#Bob has mistletoe in his beard | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

author-morgan · 3 years

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"I won't let anyone hurt you, you're safe with me" with eivor please... Maybe he rescues reader from the order after they had been used for different experiments or something

i am so sorry for how long this took, but I had to come up with the right plot bunny to pair with the prompt for some angst(tm). here you are, i hope you enjoy and don't mind the touch of Havi and Frigg, or in which Havi makes a promise to his sweet Frigg and keeps it even in the next life.

m!Eivor x fem!Reader

SÝNIN CIRCLES IN the clear sky above the longhouse of Ravensthorpe, and then you know your husband is not far now. Soon Eivor Wolfsmal will be back in your arms, where he belongs. The raven descends, coming to perch on your shoulder, nudging his beak against your temple —as much as you’ve missed Eivor, you’ve missed Sýnin in equal measure. Things could get surprisingly lonely without a tetchy raven around to croak at all hours of the night, steal your hairpins, and beg for treats. Reaching up, you scritch the blue-back feathers on his belly and are rewarded by a low, gurgling croak. “Have you been behaving yourself?” Sýnin bobs his head, but you have a gut feeling he’s lying for the chance at a few extra treats.

Taking to the docks, you watch along the river bends for the sail and masts of the longship. The blue-and-back sail and shields turn from the west —squinting, you can see him standing on the curved scorpion tail, looking onward to home. With a nervous smile, you rest your hand over your belly, knowing soon it will start to grow. You’ve much to tell him since he’s been gone the past weeks, building alliances with Saxon nobles across England.

“Eivor, my love,” you call, meeting him at the edge of the dock as he steps off the longship. His smile is tired but relieved when he looks upon you with Sýnin perched upon your shoulder —the best ‘welcome home’ he could ask for. You open your arms, embracing him as the crew disseminates among the settlement. Eivor pulls back, his hands —rougher than you remember— cupping your cheeks.

There’s something different in your expression, a new glow surrounding you that he cannot place. Regardless of his racing mind, he leans forward as you urge him down with a hand at the nape of his neck. It’s been weeks, and he sighs against your mouth, the burdens of the world washed away by your touch and kiss. “Walk with me?” You ask, holding fast to his hand. He nods, offering his arm. Word of the recently secured alliance can wait; he has been parted from his wife too long.

You lead him past the longhouse, the people of Ravensthorpe smiling as they see Eivor has returned and know what it is you’re going to tell him. Once Valka confirmed your suspicions, it hadn’t taken long for word to travel by way of two mischievous children.

Everyone is happy; and happy for you and Eivor, knowing you two had tried to conceive many times. Stopping beneath the great tree past the Seer’s Hut, you turn with a smile —hand settling on your middle. “I’ve good news to tell you.” Eivor lifts his brow, and your smile only widens as you reach for his hand, pressing it against your belly. He sucks in a deep breath, heart thudding in his chest and ears as he looks to you, his clear blue eyes wide with joy and surprise. You nod, resting your hand over his. “I am with child.”

Eivor is silent for a moment, gathering his words and emotions. He looks down at your belly, then back to you —overjoyed and uncertain. This is a moment you’ve only ever talked about; that he’s dreamt of when the gods were kind enough to let him have a good dream. “I’m going to be a father?” Eivor breathes, though it sounds more like a question. You nod again, eyes gleaming with tears as he rests his other hand on your stomach too. His smile too large to be hidden under his shaggy golden beard. There’s another moment’s pause, then Eivor slips his arms around you, bringing you into a tight embrace —his face tucked into your neck.

You lose track of how long Eivor holds you in his arms as if it all is only a dream and he may wake at any second. Stepping back, he takes your face into his rough hands, brushing away the tears streaking your cheeks. Eivor dips his head down, his nose brushing against yours before your lips meet —gentle and loving but still burning with fervor from the weeks of being parted from one another.

“You’ve made me the happiest man in Midgard,” he admits. You lean into him again, taking another kiss before he settles onto one knee in front of you, level with your belly. Eivor rests his forehead against your front, his hands loosely holding onto your hips. “Rest easy, little one.” Smiling, you brush back his golden hair —half-unbound from his warrior’s braids and knotted. “I will protect you and your mother.” It’s a promise.

“EIVOR,” RANDVI CRIES as he enters the longhouse, tears still fresh on her cheeks. She should not have let you go riding outside of Ravensthorpe alone, especially knowing you were with child. He clasps onto her shoulders, steadying her so she can gather her senses. “It’s Fulke.” The script is fresh in her memory, having read it a dozen times over to be certain of the ill-boding tidings. Randvi shakes her head, unable to meet her friend's concerned gaze. “She’s taken more than just Sigurd.”

“No,” Eivor breathes, but Randvi presents the scroll as proof. He skims the words —his worst fears coming to fruition. Not only did Fulke hold his brother captive, but now the conniving bitch had stolen you away too. You. His wife. The mother of his unborn child. He’d sworn to protect both of you with every breath in his lungs, and now it is an oath broken.

The sudden anger boiling under his skin is so hot it burns the fear freezing him, turning to determination. Eivor crumples the parchment, his expression twisting —no god can save you now, Fulke. “Send word to our allies.” Randvi nods, stepping back to the writing-table at the edge of the map room. “I will burn all of Wessex if I have to,” Eivor grits out, hands turning to fists at his sides as he leaves the longhouse to gather his men —a part of him feels as though he has walked this path before.

HAVI STRIDES THROUGH Fensalir with a deep sadness in his heart, but his agony cannot compare to that of his sweet Frigg. For three days and three nights, his queen has asked for solitude, and though it pained him to keep away during such times, he and the others respected Frigg’s wishes. Though Havi would not leave his dear wife to grieve alone, sending Huginn and Muninn to keep a watchful eye over the Queen of the Æsir. The two ravens are perched upon a stone bench at the edge of the fen. Thor glances over his shoulder at the approaching footsteps —his expression is weary and grief-stricken as he looks upon his father.

Gently, your son releases you from his tight embrace and rises, stepping back with a silent promise to return soon as he greets his father with a solemn nod before leaving. Havi pushes back his hood, seeing the white flowers spring from the earth with your tears. Baldr will be remembered —in deeds and songs and the blossoms brought forth by his mother’s tears. He kneels, reaching for your hands, and slides the bloody sprig of mistletoe free from your grasp. Through weary eyes, you look upon your husband —his expression twisted into the same display of forlorn grief. It makes your heart ache even more to have pushed him away, for he too lost a son. “Frigg,” he sighs.

“Havi,” you cry, falling into him. He swathes you in his black cloak, tucking you against his chest and holding you tight —a vow of retribution on his tongue. Loki would be punished for this crime. For all the realms felt the bitter void left by Baldr’s absence, and all wept, save for a giantess whose unshed tears doomed your son to Hel. The grief and anger simmering in his blood turn to something else —determination. He will not have his sweet Frigg endure this pain again; his one-armed embrace tightens as he cradles the back of your head. “I will not let another of our children fall,” Havi swears, lips brushing over your temple. “Not until our twilight has come.”

HE TWISTS HIS hands into Fulke’s leather-and-cloth armor, throwing the madwoman to the muddy and blood-slick ground. Fulke spits blood, pulling herself away from Eivor Wolfsmal on hands and knees only to find herself surrounded by his men and allies. All their weapons drawn, trained on her. The price for taking the Jarl of Raven Clan and Eivor’s wife is one to be paid in blood, and there is nowhere for her to run. She will have to suffer the wrath. “Where is she?” Eivor roars, kicking Fulke onto her back. He kneels, knee pressing into the bloody gash on her side, one of his throwing axes withdrawn and held high above his head —ready to strike.

There is no fear in her eyes, only bliss. Her work in this world now complete. “You made a choice,” Fulke laughs, choking on blood, “you chose Sigurd.” She coughs, blood-tinged spittle spattering against Eivor’s face, washed away by the pouring rain.

He roars, teeth bared and eyes burning hot with the rage of the gods. Lightning splits open the sky, thunder cracking like a great whip against the earth. “I will flay the skin from your bones and feed your eyes to my raven,” Eivor hisses.

Her smile is bloody —victorious. She knows you are leagues from here, and now the only ones who know are dead or dying. Eivor Wolfsmal could search the land for years and never find the seaside cave on the shores of Cent. “You’ll never find her,” Fulke says. One final victory before relinquishing herself to darkness and her wounds.

Eivor rises, his shoulders heaving and expression twisted. There is no time for a reunion when Sigurd limps from the fortress —clutching the stump where his hand and wrist once were— reinforcements from Wincestre draw nigh. The cry of war horns and drums echoing above the storm. He turns to Dag and Hrefna, eyes flitting over to his brother, unfit to fight in the coming battle. “See him back to Ravensthorpe,” he tells them before shifting his attention back to his allies. The day is not won yet, and Eivor will not rest until he has his beloved back in his arms.

ABOVE THE BREAKING waves of the sea, there is a whisper on the howling wind. Eivor looks to the sea below, then to Basim —his scouts working tirelessly since the siege of Portcestre nigh a fortnight ago to find leads. The culmination of their work leads him and Eivor to the southern edge of Cent to a cave guarded by Fulke’s acolytes. Eivor knows the gods are with him this day, as plain as if the Allfather whispered the affirmation into his ear.

The echoes of battle fill the air, and through the slivers of light above, you see shadows moving and hear the unmistakable cry of a raven growing closer —Sýnin. Rousing from uneasy rest, you clamber to the upturned bucket at the cell’s center, dragging chains behind you. Trembling, you clutch your swollen belly, then step up onto the bucket, fingers finding purchase on the metal grate above, slick with blood and excrements. Sýnin appears at the edge of the grate, his beady eyes staring down at you in the darkness, tilting his head this way and that. He hops up and down —talons clinking against the metal— before squawking wildly.

Eivor’s focus shifts from the dead littering the beach when he hears Sýnin inside the cave, and for the first time in weeks, you hear your name in his voice —a desperate plea. “Eivor!” His name is only a soft, airy rasp, not strong enough to carry with the raven’s calls. “Eivor!” You cry, this time louder, but your voice is broken, throat raw from days screaming and crying at the hands of Fulke and her enforcers. Sýnin’s squawks grow louder, mingling with footsteps.

The wave of relief almost shatters him when it hits and washes over his body and mind when he sees you —alive. Eivor reaches through the lattice, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’ve got you now,” he breathes, the torchlight showing the tears glistening in his clear blue gaze. You nod, smiling with cracked lips —thanking Frigg and Freyja that your prayers did not go unanswered. Eivor urges you to step down and aside, and when you do, he rears back, slamming the butt of his axe against the rusting lock, breaking it. With a sharp cry, he throws open the grate, sliding down into the darkness with you.

Hands trembling, he unlocks the manacles around your wrists and the shackle around your ankle. Each has left your skin red and raw beneath. Eivor gathers you in his arms. “Let’s get you out of here,” he says, lips brushing against your temple. You nod, eager to be rid of this damp and foul hole in the earth. Sýnin takes to your shoulder as soon as you are free, nudging his head against your temple and cheek. With a tired smile, you lift a hand to scritch the dark feathers of his underside as Eivor pulls himself free of the cell.

Eivor kneels, reaching for your hands, his thumbs brushing just above the broken skin on your wrists, and as you lean toward him, he swathes you with the coarse wool of his cloak —forehead pressed against yours. He feels the dampness on your cheeks as you press your face against his scarred neck. "I won't let anyone hurt you again,” he vows, “you're safe now.” One of his hands settles on your stomach, and you cover it with yours, holding him tightly with the other. “You’re both safe,” he whispers, and it’s only when he feels a light twitch against his hand that the realization breaks him. “I’m so sorry, my love,” Eivor chokes.

You draw back from his embrace, seeing the tears streak his face and the guilt clear on his expression. “Don’t blame yourself,” you plead, cupping his scarred cheek. “Please, don’t.” Eivor nods, though guilt still weighs heavily on his heart and will until he sees you safely returned to Ravensthorpe and tended to. He turns farther into your hand until his lips brush the center of your palm —a soft kiss, another promise.

Sýnin croaks, splashing in a puddle, and breaks yours and Eivor’s trance, reminding you both that you’re still in a cave, far from home and where you belong. He slides his arms beneath your knees and around your shoulders, rising with you. “You’re safe,” he repeats, more for himself to hear than you. Eivor breathes a deep sigh when he steps onto the beach, holding you close in his arms. Sýnin flies overhead, as do a pair of ravens — the same pair Eivor has seen in dreams of late. He smiles as he sets on the path carrying you up the cliffside, knowing Havi and Frigg had both heard his prayers.

[taglist: @angstygunslinger @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @dynamicorbit @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelae @darkravenqueen98 ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

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13uswntimagines · 3 years

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Secret Santa (Alex Morgan x Reader)

Reader is in the military and surprises her wife and daughter (with a little help from Preath). Merry Christmas from @literaryhedgehog and Me!!!

“Little bit still hasn’t told you what she wants for Christmas yet?” Kelley asked, munching on some pretzels and hummus.

Alex rolled her eyes sliding into a seat next to her. “No, she utterly convinced that it won’t come true if she tells anyone but Santa.”

“Didn't she write a letter? Why didn’t you just take a peek?” Tobin interjected, sitting on Kelley’s other side. Her fiancé had been so excited to have her niece for the day.

“She mailed it to god knows where with Christen before I could,” Alex sighed, shaking her head. She had been fine with the whole mailing letters thing (actually watching your four-year old try to write out something heartfelt in blue crayon was kinda adorable), but then Camren had insisted on mailing it herself. Alex felt a little bad for the person in Antarctica who was getting the random letter.

“Damn,” Kelley huffed, blowing her cheeks out, trying to drum up ideas.

“Yeah, apparently it’s a Press family tradition or whatever, and Chris did it because Y/n isn’t here to. If she was she at least could have curbed some of her enthusiasm long enough to take a picture of the letter.” Alex grumbled, chewing thoughtfully on a pretzel. Your big sister had been picking up a lot of slack while you were away with the SEALs, but it just wasn’t the same as having you there.

“We hired a Santa, so just listen to whatever she tells him,” Tobin shrugged, a look that Alex didn’t recognize crossing her features.

“And pray to god it gets here overnight,” Kelley snorted. Hopefully whatever Camren wanted could be found at a local Walmart.

*****

The holiday party was in full bustle. There were benefits to doing training in Florida, so while Camren still had her heart set on snow for christmas, the adults had strung the outdoor tent with string lights and decorated it with holly and mistletoe. Camren had promised to eat at least two bites of every food there -- even the healthy ones that looked weird (her words not Alex��s) -- before she ate too many of Emily’s double chocolate chunk brownies, and so Alex was feeling rather proud of herself. She and her daughter were both there, dressed up, and only 15 minutes late for the party-- not bad for single parenting skills. Maybe after Camren was done talking to Santa, Carlie or Lindsey could be persuaded to babysit for a bit so Alex could go introduce herself to that lovely bottle of merlot she saw hiding in the corner.

Alex was surprised with how comfortable her daughter seemed on Santa’s lap. Camren was a bit nervous walking over, but it was nothing compared to her fear last year, when she had bawled until you eventually gave up and held her behind the poor man. Perhaps it had to do with how tenderly the poor suited person seemed to hold the small child, and the little glimmer in their eyes. .

Santa’s eyes met Alex’s for a split second, and the sense of security the slight contact brought her was slightly alarming. They looked so familiar and sent warm tingles through her chest.

“Did you get my letter?” The little girl asked, drawing the bearded one’s attention back to her. Alex bit her lip, there was no way this random stranger got the letter addressed to Rudolph at the North Pole.

The Santa nodded, their features softening. “I did. It seems you were very concerned about your mama getting her gift?”

The little girl nodded rapidly. “How do you know where to take it, if she’s on top secret missions all da time?” Her brow furrowed, “what if she doesn’t have a chimney to hang her stocking on?”

“I just know. Remember I know if you’ve been good or bad, or if you move. I promise she’ll get everything she wants. Now back to you. What do you want for Christmas?” Santa tried to explain.

The little girl thought for a moment, her finger tapping on her chin, before she leaned up to cup the person’s ear. She whispered a few words, leaned back to look the bearded person in the eye. The (very fake) white beard at the top of the red coat bobbed up and down in a nod, and Alex saw a sparkle in their eye as their lips twitched above it.

“Well that’s quite the order.”

“Pwease? Its not that tall, and It’s the only thing I really want,” Camren pouted, pulling the puppy dog eyes that never ceased to make her parents melt. This was important, and if she only got one real chance to talk to the person who could make it happen, she wanted them to know just how much she wanted it.

“I’ll see what I can do,” the Santa said, nodding seriously and stroking the beard as Camren jumped up and ran back to Alex.

“What did you ask for?” Alex whispered. Good grief, wasn’t the whole point of hiring a Santa to hear what the munchkin wanted?

“Can’t say. Want it to happen,” Camren whispered back, twirling slightly as she buried herself in the hem of her mom’s skirt. This was going to be the best Christmas ever.

****

Alex smiled widely as the Santa pulled another wrapped present from the gaudy red bag. It was a nice spin on their usual tradition, and she just hoped Pino didn’t get her for a secret Santa. That woman forgot every year, and Alex’s name hadn’t come up yet and that bag looked suspiciously empty. No wait, there was one- nope, that was Beckey’s present from Alyssa. Maybe there was a gift card in there somewhere? Alex looked down at Camren, who despite practically nodding off in Sonnet’s arms an hour ago, had woken up during the secret santa exchange. She was now sitting on the ground playing with the toy horses, blind to her surroundings.

“Hey, um Kelley? Who was running the secret santa exchange again?” Alex whispered, grabbing her arm. “I think my person forgot to get me a present.”

“What?” Kelley, turned to her shocked. “I think maybe Tobin was in charge this year, we’ll ask her if someone wrote down who your person was.”

“Oh that’s not necessary,” Christen’s voice broke in. Alex and Kelley turned to look at her and Tobin, who were standing with a very confused Emily. “I’m really sorry, we just didn’t get a chance to wrap your gift. You’ll get it at the end of the party.”

“Isn’t it like against the rules for Christen to get Alex since they actually spend Christmas together every year?” Sonnett whined. If she couldn’t buy presents for Lindsey, and Sam couldn’t do it for Kristie then that totally wasn’t fair.Sister-in-law and fiance-of-sister-in-law definitely had an unfair advantage on the ”knowing what presents to buy” front. She had to buy Jullie’s gift, and had just settled on some tea-rex patterned socks and a starbucks gift card.

Lindsey glared in her direction. “Can it disonny,” she wasn’t about to let her girlfriend mess up a surprise that had been 6 months in the making.

“It’s fine Chris, you didn’t have to get me anything,” Alex smiled sadly.

“I mean that would have been cruel since Camren has been campaigning pretty hard for your present,” Christen snorted. It was all your daughter could talk about. She had even harassed every Santa she saw while they went Christmas shopping, and wrote several letters (that she forwarded to you) about the issue.

“She told you what she wants, and you didn’t tell me?” Alex asked exasperated. She had been fighting with your daughter for a month to know what she actually wanted. Why on earth would she tell her aunt but not her mom? She was going to have to have a conversation with Camren about how Santa had different rules from wishing on a star or a birthday candle. Namely that she should tell her mom what she wanted!

Christen shrugged, a smile pulling at her lips, though Alex didn’t know what she was so amused about. “Well, it was for you, so I get a pass,”

“I for one think that Christen’s present is totally on point, even if it’s wrapped in ugly, sweaty red velvet,” A new voice joined the conversation, just as arms wrapped snugly around Alex’s waist.

Alex froze, her eyes going wide and her mouth opening and closing several times.

You chucked from behind her, spinning her around so you were face to face for the first time in almost a year.

“Hi love.”

“Holy shit,” Alex breathed. Her hands reached up to touch your cheeks, the sense of touch confirming what she couldn’t trust her eyes to see.

“Surprise,” You mumbled, leaning in and finally connecting your lips. You sighed into the kiss, thoroughly enjoying the way they moved together, and the taste of your wife. She impatiently pulled down the beard when you paused to breathe, and your hands found her hips, pulling her closer, while her fingers tangled in that baby hairs at the base of your neck. “Let’s do that again,” you said, your breath fanning against her lips before she pulled you back in. You had an awful lot of time to make up for.

“Why is mommy kissing Santa Claus,” Camren asked from somewhere below your feet. You were fairly certain you heard one of your wife’s teammates explaining in the background that Santa left a little while ago, and Mama had just dressed like him to surprise Mommy. You were a tad busy to explain anything right now.

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #alex morgan x reader #alex morgan imagine

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treechickendraws · 3 years

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The Mighty Nein winter edition, but there actually are nine (?) of them

[image description: 5 digital drawing each containing two characters in winter clothing over a coloured square.

The first image shows Beaurgard Lionet and Yasha Nydoorin over blue square. Beau is a tan woman with an undercut, the rest of her hair is lied back in a ponytail like thing . Beau has a simple golden circlet around her forehead. She is leaning on her staff and is looking smug. She is wearing a dark blue coat with gold accents the sleeves widen at the elbow, it is tied before widening revealing bright blue outer layer overlaid with gold gauntlets. Around her waist is a grey sash fading into cobalt blue, passing through a large blue bead. Her coat splits into four parts, revealing blue trousers and a brown fur lining. She also has grey boots, plated with golden armour.

Yasha is a tall pale women with long wavy hair, the ends and roots are white whilst the rest of her hair is black. She is wearing a black furred hat. Her hands are tucked into her sleeves. Yasha is wearing a dark grey coat lined with black fur, under this she is wearing a black shirt and grey trousers tucked into black boots with sliver plates along her leg. Silver embroidery line the edge of her sleeves and the bottom of her coat, these show small leaves and feathers.

The second image shows Caleb Widogast and Veth Brenatto over an amber square. Caleb is a pale human man with mid length wavy ginger hair, he is slouched forward, his faced tucked into his scarf. This scarf is a cream colour with bright yellow, blue, green and red geometric patterns. He is wearing a long brown coat lined with lighter fur, a red line runs across the bottom of the coat. Underneath the coat he is wearing a red shirt over a chain mail shirt. He is wearing gloves with the same patterns as his scarf. He has a book harness over his chest. He is wearing grey trousers tucked into his boots.

Veth is a short tan halfling women with dark hair tied into two braid. She has a blue tattoo around her eyes. She is wearing pink earmuffs with antlers .She is wearing a light pink puffy double breasted dress / coat with a hood. The dress has embroidery in white, pink and blue, similar to the trans flag. The coat is fur lined. She is wearing grey trousers tucked into her boots. Around her waist she has a belt with a large pouch, and a flask.

The third image shows Fjord and Caduceus Clay over a green square. Fjord is a half orc man with an under cut and beard, his hair is pulled back in a small ponytail and has grey streaks. He is holding himself in the cold. He is wearing a brown furlined coat over his regular leather armour, the shoulder part of his armour is over his coat. The skirt of his armour goes down to below his knee and is over a similar length of red fabric. Caduceus is a tall grey firbolg with bright pink hair. His hair is shaved on his right side and long on the other side. Caduceus is holding his amethyst topped staffed to his chest. he is wearing a long purple coat which fades to pink, pink lichen growing over it.under this coat he has a green shirt and grey trousers, draped over his arms is a dragonfly wing patterned cloth. Tied around his waist is a sash that fades from green to pink.

The fourth image shows Jester Lavorre and Essek Thelyss over a purple square. Jester is a blue tiefling with a wavy bob of blue hair. She has various silver jewelry on her horns. She is holding her hand up in a peace sign. She is wearing a puffy knee length light blue coat with white and green embroidery in a mistletoe liek design. This coat has large sleeves. Under this she is wearing a blue knit jumper and leggings with plant and bee designs.

Essek is a floating drow man with curly white hair. He is wearing a silver mantle over a medium purple short cape with silver geometric patterns. Under this he has a longer heavier cape, going down to his feet, this cape has slits to allow his arms out. Small silver diamonds adorn the bottom of the longer cape.

The final image shows Mollymauk Tealeaf and Lucien over a pink background. Both are purple tieflings with solid red eyes and a peacock feather tatto on their right cheek. Mollymauk has longer wavy purple hair and copious amounts of silver and gold jewellery on his horns. He looks smug. He is wearing a short red cloak with gold jewellery over his darker red coat. This coat has bright embroidery showing various religious symbols and patterns. Under this he had patterned trousers tucked into thigh high boots.

Lucien has shaved hair and has much less jewellery, he looks exasperated. He is wearing a dark red cloak over a knee length jacket with a yellow trim. End image description]

So yea these are my edits of the winter outfits just because im from mountain regions and i wanted to try things out

#critical role #the mighty nein #caleb widogast #jester lavorre #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #veth brenetto #fjord critical role #caduceus clay #essek Thelyss #mollymauk tealeaf #lucien critical role #digital sketch #redesign #its more of an edit really #im just having fun #rowan draws #i will ramble about what i cahnged and why is asked

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lupienne · 4 years

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Rick’s Christmas Miracle

I originally started this short fic last Christmas but got stumped on wrapping it up, so it gathered dust till this year. I cobbled together an ending that I guess is ok. I seem to have done a few of these ‘Rick delivers supplies to Negan’ fics but hey...it’s how it should be. Fuck canon. Lol!

“You sure you want to make the trip? Snow might still be deep off the roads.”

Heath was reluctant to let Rick and Silver pass through Alexandria's gates.

“I'm a week late.”

“A few more days wouldn't hurt. What if you don't make it back in time?”

Nobody knew the real date anymore. Together, the town had crafted a new calendar, guessing the positions of holidays. Christmas sat only a few days away on their chart of time's passage.

“I'll be back in time.”

Heath pursed his lips, but his only comment was: “Hopefully the cold took care of that vermin. Then you won't have to do this anymore.”

He was too good to question Rick directly. It wasn't Rick's integrity he hated...just the current recipient of it. Everyone in town had an opinion. Sure, Negan had done something or another to help Alexandria.... but did he really deserve a monthly drop-off of supplies indefinitely?

“Hopefully,” Rick mummered, and Heath finally stepped out of his path. The truth was, Rick enjoyed the trip. He liked getting away.

He maybe even liked seeing Negan... but no way, no how. He wouldn't go so far as to say that.

----

Heath's concerns were for nothing. The driving snows that had delayed this supplies drop had melted into slush. Silver slipped a few times on the sodden ground. But overall, the old mare was happy to be free from her stable. She moved at a steady pace, carrying Rick to the outskirts of Negan's 'neighborhood'.

He paused on the slight incline above the empty array of cookie-cutter homes. Strangely, his heart pounded in his chest. Maybe Heath was right, and cold had done Negan in. It'd been three weeks since his last visit. Starvation was surely a possibility as well.

Despair. If Negan's thoughts were anything like the dark things that fluttered through Rick's mind... there were other reasons for death as well. Loneliness could kill.

He sucked in a breath, feeling stupid. His personal vermin would be doing him a favor by lying there dead, wouldn't he? His eyes scoured the rooftops, and that breath came out in a rush. His heart bobbed upwards.

Smoke rose from the farthest chimney.

“Guess we're still delivering, girl.”

They trotted into Negan's 'yard'. He snorted. The man somehow knew Christmas was nearing. He'd decorated with a shoddy plastic wreath on the door, and tinsel draped over Lucille's cross. At least Negan didn't have to bother with lights – considering he had no electricity. Rick wasn't surprised to see a large, lopsided snowman standing near the front door.

He turned to Silver. “Well, a child does live here.”

He did his custom two knocks with a pause before the third. No answer. Negan must have gone on an errand.

Rick sighed. He supposed he could drop the stuff and leave.

He turned back to face the yard, noticing the snowman's face from this angle. Two rock eyes and a pebble mouth. A tree-root nose, because even if Negan had found a carrot, he wouldn't waste it here. Stick arms. Rick's eyes dropped to what passed for a snowman's crotch. A thick stick jutted outwards.

He raised his cane, debating knocking off the wooden woody, when he heard a sound from the nearby woods. He tensed, until he caught sight of the leather jacket and bright red hat. Negan emerged from the trees, huffing as he pulled a child's sled behind him. It was loaded with sticks and wood.

The predictable stupid smile came across the other man's face. “Hey, Prick! See you're admiring my friend there. I modeled him after me, you know. Long and thick.”

The warming air was making Frosty's stick droop in the melting snow. Rick smirked.

“It's been cold as fucking hell,” Negan let go of the sled once he was closer. “Been snowed in for a few days. And hungry. Where have you been?”

“It snowed all over, Negan.”

“Yeah.” Negan scratched at his chin. He was growing his beard out again. He looked a bit like a lumberjack. He'd replaced his old red scarf with a red-and-black checked one. “I thought maybe you were hoping I'd croak from the elements.”

“I could never be so lucky.”

Negan pouted. Rick unbuckled Silver's saddlebag. “If I'd known you were doing the beard thing, I wouldn't have brought more razors.”

“Just for the winter. Any more pork n' beans?”

“Nope. We're fresh out.”

“Fuck...”

“Annie has been baking though. I brought you some pecan pie.” Rick hefted the saddlebag and nodded at Negan to take the other.

“You didn't bring me any figgy pudding?”

Rick let out a laugh. “Oh damn. Left that back on the kitchen counter. Has anyone actually eaten figgy pudding...?”

“Well, you know what they say...” Negan bounded in front of him, swinging open the door to his home. Rick hoped he'd used his snowed-in time to clean that fucking pig-sty. “You won't go until I get some.”

Rick raised an eyebrow as Negan stood just inside the threshold. He'd known the man long enough to recognize that devious glint in his eyes.

“Guess I ain't going then...” Despite Heath's worries, Rick wasn't entirely eager to spend Christmas in Alexandria. Sure, seeing his people be festive and merry was great and all, but Carl was away at the Hilltop and Andrea...

He pushed that thought away.

“Heh. That means I'll have to cook something. Hope you like dog food casserole.”

Rick paused in the doorway, narrowing his eyes. “Negan, can you move-”

“Here, gimmie.” Negan grabbed the saddlebag from him and dropped them on the floor. Rick tried to peer around him, wondering what he was hiding. Maybe he was embarrassed because the house was still a mess. “Well, well. Would ya look at that?” Negan grinned wide, pointing a finger upwards. “I was hoping a hot chick would happen by one of these days... but I'll take what I can get.”

“You've got to be kidding me.”

Fake mistletoe was tacked on the door frame above their heads.

“You know the rules. Pucker up, Grimes.”

“Ugh.” Rick shoved past him into the besotted bachelor pad. “I am not kissing you.”

“But it's the holiday fucking tradition.”

Rick ignored that, stepping out from under the accursed plant. “Just empty the bags, Negan.” He stood in the room, surveying the mess.

The big man pouted as he began to unpack his supplies, setting them in a pile. Canned food, razors, the pie. A pair of warm gloves. Other things, like matches and a canister of kindling sticks. He'd brought extra food this time. Probably a good thing. Under the beard, Negan looked like he'd lost even more weight.

“You ever thought of moving...?”

“Why? You sick of coming out here? You don't have to, you know...” Negan held the pie in both hands, casting his eyes down to it. “I'm fine. I don't need your fucking charity.”

“No. Just wondering what keeps you here.”

“One dump is the same as another...” Negan set the pie down. “And Lucille...” He trailed off, and Rick felt a pang of sympathy.

He wondered what it would be like if he came out here and found the house vacated. If Negan was finally out of his hair.

Weird how it caused the same ache as Carl's absence and the empty silence of his home. He collected the saddlebags and headed for the door.

“You want any pie...?”

“I got so many pies and cakes at home I can't even keep up.” Rick knew Annie and the others were drowning him in sweets out of pity.

“Oh...” Negan sounded disappointed, but Rick couldn't think of any good excuses to stay. He'd delivered the supplies. Now it was time to leave.

“Maybe I can bring you some figgy pudding next time...” Rick said lightly. He didn't know why he cared- but he wanted to dispel that forlorn look in Negan's eyes. He knew what it was like to spend this holiday alone, with nothing to warm the heart.

“Yeah...maybe.” Negan followed him to the front door, his gaze flitting up to the mistletoe as Rick paused under it. Rick snorted. No way, no how that he was gonna follow that tradition-

Fuck it. Maybe he could warm Negan's season just a tiniest bit. Or just simply deliver a good ole mindfuck, the present Negan had given him so many times over the years.

Old Man Rick could still move fast when he wanted – even on his bum knee. And his aim was still precise as fuck. He turned, and landed a rough smooch right on Negan's mouth.

They both had chapped lips, so it was a strange slide of dry skin catching on itself. Rick didn't linger, but settled back on his feet, clutching his cane tight. He chuckled softly as a flush as red as Santa's suit spread across Negan's cheeks.

“Merry Christmas, Negan.”

And lo, how Rick beheld a Christmas Miracle!

“...shit...Rick...” Negan sputtered, after a stunning thirty seconds of silence... “I uh...I was just joking, you know...”

“Uh huh...” Rick grinned as he began to strap on Silver's saddlebags. “Sure you were. And as it looks like it's gonna snow again...you're so not going to ask me to spend the night, right?”

“Uh...no..” The lying fuck shifted on his feet, his cheeks still like roses. “....but if you want to-”

“No. You've only got one bed. And my cane takes up a lot of space.”

There was another blessed span of quiet, but maybe shorter than the last. Rick didn't mind. He couldn't expect two miracles in a row-

“Fucking Christmas miracle...” Negan stood owl-eyed, as Rick clambered atop the old mare. “...Prick Grimes...making a dick joke...?”

Rick just chuckled, shook his head, and spurred Silver away, to his empty and cold home back in Alexandria .

------

But when he arrived, it was lit and warm and he smelled one of Annie's endless pies warming in the oven.

Carl and Lydia had trekked the snowy roads from the Hilltop just for him, their happy presence marking the third Miracle of Rick Grime's Christmas season.

“Next time...” he said, to a befuddled Carl, his mouth full of fresh pecan pie, “...Remind me to pack some chapstick for Negan.”

#rick grimes #negan #regan #negick #fanfic #christmas fluff #fluff #sappy but i like me some sappy regan #Rick deserves to be happy (and alive)#Negan deserves to be loved :)#cheesy AF

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whockeywhore · 5 years

Text

Proof 4

I heard the door creak open behind me and spun around in my chair, smiling when Elias poked his head in. His hair was damp from the shower and he was sporting a deep pink flush on his cheeks.

“You busy?”

I shook my head and nodded to the couch for him to sit down, reaching back to save my work before giving him my attention. He dropped down and loosened his tie before leaning back.

“How was the game?”

“Not too bad. We lost in overtime.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Beautiful goal in the second though.”

“You watched?” I nodded again and he raised an eyebrow. “You should’ve come.”

“I wanted to but I’m swamped with work. And, no offense, but I wanted a night in.”

“That’s fair. What are you working on?”

“Just some local commercial. Nothing special but I keep getting edits from the company.” I rolled my eyes and he smiled. “Have you eaten yet? Wanna order out?”

“Sure.”

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Pizza?”

My stomach growled as he said it and I pulled up my phone to order online, scanning through the specials with hungry eyes. Everything looked good so I handed it to Elias to decide, turning my attention to my computer screen until he cleared his throat.

“Ordered. I got garlic bread too. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an angel?”

“I get it all the time. They’ll be here in half an hour. I’m gonna go change.”

“Sounds good.”

He moved to the door and stopped short, leaning against it with his hand on the knob. “Oh, Johnny wanted me to tell you that he can’t make ‘girls night’ tonight. He pulled something in his back so he’s working with a trainer.”

I could feel my face fall and I frowned, wrinkling my nose. “That’s a bummer.”

“You look disappointed.”

I waved it off and smiled. “It’s all good. Another time.”

“What were you guys gonna do?” I shook my head and he pressed it. “C’mon, what was it?”

“It’s stupid but we were gonna do face masks and stuff. Drink wine all night, watch shitty movies, hair treatments. We did it a few times in college but- it’s all good.”

He pursed his lips for a moment and kept his eyes on me. “Let’s do it.”

“What?”

“Girls night. It sounds fun, let’s do it.”

“Really?”

“Why not?” He ran his fingers over the stubble on his chin and shrugged. “I could definitely use it.”

I couldn’t help but smile when he did and I nodded, watching him leave and listening to his footsteps on the stairs. Turning my attention back to my work, I tried, and failed, to focus on the screen in front of me. My cheeks felt hot to the touch and I chided myself for freaking out over something so silly. I couldn’t help but think about the way he’d looked at me after the last game, how he’d told me I looked beautiful.

“Chill out Looch, it’s just a crush.”

“A what?”

I jumped in my chair and spun towards him, feigning confusion as I shrugged. “Hmm? Oh, just thinking out loud.”

He cleared his throat but seemed satisfied, pointing to the stairs behind him. “I uh, I have Netflix pulled up if you want to come pick a movie.”

I pulled my robe tight around me and stood, slipping past him and starting towards the living room. He followed and took a seat on the couch next to the dog, rubbing behind his ears as I grabbed the remote.

“Do you have anything in mind? Comedy? Horror? Bad romance?”

“You can never go wrong with the last one.”

“Fair enough.” I scrolled through the movies and found one that seemed solid, looking in his direction as the poster popped up on the screen. It had a man and a woman leaning against opposite sides of a Christmas tree, his arms folded over his chest and her hands on her hips. They were eyeing each other with wry smiles and there was mistletoe in the top corner.

“The Greatest Present? Looks terrible. Let’s do it.” I hit play and the opening credits started, Elias reaching out to pause it after a minute or two, looking at me expectantly. “I believe wine and masks were promised.”

“Y-yeah, of course.”

I made my way to my bathroom and started rifling through the cabinet, putting hands on a few different options. He studied the tubes as I set them down and raised an eyebrow before putting them back.

“Which do you recommend?”

“Well, that one has avocado in it- which is great for moisturizing. The black mask is charcoal and it’s for deep cleansing clogged pores.”

“What about the one with honey?” He smiled and pointed to the bumble bee on the bottle, uncapping it to sniff it once.

“Honey is antibacterial, cleanses as well. But it’s a peel off mask and you’ve... you’re uh-”

“Hairy?”

“Yep.”

“Is it gonna hurt?”

“It might. How pain-sensitive are you?” I reached out to pinch him and he didn’t even flinch. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“Cool. Which one are you using?”

“Green one. My skin gets dry in winter.”

“Sounds fair.”

“Are you going with the honey mask?”

He nodded happily and pointed to the bee again. I handed him a facial wipe and started using my own, pulling my hair into a ponytail to keep it out of my face. He brushed his own hair back and frowned when it flopped forwards again, groaning as he repeated the process.

“Here.” I grabbed a hair-tie and pulled his hair back, securing it in a small bun at the top of his head and pulling tight before scrubbing my face again. He toyed with it for a minute before laughing, nodding quickly and watching it bob. “Having fun?”

“I’ve never had a ponytail before. I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So what do I do?” He threw his towelette in the trash and grabbed the mask, squeezing a bit onto his fingertips and studying it. “Just put it on your face?”

“Pretty much. Try not to get any in your beard or brows if you can.”

“Sounds good.”

He started in and hummed quietly as he massaged his face, stopping periodically to study his hands. “It’s really sticky.”

“It’ll dry down.”

He stole a glance in my direction and burst out laughing, holding his arms up like a surgeon scrubbing in as he doubled over.

“What?” I nudged him with my elbow and he shook his head. “What’s so funny?”

“You- your face!”

I had to admit the bright green was startling and he reached out to swipe at it, rubbing it between his fingers before bringing it to his nose.

“Will you stop smelling everything?”

He shrugged and leaned forward to wash his hands, disappearing after he deemed them clean. I finished applying my mask and put everything away before joining him in the kitchen. He held out a glass of wine and grinned as I took it, lifting his own for a casual toast.

“To girls night?”

“I’ll drink to that.”

The doorbell rang as I took a sip and Elias went to answer it, returning with a couple of boxes and a wide grin on his face. The smell was overwhelming and we dug in, taking seats on opposite ends of the couch and falling into silence as the movie ran on. The whole tone was light and cheesy until about fifteen minutes in, the music shifting as the scene changed.

I cleared my throat and buried my face in my wine glass as the camera panned to the main character, naked as the day is long. Elias cleared his throat next to me and the tension in the room built, neither one of us making eye contact during the unexpected sex.

“I um, I’m gonna go wash this off.”

“Yeah, that- same.”

We both hopped up without pausing the movie, heading to our respective rooms without a word. I scrubbed my face clean and stood up, listening until I heard the television. The music hadn’t changed and I didn’t want to risk another awkward moment so I grabbed a deep conditioner, massaging it into my hair.

I flipped my head over to wrap it into a bun and Elias was in the doorway when I righted myself, watching me intently. He grabbed the bottle I’d been using and studied it, reading the ingredients on the back.

“More avocado?”

“Mhmm. You want to use some?”

“What is it?”

“Same thing you used on your face, just for your hair.”

“Can I use it in my beard?”

I nodded and he squeezed a bunch out, attacking his roots with furrowed brows. He was concentrating hard and frowned when he ran out, reaching for the bottle again.

“Wait- can I?”

“Sure.” He squatted down and let me run my fingers through his hair, shivering as my nails grazed his scalp. “Can we get a chair?”

I moved to go to the living room and sat down, scooting back as he settled between my knees. The film was back to a cheery moment, a party scene at Christmastime, and I zoned out watching it and playing with his hair.

He groaned quietly and leaned back, looking up at me with soft eyes. “That feels so good.”

“You want me to keep going?”

He nodded and fell back against me, wrapping an arm around my calf and setting his hand on my ankle. I fought to convince myself that the touch was innocent but derailed when he groaned again, hopping up with more energy than intended.

“More wine?”

Grabbing his glass without waiting for an answer and sprinted into the kitchen, downing the rest of my glass and pouring another haphazardly. I threw that back too and started on another before giving up and drinking straight from the bottle. My stomach flipped as I uncorked a fresh bottle, taking it and our two glasses back to the living room. Elias had claimed a seat on the couch and looked up at me with a tentative smile.

“I paused the movie.”

“Thanks.”

“Everything alright?”

“I uh, had to open a new bottle so... that’s why I took so long.”

“Oh, okay.” There was an awkward tension between us and I dampened it with more alcohol, watching him take a sip before I took my spot back. He grabbed the remote and hesitated a moment before he turned to me. “Drink every time she says ‘love’?”

I nodded excitedly and he hit play, both of us focused on the dialogue now. The aforementioned tension dissolved quickly and we were cackling by the time the credits rolled.

He stood on unsteady feet and held out a hand for me, pulling me up with a dopey grin.

“We should wash this out of our hair.”

“We should.”

He didn’t move so I took the lead, stumbling a bit as I tried to go around him. Elias reached out and wrapped an arm around me to keep me from falling, chuckling as I grabbed onto him and righted myself. His brow was furrowed as he studied me and I realized how close we were, his chest against mine and his hand on my waist.

“Elias...”

He leaned in ever so slightly, lips warm as they brushed against mine. The feel of his stubble against my skin was enough to knock me off of my feet and his arm tightened around my waist as I melted into him.

A moan I didn’t recognize came out of my mouth and I pulled back in an instant, sobering as the moment landed. He smiled softly and dropped his hand without saying anything, pushing his hair back slowly. I watched him wince as he pulled away, rubbing his now greasy fingers together with a frown.

“So I just rinse it out?”

“Mhmm.”

“Alright. Well... have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

#proof #proof fic #hockey fic #hockey rpf #nhl rpf #nhl fic #nhl one shot #hockey one shot #elias lindholm fic #elias lindholm rpf #elias lindholm one shot #calgary flames fic #calgary flames one shot #calgary flame rpf

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staytiny-angel · 6 years

Text

All I Want For Christmas is You

Pairing: Elias Sampson/Alana Richards (OC)

Rating: T

Authors Note: Yay! Mission Accomplished! I've been trying to branch out a bit so that I don't burn myself out by writing Seth all the time. So here's some cotton candy Christmas fluff starring the sexy Drifter himself Elias Sampson.

Summary: Elias has a crush on Alana but is having trouble expressing his feelings so he decides to just use the medium he knows best - music.

Tag List: @panda-girl1999 @panic-angel3314 @caramara3 @empress-with-the-crown @ringbrat @theworldiscolorful @eshia16 @omegaliciousss @hardcorewwetrash @lavitabella87 @castielscamander @gingertalksshit @thirstiswet @reigns420 @racingandreigns @soulsister101 @cam0flug3 @wweburnitdown @evilangel84

@wrestlingbabe

@crossfitjesusinskinnyjeans

Monday Night Raw - 2 weeks before Christmas.

Alana shook her head in disappointment as she limped backstage after her grueling match with Nia Jax. It seemed like no matter what she did she couldn't seem to pull off a victory against the much stronger woman. It was two weeks before Christmas and she was already sad about not being able to go home for the holiday since USA Network had demanded a live Raw on Christmas Day this year. Losing to Nia again had just been the icing on the cake.

"Ohhhh, come over here and help me trim the tree

I wanna wrap you up

Baby, then you’ll see you’re the only present I need

There’s so much more

Waiting for you in store

From this precious day

I can gladly say

There’s no place that I’d rather be

I know you are my everything, come a little closer

God must have sent you down from heaven”

Alana froze as she heard the sound of a beautiful husky voice accompanied by an acoustic guitar. She had been so lost in her own thoughts she hadn't noticed Elias Sampson sitting on an equipment box playing his guitar and singing.

Alana didn't know Elias that well, she knew that he didn't speak much unless he was in the ring and that he preferred finding a quiet place to sing and play his guitar rather than socializing with his fellow superstars.

"That was beautiful." She told him smiling at him despite how she was feeling. Actually, she thought to herself, she felt a bit better now. Elias's voice was very soothing...she wondered why she'd never noticed that before.

Elias didn't say anything, he just smiled at her gently, hopped down off the equipment box, put his guitar in its case and walked away.

"What an odd man." she said to herself as she headed toward the women's locker room humming the song Elias had been playing under her breath.

One week before Christmas

Alana felt like she was about to vibrate out of her skin as she practically flew backstage after Stephanie's announcement. A WOMEN'S ROYAL RUMBLE!!!!! This might be her chance to step out into the spotlight. A good showing in the match even if she didn't win could do wonders for her career.

Alana slid to a stop as she saw Elias leaning up against a wall, head down fiddling with his guitar but not playing it. Alana took this opportunity to really look at him. He really was much more attractive then people gave him credit for, Especially with his hair tied up in that bun. He wasn't pretty like Seth or Roman but he was definitely a very handsome man.

"Hi Elias!" she chirped happily. His head jerked up and for a second she thought she saw a blush flush the skin around his heavy beard. He seemed almost embarrassed that she'd caught him unaware.

"I'm sorry I bothered you, I'm just really happy and your song made me feel so much better last week, I guess I wanted to share my happiness with you but I can totally go away if I'm being annoying I'm probably being annoying." Alana babbled without taking a breath.

Elias shook his head rapidly manbun bobbing and instead of speaking strummed his guitar and sang

"I'd give anything to see

A little Christmas tree

And to hear,

Hear the laughter of children playing in the snow,

To kiss my baby under the mistletoe."

Alana grinned c

and clapped "I love that song!" Alana walked closer to him but Elias seemed to almost panic at her getting closer he grabbed his case and left quickly without even putting his guitar away.

"He's.....really odd," Alana said to herself continuing on her way "Really cute but really odd"

Christmas Day

Elias sat backstage, with Bo Dallas next to him. Elias didn't quite understand why The Miztourage had attached themselves to him like baby ducklings without a mama but it was nice to have roadies and Bo played harmonica decently.

"You gonna tell her, boss?" Bo asked him as Elias looked at him "Are you gonna tell Alana you like her?"

Alana, Elias sighed to himself. He'd had a crush on her since they'd been in NXT together though he'd gotten called up to the main roster only a few months after she'd arrived. He just couldn't seem to get the words 'I like you' to come out of his mouth in her presence. He'd been singing to most romantic Christmas songs he could think of to her for the last 2 weeks but she'd still hadn't realized that he was singing directly to her.

Last week had been a mess, he hadn't been really ready to see her and he'd freaked out when she'd come up to him. Her babbling was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. He'd chickened out when she'd come closer to him and bailed like his feet were on fire.

This week he was ready. He had the most blatant romantic Christmas song in the universe ready and then he was gonna ask Alana to be his date for WWE's New Years Ball.

No chickening out this time. Curt came walking toward them "Her match looks like its winding down, boss and everything is set up." Elias nodded, said thank you to both of them, grabbed his guitar and headed to the stage entrance. He peeked out into the arena just as Alana hit her finisher and defeated Mandy Rose.

Alana's P.O.V

"Yes!" Alana yelled out as the referee raised her hand. She won, she thought to herself. Another victory meant more momentum leading into the Rumble. She rolled out of the ring and headed up the ramp just as the arena lights went out "What the hell?!" A single spotlight shined down on Elias sitting in a chair on the stage guitar in his lap.

"Elias?!" She could hear the murmurs of the crowd who seemed to be just as confused as she was.

"I don’t want a lot for Christmas

There is just one thing I need

I don’t care about the presents

Underneath the Christmas tree

I just want you for my own

More than you could ever know

Make my wish come true

All I want for Christmas is you.”

Alana's mouth dropped open as Elias sang, was she understanding this correctly? He had a crush on her? Alana thought back to each song Elias had sung in her presence over the last few weeks. They had all been romantic Christmas songs...because of course, a man like Elias would use music to express his feelings. She walked up the ramp toward him as he finished singing and smiled at her hopefully. He cleared his throat and said

"I've liked you for a while, do you want to go to the New Years Ball with me?"

Alana nodded "I would like that." as she leaned down and gave him a small kiss.

Okay, so I know this ends kinda abruptly. but its because it's totally getting a second part for their first date. That part will probably be smutty.

Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘Let it Snow, I want to come home for Christmas and All I want for Christmas is you. their respective songwriters do

#shai writes #Elias Sampson fic #Elias/OC

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hallmarkchristmaspitches · 6 years

Text

Vintage Christmas Recap: “Just in Time for Christmas”

(Photo from “Fifty Shades of Grey” NOT the Hallmark Channel Christmas classic “Just in Time for Christmas”)

This is an oldie (I mean…2015) but a goodie on the Hallmark Channel. It features an all-star cast - THE William Shatner! THE Christopher Lloyd! The gal who plays Anastasia’s roommate in the “50 Shades of Grey” movies, and the roommate needing Anastasia to go interview Christian Grey is the whole impetus for their meeting/scandalous love affair. (WHY can’t the roommate just go do the interview? She only seems a little sick and isn’t actively vomiting. She can at least do a Skype interview? How much can she get out of an interview someone else does?)

Somewhere vaguely along the coast of Washington state (read: Canada), Lindsay Rogers is a psychology professor who is pretty hot stuff. She has a super cute boyfriend (Jason) whom she has been dating since the beginning of time, and he owns a coffee shop. That’s right, a mother-fucking coffee shop. This is big time on the West Coast. They are totally presh and probably two of the better actors to walk and talk their way through a Hallmark Channel festive town square.

Everything is coming up Lindsay because guess what: she has a job offer at mother-fucking Yale. I’ll allow it, since we do get to see Lindsay be smart in her field and not just say something like, “We’ll never meet that deadline! I’m a businesswoman!” But turns out, it is shit timing, because sweet Jason and his scruffy coffee shop beard have booked Gino’s (presumably the only non-coffee shop restaurant in town?) to propose! Oh no’s! This is 2015! Married women can’t teach at Yale! And they definitely can’t telecommute! What will Lindsay dooooooo? Well, she does what any reasonable psychologist would do: she runs outta this scene from an Italian restaurant and books it to the park, the only respite for a gal with too many thoughts.

At the park, she is approached by a mysterious former star of many “Star Trek” movies, sporting a carefully spirit-gummed goatee and riding a carriage drawn by a horse named Mistletoe. He offers her a ride and she laments her NON-DECISION BECAUSE IT’S 2015 AND WOMEN CAN HAVE IT ALL BECAUSE WE HAVEN’T BEEN DESTROYED BY NOVEMBER 9, 2016 YET. But no one told Lindsay to lean in because she is conflicted. So William Santa-ner helps her out by showing her a magic Christmas comet which sends her three years into the future.

WTfuck? Lindsay is really confused even though most things still look relatively the same and her trusty grandpa is there to make lots of “Back to the Future” references. She remembers nothing of the three years she lost but she quickly discovers that she is the author of a best-selling book (I’mma assume she wrote some kind of self-help book even though I’ll stress again, we get to see her being good in her field - it’s just in practice, she’s a lot more platitudes than science.) She is also needed desperately back at Yale by her Dean, who also seems to be her book agent. Since it’s close to Christmas, I feel as though the semester should be over? But maybe she’s doing a local on-going study on the effects of small town high school love on a busy career woman’s career? She should pick a smaller town than New Haven for such a study though. Regardless, the Dean can spare her for a couple days because she has taken advantage of Lindsay’s sudden relocation to schedule a local book signing. Girl does not know what the fudge she wrote about, but she is happy to spend more time around town with Grandpa Bob and Jason.

But - oh no’es! - after creeping around the coffee shop like a socially awkward male comedian, Jason and Lindsay finally come face to face. And Lindsay is quickly informed that Jason is now engaged to Becca with the good hair. She has worked at the coffee shop and snuck right the fuck in there. No worries! Lindsay totally doesn’t care! She is very cool and successful and teaches at Yale even though she cannot be older than 30. (No disrespect because again, she is excellent compared to everyone else on the Hallmark Channel with the exception of our Lord and Savior Alicia Witt.) In fact, she doesn’t care so much, she is fine with Jason helping her with her Q&A before her book signing and drinking champagne in the limo with her afterwards (side note: do they do that? For book signings? In small towns? I have never written a book, but I assume unless you are J.K. Rowling or Hillary Clinton, they make you provide your own transportation.) Champagne + nostalgia + dat book signing hiiiiiiiiiigh = Lindsay sneaks a smooch in the back of the limo. Jason naturally freaks out because THAT IS FUCKED UP, LINDSAY, HE IS MARRYING SOMEONE ELSE IN LIKE TEN MINUTES.

Lindsay knows what she did was wrong, and they have a very honest and self-aware conversion about what happened (good thing Lindsay is a “psychologist” although methinks the screenplay writer is truly the one with the psychology degree.) She wishes and wishes she could go back to her own present time so that she could change the results of the 2016 presidential election - ooops, I meant that’s what I would do. Sorry. - so she can right the wrong of becoming a very highly regarded Yale professor and best-selling author. And also making sure she marries Jason.

And dude, she goes back to the park (even though a maintenance guy/park ranger told her they never have offered horse and carriage rides there) and poof, here comes William Santa-ner. Turns out he wanted to teach her a lesson, and boy did she learn one about herself and about what a drag it is to be a highly regarded Yale professor and best-selling author who don’t NEED no man even though she can’t remember anything and maybe she had a boyfriend in New Haven or maaaaaaybe she and the Dean/book agent had a thing? Maybe that’s why the Dean kept calling and saying she needed Lindsay back immediately? But Lindsay couldn’t see past the guy she’s been dating since she was five.

Anyway, William Santa-ner shows her the comet again and she opens her eyes to discover she is back in 2015. QUICK. GATHER THE WHITE WOMEN. THE ELECTION OF TRUMP WAS OUR FAULT. URGE CHANGE. WARN THEM WHAT 2018 IS LIKE. But instead of doing the right thing, Lindsay runs to her own home to hug her grandpa and mom (oh, her mom had a heart attack and moved to Sweden in the future.) She tells them she loves them and that is the best gift ever. Also, Mom’s going to the doctor on Monday. Cut to that coffee shop, where Jason is pouting. Lindsay texts him to let her in, or at least let in the waiters with the gnocchi from that restaurant. He does, and she apologizes and says she wants to marry him because she know she’ll be successful where ever she goes. He asks why she didn’t just ask him to go with her to Yale and THANK YOU, JASON, FOR BEING THE ONE PERSON WHO REALIZES PEOPLE CAN TRAVEL ACROSS LAND AS WELL AS TIME IN THIS UNIVERSE. They decide New Haven probably has coffee shops too (or should if they don’t), and they will start their new lives there together.

The movie concludes with a 150% cheesy wedding with a slightly out of date wedding dress and Lindsay addressing all characters by name before giving them a long hug. Then on to the reception at the only non-coffee shop restaurant in town!

“Just in Time for Christmas” (2015) stars Eloise Mumford, Michael Stahl-David, Christopher Lloyd and William Shatner. It was directed by Sean McNamara. It is fucking great for crying to on a Sunday afternoon.

#hallmark channel #christmas #tv recaps

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readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

Christmas on the Closed Ward

Was this why Dumbledore would no longer meet Harry's eyes? Did he expect to see Voldemort staring out of them, afraid, perhaps, that their vivid green might turn suddenly to scarlet, with catlike slits for pupils? Harry remembered how the snakelike face of Voldemort had once forced itself out of the back of Professor Quirrell's head and ran his hand over the back of his own, wondering what it would feel like if Voldemort burst out of his skull. He felt dirty, contaminated, as though he were carrying some deadly germ, unworthy to sit on the Underground train back from the hospital with innocent, clean people whose minds and bodies were free of the taint of Voldemort ... he had not merely seen the snake, he had been the snake, he knew it now ... A truly terrible thought then occurred to him, a memory bobbing to the surface of his mind, one that made his insides writhe and squirm like serpents. What's he after, apart from followers? Stuff he can only get by stealth ... like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time. I'm the weapon, Harry thought, and it was as though poison were pumping through his veins, chilling him, bringing him out in a sweat as he swayed with the train through the dark tunnel. I'm the one Voldemort's trying to use, that's why they've got guards around me everywhere I go, it's not for my protection, it's for other people's, only it's not working, they can't have someone on me all the time at Hogwarts ... I did attack Mr. Weasley last night, it was me. Voldemort made me do it and he could be inside me, listening to my thought's right now--' 'Are you all right, Harry, dear?' whispered Mrs. Weasley, leaning across Ginny to speak to him as the train rattled along through its dark tunnel. 'You don't look very well. Are you feeling sick?' They were all watching him. He shook his head violently and stared up at an advertisement for home insurance. 'Harry, dear, are you sure you're all right?' said Mrs. Weasley in a worried voice, as they walked around the unkempt patch of grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place. 'You look ever so pale ... are you sure you slept this morning? You go upstairs to bed right now and you can have a couple of hours of sleep before dinner, all right?' He nodded; here was a ready-made excuse not to talk to any of the others, which was precisely what he wanted, so when she opened the front door he hurried straight past the trolls-leg umbrella stand, up the stairs and into his and Ron's bedroom. Here, he began to pace up and down, past the two beds and Phineas Nigellus's empty picture frame, his brain teeming and seething with questions and ever more dreadful ideas. How had he become a snake? Perhaps he was an Animagus ... no, he couldn't be, he would know ... perhaps Voldemort was an Animagus ... yes, thought Harry, that would fit, he would turn into a snake of course ... and when he's possessing me, then we both transform ... that still doesn't explain how I got to London and back to my bed in the space of about five minutes ... but then Voldemort's about the most powerful wizard in the world, apart from Dumbledore, it's probably no problem at all to him to transport people like that. And then, with a terrible stab of panic, he thought, but this is insane--if Voldemort's possessing me, I'm giving him a clear view into the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix right now! He'll know who's in the Order and where Sirius is ... and I've heard loads of stuff I shouldn't have, everything Sirius told me the first night I was here ... There was only one thing for it: he would have to leave Grimmauld Place straightaway. He would spend Christmas at Hogwarts without the others, which would keep them safe over the holidays at least ... but no, that wouldn't do, there were still plenty of people at Hogwarts to maim and injure. What if it was Seamus, Dean or Neville next time? He stopped his pacing and stood staring at Phineas Nigellus's empty frame. A leaden sensation was settling in the pit of his stomach. He had no alternative: he was going to have to return to Privet Drive, cut himself off from other wizards entirely. Well, if he had to do it, he thought, there was no point hanging around. Trying with all his might not to think how the Dursleys were going to react when they found him on their doorstep six months earlier than they had expected, he strode over to his trunk, slammed the lid shut and locked it, then glanced around automatically for Hedwig before remembering that she was still at Hogwarts--well, her cage would be one less thing to carry--he seized one end of his trunk and had dragged it halfway towards the door when a snide voice said, 'Running away, are we?' He looked around. Phineas Nigellus had appeared on the canvas of his portrait and was leaning against the frame, watching Harry with an amused expression on his face. 'Not running away, no,' said Harry shortly, dragging his trunk a few more feet across the room. 'I thought,' said Phineas Nigellus, stroking his pointed beard, 'that to belong in Gryffindor house you were supposed to be brave? It looks to me as though you would have been better off in my own house. We Slytherins are brave, yes, but not stupid. For instance, given the choice, we will always choose to save our own necks.' 'It's not my own neck I'm saving,' said Harry tersely, tugging the trunk over a patch of particularly uneven, moth-eaten carpet right in front of the door. 'Oh, I see,' said Phineas Nigellus, still stroking his beard, 'this is no cowardly flight--you are being noble.' Harry ignored him. His hand was on the doorknob when Phineas Nigellus said lazily, 'I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore.' Harry span round. 'What is it?' '"Stay where you are." ' 'I haven't moved!' said Harry, his hand still upon the doorknob. 'So what's the message?' 'I have just given it to you, dolt,' said Phineas Nigellus smoothly. 'Dumbledore says, "Stay where you are."' 'Why?' said Harry eagerly, dropping the end of his trunk. 'Why does he want me to stay? What else did he say?' 'Nothing whatsoever,' said Phineas Nigellus, raising a thin black eyebrow as though he found Harry impertinent. Harry's temper rose to the surface like a snake rearing from long grass. He was exhausted, he was confused beyond measure, he had experienced terror, relief, then terror again in the last twelve hours, and still Dumbledore did not want to talk to him! 'So that's it, is it?' he said loudly. '"Stay where you are"? That's all anyone could tell me after I got attacked by those dementors, too! Just stay put while the grown-ups sort it out, Harry! We won't bother telling you anything, though, because your tiny little brain might not be able to cope with it!' 'You know,' said Phineas Nigellus, even more loudly than Harry, 'this is precisely why I loathed being a teacher! Young people are so infernally convinced that they are absolutely right about everything. Has it not occurred to you, my poor puffed-up popinjay, that there might be an excellent reason why the Headmaster of Hogwarts is not confiding every tiny detail of his plans to you? Have you never paused, while feeling hard-done-by, to note that following Dumbledore's orders has never yet led you into harm? No.No, like all young people, you are quite sure that you alone feel and think, you alone recognise danger, you alone are the only one clever enough to realise what the Dark Lord may be planning--' 'He is planning something to do with me, then?' said Harry swiftly. 'Did I say that?' said Phineas Nigellus, idly examining his silk gloves. 'Now, if you will excuse me, I have better things to do than listen to adolescent agonising ... good-day to you.' And he strolled to the edge of his frame and out of sight. 'Fine, go then!' Harry bellowed at the empty frame. 'And tell Dumbledore thanks for nothing!' The empty canvas remained silent. Fuming, Harry dragged his trunk back to the foot of his bed, then threw himself face down on the moth-eaten covers, his eyes shut, his body heavy and aching. He felt as though he had journeyed for miles and miles ... it seemed impossible that less than twenty-four hours ago Cho Chang had been approaching him under the mistletoe ... he was so tired ... he was scared to sleep ... yet he did not know how long he could fight it ... Dumbledore had told him to stay ... that must mean he was allowed to sleep ... but he was scared ... what if it happened again? He was sinking into shadows ... It was as though a film in his head had been waiting to start. He was walking down a deserted corridor towards a plain black door, past rough stone walls, torches, and an open doorway on to a flight of stone steps leading downstairs on the left ... He reached the black door but could not open it... he stood gazing at it, desperate for entry ... something he wanted with all his heart lay beyond ... a prize beyond his dreams ... if only his scar would stop prickling ... then he would be able to think more clearly ... 'Harry,' said Ron's voice, from far, far away, 'Mum says dinners ready, but she'll save you something if you want to stay in bed.' Harry opened his eyes, but Ron had already left the room. He doesn't want to be on his own with me, Harry thought. Not after what he heard Moody say. He supposed none of them would want him there any more, now that they knew what was inside him. He would not go down to dinner; he would not inflict his company on them. He turned over on to his other side and, after a while, dropped back off to sleep. He woke much later, in the early hours of the morning, his insides aching with hunger and Ron snoring in the next bed. Squinting around the room, he saw the dark outline of Phineas Nigellus standing again in his portrait and it occurred to Harry that Dumbledore had probably sent Phineas Nigellus to watch over him, in case he attacked somebody else. The feeling of being unclean intensified. He half-wished he had not obeyed Dumbledore ... if this was how life was going to be for him in Grimmauld Place from now on, maybe he would be better off in Privet Drive after all. Everybody else spent the following morning putting up Christmas decorations. Harry could not remember Sirius ever being in such a good mood; he was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas. Harry could hear his voice echoing up through the floor in the cold drawing room where he was sitting alone, watching the sky growing whiter outside the windows, threatening snow, all the time feeling a savage pleasure that he was giving the others the opportunity to keep talking about him, as they were bound to be doing. When he heard Mrs. Weasley calling his name softly up the stairs around lunchtime, he retreated further upstairs and ignored her. Around six o'clock in the evening the doorbell rang and Mrs. Black started screaming again. Assuming that Mundungus or some other Order member had come to call, Harry merely settled himself more comfortably against the wall of Buckbeak's room where he was hiding, trying to ignore how hungry he felt as he fed dead rats to the hippogriff. It came as a slight shock when somebody hammered hard on the door a few minutes later. 'I know you're in there,' said Hermione's voice. 'Will you please come out? I want to talk to you.' 'What are you doing here?' Harry asked her, pulling open the door as Buckbeak resumed his scratching at the straw-strewn floor for any fragments of rat he may have dropped. 'I thought you were skiing with your mum and dad?' 'Well, to tell the truth, skiing's not really my thing,' said Hermione. 'So, I've come here for Christmas.' There was snow in her hair and her face was pink with cold. 'But don't tell Ron. I told him skiing's really good because he kept laughing so much. Mum and Dad are a bit disappointed, but I've told them that everyone who is serious about the exams is staying at Hogwarts to study. They want me to do well, they'll understand. Anyway,' she said briskly, 'let's go to your bedroom, Ron's mum has lit a fire in there and she's sent up sandwiches.' Harry followed her back to the second floor. When he entered the bedroom, he was rather surprised to see both Ron and Ginny waiting for them, sitting on Ron's bed. 'I came on the Knight Bus,' said Hermione airily, pulling off her jacket before Harry had time to speak. 'Dumbledore told me what had happened first thing this morning, but I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's and he'd given you all permission to visit. So ...' She sat down next to Ginny, and the two girls and Ron all looked up at Harry. 'How're you feeling?' asked Hermione. 'Fine,' said Harry stiffly. 'Oh, don't lie, Harry,' she said impatiently. 'Ron and Ginny say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo's.' 'They do, do they?' said Harry, glaring at Ron and Ginny. Ron looked down at his feet but Ginny seemed quite unabashed. 'Well, you have!' she said. 'And you won't look at any of us!' 'It's you lot who won't look at me!' said Harry angrily. 'Maybe you're taking it in turns to look, and keep missing each other,' suggested Hermione, the corners of her mouth twitching. 'Very funny,' snapped Harry, turning away. 'Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood,' said Hermione sharply. 'Look, the others have told me what you overheard last night on the Extendable Ears--' 'Yeah?' growled Harry, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched the snow now falling thickly outside. 'All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it.' 'We wanted to talk toyou, Harry,' said Ginny, 'but as you've been hiding ever since we got back--' 'I didn't want anyone to talk to me,' said Harry, who was feeling more and more nettled. 'Well, that was a bit stupid of you,' said Ginny angrily, 'seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels.' Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he wheeled round. 'I forgot,' he said. 'Lucky you,' said Ginny coolly. 'I'm sorry,' Harry said, and he meant it. 'So ... so, do you think I'm being possessed, then?' 'Well, can you remember everything you've been doing?' Ginny asked. 'Are there big blank periods where you don't know what you've been up to?' Harry racked his brains. 'No,' he said. 'Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you,' said Ginny simply. 'When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I'd been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I got there.' Harry hardly dared believe her, yet his heart was lightening almost in spite of himself. 'That dream I had about your dad and the snake, though--' 'Harry, you've had these dreams before,' Hermione said. 'You had flashes of what Voldemort was up to last year.' 'This was different,' said Harry, shaking his head. 'I was inside that snake. It was like I was the snake ... what if Voldemort somehow transported me to London--?' 'One day,' said Hermione, sounding thoroughly exasperated, 'you'll read Hogwarts: A History, and perhaps it will remind you that you can't Apparate or Disapparaie inside Hogwarts. Even Voldemort couldn't just make you fly out of your dormitory, Harry.' 'You didn't leave your bed, mate,' said Ron. 'I saw you thrashing around in your sleep for at least a minute before we could wake you up.' Harry started pacing up and down the room again, thinking. What they were all saying was not only comforting, it made sense ... without really thinking, he took a sandwich from the plate on the bed and crammed it hungrily into his mouth. I'm not the weapon after all, thought Harry. His heart swelled with happiness and relief, and he felt like joining in as they heard Sirius tramping past their door towards Buckbeak's room, singing 'God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs' at the top of his voice. How could he have dreamed of returning to Privet Drive for Christmas? Sirius's delight at having the house full again, and especially at having Harry back, was infectious. He was no longer their sullen host of the summer; now he seemed determined that everyone should enjoy themselves as much, if not more than they would have done at Hogwarts, and he worked tirelessly in the run-up to Christmas Day, cleaning and decorating with their help, so that by the time they all went to bed on Christmas Eve the house was barely recognisable. The tarnished chandeliers were no longer hung with cobwebs but with garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers; magical snow glittered in heaps over the threadbare carpets; a great Christmas tree, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with live fairies, blocked Sirius's family tree from view, and even the stuffed elf-heads on the hall wall wore Father Christmas hats and beards. Harry awoke on Christmas morning to find a stack of presents at the foot of his bed and Ron already halfway through opening his own, rather larger, pile. 'Good haul this year,' he informed Harry through a cloud of paper. 'Thanks for the Broom Compass, it's excellent; beats Hermione's--she got me a homework planner--' Harry sorted through his presents and found one with Hermione's handwriting on it. She had given him, too, a book that resembled a diary except that every time he opened a page it said aloud things like: 'Do it today or later you'll pay!' Sirius and Lupin had given Harry a set of excellent books entitled Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts, which had superb, moving colour illustrations of all the counter-jinxes and hexes it described. Harry flicked through the first volume eagerly; he could see it was going to be highly useful in his plans for the DA. Hagrid had sent a furry brown wallet that had fangs, which were presumably supposed to be an anti-theft device, but unfortunately prevented Harry putting any money in without getting his fingers ripped off. Tonks's present was a small, working model of a Firebolt, which Harry watched fly around the room, wishing he still had his full-size version; Ron had given him an enormous box of Every-Flavour Beans, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley the usual hand-knitted jumper and some mince pies, and Dobby a truly dreadful painting that Harry suspected had been done by the elf himself. He had just turned it upside-down to see whether it looked better that way when, with a loud crack, Fred and George Apparated at the foot of his bed. 'Merry Christmas,' said George. 'Don't go downstairs for a bit.' 'Why not?' said Ron. 'Mum's crying again,' said Fred heavily. 'Percy sent back his Christmas jumper.' 'Without a note,' added George. 'Hasn't asked how Dad is or visited him or anything.' 'We tried to comfort her,' said Fred, moving around the bed to look at Harry's portrait. 'Told her Percy's nothing more than a humungous pile of rat droppings.' 'Didn't work,' said George, helping himself to a Chocolate Frog. 'So Lupin took over. Best let him cheer her up before we go down for breakfast, I reckon.' 'What's that supposed to be, anyway?' asked Fred, squinting at Dobbys painting. 'Looks like a gibbon with two black eyes.' 'It's Harry!' said George, pointing at the back of the picture, 'says so on the back!' 'Good likeness,' said Fred, grinning. Harry threw his new homework diary at him; it hit the wall opposite and fell to the floor where it said happily: 'If you've dotted the "i"s and crossed the "t"s then you may do whatever you please!' They got up and dressed. They could hear the various inhabitants of the house calling 'Merry Christmas' to one another. On their way downstairs they met Hermione. Thanks for the book, Harry,' she said happily. 'I've been wanting that New Theory of Numerology for ages! And that perfume's really unusual, Ron.' 'No problem,' said Ron. 'Who's that for, anyway?' he added, nodding at the neatly wrapped present she was carrying. 'Kreacher,' said Hermione brightly. 'It had better not be clothes!' Ron warned her. 'You know what Sirius said: Kreacher knows too much, we can't set him free!' 'It isn't clothes,' said Hermione, 'although if I had my way I'd certainly give him something to wear other than that filthy old rag. No, it's a patchwork quilt, I thought it would brighten up his bedroom.' 'What bedroom?' said Harry, dropping his voice to a whisper as they were passing the portrait of Sirius's mother. 'Well, Sirius says it's not so much a bedroom, more a kind of--den,' said Hermione. 'Apparently he sleeps under the boiler in that cupboard off the kitchen.' Mrs. Weasley was the only person in the basement when they arrived there. She was standing at the stove and sounded as though she had a bad head cold as she wished them 'Merry Christmas', and they all averted their eyes. 'So, is this Kreacher's bedroom?' said Ron, strolling over to a dingy door in the corner opposite the pantry. Harry had never seen it open. 'Yes,' said Hermione, now sounding a little nervous. 'Er ... I think we'd better knock.' Ron rapped on the door with his knuckles but there was no reply. 'He must be sneaking around upstairs,' he said, and without further ado pulled open the door. 'Urgh!' Harry peered inside. Most of the cupboard was taken up with a very large and old-fashioned boiler, but in the foot of space underneath the pipes Kreacher had made himself something that looked like a nest. A jumble of assorted rags and smelly old blankets were piled on the floor and the small dent in the middle of it showed where Kreacher curled up to sleep every night. Here and there among the material were stale bread crusts and mouldy old bits of cheese. In a far corner glinted small objects and coins that Harry guessed Kreacher had saved, magpie-like, from Sirius's purge of the house, and he had also managed to retrieve the silver-framed family photographs that Sirius had thrown away over the summer. Their glass might be shattered, but still the little black-and-white people inside them peered up at him haughtily, including--he felt a little jolt in his stomach--the dark, heavy-lidded woman whose trial he had witnessed in Dumbledore's Pensieve: Bellatrix Lestrange. By the looks of it, hers was Kreacher's favourite photograph; he had placed it to the fore of all the others and had mended the glass clumsily with Spellotape. 'I think I'll just leave his present here,' said Hermione, laying the package neatly in the middle of the depression in the rags and blankets and closing the door quietly. 'He'll find it later, that'll be fine.' 'Come to think of it,' said Sirius, emerging from the pantry carrying a large turkey as they closed the cupboard door, 'has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?' 'I haven't seen him since the night we came back here,' said Harry. 'You were ordering him out of the kitchen.' 'Yeah ...' said Sirius, frowning. 'You know, I think that's the last time I saw him, too ... he must be hiding upstairs somewhere.' 'He couldn't have left, could he?' said Harry. 'I mean, when you said "out", maybe he thought you meant get out of the house?' 'No, no, house-elves can't leave unless they're given clothes. They're tied to their family's house,' said Sirius. 'They can leave the house if they really want to,' Harry contradicted him. 'Dobby did, he left the Malfoy's' to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterwards, but he still managed it.' Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, then said, 'I'll look for him later, I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something. Of course, he might have crawled into the airing cupboard and died ... but I mustn't get my hopes up.' Fred, George and Ron laughed; Hermione, however, looked reproachful. Once they had eaten their Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione were planning to pay Mr. Weasley another visit, escorted by Mad-Eye and Lupin. Mundungus turned up in time for Christmas pudding and trifle, having managed to 'borrow' a car for the occasion, as the Underground did not run on Christmas Day. The car, which Harry doubted very much had been taken with the consent of its owner, had been enlarged with a spell like the Weasleys' old Ford Anglia had once been. Although normally proportioned outside, ten people with Mundungus driving were able to fit into it quite comfortably. Mrs. Weasley hesitated before getting inside--Harry knew her disapproval of Mundungus was battling with her dislike of travelling without magic--but, finally, the cold outside and her children's pleading triumphed, and she settled herself into the back seat between Fred and Bill with good grace. The journey to St Mungo's was quite quick as there was very little traffic on the roads. A small trickle of witches and wizards was creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. Harry and the others got out of the car, and Mundungus drove off around the corner to wait for them. They strolled casually towards the window where the dummy in green nylon stood, then, one by one, stepped through the glass. The reception area looked pleasantly festive: the crystal orbs that illuminated St. Mungo's had been coloured red and gold to become gigantic, glowing Christmas baubles; holly hung around every doorway; and shining white Christmas trees covered in magical snow and icicles glittered in every corner, each one topped with a gleaming gold star. It was less crowded than the last time they had been there, although halfway across the room Harry found himself shunted aside by a witch with a satsuma jammed up her left nostril. 'Family argument, eh?' smirked the blonde witch behind the desk. 'You're the third I've seen today ... Spell Damage, fourth floor.' They found Mr Weasley propped up in bed with the remains of his turkey dinner on a tray on his lap and a rather sheepish expression on his face. 'Everything all right, Arthur?' asked Mrs. Weasley, after they had all greeted Mr. Weasley and handed over their presents. 'Fine, fine,' said Mr. Weasley, a little too heartily. 'You--er--haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?' 'No,' said Mrs Weasley suspiciously, 'why?' 'Nothing, nothing,' said Mr. Weasley airily, starting to unwrap his pile of gifts. 'Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry-- this is absolutely wonderful!' For he had just opened Harry's gift of fuse-wire and screwdrivers. Mrs. Weasley did not seem entirely satisfied with Mr. Weasley's answer. As her husband leaned over to shake Harry's hand, she peered at the bandaging under his nightshirt. 'Arthur,' she said, with a snap in her voice like a mousetrap, 'you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow.' 'What?' said Mr Weasley, looking rather frightened and pulling the bed covers higher up his chest. 'No, no--it's nothing--it's--I--' He seemed to deflate under Mrs. Weasley's piercing gaze. 'Well--now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea ... he's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in ... um ... complementary medicine ... I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies ... well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on--on Muggle wounds--' Mrs. Weasley let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley; Bill muttered something about getting himself a cup of tea and Fred and George leapt up to accompany him, grinning. 'Do you mean to tell me,' said Mrs. Weasley, her voice growing louder with every word and apparently unaware that her fellow visitors were scurrying for cover, 'that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?' 'Not messing about, Molly, dear,' said Mr. Weasley imploringly, 'it was just--just something Pye and I thought we'd try--only, most unfortunately--well, with these particular kinds of wounds--it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped--' 'Meaning?' 'Well ... well, I don't know whether you know what--what stitches are?' 'It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together,' said Mrs. Weasley with a snort of mirthless laughter, 'but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid --' 'I fancy a cup of tea, too,' said Harry, jumping to his feet. Hermione, Ron and Ginny almost sprinted to the door with him. As it swung closed behind them, they heard Mrs. Weasley shriek, 'WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?' 'Typical Dad,' said Ginny, shaking her head as they set off up the corridor. 'Stitches ... I ask you ...' 'Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds,' said Hermione fairly. 'I suppose something in that snake's venom dissolves them or something. I wonder where the tearoom is?' 'Fifth floor,' said Harry, remembering the sign over the welcomewitch's desk. They walked along the corridor, through a set of double doors and found a rickety staircase lined with more portraits of brutal-looking Healers. As they climbed it, the various Healers called out to them, diagnosing odd complaints and suggesting horrible remedies. Ron was seriously affronted when a medieval wizard called out that he clearly had a bad case of spattergroit. 'And what's that supposed to be?' he asked angrily, as the Healer pursued him through six more portraits, shoving the occupants out of the way. ' 'Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now--' 'Watch who you're calling gruesome!' said Ron, his ears turning red. '--the only remedy is to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight about your throat, stand naked at the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes--' 'I have not got spattergroit!' 'But the unsightly blemishes upon your visage, young master--' 'They're freckles!' said Ron furiously. 'Now get back in your own picture and leave me alone!' He rounded on the others, who were all keeping determinedly straight faces. 'What floor's this?' 'I think it's the fifth,' said Hermione. 'Nah, it's the fourth,' said Harry, 'one more--' But as he stepped on to the landing he came to an abrupt halt, staring at the small window set into the double doors that marked the start of a corridor signposted SPELL DAMAGE. A man was peering out at them all with his nose pressed against the glass. He had wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes and a broad vacant smile that revealed dazzlingly white teeth. 'Blimey!' said Ron, also staring at the man. 'Oh, my goodness,' said Hermione suddenly, sounding breathless. 'Professor Lockhart.' Their ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher pushed open the doors and moved towards them, wearing a long lilac dressing gown. 'Well, hello there!' he said. 'I expect you'd like my autograph, would you?' 'Hasn't changed much, has he?' Harry muttered to Ginny, who grinned. 'Er--how are you, Professor?' said Ron, sounding slightly guilty. It had been Ron's malfunctioning wand that had damaged Professor Lockhart's memory so badly that he had landed in St. Mungo's in the first place, though as Lockhart had been attempting to permanently wipe Harry and Ron's memories at the time, Harry's sympathy was limited. 'I'm very well indeed, thank you!' said Lockhart exuberantly, palling a rather battered peacock-feather quill from his pocket. 'Now, how many autographs would you like? I can do joined-up writing now, you know!' 'Er--we don't want any at the moment, thanks,' said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry, who asked, 'Professor, should you be wandering around the corridors? Shouldn't you be in a ward?' The smile faded slowly from Lockhart's face. For a few moments he gazed intently at Harry, then he said, 'Haven't we met?' 'Er ... yeah, we have,' said Harry. 'You used to teach us at Hogwarts, remember?' 'Teach?' repeated Lockhart, looking faintly unsettled. 'Me? Did I?' And then the smile reappeared upon his face so suddenly it was rather alarming. 'Taught you everything you know, I expect, did I? Well, how about those autographs, then? Shall we say a round dozen, you can give them to all your little friends then and nobody will be left out!' But just then a head poked out of a door at the far end of the corridor and a voice called, 'Gilderoy, you naughty boy, where have you wandered off to?' A motherly-looking Healer wearing a tinsel wreath in her hair came bustling up the corridor, smiling warmly at Harry and the others. 'Oh, Gilderoy, you've got visitors! How lovely, and on Christmas Day, too! Do you know, he never gets visitors, poor lamb, and I can't think why, he's such a sweetie, aren't you?' 'We're doing autographs!' Gilderoy told the Healer with another glittering smile. 'They want loads of them, won't take no for an answer! I just hope we've got enough photographs!' 'Listen to him,' said the Healer, taking Lockhart's arm and beaming fondly at him as though he were a precocious two-year-old. 'He was rather well known a few years ago; we very much hope that this liking for giving autographs is a sign that his memory might be starting to come back. Will you step this way? He's in a closed ward, you know, he must have slipped out while I was bringing in the Christmas presents, the door's usually kept locked ... not that he's dangerous! But,' she lowered her voice to a whisper, 'he's a bit of a danger to himself, bless him ... doesn't know who he is, you see, wanders off and can't remember how to get back ... it is nice of you to have come to see him.' 'Er,' said Ron, gesturing uselessly at the floor above, 'actually, we were just--er--' But the Healer was smiling expectantly at them, and Ron's feeble mutter of 'going to have a cup of tea' trailed away into nothingness. They looked at each other helplessly, then followed Lockhart and his Healer along the corridor. 'Let's not stay long,' Ron said quietly. The Healer pointed her wand at the door of the Janus Thickey Ward and muttered, 'Alohomora.' The door swung open and she led the way inside, keeping a firm grasp on Gilderoy's arm until she had settled him into an armchair beside his bed. 'This is our long-term residents' ward,' she informed Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny in a low voice. 'For permanent spell damage, you know. Of course, with intensive remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce some improvement. Gilderoy does seem to be getting back some sense of himself; and we've seen a real improvement in Mr. Bode, he seems to be regaining the power of speech very well, though he isn't speaking any language we recognise yet. Well, I must finish giving out the Christmas presents, I'll leave you all to chat.' Harry looked around. The ward bore unmistakeable signs of being a permanent home to its residents. They had many more personal effects around their beds than in Mr Weasley's ward; the wall around Gilderoy's headboard, for instance, was papered with pictures of himself, all beaming toothily and waving at the new arrivals. He had autographed many of them to himself in disjointed, childish writing. The moment he had been deposited in his chair by the Healer, Gilderoy pulled a fresh stack of photographs towards him, seized a quill and started signing them all feverishly. 'You can put them in envelopes,' he said to Ginny, throwing the signed pictures into her lap one by one as he finished them. 'I am not forgotten, you know, no, I still receive a very great deal of fan mail ... Gladys Gudgeon writes weekly ... I just wish I knew why ...' He paused, looking faintly puzzled, then beamed again and returned to his signing with renewed vigour. 'I suspect it is simply my good looks ...' A sallow-skinned, mournful-looking wizard lay in the bed opposite staring at the ceiling; he was mumbling to himself and seemed quite unaware of anything around him. Two beds along was a woman whose entire head was covered in fur; Harry remembered something similar happening to Hermione during their second year, although fortunately the damage, in her case, had not been permanent. At the far end of the ward flowery curtains had been drawn around two beds to give the occupants and their visitors some privacy. 'Here you are, Agnes,' said the Healer brightly to the furry-faced woman, handing her a small pile of Christmas presents. 'See, not forgotten, are you? And your son's sent an owl to say he's visiting tonight, so that's nice, isn't it?' Agnes gave several loud barks. 'And look, Broderick, you've been sent a pot plant and a lovely calendar with a different fancy hippogriff for each month; they'll brighten things up, won't they?' said the Healer, bustling along to the mumbling man, setting a rather ugly plant with long, swaying tentacles on the bedside cabinet and fixing the calendar to the wall with her wand. 'And--oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?' Harry's head span round. The curtains had been drawn back from the two beds at the end of the ward and two visitors were walking back down the aisle between the beds: a formidable-looking old witch wearing a long green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur and a pointed hat decorated with what was unmistakeably a stuffed vulture and, trailing behind her looking thoroughly depressed--Neville. With a sudden rush of understanding, Harry realised who the people in the end beds must be. He cast around wildly for some means of distracting the others so that Neville could leave the ward unnoticed and unquestioned, but Ron had also looked up at the sound of the name 'Longbottom', and before Harry could stop him had called out, 'Neville!' Neville jumped and cowered as though a bullet had narrowly missed him. 'It's us, Neville!' said Ron brightly, getting to his feet. 'Have you seen--? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?' 'Friends of yours, Neville, dear?' said Neville's grandmother graciously, bearing down upon them all. Neville looked as though he would rather be anywhere in the world but here. A dull purple flush was creeping up his plump face and he was not making eye contact with any of them. 'Ah, yes,' said his grandmother, looking closely at Harry and sticking out a shrivelled, clawlike hand for him to shake. 'Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you.' 'Er--thanks,' said Harry, shaking hands. Neville did not look at him, but surveyed his own feet, the colour deepening in his face all the while. 'And you two are clearly Weasleys,' Mrs. Longbottom continued, proffering her hand regally to Ron and Ginny in turn. 'Yes, I know your parents--not well, of course--but fine people, fine people ... and you must be Hermione Granger?' Hermione looked rather startled that Mrs. Longbottom knew her name, but shook hands all the same. 'Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy,' she said, casting a sternly appraising look down her rather bony nose at Neville, 'but be hasn't got his father's talent, I'm afraid to say.' And she jerked her head in the direction of the two beds at the end of the ward, so that the stuffed vulture on her hat trembled alarmingly. 'What?' said Ron, looking amazed. (Harry wanted to stamp on Ron's foot, but that sort of thing is much harder to bring off unnoticed when you're wearing jeans rather than robes.) 'Is that your dad down the end, Neville?' 'What's this?' said Mrs. Longbottom sharply. 'Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?' Neville took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. Harry could not remember ever feeling sorrier for anyone, but he could not think of any way of helping Neville out of the situation. 'Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!' said Mrs. Longbottom angrily. 'You should be proud, Neville, proud!They didn't give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!' 'I'm not ashamed,' said Neville, very faintly, still looking anywhere but at Harry and the others. Ron was now standing on tiptoe to look over at the inhabitants of the two beds. 'Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!' said Mrs. Longbottom. 'My son and his wife,' she said, turning haughtily to Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, 'were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers.' Hermione and Ginny both clapped their hands over their mouths. Ron stopped craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Neville's parents and looked mortified. 'They were Aurors, you know, and very well respected within the wizarding community,' Mrs Longbottom went on. 'Highly gifted, the pair of them. I--yes, Alice dear, what is it?' Neville's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. She no longer had the plump, happy-looking face Harry had seen in Moody's old photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix. Her face was thin and worn now, her eyes seemed overlarge and her hair, which had turned white, was wispy and dead-looking. She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions towards Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand. 'Again?' said Mrs Longbottom, sounding slightly weary. 'Very well, Alice dear, very well-- Neville, take it, whatever it is.' But Neville had already stretched out his hand, into which his mother dropped an empty Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper. 'Very nice, dear,' said Neville's grandmother in a falsely cheery voice, patting his mother on the shoulder. But Neville said quietly, 'Thanks, Mum.' His mother tottered away, back up the ward, humming to herself. Neville looked around at the others, his expression defiant, as though daring them to laugh, but Harry did not think he'd ever found anything less funny in his life. 'Well, we'd better get back,' sighed Mrs. Longbottom, drawing on long green gloves. 'Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now.' But as they left, Harry was sure he saw Neville slip the sweet wrapper into his pocket. The door closed behind them. 'I never knew,' said Hermione, who looked tearful. 'Nor did I,' said Ron rather hoarsely. 'Nor me,' whispered Ginny. They all looked at Harry. 'I did,' he said glumly. 'Dumbledore told me but I promised I wouldn't tell anyone ... that's what Bellatrix Lestrange got sent to Azkaban for, using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds.' 'Bellatrix Lestrange did that?' whispered Hermione, horrified. 'That woman Kreacher's got a photo of in his den?' There was a long silence, broken by Lockhart's angry voice. 'Look, I didn't learn joined-up writing for nothing, you know!'

#OrderofthePhoenix #HarryPotter

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