he draws back, running his hand through his hair nervously. “You want coffee?”

“Sure.”

Joel leads you to the kitchen where Tommy is pulling a fresh tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven under Sarah’s careful supervision. He whacks her hand with a dish towel when she tries to reach for the steaming hot dessert and she pouts pitifully. She spots the gift bag in your hand and her eyes light up.

“Is that a present for me?” She asks.

“Sarah Elizabeth Miller,” Joel chastises. You laugh, handing the bag over to her. She rips the tissue paper from the top, reaching in for her gift with a wide smile.

“A soccer ball!” She exclaims. “Dad, you can help me practice in the backyard now!”

You share a look with Joel, one where his gaze is filled with gratitude and yours reflects understanding. The moment is made brief by Sarah trying to bounce the ball on her knee, knocking it onto a counter and subsequently being told to go put it away for now.

You introduce yourself to Tommy while Joel pulls you a mug of coffee. Sarah brings her now unboxed Furby into the kitchen, setting it in a place of honor on the dining table.

“Dad, can you put batteries in Snowball?” Sarah asks. She turns to you. “That’s his name.”

“Oh. Hello, Snowball,” you say, voice serious as you regard the toy. Joel laughs while he digs around the junk drawer for the rogue batteries that hide beneath bills and takeout menus.

As breakfast is served and toys are turned on, conversation flows between everyone easily. It’s a wonder, Joel thinks. You fit right in with his little family, like you were meant to be there all along. Maybe it’s the Bailey’s in his coffee, or maybe it’s the spirit of Christmas, but he can’t help the warmth in his chest as he watches you help Sarah with the Furby that started it all.

________

You’ve been at the Miller house since early that morning, through all three meals of the day, many rounds of coffee, a screening of Home Alone and A Christmas Story, and painting your nails with Sarah. Not once does anyone make you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. In fact, as the day wears on, you can’t help but think that Joel, like you, doesn’t want the day to end. You keep catching his eye and the crooked smile he gives you leaves you feeling giddy.

After dinner, Joel and Tommy start gathering what looks like cookie decorating supplies. Sarah sighs and you turn to her with concern.

“It’s time for the gingerbread competition,” she says, more solemn than an eight year old ought to be. Joel leaves the room and returns with a caulking gun.

“Why does he have that?” You ask, watching as he loads a saran wrapped bag of icing into the chamber.

“They take this…very seriously.”

Tommy and Joel set up decorating stations on either end of the dining table, shooing you out of your seat. Sarah grabs a cookie from a platter on the counter and settles onto a barstool while you stand by, confused and maybe a little scared.

“Are you ready?” Sarah asks. Both men nod. “Start your construction!”

Joel and Tommy rip into the cardboard gingerbread house kits, determination in every move. Joel uses the caulking gun to lay a foundation for the floor of his house, followed by the sides and the roof in quick succession. While Joel is going for a well built structure, Tommy takes a more avant garde approach, using a combination of licorice and frosting to hold his house together.

“Are they always like this?” You ask, fascinated as you watch them.

“Sometimes they’re worse.”

Tommy chucks a peppermint at Joel’s head, the candy bouncing off his forehead and landing on his gingerbread shingles. He counters with a gumdrop that manages to hit Tommy square in the eye, angry curses falling from the younger Miller brother’s lips as he tries to recover and continue the construction of his mid-century cookie home.

“Quit fightin’ dirty,” Joel says when Tommy whines about him being unfair. “I‘ll only fight dirtier.”

You know that the words aren’t meant to be suggestive but you can feel your cheeks go warm nonetheless. The Furby in Sarah’s arms coos, a string of indecipherable words coming from its little yellow beak.

“What did it say?” You ask.

“I’m not sure. It’s still speaking Furbish,” she says.

“It said,” Joel chimes in, setting down his frosting gun, “that I’m the gingerbread construction champ.”

Joel’s little gingerbread house looks like it’s straight from a magazine. Perfectly built, structurally sound, and classically decorated with candy and sugar. You and Sarah both applaud as Tommy groans. His little house lists to the side and a glob of icing drips to the table.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says to her dejected uncle, patting him on the shoulder. “There’s always next year.”

“Alright, it’s time to start closin’ up shop. To bed with you,” Joel announces, steering Sarah for the stairs.

“Can’t I stay up later?” She complains. The Furby echoes her tone convincingly.

“I already fell for that last night. You’re not gettin’ away with it twice. Bed, and brush your teeth,” he replies, kissing her on the head. “Tell everyone goodnight.”

She hugs you and Tommy before heading upstairs, the Furby chirping as she goes. Tommy punches Joel lightly on the shoulder.

“You know I let you win, right?” He asks. Joel scoffs.

“The proof is in the cookie,” he says.

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man. I’m headin’ home,” he says, hugging his brother. To your surprise, his arms wrap around you in a quick squeeze as well. “It was nice to meet you. Don’t be a stranger,” he tells you with a wink.

When the front door clicks shut, it’s just you and Joel in the kitchen. You’re inexplicably nervous now, despite spending the whole day with the man, and you busy yourself by loading the dishwasher with mugs stained by hot chocolate and coffee.

“You don’t have to do that,” Joel says, gently grasping your wrist. He removes the mug from your hand and sets it on the counter. He pulls you close, your chest brushing his as you take in a surprised breath. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. Up close, you can see the stubble that’s grown along his jaw, the slight creases in the corners of his eyes, and that his nose is just the slightest bit crooked. A heavy palm rests on your lower back, the heat of him palpable even through your t-shirt.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, voice dropped low in the quiet room.

You nod, unable to form words, but that’s okay. His hand cups your cheek and his lips press to yours and your eyes flutter shut, a sigh escaping you as you lean into him. It’s soft at first, experimental. A tentative exploration of a broken boundary.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding tight as he parts your lips and his tongue tangles with yours. He tastes like sugar - peppermints and hot chocolate and cookies that he’s eaten throughout the day sweetening his kiss. When he pulls back for a breath, he dips his forehead against yours, smoothing his thumb across your cheek.

“Been wantin’ to do that all day,” he tells you. He kisses you once, twice, and is about to go in for a third when a voice from upstairs interrupts him.

“Dad?” Sarah calls. Joel steps back from you, leaning past the kitchen doorway to yell back a, “Yeah?”

“Snowball won’t stop talking,” she replies. Footsteps sound on the stairs and Joel breaks away from you as Sarah enters the kitchen, Furby in hand.

“Take the batteries out,” Joel suggests.

“I did.”

She turns the toy over, showing the empty battery compartment. Joel rubs the back of his neck as he thinks.

“Tell you what,” he says, holding his hands out for the toy, “Why don’t we stick it in the hall closet for the night?”

“Won’t he be scared?”

“It’s…it’s a toy, baby.” You stifle a laugh as he shoves the talking Furby beneath some towels in the linen closet and shuts the door. “There, now you can both get some sleep. You can play with Snowball again in the mornin’.”

Sarah yawns, nodding. Joel kisses her head before urging her back to bed. When he returns, his shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“What a weird toy,” you tell him, eyeing the closet suspiciously.

“Yeah, but it’s what got us here,” he says, pulling you into his arms once more.

[newwavesylviaplath]

happy birthday @taintandviolent !! (even though i'm a little late)

(remember when i said id make a moodboard for all my mutuals birthdays? bet u thought i forgot about that huh...)