#lamplit entertainment

[genshinmp3]

Lamplit Entertainment from the Rattan Immortals Web Event HOYO-MiX

[qvid-pro-qvo]

you pull me out of the dark, and now it's light

relationship: natasha trace x bradley bradshaw x jake seresin.

word count: 17865

rating: mature, for references/implications of homophobia and some suggestive scenes.

past and present memories of the holiday season with natasha, jake, and bradley, as the three of them learn what it means to love someone where they're at so that you can move with them wherever they might go.

link to ao3.

-

"Shit."

She can hear her dad’s voice in her head as she turns the wheel, jaw clenching before looking over her shoulder to where she’s backing in. 

You can fly a billion-dollar plane, but you can’t parallel park?

“Million dollar plane, Dad,” she sighs in response to that familiar voice. “And it’s not like I’ve gotta park the damn thing. Just land it.” 

Shifting into reverse, she tries one more time. Feels the wheels turn under her direction, watches as the car behind her gets closer and closer. The back-up sensor starts beeping with a certainty she doesn’t have, and before she gets too far the repetitive beeping turns into a frantic monotone. 

“Shit.” 

It’s the only spot for three blocks, even at nine in the morning. It started snowing about half an hour ago, and she can already see where it’s starting to stick in the crevices of each and every sidewalk. The last thing she wants to do is walk, especially when she’s got bags in her trunk and the temperature seems to drop with every passing minute. 

And then there’s a knock at the window. 

It makes her jump, the tapping on the glass, and her foot slams on the brake, making the rear lights an angry red. A hand moves to throw the car into park, and when her fear mellows out into frustration is when she turns to give a piece of her mind to the asshole bugging her on her driver’s side. 

Well. Her asshole. 

Bradley Bradshaw’s got his hands on his knees as he peeks into the sedan, leaned over to watch her struggle. His coat billows around his face, hood down and flakes sticking to his mustache just as much as his hair. He knocks again with a dumb grin on before turning his hand like a crank, a universal gesture to roll the window down. 

“Can I help you?” she shouts instead, forcing her voice through the glass to keep the heat in. 

“Y’know, you gotta actually get the car in the spot before you can park it,” Bradley yells, and his smile at this point can only be described as shit-eating. 

Unfortunately, she can’t help but smile back. 

“How long have you been watching?!” she asks him, glancing toward the other side where their Airbnb sits like a beacon with lamplit windows. 

“Too long! So why don’t you let me park the car and you go inside to get warm, huh?” 

It’s an offer she’s all too eager to take, lifting her hands off of the wheel and checking that she’s parked one more time before getting out of the car. Bradley stands back just in time to avoid a solid hit with the door, but not far enough to avoid a solid punch to the arm. 

“You could’ve helped sooner,” she says, but her smile hasn’t left. “Instead of watching me back up the same two feet for twenty minutes.” 

Bradley shrugs without any shame. “Where’s the fun in that? I got free entertainment.” 

It earns him another punch, but this one barely connects before she’s wrapped up in a tight grip, one she sinks into as soon as it’s offered. His arms wrap around her, and a cold nose plunges into her hair as he hugs her close, lips against her temple before he pulls back to really get a good look. 

“You cut your hair,” he murmurs, eyes sweeping and scanning every inch. She lets him take stock of her, a search for any injuries that weren’t relayed over phone calls or texts before reaching up with still-warm fingers to cup his cheeks.

“You didn’t,” she whispers back, and he chuckles and shrugs again before leaning down for a kiss. 

It’s everything, this kiss, and every memory of moments like these hits her square in the chest. His lips touch hers with a carefulness that mimics his flying. Like he’s afraid a push too far will push her away, no matter how much she tells him otherwise to take the leap. Bradley’s lips are slightly chapped this time around, and she files that away for when a solo bunk gets too much to bear before he pulls back to look at her one more time. 

“Go get your bags,” he tells her, because he doesn’t have to say he missed her when it’s implied every minute they’re apart. “I’ll park the car.”

She makes her way to the trunk while Bradley slides into the driver’s seat. He pops the back of the rental car open, and she loads up what she can. Her steps are quick once she’s got a hold of everything she needs to bring in, and soon she’s pushing open the front door with an eagerness to get out of the cold. 

Her boots stomp off of the excess snow before she steps in, but there’s trails of melted slush all over the entryway and toward the kitchen. 

Animals, she thinks with a sigh. Gotta train them up, Nat. Her bags get neglected by the door as she removes her boots and then she’s trudging toward the front room with jet lag dragging her toward the couch. 

It’s been a year since she’s been here last, and yet nothing seems to have changed — the same cozy decor, piles of blankets, and framed pictures of a family she’s only known through their smiles adorning the walls. Her fingers reach out to brush against one photo of a smiling pair of women when she hears familiar steps move in her direction. 

Brace yourself, Nat, she thinks with a small grin. Here comes the force of nature.

He’s there in the next instant, his greeting a warm infectious laugh as he wraps his arms around her. She lets herself get spun around, unable to stop a chuckle as suddenly she’s face to face with shining eyes and a wide, blinding smile. 

“Natasha Trace,” he says, drawl thick even on something as simple as her name. He must’ve come from down south. “Well, aren’t I lucky?” 

“Jake Seresin,” she replies, smirking up at him as his fingers nudge her chin. “I think you are.” 

There’s no pretense like with Bradley, no careful touches, just eagerness. His kiss is sudden and overwhelming, a tidal wave she lets herself succumb to. There’s a comfort in the way he envelops her. When she closes her eyes, his presence, his embrace, grounds her to the moment she’s in. 

He pulls back just as quickly as he kissed her, if only because the door is letting a chill in. He’s got goosebumps on his bare arms in an instant, and when he shivers it makes her smile. Southern boy, she thinks fondly, reaching up to rest a hand on his cheek and really, really look at him. 

“You cut your hair,” he says with a smile, a realization that makes his eyes take in every bit of her she can. Another look, from another pilot, wondering about what the flights they took apart left behind. 

“You didn’t,” she says, eyes scanning his features. “Though somehow, the tanning oil has not been put down.” 

The brief moment of deja vu is worth it for the way he laughs and pushes a hand through his blond locks. “Well, I had to have a hobby when we made it back to shore,” he tells her as he lets her free from his hug. “And Lord knows where I was, the weather was actually fun, unlike the mess outside.” 

“Oh, the mess is still coming,” Nat promises, glancing behind her before reaching to run her hands up and down his arms. He’s still shaking a bit, and so she moves to lead him toward the kitchen. “No sweater? Really?” 

“I needed a nap, and I haven’t unpacked,” he admits, sighing in true disappointment. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of clothes for you to, uh, borrow.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of worrying,” she laughs, and his smile is back quick, leaning in for another kiss, and then another, and one more that makes her laugh and push him back. 

“Let me breathe, Seresin, let me breathe. Why don’t you put my bags up to keep yourself busy?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a wink, and then he’s rolling her suitcases out of the way of the door, making his way to the room the three of them plan to sleep in. 

Suddenly a fresh wave of exhaustion pushes through her, almost knocking her from standing to her knees. In her brain she’s on the other side of the International Date Line, and all of those hours hit her at once. 

But she’s here. She’s made it, and she didn’t even have to parallel park. She glances toward where Jake vanished, toward the front door where Bradley’s got the car before turning back to the photo of the smiling women. 

“Home sweet home.” 

It’s comfort that settles into her body, then. That takes the stress of traveling away and replaces it with heavy eyelids and slumped shoulders. The realization that for now, for these few days, things are as they should be. She’s safe in this place, and doesn’t have to move a serious muscle for a week, at least. 

She shrugs off her own coat before walking toward the front room, every step a solid effort. When she makes it to the couch, she collapses into the cushions, turning to the side so that her head rests on one of the throw pillows. 

A week. Not nearly long enough.

Before she drifts off, Jake and Bradley’s banter fills the halls of the familiar rental house, the door to the outside closing and locking. The sound of little chuckles and soft words. Their murmurs are as good as melatonin, and in mere minutes she’s drifting off, the last thing she feels being a heavy blanket tucked around her shoulders. 

-

“Y’all doing anything for Christmas?” Jake calls out from the bathroom, mouth full of what Nat hopes is toothpaste suds. 

Nat just laughs before glancing over at Bradley, who shrugs before looking up from his phone. “Mav and Pen are going with the Kazanskys for a bit. Might drop by, but they’re out of the country and I’ll be stateside on the 20th.” 

Natasha looks over to the bathroom again, where Jake’s moved to lean against the doorway. “I’m Jewish, Bagman,” she says with a raised brow. “Don’t exactly do the Christmas thing, and my leave doesn’t kick in until halfway through Hanukkah.” 

It’s mainly to give Seresin a hard time, but his eyes narrow at the both of them with something like thought. 

“Right,” Jake replies finally, brow furrowing as he looks between the both of them. He turns away after a moment, leaning down to spit away the mint flavor. 

“Oh, no,” Bradley murmurs to Nat, hand running over her bare arm as he leans close to her ear. “He’s thinking. That can’t be good.” 

She chuckles, but doesn’t take her eyes off of Seresin, especially as he comes out from the bathroom with that same look. “He’s really thinking,” she says, and Bradley hums in agreement as he kisses her shoulder. “What’s on your mind?” 

“I’m not back stateside until the 23rd,” Jake tells them both, and she tries to focus on that instead of the fact he’s wearing Bradley’s boxers. “The bird’s got no plans, and you’re rocking it solo.” He shrugs, and Nat’s eyes follow back up the long lines of his body to where his grin sits crooked on his face. “Why don’t we make it an occasion?” 

-

Natasha wakes up when the coffee smell hits her nose. 

No alarms are allowed in the house, since they’re meant to relax. So when she wakes, she’s not startled up and out of bed, just slowly roused by the smell of that roast Jake likes to get during the wintertime. Her eyes blink open slowly, and there’s more than one blanket piled atop her as she slowly lifts to a sitting position. 

Bradley’s singing some tune from the kitchen, low and slow as he moves his hips. She can just see his curls from where she’s sitting, a wild mess on his head from the wind and the coat he was wearing. He doesn’t notice her, and she uses the moment to take stock of limbs, fingers, and toes one more time before slowly moving to standing and regaining focus.

Coffee. She needs coffee. 

She passes the hallway, and just barely can hear Jake’s voice, accent thick and the bedroom door blocking any real words from coming through. After a brief pause she pushes on, and when she makes it to the kitchen Bradley’s whisking something on the stove. His back isn’t to her, but he doesn’t seem to notice she’s there until she presses her face between his shoulder blades. 

There’s no words for a bit, not as her arms move around him, hands settling under his pullover to savor the warmth he’s radiating. As he sings they sway a little, and one of Bradley’s hands moves down to squeeze her arm. 

“Thought you already made coffee,” she asks him, interrupting the song. 

“Well, Jake’s got a sweet tooth. Asked for hot chocolate. Then his mom called, so I got stuck with the manual labor.” 

“But you made coffee?” she asks again, and Bradley snorts. “I’m running on fumes here.” 

“Hot and ready at the coffee machine, Phoenix. I know your brain isn’t firing on all cylinders right now —” 

He gets a light smack to his hip for that one, but she can tell he’s grinning as she pulls away to grab a mug and pour a cup. Comes back to his side and lets him wrap an arm around her waist as she watches the liquid on the stove become a deep, rich brown. 

“Everything okay with Mrs. Seresin?” she asks. Bradley’s lips twist down as he hums a little more. “Bradley?” 

“Jake’s dad wasn’t listening in,” he says, glancing toward the hallways to the bedroom. “She said hi and Merry Christmas, but that was about it. Seemed pretty somber.” 

She winces at the thought of that. Nat didn’t know much about the woman, just the way she looked over occasional Facetimes she’d have with Jake and the sound of her boisterous voice. The way Jake would freeze, sigh, and apologize in advance for any comments, offhand or not from his family when they called to find the three of them. Especially when his dad was involved, a man who looked even over a small phone screen like disapproval was second nature. 

She sniffs. “It’s a bit early to call. Did she ask about me?”

“Yeah. Jake told her you were sleeping off the jet lag.” 

Her nose wrinkles further at the picture of that exchange. Jake’s lower lip bitten to shreds as he watches the phone ring. Bradley’s reassuring squeeze before he answers. Happy holidays to his own mother, not Merry Christmas. Jake’s mom and the pretty eyes he gets from her, no kind smile as she insists he goes to another part of the house…

But she doesn’t pry too much anymore. Jake’s continued connection with his family is his own business. She can ask Jake about the fallout later, when he comes out of the bedroom. Instead she simply nods and presses her nose to Bradley’s shoulder, taking deep breaths of him and long sips of coffee. 

The hot chocolate is finished and being kept warm when she gets to her second cup of coffee, which is right when the bedroom door opens with a click and Jake emerges. He looks a little frazzled as he comes around the corner but shakes it off and smiles when he sees Natasha awake and looking at him. 

Later, then. She’ll ask later. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice as rich as the chocolate. He’s wearing a pullover, now, too, one that’s definitely not his own judging by the way it’s just this side of too long. Just like him, to talk about Nat stealing clothes and then doing it himself. “Good nap?” 

“I got tucked in and everything,” she says, and smiles when she sees how pleased he looks. So it was him who put the blankets on. Good instinct, Trace. “All good with you?” 

“Yeah, just… family,” he says with a wave of his hand, closing the gap between them to kiss Bradley’s head and then her own. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bradley says, eyes narrowing playfully as Jake tries to breeze past him and deeper into the kitchen. “I make this hot chocolate for you and all I get is a lousy forehead kiss? So much for the holiday spirit.” 

Natasha hides her smile against Bradley’s arm, shaking her head as Jake stops dead in his tracks. “You dissin’ my kisses?” he asks with a laugh. 

“C’mere, cowboy,” Bradley tells him, “and kiss me like you mean it.” 

And how can Jake resist? Natasha never has. Her smile only grows as Jake rolls his eyes playfully and leans in, kissing Bradley like he kissed her, eager and itching for more. Bradley has no more free hands to give, but tilts his head to deepen it as one of Jake’s hands slides into his back pocket. 

When he pulls back, Bradley looks satisfied, his grin pure delight, and Jake looks like the phone call is the last thing on his mind… which Nat’s sure was Bradley’s plan all along. 

“Merry Christmas to me,” he crows, pride all over his features. 

Jake narrows his eyes, but can’t hide his smirk. “If you’re not careful you’re gonna burn the chocolate.” 

But that fact doesn’t seem to faze Bradley at all, especially since Jake’s hand still sits in the back of his jeans. 

-

Nat’s eyes close as she lays on her stomach. Seresin’s fingers move up and down her spine with little purpose, and it’s gentle in a way she never expects from him, even after everything. 

“You think anymore about Christmas?” he asks her, voice low out of respect for Bradshaw’s slumber. If she had to take a guess, this is probably the first good sleep Rooster’s gotten in a couple of days — flying in a plane is nothing like piloting a jet. 

“It’s May,” she whispers back, brow raising as she looks over her own shoulder. He doesn’t meet her eyes, just focuses on her skin, connecting freckles she’s never seen herself. “I don’t usually plan that far ahead.” 

“Right.” His voice is neutral, which immediately tells her she’s said something off. Does her best to roll her shoulders, shrug away the anxiety in her stomach. 

“I mean it, Hangman,” she sighs. “I don’t usually plan stuff out. We don’t know what kind of shit they’ll call us on, and I don’t want to break any promises. Besides, like I said before, I’m not a Christmas girl.” 

There’s a pause in his fingers as Rooster snorts suddenly, shuffles and turns to face them. A quick glance from her toward Bradshaw, and the whole world seems to go still. But then the big bird lets out a low snore, and Seresin seems content, tracing the curve of her back once more. 

“It wouldn’t have to just be Christmas,” he finally says after she’s half to dreamland herself. Repetitive motions soothing her just as good as the rocking of an aircraft carrier. 

“What?” she mumbles, eyes fluttering open. 

“It won’t just be Christmas. You said Hanukkah will be half-over, right? So spend the other half with us.” 

And that makes her pause. Makes goosebumps lift on her skin. Because he says it with conviction, with something else that makes her shiver.

“You’d want to spend Hanukkah with me?” she asks, shifting up onto her elbows, voice uncertain. She turns to look at him again, and his eyes stay on the small of her back as he shrugs.

“Why not?” he responds. “It’d be fun.” 

She’s suspicious, she’ll admit it, but doesn’t sense anything in his tone. “You don’t know a damn thing about Hanukkah, cowboy,” she tells him, and when Jake shrugs again it’s an admission that doesn’t faze him. 

“Could learn. You could teach me.” 

“… sure. Yeah, I guess.” 

“I mean it, Nat,” Jake urges. “I do. Let’s spend some time together, the three of us. I promise, it won’t just be Christmas, it’s the holidays. Just tell me you’ll consider it.” 

She’s saved by the bell — Bradley snorts awake before she has to give a real answer, and Jake laughs so hard from shock that he gets a pillow thrown at his face. They linger in each other’s arms, in Bradley’s bed, and when they decide to go meet Mav later, the conversation has been forgotten. 

Well, not forgotten. Just set aside.

She knows he doesn’t realize what he’s offering so casually. But in the end she tells him she’ll think about it, and that seems to keep the questions at bay. It doesn’t seem to stop that look in his eyes, though, especially as they say their farewells and good luck and be safe. Like he wants her by his side, like he wants them in his life for longer than these little stolen moments. 

So she keeps her word. She thinks about it. 

And thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

-

It takes a few hours to sink into each other’s presence, to remember what it’s like when a house and a heart are full to bursting. 

They haven’t gotten lucky every year. Three years ago, Jake had been in the middle of an ocean with Coyote with the worst Internet she’d ever seen, and she’d been in Pensacola surrounded by egos that reminded her of early Hangman with none of his charm. Last year, Bradley had been no-contact on a mission with clearance so high Mav barely made the cut, and Nat had only been able to see Jake for a day when their flights managed to layover in the same city before she got deployed again. 

But this year, the gods of scheduling and permitted leave granted them a few solid weeks of stateside holiday cheer, and they were going to take advantage for as long as the Navy would let them. Their third year together.

But still. It takes a minute. 

She forgets, sometimes, how thick Jake’s accent can be when he’s tired, a low drawl as the day sinks over him. She doesn’t always remember how rough Bradley’s palms are you when he rubs her back, worn from work in Mav’s old hangar. She never gets over how big a king size bed really is, but soon remembers they all end up in the middle anyway. 

It’s all the stuff she remembers that surprises her, too. Like how Bradley always takes his coffee with two and a half spoons of sugar, and if either one of them skimp on the half the exact face he makes. Like each and every line between Jake’s eyebrows when you suggest that Texas A&M won’t beat Alabama. The taste of Jake’s lips, the feel of Bradley’s own on her neck. Their warmth and their bodies against hers. It all comes back in a wave of touch and tenderness and love, until they’re sated in sheets too expensive to be the Navy’s. 

But by then it’s time to get up anyway. To unpack and let the space become theirs. There’s plenty of work to do, in this house they let themselves pretend is a home. 

Their home. 

Maybe one day it’ll be real. Maybe one day they’ll have a space they can claim for a lifetime, not just a lazy week off. But for now, in this rented out townhome, they make the most of it. 

So they unpack. Piece by piece, bag by bag. Decorations for Christmas Eve, for their Hanukkah display. A table shifted for the front window, a place of honor for the menorah and the tree that’ll stand beside it. Gifts from the people they love, Bob’s Hanukkah blessings and Mav’s generous Santa Claus bag. Stockings that’ll be hung on a hearth, and photos of the family that they’ve made along the way, Christmas cards and Polaroids, selfies and timed shots. When the job is mostly done, Bradley claims the bed for his nap, and Nat promises to be quiet as she unloads her things.

Her fingers dig in her bag until they brush over one such photo frame, cradled between stacks of sweaters and jackets that she’s claimed from her partners over three years of doing their best. It barely fits in the palm of her hand, but the point isn’t the size. 

It never is, she can hear Bradley say in her head, making herself snort with the thought. 

She opens the foldout. On either end, Hangman and Rooster, their dress uniforms sparkling, their gazes stern. She doesn’t know who convinced them not to smile, but she likes the way their jaws both tilt up, like they have something to prove. Naval aviators, ready for whatever comes next. In the middle photo, though, it’s Jake and Bradley, grinning for the camera, Bradley’s thumbs up and Jake’s wink captured so clearly she can see their smile lines on their faces. She’s in between them, and she doesn’t mind the goofy look her tipsy state gives her because she remembers how happy she’d been to have them on either side of her at all. 

With a little smile, she sets up the frame. Some assignments it stays in her bag, tucked in a duffel pocket until she’s shipped home again. But when she can, when she’s safe… it’s on display.

The photo is placed gingerly on a nightstand, the side that Bradley usually faces. Jake’s back’ll be to it, but he always says he doesn’t mind. Jokes that the photos have a good view. 

Arms wrap around her, then. Speak of Seresin, and he shall appear. 

“We’ve gotta start cooking soon,” he murmurs against her neck.“We said we were gonna try doughnuts this year, and if we’re gonna have sustenance for our boy to wake up to we’ve gotta get moving.” 

She glances back to Bradley on the bed, sure enough facing the photo, body sprawled as he snores. 

“That guy’s gonna be conscious?” she asks. Her tone is enough to suggest it’s not a real fear, but there’s a little worry in her heart until Jake chuckles.

“He’d kick himself if he missed,” he reassures her, squeezing her midsection in a hug. “I set an alarm for an hour before, though, just to be sure.” 

“You boys think of everything,” she murmurs fondly. 

He shrugs, but she senses the way he wants to preen with the compliment when he smiles. “C’mon, baby. Let’s get to work.” 

-

Jake’s on a beer run with Coyote as the rest of Dagger laughs on the beach, Nat and Bradley a few steps back from the group as they toss the ball in a lazy circle while they walk further along the coast. 

“Jake mentioned you haven’t given an answer about December, yet. Wanted to start looking at places to book,” Bradley mentions lightly, whistling at Halo for the ball and throwing it back across the way to Yale. 

“He’s still on that?” Natasha asks with a sigh, shaking her head as her toes sink in the wet sand. “I told him I’d think about it.” 

“It’s September, Trace,” Bradley tells her. “The Christmas bug hits earlier and earlier every year.” 

Her mouth twists at the mention. Christmas, Christmas, Christmas. The same thing, every year, the same song and dance and token appreciation for any other holiday that doesn’t involve a tree. But as soon as the inclusion campaign ends, the only day that matters is the 25th. Like always. 

She scoffs and shakes her head. “Look, I don’t know what you guys want from me. We meet up every few months to do what we do. Doesn’t mean we’ve gotta start - start getting sentimental about it.” 

Bradley shrugs as he looks at the rest of Dagger, gesturing to Fanboy and Bob as they splash at Payback. “I think the sentimental cat’s out of the bag, Nat. Wouldn’t you say? At this point?“ 

She knows what he means, even if she can’t quite admit it. They haven’t mentioned their situation to the rest of the squad. Why mention something that only happens once every few weeks, and that’s frankly no one else’s damn business? 

But it seems like they haven’t had to. The eyes are enough, questions in all of them as they look between Nat to Bradley to Jake and wonder why the three of them are together every two weeks. They’re all aware and they’re all adults, and the little things they’ve noticed she’s sure have added up.

Hell, the fact that she didn’t call Jake Bagman when she saw him was probably hint enough. The rest a toddler could figure out with how clingy the two of them are. 

(And she admits, she’s not faultless. She saw Bradshaw and couldn’t help but grin, hugged him tight as he made his way toward them safe and sound. But perhaps the nail in the coffin was her own doing, a sour look at a girl who tried to hand Seresin a number he brushed off with ease, moving back to them with the usual swagger but letting his hand squeeze Phoenix’s shoulder as he passed her by.) 

So the fact of the matter is that Bradley is right. They passed sentimental a few exits back. She misses them when she’s gone, and she hopes beyond hope they miss her, too, when they’re on the other side of the world. And when sentimental is gone and replaced by something bigger… 

Wouldn’t a holiday be a logical next step? 

So she leans against Bradshaw as they walk, lets the setting sun wash over them with a golden hue. His hand doesn’t stray from her waist, and together they march toward the longest stretch of open beach they’ve seen. 

“It would be different,” he says after a moment. Stops them both as Payback declares their “mission” a success. Someone starts pitching the canopy, someone else starts looking for driftwood, and they watch as their friends build a fire with the sky turning all lovely shades of red. “But we can handle different. Can handle something new.” 

“Why?” she asks, but before he answers there’s the rattle-clank of Jake’s old truck. A cacophony of cheers and hollers break the peaceful cooperation, and when Seresin emerges there’s a twelve-pack on each shoulder. 

Her chest swells as she looks at him. Can’t help her little smirk as he lifts the prized alcohol with a grin. “Plenty more where this came from,” he shouts, which earns him more praise than before. 

And Bradley’s call sign might be Rooster, but he’s got eagle-eyes on her at that moment, squeezing her side as the two of them stop their walking. Watching her stare at Seresin with a fondness that cuts her to her core. 

“Why?” she asks again, when she can look at Bradley again. Meet that ever-fond gaze. “Why do you want to spend the holidays together?”

“Because it’d be us, and that’s good enough,” he tells her finally, leaning close. “You, me, and him, and no one else to care. No one else butting in. Because we want this thing to keep going, no matter what it ends up being.” 

After a moment, she sighs. Looks up at him and squints to see his features with the sunset shining behind him. 

Something different. 

Something new. 

Something that threatens to break her heart open if it ends. 

Maybe something that shouldn’t have happened at all. 

But she looks at Bradley, and realizes then how much she wants to risk everything… even if something becomes nothing in the end. 

“You do realize I’ll have to make you guys sing, right?” she finally says. Brow raising as she shields her eyes with her hand. “There’s a lot of singing. Lots of prayer. Lots of food. Candles, even though I have a feeling you two are going to be the worst with fire…” 

And when Bradley laughs, Jake’s own hollering a little ways away, she feels that something in her chest again. 

“My traditions include the Beach Boys’ Christmas album and stockings, and I promise you Jake’ll get into all sorts of shit with a tree,” he tells her with a smile. “I think we can handle some flame to make sure you’re in this thing. Hanukkah and Christmas. Candles and a tree.” 

She ignores the stinging in her eyes — it’s the salty spray that does it, or sunscreen from before. “Why?” she asks again, as beer cans crack open as loud as thunder.

“Because it’s not a chore, Nat,” Bradley answers. Daring a kiss against her cheek. “It’s who you are. And believe it or not, we like you. A lot. So… we want to try.” 

She lets the wind off the waves whip around them for a moment, staring at the man before her with every intention of saying no. But fear’s never stopped her from getting in a plane, and she’ll be damned if she’ll let it stop her from trying, too. 

-

She hums under her breath, the potato in her hand succumbing to the fine end of the grater. The motion is soothing, and the past few years she’s gotten really good at finding the perfect ratio of potato to onion.

It’s muscle memory now. Combine, flatten, lay in the oil. Wait, wait, wait, flip. Wait, wait, dry. It’s a system, one she’s close to perfecting. Another couple of years, and it’ll be smooth sailing. 

And still thirty minutes to candlelight. They’ve got time.

While she’s got the cooktop, Jake’s got the baked goods. He’s always insisted on kneading dough by hand, and while at first she joked that it was mainly to show off his arms, now she understands that Jake needs to feel it to know what to do next. Needs the weight of the dough, the texture in his fingers. 

He hums, while he works. Whatever pops into his head. She’s heard the Top 40 and Texas country, jazzy blues and classic rock. But this time of year, the only thing he can think of is a good Christmas tune, as he rolls out a flat sheet to cut circles out of. 

“Please… have snow…” he murmurs, smooth and even pressure stretching out the corners. “And mistletoe…” 

“Y’know, I think if you make the sufganiyot while singing Christmas songs, it cancels out the flavor,” she tells him, voice light as she turns back to the oil to carefully remove another golden latke. 

“Nah, it’s the combination that makes ‘em good,” Jake chuckles, and when she turns again his eyes meet hers and shine in the warm light of the kitchen. “All kinds of holiday cheer wrapped up in a fluffy fried present.” 

She nods, but she’s sure he knows it’s not a concession. Simple acknowledgement as she smiles to herself and keeps working. Soon all the latkes are finished, and she lays them out to rest on wire racks to drain the excess oil. They’ll be good. Crispy, warm, rich. She moves the oil off the burner to let it cool, before turning back to look at Jake again. 

Bradley’s still in the shower, cleaning off the day. She can hear the plumbing straining with his excessive hot water usage. So for now, it’s her and Jake, and the shapes he carefully cuts out. She doesn’t mind standing by, watching as he hums and puts the doughy circles in their proper place. Cut and move, cut and move, cut and move. She slowly drifts closer, until she’s leaning on the counter next to him, her thumb lifting to wipe some flour away from his eye. 

“Heard you on the phone with your mom,” she finally says, when all of his work is covered with a towel to rest, and she can move to rub his arm without disturbing his rhythm. “I didn’t hear anything… specific. Just want to know if you’re doing okay.” 

Jake doesn’t answer right away, scrunching his nose for a moment as some of the flour swirls around him. She tilts her head to try and meet his eyes, but he keeps his gaze down on the countertop and the patterns in the mess there as he wipes his hands. 

“Jake,” she pushes, letting her hand move to his back to rub circles into it. He lets out a soft breath at the motion, and she tilts her head when he still doesn’t look at her. “If you’re good, great, but if you’re not… we want to know.” 

He laughs a little - she can hear the strain, but his voice stays light as he talks. “I - I’m fine, Nat,” he says. “Really. Holidays just… Things are complicated with them. You know that.” 

Complicated. One way to put it. “Yeah, I know,” she murmurs. Upping the pressure on his back, before pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He relaxes a little more, no more twitch in his jaw. “You want to talk about it?” 

“Not right now,” he admits, sighing before pushing in to kiss her temple. She can’t help the way she breathes in deep - the smell of yeast and butter and sugar on his skin “We just got here. I wanna enjoy it. Later, though. Promise.” 

“Okay,” she sighs, pushing up on her toes to kiss his cheek where her thumb was. “Okay. Later.”

“Hey,” they hear behind them.

Jake’s eyes lift from Natasha’s as she turns to find Bradley, a towel rubbing in his hair as he watches them. He looks comfortable, cozy, but it’s clear he’d been there for a moment before speaking, his brow furrowed as he looks between the two of them. “Everything alright?” he asks, brow raising as Jake clears his throat. 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he says, blinking a little before turning back to the doughnuts and moving the sheet trays to a clean part of the counter. “We’re alright. Just talking about frying the doughnuts after we light the candles. Have a good shower?” 

Both brows are lifted now as Bradley looks at them, crossing his arms over his chest before glancing at Natasha. “Yeah. It was… good. It was a shower, for sure.” 

When he doesn’t follow up, Bradley’s gaze turns to her, nodding to Jake in a clear question of what’s happened. Nat’s eyes follow Jake and scan his features before managing a small smile and turning back to Bradley. We’re okay, she mouths to him, before nodding to the front room. “You pick a kippah for tonight?” she asks. “I set some out on the tablecloth to choose from before we light.” 

“I saw,” he says, and then slowly moves through the kitchen until he’s standing behind Jake with a playful grin, chin on his shoulder as the baker washes his hands. “But I wanted to make sure you guys didn’t need help, y’know. Burning the house down with an oil fire.” 

Natasha chuckles and starts to wipe down the counter as Jake turns his head to shoot Bradley a look and flicks water from his hands onto his face. “Offended that you’d think I’d be anything but responsible in the face of danger,” he tells him. 

“Right, right,” Bradley hums, kissing Jake’s jaw before turning them both to face Natasha. “But we all know who has to be careful with a hot stove.” 

“Hey!” she shouts, mouth open at the blatant betrayal. She turns to face the boys, who both look at her with little identical smirks as she glares. “I have burned the latkes exactly once.” 

“That we know of. It’s easy to hide a burnt potato,” Bradley hums. Jake dries his hands and starts humming again. “What’re you hiding, Natasha Trace?” 

The water escalates to flour. She gathers a handful and tosses it toward Bradley, grinning as his t-shirt gets dotted with a generous dusting. 

There’s a glint in his eyes as he looks down. Actions like that get revenge, often served cold. But she’s too busy laughing as his fingers run down his shirt. “I just showered,” he reminds them. “You know, the real troublemaker is right here. Why doesn’t he get flour on him?” Bradley’s hand moves with force, then. A sweep of flour on his fingers, and then there’s a handprint right in the middle of Jake’s shirt. 

“Hey, he’s had flour on him,” Natasha reminds him, reaching to try and brush off the white from Jake’s front. They’re all trying not to laugh at the way the floor now has a layer of its own, at the freckles of white on Natasha’s cheeks and dusting of gray in Jake’s hair. “And, he made the sufganiyot, genius.” 

“Which means someone’s not getting any,” Jake threatens, his own hand moving and coated in white before he smacks Bradley’s ass. Another puff of flour, and Nat can’t breathe. She's laughing so hard as the two of them stand in the mess, Bradley trying to peer over his own shoulder to look at the stark white handprint. “There. Now we’ve both gotta change. Happy?”

“She started it,” Bradley points out, and Nat lifts her hands in surrender quickly with another laugh, nodding toward the front room. 

“And I’m ending it. Sun’s setting, so change so I can beat your ass at dreidel in a timely manner. Fifteen minutes, boys, let’s hustle.” 

-

“You do know how to make these pancakes, right?” Bradley asks, brow raised as she appraises the pan. 

“They’re called latkes,” she mumbles, half to herself, narrowing her eyes as the oil starts to shine. “And it’s… been a while.” She almost cut herself on the food processor blade about three separate times before even putting the damn thing together, and the onions didn’t get small enough to blend in seamlessly with the potato. But eventually everything became cohesive, and all that’s left is the frying. 

Horrible, terrible frying. 

When she was young her mom never let her stand too close to a hot stove, and when she was older she didn’t want to. Fuel and heat were something she was trained to keep far away from each other, and so she let her mother handle that when she was home for the winter holidays. 

But now it’s up to her. The weight of the Hanukkah miracle on her shoulders. 

Thankfully, it’s not Hanukkah. Yet. This is just a practice run, and if she doesn’t do it now, she’s gonna lose the nerve. 

The recipe says to place a generous dollop of the mixture in the hot oil. She doesn’t know how much a dollop is, but a spoonful feels good to her. 

“Be careful,” Bradley says. 

A perfectly unhelpful comment. Of course she’s being careful, she knows how to work a stove. “I was planning on just throwing it in, if you want to take a couple of steps back,” she deadpans, and the look of horror on his face alleviates the last doubt in her head. 

She looks back down at the oil. It shimmers, the top layer almost restless, and with a soft exhale, her “dollop” plops into the pan. 

The little spray causes her to rear back, and there’s a sudden violent bubbling from every side of it. Bradley backpedals so hard he almost falls on his ass, and her eyes are wide as she stands on tiptoes to peer inside at a safe distance. 

An eternity passes as the two of them start to edge closer to the pan. Peering at the lone latke when curiosity overwhelms them. “When do I flip it?” she asks Bradley, the noise of the oil making it almost a shout. 

“What do you mean when do you flip it?” 

“I mean, does it stop bubbling?” 

“It doesn’t say on the recipe if it stops bubbling?” 

“Well, I didn’t check before, I didn’t think it would –” 

She’s cut off by a smell. Acrid, smoky. Her eyes widen and immediately she’s pressing the vent button on the microwave, reaching in with her tongs to flip the latke, trying to save it. Bradley scoots back again, hands up in the air. “You’re calling my landlord when the place burns down.” 

The backside is so close to black it’s definitely burnt, and she winces as the other side gets immersed with a fresh scream of bubbles. She keeps the microwave vent on until the smell coming from it doesn’t burn her nose, and when it comes off she pulls the latke out. 

A miserable, misshapen first attempt. When she looks at Bradley, he has his mouth open as if he has the right to fucking comment. 

“Don’t,” she says instantly, jaw tight as she breathes in and out through her nose. “I’m doing another.” 

It’s then Jake wanders in from the other room, drawn out either by the burning smell or the sound of Bradley’s yelp as the oil splatters once more. Natasha barely gives him a sideways glance, desperately trying to rescue the latke from the middle of the oily pool it floated to. When she flips it, the color is decidedly… brown, but it’s better than black, and she’ll take it. 

“So, I found a place in San Diego we can rent,” Jake says, lifting his phone as Nat wipes at her brow. She’s already sweating, and she isn’t sure she heard him right as she turns to face him.

“What?” she asks, bubbling roaring in her ears as she stares down her second latke. When she pulls it, it's evenly browned, at least. More of a rush than taking off in a goddamn F-18, frying with oil. Fuck oil. “What about San Diego?” 

“A place,” Jake says, offering his phone to her. “To rent? I said I’d find one, and there’s some good deals on the coast –” 

Time stops. Or at least, her heart does. She looks up and over at Jake from the pan with a look that makes Bradley step back even further than the hot oil did. She drops another dollop in the pan, standing to her full height as she looks Seresin down. 

“We are not going to San Diego.” 

Jake freezes at the force of her statement. Her hair has started to frizz out of the neat bun she pulled it back in. “Sorry?” he asks, phone still offered to her limply as she sets the tongs down and crosses her arms over her chest. 

“We’re spending the holidays together? Fine. That’s fine,” she says with her eyes narrowed. “But we’re spending a week celebrating Hanukkah and Christmas. It is almost December. If we can go wherever we want, we’re going somewhere with snow.” 

The word seems to make Jake and Bradley rear back, and she has to remember that she’s talking to a Texan and a Californian about winter. They look at each other before looking back at her, and Jake shifts from foot to foot. “You want snow?” 

“No, I need snow,” she counters, looking back at the latke. Flips it a little earlier, and gets a color that could be called golden as a reward. It makes her smile, which seems to ease the tension in the boys’ shoulders. “Like you need Christmas, I need snow. I haven’t had snow for the winter in too long, because the Navy loves their tropical adventures. So if I get the chance to spend December with a wind chill in the negatives, I’m taking it. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jake tells her, pulling his phone back. “Got it.” 

“Good. Now grab the applesauce, boys. Because we’re gonna be doing some taste tests.” 

-

They change quickly, but their rush in the bedroom gives Nat time to gather the appropriate amount of candles and rearrange the table in front of the window. The sun’s behind the horizon, and Nat lets herself savor the view of a fresh snowfall for a few moments she had alone. The shamash candle sits proud and tall, and she sets up the five candles, far right, moving to the left. She begins humming again, memories of her mother’s voice in her ear as her grade-school fingers had grabbed at the centerpiece of the holiday, pulling the candleholder close to look at the intricate designs.

Her mother could’ve been mad at her curiosity, told her to leave the thing alone and get back to setting the table. But instead, she’d pulled the menorah down to her level, let her run her fingers over the intricate grooves, over each spot for candles. 

One day you’ll have a household of your own, Natasha, her mother had said, voice bright at the prospect. Adding to the family. People to say the prayers with, people to light the candles for. 

“I found them, Mom,” she murmurs as her hands hold the relic. The cool feeling of the metal detail on her fingers. “That little family.” 

She finishes arranging what she needs. Bradley and Jake’s choices for kippahs lay spread out for them to pick, and soon all she has to do is wait.

The door to the bedroom opens. The two men emerge, and she smirks at the button-down shirts, actual pants. It’s kind of them. But she can’t help the way she notices Jake’s eyes linger on Bradley’s ass as they move closer to the table. 

“You boys get distracted back there?” she asks, and Jake grins while Bradley rolls his eyes. 

“No,” Jake says. Like a liar. 

“Uh-huh,” she snorts. “C’mon, pick a yarmulke. You’ll have time for wandering hands later.” 

“Is that a promise?” 

“Don’t make me hurt you before I light the candles.” 

Bradley and Jake stand to Nat’s right once their kippahs are donned, their eyes on the shamash candle as she strikes a match and lights it. Five candles await their turn, and as she lifts the candle in her right hand, she holds her left hand around the flame. Protecting it. Preserving it. Jake turns off the living room lights, returns to stand next to her.

When they first started, her Hebrew had been halting, stammered out. Nerves and years out of practice hadn’t helped. But now, she finds her rhythm, and the words come with a warmth better than any flame. 

The first year she’d given them the translation. Told them the story of the miracle and how the Jewish people were preserved through times of struggle and hardship. This year, she hears their steady breath beside her, and as she starts the last piece of the blessing, their voices join hers for the final refrain. She lights the rest of the candles — one, two, three, four, five, left to right — and they shine brilliantly, her eyes blurring, the shamash candle returning to its spot in the center. 

They linger for a few minutes. The three of them, shoulder to shoulder. Bradley’s arms wrap around her waist, around Jake, and she starts humming again, leaning her head against Bradley’s shoulder. 

It’s peaceful, with the three of them, but as always, it must end. She lets out a gentle sigh and then she turns to the both of them, grins from ear to ear. “Ready for dreidel? 

“Of course,” Jake says, rubbing his hands together with delight. “But. Gifts first, this year.” 

Bradley suddenly stands up straight, his eyes alight as he moves from Natasha’s side. Her brow furrows, looking between the both of them. 

“Gifts.” 

Bradley vanishes into the bedroom, returns with a gently cradled box. He offers it to her, but she doesn’t take it, eyeing them both with suspicion. 

“Gifts,” Jake insists. “And yours is first.” 

Bradley chuckles. “Maybe only. But definitely first. Open it, baby.” 

The box stays proffered, and Nat finds no reason to reject it, eyes flicking between the both of them as she takes the package. It’s… denser than expected as it rests in her arms. 

“Okay. Okay.” She sits on the couch, sets the package down on her lap. Suddenly her palms feel sweaty as she wishes she had x-ray vision to see what was inside. Something heavy, dense, from Bradley and Jake. It feels monumental, and she hasn’t even started tearing it open. “I thought we agreed –” 

Bradley lifts his hand. “Nat. Stop stalling. Open it.” 

She still hesitates. Swallows down her nerves, as best she can. She’s caught off balance, and she hates how her guard goes up, her body tenses as her fingers begin pulling off the wrapping paper.

The box is unmarked, making her groan in frustration. She pulls at the tape, the cardboard gives, and then –

“Oh, boys,” she whispers, and the silver of the menorah is slowly revealed as she pulls away the wrapping paper. Her mouth goes dry as she lifts the heavy piece. “A menorah. A new menorah.” 

It’s a jet. A fighter jet, their F-18, mid-flight. The shamash candle sits elevated, in the jet’s cockpit, while the trail of smoke and steam left behind branches into the eight candles for eight nights, perfectly level. The intricacies of the detail, the shine of the silver. Natasha’s hands move over the piece, gapes at it and turns it over and over, unable to believe that she’s actually holding it in her hands. That it’s hers. 

“Where did you… how did you even find something like this?” she asks them, finally looking up at her boyfriends with tears in her eyes. 

Jake smiles, moves to sit on one side of her. Bradley sits on the other side, reaching for her hand. “We scouted out some places here,” Rooster tells her. “A lot of phone calls, a lot of searching. We arranged so one of us could pick it up when we arrived this year, get it ready so you wouldn’t see it.” 

“We can be sneaky when we want to be,” Jake informs her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Especially when it means we get to surprise you with something you deserve.” 

She can’t stop touching it. “What is this even for?” she asks, wiping at her eyes after a minute. “We have a menorah for the holiday, we just lit it.” 

Bradley squeezes her shoulder. “We know. But you always say how it’s your family’s, or say it’s on loan. This one is yours. For the years you’re on your own, or whenever else you need it for. And because… well. It’s a little piece of us, too. From us, to you.” 

She can’t hold the tears back anymore, and she feels Bradley’s lips against her cheek as he pulls her in and close, holds her tight. Jake’s touch is on her cheek, wiping away the tracks on her skin. 

“We’ll… we’ll use them both for the rest of the nights,” she whispers, doing her best to sniffle through the thickness in her throat. “Take it for a test flight.” 

“Good thing we’re great pilots,” Jake murmurs. “Got a good feeling about this particular F-18.” 

-

The music slowly fades, the outro’s tinkling bells signaling a Merry Christmas to all and a good night at that. But then the playlist starts from the beginning, and Nat’s fingers pinch the bridge of her nose. 

It’s been a few hours since they woke up on the 24th of December, their first full day together. It had been too early to do anything but sit and wait for the world around them to wake up. But if there’s anything the three of them know, it’s how to be awake at the crack of dawn. Once the hour became somewhat tolerable, Bradley had braved the outdoors on a holiday to do some last minute shopping. Jake offered to cook breakfast, but any work he’s putting into pancakes is being drowned out by raucous singing.

Singing. Barely after dawn. She doesn’t understand his energy, nor the innate desire to blast the house with music at this time of day. 

“Jake,” she calls out from the dining room table, “can we listen to anything else? Just for a bit?” 

“What else is there to listen to? It’s Christmas!” Jake answers back with a laugh. He shoots her a wink, and when he turns from her he unfortunately misses the middle finger she presses against her temple. 

Christmas, don’t you remember? she thinks bitterly to herself. Don’t you get it, silly Natasha?. 

Nothing else matters. And Jake’s still singing. 

She sighs, defeated. Stands from the table and moves through the house toward the bedroom.

“Nat!” Jake shouts after her. “I’m about to start the pancakes!” 

“I’m going to lay down!” she tells him, and then she’s gone. The music only gets slightly quieter the deeper she goes, until she’s face down in the bed with a pillow over her head. It’s a miracle she doesn’t slam the door on her way, the one act of patience she has left.

She lays there for a while, something brewing under the surface of her skin. It simmers and threatens, but the lid stays on, the muffled sound from the pillow the only thing between her and a headline for a homicide. 

The front door opens. She can discern the rustle of grocery bags, Bradley’s cheerful greeting to Jake as he comes in. She buries herself deeper into her sanctuary as their chatter goes back and forth, and then heavy steps make their way towards the room. The door opens with a creak. The music gets loud again, almost unbearable. 

“Nat?” he asks. 

“Go away,” she mumbles, almost sure he can’t hear her. It’s only a joke in the sense that she knows he won’t listen.

The door to the bedroom closes again, and his steps come closer, closer, closer. Bradley’s hand rests on her back, slowly begins to rub over the shirt she slept in. 

She flinches away. Anything on top of the music feels like overstimulation, and the recoil is automatic. She feels him rear back, too, and when she manages to peek out from under the pillow she sees the hurt on his features. The guilt collides with her frustration, and it feels like something tight in her chest, the dam about to break. This vacation is big, and all she’s managed to do is get mad at Jake and lash out at Bradley. Great fucking start.

“Hey, Nat,” he says again, voice gentle. “Jake said you came back here.” 

“It’s nothing, Bradley,” she says, pulling the pillow back over her head to hide the strain in her voice. “Just tired.” 

He nods, and she’s grateful he takes the words at face value. Frankly, It isn’t a lie. She’s exhausted. Her flight had been the latest one in, landing her after sunset, and when the boys had picked her up she hadn’t missed their cheerful greetings. Merry Christmas from the both of them, which had immediately taken the wind out of her sails. The Christmas songs on the drive over, the Christmas decor on every corner. By the time the three of them had collapsed into bed, she’d been Christmas’d out for a month and a half, and their vacation had barely started. 

Perhaps it’d been silly, or maybe even stupid, to think they’d be different. The thought comes, and she can’t stop it, nor the way tears spring to her eyes. She buries her head in the pillow to hide them from Rooster. 

He doesn’t leave. He stays close, sitting on the bed. Slowly, he brings his hand back, and when the rubbing starts again, she doesn’t pull back. The pressure pulls the tension from her, and when she peeks up at him again, he doesn’t speak. Just gently rubs her shoulder until she nods and sighs, settling into the comforter. 

Something seems to click. His brow furrows, and he lifts from the bed with one last squeeze of her arm. She mourns losing his comfort, and then the door opens and closes again. 

Jake calls out to Bradley. She doesn’t hear a response. And then, a few minutes later, the music softens. Lower, lower, lower. And then it stops. 

Slowly the simmering in her blood dulls. Her heart rate drops. She lifts her head, and nothing accosts her. There are more footsteps. 

“Jake and I are going out to get the tree, Nat!” Bradley calls out, loud enough for her to hear. “We’ll be back in an hour!” 

And then the front door closes. 

Nat is alone. Blissfully, painfully alone. 

The frustration that’d built up transforms into exhaustion, and she slowly drags herself back up to sitting on the side of the bed, eyes blurry, body weak. Without the music constantly in her ear, she slowly starts to feel like a human again. A shower revives her the rest of the way, but even taking her time, the boys still don’t come back for another half an hour. 

Good, she thinks bitterly. It gives her time to catch her breath. And as the time stretches for an hour, then two, then three, she feels the anxiety kick in. 

They’ll come back. They wouldn’t leave her there alone. But then Jake’s music will be blasting again, and they’ll yell Merry Christmas without any thought of the other holiday they’d said they’d celebrate. They’ll hoist the tree and they’ll complain about the candles in the window, and at the end of it all, Nat’ll be thrown to the wayside for the season. 

Forget that there’s three nights of Hanukkah left. Once the 25th comes and goes…

The bitterness comes back like bile, and she quickly shoves it down. Closes her eyes, mentally prepares. To apologize, to the both of them, for starting off the day, hell, the week on a shitty note. For ruining the Christmas spirit. She waits, and she waits, and she waits, the guilt trip she’s about to ride without saying a word. Because that’s what they do.

But when the boys come back, the blast of cold air chilling the living room instantly, there’s no music that comes in with it. No Merry Christmas. Just smiles as they trudge in, tennis shoes soaked, and a small little tree in Jake’s arms, small enough that he carries it with little effort. 

Nat’s eyes narrow a little bit at them. Tilts her head as she looks at them both, then the trail of dirty snow water that they both bring in. 

“Hey, Nat,” Bradley says with a grin, shaking his head and flinging melted snow. Natasha steps back with a shout, lifting her hands to block the spray. “Sorry,” he laughs,  “we got sidetracked. Jake decided we should pick up breakfast instead of cooking.” 

“You both really need to invest in boots,” she informs them, hiding the confusion with a wrinkle of her nose. “Your toes are gonna fall off if you keep walking around in those.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think there’d be this much walking,” Jake grumbles, but it’s with a good-natured elbow to Bradley’s side. “Can I put this down, now?” 

The tree is deposited in the entryway, and their shoes are removed at Nat’s insistence. There’s still no Christmas greeting. Both the boys move to kiss her, Bradley in front of Jake. 

Well, Bradley does. Kisses her, sweetly, firmly, and she makes herself linger in it, the first part of her apology, even when she squeaks at the feel of his cold fingers at her side. They both laugh, and when she pulls back to smack his arm, he nods to the kitchen. 

“I’m gonna put away what mess Jake started,” he tells her, handing off something to Jake. Leaving her with the would-be murder victim. 

He steps forward, just like Bradley does. Nat braces herself for the gut punch, opens her mouth to start something long-winded and rambling that will only kind of sound like sorry for being a bitch. But before she can speak, there’s a bag offered to her, heavy with the weight of its contents.

“Happy holidays, Nat,” Jake says, voice a little low as he dips his head. And then she’s handed the bag. 

She peeks inside, and when she does her heart lands in her throat. The goodies inside are stacked with care, the bottom layer two small, still warm babka, the upper portion fruit hamantaschen.

It’s hard to catalog the wave of emotions that rushes through her. After the morning from hell, it soothes her like a salve, a new warmth in her chest as she looks at their new breakfast. 

“Well, happy brunch, more like,” Jake continues, scratching the back of his neck. “We missed the breakfast window because Bradley doesn’t know how to find an address.”

He apologizes, later. When he’s almost out of gelt in their trial run of their first dreidel game, some chocolate is still on his lips because he eats them when he wins them. When Bradley stands to go get their delivered food, no one having the energy to cook much with the emotions of it all. Being here together, preparing to spend a Hanukkah night and Christmas eve with each other. The three of them knowing how tightly they’ve become intertwined, spending these moments leaning on each other. 

“I’m sorry. I know I was an idiot this morning,” he murmurs to her, leaning close. “And I’m sorry it took Bradley saying something for me to do something, but. I’ll be better. Like I said I would be. I promise.” He reaches for her hand, holds it tightly, no room for any doubt in his words. 

She looks at him in the light of the early evening, the hearth burning bright, Bradley’s chatter with the delivery driver a murmur in the background. Her hand squeezes his back, an acceptance and acknowledgement of an apology long coming, before reaching with her free hand to swipe away one of the gold-wrapped coins in front of him.

“C’mere, dumbass,” she responds with a grin, and leans forward, thumb lifting to wipe off the chocolate before following it with a kiss. “Don't think I’ve forgotten how much you owe me after today’s game. One kiss is not going to cover it.” 

“How many kisses?” 

“A few.” 

And that night, when she takes them through the candles, the order, the story, the words, she doesn’t miss the way their eyes never stray from her or the menorah she lights. For herself, and now, for them all. 

-

Jake’s the first one in the shower when they finish their meal, the dreidel games he lost taking the energy out of him. His eyelids already look heavy, and he’s ushered off despite his protests that really, he can stay awake. 

“Go rinse off, Seresin,” Bradley tells him with a little smirk. “Though the Navy must really be slacking if a few poorly played games of dreidel takes it out of you.” 

“Shut up, Bradshaw,” Jake shoots back. “I’m pretty sure I heard your heart popping out of your damn chest when Nat started pulling ahead.” 

Nat just shakes her head, pulling the winnings toward her and putting away the play pieces. “The both of you are idiots. Go shower, Jake. We’ll be there in a minute.”

Which just makes Jake’s lips twitch. “In the shower? I mean, I don’t know how well it’ll fit all three of us, but I’m sure as hell willing –” 

“Go.” 

Jake’s laugh echoes as he moves down the hall, waving at them with his fingers. They both hear the shower start a few moments later, and Nat knows exactly how hot that water is running as Jake steps into it. 

Bradley sinks into the couch with a long and low groan, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Nat doesn’t hesitate to join him, moving to sit next to him and stretch her legs out on the cushions, reclining so that her head is in his lap. Immediately his fingers settle in her hair, and she lets him tangle his fingers in it, pulling through the locks until it’s fanned out around her head as she looks up at him. 

“So what’d you get him?” she asks, keeping her voice low. There’s no way that Jake can hear them through the walls and doors, but there’s always that chance. 

“Trying to make sure you one-up me?” Bradley chuckles. His fingers start scratching at her scalp. “A couple more belt buckles from when I was in North Carolina for the next few nights. A travel set of darts and a new hat for tomorrow. So he can keep his game up, and remind us how good he looks in cowboy hats.” 

Nat nods, smiling. She has a feeling those darts will be opened as soon as all the presents are passed out. 

“What about you?” he asks her. “We said nothing too big.” 

“I found some thick handmade pullovers on my last outing with the squadron, for the next few evenings. Alpaca, or something. They’ll keep him warm, but I’m sure he’ll still find ways to complain about how cold he is,” she says, almost a hum as Bradley relaxes her one stroke of her hair at a time. The two of them linger in this moment alone, just the two of them. The clock above the mantle strikes ten. Slowly but surely, Natasha’s eyes close as Bradley begins to hum, sinking under the rising tide of his gentle touch. 

“We better get to bed, if we’re gonna fall asleep before Christmas,” he tells her. His voice sounds a little far away, and she floats back to the surface after a moment or two of lingering. 

“Mmmm, you’re making it hard to believe moving is a good idea.” 

“What if I said there was a pair of new pajamas at the end of it?” 

One of her eyes peek open, looking up at a face full of mirth. She smiles, too. Never can help it around him. “... now you have my attention.” 

Together they stand, chuckling as Bradley groans again and limps forward a few steps. “Leg fell asleep,” he tells her, which just makes her chuckle and reach for his waist, walking slower to savor the moments like this, gentle and unhurried as they move into the bedroom. 

Jake’s flicking through his phone with a furrowed brow, reclining on the bed in a towel around his waist, when they walk in. He doesn’t look up at first, too engrossed in whatever he’s reading, but when he does his smile is immediate as he sees the two of them walk in. “I promise I didn’t use all the hot water,” he tells them. “Just most of it.” 

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Natasha sighs out. 

“There’s a lot of reasons I’m lucky,” Jake retorts, “but these good looks are simply a Jake Seresin original.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Bradley snorts. “Humility is definitely your strong suit.” 

“You’re lucky it’s age before beauty, birdie.” 

It feels for a moment like Nat is transported. To bickering at the Hard Deck, a few drinks between the three of them. She blinks and she’s back in California, hot sun at her back, dogfight football on the beach, frantic kisses behind closed doors and lingering touches behind locked ones. 

She blinks again, and she’s with two people she loves, their smiles nothing she would’ve gotten to see a few years ago. Fond, proud, adoring, as Bradley steps forward to tousle Jake’s hair, still damp and dripping. “Come get your pajamas before I decide you don’t deserve them for that smart mouth,” Bradley tells him, and Jake’s grin feels the good kind of earned after a long night. 

“You both love my smart mouth.” 

“Plead the fifth,” Natasha says, squeezing Jake’s shoulder as she passes him to walk toward Bradley’s bag. “Go get Bradley’s from the closet.”

Bradley squats, unzipping his things. There’s more than a few wrapped gifts inside, making Jake and Nat look at each other with bright smiles. When Jake comes back with a bagged gift (after prompting from Nat to “get off the damn phone, you can text your mom in a minute”), Bradley rummages around for a moment before pulling out two specific gifts, standing again before handing each of them a gift. Jake hands over the one he has, and the three of them hold their own packages with a sense of eagerness usually saved for Christmas morning. 

“Okay, I can’t wait.” Jake’s fingers pull at the wrapping paper, and when he does, the flannel reveals itself. Gaudy, ugly, red and green and Santa Claus heads all over. He grins when he sees it, laughing at the mix and match of colors. “Oh, hell yeah. These are horrific.” 

Bradley chuckles. “Saw them and thought of you.” 

“... should I be –” 

“Bradley,” Natasha laughs, shaking her head at the set she receives. The flannel pajama pants are blue and white, and the snowflakes all over pair well with the polar bear socks and shirt that go with it. The polar bear is… not a cute one. Too big eyes, disproportionate ears. But they’re thick and plush, and as she runs her fingers over them over and over and over again. “These are… pretty hard to look at.” 

“Gonna be tough to beat next year, I know,” he says, laughing as he starts to pull open his set. “But I have faith these companies can do worse. And the ugly ones are softer, anyway.” And then he sees the Bigfoot on the front of his, the Santa hat on it doing nothing to distract from the creature on the chest. 

“For our… favorite Sasquatch,” Nat says innocently, reaching to push a hand through Bradley’s curls. 

“To match the creature on your upper lip,” Jake snarks. 

Bradley just raises a brow, fighting a laugh as he looks at the shirt for a long, long moment. “I happen to know you both like this mustache a lot.” 

Jake and Nat look at each other again, battling grins of their own. “Plead the fifth,” Jake finally says, and Bradley breaks, cackling before reaching to unbutton the shirt he has on. 

In the end, they’re all perfect pajamas, and they all change into their first true Christmas gifts of the week, sharing laughter as they look at each other in pajamas only meant for this time of year. They’ll never wear these on deployments, or on nights away from each other. These are meant for tonight, for Christmas Eve, and most of all, for Bradley. 

Nat doesn’t miss the way Bradley’s eyes linger. Taking in each and every detail of the clothing he picked out on the two of them. On the way Jake’s delight in their comfort seems to loosen his shoulders. On the way he gently moves his fingers over the Bigfoot on his chest, like its very presence means something. 

She knows what he’s thinking about. About Christmases long past, of a mother who never failed to send a package to one pilot, two pilots, then one again. A new pair of flannel pants, even on Christmases apart. Nights eagerly waiting for the matching set he’d wear to bed, waiting for Santa to come down the chimney in pajamas his mom got him to celebrate. 

This is for the Bradshaws, she thinks, running her fingers up the long sleeves. This is his tradition after all. One he insists on bringing with him, dragging his mother through time to watch their smiles as they trade PJ sets. 

Bradley’s voice is bright. “I think you’ve caught your second wind.” They both watch Jake strut around the bed with his new pants hanging dangerously low. It doesn’t faze him, the feeling of eyes. Bradley’s fingers reach out for his waistband to cinch the drawstring so it doesn’t come off of him completely. “You gonna be able to sleep for Santa?”

“I’ve got an ass that ain’t quitting anytime soon,” the blond tells them, before moving to grab Nat’s hands. She can’t hear the music he’s dancing to, but her feet follow his. “Santa can wait. C’mon, Trace.” 

“Please don’t –” 

“Dance with me!” 

Their laughter fills the house, fights away the melancholy, throws fists at the memories that threaten to overtake any one of them. Their sleep will be dreamless, and for once their minds are empty of anything a future deployment has in store. For now, there is only them, and the pajamas, and the music in Jake’s ears that Nat and Bradley, for a few moments at least, hear right along with him. 

But even with that second wind, Jake is the first to fall asleep. All at once, as the three of them arrange on the king-sized bed, his body goes still, side-lying and heavy-breathing. Facing the bedroom door and letting Nat’s fingers move over his hips, trace gentle patterns across his back. Doesn’t even twitch with it, carried off to dreamland with little more than a “by your leave”. 

Nat doesn’t even notice drifting off herself. One moment, her eyes are on the photos over Jake’s shoulder, with Bradley’s steady breathing ruffling her hair. The next, she wakes to a cold back, her face pressed into the same pillow Jake sleeps on, her arm draped across his flank. 

Bradley, she thinks. 

Her brain muddled by the middle-of-the-night disturbance. All she knows is that he’s gone, and that’s enough for action. She doesn’t hesitate, extracting herself from Jake’s grip with practiced ease, tucking the blankets around him so he doesn’t wake up. She can’t help the shiver, but moves quickly, around a corner, and then the other with narrowed eyes. 

And then she sees him. 

She’d forgotten that it was Christmas. She’d forgotten the other tradition. 

Bradley’s silent as he moves back and forth, from the table to the hearth, the room lit only by the shine of his phone’s flashlight. His hands expertly hang the three giant stockings, and she can see the furrow of his brow as he looks at the mantle for a moment before switching two of the placings. 

These are his candles, she thinks, watching from behind the corner as Bradley’s hands slowly, meticulously loads each stocking, weighing them in his hand before daring to put another thing of candy, or little gift, or knickknack. Each gift is carefully examined, and then he looks to the heart to stuff every piece of his heart he can into the stockings that hang up, his own hanging in the middle. This is his sunset.

She doesn’t dare disturb his process, but at some point he sees her standing in the hallway. Must, judging by the way he freezes, eyes wide as he stares and then squints at her form in the dark. 

“Nat? Is Jake… are you –” 

“It’s okay,” she assures him, waving off the concern in his voice with a lazy hand. “We’re fine. I just… forgot what day it was when I woke up. Forgot you’d be out here.”

It eases some of the tension in his shoulders, but not all. He still comes over to her, and her eyes adjust to his features in the semi-darkness. His hand on her cheek is warm, and she doesn’t hesitate to lean into the touch.

“You weren’t cold, were you?” he asks, and the guilt in his voice is clear. But she silences his words and his thoughts with a kiss, hands on his chest, right over Sasquatch’s Santa hat.

“A little, but it’s okay,” she promises when she pulls away, smiling before kissing his cheek for good measure. “Thanks to a good guy, I have on a really good pair of pajamas.”

-

Once they’ve all eaten their fill, it’s a slow transition to the living room. Their satisfied stomachs weigh them down, and Bradley’s wandering arms around both Nat and Jake as they move to the couch doesn’t make for an efficient transition. 

But it’s not about efficiency. It’s about the way they’re able to fall into each other, the townhouse holding all three of them with almost no effort at all. The couch has plenty of space, the blankets for the guests piled high, and Bradley and Jake smile at the little tree the two of them hammered into the stand after plenty of discussion about which way centered it. 

Behind the tree, the Hanukkah candles lightly smolder, blown out with care and shielded from splattering by Nat’s practiced hand, but the wicks still hold the hint of embers, which manage to look like the first lights on the tree. 

Together, the three of them begin to piece together something resembling a Christmas tree. The meager selection of decorations doesn’t deter them, because no matter the amount they put on, there’s always something to bicker about. Where an ornament goes, if the garland should go on before or after the lights. The whole thing has been rearranged three different ways, but by the end of a good hour there’s something all three of them are satisfied with. 

Nat leans against the coffee table, sitting with her eyes focused on untangling one last cheap string of lights the boys had smuggled in their checked bags. The gentle sound of the Beach Boys lilts through the living room, volume low. 

“Fuck, this thing is barely bigger than Charlie Brown’s,” Bradley laughs, lifting his arm so that it’s level against the top. Nat looks up from her work to watch them assess the progress. 

“Well, wasn’t like we had much more than slim pickings,” Jake reminds him, arms wrapping around his waist as the two of them look at the tree. “But it’ll do. Size doesn’t matter anyway.”

Bradley smirks. Nat snorts. “I’ll remind you that you’re the one who wanted a real tree,” he says to Jake, raising a brow.

“And you agreed!”

“I mean, there’s nothing wrong with a real tree, but it could definitely be bigger if we went fake.”

“It’s too late to argue about it now. Next year we’ll –” 

Jake stops himself before he can go further. His teeth click with how fast he shuts his mouth. It makes Bradley pull away, makes Nat look up from her detangling job. He’s backpedaling quick, shrugging the words away. “I mean, let’s not assume anything, of course –” 

“You want to do this again?” Bradley asks, and Nat can tell the words just fall out. “It’s barely been a full day.” 

“A tumultuous one at that,” Nat murmurs. “You might be sick of us in a week, Seresin.” 

Jake’s cheeks are clearly red, even more obvious now that he’s alone against the Christmas lights. Nat and Bradley’s lock eyes for a moment, and then Nat is standing up, brushing pine needles off of her legs before crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I mean,” Jake says, scratching the back of his head and looking down at his toes. “I know it hasn’t been perfect. A lot of that because of me, but. I don’t know. I think it’ll go up from here. I really do.” He looks up from his feet to glance between the both of them, and with no one to hold anymore his hands shove into the pockets of his pajama pants. “Besides, I don’t get sick of y’all. You drive me up the wall sometimes, and I know I say stupid shit, but… I miss you both when you’re gone. And I always want you close by when you can be. Always.”

It’s earnest, something that still manages to shock Nat about Jake. To Bradley, being sincere comes naturally, every thought that passes through his mind tattooed on his forehead some days. But Jake’s walls stay up until suddenly they all come down with a crash, not a whimper. 

The words, however spontaneous, make Nat smile. She reaches to cup Jake’s cheek, turning his face toward her so he can see how pleased she looks. 

“You’re being sweet, Seresin,” she says, before pushing in for a kiss. “But we’ll talk about next year later. Okay?” 

“Okay,” he says, the kiss lifting his spirits, making him follow her for a moment when she pulls back before Bradley’s tugging on the drawstring of his pants to bring him back to attention.

“Hey, hey. There’s still one more thing, anyway. We need the topper.” Bradley moves to the ornament box, pulling out a large, simple star and handing it over to Jake. 

Jake offers the piece to her, gesturing to the tree and giving a little bow at his waist. “Natasha Trace, do you want to do the honors?” 

Natasha very much doubts the tree will be able to hold the weight of the clunky thing, but she takes the piece in her hands with a smile. Giving a little bow back to Jake with a chuckle before moving and setting the thing on the tallest peak, a snug fit as she pulls it down. Triumphant, she steps away. 

“What do we think?” she asks, lifting a hand to gesture to the top. 

“Excellent work,” Jake laughs, pulling her back to stand between the both of them. 

“You’re a natural,” Bradley says proudly, knocking his hip lightly against her. 

And then the image before them shifts. All at once, Natasha’s squinting her eyes, Bradley’s gaping a little, and Jake’s mouth forms a tight line.  

Nat is perhaps the only one brave enough to say it. “Boys,” she says, hands on her hips. “I think the tree’s tilted.” 

Immediately there’s protest, denial, but the evidence is plain. The topper is shifted so that it leans, and soon all three of them have their heads tilted to figure out to what degree the trunk is off its axis.

“How many times did we fucking measure the damn thing?” Bradley groans, eyes squeezed shut, the heel of his hand pressing into his forehead to fight the anger. 

Jake walks a full circle around the thing, squinting and leaning back. “I think I can fix it,” he says, reaching for the whole thing, “if I just lift here and you get the hammer, Bradshaw –” 

“You’re gonna knock the damn thing over! Just leave it. Just leave it, I can’t even look at it.” 

But while Jake and Bradley mourn the failure of their hard work, Nat can’t help but think about the way the lights shine in the window. The final ember of a candle’s wick giving up its last breath with a puff of smoke. The remainder of babka crumbs on the floor, Reese’s Christmas tree wrappers in a pile on the kitchen countertop. Wrapping paper and single-use matches and the bed they all shared, and how badly she wanted to sink into their arms and never let them go.

“I like it.” 

Her words cut through the bickering. The both of them stop and turn to look at her, and she meets their gaze with a smile. 

“So what if it’s not perfect,” Nat tells them, smiling up at the crooked plane that slowly flies circles around the star. “Neither are we. No one is. And it’s never been about being perfect. Just about being with the people you want to come home to.” She pauses, for a moment. Works up to it. “I miss you both when you’re gone, too.” 

Jake smiles at her, brilliant and fierce and she feels his hand slip into hers as he steps closer. 

“Being with the people you love, Nat,” Bradley says, moving so he can be close enough to kiss the top of her head. “Love a lot.” 

“Yeah,” Nat breathes, and lets her head rest on his chest, pulls Jake closer until he’s wrapped around the other side of her in a tight embrace. “Love a lot.”

-

Christmas morning. 

It comes with the dawn, and as always, she finds herself blinking as the first light shines through the window. It feels like sleeping in, being able to see the sun rise from the comfort of their bed, Jake’s mouth pressed firmly into her shoulder and Bradley’s arms wrapped tight around her from behind. No matter how late she goes to bed, it’s always dawn, always bright and early, and Christmas is no different. 

But she doesn’t move. That’s the important part of today, in this place with these people. There’s no rush to dress in a uniform that will earn her a salute, no worry about where the ship will dock next. There is only Bradley and Jake and her, and she watches as the sun slowly rises in the sky as the two of them snore and snuffle against pillows. 

Her hands wander, as they are prone to do when she has the morning to herself. In hair that is getting too long, on slack jaws and rosy cheeks, against mouths to feel the soft puff of breath. Nothing to startle them awake, only gentle touches that she knows won’t disturb them. She memorizes their touch, the way their faces look in the gentle glow off of snow-covered roofs, and when Bradley finally starts to groan behind her she’s satisfied with her finds, the pieces of them she’ll carry with her away from this place and into the world again. 

“Mmmmugh,” Bradley tries, low and gruff. Natasha can’t help the way she chuckles at the attempt at English. 

“One more time,” she tells him in a whisper, lifting his hand from her waist to kiss the roughened knuckles. Jake’s still snoring against her front, hair splayed out on the pillow as his brow furrows in his sleep. 

“Chris’mas,” he manages, voice hoarse from sleep, and she laughs again as his lips press warm against her neck, then her shoulder, then her back. “S’Christmas.” 

She shivers at the kisses, eyes closing as her fingers tangle in his and tug to keep his body close. “There a merry in there somewhere?” she asks, but her answer doesn’t come. Bradley’s focus is on the way she moves back against his mouth, the way he wraps his body more tightly around her, pulls her closer, tugging Jake forward, too. 

Jake stirs at the movement, eyes blinking open slow and lazy before looking at her with a pinched brow. She smiles, her free hand curling under his jaw. “Mornin’,” he mumbles. “S’Christmas.” 

“Good job,” she laughs, as he reaches for the hand Bradley’s holding. Lets his fingers wrap around theirs. Bradley hums at the touch, mouth still on her skin. “Two for two.” 

They linger in bed for as long as they need. There’s something warm in it, brighter than the candles or the Christmas lights. As they explore each other’s skin, map out new constellations among old scars and fresh freckles and new tan lines, Nat revels in the way she feels worshiped. Something gentle in Jake’s touch, something passionate in Bradley’s, each of them pulling out of her a gift she gives just to them. This piece of herself, one only they get to see. 

It’s a couple of hours later when they manage to pull themselves out of bed, when the windows have fogged plenty and their touch once more becomes lazy. Natasha is the first to pull them to the shower, and Jake and Bradley follow, kisses now a simple good morning and Merry Christmas and love from every side until they are clean and once again dressed for warmth and presents under the tree. 

Their tree. It’s a little crooked on the stand, but the ornaments shine in the now late morning sun. Jake grins as he relights it, whistles a little as the strands blink and twinkle out at him. 

“Not bad.” From Jake, it’s the highest praise for a tree he can give, and Natasha shakes her head with a smirk as he pulls her against his side. “But next year, we’ll make some improvements.” 

“You’re a snob,” Bradley snorts from behind him, claiming the end of the couch so his coffee can rest precariously on the arm. “It looks great.”

“It’s more than looking good or even great. I want to make the neighborhood jealous. That's too much to ask, Bradshaw?” 

Natasha gives an exaggerated sigh, squeezing Jake’s hip as she does. “Just one year without the bickering before the presents, boys. I always hear about the Christmas spirit and yet it’s never here.” 

“Presents,” Jake says, like he’s just remembered. There’s a hesitance to his tone, unlike his usual gumption. But it’s like he shakes himself out of it, voice booming beside her as he ushers her to her spot on the floor in front of Bradley’s legs. “Right, right, okay. Sit down, sit down. I’ll pass them out. One for Bradley, one for Nat, ooh, from Payback and Fanboy, from Mav, okay, okay –” 

It’s a good year for gifts, luck of the draw making it so gifts from others in Dagger actually managed to make it in front of the tree. Some years deployments just didn’t allow it, but for some reason all the stars aligned. 

Bradley slides one of his new pairs of sunglasses from Jake with a delighted grin, sends a photo to Maverick who tells him he looks just like his dad. The new tool set from Nat gets expertly taken apart and put back together with delight, examining each piece in perfect detail. Nat’s locket from Jake holds a photo of the three of them she winds around her neck instantly, and Bradley’s cookbook offering from the baking show she’d binged makes her let out a delighted laugh and squeeze it close to her chest. There’s stuff lined up from Mav and Penny, Coyote and Bob, Fanboy and Payback, cards and stocking stuffers that wish them all a very happy holidays.  

But all while presents get torn open, Nat finds her eyes straying to Jake. Usually a ball of energy once the paper starts ripping, his eyes don’t seem to stray far from a little bag beneath the tree, addressed to her and Bradley in his handwriting. And once all the other gifts are revealed and set aside, his fingers pull the bag to himself, swallowing tight as it sits in his lap. 

Bradley’s still trying to decide if he should wear the Dodgers hat Halo got him when he notices, too. Jake’s gone too quiet, too still, and Bradley glances toward Nat as the silence stretches long, the gentle chimes of Christmas music from the television the only noise. 

There’s a silent conversation between her and Bradley. Narrowed eyes and tiny shrugs. When it’s over, it’s Natasha who scoots a little closer to Jake, fingers trailing on the hardwood floor as she moves.

“Jake,” Nat says, raising a brow as the blond’s gaze shoots up, startled out of his thoughts by her voice. “Hey, it’s okay. Is something wrong?” 

“Oh! No, no,” he says immediately, but then his voice seems to fail as he looks down at the little bag. When he swallows again, her hand moves out to him, squeezing his knee. “Nothing’s… nothing’s wrong, no.” 

“Okay,” Bradley says, and his voice is low as he lowers himself to the floor, too. Lets himself be at the same level as Jake, so when he rests a hand on his back he doesn’t startle him again. “So, what’s in that big ol’ head of yours? You're a little too quiet for Christmas, Seresin. Have been this whole week.” 

It takes a moment more for Jake to really look at the both of them, meet their gazes instead of avoiding them. But when he does, there’s nothing dark in his eyes, nothing haunted or fretful. Just… nervous. 

Jake’s really, really nervous. 

“Nothing is wrong,” he repeats, fingers running over the tissue paper in the bag. “It’s just a gift I wasn’t planning on this year.”

Natasha gives him a smile as she squeezes his knee. Slowly, the nerves seem to melt away, especially as her and Bradley edge closer and closer, surrounding him. “Last minute shopping? How unlike you,” she teases, making Jake huff. 

“Not exactly something I could window shop for. This is different, sweetheart. Big.” 

“Big,” Bradley repeats, his own brow furrowing now as he looks at the little bag. “Right. Grower, not a shower?” 

There’s a beat. Jake looks at Bradley with a surprised chuckle, and the other man grins back, hand reaching to brush along his cheek. “I - y’know what, I guess so, Bradshaw.” 

“I should’ve asked for grown ups for Christmas,” Natasha sighs dramatically, and finally the spell this thing seems to have on him cracks. The tension lifts from smothering them. The bag is lifted and set on the ground, and his fingers nudge it toward them ever so slightly.. “You’re sure you’re okay, Jake?” 

“I’m fine, darlin’,” he promises. And then he shoves the bag towards them, jaw working as he scoots back from them. “Just - open it, before I change my mind.” 

Bradley and Nat’s eyes meet once more, over the light blue and silver bag with reflective stars in the white wrapping paper. It’s barely big enough to hold a card, and it turns out that’s what sits inside. A card, in an envelope with hers and Bradley’s names - and a white piece of paper, folded into thirds. 

“Read the card first,” Jake says immediately, as Bradley’s fingers move to unfold the paper. “It’s important.”

The two of them freeze at the insistence, and Nat shrugs as she uses her nail to open the envelope, noting the curled writing from a hand she doesn’t recognize. She clears her throat as she opens the big card, the nondescript white winter landscape giving nothing away, immaculate but cramped cursive penned within.

“To Bradley Bradshaw and Natasha Trace,” she says aloud. Jake’s body tenses again as she starts, and she looks at Bradley once more before continuing on. “I’m writing this to you with a heavy heart, one full of shame for my actions and words, or rather, lack thereof. There are reasons that I’ve kept my distance, reasons that in hindsight, on Christmas Day, fall short. Because there are no real reasons why I haven’t met the two people my son loves so dearly, and I know no explanation I could give would ever make up for the fact that I have not acted in the way a mother should.”

Natasha’s eyes widen as the words start connecting dots in her head. The sound of Jake’s voice behind the door while she calls solo, the tension in the kitchen, the focus on texts from his mother the night before… Even now, she sees those tears again, as Jake’s eyes stay focused on the floor. “Jake,” she says, “I don’t –”

“Keep going,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

So she does. 

“I was a coward. I was scared. Scared of what other people would think. It was an overwhelming fear, a fear that made me forget and neglect my duty as Jake’s mother. And so for too long, we pushed him away, his father and I, because we couldn’t make ourselves understand how he could love someone like you, Bradley, or like you, Natasha. But I’m done being scared. Scared of other people, scared of his father, and I refuse to let any more days pass without remembering what it means to be Jake’s mama.”

The writing continues onto the back of the card. Nat’s eyes burn as she flips it over, and feels Bradley’s hand grip hers so tight she’s sure her knuckles are pale. Her voice cracks as she starts again, and tears drip onto the gilded edges. 

“As a mother, you love your children. You can’t help it. From the moment they come into the world, kicking and screaming, a piece of you is now out in the world, and you watch as that piece grows up and becomes a person with a face and a name and so much love of their own to give. The two of you hold a piece of my heart in your hands. And I know the last thing I should do is ask for a gift from you both on Christmas, but I find myself begging for one thing – love him. Love him in all the ways you can, in all the ways he deserves, in all the ways he needs. And I hope that this gift from him to you gives you a place of your own to do that. Merry Christmas, from a mother who loves her son, but for too long was too scared to say it. And I hope one day, I can hug you, and have a new son and daughter to give the love of a mother to.” 

Natasha finishes the words and blinks back what she can, a shuddering sigh leaving her as the words sit thick in the air around them. 

“From… Jake’s mom?” Bradley whispers, barely breathing beside her as he scans the card that now sits loose in her fingertips. 

Her throat closes as she reads the name and nods, over and over, a sharp suck of air through her teeth as she looks up at Jake. “From Helen Hunter. That’s how - that’s how she addressed it.” 

When Jake speaks, his eyes don’t leave the ground, but she can see the tear tracks on his cheeks, the way he grips his own knees. “Her maiden name. Before she married my - my dad,” he explains, and then lifts red-rimmed eyes so he can nod toward the paper in Bradley’s fist, crumpled to hell from the force of his grip. “This is my big gift to you both, and I put the card in, because it’s because of her. So. There you go.” 

“Aw, shit,” Bradley sighs, opening his fist. “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t know –”

“It’s okay. Not the point,” Jake tells him, smiling small and nodding again. “Just open it.” 

So Bradley does. Natasha’s hand still clings to him as he unfurls his fingers, shakes the paper until it falls open enough to read. And soon his voice fills the space like Natasha’s did, brow furrowing as he does his best to understand what he has in front of him. 

“On this day, the 21st of December, being of sound body and mind, I, Helen Seresin, nee Hunter, do hereby bestow to my son, Jake Seresin, the deed to all land and property of Hunter Ranch, to do as he sees fit,” he says. And then he frowns and reads it again. 

At first, Natasha doesn’t get it, either. The paper is a clear photocopy, dark lines on the edges where the scan didn’t read the original, but all the words in the center of the page are clear as day. She reads over the words again and again, over and over, eyes narrowed. “What’s Hunter Ranch?” she finally asks.

Jake’s fingers disappear into the bag again, dig around for a second before his closed fist emerges with something that jingles in his grip. “Jake,” Bradley pushes, “what’s going on?” 

“Hunter Ranch is where I grew up,” Jake finally says, as he offers his fist out to them. Now, his voice sounds steady and even. There’s a peace to it that washes through them all, as his fist flips over to show his fingers. “I thought all this time it was under both my parents’ names, after they got married. And maybe it was, but. They’re getting a divorce, and she’s keeping the land and titles, and. She told me a couple of days ago she’s giving it to me.” 

He opens his hand. Resting on his palm sit three identical keys, and on each of them a keychain with a name. Natasha’s eyes widen as she sees her name on one of the pieces, Bradley’s on another, and Jake’s on the third. 

“Holy shit,” Bradley whispers, eyes going wide at the sight. They flit from the paper to the keys in Jake’s hand, before finally resting on Jake himself. 

Natasha can only watch. 

“I have to warn you, there’s not much snow in Texas,” he tells them, glancing toward the long stretch of white and gray of the sodden streets outside. “Not much of anything, really, where I’m from. But what is there is a house. A barn. Some stables. Good land, lots of sun. And it’s a place I want to make a home. A home with the both of you, if you’ll have me. If you’ll – if you’ll let me.” 

He looks at Bradley, then. “There’s a shed on one part of the land. Right now all it’s got is a tractor and some old tack and blankets. But if we cleaned it out, made the inside all nice - I bet one of those old planes Mav has could sit real pretty inside. Ready to be fixed however she needs.” 

And then he looks at Natasha. “And there’s a big front window, out there. Was thinking that for the holidays, we could put out that new menorah we got for you, and on the doorways the mezuzahs we’ve gotta buy to make sure the house is blessed like it should be, and there’s a kitchen that’s so big it’ll be perfect for Passover, or Sukkot, or whatever else you wanna use it for.” 

The keys still sit in his hand. She’s sure they’re warm from his touch. Her fingers open and close at her side as she watches him, awestruck as he glances down at the carved metal with reverence. 

“I don’t want to have to borrow someone’s living room, someone’s bedroom, someone’s house so that we can see each other anymore,” Jake finally admits as he offers the keys up to them both. “I want a place of our own, where we can make our home. I want to come home from deployments to a place that’s for the three of us, and want y’all to come home to me, too. Because I love you both so much it hurts, and I need you both in my life for the rest of it, however long it is.”

“The both of us,” Natasha whispers, a realization years in the making. What they have is real, more than real. It’s lifelong. And what he wants is them. Bradley’s hand squeezes hers as she says it out loud. “You want the both of us.” 

“All of you,” Jake says, watery smile as he stares at her with every ounce of love he has. “Every last bit.” 

“It’ll be different,” she tells Bradley, looking at him and watching his smile outshine the sun. “And new. Living together, I mean, whenever we’re all off duty –”

“We can handle different,” he promises. “And new is nothing to be afraid of.” 

A home of their own. That’s what’s promised. A life and a place and a shared something for them all to cling to when they have nothing else to keep them holding on. 

The home they have is borrowed. The time they have together ticks away. Their lives are in suitcases and their days feel numbered, but here, in Jake’s hand, he holds a chance at their forever. 

She won’t pass it up.

Her fingers reach out. Curl around the key with her name on it. 

“Nothing to be afraid of,” she agrees. “Not this. Not us.”

[ericsonclan]

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

Summary: Omid and Christa join Carley, Lee, Matthew and Walter for some Christmas caroling.

Word Count: 1708

Read on AO3:

“Here we come a wassailing among the leaves so green…” Omid paused in his carol, his hand still swinging lightly with his wife’s as they walked through the snow. “What is ‘wassailing’ anyway?”

“Hmmm,” Christa rooted through her pocket with her free hand and pulled out her phone. “I think it has something to do with singing,” She pulled up the definition on her phone. “It looks like it was an old form of caroling but it involved inviting people to drink out of the wassail bowl the carolers had brought along,”

“Oooh, sort of like a reverse Halloween visit. We provide entertainment – the trick - and a treat! Maybe we should bring a punch bowl along with us,”

“Punch would be a bit cold in winter. I think wassail was more of a spiced wine,” Christa glanced at her watch. “Anyway, we’re running late – the wassail will have to wait till next year,”

The couple quickened their steps – they were only about a half block away by now. As they rounded the corner, they could see the other two couples waiting for them. Carley and Lee and Walter and Matthew stood on the sidewalk, reading through their caroling booklets.

Lee’s face brightened as he spotted Omid and Christa. “Hey, you two! Come on over! We’ve got booklets for you too!”

“Hell yeah, caroling booklets!” Omid grabbed a pair and handed one over to his wife. “Not that I’ll need mine – I’m a caroling aficionado,”

“He’s not wrong,” Christa smiled knowingly at her husband. “Brody and Louis love Christmas carols. They sing them all day long throughout December,”

“Ah so that’s why Mitch and Clementine seemed so interested in these booklets. Guess they wanted to impress their boos with their musical know-how,”

“Boos?” Carley wrinkled her nose in amusement. “Is that what the kids are saying these days?”

“It’s what the cool kids are saying,” Lee quipped, earning an affectionate eye roll from his wife.

“Now that we’re all assembled,” Walter said, adjusting his scarf, “Let’s head out. Matthew has the map of our caroling destinations on his phone,”

The group agreed and headed out, each couple linked arm in arm as they strolled the lamplit snowy sidewalks. It was a brisk night, the sort that would be describes as having that winter chill that snuck into your bones. Still, the group was bundled up warmly and their laughter and easy banter had them immune to the cold. Well, mostly immune. Omid’s chattering teeth told a somewhat different tale.

“You OK over there, Omid?” Matthew asked. Reaching under his arm, he produced a thermos and began unscrewing the top. “I brought some hot chocolate along since the weather forecast said it was gonna be nippy,”

“Ah, a wassail!” Omid exclaimed, gratefully taking the steaming drink and taking a gulp.

“A what now?”

“A wassail!” Walter exclaimed, his eyes brightening at the mention of an archaic term. “It’s a sort of spiced ale that used to be served by carolers to the people they serenaded,”

“Somebody’s been reading their dictionary,” Omid grinned, smiling Walter’s way. “That’s what the real ‘cool kids’ like my wife do,”

Christa rolled her eyes at that but the smile on her lips betrayed her fondness for her husband’s jokes.

“Hey, I was reading the dictionary before it was even cool,” Lee declared from the head of the pack. “Y’all can ask Carley – we met in the library,”

“It’s true. I was looking for a certain article for my thesis and I found Lee reading an encyclopedia at the front desk when he was supposed to be working. It was love at first sight,”

“Now wait a minute,” Christa interjected, “I thought Lee said he read the dictionary. An encyclopedia is an entirely different thing,”

Lee let out a mock gasp of indignation. “That’s what you took away from the romantic tale of our first meeting? There’s no pleasing some people,”

The banter would have continued but they had reached the first house on their map. Pulling out their booklets, the group prepared to sing while Matthew knocked on the door. As soon as the door was open, they burst into their first carol.

“We wish you a merry Christmas,

We wish you a merry Christmas,

We wish you a merry Christmas,

And a happy new year!

Good tidings we bring

For you and your kin,

Good tidings for Christmas

And a happy new year!”

Tripp and Sarita applauded enthusiastically as the song finished, huddled together in the warmth of their doorway. “Oh, that was wonderful!” Sarita exclaimed. “Why don’t you all come on in for a cup of tea to warm up?”

Walter shook his head. “Thank you kindly, but you’re the first in a long list of houses we plan to visit tonight,”

“Well, let us give you something. Wait here a minute,” Tripp directed before hurrying back into the house. A minute later he came out bearing candy canes, one for each of them. “Merry Christmas and thanks for dropping by,”

They all said their goodbyes and headed off toward the next house.

“It’s just like Halloween after all!” Omid exclaimed, gleefully unwrapping his candy cane. Christa had stuck hers in her thermos cup of cocoa and sipped from it sparingly, enjoying the faint zing of peppermint the drink now had.

The next stop on their caroling journey was at Kenny and Katjaa’s house. The couple listened merrily to the group as they sang “Joy to the World” then Katjaa insisted they come inside and enjoy some of the speculoos cookies she’d just finished baking. Since Lee had to pee they took her up on her offer and the group sat round the kitchen table for a few minutes enjoying the delicious spiced gingerbread. They didn’t let themselves tarry long through and were soon off to their next destination.

At Sisi and Doug’s house the group found the pair in the midst of playing the Skyrim Christmas mod but the game was paused in order to fully enjoy the beauty of “Silent Night,” When the song ended, Doug and Sisi applauded wildly, causing their matching reindeer antlers to jingle in unison. Doug offered the carolers some of his special holiday eggnog and before they could think to refuse Sisi was pouring them each a serving in red plastic cups so they could take it along with them as they walked. With a final “Merry Christmas!” the caroling choir was on their way once more.

“Mmmm, that’s delicious!” Carley exclaimed as she took another sip of her eggnog. “Doug is a whiz in the kitchen when it comes to his specialties,”

“Maybe we should see if we can finagle our way into a dinner invite sometime,” Lee mused playfully, polishing off his eggnog.

“You’re all welcome to dinner at our home anytime you like,” Walter offered. “Matthew makes an excellent rack of lamb and I’m not a bad hand at roasts myself so either way we can whip up something memorable,”

“Oooh, we’ll definitely be taking you up on that offer,” Omid replied, earning a nod from Christa.

There were only a few houses left now.

Edith and Mark’s house was next on the list. The pair listened in rapt admiration as the group sang “Dona Nobis Pacem”. As soon as the song finished, Mark hurried inside to grab some chocolate oranges he and his wife had brought back from their trip to England to visit one of his cousins. The singers accepted the gift gratefully, wishing the pair a merry Christmas before continuing on, each of them unwrapping the gold foil just a bit to give one of the chocolate orange slices a nibble.

Bonnie and Mike’s house was just a block over. The scent of the pecan pie that had just finished baking wafted through the door while the notes of  “O Little Town of Bethlehem” floated on the evening air. The pie was offered and eagerly accepted. The sugary, nutty treat kept them warm as they headed for the final house.

Last on their list was Javi and Santi’s place. The couple wasn’t alone when they opened the door, in the midst of hosting a Christmas party with their niece and nephew. All four joined in with the carolers as they sang “Jingle Bells”. Once the song had wrapped up the group was congenially tugged inside (and Omid had to pee anyway so they couldn’t say no) and guided to the table to enjoy pestiños and turron. The sweet sesame seed dough and rich nougat paired perfectly with the crema de vie, a Cuban eggnog Javi told them had been in his family for generations. They all felt downright stuffed as they slipped their coats back on and stepped out the door, wishing the family a very merry Christmas.

Their caroling done, the group slowly walked onwards, heading towards the very spot where they had begun; they had gone full circle. The group lingered under the streetlight, loath to part after such a memorable night.

“Sooooo anybody wanna head over to the Pancake Shack for a late-night stack?” Omid offered.

Christa groaned. “Babe, no. As great as tonight was, I don’t think any of us could manage another bite,”

“Christa’s right,” Walter looked down at his stomach, giving it a fond pat. “I think I’ve adding enough stuffing to the old sweater tonight,”

“More stuffing to love,” Matthew replied, giving his husband a playful wink before kissing his cheek.

“As much as I’d love to stay and chat, these old gams are killing me,” Lee said, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Besides,” Carley added, “We’d better get home before the kids accidentally burn down the house. I saw Renata and Aasim looking up some sort of Christmas flambé recipe online before we left, and I’ve been too nervous to check in on how it went,”

“Maybe we can meet up later on during the break once the holiday madness has passed,” Matthew offered. “New Year’s party, anyone?”

Everyone was excited at that suggestion. Agreeing to text about the details later, the couples headed their separate ways toward their cars, hand in hand as a light dusting of snow began to fall, the perfect flourish on a magical winter night.

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

Do you do BoB ship requests? I'm bored on a road trip and it seems a splendid idea, and perhaps a bit enchanting also. 😉

So.. Heres me.

-I am taller than average

- Blond hair to my shoulders and brown eyes that are kinda turning golden/green

-I am quiet and shy outside of my comfort zone.

-In my comfort zone I am funny, vivacious, sometimes ditzy (but on purpose, cause its fun). I love to joke and tease and not take life too seriously.

-My sister says I seem happy pretty much all the time.

-I am sooo uncomfortable talking about my feelings. Vulnerability is tremendously scary to me.

-Im vulnerable in my journals; my safe haven where I hold no punches. But I will die if anyone reads my journals.

-Music is my life. Both playing and listening.

- I'm a sucker for romantic and sad songs that break my heart. (Hello by Adele, All Too Well by Taylor Swift)

-Im a responsible person. Always thinking of the future, getting to bed on time, making my life count.

-I love studying just for the sake of studying. Mostly history.

-I am not a flirt. I have a balanced head when it comes to men (mostly) and I'm pretty discerning. I take relationship s seriously. Joyrides and flings arent my thing.

-I really appreciate guys being the first to make a move. I DO NOT WANNA CHASE THEM.

-I love saying dumb, silly things. I know theyre dumb, I just love to lighten people up and help them see that life is really pretty great.

-I melt when people do things for me. If they remember my birthday, do my work, buy something I mentioned in passing Id like to have, I have a great urge to hug their neck.

-I am an aspiring florist.

-But my dream is to marry, keep a lovely home, and have babies.

-I love downtown cities and picture myself everytime walking down the lamplit streets with my Lover; holding hands and drinking coffee.

-I have no problem standing up for myself. It gives me no heartburn to set clear boundaries and expect others to respect them.

- I was raised on a farm. I can milk a cow like a pro.

-I have ten siblings so kids are a definite comfort zone.

-I love taking walks and being quiet with my own thoughts. Even better is lying beneath the stars.

-I dont appreciate emotional and dramatic people. I like calm, cool, in control.

Helllloo 🥰 I do accept ship requests & I ship you with… Carwood Lipton!

- Lipton is a bit of a traditionalist in romance. He’s the kind of guy to ask you to dinner, pull out your chair, and get you home at a decent hour. I feel like this is something you would appreciate!

- He definitely appreciates the romantic side of you. Neither of you are fickle in love, when you mean it you mean it.

- You and Lipton are both very responsible people. But you know when and how to have fun!

- You two tend to draw the same kinds of people — people who are mature, looking for a good, honest time and no drama. You two cultivate a really great group of mutual friends.

- Lipton makes you feel safe because he respects your boundaries. He appreciates that you have hobbies and supports your exploration of them!

- One of the things Lip finds most attractive about you is how hard you know how to work.

- But he doesn’t want you to;) like I said, Lipton’s a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to his romantic relationships.

- He takes pride in supporting his family and you. You KNOW Lipton would be the best baby daddy.

- One of the best things about your two’s relationship is your ability to just ‘be’ with each other, whether it be on walks or picnics or just sharing a quiet moment in your home.

- You don’t feel the pressure to keep up conversation or entertain each other. You just enjoy being in each other’s presence.

P.S. Drive safely!!🤗

[lazylazyhowl]

foment (of snakes and cherry blossom)

foment (verb) – to stir public opinion; to incite rebellion

["Only time will tell, so I think I'll stay a bit longer." Sasuke and Sakura get married, and the world makes their wedding its business.]

AO3 Link

Written for SasuSakuTwitFest Day 6.

Prompt: Marriage x "Idiot, we're married." x Sasuke catches Sakura.

All 3 used, loosely.

―

Twenty-five years old-

The ornaments in her hair tickle her cheek and wake her from thoughts as the car slows to a stop. Without a second wasted, the door opens and the roof simultaneously lifts and reveals her to the chilly outside.

Sakura squints beneath the wataboshi and takes in the imposing torii gate, vibrantly red, the white sunlight that lands upon it, glitters on even whiter snow.

Her breath frosts. She takes the black-gloved hand that is offered in assistance and steps out of the car.

The heavy shiromuku spills all around her, layers and layers of woven fabric and intricate embroideries that blend seamlessly into the ground. She feels, rather than sees, the presence of the surrounding crowd.

Sasuke stands just a few steps away, in some hushed conversation with Kakashi.

He reminds Sakura of a picturesque ink painting. Their eyes met as she approaches, and she flushes under the fine powder on her cheeks. The dark silk of his haori has nothing, she thinks, on the depthlessness of his eyes.

Under the steady weight of his stare, the jitters beneath her obi settle. She holds her head infinitesimally taller and returns his smile.

(She might just drown if she stares too long.)

.

Her own gait is unfamiliar with the clunky pair of high heels, and the trailing robes hinders, but she keeps pace with him without struggle.

His and her ceremony, every bit meant to be a private affair, made headlines a full week before the day of.

There isn’t much to the procession when neither of them has any blood family left to speak of.

But as they walk on the stone-paved path that ducks beneath a vault of wintry branches and leads deeper into the shrine, out of sight his bodyguards and the local authorities are keeping an eye out for uninvited guests.

There is no wonder that the media shakes with excitement as it makes a debate out of this wedding. The last living Uchiha and heir to an enormous fortune finally settles down, and his bride is a clanless, meritless girl from the shadier side of the city.

Sakura supposes from an outsider’s view it’s either serendipitous love or a gold-digging scheme. Either interpretation is halfway condescending in her opinion.

The priest asks the gods for their happiness after the cleansing ceremony. She bows and solemnly accepts the blessing. (A voice in the back of her head tells her to hide, twist further into this deceptive white shroud because she can scrub the very skin off her flesh and still not be rid of stains.)

The sake is well-aged and has a subtle touch of apple and steamed rice. Three cups and nine sips later, they made their vows

“Until death, Sakura.” The oath is careful and quiet, but also sure. His beautiful fingers graze her callused ones and squeeze the pink-painted tips.

It’s unapologetically Sasuke to be so few of words. But what he says, he means; and in that helplessly forward way it is heartfelt. She holds his unwavering gaze and smiles.

“‘til death, Sasuke-kun.”

They bow once more to the overseeing gods. From this moment forth, she is Uchiha Sakura.

.

She changes into a hikifurisode with blooming myrtles cascading down its tail, the uchiwa ripples at the end of long, sweeping sleeves.

“My best wishes to the groom and bride,” Tobirama, immaculately dressed in a suit and tie, tells them over a raised cup of sake, his eyes dark and glinting, and amicable crow feet.

Sakura stands a little closer to Sasuke. The Senju elder couldn’t have been any more displeased by this turn of events.

Those who support their marriage can probably be counted on one hand, but the reception is still a big splash with all the prominent faces congregating at the Uchiha compound. All headache-inducing politics, but there’s copious food and sake to make it up.

Sasuke has an easy smirk on his face as noisy cheers erupt around them. Up until yesterday, he was still scowling, his foot tapping something furious underneath the kitchen table, as Kakashi prepped him for the social side of the gathering.

It doesn’t take very long for him to be pulled away from Sakura’s side for conversations beyond the scope of the occasion, and she’s left to entertain the other guests.

“Sakura-san, you and the Uchiha brat. Who would’ve thought?” Mei says with a grin and a half that Sakura can’t help reciprocate.

“Give or take, at least half of Konoha people, Mizukage-sama.”

“Don’t be a stranger now, hmm?” Mei gives her an inquisitive head tilt, and Sakura falters. (She’s never sure where she stands with others anymore, after everything, and now bearing the Uchiha name.) Thankfully, she never has to come up with a response when the Mizukage simply goes on.

“You know how gossip media is all over the place.” Mei wrinkles her nose and twists her brightly painted lips. “I could do without. It’s hard enough dating at my age. I say, the random person on the street can be more critical than my own parents now. Just because I also happen to lead them, haa...”

Sakura laughs a little more genuinely. “Sounds like peace, Mei-san.”

Mei’s chuckles fade into a forlorn sigh as she cradles her cheek. “Oh, I hear that, I do. What a time to be alive. Or Kage. Poor old Tobirama, really.” She shrugs and trails off for a moment before looking back to Sakura.

“Regardless of what happens from now on, I’m glad you two found each other, Sakura-san.” Mei holds up her sake. “To your union.”

Their cups tap with a small clink.

.

 Perhaps with you at his side, something will change.

 .

All things considered, Sakura hasn’t expected to receive much honest well-wishing, and she didn’t. That one such wish came from a figure holding as much stake as the Mizukage took her by surprise. Then again, Mei has always been a romantic at heart, Sakura just forgot that, like she has forgotten other things.

Maybe one day she’ll even forget how to heal.

“Be happy, Sakura-chan.” Here’s another honest wish, even though Naruto’s eyes look so sad as he says it. He’s arrived late from work, still in the sooty grey jacket of his Anbu uniform but distinctly more groomed and polished than he is often known for.

“Promise me.” He insists.

Guilt hasn’t been something she associates with Naruto for a while now. They’ve been at this for long enough to know what he wants and what she wants don’t align. He hasn’t met his match, is all; she is no loss to cry over. But tonight, the gnawing returns as she tells him.

“I promise.”

The way he grins without reserve, the whisker-like marks on his cheeks, it overlaps with a million other times in the past that he’s smiled at her.

She’s promised the same before the gods too, but this promise rings differently. It’s personal—raw. Real, rather than surreal.

When Sasuke reappears beside her, Naruto wastes no time to raise his voice.

“How could you go and leave Sakura-chan all alone like this, huh? Bastard! Tch, not even half a day’s gone by and already disrespecting the sacred vow.” Naruto shakes his head in dramatic disapproval.

“She and I married, captain. It’s not as if we became conjoined.” At Sasuke’s dry tone, Naruto throws his head back and cackles uncontrollably, much to her husband’s puzzlement. Sakura smiles into her sip of sake.

(Her husband. Husband. She keeps testing the words in her head and they’re more agreeable than the last time.)

“Whatever, don’t you ever break her heart, you hear me?”

Sasuke gives her a sidelong, searching look, and she can see the words being weighted behind his eyes.

“I don’t believe I can,” he says, light smile on his lips, before wincing in annoyance at Naruto’s hearty shoulder slaps.

.

In the ebbing hours of the wedding, she quietly leads Sasuke away from the celebration. His people—hers too now, she supposes—can take care of the rest.

Even when he maintains his stilly decorum, she can tell he’s already drunk near out of his mind, that he keeps his eyes on the ground just to walk straight, his hand clinging onto hers rather painfully. He didn’t even have much to drink, only the conversational shots exchanged between dialogues.

They end up in the lamplit garden, where the sound of running water and crisp snap of the shishi-odoshi fill the silence between them.

Snow crunches beneath their feet. The night air smells silvery compared to a stuffy, crowded dining hall.

“Oi...”

Sasuke tugs on her hand that he still hasn’t let go of, to turn her to him; he’s closer than she expected. The shadows flicker across the straight bridge of his nose and smooth, flawless skin. She can see the fine little white hair on his cheekbone as his face draws even nearer, his eyes dark, darker than this moonless night.

Their noses brush lightly, tentatively that it’s sweet, that her heart quickens. Their combined breaths drift away from between them, and she can taste alcohol on the warm, heady air. Even up close he doesn’t look all that wasted, with that sheen of clarity in his eyes, or maybe she’s pretty tipsy herself.

She closes her eyes, closes the last few millimeters between their lips. A quick, chaste kiss. And another. His lips are softer than you’d expect. Without disentangling their fingers, he brings his other hand up to angle against her jaw, neither rough nor gentle. Just firm, and it’s anchoring.

There’s the sound of a shutter going off, instantly muffled by a clear tap of the shishi-odoshi.

She licks the tang of apple sake from his lips. (Maybe…drowning wouldn’t be all that bad an ending.)

.

.

.

Sasuke wakes up dry-mouthed and to a nasty pounding in his head. The chill in the room hits his naked skin the next moment, and he curls up inside the futon.

His vision is blurry, his extremities weak. He bites down on another groan and brings a shaky hand to his head. If he didn’t already know misery, he’d say this is it and it is never, ever happening a second time.

Now it occurs to him that someone other than him has laid out the futon. He buries his face into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, a suffering groan, and stench of alcohol on his tongue. There is no recollection as to how he’s even made it to the bedroom.

What he does remember is Naruto’s dumb face, a look of loss braved by loud guffaws and half-jokes that were completely serious. Advice unasked for is no different from spit in the face.

Who does Naruto think he is, anyway, prying into her and Sasuke’s business? (And that’s what it is: business)

The angle of the light on the tatami tells him it’s still morning, a little later than he normally wakes. After a small battle with the heavy blanket, it takes him a few more minutes to gather his bearings to pull on a kimono and make his way to the kitchen.

Out in the living area, he finds Sakura slumped over by the coffee table with a small army of sake cans standing watch at her side. A blanket is draped snuggly over her shoulders.

He slides the door shut behind him, more discreet than when he’s opened it.

“Nn, good morning, Sasuke-kun.”

He pauses mid pouring a glass of water and meets her gaze that’s half-hidden behind mussed pink locks.

“Maybe.”

She giggles into her arms she uses as makeshift pillows. He takes immediate aversion to the bubbly mood, and though he doesn’t think he’s letting it show, she seems to pick up on it anyway and grins a little wider.

“Take that with your water then.” He follows her finger (small, he remembers; lightly rough to the touch) to a plastic bag perching near the edge of the table that he’s assumed was just more sake. “Medicine. I asked Lee to get it since I figured you’d be in need. He told me I was most youthful.” She giggles again in some private joke.

Sasuke sits down across from her, their socked feet touching in the small space beneath the table. He’s careful not to knock over the empty cans, pushed haphazardly toward his side of the table to allow Sakura the rest of the surface, and rummages through the bag’s content.

The medicine is hidden underneath several unopened sake cans, a small tube with bright labeling that he brings up to the light for examination. Not that he has any expertise in this branch of products to judge.

“Save some for me.”

“Hn.”

He drops two tablets into the water according to the fine prints and watches them dissolve into clear white foam.

Sakura is still sprawled out on the table and playing with one of the cans. The sun rays seep through the kitchen window and settle on her face to deepen those greener shards in her eyes. There’s a light flush to her cheeks, knots and tangles in her hair that she hasn’t bothered undoing; some pink strands sticking to the side of her face as she returns his watchful gaze.

“Did you see the news?” When he remains silent, Sakura produces the phone he’s recently given her, already decorated with all manners of animal stickers, and shows him the screen after a few quick taps.

He squints to see a picture of them from last night, wedding garbs and all, caught in the middle of what appears to be a kiss.

It was. He recalls now, doing something like that upon sensing the paparazzi, how she’s been the one to lean in at the end. And the velvety taste of lipstick at the tip of his tongue. Without the haze of alcohol, it doesn’t seem as good an idea anymore.

(At least, he thinks, that’s a well-taken picture.)

“They’re writing up a storm on us.” She takes the phone back to scroll down a few times. “You should see the comment section.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh.” Her smile fades. Her hand, with the phone, retreats inside the blanket cocoon, and she drops to her cheek on the table. “It was my first kiss, you know,” she says after a bit.

He stares at the top of her head. Her tone is light as far as he can tell, but his instincts tell him to apologize. And he does, even if he doesn’t mean it.

“No.” She sighs. “No. It’s not like I was particularly saving it. There was just no good timing.”

“I see.” He picks up the glass and downs it in one breath and puts it back down none-too-graciously. Fruity, like melon. Maybe apple.

“You know, I’ve always had it in my head—nothing specific, just somewhere in the back, the idea that I’d marry someone I love. I mean, who else does the common person marry, anyway?”

“You’re not the common person, Sakura.” This he can say with certainty. Sasuke has no use for the common and run-of-the-mill.

She doesn’t take it as a compliment as he intended. She shifts to rest her chin on her arms, staring up at him unimpressed. “No, I guess not,” she says. “So, poison is no big deal, but it’s alcohol that gets you.”

“I suppose.” He rubs at the bridge of his nose, feeling strangely on edge.

“Stay away from it from now, you’re a boorish drunk.”

“Aa, I can say the same for you.”

Sasuke doesn’t mean to sound annoyed, never mind that he is. He’s usually more tolerant, a little more scrupulous even if not patient. (He’s still not equipped to deal with this on a good day.) Her foot moves away from his as she draws her knees to her chest and tucks herself further into her cocoon.

Lee. Lee’s fault for even buying this obscene amount of alcohol on top of the hangover medicine as if they weren’t irony in a bag. Was it because Sakura also has a say in the house now?

As the silence stretches between them, he sighs. “Look-”

“How are you feeling?” She grabs one of the cans nearer to her and tips it against her lips for a sip.

He takes the out she’s offering. “Aa, better.” And in retrospect, like an idiot, for losing his temper over something so trivial. The hangover, he supposes.

“Shishō always said that brand worked faster than the rest.”

“I can’t say I’m impressed she was able to draw that conclusion.”

Sakura laughs at that, a belly-laugh of when you find something genuinely funny, and he can’t help but wonder if this is actually her default. This airy personality that’s prone to smiles and giggles, that takes his words and doesn’t dissect them for more than face value. More girl than woman.

And he wonders, where she disappears to on the days Sakura isn’t drunk. Or if it’s just him that hasn’t experienced her before.

Compared to the usual Sakura, with the guarded melancholy and a guilt complex, this one is vastly different, and he’s not sure how to use this information just yet.

Her laughter subsides and her smile fades by a shade. “I tried turning to alcohol before, too you know, but couldn’t make it work quite like shishō.”

Making alcohol work is an oxymoron unless you’re Lee and in combat, and even that is a wild card as far as Sasuke is concerned. But he stays his tongue. She doesn’t intend to rely on alcohol, and that’s good enough for him. It’s not his place to change her opinion on anything.

“If I’m this much of a mess right now…I can’t imagine how much she’s seen, at her age. Oh, but don’t tell her I said that,” she says with a little laugh as if he’s going to be picking up the phone to call Tsunade Senju for a friendly chat in the near future. “Shishō’s strong.”

“Hn, so are you.”

Sakura takes another sip before placing the sake down with a soft clink. “I’m going to wash my face,” she announces and shimmies out of her cocoon, oddly reminiscent of his recent struggle with the futon. When she stands and knocks her knee into the table, sending the several empty cans clattering onto the floor, Sasuke rises as well and walks around the table to her side.

“Sorry…”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll get that.” But she missteps and places her foot onto one of the rolling cans. From the way her limbs are completely relaxed as she falls backward, she would have hit her head on the floor if he wasn’t already behind her.

He steadies her with an arm around her shoulders. Sakura turns her head and gives him a blank stare that tells him she’s not all there. Near putty against his chest, and smells strongly of sake, just like last night.

“Sorry,” she says after a bit.

“Don’t do this anymore, it’s unbecoming.”

She smiles. “Of Uchiha?”

“Of you.”

Her smile dims again; she gestures to the cans. “Just leave it. I’ll clean up later.”

“I’ll do it. You already cleaned up after me last night.”

“No, I-”

“Sakura, I’ll do it.” He squeezes her shoulder and attempts his best reassuring tone. “Go get a bath instead, you stink of sake.”

She pushes away and rounds on him with a frown and huff. “Well hello, pot.”

“I’ll go after you.”

“Hmph.” She turns to leave.

As she opens the door, he calls after her. “If.” She looks over her shoulder at him. “If it helps, that was also my first kiss.”

Sakura blinks a few times, then laughs. “Not in the least. But it’s pretty funny that you think it would, Sasuke-kun.”

Is it? An eye for an eye; one first kiss for another. It makes sense in his mind, as it must in hers as well, even if she laughs about it. (Or does she laugh at it?)

“We’re married, silly. Let’s not keep scores, okay?”

With one last giggle, the door slides shut and he’s left in the kitchen by himself.

He clears the cans away and rolls up the blanket she’s left behind, he thinks about the sobering sound of shishi-odoshi and the night air nipping at his nose and cheeks; and waking up alone with the futon laid out just where he prefers. He thinks about bittersweet apple sake and compares it to the melon candy taste of the medicine on his tongue.

Her look of surprise and doubt when he asked for her hand. That moment when her hanko presses firmly next to where his own seal was still drying.

After making sure everything is in order, Sasuke takes the blanket back to the bedroom.

So, she doesn’t wish to keep scores.

He’ll give that some more thought and decide what to with it later.

[cjfloodauthor-blog]

We Need to Talk About Alcoholism

Is it time to stop gaslighting yourself and stage your own intervention?

I’m trying to stop drinking, but alcohol won’t let me.

It recommends itself using my inner voice, the advice of my friends and family, billboards, the radio, books, TV.

One drink won’t hurt!

You can just have a couple.

YOLO! ; )

It doesn’t care how desperately I want to change my life or be able to trust myself or fill my time with other things.

Alcohol is like a charismatic bad boyfriend with a PhD in Neuro-Linguistic Programming who has taken over my mind, fooled my friends and family, and refuses to let me go.

You’ll never meet anyone who makes you feel the way I do.

I’d just turned thirty and my drinking had been out of control since I could remember, but recently I’d started to care. It used to be exciting, social, lost weekends and wild weekday nights; adventures and dancing and climbing scaffolding to look at the city stars. Now it was the same every time. Quiet nights in. Just me and a bottle of wine, sometimes a boyfriend, always the Internet.

I loved it, but I wasn’t in love. We wanted different things, but I didn’t know how to live sober.

“You don’t still stay up all night drinking, do you?” a friend asked, when I explained that I wouldn’t be able to make it out for dinner — although we hadn’t seen each other since we graduated, and she’d just travelled five hours to visit me — because I was still too hungover to be vertical.

“No!” I lied, instinctively. “It just got out of hand last night.”

She looked perplexed and I wished she’d leave. Because I loved her, but what do you do with non-drinkers? I tried my best not to know any, but this one slipped under the radar. Drinkers are wonderful because they don’t need entertaining. No plan required. You lead them to the pub and voila!

Her words echoed in my head long after she’d gone.

“You don’t still stay up all night drinking, do you?”

Was I not supposed to stay up drinking, then? Was it somehow ungainly and shameful and wrong?

The words hit a target I wasn’t aware resided within me. That sad, confused look! That was the reason I didn’t spend time with non-drinkers. Too judgey. So what if I was thirty and living the same life as when as I was twenty. I was a writer. (If only there were a key that adds a fanfare along with the italics.) So what if I lived in a shared house, with no food in the cupboards, still ‘borrowing’ money off Mum and Dad. That’s what writers did!

“But you’re a fun drunk!” a different friend told me, a year or so later, as I shared my longing for an alternate life in which I drank green juice and practiced yoga and went to the theatre; a life entirely incompatible with my current relationships, habits and behaviours.

I was thirty-two now, and there had been so many failed attempts at weeks or months of sobriety that even I couldn’t take myself seriously.

It was Friday night and this friend had agreed to accompany me to the cinema, because I was trying to avoid the pub, which meant trying to gain control of my life — though she didn’t know that, of course — and so, naturally, after the film, she suggested we go to see everyone, which meant pints in the pub, since that was where everyone was on a Friday night. lnstantly, I forgot my agreement.

We went to join the gang, just for one, or okay, if more than one, we had to stop drinking at midnight. We couldn’t stick to our drinking rules for the duration of making them, but we didn’t notice that. We made a pact to leave the bar at midnight, no matter what.

“Anyway, you don’t need to worry,” she said, conspiratorially en route to the Volunteer Tavern. “Because I’ve solved the problem of getting too drunk.”

“Really? How?”

“The trick is to drink halves.”

I nodded encouragingly, the soft part of my throat twerking at the mention of beer, and we walked from the cold, lamplit street into the warm, yeasty pub to wait for the bar man’s eye contact.

Youngish people sat at wooden tables, playing board games and laughing, checking their phones and swigging frothy pints.

“Two halves of Amstel, please,” I said, and the barman picked up two tiny thimbles of glass, leftover from what I could only assume was some kind of teddy bear’s picnic.

“Sorry, I mean a pint and a half!” I panic-shouted before I could stop myself.

The cold amber liquid ran up the glass, and I swallowed, reflexively, took a swig as soon as the barman handed the drinks to me.

“Drinking halves is daft,” I told my friend as we made our way to where our group sat, drinking pints and smoking in the beer garden. “You’ve drunk the whole thing by the time you get to your table and have to go straight back to the bar. A pint saves you a trip. And sometimes five pee too!”

She shrugged, not really listening, and I felt my last dregs of self-respect drain out the bottoms of my filthy Converse. Who was I saying this stuff for? Even I didn’t listen to me.

The lager was cold and fizzy and as it touched my tongue, I remembered that I didn’t like the taste. Strange since I’d been compelled, only seconds earlier, to buy a larger serving.

Still, I needn’t worry about that now. I needn’t worry about anything: I was drinking and all was well. I forgot my silly dream of sobriety, forgot my broader feelings of dissatisfaction, and my friend and I talked and laughed and shed secrets in our usual breathless, hurtling way. And then it was midnight and she finished her final half and hugged me goodbye — she had writing to do in the morning; a deal’s a deal! — put on her coat and headed home. I watched her walk out, then headed back to the bar to order another.

“Last night was wonderful,” she text the next morning. “Seeing you was so nourishing.”

It is beginning to dawn on me that my current network can’t provide the support I need to give up alcohol. They can’t solve this problem that lies within me because they don’t understand it.

I read books about abstinence (Blackout, Drinking: A Love Story, Lit) and pore over posts on websites (Hip Sobriety, Soberistas) about the same, and I feel so inspired, so excited and determined, until the next time, out of nowhere, a pint sounds like a good idea, and I decide to ‘just have one’ and wake with a hangover yet again. I make the same promise to myself: tonight I won’t drink, no matter what, and then I break it. Over and over and over.

Until I am so tired.

In my circles, alcohol is like water, life isn’t possible without it, and if that is wrong we didn’t want to be right. Popular culture agrees — drinking is fun! — as long as you drink responsibly, which is so easy and intuitive that only the party-pooping government offer any guidelines.

Booze solves your problems: loneliness, boredom, crap TV, aging, ugliness, death. It provides sex and adventure, increases beauty — not just yours, but everyone’s! — the world itself’s. It turns up the colours, adds a coat of hyper gloss to the matte finish of planet E.

Why would anyone give it up?

If I could only stop thinking it was a problem then the problem would vanish. Poof!

So why can’t I stop thinking it’s a problem?

Because I’m an alcoholic?

Three years sober, I’m still ambivalent.

The label is out-of-date, but since I started using it my life is strikingly on track.

Am I a ‘high-functioning alcoholic’? No. No one is. Too much of an oxymoron.

Three years sober, I regularly self-identify as an ‘alcoholic’ but when I do, it is acts as shorthand for this:

‘I have an infuriating brain-twist regarding alcohol which means I cannot remember its negative qualities at the same time as I have excellent, technicolour recall of its positive qualities; and because I hear your stories that describe the same twist, I would love your help in holding a realistic perspective on this substance which made my life painful and narrow, and yet which I often long for with a fervent and inexplicable thirst’.

Is the outdated label starting to make sense?

There is almost no evidence of how my drinking was destructive outside of my own psyche. Which is not the same as saying there is no evidence that my drinking was destructive.

My story has so little drama, and yet, weirdly, that’s why I’m compelled to share it. How many people keep drinking because they aren’t ‘bad enough’ to identify with the 12 steppers? How many keep drinking because their friends smile and tell them that they don’t have a problem?

Women, we need to stop gaslighting ourselves and learn from our experience.

There are so many tools and support networks who want to help: AA, Smart Recovery, Soberistas, Hip Sobriety, This Naked Mind, Recovery Elevator being just a few I’ve used along the way.

Most of the evidence of my drink problem came from the way my life changed after I quit. I wonder how your life would change if you did?

Sign up for more from me at beautifulhangover <3

[expressandadmirable]

Children’s Work

(Response to the 58. “I will never hurt you.” prompt from @stufflaalikes)

“V, please! Don't run so far, I don't want to lose you!”

The girl giggled, skipping a few paces further ahead, and Esperance realised how dearly she had missed the sound. Aviva laughed less and less as she grew from childhood to adolescence; still young by most metrics, she had already seen more than her fair share of hardship and injustice. The fresh welts slicing her palms were the most recent example, and though she had simply adapted to favour the backs of her hands for a few days after receiving her lashings, the sight of them always made her mother’s heart twist in her chest. Damn every teacher in that blasted school.

But tonight had been a good night. More than slightly belated as far as celebrations went, but the Lux women had never been overly attached to where days fell on the calendar. They gave gifts when they could afford them and simply assigned their significance to the most recent occasion, be it a birthday or the Festival or one of the host of silly Cornerian holidays. Tonight’s excursion came a full season after its designated day, due in equal part to Esperance’s overfull working hours and to the sheer price of the tickets. She had refused Mourat’s kind offer to buy them for her; she was not often the type to let pride get the better of her, but gift-giving was a sacred ritual. It would be worth the wait.

From the moment they stepped into the theatre, Esperance knew it had indeed been worth the wait. Aviva’s wide, wondering eyes darted about the foyer, from the gilded statues of angelic Humans nestled in their alcoves to the monochromatic tiled floor beneath their feet to the glittering chandelier overhead. Her delight only increased as they made their way up the flights of wide marble steps to the balcony level, its lobby panelled in rich, dark wood and draped in green velvet. As her daughter stopped to admire the intricate carvings adorning one of the columns, Esperance could not help but wonder what the construction of such a place must have cost -- and if they had need of a leatherworker.

When the usher guarding the door stepped aside to indicate their seats, Aviva stopped in her tracks, rendered utterly speechless by the view sprawled before her. She took in the huge proscenium, the rich red curtains trimmed in golden fringe, the painted ceiling, the sheer vastness of the space, her breath escaping in a slow, awed exhale. They had attended plays on the common and occasional productions at the open-topped theatre near the docks, but nothing even a fraction as lavish as this. She did not speak until they had taken their seats, turning to her mother with a radiant, childlike grin. “Mama, it’s… beautiful!”

Esperance smiled and squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Happy birthday, baby.” Then the lights dimmed and the orchestra began to play.

The opera was as magnificent as the trappings surrounding it, with a sweeping score and opulent sets and costumes, a mixture of minor magic and clever lighting tricks bringing the otherworldly elements of the story to thrilling life. The plot was dark and appropriately theatrical, centring on a wraith who haunted an opera house in an unnamed faraway city and fell in love with a beautiful Half-Elf singer who worked there. Embittered by her love for a rich, mortal Human man, the wraith tormented her and wreaked havoc upon the theatre until it was banished during the final showdown between the three leads. For her part, Esperance thought it all a bit melodramatic, but she had to admit it was wonderfully entertaining.

Aviva was enraptured. She watched the events unfold onstage with singular focus, her fingers unconsciously tapping the rhythms of the music on the arms of her seat. Although her injured palms prevented her from applauding at the curtain call, she was undaunted, leaping to her feet and cheering with all her might. For once, Esperance noted with a smile, her daughter actually seemed her age.

As they ambled through the lamplit streets in the vague direction of home, Aviva filled the frigid winter air with an unending stream of thoughts and questions. She liked the female lead’s voice, though her own would likely become too deep to play that particular role. She wondered how they had made the wraith disappear at the end, and if it was magic, whether she could learn to cast it. She hoped Mourat could teach her the central melodies. She wondered if the two lovers really would live happily ever after.

“I do have one big question, though,” she continued, pausing to let her mother catch up and falling into step beside her.

Esperance laughed, glancing at her with a raised brow. “Were none of those big questions?”

“No,” Aviva retorted, then reconsidered. “Well, yes. But this is a for-actual big question. In the scene after the singer ran away from the theatre, when the count catches up with her and does that big grand declaration of love, they kept singing about how perfect it would be. How they were meant to be together. And he kept telling her ‘I will never hurt you’. That was the through-line of the whole scene: that he would never ever hurt her, and so he was better than the wraith -- also he was alive, but that’s beside the point. He kept coming back to it. And that’s just… not true, is it?”

Esperance had come to expect deep and far-reaching questions out of the girl, even moreso as she moved further away from childhood, but the specifics of them never failed to surprise her. She let out a puff of mist, folding her arms beneath her heavy shawl. “No. It’s not true. Mortals are clumsy creatures, and sometimes we hurt people, even if we don’t mean to. Even if we love them.”

“Did you and papa hurt each other?”

“Yes.” The older woman’s smile turned wan. She knew it was not the answer Aviva was hoping for, but the girl was far too smart to think it could be anything else. “Your papa and I had our share of quarrels, said our share of unkind things. We never meant to hurt each other, but we did. And… When he left it hurt most of all.”

Aviva chewed her lip, mulling over her mother’s words. “Love sounds exhausting.”

“It can be.”

“I’m not sure I want to fall in love.”

Esperance huffed a soft laugh. “Two problems with that, sweet pea. First, both your parents were hopeless romantics, and you are most definitely our child.” Opening one side of her shawl, she wrapped an arm around her daughter. “Second, love comes in many forms, and they all have the potential to hurt. It’s unavoidable.” She paused, her voice dropping. “Just look at you and me.”

Aviva stiffened, undoubtedly remembering their last big argument. Esperance had certainly spent enough time dwelling on it. Though her actions had come from a place of desperation, a panicked desire to protect and shelter, it had not gone as either of them had expected and she would forever wish she had handled it differently. But, at least it illustrated a point.

Slowing to a halt on the cobblestones, Esperance opened the other side of her shawl, drawing Aviva into the warmth of the fabric and squeezing her tightly. “Ohh, my girl. You’re too clever by half, you know that?” Aviva chuckled into her shoulder. “Always asking the big questions. Growing up so fast.” Too fast. She kissed her daughter’s forehead, already so close in height to her own. “Here’s what I know: there’s no such thing as a perfect relationship. Lovers, children, friends… People disappoint each other. That's part of life. It's how they move on from it that matters.” It was a lesson as much for her as for the girl in her arms.

“Sounds like an awful lot of work,” Aviva grumbled, but there was a smile hidden in her protest.

“It is, at that,” Esperance nodded. “You can’t un-hurt someone, even if it was an accident. The best you can do is acknowledge the pain you caused. Learn from it, grow from it, try not to repeat the same mistakes. And always, always say you’re sorry.” She breathed deeply, taking in the whispers of snow in the air. “I’m sorry, my love.”

It was not the first time she had apologised for the fight, but the words felt heavier as they left her lips. She had, however temporarily, lost her daughter’s trust, and the circumstances of their lives all but guaranteed it would happen again. All she could do was try her best. Hopefully her best would be good.

“Ie'vory xedaj, mama.” You are my calm. There was no word for ‘love’ in their people’s language, but generations upon generations had managed to get by all the same. They made do. They always would.

Esperance smiled. “I love you too, baby.”

[vacationsoup]

New Post has been published on https://vacationsoup.com/the-ultimate-bristol-hen-party-guide-the-best-places-to-go-things-to-do/

The Ultimate Bristol Hen Party Guide - The best places to go / Things to do

If you are staying in Bristol for a Hen Party or Girls weekend away, here is the best guide with ideas of what to do and where to go in Bristol.  It also includes lots of great mobile "in house" activities you can book at your Hen Party Accommodation.

Bristol has so much to offer.  There’s never a dull moment, it’s buzzing all day and night.  There is so much to enjoy, the Vibrant Harbourside, massive shopping centre, restaurants, the nightlife is fantastic.   Everything in this guide will be suitable for groups of 12 or more.

Best Nightclubs for a Hen Party in Bristol

Pryzm the biggest Nightclub in Bristol

PRYZM is a modern, state of the art, stylish night club, close to the harbourside.  A modern-day coliseum consisting of 3 club arenas, luxurious VIP suites and the ultimate chic and sexy bar experience, containing bespoke designer furnishings with a modern twist. With all the biggest brand premium spirits, champagne and prosecco available plus plenty of tasty cocktails and shots to choose from along with some of the best DJs and PAs around, there’s simply no better venue to spend you the evening with friends. PRYZM offers an amazing combination of excitement, atmosphere, elegance and opulence alongside world-class entertainment and service standards. Book your hen party and enjoy the VIP treatment you ladies deserve plus the ultimate clubbing experience you want, all rolled into one for a  truly amazing night out.

Popworld

Dance until the early hours in this popular thriving nightclub in the heart of the City Centre.  They play the best and biggest songs from the 80’s, 90’s and upwards.   This colourful venue has bookable booths for your VIP experience, with table service throughout the evening.  So, whether you are planning a night out with the girls, birthday party or hen party this will be a great place to celebrate.  Get the party started with Popworld sharer Cocktails from £9.95, or 4 for £8 on shots or something else from the array of drinks available.  Check out the Website for more information.

  Lola Lo Nightclub

Another one of Bristol’s popular nightclubs is this intimate Tiki-themed nightclub, spend the evening in this colourful nightclub giving you the feeling of being on holiday with their feature bamboo styled bar, impressive lamplit interior, colourful neon lights and decor and superb cocktails.  Get into the spirit and take some selfies at the dressing up box. Playing a mix of music including cheesy and eclectic pool party-worthy dance tunes, this is a great place to party.  Book a Tiki Style Cocktail making Masterclass, learn how to create a selection of bespoke cocktails with the added Lola Lo twist.  Classes last for 2 hours and prices start from £28.95 per person.  Or just book a VIP booth and get your name on the guest list.

Opa – Restaurant and Club

A fabulous Greek Restaurant servicing delicious fresh food but turns into a night club after 10 pm with great music and Weekly Themed Nights.  It has an amazing sophisticated, luxurious interior and is set over two floors.  Downstairs is where you will find the Bar and dance floor area with bookable VIP booths.  They often have guest DJs and sometimes have ticketed nights.  They host special packages for Hen Parties, with additional options for food.  You can also book a Cocktail Masterclass. Upstairs is where you eat.  There are plenty of options to choose from, depending on the size of your group.  You could spend the whole evening there as it is open until 3 am. If you are just visiting for the nightclub, you will need your passport for ID as this is a venue for 23 + of age and proof will be required.  Get yourself on their Guestlist.

  The Old Market Assembly

A great place to spend the evening, with live music every weekend.  Its aim is to create an environment where culture, food, drink and music and events connect people from all walks of life.  You can book a table for food and then dance the night away from 10.30 pm into the early hours.  Enjoy the wide variety of live music usually on Fridays, from local and up and coming bands.  Saturdays are a mixture of anything from cabaret, drag queen acts, to club music, with the occasional live band.

  Thekla - Harbourside

Thekla is a massive boat.  It was originally a floating art gallery and theatre brought to the Mud Dock area back in 1982.  In the early 90’s it was transformed into a nightclub, providing performance for Bands such as Massive Attack and Bristol’s Drum and Bass scene.  It regularly has live gigs and is a firm favourite for dancing.  This is a club that may not appeal to everyone, we would suggest checking what’s on before you go. Find out More.

  Cocktails, Gin Tasting and Bottomless Brunch

Fancy a Bottomless Brunch with Cocktails?

Brunch is very popular in Bristol.  Many places are providing great Brunch experiences.  How about Brunch with an endless supply of your favour Cocktails at Aluna - 2-hour eating and drinking experience.  Choose your Cocktail, and delicious food from the Brunch Menu, one main and one dessert.  Dishes range from a traditional breakfast to pancakes or even cheesecake.  served every Saturday and Sunday between 11 am and 4 pm.  See their full menu and book  HERE Aluna is a great place even if you don’t fancy a Bottomless Brunch.  They are also very popular for their food and unique amazing cocktails.  It’s the perfect place for people looking for something a little bit different in the bustling Broad Quay of Bristol. Why not book a Masterclass? - Cocktail Masterclasses will be a personal guided session with your own bartender, who will show you the basic Aluna techniques to making show-stopping cocktails. Packages start from £22.95 per head up to £39.95 per head, although groups must be a minimum of 4 people and a maximum of 12. Any groups larger than this must be completed in two sessions to ensure the guests receive the best experience with each session lasting roughly 1-3 hours depending on package and group size.   Booking in advance is essential due to demand.

  Click HERE to book.

  Gin Tasting Experience – The Florist

Enjoy a masterclass at the Florist, hosted by a Gin expert, for a fun event full of sipping the classy spirt.  Learn how to pick out the many flavours of distilled gin, from citrus to fruity and which tonics and garnishes complement them the most.  A great way to kick start your weekend.  The Florist provides Gin tasting experiences which last for 90 minutes and accommodates up to 12 people.  The Florist is a beautifully decorated very popular restaurant in Bristol, so if you are feeling peckish after you can also enjoy a lovely meal.  Visit their WEBSITE for dining options or book you Gin Tasting Masterclass.

  Revolucion de Cuba

A Fabulous Bar and Restaurant right on the harbourside, with an electric atmosphere, tasteful funky Cuban inspired decor and live music during the weekends.  This is one of the biggest bars in Bristol and is spread over two floors.  Book your Classic Cocktail making Masterclasses, or you can combine the Cocktail Classes with food, such as tapas or deliciously indulgent 2-course meals.  There are a few different options.   How fab is that, a great Hen Party Weekend starter.  Book a Cocktail Masterclass

More details about the Cuban inspired Bar and Restuarant

  Zerodegrees

Set in a historic building, an old tram shed, right in the heart of the great city you will find this stunning restored Building.  It has three spacious outdoor terraces to make the most of the summer sunshine and relaxed atmospheric interior.  This much loved, marvellous microbrewery, brews its own beer and services deliciously tasty locally sourced food and fabulous cocktails. Zerodegrees serves quality tasty food and has an extensive range of all of your favourite Cocktails, at very reasonable prices.  A great place to start your evening out.  Find out more on the Website.

Cosy Club

A grand venue in the centre of Bristol.  Cosy Club is a really stylish bar with a restaurant at the back.  It was formerly a bank and has retained all of its character features, with its very elegant and grand high ceilings with an awe-inspiring domed roof and marble flooring.  This smart and sophisticated bar makes for a super start to any evening. Serving Brunch, Lunch and Tasty Tapas and Dinner.  They have a massive range of Cocktails.  Check out there Menus.

  Best places to Eat for a Hen Party in Bristol

Lunch or Dinner at a family-owned Italian Restaurant - La Grotta

Being on Union Street right in the Centre of Bristol La Grotta is perfectly situated for either lunchtime visits whilst shopping, early dinner after wandering Broadmead & Cabot Circus, Dinner before venturing out to one of a host of Bristol’s many nightspots, pubs, clubs & Theatres etc or for a Special night out meal. They have a very extensive menu, including the obvious Pasta & Pizzas but also a good range of Fish, Chicken, Meats & Steaks and Daily Specials with an array of homemade desserts to finish your meal.  They proudly boast that all meals are prepared with the freshest locally sourced ingredients and all meals are prepared & cooked freshly to order. La Grotta is able to cater for larger groups, Hen Parties, Birthday Parties or Family Gatherings, as well as couples.  Highly recommended.  Tel – 0117 9290466

Read about our recent visit.

  Fancy some tapas, cocktails and music?

Situated on the waterfront, El Puerto is an independently owned restaurant, serving fresh authentic Spanish cuisine as well as signature Sangria, Spanish wines and beer.  You can choose from a wide range of food as well as their delicious tapas dishes. This restaurant has a genuine Spanish feel, with a vibrant atmosphere and friendly Spanish staff.  They boost to be the only Spanish restaurant in Bristol with fully trained Spanish Chefs.  They provide fresh, nutritious flame cooked food from mainly organic local food producers and suppliers.  Open 7 days a week 12 pm – 12 am.  Check out their Menu. El Puerto caters for large groups, including Hen Parties and has cosy areas for smaller groups as well as couples.

  Magic, Food and Music at Smoke and Mirrors

A bar with its own Magic Theatre featuring Close up Magic, Live Music, Stand Up Comedy, Burlesque, Comedy and Magic Shows with inhouse Magicians. Expect to be entertained in the cosy bar with close-up magic from the minute you enter the door.  The show starts at 8 pm, you will be welcomed into the theatre to enjoy 2 hours of hilarious comedy and magician acts.  Your face will ache from all the laughing during the very entertaining show.  After the show, you can relax and enjoy live music in the cosy bar which services a wide variety of drinks and serves pizzas and other delicious bar snacks. Smoke and Mirrors also run Cocktail and Magic Masterclasses.  You can learn how to make up to 3 classic cocktails.  Classes are run every Saturday from 3 pm to 5 pm and you can not only learn how to make your favourite cocktails, they also teach you some magic tricks so that you can talk away feeling accomplished from your new skills.  Booking well in advance is essential.  Something quite unique and different for you to enjoy on your girls night out.

  Za Za Bazaar - multi-cuisine buffet restaurant

Located right on the Harbourside this restaurant is a world banquet and bar.  An “all you can eat” restaurant where you can feast on food for all around the world.  Once inside this enormous venue, you feel like you’ve been transported into another world, with big neon lights and a theatrical feeling. This is a self-service venue and has specialist chiefs for each type of cuisine, you can watch the food being created right in front while you wait to load your plate.  Each cooking station is run as an individual restaurant and all the food is freshly prepared on-site.  A great opportunity to try something you may not normally order in a restaurant.  The food choice is huge, food from – Far East, China, Italy, India, Thailand, Mexico and Great Britain Classics. This amazing venue also has a downstairs bar, with plenty of seating and Live Bands on Fridays and Saturdays making it for a great place to get you warmed up before going to a nightclub.

Check out the Website to make a booking

Best Places to go for Afternoon Tea for a Hen Party in Bristol

How about a really special Cream Tea aboard The Matthew

Take in the atmosphere and indulge in a traditional cream tea aboard the magnificent Matthew ship.  This reconstruction of the original has been modernised to comply with safety regulations and is a sight to behold. Enjoy scones, beautifully homemade cakes, jam and clotted cream with tea or coffee, while cruising for 1 ½ hours aboard this incredible ship, sedately travelling along the harbour, passing the SS Great Britain along the way.

Visit the Website for more information.

Afternoon Tea in a Unique Cakery

Vintage Birdcage Cakery is a really beautifully decorated café and is very popular for Afternoon Tea.  Afternoon Tea consists of a variety of freshly made sandwiches, wraps and mini quiches, coleslaw and crisps together with a selection of homemade cakes, mini scones, clotted cream and jam.  Prices start from £14.00 per person.

This very popular café is a little gem with a unique personality.  They pay great attention to detail the staff are really friendly and everybody talks about their amazing food which caters for all dietary needs.  Take a look at their Menu. 

They also serve breakfasts, lunch - loaded jacket potatoes, salads, sandwiches, paninis, toasties, baguettes, bespoke homemade cakes, cream tea, milkshakes etc including a children’s menu, the list goes on and caters for everyone.  Open every day until 4.30 pm apart from Sunday when it closes at 3 pm.   There are situated right next to the lovely Kingsgate Park, if you fancy having a stroll and burning off some calories afterwards.

  The Bristol – River Grille

With beautiful views of the harbourside, this is a fabulous place for Afternoon tea.  Set in a lofty conservatory-style space River Grille has an elegant light and airy, spacious dining room with a relaxed and informal ambience.  Afternoon tea consists of freshly made finger sandwiches, homemade cakes, pastries and a selection of fine teas. They also have a full menu and boast about their spectacular steaks and perfectly cooked fish from their award-winning chef.

Visit the Website for more information.

  Do you need somewhere to stay, check availability HERE  for affordable accommodation

Activity ideas for your Hen Party in Bristol

Pole Dancing - 360 Pole Dancing

Have a bit of sassy fun with a 2-hour pole dancing class at 360 Pole Dancing Bristol.  Classes are held at a glamorous dedicated, mirrored dance studio in Bedminster Bristol. Learn some of the sexiest moves and poses including “The Wrap Around”, “The Fireman”, “The Back Slide” and “Body Wave”.  Learn how to make a big entrance.  Don’t worry if you don’t have any experience everyone will be able to learn something.  Feather Boas props are available to use on the day. Make sure you take your camera and high heels for those sexy photo opportunities.  Enjoy a bottle of pink bubbly, a special gift for the bride and sweeties to keep your energy up.   Hen Parties on Saturday’s start from 11 am, 1.30 pm or 4 pm.  Visit the Website for more information.

  Something you probably haven’t thought of–  Inland Surfing

Why not try the newest attraction in Bristol?  Opening in November 2019, inland surfing at The Wave.  Enjoy a 2 hour session with a lesson at the amazing 180 metres long surfing lake.  Everything needed will be provided, including wetsuits, boots and board.  The venue will be at a beautiful site in Easter Compton and will not only have a wave pool, but it will also have a natural swimming lake, barefoot trails, a rope and tunnels course, foraging areas and gardens of various types, a clubhouse serving delicious food and surf shop.  If not all of the group fancies surfing, spectators are welcome for a small fee, to just sit relax and watch all the action. This is sure to be a very popular venue, booking well in advance will be essential.  Visit the Website  for more information.  Open every day of the year, except Christmas day.

  How about a booze cruise with Bristol Ferry Boats?

Bristol Ferry boats offer a variety of options to see the City from a different viewpoint.  Take a trip around the harbour on one of their, fully licensed, iconic Blue and Yellow Ferry Boats. Packages include - trips along the dockside pubs and bars – where you have the opportunity to hop on and off of the boat or you can organise Vintage Tea Parties, Bubbly Breakfast or you can create your own bespoke party with them. Daily Cruises are also on offer and can be booked in advance, trips last from 2 to 3 ½ hours.  Trips range from Sundown Sailing, Brunel’s Tour, Avon Gorge Trip, Friday trips with to venue with live music and Sunday Riverside Roast trips.

Read more about Bristol Ferry Boat trips

Dance Classes – Cheerleading Company Bristol

Bristol is very popular for Dance classes for Hen Parties.  The Cheerleading Company offer over 30 different dance lessons for hen parties that are held centrally within walking distance of Bristols best attractions for hen dos including Park Street, Whiteladies Rd, and the Waterfront.  Just choose which dance class the bride to be would love!  Check availability HERE. There are so many Hen Party classes to choose from, here are just a few to give you an idea - Salsa & Latin - Line Dancing - Girl Band - Spice Girls Hen - 50's Swing Dance - Cheerleading - Single Ladies - Dirty Dancing - 80's Hen - Charleston - Grease - Bollywood Hen - Burlesque If you prefer, they can provide lessons at your Hen Party Accommodation, so you can have a laugh and a few drinks without having to travel.

Locked in a Room

A live escape room experience. Participants are locked in a room with a series of tests, puzzles and clues that combined, allow the unlocking of the room’s mystery and hopefully a successful escape, challenging you every step of the way.  Once the door slams, you’ll need to quickly figure out what lies ahead of you and ensure you have the best-laid plans in order. You’ll need to collect clues, solve riddles and think outside the box in order to escape in time. Teamwork is key!

The games are designed for 3 players or more. You will find yourself submerged into a new world in the heavily themed rooms, there are three to choose from!  And be taken on a journey through the world of science and time travel.  Faced with non-physical, yet exhilarating, challenges, cryptic clues, tests and puzzles which are aimed at stretching the usual thought processes. Locked in a Room Bristol is the only escape venue in Europe that can enable a large group up to 52 players (up to 72 coming soon!) to race against each other simultaneously. This considerably adds to the pressure, excitement and adrenaline rush, as if it wasn’t tense enough already!  Booked your great escape Now!

Find out more

Fancy an afternoon of fun games in the countryside

West Country Games have it all.  Voted Bristol’s no 1 Activity by Tripadvisor. Embrace what the countryside has to offer and take part in 9 totally unique “West Country” themed games.  You don’t need to worry about the weather either as you can have use of their indoor activity centre between November and February. Here are just some of the activities. Cider Run – Get your cheeky pint and leg it as far as you can before getting twanged by the bungee. West country skittles with a twist. Bar Skittles with humans on cider kegs, daft and fun, be prepared. Welly Wanging – lobbing your welly boots at a series of fun targets. Pitchfork Duel – Inflatables of course. Vicky Pollard Handbags – Batter the life out of each other in Pollard inflatable suits. West Country Wipeout – Keep jumping and try not to get wiped out by the sweeper arm. This is a great ice breaker if not everyone knows each other that well at your Hen Party a fun experience from start to finish. Your faces will be hurting by the end where you have laughed so much and you will all know each other that little bit more. Check out the WEBSITE for more details.

  How about something different?  – Quad Biking, Hovercrafts or Clay Pigeon Shooting

Based in Bristol near the Massive shopping centre at Cribbs Causeway Max Events has a purpose-built outdoor activity centre providing professional experiences for an actioned pack day.  On offer is the widest range of sporting activities found at any venue. You can choose from 1 – 6 activities depending on your budget - Rage Buggies, Quad Biking, Hovercraft, Clay Pigeon Shooting, Paint Ball, Zombie Apocalyse, Rifle Shooting, Crossbow – this list goes on and on. They’ve been hosting hen parties in Bristol for over 14 years.

Not going out? Bring the entertainment to your Hen Party Accommodation

Looking for Hen Party Accommodation at affordable prices, Check availability HERE

Mobile Massage/Beauty Therapist

Pamper Party Angels are a team of highly-skilled, fully insured and qualified, Mobile Massage and Beauty Therapists.  Specialising in providing pamper parties in the comfort of your Hen Party Accommodation.  They are able to provide all your guests with 30-minute Massage or Beauty treatments including Facials, Pedicures, Manicures and Back, Neck and Shoulder Massages.

See their list of treatments HERE

Chocolate Making Workshop – The Chocolate Tart

With an “eat as much as you like” policy, this has to be the most heavenly Hen Party activity you can imagine.  The Chocolate Tart offers a wide variety of workshops to cater for everyone. Classes last from 1 – 3 hours depending on your choice.  You can learn how to make a chocolate box and fill it with truffles that you’ve made.  Or you can work with a mould to make a coloured hollow figure, such as a Chicken or Dog and then stuff your mould with delicious chocolates and package to take away.  Or enjoy a 3-hour workshop learning the art of hand-rolled fresh cream truffles, moulding your own homemade flavoured cream fondant, inside the chocolate shells you’ve made. Work with transfer sheets which embellish edible coloured patterns onto the bottom of your chocolate floretines to give your chocolates the professional look before packaging your chocolates into boxes, ballotins and sachets and decorating with stickers and ribbons. Class prices start from £35 per person.  Bespoke packages are available.  Visit the Website for more information.

Delightful Buffet delivered to your door

Vanilla Blue Catering offers superb buffets delivered to your accommodation.  Put together with Love and attention on every plate.  Sit back, relax and enjoy this very delicious tasty food with the best service from a local provider. On offer is a range of options from sandwich platters, canapes, sharing platters, finger buffets, fork buffets and more as well as some delicious desserts.  Finger buffet prices range from £6.25 to £10.75 per person.   For more information visit the Website

Mobile Cocktail Workshop

   The Bartender Hire Company provides premium cocktails for premium hen parties and can offer the very best tailor-made drinks packages, in the comfort of your Hen Party Accommodation.  There are a number of options for these afternoon activities. Cocktail Clinic is a fun training session where you learn all about cocktails and how to make them, this is the original and best cocktail workshop.  All-inclusive packages – a hassle-free option where your cocktail bartender provides and serves you with a choice of four superb cocktails from their menu.  You can also upgrade to butlers in the buff or a flair bartender.  Gin and Teatime – learn the intricacies of gin and taste some great gin cocktails all served by your bartender.  If you like gin this is the best way to get ready for your evening out. Everything is provided, glasses, drinks all the ingredients including ice, just choose the best package for you.  Prices range between £25 & £30 per person and last for between 2 and 2 ½ hours depending on the package.   Choose your package.

Hot tub Hire

Pepper Bells Glamping are a Bristol Company who hire out hot tubs as well as glamping tents.  They are a friendly family owned local business.  They offer luxury premium quality Canadian Swift hot tubs, which are the deepest tubs available.  Their tubs have a rigid outer shell offering greater insulation and support.  They can also provide gazebos, which come with fairy light for a small fee. These Hot tubs are available to hire for weekends and are very affordable. Discounts also available if ordering more than one.  Contact them for availability - Website

The Crafty Hen

Have some fun with a Hen Party Workshop in the comfort of your Hen Party Accommodation.  The Crafty Hen is a Bristol based company with plenty of packages to choose from.  Parties for creative Brides and friends working together to create bespoke wedding day keepsakes for the big day or for a unique hen party experience, they have it all. Choose from the many workshop options available or contact them with your own ideas.  Tried and tested workshops include – Flower Crown making, Ceramic Painting, Patchwork Party, Jewellery making, Fascinator making and Nipple Tassels, Bunting making, Knicker Customisation, Garter making, and many more. These are super workshops, lasting for up to 3 hours, crack open the bubbly, be inspired and get ready for lots of laughs along the way.  Check out the Website for more information.

Life Drawings – Cheekyart Party

Enjoy a bit a Cheeky Fun with a Nude Life Drawing class at your accommodation.  A fun and tasteful form of entertainment that’s classier than a stripper.  Your professional model, will make you feel at ease, give you instructions and guidance throughout and all the supplies needed for you to create your masterpiece. Classic Cheeky Packages last for approx. 60 minutes and includes all art supplies, full guided instructions, group photo with the model and a keepsake branded folder to keep all of those cheeky drawings in.  Or there’s an Ultimate Cheeky Package for 90 a minute session, which includes all of the above plus extra party games and bride and with model poses for sketches. Giggles are guaranteed at these sessions prices start from £19.95 per person.  See the Website for more information.

Tailored made therapies from a Holistic Therapist

    Treat yourself to relaxing spa treatments in the comfort of your accommodation, with Royall Holistics.   Nicky specialises in Reflexology, Reiki, Swedish, Hot Stone and Deep Tissue Massage.  Enjoy an afternoon of treatments and relax and unwind before hitting the town for the evening.

Nicky is a very experienced and professional therapist who will tailor treatments to your needs.  She comes highly recommended and has Hen Party packages, prices range from £17 - £25 per person.   Visit the Website for more information.  Or call her for a friendly chat 07786 407297

Afternoon Tea – Heartfelt Vintage

Afternoon Tea makes for a fun activity for your Hen Party.  Heartfelt Vintage does it in style, their passion is all things vintage with a good old-fashioned Afternoon Tea. They have 3 different packages.  The most popular option is to simply take delivery at your accommodation and enjoy the freshly homemade baked scones with a choice of homemade clotted cream and jam, 4 different types of fingers sandwiches, a centrepiece cake decorated with flowers, 2 scrumptious traybakes and a selection of 3 different teas. You also have the option to have all the lovely things as described above as well as hiring their vintage china, which is delivered and collected.  Or just go the whole shebang, let them do all the work, sit back and relax whilst they serve you and then clear up.  Prices start from £17.95 per person.  Visit the Website for more information.

Thanks for reading, we hope you enjoy the content and find the information useful.  If you are looking for somewhere to stay, our Holiday Let sleeps 12 and is just 15 mins to Bristol and Bath.  We would love you to come and stay.  Check our Website for availability or email me clare@buryhillfarm.com

www.buryhillfarmbristol.com

[somewhereelsenow00]

bateleur

Day 5:  ヒデ Hide

Summary: The Night Circus is an enigma that none have been able to understand. It appears, entertains, then vanishes, and all who have witnessed what lies within have never come out the same. Hide is but one of its various centerpieces, playing the role of a charismatic magician. He soon comes to realize that some roles come with a steep price to pay.

Notes: This work is Hide-centric, and will be featuring multiple pairings with Hide, namely TouHide, HideKane, and TsukiHide. Give him all the love this week <3

Leave kudos/comments on the AO3 ver.! (link is on my bio)

Chapter 5 of 7: escape

“I would have written you, myself, if I could put down in words everything I want to say to you. A sea of ink would not be enough.”

“But you built me dreams instead. And I built you tents you hardly ever see. I have had so much of you around me always and I have been unable to give you anything that you can keep.”

It takes over a day to prepare for the trip northbound and Hide is still unsure of whether or not his calculations are precise enough. He usually takes weeks of review before letting his magic seep into the formulae, the scribbles, and the models that he creates. And even then it takes a massive amount of concentration to maintain their functionality. Before, it might have counted as a single point against him in the larger scale of the duel, but now the stakes are higher and one minuscule oversight can cost him the entirety of the circus and all of the lives within.

Everything hinges on a thick ream of paper that he has spent an entire day and night writing on every single sheet. It is this that he entrusts to Marude before leaving.

Marude tries to stop him. Of course he does. It is the riskiest, and possibly the worst move to play. Two lives against the circus, which is, in and of itself, a core of magic strong enough to wreak havoc across continents. It is ludicrous, Marude says to him. And if Hide will just stop to think he might be able to see just how dangerous and idiotic his decision to leave is.

“I can’t leave them to die, Father,” Hide says, his voice fracturing ever so slightly under the weight of the choice he has made. “I’ve hurt and lied and betrayed them far enough.”

“But to risk the world for it?” Marude is angry, but most of his anger has passed by now and all that is left is the wild desperation to understand why his son is risking it all for lovers he can easily replace. “To risk everything we stand for, and die doing it? Hide, if you wanted to take a wife or a husband or even a mistress, I could send for dozens of suitors. Those two… They are not the only ones who long for your attentions.”

Hide breathes, slowly, and chooses his next words with care. “Father,” he says, “I know that this is not only about the circus and me. You’ve made decisions you regret too. And I know that not a day goes by that you don’t think of Uncle Chika. Losing him, you lost a part of yourself, and you know that you could have lost the circus that way. And now you are afraid I’ll make the same mistake.”

Marude says nothing, only searches in Hide’s eyes for an answer that he might never find.

“I have to go,” Hide continues. “I have to, because it’s only right. It’s the only decision that I won’t regret.”

A pause, half a dozen heartbeats, and a long drawn-out breath. Then Marude sighs. “Alright. You can go.” He stumbles back a step when Hide pounces on him for a hug.

“Thank you,” Hide says. He releases Marude and beams. “Put your trust in me and I’ll return, whole and well.”

“Go,” Marude says quietly, a faint sorrow in his eyes. “And be careful.”

“I will.” And with that, Hide takes his leave, placing the circus in Marude’s hands for the time being.

He takes the train north up to five platforms before getting off. He brings no luggage and has been wearing the same clothes for the past two days. His exhaustion makes his steps sluggish, but he draws upon anger and worry to fuel his drive. As the train pulls away behind him, he pulls his coat tighter around himself. The sharp wind chill is still something he is not used to, even after all these years. For a few seconds, as the breeze picks up suddenly, he regrets not pulling on an extra layer.

He enters a town with more field than house, and pauses to buy three loaves of bread at a tiny inn. He tears into them so quickly that the innkeeper’s wife pulls her husband aside and asks him if this half-starved boy paid for his bread. After his makeshift meal, he leaves the inn and hurries behind it before pulling out his lucky coin. The king smiles with a conspiratorial eyebrow waggle.

He hopes the bread will provide him with enough energy to survive the journey he has planned. Then, closing his eyes, he wills his body forward in space.

The world folds in on itself around him, as easily as paper. He is the last to go, and the sensation of his entire body and self flattening is never a pleasant one. His body folds like the rest  of the world did before him. It is impossible to breathe—his lungs are paper thin, and so are the rest of his limbs. He endures, holding his breath for an absurd amount of time.

Then everything unfolds. First his arms, then his legs, his body. Trees surround him on all sides, grass pokes into his trousers and tickle his ankles, and then the world is back, as if it had never vanished. Hide sucks in a breath, then two. There is a weakness in his legs, but it is not unfamiliar. He crouches, then sits for a while on the forest floor to catch his breath and regain his strength before attempting another jump.

This time he lands on his stomach, gasping for air. He flops onto his back and breathes. He throws an arm over his eyes and tries not to vomit. He fights the exhaustion and nausea, staggers onto his feet. Using a nearby wall for balance, he walks out of a narrow alleyway onto a dim, lamplit street. With trembling hands he reaches into his pocket for an extra load of bread he brought from home. He forces it down, and clamps his lips shut with his fingers to keep from throwing it back up.

He swallows the last of it, and exhales, half-relieved. The street is, fortunately, devoid of life. He makes his way through it, surrounded by that familiar scent of brine, except this is much colder and harsher than that of his home island.

Local gossip with a few men at a pub tell him all he needs to know: that he is at the right place, at the right time. The garrison he must find lies on a rocky outcropping extending beyond the sandy shoals that border the town on its west side. The pirate’s execution is scheduled for dawn the next day. But didn’t they hear, one of the men adds, there’d been a break-in and a woman had been caught and tried for being the pirate’s accomplice. She’s probably his personal whore, they all agree, much to Hide’s concealed chagrin.

He makes for the garrison.

From a hundred feet away, he can already see the patrols at the gate. He wonders, for a moment, what to do. Then in a brief stroke of genius, he runs his hands over his long overcoat, and watches its threads alter in shape and color. He pulls the new hood over his head and walks as confidently as he can, right up to the gates. His heart pounds in his ears as the guards regard him.

“State your business, Father,” says the guard on the left.

“I’ve come to offer the sacrament of reconciliation to the souls on death row,” Hide says calmly.

“That’s rather unusual. Confessions are normally given right before execution.”

He swallows. “The parish priest wished me to come earlier. For the poor woman’s sake.”

The guards exchange glances, for a heart-stopping moment they seem as if they are going to turn him in, but instead they unlock the gates and step aside for him to enter. He lets out a sigh of relief when the gates close behind him.

He continues down the hallway, which stops at a pair of staircases which go both up and down. He chooses the flight that descends. Another guard stands at the foot of the steps, but this one only nods at him respectfully. He moves on, worrying all the while if he is walking too fast or too slow. Then, finally, he reaches the dungeons. Another sigh escapes him.

A long line of barred doors extends before him.

“Father,” moans one of the prisoners, “Father, help me. Tell them I am innocent of my crimes.”

“Early for an emissary of death now, aren’t ye,” spits another.

“All of you shut up, I’m trying to sleep before I die tomorrow.”

Hide freezes.

“Yes, milady,” says a prisoner in mock deference.

He tries not to let his happiness and relief show when he goes to her cell.

Then Touka is there, lying amongst a scant pile of hay on the moldy stone floor. Her dress is torn and her hands and feet are wounded. She sits up when she sees him at her door. Ken appears at the door beside her. They both gape at him in disbelief as he reaches for their faces and whispers, “Thank God. Thank God, you’re both alright.”

And when they look at each other, they simply have to smile.

“Hide,” Ken says softly. “I didn’t think… I didn’t expect… you would come.”

Touka grins and even her bruised smiling face is so beautiful Hide wants to kiss it. “I told you he would,” she says, her eyes on Hide’s and filled with loving pride. “He’s an idiot like that. Which is why you and I love him.”

Both Hide and Ken blush and stutter, but Touka is the one who gets them back on track.

“We can talk more about this later,” she says. “We need to escape first.” She pauses. “And Kaneki, I don’t want you starting any more ruckus about how you ‘deserve’ this punishment. If you don’t come with us, I’ll personally drag you back.”

Ken sighs. “Yes, ma’am.”

Hide chuckles. “You’ve gotten used to her already?”

“It’s hard not to, when you’ve been stuck in the same cell for half a week.”

Touka elbows him and says, “Alright. What’s the plan?”

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