#and woolly scarves

[thefrogdalorian]

Dincember Day 1: Snow

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Word Count: 4825 Rating: General Content warnings: None! Summary: After a busy few months working for the New Republic, Din surprises you and Grogu with a well-earned retreat to a snowy paradise in the run up to Life Day. Snow-filled chaotic fluff and fun ensues! Author's note: This one sort of spiralled out of control in terms of word count and I did research into SW lore which I doubt I'll do every day, but I enjoyed it! I love browsing Wookieepedia like a big ol' nerd. The city visited is from a video game and the entry can be found here if anyone is interested in that kind of thing. Anyway, hope you enjoyed day one and thanks for reading :D

Link to read on AO3 | My Dincember Masterlist

When Din told you to pack warm clothes for a mystery destination, you were curious about what exactly laid in store on the upcoming trip he had been carefully planning for the two of you to take with Grogu. It had been a busy few months for Din, his frequent assignments with the New Republic, where he was tasked with eliminating Imperial remnants, had kept him away from you for considerable periods. Recently, whispers of Thrawn’s return had swirled and eventually reached fever pitch. The rumours terrified you, but you knew that with someone like Din working to keep the peace, the fate of the galaxy could not be in safer hands. Nor could your future, as it happened. With Din by your side, you felt a sense of security that was incredibly comforting. You knew regardless of what he had planned for you, a surprise trip like this after such a stressful period was an incredibly thoughtful gesture from a thoroughly kind man.

Life Day was rapidly approaching and Din had promised to whisk you away for a trip somewhere in the galaxy. Where exactly, you did not know. But if you had to hazard a guess, you would not be heading to the deserts of Tatooine, given his instructions to pack for chilly climes. You eagerly bounced around the small cabin the two of you shared on Nevarro, packing your warmest clothes. The warm climate of the lava-covered planet you now called home meant that you had to search the deepest depths of your drawers, but eventually you found hats, scarves and warm woolly mittens that would be perfect for cold weather.

Your entire body was buzzing with excitement as you packed your bag, eagerly anticipating the quality time you would get to spend with Din and Grogu. Din had made it clear when the two of you had met, that the very nature of his line of work would be unpredictable and keep him away from you for long periods at short notice. You knew he hated the fact that his work kept him away from you so frequently just as much as you did, so, you reasoned, there was no point in making him feel guilty. With this trip, you knew that he was more than going to make up for it. You felt slightly guilty about how much you were sure he would spoil you with some of the credits he had earned. But Din Djarin was not remotely materialistic man; the safety and happiness of his loved ones mattered far more to him than any wealth he could accumulate.

So, as you headed out of your cabin the following morning and departed in the ship Din had borrowed from Greef Karga to accomodate you too - his N-1 was too small - you were practically bursting from excitement. But that excitement soon faded once the realities of travelling through the monotiny that was a seemingly never-ending hyperspace dawned upon you. Once the thrill of seeing the rushing blue and white hues outside the window had worn off, you found yourself thoroughly bored. Grogu was sound asleep in the corner of the cockpit, so for entertainment, you decided to interrogate Din in an attempt to ascertain hints as to your destination.

"So… it's cold…?" You mused. Din sat in the seat next to you, his armour illuminated by the multicoloured buttons of the various control panels, "Outer-Rim?" You questioned, watching for any signs that your words were having an impact.

But he did not move an inch, his arms remained folded, his breathing even. This man was impossible to read. But you were not going to give up.

"Fine… Mid-Rim?" You asked.

"I told you. It's a surprise," Din huffed.

You chuckled at how annoyed he sounded. It wasn't as though narrowing down the vast regions to several thousand planets rather than several hundred thousand would make much of a difference. But Din was stubborn. And you loved him for it. You had intended to continue pestering him, but you listened in astonishment when, a few minutes later, you heard the even breaths that indicated your favourite Mandalorian had fallen asleep. You weren't far behind him. It passed the time, after all.

After a long day of travelling you finally arrived at your destination, a place Din informed you once he had landed that was, in fact, the capital of Corellia: the bustling Coronet City.

You had been slightly confused about Din’s instructions to pack for the cold when you exited the ship in Coronet City. You did not see snow or any indication of frigid temperatures. But you couldn't dawdle to muse on it because you had to keep up with Din in the crowd.

As the two of you made your way through the spaceport, you put your hand out as if to offer a hand to Din to help with the heavy bags he was carrying, containing the warm clothes you had packed for the trip. But rather than hand one of the bags to you, your stubborn Mandalorian grunted and shifted the weathered satchel to his other hand. You were momentarily confused; you opened your mouth, intending to offer him a hand. But then you felt the explanation. Your heart melted when you felt the pillowy leather of his well-worn gloves as he held your hand in his. The warm presence of his large hand caused a shiver to spread down your spine.

You looked down at the little green child who nestled happily in your arms; Grogu was taking in all the new sights and sounds with his wide brown eyes and long green ears. So, you decided to take a look around for yourself. You noticed how underdressed everyone appeared to be, compared to what you had been expecting. The planet did not seem to be nearly so chilly as to make the warm clothes you had packed necessary. As if he could sense your confusion, Din finally informed you of his plans.

“If you hadn't already gathered, Coronet City isn’t actually our final stop,” Din explained as the two of you walked through the busy terminus, weaving between locals and tourists alike who had travelled to Corellia for the holiday season. The planet seemed to be at capacity. You were glad you were holding hands with Din, so the two of you did not get separated. “We’re heading up to the mountains. I thought it would be nice for Grogu to experience some snow. Since Nevarro has such a warm climate, it seemed like the perfect place.”

“Oh, Din… that sounds perfect.” You smiled up at him, “Grogu will love it, won’t you, buddy?” You took Grogu’s purr as you leaned down to address him directly as an indication that the child agreed. Din squeezed your hand tightly, appreciative that you were seemingly so excited by his plans.

You had no idea where you were heading, following Din’s lead as you placed your trust in him entirely, just as you always did. Excitement was not the only emotion you felt, though. There was the smug part of you, too, enjoying the assured feeling you had that, no matter how many heads this Mandalorian in his gleaming, unpainted beskar’gam was turning in this spaceport… that he was all yours. And yours alone.

Eventually, you seemingly reached the platform from which you would board the shuttle as Din led you off the main hall of the spaceport, ascending steps to the landing platform. At the top of the stairs was a screen which gave you the name of your final destination: Doaba Guerfel. The name meant nothing to you, but you had no time to dwell on it as Din dropped your hand and struggled with the heavy bags through the shuttle's door.

“I would have helped you, you know,” You informed Din with a smirk. He finally took a seat after placing the luggage on a shelf above the seats. “Rather than you struggling along with those heavy bags because we were holding hands.”

“I know.” Din nodded, “But I’ll never not want to hold your hand.”

Your heart melted for the second time in quick succession. How could this man, known throughout the galaxy for the ruthlessness with which he had once apprehended bounties and now applied those same talents in his work for the New Republic, actually be this soft and caring underneath that hard, Beskar shell? You didn’t think there was anyone else in the galaxy quite like Din Djarin. You were certain of that, in fact.

You passed Grogu to Din and felt yourself smile at his happy coo. The child sat contentedly on his father's lap, peering out of the window as the shuttle departed and flew over the buildings of Coronet City and towards the mountains that loomed on the horizon. You were still some distance away, but you could see that they were covered in snow. You felt your stomach dancing with excitement; it looked like a secluded paradise. Which, as it transpired, was exactly what this town – nestled amongst mountains – was. Din was always so curious about the galaxy around him, respectful and eager to learn about other planets and their language and culture. So of course, it made sense that he had done research when selecting this destination.

“Our destination, as you probably gathered, is a quaint mountainous town called Doaba Guerfel… The mountains you can see are called the Nomad Mountains and the town itself used to be known as Nomad’s Retreat. It’s incredibly secluded, so I thought it would be a perfect retreat for our little family,” Din explained, gesturing out of the window to the mountains the shuttle was hurtling towards. “The town invests heavily in restoration and protection of the wilderness around here. Apparently, the flora and fauna found here in such an abundance that is rare anywhere else throughout the galaxy. I doubt we'll be able to see much given the time of year. But I thought it was nice that the residents here care about their surroundings.”

“It looks beautiful from here already. I can’t wait to explore it with you.” You said, smiling at Din and admiring the way the whiteness of the sky outside made his helmet so dazzlingly shiny.

“We’re renting a small cabin on the outskirts of the town.” Din said, as he turned to face you, adding honestly: “The locals here really tried to keep it as a safe haven from the rest of the galaxy, where others can come to rest and escape. I hope it’ll be the quiet, peaceful retreat that we both need.”

“I’m sure it will be, Din.” You nodded, “It sounds like you’ve put a great deal of thought into planning this for us. Thank you.”

“Anything for you, mesh’la. Apparently, it is the finest resort in all of Corellia,” Din said, reaching out to take your hand in his once again. He squeezed it, as he told you solemnly: “And you deserve only the finest things in the galaxy for putting up with me, with the stress and demands of being with someone like me.”

You were about to open your mouth to protest, that being with Din was not settling in any way. But you were prevented from doing so as the unmistakable robotic drone of a droid suddenly sounded through the cabin, informing passengers that you were approaching Doaba Guerfel. You looked over at Din, noticing the subtle way his fist had clenched around Grogu. Din’s disdain for droids was something that you had not understood when you had first met him, but now you were aware of his past… you had nothing but the deepest sympathy for him.

As you stepped off the shuttle and onto the frozen ground, your lips couldn’t help but curve into a slight smile. The crunch of the snow underneath your feet would never fail to bring back a childlike sense of wonderment inside you that seemed to have dwindled over the years. But that appreciation for the smallest things that you had thought lost as you grew older, was now being awakened once more, after having the privilege to see so much of the galaxy through Grogu’s eyes. It was like seeing everything for the first time, as you monitored the little boy’s wide brown eyes and expressions to check that he was enjoying himself. Fortunately, it seemed as though he was. Grogu seemed absolutely content as the three of you made your way down the main street of Doaba Guerfel.

The buildings were covered in lights and, combined with the dusting of snow that seemed present on every surface, it was the perfect winter scene. When Din informed you that you had arrived on Corellia, you had found yourself slightly disappointed. It was a name you were familiar with, most people had heard of the vast shipyards and subsequent fighter pilots that this planet located in the Core Worlds had produced over the years. You associated it with machinery, industrialisation… not natural beauty. But aside from those assumptions, you knew scant details of the planet.

Even if you had, nothing could have prepared you for the beauty of the picturesque mountain town that Din had chosen to bring you to.

You continued enjoying the sights until your earlier assumptions about Grogu’s contentment were shattered as an opporunity to beg for food arised. The three of you were walking towards a vendor situated at the side of the street. Whatever they were smelling had a sweet, enticing aroma and, right on cue, Grogu whined and reached his little arms out towards the stall. As you approached the throng of people waiting to get their hands on the sweet treat, you noticed they were hot Corellian Ryshcate. You had never had these particular delicacies before, but they appeared to be pastries of some kind.

You stopped at the side of the street so you and Grogu could enjoy the flaky pastries - Din would eat later, given that he was waiting for the privacy of the cabin you would be staying in to remove his helmet. As you took your first bite of the Ryshcate, your mouth was suddenly transported to a rich, indulgent heaven of sugary, buttery goodness. There were nuts and fruits baked into the flaky layers and you hummed contentedly as you savoured the sweet treat.

“Is it good?” Din asked, shifting his weight awkwardly from one leg to the other as he waited, excluded due to his Creed from this simple pleasure. You knew he would not have it any other way though. It didn't stop you, though, from wishing sometimes, for his own sake above all else, that he could join in and live more freely.

“Delicious, Din.” You said, bringing your hand to your mouth as you replied so you did not inadvertently cover him in a storm of pastry flakes. “We can come back and get some tomorrow, perhaps, take them back to the cabin?” You suggested, it would be a shame for him to miss out.

“Sure,” Din nodded, “I think Grogu would like that too.”

You giggled as you noticed that the Ryshcate that had been in Grogu’s hands seconds before was now nowhere to be seen. It was larger than his head, but that had not prevented the little boy with the voracious appetite from gulping down the pastry despite its warmth and size. Once you had also finished your Ryshcate, you continued making your way down the street, Din’s hand finding yours again despite the bags… you just shook your head affectionately at his stubbornness. As you took in the sights and sounds before you, you didn’t think that Din could have picked out a better place for you to visit. Everything from the scenery, to the festive, relaxing atmosphere was exactly what you had been hoping for. You were pleased that Din had told you a little about the history of this place on your journey here. Now that you were actually here, walking around Doaba Guerfel, you could appreciate it fully.

As you made your way further down the street, Din finally allowed you to carry your bag so he could hold Grogu. The extra weight of the bag and the exertion caused you to notice how your breath was hanging in front of you like a little cloud. The air was crisp and The Mandalorian next to you looked impossibly handsome in the environment. Given that he was still in his armour, it was quite a feat, but you loved him in his beskar’gam as much as you loved him out of it. The white snow that touched every corner of this secluded mountain paradise, caused the armour to dazzle. Din's presence was attracting more than a few eyes. But with one strong hand in yours and another arm holding Grogu protectively, it was clear that this particular Mandalorian already had a Clan of his own.

Towards the end of the main street, Din guided you down one of the side streets. There were various establishments of all kinds; from diners and cantinas and small family run businesses selling toys and antiques. Most of them had intricate window displays for Life Day and it seemed as though every corner of this town had been touched by festive cheer. It was infectious, you couldn’t stop smiling as you walked down the street at Din’s side.

At the end of the street, there was a footbridge which took you across the mountains to the next peak. Wherever Din was taking you seemed to be as far out of the town as one could get, but it made sense given Din’s need for privacy if he were to remove his helmet and relax on this trip. After walking across several similar smaller bridges – the place was somewhat of a maze and you wondered how Din was keeping track – you eventually reached the cabin that was to be your home for the next few days.

The cabin was made out of dark brown wood, with a dusting of white snow on the roof. It looked unbelievably cozy and welcoming, especially given the landscape that surrounded the cabin. The array of flora that Din had promised were here could be found in the trees dotted around the cabin. It was an idyllic escape, nestled between the Nomad Mountains on all sides. After entering your secluded cabin and unpacking a few items from bags - including your warmest coat, hat, scarf and gloves - you helped Grogu dress in a new coat that Din had purchased for this trip, before you took him outside. You had intended to help him to build a snow-wookiee while you waited for Din to change into something more suited for enjoying the snowy environment than his armour. The privacy afforded by this secluded cabin meant that Din could remove his helmet. You couldn’t wait to see him in his dressed down, relaxed form out here in this safe haven.

The sun was beginning to set, bathing the sky in a beautiful collection of oranges and reds. You willed Din to hurry up, you didn't want him to miss something as stunning. In the time you had spend appreciating the sunset, you found that your plans to help Grogu in building a snow-wookiee were to be unrealised. Before you could even begin gathering snow with the shovel that lay propped against the dark wooden exterior of the cabin for him to play with, the mischievous little boy had used the Force to build an enormous, fully formed snow-wookiee.

“Grogu, that’s cheating,” You said, crossing your arms and shaking your head at him, a wide smile on your face.

“Muh?” Grogu responded, almost offended that you weren’t impressed with his handiwork.

You heard the door of the cabin open behind you and turned around to finally lay eyes upon your favourite Mandalorian. Bathed in the fading golden light, he was mesmerising. Din was wearing a thick red coat, with a material that would protect him from all the elements in contrast to your more fashionable woollen one. He still had his gloves on, too. It was the only part of him familiar to the way he was dressed when you had arrived at the cabin. Din stood there, surveying the scene before him with the prowess of the trained hunter he was. He smiled softly when his eyes met yours. You knew your face had lit up when you had seen him, it was impossible for you not to react to his warm brown eyes, you saw your expression mirrored in his, especially when he looked around and appreciated Grogu’s snow-based creation.

“Great job, kid!” Din said proudly as he strode towards the two of you. He picked Grogu up and brought him close. Grogu cooed and reached out to place his hand on his father’s cheek, his way of giving his seal of approval that Din had removed his helmet.

It was a touching sight. But you had plans to disrupt the peace as you bent down and scooped fistfuls of snow, moulding them into a sphere. Without any warning, you lobbed the snowball in the direction of Din. You had truly only intended to hit him on the side of his head, but your aim was so poor that you inadvertently hit him square in the face. The warm brown eyes that you had enjoyed gazing into only moments before were the first feature of Din’s to be visible again, as he blinked away the snow that had coated his entire face.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” Din said, voice low as he set Grogu down.

You yelped and began to run away from him, but you didn’t make it far, before Din grabbed you by the wrist and brought his snow-covered glove to your face, coating your face in snow just as his had been covered moments earlier.

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry!” You panted, breathless with laughter as you brought your hands to your face to wipe the snow away.

“Truce?” Din asked as he released his hand from your wrist and placed it on your waist, pulling you close to him. You looked down at his lips, so warm and inviting. It would be so easy to give in to what your heart wanted and kiss him. But he had played dirty, grabbing you and forcing his hand to your face like that.

“No way!” You exclaimed as you wriggled from his embrace and squatted down to sculpt another snow-based missile.

Din shook his head, laughing at you as you hurled another snowball at him. He retaliated in kind, catching you square in the jaw. You continued like that for a few more minutes, forgetting all about the actual child who was sitting quietly a few feet away in the snow, watching the pair of you fight like children. A snowball fight seemed like a good idea, but the two of you had apparently forgotten about the abilities of the child you adored.

It was the sound of a giggle a few feet away that reminded you that you and Din were not alone here. In all your horseplay, Grogu was being neglected. You were about to apologise, scoop him up and help him make some snowballs of his own. But the kid had other ideas. The sight of his little head, a tiny green dot against the white snow that was still as bright despite the fading light, was the last sight you saw before everything became a snowy white haze. Suddenly, every part of your body was being pummelled by snowballs.

“What the–” You started, wondering how it was possible for snowballs to be made and thrown with the speed they were right then.

“GROGU!” Din bellowed. His mind had been quicker to recall the abilities with the Force that his son possessed, abilities that were helping him thoroughly destroy two grown adults in this impromptu snowball fight. “STOP! THAT'S CHEATING!”

After a few more moments, Grogu finally relented, clapping his hands together in glee. As your vision returned, you noticed the way both you and Din were covered head to toe in snow… your faces barely visible amongst the carnage. Din’s thick coat certainly did a better job of protecting him from the elements than your own garment, which seemed woefully inadequate in comparison. There should have been something slightly humiliating about being beaten by a child, but all you could think about was the way Din’s cheeks were slightly rosy. How his smile dazzled against the brilliant white snow. His presence was magnetic… you could stare at him forever.

“I’ll make you pay for that, you little womp rat!” Din said playfully as he charged towards Grogu, who squealed in delight and tried to make a break for it from Din. Alas, his legs were too little and Din soon caught up to him, scooping him up with a motion that sent both of them tumbling to the ground.

You laughed at the sight and made your way over to them. Din placed Grogu on his knee and began passing him little bits of snow, whispering to him and instructing him how to make a snowball fairly, rather than with the Force. But rather than a sweet father and son bonding moment, it transpired that your boys were actually conspiring against you. Grogu pitched the little snowballs at you with stunning accuracy as each hit your cheeks. You stumbled dramatically, falling to the snow face down beside them and closing your eyes, as though mortally wounded.

“Wake up, cyare!” Din said playfully. “Oh no, Grogu… what did you do?”

Grogu whined in response.

“I think, perhaps, a kiss is needed?” Din said lightly.

The feeling of firstly Din’s warm breath washing over yours, and then his soft lips gently meeting yours meant, once he pulled away, the grin that was on your face shattered the illusion for Grogu, who was now staring at the two of you curiously. Even if you had wanted to continue the act, once Din kissed you, you couldn’t do anything except grin.

“All better.” You sighed, enjoying the way Din’s brown curls were sticking to his forehead, dampened by the snow. Warmth pooled in your chest as you looked at him, reflecting the depth of the affection you felt for this man.

Then, you flipped onto your back and began moving your arms and legs in unison to make a snow angel, watching the brilliant sky as you did so. Din placed Grogu on the snow between the two of you and began making the same motions. Grogu looked confused at first, but soon caught up, thrashing his little arms and legs about wildly. You caught Din’s eye as the two of you gazed at each other, soft smiles on your faces. You were trying to convey how grateful you were that he had brought you to this paradise. The look in his warm brown eyes, that shone like honey in the fading light, indicated that he understood. You slowed down, transfixed by him, before ceasing your motions. But then, the warmth in your chest that you felt whenever you looked at Din, was replaced with something much, much colder. Making snow angels with the two of them was such a joyful moment that you temporarily forgot how cold you were, your coat soaked through. But once the motions ceased, your teeth began chattering.

Din noticed instantly, looking at you with concern before he said, “Come on, let’s head inside and put Grogu to bed.” He raised an eyebrow, “Then,I have an idea for how to help you warm up.”

You couldn’t help but giggle breathlessly as Din pulled you to your feet. It turned out that the kiss had been a promise of things to come. As the pair of you walked hand in hand to the cabin, you took one last look back to the three figures in the snow in the fading light. The large, broad outline of Din’s snowangel, the shape that was unmistakably that of your own body and, between the two of you, the imprint Grogu had made, which seemed impossibly tiny next to the two of you. Especially considering the carnage he had just unleashed upon Din and you with the snowballs. So much power for one so small.

You thought with a smile that the snowy impressions of the three of you looked perfect together in the fluffy snow. They would be gone by the time you rose tomorrow, replaced by a fresh dusting of snow. But the love that the three of you felt for each other could not be replaced by any force in the galaxy.

For now, though, the unmistakable outlines of your little family remained as evidence of the fun afternoon you had spent in the snow.

#dincember #dincember 2023 #my fics #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #this was so much longer than i expected ffs but you know what i had fun and i hope you did too!! #hope i can keep this up every day aah #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fluff #grogu #baby yoda #pedro pascal characters

[jetskisonyourmoat]

An old interview from 2007 ☺️

[credit to Twitter user who took photos of the interview]

Transcript:

Coldplay in scarves and woolly mittens. The Libertines as Dickensian street urchins, and REM's Michael Stipe as um, Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer. The NME Christmas cover has an illustrious tradition of rock stars arsing around in their best dressing up clobber for a day Some need gentle coaxing, some need a raft of costume. based ideas sent over by our art team before theyll commit. Others, like this year's Christmas cover stars Arctic Monkeys, have planned the concept and hired the outfits even before our tentative email request has had time to settle in their manager's inbox. "We want to be evil elves," came the return message moments later. "Not naughty elves, not mischievous elves. EVIL ELVES.” Which is why, one Wednesday afternoon in late November, we find ourselves at a north London photo studio strapping dynamite sticks to reindeers, impaling others with giant shards of metal, hiding a bomb in a snowman's hat and handing Arctic Monkeys bassist Nick O'Malley a mallet and then standing back as he sends carefully wrapped gifts shattering across the room. Of course, there were the annual set of complications in trying to co-ordinate a photoshoot of this magnitude: Alex Turner requesting the ‘smacked-up elf’ look from the make up artist, but looking more like a cherubic waif with every ring of dark eyeshadow applied, Nick shunning the hired-in pixie boots in favour of his own toe-curling pointers ("from Prada, thank you very much") and a minor tussle over which band member was going to get their ears stuck on first. That and the endless flutes of champagne threatening to sabotage the interview scheduled for straight after the shoot (“I feel very light headed and unsteady on my feet, NME," says Alex, wobbling).

Eventually we manage to steer them to a corner of the room where a Dictaphone awaits. By this time Nick, Matt Helders and Jamie Cook's costumes are on coat hangers and they're back in civvies. Only Alex has opted to stay as an elf, at least as long as the interview lasts. It's a heated hour that will see them debate the big topics of the year, consider their own personal highlights (Nick. "Glastonbury. NME: And your defining Glasto 2007 moment? Nick "Er, headlining the fucker") and lowlights (Mike Reid RIP). Before all that though, there's the small matter of destroying Christmas 2007 for everyone. Your favourite worst nightmare before the festive season is about to be unleashed.

NME: Hello, Nice costumes.

Alex Turner: "Thanks. You might say we dress up too much, But really, what is too much? It's good to escape your own face for an hour.

Matt Helders: "It's easier to hide behind a costume, isn't it? I felt in good spirits up there though - I’m not sure I was really feeling evil enough.

So what's Arctic Monkeys squad of evil elves manifesto for ruining Christmas?

Jamie Cook: "Go out on Christmas Eve.

Alex: "I heard a terrible story about a friend who went out on Christmas Eve once. This lad got hammered and, you know when you're hungover and, like, your thoughts and your mouth aren't connected properly? Well, he was eating his Christmas dinner and his nan were wittering on as your nan does, and he thought to himself. Oh, shut up Nan, you cunt. Then he looked up and everyone was looking at him and his dad went. I think you'd better just take your dinner upstairs and eat in your bedroom. He’d said it out loud (The table collapses in laughter).

Matt: "His nan was a cunt, though."

Alex: "So there's a way to wreck Christmas - call your nan a cunt. Actually. you should leave that out cos my nan buys NME more than my mum. My nan files her NMEs!

Matt: "So our real answer would be... I dunno, burn everyone's house down.

Alex: "Or, you know those Santa’s that come on a truck to estates and all the kids come to see them? Maybe you could hijack one of them as another Santa then rip your beard off

Matt: "....and punch the kids. Or the dad. There's nothing worse than beating kids dads up in front of the kids!"

Alex: "(Nodding) Nothing worse.

Moving on. What does a traditional Christmas entail round at Alex Turner, the only child's, house?

Alex: "Quality Street. That's the only tradition around mine. Other than that, just looking at the phone thinking. Can I ring them (points at other Monkeys) on Christmas Day or is that out of order?'

Matt: "Yeah. it is. (Holding hands up to each ear to mimick a two-way phone conversation between Alex and himself 'Do you wanna come round?' 'Al, it's Christmas Day. My nan's here.' 'Yeah. but I'm just sat here at home...' "

Alex: "We've been discussing how there's nothing to do on Christmas Day and maybe having some kind of party this year. Fancy dress, obviously. We were talking about having some sort of Ultimate Warrior party."

Matt: "Wrestlers weren't it?"

Alex: "Ah yes, wrestlers."

What are you doing for New Year's Eve?

Matt: "Last year was crap. I DJed in Sheffield at midnight. The first song everyone in that room heard going into 2007 was 'Boom! Shake The Room, which was a good feeling"

Alex: "That's something to be proud of. This year we've got nothing planned. We all go out together though; we were at that club."

Matt: "It rarely works, New Year's Eve. It's always such a fucking build-up."

Alex: Everyone's like, '(Whining voice) What are we doing now?' And then it fucking snows, doesn't it?"

Um, not where I'm from...

Alex: "It always snows round where we are"

Jamie: "It's not snow, it's sleet."

Alex: "I remember walking home last year in it and no taxis stopping for us."

Jamie: "Yeah, 'Im not taking you to High Green, mate."

Nick O'Malley: "I booked a hotel last year in Sheffield city centre and just stayed there."

Alex: 'Maybe well stay in this year. See Jools' Hootenanny and that."

What New Year's resolutions are you going to make?

Alex: "I want to learn how to cook food. I want to do a good curry."

Nick: "I want to get to a level of fitness synonymous with that of a boxer - just so I don't get out of breath walking up the stairs"

Jamie: "I want to grow a beard. I’m not shaving after today."

Alex: "Otherwise I'm allowed to punch him in the nose."

Matt: "I want to learn to do a back somersault and a front somersault."

Jamie: "Oh, and be able to dive into shallow water from a height and not hurt yourself."

Alex: "Yeah, flips, juggling. unicycling. I think were all always looking for improvement in our overall balance."

The coming year dealt with, it's time to turn the clock back and get Arctic Monkeys' take on the headlines that shook 2007. For this, Alex takes a more noticeably back-seat role in the conversation especially when the spectre of political allegiance rears its head and he actually goes completely mute. According to his press officer afterwards, having seen Arctic Monkeys branded Gordon Brown's favourite new band before he became Prime Minister, Alex is reluctant to say anything that any of the political parties could use to their advantage. From here on in then, Nick'n'Matt take over from Aln'Matt as the comedy double act. Meanwhile, Jamie will reserve his sole contribution to the conversation for an animated outburst about social networking sites in the workplace.

This Christmas marks the one-year anniversary of James Brown's death. Did he mean much to Arctic Monkeys?

Nick: "Yeah, we were big fans of James Brown."

Alex: "The first ever gig we did, we walked onstage to 'The Payback. And at college I had a pair of jeans I'd written on in red marker ‘I've got soul and I'm super bad!

Jamie: "He did as well."

Nick: "It was one of those things when you heard, you didn't want to believe it. A bit like Steve Irwin."

Alex: "Or Mike Reid. (Genuinely moved) Mike Reid, that really hit me that."

Nick: 'I don't think there was a big enough fuss about that as there should have been."

Matt: "I tell you when Ill be dead upset- and I don't really want to say it cos he's not dead yet, but I might as well get it all out -and that's when Bruce Forsyth dies."

Alex: "(Gravely) Ah, Forsyth."

Matt: "Cos I know I'm going to see it.. all being well my end."

Nick: "Touch wood."

Alex: "Cover the holes!"

Nick: "(To NME] Do you know where that expression comes from?"

Alex: "Apparently there's these little people who live in the wood. Like these little fairies that bring things that you say to life. So you cover the holes so they can't get out... Yeah, Mike Reid. I remember reading about that in the airport.

Then there was the Celebrity Big Brother race row early in the year. Did you watch any of it?

Nick: "We made a point of watching that. We wanted to watch where what's-her-name got kicked out. That said it all, and they didn't have any crowd there"

Alex: "Oh, Jade."

Jamie: "I thought Jade Goody and the one that was getting abused by her.

Matt: "Shilpa Shetty."

Jamie: "That's right. I thought they both played it bad."

Alex: "Jo from S Club 7 can fuck off I’d send her to jail Why? I just don’t like her; I think she came across horrible."

Nick: (Changing tact) “I texted one of those numbers to find out about touch wood (Reaches for beeping phone and starts reading) Touch wood is said to come from a mid-18th century story in which children being chased who touched wood were said, to be immune from being caught"

Matt: "I don't believe that. This has been wrong once before and thats when texted, to ask who's headlining Glastonbury and it said Eric Clapton. (Pumping chest out defiantly) It weren't - it were us!"

Of course the biggest music story of the first half of the year was Keith Richard revealing he'd snorted his father…

Jamie: "(Laughing) His ashes weren’t it?

Yep. What's the weirdest thing you've ever snorted?

Matt: "An eraser. That's not true actually I've witnessed it but never done it I wish I had. I didn't live enough at school”

What did you think of Keith's revelations?

Matt: "I think it was shortly after he said we were shit. He said something like the ["Load of cunts. load of cunts. Posers, rubbish was how Keef actually described the Monkeys, alongside Bloc Party and The Libertines in the same NME interview.

Keith said he didn't like The Libertines who reformed for one night only in April, with Carl Barât joining Pete Doherty onstage at London's Hackney Empire. Did you care?

Alex: "Yeah, I was interested in that. It was a 'should've been there moment, I imagine.”

Matt: "I’d have liked to have seen that.”

Nick: "They're one of the bands that a very young us were really into."

Would you like them to get back together permanently?

Alex: "(With just enough sarcasm) The greatest hits album were enough for me”

Jamie: "They didn't sling it out though did they? It was the label."

Nick: "I read something where Pete was saying he didn't even know it had come out.”

What about the new Babyshambles album? Were you fans of that?

Nick: "I’ve only heard a few songs, but the were good tracks."

Alex: "I liked it and I liked him on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross.”

Nick: "He seemed like a nice gentleman"

Alex: "I met him once. I was at this party in this club this time last year when we were recording, and someone who I’d never met said Oi! Come here and led me through this door and there was a studio and in this studio he was stood there with his top off."

Nick: "Topless?!"

Alex: "It were surreal. For a start there's a studio in a club, then there’s Pete Doherty and then he's got his top off he’s taller than you’d think.”

Matt: "I remember meeting him, as a fan actually, at a Strokes gig at Alexandra Palace I had my picture took with him and that’s when I realised he were tall."

In May, offices and schools across the UK began blocking students from using Facebook.

Alex: "I’ve never even been on Facebook"

Jamie: "(Antagonised) You know what? That’s fair enough if they should be workin’ or learning, not making take friends"

Matt: "What's the difference between…”

Jamie: "(Raising voice) No, but fair enough! You're fucking working!"

Matt: "Um, what's the difference between Facebook and MySpace?”

Please tell me one of the Arctic Monkeys knows what Facebook or MySpace are...

Alex: "I've never looked on them."

Jamie: "I haven't."

Matt: “I know what MySpace looks like, cos other people have shown me theirs, but none of us have actually got one.”

Are there any sites you do frequent?

Matt: "I don't mind The Hype Machine. I go on to search for remixes before they get heard properly."

Nick: "I got really into Wikipedia at one point. I read loads of things about joe Meek and Shack"

Alex: "He’ll read all these facts then casually throw them into conversation the next day."

Matt: "Askjolene.com is the biggest adult search engine in the world.. Just throwing that in there"

Gordon Brown - a big fan of yours, apparently - took over from Tony Blair this summer as Britain's 51st Prime Minister. How's he done so far?

Nick: "I've not really noticed any changes."

Matt: "It's neutral for me."

Who will you be voting for next time?

Matt: "I need to start evaluating, reading all their manifestos."

Nick: "I’ll Wikipedia them all and make a decision that way.”

The UK smoking ban kicked in on July 1. Has it bothered you?

Matt: "Nick's the only one of us that smokes."

Nick: "Oi, my mum reads this!"

Matt: "(Back-tracking hastily) Like I said, Nick doesn't even smoke."

Nick: "I agree with it, even though 1 do smoke. I think it's a good thing."

Alex: "You get weird smells now, I reckon."

Matt: "We were reading about that place where they give out free deodorant because you smell people more now in bars."

Nick: "It's a good way to meet new people outside I've found. And it someone's getting on your nerves you can just say. 'Right, Im going outside for a cigarette."

Alex: "I think it will become less strict in a few years. 'Cos like in New York they've had it a bit longer and they turn a blind eye to it some places there now.”

In August we had another music legend pass away; Tony Wilson.

Alex: "That were a right shock. I'm not a huge fan of the Manchester music scene. but enough for his death to mean a lot."

Nick: "I always imagine him as Alan Partridge, y know! Well, Steve Coogan in 24 Hour Party People. That's where I first got to know of Tony Wilson."

Alex: "(Looking glum) What happened in September, NME?"

You can have the Diana death inquest or Klaxons winning the Mercury Prize.

Alex: "Klaxons winning the Mercury Prize."

Matt: "You could say Klaxons winning the Mercury Prize if you want, or you could say us losing the Mercury Prize"

How did you feel about that?

Matt: "It were alright. It were a bit of a dent on my life."

Nick: "Well done, Klaxons. I wanted Dizzee Rascal to win it."

Matt: "'Yeah, Maths + English'"

Nick: "I thought it was Winehouse's though."

Alex: "But then I think Klaxons' album is more of an album than Amy Winehouse's album. Like, Amy Winehouse's album had some good tunes an' that. But I think as a thing, you can't really argue with Klaxons."

What did you think about Radiohead shocking the music industry with the way they released In Rainbows' this autumn?

Alex: "We heard Radiohead's riveting radio broadcast on the way home last night."

Matt: "I nearly fell asleep at the wheel!"

Alex: "I were nudging him! 'Keep your eyes on the road!"

Nick: "I think it was quite a clever idea for them. I think it works well for them cos their fans are the type of fans who’d probably really be into that concept."

Is it something you'd ever do?

Alex: "Nah."

Matt: "That'll be memorable 'cos they'd gone out of their way to do something different, but I don't think we need to. Obviously they don't need to either. They can afford to do stuff like that."

Alex: "They've done it now. You only need to do an experiment like that once. I don't feel like it was designed to change anything"

Matt: "They said themselves, 'It's not a template' See! I was listening last night."

Then at the end of the year, Led Zeppelin finally played their long-awaited reunion show in London. Did you apply for tickets?

Matt: "Nope. I would have gone if late Led Zep drummer] John Bonham was still alive."

Nick: "Oh, Matt."

Matt: "I'm not that bothered by them. It's not that big a deal."

Jamie: "Nah, it really is! (Laughing) Thats why a lot of people are going."

Nick: "I had a phase of being a big Zep fan. I remember I had a perlod of about six months thinking they were the bee's bollocks."

Which brings us right up to the end of the year. What great truths have Arctic Monkeys learned in 2007?

Nick: "We learned that we're really into finding out where expressions came from. So we learned where 'fill your boots' came from - it's where old, er-”

Matt: "Cavaliers."

Nick: "Yes, Cavaliers!"

Matt: "They'd get their place at the bar and once they were there they wouldn't want to lose it, so they'd piss straight into their boots so they could carry on drinking. They had big boots on, like. That's it. There's our great truths.”

Or are they? Can we trust anything that comes out of the mouths of Satan's Little Helpers? Perhaps it's all just an evil plot to make us urinate on our own footwear this Christmas. Or go on festive arson rampages. Or cause expletive-induced coronaries in the elderly. Whatever, Arctic Monkeys certainly wish you all a very scary a Christmas.

#The idea of them being tipsy whilst doing this interview is really funny to me #They were so silly back in the day #This interview is such a gem #alex turner #matt helders #nick o malley #jamie cook #arctic monkeys #fwn

[lykegenia]

Unicorns And Mistletoe

The Wayhaven Chronicles Nate Sewell x Leah Kingston No warnings except, as always, Rebecca being parent of the year

Read it on AO3!

She’s three, and old enough to know it’s part of the punishment. She still has yet to understand what the punishment is for, but she knows that if she can just work it out then her mummy will come back and everything will be alright again. The people she left her with – kind, smiling, smelling of gingerbread – are nice, and their warm house is nice, and all the Christmas lights twinkle together in a confusion of reds and greens and golds, and they told her the guest of honour gets to add a bobble – no, bauble – to the Christmas tree. They clapped and smiled when she picked the sparkly plastic reindeer from the box and hung it on the highest branch she could reach, and told her that was the surest way to summon Christmas magic.

They’ve left her alone now, though, because she said that she wanted to look out of the window, and they’re kind people so they set her up with a cushion and a cookie and milk in a plastic glass with a fairy on it. There’s a creeping feeling in her chest that it was the wrong choice, that she’s not doing what she’s supposed to, because every so often she hears footsteps and then a pause, and then they shuffle away again and murmur between themselves in way she’s come to learn signifies pity. But nobody stops her, so she doesn’t turn around. She sits by the window and stares out and eats the cookie slowly and puzzles over how to make the Christmas magic work so that everything stops being her fault.

--

She’s seven, watching the rush of her classmates burst out into the playground like a torrent of water from a leaky dam, straight for the line of parents waiting just beyond the gates. She herself goes at a steadier pace, the better to observe the crush of adults huddled under scarves and thick winter coats just in case there’s one she recognises. She’s a clever child, however – all her teachers say so – and she learnt quickly not to expect too much. The others are shouting and laughing, and holding up the Christmas decorations they made for proud inspection. Her own pinecone, dangling from one gloved hand like a talisman, has silver glitter and blue sequins to represent snow – like a glass one she saw on the TV – and has a length of silver ribbon that she tied around the top of it herself so it can hang on the tree. The other children needed the teacher to do it for them.

As she tears her gaze away, she notices an older couple all smiles as they wave at her, and suddenly it feels like she’s walking in treacle. The Wrights are nice. She has to repeat it to herself. Mrs Wright wears a woolly hat shaped like a Christmas pudding, complete with knitted holly leaves and two red pom-poms for the berries, and Mr Wright’s puffer jacket is unzipped over a green jumper decorated with snowflakes and reindeer.

“Where’s Mum?” she asks when she reaches them, although the answer doesn’t really matter beyond the obvious.

“We’re sorry, Leah.” Mrs Wright shakes her head. “Your mum tried to get back in time, but you know work keeps her very busy. She should be here tomorrow, and in the meantime, we can have a sleepover! I need your big strong arms to help me stir the Christmas cake.”

“Did you enjoy your last day at school?” Mr Wright asks.

She shrugs one shoulder, her eyes on a robin foraging for worms under the nearby hedge. There’s one in her garden that will come so close that she can sit next to it while it gobbles up the bacon fat she cuts into tiny pieces and sets on the wall, but she hasn’t yet persuaded it to eat out of her palm.

Mr Wright tries again and points to her hand. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

She stuffs the pinecone into her pocket. “Nothing.”

“Ah, well. Let’s get you home to pick up your night bag, and then we’ll get the magic started.”

“We haven’t put up our decorations yet, you know,” Mrs Wright adds. “Would you like to help?”

She shrugs again. “S’pose.”

When they get to her house, she sneaks away and puts the pinecone on the kitchen counter, balanced on its end with the glitteriest side towards the door so her mother will see it when she comes in.

--

She’s thirteen. Dusty, cold, but pleased with herself. She’s spent the day scouring the house, teetering on the ladder up to the loft and digging through the junk in the garage, and now there are three boxes lumped on the living room carpet. They read ‘XDecs’ in unfamiliar handwriting, and they’re so old that the tape on the edges is starting to disintegrate, but she found them.

She unboxes the tree first, brushes the dust off the plastic branches and works out how the pieces fit together, then fishes about for lights and tinsel. The longest garland she takes to wrap around the stair banister, the second longest drapes over the mantle, and then – through trial and error and a lot of sideways squinting to make sure it looks right – she daubs the tree with ornaments in what she hopes is a tasteful array of festive cheer. The pinecone she made when she was little isn’t among the baubles, but it doesn’t matter. It probably would have spoiled the aesthetic anyway.

There’s just enough time to clear away the empty boxes and vacuum stray bits of tinsel of the floor before an engine growls to a stop on the slushy driveway.

“Leah?” her mother’s voice calls from the back of the house.

“In here!”

She stands in the middle of the room with fists bunched, waiting for the big reveal. The crisp click of her mother’s high heels slow as they reach the hall. When she appears in the doorway, her face is drawn into a frown as she watches her daughter sidestep awkwardly to one side with a vague gesture to the lit-up Christmas tree.

“Surprise!”

A pause.

“Where did you get all this?” her mother asks.

She shifts under the scrutiny. “… Found it.”

“Where?” When there’s no answer, her mother sighs. “From the loft? Leah, you know you’re not allowed up there. It’s dangerous. What if something had happened?”

“Well it didn’t,” she counters. “And I knew you wouldn’t have time to decorate, so I thought…”

She scuttles backwards as her mother strides into the room, glancing to the tree and back again as if it’s an unruly pet one accident away from being sent to the rescue shelter. The critical eye her mother casts over the decorations makes her sullen, but there’s something else there as well, a wistfulness as a slow hand reaches up to cup a sphere of clouded blue glass etched with the words Baby’s First Christmas in elegant gold cursive.

“It’s very… thoughtful.” Her mother sighs again and drops the memory. “It’s been a long day, and there’s shopping in the car. I need a shower – can you fetch it in?”

“I guess.”

Her mother gives a prim nod of acknowledgement and slides from the room like snow off an overladen branch, only to pause in the doorway. “Don’t forget, you’re going to the Wrights tomorrow, so make sure you have everything ready – and make sure all of this is unplugged so there’s not an accident. Those lights are far too old to be safe.”

She deflates, and doesn’t bother to answer, and after a moment lunges for the socket to cut off the lurid glitter of the Christmas lights.

--

She’s nineteen, and ignoring half-drunk texts from her friends asking why she isn’t at the campus party. She’d turn her phone off completely if not for the unlikely case of an emergency, but she’s not even bothering to open the messages anymore. Instead, she hunkers down in the armchair, annoyed to find that the hot chocolate at her elbow hasn’t magically refilled itself. She’ll have to buy another one soon or the café owner might throw her out. She decides it can wait until the end of the chapter she’s reading.

“No way – Leah?”

She looks up. The boy smiling at her is in her class. He’s handsome in a roguish sort of way, but they’ve never really talked.

“Couldn’t be bothered with the party?” he asks. “Shame. I hear WelSoc managed to get a boost for the budget.”

“Why aren’t you there, then?” she retorts, confused. She doesn’t hear about the antics of the Welfare Society – the university’s main student organisation – all that often, and she would have thought Bobby would have been there to report on it for the student newspaper if nothing else.

He shrugs and flops down in the armchair on the opposite side of the table. “I might go later. It’s always more fun to be fashionably late. Besides, by that point people will be nice and drunk and happy to spill all their secrets.”

“What secrets?”

“Oh, you know, gossip and stuff. Why aren’t you there?”

“I’m not really a Christmas person,” she answers, turning back to her book.

“Oh?”

“It feels like wasted effort most of the time.”

To her surprise, he smiles. “I’ve never looked at it that way, but you have a point. All that excess just to roll around with indigestion for a week.”

“Putting up decorations just to take them down again,” she agrees, wrinkling her nose. “And most of them are tacky anyway.”

“Ah, you’re a woman of taste, then.”

She doesn’t quite know how to respond to that, but he waves her away with a private laugh and jumps to his feet.

“I’ll not inflict my presence on you any longer, in that case, but if you do decide to go to the party I hope you’ll say hello.” He winks. “Merry Christmas.”

“Oh, yeah – Merry Christmas.”

Still confused, she watches him saunter back outside, only pausing briefly to pick up something from the barista before the clipped view from the café window cuts off the sight of him. A little while later, when she gets up for another hot chocolate to go with her book, the woman smiles and waves away her bank card.

“That guy you were talking to already paid,” she explains.

“What do you mean?”

“He paid for your drink – it’s on the house.”

She snaps her gaze to the window, as if Bobby might be standing there staring in, with a big sign informing her that it’s an elaborate prank. But all she can see are the indifferent shadows of passing shoppers hurrying about in the last of the daylight, wrapped up in their own concerns.

“Oh,” she says, and smiles at the barista because it’s polite, and takes the hot chocolate back to the rest of her things.

--

She’s twenty-six and alone in her apartment. Tina thinks she’s with the Wrights, and she told them she’s celebrating with Tina. She hasn’t even needed to invent an excuse to fob off Rebecca. In front of her is a spread of ingredients for homemade tacos, and a stack of DVDs that are old favourites. There’s not a bough of holly or the twinkle of a fairy light in sight.

She decides that she’s content.

--

She’s thirty-one. Staring at the monstrous fir Felix has somehow managed to sneak into the warehouse.

“How did you even get it in here?” she blurts. She has to crane her neck upwards to take in the full might of the thing.

“I didn’t,” Felix replies, proud. “I got some delivery people to do it while we were out – for the extra surprise factor.”

The rest of Unit Bravo sidle forward, as awed by the presence of the tree as she is, though the levels of enthusiasm vary.

“I thought we could decorate it together,” he continues, flinging open the first of several boxes that have been left at the foot of the tree, “you know, since we get so little time to do things as a family.”

That appears to be the magic word. Adam answers Mason’s pleading look with a minute shake of his head, and Nate is already striding forward to help unpack the ornaments. It leaves her with an uncomfortable itch between her shoulder blades, as if she’s suddenly wearing clothes that belong to someone else. Years of memories come bubbling up like rising damp under paint, phantom emotions she’s tried for so many years to bury and which now burrow so easily through her flesh.

“Leah?” Nate asks, with his hands curled around a string of coloured glass beads.

She smiles. It feels wooden. “Are you sure we can reach the whole way up?”

“I’m sure we’ll manage with us all working together,” he says, and beckons her to his side with a chaste kiss to her cheek.

Felix has already draped a length of tinsel around his neck like it’s a feather boa, and grins wide as he turns to her. “Where do we start? I bet you’ve had loads of practice.”

It stings.

“Put the lights up the centre of the tree,” she suggests, grateful for Nate’s touch. “That way they’ll reflect off the baubles.”

“Great!”

The vampires take to their task rather well. The military precision with which Adam lays the lights is matched by the haphazard way that Mason – obviously unhappy with the glow – drapes the outer branches in tinsel to hide as much of it as possible. Nate, meanwhile, is trying to bring a bit of coordination to the chaos that is Felix’s method of flinging baubles on the tree with no care for size or colour.

“But it’s festive,” the younger vampire protests, as a shiny green chilli pepper is swapped with a more tasteful globe of frosted golden glass.

“I just think it will look better up here, because it’s smaller.”

“You mean because it’s somewhere I can’t reach to move it somewhere more fun. I can get a stepladder, you know.”

She smiles at that, content to watch the banter. The variety of ornaments that have been procured cover a dizzying array of styles, from traditional to psychedelic to things like the chilli pepper that she knows Felix bought because he found them amusing. It’s not quite the same as the Wrights’ collection, which they’d once told her had been built up over years gathering trinkets on holiday or been gifted from friends and family, but the effect is similar.

“Leah, you agree with me, don’t you?” Nate pleads, his eyes wide and helpless.

She smiles. “A little disorder gives it personality, don’t you think?”

“But…”

“Ooooh I think that counts as a top ten anime betrayal,” Felix cackles.

“What’s anime?”

“Never you mind,” comes the haughty reply as the younger vampire holds out his hand. “I’ll be taking my pepper back now, thank you.”

There’s a groan as Nate passes it over, and she gets the feeling his defeat is not as final as he’s pretending, but before she can voice the suspicion, he comes to fold his long legs down next to her on the carpet.

“You haven’t put anything on the tree yet,” he notes, brushing a loose strand of hair back from her face.

She shrugs. The ornament turning in her hands is a tiny wooden reindeer with a bell around its neck. It’s not sparkly like the one when she was three, but it’s similar enough for a wave of guilt to wash over her for all the years she turned down the invitation from the Wrights because she didn’t want to be reminded of that pitied, unwanted little kid who was once dropped on their doorstep.

“Hey…”

“I’m not a big Christmas person,” she murmurs, though she knows the other vampires could easily listen in if they choose to. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I have horrible memories, but part of me always felt left out of that holiday magic, you know?”

With the Christmas tree lights reflecting off the sympathy in his brown eyes, he curls a gentle hand around hers and lifts her knuckles to his lips. “I’m sorry your past experiences weren’t what they should have been… though I hope you don’t feel left out now?”

It’s impossible to feel anything but dizzy with him so close, and yet as her gaze falls to his lips she wants nothing more than to be closer still.

“I’ve never felt more at home,” she tells him, smiling at the way confession makes his breath stutter.

The pad of his thumb brushes her cheek.

“You have no idea how much it delights me to – what are you doing?”

He pulls away to frown at Felix, who snuck up from behind to stretch out a bunch of mistletoe above their heads, the white berries and green foliage made richer by a ribbon of deep maroon.

“It’s Christmas,” the younger vampire explains. “Kissing under mistletoe is tradition.”

“You really think they need mistletoe to be going at it?” Mason calls from the other side of the room.

“Is that sort of language really necessary?” Nate demands.

“Not denying it though, are you?”

Mortified, he rubs a hand across his brow, and though her own cheeks are surely crimson by now, she keeps her fingers tangled into his to make sure he won’t pull away for good.

“You were so close you were practically on top of each other,” Felix offers, though whether he’s trying to be helpful or embarrass them both further is difficult to say.

“I was merely…” Nate clears his throat, tries again. “Why don’t you finish decorating the tree?”

Felix rolls his eyes, discarding the mistletoe on the sofa as he goes. The moment of heat has passed, but with attention gradually sliding off them, Nate inches close enough to wrap an arm around her waist. She snuggles into his side, ear over his heart, content to soak in the atmosphere of the room. Crackling fire, twinkling lights, and the good-natured bickering between Mason and Felix. She can feel Nate wince with every tacky bauble added to the tree, but torn as he is between protecting his décor and keeping her company, not even the glittery unicorn with the neon-pink mane and glowing horn stirs him to fully intervene, and she presses a kiss to the back of his hand to show her sympathy.

It's later, when the fire has burned down to embers and even the wind outside has fallen quiet, that she approaches the tree with the little wooden reindeer. There’s no ribbon loop to hang it on a branch, but she finds a bare spot in between a garish purple raspberry and an intricate crystal snowflake, and jams its legs on either side of the stem, like it’s leaping through a forest.

“It looks good there,” Nate murmurs, coming to stand at her back. He presses a kiss to the top of her head as his arms wind around her waist. “Are you sure I can’t just –”

“I’ll tell Adam it was you,” she warns. “Is it worth it for the wounded, puppy-dog look Felix will give you when he notices you’ve moved them?”

A sigh heaves through him that ruffles her hair. “For you, I suppose I can live with it, but I may have to stage a disappearing act in time for next year.”

“Even for the unicorn?”

“Especially for the unicorn.”

Chuckling, she turns in his arms. “It sounds like you could use a distraction.”

“What did you have in mind?” he asks, though with the way his voice lowers and his fingertips toy with the hem of her shirt, he already has some ideas of his own.

She licks her lips. His own part in response.

Instead of indulging him, however, she dodges the kiss and steps around him to where the mistletoe lies in a crumpled heap on the sofa. The room is warm, the lights in the Christmas tree like the glitter of a galaxy in the void of space, the weight of his gaze heavy enough to send a shiver across her shoulders as she plucks up the greenery with nimble fingers.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc holiday magic #nate sewell #twc detective #unit bravo #n sewell #nate sewell x detective #detective leah kingston

[twinkliker3000]

some headcanons about x6-88

Mostly post institute, some angsty ones included: - Definitely has a massive, hidden stash of fancy lads. Extremely over-protective of them, and will somehow notice if just one is missing even if he's got like 50. The only person he's ever shared with is Shaun. Might share with sole if they ask nicely - no promises though. Once Deacon tried to prank him by hiding them and saying he ate them. Deacon to this day will refuse to say what happened after, scared to relive the experience. - Even years after the institute exploded, he still gets afraid of showing emotions. It'll be less severe around people he's closer to, especially sole, but strangers get the cold shoulder. As more time passes, he'd be a bit more... tolerant, but he will still be overly cautious. Probably has an extreme fear of getting close to people (metaphorically and literally). - Knew he could feel even while in the institute, and in extension, deep down knew the synths he hunted could too. He always pushed it down though, due to a good old dose of institute brainwashing, and fear of ending up the same as other runaway synths. After the institute, feels immense guilt thinking about all the synths he tracked down. - Immediately takes up a protective role over synth Shaun post-institute-boom, feeling as if it's the least he owes to Father. Slowly, it develops into a sibling-like dynamic, making the protectiveness come out of their bond, rather than something he feels he must do. Shaun would be the second person he got close to, the first being sole. Getting close to Shaun finally made him realize that kindness isn't a weakness, it can be a strength. - Instead of getting too hot like other people headcanon, I imagine X gets cold very easily. Constantly wears fluffy coats, jumpers, woolly hats, and scarves. Back in the institute, the temperature was always kept exactly the same. He isn't used to the commonwealth's cold temperatures. Sole knitted him some gloves once. That is the only pair he'll wear.

Part 2

#fallout #fallout 4 #x6-88 #fallout headcanons #fallout 4 headcanons #x6-88 headcanons #x6 #x6 88 #x6-88 appreciation #i love him so much #HE HAD SO MUCH POTENTIAL #FUCK YOU TODD

[gabessquishytum]

It is SO COLD where I live right now (it's literally not even below 0ºC I'm just a little bitch about cold because I live in a tropical country)

Anyway, thinking about Hob looking at Dream and his skinny everything and his brain not computing that he doesn't actually feel the cold since he's not human. So he bundles Dream up in all his sweaters and scarfs (bonus point if he knit them himself), and Dream can't find it in himself to tell Hob he doesn't need it because he's literally surrounded by his smell and his love and he'll never complain about being cuddled by his boyfriend.

- 🌙

Oh gosh can we swap?? I am so warm and sticky right now. Or maybe if we hug we’ll cancel each other’s temperatures out.

Anyway this is ADORABLE. Dream does look chilly with his skinny form and his coat always turned up at the collar. No matter how many times he reminds Hob that he doesn’t feel the cold, Hob can’t help but think of the times he’s been chilled to the bone and nobody helped him. So he plies Dream with fluffy scarves and jumpers that are far too big. Dream looks a little silly all bundled up in warm clothes, but he never complains. He was naked and cold for a century, and although he hasn’t mentioned that to Hob it’s such a relief to be warm and comfortable. He’s never happier than when he’s curled up on Hob’s sofa, wrapped in layers of soft woolly clothes and being cuddled and cared for and loved.

Bonus: Hob’s eternal mission to feed up his boyfriend who doesn’t even have a digestive system. He cannot be stopped. Dream has given up on trying to explain. Better just eat the cookies and make his boyfriend smile!

#🌙 anon #the sandman #dreamling

[headcanonsandmore]

"All Alone (For The Holidays)", Chapter One

Summary: Tegan Jovanka is heading up to Scotland for the holidays. However, after meeting Nyssa Traken on a busy train heading through worsening snowy conditions, her holiday plans may just have to change...

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

Read on AO3.

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

It was the season of goodwill, but Tegan Jovanka wasn’t feeling it.

London was, as always, super busy. It was mid-afternoon on the last Friday before the holidays properly began, and the streets were packed with last-minute shoppers, people running to catch trains, irritable commuters yelling into their mobile phones, and the occasional tourist looking horrified at the chaos around them.

Tegan pulled her suitcase along; one of the four wheels was playing up, and she wasn’t exactly in the best of moods regardless.

The rain had finally stopped, but the pavements were still covered in puddles of varying depths. Tegan was immensely glad of her trusty leather boots, and the warm socks inside them.

It was quite cold today. Tegan pulled down her woolly hat tight as she hurried along, looking forward to getting inside a centrally-heated train. Her breath clouded in the air.

Further up the street, she could hear the sound of a fundraiser’s voice. Mancunian, perhaps? Well, there had unfortunately been a growing need for food banks in the UK during the last decade, and that didn’t go away just because the holidays were drawing near.

As she approached the fundraiser, Tegan stopped, pulled out her wallet, and deposited some change into the bucket.

‘Thank you,’ said the fundraiser, giving a large grin. ‘Happy holidays.’

‘And to you,’ Tegan smiled back, despite her bad mood.

Feeling a little bit better, she continued along the pavement, heading for Kings Cross.

It wasn’t an awful lot warmer inside the station itself, but the respite from the cold afternoon air was something, at the very least. Tegan placed her phone down on the ticket machine, and stepped through.

Mercifully, there were no hoards of people dressed in striped scarves heading for Platform 9 this year, and Tegan was pleased for the change. It wasn’t unsurprising but appreciated nonetheless. The Australian checked that her ‘protect trans kids’ pin was still securely hastened to the lapel of her coat, and headed to the platform her train was due to depart from.

The Aberdeen train was on time, although the amount of people in the streets outside had caused Tegan to be a few minutes late, meaning that boarding was already commencing when she arrived at the platform.

Hurrying forwards, Tegan neared the nearest train door and-

‘Ow!’

Tegan stopped, and turned quickly.

A woman was stood a few metres behind her, gingerly moving on her feet. Tegan had clearly just run over this woman’s toes with her suitcase.

‘Oh, god; I’m so sorry!’ Tegan exclaimed, hurrying back. ‘My fault entirely; are you alright?’

‘I-I’ll be fine,’ said the woman, smiling weakly. She looked roughly the same age as Tegan, and was wearing a long wool coat, with a hat and scarf in the same shade of maroon. ‘I should have been moved out of the way.’

‘Can you walk?’

The woman gingerly tried to step forwards, and her face creased in pain. Tegan’s heart spasmed with guilt.

‘Oh, god,’ she said. ‘Here, let me…’

Tegan put the woman’s arm around her shoulder, and helped her into the carriage, before hoisting both their suitcases on board after her.

‘T-thank you,’ stammered the woman, smiling at Tegan. Her grey-green eyes twinkled in the light of the train carriage. ‘You’re so kind.’

‘No worries,’ Tegan replied, softly. ‘My fault for running you over with my case.’

‘Nonetheless, you’ve been very thoughtful, Ms… er…’

‘Jovanka,’ said Tegan. ‘Tegan Jovanka.’

The woman smiled, and removed her woolly hat. A long mane of bushy brown hair -greying slightly- descended to her shoulders.

‘I’m Nyssa,’ she said, cheeks dimpling. ‘Nyssa Traken.’

Tegan blinked, quickly. She suddenly felt rather hot under the collar; why was the inside of the train carriage so warm?

‘Nice to meet you,’ she said. ‘Er, shall I help you to a seat?’

‘O-oh, yes, thank you…’

Unfortunately, every single seat on the train had now been taken. And, since the train’s occupants seemed to be mostly grouchy commuters, none a single person volunteered to give up their seat for Nyssa.

Eventually, Tegan had to relent, and instead laid Nyssa’s suitcase down on the floor, and helped her to sit down on it.

‘Bloody typical,’ Tegan said, as she sat down beside Nyssa on her own case. ‘We’ve got the most expensive rail fares in Europe, and yet they can’t even put another train on to cope with demand.’

‘That’s privatised rail for you,’ Nyssa said, with a sigh. ‘Oh, well; I suppose we’ll have to make the best of it.’

‘Are you heading all the way to Aberdeen?’

Nyssa nodded.

‘I’m heading to the Orkneys.’

‘Gosh; talk about a long way!’ Tegan exclaimed. ‘Family get-together, I take it?’

‘No,’ Nyssa said, quietly. ‘Just… just me.’

Tegan felt her heart break at the quiet sadness in the woman’s voice.

‘Er… sorry,’ Tegan mumbled. ‘I… I should’ve pry-’

‘It’s fine,’ Nyssa replied. ‘Er, are you meeting family in Aberdeen?’

‘No,’ Tegan said, slowly. ‘I’m… I’m heading on to the Shetland Islands.’

Nyssa nodded.

‘I’ve heard it’s supposed to be lovely. Is it true you can see the Northern Lights from there?’

‘Dunno,’ Tegan shrugged. ‘I guess I’ll find out. You might be able to see them in the Orkneys.’

‘That’ll be nice,’ Nyssa said, smiling quietly. ‘Something to look forward to.’

There was a brief silence, as Tegan desperately tried to think of something else to say. Nyssa’s eyes were rather distracting, and Tegan was feeling distinctly hot under the collar. The Australian quickly removed her own hat, and shook her head, letting her short bop of dark brown hair fall into place.

‘Er…’ Tegan said. ‘Nyssa, eh? Welsh family?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Nyssa replied. ‘Both my parents were born in Anglesey, although I grew up in London.’

‘I’ve got Welsh ancestry,’ Tegan said. ‘Hence the name. I don’t think my parents knew what it meant, though. I mean, “toy” is probably not what they were expecting it to mean…’

Nyssa giggled.

*

Mercifully, as the train travelled further and further northwards, the various occupants began to disembark. After Birmingham New Street, the majority of passengers who had started the journey in Kings Cross had long since left, and there were a lot of seats now available.

Nyssa’s feet had, by this point, stopped hurting, but Tegan insisted on helping her to a nearby seat. Nyssa didn’t seem to mind this at all, although -maybe it was just Tegan’s imagination- her cheeks seemed to flush as Tegan gently put her arm around Nyssa’s waist. Now that both of them had removed their coats, Tegan was now rather aware that Nyssa was, in fact, a lot curvier than she had initially noticed.

Of course, Nyssa didn’t seem to notice Tegan’s flusteredness, and instead thanked the Australian as she sat down in the seat on the other side of the table from her.

‘You really are most lovely, Tegan,’ the Englishwoman said, cheeks dimpling. ‘When the food trolley comes past, I insist on buying you a hot chocolate.’

‘Oh, there’s really no need,’ Tegan replied, waving a hand quickly. ‘It was the least I could do after I almost broke half of your toes-’

‘I insist,’ Nyssa repeated, with a giggle. ‘Besides, I feel we could both do with a treat after being sat on our cases for all that time at our age.’

‘Oh, alright,’ Tegan relented. ‘You’ve twisted my arm.’

The two women chuckled. 

*

As the train rolled into the North of England, snow began to fall outside the windows, giving a cosy, warm atmosphere. By this point, the train had lost it’s grouchy mood that came with the London commuters that had joined at the start, and how the air around Tegan and Nyssa was largely made up of warm, relaxed voices, mostly in Midland, Northern and Scottish accents. It was a nice change, Tegan had to admit.

Well, Nyssa’s voice hadn’t changed, of course. But that wasn’t a bad thing. She’d never get tired of those gentle tones.

‘Oh, look; how wonderful,’ Nyssa exclaimed, pointing out of the window at some snow-covered hills, with the twinkle of houses in the valleys below. ‘Very festive, isn’t it?’

‘Depends,’ Tegan chuckled. ‘I grew up in rural Australia; the idea of the holidays not being boiling hot is still weird to me.’

Nyssa giggled.

‘I suppose so. Are you religious?’

‘Not really. My family’s Jewish, but I’m not really practising. You?’

Nyssa shook her head.

‘I suppose most people aren’t, nowadays. Most of my colleagues aren’t; I work in bio-chemistry, so most of them tend to be very academic-minded.’

‘Wow,’ Tegan said, awed. ‘Didn’t realise I was sitting opposite a scientist. You must be super-smart, Nyssa!’

‘Oh, stop it!’

Nyssa’s cheeks flushed pink, and Tegan leaned forward, feeling her heart beat joyfully against her chest. The fact that she could make Nyssa flustered and happy made the world seem cosy and filled with a soft warmth.

*

‘Discworld?’

Tegan looked up from her book. Nyssa was staring at the cover, looking intrigued. The train had passed over the border into Scotland a little while back; it was now very late in the day, and Tegan had dug into her case to retrieve her book. Nyssa had been content to stare out of the window.

��Yeah,’ she said, slotting her bookmark in and closing the pages so as to present a better view. ‘You ever read any?’

‘No,’ Nyssa replied. ‘Is that… a Golum?’

‘That’s Dorfl, yeah,’ Tegan replied. ‘You want to have a read?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose-’

‘Too late,’ Tegan said, with a grin. ‘Never let a Disc-head know that you’re intrigued by these books, you’ll never hear the end of it...’

Nyssa giggled again, as Tegan began to read aloud. Everyone around them had earphones in anyway, so they weren’t disturbing anyone. It felt nice to simply read aloud, with Nyssa hanging on to every word and letting out a squeak of laughter at intervals.

Tegan could get used to this.

Good evening, everyone…

The driver’s voice echoed through the tannoid system.

Our apologies but, due to the snow, the Forth Bridge has been closed… the train will instead be travelling overland after stopping in Edinburgh… we do apologise for the added travel time…

There was a collective groan from the passengers around them.

Tegan looked over at Nyssa.

‘Guess you’ve got more of my company this evening,’ she said, with a chuckle.

‘Oh, what a shame,’ Nyssa said, with a giggle. ‘However will I cope?’

Tegan grinned, ignoring the excited spike in her heart-rate as she continued reading aloud. Normally, she would have been getting angry about the delay but she found it hard to complain at that particular moment. Something about Nyssa’s smile made it difficult for her to feel angry about things.

*

Attention passengers…

‘Oh, good grief,’ Tegan said, with a roll of her eyes. Just over an hour had passed since the last announcement. ‘What now?’

We are receiving reports that the snowy conditions have effected train lines for most of the central lowlands… as a result, this service will be terminating at Stirling…

There was a collective cry of outrage and anger from the passengers.

We apologise for this disruption to the service… if you wish to, you can seek a refund for your tickets at www dot…

Tegan let out a loud sigh.

Of course.

Not that she had anything against Stirling, of course. She had heard that it was a lovely place. But she had been hoping to get to Shetland sooner rather than later. Who knew how long the snow would make the journey impossible?

‘So… Stirling?’

‘I’ve heard it’s rather a lovely place,’ Nyssa said. ‘Although… I don’t know anyone living there.’

‘That makes two of us,’ Tegan replied. ‘Do you want to ring ahead and try to book a room?’

‘Probably for the best,’ Nyssa nodded, pulling her phone out of her pocket. ‘I’ll see if anywhere has another room free; save you using your phone as well.’

Tegan opened her mouth to politely decline, but Nyssa had already started punching in numbers. However, the first call ended very quickly, as did the next one, and the one after that.

‘Most of the major hotels seem to already be full,’ she said, her brow creased. ‘By the sounds of it, every other train heading north has been forced to stop in Stirling as well.’

‘In that case,’ Tegan said. ‘I suppose we’ll just have set out on foot when we get there and find a place. There’s got to be at least one place with some rooms free.’

Nyssa smiled.

‘Thank you,’ she said, softly. ‘You are… oh, you are ever so kind, Tegan.’

Tegan ignored the butterflies that erupted in her smile, and prayed that she wasn’t blushing.

*

As the train finally pulled into Stirling Station, the snow was already falling far heavier that it had been for a while. The scene in the station became more apparent. Nearby, passengers let out groans. The platforms through the windows were already teeming with people; it seemed as if every train north of Edinburgh has been forced to stop.

Tegan and Nyssa collected their cases from the luggage rack, and stepped out onto the platform, following the end of a large crowd of people heading for the exits. Neither Tegan or Nyssa were especially fast walkers, given how long they had been cooped up on the train for, and so they arrived at the barriers after most other passengers from their train had disappeared into the cold night air outside.

‘C’mon,’ Tegan said, as they walked out of the station. She was glad of her hat and gloves, as her breath hung in the air before her. The snow crunched under her boots. If it wasn’t for the stress she was under, she probably would have taken in the pleasant sights of a snowy Scottish city on the cusp of the holiday period. ‘There’s bound to be at least two rooms left in this city, even with tons more people stuck here…’

Two hours later, they had that question answered. After trawling through every hotel, bed-and-breakfast, lodge house and hostel (plus one glamping site) in the city, Tegan and Nyssa found themselves stood in the reception area of one tiny bed-and-breakfast on a half-hidden side-street.

‘Just one room left.’

‘Just one?’ Tegan repeated, slowly. She and Nyssa exchanged a look.

‘It’s fine,’ Nyssa said. ‘Tegan, I’m sure I can find somewhere else-’

‘I’m not bloody leaving you alone in a new city at midnight in the freezing cold!’ Tegan exclaimed, hotly. ‘Nyssa, you take this room and I’ll find somewhere else-’

‘Tegan Jovanka, you are not stumbling around Stirling at midnight in the snow!’

‘Er…’ said the receptionist, gently. A name-badge gave her name as “Yasmin” and she spoke with a Sheffield accent. ‘If I might offer a suggestion…’

The two older women turned, a little bashfully.

‘The room is for two people,’ Yasmin continued. ‘If you are willing to share, you can both have it.’

Tegan and Nyssa looked at each other. Tegan was startled to see that Nyssa didn’t seem alarmed by this suggestion. If anything, she looked somewhat relieved.

Tegan tried not to think of what that might mean.

‘I… Nyssa, if you’re sure…’

‘That’s fine with me, Tegan,’ Nyssa said, with a smile. ‘Are… are you fine with the idea?’

‘Well, it’s a better idea than one of us stuck outside in the cold,’ Tegan said. ‘If you’re happy with it, I’m happy with it.’

Nyssa smiled again, and nodded. Yasmin -looking rather weary but happy nonetheless- handed over two keys to room five.

There was no lift, so Yasmin helped Tegan and Nyssa hoist their suitcases up the winding staircase. It was a homely sort of establishment, with lots of paintings on the walls, many depicting highland landscapes and animals. Maybe it was just the weariness talking, but the effect was rather comforting.

Yasmin guided them over to the door at the end of the corridor, bade them goodnight, and headed back downstairs.

‘Poor love,’ Tegan said, putting her key into the door. ‘Night shift at the holidays; that’s rough.’

‘Agreed,’ Nyssa replied, with a yawn. ‘Hopefully, she’ll get as good a night sleep as I’m hoping to…’

Tegan opened the door, and Nyssa stepped through. Tegan followed her through, and closed the door behind them. The two women pulled off their shoes with similar sighs of relief, and placed them on the mat, so that the snow wouldn’t get all over the floor. With a yawn, the Australian pulled off her hat and undid her coat, hanging them on the pegs next to the door.

‘Nyssa, shall I hang up your… Nyssa?’

Nyssa was staring at the bed, and it was only at that moment that Tegan realised the situation that they both found themselves in. She took in the sight of the gorgeous oak of the desk and the lovely painting of a highland cow hung on the far wall. She took in the sight of red tartan curtains drawn shut over the window.

And she took in the bed, furnished with the same pattern of red tartan as the curtains.

The double bed. The solitary double bed.

Oh, Tegan thought, as her eyes met Nyssa’s beautiful grey-green orbs, this was going to get rather complicated…

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

AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED! 🤭

Thanks for reading, everyone; hope you enjoyed the first chapter!

#doctor who fanfiction #'all alone (for the holidays)' #doctor who #tegan/nyssa #nyssa/tegan #tegan x nyssa #nyssa x tegan #indestructible #tyssa #heathrow scientific #tegan jovanka #nyssa #nyssa of traken #and there was only one bed

[summersareknives]

dramione + weaving

----

( note – I may have confused weaving with knitting , and I am so sorry about that -  basically what I describe as weaving is basically knitting because I got very muddled ) 

It happens , first , a few months after the war.

They’re all back for Eighth Year , Harry and Ron - and her , of course. She feels the need to do something with herself. 

All the seven years they’ve been at Hogwarts , Hermione has been busy. She’s been protecting her best friends – Harry , especially , and saving the wizarding world. 

Her head has been somewhere else completely. It’s not her fault , not really , it’s the fault of that great big wizard bastard that went around calling himself ‘Voldemort’.

Or the ‘Dark Lord’ , rather.

But she came back to school , because she needs this year of peace. Of silence. Of worrying about normal teenager things like her homework (which she’s done the very same day she gets it , as Harry keeps reminding her) .

But she’s done all her homework , and she’s become restless. 

So she goes to the library – to do a bit of light reading , and when in the Muggle Section , she sees her mother’s favourite book – ‘Pride & Prejudice’ , she is reminded of all the wonderful things she used to do with her mother before the war.

Saturday baking sessions in the kitchen.

Sunday trips to the town centre. 

And all throughout the week , from Monday through to Friday , her mum would take an hour out of each day to teach Hermione the wonderful skill of weaving.

She learnt it , at first , on the loom. It was cathartic to her , watching her movements with the yarn turn into something resembling clothing worth wearing.

Then , of course , in fourth year , she learnt how to do it with magic. 

She wishes , perhaps , that she’d kept that little bit of home with her. But when she learnt an easier way to do it – because she had to make so many of them , for SPEW - she decided to take that way , leave the loom behind , and make those socks and hats and scarves all on her own , with a little bit of magic. 

Then the war hit , and she had no time for things like weaving , or knitting , and she had barely enough time to save herself. 

War , now , has become a part of her. Before she felt clean . She felt like the world was at her behest , and she could do anything , be anything. 

But now , it feels like she’s somewhat lost that part of herself that was pure , and neat and clean.

If she ever was a Mudblood , it was now.

And after seeing that earmarked copy of Pride and Prejudice , the one that looks like it’s holding onto life , she is reminded of her mother , and the purity with which she was loved by her.

Unconditional. Unfiltered.

So , in memory of her , she decides to do the things they used to do.

But alone. 

The first thing she tried was going to the town centre. But it was then , that she realised half of the fun that came with being there were all the comments her mum would make , or maybe it was all the times she used to pose like a mannequin. 

She can’t do that alone. Maybe , she’ll go with Harry or Ron one day , and she just knows they’ll do something stupid to make her laugh.

But it wouldn’t be the same.

Nothing ever would be.

The next thing she tries is cooking. But she’s kicked out of the kitchens in such a hurry , she doesn’t dare to go back. She thinks about nabbing Harry’s invisibility cloak , but she doesn’t think she’s that desperate for brownies. 

So , weaving is left as her last resort.

Every single Thursday , Hermione sits in the armchair , next to the Muggle books , the little hearth of fire warming her up . She weaves , and she weaves , and she does everything to keep the memory of her mother alive.

The memory of her mother , the lady who was behind her in everything she did.

She’s lost her touch , she realises. It takes her two weeks to be able to knit a little woolly hat , and with a pang in her chest , she thinks of Dobby. 

She’s back , on her Thursday , to sit in her armchair , and weave her pitiful little hats or socks , or whatever shape it’s closest to – the trick would be to ask Harry what it is. He’d tell her , something or the other , and she’d act like that’s what she meant to make. 

But when she’s reached , her bag sagging off of her shoulder , she spots the top of a very blonde head sitting up in her chair , holding the very copy of  Pride and Prejudice that reminded her of her mother.

She thinks about the fact that he’s sat in her seat.

She thinks she could skin him alive for having the sheer audacity.

But she thinks she can see that he’s taking a step forward. Miniscule , but it is visible , nonetheless. 

So she leaves his skin on his body , and decides to sit there – because , well , she wasn’t just going to leave , now was she ?

She sits on a little stool , with a soft green pillow on the back of it , and she takes out her yarn , and she starts it.

By the time the library closes , she’s only made about two inches of a  scarf.

---

She comes back , the next Thursday , expecting the fluke of Draco Malfoy sitting in her seat to have disappeared. 

But he’s still there. And Hermione is still determined not to be rude. 

So she huffs , and sits down on the same chair as last time , taking out her materials , and beginning her little weaving journey all over again.

By the closing time , she has something resembling half a scarf. She is very proud of herself, especially considering the fact that she has not used magic. 

She skips off , completely ignoring the fact that Draco Malfoy had his book upside down the entire time.

---

 The next Thursday , Draco Malfoy does not have a book in his hand , but he’s still there , in the chair.

He almost looks like he’s waiting for something , and Hermione momentarily considers asking him to swap seats , because she really wants her comfy armchair back – but she knows that if it their roles were reversed , she’d start a whole argument about how the seat doesn’t have his name on it. 

And right now , she really , really doesn’t want a squabble. She comes here for peace.

So once again , Hermione acquiesces . She follows the well-imprinted routine of taking out her needles , her yarn , and that’s when she watches Draco Malfoy doing the exact same thing. 

Well , not the exact same. 

Unlike her , who has only three balls of yarn , he seems to have an entire factory of yarn , in all the colours she can possibly think of , some she wasn’t even sure existed.

He’s staring at the ceiling , avoiding her eyes completely , his hand clicking the silver needles together  , her eyes staring at the little monogram at the top of the needles.

D.M. 

Because he can never do anything without marking his name on it , can he ?

But he’s not doing anything bad , she reminds herself , he’s just – well , he’s doing Muggle things. 

This realisation makes her sit up straight. 

She shuffles a little closer , just a little , and immediately , she starts her routine , occasionally looking over at Malfoy , trying to see if he’s doing alright. 

And if , out of the corner of her mouth , she slips out a couple of instructions , no one can prove it.

When they have to leave , she’s added a little bit more onto her scarf. A month more , she thinks. 

She gathers up all her things , and when she leaves , she does not miss the small ‘Thank you’ that leaves Malfoy’s mouth.

It means a lot more than just showing gratitude.

---

She’s back again , and this time , her chair is just a couple of centimetres away from Malfoy’s chair . 

She’s close , so close , she can smell him.

He smells like apples , and faith , and redemption. 

She thinks he smells good. Quite nice , actually.

She gets straight to it , this time not even bothering to conceal her voice when the instructions begin to leave her mouth – ‘Stitch up , not down.’ , ‘Tsk , Tsk , Tsk.’

This time , by the end , she’s finished with a whole ball of yarn.

Draco lets out a strangled gasp ,  looking like he’s cursing everything in the whole room , because he’s made around two layers of stitches.

This , this is exactly what makes her laugh. She ugly laughs , she knows that , her entire body joins in with her , and all the grief that sits on her shoulder leaves for just a second.

Draco wait until she’s done laughing to say something.

“Same time , next week ?” he asks , tentatively

“Yes, yes.” She replies , wiping the tears from her eyes. 

And she does come. 

The next Thursday , there’s a box of macaroons sitting on the coffee table – all the colours and flavours there ever were , and the next one , there’s two cups of tea , and hers is just the way she likes it.

Milk , no sugar.

His , she can see it sugar , no milk.

They start talking eventually , because she’s teaching him how to weave – or knit , rather , because she’s not using a loom , and he surprises her.

It seems like he’s taken a turn for the better . He’s not the same person he used to be , and there’s a sense of camaraderie that’s been instilled amongst the two of them , one such that Hermione feels a little less guilty about looking at his face , and thinking about just how sharp his jawline is.

They talk about books – and he gives her something that Harry and Ron have not ( though she doesn’t begrudge them for it. To the contrary , because if they liked reading , they would not be Harry and Ron ) . He gives her intellectual stimulation.

It’s over cups of teas and balls of yarn and macaroons that he apologises to her for the first time. 

It’s with a small smile on her face she forgives him.

They talk even more in the coming weeks – sometimes , he comes into the library not on Thursday  , and he finds her , in the Muggle Section , and he’ll start a debate of how she’s sitting in his chair – because they can do that now . They can argue like kids , without the weight of war on their backs. 

( It weighs still . But it weighs on her heart more than anything else. ) 

And it’s over a cup of coffee and blue yarn that she realises that her scarf is nearly finished – and that he might in fact notice if she keeps coming for a chat.

It is then that she decides she doesn’t care.

(she also decides that his eyes are a little too silver to be real. )

It takes another week , for her to decide that she likes his eyes.

( he likes hers too. She does not know this yet.)

It takes her till the next Thursday , and a minute of him staring at her fingers , then at her face , to decide that she’s going to ask him out.

But it takes her another month to work up the courage to do it.

Over cinnamon cookies this time , hot and fresh – she does just that.

She watches his face split into a winning smile – one that she graced his face with , and she is proud to be the reason for it. 

Very proud. 

“Finally ,” he says , “Knew you wanted to say something. You’ve got that look about your face , y’know?”

( she did not know this. but then again , she did not know she was being obvious. She thought she was being rather subtle , in fact.)

On their first date , he gives her a rose , or at least that’s what she thinks it is. 

She gives him the scarf she was weaving , on that very first night .

( he wears it all the time. Sometimes , even when he’s not cold )

10  years later , the rose is sitting in a vase on a mantelpiece in their house.

The ghosts are still there. 

But she’s got a hand to hold now.

#dramione #ess writes #ess waters a plant #marauder fans look away you may not like this #thank you very much for this throw back !!! #(the ask for this is in the comments of my post !!!) #draco malfoy #hermione granger #harry potter #dhr

[sebstan2020]

The Sharpest Lies

Chapter 10

Pairings: Max Burnett x Original Female Character

Summary: Violet was an expert. She could pick em, play em and win em. She was taught by the best. Conning was an art to her and she had a taste for it. But when she comes to visit her father and his new partner, she aims for the biggest mark she's ever seen.

Warnings: Underage in the past, Controlling, Dom/Sub, Light BDSM, Daddy Issues, Mentions of medical conditions, Con Artists, Daddy Kink

8 years ago  

It was a typical winter’s morning in New York. The snow had only just cleared but still left the pavements icy and dangerous. People were donned long coats, woolly hats and scarves, and thick boots to keep their feet bone dry. The festive decorations had been taken down and left New York looking rather bare since they had gone up. The streets were bustling with people, walking with steaming hot coffees and snuggling in their warm wear to keep themselves from freezing. Central Park was crowded with people, walking their dogs and catching up with friends they hadn’t seen since the new year. The people of New York were happy for once, all except one girl. 

Violet grumbled as she stormed down the street, hugging herself tightly to keep the cold away. Unlike these rich businessmen and women, she didn’t have clothes that kept her warm and dry. All she had was a dark brown jacket she had worn for the past three years with many a hole in it and the sleeves grimy and ripped. Along with a pair of old jeans and scuffed trainers, she relied on her speed to keep her warm against this cruel weather. She glared at every person walking past her, scowling at the designer clothes they wore, the boots that cost hundreds of dollars, and the coats with real fur lining the edge. Some didn’t have it as easy as they did. 

On a day like this, there was no way she was going to school, not that she attended anyway. She was bound to get hit with a leftover snowball made especially for her and she wasn’t going to spend the next few days with a fresh black eye after getting rid of the last one. No, she had other things planned. She shivered to her core, her back aching from how cold she was and she passed a coffee shop, staring into the giant window. She could feel the heat just by looking in and immediately jumped inside as someone came out.

The warmth hit her like she entered an oven, defrosting the icy feeling on her cheeks and she stood in the corner, catching her breath. The cold made her breathing shallow and hard and she was only just regaining the feeling of her toes. She glanced over sideways, looking across the room. People sat with friends or family, happily chatting away, sipping on their hot cups of tea or coffee, immersed in deep conversations. The rich smell of coffee beans filled the room and as Violet glanced over to the counter, she spotted an array of delicious-looking cakes and cookies, coated in chocolate and icing. Her stomach rumbled and she licked her lips. 

She hadn’t eaten since this morning and all she had was sloppy porridge. The only thing the cheapskates could give them. At first, the taste was vile but she had gotten used to it now. The orphanage didn’t give to shits about the kids there and wouldn’t spend a single cent on better food for them. She learned that since growing up there. 

Violet’s parents died when she was a baby. They died in a horrific car accident on the way to pick her up from nursery. She doesn’t remember much about them, only that the accident happened so fast they had no chance of surviving. Having no grandparents, she was placed in the care of the New York Orphanage not far from where she lived. It was hell. When she entered her teens, she was moved to a different group, the one with all the troubled kids. You could say that’s what shaped her into the girl she was today. Having no parents, she learned to fight for herself, to fend for herself. The orphanage couldn’t care less about them, heck she had gotten in trouble at school every week and they didn’t do a thing to help her. All Violet could think about was the day she could leave. The other kids weren’t so good either. With little food and crappy beds to sleep on at night, Violet learned to get what you want, you had to lie. It was the only way to survive. School wasn’t her thing and she spent most time bunking off, roaming the streets of New York, finding what she wanted. 

“Excuse me, did you want to order something” a woman kindly asked her. She was wearing a green apron and a fluffy white jumper underneath, her hair and makeup done. Violet turned, still hugging herself even though the warmth had settled in. 

“Oh, um no” she answered and the woman frowned. 

“I’m afraid the stores are only for customers, if you’re not going to order anything I’ll have to as you to leave”.

Was she for real? Violet scoffed, about to throw a fit at her. It was so cold outside, anyone would freeze to death if they stayed out long enough but in the end she realised it wasn’t worth her time and instead mumbled a curse under her breath and stormed out. 

“Bitch” the door slammed and Violet huffed, moving along the street. They were all the same, only thinking about themselves. They take one look at a girl like Violet and throw her to the street like a stray dog. Her hair was greasy and a mess, her face sullen with dark bags under her eyes and her lips cracked and dry from the cold. These rich folk were all the same. 

Violet took herself to central park. It was the best place for what she called finding her victim. Whenever she was pissed off or desperately needed money, she’d come here and scout out who she was going to pick. Sitting on her usual bench, she scanned the park, watching as people passed, keeping her eyes forward and slightly down but scanning them as they walked past. The best type of people were the ones with an expensive phone and on their own. That’s how you know they are rich. Just like that, she found him. 

He was tall, with long legs crossed over. Judging by his attire, he had money. He wore a long black trench coat underneath the hint of an all-black suit, fitting snugly. Finished off with tight slacks and polished dress shoes, he was the perfect businessman for her con. Although she didn’t have the energy to pull an actual con off, instead she decided to just rob him. He held a small coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, his brows slightly knitted as he stared at the screen. He was concentrating on something and she hoped he roll with that. It made it easier to take. He was quite handsome if she had to admit. Dark hair which was slightly long at the front, pieces falling and ocean blue eyes not that she could tell from where she was sitting. He licked his lips off the coffee, the tip of his tongue pointing out. 

It all happened so fast. The man stood, dumping his empty cup in the bin and began on his way home with Violet following in pursuit. Her shoes scuffed the pavement, eyes dead on her target and she took a detour, hoping to come back around so they’d be walking towards each other. She will always remember the first time she did this, how nervous she was and when she found out how easy it was, she didn’t even have to think of what to do. He was heading her way, eyes down on his phone and Violet got into position. Her hand just dangling beside her, fingers ready to pluck. He was inches from her and with a final breath for momentum, she crashed into him. Bodies collided and went spinning, feet scuffing on the floor and almost tripping to the point of landing down there. The man softly grunted a little, caught off guard and Violet skidded back. Just as they collided, she managed to reach into his coat pocket and take what was hers. His wallet. 

“I’m sorry, are you okay?” He asked, his voice smooth and concerned and she nodded shyly. It was best to not make too much contact. Too much and the police would know. 

“Yeah sorry” she quickly said before scaring off, grinning to herself when she got to a safe place. Dipping her hand into her pocket, the feel of rich leather was smooth to her touch and she plucked out the wallet, opening it to hundreds of dollar bills, credit cards and black cards. It was heaven. It was like some wonderful drug, giving her high only money could fulfil. It was that easy. The guy wouldn’t realise until he reached home and by then she’d be back at the orphanage, safe and sound. 

She counted the bills, the paper sliding through her fingers and she drooled over the dollars. She’d like to waltz to that coffee shop and slap that bitch with the dollars for throwing her out. Counting the money, she realised this was more than she had ever found. The credit cards were sleek and glorious and the best thing was, they were contactless. She hit the jackpot. Violet grinned, giggling to herself and shoved the wallet inside her jacket, happily turning down the cold street and deciding what to spend her money on first. 

First, she brought some lunch. A meaty sandwich from a deli with a Coke and chips. She got a few questionable looks from people walking past as she was eating like she’d never eaten before but she was so hungry and she wasn’t letting a single crumb go to waste. It was by far the best meal she had eaten this week and she was already thinking about dinner. A burger right now sounded delicious. She licked her lips, moaning at the glorious taste of mayonnaise, ham, salami, pepperoni and soft bread, washing it down with the sweetness of her Coke and the saltiness of the chips. She couldn’t wait to rub it in the other kid's faces back home if you could even call it home. 

She skipped out merrily into the street, grinning to herself as she thought about what to do now. She was on an adrenaline high and as a woman walked past wearing a long fur coat, it sparked her idea to get herself some new clothes. She hadn’t bothered over the last few years and the orphanage was filthy and the other kids would only steal them. But in this cold weather, she could use a few layers. 

She strolled down the street, heading to a nearby shopping centre however as she looked up, she froze like a statue. Cops. One was walking towards her, his heavy jacket on and thick boots, his cap resting on top of his head and he caught sight of her. Violet swallowed, spinning around to walk in the other direction, hoping to get her speed up but surprisingly police officers are quick on their feet. You think they would be with all the criminals they chase on a day-to-day basis.

“Excuse me miss” Violet sighed, turning and putting the fakest grin on her face. 

“Can I help you officer?” she said sweetly and he looked her up and down, eyes creasing together.

“Let me see your pockets?” He ordered. 

“Whatever for?” She asked and he raised a brow. 

“Don’t play dumb with me, we’ve had a report of a stolen wallet and the description matches you perfectly”.

“Well there’s probably a million girls out there that look like me Sir” She shrugged and an awkward silence took over between the two. Violet took a breath, getting ready to run for her life but the police officer’s reflexes were better than hers by a long shot. She turned and her arm was immediately grabbed, yanking her back. 

“Hey get your fucking hands off me” she screamed. The police officer reached for her pocket, pulled the wallet out and smirked. 

“Well what do we have here, come on” he tugged her along. 

The police officer had dragged her to a tall apartment complex. It was most definitely a rich people complex. Marble walls and black doors with gold numbers, stone fixtures and a fresh scent filled every hallway. There were thirty levels which for an apartment complex was a lot. The officer kept a good grip on her arm and she grumbled, trying to snatch it away. He dragged her to the tenth floor, pulling her to one of the doors where he knocked hard. 

“Fuck” she whispered, knowing exactly what was happening. The door opened and revealed her victim from earlier. The tall handsome man dressed in all black. His coat was gone and the finest of his suit was on display. It must have cost him hundreds of dollars and from where he was standing she could smell the richness of cologne. She timidly looked down, away from his dominant gaze, his eyes dark and bright. 

“Is this the wallet Sir” the officer handed the sleek black wallet and the man took it. 

“Thank you, officer” his voice again was smooth like butter, with a slight deepness to it and Violet glared at the ground. 

“Luckily she wasn’t too far away… I assume you’ll press charges”.

Violet’s head shot up, panic in her eyes, pleading silently. This wasn’t her first time in trouble with the police. Her tricks got her into all sorts of trouble and didn’t always go to plan. The few times it didn’t, she had been arrested. Distinctly she remembered the next time she was arrested, she could be sent to juvie. Violet glanced at the tall man, meeting his eyes as he stared at her, a slight smirk in the crook of his lips and he sighed. 

“No, I don’t think that necessary, I’m sure it was just a prank” he smiled and the officer shrugged. 

“Alright, but I won’t blame you if you change your mind, she’s a troublemaker this one” The officer gave her a shove and released her arm. His grip was tighter than she thought and she scowled at him, rubbing the sore area. 

“Thank you, officer”.

“Have a nice day Sir, and you, stay out of his way” he ordered before pushing past and making his way to the elevator. Not that Violet was complaining but she was shocked. She truly thought that was the end of her. That she’d be locked up because no one could be bothered to help her. These rich folks were all the same… but maybe not. She hadn’t noticed but the man was still standing in the doorway, watching her like a hawk. When she turned and met his gaze, he smiled and moved, opening the way into his apartment. 

“Come in” he nodded and Violet narrowed her eyes. Was he seriously inviting her in, after she stole from him? Confusion was written all over and she stood still in her spot. 

“Come on, it's freezing out, it's warm in here”. 

If there was anything that would tempt her now, it was somewhere warm and so Violet swallowed and took a step in. 

Chapter 11

Hey so I hope you like it, let me know what you think in the comments and also if you want to be tagged

@pattiemac1​​​

@hazzapottaher​​​

@yvessaintmuerte​​​

@charmed-asylum​​

@sebastiansluts​​

#Max Burnett #max Burnett smut #max burnett fanfiction #Sharper #sharper movie #sharper fanfiction #Sebastian Stan #sebby stan #sebastian stan fanfiction

[randomrabbidramblings]

i got some takes regarding rabbids with the hairless variant to help you out, due the lack of hair since birth, they of course need extra care like both not only hairless cats but also normal hairless rabbits/bunnies like they are way more likely to bath, and use lotions, sunscreen and are way more likely to wear clothes specially sweaters, gloves, shoes, socks in the ears and paw feet, scarves (if is cold), including hats and wigs.

but sometimes thankfully the longhaired/woolly ones after getting sheared/trimmed for the summer may donate their fur to make wigs or even something to the hairless ones to wear.

Hairless Rabbids come with a lot of health issues. Poor them! And yes, they have to wear clothes all the time or they'll risk either to freeze or to get sunburns. Also skin infections are very common. I guess for them to be regularly healthy, they would have to live near some healing hot springs.

I love the idea of angora Rabbids donating their shedded/sheared fur to the hairless ones! Adding this to the follow-up analysis, thank you!

#rabbid #rabbids #mario+rabbids #mario rabbids #mario + rabbids #ask

[stellarana]

THE ALMIGHTY POWER OF CHRISTMAS IS SO POWERFUL IT CAN MAKE 6 SCARVES INTO ONE THAT IS PROBABLY REALLY WOOLLY AND TOO WARM TO WEAR! ALL BOW DOWN TO THE POWER OF CHRISTMAS!!!

#runescape #rs3 #christmas in rs

[what-yadoking-likes]

Hailing from cold countries means that Sokol and Wolf have something to say whenever the other heisters from warmer climes complain of the cooling temperatures.

“This is nothing,” Sokol would sneer at whoever begun shivering first in their work wear during a stakeout. “This isn’t even single digit temperature. This isn’t even negative temperature.”

Wolf would shake his head mockingly. “They’ll be pulling out their scarves and gloves any second now.”

Their obnoxious behaviour around wintertime accelerated as indeed their fellow crewmates soon after began donning thick layers of clothing, hurrying into the Safehouse from the outdoors bundled up in heavy coats, thick scarves and woolly hats.

The pair even asked Bain if they were allowed to wear shorts whilst heisting.

“For safety reasons, it’s gonna be a no, fellas,” Bain said sternly. “Those long pants are for your own protection.”

Both Sokol and Wolf nodded to show they understood.

So imagine everyone's surprise when the pair showed up to their next heist in shorts they had clearly made themselves with kitchen scissors.

Sokol had cut his homemade shorts to land just above the knee, adding further rips and holes to make his look more fashion-forward. The length emphasised the swollen curves of his calves, causing the eye to trail across the muscles over and over.

Wolf had opted for a simpler look - keeping the hem messy with loose stitching, he fashioned himself a pair of hot-pants out of old work trousers.

“What?” he asked loudly, as innocently as he could, gazing at his fellow heisters who were wearing thick woollen vests over their crisp white shirts and thermal leggings under their trousers.

Chains didn’t know where to look and ended up gazing at the stars in the night sky above. Hoxton wolf-whistled and nodded approvingly, looking the pair up and down, wearing a leery grin on his face. Dallas fought to keep a straight face, knowing he needed to be the voice of reason. His mouth worked as he struggled back his laughter.

#Sokol #Wolf #Yado writes #is this a shitpost? who knows #definitely a shitpost #Dallas #Bain #Chains #I like to headcanon Wolf and Sokol as bros for some reason LOL #yado shitposts #if anyone ever wants to take these dumb ideas and run with them btw please feel free #y'all are so funny #and creative

[percervall]

let it snowman

Player: Kostas Tsimikas Words: 1152 Warnings: None, fluff Request: making snowmen For @lfc21, merry Christmas babe! I hope you like it <3

---

She had just put the capsule in the Nespresso machine when she heard someone storming down the stairs. She hid a yawn behind her hand and turned around to see her boyfriend pulling on his shoes somehow while still walking.

“It’s still dark out, why are you fully dressed?” she mumbled.

“Didn’t you see?” Kostas asked excitedly, pointing at the windows in the living room. She followed his finger and was about to ask him what he was on about when she noticed the grass was no longer green. The entire garden had been blanketed in white during the night. She stifled another yawn and shook her head.

“No, I hadn’t noticed yet. Doesn’t answer why you’re fully dressed tho,” she said, picking up her mug. She blew on it, before taking a careful sip of her coffee. 

“Because I’m gonna build a snowman,” Kostas replied, pulling his bobble hat over his ears. The duh was very much implied. 

“Kos, it’s half past seven in the morning. The sun isn’t even up yet,” she said, leaning against the kitchen counter, “let’s eat first okay?” 

Kostas heaved a sigh so dramatic it put many three-year-olds to shame, but toed off his shoes and pulled the beanie off his head. She shook her head and tried to keep her lips from curling up in a smile. As Kostas put his shoes and winter gear back in the hallway, she took a pot down from the shelf and got started on making them both porridge. 

“Do you have work today?” Kostas asked as he came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her. The Nespresso machine was spluttering away to make another coffee for him. 

“I’ll have to check, but if it snowed as much as I think it did, I doubt it,” she replied as she stirred. “How cross will the club’s nutritionist be if I add some of these?” she asked, holding up the jar of chocolate chips.

Kostas chuckled. “I won’t tell her if you won’t.” She quickly added more than a healthy amount of chocolate chips to the porridge and watched them melt. Kostas handed her two bowls and carried her coffee to their breakfast nook. She turned the hob off and joined him at the table. She quickly checked her phone between two mouthfuls of breakfast to see that her office had shut down due to the weather. 

“Looks like you’ll have a helping hand in building a snowman today,” she commented as she put her phone down. Kostas silently cheered before taking a sip of his own coffee. 

While she got dressed, Kostas cleared down and loaded the bowls and pot into the dishwasher. By the time she got downstairs, Kostas was already waiting by the door. She chuckled and wrapped a thick woolly scarf around herself. 

“Do you wanna build a snowman?” Kostas sang as he helped her in her coat, making her laugh. She dug a pair of mittens out of the basket with winter stuff and pushed him out the door. A shiver ran through them both when the wind blew in their faces. 

“Come on!” Kostas called, making his way to the end of their driveway. She noticed they weren’t the only ones outside. A handful of the neighbourhood children were already working on building snowmen in their own gardens. She waved at one of their elderly neighbours stood in the window before shifting focus to Kostas. She laughed as she saw him try and roll a snowball over the ground to pick up more snow. 

“Babe, have you ever built a snowman before?” she asked as she walked over to him. 

“Once,” Kostas confessed with a chuckle. She shook her head and took over, showing him it was easier to build up first before rolling to get more snow. 

How it happened, she wasn’t sure, but they had somehow ended up with a group of children in their front garden. She and Kostas had abandoned their own snowman to help the children build theirs. 

“Do you have carrots? Dad says we don’t have any,” one of the little boys asked her. 

“I don’t think we do. I also don’t think we have enough scarves for all these snowpeople,” she said. Kostas looked up at them, eyes twinkling. 

“No, but I do have something else. George, how many snowpeople are there?”

“Uhm,” the boy said before counting them, “six I think.” 

“Perfect,” Kostas said as he made his way to the door with the promise to be right back. She had no idea what her boyfriend was up to and told the children as much. It didn’t take long for Kostas to return with an arm full of clothes. 

“I remembered I have a closet full of jerseys,” he explained as he started handing them out. With a little help, all six snowpeople got dressed in various Liverpool shirts. She had even managed to dig up a baseball cap for one of them per request of one of the girls who lived across the street. By the time they were finished, the sun had started to peak over the rooftops, throwing long shadows on the snow covered ground. Kostas wrapped an arm around her as they admired the snowpeople. 

“A snowy five-a-side team complete with a manager,” he said. 

“You should send a photo to the lads, I’m sure Jordan and Milly will be thrilled they’ve been replicated in snow,” she added with a chuckle. Kostas laughed softly but dug his phone out of his pocket. As he put his gloves back on, one of the parents came outside with a tray of mugs. She could see the steam rising off them. 

“Who wants tea?” he called. She recognised him as one of George’s dads and gladly accepted one of the mugs. 

“Thank you for keeping an eye on them. George was so excited when he saw it had snowed. Daniel barely managed to get breakfast in him,” Martin said. 

“I know the feeling,” she said with a chuckle, nodding at Kostas, who in turn stuck his tongue out at her. 

“Dad! Look! We made a snow-Hendo!” George beamed at his dad. 

“I see, darling! Looks good! Did you say thank you to Kostas?” George nodded and handed the empty mug back to his dad. 

“Alright, your far is waiting for you. He made some food for grandma and grandpa,” Martin said and planted a kiss on the boy’s woolly hat. George waved goodbye and ran back to his house. She returned the now empty mug to Martin, thanking him for the tea. 

“What else is on your snow day to do list?” she asked him when Kostas pulled her in for a kiss. 

“Snuggle up under loads of blankets and watch Christmas films,” he replied, rubbing his nose against hers. 

“Mm, I like the sound of that,” she murmured, kissing him once more.

10 gold stars for anyone picking up on the easter eggs in this one 🌟

Tags @football-and-fanfics @kostasstsimikass

If you want to be added to the tag list click here

#football fanfic #football oneshot #football drabble #kostas tsimikas fanfic #kostas tsimikas oneshot #kostas tsimikas drabble #lfc fanfic #lfc oneshot #lfc drabble #liverpool fc fanfic #liverpool fc oneshot #12 days of fluffmas

[professorpski]

Nicky Epstein’s Signature Scarves: Not Just a Toasty Muffler

If when you think of knitted scarves, you think of a basic wooly muffler, you are not alone. For years now, I have relied on a red, 6 foot, cashmere scarf to get me through the winter. If you said decorative scarf to me, my mind would go immediately to the many silk printed scarves I own.

But decorative and woolly can mean the same thing as this inventive book shows. The cover features the pattern Tudor Lace which reminded me that if you are not up for an entire scarf made of lace, you could manage two ends with lace stitch details and a plainer middle. Then there is the black and white houndstooth muffler with colorwork and then knitted roses sewn on. Similarly, the Heathered Leave Wrap has a knitted base and then knitted leaves sewn onto it. Bubble Waves in ocean colors involves washing the scarf with hazelnuts, yes, nuts, tied into sections in order to create the bubbles. While Woven Strips is one of several projects that involve felting.

Then are the purely decorative items including the grey Flower Scarf which you can imagine in any colors to match a party dress and made the cover of Vogue Knitting years ago.

In short, if you are new to knitting, you will find this a useful introduction to thinking about scarves and all the potential they hold as both decorative and warm accessories. You can find a link to buying the book via Ravelry.com which will also let you see what other knitters did with the ideas: https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/sources/nicky-epsteins-signature-scarves

Ravelry.com is a free online website that allows you to record your own projects and to share insights on patterns, as well as acting as a marketplace. Registration is simple.

#nickepstein #signaturescarves #knitting #making #knittingpatterns #knittedscarves #lacescarves #feltedscarves #colorworkscarves #knittingbooks #ravelry.com #knittingscarves #makers

[butchdonne]

you seem like a woolly hat and scarf kind of person

im flattered but i hate wearing hats and i hate wearing scarves lmao (it's a sensory thing)

#pip squeaks

[personality-tests-results]

what type of feeling do you encapsulate?

warmth

i'll start by saying this. you are what wearing a jumper in autumn feels like, the comfort a bowl of soup contains during sickness, you are sunlight streaming through the gauze of a curtain; simple yet you feel like a piece of art so well made it makes my heart ache. in the middle of the night, when its cold and lonely, i think of you and pull your presence through my brain, the way one would pull a blanket over their body. im starting to feel better now (but dont leave me yet). you are rosy cheeks and hot chocolate and woolly scarves and the smell of just baked pie. i would gladly suffer through 7 bouts of the flu just so you could come and nurse me back to health. when you're with me nothing ever feels wrong, nothing even exists but you and me alone together. the music is starting to fade but we will continue dancing and the world will continue moving and we will still be here. i think you are scared of not being needed but i will always need you so replay that record and join me in the kitchen. your worth isnt based on what you have to offer okay? you would do well to remember that. people love you for you, not your assets.

#uquiz #love

[lopezjensby58]

Hermès Belt

Many women are generally produced by sure types of stars... A little details about this language, Franz Sisch Ease He noticed many unique design of the nail mattress expertise, although the Finnish Zehenn sought Gel as one of the privileged. In case you occur not usually put lots of dog house owners, you must never pin down, particularly people which are in France normally. First, create projectile has been in existence for a very long time. An authentic Hermès field should be slightly textured with a refined eggshell sheen, and will have even black trim lining the field top’s edge. Today Hermès is constantly promoting their iconic baggage such as the timeless Hermès Birkin, The Kelly, The Constance, The Evelyne, and lots of more. Nearly equivalent to Saint Laurent Paris, the model new Celine includes the same kind of waifishly thin tailoring and glam-rock impressed outerwear that outlined Slimane-era Saint Laurent Paris. Yet, as of late, there has been a tilt in direction of undeniably French, virtually ’80s-inspired clothes closer to what you would find at classic markets in Paris than Los Angeles thrift outlets. The Kara Belt has a 13mm leather strap with a chain link buckle. It is on the market in Porosus Crocodile, Swift, Epsom and Evercolor. Hermès H buckles also come in different sizes, starting from 13mm to 42mm. Many pretend buckles will be oversized and flashy, so make certain your buckle is considered one of Hermès’ respectable sizes. 32mm — the H featured here — is the usual size, whereas the Constance is 24mm. Obviously a really personal selection, and you’d know greatest from what different belts she wears. Send me exclusive presents, unique present ideas, and personalised ideas for buying and promoting on Etsy. Sellers looking to develop their business and attain extra involved consumers can use Etsy’s advertising platform to advertise their items. You’ll see ad outcomes based mostly on components like relevance, and the quantity sellers pay per click. Most Hermes gadgets retain their value nicely within the used designer accent market. Premium quality leather-based is used along with valuable metals and meticulous styling. Some Hermes belts are customizable and offer the shopper the power to choose on between a broad range of color and end options. This makes shopping at the Hermes Paris official website much more thrilling. skel.io fake hermes belt If you’re a fan of the brand, or simply interested in figuring out more, here are the 5 most expensive Hermes belts that cash can buy. The outcomes will also come with a report on why we believe your Herme H logo belt is fake or authentic. Looking back at the authentic Hermes H logo belt, you presumably can discover in the real vs pretend Hermes belt image above how the legitimate piece has its “HERMES” text trying too skinny. Moving on to the second step of the guide on how to spot fake Hermes H emblem belts, we're going to have a look on the faux vs actual Hermes H belts for the stitching on the belts. Since that is the most dependable sign of authenticity for the Hermes belt, for this reason we're starting the actual vs pretend Hermes belt legit verify information with the inside textual content. Here are three of their extra "commonplace" belts which might suit lots of guys. Hermes provides a wide selection of belts for males of each style. They have some that look like a very "commonplace" belt from any model . wikipedia belt There are so many kinds, from conservative to fashionable, that you're sure to find a style that suits him. One scarf features a zipped pocket for you to slot your essentials into, whilst you wear it elegantly draped around your neck. Another one, crafted from wool and cashmere, comes ingeniously fitted with its personal hood, which can be adjusted by drawstrings and makes winter dressing that much less complicated. For Fall 2021, Hermes has reinterpreted its iconic accent into loads of irresistible types, together with woolly scarves, cashmere shawls and silk carrés for each women and men. What you’ll notice first is the exuberant use of colour, ranging from rainbow stripes to that signature Hermes orange, made well-known by its boxes.

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