#cater is just like me for the eight hundredth time

[saayatsumu]

kalim has the friendliest boy swag

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 7//

(Chapter one) (Chapter two) (Chapter three) (Chapter four) (Chapter five) (Chapter six) (Chapter seven) (Chapter eight) (Chapter nine) (Chapter ten)

(tags:  @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn , @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red)

Two things were becoming increasingly apparent: the first being that Rhys wouldn’t be the only one to coddle me for the duration of my pregnancy, and the second being that my adverse symptoms wouldn’t be alleviating any time soon.

I had a full week of reprieve where I was beginning to gain back some of my energy, and I was able to fall into a new work routine with Rhys; one where he insisted we work together in my office so he wouldn’t have to leave my side, before the waves of nausea and extreme fatigue returned. My vivid and violent nightmares also reappeared with a vengeance, and there was a night I awoke with quite possibly the worst I have ever had and spent the rest of the night in the bathing room. The next day I couldn’t leave the bed or lift my head without being overcome with a terrible dizzying spell, and barely managed to hold down the broth Rhys tried feeding me.

It took hours of negotiation to convince him not to summon Madja after I insisted that this was all, unfortunately, part of early pregnancy I would have to endure for the time being. Seeing me in such a state left him feeling anxious for my health, and I knew the same was true for the rest of our family as well. When I had confined myself to our suite after my symptoms flared up, the Illyrian males would take turns poking their heads in the door to check on me before Rhys eventually shooed them away—trying his hardest not to snap at them. At one point, when Rhys had a meeting with a palace lord that he couldn’t reschedule and begrudgingly attended, Cassian was the one to hold my hair back and comfort me during a particularly brutal wave of nausea.

Even Mor and Amren wanted to ease my burdens; both going so far as to take over my paperwork duties. Their reasoning being that as my second and third in command, they could sort through “frivolous” desk work. Elain, aside from Rhys, fussed over me the most. She was up earlier than normal in the mornings, brewing plain broths and my prenatal herbal teas that Nuala and Cerridwen taught her to make in the kitchen. Throughout the day she delivered my meals to either my bedroom, which I couldn’t leave until the day before last, or my office—where I now worked exclusively from my loveseat. Once I had the energy to resume my work, Rhys rejoined me in my office; picking up on his own work he had abandoned in order to tend to me. There were times when even Nesta would join Elain on her frequent visits, sometimes just surveying me from the doorway. I didn’t mind her distance, however, and gratefully drank the anti-nausea teas she acquired for me from Madja’s clinic.

I sipped on it now as I lounged in my office with Rhys, both of us going over our annual reports as he ran a finger along my calves that I draped over his lap. Every few seconds I felt his glances over in my direction, checking my overall well-being and ready to nurse away any sudden ailment. After what seemed to be his hundredth glance, I finally set my stack of papers down.

“Rhys,” I warned.

“Yes, darling?” he asked innocently.

I rolled my eyes, “Will you stop? I’m fine. I actually feel a little better today,” I promised.

“That’s your second mug of that anti-nausea brew today, you’re not fine,” he said simply.

I sighed, settling back into the lounge pillows as I took another sip. “Just because I’m a little nauseous doesn’t mean I’m not alright,” I reasoned. “You don’t need to sit in here and babysit me.”

“I’m not babysitting you, I’m babysitting my son.” He said nonchalantly, a hand coming to sneak under my lightweight sweater in order to rest on my bare stomach.

“You can’t babysit a baby that hasn’t been born yet.” I deadpanned, only mildly annoyed.

“Are you trying to kick me out of your office, Feyre darling?” He teased.

“Maybe. This is my personal space, after all.”

“Ah, but you know what a fan I am of your personal space.”

I tried not to smile at his remark and set my mug and paperwork aside, relaxing again and inviting him to lay beside me—which he happily obliged to as he settled in beside me, placing his own work aside as his mighty wings curled over us easily. His hand resumed its position on my stomach, pushing my sweater up in order to admire the ghost of an outward curve that resembled more of a full belly than an actual baby bump.

I placed a hand on his cheek, but before I could say anything, he stiffened and growled darkly with his wings flared as we both heard a set of voices on the other side of my office door. Cassian had been about to knock on it when Nesta stopped him with a sharp slap on his hand.

“Don’t bother. She and that High Lord of yours have been in there since breakfast, she’s fine,” Nesta scolded.

“Ow! I just wanted to say hi,” Cassian complained.

“There’s no need. One insufferable Illyrian is enough for a pregnant female,” she retorted.

“You’re one to complain about insufferable Illyrians,” he taunted, and I could practically see the pompous grin on his face as Nesta shushed him fiercely.

I couldn’t hear her comeback as she presumably pushed him down the hall and away from my door. I returned my gaze back up to Rhys, who instantly started to relax as their voices drifted away.

“Mating bond chafing a bit, Rhys?” I teased, repeating the same words Cassian had taunted him with after we first mated.

He barked a laugh, despite being feral just seconds before. “I can’t help it, Feyre darling,” he admitted. “Just the thought of another male coming near you sets me off.”

I stroked the hard plane of his cheekbone with my thumb, “I know, but it wouldn’t hurt to release some of that aggression, like you’ve done before,” I suggested.

He shook his head, “I don’t want to be that kind of male; one who can’t control himself or his temper.”

I frowned, knowing who he was referring to and cupped both sides of his face, “You aren’t that kind of male Rhys. You never have been, and never will be. Working off some steam doesn’t mean you can’t control yourself,” I promised.

He further relaxed into my touch, his brow coming to rest against mine as he breathed in my new scent—the baby added the smell of jasmine to my normal lilac and pear that he previously described to me.

“I can’t bring myself to leave your side,” he said quietly. “Every second I’m away is agonizing. Not just in an intimate sense like before, but...I feel a sense of danger that grows stronger the longer I’m away.”

I kissed the tip of his nose, wrapping my arms around his neck loosely—silently reassuring him of my understanding. The mating bond was stretched tight for the both of us. Just as harrowing as it was for him every second we were apart, my own instincts left me completely and irrationally distraught. I made a mental note to mention it to Madja at our next appointment in a couple of days, but I chalked it up to our bond being hypersensitive thanks to the new life I was growing. That new life that also had every one of our friends and family doing their best to cater to my needs.

It was odd, but strangely comforting seeing their concern and their willingness to help. Apart from my sisters, I still worried that they only offered said help due to their sworn oaths to me as their High Lady and the child I was carrying.

“They’re not,” Rhys quietly interjected. I sighed, knowing my mental shields were left wide open again since I didn’t have the energy to build them back up. “They help and check on you because they genuinely care and worry about you, and the baby.”

I nodded, “You’re right. I guess I just know that even if they absolutely hated me, they still would.”

Rhys snorted, running a hand along my spine lightly as he contemplated. “I’m starting to worry, Feyre. I know Madja said to expect some nausea and fatigue, but your symptoms are well beyond that. I don’t know how much longer I can watch you suffer before I override your decision to call her,” he explained.

“I told you before, this is all a part of the process. If it makes you feel any better, we’ll bring it up to her at the next visit,” I reasoned.

He sighed deeply but reluctantly agreed, “We’ll wait until then, but if you try to underestimate any of your symptoms, I’ll be sure to set her straight. There must be something she can do.”

I giggled and nuzzled into him further, breathing in his salt-and-citrus scent as I closed my eyes, “Someone’s still being bossy,” I teased.

“Forgive me for not loving the sight of my pregnant mate hurling her guts up and having to take seven naps a day,” he retorted softly, still rubbing my back.

“But you said I’m cute when I’m sleeping,” I complained quietly, on the edge of unconsciousness.

“You’re even cuter when I’m assured that you and our son are healthy,” he said.

“You’re cute when you’re quiet and let me sleep,” I yawned.

A soft chuckle was his only response as he buried his nose in my hair, taking this opportunity to join me in a nap he rarely took. After a week of nightmares that left me restless at night, I knew he wasn’t getting any more sleep than I was. Any nap he took was just as well deserved as mine, and I relished in falling asleep to the sound of his even breaths.

X

“Your lingering fatigue and nausea are a bit concerning,” Madja began after her routine examination. I made good on my word and informed her of the extent of the symptoms I was experiencing. Despite feeling a little silly and worried that I would end up sounding like I was whining about the things she already warned me to expect, Rhys insisted we emphasize just how severely I was being impacted by them.

“In another two weeks, you’ll officially be in the second stage of your pregnancy—which is presumably when your early symptoms should be mitigating,” she continued. “That’s not to say they won’t, a lot can change in a couple of weeks, but most females tend to experience these symptoms until giving birth.”

I squeezed Rhys’s hand reassuringly, “See? I told you this is normal,” I said as I glanced up at him from my spot on our bed, and he helped me sit upright—noting my strain.

“Even the nightmares?” He asked with a frown.

The healer nodded, “Even the nightmares. I’m afraid pregnant females frequently experience more lively dreams—horrible as they may be.”

“I’m concerned with her stamina as well,” Rhys added. “She’s been practically bedridden this week.”

I sighed and reluctantly admitted, “I do get dizzy from regular activities now, like walking from one end of the estate to the other.”

Madja acquiesced, “That is common as well, and I assure you both that these are not signs of an unhealthy pregnancy, but rather a taxing one. You are both substantial high fae,” she said and motioned to Rhys and then to me respectfully, “As you are the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, and as you were resurrected with the combined abilities of all seven High Lords, your child will be a powerful high fae—perhaps more so than you both. It is likely that your developing youngling is draining your energy as your body attempts to keep up.”

“Is that dangerous?” I asked before Rhys had the chance to.

The healer shook her head, “No. In fact, this is a good sign. It means you are able to maintain a pregnancy this extraordinary. Odds are, as the youngling progresses into further stages of development, your body will continue to accommodate and you’ll begin to gain back some of your energy.”

I gulped, not exactly relieved. Rhys cleared his throat as he spoke up, his hand coming to rest on my back, “We don’t have anything to worry about then?”

“Not at all,” Madja reassured, touching my knee gently. “It will be a long journey, but you will carry to term and deliver a healthy baby. So long as you keep resting, eating well, and limit any stress on your physical and mental health I see no cause for concern. I will change some of the dosages in your prenatal and anti-nausea brews, so that you are able to stave off the queasiness better and hold down your meals. Hopefully, in the coming weeks, your desire to eat will increase.”

“Are there any other alarming symptoms we should be aware of? Any warning signs we need to look for?” Rhys asked.

“Of course, and I have created a list of normal and abnormal symptoms, some I’ve mentioned before and some yet to come as things progress,” the older female replied, handing my mate said list. “As of right now, I’m confident you and your youngling are both in top condition.”

I nodded, still a bit tense as I asked, “Should we be worried about our mating bond? Both of our instincts have been a little...intense.”

Madja chuckled, the skin at the corner of her eyes crinkling in amusement, “I did warn you the mating bond would heighten your instincts now with a little one to consider,” she said.

“It's normal then, to feel a sense of...panic, when we’re apart?” Rhys asked.

“And to feel overprotective, and desperate,” the healer said, as if she were reading my mates mind. “You two are soon going to be parents to a beautiful, strong, and healthy baby. Given this is your first child, and considering your positions of power, you are going to be anxious—rightfully so. I want you both to realize your anxieties are normal, so long as you don’t allow them to cause you to live in fear,” she explained, taking our hands and squeezing them warmly with her own small wrinkled ones.

Her short speech caused my eyes to burn and without warning I burst into tears, a sob tearing through my throat as Rhys instantly wrapped me in his arms to console me. “I’m guessing this reaction is normal as well?” He asked, albeit sympathetically as he rubbed my back soothingly.

A warm smile graced the healer’s wrinkled lips as she nodded, “Yes. Expect more changes in mood from your pregnant mate, my lord. If she wasn’t prone to tears before, happy or sad, she will be now.”

I sniffed as I composed myself, willing the tears to stop, “I’m just...grateful. You’ve assured us on every front, and eased our concerns, and I’m so grateful to you.” I said, sniffling a bit pathetically.

“That is what I’m here for, my lady. And for you as well, my lord.” She said to both of us.

Rhys nodded appreciatively, “Thank you.”

She bowed her head and began gathering her things as Rhys turned back to me, taking a step back to kneel in front of my spot on the bed. “You were right. This is all normal,” he said as his hands came to rest on either side of my thighs. 

I nodded, wiping at my tears, “Just exhausting.”

We both nodded in earnest at Madja as she excused herself from the room; Rhys coming to sit beside me on the bed.

“Maybe it's time we hire an assistant, just to lighten your workload a little,” he suggested.

“I suggested an assistant for both of us, not just me.” I reminded him.

His returning grin was wicked as he shrugged casually, “I wouldn’t mind having an assistant.”

I sighed tiredly and moved my head to perch on his shoulder, a hand resting on the small curve of my stomach. It was barely noticeable through my wool sweater, further hidden by the leggings I wore around the estate, but since noticing the small swell in my abdomen, we both couldn’t resist caressing it.

“Having an assistant would give us more time together, especially when the baby comes,” I said.

Rhys’s hand came to cover mine, squeezing gently, but when I turned to smile at him, I was met with a furrowed brow as he stared at my stomach. “What’s wrong?” I asked hesitantly.

“So small and already giving his mother a hard time,” he said softly, and I could hear the concern laced behind his words.

“Well he is his father’s son,” I tried to joke in an attempt to ease back into our relief after Madja’s exam, but his frown remained.

“His power is going to surpass both of ours,” he said, a sense of alarm gathering behind those violet star-flecked eyes—the same I had experienced after the healer first confirmed my pregnancy.

“I once warned you what it meant to marry me, to carry my offspring. A life with a target on your back. I wasn’t worried so much about you because I knew how strong you were, especially once you came into your powers, but now—with our child…” his voice trailed off as I moved to straddle his hips, wrapping both my arms around him as my hands tangled in his hair. I brought his head to rest against my chest in an effort to calm him.

He sighed deeply, closing his eyes as he breathed in my scent, his own arms encircling my waist and relaxed as he kept his brow pressed between my breasts. “He’s going to be okay,” I whispered after a couple of minutes. “We have alliances with all but two courts now. Our world isn’t what it was before the war. Things have changed, even with the Mortal Lands,” I explained quietly as I stroked through his hair lightly.

I was glad that much was true. In the decade since the end of the war with Hybern, our alliances with the Summer, Winter, Day and Dawn Courts had solidified. As the years went by, we had been able to strengthen our relationships with Tarquin, Thesan and Kallias—more so with the latter since Viviane and I had developed a closer friendship. She was now the first High Lady of the Winter Court, just as much Kallias’s equal as I was Rhys’s, and we both held our heads high among the males surrounding us.

Once a year, we made a tradition of gathering all the High Lords—and Ladies, of Prythian as we had before the war began and met at the Dawn Court Palace. Lucien, Jurian and Vassa also attended those meetings; Vassa and Jurian representing and speaking on behalf of the Mortal Lands, with Vassa having taken over as the sole ruling Queen thanks to Jurian’s help at overthrowing the other traitorous queens. Collectively, we thought it best to let the human forces work together during that conflict—offering assistance if the humans needed it, but allowing them a chance at rallying their territory before we officially created a new alliance without the need for a wall.

At our new meetings, high fae and human finally together as one, we made it a point to keep each other in check—although no one had the urge to try and overthrow the other or expand their lands, but in recent years our main concerns were with the Autumn and Spring Court.

After his losses in the war, our alliance with Beron remained tentative, and it was Eris who appeared at our yearly meeting on behalf of the Autumn Court. Since he wasn’t a High Lord, however, and continued to have little sway on his father, the eldest son of the Autumn Court only attended to inform and assure us that Beron wasn’t making any advances on expanding into the Mortal Lands or staging any kind of uprising against the other courts. Still, with his cruel facade ever-present and his occasional visits to Keir in the Court of Nightmares, it was hard for the rest of us to completely trust him. Rhys, Mor and I made it a habit to pop into the Hewn City unannounced whenever Eris was there; making sure to send a clear message that we wouldn’t allow any secret negotiations to take place between the heir to the Autumn Court and the steward of our throne.

Tamlin was a separate issue. After reluctantly agreeing to allow Tarquin’s forces into his territory and reinforcing his borders, he was slowly able to rebuild his own army—some of his old sentries returning to serve him, appreciative of his assistance during the war and the attempts to bolster the Spring Court lands. The rest I wasn’t sure of, and the little I did know of had been gathered from what Lucien told us. It was no secret things were still, and would probably always be, strained with Tamlin and his court, and neither he nor any representative to speak on his behalf attended our meetings. At first, Rhys would occasionally visit on Tarquin’s behalf, checking on the warriors he supplied, but as the years went by and things seemingly improved, he stopped when Tamlin hadn’t bothered to greet him anymore.

However provisional things seemed to be with the Sprint and Autumn Courts, I knew our friends in the others would be happy to hear that we were expecting—especially Viviane and Kallias, who were also due to expect their first child in a couple of months. I made a mental note to contact Viviane and ask for advice on how she was coping with her pregnancy.

“Something isn’t sitting right with me,” Rhys finally admitted after a couple of minutes of silence passed between us.

I pulled back to meet his eyes, my hands coming to rest on his shoulders, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Just as he was about to speak, his shoulders tensed and his wings flared as a hard knock was heard on our door. It was Azriel’s voice that came from the other side as he said, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have news from the Illryian war camps.”

I climbed off of Rhys as we both moved to stand, Rhys answering the door before I could reach it. “Kallon?” He asked Azriel, who nodded grimly in return.

Rhys swore under his breath, “Get Cassian. We’ll meet in my office in two minutes,” he ordered the shadowsinger. Azriel nodded and left to do as he was instructed.

I frowned, “This is more than just Kallon spreading dissent, isn’t it? What if he’s planning something, an uprising of some sort?” I asked.

It was a possibility we hadn’t wanted to face, but after Azriel began to gather more and more intel on the camp lord’s resistance since their presence at the Blood Rite, it was now something we couldn’t ignore.

“It’s likely. The bastard has always hated us, and this is something he would try to pull after years of silence,” Rhys growled as he went to the desk we held in the corner of our room, searching for Az’s previous reports.

“He wanted us to think he wasn’t a problem,” I said as I went to help him look.

He grabbed my hand gently, “Let me handle this, please. Madja said you shouldn’t be under any stress,” he pleaded.

I stared back at him, my eyes hard, “I am High Lady of the Night Court, that includes the Illyrians as well. We handle this together.”

He chuckled humorlessly and only nodded in return without a second thought. He found the reports and we left together to meet Cassian and Azriel in his office. The two Illyrian warriors were in a fierce conversation as we walked in and Cassian immediately turned to face us as he growled,

“The bastard is planning a coup.”

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine fic - “Just for Us” (Rated PG13)

After Kurt comes home and 'cancels' his and Blaine's wedding for the fifth time, Blaine suggests that they don't have a big, fancy wedding if it's taking a toll on Kurt's health. But after Kurt settles down, and he and Blaine talk, they figure out a way to have their cake, and eat it, too. (1554 words)

Notes: This is a re-write. If you remember the TV series 'Mad About You', this might seem a bit familiar ;)

Read on AO3.

Blaine doesn’t see Kurt when he walks into their apartment. He’s sitting at the kitchen table when Kurt storms though the door. But he hears his fiancé’s footsteps, and they sound harried, the way they have for the past few weeks.

“Hey, Kurt,” Blaine calls from the kitchen, knowing full well that, by announcing his presence, he may have tossed himself into the path of an oncoming hurricane. “Rachel said she was feeling under the weather – something about a flu going around the theater - so I sent her home. To be honest, I think she was a little hung over from that cast party last night. Anyway, I’m finishing up her half of the net baggies of pastel almonds and---“

“Forget it!” Kurt yells, peeling off his slush-soaked coat and dropping it to the floor with a wet sploitch before Blaine has a chance to come in and help him. “Just … just stop everything because we’re not having this wedding!”

“Uh-oh.” Blaine abandons the tulle and the almonds and rushes to Kurt’s aid. This is the fifth time in as many months that Kurt has “canceled” their wedding. Not because he doesn’t want Blaine for a husband. It’s simply that, as time goes on and the date comes closer, Kurt isn’t enjoying the hassle that comes with planning a wedding: disagreements with the caterers, arguments with the florists, problems with the venue, artistic differences with the photographer.

It’s becoming too much.

“So, who is it this time?” Blaine asks, putting on speed when he sees Kurt standing in the entryway, drenched from head to toe, his sopping hair clinging to his face, drops of melted snow rolling down his flushed cheeks like tears.

Except Kurt’s not sad. He’s mad.

“The band,” Kurt grumbles. “Tell me, why did we hire that imbecile and his minions instead of going with a deejay? Or even an iPod set on shuffle?”

“He came highly recommended.” Blaine takes off Kurt’s shirt, then removes his own bulky wool cardigan and puts it on Kurt, seeing as it’s already warm.

“By who!?”

“By you.” Blaine chuckles. “You suggested him for Sam and Mercedes’s wedding five years ago, remember? After he worked that retro 80s Vogue shoot?”

Kurt squints, not immediately recalling, but he looks defeated when the memory rushes back.

“Oh … yeah. Right. Well, his I.Q. has dropped sharply in the last five years,” Kurt remarks, his irritation level receding as he sinks into Blaine’s nutmeg-and-cinnamon scented sweater.

“Come on. Let’s get you dry before you catch pneumonia.” Blaine takes Kurt’s hand and walks him through their apartment to the bedroom. He leads him to the closet and grabs him a clean towel. Blaine watches Kurt pat his hair dry, chewing on his lower lip as he mulls over options in his head. ““You know, I’ve been thinking … maybe you’re right. Maybe we shouldn’t have a wedding.”

A stunned Kurt nearly drops his towel.

“What!? What do you mean not have a wedding? It’s in less than a month! Don’t you want to marry me?”

“Of course I want to marry you!” Blaine says, taking Kurt’s hands in his. “I’ve wanted to marry you since high school! There’s nothing I want more at this very moment than to be your husband. But you’re under so much stress ...”

“I just want it to be perfect.”

“I want it to be perfect, too, but not at the expense of your health.”

“It’s … it’s not that bad,” Kurt says, forcing himself to appear relaxed even though he doesn’t feel it. “I’ll handle it better. I promise.”

“It’s not about handling it better. It’s about you not party-planning yourself into an early grave.”

Kurt looks close to tears, and Blaine knows he’s not explaining himself well. He needs to make Kurt understand that he’s more important than any ceremony, even their wedding.

“Look,” Blaine says, “tell me this - what do you want? Right this second, what do you really, truly want?”

“I” - Kurt sniffles, wiping his nose with the corner of the towel – “I want to forget about it all. At least, for a little while. I just” – He chuckles as a thought pops into his head, an absurd thought, but it sounds so nice - “I want to be married to you. Right now. Have a wedding that’s just for the two of us. And then, I won’t have to worry about the actual wedding being perfect or not. I won’t care that the photographer needs to use eight dozen starburst filters, or about the caterer’s crappy hors d’oeurves, or that the band guy is being an ass. I’ll have you, and we’ll be husbands. The rest will be for show, followed by a big party with all of our family and friends.”

“And what would we tell everyone?” Blaine asks, secretly warming up to the idea.

“We don’t have to tell them anything. It would be for us, remember? They wouldn’t need to know.”

Blaine smiles. He grabs Kurt around the waist and kisses him slowly, Kurt’s cold lips warming fast beneath the heat of Blaine’s mouth.

“Let’s go then,” he purrs, stripping Kurt out of his clothes. Kurt helps him, assuming Blaine is planning on making love to him after his sappy, romantic suggestion, but he stops when he sees Blaine turn to the closet and pick out a fresh pair of slacks and a dress shirt.

“Wha---what do you mean let’s go?” he asks, confused as to why Blaine seems to want him dressed again when he’s so close to being completely naked and ravish-able. “What are you doing? Are we going out?”

“There’s a minister on the corner of 9th collecting money for The Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen. We’ll slip him a couple hundred and ask him to marry us.”

Kurt stares blankly at Blaine for a moment, then he starts laughing. He figures Blaine is going to great lengths to cheer him up, but will soon go back to the task of undressing him and having sex. But when Blaine grabs socks and a new pair of underwear out of the dresser, Kurt says, “You’re … you’re serious? Aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

“But … b-but how do you know he’ll do it? How do you know he’ll … support us?” Kurt is skeptical, but he starts to undress. If nothing else, his jeans are wet and clinging uncomfortably to his legs. He really should have changed his clothes by now.

“Because he marched in the last Pride Parade.” Blaine picks out an outfit for himself and lays it on the bed. Then he starts yanking off his shirt and kicking off his pants almost simultaneously. “He even wore a boa and carried a flag. I don’t think his opinion on homosexuality has changed in the past few months.”

Kurt thinks the whole thing over - the whole insane idea; pictures it in detail in his head. It was a sweet idea when he first came up with it, and it still is, but he feels something close to dread knot in his chest.

“But … but our family won’t be there.”

“Hence the for us part you previously mentioned,” Blaine replies with a wink.

“And we haven’t picked up the rings yet.”

“We don’t need rings, Kurt.” Blaine helps Kurt off with his pants when they get stuck around his knees. “You have your engagement ring. I have mine. We’ll use those for now.”

“But … it won’t be legal.”

“So what!” Blaine lifts Kurt up by the waist and spins him in a circle until the tiniest of smiles blooms on his face. “So what, so what, so what, so what! Kurt! Stop getting caught up in the details! It doesn’t have to be anything but you and me. That’s it. That’s all I want. What about you?”

Kurt looks into Blaine’s face, waiting for his fiancé to put him down, but Blaine doesn’t, prepared to wait all night with Kurt hoisted in his arms if he has to.

“This is crazy,” Kurt says, finally feeling genuinely relaxed for the first time in weeks. It seemed silly, but it looked like they were actually going through with this.

“So, is that a yes?” Blaine jostles Kurt, tossing him up a bit, slipping his arms down to Kurt’s hips and lifting him higher in the air. Kurt yelps, grabbing at Blaine’s shoulders when he feels them both tilt, but Blaine holds firm, keeps them upright. “Will you, Kurt Hummel, walk down to 9th Avenue with me through the icy wind and the snow so we can get married on a filthy street corner out in the cold? Just for us? Just you and me?”

Kurt looks at Blaine, his wonderful fiancé, completely on board with this ludicrous plan to get married in the next five minutes, secure that this is what he wants without a shadow of a doubt. He’s so absolutely in love with Kurt, things like place settings and flowers and $15,000 deposits mean nothing to him. It makes Kurt remember, for the hundredth time that day, why it is that he loves Blaine as much as he does.

“Yes!” Kurt laughs, wriggling to get down. “Yes, I’ll marry you! Right now, just for us! So let’s go!”

[clubdolan]

Meet the King | Pt. 2

No one really cared about part 1, but I don’t care. Sorry it took so long. Sorry it’s kind of long. But I really get into this for some reason. OK BYE.

“I got B for number three and C for number 4...” Zoey mumbled, looking at Lo. “You said for number three you got D.”

“Yes, if you read the end of the question it says to find--

“Ohhhhhh” Zoey quickly corrected her answer as they took an online quiz together.

Grayson sat at the end of the couch, editing a video with Lo’s legs across his lap. Zoey sat at the coffee table, their notes sprawled across it.

“Zoey! Lo! Are you taking the-- um, hello.” A girl said, entering the study room of their sorority house. Grayson looked up at her before looking back at Lo. “Are you in our class?”

“Mal, this is Grayson. You met him two weeks ago at Sigma’s party, his brother Ethan was with Matt and you all night, walked us home...” Lo tried to remind her, “You felt both of their arms a lot and kept telling them they were beautiful.”

Mallory’s face turned red, “I... I am so sorry. I do not remember, any of that.” She walked in and set her laptop next to Zoey. “So you’re a Sigma?”

“No, not even in college.” He said, “Just finished high school online a few weeks ago and listening to you guys take a quiz makes me want to avoid college.”

“Mal, did you get D or B for number three?” Lo asked.

“D” She clicked around before hovering over all of the notes. “I can’t figure out ten, I know it’s not C.”

“I need a break.” Zoey stood up, “Anyone want a water?” No one answered so she left to get her own.

“Are you sure I met you?” Mallory asked Grayson, “I feel like I would remember that.”

“Yes, Mal.” Lo laughed, putting her laptop aside before pulling herself closer to Grayson. “Gray, you need to text Ethan back.”

“I will-

“You said that the last two times I reminded you.” She handed him his phone, “Get him out of your apartment, we can all go bowling or get pizza tonight, he needs to do something.” Grayson started texting as Lo explained to Mallory that Ethan’s ‘almost girlfriend’ didn’t want to be his actual girlfriend and he had been pouting for two days.

As he texted Ethan, Lo rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. “You need to finish your quiz....” Grayson whispered to her, “You have twenty--”, he checked his phone, “Twenty-six minutes.”

“Just a two minute nap.”

“No minute nap, back to work!” Zoey snapped, sitting back down at her computer.

“E wants me to come get him so we can all go do something.” Lo pulled her legs to herself and joined the girls on the floor, “I’ll text you in twenty..... four minutes, when you’re done with your quiz.”

Lo gave him a thumbs up as the other girls said goodbye.

“Okay, are you guys sure I met him--

“Yes, Mal!” Zoey laughed, “You were a wreck and I only saw you when you got home.”

“He’s so cute though, I’m so embarrassed.” She covered her face with her hands.

“Don’t even try it with Grayson, he’s allllllll about Lo.”

“No he’s not!”

“Yes he is!”

“He’s just being nice.”

“More than nice, Lo! I saw you guys walking here holding hands, I saw that hug the other day. He’s been here like eight of the past twelve days.”

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

“Beeeeeth, Zoey and Mallory are the only ones that know, I promise.” Lo said, for what felt like the hundredth time as she was on the phone with her dad’s assistant. Beth had grown to be like a mom to Lo since her Grandmother was busy running a country and her mom had passed away suddenly when she was eight.

“Zoey is the only one coming with me, we picked out outfits online and I emailed you over the list.” She paced back and forth in her room, tossing a pen in the air and catching it, “I don’t have a date, tell her I don’t need a date for a coronation and remind her I’m not dating Zoey.”

“We will be there for a little over a week, we have talked to our professors about it already. Then I’ll be back for Christmas, the New Year, then back to school.” She caught the pen and marked out days on her calendar that hung on the wall.

“Don’t call Zoey, she won’t be any help in finding me a date and do not have the Prince of --- wait, you called Zoey?” Lo’s entire body froze, would Zoey dare tell Beth about Grayson?

Yes. Yes she would.

“He’s just a friend, we met at a party, he’s got a lot of down time so he comes here when I have time off, it’s nothing, promise. And there’s no way I’m going to tell him what’s happening and invite him overseas.” She fought, “Yes, he has a brother. No it wouldn’t be perfect for Zoey and I.”

She listened to Beth explain how her Grandmother had gone on and on about her having a date to escort her down the large stair case at the castle, the one she had made it down alone multiple times by herself in dresses bigger than any she was planning on wearing. “Hold on Beth, someone’s calling.”

She looked at her phone and saw Zoey’s name on the screen, “Hey Zo, I’m on the other line trying to convince my Grandmother that we don’t need dates. Like, it’s myyyy coronation, let me meet the Duke of--.”

“Um... Lo... Uhhhh, it’s not just me.” Zoey cringed, holding the speaker phone out in front of her. “Grayson and Ethan came by, I just ran into them out front because someone told them you weren’t here....aaannnd you’re on speaker....”

Lo hesitated, “I was on a call so my door was locked....” She looked out the window to see Zoey standing with both boys at the end of their driveway near the gate.

“Lo?” Zoey questioned, waking her up from her rambling thoughts in her head. “Wanna grab lunch? We were just talking about Tender Greens.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s fine. I’ll be out in a second. Let me get Beth off the other line.” She quickly transferred back over to Beth who was talking to someone else in the room about catering.

“Beth, hey, I’ve got to go study. My group is going to meet earlier than expected. I’ll call you back another time.” She tried to pull her Converse on with one hand, jumping around her room, “Yeah, I’ll call her in the morning, your morning. She wakes at six, tea at quarter to seven. I’ll try then.”

Zoey gave her the biggest and most obvious ‘what the fuck’ face ever as she walked out of their house. “Ready to go?”

The boys nodded and Zoey gave her another look, “Stooooop.”

They all got into Ethan’s Jeep and he took off through campus, Lo sat up in the middle seat, propping her arms on the console between the two of them, “Can you guys promise me, if you get a phone call from a European number that you won’t answer it?”

Grayson looked at her with a weird face, “Why would we get a--

“Don’t ask questions.”

“Sure, I guess?” He shrugged. “Are you being hunted down by British FBI or something?”

“No, not that. Just, my Grandmother.” She grinned, sliding back into her seat. She texted Zoey who sat right next to her.

Lo: Were they curious? Did they ask questions?

Zoey: They gave each other this look and I think their twin powers like shared brain information. But other than that, nothing.

Lo: I said ‘my coronation’ like...??? How does someone not have questions about that.

Zoey: They’re not that smart, Lo. They probably don’t even know what a coronation is.

Lo: You’re the worst!! lol Let’s just avoid it at all costs, if they ask you, send them to me.

- - - - - - - - - - 

A normal night turned into beer pong at Ethan and Grayson’s apartment. The game kept tying, Zoey kept breaking the rules, Grayson kept making rules up, and Lo couldn’t make a cup for the life of her.

“The fuckkkk?” Lo groaned, “Shit, it’s my Grandmother.” She glanced at the clock, 12am in LA meant 8am in England. She was supposed to call her at morning tea.

“Sober up! Sober up!” Zoey chanted, flicking water in Lo’s face before tapping on her cheeks. “Music! Turn the music down!”

She sat on the couch, making sure the background was free of red solo cups, and slid to answer to the phone. “Good morning, Grandmother.” Lo smiled, trying to figure out if her hand was moving back and forth or her Grandmother’s was.

“Good night, Penelope.” She laughed, “I was hoping you were up late. Studying?”

“Yeah we were studying then went to eat with some friends and came back to their place for a while. Zoey and I don’t have class tomorrow till night so we’re having a chill night.”

“Miss. Zoey is there? Zoey?!” The Queen yelled. Zoey’s head entered frame quickly, smacking against Lo’s. “Oh you two! Miss. Zoey I cannot wait to see you again, it will be so lovely.”

“I am so excited, Penelope just told me the itinerary yesterday and I can’t wait!”

“Who’s that? Behind you?” Her Grandmother tried to peek as if the phone camera would let her. “Is that a boy? Penelope where are you?”

“I said we are at a friends house. They are friends who are boys.” Lo explained, giving Ethan the death glare as she looked behind her. “We ate near their apartment, so we just stopped by.”

“Introduce me, I do love meeting your friends.” 

“Grandmother, it’s not necessary.” Lo laughed, “What did you call me about?”

“I won’t ask until you introduce me, Penelope.” 

Zoey jumped off the couch, pulling beer bottles off the table as Lo walked into the kitchen. “Ethan” She showed his face and he waved, “Grayson” She said, jumping on the counter next to him. “Guys, this is my Grandmother. Grandmother, the guys.”

“It’s so lovely to meet you.” Her accent chimed, “Do you two attend the same school?”

“They’re in the entertainment business, they don’t go to school. People don’t make them go to school.” Lo glared at her Grandmother, “Now, what did you need to ask me?”

She stole a chip out of Grayson’s hand and ate it, “Are you two brothers?”

“Yes, they’re twins.” Lo laughed, “I can’t talk about the trip right now, I don’t have Beth’s notes on it.”

“Can’t a Grandmother just call her Granddaughter to have a chat?” Her Grandmother laughed, “I do need to ask though, do you girls want the horse trainer here for another trail ride?”

“I was pretty bomb on that last trail ride on our supposed lesbian date.” Zoey nodded, thinking of the picture on the front of the paper the next day saying they were dating. “I vote yes!”

“Sounds fine to me, as long as it’s not that rude Irish lady. We just need a trail lead.”Lo rolled her eyes, thinking of the things the Irish lady had yelled at her.

“Ethan and Grayson? Is that right?” Her Grandmother asked and Lo tilted the camera to Grayson and he nodded. “What are you two up to in the next few weeks?”

“Just filming things for our channel, we just kind of do whatever.” Grayson said, completely oblivious.

Zoey thought she was going to have to catch Lo from falling off the counter as she froze up and seemed to turn a pasty white color. “No, no, no, no....” She kept saying under her breath, holding the phone in front of Grayson.

“Why don’t you two come with Zoey and Penelope to England? It’s a fun time, a lot of events, and Penelope needs a date for her coronation. If you’re free I will have my personal plane and car come get you all instead of the country plane.”

“Personal plane?” Grayson asked.

“Country plane?” Ethan asked, trying to squeeze next to Grayson on the counter.

“Um” Zoey grabbed the phone from, currently lifeless, Lo. “They don’t know, like, who you are, what you do, what Lo--Penelope does or is. We just said we were visiting her dad.”

“Miss. Zoey are these boys nice?” Zoey nodded, “Good enough to bring to the castle for a coronation ball and a few other events?”

“Probably.” Zoey shrugged, “I mean if they can come. If they want to come.”

“Can you show me one of them?” Zoey tilted the phone to her right where Ethan stood, just as confused as Grayson. “Here’s Ethan.”

“No, I need the other one, the one Beth mentioned.”

As if Lo couldn’t be more frozen, pale as a ghost, with a slight ‘I might vomit’ face for the last few minutes, she was practically a corpse now.

“Beth is the Queen’s assistant.” Zoey informed them both, smiling to go along with it all.

“Grayson, my dear, my Granddaughter Penelope is royalty over here, she is heiress to the throne while her father and I are currently leading the country. She is being inducted as the Princess in a few weeks and I would love for you to be her escort.”

Her Grandmother smiled, Grayson smiled back, seeing Zoey’s head nod up and down he followed along, “Yes” Zoey motioned for him to keep going, “I would love to, if Lo is okay with it.”

Zoey began to whisper, “Pene--

“If Penelope is okay with it.” He corrected himself, looking to his right where Lo sat, her eyes bugging out of her face as she looked at the phone in his hand.

“She would love it!” Zoey interjected, grabbing the phone, “And I’ll bring Ethan as my escort.” She slid next to Ethan and he smiled and waved, “I’ll have Penelope call you back later, Beth is motioning for you back there.” She pointed at the screen and the Queen looked behind her.

“I am so delighted that you all will be here for the coronation and the ball. Beth will contact you later with more information, I’ve got to go have tea with the leader of Kenya, wildlife conservation has always been a favorite of mine. Have a good day, sweet Zoey.”

“You as well, Queen.” Zoey smiled before ending the call as quick as she could.

She threw the phone on the counter and found Lo, now on the floor, her head in between her hands. “Lo, c’mon Lo, get up.” She pulled her up and pushed her hair from her face, “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was bad.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Zoey repeated, “At least you won’t get in trouble for telling them and now they know and now she won’t be on you about bringing someone. It’ll be fine guys, right?”

Ethan paused for a second before looking straight at Lo, “You’re a Princess?!”

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

“That was it. She straight up offered them the entire trip, clothes, meals, everything. Right there on FaceTime.” Lo complained, laying in Mallory’s bed. “It’s not that I’m mad, I’m just embarrassed and overwhelmed and... I will be with them a whole week. Zoey and I are insane, how would anyone spend a whole week with us?”

“I do live with you and it’s pretty terrible.” Mallory joked. “At least they’re hot and you won’t have that weird kid, the Duke of whatever, hitting on you. His front teeth still freak me out.”

“He looks like a gopher!” Zoey said, “Gopher or horse, he also smells like cologne from the 1800′s and tries to flirt with Lo because her family is above his in rankings and if they married he would be in line before Lo.”

“So she said all of that, he asked if you were a Princess, Lo almost vomited, more explaining, then you got an uber back?”

“She also hasn’t slept.” Zoey looked over at Lo who laid in the bed looking up at the ceiling.

“How does my Grandmother have the biggest mouth ever? You think she would have learned after 35 years of running a country, how to keep her mouth closed?”

“I think she’s nervous.” Mallory said to Zoey, “She wants it to go well with Grayson and once you all get there it will be a lot to handle.”

“I’m not nerv--

“They have to leave a good impression on her family and also a country. Like I said, they’re cute, I’m sure they look good in suits, and they’re very polite guys, you’ll be fine.”

“If either of you say ‘you’ll be fine’ one more time.....” Lo threatened, sitting up at the sound of her phone dinging.

“It’s him.” She locked it and threw it back in her lap, “He’s probably texting me to tell me he doesn’t want to go now.” Lo sighed and picked up her phone, sliding to open the message.

Grayson: (I’m not supposed to tell you that Zoey texted me that you’re still freaking out but she did.) I will only go if you want me to go, it’s your decision, it’s your event. But no matter where I am I demand a picture and for you to let me know how it goes. 😊👑

[imfrozentrash]

Helsa One-Shot: “Proposal Disaster” | Appreciation Drabble |

Author’s Note: This is a collection of appreciation stories to those who, well, deserve to feel appreciated! This one is dedicated to the lovely @hella-helsa  ♡

It’s the five year anniversary of Elsa and Hans’ relationship. This is the day Hans will finally ask Elsa to marry him. Hans has it all planned out and everyone is in on it. But what happens when things don’t go as planned? Modern AU. Inspired by Frozen Fever.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, Hans rearranges the centerpiece on the table. He steps back, tilting his head and examining the vase of flowers. With a frustrated sigh, he turns to Anna.

“Hey, is this centerpiece straight?” He worriedly asks.

“Relax, it was fine the first time you moved it,” she reassures as she hangs up the last of the fairy lights around the gazebo. Anna smiles and admires her work. “Everything looks like its ready to go!”

“Where’s Kristoff?” Hans asks looking down at his watch. “He was supposed to be here five minutes ago with the catering,”

“Hans,”

“What if Elsa isn’t home by eight? What if she’s held back at work and has to work over time? Then we would have to rearrange everything again!”

“Hans-”

“What if Elsa says no?” Hans voice cracks. “Does she even want to marry me?”

“Hans!” Anna marches up to him and grabs him by the shoulders. “Get a hold of yourself!” Hans is taken back when Anna suddenly slaps him across the face.

“Um…”

“Would you relax? Everything will be just fine,” Anna frustratedly sighs when she sees him still in a panic. “My sister really does love you. It’s been a long time coming but I’m sure she’ll say yes,”

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do. She’s my sister,” Hans finally sighs a breath of relief. He looks around the gazebo and gazes in awe in their work; a table for two is placed in the center under fairy lights and rose petals sprinkled all around the floor. It’s not over decorated; everything is just right. Hans reaches in his vest pocket and pulls out the small velvet box. He smiles to himself, already fantasizing the rest of his life with the woman he loves.

“Um, Hans?” He turns to Anna and sees her holding up her phone to show the time. “It’s already 7:55,” filled with sudden adrenaline, Hans snatches his coat from the chair, knocking it down along with the vase.

“Oh my god!” Hans shrieks, snatching it before it shattered all over the floor.  “Damn it,” he sighs, setting it back in its original place. “Anna, where is Kristoff with the catering?!” 

“Okay, why don’t you just go ahead and meet Elsa at home? I’ve got it from here,” Anna forcefully pushes Hans out of the gazebo as he tries to move things around.

“Anna…”

“I’ve got it under control! Just go!”

Hans anxiously grips the velvet box as he paces his living room floor. He glances at the clock on the wall and sees that its five past eight.

Maybe I should call her? I hope she isn’t held up at work.

He shoves the ring in his breast pocket and pulls out his cell phone. Through mid-dial, Hans hears the front door open. From the sudden startle, he quickly composes himself and waits for his girlfriend to come inside.

“Hans!” Elsa yells in frustration.

Oh God… Please, out of all nights, not tonight.

“You will not believe the day I had today!” Elsa kicks off her heels and stomps into the living room with her briefcase. “The entire department is such a piece of-“ Elsa is cut off when Hans stands there - dashing, handsome, and well dressed.

“Good evening Elsa,” Hans smiles timidly.

“Hans,” Elsa chuckles, forgetting her sudden anger. He walks up to her and kisses her tenderly. She’s caught off guard, dropping her suitcase to the side, and wraps her arms around his neck. Hans pulls back slowly to see her usual flustered expression. “Why are you so dressed up?”

Hans chuckles deeply and shakes his head. “You’re so beautiful,” he carefully moves her hair behind her ear and admires everything about her. Tonight, Elsa will finally be his. “Come on, I want to take you somewhere,”

“What? But I just got home,” Elsa already sees Hans walking to the door. Knowing that he won’t take no for an answer, she gives up and follows close behind.

“There you are!” Anna yells at her husband, rushing to the passenger side of the car. “Where have you been? You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago!”

“Sorry! Sven wouldn’t stop running out of the house,” Kristoff sighs, slamming the driver’s door. “How long has it been since he left?”

“About twenty minutes,” Anna grabs the wine and bucket of ice as Kristoff grabs the tray of food. The couple rushes to the gazebo and carefully prepares the dinner. Kristoff scoops the pasta into the center of the plate, garnishing them with basil and garlic bread on the side. Anna steadily positions the wine bottle inside the bucket of ice next to the centerpiece. The two of them step back and admire their work.

“Great job,” Anna smiles, hugging his side.

“Thanks. You too,” Kristoff kisses the top of her head and pulls her close.

“Say, who’s watching Sven right now?”

“SVEN! COME BACK!” The couple turns around and sees their German Shepard dashing across the park grass with a helpless boy chasing after him.

“Olaf!” Anna shrieks.

“I’m sorry! He got out again!” Olaf wines, on the verge of tears. He sprints towards the dog as they both approach the gazebo.

“No, no, no! Sven!” Kristoff yells, preparing to catch his dog. But he swiftly dashes between his legs. Rose petals that decorated the floor flies all around them. Anna and Olaf quickly catch all the silverware in time before they shatter on the ground. Kristoff is tangled in the fairy lights as he sprints around the gazebo to try and get control of Sven.

“Kristoff! Get a hold of your dog!” Anna yells in frustration.

“Hey, he’s your dog too you know!” Kristoff makes a final sprint for it and tackles Sven to the ground. With a groan, the German Shepard tumbles in his owner’s embrace and stands over him.

“Finally,” Anna sighs.

“You’re in big trouble mister,” Kristoff glares up at him, trying to catch his breath from so much running. But he immediately laughs when Sven kisses him on the cheek.

“Hey isn’t Elsa and Hans suppose to be here by now?” Olaf asks casually, playing around with the imperfect petals around the table.

“Hans, will you please tell me what this is all about?” Elsa laughs as she asks for the hundredth time. Hans smiles over his shoulder and sees her overwhelmed with gifts ranging from a stuffed bear, a bouquet of red roses, a dozen handwritten love letters, and her favorite books.

“Come on, we’re almost there,” Hans explains, carrying her presents.

“The park?” Elsa asks as they approach the familiar scenery. “This is where we would always go after class in high school,”

“Mhm! There’s another surprise waiting for us there,” he turns the corner but is disrupted from a gazebo in disarray of fairy lights, an arguing married couple, a young boy with his hands in a bucket of ice, and a German Shepard eating pasta off the plate. Hans gasps dramatically and drops Elsa’s presents in shock.

“Um, Hans?” Elsa asks. He quickly turns around and sees her step closer. “Is this the surprise?” With a grunt of frustration, Hans stomps up the stairs and gets in between them.

“Enough!” Hans yells, causing Anna and Kristoff to stop their bickering. “All I asked was to prepare dinner!”

“Well, if Kristoff couldn’t just control his damn dog, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“I told you, Sven’s your damn dog too!” Sven pops his head from the pasta and pants happily when his name is called.

“You two ruined everything!” Hans yells, his face turning dark red. “I’ve worked for months to make this night happen after years of being with Elsa! This night was supposed to be perfect and you all messed it up!” he sighs and reaches into his breast pocket. But he freezes when he finds it empty. Elsa confusingly looks up at her boyfriend as he frantically searches for something, not knowing what’s going on. But her attention turns to a barking Sven.

“Hello Sven,” she coos, motioning him to come to her. His tail wags happily and he trots over to Elsa. “Did you like the pasta?” She chuckles, nuzzling the top of his head.

“Hey Hans, what’s this?” Olaf asks holding up a velvet box. Hans snaps his head to the boy in terror, wondering how it could possibly fall out of his pocket. Sven makes a 180, memorized by the small object in Olaf’s grasp. His tail goes turbo as he dashes for Olaf. Before Hans could get the box, Sven jumps out of nowhere and snatches it. Hans almost faints when the dog runs off with his ring.

“Get that dog!” Hans demands on the brink of exhaustion.

“Sven!” Kristoff, Anna, and Olaf yell in unison and start running around the entire park trying to catch him. Hans just collapses in the middle of the entire mess and folds up in defeat, covering his face in shame. He looks up when he feels a touch on his shoulder and sees a sympathetic Elsa smiling down at him.

“I’m sorry,” Hans sighs. “Tonight was supposed to be special and now it’s all ruined,”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Elsa reassures taking a seat next to him. “I had a great time with you tonight,”

“Really?” Hans asks, feeling skeptical.

“I spent it with you didn’t I?” Elsa smiles and kisses his cheek. As the couple sits there in all of the chaos, Sven runs back up and stops in front of Elsa. “Hey there Sven. Aren't you full of energy?” She smiles while Hans grunts in annoyance. But Sven drops something in front of her, leaving his saliva all over it. “What’s this?”

Hans takes a deep breath and grabs a napkin from the table before he holds it up to her. “Elsa,” he starts, taking her hand. Anna, Kristoff, and Olaf stand over the railing and watches intently from the sidelines. Elsa tilts her head in confusion but her eyes grow wide when Hans reveals a beautiful diamond cut ring on a silver band.

“Hans?” Elsa gasps with a smile so wide.

“Elsa, you are all that I care about. Since the first time we’ve meet in Calculus, I knew that I’ve wanted to spend the rest of my days with you. Whenever I’m in a shitty mood, you are always there to help turn it around. You’ve helped me with my anxiety, you made me grow into the man I am today, and all I want to do is be by your side until the day I die. Even then, I know that we will always be together,” Hans smiles as he gently wipes away Elsa’s tears. She’s trying to calm her breathing but is too shocked and taken back by the moment. “Elsa, will you marry me?”

Elsa smiles with a faint chuckle as tears stream down her face. She couldn’t express her emotions right there and then because it was all too overwhelming. “Oh Hans,” she cries. “Of course I will,” before he knows it, Hans cries with her too - all tears of joy.

Hans carefully takes out the band and gently caresses Elsa’s hand. She giggles when he slips on the ring on her left hand and admires it for a while. Hans then turns his head and sees a crying Anna being supported by a proud Kristoff while Olaf holds Sven in a warm embrace. He giggles and shrugs his shoulders; an indirect thank you to the both of them. But Hans is interrupted by an overly happy Elsa who attacks him to the ground, kissing him lovingly behind the table.

Maybe the proposal wasn’t a disaster after all. Hans wraps his arms around Elsa’s waist, never wanting to let go.

Ugh, this was trash! I’m so sorry for the delay, I meant to publish this earlier but I’ve been caught up with responsibilities and shit. You know, the usual excuse us writers have for being absent for a while...

@hella-helsa I hope you’ve enjoyed your appreciation drabble! I think you are a wonderful person and I love all things Helsa that’s on your blog. We’ve chatted only a couple times but I really appreciated the gesture. I know that the two of us can conquer college together! Don’t give up! *cries out of exhaustion* I love you, darling! I hope you’re doing well! ♡

[noonmutter]

Final Acts

(( Fair warning: This got really long at about 3600 words. ))

Deliverance Point was abuzz, more so than it had been in a while. Everyone was feeling that mix of excitement and bone-chilling terror that preceded a major change on the battlefield. The Tomb would crack open any day now, and everyone was ready, and no one was ready. Most of the time, this problem was addressed by drinking, going to a brothel, gambling, and in some cases, deserting.

He’d gone with option three, and had come out actually profiting a little bit, but it didn’t really help all that much. Of course he’d cheated, but so had everyone else at the makeshift table; winning wasn’t the point, the actual game was whether you could keep the other guys from guessing your trick. Fair games were dull and people who took offense at basic loaded dice rarely had enough money to be worth the hassle anyway.

Option one came afterward, once he had the coin for it. His tolerance was far too high for going to bars unless he was willing to go broke until next pay day, especially bars catering to soldiers. He needed a lot of drink to get a buzz, but at least the mixed nature of the forces on the Shore made price gouging dangerous territory. You could get away with that sometimes, but not when a too-sober Tauren paladin was standing in front of you with six friends and a mug half full of water.

Option two... he wanted option two very much. He was lonesome, and there was an abundance of company to be found on the floating city, one short flight away. But he was spoken for, and he wasn’t a dishonorable man where it mattered. Even if he’d been willing to entertain the idea for more than a few minutes, he knew Shedwyn would be crushed. And then castrate him. And then Leon would probably show up and kick his head in...

Terry didn’t respect the deserters, but he understood them.

His reverie was broken by a poke in the side, and it took him a moment before he thought to look down. The goblin courier scoffed at him, then held up a clipboard and a package of simple brown paper and twine. “Sign here, mac.”

“Sign?” Terry couldn’t recall the last time he’d had to sign for mail.

“Yeah, sign. Y’know, pen to paper, scribble somethin’? Usually yer name. I ain’t picky, whatever’s fastest.”

Already tired of listening, Terry took the clipboard and scrawled something that might have been his name, but had even odds of being a bunch of swear words. To judge by the goblin’s expression, he interpreted it as the latter. He hung around a few seconds, looking expectant, but Terry had already started walking away. With an irritated sigh of “Cheap friggin’ Gilneans,” he took his leave.

Rather than returning to the hustle and noise of the Point proper, Terry walked out past the edges of the More-or-Less-Safe Zone. His personal campsite wasn’t too far from the point, but far enough that he could avoid most of his night terrors. Some of the dreams were stubborn and came to him regardless, but he chalked that up to general fatigue.

Sitting down in front of his tent with a soft grunt, he took a proper look at the package and clucked his tongue in disapproval when he found the address was printed, rather than handwritten. The sender’s address wasn’t one he recognized, and he hated not knowing where things came from. It didn’t stop him from opening the thing, but it made him somewhat wary. Turning it over to find the knot in the twine, his nerves settled when he found a letter held flush against the box, addressed “Terry - Read First” in Vember’s tidy hand. He didn’t recognize the wax seal holding the envelope shut, though.

Dutifully, he set the box down without unwrapping it and broke the seal on the letter. Although some of the phrasing sounded like Vember, the handwriting was not hers. It was even cleaner, almost like a printed script, and clearly painstakingly pored over to minimize spatter from the quill and avoid mistakes. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the writer had been using a ruler.

“Terry,

I hope this letter finds you at an opportune time. If you are not already, I would suggest that you be seated and, knowing you, alone. Following the events of our initial raid on the lab in Gilneas, a large number of notes and materials were recovered and sent to the Kirin Tor for further study. Among them were a series of objects revealed to be data storage devices, the functionality of which is best left unwritten.

The Kirin Tor were recently able to translate the information on these devices to a less primitive medium, and upon review, deemed it nonviable for research purposes and returned it to us. 

Enclosed, you will find a Draenic crystal recording device, in which one sequence has already been stored. Upon realizing what it was, Vember and I determined its fate would be best left to you to decide. Please be assured that we did not play the recording in its entirety, out of decency and respect.

You are free to keep this device and the data on it, and I have included instructions on how to operate it. It is also possible to delete the data, or to record over it if you deem it necessary.

Respectfully, Lady Neun Shadhemir Vember Marlon Shedwyn Mair Lias” Just below that, in Vember’s own handwriting, was a single line:

“You have my word that I will not breathe a word of this to your brother. But you should. - V”

His hands were trembling once he’d gotten through the second paragraph. By the time he’d finished reading it, he nearly lost the slip that explained how the device worked in his rush to open the box.

The device itself was...underwhelming, a pleasant but bland quartzlike rectangle about eight inches across with a faint bluish sheen to it. Arcane energy arced between it and his fingertips for a moment before settling to an almost imperceptible warmth in his hands. It took him a few minutes to figure out he was holding it upside down, but once that was sorted, getting it working was a matter of seconds.

On activation, the device glowed bright blue, and most of the flat surface shimmered before turning a deep, pure black. The display was wobbly and unclear at the beginning, but clarified after a few seconds, until he was able to discern a set of hands--his hands--opening a door...

“Wha’ d’you mean you shot ‘im?!”

“Only in th’ leg, mate!”

“WHY DID YOU SHOOT ‘IM?!”

Diggs’ face was white as the hunter, barely out of his teens, pushed back his antlered hood and rubbed frantically at his scarred mouth. “I-I-it were a--there was a bloody--’e was a madbeast, Terry! Y’din’t say nuffin’ bout ‘im bein’ one o’ those!”

[Eyes wide, Terry mumbled “Oh god” to himself, but did not stop watching.]

Terry swore for the hundredth time in the last minute and a half, picking up his own rifle and moving his rucksack next to the doorway. He was glad he was already dressed. “You bloody nit, why were y’even carryin’? Y’were just sposed t’ watch ‘im!”

“Don’t put this on me, bruv! Yer th’one din’t fink t’mention I might be starin’ atta ‘ell’ound!”

The impact of Diggs’ back on the wall was loud, and he let out an undignified yelp when he felt something pop. Terry’s grip on his shoulders was like steel--angry steel--as he got in close and snarled, “Leon could be dead right now, you fuckin’--”

“What th’ bloody ‘ell is goin’ on in ‘ere?!”

Terry’s blood ran cold all over again as dad’s voice rattled both their brains. The man could really boom when he wanted to, and the tiny Duskhaven cabin they’d been given already amplified every footstep. He wasn’t the least bit surprised that Diggs bolted into the night the instant he could, leaving Terry standing alone, rifle in one hand, pack by the door, as his parents came inside. Bettany reached out to stop the fleeing man, but missed by a wide margin when he actually juked around her.

[A weak, mournful laugh. ”You cowardly prick.”]

They’d been away at their own party, but it was the old-folks’ party, so they were dressed a bit nicer. Mum’s hair was still done up the fancy way she liked, and she’d managed to keep her one good dress pristine for another day. Dad’s suit was already trying to split at every seam again, after a dozen trips to a dozen tailors. He already dwarfed his wife, but that suit made it even more obvious just how big he really was.

[Terry wished, as he watched the scene unfold all over again, that the suit didn’t fit because his dad was fat. It would’ve been easier to deal with him if he was fat.]

Graeme set one huge hand on his wife’s shoulder and stepped around her, not letting her get between him and Terry, though she’d already started to try. Bettany knew what was coming and her expression had shifted from confusion to determination almost immediately. The younger Ambroce stared up into his dad’s face [Terry noticed the way the image seemed to pinch at the edges; he’d been trying to look stern, and ended up scowling instead] as he came close enough to make out every stray whisker around the bush of a beard he wore.

I can still do this. It’ll still work. Just please, please, let it work fast.

“We’re leavin’. T’night. I already sent Leon a’ead.” The focus shifted for just a second to Mum’s worried frown, then back to Dad, just in time to catch his mouth twitch at one corner. When Graeme didn’t say anything beyond a low harrumph, Terry continued, voice audibly quivering this time. “I’m takin’ mum with me. It ain’t safe ‘ere.”

“What was tha’ rat bastard friend o’ yours screamin’ about b’fore ‘e ran like ‘e stole somethin’?” 

“I--’e was--sposed t’ be... guidin’ Leon through th’--”

Graeme wasn’t having it, scoffing and beginning to pace back and forth across the narrow hallway while keeping his eyes solidly on Terry’s face. “That slag was Leon’s guide outta town? Th’same dipshit ‘o wanted t’ fight Kormac stone sober an’ couldn’t tell th’ dif’rence between moss ‘n’ poison ivy?”

Rather than trying to defend one of the weakest lies he’d told in his life, Terry bulled ahead, raising his voice to be heard over his dad’s. “We’re already packed in too tight, there’s more people filt’rin’ in ev’ry day, an’ there’s things in th’ woods out ‘ere! We ‘ave t’go b’fore there’s no way t’get gone!”

“I am not leavin’ my ‘ome be’ind just so you kin feel like th’ big man in th’ouse, boyo!”

Again, Terry’s eyes shifted to mum, looking to her for help. She just barely nodded her head to him before stepping forward, reaching for Graeme’s arm. “Love, it’s not safe ‘ere. ‘E’s not wrong about th’woods. You know tha’ better’n anybody ‘ere.” She was trying to force him to look at her, but he wouldn’t stop pacing, and eventually swatted her hand off of him.

Terry growled under his breath, moving closer to the door and holding out his hand. “I’m not doin’ this all over again. I’m--we’re leavin’, with or without you.” He held out his hand toward mum, but her eyes narrowed and then went wide. “Is that blood?”

Terry looked down and saw the dark red smear across his palm. It must’ve gotten on him when he’d shoved Diggs around. Saying nothing right away, he pulled a handkerchief from his shirt and began wiping it clean. 

“Terry, what ‘appened?” Now mum was rushing forward, grabbing for his hand and intent on inspecting him for damage. He managed to dodge her once and once only before she whapped him over the back of the head and took his hand anyway. “It is blood!”

[”Don’t say it!” Cringing in almost physical pain, he knew what was coming.]

“Nothin’ t’worry over, it’s not mine.”

That, of course, was not the right thing to say, causing both of his parents to stop moving and look straight at his face. He knew what he’d done as soon as it’d left his mouth, but there was no taking it back. Bettany didn’t have a chance to say anything else before Graeme had crossed the room to shove Terry back a few feet.

“Whose blood is it then, boy? What’ve you done?”

“Dammit there’s no time fer this shit! Leon’s waitin’ fer--”

[Now, of course, Terry knew why he hadn’t seen it coming; he’d been talking, angry, panicked over his brother bleeding out somewhere in the woods. But it was plain as day on the screen.] As soon as the word ‘Leon’ reached his ears, Graeme’s eyes flicked down to focus on the rifle Terry still held. The stubbly parts of his beard began growing, and his eyes shone yellow for just a second.

Terry was still talking when Graeme picked him up and threw him across the room, and Bettany was shouting at her husband to stop by the time he’d gotten back to his feet. Face already becoming distorted and dark, Graeme paid her no heed. He was a walking cacophony of cracking bones and fleshy squishing as he stalked toward his fallen son, and growling--actually growling, bestial, impossible--from somewhere in the depths of his enormous chest.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

[He nearly dropped the crystal when Graeme lunged forward, a monstrous wall of black hair and yellow teeth. This part, he still remembered very clearly. He remembered thinking he was going to die, and that if he didn’t, he was going to turn into the same thing. He remembered thinking that mum was right there. That Leon was still outside, probably dying.]

The first few seconds were brutal and bloody, as a man pinned by a raging worgen always was. When he raised a hand to shield his face, one of Graeme’s claws went straight through his palm, nearly gouging his eye anyway. At one point, he’d managed to draw a bowie knife, but all that did was give the beast something to chew on and scrape up his muzzle with.

[Terry was confused. This wasn’t right. He’d had his rifle. He’d had his rifle, and they’d grappled over it, and he’d used it to block the worst of the damage--]

BLAM.

Graeme toppled sideways with an unmistakably canine yelp of pain. Terry turned his head to see Bettany holding his smoking rifle in shaking hands, eyes streaming, expression hard. She was clearly holding herself together as tightly as she could, and just as clearly, it wasn’t quite enough. “Graeme. Get up. Please.” When no response came, she cocked the rifle and took a single step forward, half-shrieking, “Give me back my ‘usband, you devil-dog bastard!”

He turned again, stunned, to look back at the thing that had been his father. As he took in the sight of the hulking brute laying in a rapidly spreading pool of blood with a gaping hole blown out of his side, everything shook for a few seconds. There was a distant rumble like thunder, but not quite the same, and the wolf finally stirred. Terry started to sit up, but fell down almost immediately with an agonized gasp. The sound shook Bettany out of her momentary lapse in control and she started toward him, only to stumble and drop the rifle when the world shook again.

This time, there was a shrieking sound, like trying to twist a wet branch until it snapped, amplified by ten million times and only growing louder. [Even muted by the playback from the crystal as it was, the sound was an assault on the ears. Still he watched, transfixed.] 

He could barely see straight for how wildly the world around him shook, but he was able to see the black wolf rise. They both looked up when they heard splintering wood above them, and both saw the hole forming in the roof. Graeme looked at Terry for a moment--barely a quarter of a second--and bellowed something [he could almost make it out over the din] as he ran forward to shove Bettany out of the way. The beam fell scant seconds before the rest of the roof, and then the entire world tumbled into roaring darkness around him.

It suddenly went silent, not even white noise, and stayed that way for a few seconds before the display flickered again. Grey text, numbers, and alchemical symbols began scrolling across a solid blue pane, too numerous and rapid to read. The variations began to dwindle until it was just repeating two words: “ERROR” and “SOURCE.” At the very last moment--the last frame--of the feed, another single line flashed and then disappeared. It took a few attempts to freeze it long enough to read.

“SRCMEMDUMPT101 COMPLETE. EDIT MODE? Y/N”

Terry spent almost an hour rolling the recording back, playing it again, listening as hard as he could, rolling it back, playing it again... It was too damned loud and the controls on the bloody thing weren’t fine enough to isolate the voices from the noise. In spite of himself, Terry had picked up and run all the way back up to the Point, bothering every Draenei he passed in hopes that one of them would know how to manipulate the recorder.

Once he’d nearly gotten his ass kicked for bothering the same guy a third time, he forced himself to go back to his campsite. Nearly willing to admit defeat, he caught a glimpse of his commstone sticking out of his bag.

First step: Call Darlain.

...That was the only step he had, really. He was just kind of banking on her knowing somebody who could do it, or knowing somebody who knew somebody. Thankfully, one step was all he needed; the dwarfmum pointed him to Nirahsa, a name he didn’t recognize until Darlain finally fell back on ‘Draenei woman who says ‘yes yes’ a lot.’ Driven by an almost mad need to know, Terry shelled out for a portal jump to Stormwind, rather than using the mail or, gods forbid, waiting till later. He figured nobody would miss him for a few hours.

Nirahsa didn’t have a lot of reason to want to do him a favor, and he knew that, but he was desperate, sincere, and willing to pay her every coin he had to his name if she’d do it. He assumed it reminded her of Leon (actually, she just also didn’t have a lot of reason not to do him a favor). Whatever the reason, she finally relented and told him to come back in an hour. It was a diversion from her actual work, but she needed to take a break anyway, and easy work like that counted, right?

He still insisted on paying her for the work, especially once she handed him written instructions on how to use the little remote she’d put together for him. Had he been in his standard state of mind, he would’ve asked how much she had watched, but his concern was firmly on finding privacy to pore over the recording again. Terry did have enough sense to make sure he sent a message to Shedwyn, telling her he was back in town and to find him at the barracks.

Once he got there, he settled in to get to work.

[With Nirahsa’s tweaks, he was able to mute the background noise almost completely in a matter of minutes. It was with some trepidation that he pressed ‘play’ once again. He wasn’t quite expecting the voice amplification to work as well as it did; it was picking up things that weren’t even shouted. The sound was distorted from the effects applied to it, but functional.]

Graeme rose and grunted in pain. As the wolf’s head lifted to take in the sight of the building in the beginning stages of collapse, he growled “No” to himself. Then, he looked at Terry, and began to run. 

[Yelling with almost no sound around to muddy it up, his voice made the crystal vibrate noticeably in Terry’s hands, almost startling him enough to drop it.]

“I’m sorry, Terry! I’m sorry! I love you! Find--”

Whatever else Graeme had hoped to say was cut off by another yelp and a scream as a beam almost as big around as he was slammed into his back, and the feed ended shortly after.

Terry didn’t watch it again, dropping the crystal on his cot and staring at nothing. At some point, his eyes began to water, but he didn’t move save to blink and breathe. When it finally progressed to tears, he didn’t make any attempt to wipe his face. In the next hour, he only moved once: to pick up his pillow, bury his face in it, and scream until he couldn’t anymore.

Just after dusk, Terry’s boots made soft squeaking sounds as he walked slowly through the damp grass. He came to a stop at the foot of the lilac-strewn graves, took one breath, read his father’s headstone, and froze. All the preparation he’d made in his head--things he’d rehearsed a dozen times over, words he wanted to say--dropped away in an instant, bringing him to the ground with his head hung so low his chin nearly touched his chest. His hands rested limply in the grass by his knees, and he wept unrestrained.

All he could bring himself to say were three tiny words, tearing themselves free of his painfully tight throat, filling the little clearing with ache and regret inbetween wracking sobs.

“Me too, dad.”

( @darbiebot @nirahsa @shedwyn @vembermarlon @neun-deserrat )