#but it was nighttime and snowing and blue and they met to go to a fancy dinner and it was glowing orange inside

[jkpng]

happy pride month (25/30)

[crystalbeastsquidney]

Bi-Han and Sareena talk about their names (word count: ~2.2k)

[just something I wanted to write for my 3-year t anniversary :0)]

[Don’t tag as ship]

“So, why ‘Bi-Han?”

The question caught him off guard. It wasn’t completely out of the blue, but a little forward for what they’d been talking about.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s just my name,” he answered. They were sitting on the stairs leading into one of the temple courtyards, the one with the statue of a large seated figure holding two lit braziers, one set in each palm. It was nighttime, but strong flames and the light of the full moon reflecting off the snow gave them more than enough to see. They’d gone out to get away from the bustle and noise inside for a spell, and had spent the past few minutes casually talking about their lives—the events that they’d gone through, the choices they’d made, and how that shaped them into the people they were now. Talking just to talk, and well, that was what she had ended up asking him.

Sareena laughed and playfully jabbed him in the side, “I mean why did you pick it. ‘Cold Wall’ isn’t exactly a common name, y’know—not one I’ve ever heard before.”

“Well, you’ve spent most of your life in hell, not exactly prime ground for hearing ‘common’ names, no?” Bi-Han quipped.

“Fair enough, I was just wondering.”

He looked out towards the horizon, idly watching the stars, and the clouds rolling across them shimmering under the moonlight. He knew full well what she’d meant, they had always talked freely about such things. Even if they didn’t, her and Ashrah had spent weeks—months even—reconstructing and restoring his body from death and corruption. It was doubtful she wouldn’t have noticed the scars just beneath his chest during all that time.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she added at his silence.

“No, it’s just… sort of long-winded, is all.”

Shrugging, Sareena leaned back resting her elbows on the steps behind her, “I’ve got nowhere else to be,” she smiled.

Bi-Han thought a moment, then smirked, “Then why don’t you go first? Why did you pick ‘Sareena?”

“I didn’t,” she answered plainly, “It’s always been my name—at least as far as I can remember.”

That gave Bi-Han pause, and he looked at her to ask, “You’ve never thought about changing it?”

She shrugged again, the pointed studs on the shoulders of her jacket glittering with reflected light. “No, it’s never really bothered me. It’s like…” she took her turn in gazing up at the sky as she spoke. The cold Arctika wind blew gently over the mountains—over Earthrealm—sweeping her hair into her face. She pushed that lock of white back behind her ear, feeling the heat of her face despite the cold as her hand brushed against her cheek. She still bore the evidence of her past, the hellfire that coursed through her veins, the very heat keeping her comfortable in a simple jacket left open in the front while Bi-Han sat bundled up beside her. And yet here she was, away from the Netherrealm, free from Quan Chi… To think those dreams that had once seemed so far off and fleeting had come true so long ago already. It was…

“Serenity; the state of being calm, peaceful, and untroubled,” she said, staring at the moon.

“In that case, it doesn’t sound like it fit you that well when we first met,” Bi-Han commented.

“No, no it didn’t.” She laughed and continued looking upward, admiring the lunar halo shining above, tranquil against the dark night sky. “But it does now.”

Bi-Han smiled for her and watched the moon as well, until he felt her eyes move to him half-expectantly.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, “…This is probably going to sound unrelated at first, but bear with me.”

Sareena gave him an understanding nod, and waited, eyes alight listening intently.

Rubbing his hands together to chase away the late night chill, Bi-Han began. “You know well enough that being a cryomancer is a big deal in the Lin Kuei, and our titles are no different. They’re like our second names. I don’t really know if Kuai Liang’s kept it around or not, but we used to have this tradition where, in order to receive your title, you had to first prove your cryomancy—“

He paused when Sareena made a face. It was subtle, but apparent enough in how her brow scrunched.

“Prove?’ What, did they line everyone up to make sure they could actually shoot little snowflakes from their fingertips?” she joked, even waggling her own in his face.

Being a demon, her breath condensed thick and foggy between them given the extra heat. Bi-Han laughed, lightly smacking her hands away. “It wasn’t that simple, just having cryomancy wasn’t the point,” he clarified, “It was about having purpose and precision. It’s one thing to blindly shoot ice from your hands—knowing how to use it is another thing entirely.”

“Gosh, it must have been a lot then,” her demeanor quickly shifted, knowing what she knew of the Lin Kuei before Kuai Liang had taken the helm.

“Eh, not really—maybe back when the clan was only cryomancers it was more involved, but by mine and Kuai Liang’s time, it was a formality; a rite of passage for the cryomancers we did have. I got my title when I was about… six or seven I think.”

Sareena’s eyes were full and bright with curiosity at this point. Bi-Han couldn’t tell if it were the fire reflecting in them, or if her retinas produced a natural eyeshine. Either way, her pupils were lost in the sharp red of her irises. “Then what did you have to do?” she asked.

He brought the memory to his mind’s forefront and carefully recounted it so as to not miss any of the details. “How it went was… you’d sit across from a fellow cryomancer, typically your oldest male relative—since, traditionally, he was who picked your name. For Kuai Liang and myself, it was our Grandfather. We both would create a ball of ice in our hands and—” he paused as he mimed the motion, one hand above the other, fingers slightly hooked pointing to the opposite wrist, as if caressing the empty space between. He had hardly realized he was doing it, but the resulting melancholy came with the reminder of what he’d lost. No ice formed as he continued the motion, no matter how hard he focused, or visualized.

A soft noise stirred him, and he looked up to see Saibot had emerged from wherever they’d been hidden away in the shadows. They sat in the snow a short distance in front of him and Sareena, listening with similar intrigue. His cryomancy was gone, likely never to return, but it had been replaced by something he could never imagine giving up.

He continued, “At the Grandmaster’s prompting, we would cause the ice to dissipate and reform in tandem. We did this six times, and if he thought you had displayed proper control over your cryomancy, you were allowed to receive your title.”

“Why six times?” Sareena asked, ever the inquirer.

Bi-Han shrugged, “probably because it’s a lucky number, or maybe it was something to do with how snowflakes always have six points.”

“Wow, okay, so your Grandfather named you Sub-Zero?” she looked to him with soft wonder.

He bit back a laugh, “You’re getting ahead of me. Sub-Zero was his title, I only inherited it… later.”

“Oh… I’m sorry,” Sareena deflated, a little embarrassed at herself.

“It’s alright.” He looked out at the skyline again, thinking about that same memory still, and the nights when his dear Yéye took him and Kuai Liang out on nights just like this to tell them the stories written in the stars. He remembered the cold hands that had pinned his medallion bearing the Lin Kuei’s insignia to his robes—how it hung with a notable weight from his small frame—and the hug that had followed. His arms might have been chilly, but his heart was not.

“He named me… Glacier; Bīngchuān.”

Sareena sat quietly for a moment, taking it all in, and then said, “And he named your brother ‘Tundra’, right?”

“Mmhm, he actually had a reason for that. Apparently, when glaciers move they tend to erode everything in their path into a flat, open plain. I guess his idea was that as a glacier travels, it paves the way for a tundra to form.”

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Sareena beamed. “Your grandfather sounds like an intelligent man.”

Bi-Han chuckled, “I’m sure he’d be happy to know you think that kindly of him.”

They both went quiet for a few seconds, just existing in the moment, until Sareena finally asked, “So how did you get ‘Bi-Han’ from ‘Bīngchuān?”

He shuffled where he was seated, the frigid stone starting to numb his legs, “Well, I guess we’re alike in that regard—I didn’t.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly when Sareena whipped her head around to stare at him, “it’s honestly kind of embarrassing thinking about how it’s the reason I have my name and all…”

“Okay, now you have to tell me,” her face erupted into a devilish grin. Saibot likewise prodded him, wanting to know as well.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed, shooing them both away. He knew full well they would force the issue if he resisted, and figured it didn’t really matter anyway. His name was his name, and nothing would ever change that. “See the thing is, ‘Bīngchuān’ does mean ‘glacier’, but when you look at the hanzi it’s literally ‘ice river,” he began to explain, “which isn’t wrong, but it’s not really how most people think about them either, I would say.”

Saibot and Sareena just kept looking at him, waiting for the rest.

“The thing is, I was pretty young when I got my title, and Kuai Liang’s almost three years younger than me… so he understood that my title was ‘Bīngchuān’, but he didn’t know that it meant glacier, or even what one was…”

They kept staring, only now Sareena was struggling to hide a wide grin plastered across her face.

He continued, averting his eyes, “Anyway, one day I took him out to part of the inner wall of the temple ramparts and tried to explain it by covering a section in ice. I was hoping he’d realize glaciers are like walls of ice, but…” and then he sighed again, “instead, he said it was like a—”

“Bi-Han? Oh, there you three are,” Kuai Liang’s voice came from the temple doors behind them. Soft light poured out from inside, silhouetting him in its glow. He stopped after a second, standing in the open archway, “…Am I interrupting something?”

“Nope! Sounds like you’re right on queue,” Sareena quipped. She turned to Bi-Han and added, “You shouldn’t be embarrassed, that’s actually super cute. I wish my name could’ve had a basis like that.”

“Oh, that’s what you’re talking about,” Kuai Liang realized, coming down the steps to join them for a minute. He sat between them, wrapping an arm around his brother as he had noticeably begun to shiver beneath the many coats he was wearing. “You never wanted me to call you anything else.”

“I know,” Bi-Han said, soft and sentimental, hugging him back. He loved his name and the fact that Kuai Liang was who had given it to him. The details just felt a little overtly childish and silly, was all. He hadn’t even needed to choose it either, eventually he just preferred it over his birth name, and the rest followed suit.

Another voice came from the temple, cutting through the moment, “Did you find him yet?”

They all looked to see Johnny as he peered through the doorway, already shivering from the cold. “Oh, hey—get back in here man, we all wanna do cake already,” he said to Bi-Han.

“Why do you need me for that?”

Everyone gave him a look before Johnny said, “Dude, it’s literally your birthday.”

“I’m kidding,” Bi-Han grumbled after they continued to stare, “I thought out of everyone, you were supposed to be the expert of picking up on jokes.”

Sipping from whatever drink he had in hand, Johnny turned back into the temple’s warmth, back to the small party they were throwing, “I am. You’re just bad at telling ‘em,” he said nonchalantly, and laughed while walking away.

Kuai Liang laughed as well, and urged both his brother and Sareena to their feet. Bi-Han took a moment first to fashion a cane out of shadows to help in standing, and kept it firm in hand as he walked.

Sareena trailed behind beside him, trudging up the temple steps. “Y’know, I think it’s nice that you were able to have your family name you like that,” she smiled.

“Yeah? I guess it is.” He thought as they walked, about how she wished her own name’s meaning were a little deeper. “…Hey, um, would you want to be called ‘Serenity?” he asked simply.

“That’s okay, I’m happy with ‘Sareena’. But thanks.”

He smiled and nodded. Together they filed back into the temple after Kuai Liang, with Saibot returning to Bi-Han’s shade in the gentle light. Back to the warmth, kindness, friends and family that a life renewed had bestowed him with.

[pleasedontkickme]

quid pro quo!!!

17, 19, and 27!!!

17. talk about your writing and editing process

Now here’s what I do. I take either my laptop or phone and I go sit on the couch in the living room. If my roommates are there instead I’ll go back to my room and cry. But otherwise I’ll sit in front of the big tv and put a YouTube video on of some sort of nature ambience—it CANNOT have music in it, but it can’t be too silent. Typically, I find that the peaceful background noise of a harsh blizzard works the best. Blizzard and nighttime snow videos get me in the best space to write sots specifically. I love this one video of a car driving on a snowy forest path at night for sots, but if my roommates walk by they say it’s “creepy” so then I’ll turn it off. Anyways then I make some English breakfast tea with 3 tablespoons of sugar and oat milk. Then my blinds need to be lifted just about an eighth of the way up so as to not let too much light in my delicate, failing blue eyes. It should be noted that morning is the best time for my brain to write, so the angle of the sun is perfect. If all of these conditions are met, I can get my attention span to MAYBE let me focus enough to write. If not, I’ll go back into my room and cry if I haven’t already.

To edit I simply give my eyes a 24 hour break, go back for grammar and spelling, take another 24 hour break, and then rewrite the whole thing. I have been told I should give myself longer to edit. I’m too impatient for this.

19. the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

So as I was writing the nightmares for sots chapter 4, I originally only had the first two parts of it in the draft. As I was hinting at these nightmares, and about how Ryan feels about [REDACTED], my friend my good friend @oh-cosmia was like “I bet he feels like a bunraku puppet” and I said. Huh?

Anyways so I watch some videos and i immediately have the inspiration to add the puppet part and last part of the nightmares, which I write all in one sitting, which helps get me to finish the chapter overall. Seriously, have you seen those things?? Look them up.

27. your favorite part of the writing process

When the perfect inspiration for a really good sentence hits and it gets you to write and you’re able to send a screenshot to friends going “hey look at this” and the rush you get from it is what I imagine people get when they send nudes.

[toniannsantamaria]

DEATH IS NOT BLACK, IT'S BLUE

(January 21, 2024 10:47PM)

the days stay so long,

time has slowed,

i wait impatiently,

for the clock to

strike 12.

it’s made me notice new things

how love doesn't feel so different

from grief,

how my eyelashes feel against

my fingertips,

how the cold can freeze

all the moisture on your skin,

and make your lips feel stiff.

a light dusting of snow

creates a reflection of the sky,

sneaks into the windows.

every mahogany floor,

every cream colored wall,

every piece of decor

becomes pale blue.

at night, my lava lamp illuminates

my green walls blue.

the heaviness in my chest,

easier to unload.

in the blue, i’m held

and let go.

i’m walking into the night sea,

bury me there.

no dirt or rock - i want to sink,

to have the waves envelope me,

to watch the fish pass by

and see my body,

some strange artifact.

to them,

it’s all the same,

there's some comforting

sense of equality

a reverence for death humans don't have,

we hold onto things for too long, we grasp

onto everything

that isn't ours to begin with.

this extended period of ache,

extended nighttime,

impossibly infinite...

it's comfortable now,

like longing for home

and being home.

i hold two ends

of the spectrum at all times,

neither is less true,

less wrong, or less anything,

it’s all the same

a quiet calm...content with everything...

a fiery storm! of emotion!

they don't really exist

as opposites

parts of the same whole

one not complete

without the other.

we glorify numbness,

what’s all the fuss about?

there's glory in my anger,

my misery,

my heartbreak,

i’m brave enough to let it

all

flow through me.

how do i tell the people i love

i’ve never been angry,

i am just so full of grief.

life is not gold, it’s cerulean.

love is not red, it is ultramarine.

death is not black, it is Blue.

i've always been so crimson,

i never met my blue.

she is soft and sweet and in immense pain

and to her, it all feels the same.

Toniann Santamaria

IG: @/t.m.santamaria

[the-gateway-to-madness]

The Dance

Rise of the Guardians oc x canon fic. Completely self-indulgent little scenario of one of many ways Jack Frost and my oc could meet, just cause I'm bored. 2030 words.

Jack Frost should’ve liked parties. He knew that. He was extroverted, and the energy and life and light did energize him.

The problem was it never went anywhere. At human parties he was incessantly aware of the fact he didn’t exist to these people; he’d never even been to any spirit parties.

But now he was a Guardian, a personal guest at North’s day-after-Christmas party. He meant something to other spirits now. Their perception of him, as a whole, was becoming less negative. 

Aella Arbore, spirit of autumn, plunked down next to Jack. Physically, she was younger than him by maybe a year; in reality, she was a century or so older. 

“Not having a good time?” She guessed quietly.

Jack shook his head. “You know how it is. Either they still hate me, or I’m too cold to touch them, or both.”

Aella frowned, considering this, as Cleo Estival, spirit of summer, and Valli Belrose, spirit of spring, came and sat down on Aella’s other side, forming a loose semicircle on the large, three-sided window seat where Jack was brooding.

“There’s tons of spirits here,” Valli told Jack. “Some of them are certainly cold-leaning like you.”

“I’ve met a couple tonight,” Jack said wearily. “I’m still colder. They come up to me and ask me to dance on dares from their friends, and I see them let go the first moment they can and disappear again, rubbing their hands- and that’s the ones that can keep their teeth from chattering.” He leaned over against the window. “Face it, girls, there’s no one here who might actually enjoy my presence. I mean- I flew in here in this.” Jack gestured to a plain old light blue dress shirt and dark blue vest, plus his usual frayed leather pants. “You see some of the layers other people have come in?”

Cleo, the eldest of them, looked around with a quiet determination. She pointed to an arriving spirit. “What about her?”

“What about-” Jack turned his head to look and trailed off, shifting to sit up.

A young woman, somewhere around his and the other seasonals’ age, was brushing some of the snow out of her long, dark hair. Her jaw and chin were long and slender, her nose quite straight, and her smile bright and sweet. Her fair skin glowed like starlight in the warm lights of the pole; the scattered snowflakes that remained in her midnight hair glittered, the light dancing in their fractals. Jack wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t glowing. 

She wore a white dress, sleeveless, with folds of light, loose fabric draped over each shoulder and dipping down into a high cowl bodice. The skirt was a simple circle, flowing seamlessly up into the bodice and down to the ground, swaying like a willow tree in a soft breeze whenever she moved.

She made her way into the crowd and, inadvertently, closer to Jack and the other seasonals. He could see, as she got closer, that her dark tresses were partially pinned up and ornamented with small, white jewels that caught the light. Waves of the thick, smooth mass cascaded over her left shoulder and her back. 

“... who?” Jack finally finished his sentence quietly after a disproportionate pause.

The trio of girls looked at each other in shock (although Cleo just looked casually pleased with herself, really), and then back at Jack.

“That’s Mahina Ó Deóradháin,” Cleo told him. “She’s the spirit of nighttime and kind of this big negotiator of spirit and fae and nymph problems and stuff.”

Jack blinked and then squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his gaze away. He knew better than to ogle any pretty girl he spotted, and internally he berated himself. 

“Sounds stuffy,” he covered.

“More patient than stuffy,” Aella said. “She’s very clever and practical. Loves solving problems the way someone might do a puzzle- fitting everything together all seamlessly and making almost an art form of it.”

Jack’s gaze subconsciously drifted back to Mahina. She was turning down a dance with a wildfire spirit. For some reason, that pleased him immensely. 

She turned away and happened to catch his eye. Instantly she went still, eyes widening, and she barely tilted her head to try to see him better, seeming lost in the same moment of fascination that had overcome him a moment ago.

Jack forgot to breathe for a second until Aella elbowed him. “Earth to Jack. I said, do you wanna go meet her?”

“O-oh- I- I don’t want to bother her,” Jack stammered quickly.

Aella rolled her eyes, grabbed his staff from him, and took off running towards Mahina. 

“HEY-” Jack yelped and shot after her while Valli and Cleo whooped and laughed, cheering on the little autumn spirit.

Jack tried to simultaneously keep up and make sure they weren’t getting too close to Mahina. He didn’t want to disturb her. She felt, somehow, like some ethereal being from another plane. Interrupting her felt wrong somehow. But he quickly lost track of her- he hoped Aella had too.

“Pardon me.” 

Jack gave an undignified yelp of shock and spun-

There stood Mahina, holding his staff in one hand and Aella’s ear in the other. She had a warm, amused smile- up close, he could see she had dimples.

“I believe these are yours,” she said, her tone brimming with the same amusement as her expression.

“I- I am so sorry,” Jack managed, reaching for his staff. “She- I don’t know why she- Aella-”

Aella chortled, and Mahina laughed, instantly making Jack freeze up. 

“You hear that laugh? That was an evil little laugh!” Mahina said, laughing in absolute delight. “Aella, if you wanted me to ask him to dance, there are more effective methods. Like coming up and actually asking me to ask him?”

“But it worked, didn’t it?” Aella pointed out.

“Have I asked him yet, miss?” Mahina teased.

“Please ask him he’s been staring at you like a sad puppy since the moment you walked in,” Aella said.

“Aella!” Jack protested, mortified. Usually he’d have brushed this off so easily, what was wrong with him tonight-

Mahina just laughed again and let go of Aella’s ear, then offered Jack a hand. “May I have this dance?”

Jack stared at it blankly, shocked, and then at her. She smiled a little more, raising her eyebrows and gesturing slightly with her outstretched hand in silent confirmation of the offer.

Jack blinked twice, then handed Aella his staff and hesitantly took Mahina’s hand, and sweet Man in the Moon, how was she colder than him???

“You’re freezing,” he blurted automatically before clamping his mouth shut.

Mahina threw her head back, laughing again. “About 40 degrees below freezing, actually. Wherever I go, I match the nighttime temperature. And since we’re at the North Pole-”

“- you’re colder than me,” Jack realized, a grin slowly spreading across his face as he shifted to get a firmer grip on her hand. It was absolutely frigid and felt completely amazing.

Mahina cocked her head at him, smile softening to curiosity. “Does that happen much for you?”

“Never,” Jack said. “I thought I was as cold as a spirit could get.”

Mahina’s smile brightened. “I’m happy to prove you wrong, then.” 

She took his other hand, pulling him to a quieter spot on the dance floor as people began pairing off and the string quartet and piano began a slower piece.

Jack hesitated, glancing at other duos to try to recall how to do this properly. It had been centuries- Moon, he was going to screw this up so badly.

Mahina hummed a soft laugh, guiding his right hand to her waist and putting her left on his shoulder. “I don’t remember how to do the steps,” she admitted quietly, clearly embarrassed as she realized it, and instantly Jack found himself relaxing, chuckling good-naturedly at their shared awkwardness.

“Me neither,” he told her. “Sorry if I step on your feet- at least I’m barefoot, so it shouldn’t hurt.” 

Mahina smiled, lopsided with some sort of mischief, and then he felt her bare toes poke his- she was hiding her lack of shoes under her long skirt.

Jack bit his lip, but failed to restrain his laughter. “Did you even bring-?”

“Why bother bringing shoes if you’re gonna take ‘em off and lose them?” Mahina laughed right along with him, grinning ear to ear.

“Exactly,” Jack grinned back. “You get it, thank you! North was pestering me about it for a whole hour before this thing started.”

Mahina groaned. “Noooo. That’s awful- and so in-character, I hate it, thanks.” She shifted on her feet and squeezed his hand a little. “So, hey, what does being a Guardian actually entail? What do you do every day?”

Jack smiled and straightened subconsciously. “Mostly, keeping winter in balance with the other seasons, bringing snow to places all over the world- but that’s just being Jack Frost. Being a Guardian, for me, means giving kids snow days, and snowball fights- leaving drawings on frosty windows, and sometimes armies of snowmen at parks. Keeping an eye on them. Trying to stay in touch with them and their worlds, no matter how many see me.”

Mahina seemed impressed, and squeezed his hand and shoulder. “It sounds incredible.”

“I’m sure there are a lot of other spirits who are much more qualified,” Jack added hurriedly, only for Mahina to shake her head.

“You’re smart, powerful, and in tune with the kids’ emotional needs,” she said, smiling, seeming proud of him. “You’re a perfect Guardian. The Man in the Moon chose well.”

Jack found himself grinning and ducking his head a little. “And how are you so sure of that, hm?”

Mahina shrugged. “Just am,” she said, tone relaxed and smile crooked. 

Jack chuckled, surprised by how easily it came after how tense he’d been when they started. “So what about you? What do you do?”

“Oh, nothing near as exciting as you,” Mahina laughed a bit, looking down briefly. “I’m sort of a general mediator. I handle territorial disputes, alliance agreements- basically the paperwork and diplomacy between spirits, nymphs, fae, and anything else magic that might show up. Like, for example, I helped negotiate treaties to let the Guardians pass more smoothly through the lands of other spirits a couple centuries back. And I help keep the night in order for Manny- nocturnal animals and monsters, keeping them away from humans and other spirits s much as I can, you know.”

“That sounds fascinating,” Jack told her. “You meet all sorts of people, and they have to listen to you?”

Mahina cackled. “They most certainly do not!”

Jack laughed as well. “Oh gosh, now that sounds-”

“-insane?” 

“Right.”

Mahina chuckled. “You’re not wrong. It’s pretty insane, but I do find it fascinating. I love making everyone’s needs fit together in new ways, helping everyone get the best they can out of things. Usually I can find a mutual benefit somewhere. It’s really satisfying work.”

Jack tilted his head a little. “So then- what’s your center?”

Mahina blinked. “My center?”

“The part of you everything else is based on. The thing you bring out in others,” Jack tried to recall how North had explained it.

“Ohhh,” Mahina nodded a bit, realization clicking in her eyes. “Center- that’s a good word for it.” She squeezed his hand again and closed her eyes, concentrating.

A wave of peace and calm, pure, gentle, and content, washed over Jack- not like denial, but like a real, true moment of freedom from weight, pain, and responsibility. 

“Peace,” Jack summarized quietly, finding himself smiling faintly, relaxed.

Mahina looked up- and the moonlight through a nearby window and the warmth of the party combined in her eyes, shimmering and transforming them into countless facets of very pale, cool blue-lavender.

“Exactly,” she smiled softly. “You get it.” She poked his bare foot with hers, smirking. “So what’s yours?”

“Mine? Mine’s fun,” Jack smirked back. “One of the best centers, in my opinion-”

Mahina giggled wickedly. “So then… do you like pranks?” 

Jack gasped softly in genuine delight, his whole expression lighting up. “Mahina? I think you and I were meant to meet.”

[blue-opossum]

A Peach BMW and Stage Prop Conversation

        A Peach BMW and Stage Prop Conversation

        1 minute and 48 seconds to read.

        Thursday morning, 29 June 2023.

        Dream #20,646-02/03/04.

        This dream sequence cycles through a common type of dream self presence where I offer to create anything another dream character might want or need. It is a primary attribute of this level of limitless intuitive dreaming - and a characteristic that is the virtual opposite of my waking-life mentality.

        I meet Roosevelt, a former classmate, at a public place. He is about thirty years old. (In waking life, I never met him as an older adult. I only see him now on Facebook after many years.) My waking-life identity is absent despite knowing I can "magically" make or give whatever I want (a type of lucidity, but without focusing on what dreaming is).

        There are two dreams with the same theme, though the first is more of a mental experience regarding the navigation of the storyline.

        I ask him what kind of car he wants. The implication (proto-cognizant transition between my other stages of dreaming) is 150 million dollars for a vehicle. I see the numbers as if looking at an oversized handheld counter. He says he wants a BMW. When I ask him what color, he says, "peach."

        In a different dream, the typical parking lot setting occurs - a regular and more vivid essence based on my level of awareness. It is nighttime. Roosevelt is sitting in his car, a dark blue 1970s Oldsmobile. The driver's side is on the right (implying Australia instead of America, but it does not trigger any association as such).

        I again ask him what kind of car he wants, and he repeats the peach BMW. Before this, I point out many futuristic vehicles, though a few are unrealistic. At one point, I am aware I am creating their presence.

        Later, I "walk with intent" in La Crosse on Sill Street in daylight, going east. My real-world recall is ambiguous and erroneous, despite the extraordinary vividness. At this point, I recall my marriage to Zsuzsanna, but I incorrectly focus on how I am "returning" to her after leaving Australia. She is on Loomis Street, staying with my sister Marilyn and her husband. (I have no recall that they are deceased or that she has never been to America.)

        Hills of ice and snow are on each side of the street. I consider how going from a hot environment to a cold one might affect my psychology, but I am unwary.

        My attention shifts - and I enter an offset dream about creating (summoning) stage props and musical instruments for Australian Aborigine people (the essence of theatrics being my typical association with the dream state).

[ttttaehyungie]

home; bday | kth x reader

home; bday | kim taehyung x reader

genre | CEO!taehyung, dad!taehyung, established relationship, fluff summary | Feelings of home can be found anywhere, he often tells himself. But there’s really only one home. rating | PG13 word count | 1.5k words warnings | none a/n | bcos our taehyungie deserves the softest, warmest, loveliest birthday ever 😌🌻

There’s many things that feel like home to Taehyung. The creases between rumpled sheets, the gentle warmth of the rays of the afternoon sun, even the way all hotel bathrooms seem to look the same till they all blend into a monolith of shiny mirrors and cool marble top counters.

Frequent travel was to be expected with his job, given his position as the CEO. It had taken some getting used to at first, but by now he's well adjusted to the hustle and bustle of airports and the flurry that accompanies cumulatively spending a good quarter of his year living out of a suitcase. The sights and smells and entirely different cultures packed into the numerous cities he’s had to visit no longer daunts him. Not when he began to find little things that always remained the same. Home could be found stashed away in little pockets of the universe, like in the consistent offering of scrambled eggs at hotel breakfast buffets all over the world. Comfort could always be found in even the tiniest of things.

But not today.

Today, the tie around his neck – a blue tie with the signature Gucci snake that he’s normally excited to wear – is mildly suffocating, the stiff collar of his button-down like the looming threat of a chokehold. Sat at the meeting room table as someone drones on, he stares through the immaculately spotless glass of the table to watch his feet as they tap anxiously in his glossy black dress shoes. Somewhere at the back of his mind, a little voice chides him for not paying attention. The presentation is for him after all. But the meeting has spilled fifteen minutes overtime now and it doesn’t seem to be coming to an end any time soon.

Normally, he doesn’t mind. Normally, he recognizes the amount of time and labour that goes into each presentation, and would love to honour that by giving his employees his fullest attention. Normally, he’s anticipating hearing the innovative ideas that they’ve curated for him, more than eager to discuss them and offer his own insights.

But this isn’t a normal day. On a normal day, he wouldn’t have scheduled a midday flight on the day of an important meeting, wouldn’t be checking for the time every two minutes, and most definitely would not do what he’s about to do.

Raising a hand, his velvety baritone cuts across the presenter’s rushed monologue, “I’m really sorry. I know it’s really rude of me to do this, but is it possible for us to wrap this up in the next five minutes?”

“Ah,” the presenter stutters, fiddling with the cuffs of his pressed shirt nervously, “I, um, I have one more component to share on. Just one, and it’s the crucial centrepiece to this idea.”

“Will you be able to cover it in five minutes?” Taehyung asks, skimming through the printout of the deck he’d been given at the start of the meeting.

“Ah, um, no, but-”

Taehyung nods, and returns his gaze to the presenter, all fidgety from being caught off-guard. In his periphery, he watches as a figure saunters down the corridor towards the glass door of their meeting room, the unhurried yet purposeful footsteps so distinctly Stella. Perfect. Right on cue as she always is.

Three knocks sound on the door quietly but confidently. The door swings open and the executive assistant pops her head in, winged eyeliner and red lipstick flawless. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says, addressing the room. Then, she turns to him. “Mr. Kim, your flight timing is steadily approaching and you need to leave very soon. Would you like me to call the driver now?”

“Dependable as ever, Stella,” he says with a smile. “That would be most ideal. This meeting will conclude in three minutes, yes?”

His question is met with docile nods and murmurs of agreement. No one can fight the CEO’s word after all, no matter how benevolent and understanding he normally is.

“Alright, thank you everyone for your time and your effort,” he says, gathering his handouts and slotting the folder into the sleek leather of his hand-carry. He stands, dusting himself off and collecting his belongings. “Not just for this morning’s meeting, but for all that went into the preparation for it as well. I know that we weren’t able to complete our agenda for today, but I will look over the deck in my own time and we can take this conversation online over the next few days.”

From there, it’s a mad rush to the car, hastily swapping his blazer and tie for a plaid trench coat and scarf to combat the winter chill. Stella aids in rolling his luggage across the polished floors of the office, the sharp clacking of her stilettos accenting against the steady thrum of the luggage wheels.

When the luggage’s hauled into the boot of the car, and Taehyung’s strapped in, ready to leave, Stella pauses with a hand on the open door.

“Have a safe flight home, Mr. Kim,” she says, then flashes a tiny smile. “And happy birthday.”

Taehyung laughs. Of course Stella would know. No detail is too small that it would escape her eagle-eyed attention.

“Thank you, Stella.”

“Ok, now go before you miss your plane.”

The car zips off and carries him closer to the only thing that’s been on his mind all day.

It’s a one hour ride to the airport and then a flurry of check-ins and security clearances and then it’s the bit that he hates the most – waiting. The emptiness in waiting – for boarding to begin, for the plane to take off, for the flight to end and the plane to land and the worst by far is waiting in line for the passengers to clear out – it’s agonizing to him. Nothing, not even the clogged ears from the altitude changes, can compare to this awful feeling of having to rush to wait and wait to rush. Especially when it’s compounded with the building anticipation that accompanies the closing of the distance between him and what he really wants.

And so when the cab finally pulls up on the street he loves the most out of all the thousands of streets his work has taken him to see, his heart leaps and he can’t help the grin that spread across his face. The white orbs of the streetlamps cast the shoveled snow on the sidewalk into a luminescent glow amidst the nighttime darkness. Climbing the steps to the front door carefully – how anticlimactic would it be if he were to slip and fall here after the long journey he’s taken to finally now be at the cusp of arriving at his destination – he unlocks the door and crosses the threshold, his footsteps slow and heavy and breaking the sleepy silence that’s blanketed itself like the snow atop the roof of the house.

Shrugging off his winter wear, he hears light footsteps pad their way towards him.

“Daddy?” a sleep-addled and tiny voice calls out.

“It’s me,” he replies softly. “Daddy’s back.”

His daughter gasps and the little footsteps quicken as they run off, and he follows after his 4-year-old into the living room.

“Mummy, mummy,” he hears her sharp whispers. “Quick! Daddy’s home!”

“Wha-?” comes a sleepy voice.

Taehyung enters the living room, toasty and warm from the heater, to find his daughter attempting to shake you awake where you lie bundled up in blankets.

“____,” he murmurs, kneeling next to you. “I’m here.”

In an echo of your daughter’s earlier gasp – you truly were mother and daughter after all – you jolt upright and kick off your blankets. “No! No, no, no, we had something planned for you!”

Hurrying into the kitchen and flicking on the lights as you go, you dash to the fridge. Taehyung can’t help but notice the mixing bowl in the sink and the piping bags left abandoned on the island counter, conspicuous amongst the otherwise spotless kitchen. You weren’t normally this messy, but the unkempt state of both you and the kitchen pointed to some plans going awry. When he looks up to find you, you’re setting a cake on the table. It’s rustic looking, definitely home baked, and the icing is patchy in places. The words Happy Birthday Taehyung are scrawled shakily across the top, and the copious amounts of sprinkles is surely his daughter’s handiwork.

There’s a tug on his pant leg, and he looks down to find his four-year-old gazing up at him. “Do you like it?” she asks. “Mummy and I made it for you! But then we got tired and went to take a nap for too long.”

He holds back tears as he bends to pick her up into his arms. She squeals and squirms against him as he places kisses all over her forehead and little chubby cheeks. “Of course I do,” he says, moving over to wrap you up in a hug with his other arm, giving you a kiss of your own on the lips that he’s been missing for the past week. “I love everything you two do, whether it goes according to plan or not.”

You laugh, burrowing your head into him. “Welcome home,” you say, your warm breath puffing into his neck.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “I’m home.” And he really is, no longer scrounging for bits of it, but taking it in in its entirety.

[dayseternal-blog]

OK OK OK, I know I sound kind of weird but, could you pleaseee recommend some of the kinkiest naruhina fanfics?😳

Thank you so much🤍🤍

OK OK OK, you know you came to the right place 😳

I don’t know what you mean exactly by kinky, but I was thinking...I’ll just sort this by kinks hahahahahahha

OMG

This is going to include some of the MOST KINKY Naruhina fics I’ve ever read, EVER.  SOOO majorly inappropriate.  Also this will have some of the ones I’ve recommended before, but I’ll put everything under the cut.

NaruHina Smut & Kink

um hmmmm

Everything that follows is Rated Explicit.  Some of these fics are meant to be read with HUMOR.  Please enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!!

BDSM

“Echoes of Silence” by @ellaroundpanda - Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. Hinata Hyuga was trapped. Her relationship with Toneri was leading to nowhere and she wanted to find a new Dom. Naruto Uzumaki seemed to be the answer to all her prayers, but her fiancé wouldn’t give up that easily…

“Professor Passion” by omegas - College AU, Dom!Hinata & Sub!Naruto One-shot. Naruto is a new university student with a crush on his professor; Hinata Hyuga. Shy first dates and kisses quickly turn into a relationship, and Naruto discovers his professor’s provocative secret – along with one of his own.

“Secrets of the Hidden Leaf” by Sessakag - Includes a ton of different kinks. Canon-Divergent. Multi-chapter, Incomplete. The author’s summary hints at NaruHinaSasu, but they never got that far in the story. Naruto and Hinata push the boundaries of propriety and decency in a budding relationship of profound love and wild, sexual exploration.

“Out with the Old” by agitosgirl - Includes cheating, Modern AU. Two-shot. Hinata’s been mistreated by her current Dom, Toneri. Thankfully, another Dom has had his eyes set on her for awhile now.

“dorks.” by EroPrincess - Canon-Compliant, Multi-chapter, Complete. Random sexual exploits featuring Konoha’s most innocent couple.

“I want you to cry” by Devahhole - Includes a ton of kinks and things like dub-con and graphic murder, Multi-chapter, RECENTLY COMPLETE!!! A sociopath blinded by revenge runs into his greatest opponent.

“Some Like it Rough” by Cheating Death - Modern AU, One-shot. Yet she couldn’t help the thoughts that had been racing through her mind lately. Thoughts of her fiance using less restraint than he usually did.

Clones

“Clone Present” by @carny-writings - Canon Compliant (lol), One-shot. So it’s Hinata’s birthday; does this mean a Naruto Shadow Clone Gangbang is in order for our best girl?

“Hinata’s Rose Lips” by Plump_Hinata - Includes extreme Bimbo!Hinata, Canon Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto and Hinata are sent on a mission to find a mysterious flower. But they will get a big surprise when they find out that the "Rose Lips" flower has a special power. A power to turn young ladies into ultra-hot, super-busty, sexy bimbos, and Hinata will be its victim!

Stamina/Multiple Orgasms/Cum Inflation/Size Kink

“Honeymoon” by Prestige Frost - Canon-Divergent. One-shot. During their honeymoon, Hinata learned something new about her husband: he was an absolute stamina freak in the bedroom. How was the beach? Why, they never even left the room!

“Adventures of the Warlock’s Apprentice” by pizzansushi - Includes lactation and furry kink, Fantasy AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. One rainy night, a warlock, finds a stray cat in alley. He takes Hinata in and breaks her curse. Turns out, his smitten kitten is actually a young lady. Naruto the Warlock allows her to stay beside him as his apprentice, although her looks and wiles will likely be the death of him.

“Sweet Love Bakery” by pizzansushi - Includes lactation kink, Fantasy AU, One-shot (but supposed to be multi-chapter?). Tender and sweet. Love makes people feel full and satisfied. Naruto Uzumaki the Warlock and his wife Hinata Hyuga open a bakery tavern.

“The Pinocchio Effect” by Silent_Soul_Ken - Fantasy/Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto goes to see a Fortune Teller for a view into his luck however after his insult he'll find that he has a big problem and it's just getting bigger and bigger…

“Lord Hokage” by EroPrincess - Canon Compliant, Series of One-shots. Naruto loves it when Hinata screams out "Lord Hokage" during their lovemaking.

“Engaged or whatever…” by Devahhole - Rated E, Multi-chapter, Complete.  Shenanigans, jealousy, and sex ensue when Naruto and Hinata decide to tie the knot.

Squirting

“Unless the World Were to End” by @bunny-hoodlum - Modern AU, One-shot.  Anonymous internet friends decide to meet up IRL and give each other their first times.

“I’m in Here” by @bunny-hoodlum - RTN!Hinata, Canon-Divergent. One-shot. Thanks to Hinata’s newly acquired boldness, she and Naruto begin to explore their boundaries with each other – partly for distraction, partly for fun – But is Hinata the same Hinata anymore or not?

Voyeurism

“Unseen Audience” by @vegebulsoup​ - Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. He wondered what she might think if she found out about his new hobby. Surely, she would be mortified, embarrassed, and/or thoroughly creeped out. But still, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“Caught in the Act” by HoneyWriter78 - Modern/College AU, One-shot. Hinata decides to watch one of the adult videos at her workplace, not knowing that someone is watching her…

“Let Me See You” by callmesenorita - Canon Compliant (lol), Two-shot. When Naruto wakes to an empty bed, he is surprised to discover his wife indulging in an old habit. He’s also seriously turned on.

“Money Shot” by callmesenorita - College AU. Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto can’t help noticing that his soft-spoken, new girlfriend bears similarities to PearlPrincess…but there’s no way Hinata, of all people, livestreams those kinds of videos, right?

Cheating

“A Maid’s Responsibility” by agitosgirl - Modern AU, One-shot. It had been a year since he and Sakura had been physical. Now he had Hinata, sweet, kind, caring Hinata.

“All Kinds of Wrong” by Kieren - Crime AU. One-shot. It was ironic how something so pure had sprung from such a sordid arrangement. They were perfect for each other. But they had met at the wrong time.

Drugged/Dub-Con/Non-Con

“Side Effects” by Cheating Death - Includes graphic non-con/dub-con, Modern AU. Multi-chapter, Complete.  Naruto and Hinata decide to participate in a high-paying clinical study, but the pay turns out to be too good to be true.

“Shinobi Passions” by HoneyWriter78 - Canon-Divergent AU. Multi-Chapter, Incomplete. When a mission takes a surprising turn for the worse, only Naruto can help her through the night…

“A Love Never Seen” by HoneyWriter78 - High School AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata Hyuga attend Konoha High she is part of the athletics group. She is friends with Ino and Shikamaru but is secretly in love with Shikamaru who is oblivious and loves someone else. She tried to fight her feelings not noticing that a certain senpai has had his eyes on her…

“Warped” by BountifullyBeautifullyBlessed - College AU. Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata can’t sleep and her roommate, Naruto, is more than willing to help her out.

“Heavy Sleeper” by InTheMist032000 - Canon-Divergent AU, Two-shot. Hinata has a peculiar way of sleeping, and a knack for sleeping through all kinds of things. Naruto is intrigued and makes it a game to see how far he can go before she wakes up.

Semi-Public/In Public

“The Lustful Maid” by HoneyWriter78 - Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata Hyuga wakes up in an unknown room on an unknown bed, after one of the most worst days of her life. Her only memory is knocking into a tall blonde handsome guy with her juice spilled over him! Was it a dream? I think not as now she has signed a contract to be his very own personal maid!

“The Superstar Falls in Love” by HoneyWriter78 - Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto Uzumaki is a superstar, he and his band Kyubi set off clubbing after their opening night in Konoha. There he meets a blue haired beauty that immediately captures his attention. Will this blonde superstar playboy finally fall in love?

“A Shirt, a Neckerchief and my Bag on my Shoulders” by @badluckbrebis​ - Summer Camp AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. Hinata is freezing cold as she washes up in a nearby stream despite the poor weather, until Naruto unexpectedly shows up to shelter her…

“Nighttime Workout” by Breezyanimetra - College AU, Two-shot. Shy Hinata doesn’t usually have the courage to speak with her long time crush Naruto. All she does is watch him workout wishing she can do more. A snow storm one fateful night changes that for her.

“21 Days” by @bunny-hoodlum - Includes dub-con, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Anonymous internet friends decide to meet up IRL and give each other their first times.

Pregnancy

“Vacation” by Prestige Frost - Includes foot fetish among other kinks, Canon Divergent AU, One-shot. Their honeymoon was just the beginning. For Naruto and Hinata Uzumaki, the love they shared only grew with each passing day.

“The Art of Seduction” by katraine - Canon Compliant (?), One-shot.  ...as only Uzumaki Hinata can do.

“October Tenth” by ShiroiNoKiba - Includes lactation kink and miscarriage scare, Canon-divergent. Two-shot.  Naruto’s pregnant wife surprises him at home for his birthday.

Dark!Naruto/Demon/Kyuubi

“Calming the Beast” by Goldfishlover73 - Includes cheating, Canon-Divergent. One-shot. Naruto can’t understand why his relationship with Sakura just isn’t working. Hinata has a solution.

“Honeymoon” by DemonOfTheFridge - Includes graphic rape/non-con, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto always left on a secret mission once a year for a whole month. A curious Hinata finally had enough and followed him to an underground house. A house she finds herself trapped in, with a dark Naruto. Curiosity Killed the Cat.

“Breeding Season” by BlackMajjicDuchess - Includes rape/non-con, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. Completely out of pattern, Kyuubi leaks free and causes terrible destruction that Naruto cannot suppress. There is a solution, but it comes at a terrible price.

“In a Demon’s Possession” by HoneyWriter78 - Demons AU. Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Pursued by the snake demon Orochimaru for their mysterious bloodline, Neji and Hinata accidentally trespass into Lord Kyuubi’s territory.

Furry/Mating/Alpha/Omega Dynamics

“A Wild Love” by agitosgirl - Fox!Naruto and Bunny!Hinata, Two-shot. They are a mix of humans and animal. They form communities and societies with their own species. Unfortunately, Hinata from the bunny section of the wood, finds herself in danger of being eaten.

“Love at First Sniff” by agitosgirl - Fox!Naruto and Mouse!Hinata, One-shot. Finding your one true love is the easiest thing that anyone can do. Hinata sets out to find the one male who will become the love of her life.

“Drainage City Tales” by Silent_Soul_Ken - Includes mutation/gender changes, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto is a young man working in Fume City's mining operation recently orphaned he struggles to survive and out of desperation eats some fish. Unusually large and bloated fish eating them will cause a change he never wanted but must now accept. But when Hinata a young noble girl who loves him, finds he's missing she'll do all she can to be with him.

“Naruto’s Mate” by funkychicken67 - Canon Divergent AU, Two-shot. Naruto receives a...gift from the nine tails. And Hinata gets in the way.

“When the Devil Picks Up a Stray” by callmesenorita - Rated E, A/B/O Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata, an Omega, questions buried feelings when she decides to help a childhood friend who has adopted a new persona under the name Menma. Although their attraction is instant he is no longer the Naruto she once knew, and soon enough Hinata is thrust into a dangerous yakuza conspiracy.

“A Fate Worse than Death” by Caelestia - A/B/O Canon-Divergent, One-shot.  Naruto, improperly socialized and traumatized as a child, rejects his inner Alpha, which has devastating consequences on his family and marriage.  “A Risky Bet” is its fluffier follow-up (One-shot).

I feeeeel like I might be forgetting some, but that’s a lot! :D  Happy fic reading!!!!

[simplymakkari]

but stranger things have happened in the nighttime - chapter 3

It starts somewhat like this, long ago, in a city name that's now slowly being forgotten, buried. The city, once the capital of Japan, is now known as Kyoto. 

But she still fondly remembers it as its old name: Heian-kyō, also known as the Eternal City.

(They meet in the Eastern Market the night before, snow flurries gently falling through the evening air. 

It's hard not to miss him, he stands out, she thinks.

Their eyes lock across the vendor stalls, the blue of his meeting the dark honey of hers, the shimmering sun fading from his pupils when he notices her. She smells the scent of Eternal blood running through his veins as does he. A flicker of an indescribable expression crosses over his face.

He wears a black kimono, twenty years off for this era, but not noticeable (Makkari already can imagine Sersi rambling if she'd been there, a smile curving on her lips), tinged golden and maroon, like hers. 

She's only pressed her finger to her lips. 

A warning for him.

Never reveal your powers to anyone, Ajak's voice rings.

But she has difficulty communicating with the locals after inquiring about a trinket that catches her eye, her hands signing, her inked script apparently useless, only to be met with blank and futile stares. 

He lurks in the background, she notices, eavesdropping as he pretends to shop, graciously translating and interpreting for her effortlessly in Japanese, signing as he does, when it's clear the one-sided conversation wouldn't go anywhere.

It stuns her. The fluently in which he signs, which she appreciates. Most Eternals she's met nor warmbloods took the time to learn sign language. She slides her newest acquired trinket into her pocket, his cold fingers brushing against hers when he hands it to her. 

She'll never see him again, she'll move on to the next city but something stops her.

Her fingers get the best of her, a thank you under her chin.

My name is Makkari, she introduces herself, finger-spelling and then offering her name sign. She smiles at him, encouragingly.

The man returns it, the hint of a dimple pushing in his cheek, a sight she immediately likes. D - He pauses, slightly shaking his head and waving his hands as he corrects his mistake. 

He slides his hand over hers, cold alabaster intertwined with warm golden russet as they shake once.)

Read the full chapter here:

[Ao3] | [FFN]

[brockadoodles]

The CN Tower and Chocolate Chip Pancakes - w. nylander

AN: I swear before whipping this out I was complaining about no writing motivation and how I was going to finish my Christmas wips when this like came to me. So here’s a quick little story about one of our favorite blondies for @puckinghell​ and all of you. There is mention of losing a parent, which is something I closely relate to from losing one of mine recently, if that’s a trigger, I wouldn’t read this. It’s not an angst piece at all, I just think that warning is necessary. This also may or may not be self indulgent and based on an actual experience I had two years ago with a boy in NYC, but like, you didn’t hear that from me. Anyways, I hope you enjoy. 

Word Count: 3,337 

Warnings: Mentions of death of a parent 

Christmas was usually your favorite time of the year. You loved how the city lit up during December, the white lights twinkling from the streetlights and trees, the fresh snow that usually littered the city of Toronto, and the constant smell of gingerbread and spices whenever you entered a building were all things that brought you comfort. This year, however, was different. It was the first year without your mom, without a lot of the traditions that the two of you would do together as you grew up. 

You tried though. You went through all of the motions of the holiday. You decorated a tree, blue and silver just like she always loved. You went skating, an experience that was far less fun without your mom to laugh with you when you fell. You went to the Christmas Market, buying a new small knick-knack, like every other year you had done since you were five years old. All of it felt forced, but you were hopeful. You were hopeful that one last Christmas tradition would bring you the sense of comfort you had been searching for during the entire month of December. 

The fleeting feeling of comfort and your mom were how you found yourself spending nearly $60 to go up CN Tower on Christmas Eve. A tradition that was usually entirely reserved for tourists visiting the city, a romantic setting with the tower lit up for the holiday and the nighttime skyline view of the entire city providing a cinematic backdrop for people’s perfect holiday moments. You weren’t a tourist, you had grown up in Toronto for your entire life, but your mom had always believed in the idea that it wasn’t a bad thing to be a tourist in your own city, so every year on Christmas even she would bring you up here and the two of you would sit on the observation deck and make a Christmas wish. No matter how lost you felt, it was the one tradition that you didn’t think you could ever give up. 

You wandered around the observation deck, the dark beanie on your head keeping your ears warm and your hands were securely tucked in your wool coat pockets as you watched the various people scattered around. It was getting late, the families with children were long gone, probably at home tucked into their beds, and most people that were left were younger couples. You glanced to your right, spotting a boy on one knee holding a ring out for the girl standing in front of him with tears in her eyes. You watched them for a moment, finding yourself wrapped up slightly in how happy they both looked. It gave you an idea for your Christmas wish, and you found yourself smiling softly as you closed your eyes and wished. 

“I love you, mom, Merry Christmas.” You whispered as you opened your eyes, the feeling of comfort not quite sinking into your chest yet. As you walked the familiar route to the elevators, you decided that once last stop before heading home for pancakes certainly couldn’t hurt. 

You walked down the street with your eyes focussed on your phone as the snow was falling a bit harder than it had been previously. You were searching for anything that was open on Christmas Eve, your stomach growling a bit as you scanned through the search results. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Someone exclaimed, grabbing your arm slightly to prevent you from falling into their chest. You looked up, seeing a boy that must have been around your age looking down at you with a concerned look in his blue eyes. You must have ran into him, too focussed on your phone to watch where you were walking properly enough. You studied his face for a minute, wondering if you had somehow met him before from the feeling of familiarity you were getting in your stomach. 

“Do I know you?” You blurted out, adverting your eyes a bit when you realized how rude you must have sounded to this boy immediately after quite literally bumping into him. It didn’t seem to phase him though, and he just smiled. 

“I think so? I’m William. You know Steph right? Steph LaChance?” And that’s when it hit you, you did know this boy, well sort of. You had met him maybe once before, at a mutual friend’s birthday party at least two years ago. 

“Ah, I do remember you. Wow, you look different, I mean, good.” You stumbled out. It was true, he did look a lot different than he did when you met him. His hair was longer, his face a bit rounder, and a short beard that definitely wasn’t there before. You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment a bit as he laughed softly at your statement.

“So do you. Hey, this may seem a bit forward but, are you busy right now?” He asked. Part of you wanted to tell him yes, that you were busy. That way you could just get on the train back to your apartment, curl up with a warm cup of tea and your slippers, and fall asleep to the snow falling outside of your winder. But the other part of you was dreading going home, the sinking feeling of your first Christmas without your mom settling into your stomach and making you not want to go home. Because if you went home to your empty apartment, you’d have to fully confront your reality. So instead, you nodded up at William, taking a chance on the stranger in front of you that wasn’t quite a stranger. 

“What did you have in mind?” You asked softly.

“Come on.” He smiled at you and held his hand out for you to take, your question going unanswered as you hesitantly wrapped your hand in his, letting him lead you in the opposite direction you had come from. 

The walk was short and quiet, and your stomach grumbled once more when you stopped in front of what appeared to be the destination he was leading you to. You glanced up at the neon pink sign, the diner clearly out of date and straight from the 1980’s. You smiled to yourself, appreciating that somehow this stranger that wasn’t quite a stranger had instinctively known exactly what you needed at the moment. 

“I hope you like pancakes,” He smiled as he opened the door for you, gesturing you ahead with his hand. The diner was relatively empty, just a few other patrons sitting in the various worn-out leather booths. There were decorations everywhere, garlands wrapped around the posts holding up the ceiling and a small Christmas tree lit up in the corner of the diner, multicolored lights strung throughout but no ornaments. 

You followed William to a booth in the corner and watched carefully as he smiled at the waitress, her saying hello to him by name. You wondered if this was a place he went to frequently enough to be on a first-name basis with the people that worked here, or if perhaps they were just Toronto Maple Leafs fans who happened to recognize him.

“I come here all the time, usually after bad games. I just really like the people here, and something about diner food is comforting after a loss.” He explained before you had the chance to ask. You nodded at him while you shrugged off your jacket and pulled off your beanie, fixing your hair slightly as William handed you a menu from the side of the table. You grabbed the menu and let your fingers brush lightly against his, causing you to pull your hand back quickly. 

“Why did you want to come here tonight?” You asked softly, hoping that your question wasn’t taken out of context or as too intrusive for him to answer. William didn’t seem phased by any of it, instead offering you what would have been the fourth or fifth reassuring smile so far that night, if you were keeping count. 

“Just didn’t want to be alone on Christmas Eve, I guess.” He admitted. You were almost taken aback by his honesty with you, finding yourself wondering if he had asked you the very same question that you asked him if you’d answer as bluntly as he did. You felt oddly settled with him though, there in that shitty diner looking at a worn-out menu that probably hadn’t been updated in fifteen years and you found yourself wanting to give him the same openness that he gave you. 

“Me neither, I guess.” You commented, holding back and giving him just enough that hopefully he understood that on some level you felt how he felt, even if you couldn’t entirely admit to him why. 

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a few moments as you both scanned over the menu. The waitress came over, sliding two pale brown mugs filled with coffee in both of your directions and noting that she would be back in a minute to check if either of you wanted any food. You scanned over the pancakes and peeked over at William, his eyes also scanning the page with concentration and you found your mind wondering about him once more. You watched as he bit his lip softly and wondered if he was the type who liked pancakes with fruit on them, or chocolate, an inconsequential fact that most people wouldn’t be phased by but to you said everything you needed to know about a person. 

“You said you hoped I liked pancakes, right, William?” You asked, breaking the silence between you as you closed your menu in front of you. He looked over the menu in his own hands at you, raising an eyebrow quickly and smiling softly before looking back down at the pages. 

“You can call me Willy if you want, and yeah. I like most kinds, but if you try to tell me fruit on pancakes is better than chocolate, I might have to leave.” He teased as he closed his menu, now looking fully at you with a smirk on his face. For a moment you went wide-eyed, wondering if he somehow crept into your mind and heard exactly what you were thinking. You recovered quickly though, and folded your hands quickly on the table, sending your own smirk back to him. 

“I’m not going to argue with that, it’s obviously the correct answer.” Willy didn’t say anything, instead, he nodded at you before taking a sip of the diner coffee, seemingly not phased by its lack of strength or flavor. You grabbed your own mug and the two of you settled into a much more relaxed conversation as you waited for the waitress to come back. Nearly two hours of conversation passing through you without either of you realizing just how personal you were being with each other. 

“Usually this place is faster than this, I’m sorry.” The boy in front of you commented, his head tilting toward the large analog clock on the wall that had shown it was nearing midnight, nearing Christmas. You weren’t worried though, glancing around the small diner as the snow fell harshly outside. You smiled softly at William, 

“We haven’t even ordered yet, and I’ve got nothing but time tonight.” Willy just smiled back at you, nodding a bit and catching the eye of the waitress. 

“Sorry guys, been a long day. What can I get you?” She smiled apologetically. You nodded at Willy to go first. 

“No problem, Grace.” He started, referring to the older woman by her first name. He glanced at you quickly, taking a leap of his own as he spoke,

“Can we just grab two orders of chocolate chip pancakes and more coffee?” he asked. 

“Confident, what if I wanted strawberry?” You teased, raising an eyebrow quickly. Willy laughed, a genuine laugh that somehow hit you in your chest as comfort settled into your system, a soft smile lingering on your lips as he started leaning into his hand that was resting on the table. He looked at you at that moment like you were more than just a stranger who wasn’t really a stranger to him, and you would be lying to yourself if you tried to ignore the butterflies that it was giving you. Willy felt familiar in an unfamiliar yet exciting way. It didn’t feel like you had only met him once, instead, it felt like you had known him in passing forever, your comfort level and trust quickly rising in him in just a few short hours of really knowing him. 

“No chance, you said I was right about chocolate, and I pay attention.” He threw back at you. 

“Okay, tell me the real reason you’re alone on Christmas Eve.” Willy pressed as he set his fork down, scooting the nearly empty plate away from his body and toward the center of the table. It was nearly 2 am at this point, and you weren’t sure if it was the few hours you had spent with him giving or the tiredness weighing you down that gave you the false sense of closeness with him, but you found yourself giving in anyway, wanting to tell him everything about yourself in hopes that he would for some reason be taking notes to remember you by. 

“It’s my first Christmas without my mom, she uhm, passed away earlier this year and I spent the whole day doing things by myself that we used to do together. So, when you asked if I was busy, I said no, because going somewhere with you felt better than going home to my empty apartment and my thoughts.” It felt good to get it out and Willy’s reaction confirmed what you had already assumed about him, that he wouldn’t judge you for not wanting to spend Christmas Eve alone. After all, before you ran into him, he was set on being alone. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He frowned. You just shrugged, you were used to the apologies, no one really knew what it was like when a parent passed away unless they had dealt with it themselves. The apology was an expression of sympathy, and you didn’t mind it coming from Willy. 

“What about you? Have a sad story to tell me?” You inquired. Willy sighed and for a moment you wondered if you had pushed too hard if you had overstepped some boundary that he had put up between you that you missed. But the sigh came with a nod as he continued, opening his mouth to speak quietly as you looked at him with eyes that you hoped indicated your willingness to take in whatever he had to say without any judgment. 

“I guess I’ve just been having a rough year, I’m not sure how closely you follow hockey, but, a lot of people are doubting if I belong here. I guess with not being able to go home and see my family, it was getting to me. Didn’t even really have any plans until you ran into me and I just felt comfortable asking you to do something.” His voice wavered as he spoke and his eyes dodged your own a few times as he went through what you could only gather were insecurities he didn’t like to talk about. You reached out and put your hand on his wrist, running your thumb slowly across his skin and smiling softly at him. 

“You belong here, Willy. I’m not sure how much that means coming from a stranger, but you belong here.” He lit up at your words, turning his hand to grab yours. Your heart pounded in your chest as he laced your fingers together and gave your hand a soft squeeze before letting go, a silent thank you that didn’t need words. You knew what he was trying to say, you didn’t need him to verbally thank you for it. 

The two of you started putting your coats back on, the night coming to a close that you weren’t sure you were ready for. You hadn’t expected to have a good Christmas, and while it certainly couldn’t compare to the ones of your past, as you sat in that diner with Willy for hours you felt like you were soaking in the comfort you had spent the entire month trying to find. Each time he laughed at something you said you melted further into the old booth. 

Willy set some cash on the table, ignoring your protests as he paid for the meal, and grabbed your hand, once again lacing your fingers together as he tugged you out of the restaurant, this time not letting go once you stepped outside. 

“I’ll drive you home, I’m just parked a bit far. Is that okay?” He asked. You smiled and nodded in response, too focussed on the warmth of the feeling of his hand in yours and how it sent waves of feeling straight to your heart and butterflies to your stomach. 

The two of you walked in silence for about a block, his hand never wavering from yours until you were standing at a crosswalk. He stopped and looked around a bit. You were near the Christmas market, some of the lights were still on despite how late it was. The decorations were visible from where you were standing on the street, and the only light was coming from the reflection of the twinkling lights reflecting off of the snow. He turned to face you, squeezing your hand gently as he stumbled through his next few words,

“I know this is so abrupt and we just sort of met, and maybe it’s the over romanization of Christmas getting to my head but I really want to kiss you right now.” 

You looked up at him, his eyes were warm and the snow was settling into the hair sticking from his beanie. It might have been exactly what he said, the romanization of meeting someone outside of a shitty diner on Christmas Eve and somehow spending the whole night with them sharing things that you hadn’t even entirely shared with your closest friends. 

The more you thought about it the more you felt like it was a bad Christmas movie. But bad Christmas movies always ended in a kiss, and you weren’t about to stop the tradition now. So you grabbed him by the collar of his stupidly overpriced pea coat and crashed your lips to his before you could stop yourself. Willy settled into the kiss quickly, wrapping his hand around your waist and tugging your body into his chest. When you pulled apart, the puffs of cloudy air from your breath filled the space around you, and he smiled at you like you were the best thing he could have hoped for this Christmas, a feeling that was unspoken yet mutual. 

You buried your face into his chest, stomach in knots as you overthought exactly what had just happened and what it all meant. Willy took his hand and tilted your chin up so that your eyes were looking at his, smiling at you before leaning in to kiss you again, his lips brushing yours softly. 

“You never told me what you wished for.” He commented when you pulled apart. 

“You somehow gave it to me, Willy.” You smiled and kissed him again, tangling your hand with his once again. You didn’t need to elaborate, because Willy understood what you meant. He had given you comfort, a feeling of not being alone on the one holiday where no one should have to be alone. He didn’t know what the future held, or what this would mean to you by the time the enchantment of the holidays wore off, but he knew that right now you were what he wanted, and he could only hope that you felt the same as you kissed him for the third time that night in the snow.  

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 8

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 8

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1416

Summary: A dream starts to change the reader’s perspective on her life with Sam.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w  b u r n

           It took weeks but the physical touch you’d gotten so used to came back one handhold at a time until finally it seemed like maybe Sam had made peace with The Sledding Incident. You never forced it, didn’t say anything because you didn’t want to push him away. Waiting felt like starving with a ten course meal on a silver platter in front of you, but it paid off. Whether he realized he was rewarding you or not, the space to let Sam process was met with absentminded hands slipped around your waist at the grocery store, non-secrets hummed into the skin of your jaw and neck as you stood just barely too close, loose pieces of hair tucked behind your ear when you washed glasses at the bar. The positive reinforcement limited the clinging you’d been doing since you’d first driven away from the bunker, knowing that the less you clawed at Sam for scraps of attachment the less he felt like you were in too deep to receive it.

           Repair by repair the cabin started to feel more like yours. The bathrooms got painted a faint baby blue that reminded you of long cloudless afternoons in Sioux Falls and Sam taught you some basic plumbing to fix the water pressure in the shower. It was only slightly less gross than you thought it would be, but Sam was so excited when you put the plumber’s joint caulk on perfectly that it made up for the limescale gunk under your nails. When you worked, Sam pretty much stopped playing podcasts and books, relying instead on an ever-changing kaleidoscope of music Dean would never have let anyone play in the Impala. Some of it you were pretty sure Sam didn’t even like, almost as if he was trying to learn a new culture by jumping in headfirst.

           You kept writing in your journal like you were sending letters back home to Dean from summer camp, giving little updates on the cabin or Sam or ridiculous drama you heard at the bar. At night you and Sam would talk about what should get fixed next and sometimes if you were feeling tough you’d watch Sam look up at the ceiling, hair splayed out on the pillow around him like a halo while he told a story about him and Dean growing up or times you’d been away from them on the road. Every once in a while you’d heard Dean’s perspective of the same event and would give them like a little gift to Sam. His eyes would go soft, hanging on your every word and letting his mouth quirk up a hair at the corners. You’d laugh together, often sadly but surprisingly sometimes not, winding into the crook under his arm and playing the tapes of the memories in your head.

           More and more frequently, you’d have good dreams—or rather, non-nightmares. Dean would get hurt and survive or you’d all be on a job together. Right before you woke up he’d be just about to say something important, warn you of something serious but couldn’t spit it out fast enough. It was frustrating, but so much nicer than waking up on soaked pillows that you just put it in a letter to Dean and tried to move on with your daytime projects and nighttime bar work. Some days it felt like you were going to be okay and then the next you’d be impaled on grief so hard you couldn’t even breathe around it. And yet, always Sam to tie yourself to and slide into the next day.

           It’s cold but bright, the sunlight reflecting and magnifying itself on the snow blanketing the landscape. Salt crunches under the tires of the Impala, just barely louder than the engine and enough to be aware of through a ZZ Top tape. You’re almost on the edge of drifting asleep on the windowsill when Dean grabs your arm.

           “Hey, come on, you can’t leave me.”

           The urgency in his tone jolts you alert. “Why? What’s going on?”

           “I don’t know how much time I have left. There’s a lot I need to tell you.”

           “We haven’t even picked up Sam yet,” you answer, in the self-assuredness of dream logic. “How bad could it be?”

           “It’s me, baby. It’s really me. Dead, everything, the works. I need you to focus, I don’t know how long I can stay.”

           Some small sub-sub-conscious part of your mind jolts to attention. It feels honest, or at least the closest to honest as you had wanted to be in a while. You let yourself indulge it.

           “You, like—really? It’s really…?”

           “Yeah, it’s me. I—I don’t know how to—” and you stop him with a furtive kiss, all hunger and no grace, just wanting to feel what it was like to be against him again.

           Dean swerves a little when his eyes open, momentarily dazed. “Christ, I forgot how good that was.”

           “I don’t—how are you…?” you murmur, having a hard time not only with the information but also with the juxtaposition of your conscious and subconscious knowledge.

           “No bullshit, I’m communicating beyond the grave. Don’t tell Miss Cleo,” he answers, the smirk twisting your stomach like a wrench.

           “Are you okay? If this is what it’s like to be dead then Sam and I will be here the second I wake up, we’ll just come to you—"

           “Babe, I wish you could but it doesn’t work like that. It’s not even really supposed to work like this but Cass is pulling some strings. I only have until your subconscious realizes what’s going on and kicks me out.”

           “What? How?”

           “The separation between living and dead is a little bit thinner when you’re asleep. It’s actually pretty cool but it’s going to take a while to explain.”

           “Okay, right, got to be fast. Fuck, I miss you so much.”

           “I miss you too, kid. More than I can explain. But listen, baby, I’m so proud of you for making it this far. It’s going to be okay, I promise. Sam will take care of you, and I know you’re taking care of him the best you can. I don’t know how long I have until you wake up. I’ll keep trying again to come to you, but until the next time I get to see you, my firecracker, you’re so tough. You can do a lot worse than Sam, and I would never, ever hold it against either of you. I’ve been trying to send that—been trying to ram my head through this fucking door about a hundred times by now actually—but if it hasn’t been coming through strongly enough, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what the fuck I’d be doing if it had been one of you—probably would’ve drunk myself to death by now to be honest—so the fact that you’re so worried about whether necking is going to raise my soul from the depths is actually sorta sweet. Love is complicated and the lines get blurred; I get it, especially now with some damned perspective. As long as I’m still going to be your guy when you get here, that’s all that matters to me. You’re it for me, kid.” He traces a light finger down the side of your cheek and it sends an ache straight into your stomach, makes him look lost for a beat as he takes you in.

           “Dean, I love you. I can't—I can’t even tell you how much I love you. I never got to say thank you for all the things you—”

           “Hey,” he says, grabbing your chin and holding you still to flick his gaze between your eyes. “I know. There’s no time. You don’t have to say that to me, I know. I always knew. I’m going to try to get to Sam too, but he’s—the angels are shocked at the shit that’s happening in his brain. Makes sense, you know, after everything he’s gone through, but I guess it makes it harder to slip through the cracks. But here: if I can’t do this again; if this is the last time I talk to you until you get back to me, I love you, and I’m going to keep loving you no matter what. The two people I love most in the world being together could never be bad to me, and I will alway—”

           And you woke up.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 9

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[magalidragon]

So this is in response to a prompt ask I got awhile back from @freesoulladyaic— they requested beauty underneath and I am not sure exactly what but I think there was a mixup for which prompt list and number was requested so I went with the one I thought made most sense I hope you don’t mind and so sorry it has been so long! Enjoy!

Prompt: “I prefer you naked but that dress looks really good on you too.”

"Fuck!"

"Language."

Jon looked up from where he'd stabbed his thumb with a pin, a series of them stuck between his lips.  He made a face at his wife, who was on the other side of the room, working on another dress form.  He lifted up the yards of shades of red soft organza and tulle, which he'd been alternating in a macrame styling on the bodice of the gown.  He'd been pinning them to the waist, already marked on the form.  It was giving it a very ethereal look, but with the deep colors, indicative of the Targaryen crest, the overlay looked equal parts ash and fire.

He finished off the bodice, taking the remaining pins from his mouth, and turned the form, frowning at the back, where he wanted to make the two straps criss-crossing from shoulder to waist thicker, both in black.  The red was just the detailing.  He pursed his lips, contemplating how best to achieve this, and felt eyes on him.  He lifted his, meeting Dany's gaze across the studio.  He smirked.  "What?"

"You're so focused, so intense."  She licked her lips, arching her brow teasingly. She purred, "You know what that does to me."

"Keep it in your pants, we've got dresses to finish."

"Hmm, the auteur himself, Jon Snow, working on his creation."  She sauntered over, in her long black housecoat, which she wore when working, her feet bare on the hardwood and jeans rolled at the cuffs.  Her hair was bound up in a scarf, kept from her eyes while she worked.  It was a decidedly unsexy look, measuring tape over her shoulder, pincushion strapped to her wrist and her pockets heavy with thread and a little set of scissors tucked into a brace on her other wrist, like she was some sort of sewing superhero.

He smirked up at her, the stool he was on swiveling over to her.  "Well I promised the client that I would have my best men on it."  He puffed his chest.  "And that happens to be me."

"Funny, I thought I was the client."

"You are, what do you think so far?"  He chewed his bottom lip, studying her face as she perused the fabric draped and pinned to the form.  He pretended like her opinion meant nothing to him, but in reality it was the only one that mattered.  If there was even a hint of dislike, he'd destroy the entire thing and start again.  It worked both ways.

She trailed a finger along the macrame detailing, the straps across the back, and lifted up the tulle strewn along the floor.  On the table he had sketches of the design, fabric samples pinned to a board on an easel, and at least one of the leather leggings he'd been sewing to go underneath.  While she studied everything, he got up, too nervous to watch her, and went into the adjoining office, picking up his vape.

Clamping his lips around it, he puffed, holding it in his mouth like a 'binkie' as Dany teased him, and picked up some sales reports, flicking through the assessments from their CFO.  They'd poached Willas Tyrell from his grandmother, mostly because he was bored with the steadiness of the established company and wanted something new.  He was brilliant, had taken their sales higher than even Jon had imagined-- and that was pretty far.

Dragonwolf had become the most sought after couture house in Westeros, while he transitioned L.Stark into an upscale ready-to-wear line, headed by Sansa.  Dany still maintained her CEO position over Dracarys, but Missandei had taken over as creative director.  It afforded him more time, he'd discovered, to do the things he really enjoyed doing.

Hanging out with Ghost, coming up with new creations, and Dany, not necessarily in that order.

He sucked down the fake smoke from the vape, tricking his brain it was actually a real cigarette, the action habitual and relaxing his nerves.  He sank into his chair, glancing at the photo of his mother he kept on the edge of the desk, smiling briefly at the image of her laughing, arms around him as he was wrapped up in fabric from playing in her studio.  His gaze darted to the image right beside it, of Dany in the same pose, hugging him after she had wrapped him up in fabric too.  It was in the same place, the same location he'd just come from, their private studio in the old townhome in Winterfell.

The vape still between his lips, he moved to the window, cranking it open and blowing smoke into the nighttime air, glancing towards the castle up on the hill.  The dresses were for the annual Winter's Eve Gala event, something of a who's who in the zoo of the Westerosi peerage and entertainment industry.  It was a chance for the Starks to show off the castle, everyone to arrive dripping in icy couture and jewels, and pretend like they gave a shit about the lesser people among them. There would be a famous silent auction, fundraising for the Lyanna Stark Memorial Fund-- which was incredibly important to his heart-- along with an award that would honor someone who had contributed significantly to Lyanna's chosen cause-- orphaned children.

But the thing people seemed to care most about was what everyone would be wearing.

He was making Dany's dress and she was making a dress for a new young actress as well as the young cousin of her friend Ser Jorah Mormont.  Lyanna Mormont was a Lady, technically, but you wouldn't know it.  She was a pistol.  This would be her first big event after her first movie had hit the scene, garnering her immediate raves and attention.  It was a big deal for her to be getting a chance to wear a Dracarys creation, especially handmade by Dany herself, but it was the least Dany said she could do for the young girl who made her smile and laugh every single time she encountered her.

Jon finished his vape, returning to the studio, and found Dany back to work on Lyanna's dress.  There were no notes left for him, so he continued to work, both of them silent.  He kept at it, accepting her kiss and murmured "don't stay up too late" with a distracted nod, remaining at his station into the night.  He pinned and draped and sewed, every stitch even, like his mother taught him.

Around two in the morning, his eyes burned, but he leaned back in his chair, feet up on his desk, and Ghost under his legs, fast asleep.  He was working on the leggings, finding hand-sewing leather to actually be a relaxing task.  It was soft in his hands, buttery almost, and he likened it to his mother, watching her work on making her own riding clothes.  He took a deep breath, slowly releasing it, and pulled on thread, slipping it in and out, until his eyes drooped further and further, until he was fast asleep.

--

The suit he'd chosen to wear was one of Dany's. The irony of L.Stark by Jon Snow, award winning and bestselling couture men's designer wearing a suit from anyone but his own line, especially Dracarys.  It was something he never would have thought possible two years ago when they were at the height of their hatred for each other.  Nay, he corrected himself, it wasn't hating, it was unresolved tension, best resolved by the explosion most everyone witnessed at the MET gala.

He adjusted his tie in the mirror, smoothing the velvet brocade over his chest, eyeing Ghost, who looked like he wanted to run up to him.  He pointed his finger, warning.  "No way. This is black velvet.  I'll never get your fur out."

Ghost wagged his tail, thankfully staying put on the bed.

Indeed, it was an incredibly comfortable and finely detailed suit, black silk tie with matching black velvet brocade along it-- if you got close enough you could see it was wolves and dragons running and tangling throughout, swirls of flames and snow following them.  That was a hallmark of Dany-- her ability to tell stories with her designs and the intricacies of her attention to detail.

He left their room, knowing she was elsewhere in the suite at Winterfell, where they'd deigned to stay that evening to prepare for the event.  He thought it a little silly; they would have to pretend to "leave" just to "arrive" at the same location and walk up the icy blue carpet with photographers.

Price they paid, he supposed, for business.

He left the suite, taking his time down the set of stone stairs spiraling down from their sitting and bedroom areas, into a receiving hall.  Davos was already waiting, their constant taskmaster, and he had Satin floating about somewhere.  "Where's Arya?" he asked.

"I believe she said and I quote 'fuck this shit, I'm not going.'"

He snorted, fixing his cufflinks.  "Sounds about right."

Davos checked his watch.  "I'll go check on the car."

"Stupid Davos, this is stupid."

"It's just a whip around the block."  Davos nodded, signing, resigned.  "Although aye, it is stupid."

"What's stupid?"

Jon heard Dany's voice before he saw her, and turned, looking up the stairs to where she was at the top, waiting for him.  He gaped, mute, and jaw dropping the moment his eyes rested on her form.  It took his brain a second to catch up with his body, which was already responding in kind, and another second for his voice to return.

He choked, watching her smirk at him, knowing exactly how she appeared and what she was doing.  Especially with the slow descent she took, every step tiny, allowing the full effect of her appearance to settle.  He could not believe it.

It was one thing to see a dress on paper, another in progress, and even the final version on the form or on a model down the runway.

It was another when it was on the person who inspired it, who it was meant for, from the first sketch to the final stitch.

Dany floated down the stairs, the dress whispering around her, the crimson and black rippling through the soft tulle.  It gave her a fairy-like appearance, but it was the black macrame, the black strappy heels on her feet, and her black fingernails, leather leggings, and crimson lips that warned eveyrone she was no simpering little thing.  She would burn you alive.

The skirt floated about her and she had topped it off with the see-through tulle gloves he'd made at the last minute.  Her silver tresses were spun in a complicated braided style, mountains of them criss-crossing and tangling in a crown about her head.

Someone asked her once why she always wore her hair in such intricate braids-- it had become her trademark.  "When I was growing up I learned a lot about the Dothraki tradition of a braid for a victory," she explained.  She had smirked.  "I grew up with the Dothraki.  They were my family.  I have never been defeated.  The braids show that."

Jon couldn't believe how gorgeous she was.

Or how lucky he happened to be.

He unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, found his voice.  "You know, I prefer you naked but that dress looks really good on you too."

Dany beamed, her smile beatific.  She offered her elbow to him, to take and lead her away to their car, but instead he lifted her hand delicately, even though that had was stronger than anyone would have thought at first look.  Eyes on hers, unblinking, he dragged his fingertips up the tulle, delighting in her breathy hiss.

He dipped under the top of the glove, above her elbow, and began to peel it down, agonizingly slow.  Her pupils dilated and mouth fell, her tongue darting out to nervously wet her lips.  He plucked at fingers, removing the glove.  With her skin bared, he stroked her forearm and then lifted her knuckles to his lips, brushing over them.

"Jon," she gasped, brows arching.  "We're going to be late."

"Do you think I care?"

"It took forever to get into this dress and look like this."

He spun her into his arms, tossing the glove down, and nosed at her neck, whispering along her racing pulse.  "I made the dress, I'll be careful."

"Not a word in your vocabulary."

He didn't acknowledge that, because he was kissing her.  After a moment, he lifted her under her knees, hurrying her back towards the stairs, to her delighted giggles.

Occupational hazard, he thought, later when they were late, racing down the carpet instead of allowing photos taken.  He made her the dresses, even though honestly, she looked good in anything.  Or nothing, as the case may be.

"Dany, who are you wearing?" someone called out.

Dany shouted back.  "Who do you think?"

He laughed, racing after her and not even bothering to answer the same question directed at him.

[xbunnybunz]

circhester city blues [hop x reader]

Summary: Hop finds you at outside at midnight, mulling over some personal thoughts. He extends some much needed words of comfort, and a little bit more.

Genre: Fluff

Date: July 12, 2020

-----

Circhester was unlike anything you had ever seen before.

Snowflakes drifted slowly from the sky, brushing over the city with a crispy new layer of snow. The cold nighttime air was serene, moving languidly over your exposed cheekbones and fingertips and leaving you slightly shuddering. A hum of gentle music floated softy in the breeze, sounding quite melancholy and tearful.

You lean over the railing on the higher point of the city, eyes taking in the scene of the city of snow. The sensation of snowflakes grazes your skin with a soft nip, melting away and leaving you yearning for more than that gossamer touch.

You close your eyes to eternalize this memory, the sweet and delicate song echoing in the distance and the soft glow of nighttime snow flurries dancing before your eyes. It is times like these, where you’re away from the crowds and cheering of fans, do you get the time to reflect on your journey.

The beginning of this trek seemed so long ago. The hazy memories of Postwick and its endless expanse of green fields leave you feeling bittersweet. As much as you miss home and the feeling of waking up at home in your soft bed, the smell of freshly cooked omlettes wafting from the kitchen, you’ve been beginning to ponder the end of your journey.

The heights and lulls of your adventure fill you with purpose, and every morning you wake up with a mission in mind. Other times, when the excitement dies down and the sun begins to dwindle behind the horizon, you can set up your tent and lay under the stars, counting the specks of light until the coos of your pokemon lull you to sleep.

That is something that, with all its glorious, warm sunshine and creaking cottage houses, Postwick cannot give you.

You watch as one by one, houses lining the streets illuminate with life from the inside. Families come together for supper, their shadows dancing across the cobblestone path lined with a thin layer of snow. You wonder if you’re selfish for not wanting to return home- not wanting this chapter of your life to be over so soon.

Tomorrow was the day you were scheduled to battle Melony, the Ice type gym leader and sixth hurdle to completing your Pokemon Gym Challenge. You think back to your first challenge against Milo, and wonder why you’re not feeling the same jittery feeling in your stomach.

The first night before your first gym battle, you were kept awake by the visions of battle and victory. You recall recounting the potential battle strategies you could use against the grass type leader in your sleep, which led to a night of tossing and turning in Bedew Hotel.

You sigh, your breath making small puffs of clouds in the air. You look down, clenching and unclenching your fists to get blood flowing back into your fingers. There had been a lot you encountered in your travels, all of which would’ve never found had you stayed in your hometown.

You had the chance to step into the battle arena, the stadium pumped full of life and vivacity that made your ears ring and heart swell. The cries of millions watching from home set your soul ablaze, and the urge to pursue your dreams had never been stronger. Amidst your challenge, you met many new and beautiful souls, both in battles and in passing. Each had their own stories and dreams to follow, burning with the passion of life. Their voices rang in your ears as you crept through the dusty Galar mines and scaled the Turrfield ruins, the experiences lives bleeding into yours and coloring you with wonder and devotion.

Many days as you waded through the wild area, you wondered if the sun ever burned so bright back at home. With enough warmth to sear your skin, warm your bones and bleach the heavens with nothing but clear, blue skies. Every night, you find yourself in awe that the starry night sky expanded so far over the horizon, deep, dark and heavy. You always question if it’s the same sky you see through your little window at home, hanging humbly over your desk in a wooden frame.

As the snow falls upon your face, you turn skyward, beholding the moon in all its lustrous, ephemeral beauty. It drips with tantalizing fullness, the light spilling over to speckle stars into the unfathomably darkening night. It hangs heavily in the inky blackness, as if even the skies aren’t large enough to hold it up.

You catch yourself thinking about who you were, and who you are. You wonder if the journey has allowed you to grow too much, too large for your modest little hometown.

The crisp sound of snow underfoot breaks the spell of silence, but you don’t need to look to know who it is.

A violet haired boy leans on the barristrade beside you, a relaxed smile stretching across his face and lighting his eyes.

“Fancy catching you out here,” He teases. “Pondering the mysteries of the universe?”

You see him staring at you from the periphery of your vision. You kick at the snow by the ledge, watching it fall into the fountain underneath.

“Not quite, but I was getting there before you came along.”

Hop laughed, and it was bold and rectifying. It echoed off the brick walls and concrete statues to warm your heart, and soon your cheeks.

“A right ruckus you are. How can you stand out here for so long and still have mysteries unsolved?”

You stutter, feeling quite abashed he had called you out on your glooming. “It hasn’t been that long! I was just… Admiring the view.”

Hop’s smile softens, and in the warm yellow light of the streetlamps, his eyes look like dark pools of swirling honey.

The way he carries himself is new, yet familiar. You know he’s the same Hop that left Postwick with you all those months ago, and yet seeing him like this reminds you that you have not been the only one growing. His exuberant flame is still there, licking at the edges of his smile and playing at the corners of his eyes. But somehow, he seems more mellow, more willing to stop for a second before surging forwards like the freight engine you’ve always known.

They’re all small shifts, but bring you comfort nonetheless, knowing you’re not the only one who may feel out of place. Hop’s the one thing in your adventures that remained constant despite change, as sturdy as an anchor in the raging sea.

When you look at him in the dull glow of the moon, you feel like you have a fragment home in your hands. You see tanned skin and the sun-kissed freckles that faintly pepper his cheeks, a signature mark of a Postwick Wooloo herder. It contrasts greatly with the snow that has settled onto his hair and the fur lining his denim jacket, as Postwick doesn’t often have cold seasons.

“What are you doing out here, anyways?” You ask.

Hop peers over the rising, and then up at the sky. “I was looking for you.”

Your heart throbs at the way he speaks so candidly. “For me? Don’t you think I can handle myself, now?”

He chokes, and waves his hands. “No, that’s not what I meant! What I mean to say is…”

He places a hand on the nape of his neck, now his turn to feel embarrassed.  “It’s a force of habit, I guess? It was always my job to fetch you before supper back in Postwick, before you got your first pokemon.”

You grin and give him a bit of a shove with your shoulder to let him know you were joking. He stumbles a tad, but recovers quickly with a mirthful smile, gladly settling back into his place next to you.

“It’s been a while, huh?” You say.

Hop leans heavily on the balustrade, crossing one long leg behind the other. “More than a while. I still remember how you cried when I caught my Wooloo, you were so worried I’d leave for the pokemon challenge without you.”

You laughed at the memory, but the distance between then and now makes you a bit teary-eyed.

“Would you have?”

Hop smiled at the thought, but shook his head. “No, I’ve always known I wanted to start the challenge with you as my rival. But I’ll admit, I really thought I was ready to take on the world at the time, just my level three Wooloo and me.”

You giggled and he reddened, though you were unsure if it was from the cold or being flustered.

“Thanks, Hop. That means a lot to me. I wouldn’t rather have anyone else by my side for this wild ride.”

He grins at you, taken aback and flattered all at once. “Oh, geez. I’m real glad to hear you say that, but don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you said that!”

“Drat, I thought flattery would work for sure this time.”

You roll your eyes and subconsciously lean into him a bit more for warmth, though it doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

He blushes, a deep red reaching the tips of his ears and sticking a lump in his throat. He swallows thickly, and doesn’t say anything for the longest time.

You watch as the moon silhouettes the lightpoles in the air, overtaking their light with its own. Hop notices your silence, gives you a small smile.

“What have you been thinking about?” He asks, breaking the stillness.

You pull back from him, and you think you see a flash of disappointment across his face, but it’s gone as soon as it came.

“What do you mean?”

Hop shakes his head at you, the snow in his hair catching the illumination of the moon and making him seem almost otherworldly.  “You’ve been gone since we finished eating dinner with Sonia. There’s not much sightseeing to do here, especially after the sun sets.”

You look at the city again to confirm his words, and find that he’s right. You’ve been moping about on your lonesome in the drape of the night, thinking about the inevitable end to the story you’ve waited so long to experience.

You figure that if anyone else can understand you, it’s Hop, the boy who’s grown up beside you all your life.

“Do you ever not want this to end?” You ask, snowflakes catching on your eyelashes and melting away just as quickly.

Hop doesn’t speak, and you take this as a sign to continue.

“This is the most I’ve ever seen of the world, and it’s far more beautiful than anything I could’ve ever imagined. I want to keep feeling the wind in my hair when I take flying taxis to the next gym, and I want to always feel the sand brewing into a storm in the battle arena. I want to keep meeting new people, meeting new goals and making new aspirations. I don’t ever want to stop chasing this dream, but I know that I’m going to catch up to it one day. And what happens then? “

You turn to him, your eyes sparkling alongside all the stars in the sky. “I don’t know if I’ll ever belong in Postwick anymore, or anywhere at all for that matter. The stars reach too far, and the sun moves too quickly for me to just go home and watch them when I know I could be out here, running after them.”

You shudder, the cold air nipping at your skin through your thin jacket. “Every step forwards feels like a step backwards, too. The closer I get to finishing this challenge, the sooner I know I’ll have to go back home.”

Your shoulders slump, and you can’t help but sigh softly, dejectedly. Mist collects in the night air at your exhale, and evaporates.

You’re surprised to feel something thick and heavy descend upon your shoulders, cocooning you in warmth and the familiar scent of pine. You look up, and your cheek brushes worn Wooloo fur.

“Hop, you’ll catch a cold.” You say, moving to shrug off his denim jacket. But he places his hand on your back, firmly holding the jacket in place. He gives you a smile and it’s enough for you to drop your efforts.

“Keep it on, you’re shivering.”

You keep eye contact with him a beat too long, but he doesn’t say anything when you turn away.

For a long moment, you wonder if he would respond and feel silly for asking him these things. When he speaks again, his voice clear in the crisp snowfall, you’re taken by surprise.

“I think every adventure is richest with a definite ending. It means we achieved what we set out to do.” He says.

“But the most important part's gotta be finding new pieces of yourself to explore, and that’ll never expire. You’re right, we may be done with this part of our journey, but now we know what drives our hearts. Without going through this, we would never know how many more stories lie ahead, ready for us to learn from.”

Hop turns to you, eyes gleaming, drawing you in.

“And I don’t know about you, but it means the world to me that I get to go on my first big adventure with my closest friend. It helped me realize that I have a lot to learn from other people, and a lot to learn from you, too.”

You feel your heart twinge and pulse quicken at the tone in his voice. You divert your eyes to the buildings behind Hop instead, unable to bear his intensity, and take in the lights dwindling with silhouettes of families ready to sleep. He presses on, voice bordering almost on a whisper now.

“I can’t wait to become the person I’m meant to be, (y/n). And I can’t wait to see the person you’ll become too. I really want to tell you all the things I know I’ll be amazed by in the future, but even more than that, I want you to be there beside me, like now, so we can both learn from it together. I know there’s so much more out there for the both of us.”

Your eyes prick with tears, and the moon and the stars and the streetlights all blur together into one large and glistening mosaic.

“Hop… Thank you. I don’t think you know how much I needed to hear that right now.”

You reach up and brush away your tears, blood rushing in your ears when you realized Hop’s hand never left your back.

“I’ve just been so worried about everything. The challenge, our sponsors, and that strange gigantamax energy showing up everywhere. But now that the end seems so close, I was worried I’d be left unfulfilled.”

Every inhale you take smells like him, and it’s calming and electrifying at the same time. The stars twinkling overhead seemed dull in comparison to the glint in hazel eyes, shining with endless ambition yet such patience.

“But?” He asked, a puff of cold mist trailing from his lips, beckoning.

“You were right. There is more for us out there, more than either of us could begin to imagine. And I can’t wait to see it all.”

He smiles again, softly. Dimples push at his cheeks, and you suddenly really want to hold his hand. So you do.

His fingers are rough from years of wrestling Wooloo, but his hands are still large and warm. When you slip your hand into his, he doesn’t hesitate to thread his fingers through yours, and it’s a perfect fit.

You sneak a glance up at him again, and this time it’s his turn to be abashed. His cheeks are tinged pink, and his gaze is directed towards the water, the soft rippling casting a calm glow on his frame.

“Hop?”

He startles at your voice, and you can barely hold back a chuckle.

“Hm? Yeah?”

“Did you mean what you said before? About us?”

He pulls his gaze back to you, face still flushed but voice thick with earnestness.

“Of course I meant it.”

The words swell a happiness in your stomach, and you look up at him, admiring the unruliness of his hair and the softness of his features basking in the nighttime sky, contrasted by a pair of sunny yellow eyes that speckled like amber in the dark. Then you really looked at him.

You looked into his eyes and saw gold, as vivid and overflowing as the wheat fields back in Postwick you both spent years running up and down in autumn. You saw endless humid summers of climbing trees and splashing in lakes, you saw the boy who picked you up and carried you home when you slipped on the stairs just outside the village, and the boy who you got into a fist fight for because someone called his hair funny. You looked at him and recounted all these memories, of the times you had laughed together, and cried together. When you looked at him, you saw your rock, your inspiration and your best friend- perhaps now, something even more.

You reached up to brush a hand against his cheek, skin cold then blossoming with warmth under your touch.

He leans into your palm, eyes burning and never leaving your own.

The moon hung low in the sky now, full and heavy with a pearlescent sheen that inked your shadows into the stone floor, standing closer now than ever before.

Hop whispered your name, the warm air washing over you and drawing goosebumps. You hummed in response, much too lost in your trance to respond with words.

“I'm really glad we're here right now.”

A knot closes in your throat and a gentle warmth spreads across your face at the sincerity of his words. You’re not sure how to respond, so you just draw yourself closer to him. He dips his head to meet you halfway, and in a single slow and blissful moment, the space between you and Hop dwindles down to zero.

His lips are soft and chaste, moving with a slow and tender languidness that made your legs wobble and knees buckle. You grip at his shirt for support and he responds by pulling you flush against him, arm looping around your waist and the other hand still sweetly holding onto yours.

When it ends, you’re both breathless and red in the cheeks. He rests his forehead on yours and his eyes are deep and endless; pupils blown and hair askew, tickling your face and blushing your cheeks.

The snow nipping at your clasped hands is a reminder that the universe is moving everywhere around you. Yet time feels slowed and perfect, and the world, though large, seems to fit lovingly intertwined between your fingers.

Your bodies are languorous and barely want to untangle, but Hop laughs at the snow collected in your hair. You wonder how even in the cold night, his laughter is full and round and warm. You can feel his body, pressed against yours, trembling from the cold without his denim jacket. You tease him for this, but do it with a grateful smile while wrapped in the scent of Hop.

The night had grown long and with it came the dropping temperatures.

“Let’s head back to Ionia Hotel, we should get some rest before taking down Melony tomorrow, don't you reckon?” Hop asks cheekily, despite his tousled hair and labored breathing.

You want to poke fun at him some more, but bite your tongue. Instead, you nod and began your trek together with him, hands still linked and hearts ever pounding under the cape of the shimmering, expanding night sky, and look to the future.

[knitting-gay-nerd]

I Will Stand in the Dark for You

Turn Week 2021 | Day 2: Favorite Historical Event/Location

The Mutiny of the Pennsylvania Line, starting at about midnight January 1, 1781, Jockey Hollow

The following is a dramatization from the perspective of Temperance Wick, who, according to New Jersey legend, ran into some rebelling Continental soldiers just after midnight during the Mutiny of the Pennsylvania Line, tricked them so that they couldn’t take her horse, and hid him in a bedroom in her house. It is of course not historically accurate, for several reasons that include the presence of my original character Henrietta Wick, the mention of a nonexistent Dr. Kemble, and the fact that Tempe’s midnight ride likely never happened.

This is directly related to my fanfiction, All Done Up in Blue & Gold, although you do not need to have read it to understand this, and it contains the mildest of spoilers, as this will be from Henrietta’s point of view in the story itself.

This is over 3,000 words. Enjoy!

Mother’s labored breathing unnerved me. It was clearly audible even from the doorway, where I stood. Whatever this fever was, it had taken a toll on her. We had gone for the doctor, our brother-in-law William Leddel, when she first fell ill, but he told us that she would eventually recover and simply to take care of her as we normally would. She had become bedridden only days after Father’s funeral.

Her condition was not improving, but remaining stagnant. Father was not yet dead two weeks, and it seemed Mother might follow him into the good Lord’s arms before long.

“Tempe.” Henri’s hand rested, palm up, on Mother’s forehead. She looked at me, concern clear on her face, her brow knit together and fear shining in her widened eyes. My stomach wrenched itself into a knot. “Get Dr. Kemble.”

I straightened bolt upright from my position leaning against the side jamb of the doorway. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s burning up, worse than before, and she seems delirious. Get him now. Hurry!”

“Shouldn’t I get William? He’s been looking after her, and he’s our brother in law—“

“Kemble’s closer. Go!”

“Should you be looking after her? The baby—“

“I’m fine, Tempe! Go! Do you want to lose Mother as well?”

“No, of course I don’t!” I snapped back at her, tears pricking at my eyes. I ran, pulling on my outer clothes as quickly as possible, then running along the path through the snow to the barn to saddle Colonel.

I clicked my tongue, leading him out of the stall. “Come on boy. Ready for a nighttime ride?”

He nickered at me, nuzzling my shoulder. “We’re all business tonight, Colonel. You’ll do me proud, I’m sure.”

I kept up a meaningless chatter as I tacked him up, from his bridle to finally tightening his girth. It was a distraction for me as much as for him. Then, I led him out of the barn to mount.

“Allons-y,” I whispered. I knew he couldn’t gallop all the way to the doctor’s house, and it was dangerous to gallop, especially because Colonel was cold and the ground was frozen. However, it was imperative to reach our destination with as much speed as possible, and the doctor would have a fresh horse ready to visit Mother. We proceeded at a walk, until he was warm enough to trot.

Only the Pennsylvania Line was camped on our land this winter, but their New Year’s Eve festivities were loud and raucous as I traveled through the woods. Thankfully, I was not set upon by any drunken soldiers, but I could hear their singing and see their fires from the road. It was late, almost midnight. Mother is dying, I thought. I urged the Colonel into a canter, pushing the limits of safety given the conditions.

A few moments later, I realized that a canter was too leisurely for the gravity of the situation. Mother was dying. If ever there was a time to throw caution to the wind that streaked past me as I rode, it was now. Fuck caution, I thought. Mother would hate that that word even came to my mind. She would call it “unladylike”. Henri and I both had disappointed her in that regard. It can go to hell and reside with Lucifer himself.

I kicked Colonel’s sides, forcing him into a gallop.

The wind whistled in my ears, only the beating of my heart louder than it. My eyes watered from the cold rush of air. Colonel slowed to a canter as we reached town, only a few men in varying degrees of drunkenness milling on the streets.

“Whoa,” I called as we reached the doctor’s house. I swung down from the saddle, tying Colonel to a post. I scratched under his mane, whispering, “You did so good, boy. Thank you.”

I rapped on the door. No one answered. I knocked louder, then yelled, “I need help! Please!”

“Hold your horses, young lassie, I’m coming!” A female voice called out. After a moment and a bit of fiddling with the latch, the doctor’s maid opened the door. “What do you need, Miss?”

“My mother is severely ill. We’re afraid she might be on death’s threshold. Where’s Dr. Kemble?”

“Oh, Miss, he came home not an hour ago, drunk out of his wits. He’s not in any shape to come, and I doubt he’d be of any help.”

I sighed. “Alright. I’ll go the other way and get Dr. Leddel, then.”

“Before you go, what’s wrong with her? I might be able to offer some advice.”

“She’s in a right fever, burning to the touch and seeing things that aren’t there.”

“If you’ve any dogwood or tulip poplar bark, make a tea and get her to drink it, if you can. It will bring her fever down some. She might have to sweat it out.”

“Thank you.”

“Your mother is in my prayers.”

“Keep my sister in them as well. She’s with child, and we’re the only ones left to take care of Mother.”

“I will. God be with you!”

“Thank you.”

I mounted Colonel and urged him into a trot. He was tired, but we still had a distance to travel to reach the house Phebe and Dr. Leddel lived in. It was in the opposite direction of Morristown, on the way to Mendham. Dr. Leddel was my brother-in-law, but Mendham was farther than the doctor’s house in Morristown.

With any hope, however, we would get back home in time and the remedies Kemble’s maid had given me would be unnecessary.

We proceeded through the woods at a trot. An uneasiness came over me as I approached the point where I could hear the soldiers when I was going in the opposite direction. It was much quieter than it had been then, although not enough time had passed for their celebration to die down so completely. Just then, a shot rang out, with shouting following it. Colonel shied. He wasn’t used to gunshots, as he had never been trained to ignore such sounds. Once he recovered, I urged him on into a canter, a bleak attempt to escape whatever was happening in the camp.

I relaxed once I could no longer hear the commotion. We slowed to a trot. Despite my relative calm, Colonel remained alert, his ears pricked in the direction of the woods to our left. Rustling came from that direction, but I ignored it, assuming it was an animal. Even a few minutes later, Colonel was nervous, strange behavior because he was usually a sure horse in the woods.

Colonel’s ears swiveled, facing behind me.

“You! Stop!”

“We’re taking your horse.”

I urged Colonel on faster.

A man called out, “Continental Army. We’re commandeering your horse.”

I stopped. The man who spoke last came up to Colonel’s head and took hold of his bridle. “Get down.”

“What is the meaning of this, gentlemen?”

The brown eyes of the man who held my horse’s bridle met mine, and I was shocked by how young he looked. He was at least five years younger than me, to be certain. His dirty blond hair was in a rough queue, with strands falling out near his face. His face was thin, and he looked hungry. Yet, he had somewhat of a commanding air about him, and the two men who followed him to my side seemed subservient to him. “We’re marching on Congress to get the money we’re owed. Our bounty’s up, and we’re done. We’re barely fed and never paid for three years now.”

“Then you’re not Continental Army and cannot commandeer my horse.”

“That was only to get you to stop. Now, dismount, and we’ll be taking him. Don’t forget, we have muskets.”

“You don’t want Colonel. He’s just been at a hard gallop over to Dr. Kemble’s house. He’s too tired to make it far enough to be worth your while.”

“You think you can trick us with that? He looks fresh to me!” One of the other men said.

“Shut it, Kip, this lady probably knows more about horses than you. Please dismount, ma’am.”

“Alright, sir. Would you please help me down?”

He smiled at me. “Of course.” As he moved his hand from Colonel’s bridle, I felt a pang of regret for what he’d gone through. He was just a boy, and, if he’d been in the army for three years, he had spent most of his teenage years starving in winter camps, fighting in battles, and marching along the road. No one deserves that life, especially not someone so young. What I did not regret, however, was what I was about to do.

I turned Colonel’s head towards home and kicked his sides. Shouting erupted behind me, but we were already at a run, and far ahead of where they could catch up to us on foot.

We kept up the gallop until we reached the house. They wanted Colonel, they wanted to take him and march with him to Congress to demand their pay. No. Colonel was mine, and if they wanted him, they’d have to go through me. I couldn’t get William now, but we had to have some dogwood or tulip poplar bark that could be brewed into a tea. Now, how to hide Colonel…

They recognized me, they must have. I didn’t tell them who I was, but they would follow me home and put two and two together quickly enough. Where could I hide a horse that they wouldn’t find him? The barn would be the natural place to look; I couldn’t put him there. Not only would he be found right away outside, he would have no protection from the weather, should it start to storm. He needed somewhere with a roof, at least, preferably walls…

That’s it. The house.

I led him inside, where his shoes clopped against the wood floor. Henri ran from Mother’s bedroom.

“Temperance Wick! What is that horse doing inside? And where is Dr. Kemble?”

“Dr. Kemble is drunk in his bed at home, and Colonel is inside because the soldiers are rebelling and tried to take him. I can’t very well hide a horse in a barn where they will look first!”

“You will be the death of me! What shall we do about Mother now? We can’t ride out to Phebe’s with the soldiers in mutiny!”

“Dr. Kemble’s maid told me to brew her tea with dogwood or tulip poplar bark. She said it should help with the fever.”

“Of course! That’s what Mother used to do for us. There should be some in the cellar. Daisy!”

Daisy hurried from the kitchen. “Yes, Miss—why is Colonel inside?”

“The soldiers are mutinying, and it’s the only way to keep him from being commandeered,” I answered.

“Yes. Boil some water. We need to make dogwood tea for Mother. It should help her fever. Prepare more wet cloths as well. Tempe, find the dogwood bark in the cellar.”

“What about the soldiers?”

“I’ll take care of them. While Daisy brews the tea, you can keep watch. I’ll load a shotgun and stand guard at the door. Daisy, you can take care of Mother?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Good. Get the field hands first. They can use the other shotguns and stand guard at the north and south. Tempe and I will stay inside and watch from the house. Go.”

Daisy went off to find the few male servants we kept around during the winter to haul wood and perform miscellaneous outdoor tasks. “Tempe, after you get the bark, you can use Father’s pistol. I’ll get it and the shot.”

“All right.” Colonel snorted. “What should we do about him?”

“I don’t know; you’re the one who brought him inside! Find a place for him. You’re right, we can’t keep him in any of the outbuildings, that’s where they’ll look first. I’ll get the bark while you hide him, then I’ll get the shot. Father’s pistol is in his study; get it after you hide Colonel.”

I nodded, and Henri went into the cellar. I took Colonel’s reins and led him through the house, thinking of a good place to put him. Eventually, I led him into a bedroom, pulled the feather mattress off the bed frame, and led him onto it to soften the sounds of his hooves.

“Alright, boy. Stay here.” He nuzzled me and nickered. I scratched underneath his mane. “And try to stay quiet.”

I left him in there, closing the door behind me. This was a most strange night, even among years of strange days and nights. I entered Father’s study, a room that hadn’t changed much since his death.

The books he and Henrietta loved so much sat on the shelves, exactly where they had been before. I too had read some of them, but their reverence far surpassed mine. Though there were not many in retrospect, they were plenty to entertain and teach us.

I walked to the desk, where his pistol lay. I was much faster at loading and a much better shot with the pistol than the shotgun, so it was better for me to wield it and for Henri to have control of the shotgun. I picked it up and returned to the parlor, where Henrietta was commanding our defense, a veritable general, though one pregnant and clad in skirts and petticoats.

At this point, Isaac and Jeremiah, the two men we had sent Daisy for, had been brought to Henri. Daisy herself was presumably brewing the tea for Mother, after which she would tend to her. Henri was giving the men instructions.

“Jeremiah, you go to the north, and Isaac, you go to the south. The men could be here any minute. Do not confront them, but if they attack you, do not hesitate. If one of you hears a gunshot, run to help the other. Tempe, there are three men, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So you’ll likely be slightly outnumbered, but we trust you. Go, and may God be with you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you. Good, you’ve got the pistol. Go by the window and watch, and keep a keen ear. It’s dark outside, so we’ll likely hear them before seeing them is feasible.”

“God willing, they won’t come, or if they do, they won’t see Isaac or Jeremiah.”

“They threatened you, a lady, so we can’t expect that they’ll leave them alone.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“That’s all we can be.” She nodded at me, and I left for the back of the house. She took her stance, her shotgun pointed at the door. I stood by a window, my pistol cocked, trying to breathe as quietly as possible and listening intently.

I stood there for what felt like hours. It was surely only a few minutes, but they dragged on as I listened and waited. The candles lighting the hallway flickered as the silence continued.

Henri broke the silence, saying in a low voice that carried through the mostly silent house, “I hear them.”

“Aye,” I responded.

A moment later, their voices were audible on my side of the house.

“Where could she have gone with that horse?”

“Why do we need it? Can’t we just march with everyone else?”

“Shut your gobs, we’ll check the barn and outbuildings and get going. Whoever’s in the house, it’s not worth messing with them, they’re probably armed.”

I waited a moment, then peered out the window, cupping my hands around my face so I could see. The mutineers were walking through the snow towards the barn.

“Henri. Henri, come here.”

“No, we need to maintain our positions.”

“Fine, they’re going to check the barn and other buildings, then leave. I think we’re safe. They said it’s too dangerous to try the house.”

“Alright. We’ll stay here until they’re surely gone.”

Silence fell again. I tried to keep my focus on the task at hand: defending my home from traitors, but my thoughts wandered. I thought about how these men were driven to this point by neglect and hunger. I thought about how my mother was on her deathbed as I stood by the window with my late father’s pistol. I thought about how my sister, pregnant with my brother-in-law’s child, was left responsible for taking care of my ill mother and defending our home, as I, feeling as helpless as I did as a child, tried not to get in her way. I thought about how Father was gone. I thought about how broken I felt inside, and wondered if Henri felt the same. I thought about how and why the thought of being left alone scared me, even though I didn’t want to fall in love or marry anyone. I thought about how desperately I longed to be happy with someone, though not in love with them. I thought about how I didn’t want to be in love, and didn’t know if I could. I thought about how I was expected to marry, expected to have children, expected to be happy with only that. I thought about how little I wanted, and how much I wanted at the same time. I thought about how much I could have, and how little I could have. I thought about how broken and divided I was, and how broken and divided the world was.

“They’re gone.”

I relaxed, not even realizing how tensely I had been holding my breath until I released it. I unloaded the pistol and placed it on a table, next to Henri’s shotgun, and together we hastened to Mother’s bedroom. Daisy stood from the chair beside the bed as we entered.

“She drank the tea, and her skin is cooler to the touch. I’ve been applying cool compresses to her forehead as well. She’s sleeping now.”

Henri placed her hand on Mother’s forehead. “You’re right, of course. Thank you, Daisy. You can tell Isaac and Jeremiah they can come back inside now.”

Daisy curtsied slightly, then hurried off.

I staggered to the chair and collapsed into it. I closed my eyes.

“Tempe, are you alright?”

“Tired.”

“You should go to bed.”

“You’ve been taking care of her all day. You should sleep first.” I opened my eyes, and hers, wide, blue, and sincere met mine.

“Mother’s better. We don’t need to stay up with her anymore.”

Suddenly, tears welled in my eyes, and I started sobbing. “Thank God. Thank God!”

She came around the bed, wrapping me in her embrace. “All is well. All is well. Come, let’s get you to bed.”

Still crying, I muttered, “Thank God we're safe. Thank God Mother is improving. Thank God, thank God, thank God.”

As we walked, she asked me, seemingly as an afterthought, “What did you do with Colonel?”

“He’s in the bedroom James used to have.”

“He’ll be safe there, so we shall leave him until morning. It’s been a long night, for him and us.”

Henri led me to our room, where she helped me undress and get into bed.

As she tucked the covers around me, I whispered to her, “You’ll be a great mother.”

The last thing I saw before I fell asleep was her smiling, and the last thing I felt was her kiss on my forehead. The last thing I heard was her telling me, “Goodnight,” then sighing. A wave of love, for her, for Mother, for Father, for everyone I had ever loved, washed over me, and I fell asleep, surrounded and covered by a feeling of safety and love.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Witches Get Stitches Fanfic

Title: Witches Get Stitches

Summary: Patton’s ecstatic to take to the skies on his broom for the first time. His familiar Virgil on the other hand? Not so much.

Pairings: platonic moxiety 

Word-Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Panic, Crying, Blood Mention, Injury, Implied Child Abuse, Witches, Magic Discrimination, Hurt/Comfort

I started this fic back in July and I finally finished it!! This was inspired by this wonderful piece of art by @fandergecko

-

The moon views the colorful city below from behind the visage of clouds. The sky guardian is at the height of her rule; the full moon. Bright and bold enough to rival the streetlights and flashing neon signs of the city. The celestial court accompanies their ruler; pinpricks of starlight that scatter across the sky. 

A summer breeze lazily sweeps in. It is not in a hurry like autumn gale in the tune of students scurrying to classes. Or sharp and piercing as the stern winter draft. Nor is it graceful and airy as the spring wind. For it is summertime, a time when children frolick without homework hanging over their heads. A time for snow cones and ice-cream. A time for mischief and tomfoolery.

In the city that rests beneath the moon’s eye there is hardly a peep. One might argue it is almost as peaceful as a sleepy village. Where is the excitement? Where is the bustle and hustle? The midnight mischief? 

The moon looks on in disappointment. The stars whisper amongst themselves, bored and unamused by the humans’ offerings for nighttime antics. Dark clouds creep closer to the moon, covering her almost completely.

‘Come.’ They all seem to say, ‘Let us go and find another place more worthy of our light.’

Before the clouds sweep away their queen, a loud, excited hollar halts their advance.

“WOOOHOOOO!”

“P-p-pa-pa-pa-PATTON!”

On the heels of the summer breeze, comes their midnight mischief. From the perspectives of both the heavens far above and the streets far below, it is a fast blue flash zooming through the air. Look closer, and you might realize it is only a witch with his familiar flying on his broom.

His witch robes are a gentle blue like a peaceful sunny sky. Blue knee-high socks adorn his legs, with a cute cat face where the sock cuts off at the knee. He wears the traditional witch’s hat--big and floofy in all its’ witchy glory. It is dyed a lovely indigo with splashes of yellow that are crude representations of the stars above. This of course catches the nighttime hosts’ attention. For they like many are fond of flattery.

 Wavy amber hair seeps out of the witch’s hat, resting gently on his spectacles. Freckles like stars scatter across his tanned face. His blue eyes shine brightly with excitement, his mouth open agape with awe. Books and other personal belongings fly out from the witch, unnoticed in their fast descent towards the ground.

 It is clear to both the moon and her faithful court that this witch is having the time of his life. His familiar, on the other hand, is a completely different story

Like for many witches depicted in fiction, his familiar takes the form of a black cat. A very terrified, very small scrawny black cat. Hackles raised, ears pinned back, pupils dilated. The familiar’s claws are embedded in the wooden grain of the broom, as he tries to stay on for dear life.

If this was a movie, this might be the moment where the freeze frame happens, stopping on a zoomed-in shot of the screeching familiar. A voice-over recording occurs,  ‘Hi, that’s me, Virgil. You’re probably wondering how I got into this situation.’ 

Fortunately, the Moon is well aware of this pair and their history. How could she not be? It was under her watchful eye the two first met. 

A sniffling young boy with two missing front teeth and band-aid covered knees. A frightened malnourished black kitten barely five weeks old. Two young children lost and alone in the cold, unforgiving dark. All the Moon and her compatriots could do was watch and provide them their dazzling light.

“It’s okay,” The boy said, smiling through the tears dribbling down his cheeks, “I know you’re scared of me but it--it’s okay. I won’t hurt you, promise.”

The black kitten was just an ordinary black kitten. It could not understand the words the boy spoke anymore than it knew the little hand reaching towards it meant no harm. Despite this, the black kitten took a step forward. The boy stayed still. The kitten took another step and then another, until it sniffed the boy’s hand. Satisfied, the kitten headbutted the hand, a tiny purr rising from its throat. 

A shaky breath caught in the boy’s throat. Carefully, he petted the kitten’s matted fur. The kitten didn’t run away, didn’t try clawing or biting the hand. It kept purring, its’ eyes squinting in delight. It wasn’t scared of him anymore. Everyone was always scared of the boy, his parents included. They feared the magic running through his veins and what it could do. The boy tried his best to be friendly, to hide it away, but it was never enough for anyone. Except, apparently, a little malnourished black kitten with a mangy coat.

The black kitten let out a surprised mew as the boy hoisted him off the ground. He wrapped his pudgy arms around its frail frame and sobbed.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” The boy babbled, “I’ll--I’ll take care of you, I’ll make sure you’ll have plenty of food and we can be the best of friends--”

The black kitten once again could not comprehend these words. It did not understand why the giant, towering hairless kitten was so distressed. But it remembered how its mother purred to comfort the cries of it and its littermates. So the kitten continued purring, pressing its head into the boy’s chest. The boy was warm and most importantly just as alone and frightened as the kitten was. Clearly they should stick together for survival. 

Neither knew at that moment, but the two had created a magical pact. One that bonded the two as witch and familiar. It was informal, created without the use of intricate spells and rituals, but as strong and enduring as a bond should be. 

Slowly the kitten grew into not an ordinary black adult cat, but something more. A being endowed with magic and an intelligent mind of its own. As wonderful as this all is, Virgil found this at times very perplexing.

 Imagine being a cat whose sole priority in life had been napping and now suddenly there are a thousand different other things to worry about. Things like possibly falling off a broom hundreds of feet up in the air. Then you might understand why Virgil wishes at times to go back to a much simpler time of existing. 

This is a wish that shooting stars will never grant, for even they can see his love for his boy outweighs his frustrations of becoming more. Virgil loves his witch. He loves him enough to rake his claws across school bullies’ faces. He loves him enough to be the witch’s sole companion for years and years. He loves him enough that his sole priority in life is no longer naps but to protect and keep his witch safe.

Flying on a piece of wood? That is not safe. As much as Virgil trusts Patton, he cannot help but worry. He is no longer just a cat, no longer just Virgil, but a piece of Patton himself. He is the reflection of Patton’s magic. Something that the witch feared for so, so long. Growing up, it’d been best to hide it, to shove it away rather than embrace and understand it.

Virgil knows they’re now in a more magic-friendly town. They’re far away from judgmental parents and peers. Patton thinks it’s safer now. Virgil doesn’t. He remembers all the times Patton lost control of his magic and it hurt others, hurt himself. He remembers and fears the friendly faces of the city turning into hateful, jeering ones.

This is why he clings to the broom, heart thrashing loudly in his chest. It does not help he has a fear of heights in the slightest. Normal cats don’t worry much about heights, but again Virgil is not normal. 

“This is so much fun, Virgil! I can’t believe we haven’t tried this sooner!” Patton laughs, completely oblivious to his familiar’s plight. This is his first time successfully levitating a broom, let alone knowing the thrill of riding it fast through the night sky. Yet another reason Virgil fears how high up they are. He trusts Patton, but he also knows how easy it is for a spell to go south quick.

“I--I can!” Virgil yowls, curling his tail around the broom. He snatches a quick look at the ground below, regretting it immediately. He shuts his eyes as he tries keeping a hairball down. The broom lurches to a stop and he doesn’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. They’re still levitating as high as the city skyscrapers after all.

“Aw Virgil,” Patton says, “It’s okay, we’re safe up here.”

He scratches the spot between Virgil’s furry ears and really, that is totally unfair. Virgil still retains his feline traits, and he can’t help the pleased purr that erupts from that desired spot getting scratchies. He has to fight through it and focus on what’s important; Patton.

“No it’s not, it’s not safe, not safe, Pa-pat--” Virgil says, the unnatural human words becoming garbled in his cat throat in his panic.

Patton’s wide grin vanishes completely as a small frown replaces it. He gently picks his familiar up, caressing Virgil close to his chest.

“Hey it’s okay, Virge. We’re gonna go back home now, alright? Promise I’ll let you eat all the treats you want, and we can watch Nightmare Before Christmas, okay?”

“O-okay.” Virgil agrees. It isn’t Patton agreeing never to fly again, but it does mean no more flying for tonight. They’ll be on the ground, safe once more inside Patton’s apartment. 

“Cool, cool, cool,” Patton murmurs, “Now, um, de-levitate!”

Nothing happens.

“De-leviatify? No, wait, it’s crescendo!” Patton says, “Ascendo? Something latin wordy, ummm stringendo?!”

“Patton,” Virgil begins, his voice eerily calm, “Please for the love of catnip tell me that you didn’t levitate a broom without knowing how to unlevitate it.”

“Would you kill me if I told you I may have gotten so excited about flying that um I maybe kindasoratforgotaboutthatpart?” Patton says, squeaking out that last bit.

“PaTtOn.” Virgil yells, his voice doing that awful echo. It only ever happens when something bad is gonna happen. Such as Patton losing complete confidence in the spell he’s currently casting. 

“AHHH DESCENDO!” Patton yells, right about the time the broom drops downwards. Patton grips onto the wooden broom with two hands, leaving Virgil to cling desperately to the witch’s robes. They’re flying fast down to the ground below, faster than they were moments ago in the sky.

“I--I can’t control it!” Patton yells, tugging at the broom, attempting to pull it upwards for a softer landing to no effect. 

Virgil doesn’t say anything back, his thoughts flying faster than the speed they’re currently falling. There’s absolutely no way they can survive this. Patton is too panicked to use magic and already limited by his inexperience. They’re going to hit the cement sidewalk hard, like bugs getting squashed beneath his clawed paws. He just knows it.

What he doesn’t know is that the Moon is watching. She is always watching from her throne in the night sky. Even on nights she hides her face from the mortals below. She is the protector of the night sky. As such, she has dominion over it.

“Grant them a safe landing.” The Moon urges the Summer Breeze. They acquiesce, but like a teenager they are sullen and testy about it. 

Patton’s broom evens out as the summer breeze takes hold of them. Neither Patton and Virgil realize this; they are both too busy screaming. The Summer Breeze takes pleasure in their terror. It flexes its metaphorical fingers. 

“Patton, what are you doing?” Virgil cries as the broom jerks abruptly upwards. Almost at a near-vertical slant. 

“It’s not me, I swear!” 

Patton still can’t control the broom. An unseen force jerks it around, up and around, from side to side and doing it’s best attempt at a cha-cha. The broom flies up high, high, higher than all the skyscrapers. It comes to a sudden stop. The Moon looms overhead, chastising the Summer Breeze for its’ fun.

Meanwhile Patton is still attempting to remember the correct spell. 

“Descent, wait no, DESCENTUS!” He cries out, and the broom glows bright with his magic.

His spell snatches the broom out of the Summer Breeze’s hold. Patton grips it, letting out a half-terrified half-elated yell as he regains control. The Moon and Summer Breeze watch, stunned, as the mortals they both yanked like a pair of dolls take control of their destinies.

They don’t have to watch for long. The ground quickly approaches the two mortals, ready for a harsh asphalt embrace.

“Patton!” Virgil screeches yet again, for it really is the only thing he’s capable of at this moment.

“It’s okay!” Patton reassures, a manic smile sparking his features again. A witch is only ever truly alive when performing magic. They feel purposeless without it. So even in this harrowing situation, Patton feels at ease. Although they once more fly fast towards the earth, it is from his spell. Not from a lack of confidence or meddling fates like before.

Still, it is his first time landing a broom and cement is hardly the perfect practice zone for such things. As they reach the ground, Patton pulls to a stop a moment too late. Both witch and familiar are sent tumbling down to the cruel cement. 

Virgil instinctively lands on his feet. Patton’s descent is less than graceful. He skids on the ground, rolling, until he comes to a halt a few feet away. The broom is the worst off of the three. Upon impact it has splintered into three pieces, its head flying clean off the handle.

For three heartbeats there is nothing. Then Patton groans, his form slowly rising upwards. That’s enough to shake Virgil out of his stupor. He marches right up to Patton, words spitting out of his throat, “We are never doing that again. That was the stupidest, most moronic thing you’ve ever pulled, you could’ve gotten us both killed--”

Virgil stops, pupils growing wide, “Is that blood?”

“No!” Patton loudly denies, but his screwed-shut eyelids and grimace of pain betrays him. Virgil also isn’t blind. He can see the blood pouring out of Patton’s knee, soiling his knee-high kitten sock with its crimson color. It’s bad, so much worse than a mere scratch or scrape even.

“Holy shit, you’re going to die,” Virgil whispers, settling on top of Patton’s chest.

“I’m not gonna die--”

“Hey, are you two okay?!” A concerned voice shouts from afar. The two of them look up to see someone approaching them. A man, older than Patton yet too young to be his father. Perhaps in his thirties? He seemed nonthreatening with his Steven Universe shirt and pinched look of worry but Virgil knows better.

“Stay back!” Virgil hisses, hackles flaring up. He keeps his claws sheathed, not wanting to deal more harm to Patton than already dealt.

The stranger takes a few steps back, hands raised in a placating gesture. Virgil doesn’t relax a single muscle. 

“Virgil,” Patton tries, silencing at the glare his familiar sends his way. Tears gather in the corner of his witch’s eyes now. So close to spilling over his freckled cheeks and down to his shirt. Patton’s knee is hurting him much more than he’s letting on. 

“Listen,” The stranger says, ignoring Virgil’s yowl of disapproval, “I just want to help, promise.”

He crouches down, lifting something out of his coat pocket. A brown wiggling furry something with a long pink tail. A rat. 

“Hiya babes,” The rat speaks, “The name’s Remington, Remy for short. This here tall glass of coffee is Thomas.”

“Y--you’re a witch?” Patton gasps, although if it’s from shock or pain Virgil can’t tell. 

“Yup,” Remy says, seemingly confident to speak on Thomas’ behalf. He struts over to the two, ears and whiskers perked forwards. Virgil is taken aback by the gall of this rat. 

“I could easily kill you, you know,” Virgil says, unable to keep this thought to himself.

The rat lets out a short squeak of laughter, “Oh honey, I’d like to see you try.”

Virgil’s tail flickers, “Don’t worry, I will--”

“Virgil.” Patton warns again, a hiss of pain escaping through clenched teeth. The rat treads closer to the affected knee. Virgil’s ears flatten, but he does not attack. He knows Patton would disapprove of that. Instead he waits, body tense and poised for action if needed.

“Oof, it looks like you’re gonna need stitches, Buttercup.”

“Stitches?” Virgil yowls.

“It’s alright, Virgil. I’m fine.” Patton says, smiling but it comes out all wrong. Like a rubber-band all stretched out and worn.

“No, you’re not. Y-you’re hurt.” Vigil rumbles, because he can feel it. Patton’s pain pulsates through their connection, like waves crashing against the shore. Magic caused this. Patton would be fine if they stayed in his apartment where it’s safe. Not out performing magic in the late hours. “Fuck, you’re hurt, and everyone’s going to hate us again--”

“Whoa,” Thomas interrupts, the first words he’s spoken since bringing out Remy, “no one is going to hate a Glistenstone student for not having proper control of their magic just yet.”

Patton shifts his gaze downward, hugging Virgil closely like a stuffed animal. Virgil, for his part, doesn’t protest. Instead he purrs into Patton’s chest in an attempt to soothe him. Glistenstone is a sore point for the both of them. For years it’d been their beacon of hope. An university solely for magic users--who sent their acceptance letters for those eligible at the age of eighteen.

Patton never received one.

“I’m afraid I’m not a Glistenstone student, sir,” Patton says with a shaky breath.

Thomas and Remy exchange a look.

“Well kid, would you like to become one?” Remy asks.

“What?!” Virgil and Patton burst out in unison, the latter with a yelp of pain.

“I, um, have connections--”

“Connections, alright, you have more than connections.” Remy inputs.

“But anyways,” Thomas continues, sending a quick look Remy’s way, “we can talk more on that later, if you’re interested. We should probably get that leg of yours checked out. Lemme help you up.”

He offers a hand towards Patton. Virgil coils himself around Patton’s shoulders, glaring distrustfully. Patton accepts the hand, leaning heavily on the older man for balance. 

“I’m going to use a teleportation spell, alright?”

And with a flash, they’re gone.

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

An apartment, late at night. It’s a tiny one-room apartment cluttered with books and clothing spewed all over. The Moon peers through its sole window, watching a familiar pace in front of his witch. Patton sits on the edge of his bed, his knee all cleaned and stitched up. Silence reigns in the apartment, an uncomfortable one at that. One neither occupant can stand much longer.

“I’m sorry, Vee,” Patton says, breaking first, “I should’ve really thought before I attempted flying like that. You were right, I almost killed us both.”

Virgil swishes his tail, looking up at his witch. He can never remain upset with Patton for long. Especially when he holds back a sob, curling into himself as if expecting a blow. Any residual anger in Virgil’s veins solidifies into guilt. 

“No, I’m sorry,” He says, “I--I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

“It’s okay,” Patton insists, “I know you were just worried.”

“Still doesn’t make it right.”

Patton sighs, “I forgive you, can we just cuddle now?”

“If you want to, I guess.” Virgil murmurs, but it’s an act. The way he immediately purrs after wedging himself in Patton’s arms betrays him. His witch laughs, petting his silky fur.

“What...do you think?”

“Of what?” 

“Glistenstone.”

Virgil’s ears twitch downwards. Thomas had given his contact info to Patton, telling him to call him in the morning if he was interested in pursuing Glistenstone. 

“I...don’t know. It seems fishy to me. Like, why now? Why didn’t you get an acceptance letter before? And what type of connections does that Thomas guy have? I don’t trust it. But I also know I’m just paranoid about everything.”

“You’re not paranoid, you’re just overly cautious. I know this and I love you.” Patton says, pressing a kiss on Virgil’s forehead.

“I love you too, Pat,” Virgil hesitates, “and that’s why I think you shouldn’t let me hold you back.”

“You could never hold me back,” Patton pouts, and really how does he expect Virgil to handle this level of positivity? It’s too much for his small feline body.

“What I mean is, if you want to go for it, go for it. And if it turns out to be some sort of con, then you can just, like, hex ‘em or something.”

“Like Bart Fischley in fifth grade?” Patton asks, stifling a giggle.

“Sure.”

Patton nods measuredly, scratching that magical spot between Virgil’s ears. Really, totally unfair. Virgil leans into it, purring louder.

“Hey, do you still want to watch Nightmare before Christmas?”

“That depends...do I still get as many treats as I want?” 

“Of course! But for tonight only!” Patton tells him. Virgil smirks as best he can--for it’s something he’s heard numerous times before.

The moon’s eye turns away the dingy apartment, clouds drawing a curtain over her. The summer night is slowly drawing to a close, as has the midnight mischief. The mortals she is so fond of are safe within their dwelling. For the moment, all is well.

[sandpumpkin]

PUMPKIN MY DARLING!! Congrats for the 400 love!! :D Could i pretty pls ask for Nojiko and nighttime snow? thank you so much dear! -rolls away-

Dearest Mystic!!!(✿ ♥‿♥) Thank you so much!! I really hope I did Nojiko justice!!

Winter Factions: Ladies

Nojiko - Nighttime snow

Nighttime had fallen and Nojiko had yet to return from tending to the tangerine groves. The weather had dropped sharply and she wanted to make sure the groves were suitably warm and armed to defend themselves properly from any potential frost. Switching off the stove, you grabbed a heavy looking hrawl from the coat rack and hurried out into the darkness. “Nojiko?” you called, holding the shawl close as you poked your head around the already wrapped up groves.

Looking around a brief moment of worry crossed your mind. What if he came back… but then you remembered her usually resting spot. Hurrying past the groves and up towards the cliff overlooking the ocean. Please be there. The cold night air stung at your lungs as you sprinted up the slight gradient to the cliff. 

You found Nojiko looking out to sea, the way her hair fluttered gently in the nightair and as she turned slowly to face you, offering a gentle smile illuminated by the soft rays from the moon made your heart thump in your chest. For a moment I thought she might be a mermaid.. 

Remembering why you came out here in the first place you hurried over to her and wrapped a shawl over her shoulders “you’ll catch a chill like this.” you scolded, resting your forehead against hers. “Are you thinking about Nami?” you asked, slipping your hand into hers. She rested her head against your shoulder. 

“I just worry.” Nojiko admitted, with a sad smile “she’s finally following her dreams but I can’t help but worry, not knowing what she’s doing.” You had met Nami briefly and despite her initial attitude you grew to learn what she was truly like. They’re so much alike. You thought, tilting your head to kiss the top of Nojiko’s hair. Strong, stalwart, kind and so caring. “What are you smirking about?” she questioned, noticing the grin tugging at your lips

“Oh. Nothing.” you laughed nervously, as Nojiko opened her mouth to speak a little white fleck landed on her nose. Looking up in tandem as little puffs of snow fell silently from the sky. “No wonder it had gotten so cold.” you hummed. Nojiko grabbed your jacket and tugged you down for a quick kiss. 

“I hope that warmed you up.” she said with a playful wink, you did indeed feel the heat rush to your cheeks but that wasn’t enough. Moving to wrap your arms around her shoulders, sharing your warmth with her.  

“Knowing you love me always keeps me warm.” you mumbled into her soft blue hair, feeling her body chuckle at your poetic words she returned the embrace, sighing into your body. “Shall we head back? Or shall we enjoy a little more snow?”

“Can we stay a little bit longer?” she asked quietly into your chest. 

“Of course,” sitting down on the cold ground, you snuggled up to one another watching the snowfall over the endless ocean before you. 

“One day. She’ll sail back here and this time with a smile on her face.” Nojiko hummed, leaning her head once again against your shoulder. “One day.” 

“And we’ll be here to welcome her home.” you replied. Nojiko slipped her hand into yours and nodded “she’s not going to be angry we got married when she was away right?” you questioned quietly as if by some magic Nami heard that from somewhere across the sea.

“Maybe..a little angry.” Nojiko chuckled “but don’t worry. I’ll save you from her ire.” The sound of the ocean crashed gently against the rocks below as the snow started to settle on everything it touched. Yourselves included. It was soothing

“We should move, I think the tangerines are more protected against this chill than us.” you joked, rising to your feet helping Nojiko up too. Dusting off the snow that had already landed on her hair, you let your hand slide to her chin tilting it for a tender kiss under the falling snow.