𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 - Tom Cruise + Characters One-Shots

Merry White Christmas

Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Joseph's been gone past dark, you start to get worried...

Warnings: Mild swearing. 

A/N: This was meant to come up tomorrow but cousins were over so I had no time to finish it! I woke up early today to get it done (since i have no idea what our plans are today!) and here it is! An Irish Christmas Eve one-shot featuring one of my favorite Tom Cruise characters, Joseph, from Far and Away. Which I haven't seen but want to because the clips on youtube look amazing. Anyways, I did some research to try and get the Irish traditions as accurate as possible. If you're Irish or familiar with their customs please comment what you think, or any suggestions! I'd love to hear them! I had so much fun writing this and all my other Christmas One-Shots! I can't believe I did them all in less than a week BACK TO BACK!!! I'm so tired now...used up all my creative brains...but it was a great challenge, definitely recommend doing it. *sigh* well, without further ado, onto the one-shot and Merry Christmas Eve!

Words: 2920

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Joseph's been runnin' off all day, going out to fetch some last minute ingredients for the Christmas dinner feast, helping neighbors put up decorations, and of course, sneaking out from under your nose to get into God knows what mischief with his friends. You aggressively knead the clump of dough you're shaping. This little bit will make a nice plump mince pie for Santy. Early in the evening, you sent Joseph off to the pub round the corner to fetch a bottle o' Guinness. It's tradition to leave Santy something to fill his large stomach and fuel him for his journey across the whole world. Besides, no man with a proper working stomach could turn down a bite of home baked mince pie and a gulp of the Old Pauper's Guinness. And you should know!

Countless times you've seen Joseph down three bottles himself!

The pig, you think with faint amusement.

You smooth the edges of the dough and give it a reassuring pat, more to comfort yourself than the pastry that'll soon face the wrath of the stove. Brows knit in concern, you go about finishing the pie, chopping bits of fruit and coating them with delicious spices, a special mix your mother taught you before she died. A sad smile tugs at your lips and you give into it, admiring the right little pastry as you close it up, fruity organs and all and pick up the tray, carrying it to the oven. You raise a leg, your skirts slipping down to your waist as you hook the heel of your boot on the handle and yank the door open. Then you bend forward and set the tray on the rack. Heat rushes out of the oven, sizzling your face with a warmth on the cusp of being uncomfortable. Still, you withstand the subtle burn and spare an extra second to admire the mince pie before backing away and shutting the oven door.

Then you busy yourself with cleaning up the kitchen.

For another half an hour, you scrub down countertops, peppered in spices and crumbs. You move the quaint, seasonal dinner you prepared before focusing on Santy's treat to the dining table. The pot of stew you set in the center of the table, organizing the other smaller dishes around the steaming centerpiece. Although the Christmas dinner is meant to be the most beautiful set, you can't help but put some honest effort into tonight's Christmas Eve meal.

Once everything is cleaned, put away, and set up, you scurry back into the kitchen and take out a toasty mince pie. A second longer and it might've burnt.

Still, it's survived and it smells wonderful.

Proud of your work, you set the mince pie by the window with a keg of Guinness where you've lit the candle to lead Mary and Joseph and any of the poor who need sustenance on Christmas Eve. As you stand by the window, looking out through the misty glass panes into the dark of the night, you can make out a shadowy figure stumbling through the darkness towards your humble cottage on the edge of the town. You frown confused and slightly terrified.