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ineffable-snowman · 4 years ago

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Fic: For Want of Snow

Hi @smeltster, this is your gift for the GO Events gift exchange @good-snowmens. Happy Good Snowmens to you!

Thank you very much to @artemis for beta-reading!

***

For Want of Snow

“You don’t have snow anymore in London,” Aziraphale had said wistfully one day while they were strolling through St. James’s Park, Crowley with a black umbrella and Aziraphale with a tartan one to protect themselves against the steady drizzle.

Personally, Crowley could do without the snow. The usual London weather in December – grey, cold, rainy – was bad enough. Nevertheless, he had filed that information away for later, and when he came across a snow globe in a shop (as you do), he bought one for Aziraphale.

“Oh, how delightful,” Aziraphale said happily as Crowley presented him with the snow globe and removed a stack of books from the coffee table to place the snow globe there. Crowley, in turn, removed the books from the floor and squeezed them onto the shelves.

“Need to keep things tidy,” he offered as a mumbled explanation at Aziraphale’s questioning glance, all the while trying to forget how, just a few months ago, all the books and sheets of paper on the floor had so quickly caught fire. Then he flopped down on his sofa, half listening to Aziraphale prattle on about some theatre production he wanted to see, but mostly glaring at the blessed fireplace to make it very clear that it was never meant to host a fire again.

“Are you quite alright?” Aziraphale’s voice jolted him out of his glaring.

“Yeah, sure. Just cold.” Nothing unusual about snakes disliking the cold, right?

Aziraphale immediately got up to fuss, offered him a woollen tartan blanket (which he naturally refused), and a cup of tea (which he allowed).

“I could light a fire,” Aziraphale suggested.

“No! No, not necessary, I’m already much warmer, this-” Crowley sloshed some tea over his trousers and suppressed a hiss “-works wonders. What were you saying about that musical play?”

The distraction worked – for now. It did nothing to make the images of the bookshop on fire in Crowley’s mind disappear, though.

Crowley’s gaze kept drifting to the snow globe where the snowflakes floated dreamily down onto the little house between pine trees. The brightly lit windows looked cosy, and an idea started to form in Crowley’s head.

***

Hell used to hold Crowley up as an example for efficient evil deeds organisation. What he was planning now was not exactly evil but it warranted the same kind of attention to detail (maybe even more).

He started subtly, making the Bentley play White Christmas whenever he drove Aziraphale somewhere. Then he placed adverts at the places Aziraphale frequented: picturesque images of snowy villages and woods, vacation homes, cottages to rent, property for sale.

“You know, it would be nice to have a White Christmas again,” Aziraphale said when they were sitting, once again wet from the London rain, in the Bentley and the song Winter Wonderland began to play.

Crowley hummed his agreement. “Makes it really Christmassy, snow. Very festive.”

“It’s a shame neither of us took weather management courses, back in Heaven.”

“Yeah, would’ve been more helpful than choir practice.”

“Oh, don’t remind me!”

Any other day Crowley gladly would have taken this chance to bitch about Heaven with Aziraphale but now he needed to focus on his mission. The car in front of them stopped without knowing why, right next to a travel agency with a big poster in their shop window that showed a cottage in a winter landscape.

“You know,” Crowley said offhandedly, “there are places where you could have a White Christmas.”

“Yes, in Lappland or Siberia. I’m sure it would be wonderful to go there but you know how I love the English Christmas traditions.”

“There are English places where you could have a White Christmas.”

“Oh? Where would that be?”

“Tadfield. For example.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“Uh.” From very thorough research about which part of the UK had the highest probability of a White Christmas. “Had a chat with the Antichrist’s father. Not Satan, obviously, still not on speaking terms since you know. His human father. Anyway, they’ve had White Christmases for several years now, he said.”

“How lovely. Tadfield is not very far, maybe we could go there on Christmas Day for a walk in the snow.”

Crowley shrugged. “Could rent a cottage for Christmas.”

Aziraphale turned to him, a worried look on his face, and shit, shit, shit, too fast. The song changed midway (I’m dreaming of ice in the sunshine) and the snowy cottage on the poster turned into a tropical island. Crowley wanted to hit himself for being such an idiot. Why couldn’t he leave things be? Things were fine now, why couldn’t he just be satisfied with what he had?

“I meant only so we could have a place to warm up,” he said quickly and honked at the car in front of him to finally get moving, for Heaven’s sake! “You know, after a walk in the snow, you need a warm place where you can have a hot drink and I don’t think they have cafés in Tadfield, so.”

“Oh. Yes.” Aziraphale hesitated. “Good.” He cleared his throat. “We could do that.”

***

It took careful planning. First of all he needed to rent a cottage. Not just any cottage, the perfect cottage in the perfect location. A cottage that was also potentially for sale.

Then he kidnapped the holiday decorator at Harrods (but paid him generously, so it wasn’t really kidnapping) to hang up Christmas lights, holly, garlands, and of course to put up and decorate a huge Christmas tree. Crowley visited the cottage himself to make sure the decorations were appropriate, paying special attention to the angel ornaments because they must not resemble certain archangels. While he was there, he also gave the Christmas tree a very strong talking to not to shed a single needle.

Then he brought everything you needed for a perfect Christmas, which was mostly food and drinks. There was some minor blackmail involved when he bullied the waitress at Aziraphale’s favourite café to give away their hot chocolate recipe. He needed three days of practice and several cartons of milk until he got it right without any miracles. (It was the first and hopefully last time his kitchen ever experienced any real cooking.)

On the morning of the 25th, Crowley was thoroughly exhausted but positive that his demonic plan was flawless. What could go wrong? Still he hovered in front of the bookshop’s door, wondering if he should ring the bell, if Aziraphale had forgotten their plan, if all of this was a phenomenally bad idea, if –

Aziraphale opened the door and smiled at him. “Ah, good morning.” He was wrapped in a thick coat and a fluffy woollen scarf. “Merry Christmas!” He handed Crowley a present.

“Ah.” Crowley’s hands moved of their own accord and took it. So that was a thing now. They gave each other Christmas presents now. “Thanks.” Why had no one informed him? He did not have anything for Aziraphale. (Did a cottage count?)

“Open it. You’re going to need it today.”

Crowley carefully opened the golden wrapping paper. He was not prepared for this, the idea that Aziraphale had chosen something for him and then wrapped it and put a bow on it. It was not even midday and things were already getting out of his control.

Inside the box were a thick red scarf and a pair of earmuffs. Crowley would have complained about the fluffiness of the earmuffs but at least they were black and it was his first ever Christmas present from Aziraphale, meaning he would kill anyone who tried to take the earmuffs away from him.

“Ah-hm, guess they could be useful,” he said and Aziraphale’s face erupted into a happy smile.

“Oh, I hoped you would like the colour. You never wear proper winter clothing. It’s no wonder you’re always cold…”

Crowley drove them out of the city while Aziraphale prattled on about bearskins and muffs. Crowley would occasionally comment with a hum but was mostly wondering what it meant that Aziraphale had decided to give him a Christmas present and worried about him staying warm and had gone to the trouble of choosing colours which Crowley liked.

“Oh dear, is the tape deck not working again?”

“Hm?” Crowley startled. The Bentley was playing Crazy Little Thing Called Love. As it had when they had driven off, thirty minutes ago. Crazy Little Thing Called Love was not a thirty-minute-long song, was it?

“I thought Adam had repaired it,” Aziraphale said.

“No, it should-” Crowley thumped against the disc compartment until it played Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture “-definitely be working.”

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

The music that was dramatic enough for this day had not been composed yet but Crowley let Aziraphale choose another CD and resolved to pay more attention to the music from now on.

Fortunately, the drive was not that long and they soon arrived at the outskirts of Tadfield where the cottage was located. The village was in walking distance but far enough away so they had their privacy.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley suppressed a flinch. Did the cottage look too similar to the house in the snow globe? Was it too obvious? “You don’t like it?”

“No, I mean, yes, I like it, it is absolutely wonderful. What a lovely place you have found!”

Crowley let out the breath he had been holding. Aziraphale liked it. He thought the place Crowley had found absolutely wonderful. His plan was working.

“Right! Let’s have a look inside?” Crowley got out of the car and winced when he stepped into the snow. He had forgotten to miracle his shoes waterproof. He would fix them later. For now he opened the front door for Aziraphale, proud to show him the festively decorated interior.

“Oh, look at that, how gorgeous! But who decorated the place like this?”

Oh no. Too much? “Er, it was just…a Christmas…special…deal. To get the house like this. Didn’t know it would be so bright and festive.” Crowley made sure to make a properly disgusted face.

“It is marvellous. Makes you want to stay inside all day. But we are here for the snow, of course. But we must sit down here and have a drink later and really appreciate the decorations.”

Good, Aziraphale liked the interior and wanted to stay, just like he was supposed to. Crowley ticked it off his mental list.

Now to the unpleasant part: snow.

At least Crowley had his new scarf and earmuffs. That did not keep his fingers warm or stop his nose from running, though. Also, walking in the snow was a nuisance. It was exhausting, his shoes and trousers got wet and he stumbled or slipped every few meters. But Aziraphale had flushed cheeks and commented happily on this and that, and it was really annoying and ridiculous what Crowley was willing to do to make that bastard smile.

Aziraphale, naturally, walked on the snow, almost gliding over it as if it was nothing, just leaving the faintest of footprints whereas Crowley trudged a few feet behind, wheezing and sometimes blessing at the bloody snow. Crowley knew that, technically, he should be able to do the same, what with angels and demons being of the same stock. But he also knew that he really needed to know that fact for it to work, and his brain refused to cooperate. Stupid brain, stupid snow.

“It has been some time, hasn’t it?” Aziraphale had stopped and was waiting for Crowley to catch up. He offered Crowley his arm, and Crowley was not against linking arms or holding hands, not at all, but this was humiliating and he wanted to be the one to extend a hand… but there was no way he was going to decline such an offer. Grumbling, he linked arms with Aziraphale and let the angel pull him up.

“There you go.” Aziraphale patted his arm and smiled at him and Crowley was glad he was wearing his sunglasses because getting such an open smile from up so close was shocking. (Also because the snow was blinding.) “You’ve done it before, so there’s no reason why it shouldn’t work now. You just have to believe in it.”

Crowley snorted. Believe in it, that was really the core of the problem. Demons weren’t supposed to – the fickle snow under his feet already gave in at the barest hint of that thought but Aziraphale tightened his hold just in time. An angelic miracle surged through Crowley’s body, making him shudder. It should work now, being supported by the angel’s powers. It did, he stayed on top of the snow even though his legs were a bit wobbly.

“Now, that’s better,” said Aziraphale. “See, it’s just like – what is the saying – riding a bicycle.”

“Never really liked those either. Not enough wheels.”

They discussed vehicles of transportation while they walked towards the forest. It was exhausting to make conversation and at the same time keep his senses tuned for any humans along their way who needed to be distracted. Not to mention the permanent miracle to keep his body temperature up and not succumb to the temptation of hibernation. Then there were the snow-covered branches that got into his face. Why had any human ever thought it a good idea to go for a walk through a snowy forest for fun?

When they had finally spent the scheduled amount of time in the forest, Crowley directed their steps towards the village and made sure to pass the bookshop in a side street with the FOR SALE sign in its window. (As the owner had not known she owned a bookshop 24 hours ago, she was all the more happy for that sign, not least of all because it would bring her unexpected money.)

“Oh, nice bookshop.” Crowley slowed down his steps in front of it. “Would be a shame if someone bought it who’d turn it into a mobile phone shop. Or an estate agency.”

Aziraphale looked pained at the mere idea. Good.

Next stop: the bakery, which for miraculous reasons was opened on Christmas Day.

“How about a little snack?” Crowley suggested.

“Oh, yes, it smells heavenly.”

Crowley harrumphed because the fact that Aziraphale’s favourite bakery had, at short notice, decided to open a branch in Tadfield had nothing at all to do with heavenly influences. He urged Aziraphale to try the ciabatta with roasted garlic and fennel because Aziraphale always insisted that he had never eaten better ciabatta.

“This is good,” Aziraphale said when he tried it. “Mm, I think it’s almost as good as Francesco’s.”

Almost as good?! Who in this bakery had screwed up? Did Crowley have to kidnap Francesco, too? Aziraphale kept on praising the bakery but Crowley was already drawing up new plans on how to insure there was the perfect ciabatta in Tadfield.

Back in the cottage, Crowley immediately went to the kitchen to make hot chocolate. This was the tricky part of the plan. The milk could not be trusted. And the cream could be a real bitch.

Right, he could do this. He had succeeded in his kitchen, so he could do it here as well. Saucepan, milk, cocoa powder, sugar, cream, chocolate chips, a pinch of vanilla, a pinch of cinnamon, miracle, pray, hope that it would not boil over. Well, he had nine more cartons of milk, just in case, and enough cocoa powder for at least a year, but he did not want to keep Aziraphale waiting for too long.

After a few minutes, he proudly poured the hot chocolate into a mug. Now for the garnish. Whipped cream, marshmallows, chopped chocolate, candy cane, flake, cinnamon stick – the mug was too small.

“Don’t you dare,” Crowley hissed at it but he refrained from using a miracle because Aziraphale was snobbish about miracled food.

His hands were sticky with a mix of hot chocolate, whipped cream and marshmallows (because naturally he had spilled something) when bringing Aziraphale the mug but Aziraphale’s delighted and grateful expression made up for it. Another successful stage of his plan!

“This is very good. Where did you learn how to make it?”

“Not that difficult, really.” Crowley dropped down on the sofa in exhaustion.

“Won’t you have some, too?”

Oh, right. That was a thing, drinking hot chocolate together after a walk in the snow. “Of course, just getting mine…”

So, back to the kitchen. Saucepan, milk, cocoa powder, miracle, candy cane, done.

Hot chocolate was not Crowley’s favourite drink (especially not with hurried demonic miracle flavour) but it warmed him up. That, and watching Aziraphale with his flushed cheeks and content smile savour his drink.

“So. This place isn’t half bad,” Crowley said.

“It is absolutely lovely. Maybe we could, I don’t know… return here next year for a day or two?”

Returning sounded good, a day or two not good enough. Time to fortify the temptation.

“We could stay for tonight. Go for another walk. Could go at night, snow in the moonlight – looks nice, doesn’t it? Or tomorrow we could go to – to – to the hill. It’ll be a nice view from there, all the snow and…trees!”

“That does sound rather nice. But we couldn’t just stay here, could we?”

“Why not?”

“Well, it must belong to a human.”

“Yeah, it does. But the owner said it’s free for the next few…” centuries, decades, years “…months.”

“I see. In that case...” Aziraphale gave him a questioning glance as if waiting for Crowley to say it.

“Yes?” Crowley leant forward, waiting for Aziraphale to say it.

“I mean, as it is already getting dark…”

“Yes, very dark.”

“I mean, we could stay for one more…day, I suppose. Go for another walk in the snow.”

“Great.” Crowley gulped down the rest of his hot chocolate (and offered Aziraphale the candy cane). Everything was going according to plan, he had reached his goal for today. He would initiate the next stage of the plan tomorrow. For now, he could relax for a bit, and he really needed the break from all the minor or major miracles of the last few days, and the bloody snow. He sagged down further into the cushions of the couch. Warmth started to crawl back into his body, from his hands, which had held the mug with the hot drink, to his core until finally his whole corporation felt pleasantly heavy. Aziraphale seemed perfectly content, nibbling on his candy cane, and so Crowley could be, too. His breathing slowed down and he closed his eyes for a bit. Everything was so warm and nice and safe and… wait, what was that? He did not remember getting under a blanket. But it was a nice blanket. Very soft and very warm. He slowly blinked his eyes open. Everything was brighter. Where were his – ah. His glasses had been placed on the coffee table, next to five empty mugs and a stack of books. Oh no, was he back in the bookshop? But no, the bookshop was more dusty and stuffy. He was still in the cottage. They were still in the cottage. Aziraphale was sitting in the chair opposite Crowley, entirely engrossed in the book in his lap. Sometimes the hint of a smile would tug at the corners of his lips.

This was what Crowley had imagined. Well, not completely, to be honest. For example, he had not envisioned being covered with a woollen tartan blanket but the damage was done, no need to throw it away now. Besides, he was so very comfy in his cocoon of warmth. He stretched sleepily and wrapped the blanket more firmly around himself.

Aziraphale looked up from his book and the hint of a smile turned into a full smile when he caught Crowley’s eye. “Oh, you’re awake.”

That was food for thought, that Crowley got a bigger smile than the books. Crowley was not prepared for this – this – this four-letter word, all of it directed at him so openly.

“How long have I been…?”

“A bit more than two weeks, I think. Ah, maybe three. I haven’t been keeping track of time very thoroughly.”

“Two or three-?” Crowley sat up and got tangled up in the blanket. “But…” All of his careful laid out plans and he had simply overslept!

“It’s fine. I contacted the owner of this cottage. She said she did not have any other bookings and that we could stay for as long as we wanted. In fact, she seemed to be under the impression that we were going to stay for a bit longer anyway.”

And now that woman had messed it up even more! What was Aziraphale thinking? “Ah. Humans. Don’t really have a grasp on time,” Crowley tried to play it down.

Aziraphale placed a bookmark into the book, closed it and put it on the table. “I’ve been thinking.”

Oh no. “We need to talk?” Crowley ventured, dread growing, because those words were just as ominous.

“Yes.” Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them. Then he looked back up at Crowley. “Do you want to stay here?”

Of course he had worked it all out. Clever bastard. Stupid of Crowley to think otherwise, stupid of him to fall asleep and let Aziraphale overthink it for two or three weeks instead of being distracted and tempted by hot chocolate, ciabatta and little bookshops for sale.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale prodded.

How could he get out of this situation with both of them keeping their dignity intact? “Er, mnk. It’s not that bad here? I guess I could see myself staying here. Just, nhm, sleeping for a bit, you know.”

“And…do you want us to stay here…together?” Aziraphale’s voice had gone almost inaudible on the last word.

Crowley gave a big, hopefully very casual shrug that was meant to communicate just how unaffected he was by all of this. “I wouldn’t mind. Only if you want to, of course. Do you? Want to?”

“No, Crowley, I asked you if you wanted to stay here together.” Aziraphale’s voice had grown louder again, almost resolute now.

There was no way out of this. No shrugs, no half-answers, not even falling asleep for another few weeks could get him out of this situation. Right, be brave now.

He looked at Aziraphale and Aziraphale looked calmly back at him. It suddenly did not seem so frightening anymore. It would be fine, whatever he said. Aziraphale would still shelter him from the rain or help him walk on snow; would never cast him away.

Crowley gave a jerky nod.

“Good.” Aziraphale smiled tentatively. “Then we will stay here.” He nodded, as if to confirm it to himself, then grabbed his book with trembling fingers.

“Your hands are shaking,” Crowley said.

“Indeed, they are.” Aziraphale watched his own fingers as they opened the book on the page he had marked. “It’s just a lot.”

“I get that.” Crowley really did. He knew that Aziraphale by now had probably worked out the details of his plan with the numerous miracles to get them here and it should be humiliating but somehow it was okay because Aziraphale was just as nervous and was willing to do this with Crowley. “We don’t have to right now, we could just come here on vacation once a year or-”

“No, I want to.”

Huh. That had been easier than expected. Several stages of the plan were suddenly redundant. “What about your bookshop?”

“I was under the impression that you had already purchased that little bookshop in town?”

“Not yet but…I could.”

“Right.”

Crowley noticed how tensely Aziraphale’s fingers held the book, almost crumpling its pages. He knew how much Aziraphale loved his bookshop, and although it was flattering to think that Aziraphale would give it up for him, he never wanted Aziraphale to give anything up. “Or you could keep your bookshop. London’s not that far. We could go there once a week so you can open it every Tuesday or so. Won’t make much of a difference for the customers.”

Aziraphale considered it for a moment but then he shook his head. “No. I want to live here, I really do. It is perfect. Thank you for bringing me here.”

Crowley was lost for words. They were here, together, and they were going to stay. What else was there for him to say or do? Perfect, yes.

“I hope you’re well rested?” Aziraphale asked. “Because I’m planning on taking you up on that promise of a moonlight walk in the snow.”

“There’s still snow?!” Hadn’t he slept long enough?

“Indeed there is, and it looks marvellous.”

“Guess I owe you.”

After being asleep for so long in the warmth of the cottage, the cold outside was a bit of a shock. Aziraphale offered his arm again to assist Crowley, who, after a few uncoordinated steps, got the hang of walking on snow much quicker this time.

“Still hate snow,” he grumbled but it wasn’t that bad really. Yes, it was bloody cold but there were some upsides. Like the snow glistening in the moonlight and Aziraphale still holding him close, which wasn’t strictly necessary anymore and therefore even better.

They were on their own, not a sound to be heard but their breathing and the rustling of their coats. In the distance, the village laid asleep, no lights to be seen, just the smoke from the chimneys showed that humans lived there.

They walked towards the forest. The snow covering the ground was untouched but for some tracks that animals had left. The branches of the trees were hanging low with the weight of the snow. Everything felt a little unreal, it couldn’t be further from London’s hectic and loud atmosphere. It made Crowley all the more aware of everything, like how close they were pressed together. Aziraphale with his thick winter coat felt like a big comfy cushion against Crowley’s side.

They kept walking for hours like this, sometimes exchanging a few hushed words but mostly just enjoying the stillness of the world. Just walking and being here, no deeds to be done, no need to tempt or plan or work miracles. They kept walking until the break of dawn. Without discussing it, they directed their steps towards the village where one by one the lights in the houses went on.

“How do-ooaah!” Something hit Crowley right in the face and he staggered, lost his footing and landed on his bottom in the snow. “What was that?”

“I believe a-” Aziraphale ducked to avoid the next missile “-snowball. How rude.”

“Snowball.” The best thing about snow. Crowley was already sculpting his own snowballs and then started the counter attack. He liked sleeping, good food and moonlight walks well enough but he was still a demon, and using that annoying, squishy, cold stuff for snowball fights – brilliant idea. He was chasing the screaming kids around, bombarding them with his snowballs, ignoring Aziraphale’s complaints (“Crowley, you can’t use miracles against children!”).

“He’s the Antichrist, he can defend himself!” And his friends could just as well. Only when Crowley let snowballs the sizes of snowmen rain down on them, did they retreat.

“Was that really necessary?” Aziraphale admonished him while patting down the snow from Crowley’s coat, scarf and hair.

Crowley cackled. “That was fun.” He snapped his fingers for a new pair of sunglasses because the other one had been lost in the fight and was now probably buried somewhere in the snow.

“You look frozen. Let’s head back and warm you up. Maybe with some of that delicious hot chocolate you made. Are there still ingredients left or do we need to buy something?”

“I think we still have some,” Crowley said, thinking of the nine cartons of milk in the Bentley’s boot.

Back in the cottage, Crowley miracled his clothes dry and headed for the kitchen. Aziraphale followed him.

“How did you learn to make such scrumptious hot chocolate? Can you show me? What’s the secret?”

“Uh, possibly the milk.”

“What’s with the milk?”

“You heat it.”

“Yes?”

“It’s bloody difficult! Milk’s always trying to boil over and it makes a mess…”

“Yes, it sometimes does that.” Aziraphale stepped next to Crowley and examined the stove and the saucepan. “I think I can handle the milk.”

Aziraphale turned out to be a natural in heating milk. No boiling over, no stench, no flames, no ruined saucepan, not even spilled milk on the floor.

“You’re good at that,” Crowley said in surprise and added the cocoa powder.

“Oh, well, it’s not the first time I’ve made hot chocolate. Would you pass me the whisk, love?”

Crowley crashed into the countertop and spilled half of the sugar he had meant to add next. He stared at Aziraphale. Aziraphale smiled bashfully, his cheeks flushed red. He knew what he was doing, that bastard. He meant it.

“The whisk.” Crowley cleared his throat because his voice had come out very undemonic. “Right, yes, sure.” He passed it to Aziraphale and then got more sugar and the other ingredients.

Emboldened by Aziraphale’s bravery, he stepped a little closer so their shoulders brushed against each other. Aziraphale stopped breathing but he did not flinch away. He was still smiling when he whisked the milk and the cocoa powder. Crowley took his time adding the sugar and chocolate chips. And afterwards, he just stayed where he was and even dared to, very lightly, place a hand in the small of Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale wriggled a little closer and suddenly it was very easy to place his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Crowley could not tell how long they stayed like this, Aziraphale whisking the hot chocolate and Crowley staring almost transfixed into the saucepan, inhaling the chocolaty scent and the warmth and Aziraphale’s closeness. What did it matter, they were not in a hurry, and the milk behaved for once.

#good snowmens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #fic #my writing

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infinitevariety · 4 years ago

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May Your Days Be Merry

Having never been able to celebrate previously, Aziraphale and Crowley decide to embrace the festive season and make the most of their first December together since the world didn’t end.

Chapter Three: Chilly (AO3)

Aziraphale and Crowley attend a Christmas market, and Crowley needs some help warming up.

From his vantage point across the road, as he is waiting for an opportunity to cross, Crowley spots Aziraphale exit the bookshop and lock the door. As he turns around he sees Crowley and waves to him.

“Ready to go?” asks Aziraphale as Crowley strides towards him.

“Lead the way, angel,” replies Crowley, making a sweeping gesture with one arm.

“I was thinking the Camden Christmas market, if you’re happy with a walk through Regent’s Park?”

“Sounds perfect.”

After the drunken fiasco that was yesterday’s festivities, Crowley is trying much harder today. He can do this. He can smile and celebrate and… who is he kidding? He can put up with it for Aziraphale’s sake, is what he can do. If there is anything to celebrate it is Aziraphale glow and contentedness when he’s truly happy. So, if Crowley can be festive with Aziraphale, Aziraphale will be happy, and therefore Crowley will be happy.

That was his logic when he’d called Aziraphale up this morning suggesting they take an evening walk to a Christmas market and see some festive lights.

As they walk the streets Aziraphale loops his arm through Crowley’s and gives a light squeeze. Crowley squeezes right back, and they continue on in companionable silence.

It’s when they get away from the streets—the hustle and bustle and life of Soho—and into the dimly lit park that Crowley begins to feel it. He tries to hide it. He clenches his jaw, puts his free hand as deep as he can into his sadly far-too-shallow pocket. But it’s no use—he’s basically shivering.

“It’s bloody cold,” announces Crowley.

“Hmm,” hums Aziraphale. “It is a bit chilly.”

“Chill— Chilly? It’s got to be approaching zero degrees celsius, how can you say it’s only chilly?”

Crowley turns his outrage in Aziraphale’s direction, only to completely forget what he was going to say next. Instead he simply stares at Aziraphale. He is wrapped up in his coat, scarf, and gloves, just as he had been when they left the bookshop. But now, as well as all that…

“Where did those earmuffs come from?”

Aziraphale turns to look at Crowley and points to the fluffy tartan abominations on his head.

“Oh, these? Well, you know, I just—” Aziraphale mimes snapping his fingers, which looks rather silly with gloves on, but then everything about Aziraphale is rather silly. Crowley can’t help but grow a degree or two warmer as the thought passes through his head, making him smile. “Do you want me to whip you up a pair?”

“No!” All of a sudden Crowley feels doused in ice water, colder than he was to start with. “Thank you, but no. I’ll be fine.”

With a roll of his eyes, Aziraphale pulls on Crowley’s arm, disentangling himself and throwing his own arm around Crowley.

“Come here, you fool.”

Crowley goes without complaint, settling himself at a slight stoop under Aziraphale’s arm. His coat is soft and Crowley leeches Aziraphale’s warmth. He turns his head to hide his smile in Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“If you’re really that cold I can pop back to the shop and grab your jumper?”

The red light of a reindeer’s nose flashes through Crowley’s mind. Reluctant to move his face from the warmth of Aziraphale’s coat, he mumbles his dissent into the fabric.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Begrudgingly, Crowley lifts his head just enough to whisper into Aziraphale’s ear. “Don’t you dare.”

Still held tight against his body, Crowley feels Aziraphale’s rumble of laughter even before he hears it. Crowley doesn’t notice the cold again for the rest of their walk.

When they arrive at the market Crowley reluctantly extricates himself and follows Aziraphale in the direction of the food stalls. They start at the stall with the shortest queue, and Aziraphale buys a bratwurst. Then they head to a small hut and Aziraphale buys some roasted chestnuts. Then they approach a huge confectionery stall and Crowley isn’t actually sure what Aziraphale buys. After that Crowley loses track of things.

They also spend some time sitting under the Christmas lights. Aziraphale munches on his purchases while Crowley watches the people move about the space. The chatter and tunes of the market wash over him, the smells of the various food stalls envelope him, and the bright, twinkling lights from behind the shield of his sunglasses add a glow to the entire scene.

He’s content, Crowley suddenly realises. He wonders if he’s finally caught the Christmas spirit—is it contagious?

Aziraphale sighs beside him and Crowley turns. He dusts off his hands, having finished his food, and smiles at Crowley. Crowley can’t help himself—he smiles back immediately.

“This has been a delightful evening, thank you for suggesting it, my dear.”

“I’m pleased you’ve enjoyed yourself.”

“Have you enjoyed it, Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice carries a note of worry.

Crowley nods firmly. “I have, actually. More than I thought I would.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. I’m so glad.”

Aziraphale rubs his hands together before reaching down to grasp one of Crowley’s. He stands, pulling Crowley to his feet as well.

“One more stop, I think, then back to the shop.”

Hands held tight, Aziraphale leads Crowley to a small stall selling mulled wine. Aziraphale orders three large drinks, handing two full cups to Crowley before taking the third for himself.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, angel?”

“I’m trying to keep you warm. The walk back will only be colder than the walk here. So—” He points to the drinks in Crowley’s hands. “—down one now and keep one to sip during the journey home.”

Never one to refuse a drink, Crowley does as he is bid. The first mulled wine goes down a treat, heating him up in no time and giving him energy he had realised he was lacking.

Crowley’s second mulled wine, held securely in his left hand, lasts him the entire walk home. His right hand spends the entire journey in a warm coat pocket that is not his own, fingers laced with Aziraphale’s.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fic #ace ineffable husbands #ineffably festive #fic: may your days be merry #2020 advent ficlet challenge #i wrote this

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sushiandstarlight · 4 years ago

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Cookies: Chapter 16

This chapter includes yesterday’s prompt “evergreen” and today’s prompt “lights.”

Previous Story: Of All The Beds In All The Hotels In All The World

Chapter 1-3 / Chapter 4 / Chapters 5 & 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15

Read this chapter on AO3

Rated: G, light teen for suggestion, nothing explicit

It took some amount of time to get downstairs, what with the way Crowley pinned his angel to the bed. And then Aziraphale's wandering hands in the shower. And the way they wound up snogging each other senseless at the top of the stairs, almost winding up at the bottom by way of running afoul of gravity. By the time they made their entrance into the kitchen, hands linked, they were pink in the face and couldn't stop smiling at one another.

That was, until Aziraphale saw the pies lined up on the kitchen island: apple crumble, cherry lattice with sparkling sugar on top, and mince were all present but also accompanied by blackberry and peach. Aziraphale drew close and hovered over the pies, cooing about how beautiful they were. He reached out to touch one, but Edie smacked his hand with a spatula.

“Ow!” he yelped, yanking back his hand.

“They are for dinner tomorrow night,” Edie sounded deathly serious.

“Oh, alright, but they are beautiful,” Aziraphale sat on one of the barstools, continuing to admire them. Crowley recognized the rapt attention, remembering how Aziraphale had looked at him in the shower. He took a quick mental turn from that image before he was overwhelmed with the urge to grab the angel's wrist and drag him back to their bedroom.

“What have we got here, then?” Crowley sauntered to the counter, also admiring the pies. They were a thing of beauty. Gladys and Edie clearly had talent. Edie pointed out each type with the spatula and Crowley crowed, “you missed a couple, Angel. Off your game.”

“I was a bit distracted,” Aziraphale hmphed. Crowley approached his stool and spun it around to face him.

“You can only smell some pies over my mouth-watering aroma, then?”

“Or maybe you still smell like butter and sugar. It's distracting.”

“I've bathed!”

“I know, I helped!”

Crowley felt his face go crimson. He looked over at the ladies only to find them looking suddenly very busy facing the opposite counter.

“Maybe I'll be rubbing down with butter and sugar every day for you when we get home,” Crowley pressed his forehead to Aziraphale's and smirked at him.

“Oh, that would be a terrible mess on my sheets.”

“Tell me, in this vision are they tartan?”

“...yes.”

“No loss there.”

“Hey!”

“That's okay, Angel,” Crowley wagged his eyebrows at him, “they're tartan in my vision, too.”

Aziraphale smiled and wiggled happily on the stool.

“Alright, that's enough mushiness near the pies, you're going to melt the pastry,” Edie swatted Crowley with a tea towel.

“Fine, fine. We'll move it along,” Crowley made a motion towards the sun room and set off for it. Aziraphale lingered, smiling bashfully at Edie and Gladys.

“You don't really mind, do you?” Aziraphale stood to leave.

“Nah,” Gladys winked at him and handed him a tiny mince pie, “Run along, now.”

Aziraphale smiled broadly and left, catching up with Crowley.

“Pssh, really?” Crowley had spotted the pie.

“Told you she likes me,” Aziraphale's smile was smug now.

“I think you're the favorite.”

“Do you want a piece.”

“Nah, I would rather watch you eat it.”

“I still don't understand what you get out of watching me eat,” Aziraphale sat on the loveseat, peering up at him. Crowley hadn't actually meant to say that out loud.

“Well,” he shrugged, going for casual, “I like to watch you take pleasure in things. I like knowing you're enjoying yourself.” He sprawled on the other side of the loveseat, managing to take up most of the room while Aziraphale sat up properly. He rested his head on the back of the sofa and waited, watching Aziraphale with a lazy smile on his face.

“Could you...” Aziraphale trailed off, looking away.

“Naw, now don't do that,” Crowley nudged the angel's knee with his own, “Whatever you want.”

“Oh, that's a list,” he looked back at Crowley, “I wondered if you might tip your glasses down while you watch me. I like watching you, too. Your eyes... they're so expressive.”

“Didn't know you liked 'em,” Crowley pulled his shades down his nose part way and peered at Aziraphale.

“I do. I like that you take them off when we're alone.”

“I've got nothing to hide from you,” Crowley watched as he took a small bit of the pie and hummed happily, “Except for Christmas.”

“Yes, I suppose that makes two of us.”

“Tomorrow, no secrets then.”

“Yes, I will feel better not keeping it from you.”

Crowley grunted, watching him take another bite and let out another hum, wiggling on the part of the cushion that Crowley wasn't currently sprawled over. Crowley kept watching him even as he finished, patting the sides of his lips with a napkin and brushing invisible crumbs off his trousers.

“It was one thing,” Crowley cleared his throat, but it did nothing to get rid of the gravelly sound his voice had dipped into, “before I knew what you sounded like when you... you know. Those little sounds you make, Angel, they would keep me up at night after our dinner dates. But, now I know...” He shifted in his seat, glancing at the door and pushing up his glasses.

“Maybe a little dessert is in order.”

“Dessert,” Crowley blinked, confused, “But you just had pie.”

“It really does devil with your brains, doesn't it?”

“What?”

Aziraphale stood and made for the door, leaving the confused demon still on the sofa as he turned and went up the stairs.

“You dummy,” Edie poked her head around the door frame, from out of nowhere, “he wants you for dessert! You best get up there.”

He should have been mortified, but instead he just smiled at her and hoped he'd willed down the color that wanted to rush to his cheeks.

She high-fived him as he ran past her.

After supper it was decided that they would all go out and have a look at the lights that Aziraphale had been diligently hanging outside the inn. Crowley was happy enough to look at them, but still reluctant on account of the weather. The snow had continued to fall and it was ankle-deep now. He shivered as he peered out the the front door.

“You're not going out like that!” Gladys was behind him, shoving a long black coat into his hands, “You'll catch your death. I insist.” She watched him as he put it on and buttoned it and then wrapped a red and green scarf around his neck enough times that his chin was nearly lost inside it. And then she handed him mittens.

“Really? Where on this planet did you find men's sized mittens?”

“I made them.”

“What? Why?”

“For you! You always look cold. You make me cold just looking at you sometimes.”

He put on the green mittens, even though they made him feel silly. Pretty much instantly his hands felt warmer, but he wasn't about to tell her that. One look from her, told him she already knew, though.

“See, I thought you might take better care of yourself if doing so meant using a meaningful gift.”

Crowley clutched his hands to his chest and leaned in to her, whispering, “I'll treasure them, really.”

“Don't much care for treasuring, I'll be happy knowing you're using them.”

Aziraphale bustled by them in a cream-colored overcoat. He also had knitted mittens, but they were white with faux fur around the wrists. He pulled on a matching hat and stood by the door.

“Are we ready to go have a look?” Aziraphale craned to look past Gladys, “Where's Edie.”

“I'm coming, I'm coming!” Edie appeared from the kitchen with a tray of hot chocolates and passed them out. “No need to stand around out there freezing our buns off without something to keep us properly warm.”

“Finally, someone's speaking sense.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” she handed him his cocoa and patted his cheek- her hand was still warm from holding the cup- “if I'm the one speaking sense, we're in loads of trouble.”

Aziraphale opened the door and led them out into the parking lot. There wasn't a strong wind, but enough that it nipped sharply at Crowley's ears as he followed behind the others. He burrowed his face down into the scarf.

“Alright, turn back... now,” Aziraphale walked around and stood behind them as they turned back to the inn. They gasped and smiled and turned one at a time to congratulate him: The whole front of the inn was outlined in white lights, gently fading off and on at random. The walls were outlined in red and draped with net lights the same color. All the bushes were strewn with red and green lights.

Crowley was staring hard at the white lights, trying to discern a pattern to their tranquil flashing when he felt something warm and fuzzy slide over his ears. He jumped, reaching up to find earmuffs.

“Wha-”

“Consider it an early Christmas present,” Aziraphale hugged him from behind. There were too many layers to feel the angel's warmth and Crowley felt the pity of it. Still, his ears had stopped stinging.

“Thanks,” he leaned back and kissed the angel's chilly cheek and shivered dramatically, “The lights are beautiful.”

Gladys appeared in front of them and clutched both of their chins.

“You boys have made this Christmas so special, you know that right? We couldn't have done all of this without you.” She was looking at them very earnestly from beneath the low brim of her knit cap. It had a giant pompom on top that was wiggling with the light breeze.

“I think we're thoroughly enjoying our stay,” Aziraphale's voice sounded a little pinched.

“I think we'll all enjoy our stay more inside,” Crowley burrowed up to his sunglasses into the scarf around his neck, “Not that the lights aren't pretty.”

They went back inside, still sipping their cocoa.

“By the way,” Gladys said as she unbuttoned her coat and hung it on one of the hooks by the door, “I got a call from the group holding the bake sale. All the baskets sold.”

“Oh, what marvelous news!” Aziraphale clapped his hands together happily.

“Someone, one person, bought all of them.”

“Wow, that's a lot of cookies for one person...” Crowley grumbled.

“And then donated the cookies to the orphans...” Gladys was eyeing them suspiciously.

“Don't look at me! I've been here the whole time,” Crowley squawked.

“I do wish I had thought of it, but I confess that I didn't,” Aziraphale looked honestly contrite.

“Whoever did it, it was an unexpected kindness,” Edie was still eyeing Crowley who shrugged at her.

“Anyway,” Gladys threw up her hands, giving up on having an answer tonight, “We all better get to bed. Santa's coming tonight! But he won't visit until we're all in our beds. Goodnight, boys.”

“Goodnight, Gladys. Edie.” Aziraphale nodded to them and they watched the two wander off down the hall.

“You,” Aziraphale turned to Crowley, “You bought all the cookies, didn't you?”

“Yeah.”

“That was a wonderful thing to do.”

“Nah, it was alright.”

“The children will love them.”

“Come on now.”

“I think,” Crowley found himself being pressed against the nearest flat surface- the wall, thankfully next to the coat hooks,- and kissed sweetly, “You should be rewarded for your good deed.”

“Is it a good deed if there's a reward?”

“Sure, if the reward was unexpected,” Aziraphale practically dragged him up the stairs. As if he was going to protest.

Chapter 17 is now up!

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #star light-reads #30 days of prompts #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #of all the beds in all the hotels in all the world #sequel #christmas fluff #fluff #oi at this point even i'm like 'get a room guys'#but wait they do have a room #it's the honeymoon suite #might as well make good use of that!

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theladyofroyalmanners · 6 years ago

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Mori kei

It's also called the dryad style. As the name suggests, it literally means "the girl from the forest". And it look a bit simple, but, forest princesses car wear it, because it's still less simple than normcore.

It's an evanescent, pale style : you can wear white, beige, sometimes green, ou pale grey, the forest colors, allowing to merge into it. Furthermore, there is always several layers and superposition of clothes.

You can wear a shawl on a pullover, and short skirt on a longer dress or skirt. The custom is, that the longest cloth poke out the shorter one. All of this is plain, and the waistline is not marked.Clothes are loose, never skin-tight, and preferably vintage. The most well known style is the all white, all wool one.

But there is also little patterns, with more diversified colors, it's the Bohemian style. Hats are wool caps or earmuffs. And if hair is not loose, it's braided . Bags will be made of lace, or in basketwork. The most popular jewelry are miniature magnifiers, vegetation filled vials, crystals and keys.

Often accessories are fauna or flora shaped, like miniature deer horns, or mushrooms that you can find on headbands. And the make-up is light. You can wear lighter clothes during spring and summer, with shorter skirts, made of cotton, lace or linen.

Sometimes the style is more practical with pants, and there is an hybrid with gothic, the Dark Mori. It's the same thing, but in black. Sometimes, you can add odd looking, old jewelry to it.

Romantic is a white version that sometimes include synthetic. As for mori shabby chic, named after the decor.

It's all about wearing pastel pink and blue, flowers patterns, and even more lace.

There is a mountain variant, the yama girl, who wear edelweiss patterns, wool scarves, patterns such as tartan, and colors are more bold.

Hama girl (Hama mean beach ), it's the sea variant. They wear lighter clothes, and include dark navy blue, strips, cardigans, and straw hats.

For princes

This style is rare for boys, and make them look like a shepherd.

if you like this style, take inspiration from gentlemen farmers.

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commanders-sole-braincell · 4 years ago

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tartan-earmuffs said:

Hope you’re ok!

foxholemonster said:

Hopefully it won’t come to that! Fingers crossed it comes back clear ;-;

Thanks ;u;

I’m 80% sure it’s a headcold at this point, but if that test comes back inconclusive i will scream cuz they will nto let me forget it at work

#I shoudlve mentioned but I was joking about quitting #mycowrkers will have my life if I work at a site and then cant take a test correct #I'll go to take a patient and the jokes will have slain me two steps in #ngl low key was panicking ahahahah fuk sorry #feels slightly better #anxiety: YOU WERE FAKING

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incoherentbabblings · 5 years ago

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On the Twelfth Day (1/2)

AO3 Link Here. TimSteph Christmas Fluff.

It had been an experiment, or so Tim had said. He’d wanted to try actually going for the Twelve Days of Christmas with Stephanie. Six gifts each, one a day, alternating until the 6th of January. He’d had enough foresight to bring it up to Stephanie back in November. She had narrowed her eyes suspiciously but had acquiesced.

“Okay, fine. But I get to decorate the flat as obnoxiously as I want?”

“Sure.”

Stephanie had been building up a steady supply of tinsel, paper, baubles and lights the whole year round. She had an excellent eye for deals, and was the most aggressive haggler Tim had ever seen. He was kind of dreading seeing what the end result would be. Tasteful festive cheer was in doubt.

“From December first to January sixth?”

“December fourteenth.” He countered.

“Hmph. Seventh.”

“Deal.”

“So, we give six presents total. No more?”

“No more.” Tim prodded her shoulder then. “And no fussing over price. Buy what you can afford, I’ll do the same.”

“But that’s not –” She cut herself off, tutting and watching him, knowing he would immediately start arguing back. She was in her final year of college and part time library worker, he was on his third year of being a WE board member. Budgets were going to vary wildly. Still, she had that thing... and she had been working on...

Her blue eyes had glimmered with ideas, and she smiled.

-1-

On Christmas day itself, Tim immediately broke the agreement. They had invited Crystal to spend the day with them, to which she had agreed, but before they could sit down to the dinner Tim had obsessed and sweated over she hadn’t received a call from the hospital, requiring her to come in. Tim had flipped over his card to Stephanie once Crystal had left, in which a book voucher had fallen out.

“Tim!”

“This doesn’t count!” He’d pushed. She’d sneered, then kissed him, dropping the first 'real' gift in his lap. Holding out the first gift, Tim noted that this one was severally lumpy, and covered head to toe with tape. He ripped into it, Steph chewing her lip anxiously. Bubble wrap greeted him then, so he looked her in the eye as he continued to tug off extortionate amounts of plastic.

Two fat European robins, made of painted plaster, lay within. One wore a red and white scarf, the other a similar pair of earmuffs. Tim smiled. They were adorable.

“This us?”

“Maybe. They can sit on the windowsill. Watching over the city.”

Tim stood up and did as she suggested, the two birds looking out from the fifth floor where their apartment was. It was a dark and dank Christmas day, and as per the rules of the Gotham criminal underworld, Tim and Stephanie would have to head out in the evening. For the moment, within their overly warm apartment, with its bright lights and decorations, Tim and Stephanie didn’t mind so much. Tim squished his girlfriend’s cheeks and kissed her puckered lips.

“Merry Christmas.” She tooted, face still cradled tightly.

-2-

The day after Christmas, Alfred insisted on putting on a large family dinner for Boxing Day, whatever that was, which had resulted in the entire family being present at the manor for one meal. It had gone as smoothly as to be expected, with many a bickering, slapping and food flinging ensuing during the meal. Alfred had sighed sadly, Bruce had glared holes into the turkey and ham. Otherwise, it had actually gone fairly smoothly.

Cassandra had insisted on ‘helping’ Stephanie open her gift of the day. Sat on the marble floor underneath the eighteen foot Christmas tree within in the entrance hall, Tim paced back and forth and Cassandra snatched the neatly wrapped box from Stephanie’s arms.

“I can open it Cass.”

She only hummed in response, ripping the paper off the reveal a cardboard box. Growing frantic at being denied Stephanie's gift, Cassandra tugged and tore and the brown tape sealing it shut, more desperate to see what was inside then Steph was.

“Oh! Pretty!” She cried out when she finally broke through. More than a little miffed, Stephanie took the box out of Cassandra's hands, huffing and puffing. Peering in, her foul mood was forgotten, and she squeaked.

“Roller skates!”

Ripping then out the box, protective paper flying, she held their weight in her hands, looking at the dark blue leather, beaming. Her head whirled upwards to Tim, and she shook with happiness.

“Put them on.” Cassandra insisted.

Tim shook his head. “Uh, maybe outside.”

“No. It’s raining. Here’s fine.” Grabbing Stephanie’s foot, Cassandra yoinked her leg upwards, tugging off her fluffy slippers. Stephanie lay on the floor, more than a little taken aback at Cassandra’s aggressive man handling. Tim side-eyed the entrances to the main hall, fearful that either Bruce of Alfred would walk in at precisely the wrong moment.

Cassandra laced on the boots then pushed Stephanie’s legs down. She was smiling, but the manic look in her eyes told Tim that she was knowingly going to get them both in trouble. He sighed. The present had been for when the weather improved.

Still, Stephanie got to her feet and pushed off, rolling along the main hall with a practised grace. She stumbled every now and then, simply not used to the weight or dimension of the shoe yet. Cassandra clapped her hands in joy, hooting at Stephanie as she began to show off. Skating backwards and doing little jumps, she whirled around on the marble floor.

“Good present, Tim!” His sister exclaimed.

“I love them!” Stephanie called out.

Tim was about reply that she was welcome, but Bruce instead had appeared at the top of the stairs, and so Tim could only yelp Bruce’s name instead.

Stephanie tried to turn to see where Bruce was but lost of her footing, falling flat on her face.

Bruce watched and Tim and Cassandra rushed over to pull Stephanie to her feet. Pulling her up by an arm each, Stephanie whipped her hair back, laughing loudly.

“These are so great Tim! Thank you!”

“Welcome.”

She laughed a bit more, stumbling as she did so, feeling nervous with Bruce’s wordless gaze on her. Finally, her laughter died down, and she hung from Tim and Cass’ arms, legs splayed out in front of her, bum several inches off the floor.

“Please help me take them off.”

-3-

“My turn today.”

Tim opened up a squishy packet to find a dark blue body warmer within. He looked up at Steph. She shrugged, taking it from him and holding it up. He slid his arms in and she zipped it up.

“You always look cold to me in winter. You don’t wrap up enough.”

He threw the hood up, which was lined with faux fur.

“Thanks, mom.”

“Hah!”

-4-

It was another card this time, and when she opened it, the card contained a printout of an email.

She frowned at she read it, not entirely comprehending. She looked back at the top of the page, and her mouth dropped open.

“Uh! This place is fancy. And you got a table for New Year’s Eve?”

“Ohhhhh, yeah. Who’d you think you’re dating?”

Lowering the piece of paper, she looked at their wardrobe. “I’ll need a new dress for dinner…”

Tim shrugged unhelpfully. “Maybe.”

She gulped.

-5-

The New Year was only two days away, and Steph was sat in her usual work space, on the floor of the living room, peering at her college notes. She was honestly trying to be good, to revise over the Christmas period, but it wasn’t really going in. Honestly, she was just feeling sleepy, but in a content, happy sort of way, rather than grouchy and stiff. Blinking, she welcomed the distraction of Tim moving over to sit next to her on the rug. He was holding her gift to him. This one was much more neatly wrapped than the first, in another cardboard box.

“Any hints?” Tim asked, picking at the corners.

Steph smiled, resting a hand on her chin and her elbow on the table.

“It’s something I thought you’d maybe want to pick up again. Like you did for me with the skates.”

Tim opened the box to see a small instant camera in a bright shade of red gleaming up at him.

“Oh! No way!”

Pulling it out, he flipped through the instructions and set it up while Stephanie watched patiently. He turned the lens towards her. She smiled with her mouth shut, and the flash lit up the room. From the top emerged the print showing Stephanie looking dishevelled, with her blonde hair in a messy bun and wearing an oversized jumper and leggings.

“Perfect.” Tim smiled at the image, reaching for a pen to date it.

-6-

“So!” Tim started, hopping over the back of the sofa. Steph blinked, looking up from the book she had bought with Tim’s voucher. A cup of tea lay untouched on the table. Tim was holding another present. “This is also for tomorrow.”

Excited at the thought of the promised fancy dinner, Steph ripped off the wrapping with fervour, and squealed at the dress that was within. She threw aside her book and sprinted out of the room to try it on.

Tim waited a painfully long minute. He stared at the tea and thoughtlessly picked it up and gulped it down.

“It fit?” He yelled.

Stephanie kicked the living room door open, having gone the whole way by putting on a pair of heels and quickly pinning up her hair. It was a green tartan dress, with a little bow on the waist and a puffy skirt. Kara had suggested it. Stephanie rocked back and forth, holding her arms wide.

“Ta da! It’s so cute! Thank you, Tim!”

Tim tried not to squeal. She did look very pretty.

#tim drake #stephanie brown #timsteph #may i offer some fluff during this festive season?#dc #my fic tag

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