#a useless decoration like an ornament on a plastic tree

[merryfortune]

a useless decoration, like an ornament on a plastic tree

Written for 12 Days of Yurimas

Dec 30th: Tree Decoration

Title: a useless decoration, like an ornament on a plastic tree

Ship: Lustershipping | Masumi/Yuzu

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Arc V

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,214

Warnings: Choose Not to Warn

Tags: Alternate Universe - Gardenverse, Angst, Kissing

   “I can’t help you, Yuzu.” Masumi replied bluntly yet unable to meet Yuzu’s gaze.

   Hope twisted bittersweet in the sheen of Yuzu’s shiny blue eyes. She nodded and accepted Masumi’s words, though they hurt. They hurt both of them because Masumi wanted to help. She really, desperately did want to help but she always fell short.

   The ace student was just a normal person despite the alleged giftedness in Duelling and academics. Masumi was all bluster and no substance beyond her select skills and talents. She had her limits. She knew them well like the confines of a card, those thin streaks of silver framing on the border of a Duel monster card: like the one she had been turned into as she messed with things beyond her understanding.

   Like interdimensional war, for instance.

   Masumi stormed in, guns blazing but she faltered, more fragile than she had calculated despite having given her all. There was little she could do in the face of someone who lived and breathed survival when she had, all things considered, a pampered existence in a private school’s upper echelon.

   Oh well. There was no use dwelling on the past.

   Even if it did culminate to where she was now. With Yuzu. At sunset. In the gardens on the public penthouse level of the LDS Building. It felt like it was just them at this dizzying altitude.

   And with such a heartbreaking revelation between them.

   Masumi could not help. She wanted to but unlike with playing cards, there was an obvious refute to why she could not help Yuzu and it came down to the differences between them as people. Masumi was a normal human being. Yuzu was extradimensional and impossibly floral as a Florist. She needed someone with scissors and a proclivity towards eating flowers.

   Someone not like Masumi and yet…

   “I don’t mind,” Yuzu murmured, “you care so much about me, I can tell, even now…”

   Masumi’s hand twitched by her side, her fingers curling inside of her palm and tightening. That was true. It was so true, even, that it hurt her feelings.

   “You can still help me in other ways.” Yuzu told her.

   She looked so sick and hopeless, it disgusted Masumi but that was part and parcel with the constitution of a Florist. They were weak, insipid things which withered away on a dime, waxing and waning in health, sometimes in full bloom and sometimes so corpse-like. Sometimes both.

   Like Yuzu, right now.

   She was a garden that walked and talked.

   Her skin was pale, without hale or lustre, no roses to her cheek, except, well, the ones that she grew. Root systems seemed apparent just beneath her taut, gaunt skin like discoloured veins. Petals popped out on the angle of her face, underneath her collar on her throat. Some were full grown flowers, pink and sapping away her energy in order to exist and causing her pain when they did.

   Yuzu’s smile was feigned, it was clear she was putting on a show for Masumi to convince her that things weren’t all bad. That she wasn’t on some brink like a byronic heroine. Masumi, however, could see in absolute clarity that such strength was not true and that Yuzu pined for someone to help her the way she needed it as a Florist. 

   Traditionally, a Florist required the assistance of a Flower Eater. That was their whole thing. Symbiosis was the word, or so Masumi believed. They would treat the unique condition of a Florist better than any doctor, clipping away the flowers and the weeds, restoring a Florist to a better, heartier sight. 

   In turn, the Flower Eater would receive sustenance from these clippings. They might have used tools to cut away the vile flowers that grew off and from a Florist’s body but they consumed them afterwards. That sustenance would then better a Flower Eater’s health. Mentally, emotionally, physically. The whole works. 

   A normal human, like Masumi, could peel it all away, prune it back but the care and adoration of gardening further required to keep a Florist at peace would evade her. They needed kisses, bodily fluids exchanged, to “water” them and someone like Masumi wouldn’t be enough. She would fall short of what Yuzu needed.

   Even though Yuzu encouraged her, seemingly convinced on her lonesome that Masumi would suffice. She continued to try and coax her into an unconventional binding of a Boutonniere between a Florist and a normal person.  

   “Please.” Yuzu urged her, quiet as quiet could be.

   Yuzu swallowed and Masumi watched as her larynx bulged with it, how she bit her lips and drew up her hand. She removed a flower that was latched onto her. She failed to pull out the roots and gasped sharply as she plucked it from her collarbone.

   The flower in question was alien to Masumi’s idea of botany. Florists usually only ever produced one flower which was unquestionably from nature and that was the white rose. A flower infamous amongst the communities of Florists and Flower Eaters as being the ur-example of codependency, or true love if one was an optimistic romantic.

    This flower that Yuzu produced for Masumi was very much not a rose with lily-like petals and anthers, and frilly plumage on the inside and a gradient of white to pink to orange to white again. 

   “Here you go.” Yuzu whispered.

   Masumi allowed her to do as she pleased. She stood, stiff as a board, as Yuzu came closer and adorned her with this flower. She placed it on Masumi’s breast as though it were a pendant. Oddly, it suited her. Even if it clashed with the practical wear that Masumi chose for herself.

   Yuzu flattened it down. She was gentle with ever so slightly crooked fingers. Her nails had some gloss to them. It didn’t feel perverse as she touched Masumi’s chest and mostly the flower, making sure it was affixed to her like a corsage of some twisted kind.

   “It looks good on you.” Yuzu commented.

   Masumi shrugged as she looked down on herself. She didn’t necessarily disagree.

   Yuzu remained in front of her, close to her. Too close, perhaps, as she reached up from Masumi’s breast to her face. She caressed Masumi’s face, admired the hard cut of her cheekbones and smiled a small smile. 

   “Masumi,” she whispered longingly, “I truly do believe you can help me, even if you are an ordinary person because I believe you are extraordinary. You inspire me, I admire you, please.”

   Yuzu then pressed a kiss onto Masumi’s lips and she, too, allowed that. The kiss was desperate - on Yuzu’s behalf, however. Masumi tried not to react even though Yuzu was all encompassingly sweet and soft and chaste. Her feelings were true and burgeoning within her chest. Just like the bushels of the strange, fey flowers that she was beleaguered by. They even seemed to grow some more to prove the point that Masumi held: that she would be ineffectual to fulfil Yuzu’s needs despite the overwhelming urge to help.

   She wanted to help Yuzu and yet, she couldn’t even do so much and little as kiss her back.

   Thus, the decoration pinned upon Masumi’s breast was nothing more than a useless decoration, like an ornament on a plastic tree.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One ThirtyEight

“Hey baby what are you...doing?”

There’s a tree in the lounge. A live one. It’s not that big, maybe four feet tall but...it’s in a bucket filled with dirt.

“Decorating the Christmas tree.”

“Right,” Steve can clearly see the trail of loose soil across the lounge carpet, where Eddie has had to wriggle the bucket back and forth to get it in. It looks like it was probably heavy. It’s also not a Christmas tree, which Steve figures is usually a...fir tree. Or a pine, something like that, anyway. But this tree...it’s just a regular tree.

“I thought we were going to go and pick one up?”

“I found a nice one here,” Eddie tells him, “and I don’t like that they cut them down.”

“Oh...so you’re just going to take that one back out, after?”

“Yeap,” Eddie’s concentrating really hard on getting the decorations on the tree, a task made even more difficult by the narrow, wispy looking branches. Eddie doesn’t actually have any decorations since they’re in the attic, but he’s doing a sound job of improvising; Steve’s pretty sure half his mother’s jewelry box is on there. Steve’s not one hundred percent sure about the sock Eddie has limply draped over one of the branches, though, “Baby, what’s with the sock?”

Eddie tilts his head, frowning, “we put socks on the mantle,” Eddie points to where their stocking hang, Steve took the blue one with the stars, and he likes to think he managed to be tasteful and understated with his decorations. Eddie’s looks like Christmas vomited on it.

“Those are stockings baby, that’s different.”

Eddie shrugs, “I really like socks, they keep my feet warm.”

“I have...no argument against that.”

“I couldn’t find the lights,” Eddie tells him, moving on to more important matters.

“Yeah, they’re in the attic, you want them?”

Eddie’s nose wrinkles as he finally looks over at Steve, “what’s the attic?”

“Uhm. There’s a ladder, it’s the space in the roof, we store stuff up there.”

Eddie blinks, then frowns, “inside the roof? The house roof?” He points up.

“Yeah, want to come and look?”

Eddie nods, getting up to follow Steve, eyes wide and then grinning when Steve pulls the ladder down, “hidden secret,” he says, suitably awed.

Steve laughs, following Eddie up the ladder. It’s dark up there, but when Steve finds the pull for the light, Eddie lets out an impressed, ‘ooooh’. The attic is kind of cluttered, lots of...stuff. Boxes of forgotten things that have been stored up here, some old pieces of furniture, long term storage of his mom’s clothes protected by plastic covers...just all sorts of dusty stuff. “The Christmas stuff is over here,” Steve pretty sure he hasn’t been up here since last Christmas, and he remembers coming up for the lights and decorations...Steve swallows thickly, Eddie was sick, and Steve decorated the tree to try and cheer him up, even though part of him knew it might be useless.

“Okay Stevie love?” Eddie asks as he opens a box.

“Yeah...yeah I’m fine. We can take whatever you want downstairs baby.”

They hunt for a little while, Eddie getting a little tangled in some lights, and Steve having to perform a very small rescue. Eddie keeps hunting through boxes, and Steve lets him, taking the box with the lights down, and then the box with the ornaments in case Eddie wants any of them for his tree.

“Stevie!” Eddie calls, “come and look at this!”

“What you found?” Steve ambles over, Eddie sitting criss cross apple sauce on the dusty floor. He has a thick book open on his lap, a photo album, “holy shit, I haven’t seen that stuff for years.”

“Photographs?”

“Yeah...that’s me,” Steve points. It’s summer, he’s wearing a floppy white hat, a yellow shirt and blue dungarees. Steve figures he might be two or so in the picture, he’s barefoot on the grass and his bare legs are chubby baby legs.

Eddie turns the page, “this you too?”

“Yeah, it’s probably mostly me.” There are a couple of staged family photos in there, but largely it’s just random toddler pictures of Steve.

Eddie sits, staring, and when he gets to the end of the book he flips it and goes right back to the start again, “can we take this with us?” he asks when he’s about half way through his second pass through the photos, “you’re just a little guy,” he adds absently.

Steve snorts a laugh, “sure baby, of course.”

They don’t add very many decorations to the tree, it just can’t hold them. They end up improvising and wrapping the bucket in lights, since the tree can’t handle many of those, either. It looks...charming, by the time they’re finished. Steve struggles vaguely for positive descriptors, but chooses to avoid them entirely and simply tells Eddie, “I really like it. I am absolutely sure no one has a tree like ours.”

Eddie grins, and they head into the kitchen to make dinner together.

They settle in for a film, some inane made for TV movie about the magic of Christmas and the little kids get their puppy at the end or something equally saccharine and painfully acted. Steve doesn’t remember nodding off, but he wakes up slumped over on the couch. Eddie’s not paying attention to him, he’s still looking through the box of photos and albums he chose to bring down from the attic, half watching the movie.

Steve blinks the rest of the way awake just as the children save the magic of Christmas, or whatever it is that’s happening. Steve yawns, joints cracking. Eddie sniffles.

Steve scooches the length of the couch immediately, “baby?”

“I’m okay.”

Eddie isn’t crying, but there’s a tell tale mark on his cheek; Eddie’s tears are a bit of an off color, even now, “what is it?”

Eddie’s attention is drawn back to the books in his lap, he’s found a picture of Steve, maybe eight years old? Grinning proudly, sitting on his new bike. It wasn’t that long after that that his parents lost interest, or at least, it doesn’t feel like it was. The next picture he’s on the couch with his mom, Steve has no idea what the photo was in aid of, they’re both just sat there, but they’re sitting close enough that it’s a bitter reminder of when his relationship with his mom was a good one. He’s never been that close with his dad, not really, the man has always been disinterested...but his mom, that was different. Steve thinks she really loved him, once upon a time.

Eddie has a loose picture in one of those card frames, another staged one, his mom holding baby Steve, swaddled all in white, dads hand resting carefully on her shoulder as he stands behind them. “This is a proper family, right?”

Steve shrugs, “I think family is...not a set thing. As long as you care for each other, then that’s family.”

“But you want kids?”

“I…” Steve considers lying, briefly, but doesn’t see what it’ll achieve. A lie won’t explain to Eddie how he feels, or why he’s changed his mind. A lie won’t tell Eddie how much he loves him. “I thought I did, at one time. But only because it feels like what I should do, find a nice girl, get married, have kids it...felt like something I had to do just because everyone's doing it. But I chose you Eddie, and everything that means, you know?”

Steve closes the book in Eddie’s lap, taking Eddie’s hand instead, they link fingers, the last little bit of Eddie’s webbing is really obvious when their hands are pressed together like this. His collection of rings kind of hide it though, or at least camouflage it, “don’t feel bad, okay? I love you,” Steve tells him.

“I love you too,” Steve senses a ‘but’. Eddie opens his mouth, closes it again. Sighs a little, like he’s thinking. Steve just plays with his rings a little while he waits for Eddie to arrive wherever it is he’s going. Eventually, finally, he just asks, “are you sure? I don’t want you to be sad you chose wrong. You know, later.”

“Nah. I’m sure. No regrets; I'm not choosing wrong."

“Okay,” Eddie leans over for a soft kiss, but Steve senses his melancholy, and doesn’t really know how to dispel it. The only way he can show Eddie he means it is to keep meaning it, and Steve intends too.

Eddie stands, looking out of the window, as Steve gets ready for bed. It's uncharacteristically clear out, so Steve’s fully prepared for everything to be frozen in the morning, “Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

“Santa...isn’t real. Like, he’s a bunch of stories right? Like...Santa’s been around a long time, but he’s not real? Right?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I mean I think there’s like...a saint or something, like historical figures that might be...might have kind of caused the story of Santa but, yeah, Santa’s not real,” Steve climbs into bed, but Eddie’s still there, looking at the sky.

“But reindeer are real. They’re in my book.”

“Yeah,” Steve snuggles into bed, “reindeer are absolutely real.”

Eddie hums, but doesn’t move from the window, watching the sky, “are there any reindeer in Indiana?”

“I...I mean maybe? In like, petting zoos maybe a few? I think they live in cold places though, normally," Steve yawns, "like Canada and stuff I guess."

“Oh...so I won’t see any?”

Finally, it clicks, “Eddie...reindeer can’t fly.”

“What?”

Steve laughs, “come to bed baby. Reindeer are real...but they don’t fly.”

“Oh for fucks sake. I’ve been looking every night all week!” Eddie comes to bed, grumbling, “how am I supposed to know?!”

Part Forty

[animeniacss]

Parents!Jeonghan x Reader - The Ornament Fiasco (One-shot)

Synopsis: This is what you and your husband get for daring to take a family picture before your daughter was born. (Inspired by a tiktok I saw)

Genre: One-shot, nonidol!au, parental!au, Domestic, Christmas time, Fluff,

Length: approx. 850 words

The Ornament Fiasco

“Daddy.”

“Yes?” Jeonghan looked down as his daughter padded up to him. He could see something gripped tightly in her hands. She looked up at him. Immediately, she stuck her hands up in his direction. 

Jeonghan knelt to better understand what his daughter was holding so tightly. She offered him a little Christmas ornament, one she had gotten from the recently retrieved box. 

“Aaah.” He gently took the ornament from her, turning it to her view as he held her close. “We got this when Jeonghui was born.” He pointed to each of the little snowmen inside the snowglobe ornament. “See? Mommy, Daddy, Jeonghui.” He pointed to the little photos of each of you placed in each respective snowman. “Uncle Seungcheol gave it to us when Jeonghui was born.” 

Jeonghan expects many things, being the father of a three and eight-year-old. However, he did not expect said three-year-old to look absolutely distraught. “What’s with that face, Haeun?” He asked amusement in his voice.

“Where’s Haeun?” She asked softly. Okay, guess we’re doing this.

Jeonghan smiled a bit. “We got this one before Haeun was born.” Haeun did not seem convinced. How could she not be in a family ornament? Jeonghan went to put the ornament on the tree, but Haeun quickly grabbed it back. 

“Haeun…..” When the girl’s eyes began to water, Jeonghan knew the one day he agreed to set aside to decorate for Christmas with his family might now turn into two. “Where’s Haeun, Daddy?”

Jeonghan chuckled. “Haeun. We got this one before you were born. We didn’t know you were going to be born, yet.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his older son, Jeonghui, making his way to the wall. His hands were filled with stockings and little knick-knacks from another box. You were close behind, holding the tools needed to hang them onto the fireplace. 

Haeun’s little whimpers alerted your attention. Whimpers turned to sniffles. Before they could turn to cries, Jeonghan motioned to the ornament box. “Where’s the other one?” He mumbled to himself. Haeun held the ornament tightly as she watched her father rummaging through the box. “Here. Look, Haeun.” He pulled his daughter close to him. He held up an ornament with the four of them, once again customized with name and year. It was taken at Lotte World the previous year. “Here. Mommy, Daddy, Jeonghui, Haeun.” 

That didn’t help. Haeun continued to sob and sniffle as she gripped the snowman ornament. “But Haeun isn’t on it.” She held up the snowman. Jeonghan chuckled as he pressed a kiss to the sobbing toddler's temple.

“Awww Haeun. I know. It’s ok. We have this one.” Once again, attempts to offer her the ornament with her name proved useless. She was so focused on this one in particular. Jeonghan glanced up at you for support but only received a side glance and a smile.

“Wait until she sees our wedding pictures.” You mumbled. Jeonghan snorted a bit. He motioned Haeun to the tree, helping her put the family photo ornament on. When he scooped her into his arms, he guided her hand to an available branch, slipping the loop through the leaves. “There. Okay.” 

Haeun still whimpered as she held the ornament without her name. She pressed on the plastic. Maybe if she opened it they could put her inside. “Haeun, how could we have known you would be born yet?” Jeonghan asked, continuing to hold her in your hands. “We couldn’t guess you’d be a little girl until you were born.”

“But I wanna…” Haeun continued to sob in distress. You looked down at Jeonghui, who held back a little snicker as he hid behind your leg, watching the scene unfold. He, like Jeonghan, was a bit of a mischievous soul behind a gentle face.

“I know you do. I’m sorry.” Jeonghan smiled. “We can get another one for you.” 

You watched as Jeonghui hurried over to the ornament box, rummaging through it for a moment. You watched him, stockings laid across your arm as you waited for your helper. Finally, he pulled one ornament out. 

“Haeun.” He called. Jeonghan watched his son hand an ornament up to his crying sister. “This one only has you! Look!” Jeonghan took the ornament, showing his daughter. It was taken during her first Christmas by your friend, Hao, along with many others that were displayed around the house, some with Jeonghui inside.

“See? Look. That’s baby Haeun.” Jeonghan said. Haeun reached for the little picture, laminated, and punched through with ribbon. She stared at it for a second, her sniffled and sobs finally subsiding.

Jeonghui, like his father, doted on the youngest member of your family.

Jeonghan pressed a kiss to Haeun’s head, ruffling Jeonghui’s hair in the process. However, Haeun immediately began sobbing again.

“Jeonhui-Oppa. Where’s Big Brother Jeonghuiiiiiii?” She continued to sob.

You snorted. When you saw Jeonghan staring you down for support, you simply motioned to the stockings still draped on your arm.

“You can do it, Dad.” You grinned playfully. Jeonghan sighed, diving into another long attempt to calm down your sobbing daughter.

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[saturnznct]

d-9; crafts | jsc

➸ note; sorry this is late, i was working tonight!!

➸ word count; 889 words

➸ mira; aged 8, nayoung; aged 4

dadmas masterlist | nct masterlist 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ 

Sungchan was an extremely creative parent, in terms of coming up with activities to entertain your two young daughters with. You’d found that your two girls, Mira and Nayoung, were rather restless when their days weren’t filled up with school. So, during school holidays, weekends and bank holidays, you and Sungchan always had to improvise and research things to do. Usually this involved a lot of trips out, to parks and kid cafes and anything he thought would entertain their little minds. 

This Christmas, Seoul had been plagued with heavy snowfall. Sungchan had taken them outside quite a few times, engaging them in snowman building and snowball fights, but eventually the girls became bored of this repetition and Nayoung had come down with a pretty nasty cold, which had spooked Sungchan a little bit.

‘What can we do in the house?’ He thinks aloud, ‘I want to do Christmassy things with the girls but I don’t think we can go outside too much anymore.’

You think for a few moments, ‘you could watch movies with them?’

‘I don’t think they would pay attention for that long,’ Sungchan frowns, ‘they need to be doing something.’

‘Trust us to have the most easily bored children in the world.’

’They’re just at that age,’ he sighs.

‘Maybe google some things to do,’ you suggest, ‘Google and Pinterest have never failed us.’

‘Very true,’ Sungchan pulls out his phone, opening the safari app and typing in some words.

He scrolls silently for a few minutes, reading through several articles that are mostly made up of outside trips such as viewing Christmas lights or going to markets, which Sungchan is fairly sure his daughters would find rather boring. He wades through useless articles before he finally finds one based on indoor activities.

‘Crafts?’

‘They might enjoy those,’ you say, ‘keeps their hands and mind occupied.’

‘Salt dough?’ he suddenly furrows his eyebrows, ‘they can make ornaments with it.’

‘Salt dough?’

‘Apparently you just mix flour, salt and water together. Then use cookie cutters to make shakes and they can decorate them., and then you bake them for a few hours.’

‘They can make ornaments for the tree!’ you exclaim, ‘I’ve wanted ornaments made by them for the longest time.’

‘I guess since you approve… we’ll try it out.’

—

The next day, you bring the girls home from school to find Sungchan in the kitchen, kneading a large ball of dough in a bowl.

‘Daddy!’

‘Hiya, princess, how was school?’

‘Fun,’ Nayoung bounces up and down, ‘what are you doing?’

‘We’re going to do something super fun, Nayoungie!’

‘What is it, what is it?’ 

‘You, me and Mira are going to make ornaments for the Christmas tree!’

‘We’re making them?’ Mira asks.

‘Yep, we’re going to cut these into shapes and you can paint, draw, and put as much glitter on as you’d like! Then we’ll put them in the oven, and they’ll go all hard. Then, when they’re all ready, we can hang them on the tree!’ 

The girls seem interested, hopping onto dining room chairs.

Sungchan has already covered the table with a plastic sheet, to protect it from the inevitable mess that the girls will create.

He puts the dough down on the table, patting it down so that it’s flat.

‘Right, Mira, which shape would you like?’

Mira looks at the cookie cutters for a few moments, before deciding, ‘gingerbread man.’

Sungchan takes the cutter, printing out the shape and placing it in front of Mira, who immediately takes a brown felt-tip pen to the dough.

’Nayoung?’

‘Just a circle,’ she’s swinging her feet in anticipation.

’There you are darling.’

Sungchan watches, completely enthralled with just observing his daughters. Mira colours a fairly traditional gingerbread man, colouring the whole ornament in brown, leaving white spaces for the button eyes and mouth, as well as a red bowtie. It was a little messy looking, with random white gaps and colouring outside of the lines, but it was cute nonetheless. 

’That’s so good, Mira! You did so well.’

’Thank you, dada.’

‘Want to make another one?’

‘Uh… No,’ she hops down from the chair, running presumably off to her room, likely to play with her own toys.

‘Well,’ Sungchan shrugs at you, ‘I had her for half an hour at least.’

A few minutes later, Nayoung announces she’s finished with her own ornament.

‘Is that us, Nayoungie?’ Sungchan asks, being able to make out the four people she’s drawn.

‘Yeah, it’s you, mummy/mommy, me and Mira-unnie.’

‘I can see!’ Sungchan’s chest is filled with pride at his daughter’s creation, ‘your drawing is so good. I’m so proud.’

Nayoung chooses to make another ornament, deciding to make a glittery Christmas Tree, which Sungchan does most of, dipping the dough in the glitter and making sure it stuck.

‘Thank you for making these with me Nayoung, I had fun,’ Sungchan says, ruffling her hair when she gets shy, ‘we’ve got to clear this away so we can have dinner, is that okay?’

Nayoung nods, happily retreating back to playing with her toys, mind suddenly burnt out from both school and her little creativity session.

’That went down really well,’ you comment as you clear away the leftover dough and art supplies.

‘I guess we now know crafts keep them occupied for a few hours.’

[spooky-nerd]

I Wrote an MSR Christmas Fic in September, Sorry

Christmas comes but once a year, or so he’s been told. Which means that he has 364 days (at least) to strategize. And yet, he never quite manages to be able to escape it.

He’s come close a small handful of times. A mere brush with victory followed by crushing defeat. In 1971 he was hospitalized with appendicitis on December 24. Unfortunately, the hospital gave out little teddy bears with santa hats that year to all of the children. In 1994, he tried lying low in his apartment, but Mrs. Sanders from across the hall had dropped off a fruitcake wrapped in red and green paper with a ridiculously frilled bow. The fruitcake had tasted horrible, but then that had been comforting, because he has never had a fruitcake that didn’t taste horrible and would find the very idea to be unsettling to say the least.

Twice he has nearly managed to avoid Christmas altogether. An almost impossible feat, and a coveted one amongst those who bemoan the holiday like he does.

He is not a grinch, as some would suspect, and his heart is not withered and cold. He does not have a propensity for stealing presents from under trees, and he has never once uttered the words “bah, humbug!”. He just does not care for Christmas.

This had come as a shock to Scully during their first year of partnership. She had whisked into the office on December 23rd in a cloud of merriment, smelling like peppermint and humming festively. “So, what are your Christmas plans?” she had asked innocently.

“Well, I’ll probably microwave some popcorn and watch Plan 9 From Outer Space,” he had said in complete seriousness. In spite of his delivery, she had laughed. Probably at the absurdity of it, which likely was obvious to outside observers, he had realized then. And yet, his world-weary soul had lacked the energy to care.

“You’re serious?” She had dropped the smile, and in its place was that frown of disappointment that he was rapidly becoming acquainted with. For some reason, he had felt a bit sheepish.

“Yeah, I’ve just never been one for the holidays.”

“But Mulder, it’s Christmas,” she had said, her incredulity ratcheting up impossibly higher.

“Oh I know, Scully. Trust me, I know. 104.9 started playing Christmas music in October. My building super put up tinsel in all the hallways on November 1st. I’ve been visually assaulted by this holiday on every street corner since the day after Black Friday. I know it’s Christmas. I just don’t really care.” He had shrugged, in case the rant came off a little too harsh. Not that Scully was easily intimidated. He was quickly beginning to learn that too.

She had shrugged, already poised to drop the subject. “Alright. Enjoy your popcorn, then.”

He had smiled. “Thanks, Scully.”

She had paused, turned back to him. He had gotten a whiff of peppermint again, and wondered if it was a new holiday perfume, or just the everyday magic of her. “You know, November 1st is a little early for tinsel.”

Looking back, it is possible that he had begun to fall in love with her then.

* * *

In the four years that Scully has been his partner, he has discovered that she has exactly one flaw: she loves Christmas. The music, the food, the gifts, the decorations, she eats them all up with a little festively-adorned spoon. At his request, she had refrained from stringing lights up in the office, but in exchange, he is forced to accept one Christmas gift from her each year.

Of course, he isn’t a monster, so every year, he buys her a present, too. Usually something quite ridiculous and useless. Their second Christmas together, he had bought her a mug depicting the entire cast of General Hospital. “It made me think of you,” he had said, to which she had raised an eyebrow and smiled, sliding her own present across the desk to him with false demureness. He had given her a suspicious look and ripped into the gift with exaggerated zeal, just to make her laugh. With delight he had pulled out a tie with little green aliens and flying saucers.

“Scully,” he had said, completely smitten. She had smiled and shrugged. He had decided that is was possible he didn’t hate gift exchanges as much as he had previously thought.

* * *

On December 23rd, 1997, he walks into the office and she is not there. It is not a surprise to him, but it is a blow nonetheless. She should be here, bringing him hot chocolate in addition to his morning coffee, placing a gift on his desk wrapped in ribbon so clinquant and overwhelmingly jubilant that it makes his eyes hurt. She should be here, making him dislike the holiday less and less with each passing moment. And if she can’t be here, he should be there with her. He calls Skinner and tells him he is taking a personal day. He does not explain further but he does not need to.

“Okay. Tell her I said Merry Christmas,” Skinner says.

“Thank you, sir. I will.”

* * *

Within an hour, he is at her doorstep with a hazardously overstuffed plastic grocery bag, a six-foot spruce that is growing heavier by the minute, and a gift wrapped in paper that had been sparkly at one time but has now transferred all of its glitter onto his coat.

It takes her a worryingly long time to answer the door. But she does eventually, looking completely drained, a sweater wrapped around her thin frame. She is cold all the time now and she never complains but it has not escaped his notice. She looks exhausted, but it stops his breath how beautiful she is all the same.

She is surprised to see him. Even more shocked by the one-man window display he has become.

“Mulder? What are you doing?” Confusion, but also a smile in her voice that he can see glittering in her eyes, too.

“I thought I’d bring the party to you, Scully.” He is still a little out of breath, but he smiles, and finally she laughs, melodic and joyful. She lets him in.

* * *

With the muted tones of Bing Crosby playing smooth and unobtrusive underneath, he makes them hot chocolate, dons a Santa hat, and gets to work decorating her tree. She sits on the end of her couch nearest him and opens up the little boxes of colorful Christmas ornaments, handing them to him one-by-one with delicate care. He gets tangled more than once in the Christmas lights, each time extricating himself in a flurry of limbs and curses. It’s worth it to hear her laugh. He wants to close his eyes and listen to the sound and pretend everything is okay.

When he is finished, she holds out her hands wordlessly and he helps her stand up. He wraps an arm around her and they lean against one another, admiring the finished tree. He wonders if she knows it means so much more to him than just a nice gesture. Her grip tightens around him in a brief hug.

“Mulder,” she says softly. “I don’t even know what to say. You really didn’t have to do all this.”

They are quiet for a moment. Bing Crosby sings that it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. He finds that he agrees.

“I wanted to, Scully. I wanted to be here. The office doesn’t feel right without you,” he says. “Besides, you would’ve done the same.”

She huffs a small laugh. “You hate Christmas.”

“No I don’t.” She looks up at him and he meets her gaze. “I don’t.”

* * *

Exactly one year later, she is safe and whole and mulling over a file, tapping an absent beat on their desk with her pencil. He bounds into the office, over-laden with a diverse assortment of ridiculous Christmas paraphernalia. He dumps it all on the floor in an unceremonious heap, shakes the snow out of his hair, and tosses her a goofy smile.

“Hey, Scully,” he says, out of breath. “Wanna help me deck the halls?”

When they are finished, the office has never looked more unprofessional. They couldn’t be prouder of themselves. Before she leaves for the night, she gives him his gift and a kiss on the cheek. Also very unprofessional, as is the alarming rate at which his heart is beating. It’s just about the only thing he can think about over the holidays, and that in itself brings clarity.

* * *

Her hand is icy where it settles atop his on the steering wheel. He risks only a brief glance in her direction. ‘It’s really coming down out there,’ he had said obligatorily about thirty minutes earlier, squinting into the critical sliver of light their headlights were slashing through the dark flurries of snow.

“Let’s stop for the night,” she says. He nods and gets off at the next exit without question.

They find a motel down a nearly deserted back road that makes them both touch the concealed weapons at their hips just for comfort. The attendant wordlessly accepts their cash and slides them a key.

“You know what’s messed up?” he says as he flops onto the bed after a cursory inspection for suspicious stains.

“What?” she says, rooting through her bag for their toothbrushes. 

“I don’t even know where we are.”

She sighs, a weary sound that he has gotten used to hearing in the months they’ve been on the road. Almost four months now.

“We are somewhere in the southern part of Kentucky. That’s all I know.”

“Scully,” he begins, the word absolutely riddled with guilt.

“Mulder, stop. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” They’ve had this small scrap of conversation several times. He keeps waiting for her response to change but it never does.

Silence except for her continued rummaging. Then, a triumphant “Aha!”

He peeks out from under the arm slung across his face. “What-“ He stops at the sight of her wearing a santa hat and holding a lumpy package wrapped in newspaper and held together with duct tape. She smiles and inclines her head triumphantly. The hat tilts adorably and the little pompom falls in front of her face. He laughs in spite of everything. In the spirit of the season, she joins him.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

He shakes his head, in awe once again. “I love you.”

* * *

In an unremarkable house, in an unremarkable room, in an unremarkable chair sits a man. He is unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He is holding in his hand a two-inch long replica of a Louisville Slugger that has been made into a keychain. A gas station trinket, unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He turns it over in his hands and cannot help the smile that spreads across his face. It takes him back to a motel on a snowy night in southeastern Kentucky, and he has a mind to stay there awhile.

She walks in at that moment, wearing the most hideous sweater he has ever seen. After a moment of stunned silence he lets out a loud gut laugh. She smiles, spreading her hands in a silent ‘ta-da’. The sweater is red and green, and knit into it are alternating rows of Christmas trees, presents, wreaths, some colorful blobs that inexplicably might be potted ferns, and a pair of kissing reindeer, both of which have antlers.

“You look horrible,” he says, still chuckling. “I love it.”

“I found it at a Goodwill.”

“An ironic name for a store that would sell such an act of violence.”

She laughs. “I’m thinking of adding it to my regular rotation. I could get you one, too, and then we could match.”

“Well, people in town already think we’re crazy. Maybe it’s time to start leaning into it.”

She heads to the kitchen to make the hot chocolate, and he puts his hand in his pocket for the thousandth time that day, touching the small box like he’s afraid it will disappear. While she putters around the kitchen, he stares at the winking lights of their Christmas tree and gathers his thoughts.

Within minutes she is back with two steaming mugs filled much too full, sloshing dangerously. She sips a little out of both of them, burns her tongue, and hands him his. The mugs are hot. She pulls her sleeves up until only the tips of her fingers are peeking out and holds the mug that way. He watches the entire scene, completely enamored.

She throws herself onto the couch with a sigh and it is a Christmas miracle that she does not spill any of the hot chocolate on that horrendously festive sweater. He settles down next to her and sips gingerly from his mug, contemplating the mystery of those reindeer.

“Is it a misunderstanding of deer anatomy or a political statement, do you think?” she says, clearly reading his mind. He makes a mental note to open up an unofficial investigation into how she keeps being able to do that.

“All I know is it’s my favorite thing you’ve ever worn.”

“Aww. Thanks.”

“I am curious about those potted ferns, though.”

“Is that what they are?”

They wait there together, sipping and talking about everything and nothing until the hour whittles down to nil and the clock strikes midnight, Christmas Day. He puts an arm around her shoulders and marvels at the way her head fits so perfectly in the crook of his neck. He presses a kiss onto the top of her head.

“Merry Christmas, Scully.” He whispers it like a treasured secret.

She turns to kiss him. “Merry Christmas,” she whispers back. Then she is up, grabbing his presents. She is eager for him to see one of them, and has been carrying the secret of what it is around with her for weeks. She hands it to him first, and he makes a show of opening it agonizingly slowly. She rolls her eyes and shoves him gently until he picks up the pace.

“Oh wow, Scully,” he says softly when he pulls the tissue paper aside to reveal a vintage restored Polaroid camera. “Thank you. This…wow.” He runs a hand over the glossy surface appreciatively, and then points it at her. “Say cheese.”

Within moments, the photo of her completely unprepared and squinting painfully at the sudden flash develops.

“Ugh,” she giggles.

“I’m keeping it.” He slips it into his pocket before she can snatch it away. His knuckles bump the small box, and he swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

He retrieves the gift from under the tree and watches her open it. “Oh, Mulder,” she says, pulling the typewriter out of its box. He’d had to place an anonymous ad in the paper for that one. They had decided at the beginning of their life on the run that they would use only the most basic technology, which meant burner phones and nondigital alternatives. “It’s beautiful.”

It is. It’s an Underwood, glossy white, impeccably maintained. He’d paid a small fortune to a very old man for this one. They had met in a public park. He had paid in cash. The man had brought it in an old shoebox inside a brown paper grocery sack. The whole transaction had felt vaguely illegal. The man had looked at least 100.

“Thank you.” She gives him a hug. She smells like hot chocolate and peppermint. It reminds him of a Christmas many years ago. A conversation about why he didn’t like Christmas. Oh how things have changed.

“Actually, there’s one more thing,” he says when she pulls away. She raises an eyebrow. She hates to be outdone, especially on Christmas. Incredulity turns into disbelief when he pulls out the small box.

“Mulder,” she whispers. Her eyes fill with unshed tears when he gets on his knee in front of her, and if he’s going to make it through this, he cannot look at her.

“Scully, I-“ his voice catches immediately. He clears his throat. “I know that the past few years have been…well there’s no words for it. You are the only thing that has gotten me through. You’ve been there Scully, since the beginning you’ve been there and I- I can’t imagine my life without you. I want so much more for you. You deserve so much more, and I…I wish that I could give you more. But this is all I have to offer, Scully. This is everything I have. I want to grow old with you and, and love you and support you and laugh with you until the end of time. I promise to be faithful. I promise to have your back and to be there for you always.” He takes a shaky breath. “Dana Katherine Scully, will you marry me?”

He looks into her eyes, and he sees everything there. The love and devotion that had started small and fragile and had grown into something ineffably strong. He cannot imagine a life without this woman. Bing Crosby’s voice floats quietly over from the record player, singing about having a merry little Christmas. He wants a life with her, a thousand more little Christmases just like this one, filled to the brim with ridiculous, garish holiday cheer. She takes a deep breath, the words that will determine their future poised on the tip of her tongue.

“Yes. Of course I will.”

- - - - - - - -

Note: Btw, I wasn’t lying about that sweater

[blarrghe]

wip whenever

thanks @cciarants for the tag! Here’s a snippet for the second half of Satinalia-flavoured Matchsies chapters that are a little late to come out... oh well. Dorian, clearly, hates all of this ;)

tagging @elvhenfaer @aymayzing @whataboutbugs-art @inquisitoracorn @fandomn00blr and @morganlefaye79

--

Taren hauled the tree home over one shoulder. Just slung it up there and walked on down the street without a hitch in his stride, keeping Dorian by his other shoulder and carrying on light conversation for several blocks, then through the park. He paused to unlock the door to his building, then hoisted it on up again, angling it carefully into the elevator and through the halls to his apartment. Dorian watched him be very strong and impressive while himself being utterly useless. He shrugged out of his coat in Taren’s apartment and then offered up his weak contribution in the form of a very light plastic bag full of tinsel. 

“Sera said I should bring this,” he reported, as Taren glanced curiously into the bag. 

“Oh!” and he positively lit up, “perfect, thanks!” 

A few flurried seconds later Taren was up and away into a closet in his bedroom and back again with a box and a grin. Long trail of tinsel in hand, he made for the tree, and then he was shorter than his blighted tree and Dorian was helping him get it round the top. 

The box contained assorted ornaments, several of which were handcrafted by children. And then there were others that had obviously been made with the intention of being exemplars for children, because they were made of things like cardboard and pinecones and googly eyes, but decorated with telltale designs.

Taren said, “don’t have many, but go nuts.” 

And apparently Dorian had, because the next thing he knew he was picking out an ornament made from a cereal box and sequins and finding it a place among the branches. 

[herstarburststories]

Merry... Birthday?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: You love christmas, but Dean doesn’t. Yet, he might make an exception for your birthday this year.

A/N: This one goes for @negans-lucille-tblr​ ‘s secret fic exchange. My secret Santa was @katymacsupernatural​. Hey, honey! I hope you enjoy this and happy birthday! You deserve double presents, so here’s mine. All mistakes are mine!

Divider by @talesmaniac89 !

You loved Christmas.

It was probably a nostalgic longing for your long gone urban life. Just in the same way you’d still catch yourself looking through the news for election results or feel your stomach twist if you didn’t eat homemade food at least twice a week. You were dead to the government and certainly spent more on the road than in a home. Besides, you had met up with God enough times to know him. All the encounters and screaming and unapologetic abandonment should make you want to throw any baby Jesus against a wall or even climb on a Christmas tree just to shout about all the hoaxes so perfectly molded in patterns through our brains like braids.

Yet, something about you loved christmas. 

The pretty lights always shining, it didn’t matter where you go. For once, all the city-- everything would be entirely made of light. Their incandescent glow always companishing each person, either it was in an once treacherous alley or only to make the kids' grin bigger as they watched them among the busy streets with wide eyed gazes. The confusion in the kitchen that often ended up with huffs bursting into chuckles between the smell of meals that were too much and would make a room for leftovers for the rest of the week. How everything seemed to be made only of happiness, and nothing could ever cut through those water; all the knives were suddenly swords for kids to play and no white gun. In Christmas, a house became a kingdom for every heart. Everything was good and felt through the skin to the bone, like a single glimpse, a hidden day of what would be paradise.

That was how you were raised, at least. The Winchesters didn’t share the same mindset, no. While you grew up with decorating the tree, they were hiding bodies in the dim light. Leftovers were all through their whole year, and Christmas was described as good or not with one single criteria: snow streets. They had to take one? Annoying date. They didn’t and there was eggnog? Bearable Jesus’s birthday.

Yet, you attempted to make the bunker the more festive possible: buying a bunch of christmas lights, cookies’ ingredients and even a small nativity scene. Your attempts to enjoy the date’s niciities ended up with Sam breaking his arm after crashing on the ground because you insisted on him putting the lights in a place higher than his age, not to mention the burned cookies that looked more like tiny monsters than gingerbread men.

Your parents used to make this look so much easier.

Although the youngest Winchester understood a little more about the concept of holidays, a believer in the good until the very end, his brother didn’t share the idea. You couldn’t say you were surprised. Dean just had two barely normal christmas in his life: one when he was dying and one with Lisa and Ben. Both situations made it to his heart only to shatter from the inside.

‘’Baby Jesus?’’ Dean snorted, shaking his head at the sight of you adjusting the weird little dolls in the nativity. He placed another ruined cook in his mouth, speaking with his mouth full next: ‘’We have the son of Lucifer, guess that counts.’’

‘’Don’t say that once Jack gets home.’’ You rolled your eyes, turning to face the oldest Winchester with your hands on your hips. How could he eat that? You couldn’t even make it a bite and Sam only had half of those. ‘’And stop eating those. They are burned.’’

‘’I’ve had worse.’’ He remarked, adding another cookie to his mouth. You grimaced, wondering for a brief moment how your boyfriend could be simultaneously the guy who saved the world and a man with the taste of a five years old.

‘’Yeah. But I’m the one who has to hear you whining about your bellyache later.’’

‘’I don’t whine--’’ You arched your eyebrows at his statement, making Dean huff in agreement. ‘’That was once and because of Sam’s weird ass vegan bacon.’’

‘’You acted like you were dying.’’

‘’My tongue was!’’

‘’So get this.’’ Sam’s voice interrupted your childish argument, catching the attention of both hunters like a shiny object did to a cat. ‘’Apparently we got an earlier christmas gift.’’

‘’What is it?’’ You asked, approaching the table.

‘’Three teenagers disappeared in the forest, all personal objects left behind.’’ Sam explained as Dean scratched out his neck to glance at his brother’s computer screen. Nothing like a case in Colorado. ‘’The authorities think it’s a serial killer. But one of the girls, Kayla Wodson, said she saw a weird, skinny giant take her friends.’’

‘’Ho ho ho and three bodies.’’ Dean clapped his hands together with a wry curve of lips. ‘’Alright. Let’s hit the road-- Wait, wait, wait. Where do you think you are going?’’

You were standing beside Dean while Sam raised to his feet, ready to pack his bags. Dean, nonetheless, was quicker than his brother, soon putting himself in front of Sammy; hands protectively standing in front of the youngest’s chest to keep him from moving any further.

He shook his head with a scoff. ‘’Dude, come on.’’

‘’Not happening, Sammy. You got a broken arm.’’ You mumbled a sorry along Dean’s big brother speech, to which Sam replied with a comprehensive smile. ‘’Y/N and I take care of it.’’

‘’He’s right. Must be the first time in his life, but he is.’’ Dean turned his head, furrowing his eyebrows at you ‘’Don’t worry. It’s just a wendigo anyway. ‘’

‘’Okay. Just…’’

‘’Don’t forget the fireblazer. As if your brother would miss an opportunity to use it.’’ You scrunched up your noise, causing a chortle out of Sam while Dean commented something about grabbing the specific instrument and walked away. ‘’Maybe you could call Eileen. Ask her to help you to back some christmas cookies.’’

Sammy shook his head at your wiggling brows. ‘’That doesn’t sound as sexy for me as it does for you.’’

Dean Winchester was good with numbers.

Not the urban numerical sense of the deal, of course. He almost didn’t make it in sixth grade with useless geometry and all that, and he still used his fingers to count when he had to deal with an equation. No, his good and quick way with numbers was easier, intrinsic to his head.

How many years since mom died? Seventeen. How many people did he have to save? All of them. How many years had he left? Less than he once owned.

Hunter math was simpler, and was all he really needed since he was four years old, running from the fire with his baby brother in his arms-- which brought him to the second section of his particular geometry: birthdays and death anniversaries. Dean never, ever forgot any special date. Those were his own holidays, the only worth celebrating and remembering. His wishes, grief, and cherishment were reserved for the people he loved, not some celestial assholes who saw his life like a book.

Therefore, his mind went on a golden rush for your day as soon as the Wendigo hunt took more than you both expected. You wouldn't be able to make it home before your birthday, which would be ending shortly, a matter of two or three hours. His inner engineers were useful tonight, in his vision, useful enough to make those sappy movies jealous. While you were washing some guts and leaves away, Dean went to the nearest convenience store. His long arms nesting a bunch of stuff he never dared to touch in years. The cashier with drowsy eyes and escarlet Santa hat seemed bored with his shopping, probably because she saw an uncountable amount of people buying the same things over and over. He couldn’t blame her for the suburban exhaustion. If anything, it was a small comfort for his war orbs to see and be a part of a scene so mundane.

He hustled back to the dive motel room, singing in relief to himself once he stepped in and heard you singing Christmas Tree Farm while the water rushed in. He grimaced at himself for recognizing that Taylor Swift song. How couldn’t he? That woman was 80% of all you heard everyday. Man, he was whipped.

Tilting his head back in reality, he started organizing in clumsy manners of putting everything in place for you. His bruised hands touching so carefully the fragile ornaments to make the motel room with grubby walls and weird black stan on the floor that only seemed to grow a little more like you.

You, the woman who put up with him, who laughed at his stupid jokes, and who watched Scooby Doo, all snuggled up to him every friday. You, the woman who switched from AC/DC to Taylor Swift and then Eric Clapton. You, the one who understood his job and helped him to wash off some of the blood on his hand and never got scared of how red the water could get. You, the girl who rolled her eyes at his first attempt of flirting and now stole his french fries and kissed his lips as if he was worth being delicate with. You, his breathing, his true holiday, his only act of faith besides Sammy.

Dean pressed his teeth against his bottom lip, looking up and down his little manual work. Part of him said it was ridiculous, he surely would make a lot of fun of Sam if he did that to a chick. Yet, mostly he was proud. He wanted you to like it. It wasn’t even near to what you deserved, but it was a piece of it. It was what the Winchester could give you, and that would be hopefully, enough.

While Dean was caught in the crossroad of judging and admiring his surprise, you left the shower with a towel wrapped around your head and lips mumbling Cocaine. Your feet glued to the ground once you witnessed what was in front of you: the room was decorated with christmas lights, a tiny plastic tree on the table, right beside a pie with candle on the top and two cup of what smelled like hot cocoa.

‘’Dean…’’ Your tender tone brought him back from his traineck thoughts as he turned around to glance at you. You chortled in astonishment as he raised his eyes and said surprise! ‘’What’s this?’’

‘’Well, it’s your birthday.’’ He shrugged, scooting closer to you with a smirk. Dean smoothly wrapped his arms around your waist, yours instantly resting around his neck. ‘’In my defense, they just had christmas stuff. Blame your parents for having you close to Jesus’ special day.’’

‘’Christmas stuff include pie and not cake?’’ Your brows knitted together, a heartwarming smile on your lips as you watched his expression marked by multicolored little lights. He smelled like something was a blaze, and you knew that was for standing too close to the candle and not for burning a body this time. Small changes.

He scoffed humorously. ‘’You like pie better anyway.’’ He nodded at the carnival-like situation around you two. Dean Winchester wasn’t the kind of man who got insecure, but you could catch a perk of brand nervous hesitation as his green eyes shot you an anxious glance. ‘’Did you like it?’’

‘’I loved it.’’ You pulled cheeks dimpled with joy that was kissed by Dean��s own smiling lips. The kiss was so gentle, it was his own palpable light hearted emotion. You being happy in his arms. It had been so long since he felt he could be enough, he could make someone happy. But you were right there. As you pulled away, another short kiss was given between playful words: ‘’That’s what I call a christmas miracle.’’

‘’Shush.’’ He leaned in and pecked your lips. As Dean pulled back, he couldn’t help but watch around with the pride of Hubris. His glance went back to you, a lopsided grin on his face. God, you loved that smile. You loved that man. ‘’So I added some whiskey to the hot cocoa. We could drink some, eat the pie, and see if those lights make a good improvise rope. What do you tell me?’’

All you could do was kiss him again.

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Something More – Mike Munroe (Until Dawn)

(image source unknown)

Ashley’s 2020 December Prompts

Prompt: Christmas Lights

Warnings/Labels: Trauma. Cursing. Everything you imagine that would go with an Until Dawn fic.

Appox. Word Count: 1,200

A/N: THERE ARE SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN’T PLAYED THIS GAME. I highly recommend playing Until Dawn. It is absolutely fucking fantastic. As for notes for the story; If you are curious, deaths in this story happened as follows: Emily, Chris, and Ashley are all killed by wendigos. Matt is killed from the fall off the cliff. Mike was too slow and Jessica didn’t survive. Josh is a wendigo himself. This leaves Mike, Sam, and the reader as our only true survivors.

You don’t turn the lights off anymore. People won’t stay over at your place because you keep every light in your small apartment on at all times. They say they can’t sleep with everything lit up, but you can’t sleep in the dark. Maybe one day, but not yet.

Mike is the only one who understands. Sam does too, you suppose, but she’s half way across the country now and you’re slowly losing contact with her. Mike, on the other hand, still drops by frequently and has been there for more than his fair share of your breakdowns. He used to push you for a faster recovery, tell you facing the fears was the only way you’d ever get through it, but after one night where he called and woke you to talk him down from a panic attack of his own, he’s been much more understanding.

It’s not even been a year, you remind each other. Trauma takes time. You both hate calling it trauma. It sounds too formal, makes you sound too broken. Honestly though there’s not another word for what you went through. Watching your friends get killed and torn apart and no one believing what happened? What else could you call it?

“I brought the booze!” Mike calls as he walks through your door. He’s gotten used to using the key you’d given him and it doesn’t bother you when he waltzes in unannounced. When he comes into sight, he’s already removed his boots and has two bottles in brown paper bags in hand. So inconspicuous.

“Still snowing like a bitch?” you ask after seeing the way the white powder hasn’t all melted off his shoulders or his hair yet. You turn from your cozy spot on your couch to look out the window. It’s hard to see with all of your lights reflecting your living room back to you, the dark world outside nearly invisible.

“Oh yeah,” he confirms with too much enthusiasm. “Your place looks nice.” He looks around, taking note of your small Christmas tree in the corner along with some other well-placed decorations. You’d learned how to make the most out of your little space. Plus, it gave you something to do.

“Thanks.” He puts the bottles down on your coffee table and shakes off his jacket. “Did you bring dinner with that?” you ask skeptically. Early on, Mike had turned to alcohol to cope. It… wasn’t good. He’d pulled himself out of that hole though and now typically stuck to one or two drinks a night. You still weren’t fond of him drinking though.

“Chinese delivery dude should be here in about twenty minutes.” He smiles, all proud of himself for thinking ahead. He flops himself down on the couch next to you so hard that the cushion you’re sitting on actually bounces and you can’t help but smile back at him. “So, what are we watching?” he asks, snagging the remote off the table and pressing the Power On button.

An hour later, Chinese takeout containers and plastic silverware (because Mike was so hopelessly useless with chopsticks) are scattered among the coffee table and Mike’s snaked his way under your blanket. His added warmth is welcome. You feel like you’re always cold anymore, almost as if the sleepless night on the snowy mountain permanently chilled your bones. More trauma, you suppose.

“When do you light your tree?” he asks absentmindedly as he stares at it. You shrug and your shoulder bumps into his. Mike being extremely close is another thing you’d gotten used to. Neither of you were really sure if he felt the need to be so close because he wanted to protect you or for his own comfort. Maybe a little of both.

“Never, really,” you admit. “I don’t like the shadows on the walls.” He nods, chewing on his tongue.

“Do they make shadows with the rest of the lights on?” he questions.

“I guess not, but what’s the point when you can barely see them with the lights on?” It didn’t really bother you not to have them lit. The tree came pre-wrapped in lights. Had it not, you likely wouldn’t have put lights on it at all and instead gone for tinsel and more ornaments. He purposefully nudges your shoulder.

“Christmas spirit? Duh,” he teases. “Add a little color to life!”

“Hey, if you’re so inclined to turn them on, then be my guest.” You sweep your arm out towards the tree and he straightens his back.

“I think I will,” he declares, puffing his chest out and making you laugh. He whips the blanket off of his lap and practically marches up to the tree. It’s quite comical watching him get down on his hands and knees, looking for the plug and outlet.

It’s noticeable when he manages to turn them on. They’re not overly bright, but the little colored bulbs do spark to life and become much more apparent on the green. Mike shuffles backwards and before he stands up, looks to you with concern.

“That alright?” he asks. You nod your head, appreciative of the fact that he still asks. You’d never pegged Mike for intuitive or as caring before this year, but damn, had he surprised you.  He stands up, full of that air of confidence again. “There. That’s better.”

“I admit, it does add a little something,” you agree.

“Of course it does. When have I ever steered you wrong?” He walks back to the couch and you cock an eyebrow at him.

“Uhh, how about the roller coaster this summer?” He instantly prickles up into defense mode and points a finger at you.

“Hey! It’s not my fault you ate a chili cheese dog before getting in line!” You both break out into laughter at the memory and he sits back down, tugging the blanket back over his legs. “You got plans for Christmas?” he asks once the giggles die down.

“Nah. I’m just going to stay here.” You avoid his gaze, ashamed for no reason about your decision. “Not really ready for the looks and the probing questions from the whole family yet.” He nods his head in a bobbing motion and shifts to turn a little more towards you on the couch.

“Same,” he admits. “We could… spend it together. If you want,” he suggests in a tone that’s so familiar, but you can’t quite place it. “No one should be alone on Christmas, right?” It’s only when his mouth slips on that signature Mike Munroe smile and he reaches out to gently brush some of your hair away from your face that you recognize it. He’s flirting with you.

A lot of emotions come over you, but the ones that rise up the fastest are excitement and longing. It hits you out of nowhere. You’ve never been one to fall for a guy like Mike or even get flustered when they look your way, but suddenly there’s a pull and you want to lean into him.

“I think I’d like that,” you whisper, voice suddenly on the verge of failing you.

“Good.” It’s a strange kind of comfort to know that after everything, he’s still his same cocky self. His next words are soft and genuine and it’s probably one of the reasons you can look at him so differently now. “I’d like that too.”

You thought this was all there was for you and Mike; trauma and comfort in a never ending loop. Maybe though, maybe there’s still hope for something more.

[bungou-stray-dingus]

🎄𝓕𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼🎄

🎄𝓓𝓪𝔂 6🎄 🎄𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 : 𝓕𝔂𝓸𝓭𝓸𝓻 𝔁 𝓕!𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻🎄 🎄𝓐 / 𝓝 : 𝓓𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓼𝓸 𝓯𝓾𝓷. 𝓢𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓷𝔂 𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓵 𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼. 𝓢𝓸 𝔀𝓮'𝓻𝓮 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓷 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓲𝓬 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓸𝓷𝓮!🎄

🎄𝓞𝓻𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼, 𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓪 𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰, 𝓪 𝓱𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂. 𝓐𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓯𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝔂 𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓶𝓼, 𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼. 𝓔𝓪𝓬𝓱 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓲𝓻 𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓵 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓮, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝔀 𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓼, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓭 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽.🎄

🎄 You walked through the front door, carrying the children on each hip as Fyodor followed behind you with the bags. “Are you sure it was a good idea to buy every single ornament they touched in the aisle?” You joked, setting the kids down on the floor and grabbing some of the bags from your fiance’s hands. He chuckled at your question, looking down at his raven haired babies who toddled over to the tree. “It was a great idea, moy dorogoy. Look how excited they are.” 

🎄 Large totes and plastic boxes filled with ornaments other decorations lined the floor. Your feeble attempt at getting the children to focus on something else proved useless. Rudolph wasn’t holding their attention quite as much as you hoped it would, now they were interested in the shiny ornaments that were in the clear box. 

🎄 “I’ll keep them busy, you do your decorating.” Fyodor said, smiling softly at you, kissing your cheek before sitting on the floor and pulling Elizaveta and Iofif onto his lap. “Now, what do we have here, malen’kiye?” He grabbed the bag and started pulling out the ornaments that he had bought for them. 

🎄 You finally finished stringing the lights, looking over to see that the children were still occupied with the ornaments they had picked out. “Now I see why you bought them.” You joked, walking over to the box and dragging it closer to the tree, shocked that the children didn’t even look up. “It’s like a new toy every time I pull one out... watch.” He reached his hand into the bag and pulled out a sparkly reindeer ornament, holding it out to Elizaveta. Her eyes lit up and her chubby little hands reached out for the ornament, grabbing it from Fyodors hands and clutching it against her chest. 

🎄 It didn’t take long for the children to tire themselves out, and Fyodor had managed to keep them excited with the same six ornaments long enough for you to finish hanging the most fragile ornaments at the top of the tree. “Sleep well, moi angely.” He whispered to them as he carefully laid them across the sofa, tucking pillows around them so they won’t roll off.

🎄 You grabbed the new, non-breakable ornaments off the floor and hung them close to the bottom, knowing the children would want to play with them and most likely pull them off when they woke up. “I need help getting the angel up on top.” You handed the vintage tree topper to him, watching as he reached up and carefully placed it atop the tree. 

🎄 The two of you took a step back, admiring the work you did. “Did you notice the three new ornaments at the top?” You looked over at Fyodor who quickly stepped toward the tree, searching for the new editions. He hummed to himself when he finally found them, perfectly lined up in the center of the tree, perfectly illuminated by the lights. 

🎄 “Baby’s First Christmas... they both have one...” He smiled softly as he reached his hand out to touch the ornaments, brushing his fingers along the tiny teddy bears that held candy canes shaped like the number one. “Did you see the other one, in the middle?” You point to where the ornament dangled, walking closer to him and wrapping your arm around his waist. 

🎄 “Блаженна наша семья“ He read it perfectly, his eyes full of adoration and love as he looked at the family photo that was housed inside the hanging frame. “Yes we are, moy dorogoy. We really are.” 

🎄 Ornaments, each one with a special meaning, a history. Antiques and family heirlooms, handed down through generations. Each had their own special place on the tree, and now with three new editions hanging from the branches, the tree seemed perfect. You had truly been blessed with the perfect family. It was your first Christmas together as a family, and it was the one thing that you had been looking forward to the most. You had everything you could have ever wanted or needed. 

🎄 As you turned back to look at your sleeping babies, feeling Fyodors arm wrapped loosely around your shoulder, everything seemed perfect. Everything was perfect. 

Translations : 

* moy dorogoy - my dear

* malen’kiye - little ones

* moi angely - my angels

* Блаженна наша семья - Blessed is our Family

[like-a-bag-of-potatoes]

12 Dates of Christmas - Tree Shopping

AN: This is a series from the 12 days of christmas challenge that I did last year, but considering the blog redo and the fact that it's Christmas, I thought it was a good time for a rerun. Hope you all enjoy! 

Characters: Sebastian x Reader 

Warnings: Mostly fluffy throughout the series. 

Wordcount: 1112

Sebastian’s friend, Chace, had stopped by to get him to go to the gym early on Saturday morning, but Seb’s slight whiskey headache said no, so he invited his friend for coffee instead. 

“So you spent all night with her yesterday?” Chace asked before taking a sip of his coffee, eyeing his friend over the top of the large mug. 

“Yeah. It was fun. We made cookies and drank whiskey tea,” he said as he clutched his own mug between his hands. 

“And now you’re going to spend all day with her?” Chace pushed, a knowing look on his face. 

“Mhm,” Seb hummed, suspecting where this was going. 

“So when are you going to tell her?” Chace wondered. 

“Tell her what?” 

“That you’re in love with her,” he stated simply. 

Sebastian snorted as a blush stung in his cheeks. “Whaat? I'm not- Come on- It's not- I'm not, alright?” he stuttered. 

“Whatever you say, man,” Chace said with a chuckle. “I know that you had a thing for her before Jeremy showed up, and I can see it now that it's still there. Just man up and tell her.” 

“Right now I just want to make sure she has a nice holiday, alright? And I'll deal with the other thing later.” Seb knew it was useless to try and lie to his friend about his feelings for you, but he didn't lie about the fact that he wanted to make the holiday nice for you and to help you find your Christmas spirit. That's why he had come up with a plan. One he would share with you later on. 

***

“Urban Garden Center, East Harlem,” you read the little billboard that was placed on the middle of the sidewalk. “Christmas trees for everyone.” 

“My mom and I have always gotten our trees from here,” Sebastian explained. “And they have them in all shapes and sizes so we’ll find something that fits in your apartment.” 

The place was crowded, but that was expected this close to Christmas. It was also expected that the selection had slimmed down a little, but you were sure you’d find a tree that you liked. 

“We always used plastic,” you said as you moved through the rows of trees. “I remember this one year, my dad got a new one because the old one broke, and we had such a nice time decorating it, but then when Christmas was over he just carried the whole thing into the guest room and it stayed there the whole year.” 

“So you didn't get to decorate it the next year?” Seb asked, raising his brows. 

“No. But we always decorated with my grandparents, so I didn't really mind,” you answered, shrugging slightly. “I like this one,” you said, pointing to one that was about as tall as you. “I don't think I have room for anything bigger.” 

“Then we get this one.” Seb offered you a smile before he grabbed the small tree by the stem in between some branches and started carrying it towards the check out. “That went a lot quicker than I imagined,” he added with a small chuckle. 

“We still have to find decorations,” you reminded. “And that might take a while.” 

Sebastian carried the small tree over to a man who wrapped it and took your payments before you once again maneuvered the sidewalk and all its people to get to Seb’s car. There was this cute little boutique not too far from your apartment that carried a vast selection of ornaments and lights, so that's where the two of you headed next. 

“I absolutely love this place,” you said as you stepped through the door and were met by the unmistakable smell of cinnamon. It always smelled and looked like Christmas in here, and it was one of your favorite places to shop. 

“It both looks and smells like Christmas, that's for sure,” he noted as the two of you moved through the narrow aisles. “You know I'm a giant klutz, right?” he asked rhetorically as he maneuvered around the shelves, careful not to break anything. 

“It won't take long, I promise,” you assured him as you saw the nervous look on his face and you tried not to laugh. “I know what I want to buy.” 

“Come here often?” he wondered as it seemed like you were making a beeline for something. 

“More often than I care to admit,” you answered over your shoulder. 

***

The decorations and the tree were bought and Seb had helped you carry everything up to your apartment.

“Thanks for all of this,” you said, motioning to everything that now littered your floor. 

“No worries,” he waved you off with a smile as you shrugged out of your coat. 

“Wanna stay for dinner? Help me decorate?” you asked, looking up at the man in front of you. 

“I have a dinner date with my mom,” he told you, an apologetic look on his face. “How about tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow is fine with me,” you said, offering him a smile. 

“I wanted to run something past you, actually.” All of a sudden he seemed a little nervous.  

“Shoot.” 

“I've made a list of twelve things to do to get in the christmas spirit, and I figured we could do one each day and then maybe you'll find that holiday spirit,” he explained. “If you’re not sick of me already?” 

“That's so sweet of you,” you said, your heart melting a little at his gesture. Not that you didn't know Seb was a sweet guy, but still. “And I’ve known you since we were twelve and I haven't gotten sick of you yet, so a few more days will probably be alright,” you teased. 

“Alright, it's a plan then,” he stated with a huge smile, all the nerves from before fading away. 

“So are you gonna show me the list?” you wondered, curious as to what your friend had in store for the two of you. 

“Nope,” he said, popping the P. “I can tell you that tomorrow is Christmas lights, though. So decorating a tree is perfect.” 

“Alright. Be mysterious,” you said with a hint of a smile. 

“I will. I'm gonna go pick up my mom, and I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Say hi to her for me,” you said as you stepped over some of the decorations on the floor to give him a hug goodbye. 

“I will.” He closed his eyes as he breathed you in, relaxing a little into the hug. “She misses you, you know. You should come with me to see her soon,” he noted as you pulled apart again. 

“I miss her too, so I'll definitely do that,” you agreed. 

“See you tomorrow, (YN),” Sebastian said as he turned around and opened the door, giving you an awkward wave over his shoulder. 

“Tomorrow,” you confirmed with a smile on your lips.   

[purple-urself]

Deck the Wards - Momojirou

Rating: Gen Warnings: None Summary: Kyoka’s hero agency had called Momo 30 minutes ago, to inform her that Earphone Jack had been taken to hospital following a rescue mission. There wasn’t much more information shared, and so Momo had grabbed her keys and phone, and headed out into the cold December night.

READ IT ON A03

Momo hovered in front of the hospital room door, fearing what she might see inside.

Kyoka’s hero agency had called her 30 minutes ago, to inform her that Earphone Jack had been taken to hospital following a rescue mission. There wasn’t much more information shared, and so Momo had grabbed her keys and phone, and headed out into the cold December night, heart in her throat and praying that her girlfriend was going to be okay.

She’d arrived at the hospital in record time, practically sprinting to the front desk to ask about Kyoka’s condition. The nurse on duty informed her that Earphone Jack had arrived at the hospital and hour ago, suffering from mild head trauma and a few broken bones. She was conscious at the time, claiming to be just fine, though the doctors had point blank refused to discharge her.

Momo had rolled her eyes at that information, knowing that Kyoka was probably worrying about tomorrow. It was Christmas day, and they had both managed to get time off work in order to spend it together.

Momo pursed her lips, gathering the courage to push open the door.

The room was quiet except for the steady beep of the heart rate monitor connected to Kyoka’s resting form. Even from the far side of the room, Momo could see the rise and fall of her chest in time with the beeps, which was endlessly reassuring.

She let the door swing shut behind her, stepping up to the side of the bed. Kyoka had a white bandage around her head, making her hair stick up at odd angles. She also looked rather pale, though that might just have been the electric lights of the hospital.

Momo sighed, settling down into a chair beside the bed, brushing a strand of hair from Kyoka’s face. She looked peaceful, but Momo couldn’t help but wish this moment was taking place in their apartment, safe in each others arms.

Momo knew how excited Kyoka was for their first Christmas together, and now it seemed like they would be spending it in the hospital.

The room was drab and dreary, no holiday decorations to speak of.

Momo glance back at her girlfriend’s peaceful face, before making a decision.

She left the room in a hurry, not wanting to be apart from Kyoka more than necessary. It only took a few minutes to find the hospital’s cafeteria, grabbing as many chocolate bars as possible, It would’ve been a disaster if the cafeteria didn’t accept contactless phone payments, since Momo had left her purse at home in the rush to get here.

When she got back to Kyoka’s room, she started ripping open the chocolate bars and munching them down, only managing four before she felt a little bit sick. She’d use the others later, if need be.

Momo started small, closing her eyes and picturing the chemical makeup of a simple holiday garland, conjuring it from her body in reds and golds. She began to wrap the garland around the end of Kyoka’s bed, standing back one it was done to survey the work.

It looked good, but there was a lot more to do if she wanted to make this perfect.

Momo spent the next hour creating glittering ornaments and shiny ribbons, all in garish, bright colours that seemed to make the room practically glow. She even managed to produce a christmas tree, though it had to be made of plastic. She decorated that too, wanting Kyoka’s room to be perfect for when she woke up.

Momo could feel her energy waning after a while, even after eating two more chocolate bars. She glanced around the room, feeling a sense of pride at the overwhelming about of christmas decorations she had managed to pack into the room. Hopefully, Kyoka would love it.

She flopped back into the chair beside the bed, grasping Kyoka’s hand in her own. She tried to resist the tiredness pulling at her eyelids, but it was useless. She fell into and easy sleep, the steady sound of Kyoka’s heartbeat in the background.

-

At first, Momo didn’t know what had woken her up. Her eyes fluttered open to find Kyoko wide awake, the heart rate monitor beating faster than before as Kyoko looked around the room. Momo smiled at the stunned look on her face, squeezing the hand still clasped in her own.

Kyoka’s eye shot to her, smiling and squeezing her hand back.

“Are you feeling alright?” Momo asked, rubbing her eye to get rid of the tiredness.

“Yeah,” Kyoko answered softly, eyes traveling back towards the festive decorations around them. “I’m sure the room didn’t look like this when I went to sleep though.”

Momo blushed slightly at the statement. “We’re probably going to be here until tomorrow, so I thought I’d do a bit of decorating.”

A flash of disappointment reached Kyoka’s eyes at the realisation of having to stay in a hospital bed over Christmas.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered “I didn’t- I wanted to spend our first Christmas together in our apartment.” Momo kissed the hand she was still clutching, wanting to reassure Kyoka that everything was going to be okay.

“We’ll still be together this Christmas, just not how we imagined.”

Kyoka smiled at this, tugging on Momo’s hand until she was close enough for a proper kiss.

“Thank you,” Kyoka says after pulling away, looking around the room again, “This is amazing.”

Momo smiled at the happy look on her girlfriend’s face.

“Merry Christmas.”

[agentzakura]

Christmas With You

Merry Christmas @1698CreamPuffCutie!!! It’s your Secret Santa here! 

I’ll be honest, this isn’t the fic I originally started for your Secret Santa gift. I’ve always wanted to write domestic Hollstein with kids and my mind kind of went wild with the idea. That fic is still in progress… I still wanted to give you something a little more fluffy today, so hope you like it!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160365

Summary

Christmas at the Hollis house has always been a big deal. Laura is out on location at Styria with her family finishing up her latest journalist piece. She is looking forward to bringing her wife and kids back home to experience a traditional Hollis Christmas. When their employer requests them to stay longer and their flight home is postponed, Laura is heartbroken. Carmilla makes it her mission to give her family a memorable first Christmas away from home.

Christmas Eve

Carmilla woke up to the sound of muffled voices. She could barely hear what they were saying, but she knew something wasn’t right. She sighed looking over at the two tiny humans sleeping next to her. She watched as their chests rose and fell softly and one of her rare genuine smiles started to sneak up on her. They certainly were a lot better when they weren’t running around causing havoc. Moments like this made her grateful given a second chance at life.

The older child, Clara, was like a miniature version of Carmilla’s wife, Laura. She was also tiny in stature, a mess of honey golden curls, framing the soft features of her face. She was her ray of sunshine. Carmilla noticed the little girl twitch a little from a stray strand tickling the tip of her nose. She reached down to tuck her daughter's hair behind her ears and let her fingertips linger on her cheek. She was starting to lose her baby face and her own features were starting to come through.

The younger child, Jean-Paul, had raven-hair like his mother Carmilla.  JP was their little miracle. Carmilla had never thought she would have a chance at carrying a child. She never thought anything would come from her trying. He was a couple of years younger than her sister. It would take some time to see what other physical traits he inherited from his mother. He definitely was already started showing elements of his mother’s personality.

The voices outside the room rose once more starting the youngest child. His face started to turn sour as he cried out, threatening to wake up any minute. A few seconds later, he settled back down having adjusted his position to be comfortable on the bed.

Carmilla breathed a sigh of relief. She kissed them both on the forehead before leaving the bed and steeling herself. She immediately switched from her mother mode. She had a reputation to withhold after all. She went back to her signature grumpy cat face as she exited their bedroom. She closed the door behind her making sure not to slam it.

“Hey… would guys keep it down?" Carmilla grumbled. "Sleeping children in here.” She allowed her eyes to crack open to see Laura having a heated discussion with Mel and Kirsch.

“What happened?” she asked, scanning the room. Laura looked like she was about to break down in tears.

Kirsch looked on Laura with sympathy, but it was Mel who started to explain the situation. “The station wants us to stay here until after the new year,” she sighed. “I guess there is more to the story and they want us on location if any news breaks.”

“But it’s Christmas tomorrow!” Laura cried. “And we’re stuck in Styria again!”

“We should probably stop coming here,” Kirsch whispered after coming to the realization.

It’s true. The last time they were in Styria, they saved the world from the near-apocalypse. One would think they would do anything to prevent them from stepping foot on Austrian soil again. Carmilla tried to persuade Laura to give up on investigating stories elsewhere. Unfortunately, her wife’s sense of justice and the pursuit of truth was unwavering. They had no choice but to follow her. It was courage that helped her become one of the world’s best investigative journalists. 

Mel pursed her lips in response, “Hey, I’m not happy about it either, but there's nothing we can do about it now. They've already changed our tickets. Even if we wanted to, we’d never find a flight back in time.”

Carmilla was still half asleep. The reality of the situation didn't hit her until she started to see the tears roll down her wife’s cheeks. She rushed over to take her into her arms. “Hey, Laura, it’s okay,” she soothed, rubbing her arms as a form of comfort. “We’ll just have to have our own Christmas here. We’ll work it out. We have before. Why is this year such a big deal?”

Laura shook her head, disagreeing, her emotions starting to increase, “It’s just... It would have been their first Christmas and I wanted them to experience the kind I’ve always had with my dad.”

Suddenly, they heard the baby’s cry from the bedroom. Then shortly after Clara’s voice crying softly, “Mom… Mommy!”

“I’ll get them,” Laura sighed and made her way to their bedroom. The brunette’s voice went from sulking to her chipper mom voice.  In a split second, she greeted her children with the biggest smile on her face and closed the door behind her.

“Poor Laura. I don’t blame her…" Kirsch said, mouth full with food, that he managed to find from somewhere in this empty kitchen. "Your kids are missing out on a lot. Things must have been easier for you back then.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know. Christmas in the olden days?

Then the idea hit her and a mischievous smile crept on her face. “C’mon frat boy, you’re coming with me, I’m going to need your help...”

Christmas Eve was pretty uneventful. Carmilla and Kirsch offered to go into town and get take out. They returned a couple of hours later with food from their favorite Indian place. They had also brought home groceries for breakfast in the next morning.

Carmilla tried to act indifferent about it. She claimed she only bought pancake mix because she knew they would be hungry tomorrow. But Laura smiled knowing the exact reason. Her wife would make sure that at the very least she would have her pancake breakfast on Christmas day.

Laura broke the news to their children early in the day.

“No Christmas?!” their little girl exclaimed and pouted for a good minute. Then she forgot about it once when her Aunt Mel started to play with her. The little boy had no clue what was going on and stared back at his mother. For a short while, the brunette pretended she could sense his disappointment. In the end, Laura had to admit she was more disappointed that anyone and went back to sulking.

Christmas Day

Laura took a deep breath before opening her eyes. She was trying to prepare herself for the not so special feeling of this year’s Christmas morning. Before she could move a muscle, she heard the high pitch squeal of her daughter. The young mother immediately jumped out of bed. She looked over and realized the bed was empty. Sheets tucked up on Carmilla’s side and not a child in sight.

The door flew open and the little girl ran to hide behind Laura. “Mommy!!! Uncle Kirsch is trying to get me!” She peeked from behind her mother to see if he was still there.

Kirsch roared in response and she screamed again. She immediately saw an opening ran back between his legs and back into the living room. “Merry Christmas, Laura hottie!!!” he smiled before turning to chase after Clara again.

“Merry Christmas,” the brunette smiled. At least, she was still surrounded by people she loved. Who needs presents? And BBC period specials? And gingerbread… She frowned. Laura did. She lowered her head as she sulked out of the bedroom.

The sweet smell cinnamon from her favorite Christmas pancakes wafted in the air. She inhaled deeply and let out a satisfied sigh. When she opened looked up to greet her wife good morning and thank her for breakfast she stopped in her tracks. She wasn't expecting their house to look so wonderful. It was like living in a picture of one of those cottages nestled at the foot of a mountain. It was elegant in the simplest of ways.

“What is all this?” Laura choked when she was able to breathe again.

“Christmas,” Carmilla winked at her. “For someone who calls herself a Christmas aficionado, I’m a little disappointed.”

“But how… what… where did this all come from?” the brunette continued to stare in disbelief.

The younger woman scanned the room one last time just to make sure it was all real. Their entire living room was covered in decorations. These decorations were not the typical plastic she had grown accustomed back home. These were real fresh pine branches fashioned into wreaths. Each one with clusters of pine cones and bows tied around them. They had socks hanging by the fireplace for their stockings.

There was small spruce still potted and displayed as the table centerpiece. The tree was decorated with handmade ornaments class ornaments of red and silver. Candles were strategically placed throughout the room. They gave off a soft glow and providing a specific kind of ambiance. These simple candles outshine the traditional multi-colored, Christmas lights strung across the room. The tree was not stuffed with presents underneath. Instead, there were a few wooden toys unwrapped under the tree. A set of blocks, carved wooden animals, and Each with handwritten tags with each of the children’s names.

“Well, for some reason, you keep forgetting I’ve lived in eastern Europe for a better part of three centuries. A girl has her ways,” she smiled, flipping one of the pancakes and beckoning Laura to join her by the stove. “I figured if we can’t have a Hollis Christmas this year, I’d show you my version of Christmas.”

“I can’t believe you did all this,” the brunette could feel the tears threatening to come back full force.

Carmilla flashed her half smile, “Laura… You know I never cared for Christmas.” 

“--I know, you think it's stupid, useless and sentimental,” the brunette rolled her eyes.

“But--” the dark-haired woman interjected and put a finger to the brunette’s lips to silence her. “That’s never stopped you before. And I don’t know… Maybe I’ve started to like it too. I never had anyone to share it with like I can with you. If it’s important to you, then I want it to be important to us too.” She stared into Laura’s eyes searching when the brunette was speechless.

“I know it’s not exactly like having Christmas at your dad's" Carmilla continued. She suddenly felt vulnerable and unsure. "But I hope you like it.” She smirked tilting her head to the side. “Maybe it’s a good thing you know? We have the opportunity to create our own traditions as well.”

They smiled and instead of talking, they started inching closer to each other.  The attraction taking over them until they were close enough for their foreheads to be touching. Their hands intertwined with one another and they brought their lips together.

“Merry Christmas, Laura,” Carmilla breathed after the first kiss and came in for another.

“Merry Christmas, Carm,” Laura sighed in return looking deep into her eyes. She reached her hands up into her raven hair and pulled her closer.

They broke apart again when Carmilla felt a smile form on Laura's face. "What?" she asked bewildered.

Laura bit her lip. “Well,” she said with a mischievous chuckle. “You know... You didn’t have to do all this for me…"

The dark-haired woman groaned in anticipation. She knew where this was going but she didn't know how she'd stop it. Instead, she waited.

"I mean, after all, all I want for Christmas is you,” Laura laughed singing the last part.

Carmilla cringed in response, “Okay… Christmas songs. Too far.” She held up her hands to shield herself and shook her head.  The brunette doubled over with laughter. Her wife continued to glare at her and the dark-haired woman muttered, “You’re killin’ Hollis....”

Laura had to admit, they didn't have the perfect Hollis Christmas she had been expecting. But as long as she was with Carmilla, she’d always feel at home and maybe it was time to start their own traditions.

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

mistletoe woes

I finally managed to rewrite the rough draft I finished last week (which feels like forever ago tbh) so voila! For the sentence starter: “Is that mistletoe?” (Also on ao3!)

With the winter holidays quickly approaching, Principal Nezu had quite magnanimously agreed to grant the students of UA a week-long break so that they could return to their homes and spend Christmas with their families.

The unexpected announcement had come as a shock to many who had simply assumed that their hero training would continue through the holidays. It was UA, after all, and it wasn't like pro heroes could expect to have holidays off.

But all the students were ecstatic despite their surprise, none more so than the students of Class A. With the year they'd had so far, a nice break was exactly what they needed.

But that wasn't all they needed, according to one Ashido Mina. Mere moments after Principal Nezu's announcement, she had made one of her own, insisting that they have a party to celebrate the holidays together.

She had claimed that in addition to just being fun, it would do good for class morale. That had instantly intrigued Iida.

As class representative, he was constantly in search of different ways to engage the class in group bonding activities. At the mere suggestion of a class party, he had started babbling to himself about the logistics and estimated costs of a party for twenty people, more if anyone decided to invite their friends from other classes.

As though some kind of weird domino effect had been initiated, Midoriya had joined in on the absentminded muttering, rubbing his chin and scrunching his face up in thought. He and Iida had awkwardly migrated to one of the common room couches, sitting side by side while talking to themselves.

While they had discussed things with themselves, the rest of the class had erupted into conversations of their own. Without bothering to wait for Iida to approve it ("It's not like he's our dad," Kaminari had helpfully pointed out) they had begun talking about the party like an inevitability rather than a hypothetical scenario.

Jiro, Tokoyami, and Kaminari had immediately started talking about music, already brimming with ideas for playlists. Jiro and Tokoyami wanted to keep it rather varied with songs from multiple genres in order to cater to everyone's unique tastes while Kaminari had insisted that they play mostly Christmas music.

Fortunately, Sero had stepped in and very diplomatically suggested that they make a compromise. Carefully defusing the situation like it was a hostage scenario not a simple argument over music, he had pointed out that they could do both, additionally suggesting that they include Christmas cover songs from a variety of different genres.

Meanwhile, Yaoyorozu, Hagakure, and Aoyama had immediately launched into a lively conversation about decorations. In a matter of minutes, they had sketched out plans for everything decoration-related, from what specific decorations they wanted to where they would go and how much everything would cost.

Though rather down-to-earth and modest to a fault, Yaoyorozu was still a rich girl at heart and had excitedly squealed at just the prospect of a shopping spree. The others had eagerly agreed, already discussing what they should wear for the party.

On the other side of the room, Sato had started talking to Shoji and Koda about cooking for the party, claiming it would be a good opportunity to practice cooking in larger batches. He had then rattled off a handful of desserts that would be a good fit for a Christmas party, listing off cheesecake, chocolate cake, sugar cookies, and Dutch apple pie.

Koda and Shoji had nearly drooled all over themselves just at the mere mention of the promised desserts. Not that they could be held accountable, Sato's baking was ridiculously good. If he ever decided not to become a pro hero, he could have his own cooking show, no problem.

The rest of the class had divided themselves up into small groups to talk about other party-related things from balloons and banners to if and how they should rearrange the furniture for the party. They discussed outfits and party themes and color schemes and anything else they could possibly think of.

Uraraka and Tsu ended up talking about how they would get supplies for the party. Ultimately, they concluded that they would have to go to Mr. Aizawa and the principal for permission to leave campus and go shopping.

Eventually, Yaoyorozu had taken over party planning responsibilities. Mentioning the previous times she had helped to organize parties (typically with her parents for various charity events) she had promptly started delegating different duties to her classmates.

Uraraka, Tsu, Sato, Koda, Shoji, Aoyama, and Hagakure were tasked with going to the mall to collect the necessary supplies for the party. These supplies ranged from everything between Christmas decorations to food supplies to new clothes.

Fortunately, Yaoyorozu had thought to provide them with an extremely detailed list. She had also let them borrow some cash, just the sight of which had nearly given Uraraka a nosebleed.

Jiro, Kaminari, Tokoyami, Ashido, and Sero had been put in charge of the music, left to work out the kinks with their party playlists amongst themselves. Luckily, they all got along exceedingly well so there was no real hardship there.

The rest of the class was charged with assisting the others with cooking, cleaning, and decorating. This so-called 'reserve' team consisted of Ojiro, Midoriya, Iida, Todoroki, Kirishima, and (begrudgingly) Mineta.

Yaoyorozu had quite wisely decided not to assign Bakugo to any group. She was well aware that the hot-headed teen would rather explode his own face than listen to someone else's instructions.

Speaking of the explosive blond, he had left the common room almost immediately after the announcement of the party. Rolling his eyes, he had turned on his heel to stomp up the stairs to return to his room, scoffing about how fucking stupid they all were.

But it was no matter. Barely a week later, the promised Christmas party was in full swing.

All of Class A was in attendance in addition to a handful of students from other classes. Tetsutetsu and Kendo from Class B were there, invited by Kirishima and Yaoyorozu, respectively. They were excitedly telling anyone who would listen about their most recent date.

Shinso Hitoshi from Class C and Hatsume Mei from the Support class had also been invited, both of them mingling with the rest of the students in attendance. Shinso was leaning against a wall, looking as bored as ever while talking to Uraraka and Jiro; meanwhile, Hatsume was pestering Iida.

The entire ground floor of the Class A building had been converted into a veritable winter wonderland thanks to Yaoyorozu's ingenuity and Aoyama's sense of style. Green and red decorations filled the common room and kitchen, complemented by hints of gold, silver, and white.

Faux pine garlands were hung on the walls alongside wreaths and stockings. All of which were dusted with fake snow and decorated with plastic gold bells and red velvet bows.

White fairy lights, shaped like snowflakes and stars, were strung up around the common room. They cast the large room in a dim, intimate, almost dreamy light.

In one corner, by the large television, there was an artificial Christmas tree wrapped in shiny red tinsel and decorated with gold and silver ornaments. An illuminated star rested atop the tree, glowing a bright white.

The coffee table in the center of the common room had transformed into a small buffet table hosting various appetizers, all of which had been carefully made with love by Sato. There were glazed meatballs, cheese plates, beef sliders, cheese tartlets, sashimi, korokke, gyoza, and kushiyaki.

The kitchen counters were loaded with even more food, crockpots and serving trays full of entrees nestled beside plates of desserts that looked pretty enough to be on the covers of baking magazines. Sato had made as much food as he possibly could, from main dishes like gyukatsu and miso salmon to cherry cheesecake and homemade manju.

And between the kitchen and the common room was Kirishima's favorite part of the party.

Hung from the wide wall opening that led into the kitchen, nestled in a bit of gilded garland, was a bough of mistletoe. It was tied up with a strip of pretty red ribbon, its leaves a bright shade of green and its berries as white as snow.

It had been Hagakure's idea. The hopeless romantic that she was, she had insisted that it was a necessary holiday tradition despite Iida's many protests about it being nothing but trouble and Mineta's utterly creepy enthusiasm about it.

Ultimately, she had put it up with the help of Uraraka while Iida was busy lecturing Kaminari about daring to suggest they have Yaoyorozu make them some alcohol for the party. It was another useless argument from Iida considering Yaoyorozu had already revealed a few bottles of wine she had created, claiming that her parents always let her enjoy a glass or two of Cabernet Sauvignon during the holidays.

Anyhow, that single scandalous bunch of mistletoe provided a unique opportunity for Kirishima. An opportunity for him to finally, finally, finally kiss Bakugo.

His ridiculous, thoroughly embarrassing, super mega gay crush on Bakugo the that had probably started way back at the beginning of the semester if he was being totally honest with himself had quickly blossomed into something so deeply rooted within his chest that he wasn't even sure if he could still just call it a crush.

It was more like infatuation. Or captivation. Or enamorment. Or, as Kaminari often liked to call it, self-destructive puppy love.

Either way, Kirishima's whatever-you-want-to-call-it on Bakugo was getting worse each and every day. To the point that he was finding it increasingly difficult to restrain himself from flat out ruining their friendship by confessing his feelings out of the blue one day or stopping one of their study sessions to grab Bakugo and finally kiss his stupidly handsome face.

Somehow, whether it was due to his own self-restraint or his old bad habit of freezing up when he should be launching into action rearing its ugly, inconvenient head, Kirishima hadn't done that. Instead, he had tried his hardest to hide his painfully obvious crush on his best friend.

Clearly, it hadn't worked very well since Kaminari, who could admittedly be rather dense sometimes, had picked up on it almost immediately. Before that, Sero had realized it and sworn his undying loyalty to Kirishima, promising to help him pick up the pieces if Bakugo wound up breaking his heart; whether it was intentional or not.

But now Kirishima was sick and tired of pining. He was going to finally make a move, consequences be damned. If only Bakugo would walk into the damn kitchen.

For the past forty five minutes or so, after shooing Mineta away from the mistletoe with a kick to the back of the head, Kirishima had been lingering on the threshold between the kitchen and the common room. Nursing a red plastic cup of Sato's homemade eggnog, he kept his eyes trained on Bakugo.

The blond had reluctantly made an appearance at the party, essentially dragged out of his room by Sero and Jiro, both of whom had insisted that he only had to stay for two hours and then he could return to his room to brood or do whatever the hell it was he did when he was alone.

For whatever reason, Bakugo had agreed with minimal (for him, anyway) arguing rather than blowing up the entire party like most of the class expected him to. No matter the reason, Kirishima was grateful. Even if Bakugo hadn't moved from his spot on the other side of the common room for the past hour.

In typical Bakugo fashion, he hadn't bothered to dress up for the festive event. At least, not like everybody else had.

Nearly everyone had worn some sort of Christmas or winter-related clothing from ugly holiday sweaters to funny holiday t-shirts to the classic red Santa hats that Yaoyorozu had handed out at the beginning of the party. For example, Shinso was wearing a deep red sweater decorated with cats and the words 'Meowy Christmas’, while Yaoyorozu was wearing a more traditional Fair Isle sweater.

Predictably, Midoriya head donned a green Christmas sweater a few shades darker than his hair, emblazoned with a cross-stitched image of All Might in a Santa hat. Kaminari had managed to find a Pikachu Christmas sweater that, to his intense delight, actually lit up when a button within the sleeve was pressed.

And Kirishima himself had decided to wear the novelty sweater his moms had given the previous year. Bright red to match his hair, it featured a great white shark rising out of the waves, a Santa hat on its head as it flashed its sharp teeth.

In stark contrast, Bakugo was dressed relatively casual. He was wearing a deep red t-shirt under an unbuttoned black dress shirt and what had to be the tightest pair of jeans he owned. They were worlds away from his usual baggy pants, briefly making Kirishima wonder if they were new.

Whether or not they were, they were unbelievably unfair. Hell, his whole entire outfit was unfair. Kirishima was way too gay for this. Especially the way the t-shirt showed off just a hint of Bakugo's collarbone.

Again, getting back to the point, Kirishima was lingering beneath the mistletoe, eyes on Bakugo, just waiting for him to walk into the kitchen for a snack or a refill on his drink. For the past sixty-something minutes, he had been drinking the same cup of eggnog.

Was he even drinking it? There was no way Bakugo was that slow of a drinker, right?

Regardless, Kirishima had been left waiting for what seemed like an eternity, impatiently watching Bakugo out of the corner of his eye. He only left his spot to move aside whenever anyone else strolled into the kitchen.

He would smile politely at them and move out of their way to avoid any embarrassing incidents. The last thing he wanted was to kiss a straight guy or, worse, a girl.

Not that there was anything wrong with a little platonic kissing between friends. But Kirishima was too busy waiting for a certain blond hothead to cross his path to think about kissing his other friends.

Kirishima was too caught up in these thoughts to notice that someone had wandered under the mistletoe with him. It was only when someone let out a loud wolf whistle and someone else joined in with a suggestive hoot that he finally realized it.

Shaking himself, he blinked a few times, belatedly adjusting to the sight of the person standing before him. To his immense disappointment, it wasn't Bakugo.

Instead, it was Class A's resident pretty boy: Todoroki.

Todoroki himself looked extremely confused, looking back over his shoulder at Kaminari who was whistling and Ashido who was cheering a bit too enthusiastically. Frowning to himself, he glanced between Kirishima and the others then back again.

Letting out a small chuckle at the look of pure perplexment on poor Todoroki's face, Kirishima took pity on him and pointed upward. Todoroki followed the path of Kirishima's finger, craning his neck to look up at the instantly recognizable, parasitic plant dangling above them.

"Is that mistletoe?" Todoroki asked no one in particular, his voice devoid of any inflection whatsoever. After a moment, he looked back at Kirishima, raising his brows in a silent question.

Biting down on a smile in an unsuccessful attempt to stop it completely, Kirishima just nodded. Smile widening at Todoroki's suddenly flustered appearance, a violent blush spreading across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, Kirishima shrugged and, as casually as he could, said, "So, what d'ya say? For tradition's sake?"

He offered Todoroki what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He was just about to assure Todoroki that he was in no way obligated to actually kiss him when the other boy gave one single definitive nod of his head.

Kirishima just shrugged again. It was just a kiss. Just a quick, harmless peck on the lips.

Todoroki definitely wasn't Bakugo but it wasn't like it would be terrible. It could be much worse. He could have gotten stuck under the mistletoe with Mineta.

Puckering his lips a bit, he closed his eyes and leaned in towards Todoroki, blindly aiming for the other boy's lips. He could feel Todoroki's breath on his lips when suddenly there was a dull smacking sound and something hard and solid whacked into the side of his chin.

Kirishima's eyes snapped open in time for him to see Bakugo roughly shouldering Todoroki out of his way, face twisted up in an angry scowl. Shoving Todoroki side, he growled, "Get the fuck outta my way, dumbass fucking candy cane."

In the following ten seconds or so, Kirishima processed quite a lot. One, Bakugo had decided to push Todoroki out of his way instead of just walking around him like a normal person. Two, he had just used a holiday-themed insult in place of his usual jab of 'half and half bastard'.

Third (and perhaps most importantly), Bakugo was now standing under the mistletoe with him. And fourth and finally, he wasn't moving.

Standing off to the side, Todoroki awkwardly lingered, glancing between Kirishima and Bakugo. When Bakugo noticed that Todoroki was still there, he turned to snap at him, practically snarling, "Fuck off, IcyHot."

Shaking his head at Bakugo's rather brusque dismissal, Todoroki turned and continued into the kitchen, refilling his plastic cup with eggnog. Without so much as another glance at Bakugo or Kirishima, he returned to the common room where Kaminari and Ashido were now eagerly gaping at their two friends beneath the mistletoe.

"Fuckin' loser," Bakugo scoffed, downing the last bit of his drink before crushing the plastic cup in his hand and tossing it into the nearby trash can. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he turned back to Kirishima.

Kirishima swallowed heavily, stealing a not-so-subtle peek up at the mistletoe overhead. Meeting Bakugo's eyes, he pointed upward again, barely managing to shakily point out, "Uh, dude, you realize you're under the mistletoe with me now, right?"

Bakugo just snorted. "So fucking what?"

Without any further, he fisted a hand in the front of Kirishima's sweater to tug him into a kiss that he would think about all throughout their holiday break.

Send me Kiribaku prompts!

[sheithfromvoltron]

Feels Like Christmas

klance fic for @nottheiralice​ / @quiznakingred​ because i love her and she deserves nice things. merry christmas, i hope you like it honey ♥

Keith knocked again, pounding his fist in the one spot on the door not covered in tinsel or lights. He was about ready to start kicking the damned thing in an effort to be heard over the sixth replaying of The Twelve Days of Christmas. Finally, his neighbor opened the door, still humming along to the song as a grin spread across his lips.

“Mullet! Come to thank for the gift?”

“No,” Keith hissed, shoving the red stocking into the man’s arms, “Keep your decorations to your apartment, McClain.”

“The names Lance,” the man said it with a smirk and cocked eyebrow like it was supposed to be impressive. It wasn’t. It definitely didn’t make Keith notice how the pleasing contrast of his carmel skin and ocean blue eyes. Nope.

“You’d know that if you came to any of the floor parties I host.” Keith nearly growled, but kept it to frown, not bothering to argue that he preferred sticking to keeping everyone as names on doors.

“Sure,” Keith nodded not even sure of what Lance said as he turned away and a moment later slammed the door to his own apartment.

A few hours later, Keith was still stewing about his annoying neighbor because who does that guy think he is forcing Christmas on people? He could celebrate as he very well pleased and it wouldn’t include blowing his money on useless trinkets and decorations that would just be thrown away in a week. No, he preferred a simpler celebration; a nice, quiet meal, cocoa in his worn out sofa watching Charlie Brown’s Christmas and Home Alone. But before all that, he would make send out Christmas cards to various children’s charities with donations of whatever bonus he had received from work this year.

Noise in the form of scratching and scraping at his door pulled Keith from his thoughts and he swore he’d hit Lance if this as him trying to stick that damn stocking to his door again. “Lance!” he called out, yanking open the door, “I told you, I don’t want your stupid— oh…”

He was met with an awkward wave as he stopped to take in the scene. It was Lance making the commotion as he’d expected, but only because he and some other guy nearly twice his size were tugging one of those synthetic trees through the hall.

“Uh…” Keith looked from the tree to Lance then back at the tree, “…never mind.”

“Wait!” Lance suddenly jolted forward, pushing past the plastic branches to slip through the threshold of Keith’s door. “You don’t even have a christmas tree?!”

“Uh, no?”

“Are you like one of those Jehovah guys? Or do you really just hate christmas?”

“I just don’t see the point in wasting my money on—No, I don’t need to explain myself to you.” He cut himself off, crossing his arms over his chest and forcing a glare.

“Oh, okay,” Lance rocked up on his toes, glancing back at his friend. “Well, we better get this puppy into the house. Have a good night, Mullet.”

Don’t tell me what to do, Keith almost bit back, but instead nodded, “Yeah, you too.”

Not three hours after shutting his door on that scene, Keith found himself opening it to a similar one. Only this time it was just Lance. Well, Lance and a much smaller, but just as fake, tree.

“Hey, Mul— I mean, Keith.”

“Hi.” He waited, but Lance was only grinning as he held the small tree by its middle, his eyes shifting behind Keith to glance into his apartment. “So… you bought another tree?”

“I didn’t buy it, well I did last year, but since I moved here I have room for a full sized tree.” He was still grinning far too much.

“Okay…?”

“Look, do you want it or not?”

“Do I want what? Your tree?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Why not? It doesn’t cost you or me anything extra, it’s fake so you won’t have to throw it out, it’s small so it won’t take up much space, and it’s pre-lit so you don’t even have to do deal with a mess of lights.” Keith didn’t really have an argument and Lance knew it. “Exactly, so… do you want this tree?”

“Fine.”

“Good,” Lance pushed past Keith, bringing his little tree with him. “Look we can just put it right here by the bookshelf.” Keith nodded and Lance slid down to his knees setting the little tree up in its place.

“See, it looks great there!” Again, Keith couldn’t argue with that. And he did secretly like the idea of having his own tree. Silence followed for a moment, but Lance broke it by standing up and dusting off his knees. “Well, I guess I better go. I’m glad you like the tree.”

Keith watched him walk to the door and fought with himself not to say anything until his neighbor was almost to the door. “Lance?”

“Hm?”

“I was, uh, just gonna watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas… if you wanted to…”

Lance paused, “Animated or live-action?”

Keith scoffed, “Animated, obviously.”

“Perfect, I’ll be back in a couple minutes, I just want to grab a few things.”

Keith nodded and as soon as the door closed behind the man, he started straightening up the room, threw an extra blanket on the couch, wiggled the cables on the tv to make sure it would work, and was just finishing raking his fingers through his hair when Lance walked back in. He was carrying a box of twelve red ornaments, a big white star, and a container that based on the warm, sweet smell held fresh cookies. “Before you ask, I bought these ornaments for that tree last year, my new one has all blue decorations so these don’t go with it and the star came with the tree.”

He set down the container, but held out the box to Keith. “It’s your tree, you should decorate it.”

“Aren’t you going to help me?”

“Do you want me to?” Keith nodded. “Then yes, I’ll help you.”

“Thanks. And uh, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Mullet.”

[Also available on AO3]

[sophisticated-angel]

Christmas Writing Challenge - Day 5

Here is day five, as promised.

Today’s Summary: Sam asks a question. Dean gets a gift. Castiel tells a lie.

Sam - On the Door

“Either of you seen Sam?” you ask the two men.

“Yeah,” Dean answers. “He’s about six-four, needs a haircut, uber nerd.”

“Ha ha. What about you, Cass?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

You groan. “What’s he up to, anyway? He mentioned something about a ‘Christmas surprise’ and then vanished. I know you know something because you’re both smiling like idiots.”

“I have no idea what he’s up to,” Dean promises.

“Sure you don’t. You both are useless.”

That was pointless if anything ever was. Where the hell has Sam gone? It’s Christmas for crying out loud, and he essentially ditched you after Dean started dinner preparations. Shouldn’t your boyfriend, of all people, be spending Christmas day with you? And how far could he have gone? You’ve been in the bunker all day.

“Sam?” you call as you head down the hall. “Sam, where’d you go? If this is a game, I’m not having fun. I need Christmas kisses. Saaaaaam!”

Wherever he is, he doesn’t answer. You swing into your room, hoping to catch him there, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Here, however, sitting atop your neatly made bed, is a single rose and an envelope with your name on it. The envelope contains a handwritten note that reads:

(y/n),            I have one last present for you. After reading this, come find me in the library. I’ll be by the tree.            Sam

The library was the room you designated for the tree and any Christmas morning activities. So he’s right back where you started. True to his word, he’s waiting for you by the Christmas tree, colored lights reflecting off the dollar store bulbs hanging from it’s plastic branches. Inarguably, it’s a cheap-looking thing, but it’s festive, and combined with the other decorations strung throughout the bunker, it doesn’t look half bad.

“There you are.” Grinning, you sidle up to Sam and loop your arms around his neck. He promptly kisses you.

“I heard you were in need of Christmas kisses.”

“Mhm. Need fulfilled. What’s this ‘extra present’ you’ve been hinting at?”

“I’ll get to that. First, can you tell me what that note over there says?” He points to a yellow Post-It stuck to the spine of a book. “I can’t make sense of it.”

After eyeing him, you walk over to the book and peer at the note. It’s Sam’s handwriting and the easiest thing in the world to read: turn around. He’s messing with you. Fully expecting another surprise kiss, you turn around . . . and find him down on one knee with an engagement ring in his hand.

“I lied.”

“What?” you breathe.

“The present I mentioned, it’s for me.”

“What’s the-what’s the present, Sam?”

“I want a fiancée for Christmas. (y/n), will you marry me?”

“Holy - yes, Sam. It’s about time, you son of a - dammit I love you.” You throw yourself at him before he has a chance to give you the ring, smashing your face against his for the deepest, most passionate kiss you’ve ever had.

Dean - Ornament

“Nobody knows my name. Do you know how many wallets I’ve lost and didn’t get back because it had a fake name?”

“Well I know your name, and I thought it deserved to be written down.”

Dean smiles, beams, at the blue Christmas bulb he holds in his hands. White tissue paper and the box sit on his lap as he admires what came in them. It’s the simplest of all ornament styles, and yet it’s also the most meaningful. With a tiny paintbrush, white paint, and a skilled hand, an anonymous employee at the nearest Hallmark calligraphed “Dean Winchester” on the side and made it the only personalized thing Dean owns. Of all his guns, gadgets, and odd and ends, this is the first thing to bear his name besides his birth certificate.

“You like it?” you ask him.

Dean nods. “I like it. Thank you.”

Brushing the box and paper aside, Dean takes the bulb to the miniature fake tree standing on the dining room table and hangs it on a branch. He steps back to admire it, reads his name over and over.

“I think I like seeing my name,” he muses. “It gives me a sense of self-possession. Makes me feel real.”

“Don’t get all deep on me.”

Dean laughs and then shakes his head. “I didn’t get you anything for Christmas.”

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

“Yeah, but see now I feel bad because you thought of me and I didn’t think of you.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t think of me lot. How can all this not be on your mind 24/7?”

He nods in agreement and reaches out to ruffle your hair. “Thanks for the bulb. It means a lot.”

Castiel - Santa

Cass has had to lie before. It’s kept him alive and his friends safe. But this, this is a different scenario altogether. He’s never had to lie to a child before. Her mother, (y/n), insisted on it though and even laid out exactly the way he’s supposed to lie to the six-year-old.

“How does Santa get inside?” she asks the angel.

“”I’ve been told he comes down the chimney.”

“But we don’t have a chimney.”

“He’s got magic he can use to get in.”

“Mommy says magic is bad.”

“Santa uses good magic. And what about mine? Mine’s not bad, is it?”

“You don’t have magic. You have superpowers.”

Cass smiles. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this child and her mother. They took him in when he had nowhere else to go, and even when he revealed he wasn’t quite human, they let him stay, and now he has a new purpose. He twists the ring on his finger absently and opens another box of ornaments for the tree.

“That one has my name on it.” She points to a red bulb in a clear box. “Mommy got it for me when I was really little.”

“She got that for a Christmas baby. Who do we know that’s a Christmas baby?”

“Me!” she yells, diving into his lap.

Cass grabs onto her and gives her a squeeze. “What do you want Santa to bring you this year?”

“A baby doll. And lots of dresses for her. And sparkly shoes for me. And candy.”

“Have you been good enough for all that? Santa only gives presents to good kids.”

“I’ve been good.”

“All year?”

“Yeah. Can I see Santa?”

“Santa only comes when you’re sleeping, sweetheart.”

“But he’s at the mall right now.”

“Except at the mall. He likes to visit kids to make sure they’ve been good.”

“I’ve been good.”

Hugging her again, Cass kisses the top of her head. “You’ve been amazing.”

@pureawesomeness001 @27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall @gabriel-themightysugaraddict @mogaruke @mrswhozeewhatsis @hexparker @kdfrqqg @little-castiel13 @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @thing-you-do-with-that-thing

[y3s2-20182019]

 PHASE 3- EXPANDING THE SCOPE

Spirituality, has been the common belief of people for a long time. The faith in spirituality can be easily seen in Thai-Chinese hybrid community like “Talad Noi”, where adaptation and appropriation between both cultures has been shown and existed in form of “spiritual objects”, that people use them to worship the spirit.

To illustrate the values of spirituality, The Sacred tree, is the device that encounter the feeling of spiritual, whether you see, hear or smell it. It’s because the tree itself, is connected to people’s higher self and their belief by the sacred ornaments that people bringing and left it under the tree overtime. Unfortunately, that spiritual objects has turned to be ‘spirit trashes’ which no one ever take care of them, and it’s continue to increase everyday. 

By categorise the spiritual objects in different materials, I found out the way to recycling this material by making the set of machine which related to each property of materials. 

By locating the machine around the sacred tree, it bring back the old feeling of spirituality symbolic around the sacred tree.

Paper shed and combined to be paper Chinese god’s dress to worshipped.

Fabric intertwined to be part of Chinese opera costume.

Plastic fragmented and reconstructed to be urban furniture.

Ceramic smashed to be mosaic for decorating the houses.

Metal melted and casted in a mold in order to be car part.

Wood crumbled to be fuel for burning festival.

Stone and concrete powdered to be waiting for building’s renovation.

The aim is to give benefit back to the community by recycling the thing that has been left and useless over eternity.