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godsandmonsters505 · 2 years ago

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Roll Like Thunder | Negan Smith

dbf!Negan Smith (The Walking Dead) x younger fem!reader

(AU where the apocalypse never happened)

Summary: Negan is your dad's best friend and the two of you settle some tension while on your family vacation.

Warnings (18+): age gap (reader is college age, maybe 20-ish, and Negan's age is not specified but I'm feeling early 50s), smut (fem receiving oral, unprotected p in v), possibility of getting caught, edging

Notes: this actually kinda turned out sweet in a way I think, which is surprising because that's not often an outcome when I write for Negan lmao. not proofread yet because I just wanted to get it out to you all asap, but will edit if needed when I get the chance. hope you enjoy!! (also the intro is kinda long oops)

Grabbing your glass of wine you take another much needed swig, cringing at your dad and uncle. They always find some way to turn every conversation into a political argument while the rest of your family eat their meals and exchange knowing glances

Family holidays were always like this. The one time a year when everyone was together: your parents, aunt, uncle and cousins. Only this year, there was a new addition.

Negan had grown up being a close friends with both your father and uncle and they are still best friends to this day. He recently went through a messy divorce and this is his first Christmas without his wife in a long time. Your dad never was good with showing kindness or friendship, but your uncle had convinced him it would be a good idea to invite him to his cabin for your annual Christmas getaway.

And that's how you got here.

You'd always had a little bit of a crush on Negan, for as long as you could remember. Though you never saw much of him as a kid. It wasn't until you got older - old enough to be able to drink in front of your parents - that you got to spend more time with him. Drinking was a big part of their social life, so once you could join in, you got to know him better. You got on well with your parents so you'd have barbeques with them and their friends, join in with conversations in the kitchen when they'd have people over, go out to dinner. But then you went off to college and started spending less and less time with them. So now it's Christmas time, you're happy to be able to spend time with your family. And Negan, more than you'd care to admit.

"Okay fellas," your mom chimes in. "Enough of that."

Negan makes eye contact with you from across the other side of the table and you smirk at each other. You're both all too familiar with watching this from an outside perspective.

"The food's delicious, Negan," she adds, turning to Negan, who had cooked this meal for you all. Sort of as a thank you for letting him tag along. For the first few days in the cabin he felt a little out of place, like he was intruding on your family's time together. But eventually he began to find himself settling. You were lucky to have a very fun, non-judgmental family so everyone was happy to have him there.

You nodded in agreement with your mother's statement. "I'd have more if there was any left." You motion to your empty plate.

"I'm glad it's got your approval, ladies," he grins.

The meal comes to an end and alcohol starts flowing. Your cousins are all younger than you so they head off to their bedrooms to do whatever it is kids their age do.

"I'd better get these dishes cleaned," Negan declares, standing up from his seat.

"No," you say, protesting. "You cooked. I'll clean."

"It's fine, you don't have to," he says kindly.

"I want to," you smile. "Really I'm happy to."

"We'll do them together?" He suggests, coming to a compromise and you nod in agreement.

"You raised a stubborn one," he mumbles teasingly to your dad, patting his shoulder as he walks past him.

"She gets that from me," your mom chirps as the two of you pick the plates up from the table and carry them into the kitchen.

Putting the plates on the kitchen top, you head to the fridge and look inside.

"Beer?" you ask, peeking around the door to look at Negan's response. Though you already have two cans in your hand, knowing he won't turn down the offer.

He nods. "Can't do anything without a drink in hand in this family, huh?"

You close the fridge door and pass him his beer, cracking open his own.

"You should be more than aware of that," you tease. "I've heard what you and my dad used to get up to."

"I'm sure you've not even heard the most of it," he teases back.

You laugh softly under your breath at his response.

"I'll wash, you dry?" You suggest as the sink begins to fill with soapy water.

The two of you get the dishes done relatively quickly as Negan tells you a story from his college days. You have to keep yourself composed and remember who he is. Remember that these stories he's telling of him at your age took place before you were even born. A decade before, at least. But, every so often, as you pass him the plates to dry, your fingers touch his and such a small motion has you weak. You can't look him directly in the eyes as he stands so close to you. That signature grin of his spread across his face.

The two of your finish and you take a large swig of your beer, but it's no surprise that the flush of alcohol doesn't help your body heat. You can only hope and pray that your cheeks aren't beetroot red right now.

"I'm sure you've got plenty of stories, though, right?" He asks. "Being in college and all. And with your dad's genes...God."

A playful smile spreads on your face. "Sure. I'm absolutely not telling you though. My dad would have a heart attack."

"Ahh," he smiles back. "So this whole 'good girl' thing is just an act, then?"

Holy shit. Good girl? He has no clue what he is doing to you calling you things like that.

"I can be good when it suits me." You say, almost flirtatiously, and immediately kick yourself. Why the hell would you say something like that to him?

Your off-the-cuff reply has him grinning. He swipes his tongue over his teeth as he contemplates your words and you almost drop to your knees.

"Let's go see what political debate has become the talking point now," you say, changing the topic to hide your complete embarrassment. You leave the kitchen and head to the living room, Negan following.

Somehow, in the time it took you to wash the dishes, your mom and aunt have gone through a bottle and a half of wine, and they're sat on the floor with your dad and uncle playing some sort of drinking game.

You sit down on the couch and Negan sits next to you. Why? Why could he not just sit away from you? Give you some space to compose yourself? But the action is completely innocent. There is just less than a foot between the two of you, yet it still feels like he is on top of you. Like you're breathing the same air.

"What was I just saying?" Negan says, nudging your arm with his elbow. "Alcohol."

You shake your head in playful disagreement with your relatives' actions.

"Hey, mom," you say and her head whips around, as laughter escapes her lips. "Think you've had enough for tonight?"

"Oh, you're so boring," she waves her hand at you dismissively.

The four of them continue for about half an hour as you and Negan observe and laugh. The game finally comes to an end when your aunt and uncle discreetly head off to their bedroom for a reason you don't even want to think about. Your parents follow shortly after, your dad having to carry your drunk mom up the stairs.

You come back from the kitchen where you were getting another lager for you and Negan. As you do so, you look for the TV controller and find a blanket that was lying around. You sit down again next to Negan and look down at your phone to check the time.

"God, it's not even 10 o'clock yet." You laugh.

"Amateurs," he says sarcastically.

You pass him his beer which he thanks you for, then get under you blanket.

"Want some?" You ask, holding out some excess blanket towards him.

"Sure," he accepts, getting comfortable himself.

The whole situation you're in is completely innocent, but it dawns on you that you're currently alone with Negan, tucked under the same blanket. Given that fact, you make a conscious effort not to touch him at all and try to remain composed.

"Put a movie on?" You ask him, passing the TV remote to him.

He takes it from your hand, brushing his fingertips across yours.

You watch him carefully as he selects a film to put on, making sure not to get caught admiring him. He just looks so good. The salt and pepper sprinkled throughout his hair and beard. The tattoos that cover his arms. The way his white t-shirt hugs his body just right. You're brought out of your thoughts when he speaks.

"You seen Batman Returns?" He asks, looking down at you.

"Of course," you smile. "It's a classic."

"Feel like watching it again?"

You nod. You'll watch whatever he wants. Do whatever he wants.

"Absolutely," you answer. "I didn't peg you as a Batman kind of guy, to be honest."

"Like you say, it's a classic," he says. "Plus there's always Michelle Pfeiffer."

You laugh at him. "I feel you."

You polish off another beer as you watch the film. You try your best to pay attention, to keep your eyes open, but you grow increasingly tired. It must have only been fifteen minutes into the film when you finally drift off, reality slipping away.

When you wake up again, it takes a while to fully gain consciousness, You feel something under you head, under your arm, but you don't pay much attention to it.

You feel warm. Comfortable. You don't want to wake up, you could stay here forever. The smell of men's shampoo and cologne comforts you, a soft material under the touch of your hand.

All of a sudden reality dawns on you. You realise that your head is leaning on a shoulder. That your hand is draped across a torso. You shoot up, sitting upright and see Negan smiling at you softly through slightly hooded eyes.

"Oh God," you say, feeling incredibly humiliated. "I'm sorry." But he just chuckles.

You look over to the television and see a black screen.

"Did the movie finish?" You ask groggily and he nods. Fuck. You slept for the entire duration of the film and who knows how much of that time you spent laying on Negan's shoulder.

What you're only just realising now, though, is how close you're still sat to him. How even though you're sat up, Negan's shoulder is casually draped across the back of the sofa, dangerously close to your shoulder blades.

"Why didn't you just wake me up?" You ask, feeling flushed.

"You looked peaceful." He answers, honestly. "Didn't want to disrupt you."

"I'm sorry," you apologize again. "You should've woken me up."

"I didn't mind, sweetheart." He insists. "Honestly."

The pet name drives you utterly insane. As if this whole thing wasn't already enough. Your body feels so hot. What with the blanket, his body heat, your arousal.

"I will say though, you do talk quite a bit in your sleep," he smiles coyly and dread shoots through your entire body.

"Wh-what-" you can't even get a full sentence out. "What did I-"

A flash of a dream comes back to you in that moment. Oh God. Oh God, no. You can't remember the details, but you remember the feeling. Negan on top of you. His body weight on you. The ecstasy you felt. His hands on your body. His name slipping from your lips.

You had a sex dream about Negan while you were laying on his Goddamn shoulder. You're lost for words, but Negan is enjoying watching this play out. He bites his lip, trying to suppress his smug grin as he watches you realise the possibilities of what you might have said.

His arm slowly slips off the back of the sofa and creeps around to touch you, the movement making you flinch a little. What is he doing?

He takes his other hand and places two fingers just under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The two of you make eye contact and you can't even contemplate what is happening - still a little groggy from your nap - before his lips are coming down gently on yours.

You kiss him back almost immediately. It's a surprising delicate and intimate kiss, and you daringly bring your hand up to his neck to pull him in deeper, but he pulls back.

You worry that he is having second thoughts, but the look in his eyes says the complete opposite. He just wants to get a good look at you before he tears you apart. You feel vulnerable under his hungry eyes but you love how it makes you feel.

The two of you take a moment to catch your breath before your lips join again, this time the kiss rougher. More passionate. His arms wrap around your back to pull your body snug to his and you intwine your fingers into his hair, tugging ever so slightly. His large hands snake further down and grab your hips, pulling you onto his lap. As you get comfortable you shift along his length and gasp, feeling that he is already hard.

"You were practically fucking dry humping me in your sleep," he chuckles. "You can't blame me."

"So that's why you didn't want to wake me up, then?" You're barely able to mumble, teasing him.

"Hmm, maybe." You can feel him smile into the kiss and it makes you want him more. Everything about him is so endearing. He just radiates this warmth, this aura, and it's radiating.

Even now, however, you're nervous to move things along. You know what you want but this is still so surreal, and it would be an understatement to say you feel a little intimidated in this moment. You have enough sexual experience, but this is Negan. This is different. So you're glad when he takes control and begins to lift up your top, pulling it over your head to expose your bra.

His mouth makes contact with the flesh of your chest, sucking and nipping while he reaches around to unhook your bra. He feels his cock twitch when he sees your bare breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth immediately as his warm hands roam and caress your back, travelling over your smooth skin.

As you start to subconsciously grind into his bulge, Negan continues to explore your breasts. You're looking for any kind of relief and you begin to find some as he presses up into you, but both of your pants are restricting you.

You feel yourself crumbling further and further as Negan's hands come around to aid him with his attention to your breasts, squeezing and practically groaning as he does so. The noise changes something inside you, and makes you realise that you need him stripped of his clothes right this second.

You grasp the bottom of his shirt and he briefly pulls away from you to allow you to move it, but the second you're done, his lips are back on your skin, leaving marks on your collarbone and neck. Next, you move onto the buckle of his belt but he swats your hand away.

Pulling back from the kiss, you look to him with wide eyes full of confusion. That look alone is nearly enough to cause him to fold and fuck you right then and there. But he has other plans.

"Be patient for me, honey," he says sweetly, and as badly as you want him, you trust him.

He pulls your body flush to his, so that your breasts are pressed entirely against the heat of his chest. Then he grips your lower back and stands up, holding you tightly.

"We can't do this here," he says, carrying you towards the stairs. You grind up against him playfully as he does so and he stops momentarily half way up the stairs, clearly affected by the action. In retaliation he gently swats your ass and you giggle at his response.

"Shh," he hushes, but he can't hide the grin that spreads across his face as you bury your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound.

Being as quiet as possible, he takes you into his bedroom which - awkwardly - is across the hall from your parents' room.

He puts you down on the bed, barely allowing himself to be away from you for a second, climbing on top of you hastily. He goes back to kissing you, the taste of him intoxicating. The way he kisses are gentle yet so hot and passionate at the same time, becoming increasingly sloppy as they shift from your lips to your jaw, neck, chest, abdomen, until you're a writhing mess beneath him.

Once he has kissed so far that he reaches the waist line of your trousers, he unbuttons them and pulls them all the way down. He throws them onto the floor, leaving you just in your lace black panties. He nudges your legs open and moves his kisses to your thigh. He's slowly breaking you and you're not sure how much more you can take. Painstakingly slow, he trails his tongue up your inner thigh until he reaches the edge of your panties.

Eventually he slips your panties off and you tremble as you feel the cool air of his room against your hot, aching core. He places his hands on your inner thighs to push them open further, mouth watering at the sight of you. The delicate touch of his fingers send shivers up your spine and you're in desperate need of more.

"Please, Negan," you say, barely a croak.

"Shh, let me take care of you," he soothes, his voice low and gravelly as he tries his best to stay quiet. "Wanted to taste this sweet pussy for so long."

As if to affirm his words, he lowers his head and licks a stripe straight through your folds, groaning as he feels how wet you are.

He then moves his mouth to make contact with your clit, your hips raising at the action. He starts off by sucking gently, leaving you aching for more as you reach down to grab his hair, not knowing what else to do. He chuckles as you do so and sends vibrations straight through your core. Unable to control yourself, a moan escapes you lips and he squeezes your thighs warningly, wordlessly telling you to be quiet.

He takes his time to precisely pull you apart, but then his motions begins to get harsher, faster. You feel that rising feeling in the pit of your stomach begin to spread after waiting for what feels like so long. He alternates between kissing, sucking, licking, nipping until you're desperate for more. Sensing this, he teases one finger at your entrance.

"Please," you whimper, legs trembling. He answers your pleading by pushing his single digit inside you in one long push, as deep as he can go, and keeping it there momentarily. As he continues to eat you out, he begins moving his finger, fucking you gently. When he adds a second finger you have to clasp your hand over your own mouth to stop yourself from calling out his name. Your legs wrap around his head, wanting to pull him closer to you in any way possible.

Closing your eyes, you feel that white hot feeling flooding through your veins, but right as you're about to reach your peak, he pulls his fingers out and his mouth away from you.

You let out a guttural sound, one of desperation which causes Negan to laugh under his breath.

"Negan, God, please," you whine, putting both your hands on his head and pushing him back down.

"So bossy," he mumbles with a smile on his face, but he obliges.

He doesn't use his fingers on you again, but it makes no difference. You're already pent up enough as it is that it won't take a lot to make you reach your peak. Plus, you don't doubt that Negan's skillful mouth is more than enough for you.

He circles his tongue around your clit, going back to sucking while using his free fingers to absentmindedly trace little patterns into your thighs. The only noises are your heavy pants and the wetness of his mouth against you, and it fills the otherwise deadly silent bedroom.

He's starting to become more familiar with your body and your reactions and he can tell you're getting close again. To which he stops and pulls away yet again.

"Negan," you almost cry. Tears prick in the corners of your eyes as you throb for him. "Please, I need to-"

"I got you baby," he assures you, stroking the flesh of your thighs comfortingly.

You can't bare it. You almost despise him for doing this to you, but you can't. It's all so surreal: having this man between your thighs. So often you have fantasized of it and though it's so wrong, it's now happening.

Before you can beg again, his lips make contact with you. This time he's a man on a mission. His tongue flicks against your clit as two of his fingers slip back inside you. You're so wet that it's an easy motion, but you still feel the tight, delicious stretch. He allows you to get used to it, building you up until he adds a third finger and you have to use all your power not to yell out his name. You try your hardest not to hurt Negan by squeezing your thighs too much or pulling his hair too hard, but he loves it. He loves driving you crazy, seeing you unwind for him. The noises you make. The taste of you.

Relentlessly, he penetrates you with his fingers, pushing and curling his fingers deep inside you, hitting a spot that eventually brings you your release. One last push, one last flick of his tongue and you're falling over the edge. You squeeze your eyes shut and you can't help the animalistic sound that leaves you as white flashes behind your eyelids. He continues eating you out through your orgasm and it hits you that you think you're doing something you never have before.

Once you manage to come around again, you let your legs relax and look down to Negan who looks up at you. He smiles smugly, your wetness remaining in his beard and it causes you to go weak in the knees.

"Did I just-?" Squirt, you want to say. But somehow it doesn't seem like the nicest word to describe what just happened between of the two.

He nods with a glimmer in his eyes as he makes his way up the bed, his body above yours.

"I've never-" you croak. "I've never done that before."

"You just needed a man, that's all," he gloats and you roll your eyes. "It was hot as fuck, for what it's worth."

He leans down and places a soft kiss on your lips. You can taste yourself on him.

You're still shaking a little, but you manage to pull back a little to look him in his eyes.

"Are we really doing this?" You ask, bordering on timid.

"Do you want to?" He counters.

"Yes," you say, quickly, not wanting him to think you're having doubts. Because there is absolutely no doubt in your mind that you want the man above him. Hell, you need him. But somehow you find yourself feeling a little insecure and needing reassurance. "Do you?"

"Darling," he laughs. "Not to be crude, but you just came all over my face. I want this more than you know."

You nod and smile, feeling more confident. "I'm sorry, I just-"

He interrupts your babbling with a long kiss to your lips, silencing you.

"You need to worry less," he says, bringing his hand to stroke your cheek sweetly.

"Make me." You propose flirtingly, smiling up at him.

"That I can do." His lips crash down on yours and his tongue intertwines with yours.

Reaching down to his pants you fumble with his zip, which he helps your shaky hands undo. He shifts both his pants and boxers down off his ankles, and though you can't see his length fully from this angle, you can feel its hardness press against your lower stomach and he feels big.

"You ready, baby?" He raises his brow at you as he grips his member and teases it through your folds.

"Yes, please Negan," you pant, even after having the best orgasm of your life, you still need more. "Need you inside me."

He groans as he slips inside of you and the way you practically beg for him drives him crazy.

"So fucking tight, holy shit," he mumbles into your ear, his head dropping down to bite and suck on the crook of your neck. "Oh, baby, fuck."

Hearing him say such obscene things affects you in an indescribable way. His voice has always been massively attractive to you, but now...you're done for. The deep rumble, smooth like honey, even lower in an attempt to remain quiet to your family in the surrounding bedrooms. It's like dark magic. It has you hooked. He could say the right thing to you with that voice and you'd cum right there and then.

His movements are slow, savoring the sensation of you around him. He wants to take his time with you. He never wants it to be over.

Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his back and lift your hips up wanting more from you. He maintains his pace, but does start pushing deeper inside you like you wanted.

"I've wanted you for so long," you say, not even in control of your words anymore. It's like he's fucking them right out of you. He moans into your neck at your admission and starts thrusting a little faster, as if in response to your statement.

"Do you know-" he stops speaking for a moment to breathe and compose himself, clearly enjoying this as much as you, "how often I get myself off thinking about you?" He punctuates his point with a particularly hard thrust and that - in combination with the idea of him masturbating to the thought of you - causes you to cry out. You thought he would shush you, but he seems too far gone at this point.

"A fucking pretty little thing like you," he says, his hands groping at your tits, his touch rougher than before, "it'd be hard not to."

"Oh god," you whimper. "Harder, please."

His movements get harsher gradually, following your command and getting you closer and closer every second.

He lifts his head up and the way he looks at you makes your insides collapse. To be the sole object of his attention. How he looks at you like you're all that ever mattered.

"I'm so close, Negan," you tell him.

"Taking me so fucking well, darling," he praises, reaching one hand down to lazily play with your clit. That's all it takes and he can feel it coming as you begin to squeeze around him. He takes your lips in a long, sensual kiss as you climax, trying to muffle your moans as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your hands are wrapped around his back, squeezing into his shoulders as you try your hardest to be quiet. Pure pleasure surges through your veins as he presses his entire body weight into you: suffocating in the most beautiful way possible.

Gradually, Negan's movements come to a halt and he stops moving inside you briefly, letting go of you come down from your high.

"You're gonna be the fucking death of me," he declares and before you can reply, he suddenly starts moving inside you again, faster than the last time, placing a quick peck on the tip of your nose as he does so.

He soon reaches a pace much faster than before and you're rendered speechless.

Your attention is grabbed, however, by the open and shut of a door somewhere. You gasp and your eyes widen at the sound. The possibilities of who it could be and if they'd heard you start to race through your mind but your thoughts are cut off when Negan clasps a hand firmly over your mouth to keep you quiet. He presses you further into the mattress as he fucks you even harder than before, enjoying tormenting you.

You listen closely to the footsteps. They're quite loud - that of a man - probably your dad or uncle. The pitter patter grows closer and your heard races, both from the fear of getting caught and from the sensation of Negan deep inside you. Hitting places you're sure no other man ever has or ever could. You relax a little as you hear the footsteps pass Negan's bedroom and head into the shared bathroom, the door closing afterwards.

Negan takes his hand off your mouth and you gasp for air.

"Oh my god, please don't stop," you beg as he sets a pace and sticks with it, snaking his slender fingers back down to your clit and circling it gently.

"I don't plan on," he chimes. "You're taking me so well."

You've never felt anything like this. Your entire body is numb and slick with sweat. All you can do is grab onto his hair and try your best to lift your hips to meet his thrusts.

To help you out, he grabs your body and switches positions slightly. He lifts himself up then clutches your thighs, lifting them onto his shoulders. Then his hands grip onto your hips and he has access to you in a way that allows him to go much deeper. You know you can't take much more. You're close to crying just from how much you want to scream his name.

Your eyes keep fluttering shut but you force them opening, wanting to keep them on the man doing this to you. His tousled hair, his flexed biceps, his tattooed chest.

"Harder, please," you whisper. "I'm nearly there."

Thrusting harder, he also adds his fingers back to your clit, rubbing harshly. It's almost painful on your sensitive nerves but it feels unreal and it's enough to build you up to near-ecstasy.

Your mouth hangs open but you refrain from making any noise. In one unexpected motion, he lands a slap to your clit and it sends your orgasm rushing.

"Good girl, that's it," he guides you through as your body starts to spasm.

He continually pounds into you and turns his head to the side to place soft kisses to your inner thigh, contrasting the way he now ruthlessly moves inside of you.

You contract around him as you cum and you can tell he is trying his hardest to hold on as he visibly hesitates, not knowing where to release.

"Cum inside me, Negan," you give permission. "Want it so bad."

Those words were all he needed as he spills inside you, the warm liquid filling you.

Gradually, his movements slow down as he fucks you through the both of your orgasms, fucking his cum deeper inside you, and then pulls out and collapses next to you.

You rest your head on his shoulder and to your surprise, he pulls you closer to him, placing a kiss to your forehead.

"Holy shit," you giggle, the whole situation setting in.

Negan's about to speak but his sentence stops forming when the bathroom door opens and closes again. You'd completely forgot about that.

The two of you exchange a glance as you wait for the footsteps to disappear down the hallway. Once they're gone, you relax back into his embrace.

Absentmindedly, you place your hand on Negan's warm chest, tracing the ink of his tattoos. Its surprisingly comforting having him this close, to be held by him. You're entranced by the smell of his cologne and the way his chest heaves up and down, catching his breath. He smiles as he watches you, equally as entranced by you. He can't quite believe that the daydreams he thought were exactly that - daydreams - have come to life.

"We'll have to do this again," he grins coyly, "some place where you can scream my name as loud as you need to." His hands run over your body, cupping your breasts as if to appreciate as much of you as possible.

"I'd like that," you smile back, snuggling into his arms. You know you can't stay here all night, but you'll appreciate it for as long as possible.

#negan fic #negan x reader #negan twd #negan smut #negan smith #the walking dead fanfiction #jeffrey dean morgan smut #jeffrey dean morgan #negan smith smut

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bradshawsbaby · 2 years ago

Text

Letters to My Love // Part VII

Auld Lang Syne

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: We’ve finally made it to 1943! Can you believe it will soon be a whole year since the night Bobby and Peach met?

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

To ring in the new year in the story, the title of this chapter is based on the holiday classic, Auld Lang Syne. To get in the spirit, check out this 1939 instrumental version by Guy Lombardo!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, @luminousnotmatter. Clara, thank you, thank you, thank you for your support of this story!

Warnings: Alternating POV, talk of the holidays, brief allusions to the trauma of war, references to rationing, and a ton of fluff.

January 12, 1943

Dear Peach,

Happy New Year! I know we’re only 12 days in at this point, but I hope that 1943 is already shaping up to be a good year for you. Hopefully it will be a good year for all of us. And I look forward to hearing all about your Christmas back home in Georgia!

Now to address that “elephant in the room” as you called it—well, Peach, I see no elephants, but I do see what has to be the most beautiful and elegant photograph I’ve ever had the good fortune to lay these sorry eyes on. Are you sure you really meant to send it to me and not to MGM? You could be a movie star! I wouldn’t be surprised at all if it was announced that their next big picture was starring The Sweet Peach from Georgia. Hey, maybe that could even be the name of the movie. What do you think?

Peach, I hope you know that I’m not teasing and I’m not kidding. And I hope my saying so doesn’t come across as forward, but you really are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, whether in the movies or in real life. Part of me was starting to wonder if maybe I’d dreamed it all up, that night we had together in Charleston. Could any girl really be that beautiful and kind and funny and smart, all wrapped up in one splendid person? But then I opened your last letter and your photograph fell out of the envelope, and I realized that sometimes real life can be even better than our dreams. Because you, Peach, are even more stunning than you were in my memories. And you know what makes it even better? That your beauty shines from the inside. Looking at your photograph, I can see all the kindness and gentleness and goodness that I’ve come to know so well, shining in your eyes and brightening your smile.

Gosh, am I rambling? I’m sure I am. But I don’t want you to feel embarrassed, not for a moment. And to think that you would even suggest I take a photograph this beautiful and shove it in a drawer or throw it off the carrier! That would be an absolute crime! It deserves to be framed and hung for everyone to admire. I admit that I’ve never seen the Mona Lisa, but I can already guarantee that you’re a thousand times prettier. But can I tell you the truth, Peach? As much as you deserve to be universally praised, I’ve been very selfish. The fellas are all quite jealous, you see, that the prettiest girl in the world has chosen to write to me, of all people. So I keep your photograph tucked close to my heart, away from all the guys. Don’t want to rub salt in the wound, you know?

Benny and Tommy Boy wanted me to respectfully let you know that you looked quite lovely in your photo, and that they’d be more than willing to serve as pen pals to any of your friends back home who may be in need of some correspondence.

Will you do me a favor and thank Dottie for this little scheme of hers? I knew that I liked your sister already, but this has truly solidified it for me. She’s a smart woman, that Dottie Sheridan. And I hope Frankie’s birthday pictures turned out just as nice as yours!

Can I tell you something else, Peach? We’ve been doing a lot of flying over here, me and Paul and the rest of our squadron, as I’m sure you can imagine. Paul keeps a photograph of Natasha and the kids in our aircraft when we’re flying. He says it brings him good luck and helps him remember what he’s fighting for. I like to keep a photograph of my family with me while we’re flying so that I can remember the same. But now I carry your photograph with me, too. And I think I understand now what Paul meant about his photo bringing him luck. Every time we’ve flown since I started carrying you with me, I feel this extra sense of protection. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. You’re my good luck charm, Peach, and I thank you for that. Thanks for helping me remember what I’m fighting for, every day that I’m here. And, hey—it’s sort of like we’re flying together already, right?

I was glad to hear that you enjoyed the pumpkin pie story, and that my utter humiliation could at least bring you some laughter. It’s funny that you should mention my mama setting aside some pumpkin pie for me because I did, in fact, receive a letter from her not long after Thanksgiving, and she told me she had done just that. She said that she’s hoping and praying I’ll be home for pumpkin pie this year. I hope she’s right.

I’m so happy to hear that you got to spend time with your folks and be together for the holidays. And happy belated birthday to little Frankie! They grow up fast, don’t they? Natasha sent Paul some photographs from Paul, Jr.’s first birthday, and neither of us can believe how big he’s gotten. Natasha says she’s writing down all his milestones in a little book for when Paul returns, so that he doesn’t miss a thing. I know it makes Paul feel good to hear that. He misses them so much.

I hope you don’t mind me doing so, but I shared with some of the guys on the carrier how you offered up your Thanksgiving gratitude and prayers for us. It lifted a lot of fellas’ spirits, I’ll tell you that. We were all missing home a little extra around the holidays, but to be reminded of why we’re doing this, and of the good people back home who are thinking of us, really makes all the difference.

Now to hear that you were an excellent pupil back in your grade school days does not surprise me one bit, Miss Peach. It’s funny that you say that you’re hopeless when it comes to arithmetic because I was always rather hopeless when it came to my writing—as I’m sure you can tell from the woeful state of my handwriting. My teachers at school—and yes, even my professors at Annapolis—always scolded me over it. Everyone has their strengths, huh? But if you don’t mind handling the writing, I’m more than happy to take care of the numbers and figures. We’d make quite a team.

Peach, I can promise you that the thought of getting to share another dance with you is one of the few things that keeps me going on the days when this war just really takes all the stuffing out of me. I just hope it’s something that YOU still want when all is said and done. I’m sure all the boys are lining up to sign your dance card.

Speaking of, have you been to any more dances at the USO lately?

You’re right when you say that Paul, Tommy Boy, Benny, and I couldn’t be any more different if we tried, but we do have a special bond and I’ll always be thankful for that. I’m glad to know you have that, too, with Dottie and Paddy and the rest of your family.

That glass of lemonade in Charleston sounds real nice right about now. It’s cold and rainy where we are, but I’ll be dreaming about that South Carolina sunshine.

My family was telling me about the coffee rations in one of their last letters. I am sorry to hear about that. I can only imagine how hard that’s hitting people, especially Paddy. I used to see him down at least three or four cups in the morning, back when I was stationed stateside. I’m sending all my best wishes that you and Dottie can survive his grumbling.

Peach, I just want to close by letting you know, once again, how much your support means to me. Truly. I hate to dwell on the negative, but there are days when this war is really hard. In fact, there are days when it feels downright impossible. But then I reread one of your letters, or take out your photograph and gaze at that pretty smile, and my hope is bolstered. You’ve given me so much, through your words alone, and I want you to know that.

I miss you, too. Who knows? Maybe 1943 will be the year we finally get that dance?

I hope so.

Very Truly Yours,

Bobby

February 3, 1943

Dear Bobby,

Happy New Year! 1943 has been treating me kindly so far, but it would be even better if it was the year that you and the rest of our boys came home. Just like your mother, that’s what I’m hoping and praying for.

My goodness, Robert Floyd, you certainly know how to make a girl feel special! I have to confess, I must have read your letter through a good two or three times when it first arrived in the mail, and I couldn’t stop blushing or beaming the whole time. Dottie said that I looked like a giddy school girl, which taught me that I really ought to read your letters in the comfort of my own room instead of in front of my nosy big sister.

Just so you know, Dottie gladly accepts your praise and thanks, and has not let me live it down for a moment. She has not failed to remind me that big sisters know best, and that I shouldn’t be so afraid to trust her, because look how well her plans always turn out? Well, knowing her my entire life, I can quite confidently say that Dottie’s plans don’t ALWAYS turn out well, but I am glad that this one did.

I’m certainly no movie star, but Dottie did work her magic on me that morning, and I’m touched beyond words at your kind reception of such a silly little thing. My cheeks still feel warm, even as I write to you now. Do you really carry my photo with you, even when you’re flying? I can hardly believe it, but I know you’re an honest man, Bobby, so it must be true. And if it brings you any sort of luck while you’re up in the air, then I’m glad for it and I’d send you a hundred more photographs if I could. I want you to come home safely, Bobby, more than anything. I need you to make it home safely so that we really can go flying together one day.

Please send my thanks and my best wishes to Benny and Tommy Boy, who are both clearly gentlemen of the highest caliber. But I’m sorry to tell them that I don’t have any girlfriends I can match them up with. Truth be told, I don’t have many girlfriends to begin with, and most of the women I do know are spoken for.

Speaking of which, do you remember my friend, Emily? She was the blonde volunteer working at the punch table with me the night we met. That was so long ago now, it’s okay if you don’t remember. Anyway, she just got engaged! She and her fiance actually met that night at the dance. His name is Eddie and he’s a corporal in the Army. He was stationed in Charleston for about a month or so after you were deployed, and he and Emily got to spending a lot of time with each other. They wrote to each other after he left, and Eddie proposed while he was back in Charleston on a short leave last month. Isn’t that something? It’s funny how things work out sometimes. I had thought Eddie was going to ask me to dance that night, but it was Emily he wanted to dance with. And look how well it turned out for them! I’m really happy for her. She’s so excited. They’re hoping that the war will be over soon and Eddie will come home permanently so that they can plan a big wedding. Emily even asked me to be one of her bridesmaids! I was Dottie’s Maid of Honor when she got married, but I’ve never been anyone else’s bridesmaid, so it’s all very exciting. A little bit of good news and hope in the midst of so much ugliness.

Christmas in Georgia was lovely, even if it was a little quieter than Christmases we’ve enjoyed in the past. I did get to see my grandparents, and some of my aunts and uncles and cousins, and that was a joy. If there’s one thing this war has taught us, it’s that spending time with the ones you love is really what matters most. My aunt actually made a pumpkin pie for dessert on Christmas Eve and I couldn’t stop giggling, thinking about your pumpkin pie fiasco as a little boy.

I hope that Paul, Jr. had a wonderful first birthday, same as Frankie! I think it’s an absolutely marvelous thing Natasha is doing, writing down all the special moments that are happening now so that Paul can relive them when he gets home. What a special gift that will be! Would you do me a favor, Bobby, and send Paul my best? I’ll never forget his kindness at the dance that night, and I really do hope he’s doing well.

Of course I don’t mind you passing along my best wishes to the rest of the men! I feel like I have so little to offer, and so little to contribute to this war, so if my thoughts and prayers can help lift even one person’s spirits, then I’m happy to hear it.

I’m also happy to hear that you’re good with numbers and figures because I simply never have been. I’d suggest that you could tutor me when you return home, but I’d be embarrassed for you to see just how truly hopeless I am when it comes to my mathematics. Instead, I’ll gladly take you up on your offer to handle all the writing if you handle all the numbers. An excellent team we’d make, indeed! And believe me when I say that your handwriting is far from the most dreadful I’ve seen. You should see my father’s and Paddy’s—completely illegible! Paddy once left me and Dottie a note letting us know he’d be home late that night, and we sat up for hours worrying because we couldn’t even read what it said! So trust me, Bobby, your writing is not as woeful as all that.

You can also trust me when I tell you that there are certainly no boys lining up to sign my dance card. I’ve volunteered at several other USO events, but truth be told, I haven’t gone to many dances since that one back in May. Emily’s always trying to get me to go with her, and I have gone to a couple, but it just doesn’t feel the same, Is that silly? I know we only got to attend one dance together, but it just doesn’t feel right, being there without you, Bobby. Every time I did force myself to go, I’d hear a song that played that night and then I’d miss you too much. The next time I go to a dance, I want you to be there, too, and I want us to be dancing together. I’ll make sure there’s plenty of lemonade for us afterwards.

I think Paddy is finally recovering from his caffeine withdrawals, thank goodness! Dottie and I have been cutting back on our coffee consumption so that he can have some more in the morning. I have a feeling more rations will be coming soon, which is why Dottie and I are already making plans to revive our Victory Garden this spring. We didn’t pay as much mind to it last year, when everything still seemed so readily available, but this year we’re determined to grow as much as we can. We’re not exactly farmgirls, my sister and I, so maybe you could send us some tips?

Bobby, if my words bolster your spirits, then I want you to know that your words do that a hundredfold for me. Receiving your letters in the mail brings me such joy. I have every single one saved, and I read them whenever I’m feeling sad or scared about the war. Have I told you lately how glad I am that we met and that we’re still exchanging letters all these many months later?

Here’s to hoping that 1943 is our year, Bobby. I hope that I’ll be seeing you real soon.

Most Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. I almost can’t believe I’m asking this—and I hope you don’t think it too forward—but is there any possibility that you might have a photograph you could send? I can still see your face so clearly in my memories, Bobby, but it would be so special to have a photo to remember you by. If not, it’s okay. I just thought I would ask. Stay safe, Bobby.

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman #WWII AU #1940s AU

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outsideratheart · 2 years ago

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33 “I’ll let you sit on my knee.” with vicky losada

A/N: Day fifteen of the Christmas advent calendar.

“Y/N”

The sound of someone whispering in your ear pulls you out of your peaceful slumber but you refuse to wake up, not fully anyways.

“I know you’re awake” it wasn’t a whisper this time.

You hestiantly open one eye. The sight that you are met with is something you will never tire off. There, still in her pjs, sits your wife and more importantly she has a coffee in her hand. Whilst the act was sweet it did come with suspisions. When you moved into your new house she told you hot drinks in bed are only for special occasions seen as though in your previous apartment you had the habit of spilling the hot liquid but you blamed the fact that you had just woken up and wasn’t responsible for your actions.

“What you do want?” you often woke up with no filter.

The look of disapproval on her face doesn't go unrecognised. You know she isn't really mad but you also know that she isn’t happy with the way you have greeted her.

“Lo siento. Good Morning mi amor” you slowly sit up placing a peck on her lips when you get to her level “Now, what do you want?”

“What makes you think I want anything” Vicky was a terrible liar on her best days never mind when she has barely been up an hour.

You look her in the eyes and raise your right eyebrow.

“Vale” she holds up her hands in defeat “I want to go see santa”

Her words almost make you choke on your drink. Vicky sends you a knowing look seen as though you’re both in bed and you almost spilt coffee on the white bed sheets.

“You’re Spanish, you don’t believe in Santa Claus”

You were very surprised when you first went to Spain with Vicky over the Christmas holidays. Like England, you expected to see Santa Claus after Santa Claus yet there wasn’t a single jolly fella in sight. One night as you laid in bed she told that she didn’t get told the same stories as you when she was younger. Instead of Santa delivering presents it was the three wise men or Reyes Magos as she referred to them.

“But you do” Vicky teases you.

“It’s not Santa that I believe in, it’s the magic and hope that this time of year brings” You know how cheesy you must have sounded but it was true. Your parents never told you that Santa wasn’t real, you figured out that logistically it wasn't doable but the belief in what the big man stood for runs through you today just as much as it did back then.

A couple of hours later, you and Vicky are walking hand in hand through the Christmas village that is at the garden centre not too far from where you live. It was incredible and you had been coming here since you were little so it held fond memories. There are elves causing mischieve, Reindeers that you can feed and most importantly they have the the man in red.

“Would you tell our children about Santa?

The question doesn’t catch you of guard in the slighest. The topic of children has been a popular one of the past few years. You and Vicky tried to have a baby through IVF just before COVID hit but it was never succesful. Although you wouldn’t admit it you knew that Vicky took part of the blame for this and the failed attempts took a toll on her both physically and mentally.

“If we raise them in England I will but if we raise them in Spain then I think I would raise them with the beliefs that they are surrounded by” You answer nonchalantly as you wander through Santa’s workshop.

“Will you bring our children here?” Vicky asks.

“I would. This place played a huge part in my childhood at Christmas time so I would like to share it with them”

If you were looking at your wife you would have seen the look of adoration and contemplation on her face. There was a reason why she asked to you to take her here and it had nothing to do with her wanting to see Saint Nick.

“Ready to go see the big guy?” You ask as you pull her towards the grotto.

“No” she snaps “Let’s get some food first” she in suit pulls you towards the cafe.

As you sit with hot chocolate and toasties you cannot help but feel like something is wrong with Vicky or that she is hiding something. When you came back to the table you saw her reading a piece of paper but quickly put it away when she saw you coming back. You can tell she is preoccupied with something but you don’t push her, she will come to you when she is ready.

“Baby” you reach across the table for her hand “Is everything ok?”

“Perfecto” she places a kiss on the back of your hand.

It may not have been the whole truth but you knew she was being honest with you.

As you begin your adventure around the village she stops you when you get to Santa’s grotto.

You see her pull out a piece of paper, the same white sheet that she make the extra effort to hide from you not so long ago.

“I made Santa a list. Do you think it’s too much?” she asks you before giving you the list.

“Aren’t you little old to be writing a christmas list?” you pay no attention to the sheet of paper as your focus in on your wife but more so the look of anticipation on her face.

Her eyes dart from you then to the list and back at you, letting you know that she really wants you to look at it.

You read it and you mentally pat yourself on your back as you have got her what she wants but it the last item that catches you attention.

The bottom of the paper reads:

Become parents

If this was your list, the strikethrough would mean you have already got it but her’s could mean that she no longer wants it. To say you were confused would be an understatement.

“Vicky?” when you look up, her eyes are brimming with tears “What do this mean?”

“I’m pregnant”

Your eyes widen at her confession. You have so many questions running through your mind.

“I started trying again whilst you were at the Euros. I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it didn’t work but I felt like I was ready”

“We’re going to have a baby” Even as you said the words out loud you still didn’t believe them.

“We are. This will be our last Christmas just the two of us” Vicky doesn’t bother wiping the tears as they fall down her cheeks.

You pull her towards the santa’s grotto again.

“C’mon I need to ask him where he gets his suit from. I need a good one for when I dress for up our little one”

Vicky swears in that moment she falls even more in love with you as you begin telling her your plans for your future Christmases. You tell her how you will dress up so that your child can sit on your knee and tell you what they want for Christmas instead of some stranger.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you sit on my knee too but only if you’re a good girl”

#christmas ficlet #woso x reader #vicky losada x reader #mcwfc x reader #espwnt x reader

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jules-has-notes · 8 months ago

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2016 VoicePlay fall roundup — projects galore, frequent travels, and holiday cheer

As summer rolled into autumn, VoicePlay just kept rolling on their various creative fronts.

While the other guys were cruising in the northeast, Tony and Layne were hard at work back home, prepping and filming PattyCake's first Halloween video.

California schemin'

Once the sailors were rested up, most of the guys headed for the west coast. They spent two days in Los Angeles filming collaboration videos, first with Kurt Hugo Schneider and then with AJ Rafael.

On the upside, their absence from Florida meant that they didn't have to take shelter from Hurricane Matthew. Unfortunately, Tony wasn't involved in the videos (for reasons that would soon become clear) and was supposed to be on a later flight than the others. He didn't make it out of Orlando before the airport was shut down.

From L.A., the guys hopped up the coast to San Francisco to perform at a benefit concert for the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation hosted by the Alpha Epsilon Phi fraternity at Stanford University. With Tony stuck at home, the fellas called in their old buddy Paul Sperrazza from Vox Audio to pinch hit as their baritone for the night.

Squeeze me in

After a few days at home, the guys hit the road again. They started with three days of student workshops in eastern Ohio.

During the week, they set their social media followers the challenge of finding them among the crowds of students and faculty at some of the schools. (Can you spot them all? The kids make surprisingly good camouflage.)

New Philadelphia, OH — East Elementary // West Elementary

Zoarville, OH — Tuscarawas Valley Elementary School

On the final day, they worked with the choirs from two local high schools, who then joined them for a show at Kent State Tuscarawas the following night.

From there, the guys headed south to West Memphis, AR for another concert and a workshop at the local high school the day after that. One crafty fan brought them homemade VP logo cookies.

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students at West Memphis High School

Next they flew up to NYC to perform at a fundraiser for the Lupus Foundation of America.

Then they scooted upstate to Rochester for a show at Nazareth College before finally heading home.

Happy holiday-ween

Once they returned to Orlando, it was time to buckle down on rehearsals for their second year at Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party, so that they'd all be able to hit the stage running in November. (Layne did take the time in the middle of the week to have dinner with their old friend Jeff Thatcher and introduce him to Doris, though.)

The extra twist this year was that, on top of getting themselves and their backup guys ready to perform their holiday setlists, these performances would also be their next step toward formally acknowledging Tony's departure. He wouldn't be joining the other guys on stage in Tomorrowland this season. Instead, they would alternate between two replacement baritones, Erik Winger and J.None, who would continue performing with them into the new year, until the group could decide on a new permanent member.

No trick, all treats

At the end of the month, Geoff & Kathy announced that baby Castellucci was on the way at long last. They shared a short video documenting some of their challenging road to parenthood on Geoff's personal YouTube channel.

and baby makes three… er, five?

youtube

WARNING: This video contains footage of Kathy receiving many injections in her belly and buttocks. As a result, she engages in some pain-induced swearing. Understandable, but probably NSFW.

One of the pumpkins from the baby reveal was then repurposed to create VoicePlay's social media posts for the day of Halloween.

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North to South (Carolina)

After a week and a half at home, the guys moseyed up to South Carolina for a pair of shows in Aiken, this time with Erik Winger as their substitute baritone.

A group of fans, perturbed by some negativity they'd been seeing directed toward the guys in YouTube comments and on social media, had been conspiring amongst themselves to counteract that energy. They'd created a book of positive messages and images. The two friends who had volunteered to collect and deliver everyone's submissions also documented the presentation during the post-show meet and greet on the first night so that all the contributors could see the guys' initial reactions.

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Ashley and Nancy present the book of fan love

The second day also held a few surprises.

It can be nice to have fans in the service industry.

Aiken, SC show — pre-show chatting // post-show group hug with fan Ashley // prezzies!

Sing, laugh, and be merry

And then it was off to the races. VoicePlay began their second annual residency in Tomorrowland for Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party at Disney World in early November. For nearly 100 performances over the course of six weeks, they once again entertained thousands upon thousands of visitors to the Magic Kingdom.

Hardcore mode

In between MVMCP shows, the guys continued doing their other jobs. Among other things, that meant Earl was lucky enough to be playing Crush in the Nemo live show when iconic professional wrestler Mick Foley was in the audience.

Earl meeting Mick Foley // the VP MVMCP B-team — Tony F., Antonio, Deejay, Joey, & J.None

Having a full cast of replacement singers came in handy during the second week of Disney World shows. VoicePlay had also booked a holiday concert down in Delray Beach for the Friday before Thanksgiving. So, while Winger filled in for Tony on the road, J.None and the rest of Echo took to the Tomorrowland stage in full force.

Eli and Ashley even left a day early and took a detour to attend a Carrie Underwood show in Tampa on the way.

VoicePlaying for Gamecocks

At the beginning of December, VoicePlay headed up to South Carolina with Winger once more for their last non-Disney holiday concert of the year at USC.

Bubblicious

In early December, some of the guys finally got to meet the British music blogger who had been singing their praises for several years when his vacation itinerary brought him to the Magic Kingdom.

Caroling we roll along

Their final video shoot of the year was also the final entry in their first set of PartWork videos, a gentle rendition of "O Little Town of Bethlehem". With the announcement of Tony's departure drawing closer, the other four guys were all featured in this video in their usual roles, and Geoff did double duty to cover the baritone part.

VoicePlates

As a fun little end-of-year treat, their pal (and former 4:2:Five tenor) Danny Alan stumbled upon some holiday paper goods that bore a surprisingly familiar looking design.

The guys finally took the last few days of the year to relax and rest in preparation for their hectic start to the new year, but those are stories for another time.

#VoicePlay #traveling musicians #behind the scenes #video #link-o-rama #long post

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lovelyprincessn64 · 1 year ago

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🎄Jingle Bells Jingle Bells all I want for Christmas is you. 🎁 it is the special time of the year December a month of Christmas joy and happiness and this year I'm giving it to everyone special for everyone to enjoy🎁

Don't be shy and have a happy holidays of a lifetime:

1. 12 days of Christmas

2. Jingle the reindeer

3. Toy day

4. Hot cocoa hot tub

5. Christmas from Japan

6. Sexy Santa fan service

7. Too much eggnog

8. Any type of Christmas theme

9. Hot cocoa nights

10. Secret Santa

11. some cheese with that whine

12. Do You Want to Build a Snowman?

13. Horrific Xmas Tales

14. Icy nights

15. Snowball at Met Gala

16. Your ocs (Christmas theme)

17. Under the mistletoe

18. Home Alone

19. Cute elf

20. Kiss at the fireplace

21. Mean one Grinch

22. Christmas with Disney

23. Jingle Bells

24. Eating at grillby's

25. Don't tell on me

26. Ice Zone

27. Mythical wishes

28. Sugar plum Clefairy

29. Handsome nutcrackers

30. Dark times in Midwinter

31. Ugly sweaters

32. Drunk like crazy

33. Minty fresh

34. Shopping like crazy

35. Troublesome toys

36. Psycho Happy Fella

37. White elephant gift Exchange

38. Grumpy bah humbug

39. Candle of Hope

40. Hanukkah

41. Zombie Santa (he's from Eddsworld zanta)

42. KFC rather than turkey

43. All I Want For Christmas

44. Naughty or nice

45. Winter vacation

46. Ice skating

47. Sugar coma

48. Bayonetta's birthday

49. Delicious cake rather than fruit cake

50. Christmas prompts

51. Time of the 90s

52. Isabel's birthday

53. Retro from the past

53. Holiday High Jinks

54. Pizza dinner

55. Kiss me at midnight

56. Time for a new year

57. South Park like crazy

58. Russia's too cold for me

59. Tea party at France

60. Joyful spirit

61. Wishing for a snow day

62. Fruit cakes

63. Ready for the new year

64. Yandere surprises

65. Overwatch winter event

66. Nightmare Before Christmas

67. Gothic styles

68. Christmas with NiGHTS

69. National cookie day

70. Beauty of a snow angel

71. Just a dream

72. Special Starbucks month

73. Dangerous frostbites

74. Nintendo prizes

75. Cabin Fever

76. Cutest gingerbread

77. Happy gift big smile

78. Jolly Sora

79. Christmas with Charlie Brown

80. Horror tales Christmas

81. Winter Legends

82. Milk and cookies

83. Whipping up with cream

84. Sonic Channel arts

85. Ben 10 anniversary

86. Snowball fights

87. Lovely Vintages

88. Winter Aesthetics or Christmas Aesthetics

89. Ed Edd and Eddy

90. Once Upon a December

91. Miracles in a best way

92. Baby don't go outside

93. Christmas wedding days

94. Baking cookies

95. Redraws gifts

96. Colors of Poinsettias

97. Frosty the Snowman

98. McDonald's special

99. Aurora lights

100. Made with love

101. Wishing on a shooting star

102. Together stargazing

103. Satire of gifts

104. Ice cream dreams

105. Run Over by a Reindeer

106. Licorice taste

107. Hanging by a candy cane

108. You don't seem marry

109. Frostbite heart attack

110. Smashmas

112. My lips turn blue when I'm with you

113. Holidays with Eddsworld

114. He enjoys the feast

115. A hole in my heart a rip in the face

116. You better watch out

117. Sing along

118. Desires of a heart

119. Stealing crayons

200. Evil Candy Bar

201. Dashing through the snow

203. If I was your vampire

204. Golden hours

205. Sneaking through the fridge

206. Choices of flavors

207. Chandelier woman

208. Present from Mario

209. Playing with Game Boy

210. Decoration fun time

211. Toy store Mayhem

212. Countdown to end

213. Exotic joys

214. Dead on silver platter

215. Bacon for breakfast

216. Frozen

217. Served cold

218. Lilith and snowy

219. Coca-Cola season

220. Ornament creations

221. Animal Crossing

222. DIY times

223. Cartoon times

224. Thinking fruity

225. Wine and dine

226. Horror mix

227. Cheap chills

228. Party at Club Penguin

229. December birthdays

230. Nostalgia from the past

230. Gaming through the 90s

231. Time with coffee house

232. Makeup for a lame Christmas

233. Last Christmas

234. This year I'm giving it someone special

235. Daily activities

236. Holidays with Pokémon

237. True love gave to me

238. Making Reindeer nip

239. Got bloody

240. Dead by Christmas

241. Christmas or Halloween

242. Drink of ice coffee

243. Cookies on the Run

244. Mickey's Christmas Carol

245. Sing me a story

246. kurisumasu ni wa kentakkii

247. Woman you are a lump of coal

248. Boy to the world

249. Building gingerbreads

250. Waking within morning

251. Wonders of life

252. Fruit cakes

253. Lollipop crazy

254. Don't hike in snow

255. Frostbites

256. Sing of carols

257. Isabel's birthday

258. Holiday Bashs

259. Revenge of the snow plow

300. Colors of snow cones

301. Coffee & Mints

302. SpongeBob Christmas specials

303. Nezuko's birthday

304. For my Nezuko

303. Villain Hawks

304. Hawks's birthday

305. My favorite food is chicken

306. Hawks wearing US military uniform

307. Chibi Nezuko

308. Last minute shopper’s

311. Green Monday

310. Chocolate covered anything

311. National cotton candy day

312. Too much cotton candy

313. Drunk idiot

314. Sacher-Torte

315. Gazpacho

316. National Cookie Cutter Day

317. Cyber Monday

318. Peppermint Bark

319. Chibi Hawks

320. National Pastry Day

321. Filo-style pastries

322. Winter lolita fashion

Note: please read the rules before requesting also if you prefer Halloween or Thanksgiving feel free to go these events also have a merry Christmas

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zirawrites · 2 years ago

Note

I love your blog and I'm so excited to see some of your new work. And to fulfill your let's say holiday wish from your followers, I've got the perfect reaction scenario. Do you think you could do the companions and sole having their first new years eve kiss? Thank you in advance 💜💖

Cait: Cait and Sole had gone absolutely feral at the Third Rail for Goodneighbor’s annual New Year’s Eve party. Sole jumped on Hancock’s back multiple times while he danced as Cait cheered them on between gulps of her beer. The two hopped over the bar and attempted to drag a squealing Whitechapel Charlie from behind it. Their laughter and drunken serenading drowned out Magnolia’s soft jazz. Then the unthinkable happened: Hancock kicked them out of the bar, chuckling as he told them to sober up and try again next year.

“I can’t believe it!” Cait was more amused than frustrated, especially since the mayor let her keep her drink. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been thrown outta a business in Goodneighbor, except if they were trying to murder a fella, I suppose.”

As the two stumbled to the Hotel Rexford, Sole heard a muffled countdown coming from every building. They stopped in the center of town as settlers got down to the final numbers.

When a chorus of Happy Near Year! rung out around them, Sole turned to Cait and pressed their lips firmly against her own. The kiss turned into a giggling, tipsy mess; one neither would wholly remember nor forget come morning.

Curie: Curie was enamored by human traditions, so Sole couldn’t turn down her request to go to a real New Year’s Eve party. They chose the tame one thrown by Preston and fellow Minutemen at the Castle. It was a night of swing music, food vendors from local settlements and -- for the more daring -- moonshine Sturges had made in a Sanctuary bathtub.

When the countdown ringing in the new year ended, Curie pressed upwards on the tips of her toes and gave Sole a chaste peck on their lips.

“That is how the tradition goes, yes?” She was blushing, and Sole couldn’t help but push a strand of her short hair back behind her ear. “I’ve been researching, of course. I did not want to ruin anything for you.”

Sole reassured Curie that she could never be the cause of any ruin, and returned the kiss.

Danse: New Year’s Eve parties were always a little chaotic aboard the Prydwyn. It was one of the rare times Maxon let recruits let loose. Child scribes who’d never stayed up past their bedtimes snuck quick sips of wine from the kitchen. Someone had stolen gauze from the medbay and wrapped it around a suit of power armor, hanging colorful ornaments off it as if it were a Christmas tree. Even Knight Rhys had unclenched his personality long enough to dance with Scribe Haylen.

Danse seemed tense about the festivities. He wanted to participate, but felt it his duty to stay vigilant and sober in case of an attack. Sole coaxed him onto the makeshift dance floor with a promise they would de-decorate the holiday power armor before Maxon saw.

The two danced all the way up until the final countdown, and even then Danse stayed chaste and cordial. They rung in the new year like everyone else. It was only when Sole was taking the gauze down that Danse turned them around for a deep, heartfelt kiss.

When both finally pulled away, Danse’s usually furrowed brow was miraculously smooth. He seemed the lightest he’d been since Sole had met him. “Heard that was a pre-war tradition, but I couldn’t remember when I was supposed to do it. I hope I didn’t upset you.”

Sole laughed and tossed the spool of gauze at his chest.

Deacon: Desdemona had finally, finally let Deacon and Tinker Tom plan a New Year’s Eve bash -- under the guise it wouldn’t turn out like their Christmas party three years ago; something neither would elaborate on for Sole. Regardless, HQ was decorated in streamers and confetti and other paper products no one was sure how the men got their hands on. They attached a tray of drinks to PAM’s robotic pinchers for agents to grab throughout the night. Radio reception was never great underground, but where the songs cut off, Tinker Tom was quick to jump in with his own off-key interpretation.

Once Sole arrived, they had Deacon’s undivided attention. He lavished them with compliments on their elegant pre-war attire (”And hardly any holes! Did you dress up just for lil ‘ol me?”) and stories of what a bonafide New Year’s Eve party used to look like (”So Tom and I got it pretty right? Glad those ten caps I spent on ‘Anyone Can Throw a Party’ paid off.”)

By the end of the night there wasn’t a sober agent in the church. Everyone counted down the new year with giddy elation, swinging glass flutes and the miracle streamers around the room. Then they erupted in cheers, and Sole looked at Deacon with a warm smile that said he had planned one hell of a party.

Deacon leaned down and quickly pecked Sole on the lips. “For good luck, right?”

Sole rolled their eyes. They knew Deacon understood what the pre-war tradition meant. But he had been so sweet that night that Sole only wrapped him in a tight side-hug as they watched the other agents drunkenly celebrate.

Hancock: Hancock wasn’t just mayor of Goodneighbor; he was the self-appointed party prince of the Commonwealth. The Third Rail always threw a electric party of live music, free-flowing drinks and rowdy patrons. Half the bar didn’t even understand the pre-war tradition and just used it as an excuse for a generous serving of booze. But Hancock knew Sole would find the party important -- if not just for sentimental reasons -- and endeavored to make this the best bash yet.

Sole somehow found themselves as the star of the party. Magnolia sang any song they wanted. Whitechapel Charlie never charged them for drinks. Patrons moved from their seats if Sole lingered near their table for too long just in case they wanted to sit.

When Sole was finally able to pull Hancock away from the festivities, they asked why Goodneighbor’s settlers -- some of the baddest, seediest drifters in the ‘Wealth -- were being nice to them.

“It’s cause I told them to, Sunshine.” Hancock’s smile dominated his face, pressing the apples of his cheeks so high that Sole almost missed his wink. “Just wanted tonight to be perfect for you. I’m sure the holidays make you miss home.”

Sole shrugged dismissively, making Hancock’s grin momentarily falter. “Well, you’re missing one tradition. And that one’s my favorite.”

“Anything you want, Sole.” Hancock snaked a hand around their waist. “Just name it.”

Sole cut across the small distance between them with a kiss. Hancock chuckled into their mouth, and Sole finally pulled back with an equally as large smile.

MacCready: Sole had planned a quiet New Year’s Eve in Sanctuary, and MacCready wasn’t complaining. He usually liked celebrating the holiday somewhere boozier like the Third Rail or the Dugout Inn, but that was when he was a lone wolf with only himself to watch out for. Lounging on the couch nibbling on snacks Preston helped bake and watching Sturges unsuccessfully try to fix the radio was far more relaxing. And he knew Sole would stay safe... as long as they stayed away from the cookies Preston had overbaked.

“Having fun?” Sole curled up next to MacCready and handed him a Nuka Cola. “We ran out of booze when Cait got here. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” MacCready took the bottle but set it on the table in front of them. Then the radio kicked on -- much to Sturges amusement -- and MacCready stood to offer his hand. “Care to dance?”

The two spun in slow circles across the crumbling, war-torn living room of Sole’s old house. They danced past empty picture frames that used to hold photographs of Sole and their spouse cradling baby Shaun. Over the shredded carpet where Sole unboxed Codsworth over 200 years ago.

None of it mattered. They had each other, and that was plenty to celebrate.

At the end of the song, MacCready leaned in and kissed Sole. It was a soft, romantic kiss just like in the pre-war movies. And it was perfect.

“Couldn’t wait until the countdown,” MacCready chuckled. “Do I still get another chance in the new year?”

Preston: Preston wanted New Year’s Eve to be perfect for Sole. Not only were they the Minutemen’s most hardworking general and therefore deserving of some appreciation, but Preston’s biggest crush. He spent days finding something sparkling for Sole to toast to (albeit it was boozy Nuka Cola Quantum). Then several more days hunting for salvageable champagne flutes. By the time he had pieced together a charcuterie board of mirelurk meat, Takahashi’s noodles and Sugar Bombs covered in syrup, Sole hadn’t seen him since Christmas.

When they entered their quarters to see the food spread out across their table, Preston’s face was blushed nearly purple. “I thought you deserved a break,” he admitted sheepishly. “I know you like to work through the holidays. Someone has to, I guess. But if you wouldn’t mind counting down the new year with me tonight...”

Sole was happy to spend the evening drinking and dancing to Diamond City radio. Travis eventually rang in the new year while Preston and Sole were sitting on the desk littered with the remnants of Preston’s food spread. Sole leaned over and kissed Preston as soon as the croaky-voiced DJ said happy new year. When they pulled away, Preston ran his hand rhythmically across Sole’s back.

“Well, happy new year to you, too, General.” Then he leaned in for a second kiss.

Piper: Piper was awoken by someone tugging on her arm. She jumped upright in her chair with a gasp as the stranger shoved a glass of wine in her hand, then ran across the newsroom to turn up the Diamond City station on the radio.

“Wake up, Piper!” It was Sole, who was enthusiastically waving their own wine in the air. “You fell asleep editing again. You were going to miss the countdown.”

Piper pulled off a paper that had stuck to her forehead and tossed it unceremoniously to the floor. “You nearly scared me to death, Blue.” Her voice was tense but appreciative. She would have hated to miss the weird pre-war tradition her and Nat usually celebrated together. Her sister had fallen asleep on the couch hours ago.

“I think you mean you’re welcome.” Sole hopped themselves to sit on Piper’s desk, brushing their knees against the side of her chair. “Need to get your responses checked like Takahashi? I think your malfunctioning.”

Instead of a retort, Piper listened to Travis count down the new year. When it ended, the two friends both screamed happy new year! and clinked their glasses together, downing the respective drinks in one long gulp.

“What other traditions did you like to do back in the day?” Piper stood to refresh her drink, and Sole took her collar to pull her closer. They leaned upwards to catch her lips in a soft kiss, only pulling away when Piper placed her hand on their knee.

“Too much?” Sole chuckled and played with the stem of their glass. “That’s something couples do to ring in the new year. I know we’re not officially dating but --”

They were cut off by Piper returning the kiss.

Nick: Nick was an old soul, so there wasn’t any doubt that he wouldn’t have planned the perfect evening on New Year’s Eve. He decorated the agency and opened it to a small group of friends in Diamond City including Ellie, Piper, Nat, Vadim and -- of course -- Sole. The group drank and danced to the radio, swapping stories of what antics everyone had gotten up to over the past year.

Nick eventually pulled Sole aside and offered to fetch them a drink, which Sole politely declined. “I haven’t seen enough of you tonight,” they admitted, nudging his side with their elbow and eliciting a chuckle from the detective. “But don’t get me wrong: you’re a perfect host. I could have never pulled something like this together.”

“Perish the thought, Sole.” He took their hand and brought their knuckles to his lips. “You can do anything.”

“Can I get a New Year’s kiss?” Sole batted their eyelashes in a comically innocent way.

Nick leaned forward to give them a chaste one, but Sole wrapped their arms around his neck and pulled him into something deeper. He chuckled against them, eventually pulling away when he could hear snickering from the other guests. “Weren’t we supposed to wait for the countdown?”

Sole shook their head. “New world, new rules.”

X6-88: As usual, X6 was leaned against a far wall observing the crowd instead of partaking in it. He had no desire to drink to the new year; as far as he was concerned, every day not working towards humanity’s future was time wasted. People’s incessant need to mark every milestone irked him, and he showed it by brooding far away from the New Year’s Eve party.

Sole saddled up beside him. His posture slightly deflated as he relaxed into Sole’s familiar presence. “So, what’s your New Year’s resolution? An old pre-war tradition. You vow to make some big change to your life and accomplish it by the end of the year.”

X6 took a moment to consider. “Improve the Institute by catching runaway synths.”

Sole shook their head. “No, it has to be something personal. For example, I made a pact with Preston to lose five pounds.” They slapped their hip, and the leathery sound brought a chuckle to X6′s lips. “Been hitting the Sugar Bombs too hard.”

“Your health is in an optimal state,” X6 assured. “But I suppose my resolution would be to... act on more impulse. Too much calculation can slow anyone down.”

“Trust your gut!” Sole encouraged, melding closer to him on the wall. “What’s your gut saying now?”

X6 leaned down and gave Sole a quick kiss. It was over nearly before it began, leaving Sole giddy and lightheaded. “Partake in more traditions,” he teased.

#fallout 4 reactions #fallout 4 #fallout 4 deacon #maccready #nick valentine #fallout 4 piper #fallout 4 cait #fallout 4 curie #paladin danse #this took so long to write i had to go way less detailed before they each became their own one shots #i just love writing romanced companions #especially deacon and x6!!!!#i did not read over this draft rip the typos

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theawkwardterrier · 2 years ago

Text

(might not be our time yet) that doesn’t mean I ever love you any less

A Steggy Secret Santa gift for @bearholdingashark! I tried to get in a potpourri of your requested tropes - hope you enjoy, and have a very happy holiday and/or end of 2022, and a great year ahead. 😁✨🎁

Summary: Five times Steve and Peggy almost asked each other out, and one time they actually did.

AO3 link here.

They have precisely thirty-six hours leave in London, and Steve knows that he could be spending it somewhere other than this.

The rest of the Commandos are either out on the town — he'd heard bids being tossed around the departing group for a variety of pubs and dance halls, not to mention the USO — or enjoying a hot shower, clean clothes, as good a meal as can be managed on rations, and a long sleep, all well-deserved after several unrelenting weeks in the field. Steve had managed to get out of the first option by reminding them that he needs to give Phillips the latest, but that's finished now, and more than a little part of him would actually like to be getting on to the second (just because his body can put up with the strain of it all, and better than most, doesn't mean that he actually enjoys it) but still he doesn't leave HQ.

His excuses — checking for any mail, finding someone to talk about requisitioning new socks and underthings to take with them when they leave because the fellas deserve it — are wearing thin even to his mind when he hears her voice.

"—so type that one first, then have it delivered to Stark for him to take a look at as soon as possible. And don't simply let his eyes wander over it, Private. Actually make him read it."

Steve grins and turns around.

She is bent over, marking something in a file, her back to him as he comes over.

"I don't know how you expect that poor kid to make Howard do anything. The guy might listen to you, but he isn't scared of anyone else that way, not even the commanders."

Peggy makes one last note before setting down her pencil, but he can see her awareness of his presence in the set of her shoulders. When she turns around, she has one eyebrow raised, her lipstick-perfect mouth neutral, but there is a smile touching her eyes.

"Howard's afraid of me, then? In that case, I suppose I shall have to hope that the private uses that to his advantage."

Steve shrugs slightly, but can't help the grin flashing around his own mouth. "Well, he's at least intimidated, though that might have something of a different connotation for Howard."

"Doesn't everything for that man?" she says dryly, and he wonders if most people would be able to hear the reluctant affection beneath the words; he wonders if the him of a few months ago would have, before he spent time with her, before he had a chance to understand so many of her different tones and have all sorts of stories, stored up moments of observing the way she was with Howard and with Phillips and with Steve himself.

He realizes that he's been silent for a beat too long, so he clears his throat and says gamely, "At least I've started picking up on that — less of a risk for...misunderstandings."

"Well, we wouldn't want any of those," she says, and actually laughs. The sound flows through Steve's backbone and has him laughing in return.

Their eyes catch and, while the moment doesn't fade, he feels the humor between them soften.

"I heard that your mission was a success," Peggy says, leaning a hip against the desk beside her, eyes still looking up at his. "I'm quite glad to hear it, Captain."

Steve nods, trying to keep his voice level so she doesn't guess that he's had the sudden, snatching urge to take her hand. "Everyone made it back okay. Maybe would have been a couple fewer close calls if you'd been out there with us this time, but you've got things to do, and we didn't do too badly considering."

With gentle contradiction, she says, "I dropped in on Phillips after my meeting to find out whether you—to see if your after-action report had been filed. I think you did a bit better than not too badly." Before he can protest, she adds, "I wouldn't have minded a chance to be out in the field again myself — one might think that considering my skills, I'd be assigned there more often, but I suppose being relied upon for my mind and my strategic abilities is no insult. Still, either way, you not only located and eliminated the Hydra base, you made several new contacts, and if I'm correctly reading between your carefully worded lines, managed to save Dugan from himself yet again," and he feels the compliment settle across his shoulders.

"Well, everyone made it back okay," he repeats softly. The warm weight of her words is still upon him, and perhaps that is what has him opening his suddenly dry mouth to say, "We’re here until early Thursday, you know. I am. I don't know if you're done for the night, but—”

"Carter!"

It's late enough that the stricter secretaries have gone home, or else one of them would surely snap at even the famous Howard Stark for his complete lack of decorum as he shouts and shoves his way into the main room of the bunker.

"I could kiss you for this, Carter — and I will if you're up for it — but I guess that can wait. First I need you to come over to the lab with me to talk through the findings. Your private's already putting a pot of coffee on so we can have a night of it." He brandishes the sheaf of paper in his hand triumphantly. "Thank God the kid dropped your name when he did, or I might not have even read this damn thing."

Peggy snorts lightly. "How very flattering, Howard. To be truthful, I had nearly thought I was free for the night, but if you go back to the lab, I suppose I'll join you shortly."

"Well, don't take too long waiting around. I don't know how long history can wait." But Howard sounds more gleeful than annoyed as he turns again, examining whatever documents Peggy had sent over for him as he returns toward the door once again, taking one last opportunity to give a half-distracted, "Nice to have you back, Rogers!" before he disappears down the hall.

Peggy turns back to Steve, shaking her head slightly. "The man certainly does know how to interrupt things in his favor. What was it that you were going to say?"

But Steve only shakes his head. "That's okay. Sounds like there's history to be made, and you're the one to do it. I'll talk to you about it another time."

Studying him for a long moment, she says slowly, "I suppose I am. If you're certain...." At his nod, she closes the file on the desk with one hand, still watching him, and holds it at her side. Finally, she turns toward the door too. Just before she goes through it, she adds, "I do hope we have a chance to see each other again before your leave is up."

She's gone before he has a chance to let the words whisper out of him: "So do I, Peg."

But they don't.

ii.

It was not common knowledge how long Peggy Carter had spent with Dr. Erskine.

She got the credit for extracting him, of course, at least from those interested in offering her even the most basic, begrudging acknowledgment of it. But few knew that she had spent time in his laboratory afterward, that they appreciated each other’s senses of humor and would take turns bringing food that reminded them of home. Later, she and Steve would speak of him with the fond remembrance of too-brief acquaintance that they had both wished had been longer.

It had been just long enough, however, for him to ask — quietly, illicitly, with the guidance of his own moral compass — if she would be willing to test the first batch of the serum he had been brought over to work on.

It truly had been the first batch, and he hadn’t yet realized the importance of the vita-rays. But although she might have had a sense, the vaguest inkling about her reflexes or strength or healing, not even Peggy knew for certain what her time in that lab had gained her: not during the war or her missions in the field, not during the storming of the Hydra headquarters, not as she followed Steve onto the Valkyrie, the energy of the Tesseract still swimming in the air.

They are both still awake after the radio cuts out, after they have said the goodbyes that they can to Howard and Phillips and the Commandos. Peggy looks over at Steve’s tight jaw, at the way that his hair has fallen over his forehead; she remembers how young he is, how young they both are, even if they’ve never gotten a chance to feel it. She wants to forget that they’ll never have the chance now.

They’re already close to each other, positioned together by the controls at the front of the diving plane. After all this time of reminding herself why she can’t, it turns out to be a simple thing to reach over and take his hand.

“What would you say,” she starts, making an effort to keep her voice level, to sound calm and nonchalant even as she has to speak over the wind. “What would you say if I asked you to meet me at the Stork Club, a week next Saturday?”

He laughs a little, although she can feel the clench of his fingers around hers, can see the way he is gripping something small and round in his other fist. “I’d say they’ll need to play something slow. I still haven’t gotten a chance to practice my dancing, and I’d hate to step on your toes.”

“I wouldn’t care.” She swallows, trying to pretend that her voice had not wavered. “I’d take every dance even so.”

“Even if I was late? I’d want to buy you flowers, but I’d be so nervous I’d forget until the last minute and have to go back.”

She smiles at that, the details he is adding to the fantasy beginning to spin it out into something real. “Well, you might be due a tongue-lashing when you finally arrived, but you remembered my favorite flowers were irises, so I suppose I can forgive you.”

And you were there. We were there together, she thinks, squeezing his hand.

“Irises. Of course.” For a moment she has the urge to laugh: it sounds as if he is taking notes, as if this is information he will need to access and act on in the future rather than the two of them pretending in these last moments. “And I’ll have made a dinner reservation at Le Pavillon for after because I heard you and Dernier talking about your favorite French dishes often enough, but we’ll have been dancing so long that we missed it.”

“I hope that my toes can hold up for such a thing, but I guessed that we’d be late — it’s quite the pattern of yours. And I’d remind you then that I’m perfectly happy without anything formal, so we’d find our way back to Brooklyn, to some little place that you knew.”

“We’d talk and eat, and stay so long that they’d be mopping up the tables around us.” It is getting harder to hear him, the pressure immense in her ears. It must be getting harder for him to speak, but he continues anyway. “But we wouldn’t be ready for the night to end.”

Her heart is beating too fast despite her attempts at lightness and calm as she picks up the story again. “So we’d just walk together until sunrise.”

“And we’d know that we were going to have other nights just like that one, and plenty of hard times and boring ones too, but that we’d make it through it all together.”

She smiles then, and so does he, and she wonders how much they are smiling to comfort each other and how much is the true happiness brought on by the comfort they have brought each other in imagining that other life.

“Yes,” she says. “Together.”

And the plane hits the water, and they go under together, too.

iii.

Even after months, there are some days where Steve doesn’t let himself think about all that he left behind: the Commandos and the rest of their lives, the chance to mourn Bucky after the war beside those who loved him, his own sense of stability and understanding of the world around him. He thinks that he’s adapted relatively well, and yet there are still times when the memories will wrap themselves around him, or he’ll realize all over again how very different everything is, how out of place he’s found himself among it all.

He doesn’t even want to think about how much worse it would have been without Peggy there beside him, understanding both the strangeness and his frame of reference, understanding him. He hopes that he’s done the same for her, the only other shipwrecked survivor on this island where they will, it seems, have to live out their lives.

And that’s exactly why, in the time they’ve been in the future, he hasn’t acted on the instincts that he’s already been suppressing for years now. He thought that she might have felt the way that he did — they’d gone down together dreaming a future between them, after all — but he can’t be certain if it was just comfort she was giving him, or being embroiled in the moment, or needing distraction, if whatever spark she might have felt has been extinguished beneath the pressure of these last months. Bucky’s voice might be in the back of his mind (Just talk to her, you punk. You’ve got a brain and a voice, so use ‘em!) but his best friend wouldn’t understand how it is between them, how impossible it seems to try to test everything when it is so very possible that simply asking the question might ruin things, might leave them each alone when they need each other more than anything, more than ever.

But for each saucy, side-mouthed remark that she directs at him before turning back to make easy, considered improvements to whatever mission plan they’ve been assigned, each time she interrupts whatever Tony is saying with merely a raised eyebrow and a small “hmm,” or neatly flays some television personality so that all that remains is the most strained smirk, each sparring session that they engage in or diner meal that they have together…each minute that they simply spend together, the harder it is for him to recall the significance of his old reasoning. And as the two of them settle in further, finding a level of confidence both in this time and among the Avengers, even that reasoning seems thinner. They are no longer so fragile here. They have other things and people they can rely on if needed. If he asked and she said no, would it truly break either of them?

There is nothing special about the day he decides to try. He returns from assignment and asks JARVIS whether Peggy is in the Tower and realizes that it is always the first thing he asks when they’ve been apart.

As he approaches the lounge area that she likes best, he doesn’t even know exactly what words he is going to use — not the most advisable plan, considering, but he recognizes that if he thinks too much, he’ll backtrack on the decision, and now that he’s made it, he doesn’t want to do that. She’s forgiven him for plenty of verbal missteps, and he thinks she’ll forgive him this one too (not to mention that if she turns him down, a little fumbling over his words won’t be what either of them remembers).

Her back is to him as he enters the room where she’s sitting curled on one of the cushy couches, so he clears his throat, but can’t bring himself to start in with anything further. Trying not to wince at the impoliteness of not starting with at least a little small talk, a better transition, he takes a breath and says, “I—I had a question for you, Peg.”

She turns then, looking up at him just as he’s coming around the couch toward her, and he can tell immediately that she’s been crying.

The signs are so small — a touch of smeared makeup, a bit of dampness at the edges of her eyelashes, a very slight disturbance to her breathing — that he isn’t sure that anyone but he or maybe Natasha would notice them. He sits down beside her and takes her hand without thinking about it.

“Monty’s daughter passed,” she says quietly. “His granddaughter called to tell me, which was terribly kind. It just happened, and it’s late there.”

Steve has the strange, vertiginous feeling that he’s becoming at least slightly accustomed to. He knows in his mind that Jacqueline Falsworth was in her late seventies. He and Peggy have seen her face, have spoken to her via video call, the way they did with all their friends’ family members they could find. And yet his mind also resists the idea that she is anything but the bushy-haired, brightly smiling schoolgirl from the picture Monty used to keep on him. Steve had once sent her an old Star Spangled Show program that he’d signed because she’d made some comment in her letters about missing the Captain America film shorts. Dum-Dum used to refer to her as the littlest J, teasing Monty that he’d practically named his child after himself but at least it would help her fit in with the group when they all met after the war.

There isn’t need for any further explanation for why it has struck Peggy, armored and indomitable, the way that it has. He can feel the idea of it sinking into him too: that even these tenuous connections to their old life, the life that they might have had, are breaking around them, and that he does not know whether they can build the new ones fast and strong enough to hold them.

He holds her instead, putting his arm around her in silence, and they sit there for a long while. When they finally get up, the room grown dark and the two of them slightly stiff, she inquires, voice a bit hoarse, what he had wanted to ask her. He shakes his head and tells her that it isn’t the time just now, that it can wait.

He’s already waited this long, after all, and despite all the ways he feels ready, he doesn’t know that they are, yet.

iv.

Staying in the Tower made sense at the beginning, but after a while, when they both decide around six months in that they’re ready for a change, it only makes sense to search at the same time and even to combine their efforts a bit. And, when they actually take in the price of real estate and both find their sensibilities offended by the idea of paying so much, it only makes sense to begin searching for someplace together.

(They also add housing inequality as an issue to bring up next time they speak to the press. Neither of them asked for a platform, but they certainly use it now that it's there.)

Luckily, those same sensibilities mean that they're each perfectly fine with the small bedrooms boasted by their eventual apartment. After tenements and dormitories and temporary shelters, bedsits and barracks and battlefield tents, their place actually feels like something of a luxury. Besides, they have a decently sized living area, which is where they spend most of their time when they're home, talking through the day, bickering over what to watch on television, and sharing takeout food (which Peggy considers one of the great benefits of this century.) They aren't, however, exactly home often.

Not every mission requires both of them, or even one, but they're called away on SHIELD business with a fair amount of frequency. Still, Peggy finds even that is improved by their living together; there is something nice about having Steve call from his room to hers that he's packing the upgraded earbuds Tony made for both of them, or in coming home to find that the coffee maker is already on with her favorite mug beside it and there's a note from Steve saying he's gone to pick up fresh bagels because he'd heard she was on her way back and thought that she might want to talk.

She considers, more and more often these days, asking him if he might want to be something more than friends and roommates and fellow-travelers, if he might consider becoming the sort of partners she had once thought they would. The reasons that they have held off until now are clear to her, and yet she thinks perhaps they are finally ready for it, the idea settling into her mind, hopeful during the times that they are together and yearning during those that they are apart.

Their mission tonight involves the STRIKE team, never Peggy's favorite. There's something about them, even beyond the fact that they always seem more willing to listen to Steve than to her, that has her radar tingling, but she's never quite been able to pinpoint what or catch them at anything. Regardless, they accept the plan of action that she and Steve lay out readily enough, and she steps away to inspect her weapon once more, the rushing sound of wind and speed filling the cabin as Steve and Natasha chat through their final checks behind her.

"You know, if you ask Kristen out, from Statistics, she'd probably say yes," Nat says casually, and Peggy very carefully continues focusing on her ammunition.

"That's why I don't ask," Steve replies, and there is that slightly insolent tone she's familiar with: not cocky in the sense of arrogance, but just that little bit of couldn't call my ride and thank you, sir and the hell I can't — I'm a captain! cheekiness that she knows so well. It has her smiling.

Natasha is familiar enough with it at this point as well, bantering back, "Too shy, or too scared?"

Peggy can't quite identify what it is — the extra beat he takes to respond, perhaps, or a shift in his footing — but there is a very subtle change to him, even before he speaks, his tone more serious. (She would say more honest, but Steve always is.)

"I'm not looking to be fixed up right now. A relationship...Well, I'm not exactly hoping for a Kristen." She knows that Natasha is looking at him, likely giving that sharp-eyed, assessing stare of hers, but Peggy can't bring herself to turn, not even as Steve pulls that smart-mouthed spirit back over himself and adds, "Besides, what I really am is too busy," not even as he hurls himself out of the jet, likely without a parachute. She needs the extra moment to keep herself blank before allowing Nat to turn that gaze on her in turn.

She is lucky that she has the mission to distract herself for the next several hours. As they return home, however, she leans against a bulkhead with her eyes closed, and although she can pretend to sleep, she cannot pretend away the disappointment which layers within her. He isn't ready or seeking to be with someone, and she respects that, but she has waited so long and she had hoped...

Still, she will have him on the sofa beside her discussing modern animation techniques, or whichever Agatha Christie she's been catching up on most recently and which he'd stolen from the end table, or whether they're meant to get an anniversary gift for Tony and Pepper. She will have him calling to her as he comes in from after a run, and trading unprompted raised-eyebrow glances during Avengers meetings, and at the midnight quiet kitchen table while they sip quietly from their cups of tea and don't have to pretend away to each other the nightmares of cold and war and lost things.

She does not have him the way that she wishes that she could, but she does have him, she has their home and all that they share together, and that will be enough.

And yet she still hopes it only needs to be enough for now rather than forever.

The trouble with being in love with Peggy Carter, Steve continues to find, is that she can be frustratingly opaque. He's known her in two centuries at this point, thinks he is more familiar with her than practically anyone else here and now. And yet there are those moments, the ones that loop behind his eyelids at night, the ones he is certain must be obvious to anyone looking, but which she never mentions or pursues, and he cannot figure out why.

Sometimes it is a small thing: the two of them on their couch, laughing over something or quiet and simply together. She will touch his arm or tuck her cold feet against his warmth, and their eyes will catch, something settling over them, a peaceful intensity, the fact that they are alone ever more obvious. Sometimes it is increasingly evident: planning and strategizing more on instinct than anything said, or unerringly seeking each other out after the latest battle or catastrophe as the others watch, relief masked beneath traded banter.

As the moments stack up, more days with them than without, he knows that he cannot be imagining them. But she seems to break their gaze first, letting that sharing slide away, and so he takes the cue from her, much as he'd like to move forward to something new for them, something more, something he's thought was promised or inevitable for so long.

He begins to wonder if he was mistaken all this time, if he misread or exaggerated things that he thought were understood between them. He begins to wonder whether he could have been wrong about all of it.

Or maybe she's changed her mind.

This idea isn't impossible — she has always felt almost laughably out of his league, after all, and they've been through so much since they first met. Whatever she had once felt suited her about him might be gone, or she might need something different, might have found something — someone — that appeals more to her. But he understands too why a person as forthright and in control as Peggy might avoid saying anything: she doesn't want to hurt him, doesn't want to take the chance of disturbing the dynamics of friendship and cohabitation and team.

He wants her to be happy, even if it isn't with him. But he still can't help but be grateful that he'll have even this bit of her for at least a while longer.

The urge he has to talk to Bucky about all of this is different these days, no longer quite so scabbed over or distant now that they know he's alive and out there and coming back to himself, but also nothing that Steve can act on. Still, he has the inkling that if they could talk about it, his best friend would just end up telling Steve that he's always made simple things complicated, and the way he feels for Peggy Carter is pretty simple when it comes down to it so maybe he should just give in and ask her to see a movie, regardless of whether it means disrupting the balance of what they have now.

(He imagines reminding Buck that you can watch pretty much anything from home these days, pictures that eye roll in response. Bucky would probably be the type to still go to the theater.)

But it is more complicated than that, at least for Steve. Because he values his and Peggy’s time together, however it comes. Because she is the only one who understands, and he doesn’t know how he would have managed if he had woken up here alone.

Because he loves her, and wants the them of it for as long as he can.

So he focuses on enjoying each morning of running side by side (Sam setting his own pace as he remarks dryly that he’s glad that they have each other because no one else could keep up) and getting breakfast at their new favorite bagel place, each day of working together to keep the world safer, each night of taking Mr. Cavendish to the grocery store because his son who usually does it broke his leg or helping to host superhero-themed pajama storytime at the local library (and even returning later by popular demand and just because they’d enjoyed the children’s bright excitement). He takes it all in, and reminds himself that if he ever thinks of more, it does not mean that he is unhappy with what he has, what they have together.

Despite all that is involved in helping to trying to root out and crush Hydra for good (not to mention the business of organizing the Avengers so that the ordinary crises they’re meant to handle are still covered even without the structure and support of SHIELD) they do get a good bit of time when it is just the two of them, ordering takeout and spending the evening together in their apartment.

Tonight it is burgers and fries and Meet Me in St. Louis — it had come out before they went into the ice, but they hadn’t had a chance to see it.

“She really is—was terribly charming,” Peggy comments, reaching over absently to take one of his fries, although he can see that she still has a few of her own left. Steve doesn’t comment on it, only finds his mouth turning up at the corner as he nudges the biggest one toward where she’s reaching before he turns back to the screen.

“It’s a shame what happened to her,” he agrees, watching Judy Garland’s Esther shift from moving ever so carefully about the room in her corset to rushing out to meet John Truett at the door. Another thing they missed, another thing they wouldn’t have been able to prevent even had they been there. “I remember going to the American Theater to see The Wizard of Oz, how her voice filled up the place and you just wanted her to get home.”

She makes a small sound of agreement. “I saw it shortly after it was released in London — January 1940. Everything outside was so tense then. I didn’t transfer to Bletchley until the next month, so I was bored daily by office work while at the same time being completely overwhelmed by knowing everything that was going on that I couldn’t do a thing about. But for a few hours, I just suspended my disbelief and allowed myself to be there instead of where I was.”

He starts to respond, but she adjusts herself in her seat and ends up three inches further in his direction, near enough that he can feel the skin-close warmth of her, and even though it isn’t a new sensation anymore, he still has to catch his breath and try to remember what they were talking about. Glancing at the television, he snatches up a cue from the conversation playing out there.

“Speaking of suspending disbelief, it’s hard to imagine that this guy would spend the whole picture trying for a chance with her and then let things fall apart over a tux and a basketball game run too long.” He’s been in the twenty-first century for long enough to know that everyone calls them movies now, and he usually does too, but it isn’t awkward if some of his more natural vocabulary slips into conversation when it’s just him and Peggy.

“I suppose you’d never disappoint a woman like that?” she asks, and even though he knows that she’s only teasing him, that it must be a gently amused reference to that first conversation of theirs (I think this is the longest conversation I've had with one) he answers seriously, unable to stop himself.

He keeps his gaze focused on the screen where Esther is crying theatrically into her pillow, although he barely registers the scene. “If I was lucky enough to get that sort of chance,” he says slowly, “I’d be looking forward to it too much to get distracted by games, and I wouldn’t let anything else stop me either.”

He turns to look at her then, and finds that she is already watching him. Their eyes meet first, holding, and he feels between them not just the lightly traded flirtation of those past shared glances, but the weight of his love for her, all that they have been through beside each other then and now, the perfect understanding and utter confusion and the waiting and the hope…

They’re going to have to look up how to remove grease stains without damaging the couch, because the fries scatter as the two of them move toward each other, but he doesn’t pay that more than the vaguest attention. He knows that this isn’t exactly the way to treat a lady, especially one who’s his teammate and roommate and friend, and he promises to actually take her out sometime soon, but in this moment, there is Peggy’s mouth moving perfectly against his, her hands warm and sure on his shoulders, and his thoughts are half Finally and half More.

He is in the midst of trying to figure out how exactly to get to the more — Peggy seems to have some idea, and he’ll happily follow her lead — when he begins to register a noise in the room beyond the movie still playing on the television or the low, contented sound that Peggy is making in her throat. It persists for long enough that he forces his mind to whatever level of attention he can muster, trying to identify what it is.

Peggy has noticed it as well, pulling away just far enough to catch her breath and say, “I think it’s your phone.”

For a moment, he can’t quite identify or remember what she is talking about. Then he reaches into his pocket and finds his cell phone, still cheerfully piping out something about “a little bit of Monica.” (Tony has a habit of swapping his ringtone around, and although Steve has definitely gotten better with technology, the process of switching it back somehow still always eludes him.)

Then Peggy’s phone is ringing too, a standard little chime, and they both look at each other and know that they don’t have time for more now.

As they ready themselves to meet Natasha in the car already idling on the street, as they strategize in the Quinjet and deal another blow to Hydra alongside their friends, there is barely a moment to think about what has happened. But as they head back, everything calm and victorious, Peggy begins to keep her careful distance from him, only giving him the occasional assessing glance.

It was a mistake to her, he suddenly understands, and the horror of that, the exact thing he’d feared, drains everything from him.

All those years of feeling but ignoring his own pain, of clenching his jaw and moving forward anyway…they must have been preparing him for just this.

He keeps his distance right back.

The trouble with being in love with Steve Rogers is that he is good at concealing his emotions most of the time, but it works far less well around people who know him and he is a terrible liar in any case.

More specifically, the trouble is being in love with Steve Rogers, having kissed him and wanted to continue doing so while also realizing that he likely needed time and space and, considering the speed and amount of space he’d put between them afterward, it seems that she was right.

And she can swallow down her own disappointment and try to regain at least some of what they’d once had, but Steve is being so terribly awkward about it.

By unspoken mutual agreement, they spend less time alone together in their flat, instead busying themselves with work or taking turns volunteering for missions where they aren’t strictly necessary. Even when they do manage to sit together for breakfast or to relax in the evenings, there is something so very stilted about it all, the ease they’d had with each other, the comfort that gave, lost to them now.

This was exactly what she had worried would happen. Her imagination hadn’t told her, however, how very much it would hurt.

She accepts that she is going to need some time to move, if not beyond this, then at least somewhere further through. And so, when she stays at her desk much longer than she needs to instead of going downstairs to attend the Christmas party that Tony had insisted on throwing for the team, she does not make excuses even in her own mind, only issues mental congratulations once she’s finally forced herself out the door.

The lift lets her out near the lounge; already she can smell a variety of foods, all likely tremendously expensive recreations of holiday classics. Her light, nearly silent footsteps are covered by the chatter and the low background of cheerful music coming from the lit space, even as she gets closer.

Just as she is about to step through the doorway and greet everyone, she hears Thor’s voice, boisterous with what she assumes is an early indulgence in something aged ten generations in Asgardian barrels, saying, “Captain, you don’t seem to be joining in the celebration. Are you not fond of this festival, or are you still feeling the effects of your marital falling out?”

Peggy presses herself hastily against the wall, although she can still hear what sounds like an actual spit-take from Tony.

“How exactly can Cap have a marital anything? I think I’d remember that invitation, or else I’d’ve listened to my dad telling me bedtime stories about whether you wore a tux and how you parted your hair and how he pressed the flower from your buttonhole—”

“Are you not married to Agent 13, then?” says Thor around his words, sounding confused, then adding, as if to ensure that Steve is thinking of the correct person, “Your Peggy? Peggy Carter?”

Steve says, “No, Peggy and I…We…” Pressing closer and extending every bit of serum-offered extra senses, she thinks she can detect just the slightest hitch in his breath. “Peggy and I aren’t together. I don’t know why you thought that we were.”

For a second, there is silence, even the song in the middle of changing over. Then Maria Hill says, bold and dry and matter of fact, “Probably because you’re in love with each other, if I had to guess.”

Into the still-evident quiet, Steve manages to stutter, “We—What—”

Gently, Pepper says, “I think she means…the way that you are with each other.”

“The way we…?”

“Come on, Steve.” That’s Sam now. “We’ve all seen those looks between you two. Hell, sometimes you get so deep into focusing on each other that it’s like the rest of us don’t even exist.”

“That’s not—”

“And you are always by each other’s sides, whether in battle or in celebration or simply as a part of life,” Thor adds. “And each time you speak of returning to your shared home, you do so with great joy.”

“Of course we—”

“Could be the way that you finish each other’s sentences, and understand references that the rest of us don’t,” Bruce contributes.

“Sure, because—”

Around what sounds like a mouthful of food, Clint says, “You respect each other. You cooperate. You can argue and compromise. That’s all important.”

“Well, we’re friends, and—”

Natasha interrupts Steve with such simple authority that it barely even seems to register that it’s happened. “Even knowing that you aren’t together, there’s just a way you watch each other when you think no one else is paying attention — it’s obvious that you both want something more, and I don’t know what happened between you two, but you should do what you can to fix it.”

“Maybe I can’t!”

Steve must have been sitting, because Peggy can hear him on his feet now, the sound obvious as the rest of the group hushes at his uncharacteristic outburst.

“Maybe it’s one of those things that can’t be fixed,” says Steve, softly now. “Not when she doesn’t want what I do.”

Whatever bright, casual energy had been filling the room has faded with those words, with the true vulnerability there.

Alone in the hall, Peggy closes her eyes and thinks about best intentions, time, and chances. When she opens them again, she finds Steve just past the doorway, already looking right at her.

“Come on, Cap,” Tony calls. “Don’t leave before the party’s really gotten started. We’ll brainstorm ways to get her back—”

“I don’t know that you’d be my preferred source for those,” Pepper mutters.

“—and you’ll get to open your Secret Santa gift.”

“I’ll open it another time,” Steve says, not taking his eyes off of Peggy. “I don’t think I’m in the mood for that right now.”

They are lucky that none of the others follow. She hears someone, maybe Rhodey, mumble that they either have to get better at throwing parties without awkward incidents or stop throwing parties altogether, and then Thor distracts everyone by discovering the karaoke machine. She wouldn’t necessarily put it past Natasha, or possibly Sam, to intuit her presence somehow, but she and Steve remain by themselves as they walk quietly back to the lift.

The atmosphere here is different: brightly lit, and JARVIS’s voice has that surrounding quality. The two of them stand against the back wall as the numbers trip downward.

Finally, into the silence, Peggy says, “They do still dance, you know. Here and now. If that was something that you wanted.”

He is a very solid man, Steve Rogers, tall and broad and sturdy in ways both obvious and unseen. His hand trembles, just slightly, as he takes his phone from his pocket and unlocks it.

“This is where I hoped to get to take you,” he says, and she sees that the browser is open to a page for an establishment called Swing 46.

“I’m free on Saturday,” she tells him, their whole past, even its pain and troubles, fitting into its place as the foundation of their future. “And every day after that.”

Steve smiles, and takes her hand, and they forget all the rest.

Coda

Breaking several laws of physics, he is home by 3:48.

#bearholdingashark #Steggy Secret Santa #Steggy #Steggy fic #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter

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chiiroptereh · 2 years ago

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A couple bats to wrap up the year. There was gonna be more but, just my luck, my tablet's pen is malfunctioning real bad and I'm on the other side of the globe in New Zealand right now. Oh, well; expect more when that's taken care of!

Nerdy stuff under the cut. Happy holidays, everybody!

In terms of chiropteran diversity they may not be the most dramatic examples, but these species are in separate classifications entirely. The left is an eastern red bat (Lasiurus borealis, though I did take some liberties with the colors) in the Vespertillionidae family and the right being some indiscriminate funnel-eared bat (specifically a Natalus sp.) from Natalidae. It is worth noting that both families are in the same superfamily, though, but pff, that's not even a real word.

It's no secret that I love my lasiurine bats (though I really broke the mould this time with a L. borealis instead of L. cinereus, woah gotta slow down there) so she was my first on the sheet. I'm already pretty adept in terms of lasiurine anatomy so she was more of a shading test which I'm rather happy with! They're so whiskery 🥺

At first the second bust was supposed to be of a generic Myotis species, but I thought that might be a bit boring (not that I don't love them too of course but my sketchbooks are full of them) so I went with a different pointy-faced little fella. Or, well, I think my thought process was more like "what's another species that when its mouth is open just looks like :V" but same deal. Funnel-eared bats are a very small family and you can tell they aren't very far-removed from vesper bats, but it's their subtler differences that interested me. They have these really funny moustaches, b-shaped skulls and almost woollen fur. They're also a more traditionally "ugly" species and that especially made me want to showcase how lovely they are.

I do wonder if the eyes are maybe a little uncanny, though. I intended for anthros of species without visible scleras to remain partially faithful to that and have enlarged irises/pupils but I dunno, looks kind of cartoony here, haha. Oh well, still plenty of room to experiment!

I'm very happy with these! The difference in fur texture especially was something I didn't think I'd be able to pull off, but I think I nailed it (without references, too! Booyah!). I hope to bring you guys some more underappreciated species as well as showcases of diversity soon; there are so, so many bats out there to love and they're all so different. Much love, hope you enjoy!

#digital painting #bats #chiroptera #funnel-eared bat #natalidae #natalus #eastern red bat #vespertillionidae #lasiurus #anthro #furry

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hermitologist · 2 years ago

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My Favorite Records of 2022

Hi. I made another list.

First thing’s first. I apologize for the lack of music recommendations and runs on my Instagram this year. Thrice had a pretty busy touring schedule, and with the kids back in school the local virus carousel was BRUTAL. Seemed like we got to sample a new strain of the crud literally every other week. It’d rip its way through the house, we’d send the kids back to school, they’d bring a new batch of snot home a few days later, and it’d start up all over again. Rinse and repeat. It was hard to get out there and run with all that going on. Also: Blame where blame is due ... I got a little lazy when I wasn’t picking up goopy Kleenex or horking up some crud of my own. I”ll be back next year. (Hopefully.)

An-y-waaaaay ...

I did manage to listen to a lot of new music despite "the circumstances”, and I have compiled all of my favorites for you here. There's a pretty clear cut Top 5 this year based on play counts, but the rest of the list didn’t really make sense to rank because this shit’s really all subjective anyway. I broke the list into categories that made sense to me, at the time, for organization’s sake. Each record has link to the band/label’s Bandcamp or website, so please please PLEASE support the artists you love beyond just streaming their music.

Playlists with a song from each record are below. I know it’s a lot of music. I know it’s all over the place. I know you don’t have time to listen to five-and-a-half hours of music. At the very least, I’d suggest at needle-dropping through the entire thing and earmarking some stuff to check out. That’s how I find a good chunk of this stuff.

And please let me know what you dug this year and think I should check out!

Hope you all have a safe and happy holiday season. See you next year!

PLAYLISTS

My Favorites of 2022 Playlist (Spotify)

My Favorites of 2022 Playlist (Apple Music)

My Favorites of 2022 Playlist (Tidal)

THE TOP 5

Elder - Innate Passage

No contest here. This is a clear cut #1 for me. Fifty-four minutes of absolutely glorious, wholly transcendental, life-affirming, dreamy/heavy metal-adjacent prog. As a musician, I can tell you firsthand how hard it is to write a long song that doesn’t *feel* long. These fellas routinely crank out high-quality 10-minute-plus jams that you’ll hope never end. Queue this up and take it for a run, a long walk, or a long drive and you’ll see what I mean. It’s magical. And yes, it came out late in the year, but I haven’t been able to stop listening to it or thinking about it since, and I don’t see that changing for a long while.

Meshuggah - Immutable

It’s damn near impossible to find the right words for this band, let alone this record, but this is absolute wizardry, yet again, from the best metal band that has ever existed. Pure face-melting heaviness. They routinely reset the bar for what heavy music can and should be, and Immutable is no exception. It might even be my favorite Meshuggah record ever.

Museum of Light - Horizon

Ultra-heavy, sludgy, dynamic, meditative, push vs. pull, melody vs. dissonance post-rock in the vein of Kowloon Walled City, Shiner, Traindodge, and Torche. The songwriting is so clean and efficient, and the record as a whole is just a gorgeous, perfectly crafted arc. It’s perfect.

Holy Fawn - Dimensional Bleed

The heaviest, prettiest, most infectious batch of post-rock/metal I’ve heard in a long while. Dynamic shifts that are pure catharsis. A band that has the ability to give you euphoric chills one minute, and bring you to tears the next, headbanging all the while. Their first LP blew me away, and I wasn’t sure they could top it, but they totally have.

The Beths - Expert In A Dying Field

This record was an instant pick-me-up this year. A much-needed salve amidst all the stress and anxiety and depression the world can throw your way these days. Twelve preposterously hooky jams, that will put a smile on your face and a bounce in your step (even when the lyrical content dips into darker themes). It totally rules.

15 OTHER RECORDS THAT STAYED IN HEAVY ROTATION (in no order)

PLOSIVS - S/T

Drug Church - HYGIENE

Tvivler - Kilogram

Birds In Row - Gris Klein

gospel - The Loser

Cult of Luna - The Long Road North

Russian Circles - Gnosis

Conjurer - Pathos

Anxious - Green House

SPICE - Viv

PUP - The Unraveling of PUP The Band

The Smile - A Light For Attracting Attention

Pianos Become The Teeth - Drift

Cloakroom - Dissolution Wave

Stray From The Path - Euthanasia

OTHER RECORDS I ENJOYED (also in no order)

Architects - the classic symptoms of a broken spirit Pedro the Lion - Havasu And So I Watch You From Afar - Jettison Mass Worship - Portal Tombs Rival Consoles - Now Is Fleshwater - We’re Not Here To Be Loved Abraham - Debris de Mondes Perdus Norna - Star is way way is Eye Dan Mayo - Greenhouse Silvan Strauss - FACING Vein - This World is Going to Ruin You Author & Punisher - Krüller Black Thought/Dangermouse - Cheat Codes Cave In - Heavy Pendulum Square Peg Round Hole - Reservoir Kendrick Lamar - Mr. Morale and The Big Steppers Pete Rock - Petestrumentals 4 Pet Fox - A Face In Your Life Swami John Reis - Ride the Wild Night Heriot - Profound Morality Bastions - Majestic Desolation Wake - Thought Form Descent Inclination - Unaltered Perspective Momma - Household Name Hot Water Music - Feel The Void KEN Mode - NULL Animals As Leaders - Parrhesia Mark Giuliana - the sound of listening Meat Wave - Malign Hex Haunted Shores - Void Blessed - Circuitous Celeste - Assassine(s) Louis Cole - Quality Over Opinion Grivo - Omit Wonder Years - The Hum Goes on Forever A Hope For Home - Years Of Silicon Mountaineer - Giving Up The Ghost Norma Jean - Deathrattle Sing for Me Lamb Of God - Omens Psychonaut - Violate Consensus Reality Callous Daoboys - Celebrity Therapist Easy Prey - Unrest 84 Tigers - Time in the Lighthouse Codespeaker - S/T Colonial Wound - Easy Laugh Thousandaire - Ideal Conditions

THE NEW BOTCH SONG I LISTENED TO LIKE 247 TIMES IN 3 DAYS

Botch - One Twenty Two

10 FAVORITE EPs

Downward - The Brass Tax Cult Leader/End - Gather & Mourn Irist - Gloria Gleemer - Here at All GoGo Penguin - Between Two Waves Lockstep - Lockstep 2 Portico Quartet - Next Stop Be Well - Hello Sun Chamber - Carved In Stone Waldo’s Gift - Improvisations Vol. 2

1 RECORD FROM 2019 THAT DIDN’T “CLICK” UNTIL 2022

Car Bomb - Mordial

2 RECORDS THAT DIDN’T COME OUT IN 2022 BUT GOT A LOTTA SPINS

Low - Double Negative Pile - Green and Gray

3 PODCASTS THAT I COULDN’T LIVE WITHOUT

Office Hours - humor, music, pure joy The Distraction - sports and social commentary/humor Effectively Wild - baseball analysis/humor

#music #podcasts #albumsoftheyear #topalbumsof2022 #endoftheyearlists

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op15-moonwaltz · 2 years ago

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even MORE Jack Frost headcanons because I have a lot of thoughts and none of them are cohesive. (some of these feel more AU-ish and I dunno what to do about that, if I feel tempted I might actually write out a before movie events story with jack and saint nick because he deserves some happiness and I love my little oinglydoobles)

The Santa he was close with he called 'Saint Nick.' He was already fairly old when he became Santa (around 60 years-old to early 70s), but Jack Adored him. He was very open to Jack having some presence in the holiday season besides making things cold.

Saint Nick was actually a grandfather when he became Santa! His kids and grandkids were very frequent visitors of the North Pole. Jack was ecstatic when one of Nick's grandkids said their favorite holiday movie was Rankin Bass' 'Jack Frost.'

The Council of Legendary Figures wasn't particularly. . overjoyed that Jack had taken part of the holiday décor from the traditional Christmas decorations, but Saint Nick shut that talk down FAST.

"Just because he isn't a holiday doesn't mean he can't have some say in the decorations around this time! Without him, there'd be no holiday spirit at all! He needs some credit here, fellas. A 'Thank you' maybe, too."

Jack never told anyone he had been outside the meeting room door during that. He had previously been there to crash the meeting, as he usually did, but after hearing that he'd tossed that plan out entirely and popped over to his condo and had a 4-hour long existential crisis.

time to get SAD (tw for a LOT of grieving)

When Jack popped over for the meeting after Scott became Santa, he could already feel something incredibly off as soon as he touched the handle to the door and his rising anxiety was confirmed when he went to sit in his usual seat next to Claus' chair and tried to keep a smile up despite feeling absolutely sick to his stomach.

He finally cracked when Scott had made a passing comment on how Saint Nick had slid off his roof and Jack Lost It. An hour long shouting match between him and the other Legendary Figures, with comments from Scott, before they actually noticed the tears that sat in Jack's eyes. (Frustration? Grief?)

"So NO ONE thought to tell me he died? No one at all? After we'd both been planning the holidays together for the last 40 years?!"

"It's not personal, Jack- T-Things are just different now-" Scott's first mistake upon meeting Jack.

EVERYTHING Saint Nick had helped Jack work toward had been undone within the span of a few weeks, and a lot of the days of December were icy and bitterly cold.

He fucking missed Saint Nick so bad. He felt both pissed that Scott had replaced him so fast, and absolutely shattered that Nick's grandkids had lost their grandfather.

Jack had become a constant in Nick's family's lives, so he'd pop over a lot more frequently to check up on them. He never told anyone he did that, the Legendary Figures were very keen on keeping holiday secrets just that. Secrets. But he couldn't just leave the family in the dark like that, they couldn't even have a proper funeral for him.

For Christmas that year, Jack practically Begged Bernard to do one thing for him. Find something of Nick's that he could give to his family for closure. Bernard and Jack never got along well most of the time, but the genuine broken look in his eyes was enough to make Bernard comply.

Jack turned up at Nick's Family's home Christmas Day, little giftbox in tow. He stayed for awhile, watching the grandkids play with their new toys, then he snuck away with the parents and presented the box.

Bernard had gotten Nick's snow globe for Jack to give the family.

Jack stuck around to watch them place it on the center of the fireplace mantel. He felt a bit more at peace knowing the family had something.

When Jack returned to his condo that night, there was a single gift wrapped in blue and silver paper on his coffee table. Bernard had gotten one more thing for him.

It was a framed photo of Jack and Saint Nick's first collaborative Christmas, Jack had wrapped Nick in silver and blue tinsel before the photo was taken and Nick had gotten a pair of antlers onto Jack's head. They were both ecstatic and covered in glitter.

Jack passed out the rest of the night on his couch with the picture on his chest.

#the santa clause 3 #jack frost #martin short #headcanons #Kinda like an AU?#Jack and Saint Nick are two old bros #I want to expand all of this so bad #i've thought about jack being happy with the previous santa too much and this is what happened #he needs a hug so bad #BERNARD ON THAT KING SHIT HELPING JACK OUT #jack def gave Bernard the biggest thank you after that #bernard risking his position to help his grieving friend(?): it is what it is #DOES SAINT NICK COUNT AS AN ORIGINAL CHARACTER IF I GIVE A NAME AND BACKSTORY TO A GUY THAT FALLS OFF THE ROOF IN THE FIRST MOVIE?#THIS IS A GENUINE QUESTION

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revolvius · 2 years ago

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HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Happy New Year everybody!

Sorry for the lack of art, been enjoying the new year holiday with my family. Not gonna be active for a bit I think, but we'll see.

I don't know if this is also meant for SagaVerse, but we'll see.

Still, hope you all have a good new year and I wish we all have a great 2023.

Cheers, fellas!

#2023 #happy new year #2023 goals

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sl-newsie · 2 years ago

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Chapter Twenty Five: Christmas: Part 1 (Spot Colon x Female Newsie)

I groan as I stare blankly out tha frosted window. “It ain’t snowed yet!”

“Careful what ya wish for, Becs.” Blink warns.

“Yeah! You’s wish for snow and we’s all get ta sell papes in a blizzard!” Race complains.

“Ah, c’mon fellas! Just ‘cause you’s don’t like tha cold don’t mean ya can deny tha magic a snowfall brings dur’n Christmas!”

I’d celebrated Christmas with tha newsies for five years, and every year we’d had snow for Christmas. But it’s December 22nd, and still no snow.

“She’s right, guys.” Crutchy backs me up. “It’s Christmas- show a little happiness!”

“Yeah, perk up!” Mush joins in. “David and Less’re comm’n over to celebrate tomorrow.”

I grin. “That’s right. But right now, I godda head out.” I turn to leave-

“Where?” Race asks suspiciously.

“Ta see Spot. And to get a few things.” I say softly.

“Aw Becca, not this again,” Jack sighs.

“Ya don’t need to get us noth’n,” Crutchy says sadly.

“I never said I was. Now I really godda go,” I say again before I grab my jacket and rush out into tha cold. It ain’t snow’n, but it sure is cold! As I carefully avoid patches of ice, I notice tha wadda is frozen under tha Brooklyn bridge. When I get to tha lodg’n house, Mink opens tha door to let me in. A warm, welcom’n air brushes my face, and I’m immediately crowded by all tha young newsies.

“Hiya Becs!” Tommy says gleefully.

“Hey, it’s Becca!” Danny comes ova, along with anodda guy who looks almost just like him. “This here’s Vinny, my twin brodda.”

Vinny holds out his hand, and we spit-shake. “Nice to meet ya!”

“You as well,” I say.

“Well if it ain’t tha sing’n angel herself.”

At this, I turn around and come face-to-face with-

“Hi Spot,” I respond nicely.

He smirks. “Come to sing carols for us?”

“Haha. I actually came here to ask if ya wanted me, um…” I trail off, uncomfortable. I’d wanted to ask if Spot wanted me to come visit for Christmas, but I don’t wanna intrude.

“If we’s wanted ya here for tha holidays?” Bucky finishes fer me.

“Um… yes?”

“‘Course we do, Beauty!” Spot lifts me up by my waist. “You’s part of tha family! When were ya plan’n on com’n?”

My eyes widen. “Oh! Uh, I dunno. Whevever’s good for you? I mean, David’s come’n tomorrow, and I’s gonna be with tha fellas on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I was plan’n on come’n over Christmas Eve night, and back here again Christmas even’n. Is that okay?”

“That’s poifect!”

“Um, ok. Do I need to bring anyth’n?”

“Only yourself. That’s enough,” Bucky says sincerely.

“Yeah, yourself! But… If it ain’t too much to ask, could ya make more of that stew again?” Danny asks, and tha kids look up at me hopefully.

I smile wide. “Yes, I most certainly will!”

I head back to tha lodg’n house with the assurance that Spot will be by later for a visit. On my way back, I stop by and pick up some candy canes and oranges for tha guys, wooden blocks for tha kids, a red hair ribbon for Sarah, and a harmonica for Jack. I also come across a small tree abandoned in an alley- most likely too small for the owner’s taste. I’d never gotten a tree for tha lodg’n house, but I think this year’s special.

I hide tha gifts behind Kloppman’s desk, but not before hand’n him my gift to him- a new ink pen. He gives his thanks and promises to keep my hide’n spot safe.

Upstairs, tha fellas are play’n cards.

“You’s ain’t tired yet?” I ask.

“It’s almost Christmas, Becca! We’s can’t enjoy it sleep’n, can we?” Boots comments.

“We still godda sell papes, though.” I respond.

“Forget it!” Snipeshooter says. “Folks ain’t been out much ‘cause of tha cold, so it’s been a slow business week. We’s already paid our dues for tha lodg’n, so it ain’t so bad.”

“Now quit your worry’n and come over here!” Race beckons for me.

“You’s gamle’n again?” I ask suspiciously.

“Yeah. And?” Race appears unfazed.

I sigh. “Never mind. I’ll pitch in a few cents.”

“Atta goil!”

Tha next day I tidy up tha bunkroom while we wait for David and Les. When they get here, all tha younger newsies go off to play with Les while I see David whisper someth’n to Jack. Jack’s eyes suddenly light up, and he sprints oudda tha room.

I walk over to David. “What’s that all about?”

David shrugs. “Sarah said to send Jack over. I didn’t ask why- I’d rather not know.”

“I hear ya. Ever since Jack’s been see’n her, Sarah’s all he ever talks about! But it’s good to see him so happy.”

David nods. “I can relate. Sarah’s been extremely happy too. Oh! I almost forgot! I brought you my copy of ‘A Christmas Carol’ you asked for.” David reaches into his bag and produces a worn book with a red cover. “It’s a little fragile, but readable.”

I smile as I gingerly hold tha book. “It’s poifect! Tha little ones are gonna luv hear’n this!”

“Luv hear’n what?” Snipeshooter asks.

“‘A Christmas Carol,’ by Charles Dickens.”

“What’s that?” Crutchy asks.

“A song book?” Skittery guesses.

I gape. “You’s never read ‘A Christmas Carol?’”

“I have!” Specs says proudly. “It’s been a while, but I remember I really liked tha story.”

“Will ya read it to us, Becca?” Crutchy asks shyly.

“Didn’t ya hear, Crutch? It’s a kids book!” Race says in a disgusted tone.

“Oh no, Race. It’s not just a children’s book,” David assures.

“Yeah! It’s a book that explains tha true mean’n of Christmas,” Specs inputs.

“Like what? Be’n nice and all that?” Race says, unimpressed.

I frown. “I think you especially need to hear this, so sit tight and pay attention. I’ll go get the oddas-”

“More prove’n my point that it’s a kid’s book!” Race calls as I head downstairs.

I just shake my head and put on a big smile when I see tha young newsies.

Joey, Dusty, Kenny, and Skippy are all sit’n near tha window, while Henry and Matthew whisper and giggle at each odda. I also see… a goil? Must be a newcomer.

“Hey fellas, who’s this?” I smile at tha little blonde goil, who’s wear’n a torn flannel dress, woolen stockings, and a gray hat. She smiles a little but I can tell she’s scared.

“That’s Mittens. She don’t talk much.” Dusty seems to be tha only one interested.

“‘Mittens?’ Why’s her name Mittens?”

“‘Cause she had a good pair of mittens,” Kenny says smugly.

I frown. “Then where are they?”

“In my pocket.”

Immediately, I stride over and snatch a pair of blue, woolen mittens oudda tha crook’s jacket.

“Hey-!”

“Dusty, ya don’t go around swipe’n odda people’s stuff! What were ya think’n? She’s a newcomer- so I want all-a you’s to make her feel welcome!” I lower my angry voice and switch to a gentle tone as I kneel in front of tha goil. “Hi. My name’s Becca. What’s yours?”

She shrugs.

“When did she get here?” I ask Matthew.

He blinks. “A few days ago.”

“And no one told me? How do ya know she don’t have a family look’n for her? She could be a runaway!” I look back at ‘Mittens’. “Do you know where your modda is?”

She nods.

“Where is she?”

Mittens slowly point up at tha sky, and it takes me a bit to realize what she’s say’n.

“Oh. Um- what about your fadda?”

She points up again.

“Oh. I’m so sorry. My modda’s dead too. Lots of us here don’t got any folks. Do you have any odda family?”

She shakes her head.

“I see. I’m so sorry Mittens- ugh. We needs ta find you a proper name. Do ya like be’n called Mittens?”

She shrugs.

“Hm. Well, how ‘bout that be your nickname, and you’s real name can be…” I think real hard. “Oh! How ‘bout ‘Angel’? Like a Christmas angel?”

Immediately, tha goil’s eyes light up and she nods eagerly.

I chuckle. “Well, all right then! Angel… uh, can ya talk at all?”

Her face scrunches up, and it looks as if it takes all her effort ta say: “So-some-t-times.”

“So… ya can talk a little, but not well?”

Angel nods.

“Did ya ever learn how?”

She shrugs. I guess that means a little?

“Ok then. Um- We’ll work on that, I promise. Angel-” I cautiously wrap my arms around her as ta not scare her. “This is yer home now. It ain’t fancy, but it’s still a home. You’s always welcome here, no madda what. Now for a proper introduction-” I point around tha room. “That’s Joey, Dusty, Kenny, Skippy, Matthew, and Henry. Tha olda guys are upstairs. Actually, we’s just about to start read’n ‘A Christmas Carol’- ya wanna join us?”

Her face paints a confused expression.

“It’s a book.”

She’s still confused.

I bring my hands togedda and open them like a book. “Book. Paper, ink, woids. You’s neva learned to read?”

She shakes her head.

“We’s can work on that too. C’mon-” I pick her up and walk to tha doorway. “You’s come’n or what?”

All tha boys leap up and rush over and follow me up tha stairs. When we walk in tha bunkroom, all tha fellas stop talk’n and look at tha scrawny, shake’n little goil burry’n her head into my chest- but peek’n her eyes out once in a while in curiosity at tha olda newsies. I also see Jack's back, talk’n to Race with a big grin on his face.

“Angel, this is my family. That’s David and Les, Racetrack, Crutchy, Boots, Kid Blink, Mush, Skittery, Specs, and Snipeshooter. And this-,” I sling my arm around Jack. “-is my older brodda, Jack Kelly.”

Angel lifts her head up and points at him. “St-str-str-ike!”

“Yeah, he lead tha strike! We’s all were part of it!”

Jack’s brows furrow. “Becca, who’s tha kid?”

“This is Angel, or Mittens as some call her. She’s a newcomer.” I lean in a whisper in Jack’s ear. “Her folks is dead.”

He looks at me, then nods. “Fellas, make Angel feel welcome. Ya hear?”

“How old is she?” David asks.

“How old are you?” I ask Angel. She thinks for a second, then holds up 6 fingers.

“Six?”

She nods.

“She’s close to your age, Les! Say hello.” David urges Les forward, who seems just as shy as Angel.

“Hi,” he says in a small voice.

“H-Hi,” Angel whispas back.

“She don’t bite, Les. She just-” I begin. Angel then wraps Les up in a hug. “-wants a little friendship.”

Les, however, don’t want any part of it. “She’s a girl,” he whispas at David.

“She’s not a disease, Les. She’s a human being. Now be nice.”

Les still struggles, but eventually accepts Angel’s hug.

“Now go on- have fun, make play!” I say, close’n tha subject.

“Hiya, Angel!”

I thank the stars a million times for Crutchy’s positive energy.

“I’m Crutchy, ‘cause of tha crutch. Can ya talk?”

I shake my head. “She don’t know how. Only a few woids. Can’t read either.”

Crutchy’s face falls. “That’s too bad. But hey! Ya can still learn!”

“Yes, yes she can.” I leave Angel with Crutchy and pull Jack aside. “I just found out she got here, after how many days of her live’n here?! We’s gonna be have’n a conversation about this, got it?” I say sternly with intense eyes. Jack nods again.

“So, who wants to hear ‘A Christmas Carol’?” Specs asks around.

“Yeah!” All tha kids yell.

“Just get it over with,” Race grumbles.

“Wow. Ba-humbug to you too,” I smirk as I sit down on my bunk, with Angel still lying on my back with her arms wrapped around my neck.

Race does a double-take. “What?”

“Just listen- you’ll get it.”

“Could I read some of it, Becca?” Specs asks softly.

I nod. “‘Course ya can! We’ll take turns.”

I pick up David’s book and open it ta page 1.

“Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge’s name was good upon ’Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Race interrupts from across tha room. “How tha Hell is this a Christmas story? Dead people? Undertakers? This sounds like a funeral!”

“Race, it is a funeral! I neva said it’d be a sappy joyfest! Just keep your shoit on and listen!”

And so it went, Specs and I reading ‘A Christmas Carol’. When Specs got to tha part about Marley, tha kids hid behind tha olda fellas, but didn’t stop listen’n. When I animated tha part about the Ghost of Christmas Present, they all laughed. When Specs read tha part when Scrooge sees his grave, they all gasped.

“And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!” Specs finishes with a big smile on his face. Our audience has been silent up ‘till this point, but I can tell they enjoyed it- including Race!

“Whoa! That was great!” Skippy and Snipeshooter say in unison.

“We’s got our own Tiny Tim, right Crutchy?” Mush teases.

“He’s bedda than Tiny Tim- he’s tha real deal!” Blink says proudly.

“Yeah! You’s tha most grateful, nicest guy I know!” I add as I punch him playfully on tha shoulder. “Well, Race? Good story, huh?”

Race don’t say anyth’n at foist, but then a big smile spreads over his face. “Not bad, Becs. Not bad.”

“Glad you’s enjoyed it! Here David-” I hand tha book back.

“We’s should do this every year!” Boots exclaims.

“Yeah! Like a Christmas tradition!” Specs agrees.

A few hours later of talk’n, laugh’n, and yawn’n, and we’s almost all passed out on our bunks, with tha kids sleep’n next to tha fellas. David went home a while ago, but Les is fast asleep. Angel’s sleep’n next to Les, who’s taken a big like’n to her.

Now’s my chance.

I quietly sit up and tip-toe over to Jack.

“Jack- you awake?”

He grunts. “I am now.”

“Good. We need to talk.” I grab his arm and yank him outside into tha hallway.

“Sure thing, sis.”

“Jack, I can’t do everyth’n. I’s just one person. I just found out, today, about Angel. She was all by herself, left with tha boys with nobody to help her. You remember how scared I was when you brought me here! How come nobody told me? Or bedda yet- how come nobody helped her? I ain’t gonna be here as much, ‘cause I’s gonna be with Spot. I can only play Modda Hen for so long, Jack! You’s godda step up to bat and do someth’n too!”

Jack looks taken back. “Whaddya want us to do?”

“Include tha kids, say ‘hi’ to ‘em, teach them someth’n!”

“Teach ‘em what? You know as well as I do that we’s all don’t have any ‘real’ education! Ya want someone to teach ‘em, ask David!”

“I don’t just mean math and English! Teach ‘em how to sell papes bedda! Teach ‘em how to soak people, teach em street smarts! Believe me, you’s taught me everyth’n I know today ‘bout be’n smart in New York- now you’s can teach them.”

By now I’m grasp’n Jack’s shoulders and shake’n him, leave’n Jack to see me in a new way.

“Rebecca, I’m so sorry-”

“You should be!”

“I know, I know. I just- we had no idea how much you do for them. We’s just… assumed they’s all could take care of themselves…”

I sigh heavily. “Jack, some of ‘em is only five. They’s might know how to do some things, but they’s still only five. Just- Just don’t forget them, okay?”

“No, I won’t. And I’ll make sure tha odda fellas know too.” He brings me in for a hug. “Thanks, Becca, for everyth’n.”

“No problem, Jack. It’s just what I do. Now c’mon- let’s get some sleep. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow! Oh- wait! By tha way, what did Sarah want you for?”

“Oh. She, um… It ain’t your business, Becs!” Jack mumbles.

“You’s my brodda- almost everyth’n you do is my business!”

“When I break an arm, yeah. But not in my luv life!”

I hold up my hands defensively. “Fine, fine. I’s just try’n o make sure you don’t get hoit.”

“Ha! That’s cute- my sista try’n to protect me when I should be protect’n her!”

I scowl. “We’ve been through this- I can handle myself. It’s you I’s worried about! So c’mon- what’s tha news?”

“Noth’n! She- she just gave me a gift, ok?”

“Well, don’t leave me hang’n, Jack! She’d she give ya?”

Jack don’t say anyth’n at foist, but then-

“A new bandanna.”

“Really? That’s poifect! Can I see it?”

“No, ya nosy Nelly! Now will ya let me sleep?”

Before I can say anyth’n, Jack slumps into his bunk and throws a pillow over his face.

“Night, Jack.”

As soon as I hear him snore’n (10 seconds), I carefully tip-toe downstairs and recover my tiny tree from it’s hide’n place. I ain’t get’n tha gifts out yet, ‘cause I want them to be surprised. Not want’n to wake anybody up, I take extra care as I bring it upstairs and set it up in a corner. Some strings of red berries, a few pinecones, and a star fashioned oudda paper- it ain’t a fancy tree, but I did my best.

I lay down in my own bunk and stare wondering out tha window.

Night, Spot.

#Newsies #newsies musical #newsies broadway #newsies 1992 #newsies x reader #spot colon x reader #spot conlon #specs newsies #Jack Kelly #david jacobs #Les Jacobs #skittery newsies #kid blink #boots newsies #christmas carol #christmas #crutchie morris #crutchy newsies #christmas time

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