#ichabbie christmas

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

Ichabbie Vignettes

TITLE: Firsts (But Not Last) - Part 1: Mistletoe

A/N: This is the first in a series of vignettes that feature Ichabbie firsts (but not lasts, obviously). Also on AO3.

The first time he kissed her under the mistletoe came as a startling surprise. Ichabod and Abbie stood in the doorway waving goodbye to Jenny and Joe as they drove away after their night of Christmas fun—baking sugar cookies, watching a movie, and sipping on wine. They moved back into the house together, their hands joined, and Ichabod closed the door, locking the cold night air outside. Abbie moved towards the kitchen, but he tugged her back towards him, and she gasped an “oh!” as she ended up in his arms. She wondered at the smirk on his face until he rolled his eyes up, pointing to something above them. As she looked up to find a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, Ichabod swooped in, his lips settling warmly against her throat. “Mmm,” she hummed low as he kissed his way up the side of her neck. Quick pecks along her jaw, and then he kissed her fully.

[like-bunnies]

Winter Dreams - Ichabbie

I put this on Tumblr and AO3 last year but never finished it so I took it down. I do have two more parts started for after this intro section but we all know I can never get anything done on time. But I did get that other WIP done just recently so you never know!! For @sleepymr who asked that I put this back. 

A Christmas visitor gives Crane the chance to set things right. 

“I hate Christmas,” Ichabod Crane muttered as he opened the door to his dingy, gray DC apartment. His neighbor was playing some horrible Christmas tune over and over. Something about a dead grandmother and a reindeer. He thought it was rather obvious that the grandfather had killed the grandmother and was pinning the murder on a mythical flying reindeer but the child next door to him howled with delight over the song and demanded it be played ad infinitum.

Crane had never been all that fond of these modern Christmas extravagances but Abbie had been so he went along with it. Now with her gone, he hated it. All of it. Lights. Bells. Trees. Annoying music. People pretending to be happy just because the calendar demanded it.

He could pretend most days that his heart wasn't completely shattered just so he could barely get by but he wasn't going to pretend to be happy for this. It would be just any other day for him, where he went to work and tried hard to forget the things he had done. And the things he hadn't done.

There were so many things he hadn't done and they weighed on his mind every second of every day.

Crane stepped into the place he called home now (though he would never really have a home like he once had) and placed his keys in the usual spot so he wouldn't lose them again. He went to the kitchen and got a beer out of the refrigerator, twisted the cap off, and tossed it at the garbage bin, missing it entirely. He didn't even bother to pick it up off of the floor but moved to his tiny living room so he could watch some TV in the dark and fall asleep on the couch like he did every night now.

He had just reached for the remote control when he sensed he was not alone. Whatever was with him in that room didn't create any sort of a feeling of dread. Besides, he really didn't care much about living at this point anyway. Getting murdered during a break-in would be fine with him if it meant he didn't have to hear that dreadful song through his apartment walls one more time. Or live without Abbie one more day.

“Take whatever you came for and get out so I can finish my beer and watch the news in peace,” Ichabod said. If whomever was there was going to kill him, certainly they would have done so by now. “Besides, I have nothing of value left anyway.”

“I know. My poor, sad Ichabod. You have lost everything and you have done it a few times now. You keep getting another chance and still, you can't seem to find the path you truly belong on,” a voice said. It wasn't ominous. Rather, it had a musical quality about it. It was a voice he remembered from long, long ago.

“Mother?” he said, suddenly unsure of anything. Yes, the supernatural was all around him. He himself was only here due to reasons no one could ever quite believe. But this? After all this time... this? Elizabeth Crane was in his living room?

“Yes, my dear boy. I don't have long to remain in the realm of the living but I had to see you,” she said. He felt the presence in the room draw closer to him and then a shimmering haze materialized. He could make out her form, although it was a bit hard to do, and reached for her. Something cold wrapped around his fingers, holding them tight. “You're so warm and alive. I've missed you so.”

Crane pulled the figure towards him and she began to take a more solid shape until finally there were actual fingers touching his. They still weren't warm but they were real. And they were definitely the thin, long fingers of his mother.

“Oh, mother,” he said, rising up and pulling her into his arms. For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to cry again and she just held him, her hands gently patting his back as they softly swayed together. He could barely make out the scent of her but it was there. Her hair was down around her shoulders, not tied up like she had always worn it in life. The honey-blond strands curled down her back and he remembered being a little boy and watching her tie it up. He only saw her do it once but it was such a sweet memory. He was soon swept away out of her room and to his daily lessons. A less than sweet memory.

“Ichabod, I'm here to offer you some choices and help guide you. I'm so sorry that I couldn't be with you longer when you were young. I didn't want to leave you but I had to go. I'm only back now because I didn't use my one chance to come back and visit my one true love back after I died. I didn't visit your father... for reasons. Many reasons and... anyway, I bargained and am using this chance now,” she said. Crane pulled away from his mother and looked at her.

“People get a choice to do that? To visit their one true love?” His mother nodded yes. “Oh, Abbie...”

Crane closed his eyes and thought about those few precious moments he had with the Lieutenant before she disappeared from his life entirely. About the things she said and how he still couldn't accept them. None of it could be what she meant. That her job was done. She had done everything she was supposed to. That all had to be lies. Abbie would never give up like that. Not for him. Not for anyone. Why had she said those things?

“To force you to move on,” his mother said even though he hadn't spoken any of those thoughts out loud. “That's why most everyone does what they do when they come back for that one last time. For most people, it's like a dream. They consider it only that and nothing more. But because of who you are and what you and the other Witness were to each other, it felt more real to you. It was real.”

He sat back down and she sat beside him, holding one of his hands.

“What happens next? Some sort of Dickensian view of what might have been?” he asks.

“Dickensian?”

“I'm sorry – Charles Dickens. He was a little after your time. After my time, too, actually. The first time, that is,” Crane said.

“Oh, yes. Dickens. Always fun at the Christmas parties...” she said, trailing off in thought. Crane just stared at her, his mouth open. “Close your mouth, dear. And to answer your question, yes. In a way. You will get to see how some things might have been. You will get chances to do things you didn't have before. If you turned left instead of right. If you had been the one to die that day. If you had never come back. You will get to see all of it or none of it. It's your choice.”

“There's always a catch,” Crane said. He had been involved with the supernatural too long now not to realize that there was often a price to be paid for 'gifts' such as these. “What is it that I have to give up or do in order for this to work?”

“You might not be the same person in all of the scenarios you live through... and you will be living through them. She might not know exactly who you are. Or you might decide that things are better the way they are than any of the ways they might have been. You will have to learn to live with the choices you already made,” Elizabeth said.

“Then what? I just get to change everything? How far back will this go? I don't want to accidentally change the outcome of the American Revolution,” Crane said, raising an eyebrow. Make the wrong choice, kill a few founding fathers, and things might be different. Then again, things might be better.

“You will only be able to change things with the other Witness and during the time you shared together. Nothing else. Your destinies and your souls are truly entwined. That's how this is possible,” she said.

“And what will it feel like?” Crane asked. He had experienced many things, including his own 'death' but he had no idea how this could possibly work.

“Like falling asleep, my dear boy,” she said. “If you possibly can with that song repeating over and over.”

Crane suddenly felt more exhausted than he had ever felt in his life. More than during endless nights and days of battle. More than during any of the adventures he had been on with Abbie. This was different.

“Like a dream,” he muttered. His mother pulled him to her, and his head was resting on her lap. She was stroking his hair and it felt good. It felt so comforting.  

“Just like a dream.”

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[darlablovesichabbie]

#Ichabbie just wants to wish you guys a Merry Christmas. 

[youwerenevermine]

Ichabbie | “Meet the Mills-Crane” Moodboard

Wishing y’all a happy holiday season!

[www-sleepyhollowsanctuary]

Good afternoon fellow Sleepyheads. My what a wet and rainy day we’re having isn’t it. Speaking of wet, here’s a little something to spark your romantic fantasies. It’s for a special subsection of Ichabbie Summer; X-Mas in July. For those of you who don’t know the concept.it’s a dumbass holiday invented by Hallmark to sell Christmas ornaments early. 

Anyway, I figured that with July in full swing, I thought I might spice it up a bit with this sensual piece of fanart courtesy of DeviantArt. Remember you can join me on said website for more Ichabbie Summer fun in my community called Sanctuary Enterprise. There you’ll be able to find more awesome fanart just like this. Well, I have to run. Till next time Sleepyheads!

[castleriggcircle]

More fanfic for Ichabbie Spring & Abbie Mills Shines

Dusting off some more of my old fanfic to share. All of these are in some way linked to Trust and Love.

Nine Months is me being all meta and writing an AU to my own AU...

Ordinary features Abbie and Crane getting to live a mostly-normal life ~5 years after the events of Trust and Love. 

Gingerbread is a Christmas vignette 18 months after Ordinary.

And Family Portraits is set over twenty years later because Abbie gets a LONG, healthy life, dammit.

[www-sleepyhollowsanctuary]

Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas 🎄fellow Sleepyheads of Tumblr! As many of you are aware, the happiest day of the year is only one week away. Just like what we did for Halloween 🎃, this Tumblr will be sponsoring this year’s advent calendar. How exciting does that sound? According to the picture above, it is now day 14 of #SleepyHollowAdvent. As such, the artist has drawn this cute little picture of our favorite ship. In the picture, Ichabod is questioning the scent of a certain deodorant. Coincidentally, the swagger deodorant happens to be the one that I wear!

Besides, Ichabod doesn’t need swagger deodorant. With his intellect and charm, the ladies are practically throwing themselves at him. I don’t even know if he notices or not. Whatever it is, it seems to be working for him. See you tomorrow Sleepyheads! Happy holidays!

It’s a #SleepyHollow holiday for #Advent Day 14! #ichabodvsthe21stcentury (at amysnotdeadyet.etsy.com)

[love-affair-with-fandoms]

The Ichabbie drawing I commissioned from my sister @he-artblock Love her so much. This was the best Christmas present ever!

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: Merry Distractions

A/N: Just a bit of Ichabbie Christmas reading for you. You’ll find lots of longing with a sweet and happy ending and a smidge of Joe, Jenny, and Irving thrown in for good measure.

He'd watched her all night as she'd played hostess, flitting around filling glasses and snack bowls, changing the music when an unloved song sounded through the speakers, ensuring everyone had enough to eat, and making merry with the whole lot of them. Her festive attire, a silken, emerald green dress with gold flecks in it, lent her skin a rosy hue, and she'd pulled her crown of ringlets into a golden clasp at the back of her head, leaving her neck and dangly, Christmas light earrings exposed. The dress's short sleeves showed off her muscular arms, and the square neckline cut low but not so low it distracted him—or anyone else, he was happy to note. Not that it made much of a difference for him though: the woman was a walking distraction as far as he was concerned. Her large, expressive brown eyes twinkled at him in every one of his daydreams. Her hair, so versatile and stylish, begged him to brush it away from her beautiful face. And those full, Christmas-red lips she smiled with now would pleasantly haunt his dreams for weeks to come. Oh yes, most certainly a distraction, but tonight he almost felt safe with it. The handful of people roaming throughout the house gave him a buffer he didn't often have while working alone with her in the Archives or in the field or riding next to her in the car. As such, he freely 'checked her out,' a phrase Miss Jenny had used once that he'd mentally squirreled away. Much to his chagrin, he'd checked her out a bit too much this evening, and it’d left him feeling out of sorts. The new lieutenant on the force made her laugh easily, that wonderful smile of hers breaking across her face at something Mr. Muscular and New had said. The man's eyes twinkled at her, and a white-hot pearl of jealousy burned in Ichabod's chest, blooming large and ugly as Abbie’s new colleague gazed appreciatively at her, pleased and proud at the response his words had elicited from her. Not much of what he and the Lieutenant did as their day job made for amusement, but Ichabod felt ripples of pleasure when he could draw a laugh from her, loved watching the worries ease away from her beautiful face, that gorgeous, full-fledged smile and tinkling laugh filling his heart with gladness and his eyes with nearly more beauty than he could stand. None of her sheriff's department colleagues had acted so freely with her before—and she'd never responded so openly. Until this man. And it concerned him, more than he cared to admit. Seeing Abbie and Mr. Muscular standing next to one another, her hand landing lightly on the man's forearm as she laughed at his joke, raised his hackles. Not because he thought the man ill-willed or a foe to their cause, but precisely because he didn’t think those things. In fact, he couldn’t find a flaw in the man at all. The truth of the matter was...they made a striking pair: Abbie petite, stylish, stunning, and effervescent, and Mr. Muscular broad, powerful, and clearly amusing enough to hold the Lieutenant's unbridled attention. Further, Mr. Muscular exhibited everything he, Ichabod, did not: power, raw strength, position, and a gregarious personality. Gainful employment, modern style, shorn hair, and a tailor-cut suit. Together, the two of them looked like they'd stepped right out of the television box and into one of those yuletide films the Lieutenant indulged in on weekends. He, on the other hand, often drew strange stares and chuckles from strangers and acquaintances alike. He'd thought himself rather dashing this evening though, having traded his normal attire for a dark green shirt in his usual front-laced style with black breeches, his boots, and a fitted black tailcoat. This last piece had caused the Lieutenant to do a double take, and when he'd questioned her about it, she'd nodded with an appreciative eye and mentioned that it looked like a tux jacket. (He'd surreptitiously done an online search before the guests arrived to find out what a tux was and felt satisfied with his choice of finery, if only because Abbie seemed to like it on him.) But now, standing across the room from Mr. Muscular and Abbie, he questioned it all: how he could ever compare with a modern man who didn't need to be assisted with the mundanity of today's world, how he could have begun to think he was fitting in to the here and now, what he'd do without the Lieutenant by his side should she ever pair up with another man, how he'd thought he could have a chance with the beautiful, independent, strong, and wonderful woman who'd wrapped herself so intricately around his heart he'd have to surgically remove her should that pairing occur.

Tamping down his vexation, Ichabod kept a neutral look on his face, though he doubted anyone noticed his clandestine surveillance. He hadn't much cared what people thought of him, of his strange (in this era) manner of speaking and colonial attire and his 'hippie hair-do' (another of Miss Jenny's colloquialisms). From early on but more and more now, he'd hoped someday the two of them might become something more than just 'the two witnesses.' Watching Abbie so carefree with another man, and one that clearly had his sights set on her, made him question whether that had ever or could ever be a possibility. After all, he would always be a man out of time, and the Lieutenant deserved more than he could ever possibly provide for her. No, he seemed a far cry from a good match for her, and the sudden realization soured his mood. The music ringing from the wireless Bose speakers (he hadn’t bothered to ask what that particular moniker meant) certainly didn't help his mood. In his day, Christmas music spoke of the birth of the Christ-child, the peace that accompanied his glorious arrival, and the hope of the world fulfilled. Now, much of the festive music focused on missing one's 'true love,' as every voice ringing around the room seemed to long for a lost or distant lover, crave the attention or presence of 'the one,' or be begging Saint Nicolas for a partner. He simultaneously cringed at the desperate, needy lyrics and felt them resonating in his heart as he watched the Lieutenant and Mr. Muscular continue to chat. Ichabod felt like a giant flaw in the evening’s festivities, suddenly overcome by feelings of inadequacy as the weight of his imperfections wrapped their maudlin tendrils throughout his mind. His reticence to assimilate more bothered him in a way it never had. Not when he'd first ran though the dark streets of Sleepy Hollow just having woken from a centuries’ long sleep, not when the Lieutenant and Captain Irving and Miss Jenny had harangued him about the past, and not even when Abbie had purchased modern day attire for him to wear and he'd handily refused. He believed now that'd been a mistake. He could never compete with the likes of today's men such as he was. A Captain from the Revolution with odd speech, hair, and mannerisms, and a significant (though improving) lack of knowledge of modern phrases, places, and ways? No wonder she laughed with Mr. Muscular: he was nothing less than perfectly suited for her. The melancholy of the moment settled over him, and Ichabod turned away from the happy couple across the room and made his way to the drink table. He downed a few shots of rum—the Lieutenant had bought his favored brand, he noted with a twinge of pain—and let them burn through him before he rejoined the festivities, actively avoiding the Lieutenant and her new friend. He did his best to forget the vision of her—and she was a vision—and Mr. Muscular, instead choosing to make merry with the Captain for a while, then with Miss Jenny and Master Corbin. Though he easily feigned happiness, his insides ached at the sense of loss that had solidified into his heart. Despite his realization that someone else likely held the Lieutenant’s affections, the party had gone well. Lots of laughter and some drinks, talk of family traditions and something called a white elephant gift exchange. (He hadn't had a clue what that was, let alone what to buy, so Abbie, ever his patient guide, had rescued him, purchasing his party gift for him.) He'd walked away from the game with a gift card to a local spa. There'd been jokes about him finally getting a proper haircut or soaking in a sauna, trying a steam room or getting a body wrap, which, to hide his already miserable thoughts about himself, had set him off explaining how his Native American friends, well versed in natural healing properties of steam and mud, had taught him the finer points of self-care. He'd meant it in all solemnity, but it'd left everyone laughing, much to his chagrin. Now, as people began to leave and amidst saying his goodbyes, he downed another shot of rum and slowly started cleaning up, putting the leftover food into smaller containers and throwing away garbage. "Crane." He turned at the sound of Captain Irving's voice to find him and the Lieutenant standing by the front door. Regardless of how he felt after this evening's revelation, his eyes were drawn to her—always. How could he continue to live here, under the same roof as her, and maintain a friendship that he'd hoped would become more, knowing it'd never progress beyond what they had now? How long could he keep pretending he was unaffected by her, knowing his heart nearly beat out of his chest when she stood near him, fell asleep against him while lounging on the couch, lingered in mundane conversations with him over their morning coffee? How could he watch her be with someone else? Abbie's eyes went wide, pulling him into the present as she pointed at the Captain, indicating he should say a proper farewell. Irving lifted a hand in a goodbye wave, and Ichabod swallowed down his heartache, wiped his hands dry on a kitchen towel, and rushed to see the man off. He avoided looking at the Lieutenant as he approached them but put on a smile. "Good night, Captain. I quite hope you enjoyed yourself this evening." Abbie smiled indulgently as Irving glanced at her, the Captain never quite comfortable with his formality but appreciating the man's earnestness all the same. Irving opened the front door. "I did, thanks. You two have a great Christmas." Ichabod dipped his head in military affirmation, the idea of spending the blessed holiday alone with the Lieutenant, mere hours ago an exciting prospect, now beginning to turn his stomach sour. "Merry Christmas, sir," Abbie called out as he headed down the porch steps. A loud whistle rang out as she closed and locked the door, and they turned in tandem to see Joe and Jenny, their last remaining guests, smiling broadly at them. Confused, Ichabod glanced down at Abbie, who returned his questioning look, and they turned back to the duo. "What?" Jenny's smile widened, and she pointed above them. "You're standing under the mistletoe," she sing-songed in response. Abbie peered heavenward as Ichabod's eyebrow arched up. God’s wounds, of all nights… He could’ve wished this a thousand times over, anytime, day or night. Except tonight. How had no one else gotten caught under the vine? He briefly wondered if the duo had set them up. "Go on," Joe encouraged enthusiastically. "It's tradition." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Abbie angle towards him, her expression wondering and... hopeful? Must be the rum, he thought, sure she couldn't be all that interested in dallying with him under the mistletoe. Besides, he'd tried this scheme once before and she'd handily brushed him aside. He didn't think he could handle her rejection tonight. Miss Jenny's eyes bugged wide as she nodded towards Abbie, and Master Joe, still smiling like the proverbial cat that ate the canary, egged him on with a happily condescending "Don't be shy." Ichabod longed to return to the confidence he felt mere hours ago, before he realized the Lieutenant's interest might reside in another. Instead, he felt unsure and afraid of her dismissal, even as he knew he'd be more than willing to fulfill tradition's demand if she were amenable, despite the fact that they had an amused audience. He swallowed hard, steeling himself, and turned to face her. Her eyes danced merrily at him, the fun of the party not yet worn off, and the look on her face nearly took his breath away. She stared at him hopefully, lips parted slightly, the corners of her mouth lifted up in the early stages of one of those smiles that froze him in place. What he wouldn't give... His heart beat wildly, even as it ached and screamed at him to flee. But she looked so pleased at the prospect before them, so beautiful in the soft glow from the lit candles and Christmas lights adorning the room that he could hardly resist. The setting seemed perfect: warm from the rum, frosted lighting setting the mood, the Lieutenant staring at him expectantly and eager and so beautiful it made his heart ache. Why then did he hesitate so? How had witnessing one encounter of her with another man send him into fits of self-doubt? He really would need to revisit that later. At the moment, his Lieutenant stared up at him, and if he didn't know any better, he'd call that longing in her eyes. "Lieutenant?" He asked her permission on a soft exhale, needing her approval before he'd ever make so intimate a move. It didn't matter that he'd dreamed of this moment for years now, that he'd envisioned myriad ways this momentous event would occur. He would never step over boundaries she felt uncomfortable crossing; he loved and respected her too much. "If you're going to kiss me, you might as well call me Abbie," she commanded softly, that playful smile still tugging at her lips. Those lips that'd teased and taunted him nearly every day for years without ceasing looked luscious and full and as red as the blood pounding furiously through his veins. She was stunning, all smooth dark skin, feminine features, sultry gaze, and quiet confidence, anticipating his next move. He absently drummed the fingers of one hand against his thigh, overcome by her proximity, her encouragement, her downright anticipation. Was this actually happening? That after worrying half the night about not living up to what she deserved, he—not some other suitor of hers—stood next to her under the mistletoe with their closest friends encouraging them to lock lips? And she appeared excited about it? He made himself move before the moment passed, doubt and affection warring within him, creating a maelstrom of wanton confusion, even as she gazed at him longingly. "Abbie," he whispered obediently, his gaze flicking down to her perfect lips as he slowly leaned in, his eyes dropping closed as his mouth finally, wonderfully, touched hers. He kissed her tentatively, softly, gentle in his respectful way, and he reveled in the feel of her plump lips against his, the realization of a million dreams sending his mind reeling, his heart free-floating into oblivion. She felt like fire, his lips burning deliciously where they met hers, liquid heat running through his veins as shivers tingled down his spine. Somewhere beyond them he heard a door slam shut, but he couldn't be bothered by it with Abbie's mouth attached to his. He didn't plan on moving for a while, maybe ever. She shuffled closer to him, her hands landing against his ribs and sliding achingly slow up his chest as her mouth pressed more firmly against his. She moved against him, the intensity, her urgency leaving his body thrumming and aflame, and he sunk into the moment, drowning in her. Her tongue slipped between his lips, and he heard a moan escape, though he couldn't be sure if it came from her or himself. Sensations swirled around and inside of him, more than he'd felt in centuries, and he put his hands on Abbie's hips, inviting her closer to him as he settled into the rhythm they'd found. She waited until she was starving for air before slowly easing away from him, her eyelids fluttering open to see him frozen in place, eyes still closed, a look of wonder on his handsome face. "Abbie," he whispered again before slowly opening his eyes to peer down at her in wonder. A satisfied smile graced her face. "I was wondering if you were ever going to do that." "Mmm," he hummed absently, still trying to restart his brain. She'd done a factory reset on him with her lips and tongue. His eyes went wide as her words finally found traction. "You were?" he heard himself murmur breathily above the sound of blood thrumming through his ears. She nodded, the pleased smile on her just-kissed lips nearly making his knees weak. "Wondering...and hoping," she admitted. "But I thought..." He'd started talking before he realized what he was about to say and forced himself into silence before he made a village idiot of himself, sans village. She tilted her head questioningly. "You thought what?" With his head still swimming, he couldn't decipher a way out of the corner he'd walked himself into, so he forged ahead with the God's honest truth. "I thought you might prefer...a more modern gentleman." Her quizzical—and if he wasn't mistaken, curiously amused—look remained, and she stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. He forged again, sure if he’d had all his wits about him this conversation would not be taking place. "You know, more like your friend, the new lieutenant?" He attempted nonchalance but failed, and she smiled knowingly. "Ah, you mean Mark." Though the warmth from her kiss still burned his lips, her use of the man’s given name irked him. "Yes," he agreed with a clipped tone. "Mr. Mu—Mr. Mark." She inhaled a breath. "He does have the modern thing going for him,” she admitted, nodding thoughtfully. “And he’s easy on the eyes. Though I doubt his wife would be too happy if we started something up.”

“His wife,” he murmured in confusion, the notion of Mr. Muscular having a wife never having crossed his mind.

“Not to mention…I don’t make it a habit of dating married men.”

She looked at him pointedly, and the realization that she’d pined for him as long as he’d desired her washed over him like an overwhelming, cleansing tide. At times he’d wondered, hoped that what she’d just admitted could be true, but they hadn’t looked back after he’d returned from Scotland, and so had never spoken of their long-standing feelings towards one another. Though never in her presence, Master Corbin and Miss Jenny often teased him about the Lieutenant and…and where had those two gotten off to anyway?

He looked to where they’d last stood, but he saw no sign of them.

“Do you think they planned this?” he asked distractedly, realizing it was a clumsy attempt to change the subject.

“If they did, we should be thanking them, but nevermind them. If you’re going to get distracted, it should be like this.”

And with that, she took hold of his lapels and pulled him down to kiss her again.

[like-bunnies]

Mistletoe and Rum - An Ichabbie Christmas ficlet

I just wanted to write something cute and short and fluffy for the holidays! 

Mistletoe and Rum by likebunnies

“This is the definition of insanity, Lieutenant,” Crane said as Abbie tossed him another pillow, gently hitting upside the head. He sighed heavily before he continued complaining. “How did I ever let you talk me into this?”

“Because you know as well as I do that it will be good publicity for the historical society. People will get a sense of what it is and will want to come back. Maybe spend some money. Maybe want to hold more events here. Besides, you look cute with a little meat on your bones,” Abbie said.

Crane shoved another pillow down his big red coat, trying to spread the padding around.

“An obese man shimmying down chimneys in the middle of the night. It’s more Christmas nonsense,” he said. Again. She had heard about Christmas nonsense a dozen times in the last hour. Thousands of times since the beginning of December. She was thankful he was too busy trying to get dressed to give her a lecture on everything wrong with Christmas. Maybe she should have found him a Grinch costume instead.

“This nonsense is for a good cause. The sheriff’s needed a nice, safe place to do their Christmas event for the kids and you have a nice place. Right across the street,” Abbie said. Even though she was with the FBI, she still had plenty of contacts with her old department. When they asked, she gladly offered up the archives for an evening.

“Yet that does not explain why I have to be the man in the red suit. I’m not nearly the right age… do not look at me like that… and I am nowhere near the right size for your modern Father Christmas.”

“Santa Claus. The kids are coming to see Santa, not Father Christmas and not some grumpy colonial dude in breeches,” Abbie said as Crane’s red pants started to slip down again. Even with his breeches on underneath, they were hard to fasten on his slender hips. She had pinned them as much as she could but they were still meant for a man twice his size.

He twisted around, pulled the pants back up again and somehow secured them. She hoped they would hold until the kids all got to tell Santa what they wanted and for them to receive their one present they were getting this evening.

Did she mention to Crane the part about the kids sitting on his lap and whispering in his ear? Surely he knew? He had seen enough of modern Claus to know that was part of the deal.

“You do understand what you have to do, right?” she asked Crane as she handed him the fake white beard for him to put over his shorter, dark one.

“I have to appear to be jolly.”

“That and hand the kids their presents and listen to each one of them as they tell you what they would like for Christmas. These kids don’t have a lot so their stories can get a little emotional sometimes but… what? Why are you looking at me like that?” Abbie asked.

“Am I going to have help with this?”

“Of course you are. Everything is all planned out. You just finish getting dressed and your helpers will meet you out there by the tree, okay?” she asked.

He nodded but did not look okay at all.

*^*^*^*^*^*^

Crane was sitting on the velvety Santa Throne and feeling very panicked. A few adults were starting the gather the children around him and some of the youngsters were already in tears just looking at him. He had seen enough on the internet to know this was a normal reaction many children had to seeing Santa but still, they could wait until they had a chance to meet him first. Someone had set up a camera to take pictures and the bright lights made it hard to see anything past the circle of children.

Abbie had said he would have help with this but so far that didn’t seem to be the case. Where was the Lieutenant anyway?

“Hello, Mr. Claus. How’s it going?” he heard a familiar voice ask and he turned toward the sound. He was expecting to find Abbie dressed in her usual ‘officer of the law’ outfit but instead she was in a short green and white striped skirt with a green shirt and an adorable pointy red hat, all trimmed in a white ‘fur’ much like his outfit. The pointy hat matched her pointy shoes which had bells on them.  

“Are you one of my elves?” he asked, trying not to stare at her legs but failing. She had on red and white striped hosiery and he wondered briefly why this whole Christmas thing always seemed to involve stripes but he got distracted by her answer instead.

“I’m your only elf tonight,” she whispered and he raised an eyebrow at her. “We could only find one elf costume packed away and I drew the short straw. You should see how happy Jenny is right now.”

Abbie might have lost but Crane definitely felt as if he won. She was adorable as an elf. He was sure Miss Jenny would have made a fine elf but he’d rather have Abbie by his side doing whatever it was elves do.

As the night went on, he discovered that most of what this particular elf did was laugh at him when kids started screaming and to hand out candy canes when they were finished getting their gift and their photograph was taken.

He was thrilled when all the children had received their presents and he could finally exclaim that he had to get back to the North Pole. He and Abbie made their way to the historical society office and closed the door behind them. Abbie was commenting on how well he did with the kids while he was digging through the desk drawers, slamming one shut when he didn’t find what he was searching for.

“I wish I still kept a bottle of rum here,” he said, trying to pull the beard off as quickly as he could.

“Stop. I want to get a selfie of the two of us in our outfits,” Abbie said, pulling her phone out of somewhere on that tiny costume.

“We just had our picture taken about 200 times,” he said as he put the beard back in place.

“Yes, but not a selfie,” she said. She found the perfect angle for the two of them and snapped the picture. He looked at it briefly and shrugged.

“I look preposterous.”

“Says the man who once wore powdered wigs and by the way, now wears breeches to work every day,” Abbie said. She was typing in something on her phone and he was certain that the photo was being uploaded to somewhere.

“You should dress like that more often,” Crane said while she was distracted and Abbie gave him a wide-eyed stare.

“Like an elf?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I was suggesting that you… well, you do have very pleasant legs. All that running… they are… oh! You know what I mean!” Crane exclaimed before he got himself into more trouble. He pulled off his hat and white wig and tossed them aside followed by the fake beard.

“And you should wear the color red more often… you look good in it… no, you know what I mean… not red like a ‘Red Coat’ when you’re here working but… oh, I give up. Do you need help getting out of that?” Abbie asked.

“Maybe. Do you?” Crane asked in return.

“I don’t have another outfit on underneath mine so I’ll be an elf for the remainder of the evening. That should make you happy,” Abbie joked as she jingled the bells on her shoes.

“Not as happy as some mistletoe would right now,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly, and Abbie stopped jingling immediately.

*^*^*^*^*^*^

“Wouldn’t that be more Christmas nonsense?” Abbie asked. His cheeks were the now the color of his suit and Abbie was a bit stunned that he had even suggested such a thing. Or said it aloud.

“Some of the nonsense is fun,” Crane responded.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Abbie said.

“Sleigh rides. Hot chocolate. A warm fire. I have grown to appreciate that kind of Christmas nonsense,” he said with a shrug. “Gifts are wonderful. As is time spent with good friends. And I’ve always appreciated mistletoe.”

“Too bad we don’t have any,” Abbie said. It had been years since she had last had any hanging up. She had kind of given up hope that one day he would just kiss her for whatever reason. They had just saved the world or outrun a murderous jackalope. Anything would have been a good enough reason.

“That and the rum,” he said. He looked up at her, his blue eyes sparkling. “Wait! I remember where I hid some.”

Crane returned with two coffee mugs filled with rum and took a slow sip, savoring the taste. Abbie took a sip of hers and set it down. He looked at her again but now his eyes had grown darker. She was always mystified at how he did that. He finished his rum and put his mug down next to hers.

“Mistletoe and rum. Always moves things along,” Abbie said. She was still trying to figure out exactly what the hell was happening. Perhaps it was just the silly costumes or the holiday season but… did he really want to kiss her? Finally? He didn’t need booze or a parasitic plant for that. He just needed to get up the damn nerve to do it. “Let me help you.”

Abbie removed his huge plastic Santa belt and all the pillows fell out around their feet.

“Next year we really do have to find someone who fits in this better,” Crane said as the fluffy red pants slipped down again.

“Maybe you can join me and be an elf,” Abbie said, laughing at the thought of Crane in candy cane striped tights and jingling shoes.

“I don’t know if I have the legs for it,” Crane said.

“I don’t know about that. You have some pretty shapely calves,” Abbie said and Crane blushed again. The Christmas music had gotten louder in the other room as had the sounds of the children laughing. They must be playing a game. A far different game than the one going on in here. Maybe it was time to move this game along. She boosted herself up so she was sitting on the edge of his desk. “Come here, Santa.”

He looked confused but did go to where Abbie was now sitting. She put her hands on his face and drew him closer to her, her lips meeting his. It was just a short, sweet kiss but it was still a kiss. It was a sign that things would be going in another direction now. It would never be the same again and she was ready for whatever was next. She pulled him to her, snuggling her cheek against the fleecy warm coat. He pulled off her elf hat and cradled her head in his hand like he had done many times in the past. It was always comfortable and soothing. He was comfortable and soothing. But this time, it was just a bit different, too.

“Happy Christmas, Lieutenant,” he said. He gently lifted her face towards his and kissed her once more. Her heart began to beat faster and she grew dizzy. This was more intoxicating than the earlier taste of rum. More so than a whole bottle of rum.

Nothing else meant a thing. Holidays. People. Presents. The noise outside the door. None of it mattered except the feel of his body pressed to hers, his hands on her face, his mouth against hers seeking out more. She wanted to give him more but perhaps not here on the desk. Maybe at home. In front of the fireplace. Under the tree wrapped in cozy quilts. The kiss ended and she expected him to turn away or look a little embarrassed by what had just happened. He didn’t. Instead, he finally looked, dare she say, jolly?

“Yes,” Abbie said, looking at his rosy lips and darkened yet twinkling eyes.  “Happy Christmas to all… and to all a good night. A very good night.”

*^*^*^*^*^*^

The End

[novemberhush]

Okay, I’ll give this a try, but please be aware that knowing me and my procrastinating ways it’ll probably be Christmas before I get anything written, never mind Valentine’s Day! Also, if you’re looking for smut I’m probably not your gal (but good luck with the search).

I write Sterek, McDanno, Marvey, Barisi, Hathaway/Lewis (Lathaway? Hewis? We should really make a decision on this, folks!), Thomas Barrow/Andy Parker (Parkbarrow is my main ship for Thomas, but I could maybe be persuaded to write Thommy/Thomas x Jimmy) and Johnlock.

Stucky, Napollya, Ichabbie and maybe Philinda (I say maybe for Philinda because I’m not confident I could catch their voices, but I guess there’s only one way to find out) would also be options. I’ve never written for them before, but I want to.

Okay, I’ll shut up now.

Valentine’s Day Prompts

(Reblog to your heart’s content; go forward and make sappy content!) Send a prompt and a pairing and I’ll write a mini-fic: 💋 - kisses and cuddles 💐 - surprise flowers 🥀 - rose petal trail 🛁 - bubble bath/hot shower 😏 - naughty whispers 💍 - a proposal 💫 - stargazing 💝 - romantic gifts 💘 - love at first sight 🍝 - romantic dinner 🍷 - night out 🎬 - romcom au 💌 - love letters 🍕 - ordering dinner in 🏩- romantic get away 🎂 - an anniversary 🍿 - movie date 🌹 - garden/nature date 🍫 - chocolates 🎀 - all dressed up 🔥 - a passionate moment ☕ - coffee date 🍯 - pet names 💖 - a confession/declaration 🎵 - love songs

[darlablovesichabbie]

Merry Christmas Ichabbie Shippers!

[youwerenevermine]

Ichabbie |  “Christmas Present Exchange” Moodboard

Inspired by @happyhappyreader‘s lovely fic!

[adjectivebear]

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Rating: G Pairing: Ichabbie Summary: Pure, unadulterated, canon-divergent Christmas fluff for @nathyfaith‘s Ichabbie Holidays event. Merry Ichabbie Holidays to all, and to all a good night!

Though still a tad disorienting, it is nonetheless fascinating to Ichabod how Christmas traditions have evolved since his time. It is still a seasonal affair, though the time frame has been altered to span the weeks preceding Christmas Day rather than those after. The celebration itself has been pared down considerably, the other holy days in the Advent season done away with and the festivities markedly more secular in nature, yet simultaneously far more ostentatious in execution.

Even if the means to do so had existed in his day, the act of festooning the exterior of one’s home with strings of colored lights would have been frowned upon. Now it seems to be just short of a requirement, with a handful of their neighbors actively competing with one another as to who can produce the most garish display. As of last week, the frontrunner appears to be the middle-aged couple across the street who’ve transformed their front lawn into a brightly-lit replica of the frozen tundra, complete with artificial reindeer, a large spinning pole, and a life-sized figure of Father Christmas, who is now portrayed as an overweight elderly gentleman who brings toys to children on Christmas Eve.

It really is terribly gauche, Ichabod thinks, closing the living room drapes against the display.

Apart from those neighbors intent to overdo it, however, the modern emphasis on seasonal decor isn’t all bad; indeed, Ichabod has grown rather fond of Christmas trees. True, he did turn his nose up at first when Abbie’s Googling revealed that the concept had been introduced by the Hessians, but once they had actually gotten the thing set up, he had to admit that it was quite lovely to look at and the crisp, earthy scent of pine throughout their home was delightful.

More delightfully still, pine is not the only scent currently permeating the house: Abbie, it turns out, is a masterful baker of cookies. How this became a Christmas tradition the Internet could not explain, but far be it from Ichabod to complain about a profusion of sweets suddenly becoming available in the kitchen.

The aroma of partially-melted chocolate chips wafts through the air as Abbie transfers a finished batch onto a cooling rack, singing along as she works to the female vocals of a song on the radio in which the fellow with whom a lady has been socializing importunes her to spend the night, citing the inclement weather.

Ichabod embraces her from behind, his heart leaping giddily as she leans back against his chest. It has been just shy of a month since they began their courtship, and he can scarcely believe that he may finally hold this heavenly creature in his arms. Whatever tribulations lay ahead, it is a good and merciful fate indeed that would have him weather them at her side.

“A perfect scoundrel,” he says, as the singer once again rebuts his guest’s attempt to leave.

“You don’t think she secretly wants to stay?”

“Irrelevant. The lady has given her refusal. A gentleman would pursue the issue no further and see her safely home.”

“That’s what Ichabod Crane did when the girls turned him down?”

“Indeed I would have,” Ichabod says sincerely. “Although, in truth, I cannot recall an occasion on which the lady’s companionship was not freely offered well before I’d a mind to ask.”

Abbie laughs. “I’m pretty confident that at least half your sex stories are wild exaggerations,” she says, twisting her head about to kiss his chin.

“You will never know,” he says, maneuvering to claim her glorious lips. This, too, he cannot believe that he may finally do, and he is eternally grateful for the laissez-faire rules of modern courtship allowing him to do so whenever the urge arises.

It arises often.

She tastes sweetly of the cookie dough she’s snuck, and he can’t help himself--he snatches a cookie from the cooling rack and shoves the molten treat into his mouth.

“Hey!” Abbie cries, smacking his hand with her rubber spatula.

Ichabod laughs and kisses her again.

[like-bunnies]

@sleepymr — A couple of Ichabbie Merry Christmas moodboards in your favorite color scheme! I hope your holidays are as wonderful as you are! Wish there was a story to go with these but not so far. Maybe next year!

Pictures not mine. Mine would be a pink Christmas!