#but a christmas carol au sounds cool!!!

[scary-grace]

(secret) santa, baby - part 5 of a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Shigaraki doesn't want to participate in the office's Secret Santa exchange, but when Toga promises to make it easy on him, he gives in. But making it easy for him makes it a lot harder for you -- you're the one who got his list. Office AU, no quirks. A fic in 12 parts. Divider by @ wcnderlnds

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

part v (sitting on santa's lap)

When Tomura ventures into the mailroom to stick his first shot at a gift into your mailbox, there’s already a gift waiting for him in his. Or in front of his. It’s a little too big to fit. Tomura checks that the coast is clear, tucks his gift into your mailbox, and comes back for the one his Secret Santa left him. It’s not just bigger than the other gifts he’s gotten. It’s heavier, too. And there’s a note on top of it, the handwriting Tomura’s gotten familiar with: READ ME FIRST.

Before he can unfold it and follow instructions, there’s a burst of laughter from the break room down the hall, and under cover of it, you step into the mailroom. Tomura wasn’t expecting you to come in here right after he left you a gift. He can’t be here when you open it, and he can’t leave, either – not unless he wants to knock you over on his way out the door. What he needs to do is play it cool. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you say. There’s another burst of laughter from down the hall. “What brings you up here?”

“Checking the mail. What else would I be doing?” Tomura sounds like an asshole. “You have a gift. I see it in there.”

“Oh,” you say, but you don’t go for it. You’re watching Tomura. “What did you get?”

Tomura shrugs. “I’m supposed to read this,” he says, waving the card at you. You nod, and Tomura starts to unfold the message, for sheer lack of anything better to do. Before he can get more than a sentence into it, even more laughter erupts. “What’s going on in there?”

“Mina got a gift from her Secret Santa,” you say. Tomura tries and fails to remember which one Mina is. “And I think her Secret Santa must be a friend of hers, because there’s no way somebody would buy a book of Christmas smut for somebody they didn’t know.”

“Christmas smut,” Tomura repeats. The words aren’t connecting. “Huh?”

“It’s called The Naughty List,” you say. “A bunch of smutty short stories that are Christmas-themed. She’s been reading them aloud. Right now I think it’s about wrapping yourself like a gift and hiding under your neighbor’s tree, but the best one so far was about seducing a mall Santa by sitting on his lap and telling him all the naughty stuff that happened all year. Did you ever do that?”

“Sit on a mall Santa’s lap and lie about the stuff I did all year?”

“No, the photo op,” you say. “As a kid.”

“My family didn’t go for Western holidays,” Tomura says. Maybe that’s true, or maybe he’s just blocking something out. Most of the holidays he remembers with his birth family didn’t end well for him. “You?”

“My parents tried,” you say. “They really wanted the photo, but I was scared of the Santa.”

“Weird.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Tomura says. “Just weird that you’re scared of mall Santas, but not scared of singing a Christmas carol in front of Yamada’s weird acapella group.”

“I sweated through my shirt trying to sing that,” you say. Tomura blinks. “It was for a good cause.”

Tomura looked up the other five verses to the song after you went back upstairs. You weren’t kidding about what it was going to be like. “Yeah. I owe you.”

You shake your head. “No, you don’t.”

Tomura doesn’t know what to say to that, and you don’t look like you know how to follow up. What would Tomura say if he could get his shit together, anyway? He already said thank you. He can’t tell you that you have a nice voice or that he got the song stuck in his head or that he was wondering if you had anybody in mind when you were singing it. Those thoughts need to stay inside his head. Nothing good is going to happen if any of them make it out of his mouth.

He has to say something. “You got a gift. Are you going to open it?”

“I’ll open mine here if you do,” you say. Tomura nods, and as you start prying open the bag Tomura stapled shut, he unfolds the note his Secret Santa left and reads it.

Dear Tomura, it starts. I know this wasn’t on your list, but I think it could help if you were out of other options. I get eczema on my hands in the winter, too, and this stuff is the only stuff that’s ever helped.

Knowing that his Secret Santa has eczema on their hands, it should be easy to figure out who they are, but Tomura can’t recall ever seeing somebody around the office with messed-up hands. Maybe the stuff really does work. He opens the box and comes up with a jar of hand cream with an unfamiliar name. Tomura looks at it, then back at the letter. I’m sorry if this is overstepping. It’s just something I noticed. If you do use it, I hope it helps. Sincerely, your Secret Santa.

They noticed. What does that mean? Spinner’s been going overboard on gifts for the person whose list he got because he wants to show her that people other than her boyfriend notice her and appreciate her. How much attention has Tomura’s Secret Santa been paying to him? Probably too much, or they wouldn’t have taken his stupid, half-assed list and turned it into a chain of gifts he actually wants. Too much, or they wouldn’t have known how badly his hands have been bothering him this winter in particular.

It’s weird. Tomura should feel weird about it, but he doesn’t. He feels – warm.

Across the mailroom, the paper bag tears as you give up on trying to pick out the staples. Tomura looks up and finds you staring down at his gift. He can’t read the look on your face, and he’s apparently a lot worse with suspense than he thought he was. He almost asks what you think of it before he remembers that you’re not supposed to know who left the gift, and modifies the question at top speed. “What did you get?”

“A pen,” you say slowly. “I put one on my list, but I asked for a cheaper one.”

Tomura knows. “Did you actually want the cheaper one, or were you just trying to come up with an easy list?”

“I didn’t want to make anybody overspend on me,” you say. “I mean, I know everybody else is – Mina’s Secret Santa didn’t take the price tag off that book – but I haven’t been here that long, and I didn’t want anybody to get my list and think I was asking for too much.”

Tomura thinks you weren’t asking for enough. That’s why he got the nicer pen. “Do you like it?”

Your grip tightens on the pen, like you think somebody’s going to take it away. “Yes.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” Tomura says. “The thing I got wasn’t on my list. You don’t see me overthinking it.”

He’s sort of lying. He’s definitely overthinking it, just not the same way you are. You study him for a second, then hit him with the same question. “Do you like it?”

“If it works,” Tomura says. You nod and leave the room without saying anything else.

He tells himself to wait to try it until he gets home so he doesn’t slime up his keyboard, but then he realizes that he’s only putting it on the backs of his hands and loses patience. It doesn’t change anything about how his hands look. They’re disgusting, dry and red and cracked and still trying to bounce back from the paper cut he got a week ago. But they feel better. A lot better. It’s the first hand cream Tomura’s used that doesn’t sting when he puts it on.

It smells okay, too. And sort of familiar. Tomura spends longer than he’d like to admit staring off into space, wondering where he smelled it before.

<- part iv. part vi ->

[lives-in-midgard]

🎄Beautiful Miracle🎄

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Summary: When your car breaks down in a small village you luckily find a bakery to stay in.

Word Count: 1095

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first fic for my Christmas special hosted by the lovely @buckys-wintersoldier. I hope you like it! 💗

Dividers made by @saradika 💗

Prompt 1: Bakery AU

Masterlist | Fluffcember Masterlist

It’s the first day of December and it has just started snowing. You were driving through a small village you had never been to before when suddenly your car broke down in the middle of the road. You were just able to pull over to park your car in an empty parking lot. You tried to start the car again, but it didn’t work.

“Noo, that can’t happen now. Not now when it’s so cold outside.” You said to yourself. After another try, you decided to call a car service station. They told you that it would take an hour or more for them to get here. So, you decided to take your bag, get out of your car, and look for somewhere to stay. You took a few steps and then saw that there was a small bakery.

Maximoff’s Sweets

You smiled and opened the door to the bakery. The air was filled with the smell of cinnamon and vanilla. Everything was decorated with Christmas decoration and a Christmas carol was playing. You walked around and noticed that this place looks really cozy and beautiful. You couldn’t see the owner of this shop, but you could hear someone singing.

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly.” You heard the soft voice more clearly now and had to smile. Then a door opened and a beautiful young woman with red hair walked out of a room from the back. She had a plate with cookies in her hand and immediately smiled when she saw you.

“Hello and welcome to my bakery.” The owner smiled at you and placed the cookies in an empty spot.

“Hi, this is a really wonderful place here.” You confessed and looked around and then back at her.

“Thank you. This really means a lot to me. Especially because it’s my first Christmas here.”

“Oh, congrats on that.” You said and the woman had to chuckle. She looked so beautiful and lovely.

“What can I offer you?” She asked and you looked at it all deliciously.

“Umm, I’m not sure. This looks all so delicious, what would you recommend?” You asked her nervously.

“How about these cinnamon rolls? They are really good and a new recipe I tried.” She pointed to the cinnamon rolls, and you nodded.

“Sounds good. I’ll take this and a coffee please.” You answered and Ms. Maximoff turned around to make you a coffee. She put the dessert and coffee on a plate and then walked with you to a table. You sat down and she placed everything in front of you.

“Do you mind if I join you?” She asked shyly.

“Of course not.”

“Okay, great, because my new cookies just came out of the oven and need time to cool. I’ll be with you in a moment.” She went back, made herself a cup of coffee and then came back to you. She sat down across from you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I‘m Wanda Maximoff.”

“Hi Wanda, I‘m Y/N.“

“So, what brought you to my bakery?” Wanda asked and you told her the story of your car and how you luckily found her warm and cozy bakery. Wanda listened intently as the two of you drank your coffee and ate your dessert.

“Wow, that tasted so good.” You complimented her after eating the cinnamon roll.

“Thank you, love.” You blushed and looked out the window for a second and saw that it started to snow more.

“What do you like to do when you’re not at this wonderful bakery?” You asked Wanda as you looked back at her.

“Well, I love spending time with my brother and some friends, I love finding new recipes for all kind of stuff, and oh I really enjoy watching sitcoms.”

“Sounds really cool. What’s your favorite sitcom?”

“The Dick Van Dyke Show. I loved it when I was a kid and I still do.” Wanda told you.

“And what do you like to do when your car doesn’t break down in front of a bakery?” Wanda asked and you had to chuckle at her question. You told her about your hobbies and talked for a while until you got a message on your phone.

“Sorry.” You apologized and looked at your phone.

“Oh, no.” You mumbled when you saw the message from the car service station.

“What’s wrong?” Wanda asked.

“It’s the car service station. It will take them a few hours to get here because of the snow.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but hey, you’re lucky you ended up here.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” You smiled at her. A few minutes passed before Wanda said something again.

“Hey, I have an idea.”

“I’m all ears.”

“If you're interested, maybe you could help me with some cookies.”

“Yeah, sounds great.” You said and Wanda smiled happily. She showed you the kitchen where she makes all her desserts. Wanda then gave you an apron and you tied your hair into a ponytail. Then she showed you the recipe and started to put everything you needed on the table. You had fun helping Wanda bake the cookies and when you were done you put them in the oven and Wanda gave you a cup of hot chocolate. You stood next to her and talked for a few minutes until Wanda got the idea to decorate the cookies she had baked before you arrived. When you were almost finished, you received a message that the car service station will be here soon.

Wanda decided to give you some cookies and when you wanted to pay, she said that wasn’t necessary. You insisted that you wanted to pay, but Wanda was a little more stubborn than you, so she won. You put your jacket on and were a little sad to leave now, but you know where this bakery is so you could come back anytime.

“Goodbye, Wanda.” You said before opening the door.

“Wait.” Wanda shouted and ran towards you. You turned around and looked at her confused.

“I really enjoyed this afternoon with you and thought you might like to meet me again.” Wanda asked.

“I also really enjoyed it. I can give you my phone number, so you can text me.” Wanda nodded with a smile, and you gave her your phone number.

“See you soon, Wanda.” You said before walking out.

“See you soon. “You walked out with a smile, happy that your car broke down here and not somewhere else. Otherwise, you probably would never have met Wanda.

Taglist:

@marvelogic | @eviebuggg | @yelenasdiary | @youralphawolf72 | @severelyuniquereview | @mrs-bucky-barnes-73

[punkpoemprose]

Anything For You- A Kristanna Oneshot

Universe: Modern AU

Rating: G (General, fluff)

Length: 1019 Words

Summary: Anna loves Christmas and is very particular about having everything just right. Kristoff just loves spending the season with her. (TW Pregnancy)

A/N: Advent 2022 Day 6

Anna was particular about her hot chocolate. She liked two packets of Swiss miss in a single mug, made with coffee and sometimes with a dollop of chocolate ice cream to cool it down before the marshmallows or whip cream were added on top. Kristoff frequently teased her about it, calling it everything from “witch’s brew” to “death by chocolate”, but he still made it for her anyway.

Kristoff liked his hot chocolate however it was handed for him, and while he sometimes found it too sweet, he’d just add a little milk to it to cut the sugar.

Anna liked the tree covered with garland and white lights with all the ornaments she loved on it. She hung it heavy with little wooden carvings and the Nordic fabric stars that were just like the ones her mother used to make, the ones that Kristoff had watched hours of YouTube videos to perfect making just to see her smile a little brighter their first Christmas in their new home.

Kristoff just liked the tree to be watered, and of course he’d been a little bit of a snob when he’d insisted that they get a real tree instead of artificial. The way that Anna had smiled when he’d suggested it had made him feel like being a little particular every now and then wasn’t so bad.

Anna was set on caroling every year, even if it meant being out in the cold for hours at a time with people they barely knew. She always sang beautifully, and Kristoff never really felt the cold when she was at his side.

Kristoff never had so much fun singing as he did when he was singing with Anna. Her smiles warmed him in below freezing temperatures and he enjoyed himself even though caroling was never his first choice of fun winter activities. He always sang through the streets with her and put little hand warmers in her pockets because while they had their love to keep them warm, he was still worried about frostbite.

Anna’s holiday traditions, the little things she saw and ate and did, were sacred to her. The taste and smell and sound of the holidays were what made them enjoyable.

Kristoff just enjoyed spending them with her.

“I’m sorry I haven’t decorated the tree yet,” Anna said glumly from her position on the couch, “I keep meaning to but…”

“But your feet have been killing you, don’t worry about it Anna, I’ll decorate it while you watch Rudolph.”

They’d already missed caroling this year, and Kristoff knew that Anna was upset by the lack of Christmas activities they’d been engaging in.

“I’m watching Rudolph tonight?”

He hummed in assent, carrying two mugs of hot chocolate with him. He hadn’t wanted to make her suffer through her usual favorite being “perverted with decaf”, so he’d made hers with milk and kept up with the double hot chocolate packets and ice cream and marshmallows, counting his lucky stars that her doctor hadn’t had any complaints about her sugar intake.

She took it from him and her joyless air lifted as quickly as it had come on.

“No coffee,” he said pressing a kiss to her forehead as he set his mug down on their coffee table, “But it’s still death by chocolate.”

“It needs caffeine to be witch’s brew,” she remarked, “I see how the nomenclature works now.”

He smiled at that, walking around the front of the couch, and lifting her legs from the cushions gently with his hands so that he could sit with her feet on his lap.

“Sure, if you say so. Here I was just using the terms interchangeably, but clearly, you’ve spotted a pattern.”

“I’m good at little details,” she replied, some of the misery creeping back into her tone as she took in their surroundings.

“Which is a good thing, so you can guide me. I have no eye for design.”

He slid her socks off her feet as he spoke. Her feet were swollen and sore, as they’d been for the last few weeks, and he’d been doing his very best to rub them each time he had a chance.

“That’s not true,” she said with a sigh, “You’re the one who picked out all the furniture.”

“Because I can tell when things are built well, it doesn’t mean I know what looks good.”

“You made most of our ornaments.”

“Because you described what you wanted to me and I figured it out.”

“You picked the color for the nursery.”

He smiled at that. He had picked the color for the nursery, but that had only been because he and Anna had decided that they didn’t want to know the sex of the baby and that meant there was nothing stopping him from picking green. Anna had been the one to pick out all the coordinating woodland animal themed decorations and furniture.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she tried and failed to sit up to interrupt him, her baby bump making it near impossible for her to move around in a hurry. Instead she waved her hand at him to encourage him to shush.

“Take the compliment Kristoff, it’s all I can give you right now.”

He couldn’t help but snort at that. She was being silly, she was giving him the world just by being here, with him.

“Okay, but still, I’m going to put on a Christmas movie for you and I’m going to carry the ornaments up from the basement and you are going to tell me where to put them. If I don’t hear at least a few ‘a little to the right’, ‘a little to the left’, ‘up, higher, higher’s, I’m going to be very disappointed Anna.”

She did laugh at that, and he smiled appreciatively when her laughter was interrupted by a groan of appreciation as he pressed his thumbs into the arch of her left foot.

“Can the tree wait for a little bit?” she pleaded in very un-Christmassy-fashion.

“Anything for you,” he replied, and he wasn’t joking, not even a little bit.  

[amanda-teaches]

Our Christmas Mission ~ 3/9

Yuletide carols being sung by a choir and folks dressed up like Eskimos

Summary: With Sam stationed overseas, he asks his brother, Dean, to help plan a surprise Christmas proposal for his girlfriend, and your best friend, Eileen. With very limited Christmas experience, Dean enlists your help to create some holiday magic for the lovebirds. Will the two of you find a little love of your own along the way?

Pairing: AU Dean x Reader

Square filled: Christmas Light Tour for @spnchristmasbingo​

Word Count: 947

Warnings: A not-so-healthy amount of pining.

A/N: I really want to see some magical Christmas lights after this one. Who’s in?

Our Christmas Mission Masterlist

Time seemed to fly at the Christmas Festival. You started off strong, hopping from stall to stall with Dean, looking through all of the decorations and experiences for something Sam could use to propose to Eileen. While you both had a clear purpose in mind for the trip, you soon got off track, discovering just how easy it was to get distracted by all the sights and sounds. Swept up in all the lights and festivities, you very quickly lost focus, choosing instead to give in and enjoy the ride.

You watched the ice skaters twirl around the giant rink, all bundled up in their colorful scarves and earmuffs, the carolers singing song after song around them. Laughing your way through the day, you and Dean made a game out of people watching, throwing back more than a few cups of hot chocolate along the way. As dusk fell, you joined the crowd, walking side by side with Dean, as the main event finally began and the Christmas lights started to come on one-by-one, all around you.

They were dazzling. Strung through every tree, they formed a makeshift pathway through the park, reflecting on the ice and snow to shine like thousands of constellations of stars. Dean had tried to play it cool with his Christmas excitement for most of the day, but he was mesmerized by this, shocked further into silence with every step down the lane.

He looked incredible under the soft lights. You tried not to notice, stopping yourself from admiring him throughout the day, but with his attention occupied, you had the perfect opportunity to give into temptation. He was gorgeous. Of course, you’d noticed that when you first met him yesterday, and even more so this morning, laid out under him on the snow, but it seemed more pronounced under the gentle lights. His strong jaw, sprinkled freckles. It wasn’t just his looks that drew you in. He was kind, charming, insanely funny. You had laughed more with him in the last day than you had in the entirety of the last month. Not to mention the way he dropped everything to come here, just to help his brother find his happily ever after. It was the kind of beauty that made the lights seem pale in comparison.

Not that you should be noticing any of that, not now. You had an objective, to find a way for Sam to propose to your best friend, not to foster a schoolgirl crush. Pushing all those thoughts to the back of your head, you refocused, studying every display for something unique and meaningful you could translate to the proposal. 

The lighted lane was long. It wound in a zig-zagging pattern of twinkling, extravagant light scenes before circling back to the center of the festival, where a mammoth Christmas tree stood, dark and unlit. The second Dean’s eyes landed on the darkened tree, his face dropped, the excitement vanishing.

“Wait, hold on,” Dean challenged, spinning towards you, baffled. “After all those awesome lights, this is the end? An empty tree, no ornaments, nothing? What kind of finale is that?”

You held a finger up to your lips, pointing up to the tree to get him to turn back around. “Just wait.”

It started small, a single light traveling across one solo strand, wrapping around the tree, until it grew from there. Dean’s face shifted from befuddlement back to awe as the lights spread, weaving through the branches in brilliant reds, greens, blues, and golds, intertwining in an elaborate pattern all the way up to the shining white star at the top.

“Wow,” Dean breathed, his whisper soft voice hardly breaking the silence of the crowd around you. You stepped closer to him out of instinct, the feeling uniting you two together in an indescribable way.

Slowly at first, but steadily then, the caroling started, more people joining in with each passing moment until chrousing sounded out throughout the square. Dean was right there with all of them, even if he didn’t know the words, singing just as loudly as anyone else under the light of the tree.

When the tree lighting finally ended, and the crowd began to disperse, you turned to Dean, grinning up at him. “So, what’s the verdict? Did it inspire any Christmas magic for the proposal?”

Dean was still at a loss for words, so he just nodded, chuckling his concession. “I’ll admit it, you got me. I’m certainly feeling the spirit.” He looked around, taking in the whole scene in a quiet reverence. “Sammy would love this.”

“Eileen would too,” you said with a smile in your voice. “We definitely need to get some lights for them.”

“A whole apartment’s worth.”

You imagined their apartment completely buried in lights with Dean right there in the middle and let out a laugh. “Maybe a balance would be nice.”

You turned to leave with him when a food vendor stepped right in front of you, holding up a display of Christmas treats. “Care for a candy cane, miss?”

You held up your hand, smiling politely with a shake of your head. “No, thank you, I’m not a big fan of peppermint.”

He moved past you to the next potential sale, but Dean stayed still, his eyebrow raised in question. “No peppermint, huh? That’s not very Christmassy, Mrs. Baker Claus.”

You laughed again. “Hey, nobody’s perfect. Besides,” you joked, “I think I more than make up for it with my gingerbread obsession.” He grinned as you took his arm, pulling him back in the direction of the cars. “Bright side, we finally have somewhere to start. Proposal prep step 1- decorate their apartment.”

[citrus-lady]

Could you do a soulmate au with Aizawa deku and bakugo with the thing that they can hear their soulmate sing? That’s my favorite version. Other than the paper skin and injuries one

Sure thing! As always characters are all 18+

Aizawa

For the most part, Aizawa loves the fact that he can hear you sing and he thinks you have a really nice voice. 

The only exception to this is that your singing can sometimes be distracting if he’s teaching or doing hero work. Aizawa has pretty good focus but it's hard to think or talk with his soulmate screeching in his ears sometimes. 

It also depends on what and how you’re singing. For instance, if you’re singing something soft and sweet then it’s easier to focus rather than if you’re screeching ABBA or screamo at the top of you’re lungs. 

He prefers you to sing something less obnoxious but he still kind of likes it when you sing loud and badly because he thinks it’s funny, just not when he’s trying to teach, please. He already has to deal with his students loudly screeching. Denki totally sings Africa by Toto all the time.

Some of his favorite times to hear you sing is when he’s trying to fall asleep, in the shower, or cooking in the kitchen. Again this also depends on what and how you sing. Please don’t start singing the Krusty krab pizza when he’s trying to fall asleep. 

He isn’t much of a singer himself, but once in a great while, he’ll sing something to you, usually when he thinks you’re about to go to sleep or are sad. 

Sometimes he even sings with you if he knows the song, it makes him feel like he is bonding with you and makes him feel more connected. 

He wouldn’t mind if his soulmate sang in another language that he couldn’t understand. He would still think it's beautiful, and it may even prompt him to learn the language so he can understand what they are singing. 

Sometimes when he gets distracted in a conversation Midnight or Present Mic will tease him. Not All Might though, he just smiles knowingly. 

Overall, Aizawa will find comfort in 

Deku

Deku is such a wholesome boy and always gets excited when he gets to hear his soul mate sing. 

Even if he hears you in class or in training he is happy. It also helps motivate him to do his best. 

If you are singing something particularly sweet or heartfelt he might even cry a little bit. 

If you are singing something silly or in a silly fashion then he can’t help but laugh, even in class or in training. When you do this he can’t help but wish he can see what you’re doing and scoop you up in his arms. 

He just thinks you sound so lovely, almost like an angle. One time you went Christmas caroling and he was almost convinced that you were.

Deku’s pretty shy and really doesn’t sing a lot, but sometimes he hums tunes to you. He only really sings with you when he’s alone. 

He often tears up when he sings with you, soft boi just can’t help it. Singing with you, of hearing you sing in general, always makes his heart race and his need to be with you stronger. In those moments he can only think of two things, meeting you and become the best hero he can be so he can protect you. 

He loves listening to you sing on his way to and from school. If you sing consistently at that time of day he doesn’t even bother with headphones. He just walks to the sound of your voice and lets it motivate him. 

Deku just feels so loved when you sing and it motivates him to do his best. 

 Bakugou

I love the idea that Bakugou’s soul mate constantly sings rock/alt and screamo music. 

The first time he heard you he was actually a little freaked out/annoyed. Like what the hell is that noise? Why is someone screeching? 

Lit thought you might be hurt or in trouble the first time he heard you’re screamo. 

After a while, though he starts to vibe a bit. He won’t like it if you distract him during class but he doesn’t really mind if you sing during training. 

He acts annoyed but is actually pretty proud of his soul mate's voice. He thinks it's so powerful and moving, yet so sexy and sweet at the same time. 

Occasionally he’ll brag about you if the topic comes up. He’ll tell everyone about how badass his soul mate is and how cool they must be. 

It’s a good thing that Bakugou also likes the same type of music, he wouldn’t tolerate someone filling his head with crappy songs. 

Bakugou is probably the most likely of this bunch to sing with his soulmate as long as he’s ALONE. He wouldn’t be able to take the embarrassment of being caught and teased by his friends or his parents. Someone would definitely be on the receiving end of his violence if that happened. 

He actually sounds pretty good too, it wouldn't be a bad idea to start a rock band with him. 

If you were an actual singer in a band or something he might even consider playing drums for you. 

His favorite time to listen to you is when he’s chilling in his room and can vibe/sing with you or when he’s training and it feels like you’re singing his own personal theme song or something. Plus during training, you’re rock music enhances his anger and violent tendencies. 

[notnctu]

under the mistletoe | l.ty

lee taeyong x fem!reader genre - fluff, barely humor idk, very little bit of angst details - enemies to lovers!au, childhood friends that have been apart, high school!au warnings - explicit language, one mention of death, there’s a kiss scene lol word count - 2.7k  synopsis - the holiday season brings a change of heart this year. you see your old friend, now enemy, Lee Taeyong at Mark’s Christmas gathering and through snowman shaped cookies, you two re-kindle your old friendship. 

a/n - this is for @neoculturechristmas​ ‘s secret santa collab! this piece is dedicated to @soliverse​ :) hello lovie!! i’m your secret santa!! i hope you like it and im sorry that it’s not funny LOL thank you for letting me participate in such a fun holiday collab! im so happy to be able to write a fic for another writer:)

Through the heavily crowded Christmas party, through the people that dare walk in your way, you still see him in the midst of the chaos. Lee Taeyong stands only a few feet from you, in a ridiculous Christmas sweater and messy frosty hair. The universe is absolutely obsessed with placing you two in uncomfortable situations, as if the fuming feud between you two is not enough.

His absentminded actions cause him to foolishly knock over someone’s drink, what a fucking clutz. Rolling your eyes, you wander off in search of your good friend to announce your departure for the night.

“Already? Y/N, you got here like, five minutes ago.” Mark mixes the glass bowl that is filled to the brim with red sugary punch. Any forceful spin will have it spilling from the rim, and that won’t be the only mishap of the night that you witness. “What’s the rush? It’s Christmas Eve!” 

And before you can utter the blacklisted name to explain your sudden change of heart, the culprit walks in with his stunned puppy eyes that grow sharp and a frown at your appearance. There is a small spark in the shared eye contact until it completely drops and he returns to ignoring your presence. 

“Mark, where are your napkins? I spilled something in your living room.” It had to be a whole year since you’ve last heard his voice and you still remember his low cadence whenever he was trying to be cool. Cool and mysterious Taeyong, and how he lives up so perfectly to his title. However, there was a moment in time that you knew him for more than that. He was warm and comforting Taeyong. 

While he tried so hard to be winter on the outside, spring bloomed blossoms on the inside and a bright sunshine radiated enough for you to witness its glow. You wished to stay with his spring for as long as you possibly could, but like the changing seasons, Taeyong eventually changed with it.

“It’s in the upper cabinet.” Mark does not realize the initial situation in the room, merrily going back to his large bowl of delicious liquid. It takes one big sigh from you for your friend to finally realize the elephant in the room and the unknowingly stiff tension in the kitchen. Mark’s eyes grow a bit bigger and as subtle as he tried to be, he clears his throat, “I think Christmas is all about joining together and being in each other’s company. Stay, Y/N.”

Mark did not choose his words wisely as Taeyong peeks over his shoulder, catching the last words of his sentence. “You’re leaving already, Y/N?” That is the first time he’s acknowledged you in the past few years.

There is an internal battle of whether or not you should acknowledge him back. Crossing your arms, you grumble something underneath your breath. “Why do you care?” 

“I don’t.” Taeyong says sternly, making sure he asserts his nonchalant attitude. “Just sucks that Mark threw such a happy Christmas party for his good friend to leave.” He slings an arm around Mark’s shoulders, snuggling his face into the side of Mark’s chocolate colored hair.

And Mark dares to show a small smile of affection back. “Sorry that Y/N is always walking out on things. She does that quite often.” Before you can give him a piece of your mind, Mark shoves a snowman shaped biscuit in your mouth. 

Taeyong gets away laughing, feeling an overwhelming sense of pride as he walks to clean up his other mess. You groan, biting the head of the snowman off and glaring at Mark. “Why did you let him get away with saying that to me? And when did you become friends with him again? And why are your cookies so hard?” 

“Taeyong lost a friend, like a month ago. Just be a bit empathetic, please.” Mark wipes his hands on his apron and continues kneading at a random ball of dough. If it’s one thing that Mark always does too well is overachieving at his holiday gatherings. There is a reason why he’s head of the Prom Committee and student officer for event planning at your high school.

Washing your hands, the cold water bites at your skin. It’s been a really cold winter this year. When you dry your hands off, you scoot Mark over to make room for yourself to help with his endless amount of holiday treats.

“We’ve all lost friends, Mark. Sometimes people don’t work out with others and that’s just how it goes.” There is an underlying bitterness that does not seem to fade when you speak. 

“Speaking from experience, maybe?” Mark chuckles, but dismisses the brief second of giggles to a more serious and low tone. “Not that kind of lost, Y/N. He lost a friend forever, like this person is in a forever sleep.” 

The moment the words hit the air, a chilly draft sweeps at your ankles and you freeze in your place. And as you stand with dry flour on your hands and a person you thought you’d never become warm to again stands in the next room over, your heart softens at the information and immediate guilt preoccupies your system. 

“Oh… well you should have started with that, then.” You slightly graze a finger across your nose at the faint tickle. Your mind is running at high speed, merely wondering about all the pain that Taeyong possibly felt this past month and remembering how it’s difficult for him to process his feelings. 

“He actually wasn’t going to come tonight, until I mentioned you were coming.” Mark unloads a batch of fresh cookies from the oven and replaces it with another tray. The aromatics take you back to Christmas many years ago and the memory of Taeyong getting frosting everywhere you could remember. It took weeks to get the red and green stains out of the carpet, but the laughter made up for every clumsy mistake. 

Not completely sure where the melancholic spirit erupted from, you rinse your hands and grab two cookies off the still hot tray without another response. Hurrying off, Mark yells out, “Wait-- those aren’t decorated yet!” but you choose to ignore his pleas.

Why is it harder to find him in a crowd when you are actually looking for him? Perhaps the saying, the best things in life come when you’re not looking for them, holds some truth to it. But your feet take you directly to him; he sits at the leather couch with the burning embers from the fireplace reflecting in his eyes. 

Your abrupt appearance startles him a bit, but his face falls sullen when he sees that it’s you. Shoulders touching, you’ve missed the intimacy you two use to share. The blank snowman shaped cookie feels warm in your hand as you thrust it into Taeyong’s face. “For you.” 

Taeyong scoffs, pushing your hand away lightly and looking away from the pitiful undecorated treat. “This feels like a trap.”

“No trap. Just a truce. Remember the time when I got upset at you for forgetting me in the parking lot and I told you the only way to fix it was to buy me food?” Your hand begins to drop, but Taeyong catches your wrist and takes the cookie from your possession. He gently places your hand back onto your lap.

“I know no other love language.” You explain the reasoning behind the old memory. 

“Pretty sure food isn’t a love language.” Taeyong chuckles, like Christmas carols to your ears, he sounds like home. 

“It’s not, but they all require me to be too emotionally vulnerable and you know how that makes me feel…” Your voice unintentionally trails off the end of your sentence. Does he still know how you feel? 

Taeyong’s eyebrow raises subtly, catching your implication. “You’re still the same person you were three years ago?”

Three years, has it really been that long? You nod without needing to ponder the thought. There is a stark difference between change and growth. You are who you’ve always been, that is never going to change, but you’ve grown to be stronger and a little more independent.

“That’s not surprising.” Taeyong bites at his cookie, turning the figure in his hands as he stares off to reminisce about the past. He thinks about his pain. He thinks about his own self growth. “I’ve been thinking about you recently.” 

The bold comment causes your chest to burn and your throat to grow a bit dry. Taeyong finally looks up at you, eyes dropping between your own and your lips. He doesn’t shy away from staring, taking in how much you’ve changed appearance wise since you two used to be friends. His eyelashes dance against his skin every time he blinked and the white strands of his hair fall around his crown like snowflakes. 

“Why?” 

“I learned how important it is to have friends around you. You never know when you’ll never see them again. The falling out we had should not have ruined the friendship we built for so long.” It’s difficult for Taeyong to continue with his feelings. It’s not a secret that he’s liked you since you two were close, probably half of the room is well aware of it. But there has never been a moment where he was out right too vulnerable to you, he was and is afraid of showing his feelings. 

It’s an immediate body reaction when Taeyong leans in to you and you defensively back away. The confusion shows on your face very blatantly and his dreamy laugh rattles your bones. Taeyong’s hand softly caresses your cheek as his thumb brushes the tip of your nose. “You have some flour on your face.” This skin to skin leaves you speechless as his hot hand holds your cheek so delicately, making your heart race rapidly.

“Your Christmas sweater is ugly.” That’s all you can utter, out of pure panic too. Your eyes dip away and he retracts away from you, elbows on his knees as he leans forward and ducking momentarily to examine his choice of festive clothing. 

He laughs, “it’s called an ugly Christmas sweater for a reason. It’s better than wearing a lame red sweater and calling it festive.” It’s surreal how quick things settle back into being the way that it used to be. As if the last three years of silence and constantly pretending the other didn’t exist disappeared. Taeyong is back, he’s yours again. And you hope that he’ll be by your side for longer than you had let him go.

“Red is not my color, I agree, but green is definitely not yours.” You joke back and Taeyong ruffles your hair, just like old times. The holiday spirit practically wraps its arms around you two. The holidays are really about being in each other’s warmth. In this very cold winter, you’re happy to have found an old flame that kept you from frostbite for many years. 

“Y/N, we’re putting up the mistletoe.” An acquaintance interrupts you and Taeyong, quickly grabbing your arm to follow her. Your eyes dart between her and Taeyong. One thing you know no doubt about is that you aren’t leaving Taeyong alone again, so you take his hand without another second thought and drag him along with you.

You’re all ushered into the foyer and Mark is on a step ladder under the frame of his door. He notes Taeyong by your side and discreetly smiles to himself. He securely pins it to the wall and claps his hands together to gather everyone’s attention. “We’re going to blindfold two people and they’re going to have to kiss underneath the mistletoe.” 

Your hands grow sweaty at the thought of such a risky game and immediately, you two let go of each other’s hands without realizing the clutching feeling of each other’s anxiousness. “I don’t think I’ll be chosen.” Taeyong mumbles to you as Mark and a few other people unravel the blindfolds. Nevertheless, he doesn’t sound very confident and you notice Taeyong’s shifty eyes. 

“Right. Me either.” You shrug off, trying to hide slightly behind Taeyong’s stature. However, Taeyong instantly catches the uncertainty in your voice as well. 

“Aren’t there four couples in the room?” Taeyong whispers over his shoulder at you.

Crossing your arms, you roll your eyes at his obvious thinking. “Yeah, but Mark isn’t going to choose a couple to kiss. How boring.” 

Taeyong chuckles out of disbelief at your comment. “I’ll volunteer you if you want to really spice things up.” 

And your eyes grow wide at his mischievous suggestion, pinching at his arm lightly. Underneath the fleece, Taeyong feels sturdy and strong. It’s only another reminder that you two aren’t kids anymore. “Lee Taeyong, do not. I don’t want to kiss anyone in this room.” That might’ve been a lie, even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself that you are just a little curious how Taeyong might have matured. 

“Everyone close your eyes.” Mark excitedly smiles and everyone obliges. You gulp the pooled saliva in your mouth, trying to manifest every possible hope that you aren’t chosen in this room of twenty people. Mark wouldn’t screw you over like that, would he? The more you pondered that thought, the more you believe that he totally would.

Then, you feel a hand on your arm and you’re being guided somewhere. A cloth covers your eyes and you’re quick to snarl, “Mark Lee, this is your only Christmas present. You get no more favors from me.” your cadence is only loud enough for him to hear and though you’re robbed of your sight, Mark’s boyish laughter says enough about his enlightened facial expression.

“This is what you get for trying to leave five minutes into my extravagant party I tried so hard to put on.” Mark sarcastically comments and pats your shoulders for a last indication of reassurance.

You hear footsteps in front of you and an uncanny presence of another in your close proximity. “Okay, everyone can open their eyes.” Mark cheers and it’s not like you can see much through the dark cloth that covers your eyes, but yours open anyways.

Gasps fill the room, slight hollering and cheering. The reactions cause an unsettling stir in your lower stomach. “Kiss!” and before you know it, the unknown person searches for your face and cups it gingerly. The feeling being very familiar to a scene before.

The both of you lean in and it’s difficult with the lack of sight, but people kiss with their eyes closed right? It’s not your first kiss, but also the sense deprivation is something different. When you tilt your head and go in for it, your noses bump together clumsily. You’re slightly embarrassed, your heart is leaping out of your chest from the sudden display of affection and you’re strangling Mark in your imagination.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, but there isn’t a response back. Instead, your partner dives in without any trace of struggle. Their lips glide perfectly with yours and it’s almost like you’re kissing snow. Any form of awkwardness melts away; their hand on your cheek feels natural and comforting. Your heart yearns for this sense of security as the same warmth from the fireplace embodies your chest. 

When you two pull away, the room bursts into a loud chaos of cheers. Before you can take off your blindfold, you can feel everyone running toward the both of you to give you excited pats on your head and arm. 

“I can’t believe that just happened!” Your friend’s voice can be heard in your ear. As you lift off the cloth, you see him in the midst of the chaos. Through the heavy dog pile of overly joyous people, Lee Taeyong stands a few feet from you in his ugly Christmas sweater, messy frosty hair and a pink hue across his pale cheeks. 

He looks over at you and shyly smiles. “Hopefully that spiced things enough for you. Happy Holidays, Y/N.” He can barely process everyone else's excitement, but he feels joyous for once. After a long cold bitter winter, he feels warm. 

“Happy Holidays, you big goof. Good to have you back.” You push at his arm, laughing happily at the ridiculously wide smile he has on his face. You’re glad to see Taeyong smile again. 

[palimpsessed]

Writerly Ephemera

I was tagged by @amywaterwings @mostlymaudlin @tea-brigade @effing-numpties @captain-aralias @bloodiedpixie . This is so cool, so thanks for sharing yours! ❤️

Per Amy: We add little bits of ourselves to our writing, scattering memories and places and phrases and things into our stories. The game is to find five examples of this, of YOU, in your writing and show everyone.

I don’t really feel like I put much of my own experiences into my fic, probably because I don’t feel like I have a lot of experiences to pull from. (That’s not me being self-deprecating; that’s me never going anywhere or doing anything.) So, let’s see what we come up with!

Going to tag here. I feel like I’ve gotten to this late so I’m not sure who has been tagged. Anyway. No pressure, loves. Just saying hi. 🥰 @theflyingpeach @bazzybelle @otherworldsivelivedin @unseelieseelie @wetheformidables @caitybug @nightimedreamersworld @foolofabookwyrm @stillmadaboutpetra

1. I have put the most of myself into A Man of Letters. I have my degree in English Lit and when I was in college, I was at the height of my Jane Austen obsession. So I sort of built my degree around the development of the English novel. My senior thesis was on a book called Evelina by Frances Burney, who was one of Austen’s greatest literary influences. Evelina is an epistolary novel—told entirely in letters. I love the epistolary form, for the same reason I love dialogue and texting fics. It’s such a fun narrative technique and can reveal so much about individual characters. It’s actually a bit like the way Rainbow Rowell uses multi POV in her books. Anyway, my love of the epistle was on full display in this fic, which is ofc told in letters. —Do I share a passage? That’s like...the whole fic 😅 So, idk. Here’s Simon being a disaster as he meditates on letter writing:

Dear Penny,

As I start this letter, I already know I'm not going to post it. I know I won't be able to bring myself to do it, because of what I have to say to you. I do feel bad. It's not that I don't want to tell you. And you know I'm so much better at writing things down than saying them out loud. It's only that I feel like this would all sound better coming from me in person. I just don't think I'll be able to make you understand in a letter. I'm still trying to understand myself. And writing all of this down helps me with that. Even if I'm only pretending to write to you, it makes me feel better, to think of you on the other end. I promise I really will tell you everything as soon as we're together again.

2. Also for A Man of Letters, my fascination with Regency fashions, in particular the dandy, was a major factor. I did an art book about this, comparing how fashion has changed over time, especially in regard to gender. (I also did an art book based on Evelina, since I’m on the subject. I minored in book art. 😁) I always fancied the look of a Regency dandy, so that was my gift to Baz.

Whoever has been working their magic on Salisbury should in fact be the person to whom I offer my eternal devotion. Alas, I am left to flounder under the burden of lusting after a man who is incapable of dressing himself.

The utter and unmitigated shame.

Salisbury wore a forest green wool frock coat that set off the golden highlights in his brown locks. This was accented with a green and aubergine striped silk waistcoat that was trimmed in white piping and felt much too daring a pattern for the man. (I don't care if he was a soldier; it takes a hardier man than him by half to choose a stripe like that.) His charcoal trousers were enticingly snug, but not so much to prove lethal. His cravat and points left much to be desired, though that likely reflected poorly on his ability to keep himself in order, rather than the ability of his valet. (Good God, maybe the man doesn't even have a valet!)

3. When it came to my countdown fic, To the Manor Borne, I had Shep make a reference to Cluedo, because Pitch Manor would be perfect for a real life game. Behind that, is the fact that my family played a lot of Clue and I watched the movie a whole bunch growing up, to the point where my sister and I used to quote it to each other. This was a way to pay homage to that. He also talks about playing the game Murder in the Dark, which was one I played at Halloween as a kid. One of my cousins was dressed as a ghoul with glow in the dark face paint and we were in my grandma’s creepy upstairs. Perfect vibes.

I’ve seen the kitchen and the dining room and the library and the study and the parlor. Walking through this house is like playing Clue. (They call it Cluedo on this side of the pond, because they like to be difficult.) (That was a whole thing. Do not get me started.)

I keep thinking Colonel Mustard’s going to pop up out of nowhere and brain me with a lead pipe.

And:

What kind of games do you play with magickal friends who don't have magic? Twister? Not with the wings and tail. Cards? Baz and Penny would cheat. Or accuse everyone else of cheating if they didn't win. Murder in the dark? With these people, in this house, I knew it would turn literal fast, and also it was like ten in the morning. Hide and seek? Simon and I would hide and everyone else would ditch. Snowball fight? World War III.

4. I’ve referenced Mozart in my fics a couple of times because when I was first getting into classical music, I was listening to a lot of Mozart. My sister had a CD of some of his early symphonies, and my local classical station does “Mozart in the Mornings” which happened to fit in the exact time slot between two morning classes I had my first year in college. I’d go sit in my car with a cup of tea, and just vibe with Mozart as my soundtrack. I’ve name dropped him in both A Man of Letters and To the Manor Borne. Also, Mozart wrote 12 variations on the melody shared by Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, which is a lovely tie in. (I also had the gang sing/cast The Holly and the Ivy, which is one of my favorite Christmas carols, and by strange coincidence was playing on the radio at the same time I wrote that scene. 🥰)

"It's a songbook," I tell him, like he can't figure that out for himself. "Did you know that Mozart wrote twelve different versions of the same song?"

He's laughing. "Mozart did not write Twinkle, twinkle, little star, Simon."

"You know what I mean."

"He composed twelve variations for solo piano on the French folk melody Ah! Vous dirai-je, maman."

"Sure. Anyway, this is for the violin. For you to play."

He's still laughing, and I'm trying to figure out what's so funny, but then he kisses me again, on the lips this time, so I figure maybe I'm still doing okay.

Only one more to go! What will it be? 👀

5. Therapy! Eheheh...😅 Look, it’s no secret the gang needs it. And tbh, so do I. Haven’t actually managed to get myself to go yet, and I think that’s where a lot of my “send them to therapy” happy endings come from. I did it in Use Your Words and To the Manor Borne. I started Chamber by Chamber with SnowBaz already in therapy, and then structured the whole thing around therapy that they give to each other and to themselves. It didn’t really fit in A Man of Letters, but if it had, I absolutely would have done it. I’ve only shared from two fics so far, and since it could kind of spoil the ending to Use Your Words (tho saying this may be spoiler anyway...), here are two snippets from It’s a Kind of Magic, Part I of Chamber by Chamber.

I've been working on articulating my needs. We both have. Ordinarily, I'd be afraid of pushing him away by making demands when he's on the verge of a spiral, but my therapist insists that I can't go on treating Simon with kid gloves. If I never ask him for anything, he'll think he doesn't have anything to give.

And

When I told that to my therapist, she said that I needed to talk it out of me and she'd help me find ways to work through it all. She said I needed to talk it out with Baz, too, so that he'd know how to help me when things got bad again—that was something else she said, that things would get bad again, and that I'd need to be prepared for that. That I couldn't expect things to be easy, and just go away.

6. BONUS! I think the biggest way I include bits of myself is in the AUs I’ve chosen to write. I have three I’m planning that say a lot about me, so I’m going to talk a bit about them here. There is ofc my Scooby Doo AU, inspired in large part by the fact that I watched it all the time growing up and also, my sister continues to be obsessed with it. When we were young, my parents were doing a lot of work on their house and we’d take family trips to the hardware store. My sister and I hated it, so we’d wait in the car with my mom and she would entertain us with “Scooby Doo stories”. Other AUs I’m planning? Troop Beverly Hills—please tell me someone else out there loved this movie the way I did when I was 5. It was very influential to baby me and I remember wishing for nothing more than being able to dress like Shelley Long. So, I’m going to let Baz do it, because I think he deserves it. 🥰 Lastly, tho it will probably be the first I write, is my Cupid and Psyche AU, from when I was heavy into mythology and religion. Since these are all forthcoming projects, I don’t really have a snippet. Instead, here’s Baz comparing Simon to Eros, which is what started my brain on that particular AU.

I am lost. I barely know anything about Salisbury, but I can't help being drawn in. At one time, I could have comforted myself that I was only so smitten with him because he looks like he was sculpted by Praxiteles. That excuse grows weaker with every encounter. He's the furthest thing from a lifeless tribute to beauty in marble as one can be. There is something deep and dark and feral inside of him and I want to claw it out. I want to see it, to let it free. To taste his wildness and his pain.

[kopikokun]

DAY FOURTEEN: park jisung.

↳ christmas carols are your new guilty pleasure.

pairing: park jisung x reader

contain(s): fluff, high school!au, one expletive

word count: 906 words

← BACK TO NAVI.  | ← BACK TO CHRISTMAS PROMPT LIST.

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.

It was fleeting, though you felt it; the frost of sudden embarrassment prickling your skin. Your cheeks go warm.

    You pause to think, ‘Is this creepy?’. It probably is, but you suppose that’s what a guilty pleasure is.

    Your repentance is muffled by the singing from above. Jisung’s voice is crisp, gentle, like the slight caress of early autumn air and the crunch of the multi-coloured leaves beneath your boots. This heavenly voice is your sin.

    A week ago, when the river had completely frozen over, you’d taken cover under the glulam arc of the bridge, cracking open a book to read. Sure, it had been cold, but the landscape was unmatched. Peaks of white snow blanketing the barren land ahead, gangly trees jutting from the ground like spears, obscuring the glow of the winter sun. You hadn’t noticed anyone’s presence until you heard a mellow voice floating through the air, drifting down to you like delicate snowflakes. Whoever it was had their legs dangling over the side of the bridge, swinging back and forth. They wore tinsel red sneakers. From that angle, you could see the scuffs on their heels. They looked familiar. They were Jisung’s.

    So as you sit here today, a different book cradled in your palms and Jisung’s voice rippling in the air as he sings ‘Baby, it’s cold outside’ with those tinsel red sneakers swaying in constant motions, you feel serene. You find yourself singing along with him. The cold no longer bites. The air is still. You never knew Jisung could sing. If you pondered about it longer, you realised you didn’t really even know what he sounded like. He’s always kept more to himself at school. You’ve seen Jisung in passing, smiling softly at strangers and crouching by the bins to pet the stray cats, but aside that, you really knew nothing more about him. He’s cute though. You reminisce about that one time he zipped your backpack for you from behind when you had forgotten to. That was nice.

    Your steady torrent of thoughts is drained when your alarm blares from within your pocket. You fumble to turn it off but the sinking feeling of dread flooding your stomach is palpable.

    “Is somebody here?” Shit.

    The air in your lungs leaves you slowly like a punctured balloon. “...No.” Nice going, he’ll definitely buy that.

    “Who’s there?”

    Your brain trips over itself, scouring for a decent lie. “It’s the uhh… grumpy old troll.”

    Jisung’s laugh is swift. It’s the first time you’ve heard it, and it sounds better than his singing, which you never thought was possible. “I’m serious. You better show yourself.”

    “Not until you solve my riddle!” Stifling silence. “Sorry, that was lame. I’ll come up.”

    Jisung’s eyes frisk over you when you’ve trekked up the slope onto the bridge. He does a double-take, a thin sheen of familiarity in his pupils. “It’s you.”

    “You know me?”

    His face flushes cherry red and he hikes his scarf higher up his neck. “Yeah… I’ve uh, seen you at school. Uhm, how long have you been there?”

    You grin sheepishly. “Not long.”

    “You’re lying, aren’t you?” His eyebrow careens upwards.

    “I’ve been here since last week,” you confess. “Wait, no, like I’ve come back here every day for a week, but I like, went home, you know? I wasn’t sleeping down there.”

    Jisung’s lip quivers as he restrains a smile. “So, you heard me.” He shelves his arms on the bridge’s rail, gazing out onto the muted scenery. The tender luminescence from the winter sun’s outer rim beams down onto him.

    You mirror his actions beside him. “I didn’t know you could sing.” Trepidation seeps through the lines carved into the wood as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. “You sound good! Really good.”

    “Oh, uh, thanks. I’ve been practicing for the Christmas carol.” He stares forward with conviction, yet Jisung’s fingers tremble.

    “That’s really cool! I didn’t think you’d be the type to do that,” you smile nervously, “though I don’t know you very well to begin with.”

   “Well, we could start now.” You cock your head at him. “You could get to know me better starting from now and… vice-versa.”

    He chances a smile at you. You grip the handrail, old wood splintering slightly. “I’d really like that, Jisung.”

    “You know my name?”

     “Of course!” Your cheeks brim with heat at your over-enthusiasm. “I’ve seen you around school plenty. Not like I’m actively looking for you or anything because that’d be weird—”

    There it is again, that slight laugh of his. It rumbles in his chest and tumbles from his lips before he can stop it. It undulates in the air sleepily. Your heart blooms. Maybe making a fool of yourself isn’t such a bad thing. “It’s fine. I know your name too.”

    Your moment is pierced by your screaming alarm again. You almost scowl, turning it off. Jisung tilts his head towards you with concern. “I have to head home now.”

    “Aw, what? Already?” he frowns. “I mean, well— nevermind.” His ears scorch.

    You nibble on your bottom lip. “Give me your phone.”

    “Why?” he says but he hands it to you before you answer.

    “Because,” you grin, “I wanna give you my number. Just so I can tell you which address to drop by when you’re carolling, or you can just come hang out too. I wouldn’t mind that either.”

    Jisung laughs.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

This Christmas (pt1)

John Wick x Reader. A John Wick AU. (A/n- Just a tiny, five part Au where John is Y/n’s boss.)

Masterlist  

Warnings- none

New York Y/n’s desk was probably the most obvious give away that Christmas was her favorite holiday of all time. She had everything; from tinsel running cheerfully around the edges and a tiny tree in one corner, to a little snowman figurine and a decorative jar of striped candy canes. That year, she’d even put out extra to buy a little Santa Claus figurine to greet everyone coming out of the elevator. The rest of the floor hadn’t really caught on though, her boss was never one to get into the holiday spirit anyways. But Y/n didn’t mind, she probably had enough for them both. 

That morning, three weeks before the big day, she was sitting at her little station in the waiting room, tapping away on her computer, contentedly working her way through everything John had assigned her as she hummed in time with the Christmas carols wafting through her ear buds, loud enough for her to enjoy it though not so much so as to hamper her from hearing if the phone would ring. A classic had just started up, and like the others, Y/n had committed it to memory and was completely ready to get in tune with Mariah Carey when a knocking on the upper part of her receptionist’s desk roused her attention. It was Robert, the company’s head of marketing, flashing her a winning grin as he leaned forward on the matted grey surface. “I see our Christmas queen strikes again,” he gave her area a once over, his smile not wavering.

“That she has,” Y/n returned, beaming. Robert was a friend, a good one and he never let the vast differences in their positions at the company get in the way of inviting her to drinks with other board members or taking the extra elevator ride to bring her coffee whenever he could. “Do you like it?” Removing her ear buds, Y/n shifted her keyboard to give herself some room to fold her elbows on the desk.

“Like it?” Robert furrowed his brows, “I love it! You should come over and help me decorate,” when Y/n rolled her eyes, dismissing the notion, he clarified, “I’m being serious! You won’t have to do any of the heavy lifting, I swear, I’d be grateful for just your direction.”

Giggling, Y/n leaned back into her chair, folding her arms across her chest, “Can’t you pay someone to do all that Rob? What do you need me for?”

“I guess I could,” he shrugged, depositing a colorful gift bag with crepe paper sticking out at the top in front of him, he straightened up, slipping his hands into his pockets, “But it won’t be the same. I’m pretty clueless with…..making sure things flow so perfectly,” he gestured to the way she’d dressed up her station; just enough to show off the spirit, though not in a gaudy, over the top way, “But I like to get involved, you know? Please say you’ll come. I may not be able to decorate like a pro, but my hot cocoa is awesome.”

Leaning in conspiringly, Y/n held her chin in her palm, “Are you trying to bribe me with amazing cocoa that I’ve never tasted?”

“I am,” his voice dropped an octave, and when Robert leaned in towards the desk, he spoke in a whisper, “The secret’s whiskey.”

“Ohh,” Y/n mused, “Very tempting, can you do Saturday?”

“I most definitely can.” just as they continued to make plans, out from the hallway, came their boss, and CEO of the company, John Wick. It was hard to not notice him, considering he seemed to have this air about him that attracted all eyes the minute he walked into a room. He was just…..magnetic. “Y/n,” he teased, “You didn’t tell me the Grinch was in.”

From her usual perch, Y/n stuttered, unlike Robert, she was afraid of what would happen if John felt insulted by a harmless joke. He was an asset to the company, of a high caliber, but her? She was just an assistant. Thankfully though, John didn’t give her a moment to speak before speaking up, shaking his head, “Don’t you have work to do Rob? Things to finalize before the conference.”

“It’s three weeks away,” Robert defended, taking on a bothered expression. He turned to John, leaning against the lip of the desk and crossing one ankle in front of the other. Likewise, John neared the pair, lingering closer to the edge, laying a large palm on the cool top, not yet regarding Y/n.

“Only three weeks,” John emphasized with a heavy sigh, “Did you really just come up here to bother my secretary? Cause if you don’t, Y/n does have work to.” 

“I can see that,” Robert nodded towards the thick planner laid out next to her computer, right next to several papers and little notes reminding her of all the things she had to get done. Buy gifts for everyone on John’s very long yet impersonal list, schedule flights to England for the conference, book him a hotel room, organize his calendar and set appointment dates. And that was barely a quarter of it. By the rate things were going, Y/n was beginning to wonder if John was even going to take Christmas day off. “You’ve got her burning the midnight oil.”

“It’s eleven am,” John noted gruffly. In her three years of working under him, Y/n had never once heard the man crack a joke, or laugh for that matter. He was so serious that often, Y/n would wonder if he even smiled. Maybe that's why he looked so good for a man nearing fifty. That, and the real possibility of him having a fancy home gym. “Maybe it’s time to get back to your office Robert.”

“Right,” Robert fought a frown, only to turn back to Y/n as he picked up the gift, “Just one more thing,” as he looked at her, he smiled again, holding the bag out to her, “I got you this Y/n.”

Scoffing a delighted laugh, Y/n retrieved the present, “No fair, you’re early. I haven’t even had time to get your gift yet.”

“This isn’t your Christmas present,” Robert gestured for her to unveil his gift, “Open it, come on.”

“Alright, fine. But if it's not- oh my god!” Gasping loudly, her jaw hung slack and Y/n held up the ceramic mug that had been secured inside. It was rounded and painted to look like a gingerbread man wearing a scarf, and it had even come equipped with a candy cane spoon. “Rob,”  standing abruptly, disregarding her boss eyeing their exchange, “I love it,” Y/n walked around to meet him on the other side, immediately pulling him into a warm hug, “Thank you!”

“I knew you would,” he grinned as they pulled apart, “I should probably get back now though. But I’ll call you tonight so we can talk about Saturday.”

“Sounds great!” Waving as Robert retreated towards the elevator, she gave her new mug another look, “I can’t wait to use this,” Y/n noted, more to herself, only catching John staring at her when she looked up once more, “I’m sorry Mr. Wick, is there something you needed? If its about your flight plan, I’m calling the agency this afternoon so-”

“You know we have a no fraternization policy, right?” He cut her off, straightening his back and cutting her a stern look.

“I….uh….You mean…..” Looking between John and her opened present, Y/n furrowed her brows, confused. Of course, Robert was perhaps one of the most eligible bachelors, besides John himself, at the company; he was attractive, charming and quite the gentleman. But Y/n had never even thought of viewing him in a romantic light, they were friends and nothing more. “That was…..that was nothing,” she waved the thought off, “Robert is just a good friend. He probably just saw that while he was shopping or something. We do that kind of thing all the time.”

Humming his response, John kept his head held intimidatingly high. He always seemed so much bigger than her and Y/n could never decide whether or not it was thrilling or frightening. John himself was quite the looker, dark hair, dark eyes and enthrallingly mysterious. Even on a regular day he looked like he belonged on the posters for some high end brand or the other. “I need you in my office,” already, he was walking off and Y/n was left scurrying to match his long strides in her heels.

“What is this about?” Breathless as John shut the heavy door behind them, Y/n tried to right herself as she went before his desk. The large room, with dark porcelain floors and hardwood walls, accented by elegant furniture was familiar territory and Y/n knew it almost as well as she knew her own apartment. Papers on the right of his desk were dealt with, the ones on the left weren’t. There was an integrated mini refrigerator among the cabinets and he kept an extra suit, custom Tom Ford cause he never wore anything but, in the closet where he kept his coat. Come to think of it, Y/n probably knew more about John than anyone else in that entire building,

“Its about the conference,” coolly, he sank into his imposing leather chair, gracefully scooting towards his imported, mahogany desk. “It’s good that you haven’t called the agency yet, cause now you’ll be booking three tickets; you’re coming too.”

Stammering, Y/n’s eyes went wide with surprise. That wasn’t right, that wasn’t right at all. She was supposed to have Christmas week off, so she could fly home to be with her family, but that wasn’t really possible if John would be taking her across the pond for a conference filled with stuffy, middle aged people with too much money and no one to spend it on. “Mr. Wick…..I…..I already applied for that week off.”

“No you didn’t, you never submitted an application,” he didn’t even look at her, firing up his laptop and probably ready to be done with the matter.

“Yes, I did,” frenzied, and panicked, Y/n looked to his desk, where, lo and behold, her application for time off sat on among the smaller pile of paperwork, the one on the left side. But that was impossible, she’d given it to him weeks ago! “It’s right there,” she pointed accusingly to where it had been sticking out from beneath some investment proposal or the other. 

Snatching it up, John scanned the pages before swearing under his breath. It was the first time she’d ever seen him so bewildered. “Y/n,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, “I’m sorry it must have gotten mixed up in the hustle.”

“I….” She wanted to argue, tell him that an apology wouldn’t make up for keeping her away from her family. Y/n wanted to yell that she’d be taking the week off anyway. But she couldn’t. Not just because he was her boss, but because he was John, who despite his very hardened exterior, had earned himself a soft spot in her heart. Y/n cared for him, in a way she probably shouldn’t have and the thought of bailing when he needed her wasn’t one she could entertain. “It’s okay,” forcing a smile and biting back tears, she blinked quickly, “I guess I should get to planning our flights.”

“Y/n-” he began, but it was too late, Y/n had already turned on her heel and was moving towards the door, swiping hastily at her eyes before she could listen to him say anything else. 

Three Weeks Later Despite being separated merely by six inches in the car ride to the airport, Y/n swore that she could feel John's heat radiating, seeping through her thick layers. It was both an exciting and uncomfortable experience. On one hand, being that close to him almost had her giddy; feeding the school girl crush she'd developed on her boss. While on the other, things felt clumsy and tense; he didn't seem interested in talking,  she didn't know what they could possibly talk about besides work and sharing an hour long car ride and six am was plain out awkward. Still, they’d made it through in almost complete silence. 

Even at the airport, whilst walking to where they had agreed to meet Robert at the waiting area in anticipation of their flight, John had stayed silent and Y/n felt something of a dead limb walking beside him. He was always quiet and, like clockwork, as the year dwindled down, he seemed to grow even colder, as New York’s winter resided inside him. Usually, Y/n tried to not to let it get to her, but they were going to spend the week together; she’d given up family time for work and his silence was making her feel a bit lonely. Her only glimmer of hope for some good, warm company had been in Robert, even if Y/n got the feeling that John wouldn’t be giving them too much time together.

The chill between them lingered all the way through, though, when they all met up, things were uncharacteristically different. Immediately upon greeting each other, Y/n had instinctively pulled Robert into a hug, standing on the tip toes of her suede knee-highs so she could loop her arms around his neck, staying like that until John cleared his throat. When Y/n pulled away, she rubbed her gloved hands together, glancing at John, not really knowing what to feel when she looked at him and consequently looking away quickly. “ Uh…” checking her phone, Y/n exhaled shakily; there was still quite a bit of time left and the thought of having to spend it with both Robert and John was unnerving. She knew he wasn’t exactly a fan of their friendship, though, she could never tell why and without having to ponder on it, Y/n  had already known that they were in for a long morning.

“Why don’t we head over to the lounge, get some drinks?” John filled the silence, causing Y/n to snap her head up and look directly at them. John wanted to grab drinks, with them? When she finally gathered the courage to face him, she found that John was looking directly at her, as if he were really only seeking her response.

Staring back at him, as she always did, Y/n found it hard to not lose herself in those dark pools, so endless that she might have drowned if she wasn’t too careful. The request was simple and impersonal, but still very unlike the John she’d grown to know. “Okay,” forcing herself to nod and simultaneously shifting her gaze back to Robert who now stood beside her, Y/n agreed, “We can do that. But it’s a little early, don’t you think?”

“It’s the airport, Y/n,” Robert teased lightly as he nudged her shoulder, “Besides, it's already noon in London, so technically, you’re just…….pre-assimilating.”

Battling an amused grin, Y/n rolled her eyes, adjusting the bag on her shoulder as she prepared to start moving towards the lounge, “That’s not a real thing.”

“Technically it is, I mean, Hardy made up words all the time and no one did anything about that. You,” he emphasized pointedly, “Love Hardy.”

“Hardy is a timeless, literary genius. You are a marketer from New York, it’s clearly not the same,” she laughed. She could tell that Robert was about to add something more, though, when John interrupted them, sternly urging them to move along, he dropped the matter, instead insisting that he take one of her bigger bags. “Oh, you don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but I want to,” he said, claiming one of her carry ons before she could protest any further. “We should get going, before Scrooge over here loses it.”

“You’ve gotta stop that,” Y/n admonished before they set off, “You’re gonna get fired or something.”

“I’m not gonna get fired, relax-”

“If you kids are finished,” they both looked to John immediately as he scolded them, and Y/n shuddered at the way his tell tale signs of irritation shone through; a quirked brow, an evident scowl and a hardness in his jaw that screamed that he was at his rope’s end with their banter. 

“We are,” she spoke up without giving Robert the opportunity to come up with another questionable joke directed at their very unamused boss. Then, not offering anything further, she followed John’s  lead as he walked off, not paying any mind to how far they were behind him. 

Though, the peace was short lived when Y/n tripped as they reached the bottom of one of those short lived staircases that had been placed purely for aesthetic purposes, accidently dropping her rolling suitcase as she stumbled forward. With reflexes faster than she could have registered, John spun, barely sparing a moment to set aside his own suitcase before catching her at the shoulders. By the time he’d helped her right herself, Y/n’s chest was barely a hair away from his and with the way he was bent, his face wasn’t much further from hers. Swallowing thickly, for the first time Y/n didn’t feel small under his bottomless stare, instead, she felt like he was seeing into her; trying to speak into her. It was hard to decipher it, and it could have very well been her own unspoken affections blurring things, but Y/n could have sworn that he was seeing her in a different light.

Everything around them seemed to slow down, like the universe was letting her savor the proximity that she’d never experience again. “Are you okay?” John’s inquiry pierced their fragile moment, and all of a sudden, it was as if someone had hit play on a remote so reality would resume.

“I…..I’m fine, thanks,” she smiled weakly, her expression faltering when John pulled away. Then, simultaneously remembering her fallen suitcase, they both bent over to get it, leaving John’s hand to unconsciously fall over Y/n’s. For a split second, they stared at their hands, together, on the black plastic handle, looking very suggestive with the way they were positioned. “I uh, I got it,” flustered, Y/n gave the bag a gentle tug.

John didn’t let up immediately though, instead sparing her a peculiar stare, “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“It’s okay,” she exhaled shakily. Y/n couldn't let him take it, else she’d read too much into it, and no good would come from reading too much into an innocent though rare act of inconsequential kindness from John Wick. He didn’t feel the same, they weren’t even friends, it wasn’t worth it. “Thanks though.”

They stood and John immediately put some distance between them. “Good,” he scoffed coldly, walking off before they could exchange anything else. 

“Hey,” Robert touched her shoulder, causing Y/n to jump. She’d been looking on as John walked off, rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do or think. “You okay? That could have been a nasty fall, especially in those shoes.”

“Yeah,” finally tearing her gaze away from John’s slowly shrinking form so she could greet Robert’s concern with her own bewilderment, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Vaguely, she heard his response, though it sounded far off as she inevitably succumbed to  letting thoughts of the past five minds swim around in her head; caught between wishing it meant something and thinking that it more than likely didn’t. 

****** Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana  @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[sodalitefully]

Santa Slash is coming to town...

This fic is the Christmas-themed spiritual successor to my Easter Bunny AU.  Special thanks to @slashscowboyboots for supporting all my holiday nonsense! 

Four snapshots from Slash’s Christmas prep marathon through the years:

🎄🎄🎄🎄

Jingle bells.  

Fucking jingle bells.

There were FIFTEEN of them on the stupid-fucking-candy-colored costume he had to wear at this godforsaken excuse for a seasonal job.  “Earn some extra cash,” they said.  “It’s easy, you barely have to do anything,” they said.  "You'll be perfect, you already look the part!" they said.  

"They are about to find a size-ten jingle-toed bootie up their ass,” Axl said – to himself, as he rushed into the storage room turned "dressing room" and buttoned up his itchy red and green vest with one hand while sipping an Orange Julius from the food court with the other.  

“Hey, Axl! You’re barely late today, awesome!”

And then there was this weirdo.

Axl could not for the life of him explain why a shopping mall in Indiana elected to hire a skinny dude in his 20s with a dark complexion and a nose ring to portray Saint Nick himself, but whatever the reason, Axl was stuck working with this fruitcake until Christmas Day.  Sure Slash was nice enough (oh yeah, and his name was Slash, or at least that's how he introduced himself without offering any explanation or even a last name), but he was way too enthusiastic about getting paid minimum wage to let strange kids sit in his lap at a grimy old shopping mall.

Uh, not in a weird way, Slash was good with the kids, really.  But sometimes... it seemed like he was taking his role a little too seriously.  

"How come you don't have a beard?" the first customer of Axl's shift, a little girl in a Tweety bird sweater and blonde pigtails, asked suspiciously.

"That's a good question,” Slash said, scratching at his bare chin. The neck of his Motörhead Beyond the Threshold of Pain Tour T-shirt was visible over the faux fur collar of the Santa costume, and his shiny black boots clearly came from a military surplus store. “I get asked that a lot but the truth is, it just isn't a flattering look, trust me.  I tried it once, and the elves could barely look at me in the eye." To Axl’s incredulity, the girl actually accepted that answer.  "Now tell me, what would you like for Christmas this year, sweetheart?"

As usual, Axl tuned out at this point.  Fake a smile for the overprotective parents, take the painfully awkward commemorative photograph, try not to look like he would rather die than hear Slash try to gently explain that Santa will probably not be delivering a pony this year one more damn time, rinse and repeat – until about an hour later, when the unthinkable happened.

The less said about about the incident, the better.  Suffice to say, one of the darling angels tossed his Christmas cookies, and some of the resulting mess wound up soaking into the front of Axl’s elf costume.  As if he needed another reason to hate his job; this was just adding insult on top of injury (that is, the injury to Axl’s pride as a result of being forced to wear the most ridiculous-looking costume he’s ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on). 

“That’s it. I quit.”  He grabbed the elf cap off his head and slammed it on the ground, then stormed through the exit gate past the sign wishing customers a "Holly Jolly Holiday Season," the bells on his costume ringing merrily as he stomped his feet.

“Hey, wait!”

“No,” Axl growled, but he did turn around to look back at Slash, still sitting in the plastic candy-cane throne unbothered by the mess or the sniffling child now mostly placated by a peppermint candy.  "What."  

Slash offered him a bright, beguiling smile.

"What do you want for Christmas, Axl?" 

-----

Nothing said "holiday cheer" like wandering the tinsel-adorned labyrinth that was a Walmart superstore a week before Christmas, with Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmastime" echoing through the tinny PA system and surrounded by other last-minute vultures hopelessly scavenging the picked-over aisles.  

In Izzy's defense, he actually finished all his shopping early this year, for once.  But then his two little brothers begged him to drive them around town to find the perfect gift for a girl at school that they apparently both had a crush on, and like a fool he agreed. 

He was regretting it now.  Anything would be better than subjecting himself to nearly an hour of top-40 Christmas music.  The jingle bells were jingling, the carolers were caroling, the B-list pop stars were spitting out god-awful covers of Christmas classics, and don’t even get him started on the commercials. 

He wasn't about to walk around in public with his fingers shoved in his ears (at least, he wasn't that desperate yet), but he did squeeze his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to force himself to relax.  Just take deep breaths and think of The Rolling Stones... 

"Hey, uh, you doing okay?"

Izzy opened his eyes reluctantly.  In front of him was a young man wearing a concerned expression and a Santa hat, stuffed onto a massive pile of dark curls.  

"I'm fine.  Just finding out if it's possible to die from overexposure to Christmas music."

"Ahhh."  The man nodded in understanding.  "It's not, unfortunately.  I've tested it, trust me."

"Do you work here or something?" Izzy asked.  A leather jacket and ripped jeans didn't look like an employee uniform, but his hat matched the store decor and he didn't have a cart or shopping basket.  

"No, I'm actually a seasonal distributor.  Just checking in to make sure everything's in place before that last holiday rush, you know? Shit always gets crazy at the last minute."

"Tell me about it," Izzy responded, as if he knew a thing about marketing as a cynical 16-year-old.  But he had first-hand experience with last-minute crises, and as if to prove it, his brothers came running up to him at that moment.

"Jeff!  We can't find anything good, what should we do?"

"What's the problem?" the stranger in a Santa hat asked, looking genuinely concerned.  

"We don't know what present to get for a girl at school," the boys explained.

"Hmm..." He tapped at his chin.  "Why don't you just – oh wait, you're underage.  Well, how about you bake her some cookies or something?  That's what everyone does for me and I have no complaints."

Desperate to remove himself from this musical hell, Izzy jumped on the idea.  "Yeah, you could do sugar cookies!  And decorate them like horses, she likes horses right?” The boys had only mentioned that a dozen times; Izzy was starting to wonder if this girl even had any other personality traits.  

To his relief, a spark lit up in his brothers' eyes.  Cookies were a perfect idea, and suddenly they were dragging him away to look at cookie cutters and sprinkles.

Izzy turned around to shoot the helpful stranger a grateful look, but when he looked back, the man had disappeared with no trace, leaving not even a furry white pompom behind.

-----

Slash glanced out the window and grimaced – it was cold as a witch’s big bouncy tit outside, nothing but snow and ice as far as the eye could see. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and took another swig of hot Irish coffee.   Damn the North Pole, there was a reason he took his summer vacations in Malibu.

But despite the miserable work conditions, Slash was nothing if not dedicated to his job.  In front of him was a sack overflowing not with toys but with the most recent letters to Santa, straight from the North Pole's post office.  With Christmas only a few days away, his daunting task was to go through the whole mountain of letters as quickly as possibly in order to take their special requests into consideration before it was time to start loading up the sleigh.  

Well, there was no time like the present to get started.  Slash stretched his back and got comfortable in his coziest armchair (by throwing his legs over one armrest and slouching until his head rested on the other), absentmindedly tapping the end of his peppermint stick on the edge of an ashtray.  He grimaced when he brought the stick back to his lips and realized his mistake. 

With a sigh, he dropped the peppermint stick back in the ashtray already full of cigarette butts and ruined candies, and unfolded the first letter.  In barely legible green marker, the message read: 

Dear Santa Claus,

My name is Steven and I'm 5 years old.  Please give me a skateboard for Christmas.  My brother has one and he won't let me borrow it to learn tricks.

Hmmm.  Five years old was a little young for a skateboard.  Knowing Steven, he'd probably knock his teeth out by New Year's...

...Slash shrugged.  Why not?  All things considered, he would have killed for a skateboard when he was five, so who was he to say no?

-----

Duff was seven years old when his older brothers cornered him in the backyard and gleefully informed him that Santa Claus was a fraud.  It was all a lie made up by parents to convince their children to behave during the year, they explained, and the toys were made on factory lines not by magical elves.  Their mother gave them a hell of a scolding afterwards but it was too late, the deed could not be undone. 

He tried to play it cool, but the truth was, Duff was very distraught as Christmas Eve inched closer.  Could his siblings be right?  He didn't want to believe it, but if he was being honest with himself, he'd suspected as much for some time.  He braced himself to accept the hard truth come Christmas Eve – but only if he was presented with definitive proof.

When the fateful night finally came, Duff and two of his brothers laid out their sleeping bags behind the couch, where they'd be hidden from view if anyone tried to approach the Christmas tree.  They all swore not to fall asleep, not even for a second until Christmas morning... And it wasn't until his brother started snoring that Duff realized he was the only one still awake and silently anticipating the moment of truth.  

It was imperative, of course, that he stayed hidden and didn't make a sound, or else risk giving their plot away.  But... it was past midnight, dinner was hours ago and Duff's empty stomach was starting to distract him from the task at hand.  He couldn't stop thinking about all the food he would get to eat with his family on Christmas Day: the glazed ham, mashed potatoes, apple pie and Christmas cookies... 

In the dim light, Duff could just barely make out the plate of cookies for Santa, waiting in front of the tree.  The cookies were still there untouched, all six of them... Surely no one would notice if Duff ate just one?  

He tiptoed over his sleeping siblings, as silent as the snow falling outside, making his way around the sofa to the plate on the coffee table.  But just as he reached out to pluck a gingerbread man from the assortment, he saw a shadow of movement out of the corner of his eye.  There, beside the Christmas tree in the flickering glow of multicolored string lights, was a mysterious figure in a fur-lined coat and a red cap.

Duff stared at the intruder, slack-jawed.  The cookie clattered back onto the dish, and at the noise the stranger whirled around to face him. 

"Duff!  What are you doing still awake?" he demanded.  Duff took a breath to answer – or more likely to ask how the man knew his name – but before he could, the man peered over the couch, narrowed his eyes and frowned.  "Oh I see what this is. You thought you would catch your parents pretending to be me!" he accused.  "Well, here's the real truth: adults are always wrong and you should never do what they say!" 

The man – could he really be Santa Claus? – he planted his leather-gloved hands on his hips as he scolded Duff.  "And don't even get me started on teenagers..." he griped, casting a stare over Duff's shoulder where his older brother's leg was sticking out from behind the couch, tangled in a blanket.  

Tears started to well up in Duff's eyes.

"Please still give them Christmas presents!  I know they said they don't believe in you, but they've been good, I promise!" he begged.  Santa's expression softened.

"Aw, I know, kid.  I promise they'll still get their presents, alright?  Let me just finish up here and then maybe you can help me out with those cookies, sound good?"

Placated, Duff sniffled and nodded, scrubbing his eyes with his sleeve. He hopped onto the sofa, swinging his feet and watching with awe as Santa pulled beautifully wrapped gifts out of seemingly nowhere and stacked them around the tree, one after another until all eight of the McKagan children were represented. He took a step back to take in his handiwork, made a few minor adjustments, then turned back to Duff: “Voila! That’s the magic of Christmas. Now pass me that plate, would you?”

Santa sat down next to Duff and propped his boots up on the coffee table. When Duff held out the plate of cookies, he selected one decorated to look like Santa Claus, white beard and all, and promptly bit its head off. 

“I love my job, but delivering presents is exhausting,” he sighed, accepting a glass of milk from Duff’s outstretched hand. “I’ve already covered Asia, Africa, Europe, and most of the Americas, so I’d say I’m due for a break.  Cheers, Duff.” He held up his glass and Duff tapped it with his half-eaten cookie. 

“To a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!”

🎄🎄🎄🎄

[revasserium]

i love your writing! could i request prompt 60 (list a) with akaashi? thanks!

hq!!reqs temporarily: closed ; all other reqs: open

send me a number a character and i’ll write you a drabble ;

60. home akaashi ; hogwarts!au, 1,450 words

whoever first thought up ‘home is where the heart is’ clearly didn’t have any idea what they were talking about. because more often than not, home is specifically where the heart is not -- it’s where you go to hide away from your heart, rather than face it. it’s where there are skeletons in the closet and doubts are shut away in the medicine cabinet, but there’s a comfort in knowing that. in knowing where each old haunting lives. 

home, akaashi knows, is not where the heart is.

it’s where comfort goes to find company, where fears play hide and seek with the shadows on the walls. where halcyon afternoons lay like scattered marbles across the floor, waiting for you to scoop them back up again. 

“are you going home for the winter holidays?” 

he glances up at you from over the long table, his hufflepuff scarf hung loose around his neck. 

“nah... though bokuto did invite me to his. did you know his family owns an owl-breeding business? must be a mess.” 

you laugh, the sound bright and tinkling. like windchimes. or birdsong.

“no wonder he’s always so... owlish.” 

akaashi grins, looking back down at his half-eaten shepherd’s pie. 

“yeah. makes sense, doesn’t it?” 

he glances up again when you slip into the seat across from him, your own ravenclaw robes pristine, the head girl’s badge gleaming against your chest. 

“well... if you want to...” 

you lick your lips and he can’t help noticing the way your cheeks go pink. it’s the most beautiful shade of pink he’s ever seen, like peonies in spring, or the shade of the sky just as the sun’s beginning to set. 

“you can come to mine. we’ve got a big house, and extra rooms and stuff. mum and dad are always hosting relatives over, so...” 

his eyes go wide, his heart suddenly pumping somewhere in his right ear. the sound of it so loud he almost can’t hear his own voice over it. 

“oh -- i wouldn’t -- i mean, i don’t --” 

you shake your head quickly, holding up your hands, “it wouldn’t be an intrusion! i promise! and uhm -- well --” 

your hands fall onto the table between you. he watches as you twiddle with your fingers, as if puzzling out the right words to say next. he swallows down the anticipation cresting at the back of his throat. 

“i want you to come.” 

akaashi blinks. 

“huh?” 

you flush, again, deeper, redder. he bites back the wave of affection curling in his belly. god, he feels like such a stupid little boy, letting his thoughts catch on the edges of your smile. his heartbeat stuttering with his breath, unsure of which should go before the other, as if his body has forgotten how to do both in tandem. 

“i... i want you to... to come with me.” 

“uh...” 

you look up at him, properly, this time. and he can see that hard-edged determination he’d so often tried to find in himself (just tell her how you feel, just freaking tell her already!). 

“it’s better than going to bokuto’s owl-infested house.” 

akaashi lets out a surprised laugh. 

“might be fun. owls are pretty great.” 

you crinkle your nose, squeezing your fingers together. and he almost grins at how entirely cute you look, struggling like this. for him (because of him). 

“you -- you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. i mean -- i’m sure bokuto’s would be nice too --” 

“i’ll come.” 

“-- and owls have never been my thing -- always been more of a cat person my -- oh -- you will?” 

you blink at him; he grins back, forking up a bite of shepherd’s pie. 

“if i wanted to hang out with owls, i’d just go up to the owlery.” 

you let out a helpless laugh, your shoulders falling lax after spending so long hunched up in anticipation. 

“right... i guess... i guess you would.” 

akaashi licks his lips, watches the way your eyes track the movement. he hums, offering you a glass of pumpkin juice, which you gladly accept, downing the whole thing in three gulps. 

“i’ll -- i’ll see you later then.” 

he nods, flashing you a smile, wondering if this playing it cool thing that bokuto keeps on going on about is really worth the while. maybe if he’d just told you, this entire stuttering mess of a conversation could’ve been avoided. perhaps he could’ve kissed you, before telling you he’d see you after classes. 

or, something to that degree. 

he glances down at the crumbs of his pie. 

or, well, a boy can dream, can’t he? 

your family house is just as he’d imagined it -- just as you’d described, a huge conglomeration of rooms and corridors, one trailing off the other, as if the architect had simply pointed their wand whichever direction it landed and conjured whatever room tickled their fancy. 

your parents are nothing if not magnificent hosts, welcoming him with hugs and a few very large cheek-kisses from your mum, much to your continued embarrassment. your brother had given him a half-hearted glare along with a once over and a handshake that said stay the hell away from my sister. 

akaashi wonders if he should listen. 

but then you smile at him from across the dinner table, an entire galaxy of stars sparkling behind your eyes, and he decides to screw your brother’s unvoiced warning. there’s no way in hell he could ever stay away from you. 

the days blur into a series of freezeframe laughter, the three of you throwing a quaffle around in your vast backyard, one that overlooks the countryside. your cousins arriving from god knows where. snowball fights in the morning after a particularly blizzard-ridden night. you, with your nose and cheeks pink from the frost, pulling him behind the shed in the back to kiss him. 

he kisses you back, his hands freezing even in his mittens. 

that night, they’re all singing carols around the fireplace, your father poking at the large gramophone once in a while when it skips. your group of roudy cousins all cramed onto the overstuffed couch, swaying with the lyrics. 

his hand finds yours, and he gives you a squeeze. you blush, brilliantly, before glancing back at him and smiling. 

later that evening, your mum’s humming to herself as he goes to pour another glass of sherry, your brother laughing at something or other with one of your cousins. and you find yourselves in the hallway leading into the living room, or maybe it was the dressing room. he doesn’t really remember, what with the number of rooms there are. but he doesn’t really care. 

and he wonders if this is what home really feels like. if this is what it’s always meant to be. not some fragmented, broken collection of would-be memories, but something lighter, thicker. like freshly fallen snow. 

you glance up, your new christmas sweater just a bit large on your shoulder. 

“mistletoe.” 

you point above his head, and he laughs. 

“oh. hm. guess you have to kiss me now, right?” 

you grin, leaning up onto your tiptoes to brush your noses. 

“isn’t it the other way around?” 

he quirks his head, “i thought the one under the mistletoe gets kissed.” 

you curl your hands around his neck, and his hands find their way to your waist, pulling you close. 

“no, i’m pretty sure you have to do the kissing.” 

he presses his lips. 

“how do you know?” 

you smile, “i’m head girl, i know these things.” 

“ah. is that what the badge is for?” 

you roll your eyes, “are you going to kiss me or not?” 

akaashi grins, leaning down to press his lips to yours. you taste like happiness made solid, like the answer to all his questions. like solidarity and sanctuary, like belonging, properly, for the very first time. 

he thinks that he should be able to taste his own heart on his tongue, wonders why it’s not thumping out of his throat. 

then, he wonders if he’s left it cupped in the palms of your hands the other day, when you first kissed him. and he thinks that that’d be alright too. 

he decides that maybe, just maybe, if that’s the case -- home just might be where the heart is. if it’s with you. 

or maybe, home was never even a place at all, but a person. 

maybe, just maybe, he’s found his home, after all this time. 

and it’s right here, next to you. 

[bluedemon1995]

28 Free/Harry Potter AU Enjoy!

Silence. That’s all Keith heard for the last few days. He knew he should have swallowed his pride and gone home with the Holts or even Shiro but he didn’t want to be a bother. They each had a family. He knew they needed time with them and he didn’t want to impose. So, he was just here-at Hogwarts. Basically alone, with his fellow classmates who didn’t have anywhere else to go, he spent Christmas wandering the halls feeling sorry for himself.

He knows if it was Pidge she would be busy at the library, studying and getting ahead. Absorbing knowledge. Then there was Hunk who would no doubt have snuck his way into the kitchens with the house elves, regardless of whether they thought he should be there or not! Lance would be trying to sneak into other houses trying to cause havoc and he would guess Matt and Shiro (cuz really when did you find one and not the other?) would have been practicing Quidditch or something. Allura, well, he really wasn’t sure what she’d be doing but he bet she wouldn’t be feeling mopey like him.

Professor McGonagall tried to give him some advice but honestly, what does she know about being alone. He’s always been alone, with no mom, but it especially hit him hard after his dad died. Who wanted a moody pre teen? No one was the short answer. But, honestly, who could blame them?

Instead, he was passing the time by training. His goal was to try to use his defensive and offensive spells concurrently when the Room of Requirement suddenly started changing. He paused, taking a defensive stance when he noticed holiday lights in red and green appearing and garland was strategically being placed around the room. He looked around trying to figure things out when he heard Shiro and Matt yell, “Holiday Fun!”

The room suddenly was filled with fireplaces and blankets, Christmas carols all with tables around the room filled with sweets and hot chocolate. He even thought he spied a chocolate fondue fountain!

His vision wavered for a second but then he saw Matt and Shiro in lighted sweaters and Lance wearing a blue zoom suit. What the hell?

He figured Hunk was here when cookies, cakes and biscuits were strategically appearing around the room. He paused, “What are you guys doing here? Why aren’t you with your families?”

Allura came in wearing a Grinch onesie?!? “Keith, you are our family too. Did you think we wouldn’t celebrate with you? That we wouldn’t be back?”

“Ummmmm, yeah, I guess.”

Shiro reached him first hugging him tight. “Keith, how many times do I have to tell you, you ArE my family, my brother in fact!”

Matt grins, “Yup and I have a feeling we are going to be brother in oof!!! OW, Shiro that ugh.”

Keith stares at both men who are conversing to low to understand, rubbing his neck, he replies, “Uh, okay…”

Hmm, does this mean Matt and Shiro are going to make it official. Speaking of Holts, Keith can’t help but glance around and be disappointed that he doesn’t see Katie…or Pidge. Shaking his head, he tries to shake that thought loose. He shouldn’t be thinking of her that way, she’s almost family. And more importantly she isn’t here. “Sigh.”

The group is trying to tell him what they’ve been up to and what they got for Christmas. When suddenly a door slams open and is kicked shut, everyone turns. In walks Katie Holt, in a dress no less. Keith blinks, trying to determine what he is seeing. Damn. She’s beautiful. She’s wearing a green and black dress that draws attention to her tiny waist and toned body. Fuck he needs to focus! Is the room suddenly warmer??

“Sorry!!! You assholes, why would you leave me to distract James?!? You know, I had to pretend I was sick because he wouldn’t let me be! Then he wanted to carry me back to my room. Ughhhhh, you guys suck!!! Hey Keith, Merry Belated Christmas!!”

Keith finds himself frowning, “Why were you alone with Griffin?”

Pidge frowns at her brother, pointing, “Cuz Tweedle dee and Tweedle Dum thought me in a dress was so weird that James wouldn’t notice where everyone else was heading. We really didn’t want him to find out about this room. Hell, all my games are here and more importantly how would I avoid running if he knew where I disappeared to? And unfortunately they were right. He didn’t want to leave before I gave him a very good excuse.”

Keith found himself somehow standing in front of her. Noticing her pink cheeks and curled hair. Unknowingly he reaches for a curl and brushes it off her cheek, finger tracing her jaw line. He finds himself taking a step even closer. She’s really pretty. Beautiful really. And smart. With wit and cunning. She was great at plans and she understood the value of silence. Hell she was much too good for the likes of him.

But he cannot bring himself to move back. Instead he breathed deeply and could smell her shampoo. He looked down and grinned, “Sick, right?”

She laughed, “Okay, honestly I told him I had cramps because of my period. Ohmygod, let me tell you, that guy turned RED! Definitely didn’t have a sister or girlfriend, hahah!!! After that he couldn’t leave fast enough. And while I hate relying on that stupid excuse,” she shrugged delicately, “but what are you gonna do, it works.”

Hours later…

Everyone seems to be in a food comatose except Katie and him. He hesitantly reaches for her hand, “So, I found your game and have been playing it. It’s pretty cool and I think I’m pretty good. I almost beat your high score!”

Pidge smiles, “No shit. Let’s play since these losers cannot keep up! You know we could be teammates instead of enemies.”

Hours later, Pidge is leaning against his arm, “C’mon bud, you got this!”

Keith continues until he beats he boss man, then he looks down to Pidge, “So, missed me, huh?”

Pidge smiled replying, “Yeah apparently so.”

Keith finished the boss man and looked down at her, “So um, I like being your teammate much better than being your opponent. Um, do you think, you’d like to be partners…like full time?”

Keith held his breath, waiting for her answer.

“Yes.”

That word never sounded so good. Best Christmas Ever.

[matrixaffiliate]

Christmas in Quarantine

New Story! FFN and AO3

Quarantine has a way of making us want to have the best things in life, the things we can't have now. For Harry and Ginny, this involves hauling out the holy, playing carols, holiday treats, and a little of Christmas, right this very minute. Modern Muggle AU.

This little story was requested and prompted by several wonderful people on Tumblr. @gryffindormischief named the fic and wanted it written for Hinny. @petals-to-fish (who put up so many wonderful fics in one day for all of us and it really was Christmas) wanted to see a snowball fight, baking cookies, and mistletoe kissing. @inakindofdaydream (who adores Christmas after my own heart) wanted to see them almost getting caught by Santa Clause. And @shining-jul-of-hope who pointed out that it's nowhere near Christmas right now. :P I'm so grateful to these lovely people for sharing in the magic with me, and trusting me with their fabulous ideas!

For those of us not part of the UK, cornflour, apparently is what we call corn starch.

Christmas in Quarantine

It was strange, how little Harry Potter's life changed with the Pandemic, but as a blockbuster author who spent most of his time in his office writing the next installment of his fantasy novels, he was more or less socially distanced to begin with. What changed the most was that Ginny was home now. The football leagues were all canceled and that meant Ginny's professional career had been put on hold until further notice.

For the first week or so, it was fun. Harry put off the manuscript in exchange for keeping Ginny company in all the best ways. But then his publisher was emailing him about maybe getting more done since the world had shut down, and his editor started calling and so Harry reluctantly went back into work mode.

He figured Gin would be alright. She had the treadmill and other assorted workout equipment and her team did daily Zoom meetings now. When she wasn't goofing around with the team - he's walked into the kitchen when she's in those meetings, he knows what they're talking about - both their mothers liked to call and check-in, Marlene hosted a Kindle book club now, and Luna taught painting lessons through live videos, so Harry felt confident that Ginny didn't need him to be underfoot trying to "entertain" her.

But he started to wonder if he had underestimated what social distancing would do to his wife when Harry walked out of his office for a snack and heard the sound of... show tunes?

"Gin?" Harry poked his head into the sitting room.

"Alright, Potter?" Ginny was lounging on the sofa in front of the telly, watching something that looked horrendous on their high def screen.

"What's this?" Harry gestured to the telly.

"My mum always said I should watch the musicals she loved as a kid." Ginny shrugged. "And I've got time now, so I thought I'd give a few a go."

Harry chuckled, "You had me worried there. I've never heard you listen to show tunes and I wondered if you'd gone stir crazy."

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. "Don't let that book keep you past dinner again."

Harry shoved his hand in his hair. "I've got an alarm today, I'll be all yours the moment it goes off."

Ginny's returning smile left him wondering if maybe he ought to move that alarm up an hour.

After a week of Ginny watching the musicals her mum grew up with, Harry became accustomed to the show tunes playing from the sitting room. Gin would put on whatever one he assumed her mum had recommended and Harry would come out to assorted big band songs playing. It reminded him of going to his dad's parents' home when he was little, which felt oddly comforting given the way the world was attempting to implode upon itself.

And that was probably why Harry didn't think to question Gin's newfound obsession.

And when she started watching the same one at the start of every day, well Harry just figured that she really liked the music or the story, after all, the bits that Harry had seen were set during the Great Slump and he was starting to wonder if the world wasn't heading for another 21st-century repeat.

Harry was a bit taken aback after a week of her starting the day with the musical Auntie Mame to walk into the kitchen to grab lunch and find Ginny baking mince pies.

"Alright, Gin?"

Ginny grinned up at him from the pie crust she was rolling out.

"Thought I'd make us a bit of a treat."

Harry brushed some of the flour from her cheek.

"Mince pies?"

"You love mince pies." She set the rolling pin down to smear a floured hand across his cheek.

Harry tried to pull back but wasn't quick enough and laughed as he reached for a towel.

"You're right, so I guess the proper response should have been more along the lines of 'thank you' or maybe enthusiastic snogging?"

"I'll take the thank you now and the enthusiastic snogging after these pies are baked and cooled." Ginny kissed him and Harry moved closer to her, letting his lips move slowly against her, loving the way she melted against him.

"Thank you for making mince pies in April. I'll make sure that you get far more than enthusiastic snogging once I'm done working on this blasted novel."

Ginny bit down on his lip. "I can't wait."

Harry was surprised by Ginny baking mince pies. But the next morning he was downright floored to find their Christmas decorations out and mostly up when he stepped out to refill his tea.

"Gin? What on Earth?"

"We need a little Christmas, Harry." Ginny adjusted where she hung an ornament on their tree.

"It's April…" Was all he managed to say as he realized how much she'd managed to get done in the roughly three hours he'd been writing.

"Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death!" Ginny laughed and smiled at the telly where Lucille Ball's character was talking about building a home for Jewish refugees.

"Right…"

Ginny moved back to the last couple of boxes of their Christmas decorations.

"I have a surprise at lunch. So don't work through it."

Harry blinked. "This isn't a surprise?"

"We need a little Christmas, Harry!" Ginny pulled the Santa hat or if the box and stuck it on her head.

And then it clicked.

"Are we in that musical?" He gestured to the telly.

Ginny huffed and dug into the box closest to her. "Well, I thought it looked like fun!"

"I can't sing," Harry grinned and moved to the boxes with Ginny. "But we could haul out the holy, maybe fill the stockings, turn on the carols."

Ginny's eyes filled back up with hope, "Bake Christmas cookies, have a snowball fight, watch for Santa?"

Harry slipped his hand into the box next to him as he smiled down at Ginny.

"I have no idea how we'll have a snowball fight, but yes, I'll go close out of my document for today and we'll have ourselves a little Christmas."

Then he lifted out what he'd been digging through the box for.

"But shouldn't we start our Christmas off right?" Harry held up the mistletoe over their heads.

Ginny chuckled, "Very smooth, Potter."

"I had to write a few romance pieces at university." Harry leant closer to her.

"Why have I never seen them?" Ginny smirked, leaning back away from him.

"They were rubbish. I tossed them the moment I had the grade." Harry finally pulled her close enough to capture her lips.

She laughed against him. "Go tell your boss you're out for the day while I go hang this above our bed."

Ginny snatched the mistletoe from his fingers and skipped to their bedroom.

By the time Harry had finished saving everything and putting a few ideas down in his notebook, Ginny was standing at his office door in her bikini with his swimming trunks in hand.

"What happened to Christmas?"

"I figured out how to have a snowball fight!" Ginny tossed him his trunks. "Come on!"

Then she headed for their balcony.

Harry couldn't change fast enough.

"Here," Ginny shoved a bowl at him as he stepped out the door to join her. "This is your ammunition, use it wisely because I'm not using any more of our cornflour for it."

"Cornflour?"

"Yes, and hair conditioner, which I've already told Amazon to send more of."

Harry laughed at how Ginny had moved their two patio chairs to make a battle line.

"I can't believe you managed to get us snow when it's 19 degrees out." Harry stuck his hand in his bowl of fake snow and grimaced at the texture.

"YouTube," Ginny shrugged and then jumped to one side of the chair battle line she'd created.

The moment Harry shut the door, she threw a ball of the 'snow' at this bareback and he grimaced at the way it felt sliding along his spine.

"This is an awful cross between that wretched Halloween slime we made in primary and store-bought decor snow."

"Wouldn't know," Ginny shrugged, "seeing as I haven't been hit by any of it."

Harry didn't move fast enough as she threw another 'snow ball' at him and it slid down his side. He groaned as the feeling of it crawling along his side sent shivers across his skin before reaching into his own bowl and tossing a large handful back at Ginny. She ducked and it splatted against the wall behind her.

There wasn't really much 'snow' between the two of them and when he missed Ginny by a hair for the third time, Harry decided to go all in. He jumped up on the patio chairs and pushed his foot on the back of the chair, tipping it over and taking his wife by surprise as he dumped his bowl over her head.

Ginny yelled and shoved him back onto the toppled chair as she threw the last of her snow at his face. Then she collapsed on top of him and laughed as they tried to keep the 'snow' from their eyes.

"I think a shower is in order." Harry pushed his caked glasses up into his hair. "And then what would you like to do next?"

"I have everything out for some Christmas cookies, icing and all." Ginny wiped some snow from her forehead before it could slide completely into her eyes.

"Baking and Christmas carols?"

"And maybe a bit of something else…" Ginny moved to kiss him but immediately backed away when more 'snow' tried to sneak into her eyes.

Harry laughed and pushed them to stand. "Lead a blind man to the shower, won't you?"

After a long shower, Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny's waist as carols played through her phone and she measured out the flour.

"Aside from the tank top, this feels like Christmas."

"Maybe we should spend Christmas in a warmer climate from now on," Ginny brushed a bit of flour on his nose.

"Our mums would probably hunt us down for something like that."

"Ooo, adventure and a holiday, sounds like a book waiting to be a bestseller."

Harry laughed and helped with the cookies and icing. Slipping his phone out here and there to jot down a few notes.

"I thought you told the boss you were off for the day." Ginny pouted as Harry set his phone down to ice another cookie.

"Just writing a few ideas down," Harry leant over and kissed her cheek.

"Typing, not writing," she teased.

"You said you had a surprise for me and to not work through lunch." Harry redirected their conversation.

"Well, I was going to use it to convince you to go along with having a bit of Christmas in April. But since you decided to jump on board without it, I'm saving it for tonight." She bit her lip.

"Tonight, eh?" Harry stood and moved to the fridge.

"Alright, Potter?" Ginny frowned.

"I know that look," Harry started pulling out sandwich fixings. "I'm going to need more than sugar cookies and icing for lunch if you've got that look."

Her laughter felt more genuine in that moment than it had since the world hit pause, and Harry grinned.

They really did need a little Christmas.

They spent the rest of the day 'virtual caroling'. For which his parents not only thanked them but joined in, taking the phone along as they dug up all the Christmas boxes and argued if they could thaw the ham overnight or if they should just make whatever they had on hand for a family Christmas dinner the next day hosted via Zoom meeting.

Harry scrounged up everything for a shepherds pie dinner and they put on A Christmas Carol after as they ate the iced cookies and drank hot chocolate for dessert.

It felt like Christmas.

Harry felt light and he felt happy and he could see the happiness and lightness in Ginny as well. They definitely needed a little Christmas in all of this pandemic insanity.

"Thank you," he kissed her hairline.

Ginny smiled up at him, snuggling closer to his side. "Thank you for being on board. This has been so much fun. I forgot about how awful it is out there."

Harry kissed her, letting himself indulge in the softness of her lips, the taste of chocolate and sugar on her lips.

"Do I still get to see that surprise?" Harry kissed along her jawline to the spot behind her ear that made her breath catch.

Ginny laughed, "Wait here."

She pushed up and slid out of the room with a confidence that made it a strenuous exercise in self-control for Harry to not follow her out of the sitting room.

To distract himself he took out his phone and jotted down a few more notes.

"I might just throw your phone in your office and lock the door."

Harry quickly locked said phone and tossed it on the side table.

Then he looked up.

Ginny had on a Father Christmas cloak, white wig, and a set of glasses that had the white beard attached.

"Wow…"

Ginny laughed and undid the belt that held the robe shut.

Harry's initial confusion dropped instantly as his wife's body was revealed, no imagination needed.

"We're losing the beard," he smirked and moved to gently pull the glasses-beard combo off Ginny's face.

"What Father Christmas doesn't have a long white beard?" She teased as her fingers moved along his waistband.

Harry kissed her slowly as his hands moved slower against her freckled skin.

"The one who is actually my wife," he pulled back before sweeping Ginny into his arms and carrying her back to their bed, and the mistletoe hanging over it.

The sun long set and the moon high in their bedroom window, Harry waited patiently until Ginny's breathing became even and he was sure she was fast asleep. As quietly as he learned to move when he was a child spying on his Christmas gifts, Harry snuck out of their bed and down to his office.

It took the better part of an hour to get it how he wanted it. Then it took another half-hour to get the printer to print it the way he wanted. And another half-hour after that to find the freaking wrapping paper. But after roughly two hours of trying to be silent, Harry snuck into the sitting room to set the gift under the tree.

He went to grab this phone from the side table when a cloaked image came into his peripheral vision and he almost cried out as all the anxiety of a child being caught by Father Christmas came rushing up at him from years as a boy trying to spy on Christmas gifts.

"Why are you out here?" Ginny's groggy voice sounded and Harry felt relief rush through him like a tidal wave.

"Just grabbing my phone. I forgot to plug it in to charge while we slept."

"Come to bed, you're how I don't freeze to death at night."

Harry slipped his arms around Ginny and led them back to bed with a smile on his face.

He hadn't been caught by Father Christmas, but more importantly, his wife would still get her surprise on Christmas morning.

And just like childhood, Harry awoke far too early, and far too excited to go back to sleep. Though rather than for what he would receive, it was for what he was giving.

"Gin," he nuzzled her hairline and kissed her cheek.

Ginny made a sound that was a cross between a moan and a grunt.

"Don't you want to see what Father Christmas left for you?"

"I'm Father Christmas and I didn't leave anything out because it's not actually December the 25th." She mumbled into her pillow.

Harry chuckled. "Let's just go have a look."

Ginny blinked her eyes open and frowned. "Only if I get to come right back to bed."

Harry put his hand over his heart. "I promise, well go see if there are any surprises and then come right back to bed."

"Fine," Ginny pushed up from the bed, her Father Christmas robe slipping from her shoulders. "But if this is how you're going to be with children then we're rethinking our future plans."

Harry laughed and forced himself not to run full tilt down the hall and leave his adorably sleepy wife in the dust.

He held his breath as Ginny moved to the tree and his lone gift that sat wrapped below its branches.

She turned to look up at him, bewildered, "What's this?"

"Open it," he shrugged.

Ginny pulled the wrapping away and slid the booklet from the manilla envelope he'd used to hold it.

"A Holiday and an Adventure," She read aloud. "Harry, what is this?"

Harry stuck a hand in his hair. "Well since you're not on the team for the foreseeable future, and you've always got the best ideas when I'm stuck in a story, I thought maybe, maybe you'd like to write a book together, you and me. All those pages in the booklet are the notes I was jotting down all day yesterday. And I've organized them out the way I do with my novels. If you like the idea and we finish the story, we could send it over to my editor. See what she thinks."

Ginny looked up from the booklet, eyes wide. "You want to write a book with me?"

Harry smiled, "I kind of already do. You're my sounding board and you find more of my plot holes than my editor does. So I guess I'm really asking you to be an active participant so we can put your name on the cover too."

Ginny looked back down at the booklet before launching herself at him. Harry caught her and managed to spin them around so he fell on the sofa and not his back.

"So is this a yes?" Harry chuckled as he kissed her hairline.

Ginny kissed him enthusiastically before jumping up. "Come on! I want to start right now!"

Harry snagged her around the middle before she could go running off. "What happened to wanting to go right back to bed?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Ginny laughed, "do you have any idea how badly I've wanted some real control in your novels?"

"Now you have a story to be in control of." Harry kissed her. "Happy Christmas, Gin."

Ginny's smile shone like the rising run out their sitting room window. "Happy Christmas, Harry."

[remywrites5]

“You’re a slacker and I’m a straight A student and we were paired together for a group project and I just want you to get out of the way and let me do everything but you insist on helping for some odd reason ” AU with wolfstar please

           Remus froze in horror as he reached into the bowl of names to pick his partner for their history project. He looked out at the sea of his classmates and prayed for someone good. He knew no one in the room would really mind being his partner, because Remus was studious and took his academic seriously, so being his partner for a project basically guaranteed a good grade.

           His hand wrapped around a piece of paper and he lifted his up. “Sirius Black,” he said as evenly as he could while his heart sank. Sirius Black was a notorious trouble maker who barely did any school work and only got decent grades because he was smart and was good at taking tests. Most days he didn’t even bother handing in his homework and he spent most of class lounging back with his feet on the desk and his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

           Remus risked a glance over at Sirius and he found Sirius beaming at him. It was odd to see Sirius look so excited about anything school related. The only time Black got excited about anything was the stupid pranks he liked to pull with his friend James. At least Remus hadn’t ended up with Potter as his partner. James was even worse than Sirius but it seemed that misfortune had landed on Lily Evans.

           Taking his seat again, Remus began jotting down ideas for what point in history they should do. He immediately dismissed World War Two as he figured most people would be drawn to that era. He didn’t want to pick anything too obscure, knowing he’d be doing everything himself. There was no point in making things harder when it came time to research.

           Remus had been so busy with his list that he must have missed the teacher telling them to meet up with their partners. He was startled when Sirius Black dropped his books onto Remus’ desk and sat backwards in the chair in front of Remus to face him.

           “Hi there!” Sirius said, running his fingers through his shoulder length hair. “How’s it going, Lupin?”

           Remus jotted down a few more ideas before he forgot them and then glanced up at Sirius. “I’m fine, you?”

           “I’m fantastic,” Sirius said, leaning in towards Remus as if they were sharing a secret. “I was hoping I’d be paired with a cute boy for this.”

           Remus rolled his eyes. Sirius Black was a shameless flirt, everyone knew that. “I was thinking maybe we could do the Victorian era,” Remus told him, chewing on the end of his pen.

           “I was thinking ancient Rome,” Sirius said, wiggling his eyebrows. “You know with all those orgies and stuff.”

           Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes once more. “We’re not presenting on orgies to the class.”

           Sirius grinned, putting his arm on the back of the chair and resting his chin in his hand. “You want to do the Victorian era where seeing someone’s ankle was considered scandalous.”

           Remus quirked an eyebrow at him in response. “You do know Oscar Wilde was imprisoned for sodomy during this era, right?” he said, making Sirius’ eyes go wide. Probably from the use of the word sodomy. “And Lord Byron was off fucking pretty much anything that would move.”

           Sirius hummed softly. “I guess that could be cool.”

           Remus sighed. “So glad you approve,” he said with a hint of annoyance. He was going to have to do the whole project himself anyway. He didn’t really need Sirius’ input anyway.

           “Wanna meet in the library after school?” Sirius asked, gathering up his stuff as the teacher announced the end of class.

           “Why?” Remus asked, frowning as Sirius stood up.

           Sirius laughed. “To work on the project?”

           “Oh, um, sure.”

           “Perfect!” Sirius said, beaming at him. Remus gave him a tentative smile in return. He was surprised to see Sirius so enthusiastic about a school project. “’I’ll see you there!”

           “See you.”

                                                           ***

           Remus got a few books about the Victorian Era and spread them out over the table he’d picked at the back of the library. He thought maybe Sirius would bail on their plans to meet up, which honestly suited Remus just fine. He’d get along better without having Sirius interrupting him. He chewed on his pen cap as he jotted down some notes.

           “Hey Remus!” Sirius said, sliding in the chair beside him. “Sorry I’m late. Peter got his hand stuck in a peanut butter jar…again. I swear it’s like being friends with Winnie the Pooh.” Sirius laughed and slung his arm over Remus’ shoulders with a familiarity that just did not exist between them. Remus wondered if it would be rude to shake Sirius off him.

           Remus cleared his throat and decided to change the subject back to school. He didn’t want to get to know Sirius Black. He didn’t want that kind of trouble in his life. Sure, Sirius was gorgeous, vivacious and intriguing, but he also had a tendency to get bored of people easily. It seemed like every month there were rumors of Sirius with another bloke. Whether they were true or not was another matter and Remus didn’t know Sirius well enough to be sure. At one point Remus had cared a great deal about the goings-on of Sirius Black but he’d more or less gotten over his stupid crush.

           “So I was thinking we could talk about the evolution of the English novel starting and it’s reflection of society at the time,” Remus said, writing down the names of a few authors he wanted to mention.

           “Sounds very swotty,” Sirius teased, reading the list over Remus’ shoulder. “I’m not going to have to read all those books, am I?”

           “No,” Remus said, shaking his head. “I’ve read most of the ones I want to touch on. Dickens, Conan Doyle, Austen, Bronte, Wilde.”

           “I have read Hound of the Baskerville,” Sirius offered, glancing at the list again. “I’ve seen the Colin Firth Pride and Prejudice. Does that count for anything?”

           Remus chuckled despite himself. “It’s more accurate to the book than the Kiera Knightly one.”

           “I mostly just watched it because Colin Firth is hot,” Sirius said with a shrug. “And I know about a Christmas Carol, even though I’ve never read it.”

           “Let me guess, the Muppet version?” Remus quipped, turning his head to look at Sirius and noticing just how close their bodies were. Their breath was actually mingling together.

           Sirius grinned. “It’s still the same story.”

           “I knew it!” Remus laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “What am I going to do with you?”

           “I don’t know…” Sirius said softly, bringing his other hand up and brushing his fingers over Remus’ cheek. “What are you going to do with me?”

           Remus felt his cheeks go red and he quickly turned away back to the safety of his books. “I’m thinking maybe we should talk about the poverty of the time and the classism at work in British society. Maybe talk about how a lot of novels had protagonists trying to improve their social standing – Great Expectations, Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights, Oliver Twist.”

           Sirius listened to Remus ramble with a bemused smirk on his face. When Remus glanced back over he noticed Sirius was staring at him intently. It made Remus’ stomach clench uneasily.

           “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

           Remus’ jaw dropped. “I don’t see how that’s relevant – “

           “Is that a no?”

           Remus flipped the page of his notebook just for something to do to continue ignoring Sirius’ question. “It’s none of your business,” he finally responded after Sirius didn’t let it go.

           “I could make it my business,” Sirius said, licking his lips and smiling. “Why don’t you give me your number?”

           “Why?”

           “Because I want it.”

           Remus scowled at him. “Sirius, I’m not interested –“

           “Bollocks.”

           Remus’ frown deepened. “Not everyone is interested in you, Black. Y-you’re annoying and selfish and reckless.”

           “Flatterer,” Sirius said, his grin showing that he didn’t really believe Remus. “Come on, I’m not that bad, Lupin. I’ve got some good qualities too.”

           Remus huffed out a breath. “I don’t know you well enough to say if that’s true or not,” he informed his project partner. “We’ve never exactly spent any significant amount of time together.”

           “Let’s change that then, hm?” Sirius said, grabbing Remus’ notebook and scribbling down his number. “Text me tonight and we’ll pick a time this weekend to work on the project. I’ll come over to yours because my place is a nightmare.”

           “What?” Remus asked, blinking in utter confusion at Sirius. He wasn’t sure but he thought Sirius Black had just invited himself over to Remus’ house on the weekend.

           “I’ve got to get going but don’t do the whole project without me, okay?” Sirius said, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I promise I’m not completely useless.”

           Remus could do nothing but stare up at Sirius with a puzzled expression on his face. Sirius smiled at him and then went bounding out of the library. Remus looked down at this notebook and the number scrawled over the middle of the page. Remus tore the page out of his notebook since it was ruined anyway. He considered throwing it into the rubbish bin but shoved it into his pocket instead. He thought about ignoring Sirius’ request and just continuing on by himself. Instead he took the books up to the front desk and checked them out so that he could continue his research over the weekend. Even if Sirius didn’t show up to help him, Remus would be prepared to finish the project on his own.

                                                           ***

           Against his better judgment Remus texted Sirius later that night. He had talked it over with his mum during dinner and she had agreed to let Sirius come over on Saturday. She had been a bit surprised that Remus had asked to have a friend over. The only friend he’d ever had over before was Lily and they were such good friends that Remus didn’t really have to ask if Lily could come over anymore, she was always welcome at the Lupin house.

           You can come over tomorrow if you want.

           You texted me!

           Well yeah. You gave me your number.

           What time should I come over?

           Around lunchtime? My mum said she’d make us something if you want to eat here before we get started.

           I can eat anything I want?

           I mean as long as we have it.

           Can I eat you?

           Shut up. I’ll see you at lunchtime.

                                                           ***

           Sirius arrived at Remus’ a little before noon and he seemed energetic, practically bouncing off the walls. He ate his lunch with gusto, munching on the ham and cheese sandwiches Remus’ mum had made. Sirius had kept the conversation going with Remus’ mum and Remus just sat there eating his food, kind of in a daze. He hadn’t expected Sirius to put so much effort in to talking with his mum. Sirius was alarmingly charming and it seemed like he was attempting to make a good impression. Remus had no idea why.

           “Uh, Sirius and I are going to my room to work on the project,” Remus said, grabbing Sirius by the arm and hauling him up out of his seat. He practically dragged Sirius down the hallway to his room and shut the door.

           “Anxious to get me alone, huh?” Sirius asked, biting his bottom lip.

           “What are you doing?” Remus asked, searching Sirius’ face for some kind of hint that he was lying or being a prat. Instead Sirius just smiled at him.

           “I don’t know what you mean,” Sirius responded with a shrug. “I was just being polite. Am I not allowed to be polite to your mum who made me lunch?”

           Remus huffed, the air puffing out his cheeks for a moment and then causing the curls on his forehead to move when he released it. “You never put it effort for anything.”

           “That’s not true,” Sirius said softly, reaching out and playing with one of Remus’ curls.

           Remus worked his jaw for a moment. “This isn’t – you don’t –“

           “I don’t?” Sirius challenged, twisting his hand into the front of Remus’ jumper and tugging him forward slightly. “How do you know?”

           Remus stared at Sirius for a moment and then shook his head. “Why are you trying so hard, Sirius?”

           Sirius grinned. “Because you’re making things difficult for me.”

           “And if I stopped?” Remus asked, crowding in closer to Sirius.

           “Then things would be remarkably easier.”

           “You’d get bored of me,” Remus said, glancing down for a moment at Sirius’ mouth and how very, very close it was. “Probably quicker than all the others – “

           “Ugh,” Sirius groaned, dropping his head back against the door. “Is that why? Remus, come on. I thought you of all people would be above listening to that gossip.”

           Remus frowned. “Lily told me she saw you snogging Evan Rosier.”

           “Yeah, well, we all make mistakes,” Sirius grumbled unhappily. “I dated Evan for a month and when I dumped him the stupid prick started making shit up about me. He has been for months just to get back at me. I guess I really am unforgettable.”

           Remus placed his hands gently at Sirius’ waist, slipping his fingers under Sirius’ t-shirt to touch his skin. It was warm and soft and Sirius made a cute little gasping noise at the contact. “So I’m not just your latest conquest then?”

           Sirius shook his head emphatically. “I fancy you,” he said, pressing his nose against Remus’ jawline in a gentle, sliding it up towards his ear before playfully biting the lobe. “I have for a while now but you don’t exactly make it easy to get to know you.”

           Remus smiled and pressed a soft kiss to Sirius’ temple. “I suppose I don’t,” he agreed quietly, shifting his hand to splay against the small of Sirius’ back. “I’ll let you close, if you want.”

           “I want,” Sirius breathed out. “Fuck Remus, kiss me.”

           Remus turned his head and captured Sirius’ lips, pressing Sirius back against the wall. Sirius’ mouth dropped open and Remus took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside. Sirius moaned and carded his fingers through Remus’ curls until his hand was fisted in Remus’ hair at the back of his head.  

           Remus broke the kiss after a few life-altering moments and pressed his forehead against Sirius’. “Sirius…”

           “Does this mean you’ll stop making things so bloody difficult for me then?” Sirius asked, his kiss-swollen lips twitching into a smirk.

           “Absolutely not,” Remus said, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Sirius’ mouth. It would do Sirius good to keep having to put in a little effort. “Still interested?”

           “Fuck yes,” Sirius said, pulling Remus into another kiss. “If we get a good grade on the project will you be my boyfriend?”

           “We’re guaranteed to get a good grade,” Remus informed him, nipping playfully at Sirius’ lower lip. “I wouldn’t settle for anything less.”

           “Well then?” Sirius asked, raising a questioning eyebrow at Remus.

           “Yes,” Remus agreed to their proposed deal, sealing it with a kiss. Even though they were going to get a good grade on it, Remus knew Sirius would continue to work extra hard on it for Remus. Renowned trouble maker Sirius Black was going to put in effort into something school related because of Remus - because he wanted Remus. It was the best thing that had ever happened to Remus in his life.

           And if the project took twice as long to finish, because they couldn’t help interrupting their work to snog each other, well that was pretty spectacular as well.

[myownsuperintendent]

New Fic: “Snapshots and Moments”

Melissa and Monica take a cross-country trip, during which they make a discover that brings changes to the Mulder-Scully family. I anticipate that this will be the last installment in my 1960s AU, which, at the point this story is set, is now a 1980s AU. Special thanks to Gillian Anderson for writing “all things” so that I had two canonical wlw to include in this fic! Rated G, also here on Ao3. The whole series is here.

.....

Snapshot:

The whole family, on Christmas eve. They’ve got a lot of people this year, now that they bought the house, now that they moved out of the city (still nearby, though). Emily’s smiling, holding the present she got to open early, a doll with three outfits that Melissa and Monica gave her. She’s in between Mulder, a little blurry from running back to his spot before the timer went, and Dana, her head tipped back, one hand on her stomach (the baby’s due in May). On the left, Melissa and Monica, arms around each other; on the right, Charlie, wearing a hideous Christmas sweater and a grin. Even Bill and Tara came this year, with Matthew, who’s looking curiously at his relatives. It’s a beautiful picture, Dana thinks, once she sees it printed. It’s not perfect; all families have fault lines and fractures, and the ones she’s part of are no exception. But it’s them, all together this year, happy and whole.

.....

Moment:

Dana and Melissa talk in the kitchen after dinner, once everyone’s getting ready to head their different ways. “You’ll keep in touch with us?” Dana asks. “Call? Or write at least? I just want to know where you are.”

“Don’t worry,” Melissa says. “I’ll make sure I don’t end up in a ditch.”

“Melissa,” Dana says. “Please. Don’t joke about that.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Melissa says. “I’ll take care of myself, okay? So I can keep spoiling my favorite niece.” She smiles at Emily, who’s sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, half asleep and half absorbed in her doll. “Besides, Monica won’t let me do anything dumb.”

“What are you saying about me?” Monica asks, coming into the kitchen.

“That you’re my better half,” Melissa says, pulling her to her. “That you won’t let me get into danger on the trip. And that you’ll even get me to write to Dana.”

“Of course we’ll write!” Monica says. “Don’t you want Dana to know what we’re doing? We can send her pictures and everything. And then we’ll have a record of the whole thing, for later.”

Dana laughs. “Well, I can count on one of you, anyway. Thanks, Monica.”

“No problem!” Monica says. “And I don’t know what kind of danger Melissa could get into, anyway. We’re just going to be driving around. Seeing different places. It’s a big country, right? And we’ve never seen most of it.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Dana,” Melissa says. “It’ll be great. And we will write, and we won’t even be gone that long. Unless we find a place we really like and decide to stay there longer. We’re keeping it open.”

“True,” Monica says. “Who knows what we might find?”

“Who knows?” Dana agrees. She stretches to try to get a bowl back on the top shelf. That’s the one thing she doesn’t like about this house: the kitchen might be well-proportioned for Mulder, but for her, the shelves seem very high.

“Here, I’ll get it,” Monica says, taking the bowl and putting it away.

“Yeah, don’t strain yourself,” Melissa says. “Don’t overdo it. You don’t want to have the baby until we get back.”

“I hope not,” Dana says, “seeing that I’m not due for four and a half months. How long are you planning to be driving cross-country for? I know it’s a big country, but it’s not that big.”

“Well, we’re not planning to be gone that long,” Melissa says, “but like I said, we’re keeping it open. Here, we’ll give you the number every time we’re staying somewhere, okay? And then you can call if you’re having the baby, and we’ll come back.”

Dana shakes her head. “I don’t think you have a great understanding of how human gestation works.”

“Probably not,” Melissa says, “since I’ve never gestated anything. Don’t plan to either. I’m one of those cool aunt types.”

“You’re ridiculous, is what you are,” Dana says, but she’s laughing, and she pulls Melissa close to hug her. “I’ll miss you guys,” she says. “You will write, really?”

“For the last time, yes,” Melissa says. “We’ll write so much you’ll be begging us to stop.”

Bill, Tara, and Matthew have already left, and now Melissa and Monica leave with Charlie; they’re all driving to the train station together. Dana and Mulder stand on the steps to see them off, turning out the light once the car is out of sight.

“We’d better get Emily in bed,” Dana says then. “Tell her Santa won’t come otherwise.” She’s not sure Emily still believes entirely—she’s got a suspicious look sometimes when Santa comes up—but it’s worth a try.

“Good thinking,” Mulder says. “Then we can get us in bed. How does that sound?”

“Good,” she says, and he kisses her, and they go inside.

.....

Snapshot:

Melissa leaning against a car, wearing sunglasses and sticking out her tongue. The setting is a generic gas station; you wouldn’t be able to tell where it was except for the 30 MILES TO CHICAGO sign in the background. It falls out of the envelope along with a letter.

Dear Dana,

Well, no danger yet! I even have a picture to prove it—I can promise that Monica and I were both alive when she took it.

So far, it’s been beautiful. It’s great not having any kind of schedule and just doing and going wherever we feel like that day. We’re in Chicago now, but we probably won’t stay here that long. Cities are nice, but we like being outside much better. Seeing what nature’s like in different places.

Tell my favorite niece that we’re bringing her lots of presents when we get back! I also bought you a dress, and MONICA said she thought you would like it, so if you don’t, you can’t just blame my taste. We don’t have anything for Mulder yet, but we’ll keep looking.

We miss you! Monica says to give you her love. We’ll be back soon though, probably. Sometime in the next month to year. Only joking! We’ll write again so you know.

Love,

Missy

.....

Moment:

Mulder’s home before she is, tonight. “You got a letter,” he says when she comes in. “From Melissa, it looks like.”

“Oh, good!” Dana says. She takes the envelope he hands her and opens it, reading her sister’s words. “They’re having a great time,” she tells him. “And…oh gosh…they bought me a dress.”

“Looking forward to seeing that one,” Mulder says. Melissa and Dana have discovered, over the course of their lifetimes, that they can’t agree at all on clothing purchases. And yet somehow there’s an optimism that leads them to try anyway, at times.

“It was a nice thought, at least,” she says. “I wonder if I’ll fit into it.” She looks down at her stomach; she already feels huge, and there are still months to go.

“You look beautiful,” Mulder says softly, putting a hand on her back. “And you’ll look beautiful in this dress, no matter what it’s like.”

“Thank you,” she says. “How was work today?”

“Hard,” he says, “but worth doing. You?”

“The same, actually,” she says. It’s a little ritual they have, variations on these words. She’s proud of him. She knows he’s proud of her.

.....

Snapshot:

A car parked by the side of the road, surrounded by fields. Wheat as far as the eye can see. Monica leaning against the car this time, also wearing sunglasses, also sticking out her tongue.

Dear Dana,

Melissa said we should send a picture of me this time, so that you know I’m sound in body. I think she’s having a little too much fun with this.

We took this picture in Kansas, which we just left; it’s not going to win a prize for most exciting state, but I still liked it. We sat in the car for a long time last night, watching the stars.

I hope you and everyone else is doing well—say hi to Mulder and Emily, of course, and to everyone else if you see them. I found a store with some of the weirdest postcards I’ve ever seen, so I sent them to Langly. They seemed like his kind of thing. And we got some little things for Emily, and something for the baby too. It’s nice to have two nieces/a niece and a nephew to get presents for.

We’re looking forward to getting to the coast—we have some friends out there we’re planning to see. But I’ll write again when I get the chance.

Love,

Monica

.....

Moment:

It’s a busy evening for them, so Dana reads Monica’s letter later, once Emily’s in bed and things are a little stiller. She shows it to Mulder too. “It sounds like they’re having a good time,” he says. “And like Emily might not have any space in her room, with all the things they’re getting her.”

“They like spoiling her,” Dana says; she’s nestled into the corner of the couch, her back against the cushions. “That’s what aunts are for.” The baby kicks then, and she puts a hand to the spot. “Yes,” she says, “they’ll spoil you too, once you get here.”

“Moving around?” Mulder asks, and when she nods he moves closer too, interlacing his hand with hers. “We should think about names,” he says.

“Yeah,” she says. “Make a list, maybe.”

“Lot of names out there,” he says.

She’s not sure how to ask, but she does. “If she’s a girl,” she says, “would you…do you want to call her Samantha?” It seems right to give him that choice, to make that the first option they consider. She knows Samantha is always a central presence in his thoughts, no matter how many years go by. That might mean he wants to use the name, or it might mean he doesn’t. But she needs to at least ask, to let him know she’s thinking about it with him.

He's quiet for a minute. “I’m not sure,” he says, eventually. “I think I might.”

“We don’t have to decide today,” she says, and they nestle together on the couch, their hands still joined over the curve of her abdomen, where their baby moves and kicks.

.....

Snapshot:

Four women under the trees. Melissa and Monica have their arms around each other; Monica’s a little tanned from their travels, Melissa a little burned. Colleen and Carol stand to each side of them; Colleen has her arm flung out in an expansive gesture, as if showing them the lay of the land. They’re all wearing sweaters or sweatshirts—Oregon is cold this time of year. There isn’t much foliage, out on the farm. But they’re here.

.....

Moment:

“Thanks, Sally,” Colleen says, to the woman who took the picture.

Sally nods, handing the camera back. “It’s no problem!” she says cheerfully.

“Do you want us to take one with you in it?” Melissa asks.

“No,” Sally says. “No, that’s okay,” and she turns and hurries off towards one of the buildings.

“Did I say something to upset her?” Melissa asks.

“No,” Carol says. “No, Sally’s just like that. She’s great! But she’s a little shy.”

The wind is picking up, so they turn to go inside themselves too. “It’s really so beautiful here,” Melissa says.

“Yeah,” Monica says. “Reminds me of where I grew up, a little. It wasn’t exactly like this, of course. But just having land.”

“You two should stay out here!” Colleen says. “You know you’d be welcome.”

Carol nods. “Really, think about it. You don’t know how great it is until you’re here. I mean, we were in the city for years, and we thought we had a great community”—Colleen nods, beside her—“but this is so much better.”

“And not just the land,” Colleen says. “You honestly don’t know how much energy men are taking up until they’re not around anymore.”

Melissa laughs. “I bet. Well, maybe someday. What do you think, Monica?”

“Maybe.” Monica shrugs.

“This trip has been amazing,” Melissa says, “but I still like the city too, you know. We have our friends there. And I like being near my sister.”

“No shame in that,” Colleen says. “But even if you wanted to stay for a while, that’d be all right. Most of the women don’t stay here forever.”

Women are working together in the kitchen when they get inside; they exchange greetings. “Here,” Melissa says, “we can help,” and the four of them join in the work. Melissa sees Sally again, when she’s getting some jars off the shelf. She smiles, and after a moment Sally smiles back, tentative. Her hair is curling over her shoulders. For a second she looks familiar, and then it’s gone.

.....

Snapshot:

A group of women, sitting together after dinner, in one of the common areas of the farm. The room is warm and inviting. Monica’s looking directly at the camera, and so is Colleen, a wry smile on her face, but most of the others are intent on their own conversations, their own occupations. Sally’s sitting in the background; she’s not looking, but you can see her face in profile. Her hair is braided back.

......

Moment:

“Here, I’ll take it,” Monica says, when the picture comes out of the camera. She begins to shake it briskly, turning to join Colleen and Carol’s conversation. Melissa puts down the camera then, stretching, and starts to wander around the room. Sally looks up as she passes, smiling.

“Hi,” Melissa says. “Mind if I sit?”

“Please,” Sally says, indicating the space next to her on the couch.

Melissa flops down. “It’s really beautiful here,” she says. “I love the energy.”

“Yeah,” Sally says. “Me too. It’s my favorite kind of place.” As Melissa looks at her, she goes on, saying, “I don’t think I could ever…I wouldn’t want to have a family, or anything like that. Nothing where you’re just with a few people all the time. But something like this, where you can meet a bunch of different people, be a part of something, that’s what I like.”

It's the most Melissa’s heard her say since they got here, and she’s intrigued. Not that she doesn’t sympathize with some aspects of what Sally’s said. “Families can be a trip, can’t they?” she says.

“I don’t like having people think I belong to them,” Sally says. “I don’t belong to anyone, right? Nobody has to.”

“That’s right,” Melissa says. “No one owns us.” But she wonders if she’s coming at this from the same point of view Sally is. She certainly has family she wouldn’t want to give up—Monica counts in that category, in everything but legality, and there’s Dana too, and Charlie. And while she’s mostly made her peace with it, these days, she wasn’t the one to give up her parents. She likes to think she’s a free spirit; it’s how she’s seen herself for a long time. But she doesn’t know if she’d want to be like Sally, cutting all ties and enjoying it.

“It’s not that I don’t like people,” Sally says. “Just…you know. Not too much.” She smiles at Melissa then, and Melissa smiles back, and then Monica yells that they’re going to play Scrabble.

“Do you want to join us?” Melissa asks.

“Sure,” Sally says, and she follows Melissa back across the room. She’s good, too; she knows a lot of words that Melissa hasn’t heard of, but when they check in the dictionary they’re always real ones. “I read a lot,” Sally says, her braid falling over her shoulder, trailing on the board as she studies her letters. Melissa looks at her face. That familiarity again. She’s pretty sure they’ve never met, though. She doesn’t know what it is.

She talks to Monica about it that night, where they’re in the room that was allotted to them; it’s small, tucked up in a corner of the attic, but it’s cozy, with a heater and a beautiful wool blanket on the bed. “Do you think Sally looks familiar?” she says.

Monica considers. “I didn’t notice. She was never in our group in New York, was she?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Melissa says. “Unless she came once or twice or something. College?” They only overlapped for a semester before Melissa dropped out, and Sally looks a bit younger than her, but maybe Monica will remember something.

“I’m pretty sure she wasn’t,” Monica says.

Melissa lies down on the bed. “It’s going to drive me crazy. Someone she looks like, maybe?”

“Michelle?”

“Who?”

“That friend of Starchild’s who does tarot readings,” Monica says.

“No,” Melissa says, “she doesn’t look anything like her.”

“She does a little,” Monica says, indignantly. “Same kind of hair.”

“Yeah,” Melissa says, “but this…it’s something around the eyes, maybe…give me that picture I took.”

“You won’t be able to see anything,” Monica says, even as she hands it over. “It’s too small.” Melissa studies it, but Monica’s right. She knows there’s an answer, but damned if she knows what it is.

“Let’s forget it,” she says, tossing the picture aside and leaning in to kiss Monica. Monica pulls her close, their limbs tangling together atop the bed, atop the soft blanket, adventuring together here, far from home.

.....

Snapshot:

They’re sitting together on the front steps, the three of them. Emily’s between her parents, looking up at the house almost curiously. Mulder and Dana’s eyes meet, above her head; they’re both smiling at the camera. Mulder is pointing at the house, an exaggerated gesture. It’s sitting on the table in the living room now, in a small plain frame, next to other photographs. Their wedding day. The first day Emily came home with them, back in the apartment. Dana’s medical school graduation. Mulder and Samantha. People and times that are important to them.

.....

Moment:

“That’s a cute picture,” Melissa says, picking it up from the table. “When’s it from?”

“The day we moved in,” Dana says. “Frohike took it when the guys were helping us move. And he told us that we were now sold-out suburbanites. But you can’t have everything.”

Melissa laughs. “We love you even if you have sold out. Open your presents.” She turns to watch as Dana unwraps a tissue paper package to reveal a dress. It’s loose, flowing, in different shades of greens and blues. She lets Dana look at it for a minute. “What do you think?”

“Oh,” Dana says softly, turning it over, “oh, it’s really nice, Missy.”

“Do you actually think that, or are you being nice?”

“No, I actually think that!” Dana says. “You know I don’t lie to you.” She shakes out the dress. “And I might even fit into it, too.”

“Yeah, that’s what we were thinking,” Melissa says. “You can wear it now, before the baby, and then after that you can wear it as a loose dress. Wow, I can’t believe I actually found clothes you liked.”

“Give me the credit!” Monica calls. She’s sitting on the floor with Emily, who’s playing with an array of small stuffed animals, each of them from a different state.

“Yeah, Monica should get the credit,” Melissa says. “Because I checked with her this time, instead of just buying it on my own.” She points to another package. “That one’s for the baby, but you can open it. It’s a little hat. And a blanket.”

Dana opens the package. “This is a really neat pattern,” she says, looking at the blanket. “Where’d you get it?”

“At the farm we told you about,” Melissa says. “The one where Colleen and Carol are living now, with the women’s collective. We met this woman there, Sally, and she makes blankets and things like this. And we were telling her how nice we thought they were. And then on the day we left, she gave us this one. We thought it would be perfect.”

“It is,” Dana says. She touches the material to her cheek. “You should give me the address. I’d love to thank her.”

“I don’t think she’d expect that,” Melissa says. She’s looking through the pictures on the table again, idly. She almost laughs when she sees the one from Dana’s wedding, with her in the background as a bridesmaid; talk about different taste in dresses. “She’s kind of…she’s not really about the social obligations.”

“But we don’t even know each other,” Dana says. “And it was so nice…”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean,” Melissa says. “I think she was happy about it, making something for someone she doesn’t know. Just for the sake of making it. I don’t know if she’d want to hear—” And then she stops, her words cut off. She sees it, the picture on the table, and the question that’s been in her mind for weeks has an answer. And Mulder comes into the room then, as if that wasn’t enough, and she looks at him and at the picture again, and she knows, she knows.

Dana starts showing him the dress and the hat and the blanket, and Emily comes running over to show him her stuffed animals, and Melissa is glad. Because she doesn’t know if she could say anything, right now. Usually she acts on her first instincts, but right now she doesn’t even have an instinct.

She doesn’t know what to say, what to do.

.....

Snapshot:

It’s blurry, but it’s there. Sally, leaning against a tree outside one of the buildings. She didn’t know Melissa took it, probably wouldn’t have liked it if she did. You can see her face, her long brown hair, her smile. It’s far away and it’s not that clear. But it’s clear enough that you can tell who she is.

.....

Moment:

“What’s with you?” Monica asks when they get home. “You were acting so weird back there. I thought you’d have been happy to see everyone.”

“I was. I am. It’s not that.” Melissa’s only half looking at her; she’s digging through the photographs from their trip at the same time. “Look.” She throws the picture of Sally in front of Monica.

Monica picks it up. “Have I seen this one? It’s not very good. What’s your point?”

“I figured out who she looks like,” Melissa says. “I figured out who she is.”

“And that’s why you were acting weird?” Monica asks.

“Yeah,” Melissa says. “I was looking at the pictures on the table at Dana’s. She’s…she’s Samantha.”

At least Monica knows how big this is. They’ve all heard about Samantha, over the years, enough to know what this could mean. “Are you sure?” she asks. “I mean…not that I am doubting you for a minute, but it’s been a long time. She’d be a lot older now…obviously, I know she is older…and you wouldn’t want to make a mistake about this. If you’re going to say anything. Are you going to say anything?”

“I don’t know!” Melissa says. “I do know it’s her. I can tell. I knew when I looked at the picture.”

“But you don’t know if you’re going to say anything?” Monica asks. “Can we not say anything, even? That feels wrong.”

“I know. I know,” Melissa says. “If it was just Mulder we were thinking about…But I’m thinking about her too.”

“Who? Sally?” Monica says, and Melissa nods. “Should we call her Sally or Samantha?” Melissa gives her a frantic look—she has no idea how to address that question—and Monica goes on. “Okay, Sally for now. You think she wouldn’t want you to say anything?”

“I don’t know if she would or not,” Melissa says. “She kept talking about how she was glad she didn’t have a family. How she didn’t want to belong to anyone.”

Monica looks thoughtful. “Do you think she…does she remember Mulder? How old was she, anyway?”

“Six? Eight? I don’t know,” Melissa says. “But I’m just thinking…there could be reasons that she doesn’t want to be found. I wouldn’t want to do anything…But I just don’t know.”

“What do you think you’d want?” Monica asks. She sits down next to Melissa, puts a comforting arm around her. “In her shoes.”

Melissa tries to think, but it’s not that easy, in a scenario full of blanks and gaps. She can’t imagine not wanting to see Dana again, if something happened to tear them apart. But she can very easily imagine—doesn’t have to imagine, even—plenty of reasons to be wary of families, of the rules they try to impose, of their insidious constraints. She can imagine wanting to know what she was getting into before committing to being a part of one.

“I think I’d want to choose,” she says. “To decide myself. I wouldn’t want anything to happen without me knowing.”

“So let’s go back,” Monica says, easily. “We can see her again and talk to her. And find out what she wants.”

“And if she doesn’t want us to say anything?” Melissa asks. “I don’t know how long I could keep that to myself.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Monica says. “Maybe she’ll…she’ll at least let us tell him that she’s okay.”

“You think he’d let it rest there?” Melissa asks. “Have you met him?”

Monica almost laughs. “Okay, I know. But we can’t know what will happen until we try. When do you want to leave?”

This is the right choice, maybe the only one, Melissa knows. As is so often the case, she needed Monica’s clear vision to figure that out. “Soon. I don’t think I’ll be able to be calm about it until I do. Can you get off work again this soon?”

“Sure,” Monica says. “You’re not going by yourself. I’d have to explain to Dana why I let you do that.”

Now Melissa smiles. “I don’t think we should drive this time, though. I don’t want it to take that long.”

.....

Snapshot:

Mulder, looking at the camera. He’s sitting on the couch—this was back at the apartment, before he and Dana moved, on her birthday last year. He’s smiling, not just a smile for the camera, but a real one, a happy one. Melissa remembers, looking at it, how Dana was standing next to her when she took it, talking to him, smiling too.

.....

Moment:

Melissa’s clutching the picture in her hand as they walk up to the farm. “Do you think she’ll recognize him?” she asks Monica.

“I don’t know,” Monica says. “I think she might. We’ve seen that picture of them when they were kids. You can tell it’s the same guy.”

“Yeah, but that’s because we know it’s the same guy,” Melissa says.

“Still,” Monica says, “I think she’ll know. If there was someone I was that close to…I think I’d know.”

Melissa thinks about it. There’s got to be some kind of lasting connection there, Monica’s right. She can’t imagine Mulder caring as much as he does and Sally not caring at all. Never thinking about him, never even wondering. Not believing it, when it’s there on that little square of shiny paper in her hand.

They told Colleen and Carol they were coming back, although not the whole story, and they’re there to greet them at the house. They exchange hugs, catch up on what they’ve been doing in the weeks since they were here before. And then Colleen says she thinks Sally’s in the orchard, so they go that way.

She’s picking apples when they see her. Melissa hangs back for a moment, watching; she’s fast, precise, assured. She doesn’t think they make a sound, but Sally turns suddenly to look in their direction; her face is startled for a second, and then it relaxes. “Oh, hi,” she says. “You’re here again.”

“We’re here again,” Melissa confirms, as she and Monica make their way towards her. “We wanted to see you.”

“Me?” Sally asks, and there’s a stiffness in her face again. “How come?”

“We have…we have something to tell you,” Melissa says. She doesn’t know where to begin, really; it feels almost wrong, to come out of nowhere and define this woman she still doesn’t know very well. “We think…we might know you.”

Sally shakes her head. “No,” she says. “You don’t know me.” She looks like she might disappear on the spot, run off between the rows of trees, take flight from a branch. Maybe that would be easier for her, not having to respond to anyone’s claims.

Melissa tries to be gentle. “Not us, exactly,” she says. “It’s…my sister’s…did you ever have a brother?”

Sally looks at her with wide eyes, as if she’s made the most miraculous guess. “I do have a brother,” she says. Melissa notes that present tense, wonders what it means. If they’re barking up the wrong tree entirely or if it means that she’s held on. Family doesn’t vanish, after all, even when you might want them to, especially when you treasure them.

“What’s his name?” Melissa asks.

Sally doesn’t speak at first. “It’s…” she finally says. “It’s…well, I do have a brother.”

There might be a time for trying to figure this out with words—there probably will be, in a bit—but Melissa doesn’t think it’s that time now. Instead she holds out the picture, gingerly, and Sally takes it from her.

She can tell that Monica almost doesn’t want to look at Sally’s face; she’s turned her head away to study the trees. Melissa follows suit, because she feels the same way. One glance was enough, and this moment isn’t about the two of them. It’s about two other people, and something that’s sacred. They had to be here to make it happen, but they’re not really a part of it; catalysts, she thinks, remembering something Dana once told her.

The silence stretches out. “Is he tall?” Sally finally asks, the words banal, her voice soft and awed.

Melissa finds that she can’t speak, all of a sudden, but Monica answers. “Yeah,” she says. “Really tall.” Sally’s not tall, Melissa thinks. Funny how families work.

“And he’s smart and he talks a lot?”

“Definitely,” Monica says.

“And he…does he remember me too?” Sally asks, her voice the softest of all.

“Oh,” Melissa says, and she can’t help hugging her, and they cling on, holding tight. “Of course he does.”

.....

Snapshot:

Samantha at eight, just before she disappeared. She’s smiling in the picture, standing under a tree, wearing a purple dress. The edges are blurred; she’s been twirling.

It’s not the only picture here: it’s one of a pile. So many pictures of Samantha, even from that short time. Samantha as a baby, with a bald head and a little hat. Samantha at two, eating birthday cake. Samantha at four, crying because he took one of her toys away. Samantha Samantha Samantha.

.....

Moment:

“Hey,” Dana says softly, as she comes into their bedroom, where he has the pictures spread out. “How are you doing?”

Mulder lets out a breath. “I guess…all right. It’s still hard to wrap my head around.”

“I know.” She comes to sit next to him on the bed, her hands on his back, rubbing gently. “I wouldn’t have believed it could happen this way.”

Neither would he. He keeps thinking back to earlier today, Melissa’s voice on the phone. He almost thought she was playing some kind of sick joke. But it’s real, he thinks, and he’ll know for sure soon enough: they’ll be back here as soon as they can get a flight. Samantha didn’t want to talk on the phone. She only wanted to see each other face to face. He’s not sure if he understands why, but he’ll do this on any terms she wants.

“Looking at pictures?” Dana asks. She picks up one of the two of them, hand in hand on Samantha’s first day of kindergarten, his first day of fourth grade. “This one’s sweet.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Just felt like it.”

“You know…she’s welcome to stay with us for a while,” Dana says. “If that’s what the two of you want, I mean.”

He looks back at her then; he loves her for so many reasons. “We haven’t talked about it,” he says. “Obviously. I think it…it would be good.” But what if it isn’t? What if it’s not the same? Well, that’s a stupid question. It obviously won’t be the same. But what if…The only thing he’s always been sure of is that if he finds her it’ll be like picking up again; it won’t be like two strangers meeting. But now he’s not sure of that anymore. Maybe because he wasn’t the one to find her. Maybe because, when it came down to it, he didn’t do anything.

He doesn’t know how to say all of that, even to Dana. “Maybe it’s not the best idea, though,” he says. “With the baby coming.”

“I don’t think that would be a problem,” Dana says. “Why should it?”

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Hey,” she says, touching his cheek. “This is…I can’t pretend to know exactly how you’re feeling. But I know it’s…I know it’s huge for you, and that isn’t always easy…”

“I should just be happy, though,” he says. “Shouldn’t I?” He is happy, of course, but it’s mixed with so much else: with worries and nerves and doubt and guilt. What’s wrong with him, that he can’t just be happy?

“There’s no should about it,” Dana says. “There’s nothing wrong with how you feel.”

He lets her hold him. “It’s so strange,” he says. “Knowing I’m going to see her again, but not seeing her yet. Maybe when I actually do, it’ll feel…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, because he doesn’t know how. She doesn’t press him.

.....

Snapshot:

None. Some moments are too private for film.

.....

Moment:

He can hear the door open. He looks up.

He’d know her anywhere, that’s his first thought. She’s still short compared to him (imagine if she’d come back taller). She wears her hair long and loose, curling back over her shoulders. Her eyes, her smile. Her bright yellow dress that seems so young. (He knows she’s not eight years old. It matters and it doesn’t.)

“Hi,” she says, so simple, so banal, and then she’s crossing the room, and she hugs him tight before he can even think about it. He hugs back, his head pressed against hers.

“Where’ve you been, Sam?” he asks.

“Lots of places,” she says.

“I always wanted to find you,” he says.

She nods. “I always remembered you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, even though it isn’t enough.

“Why?” she says. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I should have…I should have protected you,” he says. “Kept you safe.”

“But we were kids,” she says. “Just little kids.” As if it’s as easy as that. “And you did protect me. When other kids were mean. Or that time I fell off my bike.”

“You remember that?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says. “Of course.” And then they hug again, for a long time.

“This is where you live?” she says, when they break apart.

“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t know how much Melissa and Monica told you…”

“I know you’re married to Melissa’s sister,” she says. “And you have a little girl.” Her voice is soft when she says it. It sounds like she likes the idea. “Where are they?”

“Dana wanted to give us some space,” he says. “But I’d love you to meet them.” It sounds so formal. “I’m sorry,” he says. “This is strange.”

She shrugs. “It’s okay,” she says. “You’re my brother.”

He is that. “Do you want to meet them, then?” he asks.

“Sure,” she says.

They go into the living room, where Dana and Emily are waiting. (They’ve explained the basic situation to Emily, although that was a little tricky. He didn’t want to scare her, make her have nightmares about disappearing. He knows what that’s like too well. In the end they just told her that Samantha was his sister who he hadn’t seen for a long, long time, but that she’d be coming to visit them, and that they were very glad.) “Hi,” Mulder says. “This is…this is…” He turns to his sister. “Do you want me to call you Samantha?”

“Yes,” she says. “I want you to.”

So he says it: “This is Samantha.” He can tell this moment means a lot to Dana too: it couldn’t be what it is to him, but then he’s shared so much with her over the years that it might be something close. That’s what their partnership means. “Samantha, this is my wife, Dana. And our daughter, Emily.”

“Hi, Samantha,” Dana says. “It’s so wonderful to have you here.”

Samantha doesn’t say anything for the first minute, just stares at them. He wonders if this part will be strange for her. He certainly didn’t have a wife and daughter, or anything like it, the last time they saw each other.

“Oh!” she says. “You’re going to have another baby, too?”

Dana looks surprised for a minute—it’s not as though they could hide it, when she’s due in just a couple of months, but she probably didn’t expect to be asked like that. But then she smiles. “We are,” she says. “In May.”

“That’s wonderful,” Samantha says. “Really wonderful.” She’s smiling too, as she sits down next to Emily. “Hi, Emily,” she says. “I like your doll. Her dress is so nice.”

“Aunt Melissa gave her to me,” Emily says. “You’re my aunt too. Right?”

Samantha looks at her for a moment, and then she laughs. “I guess I am!” she says.

Mulder sits down with them; he doesn’t want to be far away from her, not even across the room. Not yet. “We thought…we wanted to know if you wanted to stay with us,” he says. “For a little while, at least. I know you have your own life too…” He’s not sure what he’s saying.

She looks back at him. “I’d like that,” she says. “Thank you.”

It’s almost strange to hear her thanking him. He feels like he should be thanking her, for being here with him again, for not blaming him for all he couldn’t do. But he takes it in. He squeezes her hand.  

[alwaysinstoryland]

ML 2017 Christmas Countdown fic Masterlist

Since it’s almost Christmas, here’s a list of all the Christmassy fics I wrote to count down a couple of years ago! I thought it would be good to compile them all together over here because we can never have too many cute Christmassy fics in the world! Enjoy ♡

-

Cookies

Pairing: Ladynoir

Summary: Chat Noir is lonely one night at 2AM but Ladybug knows how to make him feel better. Christmas cookies cure everything.

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Pairing: Ladrien

Summary: It's freezing cold outside and Ladybug is stuck doing patrol by herself, but thankfully Adrien seems to be willing to help her warm up.

The Perfect Gift

Pairing: Marichat, Adrienette

Summary: Adrien has been given Marinette's name for the class Secret Santa but his gift to her must be special, especially since he found out that she was his lady as well as his princess. He has a plan to reveal himself when he gives her the present he got, but first he has to find the perfect one.

Tinsel Tangles

Pairing: Marichat

Summary: Chat Noir plus a pile of tinsel and fairy lights, what could possibly go wrong?

Fireplaces and Christmas Movie Naps

Pairing: Adrienette, Djwifi

Summary: Alya has a night of Christmas movies planned with her friends, but sometimes naps can be a good thing too.

The Christmas Tree Disaster

Pairing: Adrienette

Summary: Christmas trees can be dangerous things, as Marinette finds out one afternoon after designing in the park. It's a good thing Adrien is there to help her set it back up.

A Fuzzy Scarf for Chat Noir

Pairing: Marichat

Summary: Marinette is determined to make a gift for Chat Noir. A scarf seems to be a safe option.

A Sleigh Fit For Two

Pairing: Tom/Sabine

Summary: Both Sabine and Tom are exhausted from all the pre-Christmas bakery rush, but Marinette has the perfect way to fix that.

Sneaking Sweets

Pairing: Ninette (friendship)

Summary: He reached for one of the cooling cookies. She whirled back around. "Stop that." She smacked his hand with the wooden spoon that had somehow appeared in hers.

A Kitty Santa and his Reindeer Bug

Pairing: Ladynoir, Adrienette

Summary: Ladybug and Chat Noir have agreed to dress up and give out gifts at the local children's hospital so of course, Chat Noir gets the role of Santa. But are those pillows really necessary?

Jingle Bells

Pairing: Ladrien

Summary: Adrien is having trouble getting his piano piece for the Christmas carols his class is performing to sound festive enough but Ladybug is there to help.

Plagg the Mistletoe

Pairing: Ladrien

Summary: "Look kid, I am intelligent mistletoe. I decide who has to kiss. I'll keep annoying you until you kiss her so you may as well just hurry up already. Besides, you both like each other so what's the big deal?" Plagg is tired of Adrien getting nowhere with his lady and decides to help.

The Great Candle Disaster

Pairing: none

Summary: In which Gabriel Agreste accidentally buys too. many. candles.

Christmas Party Revelations

Pairing: Adrienette, Ladynoir

Summary: With a little unintentional help from Chloe, Adrien accidentally reveals to Marinette that he knows she is Ladybug. Now he isn't sure how she'll react. It's Christmas so maybe a little Christmas luck will spread to them.

Emma’s DIY Ornaments

Pairing: Adrienette

Summary: She held it up proudly. "I made some pretty things for our Christmas tree!" Emma Agreste announced.

Christmas Eve Reveal

Pairing: Marichat, Ladynoir

Summary: A second later, Ladybug flipped through the open trapdoor above Marinette's bed and landed neatly. She raised startled eyes to his, falling back as her transformation wore off.

Recurring Visits to a Certain Clothing Shop

Pairing: Adrienette

Summary: Marinette is confused about why the handsome, blond-haired stranger keeps coming to the clothing store she works at to buy Christmas jumpers. Just how many does he need? No miraculous AU

Impromptu Snowball Fight

Pairing: Ladynoir

Summary: After patrol one night, the two superheroes don't feel like going back home just yet and end up having a snowball fight.

I Don’t Believe in Santa Claus

Pairing: Adrienette

Summary: "I don't believe in Santa Claus." Emma had announced. Now it's up to Adrien to change that.

Little Elves

Pairing: Ladynoir

Summary: When a local primary school class has to do a service project, Ladybug and Chat Noir find themselves with little helpers for the day.

Unicorn Hair

Pairing: Adrienette

Summary: Emma Agreste had made up her mind. She was going to be an ice skating unicorn princess, no matter what it took.

Gift Wrapping and Christmas Shopping

Pairing: Ladrien

Summary: Adrien is getting a bit frustrated while trying to get a few last minute gifts during the Christmas rush but Ladybug is there to 'rescue' him.

A Reindeer Dog

Pairing: Djwifi

Summary: When Nino's dog goes missing, he isn't expecting to find it at Alya's house eating carrots.

A Wrapping Paper Mess

Pairing: Gabriel/Emilie

Summary: Gabriel Agreste can see right into his neighbour's house and can see that she's struggling to wrap her gifts. Perhaps it is time for him to introduce himself and help her out. AU

A Mistletoe Tradition

Pairing: Ladynoir

Summary: Kissing under the mistletoe is tradition. Sitting on your superhero partner's lap on a rooftop in Paris probably isn't.