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mermervi · 1 day ago

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a christmas secret

✎ If you knew your boyfriend turned out to be such an asshole, you wouldn't even look at him in the first place. You'd have called off the engagement, of course, but you chose to stay for the sake of someone who sweetened your days and that someone is none other than your fiancé's brother. Leon. So how challenging can a family Christmas gathering be?

cw: MDNI, shameless smut, p in v, cheatingz!, unprotected segs goes hard ngl, bre3ding mayhaps, family drama aka kennedy family is the new kardashians, not proofread, sorry, praise kink, stomach bulge!, finger!ng, fem! reader, MDNI

find this work on ao3!

For Leon, this Christmas is overly festive, too much of an extravaganza. He has always hated family gatherings and has always been the type of boy who would retreat to his room after grabbing his share of the dishes his mother cooked for the house guests. No girls to bring home for his parents, no serious talks with them at all, and the concept of marriage has always been a total can of worms. For him there was Ada and the many nights he shared with her, nights of “oh, yeah. We fuck each other, and we don’t put a name to it.” This was more than enough for him but nothing to last forever.

Until one day the tide completely turned the night he happened to meet you. He was quite surprised when he heard that his little brother, the one he thought was nothing but a good-for-nothing, had finally met “the one” a year ago. Quite frankly, all Leon could think of was a body mass with every known sexual disease in the world collectively stored in his nuts and sperm. Yes, he was clearly not very fond of his brother.

He did, though, at the request of his father and mother, show up at last year’s get-to-know-the-new-girl-in-law dinner.

And that was the night he saw you for the first time. The truth of the matter is you were far out of his brother’s league, along with the girls from all over the States, but Leon could only see an incapable man next to a pretty girl like you. Still, for the sake of pretending to be the good brother, he did the laughing and ate the food cooked that night. He pulled off a good Kennedy act, the best version of Kennedy his father could muster. Whatever his brother was, Leon was the opposite, and his father couldn’t have asked for anything more. He didn’t care what exactly was going on between his sons. The Dad of the Year, absolutely.

Nobody could blame the old Kennedy. Leon was alright. Whatever. The other boy, however, is the equivalent of a child who was supposed to be jettisoned from the beginning and who, despite the condoms and the pills, was still accidentally conceived one night. He’s the headache itself. The only problem is that he has been so fucking blind to see this kind of unpleasantness and discomfort he has created for years. The guy lives in his own fantasy world.

How he found someone like you is a veiled story behind the scenes.

Leon really wanted to ask, quite a few times, but something stopped him, and the subject remained like a chest of unspoken family secrets. It went as far as getting your engagement with his brother.

It was only a summer night when Leon found you crying alone by the pool outside the house that the tables were turned. The mother of your tears: his moronic brother. But why? Because he will never understand you. Thinking that you might actually find true love now seemed like a rookie mistake to you. So you cried. For Leon, it was just sad. Who knows how many times he had to comfort and sometimes even hug his brother’s female friends?

Oh, and of course there was also the part of providing the most important detail that his brother was missing. Fucking those pretty girls. Hugs and heart-to-heart talks always led to the same thing. You, like the other girls, had found yourself in the same trap—the trap you had willingly walked yourself into—on top of him on a night of poolside fucking in a lounge chair. Doesn’t that make Leon an asshole? Perhaps, but at least Leon’s the kind of guy who has a sense of reverence for the women he sleeps with, whereas his brother... Well, Leon can’t find the right words in English for that guy.

No beating around the bush, Leon wants the same thing tonight. The sex. Your sex. Why would he come to this stupid Christmas dinner anyway? For you, that’s the answer. Couple that with the fact that his job has kept him away from you for a couple of weeks—from the scattered things in life he likes to do—and you’ve got a man who’s been feeling peckish for many weeks.

“Come on, big boy. Jus’ have a bite to eat.”

Leon’s brother’s soused tones interrupt the eye contact between you and Leon, the one that has been covertly lingering on and off. He’s a piece of shit. It’s scarcely seven, and already he’s drunk as a doornail.

Like a demented child, he leans over the table and brings his fork to Leon’s mouth, making artificial train noises in midair.

“Now, now, my boy. Show me your mouth. Honk hooooooonk! Toot toot!”

Your beloved fiancé forces the fork into Leon’s lips, which are pressed together to smooth matters over despite the sour expression on Leon’s face, as if he had just bitten into a lemon, and he doesn’t do much to hide it.

At this point in your life, what could be more embarrassing than witnessing your fiancé doing this in front of all his relatives? And that’s coming from you—someone who usually doesn’t give a shit about relatives.

Mercifully, Leon’s father saves the day when he raises a full glass of wine to draw the attention of the guests at the table to him.

“Here’s to my beautiful family and to many happy years with them. With you guys. I love you all.”

A sweet harmonization prevails around the table courtesy of this man. At least the eyes are where they should be, on the table, on the food, on whatever the good things are. What of your eyes? They are hunting for certain shades of blue, and when they locate them, the same kind of serene smile sits on his lips as on yours.

Why is it that you feel so safe around him, but so bare around his brother and his kin? He’s their blood, but he acts just the way you always need him to be.

Blending into your vista and turning the picture upside down, a red face suddenly intervenes between you and Leon. As it always does.

“Heyyy.” He orates garishly and kisses your cheek.

That’s not serious. Why must he butt his nose into absolutely everything? Sometimes you just want to throw away the ring and give a basket, then spit in his face and run like hell.

Apart from the striking blue gaze, far away from Leon’s gaze, your fiancé’s attention is focused on you. More precisely, down your cleavage, or even exactly at the low-cut level.

“What?”

“What what what?” He’s parroting you, yammering.

“Stop drinking like a horse and quit clowning around.”

“Why? Tits the size of my head—”

“Why don’t you shut your mouth? There are kids around. Screw you.” You look askance at him, but all to no avail. Yes, everything happens out of the prying eyes of the relatives—except for one person (Leon!), you and your fiancé are bickering at the mouths of each other. An outsider would even make a compliment about your idealistic relationship, saying something like—what a romantic lovebird these two are."

“Ha. Nice.” Your lover almost burps with a bitter taste on his tongue. In your face. “Huh. How about making them new cousins?” And as if his sobriety wasn’t already bad enough, he, of course, dares to dare to think about anything that pertains to his dick. What an idiot. Like he can even fuck you. This guy has been dead for some time. The alcohol does that shit, he says, but he’s always been all thumbs, dick down.

“Get lost. Seriously. I’m on my period, anyway.” You lie, and within a split second your fiancé responds with a horrified scowl that is woven across his face like a tapestry. Of course you’re engaged to a misogynist and a guy who’s allergic to the subject of menstruation.

“Yuck. No way. ‘m going to go now.”

“What? Where to?”

He stands up heedlessly, scrambling up the chair with the back of his shoe as you pelt him with a barrage of follow-up questions.

“Hey, guys! I’m outta here.”

He waves to everyone like a famous singer at a concert hailing his fans from the stage.

This fucking guy...

The assembled folks watch in silence for a spell as your fiancé staggers along in a drunken swagger. Even Leon watches him, and he knew from the moment he received the invitation that he was going to be subjected to such a moonstruck stunt. More or less, he could have guessed that the main character would be his stupid, dickhead of a brother.

You try to recover from this situation with a short ha! of laughter without even letting the situation escalate into a real problem. “He’s too busy. Even on New Year’s Eve. Got... a call... from work. Yeah. He did—God. What a man. He makes me so proud.”

What a shock.

Leon’s holding his laughter like it’s a sneeze at your eye-watering performance. Turns out everyone in this house who has or is about to have the last name Kennedy is always obliged to deal with the chaos created by that mindless pain in the ass. Tonight was no different from any other disaster, and Leon knows you’re a real Kennedy now.

“Yes, indeed. He’s just recently qualified. The boy is quite overwhelmed with business.” Mrs. Kennedy, sitting next to Leon and across from her husband, is quick to gloss over her young son’s asinine mistakes. It’s hard not to admire her as she does so. It’s her aura that speaks, not her, and it’s at that particular minute that you decide that some of Leon’s facial features descend from her. Like mother, like son.

The table stills after another parental rescue drill. Not a bad kind of night, you might say. The conversation circulates. You make the acquaintance of people who aren’t so black and white. Turns out the Kennedy bloodline isn’t all bad, sort of. American as apple pie, Italian as... pizza?

All this talking, socializing, and blah blah blah goes right through your social battery. That’s enough people and new faces. It wouldn’t hurt to venture out into the garden and catch some air. Maybe light a cigarette. You never know.

Excusing yourself from the throngs of people, you finally step out of the back door of the kitchen through the patio door leading to the backyard.

The bracing air from yesterday’s foot-deep snow is wafting sweetly across your face. The ground beneath your feet is still dewy, and the caked snow sticks to your soles. Too much on your mind to give a crap. That stupid boyfriend of yours is the culprit of it all. Easy.

Raising the joint in your hand, you roll a cigarette and cradle it between your lips. You dig in your pocket for the lighter you think is in your dress pocket, but no luck so far.

Within a scant few seconds, the gentle gusts of breeze blow into waves of bone-chilling cold and spray your skin under the thin fabric of your dress. Silly you are. It’s a recipe for disaster to be going out in such weather without even putting on a single jacket.

You’re kicking yourself from the inside.

Luckily, the sliding door behind you flings to the side. It’s none other than your soon-to-be brother-in-law. Squinting at you in the twilight, as if he’s judging you. Yes, yes, yes, yes. What a way to be out in the cold, damn it. He most likely will lecture you. You know the drill.

“Is this the way to go out in this cold, sweetheart?”

Called it!

You just shrug your shoulders, and Leon lines up next to you. He looks at the cigarette between your lips with a bogus hint of titter. “You know these things will kill you.”

What a wiseass.

As you flick your lighter, he takes off his brown jacket, which you think is new and pretty. He looks good with it.

Unexpectedly, the gesture is a small token from his heart. He slides the jacket over your shoulders, and you notice the flashes of sparkles that fill his eyes. Tonight, especially after yesterday’s bellowing of flaky snow, there is a distinctive gale in his eyes under the arch of the constellations and the blue-gray moon—like two small globes of blue-sky moon.

“You must really like staring at me.”

This man is a dab hand at deflecting attention with a comment that will definitely ruin the whole moment. It must be a family thing, you decide.

“No, I’m surprised. Look at you looking like such a show-off. You’ll catch cold.” Your voice is laughable and blurred from the cigarette between your lips.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Just as you’re about to take the jacket off you and return it to his arms, Leon holds you by the arm and then intercepts you. Doesn’t take you seconds to register that you have been missing his touch all along in your memory. It’s so distant yet so fresh.

The stillness of the night falls between you, leaving a familiar glow inside your bones—white and aurelian. It’s all the same to Leon. Moments like these are potentially precarious, and it’s usually Leon who does something to diffuse the situation in those peak seconds of emotional overload. Practical wit.

He takes the lighter from the palm of your hand and with a few flicks, ignites the cigarette’s stub. His free hand instinctively cups around the bluish, wavering flame. He watches and waits until you take a drag — notwithstanding the sharp, burning wallop searing through his palm. Worth it, he figures. The agony in his hand is only temporary, a demising singe. Yet the fire inside you? That’s something else, something you both share. You’re burning in your lungs. He’s burning in his hand. Unquestionably, with an esoteric surrender.

“Thanks.” You exhale away from him. In his case, Leon fiddles idly with the same lighter. He looks contemplative.

Must be an acquired connotation to that expression on his face. Sometimes you really wonder what on earth is going on in his head. You would have sacrificed your fiancé to cut open Leon’s head and find out what’s going on inside his head during such hush-hush intervals, really. It wouldn’t be half bad. The world would be rid of a piece of shit, and eventually, you would have peeled back the layers and understood who Leon Kennedy really was.

You raise your brow at him and grill him while he snatches the fag he robbed from your lips. He takes a long draw. By heart he knows the taste of your lips, all paper-wrapped and kissed.

“Whatcha got there? Cherry lip gloss?”

“Yup.” You hum in approbation, and now you watch the heady vapors drifting from his lips, frost-kissed red as fresh grains in a pomegranate against the biting cold.

What is clear is that you both crave to be with each other. Why, Anna wants Vronsky like Vronsky wants Anna, like Vronsky has that mad, demeritorious longing for Anna. And for Leon, you’re what they might label that weird thing inside him.

“Come with me to the greenhouse. Now.”

“What? N-now? The surge in your speech ripples, either from the cold or sheer astonishment.

With the last puff, Leon throws the cigarette on the snow-carpeted ground and treads on the glowing ash with the sole of his shoe. The next thing you know—

He grabs you by the wrist and drags you behind him to the glass vestibule of his mother’s one and only conservatory. All this silence, all these initiatives are the signs that he has a master plot in his head, and you’re just getting the hang of it.

“This is insane. House is teeming with people. We... we should wait for them to sleep.”

Your words make no sense, at least for Leon, and yes, they are sensible, but Leon’s a recalcitrant one. He’s straight in his head.

“Oh, that’s it?” He lets you in and zooms out the door behind you. Naturally, he first snoops around to see if the place is empty or not. He doesn’t have to search every corner. The survival instinct that comes with his profession assures him that the place is pretty vacant from the moment he steps foot inside.

Your tentative steps are no different than trekking through a minefield. You trust him, but getting nabbed is always a contingency.

“Yeah. Fat chance, sweetheart. It’s now or never.” Leon whispers a brickbat, mimicking the way you croon your words when you feel imperiled. The two of you cross a lane, and Leon turns to you. Curling his fingers around the delineation of your waist, he lifts you onto a sturdy mahogany tabletop that his mother usually decorates with lovely flowers. Show off.

“What if someone—”

He heckles you obliquely with his index finger, pressing it just slightly to your lips.

“I’ll be completely honest when I say this to you. Everybody knows that we’re fucking.”

“They do?”

Leon offers one affirmative shake of the head. “My dad and ... my mom... well, she knows everything.”

“Christ.”

How much more scandalous information can Leon reveal about his family, you ponder, as your darling brother-in-law rucks the hem of your dress up and you, with what must be muscle memory, spread your legs apart to give him more room to do his thing.

“I knew it.”

He makes a subtle jab at the sheer wetness staining the frilly seam of your panties. Inoffensive, alright. Call a spade a spade; you’ve been sitting wet from the very beginning of the evening—or rather, from the second you glanced in Leon’s direction. Kind of like a stupid baby who peed her pants.

“You’re wet, missy.”

Don’t mind your panties skimming down to your ankles, just around your heels.

His touch, the one you have been yearning for, sinks into you in two fingers, scissoring your pussy with his middle and ring finger, and your heart nearly pops out of your throat. He could have taken out his phone and taken a picture of a memory he didn’t want to forget, a cover photo that could have been the most memorable snapshot of your face—the most beautifully captured moment of the year.

“So tight,” his whisper sears your chest, “he could never give you what you want, and he will never give you what you want. Gotta be thankful that you have me.”

Well, you’ve never been a thankful person, but maybe now is the time for a character transformation. Maybe you really should thank your brother-in-law for his very existence this year as he fucks his fingers into your velvety folds.

“Hmmm? What you say? Don’t you fuck him just to keep yourself for me?”

“Maybe.” Your breath touches his cheek, like a summery kiss, as he thumbs the spot that makes you squeeze down on his digits.

“Not the answer I expected, though not that I care. I have more important things to do.”

He’s talking about important things like you, to be sure, or your lovely cunt where the slick is bleeding on his fingers.

When he’s sure he can fit himself in, he samples his glistening fingers himself, in his own mouth. A familiar taste, yes, but it leaves a trace of saccharin on his tongue that he has been denied for quite a long time. When it’s forbidden, it’s the lushest.

“Maybe I’ll eat you tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

How funny. No offense, but he sucks at these quip games.

Neither he nor you have the patience to wait any longer in the rush of this. Whatever this is. Quick as it is, Leon wraps your legs around his hips, which he grasps by your calves.

You do the rest and release him with your hand, loosening the belt around his waist and running your hand down to the zipper of his pants. Either it’s something in your imagination, or tonight he seems bigger to your eyes than you can ever remember him being. That, and the scars, which you can now observe so vividly for the first time. They’re emblazoned on his pale hide and mar him in angry pinks and ultraviolets. As much as you want to touch them, to plant those healing kisses, it’s Leon who stops you.

“We don’t have time.”

You already know that. In his defense, Leon and you have made one thing clear from the beginning: no feelings attached!

So maybe in another universe you had the right Kennedy, and you were the one who lay with him in the same bed. You had a life beside him, with a cat and a dog, plus a roof over your head. Tragically, in this universe you were the cheating slut who cuckolded her fiancé, and he’s the asshole who banged his brother’s fiancée.

“We don’t have time,” says the smartass, as he strokes the reddish tip of his cock back and forth over your wet entrance and repeats it like a looped movie script. It’s enough to piss you off, but your impatience is through the roof.

“Please. Please, Leon.”

The first thing he’s anticipating is the begging stage. But he wants more than that. And you know it.

“Expecting better words from that witty mouth.”

You bite your lower lip, and no, that’s not what he’s expecting nor what he aspires to.

Leon pulls back a little and lays hold of his cock by the shaft. It’s leaking from the tip, and he smears the pre-cum by gliding the fat head of his dick into your slit. Smart saving, no wasted material.

“See?” He massages the fluids with his ring finger, rubbing everything inside. “How your little pussy loves me. Your body wants me, sweetheart.”

He then spits on his palm, garbing the dew over his cock, and proves his practical acumen even if he comes up with a solution that is not particularly hygienic.

“Now you tell me. Want me to fuck a little Kennedy in this pretty pussy?”

You should be ashamed of yourself. That you’re dying for this. Synonyms for these images of humiliation don’t even cross your mind during those seconds.

You don’t know how many times you have shaken your head at him, but it’s so worth it to see that boyish grin on his face.

“I want it, Leon. Nothing but you.” You are no longer begging but spewing the truth as almost a last resort.

Leon feels a thrill of elation at the way you squeeze him as he slides into you, tighter than sin. Your lips are sucking in a delicate puff of breath, and he’s not even inside you.

The table beneath you is virtually slipping out of your palms, but fortunately you have him. He always holds you and always gives you whatever you want. He pulls on your hips, and moonlit tears well up in your eyes, stinging your lashes.

“Damn, gorgeous. Can barely fucking fit.” The rasp of his lilt in his voice, the rush of his fingers on your hips. It’s all turning your head topsy-turvy. Slow, perhaps lazy thrusts push inside you, and your fluttering walls memorize the shape and outline of a cock that fucks you up inside and out. He leans back and wins as his dick melts into you, inch by inch, deeper and deeper, and the parting of his lips breaks into a grin as you near your limit with a newly forming bulge inside your stomach.

Only then do you auscultate the scratchy urge seething inside him.

“Look at this. Too big for ya? God—missed this pretty pussy so bad.”

More than you have missed him?

Or does he even realize how wretchedly you tighten around his cock when you hear the subtle eulogy out of his mouth?

This is Leon you’re talking about. Of coure, he feels you. The guy worships you.

He knows and reads your body, your soul. Goes further when you gently repel back to meet his hips, to less when he realizes that your hand is curling into a fist on his abdomen, and tenses up when he lashes your cervix with a very hard stab.

Everything is for you: every error he has made and will ever repeat and every right he will ever do.

So is the way his lips quest for yours. The kiss rips out everything in your brain that belongs to survival instincts—rough and soft in equal measure—utterly debauched. His demanding hands play with your right tit poking out of your dress as if it were his own personal meat and vein toy. Hands reach up from his biceps down to his forearms, helpless, and you cling tightly to his shoulders because his body is the only thing that is holding you on the end of the table right now. He’s the only thing keeping you here, against the freezing degrees outside, against the happy house imaginary, against the people in it.

Your mutinous whimpers choke in your own throat in an audible volume, and you recoil from his lips as if you are screaming in a nightmare but happen to have lost your voice. Eyes glazed, and both your lips are alizarin to the point of bleeding.

“Look what I fucking do to you, greedy girl.” He reaches down your neck. Doesn’t choke you, though.

He’s the one who made you this way. Tonight he’s just more cynical than you’ve ever known him to be. Dirty talk will definitely rattle around in your brain in the most unlikely of places—maybe during a briefing, or maybe when you’re sitting with your beloved husband-to-be, sipping coffee or hot chocolate together.

“I can’t. Leon. I think I—” The little words you’re trying to say just won’t come out of your mouth. You push so hard, but there’s simply no way through. Those mental words linger in your mind like clouds of rumination, leaving you mouth agape.

“Yeah, me too.” He whispers quite musings as his thumb finds the pearl of your clit.

That’s exactly where the hell breaks loose. You no longer possess the vigor to spring up on the table, nor does he have the stamina to be sucked into the molten lava in which he’s melting and kindling.

Drunken mistakes or impulses often drive people to make a choice they will regret. Your ineptitude is a down payment. Right there and then, you blanket his still throbbing cock, and he’s blinking his eyelashes together. All that ponderous, stinging thrusting, now numb and sporadic.

“I’ll give you, give you—my baby.”

Famous last words.

Still, he’s the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. Really, the very essence of male beauty must have been invented for him, or you’re just too fucked up here.

To him, you’re so beautiful, and you take his cock so nicely. Absolutely worth its weight in gold.

With his face sunk into your neck, he moans, making a note of total bliss as he bottoms out, filling you as intensely as possible. Leon betrays a breath of air and closes his eyes for a second as your lovely pussy sucks in every lingering drop.

Your pulse is as senile as an oldie; you’re flushed and panting, gripping the edge of the table beneath you.

The rank ham-fistedness of your conduct dawns on both of you as you both only just regain your composure.

“Merry Christmas, beautiful.” So effortlessly, as if what happened between you hadn’t even had a spare moment to touch you—both emotionally and physically—as if he isn’t still inside you, he gives you his New Year’s wishing.

“Merry Christmas, Leon.” Back at him, you sigh exasperatedly. No harm done. Can’t help wishing that the new year will be spent right next to him.

“Are you ready to get up, or should I carry you?”

“Have I told you how hilarious you are?”

“Oh, honey. The girls love it. So do you.”

He crowns his comedy rehearsal, which is guaranteed to get a standing ovation, with a conical hat that he finds on the table at a random and very absurd moment and plonks it on your head. You nearly flinch.

“There you go. Now you fit the theme.”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #christmas #happy christmas #yall #:3 #resident evil #resident evil 4

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mazamba · 2 days ago

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Alpha Trion nodded, "Miss Sumdac, if you could-?"

"Why should we care about them?" Sentinel interrupted, "Don't play dumb. We all know that's why you're here. Optimus has always had a soft spot for organics. Organics that live mere decades with civilizations that barely last millennia. Even without the 'Cons, how long do you expect them to last?"

"Oh, not long," she replied, getting a shocked look from her friends, "I would say the Galactic Republic will collapse within ten thousand stellar-cycles or so. Then the next one will have to retro-engineer hyperspace travel, droids, and the like from whatever's left.

"And I know this will happen because it's happened before. This is the fifth Galactic Republic, but each collapse has destroyed so much of their history that they only know about the last two."

Alpha Trion and the other Autobots had visibly deflated during her speech. They hadn't expect her to be that honest.

For his part, Sentinel looked like the cat that ate the canary.

"Thank you for your honesty. I'm sure we can now-."

"That said," she interrupted, "a thing isn't beautiful because it lasts.

"The Jedi and the Sith are the latest in a long line of Force-wielder factions, just like the Autobots and Decepticons are the latest in an even longer line of Cybertronian factions. Eventually one will wipe the other one out, in-fighting will divide them again and they'll go to war. Lather, rinse, repeat for all eternity.

"Their Galactic Republic has lasted hundreds of generations, but there are bots alive right now that remember the foundation of the Autobots, so it's not like your civilization is that old either."

"Cybertron isn't in question right now," he growled at her through gritted teeth, "we're discussing-."

"Why you should care about your war destroying more lives. I could stand here all day and tell you of every reason organic life is beautiful, why it's worth saving, but I'd be wasting both our times.

"I know you won't care about what happens to them because you didn't care about Earth. But I do know what you will care about."

Sari tapped her sparkpiece, projecting a hologram of Cybertron. A different Cybertron that had been dead and dark for eons.

"There are new players from a completely different universe. Their Decepticons are different, weaker than the ones we're used to, but they're much more dangerous. I got into their files and got this image. This is what they did to Cybertron."

Sentinel Magnus, the Elite Guard, and the entire Council stared in horror at the dead remains of their world. They finally understood what was at stake.

"Autobots, get ready to mobilize."

Closed RP w/@mazamba

Ahsoka Tano is seen down in the lower levels, looking for work to continue paying for her place. She was no longer a Jedi, so she needed to find work. In order to pay for her place she was staying, while also getting food to fill her belly. Ahsoka sighed knowing she wasn't going to be able to find a proper job without getting her hands dirty.

"They want me to steal from a known crime lord or to steal from the Jedi Temple to retrieve a lightsaber from one of the fallen Jedi," Ahsoka knew both of these would either get her killed or arrested. She knew the Jedi Temple needed to be warned about this, but didn't understand why this person wanted the lightsaber.

"Well, I'll need to find work somewhere in order to pay for my next rent," said Ahsoka as she stops in her track when she sensed something. "What was that?"

@mazamba

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hooffuloftootsierolls · 1 day ago

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In light of the reveal of Abel's complete design, have this dumb doodle i made on magma a week ago based on an interaction my bsf @plushtoothpanic acted out while we were joking about Vivziepop's lack of diversity(the dog character is his sona).

Also, rant below involving Abel, I don't want this to become a critical blog since Hazbin has held a special place in my heart since 2021, but oh my God I am so sick of the shit that Vivzie is pulling

Making Adam white was already quite a choice, I had a pretty specific vision of a dark-skinned curly-haired man before his face was revealed. Although I had been expecting a biblically-accurate Adam, I didn't mind having him white as long as Eve wasn't made white as well.

Abel's design throws this out the window.

First let's focus on Abel being the child of Adam and Eve. This means Eve is white, and likely also blonde. Historically, the first humans were East/South African, and not white. Ok, well what about biblically? The popular depictions of biblical figures are mainly European interpretations from when Europe adapted the Bible and made all the figures pale, like them. It's more likely that the dark-skinned writers that originally complied stories into the Bible meant for the figures to look more like them. It would make more sense if one or both of them was dark.

Saint Peter is a whole nother' piss drawer that I don't wanna open, but whitewashing an actual human being that existed is just so gross.

Now, the other thing I wanna talk about that talks less about race and more about theories surrounding Abel being blonde... People were already theorizing that maybe one of the kids was Lucifer's spawn because of the implied affair with Eve. It wasn't the most popular theory but now it's making a comeback with the reveal of Abel's complete design.

I dislike this theory(besides the fact that it's just stupid) because

1. Cain is Adam and Eve's firstborn son. Abel is their second. Even if Eve and Lucifer had an affair in Eden, that would result in Cain, not Abel. Also we aren't entirely aware of Lucifer's powers involving entering the living world but I doubt he can canonically go there, or at least not after Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden, since Hell was made as a punishment for him and any mortal that sins and I don't think he would be able to waltz back to Earth that easily. I suppose maybe they could be twins and Cain could just have been the first one born, but I don't think that's usually what "firstborn" implies, or how it's generally interpreted?

2. This is gonna look really bad on Lucifer's part?? Like, this implies that Lilith left Adam for Lucifer, then Lucifer got with Eve(possibly cheating on Lilith if she wasn't aware/didn't consent to the affair) and cucked Adam for a second time???? Lucifer would straight-up be getting the Stolas treatment where they keep making him more and more shitty then try to justify it anyways. Cmon guys.. I wanna be able to cheer for Lucifer too but he doesn't seem remorseful at all for anything he's done, more like he's been playing the victim for a decamillennium despite being a possible cheater and the one who destroyed Adam and Eve's life.

3. How would this be plot-relevant at all?? My closest guess is to make a disconnect from Adam like "oh he was never my ACTUAL father anyways" and also to try and make a bond with Abel and Charlie being blood-related so he would decide to side with her or something. Also on top of that I hate the whole trope of someone suddenly not giving a fuck about the parents who raised them in favor of their biological parents who didn't raise them. It's a dumb trope and if this theory is canon and they pull something like that.... ughh.

yeah. Overall, too many Aryans, pleasepleasepleaseplease pleaseeep please don't make Eve white even though I know they will anyways, and if that stupid theory is true then Lucifer is a snake-tongued, home-wrecking, unfaithful pile of shit that is disguised as a poor depressed dad that the fandom eats up and woobifies. Not that I don't want him to have flaws, but he doesn't seem very sorry for what he did(he has his whole snake and apple motif, that's like saying you feel guilty for a murder then using the hyper-specific murder weapon as your symbol) and also Abel being his son would be such an unnecessary plotline that would make him look soooo so so so so much worse because he wouldn't have much of a wholesome excuse for that.

The only good things I'm getting out of this are that I can post about Abel without having to tag it as leaks and also people are cracking jokes about Abel being the son of Lucifer and Adam

#tw vivziepop #tw racsim #tw cheating #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critique #if eve is white AND abel is lucifer's son im throwing hands

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zepskies · 1 day ago

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Outlander || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won?

AN: So this is a sequel story directly following The Honorable Choice, where Dean not only saves the member of a Native American tribe, but falls in love with her. (She saves him a lot in return.) Now, he’ll have to learn how to live in her world if he wants to stay with her.

Disclaimer: I first got inspired to write The Honorable Choice for @jacklesversebingo after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (with a tinge of Yellowstone in the mix). I’ve done a lot of research for this whole series, both on the Native American Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s; AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for smut, Protective Dean, (and rogue/cowboy Dean), survival situations, hunting (in the more traditional sense), suggestiveness/implied smut and spice throughout, angst, blood and violence, hurt/comfort, and romantic fluff. (Plus other chapter-specific tags.)

Chapters:

Part 1 - Two Worlds - Coming to Patreon: Dec. 27 || Coming to Ao3/Tumblr: Jan. 3

Part 2 - What is Home

Part 3 - A Warrior's Death

Part 4 - One People

Series coming soon!

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Comment below if you'd like to be tagged in this series! 💜

Or follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new story or chapter.

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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@foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @thebiggerbear @roseblue373 @this-is-me19

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@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse

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contentloadingandstuff · 2 days ago

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Relationship Headcanons - Ganyu x Male!Reader

A/N1: This is a new format, and as such, it includes just one character. Do you think it's comprehensive enough, or is there something I missed? A/N2: When I looked for a gif for this one, I found that the gif I used in the "at the dead of night" Ganyu fic is one of the first results when you search up her name. Nice to know I have somewhat of an impact, small as it may be. A/N3: While I was thinking of making a Christmas special, I decided that the best gift for you guys would just be getting posts out more regularly - so I will post them at least twice a week for the next three weeks at the very least. Anyway, happy Christmas, and enjoy!

Loving Ganyu requires patience and the gentlest approach, but her affection eventually blossoms on its own. She just needs a bit of time and guidance - it's her first time, after all.

Being a notoriously hardcore worker, at first she'll be absent from home for most of the day. Her work-life balance is completely off the rails, and Ganyu will need all the help she can get in overcoming her centuries old habits. Now she has someone, remind her. Tell her that this special someone cares for her very much and would rather not see her worn out like an old pair of boots each night.

An important skill you have to teach her is saying the word “no”. “No, I won't accept overtime”. “No, I have plans this evening”. “No, putting the entirety of Qixin paperwork on my shoulders is not ethical or healthy - Ningguang needs more than three secretaries”. In time, Ganyu will find it in herself to set healthy boundaries on how much she works. True, helping Liyue grow and prosper is her passion, but enough is as good as a feast.

Walk alongside her on this road. Visit her at work, if only to give her a simple kiss on the forehead. Make sure she comes up from the underworld of bureaucracy to the real world. Bring her light snacks. Ask her about her day. Remind her that there is someone waiting for her back home - she will appreciate that beyond words.

Working for the Liyue Qixing means basically swimming in Mora - especially that Ganyu leads a rather humble lifestyle. She does, however, live in a very nice multi-story house with a large garden in the most scenic part of Liyue Harbor, with a skeleton crew of staff to maintain in her absence (that being most of the time). But besides that, her expenditures are very small and everything she doesn't need or put aside, she donates to charity.

While having a boyfriend is nice, she would feel much better if she’d be able to refer to you as her husband instead. Especially that she would prefer to save herself for the wedding night, and make your first “proper” time really beautiful and special. Ganyu is also a bit subservient to you, used to the idea that the husband is the head of the house - no matter if she has more money. At the same time, she is happy to be taken care of and protected, so as long as you treat her right, she’ll be comfy.

While Ganyu isn't one to insist on much in a relationship, she will encourage you to live with her. Her house is big and quite empty… Having you there would liven it up and surely make it much cozier. Coming home to a warm hug and a kiss from her lover is a dream come true…

In terms of past times, well… Ganyu doesn't have much. Her work is her main pastime, or was anyway, and she didn't really see a reason to look for other things to do in her spare time. Just a few conversations with you made her realise that, while you have a broad range of things to talk about, she doesn't quite compete in that regard. Hundreds of years of paperwork made poor Ganyu quite a one-note person, but she will work on that, don't worry.

And so she will frequently come up with things to do, together. Would you like to go to a museum? Or see a movie from Fontaine? You don't have to go with her, but… It would be really nice if you did!

Have any problems at school or at work? Personal Secretary Ganyu is on the case! She's had lots of experience in all sorts of matters and will gladly put it to use in helping out her favourite person succeed. She's a patient teacher and never raises her voice, no matter how hard it is for you to learn or do something. With her backing you up, nothing is impossible.

Ganyu, by her own admission, gains weight easily, so while the urge to fatten her up with love and Qixins is huge, she'll be grateful if you hold your horses. Her thoughts always spiral into self consciousness about weight, so it might be a good idea not to include chocolate. However, a more tender approach to her and her beautiful body - with countless kisses and words of affirmation - may change her outlook on herself. If you do get her something to eat, make sure to feed her - she couldn't say no to you.

Arguments with Ganyu are white crows in your day-to-day life. Being a timid and easy going person, it takes an impossible amount of pressure to make Ganyu lose her composure. If that somehow happens, she will be so upset that her anger will almost instantly fade into tears. She just cannot fight with you. You mean far, far too much for her to be angry. No matter if it's her fault or yours, she will end up apologising for it profusely, hoping to get past this dreadful road bump. Ganyu knows that she is prone to doing this, and will try to be a bit more decisive, only to fail spectacularly. No matter - she trusts you to never abuse that part of her character.

And don't you dare, Ganyu has to be protected at all costs.

At home, she’s a quiet and busy presence - even if it happens to be that time of the month. Ganyu doesn’t really struggle with illnesses or bodily discomfort that much, for which she is really thankful to the fates. At most, when afflicted by either, she’ll get extra sleepy and will love some extra cuddles to make the pains go away.

You are probably the only person in Teyvat that has the right to touch her horns. They are indeed sensitive, but with the right guidance, the feelings of having these caressed are simply divine. Having their horns touched is a very intimate experience for Qilin, and Ganyu is no different. It will always be in bed, cuddled into each other and falling asleep, or while engaging in more lively bedroom activities.

Ganyu has some friends and family, and they are quite happy to keep an eye on her. Xianyun will make sure that you are a proper man worthy of her disciple’s hand, and when she does confirm that fact, expect to hear all about Ganyu’s early life, as well as past hobbies and habits; knowing them might prove useful even in the present day. She will also make frequent visits, if that’s something you are okay with. Shenhe, on the other hand, will not follow you around per se - not you as a couple, that is. Because she will keep an eye on you. If you ever raise your hand at Ganyu, expect to be skewered and served at the next Lantern Rite’s banquet. But as with Cloud Retainer, if you prove yourself to be a good man, expect the same level of protection for yourself - Shenhe knows that your safety is Ganyu’s happiness, and if anything were to happen to you, her adoptive sister would cry her soul out.

Zhongli, being Zhongli, will gladly officiate the wedding.

The secretary is a girl that goes to sleep and wakes up early. She eats healthy and exercises just enough to keep herself from rusting over. Her house is perfectly clean, both thanks to her own efforts and those of her staff, and full of well-tended plants. She's a neat, well-organized and healthy little goat. If it makes you feel bad for your own lifestyle (and it should), Ganyu will be happy to help you care for yourself by cooking healthy meals for you, reminding you of your goals and helping you be consistent. For what? Why, for the delightful moment when you look at yourself in the mirror and finally smile at all the work you have done. Your happiness is her happiness.

Acts of service are her form of love. If you happen to come home later than her, you'll arrive to a nice bowl of warm soup, held by your dear wife. You casually mentioned that you need to, say, iron your shirt tomorrow? Ganyu's got you - even if she had to wake up that little bit earlier to do it. Maybe you're talking about a difficult achievement in one of your video games? If you teach her how to help, she'll be glad to tune in and grind with you. Whenever you act surprised at her actions, or say that she ‘didn’t have to’, Ganyu will always replay with a kind smile and reassurance - she does it because she loves you.

She's the most receptive to physical touch. Sometimes things are going badly and the reasons for it are exhausting to put into words. Those days Ganyu would like nothing more than a simple embrace, your hand in hers, a gentle kiss on the forehead. Your touch reminds her that everything will be alright, and that she does not have to brave the world alone anymore.

Thanks for reading!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #fluff #genshin impact ganyu #genshin ganyu #ganyu #ganyu my beloved #cocogoat #ganyu x reader #ganyu x male reader #ganyu x y/n #ganyu x you #ganyu fluff

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pickinglilahs · 2 days ago

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Okay, let's unpack this response here

TL;DR: 'weak and surface' level is exactly how I would describe prevs "obliteration". I'm not convinced THEY read the books. Or maybe they're just another TERF, considering that's how it reads. I completely disagree with Harry naming his kid after Snape. The ONLY explanation I can think for it is that JKR has no idea what love is (which is also cannon, as far as I'm concerned)

First: idk what book this person read, but Snape's obsession with Lily was creepy to the extreme. That their friendship started by him all but stalking her and Petunia should have been red flag #1. I mean, sure, he was a traumatized kid without friends, but that doesn't absolve him of his continued obsession. He literally stood outside the Gryffindor common room, refusing to leave, until she came out to talk.

And yeah, he did switch sides out of guilt. But he canonically didn't give a damn about Harry. If he was actually trying to protect the kid, he would have done more than bully and abuse (occlumency lessons anyone?) the kid. Teaching at Hogwarts was never about redemption. It was about staying out of Azkaban. (And Dumbledore's manipulation, but he's a whole 'nother can of worms)

Second: the books actually say that Snape was 'up to his nose in the dark arts'. He was an active participant. He didn't just 'hang out' with to-be-DE, he WAS one. He joined up of his own free will. He became Voldemort's RIGHT HAND. He didn't regret calling someone a mudbl***. He regretted that it was Lily.

And Snape CANONICALLY attacked the marauders just as much as they went after him. Just because they went after him first in that ONE memory, doesn't mean he didn't instigate too.

And let's talk about the werewolf incident for a minute because i am sick and tired of Snape Apologists using this as an excuse. That was NOT planned. That was a lapse of judgement on Sirius' part alone (yeah, fucked to hell and he is fully responsible for that). At the same time though, NO ONE MADE HIM GO. Snape was given a vague instruction and he was so focused on 'getting back' at the marauders that he put HIMSELF in danger. That is just as much on him as it is on Sirius.

Then the sexual assault? This is another common thing I see and it took me forever to figure out what it was even referring to. The pantsing? You cannot tell me he was the only one that happened to. If the levitating spell was really as popular as it's stated, this incident wasn't special. I'm willing to bet Snape did it to others too.

Third: Lupin not taking the wolfsbane. Yes, serious lapse in judgement. He also just saw Peter and Sirius on the map. The argument of it being criminal and a ticking time bomb is honestly werewolf prejudice and exactly why Remus has such a hard time finding a job in the first place. Way to go. You've discovered discrimination.

Fourth: Get McGonagall's name out of your fucking mouth. She is CANONICALLY shown NOT showing prejudice and treating EVERYONE by the same standards. And, did you forget that 'Moody' here was actually a death eater in disguise? No duh he's using cruel and unusual punishments??? Full of abusive teachers my ass.

Fifth: What do you mean the kids weren't scared for life? I do believe those CHILDREN will carry that trauma with them for the rest of their lives. Saying that it didn't break them is cruel and completely dismisses the VERY REAL pain and suffering that they went through. They are real heroes because they OVERCAME their trials. Not all of us out here in the real world are so lucky.

Lastly: yes, comparing CHILDREN who DID see the error of their ways to an ADULT who had to be CONNED into doing the right thing is laughable.

And saying Regulus accomplished nothing? Disgraceful. Of course it took a catalyst for him to change his ways thats how redemption arcs work.

If you made it this far, I hope you have a good day. Believe whatever you want, obvy I'm not going to change anyone's opinion. You can't MAKE a person understand. Still, it's nice to rant and remind myself how nice it is that I live in my own little corner of the fandom where I don't have to see this bullshit on my dash

okay, hold my drink *hands u cursed ancient goblet full of mead* i gotta talk my shit for a second.

ive been seeing a lot of severus snape love recently. and this is fine, obviously, y'all can love whomever you want. but. i need to rant or i will explode. if we're talking about canon. severus snape spends his adult years, seven books of it in fact, abusing children. and his excuse for this is the girl he loved (tho not enough not to join a group actively trying to exterminate her) fell for the hot jock instead of him (a tragedy indeed, i weep 4 him, i really do). and also she died, which, admittedly is very sad.

it is simply crazy 2 me 2 look at that and think *romance* or *genuine care and affection*. LIKE. fo real. snape calls her a slur in public, apologizes in private, hangs out with dudes who commit hate crimes against her friends (CANONICALLY, she says "you've been hanging out with that douchebag Mulciber, how could you do that after what he did to Mary???" this is not a direct quote but like, it's close enough). lame. loser behaviour.

"Oh but what about regulus" i can hear you say "he loves James potter but snape doesn't love lily???" well. idk. maybe. bit different tho, innit? due to james not being the demographic regulus is attacking (which doesn't make regulus a better person but does make the dynamic between him and james different). ALSO. Regulus chooses to turn against voldemort without hope for anything in return. snape doesn't seem to give a shit about voldemort, he's just sad he's not gonna get to bang lily evans. he switches sides for that reason alone. also doesn't care about what happens to her husband or her son which like. considering lily would be pretty fucking destroyed if they died. once again points to my whole, he doesn't really give a shit about her, theory. lame. loser. behaviour.

also. im sorry. I"M SORRY. but what snape does to neville? to hermione? to harry? gross. a grown ass man out here telling an eleven year old neville he's worthless or hermione she's ugly and annoying. or spilling harry's potion and refusing to grade him for it???????????????

reg and draco are children when we see them at peak suckage and therefore they feel like they can be redeemed much more compellingly (CAN be, not SHOULD be, not HAVE to be, just narratively i think they are easier to turn into interesting, sympathetic characters). but snape? snape grows up into a garbage adult. like he doesn't get better. and again, the only real excuse we're given is his obsession with lily. not very demure. not very cutesy.

ALSO. yall remember that time he got a destitute, struggling Remus Lupin fired from the best job he ever had just because he felt like it? remember that time snape weaponized Remus's lycanthropy and people's prejudice against him just cause. like. literally just cause??? his ego was bruised after the shrieking shack incident so he was like "get wrecked Lupin I'm going to tell everyone your secret so you will be forced back out onto the streets" DO YALL REMEMBER THAT BITCH ASS MOVE????????? THAT HE DID AS A FULL ADULT.

IN CONCLUSION, this is silly and, of course, like i said at the start, everyone can have their own thoughts and feelings about characters, but i simply needed to interject here on behalf of snape haters everywhere because i feel like so much of snape's shitty behaviour as an adult during a time when he was really under no duress and was very safe and cozy, is ignored. and my hater heart just cannot let that stand.

#severus snape #nothing could make me like an abuser #fuck severus snape

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maxdibert · 3 days ago

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People always complain that Harry “forgave” Severus too easily, especially with the whole naming-his-son-after-him thing, and blah blah blah. First, let me make it clear that I think all of Harry’s kids’ names are an abomination. The fact that it seems Ginny had no say in them whatsoever is even more infuriating. I mean, I understand naming two of his kids after his dead parents, but I think it was completely unnecessary for Rowling to go as far as she did with everything else.

That said, I don’t think Harry forgave Severus. I think Harry simply understood Severus in the end. He understood why Snape was the way he was, what had led him to where he ended up, and why he had that awful personality. Harry is a character who shows an immense ability to understand the root of evil and empathize with other people’s motivations when there’s a good explanation behind them.

Harry decides not to testify against the Malfoys because he understands that, despite being a bunch of jerks, they did what they did because they had no other choice. He comes to this realization through Narcissa betraying Voldemort to save Draco and through Severus’s memories, where Snape and Dumbledore explain that Voldemort had given Draco no way out. Harry understands that Dudley spent his whole life being a jerk and a bully, heavily influenced by his parents, and that once Dudley became aware of how awful his behavior was, he regretted it and apologized.

It’s not that Harry forgets what people did to him; it’s that he understands that people have motivations beyond simply being good or bad. When Harry understands those motivations and sees that, in the end, they choose the right path (even if it’s not in the most orthodox way), he just decides to let things be.

I think the same happened with Severus, with an added layer of gratitude for realizing that, despite being a jerk, the guy ultimately worked to make sure neither Harry nor his friends ended up dead. Even though Snape couldn’t stand to look Harry in the eye, he still honored his commitment to protect him and followed through with Dumbledore’s plans. And I think that’s quite coherent on Harry’s part because, as kids, we tend to see things in black and white. But for those of us who’ve had to live with highly dysfunctional adults whose behavior we couldn’t stand, we often realize as adults that the problem came from not understanding the root of those behaviors. Understanding them doesn’t make those actions any better, nor does it make us forget what they did, but it does bring a certain peace because we can finally rationalize a motive. That makes it easier to close those chapters of our lives.

Harry understood why Severus did what he did. He understood that, despite everything, Snape risked and ultimately lost his life for a good cause, that he was willing to bear the role of the villain and endure loneliness for most of his life to maintain his cover. Snape sacrificed everything—his youth, his reputation, his personal ambitions, and his own life—to repay a debt. He always did what needed to be done, especially the things no one else wanted to do. Severus did the dirty work, and Harry recognized and valued that, which is why he considered him an incredibly brave man.

Dumbledore himself said that it takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but even more to stand up to your friends. Severus stood up to both—friends and enemies. He constantly navigated between two worlds to which he never fully belonged or was truly accepted, much like the dichotomy between his magical and Muggle heritage. But he faced it all and kept going. That’s what Harry recognized, that’s what Harry valued, and that’s why he decided to clear Snape’s name and ensure he was acknowledged.

The fact that Harry could understand this while so many people continue to reduce Severus to a creepy, obsessive, and bitter man says a lot about some people’s lack of reading comprehension and others’ lack of empathy.

#severus snape #pro severus snape #pro snape #severus snape defense #severus snape fandom #Harry potter #Harry potter analysis #Harry potter headcanons #Severus snape analysis #Harry potter meta

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ikkyfics · 2 days ago

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First Dance

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: "I also thought it’d be a good moment to practice.” “Practice for what?” “The wedding dance,” he replied, as if it were obvious, his eyes locking onto yours with such intensity that your heart tightened. “I want it to be perfect, because it’s the moment I’ll remember forever. Just like this one.”

Warnings: none

Part 6 of Marry Me

Masterlist

The night was calm, wrapped in a serene air and soft light that streamed through the window, bathing the living room in the golden glow of the moonlight. The atmosphere felt familiar, with the marks of a busy day still evident: scribbled lists, flower samples scattered across the table, and the lingering scent of freshly brewed tea. You were in the final stages of wedding preparations, adjusting small details and deciding on things that didn’t seem important until they were.

James, with his eternally messy hair – as if it had just come from a friendly battle with the wind – and those vibrant blue eyes behind his glasses, was sitting on the couch, scribbling ideas on a piece of parchment. He wore a gray sweater that looked even softer under the light, and you couldn’t help but smile whenever you saw him like that, so focused and carefree at the same time.

It was then that soft music began to play on the small enchanted radio Sirius had gifted you. The melody was old, the kind that speaks of love in every note, full of nostalgia and tenderness. James lifted his gaze, and a slow, almost mischievous smile formed on his lips.

“This... this one’s perfect,” he said, dropping the parchment and standing up with the casual elegance that always seemed so natural to him. Before you could ask what he was planning, he extended his hand to you, his eyes sparkling with a silent invitation.

“James,” you began, laughing, “the room’s a mess.”

“Exactly,” he replied, with that slightly teasing tone you knew so well. “This way, we’ve already got a rehearsal for dancing in the middle of chaos.”

Without waiting, he took your hand and pulled you to the center of the room. His arms wrapped around you with a ease that made everything feel so right, as if the world outside could wait while you had that moment just for yourselves.

James wasn’t the best dancer in the world, but the way he moved with you made it seem like he was. His steps were simple, but every movement carried a smoothness that melted away any hesitation. His fingers traced a small circle on your waist as he kept the other hand securely in yours, his thumb reassuringly stroking your skin.

“Knew I’d make you dance one of these days,” he murmured, his face so close that you could feel the vibration of his words against your skin.

You laughed, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat, matching the rhythm of yours. “And you thought I wouldn’t notice your escape strategy from the preparations?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, tilting his head to look at you with that smug smile you loved so much. “But I also thought it’d be a good moment to practice.”

“Practice for what?”

“The wedding dance,” he replied, as if it were obvious, his eyes locking onto yours with such intensity that your heart tightened. “I want it to be perfect, because it’s the moment I’ll remember forever. Just like this one.”

His words were simple, but carried so much feeling that you could feel the warmth rising to your cheeks. He, of course, noticed and chuckled, lowering his head to nuzzle his nose against yours.

“Besides,” he continued, with the mischievous tone only he could pull off, “I think I can add a few pirouettes to impress the guests.”

You lightly shoved him, laughing, but he only pulled you closer, his face completely lit by the smile that seemed to belong only to you.

The music played on, and the dance, despite being a little awkward at times, was filled with laughter and exchanged glances that didn’t need words. James slowed his steps until you were practically still, gently swaying to the rhythm of the music.

“You know,” he began, his voice lowering to a near whisper, “I’ve never been great at planning big things, but with you... everything just makes sense.”

James rested his forehead against yours, breathing deeply as if capturing that moment in every detail. The soft melody filling the room seemed like the perfect backdrop to the world you had built together. There was no rush. Just the gentle sway of the two of you, following the rhythm of the music, and the comforting warmth of his arms around you.

“I promise this will be the first of many dances,” he murmured, his voice so low it seemed to blend with the beat of your heart. The touch of his lips against yours was brief, but full of a silent promise. He smiled slightly, a smile that was entirely his, somewhere between smug and absurdly affectionate. “In our living room, in the backyard, wherever we are.”

You laughed, your laugh soft and almost shy. “Even if it’s in the middle of the street?”

“Especially in the middle of the street,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with warm humor. “You can bet I’ll pull you into a dance, even if traffic stops.”

“You’re crazy,” you responded, shaking your head, but with the smile he always managed to bring out in you.

James tilted his head to the side, his expression softer now. “Maybe. But a crazy man completely in love with you.”

He held your hand between his, his thumbs lazily tracing circles on your skin. It was a simple gesture, but it carried the intimacy of years of shared understanding. James always had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

"Do you remember our first dance?" he asked, a glimmer of nostalgia crossing the blue of his eyes.

You smiled, warmth rising to your cheeks. "How could I forget? You stepped on my foot like five times."

James let out a laugh that made his chest vibrate, as if the sound was an extension of the love overflowing from him. "Five? You're being kind. I'm sure it was at least ten."

"But it was adorable," you admitted, your tone sincere. "I’d never seen anyone so determined to make me smile."

"Well," he replied, pulling you a little closer, "I think I did pretty well."

You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder. "Very well."

The music changed, but you stayed there, swaying gently. James’ eyes took on a more dreamy expression, as if he were putting together an invisible puzzle.

"I was thinking," he began, his voice low, almost as if he were sharing a secret, "when we have our own house... you know, with a big backyard, trees, and everything... do you think we could put one of those swing hammocks up? I’ve always imagined us swinging while we watch the kids play."

You looked up at him, surprised by the softness in his tone. "The kids?"

"Of course," he said, his smile widening. "Two, maybe three... maybe four, if we can handle the chaos."

"Four?!" you exclaimed, but there was more humor than shock in your voice.

James laughed, kissing your forehead tenderly. "Okay, maybe three. Or two. But they’ll definitely inherit your smile and my charm."

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. "You’re already planning the Quidditch team, aren’t you?"

"I admit it," he confessed, laughing. "But I was also thinking... do you think we’ll still dance like this when we’re old?"

The question was simple, but loaded with meaning. You felt your eyes fill with tears, but you smiled, wrapping your arms around him even more.

"James Potter," you said, your voice shaky but firm, "if you ask me to dance, no matter how many years have passed, I will always say yes."

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lowered his head and captured your lips in a slow, tender kiss, but one filled with everything he felt for you. It was as if the world around you had stopped, and all that existed was the soft touch of his lips on yours and the warmth radiating from the love you shared.

When he pulled away, the smile was back, but his eyes were shining with emotion. "You’re everything to me," he whispered, as if it were a long-held secret.

"And you are to me," you replied, feeling that the words were insufficient, but true.

James pulled back slightly, as if he had remembered something important. He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. His eyes sparkled with curiosity, and he laughed when he saw your expression.

"It’s not what you think," he assured, opening the box to reveal a small star-shaped pendant, with a faint magical shimmer that made it seem to pulse with its own light.

"What’s this for?" you asked, touching the pendant gently.

"For you to wear on our wedding day," he said, his smile making your heart melt. "That way, you’ll always have a piece of our starry sky, no matter where you are."

You couldn’t respond. You simply hugged him again, feeling that no words could ever express how much he meant to you.

And in that moonlit room, with the soft music still playing in the background, you both knew that this was just the beginning of a life full of dances, smiles, and eternal love.

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy

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olvxva · 12 hours ago

Text

unspoken flames pt. II | joost klein x f!reader

part I

✦ wc: 3.2 k

✦ warnings: rpf!, angst, crying, nudity but nothing really descriptive, two fools finally sorting their shit out

✦ an: i had to use my inspiration and free time, so i guess it went pretty quickly lmao, enjoy <3

that night, when Joost closed the door to your apartment behind him, something inside you broke. maybe it was your heart, or maybe it was just your inner self that was torn in half after the blonde took a part of you with him, a part you couldn’t get back. that night, you didn’t sleep a wink. not the next night, nor the one after that.

the quiet sobs were the only thing that could be heard from your lips, as if all the pain you had been holding in finally found its release. the tears, which seemed endless, were only an attempt at relief that never came. you felt empty, alone, and yet, as if you had no right to feel this way, as if you were deceiving yourself.

Joost didn’t say a word. days passed and you sat in your silence, which was like an endless abyss. somewhere deep in your soul, you held a quiet hope that maybe he had changed his mind, that he regretted it. naively, you waited for even a single message, a single word. just one sign that you weren’t alone in this. but nothing came. the phone stayed silent and Joost seemed to have vanished.

it was pure torture. every corner of your apartment reminded you of your shared moments, as if every object, every detail, was a witness to your presence. no matter where you looked, in your mind’s eye, you only saw him - his smile, his gaze, his touch. in every silence, his laugh echoed, in every corner of the apartment, you still felt the warmth of his presence.

your thoughts kept returning to him, even though you tried to push them away. you kept searching for him, though you knew he wasn’t around anymore. every attempt to forget became harder, and with each moment you gazed at the empty spot where he used to be, your heart broke even more.

sitting curled up on the windowsill in the living room, you watched the crowded street outside. the world beyond the glass seemed to live to its own rhythm, completely oblivious to the storm inside you. people walked past each other, talking, laughing, but you felt completely disconnected from all of it.

five weeks had passed since that fateful night. five weeks with no contact. it hurt a little less now, but it still hurt too much. you still felt like you were standing still, stuck in a deadlock where each day was just a reflection of the one before.

the world moved forward as if nothing had happened, while you remained in place, trying to accept that nothing would ever be the same. from the flood of thoughts that once again began to gather above you like dark clouds, you were pulled by the sound of an incoming notification. before you could react, your heart skipped a beat. you reached for your phone nearby and tapped the notification that had popped up. as you saw the message, your heart instantly sank in your chest.

Joost: we need to talk.

one short sentence that in that moment turned your world upside down. you immediately felt a wave of emotions crash over you - fear, anger, sadness, and maybe even hope, though you weren't sure if you should trust it.

you flipped your phone in your hands, feeling the weight of the decision that now stood before you. your mind was swirling with conflicting thoughts. you knew you couldn’t ignore him. after everything, after he’d kept you in uncertainty for so long, you couldn’t just leave this without an explanation.

why now? why so suddenly? those were the questions you couldn’t come up with a reasonable answer to. so much had changed in the weeks that had passed, and though you tried to keep your emotions in check, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something inside you had died. maybe it was the end, maybe not, but what had happened would stay with you forever.

could "what was meant to be" still exist after all of this? you took a deep breath, closing your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts. you felt the unease in your body growing, as if waiting for something that couldn’t be stopped anymore.

me: where and when?

sending the message took you barely a second, but it felt like time slowed down in your head. the phone stayed in your hand, and you stared at the screen, waiting for a reply. each second dragged on endlessly, as if the world was deliberately holding its breath, playing with your patience. after a moment, the screen lit up with a notification, and you quickly read the message.

Joost: my place in an hour, i’ll be waiting.

the words were simple, almost devoid of emotion. you stared at the text, analyzing it as if your life depended on it. i'll be waiting. those words echoed in your mind.

without further hesitation, you stood up and decided to prepare. your movements were automatic, almost mechanical, as if your body had taken control of your mind. you opened the closet and began sifting through your clothes, trying to pick something appropriate - something that wouldn’t betray the chaos inside you but also wouldn’t look too indifferent. every little detail, every decision seemed bigger than it really was.

you were afraid of this meeting. part of you - the hurt and disappointed part - would have preferred Joost to remain a memory, distant and unreal. but there was also the other part, the more stubborn and emotional one, still yearning for his voice, for the way he looked at you, as if he saw something in you that you couldn’t see yourself. it was that part of you that pushed you forward, forcing you to grab a jacket from the closet and reach for the keys.

the walk to his apartment passed unusually quickly, almost too quickly, as if time was mocking you, shortening every second you could have used to gather your thoughts. the cold evening air wrapping around you didn’t help much either. your hands were damp with nerves, and your heart was pounding so loudly that you feared someone on the street might hear it.

you tried to organize your thoughts, the words you wanted to say, but instead, your mind kept circling around what could have happened.

before you knew it, you were already standing in front of his door. you stared at the gleaming number 12 hanging on the door, one you’d seen so many times before. you felt your hands tremble slightly, and your chest rose unevenly with every difficult breath. you slowly raised your hand, ready to knock. a thousand thoughts raced through your mind - what if he wasn’t alone? what if this meeting ended in even more pain?

finally, your knuckles met the wood, making a soft, almost shy sound. for a moment, the silence seemed to stretch on endlessly before you heard footsteps approaching from inside. your heart rose to your throat.

the door opened hesitantly. and then you saw him. he stood there, dressed in simple gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. his messy hair seemed to stick up in every direction. his face looked tired, and his eyes held a shadow you hadn’t seen before. he looked the same, yet somehow, he seemed like a completely different person standing before you.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. you stared at each other, and the air between you was so thick, you almost felt like you could touch it. you didn’t know what to say. every word you’d prepared in your mind had suddenly evaporated.

“hey” he said finally, his voice quiet, barely audible.

“hi” you replied just as softly, feeling your mind suddenly abandon you.

his gaze drifted across your face, as if trying to read what was going on in your head. for a moment, it seemed like he wanted to say something, but for some reason, he remained silent, stepping back to give you room to enter.

“will you come in?” he asked, finally making a step back to let you inside.

without a word, you timidly stepped through the threshold, your movements slow and cautious, as if walking on thin ice. under the watchful gaze of the blonde, you took off your shoes, trying to control the trembling of your hands that started to betray you. you hung your coat on the hook, making an effort to avoid his gaze, which seemed to pierce right through you.

the atmosphere between you was strange, uncertain. the silence that settled was almost palpable and you had the feeling that every word or movement of yours could break it in the worst possible way.

when Joost moved toward the kitchen, you turned to him and almost instinctively followed. entering the room, you noticed how the blonde leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. he looked thoughtful, yet tense, as if he didn't know what to do next.

"anything to drink?" he suddenly asked, his voice cutting through the silence, but it sounded surprisingly calm, even though you could still see the shadow of uncertainty in his eyes.

"no, thank you, i'm not in the mood" you replied politely, trying to sound neutral "i don't want to impose."

Joost looked at you, and in his eyes, you could see a mix of disappointment. he fell silent for a moment, as if weighing every word he might say. his hands slowly dropped to the counter, and his breath became deeper, as if preparing himself for something important.

"y/n, you know you don't have to feel like that… you don't have to be afraid of imposing" he finally answered, his voice softer than before.

"Joost, you know, sometimes what you say is easier than what i feel" you replied, your voice trembling in your mouth. you looked him in the eyes, but you couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a moment.

the man slowly began to approach you, until your chests were separated by only millimeters. his hand gently caressed your cheek.

you could feel your whole body tense in that moment, as if Joost's approaching touch had the power to break everything. his presence had something that still drew you in, something that made it impossible for you to pull away.

"y/n…" his voice was barely audible, as if he was trying to find the right words "i… i didn't know what to do. i'm sorry. i'm sorry for everything i've done and for what i haven't done. for hurting you. for leaving you when you needed me the most. i know it's not enough, i know it can't fix what happened, but…"

he paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. in your mind, there was emptiness, as if each word he spoke was some kind of spell that took away your ability to think clearly.

"i don't know how to fix what i broke, but i promise you one thing – you won't have to go through this alone. i want to be with you, y/n. i'll do anything to fix this, if you'll just let me. if you’ll let me back in."

you found yourself at a standstill. part of you wanted to throw yourself into his arms, to feel like everything was returning to normal, but the other part still feared trusting him again, afraid that you’d be hurt once more.

"Joost, you left me" you began, feeling a surge of sudden sorrow and anger rising within you "you fucking left me!"

Joost stood frozen, his hand slowly dropping from your cheek as if every syllable of your words was a blow that pierced straight into his heart. his lips pressed into a thin line of helplessness.

"i never wanted to leave you" he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions "i never wanted to hurt you. i just… i just needed to find a way to understand what was happening. you know how much you mean to me…" he paused, as if unable to finish, as though every word he spoke felt too small to carry the weight of what he truly felt.

"mean something to you?!" you shouted directly into his face, unable to keep your emotions in check any longer "if i meant anything to you, you wouldn’t have left me hanging for five fucking weeks without a single word!" you stopped, feeling your heart break all over again "you just disappeared, like we were nothing… like i was nothing."

Joost clenched his fists, his eyes filled with turmoil, never leaving yours. his face inched dangerously close to yours, but you knew you couldn’t let yourself falter. with a swift motion, you stormed toward the door, desperate to escape the pointless torment of this confrontation.

before you could reach the handle, he moved in an instant, his body blocking the exit as he positioned himself in front of the door.

"i won’t let you run away" he said, his voice trembling "you’re not going to make the same mistake i did."

you looked at him, feeling anger and pain begin to mix with something else - maybe fear, maybe the desire to understand what really happened. but you couldn’t give him that satisfaction. not now.

“Joost, move the hell out of the way!”

his eyes narrowed, as if the words you spoke were a blow that landed straight in his chest. he stood there for a moment, analyzing you, and you felt a wave of frustration building inside you.

“y/n, stop” he said quietly, but his voice carried something that sounded like desperation “i won’t let you leave, not without talking. we need to sort this out.”

“just move!” you shouted, unable to contain your emotions. you shut your eyes, trying to calm the rising ache in your chest.

“stay, i’m begging you…” his voice broke suddenly.

Joost grabbed you by the waist, and you felt his body suddenly sink down in front of you.

you stood there, staring at him, feeling his hands tighten around your hips. his breathing was quick, uneven, and his eyes, filled with boundless desperation, looked at you as if pleading for forgiveness, for something he couldn’t find within himself.

you felt as though the entire world had stopped around you. you stood frozen, uncertain and disoriented, with Joost kneeling before you, his face buried against your waist like he was seeking refuge. you held your breath, afraid he might vanish in an instant. your hands reached for his chin, forcing him to look at you.

“Joost…” you whispered his name, barely audible, feeling your hand tremble “what happened to us?”

you knelt beside him, feeling your heart pounding harder and your entire body shaking with emotion. without words, without thinking, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling his body close to yours. you wanted to feel him, to close the distance, even though every part of you screamed to run away. his warmth seeped through your arms.

he pulled you closer and your heart nearly stopped when you felt his body shaking in your embrace. then, in the quiet space around you, came a muffled sob, stifled against your chest. it was a sound that filled your mind, shaking you in a way you hadn’t expected.

you felt his body reacting to the pain he must have carried for weeks, as every tear fell down his cheeks, despite his attempts to hide them. you heard that sound, a raw reminder of how deeply hurt both of you were.

Joost finally lifted his tear-streaked face, and something inside you broke again that night. you knew that pain, you knew that emptiness, but seeing him like this now, seeing his face covered in tears, made you feel like something was shifting. maybe, despite all the hurt you’d both endured, there was still a chance to fix this.

“i love you” you heard his gentle voice, and for a moment, your heart stopped beating “i’m an idiot for realizing it so late.”

those words hit you like a wave, flooding you with a relief. you felt the weight of the weeks filled with silence and misunderstandings suddenly lift off your shoulders. you couldn’t stop the tears that began streaming down your cheeks.

“why didn’t you say it earlier?” you managed to whisper, your voice barely holding steady.

“i was scared, y/n” he said, his gaze locking onto yours “i was scared i wasn’t the one you were looking for. i felt like i didn’t deserve to be the one to make you happy” his voice trembled “and then everything got complicated… and i pulled away because I was afraid my feelings might hurt you. and you know what’s the worst part? that all this time, instead of fighting, i just let my fear control me. and now i see that was the dumbest mistake of my life.”

instead of searching for a meaningful answer, you simply leaned in and pressed your lips to his. Joost froze for a moment, feeling the delicate connection as your lips met. despite all the words he had spoken just moments before, this was what you both had longed for. the kiss was filled with unease, but also relief.

when you pulled away, you stared at each other in silence, as though both of you were trying to comprehend what had just happened. Joost gazed into your eyes, then took a deep breath.

“thank you for doing that” he whispered, though it wasn’t clear if he meant the kiss or the fact that you had let him back into your world.

you didn’t reply. instead, you rested gently against him, as if trying to convey everything you felt without words. just silence and closeness - expressing more than any explanation could.

“how about a shower together?” you asked after a moment, feeling the need to wash away the weight of all the emotions you had been through.

Joost looked at you, surprised, but there was something in his eyes that revealed the suggestion wasn’t strange at all. it was exactly what you both needed.

“sounds perfect” he said quietly, his voice still trembling slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe you were here, together, after everything.

he stood up, extending a hand to help you. Joost’s grip was warm and steady as he guided you to your feet. when you both stepped into the bathroom, the soft light reflected off the gleaming tiles, creating an atmosphere of calm. he closed the door behind you, and the silence that followed was different from before. it wasn’t the heavy, tension-filled quiet - it was something that gave you both space to simply be together, to be yourselves.

without a word, he moved to the shower, adjusting the water to just the right temperature. every motion he made was careful, almost reverent, as if he was trying to understand what you were feeling without rushing you. at last, he turned to you with a gentle smile.

“do you want me to help you?” he asked softly, his tone patient and unpressuring, as though he understood that you needed to go at your own pace.

“yes, please…” you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, as you felt your heart slowly settling back into its normal rhythm.

it was a moment where you could let go, where you didn’t have to think about everything that had happened before. just about the now - him, you, and what you had in this present moment. Joost moved with deliberate tenderness as he began to lift your shirt over your head. finally, his warm hands traveled to the button of your jeans, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

“it’s just me” his voice carried a soothing calm, grounding you in a way that reminded you you could trust him.

a moment later, you stood before him in nothing but your underwear, which soon joined the rest of your clothes on the floor. joost’s eyes roamed over you, filled with tenderness that made your breath hitch.

“please, don’t make me stand here naked by myself” you said with a small, playful smile.

Joost chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm, before starting to shed his own clothes. you watched him with curiosity, your gaze tracing the lines of his body. when he noticed your eyes on him, he paused momentarily, a faint hint of bashfulness flashing across his face before he offered you a soft smile. his body was marked with tattoos, each one telling a story, each one a piece of the man he was. you loved that about him - the way his tattoos painted a vivid picture of someone unapologetically himself.

without a word, he stepped closer, his hands finding their place on your hips. his touch was warm, steady. the sound of the water streaming from the shower filled the room, but it felt distant, merely a backdrop to the moment. every touch, every movement, was careful, infused with intimacy, as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you.

you stood face to face now, completely vulnerable, with no barriers between you. as you stepped into the shower together, the warm water immediately washed over your bodies, creating a small, intimate space where there was no need for words or explanations.

Joost positioned himself behind you, and you felt his hand gently glide across your shoulders, as if he wanted to shield you from the world. you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of the water and his touch calm your nerves. all the weight you'd been carrying for the past weeks slowly began to melt away. you felt his hands move across your body, massaging it, each movement lifting away the remnants of fear and pain.

“you don’t have to say anything” he whispered, pulling you closer, so you could feel his breath on your neck “i’m here, really.”

in that moment, you needed nothing more. just the warm water, the silence you shared, and the feeling that, despite everything, you had both found your way back to each other.

"i just wanna say one thing" you started, resting your head on his chest "i love you in a way that's hard to put into words."

#joost klein angst #joost klein fluff #joost klein x y/n #joost klein x reader #joost klein x you #joost klein #joost

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burningcheese-merchant · 2 days ago

Note

yandere cheese drabbles? 🤲

Merry Crimmus to you all, my gift is more Accidental Yandere Golden Cheese things today

Can't think of a story title atm, buuutttttt here is a story nevertheless 😘

Tucked under a cut because this AU is still fucked lol

"I hate you."

How long has it been since she wrote that? How long ago did she take her seat beside her desk, pull out this paper, and bring her pen to it, only for nothing but those three words to bleed out of the ink?

Sucking in a sharp breath and steeling herself, Golden Cheese at last forced her hand to move again.

"I hate you. I loathe you. You are a sick, miserable, disgusting monster. It is only by the grace of the gods that you still live, and this world shall be a brighter, happier place when you no longer do."

There. That was one thought out of the way. Given life in the waking world. Now she just needed to keep going.

"Why are you doing this? Why do you torment me this way? What have I done to deserve it?"

She paused, briefly considering adding "If you utter even a single word about the Soul Jam, I'll rip yours out of your chest and grind it into a fine powder", but decided against it and continued.

"How can you inflict such untold suffering onto others? Onto complete strangers? How many lives have you ended? How many families have you torn apart? How many hopes and dreams have you cleaved in two with that axe? And for what? For me? When I never asked or wanted you to? What in cheese's name is wrong with you?"

She stopped again, peeking over her shoulder at the shelf by her bed - the one hiding the locked metal door, leading to... her collection. A shiver crept up her spine when she realized that the shelf was slightly ajar; she hadn't taken good enough care to close it all the way after leaving earlier that day...

"And on top of it all, you burden me with these... with these so-called gifts," she wrote when she turned back to face her little work-in-progress. "These tokens of... what? Your affection? You call this affection? You think handing a woman the blood and viscera of your hapless victims is how you win her heart? What parasite burrowed into your brain and took control of your senses to make you think this way?

"You sicken me, Burning Spice. Well and truly. You are selfish, wicked and unfathomably cruel. You are a blight on all mankind. You are hardly a step above a rabid animal. I should have put you down and spared us all of this chaos ages ago."

She stopped and set the pen down. Her eyes bore into the last sentence she wrote, unblinking. Dragging along each word, back and forth, over and over again for what may as well have been an eternity.

She should have killed him already. He should be long dead. She should have saved the world as well as herself by now.

But...

... Shaking her head, she moved the letter aside and grabbed another piece of paper. That train of thought is done. Time for another one.

"You curse me, Burning Spice. Not only with your presence, not only with your words, not only with your heinous actions... You curse me with the aftermath of it all, as well. I alone am burdened with the end results of all of your lovesick rampages. I have a closet full of severed heads because of you! Innocent men and women who have been denied their lives and their dignity to satisfy your sick infatuation with me! I struggle each and every day to find their names and identities so I may return them to their loved ones, in an act of penance on both of our parts, because I am as much of a sinner as you for even having them!!!"

She always had blood to wipe off of her hands every time she went into that room. That precious ichor, now cold and sticky, staining her delicate, flawless skin as she carefully tended to the new additions and tidied up the old ones. Every single time.

Not a single head ever left that room. She did all the work of uncovering who these poor, unfortunate souls were, and then... left it at that. Left those souls trapped in limbo. In that cold closet, behind that cold metal door. Never to see the light of day again.

Every visit inside that little den of sin only made the excuses she comforted herself with grow weaker and weaker.

"I don't understand you. I have tried, and tried, and tried with all of my might, to no avail whatsoever. Why? Why are you doing this? Why are you like this? What do you stand to gain? Is this really how you wanted to live your miserable life?"

Wait.

... Who was she writing this to?

She shook her head again - harder this time - and set the letter aside, on top of the first. No more. Next thought.

"I hardly sleep anymore. I'm haunted by the things you do. The things I do. The things I DON'T do. Why have you done this to me? Why won't you stop?"

... No. No more. Into the pile. Next thought.

"You-" Her hand was starting to tremble, smudging the ink. Another deep breath and an attempt to still herself kept her moving along. "You don't hurt children. You listen to me only this one time, for this one instance. How kind of you. How sweet. How thoughtful. Why you do it, I don't know; all life seems the same to you. Just a sea of useless little flesh automatons for you to toy with and crush as you see fit. Why do you obey the line I draw? Why does it matter? Is this the one shred of conscience that yet remains within the black hole your soul resides in?"

No more. She can't think of children. It didn't matter that Burning Spice listened to her and didn't harm them; the mere possibility was too much. Too horrible. Next thought.

"You drive me mad. You never leave my mind. Front, back, the spaces between. You consume my thoughts. Your image has been engraved into the insides of my eyelids. I even DREAM of you now, so oppressive is the hold you have over me. I can't bear it. The guilt. The shame. You curse me."

Next.

"It's a waste. You're a waste. Your entire life is a waste. You could've been someone worthwhile. Someone who made this world more bearable. You have the power, you have the means. Yet you always choose yourself. You were a hero once upon a time, there's no reason you cannot be one again. What a waste."

Next.

"Or were you not? You were never truly a hero, were you? You did it for the praise. For the gold and jewels. For the scores of people chanting your name, building statues in your honor. Selfishness. Arrogance. You're a thief. A coward. A fool."

Who- no, who is this? Who is this for, again?

"I hate you. I HATE YOU. I WANT TO KILL YOU. I WISH TO SEE THE LIGHT IN YOUR DEVIL'S EYES DIM AS I END YOUR WORTHLESS LIFE. YOU MEAN NOTHING TO ME. YOUR FEELINGS MEAN NOTHING. YOU ARE SICK! DERANGED! THE ONLY PERSON YOU EVER LOVED WAS YOURSELF, AND EVERY COURSE OF ACTION YOU TAKE ONLY SERVES TO PROVE IT MORE AND MORE!"

Her hands were trembling violently now. Ink splotches stained the pages. Deep, dark dots. Jagged streaks. Small, delicate fingerprints hovering above certain words.

"I want you."

Same as the very first letter, Golden Cheese stopped and stared down at the page with wide, unblinking eyes.

"I want you You're handsome. I think you're handsome. Devastatingly so."

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.

"I want you You're handsome. I think you're handsome. Devastatingly so. Your voice shoots through my ears and drills into my skull each time you speak. I never want you to stop talking. Why do you ever stop talking?"

His voice. That deep baritone that went from silky smooth to hot and rough effortlessly. Did he do it just to get to her? To rile her up? Did he know what his voice did to her?

It was working.

"Did your eyes always look the way they do? Is the fire within them ever-burning? Were they taken from a demon and given to you the day you were born? Why do I still feel them raking over me, consuming me, even long after we've parted ways? Why do you always seek to set me ablaze?"

"It's a waste. Really. A waste. You're a good-looking man. You could've lived a normal life. You could've found a nice girl and-"

And? And? And what?

"You could've used that face and voice and those eyes of yours to charm someone and-"

And? Why can't she finish the thought? Why did her heart pound against her ribcage so hard it ached every time she tried?

"You you would you could have you could've been a normal reasonable good man and had a wife and children-"

She took the page and crumpled it, tossing it at the wall.

"I want you. I want your voice in my ears. I want your eyes devouring me. I want to hold your face in my hands. I want you to give me another one of those hellish grins of yours. I want to feel you sink your teeth into me. I want to taste your lips. I want to feel your tongue caress mine. I want to feel your hot breath in my mouth, on my skin. I want your hands on me. All over me. I want you to touch me. You've told me about all the things you want to do to me- do it. Do them. I'm sick of waiting and so are you. Why do you tease us both like this? Do it. Touch me. Taste me. Break my bones. Break my bed. Praise me, call me a goddess, worship me. Worship me like you have been all this time. Tell me you love me. Tell me you adore me. That you'll die without me. That you'll slaughter us all for my sake. Do it. DO IT. Praise me, touch me, kiss me, fuck me, just fuck me, Burning Spice, PLEASE-"

No. No, no, no. Not this. She can't say any of this. She can't. SHE CAN'T.

"YOU'RE MINE. YOU BELONG TO ME NOW. IS THIS NOT THE LEAST YOU OWE ME FOR WHAT YOU PUT ME THROUGH? YOU'RE MINE! MINE! YOUR TROPHIES ARE MINE! YOUR BODY IS MINE! YOUR HEART IS MINE! ALL MINE! DON'T YOU DARE EVEN CONSIDER DOING ANY OF THIS FOR ANYONE ELSE!"

"YOU'RE MINE"

"YOU'RE ALL MINE"

"I HATE YOU"

She slammed her fists down onto the desk with such force that cracks formed in their wake. Out of the chair, away from the desk, out of her bedroom she went. Rushing down the hall. All but throwing herself out the nearest door. Taking off into the sky with a quickness that made her wings ache.

So absorbed in her failed therapy session was she, that she never noticed that the eyes of the marble snake adorning the decorative tree Burning Spice had given her had been glowing the entire time. Nor did she know that he himself, that object of her ire and her sick affection, was lounging on his throne, watching her fall apart with that devil's grin she loved so much.

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

Hope this is good. I'm sorry to keep you all waiting. New installment in the Accidental Yandere AU, there shall be more soon. Happy Crimmus 🎄

#cookie run kingdom #burning spice cookie #golden cheese cookie #burningcheese #goldenspice #cookie run au #I don't have a name for this AU yet lol I'll think of something eventually #suggestive

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withered-blossoms · 2 days ago

Text

Snow Angels

WARNINGS: Death, witch hunts, indications of hurting people in cruel ways, burning of people (vague descriptions), bodies of the deceased, harsh injuries, mentions of blood

A/N: I participated in the 2024 Obey Me! Holiday Exchange held by @obeymeholidayexchange. This fic is a holiday gift for @rou2464 and contains spoilers for Obey Me! Nightbringer lesson 14-14 regarding Solomon’s backstory as it is pretty much my spin on his lore. It’s also a little long, around 9658 words.

Do what you will with this warning and I hope y’all enjoy it. Also, this fic is entirely fictional and does not represent my / any beliefs. Comments, likes and re-blogs are highly appreciated!

Immortality is not the blessing that the people make it out to be.

People often wish for what they do not have, and endlessly yearn for the impossible in hopes that they would be the unique, favoured exception to the rules binding each and every soul. Take the social hierarchy as an example. There is one, or a group, at the very apex. ‘The royals’ is what those below refer to them as. Then we have the nobles, and even they are split into levels depending on how prominent their families are. The commoners, making up the majority of the population, are bound to respect and obey the commands of those at the top. That is the general rule. They could very well have lived their entire lives, content with the peace and the ease of not having more lives than they could count on their shoulders.

But it is in the human nature to want more. To be greedy. To lay their eyes on what they do not currently have. And to seize it at the next opportunity that presents itself.

Just give it some thought. How many times in human history has the hierarchy been rearranged? How many rulers have been overthrown only to have the lesser of the two evils rise up the ranks? How many times had this have to repeat for the mortals to truly be content, from the bottom of their hearts no less?

Undeniably, quite a few have been out of necessity. But can one truly say that it was purely for the people’s sake that the victors took over the throne as the next rulers? To be in a position of near absolute power? To enjoy the view of having so many others below them? Of course not. After all, there will be a part of them that wanted to stand above all. And more often than not, they realise that with every pro comes a con.

Immortality is no different. Those who long for it only saw the rainbows and sunshine, but never the storm that has to be experienced. No matter how hard the mortals try, the scales are fair and must be balanced. It is simply foolish to try and escape the law of the universe, the one that demands balance and equivalence.

Just like how after the warmth comes the cold, and how the snow has arrived after the sun earlier this year. Blanketing the soil, it aims to cover all that the warmth had touched, be it living or non-living. To hold them in its chilling embrace and hope that it is just as desired as the heat, despite knowing otherwise. It can see how the mortals hid away in their cozy little abodes, huddling to keep out the cold, so imagine its surprise when it saw that one exception making a snow angel.

There, amongst the sea of white, laid an equally colourless figure, his vibrancy long bleached by the merciless tides of time. It left nothing behind but a blank slate, just as it was when it was first brought into the mortal world. He finds it ironic, that humans start out as pure white sheets of paper that are eventually coloured with memories. But what most tend to forget is that as the colours gradually overlapped and blended, white is all that forms. The longer the life, the more the memories, the emptier the canvas. Such was the cycle of life, a loop as complete as ever. Life is born from dust, and to dust it will return. How you start out is how you end up. He would know this better than anyone else; time, despite having stopped for him, still flows for those around him after all.

Those with lifespans often wish for an extension, be it limited or unlimited, for the fulfilment of their wishes. They wish to make up for the regrets staining their life, or to further fuel their procrastination. There is a plethora of reasons, and those making (clearly unbalanced) deals just to attain it are a dime a dozen. What remains the same though, is the fact that when they’ve truly attained it, the scales are there, waiting for them. The now immortal will then finally realise how heavy the weights they have to place on the other end are. That in order to gain all of life, they have to sacrifice everything in life. Their family, friends, freedom, choice.

Nevertheless, if he had a penny for every time a person begged him to reveal the secret to immortality, he would have been wealthy enough to buy the world at least five times over. Now now, Solomon is by no means an open-book. He’s learnt through the hard way in his younger, human days that displaying yourself for all to see is a fatal mistake. However, word will always spread, at an alarming speed no less. It would surprise you just how much sorcerers, even high-ranking ones, love to gossip. It was only due to the elusiveness of the Sorcerers’ Society that the man was not burnt at the stake by the commoners, though he did have to move quite a bit from how frequently those in power sought him out, attempting to pry the secret from his lips with vast amounts of gold and subsequently threats of exposure when he declined.

Now that he thought about it, he was indeed lucky to have loving parents, caring enough to not discard him the moment they found out about his innate powers. Loving enough to risk their lives for him. You see, back in the times where magic was seen as anything but pure and holy, being ostracised for even being related to such a heretic was the best fate one could have. It was thus not uncommon to see many of his kind huddling together for safety and comfort in cages, and put on display like circus animals. It would not be long till they were then given anything but a merciful end, though in his opinion it was better than them being subjected to decades of servitude.

So, imagine the fear engulfing his parents when they stepped foot into a room with various floating objects and a giggling child entertaining himself. Old enough to know that magic is uncommon, but young enough to deem it mesmerising and beautiful. And as a child would, he pouted when a pair of hands grasped his, causing his fun to stop and thumps to echo throughout the house. With a swoosh, the curtains were drawn.

“Sol, my sweet child, never do that again."

His questioning gaze only served to increase the panic in their eyes, but the terror lacing her words was enough for him to dazedly nod. A sigh of relief was released from pursed lips and the woman rose to help her husband to check on the furniture their child had levitated for damage. He would then overhear his parents reassuring the concerned neighbours of his family’s safety the next day, not knowing that it was the last he would ever enjoy of his freedom.

News soon spread around that Solomon was down with a rather serious illness, one that was contagious. The people spoke in hushed whispers about how much of a pity it was for such a bright and adorable child to have been inflicted with such a disease and how his parents must have been devastated to see their son end up like that. But Solomon’s parents knew that time fades all. Eventually, the town will forget about the boy with the beautiful sky-blue eyes and Solomon will get to live. Thus, the couple turned away the visitors, as concerned and genuine as they were, thanking them for their well wishes and praying that they had let nothing slip.

Solomon, on the other hand, had not taken much of a liking to his new room. Sure, the basement had been cleaned and transformed into his new room, but it was dark. His only natural light source was the light streaming in through latticed windows and somewhat lit his room. All that were left now were but a basement, spacious but empty. Devoid of life, laughter, smiles. He missed his large glass windows, how illuminated his room was and the life outside. He yearned for the day him and his parents would be able to sit at the dinner table once more, chatting and giggling at the stories his father would share about his work. But it seems that day would never come.

His parents, sensing their child’s disappointment, were no less heartbroken. They tried to make up to him, moving their dinner nights to his room, spending as much time as they could with him. However, there was only so much they could do, and it was not before long until Solomon turned to magic for entertainment once more. After all, if there was one good thing that came out of this, it would be the extra space he got and the lack of prying eyes. He supposes that in a way, he had traded one freedom for another; childhood for magic. And maybe, just maybe, he would not have it any other way.

His inner child begged to differ, though he chose to turn a blind eye in denial.

Despite his parents’ worries, they decided to let him be. They may be terrified about potential discovery, but they would rather he be strong enough to break free from future hunters or even captors. Hence, in a silent promise, the two took to covering for their son while he slowly mastered his powers. It comforted them just how quickly he learnt and Solomon was happy to spend time with the two things he loved. He, too, slowly understood the reason why he was confined to the basement, never to see the light of day again, and hated it. So, he vowed to become stronger, to prove that magic could be used for good and to dispel the people’s fear.

Just as Solomon had mentally prepared for his ‘eternal solitude’, a pair of feet popped up near his window. He knew that children tended to approach the woods across his window and had completely forgotten that humans, just like all life, were naturally drawn to the light. The subtle flashes of light coming from his window might as well have been from a disco party if his times had that, so in hindsight he honestly should not have been surprised that they were guided here.

How had he never noticed the light from his spells was a problem to solve later, for he had a visitor and it was not a welcome one. The piercing shriek they let out upon discovering a pair of curious blue eyes staring back at them from a basement was sure to draw unwanted attention, so Solomon clambered back down and laid on his bed.

Readying a banishing spell in the hand hidden in his blankets, he coughed a few times, hoping to pass off as sickly and frail. The new face then tilted their head curiously and tapped at his windows, “Who are you? Are you the child with the serious illness?”

“Serious… yes I am–” Solomon cut himself off, feigning a cough to hide the fact that he nearly forgot the story his parents made up for him. He sheepishly turned his head away, not willing to face them, but that only made them even more concerned.

“Man… it is that serious?” The other child had murmured, bright eyes filling with pity, “You should be out here playing with me an’ the others, not stuck in a dark room all day.” “Wish I could, but I can’t. It is contagious.” Relaxing only slightly, he eyed them warily. There was no way he was trusting this random stranger who had popped up, and he would never risk his family’s life. He needed to scare them off, and what better than the threat of contamination?

“Eh, I ain’t scareda that! You can’t scare me; we’re practically of the same age from what I can tell!” They way they waved their hand dismissively drew a chuckle from Solomon. He knew not how they managed to spot his window since it was rather well-disguised, but he cared not. A few years of not touching grass was enough for his young heart to yearn for a friend, and a friendship thus blossomed. They chatted for a while, getting to know each other before the child’s parents called for them. Scrambling to get up, they brushed the dirt from their pants and waved, a promise of visiting soon spilling softly from their lips.

This new friend would show up once in a while and Solomon has since taken to practising his magic with a board to his window. Every time the new friend showed up, they would knock six times on his window; three short and three long. It was a secret code they kept close to their hearts and Solomon would tidy everything up with magic, check that there were no traces of his practice and allowed the light to stream into his room once more. The other child had already plopped themself down, a pouch in one hand and shiny rocks tumbling into the other. “Ain’t this cool? I found this on the ground an’ it’s shiny! Has a pretty colour too!” A clear crystal with light orange fading to sky blue was excitedly shoved up in his face and it was only because of his window that it did not end up in his nostrils. He observed it, feeling that the colours looked familiar but he couldn’t tell why.

“Don’t’cha think it’s the colour o’ your eyes? That’s the main reason why I picked it up by the way! The orange looks exactly like how the sunset did when reflected in your blue eyes!” And there it was, the unknown reason. “How did you know what the colour of my eyes were?” Solomon asked, not believing that a person could clearly see his eyes when he was in a room so dimly lit.

“Don’t be silly! O’course I know the colour of your eyes. They’re the first thing I noticed after all!” They grinned triumphantly, “My parents say I’m an observant one all the time, and they would never lie t’me! You can have this if you want, I did pick it up because of you.”

Solomon could not deny his friend of this gift, not when he wanted it as well. It’s been so long since he’s received such a heartfelt gift from people his age, the last time being…. well, last time. How should he react? How did his fellow children react in such a situation? Do they cheer? Hug? Smile? He did not know. But what he did know was that he could not afford to draw attention to them both right now, and so he settled for giving them a bright, sincere smile in return. “I’ll take it, thank you so much! You can leave it near my window, I’ll grab it later.”

For a little while, he received no response and tilted his head in curiosity. Had he offended them somehow? Was this not how the other kids reacted from what he observed through his window? Was his reaction too mundane, too cold? Was this friendship going to end? Even worse, if so, will they tattle and bring about his family’s demise? Their stunned expression only served to fuel the flames of his anxiety, and a slew of apologies was on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill from his lips.

“You smiled! You actually smiled! You should smile more ya know? You look very handsome when you smile.” They leaned in a bit closer to see his face better, almost squishing theirs against the glass. The sparkles in their eyes made him blush, a mixture of embarrassment and awkwardness, and he could only stammer out what he hoped would be a socially acceptable reply, “T-thank you, yours is very bright as well.”

“That’s what my friends said too! It’s such a shame you can’t play with us though, I’d love to introduce you to them sometime. You’d fit in so well! I just know it.”

“I’d actually prefer if you did not. Having too many visitors is bad for my health.”

A sad sigh ended the conversation, though the other child quickly brightened up at the suggestion of the friendship being something akin to a secret for theirs to keep. “Aw yeah! This makes us so much cooler than the rest!” And with that, the two continued their daily exchange till the sun started to set and the child went home. As soon as they were out of sight, Solomon pleaded for his parents to bring him the beautiful crystal sitting beside his window and they had agreed on the condition that he be more careful.

If the world was a huge vat of dye, then Solomon would be a piece of cloth, pure and clean as the snow that soon arrived. In such times, none are fully trustworthy, and it wasn’t a risk they could afford to take. As much as the couple understood that it was a lesson that Solomon had yet to learn, they did not have the heart to taint his innocence. Pair that with his puppy eyes and his parents’ resolve stood no chance. But they were rather confident in their child. He had always been a cautious one since young, who loved his family enough to try his best, and for now that was enough.

Solomon, too, thought that he would understand the ‘adult world’ once he became one, but fate had a cruel appetite for the good that happened to people. And it so happened that he had been selected as the sacrificial lamb.

Just a few days ago, his friend had showed him how to make a snow angel and he had laughed at the silliness of it all. “Look! This is how you make a snow angel!” They had chirped, flopping backwards onto the snow and spreading their arms and legs till they had dug a shallow human-shaped hole. Due to the angle of his window, Solomon could not see the hole in its entirety, but he could tell that it vaguely resembled the holy ones he’d constantly hear about.

“That looks fun! I should try it sometime.”

“You should! I can’t wait for you to get better so we can have a snow angel making competition! The one who makes the biggest snow angel will win!”

“Oh, you best believe I’ll beat you in that! Mother says I’ve been growing taller recently.”

“Hmph, I’ve been growing too! Dad says I’m a few inches taller now.”

The little banter was then wrapped up with tongues playfully stuck out at each other and was soon replaced with bursts of laughter. “But in all seriousness, I really do want to play with you outside someday. Who knows? We might even create the largest snow angel one day!” “Yeah, I can’t wait for that day either!” A vow was made and that day, Solomon learnt how to make a pinkie promise. A new experience to add to his diary, he grins. Having a best friend was truly fun, and he truly looked forward to the days filled with snow angels and snowball fights. He’d never like the heat much, so he’s confident he would fare well in snowy weather.

Solomon then went on his days merrily, preparing a birthday gift for his dear friend. It was their birthday and he had been anticipating their presence since the crack of dawn. It was the first time excitement had robbed him of his sleep, and he jotted this incident down in his little diary as well. The journal was pretty much running out of pages with the sheer number of new experiences his best pal had brought him and he made a mental note to ask his parents for a new one.

So this was what it was like to have a best friend, he realised. To have someone laugh and cry with you, to lift your mood when you’re down and to help you see the world when you couldn’t. He cherished every second of their friendship, and it showed in his gift. In return for their crystal last time, he had picked one according to the colour of their eyes as well; one with a gorgeous shade of emerald that gradually transitioned into a yellow as bright as their presence. He has thought it a perfect combination; one colour representing the eyes that held so much hope for the world and one colour to represent said sunshine child. There was no better gift than this one, Solomon was sure.

The seconds soon ticked by, yet even when the sun had started to set, that bouncing ball of excitement was nowhere to be seen. A growing fear was gnawing at the back of his mind and his stomach was in knots. Something was wrong and he could not pinpoint just exactly what. His intuition had never been one to lead him astray and that only served to make him more anxious.

‘Perhaps they had something to do today.’ ‘Maybe they got caught up in celebrating with the others. Everything is fine, Sol, don’t worry about it.’ ‘But they promised they would make time for me today as well and they have never gone back on their word. Could they truly have forgotten?’ A green monster reared its ugly head, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

Solomon did not realise, but currently he was feeling jealous. Jealous that they had other friends, jealous of those who distracted his friend so much that he was shoved to the side, but mainly of the fact that he couldn’t cheer birthday wishes alongside them.

When Solomon finally noticed his scowl in the reflection of his window, he was taken aback. Since when was he capable of such twisted expressions? He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Now is not the time to get distracted, Solomon. He had to figure out where his friend was, and only then did he pick up on the eerie silence of the town. Where was the hustle and bustle? Where were the kids playing tag on the streets? The houses usually lit were now dark, and the chimneys were not spitting smoke like they used to. Something was off and his mind demanded to know what.

Hurrying out of his room, he eventually reached his parents after making sure that there was no one over. The concern was unnecessary; the townspeople avoided their house the moment they caught wind of his supposed ‘illness’ anyways, but it was better safe than sorry.

“Mother, father, they haven’t shown up and it’s been a day.” He urged, grabbing his mother’s sleeve gently. His parents knew just how much he had been looking forward to this day and had been the ones to help him find that crystal; surely they’d help him get hold of his friend. In his urgency however, he had missed the flash of guilt in her eyes and the aversion of his father’s now heavy gaze, only focused on asking for their help.

Before he could plead for them to check up on his friend, his mother got up and directed him to the basement instead, a strained smile pulling at her lips, “It would be rude of me to show up to their house uninvited and without prior notification, dear, especially on such a day.”

His father nodded in agreement, chipping in his suggestion, “Why don’t I deliver the gift for you if they still don’t show up tomorrow?” The feigned strength in his father’s voice did not go unnoticed, but the young child passed it off as mere fatigue. “It’s alright, thank you.” He sighed, turning away in disappointment. The next second though, his ears caught a faint cacophony of voices from the outside world and he could not help but run towards the windows.

‘The answers to your fears are there!’ His intuition screamed, ‘the truth is about to be revealed!’ What it failed to let him know, however, was that it was a truth he could never handle at his age, mental and physical.

The couple could not grab Solomon in time. For a child who spent his current life cooped up in an underground space, Solomon was surprisingly agile. Well, for the adults anyways. Only the child himself knew that he had also been working on his physical health and strength all this time. Strong powers demand strong vessels, he was not about to try his luck with the next spell he cast.

The burst of speed he gained from curiosity was immediately lost when he spotted the tendrils of smoke clawing their way into the sky. Various torches lit up the city square, and the usually peaceful citizens were now huddled in a circle, thumping their pitchforks against the ground and demanding for evil to be banished.

‘Evil? What evil?’ Solomon wondered, not having seen any malicious entities around in the town lately. The crowd parted slightly, but the little gaps were more than enough for him to spot said ‘evil’.

There, tied up to a stake, was his friend.

Their clothes were tattered, and gaping streaks of red took the place of the rips in the cloth. Bruises littered their skin and their hair was sticking in all directions; the crystal-clear result of harsh pulling. The poor child looked completely disheveled; their eyes devoid of the light they once held, their parents equally unkempt and displayed for all to see. Their once dear neighbours, friends and even relatives were now spitting from sidelines, disgust lining their features as they screamed curses.

“Burn, you heretics! You should not roam the very earth we step on! How dare you try to take over our space after conquering the depths below!”

“How dare you even come up to the surface and even bring that hell-spawn along with you?! You should have rotted in the very depths of where you spawned from!”

“I knew something was up with that little bastard the moment it showed off a rock to my child! Turns out that blue an’ orange stone was magical; it was trying to lure and drag my child down with it! Not on my watch!”

“These wretched beings tried to lure children? How despicable! We must send them down at once!”

Each word spat out drove the dagger deeper into the rope known as Solomon’s sanity. That stone was magical? His friend was a mage? No, that could not be. He could not sense any traces of such powers from the other child and he had always been a sensitive one to such matters. His friend was not a mage!

Clearly, the accused family tried to say the same. Vehemently denying that they were practitioners, trying to reason with the people. “We do not have magic! You’ve never even seen us do magic!” But how could logic ever appease the rage of the villagers? Humans choose to believe what their eyes see and deny the existence of what they did not. Out of the fear of the unknown, they choose to turn a blind eye to justice, to innocence, and most importantly, to the lives of the condemned.

Before his thoughts could spiral, calloused hands filled his vision and he was slowly pulled away. “Don’t look, Sol! We… tried to save them from the sidelines, but they were discovered halfway.” A deep voice full of regrets sounded, followed by the drawing of curtains. “They are neither mages nor witches! They don’t have any magical abilities!” Solomon exclaimed once he had snapped out of his daze, trembling as it finally dawned on him. His friend and consequently their family had been condemned to death because of him. It was all because of one stupid crystal the colour of his eyes.

He had caused their suffering.

His parents released him, pained by the agony in their son’s words. They were powerless to stop all that is happening as much as they wished they could. But there was no way two mere mortals could ever hope to defeat a raging, pitchfork-wielding crowd. All they could do was to comfort their son and pray that the other family would be given a quick release. However, it seems that their son had other thoughts.

The slamming of the doorknob against the wall was all that was left of Solomon; the boy having rushed out as quickly as his slippers could carry him. He had thought about using his powers to somehow save them, be it teleportation magic or perhaps some optical illusion.

Yet he was well aware that it would only serve to make their lives worse. He could only help them hide for a short while but not forever. Word will still spread and bounties will still be set up. His best friend, a beautiful ray of sunshine, ever so kind and understanding, would be subjected to a fate worse than his. Never to see and enjoy the surface life, having to live by scraps like sewer rats as the people scorned and dragged their names through the dirt.

They did not deserve that.

Solomon thus chose the safer option of squeezing through the crowd and screaming at the mayor. “They are innocent!” he yelled, “They do not have magical powers!” That sudden interruption successfully stopped the adults who retracted their torches before they could accidentally burn an innocent child currently blocking their path. “Whose son is this? Children are seen, not heard, boy! Besides, how can you prove that they are not from the underground?” The mayor questioned, the scowl on his face deepening as noises of agreement echoed from the crowd. From the corner of his eye, he saw their eyes light up, but they soon shook their head slightly at him. Their parents were no different, eyes full of worry for HIS safety. They were already tied to stakes, at death’s door and yet this family was worried about HIS fate?

No wonder they say “like child, like parent”. He could definitely see where that kindness came from and it only made him even more determined to stop this tragedy from taking place. There was no way he was going to watch that light be snuffed out, not over his dead body.

“Haven’t all of you known them for years? Never once had you seen them doing witchy stuff, have you? Mmph–!”

“My apologies, he’s currently feverish and disorientated. We will watch over him better.” His mother gave an apologetic smile as his father picked the struggling child up. “Hmph, watch your child before he gets burned by accident. We ain’t takin’ any responsibility fo’ that!” With that, the crowd turned to the three supposed criminals.

“The time to send these demons back to their creator is here! Pray, for their salvation, for them to be cleansed by the holy flames, for them to become holy and angelic instead. Pray, for their rebirth as a clean and pure being!” The wood beneath their feet were subsequently lit, and the family’s silhouettes were gradually engulfed by the smoke. The crowd quietened down, choosing to witness this punishment in silence.

“Mama, are they going to be snow angels now? Since the flames are cleansing their souls and helping them become angelic?” A voice filled with innocent youth rang out, successfully stopping the boy struggling in his parents’ arms. All this time, Solomon had watched on, wanting but not bearing to bite down on his father’s hand. Tears had spilled over from his eyes and streamed down his cheeks in large droplets as his screams were muffled to the best of abilities.

But hearing those words made something snap in him. So, he went limp, bangs covering his dull blue eyes. His parents could only hold him closer, trying not to let their own masks crack. The people would get suspicious if even the adults in their family were seemingly mourning for the ‘evil’, so his parents could not express their sadness nor guilt for being unable to repay the good shown to their family.

Snow angels? Calling them that just because they were being cleansed and turned ‘angelic’ in snowy weather? How could this child watch such a cruel sight with excited eyes and still say such dim-witted and disgusting words? She was but a little over half his age; had she already become a bloodthirsty abomination like the rest of them? The adults were even more revolting, since it was only due to their influence that the children had turned out like that. Unmoving, unblinking as they watched fellow, live humans turn into charred, unrecognizable corpses before them.

But the one he loathed the most? Those who started this trend of executing people for magic, even without concrete evidence that they actually had any. How could anyone even stand for this? Mages, sorcerers nor witches alike harmed people. Well, most didn’t if the receiver did not deserve it. Even if they did, chances are the ‘victim’ had committed some sort of crime heinous enough to incur the wrath of those wielding such powers. Even so, the true victims are always villanised and the innocent have their blood spilled. ‘People like that do not deserve to co-exist with the good,’ he thinks.

He then remembered the promise made to this friend of his, back when they had discovered his magic and had voluntarily been sworn into secrecy, that he would be an amazing sorcerer who served humanity and the greater good. That he would help humanity reach greater heights and eventually humans would not be powerless compared to other life anymore. That those with magic and those without will live together in peace and harmony. The ones with magic will be in charge of the protection of their residential areas and those without will be able to focus on food production and other areas necessary for survival. The entire population be able to thrive and none will be condemned for something they did not choose again.

But were these the sort of people he wanted to protect? To help them prosper and live only for them to kill more of his kind and accuse those they needed to get rid of or despised of something they were never born with? Was he willing to protect the murderers while the murdered hollered their woes into the night?

In that split second, he decided ‘No’. This was not the humanity he wanted to lend a helping hand to. These vile beasts in humans’ clothing will not be part of the humanity he envisioned. They deserved neither his future protection nor efforts, and he will make sure that they know it.

With a raise of a finger so slight it could be passed off as a twitch, he extinguished the flames before the tortured cries could continue. Confused murmurs soon came from the crowd, and those at the front tried to light the wood again. Despite multiple attempts, not even a single spark could get the fire going and a frustrated kick sent some of the branches skidding across the harsh gravel.

Solomon’s parents had a feeling that somehow, just somehow, this may have been their son’s doing. No reaction came from the boy, and they had no evidence. Even if they did, they wouldn’t have said anything anyways. But a temporary solution was not enough, and the civilians were obviously upset about having their ‘fun’ end. Even without fire, there were plenty of ways the family could suffer, each crueler than the last.

Solomon knew this. He also knew that he was not powerful enough to pull off any major spells despite his daily practice. There were no books he could consult, for those were seen as evil traps used to lure innocent souls. He could only rely on his active imagination and was relatively successful for the most part. And yet there was a limit to the power he currently wielded. He just was not strong enough to truly save them from the hands of the vile.

He had never felt so powerless before and neither had he loathed himself as much as he did in this moment. Wide, blue eyes could only watch as the mayor grabbed a pitchfork from a farmer and readied himself to carry out the sentence. It felt as if time had been slowed down, the seconds turning into hours as he struggled once more, a hand reaching out for the one who had never left his side and had opened his eyes to a new world.

They felt so far and yet so near; would he be able to save them after all?

A bright flash blinded all that were gathered in the town square before they found themselves floored, quite literally. What Solomon had yet to learn but did in this moment was that emotions were very much capable of unlocking one’s potential, something he had tons of. Only able to stare at his hands in wonder, he surveyed the surroundings and to his horror, he found that the people had been thrown backwards by the sheer strength of his magic, and most if not all of them were unconscious. His parents were, fortunately, unharmed for the most part, but were also sprawled and unmoving like the rest.

His friend and their parents were more fortunate, for the stake had prevented them from being blown away. It, however, did not shield them from the resulting disorientation and Solomon took the chance to free them from their binds. None were in good condition, but his friend’s concerned him the most. Just the sight of their fresh and old wounds was enough to make his skin crawl and he had to hold back the bile rising up his throat. The priority was not how he felt right now, neither was it the visual assault his eyes had just taken. He had to get them all away before the others regained their consciousness, and so he did. Or well, tried, at least.

“I’m so sorry but please, if you can stand, follow me to the best of your abilities! I…am not sure for how long they will stay down and your injuries require urgent treatment!” He had whispered, shaky hands trying to find a good spot on his friend’s skin only to find absolutely none.

As expected, the three were no longer capable of standing without support and could only lay where Solomon had carefully lowered them to the ground after releasing them. The two adults were shocked to see that Solomon had magical powers, but soon smiled.

“That… was why they said you were sick.” “It matters not, I would have done the same.” Their parents mumbled, the words slurred from pain and exhaustion. “Run, child… bring ours and go. I’m afraid we do not have long.” The lady spoke and the sir nodded, lifting a hand to stroke his child’s cheek and the fingers of his other intertwined with his wife’s.

The stunned silence coming from Solomon was broken by the sniffles from the friend laying in his arms, them grabbing onto their father’s wrist with bloody hands. “Sol, my friend, please do not separate me from my mom and dad! Save them, save them!” They had sobbed, partly due to the salt entering their wounds but mainly due to their fate.

Solomon, with all his being, wished he could save them, but there was nothing he could do. All he knew were spells for minor cuts and scrapes, nowhere enough for areas of broken skin this large. That did not stop him though. He had the option to try and he was going to take it.

He could, and so he would. Like how he knew could try to save this family, and so he did.

Letting the powers flow from his fingertips as spells left his lips in silent chants, he watched as their pained expressions relaxed a tiny bit. It comforted him, though not by much. Their lives were still slipping from his hands like grains of sand with each passing minute, yet they’re choosing to use their last moments to urge him to leave them and to run before he’s next on their hitlist.

“Child, please. Go! Spend no more of your time on us and leave. Run as far as you can!”

“We are already a lost cause … we genuinely do not have much longer. Don’t waste your energy on us and go!”

“Sol, my best pal, mom and dad are right, jus’ go!” A harsh cough interrupted their words, and they watched in despair as their parents’ eyes slowly closed, hands intertwined with each other’s and their child’s. With one last murmur of a promise to meet in their next life and apologies for their sweet child, they were truly gone. The couple had brought nothing but their family to the afterlife, yet they gave and left so much for this unjust world to take. ‘The world does not deserve any of their possessions.’ Solomon thinks, but he knew better than to think that the greedy bastards in his town would leave their belongings be.

Despite their most precious belonging laying in his arms, he could not see his friend clearly through the tears blurring his eyes. He had already set their fate in stone and was unable to save their loved ones; the least he could do right now was to ensure their survival. Thus, the young boy shook his head and wiped at his tears haphazardly with his sleeve. “I’m not abandoning you! I… I could not save your parents, but I can save you!”

He had to, he must! He will do whatever he takes to at least do something good to repay this family for their acceptance! He could save them; he just knew it!

A hand tousling his hair stopped his ministrations and he soon felt his pinky being pulled at.

“Sol…I beg of you…” He looked up from the injury he was working on, large droplets still flowing from his eyes helplessly. Why? Why was he crying now?! The only purpose that these stupid tears would serve now was to blur his vision when his job right now depended so much on his sight! He needed to save his friend, not cry like a little baby!

“Hey… Sol… don’t cry.” They laughed a little, the huff being cut off by another coughing fit. “Never thought I’d see ya cry, but here we are. Shame… that it was in this sorta situation huh? You crybaby.”

Crybaby? He gaped at them, absolutely flabbergasted. “M-me? Crybaby? You’re practically dying and you’re calling me a crybaby? How could you?!” He yelled, trying to pour more of his powers into his fingertips. Watching the boy cry rivers was definitely not on his friend’s birthday bingo card this year. Seeing his tears made them want to sob alongside him, but they did not want to leave crying, so they pulled a little harder on his pinky, hooking theirs with his.

“Fine, fine, you ain’t one… but Sol…I feel so tired. So…very tired. I wanna sleep with my mom and dad. You’ll grant me that birthday wish, won’t you? Consider it my last request for ya.” Their cracked lips pulled back into an exhausted smile, “Promise me you’ll live and become a good sorcerer… for us humans yeah? Who knows? One day… I might come back to you, make the largest snow angel… and snatch your title of the strongest sorcerer!”

“Psh, as if I’d let you take both titles from me.” He huffed, trying to smile back as he gently laid them down between their parents. He wanted to tell them to stay up a bit more, to refuse the invitation to dreamland. But as always, they had successfully managed to distract him from his woes and sadness. He couldn’t bear to ruin the mood they worked so hard to lift either, so he settled for tightening his pinky’s grip on theirs. “I promise.”

“Also, here is your gift.” He took out the crystal he had prepared as their birthday gift. “Doesn’t –” He choked up, turning away to recomposed himself, “D- doesn’t it match the colour of your eyes? E-even the shade of green i-is the same.” A wobbly smile appeared on Solomon’s face, but even he could tell that this smile was ugly. How beautiful would a smile be when his facial features were twisted up in a fight to take control, to either display sadness or happiness?

He was sure that his face was covered in tears and snot. He didn’t care though. He wanted to send his friend off with the smile they had said was handsome even if his heart was bleeding tears. Solomon knew that that was what they would have wanted and he was not one to deny their wish.

The other child gave a short puff of laughter. “Yeah, it does. It’s pretty like my eyes…” All they got was a watery eye-roll in return, but they wouldn’t exchange it for anything in the world.

“You still have that stone… I gave ya?” Their dull green eyes now flitted to the pendant underneath his shirt, recognizing the imprint of their gift. “You should toss it out… they’ll go nuts and burn ya… for being a witch with a magical stone."

Solomon shook his head stubbornly, refusing to toss out the last momento he had of his very first friend.

“Save yourself and your mom and dad, Solomon... Live on and don’t end up like me…but if you can, become a good sorcerer and help others like my family.” They forced out with their last breath, head turning to face their parents as their eyes closed. Their last tear plopped onto the snow, incredibly loud in the mournful silence.

It was their last call for help, last resistance to the world which sought their lives.

The child had finally passed, a peaceful smile on their face as the life slipped from their eyes, leaving nothing but an empty vessel.

“I promise.” A choked whispers sounded out, echoing through the snowy night. Without the need to put up a front, he was free to express his sorrow.

So, the child let himself wail, placing the birthday present in his friend’s pocket. He cried and sobbed, letting his pain shake the heavens and earth. He screamed at the injustice of it all and let the words fall from his lips. His demands of justice and fairness went unheard, just as it had for others before his friend. It was a miracle that his shrieks of rage failed to wake the unconscious perpetrators; snowflakes littering their forms and melting after. He wailed, till his throat was raw and only then did he get up and gathered the remnants of his strength. He should at least give them a somewhat proper burial, even if snow was not the best option.

He simply did not have the strength to drag them to the woods despite knowing that their bodies would not be spared; the healing had sapped him of his power and there was no time to rest as he usually could. Thus, he did his best to see his friend off. To make their last moments a joyful experience. It was the least he could do when he couldn’t take or lessen their pain. His friend appreciated and loved it nevertheless, he was sure.

He then hoped, ironically, that they will become an angel, preferably of the snow. They were born in snowy weather, and now to snow they will return.

A silent prayer left his lips before the child was down. As his vision faded, he could not help but think. ‘Why were the angels watching this not helping the innocent? Why were they allowing such cruelty to happen?’ He simply did not understand. Weren’t they supposed to be good, preach good and do good? Then why were people killed for something innate? Something they did not choose? His brain could not figure out the answer, choosing to relax his body and lure him into a deep sleep instead. They would need the energy for the chaos unfolding afterwards, it was sure.

As expected, when the townspeople woke up, they were shocked at the disappearance of the criminals. A search party was unnecessary, however, since one tripped over the three piles of snow and revealed the ‘witches’ they were about to search for. Not willing to give the deceased a proper rest, the bodies were carelessly thrown into the woods for nature to do its job while attention was turned back to the unconscious.

Solomon, on the other hand, had thankfully woken up later than the adults had. They had assumed that he was attacked by the three evils upon seeing the blood staining his clothes and had urged his parents, now awake, to take him back home for treatment. His parents then carried him home, both concerned and fearing that they would be next. The couple was thankfully wise enough to removed his pendant and hide it before the town’s doctor had woken up, knowing that the townspeople would send the doctor their way first since Solomon’s appearance was rather bloody.

The boy turned out to be fine, the doctor said, he just needed plenty of rest after the “horrifying attack” he’s experienced. His parents heaved a sigh of relief and saw the doctor off, rambling about how grateful they were for God’s blessing and how their son managed to survive an evil attack unharmed. It was all a bunch of nonsense, but clearly convincing enough for pity to fill the doctor’s eyes as he patted Solomon’s father on the shoulder, all the while reminding them to pray more.

The next few days were incredibly dull for Solomon. The boy had stared at his hands blankly after regaining consciousness, still trying to process his emotions. His parents tried their best to comfort him to no avail; he was unmoving and unresponsive. With a sigh, they could only leave him to his devices and allow him to grieve.

Having gained some personal space and time, Solomon took to watching the snow fall. He wondered if his friend and their parents had been discovered. If so, what happened to their bodies? Their estate? He did not know. No one would tell him either. Closure was not given and would never be given.

He didn’t want to know either.

A sparkle in the snow by his window caught his eye and his eyes focused on the object. Laying in the snow was the crystal he’d given to his friend, shiny and polished as ever. The colours were ever so vibrant, still the same emerald and yellow combination. He had to do a double take and rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. There was no way this was real; he had already given it to his friend so why was it here? Were they in the woods?

He wanted to know. He had to know!

He grabbed the crystal and called for his parents, frantically explaining to them that he’d found his gift near the window and how the other family must’ve been thrown into the woods if the crystal ended up here. He pleaded and begged for them to at least check if the deceased were indeed there and to at least give him some closure, but all he got were regretful sighs.

“There was nothing left, son. There is nothing in the woods. Even if they were left there, surely the animals had taken them. You know how nature does its job.”

There it was, the cold hard truth. The one Solomon needed to hear. Their hearts ached at his pain, but he deserved to know as much as they did. Escorting the numb boy back to his room, they allowed him to keep the crystal and gave back his. Solomon could only force out a ‘thank you’ to his parents before sitting on his bed and gazing at the two crystals in his hand. These ‘rocks’ were all his powers saved.

At least he got to save another piece of them, he thinks bitterly. ‘How utterly useless. What do I need these powers for if I can’t even use them to protect the ones I want?'

‘…If the more powerful entities refuse to protect the innocent, then I shall become powerful and take on the role.’

‘One day, just one day, I’ll be able to defend the innocent from those wishing harm upon them. No matter how long it takes.’

That was the start of Solomon’s self-taught magical journey. His grimoires increased in number, but his diary remained single and locked up. No longer did he watch and observe the outside world, but spent his time practicing and mastering spells, particularly healing and teleportation spells. The sunlight would no longer stream in through that one tiny window; it’s not like it had any way to.

Without the sun to remind him of the time, he relied on his Circadian rhythm to remind him to rest. But even that was ruined when he started to push himself past his physical and mental limits, so the only way he’d rest was when his body forced him to. At the very least, his body could refuse to support him through his stubbornness and he would finally allow himself to slumber.

Sometimes, he would see his friend in his dreams, smiling and laughing, donning beautiful wings of ice and a shining halo on their head. They’d grab his hand and pull him, the two falling into the snow and making snow angels. ‘A snow angel making a snow angel.’ He’d laugh in such dreams, causing his friend to throw a snowball in his face. Of course, he’d reciprocate and a snowball fight would commence.

Those were the most beautiful dreams he’d had, but reality would soon deliver a harsh smack to his face and wake him up. This cycle would repeat till his adulthood, and only then did he truly start to move on.

Or so he thought.

Funnily enough, when he had turned himself immortal on that one fateful day, orange crept up the bottom of his irises and created a beautiful gradient. Even the shade of orange was exactly the same as the stone he was gifted. As for the crystals, he had taken to making pendants out of them, wearing them and roaming fearlessly in the human world.

It was a silent challenge to the world, for them to come and banish him for supposed magical stones as they had his friend. He’d protect these crystals with his unlimited life anyways.

Now his eyes could perfectly match his gift even without a sunset. He wondered how his friend would feel. Would they be happy? Sad that he had perhaps subjected himself to a fate worse than death? Would they finally come down to chide him for his silly magical mistake? Or would they try and steal his future title of ‘strongest sorcerer’ as promised?

Perhaps they would, but he should focus on his skills for now. He would rather they not show up when he’s still this… weak. When the day comes, he’d be sure to make them gape at his magical prowess and have them be his disciple. He’ll then be able to teach them, helping them grow just as they had him, and he’ll finally repay them as he’d always wanted.

Until then, he’ll wait for them. He’s always been a patient one anyways; a lifetime was nothing to an immortal like him.

However, as the years went by, his hair faded to white and the blue of his eyes faded to a dull grey. He could only pray that his friend recognised the crystals they’d exchanged, now hanging from his neck from a necklace. Surely they’d spot the crystals; their’s was hung right over his heart, and his over his core.

“Achoo!”

A sneeze escapes him and conveniently cuts short his trip down memory lane. ‘Goodness me,’ he thinks, ‘how long have I been laying here for?’ Nature answered with a gentle snowflake to his nose, drawing his attention to the slightly red organ. It’s getting cold. It would not be wise of him to stay out too long. His thermoreceptors are still working fine, and he’d rather they stay that way.

Oh well. At least they didn’t take the tea back. It would most definitely go well with Luke’s baking.

Perhaps a cup of tea would do the trick, he thinks. The other human exchange student had just given him a few bags the other day, all the while asking him where he got ‘the pretty green and yellow crystal’. They would love to get one, they’d said. But Solomon could only let them down, saying it was one-of-a-kind.

#withered blossoms #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me angst #omswd #obey me solomon #solomon #solomon angst #obey me solomon angst #angst #withered writes #snow angels #withered writes snow angels #obey me holiday exchange #2024 obey me holiday exchange #merry christmas #christmas gift

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tagsecretsanta · 2 days ago

Text

From @sofasurf

From @sofasurf to @ozzmatr0n

Your prompts are as follows:

1. The “ever so fashionable” Lady Penelope (1960s Lady Penelope).

2. Daily morning routine on Thunderbird 5.

3. The Tracy brothers favourite gifts under the tree

Interview

“Welcome back! If you're just joining us we are on the sofa with the elusive Tracy brothers!”

Scott smiled his trademark smile, dimples winking at the camera that loved him. No one looking at him would know that at that moment he was considering all the ways he could kill Penny and the TI PR team.

“But it's for the children,” Penny had pleaded, eyes sincere and, were those unshed tears? A master at work and, he thought darkly, he'd fallen for it.

Perhaps he wouldn't have had to if the others hadn't also fallen prey to the dirty tactics employed. Even John had lacked immunity from those deadly baby blues.

And so, here they were on the famous red sofa, the hair and makeup team having spent a long time on the completely casual look. They all wore pastel shades the colour of their uniform baldrics, only Alan not in red, but matching his oldest brother a soft silver grey hoodie to his brother’s stronger blue grey shirt.

Scott sat closest to the Interviewer, even in this protecting his brothers from the ‘danger’ of the gossip hungry fans. Of which, unfortunately, the two woman conducting the interview seemed to be the biggest. There was much faux hair tossing and giggling at him during rehearsal; at all of them even Alan had had a gentle version of the treatment much to his wide eyed fascination. Both women, Donna Flannigan and Carol Song, seasoned hosts seemed to have forgotten their professionalism when faced with International Rescue in the flesh.

And rules of personal space, Scott thought grimly. Death to Lady Creighton- Ward.

Gordon had nearly passed out laughing when Carol’s hand had landed dangerously high up his eldest brother’s thigh earning him a surreptitious slap around the back of the head from John while Virgil, after a quick double take, had deftly shifted the focus to himself as he spoke sincerely about the children's charity they were promoting, allowing Scott to gently extricate himself just off camera. What the live studio audience made of it was anyone's guess.

Yep, Penny was dead.

He'd managed not to yelp out loud at the uninvited physical contact. He was however grateful he’d manoeuvred himself between the woman and John, who Donna also seemed to be very keen on getting close to.

“Before the break we were discussing the incredible work that Beginning Together does around the world and your family’s personal passion for the project. Again if you're just joining us, the details to donate to this outstanding charity are on the screen with further links on our website.”

“Indeed, Carol,” Donna took over with a seamless change to look at the different camera signalled by the harried looking floor manager. “And you had referenced your desire to help other children experience the kind of normal childhood that you had growing up in Kansas. However, normal doesn't feel very like the word to describe your current lives. Let's talk for example about your “normal” day to day life?” The air quotes on the word ‘normal’ drew a titter from the audience.

Scott leant forward slightly smiling. “Now, Donna, our lives for the most part follow pretty normal routines.”

“When you're not saving the world in your supersonic rocket ship!”

“When were not doing that,” warm laugh, dimple, dimple, smile, smoulder. Scott, despite all his protestations was a natural, all boyish charm and disarming candour. Alan looked on in awe from his place wedged between Gordon and Virgil. “Mum’s warmth; Dad’s razzle dazzle. Just you watch,” John had whispered to him as their eldest brother had worked the studio like a shareholders meeting when they arrived, remembering names and faces that had all blurred into one almost instantly for Alan in the overwhelming strangeness of the studio.

Now Scott answered the questions about his morning routine, Gordon adding little details that made everyone laugh, Yes really, yes running and swimming, yes at dawn.

“So you are the morning people of the family then?” Donna gestured between Scott and Gordon who like Scott took this in his stride. Olympic press training added to the Tracy charm had set him up early to handle himself well under press scrutiny.

“Yes, indeedy. I like to be around in case the old man sprains something on his run!”

The hosts and audience roared in delighted laughter as Scott rolled his eyes good naturedly.

“It's also part of my role as health and safety monitor to have coffee ready for the family bear when it awakens.”

“The family bear?”

More laughter as four fingers pointed at Virgil where he sat preached on the end of the sofa- he and Scott bookends to the row of brothers.

“Hey!”

“It’s true. Virgil should not be approached until he's had at least one coffee,” Alan final felt brave enough to chime in earning indulgent smiles from his brothers despite Virgil's mock outrage.

“There's a reason he's known as the family bear!” John saved Alan from further scrutiny. John didn't enjoy the spotlight but he was a Tracy and could be charming when he really wanted to. He just didn't often really want to. Like Scott, Penny's demise was not far from his thoughts.

“The Bear? Do the rest of you have nicknames?”

“No!”

“Yes!” both responses were simultaneous from various brothers. The audience laughed.

The terrible two jostled to answer.

“Scooter”

“Spacecase”

“Squid!”

“Sprout! Cos he's so little, Gordon tousled the golden bread beside him ironically now slightly higher than his own.

Annoyed Alan tried to deflect from the sight murmur of “ahh” from the audience, “Gordon still sleeps with plushies”

“Alan sleeps on the floor!”

“Yes, well Scott sleeps na....”

“As you can see,” Scott’s calm voice cut across the two shuting his youngest brother down just in time, “Normal siblings!” his tone was carelessly amused, his dimples dimpling and his laugh enchanting but there was a slight edge that the brothers alone detected, used to hearing it when Scott deliberately kept cool but they were in trouble. Gordon was grinning like a loon, John shook his head in mock despair and Virgil gently bumped against Alan's shoulder as the youngest blushed crimson at his near blunder.

About ignored the renewed looks from Carol at that fresh almost titbit.

“So these two are the early risers. Virgil, you're not a morning person. But John, surely you can't claim that your morning routine is normal! I mean you’re in space!” Donna warmed to her topic her intense grey gaze raking over John in a way Scott was certain it shouldn't on a family show.

“It can be surprisingly mundane I assure you, even in space. Safety and often sanity depend on routine. Except during an emergency I try to keep to island time like these clowns” a muffled hey from Gordon “so I'm awake even they are. I even sometimes jog around the gravity ring before breakfast!”

The audience approved. A banner saying “We love you, John!” in orange glitter caught the studio light and John did a slight double take before returning his calm smile to Donna who had moved forward in her seat, unnecessarily, Scott felt

“What do you have for breakfast in space?”

John grinned, “My favourite is a bagel with cream cheese.”

“Cream cheese in space?”

John laughed at that, “Yep!”

“Sometimes we send up pancakes,” Virgil chipped in.

“Oh,” Donna showed her investigative prowess, “who is the chef?”

“Scotty makes incredible pancakes,” Alan loyally contributed.

“Bagels and pancakes does sound very normal. But,” Donna was still gazing at John, “What about things we all just normally do like showering for example. How do you keep clean? I mean do you have water in space? Surely you can't ever take your suit off to shower? You can't be in a shower in space! Can you? What if there was an emergency and you were all soapy?”

There was a slightly stunned silence while everyone consider this question. John, blush starting to creep to his neck opened his mouth to respond and then closed it again.

“Now Donna! You can't have all our secrets,” Scott dimples once again dimpling as he cut across the awkward silence that threatened. Virgil wondered vaguely if they actually had an on switch and their own generator. Older brother smoothly for the win.

“He does smell a bit when he gets home,” Gordon cheeky chap persona fully engaged helped Scott move things along while pushing his leg a little tighter to John's where they were against each other on the sofa.

“What about Christmas then?” Carol reclaimed control giving her Co-anchor side eye. “Are there any special traditions or routines?”

“It’s usually fairly quiet. Just us and a few close family friends. Scott and I tend to cook the main meal to give our grandmother time off.” Virgil was very diplomatic. “He's all about the ham and makes an incredible glaze.”

The others nodded in agreement and Scott waved off their praise endearingly embarrassed.

“Oh what's your secret?”

“It’s an old family recipe and I think I’d be struck down by a curse if I told.” Dimple. The audience lapping it up. Mom’s recipe was perfect.

“And what about the rest of you?” Donna once more weighed In.

“They each do a side,” Virgil confirmed. “Some more... experimental than others.”

“Hey, it's not my fault your palettes are not mature enough to appreciate genius.”

“Gordon, Brussel sprouts in lemon jelly was not the idea of a genius,” John once more joined the fray.

“Agree to disagree.”

“Disagree!” all four of his brothers responded as if having rehearsed. It took a few moments for the laughter to die down.

“Are there other traditions you look forward to?”

Alan didn't hesitate, “Tree Day.”

“Tree Day?”

“Tree Day,” Gordon nodded in agreement and the older three looked at them with indulgent affection on their faces.

“Well,” Scott began. “Tree Day is basically exactly how it sounds. We go get a tree and put it up in the lounge and decorate it. Like so many other families who celibate the season.”

Carol smiled at Alan, “It's clearly a favourite tradition of yours would you like to explain what makes it special?”

Alan glanced at Virgil who gave the teen a little nod of encouragement.

“Well it's some of my earliest memories of us all together. Even when everyone was all over the place and it was just me at home, everyone came back for Tree Day,” Alan moved forward in his seat, looking so young and with enough boyish joy in his tone that the audience were listening rapt. “Everyone would arrive back or Dad and I would go collect them if they couldn't get flights and then we'd all go and pick the best tree we could find. I remember Dad carrying me on his shoulders if I got too tired, then it being Scott who would do that. And Johnny and Scott always disagree about how to cut it down when we find it until Virgil, the actual engineer will just do it his way while they are bickering. And they still do it even though that's kinda what always happens, every year! And then we carry it back and secure it, and fly home. Even when I was little I was allowed to help with all of it. Then we get it into the house and we all hang the decorations on it. It helped that in the past they’d always brought me presents to go under the tree once it was up.” There was gentle giggles at that. “And even when Scooter,” he seemed to catch himself glancing suddenly at his older brother who smiled a strange little smile at him his eyes unreadable. Alan seemed to swallow slightly then continued. “I mean, there was a year we couldn't all do it and we did it in August instead when we were all together. Like a bonus Christmas! So... ah, yea. I guess I just like that it's something we have always done together,” he stopped finally looking up again at Scott then stood to smile at Donna who liked a little watery. Virgil's arm moved from along the back of the sofa to his youngest brothers shoulder and John moved a hand to Scott's knee at the same moment. There was a moment of connection between the brothers that was like a tangible electricity.

“Except the year Virgil wired the lights wrong and blew the generators!” Gordon squeezed Alan's leg as he played up that story to the audience. Ignoring the few hankies being dabbed to eyes in what he could see of the front row of the audience. He soon had them guffawing.

Carol had just started down the path of what exactly was under the tree and the audience were lapping up details of Virgil's traditional knitted gifts when Scott’s wrist began to vibrate violently.

“Sorry,” he looked at his wrist punching a few buttons and frowning.

“The perils of live tv folks!” Carol joked but Scott got to his feet in a moment that would be looped on need feeds and holo screens around the world for days to come.

“I'm sorry Carol, Donna, but we're going to have to cut this short,” gone was the charming farm boy ribbing his siblings good naturedly and there stood the Commander of International Rescue. Cameras were hastily moved to capture the moment as it happened.

“We have a situation. There has been a mud side in Tibet. Thunderbird 5?”

John was already pulling up information, wait, Donna’s eyes widened at her favourite Tracy, where had he got a data pad from? The others were instantly on their feet.

“I see it. Best location for coordinating search and rescue will be with you momentarily.”

“F.A.B. Thunderbirds 2, 4 and 3 configure pods enroute. Thunderbird 5 with me.”

A chorus of F.A.B. and they were moving as one.

“I,well....”

“A world exclusive indeed ladies and gentlemen.”

Both hosts paused as the rubbing roar of the green behemoth parked outside the studio caused everything to shake.

“Looks like that's the end of our catch up with the Tracy Family,” she touched her ear piece. “Here’s a quick word from our sponsors!”

In the control room Penny smiled from where she been watching. Contributions to the charity had trebled since the show had started and those shots of Scott being all Commanderesque would be circulated for weeks to come.

She watched a the production team scrambled to find sobering to fill the remaining 15 minutes of airtime. Kissing Sherbet’s head in delight she bid her farewells – she have Parker swing by the Tracy's favourite take away and had over to Tracy Island to await the return of her ‘normal’ boys.

#thunderbirds are go #tag team secret santa #thunderbirds #tag team secret santa 2024

28 notes · View notes