#Christmas Day 2022

[jackbatchelor3]

Mick Carter's Watery Demise? The Whole Story! 🚗🌊 EastEnders

[fuckyeahbradleywalsh]

[rebelliousstories]

Family

25 Days of Ficmas

Relationship: Louis Pointe du Lac x Reader, Lestat de Lioncourt x Reader

Fandom: Interview With The Vampire

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Light Angst

Word Count: 910

Masterlist: Here

Summary: Claudia has requested that everyone get along for one night. Hopefully, they can make her Christmas wish come true.

Every Christmas, Claudia was given any and every present she desired. New dresses, dolls, fabulous art; you name it she had it. And since being gifted a mother figure, she only had one wish for Christmas. Well, one main wish. She wanted everyone to play night and have a family night in for Christmas. Her two papas and mama bickered constantly. Louis tended to isolate himself from the other two, but she never went without love from them.

Oh, they would pretend in front of her, but she knew that they would argue when she retreated into her coffin for the evening. They would try to keep their voices down in the beginning but inevitably, they would start shouting at some point. One night, Claudia hit her breaking point. Her papas and mama had been arguing for hours. The sun had almost risen, and they still were not done. Crawling out of her bed, she held her doll tight as she made her way to the living room where the adults stood.

“All he is asking is that you don’t bring Claudia along with you to hunt all the time, Les. Please, she’s an impressionable young lady and it’s Christmas. Will you please calm down for an evening?” Her mama pleaded, grasping Lestat’s hands in hers. He tugged them away sharply.

“Well, I think she should be going out. Experiencing life as a creature of the night. Why shouldn’t we when it’s Christmas? It’s not like god has forsaken us or anything.” He lamented, as dramatic as ever. Louis remained silent, which gave the young girl the perfect time to slip in.

“Will you all stop fighting?” Claudia demanded, standing firm in her place.

“Claudia, what are you doing up?” Louis finally spoke after a moment, coming to scoop her up. She let her papa hold her to his chest, while she continued to speak.

“I couldn’t sleep because of the arguing. It’s not right for you all to be this unhappy at Christmas.” She cried, tucking her face into Louis’ shoulder.

“Oh dear,” her mama came near, “we’re not unhappy. Just sometimes adults sound that way when they are passionate about something.” Stroking her daughter’s head, Claudia’s eyes became wide and filled with tears as she looked around.

“Will you please get along for one night? No arguments or anything. Just one night, please?” Her tears flowed down her face, and even Lestat seemed moved by the display. No one said anything as they looked at each other.

“Let’s get you to bed, little one.” Mama and Louis walked with her still in his grasp to her coffin. They laid her down, and with a final goodnight kiss to her perfectly curled head, the lid was shut. Walking out of the room, the couple stopped for a moment and stood in silence as they took in the gravity of Claudia’s words.

“Have you finally decided to join me once more, or am I too much trouble for you?” Lestat growled as they re-entered the room. She made her way across the floor, skirts flowing behind her to hold the blonde vampire.

“Les, we only want what is best for Claudia. But you heard her tonight. All out arguing is doing her no favors. Let’s just try to be more understanding for the season?” He stopped, and just stood there with an indignant expression on his face. Looking over, Louis seemed to straighten up under his gaze, with hopeful green eyes. Lestat held out a hand to his other lover, and brought him into the mix. Everyone was holding each other and standing still in the moment.

“I suppose we can put the debate on the back burner for now. I’d like to spend the night surrounded by my people, if that’s alright.” His tone was teasing,but the other two vampires were content to being there with him. It was a tight fit, but they made all three of the sleeping in the same coffin together work.

They spent the evening together, loving the ability to get back to how they used to be as younger vampires. Kisses were shared, as well as words of love that seemed to envelope the vampires in the coffin. No one called attention to the fact that this was the most Louis had spoken to Lestat in months.

The next evening, after the sun had fallen and the moon had replaced it, everyone began to stir from their resting places. However, Claudia noticed she heard no voices. No one was talking, or arguing, or shouting. It was silent. Tentatively, she opened the lid of her coffin and went to check the others. Louis’ was empty, as was her mama’s. Maybe they had taken off to go do some shopping before the shops closed for the evening.

But her ears caught something, that her eyes found next. Lestat’s larger coffin was emitting noise and was slightly cracked open. Tip toeing over, Claudia peaked her eyes in and found a sweet scene. Her two papas were wrapped around her mama in a sleepy embrace. No one had quite made the effort to get up, but all of their eyes were still closed. She smiled as she beheld them, happy to see them get along for once. Closing the lid back to where it was cracked, Claudia went back to her own coffin and figured she could use some more rest on this cold winter’s night.

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎMemory౨ৎ꣑ৎ

౨ৎ꣑ৎ12 Days of Christmas Masterlist౨ৎ꣑ৎ [fem reader] contains: so much angst. blood, death, gunfight pairing: fem reader x billy the kid author’s note: for what it's worth I'm mostly sorry Spotify Playlist

The air was thick with the anticipation of the day, and Billy was nearly choking on it. Holidays were secondhand smoke, and he was desperately trying to open a window.

When ice began to glaze the windows and trees appeared in the windows of homes, adorned with gold and silver and the like, the emptiness within Billy began to consume him. It was that tower built of grief, standing precariously. He knew if it tipped over, somehow it would be even worse.

He carried pain with him, pressed to his back like a gun. It was what kept him running. If he stopped anywhere and really thought about his loss, it would consume him. And then there would be no point to anything.

It snuck into his dreams, hands on his shoulders, convincing him he liked it. "Billy?" He fell headfirst into his memories, sleep being the one place he couldn't avoid them. "You're home so early!" Where he couldn't avoid you. "I missed you!"

The sparkle in your eyes when you were pleased, which was always. Your insatiable lust for life and living. The way you would take his hat off when he came home and push his hair back from his forehead. How you felt in his arms after a long day, soft and perfect. You were everything. He'd had the moon and stars stitched up and hardly contained within a beautiful woman. His love. His life.

You were always on his mind, haunting the corners of his eyes and drenching everything he saw in your memory. In everything that was alive, he saw you. You were life, practically his air. Every drop of blood in his body was dedicated to you. Every breath he took was because he knew you would want him to.

As Billy laid in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, immune to the cold, limbs heavy as though they were rocks instead of bones, he couldn't fight memory any longer. As he shut his eyes, you appeared behind them, with the sunshine smile he'd so loved.

Eyes sparkling, you ran right into his open arms, practically throwing yourself into him. If you could have melded yourself into him, you would have, tucked away against his chest forever.

"Hiya, sweetheart," he smiled, lowering his nose to your hair and giving it a kiss. "How's my girl?"

You snuggled into him, one hand hooked on the collar of his shirt. "Missed you."

"You always miss me," he teased, stroking your back mindlessly.

"Always," you confirmed, pressing a kiss to his chest. He removed his hat, setting it on your head. The giggle he received in return could have paid the bounty on his head in full.

"You're right baby," Billy managed between kisses. "Been gone too long. You need some love, huh?"

"Always need love," you murmured into his chest.

Billy turned on his side, pulling the covers up over his chest. He reached for the pillow on the other side of the bed, holding it close. Maybe if he let himself, he could believe he was holding you.

You were an angel. Sent from heaven to be protected. You were the reason he believed in any sort of deity- who else could you possibly have come from? All his years of slaving away at repentance he had finally been rewarded with something he wanted to keep forever. A love that was pure- he never thought he'd get to have anything like that again.

And he'd let you slip through his fingers. What good thing could ever happen again now that he'd had the best thing?

"I loved Christmas before, but it only got more magical with you," you murmured one night, snuggled up in bed with him in one of his shirts, his hand tucked underneath at your back. You loved the way his warm palm felt on your bare skin.

"Yeah?" He hadn't thought before of the fact that he would get to spend Christmas with you, but it was extremely welcome. You nuzzled against his chest and he smiled. "Any day with you is magical."

"Billy," you giggled fondly, cuddling close. "I want you to love it too."

"I do," he said, meaning it to his core. He leaned down, kissing your head. "I do, sweetheart."

Throwing his arm over his eyes, Billy squeezed the pillow, turning to his other side. Sleep was evading him tonight like a wild horse, and he was unsure if he'd be able to rope it.

You were his other half through and through. And he felt empty without you, holes punched into his heart. He wasn't meant to live this way. To know such a love and then know how it felt to be without it.

Sitting up, Billy struck a match and lit the stubby candle beside his bed. Leaning over to the side table, he snatched the thin square sitting face down on the surface, cautiously turning it over. Your bright smile seemed to radiate color even in the black and white, lips parted in a laugh frozen in time. He was in the picture too, arms around your waist, head bent to press a kiss to your temple. Fingers clasped around one of his suspenders, body swaying into his, you looked happy as could be.

He touched your photographed face, pretending for a moment. You, you, you. A song his heart hadn't stopped singing since the moment you'd first met. Billy let his head fall back on the pillow, eyes still fixed on your face. My girl, my girl, my girl.

Billy cupped your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You seemed happy, though the uncertainty in your eyes caught him off guard. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely, sweet girl," he promised, blissful as he let go of your face to sweep you into his arms. You giggled, arms around his neck as he toed the door open and carried you inside. "It's all ours."

"And we're far enough away?" you fussed as Billy took you promptly to the bedroom, laying you down gently. He yanked his boots off and crawled on top of you, chin on your tummy, arms snaked around your waist.

He gave your midsection a kiss. "Leave all the worryin' to me, sunshine. We're okay."

"I'm sorry." You smiled softly, hand finding its way to his hair and starting to play with it. "I just...I don't want anything to ruin this. Not when we've been so happy..."

"Baby..." Billy rolled over, pulling you to lay on top of him. He relished for a moment that the bed was big enough to do that now. In a lot of the rooms he'd stayed in, you were sandwiched between him and the wall, his back to the door just in case. "It's gonna be okay. We're allowed to have something good."

"You're the only good thing I need," you murmured, ear over his heart. He liked it when you rested there. It was yours to do with as you pleased anyways. Billy covered the side of your head with his palm, following the line of your hair and rubbing carefully. You murmured, "I don't need anything else, Billy. Just you and me."

It was all he'd needed too. In all honesty he'd have been happy living in the woods with only the stars as a roof over your heads so long as you were bundled in his arms. But he wanted much more for you. You deserved palaces and cities built in your honor. This house had been a meager but promising start.

He moved to set the photograph back on the bedside but then decided against it. Billy pressed the little square to his heart, closing his eyes and ignoring the light of the candle. Now the thoughts of you were consuming him, but he didn't stop them. Even now you were his only source of joy, the one comfort in this shell of a life left for him.

"What if we had a baby?"

Billy nearly choked on his slice of bread. He cleared his throat, grinning at you. "You want a baby?"

"Your baby," you corrected, wandering over to sit on his leg. He pulled you against his chest, offering a kiss to your temple.

"You want my baby?" He corrected himself, rubbing your side. You didn't know about the little ring hidden beneath his shirts in the drawer.

"Uh huh," you mused, eyes becoming dreamy. "Want your baby."

"We can have a baby," he promised, kissing your forehead. "Wanna do it right though, sweetheart. Wanna marry you first."

"Marry you!" You looked up happily, leaning in to kiss his cheek, than his lips. "I wanna do that too."

"Anything you want," he promised, leaning his cheek on your head when you nuzzled into his neck.

He wished with all his heart for everything you hadn't done. From the moment you'd mentioned it, he'd pictured you with a blanket-wrapped infant in his arms, your eyes tired but happy. Along with it came images of you in a wedding dress, a bunch of wildflowers in your hands. And your wedding night, your bare body tucked into his, sprawled out with your hair undone. In everything you were happy. Billy hadn't ever stopped trying to make you happy.

"Billy?" No. Not tonight. "Billy? what's going on?" Let him have peace after dark for once. "What are they doing here?" He turned into his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. The picture was tight between his fingers.

"Billy?"

You were still bare, the covers tucked under your arms as you sat up. He shoved his feet into his pants, sliding his suspenders up in a hurry and hastily buttoning his shirt, some going through the wrong loops. As he dressed, he tried to soothe you. "Nothing, baby. Nothing. Lemme just take care of this. You go back to sleep."

"Billy." Your voice was breathy, and high, nearly a squeak. He paused, one boot on. "Please. What can I-?"

"You stay here," he said firmly, kneeling on the bed and holding your face between his hands. "Where you're safe." The thundering hooves were getting closer, and he could see the dots of light in the distance through the window. Fire.

When he caught a glint of a tear in your eye, he pulled you close, stroking your back gently. "Hey. It's okay, sweet girl. We're gonna be okay." Billy buried his nose in your hair, adjusting the blankets around you. "I'm gonna keep you safe. I know it's scary but it's gonna be okay."

You nodded, a whimper betraying your held back tears. He breathed in, rocking you back and forth for a moment. "Shh, I know, I know." He forced himself to let go, determined to meet the riders and get this over with. When he heard a little cry after he left the room, his heart broke clean in two.

The fight was brutal. Nothing they said was new. That he didn't belong here. That he should leave before they turn him in. That they'd burn down his house and hurt his girl.

Over his dead body.

Billy's gun moved faster than his mouth ever could. He fired round after round, felling those who dared come after what he loved so dearly. The darkness shielded their faces, but it didn't matter to him. All that mattered was that his sweetheart was sheltered while he took care of any threat to you.

Cold blood licked his clothes, the smell of death in the air. It was a symphony of senses, from the sound of the gun to their cries, the vision of shadows falling like leaves from the fingers of tree branches. He could practically taste the feeling that came with ending the life of another, one he was long accustomed to by now.

He would have to take care of the bodies before you came outside again. There was no way he was letting his darling see any of this. It was a sight unfit for your innocent eyes. If he had it his way, you would only see the most beautiful things, namely looking in a mirror.

The man far ahead of him was shouting something, seeming to struggle. Billy's eyes narrowed, and he held his gun up, doing his best to aim in the dark. The last shot. For his girl. For you.

His finger was nestled into the trigger, eyes cold. One last swallow and it was over. And he could return to his love, safe and warm inside. Eyes narrowing, he aimed for the shadow and fired, the sound of the bullet escaping the barrel harpooning through the air. He waited for satisfaction, the feeling of a job well done.

"Billy!"

It was cold. The night air was getting to him. Billy watched something collapse, but the shadow was still moving toward him. He recognized the burly shape of a man and fired again, numb as the voice echoed in his head. Billy, Billy, Billy.

His heart stopped. He swore it did for just a second.

Sound was silent. His legs were moving before he realized it, buckling once he reached the white shape sprawled in the dirt. There was a massive spot that only seemed to grow, creeping slowly and filling in the contours.

He'd know your eyes even in the dark. You were trembling, grasping his hand as soon as it was within reach. A choked, "Baby," escaped his lips.

Now he was crashing back to earth. You were the only thing in front of him, the only thing that ever could have mattered. Billy gathered you in his arms, tossing his gun aside. He didn't care if he never saw it again.

In a single stroke, the squeeze of a trigger, he'd ruined everything.

Your eyes were soft. Your hand around his squeezed weakly as he cradled you close, brushing the hair from your eyes. "Baby...baby why didn't you stay inside? You should've stayed-" he choked, chest collapsing in on itself.

"Billy," you whispered, your voice silencing everything else. He brought you up to his chest, clenching the back of your nightdress, nose dug into your temple. Through all the blood you still smelled like you. His girl. His angel.

"Stay with me, c'mon, c'mon baby," he breathed, tearing your shawl from around you to staunch the wound. You shivered and he winced. He'd keep a fire burning all hours of the night, never let you stray from the bubble of his warmth when you got inside.

Your limbs acted as though they were filled with sand, eyes growing tired. He kept hold of your hand, cradling you close and rocking you back and forth. "Please. Please..."

Head falling to his shoulder, you murmured, "I love you."

"I did a bad thing," he managed, voice thin and tight as a wire, tears seeping in around the edges. "Sweetheart..."

You lifted your head to look at him, shaking it just slightly. "No."

"We're gonna be okay," he babbled, fist white around the shawl. It was wet with red, and he tried to imagine it was something else. "We're gonna go someplace else. Somewhere safer, baby. Just you and me-"

"Billy," you whispered.

"And we're gonna get married," he continued, cupping your face and stroking your cheek. "Yeah, we're gonna get married and we're gonna have a baby. Remember? Remember how we said we would?"

"Billy." Your eyes were tired. The moon's glow was all he had as a candle, and it beamed upon you, bathing you in something angelic. He had known you weren't made for this world. But he hadn't thought that'd mean you were to be taken from it so soon.

With difficulty, you lifted your hand, reaching for his face. He caught your hand and guided it the rest of the way, so it rested on his cheek. As your soft palm met his prickly skin, the weight of what he'd done hit him full force. He didn't realize he was crying until you thumbed away a tear, eyes sorrowful as you breathed, "You're gonna be okay."

"We're both gonna be okay," he started, but you rubbed the side of his face, inhaling softly.

"I'm sorry." You leaned up, and he helped you reach him, so your lips touched his cheek. "My love..."

"It was my fault," he choked, burying his nose in your hair. "I did somethin' awful."

"There's nothing you could do that I wouldn't forgive you for," you said softly, and he kissed the palm of your hand, practically praying for one more moment.

"Ma, please let her stay with me," he begged silently. "Please give me a chance to make it better."

He would atone for it for the rest of his life and then some. He would give himself up, throw his gun in the river and run as far as he could think of. The ocean. You'd always wanted to see the ocean. He'd take you there and watch you ankles deep in the water, laughing as the sun hit your eyes.

"I can't...leave...you..." your voice was hitching, and he hushed you, shaking his head and holding your face to his shoulder.

"Shh, shh, sweet girl," he tried, but you gave a little sob, clinging to his hand as tears cascaded down your cheeks. You weren't wearing shoes. Why weren't you wearing shoes?

"It's cold," you mumbled, and he tightened his arms around you, fruitlessly trying to bring you warmth. His shirt was sticky with your blood, and he pressed the balled up shawl closer to your wound. He wasn't ready to think about that yet.

You looked up at him, and the soft touch of your hand met his cheek again. Billy tucked your feet into his lap, pulling your dress over your knees. It was the best he could do right now.

The night was quiet, eerily so. You were nearly motionless, save for the staggering rise and fall of your chest, the one light he was able to cling to. "Baby...baby..."

You closed your eyes. His heart pounded against his ribs, begging to escape and open them. Tears still rolled down your cheeks, glowing like pearls in the moonlight. Softly, your voice permeated the chilly night air. "Don't wait for me."

It echoed in his ears for an eternity after.

Billy remembered the aftermath in a blurry haze with little color. Nobody should ever have to dig their lover's grave, but he did. Returning home, exhausted from the effort it'd taken not to fling himself in the dirt beside you, the first thing he'd seen was the Christmas tree you'd decorated so happily. You'd hummed old carols under your breath, looking up at him with the purest joy he'd ever known.

He couldn't get away fast enough.

The house was a ghost itself, and he felt as though he were living inside a memory without any of the original joy. You called from every room, and he could practically see your fingerprints on every surface. When Billy left, he set it all on fire, ash and soot clinging to his clothes as he spurred his horse in the opposite direction. And thus it began, the act of surviving.

Over and over he cursed your selflessness. Why hadn't you stayed inside? Why couldn't you have hidden until it was over, found it in you to protect yourself the way he'd been trying to? No answers came, except for the reconfirmation of your love. You were trying to help. But he would never blame you for your death. All the guilt fell on his shoulders like a weight, holding him down from the happiness he'd previously known.

Billy set the photograph back on the table, face down. He took in a deep breath, lying back and trying to let it go. It was well into the night, and he was far away from everything. The only thing he needed to worry about was a good night's rest before he skipped town again in the morning. The ocean. He was going to the ocean.

There was a lilt in the air, a slight melody that flowed like water in the creek. Billy thought he was hearing things until it became louder, the chorus of many voices together making his skin burn.

It was Christmas morning. He'd not slept a wink. And now the carolers were making their rounds, lifting the spirits of others in song.

You'd loved this song. Billy's cheeks were wet, and he stuffed one ear into the pillow, one hand clamped over the other. It was almost over. Soon he'd be off, the remains of this wretched time of year in the distance. He'd drown his sorrows in the salt air and trudge through the rest of his days.

And no matter what you'd said, he would never stop waiting for you.

[lucygxybaird]

12 days of Christmas - Day One

“Mama!” 

You feel a little tug at your sleeve, and you look down to see tiny fingers grasping the cotton, your daughter’s face obscured by the wreath she’s holding up with her other hand. A halo of evergreen boughs, studded with bright red berries and delicate white blossoms, and you can spot a few pinecones tucked in for effect. If you peek through the center, you can spot your little girl’s hopeful expression, and you know there’s no way you can refuse her. 

“What do you say?” you prompt, figuring that you might as well drive an important lesson home if you’re giving in so easily. 

“Pleeease!” 

Your arms are already full with other decorations — garlands; Christmas lights and candles; an exquisite set of baubles in red, green and gold that, according to the shy but proud clerk, he made himself; candy canes that may or may not actually make it onto the tree. And then there’s the things you actually need, like a bolt of cloth for curtains, a sack of flour, and perishable items that you know for a fact won’t have a chance to go bad before you eat them. Your girl is growing like a weed, and eating enough to make you believe you gave birth to triplets instead of just one child. 

“Can you carry it yourself?” you ask. 

You hear a dubious little hum from amongst the greenery, and you can’t blame her. It’s almost as long as she is, and certainly wider. “I can try,” she says. 

The two of you manage to get everything to the counter, and everything is crated up for you to take home — except the wreath, which is simply too large. Both you and your daughter look at it uncertainly, and you realize, as you cast your eye over your purchases, you have no clue how you’re going to get all this home.

You live close enough to the general store that you and your daughter walked here, with your little girl’s wagon in tow to get everything back. The problem is that your eye, so to speak, was bigger than your transportation. Your little girl could barely carry the wreath up to the register. The wagon is nearly full, and you still have things to add in. You certainly don’t want to risk breaking those pretty little ornaments— 

“You need a hand, ma’am?”

There’s time to register your daughter’s little gasp as she ducks behind your skirts, a flash of her white face peeping up — and up, and up — at the young man who has appeared next to you. You have to look up yourself, tilting your chin back to gaze into a face that is, frankly, apart from being open and friendly, rather handsome. 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle anybody,” he says, a hint of chagrin creeping into his expression. “I just thought I could carry some stuff for you, if you’d like.” 

You reach back to rest a hand on your daughter’s golden head. “It’s not you,” you say. “She’s just shy.”

It’s the easiest way to explain your daughter’s behavior, but you feel a little stab of guilt, like you’re betraying her somehow. There’s more to it than that. But you can hardly countenance divulging such information to someone you don’t even know, regardless of the fact that his eyes are an extraordinary shade of deep blue, with charming crinkles at the corners which deepen as he smiles at you. 

“Aw, well, there’s nothin’ wrong with that,” he says. “Besides, how is she supposed to talk to me when I’m all the way up here? You might as well ask a little rabbit to chat with a bluebird up in a tree.”

He curls his upper lip so that his front teeth poke out, and he wriggles his nose in a bunny-like way. Unbelievably, you hear a giggle from the folds of your skirt. The young man kneels down so he’s closer to your daughter’s eye level.

“I’m Bunny — I mean, Billy.” He looks up at you, and you have the most absurd urge to lay your hand on his head, tangle your fingers in the dark curls catching a surprising amount of the faint winter sun. “It’s a pleasure to meet two such lovely ladies.”  

You introduce yourself and then your daughter. There’s a moment of silence, and then your daughter surprises you by peeking up at him and saying, “You could carry my wreath. But you have to be careful, okay? I really like it.” 

You open your mouth to remind her to ask more politely, but Billy just straightens up and nods solemnly. “I promisee, ma’am, I will take very good care of your wreath.” 

He ends up carrying the wreath, dangling from the crook of one arm, and a few of the smaller crates, freeing up room in the wagon for everything else. His legs are so long that he has to shorten his stride so that you and your daughter can keep up. You watch his face of any sign of strain, ready to say you could take something. But he doesn’t so much as wince. 

Instead, every time he catches you looking at him, he just smiles at you. You try to ignore the fluttering feeling in the pit of your stomach whenever he does this, but it’s easier said than done.

“Okay,” he says, rather matter-of-factly, as you tell him the house just up ahead is yours. “Do you have your tree up already?”

“Well — yes,” you say. 

You’re mystified as to why he wants to know, until he says, “Okay, good. That’s the centerpiece of everything. Now we can hang everything else up around it.”

You haven’t even considered the idea that he might want to stay and help decorate, and you’re about to say that you can handle this part yourself — but your daughter surprises you once again. She catches Billy’s sleeve and gives a little tug. She’s clammed up again, but she does lead Billy into the house, and points to the the wall above the small fireplace.

“You want it there?” Billy asks, and she nods. 

Before you can open your mouth, she adds a soft, “Please.” 

You start to tell Billy where your hammer and nails are, but he’s walking toward the kitchen where you keep them in a drawer by the stove, as if he’s been here a thousand times before. Upon catching your bemused look, he smiles once more and shrugs. “It’s where I keep ’em at home,” he says. “I just took a guess.” 

By the time you’ve unpacked the foodstuffs, he’s hung the wreath to your daughter’s specifications, delivered partially by small, barely audible sentences and hand gestures. 

He helps you put up the nails on which to drape the garlands, until the mantlepiece is hung with red and green. Your daughter carefully places the candles on the hearth, although she knows that she is under no circumstances to light them herself.

By the time everything is hung up or situated just so, your cabin has been transformed into Santa’s very own workshop. Your daughter is beaming, clinging to your skirts, and you can’t help but throw Billy a grateful smile.

“Thank you,” you say. “You really didn’t have to do all this. It’s very sweet of you.”

He smiles back at you. “My pleasure,” he says. “I know my ma never would have forgiven me if I’d walked on by without offering to help.”

The next thing you say falls out of your mouth before you can even think to say it. “You should stay for dinner,” you say. “It’s only fair. You deserve a square meal after all your hard work.”

In part, you really do believe this. Your little cabin looks beautiful, and you can tell your little girl is delighted — Billy’s kindness went a long way toward making that possible. For making her smile like that, dinner is the least you could offer him. 

But —

Quite simply, you also don’t want him to leave. There’s a warmth about him, a charm, that not only draws you in, but makes you feel safe. You haven’t felt like this since the early days with— 

You push the thought away before it can take root. Instead, you focus on Billy, who rewards your proposition with another smile. 

“I would love that,” he says. “Thank you.” 

From the corner of your eye, you see your daughter beam. It seems that she’s also taken a shine to this good-natured young man.

“Now,” you say, turning to her, “your job is to make sure that Billy doesn’t lift a finger to help me make dinner. He’s done enough. Do you think you can do that?”

With a firm mmmhm, your daughter doesn’t waste any time. She marches over to Billy and takes hold of his sleeve, leading him to the corner where her dolls are nestled in a wicker basket. Billy tosses you a look over his shoulder that has you biting your lip to keep from laughing. 

“Sit,” your daughter says, and then pauses, with a quick glance at you. “Please.”

Billy folds his long legs so that he settles on the ground beside her, and she hands him one of her dolls. While you busy yourself at the stove, simmering beef broth and vegetables to start on a stew, you can hear the two of them — though, in truth, it sounds like it’s mostly Billy — constructing a rather elaborate scenario. 

“Now, see here, Miss Pennyfeather—!”

Your daughter softly corrects him, “Miss Pennyweather.”

“Oh, sorry — ” Billy clears his throat. “Now, see here, Miss Pennyweather! I think your cat has been steee-eeealing my chicken eggs!”

Your daughter dissolves into giggles. “No, Miss Featherington!” 

“Oh, no? Wh00o-000, then?!”

More giggles. “A fox!”

“I ain’t seen no fooo-oox around here!”

As you cook up beef to add to the stew, you can’t help but overhear that, no, Miss Pennyweather’s cat didn’t steal Miss Featherington’s chicken eggs, but it turns out that another doll has been dressing up as a fox to steal the eggs — because she wants them to argue — so she sneak into their houses while they’re distracted and take their prettiest ribbons and baubles from their dressing table.

(The concept of a dressing table is something your daughter has recently discovered, and for whatever reason, she’s absolutely obsessed with it.) 

“I hate to interrupt,” you say, and you really do, because you kind of want to know how this ends. “But dinner is ready.” 

Billy gets to his feet and offers his hand to help your daughter up. She smiles and puts her tiny hand in his, and he lifts her up so easily that her feet leave the floor, making her squeal. He carries her to the table and plops her down in a chair, where she sits, a little disheveled from her journey, but flushed and giggling.

Digging into his dinner with gratifying gusto, Billy asks, “How long have you been livin’ in town?  I figure it can’t be too long.”

You smile. “Why?” you say. “Because I should have known better than to just bring a little wagon for my groceries? I didn’t expect Tunstall’s to have so much in the way of holiday decorations.”

Billy chuckles. “No,” he says softly, his eyes trained on yours. “Because I definitely woulda remembered seein’ you before.” 

You feel heat rise in your cheeks, and you drop your gaze to your bowl of stew, fiddling with your napkin. “We’re new here,” you say. “We only arrived just last week.”

“Just the two of you?” Billy asks. You sense something underneath the simple question, something almost…hopeful. 

You open your mouth to respond, but your daughter beats you to it. “It’s just me and Mama,” she says, concentrating on sopping up the last of her stew with a piece of bread. “Daddy went away.” 

You look up at Billy again, and he flicks his gaze heavenward. You shake your head and give the smallest tilt of your head toward the door.

No, your husband didn’t die. He simply left. The two of you had been fighting for months, mostly over money. You’d seen the toll it had taken on your daughter — the way she would bury herself under her covers whenever your husband started to yell, the way she would pick at her food and peek nervously at her father whenever he lapsed into sullen silence at the dinner table, the way she talked less and less. It was as if she was trying to make herself smaller. 

You didn’t realize she was taking a page from your book until your husband finally left. You woke up that morning to find his possessions missing, and you realized, after the shock had worn off, that it didn’t hurt. It just felt…freeing. You didn’t have to worry about his anger or his rebukes anymore.

But your daughter stayed inside the shell she’d created for herself. Around you, she was more like herself, but strangers — especially men — made her clam up again.

Except for today.

Except for Billy.

After dinner, Billy and your daughter go back to their dolls, while you clean up before sitting down with a pile of mending. You aren’t even surprised anymore that he doesn’t take the opportunity to take his leave. Honestly, the longer he stays, the more it feels like he’s always been here. 

It doesn’t take long for your daughter to start nodding off with Miss Pennyweather still in her arms. Billy gently pries the doll away, while you scoop your daughter up in her arms and tuck her in. 

When you turn around, you find Billy by the hearth, feeding more logs into the fire to keep the cabin warm. He straightens up and turns to look at you. 

For what feels like an eternity, the both of you just stand there, locking eyes from across the room. You walk toward him and touch his arm. 

“Can I say something?” he asks. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

You nod. “Please.”

“Your husband was a fool,” he says, so matter-of-factly that you can’t help but smile. “Anybody who walks away from you and your sweet little girl ain’t got the brains God gave a gopher.”

You have to — absolutely have to — bury your face against his shoulder to muffle your laughter. His own chuckle rumble against your cheek. 

You lift your head. “Do you have anyone to spend the holiday with?” you ask.

Family? A girl? 

He shakes his head. “No,” he says softly. “I’m on my own.”

You smile at him. “Not anymore.” 

Over the next few weeks, one may be forgiven for thinking that Billy actually lives at your little cabin. He’s there more often than not, fixing things that need fixing — your door has never quite shut right, at least not before Billy got his hands on it — and helping you with chores, from chopping firewood to sweeping the front porch. He plays with your daughter, from dolls to jacks to hide-and-seek.

And when your little girl has fallen asleep, you and Billy sit up by the fire, just talking. You start sitting in chairs on either side of the hearth,  but his chair ends up getting closer to yours, and then you scoot yours over, and then his ends up a few inches nearer. By Christmas Eve, the two of you are sitting so close that your knees touch. 

“I brought my fiddle with me, so I don’t forget it tomorrow,” Billy says softly. “Does your little girl like Christmas carols?”

“She loves them.”

He leans forward, and so do you.

“And you?” he says.

“Oh, yes.”

He leans in further. You reciprocate. 

“And me?” he says.

You laugh quietly. “How am I supposed to know if you love Christmas carols?”

Billy smiles. “No,” he says. “I mean, do you love me?”

He’s so close to you now that you can catch the cinnamon on his breath, a remnant of the hot cider the three of you shared before your daughter went to bed. Your gaze drifts to his lips before meeting his eyes again.

“Tell me I’m not the only one,” he goes on. “There’s somethin’ between us, ain’t there? I’m crazy about you. The both of you.”

“You’re not the only one,” you say. “I…I feel like I’ve known you forever. And I’ve never seen my daughter this way with anyone, ever. She adores you.” 

You pause. Now the two of you are close enough that you can count the faint freckles speckled over the bridge of his nose. “Billy,” you say softly, “since — since you’re coming back so early in the morning, maybe you should just…stay.”

“Are you sure, darlin’?”

You nod. 

“Can I hold you tonight?” he murmurs. “We don’t have to do anythin’ else. But all I’ve thought about since the moment I first saw you is holdin’ you in my arms.”

“Yes,” you say softly. 

He kisses you. You can feel it from the brush of his soft, full mouth against yours, to the very soles of your feet, like a bolt of lightning racing through every vein in your body. When you break apart, he gets up and takes your hand, leading you to your small room.

You climb into bed and he follows suit. His arms slip around you and pull you flush against his chest.

“Good thing you already packed your fiddle,” you whisper, and he laughs softly against your hair. 

Billy had helped you wrap your daughter’s presents after she went to bed earlier that night, and you can spot the pile from where you lay with your head on Billy’s shoulder. “Just how early is she gonna wake us up to tear into those?” he asks, his voice falling into your ear.

You give a quiet little giggle. “Pretty early,” you admit.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “So we should probably get some sleep, huh?”

You hum softly in agreement. 

It’s been so long that you expect to lay away for hours, adjusting to the now-strange sensation of a man in bed next to you. But Billy’s warmth, and the strength of his arms around you, lull you under in what feels like a matter of moments.

Your daughter does wake you up at just about the crack of dawn, and she doesn’t seem all that surprised to find Billy there. Although she’s rather focused on her gifts, gasping as she takes in the sight of them, wrapping paper glittering in the glow of the lights.

When the paper is cleared away, and your daughter is cooing with delight over her new toys, Billy fetches his fiddle while you make breakfast. It doesn’t surprise you to hear that his voice is rich and warm. 

“Love shall be our token, love be yours and love be mine…”

You can feel his eyes on you as if he’s standing right behind you, running his fingertips along your spine.

“Love to God and all men, love for plea and gift and sign…”

You leave the stove for a moment and lean down to kiss his forehead. “I never answered your question last night,” you whisper. “If I love you or not.” 

He grins up at you. “No, you didn’t,” he agrees. “And? You’re not gonna break my heart on Christmas mornin’, are you?”

You chuckle, smoothing your fingers through his hair. “I do,” you say softly. “I do love you.”

He reaches up and catches your hand, presses a kiss to your fingers. “Love to all men,” he echoes. He kisses your fingers again. “And I love you, honey.”

A small figure wriggles in between the two of you, your daughter popping up in Billy’s lap. “And me?” 

“Were you eavesdropping?” you gasp, your affront all false.

She giggles. “Yes.”

Billy grins and cuddles her close, making her giggle again. “Well, that’s alright,” he says. “You don’t gotta worry about Santa for a whole year.”

You swat his shoulder gently. “Don’t tell her that.”

He flashes you an unrepentant smile before tickling your little girl’s side. “Yeah, and you,” he says. 

Your daughter settles comfortably in his lap. “This,” she says, after a moment of consideration, “is the best Christmas ever in the world.”

Frankly, you can’t disagree. 

[quill-pen]

It’s just dawned on me that he first time Bess might realize her soul-sister is smitten with a gent is because Connie talks in her sleep.

So one day, Bess is in the cottage kitchen while Connie is conked out on the couch, exhausted after a long shift at the coffee house. Bess goes to put a blanket over her, and finds Connie smiling to herself and … giggling in her sleep. Then she sighs and goes, “Oh, Mr. Scrooge~”

Well, it’s definitely … that type of dream. Her hands grip the pillow and she’s definitely pleased, haha. At this point, he’s just a tall, handsome, kind gentleman from the coffee house who seems to stop in often to see her.

As the relationship continues, it changes from “Mr. Scrooge” to “Ebenezer”, and “Adonis.” Then, finally, “my Adonis.”

Once Con and Adonis are serious, Bess gives him a teasing little pointer: “Just a note … she talks in her sleep.” 😏

He isn’t sure why that’s relevant until he wakes up to the sound of her giggling, moaning, and writhing softly beside him as she sleepily recites his name. And SUDDENLY Bess’ little statement makes sense.

Okay, but, no, this is actually so cute and funny!😂 Bess snores; Connie sleep-talks.

I can just imagine after that first time when Connie wakes up from her nap, she finds Bess in the kitchen making tea and some snacks. Bess smiles nonchalantly at first, all, "Have a good nap?"

Connie beams back. "Oh, very good!"

Bess smile turns a little cheeky as she butters some bread. "Mmm, good, good. You, uh, you have any dreams?"

Connie blushes a bit. "Yes. I usually seem to. Never really remember them much, though." That's a little bit of a fib.

Bess sucks her teeth. "Darn. From the way you were giggling and moaning, I woulda thought Mr. Scrooge would make for one of the more memorable dreams."

Connie snaps around to look at Bess in alarm and maybe try to refute such a claim, only to find Bess giving her a shit-eating grin and wagging a finger at her. "Naughty, naughty," she teases. "You can't lie your way out of a wet dream experience when you're a sleep-talker!"

Connie might end up opting to take most of her naps in her room after that. At least there's more privacy.😅

But that doesn't mean Bess misses out on witnessing that sleep-talking transition. Bess keeps a quiet tally of the ones she hears and gently teases Connie at each change as the relationship goes on. "So, you're calling him our nickname for him in bed now, are you? I'll bet he puffs up about that." It's almost like a metric system from the relationship, and Bess loves to record it and witness her soul-sister fall deeper and deeper in true love.

And of course Bess tells him about the sleep-talking but leaves out the warning of what it's usually about. For all Adonis knows, he's going to regularly hear Connie mumbling mumbo-jumbo at 1 in the morning or having a rousing but completely flummoxing discussion with alien rodents in the wee hours. Or maybe she'll start asking him questions about worms; he's heard that's a thing women will ask about for whatever reason.

But then he hears his name and the moans and, suddenly, Bess' little smirk makes complete sense.

[adam-trademark]

Please Stay

on the Brick

Sidewalk

(December 1, 2022)

[eye-candy-film-enjoyer]

[draydelion]

I'm always late to draw Gianna and Eb for Valentine's Day... but it's okay, better late than never 😭.

Oh yeah, I took the pose from a drawing from last year (redraw). I like it so much that I wanted to do it in color. ♡♡♡

[nessbunnie]

when someone talks shit about me so i pull out my shobio shirt from when i was 10

[undeadchestnut]

WELL. 90s and modern day AU looks for Scrooge and Marley.

I played around with modernizing their facial hair as well:

Clean shaven for Scrooge. Marley gets to keep the mustache because he's mentally still in the 80s anyway.

I... surprisingly don't hate it?

[fuckyeahbradleywalsh]

[arri-vixx]

How did they get into this position? Your guess is as good as mine

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎEvergreen౨ৎ꣑ৎ

౨ৎ꣑ৎ12 Days of Christmas Masterlist౨ৎ꣑ৎ [fem reader] contains: fluff :) pairing: fem reader x billy the kid summary: it's the first snowfall, and you and billy make the most of it author’s note: little bit shorter one today, but very fluffy <3 <3 Spotify Playlist

The wind was howling like a wolf at the moon, banging against the windows and striving to break down the walls. Winter had come suddenly this year, and it brought a frosty vendetta with it. All day you'd been huddled inside, only venturing out to check the weather. Errands and the like could wait. Today you were concerned with not turning into an icicle.

Your black cat was curled around your feet, his back to the crackling fire. The walls of your home were doing little to ward off the cold, the blanket around your shoulders even less. Throughout the day, you'd hardly been able to manage your chores, hands nearly frozen stiff. Still you pushed through, hoping that bodily movement would solve your problem.

The hours were grueling, swathed with cold, and you trudged through them, feeling as though you were knee deep in mud. A book laid to the side of you- your failed way of distracting yourself. A candle was dripping wax into its holder on the nearby table, the flame winking very little light. Still, it was better than nothing.

A part of you wanted to retreat to your bed and bury yourself under the covers, but your eyes stayed glued to the door as weather shook the cabin. Waiting, watching for someone to walk through. Tonight, you wanted him close more than ever.

Billy's days were long, gone before sunup and home after it went down. You hardly remembered what it was like to see him in daylight. Long gone were the blissful days of summer, when you would trace the freckles on his sun-kissed face under the shade of the tree growing close to the cabin. You'd watch the sunset together; you splayed out lazily on his chest and his hands heavy at your back.

Now that tree had been stripped bare of leaves, looking like an arm from which stemmed a splayed hand with many fingers. In the midst of this storm, it was likely dripping with ice. It was useless to try and see out the window- the storm was too thick, covering everything. You said a silent prayer for Billy, hoping he was safe. His horse knew the way home, but this kind of weather threw everything off.

Your worry had followed you like a cloud since you woke up shivering, his side of the bed cold. There had still been a dent in his pillow where his head had laid, and you'd touched it with a sigh. Both of you had known a storm was coming- the dark clouds in the distance a clear indication. You'd hoped he would stay home, maybe cuddle with you and shield you from the chill in the air.

But Billy was nothing if not a provider. He'd put himself through hell to keep a roof over your head and food on the table, even if it meant catching his death in a blizzard.

The cat at your feet stirred, meowing a little as he looked up. You smiled, hand falling to the space between his ears. "Shh, it's okay, Fish," you soothed, scratching his head. "He'll be home soon. He has to be."

Reassured, Fish resting his head once again, paws stretching out in front of him as he rested. You wished you could fall asleep as easily. There was no way you could rest without the knowledge that Billy was home safe, proof in his chest against your back.

Shivering, you pulled the edges of the blanket tighter around yourself, staring into the fire. He'd stocked you up on firewood, chopping like it was the end of the world. "Always keep a fire burnin', sweetheart," he'd said, depositing a stack of wood in the designated corner. "I can always cut more. Can't have my girl freezin' on me, now."

You lowered yourself to the floor, eyes growing heavy even as your body seized from the cold. Your teeth were chattering just slightly, jaw trembling. Maybe Billy had stayed in town for the night, or at the home of one of the Regulators. He'd made a point to find a place far removed from town for fear of intruders, or anybody who could possibly hurt you. Though he was establishing a new reputation, the old one lingered, haunting the narrative of your new life.

With your encouragement, he'd put down roots. Settling was a foreign term to him, but it came so naturally once he put his mind to it. You made an effort to set up a home for him, to greet him with a kiss and have a hot meal ready every day. It was a routine you happily settled into, thankful for any normalcy possible. And he loved it too. Loved giving this to you.

Fish padded at your legs, curling close to your belly as you let your eyes flutter shut. He was warm laying against you, and you gave him a thank you stroke to his back. For all the grief Fish gave Billy, you knew he was happy you had a companion while he was away.

Resting your head on your arms, you tried to relax as sleep began to wash over you, trying not to think about waking up without him again. Maybe he'd press a kiss to your temple that'd linger when you woke up.

The creak that sounded through the space didn't make you look up, but the whoosh of the wind sneaking through the open door did. Any notion of sleep left your body, and you sat up, watching with wide eyes as Billy shuffled in, snow caked to his boots. Patches of snow dotted his coat, and he dusted it off, leaving it to melt alongside his kicked off shoes.

Before you knew it, he was kneeling beside you, hand ungloved and settling over your back. You fell into him so naturally, like you were the missing piece to his puzzle. Billy pressed his palm to your waist, his nose finding the crook of your neck as he breathed in, almost in relief.

"Hi baby," he mumbled, pulling you in close. His chest was warm even after being in a mythical blizzard, and you sighed at the feeling. Billy held you tight, letting himself relax. "You're cold."

"Been cold all day," you mumbled tiredly, nuzzling into his chest. He hummed, cradling your head into him. The storm outside was no longer relevant, as it didn't hold him anymore. When Billy was near, he was the only thing that mattered. How could anything else?

He buried a kiss in your hair, starting to rock back and forth, shifting you so the fire was at your back. You could feel his smile as he stroked your hair, drawing lines up and down over and over. "'m sorry I was so late. You didn't have to wait up."

"I wanted to," you murmured, kissing his chest and smoothing your hand over it. "You're gonna be gone before I wake up."

He stiffened a little at that, and you looked up, reaching for his face. Billy let you touch him, eyes gentle as they scanned you. Always checking, making sure you didn't need anything. His main worry when you were near always seemed to be your comfort. Was he doing enough? Were you happy?

The answer was always yes.

Billy tilted downwards, mimicking your position from earlier, just before he'd arrived. He braced you on his chest, letting your head rest on it as he reached for the blanket you'd discarded. Fish had curled up on it, ignoring Billy's arrival now that he knew you were safe. Giving a little tug, Billy whispered, "Fish. Getoff."

"Let him be," you drawled sleepily, bunching the tips of your fingers together a few times to lightly scratch his chest.

The motion did little to soothe Billy as he grumbled, pulling the blanket forward until Fish staggered off, giving Billy a haughty look as he followed the path. You giggled, watching Billy pull the blanket over the two of you, Fish climbing up and sitting on his chest.

You giggled as Billy nudged the cat off, drawing you in tighter. "That spot's for my girl," he reasoned, lowering his mouth to your forehead, leaving a kiss. "He can sleep somewhere else."

"Be nice," you chastised lightly, running your hand over his chest. "He's cold too. He wants to cuddle."

"Hmph." But when Fish laid pressed to Billy's side, he didn't say anything more. You watched fondly as his hand found the silky black fur, petting carefully. When you nuzzled your head on his chest, he rubbed his thumb over your shoulder. "You wanna move to the bed?"

"No, you're comfy," you mumbled, and his chest vibrated as he chuckled.

"Alright." It made you smile how quickly he gave in. Billy adjusted you comfortably, presumably preparing for a night spent on the floor. The tiniest twinge of guilt twisted at your heart as you thought of how hard he'd worked during the day, and how it couldn't be comfortable trying to sleep on the hard floor.

Billy silenced these thoughts with a soft kiss laid to your forehead. "Think I could sleep outside in the storm so long as I have my girl in my arms," he murmured, rubbing your back under the blanket.

You smiled as he rocked you back and forth, the sounds of Fish's purring over the crackling fire a soothing lullaby. As he rubbed your back, he muttered, "Go t' sleep, darlin'. You're real tired, huh?"

"Not as tired as you," you tried, but your body was heavy with exhaustion. You could practically hear Billy's smile as your head thumped onto his chest, sleep washing over you like a lone wave that didn't curl back into sea.

He snuggled you tight into him as the storm raged outside, your shelter in heart and home.

[lucygxybaird]

12 days of Christmas - Day Two

When you were a little girl, you loved Christmas. Everyone seemed happier, rosy-cheeked from the brisk winter air, bundled up in coats and furs so that your childish imagination turned them into cheerful, frolicking bears, dashing busily to and fro. You adored how the world around you seemed to shine, from the tree glittering with candles and baubles, to the fresh blanket of snow breaking up the rays of a weak winter sun into countless points of light.

And you loved the excitement of waking up on Christmas morning, discovering packages set under the tree that hadn’t been there when you went to sleep. You remember your parents nestled together in the same chair, watching you dive into your gifts, smiling indulgently each time you squealed or clapped in delight. 

Now, you find the magic of the season has shifted outward, toward others. Your delight in gifts manifests itself in giving them to others, though you have to admit you aren’t as good at wrapping as your mother was (no matter how hard you try, you just can’t get the thick, colorful paper to fold right on the ends). You adore finding the perfect gift for someone on your list, feeling that little bubble of excitement in the pit of your stomach as you imaging their face when they open it. You even love finding little hiding places for them until you can put them out on Christmas morning, feeling like you’re caught between a squirrel hiding nuts and one of Santa’s elves. 

More than anything, you love the sparkle and the lights just as much as ever, perhaps even more so — their beauty means more to you now because you find a simplicity in it, a purity, that’s so at odds with how the world truly is. 

Perhaps that’s really what you adore so much about the season now, as a woman grown. It’s almost as if everything is floating, a snowflake swirling gently in an eddy of the breeze, sparkling and delicate. Perfect. Just for a month or two, things seem peaceful. You feel comforted, safe, as if the innocence and joy of your childhood never really disappeared, but just pulled ahead of you, flickering around the corner like the swish of a hem. 

Oh — and the music! As a child, you would make hot chocolate for the carolers who showed up at your door, insisting they stay long enough to have a cup. You didn’t know until you were much older that they came to your house last every year, to make sure they would have enough time to stay. The songs still fill you with a feeling of giddiness, like something is wonderful is waiting for you the moment the last word fades away. 

We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year…

You hum softly to yourself as Susan McSween sits at the piano, the silvery notes dancing cheerfully through the air. As you watch a group approach the piano, you have to bury your face in the mug of hot chocolate in your hand in order to suppress your smile. Among them are John Tunstall and Alexander McSween, both of whom are exemplary men who could not carry a tune in a wheelbarrow — or a wagon, for that matter. On Alexander’s other side, his arm thrown companionably around his shoulders, is Billy. 

The two of you grin at each other. 

“Good tidings we bring, to you and your kin — good tidings for Christmas, and a happy New Year!”

As it comes back to the chorus, John gestures to include the whole room, prompting everyone to sing along. 

“We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year!”

Billy can barely keep it together through the verse about figgy pudding, and you set your mug down, rather than risk choking to death on a sip of cocoa. He keeps catching your eye, which makes even more difficult to keep from laughing. Someone — probably Billy himself — tucked a sprig of holly into his hair, and there’s traces of a eggnog mustache still lingering on his upper lip. His cheeks are flush and his eyes are sparkling with barely suppressed mirth and easily open happiness.

He is, in your ironclad estimation, the most gorgeous man on earth, and you are so in love with him that sometimes it feels like your heart is simply going to turn itself inside out from the sheer intensity of it. 

The song ends with a flourish from Susan on the piano, and a shout of, “And a Happy New Year!” from the group of singers around the piano. You’ve never seen Alexander in any other state besides perfectly prim and proper, but you’re fairly certain he’s currently tipsy, if not drunk. He plops down on the piano bench beside Susan and gives her a resounding smacking kiss on the cheek. 

Billy rounds the piano and makes his way to you. You watch him walk across the room, the Christmas lights and candle glow sliding softly over his suntanned skin, catching in his curls, reflecting in his eyes. You hold out your arms as he gets closer, and he chuckles, crossing the remaining space in a bound and snatching you up in an embrace that lifts your feet off the floor. You laugh, winding your arms around his neck, feeling entirely safe with your chest against his and his arms snug around your waist. 

“Ready to go home, darlin’?” he says, brushing his lips against your ear. “I don’t think it’s gonna be too much longer before McSween is snorin’ to beat the band, anyway.” 

You peek over his shoulder to see Alexander leaning against Susan, his head nestling against hers. You bite your lip to keep from giggling. “Maybe we should go,” you agree, and glance at the window. White clouds streaked with charcoal gray are starting to lower over the horizon, obscuring the stars. As you watch, a few flakes start to drift lazily downward. “We should get home before that gets any heavier, anyway.” 

Billy sets you down, though he puts an arm around your shoulders.  He steers you toward John Tunstall, who is refilling a his glass of eggnog. “Mr. Tunstall, I think we’re gonna head home,” he says. “It’s startin’ to snow out there, and we don’t wanna get caught in it.” 

Tunstall smiles. “Of course, Billy, thank you both for coming,” he says. “Here — ”

He goes to a cabinet and opens it up to pull out a thick flannel blanket, which he presses into Billy’s arms. Now that you look at him, Tunstall might be a little tipsy himself, the apples of his cheeks a ruddy color and his eyes sparkling more than usual. “Please, take this,” he says. “It’ll keep you warm on your ride home.” 

“Well—” Billy starts, but Tunstall waves him off.

“No, no, please, I insist. You can just bring it back the next time you visit.”

You take Billy’s hand and give a little tug, trying to signal that you should make your getaway before Tunstall pushes any other gifts into his arms. The corners of Billy’s lips twitch despite his best efforts, and he gives your hand a brief squeeze in return.

“Thank you, Mr. Tunstall,” he says. “I appreciate it.” 

Billy propels you toward the door as you bravely fight the urge to giggle, which isn’t aided in any way by Alexander McSween launching into a spirited rendition of  “Come Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen”.  

After handing you up into the seat of your wagon, Billy climbs up after you, taking up the reins and giving them a little flick. The horses start forward with a lurch, and you tuck the flannel around the both of you, making Billy chuckle softly.

Strains of music drift after you in the night, and Billy takes up the familiar refrain. “God rest ye, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay…”

His rich, sweet voice is low and soft, for you only. You smile as you snuggle up against his shoulder.

The road in front of you is starting to take on a fine dusting of sparkling white. On either side, the fields are buried in an ivory blanket, glittering in the starlight. Bare-limbed trees stand stark as sentinels, their skeletal fingers outlined against the clouds like lines of ink, a map to the heavens. You watch as the branches collect snow, like a woman pulling on delicate lace gloves, finger by finger. Between the flannel wrapped around you and Billy’s warmth pressed against your side, the cold air is sweet and bracing, making you feel invigorated.

“Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy…”

You smile as Billy continues to sing for you. Turning your head, you press a soft kiss to his cheek, and watch as a smile unfurls over his lips.

The ride is idyllic, like driving through a Courier and Ives print, but you’re glad to see the little cabin you share with Billy appear in the distance. It looks like a gingerbread house, the snow like a thick layer of icing on the roof, stacking up on the windowsills, the weathered boards of the house looking like a freshly baked cookie. Billy drives the wagon into your little lean-to and offers you a hand to help you down.

As soon as your feet are on the ground, Billy has you up against his chest, his hands framing your face as he kisses you so fiercely that it dispels the wintry evening chill entirely. You melt into his embrace, your arms winding around his neck.

“Have I mentioned lately that I love you?” he says, and you smile.

“I think it’s come up once or twice,” you quip.

Truth be told, hardly a day goes by where Billy doesn’t tell you he loves you more than once. And even on the rare instances where he doesn’t say so out-loud, he finds other ways to let you know — you’ll come home to find your winter coat mended, because you mentioned that morning you could feel the weather turning; he’ll make you hot chocolate, with a blanket and a fresh candle set up by your chair near the fire, so you can sip while you read. Or you’ll just catch him watching you from across the room, the softest expression on his face.

“I love you, too,” you say, leaning up to kiss him again. “Now let’s get inside before Jack Frost starts nipping at our noses.”

Billy smiles and leads you inside, taking Tunstall’s blanket from around your shoulders and helping you out of your coat. “Here, I have an idea,” he says, and spreads the blanket before the hearth.

As you watch, he lights a fire, and bids you to sit with a little gesture of his hand. He brings a bottle of wine and a tray from the kitchen, laden with bread, cheese, and fruit. “I know we ate at Mr. Tunstall’s,” he said. “But I figure a little snack before bed wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

You smile up at him. “Wine and food?” you tease. “If I didn’t know any better, Mr. Bonney, I’d say you were trying to woo me.”

He settles down beside you, pretending offense as he puts a hand over his heart. “Darlin’, are you saying I haven’t already?” he says, but then he smiles. “Maybe I am. You deserve it. I don’t want you to ever think I’m takin’ you for granted.”

Reaching out to smooth your fingers through his hair, which still holds that sprig of holly in its curls, you say, “I know you don’t. No one has ever made me feel as loved as you do.”

He turns his head, kissing your palm. “Well, good,” he murmurs, his eyes soft.

The two of you share some wine, and feed each other fruit and cheese from the platter. When you’re both sated, you expect Billy to offer to bring out his fiddle, or maybe even retire to bed. To your surprise, though, you realize he looks…well, nervous. Before you can ask what the matter is, he clears his throat.

“I know it’s a few days early,” he says, “but I was wonderin’ if I could give you one of your Christmas presents early.”

“If you w—!”

You haven’t even fully finished your sentence before he’s on his feet. “Close your eyes?” he says, looking so anxious and earnest that you obey without question.

His footsteps, a rustling noise, footsteps again, and then: “Okay, open.”

Your breath catches in your chest as you take in Billy, down on one knee in front of you, a little velvet box nestled in the palm of his hand. Your fingers flutter to your mouth, and you feel your throat tighten. As much as you’ve wanted this, you can’t quite believe it’s finally happening.

“Honey, I’ve thought about what I’d wanna say to you right now just about a thousand times,” he says, his trembling voice suggesting his own throat is rather full. “But I realized I love you too much to even begin to express it. What you’ve done for me, what you continue to do for me every day, just by lovin’ me — it’s more than I deserve, and more than I ever expected to have. You believe that I’m a good man, and you’re the reason I am one.”

He clears his throat, opening the box with unsteady fingers. You gasp at the ring inside, a diamond sparkling to match the snow outside. “Will you marry me?” Billy says.

You manage to croak out a, “Yes, yes, of course I will!” and then the ring is on your finger and you’re in Billy’s arms. He showers your face with kisses until you’ve dissolved into a mixture of giggles and tears. 

“Merry Christmas, honey,” he says against your hair, and it doesn’t even matter that you really do have a few days to go. No Christmas miracle could compare to this.

“Merry Christmas, Billy.”