#the movie itself takes place over like the week between christmas eve and new years- bite me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hawkinsindiana · 2 years ago

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howdy thought you might enjoy 3.3k of you and steve on your first anniversary, christmas eve 1985

canon to almost paradise, post s3

— “you hungry?”

you tip your head back, catching a peek of steve’s face above you. you’re tucked into his side, legs tangled together in a sea of blankets and pillows. his hand on your back stills as he asks the question, palm settling between your shoulder blades. you shrug a bit, taking in his slightly tired expression behind his glasses.

you shift, propping yourself up as his words bring attention to the emptiness in your stomach, “yeah i could eat.”

the pair of you unfurl from the nest you’ve created on the couch, bathed in the warm glow from the lights on the tree in the corner — never blinking ones. steve ‘borrowed’ a few holiday movies during his shift last week and has been hellbent on watching them all with you over the past couple days. you’ve rarely left the couch since starting.

you’ve been home from chicago for about two weeks now and won’t return for another three. it’s the longest you’ve been back in hawkins since starting college, thanks to the semester break. steve and dustin came to an agreement — your boyfriend could have you for the week of christmas, minus the big day which the two of you will be spending with your family. the holiday season is extremely sentimental for you and steve, and this is the first time you get to be a couple for the entirety of it. last year you were still uneasy, reeling from a kiss that cemented your feelings for each other in stone, with both of you too afraid to make a move. but now, you’re ridiculously in love; steve feels all warm and fuzzy just thinking about it.

but with last year’s holiday anticipation stunted by insecurity and worry, he’s desperate to make up for it and create new memories to think of, hence his insistence on festivities between just the two of you this time.

you shiver a bit at the loss of warmth, tugging steve’s hoodie tighter around your neck while closely following him to the kitchen. he pops open the fridge, a strip of white light reflecting off the tile. a yawn pulls itself from your mouth.

“is there any of that pasta left or did we eat it all?”

a hint of a chuckle echoes from inside the fridge as steve roots through it, “that was yesterday’s lunch, remember?”

you whine, moving over to his other side, “i know. i loved that restaurant though. we need to go there again next year.”

steve couldn’t stop the grin that spreads over his face even if he tried. next year — you want to be with him for another 365 days.

“as long as you wear that dress,” he says, smile turning sly.

“as long as it gets me the same reaction.”

another laugh from him — of course you’d remind him of what happened before you left for your dinner reservation. he may have had to speed a bit on the drive into indianapolis but it was worth it.

rather than celebrate your big milestone in one of the less than desirable restaurants of hawkins, the pair of you made a quick trip into the capital. while she was in town last week, steve’s mom had mentioned an italian place in the city and even went out of her way to call and secure a reservation. ‘the owner owes me a favor’, she said as she pulled the phone number out of the depths of her parisian bag. steve had been a bit shocked by her willingness to help, but hesitantly accepted. your involvement in her son’s life brings out something in her that steve doesn’t quite understand yet — like she’s trying to make up for two decades of emotional neglect. he supposes it’s a start, but it’ll take a lot more than that to forgive.

it was a rather intimidating restaurant; you never would’ve thought to eat there if it wasn't for mrs. harrington’s call. you wondered if you were out of place there, until it was just the two of you tucked away at a secluded table. steve’s warm eyes — the flicker of candlelight dancing in the reflection of his pupils — made you forget everything but him. everything he’d been through seemed worth it with you seated across from him.

“however we do have that piece of carrot cake left.”

you gasp, straightening up at the thought. sharing some at dinner hadn’t been enough; you ordered one to go. your sound of surprise is enough to convince steve that’ll be the late-night snack.

he places the take-out container on the counter as you grab a couple forks from a drawer. before steve can shut the door to the fridge, his gaze is drawn to the small hand on his watch that dictates the seconds. upon seeing him frozen in place, you grow confused.

“what are you doing?”

“hold on.”

two more seconds pass — 12:00.

in an instant, steve’s spinning to throw his arms around your hips before lifting you into the air. you yelp in surprise as your socks leave the kitchen tile, hands desperately grasping at his shoulders to avoid tipping forwards. his hold on you is tight; he’d never let that happen. steve grins brightly against your ribs despite the playful hits you’re giving him, begging to be put back onto the ground in between your laughter.

after another loving squeeze, he finally sets you down, but his hands remain fused to your back. you brush some hair back from your face once you’re settled, still a bit flustered by the whole thing.

“what the hell was that for?”

steve’s smile only grows wider, impossibly so.

“it’s the twenty-fourth.”

christmas eve — a year since the night you kissed him on your porch, reassuring him that you did want him and everything that came with, solidifying the nature of your relationship. you’d never be able to go back to an innocent friendship after that, and neither of you have been the same since.

one year of you. one year of him.

at first, steve was a bit wounded after realizing that he wasn’t going to share many of his firsts with you, but after some thought he doesn’t mind it so much anymore. not when you get to be the first one he’s spent an entire year with.

a soft smile spreads across your face. you still can’t believe that this is your life — you get to say that steve’s yours. you were once grappling with overwhelming feelings that tied your stomach into knots, watching as he desperately tried to regain another girl’s attention. now you share his bed. there’s a polaroid of you taped to his bathroom mirror. a spare bottle of your perfume is next to his cologne. you borrow his clothes, just like you are right now; not a single thing you’re wearing is yours.

you snake your arms around his neck, adjusting your posture to press your forehead to his. it’s stupid how much blood rises to your cheeks with his warm skin on yours, his fingers tightly fisted in the fabric on your waist. steve looks so soft — clad in his pajamas, glasses perched on his nose, hair mussed from you tangling your hands in it the last few days, his dopey expression growing pinker by the second. he is so distinctly yours when he’s like this.

“happy anniversary.”

steve’s grin mirrors the one you have — enamored and adoring. he runs his nose along yours, nudging the swell of your cheek, “happy anniversary.”

the sentiment is sealed into your kiss; plush lips and sparkling nerves. the winter chill that invaded is banished instantly, warmth and love filling your entire body, almost overflowing to the point it feels like it’s pooling in your feet. steve sighs happily when your hands shift to cup his face, deepening the kiss and tugging him ever so slightly closer.

he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of moments like this — the pair of you doing something simple like sharing a kiss in the kitchen at midnight, your bodies cast in the refrigerator light. if he’s honest, part of him never thought he’d see this day; it’s hard to imagine a future when your life is consistently getting upended by interdimensional forces out of your control. he can’t help but feel slightly bittersweet about it though — there’s an insane amount of comfort that comes from knowing you’ve been through this shit together, but it’s accompanied by the understanding that these awful things happen to you too.

when you finally part, steve plasters a multitude of kisses on your face until you’re giggling in his arms. he doesn’t let up, trailing his lips down your throat until they’re smiles more than anything else. you two stay here like this for a few seconds — steve nuzzled into your soft skin and tightly secured in each other’s embrace. you don’t think you’ve ever been so content.

“presents now?”

you laugh as steve’s words tickle you, spoken into you and punctuated with a rather sweet press of his lips, “you’re greedy, harrington.”

“only when it comes to you, sweetheart,” he continues, earning him a half-hearted scoff and roll of the eyes. his cheesiness never fails to charm and simultaneously disgust you. but you could never say no to him, so you’re placing your hand into one of his to lead him to the tree. the cake’s left on the kitchen counter, both of you far more distracted by your love.

your present isn’t the prettiest thing, but it doesn’t matter to steve; you went out of your way to think of something to get him for the occasion. you have plenty of other talents — gift wrapping doesn’t have to be one of them. besides, it only matters a handful of times out of the year. as soon as steve opens the box within, he melts, his body slumping while surrounded by the green wrapping paper.

“oh baby you spoil me.”

it’s a gorgeous chocolate brown sweater, woven together from thick wool that he’s certain will keep him warm when you’ve not here. gingerly, he pulls it out to take a proper look.

“it’s handmade,” you say, watching joyfully as he runs his fingers over the yarn before unfolding it in the air between you. it’s almost got a mock turtleneck, the fabric on the collar raised slightly to ensure heat will stay trapped to the body. you keep speaking as he studies the piece further, gaze roving over it lovingly.

“this woman was selling them at that winter festival thing in chicago i told you about. you don’t have anything like it so i thought…”

steve adores it when you buy him clothes. he loves wearing items you picked out specifically for him, but especially when you steal them for yourself after a couple weeks. it’s like you’re there with him when he’s wearing something you bought; the look on your face when you see him in it isn’t too bad either. it makes him feel like he’s yours.

but this… this couldn’t have been cheap. it makes him feel a bit guilty for what he’s got wrapped up for you. he almost doesn’t want to hand it over.

“i love it,” steve assures, smiling brightly to ensure you grasp his gratitude — he’ll take better care of it than himself, “thank you, i’ll wear it to your mom’s tonight.”

your face scrunches adorably at the thought. you unwind your legs from your chest in preparation for your gift; it’s stupid how much like a child you feel in this moment, sitting on the floor in front of the tree while waiting to open a present on christmas eve.

steve’s present is pristine. the harrington’s have a slew of wrapping paper and bows hidden away for when holidays and birthdays rolled around, but the wrapping was usually more well thought out than the content inside. that’s the harrington way, isn’t it? a pretty exterior with not much to show on the inside — you’d kill steve if he told you that. you almost don’t want to open it; you take a moment to memorize how it looks before peeling it open.

it’s also a sweater. something inside you blooms at the thought that you and steve had similar ideas for your presents to each other. but then your brow furrows, churning more fear into steve’s gut. he nearly yanks it away from you in embarrassment but you’ve put the pieces together before he can; his palms settle on your knees instead.

“it’s… yours?”

steve coughs, “yeah! i know you, uh, steal my shit all the time but i… i didn’t want to get you just some jewelry because you have plenty of that, but i-i guess you also have plenty of sweaters too…”

he’s floundering a bit, trying to properly articulate his thinking because with you now holding his sweater, it seems like an awfully stupid idea. especially after your amazing gift.

“i thought about getting you a book but i didn’t know which ones you haven’t read yet, so maybe you’d like something of mine? that way, y’know, you can always have a piece of me with you, but i mean this is kind of dumb in retrospe- oh okay, shit.”

as he’s speaking, you tug off the hoodie of his that was already hanging over your frame. you flash him for a moment while you make the switch, slipping your arms through the sleeves and popping your head out of the top. steve’s left blinking dumbly, swallowing harshly as his blush shifts its reasoning. you adjust it, pulling the hem down to cover your stomach; your eyes meet his seconds after, and a restrained chuckle spills from his lips.

“jesus christ, sweetheart,” steve’s hands give your knees a firm squeeze, “you gotta warn me before you do that.”

you’d accept anything steve would gift to you, but with his thought process being so unbearably sweet, you’re burning. you do miss him ridiculously when you’re not in hawkins — maybe always having this there with you will make the distance a bit easier to handle. after another moment, you recognize that it’s the maroon crewneck he wore the night of the snowball. he was wearing this when you had your first kiss in the parking lot.

you can’t wait anymore — you’re crawling into his lap, his arms enveloping you instinctually. you press your lips to his in an instant, your legs awkwardly hanging over his own, but neither of you has the mind to care. especially not when you’re grinning brilliantly against him.

“i love you,” your lips catch on his as you mutter it, whispering to him like you’re the only person on the planet who’s ever said it. the way steve kisses you could serve as his answer; you can feel every ounce of his love and passion for you in his slow and purposeful movements. but for him, it’s not enough.

“i love you too,” he replies simply — it’s anything but. you can count on your hand the number of times either of you has responded that way over the past couple months. your inside joke can resume in a few hours. for now, the pair of you deserve to bask in your love, unabashed and unforgiving.

but your bliss shatters at 1:04. the bb gun in a christmas story sounds nothing like a real one, however the visual of a gun going off is enough to send you careening down into the depths of starcourt without warning.

steve’s palms are clutching your face, panic twisting your features in between his hands. your eyes are blank, staring back into his but unable to blink the memories of last july from your view. he’s saying something to you but you can’t hear it over the sound of gunshots repeating endlessly in your ears. the scars on your arm burn.

you’re not breathing properly — your exhales are ragged and uneven followed by shallow inhales. in a moment of desperation, steve unwinds one of your trembling hands from the blankets to press it firmly to his chest. feeling your heartbeat in terrified times like these always helps him. his fingers stay wrapped around your wrist for a few seconds before he begins slowing his breaths; he prays you’ll follow his example. it kills him to see you like this.

almost a full minute passes before you truly realize that steve’s here, sitting in front of you with his hands on your skin and heartbeat pounding. you’re safe. there’s nothing to be afraid of. when your lungs finally start taking in oxygen, your breathing slows to match his and the nightmare around you melts away. you’re at steve’s. steve’s here with you. you’re safe. there’s nothing to be afraid of.

you swallow harshly as his large palm slides to cover your hand over his heart — it’s the final thing that grounds you. you continue to repeat the facts in your head as his words reach your ears for the first time.

“good, that’s good,” steve whispers, voice as soft as he can muster, “keep that up for me, okay? sweetheart?”

his thumb drags along your cheek, brushing away the single tear that fell amidst the chaos. you nod slightly, “i’m okay.”

that’s all you can force from your aching throat; you’re scared your words would betray you if you said anything else. he takes in a rather deep breath — steve knows you’re not okay, but that’s not what you’re saying. you’re reassuring him that you’re out of it now. the worst is over.

neither of you are able to sleep after that and steve doesn’t dare put on another film. soft touches and even quieter words are exchanged between you, tucked back into the security of the pillows and blankets that surround you on the couch. but no matter how much he attempts to coax you out of your head and back to him, he knows that a part of you is still down there in the russian base being tortured and forced to relive the worst moment of your life. after nearly an hour of this, he comes up with an idea.

“how about we go for a swim?”

steve’s surprised by how quickly you say yes, but something completely different could be good for you. once you’re in the warm water of the harrington’s pool — the only people in hawkins rich enough to keep their pool running in the depths of the winter — you can feel the stress wash off of you in waves. steve’s hands beneath the water, keeping purchase on your bare skin, certainly help as well. the sight of him shirtless and soaked doesn’t hurt either. but it’s a friendly competition that fully banishes the thoughts of the summer from your anxious mind.

“bet i could throw you all the way to the six foot mark,” steve says, voice muffled as he speaks into your hair. you can hear his smile; you don’t even need to look.

“ten bucks says you can’t get me to the five,” you retort, earning you a rather offended expression from your boyfriend.

“what do you mean? i work out!”

as if to prove his point, he suddenly stands, lifting you with enough ease that it makes your stomach go a bit warm. you cling to him, hands grasping at his shoulders as he situates you into position, an arm under your knees and the other across your back.

“i’m gonna count to three and then you let go, okay?”

“yeah, okay,” you nod, confirming the plan. but before he can begin, you press a quick kiss to his cheek, making him go a bit pink. it’s stupid how that makes his breath hitch in his throat.

“good luck.”

steve scoffs, rolling his eyes playfully to try and distract you from his blush, “we put money down on this, sweetheart. you’re not supposed to wish me good luck.”

“well do it just for fun then,” you reach up to brush some hair away from his forehead, forcing a shiver to roll down his spine at the feeling of your hand against his scalp, “how about instead of my money, you’ll get a real good kiss if you win.”

he scoffs again, this time out of disbelief, “well i’m not gonna say no to that.”

#shoutout to those that remember the single paragraph in chapter 4 of s4 that references this #anyways #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #almost paradise #almost paradise blurbs

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berrynarrybanana · 4 years ago

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Holiday Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses

A/N: This was meant to be a blurb, but I got carried away. I honestly don’t know how I feel about it, but I wanted to post some Christmassy stuff in between now and Deck the Halls, so here’s a little something. It’s basically over a thousand words of Harry pining for some girl he just met. That seems to be my favorite trope, yeah? Anyways, I hope you enjoy and I hope that you all remember that Christmas isn’t about what you have or what you’re able to give, it’s about spending time with the people you love the most. I’m always here for you all if you need me and I love you loads. Thank you!

Word Count: 5.1K+

Warnings: A little smut, pining, flash forward, ofc

Prompt: “You’re wearing the Santa hat, whether you like it or not” | Taken from this post here!

It wasn’t that Harry hated Christmas.

He loved spending time with his family, drinking mulled wine and talking shit with his Mum and Sister on the couch until the morning light. He loved the Christmas cookies that everyone seemed to bake just for him. Every single one of his friends would wrap them up in cute, candy cane striped cellophane bags with a little bow as if they were worried he’d been deprived of sweets. He loved the warmth that enveloped him when he stepped into any building, dodging the cold winter winds and brutal snowflakes that hit his skin. He loved most things about the season, but he truthfully hated the actual holiday itself.

He hated the music, each song covered by about twenty different artists, (yet, they always sounded the same, somehow), playing on a loop on every single Christmas station. He hated how rude people were in the shops and on the road, as if their time was more important than anyone else's. He hated the stigma around giving expensive gifts, stressing over the perfect thing to get each of his friends. If he could, he’d give them all something homemade, but he was shit at doing anything crafty.

His boots crunched against the snow as he walked towards his mother’s front door.

He let himself in, kicking his shoes off before he removed his scarf and his winter coat. He could hear laughter from the kitchen, Gemma and his Mum giggling far too loud. They must have cracked into the mulled cider a little early, and truthfully, he was jealous. He’d spent the last four hours stuck in traffic listening to white Christmas over and over and over again. He shut the front door as Evie wrapped herself around his legs, her soft purring catching his attention as he glanced down at the black and white kitten.

“Hiya, darling girl.” He crouched down, scooping her into his arms before he delivered a series of kisses over her head. “Daddy’s missed you, eh. Have you been good for your nan?”

She meowed in response, causing Harry to coo at her before he scratched under her chin.

“That’s my girl.” He pressed another kiss to the top of her head before setting her back to the ground.

He knew they would indulge in several cuddle sessions over the next few days, so he wasn’t worried about missing his one and only pet this holiday season. He walked through the house, finding his way into the kitchen where Gemma was tipping back a glass of dark red liquid, and his Mum was rolling out cookie dough with a bright smile on her face. What Harry wasn’t expecting, was the curly haired girl with a cookie cutter in her hand next to his Mum.

“Hello!” He called out, offering a smile as he walked over to the kitchen island. “I see we’ve started having fun already.”

“It took you forever to get here!” Gemma said defensively, picking up a chocolate kiss before tossing it at Harry. “Do you want a drink?”

“Something hot, it’s like the bloody tundra outside.” He shivered at the thought of the harsh wind, his eyes trailing back towards the new girl.

“Stella makes the best peppermint hot chocolate you’ve ever had in your life.” Gemma groaned out, her eyes rolling back in her head. “She puts peppermint vodka in there.”

“I can make you one if you’d like?” Stella’s voice was soft and painfully american. “We’ve got a slow cooker full of hot chocolate.”

“If you don’t mind.” Harry gave her a smile as he pulled out a stool, sitting next to Gemma. “Nice to meet you, Stella. I’m Harry, by the way.”

“She knows who you are.” Gemma reached over, pinching Harry’s side. “Stella is a new transfer at work. She’s new to England, and we thought we’d show her a proper English Christmas.”

“Stella, love, you should probably find another family to spend Christmas with if you want a proper English Christmas.” Harry snorted. “Ours is half arsed at best.”

“We have a lovely Christmas, thank you.” Anne piped up, flicking flour in Harry’s direction as Stella laughed softly. “Don’t scare the poor thing off, we’ve just made her feel at home.”

Stella turned her back, walking towards the stove.

“I suppose we do have a good time.” Harry hummed out. “I can’t wait to watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas for the millionth time.”

“They’ve got an animated one now!” Gemma exclaimed. “We’re going to do a double feature.”

“Lovely.” Harry rolled his eyes.

Moments later, a steaming mug of hot chocolate laced was placed in front of Harry.

He looked down at the grinch mug before looking back up at Stella.

“Thanks.” He offered her a smile, but she merely nodded back at him before taking her place next to Anne again.

He watched her, sipping at his drink as Gemma and Anne chatted about some Hallmark movie that was meant to premiere at some point during the week. She wasn’t normally the type of girl that he dated, but he had to admit that she was beautiful. Her cheeks were round, a soft blush smeared over them that he assumed came from a makeup product. Her lashes were thick, and long, shadowing her hazel colored eyes. She had thick brows that seemed a little unruly, and plump lips stained with a plum colored lipstick that matched her smoky, purple eyeshadow. He wasn’t a huge fan of the plum color, but he had to admit that it brought out a lot of the warmer tones in her eyes and in her beautiful, brown skin. He also thought that it complimented the lighter strands in her curly brown hair that bounced about everytime she turned her head.

He tried not to be too obvious with his curious gaze, but he couldn’t help it. He was almost mesmerized by her beauty, but he was more so confused by his attraction to her. She was far too quiet for his taste, her eyes cast down on the cookies she’d been cutting out for the last few minutes while everyone else chatted.

He watched her place them on the tray carefully, obsessing over how they landed before she reached for the colored icing. He watched her pipe onto the little shapes, her tongue nestling in the corner of her mouth as her unsteady hands worked diligently on the cookies.

This was a Styles family Christmas, and the Styles were a rowdy and messy bunch. He’d never seen his Mum or Gemma put that much work into sugar cookies before, and it was almost painful to watch her perfect each and every one before she slipped the tray in the oven. He watched her reach for the cheeky little chicken shaped oven timer that Gemma bought when his Mum fist moved into this house. In all of those years, he’d never seen anyone actually use it.

“Did you hear me, my little turtle dove?” Anne brushed her hand over Harry’s back as he sipped at his cocoa. “They’re calling for a huge storm this weekend, are you packed for that?”

“I left some stuff here the last time I was around.” He turned his head, smiling back at her. “I think I should be fine if I get stuck with you lot.”

“Good.” She nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, Mumma.” He wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her into a hug.

The warm scent of vanilla and musk greeted his senses, flooding him with comfort and nostalgic memories of cuddling with Mum on the couch. He missed having her around him. He missed having his best friend around to comfort him when he needed it the most. When he let go of her, his heart sank a little in his chest. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head before moving back to work on more cookie dough.

“Why are you making so many cookies?” He asked, brows furrowing as he brushed his fingers over the sickly green mug with the cartoon characters face on it. “Do you plan on feeding an army?”

“No, but Stella suggested that we take some down to the local homeless shelter on Christmas Eve.” Anne smiled over at the girl. “That’s her family's Christmas tradition, and since she’s not with them this year, we thought we’d make it happen for her here.”

“Thank you again, for agreeing to this.” Stella smiled at Anne. “It really means the world to me, and I can’t thank you enough.”

“You’re a part of the family now, dear.” Anne teased. “Even if you’re not spending Christmas with us, this little tradition of yours has been officially integrated into our own Christmas tradition. We’ll always have a little bit of Stella with us during the Holiday’s now, eh.”

Stella laughed at that, reaching her arms out to wrap Anne in a hug.

Harry almost felt a little jealous at how seamlessly she fit in here.

“If you keep staring at her, she’s gonna want to run back to America.” Gemma nudged her elbow into his side. “We get it, she’s hotter than you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Harry rolled his eyes at Gemma as she smirked. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Okay, Casanova.” She snorted. “Whatever you say.

Harry wasn’t sure why he was hard.

He just wanted to close his eyes and go the fuck to sleep.

After a long day of travel, and an even longer evening filled with Harry pulling down Christmas decorations from the attic, he just wanted to sleep. He wasn’t looking forward to taking the annual trip to the Christmas Tree Farm tomorrow. Since Robin passed, Harry was the only man in the family, which meant that he often had to do the heavy lifting. He found that most of his strength lay in his core, despite the amount of lifting he’d done to buff up his arms, and he wasn’t looking forward to tossing a tree on top of his car while everyone watched.

Truthfully, that was the worry that should have been plaguing his mind as he lay in bed. Instead, his mind was lost in hazel colored waves that crashed on dark plum shores. He couldn’t stop thinking about Stella’s eyes or her perfectly shaped lips. He spent most of his night watching her drink from a wine glass, her cheeks turning a shade darker with each joke that she shared with his family. If there was one thing that he was shocked about, it was the dry humor that tumbled from her perfect plum colored lips. She was a funny girl, despite being quiet, and he laughed at every single joke she told without shame.

As he shifted his about, trying to avoid any further thoughts about her lips, the tip of his cock brushed against the warm flannel of his pajama pants. He let out a throaty groan, reaching down to push his palm into the crotch of his pants to soothe the pressure building in his lower belly. He couldn’t jack off to the thought of Gemma’s new friend, it would be awful, and it would surely land him on the naughty list. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best not to picture her lipstick staining his lower belly, his upper thighs, and eventually...the shaft of his cock. But after a few minutes of trying not to think about it, that was the only thing he could see behind closed eyes.

With an annoyed grumble, he dipped his hand into his pajama pants, tugging his cock out while his free hand pushed the band of the pants down his hips. He licked over his dry lips, making a mental note to buy some chapstick tomorrow as he gave himself one, swift stroke. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to moan as he brushed the pad of his thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. He was pathetic, dripping down his cock over a girl that he barely knew. He couldn’t believe that he was being that guy right now, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of a beautiful girl on her knees for him. He wanted so badly to have her there, whispering filthy words in that gentle tone she had, encouraging him to cum on her tongue.

When he did cum, her name spilled from his lips.

His chest was heaving as he came down, the tinkling of Stella’s laughter filling his ears.

Seconds later, he heard her bid goodnight to Gemma before the door next to his own shut.

He was totally fucked for this girl.

The next morning, he didn’t expect to see Stella sitting at the breakfast bar when he came downstairs.

He stopped in the doorway, his cheeks growing warm as he looked over her sweater covered back. Thoughts of her name tumbling from his lips last night flooded back as he looked at her. She was wearing a lavender colored, cable knit sweater, and her curls were tied up in a messy ponytail on top of her head. Most of the curls had fallen out, covering up some of her neck alongside her fingers. Her cheek was propped on her palm, her gaze focused on her laptop as she lifted a mug of steaming liquid up to her mouth with her other hand.

Harry cleared his throat, walking toward the stove so he could put the kettle on. No one else in the house would be up for hours, but Harry couldn’t turn off his internal alarm clock no matter how he tried. He also hoped that he might find a moment of peace from the very girl sitting in his Mother’s kitchen. She haunted his dreams, her face playing on the silver screen in his mind all night long. He hated how infatuated he was with this woman that he barely even knew.

“Morning.” She spoke up first, her voice scratchy and tired. “Did you sleep well?”

“Splendid, yeah.” He nodded, filling the kettle with water. “You?”

“I’ve slept better, but that’s to be expected.” She said softly. “I spent a little bit of time on a skype call with my brother’s, so I was up longer than expected.”

“But you’re up fairly early this morning, aren’t you?” He put the kettle on the stovetop before turning around, his eyes landing on hers. “Why’s that?”

“I wake up this early anyways.” She smiled at him. “I usually like to go for a walk in the morning to wake myself up.”

“That’s nice.” He lifted his hand, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “I usually like to go for a swim or a run in the morning, too.”

“Where do you swim?” She asked.

“There’s a men’s swimming club not too far from my home in London.” He said. “It’s freezing cold, but you get used to it after a while.”

“Jeeze, you swim outside in this weather?” She lifted her head from her palm, her eyes growing wide. “I could never.”

“It’s an acquired taste.” He chuckled softly. “What are you working on?”

“A new piece for my blog.” She said. “I started out using it as a diary of sorts, but people apparently love reading about the disaster that is my life.”

“I’m sure it’s not all horrible.” He hoped that he sounded encouraging and not rude. “You seem like a lovely, and positive person.”

“I try to be.” She shrugged, reaching for her mug. “I could say the same about you.”

“I try to be.” He smiled at her. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Oh, I was actually thinking of popping down to this little bakery Gemma told me about-”

“Mandeville’s.” His heart picked up, a smile stretching across his lips. “Had my first job there.”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” She laughed, wrapping both hands around her mug as she leaned back in the barstool. “I figured I’d go grab some pastries for everyone. I know it’s kind of a busy day with the Christmas Tree Farm, so I thought it would be best if your Mum didn’t feel the need to cook.”

“She would love that.” Harry said. “Maybe I could go with you? We could both get our walks in, and I can see Mary before she hunts me down and drags me to the bakery.”

“I would love the company.” She smiled. “But enjoy your tea first, I’ll just be working on this until we’re ready to go.”

“Cheers.” He nodded, watching her eyes drop to her computer screen.

She wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup this morning, and Harry almost wished that she was.

He wished that she had covered up her beautiful, freckle covered skin so that he didn’t fall harder for her beautiful face. He wished that she was hiding away those little blemishes that made him swoon, because she was actually a human after all, not some angel sent down from heaven to torture him. He wished that she covered those beautiful lips in that plum lipstick again so that he could imagine kissing it off of her. He hated the feeling stirring inside of his belly, the butterflies a tell tale sign of his feelings.

He had a crush on Stella.

And there was nothing he could do to stop himself from falling for her.

Stella’s gloves were precious.

They were a bright red, little snowflakes and reindeer stitched into them.

She offered to let Harry borrow a pair of her gloves, claiming that she’d brought plenty of pairs for the winter, but he politely declined before shoving his hands in his pockets. She looked so cozy, wrapped up in her winter coat with a beanie on top of her head and a matching scarf tied around her neck. Harry wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and cuddle her so that they could both stay nice and toasty on their walk. He wanted to kiss her bare cheeks, paying special attention to each freckle on her skin as the winter sun cast over them.

He was so infatuated with her that it was almost embarrassing.

“I can’t even imagine what it was like, growing up in a place like this.” Stella turned her head towards Harry, the tip of her nose a little red. “It’s so picturesque.”

“It’s alright.” He gave her a small smile. “I always wanted to get out when I was a kid.”

“Of course you did, we all do.” She chuckled. “I think everyone should run away for a little while, it really gives you all of the tools you need to really appreciate your hometown when you go back. I don’t know that I’ll ever move back to my hometown, but when I visit it, I feel a little bit more appreciative of the pivotal role it had in raising me.”

“I feel the same way about Cheshire.” Harry nodded. “It’s a big part of who I was, and that helped make me who I am. I wouldn’t be the same without this place.”

“Exactly.” She said.

“So where exactly are you from?” He asked. “I mean, obviously America-”

“Is it that obvious?” She asked, narrowing her eyes playfully, her lips pursed. “I don’t think it is.”

“It’s a neon, flashing sign above your head kind of obvious, love.” He snorted. “But I can’t place what your accent is.”

“It’s not really an accent.” Stella shrugged, turning her attention back to the sidewalk. “I grew up on the road for most of my life, but my family settled in Georgia when I was about twelve.”

“Interesting.” He said. “How did you like Georgia?”

“I didn’t, at first.” She laughed. “I hated it so much. I loved being on the road with my family, traveling places like Hawaii and Los Angeles. When we moved to the south, I despised everything about it. It was so plain and boring compared to places we’d lived before. But like I said, moving away has made me learn to love it more when I go back.”

“How long have you been gone?” He asked.

“About three years.” She said. “I lived in Amsterdam for a year, and then Paris, and now I’m here.”

“Which place is your favorite?” He asked. “Be honest with me, now. You don’t have to say London just because you’re trying to get on my good side.”

Stella tossed her head back, laughing loudly.

“I think it’s truthfully London, Harry.”

His name sounded like honey falling from her lips.

“Why is that?” He asked.

“Because I’ve found my chosen family.” She turned back, giving him a smile that thawed out the chill creeping up from his toes. “Starting with Gemma, of course. She was the first person to take me under her wings, and I’m so happy that I have her in my life. Then I started to find other people, and we all became this really close knit group of friends that felt more like family than my actual family does. I don’t know how I’ll ever leave this place.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” He said softly. “Maybe this is home.”

Please don’t go, Stella.

Stay here with me forever.

Love me.

“My contract is up at the end of the year, but we’ll just have to see how things go.” She said. “I might be convinced to stay.”

“Well, I guess I have a lot of work to do.” He chuckled.

“Why are you so keen on me staying?” She asked him, her brows raising as she gave him a knowing smirk. “Do you have a crush on me, Styles?”

His cheeks grew hot against the cold wind.

“Alright now, don’t let that go to your head.” He grumbled, tucking his neck into his scarf as Stella’s smile grew wider. “It’s all your bloody fault, you know?”

“What have I done?” She laughed louder. “I’m just me.”

“That’s exactly it.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “You’re you, Stella.”

The Christmas Tree Farm was going well.

That was up until Gemma decided that they absolutely needed to take a family picture in front of the big Christmas tree, Stella included. They had picked up a few little trinkets and such while walking around the market included in the farm. Anne picked up a reindeer headband with bells stitched in, plopping it on her head the second she found it. Gemma found an elf’s hat with little ears attached to the side, putting it on her hair before fussing with her hair. Stella found a crown made of poinsettias that she plopped on top of her curls, the red and gold working perfectly with her red lipstick and gold eyeshadow. Harry, however, wasn’t exactly in the spirit.

“You’re wearing the bloody santa hat, whether you like it or not!” Gemma shoved it towards him with a frown. “If you stand next to Stella, you’ll like Mr. and Mrs. Claus!”

“Shut up, Gemma.” Harry sneered, snatching the hat from her hands. “I didn’t tell you about that so you could throw it in my face!”

“Well, I’m doing it for the greater good of our family photo!” She glared at him. “Put that hat on before I shove it on your head myself.”

“Fine.”

“Are you two alright?” Stella smirked, adjusting her crown on her head as she walked up to Harry and Gemma. “Santa is still putting people on the naughty list you know?”

“If anyone’s going to be on the naughty list, it’s Harry.” Gemma tossed her arm around Stella’s shoulder with a proud smirk. “He’s being a pain in the arse.”

“Is the hat really necessary to the photo?” He groaned, dropping his head back.

“Yes.” Stella and Gemma said at the same time.

“Alright, alright.” He groaned, tugging the hat over his curls. “Are you both happy now?”

“Ecstatic.” Stella smiled brightly at Harry. “I think you look handsome.”

“I’m going to just point out…” Gemma pulled her arm from around Stella, tucking her hands behind her back. “That there’s mistletoe hanging from that piece of wood above your heads.”

“Gemma-” Harry’s eyes grew wide.

“And I’m promptly going to walk away.” She smiled at Stella. “Meet us at the tree in ten minutes.”

“Gemma-” Stella held her hand out as Gemma walked away, her eyes growing just as wide as Harry’s were. “What a sneaky little elf.”

“Tell me about it.” Harry shifted, adjusting the hat on his head. “Devious little-”

“Well, I guess we can’t break tradition.” Stella looked up at Harry, shuffling forward slowly with a little smirk on her lips. “I mean, what would Santa say if we didn’t kiss under the mistletoe?”

Harry licked over his bottom lip, his fingers twitching.

“You really want to kiss me?”

“I might.” Stella’s toes were almost touching Harry’s now. “But the question is, do you want to kiss me?”

“I do, yeah.” He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I laid eyes on you, Stella.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” She raised her brows. “Now is your chance, Mr. Grinch, lay one on me.”

Harry lifted his hands, pressing them to Stella’s face hesitantly before he lowered his lips to hers in a soft kiss. It was a gentle peck, one that anyone would share underneath the mistletoe, but Harry wanted more from Stella. It seemed that she wanted more as well, her arms sliding around his neck as she pressed up on her toes. He let his hands fall to her waist as the kiss grew more intense, his hands holding onto her tightly as she brushed her tongue over his lower lip. He tried his best not to smile into the kiss, letting her have what she wanted by parting his lips. When her tongue slipped over his, he let out a tiny moan, gripping her hips tighter.

“Get a room, you two!” Harry groaned, pressing his forehead to Stella’s.

“Gemma, I swear to god-” Harry turned his head, whipping his santa hat off before he threw it in her direction. “Go bother someone else!”

Stella laughed, ducking her forehead down to Harry’s chest as he rubbed his thumbs over her side gently. He felt her body shaking underneath his hands, his heart hammering in his chest when he realized just how close they actually were. He turned his head back, lifting a hand up to guide Stella’s chin up. He pressed his lips to hers once, twice, three more times before she pressed her palms to Harry’s chest.

“We’ll never stop if we don’t move away from the mistletoe.” Stella whispered. “And I think Gemma might physically pull us apart if we miss that Christmas picture.”

“Let it be known that I’m only partaking in this picture because I want to stand next to you for as long as I can.” Harry smiled. “I think I have a little more than a crush on you, Stella.”

“I think I have more than a crush on you, too.”

“Madeline, stop right there.” Stella let out a frustrated sigh as she looped her arm under the baby carrier, her eyes falling down to the sleeping infant. “Milo, promise Mumma that you’ll listen when you get to that age?”

“Give him here.” Harry brushed a kiss over Stella’s temple, his hand massaging her lower back gently. “You go catch up with speed racer, okay? I’ll be right behind you with the baby and the diaper bag.”

“Thank you.” Stella turned her head, puckering her lips out. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He hummed out. “And our beautiful babies, even if one of them has a death wish and two left feet.”

Stella snorted out a laugh, pulling her arm from the carrier before she stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I better go help her up the stairs.”

“Please, we don’t need a repeat of last year.” Harry smiled.

“Yeah, I would like to avoid a trip to A&E this year.” Stella snorted.

He watched Stella walk over to an antsy Madeline, her pigtails bouncing about as she jumped from foot to foot in excitement. Harry chuckled softly at his daughter, amused by her excitement. He was happy that she found so much joy in Christmas, just like her Mother did. He watched Stella hold a hand out, waiting for Madeline to take it before they both conquered the brick steps outside of his Mum’s house. When they got to the top, Stella lifted Madeline up, kissing over her cheeks as their daughter giggled. Harry lifted Milo’s car seat from the base, his eyes falling down to the six month old with hazel eyes and soft cheeks just like his Mother’s.

“We’ve got our hands full with those two, mate.” Harry pulled the soft, wintery blue blanket up to Milo’s chin, tucking it around his shoulders so that he would stay warm. “Gonna keep us both on our toes, I know it.”

Milo cooed up at him, causing Harry to smile wider before he ducked his head down to kiss his son's soft cheeks.

“Let’s get you into Nan’s before you turn into a popsicle, my love.” Harry said. “Mumma won’t be happy if we have to spend Christmas thawing you out.”

As Harry made his way up the stairs, he couldn’t help but remember five Christmases ago.

He was walking up the exact same steps on his own, unaware of the magic that was waiting inside for him. He was unaware that the girl Gemma brought home for Christmas would one day be his wife, and the mother of his two beautiful children. He had no idea that they would spend long nights together, planning their future and holding each other tight. He opened the front door to his Mum’s house, smiling at the sound of Madeline telling his Mother a story with animated gestures, her curly pigtails bouncing around as Stella tried to wrangle her jacket off.

“And then Daddy told me we could get a puppy next year if I was good enough!” Madeline squealed out as Harry shut the door.

He dodged the steely gaze he got from Stella after she heard the word puppy.

“Sorry.” He mouthed over at her, causing her to shake her head as she tried to fight off a smile.

“You’re a menace.” She mouthed back. “But I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He said it outloud, his heart soaring in his chest.

Stella gave him a heart warming smile, Madeline’s coat still in her hands.

Seconds later, Milo let out a tiny cry causing Harry to snap back into dad mode.

He rested the carseat on the ground, carefully pulling his son out before pressing a kiss to his chubby little cheeks. As if Gemma could sense his presence, she barreled into the living room with her eyes set on Milo.

“There’s my little man.” She held her hands out, wiggling them as Harry rolled his eyes. “You get to see him every day, Harry. Pass him over to his auntie.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “Please be careful with him, I kind of like this one.”

“Piss off.” Gemma snorted out, sliding Milo onto her hip before pressing a bright red kiss mark into his forehead. “Has Daddy told you that without auntie Gem, you wouldn’t exist?”

“Gemma-”

“Can you believe that?” She looked up at Harry, a hint of something nostalgic and genuine sparkling in her green eyes. “If I’d never brought Stella to family Christmas, we wouldn’t have two beautiful babies to dote over every year.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what life would be like without them.” He whispered. “Thank you, Gemma.”

“Harry, I really didn’t-”

“Gemma.” He said her name sternly, pressing his palm to her bicep. “Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She said softly, her eyes watering. “Now, if you could do me a favor and bring a hot friend around, I’d really appreciate it.”

“I’ll see what I can manage.” He let out a wet chuckle, his own eyes watering.

“What are we managing?” Stella wrapped her arms around Harry.

“We owe Gem a favor.” He sniffled, turning head to press a kiss to Stella’s forehead.

“Why are you crying, baby?” Stella frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all.” He pressed his lips to hers, softly brushing his nose against the tip of hers as his. “Just so incredibly grateful to have you in my life, that’s all.”

“You’re so sappy around the holiday’s.” Stella brushed her palm over his belly. “I love you, Mr. Styles.”

“I love you, too, Mrs. Styles.” He said. “Merry Christmas, Darling.”

“Merry Christmas.”

#not edited #as per usual #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry fic #harry one shot #harry imagine #harry styles X ofc #harry styles christmas fic #harry styles blurb #harry blurb #harry styles christmas blurb

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multimetaverse · 4 years ago

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HSMTMTS 2x01 Review

New Year’s Eve was a great way to return to HSMTMTS especially after such a long gap. Let’s dig in!

Vladimir Lenin once said that, ‘’ there are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen". It’s been almost a year and half since S1 ended but this past week has seen revelation after revelation as the fandom has resurrected itself and promotion for S2 kicked into high gear: Joshua Bassett came out, Frankie and Joe confirmed that they are a real life couple, Larry seemingly confirmed that S2 will only have 11 eps rather than the 12 initially ordered, and perhaps most importantly Olivia revealed that she and the main cast are under contract for 4 seasons and made clear that she’s leaving the show as soon as her contract is up.

I really enjoyed this premiere, it felt like picking up right back where we left off. I’m guessing that S2 was originally supposed to premiere around Christmas or New Year’s but the holiday decorations and real Utah snow add a charming aesthetic to the ep. Tim Federle deserves credit for giving HSMTMTS more of an ensemble feel which is no easy feat with a cast as large as this show has. It likely won’t last due to covid restrictions but at least for tonight we got to see all the characters hanging out together acting like a real group of friends.

The dialogue tonight really reminded me of Glee and I think I mean that as a compliment. Miss Jenn in particular seems to be doing her best April Rhodes impression minus the alcoholism.

The rini scenes tonight were lovely. Perfect gift was a great song and I loved the rini duet during the music in me as the world faded around them leaving just the two of them. The Harry Styles reference is funny in light of Josh’s coming out interview. Of course, it’s hard now to separate Nini and Ricky and Olivia and Josh. Their chemistry shines through as 2x01, 2x02, and possibly parts of 2x03 were filmed pre Jolivia breakup which seems to have happened around summer 2020. Whether they can keep that same chemistry later on in S2, not to mention future seasons, remains to be seen.

A major theme tonight was communication and clearly Rini need to work on theirs. Poor Ricky had to learn that Nini’s moving to Denver the night before she leaves town which has to remind of him of his mom effectively abandoning him. Ricky saying that he’s never gonna breakup with Nini ever again sure sounds like foreshadowing for a disaster though the odds that this time Nini initiates the breakup are pretty good.

I’m glad that the show is continuing to delve in the Bowen’s divorce story with their house being sold and Ricky and his dad having to move into an apartment. Divorce is expensive and the division of assets typically leave people less well off. Mike Bowen needs to work on his communication skills but he’s rocking that beard; it takes him from depressed divorced dad to depressed divorced daddy.

Seblos was cute and in a nice change of pace Disney doesn’t seem to be cynically teasing them then cutting their scenes. It was refreshing to see them just being a couple and to hear Carlos casually refer to himself as gay. In that regard tonight’s ep didn’t seem like it was a Disney show at all and it’s major progress that there are now two main gay characters on HSMTMTS. We learn that Carlos is rich which seems likely to be a source of conflict with Seb who comes from a large farming family.

Bet on It was really fun and I liked that Ricky apparently couldn’t stop singing it. The medley of HSM 2 songs was fun but I’ll be real with you wildcats, I never thought HSM 2 or 3 were nearly as good as the first movie so I’m not sad that they’re doing something else this year.

Wild that Big Red’s mom also calls him Big Red. Salt Lake Slices seems poised to be a big part of S2 both as hangout spot and work location for some of the characters. Redlyn are sweet together but sometimes Big Red comes off as a closeted gay guy which isn’t ideal for a het pairing that is supposedly a big part of S2.

Nice to see Gina so excited to have sleepovers with Ashlyn. We know from 2x03 that Gina contends with being single on Valentine’s day and from her glances at Ricky tonight she’s clearly not over him. Tim’s playing with fire and I can only hope he knows what he’s doing. I liked the little detail of Kourtney having AOC on her vision board, it feels true to the character (hopefully AOC gets elected president one day if the USA doesn’t collapse into a fascist dictatorship or civil war before then). EJ’s beard has got to go but I like that he seems committed to being a better version of himself; very doubtful his plan to go straight to Duke like his forefathers doesn’t change by the end of the season.

Derek Hough did a good job of playing Zach as a subtly condescending man who managed to swiftly undermine Miss Jenn’s confidence, we’ll see what he and North High bring to the table.

Looking Ahead:

Next week are auditions for Beauty and the Beast, we know Ashlyn gets the role of Belle and EJ has conveniently removed himself from the running for Beast which presumably clears the path for Ricky to take the lead. There’s been some controversy over the casting choices and I’ll save my comments about it for the 2x02 review.

We get to see Lily who looks like a meaner version of season 1 Gina, we’ll see how much depth she actually ends up getting. Howie is introduced in 2x03 and Antoine likely shows up later on. Jack likely shows up towards the end of the season.

Howie seems to have a connection with Kourtney though the character synopsis does say he gets close to a wildcat or two which certainly leaves room to slide him into Gina’s plot. We know Antoine is into Ashlyn so that’s another love triangle to look forward to. Jack was described as having wanderlust and most of the cast seems not to have filmed with him so I think it’s likely that he plays a role in convincing EJ to take a gap year rather than head straight to Duke.

A translation leak on TikTok reveals that in 2x03 Gina is sad that she’s only gotten a Valentine’s Day gift from her mom. A brief clip from the promo shows up her on her porch at night holding a heart shaped box of chocolates. If that’s supposed to be from a secret or semi-secret admirer than it has to be from either EJ, Ricky, or Howie. If it’s a platonic gift then it could be from anyone, we’ll see what Tim has up his sleeves.

Nini moving back to SLC is a question of when not if. It’s going to be very difficult to bring her back in a way that’s justified and also doesn’t leave the time she spends in Denver looking like a total waste. Frankly, I’d rather the show just bite the bullet and bring her back with as little fuss as possible.

We’re possibly around a quarter way through HSMTMTS given that the mains have 4 season contracts and presuming that the show is not cancelled earlier. At the very least the show will be radically different after S4 if they try to continue it as Olivia has made very clear that she’s going to leave asap to pursue her burgeoning music career full time (notably she’s only done the bare minimum of promo for S2).

Looming over the remaining seasons of HSMTMTS is what the professional relationship between Olivia and Josh looks like especially since in many ways the show is built around Ricky and Nini. Off screen relationships have often caused on screen problems and dating a co-worker is rarely a good idea since even clean breakups leave lingering resentments. Obviously the Jolivia breakup was not clean, Driver’s License, Deja Vu, and Good 4 U (which is a certified bop) were clearly written from a place of hurt and in some ways were written to hurt. It’s no surprise that Joshua has dropped his duet with Sabrina Carpenter from his EP; someone on his team at least is trying to stop the damage to his reputation. There’s a decent chance that Olivia’s songs becoming such hits has irreparably damaged Joshua Bassett’s reputation among the same pool of largely young women that he’s targeting his music towards thereby cutting off his music career at the knees. If nothing else this behind the scenes drama should keep things entertaining for a while.

Until next week Wildcats

#HSMTMTS #Rini #Seblos #Ricky Bowen #Nini Salazar-Roberts #Carlos Rodriguez #Seb Matthew-Smith #Gina Porter #ej caswell #HSMTMTS Reviews

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angel-princess-anna · 4 years ago

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Speculation Sunday

In which weekly(?), I try to connect two dots (and connect nothing) in regards to the second DA film. This week, it’s more about the lack of spoilers and how it will be that way for awhile (also I realize it’s probably now Monday for most of you, whoops)

This post is based on my own perceptions and experiences having followed how they filmed and promoted the TV show and first film. I love discussing Downton, and I love hunting for spoilers, haha. Mainly because I want to know what’s gonna happen with my faves ASAP.

That said, I think we are going to get even less spoilery crumbs during the filming of DA 2021 than we did with DA 2019.

Focus and Carnival kept the official synopsis of the first film a mystery for a very long time (basically until the first full trailer came out) and I assume it will be similar this time too. They then dumped some more info and stills much closer to the release date. Interviews with the cast focused on “getting the gang back together” and I assume the DA 2021 press tour will focus on “getting the gang back together after lockdown” and “we are bringing escapism in dark times”. Understandable, but not ideal for people like me who love spoilers!

During most of the filming of the TV series, we didn’t get a lot of info and pics other than paparazzi photos (social media being less of a thing during the early series, and the latter because of cracking down on spoiler leaks), but then with S6, we were spoiled with riches given that they filmed outdoors a lot, and there was a bit of a social media campaign for the end of the show to honor the crew.

With DA 2019, all we got was a handful of outdoor sightings (the major one of course being the parade filming). This year we’ll have to rely on the paparazzi and tabloids, but again that’s if they film outdoors.

And given how most of the cast is when it comes to social media, and the worry of being punished for spoiler leaks, they aren’t gonna be taking selfies all the time.

So while we wait for Entertainment Weekly or the likes to visit the set, or one of the actors to promote another project and feed us crumbs in an interview, or a still gets released for a holiday... let’s think about what we do know.

The “original principal cast” is back. In Focus’ DA 2019 press release, that wording preceded a list of the main ensemble that was in all six series of the TV show, plus Matthew Goode and Harry Hadden-Patton. Raquel and Michael weren’t listed at that time, and while neither has posted on social media lately that I can see, Raquel’s latest post (as of writing this) has Baxley related hashtags lol. I don’t see why Baxter and Andy wouldn’t be in DA 2021. Kiddo wise, we know that the Baker boys are back as George and their triplet sister is playing someone. Fifi Hart is back as Sybbie. No word yet on the other children, but there’s five child actors from that one agency back for the new film (which doesn’t discount there being child actors from another agency).

Lily James didn’t appear in DA 2019, and I don’t think she would here either (regardless of, uh, Dominic West). Tuppence Middleton confirmed on Twitter she’s in; Max Brown confirmed he’s not. I haven’t seen anything concrete on Imelda yet, but I do assume she’d appear. We have at least four new characters, but nothing on who the new cast members will be playing.

Filming has already begun(!) at Ealing Studios, the studios they used when they filmed the TV show. And now they’ve been filming at Highclere Castle too!

Meanwhile, Rob gave us some clues on ITV’s This Morning:

- "someone goes for a bicycle ride" (easy, that’s the postman or whoever lol) - "someone has an argument" - "someone falls in love" - "someone falls out of love" - "someone goes to the shops"

As HWW said to me, perhaps it is not people that the characters are falling in and out of love with, but perhaps places, things, or ideas. And in the case of Thomas and Richard, it’s possible that they aren’t ‘over’, it’s just that they can’t see each other in the time frame of the film and maybe Thomas receives at least a letter from Richard or something.

Now, what we don’t know, which is... mostly everything.

The timeline is a biggie, as it would definitely influence some of the plots. And it was something that really wasn’t confirmed for DA 2019 until after we got the trailer. The cast gave us vague ideas, but uh... let’s just say not all of them were correct.

Fellowes has always said that he wouldn’t take DA into the ‘30s, but he always used to say that he’d never work on DA and The Glided Age at the same time, and yet, here we are. I feel like he or Gareth mentioned at one point a sequel would follow closely to DA 2019 timeline wise. They had similarly said DA 2019 would follow closely after the TV show’s timeline, and that ended up being an 18 month gap.

Considering that DA 2021 is coming out during Christmas time, this makes me think that Christmas will be featured at some point. Not every DA Christmas Special did, but it’s festive, timely, and an event to help anchor the film and bring characters together.

The question then is, does it center around Christmas though? Of the three CSs that feature Christmas in some form (S6CS is really about New Year’s Eve, but the decorations and tree are still up), S2CS starts there but ends mid January of the next year, and S5CS and S6CS both start roughly in late summer, and then finish in late December (well 1 Jan in S6CS’ case).

One potential choice is to have it be set in December 1927 and then go into the next year, akin to S2CS. The S5/6 CS idea would set it in 1928 at the earliest.

Another thing factor to take into account here is Edith’s pregnancy. Fellowes skipped over showing Mary pregnant with Caroline in the first film and had her born before DA 2019, so the same might happen here again.

Other potential big events are perhaps a wedding between Daisy and Andy and/or Tom and Lucy.

And then the elephant in the room: Violet. Maggie’s said time and time again that Violet’s too old, and then we had the plot in DA 2019, which would set... you know... that all up.

So like... filming outdoors in Bampton (where the town of Downton and the church was traditionally filmed for the TV series) is something is that is easily spoiled. They can put up screens to block the view around the church, but to also do it around the cemetery might be too telling. They did kinda manage with S6E8 (well, only kinda, ahem).

Thinking now about how members of the cast have said that DA 2021 will be coming at a time people are wanting/needing "escapism,” I don't think that discounts anything sad happening per se; a lot of people continued to call the TV series "escapism" when it got more darker (see: S4-5), and, I mean, people call Call the Midwife "cosy escapism" despite there being traumatic situations almost every episode it seems. So Violet's days could still very well be numbered. I remember how S3CS was marketed as a fun and frolicking trip to the Highlands, until the Norwegian channel NRK’s trailer for the episode came out and gave away that there was going to be a car accident. Escapism isn't the same for everyone anyway, so we'll have to see what this all entails. I don't necessarily want this for Violet, but I do hope that DA 2021 takes itself a bit more seriously, as the TV show did.

The first movie was written in a manner that was so that it was (somewhat?) understandable to people who didn’t watch the TV series. I have to wonder if DA 2021 has been written similarly. Part of me thinks it will be more similar to the first film than to the TV series, but with a potential sad plot for Violet... who knows, it might go back to its more “serial” roots (if that makes any sense). If DA 2021 also leans more into comedy as DA 2019, I don’t foresee it doing so but we’ll see.

That’s it for the this ramble! I have a topic for the next one regardless of the lack of crumbs! ;)

#downton abbey #da 2022 #da movie spoilers #film: my meta #film: speculation sundays

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klaineharmony · 5 years ago

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Bring Me Love (This Christmas)

This little holiday fic came into my head while listening to John Legend’s “Bring Me Love,” which is such a cute holiday song. And my brain insisted that I should set in the Movie Stars AU, a Jack and Sarah AU that I have made a moodboard for - but I haven’t even written the main story yet! Just know that in this ‘verse, Jack and Sarah are both actors, and fell in love filming a movie together, and now split their time between California and New York. Kath is Jack’s agent and Spot is his publicist, while Davey is still Sarah’s brother and also her agent, while Race is her publicist. The rest, I hope, will explain itself. I know this is really past holiday time, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway, especially @radioactivepigeons, who very much wanted me to write it. :)

(Small warning: Spot and Jack swear once or twice in this fic. I can’t keep them from doing anything, honestly. Boys.)

Also tagging: @katherineisthebestpulitzer (I hope this makes your night better, hon!), @elozable, @wordshakerofgallifrey, @thelittleredheadedmusician, @whatstheproblembaby, @queenofbrooklyn, @waitformereprise, @allhailpancakelord. I hope you all had wonderful holidays!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A knock sounded at the apartment door, and Jack groaned from under his comforter on the couch.

Sarah was still away on a movie shoot, making a rom-com in Greece with Bill Hearst - Bill Hearst, for Christ’s sake, who was wealthy and charming and as gay as Rock Hudson - and Jack had been doing his best to ignore both Sarah’s absence and the holidays, save going over to the Jacobs’ once or twice during Hannukkah. (Esther would have been mortally offended if he hadn’t come when invited, and frankly, he couldn’t stand to think about how upset Sarah would have been as well. So he had gone, and Esther and Meyer had put up with his brooding, while Davey and Les tried to cheer him up, which had worked only to a degree.)

He had come home from his own movie shoot in New Zealand two weeks ago, shut himself into his and Sarah’s apartment, and done his best to become Ebenezer Scrooge.

He hadn’t put up any of their decorations. He had tried reading the new scripts Kath had sent him, but couldn’t focus on them, despite her repeated and insistent messages that he had to tell her (and Now, Please) if he wanted to audition for any of them - that was what she was there to do as his agent, after all. He had ignored Spot’s suggestions, as his publicist, that Jack do some kind of holiday fundraising and/or charity event - which normally Jack loved, as he always chose an organization involving children and loved to see their excitement over whatever he was able to do for them, or help do for them.

It was Christmas Eve today, and Sarah wasn’t home, and he was in no mood to do anything but sulk.

He shouldn’t be so pathetic, he knew. But he missed her - he missed her so much, and the holidays were dark and gloomy without her. They had been together for two years now, and being apart from each other for filming never seemed to get easier. This was the first holiday season they had been forced to be in separate places, and it hurt far more than Jack had expected, despite almost constant texting and Skype calls when they could negotiate the time difference.

The knocking came again, louder and more insistent, and Davey’s voice called to him from the other side of the door.

“Open up, Jack; I know you’re in there!”

Jack groaned again and tried to get up off the couch, landing in an ungraceful heap on the floor. Cursing, he untangled himself from the comforter and limped over to the door. When he opened it, he beheld not just Davey, but Spot, Race, Kath, and Charlie. Race and Spot were holding a large fir tree up between them, Kath had a box that was overflowing with decorations, and Davey had two shopping bags that were bulging with food. Charlie, improbably, was playing Santa Claus, as he was wearing a Santa hat and had two enormous bags that were stuffed with gifts.

“Wow, Jack, you look like shit,” Spot said, and Jack Jack rolled his eyes.

“Thanks so much for that, Spot. Isn’t it your job as my publicist to be a little more encouraging?”

“Actually, it’s my job as your publicist to tell you when you look like shit, and it’s even more my job as your friend,” Spot said, elbowing his way past Jack into the apartment.

“Come on in,” Jack said sarcastically.

“He’s right, you know, Cowboy,” Kath said, coming in next. “You look awful, and I agree - as your agent and your friend, it’s my job to tell you that. For heaven’s sake, go take a shower, would you?”

“Daaaaveeeey,” Jack whined, looking appealingly over at his best friend.

“Nope,” David said flatly, wearing his best Disapproving face. “You’re not getting any help from me, Jack. We’re here on Sarah’s orders not to let you wallow and ruin Christmas, which you’ve been making your best attempt at doing.”

“You might as well give in, Cowboy,” Race said from the hallway. “You know we all love Sarah more than you, and her orders come before yours.”

“Traitors,” Jack muttered, walking back into the apartment as Race and Spot began to maneuver the tree through the door. “Even you!” he said crossly, pointing at Charlie, who was maneuvering his crutches and the gift bags through the door. “My own brother!”

“Foster brother,” Charlie corrected him. “That’s all you get to claim when you’re being this much of an idiot.”

Jack threw himself back on the couch and folded his arms, pouting, while his friends went to work around him. Spot and Race managed to get the tree into its holder and in front of the large window in the living room. Kath began to carefully wind lights on it while Charlie unpacked the other decorations from her bag. Jack could hear Davey rummaging around in the kitchen, putting away his bags of food.

“Where are your and Sarah’s ornaments and decorations, Jack?” Charlie asked. “Kath brought some things we thought we might need, but part of Sarah’s directive was to make sure this place was decorated in full.” Jack glared at him, but Charlie just cocked his head and lifted his eyebrows.

“On the floor in the hall closet. Two big tubs,” Jack finally said, giving in. “They have both Hanukkah and Christmas ornaments in them.”

“On my way,” Charlie said, heading for the hall with Spot on his heels.

“Jack, in the name of all that is holy, go take a shower,” Davey said, reappearing from the kitchen. “Kath asked nicely; don’t make me play dirty.”

“And how do you think you’re goin’ to do that?” Jack said, challenging him..

“I have a whole tray of Mama’s rugelach with me,” David said. “If you do not go make yourself presentable, you do not get a single one.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jack said, staggered, for Esther’s rugelach were legendary, and Davey knew Jack’s weakness for them.

“I absolutely would,” David said firmly. “Shower. Now. And put on something nice, rather than those pajamas that look like you’ve been wearing them for a week.”

“They don’t just look like that,” Jack said under his breath, and Kath made a noise of disgust from her place at the tree.

“Eeeewww. I don’t know how I ever get anyone to believe you are suave and charming, Jack Kelly,” she said. “I don’t know how Sarah puts up with you. Ick.”

Spot reappeared with two boxes of ornaments in his arms, carrying them as though they weighed about as much as a box of feathers. “Jacky-boy, if you don’t come out of the shower looking like you are going to a photoshoot, I won’t help you do anything to repair the damage you’ve done by being a complete hermit over the holidays.”

“What damage? You can just say I’ve been taking a break, enjoying my family after finishing a film shoot early in December,” Jack said, glaring daggers at him.

“None of your usual fundraising and work with children? No appearance at Radio City Music Hall for the Rockettes show? No dinners out with your lovely girlfriend? Lack of sightings means lack of publicity, my friend, and you know it,” Spot shot back.

“No one expected me to be anythin’ other than a hermit before I met Sarah,” Jack grumbled.

“But then you did, and you changed, and so did she, and I know you wouldn’t have it any other way, so go get in the shower,” Race said in exasperation, coming out from behind the tree and pushing him down the hall.

“Fine, fine, I’m going,” Jack said, throwing up his hands.

He spent a long time in the shower, reveling in the hot water, washing his hair twice, and making sure the grime of the last week was off his body. By the time he felt clean, he was ashamed enough of his own behavior that he put extra effort into looking nice. He shaved carefully, styled his hair, and chose a pair of charcoal trousers and a light gray sweater that on the dressier side. His friends were here to try and cheer him up, because Sarah had known he would be missing her and told them to keep him company. The least he could do was try and be appreciative.

When he re-emerged into the living room, Kath had the lights on the tree and was busily adding decorations. Charlie was arranging gifts under the tree with Spot’s help. Race was carefully setting out Sarah’s menorah and glass Hanukkah ornaments on the mantle.

Charlie looked up and gave a whoop.

“There’s my brother! Your status has officially been restored,” he said sassily.

“Glad to know I haven’t been disinherited,” Jack chuckled.

“Well, look at that. Jack Kelly, movie star, decided to make an appearance,” Kath said, giving him an approving smile.

“I wouldn’t go as far as ‘movie star,’ but it’s definitely several steps up from ungroomed, sulky, and generally disgusting Jack Kelly,” Spot said, looking him up and down.

Davey emerged from the kitchen holding two rugelach. After doing his own once-over of Jack, he held out the desserts, which Jack took with alacrity.

“Much better. Sarah will absolutely not kill me now,” Davey grinned.

“Well, we can’t have that. It would be a bad look, Sarah killing her own brother and agent,” Jack quipped.

“Definitely a bad look,” Davey agreed.

“You two think you’re kidding, but heaven help me if Sarah ever decides to go on the rampage about anything,” Race said with a shudder. “She’s the sweetest person alive, until she isn’t.”

“That’s the truth,” Jack said, laughing fully. Sarah had a very long fuse, but when she truly got angry, her anger was a fearsome thing, and rather awe-inspiring. Jack, thankfully, had only had it directed at himself once or twice, generally with good reason.

A knock sounded at the door again, and Kath squealed, clapping her hands.

“Were we expecting someone?” Jack said suspiciously.

“We may have done some inviting before we all headed over here,” Kath called over her shoulder. She opened the door, and people began pouring in: Esther; Mayer; Davey and Sarah’s brother Les; Bryan Denton and Medda Larkson, who were two of their closest director friends; Mush Meyers, who was one of Jack’s closest actor friends and a fierce dancer besides; Specs (whose actual name was Mark but who made a living playing bookish character parts); Boots (who was Arvie, but famous for his parts in Westerns and crime dramas); Hannah, who had starred with Sarah in several period films, and a whole slew of others.

They all began greeting each other with hugs and exuberance, and Jack shot Race and Spot a look.

“You took this whole cheering up thing really seriously, didn’t you?”

“We told you, Jacky-boy, Sarah’s orders before all,” Spot said roguishly, and Jack rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the smile pulling at his mouth.

“How did you get all of these people to come to my apartment on Christmas Eve?”

“We have magical powers of persuasion,” Race said, winking at him.

Jack shook his head. “I don’t want to know - but I appreciate it,” he said, smiling, and Race’s face relaxed into a true smile as he clapped Jack on the shoulder.

“We can’t have you bein’ lonely, Jack. What else are friends for?”

Jack reached out and gave him a hug, and they held each other for a moment before Race pulled away.

“You’re welcome. Come use your height to put the tree topper on, would you?” Race said, and Jack laughed.

“Always glad to be useful.”

The party was a smashing success from the start. Davey had laid out a massive amount of food in Jack’s kitchen, and Bryan and Medda immediately took charge of making drinks for everyone. Hannah helped Katherine finish the tree with alacrity, and Race took advantage of Jack’s large music collection, curating a tasteful rotation of holiday songs. Jack hadn’t seen many of the guests since before he left to shoot his latest film, and so he spent the next few hours catching up with everyone, amid much laughter and teasing. He was warmed through by everyone’s care for him; they had given up their Christmas Eve to come and make holiday cheer for him, and that meant the world.

By the time the third knock of the night came at his door, it was nearing midnight. Jack looked up at the sound and frowned; it was rare for anyone to just show up this late, but perhaps one of their other friends was a late arrival.

“Jack, you should get that!” Katherine called, winking and grinning at him from across the room. “It’s your house, after all.”

Her smile told Jack that she definitely knew who was at the door, and that did not necessarily bode well for him. Seriously, if she was playing some kind of prank on him -

He swung the door open and immediately felt all of the air leave his lungs.

“Merry Christmas, Cowboy,” Sarah said softly, smiling her smile that was just for him, the one Jack had been dreaming about for weeks. “Special delivery.”

“Sarah,” Jack breathed. “Oh, my God, Sarah.” He stepped forward and swept her into his arms, spinning her around as she laughed. “What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to be home until next week!”

“We got done with shooting early,” Sarah said as he set her down. She reached up and stroked his face, and Jack leaned into her fingers. “We all wanted to be home for the holidays, and Weisel might be a temperamental jerk of a director, but he swore we could finish the shoot, and we did. Once I knew I could get here, I booked the first flight I could find.”

Jack pulled her back into his arms, burying his face in her hair and breathing in her smell, before he leaned down and kissed her. “Oh, Sarah, I missed you. I missed you so much. I’ve been a mess - I probably shouldn’t admit that, but I was - “

“I know,” Sarah said. “I was worried about you. Everyone was worried about you. It isn’t like you to be so depressed over the holidays, sweetheart.”

“It isn’t the same without you,” Jack murmured. “Holidays aren’t holidays without you, love.”

“Why do you think I had our family and friends bring as much of me as they could?” Sarah said gently, and the love in her eyes was unmistakable. “I’m always here, Jack,” and she placed her hand over his heart, “even when I can’t be with you, no matter what time of year it is.”

Jack kissed her again, and Sarah responded in kind. They kissed until they were breathless, and were finally interrupted by Davey, who stuck his head out of the apartment.

“There’s mistletoe in here that you two lovebirds can keep kissing under if you really want to,” he said, grinning. “But there’s a whole lot of people who would like to see you, Saz, and we have a holiday party to finish!”

“We’re coming,” Sarah said, smiling at her brother, and Davey nodded, winking at Jack before he withdrew.

“You set all of this up before you got home,” Jack said in realization. “Kath knew you were coming - Davey obviously did, too - did you have everyone in on it?”

“Yes,” Sarah admitted, her eyes sparkling. “I wanted to surprise you, and I was worried about you - I thought our family and friends and some holiday cheer would be the perfect way to lift your mood before I got here.”

“It’s the best present I’ve ever had,” Jack declared, kissing her one last time. “And you are the best part of it. Happy holidays, love.”

“Happy holidays, Jack,” Sarah said, and she took his hand in hers and led him inside, where their family was waiting for them.

#Newsies #Newsies 1992 #Sarah Jacobs #Jack Kelly #Jarah #otp: it's the same sun as here #fic #Klaineharmony writes #Bring Me Love #holiday fic

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theycallmebecca · 6 years ago

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Drabble: Chris & Ellie - January 2018

Ok, so last week I had a brilliant idea to do a 2018 in Review for Chris and Ellie. I’ve spent the last few days writing rough drafts and now I’m going back and fixing them up. So I’ll be posting a drabble a day between now and New Years Eve!

Shout out to @heather-lynn who made me the AWESOME banner for this tag! It’s sooooo beautiful and I love it!!!!!

This first one is longer than the others will be... but y’all know how I am with my drabbles haha. Hope you guys like it!

Title: Chris & Ellie: 2018 in Review - January

Pairing: Chris Evans x OFC (Ellie Spencer-Evans)

Rating: PG

Warnings: n/a

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

JANUARY 2018

Excitement grew in the pit of Ellie's stomach as Chris drove past her parents farm and continued down the highway towards the road that led to the farm that was now theirs.

Twenty four hours ago, she and Chris had been in New York City finding an apartment for them to live in while he was starring on Broadway. They'd signed the rental papers and then had rushed to the airport to catch a flight back to Oregon so they could close on the sale of their dream home.

Two miles past her parents house, Chris turned off the highway and onto the country road that their farm was on. Within a few minutes, the gate that marked the entrance to their property came into sight and Chris turned off the paved road and onto the start of the long gravel driveway.

Since the gate was locked, Ellie climbed out of the car and used the gate key to unlock it. Then she pushed it back so Chris could drive the car onto the property. Once he was past her, she let the gate go, letting it close itself, before she hurried back to the warm car.

"We are so getting a powered gate," she told Chris as she rubbed her hands together.

Chris chuckled as he drove the car slowly down the gravel driveway. The house was screened from the road by large evergreen and deciduous trees and sat about half a mile down the driveway. A very bumpy half a mile.

"Add a paved driveway to our list," Chris muttered as the car hit a rut in the gravel.

"Already on the list," Ellie replied, glancing up from her cell phone where she and Chris were keeping a list of the things they wanted to change about the house. She opened her mouth to say something else, but forgot what it was when the beautiful, 90-year-old, white-washed farmhouse came into view.

Having grown up "around the corner", she'd been to the house for Christmas parties during her youth and had always loved visiting it, but she'd never dreamed that she'd one day own it. It was common, in this area, for houses to be passed onto the next generation of the family, but the children of the previous owners hadn't wanted to farm.

It had been while Chris and Ellie had been in Oregon last month for Christmas that they'd learned the house was on the market. They'd been looking for a house in the area during the last year, but hadn't found anything they'd both loved. This house had been different though, Ellie had already loved the place (based purely on her memories of it) and Chris had fallen in love with it within seconds of seeing it himself.

As they neared the house, Chris decided to park near the house instead of continuing up to the detached garage. Turning off the engine, he glanced at Ellie and asked, "You ready?"

"I've been ready since we left New York last night," Ellie replied, shooting him a quick smile before she opened her door and got out of the car.

Once they'd learned that their offer on the house had been accepted, they'd reached out to Ellie's uncle and cousin, who ran a construction company in the area, and hired them to do the remodeling project. The four of them had had phone conversations about ideas they had for the house, since her uncle and cousin were both familiar with it, but they had an official appointment tomorrow to go over all the ideas and take measurements.

While Chris unlocked the door to the house, Ellie bounced on the balls of her feet, excited to go in and see the house again. The house was nearly perfect for them, though stuck in the 1970s (when the last remodel had happened) and missing a few important parts, but there was room to add the missing pieces.

The front door opened to a hallway that had a staircase, to the second floor, as well as doorways to the living room, kitchen and dining room. Each room was a decent size, but Chris and Ellie wanted to open up the walls, if possible, to make it one large living area. They also wanted to close in the outdoor breezeway that led to the detached garage to provide a space for a family room off the kitchen and a small bathroom.

The second floor had three average sized bedrooms, a family bathroom and a slightly larger bedroom that was meant to be a master bedroom. As they were currently, the rooms were the perfect size for kids, but none of them were large enough for the master suite that they had envisioned or the upstairs laundry room they wanted. With the enclosed breezeway, however, there would be enough for both.

"Are you ready for this?" Chris asked Ellie as he came to where she was standing and looking out of a bedroom window with a view of the backyard. They both knew they were in for a rough few months, but they'd be on the other side of the country.

"Yes," Ellie replied. "So ready, I wish it was done already and we could move in."

Chris chuckled. "I'm just glad we're not going to be living here during construction," he said. "Though, it would have been fun to knock down a couple walls."

"This is just phase one," Ellie reminded him as her eyes found the barn.

During one of their talks about the farm, they'd agreed that they weren't interested in having farm animals, which left them with a barn and nothing to do with it. Until Ellie had come up with the idea of making the loft area into an office and making the main floor into a place to watch movies, play games and just hang out. That was phase two of their remodel project that would take place once they were living in the house.

For phase three, they wanted to build three or four small cabins for extended family and friends to stay when they came to visit. They were still working out the logistics of the project and seeing if they could even get the permits to do it, but it wasn't as vital as the first two phases of the project.

Before leaving the house, Ellie convinced Chris to take a selfie with her as they stood on their front steps wanting to remember the beginning of their new project.

#theycallmebecca #beccaheartschrisevans #becca writes drabbles #chris evans #chris evans x ofc #chris and ellie #chris and ellie 2018 #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fiction #cande drabbles

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echoes-of-realities · 6 years ago

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be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 24/25

* * *

[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter]

Chapter Summary: The Nutcracker has its last show; Santana and Brittany spend Christmas Eve together.

Notes: We’re Almost there fam! Also the actual George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker doesn’t stop after Christmas and goes up to December 30th at least, but just for simplicity’s sake I’m taking artistic liberties and in this universe the ballet’s last show is today.

Chapter 24: watching old movies while the fireplace fades

///

The last show of the production’s run is at two, but Brittany still gets up early to help Mercedes finish up the last of her packing. She’s leaving with Sam as soon as the show is over tonight to head back home until New Year’s, her and Sam heading to her parents’ place first and then his; usually the company and crew will have a wrap-up party as soon as the last show is done, but with it being Christmas Eve and all, this production of The Nutcracker usually skips that tradition so everyone has more time with their families and has it sometime between Christmas and New Year’s.

Mercedes is just zipping up her suitcase when Brittany wanders into her room, yawning and absently pulling her messy hair up into an even messier bun. “Nee’ ‘elp?” she mumbles.

Mercedes giggles and rolls her eyes. “You’re only wearing one sock,” she comments mildly.

Brittany looks down, too tired to feel surprised, and shrugs. “Lefty was too hot,” she says nonchalantly, and Mercedes bursts into giggles. “I’ll help you take your stuff out to the living room.”

Mercedes hefts her suitcase off of the bed and motions to the pile of wrapped gifts in the corner of her room, all neatly packed into couple of reusable grocery bags. “You can grab those.”

“What time is Sam picking us up?” Brittany asks as she trails after Mercedes.

“Like, nine thirty-ish?”

“Cool,” Brittany says, “I’ll have time to tidy up then.”

“Why?”

Brittany feels a blush creep into her cheeks before she can even think to try and hide it, which probably would have proved useless anyways, since Mercedes has, like, hawk eyes when it comes to Brittany’s embarrassment.

Mercedes, sure enough, looks back and instantly spots Brittany’s blush, her grin taking on a wicked edge. “Oooh, is your girlfriend coming over?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Brittany mumbles automatically, but even as she says the words it kind of feels like she’s lying.

“In all but name maybe,” Mercedes says, and Brittany has to concede her point.

“The name part of that is kind of important,” Brittany argues as she drops the presents beside Mercedes’ suitcase.

“Maybe,” Mercedes concedes, “But the feelings part is pretty important too, and that’s definitely there.”

Brittany smiles a little, almost involuntarily, as the thought of being in love with Santana still fills her with bright warmth, and hums in acknowledgement. “I invited her to spend Christmas Eve here since neither of us had any plans.”

“I’m happy for you, Brittany,” Mercedes says softly, and Brittany grins bashfully down at her toes, too distracted by the warmth blooming in her chest realize that Mercedes has started smirking at her. “Just don’t christen any public places please.”

“Mercedes!” Brittany squeals, patting at her cheeks as the blush burning there flares up into an inferno.

“And make sure you kids stay hydrated and well-fed, you don’t want to run out of energy.”

“No no no!” Brittany shrieks, fleeing backwards towards the bathroom, her skin burning bright red from forehead to collarbone, “I take back anything I ever said when you and Sam got together!”

Mercedes smirks because, considering the teasing she got back then, there's no way she's going to give Brittany a break now that she's in love. "Make sure you're safe!" she calls.

“Oh shut up!” Brittany calls back before slamming the bathroom door shut.

///

Even though it’s Christmas Eve, the theatre is surprisingly—or not so surprisingly—packed, people already starting to filter into the lobby even as the company and crew take their last lunch break of the show’s run an hour before half hour. Brittany’s always antsy for last shows, both excited for it to be over so she can finally rest (and, this year, spend the evening with Santana) but dreading it because it means that there will never be another show like this, with this particular group of dancers and kids and crew, ever again.

Santana brings her lunch from that sandwich shop she loves, the same place she bought lunch for them that very first time, kickstarting their almost daily lunch and supper dates. Santana doesn’t bother with any pretences, just sinks down to the floor right beside Brittany, taking her left arm and draping it over her shoulder so they can cuddle and eat. Mercedes, Sam, Tina, and Mike all show up about halfway through their break with an assortment of food between all of them, sprawling on the floor to complete the circle in an impromptu picnic and fondly teasing Brittany and Santana as soon as they all realize their spending Christmas together.

Every single time Mercedes catches Brittany’s eye she feels heat crawl up into her cheeks at the knowing glint there. Santana seems to notice something tense—not bad tense, just the knowing and teasing tension when you know your friend is laughing at you across the room—and quickly takes Brittany’s free hand, as soon as they’re both done eating, and pulls it into her lap to play with her fingers, tracing the webbing between each finger and pressing down on her knuckles like piano keys. It eases the blush from Brittany’s cheeks and softens the teasing glint in Mercedes eyes, and Brittany soaks in the feeling of being surrounded by so much love, from her friends and from Santana, before the chaos of the last show overtakes them.

///

The audience is electric during Brittany’s last performance, knowing it’s their last chance to see this show until next year, and Brittany dances better than she ever has before, knowing that Santana is hidden in the curtains watching. She dances for the audience and she dances for herself but, mostly, she dances for Santana, for the woman who brought laughter and love into her life, who brought her family to her, who brought her love of Christmas back.

Her bow goes on longer than normal as the audience cheers for her, and she’s breathing quickly as pride fills her limbs in place of heavy exhaustion. She exits the stage to continuing applause, waiting in the wings for Jake to go on and do the opening of the Coda before she joins him. She feels someone watching her, and a smile tugs at her lips before she even turns to catch Santana’s eye, and the smile on Santana’s face makes her stomach flutter with about a bajillion butterflies, her chest blooming with warmth and love.

Santana shakes her head a little, still smiling softly, as if she can’t quite believe that Brittany’s real, and Brittany gives a small wave, feeling her heartbeat everywhere, before she turns back to the stage and prepares to join Jake for the Coda, Santana’s gaze heavy and warm on her back as she steps back into the lights.

///

Mercedes helps her out of her costume and unpins her hair quickly so she can rush off to meet Sam and they can try and beat the rush out of the city back to her parents’ house tonight; since it’s the twenty-fourth already, nobody has to pack the show back up into storage until after Christmas.

Mercedes gives Brittany a tight hug before she leaves, still continuing her teasing and making Brittany blush all the way to the tips of her ears as she chases her best friend out the door and runs straight into Santana, who quickly gives Mercedes a brief hug goodbye before turning to Brittany with a wide smile.

“Hi!” Brittany greets brightly, pretending her skin isn’t splotched with pink despite Santana’s adoring gaze on the blush in her cheeks.

“Hey,” Santana says softly. She’s already dressed in her jacket and has a small bag of overnight stuff in one hand, wearing the scarf and hat that Brittany had lent her last week and tying Brittany’s stomach into knots at seeing her own clothes on Santana. “You ready to go?” she asks.

Brittany nods and they just smile at each other for long moments—Brittany taking in this moment, this feeling, this girl—before Brittany turns to shrug on her jacket and collect her things. Santana stands patiently by the door, waiting until Brittany’s locked her dressing room before she reaches out to take her hand, their fingers tangling together easily as they head down the hallway, Brittany quickly easing Santana’s bag from her other hand so she can carry it for her, not missing the smile Santana gives her or the way her stomach ties itself into warm knots at how couple-y it feels.

They wave goodbye and wish Merry Christmases to their friends as the pass them on their way out of the theatre, deciding to walk back to Brittany’s apartment since it’s still pretty nice out despite the snow that falls in gentle swirls of white as they step out onto the street, dusting Santana’s borrowed hat in a thin layer of white and sparkling in her dark lashes. Santana glances up at Brittany and smiles, bright and unabashed and dimples-deep, before looking forward again with that breathless, flustered look she gets when she blushes. Her cheeks are a little pinked, from the cold or her blush Brittany’s not sure, but it makes liquid warmth pool in her stomach, so happy and so in love that she doesn’t know how anything in the world could ever feel better than this.

Her attention is drawn across the street where two men hold the hands of a little boy, helping him take a couple stumbling steps before swinging him into a high arc, his giggles bright with childlike innocence even across the lanes of slow moving traffic.

“He’s cute,” Santana says beside her, drawing Brittany’s eyes back to hers.

“You’re cute,” Brittany says automatically but sincerely. Santana rolls her eyes a little but doesn’t even bother to bite back her smile. “We should stop on the store on the way past. We can get something for supper and maybe, like, baking stuff or something?”

“Baking?” Santana teases, and Brittany shrugs a little.

“What? I may be a disaster in the kitchen when it comes to baking but I know you aren’t,” Brittany says with a smirk, “Tina told me.”

Santana gasps over-dramatically. “What a traitor!”

Brittany just giggles and tugs a little on Santana’s hand in hers, pulling them even closer together and soaking up this feeling of unbridled joy.

///

The grocery store is insane, but they’re in no rush so they just wander the aisles leisurely, dodging over-excited kids and frantic parents and slow old couples, giggling at everyone rushing around despite the fact that they both just feel comfortable and relaxed.

Santana carries their two bags of groceries and snacks since Brittany still has her bag, and they tangle their fingers together again as soon as they step back out into the weak winter sun. It’s already past five, but they’re still in no rush as they head back to Brittany’s apartment, discussing their plans on which Christmas movies they have to watch and which ones they’ll skip.

Brittany takes the groceries from Santana and drops them off in the kitchen, directing Santana to turn the tree on and set up the living room for their movie marathon, before heading down the hall to drop Santana’s bag off too. She stands in the hallway for a long moment, fighting an internal debate before she finally pushes her door open and drops Santana’s bag by the dresser; she’s honestly not being presumptuous, because Mercedes offered her room if needed, she’s just being hopeful.

By the time she gets the groceries put away and a couple hot chocolates made, Santana is already snugged up on the couch, one blanket over her lap and the other around her shoulders, the lights turned off except for the Christmas tree and the television screen; she’s already figured out the DVD player and the empty case to Home Alone sits on the shelf of her and Mercedes’ combined collection.

Santana brightens as soon as Brittany comes into her view, shifting around until she can lift both blankets up for Brittany. It takes a little bit of maneuvering, but eventually they get settled against each other, curled under the blankets, without spilling a drop of hot chocolate. Santana quickly hits play on the DVD remote before tossing it onto the coffee table and taking her mug from Brittany.

“I used to watch Home Alone every single year,” Santana says quietly, a nostalgic smile on her face, “And I kind of want to restart that tradition.”

“But you’re not home alone,” Brittany teases.

Santana tries to give her a smug smirk but her eyes are as soft as her voice, “Maybe I want to make some new traditions.”

And, really, what can she say to that without shouting her love from the rooftops? So instead she just cuddles further into Santana and sips her hot chocolate.

Even though they start out sitting under the blankets, as soon as they finish their hot chocolate they end up laying out on the couch, Brittany flat on her back with Santana sprawled on top of her, repurposing Brittany’s breasts into her own personal pillow, and the blankets wrapped around them. Brittany ends up spending more time watching Santana and playing with her hair than she does watching Santana’s favourite Christmas movie, but watching Santana is her favourite thing so it’s a pretty fair tradeoff.

Her mom calls about three-quarters of the way through Home Alone and Santana lifts herself off of Brittany just enough to reach the remote and pause the movie before cuddling back into her while Brittany talks to her mom and curls a strand of Santana’s hair around her finger, and it feels so domestic that she can’t imagine doing anything else for the rest of her life.

After Home Alone they take a break to make supper, giggling the entire time as they weave around each other in the kitchen and end up spending more time laughing than they do eating.

Brittany runs to the bathroom while Brittany sets up another movie, laying back on the couch and waiting for Santana to see her choice.

Santana’s gasp is as satisfying as Brittany thought it would be as she grins up at the ceiling, waiting until Santana rounds the couch to stand in front of her, blocking out the dim lights from the Christmas tree and the title screen for Gremlins on the television.

“Brittany!” Santana whines.

“Santana!” Brittany teases.

“I swear to god, Brittany, if I get nightmares from this,” Santana threatens toothlessly.

Brittany just giggles and tugs Santana down to the couch with ease. She falls onto Brittany and instantly softens and sighs in contentment as Brittany wraps both her arms tightly around Santana and draws her further into her embrace, nuzzling into Santana’s hair until she can kiss her forehead. “I’ll chase the nightmares away,” she promises. Santana’s breath hitches and she presses a kiss to Brittany’s collarbone, making Brittany’s skin burst into burning goosebumps at the feel of Santana’s soft lips on her skin.

“You better,” Santana mumbles into Brittany’s neck, waiting until Brittany reaches for the remote to play the movie before she nuzzles herself as close to Brittany as she can and still see the television.

Brittany thinks her heart might just burst from loving Santana so much.

///

They fall asleep sometime in the middle of Gremlins, waking up hours later to the twinkling Christmas lights against the night sky Brittany can see through the window, the television having automatically turned itself off after so long.

Brittany trails her fingers along Santana’s back and sides, drawing swirling patterns into the warm body above her with just enough pressure to gently wake Santana, who just cuddles further into Brittany instead of waking fully.

“We’re real party animals,” Brittany teases.

Santana grunts and nuzzles her nose into Brittany’s neck. “Saving it for New Year’s,” she grumbles.

Brittany laughs and feels a smile curl against her neck in response. They lay there for a couple more minutes until Santana finally emerges from Brittany’s neck, propping herself up on one elbow, the blanket falling from her shoulders, and glancing across the living room before gazing down at Brittany with the softest look on her face.

“Hi,” Brittany murmurs.

Santana’s eyes are liquid and dark and basically hold the secrets to the entire universe. “Hi,” she whispers, nodding her jaw towards the television with a small smile but not dropping her gaze from Brittany’s, “It’s eleven-eleven. Make a wish.”

Brittany glances to the side and sees the bright red time glowing on the television box thing that she never remembers the name of. She smiles and closes her eyes, wishing for the one thing she wants more than anything, the only thing she’s wanted all month.

“Did you make your wish?” Brittany asks after long moments of silence, her eyes still closed and her body feeling Santana along it even better with her lack of sight. Santana hums in acknowledgement and Brittany smiles blindly. “Good,” she whispers, “I hope it comes true.”

“Oh, I have a feeling it definitely will,” Santana murmurs, and the feeling of her thumb brushing along her cheek finally draws Brittany’s eyes open, fluttering at the sensation.

“Mine too,” Brittany whispers.

��Oh yeah?”

Brittany nods slowly, one hand stilling against the small of Santana’s back and the other one sliding along her shoulders under waves of dark hair, her fingers almost brushing the nape of Santana’s neck as Santana sighs and tilts her head down a little.

Santana’s face hovers a scant few inches above her own, the lights from the Christmas tree painting her skin in splotches of faint blue and red and green. One of Santana’s hands curls against the fabric of Brittany’s t-shirt, plucking and worrying the fabric between her fingers, her eyes caught on the peak of Brittany’s cheek but not actually meeting blue eyes.

“You’re nervous to kiss me,” Brittany realizes.

“I mean— Kinda?” Santana says sheepishly, “Not like nervous nervous but like— I mean we’ve literally been trying for forever and every time we do we get interrupted and now I’m worried that we’ll keep getting interrupted or it won’t be—”

And then—

Then Brittany slides her hand a little further up and guides Santana’s lips to her own, her rambling cut off by the gentle pressure of Brittany’s mouth moving slowly against hers. Santana’s lips part under Brittany’s and she lets out this breathy sigh into Brittany’s mouth and Brittany’s soul trembles with the weight of Santana’s lips against hers. Santana tastes faintly of chocolate, but something sweeter and deeper, and she tastes of summer nights on the west coast, bright and warm.

She tastes like home.

Santana’s fingers trail across her face as she presses closer, and Brittany feels both steady and like she’s about to float away, like everything over the past week, over the past mouth—probably over her entire life—has built towards this moment, like this is exactly what she was made to do. Santana’s lips move against hers with all the time in the world, like they’re stuck in a traffic jam with nowhere else to go, her lips soft and pliant against Brittany’s, eyelashes fluttering against the peak of her cheek, noses nudging together, and Brittany smiles into the kiss because this—

This is everything that Brittany’s been looking for her entire life.

She pulls back just far enough to press their foreheads together so she can try and breathe properly, but with Santana’s nose still nuzzling against hers that proves impossible. “Are you still nervous?” she whispers.

Santana doesn’t answer, she just uses the hand on Brittany’s jaw to guide their lips back together, and then they’re both smiling into the kiss, too wide for it to be anything more than all teeth and no finesse. Brittany lets her hand drift from the small of Santana’s back and start to wander her body under the blanket, the other playing with the baby fine hairs at the back of Santana’s neck.

Santana lets out a fluttery little sigh into Brittany’s mouth and Brittany can’t help but press up to kiss her harder again, and again, and again, and again—

///

When Brittany wakes up hours later in her bed, it’s to Santana drawing hearts on her bare stomach. Her fingers are light and soft against her skin and Brittany’s breath hitches; there’s no intent behind Santana’s touch, she doesn’t skate her fingers suggestively lower or higher, she just trails her fingers across Brittany’s skin with quiet marvel, and it jolts something in Brittany. No one’s ever touched her just for the sake of touching her and mapping her body before, just to connect the freckles and moles sprinkled across her torso into constellations, just to map each scar and imperfection that puckers her skin.

No one’s ever touched her just to learn every inch of her skin against their fingertips.

Santana realizes that Brittany is awake when the hand Brittany has curled over her waist starts lazily scratching at the soft skin there. She turns her head up towards Brittany and, even in the dim of the middle of the night, she can see the softness to Santana’s smile, the shadow of a dimple in her cheek, the love shining in her eyes, and something buzzing and warm tugs low in Brittany’s stomach as she falls in love with Santana all over again.

“Hi,” she whispers.

Santana’s smile widens a little. “Hi.”

“Merry Christmas,” Brittany says, reaching a hand up to tuck a strand of dark hair back behind Santana’s ear. She’s not sure exactly what time it is, but by the time they managed to untangle and stop kissing long enough to pull themselves up off the couch and stumble down the hall, the bright red time glowing on the television box thing had read 12:34.

Santana smiles and nuzzles into the hand that cups her jaw. “Merry Christmas,” she returns quietly.

Brittany leans up to press a soft, probing kiss to Santana’s lips, chaste and intimate all at once. “So did your wish come true?” she asks as she falls back to the pillow.

Santana nods and her smile loses its softness and takes on that playfully teasing look Brittany so adores. “Well, I wished that we would finally actually get to kiss without being interrupted, and, well,” she drags her hand down the bare skin of Brittany’s ribs to make her point and they both burst into laughter, Santana’s head dropping down to Brittany’s shoulder as they giggle. She presses a lingering kiss to the soft skin there and Brittany’s breath hitches as Santana props herself back up on her elbow, her other hand trailing circles on Brittany’s hip, and smiles softly at her. “What about you?” Santana whispers, “Did your wish come true?”

Brittany softens until she feels like she might melt right through her bed at the sweetness to Santana’s expression. She takes a moment to trace a heart on Santana’s hip before she smiles up at Santana. “Yeah, it did.”

Santana trails her hand up Brittany’s torso, skating her fingers against her breastbone and dipping into the hollow of her collarbone before she reaches Brittany’s face and cups her jaw, leaving a trail of buzzing heat in her wake. She leans down to press the softest of kisses to the corner of Brittany’s mouth and Brittany’s pretty sure her soul trembles at the contact. Santana draws back just barely enough to speak, her half-lidded eyes softening and the very tips of her lips brushing against Brittany’s chin as she speaks. “What was it?” she whispers.

Brittany just tilts her head up to press their lips together, both of them sighing at the contact.

“You,” she breathes, “Just you.”

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe)#it's christmas eve??????#I'm literally in Shock that we're actually here????#this is the chapter that everyone (mostly me lmao) has been Impatiently Waiting for #me @ me: you should try writing a sort of slow burn fic to challenge yourself #also me @ me: OR you could just have them KISS right NOW #in other words this is the closest to a slow burn I'll ever get lmao

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neighbours-kid · 6 years ago

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2018

I honestly don’t even know where to start.

How does one talk about a year like this?

I’ll try and start at the beginning.

The beginning of my 2018 was very hectic. I started the new year in London with my two closest friends. We were standing on Primrose Hill with probably a few hundred other people, waiting for Big Ben to chime in the new year, and the fireworks over London to start. It was freezing cold, but we had a blast. We returned to Switzerland on January 01, I spent one very hectic day of double- and triple-checking my bags, and seeing some people for the last time for six months.

On January 03 I had my flight to New York City, via Dublin. It was….quite a day, I was highly emotional because everything seemed to fall apart, I had at least one anxiety attack, and it just wasn’t fun. But in the end—and after a night spent in a Dublin airport hotel—I arrived in my East Harlem airbnb in New York for my Stay Abroad around midnight between January 04 and 05.

What I did in New York for my six months stay, you can read on this blog right here, beginning with Part I. You can find links for the other parts at the end of that post.

Being in New York was a highly enjoyable time for me. It gave me the opportunity to become more of myself, be who I am more honestly, more truly, and more openly. I learned a whole lot about the film industry, about so many integral parts of what makes movies good, I learned a lot about myself, who I am and who I want to be, but I think most importantly, and most prominently, I met so many wonderful people who share a lot of interests with me, and who made this adventure unforgettable.

At the end of my time in New York, my mom came to visit me for a week, and we did all the touristy things. We walked up and down Broadway, we saw Time Square, we did The Empire State Building, visited the 9/11 Memorial and the museum, I took her to Brooklyn to eat at Peaches and then we went all the way down to Coney Island. We went all the way up to Washington Heights, went to the MoMA, walked a bit in Central Park, and visited my stomping ground from the Filmmaking Workshop (including eating at Café Katja and going up on the rooftop of my friend’s airbnb). I took her to NYFA where I spent most of my time these six months, she met some of my friends, she had my well-loved lobby-guy-iced-coffee, and ate the deli salad that I had eaten so many times. We saw Hello Dolly thanks to my lovely host, we did the Liberty and Ellis Island boat tour, we found the place Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan finally kiss in You’ve Got Mail (91st Street Garden, Riverside Park), and saw Ocean’s Eight. We both flew back home on July 12, ending my six months adventure in NYC.

And then came the slump.

I came home from six months of doing things I’ve never done before, I came home to good old Switzerland — which at first I was very happy about because I was so TIRED, but there were reasons why I was excited to leave in the first place, so y’know, that was certain to catch up with me — and I was like, what now? And I had no idea.

I hung out with friends and watched the World Cup finale. But then I also went to my grandma’s funeral. But then I saw my dad, and went to a birthday of a friend. I went to the movies, and was able to work for a few days. I went to my cousin’s birthday dinner, my friend’s bachelorette party, a park event of our church.

I was able to celebrate my own birthday with people who I cared about, went to brunch with another dear friend, and yet another birthday. And more work. And my friend’s wedding.

All those things (except the funeral of course) were really cool and I enjoyed seeing my friends, my people.

But in all of that I was just….lost.

I came home from six months of doing so much cool stuff, speaking a language I feel way more comfortable in than my mother tongue, met people I can hopefully call friends for life, became more comfortable in my own skin and started taking steps into the direction where my true self was waiting—I came home, new me came home into old me’s home, and I was lost.

University started and while I missed some of it, I also realised more and more how much I really hated other things.

And during all of that, I was living with friends dear to me for three months. And during that time I realised even more that how things are right now is not a way they can stay for much longer.

Luckily, one of my circumstances changed within the first few weeks of studying. I looked at an apartment with my mom, we both loved it, I applied for it the next day, and the day after that, I got the phone call that I got the place. I was able to move in on October 20, and the rest is history. Having my very own place, where only I live and nobody else, has been very good for me. It’s giving me an even clearer picture of who I am and where I want to go next year.

More lovely birthdays filled those months, more fantastic movies, good days with friends, with family, and some actually really decent days at university. I binge-watched The Mentalist within a month, started reading a book again that I really like, and for a while there, the slump stopped, and I wasn’t so lost anymore.

I finally got my ass to my doctor and did some general check-up, found out that my iron is pretty low and I’m taking stuff for that now, I was able to have a very honest conversation with my doc and she’s forwarded my info to a psychiatrist who should contact me in the next few weeks or months, so that I can start my 2019 knowing that things might actually start going in the right direction for once.

I know, this all sounds like a very good year over all. And it was, for some parts. But 2018 didn’t go by without anything bad happening. Sure, most bad things that happened this year, didn’t personally affect me. I’m not one of the kids separated from their parents at the border. I’m not one of the kids whose school got shot up by a lunatic. I’m not part of a caravan looking for refuge and not being accepted in a country that prides itself to be a country where everyone is accepted. I’m not an unwillingly pregnant woman who can’t get an abortion in my own country. I’m not one of the many people who have lost loved ones to gun violence, white supremacy, racism, homophobia, and many more reasons this year.

I’m lucky, you know. I’m not from a country lead by dictators, white supremacists or literal nazis. I don’t live in a war zone. I’m also white and 99 out of a 100 times don’t get people yelling obscenities at me on the street. I don’t have to fear being assaulted when I walk alone at night, I don’t have to be afraid when police approaches me, I don’t get harassed for how I look or how I speak or where I’m from. I’m lucky.

But hearing these stories every day, reading about so much injustice and hate every day, opening twitter to connect to my international friends and seeing all this crap that is happening every day all over the world, it doesn’t just go by you without having an impact. I lived in a country currently lead by an actual literal fucking nazi and his fucking nazi friends for six months, and even though I lived in New York City, which is kind of a bubble within the states, I felt that, I felt the impact this leadership — or lack thereof — had on the people of this country. I listened. I heard people talk. I had these conversations myself. Living among people who are afraid every day of their lives because the person who is supposed to be leading this country into a brighter future, is an actual nazi who thinks it’s okay that people don’t have access to health care, that children are taken away from their parents, that children keep dying, that people fleeing bad circumstances are being detained in prison camps, this fear doesn’t just go by you. I could go on, but I’m already sick to my stomach just thinking about all this. I experienced this fear during those six months. Not personally, but I felt it all around me. And, if you are even remotely a decent person with some percentage of compassion, that doesn’t leave you unscathed. It makes me angry and sad and frustrated.

2018 was a hell of a year, and I don’t mean that positively.

I still believe there are good people in this world. I see it. I see them every day. I know they exist, I know they’re there, and I know they fight for a better future. But damn. I also see so much hate, so much injustice, so much of what should not be there.

I thought about quitting twitter or at least unfollowing/muting all political talk, because I just keeps dragging me down. But I didn’t. I can’t. I refuse to turn around and close my eyes on all this crap that is happening. If I don’t have twitter, there will come a moment, where I won’t have any idea what is happening, and that will make me susceptible to all the lies that are being told and I can’t have that. I refuse to be one of the sheep who just follows where everyone else goes. Even if my mental health takes a toll, and it does and it will, I refuse to turn a blind eye to what is happening.

I don’t know what these last days of 2018 still hold. I have this week of class left. I have my English Department Christmas Party to go to, I have Christmas with Mom, Christmas with Dad, Christmas with my Quasi-Family, Christmas with my friends. I have some days in between with no plans, I have no clue what I’ll do on New Year’s Eve. I have these plans, but so much could still be happening.

As for 2019….I don’t know what to expect. I have hopes, of course. Doubts, sure. Wishes, definitely. Some plans here and there, too. But who knows what exactly it’ll bring.

I don’t usually do this — I don’t think I’ve actually every done this — but here’s a list of things I’d like to achieve in 2019:

Finish my Bachelor’s Degree.

Have at leats one hands-on creative outlet.

See a Psychiatrist and establish a routine with them.

Establish a basic workout routine that doesn’t require a gym.

Find a job OR decide which Masters to do.

I’m gonna keep it at that. Start small, right?

If everything goes how it’s seems right now, points 1 and 3 are already looking very good. We’ll work on the rest.

On a global scale, I don’t expect there to be any changes in 2019. I hope, of course, but I don’t expect it. Personally, however, I hope that 2019 can be a good year for me. Taking me further on this journey that I started a while ago. I have a feeling that it will do that. I’m hopeful.

I wish you all a very pleasant festive time, and a hopefully not horrible rest of 2018. You deserve good things and I wish you all the best of them. Hug some loved ones. Indulge in something you like. We only have this one live, might as well make the best of it.

Merry Christmas, guys.

#2018 #end of year #christmas #long post #stream of conciousness #textpost #text post #thoughts #hopes #wishes

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suckerfordeansfreckles · 7 years ago

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Emoji Ficlet (New Year’s Eve)

I finally finished the thing I’ve been writing for @jhoomwrites ‘s reverse emoji ficlet challenge !

(Took me long enough... I procrastinated A LOT and ended up stressing over it, because that’s just who I am and how I work best, apparently.)

It’s a super fluffy Destiel AU, and the story takes place on New Year’s Eve. A few swear-words, otherwise honestly just fluff.

The emojis are: 💐😠🐝✨ (bouquet, angry face, bee, stars/ sparkles)

“Come on, Dean! Don’t act like this is such a big thing. It’s New Year’s Eve, we said we’d spend it together,” Gadreel shouts, looking up at where Dean’s head is hanging out of the window of his apartment on the second floor.

“You cheated on me, after just three weeks of this goddamn relationship! Don’t you dare tell me how to feel about this!!” He screams back, furiously. He doesn’t even care that it’s already 11 p.m. and their shouting might disturb his neighbours.

“Chill out. This was never meant to be, anyways, was it? You are head over heels for this best friend of yours, the one you can’t stop talking about. How do I know you never cheated on me with this Cas, huh?!” Gadreel looks more annoyed than angry, but this guy has always been really weird about expressing his emotions, so Dean can’t really be sure about what’s going on in his head.

“Oh, you know what? Fuck you. Leave, this is so over!” Dean isn’t even in the mood to shout at him anymore, he just kind of spits those words out, his tone lacking any kind of emotion.

The thing is, Gadreel kind of has a point. Dean really has never been serious about their relationship, it has always been a way to distract him from his feelings for his best friend. That wouldn’t have been fair to either of them, had Dean not always known that Gadreel took their relationship exactly as seriously as he did himself; not at all.

Which doesn’t make him any less angry. Dean would have never cheated on Gadreel, even if he miraculously had a chance with Castiel- he just isn’t that type of person, and he would have thought his ex-boyfriend wasn’t either. Well, joke’s on him now. He’s just glad he accidentally found out about Gadreel’s unfaithfulness this morning.

“You know what?! You’ll realize what you’re missing out on soon enough,” Gadreel screams and grabs the bouquet of flowers he had brought to apologize. Before Dean can even react, Gad chucks the flowers in the direction of his window, turns around and literally storms of.

And because his day hasn’t been bad enough already, Gadreel’s fucking flowers hit him square in the face before hitting the floor in front of Dean’s feet with a dull thud. Thank fuck Gad was too cheap to buy him roses, he really doesn’t want to know how this hit would have felt if the flower had had thorns.

Well, then. Time to figure out how to spend his New Year’s Eve instead, he thinks grimly. First, though, shuts his window and throws the damn flowers in the trash.

While pacing the room, Dean thinks about his options. He could just stay at home, watch a couple movies, drink a couple beers and fall asleep alone on his couch.

Or he could go and visit his best friend. Cas had planned on staying home alone, anyway, what with Dean having plans with Gadreel and their good friend Charlie spending her evening with her girlfriend.

Which, looking back now, makes Dean sound like a huge dick. He really should have made plans with Cas, who has been his best friend since they met in college six years ago, instead of his boyfriend of three weeks, right?

The thing is, Cas wasn’t even angry about any of this when Dean told him about his plans. He’d just been nice and coy, as always, had even encouraged Dean to spend time with Gadreel, since “he obviously means so much to you, Dean”. And that just convinced Dean that his decision was the right one, because it didn’t seem like Cas had wanted to spend time with him at all and he sure as hell didn’t sound jealous about Gad. Which… had kinda hurt.

That’s the thing with Cas, in all of the six years of their friendship he had never once shown interest in Dean. Castiel isn’t exactly celibate, he had dated a couple guys and girls over the last view years, but never once had one of those dates progressed to something more than one night spent together. But Dean? He never even hinted at being interested in more than their friendship.

To be fair, Dean hasn’t done that, either. He’s been struggling with his feelings for Cas for years, until he finally stopped denying how hard he’s already fallen for the guy about a year ago. He would have told him, were their friendship not the most important relationship Dean has ever had outside of his family. He couldn’t handle losing Cas just because he’s made him uncomfortable with his feelings.

But… Castiel wouldn’t just end their friendship because of something like that, would he? Cas is such a nice, kind and understanding guy. Maybe he’d just accept Dean’s feelings? Or maybe… maybe there is a tin chance he actually feels the same way? Wouldn’t it be better to tell Cas how he feels now than continuing to wait and blindly hope for something, being unable to get over him?

In the end, Dean doesn’t even make a conscious decision. He just somehow ends up wearing his jacket and boots, sitting in his car on the way to Cas’ place just outside of the city. The drive is over way to quickly, and before he can talk himself out of it, he’s knocking on his best friend’s door.

Cas opens his door in his flannel pyjamas and with a blanket thrown over his shoulders. The cheesy, blindingly colourful bee blanket Dean had given him for Christmas this year. Literally a bright blue blanket, covered in tiny cartoon bees. Dean honestly can’t explain how he does it, but Cas looks so cute wrapped up in the damn thing that it’s actually kind of disgusting.

“Hello, Dean!” He looks pleasantly surprised as he takes a step back and looks at his friend curiously.

“Hey, Cas. I’m sorry for showing up here literally twenty minutes to midnight, but I was kinda hoping you’d want to spend the rest of this year with me?” Dean asks, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“But- Where is Gadreel?” Cas looks at him with a confused squint.

“Uhm… that thing with Gad didn’t really work out. Turns out he cheated on me.”

“What?! That’s horrible, I’m so sorry! How are you dealing with it?” Cas’ voice is laced with genuine worry and immediately wraps Dean up in a tight, comforting hug.

“Hey, it really doesn’t bother me that much… Wouldn’t have worked out between us, anyway. I’m good.” Dean mumbles into the crook of Castiel’s neck, dismissing his concern but lingering in his embrace nonetheless. “So, you up for some company?”

“Of course, Dean! I don’t have plans and you know I always enjoy spending time with you,” Cas pulls back from the hug and smiles softly, motioning for Dean to enter the house. “Do you want to do anything specific?” He asks as he walks a few more steps back.

“I was thinking we could just go out and watch the sky? Like, stargaze and wait for the fireworks?” He suggests with a faint blush.

“I’d love that! Do you want to drive out towards the woods? I think we’d have a nice view over the city and the fireworks from the edge of the forest…” Cas suggests, as he shoves his bee blanket into Dean’s arms and starts hurriedly putting on his beloved trench coat.

“You maybe wanna put on some real clothes before leaving the house?” Dean snorts, watching as Cas struggles to get into his boots.

“No, we don’t have time for that. Take the blanket with you, lets get going or we won’t be able to watch the fireworks!” Cas stresses and starts pushing his best friend through the door before locking it. “Are we gonna take baby?”

“Yeah, we sure are. Come on, I parked her a little down the road.” Dean feels bold all of a sudden and grabs Cas’ hand out of impulse to drag him to his car.

The drive to the forest is quiet and Dean feels giddy beyond believe, almost like he can actually taste his own anticipation in the air between them. He’s fixing his eyes on the bumpy road and tries his hardest to ignore his best friend’s overjoyed smile for now.

When they arrive at the edge of the forest, there are only five minutes left to midnight and they immediately step out of Dean’s car to climb onto baby’s hood. They snuggle up next to each other under Cas’ blanket and start looking for stars and constellations, which is a thing they’ve actually been doing for years whenever one of them has felt down or needed to be distracted.

Neither of them is wearing a watch, so they just wait for midnight to make itself known through the fireworks above the city. It makes them feel like the two of them are living in their own little world without any concept of time, snuggled up warm against the car’s cool, black hood. Dean catches himself wishing to be able to stay here forever when he looks over at Cas, who is now animatedly talking about the greek mythology surrounding the Great Bear constellation.

When the first fireworks light up the clear, dark sky above their heads, Dean finds himself once again overwhelmed with feelings for his beautiful, kind-hearted, nerdy best friend.

As Cas stares at the sky in amazement and points up whenever he sees an exceptionally beautiful firework, Dean can’t stop himself from leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his friend’s mouth.

Castiel’s eyes shoot over to Dean and widen as they take in his dopey grin. “Dean- what…?”

“Cas, I need to tell you something. I’ve decided that it’s time, you know- New Year’s and everything. People making resolutions and shit… I thought I’d do, too.” Dean speeds through his impromptu speech, oddly confident about this, considering how fucking terrified he’s been ever since he decided to actually do this on their way here.

“I’ve been in love with you for a very long time and I just can’t hide it anymore. Like, I’d totally understand if you don’t feel the same way or anything and I won’t pressure you into anything. I just promised myself I’d tell you. Actually, Gad kinda got me thinking. He made me realize it’s never gonna work out between me and him or, really, me and anyone else. Anyone except you, I guess.” Dean finishes, hoping that his bright pink blush is well hidden by the darkness surrounding them.

“So, yeah. Thought I’d tell you,” He murmurs eventually, after waiting for Cas to break the silence for several painful heartbeats.

Another burst of fireworks lights up the sky in gold and silver and blue, and as the colours reflect on Cas’ face, Dean realizes that tears make their way down Castiel’s cheeks. “Cas? Are you- Is everything okay? I’m sorry I put you on the spot like that. If you don’t wan-“

“Are you serious about this?” Cas interrupts him, voice breaking on the last word. He’s looking at him with something very close to amazement.

“Well, yeah, of course I am.”

“Oh god, finally!”

Cas doesn’t clarify any further, but when he leans over and kisses Dean gently, they both kind of forget to talk about this whole, huge thing between them.

After nearly an hour spent kissing and cuddling and just feeling each other in the quiet darkness, Cas murmurs a quiet “I love you so much.” and suddenly everything feels undoubtedly and absolutely right.

96 notes · View notes

danrdarrenc · 7 years ago

Note

Can you please do a fic of WilSon based off today where will slowly falls in love with sonny again? He can get his memory back or not doesnt matter

I fell in love with him the way you fall asleep - slowly, and then all at once. - The Fault in Our Stars

Living in the Kiriakis mansion is strange. It’s bigger than any place he’s ever seen in the admittedly only two years of his life that he remembers, with 20 bedrooms, two billiard rooms, three sitting rooms besides the formal parlor, a greenhouse, both an indoor and outdoor pool, and a five-stall stable complete with three horses.

He gets lost five times in the first two days after he’s moved in. Sonny takes pity on him and draws him a basic map of the places he might ever need to go. By the end of the week, Will has managed to find his way around the complex without taking a wrong turn.

True to his word, Sonny gives Will a bedroom down the hall from his own. There are two bedrooms and a bathroom in between them, so they’re close enough for Sonny’s comfort and not too close to make Will uncomfortable.

A week after Will is moved in, Will and Sonny are sitting in the parlor by themselves in a silence that feels somehow both comfortable and stifling.

Putting his book down, Will says rather suddenly, “Tell me about us.”

“What?” Sonny asks, startled from the paperwork he’s staring at.

Will tries again. “I want to know about us. Our relationship. Before I cheated,” Will adds.

Sonny blinks at him and bites his lip. “We were best friends.” With a smile spreading across his face, Sonny continues. “You were the first person I met when I came back after San Francisco. You were mad at me because you thought I was hitting on Abigail. When she explained, you got all shy and embarrassed and confused because you thought my name was Jackson.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. But I go by Sonny because there are so many Jacks in our family.”

“That’s what you said, didn’t you?” Will asks and Sonny’s eyes go wide. “I didn’t remember, sorry. It’s just, you were staring into space. I could tell you were remembering it.” As he says it, Will is shocked that he can already read Sonny so clearly. “What else?” Will is curious in spite of himself.

“There was this guy, Tad, he was your friend but he started saying some homophobic things about me and it ticked you off. You went to bat for me, like, five times before he backed off. I can’t even tell you how that made me feel.”

“Why did he only go after you? Why not me?”

“You weren’t out yet. You were still dating Gabi.”

“Oh.”

“Are you sure you want to do this now? This is a lot to take in,” Sonny says, searching Will’s face.

“It’s okay,” Will confirms with a smile. “I want to know.” After a beat, “When did we - what was our first kiss like?” Will asks.

A soft smile spreads across Sonny’s face. “You cancelled our first date.”

“What?”

Sonny fiddles with the pen he’s holding, thinking. “Coming out wasn’t the easiest for you. Watching you struggle with it was so difficult for me because I loved you and I wanted to help you but I had to let you find yourself on your own terms. I was so proud of you the day you said it out loud in my coffee shop.”

“You had a coffee shop?”

Sonny nods. “You still struggled after that -”

“That’s how Arianna happened, right?” Will cuts in.

Sonny nods again. “But I had finally gotten you to go out with me and then my mother’s big mouth scared you away. You cancelled our date but I tracked you down. I told you that it was my decision who I date, not my mom’s. And I kissed you.”

Will is about to ask another question when Sonny’s phone rings. “It’s work.”

“It’s fine. Take it. I’m going to take a walk,” Will says, grabbing his jacket from the chair where he had thrown it the day before.

Sonny frowns but takes the call.

Will wakes up anxious on Christmas morning. He’s not thrilled about the prospect of spending an entire day with dozens of family members he doesn’t know and who all expect him to remember them.

When Will walks into the dining room for breakfast, Sonny is sitting alone at the table.

“What’s wrong?” Sonny asks. Will is startled that Sonny has pegged his mood so easily and quickly.

“Nothing,” Will lies.

Sonny raises his eyebrows. “Will, you may not remember who you are but your mannerisms are exactly the same as they’ve always been. I can tell that you’re anxious about something.”

Will sighs and rubs his hand over his face. “It’s just - I’m not really looking forward to the Horton tree trimming.”

Sonny gets a soft smile on his face that oddly doesn’t annoy Will. “I think you’ll be fine,” Sonny says, pushing himself away from the table and walking over to Will. “I’ll be with you the whole day. If you’re okay with that.”

Will nods.

“Good. And if you ever feel like you’re getting overwhelmed, just say the word and we’ll leave. Okay?”

Will breathes a sigh of relief. The permission to leave early is a comfort Will didn’t know he needed. That it’s from Sonny makes Will’s stomach twist in a way he doesn’t want to examine right now.

“Okay,” Will agrees and smiles. “Did you already eat?”

“No,” Sonny answers, surprised.

“Good. Because I’m hungry.”

Sonny grins and follows Will to the table.

The Horton tree trimming is predictably stifling and overwhelming. Sonny being by his side is surprisingly comforting and Arianna Grace is such a cute little person that Will forgets there are at least 20 other people in the room.

By the time they’re sitting down to dinner and hanging their ornaments on the tree Will is shocked by how at ease he feels among these people who are his family. It almost feels familiar.

“Was I always a journalist?” Will asks Sonny suddenly over breakfast the next morning.

“Oh. Uh, well when we first met you were kind of into computers. We even made a website together. When that didn’t pan out, you turned to journalism. So, yeah. I guess you were. Why?”

Will shrugs. “I’ve been thinking about getting a job. Didn’t know if I should apply to the paper.”

“Well, you were a bartender in Memphis. You could always do that,” Sonny offers.

“Doesn’t seem like there’s too many bars in Salem,” Will says with a laugh.

“There’s The Spot,” Sonny replies, suddenly very interested in adding sugar to his coffee.

“What’s The Spot?”

“It’s the gay bar on the other side of town,” Sonny says quietly.

“What?”

Sonny takes a deep breath. “What you said about wanting to be single and play the field now that you’re out. Again. I’ve been thinking a lot about it the last few days. I’ve also been thinking a lot about when we first met.

“Our relationship was organic. We were friends, best friends, for over a year before we started dating. When things started to go south between us, you called our life boring. When you slept with Paul, you said it was because you were flattered.”

“What are you saying?”

“You never got the chance to just be out and single, Will. You came out and then three months later you were in a serious relationship. I want our life back, our marriage. But,” he pauses, sighs on a breath. “I also want us to work this time. And - and it was unfair of me to expect you to do this. So, as much as it hurts me, I’m letting you go. To be free and be single. Even if it means you want Paul.”

Will knows his mouth is hanging open. He also knows his heart has lodged itself somewhere near his Adam’s Apple. He’s certain now that he has been quick to judge Sonny.

“Are you sure?” Will asks quietly.

Sonny nods and Will is sure he’s too emotional to speak. “Why don’t we start with just hanging out?”

Will swallows thickly, overcome with emotion for this near-stranger who is his husband.

“Thank you,” Will says.

A half hour later he’s back living with John and Marlena.

Will doesn’t see Sonny again until New Year’s Eve. They cross paths in the Square, Will on his way to visit Gabi and Ari, Sonny on his way to the Titan headquarters.

“Hey,” Will says. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Sonny answers with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Work’s been busy. Investors trying to get deals done before the end of the year. How about you?”

“I got a job,” Will responds. “Bartender and waiter at the Pub. Figured I’d start there.”

“You worked there the summer we met,” Sonny says, his smile real now. Clearing his throat, Sonny asks, “You have any plans for tonight?”

Will hesitates. “I - uh - I was planning on going to the party at The Spot.”

“Oh,” Sonny says, his voice an octave higher than normal. “Well, I’m late for a meeting. I should go.”

“Okay.”

Sonny smiles tightly and leaves. As Will watches him walk away, his stomach twists with something that feels like guilt.

Halfway into January, Will seeks out Paul at the BlackPatch office.

“Will, what are you doing here?”

“Go on a date with me.”

Paul huffs out a laugh. “I’m still not used to you being so blunt.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I thought you were playing the field? Isn’t that what you said on New Year’s when we ran into each other at The Spot?”

“I am. But I like you, Paul. And I think you like me. Otherwise you wouldn’t have kissed me at midnight. I’m not asking you to marry me. Just dinner and a movie. See where it goes.”

Paul bites his lip. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Will’s heart jumps.

“Sure. Why not? I’ll pick you up at 8. You choose the movie and the dinner.”

“Great. I’ll see you tonight.” Will practically skips down the hallway.

Will and Paul are on their third date, breakfast at the Pub, when Sonny walks through the door. He stops dead in his tracks and Will’s stomach again twists with something akin to guilt.

Will watches Sonny take a deep breath and walk over to their table. “Hey, guys.”

“Hi,” Will says.

“Sonny,” Paul intones flatly. Will can’t tell if it’s because Paul is still smarting from the break up or because he’s just feeling awkward.

There’s an uncomfortable silence until Sonny finally says, “Well, I better get my food. I’ll see you guys around,” and leaves them alone.

A week later, Will approaches Sonny where he’s sitting at a booth in Doug’s Place, flipping through his phone.

“Sonny?”

“Will,” Sonny says, surprised.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Can we talk?

“There’s nothing to talk about. I told you to be single and free. It’s fine.”

Will isn’t convinced. “I should have told you.” Will sits down across from Sonny.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. We’re not together anymore.”

“But aren’t we supposed to be friends?”

Sonny looks at him. “Why do you want me to know? To torture me?”

Will feels his face grow hot. “I just - we’re supposed to be building a relationship or a friendship or whatever but we barely speak.”

Sonny huffs out a laugh. “I’ve kind of been avoiding you.”

“Yeah. I got that.” Will laughs and Sonny follows. After a beat, Will says, “I didn’t realize how hard this would be for you.”

“Hmm?”

“Us being apart. Me dating other people.”

“I’m not gonna lie. It hurts,” Sonny agrees. “Especially seeing you with Paul. But I guess I kind of deserve it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember how I said I made mistakes in our marriage too?” Will nods. “I had a lot of time to think about where things went wrong between us.”

“I cheated on you.”

“It wasn’t just that,” Sonny says with a sigh. “After I found out, I basically stopped talking to you. I told you I wanted to work things out but I just kept blowing you off. And I guess I kind of threw Paul in your face by gravitating to him. In retrospect, I can see that I was in love with both you and Paul but I wouldn’t admit it. So I left. I ran away from myself and our family. I wanted the legal separation because I didn’t know if I was ever coming back and you agreed to it because you gave up.”

Will’s not sure what to say but he wants to make Sonny feel better. “But if I hadn’t cheated, you wouldn’t have needed to make a choice.”

Sonny shakes his head. “I was always going to have a make a choice.”

Neither of them says anything for a while and they sit in a heavy silence. Then Sonny asks, “How’s the job at the Pub going?”

“I like it. Ro - Grandpa is a good boss. I’m actually starting to like the people here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Will laughs. “Salem’s not as bad as I thought.”

Sonny smiles dopily at him and Will pretends his heart doesn’t do a flip.

“So tell me about you,” Will says, genuinely interested. “You know everything about me. But I don’t know anything about you.”

“I have three older brothers,” Sonny says immediately.

“Nice,” Will says.

They spend the next two hours with Will listening to Sonny’s entire life story.

Will spends Valentine’s Day with Paul. They kiss and make love and Will tells Paul he loves him. He’s worried it’s too soon but Paul is saying how Will took him by surprise and somehow wormed his way into his heart.

Will falls asleep in Paul arms but dreams of Sonny and champagne, gifts of books and photo albums, and wedding rings.

“Did you and Paul have a good Valentine’s Day?” Sonny asks over lunch and coffee in the Square.

“Are you sure you want to talk about this?” Will asks, surprised.

“Isn’t that what friends do?”

“We had a good time,” Will responds. Without thinking, he adds, “I had a weird dream though. You and I were in a strange apartment and there was something about a book and a photo album. Oh, there were rings too.”

“Sonny, are you okay?” Will asks. Sonny is staring at him with his mouth hanging open and his eyes bugging out of his head.

“That wasn’t a dream, Will,” Sonny whispers.

“What do you mean?”

“It was a memory.”

“What?”

“You remembered us getting engaged.”

Will stares at Sonny, his heart beating a drum against his chest.

“I don’t - I don’t feel like I remembered,” Will says slowly, halfway to panicking.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I thought remembering would be like, I don’t know, getting struck by lightning or something!”

“Okay, Will. Will, relax,” Sonny says, taking Will’s hand. “Why don’t we go see Marlena.”

Will nods in agreement and they throw money on the table before hurrying to Marlena’s office.

“So you remembered your engagement to Sonny,” Paul says, confirming what Will has just told him.

They’re on Paul’s bed, the movie paused so they can talk.

“Yeah. It’s weird though. I still don’t associate feelings with it though. I just remembered the circumstances. Marlena says it’s a good sign though. ‘A good first step’ were the words she used, I think. Anyway, can we just go back to the movie?”

“Orrrrrr,” Paul trills with a cheeky grin. “We could forget the movie.”

Will grins back and pulls Paul on top of him.

As February rolls into March, Will and Sonny hang out every day. Sonny comes to the Pub for his lunch or they meet in the Square. Sometimes Paul joins them, but rarely. Twice a week, they babysit Arianna Grace together and every Thursday they have dinner with Gabi and Ari.

By the end of March, Will finds himself considering Sonny his best friend. Their lunch dates (for lack of a better word) are easily the favorite part of his days, and he enjoys their babysitting sessions so much that he decides he wouldn’t mind if they could go on forever.

More importantly, Will feels like he knows Sonny. He knows Sonny’s birthday; knows about all the places Sonny’s visited; knows that Sonny climbed K-2 before settling in San Francisco; knows that Sonny had chicken pox when he was five and that Sonny came out to his parents when he was fifteen. They’ve discussed Paul, same as he’s discussed Sonny with Paul, as well as the other guys Sonny dated in the just over ten years that Sonny has been out.

Will’s also told Sonny about his two years in Memphis, what it was like living with Susan, bartending, that he hardly had any friends, and how only once or twice he was able to sneak out to a gay bar.

They’ve talked more about their past together, too. Will’s seen the photo album he made for Sonny, and Sonny showed him all the pictures on his phone and computer. So far nothing has triggered any more dreams, let alone real memories with feelings attached.

On the morning of April 3rd, Sonny texts him to say he can’t do lunch. Will frowns at his phone, disappointed.

“What’s wrong?” Paul asks, kissing his hair.

“Oh. Nothing. Just Gabi telling me Ari’s got a little cold,” Will lies. He’s not ready to let Paul know how much he depends on his spending time with Sonny.

“Oh. Is she okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just sniffles. I’ll stop by later to see her. But right now, I have a shift at the Pub. I gotta go.”

“Okay. Dinner at Doug’s Place?”

Will smiles, nods, and gives Paul a quick kiss before leaving.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

“Shit,” Will mumbles to himself as soon as he’s behind the bar. He’s realized the date and figured out why Sonny doesn’t want to see him.

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s texting Paul: “Grandpa needs me to do an extra shift tonight. Going to have to cancel dinner. See you when I get off. xo”.

Then he responds to Sonny’s text from earlier: “If you can do dinner, meet me at Blondie’s at 7. Wear something nice.”

A minute later, Sonny replies: “Okay.” Will smiles at his phone, and butterflies flutter in his stomach.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Will dances nervously outside Blondie’s at five to seven. He’s wearing a tan blazer, a light blue button down, and dark blue slacks. Despite Sonny’s agreement, Will’s still unsure if he’ll show up. A second after the thought crosses his mind, Sonny appears beside him.

“Hi,” Will says and he hears how breathless his voice sounds. Sonny looks wonderful, dressed in a simple navy suit and white button down.

“Hi. I’m a little surprised you asked to meet for dinner. I thought lunch was our thing. Don’t you have dinner plans with Paul?”

“Not tonight,” Will says, opening the door to the restaurant.

Sonny looks at him curiously but takes the hint. Will follows behind and gives his name to the hostess.

“What’s this about, Will?” Sonny asks when they’ve sat down at their table.

“I know why you cancelled lunch today. It’s our anniversary.” Sonny’s breath catches. “I would have thought you’d want to spend extra time with me today, not none.”

Sonny laughs humorlessly. “I’m trying here, Will. Trying so hard to stand back and just be your friend while you’re with Paul. But I just - I couldn’t do it today. Not when I have you here but I don’t have you.”

“So why’d you agree to dinner?” Will asks, taking a sip of wine.

“Because you asked,” Sonny answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

This time it’s Will’s breath that catches. Sonny’s face is so earnest and his eyes so brown in the ambience of the restaurant that Will’s heart stops. If Will hadn’t been sitting at that precise moment, he’s sure he would have collapsed with the epiphany that he’s in love with Sonny.

“Will? Are you okay? Was that too much? I didn’t mean to make things weird,” Sonny says when Will hasn’t responded.

“What? Oh. No. It’s fine,” Will says, recovering enough to answer. To his relief, their food arrives and he’s saved from having to too heavily engage in conversation.

After a few minutes of them eating silently, Will asks, “How’s Titan going?”

Sonny shakes his head, his mouth still full. When he swallows he says, “Brady’s still being a pain in the ass but I’m still CEO so I win.” He flashes Will a smirk and Will can’t help but return it.

“Have you thought anymore about applying to the paper?”

“Mmm. A little bit. Maybe eventually. Do you miss having your own thing?”

“Sometimes,” Sonny answers, as their table is cleared and they decline dessert.

“Well, then let’s make a pact. I’ll eventually work at the paper and you can eventually open a new coffee shop or club.”

Sonny searches his eyes for a minute. “Deal.”

“Good. Oh no. I’m paying,” Will says as Sonny reaches for the check.

“Will, you don’t have to.”

“I asked you to dinner. I’m paying,” Will insists. Sonny concedes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

“You didn’t have to walk me home, Will.” They’ve come to a stop in front of the Kiriakis mansion.

“Yeah I did.”

“Thank you for tonight. It almost felt like I was celebrating my anniversary with my husband.”

Something snaps in Will. He closes the gap between them and pulls Sonny into a kiss. Surprised, Sonny doesn’t respond for a few seconds, but then his arms slide around Will’s waist and he returns the pressure, kissing deeper. Will melts into it and wraps his own arms around Sonny’s neck.

It feels like the most natural thing in the world and Will feels the kiss deep in his bones.

When they break apart, they’re both flushed and Will’s heart is beating out of his chest. Catching his breath, Will leans his forehead against Sonny’s, his eyes closed.

“This is where we kissed after we escaped from our wedding,” Will says absentmindedly.

He hasn’t realized what’s he’s said until he feels Sonny pull his head away. Will opens his eyes to find Sonny staring at him, his eyes wet with tears.

“I -” Will starts, blinks, thinks he’s on the edge of something. “Theresa spilled a drink on her dress. We danced with Allie. Mom and EJ paid for our mini-honeymoon.”

Sonny chokes back a sob and then Sonny’s hands are on his face. “Yes,” Sonny whispers. “Yes. Yes.” Sonny lets out a watery laugh and kisses Will again.

Will smiles into the kiss and pulls Sonny close again.

“Come upstairs,” Sonny says against Will’s lips.

It floors Will with how much he wants to, but he says, “I can’t. I’m still with Paul. I love him.”

The magic breaks. Sonny breaks away completely and takes a step back. “Right. Of course. This was just about tonight. I’m sorry. I got carried away. Thanks again for dinner.”

Sonny disappears into the mansion and Will’s heart cracks.

Will doesn’t return to Paul’s room that night. Instead, he takes the long walk across town from the Kiriakis mansion to the Brady Pub.

He’s in love with Sonny but he’s also loves Paul. Kissing Sonny had been like nothing he had ever felt before - and yet it felt so familiar and so gratifying that it felt like a dream. Or - a memory.

Will stops dead in his tracks in the lane outside the Brady Pub, his brows furrowed. He spins himself around on the spot, sure he is once again on the verge of something. Taking a deep breath, Will closes his eyes, thinking hard.

“So this is about tonight or -” Will asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. Because I had - some stuff came up that I needed to…” Will mumbled, not looking at Sonny.

“Will, no. No it didn’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know the reason that you backed out of tonight. It’s because of what my mom said.”

“Oh. No. I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Will lied.

“You overheard my mom talking about you to my dad,” Sonny clarified, playing along with Will’s lie.

“Yeah, but I mean it’s not like it’s something I haven’t heard several times before,” Will answered, dropping the act.

“Listen, man. She doesn’t know you the way that I know you. And she has no right to say those things about you. None at all.”

“Yeah she does. I mean she’s right. I’m not good enough for you.”

Sonny took a deep breath and took a step closer to Will. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

Will’s breath caught and then Sonny kissed him. A perfect kiss that warmed Will’s bones more than the late-September sun blazing down on them.

Will gasps and his eyes fly open. Their first kiss. He remembers. He feels in his soul.

“Hey,” Paul says, sitting down on one of the stools in front of the bar. “You didn’t come back to my place last night.”

Will is suddenly very interested in a glass that needs cleaning. “My shift was over late. I just stayed here. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Oh. You free tonight? Make up of that dinner we missed last night?” Paul smiles brightly at him.

Will returns the smile. He loves Paul. But he’s in love with Sonny. He knows what he has to do. “Did you have breakfast?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Omelette? I’ll meet you at the booth by the window.”

“Here you go,” Will says five minutes later, sliding into the booth and pushing a breakfast plate in front of Paul.

“Are you not hungry?” Paul asks, a couple minutes later. Will has been pushing his food around his plate and not eating.

“I didn’t have a shift last night,” Will says.

“What?”

“I was on a date with Sonny.”

“Oh.”

“It was our anniversary.”

“I know. Why’d you lie?”

“I don’t know,” Will answers. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Are you in love with him?”

Will is taken aback by the question. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Do you know why I don’t join you for your lunch dates with Sonny?” Will shakes his head. “It’s because I see the way you look at each other. I know you look forward to seeing him. You text with him constantly. I’m not an idiot.”

“I -” Will doesn’t know what to say. After a beat, Will says, “I’m starting to remember.”

“That’s great, Will,” Paul replies flatly. Then: “You know, I didn’t really expect this to last.”

“What?”

“You guys are the It Couple in Salem. People talk about your wedding like it was a royal event. Your families say you made each other better people. When I was with Sonny I was always competing with your ghost. And even when you didn’t remember him, I knew it was only a matter of time before you fell in love with him again. That’s just how the two of you are.”

“So why did you agree to this?” Will asks, truly baffled.

Paul shrugs. “I liked you. I didn’t want to sit around pining for Sonny anymore and feeling bad for myself.”

“I do love you, Paul,” Will says because he’s unsure what else to say.

“I love you, too, Will. But I think it’s time for me to find someone who’s not named Will Horton or Sonny Kiriakis.”

Will laughs. “Can we still be friends?”

“Yeah. I think we can do that.”

“Good.”

Will finds Sonny in the alcove outside the Square. “Sonny?”

“Will?”

“Hi.” Butterflies flutter in Will’s stomach. “Can I sit?”

“Sure.”

“About last night,” Will starts.

“It’s okay. I know it was just about our anniversary,” Sonny cuts him off.

“It wasn’t,” Will says. “I’m in love with you, Sonny.”

Sonny’s head snaps to him. “What?”

“I’m in love with you,” Will repeats with a smile. “I have been for a while. Our lunch dates are my favorite part of my day. I smile every time my phone lights up with your name. I want to babysit Arianna with you forever. I want to be your husband again.”

Sonny is breathing heavily, overcome with emotion. “I love you so much, Will.”

Will’s heart does a somersault in his chest. “Oh. One more thing. I remembered our first kiss last night.”

Sonny smashes their mouths together. Will laughs into the kiss and pulls Sonny close.

#will horton #sonny kiriakis #paul narita #wilson #my fic #mywilsonfic

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saraaaisabelll · 7 years ago

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Is this love?...

A question I have been asking myself for over 3 years now. About the same person, no matter who comes in my path, nothing can erase him. The moments I shared with him can become a blur now and again, but they always seem to have a way of hitting me in the heart, mind and gut so vividly that I almost freeze when it happens. I can almost always transport, what feels like, my soul back to the moments I loved so much with him. And it fills me with so much happiness, warmth, and sometimes sadness.

Although we had attended the same school system, pretty much our entire adolescent lives, we officially became apart of each other’s lives December 2014. It was just a few days before Christmas that you “slid in my DM’s” , but I never took your approach to me in that context as anything bad or corny. We never really had seen one another in person since high school , or so I assumed. I can specifically remember you telling me how you used to see me in all sorts of places, but always with my ex. Which made my entire body blush on the inside. Were you watching me?

We hit it off almost right away. I remember you coming over to my apartment so many nights and us just vibing, talking and smoking. I remember how nervous I used to feel around you, that good nervous that makes your bones feel like they’re going to melt any second. I specifically remember how your voice had me in this trance-like state , so deep yet so delicate. I hung of every other word you spoke. And all you could see was my goofy smile. I remember one of the first times we actually ate out together, we went to get wings. I remember the exact outfit I wore and how you came over while I was finishing up curling my long hair. I remember when we got there how I was scared to eat wings in front of you and you tried your best to show me that it didn’t matter if I got messy while eating.

I’ll never forget New Years Eve. I remember that night very clearly as well. It was freezing, and my dumb ass wanted to wear a mini skirt. I was alone all night, past 12, wondering where you were. I was disappointed that we weren’t together for the ball drop, and thats when I knew something was happening inside my heart for you, I had gotten attached. But you eventually showed up, I can’t remember if you apologized, I feel like you did but you had mentioned that we didn’t really plan on being together for 12AM to hit & that you were with your friends. So we carried on into the night, meeting up with my friend at a bar & us heading to her family’s party. We dropped her off and took a ride down the block to smoke. I remember getting SO stuck to a point where I told you we had to go and you needed to drive us back home. At this point we had yet to make love and I was in a mix of dying to feel all of you but loving every moment of getting to know all of you. I remember us coming home and I asked you to stay. I remember me getting under the covers and you decided to sleep above the sheets under a blanket. We cuddled to sleep that night without any moves being made. I remember you kissing me on my ear as I laid on my side in bed. That memory always makes my heart flutter.

The night we made love always comes back to me in bits and pieces. Although I can recall the many times after that we made love, this specific time doesn’t quite come to me so well. I remember exactly what we were doing prior and how it started. We were watching Guardians of the Galaxy and it had ended. We were cuddled on of the couches and I looked up at you and we started kissing, and it got more and more intense as the credit screen rolled behind us in the background. I remember standing up and taking your hand & leading you into my room. But sadly from there I can’t remember, and I have no idea why. But I do remember that I had never felt more pleasured and loved at the same time than I had every time I was with you.

Weeks passed that felt like months. Making wonderful love, sharing ourselves with one another, and always going to see movies was our thing. But at the time you met me, even you knew, I had a lot of growing to do and eventually I allowed my ego and insecurities get the best of me. Something wanted to tell me you weren’t loyal and I sadly opened those flood gates. After our first fight things never really felt like they mended completely, they never went back to the same place for us. I had broken your trust by not trusting you, and after all these years I still don’t think I’m fully able to forgive myself for being so foolish.

As time continued our arguments became more and more frequent. On the one side was me, a lost, insecure, dependent young woman who just didn’t want to lose love again. And on the other side was a young man growing into himself more and more as the seconds of each hour or each day passed. Was it that you maybe just outgrew me in the midst of it all? I’d never really get to have that answer come out of you in person because that summer I decided to move to D.C. Feeling that it was the right choice & allowing myself to have space from whatever was between us because I was damaging myself about it. You didn’t really ever express sadness or pain for me when I left. I remember how bad I wanted to see you on my last day there & you never came. Why? Was it now your ego getting the best of you? I’ll never know. You never really liked to open up about your feelings once things started to change. I’m so sorry for being the cause of that wall you built.

We kept in touch for a few months, I wanted you so badly but I could feel the change in you, and it was breaking my heart every time we spoke. That was the first time I tried to cut you out of my life, which would eventually fail. I had met someone that winter who I thought was such a great match for me, he was fun, energetic, talkative & I guess his sex helped me to forget how you felt. I ended up getting pregnant by him, but knew I couldn’t go through with it. That was the end to the relationship between the both of us, and I could only think of calling you. Which I think may have only pushed you further away from me by hearing what had happened, but you stuck by me and consoled me everyday that I needed you. I’ll never forget that, thank you.

As 2016 came into the picture so did another relationship. I had seen you maybe once between this lull of relationships I had. This time it was someone who also lived back home & as I continued traveling back to see him I found myself feeling pulled back to you more and more. Finally, as summer was coming to an end I decided to cut it off with him because I was still in love with you. I told him everything, how I still felt about you and that I couldn’t do that to someone knowing I would never fully be committed to them. And so the Fall began.

I remember the month or weeks prior to you coming to visit me for the first time I had visited New York by myself. I was on this personal high & felt myself sprouting roots and growing into someone I knew I was meant to be. And all I could, and still do, think about was how you were the one to push me into this growth and transition in life. So a couple weeks later you came to visit me in December. Thinking now how ironic it was that it was around the same time that we first met. I was living in this small, old, basement & you teased me, innocently, for it. I remember walking to go get groceries with you the day you arrived. And on one of the days you were there we got into the African American History Museum on sheer luck! But I knew you were so thrilled.

After you left, things somewhat dimmed. I ended up traveling to Colombia later on that month to see my family & thats when I decided, internally, to move here. Time passed and we ended up planning for you to come again during March of 2017. Just a week or two before my birthday. I took you to the Zoo & my favorite neighborhood in the city. I remember you accidentally missed your bus back so you had to wait til later that night to go home. And I can’t say I wasn’t happy about that. But I remember pouring my heart out to you that day in my room, your head pressed against my stomach as I held onto you like I was never going to see you again. You were still a man of few words. You had dinner at my job & got in your lyft to the station. I wouldn’t see you again til mid April.

I came down a few times during that spring/summer and you came up once more during the summer with your family. That was after I had moved into my new room & I had just gotten Calvin. You were weird about him because you’re not really a ‘animal person’, but you were cute about it. I remember it was just for one night that I saw you. It was raining horribly & I picked you up at your aunt’s house. We came back to the city and you were hungry but nothing was open, so we had yet another grocery store adventure to add to our list. I remember you met one or two of my roommates and then we headed up to my room. We proceeded to watch Fury, which we never finished because we stopped it and began making love. Although the room was new to me, it was slightly old to the house itself, having a hole in the corner of my ceiling, we could hear the rain leaking in. You, as usual, found humor in it and teased me about it. But that was the last time I actually saw you.

I traveled home about three more times, making efforts to see you, but never having that effort really come back from you. During the fall I ended up falling for someone else. He was different & I felt you being covered up so well. Things were rocky at the start between he & I, but eventually it became this weird yet passionate love between us. I left home for Colombia on February 20th and we kept our relationship going for a while. It was great but there was a lot of problems as well, and one day something clicked. I fell out of that type of love we had and I didn’t really think about you. But then, little by little, you started haunting my thoughts again. You began popping up in my dreams here and there & then it became almost nightly. I would think about you , but not just a typical thought, it was like we were connecting even though there is this great distance between us. So I decided to message you. I told you how I hadn’t really lost any love for & you told me you didn’t see me in that way.

So I thought to myself , ok well that’s that. But weeks later, here you are, still weighing so heavy on my heart. Flooding my thoughts, making my blood rush and my heart flutter without even being here in the flesh. The thought and memory of you, can’t go away, you’re stuck there. I can’t help but question, still, is this love... ?

#love #lovestory #sweet #relationship #heartbreak

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canadian-buckbeaver · 7 years ago

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Rolling in the Mistletoe

My Secret Santa gift ( @undertalesecretsanta - great job guys!) for the amazing @rolling-in-the-undertale She asked for anything regarding her and her wonderful bonefriend, Underswap Papyrus. Well, normally Bucky isn’t one to share but hopefully you like this ;D

Things are a little bleak for Jen. It is the monsters first time experiencing Christmas on the Surface, and Papyrus’ brother, Sans, needs everything to be absolutely perfect for Santa’s big arrival. Between Sans, work, and the loss of her ring, Jen isn’t feeling much of the Christmas spirit. However, perhaps all it takes is a little help, nudge, and pun from her favourite orange hoodied skeleton to feel the magic of the holidays? Or perhaps it takes a little more to see the sparkle?

Jen sighed, stretching out her back and arms, finally ridding herself of the kink in her back that had plagued her for the last three hours. It had been a long, long day. One that she was happy to say was finally over.

As much as she loved little Sans and his enthusiasm, there were some days that she just wanted to be more like Papyrus and nap the day away. This had been one of them. She and the lanky skeleton had been up half the night wrapping “Santa’s” gifts. This was a task in itself. Between the tape getting stuck in her hair, or paper getting caught between Papyrus’ finger bones, that task alone had taken forever. But throughout the course of the year presents had been stashed in many different secret hiding places. Many of these hiding places that had been forgotten and needed to be re-found so they could wrap. Trying to tiptoe around the squeaking house to avoid waking up Sans… well, it was something that will not ever be repeated. By the time that the wrapping was done, tape and scraps of wrapping paper were scattered around the room and in her hair, the sun beginning to peek into their window. After a quick dust and dump, they were finally in bed. She herself had fallen asleep almost instantly of her back hitting the soft mattress. She did not want to be woken up at the crack of dawn with Sans’ new To-Do List. When he shook them awake, she was shocked to discover that his list would have rivalled Santa’s list. Hadn’t they spent the entire year prepping for this one day, hell, one mere morning? What more was there that needed to be done? Yet, little Sans had indeed found more that needed to be completed.

Yet, that wasn’t the only situation that was spoiling her holiday mood. The week before, she noticed that the cheap, plastic ring that Papyrus gave her, her “promise ring”, was missing. Not wanting to alarm Papyrus she had slowly cleaned and torn the house apart, desperately looking for it. Physically, it wasn’t worth much, but… she remembered when he had first given it to her.

* * * * *

Papyrus and her had a rare day off together, and had decided to go the movies with Sans. Napstabott was living his dream and slowly taking over Hollywood’s biggest roles, and he had generously invited them to see one of his new movies with some free movie tickets. Some of the results, however…

“I’m not sure. I think that I still prefer the original Terminator movie. I just can’t see an evil, robot assassin will suddenly start serenading you while they are chasing you through the factory.” Jen had said, walking out with the skeletons.

“Aw. So you think that they were tinkering with the wrong movie for him?” Papyrus asked, giving her a wink and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. Jen took a deep breath, smelling the familiar scent of cigarettes and honey, now intertwined with the hearty scent of fresh popcorn. His soul was thumping steadily, a stark comparison to her wildly thumping heart.

Sans had paused then, catching sight of the quarter machines by the doors. “These are an odd type of vending machine, Jen.” He remarked, eyeing the hard, sugary treats with slight disdain.

“Not really a vending machine, more like a Kinder Surprise Egg without the chocolate… and the illegalness. I haven’t seen these Look at these in forever! Look at these! Bouncy balls, gumballs, glow in the dark dinosaurs…” Jen had listed off, already feeling her inner child’s joy bubbling up in her chest. She used to be obsessed with these when she was younger. “Oh! Look at the jewelry!” she had said, catching sight of the cheap doodads. Plastic rings, elastic necklaces and fake brass bracelets. Anything that could be fit in a small plastic container.

“Those aren’t real though, are they Jen?” Sans had asked, looking at the reflective pendant of one of the necklaces.

She shook her head. “Probably just made out of super cheap materials, designed quickly for a laugh and a single wear before they break. The same stuff and quality that you would get out of the dollar store.”

Papyrus, however was looking at Jen as she looked at the jewelry. She didn’t have much for accessories, though the more that he thought of it, the more he realized that he had never seen her wear anything fashionable. A watch on the odd occasion. Digging through his shorts pockets he pulled a quarter from his pocket. “Kiss it for luck?” He asked Jen, winking at her.

“Papy! Do you know how many germs are on that?” Sans demanded. “That’s disgusting!”

Jen, flushing slightly, opted to kiss his thumb instead. With a quick plink and plunk, the quarter bid them good bye. A quick twist of the wrist and a plastic container, coincidently with an orange lid, fell out of the machine. Burning with anticipation, Jen removed the lid… and saw it.

It looked like wires that had been painted gold, twisted and braided in enteric little shapes to form a band. A dark bead was wound in the centre, finishing the ring’s look. Jen and Papyrus stared at it. It was so simple, so… perfect.

Carefully picking it out of its container, Papyrus knelt to the ground. “Jen. I don’t have much to offer now. I’m broke, I’m addicted to honey, my smokes and all things sweet, but I’m also addicted to you. So, perhaps later, when we are ready, will you…?”

“Yes….” Jen breathed, extending her right hand. As if by magic, it fit her perfectly.

* * * * *

But now it was gone, gone as if it never existed.

Somehow she had preserved. Between baking or burning cookies, assuring Sans that Santa would find him and Papyrus in their new home, cleaning (so much cleaning!!), hanging up yet another wreath, and still another day of not finding her ring, Jen had been able to escape the house, just in time for her shift at Swirllby’s. There was a fairly convincing smile on her lips, but if questioned she could blame it on the cold or snow in her boots.

Swirllby, after escaping the Underground, had opened up a bar on the Surface, one that had quickly become popular with both humans and monsters. During its beginning days, it had assisted with the merging, and then the peace between both of the races. Specializing in all foods greasy and drinks alcoholic, surely it would be the perfect place to get away from the holidays, at least for a little bit. Looking back days later, Jen would chuckle at her desperate thinking. If she thought that she was free of the Christmas chaos, she was sorely mistaken. Just cracking open the door of his bar caused a few well known carol notes to escape, and the thick smell of pine to assault her nose. The place was full of the Christmas spirit. Out of the frying pan, and into the fire as they said.

* * * * *

Working Christmas Eve should be illegal, Jen decided a couple hours later, her feet aching and her back screaming in pain. Swirllby was a good boss and chef but some of his patrons were… well, they left a little to be desired. No consistency, no rhyme or reason. The monsters were just as crazy as the humans these days. Now the regulars were wonderful as always, understanding and sympathetic, and always had a kind word or simple encouragement to her, asking about Sans and Papyrus. These were the ones that Jen had come accustomed to, even looked forward to seeing every night.

But, as always, there were others she had to shake her head at. If you’re spending your Christmas Eve in a busy bar, complaining and about how busy and unprepared they are this holiday season, than you are in the wrong place. You would be better using the final countdown to prepare for the big day, doing anything and everything to make sure that everything was prepared and ready as it could be. Instead, Jen bit her tongue, holding back her inside voice, and nodded sympathetically as they groaned and moaned, tossing down glass after glass of the special rum and Eggnog concoction that the fire bartender had made especially for the occasion.

Then there were the “holiday over-achievers”. These were the people or monsters that were finished preparing for Christmas, baking done, wrapping completely finished and trees up and decorated as early as October or even in November. They were the ones that were truly enjoying the holiday spirit, basking in the warm glow of candlelight, cheeks rosy from sleigh rides, and the ones that reeked of turkey or ham or other holiday cooking. The very picture of health and relaxation. They were probably not the kind of people that a certain skeleton wouldn’t be explaining how to string a evergreen decoration properly through the banister, thoroughly saying how it would properly impress Santa by the number of twists in the length. If Jen didn’t know any better, she could have sworn that they just came off of posing for a Christmas card. She blankly nodded, pretending to make note of their special tips or their ideas, remembering their secret family recipes… the list went on. She felt herself salivating as she listened to them talk about butter tarts and cookies, cakes and pies. Sans would have fit in this group better here than her. He would be the one that would be naturally making conversation with them, listening to their talk and better contributing. Of all the times that she had needed the blue-eyed skeleton… well, by now he would be home in bed, visions of sugar plums dancing around in his skull. Papyrus, would be either asleep on the couch or in their bed, snoring soundly. The thought made her yawn, her body weary… but no. She still had much more remaining of her shift.

To complete the cozy picture, there were few Grinches or Scrooges that had settled up some sort of anti-Christmas convention, braving the holiday carols and snow to congregate together. They were noticeable by their dark, sparkle-less eyes, their closed expressions. Their mission? It was very simple. Try to bring everyone else out of the “conspiracy of Christmas” and to their dark side. They would whisper about consumerism, encouraging people to spend more and more, buying their friends and family more presents, sending more aide and donations to the various charities that always popped up this time of the year. How Christmas couldn’t be real because it was a holiday that originally belonged to the pagans, and how December 25th really couldn’t be the real, true birthdate of Christ. Jen nodded silently, listening to them as they drank shot after shot of whiskey, listening to them babble about the Fibonacchi sequence and the Mona Lisa, how it was all a big conspiracy and how they needed to alert everyone to their findings.

But, especially the stringy Scrooges, these patrons fit their description perfectly. It just wasn’t a good night for tips. Heck, she’d much rather be at home watching the Christmas specials or anime with Papyrus, Sans and the others. Sans had been wanting to watch the anime Parasyte for some time now, though she had a feeling that she would be spending it cracking awkward jokes with Papyrus, ignoring the gore and blood on the screen.

But, it was finally over. Last call was called and served, and the crowd of people finished their drinks. Sometime during the duration of her shift, a minor blizzard had blown in, whipping up snow and ice, and then the fresh snow fall thickly falling from the skies. Hugs, kisses and many well wishes later from the clients and the bar slowly began to empty, people and monsters beginning to start for home. After Swirllby finally kicked out the remaining, lingering clients, the bar was finally, mercifully empty, even the last notes of the carols ceased. All that remained for her was a quick scrub of the bar and tables before her shift was finally over. Finally she was off, wishing Swirllby a Merry Christmas before starting off in the miserable weather. The snow was blowing around her, able to bite through the numerous layers she wore and chill her, while snow made itself at home in her boots. It was times like these that she wished that she had the ability to use Papyrus’ shortcuts. No cold or wind. No long, unnecessary walk. Just a quick little blip, and a quick gasp of darkness and she would be home.

Or better yet that Papyrus had shortcutted to the bar to save her from this horrid walk.

Then again, it was only a few blocks. She could already hear Sans telling her not to be as lazy as his brother and just do it. No problem… right?

As she began the long walk home, she slowly watched the snowflakes dance with the Christmas lights. The flakes shimmered with the different colours, taking on reds and yellows, blues and greens before they settled on the ground. It was rather peaceful, quiet tonight. Not even a car drove by, not even another pedestrian walked by her. She had these sights all to herself. “Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…” Jen whispered to herself, allowing herself to smile, before continuing on her journey. She slowly walked, allowing herself to take in the sights and the joy of the silence. She decided that she would go home, run herself a quick, warm bath to warm up, before crawling into her pyjamas next to Papyrus and hibernating, at the very least, until the next night.

* * * * *

Thirty minutes of trudging through calf-high snow, for thirty minutes she had been watching the slowly passing displays of Christmas lights glow and blink at her, of darkened and peaceful houses. Thirty minutes of the wind howling through her ears, and snow stinging her eyes. Thirty minutes of hell and she was finally home. Her holiday mood was now long since destroyed, replacing it with a bah-humbug air. It might have been the third puddle she had stepped in, or the wad of snow that fell a tree. Now Jen just needed inside, a bath, and a week of sleep. She grumbled to herself, finding the porch light again turned off. No matter how often you mentioned it, the skeletons never remembered to leave the porch light on for her, leaving her in the literal dark. Grumbling slightly, she dug out her key out of her pocket and fumbled with the lock. After a few tense moments, the door’s lock finally gave with a small click, and was finally opened. Stepping through the door, she shook the snow from her long, dark hair, kicking off her sodden boots and flicking on the living room light…

Exposing a very skinny Santa, caught in the act of loading up the Christmas tree.

She froze, staring at the tall and lanky skeleton. The red suit and pants dangled off of his skinny frame. The pants were physically tied to his hipbones with his belt, reminding Jen of how those ‘baggies’ pants that were in style in the 1970’s or so were worn. The red fur jacket was draped as flatteringly as a nightgown and the little Santa hat was hazardously sitting on his skull. If a gust of wind had managed to come down the chimney, it would have fallen off in an instant. For a moment they stared at each other, “Santa’s” magical orange irises dimming into a familiar, tired gaze. “Hey Honey,” Papyrus said to her, again turning to the tree. “Rough shift?”

She couldn’t help it. After the stress of the long day, and the depressing walk home, this is exactly what she needed to come home to. She started to giggle, trying vainly to cover her mouth to keep quiet.

“Stretch… oh my god… oh stars… I knew that you would be putting the presents under the tree tonight but… what is with the get-up?” She asked, letting her gaze take in her bone-friend. “How on earth did you find one that fit you?”

Stretch chuckled to himself, laying the last present under the tree before starting to come close to her. “I’ve always dressed up as Santa throughout the years. Just in case Sans happened to spy me. Had to keep the magic going for him.” he explained, a small sparkle lighting in his eyes.

Jen continued to giggle, looking at the threadbare, obviously fake, beard that hung like limp, broken streamers. She could clearly see the pale string that he had used to tie it behind his skull. The only illusion that held this Santa picture together was the darkness and the flickering light of the Christmas tree. One which she had effectively ruined when she had turned on the lights. But still, it was such a sweet thought, one that fit Stretch perfectly. He would truly do anything for his beloved brother. “The kids must not be leaving very good cookies out for you Santa, you’re nothing but bones.” She couldn’t help but continue to tease. This was the perfect opportunity after all.

Papyrus laughed quietly, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. She could feel his curved ribs underneath the get-up. “Oh you know how it is, sweetness. These days it’s all glutton-free cookies or the dreaded oatmeal raisin. Health is in, goodness out. Chocolate is becoming far too rare these days.” He fake lamented, resting his skull against her forehead.

“Then you should be lucky that I talked Sans into leaving you out honey cookies.” Jen grinned, nuzzling into the soft fabric of his jacket. She could feel his soul gently thumping in his rib cage, calming her. Leaving her bad day in the crevices of her memories. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. Even the suit smelled like his cigarettes and sweet honey.

It smelt of home, of where she belonged.

“I’m very spoiled, indeed.” Papyrus said, a gentle finger urging her face up. “Having both you and Sans here, on the Surface… it is better than anything that is underneath the tree.” He said.

She felt her heart warm and her face flush slightly, causing her to look down. It wasn’t out of embarrassment though. He always knew what to say to make her feel warm and happy. “Hey, when we get married at town hall, instead of that tuxedo t-shirt, you should definitely wear this instead.” Jen said, gently feeling the soft, red fabric of the coat. “It brings out the colour of your bones better.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Just for you.” Papyrus grinned down at her. “And now that I officially chased away the remains of your day, may I draw your attention to one thing?” He asked, pointing up at the ceiling, to a spot directly above them. Jen looked up, seeing a splash of green against the white ceiling. “Mistletoe,” he explained. “Seems like Sans was trying to get himself into the special Christmas spirit.”

Jen recognized the little plant. The white berried, green stemmed plant was indeed hanging from the ceiling, right beside the doorway. “Slight oversight on Sans’ part. He realizes that he would have to kiss everyone that he meets at the door, right?”

Papyrus chuckled. “His dating manual had a quick little chapter on Christmas. Apparently if you meet someone under the mistletoe that means that the two people or monsters are destined to be soul mates. Live happily, ever after.” Papyrus explained, gently touched their noses together. “But talking isn’t what you do under the mistletoe.”

Jen flushed again, her warm blush darkening her cheeks, but she leaned forward to meet him halfway. Boney teeth gently touched her lips, magic crackling between the two of them, creating sparks that flew between the two of them. One of his hands crept up to her hair, tangling in the dark strands, urging her closer to him as he gently nibbled on her lips. She gasped quietly, her mouth opening slightly, and allowing access to one another. Slowly their tongues beginning to tangle, beginning to play. His other hand still gripped the small of her back, pulling her even closer to him, pressing her into his rib cage, deepening the kiss further. Thoroughly tasting each other, lost to the world. All that mattered was this kiss, each other, not the snow that howled or the cookies on the table. So lost were they did not hear the little pitter-patter of feet coming down the stairs…

“Santa… what? And Jen? Jen, what are you doing?” Sans asked, rubbing at his eye sockets before squinting at them in surprise. Papyrus and Jen pulled back away from each other as if burned, staring with wide eyes at Sans. He looked terrified and slightly horrified. “But….” he turned up the stairs, already calling for Papyrus.

Jen looked to Papyrus, who looked as surprised and shocked as she did. “Great. Now what?” she asked him. Papyrus, for once, didn’t have an answer, or even a pun. With a small sigh, he shook his head.

Well. A very merry Christmas to them. Jen sighed quietly, shaking her head. Perhaps she could have asked the patrons at the bar how they would have dealt with this next time she saw them.

“Well, while he’s upstairs, how about I give you this?” Papyrus asked, handing her a small present.

“Shouldn’t you be going after him? Damage control?” Jen asked, hesitantly taking the box.

“That’s why you need to hurry.”

With a sigh she ripped the red paper, quickly removing the removing the ribbon. Upstairs, Sans was calling for his brother. On one hand she should be proud of Sans, standing up and looking out for his older brother. On the other… she opened the box.

She blinked, looking at the cotton fibres. Her plastic ring was nestled there, like it was in a little nest. Threaded through the band was a thin silver chain, one that was made either of sterling silver or stainless chain. All those days looking for it, and he had it the whole time?

Jen looked up at Papyrus, intending to give him shit when she realized he was kneeling before her. A small, white box was opened, and a small gold band and black onyx glittered at her. “Jen… I’m still not put together, I’m still a mess, and I’m still completely addicted to you… will you please…?”

#underswap papyrus #us!papyrus #us!sans #christmas #secret santa #sfw #surface life #snow #scrooges #christmas spirit #all that glitters is gold #love #time for the holidays #us!grillby #underswap #undertale secret santa #undertalesecretsanta

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kaycares22 · 7 years ago

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What Are You Doing New Year's Eve? (Scott/Malia)

Merry Christmas, @allisonscott ! I was your Secret Santa for Scolia Secret Santa. I wanted to give you a slow-build relationship, so here’s a decade-plus of NYE’s. I know something went wrong with the original submission, so here it is, sans coding errors and with a complete ending. Hope you enjoy. :)

Read it here or on AO3.

___________________________________

New Year’s Eve, 2011

Lydia Martin’s parties are a status symbol in Beacon Hills. You’re not someone unless you can somehow score an invite, and nothing rivals her New Year’s Eve party. Two years ago, Scott had spent New Year’s binge watching Marvel movies with his mom and Stiles, listening to Stiles volley between lamenting their low, low status and inventing possible scenarios of what was unfolding at the party across town. This year, Scott wanders that same party, followed by the ghost of a girl he’s not quite ready to shake and mentally curses Lydia Martin and her parties for bringing Allison Argent into his life.

At ten minutes till midnight, he’s still torn between wanting to leave this godawful year behind and not being ready to part with what 2011 will signify for the rest of his life. Suddenly, it’s too warm in the overcrowded living room where someone’s starting to pass out poppers, so he walks past the kitchen where Lydia and Derek are filling solo cups with champagne and finds himself in the backyard. He expects to be alone - after all, it’s almost midnight - but there’s a flash of movement near the pool, and he looks over just as Malia’s head whips around. She’s sitting cross-legged on the tiled border, dressed in cutoffs and a sweatshirt that looks an awful lot like Stiles’s lacrosse hoodie. From where he stands on the patio, it looks like she’s shivering.

His initial reaction is to turn around and head back inside. Malia’s become a staple lately, a siamese twin glued to Stiles’s side, but Scott still doesn’t feel like he knows her - and he’s not sure he wants to. (Stiles’s survivor guilt has him throwing himself into saving someone else while Scott’s has him certain he shouldn’t be allowed to lead a pack.) But then he makes eye contact with her, and he can’t just slip back inside.

“It’s almost midnight,” he says instead as he lingers in that spot just outside the door. He silently wills her to give up her spot and go join the party’s impending countdown.

She shrugs instead. “It was midnight three hours ago in New York.”

The thought hadn’t crossed his mind that across the country, it’s already a year where she will never exist, and he feels warm again. He can’t head back inside now. The only other choice is to cross the patio.

“Asleep.”

“Asleep?”

Malia nods. She doesn’t offer any more information at first. Instead, she gazes out over the pool for a long, silent minute before she finally says, “He still smells like it.”

Scott knows what she means. He can still smell it, too, the way it lingers on his best friend, even after the dark circles faded from around Stiles’s eyes and his skin turned to its normal pale instead of deathly white. But it’s like there’s been some unspoken promise between Scott and Malia to not tell Stiles. After all, he’s still just barely enough on this side of things to fall asleep in the middle of parties.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Scott says, grateful he hasn’t yet taught her about the way heartbeats speed up when someone tells a half-truth. Fine is probably outside the realm of possibility, has been since Scott got bit, but his glass has always been half-full too.

Malia doesn’t even acknowledge that he talked, though. She just keeps staring across the backyard like there’s something out there he’s missed. Her voice isn’t as raspy as it was when she first shifted back to this body, but she still doesn’t talk much. She doesn’t make much eye contact either. Really, she doesn’t do much with anyone who isn’t Stiles. And with him asleep in the guest room upstairs, she’s much less the furious half-animal out for vengeance from the people who forced her into this life and much more the scared half-girl who still hasn’t figured this whole human thing out. And at seven minutes to midnight, he can’t just leave her out there alone.

With a sigh, he gives up his hope of being alone when his first year post-Allison begins and crosses the few yards between himself and Malia. At least she finally turns her head to look at him when he drops down beside her.

“You know, you’re gonna miss it.” Malia just keeps staring at him until he finally elaborates. “Midnight. Here, in California.”

“I don’t care.”

Music spills out of the house behind them, coupled with excited voices as the new year gets closer. It’s too jubilant to match the tightness that grows in his chest every time he checks the time on his phone. Scott needs a distraction, which is how he ends up putting his foot in his mouth.

First, though, he presses his palms against the mosaiced walkway and leans back so he can see her face. “Do you remember New Year’s? From before?”

She shoots him a look that’s definitely more furious half-animal than scared half-girl and bares her teeth.

Scott doesn’t recoil. In his head, he can see Stiles placing a gentle, albeit poorly timed, hand on her shoulder as he reminds her Not at friends. Not at people period. But Scott doesn’t say anything. Baring your teeth at the new year feels somehow appropriate tonight. He also doesn’t expect her to tell him anything else, which is why he’s surprised when she talks again.

“The last New Year’s I remember, my dad told me it was gonna be my year. Then three months later, I killed my mom and my sister.”

Again, Stiles’s voice is there in the back of his head, reminding him that they need to keep telling her it wasn’t her fault. But Scott pushes it away. The heaviness in his own heart says guilt doesn’t work that way. Instead, he lays back in the cold grass, trying to ignore the way the music has stopped. The way people are louder, more excited. He can’t get his hands to move the right way to check the time on his phone again, though, so he folds them under his head.

“The last time my mom made us make resolutions was the last new year’s before my dad walked out,” he tells her, swapping terrible holiday for terrible holiday. He’s not sure why he tells her at all until she lays back beside him, and it seems to make sense.

“New Year’s is stupid.”

“The worst.”

It catches him off-guard when the countdown starts inside. His chest pulls tighter and tighter until it feels like he can’t breath. Until he sees stars. Until he starts to wonder if this is what Stiles’s panic attacks feel like.

Happy New Year! the collective voices inside cheer, and his heart lodges itself in the back of his throat, threatening to choke him.

“It’s midnight,” Malia sighs beside him.

Her words come back to him without any conscious effort on his part, and his throat starts to feel like it might not close up after all. “It was midnight three hours ago in New York.”

New Year’s Eve/Day, 2013

Paris has been good for her. Scott, Stiles, Lydia, even Derek got to just be for parts of high school. They all had memories of parties, dances, first dates, and friday night games. And (at least by the time she settled into her new skin) Malia had berserkers and dread doctors and a homicidal mom for good measure. But in Paris, she gets to just be. There’s dance clubs and boys with names she sometimes can’t pronounce and liquor laced with wolfsbane once she finds a pack Derek gives her the name of. And it’s everything she wanted it to be.

By New Year’s Eve, she’s been there almost a week. She still barely knows any French, but that just gives her an excuse to not talk when she’d rather be doing other things with her mouth. She spends the holiday out with the two youngest members of the pack she’s stumbled upon, then ends up in the quiet of an apartment with Paul, who she met a few hours ago. She has no idea when the clock switches over to a new year, and it’s bliss.

The sky is still grey the next morning when she wakes up to a buzzing that sounds like it’s just below her ear. It takes her a minute to figure out what just woke her, another to remember where she is, and thirty seconds more to realize that it’s her phone in the pocket of her discarded cuttoffs on the floor. Trying to stay as still as possible to avoid waking Paul, she slides her arm across the mattress until she can reach her pocket, then fishes around until she finally finds her phone. She pulls it out and flips it over to find Scott’s name on the screen, and there’s a weird tug at her heart.

I don’t know what time it is there, but it’s midnight in New York, so I think it’s the new year there?

It’s the first time it dawns on her that it is indeed the New Year, and she’s about to tell him as much when the … appears on the screen to let her know that he’s typing again.

Stiles just pointed out that I could’ve Googled that. So it’s six there.

He wants you to know he had to tell me cause he’s an asshole.

Anyways, Happy New Year.

Malia can picture them; half a world away, they’re probably in Derek’s loft. Just like they were for Christmas, except the Sheriff and Melissa probably aren’t there this time. Lydia didn’t throw a party last year when they were all at odds with one another, and holidays feel different now when it’s the only time Stiles and Lydia make the trip back from the east coast. Which is probably why Scott reacted the way he did when she told him on Christmas she was leaving the next day for Paris. But Lydia had MIT, and Scott had Davis, and Malia needed this.

Happy New Year, she writes and then deletes it. New Year’s is stupid, she writes back instead.

She waits for his … to appear again, but it doesn’t. Derek texts her to wish her a Happy New Year, though, and so does Stiles, so she responds to both of them before she comes back to her message thread with Scott. Scrolling back up, she reads through their texts that stop abruptly on Christmas, right around the time she told him her plan out on Derek’s fire escape. He and Lydia had deferred for a semester while they fought a literal war, but they planned to leave Beacon Hills behind after the holiday. And Malia had still wanted her time to just be, to figure out who she was when she wasn’t Stiles’s girlfriend or Peter Hale’s daughter.

But Scott hadn’t understood, partly because they were still in the middle of… something. He never sat her down the way Stiles had, back when he had defined the word girlfriend for her and then panicked when she substituted it for mate, but they had spent a lot of time together. His mom started expecting her to wander downstairs in the morning after she sat them down to remind them that they both had goals for the future that a diaper bag doesn’t fit into (Malia didn’t get it). But Scott planned to leave, and Malia planned to do the same. And now, things had been weird.

She makes it to four days before she left when her screen suddenly jumps on its own, bringing her back down to his newest message: The worst.

Malia feels that same tug at her heart as she pictures him not in Derek’s loft but laying beside her in the grass instead. Younger, but somehow more worn. Maybe a little broken.

She’s not sure what else to say, but his … saves her again, and then is replaced by his next message: How’s 2014?

Lonely is the first word that comes to mind, even though Paul’s arm is still thrown around her waist. Kind of the same, she says instead.

She watches as he types something, then must delete, then types something again. Over and over, the cursor appears and then disappears again without another text. Then finally, he sends back a single word.

Cool.

It’s quick and short. She pictures him setting his phone back down or pocketing it again, then joining back in the conversation about Braeden’s latest mission or Stiles’s weird roommate who can’t sleep with the closet door closed. Time doesn’t really matter to her and time zones still make no sense, but for a minute, she can feel the distance between them now that they’re living in two different countries and two different years.

Before she can stop herself, she types out I miss you.

Her finger hovers over send for just a half second too long, and then, just when she’s about to press it, Paul stirs beside her, tugging her closer in his half-asleep state.

“What time is it?” he mumbles as he buries his face against the back of her neck. His stubble rubs against her skin in a way that’s nothing like Scott.

“A little after six.”

“ ‘S early.”

“Not that early,” she argues as she sets her phone back down on the floor and flips over on the mattress so that his lips meet hers instead of the back of her neck.

A few hours later, she finds her text to Scott, still waiting to be sent. She deletes it instead and doesn’t text him again until they’re both in the same year and the same country.

New Year’s Eve, 2015 Her name is Bri. He meets her in a Starbucks on a Friday night when he’s claimed a secluded table in the corner where he won’t have to listen to his roommate fight with his girlfriend for the ninth - ninth - time this week, and she asks to take the other half of the table. Six months later, she’s settled into the apartment he started renting after his roommate and his now ex got into fight #10, and she’s met his mom. But he still hasn’t told her that he moonlights as a supernatural creature. Which makes the holidays… awkward.

Thank god Stiles and Lydia are the planners Scott never wanted to be, because they listen to his panicked phone call and then solve the dilemma he thought had been the realization that she doesn’t know he’s a part of a freaking pack of animals. Their official unofficial New Year’s get together is moved to the McCall house where there’s significantly less weird paraphernalia if you don’t know that werewolves exist. Liam makes a joke about Scott flashing his eyes that makes Bri stare at him just a little too long, and Derek accidentally says the word pack a little too loudly when he’s talking to Mason at one point. And when Bri asks about Braeden’s scar, Scott is so caught off guard, he can’t think of anything at all to say and just shrugs a silent I don’t know. But other than that, they might actually make it through this holiday unscathed.

It’s just into the last hour of the year when Scott steps into the kitchen to grab another sadly wolfsbane-less beer when he finds himself face-to-face with Malia. Literally. If it weren’t for coyote instincts, he would’ve hit her with the door.

“Whoa. Sorry,” he says, even as she’s shaking her head with a, “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Yeah. Same.”

Even though she was clearly headed out of the kitchen, she sinks back against the counter as the door swings shut behind him. He’s been home for a week, but this is the first time he’s seen her. In fact, it’s the first time he’s seen her in awhile. Paris led to a visit to London to stay with Ethan and Jackson, then to Spain where a friend of theirs had a pack that also had a werecoyote. She made it back stateside before the end of the year, but her traveling didn’t stop. Instead, she jumped from state to state, meeting pack after pack to learn more about the Hale legacy and the packs that had welcomed other coyotes just like her. So, yeah. It’s been a while.

He wants to tell her that she looks good, but without any effort on his part, Bri is suddenly in the forefront of his mind. “How was Michigan?” he asks instead as he leans against the island opposite her.

“Cold.”

The irony would be funny if it wasn’t directed at him. But her icy, monosyllabic response kind of just hangs between them, suspended by whatever she had wanted to say before something had stopped her, too. Unfortunately, he’s a sucker for this sort of thing.

“Yeah? Isn’t it midnight there already? Like New York?” There’s a roll of her eyes, and he suddenly remembers the time their Physics teacher called her out and Stiles had tried to argue she was blinking with style. She may be traveling the country to try to learn more about what it means to be a half human, but she has definitely mastered the art of the eye roll. She pushes herself off of the counter, too, and pretends to busy herself with the Keurig on the opposite side of the room, but Scott doesn’t give up so easily. “Derek says there’s a whole family of werecoyotes up there.”

“That’s a different pack,” she says at the same instant he remembers that was Minnesota, not Michigan.

“Oh. Yeah. Right.”

“Right,” Malia echoes. The Keurig buzzes loudly, the smell of coffee fills the room. It’s almost enough to cover up the scene of her sudden frustration.

He keeps waiting for her to say something. She’s not good with emotions, but she’s never one to hold her tongue. If it’s him that she’s frustrated with, she would tell him. But the Keurig eventually stops, and it’s just silent between them. He gives her another thirty seconds while she blows into her mug to cool it off, and then he decides he’s had enough staring at her back for one night.

“Well, it’s good to see you,” he says. She doesn’t even turn around. And he’s more hurt than indignant about whatever this is. So he decides to just let it go. “I guess I’ll - “

“Hey! There you are.”

At the sound of another person’s voice, Malia finally does turn around. Just before he turns to see Bri, too, Scott watches her expression change to match Michigan’s winter.

“Bri,” he announces as he gestures between the two girls. “This is Malia. Malia, Bri.”

Bri is bubbly and outgoing. She thrives on human contact and relationships and social situations. She’s been talking about meeting his friends for weeks. She even got Lydia to laugh at her joke, albeit at Scott’s expense, earlier tonight. She’s kind of the antithesis of Malia, and, as she squares her shoulders, Malia seems determined to prove it.

“Hi,” Bri greets her with a tiny wave of her hand. “Happy New Year. It’s nice to finally meet you. Scott’s told me so much about you.”

Malia rolls her eyes sky high a second time as she strides right past Bri. “New Year’s is stupid.”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees because he doesn’t know what else to say. “It’s kind of the worst.” But he hasn’t even finished talking by the time the door is swinging behind her.

He apologizes to Bri and texts Stiles an SOS. Being Malia’s closest friend, he helps to keep her occupied and there’s not another run-in the rest of the night. But as he’s kissing her at midnight, Scott realizes he doesn’t know if Bri is short for Brianne or Brianna or something else entirely.

It takes a few months for their relationship to fizzle out. He never does tell her about the werewolf thing. By next New Year’s, Bri is a distant memory.

New Year’s Eve, 2017

There’s a throbbing in the back of her head. That’s her first coherent thought before she even opens her eyes. Then she tries to turn over, and cries out as pain shoots up her side.

“Malia?”

She grows still at the sound of her own name in her half-conscious state. She’s still too groggy to even know where the sound came from, but her inner coyote processes it as a threat. She doesn’t move even though her side still aches, doesn’t breathe. And then, it speaks again.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

The tension leaves her body as she realizes she knows that voice. Slowly, she opens her eyes, but the room is bright with its harsh fluorescent light. She shuts them tightly again and curls in on herself, only to remember the pain in her side once it’s shooting down towards her thigh again. A little more tentatively, she just barely opens an eye to take her in her surroundings. It’s a hospital room, plain and white, and there’s Scott, just to the side of her bed. She wracks her brain trying to remember how she got here, but that throbbing grows worse, and she definitely doesn’t remember having seen Scott.

“What happened?” she finally asks.

“A hunter,” he sighs as he leans forward in the chair to rest his elbows on his knees. She watches, almost cross-eyed, as he reaches out to brush her hair back behind her ear with a level of gentleness that she doesn’t associate with Scott. “Derek said you guys would track them down when you heard more from Braeden’s contact, but you didn’t want to wait. So you went by yourself. They shot you.”

“That’s it?” Scott’s brow furrows as he stares back at her. But Malia doesn’t offer to explain as she instead tries to sit up. Scott’s hand is there in the next instant, stopping her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Lia, c’mon. I just told you. You were shot.”

“I’ve been shot,” she argues as she tries again to ignore the pain and sit up.

“Yeah, not like this.” She finally stops in favor of listening to him, rapt enough with attention to fall for his act as he gently lays her back down. “The bullet lodged in your side, and you started to heal around it.”

“Is it still there?”

“No. But trust me, I’ve been there.” His hand lingers on her shoulder still, even though she hasn’t made another move to get up. It takes her a minute to realize her side is tingling now, a sure sign that he’s leeching her pain. Immediately, she shrugs her shoulder, and he at least complies and lets go.

He drops his hand to his side instead, but doesn’t move from his place beside her bed. The fog in her head is starting to clear enough now that she remembers bits and pieces. The crunch of a second set of footsteps in the woods, the suddenness of the pain as it bloomed just above her hip, the relief that came after she decided to stop fighting and just let her eyes close. But Scott is nowhere in her memories of that night. He was supposed to be at Derek’s tonight. She was supposed to be at Derek’s too, she had just planned to show up late. She has no idea what time it is, but it has to be close to midnight, if it hasn’t passed already.

Her eye’s narrow in Scott’s direction as it finally clicks. “Why are you here?”

He scoffs. “Because you were shot.”

“But how did you know I was here?”

Scott’s gaze suddenly drops to his feet, and his face grows darker. When he starts to rub at the back of his neck, he looks just like Stiles does when he’s been caught meddling. She’s sure there’s a chemosignal or two there to clue her in, but her brain is too tired to find it. Eventually, he clears his throat. “I’m, uh, your emergency contact.”

Oh.

Her defensive demeanor drops as his words sink in. It was years ago when she had written him down, replacing her father who didn’t need to know every time the monster of the week almost won. But years ago, she and Scott had been … something that they weren’t anymore.

“Well, I’m fine,” she says, knowing Lydia would tell her to say thank you. “You can go.”

“C’mon, Malia. I’m not gonna go.” He settles back down on the edge of the chair like that proves it.

“But it’s New Year’s Eve. It’s almost midnight.”

“And?”

“And you should be with the pack.”

“So now you’re not in my pack anymore?” he asks with a teasing smile. “Plus, it’s already midnight in New York.”

Malia sighs, dropping her head back down on the pillow. She hates hospitals with a passion, and Scott understands better than anyone else. It’s the smells and the sounds and the chemosignals everyone throws off without even trying. It’s suffocating to be surrounded by so much suffering, and it’s not the way anyone should start a new year. “This is stupid,” she finally sighs.

“New Year’s is stupid,” he echoes, and, despite herself, there’s a warmth that settles in the pit of her stomach - or maybe it’s just the painkillers.

Scott watches her expectantly until she finally relents with a roll of her eyes. “The worst.”

Whatever they gave her for the pain is good and strong and her head is still full of clouds. She might fall asleep again, or maybe she just starts to daze, but the next thing she knows, she’s shivering so hard, she can hear the sound of her own teeth chattering. And each violent shake rattles her sore side where they had to take her apart to find the bullet.

“It’s okay,” Scott says, and she realizes then that he got up again, pulling the thin hospital blankets up to her chin. “Your body’s just fighting the anesthesia. Is that better?”

The blankets don’t do anything to stop her shiver, but she still nods as she says, “Fine.”

He doesn’t buy it, sighing through his nose. “Here,” he says as he begins to slide off the jacket he’s still wearing, laying it over the arm of his chair.

“Scott…”

But he ignores her as he comes around the other side of the bed and kicks off his shoes. He peels the blankets away from her, and the shivering immediately gets worse, but then his body is pressed against hers, his arm circling her waist. She forgot how warm his body always is until it’s surrounding her, beginning to ease the tension that comes with trying to fight the shivering. His hand settles just above her hip, and she’s too tired to say anything when that tingling sensation returns again.

“Better?” he asks when her body is almost still.

“Better.”

By the time midnight arrives, she’s fast asleep, beginning the new year free of pain.

New Year’s Eve, 2020

“Dude.”

Scott jumps, startled by Stiles’s voice despite the whole werewolf hearing and the sensing body heat thing. “What?”

“You’ve got it bad.” Stiles thumps him on the shoulder and nods towards the place by the window where Malia sways gently back and forth. It comes so naturally, Scott doesn’t even think she knows she’s doing it. But Talia is cutting her first molar and brushes away any hand that tries to soothe her swollen gums. Braeden’s sleeping form on the couch would be evidence enough of the battle they’ve been waging, even without the dark circles that surround Derek’s eyes, but Aunt Malia apparently has the magic touch. The baby’s been asleep against her shoulder for almost an hour, and she hasn’t stopped swaying since.

“I get it,” Stiles continues without an invite. “Lydia picks up Talia, and I immediately want to bone her. Even though she is definitely Team No Kids and plans to end her career without ever being traded.”

“I don’t want to -” Scott sputters, stuck on that next word when he juxtaposes Stiles’s crude phrasing with the woman across the room. So instead, he focuses on the second half of what Stiles just said. “Lydia doesn’t want kids?”

Stiles shrugs his shoulders. “She’s only got three more years to finish that PhD before 30. Plus does the world really need little Stilinskis running around?”

Scott should point out that there’s plenty of time once they’re 30 to start a family, which is exactly what Derek did - he thinks it’s what Derek did - But then Lydia is suddenly there, circling her arm around Stiles’s waist. Scott tries not to pay attention to the way that Stiles’s arm wraps around her shoulders and pulls her closer, but even after all this time, it still feels sudden and new and unexpected to see the two of them together. “So what do you think?” she asks, cheek pressed against Stiles’s shoulder. “Should we leave?”

The pack assembled is smaller this year, with Liam off in Seattle visiting Hayden, Mason and Corey visiting Ethan and Jackson in London, and Jordan is off meeting his girlfriend’s family now that she’s confirmed she’s okay with the fact that he spends half of his time as a hellhound. Now it’s just the three of them standing in the kitchen, while Malia rocks the baby and a bleary-eyed Derek simply watches. Lydia probably has the right idea.

“Leave?” Stiles apparently disagrees. “It’s not even midnight.”

“It’s already midnight in New York,” Scott counters, but unlike past New Year’s Eves, the two of them both turn their heads to stare at them. “What?” he asks with a shrug of his shoulders. “It is!”

“Well, we live in California, dude,” Stiles says. Then he literally turns his body to face Lydia, hand falling to her waist, and once again, Scott can’t not notice. “You really want to go?”

“I think they could use some sleep.” Lydia says it as a suggestion, but she’s already starting to clean up in the kitchen. And when she reminds Stiles of her grandmother’s belief that you spend New Year’s the way you spend the rest of the year with a hint at how she plans to spend the rest of the night that’s just unsubtle enough to make Scott feel like he shouldn’t be witnessing it, Stiles is on board. Derek half-heartedly tells them to not worry about the mess, but mostly watches as they take care of the remains of their half-hearted party. By the time Stiles and Lydia are slipping out the door, Derek’s dozed off beside Braeden on the couch.

Scott plans to head out, too. There’s nothing left to clean up, and Talia doesn’t seem to like him much when she’s not teething. But he pauses with his coat on and his hand on the door, turning back around to where Malia’s still standing in front of the picture windows facing the woods, swaying back and forth with the baby. And Stiles still isn’t right, but he can’t leave just yet.

To avoid waking the sleeping parents, he crosses the room again. She must hear him because she turns away from the window, widening the arch of her swaying. “Hey,” he says once he’s close enough for her to hear his voice when it’s just above a whisper. “Stiles and Lydia left.”

“I know,” she deadpans. “I can hear you guys talking.”

Scott laughs. In the eight years he’s known her, he’s watched her become more comfortable in this body. She understands emotions now, and she’s better in most social situations. It may have taken her a little longer, but come May, she’ll have a degree. And yet, he might like this side of her the most, matter-of-fact and so much like the girl they found in the woods.

“Well, I was thinking about -” He motions towards the door in the same instant he realizes he’s not totally sure why he feels like he has to announce this to her. But now she’s just staring at him in a way that implies this statement is no less intelligent the last. “I mean, I guess, if you want,” he says before he can stop himself. “If you didn’t want to spend New Year’s alone…”

Malia’s gaze softens then, less of a judgement over his confessions and maybe something bordering on consideration. The baby chooses that moment, though, to turn her face, nuzzling against Malia’s shoulder before growing still again. Malia looks down at the baby, and by the time she looks back at Scott, her expression has changed. “She just fell asleep. I should make sure she’s really down for the night.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course.”

Scott knows he should take a step back and say his goodbye. He should survey the kitchen one last time to make sure everything is picked up, even though Lydia would never have left if something was out of place. He should go home and text her at midnight, just like he’ll text Stiles and Lydia, Liam and Hayden, Mason and Ethan and Jackson. Instead, he stands rooted to the floor mesmerized as she rubs the baby’s small back,sending faintly dark lines up her wrist when she pauses to check the baby’s pain level.

“You know,” he finally says instead of I’m gonna go. “You’re really good with her.”

Malia shrugs. “It’s not hard.” There it is, that matter-of-factness again. “And it’s nice. To have family.”

There’s an ache in his chest that’s quickly replaced by a warmth as her words resonate with him. A lot of times, a lot of New Year’s he’s wondered if maybe it was a mistake to take her from that life she had settled into. Tonight, he wants to pull her close. He wants to tell her how glad he is that she’s there. He wants to brush back that hair that’s fallen forward from behind her ear. He wants -

Outside, someone sets off a premature firework. Scott and Malia both jump. Talia begins to scream. Her parents wake up with a start on the couch. And just like that, the moment is gone.

“It’s okay, Tal,” Malia says as she begins to bounce the baby, resuming the endless laps she did around the living room before the baby fell asleep the first time. “I know, New Year’s is stupid.”

“The. Worst,” he echoes.

Scott ends up letting himself out.

New Year’s Eve, 2021

Lydia Martin’s parties are a status symbol in Beacon Hills. Malia’s only been a part of her life for ten years, and even she knows that. And in 2021, Lydia Martin throws the party to end all parties, then follows it up with her first act as Lydia Martin-Stilinski, and throws the smallest party she’s ever thrown to welcome in the first full year she’ll spend as a married woman.

The Martin-Stilinski house is full. Talia spends the first half of the night playing peek-a-boo with everyone before she eventually curls up beneath the Christmas tree and falls asleep. Jackson repeatedly chokes up telling the story of Ethan’s proposal, and Lydia elbows Stiles every time he snorts halfway through the story. Derek and Braeden show no signs of falling asleep before midnight. It’s the pack Malia never wanted but now can’t seem to live without, just like Beacon Hills is the place she tried to escape and the home that welcomed her back. But still, there’s something about all of the wedding planning and baby games and feeling of family that leaves her feeling… She’s not sure.

It’s almost midnight when Lydia starts pulling down champagne flutes and Derek offers to help pour. Malia takes the excitement over the impending countdown as her invitation to slip outside.

It’s colder than she realized, and she shivers as she sits down on the back steps. It’s louder here, closer to the city and Stiles’s FBI placement, than it is back in Beacon Hills. She welcomes it as she focuses on the sirens and the traffic and neighbors’ top 40s playlist instead of that feeling welling inside of her.

As much as she hates New Year’s, it might be good to see this one go. It was the year Stiles married Lydia, which still feels weird but okay. It was the year she took a job at Scott’s clinic as a practicing vet tech. But it was also the year that her dad died, just a week after Thanksgiving, leaving her the sole survivor of the Tate family. So maybe it’s better to forge ahead into whatever comes next.

The sound of the door opening behind her cuts through the neighbors’ music and her thoughts, and she turns her head to find Scott there. “It’s almost midnight,” he tells her as he gently eases the door closed, then drops down to sit beside her. “Although, I guess it was midnight in New York three hours ago.”

Malia manages a small smile at the memory that feels so recent and yet like it happened in another lifetime. “True.”

Scott’s silent. The music next door turns off, and somewhere in the back of her mind, it registers that midnight must be closer than she realized. Part of her wants to run, and part of her wants to reach for his hand instead. It feels like a kind of middle ground to just stay there, sitting beside him with her thigh brushing against his but otherwise a safe distance between them.

“So the good news,” he offers when she doesn’t have anything else to say, “is that it gets better. It’s hard at first. This one sucks. Next one might be worse. But eventually, it doesn’t feel like that anymore. You don’t forget, it just doesn’t -”

“-Hurt,” she finishes.

“Yeah. Right.”

He reaches over to squeeze her knee, and then his hand lingers there, gentle and warm. He’s always been this gentle and warm presence in a life that was cold and unforgiving so much of the time, at least at first. Most of the time, she forgets that Scott is also the tragic hero in all of this. That she joined his pack at its most fragile point, and without an alpha like him, it probably wouldn’t have lasted long enough for her to even set down roots.

Against her better judgement, she covers his hand with her own and lets him lace their fingers together. “But New Year’s still sucks, right?” she asks with a smirk.

“Oh,” he scoffs. “It’s the worst.”

She laughs and then he joins in and the better he’s just promised doesn’t feel quite as far-fetched. He laughs more now, she finds herself thinking. He’s more confident than the boy who sat beside her next to a pool. There’s still sometimes an awkward power dynamic between Scott and Derek, but Scott fills out that title of alpha better than he did when she first met him. And he’s happy. Genuinely, truly. happy. As the lone survivor of a love affair for the ages, he’s doing pretty okay. Maybe she’s willing to share that lone survivor title, too.

“Y’know,” he says as he brushes his shoulder against hers. “We’re gonna miss midnight.”

He’s watching her expectantly, big brown eyes focused only on her, even as someone asks Where’s Scott? and What about Malia? a few yards behind them. She knows he hears it, too, but neither of them react.

“It’s still midnight out here,” she responds instead.

His hand stays woven with her as the countdown begins in the house behind them. There’s a nervous energy building inside of her, some wild animal trapped in her chest that might try to fight its way free at a moment’s notice. She’s back to wanting to run, but then he gives her hand a squeeze, and it at least takes the edge off.

Next door, there’s a collective cheer that drowns out the family waiting for them inside. She feels sick to her stomach, but she tries to focus on his palm against her own instead.

Gently, he reaches over to brush her hair back behind her ear where it’s fallen forward. “Happy New Year, Malia.”

“Happy New Year, Scott.”

And then he leans forward and kisses her. And if this is what it feels like to forge ahead into uncharted territory, she’s ready.

New Year’s Eve, 2023

For the first time in Scott’s recent memory, it’s a white New Year’s Eve in California. There’s literally a dusting that covers the grass and throws most of the state into a frenzy. It’s probably the first time in Malia’s life as a human that there’s been this much snow. And they miss the entire thing.

It’s late by the time the midwife has packed up her things and ventured back out into what the news referred to as the storm of the century. The pack won’t stop by until tomorrow, when there’s no longer a literal State of Emergency declared statewide. And in a moment, it becomes just the three of them: Malia, Scott, and all six pounds eight ounces of Tate McCall curled up against Scott’s chest.

His birth is as planned as the snow outside, having come nearly four weeks early, which is fitting when considering what a surprise his conception had been. But Scott can’t remember a time he felt more content, laying beside his girlfriend with his son sleeping soundly against his heart. It’s not the worst way to usher out the old and in the new.

Malia rolls gently onto her side, reaching out to run her hand over the soft mess of dark hair that covers the baby’s head, and Scott can only shake his head. “How are you even still awake?”

“I’m not tired.” He knows that’s a lie. Or if it’s not a lie, it’s the lingering adrenaline talking. He did a fraction of the work, and he still feels like he waged a war over the course of the past 22 hours. Reaching over now, he gently cups her elbow and sucks in a breath when he feels her pain shooting down his thighs, giving him just a taste of how sore she is. That alone should be enough to knock her out, and yet here she is, insisting on lying awake with them. He thinks she’s incredible.

“You should sleep,” she tries to argue instead.

“What did I even do?”

“You took my pain the whole time. Don’t even argue,” she says as she points in his direction. “I know you did.”

“Then how come you didn’t stop me?”

“It felt good.” They both start laughing until her body lets her know that laughter is not her friend, and she groans softly.

“Sorry,” Scott is quick to say. The baby squirms on his chest, and he can almost feel the tension as she holds her breath alongside him, but then the baby simply stops without ever waking up. “Seriously though, you should sleep while he’ll let us. It’s already almost midnight.”

Her eyes close like she might just take his advice, but she smiles sleepily. “It’s already midnight in New York.”

“And I guess New Year’s is stupid anyways, huh?”

Malia opens her eyes to look back over at the baby, whose birthday will now forever coincide with the national holiday. Earlier, when he had texted out the baby’s stats, Stiles had responded that if you were gonna have to share your birthday, you could’ve at least been the first baby of the New Year, which Tate fell short of by a few hours, but Scott disagreed. It had to feel good to feel like everyone was celebrating along with you. Malia reaches for his tiny hand now, and Scott watches as, even in sleep, the baby responds by holding onto her finger like it’s a lifeline. “I don’t know,” she finally admits. “It might not be that terrible.”

“Oh?” Scott asks, eyebrow raised in disbelief. “It’s not the worst?”

She hesitates, then shakes her head. “It might kind of be the best.”

As she begins to lose the battle and her eyes drift shut again, Scott can’t help but think, Yeah. This is kind of the best.

#teen wolf #scalia #stydia #draeden #scott mccall #malia tate #scoliasecretsanta #my fic

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scoliasecretsanta · 7 years ago

Text

Scolia Secret Santa - What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

for: @allisonscott

title: What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve? word count: 7,431 genre: angst/fluff author’s note: I wanted to give you a slow-build, friends-to-lovers kind of thing, so I hope you enjoy these snapshots of NYEs over the course of twelve years. :)

New Year’s Eve, 2011

Lydia Martin’s parties are a status symbol in Beacon Hills. You’re not someone unless you can somehow score an invite, and nothing rivals her New Year’s Eve party. Two years ago, Scott had spent New Year’s binge watching Marvel movies with his mom and Stiles, listening to Stiles volley between lamenting their low, low status and inventing possible scenarios of what was unfolding at the party across town. This year, Scott wanders that same party, followed by the ghost of a girl he’s not quite ready to shake and mentally curses Lydia Martin and her parties for bringing Allison Argent into his life.

His initial reaction is to turn around and head back inside. Malia’s become a staple lately, a siamese twin glued to Stiles’s side, but Scott still doesn’t feel like he knows her - and he’s not sure he wants to. (Stiles’s survivor guilt has him throwing himself into saving someone else while Scott’s has him certain he shouldn’t be allowed to lead a pack.) But then he makes eye contact with her, and he can’t just slip back inside.

“It’s almost midnight,” he says instead as he lingers in that spot just outside the door. He silently wills her to give up her spot and go join the party’s impending countdown.

She shrugs instead. “It was midnight three hours ago in New York.”

“Okay, true,” he concedes, even as his body wants to rebel. He forces himself to say it, the same way he forces himself to stand there when what he really wanted was to be alone. “Where’s Stiles?”

“Asleep.”

“Asleep?”

Malia nods. She doesn’t offer any more information at first. Instead, she gazes out over the pool for a long, silent minute before she finally says, “He still smells like it.”

“You know, you’re gonna miss it.” Malia just keeps staring at him until he finally elaborates. “Midnight. Here, in California.”

“I don’t care.”

First, though, he presses his palms against the mosaiced walkway and leans back so he can see her face. “Do you remember New Year’s? From before?”

She shoots him a look that’s definitely more furious half-animal than scared half-girl and bares her teeth.

Scott doesn’t recoil. In his head, he can see Stiles placing a gentle, albeit poorly timed, hand on her shoulder as he reminds her Not at friends. Not at people period. But Scott doesn’t say anything. Baring your teeth at the new year feels somehow appropriate tonight. He also doesn’t expect her to tell him anything else, which is why he’s surprised when she talks again.

“The last New Year’s I remember, my dad told me it was gonna be my year. Then three months later, I killed my mom and my sister.”

Again, Stiles’s voice is there in the back of his head, reminding him that they need to keep telling her it wasn’t her fault. But Scott pushes it away. The heaviness in his own heart says guilt doesn’t work that way. Instead, he lays back in the cold grass, trying to ignore the way the music has stopped. The way people are louder, more excited. He can’t get his hands to move the right way to check the time on his phone again, though, so he folds them under his head.

“New Year’s is stupid.”

“The worst.”

Happy New Year! the collective voices inside cheer, and his heart lodges itself in the back of his throat, threatening to choke him.

“It’s midnight,” Malia sighs beside him.

Her words come back to him without any conscious effort on his part, and his throat starts to feel like it might not close up after all. “It was midnight three hours ago in New York.”

New Year’s Eve/Day, 2013

Paris has been good for her. Scott, Stiles, Lydia, even Derek got to just be for parts of high school. They all had memories of parties, dances, first dates, and friday night games. And (at least by the time she settled into her new skin) Malia had berserkers and dread doctors and a homicidal mom for good measure. But in Paris, she gets to just be. There’s dance clubs and boys with names she sometimes can’t pronounce and liquor laced with wolfsbane once she finds a pack Derek gives her the name of. And it’s everything she wanted it to be.

I don’t know what time it is there, but it’s midnight in New York, so I think it’s the new year there?

It’s the first time it dawns on her that it is indeed the New Year, and she’s about to tell him as much when the … appears on the screen to let her know that he’s typing again.

Stiles just pointed out that I could’ve Googled that. So it’s six there.

He wants you to know he had to tell me cause he’s an asshole.

Anyways, Happy New Year.

Happy New Year, she writes and then deletes it. New Year’s is stupid, she writes back instead.

She waits for his … to appear again, but it doesn’t. Derek texts her to wish her a Happy New Year, though, and so does Stiles, so she responds to both of them before she comes back to her message thread with Scott. Scrolling back up, she reads through their texts that stop abruptly on Christmas, right around the time she told him her plan out on Derek’s fire escape. He and Lydia had deferred for a semester while they fought a literal war, but they planned to leave Beacon Hills behind after the holiday. And Malia had still wanted her time to just be, to figure out who she was when she wasn’t Stiles’s girlfriend or Peter Hale’s daughter.

But Scott hadn’t understood, partly because they were still in the middle of… something. He never sat her down the way Stiles had, back when he had defined the word girlfriend for her and then panicked when she substituted it for mate, but they had spent a lot of time together. His mom started expecting her to wander downstairs in the morning after she sat them down to remind them that they both had goals for the future that a diaper bag doesn’t fit into (Malia didn’t get it). But Scott planned to leave, and Malia planned to do the same. And now, things had been weird.

She makes it to four days before she left when her screen suddenly jumps on its own, bringing her back down to his newest message: The worst.

Malia feels that same tug at her heart as she pictures him not in Derek’s loft but laying beside her in the grass instead. Younger, but somehow more worn. Maybe a little broken.

She’s not sure what else to say, but his … saves her again, and then is replaced by his next message: How’s 2014?

Lonely is the first word that comes to mind, even though Paul’s arm is still thrown around her waist. Kind of the same, she says instead.

Cool.

It’s quick and short. She pictures him setting his phone back down or pocketing it again, then joining back in the conversation about Braeden’s latest mission or Stiles’s weird roommate who can’t sleep with the closet door closed. Time doesn’t really matter to her and time zones still make no sense, but for a minute, she can feel the distance between them now that they’re living in two different countries and two different years.

Before she can stop herself, she types out I miss you.

Her finger hovers over send for just a half second too long, and then, just when she’s about to press it, Paul stirs beside her, tugging her closer in his half-asleep state.

“What time is it?” he mumbles as he buries his face against the back of her neck. His stubble rubs against her skin in a way that’s nothing like Scott.

“A little after six.”

“ ‘S early.”

“Not that early,” she argues as she sets her phone back down on the floor and flips over on the mattress so that his lips meet hers instead of the back of her neck.

A few hours later, she finds her text to Scott, still waiting to be sent. She deletes it instead and doesn’t text him again until they’re both in the same year and the same country.

New Year’s Eve, 2015 Her name is Bri. He meets her in a Starbucks on a Friday night when he’s claimed a secluded table in the corner where he won’t have to listen to his roommate fight with his girlfriend for the ninth - ninth - time this week, and she asks to take the other half of the table. Six months later, she’s settled into the apartment he started renting after his roommate and his now ex got into fight #10, and she’s met his mom. But he still hasn’t told her that he moonlights as a supernatural creature. Which makes the holidays… awkward.

Thank god Stiles and Lydia are the planners Scott never wanted to be, because they listen to his panicked phone call and then solve the dilemma he thought had been the realization that she doesn’t know he’s a part of a freaking pack of animals. Their official unofficial New Year’s get together is moved to the McCall house where there’s significantly less weird paraphernalia if you don’t know that werewolves exist. Liam makes a joke about Scott flashing his eyes that makes Bri stare at him just a little too long, and Derek accidentally says the word pack a little too loudly when he’s talking to Mason at one point. And when Bri asks about Braeden’s scar, Scott is so caught off guard, he can’t think of anything at all to say and just shrugs a silent I don’t know. But other than that, they might actually make it through this holiday unscathed.

“Whoa. Sorry,” he says, even as she’s shaking her head with a, “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Yeah. Same.”

“Cold.”

“Yeah? Isn’t it midnight there already? Like New York?” There’s a roll of her eyes, and he suddenly remembers the time their Physics teacher called her out and Stiles had tried to argue she was blinking with style. She may be traveling the country to try to learn more about what it means to be a half human, but she has definitely mastered the art of the eye roll. She pushes herself off of the counter, too, and pretends to busy herself with the Keurig on the opposite side of the room, but Scott doesn’t give up so easily. “Derek says there’s a whole family of werecoyotes up there.”

“That’s a different pack,” she says at the same instant he remembers that was Minnesota, not Michigan.

“Oh. Yeah. Right.”

“Right,” Malia echoes. The Keurig buzzes loudly, the smell of coffee fills the room. It’s almost enough to cover up the scene of her sudden frustration.

“Well, it’s good to see you,” he says. She doesn’t even turn around. And he’s more hurt than indignant about whatever this is. So he decides to just let it go. “I guess I’ll - “

“Hey! There you are.”

At the sound of another person’s voice, Malia finally does turn around. Just before he turns to see Bri, too, Scott watches her expression change to match Michigan’s winter.

“Bri,” he announces as he gestures between the two girls. “This is Malia. Malia, Bri.”

Bri is bubbly and outgoing. She thrives on human contact and relationships and social situations. She’s been talking about meeting his friends for weeks. She even got Lydia to laugh at her joke, albeit at Scott’s expense, earlier tonight. She’s kind of the antithesis of Malia, and, as she squares her shoulders, Malia seems determined to prove it.

“Hi,” Bri greets her with a tiny wave of her hand. “Happy New Year. It’s nice to finally meet you. Scott’s told me so much about you.”

Malia rolls her eyes sky high a second time as she strides right past Bri. “New Year’s is stupid.”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees because he doesn’t know what else to say. “It’s kind of the worst.” But he hasn’t even finished talking by the time the door is swinging behind her.

It takes a few months for their relationship to fizzle out. He never does tell her about the werewolf thing. By next New Year’s, Bri is a distant memory.

New Year’s Eve, 2017

There’s a throbbing in the back of her head. That’s her first coherent thought before she even opens her eyes. Then she tries to turn over, and cries out as pain shoots up her side.

“Malia?”

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“What happened?” she finally asks.

“A hunter,” he sighs as he leans forward in the chair to rest his elbows on his knees. She watches, almost cross-eyed, as he reaches out to brush her hair back behind her ear with a level of gentleness that she doesn’t associate with Scott. “Derek said you guys would track them down when you heard more from Braeden’s contact, but you didn’t want to wait. So you went by yourself. They shot you.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Lia, c’mon. I just told you. You were shot.”

“I’ve been shot,” she argues as she tries again to ignore the pain and sit up.

“Is it still there?”

He drops his hand to his side instead, but doesn’t move from his place beside her bed. The fog in her head is starting to clear enough now that she remembers bits and pieces. The crunch of a second set of footsteps in the woods, the suddenness of the pain as it bloomed just above her hip, the relief that came after she decided to stop fighting and just let her eyes close. But Scott is nowhere in her memories of that night. He was supposed to be at Derek’s tonight. She was supposed to be at Derek’s too, she had just planned to show up late. She has no idea what time it is, but it has to be close to midnight, if it hasn’t passed already.

Her eye’s narrow in Scott’s direction as it finally clicks. “Why are you here?”

He scoffs. “Because you were shot.”

“But how did you know I was here?”

Oh.

“Well, I’m fine,” she says, knowing Lydia would tell her to say thank you. “You can go.”

“C’mon, Malia. I’m not gonna go.” He settles back down on the edge of the chair like that proves it.

“But it’s New Year’s Eve. It’s almost midnight.”

“And?”

“And you should be with the pack.”

“So now you’re not in my pack anymore?” he asks with a teasing smile. “Plus, it’s already midnight in New York.”

“New Year’s is stupid,” he echoes, and, despite herself, there’s a warmth that settles in the pit of her stomach - or maybe it’s just the painkillers.

Scott watches her expectantly until she finally relents with a roll of her eyes. “The worst.”

Whatever they gave her for the pain is good and strong and her head is still full of clouds. She might fall asleep again, or maybe she just starts to daze, but the next thing she knows, she’s shivering so hard, she can hear the sound of her own teeth chattering. And each violent shake rattles her sore side where they had to take her apart to find the bullet.

“It’s okay,” Scott says, and she realizes then that he got up again, pulling the thin hospital blankets up to her chin. “Your body’s just fighting the anesthesia. Is that better?”

The blankets don’t do anything to stop her shiver, but she still nods as she says, “Fine.”

He doesn’t buy it, sighing through his nose. “Here,” he says as he begins to slide off the jacket he’s still wearing, laying it over the arm of his chair.

“Scott…”

“Better?” he asks when her body is almost still.

“Better.”

By the time midnight arrives, she’s fast asleep, beginning the new year free of pain.

New Year’s Eve, 2020

“Dude.”

Scott jumps, startled by Stiles’s voice despite the whole werewolf hearing and the sensing body heat thing. “What?”

Stiles shrugs his shoulders. “She’s only got three more years to finish that PhD before 30. Plus does the world really need little Stilinskis running around?”

Scott should point out that there’s plenty of time once they’re 30 to start a family, which is exactly what Derek did - he thinks it’s what Derek did - But then Lydia is suddenly there, circling her arm around Stiles’s waist. Scott tries not to pay attention to the way that Stiles’s arm wraps around her shoulders and pulls her closer, but even after all this time, it still feels sudden and new and unexpected to see the two of them together. “So what do you think?” she asks, cheek pressed against Stiles’s shoulder. “Should we leave?”

“Leave?” Stiles apparently disagrees. “It’s not even midnight.”

“Well, we live in California, dude,” Stiles says. Then he literally turns his body to face Lydia, hand falling to her waist, and once again, Scott can’t not notice. “You really want to go?”

“I know,” she deadpans. “I can hear you guys talking.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course.”

“You know,” he finally says instead of I’m gonna go. “You’re really good with her.”

Malia shrugs. “It’s not hard.” There it is, that matter-of-factness again. “And it’s nice. To have family.”

Outside, someone sets off a premature firework. Scott and Malia both jump. Talia begins to scream. Her parents wake up with a start on the couch. And just like that, the moment is gone.

“The. Worst,” he echoes.

Scott ends up letting himself out.

New Year’s Eve, 2021

Lydia Martin’s parties are a status symbol in Beacon Hills. Malia’s only been a part of her life for ten years, and even she knows that. And in 2021, Lydia Martin throws the party to end all parties, then follows it up with her first act as Lydia Martin-Stilinski, and throws the smallest party she’s ever thrown to welcome in the first full year she’ll spend as a married woman.

It’s almost midnight when Lydia starts pulling down champagne flutes and Derek offers to help pour. Malia takes the excitement over the impending countdown as her invitation to slip outside.

Malia manages a small smile at the memory that feels so recent and yet like it happened in another lifetime. “True.”

“-Hurt,” she finishes.

“Yeah. Right.”

Against her better judgement, she covers his hand with her own and lets him lace their fingers together. “But New Year’s still sucks, right?” she asks with a smirk.

“Oh,” he scoffs. “It’s the worst.”

She laughs and then he joins in and the better he’s just promised doesn’t feel quite as far-fetched. He laughs more now, she finds herself thinking. He’s more confident than the boy who sat beside her next to a pool. There’s still sometimes an awkward power dynamic between Scott and Derek, but Scott fills out that title of alpha better than he did when she first met him. And he’s happy. Genuinely, truly. happy. As the lone survivor of a love affair for the ages, he’s doing pretty okay. Maybe she’s willing to share that lone survivor title, too.

“Y’know,” he says as he brushes his shoulder against hers. “We’re gonna miss midnight.”

He’s watching her expectantly, big brown eyes focused only on her, even as someone asks Where’s Scott? and What about Malia? a few yards behind them. She knows he hears it, too, but neither of them react.

“It’s still midnight out here,” she responds instead.

Next door, there’s a collective cheer that drowns out the family waiting for them inside. She feels sick to her stomach, but she tries to focus on his palm against her own instead.

Gently, he reaches over to brush her hair back behind her ear where it’s fallen forward. “Happy New Year, Malia.”

“Happy New Year, Scott.”

And then he leans forward and kisses her. And if this is what it feels like to forge ahead into uncharted territory, she’s ready.

New Year’s Eve, 2023

It’s late by the time the midwife has packed up her things and ventured back out into what the news referred to as the storm of the century. The pack won’t stop by until tomorrow, when there’s no longer a literal State of Emergency declared statewide. And in a moment, it becomes just the three of them: Malia, Scott, and all six pounds eight ounces of Tate McCall curled up against Scott’s chest.

Malia rolls gently onto her side, reaching out to run her hand over the soft mess of dark hair that covers the baby’s head, and Scott can only shake his head. “How are you even still awake?”

“I’m not tired.” He knows that’s a lie. Or if it’s not a lie, it’s the lingering adrenaline talking. He did a fraction of the work, and he still feels like he waged a war over the course of the past 22 hours. Reaching over now, he gently cups her elbow and sucks in a breath when he feels her pain shooting down his thighs, giving him just a taste of how source she is. That alone should be enough to knock her out, and yet here she is, insisting on lying awake with them. He thinks she’s incredible.

“You should sleep,” she tries to argue instead.

“What did I even do?”

“You took my pain the whole time. Don’t even argue,” she says as she points in his direction. “I know you did.”

“Then how come you didn’t stop me?”

“It felt good.” They both start laughing until her body lets her know that laughter is not her friend, and she groans softly.

Her eyes close like she might just take his advice, but she smiles sleepily. “It’s already midnight in New York.”

“And I guess New Year’s is stupid anyways, huh?”

Malia opens her eyes to look back over at the baby, whose birthday will now forever coincide with the national holiday. Earlier, when he had texted out the baby’s stats, Stiles had responded that if you were gonna have to share your birthday, you could’ve at least been the first baby of the New Year, which Tate fell short of by a few hours, but Scott disagreed. It had to feel good to feel like everyone was celebrating along with you. Malia reaches for his tiny had now, and Scott watches as, even in sleep, the baby responds by holding onto her finger like it’s a lifeline. “I don’t know,” she finally admits. “It might not be

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