#Dirty Deeds around the Christmas Tree

[ungoliantschilde]

“Dirty Deeds around the Christmas Tree”, a mashup by Bill McClintock.

[abovetopsecretxxl]

AC/LeeC - "Dirty Deeds Around the Christmas Tree" - GOMOPA4KIDS, FAMILY LORCH, HONEST JAN BI MUCHA ET AL 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡👯‍♂️👯‍♂️

https://berndpulch.org/2023/12/22/ac-leec-dirty-deeds-around-the-christmas-tree-gomopa4kids-family-lorch-honest-jan-bi-mucha-et-al-%f0%9f%a4%a1%f0%9f%a4%a1%f0%9f%a4%a1%f0%9f%a4%a1%f0%9f%a4%a1%f0%9f%91%af%e2%99%82/

[doyourememberrocknrollradio]

AC/LeeC - "Dirty Deeds Around the Christmas Tree"

[laughingsquid]

A Merry Mashup of 'Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap' With 'Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree'

[acewritesfics]

Family Day Out: Part 03 | Eddie Munson

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Request: From Anon

Fic Type: Imagine

Warnings: going into labour, mentions of birth. Formally titled Rockstar Dad.

Word Count: 1,273

Tag List: Open - acewritesfics taglist sign up

Stranger Things Masterlist

Part 01 | Part 02

Waking up from her nap, Y/N can hear the light strumming of Eddie’s guitar and their daughter singing loudly. With a week until the due date, she can’t wait until this pregnancy is over and her little boy is finally in her arms. Her feet are swollen, she can’t put her shoes on herself, she can’t shave her legs, she can’t see anything below her large pregnant belly, their son is using her insides as a soccer ball, she's constantly peeing and within the last month she’s been cleaning every surface of their trailer, unpacking and repacking the hospital bags multiple times, making sure the crib and all the other baby furniture was assembled and ready for use. Thanks to her co-workers throwing her a baby shower before she went on maternity leave, they have everything they need and they are now just waiting for the little guy to arrive. 

Struggling her way off the bed, she waddles into the living area where she finds the father-daughter duo. Eddie is sitting on the couch, his acoustic guitar on his lap as he plays the chords to Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap by AC/DC as Sophie, who’s dressed in a pair of jeans, a Dio shirt, her favorite pink cardigan and her dads shoes with his black bandana tied around her head, holds her toy microphone Uncle Gareth had sent her for her last birthday up to her mouth and sings the lyrics that she remembers, most of them coming out incoherently, with her new dolls and teddies she got from Santa this morning surrounding them in a half circle. 

She smiles as she leans against the doorframe, rubbing her swollen belly, as she continues to watch them in adoration. Sophie is her fathers daughter through and through, not just in looks and mannerisms but also in their shared love for things. The little girl has loved metal music since she was in Y/N’s womb. When she became restless, Y/N would grab her Walkman, drape the headphones over her belly, not caring how much they stretched out, and started playing Metallica. Within two minutes Sophie would be settled and no longer using her insides as a punching bag.  

It wasn’t the same with this one, he would only settle for his dads voice and touch. As soon as Eddie places a hand on her belly and starts talking, he calms down just as quickly as his sister did when she listened to Metallica.  

Christmas morning in the Munson house consisted of Y/N and Eddie waking up early to an excited Sophie jumping on their bed. Eddie helped Y/N out of bed and into the living room where the tree was set up with all Sophie's presents under it. There was even a couple for the new baby since he was due around Christmas-New Years. After opening presents, Y/N made them breakfast and started to prepare the food for Christmas Lunch. Unfortunately Uncle Wayne couldn't make it to Christmas this year but he would be there in a few days to spend New Years with them and to be there when the baby arrives. By the time lunch was over, Y/N was ready for a nap. She'd been feeling off since before lunch, the baby moving around more than usual and her nausea came back even stronger than her first few months of pregnancy. Eddie had made her go lay down while him and Sophie cleaned up. Minus the pregnancy and Wayne not being there, it was a typical Christmas for the Munson's. 

A sharp pain brings Y/N out of her thoughts. She winces, slightly hunched over, holding her belly. Her groan catches the attention of Eddie and Sophie who look over to her, concern flooding both their eyes.  

"Mama, are you okay?" she can hear Sophie ask. Eddie stands up and makes his way over to her, placing his hand on her back and starts rubbing circles.  

"I'm okay, Sweetie," she says as the pain eases off and she feels she can breathe again. She mumbles to Eddie, "We need to Kelly and ask if she can meet us at the hospital. Our boy is on his way." 

"Are you sure?" he asks. Three weeks ago Y/N had been having Braxton Hicks. It terrified them both since they hadn't been through those with Sophie.  

Just as she nods her head, her waters break. "It's the real thing. Now, stay calm. We don't want to panic Sophie and we have some time. I'll call Kelly, you get everything in the van. Sophie baby, do you want to help, Daddy?" 

Sophie nods and runs into her parents room. Eddie kisses Y/N before following his daughter. Y/N moves over to the phone and dials the number for her friend and co-worker. Kelly also has a daughter around Sophie's age. The two girls are best friends and often have playdates together on the days their moms have off work.  

"Hi, Kelly, it's Y/N," she says into the phone after Kelly answers. "Sorry to bother you on Christmas, but would you be able to come pick up Sophie from the hospital?" 

"Of course, is everything okay?" Kelly asks, worry in her voice. 

"My waters just broke," she tells her. 

"Oh my goodness! I'll pack up Mikayla and we'll be on our way." 

"Thank you, Kelly." 

"No worries, you just focus on getting the little man here safe and sound. I'll see you soon," Kelly says before hanging up.  

Y/N places the phone back on it's hook, just as Sophie and Eddie rush back out of the room with everything they need for the hospital. She smiles watching her husband and daughter, grabbing her coat and slides on her shoes, walking out the front door to follow them outside.  

As soon as Eddie sees her standing on the front step of their trailer, he orders her to stop right there as he buckles Sophie into her seat. He hurries back to her and helps her down the icy steps and into the van just as another contraction hits. Getting into the van, he drives as fast and as safely as he can to the hospital. 

After 13 hours of labor, Thomas Edward Wayne Munson was born at 3:32AM on December 26th, weighing 7lbs and 3ozs, healthy and screaming down the maternity ward, letting everyone there know he has now arrived. Everything about him is perfect. This time their baby took after his mom, with her hair colour, skin tone, her eyes but with Eddie's nose and pout. Just like Sophie, he takes after a majority of one parent but he's the perfect mix of Eddie and Y/N.  

Waking up from a well deserved sleep, Y/N finds Eddie in the chair next to her bed, Tommy cradled in his arms as he quietly talks to him, telling him all about how loved he already is and how overwhelmingly happy he is to finally be able to hold him. 

"I just went through 13 hours of labor swearing I didn't want anymore kids after this one but seeing you like this with him and seeing the way you are with Sophie, I would give you as many kids as you want," she mumbles still drowsy from sleep and the pain meds they had given her.  

"We'll talk about it more when you're less drugged up," Eddie chuckles looking up at his wife. "Right now, I'm happy with the two we have. You, Sophie and Tommy are all I need." 

"Me too. Merry Christmas, Baby," she smiles and feels herself drift back to sleep, leaving the father and son to bond some more.  

TAGGED: @rainydayteacups | @alexxavicry

[marko2963]

AC/LeeC - "Dirty Deeds Around the Christmas Tree"

[biggreenhouse]

AC/LeeC - "Dirty Deeds Around the Christmas Tree"

[mourntheantagonist]

Please Don’t Jump (it’s Christmas)

tw; suicide attempt(s) and implied/referenced child abuse

read on ao3

“Another year’s over, the snow starts to fall.

Just like you would if you ended it all.”

It’s Christmas time in Hawkins. The Hargrove’s first in the new town. The new home. Billy wasn’t exactly prepared for just how different this year would be. Christmas morning is just him, his father, and Susan. Max lucking out and fucking off to spend the holidays with her Dad in California. While Billy is stuck alone in the house that doesn’t feel like a home. With a Dad that doesn’t feel like a parent. Feels more like a guard. It’s a prison. Six inch deep snow blockade surrounding the house requiring chained up tires if you wanted to go anywhere. Sun blocked by gray clouds. Breath visible against the cold air. It wasn’t California. It wasn’t his home. It was an icy Hell.

Susan tried her best to maintain the usual festivities, but she was clearly upset by not spending the day with her daughter. Believing her ex-husband to be out there corrupting her daughter. Teaching her masculinity and independence. She thinks that’s wrong. It’s bullshit. Billy hopes Max never comes back from California. At least one of them would make it out.

It’s a quiet and boring fucking day to say the least. Past Christmases were spent hopping from house to house. Their blended family resulting in many visitations to random families that you’d only see twice a year around the holidays. Billy only ever liked going to Susan’s brother's house. His son who was just a year older than him actually proving to be pretty fucking cool. Evenings spent out on the back patio smoking a joint, much to each of their respective father’s disappointment.

But that didn’t happen this year. Only being in the shithole for two months they didn’t know anybody. No family nearby. Left to their own devices and Susan’s shitty cooking. It was lonely. The dinner table is quiet. Sounds of cutlery clinking against the nice plates that were reserved for special occasions. His father sitting across from him, waiting patiently for Billy to do something so he could get his fists dirty.

It was lonely.

“But tonight’s not the night.

If only you’d answer my calls.”

Steve was alone. Completely and utterly alone. His house is empty and bare of decoration. The snow outside his house and the music on the radio being the only indication that it was Christmas at all.

He got a letter in the mail. A store-bought Christmas card that looked to have come from the same stack they send to all their colleagues. No additional message. Just signed ‘Mom and Dad’ with two hundred dollars inside.

He felt like just a name on a checklist. Not like he mattered. But maybe he should just be grateful they even remembered. They didn’t even call. The only person to wish Steve a merry Christmas this year was the guy behind the counter at the gas station. He must be having a lonely Christmas too.

Steve holed up in his room, working his way through a case of cheap beer trying to make himself feel warm inside despite the shivering outside temperatures. Numbing the pain and forgetting the fact that his parents won’t answer the phone. He eats a two day old turkey sandwich and calls it his Christmas dinner. No point in making a whole turkey for just himself to eat alone. Even if he knew how to make a turkey.

Last year he spent Christmas with the Wheelers. Years prior spent with Tommy H. and his family. This was the first Christmas Steve spent truly and utterly alone. He didn’t have Tommy or Nancy anymore. He didn’t really have anyone but Dustin, who was off in Chicago for the holidays.

Nancy had Jonathan. Tommy had Carol. Steve had nobody. But who’s surprised?

Nobody would care if he disappeared. Swallowed up by the deep snow.

He was just a name on a checklist.

An afterthought.

Forgotten.

He calls his parents one last time. A glimmer of hope that they’ll pick up.

But all he gets is ringing.

“Please pick up now.”

They got in a fight. If you could even call it that. More so Neil didn’t appreciate Billy’s nonexistent attitude and made it known with an open handed slap to his cheek. The skin breaking upon impact. Neil told him to get out and not come back until morning. His instructions were to ‘find another ungrateful queer to take you in’.

He left without hesitation. Getting into his car underdressed for the weather. Cranking the heat as high as it would go to end the teeth chattering. He just drove. Bumpy along snowy paths. Slower than his preferred speed. He just drove. Nowhere to go.

He turns down an unfamiliar road. It’s dark and there looks to be no sign of life near. Just trees upon trees covered in snow. Maybe he’ll get lost out there. Maybe the car will shut off. He’s heard freezing to death is peaceful.

But the car powers through over rough and tractionless terrain until it stumbles upon headlights in the distance. There’s a clearing up ahead where the car is parked. There’s a figure sitting on the hood. He doesn’t recognize them until he’s parked beside them.

“Harrington?”

“Oh no, another Christmas alone.

I would talk you down,

if you would answer your phone.”

“Not thinking of jumping are you?” Billy asks, it’s only supposed to be a joke.

But Steve doesn’t answer, which is concerning. He’s not answering the question and he’s at the quarry by himself at ten pm. Billy counts three beer cans scattered in the snow below. Steve is crying and staring at the frozen over water that is just a few steps away.

“You know they say it’ll only break bones if you jump in the water from here. You think it’ll work better when it’s frozen over?” He says it so bluntly. Like he expects Billy to cheer him on as he lets himself walk over the edge.

“Shut the fuck up Harrington.”

Steve gives him a determined look before he downs the rest of his beer and tosses the empty can over his shoulder. He doesn’t move his eyes from where they’re staring into Billy’s soul. Tear-stained with frozen lashes. He’s been out here for a while. He doesn’t remove eye contact as he takes a step forward, no longer resting on the hood of his car.

He looks away as he takes the second step. Back towards the cliff in front of him. Just a mere four feet separating him and the drop off.

“This isn’t fucking funny Harrington.”

He takes another step. This stride longer than the first two.

“Please,”

Billy grabs him hard by the shoulder before he can take another step forward.

“Let go of me.” He says it calmly. But he still struggles against Billy’s hold on him. But Billy’s grip is strong on him. His feet are planted deep in the snow. He’s not going anywhere. And neither is Steve.

“Don’t,”

“Let me go!” He cries this time. He’s pleading with Billy in between sobs. “Let me go, let me go, let me go!” He’s sobbing. Hot tears dripping down and melting the snow beneath him. Fighting as hard as he can against Billy’s grip.

Billy pulls him towards him and away from the cliffs edge. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, just allowing basic instinct to take over.

He pulls Steve close. Arms wrapped tightly around him leaving him immobile. Steve is warm against him. In all the chaos Billy hadn’t noticed how cold he had gotten. Steve sobs into his jacket. A combination of snot and tears soaking the denim.

Steve is slamming a free fist into Billy’s chest as hard as he can. Whispering demands to free him. To just leave him alone. Billy squeezes tighter.

After about a minute of struggling against him Steve collapses to the ground bringing Billy down with him, knees buried in the snow.

Billy doesn’t recognize the weight of the situation until that point. He just stopped Steve Harrington from killing himself. He forcefully dragged him away from the literal edge.

“Let’s get you home.”

“Jump.”

Steve is silent the whole ride to his house. He failed at most things, why did he think this would have been any different? To make matters worse it’s fucking Billy Hargrove who manhandled him off the ledge. He definitely didn’t care about Steve. Probably just wanted to be the person to do the deed. Steve would probably let him at this point.

Billy holds him up as they walk in through the front doors of his house. Steve must be borderline hypothermic. His finger tips are still blue and absent of all feeling.

Billy guides him to his room and Steve just lets him do what he wants to him. No more energy to fight back. His last attempt proved unsuccessful.

Billy sits him down on the bed. Neither of them have said a word yet. Billy is shaking as he rummages through Steve’s drawers, unsure if it’s due to him still being freezing or the nerves and adrenaline from what just happened. What the fuck just happened?

He picks out a pair of pajama pants and a tshirt and tosses them to Steve. Wordless instruction to change. Steve however, makes no attempt to move.

“You going to make me dress you?” Billy asks. The first words he’s said to Steve since the breakdown at the quarry.

Steve still doesn’t move. Just stares intently at the floor. Physically and mentally numb.

Billy sighs as he moves toward Steve and begins by pulling his jacket off of him. Steve is cold to the touch. His arms are limp as he removes them from each sleeve. He pulls Steve’s sweater over his head. It crunched as it has been wet and frozen from the snow.

Steve starts to shiver as the article is removed from him and he is left bare chested. Billy grabs the blanket from the foot of the bed and tosses it over his shoulders.

Steve moves for the first time to grip the blanket and wrap it around himself completely. Billy gets onto his knees and unbuttons Steve’s jeans. Both boys try to ignore the awkward tension in the room as Billy’s hands graze too closely to his dick. He lowers the zipper with careful hands and pulls his jeans down his legs by the waist band. Pulling off his shoes without unlacing them before pulling the jeans over his ankles.

Quickly he puts the picked out clothing on Steve. His eyes are still fixated on the pattern of the wooden floor below him. Memorizing each marking in each plank. Avoiding Billy’s gaze as best he can.

He has to be in some kind of dream. Or a nightmare. Because why else would Billy Hargrove be helping him out. So tenderly undressing him and acting so caring. So human. It’s not normal behavior.

Steve is right. It’s not. Billy could see himself just a couple months ago seeing Steve standing on that edge and just driving away. Leaving him be and not giving a shit about his death being on his conscience.

But tonight? It was different. The drive over he had those same thoughts in his head. It would be so much easier if he just died out there. Easier for him and everybody else.

But then he sees it. Sees that same pain inside of him eating at someone else that they’ve too reached that conclusion. And it freaks him out.

Because Billy doesn’t want to die. The thought is nice, but it’s also terrifying. He just needs someone to talk him down from that cliff. So does Steve.

Once the clothes are on Steve lays down on the bed and buries his face into the pillow. Billy just stands there, unsure whether it’s okay just to leave him like that.

“Stay.” It’s muffled under the pillow, but he definitely just asked Billy to stay. “Please.” This time he looks up at Billy with teary eyes. No use in shame now. He moves over, opening up a space on the bed for Billy.

And Billy doesn’t have anywhere to go. And he’s freezing and he’s exhausted and he doesn’t want to find that Steve died because he left.

So he crawls into the bed and lays down beside Steve, who clutches his jacket and pulls him in close to him and starts to sob again. Billy doesn’t know what to do so he just rubs his hands up and down Steve’s back until he eventually cries himself to sleep. Billy doesn’t fall asleep. Too focused on keeping this broken boy safe like it’s his responsibility. And he hates that. That soft feeling he’s letting creep through. The buried feelings rising to the surface he desperately wants to push back down.

When Steve wakes up in the morning, Billy is gone.

There’s a sticky note on the nightstand.

‘Merry Christmas Steve. Don’t kill yourself.’

“Another year’s over, you’re spent on the floor.

You burn all the pictures you hang from your door.”

Billy’s only been out of the hospital for a month once Christmas finally rolls around. Living at home has proven to be a worse Hell than the upside down. His father is constantly on his case about being lazy by laying around all day. Constantly threatening to kick him out on the streets. And that was hardly the worst of it.

Billy being gravely injured did not halt Neil’s abuse. It only aggravated it more. Plus the fear of leaving marks became less worrisome as Billy was not only bed ridden and wouldn’t be seeing anyone, but he was already so scarred up from the Mindflayer that nobody would even bat an eye anyway. His body was free real estate.

He stopped caring about whether or not Max was aware of everything. Billy was no longer a child. Nobody would care even if she told. Neil didn’t bother being quiet, sometimes didn’t bother taking it into another room. Disciplining Billy in his own unique way right before Max’s eyes.

Max would yell at first. Tell him to stop. To stop hurting Billy. But it just made things worse. Eventually she stopped. Stopped yelling at Neil and started yelling at Billy. Telling him he has to get out. That he has to fight back. It was a ridiculous idea.

“Don’t be stupid, Max.” Is all he’d say before locking her out of his room.

Christmas evening is when it all hits the fan.

“You’ve got family and friends,

But you don’t really talk anymore.”

Steve isn’t alone this Christmas. Not necessarily. The Henderson’s invited him over for a Christmas brunch before they headed off to Chicago for the rest of the day. It was nice. She even sent him home with a casserole for him to heat up for dinner. It was probably one of the best Christmases he’s had in a long while, which is really depressing when you think about it hard enough.

Steve can’t stop thinking about last Christmas all day. How he was too close to that cliff and Billy Hargrove had been the one to pull him away. Had been the one to dress and undress him in his number state. Had been the one to lay next to him in his bed while he sobbed into his shirt. Until he fell asleep.

And then they never spoke of it. It got to a point that Steve half convinced himself it was a dream. But it wasn’t. Because a dream couldn’t have conjured that note on his nightstand. The note he ashamedly taped to his mirror as a reminder. A reminder that someone out there cared if he lived or died. Even if that someone was Billy fucking Hargrove.

He never figured out why exactly Billy was put at the quarry that night. He vaguely remembers a cut on his cheek, but not much else. Figures he must have gotten into a fight, it’s Billy after all.

He’s sitting at his dining room table eating up the microwaved casserole and thinking about how Billy is doing this Christmas. The guy nearly died and Max had mentioned one time or another that their home life wasn’t exactly spectacular. Not the place for a speedy recovery.

He’s not expecting his phone to ring this year. His parents never called anyway. That’s why the sound causes him to jump and drop his fork onto the plate below.

He’s not expecting to hear Max’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Steve. It’s Billy. He- he left, and he’s hurt, a-and it’s cold out and he doesn’t have his car… he’ll die out there.”

Steve shushes Max into the phone. He can hear her sniffles over the receiver.

“It’s okay. Relax. I’ll go find him okay? I promise.”

“Don’t bring him home. Take him to yours. Promise me.”

“I promise Max.”

Steve hangs up the phone and drives straight for the quarry.

“Just like last year.”

Steve is there before Billy. Which, albeit, makes sense considering Billy is traveling by foot. But Steve is waiting just a little longer than he’d hoped and starts to get concerned that Billy has died somewhere out in the snow.

The traveling figure in the distance shouldn’t calm his nerves as much as it does. Because he knows exactly why Billy came here. When Billy gets closer to him and he can see him better he gets nervous again.

Billy is covered in fresh bruises and cuts. Bruises and cuts that had to have occurred in the safety of his own home. He remembers that the Hargrove home is not a safe space.

“Oh no, another Christmas alone.

I would talk you down,

if you would answer your phone.”

“What are you doing here pretty boy?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

Steve digs his heel into the snow, contemplating.

“Max called my house.”

“How’d you know I’d come here?” Billy asks, curious.

“Wishful thinking.”

Billy steps closer to where Steve is standing. “I’m not going to have to pull you from the ledge again am I?” His voice is deep and slightly pained.

Steve shakes his head.

“Good. Don’t want to be a part of a double suicide. They’ll start to think you’re a fag like me.”

Steve doesn’t know which revelation should shock him more. That Billy is queer or that he’s planning on jumping into the quarry. Steve steps closer to Billy, putting himself in between him and the ledge. This could quickly turn into a murder-suicide of he’s not careful.

“Don’t do that.” Is all Steve says.

“Just leave me alone Harrington. Just making snow angels.”

Steve steps even closer.

“Why should I? You didn’t have the same courtesy for me.”

“That was different.” Billy almost whispers.

“How so?” Steve inches closer, hoping Billy will take a step back. He doesn’t. The two are nearly chest to chest.

“People actually care if you live or die.”

“Max cares. She called me crying. And fuck you. I care too. You fucking saved my life. You expect me to just let you end yours?”

“You hit me with a car.”

“Shut the fuck up Hargrove.”

Billy pushes him away. Hard enough that he steps back, but not hard enough that he goes stumbling over the edge.

“I should have fucking died.”

“Please,”

“Billy stop!” Steve grabs onto Billy like he’d done for him last time. But Billy is so much stronger.

“Billy I promise it’s going to be okay, just don’t do this.” He’s trying to maintain his cool but Billy’s showing no signs of slowing.

“Don’t you dare,”

Steve tackles him to the ground. Showing no remorse for any pain he might’ve caused him because the alternative is worse. Billy’s body is buried in the snow and he’s sobbing beneath the weight of Steve on top of him.

Steve wipes at his tears with his thumb.

“I’m taking you home.”

“No. Please.”

“I’m taking you to my home.”

“Jump.”

Billy is sitting on the couch in Steve’s house wrapped up in the blanket and sipping on hot cocoa. Trying to figure out how he ended up here. Everything that happened at the quarry and before becoming one huge blur brought on by copious amounts of alcohol.

They’re watching a fucking Christmas movie side by side on the couch like nothing even happened. Like they’re friends. Which they’re definitely not.

“Was it your Dad?” Steve asks him when the movie goes to commercial. He’s not afraid of Billy anymore to ask the questions he has.

Billy sees no point in denying it now. He nods his head and takes another big sip of cocoa.

He’s not expecting Steve to take his hand. To rub circles into his palm. Something inside Billy melts at the constant. The warmth receding from his hand into the pit of his stomach.

“And what you said back there, about being… was that true?”

Billy nods again.

“Yeah. I’m a fucking faggot.”

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t let go of his hand like Billy expects him to. “About your Dad. Not the gay thing. That parts okay.”

“I didn’t ask for your approval.”

“I know. But sometimes it’s nice to have anyway.”

Steve adjusts his hold of Billy’s hand and interlocks their fingers.

“Merry Christmas Billy. Don’t kill yourself.”

“Don’t Jump.”

Note: Hello beautiful person reading this. I know things can feel rough this time of year and I want you to know that you are so incredibly loved. The hardships will pass, even if they feel like they won’t right now. Just keep on breathing because you are so much stronger than you believe you are.

Love, mandi

[twordytings]

Christmas Chronicles

Word Count: 2,148

Ah... Christmas Eve... the day before Christmas but also the most tempting day to peek at presents. Well, maybe just for you.

AN~ MERRY CHRISTMAS!! I don’t even celebrate but I just wanted to give a lil gift for everyone who’s taken the time to follow me, like any of my posts, or just shown any kind of support towards me or my blog. I came into this not expecting even half of the love that I’ve gotten, and I just wanted to say thank you so much. Hope you enjoy the fic:))

It was the morning of Christmas Eve, and all of the Avengers were gathered at the compound to finally take a bit of a break. None of them were planning on celebrating the holidays; it was something they didn’t think was important, not to mention there was never any motivation to celebrate. But being Peter’s best friend and all, you were practically family to all of them, and you were gonna make sure they celebrated Christmas if it was the last thing you did. So, as you sat on the living room couch, snuggled up with a blanket, you had a tender feeling inside of you knowing that all these Christmas decorations and the giant Christmas tree (not to mention the plethora of presents underneath) in the corner of the room were up because of you. Light shining ever so bright into the room making it feel so cozy, even though it was bitterly cold outside.

Natasha came into the room looking confused as ever, “Y/n, have you seen the wrapping paper with all those kittens on it? I’ve been looking everywhere but I can’t find it.” You were so surprised that Natasha, of everybody would be celebrating the holidays, but you weren’t complaining.

“Umm it’s probably in the storage room next to the elevator.”

“Ok thanks!” and she was off.

Just then Steve barged in. “Y/n. Where. Are. The bows. You know, the sticky ones that you can just slap on and call it a day?”

“They’re definitely in the attic.” It was Steve, so of course you had to mess with him a bit.

“Cool. Thanks.” Right about when Steve left, Tony came in. (With his Santa onesie on, of course)

“Let me guess, you either need wrapping paper, bows, or ribbon.”

“Nope. Just a cup of coffee.”

“Thank go-“ just then there was a loud crash.

“WHAT WAS THAT!?”

“Just Steve.” you said with a chuckle.

“Oh ok. For a second there I thought it was someone important.”

You were both laughing your heads off as Steve came in walking heavy like a giant, covered head to toe in dust and debris.

“They weren’t... in... the attic” Steve said with a furious look on his face.

You threw a pillow at him as a form of defense, but obviously he didn’t find it funny since all he did was catch it and throw it beside him. You got another one ready to throw at him but before you could he said, “Throw a pillow at me again and see what happens.” You immediately put your hands up in surrender since you didn’t feel like being attacked at that very moment.

***

It was about eleven o’clock now and you were snuggled up in your sleeping bag but you weren’t going to sleep just yet. You were staying over at the compound for Christmas this year since your parents were out of town and wouldn’t make it back for Christmas. You were really upset at first but you were happy that you practically had two families: your real parents and the Avengers. You wondered what everyone got you. Could it be a new fluffy blanket? Slippers? A phone? Thinking about about all the possibilities made you extremely impatient, so you thought up a plan. While everyone was sleeping, you’d quietly tiptoe downstairs and give a little peek at what everyone got you. Then, you would go back upstairs as if you’d been sleeping the entire time. Perfect idea, right? Wrong But if you were gonna do it, you didn’t want to do it alone. So of course, being your best friend, you asked Peter to come along for the adventure. “Hey Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve articulated a master plan to do something extremely awesome! Are you in?”

“Your gonna look at what everyone got you when they all fall asleep, aren’t you?” You were in awe. How’d he know?

“How’d you know?!”

“You’re kinda my best friend y/n. Sometimes I think I know you too well.”

“Alright well are you in?”

“Nope. You’re gonna have to do your dirty deed without me this time. If anyone finds out we’ll be done for.”

“Awww c’mon. No one’s gonna find out. Please?”

“Goodnight y/n.” Peter said as he ignored your pleas. You’d guessed you had to do it alone this time.

***

It had been a good hour until you were sure everyone was sleeping. Waiting for the entire compound to be quiet was agonizing, and you obviously weren’t a very patient person considering the fact that you thought up an entire plan to sneak a peek at your Christmas presents. You made sure to bring your phone for its flashlight so that you wouldn’t bump into anything, and so the plan began.

You first very carefully pulled off your sleeping bag to leave Peter’s room and made your way downstairs. As you left his room, you saw that everyone’s doors were closed except for Tony’s, but you weren’t worried since Tony was a pretty heavy sleeper. Little did you know that Tony checks the security cameras every morning, so even if no one saw you now, Tony would find everything out as soon as he woke up.

You made it all the way downstairs to the beautifully lit up tree, and took a look at all of your presents. You were so happy! You’d gotten the best presents including that fluffy blanket and pair of slippers you pondered about receiving. You were satisfied with what you saw so you made your way back upstairs and went straight to sleep, as if nothing had happened.

***

Christmas morning came and you immediately got up and shook Peter awake. “PETER PETER GET UP! IT’S CHRISTMAS!”

“Ugh just five more minutes!” he said groggily and went back to sleep. Drastic times called for drastic measures so you stood up on his bed and began to jump up and down as crazily as you could so that he would get up.

“PETER! GET! UP!”

“OK OK IM UP.”

“Good.” You made your way to Steve’s room and instead of jumping on his bed, you screamed in his ear, which probably wasn’t the best idea. “STEEEEEVE IT’S CHRISTMAAAAAS!”

“AAAAAH- oof.” He had fallen of his bed during your effort to wake him. But he was awake so you put your hands on your hips in satisfaction. You then eventually woke everybody else up including Natasha, Bucky, Clint, Sam, and Bruce and as of now were all brushing their teeth and getting ready for present opening. You were already ready so you hopped downstairs with the biggest grin on your face, knowing that today would be a great day.

You got to the last few steps and saw Tony at the bottom. “Good morning Tony!” you said as you gave him a big hug. Again, he saw what you did last night, and he had most definitely not forgotten.

“Good morning!” he hugged you back. “Did you wanna tell me anything?”

“Uhhh no? What do you mean?” There was no way he could’ve known, or could he have?

“I mean did you wanna talk about how you snuck out of your room in the middle of the night to look at all your presents?” Busted.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” you said innocently as you could with your crossed your arms over your chest.

“Oho really?”

“Hey y/n! Hey Tony! Merry Christmas!” Peter came down to greet you both.

“Merry Christmas Peter! You wouldn’t happen to know about y/n’s little doing last night, would you?” Peter looked at you in total surprise. He was terrible at keeping secrets, and if this one slipped, you didn’t even want to think about what would happen.

“Uhm...” you gave him a serious look. “of course not! I... uh... was... sleeping! Yeah I was really tired and... sleeping.”

“Sorry kid but you’re a terrible liar. And I didn’t even need you to tell me. I looked at the security cameras from last night and they showed me everything.” He had the most evil smile on his face. You silently cursed yourself since you should’ve known he checks the cameras.

“Y/n. You should run.” Peter said seriously. You would thank him for that later since you were in the midst of escaping for your life.

“Get back here!”

“No way! You’re gonna kill me!” you said while running. Tony could’ve easily caught you by now, but he wanted to let you enjoy the upper hand for a little while.

You had now ran around the stair case about five times, through the kitchen once, and almost ran straight into the fireplace at one point. But you knew that Tony catching you was inevitable. You thought running into one of the rooms was the best idea. Maybe you could lock yourself in there and Tony would forget about everything. But just as you thought you were about to get away you ran straight into Steve. “Steve! Help! Tony’s gonna kill me!”

“Well Merry Christmas to you too y/n. What’d you do this time?” Before you could say a word Tony grabbed from behind and threw you over his shoulder.

“Gotcha.”

“Would someone like to explain to me what happened?” Steve said.

“Well, someone...” Tony said as he poked your stomach. “decided to sneak downstairs and peek at her presents last night.”

“Y/N!” Steve gasped dramatically, “How could you!?”

“Steve, I believe we should handle this in a civilized manner, don’t you?” Tony gave Steve a knowing look.

“But of course. I’ll help!” Tony brought you over to the couch and straddled your waist. Steve took the pleasure of holding your arms. So frankly, you were screwed.

“Ihihim sohohorry!”

“You don’t think you’ll get away with it that easy, do you?” Tony said.

“Steeheheeve pleehease!”

“No can do y/n. If anything, you deserve this.”

“What?! How? All I di- AHHAHAHAHAHHA TOHOHONY STAHAAP!” Tony wasted no time in tickling you to pieces. It felt like a billion ravenous spiders were crawling all over you. Not to mention Steve was also tickling your underarms, and there was no way of escaping. All you could do was stay along for the ride.

“You should’ve thought about this before sneaking around y/n.” You couldn’t even hear what Tony was saying over your own laughs. Just then, Bucky came into the room.

“Hey what’s going on here?”

“Oh hey Bucky!” Steve said. “We were just tickling the crap out of y/n! Wanna help?”

“Uh, yea!”

“NONONONONONOOOO!”

“Aw what’s wrong y/n? Afraid of a little tickling?” Bucky said as he switched places with Tony.

“I’m gonna go make a cup of coffee, anybody want one?” Both Steve and Bucky exclaimed a, “Me!” and continued with their attack.

“Now, where should I start?”

“NOWHERE!” you screamed.

“Y/n, that’s not very nice. We’re only trying to show you that what you did was wrong.” Steve said.

“By tickling me?!”

“Exactly! Now you’re catching on.” You were so furious so you stuck your tongue out at him. He obviously didn’t like that.

“Bucky. Go for her sides. She hates it.” Steve said as he grinned mischievously at you.

“Aye aye, captain!” Bucky’s fingertips instantly made contact with your sides and you couldn’t contain yourself. You were shaking your head, thrashing you legs every which way just in case there was a chance to get out of your predicament. Unfortunately, there wasn’t.

“BUHUHUCKY DOHOHONT!”

“Don’t what?”

“TIHIHICKLE MEEEHEHEHE!”

“I’m so glad you asked!” Bucky said in excitement.

“NOHOHOOOHO THAHATS NOOHOT WHAT IHIHI- AHAHAHAHA!”

“That’s not what you... what? Sorry I couldn’t hear you. Can you speak up a bit?” Bucky said as he paused his attack. Steve on the other hand was still tickling your underarms.

“Ihihi sahaid thahats noohot whahahat I meheheant.” Steve finally paused his fingers.

Steve wasn’t tickling you anymore but he was still holding your arms just in case you tried to get away. “Are you sorry about what you did?” He said as his face was no more than an inch away from yours.

“YEHES!” you said as residual giggles poured out of you.

“And are you going to do something sneaky like that again?”

“NO! Now can you let me go?!”

“What’s the magic word?”

“PLEASE!”

“Ok. Bucky. Release.” Bucky hesitated to get off but he did eventually and offered you a hug but you denied.

“Meany.” Bucky said with a frown as he walked away. Tony then came over and handed you a cup of hot chocolate as everyone else came downstairs.

“Merry Christmas Munchkin.” He said as he sat down and put an arm around you.

“Merry Christmas Tony.” you said with a huge smile on your face.

You’d realized that day that it was never about the presents on Christmas. It was about who you spent it with, and you didn’t want to be spending it with anyone else.

[loretranscripts]

Lore Episode 24: A Stranger Among Us (Transcript) - 28th December 2015

tw: death, gore, death of children, disease

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

Folklore is a living thing. In many ways, the stories we tell and the lessons we pass on are like a tree - the branches reach out into generations and cultures, sometimes in obvious ways, and other times reaching surprising new places. One good example of this would be of the folklore surrounding small fairy people that we’ve discussed here before. Pukwudgies, trolls, goblins, puka and dozens of similar variations are scattered across the world with amazing consistency and reach. How or why is something we’ll probably never fully understand, but it shows us how folklore can spread, how it can migrate, and how it can build upon the past. At the same time, though, folklore has roots, and they run deeper than we might expect. Some stories that we still whisper about in the dark today have crossed the lips of people for centuries, and in some cases, millennia. When I hear a story for the first time or discover a new collection of tales that have been widely distributed, I often stop and ask myself the same questions: where did it come from? What lies at the bottom of the narrative? What are its roots? Outside of Halloween, there is no other time of the year (at least for European cultures, that is) where folklore rushes to the forefront of everyone’s lives with such significance, such power, and such ease as the Christmas season, and rightly so. There is so much there to unpack and explore: the tree, the gifts, the food, and the nocturnal visit from a stranger, one who has seemingly stalked our lives all year long, and yet we blindly welcome into our home. And if there’s one lesson that folklore has taught us over the centuries, it’s to beware of strangers – they aren’t always who they seem to be. I’m Aaron Mahnke and this is Lore.

When we think of coal in our stockings and food and drink left out for a visitor, we rarely pair those ideas with the image of a woman flying through the air on a broomstick, but in Italy there are those who still tell the story of La Befana. Befana’s story has been told since at least the 13th century, originally connected with the Christian feast of the Epiphany. But while many people have never heard of her, the details of her story are eerily familiar. During her visit, Befana was said to enter homes through the chimney. She’s typically depicted carrying a basket or bag full of gifts, but is also known to leave behind a lump of coal or a single stick for children who fail to behave during the year. Before leaving each home, Befana would sweep the floor with her broom, something scholars see as a metaphor for sweeping away the deeds of the previous year, and then she would eat the food left out for her – oftentimes sausage and broccoli. Side note: cookies and milk sound so much better, don’t they? Interestingly enough, Befana is not the only Christmas legend with a passing resemblance to a witch. In the German Alps, there have been stories of another female figure dating back to the 10th century. Some call her Perchta or Berchta, or later Bertha. Jacob Grimm, while researching his Deutsche Mythologie, theorised that she was one of the ancient Germanic mother goddesses. She and her sisters were said to have taught humanity the arts of agriculture, spinning wool and cooking. Over time, though, her legend began to integrate with parts of the Christmas season. Because of her role in teaching humanity the basics of home management, Perchta’s meaning began to shift over the centuries, turning her into the punisher of those who worked during the holidays, failed to feast properly and, much later, hunting down the lazy, and what better time for her to conduct an end of year review, so to speak, than Christmas? Just how did Perchta dish out her punishment on the people of Germany? Well, a hint can be found in her other popular title: the belly-slitter. During the 12 days of Christmas, she would travel through the towns and inspect the people’s behaviour. If they had followed the rules and done right in her eyes, they were rewarded. If they had not been good, though, she was known to have a very nasty side. Anyone disobedient enough to warrant punishment, adult or child alike, would have their stomachs ripped open. Perchta would scoop out whatever might still be inside, pull out the full length of their intestines, and then stuff the victim’s belly with garbage, straw and rocks. While a stomach full of refuse might seem… a little over the top, that distinction actually goes to another ancient female in folklore.

While stories of Grýla, the mythical giant goddess, are far outside the common narrative of Christmas for many of us, for the people of Iceland she is still a whispered source of dread among children. One of the earliest mentions of Grýla dates back to the 13th century collection of Icelandic mythology known as the Edda, written by Snorri Sturluson. According to the many stories told about her over the centuries, Grýla possesses the ability to locate disobedient children. She can do this year-round, so they say, and because of that she was often used as a parental tool to coerce children into doing what they were told. It was in the Christmas season, though, that Grýla became even more monstrous. That was when she was said to climb out of her home in the mountain and make her way toward the towns. She would hunt far and wide for all the naughty children and then take them back to her cave. Once there, she would cut them up, place them in her stew, and devour them. And, according to the legend, she never ran out of food.

There have been other stories of strangers told throughout the centuries, but not all have happy endings. In fact, there is often more loss than gain when it comes to the visits of some of those legends. In the northern Alps, stories have been told for generations about the travelling stranger known as Belsnickel. Considered to be one of the helpers of Saint Nicholas, Belsnickel travels ahead of the big, red man and dispenses his own form of Christmas cheer – with physical abuse. Descriptions of Belsnickel liken him to the wild men of old, with torn and dirty clothes fashioned from animal skins and furs, and a face that is covered in a snarled, filthy beard. Some stories report that he wears a mask with a long tongue protruding from the mouth. According to the legend, which spans centuries in both Germany and the American state of Pennsylvania, Belsnickel would enter the home of a family and scatter nuts and sweets on the floor for the children to collect. And then, with their backs to him, he would lash out with a switch made of hazel or birch, whipping their backs and leaving red marks. And Belsnickel isn’t alone – another travelling stranger from the same region, one who has seen a rise in popularity around the globe, is a creature known as Krampus. At first blush, Krampus sounds similar in many ways to the other strangers in European folklore, but what sets him apart is truly frightening. It is said that Krampus visits the homes of children during the Christmas season, but he doesn’t have a dual nature – there is no reward or special treat when he comes to town. No, his sole purpose and passion in life is to dole out punishment on children who have failed to obey and do their work. Like Belsnickel, he too carries a switch, but in most stories there are more than one. Apparently, he beats so many children that he needs a few spare branches, so he carries them in a bundle. In addition, he is often depicted wearing chains and some form of large sack or cart because ultimately, Krampus isn’t as interested in beating children as he is in taking them. When he arrives in each legend, we are greeted by the appearance of a wild, demonic creature with long horns, cloven feet and a twisted face. After beating the disobedient children, Krampus chains them up and tosses them into his sack before vanishing as quickly as he came, taking the children with him back to hell.

The origins of Krampus are still unclear, but some scholars think that the legend predates Christianity. Instead, they believe that the story has roots in an ancient alpine myth of a horned god of the witches. Even the switch, his weapon of choice, might have been a carry-over from the initiation rites of witches, where the novices were beaten. Far from forgotten, festivals are held throughout Europe to this day that feature many of these legends; events like Krampusnacht in Germany and the Befana festival in Urbania attract tens of thousands, who dress in masks and dance and celebrate. Like Halloween, these are instances where monsters and strangers have been embraced and elevated to something of a children’s story, which is ironic when you understand the roots. Stripping away the detail, Krampus has (from a 30-thousand-foot view) more than a passing resemblance to Pan, the Greek horned god of nature, shepherds, flocks, and mountains. Along with his musical flute, Pan is often known for robbing the innocence from people, usually through sexual means. In a culture that saw the threshold between childhood and adulthood as the loss of virginity, Pan figuratively stole people’s children, and when you think of it that way, it’s more than easy to see similarities, not only between Krampus and Pan, but also between Pan and a character that Disney has helped us all fall in love with: Peter Pan. While he might be able to fly, has no horns and is missing the cloven feet that Pan sports in every image and statue, Peter Pan fulfils the role perfectly. He arrives at night, he carries a flute and lures our children away to another place. It’s a modern story with a familiar ending, but it was far from the first of its kind. That honour, according to some, falls to a small German village in 1284. You might already know the story, but the truth beneath it is far worse than you’d ever expect. In 1284, the German village of Hamlin was struggling with an infestation of rats. Now, I’ve only seen a few rats myself over years, but I also don’t live in a densely populated urban area like New York City or London. But in medieval Europe, from what I can gather, rats were as abundant as squirrels, only bigger and more disease-ridden. It’s hard to imagine the impact that an infestation of rats could have on a town today. If we found a half-eaten bag of flour in the cupboard, there’s a grocery store down the street where we could get more, year-round. But in the Middle Ages, food was grown locally and used throughout the year. If rats ate and ruined the food supplies, there was little a town could do - rats meant death in many instances. According to the story that has been passed down through the centuries since then, a stranger entered Hamelin in the Spring of 1284. He was dressed in colourful clothing, possessed what we might call today as a “silver tongue”, and claimed to have a very unusual, although also very timely, skill – he was a rat catcher. As a profession, rat catching dates back centuries, but it’s rarely seen as a safe and sanitary job. The risk of being bitten or contracting some disease carried by the rats has always been a hazard of the job, and while the exact nature of their involvement has been up for debate for decades, most scholars agree that rats have been key players in the spread of plague - particularly the Black Death of the 14th century, and there were few truly effective tools at their disposal, which made the job that much more difficult. Some rat catchers used a special breed of terrier while others made use of traps, but the most effective tool for centuries was also the most minimal and inexpensive of them all, bare hands - and seeing as how most rats prefer to stay hidden inside dark places, this was a risky technique. The motivation for it all, though, was the meritocracy of it; the more you caught, the more you earned, and while there’s no documented proof of this rumour, it’s been whispered for centuries that rat catchers would sometimes raise their own rats in captivity and then turn them in as part of the job, inflating their numbers and then their pay. This allowed them to pad their pay checks when business was slow, and it also earned them a shady reputation. As a side note, one of the most famous rat catchers in London’s history was a man named Jack Black, who claimed that his black-tan terrier was the father of all the black-tan terriers in London, and who pioneered the art of breeding rats and keeping them as pets. He even wore an outfit made entirely of scarlet cloth, with a big, wide sash across his chest that had two cast iron rats on it. He was probably also a riot at parties, but I can’t confirm that – just a hunch.

The man who walked into Hamelin that June wasn’t any less of a character, if the legends are to be believed. He wore an outrageous outfit, although his was reportedly one of multicoloured fabric that was known back then as “pied” (which was typically a sort of blotchy pattern), and he carried a tool that no other rat catcher claimed to use - a flute - and the mayor of Hamelin trusted the man. Maybe it was the not-so-subtle allusion his appearance made to the ancient stories of the god Pan, a deity who tended flocks of animals and played a flute; maybe it was the man’s marketing ability, that silver tongue and outrageous outfit; perhaps he overpromised and won the mayor’s approval - whatever the reason, this stranger was said to have struck a deal. He would catch all the rats in town, he told the mayor. He would lead them out of the town and away from their lives and he would do this, he said, with his musical instrument, a pipe that he claimed would lure them away. Now, I don’t know about you, but I would have been sceptical. The mayor, though, was desperate. Sure, they haggled over the price, but in the end the stranger won. The exact amount of money differs from version to version of the story, but in all of them it’s an exorbitant sum, and that’s the point. Hamelin was so desperate that they were willing to overpay for a solution, and then he got to work. According to all the stories, and even the children’s tales we were raised on, the piper picked up his flute and began to play. As if driven by some magical force, all of the rats in Hamelin scuttled out of their hiding places and began to crowd around him; streams of them, thousands of them, all writhing in a mass at his feet. Then, when it seemed like they had all come out, he marched out of town and down to the Vesser river. The stories say that he was beyond successful. Most accounts say that all but one of the rats drowned in the river that day. Hamelin’s troubles were over, for a while. You see, the piper returned later to collect his money - he had done the job they had hired him to perform, the rats were gone, but for some unknown reason, the mayor refused to pay him. Now, the stories don’t say why, but we can speculate. Maybe it was because the stranger didn’t return with any bodies to show for his work, as was the custom for a rat catcher. How could the town pay him per head when there were no heads to count? At any rate, the mayor turned the stranger away and the man, clearly taken advantage of, stormed out of the village, but not before turning to face the people of Hamelin and proclaim a curse on them. He would return one day, he said, and when he did, he would have his revenge. Remember, this is a story that has been passed down for 800 years - most of what we know about the real events is pure legend, based loosely on scattered reports of a stained-glass window in the church there, in Hamelin. The window itself was lost in 1660, but there a drawings of it that predate the destruction as far back as the 14th century, and the earliest mention of these events is a 1384 entry in the Hamelin town records. The events were recorded, of course, because the stranger did return. According to the story, though, he changed clothing, trading in his colourful robes for the uniform of a hunter. Gone was the salesman; the stranger was returning for vengeance. While the adults were in church on June 26th, the stranger strode into town and began to play his flute again. This time, rather than crowds of writhing rats, it was the children who clambered out of the houses. They flooded the streets, gathering around the strange visitor, and then, when they were all present, he marched them out of town, never to be seen again. There are, of course, a number of morals to this story, but the one that has stuck with us for centuries remains ever-true: never trust a stranger.

Folklore is full of strangers. In many stories, it’s flat-out amazing just how much freedom we have given them in our lives. Even stories of someone as benign as Santa Claus have an element of danger when you view them from outside cultural fishbowl. Here’s the story of a strange man who stalks our children year-round, noting their behaviour and secret desires, who then breaks into our homes, eats our food, and leaves a few presents to prove that he was there. For the people of Hamelin, though, that stranger cost them far more than a plate of cookies. Their ill treatment of the man who came to town led to the loss of their children, and as difficult as it is to believe, the story of Hamelin is true – part of it, at least. Scholars are in agreement that the rats were a later addition to the tale, showing up about 300 years after the events were said to have taken place. But as far back as the records go, there has always been a stranger, a visitor from the outside, who leaves with the children, and although it’s taken a very long time to figure out why, some historians think they have the answer. To understand the truth, they say, we first have to understand the political culture that Hamelin found itself in. In 1227, about 50 years prior to the events of Hamelin, a battle took place on the border between what was then the Holy Roman Empire and Denmark, pushing the Danish border north of modern-day Germany. As a result, a whole new territory opened up that needed colonists. Men called “locators” were assigned to travel the land and find volunteers to populate this new territory, who often wore colourful clothing. They were eloquent speakers. They were, in a sense, a lot like today’s door-to-door salesmen. The empire needed farmers and craftsmen and soldiers to protect these new lands, but it was hard to find people willing to uproot their lives and travel north, especially when that new land was alongside a contested, military-heavy border. It was a hard sell, and so when the locators came knocking, rather than shipping off a handful of adult volunteers, townsfolk would sometimes get creative. Instead of paying with their own lives, they would sell their children to these men. The proof, it turns out, is in the phonebook, and on Google maps. Many town names along a line between Hamelin and Poland bear a striking resemblance to town names from medieval Germany, oftentimes even showing up more than once. Even more compelling, surnames from the 1284 Hamelin town records still show up in phonebooks in Pomerania, a region of Poland along the Baltic sea. The folklore, you see, tells a colourful story, one that’s as easy for children to swallow as a spoonful of honey, but the truth that the story hides turns out to be far less palatable. An entire town, desperate for a solution to their economic and social challenges, actually sold their children off to recruiters hoping to colonise new lands. It’s a plot reminiscent of M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village, in that these people constructed a fantasy around certain events, and then passed that lie on to later generations in order to justify their actions and avoid questions. In the end, an outsider did indeed come to Hamelin that day, but he wasn’t the one who took the children. No, it turns out that the true monsters were already there, living in the house next door, shopping in the market, farming the fields. The most dangerous stranger, it seems, isn’t the outsider – it’s the one that hides among us.

[Closing statements]

[no6secretsanta]

Third Options

Written for @nezeve. Merry Christmas! - @fairysdarkestnight

“You can’t do it, can you? All this time, and you’re still letting your feelings get in the way. You, the great Nezumi, who never fought for anyone but himself.”

Nezumi let his knife drop to the ground. The clanging echoed impossibly through the small apartment, but Shion didn’t let his eyes shift from Nezumi’s. “I’m right, aren’t I? I know what this city has done to me, and I know why you’re here. So do it. Kill me. Pick up that knife and stab me through the heart. It would save people, wouldn’t it? It would save me.”

A shaky breath escaped from his lips as he felt his legs start to tremble from exhaustion. “Would it even do any good? Everyone in this city worships you as a hero, but they don’t know what you’ve done to give them this. The people you’ve ruined. All your death would accomplish would be to leave a space for others to take over.”

Shion stepped closer, kicking the knife away, though Nezumi knew he realized that the weapon was meaningless. He was right – there was no way he would ever be able to kill this beautiful, terrifying creature that had somehow managed to squeeze his way through the walls he’d built around his heart. “I’ve only done what I needed to, and if that’s made me a monster, well, I suppose I always was.” Shion reached out a hand then, as if to cradle Nezumi’s cheek, but he pulled back at the last moment. “I’d rather dirty my own hands over and over again than let someone else destroy themselves. I saved you back then, Nezumi, and I don’t regret that. But I would never have been clean because of that, and I would rather tear my soul to pieces to save those innocent lives in the city than let them die, even if it means that you see me as a monster.”

Shoes squeaked on the polished wood floor as Shion turned to the window, looking out over the city that had once been corrupted. Even from several feet away, Nezumi could see the lights illuminating the city square. It was nearly Christmas, a holiday that Shion had brought back to the people that first year in power. He had done so much good for the city, but he’d let himself stain his hands with deeds that Nezumi could never condone and wished he could stop.

“I missed you, you know.”

The whispered words barely made it to Nezumi’s ears, but when they did, what little self-control he had snapped, and his legs buckled, bringing him to the floor. Tears welled up in his eyes as he croaked out, “I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”

A smile tinged with sadness made its way to Shion’s lips, and even only seeing the reflection in the window made Nezumi regret being gone for so long. It wasn’t the first time he had left, but he swore it would be his last. If his absence caused the other man to collapse into himself with such completeness, there was no telling what another prolonged disappearance would cause him to do. He was already a shell of the boy who’d once named his mice in that basement so long ago.

“You never do.”

And his heart broke a little more.

The words hung in the air, an accusation that sounded more tired than angry, and Nezumi stood and silently made his way to Shion, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist and resting his head against his. “There are other ways, you know. You don’t have to resort to blackmail and bribery. What happened to the idealistic boy who would rather tear down walls than let things continue?”

A strained chuckled reached Nezumi, and he tightened his grip to keep Shion grounded. “He tore them down. And that was all he could do. There was no third option after that. Barely even a second. It was either that or let those people run the government like it was before. I’ve tried, Nezumi. I’ve tried so hard to fight them. But sometimes the only way you can win is by using their own tactics against them.”

He leaned back into the chest behind him and rested a hand against the arms that held him. “But I’m tired Nezumi. I’m so, so tired. And if you think it’s best that I die – by either your hand or someone else’s – I don’t think I could argue.”

There was silence between them at Shion’s words, but eventually Nezumi unwound his arms and turned away from him, walking towards the kitchen. “We’ll keep that as a last resort. You don’t seem to believe in a third option anymore, but I do. And I’ll keep believing in it until the day I’m forced to kill you. But that won’t be today.” He stopped for a moment, flashing Shion an unexpected grin over his shoulder. “Besides, we haven’t even had my ‘Welcome Back’ hot chocolate yet. I couldn’t possibly kill you before then.”

Nezumi’s laughter rang through the apartment, and even if he couldn’t see the smile, he could hear as Shion’s low chuckle joined his. Things weren’t perfect, and they never really would be, but it was a start. As long as he hadn’t lost Shion to the corruption of power completely, he would still fight.

“We’re going out today.”

Nezumi’s declaration was met with a blank stare, so he went back to making a breakfast that consisted of more than just coffee. “I’ve decided that I’m going to make you see the city.”

As he set a steaming pile of eggs in front of the other man, Nezumi looked him straight in the eye. “If you’re going to continue along this path of destruction, I’m going to make you understand that your actions have consequences beyond you getting your way.”

“Is this going to turn into some Christmas Carol thing where you teach me that I need to be a better person?”

It wasn’t exactly how he wanted the other man to feel, but he’d take what he could get at that point. So he said nothing and ruffled the white strands as he sat down across from him. “At least you haven’t been slacking on you reading while I was away.”

They finished breakfast quickly, though the amount of food left on Shion’s plate only left Nezumi feeling worried. He knew that man had a small appetite – he survived mainly on coffee, after all – but it was rare that he left food on his plate after living on nearly rotten food in West Block. “What’s wrong? Don’t like my cooking? Or would you rather I make Macbeth soup instead?”

“No, the eggs were fine. And I don’t really feel like having bat today. I just wasn’t hungry.”

“Tch. We’re going to need to fatten you up before you even dream of becoming my wife.” Nezumi picked up Shion’s nearly full plate and danced into the kitchen. “But don’t worry. We’ll have you nice and curvy in time for the wedding. You’ll be the envy of all.”

“When did you even propose? I don’t have a ring, and every self-respecting person knows that a fiancée needs a ring. Besides, we both know who’s more likely to wear a wedding dress, Eve.”

There was some of the snark he’d been missing the night before. Not much, but it was enough to make Nezumi let out a sigh of relief. There was still hope after all, if they could joke about getting married like that. And the fact that Shion had actually responded… It was enough that relief flooded through him.

Soon enough they were dressed, though it had taken a while to convince Shion that he didn’t need to wear a suit – “But I’m a representative leader, Nezumi. I need to look professional.” “You’re just an idiot who likes to feel important.” – and on their way to the city center. It was the easiest place to start since their apartment overlooked the square, and Shion was more or less aware of the good he’d done for the city.

“It’s so different than before. I don’t get out much, since the council always seems to find more paperwork to pile on my desk.” Shion walked across the cobblestone plaza, taking in the twinkling lights displays and the Christmas tree in the center, surrounded by vendors selling everything from handmade crafts to warm apple pies. “But I’m really happy with how it turned out this year.”

A small girl run by them, nearly running into the pair as she was chased by a slightly older boy, both laughing and screeching in joy. “This wouldn’t have been possible before, you know,” Shion began. “The city never wanted anyone to be too happy or too sad. Everyone just needed to be… content.”

“But now they can be happy – live and laugh and love. Kids can be kids, not geniuses bred into government officials. You did this Shion. You made it possible for the citizens of both No.6 and West Block to coexist. And things won’t ever be perfect, but you’ve given them the freedom to be human.”

Shion said nothing in response, but grasped Nezumi’s hand in his and held on as they watched the game of tag turn into a group of kids making snow angels under the tree. There was a lightness to the air that brought a smile to every face and made couples and families walk a little closer together.

Once the coldness started to seep into their gloved fingers and not even the warmth of the other’s hand could keep away the chill, Nezumi pulled Shion away from the festivities and down one of the alleys of what used to be Old Town.

“Where are we going now?”

The roads twisted and turned, and the further away they got from the central square, the colder the air seemed to get. But Nezumi didn’t give him an answer and instead just took him further into the labyrinth Shion had once called home.

Soon they reached a run-down building, the wood warped and in need of a fresh coat of paint, with a sign that read Shelter for the Needy. It had taken Nezumi a while to track Yoming down, and he’d never expected a former resistance member to need to resort to the shelter when he should have still had connections in the city. But I suppose most of them died the day the wall fell.

“He lives here now, doesn’t he?”

The reason they were there didn’t need to be said, so the two looked into the only window that wasn’t broken or taped up in some way and watched the members of a makeshift family have their Christmas Eve celebration.

It was clear that even though the committee funneled some money into the shelter, it was sorely lacking in many areas. Their clothes were threadbare, and no fire warmed the room. The building had never had central heating, as it was a part of Old Town, and many of the residents wore blankets wrapped around their shoulders to stave off the cold. Yoming was sitting at the edge of wood table in the middle of the main room, poking at something that looked like mashed potatoes with a fork.

“He’s Lili’s uncle. The girl who lives next to your mother’s bakery?”

“Yes. I know.” Shion’s answer was clipped, as if he was trying to keep in his emotions. That wasn’t the point of their trip, so Nezumi reached out a hand and unclenched Shion’s fingers.

“Her father worked in the Correctional Facility in the sanitary department. He died the night we broke in.” The clenching of Shion’s jaw and the tightened grip on his hand let Nezumi know that it was new information for Shion. And that made it even harder to continue, but he knew he had to break Shion before he could fix him.

“It’s been years since you forged documents for the first time to get someone of the committee, and Yoming is still here. He hasn’t been able to find another job – even if it was never publicized, things like this get out. Lili’s mother refused to let him near her children, so they grew up without any sort of father figure. It’s not the worst thing in the world, but he was so excited to be an uncle and adored Lili. I know that he is guilty of what you accused him of, but your methods were wrong Shion. You claimed that you didn’t have enough time to gather evidence, but that you knew what was going on. But was that true for everyone Shion? Look at this man, and what your actions have wrought. You didn’t have to kill this man to destroy him. And how many others have you ruined in this way? You can see the good you’ve done for the city, but I think you forget sometimes that your methods leave behind a trail of broken people with nothing left to live for.”

No more words were spoken between them – there was nothing else to say, really – and Nezumi released Shion’s hand to wrap an arm around his shoulder as he turned them around and headed back towards their apartment.

After they stepped inside and the door shut, Shion wrapped his arms around Nezumi and pressed his face into the other man’s back. “Thank you for today, Nezumi. I needed that, and I understand what you were trying say. I’m still not sure if that third option exists, but I’m willing to try finding one.” The words were slightly muffled, but the warmth seeping through his jacket made Shion’s intentions known.

“That’s all I ask. Now,” Nezumi said with a smirk, turning in Shion’s arms to face him, “why don’t we see if Karan’s dropped off her Christmas Eve care package yet.”

There was indeed a basket of baked goods – including their favorite cherry cake – waiting for them in the kitchen, along with a thermos of hot chocolate with a note that read, “Welcome home, Nezumi.”

Long after they’d drained their mugs and curled up on the couch Shion had used as a bed while he was gone – “The bed’s too empty without you. I can’t sleep.” “You never sleep anyway, you workaholic idiot.” – Nezumi stood by the window Shion always left open for him. It was meant as a message that he would always wait for him, no matter what happened to either of them. But it was also an escape route for him, something to let Nezumi know that Shion would always let him go.

“Are you leaving again?”

The sleepy voice called out to him, barely louder than a whisper. “Shion,” Nezumi replied, turning away from the window to face the man rubbing his tired eyes. “Why do you never ask me to stay? You keep this window open regardless of if I’m here or not and never say anything when I leave.”

The red snake stood out more than usual on the man’s pale face as he stared Nezumi. “…I…” He bowed his head, staring at his fingers in his lap and refusing to meet Nezumi’s eyes. “After seeing West Block… after seeing what the city’s become and where it still needs to go, I realized that others need things more than I do. The citizens need a stable, useful government that puts their needs first. You need your freedom.”

Nezumi turned from the window and sat on the couch beside him, bringing the broken man into his arms and resting his cheek on the white hair that had always fascinated him. A hand began stroking Shion’s back in comfort, but he didn’t relax.

“You’ve done everything you could for everyone else, and even if I don’t agree with your methods, you’ve done better than anyone else would have. Do you know why I would rather kill you than let you go on like this?” There was no shake of the head, nothing to let Nezumi know that Shion was even listening to him, but he continued anyway. “I would rather see you dead than watch you destroy yourself. I know you said that you would rather save people and become a monster to me, but at this rate I won’t have to kill you – you’re slowly killing yourself, and if you don’t stop caring so much about others, there won’t be a you left. I love you Shion, and I don’t want you to lose yourself.”

Tired hands grasped Nezumi’s shirt as tears soaked into the threads. Shion wasn’t making any sound, but Nezumi could feel the soft shaking of his frame, and he pulled him in closer, hoping to comfort him in some way. “I’m sorry, Nezumi. I’ll do better. I promise. Just please, please don’t leave me.”

Nezumi said nothing in that moment, wishing that the man he held didn’t care about him so much, that he wasn’t such a large part of his heart, that his absences wouldn’t cause him that pain. But he’d already sworn to himself that he wouldn’t leave again, and after Shion cried himself to sleep, Nezumi carried him to bed and settled him under the covers before going back and closing his window firmly shut, then curling up beside the man he would do anything to save. A ring box wrapped in a ribbon as red as Shion’s snake sat on the nightstand beside him, waiting for its new owner to open it on Christmas day.

[carolunea-matea]

Mistletoe

A/N: Well this is my first time trying out a writing challenge.  And of course, I take on a 12-part challenge. @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and @thing-you-do-with-that-thing are running Kari and Ida’s 12 days of SPN Christmas.  This is day seven. Mistletoe

“I’ll see you tonight at the party?” Jade asked me as we were pulling our coats on, getting ready to leave work.

“I don’t know. I hate going to these things dateless.” I shrugged.

“Oh, come on! It’s going to be fun! Maybe you’ll meet someone!” She wiggled her eyebrows making me laugh.

“Maybe…” I really didn’t have anything else to do.

“Look, Sam’s big brother just moved to town. I’m sure he doesn’t have any plans tonight. Let me text Sam and see if Dean is up for the party tonight. If he is, I’ll tell him to pick you up at your house around 7:30. Worst case scenario, you end up with a new friend and we get to spend more time together!”

“A blind date? Really, J?” she was already texting Sam. I rolled my eyes.

“He’s related to Sam, Carebear! Practically raised him! He can’t be that bad! Sam did graduate from Stanford with honors after all.”

She had a point. Sam was a great guy. This couldn’t be that bad.

“Yes! Dean will be at your place at 7:30! I’m so excited! I ‘ve been wanting to set you two up since Sam told me he was moving here!”

I just shook my head and laughed.

“Well now I have to go get all cute and shit. Thank god this is a dressy casual thing. I don’t think I could handle having to get all decked out tonight. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

We waved good bye as we headed for our cars.

 By the time I got home it was almost 6 o’clock. I jumped in the shower after pulling out my dark skinny jeans, a burgundy sweater, and a dark green top to so underneath.

It was almost 7 by the time I had my hair dried and curled, makeup applied, and was running around my house looking for my knee-high boots. I had finally found them when my doorbell rang.

“Coming!” I yelled as I hopped down my hallway pulling on my left boot. I knocked into the table I dropped my mail and keys on every day.

“Ow! Fuck!” I was still rubbing my hip as I opened the door.

There before me stood an emerald eyed, dark haired, drop dead gorgeous man.

“Hey, you must be Caroline. You ok?” He was smirking obviously having heard my run in with the table.

I laughed, “Yeah, the table just attacked me is all. Nice to meet you. Come in. I still have to get my coat.”

He walked in and shut the door behind him. I led him to the living room and told him to make himself at home.

“So, you and Jade work together at the hospital?” He asked as I dug through the closet looking for my leather jacket.

“Yeah. She’s one of my techs in the main pharmacy. We’ve worked together for, wow for five years now. I actually remember when she met Sam. She was like a school girl! Couldn’t wait to talk about every date they had.” I chuckled at the memory.

“Yeah, Sammy would call me after every date, too. She’d a good woman. She’s good for my brother.”

“Sam’s a great guy. J told me you practically raised him. You did a good job.” I had just pulled on my burgundy hat and match gloves and was buttoning my short leather trench.

“Thanks. Dad was on the road a lot. Mom, she passed when Sammy was six months old. Our Uncle Bobby watched us a lot, but yeah. We pretty much only had each other.”

I grabbed my purse, “Ok, I’m ready.”

“Let’s party!” Dean joked standing up and opening the door for me. He offered me his arm with a goofy grin on his face.

“Why thank you, kind sir!” I teased in a southern belle accent.

We laughed as we walked to his car. My jaw dropped.

“Holy Shit! A 67 Impala? She’s beautiful!” I walked around his car impressed.

“A woman who knows her cars. Nice.”

“Not all cars. But this, this is my dream car.” Dean was opening the passenger side door for me. I got in and rubbed the dash and the seats before pulling on my seat belt.

“This is my Baby. She was my Dad’s. When he passed, I got her.”

Dean had just bought his own mechanic shop. We talked about cars, my job, how cute Sam and Jade were together. All the random first date stuff. We were laughing about our favorite episode of Friends when we pulled up to the bar the Christmas party was at. Sam and Jade were just arriving as well.

“Well look at you two, laughing and getting along,” Sam teased and Dean opened my door for me.

“Hush, Sammy. Respect your elders!” I teased right back.

“Oh God, you’ve already started telling her stories, haven’t you?” Sam glared at Dean while I gave Jade a hug.

“Oh my God! How did I not think about that? Dean, please! You have to!” I gave Sam a hung before spinning around to look at Dean.

“Oh, there are tons of them! We have all night. Let’s get inside and get drinks. I hope there’s pie.” Dean grabbed my hand and led the way into the bar.

My co-workers called out to Jade and me with a chorus of “Merry Christmas”.  We said hello to everyone and I introduced Dean around.

“What’s your drink?” Dean asked in my ear so I could hear him over the noise in the bar. I got chills.

“Captain and Diet and a shot of Patron.”

“Coming up!” Dean and Sam walked to the bar to get the first round of drinks. As soon as they were far enough away, I smacked Jade’s arms.

“Dude! You didn’t warn me about how hot he is!”

She laughed.

“Well what did you expect? He’s related to Sam.”

“Fair point. But, my God, those eyes!” I fanned myself to further my point.

We pulled off our outerwear and hung them on chairs reserved for our party as Dean and Sam walked back with our drinks. We drank to Christmas and family with our shots and settled in to our seats.

“Ok, everyone! We have our food to the left and we’re going to start karaoke in about twenty minutes. Solo, duets, and groups are all welcome! Let’s have some fun tonight!” The head nurse of the hospital’s trauma center, Meaghan, announced.

We all cheered as people started going to sign up.

“Santa Baby?” I asked Jade. It was a sort of tradition for the two of us to perform the song together.

“Absolutely!”

I told them I’d be right back and went to sign us up.

“You guys carrying on tradition?” Stephanie, one of the trauma nurse’s asked.

“Of course!”

“Who is that guy you walked in with? He’s fucking hot!”

“Dean. He’s Sam’s brother and just moved into town. J fixed us up on a blind date tonight,” I explained, taking a large sip of my drink.

“Good luck!” Steph said while nudging me with her shoulder. I laughed as I walked away.

Back at the table, Jade and Sam were smiling widely while Dean shot a dirty look at them.

“Whoa! What did I miss?”

“Oh nothing,” Jade responded, not making it sound like nothing.

I shrugged it off and sat back down.

Two and a half drinks later, Jade and I were called up to do our song.

“Now up, your favorite duet in the pharmacy and at the Christmas party, Caroline and Jade!”

Our group cheered and Sam and Dean threw in a couple cat calls.

Jade and I laughed our way to the stage.

Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree for me Been an awful good girl Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Jade began the song giggling.

Santa baby, a '67 Impala too, dark blue I'll wait up for you, dear Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight

I sang, walking toward Dean, shrugging at the color of the car, shooting him a wink. We were now standing in front of Sam and Dean and pulled them to the stage with us.

Think of all the fun I've missed Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed Next year I could be also good If you'll check off my Christmas list

We alternated the lines. Circling the men while we continued.

Santa baby, I want a yacht and really that's not a lot Been an angel all year Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight

Santa honey one thing I really do need, the deed To a platinum mine Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight

Santa cutie, and fill my stocking with a duplex and checks Sign your 'x' on the line Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Come and trim my Christmas tree With some decorations bought at Tiffany I really do believe in you Let's see if you believe in me

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a ring I don't mean on the phone Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight Hurry down the chimney tonight Hurry, tonight

 When we finished, we turned back to the guys to see Sam down on one knee. My jaw dropped as I turned my face to look at Jade, who had dropped her microphone. I slowly walked to stand next to Dean.

“Jade, we’ve been together for four years. I don’t want to spend anymore time not being your husband. Will you marry me?”

The room had fallen silent. Our co-workers all holding their breath waiting for Jade’s answer.

“Of course, I will,” she replied in a barely audible whisper.

“She said Yes!!” I screamed jumping up and down in excitement, tears streaming down my face.

The room erupted in applause while Sam slipped the ring on Jade’s finger before they kissed.

They were the talk of the rest of the party. Everyone congratulating them and hugging the couple while we were dancing.

Dean and I walked over to the food table and began filling our plates. We were about to head back to our table when I heard Sam yell, “Hey Dean! Look up!”

We both looked up to notice we were standing directly under a mistletoe.

Dean smiled taking both of our plates and putting them on the table. He placed one hand on my hip and the other on the back of my head.

“I’ve been waiting all night to find an excuse to do this,” he whispered against my lips before kissing me.

I could feel myself blushing as I stood on my toes, my hands traveling behind his neck.  His lips parted and kissed me deeper.

It wasn’t until I heard the cat calls from my co-workers that I slowly pulled away blushing bright red.

“I am so glad Jade talked me into coming tonight.” I was grinning ear to ear.

@idk-wtf-is-happening (Merry Christmas, Darling!)

[cudan2]

The Scarf Not Taken

Word Count: 2,035

Summary: Carlisle goes clubbing to get his first taste of the New York nightlife. It doesn’t go quiet as planned.

A/N: Many moons ago, I promised @kellythepitiablefangirl that I’d tell the story of how Carlisle found out he didn’t like clubbing (#6 on my headcanon list). That was Christmas. Of 2016. Woops. Without further ado, here is my terrible writing. (A little Carlisle x Reader because we don’t get enough of that.) Please note that I’ve never actually been to a club and also thanks Kelly for helping me with this!

Masterlist

XXX

“It’ll be fun,” they said. “You’ll like it.”

Oh, how wrong they were.

The night started off with Carlisle standing in his unnecessarily expansive closet. Sounds of crickets chirping and wind blowing through the surrounding New Jersey forests were accompanied by the soft melody of Liszt’s “Liebestraum” coming from speakers in the adjoining bedroom.

Carlisle wore his typical attire: grey slacks, a striped button down, and a knitted pullover – also grey. Of course, no outfit would be complete without a signature scarf he grabbed off from a rack and tied around his neck.

He headed downstairs to meet his family, or just Rosalie and Emmett in this case. Edward and Bella were at Dartmouth and everyone else, including you, happened to be on a two and a half month vacation in Europe.

It was two and a half months too long.

Although Carlisle wished for you to experience the world, he missed the feeling of your body in his arms. He missed seeing your lips purse as you concentrated on something or how you were able to make him feel as though nothing else in the world mattered. He missed you. Despite calling or FaceTiming you nearly every night, it just wasn’t the same.  

Meanwhile, it was one of the several nights Carlisle had off from the hospital – a mandatory break from his boss. With nothing to do, he felt it appropriate to finally experience the modern nightlife near his new home. New York City wasn’t coined “The City that Never Sleeps” for nothing.

However, he wasn’t so sure clubbing was the kind of nightlife he wanted to experience no matter how much Emmett insisted on it. It just didn’t seem like an activity a nearly 380-year-old vampire would be particularly interested in. But then again, he’d been proven wrong before.  

“What are you wearing?” Rosalie exclaimed in horror from the bottom of the staircase the moment Carlisle came into view. He stared curiously at her.

“I was told to dress comfortably.”

“We told you to wear something comfortable. That doesn’t mean you have to look like you’re going to an early-bird special,” Emmett laughed.

“Well technically, I am an old man.”

“But to a human, you are 23. There is no way in hell anyone will let you in dressed like that,” Rosalie scoffed, eying Carlisle’s clothes distastefully. “Alice would keel over if she saw you.”

“She probably did, assuming she wasn’t buying every piece of clothing in Paris. Or y’know, doing the dirty deed with Jazz.” He wiggled his eyebrows before his mate roughly hit his chest. Carlisle’s eyebrows scrunched slightly at Emmett’s crudeness. It was enough to have to live with everyone and their… late night activities. He didn’t need to be reminded of it every other moment.

“Emmett!” She groaned loudly before dragging Carlisle upstairs by the arm. “Argh, you people sometimes! I swear!”

Carlisle walked down the stairs for the second time that night, this time followed by Rosalie. She’d forced him into a barely worn t-shirt, tucked into a pair of dark jeans that were tighter than what he was used to, finally topped off with a blazer. His beloved scarf had been discarded somewhere in his closet. Carlisle hadn’t even left the house yet and he was already feeling out of his element.

Rosalie told him they were using “Uber” to get to the club – something about acting like a normal human. Quite frankly, she had made absolutely no sense to him but he didn’t question her. They knew what they were doing, right?  

Fate just had to prove him wrong though. When Rosalie called for the Uber, Carlisle didn’t expect to see a tiny sedan pull up in front of their house. He also didn’t expect to be forced to sit in the passenger seat, surrounded by the stench of vomit, cigarettes, garbage, and what he suspected was some sort of illegal substance. The driver was shaking and for some asinine reason, no one decided to get out of the car.

“Are you alright?” Carlisle asked.

The driver turned towards him and offered a lopsided, toothy grin. “Awesome, dude!”

Carlisle couldn’t ignore the red eyes and dilated pupils that stared back at him. He stiffened and sent a mental prayer that they wouldn’t get into an accident.

The hour it took to get from the outskirts of Alpine to the Meatpacking District was one of the most uncomfortable experiences he’s ever endured. After a while, Carlisle had resigned to holding his breath in order to stop inhaling in the horrid smells. It was almost as bad as a candle store.

Carlisle sighed. Rosalie and Emmett seemed like they were having fun so far though.  

After paying the driver, the three of them stepped out of the cramped car, and the sedan sped off to endanger someone else’s life.  

The street was bathed in glaring red lights. Sweat and alcohol infiltrated his nose and loud music flowed out from club, assaulting his ears.

They made their way towards the end of a line already wrapped around the block. Both the men and women lining the wall eyed him – some with lust, others with awe or envy. He swore it was the pants that put him on display like that.

Oh, how he wished you could be here tonight with him. At least then he wouldn’t be so inclined to sprint off. With every minute that passed by, Carlisle felt the urge to go home becoming stronger and stronger. Honestly, how those two managed to peer pressure him into clubbing was beyond him. And Carlisle thought he was the one with self-control.

Over an hour and a half had passed by the time they even reached the inside of the club. Carlisle felt the thundering bass reverberate through his chest while the artist spat out words at a rapid fire. Every corner of the club was packed with people either getting drinks or… good god, was that seriously what people considered dancing nowadays?

He felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned around.

“Dance with me!” a girl that barely looked 21 shouted at him. He smelled the alcohol roll off her with every breath she took. Carlisle wildly looked around for Emmett and Rosalie before realizing that he’d been abandoned.

Of course they would leave him.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea…”

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” She then began grinding against him much to his surprise. He tried to step back, but there were just too many people around him to move away far enough.

He didn’t enjoy this at all. How you would react if you found out this happened… he couldn’t even fathom it.

“Hey! Get the fuck away from my girlfriend!” Carlisle felt a hand on his shoulder and took this as a cue to quickly step aside and dodge a fist flying towards him. Another fist came at him but was easily dodged again. He mentally groaned. Why on earth did he agree to come here tonight?

“Please, I believe there was a misunderstanding,” Carlisle said before any bystanders could get hurt.

“I don’t give a shit! Stay away from her if you know what’s good for you,” the boyfriend huffed, realizing he wouldn’t be able to land any hits, and stomped away with the girlfriend.

Carlisle stared after them in bewilderment. He was definitely too old to be dealing with these sorts of things, or that was how he felt in comparison to everyone else in this cramped place.

To avoid that… situation again, he made his way towards the bar where the crowd was thinning. Bad luck seemed to strike once more. Not paying attention to where he was going, Carlisle bumped into another body and what smelled like vodka spilled onto his blazer. Now Alice was going to kill him when she got home.

“You asshole! That was seventeen dollars!” a man seethed at him.

“I’m terribly sorry about that. Perhaps I could buy you another–”

“Just get out of my sight. I can get my own drink.” The man pushed pass Carlisle, muttering more obscenities under his breath.

Carlisle sighed for what seemed like the millionth time tonight. Clubbing really wasn’t meeting any of his expectations, even if those expectations were practically nonexistent to begin with.

The vodka was starting to soak through the blazer. He maneuvered through a sea of people and finally discovered a bathroom in the back. Opening the door, he found the room to be just as filthy as predicted. The dim lights did nothing to hide the revolting grime on the floor, the shattered mirrors, or the peeling paint. He was almost afraid to walk further than the doorframe. He heard a loud moan and looked towards the one stall – a shaking stall. Two pairs of legs could be seen.

Carlisle decided that he had truly entered the first ring of hell itself.

He swiftly turned around, blazer be damned, only to find someone running towards him. He meant to move out of the way, but it was too late. Vomit spilled onto his shoes and formed a puddle where he stood. There was nothing he could do but stand there.

“I’m so sorry about my friend!” a woman came rushing up.

“It’s… fine…” He offered them a strained smile. The woman helped her friend into the bathroom behind him. Carlisle shook the vomit off his shoes, or as much would come off anyway. It was time to go home.  

Skirting around the crowd to avoid being seen, Carlisle ran for the closest exit he could find. The cool air blew across his face as he darted back to New Jersey, sending a quick text to Rosalie and Emmett to let them know that he’d left. Cars and streetlights quickly morphed into blurs of trees. Somewhere along the way, his vomit-covered shoes found home in a dumpster.

He didn’t notice that your scent had filled the house once again when he came home. Too focused on the terrible night he just had, Carlisle hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone until he heard the sound of a page turning from upstairs. He sprinted to the bedroom you both shared and there you were, sitting up in bed with a book in your hands and wearing only your underwear and one of his long-sleeved shirts.

“You’re home,” he breathed out.

You looked up from the book with a smirk playing on your lips. “I am.”

In less than a second, you were in his arms. He twirled you around the room, kissing you as though it’d been years since you last saw each other. Neither of you could contain the laughter that permeated through the air when he put you down. His hands cupped you cheeks, golden eyes gazing down at the face he’s thought about for so long. Nothing else mattered now that you were home.

“You have no idea how much I have missed you, my darling. Why are you here? I thought you weren’t supposed to be home for another two weeks. Where is everyone else?” Carlisle continued his questions until you shushed him with another lingering kiss. His hands slowly moved down to your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Carlisle!” you giggled, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Calm down, Alice just thought you could use some cheering up after the night you’ve had. I cannot believe you of all people went clubbing.”

A wry expression formed on his face. “I didn’t particularly care for it.”

Another laugh escaped from you. “Of course you didn’t. Clubbing isn’t fun when you’re incapable of getting drunk.” Oh. Carlisle mentally reminded himself to confront Emmett and Rosalie about that later.

“Alice should’ve sent you sooner. It would have spared me from that awful experience.” His forehead came to rest on yours, but you nudged him back.

“Okay, as much as I love you and would love to spend the rest of eternity like this, please go take a shower,” you pushed him towards the bathroom. “You smell disgusting.”

“My apologies, darling. Perhaps you could join me?” Carlisle offered, grinning.

“Maybe when you stop smelling like a bad college memory.”      

[roxy-davenport]

Crowley, The King of Hell Stories

My Complete and utter Crowley masterlist filled with juicy stories, series, imagines, the works. All under the cut so I don’t clog anyone’s dash. Enjoy my Crowley girls. More Crowley coming soon. Mwah.

Season Finale Rewrite

The Real Season Finale-12x 23 Redux

Oneshot

Crowley x Reader

One More Fight (Neither fluff nor Angsty, evil reader, saving Crowley)

The Power of a Hug (Fluff and action scene)

Do You Feel the Same (Fluff)

Every Rose Has Its Thorn (Angst, fluffy ending)

Crowley’s Favorite Things (Fluff)

My Eyes! (Fluff, sass, humor)

Bad Luck on Christmas (Fluff)

I Should Want Them Dead (Crowley’s angry POV)

Damn Phones (Awkwardness, flirty undertones, sexy, daddy kink referenced.)

Naughty or Nice (sex references, sex with a vibrator, Daddy!kink, fluff)

All I Want (Fluff)

For the Love of Horror (smutty, fluff, action)

The First Queen of Hell (Fluff, wish-fulfillment)

Tired of Dreaming (FLUFF)

Fatherhood Changes A Man: Tickle Me Elmo (FLUFF)

Doubtful (Light smut and witty repartee)

Your True Mate (Alpha!Crowley x Omega!reader, A/B/O, SMUT, fluff)

The Curious Case of Sam Winchester (slight angsty, fluff, scary)

To the Bride and Groom (fluffy, smutty, coitus interruptus)

Blank Card (dysfunctional love with a fluffy ending)

Date Night (Very fluffy, violence, a demon dies)

Juliet (Dark with a Fluffy Ending)

The Starbucks Cup (Fluff-ish)

Dirty Deeds (SMUT, fluff)

Better Now ( Angsty with hopeful ending)

Oh, What a Night (Fluff, Sexy, no smut)

Bringing Up Juliet (Fluff, slight violence, lots of snark)

What Lies Beneath (SMUT, fluff, slightly funny)

Papa Don’t Preach (Angsty-ish and fluffy)

Over to Grandmother’s House We Go (Trippy, Weird, Fluffy)

Hello Love (Fluff)

Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time (Fluff)

Meet and Greet (Fluff)

Halloween Hijinks (Fluff)

The Story of Us (Fluff and sass, writer-insert :D)

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night (Angsty and fluffy)

Baby Talk Pt 1 (hard to classify, maybe fluff?)

Not a Monster (angsty)

Daddy Dearest (Angst)

Don’t Tease Me, Pet (Smut, Fluff)

Carefree Confessions  (Fluff)

Happy Anniversary, Pet (Fluff, romance, slight smut)

An Alpha’s Call (SMUT, A/B/O verse)

Echo Home (Panic attacks, negative thoughts, fluff)

Bitter Fruit (a bit angsty)

The Game of Love (fluff, humor)

Pet (hard to classify, angst? fluff?)

Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree (sexy but no smut, fluffy)

Happy New Year ( smut referenced, sexy aesthetic, FLUFF)

I’m a Believer (sex vaguely referenced, FLUFF)

The Gift Giving Ability of Demons (humor, the presents are a bit on the sexual side, and jealousy.)

Let It Snow (Smut referenced, FLUFF)

Santa Baby (Fluff, smuty with no actual smut)

First Impressions (Fluff and light smut)

Sex, Lies and Horror Films (FLUFF)

Dangerous Woman (SMUT)

One Bad Apple  (FLUFF)

You Got Me Good (FLUFF, funny)

Bloodlust   Part 1    Part 2  (SMUT)    Vampire AU

Needful Things  (sexy but no smut, Fluff)

Submit To Me (SMUT, sub!Crowley, Dom!reader)

Home  (Angst and fluff)

Cool If I Come Over (SMUT and FLUFF)

Habits (SMUT)

I’m Surrounded By Bloody Morons (no smut,fluff and angst)

Good Things Come in Small Packages ( a little smut and a whole lot of FLUFF)

Be Quiet, Pet  (SMUT)

Definitions (SMUT)

Happy Endings (SMUT)

Happy New Years (FLUFF)

Happy Valentine’s Day

Heart of a Dog (NSFW)

Fine, I Like You. Now What?  (ANGST, FLUFF)

Accidental Visit (ANGST, sexy but no smut)

Let’s Play a Little Halloween Game (I only posted this on Ao3) SADISM Beware!

Nothing Good Happens After 2am  (FLUFF)- it will be a series and there will be smut in the later chapters

Crowley x Castiel (Crowstiel)

The King of Hell and an Angel Walk Into a Bar

Drop by Drop (DARK, Serial Killer AU)

Visions of You and I (Fluff, light smut and angst)

You’re Mine Now, Feathers (Smut references but no smut)

Crowley x Roxy (My OC)

Happy Holidays Crowley (smut, fluff, dark, cannon violence, kick-ass character)

Drabbles

Doubtful (Light smut and witty repartee)

Untilted (Sexy smut aesthetic)

Series

When You Least Expect It (Complete)

Series Masterlist (Fluff, injured!reader, SMUT, soulmate!Crowley, Dom!Crowley)

           Hot Times In Hell (SMUT KINKY SEX SERIES...ongoing)

The One With the Princess Leia Fantasy -Chapter 1 (SMUT, consensual abduction, rough sex, copious Star Wars references)

Leather and Domination - Chapter 2 (SMUT) (Dom!Reader, Sub!Crowley, Reader is Crowley’s Dominatrix for the night)

In the Name of the Father- Chapter 3  (PRIEST!KINK, SMUT)

        School Hard

Part 1  Part 2 (SMUT)

Aesthetic

Untitlted

Untilted 2

A Happy Ending (Fluff so much fluff)

The King’s Meeting

For the Love of Kink (NSFW)

Sexy Crowley Aesthetic (NSFW)

Imagines

Imagine Crowley Visiting You in Your Dreams

Imagine Crowley Sexting You in Front of the Winchesters

Imagine Crowley Teleporting Your Daughter’s Bullies to Hell

Imagine Crowley Teasing You in a Meeting in Hell

Imagine Finding Out About Crowley’s Blood Addiction

Imagine His Demons Disobeying His Orders and Harming You on a Hunt

Imagine Being in a Dom/Sub Relationship With Crowley

Imagine Going on a Date with Crowley

Imagine Crowley Suggesting Adding Cas to the Relationship

Daddy’s Home and He Knows You’ve Been Naughty

Imagine Your Four-Year-Old Redecorating Hell with Her Crayons--FIC COMING SOON

Imagine the King of Hell Interrupting His Meeting to Take a Call From You

Imagine Crowley Tying You up During Business Hours in Hell

Imagine that the Princess of Hell is a Complete Girly Girl

Imagine Crowley Edging You For Hours While He Conducts His Court

Imagine Seducing Crowley Away From His Duties in Hell

Imagine Crowley Punishing You Because You Came Without Permission

Imagine Having Phone Sex With Crowley

Imagine Sauntering into Hell Wearing Your Favorite Lingerie to Cheer Up Your King

Imagine Crowley Keeping an Eye on You on Your Hunt by Pretending to be a Waiter

Imagine Crowley Being Furious With His Demons Because They Can’t Keep You Safe

Imagine Going Out to Dinner With the Winchesters to Celebrate and Crowley Giving You This Look as He Plays With Your Clit Under The Table ---FIC COMING SOON

Imagine Crowley Fucking You On the Kitchen Counter When You Start to Make Breakfast

Imagine Lying On Crowley’s Bed Waiting For Him to Come Home

Imagine Crowley Walking Into the Bunker to See the Boys Only to Find You In a Compromising Position

Imagine a Passionate Rough Night of Sex With Crowley

Imagine Defying Your Dom, Crowley

Imagine Slow Sensual Loving Sex With Crowley

Imagine a Wonderfully Kinky Night With Crowley

Imagine Being Tied to the Bed and Crowley Walking Around You With This Look in His Eyes

Imagine Crowley Being Your Daddy Dom

Imagine Being Crowley’s Dominatrix

Imagine Crowley, Your Dom, Telling Dean How to Touch You While Crowley Watches

Imagine Telling Crowley You Love him And Are Kinky AF

Imagine Teasing Crowley Until He’s Begging For You

Imagine that Crowley is Your Dom

Imagine Crowley Coming Home To Find You Naked On His Bed

Imagine Giving Crowley a Slow, Sensual Striptease

Preferences

TV Shows

[thegreatnyehehe]

A Winter Veil Carol: Part 3

Well, children, now that this old fuddy-duddy has seen his past, and perhaps the error of his wicked ways, he’ll turn over a new leaf! Our hero- er… villain…? Oh, whatever he is, that next spirit is sure to rear his face any moment! Aren’t you excited, children? …

No? Really? Oh, well, I’m invested somewhat, at least! Now, let’s see how this “The Great Nyehehe” fellow is doing, shall we? 

After a few moments after the second bell had rung, The Great Nyehehe was still in a fetal position, his eyes shut tight but still freshly wet. Muttering and grumbling to himself of stupid spirits and that dratted Winter Veil, perfectly content to do so for the rest of eternity, he was interrupted by a booming roar of laughter and the phrase “Come up, and know meh betteh, lad!”

Begrudgingly opening his eyes, he looked around and saw that he was no longer in his old home in Brill, but in a warm inn of Elwynn architectural style boasting a magnificent feast. Pumpkin pie, roast Pig, Pandaria dumplings, all manners of soups and salads, various fruits, some glazed bread, kegs full of beer and ale, wine and bourbon, and countless other delectable delights surrounded him. Unfortunately, The Great Nyehehe despised most mortal food, finding it to be beneath him and allegedly favored mortal souls and ‘the blood of his enemies’, and took only a passing glance at it, for he was more distracted by the hulking figure sitting infront of him: the most gigantic dwarf he had ever seen.

 Despite his imposing stature, his bushy beard, well-meaning face, and slight pudginess would lesson his intimidation somewhat for most people, but The Great Nyehehe only found his jolly features infuriating and thoroughly suspicious. Even sitting down, he had to tilt his head up just to see the spirit’s jolly face.

“Come, and know meh bettah, lad!” boomed the gigantic dwarf, “Look upon meh! Yeh’ve nevah seen the likes ‘o me b’fore! Har har!”

“The Great Nyehehe never has before, and he would have preferred for it to have stayed that way!! Bah!!” barked the old fool.

“Yer complaint is noted, but I, the Spirit ‘o Winteh Veil Present-”

“Present?” interrupted Nyeh rudely, “Is The Great Nyehehe getting some gumptious gift for all this afterall? He better be, lest this all be merely a wiley waste of time!! Bah!!”

“Yer only reward will be yer redemption, yeh fool! Now lemme speak!”

“Redemption!?! That’s The Great Nyehehe’s present!?! Bah!!” he moaned.

“Shush! I’ll be showin’ yeh Azeroth durin’ Winter Veil, how it changes each frown teh a smile and each enemy a brothah! ‘S a wondehful time ‘o year, truleh!”

“The Great Nyehehe knows very well of what Winter Veil does to mortals!! How this foolishly feel-good season melts every villain’s heart of ice, how it forces even the most foul of fiends to give generously and be merry!! How he loathes it so!!”

“Yeh, well, we’ll see how yeh changed by the end ‘o it anyway! Come, grab me robe! Know meh bettah, lad!” firmly demanded the spirit.

“The Great Nyehehe definitely shan’t.” protested Nyeh, muttering.

“Do et, you miserly moron!“ the spirit roared. Knowing that he’d have to get this half-witted haunting over with, he muttered something under his breath bitterly as he held onto the spirit’s robe. There were no more bright flashes or nauseating feelings, for the spirit simply snapped his fingers, and they were elsewhere.

Nyeh blinked, and in a moment they were in a down-trodden, dirty ghetto, its grey smoke filling the air, industrial wonders, and the occasional sound of an explosion clearly defined it as a goblin neighborhood. Though the house beside them was rather shabby, and seemed prone to falling over at any moment, it was, in the least, decently-well decorated for the Winter Veil season. 

“What is this place, spirit?” inquired Nyeh, thoroughly befuddled.

“This is the home ‘o yer most hard workin’ but pooe’rest accountant, Bozo Cratchcrank! Surely yew’ve visited b’fore?” the spirit boomed.

“Accountant? The Great Nyehehe employs no accountants in his wicked works of dastardly deeds!! Obviously!!”

“Yew employ hundreds ‘o em! How do yeh suppose all tha’ moolah yer Bilgewater Cartel makes is handled, Gallywix?”

“Gallywix?”

“Ach! I forgot! Yer not Jastor Gallywix, roite? Consarn et! I had all these scenes set up fer ‘em, too! Ach… what’d they say yer name was? ‘The Good Nyohoho’, roite?”

“That’s The Great Nyehehe to you, you bearded buffoon!! Bah!!”

“Roite, well, the Cratchcranks are some ‘o the kindest, sweetest, and sappiest folks ‘round, so they should at least show yeh somethin’ ‘o compassion!”

“The Great Nyehehe severely doubts that.”

A goblin in a rather shabby suit came walking down the lane, his son limping beside him, relying on his cane. The spirit smiled at their upcoming presence, “Ah, there’s Bozo an’ his boy, Tiny Tib, now!”

“Oh, papa! I can’t wait for the Winter Veil oatmeal!” chirped Tiny Tib optimistically.

“I’m sure your mother’s cooking it now, son! Now, let me just get my keys…” said Bozo as he rummaged through his mostly empty pockets for his keys.

“Mama!” piped up one of the Cratchcrank daughters, whom were so identical and so trivial plot-wise that, for these reasons, shall remain nameless. “When is daddy and Tiny Tib getting home?” the other shrugged.

“Your father and Tiny Tib are probably still out at church. Sister Goldskimmer oughtta be giving a rousing sermon on selflessness and generosity. Nevermind that I saw her swipe some of the moolah donated to help out that portion of Kezan that’s still on fire from that blasted black dragon from years ago! Now, you girls watch your manners for Winter Veil, and stay patient!” nagged Ms. Cratchcrank.

There was a clanking sound, and the copper door swung open with a screech. Out strolled in Bozo and Tiny Tib cheerily.

The phrase “Merry Winter Veil!” and various hugs and kisses were exchanged throughout the family, all very delighted to see eachother. 

“Merry Christmas, dear! How wa Tiny Tib at the Sermon?” inquired Ms. Cratchcrank as she pecked her husband on the cheek.

“Oh, as good as moolah and better!I’m so glad now that I’m with you all!” laughed Bozo, “As long as we can all celebrate Winter Veil together, I’m perfectly content with the life I’ve been gifted. Merry Winter Veil, honey.”

“Mama, Papa, is the Winter Veil Oatmeal ready yet?” asked Tiny Tib preciously.

“Oh, so it is!” snickered Ms. Cratchcrank, “Let’s eat!”

“The Great Nyehehe understands not… why are they all so loving and happy, almost irritatingly so, when they have so little? They seem so pleased with themselves, but they don’t seem to have even a single dastardly deed among them!! The Great Nyehehe sincerely doubts if they’ve ever even schemed up any evil plots to conquer the world!! How could they possibly be happy, spirit?” inquired Nyeh, hopelessly confused.

“Har har! Yeh truly got lots ‘o learnin’ ahead ‘o yeh! Yeh don’t need things like moneh or… the world, in yer case, teh be happeh!” roared the spirit in laughter.

“Such delicious oatmeal this ought to be!” squealed one of the Cratchcrank girls, the other cheering in agreement, as the family of five sat down to dine.

“Wait a second…” paused Ms. Cratchcrank, peering up and down the tabel searchingly, “Where’s the special Winter Veil cinnamon and sugar? Bozo?” Her expression of surprise turned to slight bitterness. “Did you forget to buy it?” she nagged.

“Oh, I forgot, we couldn’t afford it this year, I’m afraid.  As Mr. Gallywix hasn’t had the time to pay me any Winter Veil bonuses for tasty spices or for our dear Tiny Tib’s medicine he so dearly needs.” apologized Bozo with a shrug and a sigh.

“That’s alright, Papa! We don’t need things to have a wonderful Winter Veil as long as we have eachother!” piped up Tiny Tib, sounding slightly hoarse.

“Oh, such a smart boy! He’s right, kids. If only that slob of an employer of yours could just pay you adequately for all the work you do, Bozo.” sighed Ms. Cratchcrank.

“Oh, don’t say that, dear! Mr. Gallywix is a fine and upstanding goblin! He does all he can for me, I’m sure. If not for him, we wouldn’t be having any of this at all! Mr. Gallywix is the founder of the feast, after all!” protested Bozo, 

“Oh, I suppose you’re right. Sorry, dear.” sighed Ms. Cratchcrank with a soft smile, “Merry Winter Veil, all!” Another round of “Merry Winter Veils!” were lovingly exchanged by all at the dinner table. 

“Merry Winter Veil, everyone!” hooted Tiny Tib quotably, before he keeled over, erupting into a fit of harsh coughing and slight spasms. 

“Tiny Tib!” shrieked Mrs. Cratchcrank as she and Bozo jumped up from their chairs to aid him.

“There there, son. Just go and sit on your stool by the Winter Veil tree and your sickness will calm down. There there…” murmured a very distressed Bozo as he and his wife helped him walk to his stool, “Just got a bit too excited was all…”

“Nyeh? The goblin child is sick?” asked a befuddled Nyeh as Tiny Tib coughed into his hand repeatedly. 

“Yep, ‘fraid teh say. The quack doctor ‘round here says it’s some weakeh form ‘o tha’ Corrupted Blood sickness from years ago. Has teh have a cane just teh get ‘round.” the spirit explained grimly.

“Oh… Nothing could be done for the boy…?”

“Nah, I can’t meself. The medicene’s awfully hard teh get, yeh know.“ sighed the spirit, depressed that even he could not help the poor child.

“Tell The Great Nyehehe this, spirit,” Nyeh stammered out sorrowfully, “Will the boy live?”

“I see a vacant seat ‘a tha’ table, and a crutch withou’ an owneh, carefulleh preserved. If these shadows remain unalteh’d by the future, the child will die.” 

“Nyet!! Nyet!! That can’t be so, The Great Nyehehe shan’t allow it!!’ shouted Nyeh fiercely.

“His fate is not yours teh decide. Come, you have seen enough for now.” 

“The Great Nyehehe desires to stay!! Why can’t he celebrate with these Cratchcranks!?!” barked Nyeh, stomping the ground childishly.

“Touch my robe, you old fool!” demanded the spirit, his voice booming loudly.

 After a long bit of mumbling and muttering, and a sad look to the Cratchcranks, The Great Nyehehe gave in and held the tip of the spirit’s robe with two fingers. He blinked, and suddenly he was no longer prying through the Cratchcrank’s window, seeing them comforting poor Tiny Tib or nibbling at their tasteless oatmeal, but instead the polished marble hall of the famed Stormwind Cathedral, decoratively scarcely for Winter Veil.

“Oh, drat!! Not this place!! The Great Nyehehe loathes the church!! He despises the Light!!” groaned Nyeh as he recognized his surroundings.

“And why would tha’ be? The Church ‘o Stormwind is a mighty fine place full ‘o great people! They fund orphanages an’ food drives fer the needy people ‘o Westfall, they aid in the recovereh ‘o the sick an’ the wounded, an’ their many courageous and devot’d paladins and priests have been combattin’ the forces ‘o evil fer generations! And the Light drives ‘em all to do so! What could yeh possibly hate ‘bout it?” asked the spirit earnestly.

“All those reasons, of course, but most importantly because these moronic mortals worship something other than The Great Nyehehe!! Why would they do that when The Great Nyehehe is right there!?! Bah!!”

“Er… Roite… Well, look up there, lad. See them folks on the benches?”

“Hmm? Oh, nyes, unfortunately. The Great Nyehehe sees them, and he seems that dratted Draenei who invited him to some stupid sermon!! Bah!!”

“Spot on, lad! Lets listen in, aye?” insisted the spirit with a snap of his fingers. With that, Nyeh could hear the worsshippers sitting on their benches perfectly fine, despite being quite a ways away. The Great Nyehehe didn’t care for whatever sort of mortal trickery or magick this was, put he held his tongue.

“Such a shame that Nai-hee-hee could not make it to the sermon! He would have loved being here, no?” sighed the Draenei to his fellow vindicator.

“I sincerely doubt that, exactly, but you are well aware of how he is. I don’t believe him to be a very religious man.” she replied with a shrug. 

“It is not just that, you know, he does not seem to want to be merry at all during Winter Veil! He can be most standoffish, especially during Winter Veil. It is most sad.”

“He doesn’t seem to want to be merry any other time of year either.” she scoffed, “I have no pity for him.”

“Oh, but I do, friend! He believes goodness and Winter Veil to be so unlikable!”  the Draenei lamented, “And who suffers from this? Not those he curses at on the street for their mere greeting of him with “Merry Winter Veil!” Not us! No, friend, he suffers all the pleasant moments that we share during this season, and all others! I give him the chance for friendship, and each time he refuses.” 

“Oh, oh! Bishop Farthing is starting his sermon on the Light’s Love is starting!”

“*Ahem*” coughed Farthing into his fist, “Alrighty, guys, sorry to be so late! Had to go talk things over with some shadow priests at- er… I mean regular, Light-wielding priests. On to the sermon! During this busy Winter Veil season, let’s remember and give thanks to the Light! Do not turn from the Light’s embrace, do not shun its teachings like me, lest- er… I meant like the traitor Archbishop Benedictus! Yes, so be merry and joyous, but remember the Light and all we’ve sacrificed to use it to wield off the Legion! Alrighty, I’m done! I’ve got to run to Tirisfal Glades for something divine and unsuspicious!  Merry Winter Veil, all! “

And with that, the Bishop rushed off the podium, an inconspicuous, loose, shadowy tentacle dropping out of his pocket as he ran down the Cathedral stairs.

“What a most wonderful speech, no?” chuckled the Draenei.

“Yes, very moving.” she agreed.

“If oly Nai-hee-hee could have been here. Come then, friend! Here’s to Nai-hee-hee!” boomed the Draenei as he raised his fist in the air, cheering.

“To Nyehehe!” half-heartedly cheered his Vindicator companion and a very confused group of nearby clergymen. 

“Nyeh-heh-heh?” asked the befuddled Draenei vindicator, so used to his pronunciation due to his dialect, “Oh, nevermind! Come come, friends! Let us go prepare for the Winter Veil gifts for the Orphanage, yes?” And with that, the clergymen and crusaders swarmed into a side room to wrap and box the presents, chatting and chuckling cheerily on the way.

“Well? What do yeh think yeh learned ‘o that, lad?” asked the spirit as he nudged Nyeh’s side.

“The Great Nyehehe learned that that very familiar-looking buffoon of a bishop is absolutely awful at orating even the simplest of speeches. Bah.” Nyeh grunted.

“Well, I won’t say yer wrong, but the real thing teh note was tha’ folks care about yeh! They even like yeh once in a while, despite all yer horribleness and yer bad attitude!” 

“Oh…?” mumbled Nyeh bewilderedly, actually taking half a moment to rethink his actions and the feelings of others before the spirit’s booming voice halted that train of thought.

 “Well, ‘least yer thinkin’ a bit! Har har! Alrighteh, thas’ enough ‘o tha’, I guess. Come on, hold on teh me robe!” chuckled the spirit.

After one last glance to the halls of the Cathedral Church, Nyeh shrugged and held onto the spirit’s robe, firmly this time. In a blink of the eye, he was elsewhere. When he opened his eyes, the air was denser, the climate warmer, and much, much louder. Ironforge’s commons lied infront of him, all spurced up for Winter Veil. Goblins were peddling their wares beside a grand Winter Veil tree and a crowd of rosy-cheeked children of all races and their impatient parents were waiting eagerly to sit on Father Winter’s lap.

Rather than some young young dwarven boy or girl sitting upon Father Winter’s lap, however, was a hulking, bulking behemoth of a humanoid, a particularly chunky ogre. It blubbered out in a childish undercommon “Gorkrod wants a pony, and a footbomb, and a Gnomish radio, and a signed Elite Tauren Chieftains™ poster, and a dinosaur plush, and a Delxuse Hearhstone Board: Special Edition set, and a new motorbike, and a pirate ship all for myself, and a bongo set, and twenty cases of Kaja’Cola, and new battlegrounds, and…”

“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!”

The Father Winter howled, “I’ll get yeh anythin’ yeh want, just git off meh legs!! Me bones are breakin’ under the pressure!!” 

“This… er… wasn’t what I thought was gonna be goin’ on here, lad. Was gonna show yeh how magical a time ‘o year Winter Veil is for people, ‘specialleh the kiddos. Father Winter here was ‘sposed to be part of it, but tha’ ain’t happenin’.” the spirit muttered nervously.

“Nyet, nyet… The Great Nyehehe understands it. There’s no need to speak falsehoods. The Ogre is symbolic of even the least educated of Azeroth’s denizens understands the importance and the true goodness of Winter Veil. It’s a beautiful scene, nyet?” spoke Nyeh.

“Er… Right! Yer completely right! Har har!” laughed the spirit, trying his best to seem like that was the plan all along. “Now, we’ve got one last stop teh go. Touch my robe once more, and know me bettah, lad!”

The Great Nyehehe, almost unwontedly civil, held the spirit’s robe one last time. He blinked, and his surroundings were colder, darker, but more familiar. The Stormwind graveyard was chilly that night, a half-moon far above their heads, but the brick pavement was splattered with some of autumn’s last fallen leaves and was in need of raking. 

The Great Nyehehe turned and looked up at the spirit, though he didn’t need to tilt his head nearly as high to see his face as before, taking a moment for studying his wrinkles, grayed hair, and lack of hair upon the top of his head, a feature they now both shared. The spirit looked back into his eyes sadly.

“Thought this would be an easy place to drop you off, so close to home and all.” the spirit explained hoarsely.

“Spirit… You look so old.” Nyeh spoke caustiously.

“Aye, I live a very short life indeed, I’m afraid. I must look five hundred years ol’ by now! Har har!” the spirit laughed, until that once vigorous laughter turned to a harsh cough, “The Present only takes place on the one day of the year, now don’t it?”

“What will happen to you tommorow, then?”

“I shan’t have a tommorow! I believe my time on Azeroth ends at the strike of three. Say, do yeh happen to have the time?”

The bell rang once, heard clearly from the top of the nearby Cathedral..

“Nyet!! Don’t go, spirit!! The Great Nyehehe has learned so much from you!!” 

The bell rang twice, and the spirit’s form began to fade.

“And now, lad, I leave you with the Spirit ‘o Winter Veil Yet to Come… Go forth, and know him bettah, lad!”

“Spirit!!” the old fool shrieked.

The bell rang thrice now, and the spirit looked divinely peaceful, closing his tired eyes, as he faded to the wind.

And then, he was alone, sobbing and sniveling by himself in the graveyard.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Noble Lines, Chapter 15

*Secret Santa swings across the Atlantic and drops a present down your chimney* IT’S CHRISTMAS WHERE YOU LIVE. GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!

Merry Christmas @septhi-draw​!

Chapters 1-14

It’s a fortnight’s travel from Wistal to Seiran, provided there are no complications. And fortunately, there is not. Oak gives way to pines, frost to thickening snow. At every village and inn they take shelter at, the manners shift. The polite deference in the South shifts to overly friendly welcomes the further north they go. The food becomes thicker. The beds, harder.

It feels – almost – like he’s heading home.

When the tree line ends, giving way to a flat blanket of rolling white, they stop, breathing in a great inhale of icy air.

“Finally,” Zen sighs, rolling his neck. “I don’t think I want to see a horse for at least a week.”

“Is that Seiran Castle?” Mitsuhide inquires with a tilt of the head. Surely, it was a greater house than he would ever have, but it seemed… not enough. “I would have thought such an old name would be housed in a more—”

“Ostentatious setting?” Zen supplies, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “Seiran didn’t become the oldest name in the kingdom by showing off.”

Mitsuhide blinks at him.

Zen smiles sadly, tapping the side of his horse to urge them both towards the conclusion of this journey. “I heard the household went under great hardship for the sake of my family after my father’s death. If it weren’t for this… humble presentation, I doubt it would still be standing.”

Mitsuhide looks up at the towering gray stone and spires. “Is that why Lady Kiki is the only Clariness noble still listed as a potential future wife?”

Zen hums. “Perhaps,” he admits after a time. “But thankfully, Kiki wants nothing of it. We’re just a way to keep marriage meetings to a minimum anymore.”

Mitsuhide glances at the Prince, concerned.

“Can you have the horses stabled when we arrive?” Zen asks with a smile that does not meet his eyes. “I would like to speak with Lord Seiran in private for a moment.”

Mitsuhide’s concern only intensifies. “Of course.”

~ ~ ~

The stables are heated here, burners bright at every corner and his face flushes at the sudden rush of warmth from the second he passes through their doors.

“Ahhhh,” he sighs, kicking the ice off of his boots as he looks around for a groom.

A blonde head pops out from one of the stables, a deep frown worrying their brow, and Mitsuhide smiles.

“Squire!” he calls in greeting, dusting the snow off of his hair. “Can you take our horses?”

Large eyes round in surprise and Mitsuhide laughs when the boys mouth doesn’t seem to know how to answer the question. He leans in, looking around them conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone else,” he whispers dramatically. “But the lipizzan is the Second Prince’s favorite mount. I’m trusting you with a very important mission in taking care of him.”

“Um.”

“The thoroughbred is mine,” he continues brightly, sitting up straight and patting the flank of his own horse. “She starts easy, but she’s a good horse. They’ve come a long way. Just make sure they don’t drink too much cold water and get them dry. And if you could give them some extra grain that would be nice, too.”

The boy pinks at the cheek when he hands him their reigns. “Um. Sure?”

Mitsuhide brings his hand down on his head, ruffling his hair, and is charmed at the way he ducks his head, pinking more. He remembers how it was at that age. Every new knight that came across his path was a joy.

“We’ll be here for a while,” he informs him cheerily. “Maybe you and I can spare some time in the training yard, providing the Lord can spare you. It’s important business that you do here, after all. Must keep you busy. But I’ll be sure to pass your good deeds on to the Lord of the House.”

“…Great.”

~ ~ ~

In some respect, the out of doors is reflective of the inside of the Seiran manor. In others, it most certainly does not.

The butler leads him through the great doors into the main hall, a cavernous thing which echoes every footstep that clicks against its marbled floors. It has all the refinement of Wistal with its towering paintings documenting Seiran’s heritage and fine sculptures that were certainly more difficult to safely carry over the mountains, but it is as if the forest itself has been brought in from the cold. Bright banners of holly red line the paneled walls and wreaths of evergreens fill the space in between. Trees laden with baubles and fresh candles fill every corner and, ah- even the ceiling has not been spared foliage and décor.

“Lord Seiran,” Zen announces and Mitsuhide’s jaw snaps shut, eyes quickly dragging from the glass dangling from the ceiling like icicles. “This is my retainer, Mitsuhide Roeun.”

Seiran appraises him with a cool once over. “Very good,” he nods. “You’ll have to forgive my daughter for not being here to greet you. She went out riding this morning, but she should be back in time for dinner.”

“I look forward to meeting her, Lord Seiran.”

Zen smiles, appeased. “And Obi?”

Seiran’s face tenses around the eyes. “Unfortunately, he is still taking his meals abed. It will be a while still before he can join us at the main table.”

“Can I see him?” Zen asks gently.

“Of course, Your Highness. Please,” he gestures, “follow me.”

~ ~ ~

They’ve just reached the fourth door on the third floor when Lord Seiran pauses, hand held over the doorknob.

“I must tell you,” he says grimly, his head bowed. “That while my description of Obi’s injuries were brief, they were not understated. He is still very weak.”

Zen takes a deep breath. “I understand.

The door opens from the inside, swinging open to reveal a tiny, but round, woman with fly away gray curls.

“Oh, Your Lordship!” she frets, shifting a bowl filled with bloody cloth to the side. “All of my apologies. I just finished changing his bandages.”

Seiran grimaces. “It’s quite alright.”

His eyes fixate on the bowl as she bobs. It must have been a deep wound to still be seeping enough to leave traces like that.

“Pardon,” she says, slipping past them.

Zen’s eyes follow her, and he looks as pale as his hair. “Is that the infamous Cookie Kiki and Obi speak so highly of?” he asks weakly.

Lord Seiran’s smile is faint but present. “It is. She’s seen three generations of Seirans well fed.” He gives Zen a meaningful look. “With any luck, she’ll see a fourth.”

The blood rushes back to Zen’s face in a flush and he muses his already unruly hair. “Ah…” His eye flash, panicked to Mitsuhide before forcing a grin. “I shouldn’t keep Obi waiting. Come on, Mitsuhide. Let me introduce you to my future messenger.”

“O- oh!” Mitsuhide stutters, dragged through the half opened door. “Of course!”

Mitsuhide thinks he catches a sparkle of humor in Seiran’s eyes as they sweep past him.

~ ~ ~

The first impression of the boy Zen had not stopped talking about since the first day they met is that he is lucky to be alive.

The boy laid out beneath the blankets is all lank, sweaty and sickly pale beneath a skin tone not native to Clariness soil. From the look of him, by all rights he should be unconscious, but he is panting, floundering under the weight of his covers, hands braced against the mattress as he struggles to push himself up to sitting.

“Your-”

“Obi,” Zen crosses the room quickly, placing a staying hand on his shoulder. “Don’t get up.”

Strange, cat like eyes stare up at Zen and he reluctantly lowers himself back down to the pillow. “Your Highness,” he greets, his eyes folding shut in embarrassment.

“None of that,” Zen says, pulling up a chair. “And how many times have I told you to use my name?”

Obi smiles faintly, his lips so pale he can see the blue of his blood. “At least once more, Your Highness.”

Zen laughs, patting a lump at the edge of the bed where the boys hand must be. “You scared me, you know? Getting yourself hurt like that. I had to run clear across the country because I thought ‘If Obi of all people can’t make it to Wistal, he has to be on his deathbed.’”

Obi huffs a laugh. “Not quite.”

Zen’s voice gentles. “I am glad of that.”

Obi ducks his head, eyes peeking back open and a smile bordering on shy tugging at his lips.

“What are you doing, getting yourself involved with the business end of the sword like that?” Zen admonishes. “Don’t you know I need you above ground?”

“I’m fine,” Obi replies. “Just a little scrape, is all.”

“I heard you took the blade to your chest,” Mitsuhide says, drawing both of their attention. “That’s not a small thing.”

Obi opens his eyes wider, wary. “It really is nothing.”

Zen smiles at Obi, and reaches with his free hand to grab Mitsuhide’s forearm. “Obi, this is my man, Mitsuhide. You and Kiki will be working together when you are better and can make it to Wistal.”

“Ah,” Obi nods, clearing his throat. “Hi.”

Mitsuhide grins, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Can we see?”

Obi blinks. “See?”

“Well, I guess you can’t take off your bandages yet,” he concedes. “But it’s tradition to show off your scars!”

The first sign the boy still has blood in him rises to his cheeks. “Um.”

“Here,” Mitsuhide says, tugging his shirt over his head. “I’ll show you mine.”

When clothes clears his vision, Obi is staring at him with wide eyes; Zen at his side, slack jawed.

“This one,” Mitsuhide begins, pointing to an ugly gash along his side, “I took at a tourney. It was a dirty trick, but I still won the bought.”

The light behind the boy’s eye shines. “It looks nasty. What happened to the other guy?”

Mitsuhide grins. “Disqualified after the fact.”

“And that one?”

Mitsuhide scrunches his neck, looking down at his chest. “Ah! This one,” he says, pointing at the rough line that crosses his collarbone, “was in pursuit of a thief. They threw a dagger at me and got a lucky shot in.”

“I am good with throwing daggers,” Obi offers, before backpedaling. “I- I mean-”

“Really? That’s a great skill! I never could get the hang of it myself.” He pulls back on his shirt. “You’ll have to show me when you’re feeling better. Maybe you could teach me something that they couldn’t in Sereg.”

Obi positively glows, and he manages to wink at him. “Only if you can keep up.”

Mitsuhide chokes back a laugh. Zen wasn’t exaggerating about this part of his personality at all.

“Now yours,” he asks with a tilt of the chin. “Where did the sword leave its mark?”

The good humor melts from the boy’s face and Obi grimaces. “You’ll have to help me with the bedding,” he says.

Mitsuhide nods, rolling the covers down just enough to reveal the bands of fresh cloth wound across his torso. Even so recently changed, there are still light pink marks against the white. Mitsuhide’s lips draw into a thin line.

“It goes from here,” Obi reaches up, touching where his clavicle must be and draws a straight line across his front to his ribcage on the opposite side. “To here.”

So it was as he thought. Whatever happened was no mere accident.

But now was not the time to be asking these sorts of questions.

“Wow!” he leans back, impressed. “You’re like a warrior for living through that! Mine aren’t nearly as impressive as yours.”

“Ah,” Obi turns his head, looking out the window. “There’s no way to tell. Might not even leave a mark by the time it heals.”

“Well,” Zen interrupts, looking positively ill. “When it’s healed up, you’ll have to share.”

“Do you have scars, Your Highness?” Obi rolls his head across the pillow to give the Prince a weak grin.

Zen sputters. “Of course not!”

“Now, now,” Obi’s smile grows just a bit, but his breath is short. He’s overdoing it. “Don’t be shy. You should share with the rest of the class.”

Zen makes a frustrated noise. “You’re just as outrageous as ever!”

“I just wanted to make sure you knew I didn’t forget you,” Obi laughs, eyes fluttering as he sinks back against the pillows.

A soft knock at the door pulls their attention.

“Pardon me, Your Highness; Good Sir,” the woman from before nods. Her aprons have changed and are now spotless white. “Dinner is served in the main hall.”

Zen nods. “Rest, Obi,” he says, rising from his chair. “I’ll come and visit again tomorrow.”

Obi licks his lips, eyes opening again with some effort. “Have you-” his eyes dart towards him, unsure. “Have you seen Kiki yet?”

Zen pauses, looks at Mitsuhide and then back down to Obi. “No, not yet,” he says slowly. “Is everything alright?”

“I-” Obi’s face darkens. “Yes. Everything is alright. I just- I just wanted to know if she was okay. I haven’t seen her… since.”

Zen frowns. “I’m sure she just doesn’t want to tire you,” he comforts. “She has to be missing you terribly.”

Mitsuhide has never seen one so young look so old. “I wonder…”

~ ~ ~

“You didn’t tell him,” Mitsuhide says quietly when the Cook has rolled her food cart into Obi’s room and closed the door behind her.

Zen grimaces, cape fluttering as he turns on his heel and leads them back to the stairwell. “It’s not a good time,” he says, glancing around to make sure they’re alone. “I want to give him time to heal. It would be too much of a shock to bring it up now.”

Mitsuhide’s face pulls tight. This isn’t fair to any of them. “He needs some time to think it over before giving you an answer.”

“I know.” Zen runs his hand through his hair. “It’s just- This would have been so much simpler if he hadn’t gotten hurt. They would have had time to get to know each other.”

“But he did get hurt,” Mitsuhide reminds him gently. “And she’s running out of time.”

~ ~ ~

His upbringing in Sereg prepared him little for being in the presence of the fairer sex. What women he knew were servants or bride’s to elder knights; women who possessed a core of steel, but little grace. His time in Wistal had rectified that to an extent, but even there he had not met a Lady like the one here.

Lady Kiki is that of a vision, descending the stairs in waves of gossamer indigo that sets off the golden halo of her hair. Every inch of her is fair and lovely and he can see the years of training that kept her steadily as one of the most sought after brides in the kingdom.

Zen and Lord Seiran’s eyes are wide as saucers. It’s amazing that she has this effect on even those who know her well.

Seiran recovers first. “Kiki,” he says. “Darling. You look stunning.”

She places a delicate hand on her father’s outstretched palm. “I thought I would air out one of my dresses. As appropriate to meet our company.”

Lord Seiran’s expression is inordinately pleased and Mitsuhide glances between her and Zen. Kiki greets the Prince with all the deference and poise his station deserves, as much warmth as proper for a Lady of her standing, and Zen-

Well, Zen is watching her with a very odd expression, indeed.

~ ~ ~

If she were not an Earl’s daughter and not on the short list for potential Princess, Mitsuhide would be hard pressed not to court this woman.

“I have always been interested in the Sereg military training, Lord Rouen,” she says, perched delicately over her soup spoon. “Did you train there since childhood?”

“Yes,” he smiles kindly. “I started as a Page there when I was six, and stayed until a year after I received knighthood.”

“That’s impressive,” she commends. “You were made a knight unusually young, were you not?”

Mitsuhide feels his face heat. “Not at all, Lady,” he says with a shake of his head. “There have certainly been ones that were younger.”

“If there have been,” she says, appraising him with a glance as cool as her fathers. “I certainly have not met them.”

Zen clears his throat delicately. “Are you going to join us in the training yard tomorrow? Show ‘Sir Rouen’ how to properly wield a weapon?”

Kiki flinches, silverware nearly tumbling from her fingers. “Oh,” she recovers quickly, face rearranging itself until it is unreadable as Prince Izana’s. “Um. Yes. Of course. That would be… lovely.”

~ ~ ~

Zen sighs dramatically for the third time that morning.

“Did you not sleep well, Zen?” Mitsuhide asks, lifting a halberd from it’s hold amongst the other weapons lining the wall and appraising it’s weight. “I can speak with the butler if there is some issue with your accommodations.”

“No,” Zen says, but his voice malcontent. “No, it’s just- Everyone here seems to be so happy to see you.”

Mitsuhide swallows a smile. “They’re just being polite,” he replies, taking the pole in both hands and giving it one testing swing. “Me being new here and all.”

Zen doesn’t sound convinced. “Do you really think-?”

“Oh!” Mitsuhide perks when a young man enter the training room. “That is the Squire I told you about! Hello!” He waves enthusiastically.

When he glances over at Zen, his face is the perfect picture of horror.

He wonders why.

“I’m so sorry,” Mitsuhide says, turning back to the young man who is staring at him from across the room. “I never did get your name back in the stables.”

“…you’re an idiot.”

The squire lifts his wrist to his mouth to hide a smile.

~ ~ ~

“I thought we would practice archery,” Lady Kiki says much later after much groveling.

Zen makes a disappointed sound, hand already wrapped around a wooden practice sword. “I missed sparring with you, though.”

Her jaw ticks. “I haven’t been too involved with swordplay these days,” she says dryly. “It’s doesn’t hold my interest.”

“Ah, come on Kiki,” Zen presses. “You love swordplay.”

“My temperament is not good for a blade,” she pushes back.

Mitsuhide’s brows furrow.

Zen looks crestfallen. “You’ve been practicing since you were a little kid, though! Beat all the neighboring Lords sons, remember?”

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” she asks the ground.

The final dot makes it’s connection in his brain. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like they’ve done the same in Zen’s. 

“Did who tell me what?” he asks.

Kiki’s face crumbles. “Of course he didn’t,” she whispers.

“You don’t-”

“Excuse me for just a moment,” she bobs her head, walking swiftly towards the door.

Zen takes a step to follow her and Mitsuhide catches his hand on his shoulder, holding the Prince back.

“I think I know what’s going on,” he says quietly. “Let me.”

~ ~ ~

He finds her on the stairwell facing the low lying sun. This time of year, the light only peaks over the horizon and its stark light casts her in harsh shadows.

“Did you mean to cut him down?”

She freezes, every muscle in her body becoming a taut wire. “It doesn’t matter what I meant. It’s what I did.”

Mitsuhide pauses, staring at her hunched back. “He misses you, you know.”

Kiki raises her head from her hands and glares. “You don’t even know us.”

Mitsuhide hesitates for only a moment. There was nothing more intimidating than risking the ire of a noble Lady, but this time he had no choice in the matter.

“This is true,” he nods, staring out across the snow blanketing the Seiran Estate. “But it doesn’t take more than eyes to see your absence is making him sicker.”

“Obi would forgive anyone.” Her voice is so quiet. “Even those that don’t deserve it.”

His lips twitch. “I don’t think it’s your business to say who he can and cannot forgive.”

“I almost split him in two!” she snaps.

Mitsuhide looks down at her and her eyes are filled with liquid fire.

It doesn’t suit her.

“With those little arms?” he replies, rolling his shoulders. “I doubt it.”

Her voice drops low. “Excuse me?”

“Maim, sure,” Mitsuhide comments, nodding to himself. “But split in two? I saw him myself and I assure you, Lady, he is very much only one man. You should go see for yourself.”

“I already saw the damage to him when I made it,” she snaps, shooting up to standing and descending the stair towards the frozen hedges and dry fountains of the gardens.

“Kiki,” he calls, watching her. “Zen tells me you’re an excellent swordsman. I would hate it if I never had the chance to see it myself.”

Kiki stops dead, fists so tight at her side the knuckles are drained of blood. He would swear she was one of the garden statues if he hadn’t witnessed her moving so fluidly just a moment ago.

“One of the best,” he continues, staring at the staggering weight resting on her shoulders. “You could slay dragons if we could find one.”

She finally lets go of a little of it. Looking over her shoulder, she gives him a long considering look. “Did he now?”

~ ~ ~

Obi seems to be getting healthier every day and as the life returns to him, the less he looks like a boy and the more he looks like a man.

Too bad he doesn’t act it.

“What spell did you cast on him?” Zen huffs when Obi preens for him saying so.

“No spell,” Mitsuhide grins. “Everyone here is just so nice. Makes me want to be nice, too.”

Zen glowers, expression broken by Obi laugh and he leans forward with a leer. “Don’t worry, Your Highness. You’ll always be my Princess.”

Zen rolls his eyes towards the heavens. “Are you ever going to live that down? We were, what? Ten?”

“Nine. I was twelve. And you’re still prettier than me,” he replies, eyes sparkling.

“Ughhhh.”

“Lay back down before you pull your stitches, Obi.”

All the blood drains from Obi’s face at once. His head snaps towards the door, expression completely wiped from him.

“Kiki-”

She smiles faintly, hovering at the threshold. “I want to get out of here before my father finds someone to marry me off to. Can’t do that if you’re not taking care of yourself.”

Obi’s mouth struggles to make a shape. “I was wooing my Princess, though,” he jokes weakly.

The air is so thick it is suffocating.

“Well!” Zen claps his hands together and looks pointedly at Mitsuhide. “The day grows late and we still have to go riding with Lord Seiran, do we not?”

Mitsuhide blinks at him. “We do? I mean, it’s still early-”

“Yes,” Zen says through grit teeth. “But we have a lot of things to discuss, do we not?”

“Oh. Oh! Right,” Mitsuhide nods, abruptly coming to stand. “Lots of things.”

“A great many,” Zen agrees, pushing his chair closer to the bed. “We’ll likely be hours.”

Obi and Kiki haven’t even looked away from each other.

“See you tonight,” Mitsuhide offers as he and Zen slide past her.

She tears her eyes away from the man still staring in stock silence. “See you then, Sir Rouen.”