#I’m counting down the days to the solstice so it can start getting light again

[daughterofsekhmet-bast]

I guess it shouldn’t be surprising that I have seasonal depression considering I quite literally worship the sun

[coastxlwaters]

Not 5k words but I gave up, it’s literally just a comfort one shot I can do whatever the frick I want

Please give me tips on how to improve my writing- it kinda sucks, as well as my grammar-

Word count: 2451

Reader insert, QPR Dark sun x Eclipse, Reader gets adopted lol, Nexus is like a brother to both but NEITHER Solstice (dark sun) or eclipse look at eachother as brothers or had in the past, only as enemies, friends, and then to partners. Nexus is barely in there but like, whatever.

Night terrors, mentions of living shadows and creatures in the shadows, mentions of distorted faces, familial cuddles, reader also gets kidnapped lol-

VERY OOC

NOTE: these night terrors are based on some I myself have had, and some my brother has had. He had them much worse and more frequent than me so I might get somethings wrong.

Family with a side of terrors:

You’re lying on the floor staring up at the ceiling. The galaxy light you bought a while back spun gorgeous constellations and planets across the ceiling above you.

As you get up your vision starts to swim, black dots and fuzzy edges were the only things visible. Leaning onto the wall to support yourself as your vision starts to clear. Sadly those are not unusual, you walk towards the door and sigh while opening it. It's been a long day, but you have to clean up. You have been putting it off for to long

Your footsteps are surprisingly steady as you walk down the hall. You turn to your right and pause to look at yourself in the mirror. You look as tired as you feel. Your once bright eyes dull to match the hair that falls loose in front of your face. Your skin, tan yet so pale that you wonder if your vision is failing you again. Your shoulders hang low yet your head hangs lower. Your once proud facade is finally cracking after years of neglect.

You knew this has happened before. Yet this time it seems like it is lasting longer. You try not to dwell on the thought that it may be that you finally broke and are not able to pull yourself back together.

You walk through the living room past the red and yellow animatronic who you have gotten really close to in the past few months. They were staying at your house for the week, you were super embarrassed when they walked in on the mess that you tend to call your kitchen. Yet they didn't seem to mind, they simply patted your head and went to lay on the couch, simply whispering, “Do not worry about that, dear, I do not mind.” In their cool, gentle, voice.

As you got to know them, you know that under that gentle and deep voice is a high pitched one that only comes out when the animatronic laughs. You started connecting the dots and figuring out that he actually trained his voice to be deeper, like an actor might train their voice to deepen to fit certain roles, or a trans man would work to make his voice less lady-like. Both are great examples, but you cannot think of an example for how the higher pitched voice sounded. It is slightly grating on the ears more genuine than the more used voice.

While thinking about the yellow lanky animatronic that now resides on your couch, you didn’t realize you already started cleaning the kitchen. It now looks less like a craft room, and more like an actual place to make clean and healthy food. You continue, moving onto the fridge, the cabinets, and the pantry. While organizing the pantry, you hear a creak from the couch as the animatronic on top of it slowly moves off.

They call your name quietly, “are you alright? It’s about 1 am, you should be asleep.” The wood floors creak in protest when the animatronic starts walking towards you.

“Don’t worry Solstice! I’m fine! I just got some late night motivation!” Your voice is scratchy and quieter than you needed it to be. You force a small chuckle to try to save the animatronic from noticing your appearance.

“You are not alright, I should have done this way sooner, before your parents could get into your head again. But you are coming with me, Eclipse, and Nexus.” The gentleness in the voice didn’t change, yet there was a harsher, more demanding aura to the words.

“Wait-t hold on- wait-t, no-o wh-at?..” You stutter trying to get your words out as the animatronic gently takes hold of you and carries you into a- a- PORTAL?!

God, you must be dreaming. What is happening, your frazzled brain cannot gather the scattered thoughts into one coherent process and you are still trying to figure out what you just went through. The hold around you tightens slightly yet still careful not to harm you or make you uncomfortable.

You round the corner and hear two voices, one sounding even deeper than Solstice’s and one sounding similar yet less scratchy and more… whiny?

“-are NOT getting a damn dog unless you…” The deeper voice trails off, the owner it belongs to has a crown of rays like solstice, intact the look almost identical to solstice if the height difference was not in the equation. Yet their color scheme looks more like a late sunset. Blacks, reds, and deep oranges. All with a rusty but at the same time beautiful sheen to it.

The other, less tall, yet gorgeous animatronic had beautiful purples that made up the outfit and casing. Ranging from magenta to deep almost black indigos. White stars sprinkled down their long nightcap. The other staring at the two entering beings as well.

You suddenly felt very conscious of our matted appearance and how tired and mangy you must look, like a rat. You are confused on how you got here, where you are, and who these animatronics are. Very soon your thoughts start to clear and you remember Solstice telling you about his partner, Eclipse, they are in a queerplatonic relationship. Then you remember him talking about his sibling, Nexus, a gender-fluid who is going through their rebellious phase. Yet Solstice still loves him as his closest friend. Near brother to both. Yet Neither Eclipse nor Solstice see each other in a familial way. Only as queerplatonic partners.

The brilliant purple animatronic speaks up and says your name in a questioning tone, “is that them?” It’s hard to tell by the look on their face yet they seem slightly excited?

Eclipse, who has stayed silent, walks up to you and Solstice, “You look pretty tired, and it was about 2 am in your universe. We should get you to bed.”

You scramble out of Solstice’s arms to your feet and try to protest, “No! No, don’t worry about me! I’m fi- I’m fine! Se-se-see? I can walk and sta- walk and stand normally!”

The darker animatronic looks at you with no clear emotion yet you can tell he didn’t buy what you said. “Well, then you can walk with me to the couch we have as we haven’t had time to get your room set up yet.” The voice clearly showed there was no room for argument.

You resigned to walking behind them, they constantly slowed down and you were forced to walk beside them instead. It was kind of comforting… They were showing that they cared enough not to leave you behind and get lost, or maybe you were looking too deep into it.

As you and them rounded the corner into that was a room that held a couch and TV, with a modest fireplace lit under and behind it. You cannot see where the smoke is going but it is not filling up the room.

You politely sat on a chair that wouldn’t take up too much room on the couch, as you heard that Nexus sleeps on the couch a lot since their bedroom makes them feel trapped. You didn’t want to make the animatronics uncomfortable your first night being a guest here, even if it wasn’t your decision is basic decency to be polite while staying at someone else’s home.

Eclipse sighed at where you decided to sit, yet continued to fetch a bunch of pillows and blankets for you. You tried to refuse some as they still need some but they just shoved the pillows behind your back and the blankets on top of you before you could protest. Though they seemed rough you could tell they had good intentions behind it, as they slipped out and past the door you barely heard them whisper a goodnight.

You started to feel comfortable as the blankets were warm and the pillows comfortable, but the shadows crept up on you. From every direction it felt like something was gonna slip out. You felt an unease travel down your spine and that something was watching you. You knew if you turned around you would see nothing while the horrors in front of you took the chance to emerge. Yet if you didn’t turn around the creature behind you would travel closer and closer.

Your vision swam like what happened not too long ago, but this time you saw distorted faces that flashed in the fire light before vanishing. The world around you became fuzzy and unfocused. You feel someone, or something, grab your ankles. You couldn’t help but shriek and thrash. You felt something run a claw around your throat and you launched yourself in the other direction.

Crashing into the side of the chair which creaked and groaned before tipping onto its side. Throwing you onto the floor with your limbs splayed everywhere as you thrash to get the hands or chains around your ankles to come undone or at least loose-

You wake up. When did you fall asleep?! You feel someone clamping their hands down on your sides to try to keep you still. You shoot up and panic and your face crashes against something metal. Your head HURTS, you almost start crying. EVERYTHING has been going wrong recently, why can’t ANYTHING go well?!

—————————

Nexus is startled when they hear a shriek from the living room, tonight they didn’t use it due to the quest that is staying. They rush in and see you falling on the ground. His scanners show that you are having a night terror.

“Fuck- I can’t-, I can’t do this!” He pings Solstice for them to come help them. Solstice is halfway across the house and will take about 5 minutes to get over here, it doesn’t look like they can go that long without getting hurt though.

Without thinking and seeing an opportunity, they launch over and grab your sides to try to get you to stop moving. You flail for a couple seconds longer until you shoot awake and hit them in the chin. They reel back for a second while still holding onto you. They look over you worriedly as you catch your breath and hold your head.

—————————

Solstice and Eclipse were sprinting down the halls, nearly crashing into each other where the hallways that connect their separate rooms meet. They do not notice however, as they continue to run to the living room where both Nexus and you currently were.

Eclipse nearly crashes into the door with how fast they were running but manages to catch themself on the wall and make little noise except the scratch of metal. Solstice enters quietly yet quickly and crouches down next to Nexus who is now holding you gently in his arms while you try to regain your breath and the world around you.

Eclipse comes in and does the same yet holds your head that was hanging limp on your chest. They do not want your neck to get sore hanging in that position for too long. You were already sore and hurt enough.

—————————

Your breath hitches and your vision swims, but it slowly clears and the whispers you were hearing fade into the background as you were held in what you thought was a blanket. You realize too late that you were in Nexus’s arms and while trying to slip out you end up in Solstice’s instead.

—————————

You are tired from the night terror and frazzled. Your eyes look more clear yet still foggy, Eclipse notes, they gently say your name so as to not startle you and release your head now that it is in a more relaxed position. “Do you need anything?..”

Their hand hovers over your head, wondering if you were okay with being touched. They knew they liked to have their rays pet after having a nightmare or night terror, but they did not know if you liked to have your hair touched. You still looked so out of it and they knew if they found some form of contact that you were okay with it may help.

They decide it’s better to at least try, they gently use their claws to run up and down your scalp in a soothing motion. You breathed a sigh of relief, your eyes closed. They decided that’s a good sign and continued to pet along your scalp and untangle your hair.

Your breathing is still ragged but it seems like you haven’t gotten much sleep lately as you slowly recover and almost immediately fall asleep again. Eclipse chuckles and turns back around to face Nexus who was already on the couch getting all the pillows and blankets set up.

“What are you doing over there?” Eclipse asked the lunar animatronic with tiredness showing all across their features.

“Getting the couch set up for us, dumbass!” Nexus shoots back, “We are not leaving them here alone again, RIGHT??” The tone is skeptical and sarcastic.

Eclipse sighed as they got up and their joints creaked. They continued over to help Nexus set up the couch as the smaller animatronic smirks at him.

“See? That’s what I thought, I CAN take care of SOMETHING!” The lunar model joked.

“Oh my GOD, enough with the damn DOG. WE ALREADY HAVE A CAT.” Despite them joking around, both of the voices were quiet enough to not wake you.

—————————

Solstice quietly gets up and pads over to the couch that is set up. They asked quietly if Nexus and Eclipse were okay with snuggling and both said they were okay with it.

Lying down with you sleeping in their arms, Nexus on their side, and Eclipse squished behind them, was surprisingly nice. They gently covered you in a blanket as you snuggled up against Solstice and Eclipse, who moved over to the side to be more comfortable.

Eclipse gently pet your hair again and you immediately relaxed into the soft, comforting touches. Snuggling more into Eclipse’s side and arms yet Solstice was okay with that.

It was barely a whisper, but they heard you sleepily awake and ask, “Can… Can I call you two my parents?..” Before you are able to say more you yawn and your head falls back onto Eclipse’s side from his gentle untangling of your hair.

“Of course you can call us your parents,” They responded in unison, “you deserve some better ones anyways…” Solstice adds quietly. You were already asleep once they finished but they felt like it was better to add. They watched as you slept making sure you had no more night terrors, yet they knew you would most likely not, they wanted to make sure. I mean, its their job as a parent now!

[tswaney17]

Ice Skating

So, I was going to attempt to do the Elriel 25 Days of Solstice, but life is just chaotic right now. And seeing how this is already three days late... 🙈 I may try and pick some random prompts to do and sporadically post them throughout the month, but I can’t guarantee them, nor them being posted on the right date. It’s been hell these last few months and it’s not slowing down. Anyways, please enjoy these totally cheesy, fluffy ice skating fic that I wrote in like two days, barely edited, and I don’t really like but I’m posting anyways. 💙

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Trigger warnings: brief language and mild NSFW thoughts. 

Word Count: 1,262

Azriel was sitting on one of the benches next to the ice rink, watching his best friend fly across the ice, brown hair a torrent behind her. Beside him sat a pair of unused skates, purchased by her in a feeble attempt to get him on that godforsaken frozen pond.

He was good at many things, playing the piano, tearing up the lacrosse field, or breaking down the most complicated trigonometry problem. But standing on two thin blades on slippery ice—nope. He just couldn’t do it.

Elain came sliding to a stop in front of him, stepping outside of the rink. Her face was positively glowing, smile radiant.

Gods, he had loved her for years. And he was such a chicken shit for being so damn afraid to tell her.

“Are you just going to sit here like a bum all night?” she asked, cheeks pink from both the cold and her exertion.

He raised an amused brow at her. “You’re well aware of my lack of coordination on those razor blades you call skates.”

She snorted in the most adorable way. “You have all coordination and talent in the world, but put you in a pair of skates and you’re just a dandelion in the wind.” Elain stepped forward, putting on her best attempt at a sad face.

Az tensed. “No, El. Don’t you dare,” he started, holding his hands up. He was a sucker to that face; it could get him to bend to her will as easily as breathing.

“Come on!” she whined. “Why did you even agree to come if you weren’t planning on skating.”

Azriel leaned back on his palms. “Because you’re my best friend and I enjoy watching you have fun.” And because he couldn’t say no to her—not really.

“It’d be much more fun out there if you’d just get up off your ass,” she teased. “I promise to hold your hand the whole time.”

He smirked. “That’s more of a danger to you than a safety net for me.”

Elain laughed, eyes sparkling.

Fuck, she was stunning. He really needed to get a grip on his emotions, lest he do something stupid. Like, kiss her.

Mischief danced in those gorgeous golden-brown eyes. “I think I can handle it. Please come skate with me?” Again, those damn puppy-dog eyes as she reached forward and took his scarred hand—such a contrast to her perfect ones, dusted with calluses from her hours spent gardening. She really was using everything in her arsenal tonight.

“I just ate a package of M&M’s. I need to wait an hour before getting in.”

“The water is frozen your sarcastic butt. And it’s an ice rink, not a swimming pool.”

He groaned knowing his will was slipping. “Fine! But if I break an ankle, you’re going to be my personal nurse until I can walk again,” he stated, taking a swig of his hot chocolate.

“Deal, but only if I can wear one of those sexy little nurse outfits.”

Azriel choked, staring at her wide-eyed. Did she just… Was she flirting with him? His cheeks turned a light shade of pink. Fuck, now he was picturing it. Elain in a slinky little nurse costume, her hourglass figure on full display. A short skirt stopping at the top of her perfect thighs—her fucking gorgeous, round ass. He tried to shift subtly in his seat, praying he didn’t pop a boner here and now.

Clearing her throat, she stepped back, leaning back to rest her elbows on the little wall around the rink.

He wiped the hot chocolate from his mouth, tossing the cup in the trash. Giving her a once over—because he was a glutton for punishment—he murmured, “You’d look good in it,” before he shucked off his boots and pulled on the pair of skates.

Glancing back up, he caught Elain staring at him, cheeks flushed with color. “What?”

She blinked, shaking her head. “Nothing.” Holding out her hand to him, Elain hauled him up onto unsteady feet. Azriel wobbled dangerously, but she situated herself under his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his waist.

Getting him onto the ice was a feat in itself.

Elain was desperately trying not to laugh, but her shaking form pressed into his side told him everything.

“Laughing at me isn’t helping,” he muttered as they glided on the ice.

She chortled, covering her mouth with a hand. “I’m sorry! You just remind me of newborn fawn right now.”

He glared down at her. “That’s it, I’m done. I am not going to stand here and take your teasing,” he said dramatically. Twisting to glide back towards the edge of the rink, his foot slipped and they went down onto the ice.

Elain yelped as he took her with him, but Azriel reacted, cradling her to his chest and taking the brunt of the fall flat on his back.

He grunted upon impact, head thumping frozen ground and leaving him dazed.

“Azriel!” she called, though it sounded fuzzy—like he was underwater. “Shit, Azriel, are you alright?”

A chilled hand pressed to his cheek forcing his eyes to blink open. Twinkling lights gilded Elain’s unbounded hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She reminded him of an angel coming down from the heavens above and for a split second, he wondered if he was dying. Snowflakes dusted her hair.

His eyes refocused on hers, golden hues glittering in her brown irises. Without so much as a second thought, he slid his fingers into tresses, feeling the soft, silky strands slip over his skin.

Elain’s breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t move, let him touch her how he wanted to.

And then he tilted her head up, and brought her lips down to his, kissing her so softly, so magically, Azriel was sure this was some dream he cooked up in his imagination. Her lips were soft and warm against his.

But Elain was responded eagerly, giving it back to him with just as much intent. She slid her knee down his hip into the ice to get more leverage to kiss him properly, sighing into his mouth. Her nails dug into his chest and shoulders, and when she pulled away, she was grinning. “Finally,” she breathed

Azriel stared up at her. “Finally?” he spluttered.

Elain laughed softly, shaking her head, her hair a curtain around them. “I’ve only been waiting for years for you to finally make a move. You are so oblivious, Azriel, I swear to the Mother. I’ve been sending you signals for years, hoping that one day you’d see it and actually do something about it. The constant touching, me baking for you, cuddling while watching movies.”

He stared at her dumbfounded. “I thought you were just comfortable around me…”

She rolled her eyes in utter exasperation. “I was more than comfortable around you, Az.” Then they were kissing again. Kissing like they were dependent on each other’s oxygen, ignoring the huffs of other skaters having to go around them on the ice.

He wasn’t sure how long they were on the ground for, but it was long enough for one of the rink employees to skate over to them and ask them if they were okay and to leave the arena if they weren’t going to keep it PG.

Scrambling off the ice like a pair of giggling teenagers, they returned their ice skates in favor of making out back at Azriel’s apartment, on the comforts of his couch and between his sheets.

[ragingbookdragon]

Oh My God They Were Bed-Mates!

Guy Gardner x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.1K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I decided to turn that one ask here into an actual story! Maybe we'll do a part two sometime! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

She didn’t know why Bruce decided to send her on the mission with him. They hated each other—probably more than Bruce hated him, and yet, the Dark Knight thought it would be a grand idea to send the loudmouth, punch-first-ask-questions-later, Green Lantern with the quiet super soldier.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she listened to Bruce chide her over the phone.

Look, there’s no point in arguing. You and Guy are already in Iceland. It’d deviate from the plan if we sent someone else in now.

“Oh, come on, Bruce,” she scowled. “You did this on purpose. I know you did.”

You’re acting like a child.

“That’s rich coming from the eight-year-old trapped in a thirty-nine-year-old’s body,” she shot back, then a shocked yell echoed behind her, and she spun around, seeing Guy shouting at the poor hotel worker; she sighed. “I gotta go.”

Hanging up the phone, she hurried over, just in time to hear Guy yell, “The hell do you mean you’ve only got one room available!”

She placed her hand on his bicep, shoving him slightly out of the way. “Hey, what’s going on?”

He turned to her, green eyes flashing with annoyance. “This guy’s telling me we’ve been booked for one room instead of two!”

“What?” her attention turned to the man, and she leaned forward. “We’ve only got one room?”

The hotel attendant looked apologetic as he explained, “I’m sorry ma’am, but you and your friend booked rooms during the Secret Solstice Festival. Hotels all across Reykjavík are packed with locals and tourists alike.” He glanced at the screen. “I can refer you to another hotel if you’d—”

“That’d be great,” Guy interrupted, and she elbowed him in the ribs. Hard.

“We’ll take the room, sir.” He handed her the key and she smiled, grabbing her suitcase from the desk. “Thank you.” She took off to the stairs, listening to Guy stomp behind her and she just knew the second they were alone he was going to bitch at her.

Sure enough, once the elevator doors closed, he spun on her and glared. “What the hell, (Y/N)? We should’ve gone to another hotel.”

She rolled her eyes. “He already said most of the hotels are booked. We’d probably be in the same situation there that we’re in here.” (Y/N) looked over at him. “Besides, we’d have to pay for that one.”

Guy’s mouth opened and he pointed at her, then he faltered and snapped his mouth shut and growled.

The elevator dinged and they got off on their floor, walking down the hall to their room. (Y/N) stuck the key in the door and twisted, opening it up, and when she saw the room, her face fell and she sighed, “Oh you’ve gotta be joking.”

“What?” Guy stuck his head over her shoulder. “OH, COME ON!”

(Y/N) hissed, slapping his side as she reached for her head. “That was my ear, you fucker.” She hurried inside before someone opened their door and looked out; Guy followed, shutting the door behind him.

They both stood before the full-size bed. The only bed in the room. She rubbed her temples, then laid her suitcase on the bed. “I’m taking a shower.”

Guy sneered. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

She couldn’t help but glare at him as she grabbed her bathrobe and stalked into the bathroom.

***

The steam billowed from the bathroom when she opened the door and she was greeted by a dim room, only her lamp beside her bed still shining lowly. She cocked a brow at the Lantern turned over on the side of his bed, head burrowed in the pillow, the covers pulled to his ear.

(Y/N) dressed quickly and laid her towel over the hook on the door, then crawled into the bed, turning out the light beside her, making sure to keep as far away from Guy as she could.

***

Sometime during the night she’d happen to wake up, something drawing her out of her sleep, and she finally realized after staring in the dark for a few moments that the bed was shaking slightly. She looked over, squinting in the dark at the man beside her and gently searched beneath the covers until the tips of her fingers brushed his arm—Guy was shaking like he was hypothermic, and she finally noticed the temperature difference in the room as well as the lack of the sound of the ceiling fan above them.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened, suddenly awake, and she shifted over, pressing herself into his side, digging one of her arms underneath his head, the other around his body, whilst she tangled her legs with his.

In the process, it’d woken Guy who grumpily and with chattering teeth, muttered, “What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re shaking.” She pressed her nose into the side of his shaved head, listening to the wind howl. “The power’s gone out. And given the fierce snowstorm raging outside, it’s going to be out for a while.”

“And your reaction to that is to steal my body heat?” He huffed. “Go figures.”

(Y/N) scowled and kicked him in the shin, ignoring his grunt. “My body regulates heat faster and on a much better level than yours does. I can keep us warm until they get a generator working. I’d rather you not go into a hypothermic coma on me. Your boyfriends in the Corps would be very upset with me.”

Guy fell silent at her reasoning, then he murmured, “…Thanks.”

She couldn’t help but feel a small smile grace her lips; he’d never spoken to her so softly or kindly and (Y/N) hummed. “You’re welcome, Guy.” He shifted again and she froze, going as stiff as a board. “Guy.”

“What?” he griped.

“Are you naked?” (Y/N) asked. Quietly. Calmly.

Guy grinned against her arm. “As the day my mom birthed me.” He wiggled. “Like what you feel? I’d be willing to let you experience me more if you want?”

Her cheeks burst aflame, and she shifted, bringing her lips to his ear, and angrily threatened, “I swear to God, if you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“There’s the woman I know,” he laughed, turning in her arms to bury his face in her neck. “Now quit yapping. You’re ruining my beauty sleep.”

(Y/N) resisted the urge to punch him as his nose pressed into the soft skin at her throat, but with that urge came a fluttering deep in her chest, and to cover it, she shot back, “No amount of beauty sleep will change that mug of yours, Guy Gardner.”

“Sticks and stones, babe,” he grunted sleepily, starting to shiver a little less, and soon, the sound of his quiet snores rumbled against her skin.

[dcforts]

[week #1: summer solstice]

1.9k, deancas, established relationship, night out.

Dean killed the engine in the parking lot and looked across the street.

The huge neon sign on the door said Summer Solstice in yellow and orange and was decorated with palms and flamingos. It was flashy and intimidating.

“Is this the place?” asked Cas from the passenger seat. Dean looked over at him. He was wearing that baby blue shirt Sam had gotten him for Christmas and had styled his hair in a cute way – at least before Dean had gotten it all messed it up in the garage before they even left. Now there were some locks doing what they wanted in the back. Dean liked it anyway.

“Yeah,” he said, looking towards the entrance again. “That’s what Google says.”

“Mh,” said Cas. He didn’t sound convinced.

“We don’t have to go in,” said Dean, a little nervous.

A couple of young girls were disappearing behind the door right then. They seemed happy and relaxed and Dean was feeling uneasy.

He was too old for this. Had too much trauma, a too complicated history. This was more of a place for Claire. Or maybe not. Maybe she was too cool for it and she’d make fun of him if she knew where he was.

He and Cas didn’t belong there.

They should have stayed at the bunker, kissing on the couch, like the did every Friday night. Dean liked that.

They could still just drive away, pull over in the middle of nowhere and sit on the hood. But they did that all the time. This was supposed to be them trying new things – being out in the world, proud and all. They thought this Summer Solstice's Rainbow Friday could be a good start.

It had taken them all afternoon to find something they liked, driven an hour and a half. Cas had read him the place's entire website and now they were there and Dean was thinking of chickening out. He couldn’t believe himself sometimes.

Dean sighed. “We don’t have to go in, man,” he repeated like a broken record.

Cas was looking at a group of people coming out of the bar. They looked like they were having a good time. Behind them was a couple of guys walking hand in hand. The couple crossed the street to get into the parking lot and stopped to kiss all sweet and soft right in front of their car.

Fuck, alright, Dean was feeling really old and not at all okay.

He wasn’t even sure if he ever kissed Cas in public like that. Actually, that was a lie. He remembered every single kiss they ever shared, he just didn’t know if “no one around for miles” counted as public.

“I think we should go in.” Cas said but then looked over at him and his expression changed. “Are you feeling okay?”

Dean gulped, overheating all of the sudden even if he didn't have his usual jacket on. “Yeah, yeah.”

He rolled down his window, and now he could hear the bubbly pop song that was playing in the bar. That didn’t help.

“Dean, are you sure?”

Yeah. Yeah, sure. He was okay. He was. He could go to a damn bar with his boyfriend. That's what people did. He could do that.

“We can just see if we like it,” Cas said. “We don’t have to stay if we don’t.”

“You said you wanted to try their cocktails.”

Cas looked like he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes at him, “I think I’ll survive if I don’t.”

“It’s just – I’m not used to this kind of –" he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I know,” Cas said anyway and Dean felt like he really did. He sighed and slumped against the seat. He caught Cas’ eyes. “We don’t have to like it,” he said once more. “It’s just something that we’re trying.”

Dean was watching his eyes and hearing his voice and he was feeling calmer already. He kept saying we and that was really helping for some reason. He couldn’t believe he'd just been freaking out about going into a bar.

“Okay, yeah,” he said, and this time he meant it. Kind of. He looked over at the place again. “So. What’s with that name anyway? Summer solstice?”

He was stalling.

Cas let him, “The longest day of the year,” he said, like a professor. Dean liked when he used that voice and didn’t say that he knew that already. “It signs the start of a new season.”

“What’s that – what’s that cocktail you wanted to try?”

“I think one was called Heatwave Sweet Heatwave,” he said and Dean couldn’t help but huff a laugh, “Oh, God”.

“And another was – Feeling Beachy.”

“Alright, stop, you’re killing me.”

Cas smiled at him. He knew Cas wouldn’t be let down if he said he wanted to go home. But Dean didn’t want to go home. He’d chosen his outfit and all, even ironed his shirt.

He didn't even know what was holding him back. He sighed, took one last look at the neon sign, then rolled the window up and took the keys out.

“Alright, come on, let’s do it,” he said opening his door.

Cas got out, rounded the car as Dean locked it and grabbed his hand.

Crossing the street felt like a huge deal, but being pulled by Cas' strong grip made it easier and Dean felt lighter and lighter. He kind of held his breath when he passed under the rainbow flag by the entrance, but nothing happened, no cold shower, no electrocution. And once they got in, he just felt – normal.

It was a long room, bustling with people, crowding the bar and the dancefloor on the far end. They were of different ages and wearing all kinds of different clothes - not the usual patrons of the hunter bars Dean was used to, but no one turned to stare at him like he'd thought would happen. They were all just chatting away and dancing and minding their business.

Cas squeezed his hand. Dean started to relax.

The bartender was half his age, had an hawaiian shirt on and sunglasses on top of his head. He was wearing one of those flag pins, but Dean couldn’t remember what it meant. He took one look at them and said, “First time?” and Dean thought he must have looked like grade-A idiot.

Not even the time to open and close his mouth like a fish that the guy had slammed two shots on the counter in front of them and winked, “On the house. Welcome.”

So that was a good start.

Then Dean got addicted real quick to a concotion called Tropic Like It’s Hot and went back for seconds and thirds on the mini sandwich platter on the buffet table, all while saying sandwich with fruit should be made illegal worldwide.

They played really terrible remixed songs that Dean didn’t know but got the crowd going, but then they played a bunch of his girl's Taylor and a bunch of the ones Cas liked. Cas said he wasn’t gonna dance but still followed him onto the dancefloor and kind of moved his head and feet a bit while working through his second Feeling Beachy and Dean got to dance all stupid around him and make him laugh so that was nice.

He went to the bathroom for two seconds and when he came out, Cas was at the bar again and someone was chatting him up. Dean prepared for the worst, but when he got closer the guy smiled all bright and said, “Hey, you’re Dean, right?”

He looked a little like Benny, which was weird, and was wearing very short shorts ,which Benny wouldn’t have worn, even if he could’ve totally pulled them off in Dean’s opinion.

Anyway, the fact that it looked a little like Benny made Dean feel instantly comfortable around him and he felt only moderately scrutinized when they were joined by a couple of his friends who asked about their whole life story – even the damn bartender from before leaned over the counter to listen in. Apparently they were all regulars of their Friday events and they all knew each other.

Dean almost doubled over in laughter when Cas said he was an exterminator and that got him thinking that he should definitely stop drinking Tropics, because apparently they were pretty strong under all the sugar. He was glad to let Cas handle the conversation and they were nice to them, even said they hoped to see them back before they left with their drinks.

Dean realized it was the first time he was being seen for who he was by total strangers and not feeling worried about it at all. It felt good, it felt exciting.

Dean looked at Not-Benny walking away with his short shorts and wondered if he could pull them off too.

“Yes, of course,” said Cas all serious, and Dean realized he’d asked that out loud.

Yeah, he should have stopped drinking like a drink ago.

Cas got suddenly very close to his face and said “Is everything okay? Do you wanna go?” and Dean leaned forward to kiss him, because everything was okay, and it was Friday night after all, and that was still his favourite thing to do on a Friday night.

Not-Benny found them again and gave them flower garlands to wear for being newbies and Dean only itched to get rid of his for the first ten minutes, but then he didn’t and the itch disappeared. Also, Cas kept pulling him around with it and that felt especially nice.

They came out of there two hours later and Cas stopped him by the car to kiss him all sweet and soft right there in the parking lot.

Dean felt dizzy and happy and not at all too old.

They got breakfast at a diner on the way to the bunker and although Dean longed for his bed, the sight of Cas sitting across from him sipping on his coffee, his left side lighted by the rising sun was so nice that he also kind of wished he could stay there forever.

“We should get something for Sam,” said Cas in the end, so they got up, went back to the car and drove the rest of the way, speeding with the windows rolled down, humming those catchy songs that got stuck in their head.

Sam was yawning in the kitchen, waiting for his coffee to brew, when they appeared on the door. He had an amused expression on his face in two seconds when he saw them, “You guys are just coming in?”

Dean gave him his donut. Sam smiled at him and said, “Really nice garland, man. Cas sent a pic.”

Dean regretted giving him his donut. He scowled at Cas, “How do you even do that?” He hadn't even seen him using his phone.

Cas was stealing Sam’s coffee and pretended not to hear him, his back turned, doing the worst impression of the Invisible Man ever.

He also put a cup in Dean's hand though, so Dean stopped scowling at him. They got out of the kitchen right before Sam started lamenting, “Guys, you drank all my coffee!”

They collapsed in bed without undressing and Dean got to unbutton Cas’ baby blue shirt and slip a hand in to touch his skin, then bury his nose in his neck. He smelled of pineapple and coffee and still somehow of that cologne he’d sprayed himself with the night before.

"In my defence, you look very good in that picture," whispered Cas, sounding like he was one moment away from falling asleep.

Dean stayed awake for a while longer, basking in an unfamiliar state of quiet euphoria. He was smiling.

He was okay. He was.

@bend-me-shape-me said #deancassummerprompts21 and I said YES

[germanicseidr]

Winter Solstice

Today is the shortest day of the year, in terms of daylight of course. This always causes a debate amongst pagans on how to celebrate this event. Yes we do know for certain that the ancient pagans celebrated this astronomical event but how exactly did they celebrate it? Well if we only look at the ancient Germanic tribes of the iron age, we do not know. There are some written records by the early medieval Scandinavians and some left over traditions that predate Christianity that can give us some clues.

First we'll look at the name, Yule. The word is derived from the Proto-Germanic word Jehwla, meaning either party or celebration, which turned into the old Norse word Jól which in turn turned into the old English geol and eventually in the modern English Yule. The festival is called Joel in Dutch, Jul in German, Swedish and modern Norwegian and Joli/Noël in French.

There is also a debate on the length of the Yulefest and when it exactly starts. The ancient Germanic people did not use a calendar like ours but rather counted the moons, that is why there is no exact starting date but a lot of modern heathens use the 20th of december as a starting date. The same modern heathens that use the 20th as a start, also often use the same length for the holiday, 12 days until 6th of january, this is similar to the Christians who end the Christmas holidays on 6th januari on Epiphany day.

The first written record that actually mentions Yule comes from the Gothic people around the 6th century AD, their calendar mentions the month 'fruma jiuleis' which is the equivalent of our month of december, there is a theory that it could actually be two months, both november and december. Another written record that mentions Yule comes from the 8th century and was written by Bede, an English monk. Bede wrote about the Anglo-Saxon calendar which includes the month geola, the modern equivalent of december or both december and january.

There is a very good chance that the name actually refered to a month meaning that the celebrations could have lasted for a month or even two. Why do many modern heathens celebrate it at the same time period as the Christians do? This might have something to do with king Haakon I of Norway. In a saga about him, the saga of Haakon the good, he passed down a law which established that Yule celebrations were to take place at the same time as the Christians celebrated their Christmas. This might be the reason why many modern pagans also celebrate Yule in a 12 day period.

So in fact it could very well have been the pagan who stole the whole concept of the '12 days' from the Christians instead of the other way around. But where does the Christian christmas come from then? I'm sure everyone here is familiar with the whole nativity story of Jesus' birth but it seems that his birth on 25th of december is very coincidental. Almost every religion views the end of december as a special period, a time of death, darkness and rebirth. Where does it all come from? The answer is in fact quite simple, it has to do with the astronomy.

For the people on the northern hemisphere of the planet, the winter months were extremely harsh and rough. Crops won't grow in the cold, trees won't provide their fruits and animals are scarce, not to mention of course the cold weather. The days are short and getting shorter and shorter until the winter solstice, at the solstice the sun appears to stop moving for a few days and then it slowly moves up again, the days are getting longer and the much needed warmth for food and survival finally returns.

This was such an important event, for the human survival, that it is not strange for humans to view this period, during the shortest days, as sacred or divine. That is per example where the birth of Jesus comes in, Jesus was born on 25th december, the hope and light of mankind. But it is not only Jesus who is connected to this date. It is thought that the life of Jesus is based on multiple pagan Gods, one of which is the Egyptian God Horus, the God of the sky. Both are born on 25th december, both are born of a virgin and both were led by stars during their birth and both were resurrected after death.

Here are some more deities who are connected to the Yule period: Dionysus, Attis, Krishna, Mithra, Jesus, Horus and Wodan. There are in fact more but it would be quite the list if I mention them all. Why are so many important deities connected to the winter solstice and to the concept of birth/rebirth and death? Well all of these deities might simply represent the astronomical event of the sun 'dying' during the period of the shortest days and then being 'reborn' when the days start to get longer again. And since this event was closely connected to our own survival as a species, it is not strange why this was celebrated so fiercely by the ancient pagans.

One famous story, which is more connected to the ancient Germanic tribes of mainland Europe than to the later medieval vikings, is the story of Wodan's wild hunt. It is said that somewhere around november, Wodan would join the hunt, which consisted of ghostly riders, and ride the skies of midgard looking for souls to take with him. If you were unfortunate enough to see Wodan riding in the sky, you would die and join his hunt. That is the origin of some traditions that are still being celebrated in Europe like the Dutch/Belgian Sinterklaas and Sint Maarten. Also the Dutch tradition of blowing the Midwinterhorn is said to have originated from pre-Christian traditions, a way to greet Wodan and his hunt, the official start of the cold and dark days. Wodan's hunt curiously lasts about 2-3 months which could be the same length as the ancient Yule celebrations.

Another Germanic tale that is quite similar to the old pagan Gods and the Christian Jesus that I have mentioned just before, is the tale of Baldr. Baldr can be associated with the sun and he is slain by his blind brother, his death could have triggered the darkening of the days but this tale can also perfectly relate to the summer solstice instead. His death at the summer solstice would have been the start of 'the death' of the sun which happens on 21th june. So it is possible for modern heathens to honour Baldr on either the summer or winter solstice.

But how did the ancient Germanics celebrate Yule exactly? We sadly do not know why exactly but if we look at the lifestyle of an average Germanic person, it would have involved making offerings and holding feasts. There is in fact a description of the Yule fest written by early medieval Scandinavians:

"It was ancient custom that when sacrifice was to be made, all farmers were to come to the heathen temple and bring along with them the food they needed while the feast lasted. At this feast all were to take part of the drinking of ale. Also all kinds of livestock were killed in connection with it, horses also and all the blood from them was called hlaut (sacrificial blood), and hlautbolli, the vessel holding the blood and hlautteinar, the sacrificial twigs.

These were fashioned like sprinklers, and with them were to be smeared all over with blood the pedestals of the idols and also the walls of the temple within and without and likewise the men present were to be sprinkled with blood. But the meat of the animals was to be boiled and served as food at the banquet. Fires were to be lighted in the middle of the temple floor, and kettles hung over the fires. The sacrificial beaker was to be borne around the fire, and he who made the feast and was chieftain, was to bless the beaker as well as all the sacrificial meat."

The ancient Germanic people did not leave any written records behind on how and when they celebrated Yule so there is no one 'single' way to celebrate it. The purpose behind the celebration is clear, they and we still celebrate the returning of the light, by putting lights inside our homes (like yule logs and christmas trees). It is alright if you celebrate Yule in a period of 12 days or, if means allow you to, celebrate it for a full two month period.

It also doesn't really matter what religion you belong to because the message of Yule seems to be universally the same, at least on the northern hemisphere. We celebrate the return of light and warmth so that we can grow our crops again, feed ourselves and our animals and enjoy the warmth of the sun. The december month is synonymous with cold, darkness and death but also gives us hope that the sun will return again. Have a happy Yule everyone.

Here are images of: Painting of the wild hunt by Peter Nicolai Arbo, 1872. Another image of the wild hunt by an unknown artist. Burning of the Yule log and a Christmas tree. The Dutch tradition of Midwinterhoorn. How the ancient Germanic people could have celebrated Yule by Angus McBride.

[5lazarus]

Palimpsest

For the @sapphic-solstice fest! Posted on AO3 here.

Velanna and Sigrun fight some darkspawn, talk around the past, and write some letters.

“The golem,” Sigrun says. “They said our peoples worked together, once.” “Not like we do that now,” Velanna says sourly. Sigrun says, “Really? Then what do you think we’re doing, my love?” “I don’t think this is work,” Velanna says gruffly. A bit embarrassed, she pulls Sigrun in tighter. They’re sleeping under the stars. Velanna’s cast enough wards to keep the bugs away, and she radiates enough heat to keep Sigrun as toasty as the good spot in front of the fire. My fireball, Sigrun thinks fondly. Warmth. She’s too drowsy to come up with a compliment good enough to make Velanna blush, but not drowsy enough to stop thinking about the past.

She says, “Stars aren’t so strange. Like lyrium-lights. Don’t you think it’s funny both dwarves and elves can see well in the dark?” Velanna grunts. “Because the shem are stupid.” Sigrun laughs. “Yeah, they’re not the brightest. But the Wardens are okay.” Velanna says, “Hmph.” “You disagree?” Velanna strokes her face gently. You’re okay. The others….” She heaves a sigh. “I don’t think I was built for communal life. Even though I’m Dalish.” “Aw, c’mon, you’re not that irritable. Not nearly as bad as Nathaniel. Or Mahariel on a bad day.” Velanna says drily, “Such praise. Not as bad as a murderer’s son or our own neurotic Warden-Commander.” She rises suddenly. The wind wafts through the trees gently. The leaves rustle, but she spots something flit from branch to branch, networking through the canopy. Sigrun reaches for her favorite short sword. Velanna digs her fingers into the earth, feeling its heat travelling through its roots, and at the end--corruption. “Darkspawn,” she says shortly. “I don’t want to run,” Sigrun says. Velanna cannot argue with that, so they prepare an ambush. A shriek nearly catches her unawares, and as she strikes it down, she wonders if this were a cousin once, whose claim it came from, or worse--who birthed it? The battle is quick. They burn the remains and keep walking under the stars. As they trod their way towards dawn, Sigrun says, “You’re quiet.” “I’m tired.” “We can stay at an inn when we get back to the King’s Road. They won’t turn wardens away.” Velanna grunts. Sigrun tries again: “You know, the Legion of the Dead, we don’t let anyone who can make babies go down alone. So, you know. Darkspawn’s probably no one I know. And your sister--” “I don’t want to talk about Seranni.” Sigrun says, “But you should. At some point.” This is what they do, every night. They watch the stars and they watch the earth, and when the darkspawn come, they  kill them and give them a merciful death. Then they move onto the dawn and wash the dust from the road at some hesitant inn, and then they talk. They talk about the dead, they talk about the living. Sigrun leads her onto the road through the blueing dawn. They don’t talk about Shianni, but Sigrun chatters about other things as birds peep through the tree-lined path. “See, in Dust Town, we don’t have birds, not really. Who ever heard about a flying dwarf? But I had pigeon a couple times, before I came to the surface. Not really a delicacy, and for once I didn’t have to steal it! Sometimes we’d have these feasts, just for the sake of having something to celebrate. Go all out, not even on a real feast day. One way to tell the Shaperate to fuck off, I guess. So my friend Anezka, she hooked herself a warrior caste, she gets him to get me and her and a few of the others a ‘celebration of the feathers.’ Some weird shit she came up with, after she saw some noble in a feather-dress. So we skinned the bird but didn’t pluck the feathers--” “That’s so time-consuming,” Velanna says, amused. “Why? Just drop it in the pot with some chilis and salt and--” “Because it looked cool,” Sigrun laughs. “It’s all about the looks, down in Orzammar.” “Ugh,” Velanna says. They reach the inn off the King’s Road. Velanna counts the horses: two, for a two-story building, they might have spare rooms. She hesitates. Will they give them a room? They are decked in Grey Warden armor, after all, and only a little gore-splattered. Sigrun gives her a push.

“C’mon,” she says. “Breakfast is on me.”

Their eyes do not need to adjust to the dusky inside. The innkeeper, a thin woman with a slash for a mouth, starts when she sees them. Her eyes rest on the Grey Warden crest on their chest. She crosses her arms. Plunderers, Velanna can tell she’s thinking. Treaty-takers.

“We need a room!” Sigrun pipes up. “And a bath. No horses, though. But I won’t say no to breakfast.” She flips a gold coin and catches it in her fist, grinning: we have money to pay.

The innkeeper says flatly, “Two sovereigns.”

Velanna says, “Fuck that,” and turns to leave, but Sigrun grabs her by the wrist.

“One sovereign,” Sigrun says pleasantly. “We’re sharing the bed. And the bath. Not the breakfast. And please, we have letters to write, we just destroyed a darkspawn warren not too far from here.” Be grateful, her tone implies. The innkeeper takes the hint.

No one’s up but the owner, so there’s no one to politely intimidate away from the table by the fire. They settle down happily, and Sigrun pulls out a piece of parchment. Velanna’s amused.

“I didn’t think we actually had letters,” she says.

“Someone needs to tell the commander there’s still darkspawn wandering,” Sigrun shrugs. “Especially since we found them this close to the King’s Road.”

“So conscientious,” Velanna teases. She reaches for Sigrun’s face. Sigrun leans into her hand, and Velanna kisses her. Breaking from the kiss, she says quietly, “I didn’t know we had parchment left. We could get Dalish paper—”

“Nah,” Sigrun says. She holds up a wooden stylus, the tip flat like a tiny spatula. “I’m just gonna scrape the ink off this old dispatch.” Curious, Velanna watches her shuffle the ink off the parchment skin. The innkeeper brings over two generous plates of eggs and sausage and fresh-looking bread, and the eternal Ferelden shem cheese. Velanna doesn’t thank her, so Sigrun shoots her a quick, reassuring smile. Of what? Velanna wonders. Well, you’ve killed a lot of shem.

She eats and watches Sigrun write. It’s always a delight to watch her work. First, she scrapes the ink off. Nathaniel told her that was called palimpsest, when you dig the ink out of a piece of parchment. Still, the scratchings remain. You can still see the words that were unwritten.

“What was that?” Velanna asks, wiping the crumbs away from her mouth.

“Hmm?” Sigrun peers at her over her shoulder. “How’s the food?”

“Heavy, like you like it.” Sigrun still eats like she’s starving. Velanna has faced lean times, everyone but the wealthiest shem and durgas durgen’len has, but not like Sigrun. She doesn’t think Sigrun will ever feel comfortable eating slowly. “What was written, before?”

“Oh. Uh.” Sigrun looks embarrassed. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Velanna says, amused. “It’s got to be something.”

Sigrun smiles bashfully. “I like to write about my day sometimes. What we do, who we meet, if we find anything interesting. But I scratch it off every day. Parchment’s so expensive.”

Velanna pauses. “If we go north, we need to go trade for some Dalish paper.”

“Nah. Too much trouble.”

She’s annoyed, and it’s not because she’s hungry anymore. Before she speaks, though, she asks herself why—something she’s learned from Sigrun herself. She’s tired, yes, and she doesn’t know if she wants to continue this conversation, but she knows she should. Sigrun’s only shy when she’s hiding something she’s bothered by. She needs to know, then. She’s her partner, and Velanna has learned that to be good for her, to be as good for as she has been for her, she needs to know.

“Trouble? It’s…we can just requisition it, can’t we?” She gestures to the food. “You always tell me to enjoy being a warden.” She scoffs slightly. “You shouldn’t erase your own record of yourself, you know.” She realizes: ah, that’s why. “They’ve done enough of that.”

Sigrun laughs. “It’s not like this is the Shaperate, Velanna. Just paper.”

“It’s the Shaperate for people like us,” Velanna retorts. “The Dalish write. And we have our songs and stories and friezes. We just have our dispatches. Add in a line. Give it to me.” She tugs the parchment from under her hand. “I’ll write it. ‘Give us more paper.’”

“Hugs and kisses, Velanna,” Sigrun says drily. She picks up a butter knife and begins smearing soft cheese onto the loaf. Velanna stretches an arm around her, and Sigrun leans into her as she eats. “Fine,” she says, muffled. She pauses to chew a bit more and swallow. “But who’s gonna read it? Not like I want Mahariel to read it. This is personal, not like—history.”

Velanna says, “Who cares? I’d kill to have my mother’s words.”

“I know you would,” Sigrun says.

“So you see my point. Someone will want it. You know how much it matters. Don’t let them scratch you off the page.”

“Who’s them?” Sigrun pushes against her gently. “Just me. Anyway, the scratch of the nib still fucks up the page. I’m still there.”

“Yeah,” Velanna says, “off in like, the margins. You dragged me to this inn, vhenan. Your words should be in the middle of the page.”

Sigrun says, “I think you got me lost in the woods of that metaphor, my love. Why don’t we go take that bath, and you try that again?”

“Oy,” Velanna says, but Sigrun’s laughing, so she smiles too. Sigrun finishes the report, Velanna adds in a demand for more paper, they take their bath and enjoy their bed, and at some point, Velanna knows, Sigrun will write about it—and someone will remember it for them, too.

[loversamongus]

On Pink Clouds | Zuko x reader

a/n: so I watched Sleeping Beauty again the other night because that is my favorite Disney princess movie don’t @ me okay anyways I love the Once Upon a Dream scene when they’re twirling by the water and then at the end when they’re dancing on clouds and I couldn’t stop thinking about how Zuko would probably be a good dancer too and this is what happened enjoy. Also sorry what, did you say you wanted an Anastasia “maybe we should stop spinning” moment, too? You got it.

words: 1.9k

fic taglist: @spiritvines​ @protect-remus​ @emeraldpotato

The air was getting warmer. Which isn’t saying much living in the Fire Nation. But the air was getting heavier, the days getting longer, the sun shining brighter. The first day of summer was arriving and the palace was bustling with preparations for the annual Summer Solstice festivities. 

While this time of year is usually exciting, you could do without the superficial and overly posh advisor meetings that came with it. Discussion about educational reforms and foreign policy, your personal passions and areas of expertise, were suddenly sent to the back burner and replaced with talk of exquisite feasts and which foreign dignitaries to invite. Financially responsible as ever, you tried your best to argue for more budget friendly decorations considering the nation was still recovering from 100 years of war, but your older and more traditional colleagues remained adamant that it was in the nation’s best interest to host a genuine, all-out festival. 

You brought your complaints and concerns to the fire lord himself. Ah, the perks of being best friends with the fire lord. Of course, these complaints and concerns were usually filed off-the-record while enjoying what limited downtime the both of you had. After the final advisor meeting for festival preparations, you met Zuko in his room where a seamstress was finishing up his fitting for special Summer Solstice robes. Silently, you made yourself comfortable in an armchair and only quirked a mocking eyebrow in his direction.

“Not a word,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I’m not saying anything!” You threw your arms up in protest. The seamstress took out the last pin on Zuko’s sleeve and packed up her stuff before shuffling out of the room. “Although,” you continued. “If Advisor Ji were here, I’m sure he would say that ‘you look absolutely ravishing, Your Majesty. The very picture of a traditional Fire Lord.” You followed your impression with a gagging sound so that Zuko wouldn’t miss your resounding disgust for the uppity old man.

Zuko offered his arm to you which, standing up, you gladly took. “And what battle did you get into with him today?” he asked with a smile while leading you down the hallway.

“Ugh, we were confirming the seating plan for the feast tonight because Agni forbid we sit this old noble family next to that family, it just simply isn’t done.” Your free hand waved animatedly as you gave the recap of the past meeting. “But the worst part was, I had said weeks ago that we should consider opening up the feast to people from all walks of life in the Fire Nation, not just the nobility. Like the orphanage.”

You heard Zuko try to stifle a chuckle. “Oh come on! Just imagine those cute little innocent faces munching into all the food and running through the palace hallways and their faces lighting up with the fireworks! They would have so much fun, and isn’t that what the festival is all about?”

“Well, actually, it’s a tradition that was started—“

“Not you, too!” You turned sharply to look him in the eyes. “I am so sick of you old, rich people talking about traditions and manners—“

This time, Zuko couldn’t hold back his laughter. You watched with your mouth still slightly open after being interrupted as he tilted back his head to laugh. “I thought it was a great idea to invite the orphanage, which is why I personally invited them to the feast tonight.”

“You did?” you responded quietly but your lips turned into a bright smile.

“Yeah. I figured Aang could use the entertainment.”

The two of you continued to talk about the festival as well as the abhorrently outdated opinions of some of the advisors all the way to the turtleduck pond. The sun was getting lower on the horizon and once it was fully set, the feast would begin. Despite the setting sun, it was still a hot day, so you took your place sitting beneath the tree near the pond to get some shade. Zuko sat closer to the edge of the pond and took out some bread from where he had somehow stashed it in his robes. Leaning against the tree, you looked up at the sky and sighed.

“I love this time of day,” you said absentmindedly. The sky was illuminated by a soft golden glow and the clouds looked painted with a myriad of pastels. “Look at the clouds today, Zuko. They’re pink.” Zuko looked up for a moment and then glanced back at you to smile before feeding the small gaggle of turtleducks.

With the night’s festivities looming over your heads, the pond was the only place to get some peace and quiet for even just a moment. You’d need it anyways in order to gear up for the feast. The palace would soon be packed with Fire Nation nobles, the Avatar and his friends, and now the orphans and their caretakers, all waiting for the young Fire Lord to officially kick off the festival. Large crowds were never your favorite, which was why you had planned on retiring from the feast after dinner was served.

“But you have to stay for the dancing,” Zuko practically pouted when you told him this plan.

“No, no. I don’t dance. But I’ll tell you what,” you sat up from the tree you were leaning against. It was your favorite spot to get some shade as Zuko fed the turtleducks little pieces of bread. “I’ll stay long enough to watch you dance. That’s sure to be a sight to behold.”

Zuko scoffed. “I’ll have you know I am a pretty good dancer.” A turtleduck quacked. “See? He agrees.”

You laughed a little and reached for a piece of bread to offer to the little suck up. “What, did little Prince Zuko have to take royal dance lessons when he was little?”

“Yes actually!” Zuko rolled his eyes as if it was such an obvious answer. You half expected him to let the conversation go at this point and continue feeding the turtleducks. He could only handle your teasing for so long before starting to lose his temper. But he stood up abruptly and held out his hand. You placed bread in his open palm questioningly.

“Not the bread!” His voice revealed a hint of frustration. “Give me your hand. I’ll show you.”

You huffed and moved to cross your arms. You had just said you didn’t dance after all. Zuko’s pride certainly wouldn’t get you to dance. You were about to tell him that he was just fooling himself if he thought he could get you to dance when you felt his hand close on your elbow, pulling you up from your seated position.

“Zuko!” you whined.

“Would you just do this for me, please?” It was posed as a question but his apparent annoyance made it feel closer to a command. “And then you can leave early later if you still want to.”

He didn’t even wait for you to respond before he began straightening your shoulders and back. He took your left hand and held it out to the side and with a finger, tilted your chin up before resting that free hand on your waist. All other protests immediately seemed to die in your throat.

“Now, I lead. Think you can handle that?” He smirked and then began to step forward. After some hesitancy, you stepped backwards with him. You found yourself inching up on your tiptoes to better manage the height difference. But when he stepped again, and again, you felt forced to look down to see where you should be stepping next.

He stopped and adjusted your shoulders again. “Hey. Just look at me.” He gave your hand a squeeze and you looked up again. You couldn’t remember a time you’ve been this close to him. You could practically see each one of the thousands of golden flecks in his eyes. And you knew he was strong, being a master firebender and swordsman and all, but his grip on your waist felt so gentle and safe. He gave you a small smile before starting the dance again. This time, you moved a little better in time with him.

“See? It’s just little steps here and there. Ready to try a spin?”

Before you could say anything, you felt that gentle hand on your waist push you out a little bit while his other hand guided you under his arm. The sudden movement was not something you had expected and so your feet got tripped up a little. Zuko, however, caught your waist again and repositioned you upright before you could completely tumble over.

With a small laugh, he joked, “Okay, maybe we tried that too soon. We could just spin together instead.”

You started dancing again, taking small steps in slow circles around the pound. You were grateful that these steps felt much easier than the spin you had just been forced to attempt. The movement was repetitive and once you felt you’d gotten the hang of it, you went back to counting the flecks in Zuko’s eyes. You also made special note of the small wisps of his hair that had fallen out of his top knot, no doubt from the spinning.

“You okay?” Zuko checked in with you. Suddenly you realized you had not spoken since being pulled up to dance with him. You shook your head to free it from your thoughts in order to respond.

“Yeah,” you managed to breathe out. “I feel like I’m on clouds.”

“Pink clouds?” He smiled.

“Mhm.” The peace and calm you had felt when you looked up at the sky earlier settled in your chest. With a few more trips around the pond, you and Zuko held small conversations here and there. Your replies always seemed a bit hesitant though, mostly because you were concentrating on the steps. Without a doubt, however, you felt relaxed and at ease in his arms. You supposed that turtleduck really did know Zuko was a great dancer.

You lost count of how many spins the two of you did but you did become aware of the sky darkening as well as the spinning in your head.

“I’m feeling a little dizzy,” you said softly. Zuko shifted so that he didn’t lead you into another spin. Instead, you both settled into the small pattern of steps you had started out with before coming to a complete stop. Regardless, you still held his hand and he still held your waist.

“Probably from all the spinning. Maybe we should stop.” His gaze held yours for the entirety of your dance but only now did you notice the seriousness, an intensity, in his eyes. You urged yourself not to let your eyes wander anywhere past the tip of his nose.

“But we have stopped.”

“Y/n, I—“ You felt yourself begin to lean in with him.

“Fire Lord Zuko!” A man, coming around the corner onto the grounds of the turtleduck pond, interrupted. “Fire Lord Zuko,” he repeated again, this time followed by a bow. “The feast will be beginning shortly.”

Zuko did not turn to face the man but he dropped his hand from your waist. His hand still held you and his eyes remained fixed on your face. “Thank you,” he responded in his most regal voice. “I’ll be there soon.”

The man bowed again before exiting back around the corner. The spinning now gone from your head, you cleared your throat and stepped back from him. Zuko held your hand tighter in response.

“You’ll stay for a dance?” he asked hopefully.

“Okay.” You smiled.

[jobean12-blog]

Once Upon a Winter Solstice

Pairing: Destroyer!Chris x reader

Word Count: 649

Summary: Chris surprises you for Winter Solstice

Author’s Note: This is for the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club Home for the Holidays celebration and day 21: Winter Solstice. I thought it would be nice to get away and celebrate with Chris because some relaxing quiet time is just what he deserves (and you). Hope you enjoy and thank you all for reading! Much love always! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Soft sweet fluffy love

HBC Home for the Holidays Masterlist

Chris pulls up to a long driveway that disappears between a line of tall evergreen trees, the white snow heavy on the branches and still falling. “Here we are sweetheart. I don’t want to pull up until you close your eyes,” he says with a wink. You squeeze them shut and grab his hand, smiling the whole way up to the cabin.

“Ok, now keep them closed. I’m going to come and help you out and I’ll tell you when you can open them,” he explains before getting out. You nod with a giggle and gasp when you feel the rush of cold air from the open door. Chris takes your hand and carefully helps you out of the car. “Just a few more steps baby.”

Your feet crunch along the freshly laid snow until you hit something wooden and Chris stops. “Ok. Open ‘em up.” You let out a squeal when you see the small but cozy cabin before you, perfectly decorated with pines, lights, gold balls and candles lining the steps.

“Oh Chris! It’s just… It’s so beautiful!” you cry, throwing your arms around him. “Thank you! Thank you so much! This is the best way to celebrate Winter Solstice.” He gives you that soft smile he reserves just for you and your heart melts a little more. “If you’re happy with this just wait until you see the inside,” he says excitedly, leading you up the steps.

When he opens the door, your eyes are met with the soft glow of more lights that line the windows and a yule log over the fireplace. There are candles set all along the windowsills and mantle and a small tree in the corner. “Oh, my goodness. I don’t even know what to say. How? When?” you ask, your bottom lip trembling with the tears that threaten to spill.

“Don’t cry kitten!” Chris pleads, letting his calloused thumb swipe over the lone tear that runs down your cheek. “I came here yesterday and set the place up because I wanted it to be all ready for you. But we still need to decorate the tree and light all the candles. I stocked up the kitchen and I haven’t even showed you the best part yet.”

With a soft kiss you chant “thank you,” against his lips, tracing along his stubbly jaw and nuzzling your nose into his neck. “Ready for the last surprise,” he asks, his enthusiasm so endearing. “Yes!!!” you exclaim, noting all the extra details he added as he walks you through the cabin. A bowl of fruit and nuts frames the kitchen table, a small wreath of pine surrounding it and bunches of mistletoe hang from every doorframe.

“Can you close your eyes for me again?” he asks softly, squeezing your hand. With a kiss you close them and hold his hand, walking slowly as he takes you to the back of the cabin. You hear the opening of a sliding glass door and then you’re hit with the cold night air. “Ok, you can open them now!”

You let out a loud screech and start hopping up and down. “It’s a hot tub! CHRIS!” He pulls you back inside the warm cabin and rubs his hands up and down your arms. “I’m so glad you like it all baby. I just want you to be happy.” His words almost bring you to tears for the second time and you bury your face in his chest.

Honestly, Chris. This is so amazing and beautiful. It’s perfect in every way. I don’t know how to thank you,” you mumble into his shirt. He lifts your chin and kisses your lips. “How about this?” he answers, “we’ll decorate the tree, make ourselves a bite to eat then do wine and dessert in the hot tub.” Your lips skim his and you breath him in, whispering, “that sounds absolutely perfect.”

@bugsbucky @book-dragon-13 @breezy1415 @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hailmary-yramliah @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @loricameback @lookiamtrying @lorilane33 @littleredstarfish @marvelandotherfandomimagines @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @pinkdiamond1016 @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @tuiccim​ @the-wayward-robot​

[wrenhyperfixates]

Loki Odinson’s Guide on How to Woo a Noble

Chapter 3: The Beauty of Love

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: It’s time for the solstice ball, and you’re the only one Loki wants to go with. All that’s keeping him from a perfect night with you is his own fears that you don’t want the same. Warnings: ‘tis just fluff A/N: This is it: The end of my first miniseries, but I had a lot of fun writing it. Thank you for coming on this journey with me, and I hope you enjoy this last part :)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Epilogue 

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki’s leg bounced under the table. Just a few more excruciatingly boring minutes and he’d get to be with you. His tutor droned on and on, making him wish his illusions were just a little bit better. Then he could get out of here early. Though he was doing his best to focus, Loki’s mind kept wandering to the plan he was concocting. The summer solstice ball was quickly approaching, now just a few days away. All month Loki had been trying to figure out a way to ask you to accompany him. His birthday was a mere two months away and yours would quickly follow. Then you’d officially be at courting age and he wanted to secure his place as a suitor. The looks that Fandral and the other dashing, young nobles have been sending you did not go unnoticed by the God of Mischief.

“Pssst. Loki,” Thor whispered, tapping his brother on the shoulder. “Are you following any of this?”

“Obviously, Thor. It is not very hard.”

Of course, that was a lie. Well, it may very well have been easy to follow, but Loki’s distracted mind was not allowing him to do so. Thor was scratching his head and looking intensely at his notes, which Loki peered at and realized were little more than scribbles. Though, that might just be Thor’s atrocious handwriting.

“Brother?”

“Yes, Thor?”

“Can I copy your notes?”

“May I copy your notes.”

“But I just asked to copy yours.”

“Yes, Thor, I know. But you asked ‘can I’ when the correct form is ‘may I.’”

Thor scratched his head in confusion again. “So can I then? And, by the way, I don’t appreciate your tone being so condensing.”

“The word is condescending,” Loki sighed. “I honestly do not know how-”

Loki was cut off by their tutor, Lord Asmund, clearing his throat. If looks could kill, Loki and Thor wouldn’t live to see another day. They both gave each other a nervous look, hating for this to be reported to their father, who was very insistent upon them learning Asgard’s history.

“Prince Loki,” Lord Asmund said, “perhaps you could tell me for what purpose the Treaty of Light with Alfheim was made?”

“To set up a trade route?” Loki guessed

“No. Thor?”

“For, uh. Um. Wait! To... No idea,” he ended with slumped shoulders.

“Of course not,” he said with an exasperated eye-roll. “The correct answer is to settle a land dispute. And you can both write me an essay about it due on Monday. Dismissed.”

The brothers gathered their belongings in their arms and headed out the door. Loki sped up, trying to avoid Thor, but he ran after him. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have minded some advice on how to ask you out, but that would surely be accompanied with teasing. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Thor wanted to talk about.

“So, brother, have you invited anyone to the ball yet?”

“Maybe, maybe not. And you?”

“Sadly for many of the ladies, yes I have. Sif and I will be going together.”

“I see. Hypothetically, if I had not asked anyone out yet and wanted to, how would I go about doing that?”

“The same way I have been telling you since the beginning. Just be your charming self and ask them. They’ll say yes to you, you know.”

“I do not know who you are talking about,” Loki lied, still not wanting to confirm his brother’s suspicions.

“Uh-huh. Listen, Loki, you can do it. I know you can,” Thor comforted his brother. He saw his friends approaching and started jogging to them. “Good luck!” he called over his shoulder.

Loki snuck away before they could invite him to join in whatever brutish activity they had planned. Heading into the lavish library, Loki breathed in the calming scent of old books. He trailed his fingers along the binding while walking towards the bay window where you were supposed to meet. You were already sitting there, legs hugged to your chest, and a book perched on your knees. Lupus was sprawled on the floor, bathing in a patch of sunlight. He perked up upon noticing Loki, alerting you to his presence. Loki sank down onto the cushion next to you, and the wolf pup jumped into his lap. The god’s face lit up when you looked at him with a radiant smile.

“How’d your lesson go?” you asked, closing your book.

“Fine, I suppose,” he replied while distractedly petting Lupus.

“But?”

“But I was getting a little distracted,” he conceded, nervously looking away. “I could not stop thinking about the solstice ball.”

“I see. Is your date giving you trouble?”

“My-my date?” he questioned, voice cracking. “I-I don’t have one yet. Do you?”

“Oh. You hadn’t mentioned anything, so I just assumed. I don’t have one either.”

You both looked out the window, Lupus’s pants the only sound in the library. He looked at you in confusion, wondering why the mood had changed. Loki was confused, too, though for a different reason. He was fairly certain that someone had asked you already, though he supposed it was possible you declined. Fandral had seemed pretty downtrodden a few days ago. Though why would you turn down your other options unless...

“Would you like to go with me?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes!” you replied, a little too excitedly. You calmed down a bit before continuing, “I mean, yes, I would love to go with you.”

You began to excitedly plan for the upcoming night. Naturally, the two of you coordinated outfits, and you’d be wearing Loki’s colors. As the prince’s date you’d be required to make a grand entrance, which admittedly, both you and Loki would prefer to skip. Sure, he loved the attention, but anything he did would certainly be overshadowed by his brother. Yet another reminder that he’d never be as beloved as Thor. That he’d never get what he wanted. Though, he realized, that wasn’t entirely true. After all, you were going to the ball with him, not his brother, which counted for more than it perhaps should have. But, right now, sitting here with you, with the sunlight reflecting in your eyes, meant more than the whole world.

The conversation was flowing so easily between you that Frigga had to enlist a servant to summon you for dinner. Everyone was eating by the time you arrived, and Loki slinked up to the head table, taking his seat. Odin greeted him with a glare out of the corner of his eye. Loki was sure he’d be getting a lecture later, but the extra time with you was worth it. His mother gave him a knowing smile that made him flustered, certain that she’d be asking for details later.

“So,” Thor asked after a few minutes, drawing out the “o” in an exaggerated manner. “How did it go?”

“Quite well,” Loki confessed. “They have agreed to accompany me.”

“See, brother? You should listen to me more often.”

“I doubt that. Thank you, though,” Loki begrudgingly added. “For your support and advice.”

“Of course. What are brothers for?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Apparently, brothers were not for helping when one of them was extremely stressed out. Loki had checked himself in the mirror multiple times before leaving the room, but he still felt paranoid that there was something wrong with his appearance. It certainly didn’t help that Thor kept telling him he had a hair out of place or a loose buckle on his armor. In retaliation, he turned Thor’s cape bright pink, but his mother was quick to fix it with a spell of her own and a warning look. At least Odin hadn’t noticed. With only a few moments left before it was time to enter the ballroom, Loki began to pace. You’d yet to arrive, and he began to worry you decided that you didn’t want to accompany him, after all. He had no doubt that you were friends, but this would take things to another level. For all means and purposes, this was a date, and it was entirely possible you didn’t want everyone to see you together, considering that all your meetings to date had been rather clandestine.

“Relax my son,” Frigga assured him, placing a calming hand on his shoulder to still his nervous movements. “They will be here.”

Thor peered over his shoulder and gave him an encouraging thumbs up, attempting to make up for earlier after seeing how truly distressed his brother was. Loki nodded gravely, not sharing the same faith that his family did. Yes, he was a prince, but to be honest, the lesser one. Everyone knew Odin favored Thor as the next king, and in turn, the subjects adored him far more than they ever did Loki. Before his mind could stray any further, your shoes were rapidly clicking on the polished tile floor as you ran down the hall, a hand grasping your circlet to make sure it didn’t fall off.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you said to Loki after greeting the royal family with the proper respect. “I had a slight wardrobe malfunction, but it’s all good now. Sorry that I kept you waiting.”

“It is quite alright,” he replied while Thor snickered, knowing how troubled he’d been mere seconds ago. “Might I just say, you look absolutely stunning.”

“Thanks Loki. You too,” you responded, shyly looking away.

“Come on, let’s get this over with,” Odin gruffly said to the small group.

Following the king’s orders, the assembled pairs lined up behind the large doors leading to the grand stairs of the ballroom. Having the least status in the royal family, Loki had to go first. You gave his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before placing your arm on top of his in the proper, formal manner.

Loki squinted against the bright lights of the room as the steward announced your arrival.  There was a polite smattering of applause as you descended the stairs. As expected, the crowd was much more enthused by the arrival of the elder prince, and Loki sulked while his brother followed the path he’d just taken. You gently bumped him with your shoulder, offering a kind look as Odin began his speech from the landing. Though, Loki didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying. He had no need to; it was the same as every other year.

Then came the first dance, Loki’s favorite part of the night. The royal family walked out to the center of the dance floor. Once they were in place, the musicians came to life and an ethereal waltz tune filled the air. Loki placed one hand on your waist and the other grasped your hand, while your free one was lightly resting on his shoulder. Your two bodies became one as you spun around the floor, lost in each other’s eyes.

“You know,” you ventured, “you really shouldn’t let what others think affect you so much. You do believe me when I tell you how amazing you are, right?”

“I thought I was not supposed to listen to what others think of me,” Loki said, trying to make light of the situation by teasing you, in the hopes of avoiding having to actually talk about his feelings.

“Well, this is different because it’s a fact,” you persisted as Loki blushed. “You really are amazing.”

Before he could say anything else, the music stopped and a new dance begun, one where you switched partners. You threw him a look that said “we are not done talking about this.” He was having mixed feelings at the moment. On the one hand, he was able to dodge a conversation about his emotions for the time being. On the other, he couldn’t spend this dance with you as his partner. Eventually, you made your way back to him and the dance came to an end. He whisked you away to the edge of the room where you could rest out of the public eye for a minute. Though it was highly improper, you and Loki made comments about the rest of the guests, being careful that no one overheard you. At some point, you were able to circle back around to Loki’s lack of faith in himself.

“I am not sure this is the best place to discuss this,” he said, trying to buy himself more time.

“You’re right,” you agreed, fiddling with the bracelet he’d given you, which you’d yet to take off. “Join me for a walk?”

Between the innocent look in your eye and the proposition of alone time with you, Loki couldn’t refuse. The night air was warm as the two of you made your way down the cobblestone path of the garden. Reaching a bench, you stopped for a spell, feet tired from all the dancing and standing around.

“If you really are correct,” Loki began after a short silence, during which you absentmindedly rested your head on his shoulder, “and I am amazing, why does no one else seem to see it?”

You considered his question for a second before picking your head up and looking into his eyes. Such a scrutinizing gaze would usually have made Loki defensive, but he recognized the soft undertones of yours, leaving him with just a worry that you wouldn’t like whatever it was you were looking for.

“I don’t know, really,” you finally admitted. “Maybe because for all your supposed confidence, you don’t really see it either. Or, who knows, maybe they’re just jealous.”

He considered that for a moment, simultaneously loving and hating how astute your deductions were. At least, on the first account. And he did often believe others envied him for the few talents he would admit he truly possessed.

“Maybe,” was all he said.

“Yeah, maybe,” you echoed, placing a hand over his.

Loki’s cheeks flushed again, and he looked at you. You really were beautiful, inside and out. It was a pity, he thought, that people usually only recognized the latter. Though, it made him feel honored that you let him get close enough to you that he could see the former as well. As he was observing you, you turned your head up to look at the sky, presumably thinking of the first time you’d met. He knew he was. The motion upset your circlet, and it slid out of place. Loki went to fix it, but as he was doing so, got an even better idea.

“What are you doing?” you inquired, fixing him with an inquisitive look as he took off the accessory.

“I just thought you might look even better in this,” he answered.

He took off his helmet and put it on your head. It was ever so slightly too large and slid down a bit farther than it should. It only served to make you more adorable, Loki thought. You looked at him for a second as if trying to make up your mind about something. Then you suddenly rushed forward and placed a chaste kiss to his cheek. It was enough to make you both fidget and chuckle sheepishly.

Loki stood up after a moment, making up his own mind about something. He placed another kiss, to your knuckles this time, and asked, “Shall we return to the ball?”

“We shall,” you answered, beaming at how self-assured he seemed.

You went back hand in hand and made it to the center of the floor just in time for the final dance. Both of you danced so beautifully that every other guest stopped to admire your grace. As you finished, they erupted into the loudest round of applause that evening.

“Loki,” you gasped later that evening as he walked you back to your quarters. “I’m still wearing your helmet!”

“It is alright, darling. Trust me when I say you look quite ravishing. And,” he added after a split second of hesitation, “I hope you know how amazing you are, too.”

As you stopped in front of your door, Loki leaned in, and you finally met in a long-overdue, sweet, gentle, loving kiss.

[xerxia31]

The First Christmas

Author/creator: xerxia31 Square filled and prompt: I3, evergreen (I mean, tangentially anyway) Title: The First Christmas Rating: K Summary: The Everdeens have never celebrated Christmas before... Author’s/Creator’s notes: Yeah, I went a little over the word count, because I’m a shameless rule breaker. This is canon-divergent in-Panem fluff.

“I’m worried about Peeta,” Prim says out of the blue. She and Katniss are perhaps ten paces behind Peeta on their early morning trudge to school, watching as Peeta sneaks what he probably thinks are furtive glances towards the square.

It’s been four months since the night Peeta’s mother threw him out of the apartment above the bakery, and he’s adapted to living with the Everdeen women better than any of them imagined. Life in the Seam is far different from a merchant life in town, but Peeta never complains, never seems to miss his previous life at all.

But over the past few days, Katniss too has noticed that on the long walks to school, and back to the Seam, he keeps glancing towards town, where he never used to do so before. 

“Maybe he misses his family,” Katniss muses in a hushed tone. His two brothers come by the small shack in the Seam from time to time to see Peeta, but there hasn’t been a single word from his parents. None of them ever thought Peeta’s presence in their home would be a permanent thing; when they offered him a safe haven from his abusive mother they expected his father would smooth things over in a few days. But it hasn’t happened.

“Hmmm,” Prim hums, matching her quiet tone. “I mean, I’m sure he does. But I don’t think that’s it.” 

“What then?” The snow and cold are making everyone a little grumpier lately, at school and in the Hob there are a lot of frowns, a lot of complaints. The ever-present coal dust stains the snow a sludgy grey, and it’s hard to be happy surrounded by the mess, especially someone like Peeta who has the soul of an artist. But she and Peeta sneak under the fence together on Saturdays when the weather cooperates and the fence is off, and in her woods, winter is actually quite pretty, even if the hunting is terrible. 

Ahead of them, Peeta’s shoulders slump as he reaches the fork where the path turns towards the school. Where his short view of town will disappear again.

“I think,” Prim says carefully, “that maybe he’s sad about Christmas.”

Christmas. Katniss has heard the word before. It was an ancient celebration, held near the solstice. Illegal in Panem now, as all of the old celebrations are, but there are some merchants who talk about it in hushed tones. 

“Why do you think that?” Katniss isn’t even sure when Christmas is, and she’s certain she’s never heard Peeta say the word before. Though they’ve only been dating since the spring, she’s known him forever, they’ve been schoolmates since they were five.

“I think it’s soon. I heard the miller’s son talking about it yesterday during history class.”

“Maybe,” Katniss hedges. “But what can we do about it anyway?”

“We could bring a little bit of Christmas to him,” Prim says, excitement lighting her bright blue eyes. 

“How?” Katniss grumbles. “We know nothing about Christmas.” 

“We’ll find out.” Prim quiets as Peeta realizes how far behind him they are and stops. “Christmas,” Prim murmurs again, then skips ahead, looping her arm through Peeta’s.

Both blondes hold out their free hands towards Katniss, and it makes her laugh, knocking the idea out of her head. She picks up her pace to join them. Peeta wraps an arm around her shoulder, pressing a warm kiss to her cold temple, just below the fuzzy edge of her frayed grey  hat, and the three finish their walk to school linked together.

But she’s thinking about it again later that evening. Peeta is quiet over dinner, not brooding but not his usual cheerful self. Prim enlists his help to accompany her on a delivery of salve to an injured miner on the far side of the Seam, and Katniss washes up the supper dishes with her mother.

“What do you know about Christmas?” Katniss asks, and though she’s not looking at her mother directly, she can see Mrs. Everdeen tense, the way she always does when Katniss mentions things that are forbidden in the district.

“Not a lot,” she says softly. “My mother’s parents celebrated it, but my father disapproved, so we never did.” Katniss is surprised by the hint of melancholy in her mother’s voice. She doesn’t understand how that sadness can be about her grandparents, the people who disowned their only child, who never even met their granddaughters.

“Prim thinks maybe it’s why Peeta is so sad.” There’s no point beating around the bush, Katniss isn’t interested in discussing her mother’s long lost Merchant life.

Mrs Everdeen nods. “I know Graham celebrated Christmas when we were young. I don’t know about Marissa though,” she says referencing Peeta’s parents. “But I’ve seen Christmas cookies fairly recently that must have come from their bakery.” She pulls her hands from the dishwater that’s gone cold. “Has he mentioned something?”

“No,” Katniss admits. “But you know Peeta. He would never complain.”

“That’s true,” she replies with a gentle smile. Mrs. Everdeen is very fond of Peeta, that much has been clear ever since he started coming to call on Katniss. “You and Prim are thinking about celebrating Christmas, to cheer him up?”

Katniss shrugs, putting the last dry dish away. “Not exactly,” she hedges. “We don’t know anything about it, I think that would be strange. But maybe we could do something small that would remind him of Christmas?”

“Well,” her mother starts, guiding her over to the small, threadbare couch by the potbellied stove. “Christmas was celebrated just after the solstice, on December 25.” Katniss nods, that gives her a little over a week to figure something out. “I don’t know the origins, exactly. But before the dark days, children would hang their stockings by the stove and wait for Father Christmas to fill them.”

“Fill them with what?” Katniss interjects.

“Little presents, if they were good. Coal, if they were bad.”

“The bad kids got coal in their stockings? I think I’d want to be bad.” Coal isn’t cheap, after all, and it’s useful.

Mrs. Everdeen laughs. “The good kids got treats from the sweet shop, or maybe new crayons or a little doll. A lot more exciting for a child than a bag of coal.” Katniss resists the urge to point out that she would have been excited about a bag of coal when she was a kid, in those years when she was keeping their little family together while Mrs. Everdeen wallowed in her misery. But it’s been six years since her father’s death, and she’s trying to let go of that anger.

“So Christmas is just for children?” Katniss doesn’t think Peeta would be so sad about missing out on a new tin whistle or spinning top.

“It was a little different for adults, I think. I don’t remember a lot,” she admits. “There would be a special dinner, a feast really, and decorations. And presents too, I think, if there was enough money.” There is definitely not enough money in the Everdeen household for whatever a Merchant Christmas would look like.

But maybe…

“Will you help me?” Katniss asks, with some reluctance. She loves her mother, but even after all of these years, she finds it difficult to trust her, and almost never asks for her help in anything.

Mrs. Everdeen brightens up. “Yes,” she says. “We’ll have to be careful. But I think we can put together a few things.”

“Where do we start?”

o-o-o

“Chop down a tree?” Prim’s eyes widen incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“That’s what she said,” Katniss sighs. “Apparently it’s a big deal. You chop down an evergreen tree and haul it inside the house, then decorate it with berries and popcorn.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Prim sighs, reminding Katniss that her little sister is still so young and so full of wonder. To Katniss, it just sounds like a lot of work and a waste of food.

“Sure,” Katniss says. She doesn’t have the heart to discourage Prim’s whimsy. “But how am I going to get a tree into the house without Peeta seeing?” It’s hard enough even to find occasions to chat with Prim without Peeta around, but on Mondays and Wednesdays at lunchtime he has wrestling practice. She’s not complaining about his presence, she loves having him around, and so does Prim. Madge had warned her that having Peeta living with her would probably be the end of their relationship, since Katniss was a loner by nature. But the opposite has been true. Having Peeta around all of the time, seeing his constant kindness and compassion, no matter the situation, she’s fallen even more deeply in love with him, and found a well of patience she never knew she possessed.

“I think he’s helping Leevy’s dad tomorrow afternoon for a couple of hours,” Prim says. “If the tree is little enough, we could hide it in our bedroom, then drag it out after Peeta goes to bed.” The timing is just right, he’d wake up on Christmas morning to a decorated tree, and Katniss has plans for the fat turkey she shot yesterday to become the special feast. 

o-o-o

“It looks ridiculous,” Katniss grouses. The tree, though barely a sapling, takes up almost all of the space in their tiny bedroom not already occupied by the two beds. All three Everdeen women share the room, while Peeta sleeps on a pallet in what used to be their summer kitchen. It’s drafty in there, and cold in the winter, but he never complains. 

“I think it’s magical,” Prim sighs around a mouthful of popcorn. The little tree is encircled with strings of the fluffy white stuff, which feels like a colossal waste of food, as well as cranberries, which bothers Katniss less since she’s not fond of the sour red berries anyway. Prim has cut paper dolls and nestled them into the branches too, and their mother has contributed some leftover strands of colourful wool from who knows where, pine cones dangling from the ends. 

Prim is so giddy during dinner that Katniss thinks surely Peeta will suspect something, but he’s quiet and distracted, tired from helping Leevy’s dad patch his roof and wrapped in the melancholy that’s dogged him for a couple of weeks now. Katniss hopes their Christmas surprise will cheer him up. She misses her always positive boyfriend. Her dandelion. 

It takes all three Everdeens to drag the little tree out, tiptoeing past the door to the summer kitchen, where Peeta retired early. They set it in the corner of the living area, wedged between the wall and the mantel, and though the tree isn’t even as tall as Katniss herself, it dominates the small room. 

Mrs Everdeen weaves together the small branches Katniss trimmed from the tree, fashioning a patchy garland she winds along the mantel over the stove. 

Katniss smiles. As silly as this whole exercise is, she can see how it’s going to charm Peeta with his love of whimsy. And Prim’s glowing happiness is a nice side effect. Maybe this Christmas stuff isn’t so bad after all.

She’s still smiling when she and Prim crawl into bed, even though the blankets are full of scratchy bits of popcorn.

o-o-o

She’s awake before dawn, which is typical, she wakes up early even on mornings when she’s not planning to hunt in the forest. But today, Prim is awake too, which is strange, it’s not even a school day. The excitement of Christmas morning, Katniss guesses. The girls whisper beneath their blankets, talking excitedly about Peeta’s surprise, but also about the things they don’t always have private time to chat about. The boys Prim is just starting to notice, the new dress Madge wore to school the day before, the chickens that the blacksmith is raising who always escape their coop. Sister stuff. Being forced to grow up too fast by their father’s death impacted their relationship, forcing Katniss to parent her little sister instead of being a friend. But lately things have been improving. Since Peeta moved in, really. He’s been a ray of sunshine, good tempered and helpful and hopeful, making everything easier in the little Seam shack. And their mom has been more present; Katniss is sure that too is Peeta's influence. 

When finally they hear the door between the summer kitchen and the house creak open on its old hinges, they throw back the blankets and sneak to the bedroom door. 

Peeta is standing very still in the main room, facing the tree. Prim hangs back a bit, but Katniss walks to him, the floor cold even through her socks, and lays a tentative hand on his forearm. 

He turns to face her, eyes shimmering wet. “Katniss,” he gasps. Then he’s pulling her into his arms, enveloping her in the warmth and strength of his embrace. 

“Happy Christmas,” she whispers, and he laughs softly, a broken little sound of pain and pleasure. He presses his lips to her temple, she can feel him smiling. They’re seldom physically affectionate in the house, it just seems disrespectful, but he holds her so tightly on this Christmas morning, his first without his family, and she clings to him. 

“You did all of this for me?” he murmurs against her hair. 

Katniss nods, snuggling more deeply into him, his heart beating under her ear. 

“What are those?” Prim squeaks from beside them. Katniss pulls back just slightly, unwilling to fully relinquish Peeta. It’s been so long since they’ve held each other like this, winter gives them few opportunities to cuddle without an audience. She looks around his broad shoulder, to where Prim is perched on the tips of her toes, like a bird about to take flight. Hanging from the mantel are three socks. “Why are our socks hanging over the stove?”

“Stockings.” Katniss remembers her mother calling them. “But how?”

“Father Christmas, of course.” All three young people turn at Mrs Everdeen’s voice. “You must all have been very good this year.”

Katniss and Prim both look confused, but Peeta smiles broadly. “Father Christmas brings treats for all of the good little girls and boys,” Peeta tells Prim, his smile bright. “He fills their stockings at Christmastime.”

Prim looks as pleased as Katniss has ever seen her, happier even than Peeta. Katniss glances at their mother, who is also smiling widely. Mrs. Everdeen must have snuck out after everyone was asleep and set this up. So that they could all have a special Christmas celebration.

Mrs. Everdeen insists on making tea before they look in their stockings, Katniss and Peeta sit side by side on the faded couch, his arm wrapped around her, the huge smile still resident on his face. Prim flits around, first helping her mother, then darting back to look at the stockings again, back and forth. She’s thirteen now, when Katniss was thirteen she was hunting and taking care of her family, she had no time for frivolity and no appetite for it either. But it’s so nice to see Prim acting like the young girl she is. It warms Katniss’s heart.

“You don’t celebrate Christmas,” Peeta says softly in Katniss’s ear as they watch Prim dance.

“No,” Katniss admits. “But you do.”

Peeta nods. “We weren’t allowed to talk about it. But Father Christmas always came on Christmas, even when it was a school day.” Pain flits across his features, cracking Katniss’s heart. “I miss them,” he admits. “I know I shouldn’t.”

“They’re your parents,” Katniss says simply, and Peeta nods. They’re terrible parents, by all measures. But Katniss knows that he can’t stop loving them, even if she doesn’t fully understand why. 

“I can’t help wondering if there are still three stockings on their mantel,” he whispers. “If they miss me at all.”

Katniss doesn’t have an answer for that, but she shifts to hug him tightly. 

With hot cups of tea and slightly hard biscuits from the day before consumed, Mrs. Everdeen hands each child a stocking. Prim laughs in delight, pulling each surprise from the sock and dancing around the small room to show everyone else. Katniss and Peeta poke through their stockings much more slowly, savouring the experience. Katniss keeps glancing at her mother, who looks happier than Katniss can remember. She hasn’t seen a smile like that since before her father died.

Katniss’s sock contains a stick of peppermint candy, a bottle of liniment for sore muscles, and a new knit hat in bright red wool. Peeta has lemon drops, a little pot of salve for winter-chapped hands and a green knit cap. Prim makes sure everyone gets an up close look at her new blue hat and hair ribbons, the cinnamon candy already consumed. Katniss knows how hard her mother would have had to have worked, to trade for the brightly coloured wool from which she made their new hats, and for the sweets and ribbons. And she’s torn between being horrified at the waste when all of that work could have been traded for things they really need, sugar or paraffin or cooking oil, and being genuinely delighted and touched. 

It’s been so long since she felt like a child, instead of a life-hardened person. So long since she’s seen her mother as a mother, instead of yet another mouth to feed. 

They prepare the holiday meal together, and while it’s not the first time they’re shared cooking duties in the little Seam shack, it might be the most joyful. Peeta tries to teach them a Christmas song, but he can’t carry a tune in a bucket, and the three Everdeen women simply dissolve in peals of laughter when poor Peeta warbles the nonsense phrase fa-la-la-la-la. 

It does nothing to diminish his joy.

The turkey is resting on the sideboard, waiting to be carved, when there’s a tap at the door. Katniss opens it with a big smile which falls when she sees two blond heads filling the frame.

She glances over her shoulder. Peeta has frozen in his table setting, he looks confused, but not unhappy to see his brothers. Katniss ushers the men into the shack which immediately feels crowded with the extra people, and closes the door against the winter wind.

“Came to wish you Merry Christmas, brother,” Brann, the eldest says. “But it looks like you’re already having a celebration.” He glances over at the little tree, the bright garland, and smiles broadly.

“Will you stay for the meal?” Mrs. Everdeen asks softly. “We were just about to begin.”

Katniss wants to protest, what is a feast for 4 will be much less adequate for six. But the way Peeta’s eyes light up so hopefully, she bites her tongue.

“We wouldn’t want to impose,” Rye says, but there’s a questioning lilt to his voice.

Prim, clearly also having read Peeta’s expression, jumps in. “Please stay,” she says brightly. “The more the merrier!” She’s tugging at their jackets before they’ve even agreed, leaving them little choice. Katniss bites back a smile. Prim’s jolly mood is infectious.

Brann extracts a small lump wrapped in a bit of bakery paper from his pocket before Prim takes his coat. He places it in Peeta’s hand. “Merry Christmas,” he says softly, before tugging his little brother into a hug. Rye joins, and Katniss glances away, giving the young men some bare semblance of privacy.

She has, in the past, resented Peeta’s brothers for not doing more to help him, for living their cushy merchant life while Peeta sleeps on a wood pallet far from the stove. But she knows that’s unfair, that Brann and Rye love their brother endlessly but are powerless to change things.

Peeta’s eyes are wet when the three Mellarks break apart, but his smile is as bright and wide as Katniss has ever seen.

It’s a tight fit to squeeze six people around the tiny kitchen table and there aren’t enough chairs, but Peeta perches on the stepladder and Rye balances on a wooden crate. There is more than enough for everyone, and the tiny shack fills with laughter and stories, Peeta and his brothers trading tales of holidays past, of delights left by father Christmas, of hiding Christmas cookies when the peacekeepers came by. It’s one of the nicest evenings Katniss can remember, and she finds herself thinking maybe there is something to this Christmas stuff, this celebration that has nothing to do with Panem and everything to do with family and community.

Peeta’s brothers can’t linger after the meal, their mother will doubtless be angry they’ve been gone as long as they have. The bakery is closed in the evenings, but there are always floors to mop and hearths to sweep and grievances to listen to.

Even cleaning up is lighthearted and fun, the festive feeling stretching into the mundane chores of packing up leftovers and washing the dishes. 

When they’re done, Peeta gathers them back around the table and produces the little paper-wrapped lump his brother had given him earlier. Inside is a ball, nearly black and a little lumpy. Katniss wrinkles her nose and avoids mentioning that it smells like old man Abernathy. 

“What is it?” Prim asks, her voice reverent, understanding that the unfamiliar blob is somehow important to Peeta.

“It’s called plum pudding,” he says softly, smiling. “Our traditional Christmas dessert. Will you all share it with me?”

The lump is small, and Katniss is worried just the fumes will make them drunk. But she pulls out four plates anyway while Mrs. Everdeen freshens their tea. To her surprise, when Peeta cuts into it, it’s full of fruit and nuts. Instantly, she’s transported to a cold April morning, years ago. To a kind little boy who saved her life. The start of a friendship that became so much more. 

Katniss glances at Peeta, and finds him smiling warmly at her. She can think of that day now without anger, without anguish, because of Peeta. Because of the years of goodness she’s witnessed, the hundreds of acts of kindness he’s done not just for her, but for anyone he encounters. He makes her see the world differently. He makes everything good again, even in the midst of District Twelve, and even when his own situation is so cruelly unfair. 

“There are no plums!” Prim says, interrupting her musing. Katniss inspects the cake-like lump. Raisins, nuts and currants, and what looks like orange peel.

Peeta laughs. “There never are,” he says. 

“I could get you plums, next year I mean.” There’s an ancient plum tree, not far from her father’s lake. It never produces more than a handful of purple fruit, so Katniss seldom bothers with it. But if it’s important to Peeta, she’ll pay more attention next summer. 

Peeta beams at her. “No, I mean it isn’t made with plums. Just raisins, currants and candied peel.”

“Then why do they call it plum pudding?” Prim says, nose wrinkled. “It’s not pudding, and there are no plums.”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Peeta admits. “It’s a very old recipe.”

Katniss takes a small bite. It’s… not great. The cake makes her think of illnesses, sweet like sleep syrup and burning like the white liquor their mother gives them for coughs. 

“Not a fan, love?” Peeta says softly. He never calls her that pet name in front of anyone else, but something about the festive magic has made him a little less cautious. Or maybe it’s just his happiness overflowing.

She shrugs. She’s not keen on offending him, but she doesn’t think she can choke down a whole piece of the cake, however small it might be. Peeta seems to be enjoying it though, so she slides her plate in front of him with a grin. 

“Katniss doesn’t like sweets,” Prim interjects, and she’s not wrong. Given the choice, Katniss would always choose the more savoury treats, though she did like the taste of chocolate Peeta snuck out of the bakery for her once, years ago.

“That’s because she’s sweet enough already,” Peeta teases, and all four of them laugh. Only Peeta would ever describe Katniss as sweet. ‘Prickly’ is a far more common adjective.

Mrs. Everdeen leaves the children to finish their cake and bundles up in her heaviest coat. “I have to check on Molly Birch’s new baby,” she explains. “I won’t be long.” It’s only a two minute walk to where the Birch family lives in a little Seam shack identical to the Everdeen home, so she waves off Peeta’s offer of accompaniment.

Prim, in an act of kindness so very fitting her sweet temperament, announces that she’s got homework and takes a candle into the bedroom. Katniss knows Prim doesn’t have any pressing work, expects she’ll probably lie under the blankets and read from the plant book. She’s just giving Katniss and Peeta a few precious minutes of privacy. 

Normally it would embarrass Katniss, the implication that she and Peeta might need alone time, but today she’s just grateful. He opens his arms and she walks right into them. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, lips brushing against her neck. “This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

“So far,” Katniss whispers. She’s not one for fantasizing about the future, especially when there is still one more reaping to get through. But that it will include Peeta is a given. She used to be afraid of love, afraid of losing herself, like her mother did. But not anymore. Not with Peeta by her side.

Peeta sighs, a soft, satisfied little noise, then pulls back just slightly. Katniss scowls, but he merely grins. “There is one tradition you forgot,” he says, but his mischievous expression takes away any sting to his words. There is always fun in an expression like that.

“Oh?” Katniss says, returning his smile. 

He pulls from his pocket a small ball of greenery with tiny white berries. Katniss knows what it is, some of the bolder merchant boys hang them around the school, hoping to catch merchant girls unaware. Mistletoe. 

She laughs, but softly, so as not to disturb Prim. The walls in the shack are paper thin. Peeta nods, eyes twinkling, then lifts the little weed above her head, and bends to kiss her soundly.

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 13: I Have Trust Issues But Okay

We spent two days on the Amtrak train, heading west through hills, over rivers, past amber waves of grain. We weren't attacked once, but I didn't relax. I felt that we were traveling around in a display case, being watched from above and maybe from below, that something was waiting for the right opportunity. We tried to keep a low profile because Percy and I's name and picture were splattered over the front pages of several East Coast newspapers. It seemed like when they saw me with Percy they realized me and my family are gone. The Trenton Register-News showed a photo taken by a tourist as we got off the Greyhound bus. Percy had a wild look in my eyes. His sword was a metallic blur in his hands. It might've been a baseball bat or a lacrosse stick. I was holding his hand with my knife on the other hand. The picture's caption read: Twelve-year-old Percy Jackson, wanted for questioning in the Long Island disappearance of his mother two weeks ago, is shown here fleeing from the bus where he accosted several elderly female passengers. The bus exploded on an east New Jersey roadside shortly after Jackson fled the scene. Based on eyewitness accounts, police believe the boy may be traveling with three teenage accomplices. It has been found out one of which is Y/N L/N, a twelve-year-old girl who went missing with her family during a trip. Percy Jackson's stepfather, Gabe Ugliano, has offered a cash reward for information leading to his capture.

"Don't worry," Annabeth told Percy. "Mortal police could never find us." But she didn't sound so sure. The rest of the day we spent alternately pacing the length of the train (because I had a really hard time sitting still) or looking out the windows. Calm Once, I spotted a family of centaurs galloping across a wheat field, bows at the ready, as they hunted lunch. The little boy centaur, who was the size of a second-grader on a pony, caught my eye and waved. I looked around the passenger car, the adult riders all had their faces buried in laptop computers or magazines, Percy and I saw an amazed look. Another time, toward evening, Percy said he saw something huge moving through the woods. He swore it was a lion, except that lions don't live wild in America, and it was the size of a Hummer, then it leaped through the trees and was gone. I told him he might have been seeing things and Annabeth agreed. Our reward money for returning Gladiola the poodle had only been enough to purchase tickets as far as Denver. We couldn't get berths in the sleeper car, so we dozed in our seats. My neck got stiff. I sat between Percy and Annabeth. Grover kept snoring and bleating and waking Percy up. Once, he shuffled around and his fake foot fell off. Annabeth and I had to stick it back on before any of the other passengers noticed. "So," Annabeth asked me, once we'd gotten Grover's sneaker readjusted. "Who wants Percy's help?" "What do you mean?" "You heard it too didn't you? When he was asleep just now, he mumbled, 'I won't help you.' Has he told you what he's dreaming about?" "Gossiping about me?" Percy yawned. "Pretty much everyone is. So I think we'll join." I said. "Annabeth wants to know about your dream. I could tell he was reluctant to say anything. It was the second time he'd dreamed about it. Then he finally told her. Annabeth was quiet for a long time. "If you think it's Hades, that doesn't sound like Hades. He always appears on a black throne, and he never laughs." She pointed out. "He offered my mother in trade. Who else could do that?" We could. If you bring us together we could trade. "What?" Percy and Annabeth looked at me in worry. "Something on my face? Is there something close?" "Y/N, you did it again." Percy said. "Did what?" "You... Talked. Differently. Like weirdly." "Your definition of weird doesn't describe me. I did nothing wrong. I haven't even given an in put on your topic. Which we should get back on." I don't know why I had no idea what they meant by me talking weirdly, but I felt like I should stay away from that topic. "I guess ... if he meant, 'Help me rise from the Underworld.' If he wants war with the Olympians. But why ask you to bring him the master bolt if he already has it?" She explained looking at me as if I was the one that needed convincing. I shook my head, wishing I knew the answer. I thought about what Grover had told me, that the Furies on the bus seemed to have been looking for something. Where is it? Where? Maybe Grover sensed my emotions. He snorted in his sleep, muttered something about vegetables, and turned his head. Percy readjusted Grover's cap so it covered his horns. "Percy, you can't barter with Hades. You know that, right? He's deceitful, heartless, and greedy. I don't care if his Kindly Ones weren't as aggressive this time-" "This time?" I asked. "You mean you've run into them before?" Her hand crept up to her necklace. She fingered a glazed white bead painted with the image of a pine tree, one of her clay end-of-summer tokens. "Let's just say I've got no love for the Lord of the Dead. You can't be tempted to make a deal for your mom." "What would you do if it was your dad?" "That's easy," she said. "I'd leave him to rot." "You're not serious?" Annabeth's gray eyes fixed on me. She wore the same expression she'd worn in the woods at camp, the moment she drew her sword against the hellhound. "My dad's resented me since the day I was born," she said. "He never wanted a baby. When he got me, he asked Athena to take me back and raise me on Olympus because he was too busy with his work. She wasn't happy about that. She told him heroes had to be raised by their mortal parent." "But how ... I mean, I guess you weren't born in a hospital...." "I appeared on my father's doorstep, in a golden cradle, carried down from Olympus by Zephyr the West Wind. You'd think my dad would remember that as a miracle, right? Like, maybe he'd take some digital photos or something. But he always talked about my arrival as if it were the most inconvenient thing that had ever happened to him. When I was five he got married and totally forgot about Athena. He got a 'regular' mortal wife, and had two 'regular' mortal kids, and tried to pretend I didn't exist." I stared out the train window. The lights of a sleeping town were drifting by. I wanted to make Annabeth feel better. I don't know but the only way I could think of was a hug. So I wrapped and arm around her shoulders. She stiffened unsure of what I'd done. "My parents, they loved me all the same. The closet I got to talking about Gods was when they thought me. Not a single hint was dropped about me being a halfblood. I mean if you count my grandma Hestia. Which I think is just named after the goddess. I mean yeah, you had a not so wonderful life... But at least you're who you are now." I smiled at her. Eying Percy I gave him a nod towards Annabeth telling him to comfort her since he'd started it anyway. "My mom married a really awful guy," he told her. "Grover said she did it to protect me, to hide me in the scent of a human family. Maybe that's what your dad was thinking." Annabeth kept worrying at her necklace. She was pinching the gold college ring that hung with the beads. It occurred to me that the ring must be her father's. I wondered why she wore it if she hated him so much. "He doesn't care about me," she said. "His wife-my stepmom-treated me like a freak. She wouldn't let me play with her children. My dad went along with her. Whenever something dangerous happened-you know, something with monsters-they would both look at me resentfully, like, 'How dare you put our family at risk.' Finally, I took the hint. I wasn't wanted. I ran away." "How old were you?" "Same age as when I started camp. Seven." "But ... you couldn't have gotten all the way to Half-Blood Hill by yourself." "Not alone, no. Athena watched over me, guided me toward help. I made a couple of unexpected friends who took care of me, for a short time, anyway." I wanted to ask what happened, but Annabeth seemed lost in sad memories. Luke had already told me some of these part where he went here with Annabeth and Thalia. So I gazed out the train windows as the dark fields of Ohio raced by. Toward the end of our second day on the train, June 13, eight days before the summer solstice, we passed through some golden hills and over the Mississippi River into St. Louis. Annabeth craned her neck to see the Gateway Arch, which looked to me like a huge shopping bag handle stuck on the city. "I want to do that," she sighed. "What?" I asked. "Build something like that. You ever see the Parthenon, Y/N?" "Only in pictures." "Someday, I'm going to see it in person. I'm going to build the greatest monument to the gods, ever. Something that'll last a thousand years." Percy laughed. "You? An architect?" Her cheeks flushed. "Yes, an architect. Athena expects her children to create things, not just tear them down, like a certain god of earthquakes I could mention." "Percy! I think she'll be incredible." I pinched his arm. We watched the churning brown water of the Mississippi below. I took Percy's hand in fear that the water would just grab me and drag me down. "Sorry," Annabeth said. "That was mean." I nudged Percy to apologize as well, "I didn't mean to make fun of you. I'm sorry." "Can't you two work together a little?" I pleaded. "I mean, didn't Athena and Poseidon ever cooperate?" Annabeth had to think about it. "I guess ... the chariot," she said tentatively. "My mom invented it, but Poseidon created horses out of the crests of waves. So they had to work together to make it complete." "Then you two can cooperate, too. Right?" We rode into the city, Annabeth watching as the Arch disappeared behind a hotel. "I suppose," she said at last. We pulled into the Amtrak station downtown. The intercom told us we'd have a three-hour layover before departing for Denver. Grover stretched. Before he was even fully awake, he said, "Food." "Come on, goat boy," Annabeth said. "Sightseeing." "Sightseeing?" "The Gateway Arch," she said. "This may be my only chance to ride to the top. Are you coming or not?" Grover, Percy and I exchanged looks. I wanted to say no, but seeing the stars in Annabeth's as she watched, she was too adorable to say no to. Grover shrugged. "As long as there's a snack bar without monsters." The Arch was about a mile from the train station. Late in the day the lines to get in weren't that long. We threaded our way through the underground museum, looking at covered wagons and other junk from the 1800s. It wasn't all that thrilling, but Annabeth kept telling us interesting facts about how the Arch was built, and Grover kept passing me jelly beans, so I was okay. I kept looking around, though, at the other people in line. "You smell anything?" Percy murmured to Grover. He took his nose out of the jelly-bean bag long enough to sniff. "Underground," he said distastefully. "Underground air always smells like monsters. Probably doesn't mean anything." I took a peek at my knife and saw there was a very weak glow, or maybe a sunlight reflection. Somewhere in between. "Guys," I said. "You know the gods' symbols of power?" Annabeth had been in the middle of reading about the construction equipment used to build the Arch, but she looked over. "Yeah?" "Well, Hade-" Grover cleared his throat. "We're in a public place.... You mean, our friend downstairs?" "Um, right," I said. "Our friend way downstairs. Doesn't he have a hat like Annabeth's?" "You mean the Helm of Darkness," Annabeth said. "Yeah, that's his symbol of power. I saw it next to his seat during the winter solstice council meeting." "He was there?" Percy asked. She nodded. "It's the only time he's allowed to visit Olympus-the darkest day of the year. But his helm is a lot more powerful than my invisibility hat, if what I've heard is true...." "It allows him to become darkness," Grover confirmed. "He can melt into shadow or pass through walls. He can't be touched, or seen, or heard. And he can radiate fear so intense it can drive you insane or stop your heart. Why do you think all rational creatures fear the dark?" "But then ... how do we know he's not here right now, watching us?" I asked. Annabeth and Grover exchanged looks. "We don't," Grover said. "Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better," Percy said. "Got any blue jelly beans left?" Someone else could be watching. Hades isn't the only one to blend in the shadow young vessel. But worry not, all in the darkness, shall be your ally. So Hades will also be my ally? As air and water refuse, land and all there is shall be your ally. Can't I be allies with all? Hades, Zeus, Poseidon. Everyone. The three of them looked at me in surprise. "Don't say their name!" Grover whispered loudly. "Whose name? I haven't said a name!" I could talk through you young vessel. Is this the first time this happened? How can you forget about our conversation? Talk through me? Who are you? I am one of which that'll make sure you become one with yourself. "Y/N!!" Percy yelled. "What? Geez, you're too loud." "We've been calling your name for three minutes." Annabeth said. "Are you... Okay?" "Yeah why wouldn't I be?" When the tiny elevator car came. We got shoehorned into the car with this big fat lady and her dog, a Chihuahua with a rhinestone collar. I figured maybe the dog was a seeing-eye Chihuahua, because none of the guards said a word about it. We started going up, inside the Arch. I'd never been in an elevator that went in a curve, and my stomach wasn't too happy about it. "No parents?" the fat lady asked us. She had beady eyes; pointy, coffee-stained teeth; a floppy denim hat, and a denim dress that bulged so much, she looked like a blue-jean blimp. "They're below," Annabeth told her. "Scared of heights." "Oh, the poor darlings." The Chihuahua growled. The woman said, "Now, now, sonny. Behave." The dog had beady eyes like its owner, intelligent and vicious. I said, "Sonny. Is that his name?" "No," the lady told me. She smiled, as if that cleared everything up. At the top of the Arch, the observation deck reminded me of a tin can with carpeting. Rows of tiny windows looked out over the city on one side and the river on the other. The view was okay, but if there's anything I like less than a confined space, it's a confined space six hundred feet in the air. I was ready to go pretty quick. I could see Percy was too. So I took his hand and gave him a reassuring squeeze to calm him down despite my breakdown. Annabeth kept talking about structural supports, and how she would've made the windows bigger, and designed a see-through floor. She probably could've stayed up there for hours, but the park ranger announced that the observation deck would be closing in a few minutes. I steered Annabeth while Percy with Grover, toward the exit, loaded them into the elevator, and we were about to get in myself when I realized there were already two other tourists inside. No room for me. The park ranger said, "Next car, sir." "We'll get out," Annabeth said. "We'll wait with you two." But that was going to mess everybody up and take even more time, so I said, "Naw, it's okay. We'll see you guys at the bottom. I'll keep an eye on him." Grover and Annabeth both looked nervous, but they let the elevator door slide shut. Their car disappeared down the ramp. Now the only people left on the observation deck were me, a little boy with his parents, the park ranger, and the fat lady with her Chihuahua. Percy and I smiled uneasily at the fat lady. She smiled back, her forked tongue flickering between her teeth. Wait a minute. Forked tongue? Before I could decide if I'd really seen that, her Chihuahua jumped down and started yapping at Percy. "Now, now, sonny," the lady said. "Does this look like a good time? We have all these nice people here." "Doggie!" said the little boy. "Look, a doggie!" His parents pulled him back. The Chihuahua bared his teeth at me, foam dripping from his black lips. "Well, son," the fat lady sighed. "If you insist." Ice started forming in my stomach. "Urn, did you just call that Chihuahua your son?" "Chimera, dear," the fat lady corrected. "Not a Chihuahua. It's an easy mistake to make." She rolled up her denim sleeves, revealing that the skin of her arms was scaly and green. When she smiled, I saw that her teeth were fangs. The pupils of her eyes were sideways slits, like a reptile's. The Chihuahua barked louder, and with each bark, it grew. First to the size of a Doberman, then to a lion. The bark became a roar. The little boy screamed. His parents pulled him back toward the exit, straight into the park ranger, who stood, paralyzed, gaping at the monster. The Chimera was now so tall its back rubbed against the roof. It had the head of a lion with a blood-caked mane, the body and hooves of a giant goat, and a serpent for a tail, a ten-foot-long diamondback growing right out of its shaggy behind. The rhinestone dog collar still hung around its neck, and the plate-sized dog tag was now easy to read: CHIMERA-RABID, FIRE-BREATHING, POISONOUS-IF FOUND, PLEASE CALL TARTARUS-EXT. 954. I immediately pulled out my knife. And waited for the moment to jump in front of Percy who was ten feet away from the Chimera's bloody maw, and I knew that as soon as I moved, the creature would lunge. The snake lady made a hissing noise that might've been laughter. "Be honored, Percy Jackson and Y/N L/N. Lord Zeus rarely allows me to test a hero with one of my brood. For I am the Mother of Monsters, the terrible Echidna!" Percy and I stared at each other for a second stared at her. All he could think to say was: "Isn't that a kind of anteater?" She howled, her reptilian face turning brown and green with rage. "I hate it when people say that! I hate Australia! Naming that ridiculous animal after me. For that, Percy Jackson, my son shall destroy you!" The Chimera charged, its lion teeth gnashing. I managed to take Percy's arm to pull him aside and dodge the bite. We ended up next to the family and the park ranger, who were all screaming now, trying to pry open the emergency exit doors. I couldn't let them get hurt. I positioned myself able to parry any oncoming attack. Percy uncapped his sword, ran to the other side of the deck, and yelled, "Hey, Chihuahua!" The Chimera turned faster than I would've thought possible. Before he could swing my sword, it opened its mouth, emitting a stench like the world's largest barbecue pit, and shot a column of flame straight at him. Percy dove through the explosion. The carpet burst into flames; the heat was so intense, I could feel it where I stand and it was like I was in a sauna. Where Percy had been standing a moment before was a ragged hole in the side of the Arch, with melted metal steaming around the edges. Great, I thought. We just blowtorched a national monument. As the Chimera turned, Percy slashed at its neck. That was a fatal mistake. The blade sparked harmlessly off the dog collar. I saw the serpent tail lifted it whipped around and with all I could I ran and raised my knife to block it. Percy tried to jab Riptide into the Chimera's mouth, but the serpent tail wrapped around his ankles and pulled him off balance, and my blade flew out of my hand, spinning out of the hole in the Arch and down toward the Mississippi River. I pulled a weaponless Percy behind me and raised my small one. We backed into the hole in the wall. The Chimera advanced, growling, smoke curling from its lips. The snake lady, Echidna, cackled. "They don't make heroes like they used to, eh, son?" The monster growled. It seemed in no hurry to finish us off now that we were beaten. I glanced at the park ranger and the family. The little boy was hiding behind his father's legs. I had to protect these people. I couldn't just ... die. I was facing a massive, fire-breathing monster and its mother. And I was scared. There was no place else to go, so I stepped to the edge of the hole. Trust our hero. Jump with him. He had sworn to save us. Far, far below, the river glittered. Percy and I shared a reluctant and fearful look. If we died, would the monsters go away? Would they leave the humans alone? "If you are the son of Poseidon," Echidna hissed, "you would not fear water. Jump, Percy Jackson. Show me that water will not harm you. Jump and retrieve your sword. Prove your bloodline. Maybe your small friend could survive with you." We both knew the water hated me. But I trusted Percy. I'd jump if he told me. The Chimera's mouth glowed red, heating up for another blast. "Either you have no faith," Echidna told me. "You do not trust the gods. I cannot blame you, little cowards. Better you die now. The gods are faithless." Percy took my hand and backed up, he looked down at the water. Percy looked at me and smiled. I knew what he wanted. Holding his hand tighter, I got closer to him. "Die, faithless one," Echidna rasped, and the Chimera sent a column of flame toward our faces. "Father, please," I heard Percy say. "Don't hurt her. Help us." We turned and jumped. Our clothes on fire, we plummeted toward the river.

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[eyeofthedrgn]

A Heavy Battle Symphony Chapter 14

Trigger warning: language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), drinking (comes up late in the story) just a lot of trauma, angst, smut

Word count: 3407

Chapter 14 - Sharp Edges

Sharp edges have consequences

I guess that I had to find out for myself

Sharp edges have consequences

Now every scar is a story I can tell

His mother was staring at him in disbelief.

"What the fuck was that, Rowan?"

He blinked at his mother, she had never cursed at him before.

"What do you mean?" He got defensive. "I think I'm allowed to be upset if my boyfriend doesn't tell me what he's been up to for the last, however long."

His mother's eyebrows shot into her hair. "Wow, Rowan. Wow."

She grabbed her box from the bag and left Rowan to stew in the living room.

---

Lorcan was laying on his floor, bleeding on an old towel. He was finally numb after a couple hours. All he could feel was the sting in his arms. His head was a little fuzzy.

There was a knock on the door.

"Lor, can we talk? Please?"

Lorcan closed his eyes and ignored the man he had been wanting to see for months. Things weren't going the way they were supposed to. So much for being proud of himself.

++++

It was the next day and Rowan still didn't understand what the big deal had been yesterday. He hadn't seen Lorcan all day and he was getting frustrated. Rowan was only here for a week and they were wasting time over this.

So, Rowan called Aelin. He needed to vent. He didn't feel like he was being unreasonable. But apparently, he was being an asshole. Aelin cussed him out and told him he was a stupid shit. Aelin had gotten Elide on the line, and she also ripped Rowan a new one.

"If I were there, I would slap you. You are ridiculous. Lorcan found a hobby using your dad's old tools and made you something. He wanted to surprise you and your mom. Why on earth do you think you have any right to be mad at him?! Lorcan probably thought he was being sweet! And for the record, he was!" With Aelin defending him, Rowan knew he was in the wrong, but he still wasn’t grasping why. He was pacing in his room.

"Yeah, Ro. I did that with Manon, I learned how to crochet without her knowing and made her a scarf. She was so excited when I gave it to her." Elide sighed. "Rowan, what made you so upset anyway?"

"Fuck, I don't know. It made me feel like I don't know him.” He ran his hand through his hair as he continued his pacing. “That he could just do so much without me knowing."

"Are you saying you don't trust him?"

"What? No!"

Silence.

"Really, guys?"

"Well.." Elide was holding something back.

Aelin chimed in, "He's been through hell, he's only ever felt safe around you. He went to you when he got out of the hospital after he almost died!" The last word was overly emphasized. "Can't you understand that he probably just wanted to feel confident in something before he told you about it. He probably didn't want to be hounded about his progress. This is the first thing he's done for himself, Rowan! Let him have this thing!" She was basically yelling at him at the end.

He didn't know what to say. Especially since Aelin was on Lorcan’s side. She hadn't ever really liked the boy.

"You are being selfish."

He was. Fucking Hel.

"You're right. You're right. Gods damn it. I need to go."

They both said bye and hung up.

He walked over to Lorcan's door again.

"Love?" He knocked. Nothing. "I was an asshole. A selfish asshole. Can we please talk?"

He heard the bathroom door behind him open and turned to see Lorcan behind him. He was wearing one of his ratty old hoodies that had been too big for him before and a pair of sweats. His face was blank, not a hint of emotion.

"You're a prick." He pushed past Rowan and shut his door in his face.

He stared at the door. "I guess I deserved that."

His mother walked by him to the stairwell carrying a basket of laundry. "Give him some time and maybe cool off a bit more yourself. Come help me with lunch."

He looked back at Lorcan's door with a sigh as he followed his mother to the kitchen.

---

Lorcan laid curled up in bed. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. After rebandaging himself, he had found Rowan at his door. The desire to filet his arm flooded his mind. He just called Rowan a prick and shut himself away again. He couldn't handle it right now.

It felt like all the progress he made was just reversed. Here he was floating yet again in his own ocean of despair.

There was a soft knock on his door that interrupted his thoughts. "Lorcan, dear?" It was Barb. "I brought you some food."

He got up and opened the door. She gave him a sad smile.

"Can I have a hug?" His voice was no more than a whisper.

"Of course, love." She hugged him and he cried on her shoulder. Her hand made soothing circles on his back.

They stayed like that for a while. Lorcan finally pulled away, wiping his face with his sleeve, he said, "I'm sorry I got your shirt wet."

"Nonsense. Come here." She shut Lorcan's door and went to sit on the edge of his bed. Patting the spot beside her. Lorcan obeyed, looking at his hands on his lap.

"Rowan has had trust issues for most of his life. The few boyfriend's he's had have cheated on him or ghosted him. So, I assume he thinks that since you didn't tell him about this, that you won't tell him other things." Lorcan's brow furrowed. "You had every right to keep your new hobby a surprise. Rowan overreacted. Sometimes, he's a little selfish." She gave his knee a squeeze.

Lorcan thought back to Solstice break when Rowan tried moving too fast for him. He sighed. Selfish indeed.

"I know you're upset, love. But I do think you two should talk. He's only here for a week."

Barb got up and left. The door clicked shut.

++++

Rowan didn't know what to do. Lorcan wasn't talking to him, he had already done some chores and worked out for an hour. So now, he was standing in the kitchen stealing cookie dough out of the bowl.

His mother hit his hand as he went for more dough. "Out! I'm tired of your moping! I don't want to see you again until you two make up! Go!" She shooed him and his semi-permanent frown away.

He decided to go outside. The fresh air should do him good. He wandered around the backyard. The trees were blossoming, the flowers were blooming. It was a beautiful sunny spring day, but he felt hollow.

After several minutes, he found himself in front of his dad's shop. The light was on and the door was cracked. Pushing open the door, he found Lorcan hunched over a piece of wood with a carving chisel and mallet in his hands. He had headphones on, completely oblivious to the world around him.

Lorcan blew on the work in front of him and wood chips flew. The chisel met the wood again. Rowan just watched him work for a while. It was relaxing. His boyfriend looked like he belonged here. Honestly, it reminded him of his father. Gods he had been so fucking stupid yesterday.

Waiting until Lorcan was brushing away wood chips, he knocked on the door frame. Lorcan looked up. His lips pressed into a thin line. Any emotion he had had while carving, left his face the moment their eyes met. It made Rowan’s heart drop to his stomach.

"Hey," Rowan said tentatively.

Lorcan just set the chisel and mallet down then took his headphones off after tapping the pause button on his phone, and set them next to his work. He lowered his eyes. It hurt that Lorcan didn't even want to look at him. Rowan took a deep breath as he took a couple steps into the shop.

"I'm a huge fucking selfish asshole. I was stupid and immature and wasn't thinking of you. Aelin, Elide, and Mom told me I was an idiot. And they're right. You were right to call me a prick. I let my insecurities get to me. I had a gut reaction to assume that maybe I wouldn't be able to trust you in the future if you were going to keep things from me. But I realize that I'm being stupid. Aelin ripped me a new one for thinking that as did Elide. And I totally deserve it.” He took another deep breath.

"Honestly, I don't feel like I deserve your forgiveness. But I hope-" He swallowed, pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts. "I love you and I'm so fucking sorry." Tears were falling down his cheeks now, Lorcan always made him more emotional than he felt he should be. Lorcan still sat frozen, staring at the workbench. Rowan roughly wiped his tears away before continuing. "I really am proud of you for finding something you enjoy and those boxes you made.. they're fucking gorgeous." He wiped his tears again and sighed.

It felt like ages before it looked like Lorcan would acknowledge him. But then, he shifted and Rowan saw the white knuckles of his fists. He was obviously digging his nails into his palms. Rowan wondered how often he did that.

"I'm-" Lorcan took a deep shaky breath. "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel right now." He finally looked up at Rowan, his eyes were shiny with tears. "Do you trust me or not? Because if you don't.." His face started to crumple.

"I trust you. I trust you with my life." Rowan's feet finally moved forward, his heart breaking at the hurt on Lorcan's face. "I just let my past relationships control my feelings yesterday. And I'm so sorry. You are nothing like any of my past boyfriends. Nothing. You are the best thing that has happened to me, Lor. I promise." Rowan hoped to the gods that Lorcan believed him. He really wanted to touch Lorcan, but wasn't sure if it would be welcomed.

There was a long pause. The silence was deafening.

Lorcan just nodded. "Do you want to see what I'm working on?"

Rowan sighed in relief and nodded. He knew that was Lorcan's way of forgiving him. Lorcan had never been good with verbalizing words.

The rest of the afternoon he watched Lorcan work. It was really nice hanging out in the shop again, though it made him a little sad that he wasn't watching his father work. He was amazed at the talent that his lover had after only a few months. Lorcan was working on an intricate Celtic knot carving. The way he held the chisel and the small mallet, the way his muscles moved on his forearms, the way his… scars. So many scars. Rowan’s eyes roved over the dozens upon dozens of scars across both of his forearms.

Rowan felt like Lorcan forgot he was here. He had pushed up his sleeves. He never pushes up his sleeves. And now he knew why. How had he not noticed them when they were intimate? The insides of his arms were covered in scars and there were matching bandages on both. Fuck.

Tears instantly welled in Rowan's eyes. His throat tightened, so his voice was higher than it usually was. "Lor?"

Lorcan jumped. He had definitely lost himself in his work. He slowly set the chisel and mallet down. Looking at his arms, he realized what was happening. He pulled his sleeves down and over his hands. He started trembling, he wouldn't look at him. Rowan set his hand on the table in front of Lorcan, palm up, inviting him to stay, to trust him.

---

He wasn't ready for this.

Lorcan had lost himself in his work. It was so easy for him to do. He liked working with his sleeves pushed up, the fabric got in the way otherwise. But he forgot Rowan was there. And now, Rowan knew. He knew. Lorcan wanted to disappear.

Now what? Rowan wasn't running away from him, if anything he was asking him not to run away. Rowan had set his hand on the table, palm up, waiting. Patient.

He was shaking. He released a shaky breath as he grasped the hand waiting on the table. Rowan finally breathed. They just stayed there for several minutes.

Rowan finally broke the silence, "When?" He must have been talking about the bandages. Lorcan dropped his head in shame and embarrassment. He had let his emotions run high and take over last night. He hadn't thought, he just did.

"Did I-" he sucked in a breath. Rowan's voice shook, "I caused those… Oh, gods, Lorcan. I'm so fucking sorry." Rowan's hand tightened and his other hand covered his face as he did his best to hold in his sobs.

Lorcan turned to him, shocked that Rowan blamed himself. He stood and wrapped his arms around Rowan's shoulders, pulling them tight together.

His voice was quiet, "Hey." Lorcan reached up a hand to gently pull Rowan's away so he could see his face. "Hey. Rowan, please don't blame yourself. I let my emotions take over last night. I'm sorry." He placed a kiss on his forehead. "It's not your fault."

"Yes it is." His eyes were so sad. It made his heart ache. "It is. It is." They rested their foreheads against each other. "Can you forgive me? I.. I feel like complete and utter shit. Gods, you shouldn't forgive me. I- fuck.." Rowan's eyes shuttered and tears fell.

Lorcan just wanted him to stop talking. He knew Rowan was sorry, he knew it wasn't Rowan's fault. All he wanted was for Rowan to be happy, that's why he made the damn box in the first place. But right now, he wasn't sure how to fix it. He was terrible at talking. So, he just did what he would want.

He kissed him. Softly. He tried to put his emotions into it, to let Rowan know that everything would be okay. Everything would work out. They would work out because there was no one else for Lorcan.

A moment passed when Rowan didn't return the kiss and Lorcan felt his heart sink, but then he was being pushed up against the wall, open mouthed kisses pressed to his lips. The passion emanating off of Rowan felt like he could reach out and touch it.

They were just a tangle of tongue and lips, hands everywhere, anywhere. Moans and whimpers, their names said as prayers.

Rowan moved to Lorcan's neck and he leaned his head to the side to give the man more access. He needed Rowan. The last two days had been Hel. Lorcan had missed him so much. Having felt so far away from his lover even though they were in the same house was killing him.

Lorcan rolled his hips against Rowan's and the glorious sound that rumbled against his neck, oh, he wanted to bottle it and save it for later.

"Rowan, please." He didn't know what he was asking for. He just wanted more.

Rowan stopped, he whined. His lover's hands cupped his face, looking into his eyes. "Lorcan Salvaterre, I love you more than anything in this world. And I am so incredibly sorry that I caused you pain. And I am so amazingly grateful that you still want to be with me and have me in your life."

Lorcan pressed a soft kiss to Rowan's swollen lips. And another. "You are mine." And with that Lorcan claimed his mouth. His fingers curled into silver hair.

++++

"You are mine."

Rowan's toes curled at the authority in Lorcan's voice. He was at Lorcan's mercy. Somehow, he was against the wall now. Strong fingers were tangled in his hair, their tongues clashed as Lorcan fought for dominance. Rowan let him have it.

As he exposed his neck, it was covered in kisses and licks, grazed by teeth. He shivered, it felt like he couldn't breathe. Lorcan's hands were slow as they caressed his body. They wandered under his shirt, brushed against his nipples, he gasped. Then, they slowly moved down. Down. Farther.

There was the softest caress at the hardness in his shorts. He moaned loudly as Lorcan pressed his hand against him. He sucked in a breath and held it as he rocked his hips against his lover's hand.

He felt Lorcan smile against his neck before an open mouthed kiss was pressed to his burning flesh. "Lor.. love, please."

Lorcan's hand moved up, causing a whine to escape his lips at the lack of contact. But then, strong, calloused fingers slid under his waistband. He paused, a question. "Please."

His hand touched bare skin no one had ever touched before. And it felt so right for it to be Lorcan. He didn't go straight to his cock and that frustrated him, until he realized Lorcan was relishing in the feeling of his skin.

Dextrous fingers fluttered over his hip. Was he breathing? After those beautiful fingers had taken their time memorizing his hip, they then skated slowly down his Adonis belt to where he needed him.

"I love you, Lor."

---

Lorcan's nose brushed up his neck and then he breathed on his ear. "I love you, Rowan." He gripped the hardened, velvety flesh of his lover and watched as his head fell back against the wall as he groaned. His thumb caressed the head of Rowan's cock and hips thrust forward on their own.

"You're so soft." A smile in his voice. Rowan whimpered and melted into Lorcan at his words. "You feel good in my hand." Lorcan claimed Rowan's lips and he stroked the man at his mercy, slow at first, taking his time, enjoying how the taut skin felt against his fingers. Enjoying the noises coming from the glorious silver haired man pressed to the wall in front of him. His green eyes were blown wide with lust. He was sure his looked the same.

He quickened his pace. But only enough to push him just to the edge. Lorcan had been rocking his own hips against Rowan's thigh. He wanted them to come together. And he wanted Rowan's touch to bring him to climax.

He whispered against Rowan's lips, "Touch me." Shock flitted over his face, Lorcan just nodded.

Warm hands gently found his waistband and brushed his skin, he closed his eyes and dropped his head to Rowan's shoulder. He stopped all other movements to focus on Rowan's first touches. Fingers wrapped around him and he let out a guttural moan, it was almost primal. This feeling was nothing like what he thought it would be. It was so much better. He felt Rowan's cock twitch in his hand and he almost was undone right there.

Rowan placed a kiss on his temple and slowly started stroking him.

"Ro. Rowan." His name was just a breath of air as it left his lips.

He started his ministrations back up and brought his lips to Rowan's. After several heated moments, they broke the kiss, foreheads together. They were both close.

"Lor, come for me. I love you so much, I want you to come in my hand."

They were breathing heavily.

Lorcan managed a chuckle as he said, "Only if you come in my hand, love." He pumped his hand faster. "Come for me." Rowan's eyes rolled back and he started spasming as he crashed over that edge. Watching and feeling his love in front of him coming in his grip had him finding his own release shortly after. They milked each other until they were both spent and trembling.

Lorcan collapsed against Rowan. It felt like he just ran a marathon. His legs shook and he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. But fucking Hellas was that worth it. Rowan’s hand on him felt so much better than his own.

He pressed several, slow chaste kisses to his lover's mouth.

"That was.."

"Yeah." Lorcan was on cloud nine. "Yeah." He buried his face in his lover's neck and inhaled the scent of home.

____

Thanks for reading!

@thenerdandfandoms @starlightorstarfire @tanvee1231

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.XVI.i

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The second-to-last chapter of my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with my favourite @gen-syz-art as my artist 💕

___________________________

“Do you celebrate Midinváerne?”

It’s still early in the morning, and Geralt is not entirely capable of thinking, so he asks:

“Midinváerne?”

Jaskier turns to him from where he’s picking out his clothes for the day, a fur blanket around his shoulders, and Geralt can’t help but run his gaze over his body, covered in mismatched marks.

It’s a wonderful look on him.

“Yule,” Jaskier says, using the other name of the holiday. “The midwinter solstice.”

Geralt hums, making himself more comfortable among the pillows even though he knows that Jaskier is going to tug him out of bed in the next couple of minutes.

“If you count getting drunk with my brothers as a celebration, then yes.”

Jaskier shrugs with one shoulder, his attention drifting back towards the wardrobe.

“That’s about the way that I’ve been celebrating it for the last seven years, just no brothers,” he says. “Had Aiden over once, but he usually spends the winters down south, where it’s warmer.”

He seems to finally find a shirt that he likes, and pulls it off the hangers, throwing the blanket off his shoulders to get dressed. It’s the first time that he doesn’t hide his forearms, the voluminous bell-sleeves flaring out at his elbows, and Geralt’s chest constricts with just how much it makes him feel.

Over the last month, they’ve talked about it more than once, as well as about Geralt’s own scars, and though it took him a long time, it seemed like Jaskier was finally starting to believe him when he said that they’re not that different.

His scars were reminders of the fights that hurt him but left him alive.

Jaskier’s were the same.

At first, he couldn’t sleep without a shirt on or if he was naked, without holding his arms to his chest like broken wings, but slowly, his barriers were starting to crumble.

And him now choosing to wear something that doesn’t hide his arms might be the biggest cracks they’ve yet had.

“Do Arthur and the others leave to celebrate with their families?” Geralt asks after a long moment, knowing better than to say anything about Jaskier’s choice of clothes.

“Arthur and the others?” Jaskier echoes.

“Yes. Do they leave to be with their families or do they stay here with you?”

Jaskier turns to him once more, eyes searching, and then sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed and running his hand down Geralt’s thigh.

“You really don’t know, do you?” he says.

Geralt’s brows furrow with confusion, and in the stretching silence, he can hear Jaskier’s heart rate pick up.

“When I told you that everything in the mansion is created by magic, I meant it,” Jaskier finally says, voice hushed like the words themselves might break the careful illusion. “Nothing in here is real, Geralt.”

The words feel like a cold lake, taking Geralt’s breath away for an endless second before he echoes:

“Nothing?”

Jaskier shakes his head, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, and Geralt reaches out to him, linking their fingers together to give him a sense of warmth, of stability.

“Only them,” Jaskier finally says, indicating towards Asra and Lucio, peacefully asleep on the other side of the bed. “They were a gift. I once helped a man that was being hunted by Nilfgaard. I don’t know what they wanted from him but something told me I should help, so I hid him here for a little while, just until we were sure that his pursuers had passed. He had a dog with him, heavily pregnant. She gave birth to five pups, and though from the look alone I knew that he can make a fortune off those dogs, he offered that I take a couple for myself. So I chose them.”

His eyes light up, just like they always do when he’s talking about the dogs, and it softens the features of his face, making Jaskier look even younger than he is.

Asra and Lucio, somehow sensing that he’s talking about them, blink their dark eyes open and then start wagging their tails immediately, standing up and making their way to Jaskier and the witcher, licking at both of them.

Geralt has never been a big enthusiast on getting dog drool all over his face, but he can’t deny that he’d grown to love them much more than he would like to admit, so when Asra pokes her wet nose at his cheek and then licks it, he makes a face but doesn’t move away.

“I didn’t tell you this the first time we talked about it,” Jaskier says, wiping his chin with the back of his hand and patting both dogs on the head to calm them down. “But they are the reason that the bargain I’ve made is working. They’re my reason to live. If I die, who’s going to take care of them?”

That’s… well, true, Geralt supposes, but also the very thought hurts.

“So the lives of everyone in the mansion are tied to yours? What are they - illusions?” he makes himself ask, swallowing around the sudden dryness in his throat.

Jaskier shakes his head, not quite looking at him.

“I don’t know what they are,” he says quietly. “When I just got here, it took me a long time to learn to control my magic. For over a year, I was completely alone here. And that desperation made me strong enough that one day I just woke up to a house full of people. Everything hurt, not gonna lie, but I would take that pain over the empty hallways any day.”

Geralt is used to being alone. He’s alone on the Path, alone on his way to and from Kaer Morhen, but he’s never completely alone. There’s always Roach, always people around, though he hates it most of the time, and he can hardly imagine the solitude that Jaskier had to live in for over a year .

Months upon months spent locked up in a silent mansion, too big for one person, trying to come to terms with the curse and take control over the magic coursing through his veins.

And if Jaskier can create life - any form of it - his magic is more than powerful.

“And in that year, no one came looking for you?” Geralt hears himself say.

Jaskier doesn’t answer for a long time, standing up and crossing the room to the window, looking at something outside as he wraps his arms around himself. Without even thinking, Geralt gets out of the bed, one of the warm blankets still around him, and comes closer, pulling the bard into a gentle embrace.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says softly, but Jaskier shakes his head, leaning into the touch.

“I thought about it for a very long time,” he says. “Until I realised that everyone that I’ve known before had forgotten me once the curse was cast. My mother, my friends, the people I studied with in the Academy - none of them remembered me any longer. And it used to hurt horribly but it’s been so long now that I-- I almost forgot about it entirely until you asked.”

Geralt pulls him closer and presses a kiss into his hair, gentle and comforting.

“I shouldn’t have.”

Jaskier hums, turning around in the witcher’s arms to run a hand down his cheek and smile, reaching up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“You didn’t know,” he says. “And not talking about it doesn’t make it not true. I’m glad you asked.”

Geralt doesn’t think he will ever understand this.

The way Jaskier keeps his spirits up, whatever the circumstances. The way he always seems to look at the bright side, his smiles warm and genuine, despite everything.

It’s now been almost a month of trying just about everything Geralt could think of to break the curse, and every time it proved ineffective, Jaskier told him that it’s alright. That there will be other solutions to try.

As if Geralt was the one trapped in the mansion.  

He could hear him cry, sometimes, and it tore his heart apart, but Jaskier kept hiding his tears, and Geralt played along, acting like he didn’t know.

If Jaskier needed his space, he wasn’t going to question it.

But whenever he could, he liked to take his lover’s mind off the curse, see that sparkle in his eyes that he’d grown to love immeasurably.

“You know, speaking of winter holidays,” Geralt says slowly. “I got another letter from home yesterday, my brothers are telling me to give you their greetings. And so does Aiden.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen, and he takes a step back to get a better look at Geralt.

“Aiden?” the echoes. “My Aiden?”

Geralt hums an affirmative, pulling Jaskier closer again to wrap the blanket around both of them.

“I don’t know if my younger brother would appreciate you calling him yours, but yes. Has he ever told you anything about a certain Lambert?”

“Of course he has,” Jaskier nods, his smile only growing wider. “For the last three years, that's all I’ve ever heard from him. He’s hopelessly in love with that man, whoever he is.”

Geralt grins.

“Lambert is my brother.”

He wasn’t sure if Jaskier’s eyes could get any bigger but they do. Geralt can’t help but lean in and kiss him on the tip of the nose, making the bard wrinkle it.

“Lambert’s your brother?” he asks.

“Well, not by blood,” Geralt admits. “But he’s a Wolf, same as me. I’m sure he will be more than delighted to meet you when I take you to Kaer Morhen, because in the letter he said that Aiden hasn’t been able to shut up about you ever since he learned about us.”

Jaskier still looks adorably shocked, and Geralt can practically see him putting the pieces together in his mind, and uses that to his own advantage, pulling the bard back towards the bed, where it’s warm and comfortable. He’s still not fully dressed, and Geralt is only wearing smallclothes, so returning to bed would be more than perfect.

Jaskier gives him a look of protest but doesn’t say a word when Geralt pulls him onto the soft mattress, just sighs heavily before allowing the witcher to pull a blanket over both of them.

“We don’t have anywhere to be,” Geralt reminds, nosing at his hair with a sense of accomplishment.

“Don’t mean we can just stay in bed all day. We’ve been doing this for the past month and a half,” Jaskier tries, weakly.

Even as he speaks, he makes himself more comfortable on Geralt’s chest.

“I will tell you embarrassing stories about Lambert that you’ll be able to taunt him with when you meet him,” the witcher offers.

He knows that on some level it’s wrong - changing the subject because he cannot bear to feel that heartbreak in Jaskier’s scent. He knows that someday they will have to go back to that conversation.

But right now, he doubts that either of them is ready.

And Jaskier seems to feel it, too.

“Alright,” he says, rolling his eyes but allowing Geralt to find his way to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them though Jaskier had had it on for barely a few minutes. “But only the best ones.”

***

Ever since he could remember, Geralt had always been more of a Belleteyn man himself.

Midinváerne was fun, he couldn’t deny that, but he preferred the warmth of summer and the bonfires that lit up the fields, the scent of woodsmoke mixing in with alcohol and heady lust.

Not that social gatherings were his thing, but Belleteyn had always held a special kind of appeal to it, one that Geralt couldn’t resist.

And when it came to Yule, his only association with it were those nights that he and his brothers would spend drinking in the main hall of Kaer Morhen, losing to each other at Gwent and having to answer the stupidest questions imaginable.

It was fun, of course, but lacked that special kind of gravity.

And yet, he knew it would be very different this year.

Jaskier was practically glowing with anticipation, his magic twirling around his fingers in shifting shades of light, and Geralt didn’t need to ask to know that on the night of Midinváerne it will grow stronger.

He wondered, even, if he’ll be able to touch him at all without burning himself on that power.

It was an exciting thought, no matter how he looked at it.

Jaskier had shown him lots of things that his magic is capable of, including the countless portals throughout the mansion meant for the dogs - after half a year, Geralt’s questions about how Asra and Lucio seem to always be somewhere nearby and then disappear completely was finally answered - and Geralt found himself eager to see more.

He still couldn’t quite find the right way to ask Jaskier whether or not he understands that magic that powerful has to start with his blood and not the mark on his back, and Midinváerne seemed like the perfect opportunity to do just that, so Geralt, for his own reasons, was anticipation it, too.

And there was one more thing.

Both summer and winter solstice were very special when it came to just about everything that had Chaos laced through it.

There was one more thing he wanted to try when it came to breaking the curse, and on the night of Midinváerne, their chances were at their highest.

All that was left was asking Jaskier whether or not he wanted to take that chance.

***

“Couldn’t you have just made them instead of freezing your fingers off outside?”

Jaskier looks up at him from where he’s sitting by the fireplace, keeping himself warm, his knees pulled up to his chest, and sticks out his tongue.

It’s already dark behind the windows, the longest night of the year having taken its toll, and he just came back from the gardens that he’d sneaked out into to find branches of mistletoe that he was now weaving together into a wreath to tell his fortune upon later in the night.

The tradition was old as time but Geralt had never really seen it done, most of his winters spent up in Kaer Morhen, where everyone preferred drinking to fortune-telling.

But Jaskier seemed to know what he was doing, and his magic was growing stronger the closer to midnight they got, so when he’d suggested that he make a wreath for Geralt, as well, the witcher couldn’t find a reason to refuse.

“In Toussaint, women give mistletoe wreaths to those they wish to kiss at midnight,” he points out, surprising even himself.    

Jaskier’s eyebrows jump up, blue eyes widening slightly.

“Well, Witcher, if you’re worried about me choosing someone else to kiss tonight, then, of course, I’ll give you your wreath once I finish it,” he grins. “Though I had slightly more… ambitious plans on you.”

Geralt holds back from rolling his eyes and comes closer, getting down onto the soft hide in front of the fireplace, as well. Before Jaskier can protest, he pulls him into his arms, until the bard’s back is pressed to his chest, and noses at his neck, breathing in the familiar scent before placing a kiss right under the sharp of his jaw.

Jaskier squeals at the rough scrape of the witcher’s stubble against his tender skin, but doesn’t protest, concentrated on the task at hand.

They fall into a comfortable silence, just being in each other's presence enough right now, and the warmth that spreads through Geralt’s chest is still something that he’s getting used to.

The comfort that Jaskier gives him, the feeling of security and unconditional acceptance. The love that Geralt feels from him.  

Despite it now having been a month since Geralt learned that his feelings were reciprocated, it was all still very new to him.

Almost overwhelming sometimes.

Unable to help himself, Geralt pulls the bard closer, tucking his face into the curve of his shoulder, and though he’s expecting Jaskier to protest and tell him that he’s distracting him from his work, instead, he feels him turn around in his arms, until they’re facing each other, and before Geralt can even open his eyes, Jaskier pulls him into a kiss, cupping his face with both hands.

His lips are sweet with the lemon liqueur they’ve both been slowly making their way through for the last three hours, and the magic on his fingertips sends sparks down Geralt’s spine.

And maybe it’s that, maybe it’s something else, but for the first time, Geralt truly realises that this is what he wants for the rest of his life.

This love, this sweetness.

This warmth that spills through his chest and makes his heart beat faster.

He breaks away from the bard’s lips when there is no more air in his lungs, but doesn’t open his eyes, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s.

“Your magic is growing stronger,” he murmurs, leaning into the touch when Jaskier brushes his thumb over his cheekbone.

Jaskier hums an affirmative.

“It is,” he says. “I don’t necessarily have any plans on it but the feeling is rather pleasant. Like I could change the entire world if I wanted to.”

The words stir something in Geralt’s chest, and he reaches up to cover Jaskier’s hands with his own, bringing them down to his lips.

“There’s something else that we can try to break the curse,” he says softly. “Tonight, when your powers are at their strongest.”

He hates to remind Jaskier of it now, on the day he’d been waiting for, but he has to try. If it comes to that, he will stay with him for years - forever, if he needs to - but there is nothing he wants more than to free the bard of these bounds.

To his surprise, Jaskier says:

“No.”

Geralt draws back to look at him, unsure if he understood him correctly.

“No?”

Jaskier shakes his head, his chest rising and then falling on a deep breath.

“I’m tired, Geralt,” he says. “I'm tired of the curse, but I’m also tired of constantly trying to break it. I don’t want to think about that, not tonight. Tonight it’s just you and me, alright?”

He leans in closer again, and catches Geralt’s lips with his own in a comforting, reassuring kiss.

“We can spend the night playing stupid games and losing to each other, we can find a use to at least one of the countless rooms I have in this house, or we can just get drunk and spend the entire night here, curled up together in front of the fire. Anything you want. But not another attempt to break the curse.”

Geralt’s first instinct is to try one more time, tell Jaskier that they shouldn’t miss their chance, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the knowledge that this isn’t his choice to make.

It’s Jaskier who’s tied to the mansion, and if he says that he doesn’t want to think about it tonight, Geralt doesn’t have the right to question that.

“Alright,” he nods, resting their foreheads together again. “Anything you want, my love.”

Jaskier smiles, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s neck, and pulls him closer, leaning back until the witcher loses balance, and they both fall onto the hide, barely avoiding the unfinished wreaths.

“Gods, Jask, I’m twice your weight,” Geralt tries, weakly.

It’s very hard to protest when he’s got Jaskier pinned to the floor under him, warm and familiar.

“That doesn’t seem to bother you when you press me to the bed,” Jaskier teases, his eyes sparkling as he runs his hands through Geralt’s loose hair. “And I’m not as fragile as I look. Just stay as you are.”

Saying no to that doesn’t seem like a possibility, so Geralt complies without any further resistance, allowing himself to relax and catching Jaskier’s lips in a warm kiss before tucking his face into the curve of his shoulder once more.

They stay like that for some time, Jaskier running his hands through the witcher’s hair and murmuring something about how soft it is, and everything else fades into the backdrop of Geralt’s mind, forgotten.

***

Somehow, the alcohol takes its effect on Geralt much sooner than he’d expected.

When there’s only an hour or so before midnight left, his head is already spinning pleasantly, the taste of the liquor on his lips only made sweeter by the kisses he keeps stealing from Jaskier.

All the servants are long dismissed, and they’re alone in the mansion save only for Asra and Lucio, who are sleeping peacefully in one of the chairs, tired from running around in the gardens and uninterested in any sort of celebrations by now.

At some point during the night, Geralt had somehow convinced Jaskier to get the lute he’d seen in their bedroom and play something, because previously he’d only heard him recite poems, not ballads.

Jaskier was just a little shy at first, hiding his eyes and saying that he hasn’t performed for anyone since the Academy, but as soon as he touched the strings, all that shyness was gone.

He switched between his own songs and the ones that are known all across the Continent, his voice flowing like a birdsong, deft fingers moving over the strings with practised ease, and Geralt, looking at him from his place by the fire, realised then, with both excitement and slight horror, that he will never love anyone as much as he loves him.

And, well, it’s common knowledge that love makes people do things they wouldn’t have had the courage for otherwise.

“Come with me,” Geralt says, getting up when the last notes of a well-known ballad about a knight and a witch fade into the air and Jaskier puts his lute aside, rubbing at his fingertips.

He takes Geralt’s hand without questions, allowing him to pull him up onto his feet, and follows the witcher when he leads him through the endless hallways and rooms, all the way onto the third floor and into the far end of the west wing.

“If you want to make use of the bed that you used to sleep in, we’re going the wrong way,” he points out, a little unsteady on his feet from the alcohol.

Geralt rolls his eyes, holding onto the bard’s hand tighter.

The mansion is a labyrinth, and he still barely knows his way around, but his memory is good enough to allow him to find the room he’s looking for on the first try.

The large double doors are what give it away.

Geralt pushes them open, and he doesn’t even have to say anything before Jaskier snaps his fingers and the vast ballroom lights up with hundreds of candles all along the walls.

It’s decorated in the same manner and the rest of the mansion, golds and deep reds dominating the colour scheme, and just as elegant.

Above a large fireplace, hangs a portrait of a woman that Geralt instantly recognises as Jaskier’s mother. Those bottomless cornflower-blue eyes are very hard to miss.

He lets go of Jaskier’s hand and bows deeply, one hand on his abdomen and the other one behind his back.

“Do me an honour of a dance, my Lord?” he says, lifting his gaze to meet Jaskier’s and not trying hard enough to hide his grin.

He offers Jaskier a hand, and the bard takes it with a charming smile, the voluminous slit sleeve of his chemise brushing over Geralt’s skin.

There’s something that he used for his morning bath that has his skin shimmer like gold in the warm light of the candles, and Geralt leans down to press a gentle kiss to Jaskier’s knuckles before pulling him closer.

At another snap of the bard’s fingers, the ballroom fills with music.

“Just one more thing,” he murmurs, running his hand through Geralt’s hair, his magic weaving golden vines of laurel into it, and then, before Geralt can even suggest it, Jaskier’s own hair is adorned with a delicate, intricate crown.

Geralt bites his lip, fighting the urge to pull him into a kiss, and instead takes a step back, leading Jaskier in a dance that he’d learned a very long time ago, in Kaer Morhen.

It’s not perfect and certainly way below anything that would be allowed at an actual court but right now, it’s just the two of them, and Jaskier happily lets Geralt lead, keeping the required distance between them only to close in a second later, teasing and slipping out of touch just before Geralt can do anything about it.

His magic grows stronger, almost burning the witcher at every touch, but he still chases it, even as his medallion hums against his chest.

It’s strange, being alone in a ballroom that could easily fit an entire court, but with Jaskier, it doesn’t really matter.

As long as the music plays, flowing from somewhere above them, they dance, the alcohol making them both light on their feet.

Jaskier is a much better dance than Geralt, his every move practised and effortlessly elegant, and every time they break apart, Geralt can’t help but admire him, the silk of Jaskier’s clothes moving around him like waves, the gold of the crown shining in the flickering light of the countless candles.

Just once, Geralt manages to catch him in time to steal a long, sweet kiss from his lips, and Jaskier doesn’t even try to protest, kissing him back with just as much feeling behind it.

Keeping the time in mind proves a little more difficult than Geralt had expected, and so it’s only a few minutes until midnight that Jaskier suddenly gasps and stops, clasping his hand over Geralt’s to run out of the ballroom and back to the downstairs library, waking the dogs with the sudden commotion.

Geralt follows him, not entirely understanding what they’re doing until they’re back in front of the fireplace and there is a mistletoe wreath being placed on his head.

“Now you can rest assured, my love,” Jaskier smiles, still a little out of breath. “It’s only you that I wish to kiss.”

And before Geralt can answer, the bard already throws his arms around his neck and pulls him into a kiss, so sweet that Geralt’s knees go weak.

He kisses back, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist, holding him closer, and at that moment, with the dogs jumping around them to get attention, the liquor still sweet on his tongue, and Jaskier’s familiar warmth next to him, he feels happy.

His chest feels tight with it, and that sends a shiver down his spine.

He’d never really thought whether or not he’s truly happy, too used to his life being limited down to the endless stretch of the Path, the monsters and the winters at Kaer Morhen.

And he enjoyed all of that, despite the pain, the blood, the prejudice and contempt from people who didn’t even know him. He couldn’t picture himself as anyone other than a witcher, and even being underpaid at just about every job he’d take, he knew that what he was doing needed to be done.

And to make up for three seasons on the Path, there was Kaer Morhen.

Three long winter months spent in a keep he’d been calling home since he was a child, with his brothers and Vesemir. Drinks, games, stupid stories, horse races across the slopes of the Blue Mountains, the constant fear to fall and break your neck only adding to the adrenaline rush.

No, Geralt wasn’t unhappy.  

There was just something lacking.

A missing piece somewhere deep in his chest that kept letting the cold draft in, a draft that he’d grown accustomed but not used to.

A draft that was no longer there, the space left by the missing piece now filled with Jaskier’s unconditional, absolute love.  

Geralt makes an effort over himself, breaking away from Jaskier’s lips when there is no more air left in his lungs, but doesn’t let the bard go, still holding him close as he whispers:

“You’re meant to make a wish at midnight. What do you wish for?”

Jaskier closes his eyes, the smile never leaving his lips, and Geralt isn't sure if the cracking he’s hearing is the fire or Jaskier’s magic, charging the air around them.

“I only have one wish,” Jaskier says, his eyes impossibly blue as he opens them to look at Geralt. “You.”

This time it’s not the alcohol that makes Geralt’s knees weak.

“I’m yours,” he whispers.

Jaskier’s smile somehow grows even brighter, his magic growing so tangible that Geralt feels lightheaded with it, and he pulls the witcher into another kiss, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest.

***

It’s much later in the night that they finally find their way back to their bedroom.

Asra and Lucio pay them absolutely no mind, not even waking up when they finally leave the library, and with the bed left completely for their own, there’s more than enough space for Geralt and Jaskier to fall onto, tired after a long night.

The clothes that Jaskier had chosen for both of them are all intricate laces and buttons, and undoing them all would’ve taken the rest of the night had Jaskier not taken pity on Geralt and dealt with that with a snap of his fingers.

“Convenient,” Geralt hums, his head still a little unsteady from the alcohol. “You should do that more often when I’m trying to undress you.”

Jaskier laughs, drunk and happy, and makes himself comfortable on the pillows, all of his clothes now somewhere on the floor.

The room is dark, illuminated only by the light of the full moon outside, and the silver glow that it casts on Jaskier’s skin makes him look like his body’s been cut out of marble, every line flawless, filigree.  

Geralt can’t take his eyes off him.

Jaskier notices him looking, and regards the witcher from under his lashes, the crown still shining in his chestnut hair. He bites his lip, never breaking the eye contact as he runs a hand down his chest and spreads his knees in a teasing, inviting gesture.  

Of course, that’s not something that Geralt can turn down.

He pulls off the rest of his clothes, the night air pleasantly cold against his skin, and slips right into Jaskier’s waiting arms, their bodies fitting together easily.

They’re both too tired to take it any further, and they’ve already had their fill in the morning, but just laying together, skin to skin, is a pleasure of its own.

“Thank you for the wonderful day, Witcher,” Jaskier murmurs, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s temple.

Geralt hums, pleased and content, and noses at Jaskier’s neck in return.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he assures. “My Lord.”

Jaskier gives him a little pleased rumble, almost a purr from somewhere deep in his chest, and wraps his arms around the witcher’s back tighter, tangling their legs together.

“Keep calling me that, and I just might act upon it,” he draws out, and Geralt can’t help the thrill that runs through his body at that.

He knows it’s a promise as much as it is a threat, as well as he knows that both of them are filled with nothing but pleasure.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he grins.

They fall asleep quickly, safe and warm in each other’s arms, and it’s when the rising sun paints the room with reds and golds that Geralt wakes, his body catching up with all the liquor and demanding some cold water.

He carefully untangles himself from Jaskier, and the bard, having lost his warmth, immediately turns to his side, pulling one of the blankets closer to his chest.

Geralt reaches the pitcher on the bedside table, and, having failed to find a cup, drinks right out of it, the cold water nothing less of a bliss.

He lets his gaze linger on Jaskier’s sleeping form, on his tousled hair, the lines of his shoulders and back, the fading marks scattered over them, and he’s already about to close his eyes and go back to sleep, when it hits him.

“Jask,” he calls, reaching out to touch the bard on the shoulder, his heart beating so hard in his chest that he feels like it’s going to break through the bones. “Jask, wake up.”

“Hmm?” he draws out, barely awake as he turns to look at Geralt. “Was is it, my love?”

Geralt can feel his throat go suddenly dry, and he has to take in a slow breath before he says:

“Your mark is gone.”

[scapegrace74-blog]

The Second First Christmas

A/N Despite the fact that I’m posting it after Boxing Day, this little fic is about Metric Jamie and Claire celebrating their first Christmas as a couple.  It is unadulterated fluff, and in keeping with the season of giving, I’m going to give this an Explicit rating.  You’re welcome.

With special thanks to @lady-o-ren, for Jamie’s gift idea!

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

December 24, 2018, Spitalfields, London, England

Claire could hear her phone vibrating loudly on the metal shelf inside her duty locker.  Overcoming fatigue so severe it blurred her vision, she entered her combination and yanked open the door, thumbing the screen just before the call went to voicemail.

How did he do it?  Jamie had an uncanny, and frankly slightly unsettling, ability to guess her whereabouts, even remotely.  The past week he had found her in the massive Spitalfields Market merely on the hunch that she would be craving sushi after her Pilates class.  At one point she’d found his prescience disturbing, but now it soothed her.  Someone cared for her enough, knew her well enough, to plot the passage of her days on the virtual map of his mind.  And that someone was on the line.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Claire Beauchamp’s circadian rhythm.  Press One if you’re a cortisol suppressant, Two if you’re an espresso machine, or Three if you’re Claire’s boyfriend, last seen in the flesh prior to the winter solstice.”

Jamie’s low rumbling chuckle filled her ear.

“Ye’re verra funny for a lass goin’ on twenty-four hours wi’out sleep, Sassenach. How was yer shift?”

Having worked most holidays in the A&E since graduating nursing school, Claire knew they went one of two ways: either complete bedlam, or utter boredom.  This one had been the latter, for which she was thankful.

“Surprisingly calm, but that means no lovely adrenaline to keep me awake.  I may sleepwalk into the Thames on my way home.  Are you at the station already?”

“Aye, jus’ starting my shift.  Can ye be at the main entrance of the hospital in five minutes?  I’ll call ye an Uber.”

“Jamie, that’s really not necessary.  I’m quite capable of walking...”

“Claire...” he interrupted, and needn’t say anything more.  They’d had numerous conversations and minor confrontations since becoming a couple over what Jamie termed her “wee addiction to self-sufficiency”.  She was trying to learn to accept help when it was offered, but it was an iterative process.

“Thank you.  I’d appreciate that.  Will I see you tomorrow morning before I go back on duty?”

Both Jamie and Claire were working extra hours over the holidays to offset the cost of refurnishing their flat.  Every minute spent together was therefore doubly precious.

“Aye, I’ll wake ye when I get in an’ we can celebrate our second first Christmas t’gether by tryin’ tae keep the other awake long enough tae open our presents.”

She smiled, but it morphed into a yawn.

“Get some rest, Sassenach.  And Claire,” he added in a serious tone, “t’would be a fine gift tae find ye in my bed, preferably naked, when I come home on Christmas morn.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she husked, suddenly much more awake.

***

There was a puff of cool air and then the Earth moved.  Straining to hold onto slumber, Claire rolled away from the disturbance, gripping the blanket beneath her chin.  A low chuckle preceded a solid warmth radiating along the entire length of her spine.  Something bristly abraded her shoulder and she flinched away.

“Has anyone told ye ye look like a wee hedgehog when ye sleep, Sassenach?”

“I’m fairly confident they haven’t,” she retorted, rolling onto her back and stretching before opening her eyes.  The room was mostly dark, but Jamie’s auburn curls glowed in the dim lamplight escaping their living room.  His bare shoulders were humid and pink from the shower.  “What time is it?” she asked.

“Gone four.  We have a few hours afore ye have tae be back at the A&E, aye?”

“Mmmm,” she hummed affirmatively, caught up in tracing the ligatures of Jamie’s upper arm.

“Good.  That should leave us jus’ enough time.”

“Just how many presents are we exchanging?” Claire laughed, mesmerized by the eager passage of Jamie’s eyes over her face.  The hand that wasn’t bracing his head aloft began a lazy exploration beneath the blankets, touching her naked skin so softly that it almost tickled.

“Only two.  An’ the first one’s already unwrapped.”

“How fortuitous,” she teased before leaning upwards to capture his waggish lips in a warm introductory kiss.  “Merry Christmas,” she murmured as they parted some time later.

“An’ tae ye as well, Sassenach.  Ye canna imagine how many times I thought of ye t’night, yer beautiful skin warm against my sheets.”  Jamie’s free hand was on the move again, firmer now along the contours of her body as it came alive to his touch.

“Slow night, then?” she gasped as his knuckle found her nipple, slackened with sleep.

“Painfully so.”

There was no further conversation for a time, mouths being employed far more enjoyably.  Four months of intimacy had bridged the span from friends to lovers, replacing hesitation with ardour.  They were still learning each other’s tells; when to lead and when to follow, how to ask and how to demand.  It was a giddy education for them both.  

Tonight, Jamie’s fatigue and drawn-out anticipation left him shaking with want, a sensation akin to sharing a bed with an earthquake.  His broad torso was outlined in the light from the door as he knelt between her thighs, lust pinwheeling like sparklers in his eyes.  Fortunately, condoms were no longer a necessity after they both produced clean blood tests and Claire had an IUD implanted.  So when he slid into her body, there was nothing but the needy clasp of flesh on flesh.  Her sigh of pleasure mingled with Jamie’s groan of relief as they began their dance.

“Yer breasts, mo nighean donn,” Jamie growled past the iron clench of his jaw.  She dragged her pupils down from the back of her eyelids to observe the twin objects in question, undulating in time to their meeting and parting.

“Touch them for me,” Jamie commanded.

Aware that her every movement was being minutely observed, she made a show of arching her ribs and running her hands first beside, then below, and finally between her breasts.

“Seadh, mo ghaol.” The words snuck unbidden between Jamie’s strained lips.  She didn’t have the Gaihldig, but his meaning was clear.  Go on.  So go on she did, dragging fingernails over the creased flesh of each areola before giving both nipples a sudden pinch.  Whatever tectonic fluctuations her actions caused, Jamie felt them, for he let out an ecstatic whimper.  A worried furrow now marred his brow.  Her fluent eyes read the desperation written on his face.  He didn’t have long, and he needed her to go before him.

Her right hand drifted down to where they were joined.  His cock was thoroughly coated in her moisture as it emerged from her body.  Wetting her fingertips, she began to trace the intricate geometry of self-pleasure against her flesh.  Breathy moans filled the air.  Jamie’s teeth were bared in a snarl of panicked concentration.  She wasn’t going to overtake him in the wire sprint to the finish, she realized.

“Do it, Jamie.”  His crazed glance snapped upward to meet her own certain one.  Doubt clouded the seascape of his irises.  “God, please,” she begged.  They’d spoken of it.  A fantasy.  A mental titillation not yet brought to life.

Resolution came just in time.  Slipping from her heat, he grasped himself and with two hard strokes erupted all over her skin with a hoarse cry, anointing the final acceleration of her fingers as she echoed his climax with a convulsion and a sob.

Minutes later, they lay side by side, still recovering their breath.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Claire warned.  “We still need to exchange gifts.”

“Greedy wee thing,” Jamie groaned, already halfway to slumber.

***

A shared shower and two cups of strong coffee later, they sat on their new sofa.  Claire’s carefully wrapped gift for Jamie lay on the coffee table before them.

“I can’t help but notice that there’s nothing under our tree for me, Fraser.”

“Och, ye mean ye expect me tae serve ye and give ye a wee present, Sassenach.  Ye truly are greedy,” he groused dramatically.  Standing, he extended his hand and confused, Claire allowed him to lead her towards her bedroom.  For a moment she considered that he might actually be taking her back to bed.  As he turned on the light she understood his intention.

As a lifelong wanderer, Claire could count on the fingers of one hand her precious material possessions.  Her mother’s emerald earrings.  Her father’s pocket watch.  A jade fish from the Cat Street night market in Hong Kong, a lucky talisman she carried in her pocket for every test and exam.  And a beautiful antique print of Persepolis left to her by her Uncle Lamb.  All but this last had survived their apartment fire unscathed, but the water and smoke damage to its parchment had been irreparable.  Or so she had believed.

“Jamie,” she gasped upon seeing the lithograph once again mounted in its frame on her wall.  “But... how?”

“Well, I willna bore ye with the details, but suffice it tae say that there’s an antiquarian o’er in Bermondsey who can work miracles.  There’s still a wee bit o’ smudging near the edges, but I reckon it adds to its character,” he explained.

“A palimpsest,” she said, taking his hand.  At his questioning look, she explained, “when one story is written overtop of an older one.  This print is a remembrance of my Uncle Lamb and his love for me.  And now, when I look at it, I’ll be reminded of your love as well.”

“Aye, just so,” he agreed.

***

Claire was unaccountably nervous as Jamie began to unwrap her gift.  She’d felt certain she’d picked just the right thing for him; personal without being sappy, meaningful without being extravagant.  But with eyes still misty from the thoughtfulness of his present to her, she was having doubts.

“Tis rather heavy,” Jamie observed as he lifted the rectangular package onto his lap.  His eyes were alight with childlike glee, which was a gift unto itself.

“A chess set!”  His smile was genuine, but Claire’s heart plummeted.  What kind of woman bought her lover a chess set?  She began to stammer.

“I... ummm... I thought you could invite your friend John over to play.  You mentioned missing the challenge, and ummm....” she broke off, floundering, but Jamie paid her no heed.  He was lifting each wooden piece from its velvet resting place, inspecting its shape with a look of utter fascination.

“Where did ye find this, Claire?” he asked at last.

“Oh, uhh, online, actually.  It’s from a store in Inverness, but of course I wasn’t able to...”

“It’s Culloden,” Jamie interrupted.

“Errr, yes.  I thought, you know, a chessboard is a tactical battlefield.  And with you being Scottish and your family’s Jacobite history...”

“Claire, this is the most amazing chess set I’ve e’er seen.   Look here.  See this wee knight?  Tis a Scotch Hussar.  An’ the white king is the Duke of Cumberland.”  Jamie’s finger traced the words and images carved on the plinth of each piece, going on and on about the clans represented by the tacksmen pawns and his own grandsire, Lord Lovat, symbolized by a tiny strawberry carved on the base of an ebony rook.  Claire’s ribs began to loosen their vice-grip on her lungs.  Maybe she hadn’t horribly miscalculated after all.

“Sassenach, thank ye.  Truly.   Tis a grand gift.”  The chess set had finally been set aside and they sat facing each other, hands gently caressing as the winter sun slowly warmed the room in tones of blush and grey.

“You’ve very welcome.  I’m so relieved that you like it,” she replied with candour.

“I love it.  But no’ half sae much as I love ye.”

“I love you too.”  It was only after the words had taken flight from her lips that she realized she had never said them aloud before.  Not to Jamie, whose sudden stillness indicated that he had heard her.  It was too late, then, to pluck her soaring words from the air and cage them once again inside her heart.  Too afraid to meet his gaze, she concentrated on smoothing her palms over the backs of his hands in a hypnotic rhythm. 

His response, when it came, was whispered into the secret stronghold they had built together.

“There’s naught on Earth tae compare wi’ the gift of yer heart, mo nighean donn.  I want ye tae ken that I shall treasure it, an’ ne’er give ye reason tae regret placing it with me for safekeeping.”

Jamie lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed them both sweetly.  Still looking down, she nodded her acceptance of his pledge, a single tear escaping from the tip of her nose.

It was well past sunrise by the time Claire rose from their bed a second time, kissing her sleeping lover goodbye before creeping out of their flat and into the gemstone light of a perfect Christmas morning.

[chaoticallysapphic]

the great trial part four

summary: This was meant to be the easy part. The part filled with brightness and love. The war was over and you had the love of your life all to yourself. No more Baatar, no more secrecy and no more lies. But with the calm comes the realization as all the adrenaline finally leaves you. Now you know, this is the hard part.

a/n: lol I just realized part four of tgd is where it got smutty. What a pattern like I didn’t even try. Thank you @medeliadracon​ and @ladyxffandoms​ !

word count: 5k

You pick up reading again and sometimes Kuvira joins you, the both of you sit with your back resting against an armrest as your legs are tangled together.

Lily is asleep on the armchair and jazz music softly plays from the radio as the newly repaired domes shut for the evening. Kuvira is humming as you turn the page of your novel and dog ear the corner before snapping it shut, she looks up from her book with a quirked brow. 

“I’m bored,” you groan out, tilting your head back in annoyance as you let the book slide onto your lap. “How are we gonna spend the rest of winter like this.”

“We’ll manage,” she replies, wedging a bookmark between the pages and softly shutting the book. “We should probably make dinner.” 

Resting your head against the back of the couch you eye the kitchen with a sigh. “We could make bean curd puffs, those are fun.” 

And so the both of you end up in the kitchen with Kuvira making the mixture as you roll the dough into a thick stick, the countertops and even the floors are covered in flour as you begin to cut the roll into twelve pieces. You don’t notice the way Kuvira watches you, a small smile that's reserved only for you as she watches you begin to spread the pieces out with the palm of your hand. 

By now you're the one humming the song. Kuvira’s noticed how much you like this new song that plays on the radio, how you hum or softly sing the lyrics when it comes on. You catch her staring and raise a brow, a slight flush dusting your cheeks. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she shakes her head. “You just look so beautiful.” You stop your movements, your mouth open in surprise. Neither of you has gone as far as complimenting the other, for the most part, an outsider might just think you’re roommates with how the two of you have been acting these last few months. 

Abandoning the dough you try to fill your head with confident words as you turn to your soulmate and take the step to be closer to her. Kuvira’s grip on the spoon loosens as she watches you step closer and slowly bring your flour-covered hands to rest on her cheeks. “You look... Really pretty.” 

And she does, she’s started to wear her hair down for you and she’s dressed in a white tank top and light green sweatpants which might not be appealing to some but it shows off her muscles and curves in a way that she knows you like. 

Taking the chance you lean forward and gently press your lips against hers. You haven’t kissed since the hospital which was midsummer, the months have gone by so slowly and with it, your anger has dissipated into a dull flame within you. 

Hesitantly she kisses you back, one of her hands goes to rest on your hip but she doesn’t hold it in fear of you pulling away. She’s had dreams of you finally kissing her again, none involve standing in the middle of the kitchen with flour covering one of you but she doesn’t care.

She just wants you. Slowly you pull your lips away from hers but don’t move an inch away from her body. 

“I’ve missed this,” she admits, “I’m sorry.” She doesn’t say what she’s sorry about but you know, there’s honestly too much for her to apologize for her to fit it into one simple sentence.

And you know you’ll need quite a few more I’m sorry‘s before you reach that next step but right now you won’t ask for more. Right now you wrap your arms around her neck and begin to sway to the song on the radio. It’s one of your favorites. 

Kuvira slowly wraps her arms around your waist and tucks her face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in like she hasn’t seen you in years. To be fair it’s felt like that to her. 

A part of her wants to shower you in I love you’s but she doesn’t think it’s time for that just yet. Dr. Hanika said it’s best to let you make the first move this time around, to give you the control and decision making she originally took from you all those years ago. So instead she pulls you just a fraction closer to help keep her mouth shut. 

You take the soft barrier of pillows down, neither of you moves to touch the other but it’s comforting to know that you won’t push her off the bed if her arm brushes against your own.

Your parents come over for the winter solstice with presents aplenty and grins on their faces. They pull you into their arms and press loving kisses on your cheek, your dad does the same to Kuvira whilst your mom simply sends a forced smile her way before going to love on Lily. She understands your mother's hatred towards her, she just hopes one day they can talk it out for you. 

The two of you had spent the day making cookies and homemade hot chocolate to prepare for your parents, the house smells of cinnamon and sugar as plates upon plates of cookies are set at the counter waiting to be eaten. Your father replaces the wilting bouquet with one filled with red, white, and gold and your mother sets the presents down in front of the window.  

You both felt bad for not being able to get them presents, but your father had assured both of you that they understood. Besides, they just wanted to make up for the lost time. So you all sit around the table eating the feast the two of you had prepared and drinking wine, your dad is regaling Kuvira with a story of your tenth winter solstice where you had accidentally drunk your mother's wine. 

Your mom places her head in her hands and groans “I felt like the worst mother in the world.” 

“Hey, you're not,” you say with a grin. “You held my hair back a few hours later and the worst mother in the world wouldn’t do that.” The table erupts into boisterous laughter as she playfully glares at you. Kuvira takes a sip of her wine as she chuckles, her cheeks hurt from smiling.

She turns a blind eye when she notices your dad slipping Lily a chunk of meat, knowing you're trying to train her to not beg. He pats the hound’s head as the conversation continues, this time your mom is telling everyone about some of her weirdest experiences with drunk people in Zaofu. 

The night continues much the same until finally, you all decide to retire to the living room. Kuvira decides to sit on the armchair so the three of you can snuggle up on the couch. You surprise her by walking over and sitting on her lap, laying your back against her chest. She rests her chin on your shoulder and wraps her arms around your waist, a smile of contentment gracing her lips. 

Your mother ignores the display and hands you the first present on the pile, explaining that it’s for Lily. You quirk a brow at that before ripping the paper off and opening the box up. 

Inside is a knitted dark green sweater with the words “I’m the favorite” stitched across the chest in white. You snort, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth and even Kuvira laughs at the sight. The I in favorite has been replaced by a middle finger, this is 100% your mothers doing, it has her humor plus your dad can’t knit. 

“Thank you,” you say as you begin to calm down. “I think she’ll love this.” Your dad takes it from you to put it on Lily who wags her tail back and forth in excitement at the attention. It fits her perfectly and the words can be seen from your seat on Kuvira’s lap. 

Next, is a cranberry sweater made for you that is super comfortable, a few pairs of thick socks for the both of you to share. New books and a new pair of gardening gloves. At some point during the unwrapping, you hear the shudder of a camera a few times, your father holding it up to capture memories for the two of you. 

There’s only two presents left in the pile and this time your dad hands this one specifically to Kuvira, who pinches her brows together in confusion. You shift a bit on her lap to give her more room to open it up, watching with bated breath to see what it could possibly be. 

Inside is a new sketchbook that’s leather-bound with a sleek metal clasp that locks. It’s wider and thicker than her current one which is running out of space and beneath the book is more charcoal pencils to add to her depleting collection. 

She thickly swallows as her hand runs over the beautifully engraved leather that has her initials in swirly letters at the bottom. It’s simple and it’s hers. 

With the Beifong’s it was usually things for sparring or extravagant gifts that anyone but Kuvira would prefer like fancy tunics and those massive metal necklaces they all wore. She’d sit in the back of the group staring at the gifts that felt like they didn’t really belong to her with a heavy heart.

But this is 100% hers. You brush a pesky strand of hair out of her face for her before turning to give your dad a thankful smile. 

You knew he’d get her something but you worried about what it might be. Seeing her reaction is enough to know that your father's streak of perfect gift giving has not been broken. Carefully, as if worried she may break it, Kuvira places it back inside its box for now and looks up, offering your father the faintest of grateful smiles. He understands though and beams at her appreciation. 

The last gift is also for Kuvira, it’s a heavy box that she slowly rips open, taking her time unlike you with your gifts. When she lifts the lid she’s met with soft emerald green fabric, slowly pulling it out you help her by taking the empty box, setting it on the floor. It’s a knitted sweater like yours. It looks like it’s a size too big for her but you once told her that’s how your mom knits, the bigger the better. 

She doesn’t know what to say or do, you mentioned offhandedly how your mom makes everyone in the family sweaters for Winter Solstice, but she didn’t expect to get one as well. Not only is she not a family member, but she’s not even a friend. That nagging voice in her brain tells her that she probably didn’t make this. Maybe your mom bought it from a store or maybe you guilted her into making one. 

But it’s soft and it’s beautiful and it’s hers. Nothing extravagant (although at times Kuvira does miss the finer things in life) or flashy. The emerald goes great with your cranberry, and she wonders if your mother thought of that or if it's just a coincidence.

Kuvira grips the fabric and looks up to see your mom watching with a pensive look. She takes a sip of her wine as Kuvira softly says “Thank you, for the gifts.” It’s directed at the both of them but her eyes stay on your mother who simply nods. 

Shortly after, your parents call it a night and leave and you carefully extract yourself from her hold to hug them both. When you pull your mother into a hug you whisper softly “thank you, mom. It means a lot.” She nods, she doesn’t hug Kuvira, not ready for that, and offers her a nod of the head before leaving with your father. 

As you're cleaning up the mess of wrapping paper and half-empty wine glasses, Kuvira shyly slips the sweater on to see if it fits and is surprised by how comfortable it is. The sleeves go past her wrist and graze at her knuckles and the sweater stops at the tops of her thighs. She looks down at the sweater, so many emotions that she can’t keep track of race through her mind and it’s so loud that she accidentally tunes you out. 

Your back is facing her as you begin to wash the dishes, you're talking to her about what you’ll do with all these leftover cookies. When she doesn’t reply to your joke about having a cookie eating contest you look over your shoulder and stop scrubbing the dish in your hands. 

The color makes her hair look slightly darker and brings out her eyes. She’s running her fingers over the fabric with a blank face and you wish to know what’s going on in that head of hers. She looks softer, less harsh with it on. 

For so long you’ve seen her dressed ready to fight with a hardened look on her features, but right now she looks warm and cozy. She looks like safety and comfort personified, like if she wraps her arms around you a cocoon of soft blankets and loving whispers will encase the two of you. 

You stop with the dishes and wipe your hands dry before walking up to Kuvira, when your hands go to gently touch hers it brings her out of her thoughts. Her eyes are clouded with emotion as you pull her into your arms. She wraps her arms around your waist and tightly grips at your shirt as she begins to cry. 

To her, this is the first step in repairing a relationship she deeply misses, Kuvira and your mother were once close when she was in the guard. She sometimes brought her lunches which she now knows must have been made by your dad and always had her back. She cheered the loudest at her ceremony and even offered to have her come over for dinner to which Kuvira declined, not wanting to impose. 

When she left those years ago she didn’t realize what she was severing, what she was destroying, and she knows she can’t change it, but she wishes she had stayed in Zaofu. They could have had three winter solstices together by now if she had just stayed put.

You wouldn’t be in the process of forgiving her because she would have left Baatar for you and you’d probably already be married or on your way to it. She knows that such a thing has been put on the back burner and won’t happen for a long time now, but she hates herself for destroying all those possibilities. 

But you don’t seem to mind the past as you pull her closer and soothingly rub her back. Your embrace reminds her of the present and what will hopefully be the future. At this moment she’s realized how far the two of you have come within the past few months. It reminds her that Dr. Hanika said not to let the past consume you and that when Kuvira smiles you look so happy to witness such a thing. That despite all her wrongdoings you're still here which is more than she ever expected. 

That night Kuvira falls asleep in that sweater with your arms wrapped around her. She dreams of a future where she’s gained your mother’s respect and your forgiveness. 

Spring comes like a force to be reckoned with. Your garden is teeming with the buds of the seeds you planted last fall as you happily spend your days back outside. The sessions with Dr. Hanika have proceeded and all gone smoothly, today was meant to be your first couples session since last summer. Both of you are nervous about what might happen during it so you throw yourselves into separate activities to pass the time. 

Lily is lying by your side, leisurely eating grass as you pull at the weeds that have attacked your precious garden. While you're doing that Kuvira is inside drawing with a cup of tea by her side, she’s gotten better but is by no means a professional, she hasn’t even shown you any of her work due to the insecurities she has regarding her skill. You understand thankfully, never once have you asked to look inside or pressured her.

When the doorbell rings, the both of you freeze, your nerves amplifying at the realization that there is no going back. Kuvira snaps her sketchbook shut, locking it with her bending before going to open the door. She’s been dreading this day the most. In her dreams last night she envisioned a session far worse than the last. In it, you verbally decimated her before saying it was over, that you could never love someone so monstrous. 

To bring her comfort she’s wearing your mother's green sweater with a pair of your leggings. When she asked this morning if she could borrow them you didn’t seem to mind which eased her nerves a bit. You wouldn’t be willing to share clothes with her if you were planning to end it today. At least that’s what she told herself.

While Dr. Hanika is getting situated in the armchair you finally come inside and place your gloves on your herb shelves. Your pants have dirt-stains on them and you know it’d probably be best to change but you want to get this over with so you take a seat on the couch, next to Kuvira. 

“Well, I can already tell you guys have been doing better,” she smiles. You tuck your hands under your legs as she begins to talk. She asks you both questions about your day like what does that consist of? How do you guys communicate now? Are you happy? You both take turns answering those questions and when you get to the last you answer honestly and say “Yes, I am.” 

Kuvira doesn’t show it but inside she’s doing cartwheels at your words. She looks over at you and replies after you “I’m happy.” 

“And what does your sex life look like right now?” That question stuns both of you. Kuvira just stares at the coffee table with wide eyes, not knowing how to reply as you flush a deep red. 

“Uhm we haven’t…” You shake your head. “Not since before.” Before the end of my empire, Kuvira thinks. Not since that night almost a year ago where she thought you had finally left her, the night before it all went to shit. Not since your dream that finally made you snap, not that she blames you. 

Not since “I can’t look at you right now!” and the crack in her heart that followed those words. 

“Y/n, what is holding you back from taking that next step?” Dr. Hanika readies her pen as she patiently waits for your reply. Honestly, you’ve wanted to for the last couple of weeks but then you go to sleep and dream of her with him. Your mind keeps reminding you of her betrayal despite desperately wanting to move forward. 

Nervously you wring your hands and let out a deep sigh. “Uhm, I just keep picturing him.” You try to keep your voice neutral, try to not spit out that last word even though every part of you wants to. Kuvira stiffens beside you and coughs. “I want to but every time I close my eyes it’s images of them together.” 

“How does that make you feel, Kuvira?” 

“Honestly? Awful…” Kuvira quickly adds “but not angry or anything. I just feel awful because I’ve done this to her and us.” She has to add that she’s not angry. In the past, she was almost always angry, and she needs you to know she’s not mad at you. This is her fault, and she’s aware of that now. 

“From my understanding, your sex life was a bit complicated in the past. Kuvira you’ve told me that you’d withhold yourself as a form of punishment, is that correct?” She nods. “It seems like you used sex as a reward which is an unhealthy way to look at such an intimate activity. I think the two of you shouldn’t rush this and only do it once you fully trust Kuvira again.” 

You nod, not being able to look at either of them at the moment. You want to trust her and for the two of you to be happy and in love but no matter how hard you try you can’t step over that line. It’s terrifying and you're worried that once you finally do trust her again this peacefulness will disappear and be replaced with the animosity that once used to rule your relationship.

“Okay…” You say. Kuvira nods in agreement. The session continues much as it did before that question was asked. It’s a bit tense now and the hour passes on with forced replies up until the end. 

“I have some trust exercises. I want the two of you to practice for the next couple of weeks, maybe even months. You both need to be patient and understand that trust is a very hard thing to earn back and give to someone who’s deeply hurt you. The fact that both of you are still trying just shows how much you want to make this work.” 

She begins to write a list of things on her notepad before ripping off the page and handing it to you. Both of you lean forward to read over the list together as Dr. Hanika packs up for the day. 

Talk about your fears, be open, and accepting of what your partner has to say.

Look into each other's eyes for thirty seconds, try to work yourself up to three minutes.

Tell your partner why you love them.

Ask for what you need to do in order to gain Y/n’s trust again.

Have a calm conversation where you ask each other questions

Compliment each other

“Next week I’d like to do one on one sessions and the week after that we’ll do another couple's session. I’d like for the two of you to work on these until then. Remember to not rush this, it’s okay to take your time.” She shows herself out, softly shutting the door behind her. Silence falls as the two of you anxiously re-read the words. 

“Should we do one now?” Kuvira asks. You shrug and softly set the piece of paper on the coffee table. 

“I guess? But I don’t know which one to start with. I mean there’s so many.” Kuvira rakes a hand through her hair and sighs. She looks over it again, that top one scares Kuvira, she doesn’t know if she wants to hear your fears or tell you hers. 

“Number two looks easy, we could try that?” And so you do. The both of you twist around on the couch until you are directly facing each other, knees touching as you mentally psych yourself up. “Thirty seconds isn’t too long.” 

You nod and take a deep breath before looking up and locking eyes with Kuvira. The first few seconds it seems easy and you feel silly for getting worked up at the prospect but as time ticks on you start to see why she listed it in the first place. 

Prolonged eye contact is intimate. Staring into Kuvira’s eyes for this long makes you feel bare and you quickly realize how much you don’t like that. Ripping your eyes away at the 25 seconds mark, you tense up. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No it’s fine, it’s okay.” Kuvira hesitates before placing a hand on your shoulder and offering a comforting squeeze. “It’s gonna take some time, I understand.” She wishes it didn’t, she wishes it didn’t pain you to simply look at her for only thirty seconds. But she swallows that down and offers you a reassuring smile. 

“Thank you,” you say, you don’t even realize the iron grip you had on your ankles during the attempt and release them with a shaky sigh. “We’ll get there, right?” 

“Right.” 

You mess up four days later. Continuing with the eye contact exercises you work your way up to thirty-five seconds which feels like such a victory. You try to compliment her cooking, and she compliments the way your garden is coming along. It’s going so well and you're so tired of this that you go too fast too soon and you have no one else to blame but yourself. 

Both of you have a glass of wine with dinner which leaves you slightly buzzed but not tipsy. When you're getting ready for bed your eyes follow Kuvira’s legs that are starting to lose some of their definition.

She’s wearing a pair of shorts due to the recent heat with a tank top and suddenly that desire you’ve tried to ignore these past few weeks comes rearing up with no control. And so you sit on the bed with your knees tucked underneath you and grab Kuvira’s hand as she goes to grab the covers to pull back. She looks at you with furrowed brows as you pull her closer until she’s sitting on the bed as well. 

In her mind, she thinks that maybe you want to practice eye contact again but is left in a state of shock when you place your lips against her own. Her breath hitches when your hands go to cradle her face as you shuffle closer. Kuvira desperately wants to kiss you back but knows she can’t, so she gently pushes you away, you reluctantly let her. 

Panting, you ask “don’t you want to?” 

“Of course I do but Y/n are you ready? Dr. Ha-” 

“I’m ready, I promise,” you place a gentle kiss on her jaw, a place you know she loves. She lets out a shaky sigh. “I want you Kuvira, please.” And fuck, who’s she to deny you when you say please? So Kuvira gently grips your chin and presses her lips against your own. She doesn’t push you and leads like she used to so you thread your fingers through her hair and tug, eliciting a moan from your lover. 

You climb onto her lap as you begin to pick up the pace and gently tug on her lower lip with your teeth. Kuvira wraps her arms around your waist, her hands resting on your ass to keep you close. That heat that you’ve missed begins to pool within you, your whole body feels like it’s been lit with desire and you don’t want that feeling to ever leave. 

When Kuvira squeezes your ass, ripping a moan out of you it gives her the perfect opportunity to prod her tongue in your mouth. Your tongues meld together in a way that shoots right down to your core, it feels so right, so hot and maybe your therapist was wrong about waiting. 

When Kuvira goes to pull away she sucks on your tongue and slowly lets go of it. You both look into each other's eyes as you pant before Kuvira attaches her lips to your neck. Tilting your head to the side you breathe out her name as she bites down on that spot that drives you up the wall. 

The moan that leaves your lips is sure to wake the neighbors. Kuvira feels smug about it. Let them all know how good she can make you feel. When she pulls away she stops to admire her handiwork and smirks at the big purple hickey that could be seen from across a room. She leaves open mouth kisses up your neck and your jaw, before pulling you back into a bruising kiss.

You both make out for who knows how long, you just know that you want to feel every part of her after such a long time. The kiss is fiery and full of long contained passion that’s bursting at the seams. You only pull away for a moment to breathe before pulling her back in, not being able to take a second away from her lips. At some point, you push Kuvira down onto the bed and lay your body against hers. 

You make sure not to fully put all your weight on her, placing a hand down above her head as neither of you pulls away from the other. Her hands trace up and down your sides, fingertips skimming the tops of your breasts in a teasing manner that has you grinding down for any type of friction. 

You make yourself pull away from her, wanting to finally feel her body like you dreamed of. The sight before you has you groaning, her hair is a mess, spread out across the pillows and her cheeks are flushed. Kuvira’s lips are bruised, and she stares at you with eyes so dark with lust it feels like they're swallowing you whole. 

“Beautiful…” You whisper, Kuvira continues to pant as she watches you. Your hands slide down her body, feeling at the muscles that are just barely there before reaching the hem of her tank top. You slide a hand underneath, your fingers running across her stomach. 

Kuvira leans her hips up and glares. “Take it off,” she growls out impatiently. You grin as your fingers grip the ends of her shirt and pull it off, she leans up to help you and you toss it somewhere behind you. She’s not wearing any wrappings and spirits, she looks so beautiful. 

“Fuck, I want you so bad.” 

Her words seem to snap something into place that was askew this whole time. Suddenly painful images flash through your mind, ones you’ve tried so hard to bury. 

Baatar’s above her as he takes one of her nipples into his mouth with that sickening grin. She moans out his name as a hand reaches up to grip his stupid hair. Kuvira arches her back in pleasure as his other hand trails down to her clothed sex.

Next thing you know you’re jumping off of her and scrambling off the bed as a pained whimper escapes your lips. Kuvira bolts up, confusion written on her face before she sees tears begin to fall. Her face drops at the sight. “Y/n…” 

You shake your head, not being able to talk for fear of letting out some kind of ugly sound before rushing off to the bathroom where you empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet. You stay seated on the floor with the bathroom door locked as you cry into your hands. 

The next morning you can only maintain eye contact for ten seconds. 

One step forward, two steps back.