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just-some-random-blogger · 5 years

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Noodle City

NCT Chef!Wong Yukhei (Lucas) & NoodleMaster!Lee Sooman Characters: NCT 2019 bro, Lee Sooman Summary: Lucas was a scholar of the dying art of noodle making. And when I say scholar, I strictly mean in the sense that he is studying it, not in the sense that he is excelling. Master Sooman however sees great potential in him. Word Count: 2k+ Warnings: CRACK LINDA CRAAAACK, fluff, more crack, typos?, etc.

A/N: Back when I hadn’t memorized NCT’s names, I thought it was quite impossible, and since lucas was one of the first people i knew, i imagined him naming his members... but as noodles beCAUSE THEY’RE ALL SO SKINNY FEED THEM SM

Through the busy streets of Seoul you may come across a famous restaurant, known for it's greatness in noodles. On one slow day, the owner and master maker had a class in the back of his shop. The master was teaching his only student how to get used to using his hands and not the machines he was so accustomed to.

After explaining he had to make twenty strands of noodles, he had left his apprentice of two weeks to make it on his individually, by hand, by himself in the kitchen with the freedom to use whatever he wished. He had not yet shown him the way to make noodles, maybe a few moves and techniques here and there, but the task was a step higher from what his student was used to, which was more than enough for the master he to make sure of him.

When he came back, he was instantly bombarded with a man who resembled a young boy on Christmas. His big eyes did match that of a child.

"Master, look at what I did!" Lucas smiled widely, raising a metal tray of thin strings of dough.

Lee Sooman, the last remaining practitioner of this dying, ancient art of noodle making, squinted at the strips before his eyes, "Mwo ya?"

"They're my noodles," Lucas smiled proudly.

The shorter, older man peered up at the face of his only student and adjusted his glasses.

It was not that the master could not teach many at once or could not find anyone else to teach, but it was because he did not see anything in the ones who say they are willing to learn.

He however thinks this culinary chef who had traveled far for him was a winning candidate.

The broad shouldered man sniffled and blew strands of his blonde dyed hair out of his face.

No, the eager souled being didn't really have an allergy to dust nor to flour. Lucas supposes the runny nose he had was due to the fact he accidentally kept snorting the flour up like cocaine and choked on it on many occasions. It wasn't his fault he was too tall and had to all the way bend down to see how his craftsmanship was holding up.

Though I suppose it was his fault that he kept falling out of balance, sucking in some powder on along the way to find his centre of gravity.

Actually, no. It was gravity's fault, not Lucas's.

The noodle neophyte wiped his philtrum with the back of his hand, unknowingly smearing the same substance that caused him to sniffle across his left cheek.

His master was about to tell him about it, but was silenced by the intensity of the voice that spoke.

"Look, look! I even named them, look!" Lucas chirped, bringing his pride and glory to the marble counter he had birthed them.

Sooman spared an exhale of withheld breath and narrowed his eyes at his could be successor. He placed his hands behind his back and walked over to the young man.

"Here, look." Lucas turned over his shoulder and awaited for his senior to come to his side. Once he approched, Lucas continued, "This one's the first I made. His name is Taeil. He's Korean like the rest of them, exceot for those who are not. I ended up making him kinda small, but that's okay. Anyway, he has a big heart to make up for it," he pointed, "which is why this part of him is kinda bumped. It's his heart though, not a boob."

The man tried his best not to react in a way Lucas may seem negative, so instead he asked, "you named it?"

Lucas hummed.

"All of it?"

"Well, duh. This is my first time actually making noodles by myself so I have to. I even took pictures, wanna see?"

Sooman flattened his lips together.

Lucas mimicked the action to a degree, "I see. I'll take that as a no."

He offered a smile nevertheless.

"Okay, next one is Johnny." Lucas pointed, looking to the tray, to his master, and back again. "I tried to make up for what I didn't do to Taeil but then I ended up making him too long." He pursed his lips and nodded, "he's really funny, fun to be around, really good at English, and is a total meme."

Sooman's forehad wrinkled. Meme?

"Then next is Taeyong, who ended up kinda small, but that's fine. He's the type that seems like he's going to eat tou whole, which is ironic if you ask me, since he's a noodle, but he's actually a big pile of fluff once you hear him speak. He's really good dancer, great stage presense, and has good leadership skills, which is why I have decided to make him the leader of Noodle City, or NCT for short."

Lucas smiled once again afyer explaining, and pointed, "Yuta turned out to be just right size. He's Japanese, I reckon since I used some of that favorite flour of yours, the expensive one from Osaka, to fix him when I--" the look and Sooman's face made Lucas's words slower, "got him.... wet." The blonde haired boy cleared his throat, "He's good at football, and uh... he's got a great personality-- just like you," he chuckled nudging his mentor.

There was no reaction.

"You said I could use anything though."

Silence.

He cleared his throat again.

"Next is Kun. He's Chinese, like yours truly. He's great at cooking, better than me, I hate to admit, though not really because I was the one that made him that way. He like to makes food for his noodle children like the nurturing parent figure he is." Lucas chuckled.

It was not so much out of character that Lucas would go out of his way to do something like this, but Sooman found it amusing that he made one of his characters better than him at something,when he proudly arms himself with the fact he is the top chef, The Iron Chef, from Hong Kong, who's leaving his mark all across Asia, making it his playground-- or rather is kitchen. Yes he did boost his ego along the way, but it was funny nonetheless.

"Doyong over here is kind of tricky." Lucas continued, "He's very concerned, very smart, very much like a parent figure too, but he has a scary part to him. He has a bright personality and does want the best for his noodles, but deep down he's listing everyone's weaknesses and will attack swiftly all those that cross him!"

The man with greying hair knit his brows and found himself pulling his head back slowly.

"Moving on. This is Ten, or Chittaphon Leechiyapornkul. I went to Thailand once and so I decided he'd be Thai, but actually Chinese because well, I'm Chinese, and there is a lack of Chinese among them and, well, diversity. He's the squiggliest out of all of them." Lucas bit his tongue as he smiled.

He pinched the bottom of the noodle and moved him back and forth, "See? Look at how fluid he is."

The man with a cartoonish smile nodded at his work in approval, "He's a really good dancer. Plus, he sings really well too. I mean, they all sing and dance really good, but that's not the point.

"This next one I decided to give him a birthday on Feburary 14-- just because, even though it's the middle of summer. I named him Jaehyun, and he for some reason reminds me of bread. He looks very soft, which he is, but his noodlity is nice and firm."

"Did you just say noodlity?" the old man asked.

"Yes.

"---"

"Yes, I did."

"---"

"Jaehyun's noodlity doesn't need to be tested for it is firm."

Lucas turned to back to his work, still as pleased as ever, and counted on his fingers to keeo himself back on track. "Ah, next is Winwin because he never loses. Ayeeee."

There was no reaction but Lucas was still proud. He pat his chest with enough force that there was a puff of flour in the air. "Just like his dad. Aye!" Lucas dabbed, and Sooman merely looked at him. After settling down, he went on, "He's a real diamond in the rough. He's really talented, he's capable of so many things, but some people over look him for some," Lucas smacked the surface before him, "ga'damned reason."

He's getting upset over the fictionality he gave his noodles, Sooman thought. Odd.

Lucas heaved in and out heavily and went back to his senses. "Anyway, this is Jungwoo. Soft on the outside, soft on the inside, just a real big softie. You must protect him with all your life. He cries in passion. He's a real sweethert." the tall man gave a lopsided smile and clicked his tongue. "I love him so much-- I mean I love them all, but I love him."

It was undenibale that the noodle master found the way his apprentice gave life to his lifeless work amusing to say the least. Though in the back of Sooman's head, he knew he should've stopped him the moment he introduced his first noodle. But it was far too late now, he had already spoke about half of them. It would be extremely unfair to the latter noodles if they were to be left unmentioned.

"This one's Mark. He's Canadian, not comdian, though personally, I know the cute little fellow would be really funny, or would find me really funny. But I mean, who doesn't I tell really great jokes." Lucas gave an airy ha, ha, ha, and pointed a finger gun at the man beside him.

"Next is Renjun. He's also Chinese, but is confident in Korean and Chinese. He has a bright personality and is a real goofball. Don't let that trick you into messing with him or his dongsaengs though. He'll rough you up.

"Then there's Na Jaemin, or Na-na! I personally think his nickname is the cutest thing in the world-- no bias. He's really sweet but will kill you if he gets a chance. He's not as good as speaking English as Johnny or Mark, but he's actually also really good at it too."

At this point, the older man adjusted the rims seated on his nose and spared an airy chuckle.

The younger man felt warmth in his chest at that.

He proceeded, "Jeno here, spends a lot of his time gawking at his sunbaes, thinking how great they are. He's really great too, but he believes he should still work hard, which is good. I taught him that. I'm proud of him, of both of us.

"And Haechan over on this side, rolls with the his hyungs most of the time, and so he has this air around him that makes him feel like he's all that, but he's not, really." Lucas proceeds to giggle, "he's still very much a dorky kid at heart and outside, honestlt, but in his head, he's really cool. I mean he is, but he's not, but don't tell him that.

"On to the last two. Here we have p Chenle, a big, big bowl of fruity sunshine who's confused in Chinese but just laughs it off in Korean. He is a ray of sunshine, and he's so sweet and pure and GAH," Lucas shouts, shielding the noodle, "don't touch him!"

Sooman didn't dare even flinch.

"And then baby Jisung. He's the youngest, but he wound up becoming quite long. I bet he'll get longer after he's been cooked. But he's quite thin though for my taste. I mean, honestly, they're all pretty thin to me. I dom't think it's healtht but that's how they turned out to be."

Lucas crossed his arms, "They should really eat more rice. I mean, if they were actual people, I'd call them over and feed them as much as they can eat."

"But they're not people, Yukhei. They're noodles." Sooman finally spoke after a while.

As much as he liked being called his Chinese name, he also felt tremendously nervous everytime that name of his was called instead of Lucas, especially since it was the name his teacher had decided on calling him.

"Kure," Lee Sooman huffed, "prepare me a--"

"Jangkaman," Lucas raised a hand, "those are just 17. I made three more separate ones."

The young man dashed off, leaving the older man to follow him with his eyes.

He ran back quickly holding another tray, much smaller than the first one.

Lucas smiled ear to ear, extra giddy, "I got bored after a while so I experimented on some Chinese flour, just to see what the difference would be. I mean, I don't see anything, but these ones came out really pretty. I mean they're all pretty, but- these one's are Chinese-Chinese. Not that the ones who are Chinese aren't but... ... I just realized this has nothing to do with being pretty. Sorry. I don't remember what my point was."

Lucas showed the tray that held three pieces of noodles. He placed the smaller tray next to the larger one on the marble and took them one by one.

"Xaojun," he said, placing him on the tray with the rest of the noodles, "Yangyang," he adds, repeating the same action with a differnet noodle, "and Hendery."

Lucas looks at his work in satisfaction and looked to Sooman, "They're all Chinese; Hendery is from Maca--"

"Araso, araso," the professional noodle maker spoke, finally cutting the young one off. "You made a noodle city..."

Lucas pursed his lips, "Hmm, yeah."

"But with only males, so fundamentally just an overpopulated boy group."

"Hmmm, well, I actually made a separate batch of noodles, but I spilled some red food coloring on it. I was thinking of making a Red Velvet concept-thing, I already even had a Seulgi and Irene, but then I remembered you don't like adding unnatural additives to noodles, or anything you cook, so I scratched that."

"I digress," Noodle Master spoke. "Boil up your noodle city-" "you can just call it NCT, cause you know, N is for noodle and CT is--" "NCT and make me a dazzling bowl of noodles."

Lucas pursed his lips, noddedm and soluted. "Yes sir."

Lee Sooman awaited the dish from outside the kitchen and sat soundfully. He could hear Lucas's professionality from outside and the smell wafting around was only helping to support that.

When Lucas emerged, a delicious aroma followed, though the master expected no less.

The old man tasted the soup-- supurb, the beef-- well-cooked, and then the noodles.

He got his chopsticks and placed the boiled dough strings in his mouth. It all varied in texture and firmness. In his mouth, he could swear, he tasted the character of the noodls. He was torn between deciding whether or not it was a good or bad thing. The noodle master slurped up a strand and wondered which noodle it was along the way. Maybe it was that Johnny one because of it's irregular length, or was that Jaehyun? Jungkook? Jeonghan? He couldn't remember. Which one was the one that was really funny again?

Ah, how could Lucas think of 20 different characters and remember?

Lee Sooman really was getting old, huh?

Anyway, Sooman turned to his student who bore the same bright eyes he always had.

"Yukhei," he started, "did I ever tell you why you're my only student?"

The apprentice nodded slowly, brows knitting, "You said it was because you saw something in me."

"Ye. In all my days as a noodle craftsman..." he chuckled, "I have never encountered one who made twenty individual noodles that came with a biography."

The blonde stuck out his lower lip, "You didn't even hear about Yangyang, Hendery, and Xaojun."

The man chuckled, "Ye, ye, tell me about them later, but for now you must listen. The reason why I chose you, why I am teaching only you is because... well, let's put it this way-- I see you as my noodle. I have seen and placed an esteemed character in you that I have not others. Though you may be big headed and airy at times, I know you hold layers passion, it is flowing in your veins. And I know a lot of heart, and you put a lot of heart in what you do."

Lucas looked at his master, speechless. He had heard many compliments about him and his work, but he felt it, he felt this was most definitely the most genuine one out of them all.

"Of course your noodles... your noodles are horrible." Sooman chuckled, making Lucas do the same but in a much miniscule version, cheeks heating up as well.

"But they have character-- literally," the old man laughed again, "and so I've decided to tell you all the secrets, teach you all I know, and help you mold that character and carry on this sacred tradition."

Lucas licked his lips, and felt his eyes go glassy. "I WON'T LET YOU DOWN!"

The old man laughed, "I know."

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orbookstore · 5 years

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Review! Slade and Cranfield’s 12 Sun Songs LP(2009)

Kathy Slade and Brady Cranfield, 12 Sun Songs LP(2009) is published by Or Gallery and JRP|Ringier Kunstverlag AG, Zürich

This review was written by our SFU SCA summer intern, Cross Li. They are currently completing their BFA degree in Film Production and is exploring various areas in theatre, gallery installation, and film.

As a person whose childhood spanned the early 2000s, a part of me thought that some crucial contexts might be lost on me when I first listened to Kathy Slade and Brady Cranfield’s 12 Sun Songs (2009), an album that features covers of George Harrison’s Here Comes the Sun and The Kinks’ Waterloo Sunset, among other reimagined tracks. Having never been in direct contact with the original tunes of the 70s, there’s an element within these twelve songs that I will never have the ability to truly connect to: the nostalgia.

But around the fifth time I immersed myself in the album, I realized that my concern is quite silly when framed by 12 Sun Songs’ subject of interest,

Which is,

if it’s not obvious enough,

the Sun.

In the liner notes, Peter Culley, beloved Canadian poet and critic, points out that the modern enjoyment of pop songs must be rooted in a folkloric and historical origin, and the Sun⁠—the subject of focus in countless myths and ancient traditions⁠—has evidently been the topic of songs throughout the ages. It’s no wonder that ancient civilizations around the world worshipped this huge burning sphere of hot gas, an entity that can, if not angered, seemingly ensure a bountiful and generous harvest year after year. Although we no longer worship the sun in the fashion of the past, our cherishment of this floating fire orb never seems to have faded. 12 Sun Songs, wryly parodying a 70s concept album, is a celebration of the sun through pop songs.

The album uses field recordings collected from various Vancouver nature sites along with sounds made by acoustic and electronic instruments. As a person who has been living in Vancouver⁠—a city intertwined with forest and ocean⁠—the subtle aural details of footsteps on dry grass, birds chirping, and the ambient sound of the sea spark a familiar comfort. The soft vocal harmonies bring out a lighthearted playfulness in tracks like Where evil grows and Here comes the sun, and serenity in Thank You and The Warmth of the Sun. The musical elements feature a mellow static similar to the one from a cassette player; the retro element blends surprisingly well with the sounds of nature. The overall album gives the feeling of a sunny day of aimless wandering in the forest from dusk to dawn.

With side A presenting the sunrise and side B the sunset, I often found myself putting on the A-side before getting ready for the day, and winding down with a cup of tea while the the B-side was playing in the evening. Even the colour of the record⁠—true bright yellow⁠—brings joy. When I first unpacked the album, I yelled out “It’s so bright!” due to the impressive colour saturation of the vinyl disc itself. During the typical rainy days of Vancouver, 12 Sun Songs is just the right dose of sunshine we need.

Cranfield and Slade’s 12 Sun Songs is available in the Or Bookstore!

12” Vinyl Record

$20

#Cranfield and Slade #vinyl record #Vinyl #Bookstore #Or Bookstore #12 Sun Songs (2009)#kathy slade #brady cranfield #Review #Vancouver #70s #nostalgic #nostalgia #cover album #retrostyle #retro

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missrainbowpie · 6 years

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Vienna in Wintertime

Summary: Sanctuary fanfiction. Harry Potter AU. Headmistress Helen Magnus and Professor Nikola Tesla share a belated Christmas celebration together.

A/N: Merry belated Christmas, @viennainspringtime!! SURPRISE! You're my best friend, so I wish I could have given you the epic 100,000 word slowburn AU you deserve, but alas I'm a vidder at heart, so this is the best I can do lol. Love you!!

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13224429

Hogwarts Headmistress Helen Magnus sat in a plush armchair in her study, a cup of Black Canadian Iced Wine Tea Elixir (Nikola's latest potion) warming her palms, when Professor Nikola Tesla himself bounded up the spiral staircase and stumbled to a stop before her, his hair perfectly ruffled.

“You're back!” he said. Then he crossed his arms over his suit, his face transforming into the pathetic look of baby mandrake root. “Why didn't you tell me you were back?”

She took a sip of her tea, grimacing at the taste. Perhaps it was an acquired taste like the man standing before her. “I regret telling you the passcode to my office,” she muttered.

“How long have you been back?” Nikola persisted.

“An hour. You and Henry were engaged in a rather important conversation concerning the original Star Wars trilogy and how much better life would be if Carrie Fisher was a witch. I didn't want to interrupt.”

“Oh my dear, sweet Helen, when will you learn that you're the only truly important thing in this stuffy old castle?”

A slight blush creeped over her cheeks at his words, much to her annoyance.

“But no matter,” he said, grinning. He bent at the waist and leaned over her, placing a hand on either side of her armchair, trapping her. “You're here now, so let's go.”

“Where?”

“You'll see. No time to waste!”

“Nikola, I'd rather not. Can it wait? I'm quite busy with...” She looked around the room trying to find a more specific excuse, but found none.

“Oh yes, I can see that your tea desperately requires your attention. Of course, my mistake. I'd never dream of tearing you away from this incredibly urgent tea emergency.” He gave her his best puppy dog eyes. “Come with me? Please? I promise you'll like it.”

“Fine, I'll come. But only if you stop batting your eyelashes.”

He stopped. “Splendid!”

He held out his hand, and she took it, letting him pull her out of the chair and lead her down the spiral staircase. He grabbed her green and silver scarf from the hook by the door as they entered the main part of the castle.

“You're going to need this,” he said, wrapping it around her neck. “By the way, how did you like my tea?”

“No comment.”

“No really, what did you think?”

“Honestly... I don't think black tea and wine were meant to mix.”

Nikola glanced down at their still-linked hands as they walked. “I'd say they're mixing well right now.”

Nigel Griffin winked at her from a painting on the wall, then disappeared, turning the painting into a beautiful artistic rendering of a floating Christmas hat.

Helen let go of Nikola's hand before a student saw too. There were already rumors going around about their sordid romantic past; no need to provide fodder for present-day rumors, especially since there was absolutely nothing going on between them now. Absolutely nothing. Just friends, despite Nikola's constant objections. But if she was honest with herself, she was starting to object to their just friends status as well.

He led her in a winding path through the castle, lavish Christmas decorations still up even though the holiday itself was over. Fairy lights floated in the air like actual fairies, evergreen trees stood tall in every corner, dazzling stars on top, and the walls sparkled with enchanted frost. Eventually they stopped in front of the library, and Nikola pointedly looked up with a mischievous grin. He was standing under mistletoe. Again.

She rolled her eyes. “If this is the reason you dragged me halfway across the castle...”

“No, no, but since we're here...”

“No.”

He crossed his arms. “Fine. Then no Christmas gift for you.”

They stood at an impasse for a long moment, neither willing to give in. But eventually her stubbornness gave way to curiosity, and she pecked him on the cheek.

“Was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

She strode past him into the library, the smell of old books bringing back warm memories. He followed her, jogging slightly to get ahead and lead again. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her into the narrow space between two precariously stacked piles of books. “This way!”

After about ten minutes of walking through the infinite library, she was starting to wonder if they would ever get to their destination when he stopped to look at one of the book shelves. He rummaged through the books, his fingertips dancing over the edges, seemingly looking for one in particular. “Aha!” he exclaimed, finding what he was looking for. He tapped the spine of a vintage copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them with his wand, and suddenly the entire wall of books shifted backwards to reveal a secret room.

She followed him inside, stunned that there was a hidden room in the castle that she didn't know about. The cloudy sky outside was recreated on the ceiling above, snow just beginning to fall. Circular walls of mahogany extended up so high that she couldn't see the top, and they were completely covered in ancient books. A large book laid open on a pedestal in the center of the room, framed by a spotlight shining down on its displayed pages.

Nikola stepped up to the pedestal and waved his hand over the book. “Your Christmas gift,” he said.

She had to admit that it was impressive. Stepping up next to Nikola, she reached out to touch the illustration of a mermaid on the ancient pages.

All of the sudden she felt herself whisked away through the air traveling at breakneck speeds, wind rushing through her hair. Then she opened her eyes and found herself in an ethereal sunlit forest on the edge of a frozen lake. She let out a startled breath, which she could see in the cold air. A layer of pristine snow covered the ground, and icicles hung from the branches, charmed to look like strings of origami cranes. Snow finches chirped their songs in the trees above. The frozen lake reflected blue sky and snow-capped mountains in a mirror image. It was a breathtaking sight.

“Where are we?” she asked, turning to face Nikola who was still holding the portkey while straightening his suit.

“Just outside Vienna. That's Schneeberg over there.” He pointed to a tall mountain in the distance, partially obscured by wispy clouds.

“Snow Mountain... This is lovely, thank you.”

He beamed. “Shall we sit?” He gestured to a cozy picnic he had set up in the shade.

They sat down on the blue and bronze pillows underneath falling enchanted snow. A bubble of warmth surrounded them, as if they were sitting in front of a fire, but the snow and ice didn't melt. He handed her a stem glass, pulling a bottle of wine from an ice bucket with a flourish. Popping the cork, he poured her an exceptionally large glass before doing the same for himself.

“Merry belated Christmas, Helen.”

“Happy belated Christmas, Nikola.”

“God, you're so English...” He said in a breathy laugh.

They clinked their crystal glasses together and each took a sip. Crisp notes of black cherry and plum hit her tongue, contrasting with smooth hints of anise and vanilla. A sigh escaped her lips as the first taste spread relaxation through her body. Much better than having tea alone in her office.

“This cabernet is excellent. Where's it from?” she asked.

“Only the best for you,” he said, deftly avoiding the question. He fiddled with a tassel on one of the pillows, untangling it.

She narrowed her eyes and held her glass up to the sunlight, a faint rainbow forming within it. “This is from my wine cellar, isn't it?”

Nikola huffed. “Okay, yes, it is. But you have the best wine selection in the world. Why do you think I agreed to give up my extravagant life of adventure and spell invention for a drab professorship at Hogwarts?”

“Oh I don't know, I thought maybe our lifelong friendship had something to do with it.” She saw a glimmer of sadness in his eyes when she said the word 'friendship,' but he covered it quickly.

“Well... You may have been part of the reason I stayed.” He looked into her eyes for a beat longer than a friend would have. “A small part.”

The butterflies in her heart told her that she was the only reason he stayed. “But the wine is the main reason,” she said.

A toothy grin spread across his face. “Of course.”

“Well consider the wine cellar my Christmas gift to you. I'd hate to lose my best professor.”

“Really? Then my first decree as the new Hogwarts wine sommelier is to fire the Big Guy. You know he wouldn't let me in while you were gone? I had to bribe a ghost and bewitch a pair of candlesticks and sneak in through the catacombs at two in the morning. The nerve of him! The audacity! The injust--”

“Nikola.” She stilled him, resting her hand on his forearm. “You are not firing my butler.”

He pouted.

“But I will talk with him. From now on, you're in charge of the wine cellar and all its contents. It's the least I can do considering I didn't have a chance to get you a proper gift this year.” She knew he didn't mind, but she still felt a bit guilty.

“Speaking of proper gifts...” He pulled out a red, velvet jewelry box from his inside jacket pocket and set it on the blanket between them. Some falling enchanted snowflakes landed on the velvet like a dusting of powdered sugar then disappeared.

Now she felt even more guilty. He always did Christmas up big, showering her in expensive, thoughtful gifts. She, on the other hand, never remembered until mistletoe showed up in every room of the castle overnight. Nikola always swore it was just some kids playing a prank, but she knew better. Somehow he was always standing directly beneath mistletoe around the holidays. No matter where he was, mistletoe was guaranteed to be above him and a smirk was guaranteed to be on his face. The same face that was staring at her expectantly right now.

She picked up the velvet box and flipped open the lid. Inside, a gorgeous pendant necklace rested on a black satin pillow. A circle of silver looped around an emerald gemstone at the center, a spellbound white flame burning within the crystalline structure. It appeared to be an ancient relic from their days spent exploring the ruins of a magical Celtic city back in the early 1900s.

Nikola gently pulled the scarf from her neck, and it fluttered to a heap on the pillows beside them. “Try it on,” he said, taking the box from her hands and removing the necklace.

She turned around and pulled her chestnut curls to one side as he fastened the clasp behind her neck. His cold fingerprints left a trail on her skin that sent a shiver down her spine. Leaning in close, his lips almost touched her ear. “You're even more stunning than usual,” he murmured, his words grazing her neck, lingering hands running through her long hair, putting it back in place.

She instinctively leaned into his touch, enjoying the familiar feeling of his cold, vampiric hands. But she only indulged herself for a moment before straightening up and turning around. “Thank you, Nikola.” She touched the pendant with a light graze of her fingertips. “It's beautiful.”

“You're most welcome,” he said, looping her scarf back around her neck. He left it open in the front so the pendant was still visible. “And now it's time for the show!”

He jumped up from their picnic in the snow and ran approximately fifteen feet to the shore of the frozen lake, then he twirled around, brandishing his wand. “Are you ready for the main event?” he called, punctuating every word with a grand hand gesture.

She held in a chuckle. “Stop grandstanding and get on with it!” she called back, fixing him with her best stern look.

He looked down at the ground, muttering to himself. “Such a spoilsport, honestly...”

She rolled her eyes, making sure to exaggerate the motion enough so he could see it.

“Fine,” he whined. He spun back around to face the vast expanse of ice. Aiming his wand at the flurries blowing across the surface, he yelled, “Dance, my pretties! Dance!” His voice echoed across the ice, then the flurries began to form into shapes. They were vague at first, but eventually the snow particles formed into dozens of ballet dancers, the beginning sunset creating red and orange sparkles in their pirouettes.

Nikola dusted off his hands and walked back up the incline to her, a satisfied smirk on his face. When he plopped back down on the pillows beside her, he pulled out a cassette player and tapped his wand to the large plastic play button, pushing it with a click. Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker Suite began to filter through the leaves of the forest, the notes as clear as if the orchestra were playing right in front of them.

She raised her eyebrows. “A cassette player? Really?”

“Well iPods are a stupid Muggle invention, and I'm not going to use Edison's phonograph, the prideful windcatcher.”

“First of all, cassette players are also a stupid Muggle invention. Second... What the hell is a 'prideful windcatcher'? I mean, it is an accurate description, but still.” She snickered, always getting a good laugh from his colorful descriptions of Edison. “And third, the man's been dead for eighty years, and he, too, was a Muggle. Don't you think it's time you got over it?” She playfully nudged him with her elbow. “'Tis the season of forgiveness.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “No-- Just-- Leave me and my eternal grudge in peace. Can we please just watch these masterful snowflake dancers perform The Nutcracker, and then cuddle for warmth? It's very cold being a vampire, you know.” He waggled his eyebrows.

She smiled, but said nothing, settling back into the pillows to watch the show. She sipped at her wine as the flurry dancers floated over the ice. As the warmth of the alcohol spread through her, she thought about her close call with death on Christmas Day. A thunder of Peruvian Vipertooth dragons had gotten loose in a small Muggle village, and she had been called in to help given her extensive background in magizoology. One of the dragons had shot a fireball mere inches from her head. The force of it had knocked her to the rocky ground, where the claw of another dragon would have impaled her had she not rolled away at the last second. It had gotten so close that it snagged the fabric of her jacket, ripping it to shreds. She could still feel the bruises on her skin from the ordeal, though the wine was dimming the pain. But she didn't mind the pain; it reminded her that she saved almost a dozen majestic dragons from being killed by terrified Muggles. She and her team used a memory charm on the Muggles, then relocated the creatures to an uninhabited area of the Andes.

But despite the success of the mission, she had realized something that day: she might have an endless lifespan, but she could still be killed by an errant Peruvian Vipertooth dragon claw. That fact hadn't particularly bothered her before, but now she had a life waiting for her back at Hogwarts. Someone waiting for her back at Hogwarts. So why was she holding back from him?

Nikola reached across her to grab the bottle of wine, then topped off their glasses. Settling back down, he crossed his legs at the ankles, the new position causing their legs to touch. She didn't move away, an electrifying tingle shooting over her skin at the point of contact. Even at her age, there was still something special about the feeling of accidentally touching then purposely staying that way, wondering if the other person felt the same sparks. She suspected he did. In fact, it was more than likely that he was creating the sparks. They felt a bit more... real. As did their entire relationship these days.

She and Nikola had been dancing around each other for months, ever since Hogwarts had reopened in September. When Hogwarts was under attack by Voldemort's forces almost a year ago, they had shared a passionate kiss just before their bloody plan went to hell. They had a complicated romantic history, but this kiss had meant something more – they both knew it. There had been no time to fully deal with the ramifications though because she faked her death and blew up the castle a mere five minutes later.

Chaos reigned for months as the castle was rebuilt. He hadn't even known she was still alive until she finally caught up to him in Napa Valley, drinking his sorrows away. So overjoyed at seeing her alive again, he immediately agreed to come back to Hogwarts, provided his office was rebuilt to be twice the size, of course. And here they were.

Things were just now getting back to normal, and while they always bantered and flirted, this felt different, like it might actually lead somewhere beyond words. She hadn't felt that thrill in a long time. In the past, Nikola had been her friend, her colleague, her springtime fling, and even her enemy for a time. Now he might be her soulmate. This was uncharted territory for both of them, even if they had dated for a few months in Vienna over a century ago.

She glanced at Nikola and caught him watching her instead of the performance on the ice. The sun was completely down now, and moonlight shone down on him, illuminating his slight fangs as he smiled at her in an oops you caught me sort of way. Then she caught herself thinking that his fangs were adorable, and she knew what she had to do. No more holding back.

She finished off her second glass of wine. “Thank you for the wonderful evening, Nikola. It's been such a chaotic week that I didn't have the chance to do anything so elaborate for you, but...” She trailed off. This was it. There was no going back now. The beginning of the rest of their eternity. “But I do have something for you that might make up for it.”

His bright blue eyes lit up. “Intriguing! Do tell.”

She tried not to smile at his childlike glee, but failed. “Close your eyes,” she said with a small laugh.

He obediently closed his eyes and sat with his hands in his lap. She took them in her own, and she saw his eyebrows raise slightly at the unexpected touch. Leaning in carefully, she waited for a moment, studying his pure, innocent, utterly dapper face, then closed the rest of the distance and kissed him. The moment their lips touched, his eyes flew open. Then he squeezed her hands and kissed her back. It was gentle, their lips joining together in a delicate pas de deux as the apotheosis of the flurried Nutcracker performance faded to silence on the frozen lake.

They separated slowly, lingering inches from each other. His eyes fluttered open again. They were full of questions.

She spoke in a near whisper. “When you apparated back into my life five years ago, you told me you had always loved me.” It was almost a question, daring him to say it again.

The corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile. “Then you shot a bunch of arrows out of your wand and into my chest. It hurt, but wow it was creative.”

She lifted her gaze from his lips to the deep pools of his eyes and moved a millimeter closer. “I'm not holding my wand now.”

“Damn.” He kept her gaze, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight, reflections of falling snowflakes dancing in his pupils. His thumb ran circles over the inside of her palm. “Helen, my dear, I do love you. Always have, always will,” he said with a shrug, as if it was an obvious fact of life.

Her breath shuddered. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage threatening to leap into her throat. With his admission, her own feelings were suddenly clear as day. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, which gave her the courage she needed. “I love you too, Nikola,” she confessed. “I can't say that I always have, but I can say with certainty that I always will.”

She leaned in to close the distance between them once more, but he released her hands and moved back, swishing his dragon heartstring wand at her.

She laughed. “Afraid I'll shoot you with arrows again?”

“Ooh promise?” He winked, then aimed his wand at a snow-covered branch above them. A string of heart-shaped icicles hung from it reflecting the silver moonbeams from above. He flicked his wand. “Viscum album.” Vines of mistletoe shot from the end of his wand and attached themselves to the branch, wrapping around in a candy-cane spiral. He smiled. “Perfect.”

Then before she could respond, he looped his arm around the small of her back and pulled her to him in a rush, crashing his lips against her own. She opened her mouth to him, tasting the black cherry and vanilla on his tongue, and they fell backwards onto the pillows, enchanted snowflakes falling off of them in disappearing waves.

His slight fangs dug into her bottom lip with a delicious pressure. She could feel his chilled hands running up her bare back beneath her sweater, and she fumbled with the buttons of his vest. Pulling away for a breath, she rested her hands on his chest.

The wind carried the faint tinkle of bells from St. Stephens Cathedral chiming at midnight as fireworks erupted in the far off distance. She hadn't realized it was the 31st of December.

He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Happy New Year, Helen.”

She kissed him softly, whispering against his lips. “Happy New Year, Nikola.”

He grinned up at her. “Care to join me in a reenactment of the last time we were in Vienna?”

“January's a bit early for a proper reenactment, isn't it?” she said, letting her hand flow through the enchanted snow.

He shifted beneath her to pick up his wand and flicked it at the snow-covered ground in front of them. Leafy green stems emerged from beneath the snow and grew into a moonlit field of large yellow sunflowers waving in the breeze.

“There,” he hummed. “Vienna in springtime.”

#Teslen fic #Teslen #Helen x Nikola #Sanctuary #Harry Potter #Helen Magnus #Nikola Tesla #viennainspringtime #HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!!!! <3333

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joyfullynervouscreator · 7 years

Text

Growth

Part of ‘Motorcycle Club’!

Strength - Original imagine for @hiccuplovver

School’s Out & Lazy Sunday

word count 2729

Dwalin was being distant – had been for weeks, actually, ever since you got back from your teaching seminar – and you were tired of it, tired of him hiding out at the garage; leaving early and coming home late, too tired to do much more than peck your cheek and head to bed. You were worried. Not just for him, for yourself too, now, staring at the friendly face on the other side of the table.

“I need to speak with my husband,” you croaked, barely hearing the ‘Of course, I understand, Mrs. Fundinul, have a good day.’ chirped at your back.

Driving out to the garage required all your attention. Half-way hysterically, you wondered what Balin would say if you got arrested for reckless driving. Dwalin’s brother was a lawyer, and his quick wit had saved the Club from more than one legal kerfuffle.

Walking into the shop, you saw only Thorin, who looked up at you with a strained smile.

“Look, I don’t know everything that’s going on between you but…” he said, grabbing your arm as you made to pass. The pained voice made you stop, looking up at the man who was closer than a brother to your husband. Thorin’s dark blue eyes were hooded. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it, shaking his head, something like sadness in his eyes. “Just… he’s a good man,” he said, lamely, scowling at himself more than you as he let go, nearly fleeing outside into the light drizzle. Your puzzlement didn’t last long, overpowered by the loud clamour of your thoughts returning.

“Dwalin?” you asked, wincing when the sound startled him, hearing his curse as he banged his head against the underside of the car he was working on. Sliding out from underneath the vehicle, he looked up at you with something like apprehension, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but with you.

“What’s ye doin here, then?” he asked, his voice gruff. You noticed the lack of his customary endearment, and in your heightened emotional state it was enough to make you burst into tears, sobbing loudly into your hands. Dwalin panicked. “No, please, lass, you know I don’t like it when ye cry,” he babbled, running his hands up and down your arms, trying to soothe you. “Please, amrâlimê,” he pleaded, but you didn’t hear the ancient word, only felt the way he wasn’t wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight and safe. You cried harder. Dwalin cursed. You vaguely heard the sound of fabric tearing and then his strong arms were wrapped around you, pressing your trembling body against his broad hairy chest. “Please, elskling, stop crying,” he murmured, pressing his face into your hair. Feeling marginally comforted, you hiccupped against his skin, but continued to weep. “Stop crying and tell me,” he ordered, though his voice was soft, strained somehow.

“I took a pregnancy test,” you sobbed, burrowing against his warmth.

“I know,” he whispered, and the devastation in his voice made you look up. He knew? And he wasn’t happy. You stared at him, tears spilling down your cheeks. Dwalin looked close to crying himself. “Please, elskling, I need… even if it’s not true,” he took a deep breath, while you stared at him, utterly confused, “please don’t tell me you decided to have an abortion.” At first, his words didn’t even register through your shock. Dwalin began babbling again. “I know you always said the school was more than enough children, you never wanted to have your own, and I never really cared, I know, but…” As you watched, Dwalin seemed to crumble before your eyes. “I just… please…” You could count the times the great Dwalin Fundinul had begged for anything on your hand – he was not so proud as Thorin, but pride definitely ran deep in the clan of Durin, you’d learned – but Dwalin was begging now. “Please don’t tell me you want to kill our baby…”

Dwalin’s words finally registered, making your eyes widen in shock. “You… you want to have children?” you asked with a sniffle, feeling small and insecure. Your hand unconsciously went to your stomach, staring at Dwalin as you bit your lip.

“I never thought I did,” he admitted, “but… aye… I do.” You couldn’t hold back the tears that began rolling down your face. Dwalin looked chagrined. “I’m sorry!” he cried, picking you up and hugging you even tighter this time. It hadn’t been an easy realisation.

10 days earlier:

“I think Anna’s pregnant,” Dwalin said, staring at the fire in their small camp. Thorin startled; neither of them had said a word since Fíli and Kíli had been put to bed, hours ago.

“Congratulations,” he said, when he found his voice, picking up a stick and poking the fire awkwardly.

“We’ve never wanted children,” Dwalin admitted. “I don’t know if…” Thorin hummed.

“I think you’d be a good father,” he said, decisively. Dwalin reared back as though struck, staring at him.

“Thorin!” he exclaimed.

“What?” Thorin smirked. “Dís said so just last week, watching you teach Fíli about tying knots.” The words made a small ball of warmth appear in Dwalin’s gut, as proud embarrassment coloured his ears. “What did Anna say?” Thorin continued. The ball of warm goo was replaced with icy lead in an instant.

“She didn’t tell me,” he admitted. “I found the test wrapper in the bathroom trashcan, but not the test itself, last weekend when she went to that teachers’ seminar.”

“That’s why you’ve been walking around like a moody bear all week?” Thorin asked, glad to have a reason for Dwalin’s odd mood at last. He’d been half worried that they were having actual problems, considering saying anything even remotely related to the topic of Dwalin’s wife had been a sure way to get his head bitten off. It was the impetus behind this weekend’s camping trip in fact – as well as getting in his sister’s good books by taking the two hellions off her hands and tiring them out in the forest. Dwalin grumbled something monosyllabic; a sound Thorin had always just called ‘The Scottish noise’ which was a versatile communication tool – capable of expressing anything from incredulity over boredom to joy or anger. He had tried to copy it – his grandfather’s people were from Scotland – but he’d never managed. Dwalin had the unfair advantage of being the son of a Scotswoman, of course, who had fallen in love with his father when she was on holiday, while his own mother was Canadian.

“I don’t know what to do, Thorin,” Dwalin admitted, shocking his cousin. Dwalin was never uncertain about anything, look how he’d gone after Anna in the first place, after all, getting her to move halfway across the globe to marry him.

“You don’t know?” Thorin asked dumbly. “Don’t know if you want the child?”

“I don’t know anything!” Dwalin roared, losing his temper. “I don’t even know if there IS a child!” Throwing his stick into the fire, he paced around the small clearing. “Anna said nothing about it when she got back, and I’ve been too much of a coward to bloody ask her!” Thorin gaped. Coward was another word which Dwalin embodied the antonym for; the man was a decorated war hero, for crying out loud, with the medals and scars to prove it. “And if there IS a child, and Anna doesn’t,” he paused, swallowing heavily, “doesn’t want it… what then? I’m scared to find out whether I want it… I don’t want to lose my wife, Thorin, my Anna.”

“Well, then you do know one thing,” Thorin said, trying for levity and falling short. “Look, did you never talk about the possibility?” he wondered, remembering the debacle about birth control a few years back. Anna had not been on the pill when they married, having had very little experience before Dwalin, and having bad experiences with the drug in the past. After four months of a lethargic and disinterested wife, Dwalin had nearly begged her to get off the pill again, feeling that getting anything was preferable to a moody nothing – even if that meant condoms purchased in bulk. Thorin had laughed at the predicament at the time, though he had not enjoyed working beside Dwalin for the four months it took his brother-in-all-but-blood to realise – something that required an intervention by Dís armed with a bunch of statistics as well as a far too teary and whisky-soaked conversation that Thorin had done his utmost to forget afterwards – that it was the pills that had killed his vixen’s drive, not some elaborate punishment she had devised for something he’d done without knowing.

“Not as such,” Dwalin frowned, slumping down on the log next to Thorin. “Anna always claimed she had enough children in her life, with the school and playing aunt for Dís’ two rascals.” Thorin nodded slowly. Dwalin blushed slightly. “The way she said it though, I kinda always assumed she thought she couldn’t, ye ken.”

“And you’ve never cared,” Thorin replied, knowing the truth of that. Before he met Anna, Dwalin had pretty much only cared about his bike, Thorin, Balin, and Dís, along with Fíli, who was little more than a toddler at the time. Dwalin shook his head.

“Still don’t know that I do,” he said softly, “but the idea of watching her… watching my Anna, round with my child… there’s something about that image that won’t let me go.”

“And the idea of a child…?” Thorin probed. “A small face with your eyes and Anna’s nose, maybe,” he could picture it, actually, and the sappy smile on Dwalin’s face told him he was picturing it too. “Hopefully not your nose… at least if it’s a girl,” Thorin teased, startling a laugh from his companion. An owl screeched somewhere in the woods.

“Aye,” Dwalin said, when the fire had burned down to nothing but a few stray embers. “I think I’d like to have a child. With Anna’s nose.” Thorin just nodded, relieved that this conversation had not involved enough whiskey to kill lesser men nor a teary-eyed Dwalin wondering if he was so bad at sex his new wife would divorce him. All in all, a weekend with his nephews in the woods was better for both of them physically – and mentally, Thorin ruefully admitted, still carrying the scars of watching his sister give an in-depth explanation of female anatomy, complete with charts – dragging Dwalin away from the ashes of their fire and pushing him towards the tent.

“You- you want to have a baby with me?” you asked, feeling ten tons lighter all of a sudden. Dwalin had always been indifferent to the idea the few times it had come up in conversation, and though you had watched him with his pseudo-nephews, he’d never expressed real desire to be a father – much like you’d never truly wanted to be a mother. Being the mother of Dwalin’s child, however… you felt like crying all over again when he nodded, kissing your forehead as he put you back on the floor.

“Aye, amrâlimê, I do,” he said, hoarsely. For the first time, you noticed the tired circles beneath his eyes, the strain he couldn’t quite hide when you were this close. You cupped his face, kissing him gently.

“Dwalin, I’m pregnant,” you whispered, the smile breaking through your resurgent tears. “You’re going to be a father.”

“Anna,” he whispered, suffusing your name with so much love it broke your heart. “Tell me again that you want to keep my child.” His hand had slid down, closing around yours and pressing against your abdomen lightly, even if there was nothing much to feel at all; hardly even a bump yet. “Tell me.”

“Our child,” you whispered, pulling your hand away so his rested against your soon-to-be-growing belly. “Our child is in there, my love.” You weren’t surprised when you felt his arm wrap around your back, though you had not expected him to fall to his knees, burying his face against your middle and the outright sobbing nearly scared you. Humming softly, you scratched your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, stroking the shiny dome with its intricate ink gently. Dwalin’s sobs abated, giving way to tiny kisses all over your stomach, his beard tickling through your shirt. Feeling buoyed by his positive reaction, you reached into your bag, pulling out a small piece of paper. There was little enough to see, but you’d needed proof, somehow, and the technician had been kind enough to circle the small blobs you needed to show him. Stuffing the paper underneath his palm, you waited for his reaction.

“What’s this?” Dwalin asked, staring confusedly at the small black-and-white printout. The blue ink from the technician’s pen did not seem to make sense to him.

“This is the reason I hope your cousins will be willing to help us redo the spare room as a nursery,” you whispered. “This is the first picture of our children.”

“…” Dwalin stared up at you for a few seconds, his eyes wide. “THORIN!!” he bellowed. You jumped, which instantly made Dwalin look contrite, rising from his position with one last bristly kiss on your belly to claim your lips in a blazing kiss, his hand rubbing lightly across your abdomen, the picture clenched tightly in his fist.

“Aye?” Thorin asked, popping his head through the door – apparently, he had returned once you’d disappeared into the garage. Dwalin grinned.

“Come see what my Anna brought me,” he crowed, holding out the printout. You grinned.

“Ah, a whatsit… sonogram!” Thorin replied, proud that he’d remembered the term. You laughed, joy filling your veins with bubbles as Dwalin picked you up and spun you around, reclaiming your lips once more. “Congratulations, both of you,” he smiled, clapping Dwalin on the shoulder. His eyes returned to studying the small picture. “Err, what’s the markings?”

“Twins,” Dwalin exclaimed, kissing you breathless. “We’re having twins.” Thorin sat down heavily, staring from the picture to you to the picture a few times, lost for words. “You’re going to be an Uncle to my twins!” Dwalin laughed

“I’m still hoping for girls… with Anna’s nose,” Thorin remarked faintly. You chuckled, kissing Dwalin’s nose and making it twitch – much like another protrusion currently digging into your belly, in fact.

“Nothing’s wrong with Dwalin’s nose,” you said. Thorin laughed. Digging in one of the toolboxes, he uncovered a magnet, tacking the sonogram picture to the notice board.

“It’s a fine nose… on Dwalin.” With a wink, Thorin turned back to you, kissing your forehead. “Congratulations, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Now take Dwalin away and make sure he gets some sleep tonight. He’s been a mess for weeks!” Looking up at your powerfully built husband, you knew Thorin was right; even if Dwalin’s smile was currently as powerful as the sun, he looked tired.

“I’ll take good care of him,” you promised. “He’s only got 6 more months to stockpile sleep, after all.” With a wink at Thorin, who chuckled good-naturedly, you dragged Dwalin out of the garage. He shivered lightly.

“Let me get my jacket, woman,” he grumbled, but the smile never left his face.

“Why are you half-naked?” you wondered, enjoying the view as he rooted through his locker, looking for a shirt but finding only his leather jacket.

“Engine grease on my shirt,” he said sheepishly. “I wasn’t about to hug you like that.” He gestured to your white shirt, “Though perhaps it was a waste,” he sighed. “I didn’t think about wiping off my hands,” he continued guiltily, while you stared at the large black smudges that marred your white shirt.

“I just bought this last month!” you complained, glaring at him half-heartedly.

“I’ll buy you another,” he promised, sealing it with a kiss. “Now let’s go home and I’ll try to make up for ruining your shirt.” Wrapping his arms around you, he kissed your temple. “Perhaps you should just take it off,” he suggested, fingering the top button. You felt your nipples perk up against the fabric of your bra. Smirking lasciviously, he licked his lips. You suddenly had a very good idea of what was going through his mind. “I wonder if you taste differently now,” he whispered, stealing your mouth and pressing his erection against your hip.

#Dwalin/reader #dwalin #reader #imagine #hobbitimagine #reader-insert #Motorcycle Club #imaginexhobbit #hobbit imagine

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