May Prompt: Picture prompt 1.
Title: Winter Solstice. (Picture prompt 1.)
Character: Blaise Zabini.
Pairing: Blaise/Tom.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, if I did, Blaise would look like Hans Matheson.
Word count: 643
Winter is cold in Russia, and Blaise rarely misses the opportunity to return to the country of his birth for the Solstice. The cottage his family had given him and Tom was always taken care of when they weren't there, and when Blaise could prise Tom away from dealing with the Death Eaters, he was quick to get them out of England and to the small town of Abakan.
The landscape was shrouded in white, snow falling silently as the horse drawn troika moved towards the family home. The lights in the windows shone brightly, beckoning them on and the horse's breath steamed in the cold air. Wrapped in furs, the muffled sounds of the troika bells jingling quietly, Blaise can't stop smiling. He's home, really home, at long last.
At the farmhouse that is the residence of Blaise's aunt and uncle, he and Tom are welcomed with greetings and hugs and kisses; glasses of warmed kvas - the fruit and vodka drink popular in the countryside - are pressed into their hands. The house is full of warmth and light, so unlike the cold whiteness of the outdoors. But there is beauty everywhere here, an almost fairytale-like quality to the surrounds that Blaise needs in his life. The change of pace here is a welcome one, after the hectic days of their life in England, this homely, welcoming, rustic way of life is Blaise's sanctuary.
He watches as his cousins talk with Tom, as his niece, Annika, sits on his lap. The picture of the Dark Lord with a squirming little girl asking questions sitting on his lap is so at odds with the picture that Tom presents back in England that Blaise has to struggle not to laugh.
The tradition here in the ancient lands of Mother Russia has existed for so long that no one can remember when it began. Winter Solstice here is Kaleda, and while the Soviets were in power, its practise was in secret. Now the Soviet era is over, Russians are free to practise the traditions of old. When Tom manages to escape the clutches of Blaise's niece and joins Blaise on the window seat, he takes his lover's hand and plays with those calloused fingers as he asks Blaise to tell him the story of the festival.
Blaise looks out into the dark, winter night, smiles a soft and gentle smile. "Kaleda was named for the sun god, Kolyada. But the festival is celebrated for his daughter, Lada, the goddess of love, spring and fertility. She was reborn each year at this time, on what the Christians call Christmas Eve. Every family lays a fire on the hearth," and he gestures towards the happily burning fire in the fireplace, "and invites their personal gods in to join the festivities. Children dress up in costumes and go around to the other houses in the district and sing songs of good luck and get rewarded with trinkets and small gifts."
Tom smiles as Blaise talks, watching his lover as his lover watches the snow. "You really love it here, don't you," he says softly.
Blaise turns to look at Tom and his face is free of all the cares and worries he's been feeling. "Yeah, I do," he says. "This is home to me. All this," and he looks around the brightly lit room of the rustic farmhouse, "this is my world, dooshyenka. I'll always be a child of Russia."
Tom leans forward and kisses him. "One of the many reasons I love you, my barbarian," he murmurs.
"Mm." Blaise slips his arms around his lover and pulls him close. "Happy Solstice, solnyshko."
"Happy Solstice, my Blaise."
Character: Blaise Zabini.
Pairing: Blaise/Tom.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, if I did, Blaise would look like Hans Matheson.
Word count: 643
Winter is cold in Russia, and Blaise rarely misses the opportunity to return to the country of his birth for the Solstice. The cottage his family had given him and Tom was always taken care of when they weren't there, and when Blaise could prise Tom away from dealing with the Death Eaters, he was quick to get them out of England and to the small town of Abakan.
The landscape was shrouded in white, snow falling silently as the horse drawn troika moved towards the family home. The lights in the windows shone brightly, beckoning them on and the horse's breath steamed in the cold air. Wrapped in furs, the muffled sounds of the troika bells jingling quietly, Blaise can't stop smiling. He's home, really home, at long last.
At the farmhouse that is the residence of Blaise's aunt and uncle, he and Tom are welcomed with greetings and hugs and kisses; glasses of warmed kvas - the fruit and vodka drink popular in the countryside - are pressed into their hands. The house is full of warmth and light, so unlike the cold whiteness of the outdoors. But there is beauty everywhere here, an almost fairytale-like quality to the surrounds that Blaise needs in his life. The change of pace here is a welcome one, after the hectic days of their life in England, this homely, welcoming, rustic way of life is Blaise's sanctuary.
He watches as his cousins talk with Tom, as his niece, Annika, sits on his lap. The picture of the Dark Lord with a squirming little girl asking questions sitting on his lap is so at odds with the picture that Tom presents back in England that Blaise has to struggle not to laugh.
The tradition here in the ancient lands of Mother Russia has existed for so long that no one can remember when it began. Winter Solstice here is Kaleda, and while the Soviets were in power, its practise was in secret. Now the Soviet era is over, Russians are free to practise the traditions of old. When Tom manages to escape the clutches of Blaise's niece and joins Blaise on the window seat, he takes his lover's hand and plays with those calloused fingers as he asks Blaise to tell him the story of the festival.
Blaise looks out into the dark, winter night, smiles a soft and gentle smile. "Kaleda was named for the sun god, Kolyada. But the festival is celebrated for his daughter, Lada, the goddess of love, spring and fertility. She was reborn each year at this time, on what the Christians call Christmas Eve. Every family lays a fire on the hearth," and he gestures towards the happily burning fire in the fireplace, "and invites their personal gods in to join the festivities. Children dress up in costumes and go around to the other houses in the district and sing songs of good luck and get rewarded with trinkets and small gifts."
Tom smiles as Blaise talks, watching his lover as his lover watches the snow. "You really love it here, don't you," he says softly.
Blaise turns to look at Tom and his face is free of all the cares and worries he's been feeling. "Yeah, I do," he says. "This is home to me. All this," and he looks around the brightly lit room of the rustic farmhouse, "this is my world, dooshyenka. I'll always be a child of Russia."
Tom leans forward and kisses him. "One of the many reasons I love you, my barbarian," he murmurs.
"Mm." Blaise slips his arms around his lover and pulls him close. "Happy Solstice, solnyshko."
"Happy Solstice, my Blaise."