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thefrogdalorian · 2 months

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Sanctuary

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: It's one of those days when your emotions threaten to overwhelm you. Despite the horrible day you're having, you try your best to keep it together. A feat you manage, until a certain Mandalorian arrives home and takes you into his arms. Word Count: 1.2k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: Descriptions of anxiety/panic attack ✯ Author's Note: Seeing these gifs the other day broke something in my brain and this little fic was the result. I hope this gets you through a day when you really need a hug from Din Djarin 💕 ✯ My Masterlist ✯

On the days when your stomach churned and you were too upset to vocalise the war that waged within yourself, you were grateful to have someone in your life who seemed to know exactly what you needed. There was no doubt that Din understood you better than you understood yourself. It was unsurprising, given how meticulous and attentive he was in everything he turned his hand to.

You had been in each other's lives for some time, yet you still found yourself pleasantly surprised each time he shared such care towards you. You never doubted Din's kind heart once you got to know him, but you were nonetheless astonished by the multitudes he contained. It was astounding how tender and caring the man, who had gained such a fearsome reputation throughout the galaxy as a ruthless bounty hunter, actually was beneath his cold, hard beskar.

It was early in the morning when Din had left through the door and your stomach tied itself into knots as you heard his heavy footprints gradually fade into the distance. The sound indicated that you were now alone with your thoughts. Throughout the day, you had pushed your emotions to the deepest depths inside yourself. You had been trying to kid yourself, in his absence, that you could survive the day without breaking down. You told yourself over and over that if you could just make it until Din returned and then put on a brave face when he walked through the door, you would have survived the day without dissolving into pieces. The last thing you wanted was for Din to see how upset you were. The fear that you were weighing him down with your troubles or somehow holding him back from achieving greater things was omnipresent. Even though he had never given you a reason to fear such a thing, you were constantly terrified of being seen as a burden to him.

The familiar heavy footsteps grew louder; their rhythmic, even quality indicated they could belong to only one man. You took a deep breath and attempted to steady your racing heart, preparing yourself to keep it together upon Din's return.

The second you saw his figure in the doorway, you knew it was a lost cause. At the sight of the familiar outline of beskar shining in the entryway, you immediately knew that there was no way that you would be able to maintain your composure. You stood up immediately, rising off the chair you had been sitting on as you waited for him, to greet the man who owned your heart entirely. Instead of racing towards him as usual, you found yourself suddenly overcome with apprehension. Your steps faltered with uncertainty as you walked towards him on shaky legs, feeling your ability to stay strong evaporate just from laying eyes upon him.

Din held his arms out to you without hesitation, beckoning you to come close to him.

“Come here, cyare,” Din whispered as you stepped into his orbit, his voice gravelly, “Let me hold you.”

As you closed the distance between you and Din to rest your head in the crook of his neck, you caught a glimpse of his mudhorn pauldron, glinting despite the low light of the cabin. Despite how terrible you felt, the ghost of a smile passed across your lips as you noticed the signet was so distinctively Din. Stepping into his arms felt like you were returning to safety. To your home.

You rested your head in the crook of his neck and nuzzled into his rough cowl, enjoying his familiar scent. It was musky and masculine, but not overbearing. You detected a faint hint of perspiration mixed with the floral scent you knew lingered on his skin thanks to the bottle of liquid he lathered across his tan skin in the 'fresher each morning. Din’s chestplate was firm against your body. Initially, you recoiled at the slight chill from the beskar, discernible even through your layers of clothing. Once you had adjusted to the temperature and new sensation, though, you felt nothing but warmth when you were in his arms.

As Din held you close and his hands rubbed comforting circles into your back with one strong arm holding you tightly around the waist, you appreciated the way your bodies fit together. It was as you were admiring how you seemed to be made for each other that you noticed how Din had wrapped his cape around your shoulders to further cocoon you into him. As though he was protecting you from all of the hurt that lingered outside of the sanctuary of his arms. From whatever was troubling you. There was no intense questioning, no expectations for answers. Only safety, love and understanding from a man who wanted to help you through your very worst days.

Something about nuzzling into Din’s neck and the care he had taken to raise your spirits rendered you speechless. You were overcome with emotion, powerless to stop the tears which started falling down your cheeks. At first, it was a solitary droplet, but then you couldn’t help yourself as more and more tears slipped from your eyes.

At the first sound of your sniffles, Din pulled away from you. You felt your stomach drop in panic, momentarily afraid that you had upset him somehow. You looked up at him and felt the embarrassment settle somewhere low in your stomach, a physical symptom of the mortification you felt at your outburst. Then came the shame. You were dismayed that you had lost control of your emotions in such a way. Evidence of your loss of composure was evident in the reflection of your face in his helmet. You watched as your expression grew increasingly more distraught and felt your chest heaving as the panic rose within you, upset at your emotional state.

Fortunately, Din was nothing but understanding and caring. Before your thoughts could spiral anywhere darker, he began to use his soft leather gloves against your cheeks to dry the tears that were burning hot trails down your skin. It distracted you from your anguish, his tender touch providing instant comfort.

You relished the contact and melted into his embrace. Between his hand that lingered on your cheek, while the other rubbed your back and ensured his cape still swaddled you, your mood was instantly calmer. Din brought you back into his shoulder and returned his hands to your back, rubbing up and down as he held you close. You wrapped your arms around his waist, relishing the small contact you gained with the warmth of his flesh between the hard plates of his beskar. You stayed like that for a few more minutes, feeling your anguish dissipate with each second that Din held you.

Eventually, your breathing evened out and returned to a less frantic pace. Sensing that his embrace had had the intended effect on your fragile emotional state, Din pulled away once again and brought his hands to cup your jaw gently.

“How are you feeling now?” he rasped as he stroked your cheeks with his gloved thumbs.

“Being in your arms always makes me feel better,” you smiled.

“I’d hold you for the rest of my days if you only asked me to, cyare,” Din vowed with a nod of his helmet.

You smiled then, enjoying the way your face lit up with a smile and how your eyes had regained their sparkle thanks to the tight embrace of your attentive Mandalorian; your sanctuary.

#din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #din djarin fluff #my fics #maybe i cried when i finished this (had a bad meltdown tonight lol and i truly need a certain mandalorian to wrap me up in his cape)#also thats my gif in my delulu brain that moment really looks like he's opening his arms to you for a hug HEH

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ibrithir-was-here · 27 days

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Blood of My Blood: Bouquet

The kids have come ashore for a bit on their winding journey to draw Dracula off, still not sure where they’ll end up, but knowing they’re going together

#my art #blood of my blood #we’ll see if we can wrap this up before Dracula Daily starts again #a last little bit of calm before the storm #quincey harker #Lu holmwood #dracula #dracula fanfiction #also thanks to See Arcane for the bouquet idea!

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euphoric-dramione · 18 days

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February Dramione fanfic wrap-up *with links*

Contradictions by ambpersand: very smutty bdsm which didn’t need to be that long but we simply needed to know every dingle fucking thought that went through hermione’s head.

Meet Your Match by morriganmercy: cute smutty dating romance.

Broom Thighs and Hoodie Highs by megiswritingsomething: hot smutty fic with thigh-and-hoodie obsessed hermione and quidditch player draco.

ONE-SHOTS:

STFUATTDLAGG (bdsm) - RangersBabe13

Wanted (hermione/draco/blaise) - miaxxx

March Dramione wrap-up *with links*

The Library of Alexandria by senlinyu: being sexy in the library is the new black. sexy dark academia? erotic dark academia?

Slytherin Toy by moonshine55glitter: this unfortunately is unfinished, but also very dark where hermione is raped by basically raped by every single slytherin for an extended period of time, i wouldn't recommend it per se, but some people like fis like this one, i do too, so here it is.

ONE-SHOTS:

A Muggleborn’s Guide to Bagging a Pureblood - ravengoldy

Tit for Tat - charing fae (tit fetish?)

Hands Around Your Throat - mrsren (cnc, reread)

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #booktok #fanfic #books #fanfiction #ao3 #wrap up

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dewitty1 · 4 months

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Fic Recs Wrap Up December 2023 ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚･*:.｡.♡⑅୨୧̩̩̩̥✼• .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

All Things Go by iota @sorrybutblog

Draco’s back at Hogwarts by court order. Harry’s back for no particular reason at all. Some things change, some stay the same. Neither expects to spend eighth-year living in close quarters, playing rugby (poorly), staying up late, sneaking around, and finally figuring it all out. Rec Post

The Inconvenient Death(s) of Harry Potter by nv-md (ANW815) @nv-md

Harry and Draco have spent the decade since the War avoiding each other, even as they’re forced to work together at the Ministry and their friend groups begin to alarmingly overlap. But what happens when Harry meets a tragic end (in a manner of speaking) and Draco’s the only one who can save him? Or Harry won’t stop dying, Draco’s had too much coffee, and there’s more than enough time for them to make a mess of each other’s lives. Rec Post

Constellations on your skin by shushu_yaoi_lj @orange-peony

“I’m going to get my scars removed,” Draco announces on a rainy Wednesday afternoon. “Who are you seeing?” Blaise asks. “The best Healer out there,” Draco replies with a little shrug. “Harry Potter.” Rec Post

and the world is tumbling down by thewakeless @thewakeless

Draco is thirty-five and content. He’s a writer, a painter, and has built a life for himself totally separate from the one he envisioned as a sullen, fearful boy at Hogwarts. Everything is calm—until his house begins trying to kill him. Rec Post

The Cursed Manor by AhaMarimbas @mars-bar81

Ophelia’s been a paranormal investigator for almost ten years, and she’s starting to run out of haunted and cursed sites to explore. When her eclectic roommate and assistant reveals that he owns a large, cursed Manor, Ophelia finds a lot more than just a new career opportunity. Rec Post

The Unknown Door by waterwings @amywaterwings

There is something wrong with the Bellcrest. The heart of the place beats rotten. Everyone says so. Where Draco is a magical property manager, Harry is a recluse, and they’re definitely not hiding from their problems in the run-down flats of the Bellcrest. Not at all. Not one bit. Rec Post

Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm by flightinflame @flightinflame

Eighth-year offers Draco a brief respite before he returns to Azkaban. With a restricted wand, and memories of a girl who shouldn’t exist, he has very little hope for the future. But when Harry brings Teddy into the school, and proves to be utterly clueless, things change beyond anything he could imagine. Rec Post

Historians by oknowkiss @oknowkiss

It’s the Dumbledore’s Army Reunion Holiday, and Harry’s found himself in hot water with his friends once again, after telling them he has a boyfriend he definitely does not have. In an attempt to fix things, he’s made it his colleague on Level Nine, Draco Malfoy’s problem too. Featuring a ski chalet in Switzerland, a pair of bunk beds, and an agreement that should’ve been simple, were it not for all the bloody feelings getting in the way. Rec Post

Here are a few more fics I've read recently that y'all might like to check out as well!(ノﾟ∀ﾟ)ノ━☆ﾟ･*:.｡. .｡.:*･.*･｡ﾟ*:・ﾟ✧

Draco's First Holiday by Meowfoy @resilientkitteh

Draco catches Blaise cheating, breaks up with him and decides to leave his French Villa behind to swap houses with a woman named Hermione and her husband Ron. His relaxing vacation becomes far more interesting when a handsome stranger (Harry) knocks at his door in the middle of the night. They meet and get to know each other, and suddenly Draco feels much better about his decision to leave France behind for Britain.

Englishman Extraordinaire by BlueSundayCake @bluesundaycake

When Draco's life goes to shit, he gets scammed. Maybe it's for the best. Who doesn't love new beginnings?

Letters by CoffeeDragon87 @coffeedragon87

When Harry Potter turned eleven he received a letter that changed his life forever. When Harry Potter, now a dashingly handsome bachelor, Head of the Auror Department and loving godfather, is thirty-five history repeats itself.

With and Without You by Shewhxmustnxtbenamed @shewhomustnotbenamed

Harry and Draco realize that they’ve been living in the same building for the past five years, hiding from the Wizarding world in Muggle London for a variety of reasons. They grow unexpectedly close and Harry realizes that Draco’s relationship with his boyfriend is abusive, spiraling as he tries and fails to figure out how to help. In Harry’s rejection of the Wizarding world in general, he has fallen out of touch with his friends and his magical abilities, but has to reconnect with both in order to find himself again.

( •ॢ◡-ॢ)-♡ I hope you enjoy these fics as much as I have! Happy reading, y’all & I hope 2024 is good to you! Happy New Year! xoxo Carey (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*💜💙💚💛❤💗��💖

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huunni · 3 months

Note

*throws grenade and hides* *the grenade begins to shake* *it bursts open revealing not a life ending explosion, but a note:*

going out w the girls n getting rlly drunk n u tell them u gotta use the bathroom but instead u go in n call sonny murmuring a soft “miss you daddy… can pick me up please?” as soon as he answers—he was literally waiting by his phone for ur call cus it rings only once… if sonny knows nothing else abt his pretty princess, he knows that the second she tips passed buzzed into drunk, all she wants is her big strong boyfriend’s arms wrapped around her while she hides in his chest

SIGH …. i am ONCE AGAIN… THINKING !!!!

HHHOMYGOSH

and of course, sonny being the best boyfriend ever was already grabbing his coat the second he sees that it's your name on the contact 😭 he reassures you that he's on the way and tells you not to go anywhere and to stay on the phone bc he can tell you're out of it :(( so when he parks and gets out the car, only to see you basically standing asleep, he wraps his arms around you, nd it scared you a bit even though you can smell his cologne.

" 'ts just me, doll. daddy's right here, baby. c'mon. "

(queue sonny taking u home to pamper you until you fall asleep, pressing soft kisses all over your face and making sure to make some good breakfast for you in the morning 😭😭 im so in love with this man omg)

#✰ — wrap up #sonny carisi #x black reader #sonny carisi x y/n #sonny carisi x female reader #sonny carisi x reader #dominick carisi #dominick carisi x reader #law and order x reader #law and order svu x reader #law and order svu fanfiction

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mycryptidisqueererthanyours · 10 months

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[Redacted] Hanahaki AU

Hunched over the sink, [Redacted’s] body trembled as familiar pain blazed through him, before being overwhelmed by familiar nausea. Familiar tears streamed down his face, as he ducked his head and retched. He seized and writhed as he threw up, vomit and blood pooling in the sink, clinging to skin in a way that made him want to claw it off.

‘Angel,’ he croaked, voice reverent almost as if he were in prayer. But they couldn’t hear him here. And, even if they could, what could they do? Hold his hair back? ‘They could love me. They could love me like I love them,’ he whispered to the empty room, with its cold, empty countertops.

After being sick a few more times and finally being reasonably certain that he wasn’t going to be again, they peered into the basin below. Although he already knew what to expect, his doctors always advised him to confirm before doing anything else. Sure enough, hidden amongst his filth, stained white petals shone through.

Despite their beauty, what they symbolised or - rather - who, he couldn’t help but breathe out a pained swear. Almost entire Brugmansia Arborea or angel’s trumpet blooms were coagulated in the sink, baptised in ugly shades of browns and reds. He had tainted them, as he always did.

He reached up to open the mirrored medicine cabinet but his reflection gave him pause. God, he looked like shit, covered in assorted bodily fluids, eyes haggard and hair ill-kept. He needed a shower, badly. He tranced a hand over the scar on his chest, like it could in any way quell the lingering pain. It never did.

Especially with how fully formed the flowers were, they might have to crack open his ribs and clear out his lungs again within the year and he’d barely recovered from the previous round of surgery.

[Redacted] knew how unusually severe their case was. How - no matter how many times they operated on him - they just couldn’t fully eradicate the roots that were so deeply enshrined in his flesh, how it only ever seemed to progress faster each time, how their beautiful petals secreted sweet poison but he would sooner die than give up on his Angel.

His Angel would reciprocate in time. He’d make sure of it.

They opened the cabinet and grabbed a new needle. He checked the packaging for the dosage of physostigmine, as he always did in case it had magically changed in his sleep (it hadn’t), before peeling the needle open and filling it. Finally, with ill-deserved tenderness, he lined the needle up with his arm and gritted his teeth.

This part always hurt.

@14dayswithyou because I think I saw somewhere where they said they like being @ ed but I can remove it if that’s what they’d prefer

#first post #hello would you like some pain with that pain #why am i doing this #because i can #suffer #ren 14dwy #ren 14 days with you #redacted 14dwy #redacted 14 days with you #angst #hanahaki au #I was going to write a full fic where Angel fell in love with [Redacted] curing their symptoms but i got lazy #sorry #so feel free to imagine them riding [Redacted's] motorbike arms wrapped around him and just thinking 'I love you'#fanfiction because I'm too lazy to come up with more of my own original characters #I have too many already running amok in my brain as is #14dwy #14 days with you

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lets-try-some-writing · 4 months

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Action! Chapter 2

Now settled into his role, Orion, or rather Optimus, is finally ready to get the ball rolling with his opening scene just around the corner.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The director must have really been aiming for realism with this production. Orion, no, Optimus Prime sat at his desk as he had for the past two deca-cycles. Not once had he been given the chance to break character comfortably. He couldn’t be sure his personal quarters weren’t being filmed since that was where his opening shot had taken place, so he opted to keep to his persona just in case. While he felt slightly more comfortable without the extras around him, it still wasn’t exactly a peaceful environment.

Despite that, Alpha Trion had obviously seen to every tiny detail with the set. Orion had done his fair share of snooping while doing his best to look deliberate. With so little information about current events, he wanted to get a little extra data. Thankfully, Optimus Prime’s, or perhaps Orion’s quarters, were filled with small indicators of personality. Letters from Optimus’s sons and absent Consort that had been received and read, but never answered. Small trinkets from when his character had not been a Prime. Photos hidden in the back of the closet behind a box that showed a time when his character had seemingly been a better mech. Optimus Prime in those photos looked younger, happier even. He bore a smile on his unmasked face as he held a newly forged Bumblebee in his arms, Smokescreen grinning gleefully as he looked down at his younger brother.

Those photos made Orion smile, especially the ones that showed Optimus’s sheer joy as he drank with Megatron and what looked to be his other close friends before his rise to his station. Optimus’s origins in the novel were not exactly explained, largely because the mech had done everything in his power to cut himself off from his past and cover his tracks. A smart political move to ensure his friends and family could not be used against him, but a poor way to connect to the people. But from what hints were dropped in the story and based upon the fact that there was a police issued pistol in a small box hidden underneath the berth, Orion had his theories. Optimus Prime had evidently once been involved with law enforcement, and it seemed that his sense of justice had likely been perverted, possibly through seeing all the corruption of the higher castes.

Everything he found gave Orion more ammunition to use to improve his performance. Knowing the Prime had once been part of the police force ensured that he could adequately use his knowledge of the novel’s laws in order to back up his claims if need be. Not to mention, he could also likely hint at a darker past, one where his character possibly saw indescribable horrors while on the job, a potential contributor to his eventual fall to darkness. Additionally, it seemed the Prime still carried a fondness for his former station and likely held a secret love for the mecha he had long pushed away, considering his keepsakes.

A regretful and damaged villain. Being Optimus Prime was going to be a sheer delight.

Well, that is whenever he could begin truly playing his role. Thus far all he’d been able to do was work through the mountain of datapads that had built up, and then after completing those, he had spent a ridiculous amount of time reviewing already active programs and laws. Again he found himself praising the director’s optic for detail as he looked over fully fledged and well documented articles. But he couldn’t help but internally cringe at a great many of the active laws and regulations. They were largely and rather obviously meant to screw over the lower castes.

Since he was just trying to look like he was busy, Orion had quickly begun the long and arduous process of adjusting things. He was very thankful for his training prior to arriving at the set and what little he picked up while thinking about joining the Archives as he tore through countless protocols and restructured them to his liking. Being a Prime had its perks. Even if it was all for show, considering Alpha Trion’s dedication to making things realistic, Orion wouldn’t have put it past him to make things an absolute slag pit if his character were anyone else.

Despite the enjoyment he found in picking apart the hyper realistic documentation, at the end of the two deca-cycles, he was weary.

He always had a penchant for working himself half to death, and whatever mods he had been given were certainly not helping his poor habit. His newly adjusted frame just… didn’t get tired like his old one did. He hardly noticed the passage of time as he delved into paperwork, finding himself pondering a possible future where he had chosen to join the Archives. Considering his office, once overflowing with work, was now fully cleared and organized, he reckoned he would have been good at it.

He hardly saw anyone as he worked. The servants refused to, or perhaps were too afraid, to talk to him. They played their parts perfectly, and Orion internally praised them even as he started to feel the effects of loneliness. He just had to be patient. His time to shine would come soon.

“My Lord, your Council is on their way. Would you like to await their arrival in the Throne room?” Orion, no, that wasn’t right. Optimus Prime sat up at his desk as a servant carefully entered. They had learned that so long as they remained quiet, Optimus would not snap at them. His character certainly could have, but Optimus felt it was unneeded, especially considering the character he was hoping to portray was both cunning and complex. Random bursts of anger at employees not doing anything didn’t give off that impression.

“That would be acceptable.” Optimus stood up slowly, allowing his battle mask to slide into place. His character was well known for only ever revealing his face when within his inner palace, never in the Throne room or in front of any cameras. It was likely a holdover from his time in law enforcement.

“Your attendants are ready to assist you in your preparations, my Lord.” The servant bowed, their expression carefully controlled. Optimus nodded subtly to them, hoping it conveyed his appreciation and awe for their acting. How Alpha Trion got so many talented extras was beyond him. It had taken a good chunk of a cycle for him to track down and memorize the names of his most relevant servants so that he could quietly prepare them gift baskets. He really hadn't expected Alpha Trion to give him proper funds, but he opted to not question the situation and used a small portion of his wealth to get them something nice. He hadn’t gotten any messages in return, but considering nothing had been sent back, he assumed his gifts had been taken with a degree of appreciation.

That had been a deca-cycle and a half ago. Since then, his servants had been surprisingly docile, or perhaps less skittish. He didn’t know how to coin their behavior.

“As is expected of them.” He quipped as he came around toward the door. The servant bowed and said nothing more as Optimus exited, only to then be met by six curious faces. The mecha before him were of the Primacy, their religious shrouds said as much. However, instead of shaking or doing something else of the sort, they instead looked at him oddly before gesturing for him to follow.

Strange, but then again, the priests in the novel were known to be rather odd. Very little was actually documented about them, and they only appeared to assist his character in dressing for activities of importance or to guide him through religious rites. Maybe this was part of their script.

“Prime, please stand here.” The priests directed him into a room covered in detailed murals, gesturing for him to stand on a raised round platform a foot or so off the ground in the center of the chamber. Optimus paused, taking in the sheer grandeur of the room before he obeyed. The walls were almost pure ivory in coloration, all covered in glyphs he could only read if he looked closely. Gold trim graced every detail of the space, and he was fairly certain there were portraits of prior Primes painted on the walls in some places.

He’d said it a million times, but by Primus, Alpha Trion was not playing games when it came to detail.

“Begin your work, priest.” Was all he ordered in response, his tone cold but slightly off kilter as he struggled to keep focus in light of the detail in the space. If he had the chance, he would love to spend a whole cycle, or perhaps several, simply viewing the walls of the chamber. There was so much history and so many hidden clues to be found in every piece. The set designers must have been absolute masters of their craft to pull all this off.

He couldn’t help himself as he hastily examined the chamber, looking for the telltale mark of Knockout’s work. The designer was known to leave a little sigil somewhere on all of the sets he was involved in. Optimus could only assume he had to have been involved in the production of his current set, considering the sheer amount of intricacy.

“By your will.” The priests chanted before more streamed into the room from small tunnels previously hidden along certain points in the walls. Light shone from a window directly above him, and by the Allspark, Optimus really felt like a Prime as the priests laid expensive organic cloth around his shoulders, turning it into an elegant cape covered in symbols that fell from his back. The overhead light must have been Breakdown’s work, it really sold the entire scene in Optimus’s opinion. The light shone on the cloth and caused the glyphs that were being painted onto him to glow slightly. He hadn’t noticed since he had practically lived in his office the whole time, but the gold accents he woke with had largely faded.

The priests restoring them made him a bit giddy if he was truthful. Now he truly looked the part of the mighty and tyrannical Prime. It was incredibly difficult to keep a straight face, despite it mostly being covered by his mask, as the nearest priest placed something rather heavy on his back. Optimus struggled to see it, but from what he gathered, it was some sort of… flair piece made of gold? It added an aura of religious fanaticism to his persona with its structure, and quite frankly, Optimus enjoyed it.

A dramatic villain was by far the most enjoyable to watch on screen.

“May Primus guide your steps.” The priests bowed respectfully, and Optimus took the opportunity to step off the dias and turn toward the exit. He memorized the maps of the palace his first cycle there. He would be foolish not to.

“At ease.” He called back, pulling on his character’s supposed past in law enforcement to make a statement. He did his best to have his voice dip into something more tired, a weary mech, so very done with life. He wanted to giggle as he noticed the priests standing up, confusion etched onto their features as they watched him leave.

He was absolutely owning his part so far.

If he weren’t on set he would absolutely be making an expression worthy of how he felt in his spark, but he took a deep vent, hoping it added to the drama as he opened the door and stepped into the hall. The weight of the cape was neither uncomfortable nor foreign, despite its origin. The weight on his back from the accenting piece was also rather nice as he strode down the halls, not waiting a moment but keeping his pace steady as he made his way toward where the map he memorized dictated the Throne room to be.

Guardsmecha quickly joined him, abandoning whatever posts they held previously in order to escort him. They, too, gave him strange looks, ones he refused to acknowledge. Perhaps their scripts indicated that they were to act as though he were suspicious. It would make sense. According to the lore, he had been in stasis for a whole vorn, and now he had been working nonstop for a full two deca-cycles.

Thinking about it, that may have been a mistake. A mech fresh out of stasis should have still been in a medical wing somewhere, going through therapy and examinations. Optimus hopping right up without so much as a word to anyone but his servants and getting right to work was likely… concerning. The novel never went into much detail about his character’s work ethic, just that his laws were unjust and his actions cruel in the extreme. Optimus could probably play it off if he just didn’t acknowledge the situation. Maybe the director would cut anything that hinted at anything too incriminating.

He still didn’t know how much filming his predecessor managed to be a part of before his accident. He would hate to screw something up due to ignorance.

“You are dismissed.” He called out to his guards as he at last reached the doors to the Throne room. All the halls in the palace were largely the same, albeit with different murals and stained-glass windows depending on the wing of the building. It would be easy to mistake this room for another. Optimus really hoped he wasn’t about to walk into the energon purifying room or something.

“My Lord, it is our sworn duty to protect you.” One guardsmech put forward hesitantly. Optimus raised an optical ridge in response, quickly causing the mech to shift uncomfortably. He contemplated the right response before settling on portraying a Prime with enough ego to drown out the nearest star. It seemed on par for a mech such as Optimus.

“I am fully capable of defending myself, guardsmech. I require no guardians.” The mech shrank in on himself, likely expecting a hit. Optimus abstained from acting on the unspoken cue. He didn’t have a written script, but hurting a guard so early into his time on set seemed a bit much. His character was highly intelligent and cunning, and while not necessarily showcased in the novels, he wanted to spin it so that Optimus Prime was at least given a degree of respect for his efforts amongst the audience.

A villain needed to know when outright violence was the answer and when cunning was key.

“If you are so concerned, give me your weapon, and I shall sully the blade with the energon of any who dare step too close.” He glared, his field flaring briefly to sell his point. Of course, his field would not be visible on camera, but the gentle urging he sent out would hopefully get his wishes across to the extra before him. Nonverbal communication was essential for any good actor. One couldn’t always rely on the script.

He held out a servo expectantly, his gaze frigid but his field as warm as he could manage without it affecting his body language. The guardsmech froze, as did the others. They shared a series of startled looks before the mech in question at last unstrapped his sword from where it hung at his hip and dropped to a knee, presenting it formally.

“Be on your way, guardsmech, and know this.” Optimus accepted the blade, strapping it to his own hip with practiced ease, as if he were still back in Crystal City training with his teacher. He looked down at the fearful guardsmech before bending down to grip the mech’s face. The mech froze in horror, his frame going completely still and his venting slowing to the point of it being concerning as Optimus forced the mech to meet his gaze.

“Never again dare assume that I am so weak as to require your protection. I am your Prime, I am Primus’s chosen vessel. No mere mortal could ever dream of withstanding anything powerful enough to damage me.” His words came out in a hiss that still managed to maintain a vague remnant of a sing songy undertone. He internally cheered at his performance as his words rang in his audials. Ad libbing was one of his specialties in school and by the Thirteen, his new voice mod really sold the bit.

The guardsmech looked a klik away from crying when Optimus let go and returned to his proper height. However, despite his words, his field still extended kindly to the extras around him. It was his version of telling them good job, since words were not exactly an option at the present moment. They seemed to take it well enough, at least he certainly hoped so, since their fields flared in brief bursts of mixed confusion and awe with a hint of fear.

The fear was weird, but then again, Ratchet had once said in an interview that field usage on set was considered rather rude. Maybe he had crossed a line.

“Of course, forgive me, my Lord.” The guardsmech bowed and shakily stepped away. Silently, Optimus sent a message through his HUD to give the guardsmecha some gift cards. He didn’t know their designations yet, so for the time being, they could use his little gift to maybe get a drink off set somewhere. Being up in someone’s face was a rather frightening thing for any extra after all. He certainly had a few instances where he nearly broke down while training at the academy. The mech looked rather young too…

He shook his helm, clearing his mind as he readied himself. He had no clue who would already be there and who wouldn’t. Without access to the special effects team, he would need to start setting up his own effects once this was over. But for now, entering normally would be fine. It wouldn’t do to overwhelm the audience.

“Announcing Optimus Prime, Primus’s Chosen.” The announcer listed his designation and title as he strode into the room, internally sighing in relief at having entered the correct area and not embarrassing himself by waltzing into some other space, Primus forbid a closet or something of the like. He had no clue how he would explain that in such a scenario.

“Hail.” The small collection of already present bots stood from their chairs, bowing slightly with a servo over where their spark chambers were hidden behind layers of protective armor as he entered. Striding toward the seat he assumed was for his character in light of the very obvious Matrix of Leadership engraving on it, Optimus observed those present.

Once he was seated, those gathered did the same once more. The first mech he laid optics on very nearly had Optimus wheezing if not for his training prior to arriving on set. Ratchet was right there. Not just the character, the actual mech. He looked absolutely stunning playing the part of the Prime’s personal physician. He thought that his idol had long given up on acting, but it seemed Alpha Trion’s production was too good to turn away from. The elder actor was performing brilliantly, his disposition exactly like the character depicted in the novel. A scowl was settled on his face, accented by the gold flairs that had been painted onto him. He looked less than pleased with the situation as a whole, and he did not even bother to hide his disdain as Optimus met his gaze.

Pros really were made of sterner stuff. Not only was Ratchet’s acting top tier, but his field was also held so close to himself as to be akin to a second layer of armor. The work of a real master, refusing any and all contact with fellow actors in order to really fall into character. Optimus would be fragged if he didn’t get an autograph once they had a chance to speak somewhere without cameras. Maybe he could just invite him to speak over some tea while in character. It wasn’t part of the script, but then again, it seemed Alpha Trion’s optic for realism dictated that events would play out in proper order and over the course of time indicated in the novels. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to speak to his co-star.

“Ratchet, I had not expected you to heed my summons.” Optimus commented frigidly. Ratchet, still maintaining his immaculate characterization, almost snarled in response.

“I was half tempted to do just as you anticipated Prime. I have more important things to do than sit around and be a pretty doll.” The physician glowered with the rage of a thousand suns, and Optimus had to fight to keep still as he internally cheered. Ratchet was an absolute master of his craft, and it was evident in every small motion he made.

“But considering I was forbidden to tend to your high and mighty majesty during your time in stasis, I elected to turn up and see if the rumors were true.” Ratchet reached out for a sizable pile of documents, shutting down any further conversation just as quickly as Optimus initiated it.

Absolutely brilliant. Ratchet’s character had been largely forbidden to do anything of worth, and was kept around as a formality more often than not. In the novel, this drove the doctor half mad due to how many bots needed him down in the clinics. He despised doing nothing aside from appearing for the sake of formality. A large portion of his anger toward Optimus’s character stemmed from the simple fact that the Prime held all of Ratchet’s students and staff in the palm of his servo, their lives hanging by a thread. For Ratchet to manage to showcase all of his character’s anger in such a short scene was nothing short of phenomenal.

“It is good to see you functional again, my Lord.” Ultra Magnus sat at the far end of the table, as far as physically possible from Optimus. He had reading glasses on and his tone was anything but welcoming, unsurprising considering his character was a former war hero forced into the role of glorified maid in order to keep him from speaking out. Being a secretary was by no means the worst job out there, but it was a far cry from his former position, and Magnus’s character could not risk the potential harm that would befall his soldiers should he fail to obey.

Optimus had to reset his optics a few times in order to confirm that the actor playing Magnus’s character was indeed the Ultra Magnus he knew. Why a director had chosen to act was beyond him, but he was doing a fantastic job, so who was Optimus to judge? He nodded to himself softly, hoping somehow that the other actor felt his approval.

“Soundwave, you come on the behalf of the senate, I assume.” It wasn’t even a question. Optimus knew full and well that Soundwave, the mech sitting closest to him on his left, was an inside mech. He didn’t want to be there, and was forced to serve as the senate’s mouthpiece in order to ensure that Megatron didn’t find himself killed in some horrible and one hundred percent unfortunate accident.

It was odd that the actor playing the character wasn’t in his usual monster role, but Optimus internally shrugged and moved on. Soundwave was always a quiet mech on camera, and it seemed this role suited him fine.

“Affirmative. The Senate wishes to confirm Optimus Prime still functions.” Soundwave remained still as a statue, an act of dedication to his role that had Optimus wishing he could give a thumbs up in awe. However, he fought with his spark until the urge died and looked to the only other mech in the room.

“Jazz. I imagine you are rather disappointed I didn’t offline while in stasis.” Optimus taunted with a hint of a dark laugh in his tone. Sweet as candied energon, his vocalizer produced what might as well have been a song as he leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on the table and his servos clasped together in a grim mimicry of a prayer.

“Right on point, Prime. Would have been nice, but you’ve always been a real glitch about dying.” Jazz flipped a knife as he propped his pedes on the table. Unlike everyone else in the room, he had no decorative pieces on his frame. He looked like an average civilian. He was, to Optimus’s knowledge, the only mech his character had no real sway over. Jazz was there because he had to be for the safety of those who were against Optimus’s character.

If he recalled correctly, it said somewhere in the novel that Jazz remained for so long on the faint hope that his old friend would return and cease his cruelty. A tragic story, really, but one Optimus could use to improve his performance.

“Your commentary is irrelevant. Where are my heirs and my High Protector?” Those at the table remained silent as a servant hurried forward with a bow. Optimus raised an optical ridge and leaned back in his chair, giving off the aura of an unimpressed and agitable leader as the mech hurried to speak.

“The Primecended are going to be arriving late, my Lord. Primajor Smokescreen has been slowed by delays in transportation from Protihex. Priminor Bumblebee was…” The servant trailed off, shifting from pede to pede as they continued.

“You have never called for the Priminor before, so his position was not monitored… and it is possible he assumed you did not require his presence.” The room fell deathly silent as Optimus weighed his options. The way the film was running seemed to suggest that so long as all the main plot points were reached, the actors could act as naturally as they wished while remaining in character. Optimus had free reign to act as he saw fit.

In this case, he had just the right idea.

“That sparkling has been left to run wild for too long. Living a life of luxury due to my efforts. How very ungrateful of him.” Standing slowly, Optimus loomed over the servant and grasped their wrist, making sure to make it seem as though his grip was crushing while remaining soft so as to not damage them.

“He is my heir. He will learn to heed my summons. Bring him here in the next joor, or I will get him myself. I am sure we all don’t want that to happen, do we?” He increased his grip ever so slightly, cracking his knuckle on the servo not visible to the onlookers, in order to make it seem as though he’d damaged the servant. Then, to sell the scene further, he threw the mech to the ground as carefully as he could manage while still seeming harsh.

“Find him and tell him that I will tolerate no further acts of defiance.” The servant wiped away tears as they scrambled to their pedes and fled. Those gathered at the table stared at Optimus in hatred, as was to be expected. Optimus in turn nodded to himself before sitting back down. He didn’t want his co-stars thinking he’d actually hurt the extra playing the servant role, so he hastily began to crack his knuckles while extending his field comfortingly, hoping they connected the dots.

Their expressions grew more terrified than comforted, but he chalked that up to them remaining in character.

“Once my Council has finished gathering, I wish to know all that has happened in my absence. I would not have my empire tainted by impurities-” Optimus began, fully intending to monologue in true evil villain fashion. However, before he could, the door to the throne room burst open with a deafening crash. Ratchet startled a degree, Jazz didn’t flinch, Magnus sighed, and Soundwave remained still as always.

Optimus sat up straighter, his finials perking up as he pulled back his field and stared at the mech trudging in. He was tall and probably once had a fantastic silver finish. Now he was covered in soot and ash, burn marks, cuts, scars, and every other conceivable form of damage marred his plating. Black smoke escaped his vents, an indicator of a desperate need for system repairs and cleaning as he strode forward, the canon on his arm humming to life from what had to be incredible amounts of stress or anger.

Incredible makeup and prop work. Optimus would need to thank the makeup department when this was all over. The blaster was amazingly realistic. The LEDs inside the prop casing must have been spectacular quality.

“PRIME!”

There it was. Music to his audials. Finally, Optimus’s time to shine. He knew this scene by spark.

“Why Megatron, I would have expected more decorum from my High Protector. And yet here you are, dirtying my carpets with grime from the lower levels. How very distasteful.” Megatron seethed, his optics flicking between red and blue in a frenzy. Optimus smiled beneath his mask as he stood again, his optics purposefully locked onto the seething mech across from him.

This was his moment, the grand confrontation and the scene where Optimus Prime was introduced to the readers. Optimus would need to make this good. He hadn’t had decent prep time due to his failure to plan ahead, but he could still make a spectacular introduction.

“Well then, come take a seat. Let us begin.” He smirked and gestured toward a chair. Megatron practically shook with rage. The actor was spectacular in his heroic role, just as he always was.

Optimus would need his autograph as well.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #ratchet #megatron #alternate universe #ultra magnus #jazz #soundwave #actor au #fanfiction #transformers fanfiction #optimus is an oblivious idiot #hes too wrapped up in his role to see the obvious indicators that this is very real #in the words of my friend #“he has plot armor because he believes he has plot armor.”#but look! second chapter yall!#I actually did more for an au :D

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mkstrigidae · 4 days

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APWH preview snippet!

Since I'm actively trying to work on getting the next few chapters out, I thought I'd share a little future scene with some hints of Jonsa with all you lovely people! This bit is from like, a few chapters in the future bc it's the in-between that's giving me fits right now :) (Fair warning: this is unedited and subject to change! That being said, it's such a fun scene that I can't imagine ever nixing it :D)

“Does he even know that they have to avoid the press?”

“For the last time-“ Sam sighed, sounding completely exasperated, “Dickon knows what they can and can’t do- he’s got enough practice not being photographed from when our dad was the secretary. Not to mention spending time around you when that exposé on your crazy grandfather came out two years ago.”

“I just-“ Jon sighed, blowing a stray curl out of his face. “You didn’t see how freaked out she was when the press caught us at that performance in White Harbor. I thought she was going to have a full-blown panic attack.”

He was immediately derailed by Gilly plopping little Sam down in his lap and shoving a bottle into his hands.

“What’s this all about?” he raised a brow, adjusting the baby on his lap, allowing him to latch onto the cuff of his flannel shirt and start gnawing at the fabric. “You going somewhere?”

Gilly shot him a withering look, but he saw the amusement in her eyes.

“I-“ she gestured, imperiously, “Have not had time by myself to shower all week-“

“Sorry, love.” Sam winced, looking up from his pile of paperwork. “I can take a break from these-“

“Not your fault, Sam.” she waved him off. “You warned me about this conference at the beginning of the summer.” a grin played at the corners of her mouth. “Besides, it works out well- Jon needs a distraction right now from the fact that Sansa’s on a date with your extremely hot and conventionally attractive brother.”

“Hey!” Sam looked wounded, and Gilly rolled her eyes, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You know you’re my favorite Tarly.” she wrinkled her nose. “How long have you been working on this presentation? You smell like the baby spit up on you.”

“Guess I’m next in line for showers.” Sam said, mournfully. “Unless-“

“Nope- I need my own time right now, Samwell. Did you even hear what I said about why Jon’s bent out of shape?”

Jon had known Gilly since Sam and she had met up north while the two of them were in college. Sometimes, it was hard to reconcile the timid, scared girl she had been with the woman who was currently devoting all of her remaining energy to busting his balls.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about Sansa with my brother.” Sam snorted, shotgunning another cup of coffee next to him the way Jon was used to seeing undergrads do with jaeger shots. “I mean, this is Dickon we’re talking about. Used to bring wounded animals home to take care of them Dickon? The same guy who cried when we had movie night and Gilly and Rhae wanted to go see ‘Love, Simon’?” He shook his head. “Look, as far as guys she could be out on a date with right now go, Dickon’s kind of the best case scenario. She’ll have a nice time, and he’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

Jon blinked at him, silently turning to look up at Gilly, who rolled her eyes and sighed.

“You’re hopeless, sweetie.” she kissed him on the forehead again, wrinkling her nose. “He’s not worried that things will go wrong- he’s worried they’ll go a little too well.”

“You’ve been spending way too much time around my sister.” Jon muttered, narrowly avoiding little Sam’s grasping reach for his glasses, managing to get the baby to latch onto the bottle before he destroyed any more of Jon’s eyewear. “You even sounded like her just then.”

Sam blinked for a second, his head whipping between Jon and Gilly.“You’re jealous?” He asked, incredulously. “Of Dickon? Wait- you like Sansa?”

“Got there in the end.” Gilly sighed, affectionately patting him on the shoulder before going to shower, leaving Jon and Sam behind with four cups of coffee, one baby, and approximately five brain cells total between the two of them.

“You like her.” Sam repeated, like it was a giant revelation.

“What are we- in middle school?” Jon hissed, immediately turning his head down to smile and make faces at little Sam while he fed him, before glaring up at big Sam again. “I don’t- I mean-“

Sam was just shaking his head.“Of course you do.” he laughed. “Should have guessed- red hair and a damsel in distress? You were doomed from the outset.”

“Shut up.” Jon muttered, flushing. “It’s not like that.”

“Then why are you worrying about Dickon for fu-“ Sam glanced nervously at the baby, “-god’s sake? When Gill was meeting my family for the first time, I remember you told her not to worry- that my brother was ‘one of the best guys you know’ and ‘practically a golden retriever’.”

Jon could tell that Sam, who could not raise one eyebrow without the other, was desperately trying to do just that.

“I don’t know.” He muttered, moving little Sam to his shoulder to start burping him. “Look- I’m attracted to her, alright? It’s a fu- er, a giant disaster that I’m gonna ignore for the rest of my life.”

“Seriously?”

“Stop trying to do that with your eyebrows.” Jon complained. “It’s giving me motion sickness. And yes, seriously. I’m not even going to consider that- it’s just a stupid crush. Besides,” he sighed, rubbing little Sam’s back comfortingly, “Robb’s already dealing with enough right now with this whole Sansa situation- can’t imagine telling him I think his sister’s attractive while he’s being forced to suddenly confront all of his guilt and self loathing every time he looks at her.”

“That whole bro code thing of never dating your friend’s sisters never really made sense to me.” Sam shook his head, gulping down more coffee. “I mean, I’d be thrilled if you decided to date Talla, because I know you’d be good to her.”

“Yeah, don't think she'd quite go for that, mate.” Jon snorted, standing to bounce little Sam around gently. He was just grateful Sam hadn’t said anything else about Robb.

“Eh, wouldn’t count you out completely.” Sam shrugged, smirking. “With that hair, you’re pretty enough to be a girl- maybe that’d be enough for her.”

“You are so lucky i’m holding the baby.” Jon muttered, still bouncing little Sam, who picked that moment to spit up spectacularly down Jon’s back.

“Well, that’s three of us who’re gonna need showers now.” Sam grinned, looking thrilled as all get out that it hadn’t been him. “Wow- his aim is getting better.”

“I’m going to remind him of this when he’s a sulky teenager.” Jon grumbled, wiping spit-up off his shoulder as best he could. “Look- no gossiping with Rhae about this, please. She thinks she’s such a good clandestine agent that she doesn’t always realize that Robb is better at sniffing out her plots than she thinks.”

“Alright-“ Sam sighed, looking back down at the massive stack of paperwork in front of him. “I make no promises for Gill, though.”

“Gilly could give some of my Uncle’s colleagues at the WIA a run for their money when it comes to withstanding interrogation.” Jon snorted.

“Probably true.”

“Where did your brother take Sansa?” Still holding onto a now much happier baby with one hand, he reached down the other to take a gulp of his own coffee.

“He said something about going out towards the Tyrell Estate.” Sam shrugged. “They probably drove out there to see the gardens- he’s said it’s a good road to take his bike out on.”

Jon promptly spat out his entire sip of coffee, staining the front of his shirt as well as the back, and frightening little Sam enough that he started to cry.

“He took her on his motorcycle?”

Gilly picked that moment to reappear, completely clean and with wet hair, blinking at the scene in front of her.

Sam, who couldn’t seem to stop laughing, was desperately trying to calm down the baby, who had started wailing, while Jon’s entire front was covered in coffee and his entire back was covered in baby vomit. Not that he seemed to notice, as his face was white and he was making a series of angry looking hand gestures at her husband.

“I really can’t leave you three alone for five minutes, can I?” she sighed. “Do I even want to know?”

#my writing #my wips #writing wips #just APWH things #jonsa #fanfiction wip #God bless Gilly like for real #YES Sansa is on a date with someone else here #muscleman golden retriever McAttractiveness #Aka dickon tarly #unsurprisingly jon is not having a great time about it!#in fairness to sansa the plotline directly preceding this and kicking off her doing some traveling was pretty rough on her #so our poor girl really deserves a giant muscley golden retriever with a motorcycle #and to just have a good time with someone who isn't wrapped up in all the stark drama/disaster/mess etc.#jon can deal with it rn bc it's really a 'you snooze you lose' kind of situation #sam's usually quicker on the draw but he's very sleep deprived here #and working on some stuff for a pathology conference #not at all going to be relevant nope no sir #writing sam and jon interacting vs jon and robb is so fascinating #they're both jon's besties but there's a very different dynamic to the two relationships #in fairness Robb has like SO much complex childhood trauma and is kind of seriously going through it right now #but his scenes with jon always have this sort of darker edge to them #like an 'i've known you my entire life and know everything about you for better or worse' type deal- deeper but darker #it's more akin to a sibling relationship? but also not? they are both going thru it #my headcanon is that anytime jon starts getting too gloomy and angsty gilly just straight up shoves the baby at him #and then waits like twenty minutes #Gilly: 'it's free babysitting!'#generally it works pretty well #jon's like '404 error does not compute' as soon as sam says the word 'motorcycle'#also when sam says 'the secretary' he means randyll tarly was the secretary of defense

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reliablejoukido · 4 months

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Posting this early so that I can give an example along with the template. (TEMPLATE POST HERE -- free to use!)

My 2023 fanfiction year end wrap-up! These are just a few of the fics I wrote this year-- one from each month. I can't believe I wrote so many stories shipping Daisuke with different people (actually yes I can believe it). I didn't write anything in April this year, which is why that month is missing.

I'm honestly really proud of every one of these fics, but my absolute favorite is "The Secret of Us", which is an Explicit rated Taichi/Jou fic. I had a lot of passion for that one, and it was genuinely a fun to write.

This year was my first ever NaNo, which helped churn out a lot of these stories, plus some more to come! I'm going to be writing more Ace Attorney in the coming year, as well as finish up "Somewhere Only We Know". So stay tuned for that!

Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who supported my fanfiction this year. You all mean the world to me. See you in 2024 pals!

#fanfiction wrap up #Digimon fanfiction #ace attorney fanfiction #my fanfics;#2023 fanfiction summary #mine: meganedad;

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 4 months

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Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories

a Stephen Strange x Hope Collins fic

Part One

genre: fluff & Christmas to begin with; angst, catharsis, with healing later...and as always, love❤️💚

characters: Stephen Strange, Hope Collins (OFC), established relationship

word count: approximately 3.1k

moodboard by the very generous @strangelock221b 💙🩵💜

Stephen should have known that he had fallen in love with a Christmas person. Should have been prepared for what was in store for him come late November. Hope's enthusiasm for all things Yuletide was exactly in keeping with her nature--and of course, she had no way of knowing that when it came to Christmastime, his past had shaped him into a bit of a Grinch.

A week or so before Thanksgiving, she'd brought a mysterious shopping bag to the Sanctum and set it discretely in a corner of the living room portion of his suite. When he'd asked what was inside, she'd flashed him a pert smile and smiling eyes as she answered, "Darling, that's for me to know, and you to find out. Eventually." Then sashayed away, humming 'Good King Wenceslas'. Yup, he should've known then that Hope was...was very much a Who.

They had shared a quiet, homey Thanksgiving; Hope had eagerly prepared a little feast for them, along with far too many desserts prepped in a flurry of baking in the 48 hours ahead of time. "There's supposed to be an abundance of leftovers," she had insisted when Stephen groused that they could never finish it all, "And in my family tradition, the freezer was always stuffed with packages of turkey, potatoes, and what have you--enough for a meal a week 'til nearly Christmas." And she'd relished the sight of him digging into those leftovers--along with a healthy serving of her apple-ginger pie--as a midnight snack, looking every bit the adorable 'told ya so' when she grabbed a fork to help him polish off the pie.

When they'd finally settled into bed and snuggled close, Stephen was happy to tell Hope it had been his best Thanksgiving in decades--and that perhaps it could be the start of traditions of their own. "Good," she replied, kissing his neck and then resting her head on his shoulder, "There's more I'd love to share with you. If you don't mind...starting tomorrow."

Stephen's own family traditions always felt like dusty, ancient history now; memories he seldom allowed himself to dwell upon for the heartbreak of the losses of his sister Donna, and later his mother Beverly, who had never fully recovered emotionally from Donna's death. He sighed hard, not wishing to spoil the moment, but feeling he should give his love fair warning. "If it's Christmas related, Hope--I'm really not that guy..."

"Oh, Stephen..." she started to protest.

"I don't wanna disappoint you, honey, but I...I gave up Christmas a loooong time ago..."

"Gave up Christmas?" Hope tutted. "You don't strike me as a Scrooge..."

"I'm not. Of course I'm not," he countered gently, "There's just a lot of...baggage...that I gave up carrying. Decades ago." For my own peace of mind, he thought but didn't add. "I mean, I'll be happy to see how you embrace the season, Hope, but um..."

He felt more than heard her sigh, understanding that she would not be deterred--while well aware that as ever, whatever form her persuasion would take would be gentle. Patient. Quiet. Stephen couldn't help but love that about her.

"Alright," she told him, laying her palm above his heart, which he always found soothing. "I promise to be mindful of your...baggage...if you help me with just one tradition tomorrow."

Stephen's turn to quietly sigh with his intent to cooperate, "Just the one? Seems a fair bargain to make...if you can stick to it."

"Just the one--I promise," Hope laughed softly, "And after that, well...I'll go about my Christmasing without the sort of fuss that might bother you."

Though he could practically feel the wheels in her head turning to come up with a way to change his view of the season, he chuckled, "It's a deal then. So what will we be doing tomorrow?"

"Getting a tree, of course. That's my mom's thing. Tree goes up the day after Thanksgiving...and comes down on New Years Day. Although, since I've been on my own, I keep it up however long I want. It's an excellent remedy for the mid-winter doldrums."

"A tree it'll be, then," he promised, reaching to turn off his bedside lamp, "And then I'm out."

"Like a light", Hope assured him. "Now, do you wanna be the big spoon or little spoon tonight?"

"Big," he replied, flipping onto his side, then sliding his arm around her waist when she turned to fit herself against him. Stephen brushed his lips on her ear, "For what it's worth, honey, I hope you have some sugar plum dreams tonight."

"Thanks, Stephen," she murmured, clearly on her way to sleep, "Love you too."

By the time Hope awoke the next morning, Stephen had already worked out a plan to keep his promise. One which would involve him in as little Christmas fuss as possible. A quick online search had yielded a few spots in the Village itself where they could find fresh cut trees. After breakfast, he discreetly portaled the two of them to a side street off of Hudson Street, where they found a popular Christmas market adjacent to a city park.

Hope had been so delighted by his initiative that he had felt it necessary to remind her that this would be his sole contribution to the Christmas decorating. She had batted her eyes prettily with her reply, "As you wish," but to Stephen, it had felt more like she was saying, "We'll see about that."

They settled on a seven foot Balsam fir, which Stephen had insisted on paying for out of his Sanctum Master's monthly stipend. The warmth of the lingering kiss she pressed to his cheek in thanks was absolutely worth that investment, and Hope's happiness was a gift that thoroughly warmed his heart. Being quite pleased by how swiftly they'd accomplished their chore--and surprised that the task felt far more pleasant than he'd anticipated--Stephen arranged to have the tree delivered to Bleecker Street by mid-afternoon.

Hope had wandered over to a group of stalls featuring hand-crafted Christmas decorations, and by the time he joined her, she had a small brown shopping bag in hand. He offered her his arm, "Shall we?"

"Shall we what," she countered impishly.

"Head back home."

"Oh...well...", she bit her lip, mulling over her answer for a few moments, "You go on ahead, darling. There's just a few more things I'd like to pick up..."

Stephen hummed, studying her face for any sign that this was a coy play to get him to stay after all. Seeing only sincerity, he found himself offering to stick around anyway. "Thanks, but no, Stephen," she assured him, "I shouldn't be too long--and I did promise not to bother you beyond the tree. You won't even have time to miss me; I'm sure I'll get there before the tree even does."

Stephen hadn't expected her to be so easily accommodated. "Are you sure, honey? I can spare a while longer if...if you'd like me to."

Hope moved in close, placed her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his other cheek. "I appreciate the offer, darling," she husked, "But how about you get a nice fire going in the hearth in your quarters, so they'll be all toasty for when I decorate the tree this afternoon?" She backed away and beamed him a smile, then turned to explore the market further without a further word.

Stephen stood on the sidewalk, the relief at being let off the expected Christmas hook colored with the surprising disappointment that Hope hadn't even tried to ask for more beyond her promise. She's probably got other plans in mind, he decided; bet she's just softening me up for that. Hands tucked deep into his coat pockets against the growing chill in the air--they'd begun to ache in the way that told him snow was on the way--he headed back to the side street, and portaled back home.

The snow arrived before Hope did, with the tree being delivered about a half-hour later. By then, Stephen had a crackling fire going in the hearth and had even used magic to set up a tree stand before one of the front windows of the living room.

Rosy-cheeked from the cold and bearing two Balsam wreaths decked with red ribbons, sprigs of holly & berries, and mini white lights, Hope appeared to be the embodiment of Christmas cheer. "I figured now that it's no secret that a magical building is part of the neighborhood," she explained in answer to the question in his eyes, "You'd at least want the Sanctum to look a little festive..."

Stephen gave a heavy sigh as he conceded that point to her. And though she didn't ask, he cast a spell to keep the wreaths in place on the Sanctum's double doors, with reinforcement to keep them fresh and green for however long they hung there. He would go on to use the same spell for the Christmas tree awaiting decorating in his quarters.

After lunch, Hope practically shooed Stephen from the room when she began to string lights on the fragrant evergreen. With a vintage selection of Christmas carols playing in the background, she was determined to keep her promise to him. "Besides, I'd like to surprise you with the ornaments I've picked. So go keep busy with whatever wizarding stuff is on your agenda, and I'll come get you for the big reveal."

Lazy snowflakes continued to fall well past dusk, looking pretty and perfectly seasonal outside the Sanctum windows, though little stuck to the streets and pavements. Hope had finally popped her head past the door to his study several hours after she'd sent him away and invited Stephen to come check out the product of her efforts. Her excitement felt contagious--and once he spied the tree, Stephen knew she had good reason for her enthusiasm.

She had dimmed the lights for maximum effect, showing off the slow, steady twinkle of the white lights that graced every branch of the tree. The ornaments were a mix of dark blue and gold bells and balls, variously sized, and many of them sprinkled with golden glitter. Featured among them were larger, glassblown ornaments shaped as suns, moons, and stars, as well as other traditional celestial symbols. The total effect was breathtaking--and a telling reminder that Hope was an Artist, deep down to her soul.

Watching him take in the full picture, her eyes sparkled with joyful anticipation of his response. Stephen's jaw had dropped, and he remained speechless as he circled the tree before he came to stand at Hope's side, pulling her to him with one arm around her back. "This is...marvelous, honey. Fantastic. Beautiful...and...and..."

"And nearly perfect for a Master of the Mystic Arts," she replied, a slight tremor in her voice, "Don't you think so, anyway?

Stephen nodded and laid a kiss on top of her head. "I can't imagine anything more perfect, Hope," he agreed, his voice grown thick with emotion. "You were planning this for a while, weren't you?"

"Only since mid-September," she laughed, then pointed to a stained-glass disk depicting the zodiac circling a stylized sun. "I saw that one at a craft fair, and it just sort of...inspired...the whole thing."

"I should've expected something this..." Stephen searched for the perfect word to describe not only the tree, but the sentiment her gift had him feeling, "...grand...from you, honey. Grand. Grand and perfect."

"It's actually a little short of perfect, Stephen," she confessed difidently.

"No, Hope...honey...it's perfect for me," he insisted, "Both as a wizard and as a man."

"I don't mean in that way, darling. It's...it's unfinished," she sighed, motioning to the crowning branch. "It's in want of a star."

"Aaaaaaah." Stephen let the moment linger before smirking, "And is that by design, or just something you overlooked?"

"I just can't reach it," came her plaintive, honest reply.

"I see." Stephen could feel how hard she was trying not to ask for his help, in light of her promise to him. How dear that was to him! A simple yet lovely truth about this woman he loved. How could he not offer to help? "You know, I wouldn't mind adding the finishing touch, honey. If you'd allow me to, of course."

"I suppose that'll be alright, darling. If you wouldn't mind too terribly."

"Not at all," he told her, truthfully. "Do you have one, or shall I conjure something to match your theme?"

"Hold on," she replied, making a beeline to a dark pink box perched on the side table by the sofa. Hope removed an object swathed in tissue paper, unwrapping it very gingerly when she returned to his side. "This star is over a hundred years old. It came to America with my great-grandmother when she arrived from Ireland back in 1921. It passes to the eldest daughter in each generation..."

"And you're the lucky winner," Stephen observed in a hushed tone, immediately adopting the same reverence with which Hope handled the fragile antique.

"Yes," she sniffled softly. "Mom was the middle child, but her older sister didn't have any girls, so when she passed, it came to me. That was during The Snap years. Once she came back, my mother never really recovered from finding out her sister had died alone, without the comfort of family near."

Stephen's first thought was of his mother, Beverly, and of the colorless Christmases between Donna's death and her own. In the face of Hope's bittersweet revelation, he couldn't bring himself to express his observation; that grief had been his mother's cause of death as well.

Hope took note of the pain that briefly flickered across his features. "Stephen, are you alright? You looked so sad, all of a sudden."

"Oh, honey, I'm just...just so, so sorry for your loss. I know that grief doesn't take holidays, and there are times it hits so hard, it feels like the one we've lost...that it only happened yesterday." Mindful of the crystal star in his hands, he drew Hope into his arms, then rested his chin atop her head. "But the best comfort, I'm told, is remembering the best of times you shared with them."

The smallest voice in his head gave an ironic retort. Doctor, why don't you take your own advice and heal yourself for a change? Share your story with Hope, and by doing so, maybe you can put your own ghosts to rest.

Maybe so, he told himself. But not now; not tonight. I'm not ready to face that kind of pain just yet. And the small voice answered: of course you aren't. It seems you never are.

Stephen shook off that moment of weakness--as he always did. And with the gentlest charm he could manage, he floated Hope's star to the top of the tree and fixed it safely in place. That drew from Hope her prettiest smile, so that he dared a change of subject. "Well, in light of the heavy lifting I've just done, I think it's time we fix ourselves some turkey and gravy sandwiches and maybe watch 'The Grinch'. It's one of the few Christmas movies I actually enjoy."

"Jim Carey or the DreamWorks one," Hope asked as they headed, arm in arm, toward the closer of the two Sanctum kitchens.

"Jim Carey," he asserted with a grin, "The other is far too sentimental for my liking."

[to be continued🎄]

If you enjoyed this little fic so far, you can read more about how Stephen & Hope met and fell in love in my stories 'Friday in the Park with Stephen' (meet-cute, flirtation & fluff), and 14,000,604 (hurt/comfort, angst, passion/smut, lovers reunited against impossible odds).

In addition, I've written a couple of one-shots/prompt fills as part of their ongoing series, The Wizard and the Artist

tagging: @strangelock221b @mousedetective @icytrickster17 @ironstrange1991 @darsynia @ben-locked @hithertoundreamtof23 @aeterna-auroral-avenger @lorelei-lee @stewardofningishzida @thelostsmiles @mrs-cookie @paperclippedmime @groovyqueer

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