#what kind of christmas carol fuckery is this?
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Past Astarion Meets His Future
This is a weird ass idea, but I'm doing it anyway. Some time travel fuckery. But the gist is: What if Astarion, decades before the Mind-flayers captured him, was on his last leg? Just on the verge of doing, what was at the time, his only way out. But what if something a little unworldly stopped him?
TW: Suicidal thoughts. M/F, me phoning it in with the dnd lore, Cazador is evil. Like, torture, physically and mentally, manipulation, literal horror shit. He's here so bad things happen to randos and our poor guy. I'm also using this as the backstory again for why Astarion can be in the sun in the future because it's so god damned convenient for drabbles.
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Astarion watched the crowded bar with focused eyes, a feigned, relaxed smirk on his lips. But even with the acting, he could feel the smile on his face start to tremble, a tell-tale sign that he was truly on his last leg. It had been a long, horrible night, one that had no end in sight. Cazador was in rare form, demanding multiple warm bodies in the span of less than five hours. Astarion wasn't sure what had angered him this time, but he was taking it on the victims in a particularly savage way.
Twice already he had forced Astarion to stay in the room with the poor souls he'd brought back. And then Cazador... made him watch what he did to them. The monster truly had a knack for keeping them alive until the last possible moment. Beating them, assaulting them, laughing at their cries for help. He drank from them last, feasting on their blood until they were just on the edge of death before tossing to them ground. Then Astarion was dismissed with the order to find another.
He hated it. It was the worst part of his nights by far, not including when he was the one being tortured in their place. It didn't help that he always looked at their faces, full of terror and betrayal.
Why did he always have to look? It was a question he knew the answer to. It was because he did that to them. Perhaps not literally, but what was the difference? Astarion had led them straight into his hands.
That was all he did. His entire existence had been reduced to this. A slave, a rat, scuttling through the streets, only capable of inflicting the same torment on strangers. It was a hell that no one should experience, and one that Astarion had been in for nearly 130 years.
How could he continue like this? What was the point? He'd spent so long living on pure survival instinct, waiting for the impossible day where luck would be on his side. Where Cazador would kill the wrong stranger, where the possibility of his murder could become a reality. It was delusional, a poor excuse to continue clinging to this farce of a life.
But there was another option. There always had been. All he needs to do is wander off and wait for the sun to rise, and everything could finally be over. It's far from the first time he's thought about it. But Astarion is nothing but a coward. He'd seen the pure pain and misery of a death of that nature, your insides boiling from within as your skin turned to dust. It was horrifying, one of the worst ways someone could go. And yet... it was starting to seem like the only reasonable option he had left.
Maybe... maybe today would be the day, the first time he'd seen the sun in decades. And the last time he'd ever take a breath.
"Are you alone?" A voice asked, followed by a gentle touch to his arm.
Astarion turned, that same shallow smile instantly reappearing on his face. It was a man, one that was handsome enough for Astarion to probably not feel completely sick during the deed. Then again... he could always ignore them and go back to his final plan.
Or he could wait it out one more day, and pray for a miracle. Astarion nodded towards him, still slightly torn but willing to at least try. It's not like he could go home empty handed if things turned out that way.
"Come to my room?"
Well this was certainly easy. Astarion didn't even have to take the energy to bite out a subpar pick up line. He just followed the man to his room, a plan forming in his head on how he could convince him back to the manor. Not to mention his own escape if he turned out to have less than savory intentions.
The stranger shut the door behind him, sitting on the side of his bed with his hands folded in his lap, his eyes staring straight ahead. Astarion barely stopped himself from rolling his own. Great. A weirdo. What a lovely way to end the night, spending it seducing a complete freak. But Astarion had dealt with worse. He perched next to him, crossing his legs as he waited to see where this would go.
"I can see it," He finally said, his voice gravelly as he turned to stare at Astarion.
Astarion raised his brow, wondering for the first time if this particular prey had been partaking in some mind altering substances, "And what exactly are you seeing?"
"You."
Suddenly, the man was wrapping a tight hand around Astarion's wrist, his eyes shining with an unnatural green light, "You're close to the edge. Too close. My lord needs you breathing."
Astarion froze, equally parts horrified and confused at what he was alluding to. How on earth did he know his thoughts? What lord? Or the more likely reality; How wasted could one person be?
Astarion tried to pull back, frowning when he realized the grip on his wrist was iron-clad. He could feel a bit of panic start to swell inside him as he struggled, his voice rising, "I have no idea what you're talking about. Let go of me-"
"You must live," He said, the color of his eyes only getting brighter and brighter, near twin flames in the darkness of the room, "There is no other way. Kelemvor has work for you yet."
His confusion was quickly evaporating into rage. He didn't know what this thing wanted from him, nor why the god of death would have any interest in his life. But how dare he insist on Astarion's pathetic existence having meaning. He knew nothing.
His mask was slipping, his righteous anger spilling forth, "Let go. Before I rip your fucking arm off."
But he made no moves to back down. Instead he started to chant, an incantation that had Astarion officially panicking. Whatever magic he was using, it was powerful. Reality was shifting right beneath Astarion's feet, morphing into something different. The next thing he knew they were somewhere else entirely, his reality melting into something new right before his eyes.
The entire thing was so shocking that Astarion didn't even realize he was seeing sunlight. Without a single pain. He frantically looked around, the insane stranger's grip finally loosening as he twisted away. They were on a couch, in the middle of what looked like a brightly lit townhouse, voices spilling out of the other room.
Astarion stood quickly, a hiss escaping him, "Where in the hells are we?"
"Nowhere," The man said cryptically, his eyes still aflame, "Neither the present of the future. We are in nothing but a glimpse, taken and made for you."
That did nothing to answer his question. But it did make his mind go into more reasonable directions. This had to be an illusion, there was no other explanation for why he wasn't being burned alive. But an illusion of what? And for what purpose?
Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose, at a complete loss at what to do. He could try and kill him and pray that that would break the spell. But there was also the chance that he wouldn't live through an altercation with someone who could warp his senses so easily. Or perhaps this whole thing was a nightmare, a horrifying dream he'd cooked up after a night in the torture chamber.
Still at a loss, he settled on asking another question, "Then what is this a glimpse of?"
"Home," The man said simply before slipping off the couch. The cryptic bastard.
He started walking towards the next room towards the unknown voices; Astarion feeling helpless but to follow.
He lingered at the entryway, his eyes widening at the sight of a woman standing there, cooing at a teary-eyed child she had on her hip. They were right in her line of sight, but she had no reaction to their presence, instead calling out into the other room, "Did you find it yet?"
Another voice called back, oddly familiar as it groaned, "If I had, would I still be on my hands and knees here?"
Astarion stepped forward, more than ready to see if he could enlist the help of strangers for his predicament.
"They can not perceive us," The stranger said, interrupting the call for help that was on the tip of Astarion's tongue, "They are not real. Merely copies of what is, what will be."
"Lovely," Astarion growled out, his fingers itching to fight back against this demon of a man, "Now what in the gods' names does this have to do with me?"
"Watch and you will see," He said, his eyes blazing straight ahead, "The Lord of Death works in mysterious ways."
Astarion's theory of this being a torture-induced dream was becoming more and more believable. He didn't even bother questioning it, not when one more inane answer would send him into a tailspin. Instead he stared ahead, waiting for the moment he would wake up.
The baby was still squirming. Annoying whining sounds spilling from its lips, nearly on the edge of crying. But the woman still had a bright smile on her face, calling back "I told you we should have looked for it last night!"
"Well when she threw it across the room I assumed that meant it had fallen out of favor!" That same familiar voice yelled back, followed by an excited ah-ha! sound.
"Isabella's gonna have a fit, isn't she?" The woman sing-songed, bouncing the child on her hip, "I guess Mommy's going to have to let you start sucking on Daddy's hair again, huh?"
"I heard that!" The muffled voice called back, getting clearer and clearer by the moment. And then another man was walking into the room, grinning ear to ear as he held up a pacifier, "And I will not be forgetting it darling. Don't come crying to me the next time she's gnawing on your nose."
He leaned over to kiss the woman on the cheek before popping the pacifier in the girl's mouth, laughing when it instantly made her calm down. He was tall and pale, an elf with piercing red eyes and pure white hair.
No. It couldn't be-
"There. All better," The man sighed, his voice crystal clear in the calmness of the room, "She has quite the arm for a toddler."
It was a voice that Astarion knew, better than anyone else. It was his own.
Astarion watched, wide-eyed as his other self lifted the baby up in his arms, laughing as the child squealed around the pacifier, "She sure is cute for someone who can be such a brat. She takes after her mother doesn't she?"
The woman rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. Almost like she couldn't help but do anything else as she watched the duo, "Brave words for someone of your nature. Not to mention how she's your twin."
"Nonsense. She looks just like you, we should have named her Tav Jr," Other Astarion playfully argued, taking his other arm to wrap around the woman's shoulders, "I'm only responsible for the corpse-like complexion."
Astarion stared at them, in complete shock. He didn't-why would anyone or anything want to show him this? It didn't make sense. How would it be possible for him to be in the sunlight? Let alone to have a family. Astarion knew that this had to be a lie, there was no other explanation.
But that didn't stop his heart from aching from being forced to witness it. He was too shell-shocked to speak as he followed the duo to the other room, listening as his other self set the child in a crib, still cooing at her, "Auntie Karlach is coming over and you'll need your rest. How else will you be annoying together?"
"Astarion!"
He watched himself laugh as he pulled back, kissing her little forehead before murmuring, "Mommy only says my name like that when she has no comeback, isn't that right princess?"
"You're going to regret telling her everything when she can start talking," The woman, Tav, piped up from next to him, "I hope you realize she'll tell me all of your secrets."
Astarion rolled his eyes before pulling her against him, pressing a sweet and lingering kiss to her lips, "What secrets do I have that you don't know? Please, enlighten me."
What kind of cruel joke was this? Astarion, the real Astarion, had seen enough. He turned to the bastard that had sent him here, growling through gritted teeth, "Why are you doing this to me? Have I not suffered through enough?"
The man offered nothing of value, "We offer you what could be, if you can survive. No more, no less."
No. No, no, no. He wouldn't believe him. He refused to. There was no future for him. There couldn't be. I-It wasn't possible. Not with Cazador looming, not when he couldn't walk in the sun without being burned alive. And especially not when he couldn't even fathom letting himself care form someone enough to have a family with.
But that's what was in front of him. He turned back, his morbid curiosity getting the better of him. Just in time to see the couple standing there, holding each other while they made out like teenagers.
"I love you," His other self sighed happily, the words free and unbidden from his own lips between kisses, "More than anything my sweet."
"With one exception?" Tav asked, her arms wrapped around his neck.
Astarion laughed, nodding towards the crib with a knowing grin, "With one exception."
Astarion stared at them, a horrifying feeling starting to grow in his chest.
Hope.
It's the greatest betrayal he could give himself, an eternity's sentence to his own personal hell on the delusional belief that something better would come. He couldn't give in to it. He wouldn't.
But the question still escapes his lips, "How long?"
"Seventy years until you meet," The stranger said, "You must live to see it. Five more until you're here."
Astarion watched, wide-eyed as the alternate reality started to fade, the stranger's eyes becoming more dull and human-like by the moment. He stared until the last possible moment, trying to commit it all to memory.
But it was difficult. Like thoughts he couldn't quite grasp, slipping through his fingers. Something wasn't right.
"Will I remember this?" He asked, even though he was already on the edge of forgetting.
"No," The man said simply. They were back in the room, sitting on the bed as though nothing had happened, "But you'll remember the hope."
It was the equivalent of a curse, one that Astarion could barely fathom as magic twisted his memories. But he could feel it there, festering in his heart. The yearning for a new life, stronger than ever.
Astarion left Shar's Caress that night feeling dazed and confused. He barely managed to drag a wasted loner back to the manor with him, preying on him in the back aisles. It was startling to think that he'd almost forgotten his original mission considering the consequences. But whatever happened had... done something to him. Something that he couldn't quite name.
But he didn't see the sun that day. Or the next. Or the day after that. Instead he continued to struggle, to suffer at the hands of his sadistic sire with no end in sight. Not until years and years later, when the worst and best thing to ever happen to him occurred. He was kidnapped by mind flayers, but gifted with a disgusting parasite that allowed him to live in the sun.
It wasn't ideal but it was better than being under Cazador's thumb. Not to mention how he found companions relatively quickly. It had been pure luck that you stumbled upon him, even luckier still that you were the type to forgive a man for having a knife to your throat.
He was happy to accompany you. He was happy to do whatever it took to increase his chances of survival, frankly. It helped that he felt... strangely drawn to you. You looked oddly familiar. He didn't know how else to describe it, but it was almost as though he'd met someone from a past life.
#astarion#astarion x reader#baldur's gate 3#astarion x tav#what kind of christmas carol fuckery is this?#I'm having a kids moment#but hey isn't writing where you can explore the things you don't know if you want or not yet#heavy leaning towards not because my ass isn't locking down an astarion man#time travel?#what is this#idk#practice writing dont judge me#queue
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American White Religious trauma as a result of Christianity is so annoying because it pervades all discussions of religion generally. That even when religion is used as a motif, it's always assumed to be an allegory to Christianity. (The American evangelical kind or rarely Catholicism) And in fandom, this sentiment is worse. Don't you know religion is bad, duh!
The issue with this is when you put a lens of intersectionality (specifically as a black femme) or you use a lens of assemblage (non black femme) then you get the understanding that the issues non white people have with religion is not the issues White people have. Christianity is Hinky because of its roots in colonial rhetoric and justification, but that's not the issues white people have with Christianity. (This is not to say that exploitation of children and women but churches aren't egregious - they are. But this, conversion isn't about that) its like the anti-religious sentiment is spread everywhere affecting Muslims, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, Sikhs, Rastas and more, everyone is just catching stray bullets. Religion has to be bad for the non right wing American people, but so much of the good of religion is lost in that discussion. Also there's never the nuance to say hey maybe religion is funked up because America is fucked up? People do fucked up things and try to justify it by any means? Its hard because I grew up religious, left the church and now I'm very much into taking what I need spiritually from wherever, and to be honest that may be the privilege of my culture. But church was a necessary ecosystem and solace many a time, just as mosque was and I think what's scary is that because White people by and by don't really cultivate community and social culture (argue with your mum not me) the social aspect of religion and religious community isn't extended out? Take for example the Sikhs of my local area also give food from the Langar of our local gurdwara and I've known alot of these aunties and uncles since I was a babe. I've eaten there as has so many other homeless people and local business people etc because the food is good, the music bops and the jokes are hilarious. We're community. And when the time comes now at different parts of the year to give back we do, we have to because we're in community. It's mad in my eyes to have all this discourse on religion and never speak of the good things. No one ever talks of breaking fast with friends from school and how exciting it is to be invited round for iftar, or making eid cards at getting to celebrate, giving gifts at Christmas or making gingerbread etc with other people or singing carols. It's always about the fuckeries of religion and never that when people who have little else but God, do amazing things with wonder and hope. Granted, all of this was the privilege of living in a town outside of America that whilst was very small was incredibly diverse and maybe the fact that America is a continent disguised as a country with racial segregation still likely plays a massive part in the PR for christinanity? I say this because the Black church never gets its dues for what it did for the Black community in America and that's probably because overwhelmingly the PR for Christianity in America is White and right wing likely. Like what about Rasta's with political liberty in Jamaica and the Caribbean or Hinduism for the Tamil is religion just white people and Christianity?
Ultimately, I want to have a discussion about it without that specific white lens because religion for us who were colonised and dispossed is completely different.
Still, the general consensus in fandom that all religions are bad by virtue of whitenessess relationship with Christianity is absolutely mad, but what do I know?
I'm a black person on the Internet.
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Behold another Lost Boys holiday special! It was between this and Valentine’s day, but honestly I love writing Christmas specials, its such a cozy time despite the high suicide rates, but lets not get into that. A BIG SHOUT OUT TO @imlostinsantacarla FOR HELPING ME EDIT MY FINAL DRAFT!
Fun Fact! My husband, David (yes, that is actually his name) actually does have the bah humbug hat I mention in the head canons. He’s a heavy metal goth so when I found it at the store I had to get it for him. And you just know if our David found that, he wouldn’t be able to resist it!
Christmas with the Boys
Alright, so the whole touchy, feely and mushy feelings that surround even the topic of Christmas time is not something any of the boys will ever openly admit to enjoying. After all, they see themselves as these bad ass brutal killers who thrive off of death instead of holding hands and caroling with the goodie goodies of this coastal town.
Yet, it's challenging for them not to get sucked into the glitz and glam of the holiday season. Everything is a big deal in Santa Carla. Dia De Los Muertos, Halloween, Thanksgiving- everything! But especially Christmas.
Christmas in Santa Carla dwarfs the frenzy craze of Halloween. The entirety of the boardwalk is decked out with red and green lights that are tightly wound around palm trees, red bulbous bows are wrapped tightly around street lamps, the reds and whites of velvety fabric swirl down the posts, creating the effect of candy canes. All the store windows are painted to appear frosted, or covered with painted snowmen whilst several rooftops are covered with white felt in which mimics the texture and sight of snow. Even the boats in the harbour are all extravagantly decorated in a sea of lights that parade around brightly at night in every color imaginable.
Between the dates of the 30th of November all the way to the 24th of December the city of Santa Carla hosts a plethora of wondrous events in it's annual Holiday Festival. Large green, white and red kiosks are erected, selling a wide range of baubles and treats, from delectable chocolate coated rice krispy Santa Clauses, elf candy apples caked in a plethora of dark chocolate and peppermint, to a variety of Holiday hats, masks and even hand made costumes by the many local artists. Even hand carved candles in wondrous scents of pine, mint, or spice.
Currently, David possesses a black fur Santa hat which he acquired on a night out that boasts the words "Bah Humbug" proudly sewn over the front. It's the only holiday attire he'll even humor. Last time Marko attempted to place reindeer antlers on his head, David had set them on fire roasting atop a pan of chestnuts. Now it's not to say that he's a grinch persay. Rather, the complex and intense emotions that come hand in hand with Christmas can leave him perpetually indifferent at best, disdainful at worst. The whole occasion leaves him displeased. After all, he was an orphan who had been almost eagerly abandoned by his hooker mother left to fend for himself from the beginning, and of course never met his father. Even she could not identify which of her many clients may have been responsible. Most of his mortal life he had lived as a street rat, barely making ends meet by picking the pockets of tourists and Santa Carla citizens oblivious to the true dangers of the lower side of town. The rich and uppity classes who often snubbed their entitled noses his way would never suspect as he lurks between alleyways, leaving them cornered at knife point. It was scarce that he ever did see a kind face in the sea of those who had little interest for anyone that was not themselves. Back then it was rather uncommon for anyone to step outside their own little lives, which led to most interactions, outside of the other boys, having been met with great hostility, thus he had learned to be just as equally hostile in turn. Even the mere thought of anyone suddenly dawning a false kindness due to a certain time of year simply agitated David. It rattled him to the very core in a way very few other things did. Why bother with the lies? Couldn't people just face the very basic fact that they weren't nearly as charitable as they often deemed themselves to be? I mean, the young man had seen firsthand a family having previously snubbed a dirty homeless man with appalled disdain at the sight of his muddied clothes and dirt stained skin, only to then begin volunteering at a soup kitchen to purge whatever guilt they carried on their conscience once the holiday season began. The whole ordeal was pitiful! Nevertheless, - more so for Paul and Marko's sakes than his own -, he did humor these traditions amongst the holiday's festivities. Ruining a good time just wasn't his style. Unless they started fucking singing.
Most traditions David could tolerate, some he even enjoyed slightly; although he would never be caught dead admitting something as embarrassing as that! However, he just couldn't stand Christmas carols! They were the bain to his immortal existence. The repetitive nature of these overly cheery jingles left him covering his ears lest they nest in his brain leaving him humming the same damn melody for weeks. This was the case because the dynamic duo of dumbasses were well aware of his hatred for Rudolph the Red Nosed fuckin' roadkill! Stupid red nosed abomination.
“OOOOOOH-,” Paul begins with cheerful mischief.
“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” David seethes through tightly clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut in indignance.
Paul hesitates. He looks at Marko. Marko looks at Paul. Wicked grins of agreement spread wide like wildfire across their faces as their master plan comes into play. Full throttle. What’s more fun than annoying the shit out of David? One on the left, the other on the opposite side of the cave on the right. This was nothing but Divine perfection if you asked the two troublesome vampires.
“OOOOOH DASHING THROUGH THE SNOW!” Paul belted out at full volume.
“IN A ONE HORSE OPEN SLEIGH!” Marko followed in suit, the widest eerie grin plastered on his face.
“OVER THE HILLS WE GOOOO” Paul howled enthusiastically.
“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU BOTH!” David's voice hit a whole new octave it had never in all his life so far. All the while Dwayne had opted to vacate the room lest he be caught in the middle of the escalating madness with Laddie in tow. He loved these guys, but not enough to dive head first into their fuckery.
Paul thrives during the Christmas holidays! How could he not? The food, the punk rock covers of Christmas songs, the absolute babes prancing around the town in Santa hats under mistletoe?! He loved it all! You can find him sneaking under mistletoe with many sweet honeys on a constant basis, regardless of whether or not he's acquainted with them. Most do roll their eyes or laugh it off, but every once in a blue moon the guy will get a little lovin' from a beach babe in the Yuletide mood. What else could he ask for? You can bet he’ll run into the woods December first, and quite literally RIP a pine tree out of the ground to bring home like a wee carrot being plucked from the ground. The bigger the better! He may even drag Dwayne or Marko along with him if it's too big for him to carry himself. And all the boozy drinks he can concoct up? This boy is in his element! Mulled wine, spiked eggnog, candy cane vodka, butterscotch bourbon hot chocolate?! Yes! David straight up refuses to try anything that Paul creates himself (remember the concoction he made in Max's kitchen? Those poor goldfish....) which is also another reason why he has Dwayne help him. Or rather, the other boys insist the most responsible of them monitors the blonde lest he poison them with some sickly brew. That, and the fact that Dwayne's the least likely out of all of them to blow up the damn kitchen!
Dwayne is indeed the designated cook during the holiday rush, albeit a field even he tends to struggle. Avoiding the kitchen catching aflame, perfecting his craft lest he blow up the stove, leaving only a pile of ash in its wake. As previously mentioned, ever since the dreadful chain of events that lead to the unfortunate destruction of Max's kitchen, this raven haired vampire has attempted his hand at learning to use a stove properly: Although he often finds himself forgetting ingredients either in the midst of cooking or after the final product is done and he's taken a big bite.
“Shit! I forgot the milk and eggs!” Dwayne grumbled with a mouthful of dry crumbs, a true disgrace of a cookie.
Paul always gives him crap for it of course.
“Oooh I just thought you were going for a sandy, dusty dry cookie kinda thing.”
"Yeah man, these taste like ass!" Marko would cough out in midst of choking.
"And what, like you dumbasses could do any better," Dwayne retorts with a huff. Only Star manages to have any manners when testing his failed baking endeavors.
"Well I mean, the taste isn't that bad. Just a little dry is all."
"At least Marko wouldn't be choking to death." David would mutter from the darkest corner of the room, a little late in the conversation.
In all honesty, Dwayne's biggest motivation when it came to improving his skills was obviously Laddie. The kid never got much of a Christmas whilst living with his mom, so now that he was with the boys, he wanted to ensure that Christmas's were something that Laddie would remember for all eternity. Though granted, it is quite the mess when he was helping in the kitchen. But when the mini vamp grins from ear to ear whilst coated in flour and rapidly stirring an overflowing bowl of chunky cookie dough--the sight is too freaking cute!
Since Laddie joined the boys, they participate in Secret Santa every single year, which definitely includes Paul bursting through the entrance of the hotel as Santa on Christmas day. We won't talk about the fact that each year he almost falls flat on his face and swears, ruining the surprise for the kid.
"Santa where are your reindeer," he'd question, to which Santa Paul scoffs
"Pff, reindeer, I don't need any fucki- Ow," cut off by a firm and covert kick to the shin from Star, Paul quickly changes his response. "Oh! Ho ho, well, you see little boy, Santa can fly too! On his, uh, uhm… magic motorcycle! Yeah, that!"
But it's okay because Laddie already KNEW (he figured it out a year or two ago after Paul's beard fell off not once, but three times), he just doesn't have the heart to tell any of them because, well Paul really gets into it. And he knows the others are playing along for his sake. But to be fair, Laddie would have to be pretty dumb to believe it was Santa. I mean, the beard Paul's wearing is hanging half off his face by this point! But anyway, just like Paul's style, the entirety of the goody two shoes schpiel is thrown out the window, replaced with sleeves that have been ripped off, muddy boots, spiked bracelets and his Metallica shirt in full view beneath his flared red coat. He calls this BIKER CLAUS!
Laddie is not a squasher of traditions! But there was the one time that David had to intervene when Paul and Dwayne thought it would be great to use Laddie as the star at the top of the tree. David practically had a heart attack. Well, that's impossible but it still felt like he was having one!
“Ho ho ho! Now, don’t be a bitch, little David or Santa will have to give you coal.” Paul stated mockingly to David, brows furrowed.
“Well, Santa,” David scolds, a wry smile developing on his face when setting down the eight year old now off to shake his presents beneath their behemoth of a tree. “You best be careful. You never know what's in those milk and cookies, hm?”
Each year Marko buys bird toys for the pigeons in the hotel. Well, buy is probably the wrong word. More like he liberates the stores of their stock. And then for the next six months, David has to hear the agonizing jingle of bells. David almost roasted one pigeon in particular that kept flying over him to drop the ball with a bell in it on his head. That was Paul's entertainment for the next five hours, hell, he'd try to find it if the bird lost it and give it back. Marko defends the pigeon. Between running through stores buying up surprises for his friends, he's helping Paul throw out decorations for the cave. The dollar store has some surprisingly unexpected treasures, allowing him to deck the fucking halls to the max. Tinsel here, ornaments there, tiny light up trees to hide around the caves, a butt ton of cinnamon pine cones which he ends up throwing back and forth with Paul.
And Paul often steals his gifts or goes dumpster diving for any hidden gems. He forgets to take the tags off of them the majority of the time, which is always an indicator whether or not its new. Any time Star asks where he got them from he refuses to answer. Just gets up and walks away. But for David's gift? Well this lucky bastard has found coal in the dumpster and chucks it to David when he's not looking and he sighs deeply in disappointment because this is the third year Paul has done this.
"Huh? What? Who did that? Wasn't me. Somebody's throwing stuff."
Other than that he'll find a fat bag of charcoal and just tape the name David on it. David is certainly not amused. Dwayne will actually try to figure out what the others want, and has the sense to save the money taken from their previous meals. After all, they're dead, they wouldn't have much use for it anyway. He's not about to waste his hypnosis on some poor cashier. That would be a waste of time in his eyes.
When Christmas did arrive the tree was piled with mysterious boxes crudely mashed and taped together with bows and ribbons underneath it. It's obvious which ones are from Star since those gifts are wrapped in neatly pressed paper, wound tight beneath curled ribbons that remind the boys of her hair. Marko often goes on a food run rather than allow them all to be subjected to a potentially charred turkey, no offense to Dwayne of course. So, with a table covered from end to end with copious bowls of gravy, potatoes, candied sweet potatoes, a beast of a turkey in the center packed to the brim with cornbread stuffing, the boys cram into their chairs knocking back beers and spiked cider. Keeping to their own traditions, after fattening up, they gather around the tree and play card games, just as they had over eighty years ago on that frigid night. David still slays them in poker, and Marko is an utter dark horse when it comes to blackjack. Paul insists they try Go Fish. No one ever wants to play Go Fish. Closer towards the end of the night Dwayne will slip away to Jasper's shrine and bring him a fresh glass of rum as well as unwrapping what he got him that year. While Dwayne is there, the other boys will join him - omitting Star and Laddie left unaware of the Lost Boy they'd never met - in celebrating the last hour or so of the Holiday season with their fallen comrade.
Although Christmas time is often about uncomfortable mushy moments and emotions that create deep, unfamiliar times for David. The entire ordeal becomes that for everyone of the boys and Star. But God forbid anyone who even mentions it! I mean, it's kinda obvious though considering he's spending it with the people he always called family, knee deep in traditions that are sentimental to himself and the boys. There's a fluster of emotions running rampant during this particular Holiday Season, and although the blonde brooding vampire decides to squint at it with skepticism he savors these moments, knowing like Jasper, it could all be swept away with a single ray of light or the foolish hand of a hunter. So as they sit, drunk, full, and laughing beside Jasper's grave he can't help but smile at the sentimentality of it all. Christmas is a pain in the ass, but… it's a pain he'll gladly sit through for his brothers.
#lost boys imagine#lost boys 1987#lost boys#the lost boys#lost boys paul#lost boys imagines#lost boys dwayne#lost boys david#lost boys marko#christmas#holiday imagine#tis the season#lost boys head canon#headcanon#lost boys vampires#vampire boys#vampires#vampire#fanfiction writing#lost boys fanfiction#fan theory#fanfiction#fanfic
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Fairytail of New Scotland Yard: Author’s Notes
I've been meaning to do this with one of my works... and with this Trope-a-polooza of a fic, I've actually kept them! So in case you've been wondering what kind of framework I used for this fic in particular... This was my working nonsense from the get-go!
CHARACTER NOTES:
Greg:
Anti-Grinch - making Christmas magical and perfect and Christmassy but also fucks it up massively
Christmas Caroller - will 100% come to your door and make a racket and by god you’ll love it… Would consider strip caroling… if given the right circumstances
Convenience Store Shopper - works too much, drops by on the way home one time too often
Dinner and a Show - the ex, the kid, the inlaws, the DRAMA
Dreaming of a White Christmas - loves the fresh snow on Christmas, not real if not white
Everyone hates fruit cake, haven’t you heard of Chocolate Oranges?!
Gift shake - does it to piss off Sherlock more than anything, but is genuinely amused by childish antics
Genuine holiday volunteer - wants to give back, remembers how crap some of his Christmases were when he was little
Messy gift wrapper - looks like a 5 year old wrapped it, SO MUCH TAPE
Homemade Sweater Heaven - atrocious knit hat worn with pride because his kiddo made it
It’s a wonderful plot - look, the world is DEFINITELY better with Greg Lestrade in it… You’ll just have to believe it
Leaving food for Santa - and the reindeer, even in his 40s and living alone… Eats the biscuits in the morning
Merry Christmas Gotham - even London can be pleasant for like… 3 days, right?
Over the top decorator - 100% decks out his office… because cheesy christmas decos are where it’s at
Santabomination - runs into the most horrendous example of Santa ever… somehow manages to stay positive
Secret Santa - runs the NSY secret santa every year… because what’s Christmas without a little matchy matchy christmas mischief
Mycroft:
The Grinch - Bah humbug - total Christmas recluse, the noise, the people
Chekov’s gift - don’t return the gun
The Christmas Annual - makes a good door stop, and I swear Anthea, if I hear one musical decoration, heads will roll.
Christmas in July - get away from the cold and snow asap… Maybe the Maldives
Everyone hates fruit cake, it’s disgusting. If you’re going to indulge, at least go with mince pies
Dinner and a Show… I mean, You can imagine the Christmas dinners
Gift giving gaffe - everyone gives him like… a tie… Because what do you get for the British government (*cough* new referendum *cough*)
Holiday volunteer - this is clearly some new torture mandated by the fuckery of the Tory party
Perfect gift wrapper - precision corners, invisible tape use, perfectly curled ribbons
Homemade Sweater Hell - his mummy thinks it looks perfect, it’s itchy and horrendous, (ala Mark Darcy)
Supports Krampus - surely beating horrible children (the PM) is part of Christmas perfection
Present Peaker - will find where you hid them and will look at them… because he hates surprises
Santa Clausmas - his birthday is Dec 27th… and no one knows or remembers it
Surprise Santa encounter - totally ripe for a surprise that’s santa moment… Someone’s gotta make a believer of him
Mistletoe - never been kissed beneath it… is bitter about it.
Christmas Carol - scare him straight… Mycroft has pulled this on others before now, and this time, it’s his turn
Christmas Countdown:
The Grinch/anti-grinch ✓
Notice of the company christmas party ✓
The Christmas annual and navel gazing and door stops ✓
Decorations everywhere ✓
Time to volunteer ✓
St Nick vs. Krampus ✓
Fruit cakes ✓
Christmas caroling ✓
Gift shaking/peaking ✓
Secret Santas ✓
The precision shopper, the convenience store shopper ✓
Christmas trees (Big, small, Charlie Brown) ✓
The weather ✓
Gift wrapping ✓
Christmas sweater heaven/hell ✓
Dinner and a show ✓
Checkov’s gift ✓
Surprise Santa encounter ✓
Merry Christmas Gotham, we’re all doomed ✓
The low point - Wonderful Life/Christmas Carol ✓
Mistletoe ✓
Leaving food for Santa ✓
The best Christmas ever - mistletoe and leaving food for santa ✓
The happy ever after moment
Epilogue: Happy Christmas ✓
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