#second to last bad batch eve EVER | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dumfanting · 4 months

Text

Something in the Orange, ch 5

Chapter 4

AO3 Link

Rating: Safe

Warnings: goodbyes, breakup(?), Emotions Notes: G/N reader, second person pov, present tense

1230 Words

This will be the last update for a while, I want to see if anything happens with Cody in the last Bad Batch season and work from there.

G/N Reader/ Cody

As much as it hurts, you know you’ve made the right decision.

————

After you return home from Kellis’ place, all you do is move restlessly around your apartment and argue with yourself. This keeps up for so long that the suns have risen, but you don’t really notice. You keep thinking about how you told Cody, back in his quarters a lifetime ago, that you wouldn’t give up on him. Part of you feels like that’s exactly what you’re doing right now, but the other part of you knows it’s for the best. It was selfish for you to leave him then, and it’ll be just as selfish to make him stay with you now. You feel like you’re being pulled in two different directions and it makes you sick to your stomach.

You jump a little when there’s a sudden knock at your door. You cautiously check the door camera and see who it is. It’s Cody, with Kellis waiting at the end of the hall near the stairs. You open the door and your chest clenches when you meet his eyes. You and Cody stare at each other for a moment, unsure of what to do or say, until he speaks up.

“My shuttle leaves in an hour,” Cody says. “Can you-?” he asks, but is unable to finish the question. His voice is shaky, but calm, and his eyes are desperate.

“Y-yeah,” you say, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “Just, um, give me a second to change,” you continue, and Cody nods at you.

You close the door and let out a stuttering exhale. This is probably the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do, but you can’t say no to him. You quickly get dressed, then wash your face with some cold water to calm yourself down before you step out into the hallway. Once you’ve locked up your place, Kellis leads you and Cody downstairs.

Outside, Kellis has parked his small speeder near the front door of your building. He gets into the single seat up front and starts the engine, then you and Cody cram into the back. Before long, you’re off, heading to the small spaceport on the other side of town. The speeder is open-air, so between the wind and the ever present sand, you and Cody don’t have much of a chance to talk. Instead, you hold each other as close as possible, making the most out of your remaining minutes together. All too soon, Kellis slows, then stops, parking just outside of a shuttle bay.

The three of you walk to the small queue gathered inside. Cody gives Kellis’ hand a firm shake and thanks him for everything. Kellis only nods at him, then glances between the two of you before wordlessly walking away, leaving you alone. Neither of you can speak, until the shuttle lands and people start to board.

Cody suddenly sweeps you tightly into his arms and rests his forehead against yours, and a single tear slips out of his eye.

“Tell me to stay,” he says, his voice low but his tone urgent. “ Please .”

“I can’t , Cody,” you say with a hiccup. “I won’t get in your way. Go help your brothers, and don’t worry about me,” you continue, softly kissing him before taking a few steps away and turning back toward the exit. He swiftly follows you, grabs you by the shoulders and spins you to face him before kissing you so deeply that you gasp when you break away.

“I love you, Cody. Don’t let me stop you from doing what you need to,” you say, barely holding yourself together.

“Cyare, I-,” he starts to say, but he’s cut off by the final boarding call. He glances over his shoulder and sees that he’s one of the last in the queue. When he turns back to you, you’ve already walked out of the shuttle bay, your shoulders hitching as you go. He stares at you until a Duros man tells him to get on the ship or get out of the way. Gritting his teeth, Cody turns away from you and moves down the line.

With every step you take further away from him, your internal voice screams and begs you to turn back around and stop him from getting on that shuttle, but you continue walking. You reach the exit of the shuttle bay and hesitate for a moment. Your breath hitches, and you decide not to look back as you leave.

Kellis has already started the speeder and is waiting for you there, but you walk straight past him without pause. He jogs after you and calls your name.

“Where are you going?” he asks, and you stop short. You speak when he catches up to you and your words are choked by tears.

“I-I just… want to be a-alone right now,” you say, then continue moving, not looking back. Kellis doesn’t stop you, and returns to his speeder.

About fifteen minutes later, you find yourself in the market district, which is far enough from the spaceport that when Cody’s shuttle leaves the ground you can only faintly hear its engines. You stop and turn around, watching it rise through the air and eventually travel out of your view.

Just like that, he’s gone again, and as much as it physically hurts you, you know you’ve done the right thing.

When you get back home over an hour later, you feel numb.

—

You haven’t left your apartment for at least three days. Today marks four days since Cody left, and if Kellis’ persistent knocking on your door is any indication, he thinks that’s long enough. Lying in bed, you roll away from the door, staring at the wall and doing your best to ignore him.

In response, he raises his voice enough for you to hear him say that if you don’t open the door he’ll do it himself. You halfheartedly tell him to go away and leave you alone, but before you can get the entire sentence out your voice cracks and you start sobbing again.

Your door opens almost immediately afterward and Kellis steps inside. You say nothing as he makes his way towards your bed while maneuvering around the mess. Normally you’d be embarrassed by it, but you’ve lost the ability to care about anything. You feel the mattress sink at your side when he sits down, and you curl in around yourself, hiccuping.

Kellis doesn’t ask you if you’re okay, or if somethings bothering you; he already knows the answers. Instead he gently rests his hand on your upper back and quietly says your name. When he does, you shakily pull yourself into a sitting position, tears still rolling down your face. You meet his eyes and try to speak, but nothing comes out, aside from a choked sob.

Just as he had on his balcony a few days ago, Kellis allows you to crumble against his chest and get it all out while he holds you close enough to keep you grounded. Eventually your tears stop, but he doesn’t let you go, saying without words that he’s going to stay with you as long as you need him to. The two of you sit like that for enough time that the two suns are beginning to set. You can’t see them from your window, but the light shining inside changes.

It’s that same damn shade of orange.

Taglist: @kaminocasey @madameminor @jennamelinda12 @arctrooper69 @the-cantina @jedi-hawkins @runforrestr

#my fics #Series #cody

8 notes · View notes

hermitdrabbles56 · 2 years

Note

Twilight is secretly the one who has the book obsession. :)

Twilight had been seat for all of two seconds, tucked up against a tree with his bag at his side when he found himself with a lap full of colorful clothes.

Four had been staving off a headache since they portal jumped that afternoon, and it looks like the beast with and anvil the hammer was winning.

So Twilight just gives a soft hum and rubs his head a slight bit. "How bad?"

"Ow.."

"Okay...what do you need?"

The smallest hero waists no time in getting comfortable. Curled up in the farmers lap like it's a perfectly built nest and making grabby hands for the wolf pelt still resting on on the bigger males shoulders. So with a soft chuckle he carefully undoes the clips holding it in place and pulls it off. Ploping it over four who practically purrs, hanging onto the fluffy bundle like it's a stuffed animal and burying his face in the soft fur.

"Do you want silence, or a distraction?"

"Distraction please....can you read?" Four mumbles into the fur.

He gives a soft chuckle. "Apparently headaches give you mind reading abilities, anything in particular you'd like too hear?"

"Not smart..brain can't handle the thinking."

Twilight gives another chuckle and starts reaching into his bag. Ever greatful for the magical thing as he starts digging around for the right bundle. "Perfect, I actually just picked up some new books."

"...didn't you pick some up last time?" Legend questions as he looks over.

"Yeah, but already read them and these had some new stories." Twilight grins.

"Shouldn't...we not be picking up books? For you know...timeline sakes?" Warriors questions carefully.

"Let's be real Timelines fucked! Go crazy go stupid." Wild announces unabashedly.

"Well..I wouldn't say fuck...hmm." Time stops mid sentence and contemplates his words for a moment. "Yeah no..no it's fucked.."

Wind just about snorts his water and is left in a laughter filled coughing fit as he topples off his log.

"Okay okay but like, still, how have you already gone through the last batch of books?? You got like five of them in my world!" Legend questions as he turns his attention back to Twilight.

"I read on my watches when I'm not doing something else!"

"We were in my world only a few weeks ago!"

"Soo??? Most of them were informal texts anyways those are fairly easy to breeze through." Twilight says with a shrug.

"You actually read informational stuff..?" Hyrule questions with a tilt of his head.

"Ehh, only certain things really but yeah! It's fun to learn new things."

"You'd like his herbology books they're super helpful." Wild pipes.

"..mm....speaking of when brain working again I wanna borrow that blacksmithing book you found when we went too Wilds hyrule." Four murmurs from under the wolf pelt.

"Which one?" Twilight asks with the tilt of his head.

"The old one...?"

He lets out another small chuckle. "Again which one?"

"..it's green?"

"Oh that one!"

"How many do you have!?" Warriors questions further.

"He has sooo many." Four mumbles as he looks over at the captain.

"How many is so many?" Sky finally pipes up.

"Bet its not as many as Legend!" Wind giggles now that he can breathe again.

"Oh no. It's worse." Legend admits.

"It's not that bad is it?" Twilight questions.

"There's no way it's that bad." Warriros deadpans.

"He could fill a royal library...granted thats with the extensive collection he has at his house but with the two combined someone could drown." Legend says right back in the same flat tone.

"Okay now that's an exaggeration." Twilight frowns.

"Okay but seriously how many do you have..?" Hyrule asks as he crawls over to him and Four.

"Mmmmmm..."

Reaching into his bag again Twilight starts pulling them out, by the bundle. They're all carefully organized held together by leather straps made specifically for carrying books. Though some are just bundled with twine.

There's herbology, agriculture, culture in general, blacksmithing plants and animals and even books on things the rest of them are interested in as well as many more. And of course, various story books both big and small. Even some that look like they've never properly been published.

Overall once the majority is layed out Twilight gives a sheepish little chuckle while rubbing at the back of his neck.

"See? It's not that bad."

#hermit responds!#hermit writes #nancyheart <3 #lu twilight #lu four #lu legend #lu warriors #since they talked the most ^^;#linked universe #obsessed enough?#i mean come on #you cant tell me in a world were the heroes outfit as built in bag of holding they wouldnt get a bit carried away sometimes!!#and books arent THAT bad when youre used to lugging around a ten ton ball and chain #its judt dome light reading #and he reads them all ALOT

101 notes · View notes

fxlsealarm · 2 months

Text

allow me to get emotional for a second

the bad batch was one of the last things i watched when i finally got into star wars some years ago and binged everything in the spawn of a few months

i don't know why, maybe because it was new, the whole first season was already out and i was a little afraid because what if i liked it and it ended up cancelled or something? or maybe i wasn't going to like it, the other shows had set the bar a little too high for me at the moment

but in the end i gave it a shot and i'm so happy i did it because this show has kept me alive and happy the past two years, becoming a comfort (along with all star wars un general) when things wasn't going well

i quickly fell in love with the characters and their story, getting some of my favorite characters in this whole universe, going through the whole spectrum of human emotion while watching the show

thanks to this show i got into one of the best fandoms i've ever been into, found wonderful artists and incredible writers, met a lot of beautiful people that even if i'm too shy to talk to i love interacting with

i started making fanart, writing fanfics, i made my own ocs (and i know i always say it but i'm gonna start posting soon, i promise) and it makes me so happy to be in such a nice place

it became one of my favorite shows ever and even when sometimes they rip my heart out of my chest or things don't go how i would like them to, i love it so much and so deeply i feel like i'm going crazy sometimes

and i knew it had to end eventually, when they announced this was the last season i was so sad, because it's so amazing and i always think it deserves more recognition, but this is it

i'm so excited and terrified for tomorrow and seeing everyone being as emotional as i am for this makes me want to cry more

this is a really special story and really special characters that have a place in my heart forever and i really hope the fandom don't die because it also has a lot of really special people in it that makes everything even better

happy last bad batch eve:)

#i'm sorry but i've been like this all day and i needed to get it out of my chest #the bad batch #the bad batch season 3 #the bad batch s3 #tbb #tbb season 3 #tbb s3 #hunter the bad batch #wrecker the bad batch #omega the bad batch #tech the bad batch #crosshair the bad batch #echo the bad batch

6 notes · View notes

neko-rogers · 4 years

Note

hey!! I’m not sure if your inbox is still open but I thought I’d send this just in case! what would you think abt a dark!peter who’s obsessed w s/o and offers to have her stay with him during like the stay-at-home pet of covid so she’s not alone then when it’s lifted he’s like lol you’re not leaving. sorry that’s kinda long and super specific. i absolutely love your writing though!!💗

Jamie All Over

words: 2,040 (no, i should be sorry bc this was chaotic)

tags: didn’t expect it to be this LONG, manipulative!peter parker, grooming, overprotectiveness, slight mentions of sex, don’t expect too much lmao its a headcanon

a/n: hi babe! i wasn’t entirely sure if you wanted this as a one shot (but if u do let me know!)

so you’re pretty unaware of every move peter is trying to do with you, you know? you were not really sure if it was a kind gesture, as the gentleman he seemed to be, or was it just a special treatment

ever since second year and until now as both of you were on your fourth year, he was consistent with his efforts

these moves were moments like when he would carry your books to your next class or confidently invite you to a study ‘date’ at the library after – often times he tells that his friends were invited, but would never show up later on

sometimes he would bring you lunch. you tried to turn it down kindly, but he insists that it was purposely packed as an extra for when he stays late around the university.

it was a lie though. anyone could tell by the way it was prepared looking very appetizing and tasted just as amazing at it was presented.

and as peter had mentioned that he lived alone, you also assumed he was the one to make his meals. you were so sure he doesn’t pack for an extra and intentionally wants to impress you with his skills.

“hey, y/n!,” he calls, “look this eggroll has a cute design!”

he honestly was an epitome of a walking sunshine. his smile seemed so pure and you never felt any ill-intent for every gesture he had done for you

his friends seemed very welcoming the moment he introduced you to his group

you got along with ned who seemed to be just as joyful and funny as peter. meanwhile mj was a bit more of a tough cookie, nevertheless you both eventually got a long better than you expected

however, it came to one point wherein your own group of friends started being disheartened with your lack of communication

“you’ve been spending more time with that parker boy, huh?” “yeah, kinda?” “are you two like... dating?” “oh no! no... no... nooo!”

the moment they frowned at you was then that you realized and felt a little more guilty. you always remembered that friends were supposed to be friends despite the lack of time and effort, right?

somehow you tried to compensate for the lack of time with your friends. but every minute you spend felt more awkward than before

they weren’t sharing the same vibe with you and you were starting to question if it had been always like it – were you only adjusting to them?

you reached out for peter, considering that he became one of the closest and trusted people around the university. plus, he seemed to have genuinely great friends

“do you feel happy when you’re spending time with them?”

“well i used to but recently–”

“then you should stop being friends with them.”

you were upset for a second. the way he instantly told you that cutting ties with them would be the (only) option

he sounded serious on the other end of the line and you were just speechless for a moment. the dead air between lines was evident, but you didn’t know what to say

“sorry,” peter makes up, “i didn’t mean to sound too serious. i just don’t like people who are rude, especially to you.”

“oh, it’s fine. i totally get it.” you felt a batch of butterflies around your stomach. someone actually cared for you!!!

the moment you didn’t hesitate on losing your friendship with your past friends and moved on with joining peter’s group, things felt lighter.

somehow you felt more expressive than you realized. they were open to your ideas and thoughts, just as you were with them. you felt super comfortable and realized that you weren’t holding back on anything anymore

that’s why you had expected your winter break to be better than your past ones

everyone agreed to skate around the ice rink in rockefeller for christmas. along with it, also spending new year’s eve at the time square

news flash: you finally had the cliche new year’s eve kiss, with none other than peter parker!!! hooray!!!

for anyone who had common sense, your feelings for peter had accentuated. you weren’t denying it either, and the boy wasn’t oblivious to it too

he was just so irresistible and kind to you, like, all the time – to surreal, honestly

you felt and KNEW you were spoiled with peter (and his friends, who liked to spend time with you outside too, just not as much as him)

just as you were planning your spring break activities, it had to be postponed for another time

a lockdown had to be implemented around the country as it was under the state of a pandemic

mj and ned told the group that they’ll be with their families since lectures had to be concluded for the mean time

you planned to do the same, but you expected that this situation wouldn’t last long. so you chose to stay in your dorm rather than return to your hometown

completely sucks since you not only don’t get to hang out with your friends, but you weren’t able to see anyone in person...

until you got a text from peter

he was literally inviting you over his apartment since he explained that he wasn’t returning home either

you practically rushed to pack a small amount of clothes for a sleepover whilst not forgetting to wear a mask (bc it’s fucking important ok)

you arrived at his address and a big warm hug ensues

his unit was so tidy and you were convinced he did it to impress you

peter was so happy to see you, acknowledging that you’re also spending a few nights with him

the nights mostly consisted of eating snacks and binge watching movies

however during one of those nights, both of you got a bonus – making out on his couch and further, completely forgetting the television

making out with peter wasn’t awkward at all. most of the time he was the one in control, which you didn’t mind

his hands treated you so gently but the way he teased you made you crave for more than what he was offering

a lot of whining, swearing, and begging – you weren’t aware but he was enjoying it a lot

on his side, he did praise you from time to time, but most of it consisted of raw tension and actions. the room was full of grunts and short breaths

just want to include how sexy peter would be while he moans all over you. like his whole sunshine personality just drained away the moment he places his hands on either sides of your waist

the next day you felt like a princess even though you know it shouldn’t be???

apparently peter prepared breakfast for you and you felt embarrassed walking around his place only in the shirt you wore yesterday and underwear

just when you thought the extra lunch he packs for you was already amazing, the breakfast he prepared whilst being fresh and hot was just incredible

“you really like it?”

“of course! you really have to teach me to cook sometimes”

peter laughs and jokes, “yeah, don’t worry. i feel like we’ve got a lot of time ahead.”

ok fast forward to a few more days when you were beginning to feel like a freeloader. he lets you borrow a few of his clothes as yours were in the laundry

by the time you wanted to stop by your place, peter started to be more... clingy

at first he didn’t want you to go but after a few more debates, he felt defeated and instead insisted on going with you

eventually you caved and let him. it wasn’t that bad either, he talked to you about a lot of things on the way leaving you entertained the whole walk without realizing how far it had been

he helped you ‘pack’ more stuff so you wouldn’t be going back and forth from his place and yours. you felt like you were going out of town for a month with the amount of clothes and products

both of you returned to his place around late afternoon. you felt pretty tired and didn’t hesitate to pass out on the living room couch

when you woke up you sensed that you were in peter’s bedroom, meaning he carried and tucked you during the night

plus! an arm was wrapped around your midriff and you could feel peter’s breathing against your side

you closed your eyes and appreciated the moment. it was cute and made butterflies flutter around your stomach, and you tried not to move much to not wake him up

anyways apparently the pandemic lasted longer, and more serious, than expected (fuck the government and their incompetency)

you spent more time with peter and was thankful that you didn’t spend this quarantine alone

within a blink of an eye, a month and a half already had passed. you couldn’t deny that most, or all, days have been unproductive

eat, cook, watch tv, cuddle, fuck, repeatedly get spoiled??? yeah sounds like the dream

weird though because you haven’t completely brought up to peter if you’re actually in a relationship with him. oh no were you just friends with (a lot) of benefits??

but you also felt like it wasn’t the time to bring it up. neither of you were saying anything so it was best to let it be for the fear that things might go downhill from there

anyways this continued for more weeks, especially since the ‘stay-at-home’ policy was deemed necessary

you started to help him do errands around the apartment just to feel like you weren’t an actual freeloader – but it wasn’t a surprise when he kept insisting that you should relax

more cute moments

more sexy times

and more cuddles during night (peter’s grip became tighter every night, but you shrugged it off assuming that it was just you getting homesick and overthinking)

ok but when you brought up being homesick and mentioned that you planned peter wasn’t entirely happy about it

the way he acted wasn’t just clingy. he insisted that he’d be the one to go and that you were staying

“ok but i’m not a dog, peter?” “i know, honey, but it’s too dangerous outside. i wouldn’t want you to be at risk.” “i wear a mask?? i follow health protocols?? i’ll be fine??” “you don’t understand–”

oh god he was becoming controlling

you tried not to argue anymore, rather ignoring and pushing past him to proceed to the door

and peter instinctively wrapped an arm around your waist and prevented you from walking further

there was a lot of struggling, but you didn’t know he was this strong. literally what the hell.

you tried to scream too but he pretty much threatened you to your core

“let’s talk this out,” he grunts as he secures his grip around you

“the hell? let me go!”

things got more complicated. he did convince you to talk with him (by means of tying your arms and legs to incapacitate you from running and righting)

it was a nightmare. he was really soft and sweet with you, even getting teary eyed after stating, “i only want what’s best for you... for us”

however you could sense the manipulativeness through it despite being making everything else look convincing

“trust me, sweetie, i wouldn’t want to hurt you. it would crush me” “please don’t cry. i’m only protecting you” “people are disgusting, they don’t deserve an angel like you” “don’t worry, i can protect you”

it terrified you to your nerves, sending shivers across your spine

at first you didn’t realize it, but eventually after days of being trapped, you figured he had been grooming you the whole time

he tried to make you dependent of him and somehow he did a fine job. just not enough to completely exploit you

though, it made you question what would have been better in your situation: being conscious of his sly nature with the hope of escaping or being unaware and completely wrapped around his finger whereas letting him continue how greatly he had been caring for you?

489 notes · View notes

hellandholywater · 3 years

Text

A Midnight Clear

It's Christmas Eve, 1896, and all Aziraphale wants is to read his book in peace. His plans are thwarted when he receives a special assignment, but a long-missed demonic visitor appears and sidesteps the Arrangement to grant Aziraphale's wish. In the end, the angel finds that all he wants is his demon back at his side, but where is Crowley?

Aziraphale/Crowley Rated: Teen & up 4k words

Read on ao3

Many thanks to my beta readers, @chiaroscuroverse and @wordsintimeandspace, for making this story so much better than it would have been. I’ve made a number of changes since they’ve seen it, and any errors of style or substance are my own.

Part of the @go-july-celebration

London, Soho, 1896

A knock came at the door of A.Z. Fell & Co. for the thirteenth time that evening. It was Christmas Eve — a night for peace and goodwill towards men — but after his reading had been interrupted by twelve groups of carolers, each increasingly intoxicated and off-key, even an angel might lose his temper, and this one had. The sign on the door clearly indicated that the bookshop was closed for the night.

Aziraphale leapt to his feet and stormed to the door, unlocked it and yanked it open, seething, intending to give this latest batch of warbling merry-makers a large and vivid piece of his mind.

"Now, see here!" he began, but his next words came to a sudden, guttural stop.

"Gabriel!" he choked as his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "And Sandalphon … what a lovely surprise!" Aziraphale stepped back abruptly and flung an arm out to invite them inside. He tried to wring the venom from his planned anti-caroling tirade and inject a bit of enthusiasm in his greeting to the Archangel and his underling, rather than the unmitigated panic he was feeling. He hadn't seen either of them for decades, and his mind raced trying to puzzle out why they were here in his bookshop now.

Gabriel smirked at him as he unwrapped the scarf from around his neck and handed it to Sandalphon, whose metallic teeth glinted as he smiled insincerely at the Principality.

"Calm down, Aziraphale!" boomed Gabriel, as if speaking to an audience in a large hall rather than the bookshop. "It's Christmas Eve! You should be celebrating the occasion, not shouting at people. What kind of angel are you?" he said, throwing up his arms in scornful emphasis.

At this, Sandalphon let out a chortle that spoke more of schadenfreude than good cheer. Gabriel smiled at him indulgently, making Aziraphale feel slightly ill.

"I do apologize," Aziraphale said, trying to resist the sarcastic tone he felt like interjecting. "It won't happen again. But, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

At this, Gabriel sobered, and he clasped his shoulder firmly. "Aziraphale, I have a special assignment for you."

"Oh?" The angel raised his brow and pasted on a smile, doing his best to look intrigued rather than indisposed.

Gabriel continued as if he hadn't noticed Aziraphale at all, which he probably hadn't. (Sandalphon had noticed, however, and shot his fellow angel a rather nasty grimace.) "You're aware, of course, that Frederick Temple was recently nominated Archbishop of Canterbury?"

"Ye-es, I thought I'd heard something to that effect."

"Well? Temple's participation in Essays and Reviews was nothing short of heresy! And here he is being rewarded for it with the highest religious office in England!"

"Yes, yes. Terrible," said Aziraphale, furrowing his brow. He’d thought the essays rather funny, but he didn’t want to appear to disagree with the Archangel.

"Aziraphale…." Gabriel intoned deliberately and with more than a hint of condescension. "Did you even read the essays? Denying that true prophecies exist — refusing the very possibility of miracles — even questioning the eternal nature of damnation!" he scoffed, shaking his head.

Sandalphon glared at Aziraphale as if he were personally responsible for writing and publishing the heretical texts, and nodded slowly.

Aziraphale winced. "Yes, of course I've read them," he said, hoping fervently his irritation with Gabriel didn't show. "I can't say I find much to agree with in them."

"Duh!" said Gabriel. "And Temple's little writer friends hold too much sway with him. He's starting to have doubts of his own. That's why I want you to prepare a visitation for him, before he's officially installed as Archbishop. Remind the old boy of the divine power of Heaven."

"You mean…."

"Yes. The halo, the wings, the heavenly vestments — the whole nine yards."

"But…on Christmas Eve?" Aziraphale asked, thinking longingly of his abandoned reading.

"What better time?" said Gabriel.

"I suppose you're right," Aziraphale said as agreeably as he could manage, under the circumstances.

"Of course I am! Now, hop to it, Aziraphale," Gabriel smiled, exchanging a toothy grin with Sandalphon. "I look forward to reading your report."

"Er, yes, quite," Aziraphale said as he showed the two angels to the door, and bolted it shut behind them as soon as he dared.

His shoulders slumped as he resigned himself to a ruined evening. He went to his section on religion in England to locate the book with Temple's essay, in order to refresh his memory before he confronted the man.

* * *

A few minutes later, there came another knock. Beyond frustrated with the way his evening was going, and frazzled by the Archangel's visit, Aziraphale stomped to the door, unbarred it, and flung it open.

"I'm not interested!" he started to shout at the fourteenth interruption of the night. The words died in his throat as he recognized the interloper.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale said with a swirling mix of shock, relief, and something he couldn't quite identify. Something that hollowed out his chest and filled his stomach with butterflies.

"Aziraphale," said Crowley quietly. "I know it's been a while," he started, but stopped abruptly as he found himself being hauled bodily into the bookshop.

Aziraphale poked his head out of the door and quickly looked from side to side. Satisfied, he withdrew and closed the door, the bell at the top ringing with finality as he locked and bolted the door. He turned around.

"It's been 34 years, you great pillock! Not one word in all that time," Aziraphale accused.

"I've been asleep. I'm sorry," Crowley apologized, sounding genuinely contrite.

“Asleep! For 34 years?”

Crowley took a deep breath. “Yeah. Well, after our last meeting, I was feeling sort of … melancholy. And I sleep a lot when I get like that.”

“Oh, Crowley….”

“It’s not a big deal. I just…I woke up today and thought I’d stop by, all right?”

Aziraphale just stared at him for a moment, drinking in the sight of him. Crowley was attired in a Homburg and black top coat over a black suit with dark red lapels. He was nearly clean shaven, with just neatly trimmed sideburns remaining. He was as dashing and handsome as ever.

Crowley doffed his hat and set it on the counter. Aziraphale began to pace the floorboards.

"What is it? What's the matter, Angel?" Crowley said in concern. "I really am sorry," he said emphatically.

"Oh no, it's not you, dear boy. I just had a visit from Gabriel."

"Gabriel! What did he want?"

"He wants me to appear to the new Archbishop — Temple — in full regalia, wings, halo and all. Tonight!"

"Ha!" Crowley started to laugh, then thought better of it. "An Angel of the Lord visiting, well … anyone these days, is hard to come by. What brought this on, then?"

"There was a book he contributed an essay to, years ago, that had some rather … heretical content."

"Ahhh … the Essays and Reviews."

"You know it?" Aziraphale said in surprise. He narrowed his eyes. "I thought you said you don't read?"

"I don't! I … skim," Crowley admitted. "Besides, that book is well known down in Hell. Top ten humor book since it was published. But Temple's piece isn't so bad. Why did Gabriel order a visitation for it?"

"Gabriel is concerned that Temple's friends may hold undue influence over him. Seeding heresy."

Crowley shook his head. "Guilt by association. And the church on the verge of a schism. It's no wonder the humans are leaving it these days."

"I'm sure that's just a temporary anomaly," said Aziraphale, sounding not very sure at all.

"Right. Well, I suppose I'd better go and leave you to it," said Crowley. But he didn't move, and Aziraphale was heartened.

"I was so looking forward to reading Dickens tonight…." He glanced coyly at Crowley for a moment, then quickly looked away.

Crowley smirked at Aziraphale, then sighed quietly. "I suppose I could do the angel visitation bit for you," he proposed.

"Oh, would you?"

"'Course I would.”

"Thank you, Crowley!" Aziraphale smiled, reaching out to grasp the demon's shoulder in gratitude. He lingered for a few seconds, holding Crowley's gaze, gave his shoulder a squeeze, and withdrew.

Crowley gave a barely visible shiver when the angel removed his hand, and Aziraphale wondered if he'd caught a draft. He was so sensitive to the cold.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," he said, pulling a suspiciously book-shaped, festively wrapped package from inside his coat. He held it out towards Aziraphale.

"Little Christmas present for you, Angel."

Aziraphale reached out and took it, grinning in delight.

"Crowley! But I don't have anything for you," he said regretfully.

"'S' alright, Aziraphale. It was my pleasure." Crowley gave it to him with a wistful smile.

"May I open it?"

"Please."

Aziraphale tugged on the end of the ribbon and set it loose, then carefully unwrapped the paper. It was indeed a book, housed in a red Morocco-backed slipcase, its spine lettered in gilt, with red cloth sides and chemise. Aziraphale tilted the slipcase and removed the white book, the stamped red and black design of the cover proclaiming it one of Oscar Wilde's most beloved works.

"The Happy Prince and Other Tales?"

Crowley nodded. "First edition, of course."

"Well! This is a lovely gift. The Selfish Giant has always been one of my favorite stories of his. Poor Oscar…. I do already have a first edition, but of course, another copy is always welcome!"

"This one's inscribed," said Crowley with an inscrutable smile.

Aziraphale opened the book to the title page and read:

Aziraphale, my dear friend. May this book bring you as much joy as you have brought me. You're an absolute angel. ~Oscar Wilde, 1896

Aziraphale looked up and stared at Crowley open-mouthed, turned back the book in wonder, then set it down next to Crowley's Homburg. "You didn't!" Aziraphale said in disbelief. "He's in Reading Gaol, isn't he? How did you …?"

Crowley smiled genuinely for the first time that night. "Richard B. Haldane, liberal MP and reformer, has been visiting Oscar from time to time, appealing for improved conditions for him. I simply impersonated Haldane and they let me in to see him."

"But… he can't have been in a mood to sign autographs — how did you get him to sign this for me?" Aziraphale said in amazement.

"Oh, I took him some books and writing materials he hasn't been allowed. Convinced the warden it would be in his best interests to let him have them."

Aziraphale shook his head, then looked at Crowley as if he'd never seen him before. "You went to all that trouble for me?"

Crowley just smiled crookedly. "It was no trouble," he said, and then, softly, "I'd do anything for …," he choked back the final word, biting his lip, but it didn't matter. He might have been confessing his every sin, the way the unspoken end of that sentence rang in the silence.

Aziraphale was stunned. He needed to say something, to tell Crowley that he felt the same way, but he hadn't expected this revelation, and he just wasn't good at change. What did Crowley expect? What was he hoping for from Aziraphale?

Crowley cleared his throat, stepped forward to reach for his hat, and suddenly he was in Aziraphale's arms. He froze for a moment, then he hugged the angel back quite desperately. They had rarely touched over the centuries, and never before had there been… whatever this was, with Aziraphale's hands fisted in the back of his coat and their heartbeats separated only by a few layers of cloth and thin corporations. They stayed like that for a long time, the seconds ticking by into minutes, and gradually relaxed into each other.

"Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale said breathily into Crowley's neck.

Crowley let a stifled moan escape him.

Aziraphale responded with a sharp intake of breath. But he didn't let go.

Slowly, Crowley straightened and withdrew.

"I should go — get started on that visitation before it gets too late," he said reluctantly.

Aziraphale was sure he was looking at Crowley with darkened eyes, and he was dangerously close to telling him to stay, to forget about the incoming Archbishop.

Instead, the moment passed, and Crowley put his hat on and turned to go. His hand was on the doorknob when he was stopped in his tracks by Aziraphale's hand covering his.

"Wait," said Aziraphale softly.

Crowley waited, holding his breath.

"When you're done with Temple, will you come back here?"

Crowley nodded. "Yeah, 'course I will… if you want," he murmured.

Aziraphale's hand squeezed his gently and then let go.

"It's been far too long, dear boy. I… I'll see you when you return," Aziraphale said as firmly as he could manage.

"I'll be back before you know it," Crowley said. And he disappeared into the night and the fog.

* * *

Aziraphale returned to his desk and tried to resume his reading of A Christmas Carol, but he was distracted, thinking about Crowley. He thought about his utterly perfect gift, and the visitation tonight that was so far outside of the Arrangement, Aziraphale couldn't see it as anything but another gift.

He knew, on some level, how Crowley felt about him, but it had been more of a vague sense of love that radiated off of him. He'd never heard him use words the way he'd done tonight. "It was no trouble. I'd do anything for…," and, "'course I will… if you want," swirled in his mind, and warmed him from the inside out.

He flushed as he thought about how beautiful Crowley was, his crooked almost-smile, his kindness, and how right it felt to hold him. And he thought about the way his stomach swooped just from touching his hand.

By 10 o' clock he'd abandoned Dickens in favor of Wilde, and at a quarter past 10, he began pacing the floorboards in front of the door, stopping every so often to peer out the window and watch for Crowley's return.

He needed something to do to stop him from flying out the door in search of his demon.

He got out two bottles of claret, and set them on his desk, then summoned a stockpot with a snap of his fingers. Another snap brought a bowl of oranges, a cup of sugar, a small cutting board and grater, and an assortment of mulling spices to the counter.

Aziraphale studded the oranges with whole cloves and set four of them in a shallow pan. He opened the door of the cast iron stove, stoked the fire with a few pieces of split wood, and balanced the pan of oranges on top. After grating a quarter of the nutmeg, and peeling the ginger and slicing it thinly, he set the spices aside. He peeked inside the oven, sighed and snapped his fingers again, removed the pan of fully roasted oranges and set them on top of the stove.

Aziraphale uncorked both bottles, poured the wine into the pot, and set it on the wood stove to start heating while he carefully cut the hot oranges and squeezed the juice into a tall mug. He added the sugar and spices to the claret and cleaned up the mess as he waited for the mixture to simmer.

The angel sat down with Wilde and tried to read, but was unable to concentrate, glancing at the door every few seconds. Sighing, he got up and put a record on the gramophone, and started to tidy his piles of books, adding his resonant baritone to the choir of St. Paul's Cathedral as they sang:

It came upon a midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth, To touch their harps of gold:

"Peace on the earth, goodwill to men, From heaven's all-gracious King." The world in solemn stillness lay, To hear the angels sing.

Aziraphale strained out the spices, added the orange juice and stirred, sniffing the fragrant steam appreciatively. He closed his eyes as the song came to a close.

For lo!, the days are hastening on, By prophet bards foretold, When with the ever-circling years Comes round the age of gold

When peace shall over all the earth Its ancient splendors fling, And the whole world give back the song Which now the angels sing.

When he opened his eyes again he noticed an ornament that was askew on the bookshop’s small Christmas tree. He straightened the ornament, and checked the rest of them while he was at it. The gold-sequined star on top of the tree gleamed.

The angel moved the steaming pot of mulled wine to a large trivet. He ladled two cups of the concoction into mugs and snapped a light miracle on them to keep them piping hot.

As cozy as it was in the bookshop, Aziraphale felt uneasy. He checked the clock again, sighed and shook his head. It was nearly midnight. It wasn't like Crowley to take so long on a job. What if something had happened to him? It would be all Aziraphale's fault!

The angel puttered around the shop, reshelving books and dusting everything in sight, though nothing needed it. He had worked himself into quite a state by the time the door opened, ringing the bell. He startled, and turned around to see Crowley slipping inside the bookshop. The fog had dissipated for once, and the clear night let in a crisp draft of air with a hint of snow.

"Crowley!" he exclaimed, hurrying forward.

"Hello Aziraphale!" Crowley grinned. His grin faded, replaced by a blissful expression, as Aziraphale hugged him tightly.

"I'm so relieved you're back! It went well, then?" He drew back to look at Crowley. With one hand, he locked and then bolted the door.

"Yeah, it went… surprisingly well," he started, but was struck silent when Aziraphale took his cold hand in his warm, soft ones, and led him to the sofa next to his desk. Crowley sat down, and Aziraphale, instead of sitting at the desk as he'd done every other time in the last century, sat next to him. He didn't let go of Crowley's hand, but rested it on his thigh.

"Ngk," said Crowley, flushing beautifully.

Aziraphale pressed a glass of the mulled wine into Crowley's hands, then picked up his own. "Tell me what happened, my dear. Why were you gone so long?"

Crowley nodded, taking a sip of the sweet, hot liquid gratefully.

"Well, I took a cab to the residence of the Archbishop, and waited for the horses to trot off, and for quiet to settle there. I miracled myself into angelic robes and unfurled my wings, and cast a glamour on them to make them appear white. And then I popped into Temple's chamber with a burst of light."

Aziraphale hung on his every word as he described Temple's shock.

"I thought he was going to have a heart attack, at first," Crowley continued. "He'd been reading in bed. He grabbed at his chest with one hand — very dramatic, it was. If he'd been wearing pearls, he'd have clutched them," he laughed.

Aziraphale laughed, too, and squeezed Crowley's hand. He didn't let go.

Crowley paused, taking a deep breath. "We wound up having an interesting chat about science and religion, actually," he said. "I sort of forgot why I was there. Sorry about that, Angel," Crowley apologized. He took a swig of the mulled wine.

"I'll think of something to tell Gabriel," Aziraphale assured him.

"This isn't Smoking Bishop, but it's close," Crowley said curiously. "What is it?"

"Oh — it's made with claret instead of port. Little creation of mine. I'm calling it, 'Smoking Archbishop,'" Aziraphale said proudly.

Crowley cheerfully toasted the angel's ingenuity, taking another swallow of his invention and gazing at him fondly, his glowing golden eyes just visible through his dark lenses.

Aziraphale preened under Crowley's attention, fluttering his eyes at him, and took a large sip of punch. "I'm just glad you're all right," he said insistently. "I shouldn't have sent you. It was an indulgence, so I could read, and I was too distracted worrying about you to enjoy it for long," he fussed, too caught up in his self-flagellation to notice his confession.

Crowley brought their joined hands to his lips and brushed a kiss over Aziraphale's knuckles.

Aziraphale blew out a sharp breath.

"Angel, I'm fine. It's all right. It was a lark, to be honest. I had fun."

"But…you shouldn't spoil me so," Aziraphale fretted.

"I don't mind," Crowley said roughly.

"Well… Anyway, thank you," Aziraphale said, his voice like warm honey.

Crowley visibly melted. "Nggyeah," he babbled. "I…," he stopped speaking as Aziraphale brought his hand to his chest. Crowley gasped. Aziraphale was sure that, even through multiple layers of cloth, Crowley must be able to feel his heartbeat tripping under his fingers.

"My dear…," Aziraphale started breathily, but the rest of his words got stuck in his throat as Crowley removed his hat, set it aside, and ran his free hand through his hair. His sunglasses followed, set down next to the Homburg.

He looked straight at Aziraphale, and cupped his cheek in his hand, all of his defenses down.

Aziraphale was thunderstruck. He felt so much love radiating from the demon, it was a miracle he'd ever been able to keep it cloaked from him all this time. Aziraphale felt as if he was going to discorporate on the spot. When he didn't, he turned his head to the left, and kissed Crowley's palm.

Crowley managed a small, "Hnnggh," and dared to stroke Aziraphale's cheekbones with his thumb.

Aziraphale closed his eyes in bliss for a moment, then, unconsciously parting his lips, he leaned forward. Crowley's mouth met his with a softness and tenderness that would have shocked the demons of Hell.

Crowley brought his other hand up, framing Aziraphale's face with his fingers. He deepened the kiss until the angel moaned.

Aziraphale brought his hands up to Crowley's head, sliding his fingers through soft red hair. He ran his fingers around to the back of his head, pulling him closer, a frisson of excitement sparking through his body like fireworks.

Crowley slid his hands down to the angel's shoulders and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer still. Aziraphale matched him breath for breath, kiss for kiss. From a church nearby, there came a chime, followed by twelve bells.

Aziraphale opened his eyes and drew back to see a dazed expression on Crowley’s face.

"It's Christmas. Merry Christmas, Aziraphale," Crowley breathed.

"Merry Christmas, darling." Aziraphale grinned.

"I love you," Crowley whispered fiercely.

Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath, then let it whoosh out again as he drew the demon's unresisting body close.

"Oh Crowley … I love you, too," Aziraphale said shakily.

They settled back onto the sofa in each other's arms, and Aziraphale reached for his mug. Crowley picked up his own and held it aloft.

"To… to Gabriel for being an utter bastard, for giving you the assignment that finally brought us together."

Aziraphale pursed his lips and raised his eyebrow, and Crowley looked uncomfortable. The angel relented with a giggle.

"To new beginnings," he suggested with a smile.

"To new beginnings," Crowley echoed, and raised his mug.

Outside the bookshop, snow began to fall. Aziraphale noticed the fluffy flakes out of the corner of his eye, and he turned his head to watch them fall. He turned back to Crowley, eyes shining brightly.

"Snow, in London! It's a Christmas miracle!" he exclaimed.

"Nonsense. It's going to inconvenience tons of people. They won't be able to see their families for Christmas dinner. Got to be one of ours.”

"Oh really?" Aziraphale smirked. "It wouldn't do for me to let you go home in this dreadful weather. You'll have to stay the night."

"I take it back, it's a miracle," Crowley intoned.

Aziraphale beamed at his demon.

#good omens #good omens fic #christmas fic #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale/crowley #christmas fluff #go-july-celebration #gojulycelebration #good omens july celebration #good omens july #mutual pining #romantic fluff #good omens fanfic #I wrote this

58 notes · View notes

sunshinestrand-inactive · 3 years

Text

You’ll Be In My Heart

Written for Day 4 of @carlosreyesweek: “You’ve come so far.” + Future

[1154 words] Read on AO3

***

It's on the eve of his wedding when his mind is in so much of a whirlwind that he’s unable to sleep. His body seems to act on its own, pulling itself from his bed and then he's in the kitchen. He had been young when he had taken to baking whenever he got stressed. It had started on a particularly bad day at school and his mama had brought him into the kitchen. She had shown him how to make one of her most famous desserts. That was all it took for Carlos to fall in love with it.

Carlos isn’t usually one to get nervous. He prides himself on controlling himself and being calm in situations where it may have called for him to act otherwise. He found himself only ever losing control of his emotions when someone he loved was in trouble or hurt. Carlos is sure that’s when he knew how much he would love TK. The day TK had gotten shot, he stayed beside him and prayed for him to wake up, for their unofficial journey to end so abruptly. He prayed he would get more time with him and the universe had given him that. And now tomorrow, he will be marrying him. TK Strand will be his husband. He couldn’t help but to smile at the thought.

He moves around the kitchen with extreme precision, grabbing ingredients and putting them onto the counter. He figures all he has to do is make a couple of batches of something in order to shake the nerves. Before he knows it, however, he's six trays of cookies into it.

“Carlos?”

He startles, forgetting he’s not alone in the house and he turns to find his mother standing in the entrance of the hallway. When he checks his phone for the time, he finds it's well past three in the morning.

"What are you doing, my love?" His mother asks as she crosses the small space to stand at the counter.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you." Carlos mumbles. "I just couldn’t sleep."

"It's okay, sweetheart." She says, lifting a gentle hand to brush one of his curls off his forehead. "What's weighing on you?"

Carlos chews on the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the batter he is stirring. “I’m just so nervous, mama. I’ve never felt like this about anyone and I just -”

“Feel scared?” She finishes.

“Yeah.” Carlos agrees. “But like in the best way possible.”

His mother moves towards the sink to wash her hands and then in a few seconds, she’s standing beside him. She begins taking the cookie dough from one of the bowls and placing it on a sheet pan. “You know, from the first moment I met TK, I knew he was the one for you.”

“You did?” Carlos asks softly.

She nods. “Yes, I could see the love he held for you in those eyes of his. I knew that I wouldn’t have to worry about you. I knew he would take good care of you and love you.”

Carlos smiles at her words. “He does, more than I think I deserve sometimes.”

“Oh, sweetheart, look at me.” She says and Carlos freezes in his task, turning his gaze slowly. She wipes her hands before she reaches up and cups his face softly. “You need to hear this. When TK came to your father and I to ask us for our blessing, he told us that he loves you more than anything. That he knew he always would, he was so sure that his love would never go away. You have one of the biggest hearts I have ever seen, my love. You deserve all that this world can give you and so much more, Carlos Reyes.”

Carlos feels tears well up in his eyes. “He really said that?”

“Yes, that boy loves you. I can feel it in my heart. It’s the same love that has kept your father and I together all these years. It’s an undeniable, scary, and beautiful love. I knew from the moment that he asked us to marry you, I knew that he would fight forever for you. That he would love you until his very last breath. You deserve that, you hear me? You do. So, that is all you need to think about when you're standing up there. You look into those eyes of the man that you love and nothing else will matter. That love will blossom between the two of you for so many years to come and that’s what you need to believe.”

Carlos shakes his head, allowing some of his tears to fall. In a quick movement, his mother wipes them away before they can make it down his face.

His mother’s voice breaks as she speaks. “You’ve come so far, Carlos and I’m so proud of you.”

He’s not sure what to say so he simply hugs her, falling into her like he was a little kid again. “Thank you, mama.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” She says, her voice muffled in his shirt. When they pull away, she looks up at him, her eyes glazed over with tears. “How are you feeling now?”

He thinks for a moment. He thinks of hearing his mother tell him just how TK feels about him and how much love holds for him. It’s a relief to know they feel the exact same way about each other, how on the same level they are. He thinks of how tomorrow he’ll be standing in front of TK, promising forever with him.

“I think so.” Carlos whispers. “Thank you. I love you, mama.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Now let’s finish this baking and get you back to bed.”

Carlos nods but decides before that can happen, he picks up his phone and presses on TK’s name, allowing the phone to ring for a moment. It doesn’t take long before there’s an answer.

“Hey love,” Carlos says softly. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

TK’s voice comes not long later, hoarse and groggy. “You didn’t. I’ve been reading. Are you okay?”

Carlos smiles. “I am, I just wanted you to know that I miss you and I love you so much. I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

TK’s chuckle breaks through Carlos’ exhaustion. “I miss you too, baby. I’m counting down the hours. I love you to the moon and back.”

“Goodnight TK.”

“Goodnight Carlos.”

He hangs up the phone, his smile growing as he shakes his head. Go figure that him and TK are both having issues sleeping before the biggest day of their lives. They are truly the perfect match for one another. Carlos sets his phone back down onto the counter and focuses back onto the batter in front of him. Tomorrow was going to be one of the best days of his life.

He just knows it.

#911 lone star #carlosreyesweek2021 #carlos reyes #paige writes #userkimmy #tuserjamie #userjillian #userjilly #userthai #useralie #useraninha #ronenrubinstein #usermaximus

47 notes · View notes

tagsecretsanta · 3 years

Text

From @MissSquidTracy

to @scattergraph

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Gordon liked to think of himself as the fashionista of the family.

Sure, his Hawaiian shirts sometimes drew attention of the unwanted kind, but the aquanaut was a firm believer in using clothing as a means of non-verbal communication. John was living proof of this theory.

Unfortunately, all of the freedom associated with self-expression went down the toilet with a resounding ‘flush’ when tradition dictated your attire, even if only for a day.

“Seriously, grandma?” Alan grouched, his bottom lip poking out to form his signature pout when he spied the Tracy matriarch descending the stairs with an armful of colourful sweaters.

“Zip it, kid,” Sally rasped, her tone offering no room for negotiation, “This year marks the tenth anniversary of the Tracy Christmas Album, and I’ll not have your attitude souring the occasion.”

Scott and Virgil shared a look of mutual disgust as Sally handed them two hideously baggy and itchy looking jumpers.

“Don’t you two start as well,” Sally warned, yanking a loose thread off the sleeve of John’s before tossing it towards the redhead, “Anyone caught sulking will be in the kitchen with me for the rest of the afternoon. I’ve just finished a fresh batch of liver and onion stuffing and could use a taste tester.”

Five jumpers were yanked over five heads in perfect unison.

A nod from Sally affirmed her satisfaction with her grandson’s new-found cooperation.

Gordon grimaced and scratched absently as the coarse fibres tickled the soft skin of his neck. Posing for the annual Christmas album photograph was a tradition that stretched right back to their days on the ranch, yet he found himself becoming more disillusioned with it the older he got. Maybe it was the discomfort of wearing an unnecessary extra layer in Tracy Island’s heat. Maybe it was the disappointment of no longer having snow to wake up to on Christmas morning. Maybe it was the absence of his parents, and for the last three years, at least one of his brothers.

“Who’s on the roster for today?” Kayo asked, striding into the room and wordlessly scooping up the one remaining jumper that was equally as ugly as the abominations adorning the torsos of her male colleagues.

In an effort to preserve the family element of the season, Scott had devised a strategy where just one member of International Rescue acted as the primary point of contact for any rescue calls that came through on Christmas Day, be them sea, earth or space based. Last year, Virgil had volunteered and been called to Nigeria to deal with a flash flood. The year before, Kayo had drawn the short straw and ended up assisting with the evacuation of a small town in Chile when a nearby volcano blew it’s top. The year before, Gordon had helped clear away the debris caused by a three-way semi collision on one of Australia’s busiest highways. The aquanaut had been instrumental in ensuring three hundred people made it home in time for Christmas, despite it coming at the expense of his own.

Fairness dictated that Virgil, Kayo and Gordon were exempt from being called upon this Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Accordingly, the honour of being ATD (available to deploy) fell to Scott, John, and Alan to hash out.

One quick round of rock, paper, scissors later, and Scott found himself wondering what brothers three and five would look like with their heads shaved.

“Alright, scoot in!” Sally ordered, returning with Alan’s tablet which she held aloft in an attempt to get a good angle, “Scott and John, you two stand at the back. Gordon and Virgil, you kneel in front of your brothers. Kayo and Alan, I need you both to sit at the front. We’re going for a tiered approach this year.”

A healthy amount of shuffling ensued as each Tracy (plus Kayo) moved into position and tried desperately to make himself/herself look decent. Scott yanked on the hem of his jumper in an attempt to cover up his belt. Virgil tried to hoist his up so that he wasn’t rocking the off the shoulder look. John scrubbed at his nose as the acrylic material began to trigger one of his many allergies. Gordon fanned his face with a hand as sweat began to bead across his forehead. Alan tugged fruitlessly on sleeves that fell woefully short of his wrists, and Kayo demanded that Virgil tell her honestly whether the shape of her jumper made her look fat.

Sally was firmly of the opinion that jumpers had to be vomit-inducingly ugly in order to be ‘festive’. The designs adorning each of the six knitted atrocities in front of her offered indisputable visual evidence of this belief.

Scott was brandishing a bright blue snowman, while Virgil sported a dark green reindeer (complete with light-up antlers). John was the unwilling wearer of an orange gingerbread man, and Gordon was proudly modelling a yellow penguin (complete with a squeezable beak that sang Jingle Bells if you so much as looked at it). Alan appeared indifferent to the red elf plastered across his chest, and Kayo was trying to make the best of her rapidly unravelling black turtledoves.

“Smile!” Sally sang, her finger poised, “On the count of three, everybody say cheese! One…two…three!”

“CHEESE!”

Click.

Flash.

The end result was less than impressive. Scott had blinked at precisely the wrong moment. The grin plastered across Virgil’s face was nothing short of horrifying. John’s eyes were almost as red as his hair. Gordon was shamelessly modelling a chunk of leftover spinach in his right canine. Alan had twisted his head to peer at Virgil at the last second and was a blond and red blur…

Unsurprisingly, Kayo was the only one who’d managed to look straight at the camera and smile like a normal person.

After reviewing her rather substandard snap and tutting in disapproval, Sally tightened her grip on the tablet and ushered her dispersing grandsons back into formation with a ‘shoo’ motion of her free hand, “Come on you lot, form up. Nobody leaves this room until we have a decent photo. How you boys can look so good in real life but so bad on canvas is beyond me. Your dad always said-“

The sudden departure of an elf wearing Tracy brought all dialogue to an abrupt halt.

“Sorry, grandma!” John yelled as he made a beeline for the stairs, the redness of his nose akin to Rudolph, “But this wool is giving me a nosebleed. You’ll have to take the next shot without me, or just make the one we have work. It might be for the best, as you know how Alan gets unforgivable gas whenever he’s forced to pose.”

The youngest Tracy let loose a honk of outrage, but was dutifully ignored as, one by one, his other brothers began to filter out of the lounge. Excuses of varying degrees of believability bounced off the walls as three more bodies scampered to freedom.

It took all of ten seconds for most of the lounge’s inhabitants to disperse, leaving Kayo and Alan alone with a somewhat disappointed looking Grandma Tracy.

“Oh well,” the Tracy matriarch sighed, reaching to pick up the blue snowman that had been ejected over the first floor bannister, “There’s always next year.”

Kayo smiled thinly and made a mental note to spend next Christmas with her father.

-x-

As well as being the family fashionista, Gordon was also a self-appointed expert in gift giving.

His affinity for making people smile helped tremendously, since it made the process of choosing something his recipient would find meaningful much easier. He wasn’t adverse to buying his brothers practical gifts that they could use in their everyday lives (the tea cosy he’d bought for John the Christmas of fifty four was still in active service), but he knew they had all of the utilitarian gadgets they could ever want or need, courtesy of Brains and their nine figure bank account.

Cue unicorn poo bath bombs, flamingo slippers, and personalised face cushions.

This year however, he’d outdone himself.

Unbeknownst to anyone outside of the family, Gordon was quite the expert on upcycling. He had a knack for seeing potential in things that other people had written off as trash (like Scott, for instance), and took great delight in working with his hands.

It had taken several days, but he’d finally managed to relocate one of their dad’s old hoverbikes from the ranch to Tracy Island. It had taken up most of the room inside Thunderbird Four’s dry tube station, however he’d managed to offload it in the hanger and perform the desired modifcations in the (relative) privacy of Four’s module.

Alan had stopped believing in Santa when he was seven. With Lucy dead and Jeff away for three quarters of the year, Scott had taken it upon himself to safeguard whatever remained of his youngest brother’s innocence. Every year on Christmas Eve, without fail, the eldest Tracy donned a red suit and beard and made a big (and often loud) show of depositing presents under the tree. Unfortunately, a rather heated debate one year over Santa’s handwriting (which looked suspiciously similar to Virgil’s), had culminated in the death of Alan’s wide-eyed belief.

Gordon had found the whole debacle rather heart-breaking. Sure, he’d been a year younger than Alan when he himself had stopped believing, but the process had been much gentler. He’d made the innocent mistake of asking John one year to help him with some basic calculations regarding the speed and size of Santa’s sleigh, however had ended up on the receiving end of a lecture from his redheaded brother on reindeer anatomy and wind resistance.

His belief had died peacefully in its sleep nine hours later.

Still, having a belief squished verbally was a lot less harsh than having it squished visually. Poor Alan.

Gordon smiled to himself as he inspected his handiwork. He’d outfitted the storage compartment on the back of the red hoverbike he’d abducted to look like the back end of a sleigh. He’d toyed with the idea of enlisting the help of a couple of real life reindeer (or ponies) to act as draught animals, but had decided against it after reviewing the vaccination and transport requirements.

Despite managing to complete the modifications inside Four’s module, Gordon had been forced to relocate his creation elsewhere when he and Virgil had been called away on an impromptu rescue involving a couple of unqualified divers. With his back against the wall, the aquanaut had picked the first alternative hiding place that had come into his head.

The roof.

As ridiculous as it sounded, the glass roof of Tracy Island’s lounge was anchored into numerous rocky outcroppings that, when utilised effectively, provided excellent cover. So long as nobody glanced up, of course.

A sigh of pride bubbled up Gordon’s diaphragm. He might not be able to reverse the damage caused by Virgil’s handwriting gaffe, but he could at least give his youngest brother a laugh and deliver his gifts in style instead.

So preoccupied was the aquanaut with buffing out an imaginary mark from the hoverbike’s bumper, that he failed to notice the Island’s automated weather system bark out the alarm for a storm warning.

Thankfully, John didn’t.

-x-

Scott had checked high and low.

And then high again, just to be sure.

The eldest Tracy was stumped. Gordon had somehow managed to vanish clean off the face of the earth.

Not that such a discovery would usually cause the eldest Tracy any concern (the aquanaut had a knack for evading capture), but Christmas lunch was due to be served any minute and they were one body short at the kitchen table.

“Gordon?” Scott called, shoving his head into the bathroom for what felt like the billionth time that hour. He’d tried calling the aquanaut’s phone, but had been sent to voicemail both times. His biometric tracker showed that he was still on the island, however couldn’t generate an exact location for him. EOS’s heat signature scans weren’t much better, courtesy of the wonky connection brought about by the oncoming storm.

“I’m stumped,” Scott huffed, admitting defeat with a bemused shrug, “He’s gone. I’ve checked the hanger, the changing rooms, his room, the bathroom, and the gym. Nothing. It’s like he’s poofed into thin air.”

Virgil opened his mouth to reply, however was cut off by the arrival of John, whose expression was an expert blend of concern and flippancy.

“I’ll give you three guesses as to his location,” the redhead began, “If you win, I’ll do your laundry for a week. If you lose, you have to eat my portion of grandma’s stuffing.”

Scott quickly did the math. It was a risk he was willing to take.

“Is he stuck inside his launch chute?”

“No.”

“Is he swimming in the lagoon?”

“No.”

“Is he hijacking Thunderbird One again?”

“No.”

….

“Well?” the eldest brother demanded, hands on hips. He had no interest in John drawing out his victory for any longer than necessary.

The redhead allowed a small smile to grace his face before gesturing with an index finger towards the ceiling.

Scott blinked as his blue gaze clapped onto a jean-clad butt scrabbling around atop the reinforced glass, oblivious to the small audience he’d amassed as he tried to evade the rapidly intensifying rain.

“The roof?” Scott honked, one hand fisting itself through his hair, “I take my eyes off him for two minutes, and he ends up on the roof?”

“Whoa, whoa!” a new voice piped up, it’s baritone depth failing to bring Scott any relief, “He’s where?!”

The eldest Tracy said nothing, opting instead to stab a finger upwards. Ever the cooperative one, Virgil cast his eyes in the desired direction, a small frown infecting his face as he did so.

“We should probably get him down,” the engineer announced, cringing when Gordon slipped on the now wet glass and starfished on his back, “He’s still wearing his Christmas jumper, and the blasted thing will short-circuit if it gets damp.”

A loud ‘thwack’ echoed around the lounge as Scott’s palm got itself well acquainted with his face.

-x-

John had never been one for big displays of emotion.

A polite smile or, in extreme cases, a shoulder pat were usually the preferred methods his brothers employed whenever they wanted to convey feelings of endearment towards him.

Christmas was an exception, however, and it was without a shred of his usual awkwardness that the redhead enveloped his fish brother in a tight hug, the scent of singed fabric tickling his nostrils.

Virgil’s extraction of their younger brother hadn’t quite been quick enough, and it was with a suitable amount of humility that Gordon shuffled back into the safety and dryness of the lounge, a thin trail of smoke rising from the beak of his thoroughly soaked penguin jumper.

“How bad was it?” John queried, biting his cheek to keep his humour in check as he took in the static strands of hair atop Gordon’s head. The aquanaut looked as if he’d just stuck his finger inside a plug socket which, on reflection, wasn’t as much of an inaccurate analogy as the redhead had originally thought.

Gordon ignored his space brother in favour of slowly shuffling towards the staircase, an involuntary yelp escaping when his traitorous jumper suddenly gave off a stray spark.

Virgil snorted and flicked a hand through his hair to rid it of the rainwater it had collected, “Nothing to worry about on the health side of things, but man John, you should have seen it. He nearly took off like a firework.”

The redhead quirked an unimpressed brow, “Serves him right for skipping over the electrical safety briefings I sent down last week. You’d think he’d have a better understanding of how water and electricity don’t mix, what with his ‘Bird being the only one kitted out for aquatic reconnaissance.”

A shrug was offered by Virgil in lieu of a response, “I’m sure all will be revealed once he’s properly earthed himself. Meanwhile, I’d better get that hoverbike down before it crashes through the roof and lands on someone’s head. Can you send Scott up to help? I could use a couple of his grapples.”

John threw his brother a mock salute before breezing off towards the kitchen, only to stop when he caught sight of a familiar blue outline on one of the sofas.

“Be there in a minute!” Scott mumbled, his cheeks bulging like an oversized hamster as he chomped his way through an indulgent looking doughnut.

John felt his gaze darken as he took stock of the stray sprinkles in the corner of his eldest brother’s mouth, “Where did you get those?”

Scott held a finger up as he swallowed, thumping his chest when a stubborn piece of dough got lodged, “Mainland, to make up for grandma’s sprout and salmon tart. Help yourself, there’s plenty left. I’ve only had three.”

The lack of control Scott had when confronted with unhealthy snacks never failed to amaze his brothers.

“You want to take it easy,” Virgil warned, motioning with one hand to his waistline, “Too many of those could send you to an early grave.”

Scott flicked his hand dismissively and reached for a fourth doughnut.

“Don’t care. I won’t be the one carrying the coffin.”

- FIN -

#thunderbirds are go #Gordon Tracy #alan tracy #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #tag team secret santa #secret santa 2020 #MissSquidTracy

35 notes · View notes

secret-rendezvous1d · 4 years

Note

how about an alex first christmas home with his wife or gf? if your uncomfortable writing this prompt i completely understand

Hello, hi!

Welcome to Blogmas 2020. A couple of days later than I promised, and I apologise for that, but here we are.

Hopefully, the idea of how Blogmas 2020 is planned out will become a little clearer than how my very poor explanations explained it, haha.

Many more blurbs, many more chats and a lot more festivities to come; my inbox will be open all through December this year for blurb prompts for Blogmas so don’t feel afraid to pop in a prompt to get written for tis year; all I can say is that if you’re asking for a lengthy prompt, I’m not the right person right now, haha.

I’m welcoming absolutely anything for this year; any AU, any characters, any ideas.

Reblog, like, comment and share your thoughts with me. Please let me know what you think because feedback is always appreciated on here; much more appreciated now given that I’ve not written a lot in a long while. Please let me know what you think.

Enjoy!

A song to listen to throughout the second scene; Bing Crosby, I’ll Be Home For Christmas

“Look at the size of those toms,” Alex gushed in awe, rushing from his place at the kitchen cabinet, where the kettle was whistling on the stove, to grab the woven basket full of fresh garden vegetables from his wife’s arms, saving a couple of apples and pears from becoming bruised by the floor. “They’re massive.”

“There’s something in the soil, I think,” YN teased, wiping her soil-covered fingertips on the pink and white polka-dot apron tied around her waist. Traces of wet mud and dry soil clinging to the material, tiny specks falling to the floor but nothing bad enough that couldn’t be sweeped with the brush and pan. “You should see some of the runners growing in the corner. Nice and long, they are. Perfect for dinner tomorrow eve.”

“How are the potatoes coming along?”

“They’re good, I was going to dig them and the carrots up tonight before the nighttimes cold comes in,” she said softly, standing beside her husband as he unpacked the fruit and placed them in the empty fruit bowl. The kettle coming to a gentle boil, soon being warm enough for them to make a warm cup of tea to drink by the fire to warm themselves up.

The vegetables left in the basket - varying from cabbage and cauliflower to Brussels sprouts and onions - needed a good brush down and a wash under water but looked good enough to enjoy as part of their meal the next day. A meal that would be enjoyed by her parents, Alex’s parents and a couple of good friends who hadn’t had time to make it back home for Christmas, missing the last train out of London for a few days and unable to find a kind-hearted soul to take them two hours up north. It was also a meal that YN had been panicking over for almost the entire month of December… her first time cooking a Christmas dinner and she wanted it to be as perfect as possible to end a year that needed some cheer.

With the war coming to an end, for a second time, she felt safe and happy. Much safer and much happier than the last time a war was declared to have finished.

Maybe it was the fact that the four-year long terror of air raid sirens and bombings and unexpected blackouts had come to its end; maybe it was the fact that Britain had won the war and there was no more fear to live by; maybe it was the fact that her husband had been one of the lucky ones to come home safe and sound, able to celebrate Christmas as normal without worry that he was going to be called back to fight in the trenches and on the frontline; maybe it was the fact that everything was slowly going back to how it had been and life was on track to getting better.

“Dad’s always saying they taste and cook the best after a night in the cold,” Alex shrugged, taking a bite of an apple and feeling the juice trickle down his chin, something that YN’s thumb caught and wiped away, “I’ll go and dig them up tomorrow morning.”

“I wanted to start peeling and cutting them now,” she frowned, looking at him with furrowed brows, “go dig them up for now, please, darling?”

He mirrored her expression and folded his arms, half-bitten apple still in his hand, a smile toying his lips.

“Do I have to? It’s getting cold out there, I’ve got no jumper on and I’ve just put the kettle on,” he playfully whined, pouting his lips.

Her own eyebrows furrowed deeper on her browline, a silent plea for him to do what she said because she was stressing enough and didn’t want to be panicking so early tomorrow morning. All along he was going to do what she asked him to do, no word of a lie, but he found pure enjoyment in giving her the idea he had no intentions of helping. He placed his half-eaten apple on the kitchen counter and took a step towards her.

“Alright, as long as you do me the best cup of tea possible.”

“Of course, aren’t all my cups of tea the best?” To which he nodded and she grinned, squeezing his cheek and leaving a blush pink behind on his cheekbone, “I love you.”

“I love you the most,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to her cold forehead, reaching around her to grab the basket and tuck it under his arm, “I’ll have a look at these nice, long runners you’ve been speaking so highly about, too.”

“Mum called earlier. She’s grown some strawberries and rhubarb and said she was making a pie for our dessert tomorrow. I told her that with how hard you’ve been working with the garden, on all the veggies, we won’t need a pudding to eat because we’ll be so full of Christmas dinner,” Alex chuckled, peering over the newspaper in his hands to catch a glimpse of a smile on her lips, eyes still trained to the book she was reading in the gentle, almost, silence.

The radio crackled quietly in the background of the living room, playing a Christmas song that had a frequent place on the station they had programmed to work properly. Adding a sense of merriment to the room they were sat in; tinsel hanging on a scarce Christmas tree, with ornaments made from paper and cardboard, and Christmas cards on the windowsill from family and friends. There wasn’t much they could do but it was enough for them.

“Your mum makes a good pie though,” YN admitted, placing her finger between the pages she’d gotten to, “she didn’t have to do that though. She’s already done a lot for me this year and the last four so tomorrow is, kind of, all about giving back to her and your dad and my parents, too.”

Alex’s family had been a huge constant in her life during the wartime.

His mother had been non-stop on the phone with her about new gardening tips that her friends had told her about and seeds to share amongst themselves to grow a healthy batch of fruits to bake with - because they baked, a lot, and his mother had sent her back home with a brain full of new treats to bake and recipes to try out - and they took care of a flower patch in the front garden of Alex’s home, which seemed to pass the time. His father had been just as helpful to her, whenever he wasn’t in factories or working in machinery, coming by to put shelves up for her or to fix a hole in the roof that had begun to leak. Always popping by with a loaf of bread from the bakery and a tin of meat, that YN would put together as a sandwich and they’d eat until he knew his wife would be questioning his whereabouts. They allowed her to stay when she was feeling lonely, always looked out for her during the raids and insisted she stayed with them to wait it out, always insisting that she stayed with them until Alex was home so she wasn’t suffering with loneliness or panicking when blackouts occurred.

It had always been his mother cooking a Christmas dinner, promising she didn’t have to do anything but sit at the dining table and enjoy a healthy meal with family, with no worrying or getting upset that her own husband wasn’t there to enjoy the family festivities.

So it felt surreal when YN saw Alex dressed in his uniform, on the train station platform with a bag swung over his shoulder, in and amongst crowds of reunited families, knowing that they were about to have their life back on track. A Christmas together.

“My dad’s made a good sherry for us to have. Mum said he’s been working on it for almost a year now. Growing currants in the front garden and chasing kids away when he saw them picking at his bushes as they passed,” Yn giggled softly, because the image of her father chasing active youths down a street was rather amusing to her, reaching for her bookmark to keep her place in the book resting on her lap, “she says she’s barely seen him because he spends his time at the allotments, with his friends.”

Alex snuffled a laugh and folded his paper up, setting it on the floor beside the crackling fireplace.

“We should get an allotment. Could build a shed there to hide in when it rains, have you come and sit and watch me dig the veggies up, let you grow some flowers there. We’d be the best there,” he grinned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “what do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea, baby.”

“Christmases only get better from here,” he stood to his feet and wiggled his fingers in her direction, “let’s have a dance.”

She smiled shyly and stood to her feet, toes all toasty and warm from the fire, reaching for his hands as he twirled her under his arm and let her dress, all dark green and red (which she insisted was her most Christmas-y dress in her wardrobe) billow out at the knees. With the occasional step on his bare toes, and a trip over his own feet, they managed to move themselves around the room with such an elegant sway to their hips as the gentle voice of Bing Crosby filled the room, with the ever so delightful song that YN imagined must have felt so personal to so many around Britain. And she couldn’t help but think of how many others were dancing, singing and crying as the tune filled merry homes, both happy and sad.

And she didn’t want to let her mind wander to the agonising pain of not having a loved one, let alone a husband, arrive home safe for Christmas… but it was planted there and she never ever wanted an experience so heartbreaking.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he hummed and it was in that moment that he felt a dribble of tears against his neck, his feet coming to a stop as the music carried on behind them, “hey now. No crying, we said. This is a happy end to the year, eh? A happy one.”

“I know but,” she choked on a tear and pulled away to look at him, “I’m so lucky you came home to me. To us. But, some women, they never got to say goodbye to their husbands, their brothers, their fathers and grandfathers. They never got to see them for Christmas this year, last year and the years before that. They never knew what was coming,” she whispered with a hushed voice that felt like if she spoke too loud, she’d have the entire country hearing her, as if the music was bad enough to bring out the emotions.

“I promised you, didn’t I, baby?”

She nodded softly and his thumbs wiped away her tears, collecting moisture on the tips of his pads, their eyes locking for a brief second.

“I promised you I’d make it back to you and I did, safe and sound,” he held her face in his hands and brushed the tip of his nose to hers, his warm breath flushing over her face as she sniffled and sobbed, “I’m never leaving you again. Never ever. I promise, no selfish bastard is going to keep us apart, not even for Christmas.”

#alex!au #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurbs #harry styles prompts

31 notes · View notes

rainydawgradioblog · 3 years

Text

RDR Essentials - Hip-Hop/R&B (4/21)

RDR Essentials is a weekly newsletter of alternating genres that outlines key releases of the past month, upcoming events around Seattle and happenings in the specified music genre.

Made in collaboration between Rainy Dawg DJs and the Music Director.

Releases:

Armand Hammer & The Alchemist - Haram

New York rap duo Armand Hammer have become known for their dreary, dense, and thought-provoking poetry, often paired with gloomy instrumentation and symbolic storytelling. Haram, the duo’s newest full-length album, marks billy woods and Elucid’s first collaboration with one producer for an entire record. The Alchemist lends his ear to the pair on this album, providing an eerie, haunting and emotive soundscape that still sounds like nothing the legendary producer has made in the past, pushing his own boundaries and proving that he is capable of evolution even after a career spanning two decades. Tracks like “Indian Summer” are laced with a menacing energy, while “Falling out the Sky” sounds almost summer-esque, like the sun peeking through an otherwise dark place, beginning with an abstract verse from Earl Sweatshirt, centered around mentions of the sky, space, and supernovas. This track starts a three-song run of the record’s only rap features, as well: “Wishing Bad” contains a furious verse from Curly Castro, transitioning with a more than menacing audio sample that forebodes in an echoing fashion: “There’s a lot of blood early on here”. This next track,“Chicharrones”, is one of the most fear-inducing beats the Alchemist has concocted thus far, and acts as an anger-fueled climax of the record. Quelle Chris delivers a seething verse, focusing on police brutality, not from a perspective of fear or sadness, but rather unrestrained rage, rife with references to George Orwell’s seminal Animal Farm but grounded in a clear disdain for the police. “If you off the pig/ Is you offin' pigs or offerin' figs?/ Oh, you big and bad?/ Blowin' hay and sticks, huffin' bricks” Quelle Chris chides in the chorus: “off the pig” likely refers to not eating pork as a convertee to Islam, in reference to the album’s title, “haram”, meaning “forbidden”, and the record’s stomach-churning cover art. The chorus seems to call out those who claim solidarity and yet “offer figs”, a phrase with roots in the biblical tale of Adam and Eve, who, in shame for their behavior, cover their genitals with fig leaves.

These guest features reinforce the record’s themes of drug abuse, class theory, racism, and the cultural ramifications of the “forbidden” in all its forms. Those who use the forbidden to cope, those who are able to get away with doing the forbidden, and everything in between seems to manifest within the record’s walls. As with every Armand Hammer release, however, it is the energy and poetry of these two MCs, seemingly almost psychically connected, that makes their staggeringly dense words so potent. At every turn, the two seem interlaced. Elucid brings invigoration to his verses, combined with sung choruses that sound as raw as can be, like on the solo track “Roaches Don’t Fly”, with soaring guitar riffs carrying an explosive verse (“My new name, colonizer’s can’t pronounce”) swelling to an enormous sung mantra: “You don’t gotta be here if you don’t wanna.” Elucid’s unique style of delivery often sees him, as many have noted, emphasizing unexpected syllables in his words, leaving his performances consistently engaging. Billy woods’ signature vignette-style storytelling and dry, dark humor are intact once again as well. The first verse of “Indian Summer” sees woods start a track as menacingly as one can (“I swore vengeance in the seventh grade/ Not on one man, the whole human race”), leading to a chilling tale of a man’s past in drug sales using a job cutting grass as cover, with detail to spare, painting a clear scene of “the stink of gas in the evening” and “the intoxication of counting cash in secret.” Highlight “Squeegee”, too, sees woods providing an unbelievable lesson in telling a full story in a short amount of time, chronicling a man’s attempt to turn his life around: eating healthy, working out before dawn, and barely smoking weed. Ultimately it’s all for naught, as paranoia takes over. He wonders if someone will follow him home, he wonders what his neighbors are doing, and it seems that old habits creep their way back in: ‘The taste in his mouth just like before.” It’s a chilling vignette, and undoubtedly one of woods’ best verses to date.

The album ends on an emotive high note; if “Chicharrones'' was the angry climax, “Stonefruit” is the album’s explosive and heart-wrenching finale. Elucid’s sorrowful chorus makes clear a turn inward, after an album focused so heavily on societal ills. “I don’t want to lose control” he repeats: “I’ve got so much left to undo.” Finally, billy woods delivers the album's most painful and emotive verse. Woods seemingly chronicles a rocky relationship perhaps interrupted by a sudden passing, a relationship filled with strife (“Said ‘OK’ to save face, but she never forgave”) that is yet anchored by an irrefutable love. The beautiful instrumental turns into a droning, and the euphoric emotional climax is once again drowned out by the ills it is surrounded by. This album is dense, difficult, and often a hard listen. But if one chooses to give it the attention it asks, it is more than rewarding enough, and once again proves billy woods, Elucid, and The Alchemist as three of the best artists we’ve ever seen.

- Casey Chamberlain

Kenny Mason - Angelic Hoodrat Supercut

Atlanta artist Kenny Mason is beginning to make a name for himself. After his impressive Angelic Hoodrat last year and a standout feature on Denzel Curry & Kenny Beats’ UNLOCKED 1.5 remix album, the 26 year old is back with a sequel project, Supercut, and continues to impress with his astounding mix of rock and rap. The project is a tightrope act that balances the genres, bringing trap beats, triplet flows, and bedroom guitar passages in equal measure. Rap cuts like the excellent “A+” featuring Denzel Curry see Kenny bringing technical flows and quick wit to the table, alongside standout “Much Money” which sees Freddie Gibbs making an appearance, bringing his signature swagger and Instagram-story quotables.

However, the most impressive aspects of the record are where things begin to change up, seeing Kenny swing more into rock and indie territory. “Play Ball” feels like a teenage anthem, accompanied by driving guitar riffs and bouncy drums and vocal mixing more reminiscent of a live performance at a house show than a recording booth. Opener “43”, too, immediately sets the tone, with a powerful sung chorus and heavy guitar rhythm and booming drums. Perhaps the biggest highlight, however, is the two-part “Pup”, which sees a low-key first half blend into a spacey and introspective second half. Not only is the production here at perhaps its most interesting of the record, combining gritty guitar and a pulsing trap beat, but Kenny’s songwriting stands out as well, with a strong emotive performance and personal lyrics highlighting insecurities. If there’s any critique to be had of this record, it would be that it most certainly feels like a part two of the first Angelic Hoodrat (in fact, the record’s title even makes it sound more like a deluxe than a separate album). Yet, Kenny’s style is most certainly exciting, reminiscent in equal measure of contemporaries across the musical spectrum, from Jean Dawson to JID. If refining his sound means putting out music as impressive as this, then Kenny Mason is on the right track, and is one to watch.

- Casey Chamberlain

Benny the Butcher & Harry Fraud - The Plugs I Met 2

Benny The Butcher has rocketed to heights previously unknown in the last year, with his full length project with Hit-Boy, Burden of Proof, being his biggest project yet, and seeing him steer into different sonic territory, moving away from the grimy Daringer and Alchemist production he had become known for on projects like Tana Talk 3. 2019’s The Plugs I Met was the epitome of that sound, and it’s perhaps inevitable that Benny would move past it at some point. Plugs I Met 2, however, feels like a marriage of those two sounds, sounding like a true sequel to the first project while still pushing into new territory and incorporating bigger features. There’s nothing as grimy here as the first album’s “Sunday School” or “Dirty Harry”, but tracks like “When Tony Met Sosa” and “Plug Talk” carry that same energy.

Highlights include “Overall” featuring Chinx, where the production feels like a brilliant mix of the street sounds and the lavish flashiness of Benny’s wordplay, alongside heavy drum kicks and incredibly dense production. Harry Fraud produced every track on the project, and this consistency shines. Each track sounds different from the last, but they fit neatly together. Even the tracks that tone down the energy feel just as lyrically impressive, such as “Live By It.” The features are mostly standout as well, with guest verse from 2 Chainz, Rick Hyde, and more. Overall, this is a solid project and logical sequel to the first Plugs I Met. Those who miss Benny’s grimy, TT3-era sound may be disappointed not to hear it return on every track here, but for those who remain impressed by Benny’s newfound flexibility, Plugs I Met 2 will no doubt remain a worthwhile addition to the Griselda catalog.

- Casey Chamberlain

Denzel Curry & Kenny Beats - UNLOCKED 1.5

Not content with waiting for the already-announced sequel to release, Kenny Beats and Denzel Curry return with a batch of remixes of tracks from last year’s excellent UNLOCKED with UNLOCKED 1.5. Featuring guest production and verses, this collection feels less like a full project on its own and more of a playful invitation to collaborators to make something brand new out of an already energetic album. The original UNLOCKED made clear its influence from MF DOOM, Madlib, and a host of others, seeing Kenny Beats branch out into new, cartoony territory and seeing Denzel Curry flex his lyrical prowess on a non-stop barrage of high-octane tracks. 1.5, in comparison, takes many of those rambunctious verses and places them over entirely new production. Standout “So.Incredible.pkg”, with production by the great Robert Glasper brings a jazzy and laid back energy, where Denzel still feels right at home, followed by an excellent and sly verse from Smino. “Cosmic.m4a [The Alchemist Version]” brings in the legendary producer for a brand new beat with beating drums and piano passages, alongside a vengeful, if not far too short, verse from Joey Bada$$. “Pyro” sees bouncy new production from Sango, with a witty and childlike feature from Kenny Mason. The highlight, however, has to be “DIET_” which, as the standout of the original project, with Denzel’s ferocious and guttural delivery inspired by the late DMX now enhanced by an effortless verse from Benny the Butcher, marking an unlikely but incredibly fulfilling appearance. The original UNLOCKED was a lighthearted project that showcased the talent of Denzel and Kenny Beats. 1.5, while not necessarily a fulfilling EP taken on its own, is something of a victory lap for the duo and their friends, a fun counterpart to the original project and a flexing of creative muscles.

- Casey Chamberlain

AG Club - Fuck Your Expectations PT. 1

When AG Club titled this album “Fuck Your Expectations”, they meant it. Fans, like me, who became hooked on AG Club after their debut melodic rap masterpiece Halfway Off the Porch, have been patiently awaiting a completed “Fuck Your Expectations” since its anticipated debut date in the summer of 2020. After months of waiting, with a few eclectic singles sprinkled in, AG Club decided to fuck our expectations once again by only giving fans part one, released April 2nd, with part two expected (I’m hesitant to use this word) on April 30th. Although it’s not the drop fans were expecting, it’s more than enough to tide us over. AG Club, now only composed of Jody Fontaine and Baby Boy on vocals, brings a fresh and exciting energy on this album that is more comparable to their early singles, like “Holy Shit” or “Ay, G”, than it is to their last full release. Tracks like “NOHO”, composed solely of bass and percussion, and “Columbia”, which features a blaring horn like they just brought the cavalry out, are the album’s “bangers”. AG Club hasn’t settled - they still have chips on their shoulders - and these songs prove that. To round the album out and further their pattern of genre-warping, tracks like “HOT PINK” and “A Bitch Curious” mix R&B, indie pop and rap to produce a completely new sound for the group. And just when you thought your expectations were certifiably fucked, the “A Bitch Curious” instrumental suddenly morphs into an EDM beat around three minutes in. Although it’s filled with an absurd amount of interludes for a nine track album, this project will still leave you saying: “Thank you AG Club, may I have another?”

- Charlie Darnall

BROCKHAMPTON - ROADRUNNER: NEW LIGHT, NEW MACHINE

The visuals for BROCKHAMPTON’s latest record say a lot about it. The video for “BUZZCUT”, the album’s opener, is a glorious clusterfuck of outdated animation and strobing color. On Spotify, every song is accompanied by a video of each vocalist’s face slowly morphing into the next. The self-proclaimed boy band’s visuals, although abrasive at first, are full of depth; every scene in a video or clip has spot on color pallets, an energy that accurately mirrors the song and an attention grabbing theme. And ROADRUNNER is equally as dense. Sonically, the album can range from the aggressive, east coast rap inspired “BANKROLL” to the all acapella, gospel inspired “DEAR LORD”. Between these polar opposites, lie eleven eclectic, constantly morphing tracks. “WINDOWS” is an eerie, acoustic laced song about all the boys being “outside your window” (oh no!) Following it, however, is the accessible and breezy R&B/pop track “I’LL TAKE YOU ON” featuring the legendary Charlie Wilson. “DON’T SHOOT UP THE PARTY” contrasts a beat that could send an Ibiza nightclub into a frenzy with passionate lyrics about racial injustice and the media and government’s inability to condemn white mass shooters. In the spirit of a “new light”, BROCKHAMPTON decided to include features on this album - a first time for the boy band. In both popularity and sound, these features are equally as eclectic. Features range from industry titans, like A$AP Rocky, to smaller, indie pop artists like Baird. Amongst the album’s themes of religion, hedonism and new beginnings, you will find density, both instrumentally and lyrically.

- Charlie Darnall

Young Stoner Life - Slime Language 2

The second installment of Young Thug’s Slime Language series is undeniably essential. Young Thug and Gunna together are arguably two of the biggest figures in rap right now. Do you have a cousin or sibling in middle or high school? What about a friend in a fraternity? I’ll bet you $100 they’ve both heard a Young Thug or Gunna song in the past week. Both these Atlanta artists have transcended your average rap fan; their songs might be on your dad’s favorite radio station. And I think they’ve realized that. Out of the many things this album succeeds in, its greatest accomplishment is playing into the popularity its creators have achieved. Features include Drake, Lil Baby, Lil Uzi Vert, Travi$ Scott, Skepta, Kid Cudi and even the controversial YNW Melly. The beats are accessible and lend themselves to millions of streams. Tracks such as “I Like” and “Trance” model the more melodic side of Travi$ Scott’s sound with a low tempo and spacey synths. “That Go!” sounds like Playboi Carti had a beat to spare after finishing Whole Lotta Red. In terms of lyrics, there isn’t much to say. Gunna and Young Thug are still two of the biggest rappers alive, they’re still quite wealthy and they’ve made sure to mention that, although their lines seem to prioritize memorability. Every song is either hard enough to make a JV basketball team go nuts, melodic enough for late night drive or bouncy enough to make your mom go “oh, this is fun!” The album plays on many established themes and styles, but I asked myself two questions after I first listened and these are the answers I came to: Is it trying to be popular? Yes. Is that necessarily a bad thing? No.

- Charlie Darnall

Upcoming Releases:

MIKE- Disco! (6/21)

New York rapper MIKE has released a steady stream of incredible, personal, and beautiful records over the past few years, and it seems he is gearing up to release another project, titled Disco! this June. The rapper’s raw delivery and soulful production has brought him to the forefront of the burgeoning abstract hip-hop scene, and projects like 2019’s Tears of Joy and the seminal May God Bless Your Hustle have garnered not only critical acclaim but a fanbase of passionate fans. The lead single for the project, “Evil Eye” provides a gorgeous sample and instrumentation and a short but sweet verse, and is a perfect taste of what is sure to be another personal and important record from one of the best rappers currently working. Disco! arrives June 21st on MIKE’s label 10k.

- Casey Chamberlain

Paris Texas - “BOY ANONYMOUS” (5/14)

Compton-based duo Paris Texas have announced their debut EP, BOY ANONYMOUS. The group has made a splash with the project’s lead singles after dropping the explosive “HEAVY METAL” earlier this year. The group mixes rock and rap, and brings a ferocious energy to their music while staying introspective. The group’s name comes from the 1984 movie of the same title, often cited as Kurt Cobain’s favorite film. The duo has released two other tracks prior to the project’s release, “FORCE OF HABIT” and “SITUATIONS.” The eight-track EP is out May 14th.

- Casey Chamberlain

#rainy dawg radio #paris texas #mike #young stoner life #ysl #ag club #denzel curry #kenny beats #benny the butcher #harry fraud #kenny mason #armand hammer #the alchemist

12 notes · View notes

kyber-crystal · 4 years

Text

catch me under the mistletoe || s.r

summary: in which a certain bond is tightened during the magical holiday season

words: ~3.6k

warnings: none. some language i think,,, and rly shitty writing bc i wrote this over a year or so ago

a/n: we’re still days away from christmas lmao, but who cares

“MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE EVE, LOSERS!” Bucky yelled out.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE EVE!” Thor boomed in reply, slamming his hand against a baking sheet.

“Shut the hell up!’ you hissed as you shuffled into the kitchen, a cranky look on your face. You grabbed the nearest pillow to you from the couch and chucked it at Bucky’s head. He winced and immediately stopped what he was doing.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For waking me up at nine-thirty in the morning on a Saturday, asshole,” you muttered, reaching over to pour yourself a cup of tea. “Do you ever shut up?’

“9:30 isn’t even that early. You’re just lazy,” he argued. “And why am I getting all the hate? Thor was in on this too?”

“Because Thor is a compassionate and kind being,” you explained, as the Norse god gave you an apologetic smile.

“Merry Christmas Eve Eve, Lady Y/N,” he greeted politely. “I presume you slept well?”

“Yes, until Bucky started making noise…”

“I’m sorry!” Bucky exclaimed. “I’ll buy you more Cadbury tomorrow, okay? Is that enough?”

You nodded. “...Okay, fine.”

Steve hobbled into the kitchen, dressed in his Captain America pj pants (Tony got them for him last year as a gift) and wearing fluffy slippers.

“Morning,” he yawned as he ran a hand through his hair to tame it, quickly kissing your forehead before sitting down in between you and Natasha. “How’d you guys sleep?”

“Got a solid six hours. Better than last week’s combined total of three, so I’d say not bad,” you replied. “You?”

“Managed to squeeze in five. So, anything new happen lately?”

“No, asides from the fact that the holidays are near and you two are acting like a couple,” Natasha rolled her eyes. You and Steve both averted your gazes and looked down. “Anyway. When are we gonna start getting decorations up?”

“After we finish eating, I guess,” Sam shrugged as he poured cereal into his bowl. “Ooh yes. I got more charms this time. Fuck the grains, Lucky Charms ain’t lucky if you got more grains than charms.”

“Shuri and T’Challa will be coming in approximately two hours. I advise you all get to work on decorating before they arrive,” FRIDAY’s voice came over the intercom.

Loki suddenly materialized in the middle of the lounge with a wide grin plastered on his face, as well as Pietro. “Did someone say decorate?”

“Have at it, brother, Sir Speedy,” Thor handed the several boxes of decorations over to him. “But please, don’t do anything stupid.”

...

You were all amazed and shell-shocked when a mere fifteen minutes later, the entire compound looked like a winter wonderland. The giant tree standing strong in the corner of the lounge was decorated from bottom to top with various stunning ornaments, garlands, and twinkling LED lights.

Long story short, it seemed as if someone had punched Santa and made him throw up Christmas. Loki and Pietro nodded in approval at their work before exchanging a high-five.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this but,” Tony cleared his throat, “the jokesters really pulled it off this time. I’m proud of you both.”

The only thing left to do was hang the wreath up, and you decided to be the one to do so. You climbed up the ladder to hang up the wreath when you felt someone taser your sides.

"Steven Grant Rogers!" you screeched, glaring at him as you wobbled and tried to regain your balance. "I could've fallen off, you bastard!"

"Oops," he shrugged, giving you an innocent look. "That was a complete accident, I'm so sorry."

"You suck," you stuck your tongue out at him before hanging the wreath up on the wall.

"Told you the holidays were a magical season," Natasha whispered over to Wanda, and they both exchanged knowing looks. “Hey, Y/N, I still have some last-minute shopping to do. You willing to drive?”

“Sure, why not,” you shrugged. “But why can’t you take your own car?”

“I don’t feel like driving.”

“Alright,” you sighed, standing up and pushing your chair in. You leaned down to quickly kiss Steve’s cheek. “See you guys later.”

“Damn,” Sam wolf-whistled as you stepped into the elevator with her and Wanda, doors closing behind you. “She’s so oblivious.”

“To what?” Steve looked confused.

“Y’all are so in love. Don’t try and go on with that ‘we kiss each other all the time’ bullshit because that’s not what people who are ‘just friends’ do.”

“But it is what just friends do. Y/N and I...we’ve known each other for a while...”

“Bullshit. I ain’t buyin’ that.”

…

After you finished your last-minute shopping, you returned home with the gifts all wrapped up and ready to go and decided to whip up a batch of gingerbread cookies. The party was due to begin tomorrow evening, and you wanted a head start so you wouldn’t be cramming mere hours before.

Soon enough, the warm smell of cinnamon and other festive aromas drifted through the air.

"Mmm, is that gingerbread?" You turned around to find Steve sitting there, chin propped on his hand.

“Yeah. When I was little, I’d help my dad bake them because he’d often burn the cookies. As a SHIELD agent, he was always busy and didn’t have the time to improve his cooking skills.” You chuckled, and a nostalgic smile appeared on your face as you recalled the memory. “I started cooking at a young age...it really helped me prepare to be on my own. It kinda became a tradition of mine to keep baking even after he passed...feels like I still have a part of him with me when I do.”

The timer went off and you grabbed your oven mitts, pulling the cookies out of the oven and placing them on the counter. You put the second batch in and reset the timer.

"You smell like cookies," Steve commented, wrapping his arms around your waist.

Your cheeks turned bright pink from the physical contact. He didn't let go, and you let your arms slide up his back and stay there, as you stood in his tight embrace, breathing slowly and heart beating rapidly.

Tony broke it up by walking in and coughing loudly.

"Don't distract her, Rogers," he said, sitting on the couch with a slight smirk on his face.

The two of you pulled away from each other, looking away quickly to avoid further embarrassment.

"Speedy Gonzales, Parker, you better put those props away or no party or cookies for either of you," you scolded as Pietro and Peter were parading around the lounge.

"Darn. I look really attractive in this headband," Pietro whined.

"Yeah, it really brings out the color of your eyes," you said sarcastically.

"Thanks, Y/N," he imitated your tone of voice.

Shuri arrived soon enough, and immediately took to watching Vine compilations with Peter on the couch as they ate the few samples of the cookies you’d given them. The compound grew rather quiet, and you relished in the feeling of peace before someone could come along and screw it up again.

…

The next day quickly came and went. One by one, the rest of the guests began to arrive: Strange and Wong, the Guardians, Loki, even Fury and agents Coulson and Hill. How Tony managed to convince them to come, you had no idea.

You were dragged away by Natasha to get ready upon her insistence that you were forbidden on seeing Steve before the party. Despite your protests (”The fuck? This isn’t even a wedding? Why are you treating it like one?), she didn’t budge. Knowing her unmovable determination, you allowed her to dress you up and do your makeup.

“Wow, gold really is your color,” she propped a hand on her hip as she spun you around so you could look at yourself.

“You’re a miracle worker, Romanoff,” you laughed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’d be so lost.”

“That’s why we’re friends, isn’t it?” Natasha gave you a little wink. “Dress to impress, love, dress to impress.”

...

The Christmas party was now in full swing - it was just after dinner and everyone was walking around, laughing and drinking at the bar or just casually conversing with one another. You were bored of wandering around and had already talked to pretty much everyone in the room, so you decided to look around for Clint and T’Challa because you didn't know what else to do.

"Hey, mind if I join you?" you asked, holding your simple glass of ginger ale (You hated alcohol). "Stark ditched me because he's busy working the music."

"Sure," T’Challa nodded, motioning to the empty seat beside him, and you slid into the booth. "How's it going for you so far, Miss Y/L/N?"

“Just Y/N is fine,” you laughed, setting your drink down on the table, “I’m doing alright. What about you? I forgot to ask how the flight here was.”

“We were able to get a couple hours of rest on the way here, so I’d say it was a nice flight.”

“That’s good,” you nodded.

“Kinda off topic, but hey, why aren’t you talking to Capsicle? He was looking for you earlier,” Clint spoke up. “Go talk to him.”

“Clint…”

“Come on! Just talk to him. It’s not like you’re some teenage fangirl terrified out of your mind to even look in his direction.”

“Fine,” you huffed, standing up. “See you guys later?”

“See you,” the two men said in unison as you walked away.

Your eyes scanned the room for Steve’s familiar broad-shouldered figure. They finally land on him, standing in the corner with a crystalline champagne glass in his hand, standing next to Bucky with a faint smile on his face.

You take one look at him and you swear your heart stops. He was literally the human form of perfection. The black suit he wore only further accentuated his lean, athletic build, with chiseled features and a sharp jawline that had to be sculpted by the gods themselves. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of him. The collar of his shirt is rolled down slightly, holy crap- and his eyes- they seemed to be shining even more brightly tonight, if that was even possible. They made you swoon, and you never swooned. The effect this man had on you…

As soon as he met your gaze, he couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face. His eyes immediately brightened at the sight of you standing there in your shimmery, gold gown, his heartbeat picking up speed.

He gave you a quick once-over before looking straight back into your eyes. “Hey, doll. You look...amazing.”

“Thanks,” you chuckled lightly, feeling your face flush, “you look great, too, Captain.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “So you’re not gonna make a comment on my appearance, huh Y/N?”

“Oh! Sorry,” you apologized, “Bucky! You look so...different!”

“Decided to go back to that old 40’s look. Tony insisted on it and I caved, so here we are,” he explained, gesturing to his clean-shaven face. “What do you think?”

“You look great,” you beamed.

“Romanoff pick out your dress?” You nodded, and he made a little ‘ah’ in realization. “She has good taste.”

“I know. I never would’ve found this on my own. Hope Tony doesn’t mind losing 2 grand from his credit card.”

“He won’t. Uh, anyways...I’m gonna go join Clint over there for our pool rematch. We have at least fifty bucks on the line now that Strange and Quill are joining in,” he motioned behind him to show Dr. Strange and Peter Quill arguing over how much money should be put in. “Catch you guys later?”

“Sure,” you nodded. “See you later.”

You turned back to Steve to see his baby blue eyes still boring into you. Normally you’d feel like shrinking away underneath his gaze but instead, you hold your head high and maintain the friendly smile on your face.

“So, how’s the party been going for you so far?”

“Other than Tony ditching me to DJ, I’m great,” you laughed, “and you?”

“Parties aren’t really my style, but I decided, why not just let loose for tonight?” he replied, “It’s Christmas. There’s no need to be in a foul mood.”

“I mean, you can’t possibly stay grumpy when you’re watching Peter and Shuri battle it out on the dance floor.” He glanced in the direction you were looking at to see in fact, Peter and Shuri, holding a dance-off as several people cheered them on.

“Staying on that topic…” he paused for a moment before speaking, holding his hand out to you, “may I have this dance?”

“Of course, Captain,” you give him a goofy grin as you took his hand and he leads you to the dance floor. Once the two of you arrive at the center, the crowd immediately parts to make room and the music immediately switches from a fast-paced pop tune to something much slower.

Steve doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, pressing you close to his body. Right away you’re hit with his fresh scent of berry aftershave and pine, and clean linen. You find yourself leaning into him as he gently places his hands on your waist and your arms loosely wrap around his neck, swaying gently to the beat of the music.

“You’re pretty good, if I do say so myself,” you comment, sending him a flirty wink. He laughs in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he does so.

“You’re not so bad at this, either,” he grins, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch in your throat. He twirls you outward before bringing you back in, quickly catching you around the waist again. “You’re very light on your feet.”

You continued to dance and twirl around the floor, onlookers thinking to themselves that this most certainly wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this before. The lights overhead twinkled with each step you took as you spun around in delicate circles, the gold of your dress glittering brightly. With the feeling of Steve’s warm hand on your back and your feet gliding smoothly across the floor, it felt as if the only people in the world at that moment was just you and him, no one else. You’re too busy to realize everyone’s stopped what they were doing to watch you two. Like Cinderella and her Prince Charming, Hercules and Megara, Beauty and the Beast - you had everyone believing you were a match made in heaven.

You’re not sure how long you stay wrapped up in each others’ arms for. Maybe it’s about half an hour later when the music switches again that you finally snap out of your trances.

“That was nice. Thank you,” you gave Steve a single nod. “I had fun.”

“Likewise, Y/N,” he looks you square in the eye as he gives you yet another million-dollar smile. Oh my god, his smile-

You make your way over together, his hand still on the small of your back, to where the rest of the OG Avengers were seated around the couches.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the lovebirds themselves,” Sam smirked as you sat down, Steve putting his arm around the couch right behind your head. “Saw your romantic little moment back there.”

You rolled your eyes. “Lovebirds, my ass.”

“Language,” Steve teased, nudging you in the side. You shot him a ‘look.’

“Well, you’ve been quite the eye-catcher tonight,” Natasha folded her hands in her lap, nodding in approval as she observed your appearance. “If I were Rogers, I’d take you out on a date right away. Or if I were a man in general, I’d just straight up marry you.”

“Nat, with the way we act around one another, some people think we’re already married.”

“Touche.”

“Ooh, damn,” Clint let out a low wolf-whistle, twirling his drumsticks around his fingers. “Sounds like someone’s hot property.”

“Shut it, Barton,” you gave him a death glare.

“Okay, anyone against Y/N and Cap being a couple, please raise your hand,” Pietro announced, and when nobody raised their hands, he pointed at you. “See! No one’s objecting. You’d make an amazing couple.”

"No."

"Yes."

"Why are you guys so determined?"

"This ship has to happen. It is not going to die. Not on my watch," Sam declared.

“What even is a ship-” Steve began, but was unable to finish his sentence as Maria Hill was approaching your group.

"Merry Christmas! So I've heard this is the new power couple," she said as she made her way over and sat down as well. "How's it going?"

“Ooh, another ship member!" Clint pumped his fist up in the air.

"Damn right," Sam gave Hill a thumbs-up.

"Of course I'm on board," she smiled. "I'm all for it."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Seriously. What is it with you guys and shipping people together?"

"It's 'cause y'all cute," Sam wiggled his eyebrows up and down. "Y'all really gotta be cute like that. My heart can’t take it."

"Y/N," Steve noticed that you were looking uncomfortable and jerked his thumb behind the two of you, "want to go get some soda or something to eat?"

"Uh, yeah," you let out a sigh, brushing out your dress, "yeah. That'd be great."

"Don't have too much fun!" Tony called after you.

"Remember to stay safe and use protection, guys!" Clint cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted.

…

“Well, that was chaotic,” you breathed out as you took a sip of your champagne before setting it down on the counter. “I’m honestly not even surprised by the team, anymore...kinda got used to it.”

“Yeah, you grow immune to the jokes after a while,” he shrugged.

“You know…” you thought for a moment, a wistful yet sad smile appearing on your face as you looked out ahead, "Mom always got so excited around Christmas Eve. She wasn’t a huge alcohol lover, but made an exception for champagne. And hot chocolate. No matter how cold or warm it got during the month, she had one mug of it every day-"

You stopped for a moment to compose yourself again. "And Dad---he would make us sing along to every single Christmas track that came on the radio."

"Hey, are you alright?" Steve's brow furrowed in concern as he placed a hand on your forearm.

"I'm okay," you smiled sadly. "I just really miss them."

“I know. I miss my parents, too. My mother...she’d love you, you know. Ma always talked about having another daughter, but was unable to. Loved hot chocolate, like your mother…and never missed the chance to catch the sunrise or sunset, no matter the occasion.”

“She sounds like an amazing person,” you looked up at him.

“She was.”

You spent another hour or so talking together, feeling the tension lift from your shoulders with each passing minute. Talking to Steve came so naturally so often- that was why, when you couldn’t fall asleep at night, would go out to the balcony with him and talk until the sun rose. You just continued your conversation, until giggles and whispers interrupted your chatter.

"What do you want, guys," you rolled your eyes at the team, arms crossed and smirking at you and Steve. Shuri especially, had a rather evil grin on her face, and so did Clint, Bucky, and Sam.

"No...what they're trying to say is...uh..." Steve scratched the back of his neck and with an awkward chuckle, pointed to the mistletoe hanging above your heads.

"Mistletoe," you said softly, feeling your face heat up.

"Yeah," he spoke in a quiet voice, a light pink shade dusting his cheeks.

"Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!" the entire room began to chant.

"Rules are rules! You're not leaving until you two kiss!" Clint sing-songed.

The air around you had suddenly grown thick with anticipation and suspense as everyone fell silent, waiting for what was to come next, your heart beating so fast that it was making it difficult for you to catch a breath. Your gaze slipped down to his lips so he took this as a cue to let his arms slowly snake around your waist and you placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling as if everything was all going in slow motion.

Although the kiss didn't last very long, you made sure to take in every detail. His lips were so soft and warm, you could feel one of his hands on the small of your back as he pulled your closer, the other resting just below your shoulder blades, and you could feel the butterflies going wild in your stomach. Your heart was beating a million miles per hour, it seemed, and the sparks.

It could've been hours, or weeks, or even months until you finally broke apart but when you did, you were both grinning like fools and the team was trying their hardest to hold back their excited squeals.

"Merry Christmas," you whispered.

"Merry Christmas," he breathed out, before wrapping his arms around your waist again to bring you in a second time.

“Clint! Get up!” Sam lightly tapped the archer’s cheek. “Get up!”

“I think he’s dead.” Peter whispered.

“No, he just passed out from shock,” Shuri shrugged, but then gave him a high five. “Anyway, good job, Pete! You did a pretty amazing job of hanging that up there in time.”

#avengers imagines #steve rogers x reader #avengers x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #marvel fic #avengers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers fic #captain america fic #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine

103 notes · View notes

youidiotprince · 3 years

Text

ALT ER LOVE SERVER GIFT EXCHANGE: FIC SET

happy holidays @soluxogobsc! I’m so sorry for posting this at the last possible second, but I hope you enjoy these fragments of fic for your favorite evak pairings (evak, elu, and davenzi) during the holiday season, each echoing the one before, their love rippling across the parallel universes. you can read them all under the cut.

EVAK

Somehow, without Isak or Even even noticing, the holiday season had crept up on them and nearly passed them by. As soon as they started their winter holidays from their Universities, time lost all meaning to them, and suddenly it was the day before Christmas Eve and they hadn’t purchased a single gift or set out a single decoration. That evening, a bit in a panic, they divided to conquer; Isak hunched over the coffee table to wrap the gifts they’d bought for their friends and family earlier that day, and Even moved between the tree and the open storage boxes of decorations, trying to bring some spirit into their apartment.

Dispersed amongst the boxes were precious tokens of their five Christmases together, the odd bits and trinkets they’d accumulated over time, their shared life together viewed through this one time of year that meant so much to them. Even pulled ornaments for the tree from the boxes. Some were sentimental, like the strip of film Isak had gotten framed as a gift for their second Christmas together, stills from one of the many videos Even had taken of them over the course of their relationship; some were comical, gag gifts given to them by their friends; and some were just traditional, like the angel they would put atop the tree later. When Even found an ornament that Jonas had gifted to them the year before that he had forgotten about, a reindeer lifting its leg to pee like a dog, he turned to Isak, amused, ready to remind him.

“Isak, what is that monstrosity in your hands right now?” Even assumed it was the candle they’d gotten for his mom, since the package seemed vaguely cylindrical in shape, but it was buried in what seemed to be three layers of wrapping paper, all haphazardly crumpled around the object within, a few pieces of tape stuck on to try to pull it all together. Even’s eyes shifted to the three other presents Isak had wrapped in the last hour, each one worse than the last. “What have you done?”

Isak rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but Even cut off his reply. “How did I not know how bad you were at this?”

“I’m not that bad,” Isak tried to defend, but then he looked back to the gifts, the mess before him, and he saw it anew, as if for the first time. “Okay, maybe I’m that bad.”

“You’re absolutely hopeless.” Even’s lips were parted in disbelief, but they quirked up at the corners with amusement.

“Hey,” Isak warned, pretending to be offended. “I usually get help with my gifts for you, and you wrap ours for us. So, it’s honestly kind of your fault for trusting me.”

“Oh, it’s my fault? Really?” Even asked, voice teasing as he stalked towards him. Isak only nodded, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips that he fought to suppress. When Even reached Isak, he crouched in front of where he sat on the couch, their lips only a breath apart. “Are you sure it’s not just a little bit your fault for not disclosing your lack of gift wrapping ability?”

Isak shook his head slowly, brushing his nose against Even’s, raising his chin just a bit to look down at him.

“My bad, then. How can I make up for my grave mistake?”

Isak leaned into Even, closing the bit of space between their lips as the tension between them reached its peak. It was a short kiss, to both of their dismay, a quick treat before they got back to more pressing matters.

When Isak pulled away, he answered Even’s previous question by motioning to the supplies around him. “You can start by taking care of all of this.”

“We’re going to be up all night.” Even’s eyes drifted to the pile of unwrapped gifts next to Isak that he’d yet to even touch. Isak’s did the same. The clock was ticking, but when he looked back at Isak, whose eyes crinkled in the corners with his lingering smile, he couldn’t bring himself to dive back into it yet. The presents and decorations would be there in the morning. “Do you want hot chocolate? Let’s take a hot chocolate break.”

ELU

The first thing Eliott did when he woke up on Christmas morning was make hot chocolate, one for him and one for Lucas. He stirred the warm liquid with a candy cane and topped them both off with a big dollop of whipped cream. Mugs in hand, he bounded back into his bedroom, where Lucas still lay, duvet pulled up to his chin as his shoulders rose and fell in that slow, steady rhythm of sleep he knew so well.

“Lucas, wake up, it’s Christmas.” He set the mugs on the bedside table so he could shake Lucas awake.

“What?” The sound was thick with sleep and confusion, more groan than word.

“It’s Christmas! I’m bringing you hot chocolate in bed, and it’s Christmas!” Eliott sat on the edge of Lucas’s side of the bed, turning to coax him out of his sleep. He tangled his fingers in Lucas’s mess of hair and ruffled it. “Wake up.”

“Eliott, it’s too early,” Lucas grumbled, fighting to pull the duvet up even higher.

“It’s not even that early.”

“It is,” Lucas said grumpily, covering his face with his hands since the duvet wouldn’t budge from under Eliott. “Why don’t you come back to bed?”

“No, I left you a present under our little tree. Don’t you want to open your present?” Lucas had also left him a present under the tree, and maybe, just a little part of Eliott was so antsy for Lucas to wake up so that he could open his gift from Lucas. The anticipation had been killing him ever since Lucas kicked him out of the bedroom the night before so he could wrap it. Eliott liked surprises, both giving them and receiving them, but that didn’t mean he had the patience for them.

“The only present I want right now is more sleep.”

Eliott didn’t have to see Lucas’s face to know the exact pout he was sporting at that moment; it was one he knew well, the one Lucas used every time he didn’t actually mean it.

“You leave me no choice, Lucas,” Eliott said, sounding as if he really did regret what he would have to do. Because Lucas’s hands were still hiding his face and shielding his eyes, it was all too easy for Eliott to jump up from the bed and take the warm, cozy duvet with him. Lucas’s hands flew from his face to follow the blanket, trying desperately to grab onto it before it was out of reach, but the lingering sleep made his limbs too slow.

“Eliott,” Lucas whined, but he was finally wide awake and he was laughing despite himself. “Okay, but at least let me drink my hot chocolate in the comfort of my bed.”

Eliott gave in and dropped the blanket back over Lucas’s legs as Lucas reached for the decadent mug and cradled it to his chest. Eliott sat back down where he had been before and watched Lucas raise the drink to his lips, holding his gaze over the top of the mug. When he pulled it away from his mouth, there was a white line of whipped cream above his lip. It was too adorable and endearing for Eliott to resist, so he leaned over Lucas and pressed his lips to his, enjoying the sticky sweetness of this kiss. Lucas put the mug back on the table before sliding back down into the bed so he was lying flat, pulling Eliott with him. There was a fleeting moment in which Lucas thought he had won, that Eliott would come back to bed after all, but before he could properly process that thought in his love drunk haze, Eliott was pulling away, was standing up, was grabbing Lucas’s hands and dragging him along with him.

“Not yet,” was all Eliott said before he walked out to the living room of their apartment, Lucas begrudgingly following after one last exasperated sigh.

DAVENZI

“David, no,” Matteo grumbled with an exaggerated sigh as he tried to resist David tugging him to his feet to follow him to the kitchen. David’s sister had spent the entire afternoon baking cookies, and she wanted the boys to help her decorate them. David couldn’t say no to her, but grumpy Matteo, who had only gotten more and more comfortable around David’s sister, didn’t seem to have the same problem. So far, asking nicely and using sheer force had not been working, so David made one last attempt to motivate him.

“Why don’t you want to? Are you scared your cookies won’t compare to mine?” David taunted, hoping to strike Matteo’s playful competitive nerve.

“Please,” Matteo huffed, feigning indifference, but David noticed the way he sat up a bit more, like maybe he was giving in.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed that I’m better than you.” David leaned closer to Matteo, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.

Matteo squinted one eye at him before leaning forward too, meeting him in the middle. “How are we doing this then?”

“We’ll each decorate a batch, and then my sister can be the judge?” David offered, pulling away to consider.

“Won’t she be a bit biased? Is that really fair?”

“If anything, she’ll be biased towards you.”

“Oh, good, sounds fair then,” Matteo said, smug. “Let’s go.”

“There you guys are,” Laura said, turning at the sound of their continued teasing. As always, she was listening to music as she cooked, singing along to some traditional Christmas songs this time. “I was starting to get worried.”

Matteo sat on the kitchen stool and rested his head on David’s shoulder as David filled Laura in on their little competition and her role as the judge. She adored the idea, mostly relieved that she wouldn’t have to do the decorating alone after all. She had already mixed a few colors of frosting and put them into frosting piping bags, and she’d also laid out a few different kinds of sprinkles. David and Matteo each set a tray of cooled cookies in front of them, but didn’t start decorating right away.

“Should we start?” David asked. Matteo shrugged as Laura said they should, and so they did.

There was only one piping bag for each color of frosting, and somehow one of them always needed the color the other was currently using, which led to bickering and attempts to steal the bag from the other’s hands, followed by fits of laughter as the commotion would cause the other to mess up, squeeze too much out at once or miss the cookie entirely. The efforts to sabotage only increased as they finished more and more cookies, “accidental” shoves or elbows to the ribs turning to blatant attempts to throw the other person off when they were working on more intricate details.

Once, without thinking, Matteo smashed his hand onto one of David’s already decorated cookies, which successfully rendered the cookie useless in the competition, but it covered his palm in red and green icing, which David thought was the funniest thing until Matteo smeared said palm across David’s cheek, leaving bold streaks of color there. When David made a move to grab one of Matteo’s cookies, no doubt to smush it on his face in return, Laura saw the impending food fight and intervened.

“Okay, okay!” she called, reaching in between them. “Time!”

“What do you mean? This wasn’t timed,” Matteo said, but Laura just shrugged.

“I’m the judge. Time’s up.”

Matteo and David surveyed the damage, and they hardly had one decent cookie between the two of them. There was no way Laura could pick an honest winner.

Still, after a few seconds of examining the trays, Laura decided, “Matteo is the winner.”

“But he cheated,” David countered, motioning to his cheek.

Laura laughed and corrected, “You both cheated. You just got the worse end of the consequences.”

“I knew I would win,” Matteo said, beaming.

David pretended to pout, refusing to look at Matteo as he crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly.

“Hey, you have a little something right… there,” Matteo teased, licking his finger and swiping at the frosting on David cheek.

David tried to shrug him off with a yelp before he leveled him with a glare that lacked any real intensity. “You’re not funny.”

“And you’re not so better than me after all.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” And of course he didn’t. This was precisely what he loved about him.

#skam #evak #skam france #elu #druck #davenzi #skam fic #skam france fic #druck fic #this was my first time writing for all three of these pairings and I ran out of time to rewatch clips of all of them so jdjd im insecure

20 notes · View notes

hazellvesque · 3 years

Text

no strings attached

Why spend the holidays alone when an alley cat insists on keeping you company? After all, what are friends for?

aged-up Marinette/Chat Noir; platonic (???) affection | cw: alcohol consumption

[merry christmas and happy holidays to everyone, but especially to @verrelle as this is your @mlsecretsanta gift from me! enjoy some marichat christmas fluff!]

Read on Ao3

* * * * *

Despite the frigid temperature outside, Marinette had opted to spend the evening on her balcony sans scarf and gloves. The heat of the homemade cocoa did more than enough to warm her from the inside out. The fact that it was spiked probably didn’t hurt, either. In fact, she felt positively cozy, now that the previously-burning sensation in her throat had dulled to a pleasant radiating heat.

She hadn’t even bothered to change out of her pajamas. Rather, she’d tossed one of her fuzzier blankets over her shoulders like a cape, wrapping herself up just enough to be able to bear the weather but still head inside and go straight to bed once she felt herself get tired enough.

She unlocked her phone and glanced at the time. 12:07am.

“Joyeux Noël,” she muttered bitterly.

As a child, Marinette had spent this hour of the holiday drifting off in front of a warm fire, the savoury and sweet tastes of roast turkey and her father’s bûche de Noël from Christmas Eve still on her tongue. In more recent years, she’d crashed at Alya and Nino’s apartment after they’d insisted on inviting all of their collège friends to celebrate together. At first, it had been for Adrien’s sake, so he wouldn’t have to spend his holiday alone. Later, it became tradition to offer their little home to whoever needed company during Christmastime.

This year, Alya and Nino had opted for a more private celebration: a romantic week-long getaway, just the two of them. Marinette wouldn’t be shocked if Alya returned from their trip with a shiny new rock on her finger. Nino had been dropping some agonizingly obvious hints that he’d be popping the question soon, and Alya insisted on being “surprised” even though the couple had been discussing marriage for years and it was only a matter of when, not if, that would be the real surprise.

Marinette tried her best not to let the dreaded lonely shadow in the back of her mind consume her thoughts entirely. The pit in her stomach was excitement for her best friend. Not jealousy. Not envy. Of course not.

For the first time in her life, Marinette was alone for Christmas. And although she insisted that her friends and family not worry about her, and that the holiday wasn’t really that big of a deal, she still glanced out wistfully at the twinkling lights of the city feeling envious of everyone who had someone special to spend the evening with.

Maybe she should have gotten back on the dating apps, like Alya had suggested. Or maybe that was the tipsy brain talking.

She took another burning swig of her drink, trying not to hiss as it went down. The bitter aftertaste told her she’d made this batch slightly too spirited, but it was too late to fix that now.

A curious, nagging feeling wriggled in the back of her mind. Like she was being watched.

“What are you doing?” she asked the winter air.

Its response sounded strangely like a familiar young man slinking up behind her. “Practicing my stealth,” Chat Noir said.

Marinette took another small sip, not bothering to even glance back at her visitor. “Well, you’re lousy. Keep practicing.”

Leather-clawed hands slipped around her waist, pulling her back ever so slightly so that her back was flush against Chat’s front side in a playful hug.

“That’s no way to talk to someone who came all this way to see you on Christmas. It is past midnight now, isn’t it?” he whispered in her ear, then glanced down at her mug. “Is that hot chocolate?”

“And peppermint schnapps,” Marinette turned to face Chat, waving the mug under his nose teasingly. “Both of which are pretty lethal to kittens, last time I checked.”

Chat released her, making a pathetic pouty face as he rounded her, taking his usual precarious perch on the edge of the railing. “Do you want to explain why you’re drinking alone?”

“Because Alya’s probably getting married soon and this is going to be my sad reality for a while, so I might as well get a head start,” the words flowed out of her mouth before hitting her brain. Evidently, the peppermint schnapps were doing their job a little too well already. “...And I wasn’t expecting an interruption.”

“An interruption? Or much-needed company?”

“I don’t know, yet. Depends on what kind of company you’re providing. Shouldn’t you be protecting the innocent and whatnot?”

Chat cast a lazy glance out at the quiet city. “You know how it goes,” he shrugged, “not a creature stirring, except maybe a mouse.”

“Ha ha,” Marinette deadpanned.

When was the last time she last summoned Mullo and used her multiplication powers? Months, maybe even a full year ago now. None of the akumas lately had called for it. During recent battles, Chat had been more than enthusiastic when recommending help from their old friends, insisting that, even though years had passed, people like Max and Kim and Kagami wouldn’t mind donning their magical jewelry for a night and jumping back into the fight.

Marinette understood that feeling completely. She’d missed seeing them, too, though she’d be much less happy to admit it.

The two of them had nearly run the gamut of their superpowered assistants as of late. Only a handful of their old collège friends were left in the city, and half of them likely wouldn’t be as enthusiastic to play dress-up-and-kick-ass anymore. Chat had probably been anxiously awaiting his opportunity to suggest getting help from Marinette and the mouse miraculous, only putting it off because his Lady had insisted Marinette couldn’t be trusted with the secret identity. She’d kind of dug herself into a hole with that one, though she couldn’t exactly admit it to anyone.

“What’s ironic?” Chat asked.

Marinette blinked. “Huh?”

“You just said ‘how ironic’ under your breath, but you were kind of mumbling,” Chat cast a quizzical look at her mug. “Are you sure you should still be drinking that?”

“I’m fine,” Marinette said, but as the words left her mouth, she could feel just how dizzy she’d gotten in the last few minutes. “Maybe this is a bad time to mention that this is my second cup of the night?”

Wordlessly, Chat took the mug from her hands and drank, instantly recoiling at the taste. “Well someone’s got a heavy pour.”

“Yep,” Marinette reached for her drink, but Chat lazily held it above his head, just out of her reach.

Chat shook his head. “Nope, I’m finishing this for you, you’re cut off for the night.”

She tried to stand on her tiptoes and instantly felt the world shift off-kilter beneath her feet. Okay, fine, maybe she didn’t need it.

“So what kind of company were you needing tonight?” Chat asked, raising an eyebrow as he took another drink. “Since your satisfaction evidently depends entirely on what services I provide.”

Moving away from the railing, Marinette pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders. She meandered towards her lounge chair and plopped down, legs crossed. “I didn’t mean to say it like that,” she giggled. “You make everything sound so...”

“Exciting?” he offered.

“Suggestive,” Marinette finished. “But you’re such a relentless flirt that you probably don’t even realize you’re doing it.”

Chat’s presence on her rooftop had become an incredibly common sight over the years, and his visit tonight was especially comforting. She hadn’t expected him to find time to stop by during the holidays, operating under the assumption that he had family or other loved ones he’d rather be with.

Over time, their conversations ran the gamut from petty gossip to deep therapeutic bonding, but they rarely if ever crossed the line past platonic interactions. Sure, the odd innuendo or joke would slip every once in a while - mostly from Chat’s mouth - because what else would you expect from two perpetually single friends?

“Quite the contrary,” Chat Noir took another big gulp, “I am fully aware of the things I say, and everything I do is with complete sincerity. It's not my fault you don’t take me seriously.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose. “Well, you’re always so casual about it, it’s hard for me to tell if you even really mean it.”

“Should I be more blunt, then?”

“Try me.”

Chat rolled his shoulders back and took another massive swig, draining the mug before setting it down. “Only because you asked,” he said before bounding across the balcony, shortening the distance between them quicker than Marinette could blink. He landed in a crouched position very nearly in her lap, their noses inches away.

His voice lowered, but his eyes never strayed from hers. “For one, it’s hilarious to me how much of a lightweight you are. Your inhibitions are on their way out the window after a drink and a half, and it’s much more fun for me this way because now you’ll laugh at my jokes instead of rolling your eyes at me.”

“I didn’t think you ever wanted me to react to your flirting,” Marinette shot back. “All things considered, with you being head-over-heels in love with Ladybug and all, you seemed perfectly fine with me rolling my eyes and ignoring you.”

Chat sat back on his heels and sighed wistfully. “You two do have that in common. Maybe that’s why I find you so endearing.”

A sarcastic laugh escaped Marinette’s lips before she could hold it back. If he only knew. More than anything, she wanted to take a snapshot this moment so she could bring it up again someday when there were no more secrets. Just to play that last statement on loop, so they could laugh about it together.

“Marinette,” Chat whined, but the smile on his face told her he was only joking, “I’m trying to cheer you up here, the least you could do is play along a little bit.”

She took a deep breath, regaining her composure. “Okay. Sorry. Playing along, right.”

“Right,” he said, “On to my second point. As I was saying before, what can I do to make your night better?”

“Who said I was having a bad night?”

“Call it intuition,” he leaned in close again. “Or maybe it’s the fact that you’re drinking alone on Christmas and pretending not to be sad about your best friend possibly getting engaged. Classic signs of a forlorn heart.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

“Which is exactly why I’m here to provide my services,” Chat sat cross-legged in front of her, his position mirroring hers exactly and reminding her of children gossiping at a sleepover. “What is it that friends usually do when someone is heartbroken? I can trash talk whoever it is that’s got you feeling this way. I’ll tell you how they’re totally not worth your time and they’re not even that cute and you’ll find someone someday who’s going to make you forget that other person even existed.”

“I don’t know if there’s any one specific person causing this,” Marinette admitted.

That was partially true. Although Adrien had been the cause of many nights full of what-ifs and sad unfulfilled daydreams, it had been years since her crush was at the forefront of her mind. Rather, his presence lingered in the background, really only rising to the surface when people would ask her why they had never ended up together.

And she didn’t really have an answer to that question. They had become excellent friends over the years, but she still choked on her words every time the subject of her feelings came up. Try as she might, she just couldn’t quite spit it out and face the embarrassment of rejection if he didn’t have any interest. She’d finally managed to stop stuttering around him. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin all of that now.

No, her loneliness now was more of a dull, persistent ache that had a plethora of causes, and she was sure once the holiday season was over and the overwhelming pressure of needing togetherness faded, she’d be just fine.

“Well,” Chat said, “I can also go the more sincere route and just hug you and tell you everything’s going to be alright, even if I don’t know that for sure.”

“That would be nice,” she said, then after a beat: “But I’m already so comfy here that I really don’t want to get up.”

Chat frowned. Marinette stuck her tongue out at him.

“Fine then,” Chat said, “scoot over.”

She did as he asked, and even though the lounge chair was definitely only designed for the width of a single person, he moved to sit next to her so that their shoulders and hips were pressed together. Unraveling herself slightly, she offered half her blanket to him, which he gratefully draped over his own shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder, effectively wrapping her in a side-hug.

“Still comfy?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm,” she responded, leaning her head on top of his.

Chat had always been the affectionate type, and in years past, he usually reserved most of it for Ladybug. Lately, though, he’d been just as touchy with Marinette, and she suspected it was out of a combination of both their growing friendship and his own personal need for affection.

Seeing as she was equally as touch starved, she wasn’t going to complain.

They sat in comfortable silence for a good while, the chill of the night air almost unnoticeable with warm drinks in their stomachs and the shared body heat radiating between them.

“I have another idea, but I don’t know if you’ll get mad at me for suggesting it,” Chat said quietly.

Marinette sat a little straighter, turning to look him in the eye. “I could never be mad at you, Chat Noir.”

Chat’s mouth fell open, then he caught himself and smiled bashfully. “Well, just to be clear, I’m asking this out of complete friendship, and I’d hate to enforce your belief that I’m a relentless flirt. It really is because I care about you, and I know how lonely you must feel, and I know something that might help ease that feeling a little bit.”

Marinette tilted her head, questioning.

He took a deep breath, his clawed hands toying with the frayed edge of the blanket. Was he nervous?

“May I kiss you?” Chat asked, his quiet voice nearly lost to the breeze. Marinette wasn’t even sure she’d heard him right. It was hard to tell if the faint redness of his cheeks was from the embarrassment of his suggestion or from the cold.

She’d kissed Chat Noir before, of course, although he didn’t know that. And admittedly, it had never been a bad experience. He was arguably her closest friend, and she didn’t doubt for a moment the sincerity of his statement. The way he looked at her now was nothing like the lovestruck way he gazed at Ladybug when suggesting the same thing.

Marinette nodded slowly.

They were sitting so close it wouldn’t have taken much effort for him to simply lean forward and close the gap between them. But Chat Noir was never one to do things simply.

He brought a gloved hand up to Marinette’s face and slowly traced his thumb across her cheek. Marinette shivered at the touch but did not pull away. Her eyes fluttered shut as he brought his lips to hers.

Marinette felt her nerves fizzle away as she relaxed into his touch. Chat was unbelievably gentle, tilting her chin up to capture her lips perfectly between his.

He let the kiss linger for only a moment longer before pulling away. Their deep breaths were punctuated by the puffs of condensation from their breath floating between them.

“Merry Christmas, Marinette,” said Chat.

“Joyeux Noël, Chat Noir,” Marinette replied.

Gracefully removing himself from the seat, Chat draped his shared half of the blanket back over Marinette’s shoulders and dropped another kiss on her forehead. He smiled as he backed towards the balcony railing, already reaching behind his back to grab his staff.

“Go inside and get some rest,” he insisted. “Try and enjoy the rest of the day. I won’t be a stranger.”

“I know,” she said assuredly.

He hopped up onto the rail and prepared for his exit.

“Oh, Chat Noir?” Marinette called out to him.

He turned back to meet her eyes.

Marinette beamed at him. “Thank you. For being a friend.”

Chat returned her smile with a wink. “Anytime.”

As his dark silhouette vanished into the night, Marinette decided resolutely: if her usual friends and family weren’t around, Ladybug might just need to make a new holiday tradition of her own - one that included spending time with her partner.

#miraculous ladybug #marichat #ml secret santa #ml fic #My writing

19 notes · View notes