( christmas is still widely celebrated throughout the known universe, because jesus christ and religion are always in the wings of one's mind with war and violence taking front stage — that said, the only religion paul knew growing up was the quiet persuasions of the sisterhood, largely going through the motions of ceremony as a duke's son should: with reverence and, admittedly, the pinching of one's hand to keep from yawning throughout the proceedings. so, these ways are ancient to him with the trees and the presents. reading up on it felt like unraveling some scroll from a long dead philosopher, writing we decorate our evergreens to scare away the devil with lights and angels. we give gifts to represent the three wise kings who gave jesus gifts on his birthday. all the information but lacking the cultural context — still, paul is fascinated by the ritualistic nature of it, and offers to take on the responsibility of the tree, like the carpenter father of jesus himself, putting axe to tree and recruiting some able bodied boys to bring it to the correct place.
anyway, it says nowhere that the tree can't be a little gift in and of itself, so paul works on that presumption — what would chase away their demons, worthy in the place of honor among their tree. he does fiddly work for long, exhaustive hours and weeks leading up to christmas when alina thinks he's reading. carving little things, predominately from the iridescent halves of oyster shells he pawned off sanji from his restaurant but also little woodworking items, sealed in wax varnish, his marble fingertips coming in handy for all he ends up stabbing himself. all illustrate simple scenes — mice and water droplets for paul, frogs and knives for alia, sunflowers and pies for alina, foxes and clovers for alicent. the whole tree is pearlescent, rows upon rows of handmade ornaments, all paired off in intentional, specific ways, kind of lost in the grand scheme of the display so one can continuously find new things throughout the night. two mice at the bottom of the tree with their noses pressed together in secret rodent mischief, a cinnamon roll and its froggy counterpart sitting atop it, a four-leaf clover and a sunflower bowing their heads in towards each other. likewise, there are some random representations for friends of the family — a key for erik, a tooth for armand, a dragon for aemond. in all of paul's deep and one might say overly thorough research for the tree, he also found a tradition that stuck out: candies hanging on the branches, in the shape of canes. unsure of how alina feels about mint, he decided to go with the more tried and true method of full candy bars balancing on the branches. of course, as they are the colors would clash, so paul spray painted the wrappers a matching pearl, so it's really anyone's guess what you'll get at any given time.
he is, after a long time of working on it to and beyond the point of obsession, shooing away alina and alia when they try to peek, convinced she'll hate it. however, time does not stop and the ground does not swallow paul whole, so the night carries on. eventually, paul relaxes. eventually, he remembers to be anxious about her gifts, of which he's also convinced she'll hate. paul tries to distract her from opening — and at least succeeds long enough to when it's her and alia and him sitting under the tree, changed into matching silk pajamas, anticipation in the air. he holds his breath, shoulders very straight and frigid, waiting.
the first gift box is small, and self explanatory — a pair of earrings which he thought was a safe bet. the second is a bit harder. when alina opens it up, she'll see a hand carved baliset, etched with simple designs of flowers and stars and suns, an instrument closely resembling a lute as alina might know it, but both flatter and larger, in size and shape. paul bobs his head. )
It's called a baliset. I thought me and Alia could teach you some songs from where we're from — we have this old mentor, Gurney Halleck, and he'd teach me chords whenever I was particularly frustrating at blades. He had the perfect song for every moment, it was a fond talent of his. ( he gives a gesture for it, settling it on his lap, against his chest. ) The only trouble is that this instrument doesn't exist yet in this world, so I made it — it wasn't hard, it was mostly math. The hard part was that I didn't recognize their sheets of music, so I ... well I practiced on the piano, because it's a ( sawing gesture ) linear scale? So I could compare piano music to the chords of the baliset, and write you music. Which I can teach you, if you like. ( having taken the potion alina brewed for him earlier (and spending some long, silent moments stroking his feeling fingertips up and down her bare arms), the strings vibrate under the pliable tips of his fingers as he does an easy scale, not necessarily talented in music but capable of the basics. ) But, um, I also learned a few of those — songs. From the market? We can play now.
( he does, a little awkwardly fall into deck the halls, humming and mumbling the words, before alina and alia joining him helps him sing a little louder.
so, the night winds further down. eventually, when paul has had enough spiked eggnog and mulled wine, his cheeks flushed, he admits, ) I have something else. ( a little jittery, he undoes the buttons of his sleep shirt, until it's open on his shoulders, pushed aside to show, etched against his collar, a small, cursive script of her name, alina. the handprint she burned into his chest is little more now than a white, nearly invisible scar — but it didn't feel right to permanently stain her on his skin in that way, as something she hates. instead, just her name on his skin, a delicate but at the same time, very clear and concise claiming. almost apologetically, ) That isn't it.
( with an implied bit of fumbling, he pushes his shorts a little off his hips, enough to briefly show his cock off — but it's not just his cock. the organ sits trapped in a smooth, golden cage, a very tiny lock sitting at the root of it. paul hides himself away again, blushing furiously, but snags a key and chain off a branch of the tree to hand to her, folding her fingers around it. ) I like, ( he squeezes her hands ) I like when all my pleasure belongs to you. I'd like it to live in the palm of your hand, yours to give out whenever you like. You can be in charge of that. I'm — um, giving it to you. Yours.
( neither is that the finishing gift, but the rest will have to wait for the next time alina opens sol & scroll. there's a small, daisy-petal path that guides her towards a backroom, previously meant for employee breaks — only when she opens it, it's been turned into a flower nursery, with propagation vials setup on every available surface, featuring several flower clippings from paul and alia's home planets.
on the table, there is a note: )
Dear wife —
This gift comes from both Alia and I. You might be surprised to learn that there are a few types of plant life that live freely on Arrakis, even surrounded by sand and the brutal heat of the sun. Things like alfalfa, amarinth, and primrose, all thrive where the skin on your nose will peel if more than an hour is spent in sunlight. I love Arrakis as you know, and I think of this often — does the sun take pity on plants? Or are green things simply more enduring than the humans that eat them?
I think, more than anything, it proves that life and love can always be found where the sun shines brightest. That is what I found here, in your arms, my zenith sun, my brightest place. I think I love you how the primrose flower loves it's sunbeams — like something vital, like something necessary to exist. Like the center of the universe, always kissing its petals, never shy with its all encompassing affection.
If, however, you ever feel like sharing your light, me and Alia thought a garden might be nice for you. (It is much, much more important than staff breaks.)
I love you, I want you, I need you. Your doting husband, Paul Starkov.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
🎁 action, to ravkan christmas. cw: nsfw at the end
anyway, it says nowhere that the tree can't be a little gift in and of itself, so paul works on that presumption — what would chase away their demons, worthy in the place of honor among their tree. he does fiddly work for long, exhaustive hours and weeks leading up to christmas when alina thinks he's reading. carving little things, predominately from the iridescent halves of oyster shells he pawned off sanji from his restaurant but also little woodworking items, sealed in wax varnish, his marble fingertips coming in handy for all he ends up stabbing himself. all illustrate simple scenes — mice and water droplets for paul, frogs and knives for alia, sunflowers and pies for alina, foxes and clovers for alicent. the whole tree is pearlescent, rows upon rows of handmade ornaments, all paired off in intentional, specific ways, kind of lost in the grand scheme of the display so one can continuously find new things throughout the night. two mice at the bottom of the tree with their noses pressed together in secret rodent mischief, a cinnamon roll and its froggy counterpart sitting atop it, a four-leaf clover and a sunflower bowing their heads in towards each other. likewise, there are some random representations for friends of the family — a key for erik, a tooth for armand, a dragon for aemond. in all of paul's deep and one might say overly thorough research for the tree, he also found a tradition that stuck out: candies hanging on the branches, in the shape of canes. unsure of how alina feels about mint, he decided to go with the more tried and true method of full candy bars balancing on the branches. of course, as they are the colors would clash, so paul spray painted the wrappers a matching pearl, so it's really anyone's guess what you'll get at any given time.
he is, after a long time of working on it to and beyond the point of obsession, shooing away alina and alia when they try to peek, convinced she'll hate it. however, time does not stop and the ground does not swallow paul whole, so the night carries on. eventually, paul relaxes. eventually, he remembers to be anxious about her gifts, of which he's also convinced she'll hate. paul tries to distract her from opening — and at least succeeds long enough to when it's her and alia and him sitting under the tree, changed into matching silk pajamas, anticipation in the air. he holds his breath, shoulders very straight and frigid, waiting.
the first gift box is small, and self explanatory — a pair of earrings which he thought was a safe bet. the second is a bit harder. when alina opens it up, she'll see a hand carved baliset, etched with simple designs of flowers and stars and suns, an instrument closely resembling a lute as alina might know it, but both flatter and larger, in size and shape. paul bobs his head. )
It's called a baliset. I thought me and Alia could teach you some songs from where we're from — we have this old mentor, Gurney Halleck, and he'd teach me chords whenever I was particularly frustrating at blades. He had the perfect song for every moment, it was a fond talent of his. ( he gives a gesture for it, settling it on his lap, against his chest. ) The only trouble is that this instrument doesn't exist yet in this world, so I made it — it wasn't hard, it was mostly math. The hard part was that I didn't recognize their sheets of music, so I ... well I practiced on the piano, because it's a ( sawing gesture ) linear scale? So I could compare piano music to the chords of the baliset, and write you music. Which I can teach you, if you like. ( having taken the potion alina brewed for him earlier (and spending some long, silent moments stroking his feeling fingertips up and down her bare arms), the strings vibrate under the pliable tips of his fingers as he does an easy scale, not necessarily talented in music but capable of the basics. ) But, um, I also learned a few of those — songs. From the market? We can play now.
( he does, a little awkwardly fall into deck the halls, humming and mumbling the words, before alina and alia joining him helps him sing a little louder.
so, the night winds further down. eventually, when paul has had enough spiked eggnog and mulled wine, his cheeks flushed, he admits, ) I have something else. ( a little jittery, he undoes the buttons of his sleep shirt, until it's open on his shoulders, pushed aside to show, etched against his collar, a small, cursive script of her name, alina. the handprint she burned into his chest is little more now than a white, nearly invisible scar — but it didn't feel right to permanently stain her on his skin in that way, as something she hates. instead, just her name on his skin, a delicate but at the same time, very clear and concise claiming. almost apologetically, ) That isn't it.
( with an implied bit of fumbling, he pushes his shorts a little off his hips, enough to briefly show his cock off — but it's not just his cock. the organ sits trapped in a smooth, golden cage, a very tiny lock sitting at the root of it. paul hides himself away again, blushing furiously, but snags a key and chain off a branch of the tree to hand to her, folding her fingers around it. ) I like, ( he squeezes her hands ) I like when all my pleasure belongs to you. I'd like it to live in the palm of your hand, yours to give out whenever you like. You can be in charge of that. I'm — um, giving it to you. Yours.
( neither is that the finishing gift, but the rest will have to wait for the next time alina opens sol & scroll. there's a small, daisy-petal path that guides her towards a backroom, previously meant for employee breaks — only when she opens it, it's been turned into a flower nursery, with propagation vials setup on every available surface, featuring several flower clippings from paul and alia's home planets.
on the table, there is a note: )