#considering making this fic one-sided glacier but we will see

[imliterallysnakejaguar]

THE NEXT CHAP OF MY FIC IS OUT FINALLY YAYAYAYAY !!!

i actually cannot wait to get to the other characters' perspectives of this,, like,,,

jay realising that he could have prevented something if he'd actually listened to zane when he was freaking out about his nightmare,,, kai's whole losing his fire (and probably feeling guilty about feeling bad for himself after he found out what was happening to zane, and how he could have ALSO prevented something if only he was stronger) AND LLOYD OH MY LORD !!, imagine how terrifying it would have been seeing the brother that was the gentlest soul he'd known, someone who smiled or laughed so rarely it was considered a treasure END UP LAUGHING MANIACALLY AT HIM AS HE TRIED TO KILL HIM ???

ough i'm so business casual about them

ALSO ICE EMPEROR ART I FORGOT TO POST HERE (MINOR BLOOD WARNING)

[driftward]

Title: The Flow of Battle Characters: Zoissette Vauban, Y'shtola Rhul, Scions of the Seventh Dawn Summary: The thoughts and feelings of one sorceress as she and her comrades sweep the plains of Paglth'an Notes: YOTP May entry: Mission Fic. Look, I was busy.

The smoke and fire of battle swept around them, and they in turn swept through it nigh effortlessly, as though it were no more than fog parting before a mighty ship, tall and proud and powerful. Cautious, for there was risk in the fog of war, but undaunted, for the skill of its crew were more than measure for the task.

And she knew no ship could sail higher than Zoissette Vauban.

That the work needed to be done was as unpleasant as it was necessary, but despite that, there was a certain thrill to battle that Y’shtola found herself drawn to. The execution of proving the mastery of her skill, the elements coming to her as easy as breathing and scattering the enemy as though they were leaves on the wind. The levin sensation inside of her as she called upon the forces of aether and shaped them into that which would be needed to arrange the battlefield to her desires.

And with the assurance brought by the presence of her Warrior of Light, why, there was no challenge she could not rise to, no enemy force she would not overcome, no stratagem they could not defeat together. It was a joy watching Zoissette in action, whether she served as a dauntless glacier that Y’shtola could stand astride, safe and secure in the protection her shield wall provided, or as a terrible driving blizzard of weaponry and spellwork that Y’shtola could stand in the eye of as they delivered defeat to their enemies.

And defeat was delivered, giving them a moment of respite. The Scions of the Seventh Dawn rallied around Zoissette, and Y’shtola waited patiently alongside the rest as Zoissette eyed the ravine and considered their options.

She came to her conclusions quickly, and turned to the group.

“Thancred, take the twins and head up that ridge. We are covered by cliff wall from the other ridge, so they most likely picked that one to put their ranged capabilities on. Keep them from firing on us.”

Thancred just nodded, as he began to jog in the direction Zoissette was pointing. Alisaie punched a hand into her fist as she moved after him, and Alphinaud began paging through his grimoire for the spells he would need.

“Everyone else, with me. Urianger, back line, provide support. G’raha, forward picket, by my side. I will take the vanguard. We center around Y’shtola.”

Zoissette looked to her, and she nodded in response. “I am to be your magical artillery, then? Very well. I shall show the Telophorai a thing or two they shan’t soon forget.”

With nods all around, they plunged into the ravine.

Zoissette proved to be correct, which was expected. On the ridge above them, Y’shtola could glance archers being stunned by red magicks while Thancred lived up to the namesake of his profession, rushing in and disabling gun emplacements before they could be brought to bear. And she was certain if she looked closely, she could see Alphinaud providing succor through his puissant spell casting, but she paid them no further mind. Each team had a job to do, and hers was to bring down the might of the elements upon their enemies.

The dance began anew. She trusted Zoissette, as she trusted each of them, and that trust would not be betrayed today. She did not flinch when a small group of addled Garlean troopers broke formation to make for her, and Zoissette was there in barely a blink, planting her shield as aetheric wings sprayed out from her like sea spray from the bow of a dreadnought. The enemy broke upon it, and scant moments later, Y’shtola’s spells scattered them. She had learned the hand language from Zoissette, and so she knew the signs as they were made to her, and without hesitation she directed lightning to sweep around as Zoissette and G’raha plunged into another group.

And when they pulled back wordlessly, she pulled back with them, unworried. Urianger covered them, his spells bolstering their defenses and slowing the enemy advance.

Zoissette was stalling. A habit of hers. It drove Alisaie crazy, but Y’shtola found she minded it not at all, for she knew what the woman was doing.

Analyzing.

She continued to throw spells into their enemies, waiting. Looks and subtle hand gestures were exchanged as Zoissette directed the team into positions. Figuring things out. Taking the time to think. And then, Y’shtola spotted it, the subtle shift in Zoissette’s posture.

The puzzle was solved.

“Y’shtola, fall back, target that dragon. Urianger, gravity on that group of soldiers, keep them occupied. G’raha, to its flank,” said Zoissette, even as she charged in shield first, to slam her steel into the face of an enemy.

They did as they were told, quickly and without question. G’raha harried the creature from the side while the Garlean conscripts found themselves confounded by Urianger’s spell works, and Zoissette moved quickly amongst the enemy, keeping them from organizing any effective counter-attack.

For her part, Y’shtola pulled deep on the elements. The battlefield seemed to fade away, as she focused, trusting Zoissette and the others to keep her safe. Aether was threaded before her staff, wisps of fire materializing from the air in strands and being woven into a mighty braid that she grew into a massive fireball high in the air. It swelled so large that it began to wobble on itself, too much energy in too small a space, threatening to become unstable and lash out.

Just before it would have been a moment too long, she released it, and a second sun fell in the ravine, a powerful raging gust of air flowing before its shockwave as static crackled in the air, its fellow astral elements of levin and wind being unable to resist being pulled into existence as well.

Soldiers and dragons and more fell, opening the way to dive deeper into enemy territory, and Zoissette wasted no time in exploiting the opportunity.

“Come to me!” she called out, and they followed.

Y’shtola smiled thickly at herself. The work was unpleasant. The reasons unfortunate. But the opportunity to exercise her mastery thanks to the efforts of puissant allies who knew how to capitalize on her talents, well.

That was its own tiny sublime joy, and she would secret it away. Pleased with herself, she was quick to stay with the group into the next fray and beyond.

It was later, onboard the airship, when each of them were able to take their rest and reflect on the actions of the day. Y’shtola could feel the day’s exertions in the very marrow of her bones, and exhaustion was writ in the forms of her comrades as well.

But she waited by a railing, taking her ease, reflecting, watching as Zoissette went to each of them one by one. A hand to a shoulder here, a murmur of commiseration there. They were all ‘tins in the same skip’, as Zoissette would say, and she looked after them as much, if not more, as they looked after one another. She had shed her awkwardness over the years, and replaced it with an earnest, naked honesty that the others had come to learn to appreciate.

As Y’shtola had.

At last, Zoissette came to her side, leaning against the airship railing and looking outward at a world that was going by swiftly. But she was not watching it, not really.

Y’shtola reached up a hand and touched it to her shoulder, and Zoissette quietly reached up and touched it back.

They had fought side by side. They had been where they were needed. They had worked together for common goal. Another day’s battle won, another struggle yet to come.

But they were here for one another, and for Y’shtola, that was all that mattered just now. And it warmed her to know Zoissette knew that, and felt much the same.

As they shared touch and gentle conversation, Y’shtola knew that tomorrow’s troubles would come all the same. But that, too, they would face together.

[baby-beelzeburger]

Forest god Deku with a winter god s/o who brings the snow every year!?!? An unlikely romance?!?! ❄️🌱

❧ A/N: I got a lot more carried away with this idea then I meant to. I didn’t mean to write a whole fic, just write down my extra thoughts but... here we are. Might not have been what you were looking for, anon, but I just loved the idea so much that I couldn’t help it. So here’s basically an entire fic based on this. Also, I know you said s/o but they’re not together here yet.

❧ Word count: 2,009

❧ Taglist: @touyas-peach // @gentlecourt // @snowymaltese // @honey-desires // @johnnysactualgf​

If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list, dm me or shoot me an ask to let me know. I hope you enjoy the fic, and have a lovely day!♡

Deku shivered as he sat on a stump, staring as his eyes focused on nothing.

Winter. What a dreadful time of the year. All of his trees lost their leaves, the flowers all died, and the adorable animals went into hibernation. Not only that but Deku himself seemed to wilt in the winter. His always fluffy curls lost their volume and all of their vivacious green color. His eyes became a dull greyish-green and his skin paled. He was always more drained, and his nature powers no longer worked, at least not as well, leaving him almost entirely powerless for an entire season.

Deku thought of his poor friend Tsuyu, who also often suffered during times like these. Usually, she went to sleep for the duration of winter, as she always got rather sleepy when the air froze. She never complained about it though, claiming it was a way to pass the time and it was better then choosing to freeze like Deku did. So she settled at the bottom of her favorite pond to sleep with her beloved frogs until spring came around.

Huh. Maybe I should try that...

Just as Deku was considering settling into a bramble to sleep for the remainder of the season, a whoosh sound came from his right. The wind started to pick up, as well as the snow, only making Deku groan and curl further in on himself. Yet still, he watched reluctantly towards where the sound was coming from, curious to see what it was.

Out of nowhere, Ochako, Goddess of the Wind, and someone he'd never seen before, came flying past. A flurry of ice and wind followed behind them. Snow flew at Deku as the ice tornado that followed their flight spit it out all over the dead forest. He cried out as the force of the wind blew him backwards off of his stump.

"You were right, Ocha! That was fun!" An unfamiliar voice, belonging to the unfamiliar person, spoke. Deku pulled his head out of the snow he had landed in and sat up, shaking his head wildly to cast the snowflakes out of his hair.

He heard crunching in the snow and opened his eyes to meet face to face with you. You were enchanting, eyes quite literally glowing a beautiful glacier blue. Your hair sparkled in the light with the snowflakes that nestled atop the stark white strands. Your smile was sweet as your head tilted to the side and you regarded him with curiosity. He noticed that the tips of your fingers and nose were turning blue from frostbite. You didn't seem to mind though.

However, your attractiveness soon became an afterthought when he realized you were half of the reason that he was now waist-deep in the snow. His mood soured further.

"Hey Ocha, who's this?" You asked, hands on your hips as you leaned over the stump to get a better look at him. Deku pouted, leaning away from you in defiance.

"Deku!" Ochako's cheery voice cried, running over to meet him. The sight of her happy face made him feel a little better, and he didn't want to be mean to a friend, so he forced on a smile.

"Hey Ochako."

"Deku? Like, God of the Forests? Oh wow, you guys know each other!?"

"Yeah! This is the friend I was telling you about! He lives in these woods."

"Oh, pardon me, I didn't know!" You bowed at the hip, one arm tucking underneath you while the other went outwards, "It's a pleasure to meet you Deku. I'm Y/n."

You straightened back upright and Deku let out a breath of relief, thankful to have his personal space back.

"Sorry for dropping in so suddenly. Didn't mean to knock you off your stump or anything."

"Yeah. 'S fine," Deku groused, looking away from you two. He crossed his arms over his chest, at least feeling a little bad that he was acting like this in front of someone new. In any other situation, he'd be more then happy to meet a stranger. He hoped you'd forgive him for this.

Ochako, on the other hand, was used to this behavior, and merely giggled at him.

"Don't mind him. He gets a little cranky when winter hits."

"Not a fan of the cold, are you?" Deku shook his head no, "That's okay, I don't really like the heat much. I get the same way when summer comes around! We're kinda like polar opposites."

Deku glanced up at you, eyebrow raising.

Wait a second... white hair, blue eyes, frostbite, aversion to heat, and snow that followed you where you went? Were you...?

Seeing the realization in his eyes, Ochako smiled and gestured towards you.

"Deku, this is Y/n, God of Winter."

"Yep! That's me!"

So you were what was causing this accursed weather. He felt stupid for not realizing it immediately.

Deku narrowed his eyes at you, now feeling a sense of reluctance to interact with you. It was in his nature to dislike someone like you, right?

You didn't seem to think so. You never wavered, even as he gave you that cold look. Clearly, the coldness didn't bother you.

"Since I feel responsible for creating this bad mood of yours, can I do something to make it up to you?"

"Whatever."

You sat down in front of him on his stump- irritation bubbled up inside Deku as you did. That's his stump! - and reached out to grab his jaw. A jolt of pure chill rushed over his skin as you made contact, and you quickly pulled back.

"Sorry, I should've warned you! I'm very cold, but it'll last just a second, okay?"

Deku nodded. While he still wasn't sure about you, his curiosity was much stronger, so he stayed still and let you do what you were going to do. Maybe something to do with your powers? If so, Deku was always willing to learn more about the other Gods and their powers. Even ones he had an aversion to.

Once again you grabbed his face. He was able to contain the shutter that went through him much better, since he was ready for it this time. Slowly you leaned in, your purplish-blue lips puckering a little as they aimed for his forehead. He tensed as he realized what you were doing, but before he could protest, your lips met his skin.

A shutter ripped through him as it felt like his entire body was drenched in ice water. And then, there was nothing. The air felt numb. You stroked his cheek but he didn't really feel it.

Panic rose inside him. His eyes met yours. You must've been able to see his anxiety because you smiled warmly. Reassuringly.

"Just give it a few seconds."

You spent those seconds tracing his freckles with your thumb, your eyes continuing to watch him for any furthering signs of panic.

Suddenly, a feeling of faux warmth bloomed inside him, starting over his heart and spreading across his skin. Feeling returned to him slowly. He noticed the touch of your hand against his face. Though he could tell that it was still cold, whatever power you used on him was fighting the feeling off so that it wasn’t as severe.

When feeling returned to his arms, he realized that you were holding his hand. When did that happen? He looked down at it, then back at you. You took it as a sign to let go, so you did, but Deku wasn't entirely sure that's what he wanted.

Now that the cold was seeping out of him and his mood was starting to brighten, he realized you weren't so bad after all.

"There. How does that feel?"

"B-better," He stuttered out. He wished that he could blame the cold on it, but of course that was no longer the case.

"Look, color is already coming back to him!" Ochako said excitedly. Deku glanced up at the curls hanging over his forehead to see the color of green coming back to life within the strands.

Did you just coax his body into believing winter was over?

"Color's coming back to his face too," You said, a teasing grin on your lips. Deku's hands flew up to feel his cheeks, which were burning hotter then the rest of him. He turned away from you so you couldn't see him, but the damage was already done.

"Thank you," He said, trying to change the subject so that you wouldn't pick on him any further.

"Of course! I'm happy to help. Only problem is that it only lasts a day, so I guess I'll have to come back every day to redo the magic. If you want me to, that is."

"Please!" Deku squeaked out, feeling embarrassed that he was so eager. Though, who wouldn't be? Anyone in his position would probably feel the same if an opportunity to say warm and happy during the winter presented itself on a silver platter like this.

"Then I'll be back tomorrow!" You looked over at Ochako, "We should go though, Ocha. Weren't we on our way to meet Tenya?"

"That's right, I almost forgot! We were just stopping by for a quick detour. I'm glad we did, but Tenya will never stop lecturing us if we're late. You know how he is."

Deku nodded because, indeed, he knew exactly what she meant. The God of Order was very serious about rules and deadlines, which he believed should always be followed. Even a minute too late would warrant a stern lecture from him. Heck, even a few minutes before the deadline and he might still do the same.

Deku could hear his voice now:

"What took you so long, you two? You were nearly late for our meeting! You must manage your time more wisely! Blah blah blah-"

Deku didn't envy their situation, that was for sure.

In a rush, Ochako gathered you up in her arms, a whirlwind of air surrounding the both of you.

"Bye, Deku!" Ochako called, waving to him. You smiled, waggling your frostbitten fingers at him.

"Buh-bye, Deku. See you tomorrow."

You winked at him, and with a blast of wind and snow, the two of you were gone.

Deku watched the area around him rustle with the force of the wind until it slowed down. Ochako's power still lingered, however, so the wind around him didn't settle down completely.

As he sat on the ground, feeling much lighter then he had before your arrival, he felt something brush against his ankles. He looked down to find the snow melted all around him, and a small bush steadily sprouting between his feet. He watched as it grew and grew, until red buds sprouted, unfurled and turned into roses right before his eyes.

"Weird," He muttered, "Why roses? And red ones, too?"

Thanks to his powers, sometimes flowers would often sprout around him when his emotions were high. But why these, of all the flowers? Why not something like verbena, or geranium? Something that symbolized the happiness he felt made more sense then something that symbolized... love.

Deku gulped, casting his eyes away from the bush.

It's just a coincidence, he thought, No deeper meaning, surely.

He glanced back up, smelling a rose that shook in the breeze.

I guess I better stay here, so this guy doesn't die.

As Deku laid down underneath the bush, he remembered his earlier silly idea to hibernate. He cuddled up under the leaves, thinking It wasn't such a bad Idea in part. He may feel better, but that didn't mean that he wasn't still a little sleepy.

One little nap wouldn't hurt. Hopefully it would pass the time properly, like Tsuyu had said. Though he no longer wished to pass by winter so quickly, he did want to pass the day until he could meet with you again. This time, he’d be in a better mood, and maybe you’d decide to stay and chat and he could get to know you better.

And, well, feeling your lips against his skin would be a bonus. 

[synonymroll648]

Okay so other than the xavier riddle idea that is currently on the back burner (i can talk about it more if you want idk if i've told you i know i rambled to tobi though) and the scioly fedex au that i'm currently almost done with chapter 2 of (!!!), I had yet another idea while in the shower.

So circa halloween 2020, my mom had an idea to take my grandparents and my aunt/uncle/cousin on her side on a virtual cruise because we'd done an actual cruise the two years before but then covid and yeah. We called it squishmallow cruises and well it's expanded to squishmallow tours (road trips) and squishmallow resorts (cottage) but that's not super important.

Anyway we've had 3 cruises and 1 tour since with another tour scheduled for this winter break and a vague idea of one for spring break.

Then my brain pretty much goes "hey what if you used that as a fanfic?" so it'd have a chapter for each day the kotlc crew are on the cruise/tour and like Dex (because i project on to dex) and Sophie? (Because human) or Fitz? (Because he's a nerd like that. I think he would know geography) and everybody else would be unwilling participants.

Not sure which one of our cruises i'd go with but i'd go with one i already have in my google drive instead of making another one just for this. Cause i've got

Caribbean 1 - board in Ft. lauderdale, florida-> st. Penelope (squishmallow cruises' fictional private island in the bahamas) -> us virgin islands -> st. Kitts and nevis -> turks and caicos -> at sea (tea party) -> ft. Lauderdale. Overall quality was real bad because first attempt.

Caribbean 2 - board in Ft. Lauderdale -> usvi -> st. Lucia -> curaçao -> aruba -> at sea -> ft. Lauderdale. I don't have an immediate counterpoint to this one

Alaska - board in seattle -> at sea -> juneau -> skagway -> glacier bay national park (scenic cruising) -> ketchikan -> victoria (british colombia, canada). This is where we started adding youtube videos to our slide presentations for each of our excursion and it's the one i'm probably most familiar with

Ireland (tour) - this one's gonna be too difficult to list but basically fly into shannon, stay in ennis, stay in galway, then up to giants causeway, stay just south of dublin, then down and over to killarney and stay there before going back to shannon to fly home. This one was shortened to 3 days because we didn't want to do a whole week but it certainly deserved it

(Winter break) Italy (tour) - pisa, siena (tea party), rome, panicale (squishmallow cooking channel-hey i could do something with fitz's baking), florence, and back to pisa to fly home. The only problem is that this isn't finished and i haven't lived through it that much and i don't have any slides

(Spring break...maybe) Scandinavia & baltic - copenhagen, aarhus, berlin, at sea, tallinn, helsinki, stockholm, copenhagen and go home. Unless i want until next summer for this i won't be doing this one for similar reasons as above

why i knew so much about alaska/british colombia with keefe's house location on the canon map, should make sense now. The itineraries were probably unnecessary but *shrug*

Idk if it'll happen considering the rate of the scioly au that'll only slow down more once the scioly season starts and i've got cyberpatriot starting monday so idk we'll see. It's not like someone else can take this one off my hands though. All the slides for the excursions live comfortably in my google drive and i'd rather not let my mom know that i write fanfic by sharing it with someone and the email notif pops up on her phone. I already almost broke the system by sending a word tracker google sheet to swan i'm not making that mistake again

Idk if this idea makes any sense and i haven't really given it much thought but hey we're suffering together :)

we sure are suffering together in the too-many-fic-ideas department, my dude. we are tired office workers banging our heads against our desks at how much paperwork (ideas) are piling up. but reading through this file was interesting! even if my geography-dunce brain didn't understand some of the specifics super well. (also, you're right, your extensive knowledge on british columbia and alaska makes more sense now.) also, that part about accidentally notifying your mom that you're a fic writer - mood. biiiiig mood.

my only question with this fun idea is whether or not the kotlc kids are going to all these places irl or doing virtual tours like you did. because that definitely changes up how the story plays out. i would say i'd give you ideas if you need them, but you're far more familiar with geography and virtual tours than i am. but i'm here anyway! to listen if you need me to!

[bloodycassian]

 Cauldron Damned. 

Reader x Cassian + Feyre BFF

Prompt -  bestie bestie bestie a cassian x reader fic where reader helps feyre with the cauldron - not rhys and she ya know  like rhys did and cassian basically breaks down and it’s super angsty but rhys lives so the reader gets to aswell ig tag @ bellefleurs and @ eerievixen

Her hair was a mess and painted to her neck with sweat but you still held her. Still gave and gave, until you were out of breath. Until you could feel yourself slipping. "Keep going.... You're doing so good." You panted out, trying to put a smile in your tone. She was the Mother herself, forging that cursed Cauldron back together.  Rhys was breathing heavily behind you after being knocked out by Lucien. You had given the Autumn court son a look and he had known what you needed him to do. Rhys would be snarling mad when he woke, but you knew what you had to do. To save your home, to save the entire world. Feyre was ready to risk it all, fearless and full of hope. You had to save that hope for your Court. Better you than her, better the high lady and lord survive than just an officer. You smiled at the thought of what you'd told Cassian before this final battle. Before you knew it would turn into saving the entire world from the Cauldron's vengeance.  "You better make damn sure my memorial statue looks fantastic. No priestess, though. Make sure it makes my wings stand out." You joked on the flight to the base camp. Cassian danced around death like he was it's balancing point. Like he was in tune with each and every death or life dealt. He laughed at your abruptness on the subject.  After months of skittering around each other, of trying not to stare too long or acknowledge that pull you felt towards him... It was nice to finally be alone. To let that tension ease out with a few jokes. It was too easy to be with him, like you'd known him much longer in the year of preparation for this battle.  "And you better make sure my wings are bigger than yours on that sculpture." He banked around a large cliffside and you followed, like a magnet. Like you could read his mind, you turned when he did. He rose with you, compensating for the cool mountain wind.  You rolled your eyes dramatically, flapping a bit higher than him for emphasis as you drawled out "Poor War General, his wing size matters so much to him." He shrugged, circling lower and lower with you until you were on the ground together amid a clearing. The grass was soft, covered in early morning dew. "Some say wing size dosen't matter, you know." You said with a wink, making him double over with laughter. It made you begin laughing too when he started running out of breath.  Once you had both collected yourselves, You began building a fire together. Rather, a massive bonfire that was to act as the signal to the army for where to move. His face was grim when he threw the last of the logs together. You understood why. "The Kings army will be here before us." You said, voice low. He only nodded. You kneeled in the wet grass, one knee down the other one supporting your wrist bracer. He followed you silently.  You spoke in unison, the ancient words from all the Illyrian warriors before you: "Name me God of Death today. Let us bring that name to those who do us wrong." + Feyre muttered something you couldn't hear. The darkness crept further in on you. You could see some light between your blurred vision. You could see how her hands lit up the cracks in the ancient stonework. You could feel her practically vibrating with the strain.  Your tears dribbled on to her shoulder, knowing these would be your final moments with her. Your final moments in this world. There was no better way you'd spend it than saving her. Spending those last few minutes being able to tell her how amazing she was. You felt her smile when you leaned your head against hers. Your heart ached. You whispered what you hoped were encouraging words in her ear. A rupture of sound- a crack fully mended -and your chest filled with blooming pride at your friend.  There was something crackling, ripping. You weren't sure if it was inside you or if it was the magic Feyre was performing. There was a gasp behind you and rustling, but you dared not take your concentration away from her. Away from how she leaned back into you. Dared not speak a word to distract her other than giving her those little jabs of confidence when she started to shake.  "You got it, Feyre. You can do this." You managed, before that caving feeling in your chest seemed to give in. You were breaking, you knew that much. But she wasn't done yet. Your breath leaked out from you, like you were being squeezed.  "Make it all worth it, Feyre." You managed to whisper out before you could no longer hold yourself up anymore. You laid back, your legs wrapped around her, mirroring her own. You hooked a foot on top of hers and gave her what you could from where you crumpled.  Death was easy, slow. Like a soft lullaby taking you away. You knew what lay before your body, and only hoped you were enough to get Feyre to where she could mend the rest on her own. You gave her all of your soul, all your being. She had to make it. You let the wave of that soft lullaby take you under.  + Cassian didnt think before shoving his way through the crowd into the tent. Didnt consider what he might find there, and how his heart may be ripped from him at the sight of it. The death that crept at that tent was a feeling he wouldnt forget in a thousand lifetimes.  His best friends lying unconscious on the floor before the cauldron. He went numb, still like a cold glacier. Lucien frantically shook Rhys, attempting to wake him. Cassian's head roared and he was falling to his knees at your side. He took your head in his lap, gently. As if he could still hurt you. He didn't notice he was crying until he saw the fat teardrops on your cheek. He wiped them away, leaving dirt smeared there. Another yell of anguish, and Rhys was coming to. From the sound of the yelling or from Lucien shaking him.  Azriel entered the tent then, solemn. Then his eyes widened. Those shadows darted around the room, taking each member of the court into account. The shadowmaster rushed to Feyre, checking her pulse and sighing. He noted the way your leg tangled around hers. His heart gave a painful squeeze. He saw both his brothers in agony. And he swore on his life there would be no place for the cauldron to be found again. Cassian cradled his mate's head in his lap, rocking gently. Rhys' dark power cracked the sky outside the tent once he was conscious.  Rhys rushed to Feyre, scooping her in his arms. He brushed her hair back from her face. Azriel could practically hear the mental screaming coming from both of them. The shadowmaster laid a hand on top of yours, closing his eyes and letting his tendrils of power, of those whispering shadows reach out. They circled your head, slowly like a snake.  He felt that song then, singing back with his own. The essence of your soul, dancing around your aura.  His eyes flashed open in surprise, then a manic laugh rumbled from his chest. "Rhys-" He breathed, pulling his attention away from a waking Feyre. Cassian looked up in a flash at his brothers, watching them exchange looks.  "Bring my mate back now." Cassian growled at Rhys. The tone was utterly deadly. Promises of death from the Lord of Bloodshed if his command was not answered. Azriel's eyes darted between his brothers. As if he was expecting Cassian to attack. The high lord would have been gaping at him if he hadn't experienced the same pain of almost losing a mate. He nodded, pulling himself together long enough to enter your vacant mind. Then the cauldron was humming, as he dipped a mental hand into it as well. +  Rhys' commanding voice rang out over your land of lavender and sunshine. "She will miss you." His voice was soft, but the attention it drew was still there. The meadow you laid in was softer than any silk in Velaris. More luxurious than any chair made to accompany your wings. You sighed, taking in the sweet scent before he spoke again.  "Too much, I believe. Especially when she hears about what you did to save her." He appeared at the edge of the soft meadow, the grass around him waving like the sea. You sat up, dazzled at the sight of him here. In such a bright, lovely place. His tanned face seemed to glow with the smile he held for you. "I'm tired." You said, voice groggy. You wanted to lay back down. You closed your eyes, for just a second and when you opened again he was in front of you, crouched. He held a tattooed hand out, giving you a nod. "Just come with me and you can nap all you want." His eyes sparkled. Not with that starlit power, but with tears ready to spill over.  You took that hand and closed your eyes.  + Feyre's warm hand in yours was the first thing you felt when you woke. Rhys held her in the corner atop a pelt rug beside you. The brothers leaned against each other. Rhys played with Feyre's hair as she rested. The sight of them together, him protecting her so well made your heart sing in approval. you knew she always deserved someone as good as Rhys. The fire where the Cauldron once was made the tent cozy. There were no sounds other than the soft breathing and the occasional pop of wood on the fire.   Azriel sat at the door, sword on his lap. Ready to kill if anyone dared enter. Then, you looked to the softness that cradled you. Cassian's face was covered in dirt, blood and more. He looked exhausted. Like he had been beaten, lost and beaten again. You tried a weak smile at him.  Clean rivers ran down from his eyes, revealing the dark skin underneath. "I couldn't let you get a statue without me." He said, voice trembling. You smiled the best you could and reached a hand to stroke his cheek.  "How-" You began, but he shushed you. "Just..rest for now. We can talk in the morning." He brushed a thumb over a silent tear that trickled from your eye. You nodded, and let him pull the blanket more firmly around you. Lulling you to sleep with soft humming.

[reinerispretty]

reminiscence. (? x f!reader) pt10

hello!!!!!! we r back with another edition of this fic hehe. thank u all for ur support, i appreciate u so much! it’s also five am and i am not even tired so rip. 

also!! who do u think reader should end up with? i have it decided but i’m willing to hear reasoning and perhaps be persuaded ;)

pt1

pt9

pt11

“So, where do we find this Iroh guy?” Mako asked.

“You think he has any relation to General Iroh?” Bolin questioned. “I mean, how many Iroh’s can there really be, y’know?”

“He’s Iroh as in, Zuko and Iroh,” Korra informed them, and Bolin let out a shocked gasp. While she was nervous about getting her memories back, (Y/N) would definitely be grateful not to be absolutely lost when things were discussed.

A Republic City winter was nothing compared to a South Pole winter. (Y/N) was cold while she slept, cold while she moved, cold while she stood still! Korra’s mom had her wrapped up in so many different coats, furs, and blankets that she waddled while she walked. “How are you okay right now?” She asked Korra as they walked to breakfast together. “I feel like my nose is going to fall off.” 

Korra looked back and flashed her a smile. “It’s all I’ve ever known! You just kind of get used to it.” (Y/N) frowned. She couldn’t imagine ever getting used to weather like this. 

As they sat and ate their breakfast--(Y/N) tried to eat, but the layers made it hard to bend her elbows--they discussed their plan for the day. Led by Tonraq, they would travel by snowmobile to the Spirit World Portal. It was a long trip, so they would have to camp for the night, but the next day they would be trekking through the Spirit World looking for answers. “It’s warm there,” Korra said, nudging (Y/N) with her elbow. She smiled gratefully. 

She decided to ride on the back of Korra’s snowmobile. Bolin would be on the back of Asami’s and while Mako also had his own, (Y/N) wasn’t sure if she wanted to have her arms wrapped around him for the entire trip, especially when they hadn’t discussed the things that happened between them. Her and Mako hadn’t discussed things at all, really. She knew they were on better terms since the first time they met, but he was so guarded and she was so scared that anything Mako had to say to her, she might not want to hear. 

So, she waddled over to Korra’s snowmobile. “Mind if I ride with you?” She asked as Korra secured their supplies. 

“Not at all!” Korra said, her face lighting up. Then she cleared her throat and turned her eyes back to tying knots. “Just be sure you hold on tight, okay?” (Y/N) nodded, managing a joking salute. 

She wrapped her arms around Korra’s middle as tightly as she could, but it must not have been enough because as soon as Korra hit the gas, (Y/N) was flung off, landing on her back in the snow. She let out a shout of surprise, followed by a groan as she opened her eyes and saw Korra staring down at her. She wore a humored smile on her face. “I told you to hold on tight!” 

“I was!” (Y/N) insisted as Korra helped her get back to her feet. She pulled some rope from their side pouch and wrapped it around (Y/N’s) waist, then tied it to her own.

“We do this for little kids sometimes, so they don’t get lost in the snow.” (Y/N) narrowed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at her. Korra laughed at the childishness and helped her get back on the snowmobile. Then they were off, (Y/N) much more secured this time around. 

As they rode through the snowy hills, (Y/N) leaned her head on Korra’s back, taking in the sights of the Southern Water Tribe. Far out where the sea was, icy glaciers poked through the inky waters, shimmering against the sunlight. Everything was rather sparkly; if (Y/N) looked at the snow for too long her eyes felt sore. She turned her head and waved a gloved hand at Bolin, who gave her a thumbs up from his position behind Asami. 

Sometimes, when she looked at Bolin, it physically hurt her heart. She knew it was some sort of physical reaction, something her body remembered that her head didn’t. The feeling increased when he had referred to them as being friends. There was nothing wrong with being friends, in fact she supposed that was better than any other alternative, but even now she had always thought there was something more between them. Perhaps she had interpreted everything wrong. There was a giant piece of her memory missing, after all, and all she knew was that she had really messed up Bolin when she had left. It was probably better if they were just friends. Bolin was great and she didn’t want to lose him a second time. 

Their ride was so long that (Y/N) had eventually fallen asleep against Korra’s back, only to be awoken by the snowmobile coming to a jolted stop. She awoke and squeaked in fear, gripping on tighter to Korra. 

“Sorry!” She said. “I’ve never been really good at breaking.” 

“You’re going to tell me that after I spent hours on a giant metal deathtrap with you?” (Y/N) huffed. 

“It wasn’t that bad considering you were snoring into my back,” Korra quipped, quickly turning herself around so she could untie them. “You sounded like a lion turtle.” 

“I don’t even know what that is, but I’m sure you’re wrong.” (Y/N) slid off the snowmobile and began untying the packs. 

“Lion turtles used to carry cities on their backs and bestow the gift of bending to humans occasionally.” 

“Think we’ll find one in the Spirit World to grant me some powers?” (Y/N) asked. “What element do you think I’d bend? I think fire’s pretty cool but-” 

“Oh, you’d be an airbender for sure,” Korra said as she hoisted two packs onto her back. (Y/N’s) face lit up.

“Really! Why do you think that? Is it because of my calm and collected nature?” 

“It’s because you talk so much,” Korra explained. “You’re constantly bending air with your mouth.” She booped (Y/N) on the nose before making her way to the rest of the group. 

“You’re hilarious! (Y/N) called after her, gathering her own packs onto her back. “Why don’t you stop being the Avatar and become a comedian instead!” 

They set up their tents and made fire, which was easy work considering two out of the six people in the party were firebenders. As soon as (Y/N) finished her tasks she sat in front of the fire. She was probably too close, but she didn’t care. It’s warmth, albeit small, made her feel just a smidge less cold than she had been, and she’d take it. The rest of their group soon joined her, Asami sitting on one side and Korra sitting on the other. She appreciated the girls protecting her from any awkwardness that could potentially ensue from being near the boys. 

“I’m thinking when we get to the Spirit World, we’ll try our luck at finding Iroh,” Korra explained. “He’s always got spirits around him, maybe one of them will know who took (Y/N’s) memories.”

“And if they don’t?” Mako questioned. “We can’t just wander around the Spirit World hoping for some clue.” 

“Maybe I’ll start remembering again,” (Y/N) suggested. “Like when Bolin took me to the spot where we met. I got that memory back.” 

“You also threw up and passed out from that,” Asami reminded her. (Y/N) pursed her lips. 

“I can handle it,” (Y/N) reassured them. “At this point, I’ll do whatever it takes to get my memories back.” 

“The Spirit World is magnificent, but it’s also dangerous,” Tonraq said. Night had fallen, and his face was illuminated only by the fire. “They might not be happy to see humans there, especially after what happened last time.” 

“I’m the Avatar,” Korra said. “They have to at least listen to me.” 

“I just want you all to be careful. Whatever took (Y/N’s) memories has to be powerful. Maybe dangerous.” 

“We’ll be careful, Dad,” Korra reassured her father. Tonraq trusted his daughter’s abilities, that was obvious, but the worry he held for her was still evident on his features. (Y/N) swallowed, her mouth feeling dry. She hadn’t really considered that this could be a dangerous mission. If she was being honest, she had never really thought this far ahead. She had spent every day maneuvering around the different dynamics of the four friends, making sure that she didn’t overstep her boundaries or create unnecessary problems. She hadn’t considered what would be waiting for them on the other side of the Spirit Portal, or that the people she had grown to cherish would be put in danger for her sake. 

Asami passed around their food and (Y/N) ate silently, considering this information. Her friends talked around her, but she was so distracted that their comments went in one ear and out the other. Once she finally zoned back in, it was just her, Korra, and Mako sitting around the fire. 

Korra let out a big yawn, stretching her arms. “I’m absolutely beat,” She said. “I think I’m gonna turn in. You coming?” (Y/N) shook her head.

“I think I’ll stay near the warmth just a little longer.” Korra nodded and gave them a sloppy salute as she waded through the snow and to the tent she shared with Asami and (Y/N). It was just her and Mako now. 

She stared at the flames of the fire and how they danced in the cold night air. Should she say something to Mako? This was the first time they had been alone together and neither of them had immediately made up somewhere else they needed to be. They’d be heading to the Spirit World tomorrow, so if there was any time for them to communicate, it should be now. 

(Y/N) adjusted her coat, huddling further inside it. “Want me to make it bigger?” Mako asked, and (Y/N) nearly jumped, surprised to hear him talking to her. She looked at him, eyes wide and not quite understanding what he was talking about. “The fire, you want me to make it bigger?” 

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” She said. Mako stared at her for a moment before making the fire larger and while she had said she hadn’t wanted that, (Y/N) was grateful. It was so hard to be straightforward with Mako sometimes, because of the way he jumbled her brain. It was like she didn’t even recognize herself when she was around him anymore. Before, only one emotion accompanied being around Mako, and that was anger. Now, (Y/N) felt a whole range of emotions when she looked at his amber eyes. “I think we should talk,” She said finally, wincing at how small her voice sounded. 

“I think so too,” And he gave her a half smile. (Y/N) nodded, but both of them remained silent. How should she start? How did people even communicate properly? Perhaps the thing (Y/N) was most excited about getting her memories back was how to talk to people normally. She felt so awkward! 

“Why’d you kiss me?” She asked suddenly, her face heating from embarrassment. Mako’s eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead. 

“Oh,” He coughed. “I mean, well, it’s a little--it’s like--” (Y/N) couldn’t help giggling. “What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing!” She insisted, biting down her smile. “You just...you seem so tough and confident and aloof sometimes that it’s funny to see you act so...” 

“Embarrassing?” He guessed. (Y/N) shook her head. 

“Normal?” She tilted her head and shrugged. “You don’t always have to wear this tough guy act, you know.” 

“It’s not an act,” Mako insisted, but he and (Y/N) exchanged a look that had them both stifling back their laughter. “Maybe sometimes. People believe you’re tough if you act like it. Keeps you from getting your stuff stolen when you’re sleeping in a gutter.” 

“You grew up on the streets?” (Y/N) guessed. Mako nodded. 

“Sometimes I forget what you know and what you don’t.” 

“Me too, if we’re being honest.” They paused into a silence that wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, just full of anticipation. “They teach you how to dodge questions on the streets, too?” 

Mako sighed, running a hand through his black hair. “It’s not easy for me to explain stuff like this. Bolin’s the one that can talk about emotions and feelings.” 

(Y/N) smiled. “Bolin can talk about anything.” 

“When we were arguing on that balcony, I wasn’t just angry at you for being here. You hurt Bolin a long time ago, but watching you be with my brother and knowing that I could never be with you...that hurt, too. You were so close to me that night and something inside of me said I should kiss you and once the idea popped into my head, I couldn’t get it out. I think I hoped that once I did it, it’d be some sort of release. Like a way to get it all out so I’d stop feeling like that.” 

“Was it?” 

Mako looked directly into her eyes. Normally, his gaze would make (Y/N) feel weird and she would have to look away. She couldn’t bring herself to do that tonight. 

“Not at all,” He admitted. “I thought I had gotten over you once you disappeared, but once you came back it all hit me full force.” 

(Y/N) thought for a moment about what she wanted to say. Then, she took a deep breath. “I don’t have any memories to base my feelings off of. But there are certain things, feelings, that I remember that I can’t place. They’re just there.” She placed a hand over her heart. “It happens when I look at Bolin. I remember feelings, like sadness and regret, but I don’t know why. It’s overwhelming sometimes, discerning emotions. The things that I feel for Bolin, they’re like past feelings that I’m remembering. Kind of.” She squinted her eyes shut. She wasn’t sure if she was explaining this right, but she was trying her best. “But when I look at you, now that the anger has subsided, I feel things now. Being around you feels nice and when you talk to me, I feel very...light and relieved. I can barely hold your gaze without blushing, and--and I think about you. A lot more than a friend should, I think.” 

“But,” She continued. “I don’t have all of my memories back. I don’t know how or why I left and I don’t know if things will change once I do.” 

“I get it,” Mako said. “As much as someone with memories can.” (Y/N) gave him a small smile. “And I don’t want to confuse you even more, because I’m sure being around Bolin is confusing enough as it is.” 

“You have no idea,” (Y/N) breathed. 

“I’m glad I told you. Almost two years and I finally admitted to my brother’s ex-girlfriend that I had a crush on her the whole time. This is a big day for me.” 

“The whole time?” (Y/N) questioned. “When did you realize that you liked me?” 

“I think Kya told us that we couldn’t share too much about the past with you, or else you might lose your memories forever?” (Y/N) pouted. “Fine, but if you can’t get your memories back, don’t blame me.” The wind picked up over them and he scooted closer to her so that he wouldn’t have to shout over it.

“Aye-aye, Captain,” (Y/N) said, giving a small salute. She rested her chin in the palm of her glove in order to pay attention. 

“There was this one time when you got to our place. Bolin wasn’t there yet, I think he was out performing tricks with Pabu. It was cold outside, one of the coldest days Republic City had had in a while. You came in and you were like an icicle. You were shaking and had forgotten your coat and decided to walk halfway across the city to our place. I gave you a blanket and one of Bolin’s coats, but your hands were still like ice, so I used a little firebending to warm them up.” Mako remembered the feeling of your hands completely encased in his. “I held your hands for a while, until they were warm enough. I got up to leave for work and you grabbed my hand and pulled me back down onto the couch. You said, ‘Stay, Mako! I love having you around.’ So, I stayed. We talked all day until Bolin got home, and I ended up losing that job, but spending that time with you made it all worth it.” 

(Y/N) sat silently for a long while before saying, “I’m sorry for making you lose your job.” 

Mako laughed. “It’s cool,” He said. “I wasn’t a very good delivery boy anyway.” 

(Y/N) pulled off her gloves, exposing her hands to the cold winter air. “Do you think you could...?” She offered her hands to Mako. He gave her a small smile and nodded, removing his own gloves and taking her hands in his. (Y/N) let out a happy sigh of relief at the feeling of warmth that emanated from his skin. 

“I’m sorry for being so mean to you at first,” Mako said. “I just didn’t want Bolin to get hurt again.” 

“I understand,” She said quietly. “I’d probably do the same if I were you.” Cautiously, she leaned her head on Mako’s shoulder. They sat like that for a long while, staring at the fire as Mako held her hands in his. While she was probably even more confused about her emotions than before, part of her hoped that whatever happened in the Spirit World wouldn’t change how she was feeling right now. She wanted to see where this could go. 

---

Once the cold became too much for either of them to bear, Mako and (Y/N) parted ways. Korra and Asami were fast asleep when she entered their tent and slid into her sleeping bag. She fell asleep quickly, her hands still warm, but it felt like she was asleep for only moments when Korra shook her awake in the morning. 

“One more hour,” (Y/N) grumbled, rolling over to avoid Korra’s gaze. The Avatar scoffed. 

“I already let you sleep in as late as possible!” She gently kicked (Y/N’s) butt. “Up! Spirit World today, woohoo!” A very groggy (Y/N) reluctantly left the warmth of her sleeping bag. The early morning sun was absolutely blinding as she walked out of the tent. (Y/N) let out an unhappy grumble. 

“Tea?” Asami offered, handing (Y/N) a thermos. (Y/N) smiled gratefully at her and took a long sip of the beverage, feeling it warm her from the inside out. 

“Thank you so much!” (Y/N) said. “I needed that.” 

“You were up pretty late,” Asami said, giving her a knowing smile. “Any particular reason?” (Y/N) shrugged playfully as she loaded her sleeping bag onto Korra’s snowmobile. 

“Mako and I finally talked.” 

“And? How’d that go?” Asami glanced over at Mako’s who sleepily nodded at whatever Bolin was excitedly saying to him. (Y/N) lightly slapped her friend’s arm. 

“Don’t stare!” She laughed. “It went fine. We talked about our feelings, actually.” Asami’s eyes widened in excitement and she opened her mouth to say something, but (Y/N) cut her off. “And while there are some feelings there, I told him how until I got my memories back, nothing could be certain.” 

Asami hummed in approval. “Seems like a good resolution.” 

“What’s a good resolution?” Korra came over to tie her own belongings to the snowmobile. 

“Mako and (Y/N) finally talked about their kiss.” 

“Woah!” Korra exclaimed. “Are you guys dating now?” 

“I’m missing like seventy-five percent of my memories and you think we’d be dating?” (Y/N) snipped. Korra shrugged. 

“I don’t know what goes on in your head!” 

“Like I told Asami, it was a good conversation. We talked about our feelings but I said that until I got my memories back, nothing could be done. I mean, what if I get them back and there was actually a non-Spirit World reason for why I was so awful to Bolin?” (Y/N) shook her head. “I was honest about how I felt and I think that’s good progress.”

“You know Korra,” Asami started. “Weren’t you telling me yesterday how much your bag hurt from having (Y/N) hold onto you?” 

“What? No?” Korra said, furrowing her dark brows. Asami elbowed her sharply in the side. 

“Remember? You said she held on too tight? Don’t you think that today you should ride on the snowmobile by yourself, since you’ll need to be at your best Avatar abilities in the Spirit World?” 

“I know what you guys are doing and I’m having absolutely none of it!” (Y/N) insisted. “I’m riding with Korra, end of story.” 

“Oh, I see what’s happening here,” Korra said. She placed her hands on her lower back. “Oh, yep, there’s definitely a tough knot there and it’s all (Y/N’s) fault. I don’t think I can ride on a snowmobile with you anymore.” 

“I thought the Avatar was supposed to bring peace, but all you’re causing is chaos,” (Y/N) hissed. 

“Hey, Mako!” Asami called out. Mako looked over to them, raising a questioning eyebrow as (Y/N) banged her head against the snowmobile. “Do you think (Y/N) can ride with you for today? Korra’s back is absolutely killing her.” 

“Ow~!” Korra drawled dramatically. 

“Uh, sure?” Mako questioned. He walked over to Korra’s vehicle and untied (Y/N’s) pack from it. “I think Tonraq said we were leaving in a few minutes, so I’ll be over there.” 

“Sounds great, she’ll be right there,” Asami said. 

“I’m not going,” (Y/N) said with a shake of her head. 

“I thought you said it was a good conversation?” Korra questioned. 

“You guys are so lucky I’m not a bender and I’m not very good at hand-to-hand combat because--” She shook her fist at both of them. “You’d be getting it!” She stomped over to Mako, a frown etched on her face. 

“Everything alright?” He asked. She let the frown fade from her face. 

“Everything’s fine,” She said with a sigh. “Korra and Asami are just being big pains.” 

“Don’t I know it.” Mako strapped his helmet and placed (Y/N’s) on top of her head, buckling it underneath her chin. He then tied a rope that connected the two of them, as Korra had done yesterday. “Safety first,” He said with a smile. (Y/N) felt her face flush as he helped her onto the snowmobile. Shyly, she wrapped her arms around his middle, and then they were off toward the Spirit World Portal. 

This trip was much shorter than the previous day’s. The portal was only an hour or two away from where they had camped. While (Y/N) was surprised that they had arrived so soon, there was no doubt that they were there, as the portal was a beam of warm yellow light that shot into the sky. It lay in the middle of the woods, only accessible by foot. 

They parked their snowmobiles on the outskirts of the woods. Tonraq began setting up his tent; they had agreed that someone should stay behind with a radio just in case anything went wrong and they needed backup. But to (Y/N’s) surprise, Asami was setting up her own tent as well. 

“You’re not coming with us?” She asked. Asami raised an eyebrow and shook her head. 

“We agreed before you woke up this morning that someone else should stay behind with Korra’s dad to help keep watch. You obviously need to go, as does Korra, and I knew Bolin and Mako would be absolutely horrible if they had no idea what was going on inside. So, I decided to stay.” 

(Y/N) frowned. While the reasoning was sound, it still made her sad that Asami wouldn’t be accompanying them on their journey. She and (Y/N) had developed a real friendship over the last few weeks. They had spent nearly all of their time together. It would be strange, not having her around. 

“Be safe, okay?” (Y/N) asked, throwing her arms around Asami and squeezing her into a hug. 

“You’re going into a completely new dimension and you’re telling me to be safe?” Asami laughed, but she wrapped her arms around (Y/N’s) frame and hugged tightly. “I can’t wait to hear all about your memories.” The two friends parted and (Y/N) lifted her pack onto her back. 

“Ready?” Korra asked, and she, Bolin, and Mako nodded. Their group said their goodbyes to Tonraq and Asami before Korra led them into the woods. 

“The last time I was here, I was frozen into a block of ice by an ex-girlfriend,” Bolin said. (Y/N) raised an eyebrow at him. “It wasn’t you! It was Korra’s cousin from the Northern Water Tribe.” 

“The one with the evil dad?” (Y/N) asked. 

“That’s the one!” Bolin nodded. 

“This is it,” Korra said as they stopped in front of the Spirit World Portal. (Y/N) could feel its energy radiating from outside the forest, but now it was even more prominent. “Next stop, Spirit World.” She turned around to look at (Y/N), whose face looked as if she had seen a ghost. “Everything alright?” 

(Y/N) nodded, gulping. “I’m okay,” She nodded again, trying to convince herself that she was speaking the truth. What if getting her memories back wasn’t necessarily a good thing? Something had blocked them out. Perhaps they had done it for her own benefit. But they had come this far, so she remained silent as she stepped through the threshold and into the Spirit World. 

It was an odd feeling, transitioning between two planes. It felt like each particle of (Y/N’s) body was buzzing, until suddenly she was on the other side and staring at so many colors, some that she was sure she had never seen before. She released the breath she had been holding as she stepped through. 

Indescribable beings flew overhead, cawing and cooing at them. Korra had been right: the Spirit World was significantly warmer than the South Pole. The group removed their jackets as (Y/N) took in her surroundings. Currently, they stood in the middle of a rocky wasteland, but patches of flowers and grass popped up here and there. In the middle stood a gnarled tree with a hollowed out middle. 

“That’s the Tree of Time,” Korra explained. “That’s where the first Avatar had imprisoned Vaatu, the dark spirit that I defeated a month ago. His energy made this part of the Spirit World a wasteland, but it’s healing.” 

“It’s beautiful,” (Y/N) breathed, and Korra smiled. Their group walked across the barren land to the greener parts of the Spirit World. Butterfly-like animals flittered around them as they walked and Korra explained her many trips to this place. Mako and Bolin had been here as well, although they had never been further than the Tree of Time. That helped (Y/N) feel less out of place. 

“So, where do we find this Iroh guy?” Mako asked. 

“You think he has any relation to General Iroh?” Bolin questioned. “I mean, how many Iroh’s can there really be, y’know?” 

“He’s Iroh as in, Zuko and Iroh,” Korra informed them, and Bolin let out a shocked gasp. While she was nervous about getting her memories back, (Y/N) would definitely be grateful not to be absolutely lost when things were discussed. 

“There it is!” Korra exclaimed, and then she started running. The others dashed behind her, not quite sure of where she was going, until a small house appeared seemingly out of nowhere and they were right in front of it. A small tea party of spirits and one human sat at a table in the garden. 

“Korra!” The old man exclaimed. “Welcome back! We were just about to start afternoon tea.” He peaked behind her at her friends. “And you brought company! The more the better, I think I have some extra teacups in the house.” 

“Hi, Iroh,” Korra said. “We really appreciate it, but we don’t really have time--” But the old man was already headed inside his house. When he returned, he held four additional teacups and a bright smile on his face. 

“Sit, sit,” He insisted. Korra looked to (Y/N), who shrugged, and dropped her backpack to the ground and took a seat. If having tea was what she needed to do in order to get her memories back, then she would do it. “You!” Iroh said as he placed (Y/N’s) teacup in front of her. “I’ve heard many things about you. Welcome back.” 

“Back?” (Y/N) questioned, looking at her friends. “I’ve been here before?” 

“You are (Y/N), yes?” She nodded. “When Korra first visited me to ask about you, I did not know much.” He placed a hand to the side of his mouth. “Spirits are horrible gossips sometimes, and I did not want to lead the Avatar on a path different from the one you must take. But I have asked many a visitor about you and they have all said the same thing: you were here, not too long ago, but you were here for a while.” 

“Why was she here?” Mako questioned before (Y/N) could. Iroh sighed as he poured their tea. 

“Whatever the reason, it was not good. Many of my friends say they saw her enter the dark part of our realm and she did not leave for a long time.” 

“It’s true!” One of the spirits interjected, an oddly blue wolf. “I saw you months ago with my own four eyes. You looked nothing like you do now. You came through the portals, yeah? Last time, someone brought you here the other way.” 

“You mean through meditation?” Korra asked. The spirit nodded. 

“Whatever it was, something powerful had to do it. I couldn’t do nothing like that.” 

“So, powerful spirit in the dark parts of the Spirit World. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but it doesn’t sound like something a good spirit would do.” (Y/N) looked to Iroh to confirm her suspicions. 

“Spirits are neither good nor bad, unless we are discussing Vaatu and Raava. But there are some spirits whose motives become skewed.” 

(Y/N) deflated in her seat. The spirit who had taken her memories was powerful and most likely dangerous. And if they found it, she would be leading her friends right to them. 

They finished their tea with Iroh before continuing on their journey. Bolin had talked excitedly with him about his adventures with Avatar Aang and Fire Lord Zuko, whoever those people were, and Iroh gave him a Jasmine Dragon teacup to take back to the mortal realm. The entire time that they talked, (Y/N) was incredibly distracted by what Iroh had told them. 

“We should go back,” (Y/N) said suddenly. All three of her friends stopped and looked at her as if she were insane. 

“But, you need to get your memories back,” Bolin said. 

“I’ll just start over,” She insisted. “I can start fresh. Whatever this spirit is, it isn’t good, and I don’t want to hand you guys to it on a silver platter. We’ll go back and I’ll just learn to live without my memories.” 

“There are pieces of you you’ll never get back. Important memories that might have meant a lot to you. You deserve answers, (Y/N), for everything that’s happened to you.” Bolin grabbed her hands and she felt that same shock of electricity run through her body every time he touched her. 

“It’s not worth it if it means you guys will get hurt.” 

“Stop trying to play hero,” Mako said suddenly, his voice much harsher than it had been the night before. “If we didn’t want to be here to help you, we wouldn’t be.” 

“You shouldn’t be helping me. You guys fight every day for the greater good, for the people of the world. I’m one person. You can’t get yourselves hurt over one person. This,” She gestured to the entirety of the Spirit World, but referred to their mission. “Isn’t as important than whatever is going on back in the mortal world.” 

“But you’re important,” Korra said suddenly. “You’re important to Bolin and Mako and you’ve become important to Asami and I. The Avatar fights for the greater good, but as your friend, I’ll do whatever it takes so that you can feel like yourself again.” 

(Y/N) felt her eyes watering. Why weren’t they getting it? “If anything happened to you guys while we’re here, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.” 

“And if we gave up on you, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself,” Bolin said. She looked up at him through watery eyes. “No matter what we’ve been through, we care about you. I care about you. And we’re going to get that dumb spirit to give your memories back.” 

(Y/N) looked from him to Korra to Mako, whose head immediately turned as soon as her eyes landed on him. “Okay,” she said. “But I think this is a horrible idea.” 

“I find that horrible ideas make the best stories,” Bolin said with a smile.

---

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[threewaysdivided]

as a fellow painfully slow writer, i'd just like to say—i feel you; i understand you, and you are not alone atop the Word Glacier. stay strong, and if it comes down to it, don't be afraid to rant to the wallpaper! it can't exactly talk back, but i've found getting spoilers into even just the open air can help soothe the ache—either way, i wish you an untroubled pen.

(referring to this post)

Aww, thanks anon! And all the very best with your project as well 💜

I suppose this is the double-edged sword of the planner-writing style.

On one hand, having the story already planned out in depth is great! The path is already there so I don't have to stress about pantsing myself into a plot-hole I can't get out of. I can look ahead and remind myself of future things I love (and know that I've already done some of the prep-work for them when the time comes). I can move up and down the timeline to work on future scenes if I'm not feeling the immediate upcoming chapter (I've been playing around with some Conner stuff recently). And sometimes I can take a break from the storytelling altogether to play with thought-exercises and meta-analyses (hence those posts about The Light and Martian Prejudice). NGL I would love for Deathly Weapons to get a TVTropes page once it's a little further along, so I can see what other people are making of the meta-side. It's fun to be able to plant foreshadowing when I know what it's pointing to - both a little secret for me to enjoy now, and a treat for other people to find later.

But on the other... they say "write for yourself", and in some ways for me this story has already been written. I'm still relishing the details and having fun tinkering around adding new flourishes, little elaborations and rediscovering things in my upcoming notes, but most of those big emotions and moments of discovery are experiences I've already had in planning. It's not in prose, but most of the substance is already there for me - if someone asked me to make a Deathly Weapons wiki, I could probably do that and do it faster than actually putting chapters out. You can probably tell that I usually engage with fandom via meta and reading more than writing. I’m proud of what I've made and I want to get it written up and posted, but the experience of discovering what that story is is definitely something I'm creating to share with others.   DW started out as the fanfic I wanted to find but couldn't, and as the one writing it I can never experience what that blind-read would have been like - it's why I love it when commenters/ reviewers stop by and give me a glimpse of their experiences with it.

(Also, let it not go unsaid: I massively overcommitted with this one. Deathly Weapons has 11 planned missions alongside intervening character chapters. I think YJS1 captured lightning in a bottle and I wanted to reflect some of that in Arc II, but amidst the throes of creativity I kind of jumped in feet-first and ended up setting myself the task of solo-writing a half-season as my first major fanfic project. Whoops.)

Besides that, I think fandom is a very community experience. I got into writing fic through reading it and finding fanart (which I think is the same for a lot of people). I don't really like the word "engagement" these days because of how overused and corporatized it's become but there is something to be said for reciprocity - being part of that shared community and creative energy. It's kind of like mutual gift-giving but the main gift is time.

Being a slow creator is kind of hard in that space because fandom is so ephemeral. There are some series which have unusual staying power (A:TLA and B:TAS are considered classics for good reason and Danny Phantom is infamous as the fandom-which-does-not-die) but most of them will ebb and flow, and age out and sometimes haemorrhage when canon backflips off a cliff over every shark in existence and fanworks are kind of at the whims of that. It's the price we pay for piggybacking off someone else's work and audience. I thought I was safe, I thought I had picked two series which were finished or at least over but nooooo...

It's one of the reasons I'm incredibly grateful to have found some discord friends who were willing to let me share major DW spoilers with them, as well as to @cryxdraws and @doodly-doop for making and sharing their lovely DW art pieces. Not only was it really generous for them to give me their time like that, it's been amazing to know that there are people out there for who this little hobby project means something, and who also think it's worth seeing through to the end.

So, until then...

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: Breaking Point

Relationships: Caline Bustier & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Characters: Caline Bustier, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Alya Césaire, Max Kanté, Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Juleka Couffaine, Lila Rossi, Tikki

Tags: caline bustier salt, Reveal, Badass Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste Knows, Protective Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Caline Bustier Knows, ml salt, Harassment, Lila Rossi Lies, Bad Classroom Environments, Gaslighting, enablers, Bullying ,Salt, Identity Reveal, Spitefic, Swearing, Adrien Sugar

Summary: '“For instance, being a superhero is not a viable career path,” was what made her tune in, her attention fully pulled to Mme. Bustier, who seemed to be looking right at her.' 

Note: This was written based on a prompt by @norakwami.

AO3 link

------

Marinette wasn’t really paying attention to Mme. Bustier’s lecture. To be fair, it was about career options and how to achieve them, something she had researched so completely she already had a list of universities she intended to apply to, along with possible companies to intern, all carefully tabbed in a binder at home that was also slowly filling with application and portfolio ideas.

Given that she was only fourteen and still had four more years before she reached the point of applying, she was ahead of the game. Perhaps she could be considering going to another lycée instead of the feeder for Collège Françoise Dupont, perhaps somewhere private that had a focus on fashion. But she didn’t want to put pressure on her parents, who would have to pay the tuition for such an institution, when she was already winning awards and making a name for herself through designing for Jagged Stone and the up-and-coming Kitty Section, among others.

“For instance, being a superhero is not a viable career path,” was what made her tune in, her attention fully pulled to Mme. Bustier, who seemed to be looking right at her.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Marinette felt frozen by that stare, pinned like a ladybug by an entomologist. How could she know? Did other people notice her stare?

“Ladybug is almost certainly harming her civilian future through these superhero antics, which prevent her from fulfilling all her obligations.”

Alya snorted. “That’s not Ladybug’s fault—it’s Hawkmoth’s. Ladybug protects the city. And maybe Paris should pay her for her services!”

“Ladybug is a teenager who should be concentrating on school,” Mme. Bustier declared, still staring holes into Marinette.

“Ladybug has never released her age,” Adrien murmured, his voice sounding strained. “So that’s conjecture, Mme. Bustier. How does this have to do with our future careers?”

To her horror, he turned and followed her gaze to Marinette.

She felt as though she might hyperventilate, panic rising in her gut. If she was compromised, that put her family and friends at risk, put the Miracle Box at risk, played right into Hawkmoth’s hands. She’d never been good at a poker face, and she wasn’t sure whether she was managing now.

Adrien’s eyes widened, and she knew she’d failed, at least with him. Kwami, she hoped she could trust him.

“I’m glad you asked, Adrien. For instance, Marinette, would you please share your current preparation for your future career.”

All eyes were on her, and she could feel the thoughts swirling around them as she was called out. She swallowed, trying to push it all down.

“I-I… I have a binder. At home. F-fifteen different universities with fashion p-programs. In order of where I want to go most. Also c-companies that offer internships.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves—it helped a bit. “I’ve started my portfolio, including the b-bowler hat that won M. Agreste’s contest, and my work for Jagged Stone and Kitty Section, and p-pictures of clothing I’ve designed and made.”

She could hear murmurs around her, and Alya gave a low whistle beside her.

“Girl, no wonder you don’t sleep. You’re on top of this!”

Mme. Bustier’s mouth became a thin line, her lips pressed together as though she was irritated.

Marinette wished keenly that Master Fu was still around, could handle this situation. She’d come to realize Mme. Bustier was a terrible teacher, enabling bullying and shaming victims as though they were at fault for their treatment. But this was a whole new level of awful.

“Still, the way you run off during Akuma attacks interrupts your daily life and prevents you from—”

“We all run away during Akuma attacks! They disrupt all our daily lives.”

Adrien stood, his back rigid from tension.

“Marinette has been personally targeted multiple times during Akuma attacks. So have I! A lot of this has been documented on the LadyBlog. It’s traumatizing—and we keep our memories of that because we’re not the Akuma. I run and hide, personally. Why would you shame Marinette for that?”

The class fell silent, and glancing around Marinette could see the tension in their faces, their own memories of being chased by Akuma.

Adrien had moved this away from the idea of Marinette being Ladybug to her being shamed for her reaction to Akumas. He was protecting her. And she loved him all the more for it.

“There was Evillustrator,” Marinette murmured, jumping on the red herring.

She glanced at Nathanaël apologetically. He offered a sad smile.

“I had to help Chat Noir with that. It was scary. André Glacier became Glaciator and came looking for me, and Chat Noir saved me from getting frozen. And Gamer was looking for me. Chat Noir saved me again.”

She could see Max wince across the aisle.

“Reflekta turned me into her clone because she was mad at me. And it was my fault.”

Marinette turned and mouthed ‘sorry’ to Juleka.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Juleka whispered, then cringed as she realized her voice had carried far enough for everyone to hear.

She smiled, then turned back to the front.

“My own grandmother tried to turn me into coal when she was Akumatized because she was upset I wasn’t like eight years old anymore—Chat Noir saved me again there, too. And then my dad was Akumatized and Chat Noir and Ladybug had to save me again.”

Marinette hadn’t been able to transform, needing to be saved as a civilian before she could get back as Ladybug. Too many of them had been so public she’d had to trust Chat Noir would be able to hold his own until she got there—and she did, but she was afraid sometime that would be fatal.

“And I saw footage when Adrien was dropped from a building and then when Volpina pretended to drop him from the Eiffel Tower. That’s terrifying!”

She didn’t turn around to look at Lila. Instead she looked at Adrien, who was still standing, alternating between glaring at Mme. Bustier and glancing back at her with concern in his eyes.

“And then there’s mind control Akumas, like with Miracle Queen. I’m scared of Akumas, Mme. Bustier. Even when they’re across the city, they won’t always stay there, and I want to hide. And I refuse to be ashamed of that!”

It wasn’t a lie, either. Civilian her absolutely wanted to hide—and did, just behind a mask.

She turned her attention to the teacher, keeping her back straight, remembering she had Adrien on her side, even if she wished he didn’t know—damn Bustier for that. Marinette steeled herself.

“I don’t understand why you’ve singled me out to try to imply I alone am somehow failing to perform because of Akumas, but you always seem to do this. I’m at fault for being bullied. I need to be an example and not react when my belongings are destroyed and my locker is broken into. Or when someone gets me expelled by somehow putting test answers in my bag and a new Gabriel-brand necklace—supposedly an heirloom—in my locker that’s been broken into before. I’ve spent the last year feeling I’m not allowed to have emotions. But this is the last straw.”

Marinette stood, picking up her bag. When she glanced down Tikki was giving her the Kwami version of a thumbs up.

“Frankly, Mme. Bustier, you have been toxic for my mental health for quite some time. Time I’ve spent researching to discover what you’re doing isn’t appropriate for the classroom; it’s abusive and reportable. If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to the M. Damocles, as well as my parents. And perhaps the Board of Governors, as I am no longer willing to tolerate this treatment and its continued harm to my education.”

With that, she marched down the stairs, past an open-mouthed Bustier, and out of the classroom, holding her head high.

Once in the open hallway, clear of the windows, she deflated.

“Well, fuck,” she whispered. “I guess I get to do research on a new collège, too.”

She supposed, at least, she’d been successful at diverting Bustier from the Ladybug accusations; the last thing she needed was for Ladybug-hater Lila to know and come after her.

“You and me both.”

Adrien’s voice behind her nearly made her jump out of her skin. She was relieved to see no one else had followed him. She could hear the hullaballoo of the classroom behind her, all control having been lost.

He quirked a grin. “We’re in it together, Bugaboo. As always.”

She stared, feeling like there was a hamster lolling on the wheel of her thoughts instead of running to turn it.

Adrien took her arm. “Come on. I’ll support you. Let’s go talk to M. Damocles.”

“Ch-Chat?” Marinette managed in a hiss as her brain finally caught up.

He gently guided her forward. “My Lady.”

She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh, cry, scream, or some combination of the three. But as they approached M. Damocles’ office, Marinette pushed the issue aside.

After all, she had work to do, and Ladybug didn’t leave work unfinished.

[valhallanrose]

The Glacier House

This is a rewrite of A Kindling, of Sorts. While the same premise, it is vastly different in terms of content. Astoria is still thirteen, as is Sachairi, and Edrine is twelve, and this fic occurs two years after Canary in a Coal Mine. 

Pronouns used in this fic: Astoria (she/they), Edrine (she/they/he)

Edrine refers to Avery as “Ava”, pronounced ‘Ah-vah’, rhyming with Mama, as a parental endearment. 

4.6k words. Cautionary CW for discussions of food and some real shitty parenting.

Title: The Glacier House by The Crane Wives

In the early hours of morning, Castle Kintyre began to stir, the hearths burning high to combat the mid-winter cold and staff passing through the halls to begin their duties for the day. Many of the Canonach family would not wake for a while yet, emerging slowly over the course of the next few hours to stumble to the breakfast table for their morning caffeination. 

Of all the children who lived in the castle, only one would willingly rise with the sun, leaving Catriona the sole person awake in their bedroom that morning. 

They slowly pushed themself up from the cushions and yawned, stretching their arms over their head as far as they could go until their back popped. And then they stretched out their legs, a little quicker than they meant to, only for their foot to come into contact with a head of curly hair. 

Edrine yelped, bolting upright with a bleary expression on her face and her curls sticking up in nearly every direction as she rubbed a hand over her face. 

“Ow...Catty, why’d you kick me?” She mumbled, yawning and covering her mouth with one hand. “That was rude. We haven’t even had breakfast.”

“Would you prefer I kick you after breakfast?”

“At least it’d be a respectable hour.” Edrine swung out a foot, launching her toes into the remaining slumbering party’s side with a dramatic sigh. “Get up, Sachy, if I have to be awake, you have to be awake. I don’t think Catriona actually sleeps.”

The child in question scoffed, gathering the cushions up and tossing them loosely on the bed. “I do sleep. I simply prefer not to spend all morning sleeping like you lot.”

“Boohoo, I like to relax, is that such a terrible thing?”

“Both of you, shut up.” Sachairi groaned as he pressed his face into a throw pillow. “The hour is ungodly and one of us has to have the beauty rest to be the pretty one.”

Edrine let out a cry of indignation and smacked him with a pillow as Catriona pointedly ignored them both, picking up the brush from the vanity and carefully pulling it through their hair. They would continue to watch with some amusement before Sachairi sat up, eyeing Catriona skeptically.

“Wait, you’re actually getting ready? Why? It’s hours before breakfast is ready.”

“Well, cousin, if you actually got up early, you’d know at this hour you can raid the kitchens and get nearly anything you want. I for one don’t like to dodge Erskine’s grubby hands to get to the butteries every morning.”

“Erskine?” Edrine echoed, and Sachairi nodded with a grimace. 

“Aunt Flora’s kid. They’re two and they tend to always have sticky hands, no matter how often they’re washed. Good thinking, Catty.”

“It may shock you, but I am, in fact, intelligent.”

“Shocking.” Edrine drawled, only to yelp and laugh as Catriona turned around and whipped the nearest throw pillow at them with a look of wild indignation on their face. She threw it back, and the room dissolved into chaos, laughter mixing with the morning birdsong through the cracked window 

They didn’t notice the bedroom door open until Sachairi threw a pillow that sailed through the opening and smacked firmly against Myrna’s face, all three of them freezing in place as it dropped quietly to the floor and left her startled expression in its place. 

Myrna lifted a brow, adjusting her grip on her cane so she could lean down to pick up the offending pillow. She dusted it off and weighed it in her hand, considering it before she looked up to look at the children again. 

“Who threw this?”

The trio looked at each other nervously for a moment before Sachairi sheepishly raised a hand. 

“I’m sorry, Aunt Myrna, I didn’t know you were -”

Sachairi was promptly cut off as Myrna whipped it back, hitting his chest and making him take a step back - only to trip over a few pillows on the floor and falling square on his ass. Catriona slapped a hand over their mouth as Edrine buried her face in her pillow, laughter hardly muffled.

“Good throw, Sachairi, your arm is getting better.” Myrna’s lips twitched, as if threatening a laugh of her own, and she folded her hands over the top of her cane. “I just wanted to warn you all to be careful if you go out on the grounds today. Sholto, Grace, and Rabbie have decided to go hunting, and I don’t want anyone getting squished under a horse. Sounds fair?”

“Sounds fair.” They all chirped, and Myrna nodded, reaching for the doorknob and starting to pull the door shut. 

“Also, I’d get to the kitchens soon if I were you. I hear they’re making cinnamon-sugar scones as part of breakfast this morning, and you can get first dibs when the batch comes out.”

And, as if she knew what chaos would ensue, Myrna closed the door just as all three children exchanged a look and dove for their respective outfits that had been laid out the night before, taking turns in the bathroom to change and shoving each other around playfully to use the mirror attached to Catriona’s vanity. 

Stifling laughter as to not wake any still sleeping members of the family, they descended the stairs - arms linked, with Sachairi on the right and Edrine on the left and Catriona happily in the middle - and snuck into the kitchens. They peered around the corner through the bustling room, only for their eyes to zero in on the batch of scones on a tray left unattended on the counter. 

“Don’t even think about it.” Barclay boomed, making all three of them jump noticeably before Catriona turned and pouted up at him with the sweetest look they could muster. 

Barclay had been the head of the kitchens for as long as most of the family could remember, and while he was rather no-nonsense with the adults, he had a soft spot for the children in the family. Sort of like another uncle - not that any of the Canonachs needed more aunts and uncles - who kept an eye out for them and made sure they took care of themselves. But he was uncannily quiet in step, meaning none of the younger crew got away with truly stealing things so much as he just pretended not to see it. 

“Those just came out of the oven. You’ll burn your fingers.” He opened the warming cupboard over their head and pulled out a fabric wrapped bundle, depositing it neatly in Catriona’s arms. “Take these instead and scoot. And take an apple on your way out for my peace of mind.”

He waved his hands, shooing them away, but Catriona caught his smile when they called out a “Thank you!” over their shoulder and ran out giggling to find a place to eat. 

*     *     *     *     *

Catriona tended to avoid the breakfast table, usually full of some degree of bickering and healthy debate over clan affairs. It’d been especially intense since their mother had become Baroness, opening a door for new policy and leadership to see what new directions they could lead the clan in now that a new generation had come to the forefront. 

So instead, the three of them squeezed into a window nook overlooking the grounds, picking at their scones and watching the cattle in the distance through idle conversation. 

“You two don’t have lessons, do you?” Edrine asked around a mouthful of scone, and Catriona shook their head, idly twisting off the apple stem as they spoke. 

“No, we’re off until after Hogmanay. Our tutors are all going home for the holidays - our last lesson was the day before you all arrived.” 

Sachairi snorted, flicking his own apple stem at his cousin once he tore it free. “Like you’re not going to spend most of the holiday holed up in the library. If Edrine weren’t here, you’d probably be there right now.”

“Well, it’s not like I can do much else on my own. I don’t need to ask permission to read.” Catriona mused, and Sachairi nodded with a sigh, then elbowed their arm lightly. 

“Fair enough. Maybe we can ask Edrine’s parents to take us to Rosafearn, though. I think you’d like the decorations they’re putting up in the square.”

“Mama and Ava want to go, so I’m sure they’ll say yes.” Edrine piped up, leaning her head on Catriona’s shoulder. “Myrna told Ava that the hot chocolate is better here than it is in Ardaleith and they think she’s full of shit.”

Sachairi laughed around his scone, then choked, leaving Catriona to frantically smack his back until he stopped coughing and waved them off. Edrine seemed completely unbothered, taking the opportunity to instead break a piece off his scone when he wasn’t paying attention. 

“You don’t think your mom will come with us, do you?” 

Catriona shook their head, dusting off their hands of the cinnamon and sugar and folding the fabric napkin neatly in their lap. “Probably not. She’s been all about the ‘new happy family’ since Malcolm was born, so I think she’ll leave us be. Fine with me, though, mother always makes things weird with Avery.”

Edrine nodded and sighed, lacing her fingers together behind her head and leaning back against the windowpane. “Yeah...Ava won’t tell me, but I think they had an argument a while ago. Baroness Senga didn’t even invite us this year, Malvina and Myrna did. I don’t think she even said hello when we got here.”

“Auntie doesn’t like most of the clan leaders, so I wouldn’t take it personally.” Sachairi shrugged, then raised a brow at Catriona’s perplexed expression. “Contrary to what you may believe, I do listen to things.”

Both Edrine and Catriona looked incredulous at that, and Sachairi rolled his eyes, playfully shoving Catriona into Edrine’s side and shaking his head. 

“Whatever. Catty, since you’re done, can you go ask Avery or Rima if they want to go into town today?”

“You just want me to ask because you know Avery likes me.”

“It’s a strategy.” Sachairi lightly nudged them off the window seat, waving as they rolled their eyes and began the walk down the hall toward the guest wing where the Maollosas had been offered rooms. 

Catriona was happy to wander for a little while - they weren’t sure where Avery or Rima could be, so it was something of a necessity - and they hummed softly to themself as they passed through halls and the library and peered out windows to see if they had gone to the gardens, but knowing they couldn’t venture upstairs yet unless Sachairi or Edrine came to find them first. 

They were about to walk past the slightly cracked door to the dining room - the place the family usually shared their meals when there were no greater events in the castle - when they paused, hearing familiar voices drifting out into the quiet hallway. 

“You can’t avoid me forever, Senga.”

“I certainly don’t have to speak to you outside of clan affairs, and you are not here on clan business.”

Curious, Catriona crept closer, realizing that the first they heard was Avery and almost pushing the door open - and then freezing when they heard their mother’s voice in response. 

They peered in the gap in the door, watching with wide eyes as Avery put together a breakfast plate from the spread slowly being placed over the table. 

“You have every right to hold what happened over my head, but there’s no reason we can’t be civil when we share the same space, at least for the sake of Edrine and Catriona -”

“You do not get to speak to me about my child.” Senga’s plate clattered to the table, making Catriona jump slightly at the sudden sound. “I don’t want their name in your mouth until I hear an apology first, Maollosa, and being civil is not throwing you out the second I found out my mother invited you here.”

“Oh, only surnames now? Fine, we’ll play it your way.” Avery set their plate down far more neatly, popping a berry into their mouth. “I regret that I created an issue in your home and I apologize for what resulted, but I won’t apologize for my actions. You did a bloody awful thing, keeping the truth from Catriona, and it was high time someone told them.”

“It was not your place -”

“When would you have told them? When they turned sixteen, in the middle of their declaration? ‘Surprise, Catriona, you’re an heir to the nation, but we didn’t think you deserved to know that until we announced it to the rest of Rosinmoor. Hope you don’t mind!’” 

“Well, what you did certainly wasn’t much better, was it? They were inconsolable, Avery, blubbering absolute nonsense about not wanting to be the oldest and asking me about abdication, of all things. It was too much for them, they’re fragile, you should know that if you think you know what’s best for them.”

Catriona slowly leaned out of the gap, still listening, but feeling the familiar burn of tears in the corners of their eyes as they leaned against the wall beside the door and let out a shaky sigh.

So it was their fault, then. They wondered idly if they should apologize to Avery for getting so upset all that time ago, or if it were too late now. 

Avery’s voice rose slightly, their calm exterior breaking as Senga’s own tone changed to one of anger that Catriona knew well.

“Gods above, Senga, maybe they do want to abdicate, maybe they’ll change their mind, but that doesn’t change how large of a secret you kept from them. Catriona -”

“Do not say their name -”

“Catriona is not as fragile as you think they are, which you’d know if you gave them more than scraps of your time and attention.” Avery hissed. “We told Edrine at eight - eight - with at least an age appropriate version so she wasn’t blindsided when other clans started asking questions. This is an unavoidable fact of our lives, and they should know what choices they have to make one day, no matter how much time you can give them before you have to step down.”

“It doesn’t matter, Avery, the outcome would have been the same no matter when I told them. Get off your high horse and let it go. That’s how you can get your civility.”

There were a few long, heavy beats of pause where Catriona dared peek back inside, only to quickly lean back out of sight 

They’d never seen Avery look so angry. 

“What the hell do you mean ‘the outcome would have been the same’?”

“Catriona knows their obligations to the clan, and I won’t allow them anything other than what they’ve been raised for all these years. As the oldest, it is the duty they were born for. I would think you of all people, with your own child as your heir, would understand that.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t understand how you can look that child in the eye, see how miserable they are the way they’re living now, and insist that what you’re doing is right. I don’t understand why it is so important to you that Catriona be the next Baronet when Sachairi is only two months younger and just as capable, and seems to actually be interested in -”

Avery suddenly stopped mid sentence, and by Senga’s snarled ‘what?’, must have been making some clear expression that revealed their train of thought. 

“Son of a bitch, you did it on purpose.” Avery said, so quiet that Catriona had to strain to hear. “You had them to make sure that if you didn’t get the title, you could get your hands on it through them. You were third in line, but if Grace or Quinn had taken the Barony, Sachairi still wouldn’t be heir because you had a child first.”

Catriona’s heart stalled in their chest, eyes fixed on the door as if staring through it to look at the place where they heard their mother’s voice last. 

Please, mother, say it’s not true. Say that something, anything, please, please -

“And if I did?”

She hadn’t denied it.

Catriona nearly crumpled, staggering back from the door and turning to run, not caring in the slightest if their mother or Avery heard their footsteps as they raced through the passages to try and find somewhere to hide. The tears welled up and began to spill over, but they clasped a hand over their mouth to try and stifle the sound as they ran blindly through the passages to try and reach their bedroom.

A part of them had wondered - they were smart, and some things they had been told simply didn’t make sense - and especially so since Avery had told them the truth, but to hear it confirmed made it feel like their heart was breaking into pieces. 

They paid no mind to their mother’s rules when they darted up the stairs, two at a time, trying to make it to their bedroom before they completely broke down -

Only to crash directly into their grandmother. 

Myrna stumbled, leaning hard on her cane with one hand and wrapping her arm around Catriona’s shoulders to catch them both until they both regained their footing. She’d hardly opened her mouth to ask if they were alright before she noticed the tears spilling down her grandchild’s cheeks as they rushed to apologize.

Finding their grandmother, the most comforting presence they knew, was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“I’m - I’m sorry, granny, I didn’t mean to -”

Myrna took a good look at them, really looked at them, then quickly pulled them back in for a hug that left Astoria burying their face in the fabric of Myrna’s shirt to try and stifle their whimpers. 

“Oh, please, darling, don’t apologize. I’ve suffered worse than a simple tumble.” Myrna kissed the top of their head, smoothing a hand over their hair for a moment before she cupped their cheek in one hand. “What’s wrong? I know you wouldn’t cry like this over a simple bump. Come, come, we’ll go sit. Take a breath for me, alright?”

Shakily, Catriona nodded, wiping her cheeks with her sleeves as Myrna gently led them to their bedroom and closed the door behind them. Myrna crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, and then gently patted the space beside her for them to sit. 

“Deep breaths, darling, I’ll be here.” Myrna set her cane aside to wrap both arms around Catriona, hushing them gently and rubbing a hand up and down their back to try and soothe them as best she could. “When you’re ready, you’ll tell me what happened, yes?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, they calmed, enough to try their best to recount what they’d overheard in the dining room, unable to meet Myrna’s eyes as they repeated the phrases that stuck out in their mind and refused to escape. They only managed to look up when they finished and their granny said nothing, the silence between them so thick and heavy they thought they could cut it with a knife.

Myrna looked like fury hardly contained - white knuckled grip on the quilt, expression dark, angrier than Catriona had ever seen their usually energetic grandmother in all their years. 

“Are you...are you mad at me, granny?” They asked timidly, shrinking back as Myrna shook her head slightly. “I know it’s bad to eavesdrop…”

“No, I’m not upset with you.” Myrna got out, eyes fixed on a spot on the carpet as her jaw visibly ticked. “But I am furious with your mother. The absolute nerve of her - Avery is a guilty party, starting this where anyone could hear, but far less so than her - 

They flinched as Myrna shot to her feet, cane abandoned as she paced slowly around the carpet. “Please don’t tell them I was listening, granny, mother would get so upset with me for spying…”

“That’s her own damn fault for saying it in the first place.” Myrna snarled, then froze when Catriona let out a small whimper at the intensity of her tone. 

She let out a breath, trying to calm herself down enough so that she could school her expression back into one of neutral calm. For as angry as she was...there were more important things at hand. 

Slowly, Myrna stepped closer, kneeling in front of Catriona after a bit of effort and clasping their hands tightly in both of her own.

“I want you to listen to me, and I need you to listen well. You understand?”

Catriona nodded, lowering their eyes to their clasped hands as Myrna leaned her forehead against theirs and let out a sigh.

“No human is perfect. I make mistakes, your great aunts and uncles and your cousins make mistakes, your father made mistakes in the time I knew him. Your mother is no exception - she has made many mistakes in her lifetime, Catriona, but you are not one of them, and damn her for making you think otherwise. There is not a day that goes by where I am not grateful for your birth, a day where I am not filled with joy when I come home and see the way you smile at me and welcome me back, a day where I do not love you for who you are and how proud I am to call you my grandchild.” 

Myrna squeezed their hands again as she heard Catriona sniffle, uncaring of the tears of her own that were beginning to slide down her cheeks. “Astor loved you. Balfour loved you, gods rest them both. Your cousins love you. I love you. You are so, so loved, my darling, and it breaks my heart to know that you have doubted it for even a moment as a result of someone else’s cruel words.”

She released Catriona’s hands to cup their cheeks, tilting their head down to press a few kisses to their brow. 

“What do I do, granny?” Catriona whispered, laying their hands over Myrna’s and squeezing their eyes shut. “Mum said...mum said she had me so I could be the Baronet, but I don’t…”

Myrna leaned back slightly, enough to look Catriona in the eye when she tipped their chin up and waited for them to tentatively meet her gaze despite the tears that filled both their eyes. 

“Damn the barony. Damn all of it, Catty, because the barony means nothing if you are not happy. No title, no amount of money, no amount of power, nothing is worth giving up your happiness. No matter what your mother says, you have a choice, and if that choice is throwing everything she wanted for you at her feet, then I will stand behind you because I know it is what you want. No one can make you be anything that you don’t want to be.”

Catriona tried to swipe at their cheeks, but the tears only fell faster before Myrna pulled them into a tight embrace right there on the fur rug beneath them both. They sat together a long, long while, Catriona’s face buried in Myrna’s neck and Myrna holding onto Catriona like she was afraid they’d disappear. It would only be when Catriona quieted that Myrna would speak up, her voice gentle and thick with emotion all her own that she’d been trying to keep at bay for the sake of comforting their grandchild.

“Sweetheart, I want you to think about something.” Myrna murmured, prompting Catriona to lift their head and look up at her to show she was listening. “I won’t be staying here after Hogmanay ends. I have to go north, up to Prakra to speak to some colleagues, and then I’ll be going to Firent to work on a dig site. I’ll be gone from here for about two months, perhaps longer if I’m asked elsewhere. But...I want you to think about coming with me this time.”

“Come with you?” Catriona echoed, and Myrna nodded, smoothing some of Catriona’s hair back from their face. 

“You’ve spent your whole life here in Rosinmoor. I want to give you the chance to see the world, see what’s beyond our home - give you a chance to see what you could possibly become.” Myrna swiped a thumb across Catriona’s damp cheek, smiling a little despite herself. “I want you to know that you have choices, and I want you to understand how much bigger life is than it is here at Castle Kintyre.”

“What...what about mom?”

“Your mother may be Baroness, but she sure as hell has no authority over me. If you tell me you want to go, you’re going, and if I have to fight tooth and nail to make it happen, I will.” Myrna let out a playful growl, prodding at Catriona’s sides with tickling fingers and smiling when a peal of laughter fell from their lips and they shoved her hands away. “You don’t have to decide now, but -”

Astoria shook their head, looking up at Myrna with a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “No, I...I want to go. I want to go to Prakra, Firent, anywhere you go. I want to see it all for as long as you’ll let me. I just...don’t want to be here right now.”

A smile broke across Myrna’s lips, and carefully, she reached for her cane - not before bringing Catriona in for another tight embrace. 

“Trust me, my dear, you’re welcome to follow me anywhere. You’re far more welcome company than some of my other traveling companions.” She rose, gently nudging Catriona toward her wardrobe. “Pack your bags, darling.”

Surprised, Catriona stood, brows furrowing as she looked at Myrna. “Where are we going?”

“I have a little place down in Rosafearn. A cottage, where Balfour and I used to stay when we wanted to get away from the castle. I’m going to go get Edrine and Sachairi, and we can spend a few nights there so you can have some space away from home. I’ll deal with your mother later.”

*     *     *     *     *

Once they’d settled in at the cottage, Catriona nearly stumbled into the bed Myrna made up for them, kissing their brow and telling them she’d be back soon with her cousin, her friend, and their things to spend the rest of the holiday away from the castle. 

They didn’t know how much time it had been when the door cracked open, though by the time Myrna came back, the midmorning sun was peeking through the curtains just as the door cracked open and two familiar faces poked their heads inside. Catriona waved for them to come in, but didn’t move - not that Edrine seemed to mind, climbing into the bed beside them and cuddling up to their side. 

“Are you okay?” She whispered, and Catriona shook their head slowly, letting out a shaky breath.

“Not really.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“...not really.” They murmured, closing their eyes as they felt Sachairi drop into bed with them as well - his head resting on Catriona’s stomach and his legs hanging off the side. 

“That’s okay.” He said, finding their hand and giving it a squeeze. “We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Catriona nodded slowly, their other hand finding Edrine’s and squeezing them both tightly. 

“Thank you.” They breathed, feeling themself sink into the bed as Myrna gently closed the bedroom door and plunged them all into relative quiet. 

When the next morning came, they’d realize the exhilaration they felt at the sense of freedom for the first time in all their thirteen years, but for now…

For now they wanted to forget the world completely.

[synvamp]

Popsicle

Clover and Qrow have taken the whole delayed gratification thing a *little* too far and end up getting hot and heavy in the frozen food aisle because they just CAN’T wait until they get home. Rating MA

@shitluckebi​ forced me to write this fic at gunpoint and won’t post it unless I do too smh. Thank you for giving me all these awesome terrible ideas for crack. Having just re-read this, I don’t think we should be friends anymore X’D

—xxx—

The long and delicious courtship that Clover had nurtured had finally taken its toll. His days were now one long, breathless minute of agony. Everywhere he looked; his eyes would find a curve… a little trick of the light that would remind him of Qrow.

When they were together, it was even worse… today they were shopping. Just getting some things for dinner. It should have been easy. A simple little trip, twenty minutes at most.

They’d just gotten to frozen food when Qrow slid open a panel and leaned forwards. His long legs were bad enough but his ass… so tight and perky and just there.

Stop looking. Stop looking.

Clover’s mind was very strict but his eyes weren’t listening. In three months of courtship, they had moved glacier slow… it had been so good to just draw out every little contact but this last week had taken Clover beyond boiling point.

On Tuesday, Qrow had sucked his fingers. Pink, hot tongue sliding between digits, his red eyes meeting Clover’s…

He had a boner for two days. TWO FREAKING DAYS. And then on Thursday Qrow had climbed on top of him on the couch. Hey there Lucky Charm, he’d said, lowering himself onto Clover’s lap.

Clover had tried to speak but it was mostly a moan that came from his lips.

You ok there? Qrow had asked, rocking forward to plant a kiss on his lips.

“Qrow… I…” I will tear your fucking clothes off… I swear…

Qrow had just laughed at him, “What’s with the face? You getting impatient?”

Qrow rocked back, stretching, just letting his shirt lift to show hard stomach muscles. And then just as Clover’s arms had gone to close around him, he skipped nimbly out of reach.

“Tomorrow…” Qrow bit his lip, “I don’t wanna wait any more either…”

“I should go home…” Clover had managed, letting himself out of Qrow’s apartment before his heart stopped altogether.

And now it was tomorrow. And Qrow had said dinner first. And then he said he didn’t have anything for dinner. And it was all Clover could do not to just rip his own pants off and scream eat me!

But he didn’t. He’d been a good boy. Up until this. Up until now. Up until Qrow’s ass was right in front of him… at hip height.

Clover took a step forwards and leaned in… letting Qrow know exactly what he did to the man.

The feeling of his length pressing that tight ass did not make things any easier.

“Hmmmm,” Qrow pushed back, “You’re really not good at waiting are you?” he turned around, his hand pulling Clover’s hip to his.

Their breath mingled as they pressed together, the urgency which had been building between them making every place where their bodies met scream with the heat.

Clover leaned down and took Qrow’s ear between his teeth; a breathy moan went straight to his cock. “How can I wait…?”

“We can’t do this here!” Qrow said urgently, but he turned into Clover’s embrace, his long, nimble fingers taking his tie off.

“I know… we need to go…” Clover breathed, his nose nuzzling Qrow’s neck. He pushed him back against the freezer and stepped between those long legs.

Qrow’s light fingers stroked up Clover’s chest, popping the top button of his shirt. “You should stop…” “You’re taking my clothes off…” Clover kissed down Qrow’s throat. Oh Gods he feels so good…

“You’re still kissing me…” Qrow huffed as his fingers brushed the front of Clover’s pants.

“I’m trying to stop…” Oh fuck… I can’t stop… “Qrow… I can’t… I need you… NOW.”

Qrow’s breathing was erratic, his lips were wet, pressed desperately to Clover’s cheek, “Clover… oh fuck… we’re in the supermarket…”

Clover turned his face into that desperate and soft perfection, Qrow’s lips uttered a murmur of acceptance, “but ok… come on,” Qrow hooked his fingers into Clover’s belt.

Clover dropped his basket and just followed, his whole body aching for more contact.

“I think I saw a…” Qrow pulled him along, stopping outside a large metal door.

Clover put a hand around his waist and slipped his fingers up under Qrow’s shirt.

“They probably don’t open this very often, right?” Qrow breathed, grinding his hips against Clover and feeling the size of Clover under his hands. The man must be very horny…

Clover didn’t even speak; he just lifted the metal handle, swung the door and shoved Qrow inside.

As soon as the door clanged, they were plunged into darkness. The cold was a shock to Qrow, but the nimble fingers lifting his shirt, the lips on his nipple… it didn’t even matter anymore.

Clover kissed down his chest, strong hands gripping his hips. He felt fingers working at his belt and he tore his own jacket and shirt off and threw them on the ground. His hands sought Clover’s top and he pulled the man to his feet, lifting his shirt away, stripping him down to bare muscle.

And then there wasn’t need anymore… there wasn’t a right time or a wrong time… there was just hands and hot lips and that cock… oh my gods… and Qrow’s whole body was aflame with it… rocking with every feather-light touch, every crushing thrust…

Outside the freezer, Jett Holman scratched his head. He was sure he’d locked the freezer.

Absolutely sure.

He looked at the temperature gauge. It really should not be that hot in there! All the popsicles would melt for one… and he’d probably get the blame for it.

He was just going to push the handle down and walk away when he heard a little noise…

Damn kids were probably playing in there. He briefly considered locking them in to teach them a lesson but he’d only just been made Assistant Manager last week and he had to keep on the boss’s good side. So instead, he swung the door open and lifted his eyes, ready to give some punk the lecture of his life.

As the square of artificial light lit up the cold store, the hot air in Jett’s lungs left his body with a whoosh. He could only see one thing.

 Cock.

 His freezer was full of cock.

Muscles and bodies and positions and…

“Oh my god what are you doing in there!?” he shouted, knowing full well what they were doing as he had seen every last part of it in technicolour. He may continue to see it every time he closed his eyes until the end of time.

Two pairs of eyes glared at him and then the tall brunette man pulled himself away from the… uh… tangle of limbs and strode up to the door, completely naked. Jett’s eyes tried to leave the glorious cock which was proudly on display. They did not succeed. The man strode up to the door and smiled politely. He reached out one hand and said, “Fifteen minutes,” then he pulled the door from Jett’s hands and closed it firmly.*

The next day was perhaps the longest in Qrow’s misfortune laden life.

He was called to Jimmy’s office for a lecture. The lecture to end all lectures.

Sure, he’d had the experience before… but this time it was different. The man was just about purple. He’d never been purple before…

The whole situation didn’t seem to faze Clover at all, which was good because Qrow was literally dying.

“I recalled an instructional video about deep snow survival, Sir…” Clover was saying, “It had very detailed information about the value of friction in preserving body heat in exactly this scenario,” Clover nodded in an authoritative fashion.

Qrow used this valuable time to just turn a shade more red.

Fuck my life, he thought. Fuck it all.

James gave Clover his best imperial man-in-charge stare, “So you’re telling me that you were fucking him… just to keep him warm?”

The whole room seemed suddenly hotter, and more claustrophobic than Qrow had ever remembered it before.

Clover, bless his adamantly gay and unapologetic ass, just smiled.

Finally, James broke the silence, “Did it work?”

“He looked pretty hot to me,” Clover smirked.

Fucking kill me now, Qrow begged internally.

“Hmmm…” Jimmy’s eyes flicked from the captain of the Ace Ops to the back of Qrow’s head, “I’m willing to overlook this uh…. indiscretion… because of your fantastic military record Clover, but don’t let this become a habit. We have a reputation to maintain.”

Clover gaped, trying not to be shocked by his lack of punishment. Seems like Qrow really could get away with anything…

“And you…” James’s eyes focussed on Qrow…

That’s it. I’ve finally pushed it too far. My career is officially over…

“…bring me a popsicle next time.”

—xxx—

 Note* Jett later became a middle manager and a hopeless disaster gay. Never did he succeed in closing his eyes without seeing Clover’s cock in his mind.

[langdvnshepherd]

Good For You ~ Part 4 (Duncan Shepherd x fem!reader)

PART ONE ~ PART TWO ~ PART THREE

Summary: You’re a broke ass college student whose one night stand with the infamous Duncan Shepherd leads to the development of a rather interesting relationship between the two of you. — Duncan puts you in an uncomfortable situation that leaves you torn between confessing your truth or walking away from it all.

Word Count: 9.8k (I’m sooo sorry omg)

Warnings: sugar daddy!Duncan, fem!reader, angst, smut, fingering, oral (female receiving), daddy kink

A/N: Sorry it took so long, but here it is! The final chapter (blowing nose emoji). It’s long as hell so I’m kinda sorry about that, but I just had a lot I wanted to include! Also even though it’s deadass like a novel, I still feel like I kinda rushed it?? idk lmk your thoughts I guess. I’ve loved writing this series and I’m sad to see it go, but it’s definitely time to move on lmao. I want to give another shoutout to @avesatanormalpeoplescareme for the inspiration for this chapter you truly saved my life again! Also to @belusima (she doesn’t know it but I left her a lil surprise in here hehehe). I barely proofread this and wrote most of it literally at 5 o’clock this morning so if you notice any major mistakes pls don’t roast me. Thank you all so much for the notes and kind words regarding this fic and my other work! I truly appreciate it from the bottom of my heart. (gif credit to m-langdon666)

     Three aggressively persistent knocks on your door sent you jolting out of bed one morning. It was early, at least to you. Maybe your roommate stayed out last night and was finally coming home, but other than that you had no idea who could possibly need your attention at this hour. Rising from your bed with a loud yawn and stretch, you reluctantly made your way out of bed and towards the door of your tiny apartment. You must not have been moving fast enough for their liking, because three more rattles on the cracked paint of your front door echoed throughout the apartment not long after the first.

     “I’m coming! Jesus,” you muttered, picking up your pace and swiftly running to the door. As you passed the mirror in your hallway, you catch a glimpse of your current state: hair knotted from tossing side to side on your pillow, eyelids puffy from sleep, nipples peaking through the thin fabric of your thin, ratty university t-shirt in the cool air of your apartment. Definitely not presentable by any means, but whoever was beating on your door at this ungodly hour needs your attention and they need it now.

     Fully expecting to see your roommate on the other side, you unlatched the chain lock and forcefully flung the door open. She was really in for it thinking she could stay out all night and come home whenever she pleased, waking up the entire building as she did. Ready to lecture her about leaving her keys at home and the danger she puts herself in by partying through the morning at frat houses, you were instead greeted by a different set of eyes. 

     “Duncan?”

     The morning sun pierced through the shade of aqua, turning them an almost glacier-blue shade in the light. He had one arm propped against the door frame, the other rubbing against on the scruff on his neck. Clad head to toe in the most expensive black coat and pants money could buy, he looked so obscure standing in the doorway of your tiny, run-down apartment building. But nonetheless, he looked perfect. Upon hearing your voice, he perked up instantly and the word vomit began.

     “Y/N. Is this a good time?” The way his leg was anxiously twitching made you think his question was more of a courtesy, and that he was coming in whether you responded or not. 

     “Uhh,” looking down at your bare feet and legs, you crossed your arms across your chest hoping to mask your horrendous appearance from Duncan as much as possible, “Yeah, come in.” You stepped away from the entrance and he swiftly entered your living room, making sure to shut and lock the door behind him.

     “I’m about to ask you to do something, and I need you to help me out. Okay?” In this moment, both you and Duncan realized he had never been inside of your apartment. He took in the setup before him, recognizing pieces scattered throughout the space that he had purchased for you. An Oscar de la Renta coat hanging on the rack by the door, your Macbook resting open on the side table by the sofa, the high-end coffee maker he’d sent you after casually mentioned your old one had finally bit the bullet. It looked exactly the way he’d pictured it, bits and pieces of luxury scattered amongst the dingy, outdated furniture and appliances.

     “Okayy?” you responded, although it came out as more of a question than an answer. You’d never seen Duncan look so distraught before. He was pacing back and forth like he might explode if he stood in place for too long.

     “I got a phone call this morning,” he began. “Apparently, the lady in charge of our family’s finances saw my bank statement from our little... trip to Paris and got suspicious. She went digging and found everything. For whatever fucking reason, she took it upon herself to alert my mother. Thought maybe my card got stolen or something. Why she thought that was my mother’s business I have no fucking clue. So, I have spent the better half of this morning trying to make sure my mother didn’t have a stroke from how mad she was when she found out." Blood rushed to his face as he babbled on, his neck turning an irritated shade of pink. 

     You stood there, leaning against the arm of the sofa, legs crossed in front of you, still holding your arms in front of your chest. You were trying to process what Duncan had just said, but you were still fairly confused. His mother had found out about you. Did this mean he came here to call it off? Why would she be mad? Duncan is a grown man that can spend his money as he pleases.

     “And sooo what is it that you need me to do exactly?” 

     Duncan took a deep breath before finally turning to face you head on. He had been too apprehensive to look you in the eyes from the minute he walked into your living room. “She backed me into a corner. She kept asking if I’m being blackmailed for money or if I’ve been hiring hookers and I didn’t really know how to explain it to her without it being completely fucking embarrassing so I just told her that I’ve been seeing someone. Then she freaked out. Said she wanted to meet whoever it was. Told me to bring them to the event we’re having this weekend.”

     You cocked your eyebrow at him, still not understanding.

     “Y/N, I wouldn’t be here this early in the morning if it wasn’t important. I need you to go to that event with me...and pretend we’re together. Just for my mother’s sake. We don’t have to stay long, just long enough to say a couple words to her. Prove that you’re real. Then we can go and I’ll never ask you to do something like this ever again. Whatever you want, consider it yours. I just need you to do this. For me.” The pleading look in Duncan’s eyes was almost comical. He was scared of his mother. It was clear at that moment that he cared way too much about what his mother thinks for someone his age. For what reason, you weren’t sure.

     “I...uh...wow, Duncan.” You felt a twinge in your stomach that was hard to explain. Maybe it was just nerves from having all of this sprung on you just moments after waking up, or maybe it was because the thought of pretending to be Duncan Shepherd’s girlfriend for a night was enough to make you hurl. Your feelings about Duncan were becoming harder and harder to ignore since Paris, and you weren’t sure how doing this would make you feel afterward.

     “I’m not sure I can...I don’t know if-”

     “I know. I fucked up. But please don’t make me beg.” It felt like he was staring into your soul. He had never looked this desperate in the entire time you’d known him. You really wanted to be hesitant, to say no. It wasn’t a good idea, it didn’t do anything to help your situation. But who were you kidding, he could have asked anything of you, and you would have come running.

     “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Just tell me what I need to do and I’ll be there.”

     Duncan let out a loud sigh and closed his eyes in relief. “Thank you. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll have someone drop off a dress, just be ready by 7 on Saturday.”

     “Okay,” you replied, unsure of saying anything else.

     “Okay,” he repeated, satisfied with your compliance. “I’ll see you then.” Duncan approached you, taking your elbows in his hands. It was a gentle, gesture of gratitude, but it made your stomach flip.

     “Thank you. Again. I mean it.” He rubbed circles on your arms as he spoke. You looked up to meet his eyes once again, his gaze making your heart rate skyrocket. 

     You nodded in response, casually rolling your shoulders to shake yourself out of Duncan’s grasp. He took this as an opportunity to leave, making his way towards the door as his dress shoes tapped against the vinyl floor. He turned his back to take one last look at you before leaving.

     “See ya,” you called out. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, a slight smile appearing on his face.

     “Bye, Y/N,” he all but whispered as he shut the door behind him and went about his day.

-

     You sat in the limo more or less pondering your entire life, and how you’d ended up in this situation. If you would have told yourself 5 years ago, hell, even a year ago that you’d be in this position, you’d laugh at how insane you sounded. Not only had you accidentally found a sugar daddy, if that’s what you want to call it, but you’d also managed to catch feelings for him. Where he once was nothing more than a business arrangement, he now encompassed nearly your every thought. 

     There was a war going on inside your brain. Part of you wanted things to go back to the way they were when Duncan called on you once a week to fuck and sent you expensive gifts afterward. No strings attached, just fucking. The other part of you wanted clarity, to know how Duncan felt. If you confessed your feelings, would Duncan reciprocate? Could the two of you actually be together? If you weren’t on the same page, would he break it off? Cut you out of his life and leave you a broke, struggling college student? 

     The conversation you had with your roommate just minutes before Duncan arrived in the limo echoed in the back of your mind.

     “You HAVE to tell him how you feel,” she exclaimed, with a little more sass than you were expecting.

     “It’s not that simple!” you argued back. 

     You had finally let her in on everything that had happened with Duncan. The incident with the frat boy, the trip to Paris, that drunken night, the stolen glances, the event you were about to attend and pretend to be his girlfriend for the night. She was convinced Duncan felt the same way you did, but you weren’t sold on the idea.

     “But it is though! Come on, Y/N. What you said makes perfect sense. He likes you. He has to. When all of this shit started, it was strictly business. I remember. But now he’s acting all weird and shit and it just doesn’t add up. He either likes you or he’s been buttering you up to kill you this entire time.”

     “That’s not funny.”

     “Yeah, well, neither are you with your little ‘poor me’ attitude. You should just tell him how you feel. What’s the worst thing that would happen? He doesn’t feel the same, and he breaks it off. I highly doubt you would ever run into him again. Plus, think about what would happen if he liked you too. You wouldn’t have to hide in his apartment or in hotel rooms every night. You could actually spend time with him outside of the pillow talk you have right before you leave. And I mean I know this might be a sensitive subject buuttttt...imagine all of the shit he would buy you if you were actually dating. I mean we’re probably talki-”

     “Okay, that’s enough. Thanks. I get it.” Her rambling made you feel ill. Maybe she had a point. For something that started out so harmless, it was now eating you alive. “I just don’t see it ever working out. I’m a college student who barely has her shit together and he’s apparently a member of the most influential fucking family in America besides the goddamn president. We don’t go together,” you babbled, emphasizing your points with elaborate hand gestures.

     “Tell you what,” your roommate started, “This...event? Is it?” You gave her a confirming nod from your place at the end of your bed. “Okay, so if you’re pretending to be Duncan’s girlfriend tonight, why don’t you just multitask and figure out whether or not you’d even want to be with him? You’ll be out with him in public, where everyone can see. You’re getting to meet his mother. It’ll be like you’re actually together. If it goes well and you could see yourself doing something like this again, you should tell him how you feel. If you hate it, you should break it off. You shouldn’t let a man take up this much of your time if he’s making you feel like this.”

     Damn, why was she always right?

     A gentle squeeze on your kneecap drew you from your thoughts. You looked up to see Duncan staring at you from his side of the limo with concern washed over his features.

     “You okay?” he asked. “You’re looking a little spaced out.”

     “Yeah,” you enthusiastically nodded, hoping to put up a persuasive front and not let Duncan know the internal chaos going on in your body. “Just a little nervous.”

     “Me too. It shouldn’t be that bad though. Don’t worry about it too much. I’ll try to do most of the talking. My mother will probably ask you what you do or what your thoughts are about the wine selection. Whatever you do, just try not to mention the...nature of our relationship.” 

     And what exactly is the nature of our relationship? you thought to yourself.

     You absentmindedly picked at the beading on your gown as the limo ascended the winding, cobblestone driveway of the venue. It was a country club of some sorts, so you were dressed to the nines. The dress Duncan had picked out for you was modest enough to meet his mother in, yet showed off just enough skin to still make you feel sexy. 

    Duncan seemed to think so too, given that his eyes nearly fell out of his head when he picked you up at your apartment building. He knew he had good taste, but he was always taken back by how beautiful you looked.

     As the limo came to a halt, Duncan was the first out. He quickly straightened out his suit and made his way over to your side of the car, opening the door for you like the gentleman he was.

      “Ready?” he questioned, placing both of his hands on your shoulders to smooth out the creases in your gown from the ride over. It was a gentle and soothing gesture that made your heart beat in your ears.

      You looked him up and down one last time before looping your arm around his. He looked perfect, as always. Dressed in all black, and not a hair on his curly head out of place. It was styled differently this time, quaffed back instead of resting to the side. His scruff had been cleaned up around the edges, meaning he was really trying to make an impression on his mother with you by his side.

      “Ready.”

      You joined Duncan at the elbow and waltzed into the french doors of one of the largest country clubs you’ve ever seen, unsure of where the night would lead you.

-

     The ballroom of the country club must have been bigger than your entire childhood home. The ceilings felt like they were 50 feet high, and there was a waiter stationed at least every 10 steps to cater to your every need. Duncan escorted you straight to the bar, claiming that you both needed at least one drink before doing anything or speaking to anyone.

     He was nervous like you, and you could tell, but of course, he had different reasons. It was clear by the way he acted in your apartment that he cared a great deal what his mother thought of him, and impressing her was on the top of his list. Maybe she’d have his ass for spending so much money on a young girl such as yourself, but you still couldn’t wrap your head around it as to how that could be. You’d settled on the idea that perhaps he just had a close relationship with his mother, and that he’d do anything to stay in her good graces.

     As you nursed the cocktail Duncan had ordered for you (Which was fucking incredible by way. Why was he so good at everything?), your eyes wandered around the spacious room. There had to have been at least 200 people in the room, and more than a handful of them were familiar faces. You’d read about them, learned about them in class. They were infamous lobbyists, members of Congress, even a member of the Presidental Cabinet you’d managed to pick out amongst the crowd. This was his circle, the big dogs he ran with. You began to feel extremely overwhelmed and claustrophobic, the energy of the room becoming overbearing. How could you ever be with Duncan when this is what he did for a living?

     Just as you were about to excuse yourself to the bathroom for a proper panic session, Duncan’s grip on your arm tightened exponentially. Turning to him to see what was wrong, you noticed a small-framed, brunette woman making her way towards you with an ear-to-ear grin plastered on her face.

     “Well, well, well. Look who decided to finally show up!” The woman took both sides of Duncan’s face in her hands and pressed short, brief kisses on each of his cheeks. You weren’t sure who she was, but you had the inkling this was the woman of the hour. The one you’d been waiting to meet. Although she didn’t resemble Duncan in the slightest, the way Duncan’s jaw was tightened and the short breaths he was taking made you certain that she was an important figure.

     “Hi, mom,” the words slipped past his lips, almost in a mumble.

     “I was beginning to think I’d never find you in this place! You know I really like this venue, I think we should keep it in-“ by this time she was rambling about things beyond your grasp of knowledge. Something about the app you’d heard Duncan mention plenty of times before but could never wrap your head around, something about crowd-funding and one specific congressman you’d heard about from a tax-evasion scandal on tv. It sent you further into your spiral of anxiety. It must have been pretty obvious, because Duncan then unthreaded his arm from yours and moved it to rest on your hip, pulling you closer towards him to steady your shaking. He ran his hand up and down your side against the embellished fabric, it was calming to you but it was more for himself at that moment. He was nodding at every word that left his mother’s mouth, even though he could barely focus on her words himself.

     “-anyways. Enough of all of that. Were you going to introduce me or were you just gonna let her stand there all night with her hip glued to yours?”

     Your stomach dropped as you peered up at the woman. She was looking you up and down, taking in your form. You checked yourself one more time, making sure you hadn’t spilled something on your elaborate gown or had lipstick in your teeth. This was it. Time to put on a show.

     “Mom, this is Y/N.” Duncan’s features softened slightly as the mention of your name, a smile ghosting over his lips. He continued to run his hands up and down your side as he introduced you, a crutch for both you and him.

     “It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Y/N. I hope you’re finding this evening to be worth your while. We put a lot of work into this event, so I hope everyone has a good time.” She extended her hand to you, and you reciprocated, giving her a firm shake.

     “This place is incredible, Ms. Shepherd. Thank you so much for inviting me,” you stated in the most uppity voice you could manage. A beauty pageant smile adorned your face, sure to fool anyone.

     “Oh please, call me Annette!” She placed her hand over heart in exclamation.

     “Well, it’s great to finally meet you, Annette.” Duncan watched the two of you interact intently, ready to interject at the split second something could go wrong.

     “Duncan’s not told me much about you. What you do? Where are you from? Tell me all about yourself! You’ve got to be some kind of special if Duncan’s spending more money on you than he is on himself.”

     She wasn’t nearly as intimidating as you’d imagined. Sure, you were nervous as hell that she’d ask you a personal question about Duncan you didn’t know the answer to, and you were nervous about the decision you’d have to make by the end of the night (to confront him about your feelings or walk away from it all), but there was nothing about this woman that was particularly menacing.

     You cut your eyes to Duncan before parting your lips to speak. He gave your side a quick squeeze, letting you know you were going to be fine.

     “I, umm...I’m a student at Georgetown. I grew up kinda far away from here actually. I don’t have any family here or anything-“

     “That’s actually how we met, isn’t it, Y/N? At Georgetown? That symposium about higher education and research?” The cock of his eyebrow pleading for you to catch the hint.

     “Yeah, it was,” you shot him another glance and a toothy smile, slowly becoming more comfortable in Annette’s presence thanks to Duncan.

     “Aren’t you two just the cutest!?” Annette professed. “If I remember correctly, that symposium was forever ago. How come I’m only just now finding out about you?”

     Both you and Duncan swallowed the lump in your throat. You racked your brain for an excuse, anything to get her off this line of questioning. Thank god for Duncan’s smooth tongue, because you were at a loss for words.

     “We’ve just been taking it slow. Didn’t want to rush anything. We’re both pretty busy so we just haven’t really had the time to take any extra steps.” He spoke so calmly as if he’d been practicing how he would answer this exact question. He was her son, after all, surely he was aware of the kinds of things she’d be asking about.

     “Well, I hope you can make it out to another event soon. I think there’s a gala in the works for next month. Or maybe you can convince Duncan to come back to his mother’s house and we can have a proper get-together over a nice dinner. He never comes to see me outside of work anymore. I’m sure you’re busy with school, but I’d love to see more of you,” Annette gave an earnest smile to the two of you.

     “Of course, I’d love that,” you flashed your pearly whites at Annette and looked up one more time at Duncan. His face had completely softened when looking into your eyes. You caught a flicker of a spark behind his ocean blue’s, unsure of what it meant.

     “If you guys don’t mind, I actually just spotted one of the potential top donors for tonight. I’m gonna squeeze on by and say hello before he gets too drunk and has to be escorted out,” Annette tensed up in amusement and disappeared in the masses.

     Duncan exhaled audibly as soon as she went out of his line of vision. He turned to face you, now resting both hands at your hips.

     “Thank you. So much.”

     “No problem. It wasn’t that bad. She’s not nearly as terrifying as you made her out to be,” you said with a few chuckled in between sentences. You really didn’t know why Duncan made her out to be this big, bad, scary monster. She behaved like any other mother would in her situation. She hardly batted an eyelash when you told her you were still in school, and didn’t ask anything that was particularly worrisome. There was nothing out of the ordinary of her in your eyes. As far as you were concerned, she seemed pretty satisfied.  

     “Yeah, well, maybe if she raised you you’d know how hard it is to make her happy. She was either lying her ass off just then, or she was actually impressed. I genuinely don’t think she was lying, didn’t see any of her tell-tale signs, but then again she never fails to surprise me,” a blush covered Duncan’s cheeks and he scratched the back of his neck as he spoke.

     You quietly nodded back at him, unsure of how to respond.

     “Anyways, how about we actually enjoy ourselves now that my mother is under control? I can show you around if you’d like.”

     “Sounds like a wonderful idea.”

-

     How you’d ended up outdoors, propped against the lip of an Olympic-sized, cascading water fountain was beyond you. To your chagrin, Duncan excused himself to talk to one of his business partners, claiming he’d only be a second. Seconds turned to minutes, and by now it must have been about 15 since he’d left your side. You took a couple turns down a never-ending hallway and somehow managed to find the doors leading to the garden. There were topiaries galore, and greenery covering nearly every square inch of the back yard. It was peaceful compared to the medley of booming voices indoors. 

     You took some time to reflect on the night, weighing out the pros and cons of what you were going to do. You hadn’t forgotten the way Duncan had been looking at you all night, it almost resembled the way you look at him. His eyes flutter like he was looking at something precious. The way he always kept one hand on you at all times was not unlost on you either. You wanted to believe it was genuine, but you had convinced yourself it was all part of his act. To sell this fake relationship to his mother and to everyone else in the room. 

     On the other hand, you were actually having a fun night. Duncan had led you throughout the country club, showing you the various rooms whilst talking shit about almost everyone in attendance. When you went back for more drinks, you caught Annette’s eye again. She gave you a cheerful wave and tilted her glass of wine towards you. You’d even introduced yourself to your favorite journalist, gushing over her latest work. 

     Your pondering was cut short when you heard the rustling of bushes not far from where you were resting. You were about to have company or you were about to be brutally murdered by some creep that had been hiding out. 

     When your vision cleared, you realized it was a man. He looked vaguely familiar from far away, maybe he was another famous public figure that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He was dressed in a tuxedo, and his swagger was way too arrogant for your taste. Whoever he was, he was coming your way. You weren’t prepared for what was about to happen next.

     “Y/N? Is that you?” 

     His voice immediately sent shivers down your spine. You knew exactly who this man was. The two of you had a history, and not a good one. A few months before you met Duncan at the hotel bar, you’d had a little rendezvous with him. A couple times actually. Like Duncan, he had coaxed you back to the hotel more than once. You abruptly cut it off after finding out about his backwards, conservative rhetoric. You discovered via the internet that he was everything you despised, and you couldn’t even stand to look him in the eyes. He was a higher up for some media company that had tried to win you over multiple times by bragging about how much money he had. You never accepted a dime apart from the drinks he’d let you run up on his tab. He was repulsive, which you had told him the night you broke it off. It ended in him calling you a gold-digging whore that cared about no one but herself. Definitely not a ladies man to say the least. 

     You weren’t sure how to react, so you stayed put, straightening out the bottom of your gown that had been folded under your legs. Why the fuck was he even here? Of all of the people you could have run into, of course, it had to be him. 

     “Should have known you would have found your way into one of these. Tons of rich guys you can fuck around with and use for your own benefit,” he scoffed, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. He smelled like bourbon, and you could see the drunken blush that covered his entire face even from the faint glow of the water fountain lights.

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You kept your eyes glued to your heels, praying for him to walk away or for someone to come to your rescue.

     “Oh come on, Y/N. We both know that’s not true.”

     “You’re just mad that I refused to blow you after I found out your company is one of the top donors to the NRA,” you fired back. “Plus, it’s not like I was missing out on anything special when I called it off.”

     His jaw clenched, clearly infuriated. You realized maybe it wasn’t the best idea to get into it with a grown man that was at least a head taller than you outside, in the dark, where no one could see or hear. When he took another step towards you, you flinched.

     “Listen here, you fucking slut-”

     “Y/N?!”

     You had never been more thankful to hear Duncan’s voice in your entire life. He all but broke out into a sprint trying to reach you. Mumbling a quick, “Thank god,” to yourself, Duncan finally caught up to you.

     “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I was starting to think you ditched me or something,” Duncan said with a hearty chuckle.

     “No fucking way. You’re here with Shepherd?!” the man beside you ragged. Duncan hadn’t paid any attention to him until just then. 

     “Do you two know each other, Y/N?” Duncan looked at you both with raised eyebrows and his lips turned down in disgust.

     “Umm...we-” you started, scrambling to find the right words.

     “We do. Quite well, actually,” said the foul man cut you off. “You better watch your back around her, Dunc. She’s trouble. Only cares about herself. She’s nothing but a gold-digging whore that’ll leave you high and dry after she gets what she needs. I’ve seen her do it, and there’s no doubt in my mind that she’ll do it again.” 

     He jabbed his finger at you aggressively as he spoke, like he intended to shove you back. Before he got any closer, Duncan was immediately in-between the two of you. Duncan’s nostrils flared and his chest was poking out, mere seconds from snapping. 

     "Duncan, can we please just go,” you whispered from behind him.

     Duncan looked over his shoulder at you, giving you a brief head nod. 

     “You should probably get the fuck out of here,” Duncan spat at the man. “Unless you want your face plastered on the cover of every fucking newspaper in D.C., I suggest you never show your face to me ever again. The press loves a juicy story, and I’d be glad to give them one that’ll burn your company to the fucking ground.”

     He gave Duncan one last snarl before stomping off in defeat like a dog with its tail between its legs. When he was gone, Duncan gripped you by the elbow and led you out of the backyard, going around the side of the building instead of through the inside. He was quiet the whole time, and you were scared to know why.

-

     The car ride was silent, for the most part. Duncan revealed he went to the same university as the man from earlier. They were rivals, always going for each other’s throats whenever it was possible. Aside from that, not much else was said. You could tell Duncan was bothered by what happened, but you didn’t know if it was directed at you or the man. He kept rubbing his hands up his cheeks and jaw and had his body turned away from you, leaning on the window. 

     You had to face the music. After everything that just happened, was tonight the best time to confess your feelings? Were you even certain about what you wanted anymore? Sure, Duncan was great, but could you keep up with his lifestyle? The confrontation between you and the media mogul caused you enough anxiety to last a lifetime, and you certainly never wanted to have to do that shit ever again. 

     You’d told yourself the same thing one million times before. He’s a grown man, it would logistically never work out. Especially after this. 

     “Duncan,” you started, ready to shatter your hopes and dreams.

     He turned in your direction, the same, exhausted look on his face.

     “I don’t think this is gonna work out.”

     “What do you mean?” he asked, his facial expression quickly changing to one of confusion.

     “This. Us. All of it. I don’t want to do it anymore,” each word out of your mouth wedged the blade deeper and deeper into your chest.

     Duncan just stared at you, his face unreadable. His chest began to move more rapidly, but he stayed quiet. The silence lasted what felt like an eternity, damn near making you want to jump out of the moving limo.

     “Say something, Duncan. Please,” you pleaded.

     “Guess he was right, huh?” Duncan’s voice was low, like he was trying to steady himself without cracking.

     “What?”

     “That guy. When he said you take what you want and then you leave. You’re doing it right now. Aren’t you? You got what you wanted. The money, the clothes, the trips. You got caught, and now you’re running.”

     You couldn’t do anything but stare at Duncan with your mouth agape. He was really accusing you of being a gold-digger. If he only knew you stopped caring about the money months ago.

     “Are you fucking serious? You don’t actually believe what that piece of shit said, do you? You said it yourself, he’s a narcissistic asshole. He was fucking lying.” You argued, highly offended that Duncan would even say such a thing.

     “Honestly, I don’t know anymore. I can never figure you out. One minute it’s like you couldn’t care less about me, the next you look at me like you want something way more than a fuck. I’m not sure I can handle any more either.”

     There it was. The twist of the knife. It was ironic, really. Under any other circumstances, you might have thought Duncan was confessing his feelings for you. What he had just said was a mirror image of your inner thoughts, how you’ve been feeling about him for months. But the way he said it was so condescending, so hurtful, that you knew that wasn’t the case. He wanted nothing to do with you anymore.

     A stray tear managed to slide down your cheek, which you quickly wiped away with the flick of your finger.

     “Okay then,” you sighed, truly devastated that the man you had grown to care about so deeply thought so poorly of you. “Anything else you wanna add? Any more bullshit you wanna spew before you never hear from me again?”

     Duncan could barely hold eye contact with you. He was just as crushed as you were, only you didn’t know it. He kept his head tilted down, opting for silence.

     “Stop the car, please!” you called to the driver. 

     “Y/N, what are you doing?” Duncan rolled his eyes at you.

     “Going home. I don’t want to be in the car with you anymore.”

     The limo’s brakes screeched as the driver veered off to the sidewalk of the busy street. You gathered the bottom of your heavy gown in your hands and shoved your body out of the vehicle.

     “Y/N, stop being stupid. It’s late, it’s not safe. Let me drop you off, please,” Duncan called from the rolled-down window of the limo.

     “I’ll figure it out, Duncan. I’m not your responsibility anymore” you fired back. “You don’t have to ‘take care’ of me. I was fine before you, and I’ll be fine after you.”

     Your heels clanked against the uneven pavement as you walked away from Duncan and all of the baggage that came with him. In the heat of the moment, you were too fired up to not rub it in his face one last time how wrong he was. You turned back to see the limo still parked on the sidewalk, Duncan watching you. Perfect. Trudging back over to the car, you gave Duncan one last piece of your mind.

     “And by the way, asshole, I never did ANY of this for the money.”

     Adrenaline coursed through your veins, making you too wired to wait for Duncan’s reaction. You barged off into the dark of the city, this horrible, humiliating night being the only way you would remember Duncan for a long time.

-

     Months had passed since you had removed Duncan from your life. There wasn’t much left of your time together, your roommate insisted the two of you burn most of the shit he had bought you, lingerie included. 

     You did keep some things, however. Without Duncan’s money, you were back to being strapped for cash and trying your hardest to hit overtime at the coffee shop. You couldn’t afford to go out and buy a new laptop or replace the coffee maker, so he still popped into your mind from time to time. 

     School was going great, to your surprise. You were on track to graduate in just a handful of weeks, had good grades, and a positive outlook on your future. You even got accepted to conduct research with the head of your department in grad school next semester, which is how you’d once again ended up at that damned hotel for another university sanctioned gala in honor of their top students.

     You clung to the wall with your eyes peeled for Duncan. You weren’t going to let him sneak up on you like he had done all of those months before. You’d triple checked the pamphlet for tonight’s event, The Shepherd Freedom Foundation was the featured guest speaker for tonight, so you knew either him or Annette would be making an appearance. The particular corner you had set up base in gave you the perfect view of the entire ballroom, so you were sure to catch Duncan the second he entered the room.

-

     It wasn’t Duncan, nor was it Annette that took the stage. It was some man you’d never seen or heard Duncan ever talk about, so you were relieved, to say the least. Settling on the idea that Duncan had ditched tonight, you could finally let out the breath you’d been holding in ever since you waltzed through the revolving doors of the lobby.

     The gala had slowed, guests clearing out, music dying down. You found it best to leave, but not before heading to the bathroom one last time. The restrooms in the train station were filthy, and you wouldn’t be caught dead using one of them. 

     On your way out, you bumped chests with someone. Hard. The force sent both of you flying back at least a foot or two.

     “Holy shit. I am SO sorry,” you called out, still not being able to see properly.

     “It’s fine. I should have been watching where I was goi-”

     You tilted your head up, wondering why the stranger had stopped talking so suddenly.

     “Duncan,” you puffed. Of fucking course. Just as you thought you’d made it out unscathed.

     “Y/N.” Duncan looked like he had seen a ghost. “How have you been?”

     “Why do you care? I thought you couldn’t ‘handle me’ anymore. Isn’t that what you said?” you smarted off.

     “Please don’t be like this,” Duncan started, already tired of your attitude. “If you have a minute, I’d love to talk to you about that night. There are some things I need to get off my chest.”

     “Duncan, I really don’t have a minute. Save it, honestly. I got your message the first time. No need to rub it in again.”

     “That’s not it, Y/N. I want to apologize. I was a dick. For no reason. Come up to my room and give me 20 minutes to explain myself. That’s all I’m asking for.”

    You were ready to thwart him off again, hurl another insult at him. But the look on his face, the sincerity, made you hesitate. “It really isn’t worth it,” you thought to yourself, but seeing Duncan in the flesh opened the floodgates, your heart swelling full of emotion once more. Even if nothing came of what Duncan had to say, knowing you let him speak his mind made you think there could finally be some kind of clarity.

-

     An overwhelming feeling of deja-vu consumed you. You felt like you’d been in this exact position, better yet, you knew you had been in this exact position before. Leaning against the sturdy dresser of the hotel room while Duncan sat in the armchair in the corner of the room by the window. Only the last time, it was under completely different circumstances.

     “You wanted to apologize, right? I’m listening,” you didn’t have long until the trains stopped running, so 20 minutes was really all you had. 

     “Y/N...What I said to you that night. Was shitty. Uncalled for. I shouldn’t have let what that guy said get to me, but I did. You’re right, he is a narcissistic asshole. I know you would never do something like that. He was just jealous. Always has been ever since I can remember.”

     “No shit, Duncan. If you would have let me talk that night, I would have told you the truth. He never bought me anything besides drinks. That’s it. I called it off because he’s as disgusting as you said he is. I’ve never gone as far with anyone as I have with you.”

     “I know,” Duncan whispered. His nerves were building, you could sense it from the slight changes in his composure that you once picked up on all that time ago.

     “Then why did you do it?” you grilled at him.

     Duncan was quiet again, staring at his feet.

     “Duncan? Hello??” 

     He finally looked up at you, his eyes glassy and lashes fluttering to ward off tears.

     “Did you mean it when you said you never did this for the money?”

     Duncan got up from his seat and made his way over to you, your heart rate skyrocketing. You guessed now was as good as it was going to get if you were going to finally tell him how you’d felt about him for the back half of the time you were together.

     “Yeah, I did. At first, I didn’t mind it. The lingerie was nice, but I stopped caring about everything about halfway through. Paris is what kinda did me in. Every call, every trip. I just showed up for you. You could’ve cut me off from everythingand I still would have been at your door in a heartbeat. I never said anything, because I was never sure how you would react. I was more comfortable putting on a front than potentially ruining what we had. But I don’t really know why I’m telling you all of this. It’s not like it matters anymo-”

     You were cut off by Duncan smashing his lips against yours. Immediately, his scent, his taste, the feeling of his hands on the sides of your neck, it was completely overbearing. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed kissing him until now. The faint taste of liquor always on the back of his tongue, the way he tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth in a way that was rough, but just the way you liked it. When he drew back, you were breathless, your lips tingling from the stimulation.

     Duncan rested his forehead against yours, hands still holding on to either side of your face.

     “Y/N I think I’m in love with you.”

     Spots clouded your vision. This whole time, you’d torn yourself up over the idea that Duncan could never care about you in the way you felt for him. You were sure of it. You’d said it over and over, at least a hundred times.

     “Duncan-”

    “I’m serious. I never realized it until you were gone. I was raised on the premise that money solves all problems. That money gets you what you want. I’m not good at communicating how I feel. I was taught to manipulate and to lie from the time I could speak full sentences. I thought that if I kept buying you shit, you’d stay. That any form of intimacy was good enough, even if it meant nothing to you. But it meant something to me. It always did. I just never thought that I’d end up caring about you this much.”

     You weren’t aware of the tears littering your cheeks until Duncan swiped them away with his thumbs. There you both stood, chests shaky, trembling in each other’s arms. Everything was on the table.

     “I need you to stop talking and kiss me again,” you stated matter-of-factly.

     Duncan gave you the toothiest grin you had ever seen and pressed his lips to yours again, only gentler. The muscles of his mouth expertly worked against yours. You savored the feeling you’d deprived yourself of for so long. 

     Caught in another wave of familiarity, you walked him back to the bed. He caught on, letting you shrug off his coat before placing himself right at the edge. You crawled into his lap, your thighs straddling his waist, never once breaking the kiss. Duncan held you in place with his large hands, sighing at the sensation of being able to hold you once again. He really thought he had lost you for good.

     “Are you sure you want this?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to fuck you again if you were going to turn your back on him the second you finished.

     You nodded, looking deep into the crystal blue skies of his eyes.

     “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life.”

     Duncan silently chuckled into your open mouth, pulling you in for another kiss.

     “Good. Now take off your clothes and lie down.”

     His demand ignited the fire in your belly, sending the already pooling wetness in your core over the edge and into the fabric your panties. You did as you were told, torn between wanting to tease him by taking your time and all but ripping your blouse off of your chest to get straight to business. Duncan licked his lips as you undressed, never once taking his eyes off of you. Once you dropped your panties on top of the rest of your discarded clothes, you made your way to the king-sized bed. The same exact one you’d spent many sleepless hours in for several consecutive months.

     “You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” Duncan said, running his hands up and down your bare thighs, parting them to reveal your glistening center. Duncan groaned at the sight, closing his eyes in satisfaction. He slowly ran his fingers through you folds, spreading your slick around, making you jolt on contact.

     “No teasing. I need you inside of me,” you panted.

     Duncan clicked his tongue at your remark. “I need to show you just how sorry I am. Let me prove it to you.”

      With that, he dove into your heat, lips immediately attaching to your clit. He started with slow, gentle sucking motions, pulling back every now and then to place delicate kisses on your most sensitive area. The tugging on your now swollen clit combined with Duncan’s velvet tongue had you whimpering within minutes. Maybe it was because you’d been touch-deprived ever since you ditched Duncan, or maybe he was really just that good. You truly missed this. No one compared to the way Duncan could make you feel. He was acutely aware of every twitch, every reaction you had to his touches. He decided to push you further by dipping his tongue into your entrance to fully taste you. Duncan moaned into your cunt, the taste of you being something he swore he could never get enough of.

     “God I forgot how fucking good you taste, baby girl.”

     You mewled underneath him, his words sending another bout of arousal through your body. He let a warm string of saliva fall from his lips, watching it drip down your already drenched folds before diving back down to drink from you once again. You felt your slick and Duncan’s spit running down your core, surely forming a wet spot on the duvet. Instinctively, you reached one arm down to pull Duncan closer by his hair, pleading for him to work his tongue faster and harder against you. 

     He took the hint, moving on to rutting in and out of your pussy with his mouth and gliding his tongue through your folds with more vigor than before. You were grinding against him, trying to gain any kind of friction there was to offer. Duncan removed one hand from of the inside of your thigh and trailed it down to where his mouth was, leaving goosebumps along your legs. Using his index finger, he torturously worked you open while his lips continued nibbling at your clit. He was lost in his own world, eyes closed, nose pressed harshly against your hood. It gave you some relief, but it still wasn’t enough. You wanted to let go so badly, to let pleasure overpower you. But Duncan’s cock was what you really wanted more than anything.

     It took everything in you to push Duncan’s head away from you. Using your elbows, you sat yourself up on the bed and reached for the buttons on Duncan’s shirt. He happily obliged, working at removing his belt and pants. When he peeled his tight boxers off of his thighs, you were greeted by his rock hard cock bobbing in the cool air of the hotel room. Your mouth watered at the sight, so many thoughts racing through your mind of what you wanted to do to him.

     He hungrily climbed on top of you and began kissing up and down your neck and into the dips of your collarbones. You never thought you’d feel this way again, consumed by Duncan. His hair tickled your chin, causing you to squirm and giggle beneath him. He pulled his lips from your neck with a smacking noise and looked up to see what you were laughing at.

     “What?” he asked, lips red and puffy, slick with spit.

     “Your hair. It tickles.”

     He looked at you once again with bewilderment. How he had managed to find you both back then and now again tonight was beyond his comprehension. He could look at you smiling like that for the rest of his life, he thinks to himself.

     Duncan returned the smile before bringing your lips together once again. You used his moment of weakness to take control, wrapping your legs around his torso and shoving Duncan sideways with your arms so that you were now on top of him, your bare core pressed against his stomach. Normally, he’d punish you for even thinking about doing such a thing. But this time, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was willing to do anything to you and for you, even if it meant letting you take the reigns.

     You slid back, leaving a trail of your wetness all the way down to Duncan’s waist. Using the muscles in your thighs, you carefully lifted yourself away from him so you could position his aching cock beneath you. He hissed at the stimulation of only your fingers, just as touch-starved as you. 

     First running his tip through your slickened folds for lubrication, you then hovered his cock directly above your entrance, bracing yourself for the stretch. As you sunk down, your eyes grew wider and wider, your face contorting into a look of pain and pleasure. 

     “You okay?” Duncan asked when you were fully seated on his cock, his brows furrowed, with small beads of sweat collecting just above them.

     “Mhmm,” you said, or moaned rather. “I forgot how big you are.”

     Duncan lay beneath you, biting his bottom lip so hard he might have drawn blood, but was too preoccupied to notice. It was taking every bit of the willpower had left not to begin bucking his hips into yours.

     He reached forward to grab both of your hands, lacing your fingers with his. He brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing reassuring kisses to each digit. 

     Once you were as adjusted to Duncan’s cock as you’d ever be and the slight pain from the foreign stretch subsided, you began to swivel your hips along his stomach, just barely grinding against him. Duncan kept his eyes on you, squeezing ever so slightly on your palms. The tiny whines leaving your chest with every rotation was music to his ears, but it was egging him on more than he could handle.

     “As good as you feel right now, princess, I’m gonna need you to move a little faster before this takes a turn for the worse and we’re both unhappy.”

     You snickered at Duncan, leaning down to lay your chest flat against his, his throbbing cock still piercing you. You kissed up his jaw, savoring the coarseness of his scruff against your lips. His hands unraveled from yours and went immediately to your ass, spreading you further apart and kneading the skin with his fingers. 

     “Tell me how much you missed me,” you started, in between nipping and sucking at the skin behind his ear with your teeth. “Tell me how much you missed this, daddy.”

     Duncan swallowed hard. He hadn’t heard you say his name like that in what felt like a lifetime. 

     “I missed you,” he gulped, “So fucking much. I missed your tight little pussy. How good it feels when you cum all over daddy’s cock. I wanna fill you up so bad.” 

     You spasmed on top of him, another wave of arousal gushing from you. With a throaty groan, you lifted yourself off Duncan’s cock and quickly slammed back down. Duncan’s breath hitched in the back of his throat, finally scratching that itch he’d had for months.

     You sat up slightly, placing the palms of your hands on Duncan’s pecks. Your pace was as quick as you could manage, his cock sliding in and out of your drenched cunt effortlessly. You fit together like a puzzle piece you thought. Made for each other, not belonging with anyone else. The gushing sounds of wet skin slapping together and exhausted panting encompassed the room. The initial burn had long gone and pure, carnal pleasure had taken over you as you impaled your body on Duncan’s cock.

     “God, Y/N. Are you close? I don’t think I can hold it much longer,” he confessed. 

     “Almost. Just hang on for a little while longer. I wanna cum with you.”

     You were bouncing on top of him now, your breasts bobbing along to your movements. Duncan shifted his position slightly, moving both of you a few feet back so he could rest his back against the headboard. He took you by the small of your back and pulled you as close as humanly possible, wanting to feel every inch of your skin against his.

     He eagerly placed on hand on the back of your neck, moving the other up to the spot between your shoulder blades to keep you close as you milked his cock. He started at your lips, working his tongue against yours in starving passion. Moving down to the hollow of your throat, he sucked harsh, moon shaped marks against your skin. You were chanting his name over and over, thrust after thrust like a prayer, losing yourself in Duncan’s touch.

     You weren’t sure if you could do it. Every muscle in your body ached from riding him, sweat coating every square inch of your skin. Duncan noted your falter and began moving your hips for you, thrusting you up and down his cock with all of the strength he had left. He was barely holding on himself.

     “Y/N I’m gonna-”

     He came suddenly with a grunt. His eyelashes fluttered and his mouth was parted slightly. You felt him spill inside of you, his hot seed coating your contracting walls. Duncan milked you for all that you were worth, his cum leaking onto his shaft, spurring on your own release in the process. The heat once pooling in the pit of your stomach spreading throughout your entire body. Your hips sputtered, unable to keep going through your orgasm, you buried your head in the crook of his neck.

     For a solid minute, neither of you said anything. You just laid there, still inside of him, catching your breath, your cheek resting on his shoulder. You had no idea what was going to happen next. You’d both just confessed your feelings, and you both felt the same way, but you kept asking yourself the same question. Would it ever work?

     “Duncan?” You spoke up, still not moving your head from the comfort of his shoulder.

     “Yeah?”

     “Do you think we could ever be together?” you were quieter this time, suddenly feeling as vulnerable as the night he approached you with the idea of the “arrangement” that briefly turned both of your lives upside down.

     “Is that not what we’re doing right now?” he asked.

     “You know what I mean.”

     “I’m willing to give it a shot. We’ve made it this far. Only a smaaaall mishap.”

     “Yeah, a small mishap,” you laughed, nuzzling further into Duncan’s neck.

     “Tell you what. Why don’t you stay here, and we can talk about it in the morning. I’m actually extremely fucking exhausted.”

     “Deal,” you replied.

     Duncan slid himself out of you, a chill taking over you at the suddenly emptiness. He turned you on your side, wrapping his long arms around your waist as he pulled the sheet up to your chest. You faced him this time, not worried about what he was thinking or what he would say next.

     He kissed the top of your forehead while running his fingers through the knots in your hair. You leaned into his touch before exhaustion took over and you both fell asleep. You dreamed of each other again, just like in Paris, only this time about the future each of you would have together.

Tagging:

(If you’re not on my tag list, I hope it’s okay that I tagged you! Definitely let me know if don’t want me to!)

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @venusxxlangdon   @ccodyfern @michaellangdong @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul @wroteclassicaly @omg-hellgirl @aveiangdon @belusima  @readsalot73 @americanhorrorstudies @langdonsdemon @ticklish-leafy-plant @michaelfuckinglangdon @fpsjacket @mother-tequila 

[yusuke-of-valla]

Demon Fam Fic: Yusuke’s birthday.

[A/n] this was @askmarietheapprentice‘s suggestion! I meant to get it out earlier but it ended up kinda getting away from me. Anyway enjoy some babies in Hell

“Happy birthday Yusuke!”

After 3 months in Hell, they’ve all gotten used to Ren’s sudden entrances, but usually he’s kind enough to appear when it isn’t the middle of the night.

“What time is it?” Haru asks, shielding her eyes from the blue flames that Ren brought to light up their shared bedroom.

“4:28 and 32 seconds, Pacific Time! The exact moment Yusuke was born.” Ren says.

“How do you know that?” Yusuke asks.

“Father owns your souls.”

“Wait, so it’s actually your birthday?” Goro asks. 

“Well, yes.” Yusuke says.

“And you didn’t tell us?” Haru gasps. “We would’ve put something together like you guys did for me!”

“I don’t really want anything.” Yusuke says. “I was just going to make my favorite dinner and some cake.”

“Well, we could’ve done that for you, at least.”

“I like making my own dinner and cake.”

“So we know what we’re doing for dinner.” Ren says, picking up Yusuke. “But there’s another 12  to 14 hours before that, and until then I’ve got the perfect plan for a birthday trip.”

“Can we sleep in a little longer?” Yusuke groans. 

“Nope! It’s very time sensitive! You’re lucky, waking up at the exact moment you were born means you have enough time for breakfast!”

~

After a hearty breakfast of birthday pancakes and tea, they’ve all gathered on Kidd’s ship. There’s a thick fog in the area, that cills to the bone.

“We’re here!” Ren announces as the fog parts, and a giant glacier comes into view.

“Drop anchor!” Kidd orders, and the ship comes to a stop. “Alright, so what’s the plan.”

“We’re going to the top for a bit, and then back down.” 

“You goin’ like that?” 

Ren tilts his head. “Like wha- oh right.” 

With a poof, Ren turns into a cat and lands in Yusuke’s arms. “Now we’re good.”

“Why do you have to be a cat?” Haru asks.

“Oh, Goemon’s definitely going to attack us if he finds out I’m here,” Ren explains, “and I kind of suck at fighting in places where it’s cold.” 

“For my birthday you took us somewhere we're going to get attacked?” Yusuke asks.

“What’s the first thing I taught you?” 

Yusuke sighs. “Everything is going to attack you.”

“Right! And that’s why you brought your weapons. And besides, his grudge is with me, even if he did notice something as tiny as you three, he’s not the type to get revenge by proxy.”

“See you soon, Captain!” Haru waves as they get on one of the smaller ships to get to shore.

“Have fun! Don't die!"

On the shore of the glacier, there’s a raging snow storm.

“K-kind of wish we’d gotten goggles.” Goro says, shivering.

“We’ll add t-that to the shopping list.” Haru agrees.

“F-follow me g-guys.” Ren’s black body stands out in stark contrast to the snow. They all hold hands, and follow Ren until they come across a door.

“S-someone with hands, open it.” Ren says.

“I got it.” Yusuke yanks on the door as hard as he can, and it slowly opens enough for everyone to squeeze through.

“Alright. So now we just have to climb up all these stairs and get to the top, preferably without Goemon seeing us!” Ren says.

Yusuke, Goro, and Haru stare at the giant, winding staircase and then at each other.

“Why do demons have to be so damn big?” Goro mutters as he lifts himself onto the first step and Haru and Yusuke follow suit.

As they climb, Yusuke keeps stopping to admire the art pieces on the wall. There’s watercolors, acrylics, and careful sketches lining the walls.  “Hey, Ren, did Goemon make these?” 

“Yeah, I mean, this is his workshop.”

“Amazing!” Yusuke gasps. “The way he blends colors together to portray the different emotions, it’s beautiful. I hope to be this good some day, thank you for bringing us here.”

“Well, this isn’t exactly what I wanted to show you.” Ren says, “but I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

They come to a larger platform, where intricately crafted ice sculptures are on display. 

“Woah. I didn’t even think you could get ice to do this,” Goro says examining a sculpture of a woman who looked as though she was wearing actual fabric.

Yusuke wanders over to a group of statues contorted into various abstract shapes. While on their own, the intricate patterns were impressive, taken together...

“These are about the war with Yalbadoath!” Yusuke realizes.

“How can you tell?” Ren asks. 

“Ok, so start here. This one is rigid, uniform all the way to the top, and then this one, it’s rigid in a similar way but there’s a tiny flaw right there. And in this piece the flaws are bigger. Then this one, any sort of structure is gone, and it’s sharp and chaotic. Then in the final one there are two clear sections, one that has that ordered pattern from the first, but only on the top half while the bottom half is still chaos." Yusuke explains. "They represent the world under Yalbadoath's rule, Satanael's rebellion, and the wars in Hell afterwards!"

"Oh, that's so cool." Goro says.

"Not bad, small one." A voice says. A large demon holding a pipe rises from the ground behind them. "Although I would encourage you to consider how the artist feels about the event, and what they might be trying to say about similar circumstances through his piece."

Yusuke nods. "Ummm… the artist feels…" Yusuke stares at the sculptures, trying to decipher their secrets.

"You seem rather young, how old are you?" The demon asks.

"Seven." Yusuke says.

"Seven…" Goemon laughs. "Oh, I've forgotten how short lived you humans are. Do not be upset if you can't figure it out, you've barely lived a decade!"

“Excuse me, are you Goemon?" Haru asks.

"I am. And I take it you three are Satanael's human children?"

"That depends." Goro says. "What would you do if we were?"

Goemon laughs again. "Such bold children! I have no problems with humans, or Satanael. Were Arsene here, I would freeze him in the heart of this glacier for stealing from me, but I have no quarrel with you three."

"Oh thank goodness." Haru sighs in relief. "I'm Haru, this is Goro, and Yusuke." Haru's eyes fall on Ren on Goro's shoulder. "...and our completely normal cat… Akira! Akira the cat from the human world and who is just a cat."

"Meow." Ren says.

"It's nice to meet you. Now, what brings you 

 here? Usually Zorro would come if your father had a message."

"Well, it's my birthday so we're here to see something at the top of the glacier." Yusuke explains.

Goemon lifts his gigantic pipe to his mouth and colored puffs of smoke float out. "How often do you humans celebrate your birth?"

"Every year." Yusuke says.

"Ah! We demons do celebrate our birth, but only once every century or so. A year is barely a blink of an eye to someone who lives for eternity. To be so short lived you celebrate every year. Fascinating." Goemon nods to himself. "Yes, I do believe you three have given me an idea for an art piece."

"You're welcome." Goro says. "Do you think you could give us a ride to the top? We're told it's time sensitive."

"But of course!" Goemon taps the ground with his pipe, and suddenly everything rushes past them and they're at the top of the glacier.

The air is still here, unlike the lower parts, and looking down, Yusuke can see the snowstorm raging below.

From the top of the glacier, the ocean spreads out for miles, and he can also make out Captain Kidd's ship.

"I do believe it's time. Look up children."

The sky's dark one second, and then suddenly it's awash with colors. Blues flow into greens flow into purples flow into pinks, all dancing across the sky.

"It's beautiful." Yusuke says in awe.

"I've never seen anything like this." Goro says.

Haru nods. "I think I might cry."

"The lights only appear here every 500 years or so." Goemon says. "You are quite lucky, children and cat."

Yusuke makes a frame with his fingers and looks around, finally settling on Haru, Ren, and Goro back lit by the lights.

"Yusuke, what are you doing?" Haru asks.

"I want to capture this moment in a painting." Yusuke smiles. "My first birthday with my new family."

"Awww." Haru starts to walk over to him

"Don't move!" Yusuke snaps before pulling out his sketchbook. "This should only take a few minutes."

Once he's finished with the sketch, Goemon takes them all down to the bottom of the glacier.

"Thank you so much!" Yusuke says.

"Thank you for providing me with inspiration. In fact, here's a gift. From one artist to another." Goemon snaps his fingers and two lobsters appear in Yusuke's hands.

"They're beautiful, thank you." Yusuke says.

"I hope you'll let me see your piece when it is finished."

Yusuke nods. "I will."

"Goodbye children and cat! Enjoy your tragically short lifespans!" Goemon says as they make their way to where the boat was. "And feel free to return any time without Arsene."

"Thank you so much!" Yusuke waves back. 

"So, did I plan a great birthday trip or what?" Ren asks, once their a ways from shore.

"I loved it." Yusuke says. "Goemon's nice too. What did you do to make him hate you?"

Ren rolls his eyes. "He's still mad I stole from him."

"Why'd you steal from him?"

"Like I said, I'm bad in the cold, so I like to practice my thievery in places where it's cold. And he's still mad about it like, 500 years later!"

"I'm kinda on Goemon's side here." Goro says. 

"What?"

"I mean you did steal from him."

"It's not like I took anything important!"

"You'd hate it too if someone stole from you."

"No one's good enough to steal from me."

"You're missing the point!"

Haru sighs and turns to Yusuke. "So what were you thinking about for that cake?"

[hellolittleogre]

Dusting off the archives

Since I like a lot of other fanfic writers are spending this time aggressively staring at different WIPs and NOT WRITING I thought I would dust off various WIPs which have stalled through the years. These are to a large extent morgue files, they will probably never be finished fic. I thought I’d share what I have written, plus synopsis or outline if I have it. I feel like they are like rings in the core of a glacier and different trends and tropes can be read in them. Some of them are also incredibly embarrassing.

Under the Cut: Avengers kid fic

Fandom: The Avengers

Paring: Clint Barton/ Phil Coulson 

Working Title: Uhhhhh.....Superspy Daddies  (not brilliant I admit)

Year written: 2012 (god help us all)

Synopsis: Clint meets Tasha when she ‘s a wee spy child and decides to adopt her. After a few years on the run they are caught up by SHIELD and recruited. There is something mysterious going on and they are assigned an alias as a family, with two dads and Natasha. Enter spy shenanigans and fake marriage and falling in love. Yay! Everything is safe and nothing hurts.

                                                       **

Natasha was seven when she met Clint. She can still remember the impact when she hit him, how she had launched herself into his body and sent them both tumbling.  They had ended up on the floor. Natasha with her knife to his throat and Clint with an arrow in his hand the point just pressing against her ribs.

It should have been easy, a clean-cut job of getting into the house, making the target and getting out again but something had been wrong, men positioned in places they shouldn’t and suddenly hostiles everywhere and a blond man with a bow taking out people with unerring accuracy.

She remembers the surprise in his face, how open it was.

“But you are just a child,” he had said in astonished and slightly accented Russian. It made her want to smile because she hadn’t been a child for a long time now.

“I am Black Widow,” she said simply, when she had planned to say nothing at all. The man stared at her.

“Ok, so, I’m going to lower my hand now, nice and easy, like this yeah?” The arrow was slowly removed from her ribs. “We have about ten minutes before my backup gets here so listen. You can kill me and go on doing what you are doing or I can get you out of here, somewhere safe and you can either come with me or go your way, but you don’t have to do this anymore.”

He is, possibly, the first person she can remember who has offered her something without asking anything of her. The idea intrigued her, that somebody could do something for you without wanting anything in return, that there could be actions without purpose or gain.

“You are not a pervert, are you?” She knows about those, they are easy, all soft words and soft hands right up to the point where they are not but then usually it is already too late. He actually laughed at that, a soft huff of air as if she had said something honestly funny.

“No, no perverts here m’am. Nobody but us chickens.” She does not understand that, it had been nobody but them and maybe a handful of dead men, no chickens at all. She frowns at him.

He sighed. “I’m Clint.”

She thought about it, the sharp edge of her knife resting against his throat, but. He has offered to do something for her without asking anything in return. He could have killed her but he didn’t. And he doesn’t want her to kill anyone, he doesn’t seem to want her to do anything. Maybe she can trust him.

“I’m Black Widow,” she says again. She doesn’t have to trust him much, or for long.

In the end they had gotten out through the air ducts. Crawled out a couple of yards behind the perimeter and Clint had then calmly walked her through the tail end of the increasingly panicked ranks of the mission, even snagging his own jacket and bow case from the back of a van. He had draped the jacked around her shoulders and pushed her lightly in the back. “Just keep your head down and walk, nice and easy.”

Natasha had to admire the audacity of it, she is not sure anymore but she believes at one point he even nodded to somebody he knew before getting her into the night. Quietly slipping away.

They go through Europe first, down through Ukraine and Romania to Serbia, Croatia and finally Italy. Clint makes Natasha cut her hair in the bathroom of a gas station. Says that maybe a man and a young boy might draw less attention. Hands her the scissors with an: I ain’t going to touch you, kiddo and closes the door. Her hair is now short and jagged and fiery red and she likes it. It takes her three months before she finally tells Clint her name is actually Natalia Romanova and he grins at her, delighted. “I’m Hawkeye,” he says.

Slowly as Natalia learns to trust him she tells Clint about the Red Room. She has a hard time remembering anything before that but she remembers training, learning and the experiments. 

They had been together for nearly a month when Clint accidentally cuts himself. Its straight across his palm and deep and painful as fuck.  Clint tries to stem the blood flow with a shirt and cursing under his breath. Natasha is strangely unperturbed, as if she can’t understand why he is making a fuss.

“Its not so bad, you just put band aid on it and it’s gone in the morning,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. Clint takes it that she meant, it will be gone in a sort of, it will still be there but at least it wont bother you fashion. As it turns out she means it quite literally.

The next night as they make camp she gives his bandage a suspicious look but says nothing. Clint is cleaning the wound with some water heated on the fire, it stings like a bitch but looks like it will heal nicely, looking up he sees Natasha across the fire, her face is white and her eyes are like saucers. Then she is by his side, prodding and poking at his hand with ungentle fingers.

“You are still hurt, why are you still hurt, why hasn’t it healed? Are you ill, what is wrong with you?” She is as animated as he has ever seen her, shaken up and honestly confused and terrified. It takes a while to calm her down to explain that when ordinary people get hurt it takes weeks and weeks for them to heal, and this is normal and it doesn’t mean that Clint is sick or dying. It is perhaps the first time Natasha lets on that she really cares. It is also the point when Clint realises how truly different she is, and the extent of those experiments. She takes out his knife and makes a shallow cut across the back of her hand and lets him watch as it fades into pink nothingness in a couple of hours.

In Croatia, Dubrovnik, Clint takes her to the beach, all blue water and fishing boats bobbing on the waves. It's the first time she has seen the sea. The water is so clear you can make out all the little fishes darting after each other along the shallows. After only half a day in the sun her skin was so burnt her back broke out in blisters and the heatstroke made her throw up on the bus back to the room they’re renting. Clint pets her hair and nods to the large woman across the aisle, who has been making sympathetic noises and has given them a plastic bag.

“Red hair, can’t stand the sun, any of them. Her mother was just the same, God rest her soul, always so sensitive.” The woman clucks in distress and finds a cough sweet in the horrifying depths of her handbag. Natalia swears she can still feel the taste of it in her nose even after she has thrown up twice.

 All she could do was lie on her stomach in their tiny room with an ice clamp wrapped in a wet towel on her back. She doesn’t cry in pain but she considers it, the possibility. There would be nobody here to punish her for it now. Cling gave her purple and yellow ice lollies, the first she’s ever had, until her mouth was skinned and raw from them. She peels afterwards and sits in the bathroom and gets Clint to peel strips of skin off her back showing her the longest ones. 

“This is so gross,” he tells her after he’s managed to peel a strip of skin all the way from her shoulder down to the small of her back. The new skin underneath the flaking was pink and tender and dotted with tiny freckles. It’s the closest to fun she has had in years.

Clint has never taken care of anyone in his life, not himself and much less anyone else. Things such as regular meals, bedtimes and food which is not pizza is pretty much new and foreign country to him.  It took him about a year to figure out that Natalia needed to go to school, because he could teach her English just fine (except maybe not words like corium and discombobulate) and some maths, as long as it had to do with geometry and seriously, he has been briefed on so many cities that they are probably good for geography for a while, but the rest of it? He has no idea. 

They stayed in Naples for six months, long enough for Clint to work out a way to get into the US and for Natalia to lose her accented English and learn a quite impressive smattering of Italian. Then, they are found. The same car stands parked on their street three days in a row, inconspicuously nestled under a great chestnut tree and Clint calmly tells Natasha to grab the overnight bag in the hall and they walk past is slowly and calmly, looking straight ahead like they were just heading for the park to enjoy the afternoon sunshine. The agents are Russian and in the end it turns ugly, they barely get away and leave corpses on their trail. They get on a plane to America a month ahead of schedule and it is a far too narrow escape. It’s only after this, after their narrow escape to relative safety that Natalia begins to have nightmares.

“Clint?”

“Yeah”

“Can you tell me a story?”

This is the third time the same night Natasha has woken from nightmares and Clint has resigned to sleeping on the floor by her bed instead of going back to his own. He has a lumpy pillow wedged under his head (in fact, he suspects it to be Natasha’s stuffed bear, Phillipov).

“A story, what about?”

There is a silence; it is long enough that he would have suspected that she had dropped off but for her calculated breathing. She is thinking about something, not sure how to phrase it.

“Angela has stories,” she says at last. Angela is Tasha’s friend from school, one of the few she has made. “I mean, her mom tells her stories about her, when she was little, what she said, when she was bad, you know. Could you, could you tell a story about me? When I was little?”

And Clint opens his mouth to say he can’t do that, he never knew her when she was little and lived in a facility where they trained her and filled her blood with god only knows what and then realises that’s not the point. Natasha knows this, but she wants a story. Not a lie, a story, about herself, when she was little, what she might have done. Clint exhales deeply and tries to think.

“Do you remember when we lived in Italy, in Naples? In that tiny apartment and your roll out bed?  Well, a couple of years before that we lived for a while in Rome, but you were so little, only four, you can’t possibly remember. We lived, you and me then, in this small apartment outside of Rome. The kitchen was tiny, but it had this huge fridge-freezer unit, this monster from the fifties in avocado green with a door thick like the safe to a bank vault and the freezer on top of it. It was like a fridge for a large Italian family with a grandma and a fat uncle with a moustache and not just for the two of us. Now it was summer and that apartment was always hot and you wanted gelato but I wouldn’t give you any because it was just before dinner and you couldn’t reach the freezer by yourself. So you had this trick of wedging a kitchen chair against the fridge, on its back legs and then climb up onto the back of the chair so you could open the freezer.”

Clint could actually see it before him, this small, determined version of Natasha, dragging the chair across the room and her bare feet soft against the linoleum floor.

“It used to make me so mad, y’know. You could fall down and split your skull, knock your teeth out, anything. And I caught you this one time, balanced on the chair with your head in the freezer and I got so mad and I yelled at you, and I said: You are driving me nuts, you’ve got to stop doing this. Do you want me to go crazy?”

And you said, without even looking away from the ice cream box: I don’t want you to go crazy. I want ice cream.”

There is silence and then Natasha laughs, it’s just a puff of amusement, there and gone again but its genuine. After a while he reaches up a hand and feels Nat stick her little paw in his. It is soft and slightly sticky, squeezing around his for a moment before she settles down.

“That’s a good story,” she says sleepily and after a while she falls asleep.  Clint is not so lucky but at least there are no more nightmares for tonight. After this she wants a lot of them, Clint tells her about fishing trips, about that time in the Natural History Museum when she thought she was lost in the room with all the gorillas, when Clint was standing right  next to her all the time.

Clint sweats the whole ten hour flight to America. Tasha curls up in her seat and pretends to sleep the whole way, the air hostess giving her a colouring book and nearly subconsciously petting her hair. There is just something about the short curls that people seem helpless to resist.

In the end it is only bad luck that Shield found them. A lot of bad luck at the same time but only chance in the end. Anyway that’s what Clint claims, Agent Coulson maintains that luck had nothing to do with it and it was the result of several years of hard work on his part and if anything it was lucky that Shield found them first and not the Russians. 

They have been living in the US for years now, slowly drifting across the north and the mid west, Clint picking up work where he can find it. They always have emergency bags packed but it was a while since they’ve had to use them. 

It was nearly five years since Clint found Natasha, or she found him, four years of Clint jumping from job to job and Nat from school to school but lately the time between moves become longer and longer. Clint had a job he actually likes, working as a bit of everything in a school for deaf kids. Natasha has friends to sit with her at the lunch table, has started playing soccer, and it turns out she is menace on the grass. They feel safe, five years have gone by and nothing has been seen or heard and maybe it has made them complacent. Maybe its just nice to belong somewhere. Tasha has friends on her soccer team and comes home grass stained and happy. She’s hit a growth spurt and reminds Clint of a foal with long gangly limbs.

It starts with a parent teacher visit, just a stupid mistake. It's Tasha’s homeroom teacher who gives Clint a considering look and remarks that he looks a bit young to have a daughter her age. And that’s all it takes to get the ball rolling, somebody looking just a little extra at the adoption papers and suddenly there is a social worker outside the door. Clint and Tasha are professional liars and it comes to nothing in the end but the notice is already logged into the system, leaving a minute paper trail for people who know where to look. And then Clint had gotten ill with the flu, enough to just not pay attention the nondescript car parked on their street for two days in a row. They are unprepared for it when Clint, kept awake by coughing, spots the stealthy movement on the street and there is no time, no time for anything other than getting out. The rain is pouring down and Tasha is still in her pyjamas, shoes held in one hand. As it turns out the location of their backup storage is compromised and Clint barely makes it out with one bag, containing a change for Natasha and barely enough cash to make it out of town. They don’t try to go to the second one, where Clint’s bow and arrows are stored. It hurts, that bow is as much a part of Clint as his arm, but if it is undetected they can come back for it and if it has been found it is not worth trying to get it back.  They make their way north on foot and hitchhike, avoiding gas stations and bus stops, suddenly nothing feels safe anymore, everywhere is strange and threatening. Clint’s flu had gotten worse and developed into a deep rattling cough that won’t let go and claws at his chest with dull teeth. There was no time to rest and the constant chill of their travel had made it into pneumonia.

They end up in a motel, where everything within the range of the little electric heater is stuffy and fever-hot and everything outside of it cold and damp. Clint lies propped up on the two slim pillows, Natasha is sitting at the foot of the bed, cleaning out her gear, her face cool and efficient. They both know Clint can’t go much further without rest and proper care, they both know they can't turn to a hospital and there is not enough money for any under the table dealings, even if they had the contacts in this part of the country.

It's only logical that she should go on alone, she has a much better chance to get away. How she is going to make it in the long run neither of them mentions.

“You have a quarter?” she asks “I just wanted something from the vending machine.”

Clint nods towards his bags and when she comes back she packs everything in her bag neatly, all her gear cleaned, three knives on her, one in her sleeve, one in her shoe and one at the small of her back. She puts the blankets over Clint. Go to sleep, she tells him. When he wakes up Tasha is curled up next to him and Shield breaks down the door.

They are being debriefed by Hill and Coulson, and a team of junior agents, even Fury is there, scowling behind the eye patch. Howard and Tony Stark is their target, it is just a scouting mission, there has been some untoward suspected HYDRA activity in Stark Industries.

The pale manila folder lands with a dull sound in front of Clint. It contains, in addition to information on the targets, the cover stories for the job.  Natasha squints down at the pages.

“I will be Clint’s adopted daughter and we are living with his brother, my uncle Phil?” Coulson, first name Agent, inclines his head slightly.

 “We felt it was best your handler was with you on site,” he says mildly.

Natasha gives him a slanted eyebrow of disbelief and snorts into her folder “yah, because a grown single man living with his brother and a young girl is not weird, at all,” she says in Russian and rolls her eyes at Clint. He tries not to laugh and hopes not too many at the table can understand. Judging by the twitch in Fury’s eye, he should be so lucky.

Just before the elevator closes Hill shows up and smacks a new folder into his chest.

“Your updated covers,” she explains, “ as I understood there were complaints about the last ones.” She gives Nat a nasty look. Clint opens the folder and starts scanning the content. There are papers, degrees even, official adoption papers and also…

“Hang on, we are married now? How is that better??”

They arrived back at the house at five in the morning, Clint practically carrying a half asleep Natasha and Phil felt so tired as if he was moving through molasses. He managed to change his clothes and brush his teeth before sitting down on the sofa and completely running out of energy. Mechanically turning on the tv and finding antiques roadshow on and just sitting there with the flickering light over him.

After a while Barton came down and slumped beside him, head leaning back and his eyes closed. 

“She’s brushed her teeth and she’s in bed now, I think actually asleep.  I hope to hell there will be no nightmares because I don’t know if I have the energy to even get out of this couch.”

“I’ll get it,”Phil says even though he feels like his spine has been boiled to the consistency of a wet noodle and all he wants to do is sleep for a week. Clint makes an exhausted noise beside him and slumps back against the couch, after a little while his head tips over onto Phil’s shoulder. He can feel the soft hair against his jaw and neck. Clint’s breath skates moist and warm over his neck and collarbone. It’s the best thing he has felt in ages and parts of him wishes he really could lean over and cover Clint’s mouth with his own and pull him close. Instead he leans back, promising himself it will only be for a second and then he promptly falls asleep.

Clint wakes up with the most awful crick in the neck. He is still on the sofa, squashed onto his side and his face plastered to Phil’s shoulder. He might even have drooled a bit on his t-shirt. At some point during the night they had managed to wedge themselves into the sofa, Phil mostly on his back and Clint, well, mostly on top of him. He tries to move his legs and find them stuck under something. Something turns out to be Nattie, curled up like a ball at the end of the sofa and her head pillowed on what might be Phil’s hip. Everything hurts like a motherfucker. Its not the discomfort that’s woken him though, it was the soft sound of the front door. Peeling his face slowly from Phil’s shoulder he raises his head to find Steve, Tony and Pepper awkwardly standing in the doorway staring at their slightly inappropriate family re-enactment of the Gordian Knot.

“Sorry Mr C,” Pepper says “the door was open.”

He really, really hopes he had the sense to take off the leather suit before he fell asleep last night.

[sweetlangdon]

From Eden: Chapter 1

Notes: Evil Power Couple fic. It’s difficult to write a summary for this one, because I don’t want to give away the twists. (It’ll also include canon rewrite/divergence for the later half of the season.) It has plenty of angst and fluff, and a bit of character study.

Warnings: swearing, lots of murder, blood... 

The rest of this fic can be found on my masterlist and AO3. It’s currently in progress.

She was in the library, alone, when she heard his footsteps.

She knew it was him. It couldn’t be anyone else but him. He’d been here for little more than a day, but the hypnotic, precise cadence of his boots against the polished floors was unmistakable. Eighteen months of relative solitude, never knowing whether it was day or night—not that it mattered much anymore now that the Earth had become a ruined wasteland—had given her plenty of time to parse the sounds of Outpost 3. The whisper of the Grays, floating along balconies and down the narrow, sleek corridors like apparitions. The insistent tap of Ms. Venable’s cane as if it were a ticking clock, a warning, a threat. Ms. Mead’s practiced rhythm, heavy and quick, past their doors like some nocturnal predator on the hunt for a kill.

The other Purples were shuffling steps and clinking glasses, a crescendo of voices that echoed across the labyrinth of their underground shelter. They were all energy and rage with nowhere to run, so it slipped out into the quiet halls and rooms, an explosion of frayed nerves and short tempers.

Eighteen months had been a lifetime. It didn’t feel like surviving. It felt like a prison sentence, a slow and endless march on cracked glass wondering when it would break and where they would fall. That same restless anger had burned in her veins, too. Those nights where she lay awake listening to the crackle of the fire until it finally lulled her to sleep. Days when she couldn’t summon enough willpower to do anything but lock the door to her suite and cry until her chest ached. She found that it was easier to keep quiet, to bury the pain somewhere else when she wasn’t alone. Obey the rules, however ridiculous they were. Remain invisible and non-threatening.  

She’d been used to not drawing attention. She could’ve been a Gray, she thought, if fate were different. But she didn’t really know a damn thing about fate; nothing seemed to make sense anymore, so did it matter? Her parents had immediately pooled their funds, no questions asked. One hundred million dollars, she’d find out after the fact. She didn’t even know they’d had that much. And she didn’t have time to consider what it all meant, didn’t particularly give a fuck about being a part of the elite—she felt more like an imposter. Some outsider with enough luck to be born to parents who built their wealth, however meager it had been compared to the others, from the ground up.

The bare minimum of social interaction had gotten her this far at least. Amiable conversations traded across the table while they choked down their tasteless meal. A hushed exchange of words in a shadowed corridor with a passing Gray. Obligatory grumbling over the songs that broke through the static on relentless, agonizing loops, a ghostly thread to the world before all of this. Just enough to play whatever game they were trapped in and survive one more day, one more week, one more month.

Nothing was permanent here, and the last thing she wanted was to become entangled in their drama and end up on the outside. Left to the ravaged Earth as the radiation poisoned her body and the toxic air squeezed the breath from her lungs. Put down like some dying animal, the cold barrel of a gun pressed to the back of her head. Her parents didn’t sacrifice every last cent they’d owned for her to just fuck up her chances because of some dumbass mistake.

It was easier to be alone. The library wasn’t empty that often, but when the occasion arose, she took it. There was a shred of peace here. The faint scent of smoke mingled with the clean aroma of linen and beeswax from the candles. The spines of the books crammed in the shelves flickered back at her as golden light wavered over them. She’d tucked herself into a corner of one of the black leather couches, her knees drawn up under her gown. It was some kind of eighteenth century-inspired monstrosity in a deep shade of violet; she thought it might have been prettier if there weren’t so many ruffles. Lace dripped from the satin sleeves at her elbows. Her wardrobe was full of it—lace and voluminous layers of fabric, pleated and gathered into elegant styles from another time. She gave them credit for committing to the aesthetic. After a year and some months, it was beginning to grow on her.

Her mind had stayed occupied with help from the Outpost’s library. She had discovered early on that the shelves held an extensive collection of essential literary works. She’d almost expected them to be nothing but a decoration, an illusion of comfort. She read them slowly, savoring each page, each word, not knowing how long they would need to last. Before the world went straight to hell she’d been a year shy of graduation. Hunkering down in a room full of books felt familiar, as though she was back in the library on her manicured university campus studying for finals. As if this was normal for just a little while. As if their sequestered world wasn’t the only fucking thing left.

She turned a page, partially aware that she didn’t remember what she’d read in the past few minutes. Her focus was gone, the words turning into incomprehensible smudges of ink across the paper. His footsteps matched her pulse until all she could hear was the blood rushing through her ears. And then suddenly he was there in the threshold—she caught him on the edge of her periphery, a silent shadow. She stared at the book in her lap but the words still didn’t make sense and the awareness of him prickled along her spine.

Langdon terrified and fascinated her in equal measure. He was an abyss—dark, cold, offering nothing but vague notions of an imagined paradise. A safe haven they would have to compete for. Who was he, exactly, to determine whether they were worthy? It made her uneasy to know that he was the deciding factor, that he could leave her here to whatever horrors awaited them outside without knowing why. What deemed a person useful to The Cooperative? Was what he’d said about this sanctuary true, or just a load of bullshit?

“Loneliness is a comfort to you, not a burden.” Langdon’s voice filled the room, smooth and rich as dark honey.

It hadn’t been a question, but of course he was well aware of the truth already. She had seen a couple of the other Purples walk away from their encounters with him shell-shocked and trembling, hysterical about how he’d rifled through the parts of them they wanted to keep hidden. Their private thoughts and shameful secrets were little more than pawns in a game to him. He appeared to relish pulling them apart and leaving them shattered. She’d never seen Coco so quiet, her eyes wide and red-rimmed before she excused herself to her room for the rest of the evening.

Truthfully, she didn’t know whether to be horrified or in awe of him.

The book snapped shut. “I’m used to it,” she said, looking up at last. He moved with a preternatural grace, hands clasped behind his back as he rounded the couch opposite in a few long strides. “Aside from the Armageddon raging outside, this is just…more of the same. More minimalist, maybe, but…I’m used to being on my own.”

She figured it would be best to strive for honesty. She just hoped that she could keep the fear out of her voice.

He seemed to draw the shadows to him, and she couldn’t tell whether there’d been the barest hint of a smirk somewhere on his lips. The light from the fireplace made the lines of his cheekbones sharper, the color of his eyes darker. But she knew they weren’t dark at all—they were the brightest, clearest shade of blue she’d ever seen. Like ice from the glaciers that no longer existed.

Langdon’s lithe form melted into the arm of the couch opposite in such a fluid motion that she couldn’t tear her gaze away. He perched on the edge, cat-like, and crossed one leg over the other. Almost instinctively, she pushed the book aside, unfurling swathes of fabric as she inched closer to the edge of the leather cushion.

“Not so impressed with the other residents, then, I take it.”

She lifted one shoulder. “A bunch of entitled assholes don’t really strike me as the best candidates to keep humanity from dying out. If they’re all that’s left…” she shook her head, “I don’t know. I don’t. Aside from whatever…visionaries you’ve got at The Cooperative, and maybe those kids, humanity’s kinda screwed.” She sighed. “It’s unfair, I guess, that we bought our survival. We didn’t really survive at all, we just had the means to escape. And these people…they don’t know how to do much for themselves. How can the world depend on them?”

“Without them, the outposts wouldn’t exist. Their money—your money—”

“My parents’ money,” she corrected.

“None of you would be here if it weren’t for their wealth.” Langdon’s head titled to the side, amused. “You don’t consider yourself one of them?”

“My parents could afford my place here, I can’t deny that,” she said. “But I…” She couldn’t look at his demanding gaze, instead averting her eyes to where his hands rested on top of his knee. Slender, well-manicured fingers drummed absently on his kneecap, the opaque rings and jewels glinting in the light. “I know a thing or two about hardship, Mr. Langdon. I remember what it was like before.”

She didn’t mean the end of the world. No, it had been long before that, and Langdon knew it—she could see it in his face, those micro expressions that were gone the moment they appeared.

He leaned forward slightly. The light changed his face in remarkable ways, she realized; where before there had been something almost imperceptibly sinister about his features, now the candlelight had softened the harsh lines of shadow.

“Of course. There was a time when your family had to worry about money. It disappeared faster than you could earn it,” he answered. She didn’t dare to ask how he knew. Then again, it wasn’t altogether unreasonable to expect that The Cooperative might’ve done ridiculously detailed background checks. “Does that make you envious of them? That they were born into wealth? That they’ve…enjoyed it longer?”

“No.”

His lips curved into a delicate smirk. “You sound so sure of yourself,” Langdon said. “Why?”

“You think I’m lying.”

“Oh, I’d know if you were, and believe me, I’d tell you,” Langdon replied, his tone light and almost teasing. “No…I want to know why. It’s a simple question.”

“It gives me an advantage,” she answered. “These people are used to their cushy lives and it made them complacent. I never knew mine long enough to get to that point. I don’t envy them for one second.”

“Ruthless.” His smirk broadened into a grin, and her stomach did a somersault in response. “I admire that.”

“Don’t know if I’d call it that,” she countered.

“I would.” He narrowed those clear blue eyes, a look so piercing that she shifted in her seat, rearranging her skirts to try and avoid it.

“It’s just surviving. Figuring out who you’re up against.”

“You see them as opponents?”

“Sometimes.” She gathered the book from where it had fallen between the cushions and stood, tucking it against her chest, very aware of his gaze following her every movement. “People don’t last long here with the way Mead and Venable run things. All we can do is try to keep up. I’ve stayed quiet…done everything I can to mitigate the risk of being a problem for them.”

“And you’d do anything to make sure you’re not abandoned. Not again.” The way he said it, drawing out every syllable, made a knot form in the pit of her stomach. How could he have known something so personal? “No matter what it might cost you. Even if the price was your soul.”

One of her eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”

Langdon tipped his head to the side again, his strawberry blond hair falling across one shoulder. “On the contrary, I think you know exactly what I mean.” He pushed off the arm of the couch to stand, lacing his fingers together in front of him.

“You have that spark of callousness within you—I can see it. It’s an ugly thing, but it’s there, because it’s a part of you. It’s always been a part of you. And you’d do whatever you need to with it, if it meant your salvation. Even if it left blood on your hands.”

The lilting, pleasant timbre of his voice suddenly turned to ice, that air of superiority and omnipotent power returning to lace his words. A storm gathered in his eyes and beneath his skin, something malicious that she’d suspected lurked in his veins, down to every fiber of his being. She didn’t know what it was about him. Part of her didn’t want to know, really, but a stubborn thread of curiosity still lingered.

She found herself gaping at him, mouth open, a coherent reply lost to the void. “I…I don’t know.”

Langdon closed his eyes, just for a moment. “Yes, you do.”

When he opened them again, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, dropping his arms to his sides. She watched the mesmerizing fluidity of his hands, the rigid way he carried himself. The same sense of amusement came crawling back as if there hadn’t ever been something terribly malicious in him in the first place. As if her trampling over the corpses of Outpost 3’s elite to garner her place at The Sanctuary was a topic of casual conversation.

Langdon continued to speak with his hands. “You can deny that part of you if that’s what you want, but it will find you eventually. Once chaos has taken over, you really can’t be sure what you’d be capable of, can you?”

“…I guess not.”

She turned away from him, the admission uncoiling something dark within her, though she didn’t want to acknowledge it. Her fingertips dug into the cover of the book until her knuckles blanched. This time, it was her footsteps that ricocheted off the walls, the staccato notes far too loud in her ears.

She felt the weight of his gaze down her back, but when she glanced over her shoulder he was already gone.

@lastregasolitaria  @mylippo  @zeciex  @lvngdvns   @langdonsdemon   @your-king-cody-fern   @sojournmichael   @gabnelson98  @rainbowrosesjas  @antichristlangdxn  @keavysmithxoxo  @artistlunadrayne @codysfallenangels  @batgirlbride  @mileeyyowens  @dead-witch-boy  @boofy1998  @gentianea  @cryptid-coalition   @langdonsrapture  @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04  @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean  @langdonscurls  @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67  @sebastianshoe  @dixmond-taurus  @bookobssesed99 @langdonfern @holylangdon @ritualmichael @softlangdvn @thelangdoncooperative @weareallevilmotherfuckers

[lhunuial]

FFXIV fic || Home

Nevaran looked upon the great statue of Nhaama carved out of the mountain. Glacier water poured down from the mountains on either side of her into the water that comprised the valley’s lake. The noise of the waterfalls made her think of home and it was comforting to feel this way when she was so far from home.

“Enjoying the view?”

Nevaran’s thoughts were pulled back to the present. She threw a glance over her shoulder and found a small Xaela girl behind her. 

Zhusai approached the Hyuran girl until she stood next to her and followed her gaze.

“It reminds me of home.” Nevaran answered.

The sadness sounding through Nevaran’s voice didn’t pass Zhusai by. While this was only their third meeting Zhusai knew ‘home’ was a sensitive subject for the girl. Even if ‘home’ was a strange concept to most Xaela with their nomadic ways, it was not so for Zhusai. The Urkhago tribe stopped being nomads when they decided to make this valley their permanent residence. “Zegor and Sarpedon told me your family has joined with his family and you live with them. You sounded sad just now. Why?”

Nevaran chuckled. “The Spathi family is my new home. What makes me sad is my old home, the place where I was born.” She turned her gaze back to the Nhaama statue. “We have a statue just like this one, of the god my countrymen revere, Rhalgr. It also stands in a valley similar to this one, although it is a lot less green. It was one of my favourite places when I was younger.”

Both girls sat down at the water’s edge. Nevaran took a good look at the girl next to her. She learned quite a bit about the Xaela since coming to the Azim Steppe. While some outsiders were welcome at Reunion and some Xaela tribes, like the Urkhago tribe, did venture outside the Steppe and trade in the frontier towns, the Azim Steppe was quite closed off from the rest of Othard. “What do you know about the situation in Doma, Zhusai?”

Zhusai did not answer immediately. Though she was young, she was a representative of her clan because she an udgan in training. She enjoyed the visits to Doma when they traded with the people there. Whenever one set foot in Doma though it was impossible not to feel the tension in the air or see the fear in the people’s eyes. Not to mention patrols of the iron men and their iron constructions. “I know the men in iron invaded Doma, the Garlean Empire. Whenever we visit the towns to trade fewer people seem to be there and significant landmarks are damaged, if not destroyed.”

They were certainly familiar sights. It made Nevaran wonder how many of Ala Mhigo’s famous landmarks were still intact. “The Garlean Empire has also invaded the place I was born, Ala Mhigo. We had just fought a revolution to get rid of a crazy king and the Garleans used the chaos to take control of the country and we were in no shape to do anything about it. My father thought it was safer to leave, so we fled shortly after the Garleans took control.”

“What is your home like?” Sarpedon told her Ul’dah was in a desert. The Nhaama desert was not far from here, starting near the Dusk Throne. That offered Zhusai some idea on what climate Ul’dah had. The Xaela tribes who lived in the desert all had encampments near the few water sources there. One of the things Zhusai enjoyed was hearing stories of the places outside of the Steppe. She always looked forward to the times when the Fairwind Trade Company made its way up to Urkhago Kaa.

Nevaran looked up at the statue of Nhaama and the surrounding mountains. “Gyr Abania is a mountainous region. It is dry and rough terrain, not a lot of green like here. We do have a lot of large waterfalls and there are salt lakes near the city. Since it is difficult to farm and hold livestock we had to find other ways to make ourselves useful. We turned out to be excellent warriors.”

Zhusai’s eyes widened and a large smile appeared on her face. “No wonder you took to our ways so quickly!” She reached for Nevaran’s hands and squeezed them. Even if the Urkhago prefered to live peacefully they were still Xaela and would fight if it was necessary. “Some around here have started to refer to you as the soft skinned Xaela.”

A grin appeared on Nevaran’s face. “I’ll consider that a compliment.”

Zhusai grinned it return. To see the other girl smile after talking about the home she so clearly missed felt like some kind of reward. Still, she had to ask one last thing. “Do you think your home will be free on day and you will be able to return?”

Nevaran’s bottom lip trembled after hearing that question. At times the thought of a liberated Ala Mhigo was too much to bear. It would be a dream come true. There was no place like home after. Even if this life they built for themselves in Ul’dah was good, Ala Mhigo was ever in the back of her mind. “I hope so” she admitted, barely audible.

Again Zhusai squeezed Nevaran’s hand. They remained sitting at the water’s edge for several moments longer. If this place made Nevaran feel like home, then Zhusai wanted her to experience that for at least a moment longer.

[elsannaheadcanon]

A Different Sort of Christmas Tale

AN: This was partly inspired by the previews I saw for the Krampus movie but trust me, this isn't a horror fic.

I originally started this piece two years ago but thanks to some crippling depression, I wasn’t able to do anything with it. But recently, I’ve been working on a Life Is Strange fic on 4theWords and posting it to AO3, which gave me the boost I needed to complete this.

It was a late Christmas Eve. The city of Arendelle was quiet, its citizens bundled in their homes for the night. Snow, of natural origin, fell gently from the night sky, ensuring that the cobblestone streets would, once again, be blanketed the following morning. The only movement in the streets came from city watch diligently performing their rounds.

The same stillness was evident at the castle. With the exception of the on-duty palace guards, the entirety of the staff were fast asleep. Even the ever diligent Kai and Gerda had been dismissed early, with assurances that should the royal sisters require any sort of late-night nourishment, they could certainly handle one trip to the kitchens by themselves. As a concession, Anna and Elsa did agree to be mindful of consuming too much chocolate in the late hour.

Anna and Elsa had spent the next few hours in Elsa's room simply chatting about everything. Thirteen years was long time to be separated from one another and there was still quite a lot of catching up to do. Eventually, though, the energetic princess' eyes began to droop, and the two retired to the large bed. Anna had asked for a bedtime story from Elsa, who was more than happy to oblige. As it was the season, Elsa procured a small book of Christmas tales and began reading in a soft voice.

Despite assurances that she would stay awake for the story, Anna was fast asleep in minutes, curled up against Elsa, arms around her waist. Elsa remained seated, several pillows propped up against the headboard, one arm draped over Anna's shoulders. Her other hand held the small book as she continued to read quietly. Unlike Anna, she wasn't tired in the least, though this was normal for her in the winter season.

When the light from the fireplace had dimmed to half-strength, Elsa decided to retire for the night as well. She closed her book and, reaching over to the side, set it upon the small table near the bed. She gave her sister a loving smile who was still curled against her side. As she leaned down to give Anna a kiss on the forehead, she paused.

Someone was coming.

There were no footsteps heard outside her door but Elsa instinctively knew she was about to receive a visitor. Magic speaks to magic, after all. So, she sat back and waited.

Less than a minute later, there was a gentle shimmer in the air near the fireplace. A small flurry of green, red, and gold motes of light flew from the fireplace and quickly coalesced into a tall figure. The lights dissolved, revealing an male figure dressed in a long, green winter coat trimmed in white fur. He held a walking staff in his right hand and a small sack in his left, both of which he gently placed on the ground at his feet. Reaching up with gloved hands, he pulled back his hood, revealing a kind, elderly face and a head of thick, gray hair. An equally thick beard and mustache adorning his face.

He bowed his head deferentially. “Lady Winter. Good evening.”

Elsa returned the gesture. “Father Christmas. A pleasure, as always.” Her polite smile widened into a mischievous grin. “Or would you prefer the title, 'Julbock' or perhaps 'Julenisse'?”

Father Christmas snorted softly. “Neither, thank you. As you can plainly see, I am neither a goat nor a diminutive elf.” He took a moment to rotate a nearby chair to face the bed and sat down. Seeing the twinkle of amusement in Elsa's eyes, he couldn't help but smile himself. “It is comforting to see and hear you in such good spirits once more. There was a time not so long ago where that would have been quite difficult.”

“If not impossible,” Elsa agreed. She turned her gaze to her still-slumbering sister. “That would mostly be Anna's doing, though she would deny it. She is humble that way.” Elsa gently traced her fingers through the red locks once, twice. “She has taught me much about living life and enjoying the moment. She teaches me still.”

“Little Anna has always been a delightful child,” Father Christmas stated. “Rambunctious, expressive, outgoing. I dare say she is your opposite while also being your equal.”

“She is, indeed.” Elsa fell silent, momentarily lost in recollection of their recent adventures. She looked up, her smile soft and full of affection. “I would consider her the greater of us.”

“And knowing her, she would label you in the same way.” He chuckled. “A reflection of the love you have for one another.”

“We have debated that very topic from time to time,” Elsa stated, knowing that "debate" was likely too strong a word. Gently teased each other was likely more accurate. Still, she was curious about something else. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Though you are always welcome to Arendelle, this one is a bit unexpected, happening on your busiest of days.”

“A bit of unpleasantness, unfortunately.” Father Christmas clasped his hands together. “One of my companions has some unfinished business to complete this year. As it directly relates to you and your sister, I took it upon myself to inform you of it directly.”

The silence that followed his statement was utterly deafening. Elsa, knowing of only one issue that could conceivably attract the attention of a Companion of Christmas, went still as the ambient temperature in the room plummeted drastically. She remained unmoving until a soft groan from Anna snapped her back to awareness. Realizing what she had inadvertently done, she carefully reigned in her power, removing the unnatural chill from the air.

When she was finished, Elsa placed a gentle kiss on Anna's forehead. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her gaze back to Father Christmas, who has a slight frown on his face. “As the eldest of my family and as reigning monarch, I accept full responsibility to the nature of our relationship. The fault is mine and mine alone." She paused, considering her next words, but was interrupted before she could continue.

“No, Lady Winter, you misunderstand.” Father Christmas shook his head. “I deeply apologize for not making my words more clear. There is nothing about your relationship that warrants punishment. Neither you nor your sister are under any scrutiny. You are not on my 'naughty list,' as it were, and most certainly not on his.”

Elsa closed her eyes, taking a calming breath as she willed her heart to slow. “And there is no mistake? Truly?” Though she knew that Father Christmas would never lie, she had to ask, for Anna's sake.

“Yes, Lady Winter. In fact, it should please you to know that there are none under your reign that are on his.”

“I find it difficult to believe that there are none. I understand that he was quite busy three years ago."

“Certainly, there is the child here and there who will be receiving the requisite coal in their stocking. Such is life. But Arendelle is a prosperous city, its citizens most content. The folk of the country are hardy and self-sufficient, and recent harvests have been generous. Increased trade has made for an abundance of goods, so there is a dearth of need. Those that live near the borders have felt the effects of the treaties you forged with your neighbors. Peace, Lady Winter, is most prevalent.”

“Thank you," Elsa said with a smile. "I know these things to be true as my advisers have reported similar findings, but to hear it from a peer is most gratifying.”

“Your reign here on the mortal plane will be long and prosperous, Lady Winter,” Father Christmas stated. His mustache twitched as he grinned. "I may or may not have visited the Norns shortly before arriving here."

"Far be it for me to accuse Father Christmas of engaging in naughty behavior," Elsa said with a matching grin. It soon faded, though. “Though you have blessed me with good news about my kingdom and, more specifically, Anna and myself, I am puzzled. If we are not the focus of your companion's attentions, then who is, pray tell? You mentioned it did relate to the two of us.”

“It does.” Father Christmas leaned forward, his next words weighted. “Hans Westergard, of the Southern Isles.”

Elsa's eyes narrowed at the name. “I am, unfortunately, quite familiar with the name and what he nearly accomplished in Arendelle,” she replied in a voice colder than any glacier. She placed a hand on Anna's head as she looked at her. “And how his actions nearly snuffed out her innocence.

“She dreams of him sometimes,” she continued, her quiet voice belying the cold rage she kept safely locked away lest it lash out and obliterate the Southern Isles in its entirety. “Though 'dreams' is not the most accurate term. There is no yearning in her nighttime visions, only pain and torment. She confides in me that in the worst of them, she is too late to save me, and I am slain. She remains frozen, yet ever aware, as he takes Arendelle for his own while my remains are burned, the Winter Witch forever a curse on the lips of the people.” Elsa paused and took another calming breath. Her voice turned pained. “Anna is open and trusting, her heart large and bursting with love and happiness, but now there is a part of her that will forever doubt the intentions of others. He is directly responsible for taking that piece of innocence from her and crushing it mercilessly."

She paused, her hand still softly stoking Anna's hair. Even with their conversation filling the air, there was no danger of her waking unexpectedly, not with Father Christmas' subtle magic permeating the air around them, but Elsa kept her ministrations gentle. “I am fully aware," she eventually began, "that there have been some who have stated that being cloistered in the castle for thirteen years neglected to teach her about the realities of life and the dangers of people. They, sadly, were correct. It was a difficult lesson that we both had to learn. Others went a step further and alleged that the traumatic experience she suffered was the best method of ridding Anna of her naïveté.” Elsa looked up, her gaze fierce. "Those opinions are voiced no longer."

"The treachery that you and Anna suffered was the fault of Hans alone," Father Christmas stated. "Fear of the unknown aided his cause, fear that is no longer present. The complicity of your royal neighbors was accidental, brought about by the confusion of the unusual events of the coronation. Those nations stand by Arendelle. Hans had no true allies in his machinations, even amongst his own family. As a result, he has been punished for his crimes and languishes still."

"But not enough."

"But not enough," Father Christmas agreed. He settled back in his chair. “Out of respect for you, Lady Winter, Krampus has not already acted and has stayed his hand, though he chafes at his self-inflicted confinement. I came to ask you, on his behalf, for permission to loose a proper punishment against the one who dared endanger a Nature and her beloved.”

There was another moment of silence as Elsa considered the offer. Only the crackling of the dying fire sounded in the room. After several long moments, Elsa refocused on Father Christmas. “If it were up to Anna, I'm certain she would ask him to stay his hand, as he is already being punished for his numerous crimes.” Her next words were spoken with careful deliberation. “I am not Anna.”

Father Christmas nodded. "It is done." He stood from the chair which magically rotated back to its original position. "Thank you, Lady Winter, for your hospitality. While I do not wish to leave so quickly after concluding our business, as you mentioned previously, it is a rather busy evening for me and mine."

"Of course. Once your duties have concluded for the year, perhaps you could visit once more. I know Anna would love to hear of other Yuletide stories straight from the source." She glanced at the book of Christmas stories that sat on the small table.

Father Christmas chuckled heartily as he gathered his staff and sack. "That she would, Lady Winter. Until we meet again." And in a shower of red, greed, and gold sparkles, he vanished the way he came, up and out the chimney.

Elsa carefully snuggled under the covers completely, adjusting her position so she could remain in Anna's arms. At Anna's soft groan, she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Shh. It's okay. Go back to sleep." A soft, happy sigh was the only response.

With the barest fraction of her power, Elsa extinguished the candles on the nearby table, darkening the room. She allowed the sound of the crackling fire and Anna's steady breathing to lull her into sleep.

Across the sea, within the stone walls of a humble home, ex-Prince Hans of the Southern Isles worked the logs in the fireplace to burn brighter. Though the night was cold, it was only in the last half-hour that the temperature plummeted rather unexpectedly. The fire was doing the best it could to combat the chill but the fierce wind that rattled the windows was proving to be a fearsome opponent. He tossed another log into the flames and set the poker aside. It was the best he could do for now.

Rising, Hans walked to the modest cabinet and withdrew a light cloak, not enough to wear outside but hopefully, sufficient for inside use. He shrugged it on, seeing his other garments that lay folded or hung from hooks inside. He had been "allowed" to keep his entire wardrobe, though that was merely part of the humiliation he now endured. He was responsible for maintaining their cleanliness and considering his new position, it had proven impossible to prevent permanent stains from forming. He was also prevented from purchasing any replacements until the clothing was utterly threadbare. He grimaced as he closed the cabinet. Considering the quality of the garments, that would take some time.

He sat on the edge of his bed, contemplating finally getting some rest, when he felt a dull thud in the ground. He paused and listened. Nothing. After several moments, he was about to ignore it completely when it sounded again, this time closer.

Something was coming.

He may have been a cheat, a lying scoundrel, and a regicidal former-prince, but he was still an accomplished swordsman with good instincts. He rushed over to the corner and drew his sword before quickly donning his boots. Better to be prepared for anything. He darted to the windows and tried peering out but could make out nothing.

Another thud, this one close enough to be heard.

Hans grabbed the nearby oil lamp and lit it, bringing the flame as high as it would go. He opened the door, wincing at the sharp wind and held the lamp aloft, peering into the darkness. Still nothing.

The fireplace behind him suddenly extinguished.

Whirling around, Hans brought his sword and lamp to bear. A moment later, it was all he could do to not drop either

Something was there. It was massive, horrific, clad in rags, with chains hanging from manacles around his wrists and ankles. It was crouched in front of the fireplace, one arm inside, having crushed out the flames with its bare hand. The glowing embers seared its hand, filling the air with the stench of burnt flesh but the creature paid it no mind. There was a large sack on its back which bulged and shifted constantly, as whatever was inside desperately tried to claw its way free. A muffled wail sounded from the sackcloth. High pitched.

A child's cry.

The beast turned his head towards the trembling Hans, its eyes glowing a dull red, like the embers of the fire it snuffed out. It grinned, displaying a row of yellowed, vicious fangs. It rose to its full height, the long, goat-like horns that curled from atop its head nearly reaching the ceiling. Chains rattled as it took a step forward.

"Haaaaaaannnnnnnssssssss……."

Hans screamed. The fear he felt was primal, instinctual, raw. Still, some fragment of his training remained and he managed to stumble forward and thrust his sword deep into the abdomen of the creature. He fell silent when he felt hot rivers of blood pouring from the wound, panting harshly as he fought the desperation clawing at his mind.

A low chuckle sounded from the beast. Clawed hands grasped Hans by the shoulders and he froze in place, unable to even whimper, as the monster lifted him clean off his feet to stare him dead in the eyes. It grinned, the mouth stretching far wider than anything natural. Terror caused Hans to lose control of his bladder.

"Little Hans…" The stench of the creature's breath carried with it the scent of the grave. The creature's serpentine tongue unfurled from its mouth and gave its newest toy a long lick from neck to temple. "Arendelle sends its regards…"

And with that, Krampus lifted Hans over its head and shoved him head-first into its sack, Hans' anguished screams now muffled amongst the multitude of victims buried inside, all naughty, all unrepentant, all its playthings. It stomped out of the building, the sword slipping from its abdomen to fall uselessly to the floor. Behind, the flame from spilled oil lamp started to spread. Eventually, the fire would engulf the interior of the hovel, taking with it any remnants of the disgraced 13th son of the Westergards.

It was no loss.

"Anna?"

"Mmmm…."

"Wake up, Anna."

"Hmm-mrf."

"It's Christmas day."

"Mmmmmmmwwha?" Anna started awake. "Elsa?" She turned to look at her sister who had a bright smile on her face.

Elsa motioned to the rest of the room. "Good morning, Anna."

Anna looked around and gasped.

The room, which had been decorated before, was now practically covered in colorful ribbons, bells, bows, and tinsel. A pair of stockings which had hung before the fireplace, were now nearly bursting with all sorts of treats and goodies. Several brightly wrapped presents were now on display beneath their tree, which also seemed brighter then before. And atop the table in front of the fireplace, a veritable feast of fruits, cakes, and other foodstuffs awaited.

Anna turned and wrapped Elsa in a warm hug. "Wow! This is so amazing!" She leaned back and tried to look stern. "Did you wake up early to do all this? 'Cause you didn't have to, you know that."

Elsa laughed. "I did wake up early but this was not my doing. I only brought up the coffee and tea."

"Really?" asked Anna, letting herself be led to love seat at the fireplace.

"Really," was the reply as Elsa and Anna sat.

"Then who?"

"Father Christmas."

Anna blinked. "Wow. A friend of yours, then, with the whole snow and winter connection?"

"There's a bit more to it but that is essentially correct." Elsa reached forward and selected a pastry. "I'll explain more later. But for now, I'll let you know that I've invited him to return to Arendelle once his business is concluded for the year so that you may meet him properly." She offered Anna the pastry who leaned forward to take a bite. "I know you'll enjoy his stories. He tells them much better than I."

Anna licked her lips free of the crumbs. "I doubt that but it sounds like a lot of fun." She paused as she reached for a strawberry. "Wait, am I allowed to meet Christmas? Aren't I just, you know, ordinary?"

Elsa took Anna's hand in hers and brought up their joined fingers to her lips. She placed a gentle kiss on Anna's knuckles. "There is nothing 'ordinary' about the love of my life. She is extraordinary, brave, wise, and the absolute center of my world and is my guiding light." She let go her Anna's hand to cup her cheek and brought their faces close. She kissed her, soft, warm, and ever-so loving. "Of course she has permission."

When they separated, Anna's smile was wide, bright, her expression bursting with love and affection. She wiped the moisture from the corners of her eyes. "Thank you. I love you, Elsa."

"I love you too, Anna."

"And Merry Christmas! Wait, am I allowed to say that or is that offensive?"

A brief giggle and a kiss. "Yes, you are. Merry Christmas to you, too."