#ac 2k14

[astoriamalfoys]

forever the name on my lips

advent calender day twenty-six - for clarkegryffins - belle/jefferson + meet me at sunset

The first note he leaves her reads simply WONDERLAND, the letters quiet but loopy, brightly-inked onto white parchment and left on her jewelry drawer, almost incidentally. Almost forgettable.

Almost.

She takes it, presses it to her lips, inhales the scent of fresh air and wildness. It smells like him, awash in wonder with the universe creeping up around in his edges. She tucks it into a pocket of her ruffled blue ballgown and grabs her favorite dagger, hides it in her coat.

She misses him already, the clock a ticking timebomb in her heart. The ball is beautiful, golden and glimmering, but it takes her two hours to escape and that is two hours too long. The gardens stretch out as an endless maze before her till she finds the portal, the rabbit hole dug in the ground, and she gathers up her skirts and jumps.

“Thought you wouldn’t make it,” he teases for a hello, steals a kiss when she’s already breathless, spins her around. “I’m glad you did.”

Belle smiles up at him and wonders if Wonderland has left any wonder for her world. He kisses her again, and she thinks not.

The second note is white ink on black paper, his letters wide-spaced and full of heart, spelling out the word ATLANTIS, and she feels the spine-tingling sensation of thrill and anticipation snake down her back. This time there is no ball, and she climbs out of a window in practical clothes, meets up with him at the beach near her castle.

“You’ll love it,” he promises her, fingers gentle in her hair, his smile bright with magic. She pulls herself up to match him for a kiss, and he tastes like happiness, like wildberries, like freedom. She thinks she could live off the way he tastes.

The third note, the last note, is a year after Atlantis, Oz, Neverland, Wonderland twice more, Arendelle, and he leaves it taped to her mirror, no longer caring about secrecy. Blue ink on white paper, letters scrawled small and secretive, the words striking chords in her heart: MEET ME AT SUNSET.

She walks past the throne room, cold and empty in these late hours, past the gardens, the courtyards, the waterfall bubbling merrily away, finds him at the edge of her palace, the world clutched to his chest. The sun sinks gold and red over the horizon; the waves on the shore below lap at white sands; he looks at her like she is his absolution.

“I have to go,” he murmurs, a year of adventures and happiness and love crumbling in his kiss, soft and sweet and slow on her lips. His hands brace her, steadying, comforting, but still she trembles. “The Queen is calling me back.”

“You can stay with me,” she offers, the suggestion weak as it floats away with the wind. “In the castle, and one day I’ll be the queen. We can live together, we can go on adventures – ”

“I’m afraid,” he murmurs, his words burning on her temple as he presses his lips to her skin, “that I am all out of adventures for you.”

“You’re not,” she breathes, angry, fists clenching in his shirt. “You don’t have to leave me – ”

“I don’t want to leave you,” he insists, pressing the words into her curls, “I don’t, I don’t, Belle. But my daughter – my life – I need to go back to Wonderland and I need to be free for real. I love you, but I can’t help free you when I’m not free myself.”

“Let me help you,” she says, but he only places one last kiss on her hand, the same he had when they’d first met. “I want to help you, Jefferson.”

“I know. But I have to do this on my own. I’ll come back for you,” he promises, looking up at her through eyes of wildness. “When I’m free, when I have my daughter again, you’re the first person I’ll come find.”

“Not if I find you first,” she tries to smile, and he grins, gathers her up, kisses her again. And when she opens her eyes from the kiss, he is already gone. Wonderland has called, and it has not left any wonder for her anymore.

[astoriamalfoys]

the best people in life are free

advent calender day twenty-two - for withaburningviolin - rebecca/lila + after sex

“Merry Christmas, Becky!” Lila chirps, bright as a morning songbird, and Rebecca opens her eyes just long enough to send her girlfriend a glare.

“I told you, if you ever called me that again, I’m dumping you,” she mutters, rolling back over into the blankets as Lila continues to shake her awake. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t take the threat seriously.

“Rebecca,” she huffs, clambering onto the bed and settling down on top of her so Rebecca has no choice but to acknowlege her presence, “It’s Christmas morning. We have to make Christmas breakfast and open Christmas presents and – ”

“Let me guess, and then have Christmas sex after?” Rebecca asks wryly. “Would you like me to wear a Santa hat?”

Lila rolls her eyes, then pauses to consider it. “Actually – ”

“Oh, get off,” Rebecca sighs, laughter surpressed in her voice, and easily tosses Lila over to the other side of the bed so she can untangle herself from the blankets. “I hope you don’t expect me to cook breakfast.”

“Of course not, I enjoy having our kitchen intact,” Lila says primly, bouncing to her feet and rearranging her Christmas braids, which are only Christmas-y because of the red and green ribbons she’s entwined in them. In fact, everything she’s wearing is red and green. Rebecca would be impressed, if she didn’t have the most burning indifference towards Christmas.

“Anyway, you should shower and get dressed because all our friends are coming over for Christmas lunch and I want you to have your present before then,” Lila continues, practically hop-skipping out of the room. Rebecca watches her go, bemused.

“Is it a super special snowflake present?” she calls down the hallway and recieves only laughter in reply. Shaking her head, she sets about getting showered and acceptably dressed to host all of hers and Lila’s friends – well, mostly Lila’s, if she’s being honest. Rebecca can count her friends on one hand. Still, it’s important to Lila so she puts on her best Christmas dress and heads downstairs with her game face on.

When she reaches downstairs, Lila beams at her and gestures for her to take a seat on their couch as she brings over two plates brimming with breakfast foods – poached eggs, blueberry pancakes, and bacon strips.

“You should save some of your talent for dinner, probably,” Rebecca suggests, eagerly attacking her plate. If for no other reason than that Lila was her girlfriend, she loved Lila’s cooking. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know. It’s just us for breakfast.”

Lila snorts and settles in next to her on the couch. “I love Christmas,” she says resolutely. “And I love you. So I’m gonna make Christmas extra special. Besides, my birthday’s next month, and then it’s your turn,” she finishes with a grin.

Rebecca laughs and tosses her a small circular box haphazardly wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper from her pocket. “Merry Christmas, dork.”

Lila grins and deftly unwraps her present in about two moves, which Rebecca finds outrageous, because it takes her at least an hour. The emerald pendant she’d bought her with – well, with drug dealing money she’d saved up – catches the lights of their apartment and gleams.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Lila gasps, immediately unclasping it to loop around her neck. “You hate jewelry gifts though.”

Rebecca shrugs and shovels more eggs into her mouth. “Yeah, but you don’t,” she points out, and Lila’s smile seems brighter than the sun. “Don’t tell me you got me jewelry, too,” she adds, half-warningly and half-jokingly.

Lila smiles secretively at her and places her plate down on the coffee table before sliding over to her and holding out a square velvet box which she doesn’t let Rebecca take. “I hate to disappoint,” Lila says with a shrug and opens up the box revealing a diamond ring, small and elegant and absolutely –

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Rebecca murmurs, too surprised to inject her usual fire into the statement. “Lila – ”

“Rebecca,” Lila interrupts teasingly. “Rebecca Sutter, will you marry me?”

It’s simple, and she doesn’t get down on one knee, and it’s exactly what Rebecca had said she’d want, all those years ago when they were two girls doing cocaine on a rooftop, none of that flashy fireworks business and who needs an audience, way to pressure a yes, dickhead, boys are so stupid, and here they are. No boys, no spectacle, just her and Lila and a ring.

“Yes,” she says when her mouth is working properly again. “Yes, I will,” and Lila laughs and slides the ring onto her finger before kissing her and it’s the first year that Rebecca thinks she might actually like Christmas, for a change.

[astoriamalfoys]

people throw rocks at things that shine

advent calender day twenty-one - for rosings - emma/elsa + winter wood

“Emma, are you sure we should be out here?”

Elsa’s voice is a bit between apprehensive and giggly as it rings in the chill of the air, adrenaline and winter flushing her cheeks red as she follows Emma through the woods, snow dripping off the branches and tangling in their hair and on their coats. Emma laughs, tugs on her hand, her eyes green-grey in the moonlight and twice as bright.

“Absolutely not,” she says with unbridled glee, pulling Elsa through the trees and into a small clearing that opens out across a bubbling river. “But look!”

Elsa lifts up her skirt to avoid the spray of the water and joins Emma at the shore of the river, peering over into the murky blue depths. The river seems utterly at peace, flowing merrily downstream, a few brightly-colored fish dotting the ripples as they swim away. Under the stars, it looks like something out of a fairytale.

Then the water shifts, and a dragon emerges.

“Oh, my goodness,” Elsa breathes, nearly tripping backwards in her surprise. Emma catches her by the arm and holds her steady as they both watch the water dragon rise out of the river, its scales blue and silver and sparkling in the night sky shine. It turns two bright sea-colored eyes onto them and blinks slowly, then bows its head for Emma to reach out with her free hand and touch its head.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Emma beams, winding her other hand into Elsa’s and carefully guiding hers over to the dragon’s scales. “I call her Amphitrite, after the – ”

“One of your old goddesses, I remember,” Elsa smiles, pleased that she’s remembered the myths of Misthaven. “She’s gorgeous, Emma, how did you ever find her?”

“She lives here, the river is her home,” Emma explains as Amphitrite rears her head and spreads her wings, pastel blue and glimmering in the dark. “I don’t think anyone else knows, though, or if they do, they’re keeping it a secret. I know my parents won’t hurt her but I don’t want to get out that there’s a dragon in the woods. People might panic or try to hurt her or hunt her for her scales.”

Amphitrite makes a low, keening sound of distress and Emma hurries to comfort her. Elsa watches in awe of the dragon’s calmness around Emma and her beauty under the moonlight, until Amphitrite breathes out a mist of freshwater that drizzles over them both in goodbye and sinks back down into the river, blue scales gleaming under the stars till she disappears into the gentle, rippling waves.

“You’re so lucky,” Elsa sighs in contentment, sinking down to the river bank and taking off her shoes so she can dip them in the cool water of the river. “We don’t have anything like this back in Arendelle. Only…snow monsters, and annoying dukes and princes. Most of the snow monsters are mine.”

Emma laughs and steps past her into the river, standing in the water even as her pretty red dress gets soaked up to her knees. “Well, you also have a sister,” she points out, wrinkling her nose. “All I have are little brothers. They’re so annoying.”

Elsa giggles, thinking of the young princes they’d left behind making mischief in the kitchens. “Don’t be silly, Anna is as much your sister as she is mine. And Kristoff considers you a sister as well.”

Emma takes both her hands and pulls her to her feet, Elsa not even bothering to protest as she’s tugged into the river. After a lifetime of friendship with the princess of Misthaven, she knows it’s no use to refuse her an adventure, even one as silly as walking into a river.

“When are they getting married, anyway?” Emma asks, tilting her head up to the moon. She looks nothing like a princess in this light, without her crown and jewels and the elegant, elaborate hairstyles of the court. Rather, she looks like a girl, bright-eyed and beautiful, and Elsa thinks that maybe this is what happiness is, for queens and future queens. A moment of tranquility in the river, without worrying about the rush and madness of royal life. Just the two of them, together, away from the world, and a dragon swimming just upstream, the stars an atlas to guide them home.

“Next year,” Elsa answers, her voice having grown soft in the quiet of the night. “Anna wants a summer wedding, and Kristoff – well, he wants whatever Anna wants.”

Emma smiles wistfully. “He loves her,” she muses. “They’re perfect for each other.”

“That they are,” Elsa agrees, and then she leans over, buoyed by the light of the moon and the peace of the winter woods, and kisses Emma, letting herself feel like a girl and not a queen for the first time in forever. Emma kisses back, soft and slow and sweet, the taste of peaches and vanilla from the tart they’d eaten in the kitchens earlier filling her mouth, a thousand memories all wrapped up in Emma’s smile and Emma’s touch and Emma’s kiss.

She pulls back and adds breathlessly, “Save me a dance at the wedding?” and Emma laughs and pulls her in for another kiss.

[astoriamalfoys]

these accidents of faith

advent calender day nineteen - for bellamyblakely - bellamy/clarke + hogwarts au

There’s a quiet courtyard just off the edge of the Quidditch pitch that Clarke always likes to go to when she needs some place calm and relaxing to study or ignore her housemates for a while, and nobody else is ever there, which makes it doubly as nice to visit. It’s not much, just a few trees and flower bushes and a stone bench beneath an oak tree where she sits and works on essays or reads her books, a nice change of pace from the confines of the common room or even the library.

Today is just another day before finals where she’s out in her courtyard brushing up on her Transfiguration theory when someone, for the first time in the three years since she’d discovered this place, enters her sanctuary.

“Hey, Princess,” says Bellamy Blake, looking more amused than surprised to see her there. “You’re quite the sight for sore eyes.”

Clarke jumps a little at his voice and stares up at him, standing on the semi-hidden pathway into the courtyard with a grin on his face as he saunters closer to her. “What are you doing here?” She tries not to make it sound accusatory, but she probably fails. Bellamy doesn’t seem to notice, though.

“Wandering around our magnificent school,” he says, winking at her. “Actually, I just got out of Quidditch practice and I wasn’t up for going back inside to study more. What’s your excuse?”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “I’m out here to study,” she tells him primly, and he laughs, the sound deep and husky in his throat in a way that sends butterflies racing through her ribs.

“Of course you are,” he agrees amiably, finding a maple tree to lean against as he looks at her, not bothering to ask if she would let him sit on the bench (she wouldn’t). “Didn’t think you needed to study for Transfiguration, Miss I-Have-All-Os.”

“Shut up, Blake,” she says without any real heat in the statement, and pointedly returns to looking at her book, though she remains hyper-aware of his every moment. The problem with Bellamy Blake is, he’s impossible to ignore when he wants to be. And it’s not like they haven’t been dancing around each other for the past few years, both of them top of their class, academic rivals, and, oh, yeah – he slept with her best friend.

Not that she cares.

Not that Raven cares, so of course she doesn’t care.

Of course.

“You wound me, Princess,” he says earnestly, wide-eyed when she shoots him a glance over the top of her book, “I only sought your much-beloved company, you know.”

A smile twitches at the corner of her lips. Damn it, he was a dick but after six years, it was hard not to have grown to like him, at least a little. Or a lot. But mostly a little. “Nobody calls me Princess anymore,” she tosses out instead.

Bellamy smirks. “Except for Collins,” he points out, and Clarke glowers at him. “Well,” he amends, “at least until you broke his poor heart.”

“Shut up, Blake,” she repeats, more vehemently this time, and definitely does not track the way his hand reaches up to loosen the knot of his tie. Blue and bronze, though she sometimes rather thinks he ought to be green and silver like her. Not that she wants him in her House, but she wonders, often, about hatstalls and missortings and whether she should have been in Gryffindor and, well, anyway, the point is – “That was last year’s drama, let it go.”

 “All right, Princess,” he says, because she knows he takes joy in watching her fume, “I guess I’ll leave you to your studying. Nice chat.”

He opens the second button on his shirt and turns to leave. Clarke fights with herself for a minute, then sighs. His company, as vexing as it is, is also vaguely endearing. Not because of his apparent goal to be as shirtless as possible at all times, either.

“Wait,” she says, and watches his back as he stops in his tracks. “I could – I could use some help. Studying, I mean. If you’re interested.”

Maybe she should have been in Gryffindor, because this is the stupidest thing she’s done all year, and she let Raven talk her into skinny-dipping in the lake last winter.

Bellamy turns, a half-grin on his face. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Stop enjoying this,” she says, and he laughs and sits down next to her, and okay, so, eventually, yeah, they’re going to have to stop playing this stupid game of best friends and sisters and their rivalry from first year and fifth year and Quidditch, but maybe not just yet. Bellamy brushes his fingers against hers, almost accidentally, and maybe – maybe not just yet.

[astoriamalfoys]

i'm dreaming of a white christmas

advent calender day seventeen - for ravenreyse - scott/lydia + luminous lilac

She shows up on his doorstep at twilight on Christmas Eve, bundled up in a pastel blue coat with snow streaked through her ponytail and a bright pink designer bag that looked close to bursting under one arm, and she pulls out a square box wrapped in purple paper and pushes it at him with a huff that comes out as smoke in the chill of the night. For a second, he wonders if he’s dreamt her up.

“Merry Christmas, McCall,” she says unceremoniously, stepping into his apartment without leaving him time to get over his shock at seeing her here. “I hope you have dinner ready, I’m starving, and they gave me, like, these tiny pretzels on the flight over here, how ridiculous – ”

“Uh, Lydia?” Scott interrupts with a bemused smile, standing at the door holding her gift, “What are you doing here?”

Lydia rolls her eyes, taking off her scarf and coat and draping them over his couch. “I’m here for the holidays,” she says in a tone that implies this should be obvious. “What did you think?”

“Um, I thought you had work to do at Stanford and – I mailed you your present?” It comes out sounding more like a question than a statement, and Lydia rolls her eyes again (he’d forgotten how much she did that) and withdraws his less-nicely-wrapped present from her bag and settles herself down on the couch.

“I got done early,” she says as he carefully takes a seat next to her, “and I knew nobody else was coming home for Christmas so – I figured I should come back.”

He stares at her. “Lydia, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Just open the present, Scott,” she says, flicking a snowflake from her dress at him, and he laughs and does as she says. “By the way, Stiles says to wish you a merry Christmas, too. He says he’ll be home for New Years.”

Scott pauses for just a second as he cuts open her wrapping paper. “Is he doing okay?” he asks. “Up there, I mean. It’s weird, not being with him.”

Lydia waves a hand. “He’s great. Malia keeps him in check.” She hesitates, her eyes keen as she watches him open up her present. “How are you doing? I heard about Kira, I didn’t – I didn’t know what to say.”

Scott laughs. “What is there to say? Didn’t work out. It’s been months, don’t worry about it.” With a determined rip of the wrapping paper, he opens up her box to examine her present. It’s a book, brand new and made of red leather, with the words The Argent Bestiary etched onto it in bright gold lettering. He stares at it, then at Lydia, wide-eyed.

“Lydia, is this – ” The words choke up somewhere in his throat.

“It is,” she says with a small smile, and for the second time that night, he wonders if he’s dreamt her up. “I figured, their actual bestiary was kind of out of date, so I made this for us. For the pack. Mr. Argent approved it and everything.”

“Lydia,” Scott clears his throat, looks up at her, thinking about what he could have possibly done to deserve this. “Thank you. I – I didn’t get you anything nearly as – ”

“Relax,” Lydia says, waving her hand as she starts unwrapping his present. “It’s for the whole pack, right? My gift to you was coming home. Also, I brought cookies. So, you’re welcome for those.”

Scott laughs a little, lifting the book up gingerly, running a finger over Allison’s last name. “It’s beautiful,” he murmurs, opening it up to a page on kitsune, a soft smile flitting across his face. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she says lightly, opening up the box his present is in and carefully pulling out a silver chain with a small white globe for a pendant. Scott swallows as he watches her turn the pendant over, where a pressed lilac was situated.

“Lilac is, uh, supposed to ward off ghosts and stuff, I think,” he tells her, unable to decipher the look on her face. “I figured it couldn’t hurt, with your powers and all.”

Lydia laughs a little, shaking her head and offering him the necklace. “I love it,” she tells him, gesturing for him to put it on. “Thanks, Scott.”

“Yeah, anytime,” he says, clasping the necklace closed. “Thanks for coming home.”

Lydia looks at him over her shoulders, a luminous smile on her face. “Anytime,” she echoes softly, reaching up to take his hand and twine her fingers through it. “Merry Christmas, Scott.”

“Merry Christmas, Lydia,” he says, thinking that, dream or not, this is the nicest Christmas he’s had in a long time.

[astoriamalfoys]

storybook skies

advent calender day fourteen - for rebeccasbaxter - lucy/caspian + happily ever after

She awakens every night with dreams of another world inked onto her skin, her hands glowing with the weight of memories too golden to be true, and every night she looks out the window to see the same stars she has known all her life, except for those radiant years spent under a different sky. The vision of a castle against a blue sky, snowdrops on smiling trees, arrows spinning through the air, jewelry for a queen on her hands – these days, it’s more haunting than comforting.

Most nights, she dreams of a home she had to leave, but there are some nights, secret even amongst her secrets, hidden even to her heart, that she dreams of a boy who belonged to the fairytales she had to abandon. Golden hair and bright eyes and a warm smile; prince then king then captain. She wonders if he’s still a king; wonders if she is still a queen. The ghost of a crown lies still on her head.

“Lucy,” he had said once, on a ship as it sailed through a sea bluer than her skies, “do you think we’ll ever see each other again?”

The question had surprised her into silence, and she looked at him and saw, for the first time, the boy she had known in an age long gone. He’s growing up a king, she remembers thinking, and I am growing up a girl. A world of difference, a whole ocean wide, and still, here they are. Right now, he looks young again, looks soft again, looks a prince again. She misses the boy he had been, loves the man he is, hates the way she know she’s going to lose him, because –

“I don’t know,” she’d admitted, and she didn’t, because the plans of lions are far beyond the realm of girls who were once queens. All she can do is wait, and hope she understands. “I don’t think so. I’m getting older.”

“Not that old,” he said fiercely, defensively, and looked at her with something close to hopelessness in his eyes. “You could stay. You don’t have to go back. We’ll sail back home, you and Edmund and, Aslan have mercy, even Eustace, and we can – ”

“Caspian,” she said, the sound of her heart breaking in her voice, “I would love nothing more. But I have lived and ruled already. It’s your turn now.”

He’d swallowed, opened his mouth, but she knew what he was going to say, and so did he. And so he didn’t. As much as he loved her, and as much as she loved him, and home, and Narnia, there was no other way around it. She’d been a queen, now he was king.

“I’ll miss you,” he murmured later, much later, after they have come out the other end of their voyage alive, lips brushing over her temple, his hand soft on her arm. “I will see you someday again.”

And Lucy smiled up at him, finding to her surprise, no tears in her eyes. “I know,” she assured him, and stepped back and away with Edmund and Eustace, through the portal, back home to a land with no magic and no crowns and no way to reach him again. She’s endured more tragedies in her life than just this, but somehow, it is Caspian who echoes in her secret thoughts as she lies awake at night for years afterward and thinks about him, and his world, and his life. Her world and her life and the ways she used to live, the sky she used to see, the air she used to breathe.

The next time she sees him, she has stopped breathing entirely. Her old dreams of Narnia and talking lions and crowns and castles and kings and queens are seeping out through her skin, bursting into the air with truth and joy and happily ever after. She sees him at Cair Paravel, his hair golden in the sun, his smile golden in her heart. She sees him again and it’s like everything she never dared to dream she could have again; his arms around her, his laugh shaking his body, the scent of Narnia and home tangled up in his limbs.

[astoriamalfoys]

doubt thou the stars are fire

advent calender day thirteen - for oqtavia - adam/ronan + blush

He’s not sure why he leaves that morning, but he does. The sun’s glare is blinding and intense and jumps under his skin and itches like a warning, and maybe it was the best night of his life, but dawn paints everything, even the truth, in ugly colors. He hadn’t dreamed that night, either, but when he wakes up, he almost wishes he had a nightmare to fight. It would be much easier than fighting with himself.

Adam looks at peace when he sleeps, Ronan notices, and it’s the first time in a long time, possibly, that he does. The sunrise through the windows paints his skin golden with light, a miracle that he doesn’t wake before Ronan manages to leave. He looks like he’s having good dreams, the residue of Cabeswater, free and flourishing in his mind. Ronan doesn’t really want to leave.

But he does, and he gets to spend a whole day at his childhood home before Adam tracks him down by early evening, his hair windblown and his eyes burning storms into Ronan when he does.

“Gansey said you’d be here,” he says first, his voice cool and steely, clearly restrained. Ronan appreciates the effort. “Had a nice day?”

Ronan looks away, tossing a pebble out into the pond. “I know you’re mad at me,” he says casually, and wonders if Adam can hear his heart pounding in his chest. “You can just get it over with.”

“Get it over with?” Adam repeats, dangerously slow. “Did you think I was here to yell at you?”

“Aren’t you?” Ronan asks, raising an eyebrow when he turns to look at Adam again. “I don’t blame you.”

“I don’t blame me, either,” Adam shoots back, then sighs, his whole countenance deflating. Ronan swallows; he can handle yelling, but not this. “I’m not here to yell at you. I don’t know if it was something I did or if – ”

“It wasn’t,” Ronan interrupts harshly, feeling his cheeks warm, belying the tone of his voice. “It wasn’t. I was – I needed to get away.”

Adam lets out a laugh, though it sounds empty. “Great,” he says, dropping his arms to his side, his eyes closing for just a moment, “that’s – that’s great, Ronan. Did it work?”

“No,” Ronan says, his heart rattling against his ribcage, “no, it didn’t. Is that what you want to hear?”

“What I want to hear is a reason,” Adam snaps, and Ronan feels something inside of him break. Maybe it’s his heart. “Why did you leave? Did you think I didn’t want to see you when I woke up? That I didn’t – ”

“Maybe it wasn’t about you, Parrish,” Ronan says, raising his voice above his, “maybe it was about me, and maybe it was about chasing someone who’s already chasing someone else.”

“Oh, shut up about Blue, would you?” Adam demands. “You think I would have slept with you if I was still in love with her? You keep using her as an excuse, I think you’re just scared.”

“Scared,” Ronan repeats blankly, because this is ridiculous, because of course he’s scared and of course he’s never going to admit it. “Of you?”

“Of everything!” Adam bursts out. “Me, and us, and everything we’ve been through, and Gansey’s reaction and Blue’s reaction and I know because I’m scared, too.”

There’s a moment of silence, brief and utter and poignant, where Ronan forgets how to blink or breathe or do anything except will his pulse to slow, unsuccessfully. And then Adam moves, and then he’s kissing him, and Ronan forgets how to even have a pulse that’s not skyrocketing anymore.

Because maybe it is about him and maybe it’s also about Adam and Blue, and about how it feels to spend a year falling in love with someone who loves someone else, about not believing that he might love you, too, about not trusting that everything that’s changed has been good, that you don’t have to go back to nightmares and paranoia, that you can be free.

Ronan kisses Adam back and thinks that maybe this is what it’s like to be free.

[astoriamalfoys]

forever's for the victors

advent calender day eight - for starlordpratt - oliver/felicity + apple cider

Felicity is waiting in the foundry with food and drinks when he returns, running algorithms and systems on her computer as far as his eye can see. He’s completely exhausted, and the sight of the cartons of Chinese food and a tall bottle of what looks like apple cider is enough to make his stomach growl. She doesn’t look up from her work as he walks over to hang up his bow, only turning her chair around when he begins to dig into the fried rice.

“Have a good time?” she asks with a knowing smile, and Oliver has to stop himself from noticing how his heart pangs when he looks at her. “I hope you managed to prove your masculinity.”

He laughs, ducking his head into the carton of fried rice. “It wasn’t about that,” he protests, even though, on some level, it kind of was. “We were just having fun. Wanted to see who was – ”

“The better superhero?” she finishes, laughing. “By throwing arrows and punches at each other, I’m sure.”

He grins, thinking how her ribbing makes it easier to pretend the mess he’d made of them didn’t happen at all, which he appreciates even though everytime he looks at her, he wishes he could kiss her. “I’m not a superhero,” he points out, and he doesn’t have to look up to see her rolling her eyes. “How did you know what we were doing, anyway?”

“Oliver, I literally track you for a living,” she points out, then pauses. “Well, not for a living, I guess. Since you don’t pay me. Anymore. I guess I used to do it for a living. And now I do it – for nothing.”

He raises an eyebrow at her over his chow mein. “You think it’s nothing?”

Felicity grins. “I do it for the thrill of it,” she deadpans, inciting a laugh from him. “How was Barry, anyway?” she asks, rolling her chair over to him to steal some of his chicken. “The food was a gift from Caitlin, by the way. You should thank her.”

“I will do that,” he promises, smiling despite himself as he watches her. “Barry was – Barry was good. Great. He’s gonna be an amazing superhero.”

Her smile softens as he speaks, and he wishes it didn’t hurt, to see her still so fond of Barry, even though he knows that if anyone deserves Felicity, it’s Barry, her equal in every way. “You will, too,” she tells him, startling him out of his thoughts, her hand gentle on his knee. “Don’t put so much darkness on your shoulders, Oliver. You’re good for this city.”

He doesn’t finish the thought her statement gives to him – but not good for you. Coughing, he asks, “What happened with you and Barry anyway?” It’s hard to keep the jealousy out of his tone, but he think he manages it better than he used to, because she doesn’t blink or frown at him now.

“Oh, nothing,” she says nonchalantly, stirring a fork around his half-empty carton of chow mein that he’s abandoned for the spring rolls. “He’s in love with Iris, you know. It would never work.”

Oliver nods slowly, reaching over for the bottle of apple cider. “Is that the only reason?” he asks carefully, not sure if he really wants the answer, even as he uncorks the bottle and pours it into two glasses they’d kept from the nightclub. He knows what he wants her to say, but he’s not sure if she will, not sure if she can, not even sure if he can listen to it –

“Of course not,” and she sounds mad, abruptly, and she takes the glass of cider from him without even looking at him. “What do you think the other reason was, Oliver?”

“I – I didn’t – ” He finds himself at a loss for words, unable to express the emotions bubbling inside him. He’d known, on some level, but he hadn’t expected her to admit it, or maybe he hadn’t wanted her to admit it. Or maybe he’s the one who doesn’t want to admit. “Felicity – ”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, downing her glass of apple cider in two gulps. “I should get back to work.”

“Felicity,” he says, more urgently this time, though he still hasn’t figured out what he’s going to say even as she moves back to her computer. “I’m – I’m sorry.”

She laughs a little, facing away from him. “Don’t be sorry,” she says, the words coming out like armor. “It’s not your fault,” but it is, it is, and he watches her fade a little as she resumes her work, farther and farther away from him even though they’re in the same room. He wishes he could love her the way she deserves, the way Barry could if he weren’t already in love, the way he could if he didn’t have to wear a hood and a mask.

He wishes he could love her and not be afraid, but he has spent so many years being afraid that he’s not sure how to be in love anymore. Felicity’s fingers fly over the keyboard and Oliver thinks that maybe in another life, in another world, he wouldn’t be watching her from the back.