#i’ll be burning my yule log tonight and just did a started up for one of my fun lil traditions | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aggresivelyfriendly · 5 years

Text

Summer’s Child

Hi! So, some people guessed, but we going to Woodstock!! Thank you @dirtystyles, @bleedinglove4h, and @emulateharry for the looksies!

Hardy,

I'm sending you this because I know you want to go all detective and come looking for me. But you can't. It's not time. You have to make that valedictory speech. I wish I could have seen it. I'll tell you why I couldn't once I find a place to land and can send you more than a postcard.

I'm sorry I left right after..... It was selfish, but you let me be selfish with you. I'm grateful.

I love you, Jilly

Three days. It had been three days since she took off, and nobody but him seemed to notice.

Some people noticed, they just didn't care.

Her mom knew, because Jillian took her money. And Will knew, because he asked Harry, snuck into the library to deliver a weak apology for letting Steven continue to ruin her reputation. Harry could feel his jaw squaring, his temples flaring, and his fist clenching.

He didn't hit him, which he regretted a moment later.

He wasn't sure if it was better of worse that he turned back on his way out, "She's ok, right?"

His mind hurt rather than his fist. He didn't hit him, because he was confused.He hadn't known. He'd missed it. He could be pissed at Will for waiting to ask after her, and for apologizing for Steven, but not for his own actions - he had to examine his own disconnect.

When he thought back to the day, prom day, and night, because he couldn't stop himself thinking of that though he couldn't let himself remember that without burning with shame and sadness, he realized he had missed so much.

Like, why did she want to get ready at his? He could come up with excuses, like the ones she had fed him, but, honestly, big clue. And the look on her face when she clocked the camaro. If he had been able to place the black muscle car maybe he could have guessed. She never liked her mom's boyfriends, they always put her on edge, but Dick had made her feel especially vulnerable. She'd basically moved in with Harry and his dad for a bit when Dick was around, well before Will, and slept at his even after. He should have asked!

He should have noticed.

Plus, she was clearly already having trouble with her mom. Jillian made comments occasionally about her indifference, or drinking. But the day of prom, she'd been more vicious and resolute. It was out of character. At least, it was those thoughts you let yourself have, but don't share with even your best friend. The ugly thoughts you pluck like weeds.

Had Harry not been so distracted by her flower decked hair and his dreams of her and white dresses and later by her flesh and the words coming from her lips, he would have figured it out. He should have listened to what she meant not what she said. Goodbye in an I love you.

He wants to be mad at her. For loving him like that only to abandon him. He can't be. He is fairly certain she would not have touched him if she was staying. Definitely wouldn't have told him all those feelings and coupled them with action, not just spoke love, but made love, if she was staying. She'd already told him, that didn't last. Was committed to that conviction. Harry was a greedy idiot. He should have known, she assumed that whatever they were, their forever platonic commitment, was already over, so she gave him what he dreamed of, a gift. She was a stellar gift giver.

He's not mad at her. Well, maybe a little. Mostly, he is forlorn.

He had been since the end of the first day. Up until then he'd been hopeful. Jillian shut down from time to time. Nobody knew that better than him, maybe nobody but him knew it. Usually, it was because the emotion was negative, but maybe she was freaking out because it was positive this time. It was still intense emotion, right?

He thought all this up later, these excuses. First, he panicked.

Harry had flown out of his room to where his dad sat with The New York Times and his favorite brown tea mug. It helped him find the prefect shade of beige when he splashed in his milk.

"Alright son?" Edward half stood up when Harry came into the room. Harry looked about and down at himself to see cause for alarm and realized he was only in his boxers. That wasn't relevant though.

"Da, have you seen Jillian?"

"Um," his father rarely said um. Instead he would think quietly and you'd wait for him to respond. Then he scrunched up the paper a bit, another no-no, while he fussed about. It was so odd, Harry noticed even in his distress. "Well, no, I haven't seen Jillian since you all left last night." There was a weird emphasis on seen.

Harry's face colored tomato red. So his dad heard them. He'd have to be suitably embarrassed, throw himself in front of a train embarrassed, about that later. "She's not in the house then?"

"Well, she's not in any of the common areas, or my, um, my bedroom. Or yours, anymore, apparently. Bathroom?"

Harry shook his head. Was his da daft? Of course he'd checked the bathroom. Risked bursting in on her doing her business in his haste. She wasn't in the house.

The treehouse! Maybe she was hiding out there, or reminiscing. Now he was dreaming!

The treehouse slats felt skinnier everytime he climbed them, though his feet hadn't grown in years. "Please God, let her be here, even if it's because she never wants to see me agin, or touch me again, but she's here and ok, then I can make it up to her."

He'd never prayed before.

His head popped through the square and the only movement is an ant trail going for a dessicated piece of yule log he had forgotten when he waited for Jillian 5 months past. The motion was infinitesimal, he only noticed it because his attention was keen, hopeful.

She's not there, waiting to break up with him or him to break up with her.

Jillian's not at his, at work, in their treehouse, around town. Nowhere he can think she would want to be.

Could she be with Will?

He dismissed that out of hand. In self preservation.

Then went to the last resort.

He'd called her house. But no one answered. But her mother was usually very hungover on Sunday morning. Way hungover. He expected the phone may not ring anymore, because Karen, Jillian's mom, was likely to pitch it completely across the room if it hurt her head too much. There was no answer there. He tried later. But first, he got in his truck and looked for her bike. It was not at the library, which was closed, or outside Dairy Barn . She was supposed to work the 3:10 shift. He knew the owners, a pair of smiling but steel backboned sisters, would kick him out, with genteel manners, if he hung about too long, even if he bought fries and a Coke. So he waited until 2:00 his nails beds raw from chewing.

Harry smiled at Char, the short haired sister while she rang him up and took his money in her no nonsense manner. It was Mel who was the hard ass though, said Jillian. Char smiled back and he distracted himself with how audacious they were, female business owners in a small town, and open on Sunday! But there were still the dregs of the post church rush. Jillian hated working early on Sunday. The church people were judgemental, but they were also the reason Char and Mel saw opportunity in being open. "Hypocrites." Jillian liked to sing song. Sitting here, he could feel it. Externalized self loathing, aimed squarely on his shoulders. Better him than Jillian. He'd noticed since his hair started to grow he got more negative looks. Sneers, also, stares, especially since he'd got rid of the glasses too. Over something as superficial as hair.

He supposed hair madeth the man, the way a covert made its book.

At 3:30, when his soda had long run out and he only had the hard edged drier pieces of fry left, Jillian's favorite, he knew she wasn't coming. Char and Mel had noted her absence. He tossed the fried away and headed for the door.

"Is Jillian sick?" Char, of course, asked. Mel had probably already added it to her personnel file, called in reserves. He wasn't sure they gave warnings actually.

Harry shrugged.

Sandra was less solicitous when she came out of the back with a sneer on her face. "We are short staffed, I actually need the airhead tonight. Martha is out!" Like it was his fault. He was stuck a sentence back.

Jillian was not an airhead. She wasn't empty. She was a hummingbird, she floated.

He was sick to his stomach when he got in his truck. She was never late, not to work. She needed the money bad. For her big move plans. Hadn't she said she had a stash? Because Will could pay for things, unlike him. He shook his head and kept looking.

Harry drove to the lake, it was a Hail Mary. Maybe she was waiting for him there. The drive took longer than the three songs he was used to. Never mind song length varied...

Of course, she wasn't there. The shore wasn't empty, there were post prom revelers, faces he recognized, the ones with lake houses.

Harry took a deep breath and walked down to ask the group.

Bill Trent saw him coming. Harry was glad it was him. He was decent, they'd had classes together.

"Harry?" Bill bulged his eyes? He supposed he looked out of place.

"Hey man, have you seen Jillian down here?" He slapped him skin to the delayed offer of Bill's hand.

"Jillian, Will's girl?" Harry kept his eyes the same size. He'd never be able to think of her in those terms, especially after last night. She wasn't Will's anything. Maybe not his either. Though Harry was hers, to be sure.

He just nodded back he thought he muttered "yeah." Maybe "thanks." And maybe there was a awkward wave before he made his way back to his truck.

Harry didn't remember the drive home.

His da opened the door. He'd been in a bit of a fugue til then. But his da, who hadn't hugged him straight on, only a wrap around his shoulder, since his mum died, opened his arms. And just like the last time, months before America and a silver lined laugh, he cried. The grief came out of his eyes and wracked his body. Edward Styles held his son, while he experienced the second terrible loss of his life and Harry could hear him pray.

He hadn't done that in ages, Harry remembered murmured words at his bedside, then, when he would cry himself to sleep. What did his da pray for?

Harry cried himself out, and his Da gave him a glass of whiskey, from the desk bottle. The next morning, Harry went to school with resigned hope.

Will was the catalyst for him going to her house. Maybe, just maybe.

He'd seen him in the hallway, collecting his attaboys tor getting in there, in Jillian. Harry couldn't see any embarrassment near his mouth, not even in his eyes. He hadn't gotten anywhere. The closest Jilly had gotten to his dick was her knee caps. But Harry knew calling him out meant a beating and would be useless. Everyone already knew the lies, so they'd become truth.

His opinion of Will didn't improve when he came into the library at lunch. Harry couldn't muster the energy to punch him. He wasn't worth it, and Jillian had handled him already.

Harry couldn't sit in the library, or class after that. Those were just space fillers now, grades were finalized. Normally, he'd just wait it out, do his duty, but his priorities had shifted. There was a stone left unturned.

There was a pit, like in the center of a peach, a hard poisonous stone, sat in the center of his belly as he drove. He needed confirmation, of a fact he knew to be truth. And the thing he knew, deep down, since he woke up to a cold bed, was confirmed. By Dick, of all people. She had means, motive, and opportunity.

She'd gone.

She'd gone, probably to California, and she'd left him.

He didn't go to school on Tuesday or Wednesday. He'd snuck his dad's whiskey on Monday night, had the bottle rather than the glass. He'd not been well enough for school Tuesday morning. Wednesday he just couldn't get out of bed.

Thursday, his da threw water on his face. He sputtered and lurched up fighting the wet like it was an opponent. "Get up!" His da's face was red but his mouth was in that hard line of concern it formed, especially lately. "Enough moping - your mum..." he stopped himself with a jerky strike of his chin. "Something came for you."

Frankly, Harry could give a fuck what had come for him, but he'd pushed his da, and himself to the limit with the drinking and lie in. He hauled himself out of the bed like his bones had petrified.

He realized his Dad had undersold the "something." Harry plodded into the living room and saw a pile of mail. He realized immediately that the 'something' was on top, it was a postcard, telling him a fraction of why, at least why he was left behind. For stupid graduation. At this point, his speech seemed insignificant. What bothered him was what it didn't say. Like why she left and where she was, specifically.

It was a picture of Time's Square.

She'd done that on purpose. Harry knew it. Picked a place, a card like that. Finding her in New York was the definition of needle in a haystack. But there was a glimmer, maybe she was waiting for him, hiding out. They had plans in New York soon. In two weeks.

Harry barely remembered his speech. He didn't redraft it, he went with the one he'd read to Jillian the day before...before prom, when she'd clapped. He was focused on the future.

He convinced himself she would be there.

But she wasn't.

Harry waited outside The Beach Boys show until people started trickling out before the encore to avoid the crowds, mostly parents towing reluctant teenagers behind them. Many of the girls were crying. Harry heard some of the last song over the screams of the crowd and the "Mom, I'm missing my favorite song!" From 20 feet away. It was her favorite song too. Of course it was 'God Only Knows'. That's when he left. He couldn't, he just couldn't.

It was his favorite song ever. Because it perfectly encapsulated Jillian for him.

Now more than ever, since she'd left him, life went on. As much good as it did him.

Harry got a job, to save up for the summer. He worked on a farm, with the horses. He'd ridden when he was younger in England, occasionally before high school here, when his studies picked up. His old stable needed a stable boy. It paid well, most kids didn't want to shovel shit. Harry didn't mind, and it was quiet, but busy enough to keep his mind clear, focused on a living being's needs. It made him feel better.

June passed quietly, into a heated July. He spent most of it in a barn, with hay in his growing hair and a goal ahead of him. He worked as much as his body allowed. He was sore, a lot. He needed new shirts by early August. He saw a poster for that festival again. He could head over after work on Thursday, it was his last week anyhow. He'd take Friday off.

Harry didn't ask around to see if anyone was going. He had only one person on his mind. He budgeted money for food out, with the bit of his wages he decided to sacrifice, to hope. His da told him he'd pay expenses when he went to Berkeley, but Harry wanted to help. To not feel guilty if he used the money for, well, for a place where Jillian would want to live if he found her, and the transit costs over the bay to find her if he didn't.

He was hopeful about a festival billed to Peace, Love & Music, with artists he knew she loved. If she was still in New York, Jillian would be there, he just had to find her. It seemed so possible until it happened. Until he saw how many not Jillian's there would be.

He'd driven until the roads got clogged, parked on a backroad he knew from midnight memories and walked with the throng. He just thought he'd spotted her, had himself convinced, was tensing his leg muscles to run.

Lisa must have felt his stare. She turned back and his heart broke a little.

But she was a beautiful blonde, with a carefree smile and careful eyes. After they made eye contact, walking along country roads that Friday morning, she came up and linked arms with him. She friendly, open, and a self proclaimed flower child, from Pittsburgh.

She was just his type. Which felt confusing and all wrong.

He told her about Jillian, and her gaze softened to melted chocolate. She spent all of Friday helping him look. They asked anybody who responded to, "hey man!", covered ground until his feet like to fell off, and ducked into any tent large enough to stick their heads in. He turned down more hippie hospitality than he could recall, a hundred joint and other options. Some hot plates to food and not too few beers and sandwiches.

Nobody knew a Jillian, least not his.

By nightfall, after the last notes played from the big stage, but revelry continued, Harry was hangdog tired and broken-hearted. Lisa held him while he cried a little but didn't mention it, just a dried his eyes with the hem of her white peasant top. That time, she didn't follow his lead and accepted the next joint offered, copped a squat in the little circle, and took a deep inhale, held it in her lungs and blew her breath over his face.

It smelled sweat and skunky, and he was too tired to care and to curious to say no, again.

Jillian liked to escape, to take time outs from her mental landscape. For a long time, those came in music, the long drives they'd share with the radio as loud as they dared, their voices rising above the speakers occasionally, or quick dancing bursts. Recently, once she'd started partying with the popular crowd, she'd decided pot was better than either.

Harry wanted a time out too. From the ache in his feet, the pound in his head, and the rend in his heart. At first, he thought not much had passed into his body, but then he was laughing, a stuck lip smile pasted on his mouth, and then he slept, in the tent Lisa lead him to, better than he had in months.

It may have been the body beside his, familiar but not quite right. But close enough on his high.

The next day saw the same highs and lows. They were sticky and rank from searching. They wound up by a river people were in, naked, bathing. Before he could contemplate it, he was naked too, and he saw a look on Lisa's face that sparked a reaction in him. He'd seen it before. It reminded him of dressing rooms, and gymnasiums, his bedroom.

Maybe he wanted a comparison, or a little sample of free love, or just to touch the breast he'd seen. Proof he could do that again, even if he never found Jillian.

That night, it was a joint for two, and a different time out. If with Jillian, he felt everything, with Lisa making love was about numbness. He just wanted to feel something else for a while. She let him call her Jilly. He barely noticed when she moaned Donny.

Maybe the truth was, everybody would be an echo of his first love. The music he liked, he loved Creedance, his actions, like coming to Woodstock, and the girls he chose, the lookalikes.

He expected to feel badly in the morning. Hungover, emotionally and physically. But, truth was, he woke up like it was a redo. Did the day again.

During joe Crocker's cover of "A Little Help from My Friends" someone handed him a tea to drink. And he did, without thought. He'd been fed and watered and fucked, by the people collected around him. His whole generation in harmony around him.

The mushrooms hit him when the next band got started.

The soundtrack, some band called the Greatful Dead, was perfect. They played for ages, and the music matched his vision. Jilly was flying. And he was grateful, to be dead to his pride and his old life.

He was ready. Harry kissed Sarah on the cheek where she danced with her eyes closed beside him, and ran.

He was supposed to leave in two weeks, for Berkeley. And he would have went. Even without the postcard.

He felt stone cold sober when he made it to his truck, miles of walking tuning him into his path. He'd been turn on and tuned in. He was ready to drop out of his current life.

When he got home, his da took one look at him and said, "Professor Sanders said you were welcome whenever. I'll help you pack." They spent the next day filling up the bed of his truck, and tarping it down for the long drive to the west coast.

After they had shared a few beers, Harry almost asked what was going on. His Da was being so cool and treating him like he was a peer. It was strange, but it made sense when he handed Harry another postcard the following morning, along with his eggs.

Hardy,

You ready?

Jilly

The picture was of Haight Ashbury, under the street sign with a girl in a flower crown throwing a peace sign. Just as he'd seen her during his trip the day before.

"Da?"

"I'm sorry," Edward hung his head.

"Sorry for what?" Harry was so elated, he had a clue! And she wanted him, all of his fears gone in four words.

"It came 4 weeks ago." His da sucked back tears. "I just knew the minute you saw it, you'd be gone. So, I." He coughed. "I'm not proud of it. But I just wanted you a bit longer. But when you walked in yesterday, I knew you were gonna go anyway."

Harry felt his face turn red, like a Man U Jersey. He was fuming. Angry words stacked up like water at a dam, ready to burst through his teeth. How could his father keep this from him?

He'd been right though, 12 hours and he was leaving. And his da was crying. Harry was so hurt by being left behind, he could only empathize. Edward was really the lone lighthouse keeper now. He'd stay in this house, and read his paper, go to his office, but there would be no young voices or awkward hugs for some time. Harry could understand, somehow.

Harry exhaled and let his anger trickle down around the edges, and nodded. He could forgive this.

His da hugged him again, not bothering to clear his eyes. He walked Harry out to the car, "oh wait!" Harry watched him jog back into the house, when he emerged, he had a thermos and a brown bag.

"So you can cover some distance." It was tea and sandwiches. The same ones his da always made him before he made his own lunches. "Those were your mother's favorite!" He times that for when the engine kicked over. Harry heard it. Edward left his hand on the split window pane and Harry covered it with his own until he had to go.

Edward let go of the truck after a long moment and hurried back to the ranch style porch. His hand was moving against his face, quick and passionate.

"Da!" Harry called over the roar of the idle, "I love you. I'll call you whenever I stop." His da turned then. Harry couldn't hear his words, but saw his mouth move. He wasn't sure if it was drowned out by the ambient noise or emotion, but he read I love you. His dad stayed on the porch, then the sidewalk until Harry took the turn and couldn't see him anymore.

It was monotonous, at first, the trees and lanes he'd known his whole life. Then it was Lake Erie, it had been years since he'd been there. Then the trees gave way to flats.

Around Cleveland he picked up a couple girls headed to Toronto to see Led Zepplin. He took them as far as Toledo and then worried about them making it the rest of the way. They were young, giggly, and excited. He couldn't help but feel the two year gap between their 16 and his 18 was a lifetime, maybe the last year was the real lifetime.

The truck was so quiet after that. He kept an eye out then, for other passengers to fill the silence with radio sing alongs. He picked up a young guy in Chicago, and they rode together until Omaha, a long empty day. He crashed on the guy's couch and was sent off after a hot breakfast and a fill of his thermos with coffee. It was the first place he'd slept that wasn't the cab of his truck for two days. He slept hard and trusting. Used the phone to call his da.

He had trouble staying awake for the next 800 miles and was thankful the sunshine kept his eyes squinted. He'd stop to piss and stretch, but saw no potential companions and few cars. Who knew there was so much empty.

He felt empty. He went through stages. He'd left home without anger, but the almost five weeks since Jillian sent that postcard rode his mind like his tires did the blacktop. Time was a funny thing, it could continue in a straight line with no discernible change for months or years even, and then, like prom night, it could be irrevocably different in an hour, a moment.

All through Wyoming Harry tortured himself with possibilities. He liked to pretend he was an optimist, but really he was always preparing for the worst thing that could happen. Jillian was the one who asked what the best that could happen was. That seemed like bravery to him.

He thought up a scenario that was all bad, that she was gone without a trace. Lost to the 60's just before the decade changed to new possibilities.

Then one that was all good. He found a spot, and walked along the street and found her with just the flash of a picture. "Oh yeah, I know this chick. You must be Harry! She's waiting for you!" And he'd be led to a safe happy apartment full of peace lovers. Full of Jillian until his arms were full of her. He tried to think of that possibility most.

The worst by far was the one that was both his worst and her best. In the ensuing weeks where his selfish beloved father hid her letter, she'd found a new old man. Was shacked up. happy, and pregnant. Radiant and glowing with somebody else's get.

He had to pull over to puke, sympathy symptoms.

In Utah, he entered and alien landscape and thought he may be on the dark side of the moon. The one they didn't explore on TV, with all of America crowded around a glowing box.

When he hit the salt lake, he picked up the first, the only hitcher he saw. Allen was about his age, and he was headed not only the same direction, but the same place. He had a backpack, and not much else. A little money Harry begrudgingly accepted to cover the tank of gas.

There was something about him that made Harry anxious, for Jillian. Maybe it was the cigarette scar on his forearm, not the kind you give yourself, his immediate and deep sleep once he got in the truck, or the look haunting the corners of his eyes.

Allen was running away too.

Harry prayed, (it was becoming a habit) once Allen was asleep. It was for his passenger, Jillian, and all the kids making their way to California hoping to strike gold, running from pyrite.

He also prayed that Jillian hadn't hitched across country, had chosen a safer way. And that she wasn't in love, least not with anybody but him, and was not pregnant, even by him.

Harry couldn't stop driving after he picked up Allen. He filled up his gas tank and his thermos whenever engines were empty. They pulled up to the street sign he saw as a starting point and Allen saw as a refuge as the sun sunk below the horizon.

Harry didn't know where he was gonna sleep, his room was over the bay with Dr. Schroeder. He needed a bed, but he sucked down the battery acid bitter coffee left in his thermos. He wasn't leaving Sam Francisco for Berkeley until he'd tried.

There were throngs of young people cruising the streets. He slipped out the picture from prom, of the two of them in their formal dress. He looked at it, set his shoulders, and opened the door to join his generation.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #summer’s child #cult fic #1970’s #woodstock #chater 7 #turn! turn! turn!

33 notes · View notes

littlemisswolfie · 5 years

Text

a lonely speaker in a conversation

AO3

Summary: Yi deals with the fallout of Cal’s kiss while the holidays--and Darius’s possible return--quickly approach

Yi barely sees Cal for the next few weeks.

On one hand, it’s a little comforting. It means se doesn’t have to talk to the guy who shit-talked her boyfriend and then kissed her and left without saying anything. Yi has always kind of hated emotional confrontations so that works in her favor.

Except she really thought of Cal as a good friend before he kissed her. And she misses that easy friendship. He’s the only one of the troupe besides Darius who snarks at her on a regular basis, and she likes it. It makes her feel closer to Darius, in a way.

Not that she’ll ever say that to either of them. They’d both just deny any similarities between them.

It’s Wrath who finally pulls her aside and closes the door behind them so they’re alone in the nursery. “What’s going on with you and Cal?”

“It’s nothing,” Yi says, and it sounds weak even to her.

“Yi.” Wrath’s voice leaves no room for argument. “Tell me what happened.”

“He kissed me.”

Wrath wants to call Darius right away.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yi hisses at her when she whips her phone out of the pocket of her jeans. “We shouldn’t bother him over something dumb like this.”

“You’re upset. That’s not something dumb.” Wrath’s fists are clenched, and Yi thinks that if she kept her nails any longer than they are she would be drawing blood from her palms.

“Yes it is. Please, Wrath. He’ll come back right away if you tell him what happened and I don’t want him to do that if he’s not ready.”

Wrath sighs. “At least let me check in on him,” she bargains. “I won’t tell him what Cal did.”

Yi nods. She thinks Wrath expects her to leave the room, but she doesn’t. She won’t deny that hearing Darius’s voice would make her feel better. Wrath shrugs and sends a text, and a second later her phone starts ringing. When the call gets answered, Wrath puts it on speakerphone.

“Hey, Wrath. What’s up?”

God, that voice. He sounds tired. Yi bites at her hand to stop herself from speaking while Darius and Wrath talk to each other. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She’s glad she’s pregnant so she can blame the emotional surge on the hormones instead of her just missing a guy.

“How’s Yi?” Darius asks, and her breath catches in her chest. “Has she still been hanging around with the rest of you?”

Wrath looks at her. “Yeah.” Then, even though Yi shakes her head, she says, “She’s here, if you want to talk to her.”

There’s a pause on his end of the line. “She is?”

Yi swallows past a knot in her throat. “Hi, Darius,” she says, so soft she’s not sure if he hears her until he gasps on the other end of the line.

“Hey, beautiful,” he responds, voice thick with emotion. “Damn, it’s good to hear your voice. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Yi says.

“Hey, now, no crying. You know I hate making you cry.”

Yi laughs a little. “I’m not crying because I’m sad, though. I’m happy to hear your voice.” Wrath extends her hand and Yi takes the phone. “How are things going on your end?”

“Well, I’m definitely not as monstrous as I thought I was.” He doesn’t exactly sound happy about that, and Yi figures it’s because of whatever it is he’s seen. “I don’t think I’m a good person, but I’m not as awful as I could be.”

“That almost sounds like glowing praise, coming from you.”

“You know me too well. On the bright side, that means I might come home soon.”

Her heart lifts. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure exactly when, but I think I’m almost ready.”

“Don’t rush it,” Yi says, a token protest. “But I’m sure Avi would love it if you got home by Christmas.”

“Just Avi?” Darius asks, a teasing tone to his voice.

She smirks. “Well, maybe Ripley, too.”

“Well, I can’t disappoint Ripley, can I?”

For the first time in weeks, Yi feels truly happy.

“Yi and I spoke to Darius earlier,” Wrath says at dinner that night, and everyone perks up. Well, everyone except for Cal, who goes pale and has to quickly school his face into a more neutral expression. “He says he should be ready to come home soon.”

The troupe begins to chatter excitedly, asking for details and making plans, but Yi’s eyes stay trained on Cal through the whole meal.

After dinner and before the troupe heads down to pregame, Cal pulls Yi aside and actually looks at her for the first time since he kissed her. “Listen,” he says.

But Yi beats him to the punch. She knows she’s the weakest person in the room at any given time, maybe excluding Avi, but she knows how to slap a pushy guy (a skill she learned during bar hopping in college), and so she does. Her palm stings, but the sound of the blow connecting and the red mark on Cal’s cheek are satisfying enough that she doesn’t care. “Don’t you ever,” she hisses, “touch me without my permission again. Don’t act like you know what’s best for me and my child. Don’t say you’d be a better father than Darius. This is his baby as much as it is mine unless he says otherwise.”

Cal has the good sense to look ashamed. “I know, and I’m sorry. It was inappropriate of me to do that to you.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Did you tell any of the others?”

“Wrath noticed and asked. That’s why she called Darius today. We didn’t tell him what happened; I knew he’d come back right away if we did.”

As if on cue, Wrath appears behind Cal’s shoulder. “Caleb,” she says, using his actual name instead of his nickname like an angry mother, “you and I need to have a talk.”

Wrath decides Cal’s punishment is that he’s not allowed to go out on missions for a month, he has to tell Darius what he did when he gets home, and he owes Yi a favor. Yi makes him put the baby’s crib together specifically to spite him.

“But if you ever touch someone without their express permission again,” she warns him, “even a poke, I’ll kill you myself.”

And the scary part is that Yi knows it’s not an empty threat.

Her mom insists on hosting Thanksgiving dinner and putting the troupe up for the night so they can drink without worrying about driving home. The tiny apartment over the bike shop barely has room for all these people (and Ripley; getting her to the shop without inciting panic from the general public was an adventure and a half), but they make it work. Yi offers to share her old bed with Onyx and Wrath, Cal and Avi take the couch, and Malakai and Ripley sleep on the living room floor.

The turkey is made completely at home. “I even stuffed it,” her mom says. “Pre-stuffed turkey is bad for pregnant women.”

“Yes, Mom,” Yi says.

Her mom laughs. “You’ll regret that tone when your kid uses it on you, believe you me.”

“Well I’ve got at least a year before he starts talking, so I’m good until then.”

Yi gets the first slice of pumpkin pie, though it’s more whipped cream than pie by the time she starts eating it. She’ll have to ask her mom for the recipe sometime soon.

After dinner, they gather around the TV to watch a rerun of the Macy’s parade. All the adults are drinking, except for Yi, who jokes that her glass of orange juice is just a virgin screwdriver. Avi has a cup of hot chocolate, cooled just enough so he doesn’t burn his tongue. Yi falls asleep on the couch and wakes up at midnight in her bed and with a full bladder.

At least they left me at the edge, she thinks, glancing over her shoulder at Wrath and Onyx’s sleeping forms. Alright, baby, let’s get to the bathroom before momma wets herself.

Her feet hurt too much to go Black Friday shopping the next day, but she gives Onyx a list of things she wants (as many diapers as possible, for one thing) and her credit card (the one not linked to Darius’s account). Malakai goes with her to carry bags.

Wrath enlists her help with the motorcycle to keep her busy during the day. It’s in definite need of a tune up, no doubt about that, and the clutch is stuck to the handlebar, so Yi takes care of that for her.

It wouldn’t have taken very long if Yi didn’t have to take bathroom breaks because the baby insists on using her bladder like a trampoline.

“I’m surprised I haven’t pissed myself yet,” she grumbles to Wrath after her seventh bathroom break. “Do you think I can yell at Darius about this when he gets back? I feel like it’s warranted.”

Wrath laughs. “I think you could tell Darius to bring you the moon and he’d start building a rocket ship. So, yes, he’ll let you get away with anything you want to blame on him.”

Yi blushes and turns back to the bike.

They start decorating for Christmas the weekend after Thanksgiving. The troupe already has a huge tree that Malakai and Cal have to get on ladders to set up, and Onyx enlists Yi’s help in baking edible ornaments.

“Won’t they go bad way before Christmas, though?” Yi asks as they mix the sugar cookie dough.

Onyx winks. “That just means we get to eat them and make more!”

“Fair enough.”

Wrath lifts Avi up on her shoulders so he can put the star on the top of the tree. Yi wonders what her son will be doing this time next year.

“Oh my god, I don’t need the net!”

Wrath crosses her arms and scowls. “Until you can make it across the tightrope and back, you’re not using the bike without it.”

From her place on the ground, Yi groans. This is an argument Wrath and Onyx have been having for a week straight. Onyx has gotten good at basic BMX tricks while on the ground—at least, as well as she can do when Yi can’t hop on the bike and actually show her what to do—she understands where Wrath is coming from.

Onyx bristles. “You know I do my best work under pressure! Take the net away and I can do a fucking flip!”

“I’m not risking my tightrope walker and envy assassin on a BMX trick when a net is available.”

Alright, I’m done listening to this. “If you guys can’t stop arguing, you don’t get pieces of the yule log I’m making tonight.”

The threat works, and Onyx agrees to use the net for practice.

It’s hard to assemble gifts for the troupe simply because she rarely leaves the penthouse by herself anymore.

She has to get them gradually. She only gets one gift per trip, and never a gift for the person escorting her. When Wrath takes her out, she buys Onyx a gift, for example. It’s a slow process, but the one-by-one increase in wrapped gifts under the huge tree is very satisfying to watch.

Today she’s out with Malakai, trying to find the perfect gift for Wrath and looking for any other baby things she may need that she hasn’t gotten yet. It’s fun to look at baby clothes and toys, and Malakai’s excitement just feeds hers. “This matches the purple perfectly!” he says, holding up a soft blanket with an elephant head on the back of it.

It is cute, but… “We already have, like, ten blankets for the nursery. I think that’s already kinda overkill.”

Malakai looks disappointed but puts it back. “Why are we in the baby section if you’re not going to buy anything for the baby?”

“I’m getting antsy, I guess.” Her hand falls to her stomach. She can feel the baby moving around. “I don’t want to not have something we need when the baby gets here, because I’m sure I’ll be too tired to run out and get it.”

“Hey, it’s not like you’re gonna be doing this alone. You’ll have Darius and all of us.”

“I know.” She leans against his shoulder for the solid weight of it. “Can we find somewhere to sit down? My feet are killing me.”

Malakai frowns in concern. “Do you need me to carry you?”

“We’ll get kicked out if you do that. I just need to sit, I promise.”

“If I see you getting tired, I will carry you, even if it means us getting kicked out.”

“Ugh, you’re annoying.”

“Like any good brother is.”

They find a bench in the store and sit down. From the way Malakai is looking at her feet, he’d be rubbing them if it wouldn’t draw unwanted attention. “I still don’t know what to get Darius for Christmas,” she says.

Malakai laughs. “I mean, you’re literally growing his baby. That’s a pretty good present.”

Yi smacks his shoulder. “Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Just buy him a corny dad mug or something. You know, like in those pregnancy reveal videos people are doing now.”

She gives a pointed look down at her belly and then back up at Malakai. “I don’t think he’ll need a hint.”

It’s another Sunday mid-morning, about a week and some change before Christmas, and Yi is watching the pot of boiling oil carefully to make sure she doesn’t overcook the crullers (the only way she can convince Avi to eat congee) when she hears the elevator to the penthouse open. This is, of course, odd, since the troupe is still asleep and Avi is—or was—reading aloud from a picture book at the kitchen island while she cooks, like he does most mornings.

For one awful moment, she thinks it’s Kozholok, here to, fuck, take her hostage? Use her as bait to catch Darius? He’s still being quiet but who knows when he could actually strike?

But then she hears Avi gasp and jump off the stool. She turns, slowly, and her breath catches in her throat at the sight of a devastatingly handsome man with tan skin and windblown brown hair standing in the living room. His dark eyes dart down to her round belly and then back to her face. His jaw drops.

Avi doesn’t care about whatever inner turmoil he’s going through. He just barrels at him and latches onto his knees.

“Darius! You’re home!”

16 notes · View notes

devilbat · 5 years

Text

Christmas Dinner

Warning ⚠️: light smut, fluff.

Managing to wake up before your boyfriend Tom was a miracle. Normally he would be up, having gone for a run then back again before you even woke. Though he was always the one to wake you up for your morning workout and his second. Though today way Christmas Eve and you had way to much to do. Before you could go a few rounds in bed with him. His family was coming over for dinner. As well as yours. He had surprised you with flying your parents out for the holidays. He even put them up in a really nice hotel. Though you said they were more then welcome to stay with you and Tom. But they were just fine staying in a hotel though they had told Tom they would pay for the hotel but he had insisted. It would be the first time either families have meet. Of course you had already meet his mom, sisters even his father. When you first started dating, he had flown you both out to the states to meet yours.

You had just moved to England, you just landed the job of your dreams. That’s when you meet Tom. Of course it was on accident you had wound up getting lost your first day. And quite literally ran into the man. You shoe had gotten stuck in storm great, as you tried to pull it out, foot sliding out of your shoes. Causing you to trip backwards landing right into the handsome stranger, while he was turning the corner on his jog. Though this was not the first you two would have ran into each quite literally. It was about a month as it seem it was fate by the end of the month Tom had asked for your number and a dinner.

You shivered as you got out of the bed. You found his shirt and his boxers pulling them over your naked form. You grabbed a pair of knee high socks. Went on your way down stairs to start getting ready for tonight. You decided to make a British Christmas dinner. Getting the ingredients For the Yule log. Starting on that so you could decorate it later on while the Goose was in the over with the prime rib. You couldn’t decide which one you wanted to make the goose or prime rib so you did both, finding a small one of each.

Deciding to listen to Christmas music to get you in the mood. Before you started making Tom’s favorite Christmas pudding. Tom finally got out of bed. Throwing on sweat pants as he walked down the stairs. He spotted you dancing to your favorite song Santa baby. The good one by Marilyn Monroe as you put it. He swore it brought out your inner stripper but with out the clothes falling off. You did this while chopping dried fruit and nuts. He knew exactly what you were making. Smiling he walked up behind you. His arms found your hips as you felt his body press against yours. Swaying with you to the music.

“Mmm, good morning love.” He hummed kissing your cheek then your neck before nuzzling his face in. “I see your starting the pudding.”

“Morning, Yep, thought you would want that tonight.” You cooed, with a smile on your lips. You continue to work while he stay attached to you.

“I missed you in bed.” He sighed. Making you giggle. As his hand went for an Apple slice you smacked at his hand. Hearing him groan into your ear.

“I needed to get an early start on everything or we wouldn’t have Christmas dinner tonight.” You stated. Pushing what you had just cut up off to the side, grabbing the next apple. Toms hands decided to wander over your body. “Thomas.” You whined. “I have stuff to do.” Trying to wiggle away from your very handsy boyfriend. Grabbing at his hands.

“Yeah And I have a beautiful girlfriend to do.” He growled. As his one hand slipped out of your grasp, making its way down cupping over your covered core. You trying not to let the moan slip out from your lips. But once Tom grazed that spot behind your ear with his teeth you couldn’t help it. Feeling his smirk on the sensitive skin, while his hand started rubbing at your covered folds. You had to stop chopping, your hand set the knife down to grab a hold of the cutting block.

“Tom this is not help me with dinner.” You pouted. The other hand that held on to Toms other one, dropped down to the countertop. As a he rubbed a finger between your folds letting the fabric rub at your clit.

“But your enjoying. Your practically soaked my boxers.” He purred kissing your neck. His other hand wandered around until it found needed breasts, he started kneaded them, inching at the nipples. You buckled into him. You felt like your knees were going to give out. He slowly pushed his hand under the leg of the boxers to find your wet core as he dipped two fingers inside.

“Tom.” Your moaned louder. Your nails digging into the cutting block and countertop. Pushing your backside into him more feeling his hard cock against your butt. His thumb now working over your clit. You throw your head back on to his bear shoulder. “Please I have to fin-“ You trailed off.

“Oh, I’m going to let you finish.” He chuckled. Kissing back up your neck. “Just cum for me darling, and I’ll let you finish making dinner.” Nipping at your ear. He then slipped a third finger inside you. As he picked up the pace, his fingers spreading out inside you, curling hit the right spot deep inside you. You granddad yourself against him. You hand found the back of his head fisting in to his soft curls. You wiggled around. “Your so close love the sooner your cum for me the sooner you cans get back to work.”

“Oh god Tom.” You screamed, praising his name like a broken record. As your walls clenched around his finger. Cum for him. He eased up a little working you slowly through you orgasm. He hand dripping with your juices. Your head slumped forward, grabbing the counter to hold you up. As he slowly pulled out of you. Licking his fingers. You looked over your shoulder at Tom, as he stolen some apples with the other hand. As he pulled away.

“What about you? What are you getting out of this Thomas.” You huffed. As you felt your arousal start to run down your thigh.

“Oh I’ll be getting some later tonight.” He smirked smacking at your ass.

“Yeah and what make you so sure about that?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh darling once you open your Christmas eve gift. You be practically tearing my clothes off.” His voice dripped with confidence.

“Is that so? We will see about that my love.” You smirked. Watching Tom walk away.

After cleaning yourself up, no thanks your boyfriend. You went back to getting everything ready. Tom helped here and there. Getting the rest of the house ready. You had quickly taken a shower and dressed. Your parents arrived right as you pulled the Yorkshire pudding out. Tom has just finished setting the table. Shortly after he mom and sisters arrived.

It was great that your parents got along so well with his family. Though your dad love his dad jokes, more or less they were more police jokes then anything. After all he was a retired police officer. He had always thought your would become one too. But he was always happy with your choice. He adored Tom, who was the first boyfriend you had ever brought home that your dad actually liked.

After dinner and both parents Sharing their most embarrassing story about the both of you. The snow started to fall more. Tom had thought it would be nice to go for a walk to show your mom and dad the neighborhood all light up for Christmas. It was a beautiful night for it. Though you may have whined a little bit, not wanting to go out in the cold. But Tom did have a point where you lived, most of the neighbors had decorated for the holiday, and it would be nice to take time to see everything not just drive by.

“You just want to walk off the pudding that you inhaled. I know your motives.” You teased poking Tom in the belly. That was over stuffed. He groaned when you poked at it.

“Not my fault you did an amazing job on the pudding.” He chuckled kissing you lightly. “Though I think it would of taste even better if I had you with it. He whispered in your ear. before button his coat up. You smack his chest, walking away from him just shaking your head. With an eye roll. Pulling your coat and scarf on.

Everyone was bundled up and ready to go on Tom’s little outing. You snuggle up against Tom as he told your dad about the quaint old neighborhood. Tom has lived in a historical community in just outside of London. While you talked with Tom’s sisters. Your mom and Tom’s mom were having a nice little chat. There was a little decorated tree over by the pound under the gazebo that Tom brought everyone too, taking a moment to look at how beautiful everything was. All the Christmas lights were shining bright.

Tom had let go of your arm to tie his shoes as you were pointing out random little things to your dad. Tom’s sisters started to giggle. You had started think about it, Tom doesn’t have shoe string, he was wearing boots. Thinking it was rather odd you slowly turned around, to see you boyfriend Tom kneeling down on knee. He held out a beautiful red with gold border box. Tom pushed the little nob to reveal a beautiful simple diamond ring. At this point your eyes had widened, lips parted, well you were gapping at the man In front of you. You eyes felt dry even though they started to tear up.

Darling, that first day you had fallen into my arms.” Tom started to say. Clearing his throat. ‘Literally’ You thought with a little giggle. As you looked into those blue eyes you fell for. “I couldn’t get your beautiful shyly smile out of my head. Let alone my heart. After that day I thought I would never see it again. Then we kept running into each other quite literally. It had taken me to long to get the courage you ask you out. When I did and you said yes. I thought I was the happiest man. And to this day after two wonderful years. I’m still as happy with you as the day I met you. Even with me being an actor and traveling a lot. You stuck by my side.” Tom adjusted his coat feeling like he was burning up. Watching you tear up. “I want to spend my life with you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, will you marry me?”

The tear that started to well up in your eyes finally slipped down your face. You were nodded profusely yes. Not being able to speak. You throat felt dry. You could hear both family say awe. Your dad had made some comment you didn’t hear. Tom took your hand in his, pulling you glove off. Before slipping the ring on your finger.

“Yes. Oh my god, yes Thomas.” You finally spoke. Tom got of the ground when you jumped him. Your arms and legs wrapped around his body. As you kissed his cold lips multiple times still crying. You then buried you face in his neck. “And yes you are getting laid tonight more then once.” You whispered. Tom chuckled. As he set you down.

“Well now we just got to get rid of our families then.” He whispered back teasingly. You smacked his chest again before kissing him once more. As both families came to congratulate you both. Though you found out that they had known for awhile. You dad had told you that Tom had flown out to see your parents, to ask for permission to marry his daughter. Smiling like a fool you looked back at Tom snuggling into him as everyone made their way back to the house for another round of dessert. Though this time Tom whispered, that he wasn’t going to spoil his appetite this time, with filling up on dessert when later he was going to be filling up on you. And for the third time that evening, you smacked Tom in the chest playfully.

@kitkatkl @lokilvrr @instantnoodlese @drakesfiance @meyoko10 @jackheart180 @wolfcore227 @mr-hiddlestons-pet @theoneanna @graveyard-groupie @silverquartx @moonfaery @kcd15 @moonlightprime

#tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fluff #tom x reader #tom hiddleston smut #tom

276 notes · View notes

stereksecretsanta · 5 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @zjofierose!

Merry Christmas (or Happy solstice, in this case), I hope you like it, @zjofierose!

Read on AO3

*****

A Gift From the Gods

The day of the winter solstice, Stiles woke before dawn. He had a lot to do before the sun set that night and the holiday officially began.

Normally, he wouldn’t use candles to light the room - why would he, when he could do it much more easily with the flip of a switch? - but it was traditional and he wanted his request to be looked upon favorably. Showing respect for the gods and their ways couldn’t hurt. And if the gods weren’t as involved in people’s lives as the druid priests believed (if they didn’t even exist, not that he’d say that out loud), following the old traditions might subconsciously encourage his spark to create the opportunity he was seeking. It didn’t really matter if it was the gods granting his request or if it was a case of him literally being the change he wanted to see in the world, as long as it worked.

Stiles was going to meet his soulmate.

Hopefully.

It had been a long time since Stiles and his father had done more than the most basic observance of either of the solstices - not since his mother had died. He wanted to do this right. First, the purification ritual. It was the one of the easiest rituals, involving nudity, cold water (so cold, it was still winter even if he was in California, why?), and a handful of herbs tossed in a fire, but it had to take place at dawn. Considering that he was allowed to go about his daily business without restriction afterward made him think it was just supposed to be a bath. The gods probably didn’t like doing favors for stinky people.

Once he’d dried off and put on his nice warm clothes (all natural fibers, which maybe wasn’t absolutely necessary, according to the High Druid, but it couldn’t hurt, right?), he ate a hearty breakfast and set to cleaning and then decorating the house with the boughs of evergreen and holly he and his dad had cut the day before. Stiles had even attempted to make a wreath, but he’d never gotten the knack of it and his efforts were a dismal failure. He had ended up trading the promise of one of his Yule log cakes for one of Erica’s lovely handmade wreaths, which he now hung carefully on the front door. Next, the fireplace. Since California winters tended to be mild and central heating was a thing that existed, the fireplace was mostly ceremonial; they only used it to burn the Yule log each year. Stiles had arranged for the chimney to be checked earlier in the week, and now he made sure the grate was as clean as he could get it. Later, when the Yule log was delivered, he would fetch the piece from last year’s log to start this year’s fire.

Stiles checked the time. Despite the hours and hours (okay, only a few) he had spent performing his tasks, it was still too early to run his most important errand of the day. Scott probably wouldn’t kill him if he showed up this early, but Stiles wasn’t as certain about Allison. She’d been having trouble sleeping lately and if Stiles disturbed her much-needed rest… better not to take the chance.

He wasn’t going anywhere yet, so he decided to get started on his baking. Aside from the cake for Erica, he’d also promised to make one for Scott and Allison, and there was no way he was going to make two cakes and not have any for him and his dad. Baking three cakes when he only had one pan took time, as did the whole cooling, filling, and rolling process. He had made the meringue mushrooms the day before, because they took forever to make, but it wasn’t a proper Yule log cake without the damn things and there was no way he was skipping them. That part didn’t have anything to do with trying to find his soulmate - Stiles had a Yule log cake reputation to uphold.

By the time he was done icing them (ganache for Scott and Allison, chocolate ‘bark’ pieces for the other two), it was well past lunch and Stiles needed to get out of the house. He wasn’t in danger of forgetting his most important errand, but he was seized by the sudden certainty that if he didn’t take care of it right now, it wasn’t going to happen. He took enough time to box up two of the cakes and put on his coat, then he was out the door.

He very carefully did not speed over to Scott and Allison’s place, but he still managed to get there in record time. He stood on their porch, cake box in hand, and rang the doorbell. As soon as he heard footsteps approaching, he pasted his widest smile on his face, the one Scott said was ‘creepy’ and Allison said made him ‘look like a serial killer’.

The door opened. “Hey-” Scott began, then he flinched and groaned. “Gods, Stiles, why do you do that every time? Get in here.”

Stiles laughed and stepped inside. “I’ll stop when it isn’t funny anymore. Brought your cake, man,” he said, brandishing the box.

“Awesome!” Scott took it from him and they went to the kitchen, where Allison was slumped at the kitchen table, her head propped on her hand.

“Hi Stiles,” she said with a yawn.

“Hey, just woke up?”

“About to take a nap actually. Apparently I need one every three hours now.”

“Growing a person is hard on the body, or so I’ve heard,” Stiles agreed. “How’s that going, by the way?” He waved a hand in the general direction of Allison’s still-slender waist.

“Just fine,” she said patiently.

“Stiles brought our cake,” Scott told her.

Allison smiled, her dimples in full force. “Thank you. Now all we need is the real Yule log and we’ll have everything we need for tonight.”

“Yeah, same,” Stiles agreed. “Once I get one other thing.” He stared at Allison significantly.

“Oh?”

Stiles wasn’t buying Allison’s oh-so-innocent act. Although her ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about’ face was really good. Maybe she had forgotten? Pregnancy brain was a thing, Stiles had read about it.

Allison burst out laughing. “Your face, Stiles, oh my god. It’s in the living room.” She got up and walked out of the kitchen, Stiles following after her like a puppy. There, in a wicker basket on the coffee table, was an abundance of mistletoe. More than Stiles needed, really.

“Did you get some for yourselves? Although it’s not like you guys really need it.”

Mistletoe, when cut down by druid priests and gathered by unmarried young women, was good for fertility, among other things. When it was gathered by married women, it was useful for revealing what was hidden, like someone’s soulmate, for instance. Scott and Allison had both of those things covered.

“Deaton thought you might want extra, just to be sure,” Scott said behind him.

“Oh, ha ha.” It was a joke, probably. Deaton, the High Druid, had a dry sense of humor, but maybe also not the highest opinion of Stiles’ abilities with magic.

“We have some hanging up for luck,” Allison said. “We got it from the Hales.”

“Hmm,” Stiles answered absently, already thinking of all the places he could hang the mistletoe. Having more than he needed couldn’t hurt.

“They’re bringing our Yule log later. They’re in an extra giving mood this year. Are you getting yours from them too?”

“The Yule log is Dad’s responsibility.” Stiles picked up the basket. “Okay, thanks for getting this for me, Allie.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ve gotta go. See ya.”

“I see how it is. You got what you wanted and now you’re just going to leave,” Scott said with a grin.

“Hey, I brought cake. Anyway Scotty, you know you’re my BFFL five-ever.” He went over and kissed Scott on the cheek too. “And I really do have to go. Happy solstice! Enjoy your nap!”

His next stop was Erica’s house, well, Erica’s parents’ house. Erica was what the local gossips were calling a late bloomer. It had taken years for Deaton and Erica’s doctors to come up with the right mix of magic and medicine to treat her seizures. She was making up for lost time now, going out and having fun, or at least trying to. Her parents were still treating her like she was sick, and Erica didn’t want to burn any bridges in her push for independence. If Stiles had to guess, she was afraid the treatment would stop working and she’d be back at square one, only without their support. Not that it was any of Stiles’ business.

There was a pickup idling in front of Erica’s house - one of the Hale’s many vehicles. Stiles didn’t recognize the man in the driver’s seat - judging by his dark hair and supernatural hotness, he was most likely a Hale, the best looking member of that family Stiles had ever seen, and that was saying something.

Boyd was practically hanging out of the open passenger-side window, talking to Erica. Stiles got out of his jeep with Erica’s cake, hanging back while they flirted. He wouldn’t interrupt them for the world. Not only would Erica kill him, but Boyd would give him the Look, and Stiles would like to avoid both of those things, especially today. He waited forever, until the Hale Hottie finally said something and Erica and Boyd made their goodbyes.

As they drove away, the driver’s eyes met Stiles’ and the world stopped. But the truck kept moving and the moment passed. Stiles shook his head to clear it. Now wasn’t the time to lose his head over a pretty (who was he kidding, gorgeous) face. Soulmate, he reminded himself, so much better than mere good looks (astronomical hotness).

“That better be my cake,” Erica said, her hands on her hips and a smirk on her lips.

Stiles held the cake box out on one hand and bowed with a little flourish. “As you requested.”

Erica laughed and took the box from him. “It better be the best cake I’ve ever tasted.”

Stiles clutched his chest and gasped. “You doubt my baking powers?” he demanded and she shrugged. It had probably been years since she’d had cake because of the special diet she’d had to follow. Either no cake could live up to the memories she had built up, or this cake was going to blow her mind.

They wandered over to her front porch and sat on the steps. “Excited to meet your soulmate?” she asked quietly.

“Maybe I’ll meet my soulmate,” he said automatically, then sighed. “More nervous than excited.”

Erica nudged him gently with her elbow. “It’s going to be awesome. It’s your soulmate.”

“Soulmates aren’t sure things,” he reminded her and oh shit, what was he thinking? Meeting his soulmate didn’t mean they’d end up together forever (or at all), just that the possibility for forever was there. He was probably just wasting his time. “Not many people lining up to get with all this.” He waved his hand at himself.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, or I’ll show up at your door tonight and make myself your soulmate.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“I’ll make it work that way if you don’t knock it off. And then I’ll spend the rest of our lives making you regret this low self-esteem bullshit.”

“You won’t do it. You don’t really want to be my soulmate.” He grinned suddenly. “I think you have someone else in mind for that role. You were looking pretty cozy with Boyd just now.”

“I’m awesome enough for two soulmates.” Erica tossed her hair over her shoulder and lifted her chin.

“Yeah, you are.” They sat together in silence for a while. Stiles stared at Roscoe, thinking about what he had left to do… which was surprisingly little. He just had to put up the mistletoe, and then he could make his request. “Hey, you want some soulmate-finding mistletoe?” he asked Erica. “I’ve got enough in my jeep for half the town.”

She thought about it. “Nah,” she said eventually. “I need some time to find out who healthy me is before I find my soulmate.”

Stiles wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a sideways hug. “I can already tell healthy you is awesome.”

“Of course. Now go away so I can drool over my cake in peace.”

Stiles pretended to gag, then took his leave.

His stomach was in knots all during the drive home. It was almost time. Despite his doubts, he was still going to make his request. He wanted this; he was ready.

As soon as he was inside, he hung the mistletoe in all of the traditional places - and a few non-traditional ones. He didn’t need to wait for the solstice to officially begin, so as soon as the last sprig was in place, he went to the small altar he’d set up by the living room window and began.

There was no official ritual for the request. In fact, Deaton had been more unhelpful than usual. ‘Just ask in whatever way feels right to you. The gods will answer or not according to their will.’ Well, Stiles was going to take him at his word and do it his way. He lit two beeswax candles and set a single flower on the altar between them. Then, he silently asked the gods to send his soulmate to him, because he would have felt stupid asking out loud.

The candle flames flickered, but that was it. Stiles sighed and looked around the living room. A wave of exhaustion swept over him. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t quite over. He went over to the couch and flopped down on it. He had time for a short nap before he had to do anything else. And it wasn’t like he was expecting his soulmate to appear right there in his living room. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Low voices woke him some time later. He sat up, blinking sleepily at his dad standing in the doorway. “Hey,” he said and yawned hugely.

“Stiles, the house is looking very green.” His dad turned and said to someone behind him, “The fireplace is in here.”

“Yule log?” Stiles guessed. He stood up as his dad entered the room, followed by the handsome unknown Hale he’d seen earlier at Erica’s.

Their eyes met and the world stopped for a second. Again. “Uh,” Stiles said intelligently.

“Derek, this is my son, Stiles,” his dad said. “Stiles, this is Derek Hale.”

Stiles froze for a completely different reason this time. Everyone knew about Derek Hale. He’d been gone for almost ten years, for very understandable reasons, and the sure bet was he’d be gone for another ten before he set foot in Beacon Hills again. And now here he was in Stiles’ living room, holding a Yule log.

“The fireplace is over here,” his dad said mildly, and Derek looked away, releasing Stiles from his almost hypnotic gaze.

One the Yule log was settled in the grate, an awkward silence descended. For once, Stiles struggled to say something, anything. He wanted Derek to stay, get to know him, but if he opened his mouth, he’d probably drive Derek away with inappropriate questions or just plain weirdness.

“I’ll just go get the piece of the Yule log from last year and we’ll get this thing lit,” his dad said. “That alright with you, Stiles?”

“Yeah, sounds great, Dad. It should be under your bed, right where we left it.”

His dad just shook his head and left the room, leaving Stiles and Derek to the silence.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Stiles blurted almost without meaning to. “Sorry. I meant to say that earlier. I just woke up.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Derek said. He looked around the room. “It looks like you’re ready for the solstice.”

Stiles followed his gaze and grimaced at the overabundance of mistletoe. “Uh, yeah. I’m uh… It’s for a ritual? I asked the gods for a favor.”

Derek nodded, but he looked confused.

“Soulmate.” Stiles’ words came without his permission. “I’m trying to find my soulmate.”

Derek stared at him, then, unbelievably, stepped toward him. “Can I tell you a secret?” he said, almost shyly.

Stiles nodded dumbly.

“I’m looking for my soulmate too. That’s why I came back to Beacon Hills.” He looked at Stiles expectantly.

“Oh.” A thought, one he had been ruthlessly suppressing every since Derek had walked into the room, popped into his head. Was Derek…

He held out his hand, waiting to see if Derek would take it. This was probably nothing, just a coincidence. There was no way Derek was his soulmate.

Derek looked down at Stiles’ hand, then back up with a nervous smile. He took another step forward and reached out.

The moment their palms met, tiny sparks began to dance along their skin and the world felt suddenly right in a way Stiles had never experienced before in his life. He grinned. Derek smiled back, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Hello, soulmate.”

#zjofierose #stereksanta18 #*fic18 #*gifts18

36 notes · View notes

hovercraft79 · 5 years

Text

Winter Song

Ch 27 Underneath the Tree

Chapters: 27/31 Word Count: 2,199 Fandom: The Worst Witch (TV 2017) Rating: Teen Warnings: None Summary: Hecate and Pippa are finally winding down on as Christmas comes to a close. Will an exchange of gifts – and confessions – bring them closer together or push them further away?

Notes: This story is part of the B-Sides: Stories from the world of Hecate’s Summer Playlist series. It is a prequel to Hecate’s Summer Playlist.

Underneath the Tree is a lovely song by Kelly Clarkson that really goes with the mood of this one, I think.

Thanks to Sparky for her endless efforts in making me sound like I did pass basic English and composition.

“I loved you, you know…” Pippa spoke so softly that she wasn’t sure Hecate could hear her. But when the other woman froze in the middle of putting another log on the fire, she knew. “I know you probably don’t want to hear that…but it’s true.” She took a sip of her wine. “I don’t mean like a friend, either. For the longest time I thought that was why you left.”

Hecate dropped the log into place and straightened up, hands gripping the mantel. She closed her eyes, willing her rising stomach back into its place. “It wasn’t why I left. I…I didn’t even know you felt that way.” Would it have made a difference if she’d known? Honestly? She didn’t think so. Most likely she would have been even more determined to protect Pippa. She turned around but stayed near the fire, pretending she wanted the warmth. If anything, she was burning up inside. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Pippa shrugged. “You were my best friend, Hiccup. I was too afraid to jeopardize that. Part of me was always afraid that there would be something that made you decide I was… too much. Whenever I’d lie in bed at night I’d think about telling you. Especially on those nights that we slept in your bunk or mine, I’d think about telling you.” She took another swig of her wine, downing the rest of the glass. “I could imagine a lot more ways it could go wrong than it could go right. Would you have really wanted to know? Would you have stayed? If you’d known?”

Stricken, Hecate shook her head. “I couldn’t…” She refused to meet Pippa’s eyes. “Please… Pippa… I’m sorry that happened…that I did that…”

“I know. I’m sorry it happened too.” Pippa stared at her empty glass. She wanted another glass. She wanted the whole damn bottle, but that wouldn’t serve her well tonight. She forced a smile on her face and brightness into her voice. “But it was a long time ago, Hiccup. And here we are…and it’s Christmas.” She held out a hand, beckoning Hecate over. “Come here, darling. Please, sit with me. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Hecate hesitated before moving to perch stiffly on the edge of the sofa. “Okay…” She did her best to keep her face impassive, but inside her stomach bubbled and churned. At least it was cooler on the sofa with Pippa.

“Relax, Hiccup, I promise it’s nothing bad. At least I hope it isn’t.” She shifted on the sofa so she could see Hecate’s face. “You look like there’s a First Year trying to brew a level nine potion in your best cauldron.”

“I think that’s what I feel like.” She brushed an invisible speck from her dark green skirt. “I just don’t recall any good conversation that began with ‘there’s something I want to talk to you about.’”

“It isn’t bad, darling. I promise.” She held a hand out and waited as Hecate tentatively laced their fingers together. She still felt the same butterflies she always did when Hecate took her hand. “Do you remember? When we were girls, we held hands all the time. I know I had to make you to start with, but…eventually you would reach for my hand, too. At least you did for a while. Then things changed. You didn’t reach for my hand anymore. You’d let me hold yours, but as soon as there was some sort of excuse… you’d let go. You’d move away. That’s why I thought you knew how I felt.”

“It wasn’t,” Hecate said, staring straight ahead. The flames flickered merrily in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows across the walls and furniture. Brightly wrapped packages sat beneath a tiny Yule Tree on her side table. The whole scene should have been joyful. Instead, Hecate felt like a Founding Stone was sitting in her stomach. “Do you want more wine?” She asked, trying to lighten the mood and unable to think of anything else to do.

“I do, but I think it’s best I have some club soda instead.” She held out her hand and summoned a bottle of club soda, opening it and pouring half the contents into her wine glass before sending it back to Hecate’s kitchenette. “Do you remember our conversation the night of the Spelling Bee? Our reconciliation?��

“That’s hardly the sort of thing I could forget,” Hecate said, smiling in spite of her nerves. “You said that you wanted us to be friends again – and you understood that I wanted that too, even if I couldn’t get the words out. You said that you would give me all the space I needed, but you wouldn’t go away.” Nervous brown eyes lifted up to meet Pippa’s. “That’s still true, isn’t it?”

Pippa smiled gently. She knew she was the one who should be nervous about Hecate leaving again, but…she didn’t really think that was very likely. “It’s true, darling. I’m not going anywhere. In fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She watched Hecate’s shoulders stiffen. “Sit still. Let’s open presents, shall we?”

Confused, all Hecate could do was nod in agreement. She summoned the packages from their spot beneath the tiny Yule Tree. “You go first,” she said, pressing her package into Pippa’s hands.

Pippa tore the paper off the narrow box and flipped the lid onto the sofa. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but folded papers wasn’t it. She pulled the papers out and opened them up. Scanning through them, Pippa realized it was a registration to the witching world’s most prestigious potions conference. Her potions teacher at Pentangle’s asked to attend every year.

“I’m giving an address… and you said you wanted to hear one of my lectures.” Her cheeks began flushing red. “You also said you wanted to go somewhere together. The conference is in Italy. I thought we could… stay a few days after and sightsee?”

“Oh, Hiccup! It’s perfect. I love it.” She looked up, shining, smiling eyes filling Hecate until she thought she might burst. “I’ll put it on the calendar right away.” She pressed the registration to her chest, sighing deeply. This definitely made her feel better about the rest of the conversation. “Open yours now.” She nudged Hecate’s gift towards her.

Hecate smiled shyly as she pulled the gift onto her lap. “You really didn’t need to get me anything. I think,” she paused as she felt the beginnings of a blush creeping up her neck. “I think having you back is gift enough.”

“Me too, darling.” She reached a hand out and squeezed Hecate’s elbow. “But I wanted to give you this anyway. Have done for a very long time, actually.”

Frowning, Hecate picked up the package with reverence. Her fingers trembled as she slipped them beneath the tape and removed the paper. Delicately, she folded the paper and set it aside. Pippa squirmed with anticipation beside her. Hecate smiled up at her before removing the lid to the box and revealing a deep forest green, leather-bound album. Hecate reverently traced the edge of the album with a black painted nail.

“Go on, then,” Pippa said, “have a look.”

Hecate opened the album, hand flying to her mouth as she stared down at her twelve-year-old self, looking serious and severe standing next to a bubbly blonde girl who had her arms wrapped around Hecate’s waist. “I remember that day,” Hecate said. “The last day of term when your parents came to collect you. You wanted them to meet your best friend.”

“I did,” she said, chuckling. “You weren’t at all sure about it, though.”

“I kept waiting for the punchline.”

“You kept waiting to be the punchline, Hiccup. But that was never going to be the case with me.” Pippa corrected gently. “It took a long time before you believed that, I think.” She ran a hand down Hecate’s arm. “Or maybe you still don’t quite believe it?”

“It’s… still surprising that you would ever have chosen me.”

“Funny – it’s never surprised me at all.” Pippa ran her hand back up Hecate’s arm before leaning back against the sofa.

Blushing slightly, Hecate continued to flip through the album. With the photographs arranged chronologically, Hecate was able to watch them grow up a bit with each flip of the page. In each photo Pippa beamed, one or both arms always draped around Hecate. Early on, Hecate looked like she did in the first picture – stiff and uncomfortable. She noticed that she changed as she moved further into the album. She started to smile. She stood a little closer. Halfway through and she was loose and grinning, one arm thrown across Pippa’s shoulders.

Hecate’s breath caught in her chest when she reached the last photo. She knew exactly when it was: the day before the broomstick waterskiing display. They were tan, wearing swimsuits and laughing, leaning against one another. They weren’t looking at the camera. They were looking at each other, and Hecate couldn’t believe what she was seeing. How had they not known? The love between them was so, so, visible. Tangible, even. She turned the page to find nothing but blank pages after that.

“It’s pretty obvious in hindsight, isn’t it?” Pippa tapped the album with a pink nail before taking Hecate’s hand in her own. “This is what I want again.”

Hecate’s heart lurched in her chest. “I don’t understand…” Hecate stared at the album in her hand. “I’m sorry, Pip. I’m afraid I’m not following you.”

“Don’t be sorry, darling. I haven’t been clear. After the Spelling Bee I told you I wanted to be friends again, like we used to be.”

“I remember.” She looked up into Pippa’s eyes. “I said I wanted that, too.” Her lips twisted into a rueful grin. “At least I tried to; you told me that you’d let me get away with just shaking my head yes or no.”

“And you shook your head yes, and I’ve never been so happy.”

“But it didn’t last,” Hecate pulled her hand free from Pippa’s and began wringing her hands together in her lap. “I’m not what you remembered…I’m harder, more rigid. Too difficult.”

“On the contrary, darling. It did last. In fact, it grew. And it’s true, you are all of those things. But you’re so much more, as well. That’s the part you never could see, Hiccup.” She reached out and took Hecate’s hand between her own again. “What I’m trying to say is that I’d like the opportunity for us to be more than friends. If you’d consider it… I’d like to start thinking in terms of getting back what I felt for you before you went away. Those feelings never left, Hiccup, or…if they did, they came flooding back as soon as you were back in my life. I’m not saying I want us to start… dating right now or anything like that. I’d just like to know if you feel… willing… to consider the option.” She squeezed Hecate’s hand one more time before letting go and leaning back against the cushions. It was done. She’d said her piece, and now it was up to Hecate. She reminded herself that she could live with any decision that Hecate made, as long as they could remain friends.

Suddenly, every feeling Hecate struggled to keep tamped down welled up. Her breath caught in her chest and she started to cough. Without thinking she gulped down the rest of her wine – the better part of the glass. This set her to sputtering even more.

Pippa leaned forward and began rubbing Hecate’s back. “Easy there, darling. That’s not quite the reaction I’d hoped for.” She kept soothing until Hecate caught her breath, then kept rubbing light circles on her back just because she wanted to. “You’re okay. You don’t have to say anything. No pressure, Hiccup. Just breathe.” She offered her glass of club soda, pleased when Hecate drank from it.

“I’m all right, Pipsqueak, I’m just not used to the wine…” She smiled a tight, embarrassed smile and handed Pippa her glass back.

A log popped in the fireplace, startling them both and setting Pippa to giggling. “Look at us, Hiccup, jumping out of our skin because of a little noise.” She stood up and held a hand out to Hecate again. Again, she felt the butterflies when Hecate took it. “It’s late. Let’s get some sleep.” She waved her hand, and the sofa lengthened and widened. Hecate summoned some bedding and magicked it in to place.

Once the sofa was made up for Pippa, Hecate said goodnight, awkwardly accepting a hug and another kiss on the cheek. At least this one wasn’t followed by another infernal nose boop, but she blushed just the same.

Stopping at the door to her bedroom, Hecate turned around and looked at Pippa, finding the blonde witch looking back at her, smiling. “I loved you, too, you know. That was never the issue.” Without another word, Hecate retreated to her bedroom.

Pippa stared back at her, heart pounding in her chest, smile growing wider by the second.

#ww2018winterfluffevent #hicsqueak #hecate hardbroom #pippa pentangle

19 notes · View notes

sun-writer-blog · 6 years

Text

The Story

AKA The 3 Days Mike saw Eleven and the One day he finally asked her out.

Also this was definitely inspired by that one time the cast sung together

I hope you enjoy! I’ve been working on his for a little bit and it sort of got away from me but oh well. Requests are still open, and all feedback is greatly appreciated!

Day One

Each imperfection made her human. Imperfect, but uniquely beautiful.

Mike shifted his headphones but didn’t quit scribbling in his composition book. He needed to get the ideas out of his head and onto paper before they were lost forever. He hadn’t written anything in a long time - something that a creative writing major had a lot of trouble explaining to his faculty advisor - and this morning at breakfast he had finally found some inspiration. It came in the form of a girl eating waffles alone.

Quiet didn’t quite describe her well enough. There seemed to be a purpose in her quietness, as if she wanted to hide behind the background noise and blend into the crowd. Her eyes reminded him of a yule log burning in his mother’s fireplace and the smell of cinnamon at the Byers’ place during winter. He remembered how often authors wrote about winter negatively, and he imagined that they would have written about this girl in that way. But her coldness did not rebuke him. It was the coldness of snow gently falling and the entire forest taking a sigh after a long year of work.

Mike was with his friends when he saw her. Lucas and Dustin were arguing about forming a band and who would play what instrument. They both wanted to play bass, and had already established that Mike would play drums. Will wanted nothing to do with the band because he didn’t want to sing in front of people, but Lucas insisted because he was the only one who could actually sing. Mike had checked out of the conversation about halfway through it, instead watching this girl as she moved through the ridiculously long lines of half-awake college students trying to get a meal after a weekend of partying. She seemed to be the only one fully conscious. Her movements were graceful, and Mike wondered if she had ever danced ballet. His sister Nancy had been in recitals when she was younger, and Mike wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy.

Her gaze caught his as she was cutting into her waffle. Mike blinked and smiled sheepishly. The girl slammed her knife into the waffle while making direct eye contact, then smiled sarcastically.

“What do you think, Mike?” Lucas questioned suddenly, bringing him back into the conversation.

“Y-yeah. Let’s do it.”

“Well that settles it, Mike was the tie breaker.”

When Mike looked up again, she was gone. He left the cafeteria early and grabbed his brown book-bag hurriedly, nearly sprinting out of the building and towards his writing place. It was a tree in the nature park outside of the gates of his university - a place where lots of people went running. It was the kind of cold outside that hurt Mike’s bones when he pulled out his leather writing book and a purple pen. It was worth it to write this down.

Every year the majors had to show that they were making progress towards a portfolio of their own work, and so far Mike had only a couple of random short stories and half-hearted poems. He enjoyed fantasy - from all of the days of playing Dungeons and Dragons with his friends as a kid - but he also enjoyed realism and romanticism. He had no idea how to blend all of these ideas, and the pressure and frustration had stopped him from writing anything new for weeks. All of those worries went away as he wrote.

Now, he had a muse.

Day Two.

When he gazed at the stars, she smiled at their beauty. When she smelled a rose, he breathed in its radiance.

Her hair was such a deep brown that it appeared black. But Mike knew that black was the absence of color, and that didn’t properly capture this girl. He had seen her again when they were putting up posters for the band’s first performance on the quad in front of the College of Arts. Armed with a staple gun, Mike had just returned from showing a rough draft of his first story to his faculty advisor, who had complimented his work. It was a sci-fi story about a group of kids who were looking for their friend who had gone missing, but instead found a girl who had been kidnapped and experimented on by the government. “Keep working and flushing out the ideas,” his professor had written. “I would love to see where this goes.”

That had been a week ago, and since then Mike’s nights were filled with music and creating costumes and thinking about that girl. He had asked Will about her - mostly because he knew that Will was the only one who wouldn’t make fun of him for asking about someone - and Will mentioned that her name was Jane and she was in his Abnormal Psychology class. He hadn’t seen her at breakfast since, and even if he did, Mike was sure he wouldn’t say hello to her. There were a million scenarios running through his head, but there weren’t any where he had the confidence to say hello. That’s why he wrote: to hide behind the pages of books.

The hiding apparently didn’t work well enough, because when Mike went into the coffee shop by his dorm to put up some posters and maybe try and write for a bit someone tapped his shoulder. “You have a band?”

Mike looked down and froze. It was her. She was wearing a black waitress’ apron and was armed with pen and notepad. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail but a single curl had fallen from her bangs. She tucked it behind her ear nonchalantly. He realized too slowly that he was staring and tried to play it off with a forced laugh. “Um, yeah! We’re called The Upside-Downs. I’m Mike.” He stuck out his hand to shake, and the waitress raised an eyebrow in hesitation. The corners of her lip turned up slightly as she greeted him in return.

“I’m Eleven. And yes, that’s a nickname.” Mike hadn’t expected that, but somehow it fit her personality perfectly. An odd name, an odd number, for an odd girl. A prime number for someone completely unique. “Why that name?”

Mike shrugged. “It was either that or The Party. Like, from D&D.”

“What’s D&D?” Mike must have looked hurt, because she started blushing and bit her lip nervously. “Should I know this?”

“Dungeons and Dragons. It’s a role playing game. It’s so much fun, my friends and I played it all the time when we were younger. We started a club on campus. You should come.”

Eleven smiled sweetly and pointed at the posters in Mike’s hand. “Aren’t you supposed to be trying to get me to go to your concert, not your club?”

“Oh! Yeah, you should definitely come to that, too.”

“Oh really? Why’s that?”

“Well, if you go, I’ll make sure to dedicate a song to you. Promise.”

The girl seemed to think that over for a moment, a pleased look on her face. “You got yourself a deal, Mike.” She started to walk away, and with his heart beating in his chest Mike called out to her.

“What are you doing tonight?”

She turned around and gestured to the shop. “Working, why?”

Mike hesitated for a moment, and it was just long enough for him to back out of doing something he really wanted to do. Instead, he smiled and waved like he did the first time he saw her. “Nothing. I’ll see you at the concert, El.” She smiled and raised an eyebrow at him, and he could have sworn she let out a little sigh as he left the coffee shop.

He went straight home to write all night. He never wanted to forget the way her voice sounded: like the quiet rushing of waves on a beach.

Day Three

I don’t think I decided her happiness was more important than mine. It was decided on my behalf, by a judge who obviously knew it was the most severe sentence.

The concert was that Saturday night. The previous day, The Upside-Downs had spent hours practicing together. They were just going to do covers to some popular songs since this was their first performance, but Will wanted to make sure everything was absolutely perfect. Classic Will Byers, the perfectionist. Lucas had finally decided he wanted to be the guitar player, which left Dustin as the bass guitarist. Mike had calluses from playing the drums so long, but Will was a cruel master and demanded they run through each song five times before the day was over. Each time, Mike focused a little more on the lyrics. He wondered which one he should dedicate to Eleven.

They set up on the small stage on the quad, but not without drawing the attention of everyone on campus. They were dressed in costumes of their D&D characters, which was apparently the tie-breaker that Mike had decided on. “You sure we shouldn’t abort mission?” Dustin whispered as they carried their instruments out into the cold October air.

“No way, man. This is our thing” Lucas reassured. “Trust me.”

The drums took the longest amount of time, but soon they got that set up and a small crowd showed up to hear what they had to offer. Mike searched through the faces, but there was no sign of his muse anywhere. Maybe she wouldn’t come. He wasn’t sure if that made him relieved or more nervous.

Then it was 9:00 and it was time to start. “Good evening! We’re The Upside-Downs and you’re in for an adventure tonight!” Dustin called out to the crowd. They had all agreed that Dustin was the best at introducing the band because, unlike Will or Mike, he wasn’t shy at all. “My name is Dustin, and i’m your warrior. Will the Wise is your singer tonight, and we have Lucas your ranger and guitarist. And last but not least, give it up for our Dungeon Master Mike on drums!” There was obligatory clapping, and Mike adjusted himself in his seat. This would be a long night if they didn’t like the music. “Let’s do it.”

The first song they played was “Rocket Man” by Elton John. It was a great ice breaker, because it proved that Will Byers could sing his heart out as well as play the keyboard. It started off quiet, but by the chorus Will had really found his confidence. It wasn’t very drum heavy, which was fine by Mike. He was too busy searching the crowd for a glimpse of Eleven, but there wasn’t any sign of her. He was glad for the next song, because Queen was one of his favorite bands and he could actually invest himself in “Don’t stop me now”. Mike thought about music a lot like writing a story. It took you on a journey, a little adventure away from reality for a moment. He loved that about it. Lucas finally got a chance to show his skills in the guitar solo and Mike had to admit, Lucas was great.

Now the crowd was getting pumped up, and The Upside-Downs switched to play “Livin on a Prayer” by Bon Jovi. This is when Dustin came most alive because he was the guy who got all of the synth-sounds to work. He had run all of the controls to a black box and pedal by his foot. He nearly stomped on it. The crowd went crazy on this song, especially when Dustin, Will, and Lucas all joined together to sing. After this song everything was quiet, and it was time for the “compromise” song. Since Dustin couldn’t play guitar, he got to choose one song all by himself. He chose “Carry on Wayward Son” specifically so that Lucas would have a hard time and Dustin would have to ditch his bass to grab an extra guitar. The group wasn’t sure they could pull it off. Will brought his keyboard and microphone over to where Mike was playing the drums and gave him a worried look as they began.

The crowd loved it. Lucas and Dustin had their own little performance in the front of the stage with dueling guitars. After the initial guitar session, Dustin grabbed his bass back from a stand, and proceeded to switch back and forth throughout the rest of the song. Will even had a little solo with his keyboard, and Mike was glad that they had practiced over and over again.

Then it was the final song, and Mike let out a shaky breath as Dustin introduced it. “Now this one is for someone special that our drummer has been talking to. It’s called ‘Every Breath You Take’, and we promise it’s not creepy.” The crowd laughed a bit - the song had been number one on every chart when they were kids, and everyone knew it. But it wasn’t until someone locked eyes with him that he felt the song was the right choice.

Day 4

Every moment with you lasted forever, and those forevers passed by like the wind through autumn leaves.

“Morning, Rockstar. What would you like to drink?”

Mike laughed. In the few days since the concert he hadn’t seen Eleven, and she had left right after the final song had played. He had gone to the coffee shop on a whim, holding a stack of papers helped together by three paper clips. It was a decently long manuscript - the first one he had produced for his portfolio. In purple pen he had written across the top “For El.” He handed her the copy and smiled. “Nothing right now, thanks.”

Her hair was down and in curls, and Mike wondered if the universe wanted to distract him on purpose. She looked down on the papers. “What’s this?”

“It’s something I’ve been working on for a while. Talking to you gave me some inspiration, so I thought i should give this to you.”

El blushed a little and twirled her pen in her hands. “Is that why you were staring at me at breakfast?” Mike’s face flushed, but before he opened his mouth she laughed. “Don’t worry. I thought it was cute.”

Cute. She said cute. And now she was biting her lip and still twirling her pen. “What time do you get off work?”

“7 tonight. Why?”

“I have to teach you Dungeons and Dragons. You can’t go on not knowing what it is.”

Eleven considered that for a moment, and with a soft smile she agreed.

86 notes · View notes

hearthfeuillemort · 4 years

Text

The Twelve Days of Yule! - Moon Night

Season’s greetings! Today I continue with the third post in my series on how I'll be observing each of the twelve days of Yule for the first time this year! My hope is that my research and suggestions will assist and inspire to you try to observe all twelve days: either by yourselves, with your groups/covens, or with your families. It would make me so happy if you’d send me an Ask and share some of your personal traditions and customs for celebrating Yule, so please feel free!

Yule, in the ancient heathen tradition, is a twelve-day winter festival beginning at sundown on the night of the winter solstice and ending on the day that we’ve come to think of as New Year’s Day. Remember: lots of us have obligations or something else going on in our lives that might prevent us from observing all twelve days, and that’s totally okay!

Most of our modern Yule (and Christmas!) customs actually come to us from the ancient Germanic and Scandinavian heathen beliefs and practices, and Moon Night is certainly no exception. Though this is the third post in my series, I feel now is a really appropriate time to mention that very little information about these ancient heathens’ actual spiritual rituals and practices has survived to the modern age.

After Viking Age peoples first encountered and clashed with early European Christian cultures, Christianity became the dominant (emphasis on “dominant”) belief system in early Germanic and Scandinavian culture and any and all practice or mention of the previous heathen faith was brutally suppressed. All of the information that we currently have about their mythology, cosmology, and religious beliefs has been through Christian historians and poets. They weren’t about to tell us how the heathens actually did their thing - if in fact they even knew - and as a result, today’s heathens are basically trying to piece together their beliefs and practices from what little information remains.

It goes without saying that I couldn’t find much information about how this night was traditionally observed, but I'm undaunted. This can actually give me a lot of creative freedom in how I want to make observances of the night. I already make observances of the moon and its phases during each month of the year, now I have an excuse to give the moon its own festival day!

So, here’s what I did learn: Máni’s realm of influence was represented both by the darkness of the night and by the light that the moon shines for hunters in the darkness. During this particular time of the year when the night was at its longest and crops could not be grown, the ability to hunt animals was vital to Viking Age heathens as a way to keep their families fed during the winter. Both the moon and sun were regarded as gifts from the deities to assist humans in keeping track of the passage of time. It’s no surprise, then, that Máni would be a particular subject of veneration during a winter celebration.

Unlike the first and second nights, it seems the third night of Yule doesn’t have its own traditional name, or at least not one that survived. I'm choosing to refer to it as "Moon Night", though if one were to refer to it as Máni’s Night that would be just as appropriate. If you’ve been following along with my posts, you may have started to notice a pattern: each of the twelve nights of Yule honors a different deity. Mother Night is set aside for veneration of the disir (Norse pantheon female deities). The second night, or Wild Hunt, is for honoring Odin as well as spirits and other supernatural entities.

The third night of Yule was traditionally set aside for honoring and making sacrifices to the old Norse god Máni, the god who was the personification of the moon or was said to reside inside it (the possible origins of the “man in the moon” belief!). The name of the god and the word for the celestial body in Old Norse were one and the same.

Another interesting thing is that a couple of sources that I've found have suggested that this is the appropriate night to practice the famous Yule Log customs (which I’ll get into here in a bit), but this contradicted pretty much everything else I've ever read about the Yule Log. I'd previously read that the Yule Log should be lit on the first night of Yule (Mother Night) and allowed to burn for all twelve nights of the festival. But there's a good reason that I didn’t go into much detail about the Yule Log in the first post of this series, and it has to do with some of the lore that surrounds it that isn't practical for me (and isn't practical for most people).

Traditionally, the Yule Log was enormous: it was more like a very large section of a tree! After all, it would have to be big enough to last for all twelve nights! Usually, it was dragged from outdoors into the hearth - which back then was typically a huge dirt pit in the center of the home, surrounded by large stones - and was to be lit only by a piece of the previous year’s Yule Log which was saved specifically for this purpose. Custom dictated that this log could only be either harvested from one’s own property or received as a gift from someone else, never purchased. The log was then dressed with holly, mistletoe, and other seasonal greenery then doused with ale or cider before being lit by the aforementioned piece of last year’s Yule Log. The very best and most holy wood for the Yule Log was ash, as this tree was extremely sacred to Viking Age heathens.

Once lit, it was common practice to leap over the burning Yule Log for purification and to invite luck for the coming year, to raise toasts over the log, and to swear oaths upon the log. In Viking Age culture, one’s oaths were considered unbreakable - tantamount to being legally binding in those days - and once an oath exited one’s mouth it was considered one of the greatest dishonors not to keep it. To do so would bring great shame to that person. Fun fact: this oath-swearing tradition is thought to be the origin of today’s New Years’ Resolutions!

Knowing what I know of this custom, there's no way I can work this quintessential part of Yule into my lifestyle. I live in an apartment building in the middle of a major city. I don't even have a fireplace, and most of us can’t get our log on in the way the old heathens did: few if any of us have huge, central hearths in our homes, nor large properties where we can just go around cutting down ash trees! I couldn’t imagine having a raging fire burning in my home for 12 straight days, either.

It is for this reason that I suggest making Moon Night your night for observing the Yule Log tradition, though perhaps on a smaller scale. If you don’t have a fireplace, consider making a “yule cone” - this is a neat little project that I stumbled across some time ago. Take a found pine cone; inside each space place a small roll of paper upon which is written a wish or oath for the coming year. You can turn this “yule cone” into a tree ornament if you like. Then when Moon Night arrives, find a safe place outside where you can burn the cone. The smoke will carry your oaths to the sky, and hopefully, your deities will hear you!

If you have a fireplace in your home, then you get to go out to the woods and find yourself a sensible-sized log to serve as your Yule Log. Be sure to collect winter greenery to dress it with, and to dress the log with ale, mead, or the consecrated beverage of your choice before you light it. If you choose to then make oaths for the coming year over your Yule Log, keep in mind the seriousness with which our heathen forebears took oaths! Do not make an oath that you cannot or will not keep, or it will bring great shame upon you in the eyes of the deities!

Speaking of deities: I understand that not all of us make veneration of deities a part of our spiritual practice. If you choose not to worship deities or other supernatural entities but instead prefer only to honor the spirit of the season, that is still perfectly okay! In my opinion, there is absolutely no wrong way to observe Yule. However, if you do choose to honor deity in your practice, Moon Night is an excellent time to make offerings to whichever lunar deity you have the closest relationship with.

If not, why not have a Moon Night celebration under the night sky? Instead of a Yule Log, perhaps an outdoor bonfire would suit your needs? Many of us are already familiar with Moon Cakes as a treat, and tonight would be a perfect time to serve them. Try to go for a general lunar theme with your livery and decorations. Get creative with your Moon Night celebrations, and please feel free to send me an Ask to share with me any ideas that you come up with for observing the third night of Yule.

Glad yuletide, and hail!

#yule #yuletide #how to celebrate yule #third night #moon night #Máni’s Night #mani's night #yule log #yule log traditions #yule log customs #pagan #heathen #twelve days of yule #12 days of yule #pagan traditions #heathen traditions

0 notes