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perlelune · 10 months ago

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Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗��𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

“So what’s your deal?” Festus Creed asks out of the blue.

Your mouth opens in shock, a nervous laugh slipping out. “My deal?”

A mocking sneer twists his features. “Yeah, Coriolanus kept trying to get you to eat with us but you were being weird about it. If you hate us, just say so.”

While some snigger at the table, Coriolanus stares daggers at him. The mirth instantly vanishes from Festus’ face.

Clemensia bumps her elbow into his rib, chiding him, “Festus, come on,”

“I don’t…hate anyone,” you defend, your voice hardly above a whisper.

Clemensia flashes you a reassuring smile.

“Of course, you don’t. Coriolanus said you’re very sweet.”

Livia rolls her eyes.

“Ugh, whatever. Can we get back to discussing the Yuletide Ball?”

Surprise flutters through you. The name bears vague familiarity. It can be found in the archives detailing the history of the Capitol University. But it’d since long become a frivolity amidst concerns such as quelling the uprisings in the Districts. What’s a students’ dance in the face of war and famine?

“The Yuletide Ball? I thought this was an abolished tradition…I mean since the war.”

Excitement illuminates Livia’s face.

“We’re bringing back the tradition this year, thanks to Coriolanus here. He convinced the new dean.”

Coriolanus lowers his head in apparent humbleness.

“I just made a few good points and he couldn’t refuse me,” he shares. He turns to you, blue eyes sparkling. “I’m pretty persuasive when I need to be.” A chill dances through you at his low, suggestive tone.

To your relief, his attention switches to the rest of the table.

“It’s important to not let District scum ruin our way of life. Traditions must return.”

Livia smirks. “Spoken like a student body president.”

Coriolanus waves a dismissive hand but a hint of smugness lingers in his tone as he says, “Please, elections are only in a month.”

“And it’s obvious you’ll win,” Clemensia states.

He gives a light shrug.

“We shall see.”

Clemensia pivots to you.

“Ivy, Liv and I are on the Ball committee,” she preens, her face brightening. “You could join us if you want.”

You lick your lips. “I don’t know if I’d find the time with midterms coming up soon…”

Coriolanus’ fingertips graze your arm as he offers, “You should do it, angel. It’d be a good way to expand your social circle.”

“You mean her nonexistent circle,” Festus gibes.

The blond’s jaw clenches.

“Talk to her like that again and see what happens, Creed.”

Festus cowers, nervousness flickering on his face. He clears his throat.

“Sorry,” he says to you.

“It’s fine.”

Coriolanus’ fingers latch around your wrist as his steely gaze cuts into Festus.

“No, it’s not fine,” he articulates.

Undisturbed by the altercation between the boys, Clemensia prattles on about the ball.

“We meet up every Saturday morning. We’re working on winter-themed decorations right now. It’ll be so fun. It takes forever to do though.” She looks at you with emphasis. “An extra set of hands would be really welcome.”

“Clemensia…”

“Call me Clemmie,” she interrupts. “All my friends do.”

Friends? You study her hand clasped around yours. The concept is a little foreign to you. You also ponder why someone like Clemensia, with her perfect silky mane and smooth, blemish-free face would want to befriend you. She is the girl everyone gravitates towards. Charismatic, smart and nice to boot. And you might as well be a fly on a wall, ignored on the best days.

You are so stunned that it takes a shamefully long time for the words to fall back on your tongue.

“Clemmie, I’m usually busy on Saturday.”

“Oh.” She deflates, her hold on your hand loosening. “I get it. Sorry I asked.”

The excitement on her face plummets. Immediately, you feel terrible. You’ve never missed a single Saturday of studying, using that time to break down your more complicated courses of the week. But Clemmie looks crestfallen.

Perhaps, this one time, you can adjust your plans a little. One Saturday won’t make a difference in the entire year.

“But…I can try to free up some time,” you offer.

She perks up with your response.

“Great. We’ll be expecting you then.”

Lunch then proceeds, the table resuming the lively debate they were having before you showed up. Festus maintains facts about his family’s role in the reconstruction after the war while Clemensia rolls her eyes. They go back and forth and you observe them, slightly fascinated by the exchange. It’s such a rare occurrence for you to be around others that you soak every bit of their interaction. You get the inkling this happens a lot between them, them ruffling each other’s feathers. Ivy and Livia get wrapped in their own secret conversation you don’t catch a single word of. Meanwhile, Coriolanus watches all of them, taking a bite of the food on his plate every once in a while. The way he eats is slow, nonchalant, almost like he couldn’t care less what’s on his plate. Even if he doesn’t interject at any point, he looks right at home at this table. Unlike you. You recline into silence, letting every minute fly by as you wait for lunch to be over. When it finally is, relief surges inside you.

You mumble a quick goodbye and gather your things. Clemensia beams and waves at you while the others barely acknowledge your departure.

You head for the hallways, trying not to allow your mind to linger on the strange, uncomfortable lunch. Still, your mind swirls. You curse yourself for every blunder and awkward moment. You told him you don’t belong, that you’re an outsider, and always will be. It’s painfully obvious. From the way you dress, talk, carry yourself, you have nothing in common with girls like Clemensia or Livia. There’s a vast chasm between you and them. He should have listened. It astounds you that you even let yourself get roped into joining Clemensia’s committee thing. Though perhaps that won’t be too much of a hassle. You’ll show up to keep your word, then sink back into your rigid study routine.

Coriolanus’ deep voice, a sound you’re now oddly familiar with, erupts behind you.

“Let me carry those for you,” he says, swiping the books in your arms before you can protest. He falls in pace with you, a gentle expression decorating his handsome face.

You frown, the uncanny emptiness of your arms swelling your discomfort.

“You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” he interrupts, chuckling lightly when you try to reach for your books and he dodges you with ease. Your shoulders sag. Your strides hasten, an urgency limning your steps now.

Coriolanus meets no issue with your escalating cadence. He easily keeps up with you, a subtle hint of mirth lurking in his cobalt gaze.

“It wasn’t too much, was it?” he inquires. “I know they can be a lot but they’re all good people. I promise.”

A myriad of words weigh heavy on your tongue but you diplomatically swallow each, settling for a safe, innocuous remark.

“Clemmie was nice.”

The corners of the blond’s lips quirk skyward.

“I told you she was.”

The statement hovers between the two of you for a while. Clemensia seems nice indeed. The rest of his friend group…perhaps a little less so. Possibly a bit more cutthroat and self-absorbed. Though you surmise it is a requirement to be a member of Panem’s elite.

No other word is traded between you and him as you make your way to the lecture hall.

“This is me,” you announce.

You turn to Coriolanus, hands stretching towards your books. He makes no move to give them back. Your forehead creases.

He gives you a sluggish once-over before offering, “What if I drove you back home after your classes?”

You nibble your bottom lip, dismayed by his proposition. You’ve caught glimpses of his fancy new car, as you’re sure most have at the University. As heir apparent to the Plinth fortune, he gets to spend money as he likes.

“I usually walk. It’s okay.”

He gets a little closer. “Come on, angel. Just let me do something nice for you.”

You shrink until your back hits the wall, stunned when Coriolanus follows each of your steps.

“My last lecture is…Professor Bellweather tends to ramble,” you mumble, his proximity unnerving you. “I don’t…I don’t know when he’ll be done.”

He licks his lips.

“I’ll just wait for you, angel.”

He utters the words like it’s obvious. You gawk at him. It takes you a few minutes to retrieve your speech.

You scratch your arm, your frown accentuating.

“You really don’t have to. Like I said, walking home is fine.”

The gaze trained on your form sharpens.

“And I’m offering to take you home so you don’t have to exert yourself.” He bends over you, invading the already insufficient space between the two of you. “Has a friend never done something like that for you?”

“N-No,” you admit.

His tone’s heavy with suggestion as he rasps, “So let me be your first then, angel.”

Your heart stumbles inside your chest.

“I’m gonna be late for class,” you blurt out, attempting to brush past him.

Coriolanus’ hand darts out, swiftly cinching around your wrist to stop you from leaving.

“I still don’t have an answer,” Coriolanus says.

You glance from his hand, tight around your wrist, to his determined gaze. Your throat goes dry.

“Okay, you can d-drive me back home.”

He releases your wrist and returns your books, a smile ghosting over his lips.

“Wonderful. I’ll come get you later, angel.”

Clutching your books against your chest, you watch him glide away.

As promised, Coriolanus is waiting for you when you exit from your last class. You don’t even think to hide your shock as you find the blond leaning against the wall. A smirk unfans on his lips, your reaction seeming to amuse him.

He doesn’t say much to you as you walk side by side and head to his car. When you’re outside, he surprises you by opening the passenger door for you before you can even lift a hand.

“T-Thanks,” you stammer. You plop down on the plush seat. The leather smells new and expensive.

Your nerves thrum as he takes the driver’s seat and starts the car. You’ve never been alone in a car with a boy before. Uneasy, you let your eyes roam outside the window. The Capitol’s high buildings blur past you rapidly.

You’re lost in your thoughts when you notice the prickling sensation over your flesh, The burning, unwavering weight of Coriolanus Snow’s scrutiny.

Your head whirls.

Bashful words quake through your lips.

“Do I have something on my face?” Your hands reach to touch it, just in case.

He chuckles.

“No,” he replies, shrugging. “It’s a nice face that’s all.”

The casual compliment sends a wave of heat through your body.

“Can you drive?” he asks, curiosity lighting his features.

You shake your head. Getting your license has never been a priority. Besides, it’s only a thirty minute walk to get to the University. You don’t mind it, often using that time to sneak in some reading.

“No.”

“I could drive you if you like,” he offers, his gaze holding yours. “Anywhere you want to go.”

Your cheeks warm. “I’m okay.”

Coriolanus nods, his focus shifting back to the road.

“You always say that…” He hums low in his throat. “I’m just not sure I believe it, angel.”

You’re so nervous the entire drive that you don’t even notice when he arrives at your house. You stare at him, mouth agape. You haven’t given him a single instruction on how to get there.

“You know where I live?”

As he opens the door for you, Coriolanus simply replies, “You told me earlier.”

Your brows furrow. You don’t remember telling him but his tone harbors no doubt. You rummage through your brain, seeking the moment. Nothing comes up and you grow confused.

You blink up at him.

“I-I did?”

“Yes, you did, angel.” He snorts as if your line of questioning is beyond ludicrous. “How else would I know?” He slams the door of the car as you rise. “Besides…Dr. Gaul is my mentor. Of course, I know where she lives.”

You nod. That makes sense and it didn’t even occur to you.

“I…”

He cocks his head. “What?”

You fidget beneath his stare, discomfort flaring in the pit of your stomach.

“Nothing. Thanks for driving me home.”

He flashes you a wide smile.

“My pleasure. See you soon, angel.”

He starts the car and drives away. You don’t feel quite at ease until his car’s gone from view, heading towards the Corso.

Walter zooms across the room as soon as you enter the large apartment. Your eyes wander about. As usual, the place is empty besides you and Walter. Mother rarely spends any time here nowadays, her work occupying all of her time.

Walter rubs his furry head against your ankle, twirling around you as he meows. He then stands on his hind legs and starts gently raking his claws across your leg. A way for him to demand that you pet him. A small smile tugging your lips, you pick him up. The orange ball of fur purrs, curling against your chest as you carry him in your arms. You make your way to the kitchen and pour a mix of leftover meat and fish in his bowl.

You set him down on the floor. His tail wiggles as he hops to his food.

You crouch next to him.

“You wouldn’t believe what happened today, Walter,” you say while giving gentle pets to his back. “I was invited to their table.” The orange cat pauses his eating to stare up at you blankly. “Yes. Theirs,” you repeat as if he could understand you. He gives a long meow before focusing on his bowl again. You sigh. “I know. I thought the same thing.”

Once Walter’s emptied his bowl, you pick him up again and make your way to the living room.

You collapse on the couch.

“And then…Coriolanus Snow drove me home. Yes, the Coriolanus Snow. I didn’t even think he knew I existed.”

For a while, you remain on the couch, stroking Walter’s fur as he sits on your lap. His tail whips the air, his eyes closing as you pet him. His soft rumble of content reverberates against your belly, amplifying when your fingers drag behind his pointed white ears. You lean back, a blanket of peace settling over you.

Walter’s not just a strange-looking cat, he’s also a rescue…from your mother’s experiments. A kitten mutt with mismatched eyes, one blue and one yellow, his mushed, wrinkled face gives him a passing resemblance to a rodent. Pets like him are a rarity in today’s world as most creatures such as him were eaten during the First Rebellion.

Your mother finds him appalling. In her eyes, he is a failed experiment. Like you. Perhaps it’s why you have such kinship with the creature. You still recall her unsettling glance in your direction the day she asked the entire class of nine-year-olds at the Academy if they had pets they were sick of. She then proceeded to burn the flesh off a lab rat to demonstrate her pulsed energy laser.

This moment is burned into your mind forever, your mother’s clinical tone chilling your blood.

You stole Walter from the Citadel and took him home that same day.

You were careful to hide him, though you suspect your mother figured out what you did. She likely added it to her long list of disappointments when it comes to you.

Sometimes, you envy Walter. The simplicity his days hinge upon. His obliviousness to the woes of the world. His uncanny ability to sleep through the chaos of it, ignore the disarray. Walter’s world consists of food, play and cuddles.

What a blissful existence. You bet Walter never had a vexing thought in his short life.

The train of your thoughts is interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone.

You carefully remove Walter from your lap. He meows in protest and jumps off the couch. You pick up the phone, chest clenching as a familiar face fills the flickering screen.

“Mother,” you greet. “How are you?”

She ignores your question, curtly stating, “You’re falling behind in Molecular Cell Biology.”

You know that tone all too well, the warning laced within it so achingly familiar.

Your fingers twist around the phone cord, your voice becoming small.

“I’ll get my grades up, I promise.”

Silence hovers between you and your mother for a while. Faint hope sparks within you. Perking up, you decide to tell her about your day.

“Oh, mother, today-”

“I must go,” she interrupts. “It’s time for my milk and cookies.”

Your spirits plummet. You nudge a hollow smile onto your face.

“Right. I didn’t realize,” you say, checking the clock hanging on the wall. “I’m sorry.”

She heaves out a deep sigh, her lone blue eye narrowing.

“Focus on your studies. And try not to be even more of an embarrassment to me than you already are.”

“Y-Yes, mother,” you reply, your heart shriveling inside your chest.

As she hangs up, you feel silly and horrible. Silly for trying to strike up a normal conversation with your mother. And horrible for letting her down once more.

“You came!” Clemensia exclaims as she rushes to you. You try not to tense as she gives you a tight hug. Ivy and Livia linger in the background, their eyes lifting from the crafts’ table.

You wave at them and are surprised when Ivy wiggles her fingers at you. Livia is more withdrawn, nodding to acknowledge your presence but quickly returning to her task.

You step out of Clemensia’s embrace and flash a quick smile.

“Well I promised you that I would,” you reply nonchalantly. You take a look around the room. Various decorations and posters are propped against the walls, while snowflakes cut-outs and what looks like moon dust are scattered on the table. It seems the girls have been busy.

You turn to Clemensia. “What’s the theme again?”

Ivy surprises you by answering cheerfully, “Well, it’ll be like a Winter daydream and we were thinking of making it a masquerade.”

Excitement sways in Clemensia’s bright eyes. “What do you think?”

“Sounds nice.” Your trite answer draws every gaze in the room to you. Awkwardly bouncing on your feet, you correct yourself, beaming at Clemensia. “I meant amazing.”

“I think so too,” she chimes.

She shows you the empty chair next to hers. The both of you sit down and she starts rambling about the theme and all the ideas she has to decorate the ballroom. You grow dizzy with all the information, trying to follow along her instructions at the same time.

“We’ll need to find you a date,” Clemensia says.

You shake the can of blue paint before spraying over the tree cut-out.

“It’s okay. I probably won’t be going anyway,” you respond absently.

The pencil in Livia’s hand snaps. Your head rises. The blonde’s gaping at you. You then realize…the same look of disbelief is etched on all the girls’ features. A frown mars your brow. Did you say something wrong? You didn’t realize this was such an important event.

A nervous laugh peals off Clemensia’s red-painted lips.

“No, but you have to,” she says, “It’s the first Yuletide Ball in over a decade. Everyone will be there.”

You shrug. “It’s four months away, Clemmie.”

Her onyx gaze shimmers.

“Well, a lot can happen in four months,” she sings, a mysterious smile spreading onto her lips.

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #tbosas fanfiction #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

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forthegothicheroine · 14 days ago

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I got SUCH a good Yuletide gift fic, you all have to read it! You know those Jozef Szekeres drawings of what a Don Bluth Dracula movie might have looked like?

My gift author wrote a lost media youtuber's video on it! Everyone is Jonathan! Lucy has Plucky Orphan Girl magic powers! Dom DeLuise is a talking mouse! Read it now!

#yuletide 2024 #fanfiction #dracula

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lotties-ashwagandha · 15 days ago

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HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS

riley johnson x fem!reader

you’re home for christmas, and in the chaos of the holiday season you find solace with an old friend. make the yuletide GAY wooooo!!! tell me you see my vision. 3.2k words.

You stand in the corner of the event center like Santa’s greatest reject. You have banished yourself, let yourself succumb to the fate of being The Weird One Standing In The Corner. It suits you better than the rest of the party — you have no connection to local politics here, you haven’t met half of the guests before in your life, and those you have met you would much prefer to stay away from. Your family has ditched you to mingle, and you start to regret coming back for them.

You are home for the holidays, and it has lived up to your expectations. Staying in your childhood home, met with familiar faces around town, dragged to every Christmas party you come across — privacy has evaded you, and so has the prospect of sleep.

You take a sip of your coffee. It’s the only thing keeping you standing — any of the alcohol being passed around would have you passed out in your car, and the warmth helps to soothe the biting chill.

You don’t hear her approach, but you recognize her voice instantly. “Good choice. If I got drunk right now I would grab the microphone off the stage and yell, ‘No, everyone, I can’t hook you up for any dull pain in your funny bone.’”

You turn to see her, a cup of coffee in her hands to match your own. She watches you with tired eyes, an ever-worn expression that you know every line and look of. Riley Johnson has joined you at your side.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Riley says. She turns to gaze out at the rest of the party. “You never called me.”

Fuck.

“Everything happened so last minute,” you lie. You knew you were coming back for weeks before you left home. “It has all passed by so quickly. The holidays always happen that way.”

She hums in response, offering a quick nod. Riley takes a sip of her coffee, a faint crimson smudge is left behind on the mug.

You’re desperate for anything to say to get yourself out of this. “Are you enjoying the party?”

Riley gives you a deadpan look and shoves her free hand into the pocket of her grey blazer. “No.”

It’s been a year, almost exactly, since you last saw Riley Johnson. You were once friends in high school, then roommates in your first two years of college, and now since you moved away you have been immaculately estranged. Since your early twenties you have been seeing one another once a year: during your visits to your hometown during the holidays.

You shouldn’t be avoiding her. Your relationship with Riley has faded pleasantly — she’s a doctor now, you’re successful in your own field, both of you have all you could want out of life. Yet the nostalgia you experience every time you meet her again is wrenching. It has become ingrained in you, triggered at every photo you see of her, the sound of her voice, the way you watch each other change and age with every passing year.

Riley studies you. She smiles softly. “You aren’t enjoying yourself either.”

“Just wait until the White Elephant party.”

She’s silent for a moment, clears her throat and looks back out at the crowd. “I don’t think I’m going this year.”

“You’re not?” A great sense of dread comes over you. Every year you attend the White Elephant gift exchange hosted by Harper’s family — Riley’s ex, another one of your strained friendships, whose family is intensely close to yours. You go every year. Riley usually joins you and for the night you are instantly allies again in the suffering.

“I have had enough years in a row of going to my ex’s house on Christmas Eve, getting drunk on cheap spiced alcohol, and spending the day at the mall wanting to kill myself in pursuit of a White Elephant gift.”

It is a fair point, but still… “I don’t think I can make it through the event without you.”

“No, you will be just fine,” she says. “Don’t let me get in your way.”

You need a drink after all – you need a drink because the hidden implication that you don’t need her has brought you to your limit. “Up for grabbing microphones off the stage?”

“What?”

You look down at your empty coffee mug, over at the drinks being served at the bar near the entrance.

You sit with Riley on a bench outside the building. Three drinks in now, both of your spirits have been lifted, and you disregard the cold night. The light coming from inside the party is cast over you, though you find relief from the noise of the crowd.

“Wait, wait,” Riley starts. “Do you remember when we went to a gay bar for the first time together? And then we got a cab home back to our apartment and you fucking vomited all over the backseat?”

You cringe at the memory, but beside you Riley is hardly able to breathe through her laughter. You throw your head into your hands. “I thought the driver was going to kill me that night.”

Riley pulls one of your hands away from your face and jabs a finger at you. “If you had thrown up in our apartment then I would have killed you. You got lucky.”

“I don’t know if lucky is the right word. Everyone around town was talking about me for weeks.”

“Oh, come on,” she sighs contentedly. “You’re complaining to the wrong person when it comes to public disgrace.”

She leans against you, hands stuffed into the pocket of her blazer and empty glass disregarded on the ground by her feet. For warmth, you think. She leans against you for warmth, and because you lived together for years, and because you are familiar and safe and even after all these years she knows everything about you. She leans against you because, like you, she holds trust in your friendship — however strained and monotonous and lonesome.

You want to wrap an arm around her and pull her closer. You want to lean into her, too, close your eyes and let yourself succumb to the comfort of her beside you and the sharp pine of her perfume. You stay still — if anything, you become more tense, though an unwelcome giddiness spreads through you at having her so close and you work hard to resist the urge to take her hand in yours.

“You’re an asshole,” Riley says.

You panic. “Why?”

“The elephant in the room. It wants me to go to its party.”

“It told you itself?”

Riley nods.

“What else did it say?”

Riley sits back up straight. She considers the mysterious white elephant’s words. “That we should go into town tomorrow and look for White Elephant gifts — unless you’ve already gone shopping.”

“I haven’t yet,” you smile. “I would love to go.”

“Good,” she nods. Her gaze settles on you, she leans back against the bench. For a second she seems to hesitate, gauging your expression to anticipate how you might respond when she says: “I’ve missed this.”

You nod, searching for the words – you have missed this too, you have missed Riley so intensely that you try to disregard any memory of her as it resurfaces during your everyday life. You have missed her so much that you neglected calling her and telling her you were coming back home for Christmas this year because you knew that if you saw her you would leave feeling empty without her. “I’ve missed this too,” you say simply. “I wish we could see each other more often. Once a year isn’t enough.”

Riley smiles softly, her features possessed with the same nostalgia wracking you. She doesn’t have to say it: once a year is the best the two of you will get. Your ship has sailed, you have parted ways, and you will have to make do with the blessing of your paths crossing every once in a lifetime.

Riley stands up. She looks down at you, surveying you for any changes since last year, in the same way you have been examining her. Above all, in her you have noticed a new exhaustion. It possesses her features with tantalizing strength, it has grown parasitically.

“Tomorrow,” she starts, always in her same awkwardness that is charismatic in a way you are not. “We will brave the storm of the mall.”

Terrifying. “I’ll meet you there.”

The night has grown colder. Riley stalks off and a frozen breeze whips against you, and no matter how you brace against it you are chilled to the bone.

You eye the forgotten glass she has left by the leg of the bench.

When Riley meets you at the mall the next morning, you are jittery with the coffee buzz you’ve gotten. You’re nervous, though you hardly have reason to be, and through a lapse of judgement you have been sipping on copious amounts of holiday-flavored coffee drinks while you wait for her.

Riley steps into the coffee shop you had agreed to meet at. It is a place of refuge from the chaos of the rest of the mall, though you have tried to escape the worst of the last-minute Christmas shoppers by going so early in the morning.

In an attempt to be gallant you pay for the black coffee she orders. A simple gesture, one she thanks you for and that you hope can start your journey of reconnecting.

“Okay,” she takes her coffee and looks out of the coffee shop at the rest of the mall. “Anywhere you have in mind to start with?”

You hesitate. It’s been so long since you visited the mall here – you usually come to town with a White Elephant gift in tow, but this year you ran out of time. You shake your head listlessly.

“Come on,” Riley grabs your arm and leads you into the mall.

First she leads you into a home decor store. You browse dinnerware, towels, anything cheap but still appealing enough to give away at a party.

Riley disappears into an area of kitchen gadgets and comes back with a plastic handheld citrus juicer. “Look at this fucking thing.”

She holds it up like a block of gold.

“Oranges,” she starts listing with a deadpan expression, “lemons, limes, grapefruit. Juicers are the future.”

You take the juicer from her. Looking it over, you see the appeal, but you don’t think Ted or Tipper will be as enthusiastic about a citrus juicer. Even one of the high-tech mechanical ones would still be a disappointment to their standards.

Riley snatches it back. “You don’t like it?”

“I like it,” you try. Riley shakes her head and tosses the juicer into the basket you carry.

“I’ll get it for myself. Merry Christmas.”

You look down into the basket. “You used to have one of these when we lived together. You would juice a bunch of oranges and make one singular mimosa for yourself on Sundays.”

Riley nods. The two of you walk deeper into the store. “Remember why you never got a mimosa?”

“No.”

“I had two juicers. The first one broke because you tried to crack nuts in it.”

Oh.

You pay for the citrus juicer, too. “For my sins,” you tell her and offer the juicer in a plastic bag.

You visit a fragrance store next. You decide that if you would appreciate a gift of seasonally-scented soap, so might someone else. You test the peppermint scents, the snowball scents, every variation of gingerbread. The store is packed and you lose Riley in the fray, but you end up by a back wall of older scents you suspect are soon to be cycled out.

You test the scents of the perfumes and soap, but one of them gives you pause. An old perfume you used to wear when you were younger. You thought the line had ended, but now you hold it new and rebranded.

“What’s that?” Riley peers over your shoulder. “Did you find one?”

You hand it to her. “You won’t remember. I used to wear this all the time, I thought it had been discontinued.”

Riley holds it up to smell. There’s a change in her features, the same heady nostalgia that you wore last night has spread to her. “I remember.” She looks down at the perfume, then back up at you, something unreadable in her expression that has you averting your gaze as your chest tightens. “It still suits you… Let me buy it for you.”

You shake your head. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

She has made it to the cash register before you can stop her.

You end up at Riley’s house after purchasing your White Elephant gift, a gift card you put no thought into that everyone will be disappointed in — it’s hardly a gift, and not extravagant enough for White Elephant, but as the mall had gotten busier both of you had been craving to get out. Riley had invited you back for a drink, and it had been beyond you to decline.

You sit on the sofa with her, glass of wine in hand. A small fire dances in the fireplace, relief from the chill running through her house — one far larger than yours, exhibiting the wealth she has obtained through the years. You have been successful apart in your own fields, but you hadn’t realized the extent of Riley’s accomplishment until you had stepped into one of the grandest houses in town.

Instead of feeling welcomed by the grandeur, though, the house feels isolating. It is empty, except for her, and while you know she enjoys her solitude you can’t help but question how much more confined one would feel in the winter months living in a home like this.

“It’s different here for you, isn’t it?” Riley questions. “More contained than Christmas in the city.”

She says it like you loathe the ground you walk on, and you would sell your soul to be back in your house in the city a few hours away. As if you are dropping down into the fire every year you come back to smaller suburbs.

“It’s familiar,” you say carefully. “There are always pieces of this place I’ll miss and pieces I would rather not see again.”

“Is that why you didn’t call me?” She asks, studying you carefully, wearing a playful expression to fall back on. Gold is reflected in her eyes from the fire. It casts the two of you in its light, the rest of the room darkening as the day fades on.

“No,” you shake your head, stunned by the implication – but you remember your earlier avoidance of her, and even now you feel it in your bones drawing you away as you feel forever pulled towards her. It is a balance you don’t understand. “I always want to see you.”

Riley takes a long drink of her wine. Then she leans forward, elbows resting on her knees, and a spike of adrenaline runs through you like a high at her proximity. The silence between you is a heavy, living thing, charged with something best left unnamed. Her gaze flicks up to you and you hate how your breath catches, like it is her your heart beats for. “I hate those fucking parties.”

You know. You hate them, too, the political events and social squabbles hosted annually by the families the two of you grew up with – the events you hardly have a choice but to go to, because you have nowhere else to be for Christmas without a family started on your own and the parties are part of the package.

“I only go for you,” she says softly – anxiously. It is a new color on her. “I’ll never get anywhere with the people here. They all think I’m a stalker.”

You smile. “Aren’t you?”

“Are you into that?”

“I could be.”

Riley laughs, it cuts through the tenderness of her earlier confession. She sets her glass down on the coffee table. When she sits back up she shifts closer to you, like you are a very curious and outlandish thing to occupy space in her home, but one she would like to keep here permanently.

Again, you want to pull her closer to you, live in the bliss of her claiming your senses – and immediately, like being shot in the leg, you realize the nature of your push and pull. Every year it dawns on you and every year you push it aside, the growing love for her that has haunted you throughout every year you have spent apart.

You see it in her, the same longing. It sets you both in terrifying stillness that you don’t know how to break out of. She shifts again and her knee brushes against yours and sends a quick jolt through you, and no matter how you set your gaze away from her you betray yourself in the way you look at her lips.

In the nature of present longing, you make up for past regrets: You kiss her.

She leans into you, wrapping her arms around you and tugging you closer. For a fleeting moment you are wracked with guilt at the touch – after Christmas you will be separated again, back to your own lives and jobs and fates. You will return to your solitude and all of this will have to be forgotten.

The guilt is gone when her tongue slips into your mouth and her hands slide under your shirt. Just for now, you need each other. You have been given the blessing of an escape and it would be a waste of both of your time not to take it – you need it, and you feel in the hunger Riley kisses you with and the yearning in her touch that she needs it, too.

She pushes you to lay down on the couch, lips only leaving yours to pull your shirt over your head. Her hands are cold, you moan into the kiss when they start exploring the newly revealed skin. The warmth of the fire soothes over you in compliment, new softness amid the hunger.

Riley is gentle with you, handling you like an endlessly fragile thing. Her touch is anxious, cautious, but with every passing moment need grows in you, surging beneath your skin. In a smooth motion you pull her down so that it’s Riley with her back to the couch and you hover above her.

Her hands find your hips, nails digging sharply into your skin when you lean down to kiss her. Any hesitation is gone, you are left only with your longing as you rid her of her button-down shirt and your lips latch onto her neck. It comes naturally to you to be above her like this, you are driven on faultless instinct as you find every way to explore her neck and chest that leaves her breath heavy and back arching to find more of you to sate her.

Something breaks in the moment, tenderness returning when she pulls you back up from her neck to meet your eyes.

“Stay here with me,” she whispers. One of her hands runs through your hair and your eyes shut as you savor her. “I want to wake up with you on Christmas.”

You close the distance again, an unspoken promise that you are bound to her. You have found harbor here together, in the privacy of her home and in the love that never extends beyond each other.

HI HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! happiest season has been my movie obsession this christmas so i had to write a fic for it 😋 if you enjoyed and wanna be my sexy secret santa then fill my stocking with a giant coffee (?) and i will consider it the merriest christmas ever. or just comment or reblog or whatever. anyway love love love you all thank you for reading!!!

#riley johnson #riley johnson x reader #happiest season #happiest season x reader #riley johnson smut #clea duvall thank you for giving us christmas sapphics please give us more

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deadstaticolivia · 22 days ago

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Andy wearing a shit eating grin saying “Everyone is gonna hate Marius” in the new Yuletide stream has got me riled tf up. By everyone I think he means, the player characters and the fans cause of his weird vampire religious crisis. I just KNOW that he’s gonna get more fucked up and evil now that he’s turned to the duchess. Andy why must you make my heart hurt for a blond guy.

#still haven’t watched edge of midnight but I know enough about what happened to him to know what’s gonna go down for him #ohhhh Marius the man that you are and the issues that you have #edge of midnight #EoM #legends of avantris #marius renathyr #loa

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aspionagee · 2 months ago

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Update for fans of A Patchwork Family: I will be uploading chapter 1 of the sequel on December 1st or earlier, and weekly updates will commence from then.

I'm super excited, and I hope everyone else is, too! I'll be doing a title reveal soon, and I'll possibly post some other snippets in the run up to the release.

Since the sequel will be gaining steam around the Christmas season, I've written a little snippet of Harry, Draco and Severus engaged in Yule Ball preparations in honour of that. Enjoy! :)

Despite Severus’ considerable willpower, he was unable to prevent signs of Christmas festivity from invading his living quarters. Even though they had both returned to living in their respective dormitories during fourth year, Harry and Draco had joined forces to bring the yuletide spirit to their father’s rooms. Tinsel hung from the walls; a Christmas tree twinkled in the corner; stockings were suspended over the fireplace.

But as he stood in the bathroom on Christmas Day, Harry was beginning to wish he could banish any evidence of the dreadful holiday from his life. All it did was remind him of the impending Yule Ball.

For the hundredth time, he wetted his comb and raked it through his hair, only for it to stubbornly spring upright. Harry groaned loudly, and smacked his forehead against the mirror. He looked completely ridiculous! What was Parvati going to think? Even worse, what would Cho think when she saw Harry? She was bound to give him a pitying look, while inwardly congratulating herself on picking the right champion…

Severus knocked on the door and asked, “What on earth is going on in there?”

“My hair!” Harry said, dragging the comb through once more. “It just won’t stay down - bloody hell!”

Severus pushed open the door, clearly struggling to stifle his laughter.

“Stop it!” Harry said despairingly. “It’s not funny!”

“My apologies.” Severus’ lips continued twitching. “I’ve just never seen you act so very much like your brother.”

“Watch it!” Draco shouted from the other room. “If he was a bit more like me, Harry might know how to clean up properly in situations like this!"

“Bugger off!” Harry yelled back, whacking the top of his head with the flat end of the comb, hoping that blunt force might succeed where all else had failed.

Severus examined him inquisitively. “Since when does your hair bother you? I’ve spent the better part of a year imploring you to use a comb while you grumble at me.”

“Draco said I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge,” Harry muttered, patting more water onto his head.

“And I am certain your hair was also a complete bird's nest when you asked Miss Patil to be your… companion. She knew what she was getting herself into.”

“Eugh, companion?” Harry gave Severus a bemused look. “Who even says that?”

Severus sighed, and took the comb from his hand. “Harry, this is a losing battle. It’s time to head upstairs. Miss Patil will surely be waiting for you, and it’s rude to leave a date unattended.”

Harry finally conceded defeat and took a step back to look himself over in the mirror. He felt incredibly uncomfortable in the dark green dress robes he’d been forced to wear for the Yule Ball. They were stiff, and strange, and made Harry feel far too trussed up. Severus’ robes were also much finer than usual, but he was naturally still wearing his customary shade of black.

“I’d take the Horntail over this,” Harry muttered.

Severus rolled his eyes. “It’s a school dance, Harry.”

“Yeah, and I have to lead the stupid dance in front of everybody! It’s so embarrassing!”

“Somehow, I think you’ll live to see another day.” He scanned his eyes over Harry and scowled, reaching out towards his neck. “Why on earth have you knotted your tie like that?”

Harry batted his father’s hands away. “Stop fussing, it’s fine!”

“It’s completely askew -”

He took several steps back and raised his arms in a defensive barrier to avoid Severus’ continued attacks. “It’s supposed to be that way!”

Severus gave him a look of immense disdain. “Teenagers…”

“Harry!” Draco bellowed. “Get a move on, Cecilia is waiting for me!”

Harry pulled a face and began to shuffle towards the door with extreme reluctance. Severus clapped him on the shoulder.

“At least try to look as though you’re enjoying yourself, Harry. You’re going to a ball, not walking to the gallows.”

“Har har,” he grumbled.

#this was fun to write #and honestly?#might turn into a oneshot of its own #but anyways SEQUEL!#a patchwork family #severitus #harry potter #severus snape #draco malfoy

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dead-dolphins · 16 days ago

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Deaddolphins presents:

A heartwarming collection of 17 Christmas drabbles lovingly crafted just for you.❤️

Publication date: from 12/25/2024 to 01/06/25

Drabbles that you will find:

1. THE BEST GIFT OF ALL

Three years into their marriage, Eren is overwhelmed with baby fever, especially during the holidays. This Christmas, Mikasa has a surprise for him: three gifts that might just make his dream come true.

2. SMOOTH CRIMINAL

Eren, an unprofessional and slightly incompetent thief, stumbles into Mikasa's luxurious home while struggling to get his life together. But when he sees her, his priorities shift—now, his only goal is to steal her heart.

3. A FAMILY AFFAIR

Mikasa finally brings her boyfriend, Eren, home to meet her family. Her parents adore him, but Uncle Levi isn’t so easily impressed. Determined to expose Eren, Levi grills him with questions at the dinner table.

4. JINGLE BELLS & BLOOD CELLS

Eren, a Christmas-hating vampire, plans to scare off Mikasa and her orphanage carollers, until her beauty stops him. For the first time in a century, he’s willing to listen to carols if it means she’ll stay.

5. HOMECOMING

After years of being apart, Mikasa stands at the airport, her heart racing as she waits for Eren’s plane to land. She’s spent months, even years, imagining this moment, but now that he is finally here, she’s terrified. What if she has already lost him?

6. RAWR!

Eren and Mikasa are struggling to find the dinosaur toy that their 4-year-old son has been asking for as a Christmas gift the whole year.

7. UNDER THE MISTLETOE

Normie Eren has a crush on his best friend, Goth Mikasa, who feels the same. When their families celebrate Christmas Eve together, Eren tries to kiss Mikasa under the mistletoe, but noisy kids and nosy relatives keep interrupting. Finally, they get their moment.

8. LAST CHRISTMAS I GAVE YOU A CHILD

On Christmas Eve, Eren, Mikasa, and their friends are having a karaoke night. As Mikasa sings Last Christmas, Eren interrupts with their 3-month-old son in his arms, he jokes, “I gave you a child!”

9. OF LONELY HEARTS

Hot Dilf Eren is head over heels for Mikasa, his son/daughter’s kindergarten teacher. Unbeknownst to him, he also takes up most of her mind.

10. THE LUNCH RUN

Mikasa, an office lady, surprises her coworkers when her husband shows up to bring her the lunch she forgot at home. Everyone’s shocked—not just because they didn’t know she was married, but because he’s a... hobo.

11. THE GIRL WITH THE TAIL

Eren, the son of a pirate, dreams of the sea but is stuck ashore. He sneaks onto a fishing boat with Armin’s help and accidentally kills a fisherman while saving a girl. Fleeing, he ends up in Hizuru, where he meets the girl again—now with a tail.

12. PANTS SNATCHED TO SATURN!

Sugar Baby AU. Mikasa is about to give birth on Christmas Eve, and Eren, despite this not being his first time, is panicking—so much so that he forgot to put on his pants!

13. A WOLF'S FIRST SNOWFALL

Yuletide has arrived in the North, and with winter’s chill, the winterlord and his princess wife celebrate their first holiday season with their beloved firstborn.

14. A CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL

Alpha Eren plans the perfect Christmas proposal for Mikasa, his Omega girlfriend of five years, complete with a ring and her favourite scarf. When she unexpectedly comes home early, a near mishap almost ruins the moment.

15. COSY CHAOS

Eren and Mikasa’s first Christmas with their baby, Carla, finds Eren struggling to make something special for their little one.

16. SURPRISE!

The day Athlete Eren found out Mikasa was pregnant with his child was a whirlwind of shock, joy, and overwhelming emotion, changing their lives forever.

17. SWEET NIGHTS

Lord Eren adores his princess wife even more after her baths, as the warmth she enjoys heightens her sensitivity, making their moments together even more intimate.

Thanks so much for participating guys!

#eremika #christmas drabbles #deaddolphins christmas

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ladykailitha · 23 days ago

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The Christmas Lich?

Hello and welcome to my Christmas AUvent Calendar! Every day from now until the 24th I will be posting a ficlet that is 500-1500 from an AU I've done over the years.

All stories will be marked with the tag #12 aus of christmas so you can follow along as I will only be tagging my permanent list for this (it would get too confusing otherwise).

The next one on our list is: Ser Stephan of Harring's Town. You can read the story here. All links will be to the first chapter, but the chapter itself will have links to the rest of the story.

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4

Steve had to admit he was getting better at the whole role playing aspect of playing D&D now that he had been playing awhile with everyone.

Though it was an adjustment with the rest of Hellfire having the former King of Hawkins High at the table.

He would have to say that other than the kids, Jeff adjusted the easiest, with Brian and Gareth being grudgingly pulled along by his charm and his cookies.

Brian was a particular fan of the cookies. And the brownies. And the chocolate cake... Well you get the idea.

So when Steve suggested they do a Christmas one-shot over at his place Christmas eve, everyone leapt at the chance for Steve to make Christmas delights for everyone.

Eddie rubbed his hands together and got to plotting the one shot.

They decided to do it in the morning as so that they could be home with their families that night.

“All righty!” Eddie greeted, cackling with glee. “There are dark forces at work in the northern town of Ewige Nacht as you boys have to team to stop it before all the world is cast into darkness!”

The boss appeared and Eddie yelled with absolute glee, “Lich wyrm!”

Everyone groaned. Everyone but Steve, who was licking his lips slowly, a knowing smile on his face.

“Do I know the lich wyrm is weak to iron?” he asked slowly.

Eddie laced his fingers together, planting his elbows on the table and lowered his hands in front of him. “Interesting. That would be a knowledge arcana. Roll a D20.”

Steve did as he was told. “That’s a twelve with a plus five. That’s seventeen!” He looked up at Eddie, hopeful.

“Yes, your character would know lich wyrms are weak to iron,” Eddie confirmed.

The rest of the party was leaning forward to see what Steve would do.

“I pull out the iron ore we found that I forgot to sell at the last shop we were in,” Steve said and everyone’s eyes went wide. They had completely forgot he had that. “I lash it to the end of a torch.”

“That ends your turn,” Eddie warned him. “And thing else you want to do?”

“I give it to the ranger as an arrow,” Steve said with a grin. “He’s next to go in initiative, right?”

Lucas grinned and everyone else started pounding on the table as a drum roll. Lucas picked up his D20 and shook it in his hand. The drumming stopped as Lucas let go of the dice. It tumbled around in front of him.

“Eighteen!” Lucas shouted, leaping to his feet. “Plus my bonus puts it at twenty-three to hit!”

Eddie sat back in his chair, nodding his approval. “It hits. Roll your damage and add two D4 to you roll.”

Dustin and Mike hurried to give him one of theirs and Lucas took them all and rolled.

“Twelve damage!” he cried. It wasn’t the best, but it was a good hit.

“For a grand total for twenty-four damage,” Eddie said with a grin, “the lich wyrm starts swaying back and forth. He doesn’t look so good.” He scanned his list. “But it’s Gareth’s turn. What’s the wizard to do?”

There was a lot of good rolls so the lich only got off it’s breath weapon once and it hit Steve’s barbarian who could take the hit. Soon the fell beast was vanquished and Christmas restored to the town. Or well, rather Yuletide was restored to the town!

As they were cleaning up Dustin groused, “Having an unholy combination of a lich and a black dragon was just evil, Eddie. If it wasn’t for Steve’s quick thinking we’d all be dead.”

Eddie cackled. “That’s all part of the fun and Steve did a really good job.”

Steve blushed and ducked his head, working on cleaning everything up.

“No, man,” Jeff said, putting his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’d want Steve playing with us anytime. He really made it fun because he wasn’t bound by years of rules so he thought outside the box.”

“Yeah,” Gareth agreed, shoving stuff in his bag.

Brian tilted his head to side and then nodded. “You’re always welcome at any D&D table I play.”

A cheer went up for Steve and Eddie wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist. “Merry Christmas, baby.” He kissed Steve’s cheek.

“Merry Christmas, rockstar.”

Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #the 12 aus of christmas

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sorcererofsolitude · 1 year ago

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Enid has really been trying to kiss Wednesday under the mistletoe, but the raven never seems to get the hint.

Enid tries tying it to doorways, putting it in Wednesday’s sock drawer, having Thing dangle it above them. Hell, she even "accidentally" slipped a page about the yuletide tradition in her notebook in case she wasn't aware of the custom. So far? Nothing.

Enid flopped dejectedly on her bed. Her mind came up with a thousand explanations as to why she hadn't been kissed yet, each more catastrophic than the last.

An amused exhale caught the wolf's attention. Wednesday was at her desk, staring at her hopelessly lovesick girlfriend.

Wednesday: You know, mí amor, you can always ask for a kiss. You don't have to flail around a fistful of foliage to get it.

Enid, eyes going wide: You knew this whole time?

Wednesday: Subtlety is not your strong suit. One of the many things I adore about you.

Enid playfully chases Wednesday around for the trouble, easily catching her. After some bargaining for Wednesday’s release, Enid finally got her very first kiss under the mistletoe.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

AO3: SorcererOfSolitude

#netflix wednesday #wednesday #lesbian #wenclair #enid sinclair #lgbtq #wednesday addams #enid x wednesday #incorrect wednesday quotes #incorrect quotes #the addams family #jenna ortega #emma myers

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sirwadewilsonfromimgur · 23 days ago

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Deadpool and Wolverine: KCAU Christmas Special

(Part. 1 scene 1, the first Christmas season in the condo)

Kansas City Missouri, Earth-10005 2027

The yuletide season was busy for everyone in the Western cultural world. That's a given.

But for Wade and Logan they had added the extra hitch of having their wedding anniversary on new years eve... it wasn't necessarily intentional, in a romantic gesture to "match his lover's freak" Logan had impulsively (as he could) proposed to and married Wade all on the same day because that's when all his friends would be together in the apartment anyway.

Two hundred years of experience told Logan that the 6 months they spent living together (3 months officially dating) was all he needed. No need for a long courtship or engagement. Wade who conceivably heard wedding bells the day he abducted Logan from his home universe obviously agreed the second Logan asked.

Moving to Kansas city (an Impulse decision on Wade's part) had come with some culture shock for the whole family... Peter had adapted best to it. The guy had a whole midwest vibe about him anyways...

but that was one thing. All the people were disturbingly nice compared to the good people of New York they were used to... anyone chatting with you in the grocery store, even a complete stranger in Kansas city, is just being nice... In New York, if some start talking to you apropos of nothing, they want something, or they're unstable.

The Next biggest shock was waking up November first and the entire town has already decorated for Christmas... like they were clearly choking down Halloween candy as they put up a metric fuck ton of garland and Christmas lights...

How the fuck was i supposed to know that Kansas city is the home of the international headquarters of fucking Hallmark... and that our house is 2 blocks away from it.

It's probably one of the many things you could have found out easily had you done a second of resurch, or you know! asked me... before you bought this place on a fucking whim without consulting me about it.

I thought you said you weren't mad about that anymore.

I'm not bub, but how the fuck can I expect you to learn if I let'cha forget you're mistakes. I hope you fuck'n like christmas because we live in a neighborhood that's made it, its entire god damned personality since November 1st.

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This wasn't just the first Christmas in a new city. It was one of the first in which Wade and Logans Business venture was outlandishly successful. MFM had pulled in a profit in the millions. Peter had negotiated several lucrative contracts with government entities with black budgets...

spy craft and counter terrorism isn't something governments want easily tied to, especially when one man's terrorist is another mans freedom fighter... so they typically outsource this particular dirty business to people like Wade and Logan.

Needless to say, Peter would be getting a massive christmas bonus this year. On top of that, Wade had gotten him season football tickets... Wade still had no idea what the hype was about, but it made Peter happy... Wade just enjoyed the men in tight pants, and occasionally, Taylor Swift would show up...

whome wade always respectfully admired from a distance despite being in the same box suit... pop stars rarely want to mingle with people like Wade. A few people in the room knew roughly how he'd made his money... needless to say, they were polite but distant.

---

That christmas morning went about as extravagantly as Wade had hoped... unfortunately, not everyone could make it.

It was Wade, Logan, Peter, Althea, Vanessa, Laura and Colossus.

Wade had spent entirely too much money on gifts. Logan was uncomfortable, big christmases... big houses, big parties, they reminded him of his early childhood and christmass at the X mansion.

Bitter sweet... mostly bitter when he remembers how that world ended. But he put on a happy face as he opened yet another box with an Armani dress shirt. They'd spend thousands of years together... but Logan would never tell Wade that the biggest sacrifice he made in the name of love was not holding Wade when the bad dreams hit him, not stabbing hundred of angry men to save Wade when he's cornered on the battlefield.

It was letting Wade have everything he ever wanted despite desperately wanting to grab him and run into the mountains and never be seen by society again... Logan yearned for a simple life... But he'd give all that up just to see Wade smile. He'd endure one hundred years of ostentatious christmases or more if that's what made Wade happy. Never once would he tell Wade how much he truly hated christmass. That was the gift Wade got every year without realizing it. Logans' enthusiasm wasn't holiday spirit... it was love for Wade.

The things we do for love.

More story below.

Kansas City Missouri, Earth-10005 2041

(Scen 2 Christmas with the Kids)

This year was going to be special, mostly because Ellie and James were old enough to really get into christmas. Wade had spared no expense as usual. The kids even got an allowance so they could buy gifts for each other. Laura was even going to make it this year.

Laura had taken Jean up on her offer... much to Wade's chagrin... she was the Wolverine and a full-fledged Xman, not just a trainee (that's about as far as Wade made it) he'd have to give Russell a call too.

Wish him a happy holiday and check in on him... Wade wants you to know, for the record, he didn't forget about Russell... but he wasn't a parent, and it was decided that Wade was not a healthy influence... fuck'n Jean! So he didn't get to see him too often.

He didn't like it but he understood...

He also understood why Laura joined... Who was Wade to begrudge some the wish to "be somebody" to "matter"...

Luara had said she'd be in time for dinner anyway she'd miss opening presents with the littles. Tragically missed Kodak moment.

---

Ellie had woken up early. She was up before James, and she marveled at the tree presents piled under it in bright colored wrapping paper. She turned the lights on the tree for the full effect. She stared at it for a good minute before she broke her reverie and walked towards her father's room.

She quietly opened the door into the garishly pink and Black themed bedroom that morning. she knew the rules. No opening presents until after Papa made breakfast... it was time to expedite this.

She snuck around to Wade's side of the bed. Thank god they both wore pajamas to bed last night because the shredded blankets would have left them with little dignity and a traumatized daughter.

(Replacing bedding was a regular Occurrence in the Howlett-Wilson home they just hadn't gotten around to it yet)

Daddy... get up. Santa came...

Wade slowly blinked awake as his daughter inches from his face came in to focus.

Sweetheart... you know you're supposed to knock before you come into our room.

I didn't want to wake Papa... that's your job. You know what a grump he is before coffee.

He's a grump after coffee too. he said with a wink.

I'll get him up. You skedaddle and turn on some cartoons or something we'll be out shortly.

Logan... time to get up sugar tits.

Making groggy grumpy noises... bleary-eyed, he looks at his phone...

Princess, it's not even six in the morning yet.

I know, but Ellie is already up, and we're lucky she woke us up... the look in her eye said she'd play along, but if we hung out in bed too long, she'd start opening presents without us...

She is absolutely your daughter...

It's more true than he cared to admit, she loved and idolized both of them and always wanted to know details about Jobs they'd been on... wade ever the fucking filterless yapper had no qualms telling her thrilling adventures of flying lead and bloodshed...

Ellie was the only nine year old Logan had ever heard of that actively read Soldier of Fortune magazine.

That girl is gonna be trouble when she grows up

She just wants to be like her dad's...

I wish she didn't... I don't even want to be like me.

Oh Honeybadger don't say that... I love you just the way you are. Wade leans in and gives him a kiss. Marry Christmas.

Merry Christmas bub. he said, growling lightly as he returned the kiss a little roughly.

Oh... baby, we don't got time... you gotta make breakfast... now put on your ugly sweater... we'll circle back to this subject later.

Breakfast was the full Papa Logan spread. pan cakes, waffles, home fries, eggs to order, bacon, sausage, coffee, egg nog, orange juice, and the special Escuminac Canadian maple syrup.

Art by @nuggetpool-hi

After breakfast, Ellie bolted to the tree.

Alright, kids. you can open your presents. Kitten, run along your sister is gonna beat you to all the fun.

It's just so pretty, Dad... I wanted to look at it first. Marry Christmas. He hugged both of his dad's and headed towards the tree

You're a good kid, bub. Merry Christmas.

Ellie had already selected a box with her name on it and started opening her gift.

Papa! Look! Santa got me a Remington V3 TAC-13! Just like I asked for!

Wade did you give a fucking nine year old a compact shotgun!

Wade suddenly broke into a cold Sweat and thought to himself "I may have fucked up"

She specifically asked for that model he shrugged as Logan cut eyes at him sharper than the blades hiding in his forearms.

What! Santa didn't get her any shells

I really don't like how comfortable the Midwest has made you with guns. It goes in the safe immediately and only comes out at the range. It's not a toy!

So I'm allowed to go to the range now?

Logan face in his hands... father of the fucking year... he mumbled. sure sweetheart but we gotta get you hearing protection...

Oh sweetie funny you're dad should mention that... open that little box wrapped in red polkadot paper... looking again at Logan. What, I'm not an idiot...

Yes you are but I've learned to live with it.

For your information, I was perfectly comfortable with guns before we moved here. Remember silverware drawer gun?

Nice try, trying to change the subject,Wade. you did it. You get to be the bad guy. Go put that gun in the safe. Wade crest fallen walked up to the tree and grabbed one of the unopened boxes with her name on it, and walked over to her.

Honeybee... that is your gun. It always will be, no one gets to use it but you... but I need to take it for now. We wouldn't want you or James accidentally getting hurt. It'll be safe... in the safe, and maybe it'll make friends with all of my guns.

She let out a sigh, as she hugs the shotgun to her chest as if it were a stuffed animal.

It's okay, Daddy... I know, Papa isn't exactly quiet when he thinks he's being quiet...

Don't be mad at him, he's right... when it warms up, I promise I'll take you and teach you how to do trap shooting, we'll get some discs and bird-shot and make a day of it.

Pinky promise!?

Sure thing, kiddo.

The rest of the morning was not as dramatic. The kids had received more traditional gifts of toys, gaming systems, new clothes... and a box of assorted illicit substances for Grandma Al. My favorite! And a slab of Prime Rib for Marry Puppens.

After all the gifts were opened, James walked towards his dads with two boxes in hand.

Here, Papa. I wasn't sure what else to get you. Grandma helped me buy it...

Logan took the box from the boy's hand. Wrapped in silver wrapping paper was a box of cigars. Rocky Patel Conviction...

He opened the box and each Cigar was packaged like a gold bar...

Thank you very much James... he picked the boy up and wrapped him in the tight bare hug....

I can see why you needed your grandma's help... since your not 21 last I checked... Merry Christmas, I'll have one of these later... I love you, son.

Smiling ear to ear. I love you too. Merry Christmas!

Here's yours, Dad. Handing the other box to Wade.

Wrapped in hot pink paper was a rectangular box that contained a genuine Xman licensed action figure... a Vintage hot toys Wolverine that looked just like Logan.

kitten this is perfect! Wade threw his arms. around the boy and gave him a kiss on the forehead... thank you!

You're welcome... I saw it and just knew you'd love it.

After exchanging more hugs, James walked off to play with his new toys, and Logan leaned over...

Really... a doll, of me...

Logan... don't you know? I'm not just your husband... i'm you biggest fan, and its not a doll it's an action figure.

Whatever, just don't let me catch you pressing needles into it.

Logan kissed Wade. You'll get your christmas present from me later...

Logan looked up to make sure the kids were out of earshot. Wade... these cigars are a thousand dollars a box... I thought we agreed to cap the kids allowance so they didn't turn in to spoiled monsters...

Penut, it's christmas... I may have given them a bonus to budget with for gifts...

You're going to ruin them...

You look at those two perfectly behaved children and tell me they don't deserve every cent, I'd give them the Moon if they asked for it... and not just metaphorically penut I'd build a rocket and occupy and colonize the moon and make them its sovereign rulers...

I know, bub... I I'd probably help you to. But perhaps go easy on Easter...

But I already ordered the 30-pound chocolate crucifix!

Jesus...

Exactly, yes! I got the sexy one with rock-hard abs...

This christmas was probably one of the best. The memory of it was a treasure that Wade held on to... especially on the christmases to come that weren't as pleasant. But thats a story for another time.

The End

Link to next Scene

#deadpool #poolverine #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool x wolverine #logan wolverine #wolverpool #logan howlett #loganpool #deadclaws #christmas special #laura kinney #dr wilson #Young Dr Wilson #ellie camacho #ellie wilson #domestic poolverine #Instagram

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atsadi-shenanigans · 15 days ago

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Fingers Sifting Black Earth 1 - That Awkward Moment When

Happy Yuletide, motherfuckers! Next story's up.

On AO3.

It is important for me to be down on my knees, my fingers sifting the black earth, making those things grow which will grow. —Ann Struthers, Planting the Sand Cherry

So you’re in hell. The air scorches the back of your throat and your pits are beyond dank. Your new (relatively) tunic clings to your back beneath your new (also relatively) drow armor, and your tit region is a full blown swamp.

Even Astarion, famously undead, shines with sweat.

“Everyone present and accounted for?” Gale says. Poor man is more soaked-through than you. Turns out wizard robes, without cooling enchantments which he’s short of at the moment, ain’t all that good for running around a magical forge embedded in a mother fucking lava lake.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Shadowheart says. She at least got a sweet, new set of armor outta that forge.

Lae’zel sways, and then glares when you notice. You don’t say nothing.

Only Karlach stays chipper. She’s waiting over with Wyll next to the big ass lever. On Gale’s nod, they manage to kick and shove the creaky bitch down. The metal platform y’all stand on groans. Jolts. You expect, for a pants-shitting moment, for the fucker to crack in half and drop y’all onto that lake. You read somewhere that people don’t actually sink into lave, like that volcano movie. Cause it’s melted rock with the same density. It’s a lot more like dropping a square of cold butter onto a hot-ass, stainless steel pan. Lots of sizzling and skittering around as the water in the body boils off. Course, you’re dead before you hit, since the superheated air sears shut the lungs—

Everybody’s staring at you. Wyll grimaces.

Oops. You’re all up in the brainworm group chat with that one.

“Sorry,” you say.

“That’s pretty accurate, actually,” Karlach says.

To which Wyll turns his horrified look to her. She just shrugs.

The platform shudders. Wheezes. Screams a little. And then starts to rise. All in one piece.

You sigh and slump. Let your head fall back to try to keep breathing the oven-hot air. You grew up in Oklahoma-sticky, been caught out in one-hundred-thirteen degrees with ninety percent humidity and northerners are always surprised when you tell that that yes, you can actually sweat on the backs of your hands.

Ain’t none of that compares to this hellscape. Literally.

Eventually, the first drafts of cooler air brush your cheeks. You’re beyond things like modesty right now, so you loosen the sides of your armor—thank you Gale for the perfect-fit enchantment—enough you can flap your tunic and try to relieve some of the tiddy sweat.

Catch Astarion watching you with one eyebrow quirked.

You try not to think about that just now.

It’s been a helluva few days. Fresh off escaping a drow hunting party, y’all ran into a group of duergar slavers working a bunch of gnomes half to death to free some Absolute cultist piece of shit. They’re all dead, now. Between them gnomes, the cave buffalo, and all y’all, you’re pretty sure every slaver got ganked.

Astarion…

He really does not fucking care about other people. Not even people in a position a lot like his own. You met others like that. You were others like that for a while. But when he made that “joke” (cause it ain’t never actually a joke) about “motivating the staff” (and by that he meant “torturing defenseless people”) you cold-shouldered him. Hard.

He’s been slinking around your peripherals ever since.

You wipe the sweat from your face as best you can. Which mostly means smearing it around.

It ain’t right to let him carry on like that and treat it like it’s fine. It ain’t. And you’re pretty sure he knows that—you try hard not to think of him as a dog tiptoeing around after getting yelled at. Especially since this dog seems way more used to kicks than words. But you ain’t sure what you should do about it. If you should. Because…you care about the stupid shit. And then you think you shouldn’t because the man has screaming red flags. But…but so did you. When Sasha first tried to talk to you, you went full, flaming Testimony on her.

But she didn’t give up. She saw something in you. The part you would later find in the root cellar, covered in sticky pear juice, staring down at a piece of shattered glass. All the talk you ever heard—the books, the podcasts, anything you could listen to before it got too much and your chest got too tight to breathe and you was right back there again—says that bringing people outta shit like that is work. It takes time. Patience.

If it can be done. If the person ain’t too far gone.

If your sorry ass can possibly navigate the fucking minefield you’re starting to realize that man is.

Fuck.

At least y’all found explosives. Lots of them. Including a giant fucking barrel of something called “rune powder” that y’all sorta stole that made all them other gnomes real fucking nervous about. You’re gonna find whatever controls the cult and the fucking brainworms, and you’re gonna paint “fuck you” on the side of that barrel before you have Karlach—or Lae’zel, actually—chuck it right at their face. There’s an easy answer for one of your problems (ninety-nine problems and that man is one).

The rest of the group is run fucking ragged right now. Between all the murder and the coups y’all have initiated, between the fight with that murderfuck Absolutist and the giant fuck off robot at the forge, y’all can probably sleep for a collective week.

Astarion is still watching you.

Shadowheart raises an eyebrow for you to catch. Turns out stepping off a boat with your neck fucking purpled from hickeys tends to tip off everybody that you was fooling around with that goblin of a vampire man. Elf. Shithead.

You look away.

You just don’t know. He kissed you and you liked it. You liked the whole fingerbanging, too. Like, a lot. Then he ain’t letting you talk to him about it, then suggested you two do it again, then goes off to be a fuckhead racist and then y’all almost got squashed by the iron giant.

And now he’s sidling up to you just as you’re starting to savor the suggestion of cooler air on your skin.

“Hello, darling,” he says.

Okay, fine, he’s stupid handsome. You actually see it now, despite the granny hair (fine, it adds to his “bisexually hot” vibes). Now he’s all sweaty, and that’s gross, but the gross part of your brain fucking perks up anyway.

“Hi, Astarion,” you say.

The elevator rattles and clanks around you. Y’all are lifting up through a shaft cut so smooth, you’d think it had to be made with either water, or modern Earth drilling equipment.

Probably fucking magic. Fucking Middle Narnia.

The magma glow has receded, and now the only light comes from Karlach’s thrumming hellfire heart engine and the tiny flames dancing through her hair and on the tips of her nails. And from Shadowheart’s glowing face-smashing mace that Astarion stole, which then obliterated a whole ass Githyanki creche.

It’s enough to give the illusion of privacy.

“You know, I can’t help but feel we’ve grown somewhat…distant, the last few days,” Astarion says.

“We been kinda busy,” you say.

He hums. Shifts beside you. Then he leans in, his breath cool as it tickles the hairs on your neck. “We never did find an answer to my question, either.”

You know damn well what he’s talking about. Sidling up next to you in that dead temple. Leaning in as he’s doing now, his scent washing over you, voice low and silky in your ear when he asked “your tent or mine.”

“Huh,” you say. Like a smart person.

You got no idea what you’re doing. No idea what you should be doing. You are stumbling around in an unfamiliar, pitch-black room, half drunk, tits swinging, banging into every goddamn piece of furniture in there.

“So,” Astarion says. Leans so close he could kiss your cheek if he moved another inch.

Seems he wants that answer.

What are y’all? What is this? A one-time fling after surviving some bullshit? Stress relief? A new hobby?

You ain’t never done this before. Certainly not with someone like him. Don’t know the rules. You…you’re scared. If you ask him, if you question this or press him for any of the thoughts in your head, he’ll spook.

And deep down (maybe not so deep), you’re a greedy little shit yourself. A whole childhood denied things like cellphones and internet, like steady meals and safety and any kind of privacy and not getting publicly switched in your underwear. And then coming out of that and the group homes, the food stamps, the public health insurance and barely scraping by until so, so recently.

When you got kidnapped by a squidward alien and dropped without so much as a stitch of clothing (but with a fucking dildo, jesus) into another dimension.

You want something nice. Just for once. Just without having to think about the shoulds or should-nots. The morals and the risk and being able to fucking afford it.

This is a terrible fucking idea. Maybe you really are a weak piece of shit. Because you turn to look at him. In the dim glow of y’all’s companions, his eyes reflect a predator’s shine: two copper pennies glowing in the gloom.

You gotta figure all this shit out. Sort the mess in your head. Maybe after y’all find this cult shit and throw a bomb at it and the brainworms is gone.

Astarion is a bitch and an asshole. He makes you laugh. He stabbed a man like eight times for you, and goddamnit, kissing him feels like it paints your skin in electricity.

God ain’t real and neither is sin. And if sin ain’t real, then there’s no reason to feel shame or guilt about engaging in consensual tomfoolery.

Right?

You clear your throat. “We can, uh. Mine. I guess.”

Jesus.

His fangs is shockingly white when he grins. He brushes the tip of his nose against your cheek. “Excellent. I can’t wait.”

“Aww,” Karlach coos.

Right as Shadowheart says, “Do try to remember we can all hear you.”

You jerk away so fast you almost trip right off the edge of the magic fucking elevator. Which they all saw, and which makes you consider hurling yourself off on purpose just so you don’t have to deal with any of this.

Until a faint sound bounces down the shaft at y’all.

Shadowheart lifts her face. Squints. “Is that a dog?”

#these two shitheads #fsbe #fingers sifting black earth #but I ain't typing that one out every time #tavstarion #astarion #slow burn angst #also smut #but also angst #cult shit #plus size tav #demisexual tav #isekai #i'm not sorry

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pursuitseternal · 1 year ago

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“Wrap Me Up:” 🎀 A Merry (NSFW) for the Vampire Lord Astarion, “The Rogue You Were” Christmas Special 🕯️

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 5.6K of thawing his “Scrooge-ish” heart with bondage and ice play

Based on “A Christmas Carol,” because Astarion would be a total “Scrooge”

Part 2: “Yuletide in Faerûn”

Summary: He hates Yuletide, a time where he is haunted by the ghosts of Yuletides past, but you won’t let him remain so cold, not when all he needs is a little warmth and pleasure to thaw…

CW: Bondage, Ice Play, temperature play, Dom/sub tones, face fucking, nipple play, breast biting, blood kink, sex as healing, face the ghost of Yuletide past, make him look towards the ghosts of Yuletide present and future with you

AO3 link | Read “Rogue You Were” | Masterist

🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊

Cazador was dead to begin with…. His palace redone, reclaimed by your love, your master. No longer some distasteful, neglected home of a miser and monster. It is the toast of Baldur’s Gate, the lavish, decadent crowning jewel of the city, and home to the man all admired and feared. Astarion, Vampire Ascendant.

Your love. Your Master. Your spouse.

But even still, as the streets of the city filled with snow, wet and heavy from the sea, as the air filled with the sights and sounds and smells of Yuletide, your home remained cheerless.

Cazador was dead, and so was the infamous Yule Ball he hosted in his decrepit halls—forbidden by its new lord and master. Astarion had no wish to carry on any of that monster’s legacy. A gala event meant to make his spawn work all the harder for victims at the risk of torture… a night of sumptuous darkness, where victims were aplenty, a prize for their master.

And so… Yuletide was banished. Halls were bright, but no more shining than usual. No evergreens or music or mirth. No gatherings or carols or banquets or dances.

And no… gifts. Those were his orders.

Orders that you understand, but ones that make you grieved. That make you wish to show him the true meaning of Yuletide. And you will show him tonight. To do so, you have been sneaky, subtle, deceptive. And above all… disobedient. But that only makes this plot of yours all the more delicious.

He’s been away all day, corrupting officials and threatening the right people. Turning the powerful into puppets, ensuring everyone pays their tribute to the most powerful being in all the realms. In fact, you think as you begin to peer out the window looking down into the drive, banks of snow scattered to the side and torches flaming to await the master’s arrival, he has been extraordinarily ruthless of late. These last weeks leading into Yuletide, he’s been extorting more money, squeezing favor after favor from the influential, securing all the wealth he could to line his own coffers. And all the while, he grinned that brilliant fang-toothed smile, laughing to be such a menace before the festivities.

Little did he know what you are doing in his absence. Your little secret.

It wasn’t easy to keep. You had to block out his mind, the little ways he liked to check on you from a distance, swirling into your thoughts down your bonded minds as master and bride. You were careful these last few days. Conveniently sending him only thoughts of how much he pleasures you… his hands gripping your ass, his fangs in your throat, his cock shoved to the hilt between your thighs or down your throat, the slick feeling of his cum or its rich and bitter tang….

And once he was satisfied, his presence would leave you, back to your own devices.

Even when he was home of late, he spent much of his time in the treasure vaults, counting and recounting your wealth… until he wandered back to your bed for sweet words of praise and pride in your victories… and for all the carnal ways he loved to consolidate that power with you.

And so, you were free to continue your little plan. You are free to complete your plan.

The eve before Yuletide, and you place a few finishing touches around the library. His favorite place. Not only because he was fond of books, but it is a room all of his own creation. A room free from the ghosts of Cazador’s abuse and violence.

A room all his own.

And now, you made it… festive. The air smells of fresh evergreen and holly, spiced rum punch and sugared sweets, candle smoke and… him. Of citrus and rosemary, that makes your mouth and your cunt wet. Your eyes peer out from the slit in the curtains, watching the snowdrifts billow up in the wind and weather, more flakes of white falling heavy in the night. All that soft, fresh fallen snow muffles the rattle of Astarion’s carriage as it glides up the drive.

Your heart leaps, your hand pulling the curtain back, making sure the light illumines behind you. Making sure he sees you wait for his return, his most beloved spawn in his most beloved room.

He is like shadow incarnate, his black cloak wrapped tightly around his body as it still flaps in the icy winds. Those crimson eyes catch your figure, backlit by the glow within, intrigued, suspicious, his smirking grin makes your quiver, even at this distance.

“Little love… whatever could you be up to?” His voice caresses your mind, sultry and purring to warm your soul.

“Oh, don’t be so cold, my love,” you throw back down the bond of your minds, “why not come and… make yourself warm?”

“Make myself…” he continues to purr even as he strides inside the doors to your palace, “…or permit you to warm me?”

“Come and find out, my darling…”

You can feel his approach, as if you travel as his shadow. Sensing the moment he undoes his clasp, the wet wool of his cloak flopping to the tile. Riding the movement of his legs as he climbs the stairs two at a time. Hearing the sniffs of that aquiline nose that makes a little growl resonate in his throat.

“What have you done?” he hisses into your mind, a pulse of rage and suspicion flaring down your bond.

“It will please you greatly,” you chide in reply, “as long as you overlook my loving disobedience.”

His presence pulls away, only because his hand tears the handle from the library door, the panes of its dark wood flying open to reveal him.

Where he fumes in the entrance.

Crimson eyes glow as he takes in the sight… the fresh scent of spices and sweets and evergreens making his nose turn up in disgust… his gaze scanning from the decorated mantle to the table of sweets, to where you await him near the window.

“My… defiant… little… consort,” he speaks steadily through his grit teeth. “Do you wish to tell me the meaning of all this before I punish you or will it be an extra sweet revelation I pry from you… during…?”

“Or, consider this, my love,” you give him a warm and sultry smile, “you let me, your beloved bride, your treasure, lavish you with some festive joy,” you gesture to the mantle and the table of spiced punch and sweets, “bestow upon you some adoring gifts to show my undying love for you,” you point to the two, small gift wrapped boxes waiting on the table, “and of course some very… merry… entertainment…” You would blush harder if it were possible, your hand tracing down the deep cut of your silken dressing gown. His crimson eyes darkening and dilating as it follows your touch on your own skin.

“You, of all people, my darling should know the dangers involved in tampering with the ghosts of the past that still haunt me…” he crosses the room in what feels like a single bound, his hands closing on your upper arms, his warm touch crushing you against his chest. “You are on some very thin ice… darling. Tread. Very. Carefully.”

“The Rogue I love wouldn’t shy from a fight, even against facing the ghosts that once tormented him,” you smirk up at his enraged face, you can feel his heart racing in a heady mix of emotion, see it throbbing in the veins of his neck. That powerful ascended heart. “Won’t you… at least open my gifts? Let me spoil you for once this Yuletide, as you have never been spoiled before…”

A single brow raises at that. “Well,” he sniffs, tilting his head, eyes falling to the boxes impeccably wrapped before him. “I do rather like being spoiled.” It was a quiet, begrudging sort of acquiescence. “And…” he sighed through his frowning, open mouth, “I suppose you did make a huge effort… even if it was a secret…” he hisses, suddenly giving you that gaze as if you are his next, most delicious meal, “…and disobedient… and deceptive sort of effort for me…”

You smile, such a saccharine look of innocence. “I’m glad you’re beginning to see it, my love.”

His hands fly to your chin, clasping around it before slinking down to claw gently around your neck. “I still expect much from you, darling, to make reparation for your… defiance, as loving as it might be.” You laugh, letting your throat vibrate beneath his touch, as he brings your lips in for a consuming kiss.

However brief.

He presses against your throat, breaking with that dark, conceited grin. “Now, my dearest pet,” he purrs, “impress me with your festive spirit…”

You give him that slightly pouting smile that seems to lower that haze of lust over his eyes. You keep his gaze locked, reaching for the large box,

wrapped in golden paper, tied with golden ribbon. He accepts it into his hands, sifting its weight, shaking it just a touch to feel something hefty sliding inside the container. Then, you see it, almost like the first trickle down an icicle as it starts to melt, the corner of his lips turns just a little higher.

His fingers grip the end of the bow, slowly unraveling it. “What is it?” he asks, a skeptical brow raised.

“The gift to help you chase away the ghost of Yuletide past, my love…” you grin, feeling so confident, so sure of your choices, of your knowledge of him more than he would even admit to his ascended self.

That wins you a twist of those full lips. Those crimson eyes flicker up to yours briefly as his long, dexterous fingers lift open the lid. “Is that a… crown?” pure amusement, voice tickled with the flattery only a perfect gift could give.

You reach your hands in, lifting the metal circlet from its box, the little interwoven strands of dark metal rising into little spikes. “Elegant and vicious,” you hum as you take it between your hands and raise it to rest on his tousle of silver hair. “Just like you, my roguish love.”

“Well if this is your idea of spoiling me with festive cheer…” he raises a brow, turning his head to test out the weight upon his head, “you’re exceeding my expectations.” He turns to the wall behind you, where you have draped boughs of holly leaves and blood red berries around the ornate and gilded mirror on the wall. A fixture in every room now, so he may bask in his own reflection when he wishes. He primps and preens before the glass, turning and twisting to view every angle.

“And I must say, you’ve really captured my power and prestige with something so deadly and…” He pauses lost to the silence as he lavishes in his own reflection, rubbing a finger over the sharpened edges of the points.

You sneak up behind him, where he is lost in his own reflection, that piercing red stare meets yours in the reflection. “A gift, reforged from the past… your old, sadistic master’s dagger, melted down to make you into the sovereign you have always deserved to be…”

He pouts, dramatic and whining and most of all, fake, “A dagger for a crown?” Sighing, he turns quickly to capture you in his arms. “I’ll say, it is the only acceptable repurposing of a blade. You’re lucky I love you so much, if you’re going to be turning my weapons into jewelry…” He presses his lips against your neck, “But even a crown worthy of my handsome head won’t spare you from your own recompense.”

“For my loving disobedience,” you laugh, arching your neck to expose even more of your skin. “And perhaps, you should open your second gift, my love, before you settle on any ideas of exacting such delicious… retribution. Especially now that your chilled heart seems to have thawed.”

“Me?” he rasps into your ear, “cold? Chilled? Cheeky little pup… do you forget that my heart beats now, my skin warmed over as your ascended lord?”

“Hmmmm,” you sigh, “why don’t you open that second gift, a little something to help you embrace the spirit of your Yuletide present and future with me, your own… forever…”

“Oh,” he smirked, wicked and ravenous, “if you’re my gift… and all the many ways I can play with you, I doubt you’ll fit in any little box, darling.” he gave a loud giggle, “but I can imagine how festive you would look… all wrapped up in ribbon…”

You feel his hands wandering over your body, his touch seeping its warmth through the fabric of your dress as he does wrap you in arms and presses you against his unyielding body.

“My little treat, ready to be unwrapped once she’s been very… very… good to me,” he growls in your ear. Shivers racing down your spine as you giggle. Your stomach flips upside down, despite the months of this… of being his, forever. Your body still gives you away with each encounter.

And you grin like a lovesick fool, reaching to the table beside you for that second, smaller package.

He palms its wrapped sides in a single hand, the other remains clutched firmly around your waist with his hand curved hard over the swell of your ass. He smirks, dark and playful, as he bites into the end of the bow and tugs the black silken ribbon apart with those gleaming fangs. The silk slides, no resistance as the bow comes apart in his mouth.

You know that feeling all too well. Of coming apart at the command of those teeth or lips or tongue… You love that feeling. Crave that feeling.

He lets it drop from his teeth to flutter to the floor, a finger flicking open the top of the box to fall to the same fate. Then his brows furrow, he lips drawing in a smile so wide, those perfect teeth glint in the flickering warmth of the firelight.

“My, my…” he purrs, lifting his touch from your backside to fish out the gift within.

It’s coiled, wrapped around itself, this long strand of thick and smooth, a long velvet ribbon, as crimson as his own eyes.

“Perhaps our minds are shared more than the bond formed when you made me, my love,” you taunt, a lilt in your voice as you press into him harder, letting the curves of your breast flatten, the panting of your belly push into his. “Now… are you going to finally let that cold, beating heart of yours be melted by Yuletide warmth?”

He cocks a brow, tilting his crowned head at that rakish angle, hand returning to claw around the base of chin. That free set of eager fingers slipping the gifted ribbon from the box. You gasp as those fingers pull you against his lips. He sucks and caresses with all the hunger that flares under his touch and behind his eyes. “I think I’d rather watch you melt, watch you puddle on my fingers and come when I say, my consort, beloved but also naughty.”

“Sounds like you’re burning to use your gifts, my love…” you growl between his lips. “My lover with the warm touch and the ice in his heart, a bit different than before, my love….” You rake your nails into his hair. “Now I can make you warm all over.”

He chuckles, his grasp easing around your throat, winding to the back of your neck to tilt you open for his tongue all the more. “Sounds like you’re missing that icy touch of your undead rogue, my treasure,” he snaps in return, biting down on your lower lip just enough to draw blood.

“And what are you going to do to remedy that?” you reply, a little moan coloring your voice as his hands begin tearing off your clothes.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he taps his thumb over your swollen lips. “Not a sound, not if you wish to earn my forgiveness, and perhaps receive a little sort of gift of your own in return…” you shudder in his arms, the only reply needed for him to flash you that feral, twisted grin. “Then lay down, my love, and warm yourself by the flames of the fire.”

A hand tugs apart the last laces from your dress, sliding the sleeves from your shoulders. “Oh, and you won’t be needing any of that now…” Your silken gown becomes a silken puddle around your feet. Your skin turns to gooseflesh as he scores his nails down your sides. He snaps his gift, your velvet ribbon, between his hands. “Get comfortable, my treasure, while you still can…”

His gaze scalds you, intensity beyond even your expectations. He is about to enjoy this… and you are too.

He lets you settle on the puddle of furs, the thick white skin of some animal that lines the floor before the fire. Back turned on you, he busies himself at the table of sweets and punch, the clatter of dishes enough to make you smile; he is indulging. You lounge, letting the light flicker over your flesh, letting the fire warm your skin, a cascade of heat over your back and shoulders and ass. One that almost rivals the heat that puddles and pools between your folds.

“Hurry,” you mewl, rubbing your thighs together. “I’m burning for you…”

“Don’t worry, my greedy pet,” he snickers from the table of refreshments, his back to you, purposefully hiding just what he is busying his hands with. You hear the silver spoon stirring the bowl of punch, the clatter of metal and the clacking of ice cubes as he chuckles to himself. “I’m confident there are many ways to cool that lust in your veins, darling.”

He turns slowly, his face leering at you, you see why he has suddenly begun a low rumbling laugh in his chest, a small glass holds a few of the cubes of ice, your velvet ribbon hangs over his wrist, and his eyes glow with that simmering power that crawls beneath his skin. Stalking towards you, you flash him your own fanged smile, running your fingers through the lush fur that cradles your naked form.

Astarion steps over you as you lie on your back, settling down to straddle your belly, making you work for every breath beneath his weight. “Now, for the toughest decision, just what sense to control as your reparation for such a willing… if loving… transgression.” He sets the ice down at his side, the silk of his breeches strained taught with his arousal as he covers you with his body. “Do I take away your sight to awaken all your other senses, do I gag that pretty little mouth of yours to make your screams deeper and richer… or do I bind your hands and make you crave only my touch for your release.”

He trails the soft, fluttering edge of the ribbon up and down your belly, your eyes following it, drawn to the way it makes your gaze flicker to his own straining cock. You snigger, gripping your nails shamelessly into his hips, running them down his thighs hard enough to score his flesh. Stopping only once you cup that erection you crave.

“I guess that seals your fate, my love,” he licks his lips, gripping your offending hands by the wrists to stretch them overhead. The velvet caresses your skin, soft and cool as he snugs it around you, tethering them together and binding them around the leg of the chair nearest you.

It wouldn’t hold you captive, not for real, but this… this was for fun… delightful divertisment to help him rekindle his… festive spirit.

And as he leans over you, satisfied with the work of his skilled fingers to bind your hands above your head, you moan when he slips his legs between yours. Prying you wider, grinding that confined erection against you, the slippery feel of his silken pants soaking with your arousal.

Wet and warm before the fire, every nerve ignites under his attention, flaming with your need to have his skin against yours. “Seems unfair,” you try to whine as your voice ripples more as a whimper, “for me to be so… unwrapped and ready for you to enjoy.”

“You’re going to have to beg and plead more sweetly than that, my darling,” he smirks against your whining mouth, capturing it with his. You taste the burst of flavors on his tongue, the sweet and spices of the punch, his tongue cool in your mouth from having imbibed it.

Just like old times. You shudder and moan to feel it tangle with your own, that flavorful concoction, the tingle of alcohol spiking your senses. “Mmm, delicious,” you moan against his fangs.

“Not as delicious as it will be as I taste you, my pet. Be a good little consort, plead so prettily, and you’ll get everything you desire tonight.” He gives a little extra, hips undulating into your slick, his breeches undoubtably ruined by your arousal. You groan at that ferocity, that untamable hunger. And you, you buck your hips to ride that friction. You give him what he wants, a loud mewl of your pleasure to tickle his punch-coated tongue.

“Very good,” he smirks, raising back to his knees. “I’d ask you to help me…” he taunts, rubbing his hand down the front of his decadently embroidered jacket, slowly letting his buttons free one at a time. “… but you seem already… tied up…”

“Oh, you must be feeling merry to throw such taunting puns at me, my love,” you smile.

“Hush, love,” he grins wickedly, tossing that jacket to the side, the firelight dancing over his ivory skin, rippling over all the rises and ridges of his torso. “Or if you insist on that insolent mouth teasing me, I might just have to find something with which to gag you.”

You smirk, hungry and defiant, as you stick out your tongue. A taunt. And an invitation.

“If you wish,” he growls happily, hands quick to unbutton his breeches. A split second, and he frees that cock, drips of his seed already seeping from its tip. You keep your tongue dangling as he scoots forward straddling your shoulders, until your mouth has nothing more to do than let him in.

With a groan, he thrusts into that familiar wet. Head thrown back, but not so far as to risk that magnificent crown to tumble off. He’s slow, languorous, savoring the way you’ve taken him so well. “Such a good little consort, earning your penance and more…” One hand knots in your hair at the crown of your head, the other you can’t see.

But you hear his movements, that dull clank of ice cubes on glass. And suddenly, you gasp, that frigid cold in his invisible grip, trailing its cold up your thigh. He’s so quick, his face scrutinizing your slacked mouth as he continues to fuck your throat, a twist of total delight on his lips as you shiver.

That is your only warning, the only inkling of his devious intentions before he slips that cube of ice between your folds. His mouth grins so wide, you see every tooth, his pleasure cemented as he thrusts between your moaning lips. Your body fights against his pinning weight. Thrusts begin to accelerate, timed with the swirls of that ice as he circles faster over your clit.

You feel the water beginning to drip, same as your slick, and your body shudders, heated by the fire and his body, frozen between your thighs as he still sweeps the melting ice through your seam.

Wave after wave consumes you, total swept away by the play of hot and cold, the merry dance of ice and fire that crashes through your body. It makes your buck and writhe, panting and choking on his cock between your cheeks. He withdraws a bit to let you savor your pleasure, pouring those praises over you once more, “Perfect, my treasure, coming for me so hard and beautifully.”

He chuckles, stroking his fingers through your long hair, lifting your head for a few really slow, really deep thrusts. Ones that you curve your tongue around and suck hard until you gag.

“Yes…” he growls, taking his cock back in his hand as he withdraws it from your now swollen lips, “good girl, so delicious… I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson of loving disobedience.”

“Savored the fruits of it, more like…” you grin, sultry, desirous, licking your lips clean of his juices that have already snuck out to coat your lips, your tongue.

That ice, so much smaller already, skates up your mound, your belly, settling it in your navel. “Astarion,” you screech as he leaves it there, as the chill settles over where you crave the heat and weight of pelvis, where you wish for him to crush you and fuck you.

“So greedy, little love,” he purrs. “And isn’t I who should be the greedy one? Denied any semblance of Yuletide joy for so long?”

“Then be… greedy… be naughty, and I will be very, very nice,” you giggle, deep in your throat as you watch him sliding down to settle between your burning thighs.

But not before he sneaks another ice cube from the cup. You lose track of it… until he grins with his mouth spread wide, his gleaming teeth biting down on that piece of ice, shining like crystal in the firelight. You shiver in anticipation. Waiting, watching for just what he might do next.

Angling down agonizingly slowly, his eyes lock into yours, his mouth aiming that fragment of ice for your already straining taught nipples. You scream again, bucking and writhing as the cold shoots right through you, racing down your every nerve. He laughs, taking that cube back inside his mouth, swirling that ice-cold tongue now over your flesh, sucking it hard between his lips.

“I will be undone, my love…” you groan, arching under his tongue.

“That’s the point,” he laughs darkly taking out that cube to rub over your other aching nipple as he teases and toys with it, “be undone before you’ll be… unwrapped, my darling.”

It steals your breath, making you writhe and tug against your binds as you feel every shiver down your spine consuming every sensation. Then he sets the ice, nearly gone back in your navel.

Heavy-lidded, Astarion licks his lips, dragging his tongue over his fang, announcing his next desire loud and clear.

“Hungry? Then get to it, greedy love,” you squirm and squeal as he gives a bite on your breast, just enough to bring a little blood to the surface. “Hgnf,” you groan as he drinks from you, those little hums and noises he makes as he feeds bring even more arousal pooling between your thighs.

You feel his cock hardening even more, as if that was possible, the union of your bloods, that tremor down your bond as he feeds from you, chin red with your essence. It makes him grind against your mound, cock twitching, a mind of its own to find that wet and clenching pressure he craves more than anything.

You feel that slow undulation, the tip of his length slipping into your folds, teasing just an inch inside you. The chair above your head scrapes across the floor, the ribbon snapping as you struggle against your binds. “Please,” you beg, “free me. I want you… I need you.”

“And why should I release you early?” he asks, barely raising his head from the pillow of your breast as he still laps at your blood. Eyes closed. As if he is too preoccupied to watch your agony. Even though you feel his smiling lips against your skin. “Just what would you do… if… I set you free?”

“Touch you…” you pant, feeling his cock dipping in and out again, shallowly. But he stills, unsatisfied.

“And?” he goads, slowing his tongue, eyes flickering up briefly at last.

“Cling to those powerful scars on your back, trace them since I know them all…”

Another dip inside your channel, slowly still but deeper as he withdraws equally slow.

“…and?” he smirks, licking his bloodied lips and chin.

You give a laugh, heavy with your need. “Clean your face from my blood, you messy thing…”

“Hmm,” he smirks wider, the lights catching in the red of his eyes as he scans your pale skin, where you pant and squirm beneath him. “Tempting, but…”

“Worship you,” you interrupt, “caress every inch of your ivory skin, grip hard into the clenching power of your ass as you fuck me… finally, run my fingers through your hair to keep that perfect crown on your perfect head…”

His lips twitch just once, a single arm reaching for that ribbon as the velvet release from your wrists. You groan, finally… finally touching him again, your voice rasping in your throat as he sheathes himself in fully. Already he commands a punishing pace, but you are so on fire for him, you crave it. You ride it all, legs wrapped tightly around his hips, your hands clutched into his hair, pinning that crown in place.

A good thing too, his body shaking as he loses all his control. His rhythm is feral and driven, giving no regard to anything other than filling you with his cock and making you burst with his cum. But he watches, arms pressed into the floor as his eyes drink in that sight of you. The way your bosoms sway, coated in his spit and your blood as they glisten in the soft light. The way your eyes lock into his, flickering every now and then to watch the way his pale cock spears harder and harder into you.

You snicker, a wicked idea in your head as you glance to the last cube of ice in the glass. “You wouldn’t dare…” he groans inside your head. But it’s too late. You’ve already snagged that chilling, hard lump, tracing it down the planes of his belly as you reach between you.

“Oh, I would…”

You have to be quick, but he lets you… his flawless reflexes could stop you… if he wants.

But instead he just groans so loudly as you press that ice at the base of his cock. Caressing whatever length of him doesn’t thrust inside as he fucks.

He shivers, his arms shaking as he lowers down on top of you. That crown falls into the furs at your side, but he doesn’t care. His mouth devours yours, his grunts and pants as you bring him to climax deafen you, reverberating inside your mouth.

And as the melting ice drips to your seam, you follow him into that wave of pleasure. Heat and ice, fire and cold blast through your bodies. His thrusts are merciless, slamming hard against the end of your channel, the pain adding to the heady mix that steals your breath and sends his name screaming from your lips.

He stills inside you, your greedy walls squeezing out the last of his cum, working against the twitching pulses of his cock. Resting his hot, damp forehead in the nook of your shoulder, he struggles to catch his breath. Nuzzling closer, you feel his warmth saturating your flesh, your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders as he lays on you and in you.

“I… should thank you, my love,” he whispers, that tenderness he saves for your ears alone. “You never give up on me, never allow me to remain trapped, haunted by those ghosts of my past… however tormenting they may be. You have… done more than make my heart to beat again, to teach me how to love again. For centuries, at this time of year… I wanted nothing more than to take one of those stalks of holly and ram it like a stake through… his heart.”

Cazador’s. He won’t say it. Can’t say it.

“But with you, perhaps it is something just the two of us may… enjoy. To savor…”

“My love,” you whisper, placing a kiss into those silken, gleaming silver locks, “you don’t need to use Yuletide as a reason to wrap me up in pretty ribbons.”

“It is rather pretty, isn’t it?” he chuckles as he raises his head, “not as magnificent as this, however…” His hand closes around that metal circlet, replacing it crookedly on his silver hair. On that head made for a crown. “Seems like you’ll need one of your own, my little consort.”

“I’m open to all sorts of gifts from you…” you purr, catching his chin to bring his mouth to yours.

“Perhaps you need me to give it to you again, my darling?” he speaks into your lips. “Another lesson for me in finding the warmth of Yuletide? I might still feel a bit frozen in the heart, if you’re not thorough, you know…”

“Avernus would freeze over before I abandon you to such a fate, gods bless it…” you catch his lips in your mouth, a good long suck in that thick lower one as you nip it gently in your fangs. Tasting the richness of his blood, the thrumming of his power that rides his essence.

“Then gods bless it,” he growls, hand catching tightly around your chin, a slight drag of his still hardened cock inside you, “every time.”

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antimony-medusa · 1 year ago

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Is that— bells ringing? Keyboards clacking? The sound of two thousand stressed writers pancing furiously about the floor? Ah yes, Yuletide.

Hello. MCYTblr. I am back again.

You are looking fine today as we move towards the end of the year. Is that a new cologne you're trying? New shirt? New glasses? It's working for you. How have I been? Well.

Well.

*I smack the wall, curtains spring aside, revealing my flip chart presentation that I've had lying in wait*

It is time for me to talk to you about Yuletide again. I was here earlier during tag nominations, but it's sign-up time, and I want to make sure everybody has a change to participate in this if they want to.

What's Yuletide?

Yuletide is an annual mega-exchange for small and rare fandoms. It runs in the close of the year, with a 1000 word minimum for gifts, with gifts revealed anonymously on the 25th of December and de-anoned on the 1st of January. It is easily the biggest exchange in multi-fandom-exchange-world, and last year more than 1,350 people signed up.

Why does everyone sign up?

Well, it's tradition, for one. There are a lot of people that only do Yuletide as their big exchange every year. It's a big holiday spectacle, it's really fun to see it operate and see pinch hits come out and get nabbed in minutes, and people kind of put on their holiday outfits and turn out for it.

For another thing, if you are in a small fandom, it's the one exchange where you can actually have a shot of getting a gift for an obscure manga fandom, or an out-of-print book, or a tv show from the eighties. If your fandom has five people in it, the odds are higher than average that two of them are signing up for this exchange, and hey presto, suddenly you're matchable in your fandom for an obscure podcast.

For another, and this is the biggie, the fact that this is an exchange for small and rare fandoms has led to a certain tradition and vibe for the fandoms that people nominate. People bring their most obscure and fun ideas, going, "hehehehe wouldn't it be fun if someone wrote a story about this", and into the tag set it goes. There is SUCH a spectrum of fandoms in the tag set.

This year there are 4,263 fandoms and 16,735 characters in the tag set. Let me just skim through and look at some of them.

There are commercials, web sketches, art pieces, songs, music videos, board games, podcasts, a dizzying assortment of anthropomorphising different places, items, and ideas, and RPF from a marvelous variety of historical periods (so, y'know, historical fiction if it was published professionally). There are people who nominated tik tok sketches. Twitter threads. A bridge. Book binding techniques. You ever wanted to write a romance between Knitting and Crochet? That's in the tag set, and someone wants to prompt you to do that. Happy Yuletide.

So if you are at all the sort of person who likes a prompt challenge, BOY is this one just a MARVELOUS one. I know I personally am going to be signing up for Humans are Space Orcs (tumblr post) and Fandom Exchanges (Anthropomorphic) amid my more traditional fandoms.

And as for my more traditional fandoms, and the reason why this post has the tags it does (I would get to it eventually)— there is a lot of MCYT in the tag set! I put out a post saying GUYS, the smaller fandoms might apply for this, and BOY did people show up for it. I scanned through it, and the MCYT (and adjacent) that made it in is:

Karmaland SMP

Legacy SMP

Lifesteal SMP

Moonlight SMP

New Life SMP

Outsiders SMP

Rats SMP

SMPEarth

SMPLive

Witchcraft SMP

Pirates SMP

Mianite

Slimecicle Cinematic Universe

SBI Rust

Generation Loss

You could make an entire sign up, 3 minimum requests and 4 minimum requests, and only select MCYT fandoms. The wild thing is that you can only select a max of 10 fandoms to offer, so you actually couldn't offer all of the MCYT. ZombieCleo Witchraft SMP is in. Tommyinnit SMPEarth. Clownpierce Lifesteal. Tubbo SBI Rust. Oli Rats SMP. A wealth of options for the block folks.

So come, join me! What's that? You say this sounds excellent, you're in? You want to know how to sign up? Well this post is already long enough so I'm putting the rest below a cut.

You sign up on the collection here, using fandoms listed in the tagset here. Before you do so though, I'd recommend you check out the blog, especially their "how to sign up" post here, because even if you're used to exchanges, the way Yuletide works is a little bit different. Let me do a quick breakdown here.

Requests

# of Fandoms

You have to select a minimum of 3 fandoms that you are Requesting (a gift that you want made for you), up to a maximum of 6 fandoms. Each fandom has to be unique. For each fandom, you can request between 0 to 4 characters in that fandom, and 0 means "literally you can hit me with anybody", and the up-to-4 characters are the people you definately want to show up in the fic.

AND MATCHING

This is one of the things that Yuletide does differently, because most fandom exchanges do "or" matching, where they match you on either characer A OR character B, (maybe you only offered character B) and you can pick among any of the selected characters on the person's request to write for. Because Yuletide does AND matching, you will only be matched if you offered every single one of the characters the person has selected, and then you get to write for every single one they have listed in their fandom, unless they say differently in their letter. If they requested character A and Character B, you get to deliver a gift that includes them both, according to the rules.

Bu like, in practice, a lot of people are a bit more like "you can pick only one of these guys if you'd like", because that is how everyone is used to things running in most other exchanges, plus people don't want to be too picky, so you can specify in your letter if you definately 100% want characters A, B, and C, or if you're fine with just A, or just A and C, or whatever constellation of characters you're chill with.

This year they have added optional freeform tags you will click on, that will specify either A) use every single one of these guys I selected. B) I have specified in my letter which guys I need for sure and which ones you can swap, C) Dealer's Choice Of Guys Go Crazy.

DNW and Optional Details

Yuletide is an "Optional Details Are Optional" (ODAO) exchange, so technically you could request (or receive) an offer that just has the characters and then you get to go absolutely buckwild for the two month writing period. Most people, however, do not want to do that, so that is where you'll put in Do Not Wants (anything that would ruin the gift for you, from major archive warnings to kinks that you don't vibe with to headcanons you loathe), and some prompts and/or likes for your person to jump off of.

DNWs absolutely must be abided by, and breaking a person's DNW is grounds for getting turfed from the exchange. Following a person's prompts or lists of likes is technically optional, but definately best practice, and y'know, part of the whole spirit of the exchange. Most people are doing their best to adhere to both the DNW and the Optional Details when they do their gift.

You can just format your DNW and Optional Details on the Ao3 signup page (easy, fast), or you can link them offsite in a letter (fancy, you can do formatting, people do them in google docs or dreamwidth pages (the traditional and more accessible option)). There's a tradition of people posting their letter links here, so that people can get an idea for what sort of prompts and signups people are offering, and make sure they're matchable to people with especially fun ideas. Note: you do have to duplicate the data if you're doing a letter, cause if you put your DNW in your letter but NOT in your Ao3, the mods won't enforce it.

And while we're here, that last link is to a community blog that includes a place where you can promo your fandoms to lure people into signing up for your guys, or participate in mini-challenges within yuletide for people who specificially want poly relationships (Three Doves Challenge), or characters of colour (Chromatic Yuletide), or horror/darkfic (Crueltide), or smut (Yuleporn), or art (Wrapping Paper), or even more. There's even a poetry challenge!

Offers

# of Fandoms

You have to sign up with a minimum of 4 fandoms, to a maximum of 10, for fandoms you are Offering (a gift you are willing to make). You must offer at least 2 characters for each fandom, to a maximum of 20— but there's also an "any" tick box if you want to go full "hit me, I like a challenge" and you'll write anything (in the tag set) within a fandom. Each of your fandoms must be unique.

Writing Period:

Signups are open through the 21st, with assignments out by the 23rd, and then you have until the 18th of December to deliver your gift.

Important Notes

You must be 18 or over to participate in Yuletide (because you might be matched with someone who requests smut), and signups close on 9pm UTC on Saturday, 21 October.

There's a known issue where the safari browser isn't letting people sign up properly, (when you get an exchange this big sometimes things break), so they say to either sign up on mobile or use a different browser. So that will be fun for me.

And that's it! Yuletide! Just under a week left to sign up, and 351 people have signed up as I write this letter at 1:30am. I just refreshed it and now it's 352. You can sign up on the Ao3 page here!

JOIN ME EXCHANGES SUCH FUN LETS GO.

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wordy-little-witch · 5 months ago

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Imagine in the EoM campaign, Briggsy wakes up after a "dreamless" sleep in Druskenvald after the Yuletide one-shot events. He vaguely remembers bits and pieces, but it's mostly fuzzy.

Especially the memories about some cute, tall fella with eyes like topaz dipped in magenta glitter.

He also recalls something about bones, getting a date and gorillas, for some reason. Not the weirdest dream he's ever had, honestly, but still pretty out there.

Except he kind of remembers the runes that one guy gave him. It looked like a cat if you looked at it sideways.

Everyone else is still asleep when he wakes up, and he's tired, he's a pirate, and he does whatever the hell he wants.

He grabs his sendingstone, he pops in the number, and he sends a message.

Smth like this shit

And lo and behold... several minutes later, he gets a response.

Neither of their friend groups know quite what to do about/with this new development, but damn if it isn't hilarious.

#edge of midnight #briggsbek (i guess????)#briggsy kratch #torbek #listen #lIsTeN #they're..... so c ute #so silly #bonus: Briggsy looking @ Jericho and going “oh I can't Not adore him”#briggsy: babe wanna adopt?#torbek: what?#briggsy holding jericho like a kitten: our son now #torbek: oh okay i guess

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lotties-ashwagandha · 1 year ago

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YULETIDE REFLECTIONS (nsfw)

word count: 2.3k

pairing: lottie matthews x fem!reader

summary: you get jealous of the attention lottie’s not giving you at a christmas party, so she makes it up to you

You’d never been so bored in your entire life. You had thought it would be an amazing idea when presented to you, but as you sat at the bar watching the seconds tick lazily by, you were second guessing all of it.

Lottie had decided to host a Christmas party at the wellness center. It was some ploy for new members, and while you were all for expanding the community and helping out, the process had proved horrendous. Parties made you nervous and you didn’t like being around such an excruciating amount of people you didn’t know.

It wasn’t to say that everything wasn’t beautiful — all of the holiday decorations were gorgeous, and everyone was cheerful and festive, but Lottie had abandoned you to go talk to possible new clients and out of boredom you had banished yourself to the bar. There were too many people for your liking, and being in the vicinity of the new clients and their skepticism almost made you nauseous. You hated work events, even when your wife was the one hosting them.

Lisa had joined you at the bar, and for almost an hour she had been pestering you with questions — you were one of the meditation teachers at the wellness center, and Lisa kept giving you random questions about chakras and auras and the placebo effect that you were getting a bit too tipsy to want to answer.

“So, the other day I was reading this book and basically it told me that auras are like clouds. People clouds.” She said, and the phrase ‘people clouds’ made you want to throw your wine in her face.

“I don’t know if that’s the term I would’ve used,” you said tiredly.

“What would you have said?” She asked enthusiastically. You sighed.

You felt a hand on your back and turned to see Lottie at your side, holding a glass of red wine. Relief overcame you, but you were a bit irritated with her for leaving you at the party alone. You had helped her put all of it together, and as soon as it had started she had left you.

“Lisa,” she said softly, and Lisa turned to Lottie as if God had spoken to her. “Will you go help the new clients fill out their paperwork?”

Quickly she nodded and hurried off. She would do anything Lottie said the moment she said to do it.

Lottie took Lisa’s seat next to you at the bar. She seemed to be enjoying herself despite all of the people, all of the chaos, the Christmas carols booming through the wellness center.

“Are you enjoying the party?” She asked. You were silent for a moment, not entirely knowing how to respond — you didn’t want to ruin the night for her, you knew she had been looking forward to it, but you had been in hell the whole duration of the party and you were irritated with her for abandoning you in it.

“It’s nice,” you said, a bit dryly. She raised her eyebrows skeptically, so you tried harder. “The decorations and the music, it all fits well together, and everyone seems to be enjoying themselves… What about you, are you enjoying it?”

She nodded, smiling softly. “I think it all turned out beautifully. We’ve gotten some new people to sign up, too, for after the holidays.”

“Good. We need that.”

She didn’t respond for a moment, choosing instead to watch you as you took a sip of your wine. You were acutely aware of her gaze bearing into you, of every breath she took and every breath you could hardly take yourself. You knew she had figured out by now how much torture the party had put you through.

“What are you thinking about?” Lottie asked, and you tensed slightly. You didn’t want to tell her you only thought horrendous parties like this were bearable in her presence — you didn’t want to tell her that you had been thinking about her all night. That you had been thinking about how gorgeous she looked in her golden dress and kaftan, with jeweled necklaces draping down her neck and chest and her hair hanging in flawless waves down her back.

You didn’t want to tell her you had been excruciatingly envious of everyone she’d come into contact with that night that hadn’t been you. That all you wanted was her full attention, for the two of you to go back to her cabin and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“You hate it, don’t you?” She asked, and you realized that you hadn’t responded to her question.

“I don’t hate it,” you said quickly. “Everything’s gorgeous, I just wish I’d spent all this time with you instead of fucking Lisa.”

She smirked, nodding, pleasantly surprised by your confession. “Jealous, then,” She noted, false sympathy lacing her tone. Your gaze dropped to her left hand fiddling mindlessly with the stem of her wine glass — her nails a deep shade of burgundy, one of her favorite rings on almost every finger.

“I’m not jealous,” you breathed, but the way it came out disproved your point. You averted your gaze, taking another sip of your wine. You felt her stand from her bar stool and come up behind yours, and after a moment her hands found your shoulders, trailing down to your hips. “Lottie…”

“I can’t even leave you alone for a couple of minutes,” she said condescendingly, as if it hadn’t been more than an hour. “What do we need to do to get you feeling better, hm? I can’t have you here sulking all night, baby…”

I’m not sulking, you wanted to say, but you couldn’t tell two lies in a row, not when you both knew the truth.

“Get up,” she ordered, and immediately you complied. You turned to face her, and to anyone else it would’ve looked like a perfectly normal conversation — you were the only one who knew her tells, the only one who could see the hunger in her eyes, the desperation ruled by dominance.

You let her lead you away from the bar and the small crowd that had accumulated around it. You weaved through the festivities, the hundreds of people getting wasted and partaking in the ‘Christmas cheer’ you had yet to find this year.

You heard someone calling Lottie’s name through the crowd. The two of you stopped, and you sighed, already knowing who it was before she joined you.

“I have the finished paperwork!” Lisa said cheerfully, and tried to hand it to Lottie, but the look you gave her made her pause. “Is everything okay? Your aura seems a bit-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you groaned, shaking your head. “Leave me the fuck alone, Lisa, I don’t have time for this.”

Her hurt expression told you every bit of how much you’d offended her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The party had made you miserable and the wine had made you unfiltered and all you wanted was to be with Lottie without interruption.

Lisa hurried away, and apart from a few stragglers from the party, again you were alone with Lottie in one of the hallways of the wellness center.

Lottie pulled you forward sharply, and then to the right, and then she was shutting and locking the door to the single bathroom in the middle of the hall. She stalked forward, pressuring you to step back so that the end of your lower back was pressed against the sink.

“What was that?” She asked sharply. You shrugged. “You should’ve seen her face when you said that.”

A smirk played at your lips. “I did. I’m not sorry for it, I’d say it again.”

She shook her head, watching you with the same hunger she’d had before, the same intensity. She brought a hand up to your jaw, tilting your head so that you’d meet her gaze. You felt your heartbeat quicken, a wave of warmth washing over you, settling between your legs.

“Such a naughty girl,” she murmured, and you ripped your eyes from hers, her gaze too intense to hold. “Acting like this to get attention. So desperate for mommy, aren’t you? Let me help you, baby.”

You nodded quickly, breathing a small ‘yes’ before pulling her into a kiss that though you initiated, she dominated. Her hands slid around your legs to the hem of your dress, and she pulled it up over your hips, out of the way.

Without warning she turned you around. Your hips pressed sharply against the sink, and when you met her gaze in the mirror above it, you shivered. You hadn’t realized that she’d slipped her golden kaftan off, and while not much of her had been revealed to you still you were in awe of what you could get, the way her dark hair was draped over one shoulder and the way her necklaces fell against her chest, and how strong she looked as she held you against the sink.

“Mommy, please,” you whined, squirming slightly as you stood.

“I know, baby,” she cooed, her tone laced with false sympathy. “You need mommy to take care of you, don’t you?”

Any response you were planning was lost when her lips met your neck. She kissed your pulse point gently before beginning to suck a mark, eliciting a soft moan from you.

“Quiet,” she shushed. “We can’t have everyone hearing how desperate you are, knowing how you’re such a little slut for me that I have to fuck you in the bathroom because you don’t think you’re getting enough attention.”

Her words made embarrassment flush through you, but something deep in you liked it, wanted more, anything she would give you.

And though she dominated you entirely, you felt a sort of satisfaction that you’d driven her to take it this far — she had spent the night away from you but at the end of it she was yours, and she would sacrifice everything for you. It was a point you were proving to everyone at the party with every passing moment that she held you there, her lips on your neck, one hand trailing up your dress to grope at your chest and the other sliding between your legs.

Your attention split between her touches — her lips on your neck, alternating between soft kisses and harsh sucking and biting as she marked your neck. Her fingers sliding through your folds, her touch centering on your clit. Your breath hitched as she began to circle it languidly, whispering praises in your ear as you tried to keep silent but we’re unable to help the whimpers and short whines that escaped you. You looked back into the mirror at the two of you and felt your heart beating furiously.

“You’re doing so good, baby, being so good for mommy,” she praised, and a whimper escaped you, louder than you would’ve wanted, but you didn’t care anymore. Let everyone hear — you were too focused on Lottie to give a damn about what anyone thought.

You moaned when she slipped two fingers into you, hardly giving you a moment to adjust before setting a quick rhythm. The heel of her hand pressed against your clit and the sensation of it all was enough to have you euphoric, eyes falling closed.

You didn’t realize you were being so loud until Lottie brought a hand to your mouth to subdue your moans. It only made you more eager, you could only imagine how wet you must be by now, and another soft flush of embarrassment washed through you.

“You’re mine,” she said, “and I’m yours, and that’s the way it stays.”

You nodded quickly, trying your best to hold back a moan at her words. You opened your eyes, looking into the mirror, and when you met her gaze you whimpered.

“Good girl,” she praised. “My pretty little slut, so close to cumming for me, aren’t you?”

Again you nodded, holding her gaze for a moment before letting your vision slip down to her hand between your legs. You couldn’t see her fucking you, but you could see the way the muscles in her arm flexed with every movement, and that alone was enough to have you reeling.

“Look at you,” Lottie said. “So fucking gorgeous, and all mine.”

You moaned, your eyes falling closed for a moment, hips involuntarily bucking into her hand.

“Cum for me, baby. Show mommy how pretty you are when you cum for her.”

With a gasp you came, her hand still pressed against your mouth to silence you as she worked you through your orgasm. You leaned into her, letting her hold you up better than you could hold yourself up on the sink, and when you looked into the mirror you could see yourself unraveling at her touch. You could see, too, the reverence in Lottie’s eyes, the adoration and hunger with which she watched you, and it was everything.

When you came down from your high, she turned you around again to face her. You wrapped your arms around her, fatigue washing over you heavily, but when she held you it was the safest place in the world for every bit of your exhaustion, a place of rest.

“You did so good for me, angel,” she whispered, running a hand through your hair. You let yourself be overcome with every sensation of her touch. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” you replied. You were silent for a moment, but then she let out a quiet chuckle, and confusedly you looked up at her. “What are you laughing about?”

“It’s nothing,” she said, but when you gave her an imposing look, she folded. “I was just thinking about how this is the scene they never show in Hallmark movies.”

#lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #adult lottie matthews x reader

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