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myokk · 1 day ago

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remembering the snow

pairing: Imelda Reyes x Poppy Sweeting

word count: 3,2k

summary:

Imelda remembers the first time she saw snow.

Her parents always started the story telling her that she cried and cried and cried.

***

Or: a character study on Imelda and how she grew up because I love her & she doesn't get enough appreciation :)

cw: none, this is just a love letter to Imelda

a/n: or: this was the first oneshot I ever wrote, and it holds such a special place in my heart. I think it might be my favorite 🥹🫶

Imelda Reyes has never been one to do things by halves.

Her mother always talked about the circumstances of her birth with pride: Imelda came quickly as if she were eager to get out and see the world already, screaming even before she had fully left her mother's womb, determined to leave an indelible mark on the world.

The women in their village who had assisted the birth crossed themselves, chattering to each other in quick, soft, beautiful Spanish staccato about the baby who was already unlike any they had ever seen before. Strong and healthy and beautiful, her deep brown eyes already taking in her surroundings and watching them solemnly moments after her arrival.

Her father always talked about the circumstances of her childhood: running wild and free, flying before she could walk (a source of great pride), his little shadow who peppered him with endless questions about the world. He always brought her along to his work meetings much to everyone's delight; she was with him when he was offered the enviable position of Spanish Diplomat to the British Ministry of Magic.

At the age of five, they left the beautiful sleepy village where time hadn't seemed to exist. Imelda still dreams of long, hot, dusty days playing under the shade of orange trees, going to the market every two days with her mother draped in their finest silks, sleeping and lying around during the hottest part of the day, only leaving their house once the sun left its highest point and was about to disappear behind the mountains.

The older women in the village doted on her. If she thinks hard, she can recall their beautiful, wavering voices calling out to her as she raced past them: 'ten cuidado, cariño, te vas a mancar', 'ven aquí, cielo, te quiero ver la cara tan bonita', 'mira cómo se está creciendo, se nota que va a ser una belleza de mayor'...voices filled with comfort and love. She never knew anything different then.

She's their only child. Her mother was always brushing her hair and humming, trying to get her to sit still and listen to her endless fairy tales as the sun bore down on them; her father, treating Imelda like the son he had always wished for but accepting and loving her all the same. Sometimes, her mother would let her out of the house before the sun became too strong and they would fly around the mountains and be free free free.

Arriving to Edinburgh at the age of five, Imelda hadn't even realized she didn't speak the same language as the other children around her. As with everything else, she jumped in headfirst. Her mother always jokes that she became fluent in English the second she stepped foot on Scottish soil. To Imelda, it does seem that way. She can't ever remember not speaking in the soft Scottish burr, reminiscent of the soft Spanish she had left behind and still spoke at home.

As a child, she never had problems forging relationships with whoever was around her. She was brash and inquisitive and irresistible, taking charge wherever she went. The other children flocked around her, hanging on to her every word.

It changed, though, when her mother got her cough. It started out harmless enough, a slight cough and headache before bed each night. When her mother woke up every morning, she would be fine. But going to bed early changed to going to bed even earlier and earlier until it was time to accept what the three of them were steadfastly ignoring: she was getting worse.

Imelda was nine. She remembers her mother drying her tears with gentle, soft hands, caressing her cheeks and whispering to her that it would be fine. That she wasn't gone yet: they still had time.

'No pasa nada, mi amor. Siempre estaré contigo.'

At Hogwarts, things changed even more. She was a Slytherin and proud of it, but she never quite fit in with her classmates. She wasn't one of them, hadn't grown up with them, and they made sure she knew it. Gone were the days of running wild: she turned her single-minded determination to her studies and quidditch and found herself excelling at everything she put her mind to. It all came easily to her and she had no time for anyone who could distract her.

She wasn't a complete loner. She had her quidditch teammates, her partners in various classes, but nobody she hung out with outside of classes. She always studied alone, learned alone, trained alone.

(Of course, the picture she paints to her father in owls home is much different. He has enough on his mind - a daughter struggling to make friends is a non-issue as far as Imelda is concerned. And besides: she's fine.)

Imelda was quite content with the way things were working out for her. She would never admit if she was lonely or not, and enjoyed every part of her life. Until her fifth year, when everything began to change. Gone were her rigid schedules and studying alone and discipline. A new girl was sorted into Slytherin and Imelda found she didn't hate the girl's company. The two of them laugh together at night while they braid each others' hair, Imelda teaches her Spanish, and they have started to study together.

The new student drags her around Hogwarts and Imelda finds herself actually enjoying herself and enjoying spending time with the classmates she’s spent so many years ignoring.

This is when she meets Poppy Sweeting.

Well...Poppy swears that they met ages ago, during their first year when they were partnered together in Potions. Imelda has no recollection - that whole year was a blur - it was the year her mother succumbed to her illness - so she has to take Poppy's word for it.

She finds herself with friends for the first time in a long time. But, when the new student is running off with Sebastian doing Merlin-knows-what, things that Imelda definitely does not want to be a part of, she still finds herself seeking Poppy's company.

Poppy is sweet and fun and introverted in a way that Imelda finds familiar and comfortable: whereas Imelda turns to her studies and quidditch, Poppy often opts to spend time more time with beasts than humans. But there's something endearing about her earnestness and Imelda starts to find herself craving Poppy's calm company.

She always knows what to say when Imelda finds herself getting worked up over nothing.

On the train home for the winter holidays, as Imelda is striding down the long corridor in search of an empty cabin where she can read and concoct fail-proof quidditch tactics, Poppy calls her over to her carriage and asks Imelda to keep her company. She only needs to ask once. There's an unfamiliar fluttering in Imelda's stomach as she sits across from Poppy and the other girl beams at her but it's...well. It's not altogether unpleasant. They play exploding snap and exchange book recommendations and laugh together and...well, if Imelda's knee brushes against Poppy's occasionally or their fingers linger as they exchange essays to look over...

She can't be blamed, can she?

A letter from Poppy arrives over the break. At the sight of Poppy's small brown owl tapping the window with the letter in its beak, Imelda's heart starts racing and she runs over to the bird, grinning like a fool, but she pauses before opening it. Her fingers tremble as they hover over the wax seal.

Imelda's father is largely absent these days, a shadow of the man she had grown up with. She's noticed the difference over the summer too, of course, but the winter always feels different. More desolate; more harsh. They're nearing the four-year anniversary of her mother's death. It's impossible to ignore the fact that losing his wife has damaged his soul irreparably, and Imelda's seeing first-hand what being deeply in love can do to a person.

Maybe she'll put the letter aside and read it tomorrow.

Tomorrow bleeds into the next day turns into one week and before she can blink the bleak winter vacation with her father has ended and she's heading back to Hogwarts.

On the train, she walks past Poppy: the two of them make eye contact but Poppy flushes and looks out the window, tucking her honey-colored hair behind her ear and Imelda moves on to the next empty carriage. She pulls out some parchment and works on revising her Charms essay. It's for the best, anyway, she tells herself. For the best that she doesn't have any distractions. Their O.W.L.s are coming up and she's determined to get an O in every subject.

The month of January goes by in a flash. Between the insane quidditch schedule she's concocted for her team and the study sessions in the library, she keeps herself busy. The new fifth-year, her first real friend, starts to show concern for Imelda, gently trying to ask her what's going on as they braid each others' hair before bed.

Imelda doesn't want to bother her, though.

(She doesn't truly know what's the matter, anyways.)

She resolves to do a better job with keeping her emotions in check - her friend has enough on her plate, and Imelda doesn't want her to have to worry over something that's not even a problem in the first place.

She's fine.

Out of the corner of her eye in the classes she shares with Poppy, Imelda notices that she doesn't look as happy as she normally does. Her face is more pale and withdrawn; whenever Imelda's eyes flicker to her, her own gaze darts away.

With the beginning of February come a lot of blizzards, and they make Imelda remember the first time she saw snow.

Her parents always started the story telling her that she cried and cried and cried.

They had both run over to her, covering her with warm hugs and kisses, the tiny family huddled together in this foreign place where the people looked and spoke differently, where nothing was the same and she missed the old women who would give her mazapanes whenever she ran by, missed the tiny clouds of dust that would puff up as she ran and the hazy mountains in the distance and the hot, hot sun beating down while she played in the shade of the orange trees while her mother slept away the heat. Pulling her mittened hands off of her tear-stained face and telling her 'mira cariño, mira qué bonita es la nieve. Tócala, ya verás que no pasa nada...estamos aquí contigo...'

Her tears had soon dried and she was laughing and playing in the snow and she couldn't even remember what had made her so sad in the first place.

Imelda's sad now as she stares out the window.

Her mother isn't there anymore. She has no one to turn to in this self-imposed exile.

Four years ago today.

She's hidden herself away in an alcove, curled up, arms wrapped around her knees watching the snow swirling out the window. She canceled quidditch practice today due to the storm, much to everyone's surprise. Just last week, she had forced them to train in the freezing rain and today's snowfall is mild in comparison. But...today she doesn't have the energy. She's spent so much effort pretending that everything's fine when it's not and now she's sad and alone and confused.

She doesn't hear Poppy when she comes near.

The other girl crowds into Imelda's space, pressing against her in the alcove. The two face each other, and Poppy brings a gentle hand up to Imelda's face to brush away tears she hadn't even realized were falling.

"What -" Imelda starts saying, but a fresh sob chokes her and she can't. Poppy leans forward and wraps her arms around Imelda, pulling her into a close embrace. Imelda feels everything crumbling around her and she sobs into Poppy's shoulder - Poppy whispering reassurances and smoothing her hair, cradling Imelda as she cries and cries and cries.

They don't leave the alcove for another hour, almost staying out after curfew.

Imelda is subdued the next few days. The snow continues to fall until the whole castle looks like it's straight from one of the fairy tales her mother used to tell her as she brushed her hair. Imelda shows up for meals, shows up for classes, shows up in the study group, but she feels like she's just going through the motions.

She can tell her friend is getting worried, but Imelda can't confide in her. Her friend does small gestures anyways because she understands: saving Imelda a seat in class, asking her about quidditch, saving her favorite muffins for her at breakfast.

Maybe she talked to Sebastian about her worry because even he is being nicer than normal to Imelda, asking her if she wants to play wizarding chess with the two of them. Imelda doesn't really understand how or why they like playing the game so much - her friend is awful at it and Sebastian seems to enjoy the destruction and chaos more than actually strategizing. Even though Imelda hates the game - every move is painfully obvious and she can't understand how nobody else sees it like she does - maybe it would be nice to do something different.

Imelda freezes when they enter the Astronomy Tower to play: Poppy is there, waiting. For her. They haven't seen each other since she broke down humiliated and sobbing and she doesn't know what to do.

Sebastian looks between the two of them, brows furrowed, then leans down to their friend and whispers something in her ear. She nods and the two of them disappear, leaving Imelda and Poppy alone.

Poppy stands and Imelda can feel her heart start to hammer against her throat. Poppy walks forward slowly, only stopping when she's right in front of Imelda. When she speaks, her voice is high and sweet and Imelda realizes how much she missed her. "I-I'm sorry, I just didn't know how else I could talk to you. Will you come with me? I have something to show you."

Imelda nods mutely and Poppy takes her hand. They lace their fingers together and it's the first time - apart from a few days ago - that they have voluntarily touched each other. She feels Poppy's fingers tighten around hers and Imelda focuses on the feeling of soft knuckles under her thumb, but now...she's self-conscious for the first time about her quidditch-rough hands and maybe she should have listened to her friend when she tried to encourage Imelda to use some hand lotion.

Maybe Poppy will let go of her hand and leave in disgust.

But...Poppy doesn't do any of that. Every so often, she looks up at Imelda, smiling slightly. When they reach the Entrance Hall, she lets go of Imelda's hand and Imelda feels its loss with a pang.

Poppy opens the bag at her side and pulls out two huge yellow and black Hufflepuff scarves. As she's reaching up to wrap one around Imelda, she whispers: "sorry, I only have these. But yellow looks good on you."

Both of them flush and smile at each other and Imelda doesn't know how long they stand before Poppy grabs her hand again, making sure their fingers are laced, and then they are heading out.

Poppy looks more and more excited the closer they get to the Forbidden Forest, but Imelda's never set foot even remotely close to the forest, and she feels quite apprehensive at first. But, Poppy's excitement is exhilarating - Imelda can feel it rolling off of her in waves and despite herself, she begins to feel excited too. They still haven't spoken since leaving Hogwarts, but it's a comfortable silence. Imelda's glad for the scarf - their breath is puffing out in soft clouds as they breathe and it's quite cold - the freezing temperatures in Scottish winters are still something she's never quite gotten used to.

Their boots crunch through the snow-filled landscape - it's nearing dusk and the sky is turning a brilliant shade of orange and pink, but it gets obscured by the tree branches the further into the Forbidden Forest they venture, the golden light only showing in bursts now.

"Almost there," Poppy says breathlessly. She beams up at Imelda, whose breath catches at the sight, before turning back and pulling her faster and faster until they stop in a clearing. They've stopped in the middle, and Imelda looks around.

Here, they can actually see the sky and it is breathtaking in its beauty - the gnarled, naked trees around them twisting and reaching up as if they could try and grasp some of the beauty for themselves. The snow is perfectly smooth and untouched except for the footprints that the two of them have just left. Apart from that, the clearing is nondescript.

This is what Poppy had been so excited to show her?

Poppy gives no explanation for why she brought Imelda to the Forbidden Forest, but she's almost quivering in excitement - Imelda can feel the tension in the hand that's clutching hers tightly. The sun sets lower and lower, the two of them watching it as the colors around them start to fade and mute and then -

Poppy gasps in delight.

There -

A small, dancing, brilliant white light sparks to their left and disappears just as quickly.

"Look," Poppy whispers. Imelda glances over to her - she can barely make out her face in the dimming light, but Poppy seems to be glowing with happiness.

There - again -

More and more of the brilliant white lights appear, glowing and flickering on and off, and moving in almost a pattern, dancing around their heads. Imelda laughs as she watches the tiny creatures fly around them. It's magical and beautiful and -

"I found the snow sprite nest a few weeks ago, when the blizzards started, and I've been observing them since then. I...I wanted to show you and tell you about them the second I found out because I haven't stopped thinking about you but after...well, you know...I just wanted to cheer you up..."

Poppy trails off, looking uncertain when Imelda doesn't say anything in response.

She can't, even though she desperately wants to. Her mouth goes dry as she looks to the girl at her side, who has done all of this, for her.

Poppy looks impossibly lovely in the glow of the snow sprites, as they dance and spark around their heads in a beautiful waving pattern and Imelda doesn't even think as her hand goes to Poppy's cheek. Poppy stops rambling as she looks up into Imelda's eyes.

Then, before she can lose her nerve, Imelda leans forward and presses her lips to Poppy's. It's only the lightest of touches, but her heart is beating so quickly and Merlin, she can't believe she just did that. She quickly retreats, face flaming, but before she can get away Poppy reaches up to cup Imelda's cheeks with both hands and she pulls her forward, her mouth greedy, desperate, as they finally kiss.

When they finally pull away, breathing heavily as their foreheads rest against each other, Imelda can't help the huge smile that's threatening to split her face open. It mirrors the expression she sees on Poppy, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed and she is just so lovely that Imelda can't help but lean forward and capture her mouth again. Their lips mold to each other and it's the culmination of all of their stolen glances, touches, secret wishes.

Imelda Reyes has never been one to do things by halves, after all .

A HUGE thank you to @dom1re and @thingsmaygetalittlecrazy for reading this oneshot recently and leaving me such amazing comments on ao3😭♥️♥️♥️ they made me reread this oneshot & I remembered how much I love it🫶

#im reposting bc it’s been over 6 months and I changed how I format my writing that I post here♥️#i teared up at your comment Domi 😭♥️♥️ give me some time to respond…🥹🫂🫂🫂#I also think I’m going to do a new illustration and repost legilimency too #bc I hate how they look rn and I’m so weird about this😭😭😭#anyways I LOVE IMELDA #AND LEST ANY OF YOU FORGET THIS IS AN IMELDA WLW SAFE BLOG😤😤♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanart #hphl #imelda reyes #poppy sweeting #imelda reyes x poppy sweeting #imelda x poppy #hogwarts legacy fic #hogwarts legacy fanfic #anyways hope you all enjoy this little peek into how I imagine Imelda🫶🫶🫶#idc if it’s canon or not it’s canon to me🥹🥹🥹

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lazybutsmexy · 2 years ago

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I just woke up from my cocktail-induced hangover and I'm blushing SO HARD at your lovely words AAAAAHHH

Your words hit even harder if you know that I only recently started writing again, after having lost all motivation to do so 🥺🫶♥️ I'm glad I'm still able to make people happy with the things I write ♥️♥️

Choices have consequences

Alejandro Vargas x reader (GN)

Warning: light angst, culinary crimes, talk about past food insecurity.

Summary: There is an unwritten rule that you assumed Alejandro would have learned by now, after three years of committed relationship: don't anger the cook. You were wrong.

A/N: I'm like, five vodka cocktails in. If there are any mistakes I'll fix them when I'm sober. Also I got inspired by @ragingbookdragon 's badass reader because I just know Alejandro is. So. Whipped.

When you had decided to move in together, an arrangement was made: all household chores would be shared when he was present, but you would be in charge of meal planning and cooking.

It was a convenient set-up for the two of you; you wouldn't be burdened with all the chores when he was off-duty, and would only look after your own load of house keeping when you were by yourself. Besides, Alejandro was by no means an incapable man when cooking, you were just better than him in that regard - by a lightyear.

To you, cooking wasn't just a means to an end - it was an act of service, a declaration of love. And to date a passionate man as Alejandro, you showed the same passion for your culinary art.

The kitchen was your realm, and you were the regent. No matter whoever was going to be the recepient of your hard work, you always chose the finest ingredients. You loved to experiment with flavours and aromas. You had transformed an unused closet at the far end of your kitchen into a walk-in pantry - your spices occupied nearly an entire wall in there.

You put your heart and soul into every dish, it didn't matter if it was for Alejandro and you, a house full of guests, or just yourself. Those close to the both of you knew that a dinner invitation to your house meant a culinary experience that could rival that of a Michelin star restaurant.

And you were damn proud of yourself for that. You delected yourself on the faces of your guests when their head tilted slightly backwards, their eyes closed, and a soft moan escaped them as soon as they tried your meals. Alejandro himself had more than once interrupted himself from eating to cup your face in his hands and kiss you to thank you for your efforts.

Which is why the very words that came out of his mouth hit you like a train dead on.

Granted, he didn't say them to you directly, you overheard him on accident the previous day while he was talking on the phone. You didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he wasn't being secretive either. He was sitting at the living room, and the conversation was quite light-hearted, so you assumed that the topic was nothing related to his work. You still kept quiet, sneaking behind him to grab a book you had meant to start reading for a while.

The conversation had shifted to meals, somehow, and it caught your attention immediately when he mentioned some of the meals you often made. It never failed to warm your heart when he gushed about your culinary skills.

"...I mean, I appreciate the effort because it's such a hassle to cook and they do it all from scratch, but a few times it felt like I was eating rations in the field."

...What?

He couldn't be talking about your food, right?

...Right?

He ended his sentence with a chuckle, and you just stood there, fingers grasping the spine of the book. Your eyes were fixed on the shelf as his conversation moved on, his voice fading from your perception.

There was a weight on your chest that expanded to the bottom of your stomach and to the middle of your head, settling right behind your eyes. Knowing what was to come, you left the book in its place and walked back to the room you'd come from, just as quietly as you'd arrived.

After twenty minutes or so, you emerged from your hiding place, face freshly washed and - hopefully - no traces of the little angst marathon you went through. Alejandro still sat at the living room, this time he was watching a rerun of some fútbol match, completely unaware of the beast he had unknowingly set loose.

You walked straight to the kitchen with a newfound determination, a mission if you will. After gulping two cups of water to rehydrate yourself - and a quick prayer to your late abuela for forgiveness for the crime you were about to commit - you put hands to work. You usually took about two hours to cook, but you were sure that you would be over much quicker than that.

You carefully washed, sliced, and prepared the main ingredients, making sure that the meal would have everything necessary to look absolutely normal. You were akin to an explosions expert assembling a bomb, every step carefully calculated to achieve your goal.

The light scent of that escaped from the pot caught Alejandro's attention, and he robotically moved to set the table. You stole a glance at him, finding him eager and looking forward to dinner with a tiny grin in his face.

Estúpido mimado.

A few more minutes passed and the rice stew was ready. You looked at it, quite bland and lacking some colour, and knowing exactly how it would taste. Memories from a time long past flashed in your mind and you forced yourself to shoo them away. Carefully, you brought the pot to the table and filled two plates - Alejandro's, like always, had a extra spoonful.

You both sat down and started eating. You kept your eyes on your plate as you heard him chomp down eagerly, then quietly slow down until pulling to a stop. You tried your best not to break into a devilish smirk as he finally spoke to you.

"... Mi amor?" He sounded confused, if not a bit concerned, "the food tastes... Uh... Different than usual."

"...Yeah?," You quipped, knowing exactly what was wrong with the food, it wasn't just bland. It was sick dog level of blandness. No spices at all, no herbs, not even salt. "I tried a new recipe today."

"Uh, okay?," He frowned a bit, slowly pushing around the food around with his plate, wondering how to tell you that he didn't like it one bit, "it just... It has no spices...?"

You can't contain your smirk this time, it felt like a getting away with a crime. It was a criminal masterpiece.

"Pues claro, mi amor," your voice was sweet, but the mirth in your tone couldn't be hidden, and ran a shiver down his spine, "I wanted to emulate the flavour of the rations you seem to love so much."

Alejandro blinked once, twice, and felt his blood run cold. Had you heard him?

"Mi amor-" he began, but you interrupted him, pointing your spoon to his face.

"Escúchame bien Alejandro Vargas," you scolded him and he gulped and shut his mouth, sitting straight in his chair, "this kind of food would've been a banquet for me growing up. The sort of food I so lovingly dedicate myself to prepare everyday is the results of my dreams and desires from when I was a kid, and you disrespected that by acting como un estúpido mimado."

"Pero claro," you pitch raised and Alejandro had flashbacks of his own mamá whenever he got a scolding, "el señor put my meals at the same level of the rations he gets from the army, which I know how they taste like and don't you forget that," you accentuated every syllable with the spoon, which was still pointed at his face. Alejandro gulped as he watched you, and you continued on, "so I decided that you will eat this meal - all of it - and be thankful for every meal you receive from today on, mine or the army's, because making fun of the meals I so lovingly make for you is the same as making fun of me as a kid who got this only when there was something to celebrate. Entendido?"

"...Si, mi vida," Alejandro stated with a nod, feeling like a little kid under your harsh glare, "cada palabra."

"Good," you nodded, and carried on with eating your own meal, "que sea la última vez."

Alejandro took a few seconds to carry on with his meal, making a mental note to bring you a bouquet of flowers in the morning with your breakfast.

#besties #yes you're my bestie now #no take backs #🫶♥️#cod mw2 #alejandro vargas fanfic #self reblog

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