FICLETS! Holiday: Day Ten
For asta77
Sebastian
There are stories that the family tells about the day he came to live with them, about how he was sitting under the Christmas tree after the entire family had returned from the chapel and Sebastian had taken one look at him and claimed him as his own. They’d tried to discourage him - it was a present for Cordelia, after all - but he wouldn’t be dissuaded and had said with his slight lisp and all the authority he could muster: “I thall name him Aloythiuth.”
After that, they were simply inseparable. Neither strayed far from the other, though Julia would occasionally steal the bear away and hide him, sending Sebastian into full-blown rages, tearing the house apart as though someone had stolen his own child from his arms. Julia never tired of the game, of watching Sebastian lose control, so Sebastian began finding ways to keep the bear constantly at his side. He insisted on a small porcelain tub for the bear, sitting beside his as he took his bath. He slept with him and kept the door locked against Julia’s sneaking.
The only time he was allowed out of Sebastian’s hands was when he let Cordelia hold Aloysius, clutching him with fat baby hands and gnawing on stuffed hands and feet and ears. Sebastian would always watch her, smiling in ways that he reserved for no one else, save the bear. They were like his two toys, he rather thought, though deep inside, he was not fool enough to think that they needed him any more than he desperately needed them.
He knew there was talk as he grew older. Worried old women clucking their tongues about a young man with such a strange attachment to a stuffed toy, but he had little time for them, sweeping past them with an entitled air. The very rich can do most anything, he’d learned at his father’s knee and his mother’s skirts. What would brand the poor ready for the asylum would merely earn him a shake of the head and muttering of eccentricity. So he carried the bear where he went - part good luck charm, part security blanket and, in truth, the only friend Sebastian was completely sure he had.
For nolivingman
Neville
There’s a pub not far from Neville’s flat where he lives during the summers, and he goes there from time to time. They’ve passable fish and chips and the ale is more bitter than butterbeer, but he finds he rather likes the taste of it in combination with the tang of the vinegar he pours liberally on his food.
It doesn’t really surprise him when someone sits down next to him. He’s grown rather accustomed to it now that someone’s taken the time to explain to him that he’s what the young girls today consider good looking, though he’s not quite sure he believes it and expects a Weasley to pop up at some point and tell him it’s all part and parcel of an elaborate gag. It does surprise him when she speaks, and even more that he knows her voice.
“You should try that with daffodil wine.”
He turns his head and blinks at Luna as though he’s never seen her before, or at least not in the intervening ten years. “I should?”
“It’s quite delicious.” She looks at him with that familiar smile and he can’t help but return it. “Too tart for some, but I find it quite wonderful. Hello, Neville.”
“Luna.” He keeps smiling, uncertain of how to stop, or even why he possibly should. “Hello.”
“You’re a professor now, I’m told.” She nods her approval and reaches over, stealing a chip from his newspaper plate.
“Yes. Herbology.”
“You should introduce snarfblats into your zinnias. They’re quite good for them.”
“Snar…I’ll remember that. Yes. Thank you.” He’s still grinning and beginning to feel a bit like an idiot. “And what are you up to these days?”
“I help George Weasley run the joke shop. I’m also an Auror when we’re not exceptionally busy. And during inventory.”
He nods. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”
She nods as well and steals another chip as if that’s an answer. Neville eats one as well and decides that perhaps it is.
For marenfic
Lee/Kara
The party is boring, but Kara’s used to boring. Nothing about the Academy’s been anything but except flying. Spatial orientation and geometry and trigonometry and every other - metry she can think of, history and politics. They’ve even managed to make war boring, and Kara’s not sure how that’s possible.
She expected boring, in fact. Nothing but fancy uniforms and shined medals and ribbons blinding her in the glitzy, too-bright lights of the Academy’s ballroom. There are dresses and she almost envies the flowing fabric and gauzy texture that seems to catch the lights brighter than the medals. Almost, but not quite because she’s got her uniform on and her wings pinned to it, daring everyone around to question her skills, her abilities in the air.
That changes though when she sees him. She knows who he is, everyone does. Frakking golden boy of the Academy, named after a God and the record to prove it. More simulated kills than anyone, more combat flight hours, more off the cuff maneuvers, more logged time than anyone else in his class. In any class.
Ever.
His only problem is that he’s textbook. He can do what he has to, almost think fast enough to break the rules and do what needs to be done, but not quite. Kara’s not sure if she admires him for that or questions if he’s actually got any balls, but she has to give the guy credit. Just not to his face.
She pushes off the wall and makes her way across the room, nodding and smiling to the elite whose names make up half her lessons and that she doesn’t know. There’s only one name that matters to her, and he’s standing not ten feet away talking to an ice cold blonde in an ice blue sheath. She looks like she might break or break him, and Kara wonders if he likes them cold or if he’s looking for someone red hot and alive.
“You’re Lee Adama.”
The blonde looks like she’s stepped in something that smells when she turns and sees Kara, though the look fades as soon as Lee turns his head. He’s frakking stunning up close - all blue eyes and cheekbones - and Kara’s not sure how everyone forgot to mention that part.
“That’s the rumor.”
She likes his smile, wonders if he does it often enough. Her guess is no. It bothers her that she wants to change that. “I’m Kara Thrace.”
He smiles even wider and she feels heat coil in her stomach and then unfurl, heading southward. “The legendary Starbuck.”
“Not quite a legend.” She laughs and it’s nothing like the polite tinkle of humor the blonde gives, but it makes his eyes dance, and Kara’s pretty sure that’s worth it. “Legend in the making, maybe.”
“I don’t think there’s any maybe about it.” Lee holds out his hand and takes hers, and Kara can feel the shockwaves from the touch ricocheting up her arm. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to be met.” He keeps hold of her hand and she makes no move to let go. He’s got a strong grip and his fingers curl around hers and she wonders what it would be like to let them move over the rest of her, to feel those soft, sure hands against her skin, against her clit, inside her. “I’ve never touched a God before.”
Lee smiles and leans in, his voice for her and her alone. “Is it as good as you thought it would be?”
She nods and turns her head, looking him in the eye, close enough to taste his breath. “So far.”
Sebastian
There are stories that the family tells about the day he came to live with them, about how he was sitting under the Christmas tree after the entire family had returned from the chapel and Sebastian had taken one look at him and claimed him as his own. They’d tried to discourage him - it was a present for Cordelia, after all - but he wouldn’t be dissuaded and had said with his slight lisp and all the authority he could muster: “I thall name him Aloythiuth.”
After that, they were simply inseparable. Neither strayed far from the other, though Julia would occasionally steal the bear away and hide him, sending Sebastian into full-blown rages, tearing the house apart as though someone had stolen his own child from his arms. Julia never tired of the game, of watching Sebastian lose control, so Sebastian began finding ways to keep the bear constantly at his side. He insisted on a small porcelain tub for the bear, sitting beside his as he took his bath. He slept with him and kept the door locked against Julia’s sneaking.
The only time he was allowed out of Sebastian’s hands was when he let Cordelia hold Aloysius, clutching him with fat baby hands and gnawing on stuffed hands and feet and ears. Sebastian would always watch her, smiling in ways that he reserved for no one else, save the bear. They were like his two toys, he rather thought, though deep inside, he was not fool enough to think that they needed him any more than he desperately needed them.
He knew there was talk as he grew older. Worried old women clucking their tongues about a young man with such a strange attachment to a stuffed toy, but he had little time for them, sweeping past them with an entitled air. The very rich can do most anything, he’d learned at his father’s knee and his mother’s skirts. What would brand the poor ready for the asylum would merely earn him a shake of the head and muttering of eccentricity. So he carried the bear where he went - part good luck charm, part security blanket and, in truth, the only friend Sebastian was completely sure he had.
For nolivingman
Neville
There’s a pub not far from Neville’s flat where he lives during the summers, and he goes there from time to time. They’ve passable fish and chips and the ale is more bitter than butterbeer, but he finds he rather likes the taste of it in combination with the tang of the vinegar he pours liberally on his food.
It doesn’t really surprise him when someone sits down next to him. He’s grown rather accustomed to it now that someone’s taken the time to explain to him that he’s what the young girls today consider good looking, though he’s not quite sure he believes it and expects a Weasley to pop up at some point and tell him it’s all part and parcel of an elaborate gag. It does surprise him when she speaks, and even more that he knows her voice.
“You should try that with daffodil wine.”
He turns his head and blinks at Luna as though he’s never seen her before, or at least not in the intervening ten years. “I should?”
“It’s quite delicious.” She looks at him with that familiar smile and he can’t help but return it. “Too tart for some, but I find it quite wonderful. Hello, Neville.”
“Luna.” He keeps smiling, uncertain of how to stop, or even why he possibly should. “Hello.”
“You’re a professor now, I’m told.” She nods her approval and reaches over, stealing a chip from his newspaper plate.
“Yes. Herbology.”
“You should introduce snarfblats into your zinnias. They’re quite good for them.”
“Snar…I’ll remember that. Yes. Thank you.” He’s still grinning and beginning to feel a bit like an idiot. “And what are you up to these days?”
“I help George Weasley run the joke shop. I’m also an Auror when we’re not exceptionally busy. And during inventory.”
He nods. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”
She nods as well and steals another chip as if that’s an answer. Neville eats one as well and decides that perhaps it is.
For marenfic
Lee/Kara
The party is boring, but Kara’s used to boring. Nothing about the Academy’s been anything but except flying. Spatial orientation and geometry and trigonometry and every other - metry she can think of, history and politics. They’ve even managed to make war boring, and Kara’s not sure how that’s possible.
She expected boring, in fact. Nothing but fancy uniforms and shined medals and ribbons blinding her in the glitzy, too-bright lights of the Academy’s ballroom. There are dresses and she almost envies the flowing fabric and gauzy texture that seems to catch the lights brighter than the medals. Almost, but not quite because she’s got her uniform on and her wings pinned to it, daring everyone around to question her skills, her abilities in the air.
That changes though when she sees him. She knows who he is, everyone does. Frakking golden boy of the Academy, named after a God and the record to prove it. More simulated kills than anyone, more combat flight hours, more off the cuff maneuvers, more logged time than anyone else in his class. In any class.
Ever.
His only problem is that he’s textbook. He can do what he has to, almost think fast enough to break the rules and do what needs to be done, but not quite. Kara’s not sure if she admires him for that or questions if he’s actually got any balls, but she has to give the guy credit. Just not to his face.
She pushes off the wall and makes her way across the room, nodding and smiling to the elite whose names make up half her lessons and that she doesn’t know. There’s only one name that matters to her, and he’s standing not ten feet away talking to an ice cold blonde in an ice blue sheath. She looks like she might break or break him, and Kara wonders if he likes them cold or if he’s looking for someone red hot and alive.
“You’re Lee Adama.”
The blonde looks like she’s stepped in something that smells when she turns and sees Kara, though the look fades as soon as Lee turns his head. He’s frakking stunning up close - all blue eyes and cheekbones - and Kara’s not sure how everyone forgot to mention that part.
“That’s the rumor.”
She likes his smile, wonders if he does it often enough. Her guess is no. It bothers her that she wants to change that. “I’m Kara Thrace.”
He smiles even wider and she feels heat coil in her stomach and then unfurl, heading southward. “The legendary Starbuck.”
“Not quite a legend.” She laughs and it’s nothing like the polite tinkle of humor the blonde gives, but it makes his eyes dance, and Kara’s pretty sure that’s worth it. “Legend in the making, maybe.”
“I don’t think there’s any maybe about it.” Lee holds out his hand and takes hers, and Kara can feel the shockwaves from the touch ricocheting up her arm. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to be met.” He keeps hold of her hand and she makes no move to let go. He’s got a strong grip and his fingers curl around hers and she wonders what it would be like to let them move over the rest of her, to feel those soft, sure hands against her skin, against her clit, inside her. “I’ve never touched a God before.”
Lee smiles and leans in, his voice for her and her alone. “Is it as good as you thought it would be?”
She nods and turns her head, looking him in the eye, close enough to taste his breath. “So far.”