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cuppajoel · 1 month ago

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Couple's Costume |Javier Peña x f!reader one shot

'Couple's Costume' | Javier Peña x f!reader one shot

for @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno 's fall challenge

prompt: Peña pumpkin latte & masked strangers party (I took liberties)

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader Summary: Your sister is throwing a halloween party and you're invited last minute. When you turn up you realise everyone is in couple's costumes and you are the only one who's not- or are you? w/c: 1.7k Content Warnings: Language, drinking, MDNI (18+ only) no smut, kinda cheesy at the end? f!reader isn't described in a lot of detail, shorter than Javi, has an ass, flirting, alluding to smoking. no use of y/n. A/N: Heyyy, this is my first time taking part in a challenge and I really enjoyed it. I've also been loving reading everyone else's submissions! Please like, comment, and rb. It gives me a fuzzy feeling. :)) I have fallen in love with Javi thanks to @goodwithcheese so wanted to show my blossoming love for you and him. <333

“Uh-huh…okay, yeah sure-” you responded, your shoulder nudging the slipping phone receiver upwards to align with you ear again. Your hands were a little pre-occupied mixing the chocolate chips and candycorn into your sugar cookie mix.

“Honestly, it’ll be a lot of fun!” your elder sister responded, over compensating from the lack of enthusiasm. Your eyes couldn’t help roll from the direction of her voice in your ear. “You were coming ‘round anyway to drop off the cookies…and it would be saving my ass so the numbers stay even.” she put on her sweet voice, the one she knew you couldn’t say ‘no’ to.

“I don’t have a costume” you said through a sigh, putting the cookie batter mix into the refrigerator to chill.

“Don’t worry about it…just pull something from your closet. It’s gonna be super chill…” your sister said nonchalantly.

You leaned with your back against the kitchen counter, red heels crossed around one another in front of you with a red solo cup to match. Only your sister would make you source a last minute costume that consisted of wet-look black skinny jeans that were practically spray-painted on, and an off the shoulder black bodysuit that you purchased when you were a freshman in college.

Your “Hi, I’m Sandy” name tag was stuck to your hip, lowered as you were feeling embarrassed that you even had to wear it. Looking over to the kitchen island in front of you, you admired the Halloween cookies you had made earlier from the sea of other spooky-themed snacks brought by the other pairs of party goers.

“Could you at least try and get into it a little bit?” Your sister said, returning one of the now empty skull-shaped bowls from the living room and filling it right back up with the family-sized bag of chips.

You turned around to face the array of liquor bottles behind you, picking one with amber-coloured liquid and glugged it into your cup. “Oh I’m into it…” As the cup filled to two-thirds of the way, you topped it up with something sweet and bubbly before turning back around and holding the cup up to your sister in a silent ‘cheers’. “Although I’d be into it a little more if you’d given me the heads up that it was a couples costume party.” You said taking three rapid gulps of your concoction before screwing up your eyes and shaking your head.

When you’d first arrived at your sister’s house the party was well underway. Knowing that your knocking wouldn’t be heard over the sound system that was in the living room, you let yourself in, tray of warm cookies in hand. As you entered the hallway, your sister’s superior decorating skills were evident. Cobwebs hung lowly above your head with black, plastic spiders embedded evenly across them. A skeleton, wrapped in toilet paper, sat on the bottom step of the wooden staircase with a plastic orange pumpkin in its lap full of various fun-size candy bars. You walked through to the living room, ‘The Monster Mash’ acting as your soundtrack as you were greeted by your fellow party go-ers, Barbie, and Ken, Homer and Marge Simpson, Bert and Ernie.

Walking further through the house to the kitchen, the small light projector bounced from wall to wall, switching from shadows of bats and gravestones to pumpkins and witches brooms, a layer of fog gathered at your ankles. You hummed to yourself, impressed at how much was put into the aesthetics of the evening. As you crossed the threshold of the kitchen you were greeted by Morticia and Gomez, your sister and her husband.

“SANDY…”�� the world’s worst John Travolta impersonation came flying at you from none other than Gomez Adams. You pushed passed the man in the doorway with a sigh and shake of the head. “Aw c’monnnn… the least you could do is get into character…” your newly-moustached brother in law teased as you set the cookies on the counter. Before your sister turned to greet you, you noticed she was talking to Fred and Velma Flintstone; Shaggy and Scooby Doo were helping themselves to the punch bowl.

It clicked. Not one person here was here alone. All pushed together by their costumes characters. Your sister turned, hearing the cogs of your brain clunking. Your stare turned to ice as her eyes met yours. “Those look amazing… you look amazing!” She said pulling you into a tight hug- one that wasn’t reciprocated.

“You owe me, big time…” you said, stiffening your muscles under her touch. She’d secretly organised it all, you’d realised. When stressing earlier about your costume she knew exactly what to suggest down to the details of your makeup. You didn’t even really get her vision until she said to do your hair ‘exactly like moms in the wedding pictures’, it was all a scheme.

“I promise, you aren’t the only single one here…” she started, stepping back to see you fully before grabbing one of your hands that had fallen. “Most of the people coming are already in their couple’s costumes but others are here alone and I thought it’d be fun to suggest some costume ideas so that maybe you could meet your Danny…” your sister buzzed with excitement.

“Yeah, Javi-” your sister elbowed her husband directly in the ribs. “Danny… will love your outfit…” he said, spluttering over the rim of his drink.

Javi found himself in between Tarzan and Jane, not knowing where to look, both of them sticking true to the minimal clothing of the Jungle. He stared into the red solo cup that got thrust into his hand as he entered the party, the golden liquid depleting quickly as his lips and cheeks began to buzz- the safe choice, he thought.

“…so wha’s your costume?” Jane asked him, her breath uncomfortably close and hot in his ear and her eyes getting the familiar sparkle from booze. Her eyes raked up and down him a few times, which in the presence of Tarzan made the hairs on Javi’s neck prick. He wore his signature blue Levi’s, a slim-fit white T-shirt and a black leather jacket that he hadn’t yet had the chance to take off.

Before he could answer, he felt a very subtle tap tap tap tap against the leather of his boot. Reaching forward, he picked up the ping pong ball in between his pointer finger and thumb, turning it to look at the illustrated ghost features that someone had drawn on.

“God. Sorry!” you called out from the far end of the dining room, your features curling on themselves lightly as you squint to see where the ball had gone. You brought your hand up over your brow as if searching the uncharted sea for the small plastic ball.

Looking up at your voice, Javier couldn’t help but chuckle at your poor aim at the pyramid of red cups before you. Without a word to Tarzan and Jane, he stood up from the couch to return the ball to its poor shot of an owner.

You met halfway at the threshold of the open-plan living room-diner. As you approached one another the height difference was the first thing you noticed. You had to look up to meet the eyes of the leather-jacket-wearing rescuer of your ball. He held the ball out towards you, still only gripped with his two fingers. “You know, I think the point is to get the ball into the cup…” he said, dipping his head slightly, bringing his mouth closer to your ear to be heard over the music. He smelled like cigarettes and something warm like leather. As he pulled back to reach your gaze again, he held the ball still with his fingers, even as you had begun to hover your hands over his to receive it. His eyes had a slight glitter to them as he looked at you up and down and up again, his gaze stuck on the name tag on your hip. “…Sandy?” Javi allowed himself to look at your costume in great detail. Were your jeans wet? Or did you have to be sewn into them? The material showing the fullness of your hips and waist and leaving little to the imagination. He said, finally dropping his grip on the plastic for it to fall into your hands.

“Ahhhh, that’s where I’ve been going wrong…” you said, a front for your bad aim. The game of beer pong already resuming without you. “What’s your costume?” you asked tilting your head to the side, your arm bumping on the wall next to you. Javi had automatically brought himself closer to you again, using the loudness of the room as an excuse.

“What do you think my costume is?”

You permitted yourself to examine him in the same way that he had done to you moments before. Everything about his outfit was exact to him. It didn’t look like a Halloween costume- probably something from his closet like yours had been. You squint your eyes again, the alcohol dulling your vision slightly. “Danny?” Your voice is small, questioning, and hopeful as your tongue passes your lips slowly, dampening them slightly, forgetting about your ruby-red lipstick.

Javi’s eyes fall to the bright red target being highlighted to him, showing the whiteness of your teeth and the fullness of your lips. “Would you be disappointed if I’d told you I’ve never seen the movie?” He says genuinely, his eyes only looking away from your lips after he’d asked the question.

Your eyes trickle up over his neck, the slight bob of his Adam’s apple as he waits for your response. His sharp, carved jaw twinges slightly as a smirk passes his lips, he’s looking at you looking at him. Your gaze travels up and up, resting on the cigarette that has been delicately placed on the hinge of his ear, for later clearly.

The alcohol must’ve really been working as you softly, slowly reach for it putting the filter between your lips and finally looking up into his eyes. They look somehow darker than they did seconds ago. “Want me to tell you about it, stud?”

#rae is writing again ; ;#fic!couplescostume #Javier Peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #narcos tv show #narcos fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction

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ellivenollivander · 24 days ago

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A Worthy Trade

Summary: Garreth & Adelaide Weasley ready for the day, and Garreth ruminates on all of the Good in his life. Word Count: 2173 Rating: T A/N: Written for @garrethweasleyfest. My prompt used was Professor Gar. The inspiration to write left me entirely for basically a month straight, and this was actually meant to be a longer work. I might write a part two. We'll see what happens, and I hope you enjoy it for what it is anyway. HUGE thank you to @cuffmeinblack, @pluviowriting & @applinsandoranges for being so kind and encouraging. This wouldn't have happened without you! TW: Pregnancy, Pregnancy Mention

Hogsmeade was in top form when autumn descended upon it, Garreth had always thought. The vibrant hues and blue skies of summer giving way to overcast clouds and trees fading into brilliant reds and oranges and finally into nothing at all, when December came, and with it, linen-white blankets of snow. The florals that clung to the air beneath the summer sun dissipated with the bite of the autumn air, replaced with the scent of wood-burning smoke as the resident hearths were lit to chase away the cold, falling leaves dancing on the breeze and along the cobblestone streets. It all felt very much like home. Which is exactly where Garreth stood, half-drinking a tea now gone cold and scribbling notes into a journal that was stuffed as full as the mind of the man who filled its pages, splayed about on the kitchen countertop. The windows were open despite the roaring flames that crackled and popped in the fireplace, the curtains fluttering in the breath of an early morning wind. Garreth wasn’t fond of the curtains, to put it kindly, likely once a lovely ivory and now yellowed with age. Horribly outdated, and left behind by the home's previous owners but his wife had insisted they gave the place charm, so they had stayed, framing the old paned glass window that seemed to never be streak free no matter how often they scourgified. Garreth’s attention was drawn away from a scrawled note on adjusting the preparation of alihotsy to suit lesser needs (dried rather than chopped?), to their family cat outside the window, pouncing upon something hidden in the wilted and brittle remains of his wifes garden which had succumbed to the changing season. He thought he ought to clear it out, so it was ready for his wife to till and bring back to its usual glory the moment the ground thawed come spring. Or perhaps he ought to build her a proper greenhouse, so his green-thumbed wife could have all of the fresh produce and flowering blooms that she pleased, year-round. Adelaide would like that, he thought, and he knew Mr. Brown of Tomes & Scrolls carried the spellcrafts, and surely the materials would not break the bank with each of their comfortable salaries. With his face falling into an excitable grin that he swallowed with another glug of his tea, should his wife stumble in and catch him with one of his masterful plans, he scribbled a note to remind himself to stop by and visit Tom in the sparse open spaces of his journal after work.

Tea cup halfway to his lips, he watched with an amused grin as the cat bolted off again, into the dying brush and off to wreak havoc elsewhere. Hopefully, to The Magic Neep, where it had become a thorn in old Mr. Teasdale’s side. The usually jovial herbologist had blamed the small beast for the destruction of his fluxweed crop on more than one occasion. Garreth had tried to defend his wife's beloved feline, with the entirely logical deduction that there was no way the old man could prove it was indeed their family pet, but his wife had shushed him, offering apologies and promises to bring over some of her esteemed ginger cakes as recompense in order to keep the neighbourhood peace.

Saving the neighbourhood peace was growing to be one of Adelaide’s talents, helped by her enthusiasm for time spent in the heart of the home - the kitchen. Always delivering treats and sweets to their neighbours, and most often, Mr. Pippin, and of course on behalf of Garreth. Who had more than taken advantage of the short distance between their home and the potions shop, eager for spirited conversations with a man as enthusiastic about potions as he was. Only a small footbridge separated their home and the shop, and Garreth Weasley was as much a permanent accessory in the shop as the sign on the door, his wife soothing the scowl of its proprietor at his constant interruptions of his work with hot meals and warm pastries.

Adelaide Weasley was always welcome, and her husband was welcome in the way a father swears he doesn't care for the family pet, but never moves it from its nap when it curls up in his favourite chair.

Garreth had only just slipped the loose bits of parchment back between the pages of his journal, when his wife strolled into the kitchen, hair tied neatly behind her head in her usual plait, and fussing with the loose fabric of her blouse. He allowed his cup to fall into the hot, soapy water, mindless to the way it began to clean itself amongst the breakfast dishes, with his attention entirely on his beautiful wife and the contemplative scowl on her face.

He wrinkled his nose at the sight of her pulling her blouse over the soft swell of her stomach, concealing it away with the ruffles and lace. He leant against the sink with an amused grin, green eyes following the way she poked and prodded at herself.

“You know…” He began, with a strong arm reaching out to pull her close, wrapping her up in his embrace, his head instinctively tilting down to trail chaste kisses along the slope of her neck. “... You can’t hide our good news away forever, or else people may question where you’ve got a baby from when it arrives.” His tone was light, Teasing. Even if it took every ounce of his self-restraint to not take out the entire front page of the prophet to announce the news that they were going to be parents, Garreth respected his wife’s choice to delay the celebrations. It was her body in the end, though that didn’t save her from his affectionate jabs due to his own impatience in the safety and privacy of their own home.

He hummed happily, forehead resting where her shoulder met her neck when she reciprocated his lazy morning affections with her hands in his hair, a giggle fluttering from her lips as she kissed his temple.

“Yes, well. Evie said that once people know, they’ll be poking and prodding at me all of the time and I don’t fancy that much.”

Evie. Evangeline. His wife’s best friend from their days at school and who had two children of her own already, after having settled down with her childhood sweetheart the moment they had graduated. Adelaide seldom did anything without her ever-present companions counsel and when Garreth had proposed, he had half-expected his lovely bride-to-be to tell him to Hold That Thought whilst she ran off to ask for her friend's opinion on the matter.

(She hadn’t, and instead, the memory of her standing flushed and teary-eyed amongst the foxgloves and forget-me-nots whilst he slipped the modest ring on her finger during her gleeful acceptance of his self-proclaimed paltry offer would live at the forefront of his mind for the rest of his days.)

Now, it seemed the two had all the more to talk about now that his wife was well on her way to join her friend in motherhood. Garreth was grateful for the feminine support through his wife's first pregnancy, even if it called for a few interrupted meals whilst Adelaide explained in detail her varying symptoms to Evangeline’s head in the fireplace. “Mm. Well we don’t want you being poked by anyone other than me now do we?” Garreth chuckled; Smiling and savouring the lingering scent of lavender and bergamot from her shampoo as he brought himself back to height, pausing only to steal a kiss from her pouting lips, soothing her look of mild disapproval before helping her into her cloak. “Come on then, the young and impressionable minds of our students thirst for our wisdom.”

***

A choice to live within the faculty quarters of the school or to live outside of its majestic halls was given to each member of the general staff and faculty of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. Garreth had taken full advantage of the former during his first few years as a Professor, putting every knut that would have been spent on room and board away on a dream for a potions shop with his name on the front. Then Adelaide Oakes came gliding into the picture. A lovely little thing who was sweet and kind and laughed at all of his jokes. Even the ones he knew weren’t his very best work as he slumped over potions essays that had him feeling the slightest twinge of sympathy for the grizzled Auror that had once held his post (and who still haunted his nightmares every now and again when he was struggling with a more difficult brew).

Adelaide had transferred into the role of Magical Home Economics Professor, A class meant to prepare magical children for the mundane realities of living in a magical world, when the elderly Professor Spindle had finally thrown in the towel and retired to an island in the Gulf of Finland.

Garreth had only just settled into his fate in academia when Adelaide came around (Again. She so loved reminding him of all the classes and moments they had shared during their own schooldays that he had seemingly paid little mind too. He equally loved reminding her that his mind had been very busy becoming the next great potioneer thank you very much.) A year spent inside the castle he now called home for a second time, only this time, he was educating the next generation of magical minds in the world of cauldrons and brews.

Playful banter, a few shared butterbeers in the staff-room, a decidedly romantic candle-lit dinner at the Three Broomsticks and a terribly, terribly awkward disclosing of a workplace relationship to his own bloody Aunt later, and the rest was well and truly history. Garreth found himself lamenting the years he spent Not Noticing her whilst they attended school together. Missed opportunities of fumbling around in broom cupboards and blushing faces over sickly sweet teas at Steepleys. (Though Garreth had tried using his Weasley charm to coax his now wife into a broom cupboard rendezvous now and again when their days were especially dull, but his respectful wife had kept things firmly over-the-clothes.) He lamented, even, not taking his fathers job offer to work at the Ministry. If only because it may have put her in his path far sooner whilst she worked alongside her Uncle Rowland in the Goblin Liaison office. The money Garreth had tucked away inside of his vault at Gringotts had swiftly been reallocated to other worthwhile endeavours. Gifts and dinners out, weekend holidays and yearly passes to the Magical Arboreal Gardens in London. Everything a girl like Adelaide deserved when being courted. Then, the modest sum of gold had dwindled after a sweaty-palmed conversation with Rowland Oakes had given Garreth his blessing, and he bought her a ring. (Not nearly as grand as she deserved, but she had gasped and cried as she stared at it on her finger, so he must have done alright.) The rest of it disappeared with a wedding and a honeymoon, and the scant remains of the gold were scraped together with his brides and spent on their home.

More often than not, Garreth sat staring at the wall in the office he had spent much of his youth sneaking into, reminiscing on where his life had ended up – and deciding whether or not he regretted the choices he had made that had brought him here and now. His dreams of owning a potions shop seemed further away than ever before, though it still sat dormant in the back of his mind, and weaved its way between the lines of his journal. On a particularly optimistic day, He had even painstakingly filled out a patent application for his perfected Weasley’s Wonder Tonic. Though the high that had carried him through every line of legal jargon transfigured itself into a different sort of joy, when his wife had joined him in the little nook that served as his workstation, delicate hands holding her contraceptive potion and pink lips whispering “What if we started trying?” Garreth had beamed, A Winter Baby. Now wouldn’t that be nice? and took her blushing and giggling to bed. The application had been tucked away in the pages of his most private thoughts, and he barely paid it any mind. Thus, despite the dull longing that seemed to capture him on a Bad Day, the thought of his wife - bright-eyed and giggling by the fire, cheeks pink from the firewhiskey they had shared to celebrate their students surviving exam season their first year teaching together or the way she hummed The Enchanted Garden whilst she baked barefoot in the kitchen - soothed whatever doubts had crept their way into his mind, warming him faster than a pepper-up. Garreth Weasley had simply traded one dream for another, and would not trade a single moment, nor take a single step in another direction if offered the choice.

#garrethweasleyfest #garrethweasleyfest24 #Garreth Weasley #Adelaide Oakes #garreth weasley fanfic

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thequeensjester · 28 days ago

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Rings of Power ➤ Season 2 Cinematography: Short Siding

Short siding is a shot where the character is positioned closer to the side of the frame they're looking at, leaving wide space over their shoulder.

This can show us what a character is thinking about; eg. Glug asking Adar for assurance and over his shoulder we see his family, revealing to us his concerns.

In Miriel's coronation, short siding is used to show Miriel's and Pharazon's allies supporting them as tension builds between the two factions. Also note the irregular triangle in Mirel's shot.

In scenes where negative space is shown over-the-shoulder, short siding shows characters believing what they think are their truthful assertions but their loved ones distrust them.

In Sauron's case, he is deceptive altogether. credit: cap-that.com

#rings of power #cinematography in rings of power #rop analysis

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thephoenixandthecrocodile · 5 days ago

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A Light in Dark Places - Chapter Two: Adar Meets Sauron’s Other Ex

Alternate Title: We Really Need to Get Adar A Boyfriend

Summary: Adar wasn’t expecting his son, Glug, to bring him the fallen lord of Eregion. Now he must decide how best to use Celebrimbor to his advantage while ignoring the rush of long suppressed memories and forgotten emotions triggered by the Elf Lord’s own relationship with Sauron.

EDIT: Here's a link to chapter 1:

Tagging: @adventurepunks @angel-astre @eowyn7023 @plotdesigner @illegalcerebral

Adar forced himself to remain an unbending, unaffected fixture on the front line. His children needed to see him as they marched to their deaths and he needed to acknowledge the ones he sacrificed for Sauron’s downfall. He knew the name of every Uruk as they marched by, remembered their first steps, their first set of armor, their endless cries of pain as Morgoth and Mairon shaped them into unloved but not unloving creatures. No, despite the worst of Morgoth’s designs, love still existed in their shattered hearts, even if it was a love unrecognized by Elf, Dwarf, Man, or Valar. The world’s disdain for the familial love that bound every Uruk in this camp made it all the more precious. Maybe the most precious thing in all of Middle-Earth.

He was willing to sacrifice it all to end the last remaining architect of their fallen condition. Better to kill all his children by himself than see them enslaved to Sauron once more. Was that not true love?

He inhaled and forced his face to adopt his determined facade. His children trusted him to do what was best for them. He could not shatter their trust with even a hint of doubt. He had always been the battered but unbreakable defensive wall they could shelter behind as the world threw its worst at them. A being that did not doubt, that did not hesitate, that did not mourn what had to be sacrificed for his children’s safety and happiness.

“Lord Father?”

Adar glanced at Uzog, the cautious archer with a metal prosthetic hand like their father.

“Yes, my child?”

“Glug brought back a prisoner when he shouldn’t have. A golden haired elf.”

Lady Galadriel.

Galadriel had escaped only a day ago and, while he assumed she would remain near the battlefield, he had not expected her to be recaptured so easily. Then again, Glug was growing into a capable Uruk commander.

“The Elf is as bloody as a warg’s breakfast, Adar. He is as dark as the one you hunt.”

This did not sound like Galadriel, unless Sauron found her first, although Adar doubted he would let her go if that was true. Galadriel was many things, but she wasn’t stealthy enough to escape Sauron’s grasp unless he willed it. Nor could Sauron expect Galadriel to return to Adar considering the last time Sauron saw them together, Galadriel had threatened to kill all of his children in front of him.

“What game are you playing, Gorthaur,” Adar muttered to himself in Black Speech.

He commanded Uzog to take him to Glug and this strange prisoner. They rushed through marching ranks of proud and shouting Uruks. War was the one thing they knew how to do better than anyone. War was the one thing Adar swore they would never have to indulge in again, once they created their homeland. Was it not Morgoth’s and Sauron’s nature to twist and break all promises and was he not their child?

Uzog led Adar to the clearing in front of his own tent where several Uruks gathered together around Glug and his prisoner. Before he could properly identify the elf, they ran straight into him. Adar grabbed the Elf’s arms to prevent them from falling and he was bewildered to see that not only were they not Galadriel, but for a moment he thought he was looking into the face of Feanor himself.

Bloody, defiant, on the verge of losing his mind, but also warmer, older, handsomer, and wilder. Not the wilderness of a trapped and starving wolf. No, it was one of a trained falcon. Domesticated and loyal until someone awoke its deepest instincts and then it became overwhelmed by its desire to fly, hunt, and kill.

There was a familiar darkness to this Elf. One that passed by unnoticed until it was already worming its way into his mind and soul. A darkness and eternal fire that led to the Oath of Feanor and to the rise of Morgoth and Sauron. But it was not of the Elf, this bloody and battered Elf who even now seemed on the verge of running away. It was around the Elf, a part of the Elf, but not an integral part, not a natural part given by the Valar. A part that had consumed Adar and his children whole except for the faint, struggling spark that kept them united. He knew this was the work of Sauron, but he could not call this Elf a servant of Sauron nor a servant of the Valar. More like Galadriel, a being caught between the two. An almost kindred spirit if Adar dared to call an Elf this beautiful kin.

The Elf was filthy and bloody, hardly something he expected from a citizen of Eregion, which he was judging from the holly designs on his robes. Tear streaks cut through the dirt on his round cheeks and his wrinkles, not common for Elves, betrayed a life of unrecoverable sorrow and pain. His curly golden hair did not shine like Galadriel’s nor was it combed in any manner expected from an Elf, even one in combat, but Adar liked this Elf’s stronger tones of gold and undertones of brown better. Adar met the startled Elf’s gaze and caught the light of the two trees in his hazel eyes. Galadriel was the only other Elf familiar to Adar who carried their light and Adar found this Elf’s eyes as enchanting as hers.

“Who is he and why did you bring him here?” Adar asked Glug in Black Speech.

Logic caught up with memory and he knew this couldn’t be Feanor, so who was he? All of Feanor’s sons were dead or missing. Although didn’t one have a son? It wasn’t easy nor desirable to purposely recall memories from the First Age. Yes, there was a son. So similar and yet so different from the father and the grandfather.

“This elf has something of Sauron’s,” Glug explained. “I felt a dark presence.”

At this, the Elf broke down sobbing, catching Adar off guard, a strange feeling of discomfort creeping up his spine. Even the other Uruks shifted uncomfortably and some half glanced away. How long had it been since any of them had shed a tear? Even Uruk babies stopped crying after their first year.

“Strange is the servant of Sauron who remembers how to cry,” Adar gently reproached the Elf.

It was as if he had slapped the Elf back to his senses. He stepped from Adar’s grasp and stubbornly wiped his tears away, spreading blood across his cheeks in the process and Adar noticed a missing thumb. The Elf stood tall, like Feanor himself stood when insulted and he snapped back, “I may have been a willing fool for the Great Deceiver once, but no more! Unlike you, I have escaped from his grasp.”

“Not very far, if we willingly served Sauron,” Adar replied and the Elf’s face twitched in confusion. “I assure you, you won’t find a single friend of Sauron’s in our company for we are his greatest foes.”

“Then why serve his purposes by attacking Eregion?”

The Uruks grumbled and shifted threateningly, but Adar gestured for restraint.

“We serve no one’s purpose, but our own,” Adar growled, noticing Glug’s shifting expression.

His son never believed in the assault on Eregion and Adar knew others agreed with him.

“We attack Eregion because they warmly welcomed Sauron into their city and set him up as a king. The people of Eregion are nothing more than his slaves who willingly protect him from my children.”

The Feanorian fire flashed in the Elf’s eyes and he puffed his chest as he stood eye to eye with Adar, pointing at the Uruk Lord.

“You are as great a deceiver as your former master. You murder the innocent and call them guilty to justify your actions. The people of Eregion did not welcome nor do they serve the Dark Lord. They were betrayed, betrayed by their lord who should have known better.”

The Elf’s anger grew, but his stature diminished.

“By their lord who knew better, but wanted what he wanted, even if it was something he never deserved,” the Elf continued, his own bitterness and hatred sharp enough to wound Sauron himself. “And so he accepted a poisoned gift and loved a being incapable of anything but malice and deceit and in doing so, condemned his people.”

The Elf defiantly and desperately met Adar’s gaze and said, “The fault is mine for I am Celebrimbor, the former lord of Eregion, fallen consort of the Great Deceiver, and the only servant who must pay for the Dark Lord’s crimes.”

Adar’s face softened and he was once more chained to a mountain cliff, abandoned and forgotten, the pouring rain chilling his very bone marrow, and he called into the wind and rain for death. Instead, a golden light that burnt his very skin appeared and took the face of a fiery haired Elf with cheekbones as sharp as Caradhras and flaming eyes that promised to consume one’s fea in the utmost pleasurable ways. Promises of children, of power, and of wine were exchanged and Adar drank them all, deeply, fervently, deliriously.

He instinctively rested a hand on Celebrimbor’s shoulder, and softly said in Quenya, “He is terrible in his beauty, isn’t he?”

“The most terrible and the most beautiful,” Celebrimbor replied in Quenya, his harsh features softening as well.

“Lord Father,” Glug urgently interrupted and Adar remembered his place.

He stepped back and ordered a pair of Uruks to take Celebrimbor to the tent they prepared for Galadriel and ensure he couldn’t escape. The fallen Elf argued and resisted, but it was obvious he was exhausted from his escape and Adar’s children were bred for kidnapping and war.

This would be the second Feanor to escape Sauron’s grasp. The Dark Lord’s wrath would be swift and severe.

“Lord Father, should we not call back the assault?” Glug said.

“Sauron is still in the city.”

“Yes, but we do not have the Elven rings and if the strange Elf contains something Sauron wants–”

“Continues the assault as planned,” Adar snapped, Glug flinching at his tone. “I must question the Elf further.”

“But the Elf said Sauron wants–”

“Continue the assault, Glug,” Adar commanded and marched to his tent, despite feeling unprepared to face Sauron’s latest victim.

Adar entered his tent and ordered his guards to leave him alone with Celebrimbor. They hesitated, but knew not to question him in his current mood. The golden haired Elf was chained to the same chair Galadriel used only a day ago, the dinner table void of any food.

“Please, you must call off the assault,” Celebrimbor begged. “You cannot defeat the Great Deceiver through strength alone. Surely, you know this.”

“I know Sauron has many needs, the first of which is allies,” said Adar. “Was that why he came to you? To spread his influence?”

“What does it matter if you can’t defeat him?”

“Sauron is weakest when he’s isolated. We’ve neutralized whatever following he gained in Eregion,” said Adar and Celebrimbor’s face flinched with rage and sorrow. “But he’s like a rat. He always looks for a new place and people he can infest.”

Celebrimbor hesitated before admitting, “He briefly treated with the dwarves in Khazad-dum through me, but I doubt he will flee there.”

The Elf squeezed the pouch clenched in his right hand and Adar demanded, “Give it to me.”

Celebrimbor struggled against his bonds, almost tipping over his chair in the process. Adar caught him by the chin and said, “I’d rather avoid further damage to your handsome features.”

Celebrimbor stiffened at his touch, a mix of terror and surprise crossed his dirt and blood smeared face. The blood dashed across his cheek bones was reminiscent of war paint favored by some of his children. His skin was hot to the touch, as if the fires of Eregion’s furnace formed his core. Even with the dirt and the blood and the sweat and tears, he was beautiful. The light of Valinor still within him, like all Elves who crossed the sea.

Adar’s hand traveled up his cheek, caressing the weathered skin, a thumb tracing the wrinkles that branched from the corner of his eyeas. Celebrimbor inhaled sharply and pulled his head away and Adar dropped his hand at the same rate his face fell. Marion used to comfort him the same way after the worst of Morgoth’s punishments. Of course he would use the same trick for his latest toy.

Adar turned away sharply and took two steps towards the barren table, his hand finding his hilt and squeezing it to soothe his fluttering nerves. Not even Galadriel with her own special relationship with Sauron and her own embodiment of Valinor brought back so many memories and long lost emotions.

“Does it surprise you that a Uruk would mimic his former master’s acts of false affection?” He demanded, although he wasn’t sure the true target of his sudden rage and embarrassment.

“He spoke to me,” Celebrimbor softly began, wrestling with each word as if Adar was dragging each syllable out from him. “He spoke of Morgoth and their…their “game” is what he called it.”

Adar barked a laugh and glanced at Celebrimbor with dark amusement.

“I’m sure he spared no details, reveling in his ability to withstand the worst of Morgoth’s tortures and humiliations.”

“For a moment, I…I pitied him.”

Adar whirled around and Celebrimbor shot him a desperate and despairing half grimace.

“Pitied Sauron?”

“For a moment he was just another victim of Morgoth’s, no different from my own uncle, Maedhros. Often I would look into my uncle’s eyes and see nothing but hollowness. He had the same look, only for a flicker of a second, and then it was gone, replaced by the same ravenous hunger that drove Morgoth’s darkness. All the pity in the world cannot call him back.”

“Would you?” Adar asked softly in Quenya.

“Wouldn’t you?” Celebrimbor replied.

Adar had not known fear like this since he held Morgoth’s crown in his hand, about to kill Sauron with it. He recognized Sauron’s hold on Galadriel and used it to his advantage, but that had been different from this. Galadriel was still fighting the depth of Sauron’s hold over her. Still stubbornly believing she had a choice when around him, but Celebrimbor…Sauron shattered him from the inside out. Whatever Sauron needed Galadriel for, he needed her still whole but cracking, but Celebrimbor had to be broken and mended and broken and mended over and over and over again. As if Sauron wanted no one to benefit from his abilities after he was done with the Elf. Maybe Sauron even meant to keep him, a pet to honor the start of his new reign as dark lord of Middle-Earth.

“What did he offer you?” Adar asked, still speaking in Quenya.

Another painful half grimace and Celebrimbor said, “The opportunity to create a legacy that would overshadow my grandfather’s.”

“You do not need him for that.”

Celebrimbor’s face twitched and it took several seconds before he seemingly regained control over his voice, “What did he offer you?”

“Children,” said Adar with a half smile of his own.

Celebrimbor glanced towards the entrance of the tent.

“Then for the sake of your children, you must let me go. He will come for me and will slay any who stand in his way.”

Yes, the pouch. The very thing that brought Sauron’s dark presence into his tent. Something solid to focus on instead of whatever had passed between him and Celebrimbor during the last few minutes.

“What is in the pouch?”

Celebrimbor hung his head in shame, once more wrestling for words, but Adar didn’t have time or patience or ability to wait. Better to act out on his sudden confusion and anxiety, even though he often scolded his children for such behavior.

He wrestled the pouch from Celebrimbor’s clenched fist and Sauron’s flaming, burning, gorgeous form surrounded him, his soft, coaxing voice promising power renewed, the entirety of Middle-Earth for his beloved children, and Mairon’s love regained. Flames licked at his scarred and beaten skin once more and Adar closed his eyes to hold back his tears. How he missed this incredible, painful glory and love.

Pain. Something heavy landed on his chest. Was he on the ground? Adar blinked and stiffened as he realized his own lips were mere inches away from Celebrimbor’s, who seemed as startled as he was. The Elf must have tried to take the pouch back. His hand with the missing thumb had slipped out of his chains and Adar mentally scolded him for not noticing that. However, it must have been too painful for Celebrimbor to use or rest on for it laid sprawled out above Adar’s head. The Elf’s other hand was still chained to the chair, which was lying across Celebrimbor’s legs. Yes, it must have tripped him and now he pinned Adar down with nothing more than the weight of his own body, the Elf’s chest pressed against his own armored chest.

The Elf’s weight was strangely soothing. The same kind of soothing he felt when Galadriel held him while pointing a knife to his throat. How long had it been since he felt another’s touch? Surely before Morgoth’s fall. How long had he hungered for something that could never be found until this very moment revealed it was nothing more than knowing someone else truly existed in a physical form he could touch and feel. That the world was more than a non-existent grey, full of sacrifice and loss and even his children were nothing but specters in a dying world.

How expressive Celebrimbor was. Something he had not expected from Feanor’s heirs. His round and handsome face revealed the clashing thoughts that raced through his mind: confusion, uncertainty, embarrassment, fear, planning a new escape attempt. How Adar wanted to run his thumb across Celebrimor’s chapped and split lips before pulling him into a kiss to quiet his mind.

“Adar!” “Lord Father!”

Celebrimbor yelped as Glug grabbed his curls and ripped the Elf off of Adar. Uzog scrunched their nose nervously as they offered their own hand to their father.

“Glug!” Adar snapped, rising by himself in an attempt to overcome his own shame and embarrassment. “Do not harm him.”

Glug, his knife already drawing a trickle of blood from Celebrimbor’s throat,opened his mouth to argue, “But Adar–”

“Fetch me chains, Glug,” Adar commanded.

A half sneer half pout crossed Glug’s young face, the knife defiantly drawing one last drop of blood before he rose and stomped out of the tent. Uzog ran their hand across their twitching nose, another nervous tic that meant they had thoughts they would not dare share, and followed Glug. Adar grabbed Celebrimbor by the front of his robes and arranged him back into his chair as if he weighed no more than a hollow, wooden puppet. Blood pooled along the back of Celebrimbor’s robe and matted the curls in the back of his head. How was he still resisting, let alone standing and talking?

Adar pinned his hands on Celebrimbor’s shoulders to ensure he would stay still, the Elf hissing and wincing in the process.

“Stop fighting,” Adar commanded, embarrassing himself by using his exasperated father's voice instead of the Lord of the Uruk’s voice. “You are injured far more than you wish to admit. You cannot undo your crimes by leaping into Death’s arms.”

If it had been that easy, Adar would have done it long ago.

Blood rolled down the side of Celebrimbor’s face and Adar gently swept back his curls to identify the deep gash that ran across the Elf’s forehead. Celebrimbor stiffened as expected, but only half pulled away, as if catching himself in the middle of the act and forcing himself to remain still. A part of Adar wanted to run his matted, but still soft, still perfumed and pampered curls through his fingers. How happy his children would be when they could care for their own bodies with the same love and attention as that of the Elves.

Glug and Uzog returned with heavy black chains and Adar pulled away from the Elf. Celebrimbor winced every time a length of chain wrapped around his chest and pinned him to the chair, but he had left Adar with no other option.

“Not so tight, Glug,” Adar said in Black Speech and his son spitefully tightened the chains wrap around the Elf, causing Celebrimbor to moan and wheeze. “He is our guest, Glug.”

Uzog wiped their nose once more and Adar internally sighed. Children.

As Glug circled him one final time, Celebrimbor gestured to grab him and he said, “That’s Elrond’s brooch.”

Glug sheepishly turned to look at Adar and, yes, the Elf was right. Glug was wearing the very pin Elrond gave to Galadriel to make her escape. When Adar asked him why in Black Speech, Glug looked down and muttered, “It’s shiny.”

“Was it taken or was it given?” asked Celebrimbor, desperately wiggling to escape his bonds despite the obvious agony it caused him. “Show me his body, if taken.”

“Leave us!” Adar snapped at his children before they could confirm one way or another.

Glug tied off the chain and left with a huff as Uzog shot Adar one last concern glanced before following their brother. Strange that life had been easier when they were simply looking for a homeland. Now that Sauron had dragged they back into the conflicts and contradicts of Middle-Earth everything was on the verge of falling apart.

“How did he get that brooch?” Celebrimbor pressed.

“It was a gift.”

“From Elrond?” asked Celebrimbor, tears forming in his eyes.

Adar nodded and Celebrimbor swallowed.

“I saw,” he sputtered, his voice hitching as he struggled to control what could not be controlled in his condition. “Elves wearing Lindon’s armor. I thought they were rescuing the city, but why would they?”

Again, that painful half grimace crossed his chapped lips and bitter resignation darkened his face, as if some brutal understanding had finally been accepted.

“They, too, think my people willingly betrayed them. That I dedicated myself to the Great Deceiver and his desire to dominate all life on Middle-Earth. How can they think otherwise? After I ignored Lady Galadriel’s warning, after I lied to the High King, after–”

He choked back another sob and hung his head. Adar slowly bent before the broken Elf and gently raised his chin.

“What did Sauron ask of you?”

Celebrimbor inhaled a few times to calm his nerves and regain control over his voice.

“Rings,” he half cried, half laughed. “Rings like the Elven three. Rings for Dwarves…Rings for Men…”

Celebrimbor trailed off and his gaze traveled over Adar’s shoulder. He glanced behind him and saw the pouch lying underneath the barren table.

“For Men?” Adar asked, unable to hide the incredulousness from his voice. “Men would never be able to withstand their power.”

“No,” Celebrimbor said pitifully. “That is why they must never return to Sauron. That is why you must release me and let me escape while I still can.”

“You will not make it far, not with your wounds and even if you did, you won’t be able to avoid Sauron forever.”

Celebrimbor’s jaw tensed in Adar’s grasp and then a spark burst in his eyes.

“You take the nine to Elrond.”

“What?”

“You take the nine to Elrond who will ensure they reach our High King. He will know how to use them to destroy Sauron’s plans. Release me and I will return to Eregion to buy you and Elrond time.”

“To return to Eregion would be mean endless torture and death.”

“It is my city and I failed her in life. Maybe I can redeem myself in her eyes in death.”

Adar withdrew from the Elf, half tempted to believe this was the talk of blood loss and pain and, yet, he also sensed opportunity in Celebrimbor’s words. He crossed the tent and using his prosthetic hand, he retrieved the pouch, Sauron’s influence flaring across his metal fingers. He hesitated for a moment before turning to Celebrimbor and unbuttoned the top three clasps of his robes. Celebrimbor sputtered objection after objection, twisting and turning the best he could, until Adar slipped the pouch into the secret inner pocket all Feanorians sewed into their outfits. That paranoid family made it a habit of having multiple hidden pockets and compartments in all of their clothes and furniture and traveling tools. Thieves and murderers knew better than to trust other thieves and murderers.

Celebrimbor shot him a look that was a mixture of outrage, confusion, and something Adar refused to name for his own sake.

“I will send a healer to you,” said Adar. “Do not attempt to resist or escape while under her care, otherwise she’ll make you wish you were back in Sauron’s hands.”

“You can’t keep me here!” Celebrimbor called to his retreating back.

Adar left the tent and saw Glug, arms folded across his chest, and Uzog, wiping his nose vigorously, waiting for him.

“Uzog,” Adar cut in before either child could speak. “Send for Shazzash. Tell her she is to care for the Elf as one of our own.”

“One of our own, all father?” Uzog could not help himself but ask.

Adar sighed as he heard his own phrasing echoed back. He needed peace and quiet and a chance to think.

“I need him alive, Uzog, alive and in the same or better condition than when he was brought in, understand?”

“No, Adar, but I will tell her,” said Uzog, sharing a glance with Glug before scurrying off.

Adar didn’t need Glug to speak to feel his anger and confusion.

“I ask you to trust me a little longer, Glug,” Adar said, holding up a hand to silence Glug’s diatribe. “I need time to think and plan.”

“Adar, let me help.”

“Help me by keeping up the assault and ensuring I’m not disturbed,” Adar said as gently as he could, but it didn’t soften the blow at all.

Glug’s face was heavy with sorrow and pity and Adar knew his fearless, faultless persona was cracking.

#celebrimbor #Adar #celebrimbor x adar #rop adar #rop fanfiction #trop fanfiction #trop #rings of power #the rings of power #adar x sauron #celebrimbor x sauron #glug #glug is fed up with Adar’s bullshit #Glug and Uzog looking at each other and thinking Adar really needs to get laid huh?#rings of power fanfiction #the rings of power fanfiction #that awkward moment when you walk in on your dad and his latest elf prisoner #they’re all poly and into each other ok?

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rachelillustrates · 2 months ago

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ORC MOM ORC MOM

Uruk Mom, that is 💚 COME ON AMAZON, SHE NEEDS A NAME.

I am still enjoying season 2 of “The Rings of Power” muchly, btw. (Please please please may we see her again!!)

(drawn for her actor, btw 🖤)

Bonus art and stories ~ Prints, comics and more!

#the rings of power #trop spoilers #trop season 2 #trop fanart #orc #orc woman #orcs #fanart #inspiration #glug #ooh shiny #rings of power #glûg #the family glûg

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baddybaddyadardaddy · 28 days ago

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Do you think Adar is good at oral histories? Reciting epic poems, memorizing lineages and events, and so forth? He's not just a father but a historian....

is Adar good at oral HELL YAWWWW ABSOLUTELY HE IS TOP NOTCH HE'D EAT IT LIKE IT WAS A SEVEN COURSE MEAL YIIIIIP YIPYIPYIPYIPYIPYIP

*squints at ask*

oh, oral HISTORIES.

*le blush*

why OF COURSE, he's great at that too!

Actually putting on my serious Adar Scholar cap: So i think one of the curses of Adar's life is that he remembers. EVERYTHING.

I think that aside from maybe a brief time early in his capture in Utumno, he can remember everything that happened to him with startling clarity. So yes, i think he absolutely is the keeper of all of the oral histories of the uruk especially. He could probably look at a TROP uruk like Glug or Vrath or Lurka from last season and tell you the complete history of their bloodline, (i.e., Glug son of Vug, whose father was Gug allllllllllll the way back to the first orcs, because he was there for ALL OF IT.)

Also VERY much love the idea (and think it makes sense) that uruk history is oral, and that's how it gets passed down. It then makes things EXTRA TRAGIC when Adar dies. Because--similar to another ask I got about the words that Adar would have given the uruks, i.e. "love," "family," etc.-- it means that their history essentially dies with him.

#adar asks #baddydaddy #good dad adar #adar #adar after dark #(because i made it so)#(it's 4pm)

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blackberrysummerblog · 6 months ago

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Happy Sunday everyone! I had so many tags last Sunday and I had the best time reading/enjoying everyone’s shares! I didn’t have anything to share then, but thanks so much @artsyunderstudy, @monbons, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @facewithoutheart, @roomwithanopenfire, @rimeswithpurple, @drowninginships, @larkral, @ileadacharmedlife, @fiend-for-culture, @prettygoododds, @forabeatofadrum, @tender-ministrations, and @mooncello for thinking of me this week!

Today I’m sharing another snippet from my increasingly un-secret COBB. I’m putting it under the cut for sleazy harassment and non-con touching. I censored a name with ** just to keep certain details under wraps for a bit longer.

** slaps his hand over Dev’s mouth and pulls him close, grinning in the rear view mirror.

“Take your paw off my cousin right now, unless you’re prepared to lose it,” I suggest, my voice low, dangerous. Dev’s eyes widen slightly, and then he gasps in a breath as ** pushes him away, laughing.

“You’re the good one, aren’t you, Basilton?” ** teases, leaning forward. His seat belt isn’t buckled, and if Dev’s was, I’d seriously consider slamming on the brakes. If ** went through the fucking windscreen, the world would know no great loss. “Always living by the rules, doing what you’re supposed to.”

He’s touching my hair now, coiling a strand around his finger. I’m less offended than when he was mauling Dev, but it still makes my skin crawl. “You don’t know anything about me,” I say softly. Least of all how far I’ll go for the people I love.

“You have an aristocratic profile, Basil,” ** coos, his breath warm on my neck. “I can see the family resemblance.” He takes another glug from whatever cheap fuckboy liquor he’s got wrapped in that paper bag, and then I grimace when his lips brush beneath my ear. “I could be feeling very into cousins tonight.”

And with that, have a great week everybody! No pressure tags to: @cutestkilla @supercutedinosaurs @aristocratic-otter @iamamythologicalcreature @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @orange-peony @thewholelemon @beastmonstertitan @shrekgogurt @bookish-bogwitch @raenestee @letraspal @arthurkko @papierhaikuphoto @stitchy-queerista @c0nsumemy5oul @asocialpessimist @skee3000 @cows4247 @ic3-que3n @nausikaaa @palimpsessed @alexalexinii @youarenevertooold and anybody else who’d like to share!

#six sentences sunday #the simon snow series #COBB #carry on big bang #COBB 2024 #baz pitch #dev grimm #this snippet is pretty gross sorry #sleazy come-ons #unwanted touching #non-con touching

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prolix-yuy · 11 months ago

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The Reason for the Season

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: What does Christmas mean after the world falls apart? Ellie sure doesn't know, but Joel knows who might.

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: T, some suggestive thoughts, one steamy kiss, teen angst and a whole lot of yearning! Our reader is given the following attributes: a history of Christmas celebrations, a father, and while not stated in the fic, she was old enough to be a teacher when the outbreak happened. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Hello to my sweet Sil @psychedelic-ink! I'm your not-so-secret Santa and I'm here to deliver your holiday fic! And doubly, your birthday present! I’m so glad we got to meet on this wild app, and may your holidays and your birthday be as amazing as you!

You asked for something very Christmas-y with some friends to lovers romance, and boy did this get out of hand! I hope you enjoy Joel finding a little Christmas spirit.

Cross-posted on AO3

There’s little sacred in the world anymore, but making the morning cup of coffee might be as close as Joel gets. The early rising, his bedtime vestments crumpled and stretched across tired muscles. The soothing routine: the mug, the pour over coffee dripper, and the Holy Beans. Every movement is seamless, practiced and almost sightless for those mornings when he can’t peel his eyes open. All in service to the first sip, and the glorious awakening it will bring.

Though with the clattering of Doc Martens and teen angst coming down the stairs, it’s not necessarily needed.

“Mornin’,” Joel rumbles over the mug, eyebrows raised at Ellie’s earlier-than-usual scowl. She opens the fridge, every movement thrown to the extremes of her small frame. Bowl clattering, spoon chiming against stoneware, a worrisome glug of milk, and she returns to flop into her seat across from Joel. He takes another sip, maybe a little louder than usual.

“Sounds the same going in as coming out,” she grumbles, but the half smile she allows is a triumph.

“Told you not to listen in on a man’s morning movements.” Ellie scrunches her nose up at that, jabbing her spoon into some granola. She’s only moving it around, not partaking, and Joel sets his cup down on the table. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looks down his nose at her.

“Something on your mind?”

Joel was never much for beating around the bush with Sarah’s moods, and he certainly hasn’t changed much with Ellie. She sighs and lets the spoon clatter back into the bowl.

“What the hell is up with Christmas?”

The question works better than the coffee, brain scrambling into overdrive in much the same way as when he caught Ellie holding a beat-up Bearskin magazine.

“Well…” he starts pensively, but Ellie bowls right through his low hum.

“Like some of the kids celebrate it and others don’t, but neither of them know why. Everyone’s arguing about something called Santa. And they’re bringing trees inside!” She tosses her hands, giving him a weird am I right look that butts against his confused expression.

“FEDRA didn’t teach you kids about Christmas?”

Ellie shrugs, folding her legs up into the kitchen chair.

“I’ve heard of it, but y’know…not exactly high on their list of priorities.” She starts worrying at a small rip in her jeans until Joel snaps a warning look. He just bartered for those, he won’t have her hurrying them back to scrap.

“I’ve kinda been…pretending I get it.” She trails off, face closing back up and Joel recognizes the outburst for what it is. Embarrassment.

“Well, Christmas is something that, uh…that lots of families celebrated before. It’s, uh…it’s a time at the end of the year to be…you know, to be together and thankful. That sort of thing.”

He can practically hear her eyes roll.

“But what the hell’s a Santa, and trees, and all the baking?” Her finger shoots up, angled directly at Joel. “I know there are presents!”

Joel scoffs, taking another sip and ruminating on how to tackle a tradition he’s barely paid attention to since the outbreak. It all felt so insignificant in the winters following, only a counter for how long he’s suffered so far. Then, when things calmed a fraction, the idea of opening his heart to anything remotely like thankfulness made him want to bloody every knuckle.

So he tucked his chin and paid no attention to parents trying their best to give their children something bright in the darkest days of winter. Tess never mentioned it, the shine in her eyes at candles lit in windows hard to distinguish from tears. And now, twenty-odd years later, he can barely fathom where to start.

“There’s a lot of traditions, variations. I don’t remember half of ‘em, but…” A sudden spark of an idea, a way to cheat out of this conversation and not get sulked to death over it, catches the corner of his mouth. “But I think that teacher you like might have some books about it.”

Ellie’s face lights up, abandoning her bowl to go galloping back up the stairs to her room. “Eat something first, then we’ll go,” trails up behind her. Joel savors the last bit of coffee before rising to rinse the cup, his own smile tugging at his lips. Shouldering his heavy winter jacket, Ellie wolfs down four bites of her granola while still in motion. Wiping her chin with the cuff of her jacket, she shoots a shit-eating grin at Joel as she heads to the door.

“Don’t think I didn’t catch that, old man,” she sing-songs as they move into the bracing Wyoming air. “Always looking for an excuse.”

“Whaddya mean?” he asks with as much nonchalance as he can muster, but Ellie’s raised brown and carefree shrug clearly don’t buy it.

“You’re a lousy liar, Joel.”

Not as bad as you think.

The schoolhouse is not much more than a converted home, the ground floor filled with bookshelves and improvised desks and controlled chaos. By the time Joel and Ellie came to Jackson it was well established, but Maria explained how it changed hands and struggled for years before the current teacher.

“It’s hard to prioritize learning over survival, but it’s the only way we move on as a community,” she said as she led the pair through their Jackson orientation. Ellie had been sighing heavily and dragging her feet - “school is boring, Joel, why can’t I go on patrol?” - before Maria led them into the kitchen.

“And here’s who we have to thank for dealing with our wild ones,” Maria said, and you looked up from your work.

The first thing Joel noticed was your smile. It spread so easily across your face, unselfconscious and radiant. You extended a hand to Ellie first, who suppressed enough of her ennui to act pleasant. Joel was next, enveloping her cool fingers with his large palm. He blanked on your name that time, needing to ask Maria privately for it, but the warmth and lightness of your presence could be blamed for that.

Joel didn’t believe in love at first sight, but that meeting sure as hell paved the way for the private and closely guarded crush he had on you now.

Ellie took a liking to you almost as quickly, and Joel could see why you were successful when others might have failed. You assessed her mood with ease, redirecting her dread to a section of the schoolhouse that held instruments. She moved immediately to an old guitar, cross-legged on the floor with the too-large instrument in her lap.

“Can you teach me how to play this?” she asked, and you admitted to only knowing a few chords.

“I can,” Joel piped up, his own voice surprising him. “I know how to play.”

Twin bright eyes danced on his face, and he struggled to keep the flush from creeping past his collar.

“If you have some time, I have other students who would love to learn.”

And that’s how on some afternoons Joel found himself showing a handful of teens on the cusp of adulthood how to strum chord progressions. He viewed it as a duty to the community…or at least that’s what he said when Maria and Tommy asked. It was also the perfect excuse to stop by early and chat with you, or scrutinize a leaky window or dripping faucet. Anything to keep him in the same room as you taught simple math or reading comprehension.

“Any time you want to bring that handiness by my place you’re welcome,” Tommy teased when he caught Joel waving you goodbye on the well-trodden path home.

“You take better care of your place, you won’t need help,” he spat back with no fire. Tommy shrugged, hands stuffed into his jeans pockets.

“Just sayin’, that schoolhouse might withstand another apocalypse with all the work you’ve done on it. I hope its proprietor is…appreciative.” The cheeky wink eggs on a shoulder punch that almost becomes a wrestling match between two men who should know better. Instead Joel calls Tommy a name and Tommy laughs and Joel stares at the ceiling that night wondering if you would be…appreciative of what he’d like to give you.

Only some of those thoughts are pure in nature.

But the years, even the kind ones, have choked up his tongue and made him a coward. You’re clearly eligible, no other men sniffing around much to Joel’s surprise. He doesn’t think it’s completely one-sided either. You smile at him and put your hand on his shoulder and stand close enough that he can smell your soap and gentle musk. And what’s worse is you’re something rare to him, something miraculously unsullied by twenty years of hell. He didn’t think it was possible for someone to survive without hardening, without breaking and mending over and over until the repair is the whole self. But you are still kind, and understanding, and gentle, and open. There’s only one reason Joel can attribute to this rarity.

Someone loved you.

Someone loved you so very much that they protected you, let you be open-hearted and trusting even with the world crashing down. And if that someone is no longer here, that’s a hole he can never fill. But every day he spends in Jackson shedding years of plate armor and barbed wire, he contemplates if he might be getting closer to someone who could at least try.

In the meantime he makes his excuses, much like now, and suppresses the little smiles and giddy feeling in his stomach.

“Been meaning to check on that plumbing issue she had last week,” he says breezily, snow crunching underfoot and the chill air nipping at his nose.

“Suuuure, I bet you’d love to see her plumbing,” Ellie snarks, sprinting away as Joel’s face heats up.

“Watch your fucking language, kid,” he growls, the irony not lost on him, as the schoolhouse comes into view.

You can always tell when Ellie arrives. The kids born after the outbreak have a peculiar set of social norms and rules. You’re not sure if she even knows that she should knock before entering, or take her boots off. Then again, it’s an exercise in contemplation when you consider why those societal norms would return when their framework’s been shattered.

Keep your boots on in case you have to run.

Don’t announce your entrance in case something’s lurking.

A whole other etiquette you watch like a zookeeper behind glass.

“Good morning Ellie,” you call from the kitchen. Your heart flutters briefly wondering if…

“Morning, ma’am.”

Joel ambles into the kitchen, massaging heat back into his palms. His cheeks are ruddy with windburn, and you bite the inside of your lip considering how your own hot palms could warm them.

“Good morning Joel, didn’t expect you in so early.” Dusting your hands off, you round the counter to step into his space. A little game you like to play: how much more obvious must you be before he’ll notice you’re flirting with him? Another brushed shoulder, squeeze of the forearm, eyes connecting a second too long. Thrilling yes - it’s been a long time since you’ve had a crush - but at this rate you’ll both be ninety before either of you admit it.

“Ellie has something to ask you,” he says, turning to look for his ward. The strange wording patters your heartbeat into an uneasy rhythm.

“Should I be worried?” you laugh, Joel’s deep brown eyes coming back to your face with a sheepish smile. Oh god, when he smiles your knees can barely handle it.

“I might have passed the buck on a conversation.”

Before you can ask Ellie slips into the kitchen, weaving around Joel’s wider frame and hopping up on one of the barstools surrounding the kitchen island. The ones Joel made with those strong hands and thick fingers.

“What’s the deal with Christmas?”

The question catches you off guard no matter the preamble.

“Um. Huh. Well, I guess…what do you want to know?” you ask, sidling around to lean across the counter from her. Joel is still in your peripheral, practically filling the door frame.

“Everybody’s talking about it,” she bemoans, taking a dried apple slice you’d laid out and turning it on the countertop. “And I keep pretending it’s like, so awesome, but I just don’t…get it.” Her thumbnails pick at the leathery edge of the fruit, and the child you’ve watched pressure girls twice her age into shenanigans softens around the edges.

“It’s all, ‘my family does this, my family does that,’ and it’s like…I never had anyone to celebrate with before. FEDRA did some stuff with us, but it was…” A shrug, accepted without comment. “And they all seem to love it, and I maybe want to…feel that.” The hedging makes you lean further over, grabbing your own apple slice and turning it between your fingers.

“Well, Joel must have told you there are a lot of ways people celebrate the holidays.” Looking up to Joel he grimaces slightly, raising one shoulder in apology. “And there are lots of different traditions. I’m not surprised you’re confused.”

“Yes! Is Jesus like, Santa’s kid or something?”

The stifled laugh comes straight out of your nose and you have to clear your throat to keep from snorting further.

“Okay, there’s a lot to unpack here but tell you what, I’ve got a plan.” Ellie looks up at you with a guarded sparkle in her eyes, and it only widens your smile. “Let me do some research first. There are things I don’t know either. So how about you come back next week and I’ll tell you what I’ve learned during the tree decorating.”

Ellie raises an eyebrow. “Tree decorating?”

You must be glowing by now. “Oh, you are in for a treat.”

Leaning against the doorway, Joel takes in the scene. Ellie’s moment of vulnerability, buried back under her feigned indifference. The excitement bubbling under the surface of your smile.

The way you lean over the counter, the curve of your back only accentuating your shapely ass as you sway slightly.

Fuck, maybe he should just come out and confess his crush so he can at least feel awkward when he sees you instead of embarrassingly horny.

He’s relieved Ellie suggested coming to you. Your solution to his problem is simple and brilliant, a weight lifting off his chest. Sometimes Ellie is no different than his child, and other times Sarah’s memory makes the smallest endearing unbearable.

Sarah’s mom had taken care of the holiday explanation, navigating the unique customs of their little household. She explained why they had a tree and a menorah, and who’s Santa and the Festival of Lights. When Sarah got older and started asking more pointed questions, they both sat down and explained all their traditions and why they were important. Joel had, admittedly, been more of a supporting role, but for their family it worked.

Then Ellie had to pitch that question at him, looking up like Sarah had, though so much smaller, and his throat closed up. He knew she needed it. Hell, maybe even he could use some holiday cheer, but Ellie was too no-nonsense and Joel was too out of practice, ripe for bungling it up.

He’ll have to thank you in some way. Though there’s not much to fix nowadays, and if he spends much more time here volunteering he might get roped into actually being a teacher.

“...and since it’s your first time, you get to add your own ornament to the tree. It can be anything you want, and at the end of the holidays we pack it up with the others for next year.”

That’s it, he thinks. A small way to repay your kindness. He has some scrap wood in the communal woodshop, and most evenings are quiet there. There must be a coping saw in some toolbox, a few rasps and awls.

“That does sound pretty cool,” Ellie says, and where you might have thought it to be begrudging, Joel can clearly hear her excitement.

“I think you’ll love it.”

That week was one of the busiest - and sneakiest - that Joel could recall in recent years. It seemed to be the same for you, watching you flit around town with a battered notebook and chewed-up pencil. You were talking to people, smiling, laughing. Whatever the conversation was made everyone else smile too, throwing fond looks at each other. Sometimes playful bickering, or conspiratorial whispers followed, and you gathered up all those words into that well-worn notepad.

Joel, on the other hand, was making himself more scarce than usual. He kept up appearances, not slacking on patrols and showing up when he’s expected, but every free moment is spent in the woodshop.

He could have gone the simple route, cutting slices out of some nice quality wood, something with a live edge, but it was too simple. He wanted something that would make you light up, your mouth drop open and your eyes sparkle.

Further back than he’s willing to count, he remembered a fellow contractor showing him gifts he made for his daughters each year. Beautiful wooden snowflakes, carved in geometric shapes that would reveal tessellations and patterns when glued together.

The idea seemed simple enough, but it had been a long time since his hands had done anything delicate. The pattern was easy to make, but as he dragged the coping saw along the curves and points his hand would cramp, or the blade would zig when he wanted it to zag. He’d get up and walk around the shop to shake out the frustration, telling himself it’s only four more pieces…for this ornament.

When he feels like giving up and tossing the whole project in the trash, he thinks of the feeling he’ll get when you hang them on the branches, the way you might touch his arm or look into his eyes when you thank him.

And then he thinks that forget the mistletoe, he’ll kiss you whenever and wherever you’ll let him.

On the fourth day of hiding in the woodshop Ellie bursts in, halfway through a sentence before she even gets in the door.

“...and I haven’t gotten her anything and I know she’ll get me something so like, what should I…” Her entrance startles him, yanking a rag over a freshly glued ornament.

Too slow, old man, he thinks as her eyes snap to his attempt at deception.

“What’cha got there, Joel?” she asks, sly smile matching her embellished cadence.

“Just workin’ on things, what were you talking about?” he deflects, leaning on one elbow to hide the mess behind his shoulder. Ellie nods, understanding stark on her face as she ambles up.

“Oh sure, since when have you ever cared what I’m talking about?”

Joel can’t stop the hurt look dashing across his face, leaning forward. “I care…”

Tricked! Ellie’s hands dart under his arm and yank the cloth away, exposing the half-assembled ornaments and lengths of twine.

“You’re so fucking easy…” she starts to say, but the words stop when she sees the mess underneath.

“What are those?” she asks, and for a moment Joel wants to snark something back at her - none of your goddamn business or don’t make fun of me - but then he realizes she probably doesn’t have any idea what they are. What would she have seen adorning a tree? Maybe dried fruit, popcorn, little trinkets that people saved hoping one day they could have Christmas again?

So he clears his throat and makes himself vulnerable. To a teenager. Easily one of the scariest things on this earth, cordyceps included.

“They’re for the tree lighting. Had a buddy who used to make ‘em, and I thought it’d be a nice gift for…to the schoolhouse. For being so helpful and all that.” He can feel his ears reddening but Ellie hasn’t taken her eyes off the snowflakes. She traces one of the finished ones, pointer finger running along the edge he dulled with an ancient rust-filled rasp. “You hang them on the tree.”

Ellie’s quiet for a moment, inspecting and nudging the pieces around, before she finally speaks.

“They’re cool. I didn’t know contractors could make pretty things too.”

Joel snorts, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll let you know I’m a man of multitudes.”

She snorts, the tension breaking, as Joel moves pieces around to show how they fit together to form the abstract snowflake shape. As he’s explaining the process she’s shockingly quiet, but everything is open - eyes, ears, half-parted mouth. If he’d known this was something they shared he would have built things with her ages ago.

“Is one of these mine? The one I can bring?”

Joel mulls for a moment, tapping fingers on the workbench, before he hauls himself up to stand.

“Nah, I’ve got something better for you.”

It takes a few minutes of searching for a suitable wood piece not being used for something important. Then a few more to saw off a round, sweat beading on the edge of his hairline and biceps tensing. Ellie’s eyes widen when he hands her the wood circle, ushering her back to the workbench.

“I think somethin’ more personal would be good to bring. How about you write your name on it?”

Ellie’s eyes narrow, playfully mistrusting.

“Just my name?”

“You’ll see.”

As she writes and erases about six times, Joel hunts through the workshop for the little woodburning kit he spied weeks ago. It’s janky, but it doesn’t electrocute him when he plugs it in. He waves Ellie over and takes the wood, admiring her no-nonsense script.

“They ever teach you woodburning at school?” Ellie shakes her head, and Joel’s smile turns lopsided. “Then you’re gonna love this.”

Using the hot metal tip of the fat pencil-like tool, he meticulously traces her lettering, burning it permanently into the wood.

“Holy shit, that’s so cool!” she exclaims, getting close enough that he has to shoo her back so she doesn’t get wisps of woodsmoke right up her nose. He lets her finish the last E, warning her to go slow so the line doesn’t chatter. It’s not perfect, but she’s so excited he can’t find fault.

“Now for a little holiday decoration,” he mumbles, and with stiff joints and too-big hands he burns in a border of holly leaves and berries, even dotting the I in her name with one.

“All finished,” he says, and before he can even blow on the final product it’s in her hands, tracing the lines and practically thrumming with excitement.

“Can I keep it?” she asks, spinning it in her palm.

“Just until this weekend, but I can show you how to make…” His sentence trails off as she’s already heading for the door.

“Awesome, thanks Joel!” she calls over her shoulder. He chuckles to himself, ambling back to his own little project. Ellie turns in the doorway, silhouetted by the sun dipping low.

“She’ll love those too,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows and disappearing before he can retort. Sighing, he turns back to the last few pieces he needs to assemble.

He hopes she does.

Joel finishes the ornaments just in time for the tree decorating, timed perfectly with Jackson’s town square lighting. Joel saw Tommy drag the tree into your schoolhouse, conversing with you and Maria as he brushed stray needles from your front porch. The way you smiled when someone did kind things for you warmed Joel even from afar.

“Planning on helping out with the festivities tonight?” Tommy asked as the day wound down, putting boxes on the bar as Joel enjoyed a whiskey.

“Ellie wants to go to the tree decoratin’, figured I’d make myself useful.”

Tommy’s half smile hovers in his periphery. He tries to ignore it.

“You got something to hang on that nice teacher’s tree?” Joel rolls his eyes and throws back the drink. He’s not going to sit by and tolerate romance advice from his baby brother. “C’mon, you know she’s into you, right? Looks at you like you hung the moon.” Tommy leans on the bar, turning something small between his fingers. “See you looking at her like that too. Practically Hallmark shit by now.”

“See ya, Tommy,” Joel sighs, getting up from his chair while rolling his eyes.

“Well, at least you can bring this too,” he says, and holds out what he’s been fiddling with.

Joel looks down, and his heart stops.

“...Where did you…”

Tommy’s face softens, placing the item between them on the bar.

“Went home before I ended up in Jackson. Not a lot left there, but I found the Christmas box in the basement. It was one of the few things I could carry with me.” Tommy’s face fights an emotion welling up, forcing a smile even as his eyes shine. “Thought she could be part of a new tradition too.”

A small wooden ornament fashioned to look like a Christmas ball, the name “Sarah” painted in the center and surrounded by red and green patterns. She brought it home from school and it had a prominent place on their tree, even as she got older and complained about how ugly it was.

Joel’s throat is so tight his breath whistles out, chest pounding and eyes stinging, but he picks up the ornament and cradles it in his work-worn hands. Then, a lightness eases his breathing, and a soft smile plays across his face. He clears his throat preemptively, pocketing the treasure.

“Yeah, I will. I’ll put it next to Ellie’s. Thank…thank you,” he stumbles, and the brothers share a moment of memory.

“And you know, everyone’s gonna be out looking at the lights tonight in case you need some privacy,” Tommy suggests, breaking the tension with all the finesse of a sledgehammer.

“Bye, Tommy,” Joel calls over his shoulder, Tommy’s chuckle ushering him out.

You must have done this many times before, because when Joel and Ellie walk into the schoolhouse it’s like something off a holiday card. The school supplies are tucked away in favor of soft seating areas. The tree Tommy brought in is tucked in a corner, lights already wound around the thick boughs. Something apple and spiced wafts through the air, and the chatter of children and adults alike is at the comfortable level that it blankets everything in a festive glow.

Ellie’s face is glowing too, taking in the drastic shift in decor. She hangs back a little, eyes roaming and waving to friends but shyly tucked behind Joel’s elbow. Her hand is in her pocket, and Joel would put money on her ornament being in the palm of her hand. Joel’s not much better, Sarah’s in his own and a paper packet tucked under his arm.

Before either of them can feel too out of place, you weave through the growing crowd with a wave.

“I’m so glad you could come!” you call out, squeezing Joel’s arm and beaming down at Ellie. She shifts on her feet, a small smile appearing at a familiar face.

“This is wild, is like the whole town here?” she asks, and you shrug with your hands on your hips. Some of your hair is out of place, and perspiration clings to your throat. Joel swallows, eyes darting away.

“Well I did say I had a special surprise for tonight, and you inspired it!” you say, motioning to a series of little dioramas tucked into an empty bookshelf. Ellie weaves around Joel to get a closer look as you point out one of the shelves.

“You asked me about Christmas and I didn’t know what to tell you because I don’t know all that much about how it came to be, or the traditions around it. But then I realized we’re all building a new world together, and the holidays are what we bring with us.” You slide a piece of paper out and hand it to Ellie, and she reads it with a growing smile. Joel leans over to catch a glimpse at your prim handwriting.

Christmas was very traditional in my house. Santa was supposed to come by and bring us presents for being good girls and boys. We would write letters to him about things we wanted, and our parents were supposed to deliver them to him. On Christmas Eve we baked cookies and left them out for Santa because he had a lot of houses to deliver to and needed snacks. I left out carrots for the reindeer too, because they were doing all the work. And then on Christmas morning dad made pancakes and we weren’t allowed to open anything until mom was up. I believed in Santa until I was about 12, when I asked how he could get into houses without chimneys. My parents told me that Santa was an idea, not a real person, and the spirit of the season was to show people you appreciate them and give back to the community around you. I was more worried that I would get less presents if Santa wasn’t giving them to me anymore.

“I gathered up all these stories from everyone in Jackson, of all faiths and beliefs, and you can read through them and see how everyone celebrates.” You lean down now, speaking quieter. “There’s no right way, and no one person celebrates the same as everyone else. The one thing that does stay the same is that it’s a time to show love to the people around you.”

Joel’s eyes roam the shelves, spotting a Hanukkah-themed scene and something with bright colors he doesn’t recognize. Pages of script torn from your notepad tuck behind Santa figurines and menorahs and little wooden shoes. Ellie picks up another slip of paper.

“Wait, there are elves?”

You shrug, straightening up and catching Joel’s eye. He gives a lopsided smile as you’re pulled away by someone else entering, a twinkling light in the night surrounding Jackson.

A time to show love to the people around you? Maybe he can finally pluck up the courage to do that.

“Okay, everyone with an ornament please come up to the tree! Not too many at one time!” you call out, and Joel’s heart jumps into his throat. He pulls the packet from under his arm, hoping that maybe a bunch of kids would rush to the front, but everyone is reluctant to be the first. You stand by the tree, a shimmer of trepidation on your face, and Joel takes the first step.

“Brought these for…for the tree,” he says, handing the rough package to her. He should have put a bow on it, but he already wrestled with the packaging too long, he didn’t think he had the nerve to make it look any more like a gift. All eyes are on you as you unfold the wrapping, eyes darting up to Joel like he’s playing a trick, but when six delicate snowflakes are revealed a murmur of chatter fills the room. Your eyebrows lift, eyes lighting up and he wishes he’d given it to you alone. He wants your appreciation and surprise and happiness all for himself, even as the whispers, “oh wows,” and “good job, Joels,” waft to his ears.

“Joel, these are amazing,” you breathe, lifting one of the snowflakes out to dangle on your fingers. A smattering of applause he doesn’t deserve deepens his blush, but he takes the praises as graciously as possible. “I’m…thank you so much. I’m going to put them on, please everyone! Bring your ornaments up!” The snap into something much cheerier and brighter flutters Joel’s heart, catching a brief shine in your eye as you busy yourself adding his ornaments to the tree.

Could he go to you in the hubbub of people now approaching, lay a hand on your shoulder and envelope you in his arms? The ache to do so is close to a real animal in his chest begging to be touched. Instead he hangs back as kids hang dried apples and garland, painted baubles and all varieties of crafts. Wooden birds with real plumage, tiny knitted mittens, worn pictures encased in resin. His eyes draw to Ellie, sidling up next to you to hang her name ornament. You help her pick a spot, and Joel can see how you praise the design, and add some reassuring words. Standing back from the tree Ellie leans against you, and you wrap an arm around her shoulders.

The world slows around them, frozen in time under Joel’s watchful eye. He blinks, capturing a mental photo of this moment. He’ll look back on it often, the way Ellie both looks so much like a child but also so grown. How you give her kindness and support in as quiet of a way as she’ll accept, rewarded with her ease. And the feeling in his own chest, expanding and swelling like his heart could never fit his body again.

“Look outside!” calls one of the younger children, and the crush of people move from the tree to the windows at the front of the schoolhouse. Craning his neck, Joel catches the lights strung around town starting to click on, brilliant bubbles of amber light dissipating the darkness. A murmur kicks up, and the tree sparkles to life with colorful pops illuminating every memory adorning its branches. There’s cheering and clapping again, this time well deserved, and Ellie’s face brightens as her name sways gently with all of the others.

“There’s more!” someone cheers, and the front door opens to guide the group out and onto the frigid streets. Ellie’s head whips around, eyes pleading, and Joel can only nod with feigned annoyance as she rushes out.

“Put on your hat…” he calls after her, but if she hears she gives no indication. In a moment the schoolhouse is empty of all but you and him. Joel glimpses more lights leading the people of Jackson through the town center, noise dulling to a comforting hum.

You’re still in front of the tree, admiring the final product. Joel takes a deep breath and slowly approaches, standing beside you in comfortable silence. You take in a big breath of your own and blow it out, satisfaction painting your features.

“Every year it seems like it’ll never get done, and yet it always comes together,” you say, bumping shoulders with Joel. He snorts and smiles, taking in all of the chaotic beauty of the decorations.

“Meant a lot to Ellie that you did all this,” he says, tossing his head back at the written history you compiled. You cock your head at him thoughtfully.

“It got me thinking, you know. What’s important to everyone, now that we’re here after everything?” Your eyes search the tree, Joel’s following. “For me, it was my dad. We called him Father Christmas. Loved the holidays, was excited for them every year.” Your fingers find a red plastic boot nestled in the boughs. “When we got to Jackson he was so excited to be around people again, to feel that community. He brought Christmas back for lots of people.” A watery sigh signals Joel to lean closer, fitting his arm snugly around your waist. It’s never felt more right to hold someone. “The years since he’s passed have been hard to keep this all up, but it’s also the closest I feel to him.”

Joel reaches into his pocket, Sarah’s ornament in the palm of his hand. Ellie’s has a perfect spot next to it, and he tucks them together amongst the lights. Fresh spruce tickles his nostrils as he arranges them just so.

“My daughter,” Joel says, and it may be the first time he’s offered this part of himself up willingly. “Lost her on the day it all went to hell. She loved the holidays too, always wanted to see real snow. You know, like something out of a Norman Rockwell.” The rest of the words he wants to say stick in his throat, but it’s enough. You turn to him, sliding a hand up his arm to squeeze it gently. A knowing smile curves your lips, tempting as hot cocoa after a cold day.

“Thank you, Joel. For the ornaments, for being here. For everything.”

His body steps into yours, pulling you close. Your eyes widen briefly, then your expression becomes hopeful.

“Thought maybe I was being obvious, around all the time looking for a reason to be where you are,” Joel muses, finally bold enough to cup your cheek. Leaning into it, you fit your body into his.

“Maybe I thought it was too good to be true,” you say, a tiny brush of his thumb over your lips startling a breath out.

“Pretty sure it’s me who’s been feelin’ that way, darlin’,” Joel teases, but the yearning in your eyes tells him he’s got to say it now. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for…so goddamn long.”

Then your hand winds into his nape, and your lips meet.

You’re as soft as he hoped, yielding to his firmer press but bold when he parts his lips and your tongue begs entrance. A choked moan dies in his throat as cinnamon and apple dances on his palate, cradling your head so he can deepen the kiss. The grip on his hair tightens, your other hand fisted in his flannel. He wraps around you, protector, devotee, your body and soul safe with him.

Your lips part regretfully, foreheads pressed together as you catch your breath. Beating him to composure, you tilt your chin to press a kiss to a spot on his jaw where his beard is a little thin.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you here for so long,” you repeat, breathy giggles rippling through you both. Joel dips in to claim your lips again, softer, slower. Your arms wind around his neck, and if he wasn’t keenly aware that at any moment someone could wander back in he would have laid you out to explore with his lips and teeth and tongue. His calmer head prevailed.

“Darlin’, I wouldn’t ask you for a single other thing, Christmas or not, if you’d say you’ll be mine,” he asks, heart on the line as he hopes you feel the magic of this moment just as much. Your eyes crinkle, fingers stroking through his hair.

“Joel Miller, nothing would make me happier,” you answer, earning another sweetly spicy kiss. When you part again, you say, “Well, except…”

Joel’s heart hammers, eyebrows knitting up in concern.

“...I could use help putting the star on my tree tonight. The one in my bedroom?”

A mischievous smile darts onto Joel’s face, playfully squeezing your ass.

“And how tall is this tree? Should I bring my ladder?”

You tap your chin thoughtfully.

“Maybe two, three feet?”

Joel nods with understanding.

“Of course, we should take care of that immediately.”

“Immediately.”

Hand in hand, you exit the schoolhouse, leaving it unlocked in case anyone wants to come bask in the holiday cheer later in the evening. Looking down the main street, Jackson is lit like a beacon of hope. Children toss snowballs at each other while parents watch on and laugh. Ellie is talking to a girl her age, shyly extending a paper-wrapped gift. A beautiful, kind woman is holding his hand and if his back were better he’d throw her over his shoulder in his haste to get her alone.

And in the darkest of times, when the days are short and cold and hope runs thin, there is still so much love to share.

END

A/N: the ornaments Joel makes were inspired by a gift I got a few years back. These handmade ornaments are some of my favorites every year!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories #prolix fics

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