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rosenthrns · 4 years

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✦ ▓ AND WHO GOES THERE? oh, it’s just [ OLENNA TYRELL ]. some say [ HER ] resemblance to [ ANGELA BASSETT ] is almost uncanny, but the [ SIXTY-SIX ] year old has been in the capital for [ FORTY YEARS ]. many suspect that they are the notorious [ SENESCHAL ] of the [ TYRELL ] family: perhaps that has made them [ CONNIVING ] && [ UNYIELDING ] of late, when they used to be so [ METHODICAL ] && [ SILVER-TONGUED ]. during the daylight hours, [ OLENNA ] can be found working as a [ FORMER SENATOR ], but when night falls over king’s landing, they are best remembered listening to [ FEELING GOOD BY NINA SIMONE ]. may the gods be with them in these dark streets.

hey now, hey now i’m mac, im 23 and i live in the pst. i didn’t know i needed this rp until i found it, and i honestly was so shocked when i found out i could play the fucking queen of thorns herself olenna tyrell. and whomst better to play a queen than the queen mother angela bassett ? nOBODY !! so feel free to read, and dm me for plotting !!

THE QUEEN OF THORNS.

her father once told her, one hot virginia afternoon as they walked through the winding vineyards of her family home, that power was to be taken, not earned, not given away --- least of all to those that looked like them. he told her a lot of things in passing especially when he grew older, some important, some not, but these words always stuck with olenna. afterall, she had seen him claw his way up from nothing, taking what he could, sacrificing what he could, fighting for what he could. all in the name of creating a legacy for their family.

runceford redwyne was a crafty man in his day, driven by the need to do better by his children, by his wife. they knew they were never supposed to fly above their station, to be left in the dirt like the generations before them even with the false notion of equality in their faces. but runceford was determined to soar, and in the childhood years of olenna’s life, they would climb from their single-room wooden shack to a manor overlooking acres and acres of land.

she could hardly remember it now, but the vineyard used to be as destitute as they were. a piece of land once owned by her father’s employer, tending to the grounds that he would later take when he saw the chance. when the old patriarch of the farm had finally died, the will had evidently left the land, the manor and a large sum of money to olenna’s own father. it was never made clear to her, what her father did, but she could still recall the timid fear in the eyes of the owner’s children as runceford proudly collected his inheritance.

there as no opposition, no utterance of retaliation, just a clear understanding that whatever he did was enough to keep the dogs at bay. it was the first time olenna saw what could be done with enough ambition and enough planning, and it would certainly not be the last. as she grew up, she only saw her father’s vineyard grow until it became the liquor giant it is today, establishing redwyne spirits co., one of the largest distributors to the american south. she watched, from afar, as her father took meetings in the barrel rooms, made deals under the dining room table, collected more than his fair share. olenna watched, then, as runceford took her brother under his wing, teaching him all that olenna wanted to learn.

it was not for a lack of trying either, as olenna would request time and time again to learn the art of the deal, to make her mark on her family’s history. but runceford, with all his love, would rather olenna have some deniability, and instead turned her onto politics. first in city council, then at the state legislature. she was still young but far wise beyond her years. by the time she was in her twenties, she had accomplished a lot for the state of virginia, namely in the agriculture and commerce sectors at the very least to boost policies for her own family gain.

all this work was appreciated, but olenna wanted more, wanted the power her father had tenfold. she knew better than to bite the hand that fed her but she knew she had the ability to soar higher than her father ever dreamed of. she broke off her engagement to daeron targaryen, a man her father had arranged for her with the intent of political power, and moved to king’s landing anyway to find something she can build up herself like her father had before her.

she eventually found luthor tyrell, a man with a business he inherited and a will she could easily bend. there was potential, not a lot of it, but it was enough to help her leverage the acquisition of a dying conglomerate and through dealings of her own, not to mention her connections to high places, created tyrell and associates. she won her husband over to deal with the company, while she made good with her connections to build the citadel underneath it. they worked in tandem to raise their businesses as well as the tyrell family name from nothing, and did together for a number of years until their son, mace, was old enough to walk.

she returned to politics, again working to benefit the industries she had a stake in and later ran for senate once tyrell and associates was stable enough to stand on its own. splitting her time between d.c. and king’s landing only gave her more pull when it came to dealing with the other families competing in king’s landing. her network now not only included those of the eastern seaboard, but across the entire country and even into foreign territories.

by the time her children started having children, olenna’s legacy was already put into place and ticking. she had retired from government but her role in politics still flowed like blood through the lifeline of king’s landing. if you wanted something done, you would go to olenna.

but olenna knew her legacy needed to be sustainable without her. she had been preparing her eldest daughter, mina, since birth to take over, to follow in her mother’s footsteps, to keep the tyrells in power. mina was everything to her, until she was nothing. olenna never knew heartbreak until she held her beloved daughter’s body in her arms, silent and shaking with fury in her eyes.

olenna was now left to restructure the politics of her family, making the difficult decision of announcing her newest heir. it may seem out of bounds, to declare one of the youngest, her margaery, but when has olenna never been anything but methodical. she’ll deal with the family later, but in the meantime, olenna has bigger lions to tame.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

FLOWER BUDS; are you someone who wants a break from the patriarchal structure of society ? are you someone who wants to be appreciated for your worth, your ability, your achievements ? do you want to overthrow the men in your life for the power you deserve ? then allying with olenna tyrell sounds like the best thing for you ! think about it...olenna...her power...her mind...taking YOU ?? under HER WING ??? think of all she can teach you. of course...she needs to find you useful to her as well.

POLITICAL ALLIES; her power not only stems from being the baddest bitch alive, but it also comes from her ability to schmooze and make deals with people even if she all she wants to do is stab someone in the eye. she’s a lady, she knows how to put on a face for the sake of getting shit done. they don’t have to like each other, they just have to work together. not to mention she still has connections with people in government and the 1%.

POLITICAL ENEMIES; idk why you would try to go against her *cough* tywin *cough* but maybe the tyrells have wronged you in some way that you would try to vilify a sweet old woman who is just trying to live her best life with her grandkids. try to come for her, i guess, but don’t just expect her to sit idly by and let you do it.

A COMMON ENEMY; can you believe olenna trended #LANNISTERISOVERPARTY world wide ?? currently, olenna wants revenge for the death of her daughter and she’s prepared to live for another sixty years to just see the fall of the lannisters. if you have the same goal, slide into olenna’s secretary’s assistant’s dms to submit your plea and ally with her. who knows, you might get to your goal a lot quicker.

GARDEN PARTY; this is purely for spilling the Tea™️ and giving information ( whether intentionally or over several glasses of wine ) to olenna that may be useful to her. you’ll be given a handwritten invitation to her private garden where tea and shade are a plenty. and if she learns something that she can later use against you or an enemy then that’s on you, she caught you slipping.

#vixere:intro #points.#20 /#g*d this got long

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7deadlycinderellas · 4 years

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If the summer of our lives could just come again, ch 13

Ao3 link

At King’s Landing

Autumn in King’s Landing stays warm late.

There’s a small nook that overlooks the training yard. Many mornings, Sansa and Lady awake early, and sneak into it, watching the boys and men.

Lady is still small, and delicate. No one in the keep is ever frightened of her, and because of this, she escapes notice. Sansa often daydreams of setting her on Joffrey and Cersei. Not yet though.

It’s in this small nook where one morning, she is found by Varys. She’s surprised, she never gave the eunuch much in the way of thought, and she had figured that she wasn’t of much interest to him.

“Some might ask why the eldest daughter of the Lord of a great house would be content to come to the capitol and leave her home and siblings behind.”

Sansa smiles,

“That girl might ask the man what he knows of the North, and what the little birds have said about it too.”

In what may be a true first, she sees Varys’s face falter.

“My little birds have been telling me much of the North as of late. Some of it rather unbelievable.”

Sansa’s smile continues,

“This little bird might tell you to pay the unbelievable a little more attention.”

Her answer seems to satisfy him for a bit, and so he leaves her be. The words feel foreign on her tongue. No one has called her little bird in years. The man who first called her that is within the same keep, but wouldn’t know her from a hole in the ground. And the whole bit of “the girl” reminds her far too much of the times when Arya would get too lost in her own head and begin referring to herself in the third person.

It’s not been too awful, these first months. Aside from avoiding Cersei and Joffrey’s notice, Lord Baelish has returned to the Fingers for a time, leaving Sansa with a decided spring in her step. She writes lots of letters, reads lots of books. She plays cyvasse with Myrcella, and takes walks with her in the garden. She watches Tyrion and Jamie from afar, trying to reconcile them as they are with as they were.

She tries to enjoy the food in the capital more than she did before. It certainly is sumptuous and varied. She usually eats supper with her father in the tower of the hand, so she doesn’t even have to worry too much about her table manners.

One night, they’re dining on roast boar and vegetables, and her favorite lemon cakes for dessert.

Ned looks at her oddly, when he notes that she’s got a roll of paper out and is writing in the middle of the meal.

Sansa laughs,

“Gendry needs practice on his reading and writing, and most people enjoy reading about food. “

It’s also a topic that would be very easily dismissed if the letter fell into the wrong hands, she thinks to herself. She can’t write anything very sensitive to her siblings in plain script. She keeps her eyes peeled for the sight of one of Bran’s ravens to carry her more secret ones.

“Plus it’s a good impromptu lesson on some of the bits of trade within Westeros”.

Ned looks at the spread of the table. It is a good one to think on. The boar was shot and brought in from the King’s own wood, the roots and vegetables grown in the Riverlands. The wheat for the flour and cane for the sugar could only be grown in the Reach, or perhaps even come from overseas. And the lemons were a staple export of Dorne. King’s Landing was a center of trade, itself producing very little, but gathering so much from so far.

“Robert always has enjoyed his food and drink.”

Sansa pauses at his words.

“I know it’s probably hard, seeing him like this. I can barely imagine.”

Ned’s glad she can only do that. To see an old friend who he best remembers as a strong, boisterous man full to the brim with life rendered as his life has caught up with him.

“Every day it’s like watching another piece of who he used to be break off and fall into the ether.”

There’s a long silence. It’s not awkward, they both know there’s nothing more that needs to be said.

“Are you going to go out extra early tomorrow morning again?”

Sansa laughs softly. She’d snuck out before sunup that morning to practice with her bow before anyone else woke up. Tommen often does something similar. She’s been trying to dodge him for the most part, but she feels like one day she might often him a sympathetic ear.

“Probably not tomorrow, don’t want to become predictable.”

“Well the next time you do,” Ned advises, “Try and be back before the Septa comes looking for you. Wouldn’t want to become known for being tardy either.”

Sansa nods.

She pays more attention to Septa Mordane, tries to anyway. She knows the ins and outs of manners and etiquette, but tries to pay as much attention as possible to history. One day, she’s suddenly grabbed by a memory of one of her less charming moments, and so she asks the older woman.

“How did you even come to us in the first place?”

And this time, she doesn’t interrupt her answer.

After not quite a year, Sansa gets a look at King Robert one morning during a procession, and it doesn’t leave her mind.

“I was wondering,” she asks the Septa. She is proper in every way, and shouldn’t chide her for asking an honest question. “If anyone has noticed that King Robert is looking a bit...yellow?”

The older woman sighs deeply.

“I fear our grace may be have been afflicted by some sort of disease of the liver brought on by too much drink. Don’t trouble yourself with it, Pycelle will care for him to the best of any mortal human’s ability. His fate rests with the gods now.”

Was that really going to be it? Sansa thought. After avoiding a violent death was Robert Baratheon instead going to be brought down by a mere illness?

Apparently Westeros was going to find out.

The year is nearly up the first time it happens. It’s always night, when Sansa slips easily into Lady’s skin. She sleeps in the Godswood usually, but wanders throughout the keep easily enough, quiet as a mouse.

Once when it happens, she finds Tommen practicing his archery on his own, in the dark of night. He’s favoring his right side, and stares at the target all the harder.

He doesn’t notice Jamie hanging off the edge of the training yard, watching. Perhaps Sansa’s comments to Tyrion actually lead to something.

She wonders at Jamie a lot. Brienne wasn’t someone who seemed easily charmed, and if Jamie had won her trust, he must have earned it.

After that, Sansa drifts back into her own body, and soon wakes. At dawn, she finds Lady outside her door.

She rubs her fingers deep into her soft gray fur.

“You’ve let me in at night, girl. Would you ever let me in just because I asked?”

Winterfell

It’s an ordinary day when it happens. There’s already a dusting of snow on the ground.

Bran hadn’t been thinking anything unusual when he walked into the Great Hall. It’s when he greets the others that they all stop and stare at him.

“What?”

“Did you...gargle with a bunch of rocks this morning?” is how Arya puts it.

There’s a long moment of silence, and after, Robb explains,

“Your voice.”

“Oh,” Bran says, feeling the strange resistance in his vocal cords. “Right, I guess it’s about time that happened.”

“Should we even ask when it happened before?” Robb asks, before wondering if he should have.

Bran’s eyes have the darkness to them that has come to be a near everyday sight on their faces.

“I thought I had just screamed myself hoarse, and then later I realized why it didn’t go away.”

He remembers the screaming. The day Theon sacked Winterfell it had seemed like he had screamed for hours straight. They had been halfway to the wall before he’d realized that his voice hadn’t gone back to normal.

Theon, who is sitting at the end of the table, and who feels the need to interject.

“Screaming at what, a grumkin?”

Bran gets up and leaves the table.

All of them give Theon a wide berth now. The young man has changed since returning from the Dreadfort, becoming more withdrawn and thoughtful, but this does not truly cement friendship.

It had begun to bother Robb. He and Theon had always been close, and he wanted to know why his other siblings were so reticent about him. It was enough that they all refused to speak of what had happened to him. Sure, he was curious, but it was more than that. It seemed like they barely talked to him at all anymore.

In fact, the only of the group that didn’t shy away from him after long conversations, was Gendry. He wasn’t exactly loquacious, but he never shied away from Robb like the others did.

Which is why he’d sought him out this day, some time before supper. He finds him hunched over a letter, slowly marking his progress with the tip of his finger.

“What are you reading?”

Gendry glances up at him, before laying a weight down over the last line he’d read.

“Sansa writes to me to force me to practice my reading. We don’t exactly have much in common interests, so she mostly writes me about food.”

He glances up at Robb.

“Something on your mind?”

It takes a moment before Robb can form the words.

“You never met me, before, right?”

Gendry shakes his head.

“I’m...I’m assuming that’s because I died right?”

There’s another long pause before Gendry asks.

“What would it do if I told you yes?”

“What would it do?” Robb asks, confused, “I could change it, I could be prepared…”

Gendry shakes his head.

“I don’t think you quite realize how much has changed already. You might never be in that exact place again. But if I tell you, you’ll always think of it.”

There’s another gap of silence, and Robb swears he briefly sees a look of shame pass the other man’s face.

“When I met Arya before, we ended up getting separated. The men we were traveling with sold me to a red priestess. I went because she filled my head with lofty nonsense, but it turns out all she wanted me for was my blood and for a sacrifice. Davos managed to rescue me before she got to the burning part. “

Gendry looks at him, imploring him to listen.

“It didn’t happen, and it won’t happen again. But I still have to remember the first time a woman laid hands on me I was chained and about to be hurt, and Arya still has to remember seeing me dragged off like a lamb to the slaughter. We’re not better or worse off with that particular bit of knowledge.”

Robb finds himself at a loss for words, so he deflects.

“Would you say the same thing about Theon?”

Gendry thinks, and then sort of shrugs.

“I know Theon died protecting your brother during the Long Night, and everyone treated it as some kind of atonement for something awful. Other than that...no one ever really mentioned him. I know Sansa gave him more thought than the others, it might just be that no one was terribly close to him.”

Robb leaves holding that thought in his mind.

It is true. He’s been sharing all his thoughts, all his emotions, on this whole bizarre situation with Theon. Who has somehow remained completely unbothered by it. His undercover work with the Boltons had taken more of a toll than his siblings return from the future.

Maybe Gendry’s right. Maybe if Theon is unbothered by their behavior, than perhaps he should just let it lie.

Robb passes Arya on the way out.

She sticks her head in and says,

“If you want to go riding still, we have to go today, there’s a storm coming.”

Well “want” had been a strong word being that Gendry still bounces around in the saddle like a child, but he gets up and follows her out.

Autumn at Winterfell is odd. Though the snow falls more often, sometimes the temperature rises to near summer highs, it does not bring relief from the cold. Instead it results in violent rainstorms the North rarely sees in other seasons.

Far more than the snow, these storms bring Winterfell to a halt. They delay shipments and ravens and activity. They are the most likely explanation, they all convince themselves, for why Davos and Osha haven’t yet returned from the wall.

During one particularly heavy storm, most of them are huddled with Gendry in the forge, working on the dragon glass. They’ve nearly reached capacity on spear and arrowheads, so they’re working on larger knives and daggers now. It’s one of the only places in Winterfell that’s still warm.

“I don’t know what you’re all talking about,” Gendry insists, “This is nice. It’s like when it rained back in King’s Landing, but it’s all clean, instead of just bringing smoke and filth down upon you.”

“You just say that because you got fewer customers in the rain.”

Well that’s not a lie.

“I always liked the rain. Or, I guess, I liked when the rain stopped.” Meera admits, “It made all the creeks and streams swell and everything comes to the surface.”

“That does sound nice. All it does here is leave everything drowned and water logged for a week,” is Arya’s take.

The wildlings don’t seem to care for the rain either. Both Johnna and Wylla turn careful and fidgety during it. Rickon too. Watching all of them together, most of the Starks would have thought Rickon a wildling himself.

While it rains, they don’t get any more fleeing refugees from over the wall.

By the end of the year, the storms mostly stopped, replaced by the lighter snow more typical of the time.

This, of course, happens at a time when Arya could have actually used a bucket of rainwater.

Catelyn is the one who walks past her filling and hauling in a bucket of snow to melt one morning, and looks at her quizzically.

Arya looks at her, somewhat shyly.

“Moon’s blood. I know you’re supposed to use cold water, I wanted to get it out while it was still wet. “

Catelyn is overcome by a strange combination of pride, sadness and nostalgia. She reaches out and squeezes Arya tightly, which she apparently didn’t expect, because she squeaks.

“You don’t need to do that. The laundresses are women, they know accidents happen.”

Arya scoffs into her chest.

“I’m not scared of a little blood, and it’ll come out easier if I do it now.”

Catelyn holds her for a few moments before letting her go. She touches her face one last time.

“You’re growing into a woman right before my eyes.”

Arya rolls her eyes.

“It’s not going to be dramatic. I just get a little taller and a little rounder in spots. It’s not like you wouldn’t recognize me after.”

She returns to her chambers a little flush with happiness though. She had been upset to wake up and find her thighs stained with blood earlier than she expected (apparently not being stressed and starving all the time accelerated things). But at least when it happened here she got greeted with praise. When it had happened before, she had been on the ship to Braavos and just spent her time thanking every deity that would listen that it hadn’t happened when she was traveling with the Hound.

And maybe she does feel a little different now, a little more one with herself.

That night, she dreams she’s with Nymeria. It’s not one of her wolf dreams, she can’t smell the blood of that night’s supper or the trail of a hunting party that’s passed through the woods.

She runs a hand along Nymeria’s muzzle. She’s staring at her, deep into her.

“Go,” Arya tells her, “Find your pack, bring them home. That’s what I did.”

And with that, Nymeria raises her head and howls. Arya takes a deep breath, and returns it.

Over the Wall

Jon woke to his hands and feet tied, and having been relieved of his weapons. He kicks himself repeatedly for letting it happen. Ever since Ygritte and him had gotten separated from the others it felt like he had been off his game, like his head was swimming through his life and nothing could go right. There’s a bitter smell stuck in his nose, which he will later realize is a poultice of some sort of herb that kept him asleep while they tied him.

The group that drags him to his feet is fairly small, and he is even more confused when he notices they seem to all be women, one even clutching a baby in her arms. None of them look like how he images spearwives to look, in fact, they are all in patched furs and rather bedraggled looking. The one holding the rope that binds his hands is nearly as tall as he, and from the look of the lines and crags of her face, likely more than twice his age.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” a voice says. When Jon turns his head to follow the sound of the voice, he freezes in shock when he sees what it came from.

The small figure is wizened, and the women look to her for guidance.

“We’ve traveled a long way to find you, Jon Snow.”

Jon’s memories, the swirl of things his siblings had said to him before he left home mixing and fading among his mind.

“You might be thinking that that might not be your name, but that is the man you are becoming. And if you wish to truly live up to that man, you must come with us.”

His life has become so utterly bizarre at this point, that Jon doesn’t resist with the woman tugs on the rope. He later finds out her name is Jyna, and she was Craster’s first wife, the only one who was not also his daughter.

One of them, the girl with the baby, asks, gesturing on the ground where Ygritte still sleeps.

“What should we do with her, Rowan?”

Rowan shakes her head.

“She is not relevant to our goal, whether she comes or not does not matter.”

Rowan looks to Jon,

“What do you think?”

Jon gazes at Ygritte with an unfamiliar mix of emotions in his gut. They had been arguing earlier that day, about why their peoples were even fighting. He had been certain, afterward, that she was just trying to goad him. Now, asleep in the snow, she looked almost fragile. “

“Bring her with us.” he says slowly, “She’ll die if we leave her out here by herself.”

Rowan nods.

“I had to give a lot more to keep her down,” one of the other women comments, “She probably won’t wake for a while.”

“Then I suppose we should discuss where we’re going from here then,” Rowan says, sitting in the snow, “Jon, perhaps you should sit down.”

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #time travel fix it #gendrya #Fic

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runephoenix6769 · 6 years

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Winter Schnee Head canon part 2 , younger years.

Winter Solstice. drabble,

Berdea Cid, (intro)

Fresh from being crowned the Atlesian fencing champion in 15 year and under category, with sash across her shoulder and trophy in hand, Winter Schnee had watched in slight confusion as her Father had berated her instructor of years, Violet.

He claimed her form had been sloppy, that she had taken too long vanquishing her opponents, what had he been paying for?

“But Father, I won!” She had admonished, immediately regretting her momentary relapse in propriety as his eyes tightened and his mouth set into a grim line.

“That is neither here nor there. You missed opportunities and failed to take advantage of your opponent’s flaws!”

“But!” She began to protest.

“Enough!” He hissed, “Do I need to remind you that you are a representative of the Schnee Family name and shall behave as such! Now stand up straight!”

The hard edge to his voice had, like molten dust poured down her spine, made her instinctively correct her stance.

“Yes, Father.”

“You are a champion now! This is good for us.”

He had laid a firm hand on her shoulder and he had guided her towards the door and the waiting press, ever the proud parent, as the cameras had flashed and questions asked. The crowd had been far too big for a simple fencing tourney,

“What is next for you Miss Schnee?”

She hadn’t known what to say.

Her Father, ever used to the PR machine that surrounded the Family name, answered smoothly.

“Today, the eldest of my children,” He had pulled her to him, in an uncharacteristic one armed Fatherly hug, “Has done me proud. Never for a second did my faith in her winning today waver.”

The admission of approval had sparked something in her, if only she could savour this moment, somehow replicate it.

A journalist had pushed to the fore front,

“What do you say to those who stand opposed to your treatment of Faunus workers?”

Her Father had brushed off the comment with a chuckle,

“This is a sporting event, hardly a political rally. Now if you please, I would like to take my daughter home and celebrate our victory with the rest of the family!”

A shout came from the crowd,

“Murderer!”

He had remained composed as the crowd had jostled, the Schnee family security becoming tense,

“Now, now, I assure you, we at the Schnee Dust Company are doing all we can to save the lives of the trapped workers..”

The crowd had erupted, throwing projectiles and screaming obscenities. Winter and her Father had been ushered by their security into a nearby town car.

Once inside the car, his mood had soured. Pouring a drink he had turned on the scroll, muttering about filthy animals as Lisa Lavender commented on the ruckus.

And just like that, Winter and her victory was forgotten.

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

The family gathered round the long table in the cavernous dining hall. A rare occurrence but the occasion called for it as her younger sister with barely concealed excitement, waited as patiently as a 10 year old could on their birthday.

Weiss’ and Whitleys eyes sparkled as the huge ornament cake, topped with an ballerina made of fondant on top, was wheeled into the room. The servants moved silently and Winter shivered, the fire in the monstrous hearth unable to heat the icy distance between her parents.

The candles on the cake lit, Weiss shifted excitedly in her seat, as Winter remained erect but eyes fixated on spot particular whorl in the cherry wood table.

“Another glass of wine, Ma’am”

Willow nodded,

“Thankyou Klein.”

Jacques let out a scoff as the man servant began to decanter the Mistrali wine.

Looking up at her sister, Winter offered a warm smile as the young girls eyes reflected the candle light a top the cake. If only she could keep her innocence a little longer.

Her eyes darted to the side as she felt her mother,

“Jacques, I went to the office today.”

Winter held her breath, her heart thumping. As of late she had heard them arguing and the escalation to all out screaming matches, often resulting in her mother sobbing behind the doors of the conservatory had become more frequent.

To her left, she felt her Father’s anger rolling off him like aura.

“Oh really? Is that where you went?” He flippantly replied, “I assumed you had gone to meet the other useless socialite housewives.”

She felt her mother bristle.

“I want you to reverse the new policies.”

Jacques let out a barking laugh.

“Im serious Jacques. If my father was alive he would be appalled.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Winter witnessed as her fathers mustasch twitched at the corner in an evil smirk.

Please, she thought, not today. Not on Weiss’ birthday.

“Well, my dear, your father isnt here, is he! And I am the one out there making the decisions the company needs to in order to survive.”

“In the blood of those less fortunate?” Her mother spat.

Weiss’ bottom lip began to tremble and under the table Winter balled her fists.

Her father preened,

“It is how capitalism works my dear.”

Willow took a languied sip of her wine and Winter could feel the brewing storm. Whitley kicked his little legs against the chair. She watched as her mothers features drew up and down, her eyes becoming sorrowful.

Please dont do it, Winter once again internally begged.

Fingering the stem of her glass, Willow fixed Jacques with an almost mournful look.

“Did you ever love me?”

Winter’s heart clinched as she watched her Father, his stare as cold as the Atleasian tundra, as he steepled his hands, leaning forward on his elbows as he replied, with callous indifference,

“I only married you for the company and the name.”

Winter let out the shaky breath she was holding, watching as her mother’s face crumpled. the servants remained in the shadows. The silence broken by the crackling of the fire, as Willows quaking fingers rose to her lips. Her Father gave a wicked smirk. Willow let out a racking sob as she in one movement got up, fleeing the room.

The candles on the cake, flickered and died

Whitley let out a howling bellow, Weiss eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“Oh for gods sake, will someone see to that.” Jacques roared.

A servant stepped forward, Winter moved, brushing off the offered help.

“It’s ok.” She scooped Whitley up on her arms, “I shall see to him.” Offering out her other hand, she encouraged. “Come Weiss.”

The little girl scooted off her chair as quickly as she could, clutching her sisters hand like a lifeline.

Clasping it, She led her siblings out the room, noticing just how tiny and frail her younger sister’s hand felt in her own. God, had she ever been that tiny.

Quickly, she carried her younger brother and sister to her own room, attempting to sooth them as they fretted. Klein appeared, offering his help which she gladly accepted.

“They can sleep in here tonight, stay with them until they are settled, I shall be back shortly.”

Swiftly she made her way through the hallways to the east wing, approaching her mothers door with trepidation, the sobs reaching her ears from beyond.

Steeling herself, she knocked before silently entering, only to be met with the room in disarry. Her mother’s usually neat bun coming undone, her pretty features bloated and ruddy.

“Mama,” Winter began.

Her Mother drew her into a hug. The mixture of perfume and alcohol burnt the teenagers nose, and she squeezed her eyes together so as not to cry.

“Promise me dear sweet Winter, you must get away. “ Her mother tenderly stroked her face, “Promise me, you shall find a way to leave.”

Winter sniffled

“Yes Mama”

“He wont let you go so easily.”

“I know Mama.”

She helped her already unsteady Mother into her bed. Tucking the sheets around her. Leaving a kiss on her forehead.

She heard her Mother mumble drunkenly as she dimmed the lights.

“I am sorry.”

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

CONVO BETWEEN WINTER AND HER NEW SWORDS MASTER, BERDIA CID. ROUGH WORK

“I want to learn how to fight!”

“And why do you want to learn?”

“I want to leave!”

“And where would you go pampered little Schnee?”

“Atlas! I want to go to Atlas academy!”

“They will not accept you on fencing tourneys alone!”

“Well, how do I get there?”

“You must show that can defeat the most terrifying creatures,”

“What?Grimm?”

“No, your name! It will be your greatest weapon and your greatest weakness.”

“Once you leave these walls , no one will stand for you. No one shall protect you against those that mean you harm. You are hated. They will say.. ‘Look at her with her money and her name, that is the only reason why she is here’. You must prove that you are the best and nothing but the best, with or without your heritage.”

“Stay here, where you are safe,”

“No!!!”

“what would you do!”

“I am more than a name!”

“Show me!”

Berdea tells her that the only way to get noticed and to be considered for entry into any academy is by competing at a tourney against other kids from signal and other junior academies.. Kids who had trained with aura, some unlocked semblances. Kids with other styles and weapons, on different terrain and environments..

All which Winter lacks.. But she is determined to tread this path. If not for own sake, then for that of her siblings.

She begins to practise summoning..

If you would like Willows pov , feel free check out Willow Schnee Theory in the tags.

#winter schnee #willow schnee #winter schnee headcanon #rwby #rwby headcanon #runephoenix6769 fanfic #runephoenix6769 rwby h/c #weiss schnee #SDC #jacques schnee

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distant-rose-archive-blog · 6 years

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CSSS Christmas to Countdown: Dec 25 - Merry Christmas, Darling

Note: I have to apologize to @shipsxahoy on multiple levels because 1) this is late. I was supposed to post this yesterday and then it got out of control and 2) this takes place in my dumpster series Little Pirates, which I have no idea if she’s read or not. (I personally hope not.) So yeah, bad form all around But anyway, if anyone is curious about the series, here’s a link to the masterpost: [LINK]. You don’t need to read the series to know what’s happening in this story. The only knowledge that you need is that Emma and Killian has kids: Harrison (8), Wes (6), Beth (4) and Neddy (8 weeks) and Snow and David have three kids in this aside from Emma: Neal (10), Ruthie (7) and Robbie (1). That’s it. That’s all you really need to know for LP. Anyway, this bit is inspired by Merry Christmas, Darling by the Carpenters. Shout to to @welllpthisishappening for keeping my sanity. Summary: After a battle against a witch on Christmas Eve, David and Killian end up in Agrabah. After meeting up with old friends Jasmine and Aladdin, they found out they have a way back - only they’re going to miss Christmas! Rating: T Word Count: 4,500+

Killian Jones was having the worst Christmas Ever on record. He had only been celebrating the holiday for roughly twelve years now, but this without a doubt was the worst. The sleepy quietness of Storybrooke had been disrupted that morning with the arrival of a powerful witch. The witch in question was an old rival of Regina’s and had been determined to destroy their holiday by opening up a large unstable portal in the middle of town. Both he and David had gotten too close in their attempt to destroy it and it had sucked in. They had been fortunate enough to land in Agrabah, but despite the familiar faces of Jasmine and Aladdin, Killian was on edge and wanted nothing more than go home.

He and David were currently sitting in the extravagant backrooms of Jasmine’s palace, waiting for the Sultana to return with a solution to their realm-jumping problem. They had been deemed as guests of honor; spoiled with plush pillows, delicious smelling food, a collection of hookahs and a troupe of entertainers. None of this luxury was pleasing to Killian. He paid them no mind, pacing back and forth from wall to wall like a caged tiger; glancing at the door every minute or so.

The overlarge doors opened for the first time in what seemed like hours. Killian paused his pacing, anxiously twisting his fingers of the length of his hook in nervous habit. David rose from the overlarge pillows, standing next to Killian with a cautious expression. Jasmine entered in to the room with Aladdin trailing behind her. When she stopped in front of them, she offered them an apologetic smile that immediately put Killian on edge.

“We have found a merchant who is willing to sell us a magic bean, but he is not in possession of it currently. He said to give him twenty hours and he will have it for us. The price is not cheap but we are more than willing to pay it for you.”

Killian and David shared a long between them. While it was a good to hear that they had a way back to Storybrooke, but the timing could not have been worse as it meant they would miss Christmas and all of their family festivities.

“Are you sure we can’t get the bean earlier than that?”

“Positive. My contact said twenty hours was the earliest,” she replied, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Why? Is that a problem?”

Killian sighed, raking his fingers through his hair and looking to David for help. His father-in-law looked just as stressed as he did. Christmas Eve was just as important as Christmas Day in their family. It was something that could only be described as an event with a capital E; one with a large family dinner with the Mills sisters and the Golds. First gifts were exchanged between the families and of course when the children went to bed, they would start pulling out presents from their hiding spots and filling stockings with goodies. David and Killian started a tradition long ago of making big displays of “evidence” that Santa had visited their homes with fake deer tracks and notes from Santa to keep the magic and wonder alive.

But chief above all of this was Killian’s favorite tradition where he read the classic story The Night Before Christmas to his children before they went to bed. It was something he had started when Henry was still teenager and it had seemed silly at first, but his children loved the tale and would listen to him with rapt attention as he read aloud in what they called his “dramatic narrator voice.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda a problem,” David replied with a heavy sigh. “Not that it’s your fault or anything, but the timing for all of this is little inconvenient. It means we are going to miss Christmas. It’s a big holiday back home and one we would prefer to spend with our families.”

“Christmas?” Aladdin spoke up, his voice tinged with curiosity. “What is Christmas?”

“I don’t know if there is any equivalent in your culture, lad, but I think the closest would be the celebration of Mawlid you lot have,” Killian replied with a pained smile.

“So, it’s like a festival?”

“In a way yes, but more family oriented,” David replied. “Kinda like the Winter Solstice back in the Enchanted Forrest but with more gift giving and personal time spent with loved ones.”

“I’m sorry that you’re being kept from it,” Jasmine replied sympathetically. “I know how much you love your family. I would send you to them right now if I could.”

“I know…it’s just…my wee lad’s first Christmas,” Killian sighed miserably. David gave him a sympathetic pat on his shoulder.

“Wee lad? I thought your children were the same age as mine,” Jasmine commented, looking surprised.

“We had another boy not too long ago. Eight weeks old. We call him Neddy.” Killian gave them a small bitter smile before fishing his phone out of his pocket. He opened up his photo app, prepared to show off his and Emma’s latest addition. Jasmine took it gingerly, smiling at the photos of his newborn son. He was a small thing with lots of dark hair and big blue eyes that Killian privately hoped they would darken and take on Emma’s lovely shade of green.

“Congratulations. He’s beautiful baby and he looks just like you,” she said warmly.

“Thank you. I personally think he looks more like my brother than me but he’s got Emma’s nose and chin though.”

“That’s what people say when their kids look nothing like their spouse,” Jasmine replied with a chuckle. “I said that about my daughter when she was born to make my husband happy.”

“But Nas does have my nose and chin thank you very much,” Aladdin injected with a scowl.

Jasmine merely gave her husband a placating smile.

“Is there any way we could contact our family and let them know what’s going on?” David asked impatiently, tired of exchanging news and pleasantries.

Jasmine and Aladdin exchanged another look. It was clear that they hadn’t thought on this aspect.

“I might have some mermaid magic items from when Ariel was last with us. I think there’s a conch shell or two lying around. Unless Hook has some of his own,” Jasmine replied, glancing at her old friend expectantly.

“All of my magical items are home. I wasn’t expecting to fall through any portals today,” Killian responded, scratching behind his ear. “However, this could work in our favor. Emma and I do keep a conch shell on the fireplace in a sort of case of emergency thing. I should be able to call it if you have another one, love.”

“I’ll go see if I have some of Ariel’s stuff then.”

Jasmine turned and walked out the room, leaving her husband behind with Killian and David. Aladdin shifted on feet, giving them both an awkward smile that somehow managed to be boyish despite his age.

"Sooo…portal mishap aside, life is good?”

“Life is pretty good,” David replied, giving him a tight smile before turning his gaze towards Killian. “I mean, the kids are handful. The grandkids even more so.”

“Still sore about my four-year old beating your ten-year old, Dave?”

“I’m pretty sure if Neal wasn’t terrified about possibly hurting his baby niece, he would have taught Beth a lesson.”

“I take it your kids don’t get along?” Aladdin asked, the corners of his lips twitching.

“Oh no, they get along fine, better than we could have hoped for really. My eldest and his eldest are best friends and the rest are fine. Though sometimes it can get rowdy. You know how kids are. I mean, you have a few of your own.”

“We have three,” Aladdin replied. “Nasira and then the twins Malik and Khaled. Nas is great most of the time, the boys…well, they’re work.”

“So you know exactly what we’re talking about!” David grinned. “I mean we have three too. Neal and Ruthie are behaved for the most part but our youngest is a toddler and nearing the terrible two’s. And of course, Hook got competitive with us and had to go for number four.”

“Neddy wasn’t born to one-up you, I can assure you of that.”

“Oh really? So the fact you decided to have another kid had nothing to do with me and Snow having one at all?”

“This may come as a surprise but my world revolves your daughter, not you Dave.”

David opened his mouth to make a reply but promptly shut his mouth when Jasmine returned, looking flushed with exercise and a bit disheveled but overall pleased. She immediately jogged over to them, crown and heavy jewelry bouncing with each step.

“Here!” Jasmine shoved a large pink conch in Killian’s hand. “I think you know how to work this.”

He gave her a grateful smile before raising the conch to his lips. He thought about Emma and how she was probably losing her mind wondering where he and David were. Hopefully she was near their living room and they would be able to hear their call.

“Emma…”

He waited a few moments. No response.

“Emma…”

He gave David a nervous look before trying again.

“Emma…”

“Killian! Killian is that you?”

“Aye, love, it’s me,” Killian grinned, shoulders sagging in relief. Her voice never sounded more beautiful to his ears.

“I’m here too, Emma!” David yanked Killian’s arm towards him so he could tell into the conch. Killian glared at his father-in-law, rubbing his abused rotator cuff with the base of his hook.

“David!” Snow’s voice called back. “David! Are you okay? Where are you?”

“We’re fine,” Killian answered for him. “We’re with some old friends in Agrabah. We got lucky. Is everything okay on your end?”

“We took that crazy bitch down,” Emma replied. “We tried to get her to tell us what happened to you but she didn’t have any more of an idea than we did. Regina has been pouring over books looking for a way to trace the portal but she wasn’t having any luck. Aside from that, the kids kept crying because they thought you both were dead.”

“I’m glad you took that witch down, love. We have some good news and bad news.”

“Oh?”

“The good news is that Jasmine found us a bean.”

“And the bad news?” It was Snow’s voice that came through the conch and she sounded nervous.

“We won’t be able to procure the bean until late tomorrow.”

A silence followed his words. It went on long enough that Killian wondered if the connection between the two shells had been severed somehow. He lifted it to his ear just in case he wasn’t hearing them, but there was no change. No sound emitted from the shell.

“Love, are you there?”

“Yeah...” Emma’s voice held some frustration. “I just don’t know what to say...you’re going to miss Christmas. I mean, I’m glad you’re both alive and okay but I just...I just don’t know what know what we’re going to tell the kids...”

“You don’t have to do that, love. Just let us talk to them. We’ll break the news and we’ll be the bad guys for this.”

“This isn’t your fault, Killian!”

“I know it is, love, but it’s upsetting. I’m upset, you’re upset, the kids are upset. This just a bad situation. And believe me, there’s nothing I want more than to be home.”

Killian waited for Emma to respond, but she didn’t speak. Instead a new voice emitted from the shell.

“Dad…” It was Killian’s eldest who spoke. Harrison’s voice sounded so small and uncertain. It made his heart hurt. “Dad...Is that you?”

“Hey Har,” he replied softly. “I’m here and so is Grandpa.”

“Hey Buddy! Are you having a good Christmas so far?” David called over Killian’s shoulder, startling him slightly.

“No.” Harrison’s blunt answer made them both wince. “We were scared. We didn’t even eat dinner. Or even touch presents.”

“Daddy! Is that Daddy?!” Killian’s daughter’s voice was loud through the conch. “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

“Hello, little love,” Killian said softly, closing his eyes as he tried to keep himself together.

“Wait! You guys are talking to Dad?” It was Neal spoke. “Dad? Hook?”

“We’re here.”

“Where are you? I want you to come home!”

“We can’t, Buddy. Not tonight,” David replied, sounding guilty.

“But you have to! You have to come home! It’s almost Christmas!”

“Dad and Hook aren’t coming home? They have to!” Eight-year old Ruthie Nolan whined. Killian could almost picture the pout on his mini sister-in-law’s face. “Daddy needs to put his reindeer antlers on! And Hook has to read us the story!”

“Antlers?” Jasmine questioned.

Killian and David both jumped at the sound of her voice. They had forgotten that she and Aladdin were still there.

“Umm…” David blushed as he tried to find the words to explain to them.

“Fake reindeer antlers,” Killian answered for him “It’s a ridiculous headdress-like thing that Dave wears around the holidays to make us all laugh.”

Before anyone could make further comment on this, Killian’s daughter’s voice came through the shell again.

“Wait! Daddy isn’t gonna be home for the story! But Daddy always reads the story! We can’t do it without him!”

Killian closed his eyes again, trying to hold back his frustration and heartbreak. David squeezed his shoulder again in sympathy. Jasmine placed over her hand over her mouth and her eyes looked suspiciously misty.

“I’m not going to be home in time, love. Mom can read you the story. She has the book.”

“But Mom doesn’t have the right voice for it!” It was seven-year old Wes Jones who spoke.

“Sorry to disappoint, lad.”

“What if I want you to come home instead of my presents, would Santa do that instead?” Beth asked.

“I don’t think Santa is capable of that one,” Killian replied, feeling once more ready to cry.

“Why not? I’ll give up my presents too! Isn’t Santa supposed to be magical?” Ruthie inquired.

“Santa isn’t real, genius!” Wes snapped at her.

“Hey!” Killian barked into the conch. “Santa is real! I will not be tolerating attitude right now! It’s Christmas! Be nice to each other!”

“Sorry,” Wes mumbled.

“All I want to Christmas is Dad to be home and Hook to read us the story,” Neal grumbled.

“I love how your son wants me back just for the story,” Killian remarked, glancing at David. “It’s really nice to know that is the only purpose my return serves.”

“Well, he has his priorities straight.”

“This must be quite the story then,” Aladdin commented. “If all of those kids are obsessed with it.”

“It’s a classic story in our realm,” David explained. “But I think they like it more because Hook uses some weird narrator voice for it.”

“It’s not weird. You’re just jealous you don’t have a narrator voice as dashing as mine,” Killian replied with a tiny smirk. “And I’ve been reading the story for the past twelve years, first with Henry and now with this lot. I can almost recite it by memory.”

As he said the words, a thought came to him and a grin spread across his face. David recognized that expression and groaned.

“I know that face.”

“What face?” Jasmine asked.

“That face he gets when he thinking of something crazy like fake lightsaber battles in the front lawn and pie-eating competitions for the Most Awesome Dad award, which make no sense,” David responded.

“Those were brilliant ideas. You’re just a sore loser, Dave. But I promise this one is tame,” Killian replied before holding the conch back up to his mouth and speaking. “How well can you lot hear me?”

“It’s like listening to you over the phone, except more weird,” Harrison replied.

“Good. That witch might have stolen Christmas Eve, but I’m not going to let her steal The Night Before Christmas from you. So, I’m going to try and recite the story from memory. You might have to help me with a few parts, but I’m going to do my best. How does that sound?”

“Awesome!” Neal shouted. “You’re going to do in the narrator voice right? Because it’s not the story without the narrator voice!”

“Aye,” Killian chuckled. “I’ll use the narrator voice. Just get the book and settle in. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“Now I really want to hear this narrator voice they keep going on about,” Jasmine commented with a grin.

“It’s really not that great,” David replied with a roll of his eyes. “They just like it because he sounds like a movie announcer when he does it.”

“A what?” Jasmine and Aladdin stared at him blankly. Killian couldn’t help but sympathize. It wasn’t too long ago that he was just as clueless and ignorant to certain elements of Storybrooke’s realm.

“Right, I don’t have any other way to describe other than that, but you’ll hear it soon. And realize it’s overrated.”

“You’re looking a little green with envy, Dave,” Killian teased.

“And I’m not jealous.”

“Sure…”

Any remark that David would have made protesting against Killian’s statements where cut off when Neal’s voice came through the conch once more.

“Okay. We have the book. Are you ready?”

“Aye. The bigger question is are you lot ready?” Killian responded, smirking at David. His father-in-law rolled his eyes once more and in that moment, Killian could definitely see how his wife and his best friend were most certainly related. Emma was have gotten the eye-rolling gene from him.

“Alright then,” he said before rolling his shoulders and using his patented narrator voice. “Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a….” Killian trailed, waiting for the children to finish the sentence for him. They didn’t disappoint.

“MOUSE!” All five of them shouted loudly into the shell.

“Yes, not even a mouse!” Killian agreed. “Now, the stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds while visions of sugar plums danced in their…” He paused once more.

“HEADS!” This time they were even louder and Killian had to hold the shell as far away from his person as he could in hopes of saving his eardrums.

“Yes, there was sugar plums dancing in their pretty heads! Now, Mama in her kerchief and I in my cap, had just settled our bed for a long winter’s nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter that I sprang from the bed to see what was the…”

“MATTER!”

They had fallen into a pattern now of Killian reciting four lines off the top of his head and the five children finishing the final word of the last line.

“Away to the window, I flew like a flash and tore open the shutters and threw the sash. The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow gave the luster of midday to the objects below. When what to my wondering eye should appear but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny…”

“REINDEER!” They were even louder than the last few times, which didn’t necessarily surprise him. The idea of flying reindeer was definitely his children’s favorite element of Christmas aside from the concept that they got presents from a jolly fat elf. He knew that David’s daughter Ruthie was in love with the idea of reindeer and had even asked for her own pair of fake antlers, which he and Emma had gotten her as a gag gift.

“With a little old driver, so lively and quick. I knew in that moment it must have been St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came and he whistled and shouted and called them out by…”

“NAME!”

“Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer, and Vixen! On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Dunder and Blixem! To the top of the porch-“ “Where’s Rudolph?” Beth interrupted him.

“Pardon, little love?” Killian asked, the question pulling him out of his rhythm.

“Rudolph the rednosed reindeer! Isn’t he supposed to be in front?”

Immediately Killian’s eyes cut to David for help, but he just shrugged at him like the traitor he was.

“Rudolph isn’t in this story, stupid!” Wes commented with a scoff.

“I’m not stupid!”

“It’s moments like these where I am reminded how better behaved my children are compared to yours,” David remarked smugly.

Killian decided not to dignify that remark with a response. Instead he just glared at his father-in-law while turning his attention back to his kids.

“Do you want the story or not?” Killian asked irritably. “Because I’ll stop if you keep on fighting like this!”

“Sorry…”

“Sorry Daddy!”

“Right now…” he then continued. “To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

“Dad, you had one more ‘dash away’ than needed,” Harrison commented.

“Apologies, lad, as I said before, I’m doing this memory. Can I continue?” he responded irritably.

“Yeah, just wanted you to know.”

“Thanks. Now, as dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew with the sleigh full of toys and St. Nicholas too!”

“You didn’t let us finish that one,” Neal complained.

“If you let me continue, I will let you finish the next one,” Killian sighed, feeling tired. “Fine?”

“Okay, I guess.”

Killian went back to reciting the story. “And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. And as I drew in my head and was turning around, down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot and his clothes were tarnished with ashes and…”

“SOOT!” Neal and Wes’s voices were noticeably louder than the others.

“Good! Now, a bundle of toys was flung on his back and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes! How they twinkled! His dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a…”

“CHERRY!”

Killian couldn’t help but chuckle at bit at the returned enthusiasm. He thought he would have lost them by now.

“His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow and the beard of his chin was as white as snow. The stumble of a pipe he held tight in his teeth and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a round belly that shook when he laughed like a bowl full of…”

“JELLY!”

“Yes, jelly, my favorite thing,” Killian chuckled. “Emma once made me believe it had magical healing properties!”

“That was jello, not jelly but I remember that!” David laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “That seems like so long ago now.”

“Aye. We’re talking fifteen years ago, mate!”

“Ugh, stop being old and get on with the story!” Wes complained again.

David snorted. “If only they knew how old you really are…”

Killian glared at him.

“Are you suggesting that Dad is like a bajillion years old?” Wes asked.

“Don’t be stupid. Bajillion isn’t a number,” Harrison said. Killian didn’t need to be there to know his eldest was rolling his eyes.

“Says who?” Wes demanded to know.

“Says me,” Harrison responded.

“Oh, so no one.”

“See what you started,” Killian remarked, narrowing his eyes at his father-in-law.

“They do that entirely on their own!”

“I can see what you meant by handful now…” Aladdin remarked, looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Where’s my story?” Beth demanded.

“It’s not your story, it’s OUR story!” Ruthie responded, sounding annoyed.

“If everyone would just stop interrupting me then it would be done by now...” Killian remarked with a sigh.

“I know. Boys are stupid, Daddy.”

“And you aren’t much better,” Neal muttered under his breath but Killian heard him through the conch all the same.

“I’m going to continue now before the second coming of Ogre Wars breaks out,” Killian commented dryly, licking his lips. “Anyway, Santa was chubby and plump - a right jolly elf and I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me the know that I had nothing to…”

“Dread!” The response came from all of the children but was muted in comparison to their original yelling. Killian wasn’t sure if it was because of the leftover animosity between the children or that they were getting tired.

“Aye, dread. Now, he spoke not a word but went straight to his work and filled up all the stockings then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger aside of his nose and giving a nod, up the chimney he…”

“Rose!”

“He sprung to his sleigh to his team gave whistle. And away they all flew like the down of a thistle but I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight…Merry Christmas to all and to all…”

“Good night…” They finished for him. Killian smiled when he heard one of them yawn.

“What time is it for you? I’m almost certain it’s bedtime and Santa is gonna be there soon,” he said to them.

“It’s a little after nine,” Harrison answered.

“Which is way past your bedtime,” David remarked, rubbing his temples. “All of you should have been in bed an hour ago.”

“But you’re not here. I don’t want to sleep without you tucking me in,” Ruthie whined.

“Mom is gonna tuck you in tonight and I will tuck you in tomorrow, I promise. Now, be good and go to bed, sweetheart. Santa is coming and I don’t want you missing out on your presents,” David replied, swallowing audibly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Daddy.” There was a pause. “And I love you too, Hook.”

A sad smile crossed Killian’s lips.

“I love all of you. But you really need to get to bed. So, good night and Merry Christmas. I’ll see you tomorrow. Please hand the shell over to Emma.”

“Merry Christmas!” They chorused.

“This Christmas is very big deal,” Jasmine said quietly. “I’m sorry you’re missing it.”

“It’s not your fault,” David said quietly. “There will be other Christmases.”

“Killian?” Emma’s voice sounded from the shell.

“I’m here, love.”

“You’re amazing. I wish you were here to see how happy they were that you did the story. They were all huddled around the shell. It was...I really wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there too,” he replied with a sad smile. “Hopefully if all goes well, I’ll be there tomorrow tonight.”

“I don’t want to do Christmas without you.”

“You have to. The kids are expecting presents from Santa,” he replied with a shake of his head even though he knew his wife couldn’t see him.

“I know…I’m going to have to put the kids to bed and handle Kris Kringle soon, but I love you and can’t wait for you to be back,” she paused for a moment, sighing. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

#captain swan #cs fic #cs fanfic #cs ff #csss #cs secret santa #shisxahoy #merry christmas darling #my fic #my shit #little pirates #little pirates fic

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