#9DAYSCWC2016

[crowleyaj]

it gets even weirder

This is the very very belated last part of this year’s (well, last year’s) 9DaysCWC. I was supposed to write it on 1st Jan... well, that didn’t work out.

It’s a sequel to this ficlet.

00Q, Hannigram. New Year’s Eve Dinner. Q has doubts.

Q looked at himself in the large bedroom mirror. A completely different man stared back at him. He seldom wore dinner jackets—it was nothing like his style; unaccustomed to and undue. But this evening required it, so he had dug it out the back of his wardrobe full of otherwise colourful clothes, and told himself it was for James.

He fixed the cufflinks and straightened the sleeves. It was just a New Year’s Eve dinner at the neighbours’. A fancy dinner. Yet, he did not stop questioning the necessity of a sodding dinner jacket and a bow tie.

Q sighed. Besides the festive clothes, the dinner would also require socialising with the other occupants of the house, which, as well as the former, was not something he would enjoy. If he was being honest, he was somewhat fond of one of them only. The woman was a toxicologist who had helped Q-Branch with one of their projects. Perhaps he could count Mrs Caldwell from the ground floor as a good acquaintance if he squinted.

 He wanted to step away from the mirror and leave the strange figure behind, but then he glimpsed a fast flick of a fluffy white tail behind him. Their cat, Pampuria, has sneaked into the room. She meowed. Apparently, she agreed with the sceptical attitude he held towards the event.

She crept between his feet. With loud purrs, she danced between them, and some white fur stuck to his trouser legs. Oh, of course she had to be an additional inconvenience to the already tiresome evening.

But the feline was also, undeniably, a distraction from the thoughts running around in his head. Q smiled. He squatted down to scratch her ears. She waved her tail in the air contentedly.  

“I know you wish me to go no more than I do, Pampuria, but I have to,” he explained with fondness he saved for no one but James and their furry companion. He talked to her like that often, especially when James was off due to King and Country’s business. “Commitments a person of my rank and status has to keep. Besides, James is waiting for me, you know. He’s left earlier to help the host with preparations, old mates they are. I cannot do that to them.”

Q rose. With a subtle move of his right leg, he prompted Pampuria to run to the kitchen along with him. The Lecters had a dog, so he omitted cleaning the trousers for its uselessness.

“Your dinner is in the bowl, it should be enough. I’ve poured you some milk, too,” he glanced at the more or less empty bowl, “but I’m afraid that’s all we have. I will be back by two, I presume. Or later.”

He wouldn’t be so sure as to guarantee anything; the party may as well go on till the morning. That depended on the amount of alcoholic beverages and revelry from the other guests’ side, and knowing them all, it will both be high.

Pampuria meowed again, and pattered to the food bowls. She did not touch any of it, merely eyed the contents. With a good-bye, Q finally continued to the foyer.  

 He spared one last look in the smaller mirror. Its frame, lavishly adorned with a patina of faux dinge reminded him of James, who had been overexcited about the party. The mirror belonged to him long before the flat became theirs.

Q’s wild hair couldn’t be contained any more, and the bow tie would get askew with every move anyway, so he concluded his looks were acceptable at it is. His hand mechanically reached for a scarf lurking at him from the hanger—but of course, there was no reason to take it. He was not heading out, to the freezing cold and heavy snowfall. He grabbed his keys.

He opened the front door only to slam it shut again the next instant. He locked it, just to be certain, and checked his Omega watch. It told him that it was 8:56, high time to appear at the party. It was starting at nine, in a flat directly above theirs.

Q walked the way to the stone staircase with old white wooden bannisters, across the tiled floor. He has just made the first step when the door to the other flat opened and closed with the clinking of keys. He was not the last one to come, then.

He came to a stop and turned around. Dr Barbara Corner, the toxicologist, walked to him in her clopping black stilettos, wearing a smile on her face. Apart from that, she was wearing a plain, black robe that brushed against the floor with every step and did wonders to her figure.

He could appreciate intelligent company on the way. It was a few days since he came out of his nest and visited her to enjoy a cuppa and an open, intelligent conversation. “Good evening, Barbara. You look wonderful,” Q complimented her. He meant it.

“Good evening, Andrew. You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said, and the smile widened. There was a disconcerting flash in her glacial blue eyes. “How’s Pamps doing?”

Oh yes, oh yes. His poor, old, dying cat was always in the centre of everybody’s interest. Q did not know whether she worried about her, or there was something else to it.

“So far so good, thank you. I think she won’t give up as easily. She’s practically immortal,” he chuckled, and it was partially true. She celebrated her fifteenth birthday this year. But it also hurt. He loved her as his own child. James had rescued her from the hold of his villainous step-brother those years ago in Morocco, and since then, she has been living with the two of them, finally feeling loved.

Barbara noticed the sudden sadness in his expression, so she changed the subject as they walked up the first flight of stairs.

 They talked about the project she had helped him all the way to the flat. As soon as they approached the door, their thoughts drifted elsewhere. The image of the party became real again.

Q brought himself to knock on the door. His hand was trembling, imperceptibly to Barbara.

Having had that pointless conversation, Q momentarily forgot about the nervousness. As they both ran out of meaningful topics to discuss and were standing in silence, waiting for someone to open, the slight, unflagging fear oozing from the Lecters’ flat through the gap above the threshold enveloped him again. He fidgeted in that jacket that did not quite belong on his body.

The door swung open a few second later. Q breathed in relief when he saw the familiar blond standing behind it, clutching it with one hand.

“Good evening, James,” Dr Corner greeted the agent with yet another smile and no visible trace of concern whatsoever. Nevertheless, Q knew it was there, in the corner of her eye. She paid the place respect as well as everyone who has seen what they have. It was dangerous, he just could not fathom why.

Perhaps it was the antlers, strange paintings, weapons, and many other creepy statuettes placed everywhere, hanging on the dark paperhanging covering every wall in the foyer and living room, or the sterile coldness of the steel kitchen and the sharp knives laid ostentatiously on the counter. If he did not know better, he would say it looked like a serial killer’s lair. Though, he knew Hannibal Lecter worked as a renowned psychiatrist, and his husband was ex-FBI who now had a part-time job in an animal shelter—which he did out of the goodness of his heart, he had told.

This sort of an eerie atmosphere that gave one goose bumps upon even approaching it reigned the place. But apparently, he and Barbara were the only ones who thought there was something off about the flat. He stopped mentioning any suspicious thoughts about it to James right after he had said Q was simply being paranoid because he worked for an intelligence agency.

“Good evening and a happy New Year, Barbara,” said James and stepped away from the door to let her and his partner inside. “Andrew, my darling.”

As Q walked by, James pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. Despite parting two hours ago, laying his eyes on Q conjured a heartfelt smile on James’ face. Q smiled back, it was impossible to resist, but it wasn’t credible. Not even James’ presence couldn’t put him to ease.

The trio continued to the living room, where the rest of the guests were sitting on the sofa upholstered with black leather and matching armchairs, occasionally sipping on red wine from tall, thin glasses. They were all dressed in equally elegant, shining robes as though they were going to the opera. Q mentally laughed at the fake glitz with which people like them wheeled into Dr Lecter’s favour since the day he had moved in this house in Notting Hill. They could smell the wealth and genteel that radiated from his persona, and wanted to get close to him, without trying to peer under the person suit and seeing what truly is inside. The danger. Q was wiser than that. He went to his parties only out of courtesy, and his love for James, who was thick as thieves with both Hannibal and his husband.  

James was no different case, really. He has been helping the couple with the preparations, brought hundreds of pounds worth of drinks, and crawled up the Lecters’ arse in many other ways possible. But if keeping them company was what he liked to do in his free time, besides keeping Q company, and kept him occupied when he was not on a mission, Q was very liberal about his actions. He has learnt that forbidding James Bond from doing something does not have a point anyway; it can only spur him to do it out of spite.

 Mrs Caldwell said hello to Q. He returned to corporeality in his thoughts and greeted her back.

Then he gave James a proper look. He, of course, saw what he had put on before he left, but he had had no time to really look and fully appreciate the sight in front of his eyes. A bespoke navy blue dinner jacket with a white shirt underneath it, and a bow tie of colour that matched the suit nicely outlined his well-defined chest and brought out his icy blue eyes. A pair of black slacks was snug on his strong legs. Saying that he looked exquisite would be an understatement. Clothes like these suited him, unlike Q, more than well. He was once again reminded why he has fallen for this impossible man in the first place.

He reluctantly tore his eyes away from James, and politely greeted everyone else: a couple of lawyers from China, who lived opposite the Lecters; the family from ground level; Mrs Caldwell. Samantha, the only child in the house, was playing with Encephalitis the dog on the floor. The parents did not seem to mind.

Hannibal Lecter and his husband were nowhere to be seen. They were probably making some final preparations in the kitchen. Q’s senses were a little calmed by that, but not enough for him to relax. Not even after he was offered a glass of 2004 Red Bordeaux, and the sweet taste of the wine pleasured his taste buds.

 Both men emerged from the kitchen a moment later. They carried large, silver trays full of various kinds of colourful, mouth-watering appetisers, and Q, despite himself, realised how hungry he actually was. He ate his last meal at two o’clock in the afternoon.

He recognised many meaty foods, as typical for Dr Lecter and his parties, and he was worried for a minute. He was vegetarian, and he would not eat that should he starve to death. That was another regard he and Dr Corner shared—their taste and distaste in foods.

Although, to be completely honest, he would not eat that even if he ate meat. He did not trust the food as well as the cooks—without really knowing why.

Hannibal and Will laid the trays on the large mahogany table, in between a ghastly, crooked, antler-like candelabrum and a bowl of exotic fruits and leaves with what looked like a golden egg in the middle of it. In another moment, Will was excusing himself and returning to where he had emerged from. Not a while after, he came back with two other smaller plates, on which foods more likeable to Q’s appetite were arranged.

“Please, help yourselves to a bite to eat,” he said, locking eyes with everyone in the room. Q had to wink repeatedly to shake off the discomfort of the intense gaze.

Will’s eyes lingered on his husband. He gave him a negligible smile, and then he popped a piece of honeydew melon with prosciutto and almond in his mouth. At least the meat looked liked prosciutto.

Hannibal lifted his glass of wine in the air to catch everyone’s attention. Those who were sitting rose to their feet, mimicking the host’s gesture with the glass. Q’s arm moved up automatically, without his thinking. “Bon appétit, my friends,” said Hannibal. “Enjoy the party, and your last hours of 2030.”

That couldn’t go without a chuckle coming from Q’s mouth. He sipped at the wine once more and stepped to the table. He looked at the vegetable-filled champignons and the little, grilled peppers with cheese on the first plate. Which should he taste first, if at all?

“Try the mushroom first, then the pepper, Andrew,” offered Will Lecter. “Those are the most delicious thing in here.”

For once, Q will trust him. There could be nothing wrong with a vegetable hors d’oeuvre, correct?

But that still did not convince him about the propriety of the other things, food or otherwise. He will keep an eye on the couple. He worked in an intelligence service, after all.

[hamiltonofjakku]

Christmas with Newt

Christmas with Newt would include

- Him finding sneaky ways to steal a kiss under the mistletoe

“ Newt where did you get that.’’ Where did I get what?’’ That necklace I wanted.

You punching him in the arm lightly when you find out the niffler stole it.

-Baking cookies with him and feeding his animals with Christmas treats.

- Him being nervous because he is going to propose to you.

‘’ Are you okay Newt. ‘ I’m fine y/n.’’ You look like you’re going to puke.’’ 

- Newt proposing to you with a beautiful ring.

- You both tearing up during it.

- You kissing him sweetly.

‘ Being surprised at how good of a kisser he is.

 -cuddling with him in front of the fire

- ‘’ Hey Give y/n back her ring.’’

- Queenie crying because you’re her best friend and you’re  getting married 

- Jacob baking you treats because he’s your secret santa.

Merry Christmas guys! This is my first time writing drabble. Hope you like it(:

[elletromil]

I saw Mummy kissing Santa (or how Credence found out Papa was Santa)

This is for Day 2 of  9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge organized by @quartermasterswill 

Some little fluff for @karomel-02 and all my gramander peeps who also like the idea of Credence being their adopted son. This is set in an au where Credence is much younger and is not much older than 8 years-old in the ficlet.

I saw Mummy kissing Santa (or how Credence found out Papa was Santa)

Credence doesn’t usually get out of bed during the night, no matter the situation.

He doesn’t know why exactly, but he thinks it has something to do with a time before he came to live with Mummy and Papa. He doesn’t remember much of it though and he can’t say he’s very interested in the memories.

Not when every time the subject is mentioned, Papa frowns very much like when he is angry about work and Mummy grits his teeth in the way that means he is upset.

At first, he was afraid he was the cause of their expressions, but with time and reassurances, he believes them when they say it’s not about him. Or rather, it has more to do with what happened to him.

That doesn’t encourage him to try and remember, but his parents made sure he understood that if he ever needed to talk about those memories, he was welcome to do so. That he should do so. Even if it was upsetting them, it wasn’t his job to protect them from whatever darkness of life.

And if now he doesn’t really mind ignoring this part of his past, he thinks that someday, he’ll probably take them up on the offer.

Just not now.

Which is why he finds it surprising when he’s out of bed in what can only be the middle of the night.

But Papa has been away for a few days now and he’s sure he’s heard his voice and his feet are taking him downstairs without any conscious decision on his part.

It’s not that dark in the house, thanks to all the lights Mummy has put on for the holidays. There are still some shadows however and he’s always been light on his feet, so they don’t notice him when he finally gets to the living room.

They being Mummy and another man all dressed in red and Credence gasps out loud when the two exchange a kiss. He’s not sure exactly why but he knows the adults can usually kiss only another person and it’s not good if they kiss someone else.

They break the kiss right away and Credence tries to flee back to his room, fearing that Mummy is going to be angry at him, but the stranger is too fast and catches him before he can take a step. He freezes for a second, right until he recognize that particular embrace, and this can only be Papa.

He relaxes in his arms instantly and above his shoulder he can see Mummy smiling at them fondly.

“Santa has just come back from the orphanage and he was just bringing your gifts before continuing his tour,” Mummy explains, his eyes gleaming mischievously and he gasps again when he sees the mountain of gifts under the tree. Papa grumbles a bit, but Credence is too awed by the revelation that not only he’s his father but also Santa Claus to hear whatever he’s saying. Mummy does however and his smile turns a bit sad, but a bit proud too. “I know you can’t stay right now, you have important work to do.” There’s something like worry now in his eyes, like that time he fell off the tree and they thought his arm might be broken, and Papa’s arms tighten a bit around him. Not enough to hurt, just like he doesn’t want to let go.

Credence doesn’t want him to either, but he’s not the only kid in the world. He won’t be selfish.

“Can you tuck me in?” He still hears himself ask though, but Papa is already carrying him upstairs when he asks, so that doesn’t count.

He’s already half asleep when he feels Papa kiss his forehead and ruffle his hair very gently, whispering him to have sweet dreams.

[crowleyaj]

Because We Are a Family

Ahh, I forgot again, didn’t I? Jeez, I’m worse than Viktor XD Anyway, day seven of 9DaysCWC.

Sanvers + Karolsen. Dinner at the Danvers sisters’ place.

There was a knock on the door. Kara, with her superpowers, heard it before anyone else did, so she scurried to open it with a notice to the others, “I’ve got it!”

She swung the door open. In the hallway, there stood Jimmy Olsen with a colourful bouquet of flowers (roses, tulips, lilies, gerberas, carnations, ferns to border it) in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other, as though they did not have one in the fridge already.

“Hey, Kara,” he smiled. “Merry Christmas!”

“James! Come on in!” Her mouth spread into a wide smile the moment she saw her boyfriend. She completely forgot she was mad at him for he was late. “And let me help you with this.”

She reached for the bottle, but James handed her the bouquet instead. “These are for you, Kara,” he said, and she blushed, even despite she knew there was no reason for blushing. They dated for months, now.

She brought the flowers to her nose, and smelled. Her sensitive nose breathed in the unique fragrances caressing all of her senses, scented and recognised them all, brought up another smile that made her eyes sparkle like the Christmas tree standing in the living room.

She looked up, looked him in the eye. “Thank you, James, they are beautiful.”

He leant for a quick kiss on the lips.

Then, James finally closed the door (decorated by a wreath made of fir needles, oranges, holly, and fake rime at the tips of the needles), took off is coat, and came to welcome Alex, Winn, Mon-El, J’onn, and Kara’s mother. He has been worried about his belated arrival, yet having seen the group, he found out there still was one person missing.

Maggie. Alex was worried. She glanced at the large clock on the wall nervously.

Christmas dinner was a crucial point in their relationship. They were… making it official, by which they made Alex’s orientation official in front of the people closest to her as well. Her family knew – but their friends did not, not yet.

James gave the still cold and dewy bottle to Mrs Danvers, who expressed her thanks and put it in the refrigerator so the sparkling yellow beverage wouldn’t get tepid in the room before it will have been drunk.

Kara found a vase for the flowers, poured water in it, and put the bouquet on the table, between two lit star-shaped candles.

The turkey was almost ready. The decorations glistened in the blinking Christmas lights, and the tree was nearly overflowing with presents. But…

“Do you know where Maggie is?” Kara asked her sister silently as she approached her. “Did she say anything…?”

“I don’t know. I tried to call her, but she’s not answering,” replied Alex with anxious tinge in her voice and a frown. She pulled out her mobile again. No missed calls or texts.

“Could she be working on a case she hasn’t told you about?” Kara wondered. She glanced at the men helping their mother with final preps for the dinner.

“Perhaps,” Alex hesitated. “As for aliens, there is nothing the DEO wouldn’t be aware of. But what if she—?”

“Don’t worry, Alex, she’ll come,” she tried to comfort her with a hand on her shoulder and a sincere smile. “I know she will. And besides, what do I have my hearing for?”

Kara got an idea. If there were a fortuitous event for NCPD to intervene in, she would have found out by sirens or alarms or even the sounds of bullets flying through the air in high speed. She crossed the room, opened the balcony door, and walked outside. She listened.

Mostly, she could hear people in their homes, television programmes, riding cars, the usual rush of National City traffic. There were animal sounds too, in the background, and the perpetual hum of electricity, factories, working people. And behind that, Kara heard the familiar screeching of police hooters.

It was insignificant, though. Just one car alone in the outskirts of the city, chasing after a petty thief or someone like that. There was no danger, for once. It was Christmas, the time of peace and miracles, after all.

“Nothing. No case of emergency,” she reported. The others have begun to worry as well, seeing her look out for whatever she was looking for at the balcony. They inevitably thought Supergirl mode meant trouble and danger approaching.

But then she said it was no case of emergency, which was a good omen. However, something was definitely going on, and it probably involved Alex’s detective friend who still has not come yet.

“What’s going on? Can we eat dinner already?” Mon-El chimed in with another one of his wannabe innocent and relieving comments confirmed by a loud growl of his insatiate stomach.

“No, we have to wait for our friend Maggie to arrive and then we can eat dinner,” Winn explained patiently, although he was starving as well.

“Oh.”

James pulled the turkey from the oven, and a cloud of steam and spicy scent of roast escaped it. The kitchen smelled wonderfully, like Christmas and tranquillity. Kara thought he looked truly great in a white shirt tight against his muscular form and striped oven gloves.

Then she caught the sound of steps on the stairs that could only belong to one person walking to one place.

“And we don’t have to wait for much longer, because she’s coming!” she said enthusiastically. She and everyone else had to pretend they did not know about it and not walk to the door to open for her early. Maggie still did not know Kara was Supergirl.  

Alex needed to smile at the mere mention of her girlfriend, and more at the fact she was all right, late probably because of the traffic. She was relieved.

More so when she heard four firm knocks. Kara wanted to go open as she has every time, but Alex stopped her. She was the one to greet Maggie Sawyer.

It was her flat too.

When she saw her standing in the doorway, dressed in an actual fucking dress and beaming widely with that adorable smile of hers, Alex’s knees suddenly felt so weak, and her heart stuttered.

“Maggie—you look stunning,” she complimented her gorgeous appearance, almost unable to speak. She could say nothing more, though, and she could do nothing more than to give her a hug, although all she wished for was to pull her in for a deep kiss.

“So do you, beauty,” Maggie whispered as she held Alex, dressed in a simple deep blue dress herself, close. Her hands were full of paper bags clinging to Alex’s back; some of them were sharp enough to hurt. “Apologies I’m late, I had to investigate few stores for selling the perfect late minute presents.”

That was to everyone, not just her.

Alex pulled away before the hug was awkwardly long for friends. She told her to put her presents to the others, and Kara and everyone else wished her merry Christmas and welcomed her to the family.

Because that was what they were, a family of aliens and agents and reporters and life saviours.

It was drawing near eight. Time to eat. Time to celebrate. Time to enjoy being in the presence of one’s closest, with no evil extraterrestrial life forms threatening to destroy Earth or enslave its inhabitants.

J’onn took the turkey. Winn took the potatoes and vegetables. Mon-El took the two fruit pies, trying hard not to taste them; he was sure they were the most delicious thing of it all, and wanted to know. James took the drinks, Kara and Mother the glasses. They put all the food on the festively set table, and took their assigned seats.

Mrs Danvers and J’onn sat in the honourable front chairs, while the two couples and Winn with Mon-El (Mike for the evening) occupied the central seats, always vis-à-vis each other. Mrs Danvers carved the turkey, and everyone took a piece, just as a dollop of vegetables.

Before they got down to eating the dinner, there was a toast, just like on Thanksgiving. They did not say what they were thankful for but what they hoped of 2017 to bring. Everyone had one New Year’s resolution to pronounce, and after that, time for a carol came.

But before singing the song, Alex had something to say.

And they listened to every word, this time with no interruptions. If she weren’t sure about something before, now she gained confidence with every word spoken, especially with the support of Kara and Mother.

At the end of her speech, Maggie said they finally could kiss under the mistletoe just like James and Kara did every time they found themselves beneath it, and everyone laughed.

It was not that hard, after all. Alex was and always will be a part of the family, no matter what. They accepted her, who she was, the relationship between her and Maggie. Because sometimes girls like girls and it’s okay. It’s beautiful.

The eight people sang Good King Wenceslas (seven, actually; Mon-El wasn’t familiar with the lyrics) as if nothing happened, toasted, and cut the roast turkey. It was delicious as ever.

When the bird was gone, all vegetables were gone, and the pies were gone, resting in their stomachs in a pool of champagne, the two women stood by their promise and shared a long, desired kiss.

[crowleyaj]

waltz around me for eternity;

The work for the fifth day of 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge.

Thoschei. Basically what it says. Lots of reflections and metaphors – IDK how did it happen. I wanted fluff and dancing, not this XD

He was in love with a monster.

Some might argue it made him one too.

Some might say it changed little to nothing about the fact he was a hero to billions. Saviour of worlds. A celestial being close to deity, even.

He was all of that. He was the Doctor.

And he was the Master.

They were on a sempiternal collision course, always heading together, inevitably crashing, exploding.

And they danced.

That was what they did when they did not attempt to kill each other.

That, or they tore each other apart under the sheets, and mentally, rough, rough, rough, deep, deep, deep, until the world consisted of nothing more than each other.

Or they spent days evading each other for days, hiding in distant universes of the TARDIS.

But now they danced. Because it was Christmas, on Earth. Time of truce, peace, wishes, miracles.

Condoning. Mercy. Oblivion. Recovery.

Love.

Pain.

Music.

Dancing.

Their bodies circled around each other, their hands touched, the points of touch tingled with burning heat and intense energy flowing through them, their hearts beat as two, their limbs shifted across the wooden dance floor as the symphonic melody led them, their minds chased after one another, creating mighty images, blossoming, imploding.

The violins and cellos and pianos drove them. They waltzed. One forward step to the right, draw the feet together. One step backwards, draw the feet together. Another step forward. Over and over again, turning as clock forever, without a break, always in a predestined direction.

Nothing else but them existed, for that moment, for a myriad of moments. Two bodies, four hearts, one mind, one soul alone in the vast cosmos.

Yet, alone was the most incongruous of terms, for they were everything but that.

All civilisations might end, and they still would. Never. Be. Alone.

They were there, too, once; it felt as a lifetime ago.

Electricity ran through them like wildfire. They were close, so close, close enough for their lips to merge and their minds to shatter.

They did not do that. They kept swimming across the ballroom in even pace, turning and playing and swinging and flirting with temptation.

But was that even… real?

Could all they felt be just a creation of two insane minds capable of destroying galaxies with one thought or saving them with two, was it another fucked up make-believe, or were they living in reality?

It was all beginning to blur.

Reality was relative, metaphysical. All had been, was, will be, could be, could never be. Somewhere. Everywhere. Nowhere. In their world especially.

They were Time Lords, time lay at their feet.

So they just kept dancing until the song ended, and even then, with old Gallifreyan syllables no one has uttered in centuries on their lips but silent. Minds, minds were all they needed. It would be too powerful to say, anyway.

Theta.

Koschei.

I hate you.

I love you.

I love you.

I don’t want this to ever end. I don’t want to go. Don’t let me go.

I promise. Forever.

You will break it anyway.

I know. I will.

Please.

But we have all the time and space want for this moment. It’s forever.

It’s Christmas.

Christmas.

[crowleyaj]

White Magic

Again one day (well, twelve) later with the 9DaysCWC fic. The next one, crossover, isn’t written yet – shame on me.

General OUAT, little CS and all the other canon pairs. Just... let’s pretend ‘original’ Robin is still alive, okay? And also kids age, so Neal is as old as he should be. Four.

“Look, mum, there’s snow outside!” Henry said, looking out of the window. He still was in his pyjamas with a Darth Vader printing covering the entire t-shirt. It has been a long while since there was natural snow in Storybrooke, let alone at Christmas.

Indeed – behind the curtains and windowpanes, a layer of the soft duvet, shining and sparkling, covered the outdoor landscape. And for once, the snow indeed was not a creation of Emma or Regina or Elsa’s magic.

Emma looked up from the buttered toast she was spreading with strawberry jam. “Yeah, I know,” sme smiled. “Maybe we could go outside after breakfast and build a snowman, what do you think?”

“Mum, I’m not a kid anymore.”

Henry opened the cream-coloured curtains fully, and turned away from the window as if to emphasise the statement. It was accurate only by a half, even if he didn’t want to admit it. One still was not an adult in the age of sixteen.

Emma raised her eyebrows and tilted her head slightly. She gave him a Look.

“But when I come to think about it, Violette has never built a snowman before. We could do it together!”

“There you go,” she replied with another fond beam. I knew you would be excited about it like in the old days. “See? Not so bad idea. And now get dressed, breakfast is ready.”

“Right away.”

He shuffled past her in his grey fuzzy slippers and went to his room. He met Killian on the way, wishing him good morning. The pirate must have worn leather to bed; there was no other way he would have that thing on every second he saw him, be it seven AM or midnight.

Killian walked to Emma. With a playful grin, he stole a slice of toast from the plate, and took a bite. Then he turned to the window. The snow truly stuck out like a sore thumb; it was the first thing one noticed.

He glanced at his girlfriend.“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Swan?”

“Just told Henry.”

“You’re not being serious!” grumbled Regina, quickly striding after Emma and Henry through the snow that will surely leave unpleasant marks on her boots. She did not like snow.

But in fact yes, they were being serious, and Snow and David both throwing a snowball proved it more than clearly.

“Come on, Regina, we need to get away from saving worlds and have some pure fun with the children!” the princess shouted back, and prodded Neal into gathering a scoop of snow and throwing it at the nearest person, who happened to be his dad.

The cold balls landed on Regina’s (expensive) black coat. But no, she was calm. She was different from the person she used to be before. All she did about it, the only revenge she would ever desire, was shaping a large snowball herself and commencing a battle they would all regret afterwards.

She took it. Threw it. However, it did not fly toward the Charmings, no. It multiplied to the number 19, and went to every place someone stood on.

It hit everyone. Not with too much force, because the small children might come to harm, but precisely in the face.

“You used magic, that’s not fair!” shouted Belle, dusting the coldness off her face, just as everyone else.

No, it definitely wasn’t fair, but she wasn’t the one to come up with the preposterous idea of sledging and snowballing and building snowmen.

Regina opened her mouth to say a quick remark, but Emma suddenly appeared in her field of vision with a frown scarring her forehead.

“One rule – no magic,” she said. As though snowball battles had rules.

“Fine,” muttered Regina. She could not argue with that determined face.

She even apologised.

However, that short time out did not last for very long, and it most certainly did not pay off to Emma. Standing still with no snowball to defend oneself with available was highly unwise at the moment.

Why is that so? Killian stealthily approached her from behind in the meantime, rewarding his dear girlfriend with an armful of snow. It got beneath her scarf and the collar of her coat, covered all of her blonde hair that stuck out of her red-and-white knitted hat, and made her shiver all over.

How could he even accomplish that with a hook in place of one hand?

But don’t think for a second Regina was spared. Robin and Roland, together with Snow White, teamed up against her for what she has done – it ended up just as coldly and undignified as the attack on Emma.

They all smiled and laughed.

Killian maybe put his arms on Emma’s shoulders and said sorry with a kiss on the cheek, but that still did not make up for anything. Nothing forgiven.

“If you’re going to tell me not to use magic again, you’re the one who gets hit next,” Regina said to Emma, looking her straight in the eye. She indeed stood close; she could have taken advantage of the situation. “Because that wasn’t fair.”

Even if it were Robin and his son, those she loved the most.

“Okay, I won’t,” she responded soberly. She, though, bent down, and threw snow at her with a triumphant grimace spreading across her face. Then she glanced at Killian.

“Don’t use magic,” he warned her instead of Emma, grasping the message immediately. He even raised a finger in emphasis. Clever Emma.

And then he threw a rather crooked snowball at David, by which he stopped him from hitting Belle.

[crowleyaj]

Doctor Predictable

Sorry I forgot to post the work yesterday (not that anyone reads it, lol). This is day six of 9DaysCWC.

Inspired by this. Of course I had to XD

Johnlock. What that post says, just not as good.

The ads were finally over, and images from an old Superman comic replaced them in a second. The Return of Doctor Mysterio, this year’s Doctor Who Christmas special, was on.

“It’s on! John, it’s on!” shouted Sherlock, sitting on the sofa and waiting for his partner to return from the kitchen with the bloody nuts already. Why did it take him so long? The programme has begun!

“Yes, coming!” John shouted a response. He did not sound exactly decisive, though. “Just a minute.”

But he did not have a minute. Or, the Doctor swinging on a rope in God-knows-what height (somewhere between floor fifty and seventy, by the wind, possible length of rope, and background landscape) did not have a minute. Sherlock cocked his head in kitchen’s direction, volatile.

At last, the blond-and-greying head emerged from the doorway. John, dressed in an ugly jumper with a snowman and trees and candy canes to honour the tradition, bore a bowl of almonds and peanuts and two mugs of steaming eggnog on a tray, and wore a smile on his face that deepened as he saw Sherlock return it.

Ah, that was why it took him so long. Sherlock thought he had smelled eggnog.

“Come and sit, John, you’ve already missed the beginning. It might have not appeared important, but that is why it most certainly is.”

“It’s no tragedy, Sherlock.” John laid the tray on the – somewhat overflowing – coffee table, and plopped down on the couch tight next to him with the popcorn in one hand.

Sherlock ate few excess almonds that have left the bowl and ended up in his lap or the space where their legs touched, and wrapped an instinctive arm round John’s shoulders. From then, however, he focused on the show solely. He did not want to miss a second.

  They ran out of nuts roughly round the time Sherlock said he couldn’t watch it anymore, because everyone was idiotic and missing the obvious, the reporter whose name he did not bother to remember in particular.

Oh, he hated superhero films for always missing the obvious (the Doctor did have a point) – why did they have to put superheroes in Doctor Who, too? The series was perfect and unique for the time travel and alien planets with no American pop culture mixed in, and Steven Moffat of course had to ruin that.

“Don’t watch it, then,” suggested John, always forgetting how traumatising dilemmas as that were. It was not that simple. “Go get us some popcorn or something, if it disturbs you, but remember you were the one who insisted I can’t miss a single second.”

“Course I remember that, don’t be silly,” Sherlock riposted with a barely audible snort. “And no, you can’t, and I can’t.” It’s frustrating.

“But you said you can’t watch it anymore.” John grudgingly averted his gaze from the telly, and looked at Sherlock’s concerned face. The detective was frowning. He couldn’t tell if it were because of him or the programme.

“I have to watch it, don’t you see? I need to know how it ends!” Sherlock replied. He raised his voice a little. A while longer and he would start to shout. He knew him all too well.

I am immersed too deep in this. Once I start watching something, particularly when it regards Doctor Who, I can’t leave, John. You know that. It has been years. 

Even so, he couldn’t help himself. Sherlock was behaving as a six-year-old again. “You probably figured out how it ends!” he noted, also raising his voice.

“Yes, but that is beside the point. Now stop talking, dear, I cannot concentrate.” He shifted on the spot, slightly irritated. The focused, pondering expression he always had when solving a case was back on.

The Doctor and his funny companion Nardole have just transported themselves on a spaceship. It was beginning to get more thrilling and interesting. 

John sighed, ad reached for the cooling eggnog. He really wished he had put more vodka in it.

He loved Sherlock anyway.

[crowleyaj]

A Case of Rare Generosity

So I’m back to posting my 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge works (one per day). Hella late, I know. At least I wrote it on time if nothing. 

Hartwin. The Kingsmen visit the dog shelter their dogs come from on Christmas.

He did not think it was a good idea. Except, it was. As a matter of fact, he has thought of an excellent way to spend the holidays and actually do something beneficial for the world without even realising it.  

Because Christmas was exactly the time to do something selfless. And who else could throw away all concern for a tiny little moment and be of requisite help than Kingsman agents, men and women whose job was to save people – especially when the second anniversary of the horrible occurrences of V-Day approached?

So yeah, it was a brilliant idea. It came from Eggsy’s heart, after all.

 Ever since he has pulled JB out of that cage during the training, he has come to love dogs; refusing to shoot his loyal friend was an undeniable proof of so. And as he became Galahad, he has developed huge interest in the puppies given to Kingsman candidates to train. He has learnt where they came from, and decided to pay the place a visit.

Which was basically how have he, Arthur, Lancelot, Percival, and freshly chosen Tristan found themselves sitting in one of the Kingsman-issued black cabs and heading to a dog shelter on Boxing Day.

It was only the five of them, because few agents were on missions despite Christmas, and the few ones lucky enough to have a home and family spent the holidays with them, celebrating.

Merlin had to stay in HQ and conduct the missions, the responsible Quartermaster bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders he was. However, he still could listen to them on the comms. 

On the floor among the agents’ legs, there lay several large sacks of dog food, some biscuits, and toys. All those things, and a cheque for £6,000, represented belated holiday gifts for stray, mistreated, or abandoned dogs and the altruistic people who took care of them 365 days in a year.

It was no random shelter, though; it was the one affiliated to the secret service, where only the luckiest, nicest, most fearless dogs could find a home from where they were later – after absolving a thorough training – distributed to the agency, had they not found an owner sooner.

The cab plodded on the cobbles of busy streets, making everyone rock from side to side. Eggsy faced the floor, and held Harry’s hand. Everyone refrained from talking for the most of the time.

Eggsy would bring JB too, so he could meet other friends than the stuffed corpse of Mr Pickle, but Harry has stopped him from doing so. He argued that, unlike the visit per se, wouldn’t be a bright idea. For reasons.

Besides, once a recruit became a knight, bringing their dogs to work was no longer allowed (unless granted exceptional permission by the king, which did not happen now).

“Thanks for doing this.” It rolled in his mind for long enough.

He looked up. Roxy’s face shone with pleasure of doing something good for the mute friends, and Percival currently texted someone on his mobile – or kept in check with one of the abroad missions, who could tell. More like the latter, since he frowned.  

“I appreciate it, really.” He smiled minutely. His best friend returned the smile. Then, she leant over her uncle’s shoulder, and whispered something that deepened the man’s frown. It did concern a mission. A friend’s mission going tits up, apparently.

That was another reason why was visiting the dogs a good idea. They could all forget for a little while.

“Of course, darling,” Harry replied in need to fill the silence, and in need to raise his partner’s spirit. He turned his head to him. Both Eggsy and the other agents were used to the occasional terms of endearment among the two them by now. “I think we need the dogs more than they need us.”

That they did. Arthur was honest, at least.

The rest of the ride was accompanied by intermittent but steady updates on a Kingsman-Statesman cooperative mission in DC regarding set-off bombs in the White House and attempted assassination of the President (if it were up to them, they wouldn’t save the man, but as agents, they were obliged to do so). The atmosphere was dense.

 Favourably, the traffic was relatively smooth, so they arrived to their destination in approximately twenty minutes. They were welcomed by a strong blow of wind in their faces that sent shivers down their spine even though they were born and raised by windy English winters.

The owner, Mrs Creston, a corpulent lady in her best years, awaited them at the threshold. Seeing the familiar faces, she smiled, but her eyes were full of concern. Taking care of so many poor animals was an immense responsibility.

“Good morning!” she greeted them. When she sighted the bags of food and toys they were pulling out of the cars, the cheerful voice powered stronger by all the Christmas spirit within her whispered miracles existed after all.

She was unaware of the circumstances of the visit and the glum spark behind the accustomed smiles. “So good to see you all here, come on in!”

Mrs Creston opened the main door for the Kingsmen. They could hear deep, throaty barking of older, bigger dogs and pups’ high woofing in the background. The dogs knew of their arrival sooner than the owner’s husband, who has just returned from the backyard. It conjured a shy but sincere smile on Eggsy’s face.

Mr Creston shook Harry’s hand. “Good morning, Mr Hart! I see you’ve brought your colleagues – the more the merrier, aye?”

“Indeed.”

“And we also brought lots of gifts,” added Roxy. She held two 10kg packets of pork and turkey granules – impressive for such a young, fragile girl. But of course, she was no more fragile than a gun she killed and wounded her enemies with.

“Come, come, we don’t wanna waste your precious time, aye, Mathilda? Our doggies can’t wait to say hello to such honoured guests, especially on this day,” he said, face bright, traces of Scottish accent shining through his kind words. “And give me something, lass, you’re not carrying all that yourself.”

He took one of the dog food sacks from Roxy, who thanked him for it, and followed by his wife, he walked through an open door to the cotes; the agents hot on their heels.

It was the second time Eggsy has visited the shelter, and yet that one thought crossed his mind again: Mr Creston was bald, Scottish, and round Merlin’s age, and as far as he knew, they went along rather well – couldn’t they be related, somehow? Siblings, or cousins?

Neither of them would tell, of course, and that will bug him forever. Or at least until he hacks some files and reads it in them.  

Neither of the dogs was outside, and all of the cotes were occupied by pets of all ages, sizes, and colours. There even were three cats at the back of the room that arrived sometime between this and the last visit.

“We are so thankful for these gifts, truly, you can’t imagine,” Mrs Creston said. Sincere thankfulness reflected in every part of her. They might have had enough money, yet every extra pound was salutary. “We appreciate any support whenever an opportunity occurs, even more so when it’s Christmas.”

“We are always glad to be of help, Mathilda. You know that,” Harry replied warmly, familiarly, assuring.

As the next thing, he asked Percival for a pack of biscuits (safe for dogs!). All of his attention was focused on the furry friends from now on; he loved them as much as his young partner and it was apparent.

It was quite adorable, in its way, how such a badass director of a spy organisation who has survived a bullet to the head and several more injuries lethal to a normal person could suddenly change into a soft daddy offering a biscuit to a poodle puppy. It seemed so to Eggsy, anyway. And to Roxy too, a little bit.

The dog excitedly accepted it from him, and ate it in a twinkling. Of course, its neighbours began to claw at the bars and sniff around for a goody to eat. They wanted one too, so Tristan and Percival gave them, while Eggsy and Roxy spoiled the older dogs with squeaky balls or chewing toys.

Not even their own dogs were as excited as these about a gift.

A small black Rottweiler in whose cage Eggsy put his hand in order to scratch him behind the ears and on his chin actually slobbered on it, and he laughed. The dog was way too delighted.

“Okay, okay, bruv, that’s enough!”

He stood up again, and met Harry, who was about to offer a biscuit to the same Rottweiler. He looked at him with the same look he gave the dogs – happy and cheery and loving. Mindless of dog saliva, he put an arm round the older man’s waist, and rested his head on his chest. He took two biscuits for him – one for his friend and one for himself. He grinned boyishly, eating it.

They have forgotten about the stressful mission for a short while, and the dogs were happy. It was mutually accommodating business, really.

Yeah, it was a brilliant idea after all.

Particularly when Harry did not dismiss Eggsy’s proposal to add one more dog to their little family after the New Year. 

[crowleyaj]

Maroni

Fourth story for 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge. Look, I’ve crossed the word count limit again, haha! Almost by a thousand! But it’s worth it!

Hannigram. Post-TWotL. In compliance with all of my other stories, in which they live in Austria (that was before we knew of Cuba okay?). They visit Wiener Christkindlmarkt.

Christmas. For most people, it was time of family gatherings, happiness, thankfulness, forgiveness, selflessness, and wishes come true, among other things. As other things, you could count shopping, baking, and colourful lights, for instance, but that belonged elsewhere.

For certain people, Christmas meant the time to crawl out of their hideout outside civilisation for a moment and enjoy the enthralling beauty of the crowded metropolis where no one could recognise their faces among a million tourists and passer-bys.

And it was also time of miracles.

It was relatively safe, Hannibal assured Will. Although, the alarming relatively at the back of his mind wouldn’t leave him to rest until the trip was over. He still was not hundred per cent certain if it were a wise decision to show themselves to the world as of yet.

The pink and not yet entirely healed scar marking Will’s cheek lurked from beneath the edge of his beard, waiting for people to notice. The image of it reflected in the car window, and Will could not stop thinking about what it had reminded him of.

It was a souvenir from the night they had vanquished the Dragon, forever there, forever disturbing. The beard covers it almost entirely, Hannibal said. People are always in rush, they will not catch sight of it, Hannibal said. You are beautiful, Hannibal said.

Hannibal talked a lot. It was his profession. Did any of that help, though?

They passed a sign announcing they had entered the city of Vienna. They couldn’t very well turn round and go back to their cabin in the middle of snow-covered Alps now. At least it would be dark soon. That was promising.

As if Hannibal smelled the concern on Will’s mind, he averted his gaze from the road before him, and turned to the man in the passenger seat.

“Stop burdening your mind with possibilities that will never occur, Will.” He knew what he was thinking of. He saw it in his eyes, probably. “Focus your mind on the good things.”

Good things. Easy to say. His mouth stretched into a half-smile. “Sometimes, you are too optimistic for this world.”

“There is only truth on what I say,” he replied in a second, matter-of-fact. He had to look back at the road. There was a semaphore and a shining red on it. “There is no need to worry.”

If you think so, crossed Will’s mind. He did not say it aloud. For awhile, he remained silent, and then he said, too as a fact, “You’ve missed your gourmet stores and liveliness of the city. Ever since we’ve arrived here.”

A green light replaced the red one. Hannibal set off again. He clicked his tongue. “Yes, I have. But that is not the point.”

“Then what is?” Will turned to look at him for the first time during the ride. Hannibal’s eyes were nothing but concentrated.

“It’s Christmas, Will,” he answered as though it explained everything. These days, it did.

Why are you suddenly playing Silent Night? You don’t like the song. It’s Christmas. Why do you want to go cross-country skiing? It’s Christmas. What do we need spruce branches for? Decorating them. It’s Christmas.

“Momentary abreaction will only do us good. Going to the markets, buying something for the sheer pleasure of it, walking among the lights – that all can make us forget about our onerous life and remind us what it used to be like to live a regular one.”

“We never had a regular life, Hannibal,” Will pointed out. They couldn’t have, even, not with the jobs they have chosen. And well, everyone knew who Hannibal Lecter was. Anything but regular.

And he, of course, had a reply to that too, “Then it can remind us what it would be like to have one.”

He was right. Damn right. Life on the run was more than difficult; they had to create aliases and fake credentials, they had to constantly look over their back, they had to live in the shadows, never going further than to the nearest grocery shop, and only for a while. The lack of FBI offices in Europe did not mean they couldn’t be watching. This was their first trip since the escape.

Tall skyscrapers of the modern UNO Stadt shining in afar and lots of tower blocks in the vicinity changed the dull view from the windows into a tiny bit more interesting one.

“I guess you’re right,” admitted Will, albeit still feeling unsure. He shifted in his seat nervously. What if—?

He really did not want to think about it. He focused on the buildings outside instead. He loved European cities and landscapes and how different from his home yet still the same everything looked.

We’re just tourists, he told himself. Just tourists. No one will pay attention to two more men in the crowds.

That comforted him enough to stop reflecting about what might or might not happen. His mind felt like empty, then.

The hum of the engine accompanied by the view was oddly relaxing.

 Hannibal parked their car right in the centre, after he bought a ticket. He has found a spot near Maria-Theresien Platz.

“You must live, Will,” he told him when getting off, sensing the reluctance radiating from him. Yes, he must live. And that began here.

He got off the car as well. For the first time in a while, he took a deep breath of the sharp winter air that burnt his nostrils as he inhaled. The wind was no lighter than the Alpine; it winnowed his hair in all directions. He felt the need to wrap himself up in his coat and scarf tighter. But he couldn’t.

Hannibal locked the car with a beep. He looked round himself, eyes narrowed.

The square was unusually busy for a Wednesday – but then again, it was one of the places that drawn tourists the most for its abundant Christmas market famous all over the world. There were families, couples, friends, all tootling around, observing, chatting, buying decorations or sweets, drinking punch.

There were also armed policemen, after the Berlin attacks. Yes, they had heard about that. No, Hannibal definitely had said nothing about eating terrorists killing innocent people instead of putting them to prison, if they were captured and dealt with at all. Will tried not to look at them, not to raise any suspicion. But what could ordinary Austrian policemen know. Nothing.

He could recognise several different languages, too. German, mostly, but he caught a snippet of a dialogue between two French people and heard Russian from somewhere behind them. A group of English tourists just passed their car. There were also many people speaking in various Slavic tongues, which Will could not know, but Hannibal surely would.

(He did. They were Polish and Czech or Slovak, he informed him. He was not sure of those two for the similarity of the languages, he informed him. Will did not care.)

“Come on,” Hannibal prompted him by putting a hand on the small of his back. He was used to that by now, touches. In public. If he were gentle an unobtrusive.

The hand lingered for a little longer. Will could feel the spot warm. He told himself to relax and at least put on a feigned smile for the audience.

The almost visible Christmas spirit filling the air penetrated his body to the bones with every step toward the first punch stand, and helped him significantly. The incredible smells of foods and drinks wafting from all sides even more so.

“The day is all yours, Will. Do not hesitate to buy whatever strikes your mind, if it is a pointless trinket or a kilogram of sweets with too much sugar you know I would strongly disapprove of. You deserve it,” Hannibal said, and it was unlike him more than anything he had ever said before. “Just for today.”

Will got an idea – and for the first time, he felt excitement about being in Vienna, for he did have a general idea of what he could find there. And what Hannibal disapproved of.

The fear retreated to his subconsciousness; nonetheless, it was omnipresent, perpetual. It won’t go away.

Yet somehow, “Spoiling me, are you? Fattening me up with sugar so you could shove me in the oven and make a roast of me?” Will joked, and earnestly laughed. He was painfully aware he was playing with fire, because he knew what he was alluding to, yet he could not help himself. That sentence was straightforward yelling make a cannibalistic joke á la Hansel and Gretel, you know you want to. And he couldn’t shut it up.

Dark jokes were a part of their eternal game.  

“Yes, because that is all I desire, my dear.”

Will returned to the accustomed tense state. At that moment, only God knew what was on Hannibal’s mind; he pronounced the response in absolute seriousness. Will dared not to look him in the eyes, fearing of what might reflect in them. He laughed, and watched Hannibal’s mouth twitch into a smile as well.  

“Anything, you say?” he asked as he came to senses. It was hard to think of what he might want. Everything and nothing.

“Indeed,” he affirmed, looking at each stand’s goods himself. Nothing seemed to have caught his attention for long. “But keep on mind there still are many other places we are to visit later.”

Even so, a promise was a promise.

When they approached a stand selling kitschy glass ornaments, he decided they had to have that one shaped like a sitting golden retriever to decorate the bundle of spruce branches in a ceramic vase Hannibal had brought as substitute for a proper tree. And since Hannibal had said they had had enough of money to spend, he took one proud silver stag as well. It reminded him of Abigail.

Hannibal did not stay behind. He bought some incense at a stand near the Kunsthistorische Museum. Old memories, he said. He purchased the finest Chinese green tea, because the shop in the village nearest to their habitat had only sacheted one that tasted like dust and fustiness. And when he set foot near one of the stands with piles of home-made bratwursts, he actually engaged in (rather long) conversation with the butcher in fluent German.

Will did not understand much of it, but from what he caught, they were talking about the right spices and what parts of certain animals were the best to make the most savoury sausages.

For a moment there, he wondered whether Hannibal talked about animals or it were metaphors created by his twisted mind he had fed him and his colleagues for so goddamn long.

So much for inconspicuousness.

The worries hidden in the back of his mind began to creep into his thoughts once again. He did not like it whatsoever.

He stepped closer. “Let’s just go, Hannibal. I want to go,” he whispered, putting it as subtly as he could, although the rising trepidation was still audible in his voice. Only he could hear it.

Hannibal apologised to the butcher, said few last words, and bought four bratwursts of two different kinds. He did not blame Will for wanting to go. He knew that he needed time, that he felt strongly uncomfortable still.

They moved on, leaving other customers greedy after sausages to their business.

A woman with a basket of red roses suddenly appeared from nowhere, and crossed their path. She muttered something very fast, attempting to coerce them to take a flower. It appeared innocent – except she would want money right after she would shove it in their hands. Will knew, Hannibal told. Pathetic.

He had told him to never take the rose, too. Nonetheless, now facing it himself, he did not hesitate to take the reddest of roses he could find. He promptly handed the woman a 2€ coin. Will thought it for foolish, and wondered what made Hannibal change his mind so suddenly – until he was being handed the flower with a heartfelt smile.

“For you, Will.” He blushed. Honestly, blushed. He was quite wordless at the moment.

He accepted it, and smelled it as an automatic gesture upon receiving a flower. It did not smell like roses normally did at all. It was winter; it was raised in a greenhouse, obviously.

“Thank you, Hannibal. Not just for this,” he waved the rose in the air, “for, you know, listening to me.” Because frankly, the rose was more of a nuisance than a pleasure. He had nowhere to put it, and it will probably die before they return home.

Did he call the cabin home, now? He did not know what it was. What this life was. Something not yet labelled, undiscovered.

Hannibal gazed into his eyes more intensely; it made Will slightly uncomfortable. He has gotten used to those eyes, but a minute of ceaseless eye contact was a bit too much to bear. His brain told him to look away, look away, look away.

He did not.

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice was so soft. He actually found himself being fond of how his name sounded rolling on his tongue. “Do you not realise I would do anything for you?”

He did. Oh, he did, and it hurt. He could not describe why, exactly.

“Let’s just go somewhere else,” Will said after a second of silence. He evaded the answer to that question on purpose. He feared what answering it might change.

He began to walk toward the road in front of them, and that felt like a stab to Hannibal’s heart, even if he did not intend to do that.

Hannibal caught up with him, and together they walked to the city hall where the biggest and brightest market took place. Will did not allow Hannibal to slip his hand into his this time. He was afraid.

 On the way, they got hungry. It were hours since breakfast, after all. Hannibal knew everything, tasted everything, and Will was a case of the opposite. Everything was quite new to him – Christmas markets in New Orleans or Washington really were not the same.

He wished to try a bite of everything, once the anxiety allowed him to relax again.

Being familiar with all tastes of Vienna, Hannibal resorted to a stand with steaming baked potatoes that informed everyone of the place of their origin by fifty metres, that delicious the smell was. His grandmother used to make him the same dish when he was little, and he has always eaten it when visiting the markets to honour her memory. He told Will that too, this morning.

The same stand also sold Maroni, baked chestnuts. Will had those before, so he obtained a cornet to occasionally steal a piece from while looking for something richer to eat.

Upon an offer of a piece, Hannibal confessed he hated baked chestnuts. That was a first – mark the day, everyone. Really, there were only few things on this world that man would not eat – cup soups or frozen vegetables, for instance – and learning that specialty was among them made Will laugh nearly as much as the roast joke.

“If you really hate baked chestnuts, then I dare you to eat one.”

Will meant it, the look in his eyes told so. Oh, how the roles have reversed.

“No, Will, I am not eating one,” he refused. He was stubborn. So was Will. This could go on for a very long time.

They slowly moved along the rows of stands, carefully dodging other visitors. Will sighted a place where they sold large pretzels of all flavours. The pizza ones looked especially appalling; he would buy one only to have Hannibal complain about his feeding habits of a typical American. Takeaway and fast food snacks above a proper hot meal as he had, he would probably say.  

But first, “Yes, Hannibal, you are, and I dare you to. You have to.”

When he received only something as an exasperated pout, Will tried different tactics. “Not a while ago you said – I quote – I would do anything for you, Will. That includes eating a damn chestnut when I tell you to.”

He was actually surprised with himself for an unexpected ability to say that with a solemn face.

Well, that was a bulletproof argument. Hannibal seemed to have no other option than to accept his fate and put that thing in his mouth obediently. He reached for the cornet in Will’s hand, and pulled one nut out.

“Why do you hate them, actually?” Will wanted to know. He took one as well, and made ridiculous yum-yum sounds while chewing solely to annoy him.

“As a matter of fact,” he replied, “I haven’t the faintest idea.” Then, he put the chestnut in his mouth, and bit. The look on his face spoke for itself. A wide smile reached Will’s eyes and beyond.

Will waited for him to swallow, and only then proceeded forward, to the pretzel stand. Hannibal followed hot on his heels with one word “Satisfied?”

The answer to that was simple. “I will be after I buy this giant pizza pretzel and a sugar apple on a stick.”

 If the point of the trip was to make them forget about the scars on their bodies and souls and pretend they had a regular life for a while, they could call the mission accomplished as they stood at a small wooden table with a shoe-shaped mug of mulled wine (Will) and a very strong plum-and-chocolate gourmet punch (Hannibal; and it was its actual name) that warmed their gloved hands and looked at the glowing light decorations embellishing the trees that contrasted the dark night sky so wonderfully.

[crowleyaj]

I don’t have time to post my HanniHolidays and 9DaysCWC works here, but you can find them all on my AO3

[crowleyaj]

Sadly, I must announce I’m going to my Grandma’s for the rest of the year, and there is no connection at all, therefore I can’t post my HanniHolidays and 9DaysCWC works. I’ll post them from 26th, 27th, and 28th Dec on 29th (I’m going to the cinema, and there’s Wi-Fi) and the remaining ones on 1st or 2nd January. I’ll be dutifully writing the whole time, don’t ever think I wouldn’t! Especially when I’m the one organising it, LOL. Also, I didn’t manage to write yesterday’s HH ficlet, because I was working on the 9DaysCWC one for 13 (!) hours and still didn’t make it on time, so... It’ll all be here. Promise. And I promise I’ll read all of your works when I’m back, too. ♥

[crowleyaj]

my end and my beginning

The second work for 9 Days Christmas Challenge is here! Note that I’ve been working on it for more than 13 hours. You’re welcome.

@ravenclaw-and-proud-to-be this is my gift to you. Joyoux Noël, Violette! And it’s also for you, @fallensherlock. I love you both ♥♥♥

Viktuuri. T. Tooth-rotting fluff and sappy romance ahead. It’s for Viktor’s birthday, obviously. I had to.

Viktor opened his eyes – to find Yuuri’s deep, brown eyes gaze directly into his and a charming smile lighten up his face. He immediately had to return the smile with even wider one.

Yuuri couldn’t help reaching for the mop of his silver hair falling into his forehead and run his hand through it, loving. Viktor took the hand, and kissed his fingers gently. The ring shone brightly in the light leaking through the curtains as ever, even more so.

“Good morning, Yuuri,” he said. His voice was still raspy with sleep.

“Good morning, Viktor,” replied Yuuri with another sincere smile. “And Cчастливого Рождества.”

Viktor loved when his fiancé tried to use his mother tongue randomly. It warmed his heart more than anything. And since the wish was one of the few things he managed to remember from Japanese, “Meri Kurisumasu to you too.”

He slowly leant forward to plant a kiss on Yuuri’s lips—and then Makkachin jumped on the bed excitedly, square between their bodies, and happily licked their faces as though he knew what day it was. Both men broke into a fit of laughter, and scratched the large dog behind his ears.

“And now you’re ruining it all, you big chump!” exclaimed Viktor, but he didn’t really mean it. His joyful poodle was the person—or being—he loved the most, right after the Japanese katsudon in whose bed he was lying.

As Makkachin lay down on Viktor’s body, Yuuri rolled over to check the time on his alarm clock. It was 10:26.

“Viktor! We should get up! It’s late!” he exclaimed as the realisation they had slept in struck him. Because for once, they did not need to go practise or do anything, for that matter, and therefore did not set the alarm. Besides, the bed was so warm and cosy….

“Mum is going to kill us both…”

“No, she will not.” Viktor ousted Makkachin out of the bed, and sat up. He yawned. “But yes, we should go. I’m terribly hungry.”

Upon saying so, his stomach growled loudly. Loud enough for Yuuri to hear it.

“I hope she made katsudon for breakfast! Today is such a special day after all,” he remarked. Yuuri scrambled out of the duvets; the perpetual content smile never left his visage. For it was a remarkably special day – beside being Christmas Day, it was as well Viktor’s 28th birthday.

When both men’s feet touched the floor and they got up, Makkachin woofed, and decided to follow them to the bathroom while wiggling his short tail and sticking out his pink tongue.

“No, you can’t go there, Makka,” Viktor warned the dog, and closed the door in front of him.

 As they changed their pyjamas into dressier clothes and went downstairs to the dining hall, there came a surprise.

The whole place somehow became decorated in past few hours. There were festoons and garlands and lights everywhere, complemented by banners screaming ‘Merry Christmas!’ in Japanese, Russian, and English.

A small Christmas tree white as ice stood on each table, and there even was a large, living spruce covered with baubles, tinsels, candy canes, and candles in the centre of the restaurant as a shining gem dominating the place with its beauty.

Yet, that still wasn’t all. Viktor (and Yuuri) came to a halt, standing transfixed by awe and having his mouth agape and tears on the verge of his eyes.

The entire Katsuki family – alongside Minako-sensei, Kenjirou Minami, and Yuuko and Takeshi Nishigori with their girls ­– have gathered round two tables they had pushed together. They bore several bowls of the only meal he could possibly think of, and among them, as the most distinct object, stood a large white cake decorated with strawberries and 28 thin candles. It was the traditional Japanese Christmas cake combined with a birthday cake.

Above the tables, there hang the largest and most colourful banner of all. It said С Днем Рождения, Виктор Никифоров! They were all beaming, sparkled reaching their eyes and beyond.

Yes, that’s right. They made it for him. They wrote ‘happy birthday’ for him in Russian. Yuuri’s family. He actually started to cry – of happiness.

And then—then he figured Yuuri didn’t set the alarm and stayed in bed for that long on purpose. It was a plan all along.

He impulsively threw himself at his fiancé, and hugged him tight. “Oh Yuuri, this is beautiful! Thank you!”

Yuuri closed his eyes, and returned the hug with equal force, breathing in all the love and felicity radiating from Viktor. He could not be happier himself.

And Viktor didn’t even open his presents yet.

Viktor let go of Yuuri, and actually ran toward the cluster of people round the tables. (Or toward the cake, who knew.) He felt the impulse to hug every each of them. Because even though Russians celebrated New Year instead of Christmas, he was certain that this time he was going to make an exception and celebrate it properly. It was going to be the best Christmas of his life.

Someone did not felt as excited about a hug from a living skating legend, so they just got it over with and wished him happy birthday and merry Christmas. Afterwards, Yuuri told Viktor to blow the candles on the cake and make a wish.

He did so, in one breath – but why should he make a wish when he already had all he could ever desire? He had love. He had family. He had a home he would always be welcomed at. He has returned to active skating career. Nothing else could make him happier.

Viktor had the honour to cut the sponge cake in pieces and give it out to everybody. Nonetheless, they were not to eat it as of yet; no one starts with the dessert. Moreover, Viktor was looking forward to the dish more.

He devoured it as the first time he put it in his mouth. Memories of the day he arrived to Hasetsu to tell Yuuri he was going to coach him flooded his mind, and he was close to tears again. It was already over a year – and look how far they have gone.

After having seconds of katsudon and savouring the cake, time for presents came. Yuuri explained they would normally do that after dinner, but since they were having many reservations hence no time, they were doing it now. All for the sake of the honoured person.

Why would they wait with the exchange of Christmas presents when they already gave Viktor his birthday ones, after all?

They have all given each other small gifts, heartfelt or practical or both, the friends and the blond Russian being no exception. He himself gave Yuuri an ugly Christmas jumper with white snowflakes, snowmen, and – somehow – skates on red background. But it in fact wasn’t ugly whatsoever. It was knitted from the finest wool with all precision, and it looked very expensive, too.

For a moment, Yuuri thought Viktor had it specially tailored, estimating his exact measurements and all. He would no doubt be capable of it. He made a point of talking to him about it later.

He was the last one to give his gift yet.

He cleared his throat. “I suppose it’s my turn with your present now, Viktor.” He looked Viktor in the eye, and then turned to the Nishigoris. They played a crucial part in his surprise.

The family gave him a nod. Viktor looked a little confused.

“Well, presents,” he corrected himself. He took the last gift parcel lying among the heaps of creased wrapping paper, and handed it to him. It was a comparatively big, hard, rectangular object.

“This is the first one. For the second, we have to go, eh, outside.” He did not want to say much. That would spoil it.

Viktor carefully unwrapped the present as though it were the most precious and fragile thing in the world, having a strongly expectant look on his face. Because that present was from Yuuri, his everything. He could feel his heart skip a beat right before he tossed away the kitschy paper and saw what was inside.

It was a picture frame with a collage made of photos taken within the past year they have spent together. There were pictures of them together, Makkachin, Phichit and few other competitors, Yuuri’s family… but most importantly, they were all sunny, shiny pictures taken in the best moments.

It was beautiful. Self-made. Profound. All the perfect photos put together spread the love and friendship to everyone who would look at it, and passed it on.

Viktor honestly looked as though he would start crying again in any second, but he buried it in the crook of Yuuri’s shoulder as he pulled him in for an embrace and gave him a very public smacking kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, моя любовь. This is wonderful.”

Who would have thought the former king of figure skating exuding with sex appeal and cocksureness was actually an emotive and loving sunshine romantic. Who would have thought how much falling in love could change someone. Someone’s priorities.

“I didn’t really know what to give you, so I made this,” Yuuri said, for a moment back to the insecurity Viktor wiped from his mind. He sounded unsure if he would appreciate such a sentimental thing, even after what he has heard from the man.

Viktor’s words warmed his heart anyway.

He pulled away. (Viktor didn’t want to let go.) “Anyway, there still is one more present.”

 Yuuri allowed Viktor to look all the way to Ice Castle Hasetsu, but then he said it wouldn’t be a surprise if he saw where they were going, and covered his eyes with his own hands. They moved through the corridors and the locker rooms awkwardly, until they arrived to the ice rink.

Viktor maybe couldn’t see anything, but he was able to hear everything. He couldn’t hear anything.

Usually, the rink would be open for the public, or there would be hockey team training, since Christmas was not a public holiday in Japan, but that was just it. The place was silent, the only sound being their steps echoing through the ice arena.

It was Yuuko’s doing, for sure. She was the owner of the place after all, thus she could close it for special occasions if she wanted to.

Suddenly, Yuuri stopped walking, and Viktor bumped into his body, as he wasn’t given any warning.

“We’re here. You can open your eyes now,” said Yuuri, removing his hands. He only lowered them, however, clinging to him from behind. He rested his chin on his shoulder.  

Viktor unsealed his eyelids gradually. They revealed a stunning scene before him. He had to blink twice to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Yuuri managed to surprise him as never. As no one.

He tended to do that. It was his glamour.

He, Yuuri, and the Nishigoris stood at the boards, on which stood two flutes of just poured champagne. (That much he could afford to drink.) Two pairs of skates lay beside their feet. More than a dozen candles decorated the boards. The whole place was lit up in red, green, and white – the colours of Christmas.

Yuuri’s hands reached for the glasses expertly. He gave one to Viktor, and took the other. Only then he turned face to face with him.

“To you, Viktor Nikiforov, the man who burst into my life standing in my family’s hot spring completely naked and changed my life forever on that day. You made me realise that sometimes you win even if you lose.”

“No, this is to you, Yuuri Katsuki. You who have changed my approach to everything and brought warmth and love to my cold life.”

They could hear the I love you despite it wasn’t uttered once.

They drank a toast to Viktor and to each other and to their love and to the Grand Prix (albeit silver) medal. The family of the owners left them and headed back to Yuu-topia in the meantime, knowing better than to invade such private moment.

Viktor and Yuuri only had eyes for each other, after all.

Glasses being emptied, Yuuri told Viktor to put on his skates. He did so as well, as fast as he could tie the laces. Then they got up. Yuuri caught Viktor’s hand, and led him to the rink.

He picked up a remote control Viktor failed to notice before. One press of a button, and a beautiful slow song began to play. First, it were only piano notes, but with the first words, he recognised it at once.

What would I do without your smart mouth? Drawing me in, and you kicking me out. You’ve got my head spinning, no kidding. I can’t pin you down.

“I’ve been working on this since the Grand Prix Final,” said Yuuri. He glided to the centre of the ice with all elegance. He did not let go of his fiancés hand, making him blindly follow hot on his heels. Viktor still had no idea what Yuuri was up to.

He let go of his hand. “Skate on the music. Skate the way the song makes you feel.”

Clever boy. That was what he has always said to him.

What’s going on in that beautiful mind? I’m on your magical mystery ride, And I’m so dizzy, don’t know what hit me, But I'll be alright.

Yuuri choreographed his own programme.

Viktor was incredibly proud of him. As proud as a coach and husband-to-be could.

Yuuri took off from the ice. He skated to the side, went along the width of the rink, and then returned to him, skating backwards. He swirled round Viktor, fluently spinning and gaining speed and rotation. The step sequence turned into the first jump.

Viktor stopped listening to the song, and began to move along with it.  

My head’s under water, But I'm breathing fine. You’re crazy and I’m out of my mind.

The melody was slow, harmonic. The lyrics were about unconditional love man felt for his significant other. He knew why Yuuri chose this particular one, and smiled.

Yuuri circled the rink, executing various dance elements with his hands and legs, until he met Viktor, doing a combination of a triple Lutz, single loop, and triple toe loop halfway the ride. Flawlessly.

‘Cause all of me, loves all of you. Love your curves and all your edges. All your perfect imperfections. Give your all to me. I'll give my all to you.

He grabbed Viktor’s hand again, and they both skated in perfect synchronisation. The song led them. Their hearts beat as one, and their souls were conjoined.

You’re my end and my beginning. Even when I lose I’m winning. ‘Cause I give you all of me, And you give me all of you.

Just as John Legend sung.

Even if what they were skating was nothing like the original choreography, but a plain play of feelings and emotions captured in the song.

Yuuri mysteriously conjured up two sparklers from somewhere (the boards again, probably). That’s what the candles were for – igniting them.  

Viktor made a turn round Yuuri, swiftly seizing one of the sparklers. He approached the nearest candle, and lit the stick up. Yellow sparkles flew in all directions. Yuuri repeated Viktor’s move, and soon they both held the shining sparklers, and revolved round each other, creating light images that lingered for a while longer in such speed.

How many times do I have to tell you, Even when you’re crying you're beautiful too. The world is beating you down. I’m around through every mood. You’re my downfall, you're my muse. My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues. I can’t stop singing, it's ringing, in my head for you.

Neither of them risked jumping now, because the light might die. They came closer again, and did another complex step sequence, though. They both skated slightly different moves, but it still looked as consummate harmony.

It was Viktor who drew a heart with his sparkler, over and over again until it impressed itself on his mind. And it was Yuuri who turned to him, skating backwards, and drew a bigger one.

When Viktor earlier thought nothing could make him happier, he was right only by a half. This could. This was so beautiful. As the exhibition programme. More. He has never felt so in love and loved.

My head’s under water, But I’m breathing fine. You’re crazy and I’m out of my mind.

It was such a shame the sparklers could not last forever. Every light had to go out, eventually.

But perhaps it was not – because as it died, Yuuri grasped Viktor’s shirt, pulled himself closer to him, and crashed their lips together, deeply, hungrily. Viktor put his arms round him, and let himself give in to the divine touch of the kiss. They were still moving across the ice.

He – both of them – wished to do that for a very, very long time.

Like I said, best Christmas in my life.

[crowleyaj]

vesseltryingtosurvive replied to your photo “Fanfiction writers, I know there are already many challenges and...”

Can I still be in? Even though it's literally the first day😂😂                

YES, OF COURSE!!!

[elletromil]

Snowball Fights

So I don’t know if I’ll manage the 9 days of the challenge because I will be working a few of them but here’s my first entry for 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge organized by @quartermasterswill

I decided to start with a fandom i have never written in because let this be a challenge :D And also after three seasons I am still sad at the lack of Alfred/Jim fic in the Gotham fandom. So here! Have some fluff! @insanereddragon you might like this one ;)

Snowball Fights

Alfred is waiving at them from the door to get back home, his expression a mix of disapproval and amusement. Jim still thinks it’s a shame they couldn’t convince him to join them in their snowball fight, especially after both Bruce and Selina combined forces and he had no choice but to surrender. He could have used an ally, the kids showing absolutely no mercy against him.

Still, even shivering from all the snow that has gotten inside his coat, he cannot find in himself to complain, not when Bruce and Selina haven’t stopped laughing for the past couple of hours.

But he rather agree with Alfred that they’ll probably catch their death if they stay out a minute longer and for once he doesn’t try to stop the butler when he takes his coat off and orders him toward his room to change after doing the same to the kids. He smiles fondly when he finds a pajama laid on his bed, one that have been quite recently in the dryer if its warmth is any indication.

Alfred might pretend all he wants, but he’s the biggest softie he’s ever known.

It’s even more true when he follows Bruce and Selina into the kitchen only to find Alfred busy making them bowls of hot chocolate, having unearthed little marshmallow from somewhere. He shoos them out of the room as soon as they each have their own, but Jim resists just long enough for Alfred to start marching him out himself.

It’s only when they are standing in the doorway that Alfred seems to notice Jim’s grin and he realises he’s made an error of judgement and he sighs with false exasperation.

Yet, he doesn’t wait for Jim to figure a way to tug him down while still holding onto his bowl, and he presses a quick kiss to his lips before turning back, muttering darkly about mistletoe and scheming little pests that don’t deserve the pudding his spent his day making for them.

[crowleyaj]

Sweet Sweet Sugar

This is my first story written for 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge.

00Q. Q’s trying to bake shortbread. Unsuccessfully. James has to help him.

James woke up to a cold, empty bed and a scent of cocoa wafting through the flat all the way to bedroom… and also a scent of something burning.

His smell immediately alarmed him, because for a secret service agent, burning generally meant fire and danger. He sat up, tossed the duvet aside, and got up, omitting the fact he was wearing nothing more than a pair of dark blue boxers.

He ran to the kitchen, because where else would the cocoa come from? He couldn’t hear any loud banging or thumping that would indicate there was an intruder in their flat – but nor he could hear the cats paw at the floor or usual gurgling of the kettle. And that meant Q was attempting something that wasn’t to end well.

“Q?” he called, arriving at the doorstep. He came to a halt when he saw his partner scurry round the kitchen units in an apron over his pyjamas and some flour on his face. He did not seem to notice him, which was more than unusual.

The famous laptop sat on the island, and even though James couldn’t see the screen, he was quite sure there was a recipe for shortbread Q was just pulling out of the oven in a slightly charred state. Well, at least there was no smoke.

“Q, what the hell happened here?” he couldn’t help a chuckle.

“Ah, hello, James.” The flush was actually audible in his voice. “I wanted to… surprise you by making your favourite Christmas biscuits, and well, it did not go exactly according to plan.”

As Q laid the baking tray on the cooker, he took off the oven mitts and dusted down his hands. He looked at the cocoa shortbread in despair, and sighed. “I gather cooking truly isn’t my forte.”

The man put his hands on his hips, and turned to James leaning against the doorjambs with amusement. Oh, Q. He might have been a mastermind when it came to technology and weapons, but he was foul at nearly all kinds of household chores, cooking and baking in particular. And yet, he never ceased to try to impress him.

James walked closer to Q. He lazily hugged him from behind, and gave him a kiss on his neck, and then another. “Not that I don’t appreciate the effort, Q, but what has so suddenly gotten into you? I thought you hated Christmas.”

“I do, but… this is my first Christmas with you, and you love the holidays, so I thought of giving you a pleasant and tasty surprise,” he replied, hints of chagrin creeping into his soft voice. “I don’t know what happened, I followed all the instructions by word, I set the kitchen timer for 15 minutes—”

James silenced him with another kiss on the cheek (that tasted like flour). “Shhh, Q. I’m sure you did. These biscuits still could have ended up worse.”

“Blown up as the advanced and expensive equipment I supplement you with for missions, for instance. Right, 007?”

“Cheeky, Q,” James purred in his ear. He was so close and so warm and smelling of sugar James couldn’t stop rewarding him with loving kisses.

Q leant into him, relaxed. At least it made him smile and forget about his biscuit failure. “I will never let you get off easy with that, James.”

“Never, Q? I, however, remember you saying something else in bed sometime ago.” James smirked. He remembered that quite vividly, because Q was excellent and all they did was unforgettable, included many auspicious promises.

“Tease,” laughed Q. He slipped free from James’ embrace, and took the tray with his burnt shortbread trees, snowmen, deer, and angels. “Anyway, I should dispose of this coal and question some of my choices.”

“If you still are so keen on baking biscuits, let’s do it together, what do you say?” James proposed, stepping in front of Q to look him in the eye at last. He dipped on finger into the powder sugar laid on the counter right behind him, and smeared the tip of Q’s nose with it playfully. He actually fancied the idea of baking with him.

“Exquisite idea. Firstly, we could find out what have I done wrong,” sighed Q. He pressed the pedal on the bin, and the biscuits soon found themselves flying inside it. Then he put the tray in the sink. He returned to the comfort of James’ body, and cuddled up to him.

“Don’t be so gloomy about it, Andrew. I am quite sure all the biscuits need to be perfect is one blond Double-Oh agent,” he kissed him on the lips, “in nothing more,” another kiss, “than his underwear.” James kissed him for the last time, though wishing he could do it forever. Who knew The James Bond could be such a romantic.

“Who would have known.” Q let out a harmonious laughter that was a true pleasure to James’ ears. This time it was he who leant for a kiss.

A kiss that provided enough distraction to enable him to take the packet of sugar and return the impish gesture from earlier – only this time, the white powder covered the agent’s hair.

[crowleyaj]

Another follow up question- do we need 8 fandoms or can we write about some more than once? And does the last crossover fic need to include all the fandoms written in the first 8 days?

no, you don’t, 2 is perfectly enough. the post said 2-8, so anything in between. you can write about one fandom three times and about one five times, or you can choose 6, that’s completely up to you! (i always write for different fandoms, or at least different pairs from one fandom, but some ppl aren’t in as many fandoms, so i made it possible for y’all to write two or more works for one fandom)and in case i wasn’t clear enough in the last one, you can crossover 2, or 3, or how many fandoms you choose. you can ofc do all of the fandoms you chose to write for, but that would be, i believe, too messy…

originally, i wanted to include all of these information, but it would be too long so i didn’t… but it can basically look like this:

doctor whosherlockdoctor whohannibalouatlotrteen wolfouat

+ hannibal, sherlock, dw

or like this:

doctor whodoctor whosherlockdoctor whosherlockdoctor whosherlocksherlock

+ dw, sherlock

or like this, i. e. what i’m writing:

james bonddoctor whokingsmanhannibalyuri on icesupergirlshadowhuntersouat

+ hannibal, james bond