#there really are so many interesting ways to read through this tale but the eve connections specifically jumped out quite often | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justviwriting · 1 year

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'Amy's Christmas'

Fandom: Doctor Who Characters: Amy Pond, Rory Williams, River Song, Eleventh Doctor (mentioned) Pairing: Amy/Rory Rating: G Words: 6.785 Summary: Amy writing down a story about all the different Christmases of her life. A/N: In 2021 I had the idea for a Christmas oneshot about Amy but I didn’t finish it in time to post it before/during Christmas so I decided to wait until next year. Obviously, I completely forgot about it lmao. And because I know I’ll probably forget again, I finished writing it and decided to share it now so it won’t die in my drafts. It’s a bit sad towards the end, just as a warning. Also, because the story is switching between tenses (and English isn’t my first language) I probably made some mistakes along the was ‘cause it got confusing, but I hope it doesn’t disrupt the story :)

[you can also read it on AO3]

I would like to tell you a story. A Christmas story. Not about a particular Christmas but about the many Christmases throughout my life. You might wonder how this could be an interesting story, but I have realised just recently that perhaps, the Christmases I have celebrated, and even the ones I haven’t, present the best way to but the insanity of my life into one short tale. Ever since I have started writing and publishing those stories you have probably read, I have told you, the reader, how many of those are not as fictional as they might seem. So, I wanted to share the story of my life. Now is perhaps the best time to do this.

When I was a child, Christmas had never been something I had looked forward to. I never hated the holidays but I never shared the excitement and joy all the other kids felt when Christmas approached either. For one, because I only ever had one wish, and that was for the Doctor to come back and take me on adventures through space and time, and with every Christmas that passed, I had less and less hope that he would actually return for me. So, no matter what gifts Aunt Sharon bought me, I never felt as happy as I should have been.

The lack of joy around Christmas was not just caused by my wish to see the Doctor again, though. There had always been an odd sadness rising inside of me every year, a sadness one should probably not feel as a little girl who had enjoyed a rather sheltered life at this point. A hollow sadness born from a distant memory of happy, bright Christmases that had been long gone.

I didn’t remember much about Christmas with my parents. Only a few memories had stayed with me in the back of my mind, like the smell of the vanilla scented candles my mother had put all around the house. And that old, worn-out star my dad had tried to put on top of the Christmas tree every year, hoping it would survive another. But really, that was it. I had been very young when my parents had died, or so I believed. I didn’t know how young, but I couldn’t remember when it had happened. Every year throughout my childhood, I continued to ask Aunt Sharon about our Christmases together with my parents, but for some reason she never wanted to tell me, even though I could see the same sorrow I had always felt inside me in her eyes as well. Still, she placed the few scented candles that still lay hidden in one of the drawers around the house, and also put the star on top of the Christmas tree, but only because I insisted. That was the first Christmas I properly remembered. The Christmas after I had met the Doctor for the first time. It had only been me, Aunt Sharon, and the dying star on top of the Christmas tree.

The year after that, Aunt Sharon had decided it would be fun to visit my relatives in Scotland during the Christmas time, so we wouldn’t be all alone on Christmas Eve again. I had not particularly looked forward to it, because I had known that I would be the only child there, and it was as insanely boring as I had dreaded. Before we left for the holidays, I had written a letter addressed to the Doctor and put it on the kitchen table, just in case he would finally come back, so he would know where to find me. I hadn’t given up hope yet that he might return and pick me up at any point. After all, he had promised. And I trusted him. To me, he was a friend, someone who wouldn’t lie.

To avoid the utter boredom of Christmas with my relatives the next year, I had spent the months before trying to convince Aunt Sharon to have my best friend Mels come join us.

“Please,” I had told her then, again and again. “I’m the only kid there. It’s boring. I need a friend with me.”

“I understand that,” Aunt Sharon had explained, “but can’t you pick someone else? That girl is only trouble. And God knows you’re already getting in enough trouble on your own.”

“Everyone else has a family to celebrate with,” I had continued persistently. “Mels doesn’t have any parents. She’s all alone. On Christmas. That’s not fair.”

Eventually, I had convinced her. Perhaps, in the end, she actually felt sorry for Mels, though she would never admit that to me.

Naturally, that Christmas was way more fun than all the one before – or at least the ones I could remember at that point. Every year, I had to convince Aunt Sharon again to take Mels with us, and every year I succeeded. When we were twelve years old, Mels had come up with the idea to give the Doctor a message. Next to the ancient house we were staying at, there was a huge corn field, covered in snow, so Mels had told me that if we dug through the snow to form the word Doctor, perhaps he would see it from outer space. So, we spent that entire Christmas on our message for the Doctor, ignoring my aunt’s pleas to come back inside. Sadly, however, he still didn’t show up, though I could have sworn that night I had heard the noise of that big blue box he travelled in.

As I grew older, I had stopped thinking about the Doctor. Well, that wasn’t completely true, but I had simply stopped trying to reach him, never giving up that small hope that he might return at some point. However, at some point, I had started to think that perhaps he had, in fact, just been part of my imagination. Somewhere deep inside me I had always known that wasn’t true, but it had been better to tell myself this than to keep waiting. And it made my aunt very happy, who, I believe, had been rather worried for my mental health.

Mels, however, was not tired of waiting. Sadly, she would not meet him when he did finally come for me. The Doctor did return, like he had said he would, just twelve years later than he had intended. He saved the entire world from aliens that tried to blow it up, then left again. As before, I waited for his return, but this time I stopped waiting early enough.

There was no Mels that Christmas after the Doctor, as she had ended up in prison, like I had always assumed she would. Instead of visiting my relatives, now nineteen-year-old me spent her Christmas by paying Mels a visit. She was the only person I could freely talk with about the Doctor. While aunt Sharon had seen the giant alien eyeball at the sky back then, she didn’t believe me actually meeting the Doctor. She had told me it had all been in my imagination, in a moment of fear, where an old childhood friend had come back to save me. She didn’t believe Rory either, because she had never taken him seriously regarding anything. Rory, my childhood friend and at that time boyfriend, also would rather forget what had happened. Well, the first days, even weeks, we had talked about nothing but the Doctor and the crazy events that had taken place, but then he had moved on. So Mels, mad at missing the Doctor, would keep asking me any sort of questions that Christmas. And I had to promise her, should the Doctor return, we would break her out and take her on adventures.

The Christmas after that, I also visited Mels – no words of the Doctor – and then spent Christmas Eve with Rory and his family. After I had told him I had no intention to visit my family this year, again, he had kept insisting on spending it with his family instead. Eventually, I had given in. I had always liked his family, they had always been friendly to me, but sometimes too friendly, too shallow in their conversations but at the same time too intrusive in their questions.

Before the dinner started, Rory pulled me aside, walking with me into the kitchen. I can still remember every little detail about that moment. The smell of the burned turkey, the slightly opened window to clear the smoke-filled air, and Rory’s very nervous, almost frightened face.

“Okay…so, there’s something…” He was taking several deep breaths in order to calm down, although that had rarely ever helped him calm his nerves. Had I not known him, I would have believed something terrible had happened. “You know,” he continued, “I was a bit annoying about you spending time with my family this year.”

“Yeah,” I simply replied.

“Well … there’s a reason for that,” he told me, his voice trembling more with every word spoken. “Something I wanted to do, but now … now I’m not sure how and when and…” He trailed off in his rambling.

“Rory,” I said then, laughing. “Take a deep breath and then tell me what you want to tell me.”

Another deep breath followed, and then he reached into the pocket of his jeans. The moment he took out a small box, exactly the size for a ring to fit in, the insides of my stomach started to turn, and for a short second I was not sure whether the cause had been joy or fear. When he opened it, and I saw the ring, I remember gasping slightly, but the feeling of fear had left me completely in that moment. He stood in front of me with the ring in his hand, which had been shaking so much, I was scared he might drop it, so I carefully took his hand into mine.

“I wanted to ask you, if you … if you want to marry me,” he said then. He had been looking at me the entire time, partly scared, partly hopeful, and so completely with love that I forgot to breathe for a second. However, his eyes had left mine then, looking down, as he said, “You know, I wanted to do it at dinner, properly, but then I thought … if you said no, that would be bad. And I didn’t want you to say yes just because you felt sorry for me, so I-“ He kept rambling on, looking at the floor, so in order to make him look up again – and also to shut him up - I had then taken his face into my hands, and once his eyes, still full of love and hope, had reached mine, I pulled him closer to kiss him.

“So…is that a yes?” Rory asked then as I pulled back, but leaving my hands around his neck, carefully caressing his hair. His hesitation and uncertainty made me realise then that perhaps my face was not showing my feelings properly, so I put on the brightest smile when I said, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” I laughed, kissing him again.

We redid the proposal during dinner, and everyone was happy for us, obviously.

Among the laughter, childhood stories of us and champagne bottles, I suddenly came to the realisation that I was now an engaged woman. Not the little girl anymore. Not the girl who had spent hours sitting on the windowsill, looking out at the stars, waiting for the Doctor to come back. And who needed a Doctor when there was a Rory anyway?

But then, one night, I was awakened by a noise I never thought I would hear again. He had come back for me. Two years later, the Doctor came back. And I joined him. Forgetting about Rory, forgetting about Mels, I went on adventures with him. It was a childhood dream coming true, until the Doctor woke me up. He made the decision to take Rory with us, which, in retrospective, was the best decision he could’ve made. Well, there was that bit were Rory had died, but he came back to life, somehow. Most of you who are reading this probably know this story already, as I have written a whole novel about it – and yes, the story is true. But to summarise for everyone who is in the dark: We saved the entire universe and reset the timeline. Suddenly, I had parents. My parents never died, you see. They had been erased from time. And I brought them back to life. Like I had done with Rory before. Just my will against the universe. Not trying to boast here but that is pretty cool.

Anyways, suddenly there was that insane maze of memories inside my head. I remembered all my life, all the Christmases, with and without my parents. Suddenly, the scented candles had never left. Suddenly, Mels had spent Christmas at our house. Suddenly, Rory had proposed in front of my family, not his. But I still remembered the other Christmases as well. Like I said, a maze. Two different lives, but both real.

Then, we missed Christmas 2010. Weird to think about this now. I missed a whole Christmas. Not by not taking part in it, but by literally not being on Earth during that time. After mine and Rory’s wedding, we had left with the Doctor. Several months of traveling later, he dropped us off in February 2011. So, no Christmas. There was a Christmas 2012 though. But before I can get into that, there is some more backstory, because otherwise it would be way to insane to tell.

Now, this is a story I have never told before – or at least have never written about. And you will probably see why in a second.

I was pregnant which I had not known for a long time, because after the Doctor had dropped me and Rory off back on Earth, I had been kidnapped by some people calling themselves the Silence, which I can’t even remember ever happening. And I had been replaced by something called a Flesh, which is basically a clone, except that it only existed through my mental connection. So, I was in this place called Demon’s Run, somewhere in the future in space, but it felt like I was with the Doctor the entire time, going on adventures with him and Rory.

The connection between me and my clone had eventually been broken by the Doctor and I found myself at that place, pregnant, with contractions, giving birth … If you think that sounds bad, I can tell you it felt a hundred times worse than you could ever imagine. Which is why I have never written this story down before, and I why won’t go into details now either. Some things are better left unsaid.

What is important is that I had a child, a beautiful daughter called Melody, that I love with all my heart, despite everything that had happened. And then … then she had been taken away from me, kidnapped and raised as an assassin, raised to kill the Doctor.

And that girl turned out to be my friend, Mels, and she also was my other friend, River. Yes, I know, but stay with me. I had met my child several times throughout my life, without ever realising. First, by growing up with her, as my best friend Mels. Then, later, as a friend of the Doctor’s, taking part in some of our adventures, where she had also become my close friend. I know, that sounds confusing. Again, believe me, it’s even worse than it sounds. But it all turned out okay, eventually. I never saw Mels again, except for that time she had died and regenerated into River and then tried to kill the Doctor … But I met River again many more times. I never saw my baby again. I do love River with all my heart, however. And that is something.

So, at some point after all of that, the Doctor dropped me and Rory off back on Earth. He had bought us a new place, and Rory a car he loved, and we should’ve been happy, but I knew that this would be the last time I’d see the Doctor. The thing is, we had seen him die. A future version of him. And I knew that he knew. He had dropped us off to say goodbye.

Thankfully, River was there. A slightly older version of her. A version that had already lived through all this craziness a long time ago. She was there for us during that difficult time and also during Christmas as well. A few times I had tried talking to her about the Doctor, about his death, but I could never quite bring myself to do so. Rory was the one who had connected the dots; who had figured out that it would be her – our baby, our friend – who would kill the Doctor. I knew that it would have never been her intention. I knew she loved him. But it made sense that she would be the one, disguised in a space suit, killing him.

Then, the summer afterwards, I had woken up with a whole new bunch of memories buzzing inside my head, about a time that never was. A wedding between River and the Doctor in a weird, timeless place that resembled Earth, but not truly. Rory didn’t remember anything, but I realised what it was almost immediately: an alternative timeline. The Doctor had died. River had killed him, but only because he had insisted … After they had been married. Confusing again, I know, but at this point I couldn’t stop myself anymore: I invited River over, because I needed her in that moment. I told her about the Doctor’s death, and honestly, I was more than glad I had finally done so, after months of keeping my feelings and thoughts shut inside my head. Not only because it had helped unburden my heart, but mainly because she had intrusted me with a secret. A secret, I probably should not write out right now, but really, I doubt the Silence or anyone else of interest would read this story, so here it goes: He didn’t die. He was alive. He had faked his death, and River had always known.

River spent the next Christmas with us again. We waited for the Doctor to perhaps join us, but he didn’t come. Still, we had a beautiful time together.

Then, the next Christmas, he finally paid us a visit, had finally found the courage to tell us he wasn’t actually dead. I’m thankful River had told us before, because I would have most definitely punched him in the face otherwise. River joined us later, and we spent another beautiful Christmas together.

The year after that was the invasion of the cubes, another story I have published before. The Doctor had been gone for a while and didn’t come to visit us for Christmas, but River did, again. This time it was a younger River, so we had to be careful what we were talking about with her around, so to not share any accidental spoilers of her life. Overall, we still had a lot of fun. Well, until Rory’s dad came over.

He had entered, just rambling on about the weather outside, as if we had been expecting him. “So, are your parents coming, Amy? Oh, hello,” he added then, when he noticed River.

“Hello, I’m Brian.”

For a moment, every single one of us, even River, was speechless due to his sudden arrival.

“This is River,” I told him eventually. “She’s … she’s a friend of ours.” If River was in any way offended by my words, she didn’t let it show. She just smiled and reached out a hand to Brian, greeting him. “And no, my parents won’t come over,” I said then. “We’ll visit them tomorrow.”

“Oh, really?” Brian asked. “I know, I haven’t been in touch much with your family, but I’m ready to make changes. You know, spending Christmas alone isn’t really my thing anymore. Why don’t you invite them over? If they don’t have any other plans, of course.”

I was certain that, would I ask my parents, they would surely join us, but for a moment I thought that perhaps I should just tell him that they did, in fact, have plans of their own. We had kept declining their attempts to invite themselves to our Christmas celebrations, because we simply preferred spending time with River and the Doctor on Christmas Eve. It had become some kind of tradition, at least with River, and it was nice to have some structure and certainty in the otherwise uncertain life we led. And in our minds, all of them in one room had not appeared to be a good idea.

Still, I felt somewhat sorry for Brian, and I also knew that we would not be able to get rid of him either way, so I just said, “Sure, I’ll give them a call.”

After he had left to put the presents he had brought under the Christmas tree, River turned around to us, still a smile on her face. “I think it’s probably the best if I leave then.”

“No, stay,” I told her sincerely.

“I doubt that’s the best idea,” she replied, smiling.

“We don’t have to invite them over,” Rory said immediately. “My dad is fine on his own.”

River, shaking her head, replied, “You should be with your family. I have this,” she pointed at her vortex manipulator. “I can have Christmas whenever I want.”

She left shortly after that, and we spent Christmas with our family. Well, our other family. Or part of our family. Another part was missing.

After that Christmas, I made a decision. I had always known it wouldn’t be easy to tell my family about anything surrounding the Doctor. They had kept asking, and I had usually avoided their questions, but it was time to tell them the most important story of all.

I wasn’t even sure if I had never told them about River – Melody – because I knew they’d have a hard time understanding it, or because I was afraid of talking about it. About making it real. Somehow, in my mind, I could always separate those different people - Melody, Mels, River. I knew they were the same, but my relationship with them was different. Melody was the baby I had lost. Mels was the childhood friend I knew I would never see again. And River was the present, was one of my best friends, but she was neither Melody nor Mels, not really. I knew it wasn’t different for River. She had always known I was her mother, whenever she had met me previously, while I had been unaware. And sometimes I wondered whether she wanted me to be that person - her mother. She never said it, though, not even implied it. When she called me ‘mother’, it was usually in a less serious way, often jokingly. But I was her mother. And it was time that my parents knew that, too.

So, some time in November, Rory and I gathered my parents and his dad around in our living room. I had never been this nervous in my life before – and that said a lot. I was happy that Rory had been next to me, I’m sure I’d have never gone through with it if it wasn’t for him.

Then we told them. All of it.

Brian took it fairly well. I guess he had seen enough insanity in recent times. My parents needed a second. My dad continued calling me every day after that, always with a new reassuring message, that he loved me and wanted to meet River. My mum took a bit longer. I think she was a slightly scared. But as Christmas rolled around, and River appeared, my mum was suddenly smiling. This time, we were all together … well, except for one person.

Now, the Doctor had kept visiting us, and he had continued to take us on adventures, after letting us know he was not really dead, but he wasn’t there for Christmas. So, River had promised us to get him next time.

And then there it was. Christmas 2016. River appeared, the Doctor at her side. My parents were there, Rory’s dad was with them. A true family Christmas. If only we had known it would be the last.

Really, in a way, it’s beautiful. We didn’t know at that time, but we made that last Christmas memorable. Back then, I had hoped for more Christmases like that. A naïve way to think when you travel with the Doctor.

Rory and I had been sent back in time by a Weeping Angel. 1938 to be exact. None of our parents were even born yet and we were stuck in New York City. Where we also had to die. Or Rory did. Because I had seen his gravestone, which was the reason why the Doctor couldn’t come and get us. He would create a paradox, on top of several more paradoxes we had already created during that time, which, according to his words, could blow up New York. I had chosen to be here. My name had never been on that gravestone, but I hoped it was now.

That first Christmas we spent in a tiny, mouldy flat. It was cold, but we made due. Rory continued working as a nurse. Well, there was a world war about to happen, so there would be more than enough work for him to do.

That Christmas, however, we received a special gift. The manuscript to a book. A book River had written about our adventures in New York, right before the Angels had sent us back. A book, I had already read in some parts, because we had seen it before. Attached to it was a letter by River, which I still have with me. The paper now shines in a yellow hue, and the writing has faded slightly, but it’s still perfectly readable.

Dear Amy and Rory,

I’m sorry I have to contact you like this. I know I could come and visit you. I really could. Just using my vortex manipulator, I could go and talk to you, spend more time with you. I wanted to do it, but I decided against it. And please don’t take this the wrong way. I want to see you, more than anything, but I’m also afraid. Afraid, that the temptation would be too great. Could either of you, or me, really resist the possibility of getting you out of there? You know, I could get you back, right now. Back to your life, to your family. But then, we would risk a paradox, might risk the lives of thousand and millions of people. And in all honesty, I can’t tell you what way I would decide if I saw you, so I chose to stay where I am.

The Doctor is fine. I’m with him right now. He’ll be okay, and I hope you are too. I really hope you both are together, and are happy and love each other. That is all that matters. I sent you the manuscript to that damned book. I’ve finished writing it, but I need someone to publish it. I know you kept talking about writing books, Amy, even if you’ve never seriously considered it before. Now, I know that this is my story, but perhaps it can get you a foot in the door. When you get it published, please add an afterword, for the Doctor. He misses you and I feel like he would listen to you, so please tell him what he needs to hear.

I miss you, too. I wish I could come and see you, but I already told you why I can’t do so. However, if you want to talk to me, write me a letter, I attached an address. Please don’t come and visit it. I probably won’t be there either way, but I’ll check the mailbox every now and then, so you can send me letters from your time. Perhaps we can stay in touch that way.

I love you,

Melody

I had actually published the book. It took a while, but eventually I had found a publisher. And it became a bestseller. I’m also assuming you’ve read said book, if you’re reading this one now. So, yeah, the events were real, written out of the perspective of my daughter. We had also kept in touch with River through letters. We understood why she could not visit us, and we were not mad at her at all, because we, too, would probably take the opportunity to get out.

Several Christmases came and went now. No time traveling and missing Christmases and waiting for the Doctor anymore. That was in the past. Instead, we just lived our lives. Rory continued his work in the medical field, and I kept writing stories. Stories about our adventures with the Doctor. Some were a bit exaggerated, I admit, but for the most part it really was that crazy.

Then, in 1946, Rory and I decided to adopt a baby boy. We named him Anthony, and that Christmas we spent with our new, two-year-old son. We had always wanted more children, but after what had happened to me at Demon’s Run, sadly I couldn’t get pregnant anymore. Due to our insane and occasionally quite dangerous life, however, we had decided against adoption, as we were afraid, even if we did not travel with the Doctor anymore, that this part of our life would still eventually catch up with us. But now, that part was gone. Our family was gone, but we built a new one.

As the years went by, and our calm and happy life continued, things started to get a little more difficult again. Both, me and Rory, realised we were entering a weird time. For once, our parents had been born. They lived now, the same time we did. It was hard to resist the urge to go and visit them. But really, what should we tell them? And then there was 1969. We knew we had been there, in Florida and Washington. Our younger versions. Me, pregnant, not knowing yet. The Doctor. River. And then we realised River wasn’t just there once, but twice.

River had told us a bit about her childhood. She had said she couldn’t remember much, but I remembered her saying she regenerated as a little girl in New York in 1970. So, when that year arrived, I started looking for her. Rory had told me that it was a foolish thing too do, that the city was big and that I would only be devastated should I not find her, but I didn’t care. I kept looking. And eventually, I found a little girl.

She was about three or four, lost in the streets, but weirdly smart. She could communicate with me well, not like you would expect from a child that age. But that wasn’t what made me sure it was her. I just knew.

When I had taken her home, Rory wasn’t immediately convinced.

“What’s your name?” I eventually asked her, when I realised I hadn’t done so before. I had been so certain it was here that it had never even occurred to me to ask.

“Melody,” the girl replied. Then, as my heart made a jump, I saw Rory turning completely white. I went to give Melody something to eat in kitchen before I went back to the living room, where Rory still stood in shock.

“Don’t you see?” I said, tears in my eyes. “River told us about that old married couple taking her in back in New York. Now look at us,” I added. We were both well into our sixties now. Obviously, I looked better than him, but still, for a little girl we were both pretty old. “We were that old couple.”

Now, the tears also appeared in Rory’s eyes. “We can’t…”

“Of course we can,” I said. “We’ve already done it.”

It took a while to convince Rory, but eventually we decided to take care of her. We found a nice orphanage for her to live in, because we knew she couldn’t stay with us, as River had told us so, but every weekend she visited, and every Christmas we celebrated together. Me, Rory, Melody and Anthony. This was our family now, and the many Christmases we spent together made me almost forget the life we had before. Seventeen years of Christmas like this, until 1988. That was the year Rory died. He died the year he was born. The thing is, I had always known it would happen soon. I had remembered the age on Rory’s gravestone. Somehow, I had hoped I would die before him. Both, Anthony and Melody, were grown now. They didn’t need me anymore. But here I was, no Rory, just me and our children, one not knowing she was our child.

We had eventually told Anthony everything, including who Melody was. Despite us adopting him later in our lives, he was older than her and even though she didn’t know it, he cared for her like an older brother would. And we kept spending Christmas together, although times changed. Anthony had gotten married and I now had a granddaughter. Rory never met her, but he had known that she was on her way, so that was something. He knew we had a grandchild.

Now Anthony had another family, and while he spent Christmas with his in-laws, I decided to stay with Melody. Just like Mels and River, Melody had already decided to get herself into a lot of trouble. I had to keep an eye out for her, but I also didn’t want her to get too attached to me. The 1990s arrived and I knew Melody would soon go and meet my younger self. My younger self, that had just been born, across the sea… I knew I had to let go of her soon, while knowing everything she was about to go through.

Last Christmas I was putting up the decorations, thinking about whether I should encourage Melody to leave, while knowing I could never ever push her away, when someone knocked on the door.

“Did you forget your keys again, Melody?” I mumbled as I walked towards the door. “Or lost them? I swear, if I have to change the lock again, I’ll get you … River!”

I had opened the door and just starred at the person standing in front of me. It was Melody, but not the young version. It was her grown up version. A face I hadn’t seen in decades.

She just stared at me too, before a careful smile appeared on her face and she said, “Hello, Amy.”

I was simply speechless for a moment, at a loss of words like I had never been before. I had been sure that I would never see her again. When I didn’t say anything, River asked, “Is my younger self here or can I come in?”

“Er … no, no, just me. Come in.” I let her through the door and as we walked towards the living room I had just been decorating, I asked, “How do you know you were here as a kid? Did you always know?”

River turned around, still a smile on her lips. “I figured it out when you sent me that letter about adopting Anthony. And I remembered your names were Mr. and Mrs. Williams. That was just too much of a coincidence.”

I sat down with her on the sofa. “I thought you said you couldn’t visit us.”

“I know. That’s why I don’t have my vortex manipulator with me.” She showed me her empty wrist where her vortex usually was attached to. “I hid it away before I came here,” she explained. “I thought, after all those years, you might not want to get back, but I didn’t want to test it.”

I was glad she didn’t. Because, in all honesty, I didn’t know what I would do given the chance. Anthony had his own family, Melody would leave soon, and Rory was gone. It would have been good to see my family again.

“Rory is dead,” I told River then.

“I know,” she said.

“He would’ve loved to meet you again, too,” I said then. It wasn’t meant as an accusation, I was simply curious on why she decided to get here now.

“I know,” she replied with a sigh. “This visit wasn’t planned. I just thought about you both, specifically you, on this Christmas. With Rory gone and my younger self about to leave. Then I decided to get here. Talk with you for a bit, perhaps.” She smiled again, but this time it was a sad smile, and I noticed she started to fumble with the edges of the dress she was wearing, almost as if she were nervous. She rarely ever did that. “And also, I didn’t know whether you knew, but it was you who told my younger self back then to go and find you and Rory. I know I could’ve also told you that in a letter, but…”

“…but you came either way,” I said, smiling. “It’s great to see you again, River.”

We spent the next hours talking in the still not completely decorated living room. I told her all the details about my life in New York that never made it into my letters to her. She told me about what she had been up to lately, told me about my parents which I had asked her to comfort about my absence, and how the Doctor was doing.

Eventually, the door opened and Anthony walked into the living room. “Hey, I just wanted to check in with you and … oh, hello,” he said as he realised that I wasn’t alone.

“Hello, Anthony,” said River and Anthony just stared at her, confused at her for knowing his name.

“Anthony, this is River,” I told him, and slowly I could see the realisation hit him as he looked back and forth between us, stunned.

“River … you mean … Melody?” he asked, now staring at her carefully.

River gave him a smile. “Yes, that is me. But if I remembered correctly,” she added, gazing up at the clock, “I’ll be here soon. So, I’ll have to leave you two alone.” She got up and I walked her to the door, leaving a bewildered Anthony behind.

“You know, I always wondered,” I said then as she walked into the hallway, preparing myself to ask the question I wanted to since River had arrived. “When I got sent back by the Angel … did my name appear on that gravestone next to Rory’s?”

River looked at me, a sadness in her eyes that told me more than she probably wanted to. “Yes,” she said. “If not, I could just take my vortex and get you back to your time.”

“I know. That’s why I asked,” I told her. “You know, I never knew whether it was just Rory, and you simply didn’t visit us because you knew I wouldn’t leave him,” I said. “Now, I believe that also means that you know when I die.”

River’s smile faded. “Yes.”

I just nodded at her, putting a smile on my lips. Her eyes stared at me, with that sadness again, and even though I now looked noticeably older than her, I knew she was probably far higher age that I was. Her eyes had started to resemble more and more the way the Doctor used to look at me. All that age and wisdom and knowledge that most of the time felt more like a burden than anything else. Perhaps dying wasn’t too bad.

“Merry Christmas,” I told her and gave her a kiss on the forehead. The last time I had done that, she had been a baby.

“Merry Christmas,” River replied, the smile back on her face.

I spent that Christmas Eve with Melody. I convinced her to go look for her parents. On Christmas Day, Anthony and his family came for a visit. I took it all in. After that, I decided to write down this story. I know it will be the last story I will ever tell. Perhaps it is the only story that ever mattered.

#doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #amy pond #rory williams #amy x rory #eleventh doctor era #river song

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kaijudyke · 3 years

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hello my friends! as you may or may not be aware i have a healthy obsession with the ballad of tam lin, and today i would like to talk to you about the abundance of parallels between tam lin and star trek deep space nine s02e22 the wire! i will be summarizing the ballad for you so you do not need to be familiar with it! strap in for a long analysis and join me under the cut 💖

1. a summary of the ballad in broad strokes

(all excerpts in this section from child 39A)

tam lin is a scottish folktale about a young woman named janet who goes to the forest of carterhaugh, which is known to be guarded by a fairy called tam lin.

O I forbid you, maidens a', That wear gowd on your hair, To come or gae by Carterhaugh, For young Tam Lin is there.

(janet is aware of this, and goes anyway. one of my favorite running themes in the ballad is janet being incredibly headstrong and cocky.) she picks a few roses, he appears and tells her to stop, she stands up to him, and they end up sleeping together (and, ostensibly, falling in love). she returns home to her father's castle pregnant. her father and the other men at the castle are very concerned about her pregnancy, but she defies them and tells her father that this is her own responsibility and that she'd rather be with tam lin than any human nobleman:

If that I gae wi child, father, Mysel maun bear the blame, There's neer a laird about your ha, Shall get the bairn's name. If my love were an earthly knight, As he's an elfin grey, I wad na gie my ain true-love For nae lord that ye hae.

janet goes back to carterhaugh to pick abortifacient herbs and terminate the pregnancy, since she believes she and tam lin will never be able to be together. tam lin reappears and asks her to stop, and she asks him to tell her more about himself (in many versions she asks him if he's a christian), looking for any reason not to give up on him:

"Why pu's thou the rose, Janet, Amang the groves sae green, And a' to kill the bonny babe That we gat us between?" "O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin," she says, "For's sake that died on tree, If eer ye was in holy chapel, Or christendom did see?"

he tells her that he's human like her, but was taken by the fairy queen as a child. he also says that the fairies pay a tithe to hell every seven years, and he's worried this time they're going to sacrifice him. he tells her how to save him: she must be at miles cross at midnight on all hallow's eve, when the fairies ride by, and she must pull him down from his horse and hold on to him as the fairies change his shape several times.

"They'll turn me in your arms, lady, Into an esk and adder, But hold me fast, and fear me not, I am your bairn's father. "They'll turn me to a bear sae grim, And then a lion bold, But hold me fast, and fear me not, And ye shall love your child. "Again they'll turn me in your arms To a red het gand of airn, But hold me fast, and fear me not, I'll do you nae harm. "And last they'll turn me in your arms Into the burning gleed, Then throw me into well water, O throw me in with speed. "And then I'll be your ain true-love, I'll turn a naked knight, Then cover me wi your green mantle, And hide me out o sight."

(the exact details of the transformations vary between versions, but some of the most common shapes he has to go through are adder, newt, lion, hot coal, and burning iron. if you're interested in the variations, i highly recommend this page!) once the transformations are done, he instructs her to wrap him in her green cloak, after which the fairies won't have a claim to him anymore. janet follows his instructions and successfully saves him, much to the dismay of the fairy queen.

2. janet, julian, and their relationships

whichever version of tam lin you are reading, janet is a character with a ton of agency. she has no qualms about encroaching on tam lin's territory (in fact she tells him in no uncertain terms that the forest is hers), and there is some indication that she might have gone to carterhaugh specifically because she wanted to sleep with tam lin; she's said to be wearing a green dress, and since the color green was associated with the fae, wearing green to a fairy wood is pretty clearly inviting their attention. (in medieval literature, green was also sometimes associated with love and sex.)

it's not hard to draw a parallel between janet's decision to pursue tam lin despite the danger he represents and julian's immediate fascination with garak in past prologue even though (or rather because) he suspects him to be a spy. also of note is that janet and tam lin's relationship begins with an argument, where her willingness to challenge him seems to be what draws him to her. one of my favorite retellings, by james p. spence, emphasizes this:

‘I'm here tae guard these woods, tae see that naebodie nor nothing disturbs their peace.’ ‘An was it ma father that gave ye such a job?’ ‘Naw it wasnae.’ ‘Weel, there ye are then. It should be you that's asking ma permission tae set foot in these woods, because it is ma father that owns them.’ Then the young man's face rose up intae a smile that seemed many a long year since it was last there. (scottish borders folk tales, james p. spence, p. 114-115)

i'm sure i don't need to tell you that this is reminiscent not only of garak and julian's fondness for debate but of the way cardassians show romantic interest. more than that, though, i think there's something to be said for the way these relationships are treated by other people in the characters' lives. janet's father and his knights are troubled by her pregnancy, and they clearly think she should be with a normal, respectable man, preferably one of said knights, given that she feels the need to remark "There's neer a knight about your ha / Shall hae the bairnie's name." (child 39I) in the wire, when julian tells jadzia he wishes garak would trust him, she replies "why should he? it's not like the two of you are really friends." julian's friends do not understand why he spends so much time with garak—a cardassian, a spy, an outcast, someone who can't be trusted.

in both cases it's easy enough to see where they're coming from; being pregnant out of wedlock with a fairy's child is certainly not an ideal situation for a young noblewoman to find herself in, and it's remarkably foolish for a starfleet officer to have regular lunch dates with someone he believes to be an enemy spy. but janet and julian are both stubborn, and more interested in what's adventurous and exciting than what's good for them. (remember that, like janet knowingly going to pick roses in a forest guarded by fairies, julian wanted the position on ds9 because he wanted to try his hand at "frontier medicine"; misguided as he may have been, his thirst for adventure is the reason he's even on the station to begin with.)

3. fairyland, the obsidian order, and enabran tain

in the ballad, tam lin is abducted by the fairy queen when he's a child. she takes him to a magical realm where he feels no pain and is far removed from human worries.

And we that live in faeryland, No sickness know, nor pain, I quit my body when I will, And take to it again. (j. holm, verse 32)

garak has been enabran tain's protégé since he was very young. as an operative of the obsidian order, he's been trained to be cool under pressure, to play his cards close to his chest, and to avoid sentimentality and attachment. the plot of the episode hinges entirely on a device implanted in his brain that keeps him from feeling pain. to save his life, julian has to remove the implant, metaphorically rescuing him from fairyland and the influence of the queen who stole him away from the human world. the fairy queen is very possessive of tam lin and very disdainful of his feelings for janet; in many versions of the ballad, after janet successfully rescues him, the fairy queen remarks that if she'd known this would happen, she would have plucked out his eyes and replaced them with wood, or taken his heart and replaced it with stone.

"But had I kend, Tam Lin," said she, "What now this night I see, I wad hae taen out thy twa grey een, And put in twa een o tree." (child 39A, verse 42) 'Had I but kend, Thomas,' she says, 'Before I came frae hame, I had taen out that heart o flesh, Put in a heart o stane.' (child 39B, verse 41)

much like tain tried and failed to mold garak into the perfect emotionless spy, the fairy queen very literally wants to remove tam lin's ability to feel love, because his emotions make him harder for her to control, and in the end are what lead him to escape her clutches entirely. garak and tam lin are both saved by the same thing: their transgressive love for their rescuer, and the fierce, unconditional love they receive in return.

4. hold me fast and fear me not

the central event of the tam lin ballad, of course, is the transformation scene. i'm sure it's what makes the ballad stick in people's minds; it certainly is for me. there's something so deeply romantic about the phrase "hold me fast and fear me not," and about the idea of loving someone so much that you'll hold on to them even as they turn into a beast in your arms. the wire doesn't have as literal a transformation scene as tam lin, but i would argue that it certainly has one.

after julian removes garak's implant (which we can equate to pulling tam lin down from his horse), garak goes through withdrawal. he becomes, by turns, depressed, and angry, and spiteful, and violent. throughout the episode, we see him try to drive julian away. he refuses his help; he insults him; he tells him contradictory stories about his past, all designed to shock him; when none of this succeeds at discouraging him, he physically lashes out.

julian, however, doesn't budge. he isn't fooled by the shapes garak contorts himself into. he takes every change in stride, never wavering in his determination to save him. every person garak claims to be, julian accepts. like janet defying the fairy queen for love of tam lin, he goes as far as to enter cardassian territory and seek out enabran tain in order to save garak's life. when he believes he's about to die, garak tells julian he needs to know that someone forgives him; "i forgive you," julian says, "for whatever it is you did." whatever kind of beast garak is—whatever kind of beast tain has turned him into—julian will not let go of his hand. he will hold him fast.

He grew into her arms two Like iron in hot fire; She held him fast, let him not go, He was her heart's desire. (child 39D, verse 31)

the basic structure of these stories is the same: the main character finds out that the person they love is in immediate danger due to something they went through when they were younger, which fundamentally changed them as a person and is also keeping the two from being together. unwilling to lose their love, they brave the wrath of a powerful villain who's controlled this person's life for a long time. there are undeterred by the frightening changes the person goes through. in the end, they are victorious, and their beloved is free.

5. my dear doctor, they're all true

a closing statement: tam lin is a folktale. like any folktale, there are many, many versions of it, often contradicting each other. there is no definitive version of tam lin (though child 39A may be the most famous). you're free to read every available version of the story, finding meaning not only in the most commonly reoccurring themes, but also in which parts of the text speak to you. like garak's contradictory stories about his life, while it's hard to say whether any one element is true, every element tells you something—about the story, or about the person who tells it. my view of these story parallels is heavily influenced by my own personal interpretation of, and feelings about, the ballad. as it should be.

#star trek #deep space nine #ds9 #star trek deep space nine #star trek ds9 #garashir #julian bashir #elim garak #talk tag #trek talk tag #i feel like i sound very pretentious in this but fuck it i am pretentious

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vanillafrog · 3 years

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Stress in the Headquarters

Pairing: Javier Peña/You (AFAB Reader)

Summary: Javier is nothing but a man who has his very specific forms of stress relief. When abstaining from one, his tension just seems to increase without stop. So you decide to help. After all, it might just be your fault slightly.

Word Count: 1796

Warnings: Smut!! M receiving Oral Sex; lowkey public but the blinds are closed

A/N: You may be wondering why I write so many Javi fics. The reason is because I like to ruin @barricade-gal :)

Javier Peña was a man built of stress and tobacco. More of one than the other on most days. There were very few moments in his life where there was an absence of stress and those moments were usually found under sheets with strangers that he paid for. But recently, he no longer found himself emptying his wallet on the Bogota streets.

Everyone knows the classic tale of the man whore who found chastity when he fell in love. Most of the time, those romcoms were nothing more than a romcom, something to make fun of at the end of the night. Javier never saw himself as the main love interest in such a thing but life was a funny way of turning things around.

The moment you began working under him, Javier had thought of a thousand different ways for you to work under him. A week after you came, he came in his hand more than a half dozen times. To say he was fixated was putting it lightly.

He knew his reputation better than anyone else ever could. After all, he was the one who made it like that in the first place. Javier also knew that if he did want a shot at you (though he shouldn’t try since you work together), he needed to clean up his act. After all, you deserved more than a man who couldn’t keep it in his pants.

So his main form of stress relief was tobacco and strangely enough, that didn’t work for everything he found himself frustrated with.

You wore a particularly tight skirt? He chain smoke a pack of cigarettes in less than two hours. You laughed at his joke and touched his arm? Well, he hoped he didn’t have to run that day. You leaned forward to show him something with the top two buttons of your blouse open? Javier would find himself in his office, head in his hands with a cigarette hanging from his lip as he tried to ignore the throbbing in his pants.

The moment you had turned twenty one, you applied to the FBI Training Academy and graduated with flying colors. You were put into the DEA without a second thought because everyone knew you were sharp. As eagle eyed as you are, you knew how Javier felt the moment his eyes first raked across your form when you met for the first time.

You could also tell that he was trying o find relief with cigarettes rather than whores to prove that he was more than just his reputation. So, you put it to the test.

You’re no evil mastermind, you would even argue that you were far from it. But you got a sadist pleasure of making him squirm from the smallest of things. And three months into your test of wills, he never broke once. Tension just built on top of already existed stress to the point of near seam bursting.

Javier was in his office smoking his fifteenth cigarette of the day when you walked in. His eyes subconsciously took in your form as you closed his office door behind you, locking it as you went. He watched as you shut the blinds as well but didn’t dare say something to you.

“How are you today, Agent Peña?” You asked once you were guaranteed some form of privacy in the office space. With your hands intertwined behind your back, your breasts were pushed out and it took everything for Javier to keep his eyes connected with yours.

“The same as always, hermosa.” He put out his cigarette as he leaned back in his seat. “Was there something you wanted?’

Javier was trying his best to stay calm but the moment you stepped into his office, his pants were ten times tighter than they were before and all the blood left his brain. Today you wore the tightest skirt you had to offer and your pink blouse (a noticeable favorite of his since it’s his favorite colors) had the top two buttons open. It was like you were the apple and he was Eve, more than willing to take a bite.

“It’s more of what you want,” you said with a sultry smirk. Your heels clanked against the hardwood as you started to walk behind his desk. “You’re been so stressed lately.”

He prayed you couldn’t see the way his cock strained against the denim of his jeans or how it twitched when you set your hands on his shoulders.

“We have a stressful job.” His voice was deeper now, thick with lust and there was no way he could hide how he felt with the warmth of your hands bleeding through the fabric of his shirt.

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be allowed to,” you brushed your lips against his ear making Javier bit his lip to hold back a moan. “Relax.” You nipped at his ear, lips trailing down to his neck. Javier gripped the armrests of his desk chair tightly, hoping it would ground him somehow. If this was a dream from falling asleep at his desk again, he didn’t want it to end.

Sucking and biting at his neck, you let one of your hands caress his chest. He was breathing hard and heavy, like his lungs couldn’t get enough oxygen to his head. They probably couldn't, considering the blood had left there minutes ago.

“Hermosa.” He moaned as your fingers brushed over his nipple. Javier shifted slightly in his seat, needing to relieve some of the pressure on his aching cock.

“I want to take care of you, sweet boy.” He whimpered at the nickname. “Won’t you let me?” Javier nodded, unable to speak with your lips pressed against him. Your hand found home in his head and you yanked back his head so he could look at you with hooded eyes. “You got to use your words, baby.”

“Fuck-“ he licked his lips. “Please take care of me.”

With a devilish grin, you dropped his head and spun the chair so he was facing you. He stared up at you with lust blown eyes and a deep flush spreading across his ears and coloring the tips of his ears. You knew that your time in his office was running out before it became suspicious so you fell to your knees and started to unbuckle his belt. Purposely rubbing against the bulge making Javier whimper.

“You’re going to need to stay quiet for me. Can you do that?” Javier nodded his head enthusiastically as his hand buried into your hair to hold you close to him. The sound of you unzipping his pants mixed his panting breaths as you nuzzled your face against his clothed cock. Javier bucked into you and softly apologized though you knew it was half hearted as he was too aroused to really notice his reactions.

He wasn’t wearing any underwear so his cock was instantly in front of your face and exposed to the cold air of the office. Javier was squirming, making it bob in front of you. He was big, like really big which made sense for the confidence he emitted whenever (which was always) he walked dick first.

You couldn’t help but lick your lips.

Leaning in, you licked a long stripe from base to tip that made Javier throw his head back against the seat with a drawn out moan. You wrapped your left hand around the base and swirled your tongue around the leaking tip, tasting his pre-cum. His hand tightened in your hair.

“Be quiet.” You mumbled before swallowing half of him causing Javier to let out a choked out groan.

He tasted of soap, hours old sweat, and something that was just Javier. You knew instantly you were going to be addicted to this. His taste, his sounds, the way he stretched your lips making you imagine how it would feel when he fucked your pussy. You wished now there was more time for that but you would have to settle for a few hours of burning arousal.

Bobbing your head, Javier softly bucked into your mouth, chasing his own pleasure. He quieted himself down but moans and whimpers still fell from his lips as he lost himself. Eventually he looked down at you on your knees in front of him. When did he get so lucky? How did he get so lucky?

You swallowed around him as your eyes met his. He let out a few curses and you felt him throb. There was no way he was going to last long, not after abstaining from anything like this for three months. Not when you are making him feel so good.

Your free hand cupped his balls and his mouth fell open as his brow furrowed. The throbbing intensified. You bobbed faster, rolling your tongue as best as you could on the pulsing vein. His breathing was even heavier as you pumped the parts you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

“Fuck, cariño, I’m going to-“ he didn’t finish before he pulled you farther down him making you choke slightly. He came in your mouth for a long time, forcing you to swallow as much as you could but still filling your mouth with his cum. His body shook as his felt his soul leave his body. Sweat ran down his flushed face as his back arched, hips stuttering against your hand.

Javier slowly calmed down, back meeting his chair again and hand dropping from your hair. You pulled off of him, he hissed. Instantly, he missed the warmth of your mouth. He wished there was a way he wouldn’t have to leave it ever even if that wish was impossible.

You stuck your tongue out at him, showing him the cum that you didn’t shallow. He watched transfixed as you made a show of shallowing. His now soft cock twitched at the sight. Gently, you put him back into his pants and adjusted his clothing before standing and placing a peck to his lips.

He looked confused and tired.

“I’ll see you after work, Agent Peña.” With that, you simply walked out of his office leaving the blinds closed.

Javier just stared at where you once were. He knew it from the beginning but now he had the proof he needed to know. He was fucked and he was now the main interest of a shitty romcom. Or a porn with too much story. He hoped that this time things would go well because he didn’t know if he could really handle any more stress.

He lit a cigarette and tried his best to read the files in front of him, ignoring the ticking of the clock with hours to go before he could return the favor.

#vanillafrog fics #javier peña #javier peña/reader #javier peña/you #narcos

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for-i-am-dying-of-such-love · 3 years

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a prelude (...the wanting comes in waves...)

Happy Valentine’s Day my loves! I’ve been working on this fic for a week or two now, and I was hoping it would be finished in time for today. Only, it’s not quite there yet. Buuuuuuuuuuuut, I was really tied to the idea of sharing something with you, so I’m going to post the first half of it here for you to enjoy while there’s still some Valentine’s Day left on the clock (at least here in the EST time zone).

This isn’t on AO3 yet, but it will be once it’s complete. In the meantime, you can read some of it below the cut.

Thanks to @moddieeee and @tunemyart for filling my brain with all of the WFC feels. I love you both dearly; you inspire me in so many ways. Smooches!

UPDATE: you can now read this on AO3!

a prelude (...the wanting comes in waves...)

It’s a curiosity at first. After the curtain call, before the reception. The single red rose that falls at her feet. Tossed in a soft arc from the balcony of the Imperial Box. From the hands of the Empress, no less. Gabrielle is careful to retrieve the lady’s favour from the stage, in clear view of the woman who was so moved to offer it. Bends low with delicate fingers to scoop it up to join the bouquet already nestled under one arm. Gaze intent on the keen eyes that cut through the distance between them, because, she tells herself, it would be impolite to look away. Adds the bloom to the others - nonchalant now, attention elsewhere - as if it were just another token bestowed upon her by any other appreciative fan. But even as she tucks it away, her fingers wind around the long, smooth stem and linger there, like the peculiar feeling that suddenly creeps across her chest and down her spine to settle in the dangerous spaces behind her knees.

She thinks she hears her name, a whisper dancing on the shell of her ear, a voice most familiar though she’s sure she’s never heard it. She scans the faces in the audience, listens behind the sounds for the murmur that is so close and yet so impossibly far, but is met with generous applause and nothing else. Except that peculiar feeling again. This time pulling her attention upwards once more. To that gaze, those eyes, only this time when her own eyes sweep the balcony she finds it empty. It’s something like grief that washes over her then, as her fingers tighten of their own accord around the Empress’ rose, and she prays to Aphrodite for the crowd to give her leave. They clap on instead.

When, at last, she steps backstage after the final round of bows, someone from her troupe offers helpfully to take the flowers from her. To put them away in the cozy dressing room she’s made into her writing space during her stay in Rome - so she can go on ahead to the splashy little soiree Caesar’s people have too loudly announced is in her honour for it to be anything other than just an excuse for the city’s most vapid and ambitious hangers-on to primp and preen and be seen by the Emperor. But Gabrielle declines the stagehand’s offer, hugs the roses a little closer to her chest, hopes no one notices the protective embrace, and makes some private joke about needing a few quiet moments to herself before being thrown to the wolves. There’s a shared chuckle, and then she’s making her way through the din and disarray of actors - unencumbered by further professional obligations and hungry for Rome’s after-dark delights - planning their evening’s exploits as they go about packing up for the night.

And it isn’t a lie - her excuse for wanting to hang back a while - at least not exactly. It’s no secret among her players that she hates these types of events - the lavish parties; the vanity for vanity’s sake; but maybe most of all, the prideful, boastful, gilded arrogance of self-important men and their mistresses (never their wives) as they condescend her intelligence with feigned interest in her plays and their insipid conversation. No, she’d much prefer to while away her free nights in whatever seedy-looking tavern she stumbled upon, with its day-old stew and watered-down port, trading bawdy jokes with the locals and flirting with the busty barmaids. Until a drunken fight cleared out the place. Or the sun peaked above the horizon. Whichever came first - though, Gabrielle always, not-so-secretly, hoped for a fight.

There was something oddly nostalgic, unusually comforting about the back-alley watering holes she’d wander into, though she could never reason why. She almost never visited the same establishment twice. Hadn’t even set foot in one until she found her way to Athens. Fresh-faced and hellbent on making a name for herself with her stories. Fuelled by a dewy-eyed confidence born from leaving behind - by way of an open window in the middle of the night on the eve of her wedding - the lonely, unfulfilling life she’d endured in the small, farming village of her youth. Mostly, though, it seemed her favourite spots were dimly lit; smelled of stale ale and horseshit and someone’s stomach’s misplaced dinner; and were almost always the preferred refuge of at least one soused lout with a lecherous grin and a pair of wandering hands. But they reminded her of the strange and fantastic adventures she once dreamt of having - back when she was still a slip of a girl who looked for pictures in the stars, and wished on the falling ones for someone special to share her secrets with - so she kept finding her way back to them, watching the door between rounds, waiting.

There would be no tawdry tales to tell from the underbelly of Rome tonight - at least not from her lips. Because, as it turns out, even the most sought-after wordsmiths - yes, even those summoned to Rome at the behest of the Imperial Court - have bills to pay. And stuffy parties - no matter how dull, or overflowing with pompous pissants - sparkle with the promise of patronage, enough to pay the bills and then some, when Gabrielle plays her part well. After all, what good are her words and the lessons they teach if no one ever hears them? So, she had long ago learned to smile obligingly, and swallow the impertinence on her tongue with the sip of her wine.

She just needs a moment to centre herself first. A few deep breaths and a head-start on the wine - just a quaff or two or three - reinforcements for the long night ahead. Nothing unusual there. Nothing except the red hot flush at the back of her neck; the bloom of curious wonder in her belly. She picks her way through the whorl of bodies and props and cloth in the theatre’s back of house, the peal of laughter, the good-natured ribbing being tossed in her direction as she passes. Her mind is leagues removed from its routine musings about the tedium in store for her this evening. She can’t seem to shake the Empress from her thoughts, and it prickles at her senses - some portent of danger? A spell to stupefy her? Indigestion from too much garum splashed on her supper?

She sighs, and pushes the fascination from her mind as she pushes aside the heavy curtain to her makeshift workspace. But images of the Empress - impressive and alluring in her height and bearing, draped in diaphanous gold silk and completely disarming with her patrician beauty - slip back into her thoughts as easily as she slips into the quiet of the small room. And, those eyes. The way they cut to the quick of her. She searches her memory for their exact shade, but can’t quite see beyond the shadows cast over the balcony by flickering lamplight. Remembers, only, that they reminded her of the sea under a new moon - so deep and dangerous in their pull that even Poseidon would be powerless to help anyone caught up in the eddy of her gaze.

And even now, nearly half a candlemark later, Gabrielle can still feel the Empress’ eyes on her, as surely as she can feel the Empress’ rose in her hand - pressing up against the flat of her palm - as surely as she feels the bite of imaginary thorns as they dig into her flesh. She knows the stem is bare but the sting is real, and when she looks down at her clasped hand, she still half expects to see a trickle of blood peeking out from between her fingers, stark against her fair skin.

She sighs again, and with the shake of her head, moves with quick, purposeful strides to the water jug on her writing desk. It’s only half-full, and the roses will make it a little top-heavy, but there’s no time to look for something else, and the flowers are much too beautiful to let go to waste, so it will have to do for now. Her hands shake in time with her nervous breath as she slips the bouquet into the carafe, though she’s careful to lay the one from the Empress aside. She’s confused by it - the power it seems to hold over her - but also by the Empress’ arresting stare; the swell of curious feelings that she just can’t escape; the fact that she should even be in Rome in the first place. A farmer’s daughter who stole away in the middle of the night to chase after stories and… love.

She decides she needs a drink.

So, she turns to the decanter of brandy left out by her hosts, pours a generous swig into a finely-etched glass snifter, throws it back in one quick swallow, then repeats the process for good measure. The brandy’s thick and just barely sweet, and it licks a delicious trail down her throat to warm her insides. It’s a slow and delicate burn and it reminds her of the sting she still feels against her palm from the rose that now lays on the desk in front of her. Gabrielle sets the glass down and turns her palms over to inspect them more carefully, to see if the Empress has, by some magic or dark art, left her mark upon her. But there are no scratches, no smear of bright red blood, no brand seared into the flesh there - her hands are fine. Calloused and maybe a little sweaty, but unmarred.

“Have I gone mad?”, she asks in a breathless whisper, decanter in hand once more.

The trickle of brandy spilling into her snifter doesn't propose an answer, but she finds the sound of it reassuring all the same. She brings the glass to her mouth, then moves to put some distance between herself and the desk, as if that might somehow break the spell; clear her thoughts. She makes it three steps before she’s back. Her resolve eclipsed by her curiosity. She trades her glass for the rose. Twirls the stem between her first two fingers and her thumb as she takes to pacing. Watches closely, the play of light from the oil lamp nearby, as it caresses the delicate folds of the flower. Runs the pads of her fingertips along the petals’ edges and is lost completely in the softness she finds there.

Her feet drift across the mosaic floor, as her thoughts drift back to the Empress.

“Maybe they’re green? Or blue? Or black?”

And, her eyes. Of course.

Their pull is irresistible. Gabrielle is helpless to it. And to the mystery of the way the Empress looked at her. The way her own heartbeat skipped in the moment. The peculiar flood of feeling that danced along her every nerve, like a static shock and a lover’s kiss all rolled into one. And then, all orderly thought abandons her. And she wonders why she’s even holding the Empress’ rose. Wonders if it had been genuine admiration or just polite courtesy that had inspired the Empress’ gesture to toss it at her feet.

Wonders if, maybe, she herself had been the...

She doesn’t let herself finish that thought.

“This is ridiculous.” Another incredulous shake of the head, hands thrown up in exasperation.

And then she’s standing in front of the makeshift vase trying to tuck the rose in amongst the others, as if it was just another token bestowed upon her by any other appreciative fan. As if she could ever lose sight of it, even surrounded by a dozen or more just like it. As if her mind hadn’t already mapped every one of its fine details into her memory.

Her clumsy, unwilling fingers are mid-jab when she is interrupted by the scuff of sturdy leather boot soles against stone, the brush of heavy fabric being pushed aside, the gentle clink of shifting metal settling again. Her hand stills, but she waits for the polite cough from her doorway before she turns her head to acknowledge the stranger she finds standing there.

She lifts an inquisitive brow at his intrusion, a question as much as an appraisal. He is handsome, she supposes, in a rugged sort of way. Not that she cares about ruggedly handsome men. Or, men in general. Or, men who are generals, and this man is a general - she is certain of it - the polished armour gives him away immediately; the red velvet cloak affixed to his cuirass. Even without the obvious signs of his rank Gabrielle would know it. Sandy-haired, square jawed, broad shouldered, compact - a fine son of Rome - he wears his station in his manner and his air, and he is here now on business. She lets her brow arch a little higher.

“My apologies for the interruption,” his head bows slightly, gracious, conciliatory, “but, the Emperor asked that I might escort you to the reception.”

She keeps her gaze fixed impassively on the man in the doorway, but doesn’t speak a word in return. She had long-ago discovered that the quickest way to useful information was to keep quiet. So many people found silence uncomfortable, and in the face of it would trip over their own tongues trying to fill the void it seemed to create. She watched her escort shift in his place, swallow around a dry throat, and she smiled knowingly to herself - even Roman strongmen were immune to the effects of careful, exacting scrutiny.

“That is, if you’re ready to go.” He seems caught between impatience and fluster.

She lets the corner of her mouth tug upwards, slips into the indulgent smile she’s picked out for the evening, like it was just another pretty peplos to be donned for a special occasion. But, she doesn’t turn to face him fully. Doesn’t move from what she is doing.

“How lovely,” Gabrielle says, and the cheer she injects into each syllable isn’t nearly as put upon as her smile, recalling, then, with sudden and vivid detail what - who - might await her at the party. This time the softness in her expression is genuine.

“It’s just that you’ve found me in the middle of something.” She tilts her head in the direction of her hand, still raised mid motion, rose resting between her fingers, its stem half buried within the bouquet. His eyes track briefly over her work before finding hers again, and the tension in his posture relaxes when she explains, “I’m nearly done. I only need a moment or two more, is that ok?”

Her heart has suddenly taken up a noisy hammering in her chest, and she can feel a violent blush creeping into her cheeks. She feels exposed, her hand on the Empress’ rose, thoughts of the woman’s commanding beauty circling the edges of her mind, threatening to steal the last of her concentration and betray her all the same. Not that her Roman general has a single clue what he’s witnessing. Still, she holds her breath.

“Of course,” he says, and Gabrielle feels her insides let loose. “I’ll just be outside,” and he gestures towards the curtain. “Please, take your time.”

She tries to keep the relief she feels from creeping into her voice.

“Thank you….,” she says, letting her tone indicate there’s a request in her statement as well.

“Brutus,” he supplies, in understanding.

“Thank you, Brutus. I’ll be along shortly, I promise.” Her hand, still on the rose.

He bows, gently, at the shoulders, and with a small smile turns on his heel to disappear through the fabric door, all cold, brusque efficiency; the only sound of his exit the whisper of his velvet cloak caressing his leather lappets, the brush of the curtain falling back into place.

She waits - a heartbeat. Then, another. Lets her breath push past her lips, slow and shaky. Her eyes drop back to the scene in front of her, fingers still engaged in trying to rearrange the roses packed into the water jug, trying to hide away the evidence of her preoccupation, the source of her growing fervour. Her brows knit together, bewildered, vexed. She has never been so unnerved by something as inconsequential as a flower. She should just toss it aside and be done with it.

And if Gabrielle had any good sense, any resolve left she would. She would absolutely pick it up and, and… A sigh. Instead, she watches as her traitorous body spurns whatever reason remains, and her hand moves, lifts, the rose with it, to bring the bloom to her face. Oh, sweet Aphrodite, how easily she breaks! How soft she’s gone for the memory of the Empress’ gaze, so open and unguarded; the pierce of it. The petals brush against her cheeks, nose, and she smiles at the feel; lets the flower rest a spell against the curve of her upper lip, inhales the delicate perfume. It tugs her eyes closed, and she imagines the smell of rosewater on the Empress’ skin, warm under her touch, and aching.

And it’s like a thousand-thousand tiny explosions up and down her spine, like Greek fire in her veins. Her head spins and her knees buckle and she’s grabbing at the table’s edge to keep her legs beneath her. And somewhere from the depths of her mind’s eye she sees it, a vision - of the Empress, but not the Empress - so familiar and clear, like unlocking a memory, only how could it be? Long shadows and the golden glow of firelight; long ebony hair fanned out on a pillow of furs; long, lean limbs with their long, hungry reach, searching, gripping, pulling closer and closer and harder and closer still; long, graceful arc of a strong back pushing off the ground, hips angling desperately, as fingers push deeper. Gabrielle’s mouth at the valley between her breasts, tongue tracing the same word over and over again: mine mine mine mine. And the flash of the clearest, brightest blue.

Her eyes fly open, and with them a flurry of thoughts blossom in her mind, wild and crazed. She clutches at the stem, wanton with misplaced desperation, feels it ready to give beneath her fingers, such a delicate thing. Like her sanity, surely. Her mind possessed by two insistent, competing thoughts. To tuck away this precious thing - the Empress’ favour - to keep it soft and safe and secret; for her eyes only, in the deep of night; the brush of it against her lips, and the raging, pulsing thrill of possibility in her blood. And then, all the more ludicrous, dangerous, the rush to pin it to her breast and walk into that reception - for all to see and know and whisper about - an audacious declaration, unequivocal in her intent, her offer; to see the Empress turn her way, a shrewd and feral glint in her eye.

But before she can register what’s happening - or do anything so foolish and provocative as to imperil her safety- her free hand is reaching for the latch on the writing box arranged neat and unsuspecting atop the corner of her desk; tossing aside a few extra scrolls, a quill or two, to make room. And then she’s gently placing the Empress’ rose inside and knocking back the rest of her brandy and smoothing down the front of her dress.

She turns on her heel, and feels dizzy; wonders briefly if the drink has gone to her head so soon. But the delightful shiver of anticipation that creeps along her warm skin seems to settle and curl around her belly, and she knows explicitly that she’s not woozy from the brandy wine.

“Utter madness,” she whispers, headed for the curtained door, thumb rubbing aimless circles against her unblemished palm, round and round and up and down, chasing away the lingering sting. She squares her shoulders, brushes an errant curl behind her ear; wishes she could brush off these lingering thoughts of the Empress as easily, but they’ve settled deep within her, like raindrops caught within the folds of a rose. And so, Gabrielle thinks as she slips into the hall, and on to Brutus’ waiting arm, it would seem - rose or not - the Empress has marked me just the same.

#xena #xena warrior princess #xena and gabrielle #gabrielle #wfc au #S06E18 When Fates Collide #when fates collide #a lovewornheart fanfic #wip #otp: for I am dying of such love #this is going to be a slow burn for the time being #the yearning #the wanting #i want High Romance #because they're idiots in love and deserve it

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

Text

Chuckles (Part Two)

Part 1 - 2035 | Part Two - 2036

This is the next chapter of my @tagsecretsanta fic for @angelofbenignmalevolence There is more to come....lots more (though most of it isn’t written yet). Many thanks to @scribbles97 and @tsarinatorment for the reading and support ::hugs::

Warnings: None other than wee!Tracys :D

I hope you enjoy it :D

-o-o-o-

2036

Christmas in the Tracy household was a big family affair. The house itself was a big one. Big enough to house extended family and the bustle and noise that involved.

Scott loved it. Loved everyone being together, the hugs, the jokes, the fact that Uncle Lee always called him ‘Little Jeff’ and told the best stories about planes and rockets. Aunt Val always brought the best Christmas cookies with various aircraft drawn on them with icing. Grandma Taylor had different coloured hair every year and this year was bright blue and included glitter. Grandpa Taylor invented toys for a living so he was always welcome. Though Virgil tended to hoard his attention and Scott wasn’t really sure why because Virgil pulled apart everything Grandpa Taylor gave him anyway.

But the best part of Christmas this year was that Daddy was home.

Daddy spent a lot of time away. Scott understood why, but that didn’t stop him from missing him. Dad had stories much like Uncle Lee and often they starred in each other’s tales, but there was something about his father that Scott just looked up to even more.

It didn’t hurt that Uncle Lee made a point of placing Scott’s father in the spotlight in all his stories.

Dad was an amazing person. A hero.

Dad was also very tall and strong and always had the answers Scott needed. While Mom looked after him and his two little brothers and he loved her very much, Dad was…Dad.

And Scott wanted more than anything to grow up and be just like him.

It certainly didn’t hurt that his father had the same colour hair and everyone said Scott looked a lot like him. Scott bore those comments proudly and made a point of doing his best to emulate what his father might do in any situation.

Scott was going to grow up, join the Air Force and do his father proud.

A clatter in the hallway and Virgil barrelled into the room. Uncle Lee, who had been retelling the Mars landing, stopped mid-word and frowned.

His biggest little brother’s eyes widened as he skidded to a halt and straightened himself up. “Uh, excuse me, Uncle Lee.” A blink, and he looked fit to burst. “Could I please speak to Scott?”

“Sure….squirt.”

That caused Virgil to frown. Scott thought it was funny. Uncle Lee never seemed to be able to remember Virgil’s name.

And besides, Virgil had a thing about being smaller than Scott and didn’t like it being pointed out.

However, Virgil hurried over anyway. “Scotty, can I borrow Chuckles?”

Blink “His name’s not ‘Chuckles’, it’s Chuck.”

“Oh, okay.” Virgil bit his lip. “But can I anyway?”

“Why?”

“Johnny won’t leave me alone.”

“He’ll eat his goggles.”

“Better than him eating my nuts.”

Uncle Lee made an odd sound that dissolved into a cough when Scott and Virgil looked at him.

Scott sighed. “Virgil, it’s Christmas. We’re supposed to share.”

Virgil dragged Scott part way across the room, away from Uncle Lee and lowered his voice.

“I tried, but the kit contains small bits. Mom said Johnny wasn’t allowed to play with small things. She said he was too young.” It was almost hissed under Virgil’s breath. “I don’t want him to get hurt or to get into trouble. Chuckles always distracts him.”

His name wasn’t ‘Chuckles’, it was ‘Chuck’ after Chuck Yeager, the first pilot to break the sound barrier. But Virgil had called the bear ‘Chuckles’ once as a joke, Johnny had picked it up and now it was all about Chuckles. It was annoying.

“Well, give him the nuts and tell him to go eat them somewhere else.”

Virgil stared at him aghast, but then his eyes widened. “Nuts. As in ‘nuts and bolts’, Scott! I’m building the robot Grandpa Taylor brought me. Johnny keeps trying to eat bits of metal.”

Oh.

Uncle Taylor had picked up his tablet, but was now staring at them, a question on his face. “You boys okay?”

Scott nodded. “Yes, Uncle Lee. Virgil just needs some help with his kit. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Blue eyes gauged him, but Scott was more worried about his littlest brother and dragged Virgil out the door.

“Where is Johnny?”

“On the floor outside my room.”

“You didn’t leave the door open, did you?”

“No.”

Scott hurried down the hall. “Why didn’t you call Mom?”

“I tried. Mom is talking to Aunt Val and she sounded sad. I didn’t want to interrupt and I didn’t want Johnny to get into trouble. Chuckles will fix it.”

“His name is not Chuckles!”

Scott rounded the corner and to his horror, Virgil’s door was wide open.

He didn’t bother to acknowledge Virgil’s gasp of horror, but instead barrelled on through the door terrified he would find his little brother choking on the floor.

But Virgil’s desk was empty except for the scattered pieces of his project. A quick glance around the room and Scott quickly found Johnny.

He was no more than a tuft of red hair wrapped around Scott’s pilot bear, half buried in Virgil’s bed covers.

Two wide eyes popped up over the top of those goggles. “Scotty!”

Scott hurried over to the bed. “Johnny, are you okay?”

“Chuckles!” Johnny held up the bear and grinned.

Scott sighed and sat down on the bed next to his littlest brother. His heart was beating fast - he had been so scared.

Virgil stood in the centre of his room staring at Johnny, his lip trembling. It was obvious he realised what could have happened when he left to get help.

Tears welled in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Scotty. I thought he couldn’t get in. I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

“Virg, he’s okay.” The fright in Virgil’s eyes had the eldest hurrying off the bed from one brother to another. “C’mon, Johnny’s fine. He went and got Chuckles, didn’t you, Johnny?”

The three-year-old’s eyes peered up at Virgil registering his distress and soaking it in like a sponge. His grin vanished and his brow crumpled. “Virgil?” Johnny clambered out of the bed and scampered over to his next eldest brother. “Chuckles? Chuckles make it better?” He offered Virgil the bear.

Virgil stared at Chuckles for a moment before reaching out and taking the fluffy toy. He poked at it gently before hugging it to his chest.

John threw himself at his brother with a huge hug almost knocking Virgil over. Scott reached out and steadied him before adding his own arm to the mix and hugging both his brothers at once. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Scott had to scrub snot off Chuckles’ ear later that night.

-o-o-o-

Christmas Eve was family relaxing time before the busy of the next day. Mom, who had been in the kitchen with Onaha since just after breakfast, called a halt to everything at six in the evening and they sat down for a light buffet of a meal. Every family member donated time or a dish which was mostly warm finger foods like pie and things on sticks.

Scott always looked forward to dessert on Christmas Eve because there were all sorts of interesting things to be had. Aunt Val’s Christmas cookies was one of them.

He stood staring at the different planes so artistically drawn on each of them. They were good enough to be recognisable and none of that generic kiddy stuff kids’ books tried to throw at him. Some were historical, some more modern.

“Trying to decide which plane to eat this year, honey?” Grandma Tracy crept up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. Her long blonde hair flopped over his shoulder as she leant in to kiss him on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Scotty.”

“Merry Christmas, Grandma.” But he was still frowning at the cookies. “I can’t see Dad’s plane.”

“Your dad has flown several of those.”

“Yeah, but I want the Sparrowhawk Anderson ZX3.”

Grandma snorted. “Then you’ll have to chase up your father. I saw him nab it earlier.”

Scott turned to his grandmother. “Really?”

“Really.” And it was his father’s deep, smiling voice as Scott was suddenly scooped up in strong laughing arms. “C’mon, ‘Little Jeff’, I’ve saved you your favourite cookie.”

Scott giggled and squirmed, but ultimately clung to his dad, resting his head on his shoulder for just a moment as he was carried across the room to his father’s chair and plomped down on his lap as the man sat down. The longed-for cookie was produced and Scott grabbed it. “Thanks, Dad.”

A big hand on his back, another on his knee, Scott was held close.

“So, what have you and your brothers been up to this week?”

Scott stared at the cookie with the grey, blue and red jet iced on top. “Virgil, did a good drawing of a plane. He didn’t get the tail quite right, but I helped him with that. Johnny learnt some new words.” He couldn’t hold back any longer and bit into the cookie.

It was the best.

Dad snorted. “I heard. I suspected it was you who taught Johnny to say ‘extra-orbital’.”

Scott grinned, his mouth full of biscuit crumbs.

“Swallow before you talk, son.” But his father was smirking.

Scott downed the remains of the cookie, caught between enjoying it and the opportunity to sit and talk with his dad. “He knows all the planets, too.”

“Really?” His father frowned. “He’s only three years old, Scotty.”

Scott sat a bit straighter. I taught him all the names and showed him Mars where you and Uncle Lee went.”

The smile that appeared on his dad’s face only encouraged him. “Virgil drew him pictures of each of them and we stuck them on the wall in his room.”

“That was very kind of the two of you.”

“It made Johnny happy.” Scott didn’t want to mention that Johnny was sometimes sad and always serious. “I want to help him.”

“It sounds like you are doing an excellent job.”

“I’m the eldest.” And Scott knew what Dad was going to say.

“Yes, you are, and that means you have to look after your little brothers. They look up to you and they are your responsibility.”

Scott stared up at those serious grey eyes and for just a second Dad looked like Johnny. “Yes, Dad. I will, I promise.”

His father’s big hand patted his back. “I know you will.”

Scott smiled.

-o-o-o-

End Part Two

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Scott Tracy #chuckles

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enkelimagnus · 3 years

Text

A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 13, 3200 words,

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for.

Read on AO3

-----------------

Vex steps out of the temple, Vax by her side, and the light of the day feels wrong. It feels like decades have passed while they discussed what to do about Percival de Rolo, not merely a few hours.

Maybe it’s because the inside of the Lady’s Chamber is as barren as the Zenith is desolate. She gets the minimalist aesthetic that comes with the Lawbearer but she wishes there were some colorful tapestries to at least brighten up the room.

It’s midday, which is the only reason it’s this bright out. It’s Duscar 2nd, the shortest day of the year, and it means especially a lot so far North. There will only be a couple hours more of daylight and whatever work Vex had leftover for the day will have to wait until tomorrow.

Keeper Yennen is the only one of the group that stayed behind. Father Reynal is already halfway through the square, walking towards his temple and the cemetery. The rest of them gather a few feet from the door, looking at each other with the awkwardness of recently-introduced coworkers.

They form quite the motley crew. A cleric of an all-but-forgotten goddess, a barbarian, two half-elf twins, and the only remaining alive and safe member of the ruling family of the city. She’s barely counting in the two aging priests that provide mostly support and won’t be let anywhere near the fiend.

This feels doomed to fail. A small part of Vex tells her regularly that she should run away and leave these people to their own devices, that this doesn’t concern her. They should all be lucky her professional consciousness is stronger than that little survivalist voice.

“Vex?” Pike’s voice resounds, soft and light and Vex looks down at the other woman.

“Yes?”

Pike looks at her with an apologetic smile. “I wanted to apologize. I didn’t know at the time what was happening. I should probably have warned you once I was made aware of the situation…”

Vex shakes her head. “It’s okay, Pike, it wasn’t your responsibility. You have nothing to do with it.”

It was the priests’ responsibility. It should have been them who warned Vex of what the fiend was. But they’d covered it up. They potentially had lost precious time, because they hadn’t let her do her job.

Pike smiles at her. “I wasn’t lying about the… being sent by my goddess thing,” she points out. “I don’t think I would have left Westrunn if that wasn’t for her.”

Vex raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I have family there. My great-grandpa. And I’m trying to bring some sort of Sarenrae worship back, build a new temple. It’s not super easy, even with this guy,” she points at Grog. Grog smiles at Vex, a smile that would have been scary if Vex hadn’t already seen how soft he was around Pike. “Sarenrae was forgotten a long time ago.”

Vex doesn’t know much about Sarenrae, mostly only what Pike has told her. She nods. “I see. Well I hope either way that it will go well for you. It seems like a good goddess to have a congregation of.”

Pike chuckles. “Yeah, she’s no Betrayer,” she nods. “Alright then. I think Grog and I will go get lunch. Have a good day, and see you at the next meeting.”

Vex bids them goodbye before turning back to her brother, who seems in the middle of a conversation with Cassandra.

“It’s Barren Eve,” Vax is saying when Vex settles next to him. “Are you going to light candles for your family?”

Cassandra seems a little taken aback by that. “Probably,” she replies after a small moment. “What happened here wasn’t really a war, but it’s close enough.”

Vex crosses her arms. “I understand you don’t want to relive what happened, but I’d really appreciate knowing the background of this entire story. It might give us some idea of where to start looking for the fiend your brother has elected to make a deal with.”

Cassandra observes her for a moment, eyes heavy with horrors Vex can’t even imagine. She feels a little guilty for bringing this up over and over again but she needs to know. She can’t go out of her way to save a De Rolo without knowing why he’s in this situation in the first place.

“I can tell you the story,” Cassandra nods. “However I’d like… some privacy?” She gestures at the open square around them. “And it will be more comfortable somewhere where we can all sit. I can bring you to my home if you’d like.”

That’s a sign of goodwill if Vex has ever seen any. Vax is already acquiescing before Vex opens her mouth to accept. He seems to like her. Maybe it’s that sibling thing. Cassandra isn’t a twin, but she’s a sister.

They quickly start making their way to Cassandra’s home. They are mostly silent while on the road. They don’t have a lot of things to talk about. There’s a lot of heaviness between them. Vex doesn’t really feel like dissipating it just yet, if she’s being honest with herself. It’s petty, but it feels good.

To Vex’s surprise, Cassandra guides them off into an alleyway and behind the Alcove, the shop Vex visited on her very first visit into town. She remembers meeting Keyleth there, with those strange clockwork machines that she now knows to be the work of Percival himself.

Cassandra opens a door at the back of the Alcove’s building. Behind it is a narrow stairwell. Vax closes the door behind himself as they walk up into Cassandra’s home.

It’s an apartment, Vex can only see the first room she steps in, all other doors are closed. It’s tidy, but lived in. There are many books lining shelves against the walls, a lot that looks like textbooks.

There’s a small clockwork machine on one of the shelves. There’s a picture framed on the wall, a family portrait. Vex counts two adults and seven children of various sizes. There are twins in there.

“You had a big family,” Vex points out.

Cassandra nods sadly. “It’s been strange to be alone,” she replies.

Vex feels like an asshole again.

They settle around the light wooden table in the middle of the room. Cassandra serves them some coffee and they let the silence settle around them, heavy and thick. Vex doesn’t know exactly how to start this, how to ask again, so she just sort of waits.

“So… my family,” Cassandra starts, shifting a little. She seems to be getting comfortable for a long tale. “The De Rolos founded Whitestone in the early seventh century. We came from Wildemount, wrecked our ship on the Shearing Channels. The Sun Tree was already there, glowing in the winter, and we settled around it. As time passed, we discovered the whitestone of the Alabaster Sierras had a few properties of interest to spellcasters. It allowed us to develop trade with the home continent.”

Vex didn’t expect the story to start this far back in the past. She expected a retelling of the last few years, perhaps, but this is much closer to a history lesson.

Cassandra pauses and takes a sip of coffee before continuing.

“Wildemount is not like Tal’Dorei or Issylra. Arcane magic is much more developed and studied there than it is here. They have very important arcane societies. One of those societies is called the Cerberus Assembly,” she explains. “They’re a group of mages, maybe the most influential political power on Wildemount. And they had great use for whitestone. That’s how my family eventually came in contact with Archmage Delilah Briarwood, one of the eight archmages of the Cerberus Assembly.”

She swallows hard, her eyes staring at the table. Vex already knows from this look that Delilah Briarwood is going to become one of the main players of this story. She thinks she’s heard the Briarwood name before… or maybe it was Cerberus Assembly. Perhaps her father has met with some of the members of that assembly before, or they’ve come to Syngorn. The elven society is filled with scholars of the arcane.

Cassandra starts talking again, with a voice sounding almost detached from the story.

“They had mostly business relations with her. She was deeply interested in Whitestone’s history, in the Sun Tree and the Alabaster Sierras’ tale of creation during the Calamity. They weren’t great friends, but they knew each other well enough. So when Lord Sylas and Lady Delilah Briarwood came knocking at the doors of the castle, looking for a place to stay as they had been unjustly driven out of the Assembly, my parents believed them.”

Her voice is clouded with bitterness. So that was probably a lie then. Vex swallows. She can feel the tension in the memories building, can feel the dread wrapping around those words. The longer Cassandra talks, the more she fears the climax of it.

“I don’t know what they said that made my parents believe all their stories. I was about 14 at the time, and I wasn’t allowed in the office when those conversations were held,” she swallows. “But the Briarwoods settled in our home with their personal doctor, Anna Ripley, and then their friends trickled into the city. The doctor took great interest in Percival’s studies, growing close to his tutor, Professor Anders. Unbeknownst to all of us, they were plotting to take over.”

Her hand around the cup tightens, the knuckles white with the tension.

“We held a feast for the anniversary of their arrival, exactly one year after they’d found us. They’d become part of the family. We toasted to them. And then, they started murdering us. Sylas Briarwood was actually not a man but an undead creature, and his strength and seeming taste for blood was the end of my mother and father. And then they hunted the rest of the family, as well as the staff. For some reason, they’d decided to keep the youngest of us alive. Percival, the twins, Ludwig and I. I’m guessing the doctor’s fondness for Percy was his saving grace.”

Cassandra has a soft, bitter chuckle. Vex almost mirrors it. It is strange to think of saving graces when she has seen what Percival has become.

“The details are fuzzy, but somehow I managed to get Percy and I out. We ran through the secret tunnel, the one you probably were in, to freedom. Well… he did,” she looks down again. “They had archers on the wall and they caught me. Percy ran away as I was hit with arrows and… that’s the last time I saw him un-possessed. I think I died there, from being shot through with arrows. Yet, I awakened later on in my very own bed in the castle. They’d cleared out the bodies and styled themselves Lord and Lady of Whitestone, and took me in for… the Gods only know why…”

Pain is now obvious over her face. She’s struggled to keep it in the entire time, but the coldness and detachment she affected before are gone.

“For three years, I was theirs. Eventually, I stopped thinking myself a de Rolo, but rather a Briarwood. They called me their daughter,” she whispers. “The city tried fighting back, but I was playing a game with the rebellion, spying on them for information. I still don’t know if I was doing it of my own volition. But because of me, many of my people died… All their attempts at gaining freedom failed.”

There are tears in her eyes now, her voice is shaking and so are her hands. Vex doesn’t know what to do. She wishes she could comfort her but… She honestly doesn’t believe there is anything she can say that will make any of this better. Cassandra was used and abused by these Briarwoods.

“One day, Percy showed up, with a weapon of his own making, a demon riding his soul and he murdered them all. He murdered the Briarwoods, he murdered Ripley, that he’d loved so much. He murdered his teacher, and the Briarwoods’ friends, and then he turned his gun on me.”

Her breath itches and a sob wracks its way out of her throat.

“His eyes were black, there was this smoke around him, and he wasn’t my brother anymore,” Cassandra sobs. “But he still… he told me to run. He managed to fight the demon and tell me to run and I did. He tried to take a shot at me but missed.”

Run. Please. The man’s voice and his eyes are still carved in Vex’s memory. She can’t imagine what Cassandra must have felt when Vex told her what happened to her, how he let her go but still shot her.

“That’s the last time I saw him,” she leans back against the chair, a bit calmer, as if emptied out of the sorrow for a moment. “Keyleth is the only one who ever gets to go see him. And she can’t tell him where I am. Or he’ll come for me.”

It’s fucking tragic.

Vex’s mind seems to run empty for a long moment. No wonder no one will talk about the massacre. Or the massacres, plural, as it is. There are so many questions that suddenly press to the forefront. Lord Briarwood had been undead with a taste for blood? That’s… almost something out of scary stories for children.

“How long has it been?” Vax asks next to her. He seems to be managing this much better than Vex is.

“About two years?” Cassandra replies. “Something like that. I admit weeks and months seem to blend into each other lately.”

That makes sense. Vex can pretty much say the same about the months of her recovery before she moved to Whitestone. Trying to move on from traumatic events feels like trying to run through jelly. Days repeat themselves until it’s suddenly six months later and you feel just slightly better.

Vex herself isn’t completely out of it. Some days, she barely recognizes herself. She has Vax, and Trinket. What does Cassandra have? A memory, a shadow of the brother she can’t seem to help.

“He taught me all I know about constellations, you know? We’d sneak out onto the high balconies at night and he’d tell me all he’d learned about them in books, before I could read.” She smiles then, bitterness filling her eyes. “I’m never getting him back, am I?”

Vex feels a knot in her throat forming, and this time she can’t stay quiet. Even if the words that come up don’t feel like they fit. She can’t think of any other ones. But she has to say something right? Maybe nothing will ever exactly fit, and it’s either this… almost meaningless platitude or silence.

“We will do our best.” It rings empty, falling flat as Cassandra laughs. “I can’t promise him back, but… we will do what we can.”

“I suppose that has to be enough. If only I had…” She trails off, and it isn’t hard to see where her thoughts have gone.

“Staying wouldn’t have changed anything. You would simply be dead.” Vex doesn’t want to hurt the girl with her bluntness, but she sees her flinch regardless. “It wasn’t your fault. He wasn’t your brother anymore when he came back.”

She looks over at Vax for a half a second, his quiet sad smile that never really reaches his eyes, the comfort he’s so obviously trying to exude, draping his body in the least threatening way, open palms on the table, knowing how to exist in a way that won’t make someone like Cassandra or Vex run away.

He heard what Cassandra said about being trapped. And maybe even more than Vex, he recognized what it meant.

What would she be feeling if Vax had made a deal with a demon to help her get rid of Saundor?

She can’t quite imagine that black smoke around Vax’s golden skin instead of Percy’s much paler one. She can’t imagine it living inside of him. Forcing herself to imagine it makes feel a little nauseous.

“I… know what it’s like for your loved ones to get hurt when they come to save you,” Vex adds after a moment.

The bramble-like arrow shot by Fenthras going through Vax’s shoulder, his face growing paler from the pain of it. He had to get too close to Saundor to stab him but it made him vulnerable. He took the risk anyway. He always took the risks for her.

“If you looked through the file you had on me, then you know a lot about my past. You know I was involved with an Archfey,” Vex whispers. “And you know some of the story of how it ended. But…” She looks down for a second. “Vax had to come and get me. I wouldn’t have made it out by myself. I couldn’t even really think of escaping at the time.”

Vex looks up to meet Cassandra’s eyes. Hopefully she gets why Vex is telling that story. The parallel, if slightly distorted, between Percy and Vax in this situation are easy to see.

“I guess us big brothers tend to be a little reckless when it comes to our younger sisters,” Vax points out with a humorless chuckle.

Vex rolls her eyes. “I’m three minutes younger than you.”

Cassandra’s face cracks in a smile at that.

“Either way,” Vax shrugs. “We really are going to do what we can to make sure this has a happy ending for the both of you. As happy as possible.”

Cassandra takes a sip of her coffee. It’s probably cold now, but Vex understands the need to give oneself countenance. She straightens up a little. “I hope so,” she mutters. “I really do. I don’t want to be the sole heir to Whitestone.”

Vex thinks she can read between those lines. I don’t want to be alone. She gets it. She really does. The past few days have made sure the only person she has is Vax. She wouldn’t want to lose him either.

“If I bump into him again,” Vex starts slowly. “Do you want me to tell him something from you?”

Cassandra’s eyes widen. Vex understands that Percy’s not supposed to know where Cassandra is, but a simple message without location won’t do much harm. It might just help him fight the demon.

For as much as she empathizes with Cassandra and her loneliness, she can’t help but think of Percy too. Two years of nothing but a demon for company. Two years of knowing you might just kill everyone you love.

“Please… If you see him,” Cassandra whispers after a moment. “Tell him I still love him.”

“I can do that,” Vex nods.

Afterwards, it’s hard to find words to end that conversation but they somehow manage. They exchange numbers and Vex makes sure Cassandra’s calls will ring loud and clear no matter what happens or if her phone is on silent. They say goodbye and the twins start their way back to the car.

Vex extends her hand in between them and Vax doesn’t waste a second to take it.

#perc'ahlia #percy de rolo #vex'ahlia #vax'ildan #pike trickfoot #cassandra de rolo #vox machina #critical role #fic #mine

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idontblushsrry · 3 years

Text

Do You Know That I Do Love You

Chapter 1: Do You Still Think Of Me Fondly?

Next>

Word Count:

Warnings: Some swearing, smut in later chapters

A/N: This is purely self indulgent at this point. I will get my black nobility/courtly romance fic and it just so happens to be with Han Ju-Do from Yona of the Dawn (great show if you ask me I think everyone should watch it and that it deserves more but, whateverrr) I don’t know how many chapters this is going to have, I thought 2 but maybe I’ll do 3 or 4 it all depends on what I feel like is gonna complete the story the best. Reader is black, she has a Korean last name to match with the rest of the show characters. Spoilers ahead for parts of Yona Of The Dawn anime/manga

A/N Pt.2: This is based off of the concept of courtly love but w tweaks bcus I have like no ability to stick with angst permanently, like if asked nicely, I’ll do a happy ending (Also Reader and Ju-do are both single so). This fic is also based of this song if you want to get into the vibe.

You’d been told tales of the Crimson Dragon Castle just nothing could’ve compared to the majesty of seeing it in person. The gates opened and guards announced your arrival as your carriage pulled inside. You stared in awe at the sheer size of it while your attendants whispered something to each other that you didn’t quite pick up on.

“What was that?”

You turned and your attendants immediately went silent, squirming and failing to meet your gaze each time you tried to capture them in it.

“Nothing milady just the talk of lowly servants that you shouldn’t concern yourself with.”

You could tell though from the guilt in her tone and the way the other attendant looked as though you’d have her thrown out if you heard what she said that you knew they were discussing the reason you’d even come to the palace. You were much too old to be an unmarried woman and the constant rumours of your status ranged in believability, the most outrageous being that you were a succubus and having a husband would get in the way of your appetites.

When you’d heard it, that made you cackle because you were the furthest thing from a succubus.

It’s not like you felt ashamed of being a virgin, you were a grown woman after all, and it’s not as though you were the sole heir to your family’s name. You had plenty of siblings to carry on the family name. The issue lied in the fact that you were the oldest, your family tradition dictated that none shall marry before the oldest and as such you’d been on the receiving end of anger from your siblings, parents, potential suitors, and all in between.

When your father first proposed the idea of marriage to you, many of your siblings were still too young to care or remember. You could feel the concern coming from both of your parents as they urged you to meet with suitors from other clans and families. And you could feel their growing rage as you rejected one after another.

Now nearing two decades later, your siblings, the ones who were unconcerned with your marital status so long ago were now resentful of you. Many of them had approached you individually and together with their grievances, claiming you were holding the family back and restraining them from true love, all the things you’d heard before.

They’d brought those same complaints to father and he brought up the idea of a palace visit to you. No not in so few words nor with such direct intent but the message was there. He’d brought the idea up while you fed the fish in your private reserve.

‘I think that this place is too stifling of your abilities my dear. I’d like for you to go to the Crimson Dragon Palace in my stead, I’m getting rather old and the whole thing is nothing but a diplomatic affair anyways, I’m sure you can handle it.’ You were going to turn down his offer. Not consciously out of spite but because you knew what he wanted you to do. His words seemed like the ones of a trusting father but the undertone of ‘return with a fiancé or I’ll disown you’ rang clear as a bell through your head. You may have been stubborn but you weren’t a fool, your family had grown impatient with your antics and if this behavior continued, they’d send you packing without so much as a goodbye.

You’d contemplated that idea and thought up the pros and cons to being disowned. It wasn’t until you heard two maids whispering outside your room that night that you made your decision.

‘Poor Master Seong I heard that Lady (Y/N) is preventing him from meeting his heirs.’

‘Eh? What do you mean, how could she do that?’

‘She refuses to let any of her siblings get married and as the next clan head, any marriages from her siblings that occur before her own are forbidden.’

‘Wow! Really, then why won’t she just get married already?’

‘Who knows.’

By the following night you were in a carriage on your way to the castle. Coincidentally with the two maids that spoke ill of you that night. It seems that they still haven’t gained the ability to shut up even when it’s in their best interest.

The carriage pulled up to the guest exit and you didn’t have to wait long before the carriage was opened by one of the palace servants.

“Welcome Lady Seong”

You were rushed to yet another carriage that would take you to your quarters while your attendants followed someone else to the servants’ quarters. For the first time in the weeks it’d taken you to travel here, you could feel yourself begin to truly relax. The servant next to you was stiff with rigid and tense shoulders especially compared to your unladylike and unrefined composure. But, they were quiet. You weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and you didn’t particularly feel like talking to ease the tension in the carriage, so, you ignored it. Most of it was coming from the servant not knowing how to react to you anyways.

You closed your eyes to think of the last time you felt truly happy and all your defeated mind could conjure was an image of a chubby outstretched hand handing you a six-petaled flower.

“Milady? We’ve arrived at your quarters.”

You stepped out of the dark carriage into the courtyard of the place you’d be staying. Only to find that this courtyard was slightly nicer than you’d expected a standard nobles courtyard to be. There was an abundance of flowers, rocks lining the foliage. A bridge that spanned a small river that begun with a waterfall. Birds, a gazebo lined with jewels in the far corner, and the fragrant scent of jasmine flowers.

The servant, seemingly unfazed by the extravagance, urged you to follow her with a motion of her head. Her feet leading you through the courtyard with practiced expertise, you managed to keep up with her strides by clutching your dress up some and resisting the urge to gawk at every element passing you by.

She brought you to a spacious room similarly sized as the room you slept in back home. The room was relatively bare save for a large bed pressed against the wall in the center of the room, a wardrobe, vanity and an incense holder among other things.

She turned to you and bowed before turning to leave. “Before you leave, what’s your name?”, she froze as though she wasn’t expecting you to actually speak to her. She turned back to you with a close eyed smile.

“My name? It’s Ha-Neul”

You’d received the first and arguably the most difficult of your diplomatic duties when within 3 days of your stay, you were being summoned by King Suwon. While the letter came as a shock to you, you nearly had a heart attack when you learned you’d be meeting in the King’s personal tea gardens. You’d take it as a compliment, however, you were 1) essentially all alone with no one to back you up should you fail to be adept at conversation and 2) you’d only met the new king as a boy and in passing, you were somewhat underprepared and knew nothing more of him than what you’d heard in passing.

‘No. Don’t think like that (Y/N)’, you looked at your reflection in the mirror, your braids hung down, the tight coils of your hair wrapped up inside of them as they hung down from your scalp to frame your face. ‘You are more than capable, if it weren’t for your intelligence, you wouldn’t have made it this far. You can do this.’ You took a look at your outfit. It was unfit to meet the king. But before you could begin working yourself up into another nervous tizzy, Ha-neul knocked on your door, her consistent rapping against it breaking you out of your anxious reverie.

Ha-Neul was truly a miracle worker. She’d managed to make your previously tense body appear completely calm and put together with a few twists of her wrists and some careful thought into what she’d have you wear to meet with the king.

By the time the carriage had stopped, the anxiety in your gut had settled to a deep thrum that would remind you of its presence at the very center of your being but wouldn’t seize control of your body. This mercy provided by your anxiety allowed you to put one foot in front of the other like you’d done since you were a child, albeit with a more conscious effort.

You’re led by a flurry of servants and guards to where Suwon was sitting so tranquilly in his tea gardens. It was amazing how much he’d grown since you’d last seen him but those same features he had as a child seemed to have aged with his spirit. You didn’t know why but you got this deep guttural feeling that he’d done something akin to a betrayal of himself. It showed oh so subtly in the way he drank his tea with an air of practiced indifference that he tried to cover with a layer of oversaturated artificial happiness.

“Lady Seong, it’s good to see you. I hope your quarters are to your liking.”

Showtime.

You bowed respectfully to him before replying, “Yes, the room is lovely and even more so the courtyard. I’d love to speak with the person who designed it. How have you been your majesty?”

You’d hoped flattery would work with him, all your cues were being taken from him but it was near impossible to get a read on him. You kept your tone and demeanor light and cheery but eve still that was all he was giving you. It was like he was trying to gauge you at the same time.

Oh, you realized embarrassingly belatedly, this is a test.

The new king couldn’t afford any threats to his power and securing allyship while weeding out untrustworthy people was the most effective way for him to achieve that in lieu of starting a full-scale war.

But Kouka didn’t need that.

Since you were attending in your father’s stead, he’s likely assumed that you’re the new head of your clan, ‘If only he knew’.

Well, if it’s a test he wants then a test he’ll get. Two could play that game and you always were very good at mind games.

It feels as though it’s been about 30 minutes of you and King Suwon exchanging formalities, trying to see who’d crack. But finally, the tea and snack get delivered and you realize that for now, you’d reached a stalemate with the King. You could count it as a win but judging from the fact you still couldn’t tell what he was thinking, you mentally conceded to the standstill with him, and from the sigh he let out it seems he’s resigned himself to the same fate.

“Let’s eat then shall we.” he says good-naturedly, like the careful tension of your previous exchange never happened, so you nod in agreement. Waiting for him to take the first bite and sip before following suit. You close your eyes and simply enjoy the gentle floral taste and aroma of the tea. You take a moment of respite in the tea and neglect your surroundings for a moment.

You hear big clunky footsteps hurry their way down the hallway you and Suwon are staying in before, “My King, I apologize for my lateness, and while inexcusable, I hope that you can forgive me.”

You recognize that voice, you move to open your eyes at the same time the man stands up and before King Suwon can get his answer out, you interrupt him with “Ju...do?”

He looks down at you with a sneer looking ready to give you a tongue- lashing for interrupting the King and calling him out of his station. Before a look of recognition flashes in his eyes and he looks away hurriedly, calling your name with a formal “Lady Seong, I didn’t know you were at the castle."

Ok, ouch. Few things hurt worse than the person you’d spent an embarrassing amount of time fawning over as a teenager (and young adult) dismissing you with such a dismissive and cold formality.

You’d already fucked up by interrupting the King and you weren’t about to fuck up again by not responding to a General when directly addressed by one. “I didn’t know you were at the castle either, General.” If you were nothing more than a formality to him, then he’d be nothing more than a formality to you.

Yes you were aware of how petty and flimsy that logic was. He hadn’t seen you in years, of course he was going to be cordial with you. But the other part of you, the person who was heartbroken by the same man who stood in front of you right now, someone that you thought you buried long ago, hoped that calling him General hurt just as much as hearing him call you anything but (Y/N).

#yona of the dawn imagines #black reader #x black reader #han judo #han judo yona of the dawn #akatsuki no yona #general judo x reader #han judo x reader #yona of the dawn x reader #general judo #general han judo #pls lmk if yall like this #or if you watch yotd #there isnt a really big fandom for it and i am searching pls #idontblushsrry #x reader #anime imagines #imagines #smut

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #462

i am way too tired to mentally flip through lyrics to put here, rip

Who in your family has been married the longest? (and how long?) I have zero idea. When did you last travel alone? Where were you going? The last time I visited Sara in Illinois. Do you take your shoes off when you come inside? Yes. What was the first color you ever dyed your hair? I think I got purple highlights? What was the first social media site you ever used? MySpace. Do you have any exes you really regret dating? One. Of all your friends & family, who has the most nicely-decorated home? Sara's house is lovely. Have you ever been catcalled? No. Are you allergic to any dogs? I might be. Have you ever touched a plant and had hives shoot up your arm? No. Do you think dragonflies are cool? Absolutely! What’s your favorite thing to draw? Meerkats!! Did you toss your hat in the air at graduation? Not high. I wanted to keep it. Do you like fudge? I CAN FUCKING DESTROY SOME FUDGE. Are you an affectionate person? Very. Name something you have to do today: Girt and I are hangin', making fun of bad Netflix anime and going to Buffalo Wild Wings. :^) Would you ever write to a death row inmate? No. People don't get on death row for no reason. I ain't got shit to say to them. Do you reckon online friendships are real? No fucking shit. Most of my most genuine friendships began online. Do you like Slipknot? Yep. Can we talk about how fuckin BADASS Corey's new mask is btw?????????? What do you think of Gorillaz? I like "Feel Good Inc." and one other song I can't remember the name of. Bow ties on guys, dorky or adorable? BOTH!!!!! :') What is the cutest Halloween costume for a baby to wear? GUYS I recently saw a picture of a little baby dressed up as a Little Oogie Boogie and it made my ovaries cry. Which of your friends is the tallest? Which of them is the shortest? Jesus, Girt is a giant. I don't know about my shortest... If you could re-paint your bedroom, what color would you choose? Pastel pink. :') What has been the best night of your life so far? Why? Probably something sexual so let's keep it on the down low lmfaooo Would you ever even think about taking part in a wet t-shirt contest? Uh, no. Even if I WAS confident in my body. Is you hair color the same as it was when you were a baby? No. It was dirty blonde. Have you ever been in trouble for being too loud? Ha, yeah, at school with friends. Not big trouble or anything, we were just hushed. Did you ever attend a wedding that was a complete disaster? No. What is something that you were surprised you were able to do? Hm. What is the most bullshit-sounding true fact that you know? Male cats have spiked penises lkasdjfal;kje;kjwr it's something to do with preventing other tomcats from mating with her. What Oreo flavor is your favorite? Gimme that Double Stuffed, friend. Sour gummy worms or plain gummy worms? SOUR. Ever been in a talent show? How many times? What did you do? Nope. Ever try out for the talent show and not make it? Did you cry? Nope. What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever cried about? Y'all when I was a very little kid, during my older sister's b-day party, I sobbed because I couldn't pin the tail properly on the donkey lmaoooo How do you feel about the use of nuclear weapons? Absolutely fucking barbaric. What song has the most meaning to you? "Life Won't Wait" by Ozzy Osbourne. What is your favourite dinosaur? Spinosaurus!!!! :') Have you ever made bread? No. Has anything ever fallen asleep on you? Pets, a baby I was watching after, and Jason. Ever been dominated in a game you were/are really good at? yep alskdjfla;jwej Have you ever decided to set fire to something out of anger? No. Would you rather be a house pet or a wild animal? Wild animal, I guess? Have you ever listened to a group of chanting monks? I haven't. If you had to get a portrait tattoo, who would it be of? Probably of Teddy. I've still yet to decide on the total design of his tribute tat I'm getting. Do you like the smell of men’s colognes better than woman’s perfumes? I think so, yeah. How mad would you be if someone copied your original work (story, poem)? I'd be pretty fuckin pissed. Have you ever blown something up in science class? Ha, no. Have you ever gotten a serious wound from shaving? Not serious, no. Have you invented anything, only to find out it actually exists? I feel like I have? Ever realize you never truly LOVED your first love? Absolutely not. I loved him. Would you want a Bachelor/Bachelorette party before you get married? Sure, sounds fun. Do you prefer pads, tampons or something else? As of very recently, I returned to using pads. I used tampons for most of my maturity, but I got annoyed with them for TMI reasons and resorted back to pads, even though I don't like them either. Have you ever dated a model? No. What is your ultimate goal in life? To die happy with my life and what I (hopefully) accomplished. What colour are the socks you’re wearing today? I’m not wearing any. Who was the last person you sent a Facebook message to and what did you say? Girt. It was something regarding how I once considered doing the suicide mission at BWW where you eat a select number of their hottest wings, but I didn't wanna die via chicken. :^) Are you tall, short or average? Would you change this? I'm average in height. I wouldn't change it, nah. Especially now that Girt and I are together the ridiculous height difference is hilarious but also cute lmao. Have you ever worked in a store while someone shoplifted there? Like, while I was there? No. Have you ever had casual sex? Nahhhh. What’s your favourite flavour of frosting? Chocolate. @_@ When you think of your childhood, are the memories mostly happy or sad? Mostly happy, I guess. What is it like being you? Is it enjoyable? It's very boring with few sources of joy. What are your thoughts on the cause of homosexuality? I would *assume* it's a genetic mutation. Reason being, having a romantic partnership without the ability to reproduce defies the motives of science. There is nothing, absolutely NOTHING, wrong with said (and hypothetical) genetic mutation, though. Mutations are just another part of science. They occur naturally. What subjects did you find most interesting in school? Least? Most interesting: literature/English (especially reading like, old mythology and epics and stuff like that), LOTS of branches of science (but primarily genetics), art, and I looooved my four semesters of German. Least: ANY and ALL math, history, economics, social studies... that kind of stuff. Which do you enjoy more–hot or cold beverages? Cold, for sure. What were some of your favorite bands from childhood? Green Day was one. Would you be more afraid of drowning or being buried alive? Buried alive, for sure. It would be much, much slower. Should you really be doing something more productive right now? Well, I SHOULD be sleeping. Today's going to be a long day, because when Girt comes over, he has a tendency to not leave until like fuckin midnight or later alksdjfl;waje Have you ever lived out of your car? No. Does your family own more than two houses? HUNNY we r poor. A relative just committed a very serious crime, do you turn them in? It depends on the exact crime, but odds are, yes. If you're endangering others, byyyyeeee. You’re in the woods, alone, at night…are you honestly not afraid? Bitch I'm terrified. I have zero survival skills. You are on life support, what would you want a loved one to do about it? For the love of god, please kill me. Your child has only a while to live, do you still enroll them in school? That would be up to them. Also, define "a while." How would you feel if you met your idol and they ended up being rude? WELP I have a tattoo in his honor so that would suck ass lmao According to the tale, was Eve wrong for eating and sharing the apple? "God was wrong for even setting up an apple tree and making up rules in the first place." <<<< There ya go. And the punishment was fucking ludicrously extreme. Are you working on any goals? Yes. I'm currently going to the gym regularly to try and better my physical health and then find a job. I know that being connected sounds odd, but trust me: I can barely carry out very simple tasks just because I have absolutely ZERO stamina to do almost anything. I need energy and endurance. I'm also working towards developing some self-love. Which parent named you? I wanna say my mom. Are you currently frustrated with someone? I mean, myself. Aforementioned self-love is hard. I'm just annoyed my head is so reluctant to accept that I'm not a piece of shit for a million reasons. Why have most of your past relationships ended? They all ended for different reasons, really. Are you having any online conversations, currently? I'm not. What’s on your mind? I'm just tired and going back to bed real soon. Have you ever had an argument with a teacher? No.

#survey #surveys #random questions

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

Text

Tale As Old As Time

Draco X Gryffindor!Reader

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Part Nine Part Ten

Summary: The Yule Ball is finally here and maybe just once you get to be the princess in a fairy tale.

A/N: Guys, guys, this chapter IS SO SWEET AND SOFT AND I’M ASDKJDADGAD anyway. Hello to those of you who are new! I love you all so much (and if anyone would like context or a visual for this chapter see Cinderella or ya know your favorite Disney princess dance sequence... there are so many) I love you all! Please let me know what you think! Also catch this on AO3 soon!!

Tags: @un-limiteddd @geekysimmerthings @coffee-addicti @ilikestuffproductions @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @dolphincommander @bisexualbumblebeesstuff @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @jillanaholland @shookyungsoo @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @chaotic-good-gemini @memalfoy-spidey @theres-a-dog-outside-omg @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @dietkiwi @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @mccloudchloe @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie @littlethingsinmymindla

Christmas Eve and it seemed like the week had passed faster than the week before. Between finding a last-minute present—and a letter to Mrs. Weasley to see if a miracle could really happen—and wrapping the ones I already had, I was exhausted come Christmas Eve, so I did what I did every year: I read a book.

“So, do you have a dress for the Ball?” Hermione asked as we lounged in the Common Room watching the boys play chess.

“Yeah, my mother sent me one, it was the parcel I got the other morning,” I noted, my eyes not leaving my book—A Christmas Carol.

It was the evening before the Ball as well, and we were enjoying the buzz of the common room as Christmas approaching in the morning had everyone in a stupor. I had seen Draco at dinner, but Hermione stole me back for the evening, well, she tried.

Penelope swooped in and a letter landed in my lap.

“Oh, come on, I just got you back in here,” Hermione groaned. “Doesn’t he have his own party at Slytherin?”

“Maybe he’s invited her. I’ve heard so much about how good Slytherin parties are,” Ron looked up hopefully.

I smiled and rolled my eyes, breaking the seal and opening the letter.

Meet me at the Astronomy Tower as soon as you can, dress warm.

Draco

Three pairs of eyes were on me.

“I... have to go?” I offered sheepishly.

“A party?” Ron asked.

“No, just... never mind. It’s not a party.” I shrugged as I got up and stretched.

Grabbing my winter boots, scarf and fur lined jacket—that my mother also sent—I headed own the drafty halls and up to the Astronomy Tower.

“Draco?” I called as I reached the top step. He turned, a smile making its way to his face.

“Hey,” He helped me up the stair, taking my gloved hand in his. “These are new?” He mused, eyeing the black leather fur lined gloves.

“Mother sent them; someone must have told her that I was cold.” I gave him a side eyed look. He chuckled and pulled me close

“So, the ball is tomorrow,” He began

“Yes, that is how time works,” I mused. “I believe it is Christmas as well,”

“Yes, I haven’t forgotten,” He scoffed with a smile. “And I assume, since you weren’t... here growing up, I assume you have no idea how to dance,” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, and you do?” I scoffed.

“Yes,” He answered simply. “This isn’t my first Ball Y/n,”

“So, you’ve danced with other girls before?” I raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t as jealous as I let off, it was just fun to watch him scramble over something so simple.

“Yes,” He sounded strained.

I smiled and pulled him to the center of the walkway, pulling him close.

“Teach me then,” I took his hand and he pulled me close, into first position. “You’re right, I have never danced before,” I confessed.

“I know,” He mused. “This is going to be horrendous,”

A laugh escaped his lips and mine. I sighed and took his hand as his other rested on my waist and mine on his shoulder. Music came from somewhere, but I didn’t question it, I was too focused on not stumbling.

“It’s a pattern,” He told me. “One, two, three, four,” He instructed.

It took a few—hundred—tries, but Draco was persistent. Soon I was tripping over my own feet less and spinning around the Tower laughing as I danced almost flawlessly in sweatpants. Now only if I could do it in heels and a dress.

Draco pulled me in and be began to speed up the pace, leading me into new steps before his hands moved quickly and he easily dipped me.

“Draco!” I exclaimed and gripped for him as he righted me.

“Did you think I was going to let you fall?” He teased as our dance stilled, the two of us closer than ever.

“Haven’t you already?” I asked, my hands drifting to their familiar place around his neck.

“Have you fallen for me then, Miss Lupine?” He asked softly, the electric current growing stronger as the distance between us closed.

Staring into blue eyes, I felt the coolness of a river, and the gentle waves of the ocean, comforting me with their chill. An entire world laid behind them, one that I yearned to explore and know every part of.

“I think so,” I whispered the confession. “A Lupine and a Malfoy,” I scoffed softly.

“What an idea,” He pondered. “To fall for someone like you,”

I smiled and pressed my lips softly to his, basking in his warmth. Now that we had stopped dancing, the winter air began to seep through my clothes. When I shivered, he pulled away and chuckled.

“You know, with all the spell and potions and charms out there, you would think there would be something to keep you warm,” Draco baited.

“I have you, don’t I?” “I suppose you do,”

Draco walked me back to the Gryffindor portrait in comfortable silence. Another fleeting goodnight kiss and I was far from being cold.

“I’ll meet you here tomorrow then? Seven forty-five?”

“Are you sure about this Draco... your father and the Ball...” I looked down, still worried.

“Stop it Y/n,” He chided. “It will be fine. We’re safe here.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Now go get some rest.”

“Goodnight Draco,” I whispered. “And Merry Christmas,”

He eyed me and an amused smirk played at his lips.

“Happy Christmas,” I couldn’t tell if it was a correction or if he had meant it. “Goodnight Y/n,”

Again, we exchanged a glance, three words unspoken between us: I love you.

_____________________________

Draco woke early Christmas morning to Penelope fluttering annoyed at his side, cooing for attention. He had half the idea to shove her off the bed and go back to sleep, but you couldn’t really push a bird anywhere and expect it to stay away.

Groaning and sitting up, he saw that Penelope was sitting upon two parcels, and a letter accompanying each. It dawned on him that it was Christmas morning, not just any morning, and these must be from you.

Taking the one that had your letter attached—marked by your red wax seal—he opened the letter.

Merry Christmas Draco,

We had these sweets (we called them candy) in America, I had my mother send me some, and thought you might want to try them. Sour Patch Kids are my favorite, I’m not one for chocolate, but I did include some for you to try. If not, I’m sure Crabbe or Goyle wouldn’t mind having them.

Mother also sent all of my Latin books to you because you seemed interested in it the other night. Please be careful with them, they’re worth more than you can imagine, they belonged to my great great something grandfather. I will kill you if you ruin them. Though I suppose they are yours now... still.

And, from me... well, I got you a fountain pen. It was my grandfathers, a gift from a Muggle. I know, I know. But, it’s so small, and very useful. You use it like a quill and ink, but it doesn’t splotch or smear and dries instantly. I rewrite all of my class notes with a pen so that they’re neat, and I thought you might appreciate one as well. If you don’t want it, that’s fine too...

I hope you have a merry—happy Christmas morning. I await our dance tonight,

Yours,

Y/n

P.S. I sent a letter to Mrs. Weasley as well and I do believe that she sent you one of her hand knitted sweaters, so don’t be surprised if you get one. It was me. Again, if you don’t want it... it’s okay. I know it’s a lot.

Draco tossed the letter aside and tore open the package that accompanied it. Inside, as you had said, was a few thick books, come colorful plastic wrapped candy, and a long black velvet box.

Taking the box, he discarded the lid and nestled inside was a sleek silver cylindrical object. Removing it, Draco stared at the small thing, wondering what use it had and how had Muggles ever used this when ink and quill worked just fine.

Pulling of the cap as he would an inkwell, a small golden tip greeted him, similar to the ends of his quills, but less fragile. Taking your letter, he leaned it against one of the books you have gifted to him and he wrote his name with the pen.

It glided easily across the page, leaving dark ink in its wake, spelling his name delicately. There was no need to dip it back into an inkwell, and running his finger over it, he discovered that it didn’t smear or stain his fingers.

As much as he wanted to hate it and dismiss it, claiming that nothing smart logical or good came from Muggles, he couldn’t. This pen was something else. It was useful. And he hated it. But he also loved that it was from you and that you had clearly spent a lot of time trying to figure out what would prove worth to him even though it was Muggle.

He set the pen back into the box and placed it on his desk. Having a good idea what was in the other package and who it was from, he begrudgingly opened the letter attached.

Mr. Draco

I was quite surprised when I got a letter from Miss Y/n asking for her to make this for you, but I couldn’t say no to her—she is quite persuasive and truly seems to care about you having a good Christmas this year and who was I to refuse?

Have a Happy Christmas Draco, because someone out there really cares for you.

Mrs. Weasley

Dreading opening the package, knowing exactly what was inside, Draco opened the parcel and found an emerald green and grey striped knitted sweater. There was no sign of the god-awful initial of his first name. No, it was just a normal sweater, as if you knew what to ask for and what he would wear.

A smile touched his lips as he slipped the sweater over his head and picked up the book you sent: Wheelock’s Latin. Flipping through a few pages he could see you steady writing in notes littering the margins and little bookmarks placed in odd places to him.

The room around him started to come alive as the others around him awoke, and began to tear through their presents, but he remained on his bed in his own little bubble, leafing through the books and making his way through the American sweets you had sent—particularly enjoying something called Mike and Ikes.

Because of you, he had one of the best Christmas mornings that he had in a long while. He hoped that you were as well.

___________________________

The excitement of the morning had me awake earlier than normal and I saw that Hermione was already awake. Smiles spread across our faces as we wished another a Merry Christmas then began to open the presents that laid at the foot of our beds.

Hermione had gotten me a book—the same book that I had taken from Malfoy in the library— “so that you can have your own” she explained. Harry and Ron had joined together and gotten me a new set of inkwell and quill and a bound book of parchment in emerald and gold. Mrs. Weasley went above and beyond as normal with snacks and the usual sweater; this year it was a deep red with a forest green trim and gold accents. There was another set of graphite pencils and sketchbook from my mother and new diamond earrings from my grandparents.

On its own, on my bedside table was a small package in silk green wrapping and a letter with a matching green seal. My heart fluttered as I picked it up, knowing that it was from Draco. I hope that he had gotten what I had sent and that he had accepted it.

Opening the letter, it was short and unbearably sweet:

Dearest Y/n,

For you, to remind you that we are more than names and houses.

Happy Christmas. I’ll see you tonight,

Yours,

Draco

Smiling I opened the small box and inside cushioned was a necklace. It held neither an emerald nor ruby, instead a sapphire, the color of the sea, the color of his eyes, the feeling of Animi Amoris. On a delicate silver chain and lain in a diamond encrusted heart the sapphire sat, smiling at me.

“Oh Draco,” I murmured softly.

“What he get you?” Hermione asked, grinning, coming over to my bed in her Weasley sweater.

I showed her the necklace, not letting it leave my hold.

“He really is a sap, isn’t he?” Hermione sighed

“Yeah, he is,” I smiled, putting the necklace on. “He’ll never admit it though.”

Harry and Ron met up with Hermione and me in the common room, and we went down to breakfast together. I didn’t catch sight of Draco at breakfast and I wondered where he was. Deciding not to fret too much I spent the morning in Gryffindor Tower, where everyone was enjoying their presents—as I was, starting to sketch with my mother’s present.

Lunch was just as extravagant and featured so many turkeys I wondered exactly how long it had taken for them all to be cooked. I did see Draco at lunch, but other than a wave and a smile, there was no time for a proper hello in the fervor of the festivities, not that we didn’t try.

Time flew and soon Hermione and I were up in the Gryffindor Tower getting ready for the Ball. I had to help her with her hair and makeup, knowing a bit more in the area.

“He asked you out last night to teach you to dance?” She squeaked. “That is the cutest thing, I honestly don’t believe it,”

I rolled my eyes and pinned her hair into place.

“I think he’s been so worried about keeping up his reputation that he doesn’t know who to be, ya know? He doesn’t have the parents we do... or the friends. He’s just...” I trailed off.

“I understand, it’s just odd.” Hermione smiled.

“Yeah, but he’s still himself... just good.” I placed the final pin. “There, that should stay for the rest of... well forever.” I grinned. “No one will know it’s you Cinderella,” I teased.

“Oh, and who does that make you?

“Your fairy godmother of course,” I mocked a bow

“I’m pretty sure that makes you Belle and you’re living Beuaty and the Beast,” She pointed out mischievously.

I laughed and started to work on her makeup. She then helped me curl my hair and place it into a plaited bun. It was great fun. I teased her about Krum, and she teased me right back about Draco. We finally had time to sit and talk without anyone prying and without a deadline.

The time came and we both got into our dresses, doing finishing touches. Hermione held herself higher as we looked in the mirror, her periwinkle dress playing off of my crimson red one. Draco’s necklace hung at the hollow of my chest.

We both left the fray a bit early, I had to meet Draco and she had to meet Krum. Just as he had promised, Draco met me outside the Common Room, looking nervous and very handsome. His suit was well tailored, the stark black and white playing off another.

“Wow,” He breathed out, making me look down, blushing the color of my dress.

“My mother does have a dramatic flair, doesn’t she?” I asked, running my fingers through the layers of tulle and speckled diamonds that danced in the candlelight.

“I don’t think she has anything to do with how breathtaking you look right now,” Draco offered his hand.

I took it, taking careful graceful steps in the heels that my mother also sent me.

“You look quite handsome as well,” I complimented. “Quite a change from school uniforms is it not?”

“One that I rather enjoy,” He smiled as I held onto him, descending the stairs toward the Great Hall entrance.

Everyone in the hall stopped with the sight of us, gawking. A hush fell over the crowd as we entered the mass of students, all dressed for the occasion, all gaping—or glaring—at the two of us. I tried to not let it bother me, but I couldn’t quite let it go.

“People are staring,” I whispered.

“Y/n I’m sure you’ve seen yourself in a mirror, you are more than worth staring at.”

I looked down, suddenly very focused on not tripping. When the Great Hall doors were opened, I caught sight of Harry and Ron with their dates, the Patil twins, and gave him a small wave as we were ushered out into the lawn.

It was captivating, the sight of it all. I leaned against Draco, marveling at the fairy lights and enchantment of it all. The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

“Like a fairy tale,” I whispered, letting my eyes wander.

“Shall we then,” Draco asked, leading me to one of the front tables where my—our friends were sitting.

“If he’s the Slytherin Prince then no doubt tonight you’re the Gryffindor Princess,” Fred muttered in my ear.

I let out a small laugh and looked to Draco, who raised an eyebrow in question, but I shrugged and shook my head, taking his hand in mine. With the Triwizard champions having sat and Dumbledore beginning the feast, the Hall was filled with talking and laughter and merriment.

It was comforting, watching it all. Draco fit in with the crowed around us and Hermione and Viktor were having what seemed like the best time at one of the head tables. I was happy for her; she finally was seen on the outside who she was on the inside.

Dinner had come and passed and with a wave of his wand, Dumbledore transformed the Great Hall into a dance floor. Anxiety fluttered in my chest at the thought that I would have to dance in front of people soon.

“I can hear you worrying,” Draco murmured softly, as he stood behind me his hands at my waist.

“I have to dance,” I fretted. “I’m going barefoot, I hope you know that,”

He chuckled and nodded, whether in acknowledgement or permission, I wasn’t sure. Soon other couples began to join the champions. I broke from Draco’s hold and discarded my heels under a nearby table. When I went back, I couldn’t find Draco. My eyes scanned the crowd until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Relaxing I turned and saw gentle blue eyes.

“May I have this dance?” Draco bowed slightly, offering his hand out again.

“You may,” I grinned and took it as he led me to the dance floor.

“I won’t let you fall,” He promised in a soft voice as we fell into a familiar pattern, learned only the night before.

The world faded around us as he guided me on the dance floor. My eyes never left his and a smile never left either of our faces. It was our own little world as we waltzed across the floor.

The moment held another sort of magic, one where we didn’t have to do anything but fall into step with another and dance upon the notes left by the music around us.

“Ready?” He whispered and I nodded.

Gently, as the music ended, he dipped me, father than before, but I wasn’t afraid.

He wasn’t going to let me fall.

Part 12?

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raevenlywrites · 3 years

Text

Dasi High 2 of ?

All day long, all I wanted was my book. My book. I thrilled at the way the thought seemed to pulse in my head, heavy with the weight of destiny or something. It had to be some kind of strangeness at work, to put this exact book into my exact hands with my exact little name on it. Kiesha... It wasn’t exactly a sorceress’s name, but still, it wasn’t that common. Not for books that looked like they’d been buried under the sea for the last thousand years or whatever. “This should be in a museum,” ala Indiana Jones and all that. My book. It filled my chest with warmth just thinking about it.

But I kept it in my bag all through school, even during lunch. No Coke, greasy pizza, or nosy teachers were going to threaten my ancient tome. I wasn’t an idiot. I was going to keep it safe until I got home.

Safely ensconced in my beautiful window seat, the envy of all book lovers and cat nappers everywhere, I savored the moment, feeling the heft of the book in my lap, breathing deep of its good, good book smell. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a technophobe, but books man--nothing compares to the feel of thick pages beneath your hands, the crinkle, the earthy smell. Yeah. There was a reason Brass thought I might be into it, namesake notwithstanding.

The cover was plain, well-worn, shiny and slick to the touch with the press of so many hands before. The finish had worn off the lettering and embellishments, but fingers could trace the rise and indents of them. I suddenly wondered if I should be handling something so hold, then realized I had no idea how old it even was. Oh well. Brass’s mom wouldn’t have let him have it if it was priceless, right? With a steadying breath, I cracked the cover.

The glue had long since stopped holding the pages in, but the binding was still sound. Maybe I’d ask Donte or Nalini later if either of them knew anything about repairing old bindings. They were both always doing handsy stuff, Donnie with his computers, and Nani with eir soaps and stuff. Surely one of them would know something, or be able to point me in the right direction. For now, I gingerly laid the cover open in my lap and turned the pages with a reverence I almost never felt for anything. I hadn’t been this careful with a book since my Sandman hardcover omnibus I got for my last birthday.

Enough stalling. It was time to read.

I was surprised to note my own reluctance. I’m not usually one for drama, but this... it just felt heavy. Important. Like it mattered.

The front endpaper had a yellowed bookplate pasted in, painted with an elegant symbol or crest or something I didn’t recognize. It looked almost like a stick figure of someone dancing, arms reaching up and stance wide--except there were weird branches coming off, like cursive flourishes. Maybe it was a signature? If so it wasn’t in any language I could read. I suddenly panicked at the thought that I wouldn’t be able to read any of it, aside from my name, and eagerly turned the page, anticipation mixing with dread.

But instead of a title page, or anything even printed, it was another handwritten page, like a dedication, or maybe a poem or something. It was written in the same kind of cursivey, wavy letters as the bookplate, and with growing anxiety I turned to the next page.

The family tree.

Thin, spidery hand writing covered the pages, faded, but definitely in the familiar English characters. Arabic? Or was the for numbers? Whatever. I could read it, that was what mattered. It was hard to parse, just as it had been at school, but I found the letters of my name quickly, and my finger hovered over the page, tracing the line down. Don...Donovan? Sisal... Salem... It was almost impossible to make out, save for the ever-clear Kiesha. Almost like that was the only part I was meant to read. I stared at the whole page, trying to let my eyes go soft focused, to see if anything else jumped out at me, but the longer I looked, the harder to read it became. I gave up and turned the page.

A list of names and dates followed, like you’d expect from an almanac. But instead of useful things like “March 3rd” or “Spring Equinox” it said things like, “the fourth night of cheres” or “the eve of Namir-da”. It was English, but just barely. I skimmed the page but quickly moved past it, eager for something that made sense.

It was hard not to let my disappoint take hold. This book had felt so special--it was special, just... not what I’d been expecting. Recipes, as Brass had said, and almanacy things, lie when to plant, but nothing that gave me any sense of wonder, or importance. I was just about to give up when I finally came across a section written in plain English.

They say the time has come. I have been given the family book, and told its mine to keep. But what I am expected to do with it, I cannot say. I have nothing of my own to add. I am not even the oldest of the family line. But I feel I should write something, to mark the occasion if nothing else. So here I do write, on this, the first of August, in the year seventeen hundred and seventy-one, that I, Kiera Cortana, am now in charge of the family book, for better or for worse.

Whoa. Now that was seriously cool. I flipped back to the family tree, to see if I could find Kiera. There, near the bottom, Kiera Cortana, 1753. Neat. That made her... seventeen, eighteen when she wrote her entry? Wow. Barely any older than me. That warm tingle started again, that sense of connection, and I just let my hand rest on the page, fingers just below her name. There wasn’t any more after hers, though there was room for more. Hope for the future that never came.

The warmth turned to sadness, a kind of longing I couldn’t really put my finger on. I got that way sometimes, just out of the blue. Homesick for a place that didn't’ exist. At least here I kind of got it, sad for a girl who may or may not have ever grown up. There was more after her first journal entry, but it was just more recipes and things, and more of that squiggle script I had no idea how to read. On an impulse, I got out a notebook and copied down what letters I could make out, including the symbol on the front book plate. I wanted to look at it more later, when I was stuck at school, but I didn’t want to risk bringing the actual book there. It was so old, at least three hundred. Man, Brass totally shouldn’t have let me have this. I decided to call him and give him a hard time about it.

“Hey, Ki, is everything okay?”

I frowned at the concern in his voice. “Yes, Dad, I’m fine. I’m not always in mortal danger or whatever you seem to think.”

Brass snorted. “Well I assumed you had to be in trouble since you’re calling. Normally you just text.”

Oh. Right.

“Just wanted to chat,” I said, too casually, but he'd caught me off guard. I used to call Brass all the time. It was weird to realized I’d stopped. “I’ve been looking through that book you gave me.” When in doubt, change the subject.

“Yeah? Anything good?”

I heard the sound of a sliding glass door in the background, the tell-tale sign of Brass going out to sit on the back deck. He used to do it to be near the TV antenna, hoping it would give him better cell signal. Now it was just habit. I smiled, picturing him there, long and lanky and lean, back against the side of the house as he balanced on the deck railing, one long leg trailing down...

“Kiesha?”

“Hm?”

I made a startled little noise as I came back to myself. “Oh, right. Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Did you know it was so old? There’s an entry from the 1700’s in it.”

“Oh man, really?” He sounded equal parts excited and embarrassed. “I didn’t know that. Maybe I should let Mom look at it again...”

“No way,” I teased, “It’s mine now. Has my name in it and everything.”

“It has mine too.”

His voice was so soft I almost missed it. But I scanned the page and sure enough, Brassal was on a similar line as Kiesha.

“Weird... Almost as weird as your stupid name.”

I laughed to take the edge of, both from my words and from the creeping feeling working its way up my spine. Brass had always gone by the nickname, with Brassal being reserved for his father. I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me to see it in an old timey book like this; it had probably been handed down a long line of people, like Maeve’s super grandma name. But still. It freaked me, and when I got freaked, I teased. Make everyone else feel off balance and it was an even playing field again.

“Yeah, yeah, Cobriana. Tell me all about weird names.”

I stuck my tongue out, even though he couldn’t see. Still, it made me feel better. Sky blue, grass green, Brass and I teased. I had missed this. It was good to be getting it back.

“You wanna come over for pizza and movies Friday?”

It was out of my mouth before I’d really thought about it. But his hesitation made me wish I’d just kept railing on his stupid name.

“Uh, how ‘bout Saturday. I have... plans. For Friday.”

No way. No freakin way. “Don’t tell me you gave in to Izzy,” I said with a disinterest I didn’t quite feel. “You know she’s only sharpening her claws on you for a real takedown.”

“Don’t be like that, Ki. Isadora can do what she wants, with who she wants.”

I mocked “Isadora,” in as childish a tone as I could manage. No one called her that, not even Izzy herself. Except Landon. But Landon was cyborg and completely incapable of using contractions or imprecise grammar, like ever.

“And what she wants is apparently to play kissy face with Serv, for all the good that’ll do her.”

“Serv?!” I could not keep the surprise out of my voice. Serv was like, canonically asexual. Or at the very least, not interested in someone as bubblegum pop as Izzy.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Brass said. “I didn’t ask, not that that stopped her from volunteering. Apparently they’re driving into the city to see a show or something.”

“Okay....” Izzy on a date with Servos. What an odd couple. I couldn’t fathom what sort of attraction would hold interest for both of them. But then, if such a thing existed, it would be in the city, not in this whole in the wall town. We didn’t even have a mall. “Well, good for them, I guess. So what about your mysterious plans?”

Brass groaned. “I’d hoped you’d forgotten. ”

“Nope. Spill it.”

He sighed. “I’m going to the movies... with Syfka.”

I gaped. “You’re joking. You’re joking! Why on earth would you want to go to the movies with her--xem?”

I was normally better with Syfka’s pronouns than this, but it was hard not to think of anyone out on date with Brass as anything but a her--a her he might want to kiss. Trying to apply that mental box to Syfka, of all people--

“Because--” Brass cut through my thoughts, “we have a project due, and it was either write a paper on a French film, or try to speed read through a work of French literature that I have zero hope of understanding because its kind of my worst subject.”

Oh. Right. School stuff. A perfectly reasonable reason to go to the movies with someone.

“Right. Okay. Yeah. So, does that mean you need to stay in and write it on Saturday.”

Brass laughed, and I couldn’t help but feel like it was at my expense.

“Nah. Come Saturday night, I’ll either be done, or I’ll be failed. Either way, pizza and a movie sounds great.”

“Okay...”

I couldn’t shake the little tight feeling in my chest. This call had thrown me. Everything about Brass seemed to throw me lately.

“Why don’t you invite Nikki over too? Or maybe Maeve?”

My toes curled under at that last. Maeve may or may not have been the reason Brass and I finally broke up. I hadn’t decided yet. Either way, I couldn’t imagine him volunteering to hang out with her.

“I wouldn’t subject you to that....”

“Ki, I told you I’m alright with it. Have her over, see if you still feel all tingly.”

I laughed, but it was hardly humorous. “I can’t believe you’re encouraging me to get my flirt on in front of you.”

I could feel him shrug through the line, that careless raise of a shoulder that meant everything and nothing.

“You’re too shy to do it yourself. I’m just gonna keep inventing reasons to get you two together until you get over yourself. Or she asks you.”

“Brass!”

But now I was really laughing, and his goal was achieved. I felt better, so he felt better. Stupid big brother mother hen. I smiled through the rest of the phone call, chatting about everything and nothing, and feeling more like myself than I had in a long time.

Raev’s general tag list: As always, let me know if you want to be added or removed or whatevs (especially since this is kind of a far cry from what I usually do)

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @theramwrites @writinginslowmotion @faithfire @apollon-arium @thehellinsideyourhead @raenawrites @adventuresofacreesty @anika-writes.

#dasi high #kiesha'ra fanfic #kiesha cobriana #I've been threatening this hawksong fanfic for years #raev does fanfic

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alexsfictionaddiction · 3 years

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Review: Always, in December by Emily Stone

It may still be summer but I am very ready for the festive season to start. Now that I’ve read this tearjerking, life-affirming book, I’m very much in a Christmassy place right now.

Josie has always found Christmas difficult. Her parents died on Christmas Eve when she was just nine years old and every year since, she has written and posted a letter to them. One year on the way to the postbox, her bicycle veers off course crashing into a handsome stranger on the pavement. Max was on his way to New York to spend Christmas with his family but when his flight gets cancelled, he is put on stand-by and sent back to London, which is when Josie quite literally knocks him off his feet. Both alone for Christmas, they decide to spend it together and both of them feel it could be the start of something. But then Max leaves without explanation, leaving Josie heartbroken and confused. Over the next year, fate keeps pulling Josie and Max together but Max is hiding a dark secret that means that goodbye is never far away.

Josie is haunted by her parents’ deaths and although she was given a wonderful upbringing by her dad’s parents, there is always something missing within her. At the happiest points in the novel, Josie often reflects on her memories of her parents and wonders how they’d feel about how she turned out. From her uncertainty about her career to reluctance to acknowledge her talents, Josie is very much of a lost soul and a lot of this probably comes from the devastation she went through as a child. She deserves nothing but the best and I wanted nothing more for her.

Max is simply wonderful. He’s kind, thoughtful, handsome and so incredibly likeable. I know that I was seeing him through the eyes of the woman who was slowly falling in love with him but I really was falling for him alongside Josie. I couldn’t work out why he seemed to be disappearing all the time and I prayed that it wasn’t for evil reasons. However, the truth was even more heartbreaking than I imagined and I’m not sure there could have been a sadder ending.

There are some very beautiful, romantic scenes in this novel that thoroughly transported me both mentally and emotionally. Dancing with your favourite human in a quiet London street in a soft snowfall is the stuff of dreams and I was completely caught up in this moment with Josie and Max. My heart swelled, my body was flooded with a warm fuzzy feeling and my mind was at a complete stand-still (which it literally never is!). Emily Stone did such a wonderful job of capturing moments of real magic and welcoming her readers into them. It was such a joyous escape!

Part of the book follows Max in New York after he has left Josie and London behind. He can’t stop thinking about her and there is a scene where he thinks he sees her in a crowded part of the city. He dodges past people trying to catch up to her but when he eventually does, he realises that it isn’t her at all. This could have come directly from a Richard Curtis film and indeed, so much of the book has a glowing cinematic edge to it. That persistent longing for someone coupled with having suffered a life-changing loss is something that so many of us can relate to, so I’m sure a film adaptation could work so well.

Although it is largely a sweeping, tragic story, there are also moments of humour. Josie and Max find themselves at a wedding in Scotland, where Josie is seated next to Rob, an eligible bachelor, who she isn’t particularly interested in. So, she tells him elaborate, fantastical stories about herself for a bit of fun but Rob seems to lap it up, providing a hilarious exchange. We don’t see a lot of Josie’s witty side but it’s really lovely when it does make an appearance!

A family emergency brings Josie back to the village she grew up in and this is where the Christmas vibes are really amplified. I could smell the gingerbread baking, feel the chill in the air as Josie showed Max the village Christmas tree and hear the buzz of a community coming together and celebrating. Despite reading this book on a pretty warm day, I wanted nothing more than to cosy up with a fresh baked good in front of a festive film.

I had no doubt that Josie and Max were perfect for each other. They just seem to fit together so exactly and they were more than a match for each other in kindness, loyalty and warmth. This is why I couldn’t understand why Max didn’t seem to agree with me. When the bombshell hit, the breath flew out of my lungs and tears spilled out of my eyes. I can usually predict what’s going to happen in stories like this but apparently I completely missed the clues in this one. I didn’t see this gut-wrenching twist coming at all and I was left reeling in shock right before finishing it.

Always, in December is an incredibly romantic, soaring tale of true love that packs an enormous punch. It’s beautifully written with fantastic characters and grips you right from the start. With a strong emotional charge and the power to take you away to a magical Christmas bubble, fans of Josie Silver books and Richard Curtis films will want to tell Santa to put a copy of this one in their stockings this year!

Always, in December by Emily Stone is available in eBook and audiobook format now and will be published in paperback by Headline Review, an imprint of Headline, on 14th October 2021.

#always in december #emily stone #christmas #contemporary fiction #romance #book review #review #books #bookworm

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sserpente · 4 years

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24 little kinks | Door 6 🎄

“You remember that chocolate advent calendar I got you for December?”

“I do,” he chuckled and pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “You made me display it in the kitchen so I would not eat it all at once.”

Your smile widened. “How about we get another one?”

Loki raised an eyebrow, only now paying proper attention to the sex toy ad. Then, he frowned. It was an odd mixture of disgust, genuine curiosity and even a hint of arousal flashing in his blue eyes.

A/N: Happy Nikolaus Day to everyone who celebrates! Remember the Krampus will come and get you with rods and whips if you’ve been naughty. ;-)

“It’s Friday, Steve, give us a break. We’re still groping in the dark but Loki and I are doing our best. Enjoy your weekend for once, it’s Christmas.”

“Let me know when you two have a lead.”

“Will do. Bye, Steve.” You couldn’t hang up quickly enough. It was freezing cold in spite of you being wrapped in your warmest pullover and fluffy winter jacket, along with a giant scarf which covered half of your face. Being a Frost Giant, Loki had no problem with the cold whatsoever. Besides, he was still mesmerised by all those delicious Christmas treats you had introduced him to, along with the concept of hot mulled wine.

After all the unease the Chitauri had recently caused, a cosy Christmas market was just what you needed. You could tell Loki was impressed, for it truly was beautiful. Countless Christmas lights decorated the street lanterns and the various stands, not to mention the massive Christmas tree in the middle of the piazza.

There was a petting zoo for children and a pick-up train for tourists—and a Santa Clause taking pictures with children.

Loki nodded in his direction when you put your phone away. “Who is he?”

“Santa Clause. He’s the one who puts the presents under the tree. He climbs down the chimney every year, travelling the world in a sleigh pulled by flying reindeers.” Loki frowned, then opened his mouth in an almost disturbed manner, making you giggle. “It’s just a story you tell the children here. They write letters to him which their parents pretend to send to the North Pole, which is where he lives. He’s making a list and checking it twice, gonna find out who’s naughty or nice…” You sang.

“That is ridiculous.”

You giggled once more. “No, it’s not. And on the night of Christmas Eve, you prepare some milk and biscuits for him to eat.”

“Let me rephrase that, my sweet. Midgardian children are told that on Christmas, both burglary and theft are acceptable and that an old fat man with a long beard keeps an eye on them all year to find out if they have been naughty.” He paused, smirking a little. “And here I was thinking the Midgardian tales of my alleged adventures were brutal.”

You smiled up at him. “There are countless movies about him, you know. We should watch one tonight. The Santa Clause films with Tim Allen are a must-see every December.”

“Whatever you wish…” Loki replied tenderly, still a little taken aback by the costumed man in the red and white coat taking pictures with children on his lap. “Now, what about those Christmas treats you promised me?”

You came to a halt in front of the stand you had passed already. “I am eager to try everything.” The store owner snorted. He either recognised him or thought Loki to be a rich snot. Well, merry Christmas to you too, sir.

“Everything? Loki, I didn’t bring that much money. We can’t just buy the whole store.”

“Whyever not? You know I could simply duplicate those banknotes of yours in a heartbeat.” He whispered in your ear.

“You could but that would be… wrong. Look, why don’t we get the candied almonds, the chocolate strawberries and then that baumkuchen you were so fascinated with from that other store and then head home to warm up? Pretty please? I am freezing.”

“You forgot the mulled wine.”

“And we’re of course getting mulled wine.” You confirmed, shaking your head in an amused manner. Loki really was a sweet tooth. The biggest one you’d ever met. His blue eyes had lit up like those of a child whenever you passed something sweet and edible.

For the past hour, before Steve had called, you had been exploring the local Christmas market to the fullest, passing stands whose owners sold candles, wooden ornaments, real sheep wool clothing and other Christmassy trinkets. The most beautiful stand, however, had by far been the one with the dozens of snow globes. You had loved the one with the golden castle and reindeer… but then again, seventy-five dollars for a piece of decoration was way too much—even if Loki had insisted on you buying it if you liked it so much.

Half an hour later, you finally returned home. The warm air enveloped you like an old friend, slowly warming your frozen fingers which were completely stiff from carrying the many bags full of Christmas candy. On the way back, you had even bought some candy canes for your Christmas tree.

The mulled wine had done little to warm you up, however, made you a little tipsy. You started grinning once you had kicked off your boots.

“We haven’t opened our advent calendar yet.”

“That is a circumstance we will have to remedy, my sweet.” The alcohol had not affected him at all. Still grinning, you carefully dropped your purchases and took his hand, leading him straight to the bedroom. You could still watch those movies later.

Loki took the small box and opened it, revealing a pair of dice. Words were printed on each side.

“That does not look like a sex toy.” He concluded.

“Oh, but I know what that is. It’s a game. You roll the dice and do what they tell you to. Here, look. This side says ‘kiss’ and this one says ‘lips’. If you dice those two, you’ll have to kiss me on the lips and vice versa.”

Loki smirked. He instantly liked the idea. “I never lose games.”

You chuckled. “I doubt you can really lose this one.” But you guessed the winner would be the one cumming the most… you swallowed. Gods, it had been one cup of mulled wine.

“Alright then… let us play.” Loki had the audacity to wink at you. Your pussy clenched in joyful anticipation.

Munching on another chocolate strawberry, you waited, impatiently, for Loki to dice again. You had long lost most of your clothes sitting on the floor on a cosy blanket at the living room table and eating your Christmas treats. The game kept getting more and more interesting. The dice clattered on the glass surface.

“Kiss… toes. Off come those ravishing stockings, my sweet…” Loki pulled them off of your legs so painfully slow you moaned, then lifted them both up to kiss every single one of your naked toes. You shivered, pleasure having taken control over your body since you had started playing.

“My turn.” You whispered breathlessly. Once more, the dice clattered. “Nibble… ears.” You giggled. Loki’s ears were rather sensitive. Unceremoniously, you straddled him and brushed away his beautiful raven hair. You gave his earlobes a quick lick before you started nibbling on them in turn, even sucking a little and making him hiss. He wrapped his arms around you when you attempted to move away again.

“Where do you think you are going?”

He kept you on his lap as he diced again. Not that you would complain. “Tease… nipples. With pleasure…” he added. Blue eyes sparkling with desire, he cupped your breasts and rubbed your nipples with his thumbs, enjoying how they hardened under his touch. You arched your back to give him more access, allowing him to play with the stiff nubs until he had his fill.

You were panting when you took the dice again. Clatter. “Touch… penis.” Just touch? You almost pouted as you cupped him through his leather trousers, making him groan. Loki’s eyes never left yours. You squeezed him a little, making him long for more. He was rock-hard.

“Give me the dice.” He demanded hoarsely. Obediently, you let them fall into his palm. Clatter. “Lick… pussy.” He read, a mischievous smile spreading on his lips. As if Loki saying something so dirty and colloquial like ‘pussy’ wasn’t tempting enough already, you squealed when he lifted you up and laid you back on the floor, prying your legs apart hungrily. Your knickers came off so fast you didn’t know what was happening to you until he gave your dripping cunt a long lick, tasting his meal with relish. You were shaking already… but he did not stop there.

Abandoning the game altogether, he wrapped his arms around your hips to keep you in place, then ate you like his life depended on it. His teeth would gently bite your outer lips and nibble at your clit, his tongue pampering both your wet entrance and circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. Every now and then, he sucked it into his mouth, teasing it with the tip of his tongue until you whimpered. You moaned when he thrust his tongue inside of you, lapping up your juices like a thirsty tiger.

Silver tongue… he reminded you of this title of his every god damn time he buried his face between your legs.

Your orgasm hit you out of nowhere. Sending strong waves of pleasure through your body, you squirmed with Loki’s name on your lips. The God of Mischief moaned in approval. He drank you like the fountain of youth, greedily and eager for more of your pleasure.

You started to whimper when the stimulation became too much but he would hear none of it. Still in frenzy, he held on to you even tighter, massaging your clit with his tongue until your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Another orgasm tore through your body all too soon.

Loki helped you ride it out before he retreated, his chin glistening with your arousal. Satisfied and pleased with his work, he licked his lips, then hovered above you to give you a passionate kiss.

“My turn…” You stated when you broke apart. You knew were to lick and blow next, no dice needed.

A/N: Door 7 will be opened tomorrow, on December 7th!

This door included an anon request!

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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fletchphoenix · 4 years

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Start Of Something New

Hiya! Chapter 9! =) thank you for your support! Updates may slow down, as I am starting my last year of high school tomorrow! Woooo! But I hope you all enjoy this - sorry for the delay!

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Hugo gently kicked open the door to his new apartment, in his arms were the last of the cardboard boxes with various different labels containing his belongings. Well, he guessed it wasn’t JUST his new apartment anymore, his boyfriend following in behind him and setting a box aside before running to get some more from his dad’s car. Varian had more belongings from him - having taken multiple days to unload his stuff alone with much help from Quirin through this process. He still couldn’t believe how much of a titan Quirin was compared to his titular son, however Varian had said he took more after his mother, and something about Quirin having served in the military of Lunaris prior to settling down in Old Corona. It was a good enough explanation for Hugo, him just accepting it at this point and not to question anything to do with the past of Varian’s family whatsoever, especially not his Aunt Adira and Uncle Hector. That pair...they terrified him to say the least, immediately giving him the most intense shovel talk of his life as soon as he met them. A shiver ran down his spine at the memory, before proceeding to unpack his last remaining boxes.

It was now July - scorching hot sun constantly pounding down onto his back without a care in the world as its heat relentlessly cursed Corona. The town was always abnormally sunny, but this? Now Hugo was almost positive the universe was actively trying to screw him over, like it had before he began dating Varian, of course. Speaking of the boy, they’d been together for six months by now and both boys decided that it was high time they moved in together. Hugo could only sneak in a select few times before Quirin had figured out what they were doing every night, and, as much as Varian’s dad trusted him, it was probably for the best that they moved in together. He just couldn’t bear to be away from the boy for too long - call it whatever you want, abandonment issues, a troubled childhood, whatever. He just wanted to make sure he was safe at all times and the only way he felt he could be sure was with the boy’s figure sleeping in his arms. What could he say, he was a fool in love, completely enamored with his boyfriend and falling in love all over again every time they met eyes.

They’d managed to afford a better apartment than the old one, which was an absolute ripoff by the way, though he was really going to miss the place. It was paid for quite easily too - Varian having found a job that he had yet to disclose to his boyfriend, though he was sure it had something to do with alchemy, and Donella had given him quite a generous raise out of nowhere for his ‘hard work and dedication’, though he was sure it was so he could afford a better place. It was a beautiful place too, already feeling so much like them with framed photographs along the walls of their most precious memories, such as New Year’s Eve and that one time they went to the aquarium, oh! And when they took Yong to a theme park for the first time! A chuckle ripped from Hugo’s throat as he recalled Yong pulling Varian towards the biggest coaster in the park, begging for Varian to go on with him. His face was priceless, jaw dropped at the sheer height of the thing as Nuru and Hugo passed up the offer. Varian had held onto his hand for hours after that as he and Nuru cackled, Yong, who had the time of his life, was buzzing with excitement for the rest of the day.

Another picture recalled the time they’d gotten matching tattoos - a small test tube on his left wrist and a beaker on Varian’s right wrist. It was a wild day - Varian’s twentieth birthday, that is. They’d just been to the coffee shop, which had become a tradition between the two on a morning to commemorate what had brought them together, when Varian, out of nowhere, had just said he wanted to do it. Hugo blindly agreed to his boyfriend’s request without a second’s thought, the pair heading through the streets to Irene’s tattoo parlour where Irene happily obliged to their requests. What Hugo hadn’t anticipated was how painful it was going to be - his hand gripping his boyfriend’s in an iron grip as he desperately tried, and failed, to hold back his shouts and strings of curses at the jolts of pain running though his body. That was an interesting birthday for Varian - Hugo silently praying his twenty-first would be less agonizingly painful than March 24th. It was coming up on October 27th, so only a few months away. He shook the thoughts from his head as he took in the rest of their apartment.

Along the hall were five doors leading off to different rooms, the first of which being a sitting room - decorated with the mass of green and blue furniture, a common theme throughout the apartment due to their fixations on the respective colours. They blended nicely together too, just like they did. Two couches sat in the room, one pressed against the wall with the glass coffee table from the old apartment in the centre on top of a teal rug. A TV sat on a separate table in the corner at a perfect angle so you could see it when sitting on either sofa (Varian had spent hours calculating the perfect angle, Hugo determining in a few minutes that if they put it in the corner, everyone could see it to which his boyfriend had to stubbornly agree that he was right). In the other corner, a cat tower sat for the fat bastard of a cat Ruddiger who would be living with them. He swore that the cat hated him - always interrupting whenever him and Varian were attempting to get...intimate. It was annoying, him resulting most nights to just shooing it out of the room and locking the door behind him.

Adjacent to the living room’s entrance was the kitchen, the tiled floor causing a clicking noise whenever he stepped. Varian had a strict rule of no shoes in the house, to which Hugo mostly abided to, but not today as he’d been overworked and severely undercompensated by his boyfriend, much to his disappointment. ‘Back to the kitchen’ he thought, taking his mind off the MANY ways his boyfriend could make up for all the unnecessary hard work he had to do. It was, yet again, the second largest room in the house, lined with marble counters and sleek, black cupboards. It had felt extremely out of place at first, not merging in well with their blue and green aesthetics whatsoever, but they made it work, attempting to decorate by placing a clock on the wall, a coffee machine that Rapunzel had bought them and, at last, a toaster. That was the thing Hugo was most excited about if he was being honest - having his very own toaster! Along with the coffee machine, Rapunzel had gifted the pair a variety of customised cups, plates, bowls..you name it, they most definitely had one that Rapunzel had slaved over making for hours just for them. A sweet act from a sweet girl, Hugo muttered to himself and rubbed his wrist absentmindely, his goggles hanging round his neck swaying as he strolled out of the room.

In a straight line from the door was the bathroom, the room housing a bath, shower, sink and toilet. A green mat was laid out on one half of the room, a blue mat meeting it in the middle and spreading out the rest of the way. Another notable article was the toothbrushes that sat in the cabinet above the sink, doubling as a mirror, with a green and blue toothbrush sitting beside each other in a glass cup. Hugo took a moment to check his appearance, fixing his ruffed up blonde hair, straightening his glasses and shooting some awkward finger guns at his reflection. He cringed for a second before heading back out into the hallway, making a sharp left and through a doorway to the next room.

Ah, yes. His and Varian’s room - a mish-mash of the two boys’ decorative decisions and personal interests. A double bed sat in the middle of the room, the covers blue as it was Varian’s turn to have made the bed, with a bedside table on either side of the bed. His table consisted of a small lamp, the book he was currently making his way through (The Tales Of Flynnigan Rider, which Varian had begged him to read for months), a picture of his absolutely adorable boyfriend and his glasses case for when he slept. Also on his side of the room (which was the left, just for the record) sat an oak desk, a grey chair tucked under it, which had the laptop Donella had gifted him placed in it, along with a cup holding his pens and pencils. Papers were stacked up above the drawers and Olivia, in her cage, sat on the opposite side, chittering softly as she slept. A wardrobe sat on his side too, one that him and Varian both shared (Varian had taken a liking, it seemed, to stealing his clothes and keeping them), it painted cyan to fit both their favourite colours.

Varian’s side was a whole different story, having a bedside table and a desk, along with a guitar propped against the side of the desk. Research papers were littered over the desk, Hugo hastily moving over to set them into a neat pile in the centre of his desk beside his laptop. That was sure to score him a few kisses from the younger boy - he was sure of it! Also on his boyfriend’s side were a lot more photos and posters on the wall - some of people he recognised and many of people he didn’t. For example, the ginger haired woman in the middle of many of them who had a wide smile plastered onto her face, who he swore he’d seen before in Donella’s office, however he couldn’t put a name to the face no matter how hard he’d racked his memory. She was in many of them too, holding baby Varian in her arms and standing beside Quirin, or with Varian in what looked like a makeshift lab, holding a test tube in one hand and the small boy in the other, Varian cuddling the woman close to him. Very heartwarming, however Hugo assumed his boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate him snooping around his side of the room, so he quickly headed out and to the highlight of the whole apartment, picking up his box along the way.

Pushing open the door to the sight of the room was always just as exhilarating for Hugo as the first time he’d been able to - his eyes meeting their makeshift lab / workshop area where they could practice their crafts expertly. He adored the room, smiling as he made his way through and dumped his box onto the counter before unpacking it. It just seemed so...them to convert the unused bedroom into their own lab space, beakers and test tubes littering the surface with microscopes and Hugo’s own toolbox sitting flush against the wall for both boys to use. He didn’t have the resources to pursue alchemy before, but meeting Varian had given him the chance to begin his research and boy howdy, he loved it! The subject was so interesting, so many different experiments to be done with ways to do it...god, he loved the subject so much. He also loved the way the other boy’s eyes lit up as he rambled about the topic to seemingly no end, his adoration on full display. It was absolutely adorable, and it helped that the couple worked together like a well-oiled machine, seamlessly sliding past each other to grab metals, acids or anything else they may need without disrupting the research at hand. It was harmonic.

Hours later, they’d finally finished the unpacking spree and slumped down onto the sofa in a tight embrace, Ruddiger obviously attempting to break it by scratching at Hugo’s ankles. Hugo paid him no mind, shaking his foot to ward the cat away as his boyfriend watched in amusement. “I swear to god, V, your cat hates me. He might as well be a raccoon with how much trash he eats-”

“Maybe if you didn’t bully and make him insecure, he wouldn’t hate you!” V responded, scooping the...unrealistically fat cat into a loving embrace and nuzzling his nose against his face. “Is he making you insecure, my beautiful boy..? You’re so beautiful.” he cooed, and Hugo could swear the cat was giving him a smug glare, anger bubbling in his stomach at the fact that a goddamn cat was getting more attention than he was - A goddamn obese cat was getting more attention from the love of his life, who he’d completely dedicated himself to, than he was! He let out a frustrated grunt, looking away and glaring at the wall, not even noticing his folded arms and childish pout. Varian had to hold back a full-blown laughing fit at how his boyfriend was acting, slowly placing the cat back on the floor and leaning against him. “Hugh..you look like a four-year-old with a pout like that.”

“So what if I do? That little..thing was grinning at me! Y’know, like the smug little bastard he is! I swear he’d plotting something!” he ranted as his boyfriend moved back into a lying position, taking Hugo’s collar in his hand and pulling him down too. It wasn’t until Varian’s legs had wrapped around his waist that Hugo had noticed the position they were in, a flush creeping onto his face. “Oh so this is my compensation?”

“Yep.”

“I..humbly accept.” He replied, leaning down and capturing the raven haired boy’s lips with his own, the other boy letting out a whine as Hugo’s teeth nipped at his bottom lip. They continued to kiss, lost in the moment with hips rocking against each other’s until Hugo suddenly jolted back. “FUCKING CAT SCRATCHED MY BACK!” he yelped, standing immediately and completely ruining the moment they were having. Varian’s glare redirected itself to Ruddiger who was, rather smugly, licking his paw and sitting on the cushions of the other couch.

“How about we go to bed? It's been a long day.” He comforted, resting his hand on his boyfriend’s back and already guiding him to their room. ‘And we can lock the door’ he decided not to add as he kicked the door to their room shut, instantly locking it almost on instinct. Hugo, however, seemed disinterested in their previous activities, already changing into pyjamas, much to Varian’s disappointment, though he wouldn’t admit it. It was strange though, how Ruddiger didn’t trust Hugo and kept on scratching and attacking him at any given chance. Usually the cat was docile or disinterested in people, never outright hostile. Maybe it WAS jealousy...could cats even feel jealousy? Now that was something he was gonna be thinking about all night..he muttered as he grabbed some pyjamas from the closet and began to change.

As he finished, he sat on the bed and Hugo’s arms wrapped around his waist to pull him into a close embrace, placing gentle kisses to the back of his head in his sleepy haze. Hugo was always lovelier when he was sleepy and when they were alone, the usual sarcastic front he put up dripping away to reveal the true nature of the boy that Varian loved so much. He could be such a gentleman if he put the effort in, like when he’d go out of his way to do the mini things for Varian, such as walking him to his classes or his tutoring job with Yong and Nuru in the library, always taking his time and slowing his pace specially for Varian to keep up with him. And the one time they’d danced together in the kitchen on the night of his birthday.

“Hugo, I’ve never done this before.” Varian had whispered, the refrigerator light being the only light in the entire kitchen, yet it was enough to show the face of the smug boy standing in front of him. He looked so handsome though, Varian just wanting to kiss that stupid look off his face. He was bowed down, some song playing throughout the small apartment as he held out his hand expectantly to the other male.

“Goggles, I’ve heard you sing. If you can do that, you’re gonna be a-okay with dancing. Just let me take the lead and keep your eyes on me, you got that?” he questioned, Varian responding with a nod and placing his hand in Hugo’s hesitantly. He was immediately pulled flush against his chest, hands wrapping around his waist as his were encouraged to wrap around the other boy’s neck. They swayed in time with the slow serenade that echoed from the living room, the dimming light being their only source of visibility. Varian didn’t care though, he was too busy staring into the eyes of Hugo, which Hugo staring back.

The music had long since stopped by now, the two freezing with their limbs entangled before Hugo pressed his lips against his, this kiss feeling like no other they’d had before. It felt so genuine, and so raw, and so real. Like Hugo was truly letting down his guard and letting Varian know that he only held love and affection for the other. It wasn’t full of lust or underlying passion - just a sweet kiss between two boys in the kitchen at god knows what time in the morning. And it was simple divine.

Varian’s lips tugged into a soft smile as he cuddled against the boy sleeping soundly behind him. That night, something new had blossomed between them. Of course they’d loved each other beforehand and they knew it, but on that night, they had wordlessly sealed their love for each other. In some ways he’d miss that old apartment purely for that memory and how perfectly cliche it was - two lovers dancing in the kitchen. It sounded like an old movie trope, right? But it was so much better than that for both of them.

Varian turned in Hugo’s grasp to face the boy and rest his head against his chest, shutting his eyes and squeezing them shut. He wasn’t gonna let this boy go, not now, not ever. He loved him more than he could ever hope to describe, from the way he had remembered Varian’s coffee order and how it always specifically needed to be vanilla, to the way that they could just be dorks, jamming out to some songs in the lab, and the way he wasn’t afraid to show Varian just how committed he was to the boy. It was all so sweet. As he drifted off the sleep, he thought to himself…

This is the start of something new, and something beautiful.

#varigo #varian and the seven kingdoms #varian x hugo #varian tangled #tangled varian #hugo tangled #tangled hugo #alchemy boyfriends #varigo coffee shop au

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