#frost is apparently really important to my dreams

[lavishtine]

This morning I had a dream about running away and I became lucid enough to think about Frost trying to navigate the woods to also run away as Nikkie narrated it. The woods became this big map with smaller sections to it that mapped out abandoned building, cliffs, and rivers, and I also heard Nikkie and Rich talking.

Nikkie to Derek as Frost: So, what are you going to do?

Derek contemplating: Hmmm...

Rich pointing at a small box that's unlabeled: What's here?

Nikkie: There are hay bales there, so I don't want him to go that way. He can go anywhere else.

I don't know why those hay bales were so important, but I could tell that was a big part of the campaign.

[fiapartridge]

wedding bells | quinn hughes

summary: in which y/n and her fiancé, quinn hughes, plan their long-awaited wedding.

request: [...i read invisible string...and it made me think of when they’re actually engaged and planning their wedding...quinn would love cake tasting and picking out the menu...and the bride loves planning the wedding but...[it's] stressful and she wants everything to be perfect. some minor thing goes wrong and she has a bridezilla breakdown moment and quinn is so sweet and calms her down...]

author's note 💌: eeee i love this request!!!! thank u anon for requesting; it's so cute!

cake tasting

“I’ve been waiting for this day since the moment I learned this existed,” Quinn beamed, his eyes fixed on the road as he exited the freeway. His right hand rested gently on your thigh, and you couldn’t help but grin, happy that he finally wanted to be involved in a part of the wedding planning process—even if today was all about cake.

With a playful tilt of your head, a mock tsk of disapproval escaped your lips as Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be eating healthy for your game next week? How about I eat the cake and you watch.”

“And watch you live out my dream?” he scoffed. “Yeah, the game’s not that important.”

“That game is gonna secure your spot in the playoffs, Captain,” you smirked, playfully poking his arm. You loved teasing him about his captaincy, like saying Aye aye, Captain whenever he asked you for a favor, or your personal fave, So when does the team give you your honorary eye patch and silver hooky thingy? To which he always responds with, Not that kind of captain, babe. 

As Quinn pulled into the bakery’s parking lot, he cupped your cheeks in his hand, his face growing serious, feeling almost like a team huddle. His voice lowered, and his face drew close to yours as he laid out some sort of plan. “I’m gonna eat a lot of cake today, so much that I wore my stretchy pants-”

“Oh, the Lululemon ones that I bought you?” You got them for him as a Christmas gift along with other items. You were happy that he actually wore them outside the house for once. 

“Yes those ones, but we need to stay focused.” You nodded intently, totally focused. “Jack is gonna call you later and he’s gonna ask you if I ate any of this cake today, and I’m gonna need you to lie.”

A burst of laughter escaped you. “You want me to lie to Jacky? About you eating cake? During our cake tasting? Because…”

“Because him and Luke have a bet going on that I’m gonna break my diet for this, and Luke said that if he wins we’re splitting the cash 50/50, so I really need you to lie, baby.”

Rolling your eyes, you opened the passenger door, Quinn doing the same on his side. “I really don’t understand you guys. Like, why not just be normal and bet on who’s winning the next Super Bowl or something?”

Quinn wrapped around the front of the car, intertwining his fingers with yours as you approached the bakery’s entrance. “Did that a few years ago, we each lost $700 to Luke.”

“Jesus, you guys are loaded. The last time my family and I had a bet, we each did $10 and whatever old gift card we had stowed away in our wallets. Apparently mine was from 2015 and the place it was for got shut down for rat poisoning? I don’t know,” you shrugged.

As the hours passed and the 20th cake flavor came around, Quinn felt like his stretchy pants were out of stretch, and you felt like you could take a nap right on top of the table. Cakes were not for the weak, let me tell you that.

“I feel like everything tastes the same now,” Quinn struggled to get the words out. Not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he was trying not to heave and talk at the same time. 

“I feel like I can’t feel my legs,” you replied, a visible food baby proudly displayed on your belly.

Dipping your finger into the frosting of the pink champagne cake, guaranteed to be the most fanciest cake you’ve ever had, you swiped it across Quinn’s nose. “Oops,” you grinned. “I’m just so full; I must’ve twitched or something.”

Rolling his eyes, Quinn smeared the orange creamsicle cake across your face, as if you were donning eye black and dodging defenders past the 40-yard line.

“Oh, you’re getting it,” you laughed, swiping a finger across the blueberry with graham cracker crumble, a grandma’s dying wish, planting strokes on his chin and forehead. “Aw, don’t you look cute?” you teased.

He smirked, getting impossibly close. It was good that the wedding planner and cake baker were in another room chatting, or else they would probably be yelling at you two to get your hands off each other at once. “Wanna make a bet?”

“Hm, does it involve me losing thousands of dollars?” He shook his head. “Hundreds?” Another shake. “Any money?” One more. “Then you’re on, pretty boy. What’s your proposition?”

“We leave right now and you can lick all of this off in the car-”

“Amy!” you shouted for your wedding planner as she came stumbling into the room, afraid something was wrong. “We have to go; family emergency,” you pouted, really selling it. “I’ll see you next weekend, okay?”

“Oh, yeah, okay!” she nodded. “Take care of the family!”

“Will do!” you shouted, dragging Quinn behind you as if you were Lightning McQueen in any of the Cars movies. Boy, were you quick. Even Quinn was shook and he skated with some of the fastest hockey players around. 

“I win,” Quinn whispered, his lips pressed to the crown of your head as you reached the car, pushing him inside. 

“Yeah? Kinda seems like I’m the winner.”

the wedding rehearsal

“Oh, don’t you flower girls look cute?” you smiled, drawing your knees to your chest as you bent down to meet them eye-level. “You ready to walk the runway?”

“Daddy said this was a wedding,” Ella, your brother’s daughter, shyly replied, playing with a couple of petals in the basket. 

“Wedding shmedding,” you grinned, earning giggles from the little ones. “Think of it as a runway, and you’re the models.”

“What about,” Grace, Brady and Emma’s daughter piped up, “it’s a runway and I’m the airplane?”

“Oh,” you said, eyes widening a bit before breaking into a giggle.

“That works too! Just don’t be afraid, okay? If it makes you two feel any better, Uncle Jacky has to walk the aisle and he can barely skate on two feet.”

“Hey!” Jack popped out of the line forming behind the three of you, a procession of earthy-toned dresses and black-and-white suits ready to rehearse for the big day. The sight made you want to cry. Everyone you ever cared about was here for you and Quinn, for your big day. 

It brought you back to the moment you met Quinn, the moment your life truly began. You were friends with Emma, having met in college at Boston University where you also met Brady. You had just gotten out of a year-long relationship and were stressed over midterms, so Emma suggested that you get a “sex-tox” — a detox involving, well, sex. It sounded perfect at the time. Fuck a stranger, never see them again, release some stress, and live your best life.

But that’s kind of hard to do when that stranger is Quinn Hughes. You fell in love with him the moment Brady introduced you. Maybe it was the way his hand lingered in yours for a just a second longer than what’s considered a “normal” handshake, or maybe it was the way his eyes followed you throughout the bar like he was scared that you would come back to the table with another guy’s arm draped over your shoulder, or maybe it was the way he said your name, like it was made for his lips and his voice.

He was just so perfect and now you were marrying him. It all felt so much like a dream, like you’ll wake up one day and everything will be gone. But when you see Quinn laughing with his groomsmen, his eyes immediately finding yours, his arms flying around your body, hundreds of whistles and hoots coming from everyone around you as you tuned them out, your attention solely placed on the man you’ll be able to call your husband as little as tomorrow, you know that this is real, and he is yours, and this is peace.

the wedding day

This is a disaster. The centerpiece flowers are sky blue instead of columbia, your grandma wants to trade seats with William Nylander because she has this newfound obsession with Mitch Marner which would put William Nylander with your grandpa and the weird uncle that always gets way too drunk at weddings but will never admit that he has an alcohol problem, chalking it up to a “one time thing.” Even though we all know that he’s gonna do it again at the next wedding! And to top the shit-cake that is this day, your wedding planner decided to be selfish and break her water overnight, so now she’s in the hospital trying to push a tiny human out of her uterus while you’re here trying not to physically strangle every single person that comes to you with a question.

You were tired, and nervous, and your makeup looks terrible, and you feel bloated, and you don’t feel pretty enough to walk down that aisle, and you don’t feel pretty enough to be with Quinn, and why would he want to be with a girl that can’t even plan her own damn wedding correctly? And you just feel…defeated. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Luke bounced through the door of your bridal suite, his hand hovering over his eyes. 

“You don’t have to cover your eyes, Luke, you’re not the groom,” you muttered, fiddling with the ends of your hair.

“Right,” he chuckled nervously. “Um, so there’s a problem.” 

You closed your eyes, sighing. You felt like your head might explode. What else are we going to add to this ginormous shit storm of a day? Let me guess, Cole already got shit-faced at the mini bar, or Nico got lost on the way here and that car held Jesper, Holtz, and Dougie, or oh! Did your brother get into conversation with Trevor on how he can perfect his alley-oop if he substituted Milano with him? Seriously, what else can get worse than this?

“We can’t find Quinn.”

You’re gonna throw up. Are you already throwing up? Because there’s this tingly feeling that’s bubbling in your throat, and you don’t know if it’s from the copious amount of champagne you consumed last night or the urge to find Quinn and murder him with your bare hands. I think it’s the latter.

Before Luke could say anything else, you dashed towards the door, his calls fading behind you. You didn’t know if you were running to find Quinn or to escape this hell hole for yourself. Maybe Quinn was onto something. Maybe this was a bad idea. I mean, were you that naive to believe that someone like Quinn would actually want to marry someone like you?

With your shoes discarded, you found solace on a rock overlooking a small lake near the venue. Your once pristine white gown was now engulfed in the grass, your disheveled hair was poking out of its metal claw clip,  your mascara was noticeably smudged, and the tears wouldn’t stop streaming down your face no matter how hard you tried to stop it. You were nervous about the wedding, but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore since the groom is apparently missing and nothing else is working out. Ha! Now they don’t even have a bride. This is terrific.

With crunching leaves, you heard a small, “Hey,” behind you.

You turned slowly to find Quinn, the man of the hour, finally present. You didn’t say anything, fearing that your words would come out with a choke. You couldn’t stop crying.

Quinn settled down on the rock next to you. “I’m sorry for leaving like that, I just—had to clear my head for a bit. I’m a little nervous.”

“Are you getting cold feet?” you mumbled, scared to hear his answer. You knew he loved you, but you also knew that he would put people’s feelings way above his own. You didn’t want to marry him if he was having doubts.

He shook his head. “No.” His hands found yours amid the puffiness of your dress. “I don’t have a single doubt in my mind that you’re the woman I want to marry.”

“So why-”

“There’s like 300 people out there waiting to see us get married, and Jack’s already talking about us having a kid in the next couple months, and—it’s a lot, you know? You?”

You furrowed your brows. “Me, what?”

“Getting cold feet?”

You shook your head. “I’m tired,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I feel like everything’s going wrong today. Amy’s out having a baby, the flowers are the wrong shade of blue, Grandma wants to sit next to Mitch Marner, I thought you left, and-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Quinn cupped your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs, just as he has done time and time before. The gesture never fails to give you a sense of comfort. “Years from now, when we’re old and living in a house in the suburbs, and you’ll probably have an orange tabby cat on your lap, and we’ll be telling stories to our grandchildren about our wedding day, we’re not gonna remember the color of the flowers, or who sat next to Marner, or any of that, okay?”

You nodded.

“We’re gonna remember you and me. We’re gonna remember how much I love you. And we’re probably gonna remember us sitting on rocks, stalling our own wedding day.”

A giggle escaped you because this was all so ridiculous. Quinn was right; you’re not gonna remember everything that went wrong. You and Quinn—that’s all that matters.

You pressed a long, innocent, and probably salty kiss on his lips. He saw you in your wedding dress, a superstitious hockey player breaking a centuries-long superstition, but for once, you didn’t care. 

“You ready to get married?” Quinn grinned, holding his hand out to you. 

You nodded, taking his hand. “I’m ready.”

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (chapter 10 - FINALE)

series masterlist

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 6k

warnings: implied smut, angst, fluff, romcom tropes, lots of swearing, pregnancy mention/minor breeding kink

note: click the asterisk for a hyperlink to a translation when the time comes

Six months later...

“It’s good!” she beamed, setting down the last chunk of pages and taking off her reading glasses. “Oh man, that ending hurt, but it’s really, really good!”

You leaned back into the plush chair and sighed with relief. “You think so?”

“It’s best-seller material,” she assured. “With some editing, of course. God, I can’t believe you were sitting on this for so long.”

“What are the biggest changes you want to make?” you asked.

“Well, I’m thinking we’ll cut the romantic subplot,” she mentioned in passing, like it was no big deal. “It’s distracting.

“Distracing?” you repeated. “Nia, it’s the story. It’s a romance.”

“I thought it was a thriller,” she frowned.

“A romance disguised as a thriller,” you corrected.

“Listen, I get what you mean, but I didn’t get this—” she tapped the nameplate on her desk: ‘NIA BROWN, HEAD PUBLISHER’ in shiny letters— “for nothing. I know what I’m talking about, and I know what your readers want. Violence, gore, drama!”

“It has all that!” you defended. “But it’s all there to talk about the real love he finds in her!”

“What do you mean ‘real love’?” she pressed flatly.

“I mean…” you pondered. “I mean love where you feel like a version of yourself that you actually like. Love where you feel unjudged, no precedents or caveats or back-up plans. Love that fucking hurts because you never wanted to rely on anything or anybody. Love that lives in silence because you don’t even need words.”

She furrowed her brow. “That… sounds nice, I guess, but I don’t think anybody really has that. Everybody needs a back-up plan. Everybody needs words— a writer should know that.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” you groaned, your face falling into your hands. “I’m so fucking stupid. Jesus Christ, I’m a moron.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“I had that! I had that, and I let it go! I’m the dumbest bitch on the fucking face of the Earth.”

“Don’t say that,” she soothed, but you were already standing up.

“No, I need to find him,” you decided as you grabbed your coat and briefcase. “I need to go back and try to fix this. I love him, I’ve never— I didn’t know I could love like that, I didn’t know I could be loved like that… oh my god, I need to find him. It isn’t over.”

“It isn’t over?” she repeated incredulously. “You said Michael signed the papers!”

“It’s not Michael,” you rolled your eyes as you stormed out of the office. “It was never Michael.”

You ran into the first telephone box you could find, slamming the door shut as you searched your purse for the business card that probably wasn't even in there.

After a moment, you gasped with delight when you pulled it from a very bottom pocket and began punching in the number as fast as possible with shivering hands, long-distance charges be damned.

“Hello?” the confused voice on the other end answered.

“Mrs. Alberti, hi— does Sebastian still work for you?” you asked hastily.

“No, dear," she sighed, apparently recognizing you by just your voice (and likely your request), "he quit recently, and moved away.”

“Moved?" you repeated with a wrinkled brow. "Where?!”

“I assume back home, sweetheart; to Bucharest.”

“Shit,” you sighed. “Shit!”

“Are you having your ‘run through the airport’ moment, sweetheart?” she realized.

“Yes, I think so— do you have his address?”

“Well, no, but I’ll see what I can find.”

You waited rather impatiently as she shuffled through papers in the background, mumbling to herself as she apparently searched for information that could help you.

“All I’ve got is the address of a previous employer… a carpenter,” she finally explained, breaking the silence. “It was his only reference when he came to work here," she explained.

"Wow, you really did just hire him for his looks," you blurted out.

"He was desperate for work, that boy had nowhere else to go,” she defended.

“Right, well, I guess if that’s my only lead then I’ve gotta go for it,” you decided. “Thank you, Mrs. Alberti.”

“I told you to call me when that book was a hit. Did it happen yet?” she piped up.

“It’s not published yet,” you explained. “It needs some more work… but I think it’s almost ready.”

“I think so, too, dear.”

Learn Romanian in 10 Weeks! A practical language guide.

Week 1, Day 1: Greetings

Hello                      Salut

Goodbye                La revedere

Thank you              Mulțumesc

You’re welcome      Cu plăcere

Good morning         Bună dimineata

Good afternoon       Bună ziua

Good evening          Bună seara

Good night               Noapte bună

You brushed your hair back out of your face with a sigh, turning the page as you mumbled the phrases to yourself. Broken Hungarian and your high school education in Latin were not getting you as far with this as you had been hoping.

How are you?          Ce mai faci

I love you                 Te iubesc

“Te iubesc, te iubesc, te iubesc,” you repeated over and over in a whisper.

Each day you had a new routine: practice Romanian for an hour, check flight prices online (or call the airline), research what you knew about Sebastian and the address Mrs. Alberti had given you, and then get back to practicing Romanian again.

Oh, and occasionally you worked on the edits Nia wanted for your manuscript. You were focusing on the minor changes— grammar errors, rearranging sentences— and putting off her big request for the removal and replacement of the romantic aspects. More than ever, they seemed like the most important thing the book had to offer.

You had a small apartment, just a place to sleep and shower really; much too small to fit everything you’d already taken from Michael’s house (you know, the one that used to be your house) along with what he’d shipped to you that you forgot before. He included a letter in the package as well. You threw it out, unopened.

Truthfully, you never really fully unpacked. As much as you realized you probably should, in order to really feel like you had a real home, you couldn’t bring yourself to empty your suitcases when you knew you’d be packing them again any day now.

You also realized how outrageous this all was. Ignoring the unlikelihood of even finding him in the first place, Sebastian probably wouldn’t want anything to do with you after you broke his heart, left, and then randomly tracked him down after over half a year. But to be totally transparent, you weren’t really doing this to get him back, necessarily. You knew that was probably never going to happen. You were doing this because you needed to try. You needed to go there, and get hurt, and come back knowing you did everything you could: you’d never be able to live with yourself if you did anything less than that.

You couldn’t start your new life until you had put everything else to bed. And if that meant being 100%, painfully certain that you and Sebastian could never be together, then that was just how it needed to be.

After two weeks of looking, there still weren’t any reasonable flights to Bucharest, so you booked another trip by train, figuring you could use the three day trip to brush up on the key Romanian phrases you were going to need as well as prepare your speech.

Yes, your plan was a speech. You didn’t have a back-up plan. You didn’t even have a return ticket back to London yet.

A passage by Yeats came to mind; But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

In all your life, you’d never understood before why someone would want to only have their dreams. But now, here you were… and yes, it felt terrifying and vulnerable and uncomfortably naked, but it felt pretty damn good, too.

With a sigh, you scribbled out the last sentence you’d written, tossing the trash paper aside. You looked up out the window at the scenery flying by in a blur, worried that if you didn’t look out from the train every once in a while you’d get motion sickness.

The sun was beginning to set already, the green of hills and trees tinted orange. You only indulged in it for a moment, though, before getting back to this god-forsaken speech you were deadset on finishing before you arrived in Bucharest tomorrow. At first, you’d figured the translating would be the most difficult part… but writing in English wasn’t exactly a piece of cake, either. You had so much to say, and suddenly so few words for any of it.

You’d probably done more editing on this than any of your novels combined; the crumpled up pages spilling out of your wastebasket were proof enough of that.

“And I’m a fucking writer!” you groaned aloud, to no one in particular. “How is anybody else supposed to be able to do this, if I can’t?”

Other people aren’t as emotionally constipated as you, the voice of your inner critic reminded you plainly, making you roll your eyes at yourself.

A rap at your door made you sit up straighter and turn around. A stewardess slid open the frosted glass slightly to give you a friendly smile. “Is everything alright, ma’am?”

Your brows furrowed at the sound of her accent. “Is that a Romanian accent?” you asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” she nodded.

“So you’re fluent in Romanian and English,” you concluded.

“And Portuguese, yes ma’am,” she agreed.

“Could you come in here for a moment and help me translate something?”

She seemed slightly confused at the request but stepped forward, sliding the door most of the way shut behind her. Leaning beside you on the desk, she picked up your handwritten letter and blinked her wide, brown eyes a few times. You felt slightly embarrassed knowing she was reading such intimate thoughts, but that was how it felt the first time someone read anything you wrote so you were pretty much used to it by now.

“I usually ask the passengers what brings them to Bucharest,” she mumbled after a moment. “This is the most interesting thing so far. Am I reading this correctly, that you intend to confess your love to someone you met—” she scanned the page quickly— “during a vacation in Hungary?”

“Yup,” you smiled awkwardly, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

“And he doesn’t speak English?” she assumed; you nodded. “And… you don’t speak Romanian?”

You nodded again, and she breathed in and out quickly, sitting beside you as she stared at the letter.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she explained.

“Sorry for sucking you into the entropic vortex that is my life,” you chuckled.

“I don’t mean to pry,” she sighed, setting the letter down, and you laughed a little internally at the idea that she was worried about prying when she just read the most personal piece of writing you’d ever put to the page, “but do you think this is… enough? I mean, to build a relationship on?”

You just gave her a shrug. “I have no idea. But, you know, I spent my whole life worrying about stuff like that. I dated my husband for seven years before we got married, because I wanted to be sure. I was initially interested in him because he was successful and ambitious, and it made me feel like this was a really secure relationship that I could rely on. I double majored in English and Computer Science because I wanted a more stable career to fall back on in case being a writer didn’t work out, and even though it did, I’ve spent most of my career publishing what I thought people wanted to read instead of what I wanted to write, so I’d have a better shot at a good paycheck. I grew up thinking the best thing I could ever have was security. And now I’m divorced, watching my royalties shrink every month, more insecure in every way than I’ve ever been, and I’m realizing that the choices I made didn’t give me what I wanted. I gave up so much in the name of safety, and I let the one good thing I’d ever found go, so I could go back to being the same person I always was. I’m ready to settle again, if this doesn’t work… I’m ready to accept that this is just the way life goes, and be thankful that I got a taste of the kind of stuff I thought only existed in the sort of books I’d read but never write.”

She swallowed as she looked at you, and you felt your eyes water as you stared out the window towards the dimming scenery one more time, smiling at the sight of a distant village, a church with a steeple, vineyards and farms. Someone’s whole life is in that little town, you imagined, and they’re just watching your train go by like they see every other day.

“Sebastian gave me more security than I’d ever had before, even though the whole thing was such a ridiculous little whirlwind, and nothing like I ever imagined my life could be. But he made me want to be honest and raw and write sappy letters like the one you just read. He doesn’t have any money, at least as far as I know, and I haven’t known him for seven years, and on paper it makes no sense… but you would understand if you knew him. If you felt that joy that he radiates, if you saw him live his simple little life like it’s the best thing in the world. You would understand if you knew how much I needed this. You would understand if you had been just as miserable being who I’ve been for so long, and finally had a chance to be somebody you think you were maybe meant to be the whole time. So, if I never see him again, I hope I just get to thank him.”

You waited for her to say something, but furrowed your brow at the long moment of silence, looking back from the window finally and finding her staring at you with a tear running down her cheek. When you met her gaze, she quickly wiped it away with a sniffle and looked down at your desk again. “Let’s get to translating, shall we?” she announced with a half-smile.

You noticed the way the other passengers looked at you as everyone was in line to deboard from the train car; you stuck out like a sore thumb, since everybody else was carrying heavy luggage and all you had was a backpack.

In your defense, you really had no idea how to pack for a trip where you knew neither the duration nor the true final destination. So, it was mainly filled with your essentials, a few clothes for any kind of weather, and enough leu to buy anything else you needed along the way.

The stewardess was waving goodbye to everyone as they shuffled out into the train station, occasionally stopping to shake a hand or give directions to nearby destinations. When you were just about to pass by, though, she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Good luck,” she whispered, holding you just a moment too long before pulling back and giving you an encouraging look. “If he doesn’t take you back, feel free to blame my translation… because if he knows what’s in your heart, I know he’ll say yes.”

“Yeah, that’s the hard part isn’t it?” you laughed weakly. “Thank you for your help. I guess if I come back alone for the return trip tonight, you’ll know how bad it went.”

“Then I hope I don’t see you again,” she winked.

It being a major train station and all, cabs were waiting around every corner so it was pretty easy to grab one and give them the address you already had written down for this exact purpose.

“This is pretty far,” the driver explained, “on the edge of town. Not a tourist spot.”

“Good, because I’m not a tourist,” you nodded, already only giving him half your attention as you pulled out the translated speech to practice.

“And you can afford this?” he pressed. You sighed and dug through your bag, pulling out a haphazard stack of bills and handing them through the plastic partition.

“Is this enough?” you asked, and he didn’t answer, just taking the money and starting the car as you smiled and leaned back in your seat.

As much as you had tried to convince yourself to not get your hopes up, the butterflies in your stomach felt more like whole birds at this point, demanding to break free as you practiced the words hand-written on the page over and over again, committing it all to memory.

“What are you reading?” the cab driver asked after several minutes.

“Oh, nothing,” you mumbled, “sorry if I’m bothering you, you can turn on the radio.”

“No, it’s not bothering me, but what you are saying… it’s very odd. It sounds like something from a play, or movie,” he explained.

“Um, it’s not,” you replied, a little embarrassed. “But does it sound like it’s from a good movie? Like, if you heard a character say this to another character, would you think they should get together?”

“I… don’t know,” he answered, sounding confused. “I mean, it depends on what happened, right? How they met, how well they get along…”

So, you told him the whole story, as succinctly as possible (which is not very succinct at all). By the end, he was actually giving commentary as you spoke.

“Why the hell did you leave?” he interjected, clearly irritated with you. “You loved him!”

“Yeah, well, sometimes love isn’t enough! I loved my husband too, and look how that turned out,” you defended.

“But that’s different. That was love for all the wrong reasons.”

“I promise, it felt very real at the time,” you shrugged.

“And now?” he countered. “You realize that this man— Sebastian, right?— is real.”

“I hope I’m right this time,” you offered. “But even if I am, he may not agree.”

The driver scoffed, taking a hand off the wheel to wave dismissively. “If he’s anything like you said, then he will still be completely in love with you. After all, you still feel the same way after all this time apart, don’t you?”

“If anything, I love him more every day,” you admitted, your heart beating quickly just to say it aloud.

“You know, when I met my wife, she was engaged to another man. He was rich, good-looking, and he wasn’t even a bad guy unlike this husband you describe. He was a good man, but he wasn’t right for her. They were… content together, but she wasn’t truly happy. Every night I would come to her window and beg her to marry me, because I knew that she knew we were meant for each other, but she was scared because her family wouldn’t approve and she would be a poor man’s wife.”

“How did you convince her to marry you instead?” you asked eagerly, sucked into the story already.

“I didn’t. On the day of the wedding, some people told me to go and break it up but I didn’t. I thought it would be wrong, to try to ruin her happiness and take it for myself by making a scene at the wedding. I realized she was her own woman and if she wanted to choose him, I had to let her. I had locked myself in my house, not wanting to see anyone that day, and she appeared at my door. I didn’t need to convince her because she knew the truth in her heart, and called off the wedding herself.”

“Wow,” you smiled.

“She was still in her dress!” he recalled with a hearty laugh. “She looked like an angel. We were married just a few days later. And next month will be thirty years,” he added as he lifted his left hand to show the golden band on his finger.

“Thirty years, that’s… a long time,” you sighed.

“It wasn’t always easy,” he admitted. “But it was always worth it.”

Just as you wondered what you could possibly say to that, you felt the car slow down to a stop.

“This is the address you gave me, this is it,” he explained, pointing out his passenger-side window. You leaned up against the glass and gasped in dawning fear as you saw the storefront dark and empty inside.

“No, nonono,” you whispered rapidly to yourself as you swung open the door and hopped out, pressing your face against the glass to try to get a look inside and finding what was undeniably a closed carpentry business. There was a note on the door, taped on the inside of the glass, and you knew enough Romanian to know it said something about a vacation and three months.

“Shit!” you yelped, holding your face in your hands, wondering if your journey had come to an end before it really began.

“Are you alright?” the driver asked, rolling down his window to speak to you.

“This was my only lead, I don’t have his real address,” you explained. “He used to work here, I thought maybe someone would know him…”

He sighed, giving you a sympathetic look. “Get back in, we can search nearby. You came too far to give in yet.”

But getting back in the car felt like giving in, too, which you realized as you looked back at the note taped to the carpenter's door. This was the closest you'd gotten, and it felt wasteful to leave with nothing.

Just as you were ready to hop in the passenger seat and start searching aimlessly through suburban Bucharest, or maybe look around for a Romanian yellow pages, you heard a noise from behind you, across the street; a laugh. His laugh. But it couldn’t be because it was too good to be true… and yet you found yourself whipping your head around and hoping beyond all reason that it was Sebastian.

Across the street was a restaurant, with a large patio where patrons were dining and chatting as they sat at wrought iron tables, and your eyes searched the crowd for any signs of him.

And then your gaze landed on a head of thick brunette hair, red and gold highlights so obvious now when the sunlight hit it this way. Broad shoulders wrapped in a white button-up shirt. He was facing away from you but he was looking to the side so you could see his face; he was smiling, laughing at something someone had said. And it was his smile that you recognized; it was like everything else faded away, and in that moment you thought maybe you could almost be happy with just this, just seeing him be happy even if it had nothing to do with you.

“Sebastian,” you called out to him, but he didn’t react. “Sebastian!”

His whole body turned, his eyes met yours, and you couldn't help but let the tears well in your eyes as you ran across the road to him.

He looked, understandably, stunned, and you realized he was actually waiting on a table at the moment; he said something to them, apparently excusing himself, and stepped closer to you.

But he stopped walking, not coming any closer, not exactly dragging you into his arms like you might've preferred, but with a breath to try to soothe your racing mind, you summoned your memories of the practiced letter and began. *

“Când am venit în Ungaria…” you started slowly, doing your best to remember the words and hoping your pronunciation wasn’t too awful, “nu căutam dragoste. Căutam spațiu, claritate și poate o idee de carte de un milion de dolari. În schimb, am găsit tot ce am căutat toată viața mea…”

You did your best to bite back tears, especially when his expression was nearly unreadable and you had no idea how well this was going.

“Ești tu, Sebastian, bineînțeles că ești tu,” you sighed, laughing slightly. “Ai fost acolo pentru mine când nici nu știam ce vreau de la nimeni. Ai fost prietenul meu fără să spui vreodată un cuvânt - cel puțin nu un cuvânt pe care l-am înțeles. M-ai iubit și nu știam ce să fac cu asta, pentru că uitasem cu mult timp în urmă cum se simțea să fii iubit. Și ce simțeai să iubești cu adevărat pe cineva. Dar te iubesc. Și am fost prost să te las să pleci, atât de neconceput de prost. Vreau să fim noi, Sebastian. Lasă-mă să te iubesc, mai dă-mi o șansă și îți promit că nu te voi mai lăsa să pleci niciodată.

The first thing he said was your name, and just the way he said it made you fall in love with him all over again.

“I… I dream that you would come back,” he shakily replied. “But now I cannot believe. You are my dream.”

Tears were openly flowing at this point and you wanted to run into his arms, but you tried to stay calm and hear him out. He stepped closer, almost hesitant, like you would run away if he got too close too fast.

“I love you, very much that I am sure I am insane person,” he explained with a grin, and you giggled. “We will live anywhere, do anything you would like— be my wife.”

You gasped as he pulled you into him, gripping your arms tightly as his desperation became apparent.

“Marry me?” he asked softly.

“Da,” you nodded, “yes, of course, anything—”

He kissed you suddenly, but gently, and it said more than any words in any language could.

It was a small wedding, in the Hungarian countryside by the lake. You could remember diving into that lake for lost pages of your manuscript; you could remember looking out over the water and dreaming of this moment you were living right now, thinking it was impossible.

He didn’t have much family, but they welcomed you with open arms.

Your family, well, they were too busy with planning another wedding, for your ex-husband and your ex-sister. A few of them sent cards but the rest were suspiciously quiet. You honestly didn’t even notice… you had a new family to attend to, anyhow. And it wasn’t like you didn’t have any guests, since you were able to track down and invite a stewardess named Maria, and a cab driver named Andrei and his wife, Paola.

Sebastian’s cousins weaved flowers into your hair and his grandmother tailored her dress to fit you like a glove. A picture of his parents was hung nearby in tribute; he told you they would’ve wanted to see him get married but that he felt, in some way, they were able to even if they had passed away quite some time ago.

You realized you’d never seen him in anything even mildly formal before; in fact, the suit he wore was rather casual, all things considered, but he looked so painfully cute in it. Sometimes you thought he actually looked a bit out of place wearing a shirt, though, especially one that was buttoned up all the way.

Luckily, the shirt was halfway unbuttoned about ten minutes into the reception.

Mrs. Alberti cooked a massive dinner for everyone, and even grew the flowers that you carried down the cobblestone aisle.

And wow, can Romanians drink. You had to be careful not to try to keep up with them, because if you had you would’ve been blacked out halfway into the night and the last thing you wanted was to forget even a moment of this.

As the night started to wind down to a close, you and your new husband retired to the lakehouse, running up the stairs and finding them as creaky as always.

He wrapped his arms around you in the hall and kissed you eagerly as you stumbled back into the bedroom, tripping over the doorway and falling onto the bed together.

It felt so right to have his weight on top of you, to feel his smile against your lips, to wrap your arms around his neck.

“This room,” he mumbled into the kiss. “Do you remember first time?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “da, I remember, how could I forget?”

He grinned and moved his lips down to your neck. "I thought of you every day… I love you,” he whispered.

“Te iubesc,” you whispered back.

It was almost like the first time in so many ways: passionate, yet oddly hesitant as you rediscovered each other. It was comfortable, though… you couldn’t think of any other person you felt so comfortable with, somebody who finally got you out of your own head and who made you want to experience everything life had to offer.

You were sure you’d never gone so long without worrying about something in all your life.

“My wife,” he whispered against your skin. “This is all I had wanted… from seeing you in very beginning.”

“You’re all I ever wanted,” you sighed in return, “ești tot ce mi-am dorit vreodată, Sebastian.”

Life with Sebastian was beautifully simple. You spent most of the day writing, usually, while he built furniture to sell and occasionally gardened with his spare time. You could always tell how busy you’d been with a new novel lately by how perfectly groomed the hydrangea bushes were.

You’d told him once that you’d come to Hungary looking for a million-dollar book idea. A Killer in Disguise performed alright, but not anywhere near that. The Language of Love, on the other hand, was definitely a million-dollar idea… about eleven times over. Sebastian didn’t seem to worry too much about how much money you made, though; he was just proud to say that he was the inspiration for your hit novel. You secretly suspected that he was more proud of your work reaching enough international notoriety to be translated into Romanian.

His English still needed some work, but you found it endearing. He was determined to get better and spent at least a half-hour each day practicing, but you hoped he wouldn’t get too perfect because you would miss the silly little mistakes he made. At least you could be sure he’d keep the accent forever… damn, that accent; and he knew exactly what it did to you, too.

In fact, you were crossing through the hall in your robe one evening when your husband’s voice stopped you.

“Darling wife,” you heard Sebastian call from the bedroom in a playful sing-song.

“What is it, Seba?” you asked with a smirk.

“Come in here, please…”

You opened the bedroom door to find most of the room covered in rose petals: most of all the bed, which was surrounded by candles, and topped with a shirtless (as per usual) Sebastian, laid on his side seductively with a long-stemmed rose (one you recognized from his very own garden) between his teeth.

“What are you doing?” you laughed. “Is this some sort of special occasion I’ve forgotten?”

You were already searching your mind for what it could be, but your two-year anniversary had passed a few months ago already and since it was spring it couldn’t be the anniversary of when you first met since that was late in the summer.

“Iss not quite a thpecial occathion yeth,” he answered before taking the rose from his mouth so he actually made sense. “I was considering it could be a special occasion, when we’re done…”

You smirked and climbed over the candles and into bed with him, taking the opportunity to run your hands over his chest. “And what occasion would that be?”

“A year from now, it could be the anniversary of when our child was conceived,” he answered.

Your breath caught in your throat, your voice reduced to a whisper of surprise. “Seba—”

“If you’re not ready, I will be understand,” he instantly added, stern yet soft. “Only if you want this, I just thought that maybe—”

You silenced him with a kiss, lacing your fingers into his hair and letting him roll you onto your back. He pulled back just enough to let you answer, but your noses were still bumping into each other and you smiled.

“I’m ready, Sebastian. More than ready,” you whispered.

He grinned and kissed you again, deeper and slower as he held your face with one hand and gripped your waist with the other. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you were interrupted with one pressing thought.

“Can I ask you something?”

He popped up and looked down at you with a smile. “Sure!”

“Why are you wearing ratty old jeans?” you laughed.

“Hey, these worked on you the first time,” he defended.

You gasped. “You don’t mean those are the jeans—”

“Yes,” he nodded, “the jeans that I had been wearing when I was working on Mrs. Alberti’s cottage. And, truly, when I was finding an excuse to work outside your window.”

“Wait,” you sat up, “did you actually work outside my window on purpose?”

He laughed, hanging his head quickly before looking back at you again with a sparkle in his eye. “You are very smart, my love, except for those times when you are— how do you say? Oblivious.”

You chuckled, unfortunately very aware that he was right.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why I was building a window frame, nearly a dozen metres away from the window it was for?”

You thought for a moment before dropping your face into your hands and laughing. “No, I didn’t notice that. I was too busy giving you a thorough eye-fuck,” you recalled.

“Yes, because I was not wearing a shirt and this distracted you,” he pondered, sounding suddenly like a scientist explaining a theorem or something. “See, that’s the beauty of wearing the jeans and no shirt. The body distracts you while the jeans seduce you.”

“How about you take the jeans off and put that body on me, capisce?” you pleaded; not that you didn’t love his humor or anything, but maybe his funny bone wasn’t exactly the bone you were interested in at the moment.

He grinned devilishly and suddenly pulled your legs apart, settling his body between them as he kissed your neck again, nipping at your jawline and ear. “You’re being impatient, dragă,” he purred. “You want to have my baby that badly?”

You whined involuntarily, arching your back as his hands roamed your body and finally began to untie your robe and push the silk out of the way. “Yes, Sebastian, please—”

“Let’s just say, theoretically, I wanted to have more than one? Would you have another of my children?” he asked softly as he reached up and palmed at your breasts, teasing your nipples which were already much too hard and sensitive for how little he’d touched you. The rough denim rubbing against the inside of your thighs was oddly arousing— maybe it was the sensation itself, or maybe it was just that this was almost like the first thing you imagined when you saw Sebastian all those years ago.

“Yes,” you moaned out your answer, “yes, you know I’d do anything for you.”

“What if I wanted a big family?” he pressed. “Really big? Like, Catholic big?”

“We can have our own fuckin’ Brady Bunch, Seb, I just need you right now,” you begged, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a hot and desperate kiss.

He decided to wait until afterwards to ask what a ‘Brady Bunch’ was. You decided to wait until afterwards to ask when he’d learned how to use the word ‘theoretically’.

sfarsit; the end

[monochromatic-ahhhh]

Respect For Those Who Sleep, Please

I did a thing UAOAYWISH bc apparently spontaneous writing is better than knowing why venus is the hottest planet. Based on this post by @random-bi-writer, @/sonofrose's response to my tags fueled it too (*hides*)

Marcy loved to dream. She had. She dreamt.

She dreamt of celebrating someone's birthday back on Earth.

She dreamt of throwing the box away, far, far away where it couldn't find anyone and no one can find it.

She dreamt of being with Anne and Sasha who definitely doesn't hate her and joins her in whatever mishap they'll do next that absolutely does not involve traveling to other worlds.

She tried to dream here. Perhaps she could dream her way out.

...

"I am 'respectfully' informing you that mint chocolate ice cream is a crucial inclusion for increasing this body's metabolism."

If it weren't for those noisy, meddling roommates.

"I doubt pursuing a cold mixture right after awakening is conventional," a second voice had said.

"Oh, but a mere bread with frosting is?"

"How pathetic of you to not even know what the delectable's name is."

"I was not the one who substituted 'cold mixture' for ice cream."

"You are aware that you both are arguing over the host's preference, correct?" a third voice joined in.

"It is not an argument. I was simply stating facts, facts which of course are naturally ignored by-"

"They are not facts."

"They are."

"Are not."

"Guys, can you keep it down over there?" Marcy finally intervened.

"Technically, we cannot since we are up here in your head—"

"What is the silence for?"

"I'm trying to sleep," Marcy said. They did not understand the concept of sleeping, she concluded.

"Oh dear. Excuse us, host." How polite of a fourth voice that did not have anything to do with the noise. (Of course, no one here is humble enough to apologize.)

More voices joined in.

"We are having ice cream."

"The bread would be more advantageous, yes?"

"Shall we play some rubik's, then?"

"We could do video games."

"We do not have video games here, you fool."

"That is why we will make it ourselves, you idiot."

"Rubik's cube."

"Is this really something worth the attention? This is not connected to our plans at all."

"This is not food."

"You know, the rubik's cube will improve our—"

"Oh! I got it."

Everyone listened attentively, including Marcy, who can hear the argument all the way from her closed mindscape.

....

"Let us ask the host what she prefers—" "Are you ill?" "A moron." "The food?" "Greetings host, which way would you rather have your planet invaded?" "The food, not the invasion." "ThE foOD, nOt thE inVaSiOn."

Amidst the roaring sounds of altercation, Marcy tried to dream it was quiet. It did not work.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"Ready?"

You don't remember.

"After a thousand years, I've thought of nothing else."

Did you sleep? You don't remember.

"Excuse me, out of the way. This is my calling," you heard a voice say in your mind.

Somehow, you feel refreshed. New...Quite possibly improved.

"Why son..."

It's odd, though.

"I think I'm almost proud of you."

You don't feel you.

"Unfair, how come he can send out a personalized message?"

"I express the same complaints."

"I have something ~very important~ to say, too!"

"What is this, a dedication booth?"

More voices had spoken. You care not for their purpose. (You should. You are their instrument after all.)

You wanted to sleep. (Do you need to?)

"Say it in here."

"Then no one will hear it!"

"We do not exist apparently."

"It is helpful enlightenment for the invasion, yes?"

"Well.."

"Yes..?"

You only wanted to dream, but your roommates were making this a nightmare.

"Do you think we can solve a rubik's cube in ten seconds?"

"Two seconds. Such simple task can be done with little to no complications."

"What...what is this even for—"

"Call Andrias."

A very noisy nightmare.

———————————————

GET IT? NOISE AS IN STATIC? LIKE WHEN YOU CAN'T SEE ANYTHING ON TELEVISION BC THERE'S NO SIGNAL Ǫ̷͕̗͈́ͅR̴̥͓̖̩̠̔͛̇̿̄̏͛̅͠ ̷̢̡̡̛͉̳͈͖̳̬̥̯̣̅͛̚͠͝M̵̢̮̬̠̣͈̤̌Ȩ̸̡͔̲̞̲̘̓̀̄͛͂̊͂̾̏̀̅̕̕͝͝M̶͈̟͔͉̞̮͙͉̭̱̲̺̬̮̘͊͋̾͂̊̎O̸͈͐́̀͋̕R̵̨͉̲̘̩͕̪̔̓̿̀Y̶̡̞͖̙̹͇̤͒̄̀͋̌̋͜ ̶̰̝̞͔̖̹͓͍͈̳̤͎̽̅̓͌̿̚ͅY̴̧̨̧̡̛͖͇͔̥͉̖͓͖͍̦̒̅͑͝͝Ǫ̵̛̯̬̮̳͕̞͙̝͚̥̣͂͊͗̄͛̏̌̔͗̄̌̎̿U̷̘̤̜̬̟̤͈̿́̈́͗̽̀͆͂̈̎̎̋̕ ̶̡̛̼͑́̿͗̀̇̀̄̒͗̾̽͘͘C̸̢̢͚͍͍̠̭̳͈̤̳̓̏̌́̿͋̾̂̏͌͜͝͝ͅA̴̯̎̎̇̏̅̋̇̓̓͒̈́͛̚N̸̛̜̗̣̩͔̩̭̰̥͖͜ͅ ̶̧̡͇͎̣͎̙̤͎̳̫̰̦͔͉̂̂̽̃̓̓̏̓̎̐̔̇Ŗ̵̯̝͕͈̜̦̳͙̫̼̰͊̑͛̅̕E̷̛̱̭̰̿̒͂̈́̅͆̐̂̀̆̕͘͝C̵̭̗͖̹̻̫̞̥͖͕͊̇A̵̛̞̜͇̠͖͎͍̱̤̮͎̖̋̀̾͗͗̈́͊̈́̉̂̍̔̋͜Ļ̶̰̝͙̲̮̪͓͍̝̞̪͊̀̄̊̅̂̽̍̓̊L̸̢̡̰̖̯͍͓̣̱̤͈̒͐͒͝

[crystaljins]

Equinox

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 7.2K

Synopsis: When it first was announced that the King of Spring was to marry the Queen of Winter, shock and outrage poured across the nation. Now, six months later, Jimin can’t help but feel maybe the Queen of Winter isn’t as evil as she seems.

King of spring!Jimin x Queen of Winter!reader

Notes: This is NOT the huge fic I’m working on LOL. It’s a drabble that turned into a BIG drabble, in dedication to my good friend, who wanted to see a fic where both main characters are royalty.

Well, here we are.

Warnings: Not really any? Pining, maybe, mentions of death and tragedy, and maybe one big kiss?

Jimin has spent an entire three months of the year in the Central Palace every year since his coronation as the King of Spring. Yet, despite his familiarity with the luxurious building, this year it feels particularly unbearable.

It isn’t the palace itself that is unbearable. After all, the Central Palace fulfils any need he could have for luxury and then some, with expansive grounds and an imposing throne room and a ball room that many have only dreamed of seeing. It almost reaches the point where he’s sick of it sometimes- the gold rimmed pillars and the intricate carvings of the stairwell railings and the other numerous unnecessary and excessively decadent detailing. 

It’s just... He much prefers his small cottage and the lovely little orchard he looks after. Sometimes children from the local village will sneak in and steal fruit but he merely smiles privately to himself when he hears the peals of laughter filter through the open windows of his home. And ever since he received a letter a week ago informing him that you had made his cottage your current abode, he has been inexplicably eager to return home.

The end of his current stay (which has actually been a six month stay this time around instead of the usual three) draws near, with Spring just on the precipice of Summer. As the reigning King of Spring, it is his duty to oversee the entire kingdom during the season where his powers are strongest, to manage the season and ensure his people prosper, and then prepare the way for the Queen of Summer to take his place for the next three months. 

Today is one of the days where his duty feels particularly tedious- he has never particularly minded Haeun and her chatty nature, but today she just seems absolutely asinine. Perhaps it is the fact that she seems uninterested in discussing anything aside from the current status of the Queen of Winter when there are so many more important things to discuss, like the crop maturation this year and how much sunlight would best benefit their ripening, or even the Equinox Ball tonight which marks the official changeover between his season and her’s. Instead, the only words that have been coming out of her mouth are with regards to you, and him, and your fairly recent wedding.

When he had been wedded to you on the Winter Solstice, many had been shocked, but none more so than the Queen of Summer. After all, for the last few hundred years, the one who bears the crown of Summer had always been betrothed to the ruler of Spring. It was only natural, as Spring prepares the way for Summer, and such a pairing enhances the powers of both parties. The kingdom had faced many centuries of prosperity thanks to what was essentially a match forged in the heavens. No doubt in Haeun’s mind, her rightful place was as his bride. And Jimin can’t blame her- for many years, he had thought the same thing. He had assumed his life would follow a similar path to those of his predecessors and that he would inevitably end up marrying Summer. And yet, here he is, married to the evasive, mysterious, and apparently cruel Queen of Winter.

It had been the Elders to make the call to arrange such a shocking match up. To have the Queen of Winter marry the King of Spring was unheard of- ridiculous, even. But you were unlike the rulers that had gone before you- your powers were endless, unstoppable, and the Winters brought by you were unforgiving and cold, and many lost their lives. Something had to be done- your powers had to be balanced since you couldn’t seem to reign them in. And since it has always been Spring to conquer the cold aftereffects of Winter, to warm the earth and coax life back into places where frost had chased it away, it fell to Jimin to take the place as your husband and to prevent disaster striking the Kingdom. A duty which he had taken up with a resigned sense of obligation. 

At least at first.

“So are the rumours all true about her?” Haeun enquires. Her question seems innocent enough. For whatever reason, you had always remained frustrating allusive to the others. Locked away in your wintry fortress (or at least, everyone assumes that’s where you must be despite the fact that no one has ever confirmed the presence of a fortress within your domain), everyone reports that you must be ruthless and cold-hearted. Perhaps even evil- after all, when you are seated upon the throne, the harshest and most brutal Winters ever seen in history terrorise the lands. 

But the question has Jimin on edge, for he has found that you do not fit nicely into the box of icy and cruel that he had thought you would. 

“I would say those rumours do not hold an ounce of truth to them.” Jimin offers mildly, pausing from where he strolls along Haeun to observe a rose bloom that has begun to wilt. Normally, the palace gardens are impeccable, and the gardens thrive during Jimin’s reign, but things always seem to get a bit messy at the transition between seasons. This particular bloom must be the victim of his and Haeun’s powers clashing as she prepared to take the throne for her season. He gently runs his fingers over the drooping petals and instantly the rose brightens, petals curling upwards as it finds new life in response to his presence. It reminds him of the first time you had borne witness to the effect of his powers and the quiet awe on your face. Not for the first time since Spring began, he feels a strange ache in his chest at the thought of you. You’re at his cottage right now, surely. What kind of expression are you wearing as you gaze upon his carefully kept orchard? 

“Really? She’s always so haughty at the Equinox ball that I was sure she thought she was better than us. Just because her powers are stronger- does she not know that people die because of her?” Haeun sniffs, clearly displeased by the way Jimin has not joined in her obvious attempts to complain about you. 

“I think she is aware of it.” Is all Jimin offers to Haeun, but internally he recalls the way you lock yourself in your quarters for the night whenever word reaches you that another innocent has died at the cold hands of Winter, and the way you spend most of your free time pouring over books and texts trying to learn how you might control your powers and soften your Winters. Haeun makes an annoyed scoff and folds her arms across her chest.

“Being aware of it isn’t enough, Jimin.” She says, and Jimin does not miss the way she uses his name when it is customary to call him by his season. “She needs to control it. We all do! It is the whole reason we take the throne. What use is she, if she cannot manage her own season? If I had were Winter, I would-“

“Haeun.” Jimin says firmly, and her eyes widen because even though she often takes liberties and calls him by his name, he has always been respectful and referred to her as Summer when it comes to the transition meetings between seasons. “It is not my place to discuss the personal life of Winter. And as her husband, I respectfully ask that you do not speak so liberally about my wife again. Unless you have anything further to discuss about the Equinox Ball tonight or about the occurrences during my season, I’ll be taking my leave now.” 

He bows deeply, demonstrating the respect her position demands, before turning on his heel. 

“Doesn’t it bother you?” She calls out. Jimin pauses, glancing over his shoulder. The sun peeking through the pillars of the pathway catches Haeun’s hair and highlights the softness of her features. Across the land, she is known as the sunlit beauty- warm and gentle and pretty, like the Summer season she reigns over. When he was young and still a prince and everyone had thought she was his future wife, he had even harboured a crush on her.  “That you’re stuck with her? All she brings is coldness and death. You were forced into it- I know you were! Doesn’t it hurt to be wedded to her?”

The unspoken sentiment that Haeun does not voice is “when you could have been with me”. Looking at her now, perhaps her sudden interest in you has more to do with Jimin than any real sentiment towards your actions. 

And perhaps, Haeun’s words are closer to the truth then he wants them to be. Initially, it had bothered him. Why had the Elders had forced him to marry you? Was there not an easier way to subdue your immense powers? Why could you not just... control them? Even Autumn, free-spirited and lazy as he was, kept his season well-managed. And why did it fall to Jimin to fix something that was your own fault? Haeun was a much better match for him in terms of strengthening his powers, and he absolutely loathed the season of Winter- marrying the ruler of his least favourite season is certainly not something he had ever imagined doing. 

He had spent the first three months of his marriage staying with you in the Central Palace fuelled by that sentiment and at first you had made yourself very scarce. It had suited Jimin just fine- after all, he did not bear any particular affection towards you- perhaps he even detested you a little, and if the rumours were to be believed, he’d be better off interacting with you as little as possible. 

And then things had changed, for whatever reason. He can’t be sure what prompted you to do it, but one morning you had been sitting across from him in the dining quarters, enjoying your breakfast in silence as had become customary for the two of you, when you had decided to speak. 

“Winter isn’t as bad as you think.” You had said softly, taking a long sip of your drink, before fixing Jimin with a level gaze. He had glanced up in surprise- at that stage he could probably count on one hand the number of times you had spoken in his presence.

“I never-“ Jimin had begun, ready to defend himself but you had cut him off. 

“You didn’t have to.” You had said, though your tone had not been unkind. You actually have a very sweet voice, one that contrasts with your icy reputation. “But, today I have nothing scheduled, and I wouldn’t mind showing you a few things. It must be better than wondering aimlessly around the palace.” 

Against his better judgement, perhaps, Jimin had accepted. Whatever his feelings were towards you, he was sick of wondering aimlessly. He missed his little cottage and he was beginning to grow sick of the giant, draft-y Central Palace. Any change to the lethargic rhythm of his days, even if it meant spending the day with you, was a welcome one.

And you were right. Wintertime is more than coldness and death. As the ruler of Spring, he had always thought of it as such- after all, it has always been his duty to remedy the devastation left behind by Winter. But Winter is also a time of festivities- of huddling in the warmth of a fire along side your family. Its catching snowflakes on your tongue and children laughing as they skate over frozen lakes and form little ice sculptures from snow. He hadn’t known it until he spent those three months with you. And after that first day where you had taken him out to a frozen lake close to the palace and shown him how to ice skate, spending time with you had become more of a regular occurrence. 

Which brings him to today.

“I’m not stuck with her.” Is what Jimin finally says to Haeun, who deflates, just slightly. He does not explain any further- he’s not sure he can. He certainly doesn’t feel the burden of obligation that had weighted his every step when he first married you. He perhaps even misses you, after three months of separation. It’s all a little scary and confusing but all he knows for sure is that being married to you is no longer the offensive chore he initially viewed it as. 

This time when Jimin turns away, she does not stop him. He is relieved- he is sick of hearing Haeun speak so disrespectfully about you. He’s sick of the way servants whisper in the halls when you walk past. He’s sick of the way travellers tell stories of evil Winter, who takes lives for fun and revels in the cruelty of her blizzards. He doesn’t know why, given that it has only been six months since he married you, and three whole months since he even last saw you in person, but he feels a strange protectiveness towards you. Just the thought of those whispers when he knows of you, curled up beneath the security of a warm blanket on the hearth, with the fire’s glow highlighting your features, still studying away even after a full days’ worth of royal duties so that you can learn to control your powers makes his heart ache. He wishes, just once, that he had been brave enough to curl up beside you and to listen to the steady sound of your breathing, the rhythmic turn of a page, the crackle of the fire’s warmth. Or brave enough to hush the terrible whispers. Anything to wipe that expression you get on your face when you know people are thinking unpleasant things about you. That guarded, reserved expression that he knows is concealing a broken heart.

“My Lord!” Jimin hears a voice call, and he almost curses. He wants nothing more than to return to his quarters and begin packing up. It has now been six months since he has been in his actual home, and when he received that letter from you a week ago informing him that you had taken up residence in his home, he had only been more eager to return. He wants to know what his home looks like with you in it. He wants to know what you look like in the brightness of Summer, away from the grief and cold of Winter. He wants to see you again to the point it is almost alarming. “My Lord!” The voice calls again, and one of the servants skids to a stop before Jimin. It is Namjoon. Jimin recalls his name because Namjoon is one of the few servants you are rather fond of. 

“Hello, Namjoon.” Jimin greets warmly, and Namjoon looks surprised and delighted at the sound of his name. “How can I be of service?”

Namjoon is slightly out of breath, and he reaches for the pocket of his trousers, fishing around until he produce a single crumpled piece of paper. 

“It is a letter from Winter.” Namjoon says. “She asked me to relay to you that she will not be attending the Equinox Ball and that she shall see you tomorrow at the your domain.” 

Jimin’s eyes widen and he quickly snatches the paper from Namjoon’s hand. He does not mean to be quite so aggressive with his movements, but he is shaken at the way you have abruptly cancelled. Without even realising it, he had hyped himself up at the thought of seeing you again after a long three months. 

It’s a lengthy apology, neatly written and well-articulated. It basically gives an entire, eloquent list of flimsy excuses as to why you should not attend. 

But Jimin sees straight through it. Perhaps in the past, he would have let it be. Let you sit at home and then awkwardly greet you in his cottage the next morning. But now that he knows the way your expression shutters when people mutter rude things under their breath about you, now that he knows the way you lie awake at night, haunted by grief and guilt, he knows that you are running away. After all, the whispers had only gotten worse after your marriage- the Evil Queen of Winter shackling the charming and kind King of Spring is certainly quite the tale to set tongues wagging. 

And while Jimin hates the thought of you spending an evening in discomfort when there are about a thousand better ways for you to spend your time, he hates the thought of people thinking of his marriage to you as a tragic event even more. He wants to stroll into the ballroom with your hand in his, to proudly show off that he is not some tragic heroine trapped in a loveless marriage to an evil overlord. He wants people to see you, your kindness and your sweetness. He wants people to realise that Winter can be even warmer than Summer sometimes, in the right circumstances. 

“Is she currently in my domain?” Jimin asks softly, but he knows from the floral, woodsy scent of the paper that it was written in his home. Namjoon hesitates before offering an awkward nod. 

“I believe so.” He admits. “The messenger who brought the letter was one of the keepers of your orchard.” 

Jimin nods, tonguing thoughtfully at the inside of his cheek. A well-cared for horse would allow him to reach his home within a couple of hours. He keeps his own horses at the cottage who would be able to take the two of you back in time for nightfall. He is to give a speech at the Ball and that will be his last official duty until next year. And for whatever reason, he does not want to give the speech if you are not there, amongst the crowd. It’s still possible if he leaves now.

“Ready a horse for me, Namjoon,” Jimin finally says, shoving the letter into the pocket of his trousers. He’ll have to change into gear more appropriate for a long ride. 

“But, my liege, the ball-“ Namjoon protests. 

“I’ll be there.” Jimin reassures him, though his expression is grim. “And so will my wife.”

Namjoon doesn’t need to be told twice.

++

Jimin has really, truly missed his home. Nothing quite compares to it. When they had first identified him as heir to the throne of Spring, the Elders had initially planned for him to stay in the castle inhabited by his predecessors. After all, since he did in theory bear their spirit, the castle should technically be to his tastes. 

But he guess he differs to his previous incarnations, since he only lasted a few weeks before he moved into the cottage his parents owned close to the castle. It’s not unusual for tastes to change like that with different incarnations of Spring- though he feels that he can recall their previous lifetimes if he thinks very hard about it, they are different people and incarnations. The only traits he shares with those who had gone before is his power over the season of Spring.

Perhaps that is why, despite the fact that previous Springs have deeply loved Summer, he cannot stop thinking about Winter. Especially as the edge of the orchard draws into view. 

Oddly, you aren’t in the cottage when he enters. There’s evidence that you’ve been staying there- some of your books are scattered over his work desk and the gardening implements around the back of the cottage are shifted around as if someone has been sorting through them. But it does not take long to locate you deep in the orchard, crouched beneath the orange tree. You don’t seem to have registered his presence yet given that you continue to mutter to yourself as you stab aggressively at the soil with a tiny hand shovel he recognises from the implements he keeps around the back of his cottage.  

He’s about to confront you, but the sight of you, crouched down and wearing oversized trousers and an ugly, soil covered shirt he recognises from the very back of his wardrobe, has him completely frozen. It’s hard to explain the emotion- a powerful, roaring wave crashing down on the peaceful shorelines of his heart. 

“(Y/N),” your name comes in a exhale of his breath, one that’s not entirely voluntary. It’s his mistake though, because you were absolutely not anticipating his presence, and you leap about a metre in the air in your shock. 

Stumbling back a few steps in a sort of awkward crab walk, revealing your handy work. A small hole you had been digging and a handful of withered, lifeless daffodils. 

“J-Jimin,” you stutter, and your accidental use of his name when you had previously only referred to him as Spring has his heart racing in his chest for reasons he doesn’t quite understand. “T-this isn’t what it looks like!” You cry. “I was just...”

It takes a moment, but Jimin manages to shake himself out of the trance long enough to realise that the withered and lifeless daffodils just so happen to be his favourite flowers from

his front garden. Immediately, whatever mysterious emotion that had overcome him prior is replaced by abject horror. 

“My daffodils!” He cries, stricken with grief. And they had been so young, as well! Such lovely, bright blooms, withered and dried up! Abruptly, you scramble to your feet and dust the soil from your hands and knees, scrambling towards him. 

“I was just trying to water them!” You cry, hands outstretched in an attempt to calm him in his distress. “I don’t have any flowers in my domain since the ground is not very fertile and I was just trying to tend to them!”

“They’re dead!” Jimin points out. “How much did you water them?”

You pause, shrinking under his gaze, before holding up ten fingers. 

“Ten?” Jimin asks, and you nod. “Ten what?” 

You mumble something he doesn’t quite catch. He steps closer in an attempt to decipher your sheepish mumblings. 

“What?” Jimin asks, and you sigh before fixing him with a steady glare. 

“Ten buckets!” You cry. “I asked your gardener and she told me that these are fickle plants that require constant moisture!”

“So you watered them with ten buckets of water? You drowned my daffodils!” He cries. You deflate, just slightly, glancing forlornly at the fallen remains of his beloved babies. He’d so carefully tended to them as well! They were just reaching the point where he could lift the buds and replant them. There’s a nice sunny spot at the back of the orchard that they would have thrived in, and now... and now... 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” You finally offer, stepping forward to comfortingly pat at his shoulder. “They lived a good life, under your care,” you continue. “And once you finish off your duties at the Equinox Ball tonight I’m sure you can...” You trail away slowly, and the hand stroking his shoulder slows its pats. And then you gasp in horror when you register that Jimin is here, in his orchard, grieving over some dead daffodils instead of finalising preparations for the Equinox Ball. “Jimin!” You cry. “The Ball! How can you be here? You’re supposed to be preparing for the Ball.”

“Well,” Jimin snaps, perhaps a bit more grumpy than the situation really warranted, but you also killed his lovely daffodils. “I am supposed to be there, but my lovely wife decided she’d much rather kill my daffodils and hide the evidence instead of attend the Ball as is her duty!”

You flush, a shade that he can’t help notice is a rather endearing shade despite everything. Dimly, he recalls that overwhelming feeling he’d experienced when he first saw you earlier, but he pushes it down. There are more pressing matters to attend to- his daffodils can be given a proper burial later.

“Yes, well, as you read in my letter, I thought it would be far better for me to-“ you begin, clearing your throat awkwardly as you often do before giving a formal address. It only irks him further that you’re placating him as if he’s a random parliament member who needs coddling or a foreign emissary you have to charm. He’s your husband and he’s sick of people- you included- pretending otherwise. 

“You’re running away.” He offers quietly, and your eyes widen. Perhaps you had been expecting him to dance around the bushes. After all, three months ago during Winter, though you had grown undeniably closer, there had always been the feeling of treading on eggshells around each other. Like neither of you really knew how to react together. But a lot has changed, in three months. Jimin has had three months to overthink and to pretend he doesn’t know the name for the feelings of longing he can’t shake off and to deny that he misses you and now that you’re finally here in front of him, he does not want to waste another second. 

That crashing, roaring wave in his heart will not quieten, and finally he gives it a platform to pour out. 

“You’re scared. I get that. You don’t know what you’re feeling and everyone and their mother seems to have an opinion on our marriage and maybe you think it will be easier if you stay out of the public eye,” Jimin tells you urgently. He steps forward as if he is approaching a startled deer. “But it won’t be. They won’t ever stop. So why let them dictate what makes you happy?” 

You just stare at him, speechless, and he takes your silence as permission to step a little closer. Every movement he makes is slow and steady- you have to option to pull away at any moment. He stretches out a hand, wraps his fingers around yours and then raises your hand slowly towards his heart, letting you rest your palm flat against the thrumming rhythm. 

“I missed you.” They aren’t the words he intended to say. He’s not even entirely sure what words he had planned to convince you to come with him. But those words are the ones that burst forth. He can’t hold back anymore. He feels like he’s spent three whole months trying to prevent a volcano from erupting, and he’s exhausted. He can’t hold back anymore, he can’t keep up the facade that he’s ok, when you took his heart with you when you agreed to move out of the Central Palace at the request of the Elders three months ago. “I want you to be at the Ball with me. If we leave now, we can make it. Please- do this with me.” He begs. 

He’s met with silence. The longer it stretches out, the more dread slowly filters into his heart. It takes him a long few moments, but when he finally gains the courage to gaze upon your expression, his heart drops into his feet. 

Tears pour over your cheeks. You’re normally so put-together, but with your guard down in his absence, dirt smidges your cheeks and the sun gilds your skin. You’re so heart achingly beautiful. It’s like the sensation of stone giving way, the way he feels a crevice form in his heart at the sight.

“Jimin,” you finally say, and your voice is barely above a whisper. “We can’t...”

You trail away, but it’s enough. He feels a bit like you’ve slapped him. He’d thought... he’d thought it had been the both of you struggling in your separation, but it seems it was only him. He’s a fool- how could be have ever thought he was strong enough to thaw the frozen heart of Winter? 

“Right.” He says, humiliated by the way his voice cracks. “Well. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Duty calls.”

He turns on his heel so that you can’t see the way tears sting at the back of his eyes. 

You don’t stop him as he leaves. 

++

The Queen of Winter is a dignified woman. Tucked far away in her fortress, the common folk speculate that she does not have a heart. 

For a long time, you’d thought maybe it was true, but this constant ache in your chest is proving otherwise. 

“Are you just going to watch him go?” Yoongi, your personal guard, asks lazily. He is reclined in one of the cosy arm chairs in the centre of Jimin’s cottage, munching away at one of the apples he stole from the tree at the front of the cottage. You spare him a glance over your shoulder, before returning your gaze to the cantering horse that moves further and further away with each passing moment. 

“What else can I do?” You finally ask, tearing your gaze from the window and settling into the chair opposite Yoongi. Unlike him, you sit neatly, with your knees pressed together and your ankles tucked delicately to the side. Yoongi shrugs, crunching through another mouthful of apple. 

“Well you could have said no one was home when Summer knocked on your door last week like I suggested. But no. You had to invite her in and make her tea and let her get under your skin and now here we are, missing the feast of the year so that you can sulk.” He grumbles, crunching a bit more aggressively. Normally, Yoongi is a placid, lethargic sort of guy, but he’s been grumpy ever since Haeun showed up unannounced last week. Well, actually, he’s been like this ever since you received the order from the Elders to vacate the Central Palace in case you disturbed the prosperity of the oncoming Spring. After all, their plan had worked- having Jimin stay with you in the Central Palace had been enough to curb your Winter, but they didn’t want to offset his powers of Spring. 

“Yoongi,” you begin tiredly, ready to feed him the same ridiculous lines about your duty and your out of control powers that you’re sick of saying, but he cute you off. 

“No.” He snaps, the most forceful he’s ever been with you in perhaps his entire life. “You listen to me.” 

You’re too surprised by his aggression to retort, which gives him the opportunity to launch off in a furious tirade. 

“You finally had a good thing going for you. Finally someone who didn’t blame you for your Winters, someone who was kind and made you smile for the first time in literal years, and now you want me to sit here and accept that a cantankerous, overheated she-witch has the power to take that way with a couple of weak and not very witty jibes?” He demands. “What happened to the Queen of Winter? The woman who ate hearts for breakfast and drank the blood of her victims as wine?”

“She never existed.” You frown. “I faint when i accidentally kill a mosquito-“

“But you let those rumours circulate. You never tried to correct them because you never gave a damn about the small fry, so why are you letting some over-baked half-wit get to you?” He demands, pointing an accusing, half-eaten apple in your direction. 

You are silent as you recall the encounter the previous week. You had just finished penning a letter to Jimin to inform him you were looking forward to meeting with him when he returned to his cottage, when there had been an unexpected banging on the door. 

Haeun and you have never had a good relationship. Instinctively, Summer and Winter are on opposite ends of the spectrum, but she’d also always loathed the way your powers ran wild. After your cold, unforgiving Winters, she always had to burn hotter, and more intensely during the Summer to compensate, and it probably took its toll on her. And to add insult to injury, you had married the love of her life at the request of the Elders. The knowledge that you had taken something so important from her had been why you couldn’t just slam the door in her face even though Yoongi had gestured for you to do so just out of her view. 

He’s usually right though, since he’s quite gifted at reading people, and he was right that you should have kicked her out then and there.  Haeun had nothing but poison to spill forth from her lips.

Logically, you know the things she was saying were said with the intent to hurt you. Jimin had proved his kindness and warmth again and again during the three months you had lived together and it had even started to reach the point where it felt like he was your real husband. Not just an assigned keeper with the legal right to receive your belongings if you one day died. It felt like he actually cared- the way he sat with you on long, cold nights, the secret smiles he offered over breakfast, the way he left tea outside your bedroom door when he knew you had been up late studying. 

Jimin had done the impossible, warming the cold, frozen tundra your heart had lived in, and what you long for in return is to be the person who brings warmth to his Winters. Who holds him in the cold. Who rejoices with him in the bright months of Summer. You’d spent the whole of Spring in a joyful, happy cloud, remembering the way your Winter had been gentle and soft for the first time in your whole life. 

And then you’d heard what Haeun had to say. 

“I’m just concerned.” She had told you, dress in a dainty Summer dress that allowed the warm Spring sun to warm her shoulders. She always wears loud, cheerful colours and on that day she had worn a bright yellow to match the daffodils you had desperately been trying to keep alive. “I’m only saying this because I know you care about him too, and I would want to know this if I were in your shoes.”

Yoongi had been watching the whole exchange with an expression on his face like he’d swallowed a sour lemon and he had rolled his eyes when she’d said that. And yet, you hadn’t been able to approach her words with the same disdain. 

“You know how beloved Spring is. For him to be wedded to you is causing a lot of distress within the kingdom! And the things people are saying about him- that he’s bewitched by your enchantments, that he’s weak-willed and unworthy to lead.” She gazes at you with a glare and the hardest part of all this is that she’s telling the truth. She really came here out of a sense of duty to Jimin because she wants you to stop interfering with his life. “Why couldn’t you have just learned to use your powers instead of turning his life upside down like this?”

And hadn’t that been the final nail in the coffin. Even now, a week later, you are still reeling from her words. It had been with a heavy heart you had decided not to make an appearance at the Ball. 

But you hadn’t expected this to happen- for it to hurt just as much to refuse Jimin’s request to go with him. Why does it hurt both way? Why is it that if you have him, you ruin his life, but if you reject him, he looks at you like that? Like you’ve betrayed him? Like you’ve set fire to his orchard before his very eyes?

“Because I love him.” You admit to Yoongi. He chokes for a moment, surprised by your admission, before staring at you with wide eyes. 

“You what?” He demands, and you offer him a weak smile. 

“I love him, Yoongi.” You say again, and Yoongi’s gaze softens because he’s known you since you were a child in the Central Palace for the first time and he’s never seen such warmth in your eyes. You aren’t the Queen of Winter for nothing. “I love him so much I don’t know what to do and I just feel like no matter what choice I make it hurts.”

You hate the way your voice chokes, and Yoongi lifts from his chair, walking over to you to rest a warm hand over your own. 

“So if your choices are being hurt and miserable and being hurt and happy, why not choose the path that has at least a little bit of good in it?” Yoongi asks you gently. You stare at him, surprised, and he offers you a grin. “There’s a dress in your wardrobe with your name on it and if we leave now we should make it in time for Spring’s Official Address.” He tells you, straightening and stretching out with a yawn. “Better go get my riding boots.” He sighs. 

For a moment, you are frozen at Yoongi’s words, but then slowly a grin splits your face. 

He’s right. Both choices hurt- so why not choose the one where you get to be with Jimin? 

You gaze out the window at where the Sun is just beginning to sink into late afternoon. 

You have a Ball to get to. 

++

Jimin isn’t sure how he’s made it this far into the night. He feels like he’s just hollowly going through the motions and it’s a wonder that no one has picked up that he feels like he’s walking around with a stomach full of glass shards. If he’d known a broken heart hurt this much, he’d have long ago cast aside his heart to save himself the pain. 

“Are you excited?” Haeun questions cheerfully. She wears a long, golden dress that shimmers and catches the lights of the chandelier overhead as she moves. Her hair is carefully braided over her left shoulder, leaving her collar bones and delicate throat exposed. Yet the sight of the daffodil flower crown woven into her hair atop her head just seems to mock him. 

“I suppose.” He answers, with an empty smile. Haeun beams in response. She’s in an awfully good mood today and it only seems to worsen his own mood. “I’m ready for a nine month break from my duty.”

She offers him a bright laugh, and the two of them are interrupted by a firm clap against Jimin’s shoulder. He winces and turns to find Taehyung beaming at him. 

“Hello, brother!” He says cheerfully. “I haven’t seen you since the start of Spring! How is your lovely wife? I was just thinking I should pop over to visit her and then I learned that she wasn’t in her domain. Imagine my surprise when I head that she’s been staying in the Spring domain for the past three months. I trust the marriage is going well?” He questions, with a suggestive waggle of his strong brows. 

Jimin is unable to stop his expression from falling. All night, he’s managed to at least keep up a facade that he’s ok, but those words hit just a little bit too hard. He just and quickly slips the false smile back onto his face, but the King of Autumn has always been quick-witted, and he does not miss the devastation on Jimin’s face. 

“Jimin?” He asks slowly. Haeun looks a little confused at the slow, careful tone of Taehyung’s voice and at the use of Jimin’s name. “Is everything alright?”

Jimin offers him another hollow smile but he is saved the effort of lying when his advisor comes rushing over. 

“My Lord!” Seokjin cries. “It is time for your address! Please hurry to the stage.” He clicks his tongue a few times, corralling Jimin towards the stage. 

He supposes it is now or never. 

The tradition for the handover of Spring to Summer is fairly straight forward- at the Ball, Jimin is to deliver an address, celebrating the prosperity of Spring and wishing Summer well for her season. It’s usually one of his favourite duties- to gaze upon the faces of his subjects, to know that his words kickstart a weeklong festival where people will dance in the streets and sing with joy at the arrival of their long awaited Summer. But today, he feels as if he is made of wood as he takes the stage. 

“I thank you all for coming,” he begins. A simple spell cast upon the stage allows his voice to be amplified so that everyone can hear him. “As you all know, this particular Spring has been a big one for me. I have spent not three, but six whole months in the Central Palace, overseeing the seasons.” He offers a fake cheeky smile. “Safe to say I’m a little homesick.” That earns him a little chuckle for he is infamous for his simple and modest home. “But it has been my most triumphant Spring yet, because I...” 

No one is more surprised than him at the way his words seem to fail him. 

“Because I...” he tries again, but the words are choked off and the audience starts to murmur in confusion. 

He can’t do it- he can’t fake happiness and merriment. Not when you aren’t even here. Not when you had been the source of his happiness for the last six months. 

“Because...”

And then the doors to the ballroom swing open and he gazes upon the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. 

You wear a floor length gown. As is custom, your dress matches your season, shimmering blue with diamonds cast upon it that catch the light and dance like floating snowflakes. You hair falls around your face, flushed with exertion and your eyes are bright, even from across the room. 

An eerie hush falls upon the room. No one has ever seen Winter so dishevelled; and yet she is by no means ugly or unappealing. No, in fact, for years after people will sing songs about your beauty this night- how your eyes shine brighter than the stars in the sky and how your smile holds a joy no one had ever thought you capable of. 

Slowly, you step towards him. The crowd parts around you, and yet it is like you are the only person in the room. Even if he had wanted to speak, he would have been incoherent. The roaring feeling in his heart is now a tsunami- he’s swept away. He’s in love beyond what he ever thought was capable. He loves you- he loves you!!

“Jimin,” you say, smiling sweetly when you finally stop in front of him. “I’m so sorry I’m late.” 

And then you kiss him, bold and happy, in front of the entire ballroom and Jimin feels his heart may explode. 

++

There is, of course, much to discuss after your arrival to the Ball. Haeun’s words- your fears and insecurities- Jimin’s own feelings. There is so much to discuss and yet that night, Jimin is only capable of one thing. After his address finishes, he holds you in his arms as the two of you sway in a gentle waltz. He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head and he feels you smile into the crook of his neck. 

There is so much to say, and so much to do, but the two of you have your whole lives together to discuss it.

[kae-karo]

Luckae, something along the lines of, it’s rotten work / not to me, not if it’s you.

HELLO HI DEAR tysm for ur patience while i worked on this!!! and THANK YOU THANK YOU for the prompt!! gods they're really just so perfectly set up for this dynamic aren't they??

not if it's you - T - 2.3k

tags: kaeluckae, reconciliation sorta, canon divergence, blood mention/injury mention

--

Diluc returns from a particularly rough fight during his moonlighting as the Darknight Hero to find Kaeya once again waiting for him at the winery, as he always seems to be. For some reason.

[read on ao3]

--

“My my, another rough evening, Master Diluc?”

Kaeya’s voice sounds tinny and off-key, but Diluc knows it well enough to understand when he’s being taunted. His hand remains pressed flat to his abdomen, grateful for the black of his jacket to hide what must be a particularly gruesome bloodstain.

“Why are you here,” he grits out as he slumps against the door, hopes that he can hold onto his composure for just long enough to convince Kaeya to leave. Adelinde can tend his wound, and Diluc does not have to face the mortification of admitting weakness in front of Kaeya.

“Why, for the wine, of course!” Kaeya says, as he always does. As he does every time Diluc returns to find him here, lounging in a chair in the winery’s entrance, at least one empty bottle on the table in front of him. Now, he hoists his glass in a false toast, offers Diluc a smirk. The dim candlelight makes it look sinister.

Until he tips his head back just a fraction, hardly any movement at all, but Diluc sees Kaeya from before, the Kaeya that would stay up all night with him, share stories of their dreams for the future under dim candlelight or bright moonlight, when the weather allowed it.

“Have I bored you so easily, Master Diluc?” Kaeya tuts, takes a sip of his wine, and Diluc grits his teeth. Partly in response to Kaeya, partly in an effort to keep himself aware. Partly to block out the pain - not the worst he’s endured, but most certainly high on the scale.

Kaeya shifts, though, and a clink makes it to Diluc’s ears. His eyes remain partly unfocused, so he blinks a few times, finds snapshot moments of Kaeya’s feet dropping from the table to the ground, Kaeya standing, Kaeya moving closer.

He hears his name, too - just Diluc this time, no tongue-in-cheek title to go along with it, and Diluc’s hand falls from his stomach. He didn’t ask it to, but gods did it require such effort to hold it there. He thinks there was a reason for it being there, but this is easier, isn’t it? To just let it fall, to let his body relax. To rest - gods, when was the last time he rested?

Warmth envelops him quite suddenly, then, and he doesn’t mind it. He’d been quite cold before, actually, and this is nice. Comfortable. He’s not sure what it is, though - his eyes won’t open, and-

Oh. Is this death? Kaeya’s kept him standing here for too long, or maybe he’s grown too- what’s the word? The opposite of humble, perhaps he’s gotten too...arrogant, that’s it. Like Kaeya. Like Kaeya. Like…

He blinks, surprised to find light pouring in now. Surprised to find...Kaeya. Hovering over him, brows furrowed and lips twisted, and a sudden-

“Ah-” Diluc coughs out as pain lances through him, sharp and sudden, and Kaeya’s gaze flicks over to meet Diluc’s. His tight expression evens out so quickly, then, that Diluc wonders if he’d imagined it.

Wonders, then, where exactly-

“Hold- Diluc,” Kaeya snaps, and Diluc pauses his attempts at looking around in favor of turning his gaze to Kaeya. Kaeya, who - upon closer inspection, and a clearer mind - appears...worried? “Hold still.” He enunciates the words with icy clarity.

Diluc does as he’s told, if only because he has not seen Kaeya like this...perhaps ever. At the very least, not since they were kids. He watches with furrowed brows as Kaeya’s hand returns to his stomach - exposed, now, and he sees the- ah. Right.

“You have no sense of self preservation,” Kaeya grumbles, almost petulant, and Diluc...he does not entirely know what to make of that. A decade ago, he might’ve thought it endearing, that Kaeya would worry for him, would make a fuss over an injury, but now…

“I don’t see why that concerns you,” he says, and finds his voice dry and hoarse. Kaeya shoots a glare in his direction, but does not respond. A rare occurrence, when he’s usually the one to prefer to fill the silence with idle chatter.

Diluc’s gaze flicks down again to where an ugly line cuts its way across his abdomen, and he watches as Kaeya sticks a needle unkindly through the edges of the wound. The pain itself comes almost as an aftershock, nearly hidden behind the wave of realization that hits him in that moment.

In all the nights that Diluc has returned from his masked forays into the city and its outskirts - all the nights that Kaeya, coincidentally, decides to make his way to the winery - Kaeya has never stayed.

And he has most certainly never tended to Diluc’s injuries, though Diluc supposes that this is the first one he’s been unable to hide from Kaeya.

The next prick of pain is not so bad, now that he’s prepared for it, and he watches Kaeya’s fingers dexterously weave shut the wound. He does not speak as he works, does not cast more than a cursory glance in Diluc’s direction, and Diluc does not know what to say.

Doesn't know how to act, when Kaeya steps out of his role as the flippant, duplicitous charmer. When he is sincere, when he’s-

“Archons,” Diluc grits out as Kaeya splashes something- ah, alcohol. Very distilled, apparently. His whole body tenses around the epicenter of the pain, the white-hot sting in his abdomen that refuses to subside even as Kaeya steps back, one arm crossed over his chest as he takes a generous sip from the very same bottle.

He sets it down on the nearby table with a hard thunk, his sour mood quite obvious, but does not turn to face Diluc. Just stares, hand gripped tight still to the neck of the bottle, and Diluc thinks that he has never seen Kaeya angry like this.

Tired, hurt, broken and hopeless, Diluc has seen all of these things, but never...never this. Never the tight expression, barely visible for the way his hair falls in his face. Never the white-knuckled grip that he must be controlling still, or it’d break the neck of the bottle. Never the quiet tension in his shoulders, hunched where they’re usually set back in a peacock-proud display.

Diluc does not know how to handle an angry Kaeya.

He sits up a fraction more, as though it might help clear his confused, clouded thoughts, but it only serves to make him wince and suck in an involuntary breath at the sting of his wound.

Kaeya’s head whips around, focuses sharply on Diluc, and Diluc holds immeasurably still. For a moment, he wishes that Adelinde had been the one to find him - her caretaking is far less...tense.

“I will freeze you to the table if you can’t manage to lay still,” Kaeya says, voice empty and nearly as cold as his ice. It crawls to his fingers, spreads from them to the bottle in a spiderweb of frost.

Diluc shakes his head, regrets the wave of dizziness that follows but does his best to keep his expression even.

“Why?” he manages after a moment, and Kaeya coughs out a laugh.

“You get yourself gutted, then ask why you need to rest?” A bitter scoff, and Kaeya releases his grip on the bottle to stand upright, to cross his arms over his chest and glare down at Diluc. “Fine,” he waves a hand. “Treat your life like it means nothing, then.”

Diluc’s brows furrow at Kaeya’s hard stare.

“Go on,” he urges, waves a hand now at the door. “Don’t you have important hero business to attend? Surely you won’t bleed out along the way!” Kaeya bares his teeth, an angry approximation of a grin, and the words hit Diluc like a- well, like a sword through his gut.

His chest falls with a heavy breath, and he wonders - perhaps naively, perhaps masochistically - if this is how it might’ve felt to be on the other end of his own blade that night all those years ago. If it was instead he who stood opposite Kaeya’s anger, knew his own faults and laid them bare for Kaeya to slash apart with his sword.

There’s a clink, then, and Diluc refocuses to find Kaeya lifting the alcohol from its perch, and he drops heavily into a chair and lifts the bottle to his lips. Drinks long and deep, then levels an unreadable stare on Diluc.

“If you intend to get yourself killed,” he says, quieter now, and his gaze flicks away. “At least have the common decency not to make me bear witness to it.” He takes another sip, and Diluc watches as something in his chest burns. Aches.

It’s a childish thing, he thinks, and he doesn’t entirely know where it comes from, but it blazes through him like wildfire, hot and painful, and he exhales a shuddered breath. This draws Kaeya’s stare, sharp with concern, and Diluc does not know how to wave it off.

“I did not mean to cause you any distress,” he says quickly, and Kaeya averts his stare the moment Diluc speaks. Leans back into the chair, evidently satisfied that Diluc’s death is not imminent.

“And yet, you run rampant through the streets with no care for your own wellbeing,” he says, voice like ice again. “Funny how that works.” Another sip from the bottle, and he rests it on his thigh. Keeps his gaze directed toward the door, though it remains unfocused.

“Is that why you wait here?” Diluc asks, then, as the realization dawns on him. Is that why I find you here every night I’ve gone out? Is that why you show up at the winery, seemingly at random, and only leave once I’ve returned?

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Master Diluc.” A hint of humor, but the bitterest kind. Kaeya glances from the corner of his eye, and Diluc sees it - hears it, almost, in a voice that is Kaeya’s but isn’t. A voice from a time when Kaeya spoke earnestly, when he did not cloak every truth in a veil of lies and almost-honesty.

If I admit that I care about you, then things change. We change.

He wonders, then, if Kaeya doesn’t want to - if he doesn’t want to care for Diluc. If he’d rather hate Diluc outright. It’s the same feeling that Diluc had felt about Kaeya all those years ago. It would be easier, certainly. Hard to feel pain when you allow nothing close to your heart - Diluc knows that truth well enough.

And yet, Kaeya’s all but admitted that he cares regardless.

“You don’t have to,” he says - an out, though it’s not quite a response to what Kaeya’s said. More to the words that he hasn’t spoken. “To be here,” he adds. “I can take care of myself. I know it’s-”

Painful to keep caring, when Diluc can never quite rid himself of his need for martyrdom. Impossible to justify it, when loss hovers so closely around Diluc that it might as well be a second skin. When he seeks it out most nights, tempts fate and knows that it will catch up with him some day.

“It’s rotten work,” he says quietly, and his gaze drifts to the wound that Kaeya’s so carefully tended. How many more will Diluc endure? How many would Kaeya stand by and watch before he can’t stand it? There is a reason that Diluc has never pursued lovers or a family or the like.

“Not to me.”

Diluc glances up, finds Kaeya still staring off into the distance. His gaze drifts over then, though, and holds Diluc’s. Something small, almost a smile, flickers at the corner of his lip.

“Not if it’s you,” he adds, even as his jaw tenses with something that Diluc has not seen since the night he raised a sword at Kaeya. Kaeya shakes his head, huffs out a breath. “You never quite figured it out, did you?”

He takes another sip of the alcohol, and Diluc’s brows furrow just slightly.

“Figured what out?” The ‘it’ tugs at his thoughts, though, somewhere just beyond his comprehension. He knows it, he thinks, whatever Kaeya intends to say, but Kaeya’s gaze flicks over, and he exhales a short breath.

“Never mind.” A smile curls the corner of his lip, gentler than his usual sharp smirk. “You need to rest. I’ll be here.”

He turns away again, then, and props a foot up on the table beside him. Takes another short sip from the bottle, and Diluc stares.

Sees it with crystal clarity, then, when Kaeya’s eye flicks over, just for the briefest moment, and it burns through Diluc’s chest - painful, warm, hot and bright and terrifying all at once. A thing he has buried for a very long time, because caring hurts.

“Kaeya.” Kaeya glances over properly now, and Diluc holds his stare. “Thank you.”

A small smile touches his lips, gentle and careful and Kaeya-from-their-childhood, and Diluc is fifteen again, and reckless and brave and head-over-heels, and just once, he allows that feeling to wash over him. When his lips curl up in a soft smile, Kaeya’s own grin widens, though he hides it with the bottle as he takes a sip.

“Get some rest, Master Diluc,” Kaeya chides, so warmly that it sounds fond, and Diluc’s heart feels so free and light it might fly right out of his chest.

That could also be blood loss, he supposes as a wave of dizziness turns the edges of his vision black, and he leans carefully back onto the table. Is grateful that Kaeya had thought to bring him a pillow, or he might be in for an uncomfortable night of sleep.

“Good night, Kaeya,” he offers quietly, and Kaeya huffs out a gentle, amused breath. Tips his head in Diluc’s direction, and Diluc’s eyes drift shut with the image of his smile branded in his mind - sincere, genuine in a way that Diluc hasn’t seen in years.

“Good night, Luc.”

[bunnimew]

Too Much, My Love

Fandom: Rise of the Guardians Pairing: Jack Frost/Pitch Black, Nicholas St. North/Krampus Tags: Humor, Fluff, The Talk, Embarrassment, Anxiety, Mild Angst, Krampus has better things to do than this, But North asked nicely so Rating: T Words: 2,545 Summary: North has some tips for Jack on how to date the enemy.

The thing is, Jack hadn't meant for anyone to know.

For @rotgbingo 2021: Dating The Boss On AO3 Here.

For @cynical-bonehead, who gave me the original idea to do this <3

“Jack.”

North’s warm, heavy hand settled on Jack’s shoulder and instantly filled the Guardian with dread. Normally his touch was a comfort, but combined with the tone of his voice and just that one word, his name… Jack pressed his lips together and fought the urge to run.

Whatever it was, North would be kind.

“Yes?”

“We must talk,” North said, sliding his hand down Jack’s back and steering him up the stairs toward the workshop. “It is time.”

This did not bode well. ...Actually, this bode perfectly neutral. Every time North took Jack to the workshop, it was for some serious topic of conversation delivered in North’s particular brand of intense, but it usually worked out okay for Jack. It would just be, you know, intense.

Jack took a breath and reminded himself that he hadn’t done anything to annoy North in at least a month and the man’s patience was near infinite so Jack had no reason to be concerned now.

Jack’s entire self pep-talk flew right out the window, along with his sense of how the world worked, when North opened the door to reveal who would be with them for today’s lecture.

He was tall. So tall. Distinctly reddish in hue, with a standing posture that filled Jack with foreboding just from the shape of it. North’s workshop was the absolute last place Jack expected to find Krampus.

How did he even get in here with horns that big?

North calmly closed the door behind them, and it never occured to Jack that Krampus might not have been invited. The only spirit, to Jack’s knowledge, to make it past the yetis was Pitch, and although Jack didn’t doubt Krampus could get in if he tried, the idea that he would choose to do it stealthily and wait patiently for them to discover him was not on brand.

Also, North didn’t immediately start yelling. That was a huge hint.

Krampus smiled and Jack took a step back. It was only half-voluntary.

“Hello Jackson.”

Wait. Jack’s brows came together and he took his step forward again. “That’s not my name”

Krampus’s whole face tilted, and Jack regretted his step all over again. “Are you sure?”

“...I was two seconds ago.”

“Jack!” North’s voice caught his attention and the tone was so relaxed and friendly that despite the horror in the corner, he felt his muscles loosen out of the knots they’d worked themselves into. “This is what we must talk about.”

Jack was so confused. “Is Krampus joining the Guardians?”

That was definitely a no, because both North and Krampus burst into laughter and Jack felt really stupid for the whole minute it took them to catch their breath.

“Then what?” he asked, irritation creeping up his shoulders at the fact he had to ask at all. Why was North leaving him to guess? More importantly, if North was bringing him here for a talk, why did it feel like Jack was being left out of a big joke?

“No no no,” North said with a shake of his head. His hand landed on Jack’s shoulder again, and this time it felt comforting and inclusive and instantly lowered Jack’s hackles down from high alert. “Is a good joke, Jack. Krampus is not Guardian. He is husband!”

Jack stared up at North, his brain refusing to comprehend. The room sort of darkened at the edges and Jack heard but didn’t really feel the crack in his voice when he asked, “What?”

North moved away from Jack and stood next to Krampus on the other side of the room. It helped—Jack suddenly felt like he could breathe again—but also hurt—what was North doing with a terrifying Anti-Santa spirit all the way over there?—and left Jack more uncertain than he’d been even when he outright rejected the words coming out of North’s mouth.

“We are husbands!” North said again, and at least Jack felt like he heard him this time. “This is how I know, and why I must be who talks to you.”

Jack… just did not understand. “About what?”

North looked at him with concerned eyes in a determinedly jovial face. Great, now they were both confused. “Pitch Black of course!”

Jack was always cold, so he was usually numb to it. Now, the unnatural chill of shock and fear dropped hard over his shoulders and settled heavily in his stomach. "What?"

North reached for Jack with one large hand, but they were standing too far away for him to reach. His smile dimmed as concern took a stronger hold of his features. "Jack? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, of course," he said on instinct. Why wouldn't he be alright? He couldn't feel his hands or feet right now and the workshop was looking a little gray around the edges, but Jack was fine.

North came closer still. He obviously didn't believe Jack. Jack wasn't sure Jack believed Jack. "You look pale."

"That's normal," Jack insisted. Which, it was, so… "Why do we need to talk about Pitch?"

North nodded, back bent in the sort of crouch one assumed when trying to convince a wild animal that you weren't dangerous. "You and him are dating, no?"

The chill flashed to heat in a bare second. Jack's entire head felt hot. "What? No. What?"

"It is okay," North assured, lips pulling into a tentative, calming smile. "I understand. You see? Because I am dating malicious spirit, too!"

Jack needed to sit down. There was a tabletop behind him. Jack sat on that.

He felt it when his hand knocked over a prototype toy plane on its way to his staff, and Jack considered that a good sign even if he didn't react to pick it up again. He leaned on his staff instead, and focused on breathing.

How did North know? They had been so careful, only meeting in deserted places or enclosed spaces. There should have been no way to find out. If North knew, did that mean…

Jack's head shot up. "Who else knows?"

"No one!" North said too quickly. Then, "probably Sandy."

Jack felt betrayal for all of two seconds before he realized Sandy could read dreams and… okay, yeah, that checked out.

"Who knows about you?" It felt fair to ask.

North nodded shortly. "Sandy."

Seemed legit.

Jack felt himself calming now that the initial shock had passed. North wasn't accusing him of anything. He really did seem to want nothing more than to talk about it.

"Okay…" The problem was, Jack still didn't know what there was to talk about. "So?"

"So!" North said with a flourish. Clearly he'd gotten his confidence back. "I want you to know you can talk to me!"

"About?"

"Pitch!" North leaned forward like he was telling Jack a secret, but the volume of his voice made secrets impossible. "Bad guys can be frustrating."

"Tell me about it," Jack deadpanned.

"Is that what I am?" Krampus said, instantly reminding Jack that he was actually going to be here for this whole conversation. "A bad guy?"

North grinned at him. Krampus might as well have been the only person in the room, by the way North was looking at him. Jack got the impression this was a running joke between them. "The baddest."

This was a side of North Jack hadn’t seen before. But why would he? This was North’s private life, and although Jack knew he was important to North, he wasn’t this kind of important to him.

Wait a second.

Jack’s hand landed hard on the tabletop in indignation. “I thought I was top of the naughty list?”

Krampus snorted a laugh and it was the most unsettling sound Jack had heard in a long time, but North’s eyes were back on Jack and his hand was waving dismissively in the air. “Different kind of naughty, Jack.”

“Augh!” Jack pressed both hands to his ears, then his eyes (which did nothing), then his ears again. “Is this how every kid feels when they think about their parents having sex?!”

Instead of the exhausted sort of patience Jack expected from such a display of childishness, North’s eyes grew large and wet with adoration. “You think of me like parent?”

Jack paused his dramatics to really look at North. Did the big guy really not know? Jack’s hands fell away from his ears as he said, “Yeah. Of course.”

The next thing he knew, North had Jack in a tight hug that was all warmth and excitement, with no room in between for things like doubt or air to breathe. Jack’s staff was somewhere on the floorboards behind him, but Jack’s feet weren’t on the ground to help him find it. Jack focused on holding onto North instead, and on the fact that North apparently hadn’t known the role Jack imagined for him in Jack’s life.

“I did not think you wanted parent, Jack,” North said without putting him down. His arms loosened a little, but that was as far away as North was letting him get for now. “Three hundred years is a little old for coddling,” he teased.

Jack laughed. He could admit the situation was a little strange, but they were spirits. They couldn’t help that. “You’ve still been around longer,” he pointed out.

North nodded in that sagely way he did and set Jack down on his perch. “Even better that I be the one to talk to you, then.”

Jack was going to wholly ignore that for as long as he could, because parental talks with their children about dating were never not horribly embarrassing for the kids. He leaned around North’s bulk to look Krampus dead in the eyes.

“I’m calling you Krampapa now.”

It was only fair. He was married to Jack’s dad, right? That’s how that worked.

Krampus didn’t look even mildly upset, which sort of mildly upset Jack, actually. He lifted his horned head in a regal yet foreboding way and simply said, “Acceptable.”

...Man really knew how to take the fun out of things, didn’t he? Jack was going to have to try harder.

After all, they were like family now.

North was beaming at the pair of them, and that made Jack feel better about everything instantly.

“About Pitch—”

Well, there went that.

A sudden cold wind in the workshop shut them up, and while Jack looked around to find the source, he noticed Krampus staring at a very specific spot, like he already knew what was coming. He probably did.

“Now,” a voice echoed hollowly off the wooden walls at the same moment that the lights dimmed in the workshop, and Jack knew instantly who it was. How could he not? “Why did you ask me here, Krampu—”

Pitch Black stopped short barely a second after materializing and stared with wide eyes at his audience full of Guardians.

He whirled on Krampus. “Is this a trap?!”

Unfortunately, Jack’s tone dead, “Yes,” coincided exactly with North’s empathic, “No!”

Pitch sized them up. Krampus wasn’t giving anything away, so Pitch had to make due with the easier targets in the room. Jack figured his defensive posture, curled half-behind North on the worktop, probably gave everything away.

He turned back to Krampus. “What is the meaning of this?”

“That I love my husband very much,” Krampus answered without missing a beat. His voice carried the boredom of a thousand years and the experience of just as long. “And that I would do anything for him, including subject myself to this.”

North was beaming again.

Pitch met Jack’s gaze.

“Explain.”

Jack pressed his lips together. Pitch wasn’t going to like this. “North is giving me The Talk.”

Pitch visibly winced and glared at Krampus. “And you brought me here for this?”

“Of course!” North boomed, arms thrown wide in the air in celebration. “It cannot be just one! Dating good guys can be frustrating, too!”

Krampus was nodding, but it looked like he was nodding to himself. “Some days.”

Pitch’s lip was pulling up into a snarl. The last thing Jack wanted was for him to lash out and make his relationship with the other Guardians even worse, so he slid down from the table and held his hands out placatingly. “Look, it’s okay. They mean well. Alright?”

Pitch didn’t look convinced, but the way North set a comforting and supportive hand on Jack’s shoulder and Krampus outright stared him down seemed to keep his behavior in check for now. He was going to be so grumpy later.

If Pitch managed to behave for this whole thing, Jack would owe him so many cuddles.

North seemed to take Pitch’s lack of retort as consent, because he slapped Jack on the back and loudly proclaimed, “First things first!”

He turned to face Jack and held his shoulders with both hands. “I have noticed in meetings. You react when Pitch Black is said. You should not.”

The hot feeling was returning to Jack’s face. His ears felt particularly on fire this time. “Am I really that obvious?”

North shrugged one shoulder, swaying his head back and forth as if to say ‘not really.’ However, Krampus behind him nodded resolutely. “Yes.”

North gave his husband a look. “Only if you know what to look for.” He smiled reassuringly at Jack and patted his shoulder. “I think Tooth and Bunny think it is to do with Tooth Palace and Easter Incident.”

Jack didn’t feel reassured at all.

“And you!” North said, spinning dramatically toward Pitch. “Work stays at work! You must let Jack be Guardian.” With a theatrical whirl, North turned on Jack. “And you must let him be Boogeyman!”

Pitch was taken aback. It was written all over his face. “But all you ever do is try to stop me.”

North’s hands came up in a very cut and dry sort of gesture, one hand slicing into the other with every word. “Work stays at work!” Then he pointed at Pitch. “When Jack is Guardian, he stops you. When Jack is boyfriend,” North lowered his hand and shrugged, “he does what he wants.”

“What about when I’m both?” Jack couldn’t help but ask.

North’s gaze softened immediately. “Dangerous to think, Jack. You want him to be happy, yes? Then you must let him be who he is.”

That was incredibly profound and Jack honestly hadn’t even considered it before. The shock he was feeling was written all over Pitch’s face when Jack locked eyes with him across the room. Jack did want him to be happy, and they had been working on compromises, but… overall, yeah. North’s words made sense.

"And now about making love!"

"Nope," Pitch said. The assembled group almost hadn't heard him though, because he’d dropped through the floor so fast.

That was his cue. Jack turned on his heel and took the opportunity to yeet himself through the open workshop window. "I'm out."

Left behind, North stared in stunned silence at the place where Jack had been. He eventually turned to Krampus, clearly confused. "Did I say something?"

Krampus took his own time to stare at his partner. North could be dangerously oblivious. It would be annoying if it were not so adorable. He patted North's hair comfortingly.

"Too much, My Love. Too much."

[jayeray-hq]

The Great Christmas Bake-Off

This is my SFW secret Santa fic for @rice-hime​! You have no idea how excited I was to see that you were who I got for the SFW secret Santa, Rice! You were one of my very first requests, and I love all your writing! I know you’ve been having a bit of a tough time lately, so I hope this makes you smile! 

Want more Osamu? Check out my Character Masterlist!

Thanks to the amazing @deathcab4daddy​ for beta-reading for me! Love you Tay! 😊💖 Timeskip/Manga Spoilers! 8.6K words

Warnings: Brief mentions of depression but drowned in Fluff

You stared out the window quietly watching the snow fall, nursing a cup of your favorite hot beverage in your hands. It was Christmas Eve day, and for the first time since you’d started dating your boyfriend, you were home alone. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Osamu was supposed to be on his way back from a business meeting in Tokyo yesterday, but inclement weather meant he hadn’t been able to travel home safely.

When you’d taken his call earlier that morning he’d told you trains were delayed, and there was no word on whether or not they’d be up and running again any time soon. It didn’t help that it had yet to stop snowing. Your poor boyfriend had sounded extremely frustrated and put out with everything when you’d talked, and you’d done your best to assure him that everything would be fine. You’d told him that you’d wait for him, and that you much preferred he get home safe rather than rush and potentially get hurt because of the weather.

             You had also made sure to tell him you didn’t blame him for not being able to make it home, that you wouldn’t be angry even if he couldn’t get home until after Christmas. It wasn’t like he could control the weather after all, and the meeting in Tokyo had been incredibly important so it wouldn’t have been possible to cancel or delay it. After all it had been about finally getting approval to open up a branch of Onigiri Miya in Tokyo, expanding his business out of the Hyogo prefecture for the first time.

             Both of you had been excited at the possibility of expanding his dream restaurant, and you firmly believed that the chance had been worth potentially missing a single Christmas with him. However, despite your beliefs it didn’t stop you from missing him, from wishing rather desperately that he was there with you and not trapped in Tokyo.

             It was probably a bit strange, but you thought it might actually be harder to not have him today than it would be to not have him on Christmas. The two of you had created your own tradition for Christmas Eve, one that you couldn’t imagine doing without him.

             It had all started back during the first year the two of you had started dating. Osamu had claimed to have the recipe for the best sugar cookies ever. You’d decided to challenge him, not really understanding just how obsessed your new boyfriend was with eating, and creating the perfect foods.

             He’d brought his recipe, one he’d spent several years perfecting, and you’d brought one you found on the internet. The two of you had made both recipes together in the kitchen on Christmas Eve Day, the one day the two of you could find that neither of you had previous obligations for.

 Originally, you’d planned to make the cookies separately, each of you making your own, on your own time, but Osamu had insisted on doing the activity together. He’d convinced you that everything had to be done with the same quality of ingredients, the same oven, and in the same space in order for things to be equal. You’d conceded, figuring your new boyfriend was even more of a food nut than you’d initially assumed and finding it rather cute. It wouldn’t be until several years down the line that he’d admitted he’d only insisted so he could spend more time with you.

 After the cookies were baked, you then frosted and decorated them with the exact same frosting and tried both for comparison. In the end, you’d been forced to concede that his were much better than the ones from the recipe you’d found, but had sworn you’d find something better by the next year. Thus, your little tradition had been born.

 This year you had all the ingredients, bought well beforehand, all the equipment, and your own beautiful kitchen that you shared with your boyfriend. The recipe you’d picked out even had thousands of five-star reviews. The problem, of course, was that you didn’t have your boyfriend. Technically speaking, you could probably do it yourself. You’d made his version of the cookies with him enough times now you could do it in your sleep, but it wouldn’t be the same.

 Thus, you’d decided to wait until he came home. Was it a little disappointing not to be able to do it on the day you’d planned? Yes of course, but it couldn’t be helped. However, you’d rather do it on a different day than do it without your boyfriend. It was just one more thing that had gone wrong this year, which hadn’t been all that great considering everything that had happened.

 It was honestly wearing, and the blow of not having him there felt far heavier than it would under normal circumstances. Usually you’d be able to shrug it off with a smile and go about your day, but with everything else it felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back. You’d done your best to put on a cheerful, optimistic façade during your phone call with your boyfriend, not wanting to stress him out more than he already was.

 However, after that call you’d spent a good majority of your morning feeling out of sorts, listless, and unmotivated to do much of anything but watch the snow fall and hope it would let up soon. You wanted your boyfriend home, not just because you wanted to make cookies with him, but because Osamu gave the best hugs, and there was nothing you wanted more than to be wrapped up in his arms for a while.

 The sound of several loud knocks at the door startled you out of trying to quietly calculate how long it might take the snow to stop and when your boyfriend might be home. You hadn’t been expecting any guests today, but the sound of a scraping key in the lock let you know exactly who was at the door before it opened. After all, there was only one person who would knock like he was trying to break the door down and who you’d given a key, even if it had been a rather reluctant concession on your boyfriend’s part.

 “Well, ain’t this cheery,” a voice that was both exactly what you wanted to hear, and absolutely not at the same time, announced as your boyfriend’s twin brother breezed into the door. You shivered slightly at the cold wind he let in with his arrival, and turned to watch in bemusement as he stomped off the snow from his boots and began stripping off his outer layers, clearly making himself at home.

 “Atsumu,” you greeted, a little puzzled at the blond twin’s sudden unannounced arrival at your home, “What are you doing here? You know Samu is still in Tokyo, right?”

 “Is that really the way ya should be greetin’ yer future brother-in-law?” he asked teasingly, a wide grin on his face, “And o’ course I knew! Who do ya think was the first person that scrubby brother of mine called after he got off the phone with ya?”

 “Your mother probably,” you countered wryly, “Considering she was probably worried about him, and both of you are too afraid of her to not check in when she wants you to.”

 “Okay, so the second person,” Atsumu conceded without argument, making you smirk slightly. It always amused you that the twins were absolutely petrified of getting on their mother’s bad side. The Miya matriarch was a sweet, kindly woman, who absolutely doted on you, but according to the twins she was actually a dragon in disguise and downright terrifying in the same way Kita Shinsuke apparently was. You’d personally never witnessed this so-called terrifying side, but you had bowed to the twins’ experience.

 “So what, ‘Samu asked you to check on me?” you asked with a frown. You’d been fairly certain you’d managed to conceal your feelings from your boyfriend, but maybe you hadn’t done as good a job as you’d thought you had.

 “Actually, he sent me here ta be yer assistant fer the day,” Atsumu told you with a slight pout on his face, “Somethin’ about subbin’ in fer him and makin’ cookies.”

 “You realize you can’t actually sub out for one another in real life, right?” you asked him with a sigh. You were torn between annoyance that your boyfriend would think it was alright to substitute his twin in his place for your tradition, and touched that he wanted you to still be able to do it despite the fact that he wasn’t there.

 “Hey! I will have ya know that yer getting’ the superior twin fer the day!” Atsumu protested giving you a cocky smirk, “I even agreed ta put myself at yer disposal and everythin’!”

 “What did he bribe you with?” you asked skeptically, well aware the twins, despite being fond of each other deep down, never actually did anything for one another without at least some token bribery.

 “I can’t just come ta bake cookies with my brother’s lovely girlfriend outta the goodness of my heart?” Atsumu demanded, clearly affronted. You raised an eyebrow at him, and waited arms folded across your chest.

 “Okay so maybe there was a promise of some of those famous sugar cookies fer myself,” he conceded, with a huff.

 “Thought so,” you acknowledged with a triumphant smile, ignoring his indignant grumbles about Osamu dating a woman as scary as Kita and their mother.

 “Does that mean ya aren’t gonna make cookies with me?” Atsumu whined unhappily, “After I came all this way in the snow and everythin’ just ta help ya out?”

 “You literally live a block and a half away,” you protested with a laugh.

 “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a cold, wet, and miserable block an a half,” he informed you with a pout, “C’mon please? I never get any cookies from the two of ya, ‘Samu always hogs em all!”

 You briefly considered saying no, wanting to uphold the sanctity of tradition. You’d meant what you’d said before, you couldn’t just replace one twin with the other. You loved Atsumu, but he wasn’t your boyfriend, more like a bratty little brother, ironic considering he was technically the older twin. However, even just his presence had been a fantastic distraction from how miserable you’d been before. Besides, Atsumu could be a lot of fun in his own way, and you could always make cookies with Osamu later.

 “Fine,” you conceded with a huff, “Let’s make cookies then.”

 “Alright!” He cheered his entire face lighting up with a boyish grin, the same grin your boyfriend wore whenever he got to cook something new. It was simultaneously comforting and a bit of a punch to the gut, though you chose to push aside the negative feeling and focus on the positive for now. Even if your boyfriend wasn’t here you still had a friend with you, one who was surprisingly sweet when he wanted to be, and you were grateful for it.

 Baking with Atsumu turned out to be absolutely nothing like baking with Osamu. With your boyfriend, the two of you had it down to an art, working with and around one another easily. You trusted one another in the kitchen and were very used to one another’s presence and it showed. Atsumu on the other hand, was a bit of a disaster.

 For all that the man was absolutely graceful on the volleyball court, it turned out he was a bit of a disaster in the kitchen. He did admittedly know what he was doing, he just wasn’t as careful as he should be. It meant eggshells accidentally got in the batter and had to be fished out, baking soda and baking powder got confused, the vanilla got knocked over, and flour exploded everywhere when he turned on the mixer, covering the two of you and leaving white residue everywhere.

 It took twice as long as it usually did because you spent over half your time babysitting Atsumu to ensure he didn’t screw anything up too badly. By the end of it all you, Atsumu and the kitchen were a mess, but you were smiling. The presence of your boyfriend’s twin having cheered you immensely, mostly because despite how cool they tried to act, both Miya twins were idiots, lovable idiots, but idiots nonetheless.

 You were so caught up in Atsumu’s antics that you didn’t notice you’d been joined by someone new, not until an extremely annoyed voice piped up, “Oy, ya scrub! What the hell did ya do ta my kitchen and my girl huh?”

 You whirled around surprised to see your boyfriend standing in the entryway, flecks of snow still clinging to his hair and eyelashes as he glared at his twin. Your heart jumped in your chest, a mixture of disbelief and joy swirling inside of you at the sight of him, home where he should be when you’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to make it at all.

 “Ya told me to distract her so I distracted her,” Atsumu protested, “And yer the scrubby one ya scrub! I ain’t the one who got stuck in Tokyo after all!”

 “’Samu!” you practically barreled into your boyfriend, throwing yourself at him without even bothering to take off your dirty apron. Not that he seemed to mind at all, catching you up in his arms and cradling you to his chest without complaint, nuzzling his face into your hair.

 “Hey sweetheart,” he greeted, pressing an affectionate kiss to the side of your head, both of you ignoring the gagging sounds Atsumu was making in the background.

 “What are you doing here?” you asked a bit tearfully, “I thought you weren’t going to make it home?”

 “And miss Christmas with you, sweets? Not a chance,” he assured you, pulling back a bit so he could cradle your face in one of his large hands, swiping his thumb affectionately along your cheekbone.

 “But I thought the trains weren’t running?” you pointed out anxiously.

 “They’re not. I rented a car and drove,” he admitted with a casual shrug, as if he hadn’t admitted to making a six-hour drive in terrible conditions.

 “’Samu that’s dangerous,” you protested. Your eyes automatically roving over him to assure yourself he was there and in one piece, as your hands clutched at him a reminder that he was solid, warm, and present, “I could’ve waited for you. I would’ve waited for you.”

 “I was real careful sweetheart,” he assured you earnestly, “Drove slow and everythin’ plus the highways weren’t so bad, promise. I just really wanted ta be home with ya fer Christmas, and I didn’t want ya to be frettin’ bout me, which is why I sent ‘Tsumu over to distract ya.”

 “Well, he did that at least,” you acknowledged with a huff, casting a glance at Atsumu who looked immeasurably pleased with himself.

 “And made a right mess of the kitchen while he was at it,” Osamu noted with clear disapproval on his face, as he gazed around the disaster zone.

 “Hey, I’ll have ya know we’re equally responsible fer the mess,” Atsumu informed him promptly shifting some of the blame your way, completely unashamed at the blatant lie, “Yer girl helped me out too.”

 The completely unimpressed look your boyfriend leveled at him let you know just how much he believed his brother. Which was, of course, not a bit. Osamu knew you were fairly tidy when the two of you worked together, so he knew who was at fault for the mess. Still, you were grateful that Atsumu had come over at all. It was sweet of him in his own way, so you decided you wouldn’t let him take the fall on his own, not this time anyway.

 “Don’t worry ‘Samu, Atsumu and I will clean it up,” you assured him, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 Your boyfriend let out a long-suffering sigh in response, giving you a look that told you he knew exactly what you were doing. However, he must’ve been feeling pretty indulgent because he went along with it anyway, “Alright sweetheart, let me just put my things away and I’ll help the two of ya clean up.”

 “You don’t have to,” you insisted, reluctantly releasing him so he could move away, “Atsumu and I can handle it.”

 “Yeah ‘Samu, we don’t need ya,” Atsumu taunted, slinging an arm over your shoulder and pulling a face at his twin, “So buzz off, or I won’t share any of my cookies with ya!”

 “Pretty sure it’s my kitchen and my ingredients ya used to make those cookies,” Osamu pointed out, leveling a glare at his brother, clear annoyance written all over his face.

 “And I think I’m the one who made them, bought the ingredients, and it’s my kitchen too, which I believe makes them my cookies,” you informed the twins before they could really start squabbling, “And I won’t be sharing with either of you if you don’t behave. ‘Samu go put your things away and get settled in, and Atsumu we have a kitchen to clean.”

 The twins exchanged glances over your head, one of those looks that spoke volumes and sometimes made you wonder if they could read one another’s minds. However, in the end they conceded, Osamu ambling down the hall with his bags and Atsumu joining you to clean up the mess in the kitchen, though not before Osamu pressed an affectionate kiss to your cheek.

 Between the two of you it didn’t take too long to clean the kitchen up, and get everything looking pristine. It did slow down a bit when Osamu returned from your bedroom and began ‘supervising’ meaning heckling his brother and generally being a pain as he insisted things weren’t clean enough.

 By the time you finished, all the cookies were out of the oven and completely cooled, which meant it was time for frosting. Luckily this time things went much faster as Atsumu was firmly pushed out of the kitchen by Osamu, who insisted it was only right he take over since it was his tradition with you. Atsumu whined, but had eventually been appeased by you agreeing to let him lick the spoon.

 You laid out several bowls and split up your icing, quickly deciding to do red, yellow, green, and white for your colors to make it nice and simple. Or at least it should’ve been nice and easy, if not for Atsumu’s commentary.

 “Is that supposed to be red?” Atsumu asked, casually licking frosting off as he watched his brother add food coloring to the frosting, “Cuz I’m tellin’ ya it definitely looks pink from where I’m standin’.”

 A quick glance over your boyfriend’s shoulder proved that it was a little on the pink side, but getting a true red with frosting was extremely difficult without adding enough food coloring to stain your mouth. Though the comments didn’t stop there either.

 “Is that really a Christmas green? I’m thinkin’ it looks kinda pastel, don’tcha think ‘Samu?” he pressed eyeing the other bowl, “I hope ya don’t think I’m gonna be decoratin’ my cookies with such a weak lookin’ color.”

 “Who says yer getting’ to decorate any cookies at all, huh?” Osamu demanded flatly.

 “I did, cuz I helped make ‘em,” Atsumu informed him bluntly, “And I’m gonna do a much better job than you could even dream of.”

 “Oh, ya think so do ya?” Osamu asked, his eye twitching slightly in clear annoyance.

 “I know so,” Atsumu informed him smugly.

 “Then how about a bet?” your boyfriend proposed, with a challenging stare at his brother, “Whoever decorates the best cookie wins.”

 “What do I get when I win?” Atsumu demanded, as you watched them go back and forth feeling a bit like a spectator at a tennis match.

 “The cookies o’ course,” Osamu proposed evenly, staring his brother down.

 “No way! I was supposed to get ‘em anyway fer comin’ over here to help out, and I ain’t wagerin’ ‘em fer nothin’ in return,” Atsumu protested, vehemently.

 “Fine, the cookies an I’ll make ya bento fer a week,” Osamu countered, “But in return when I win, I get the cookies an’ you have ta deal with Ritsu Baa-chan at the annual holiday party.”

 You snorted at that, trying hard not to laugh at Atsumu’s terrified expression. Ritsu Baa-chan was their grandmother’s sister, their great aunt. She was honestly a rather sweet elderly woman, but she was also a bit blind and couldn’t tell the twins apart despite having different hair colors. She also liked to pinch cheeks a lot, and tended to go on long tangents about her youth.

 “That’s unless yer chicken?” your boyfriend taunted, well aware his brother would fall for it.

 “Fine, yer on, but she ain’t allowed to judge,” he compromised, the sudden finger in your face making you flinch in surprise. Honestly, you’d thought the twins had forgotten you were there for a moment, so the unexpected acknowledgment was a bit baffling.

 “Don’t point at her. It’s rude,” ‘Samu scolded, smacking Atsumu’s hand with the back of the frosting covered spoon he’d been using to mix, making the blond yelp in surprise and indignation, “And who’s gonna judge if not her eh? Don’t tell me yer tryin’ to say somethin’s wrong with my girlfriend.”

 “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with her!” Atsumu conceded immediately, shooting you an apologetic look. For all the twins argued, he’d always been extremely courteous to you outside a bit of teasing, so you weren’t at all hurt, “But she still can’t judge, she’ll just pick ya and won’t give me a fair chance cuz yer her boyfriend!”

 “So, who’s gonna judge then?” your boyfriend asked skeptically, “Everyone we know likes me better.”

 “That ain’t true!” Atsumu pouted at him, as he absently licked the frosting off the back of his hand, earning a disgusted look from his twin, “Everyone knows I’m the superior twin!”

 You watched them squabble for a minute as you considered their little conundrum. Osamu had told you back in high school he’d been known as the ‘nice twin’ of the two of them. It was actually a little hilarious to you, as the longer you’d spent around your boyfriend, getting to know both him and Atsumu by extension, the more you realized he wasn’t actually nicer. He just hid it better.

 According to Aran, your one trustworthy source on what the twins had been like in high school, things had gotten better as the twins matured, Atsumu becoming a little less uptight, and Osamu a little more open. When you’d met Osamu in college and then Atsumu shortly after, you wouldn’t have pegged either of them as nice or better necessarily, until you’d gotten to know them. Osamu was simply a bit more laidback than his twin, sarcastic, and witty. He was a bit more conscious of the people around him, and their opinions. He was also quieter and less prone to emotional outbursts. It made him come off a bit more thoughtful and mature, though he definitely still had his moments. He was meticulous and incredibly sweet when he wanted to be.

 Atsumu on the other hand, was a ball of energy- impulsive but fun. If he loved something he loved it wholeheartedly, and if he hated something he hated it just as ardently. He definitely came off as less mature, and a bit more naïve in some ways as well, which was why you’d never been able to see him as anything more than a good friend or younger brother figure despite being head over heels for his twin.

 You wouldn’t call the two of them opposites per se, but you would say to those who knew them knew that the twins were very different. It meant that despite them sharing a lot of the same friends, most of those friends had a ‘favorite’ of the twins, one whose company they preferred even if they liked both of them. It made having someone neutral to be the judge of the outcome of the little bets they liked to make with each other a bit of an interesting conundrum.

 The only two friends you could think of off the top of your head who both twins would agree on as neutral were Aran and Kita. However, you weren’t about to let the twins pester their friends on Christmas Eve. Luckily, there was one person who was guaranteed neutral that not even the twins would argue against, and who wouldn’t mind having you call, would in fact probably enjoy it a lot.

 “Why don’t we ask your mom to judge then?” you cut in, breaking off their little tiff, “We should call her tonight anyway, to wish her happy holidays. You let her know you got home safely didn’t you ‘Samu?”

 “Course I did,” your boyfriend agreed looking a bit horrified that you’d think he wouldn’t, “I ain’t a scrub like ‘Tsumu.”

 “A guy forgets to text one time,” Atsumu whined, looking more than a bit traumatized at the mere mention of the wrath he’d apparently brought down on his head for forgetting.

 “Then we’ll have her judge,” you told them, ending the argument you knew could last hours if you didn’t intervene, “It will be nice to talk to her later anyway.”

 The twins exchanged another of their speaking looks, but in the end agreed to do things your way. In order to be fair, you split up the cookies and frosting as evenly as you could between the three of you, and set to work.

 Honestly, you probably should’ve known it would be a disaster. The twins had always been competitive, and liked to do anything they could to win, which apparently meant sabotage. It had started off innocently enough, and you were fairly sure it was an accident. Atsumu’s elbow had knocked into an open bottle of red sugar sprinkles and tipped the whole thing on to one of Osamu’s cookies.

 Your boyfriend had been outraged of course, and immediately tried to retaliate by smearing red frosting on to Atsumu’s green Christmas tree. It had only escalated from there, as sprinkles and frosting flew, Osamu’s usual concern for his kitchen flying out the window in the face of competition with his brother.

 Luckily, you’d had the foresight to put yourself outside the disaster zone, well aware there was nothing that brought out immaturity from your boyfriend quite like Atsumu. Therefore, instead of stressing, you got to watch, thoroughly entertained from the side lines. Taking a leaf from Suna’s book, you recording some of it on your phone, fully prepared to share it later.

 You couldn’t help the quiet giggles that escaped your lips as you watched their antics, giggles that devolved into side splitting laughter as Osamu, fed up with having sprinkles flicked at him by Atsumu, dipped his hand into the frosting and smeared it all over his brother’s face.

 Both twins froze at the sound, your boyfriend giving you a soft fond look, the kind he reserved just for you. He quickly abandoned his cookies to come over to where you were sitting so he could wrap his arms around you.

 “Samu you’re getting frosting all over me,” you protested with a laugh even as you hugged him in return, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

 “Ya know ya love it, sweetheart,” Osamu teased affectionately, “Besides weren’t ya the one who got flour all over me earlier?”

 You hummed in agreement, sighing contentedly in his arms. You probably could’ve stayed there for a good while longer, except you were interrupted by a very pointed throat clearing.

 “I’m still here ya know,” Atsumu pointed out clearly disgruntled, “Can’t ya save yer gross coupley stuff until I don’t have to watch?”

 “Yer just jealous,” Osamu brushed him off, squeezing you affectionately and shooting his brother a look over your head, “Ya don’t have to watch ya know. Yer free to leave at any time.”

 “An’ leave ya alone to sabotage my cookies?” the blond demanded self-righteously, “What do ya think I’m an idiot or somethin’?”

 The look your boyfriend gave his brother for that question was really all the answer that was needed. You coughed, pressing your face into his neck to stifle your giggles at the extremely indignant look on Atsumu’s face.

 “I ain’t gonna sabotage yer cookies, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu informed his brother, resting his cheek on top of your head, “I don’t think they could get any uglier if I tried.”

 “An whose fault is that!” Atsumu protested, as easily riled as usual, “Besides it ain’t like yers are any better!”

 It was true both of their cookies were complete and utter disasters, a smear of frosting all blended together into an ugly brownish color with only hints of the previous green and red. Mounds of sprinkles were smeared in and thrown everywhere in a mish mash of colored sugar some on the cookies but a lot on the floor. They honestly barely looked edible, even though you were sure the taste was probably fine. They were, truthfully, some of the ugliest cookies you’d ever seen in your life.

 “Still better than yers,” Osamu countered stubbornly, “I’m still gonna win.”

 “Like hell ya are, mine are clearly superior!” Atsumu retorted.

 “We’ll leave that up to Miya-san to decide,” you cut in before they could really start bickering again, “In the meantime, why don’t we all get cleaned up.”

 You glanced pointedly at Atsumu’s face, still covered in flecks of frosting despite his attempts to wipe it clean, along with the globs on his shirt, and at Osamu’s hair, which was shedding sprinkles everywhere.

 Atsumu grimaced down at this shirt, pouting at the frosting that covered it, and promptly reached for the hem, clearly ready to strip it right off. He didn’t get very far, as Osamu promptly released you to smack at his twins hands.

 “The hell! Don’t just start strippin’ ya scrub!” your boyfriend protested.

 “Why not?” Atsumu protested genuinely baffled, “It ain’t like ya’ve never seen it before ‘Samu, we shared a room fer years.”

 “Do ya always just casually take yer shirt off in front of girls without warnin’?” Osamu asked aggrieved, “No wonder ya can’t get a girlfriend!”

 “Oy! I’ll have ya know the ladies love when I take my shirt off,” Atsumu informed him snottily.

 “Well my lady doesn’t,” Osamu informed him, gesturing to where you were sitting, watching the whole thing play out.

 “Why would she mind?” Atsumu pointed out snottily, “If she’s seen ya naked, she’s basically seen me too.”

 “Eww no,” you interjected, unable to resist, your face scrunching up in disgust, even as your boyfriend smacked his brother over the back of the head.

 “What do ya mean eww no?” Atsumu demanded clutching at his head and turning slightly watery eyes on you, glaring in offense, “We’re twins! We look the exact same!”

 “’Samu is sexy,” you explained with a shrug, unable to resist teasing him a little, “You’re just… you.”

 Atsumu squawked in indignation, clearly very offended, though your boyfriend just looked amused, winking at you from behind his brother’s back and adding, “That’s right, so keep yer damn shirt on ‘Tsumu, no one wants to see it.”

 “But it’s got brown gunk all over it,” he whined gesturing at the rather unfortunately colored frosting smeared down his front from where he’d wiped his face clean with it, “It looks like someone wiped their ass with it!”

 You choked at the realization that he was unfortunately correct, nearly falling off your chair as you were overtaken by laughter again. Really, the twins could start their own comedy show, you had the feeling they’d make a killing. It was no wonder Suna had managed to collect so much blackmail on them over the years, the two of them really made it too easy.

 “So, go home and change then stupid,” Osamu informed his brother flatly, though you could tell from the way his lips twitched that he also found it terribly amusing.

 “No way!” Atsumu griped, “If ya don’t want me shirtless in front of yer girlfriend then just let borrow a shirt ya jerk!”

 “Go get yer own,” your boyfriend countered, completely unimpressed, “No way in hell am I lendin’ ya one of mine again. I’ll never get it back.”

 “Yer so cruel ‘Samu, and here everyone still thinks yer the nice twin,” Atsumu informed his brother snottily, “Tryin’ to send me out into a storm like that!”

 Surprised you glanced at the window only to find Atsumu was right, the weather had gone from bad to worse. Enormous flakes of snow falling from the sky, coming down so hard you could barely see the blurred outline of the home across the street from yours. It looked like a genuine blizzard out there. It looked absolutely nasty, and even though he did live fairly close by you were hesitant to send Atsumu out in it.

 You glanced at your boyfriend, and he clearly saw the concern on your face because he heaved a sigh and nodded in acknowledgment.

 “Fine ‘Tsumu, but yer changin’ in the bathroom so ya don’t make a mess in our room, and ya ain’t leavin’ in it. Rinse yer shirt while yer in there and toss it in the wash,” Osamu ordered as he grabbed hold of his brother hauling him away down the hall, completely ignoring Atsumu’s protests at being manhandled.

 You smiled after them for a moment, amused. You knew without a doubt, no matter how much he griped about it, that Osamu would never have sent Atsumu home when the weather was like this. Which meant you should probably resign yourself to having a guest for the night. Not that you minded all that much.

 You’d known from the beginning that while they were separate people, the Miya twins came as a set. If you were going to be dating Osamu, Atsumu was going to be part of your life, that was a simple, inarguable fact. You were just glad you got along well with him, even if having the two of them together did end with your kitchen a complete and utter disaster area for the second time that day.

 Huffing a sigh, you finished up the last of your own cookies that you’d carefully kept out of the line of fire, covered them and hid them in one of the cupboards. You were well aware if you didn’t they were bound to get snitched by one of the twins. With your cookies safe, you surveyed the mess that was the kitchen and grabbed a cloth intent on getting things cleaned back up again while you had the chance.

 Your work was interrupted by the feel of strong arms wrapping around you from behind, pulling you upright and back into a solid chest. You immediately relaxed into the embrace tilting your head back against your boyfriend’s shoulder so you could see him.

 “Hi there,” you greeted affectionately, tossing the rag you’d been using to wipe things down on to the counter in favor of wrapping your arms over his, savoring the feeling of being held.

 “Hey sweetness,” he returned, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, “I missed ya.”

 “I missed you too,” you admitted quietly, “I’m so glad you made it home, even if you really should’ve stayed where it was safe.”

 “Like I’d let somethin’ as stupid as a snowstorm keep me away from my girl on Christmas Eve,” Osamu scoffed, “This is our day. I wasn’t gonna miss it fer anythin’ sweetheart.”

 You hummed in response, feeling immeasurably comforted by the feel of him wrapped around you, the loneliness and depression chased away completely by the afternoon’s laughter and the warm presence of your boyfriend.

 “How’d the meeting go?” you asked quietly as he rocked the two of you back and forth, the motion familiar and soothing. You’d learned early on he was completely unable to stay still for any length of time unless he was sleeping, a trait he shared with his twin.

 “It was good. The investors are all in, looks like we’re gonna get our new shop in Tokyo after all,” he told you, clear pride in his voice.

 “Our shop huh?” you asked teasingly, more than a bit touched that he said it so easily. Onigiri Miya was his dream after all, and the fact that he shared it so openly with you meant the world.

 “O’course sweetheart,” he told you, “I…!”

 Unfortunately, whatever he might’ve wanted to say after that was interrupted by the untimely arrival of his brother, who reappeared, dressed in a clean shirt, all traces of frosting removed from his person.

 “Oy! This place is still a disaster! I thought ya said ya were goin’ ta help her clean, ‘Samu?” he demanded, turning judging eyes on the kitchen.

 You sighed, partly annoyed and partly amused at the sheer audacity of the blond twin, as Osamu reluctantly untangled himself from you. The glare he sent his twin would’ve had lesser men cringing away, but Atsumu was unfortunately rather immune by this point.

 “Ya have no sense of timing at all do ya, ya scrub?” Osamu asked him rhetorically, heaving a put-upon sigh before smacking his brother over the back of the head in punishment and shoving a cloth in his hands, ordering to, “Help clean too, ya ungrateful jerk! Since half this mess is yers anyways.”

 Luckily, though they squabbled through the whole thing, they did manage to get things cleaned up, just in time for dinner. The snow was still coming down hard, so you quickly invited Atsumu to stay, though Osamu ordered him to stay out of the kitchen. He went, though you quickly sent Osamu after him, insisting that he’d had a long day of travel and didn’t need to cook tonight as you’d fully planned to cook for the two of you.

 Osamu gave you a soft look for that, one that got him thoroughly teased by Atsumu for being a sap. Your boyfriend pressed a quick, chaste kiss to your lips before joining his brother to stream the latest Black Jackals game on the tv, clearly fully intending to heckle his brother over any mistakes he made while you put together something for all three of you to eat.

 Dinner was lively and enjoyable as Osamu told the two of you more about the meeting in Tokyo. Apparently, the area they were looking to open the next restaurant was in a prime location, and construction would start after the new year once the property lease was signed. If things went well it would be open before summer, which was incredibly exciting.

 In turn, Atsumu shared some of what he’d been up to with the Jackals. He had a lot of funny stories to tell about the players you’d met briefly and heard lots of stories about from their high school days. His stories about Hinata Shouyou, Sakusa Kiyoomi, and Bokuto Koutarou in particular were always amusing, mostly because they were always teasing him in some way, never allowing him to get his way completely.

 The twins also asked you some about what you’d been up to, and you shared the things that you knew they’d find interesting, little anecdotes about your day, or small stories you knew would make them laugh. It was honestly heartwarming how both of them worked to include you in their dynamic, trying to ensure you never felt excluded, and you understood how very much it meant that they tried so hard for you.

 After dinner the three of you gathered together at the twins insistence to video call their mother. The kindly woman answered on the third ring, and immediately leveled a suspicious look at the twins.

 “What did the two of ya do now?” she asked clearly resigned to whatever antics the twins had gotten up to this point. You giggled, unable to help yourself at the identical expressions of offense on their faces.

 “Oh, hello darling!” their mother greeted you warmly, “How are ya doin’? Are these two rascals causin’ trouble fer ya?”

 “Hello Miya-san,” you returned just as warm, to the woman who’d gladly welcomed you into their family with open arms, nudging your face into the frame so you could see her better, “It’s good to see you!”

 “You too dear, and I told ya, no need for Miya-san, call me kaa-san okay? Yer my future daughter-in-law after all!” she told you jovially, making you flush slightly, pleased and a little flustered, glancing hesitantly at your boyfriend out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t look at all bothered by the insinuation, simply watching you with a fond look in his eyes.

 “Kaa-san then,” you agreed a little shyly, earning a beaming smile in return.

 “What can I do fer ya tonight darlin’?” she asked, both of you ignoring the way Atsumu was grumbling to his brother about how unfair it was that their mother loved you more than she loved them.

 “The twins are having a bit of a contest and we were hoping you’d be a neutral judge,” you told her with an amused grin.

 “Really?” she asked partly amused, partly resigned, “Again? Ya would’ve thought at their age they’d stop doin’ silly things like this, but I shoulda known. I really probably shoulda stopped ‘em the very first time they brought me the prettiest rocks they could find and asked which I liked better when they were toddlers. It was too cute at the time though, and I didn’t have the heart ta tell em to knock it off.”

 “That is cute,” you told her with a helpless little grin, giving your boyfriend, who was pointedly not looking at you, a fond look trying not to giggle at the slight pink tinge on his cheeks. He at least was doing better than Atsumu who was fire engine red and sputtering indignantly.

 “So, what did they do this time?” she prompted, looking all too amused at having managed to embarrass them both, the vicious twinkle in her eyes reminding you yet again where the two of them had gotten their mischievous side from.

 “Decorated Christmas cookies,” you told her wryly amused, “I’ve been volunteered to show them to you, so you don’t know whose is whose.”

 The two of you exchanged eye rolls at that, both completely done with how seriously the twins took their ridiculous contests. It was a little hilarious honestly while also being simultaneously endearing and annoying.

 “Let’s see it then,” she agreed, heaving a put-upon sigh.

             You did as asked, holding up the plate with the two cookies. The twins had each chosen the one they thought came out best from their lot, though that wasn’t saying much considering they all looked rather terrible. The look on her face let you know that their mother shared your thoughts on this as she deadpanned at the cookies, which were a complete and utter mess.

             “Is yer kitchen still intact?” she asked, her spot-on guess startling you into laughter as the twins both gave indignant shouts, Osamu insisting he would never destroy his own kitchen, and Atsumu indignant at being accused of destroying kitchens in general.

             “It was a bit of a mess for a while, but they cleaned it up for me,” you answered easily, completely ignoring the pout sent your way from Atsumu and the betrayal on the face of your boyfriend for outing them to their mom.

             “Well there’s that at least,” she conceded with a put-upon sigh, “Did ya save any of the cookies fer yerself darlin’.”

             You grinned at her and stood, retrieving your own nicely decorated cookies from where you’d hid them earlier to show them off to her, “I did kaa-san, these ones are for me, and for the holiday party in a couple days.”

             “Yer such a good girl,” she praised with a proud smile, “It’s no wonder yer my favorite child.”

             “Oy!” both twins protested, clearly indignant, though Osamu looked torn between indignation and pride. Still she completely ignored them with the ease of long practice.

             “I think it’s obvious who the winner is dears, hers are much better than either of yers,” their mother proclaimed, her word clearly final, making the twins sulk.

             “How did ya know somethin’ went wrong with ours anyway?” Atsumu whined, taking his own cookie from the plate and shoving it into his mouth rather mutinously.

             “I’m well aware neither of ya have much in the way of artistic skills,” their mother informed him with a put-upon sigh, “But that was bad even for the two of ya. Besides I’m yer kaa-san, it’s my job ta’ know.”

             You giggled at that, well aware that it was the truth. Osamu could make a very pretty plate of food when he wanted to, but only when he was copying someone else. He didn’t seem to have a single original bone in his body when it came to design or aesthetics even if some of the recipes he came up with were absolutely inspired. Atsumu also could pull off beautiful movements, and plays in volleyball that were enough to impress the most seasoned of professionals. However, you’d seen him attempt to color before and the man could barely keep within the lines. There was no doubt the twins were talented, but artistic they were most certainly not.

             With the cookie judgment out of the way, the rest of the conversation was nice and casual. The family was actually due to meet up in a few days, and you were looking forward to it. The Miyas had treated you like family from the very first time Osamu had brought you home, welcoming you with open arms, and you never failed to feel included and loved when they had their gatherings.

             It didn’t hurt that your boyfriend never failed to keep an arm around you the entire time. The affectionate gesture garnered only approval from his relatives, even as it reassured you of his presence at your side.

             By the time you’d finished up your conversation with the twins’ mother it was fairly late, and just as you’d expected the snow was still coming down rather heavily. Atsumu had made one, incredibly half-hearted attempt to leave, and Osamu one even less fervent attempt to push him out the door. Attempts that your fervent insistence he stay in the guest room, one that was basically his anyway, easily overrode.

             The three of you chatted for a while longer, but eventually the long day caught up with your boyfriend. Atsumu teased him a bit about going to bed early like an old man, but considering he was yawning just as badly at that point, he didn’t really have a leg to stand on. You’d ushered both of them off to bed, following Osamu into your shared bedroom. The two of you had your night time routine down pat by now, easily working around one another to get ready for bed.

             You’d just settled down on the side you’d claimed for yourself when you were gently tugged forward, your boyfriend pulling you into his arms. You went without a fuss, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his chest, breathing in his familiar comforting scent.

             “Thanks for today,” you told him, lifting your face so you could look him in the eye. You were more than a bit sleepy after all the activity from the day, but you really wanted to tell him this before you let yourself fall asleep, “For sending Atsumu to cheer me up, for distracting me and making me smile.”

             You were well aware that both twins had played up their antics a bit for you today. Yes, they bickered, but it had been a bit over the top even for them. It was only as you’d been talking to their mother that you realized how well they’d distracted you from the glum mood you’d been in, not just earlier that day but for a while now as things had begun to weigh on you. You’d thought you’d hidden it well, but apparently your boyfriend knew you too well for that and had gone out of his way to help cheer you up, even dragging his brother into it.

             “I’m the one who should be thankin’ you,” he pointed out gently brushing his fingers over your cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, “Fer puttin’ up with his whiney ass, especially since he destroyed our kitchen twice.”

             There was a tenderness in his face and voice that belayed his words as he casually brushed off your thanks, one that let you know he knew just how much it had meant to you, and that he was just pleased it had worked. He’d always said he didn’t need thanks for being there for you, for cheering you up when you were down, or holding you when you needed it, and it seemed he was determined to stand by those words.

             “He was sweet,” you protested a bit on his behalf, accepting the gentle redirection with grace and giggling a bit at the skeptical look he gave you for that assertion, “Besides it was partly your fault the kitchen got destroyed a second time.”

             “Keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna start ta think ya prefer him over me,” he grumbled at you a slight pout on his lips, one that you were quick to press a smacking kiss to, your over dramatics making him smile.

             “You know you’re my favorite Miya twin, ‘Samu,” you told him earnestly, gently brushing his dark hair back from his forehead and meeting his eyes, hoping he could see the honesty in your own, “Always and forever.”

             “If ya say it like that sweetheart, then I guess I’ve got no choice but ta believe ya,” he told you, a faint smile tugging his lips upwards, the soft look he reserved just for you on his face, “Cause always and fer ever is just exactly what I’m after with ya.”

             “Good,” you told him, nuzzling your nose against his, and smiling into the soft kiss he pressed to your willing mouth, “that’s all I want, for this Christmas and for every Christmas to come.”

             “Ya’ve got me sweetheart,” he assured you, his voice warm and filled with promise.

             “I love you, ‘Samu,” you murmured to him tiredly, unable to help the yawn that took you over. You were utterly exhausted.

             “I love ya too sweetness,” he affirmed fervently, gently tucking you into his chest and settling the two of you comfortably into the bed, “sleep well.”

             You hummed in agreement, unaware that as you fell asleep his eyes were locked on the bedside table, quietly contemplating the future and the small precious box he’d hidden in there earlier, where it would be safe from your prying eyes. He’d thought he’d had the perfect moment earlier when you’d asked why he’d called the new Tokyo branch ‘ours’ instead of his, but then ‘Tsumu had interrupted.

             That was alright though. He had time. Time to figure out just what he wanted to say, and time to ensure you really truly understood how much you meant to him. You’d said always and forever, and he intended to hold up his end of the bargain, for this Christmas and every Christmas to come.

[r6shippingdelivery]

headcannons for hobbies? Like what they do on their off time?

Hi nonnie! I actually did a Hobbies HC for “all” ops a long time ago. But seeing that was before the expanded bios, and it only reached up to Gridlock and Mozzie, I’d say it’s time for an updated version, don’t you say? 

Some of the answers are unchanged from the old post, because I already nailed it or the new info didn’t disprove my ideas. But I had to revise a lot of the answers I gave the first time around! In order to find their hobbies and/or get a glimpse of their lives beyond Rainbow and what they might like, I read all the bios, and looked up concept art, and elites, and past battlepass content, etc. And when none of that was enough, I just went with my gut instinct 😂 Thank you to @grain-crain-drain, @dagoth-menthol & @todragonsart for bouncing ideas with me when I was stuck! 💕

Hobbies Headcanons for ALL ops (up to Neon Dawn)

FBI

- Ash: According to her savta, shooting things is not a hobby, but Ash disagrees. And since according to her expanded bio she knows Hebrew, Arabic, English, French and Greek, I’m willing to bet she enjoys learning languages as well. - Thermite: He grew up on a ranch and loves riding. He’s also taken an interest in improving gadgets it seems, so my old proposal that he dabbles in forging/smithing stuff seems plausible. And based on this concept art, demolition derbies attending and maybe even competing himself too? - Pulse: He’s interested in a variety of topics and goes through phases of intense, nearly obsessive focus, until something else captures his attention. He still has a lingering fondness for building muscle cars, since it was something he used to do with his father. And like Thermite and Hibana, it seems he might enjoy demolition derbies. - Castle: He’s a language nerd, studying/reading/practicing new languages is his hobby for sure. Since the expanded bio says he rescues abused dogs, I don’t think it would be far fetched he volunteered at animal shelters too.

SAS

- Thatcher: Aside from repairing his boat, The Iron Maggie, he also enjoys fishing. He used to do that with his dad & brothers, and tried to take the rest of the SAS fishing as a bonding experience. It didn’t go very well - Sledge: He plays rugby, and has an inexplicable fondness of trying the wildest ideas that tend to end with something broken, be it one of his bones or a structure or wall (just read his extended psychological profile and you’ll see, lmao) - Smoke: Boxing, it helps him focus all his chaotic energy. And chemistry in general, it’s not just a hobby but a passion of his. - Mute: he enjoys tinkering with stuff, taking it apart and then putting it back together in a different way, just to see if he can improve it or make it work in his own way. Flying drones plays perfectly into that, with the added bonus of being able to do the flying part just for fun too.

GIGN

- Montagne: His main passion is working with people, teaching and mentoring others, and therefore when he’s not on duty, his main passtime still is mingling with people and getting to know them. I could see him making overtures with Castle, interested in the American and fascinated by his knowledge of various languages, an area Monty feels insecure about due to only knowing French and English.  - Twitch: Engineering, robotics and developing an empathic AI is her life.Twitch is a workaholic passionate about those topics. She also greatly enjoys traveling and, according to her expanded bio, people watching.  - Doc: He surely had some hobby at one point, but he can’t remember it, or the last time he had free time for it. Doc is also a workaholic, although one that loves to complain about it.  - Rook: Apparently he’s passionate about cycling, auto racing, and rock concerts. Mainly cycling though, since he dropped out of university to cycle around France.

Spetsnaz

- Tachanka: He collects and repairs old weapons. Mostly soviet, but he has some interesting pieces from other countries too. And he dances surprisingly well.  - Kapkan: Aside from a certain interest in psychology, his main hobby is hunting, of course. But he also whittles and carves wooden figurines.  - Glaz: Quite obviously, painting. He’s an artist, and quite a good one. He also likes playing cards, especially poker. - Fuze: He builds new weapon prototypes for fun. And tests them, if he can convince Six of it. He also likes to bake from time to time, a skill he learnt thanks to his grandma - and because he has a sweet tooth.

GSG9

- Jäger: Planes. Model planes, repairing old WWI & II planes, you name it. And watching copious amounts of documentaries.  - Bandit: His bike is his main hobby, both taking care of it and riding it. He also likes playing pool; and, if pranking people counts as a hobby, that’s his oldest one, dating from when he was a kid. - Blitz: He was and still is an athlete at heart, and Blitz loves running. - IQ: In order to disconnect from engineering pursuits, she indulges in rock climbing, spelunking, and writing science fiction stories.

JTF2

- Buck: He crafts mechanical puzzles, and enjoys all kinds of physical activity that can take place outdoors. - Frost: She just loves being surrounded by nature, and often goes mountain climbing or diving.

SEAL

- Valkyrie: Swimming and diving, of course! She wanted to be a professional swimmer, but now it’s just a hobby. And apparently she enrolled for a helicopter pilot license, and language classes. - Blackbeard: According to the expanded bios, he likes sailing and even participated in a championship. And since he climbed Mount Everest, it’s safe to say he also likes mountain climbing.

BOPE

- Capitao: He loves football, playing or watching it, doesn’t matter, he’s all for it. - Caveira: Spends a lot of time practicing Jiu Jitsu, in the gym and also on unofficial tournaments.

SAT

- Hibana: For her it’s traditional Japanese archery (Kyūdō). And probably demolition derbies too accounting that concept art from before with Thermite and Pulse. - Echo: According to the expanded bio, he has few interests outside work, but I always imagined he’d be into gaming and e-sports. Hacking too, and that’s a direct influence from Dokkaebi.

GEO

- Jackal: He plays the acoustic guitar/spanish guitar, and sings too. And now we also know he volunteers with at-risk youth. - Mira: Fixing cars is second nature to her, and thanks to her expanded bio we know she also does metal sculptures that incorporate used mechanical parts.

SDU

- Ying: Extreme driving, which can sometimes trigger her PTSD, and traveling. Especially exploring cities by randomly jumping in public transport and just going anywhere. - Lesion: He is also one to volunteer in underprivileged areas (like Junk Bay, where he grew up), and clearing mines and other unexploded devices. I also imagine him with a certain gusto for playing blackjack.

GROM

- Zofia: If obsessing about her father’s supposed suicide and the oddities surrounding it, and desperately trying to reconnect with her sister count as hobbies, sure, she has those. - Ela: She’s also an artist, one with a very particular vision that some have called narcissistic. Apparently she also does some “freelance” volunteer work, roaming the streets at night and offering help/comfort, or a willing ear to the people she meets.

707SMB

- Vigil: He likes to take walks around the forest, just aimless exploring and marvelling at nature and any animals he might come across. Often listens to relaxing music while doing so, and he might pick a pretty rock here and there to bring home. - Dokkaebi: Hacking is her hobby, of course. She also has several social media profiles and is an active member in a couple of hacking forums. As per a previous battlepass, I believe she enjoys mountain trekking too. And dancing to electro beat, due to her elite.

CBRN

- Lion: His rebel years left him with an appreciation for rock music and a dream to be in a group. Lion still plays the electric guitar, when he’s not off volunteering at the local church. - Finka: Pushed by her parents from a young age to try different sports, just like her siblings, she eventually discovered a strong love for fencing and ice-skating.

GIS

- Maestro: Cooking, and boxing, an interest he shares with Smoke. But mostly cooking. - Alibi: She’s also a marksman, engages Ash in friendly shooting competitions.

GSUTR

- Clash: She’s very involved in different activist causes, mostly surrounding racial issues and inequality. - Maverick: Photography, mostly nature or candid shots of his fellow operators. I also think he likes horses and riding. And Buzkashi of course, but he hasn’t played since he left Kabul.

GIGR

- Kaid: Playing chess, he’s a good strategist and it shows. And  while dozing off with a cat on his lap is not a hobby, he also loves that. - Nomad: Traveling to all sorts of remote locations, she’s an explorer with a thirst to prove herself. She also keeps a travel journal, which includes maps and some drawings of the places she’s seen.

SASR

- Mozzie: Dirt biking, of course. The more dangerous the jumps and stunts are, the more he likes it. He knows his limits and works to surpass them. - Gridlock: Robotics. She still wants to compete again in robot championships, just like she and Mozzie did so many years ago. She would consider that fixing cars and vehicles has become more part of her job than a hobby, but still loves it too.

Phantom Sight

- Nokk: Fencing, as evidenced by some of her concept art, she participated in fencing tournaments. - Warden: He knows appearances are important, and he cultivated a very specific image, so he likes to take care of that, be it by buying luxury or antique cars, or designer suits, etc.

Ember Rise

- Amaru: Archeology and exploring the Amazon jungle is her passion. It used to be her whole life and job, but since she joined Rainbow, she’s been busy with training and missions, yet she never lost her love for adventure, history and protecting her country’s cultural artifacts. - Goyo: He’s a really good chess player, and enjoys other games where he either has to think, or his usual poker face and calm demeanor can throw his opponents off.

Shifting Tides

- Kali: When she’s not writing reports about her underlings progress, or making lists about who should be ascended/rewarded, who needs to be punished or chastised, etc, she’ll be doing yoga, since it helps her focus. Or hardcore pilates when she needs to burn away some frustration first. - Wamai: Diving and being underwater in general, be it on his special immersion tanks or on the actual sea, it doesn’t matter. He finds it calming (and he’s addicted to the anoxia sensation)

Void Edge

- Iana: Space exploration fascinates her, and she’s always trying to learn everything she can about the cosmos, watching documentaries and conducting her own in-depth research. - Oryx: Wrestling helps him hone his physical prowess, and it’s also a measured outlet for his deep seated rage. He also greatly enjoys reading poetry.

Steel Wave

- Melusi: She’s committed to the conservation cause, which stems from both her love of wildlife and nature, and her protective instincts. She likes to explore too, although she’s not driven by a will to prove herself or reach certain goals, but simply for the joy of seeing natural spaces. - Ace: Social Media. He’s obsessed with his public image and popularity. While he travels quite a bit, it seems he does it more to share new and exciting selfies on Instagram than for the pleasure of visiting new places.

Shadow Legacy

- Zero: He knits and crochets, it’s an engaging hobby that helps him clear his mind, plus he enjoys making stuff too. Not many people know about this side of him though. 

Neon Dawn

- Aruni: She and Hero, her giant pouched rat, volunteer on landmine detection and removal efforts. She also likes to travel extensively, and has done so in the company of Twitch and Nomad.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Keeping Vigil || Morgan & Eddie

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @specterchasing & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: When Morgan can’t carry her hope, Eddie is there to help. 

CONTAINS: body horror, discussions of death, mortality, decay

After reaching another dead end in her search for answers, Morgan broke down and took an extra long shower to get rid of her smell and wash the rough parts on her body that had been hurt or picked at by bugs. The water pattered on her just right, steadier and softer than rain. When she let it fall into her ear and make the room feel like underwater, she could hold onto the water and nothing else and the aches and cramps faded, and everything was fine. She savored the change in water temperature as it faded from hot to cool as much as the change in the sky from light to dark.

A little later, as she picked at cold fried rice and brains, the waistband on her sweats started to feel a little tight, and when Morgan looked down her coloring had gone another shade of wrong and when she touched her stomach (first in the middle, then all around) she got the sinking feeling she used to once a month: bloating. Maybe it was water damage, maybe it was just that time in the un-life cycle. It didn’t fucking matter, did it?

“Great. First I’m dead, then I’m falling apart and ripped up like a rag doll, and now I’m a dead ripped up balloon doll waiting to pop.” She thought about how she’d announce this latest development to Deirdre when she got home and decided she didn’t want to. So she made some tea, remembered all the chamomile in the world wouldn’t actually calm her and threw it against her studio. 

The mug bounced off the wall. Tea splattered the yard.

Morgan picked it up and holed herself up inside the four little walls where she was supposed to be alone. Maybe if she disappeared in a book or a playlist she could forget about what was happening to her body. Funny how she’d dreamed of feeling the world again every day for the last fourteen months; now she’d try just about anything to go numb and float off again.

As Eddie approached the front door of Morgan’s home, an unexpected sound from the backyard caught his attention. He took a few steps back and looked over the fence in time to see the studio door close. If that’s where Morgan was, it would be pointless to try getting into the main house. Admittedly, tracking her down would be a nonissue if she knew he planned to drop by, but Eddie had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t want visitors in her current condition. Be that as it may, he needed to see her. For all he knew, this might be his last chance.

Eddie reached over the fence’s gate and unlocked it from the other side, immediately re-locking it once inside. Even in his haste, he didn’t want to be the reason something unwanted took an open door as an invitation. Eddie quickly bypassed the garden that usually imbued him with a sense of calmness. Today, all it did was put more space between him and Morgan.

At the studio door, Eddie knocked only to enter without waiting for a response. The second he saw her, his heart fell into his stomach. Morgan, for the first time since meeting her, looked dead.

“I heard about what happened,” Eddie announced. He figured wasting time on small talk would be insulting at this point. “I wish you would’ve told me yourself, but I guess it doesn’t matter now.” As he spoke, he walked further into the studio. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of people in your corner right now. Is there room for me to throw my hat in the ring?”

Morgan only managed a few minutes of stillness before she heard a knock. She flinched, dreading what she would have to explain to Deirdre, but before she could work up the nerve to answer, Eddie came in. She was so startled she forgot to cover her face. Her blue-purple pallor was growing new colors, black in some places, yellow in others. Somehow, her skin was peeling and shriveled and swollen at once. Her eyes, now clouded like frost on a window, looked smaller than they should and her lids sagged around the empty space. For a woman who would never age, she sure looked like she had outlived her time.

In the brief instant Eddie held the door open, three flies flew in and circled lazily toward her. They knew a good thing when they saw it. She should probably have been more grateful that maggots and fungi hadn’t found her yet, but the only thought she had room for was, Eddie shouldn’t be here.

“W--what? I--” It didn’t really matter how he found out, did it? “I don’t want to be one of those people that puts their bullshit on kids and makes them carry it,” she sighed. “And I don’t...know what I’m going to do about any of this. If I can do anything about this. I went through the books I had, I tried looking through some others and--” Nothing. She slumped back in her corner on the day bed and covered her face with a pillow. Then, feeling ridiculous, tossed it away and settled for pulling her legs up and hiding that way. “You should probably grab some air freshener from the kitchenette,” she mumbled.

Eddie had never seen Morgan look so small before. In the past, her petite frame always seemed like an act of misdirection. When she spoke, the weight of her words commanded attention. Her laugh charmed a sigh of relief from the world around her. Out of everyone Eddie knew, he couldn’t think of a single person he respected more than Morgan Beck. Seeing her this way didn’t change that, it only proved the severity of the situation. It was time for him to start repaying her for everything she’d done.

“Well, this kid would rather help carry your bullshit than let it bury you,” Eddie replied as he took her advice and walked over to the kitchenette. He wanted to tell her he didn’t mind the smell but lying wouldn’t make the situation any better. Eddie pulled the trigger and a clean-linen scented mist mingled with the smell of decay. It would have to do.

“So,” he continued, moving closer to her before taking a seat beside her on the day bed. ���Catch me up to speed, I only know the bare minimum.” Eddie didn’t think being told the details would lead them to a solution but that wasn’t why he came here. Other, more capable people would help Morgan in that area. What he wanted to accomplish was simply to make sure she knew she wasn’t alone. Maybe it wasn’t as glamorous of a purpose as finding a cure but believed it to be important all the same. “You woke up and, out of nowhere, you were alive again?”

Morgan grimaced at the hiss of the air freshener. She had suggested it, but smelling it and knowing how little good it would do was another matter. “You might wanna go a little heavier on that,” she deadpanned. “I’m almost a week into this, and whatever is fucking with me the slow, painful way, has a year’s worth of decay to catch up on.” She let her head rest against the wall and closed her eyes. All her physical senses back, and she still had to endure this latest cosmic ‘fuck you’ in complete sobriety. No rest. No relief.

She curled up a little tighter as he sat by her, as if her death-sickness was contagious. “Uh, if you haven’t noticed, I apparently don’t need to be buried. I can decompose all by myself.” She worked his question thoughtfully, trying to find the right words for it. How stupidly excited she was for so little, and how suddenly it was a little too much.

“I wasn’t alive,” she said at last, face still buried in her knees. “No heartbeat. No warmth. I could just...feel again. The bedsheets were cold. And soft. Weirdly soft. And my girlfriend was soft and cold but different, and the carpet was...coarse and thick and plushy...it was like I’d never been on this planet before. Everything was new. The words I had weren’t enough to describe it. I spent a whole two days convincing myself that whatever was happening it wouldn’t be so bad. Some weird town thing we’d have to reverse. But then I got hurt and it took me forever to heal. And then I didn’t heal at all. And I ate, I had so many brains, but my body was shriveling up, turning color, smelling, all that gross stuff that’s not supposed to happen to me if I do everything I’m supposed to. And do you know how it feels, literally feels, to have your body dry up? Or to--” One of the flies landed on her cheek and began exploring the new terrain. Morgan raised her hand and let it, waiting til it reached her hairline where she wasn’t so sensitive. She slapped it dead and left the goo where it was. “Be food for the bugs? Because that’s something I know now. Can’t wait for everything else to go, or for whatever’s keeping me wide awake for the whole horror science show to...decide what comes next.” She didn’t want to die. She wouldn’t be this frustrated if she did. But being nothing but wobbling bones and leather and dust frightened her just as much as oblivion. She didn’t know which she was really supposed to hope for.

Eddie listened as Morgan described the past few days. At first, her condition sounded like a gift. He remembered when she told him how badly she missed being able to experience the world as a living participant. No heartbeat or warmth meant certain sensations were still off limits but, other than that, he imagined those first two days felt pretty damn good. A false sense of security, obviously. He hated this.

Morgan swatted the fly and Eddie’s lips pursed in response. “Hold on,” he announced, standing up to make his second trip to the kitchenette. Facing the counter, he tore a few paper towels from the roll and wetted them in the sink. After wringing out the extra moisture, he carried them back to the daybed and took his seat again. Eddie tentatively reached out and, as gently as he could, washed away the insect’s remains. When his hand lowered, he kept the damp wad of paper in his hand in case another decided to land on her.

“Morgan, do you remember what you said to me about hope, that it’s a choice?” Eddie asked. Of all people, he knew how unqualified he was to preach the importance of hope but he wanted to try. “You also said that to stop believing in the future is to stop believing in existing.” Even if he lacked the experience to explain the importance of looking for good, he knew Morgan didn’t. He could use her own words to help him navigate the situation.

“This isn’t the first time life’s given you its worst,” he said. “Obviously, you can roll over and accept hopelessness. Or, you can do what you do best and tell death to go fuck itself.”

“Yeah, this is an anomaly—so are you. Nothing is written, right? Don’t give up. Not yet.”

There were a lot of words Morgan had spoken in the past that haunted her now. Magic is going to save my life. All I need is to break the curse. Hope is a fucking choice. What was there to hope for when the only thing on the horizon was another shade of suffering? How could she continue believing in existence, when existence seemed to be shutting her down at both ends? Was she supposed to bone-jangle her way downstairs to breakfast every morning? Or be carried on a stretcher in so many pieces, to and fro? Or would the magic take away her mind too, and this was simply a farewell tour she didn’t have a say in? Morgan didn’t see much hope in that. What had all her suffering been for? A year of half a life, and then this?

Morgan scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and said nothing for a while. Then, just peeking over her knees with dead, swollen eyes, she said, “Death comes for everyone, Eddie. That’s what gives life balance. We end. We go...somewhere. Home. Even if it’s not until this planet implodes or gets struck by the right meteor. Everything is change. To stay stuck one way, that’s the biggest waste of what we have.” She shrugged. “But...stars in the fucking sky above…” Her voice drowned with held-in tears. “I couldn’t find anything about this, Eddie. I haven’t figured it out. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to imagine to hope for. And I’m so tired...I am so tired of climbing back up, of fighting the universe for one scrap of good. And right now...I almost wish I could give up. But I don’t even know what to give up on. All of it looks like giving up something right now.”

Eddie knew death came for everyone. Until recently, he clung to that fact with everything he had. Even now, his grip was only a little looser than before. Death, to him, sounded like a release. Morgan was tired, it made sense for her to want rest. A few months ago, Eddie might not have argued that it wasn’t the answer, but now he knew what loss felt like. If Morgan died, a piece of him would too. Ironically enough, the more he cared about someone, the more selfish he became.

“Lots of things that happen in this town don’t have books written about them. That doesn’t make them impossible to handle,” Eddie insisted before adopting a softer tone. “I know you’re tired. If anyone deserves rest, it’s you, and you’ll get it.” Eddie reached out with his free-hand and took hold of Morgan’s. “Like you said, death’s inevitable but it doesn’t have you yet. As long as you’re here, there’s a chance for things to get better. And—and, no, I don’t know what your pain feels like, but I know my own. Most days, getting out of bed is a fucking triumph, but I still do it; for you. For Alfie, for Bex, and Kyle, and everyone else who’s been kind to me. I don’t know what I’m hoping for exactly. Maybe I’m just hoping for hope.” Eddie paused before speaking again. “Think about that scrap of good, are you ready to let it go?” He meant the question genuinely and without pretense. “If you do, there’s no getting it back. No more garden, no more Deirdre, no more laughter, no more anything. Is there really nothing left worth fighting for?”

Morgan hid her face again as it crumpled with grief. But she let Eddie take her hand, and though her fingers were stiff, she squeezed his back. Mina had told her once that life was a curse of its own; Morgan had brushed it off as a flash of witty irony. But it came to her again now: was this living? Was crawling out of one hole only to fall into another what life looked like from the inside? She couldn’t think of a person she knew who wasn’t crawling out of something right now. The difference was only in terms of degree. When she was alive, human-alive, she had coached herself into accepting happiness as a stolen gift, a thing she would be caught red handed with and have to surrender. It would all be okay, because when the curse was over, she could have as much as she wanted and more. She could chase down every bright thing and know that however it turned out, it was fair as anything on earth could be, and she had given her best. It made her dry organs shrivel just a little more to suppose this was the way of all things, not just a thirty-nine-year blip of existence.

And yet there was no better choice before her. It was just like Eddie said. If she tried to will this bullshit to the end, she would be releasing everything she’d fought so hard to hold. And if she surrendered to the thought of an eternity of true living death, it would be much the same. The world struck no natural balance in the course of a life, and in White Crest it arched toward cruelty, and yet there had to be another horizon. These scraps of good had to be enough because they were all she had. And maybe In another week, a month, in a decade, things would be different. Magic always had a key to unlock itself. What was done might someday be undone. (Might, and with so little evidence to make it feel like anything at all.) She tried to imagine it, coming out of a stupor like sleeping beauty, kissing her own skin for holding its shape and keeping her here just enough to try and make a better balance in the world, kissing Deirdre, and the cats, and having every fresh memory from those early days to guide her toward contentment. She couldn’t hold the image very long. It burnt in flashes. Somehow, it hurt worse than either path of doom she saw. Morgan nodded and let hope in and sobbed, breaking with the weight of it.

She tried to muffle her cries with her other hand, but it was no good. She shook and soaked her sweatpants with her tears and turned Eddie’s fingers red with her grip. At last she noticed the change in the feel of his hand and let go. “Sorry. I’m...s-sorry. Um.” She wiped her face on her sleeve and tried to look at the boy. “You know you’re...a really kind, brave kid, right? And that’s why we all want you to be more careful? Because we need more of that around. We need you. And I wish you could be there for yourself like you are for me right now.” She heaved another dry sob and scrubbed her face again fighting for composure. It was always harder to show up for yourself, especially when you were alone.

“I’m not--uh, this isn’t because--” She gestured vaguely at the mess of herself. “I mean, you’re right. You’re right and I know you’re right and it’s just--” Kind of wish you weren’t. It would be so much easier if you weren’t. She shook her head, abandoning words in favor of meeting his gaze. What she didn’t know how to say was this: it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, holding out for hope and hoping for its own sake. But Eddie knew dark almost as well as she did; maybe he would know this just by looking at her, too.

When Morgan broke down, Eddie knew he’d struck a chord. He could only hope that meant something good and that he hadn’t made things worse. Her grip on his hand tightened exponentially but the pain barely registered. All he could focus on were her anguished sobs—he wondered how long she’d been trying to swallow them. Despair like that didn’t come to term in an instant. It laid in wait, brewing and accumulating more grievances both big and small until it could no longer be contained. If he had managed to help her rethink the release of death, maybe a release like this one would suffice for now.

“No, no, it’s—” Eddie’s dismissal of Morgan’s apology cut off when she spoke again. His expression slowly relaxed, brows raising in gentle surprise. A few people had called him brave now but he never seemed to get used to it. After spending so much of his life in hiding, he didn’t think he deserved that kind of praise. At the same time, he wanted to believe he was wrong. Eddie smiled sadly at Morgan. “One day, maybe. It’s a work in progress.” He didn’t know what to say about being needed but he tucked the compliment away somewhere he could find it when he lost sight of what mattered.

What she said—or, more accurately, didn’t say next resonated exactly as she expected it to. “It feels impossible, doesn’t it?” Eddie asked before his smile returned. “Kind of like when you’ve been in the dark for so long your eyes adjust to it and suddenly a light comes on and blinds you.” He gingerly rubbed the back of her with his thumb. “We’ll adjust to the light the same as we did the dark, just gotta give ourselves some time.”

Morgan nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Slowly, she unfolded her legs. There wasn’t much of her left to hide, and the second fly was already crawling along her skull. She thought about what Eddie said when it came to the light and the dark, and wondered how long it would take for her vision to get screwed up from so much back and forth that everything hurt. It would have to be a long time from now, wouldn’t it? She would have to make it that way.

After what seemed like a long time she said, “You know, for someone who lumped in hope with the evils of the world, you’re getting pretty good at being hope’s cheerleader.” Then after another silence, “You don’t have to stay with me though, okay? I’m not gonna go off the deep end, or do anything I shouldn’t. Deirdre will probably be home soon anyway.” Time had a way of moving funny when you were miserable, something Eddie was probably familiar with too, but the last thing she wanted him to carry was more worry about her. She nearly reached over to pat his arm, reassure him in a performance of her good ol’ self, but she remembered how she looked and let it fall empty instead. “Thank you though,” she said quietly.

Since Eddie last gave Morgan his opinion on hope, a lot had changed—was still changing. He didn’t find comfort in misery as much as he used to. Now, he understood happiness took a little elbow grease and that brains need to be re-wired every now and then. Some days were harder than others, he didn’t always believe his positive affirmations, but he was trying. For himself and everyone he loved, he was trying.

“When you’re wrong, you’re wrong,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I might as well give your outlook a shot. It’s going pretty okay so far.”

When Morgan next spoke, Eddie considered her carefully. He didn’t want to linger if she needed time to decompress but he also didn’t want to risk leaving too soon. Finally, he said, “Okay, if you’re sure.” Eddie stood up and took a deep breath before turning to face her. “If you need anything, anything at all, call me. I don’t care what time it is. I know it sucks to feel like you’re weighing people down but I love you, Morgan. I like helping you.” He leaned down to wrap his arms loosely around her. “Don’t ever feel like a burden.”

“I love you too, Eddie,” Morgan whispered. “Go on now. Be good and I’ll see you soon.”

Eddie straightened up and walked over to the kitchenette to toss the wadded up paper towels in the trash. Afterwards, he headed for the door. “See you soon,” he said, glancing back at Morgan before taking his leave.

[myaekingheart]

20 [Fanfic Writer] Questions Game

Thank you so much for tagging me, @lemony-snickers! This is tons of fun, I love answering these kinds of big questionnaires 😂💕 Also putting mine under a cut because there’s a lot of questions and I like to ramble. 

Also gonna go ahead and just tag whoever wants to do this! 😅💕

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

As of August 27, 2021, I have a total of 77 works on my AO3! 

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

Funny enough, I was just looking at this, specifically, earlier today and kind of laughing about it. Right now, my total word count across all my works is 1,148,941 😬 

3. How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

Apparently 12, but some of them I don’t really consider “big” in my fandom repertoire. Naruto is my greatest fandom with a total of 60 fics so far, followed by The Chronicles of Narnia and Rise of the Guardians. The rest are ones I either did crossover fics with or just did one-off little pieces with--The Incredibles, Tangled, Brave, How to Train Your Dragon, Arthurian Mythology, Disney Princesses, Fairy Tales and Related Fandoms, Back to the Future, and Frozen. 

4. What are your Top Five fics by kudos?

The Scarecrow and The Bell (Naruto) - 470 kudos The Day Kakashi’s Mask Slipped (Naruto) - 139 kudos Sunflowers (Naruto) - 92 kudos Sakumo the House Husband (Naruto) - 81 kudos Someone to Lean On (Naruto) - 67 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always try to respond to comments, because I like to acknowledge when people respond to my work. I cherish comments like nobody’s business, especially when they’re kind and reactionary. I just really love seeing/hearing what people think of the way a story is progressing, or what they thought of a one-shot. Comments keep me going especially when it comes to longfic so I want to be able to let readers know that I do in fact see their comments, that I’m acknowledging what they’re saying, and that I appreciate them. Plus, it can be kind of fun to tease upcoming events in a fic through responses to people’s comments, too. Because I’m mean. 

6. What fic have you written with the angstiest ending?

Definitely Hothouse (Rise of the Guardians/The Incredibles; Jack Frost x Violet Parr; American Horror Story AU). This was the first multi-chaptered fic I ever wrote to completion and I honestly cringe when I remember it exists both because it’s so poorly organized (and full of nasty plot holes) and because I just went ham on the gore factor. It definitely has a really bittersweet and heartbreaking ending to it, too. 

7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

I think I’ll definitely have to say Temptation. The story itself was kind of a ride, and it’s only the first installment in a series, but it follows the plot of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe but remixed due to the presence of an original character, but the ending is still roughly the same as the original: they defeat the evil, the Pevensies are all crowned kings and queens, happy days. Reading the last few paragraphs of the last chapter honestly still gets me all up in my feelings. 

8. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I used to be more of a crossover writer due to one of my main ships being a crossover ship. They weren’t super crazy, though, because they were both CGI-animated films. The craziest crossover I’ve ever written is an in-progress/unfinished multichapter piece, Kakashi, Enchanted, that sees our favorite Copy Ninja get kamui’d into the Disney princess dimension and has to help the likes of Snow White, Cinderella, and Rapunzel on his journey to find a way back to his own world. It’s a super weird premise but definitely one of my more lighthearted works and fun to revisit when I need to decompress. 

9. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I don’t think I’ve ever received hate so much as I’ve received criticism. The closest I ever got to hate on a fic, I think, was someone left an overly personal and mentally disturbed comment on a chapter of my main fic that made me convinced they needed to seek therapy and deal with their own personal issues rather than take it out on a fanfic about animated ninjas. 

10. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Maybe 👀 I’m super vanilla when it comes to smut, though. I think the wildest thing I’ve ever written in smut is breeding kink. 

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of, and I hope I never will. 

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not yet! I had someone ask to translate a one-shot of mine in Russian but I never got a response back when I laid out my terms and conditions. 

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not! I used to do paragraph-style roleplay which was kind of like cowriting fanfiction but writing is so personal and sacred to me that I don’t know if I could ever actually cowrite a fic with someone. I like brainstorming with other people, but writing for me is more of a deeply personal and independent endeavour. 

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Oh god, this is a tricky question because it depends on fandom. I absolutely love New Dream (Rapunzel x Eugene, Tangled) and have for the past ten years, and my love for them as only grown since watching Tangled: The Series/Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure. I don’t write or even really read a ton of fanfiction for them, though. I’m also still highly dedicated to my favorite crossover crackship, Frostfield (Jack Frost x Violet Parr, Rise of the Guardians/The Incredibles) and to this day, if you search for that ship on AO3, I am the sole provider of every single fic about them so far. I’m not as active with them as I used to be, but they got me through some really rough times back in the day and still mean so much to me. A lot of my favorite ships across fandoms, though, are honestly canon x OC ships of mine because I am a self-indulgent bitch who needs to project. So Peter Pevensie x Eilonwy (The Chronicles of Narnia) and Kakashi Hatake x Rei Natsuki (Naruto) are really important to me and I’ve poured so much of myself specifically into their stories. I think it’s safe to say Kakashi and Rei is my all-time favorite ship across all fandoms, though, just because of how much their story means to me. The Scarecrow and The Bell is my magnum opus, my pride and joy, and I’m sure it will be my biggest fandom footprint of my entire life. I’ve dedicated the past three years to this story and these characters and I intend to continue doing it until it no longer brings me joy (which I hope it always will). There’s just so much I could say about this story and Kakashi and Rei’s relationship but I don’t think we have enough time or space in this post for that 😅 Just know that they mean the world to me and I will always hold them in the highest regard as a beautifully messy, flawed, passionate, soulmate-y ship that I love with all of my heart 🥺

EDIT: I also feel obligated to tack on some of my absolute favorite Naruto ships because I may not have written for all of them (yet) but they still make me unbelievably happy or I find them really compelling and enjoy the idea of exploring them: 

Naruhina is precious happy sunshine and The Last honestly felt like a wonderful Disney princess movie to me, it was so cute and the romance was so on-point, Naruhina just makes me so incredibly happy and I love them with all my heart. 

MinaKushi also gets me all up in my feels and I adore them with every fiber of my being. Their romance also gave me Disney princess movie vibes which I love, their story is just so damn sweet as is their character dynamic and I am still so heartbroken that they never got to be a happy family with Naruto because you know what? It’s what they deserved!

SasuSaku is so compelling to me and I really feel like we were cheated out of seeing their relationship develop and evolve postwar in the same way The Last did for Naruhina. They’re my favorite angst ship and while I don’t think they were written that well in canon, I love the possibility and potential of them together and am excited to explore them more in-depth in my own writing. 

NejiTen is just too cute, I really love the way Neji and Tenten’s personalities compliment each other? I don’t have much else to say about them except that I really love them together and think they have so much untapped potential that I also can’t wait to explore in more depth in my own writing. 

15. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Paper Hearts and Impromptu Bookmarks, probably. I love the premise of this story a lot and I have so many interesting ideas for it but at the same time, it also feels kind of cheap and cringey to me, in a way? It takes all of these ideas I probably would have had if I had been into Naruto when I was a kid and kind of compiles them all into one big story. Kakashi and Aiko’s relationship and story is still really important to me and I want to continue it someday but for right now, I just haven’t had the motivation or desire to write any more of it. I think I’m just so overwhelmingly preoccupied with writing Kakashi and Rei’s story that I can’t imagine writing any other Kakashi x OC fics right now. 

16. What are your writing strengths?

I want to say that I’m really good at capturing complex emotion? I don’t know, I write a lot of angst and mental upheaval in my fics which can be really difficult to try and capture, but I think I do a decent enough job of it? And just writing difficult subjects in general. I think it’s really important to address difficult topics such as mental illness and relationship difficulties and everything but I also want to try and write those topics in a way that is both authentic to the experience while also still tasteful. I don’t want to drive readers away with heavy subject matter but rather present a situation that feels real and authentic while also still being digestible. I may not be doing a very good job of that during the current arc of my fic that I’m working on, but I’m trying haha

EDIT 2: I also want to add onto this to say that I’m really proud of my organizational techniques for writing longfic. It’s not necessarily a strength in terms of the prose itself but it’s something that’s taken me years to really get a grasp on and find a method that works perfectly for me and so far, it’s been extremely helpful and beneficial to me. I don’t know where I would be now as a writer without these essential tools in my pocket. 

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I feel like I do a really bad job of the “show, don’t tell” thing. It can be really hard to balance descriptive prose with straightforward writing that moves things along. I don’t want to dwell on mental dialogue to the point where you lose track of what’s going on, but I also don’t want my stuff to read like “Character A did xyz. Character B said abc. They went to 123″, whatever. Another thing I struggle with is sentence variation. I always fall into the same patterns when I’m writing prose and I get really self-conscious about it because I don’t want to sound repetitive or disrupt the flow of the writing. One of my favorite things about prose is focusing on the cadence of the words, I think it’s one of the most beautiful things about writing in general, but it can just be really difficult to get a good grip on that. I’ve been told in the past that I apparently have a really good grasp/control of the language or whatever but sometimes I just find that really hard to believe when I look at my work with such scrutiny. I think one of my biggest pet peeves with my own writing, too, is feeling like I start all of my sentences the same five different ways. I’ll read other people’s works and they’ll write sentences like “Glass-blue water lapped against the shores of a deserted beach as a lonely woman gazed off into the distance” and I can just never figure out how to realistically write sentences that start like that in the context of my prose and it drives me fucking crazy, like I’m definitely jealous  😅

18. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’ve never really thought much about it before, but I think there are pros and cons! For bilingual/multilingual readers, I think it can be a really enriching reading experience because they know what’s being said in both languages. For people who only know one language, however, unless a translation is provided, I feel like it can be really alienating. I think the best use of that for both worlds is using it as a means for miscommunication humor. Other than that, I think it can be a slippery slope that depends on what kind of reader you are and how it’s written. 

19. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The Chronicles of Narnia! My very first fanfiction was a Narnia fanfic that I barely remember except that it laid the basis for Temptation and my Narnia fanfic series as a whole. I never posted this first iteration anyway, but I remember it was 2008/2009 and I wrote a solid 80 pages (which was wild for me at the time) and had gotten halfway through remixing the events of Prince Caspian when my computer crashed and I lost absolutely everything. I’m still heartbroken that it’s gone forever, not because I’d want to go back and read it necessarily (since I’m sure it was actually hot garbage) but at least for nostalgia’s sake. Either way, like I said, this long-lost fic laid the basis for the very first fanfiction I ever posted, the first published (and never finished) iteration of Temptation back in 2011 on deviantART and the since-defunct Figment. I fell out of the fandom around 2012/2013 and left the story alone for a while before ultimately deciding to completely redux and rewrite the story when the fixation swung back around again between 2016 and 2018. 

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Despite the fact that it’s still in-progress, definitely The Scarecrow and The Bell. This fic just genuinely means so damn much to me and I will cherish it for the rest of my life because of how much it’s given me, how much love and passion and time and even parts of myself that I have poured into this, and also just how expansive of a story this is. Not only does it touch on some very dark and heavy topics, but I’ve also created so much of my own characters and meta for this story that it’s almost an entire universe in and of itself. I’ve just contributed so much additional world-building and created so many new OCs to fill important roles in this story and in Rei’s life, and they’ve all become so deeply important to me as they’ve developed further over the years. I’ve come up with so many interesting ideas for everyone and their lives, which are all slowly becoming so rich and varied. Not to mention that it’s my most popular fic to date as well as my longest fic at 632k and counting. I’ve really just genuinely poured so much of my heart and soul into this story, it’s my absolute favorite thing I’ve ever done and I really mean it when I say that I will cherish it for the rest of my life. 

[tealin]

Cape Crozier: The Winter Journey

As usual, please go to the original blog to see everything formatted properly. I will attempt to put most of this under a cut, here. Forgive me if it fails.

On the morning of 27 June 1911, three men set out from Cape Evans, on the balmy west coast of Ross Island, to cross to the east coast via its southern shore.  Wilson, their leader, wanted to acquire some Emperor penguin embryos, and the only known Emperor rookery was just off Cape Crozier.  Based on the chicks he had seen in September the last time he was in Antarctica, Wilson estimated that the eggs would be laid in early July, so he timed the trip to meet them at the right stage of development and to coincide with the full moon, to have the best visibility in a world of 24-hour night. 

  Wilson had discussed this mission with his assistant, Cherry-Garrard, when the latter was applying to join the Expedition.  Once in Antarctica, they agreed the obvious choice for a third was Bowers, who had amply proven his energy, enthusiasm, strength, resourcefulness, and resistance to cold. 

  To reach Cape Crozier at the full moon in early July meant leaving Cape Evans at the new moon, and so shortly after the solstice that most of the day was nearly black, lit only by the stars shining hard in the sky, and occasionally the aurora.  The first part of the journey was over very familiar territory, so the greatest difficulty was learning how to camp when one could hardly see anything and it was too cold to take one's mitts off or touch any metal.  So far, so surmountable. 

  The tune changed as soon as they left the sea ice and got onto the permanent ice of the Barrier (or Ross Ice Shelf, as it is now known).

 They left the tempering effect of the open ocean behind, and were under the influence of the frigid interior.  The air temperature plunged, and worse, for men hauling everything necessary for life on two 9ft sledges, they soon entered a zone of soft snow. 

  Runners slide over snow by melting the surface with friction – the glide is, in fact, slipping over a thin film of liquid water.  At such low temperatures, friction is not sufficient to melt anything, so the grains of snow act more like sand.  A hard, wind-polished surface would be like sandpaper, but in the deep soft snow it was like dragging a dead weight through the Sahara, albeit a Sahara where a day of -50°F felt like a warm spell.   

   They couldn't drag both sledges at once, so they had to take one forward, then retrace their steps and drag the other.  For every mile of forward progress, they actually covered three.  In the dead calm, they could use a naked candle to follow their outward steps back to fetch the second sledge.  Eight hours of dragging seldom got them more than two miles from where they started, and ended with the slow process of pitching camp.  After getting the tent up, the day's cook would burn his fingers on freezing tin matchboxes in a quest for a match free of frost, before he could get the Primus stove going.  Eventually the travellers would get some hot liquid in them – 

  Directly we started to drink then the effect was wonderful: it was, said Wilson, like putting a hot-water bottle against your heart.  The beats became very rapid and strong and you felt the warmth travelling outwards and downwards. [250] 

  – and then, after checking their feet for frostbites, it was time to thaw their way into their frozen sleeping bags for a miserable attempt at sleep. 

  For me it was a very bad night: a succession of shivering fits which I was quite unable to stop, and which took possession of my body for many minutes at a time until I thought my back would break, such was the strain placed upon it.  They talk of chattering teeth: but when your body chatters you may call yourself cold. [241]  We knew we did sleep, for we heard one another snore, and also we used to have dreams and nightmares; but we had little consciousness of it, and we were now beginning to drop off when we halted on the march. [245] 

  It was important for every field party to take regular meteorological observations, to contribute to an understanding of the region's weather.  At regular intervals through the day, Bowers would take an air temperature reading, and while they were sleeping, a minimum thermometer was placed under the sledge to measure the temperature in a sheltered place.  On 6 July, this got down to -75°F; the following afternoon, Bowers' thermometer registered -77.5°F. The day lives in my memory as that on which I found out that records are not worth making. [247-8] 

  The clear cold of the first part of their journey had given way to a fog, which diffused the little moonlight they got and obscured the terrain until they were practically right on top of it.  As they were rounding the heel of Mt Terror this meant crevasses, and not being able to tell where they were until one fell through, which was a nerve-wracking business on top of the sleep deprivation and physical hardship. 

  The horror of the nineteen days it took us to travel from Cape Evans to Cape Crozier would have to be re-experienced to be appreciated; and any one would be a fool who went again: it is not possible to describe it.  The weeks which followed were comparative bliss, not because our conditions were better – they were far worse – but because we were callous.  I for one had come to that point of suffering at which I did not really care if only I could die without much pain.  They talk of the heroism of the dying – they little know – it would be so easy to die, a dose of morphia, a friendly crevasse, and blissful sleep.  The trouble is to go on. . . . [237] 

  Finally they were on the home stretch, a narrow lane between the rough terrain of the land and the great pressure waves where the Barrier presses up against Ross Island as it flows out to sea.  This proved to be nearly impossible to keep to, in the poor light, but after much stumbling, and with a welcome rise in temperature to the mere -20s, they finally reached a moraine just short of the Knoll, within hiking distance of the Emperor colony huddled in the lee of the Barrier face below.  They pitched their tent on an icy smooth snow slope 150 yards down from the ridge, and the following day set about building a igloo near the top, using the exposed volcanic stone found there, in a method Cherry had been practising at Cape Evans.  July 16th, when they established the hut, was Wilson's wedding anniversary, and in the privacy of his diary at least, he named the igloo Oriana Hut, and the moraine Oriana Ridge, after his wife.  The others proposed 'Terra Igloo', 'The House on the Hill,' and 'Bleak House.'  In the South Polar Times, after their return, Bowers immortalised it in rhyme as 'The House That Cherry Built.'  On official Antarctic maps, though, it's now labelled Wilson's Igloo and the moraine is Igloo Spur. 

  Our trip to Cape Crozier was a walk in the park – 35 minutes in a helicopter watching the amazing views roll by – and our greatest challenge was finding the landing site, but that was only a question of how close it was to the GPS waymark, rather than whether we could land at all.  We were not exempt from the vagaries of Antarctic weather, however.  When our flight got the green light, the weather at Cape Crozier was 30% cloud with 7-knot winds.  Not your typical Cape Crozier weather, but great weather for helicopters.  By the time we arrived, 35 minutes later, it was 70% cloud, a fog was rolling in, and winds were at 30 knots.  I was warned our time here might be short.  But we set off to see the igloo anyway. 

 The plan had been to build the body of the igloo in stone, then bank up the walls with gravel and snow to make them weatherproof.  Unlike a stereotypical snow-block igloo, it was not a dome, but would be roofed using one of the sledges as a beam, with a canvas sheet spread over it, firmly anchored in the rocks.  This has an Arctic precedent: in Francis McClintock's account of his search for the lost Franklin Expedition in the 1850s, he describes meeting an Inuit woman who lived in a stone igloo of very similar construction.  Cherry's practice igloo at Cape Evans was an admirable structure, but the plan went awry at Cape Crozier, on account of a lack of gravel and all the snow in the vicinity being blown so hard as to be practically ice [261].  They improvised as best they could, chipping some slabs of ice out of the snowbank and leaning them against the exterior walls, but it was not as cosy a structure as they'd hoped, and they ended up stuffing spare socks into some of the larger gaps in the stones to keep out the wind.  This wind, they discovered on their second day of building, was much stronger at the top of the ridge than where they had made camp on the snow.  But the stone walls were more secure than the tent – which was left pitched outside the igloo's door for storage – and heralded a new 'Age of Stone' in which they could get on with their science. 

  It was more than just scientific interest that made a visit to the penguin colony imperative: on their grind to Cape Crozier, they had burned through nearly five of their six cans of oil.  As well as the penguin embryos they came for, they needed to burn some blubber to keep warm in their igloo, so that they could use the last tin of oil for the return journey.  So as soon as their building progress allowed, they scouted a perilous path down a snow drift over the cliffs and through the horrible pressure to reach the Emperor colony.  Instead of the two thousand birds found by the Discovery, there were barely a hundred, and less than half of them apparently had eggs.  Nevertheless, Wilson and Bowers secured five eggs and three birds' skins – the blubber comes off with the skin – and they legged it back to their camp while there was still a modicum of light to see by.  Cherry broke both of the eggs he was carrying in a fall, but they made it back with the remaining three and the blubber, which got its revenge on Wilson by spluttering into his eye from the stove. 

  “Things must improve,” said Bill [Wilson] next day, “I think we reached bed-rock last night.”  We hadn't, by a long way. [272] 

 The igloo is at the opposite end of the moraine from the helicopter landing site, or at least where the GPS told us it was.  There is nothing between the crest of Igloo Spur and the Transantarctic Mountains, hundreds of miles away, and the 30-knot wind flowed over our minor obstruction just like a river: barely any gusts, just a constant flow, solid as water, up and over the ridge and then out towards the sea.  I tried to look out for lichen as I stumbled along, but it was hard to be careful of where I put my feet when I was struggling to keep my balance against the wind.  There were patches of a beige crust – was this lichen or was it a mineral deposit?  Someone shouted that they had found some – it turned out to be black, and crawled along the ground like dinosaur fern.  Once spotted it was obvious, and easier to avoid. 

  A few good minutes' scramble got us to the igloo.  On the way, I saw a small log of petrified wood, shining pale on the chocolate-brown rubble.  This seemed very much out of place on a volcanic island, and I wondered briefly how it had got there, before an answer came: obviously it had blown here.  A joke, perhaps, but not as much of one as you might think: the further out along the ridge we walked, the stronger the wind seemed to be.  At last we reached the remains of Oriana Hut. 

  I should have been humbled, or at least struck with a sense of awe.  But all I could think was: You guys were completely insane. 

 The day after Wilson, Cherry, and Bowers returned from the raid on the Emperors, there was a small blizzard, and the flapping of the canvas roof on the igloo caused them some concern, so they set about weighing it down with blocks of ice and making extra sure it was securely fastened all around.  They pitched the tent right next to the door and put a lot of their gear into it, to make space for themselves in the igloo.  Then, with the weather calm and their bellies full, they settled down to catch up on some precious and hitherto scanty sleep. 

  I do not know what time it was when I woke up.  It was calm, with that absolute silence which can be so soothing or so terrible as circumstances dictate.  Then there came a sob of wind, and all was still again.  Ten minutes and it was blowing as though the world was having a fit of hysterics.  The earth was torn in pieces: the indescribable fury and roar of it all cannot be imagined. 

  “Bill, Bill, the tent has gone,” was the next I remember – from Bowers shouting at us again and again through the door.  …. Journey after journey Birdie and I fought our way across the few yards which had separated the tent from the igloo door.    

  … To get that gear in we fought against solid walls of black snow which flowed past us and tried to hurl us down the slope.  Once started nothing could have stopped us.  I saw Birdie [Bowers] knocked over once, but he clawed his way back just in time.  Having passed everything we could find in to Bill, we got back into the igloo, and started to collect things together, including our very dishevelled minds.[275-6] 

  Not sure when they would be able to eat again, they cooked a meal, and nervously watched the igloo roof.  The problem was not so much that it was in the wind, but that it was just out of it: the wind rushing up the southern slope of the moraine created suction just behind the crest, where the igloo was, and this was pulling the canvas up.  The motion of the canvas shifted the ice blocks weighing it down until they were off.  Then the incessant sucking up and flapping down started to stretch the material; as it stretched it got more play; as it played more the flapping became more violent.  At last the fabric could no longer take the strain and exploded into ribbons, whose frantic lashing in the hurricane sounded like pistol shots. 

  They hurried into their sleeping bags and rolled over so that the flaps were underneath, and huddled while the storm raged overhead. 

  I can well believe that neither of my companions gave up hope for an instant.  They must have been frightened, but they were never disturbed.  As for me I never had any hope at all; and when the roof went I felt that this was the end. [280] 

  And then … they slept.  The blizzard had brought a rise in temperature and the snow drifting over them made a good insulator, so they were more comfortable than they had been for a while, and of course there was nothing else they could do.  There was so much to worry about that there was not the least use in worrying: and we were so very tired. [282]  Occasionally Bowers would thump Wilson and Wilson would move a bit to prove he was alive.  When they were awake they'd sing songs and hymns to pass the time – we sang hymns because they were easier to sing than La Bohême and it was a good thing to sing something.*  Quieter moments might be spent cogitating over how to get back without a tent, but the situation looked pretty hopeless.  When they were thirsty they would pinch a little drift from just outside their bag and eat it, and so staved off the worst, but without a tent, 52 excruciating miles from the nearest shelter at Hut Point, and months away from spring, it seemed only to be delaying the inevitable. 

  Thus impiously I set out to die, making up my mind that I was not going to try and keep warm, that it might not take too long, and thinking I would try and get some morphia from the medical case if it got very bad.  Yes! comfortable, warm reader.  Men do not fear death, they fear the pain of dying. [281] 

  On top of everything, it was Wilson's 39th birthday. 

 I suppose the most surprising thing is that there is anything left of the igloo at all.  Some of the rocks came down when the roof blew open, but the many, many blizzards since then have worked hard to dismantle the rest.  And yet, in the shelter of the walls, protected by the drift that accumulates there, there are still some of the Crozier party's possessions.    

  Standing here, especially in a 30-knot wind, one cannot but think this is a pretty stupid place to build a shelter.  Cherry acknowledges this in his book, but reminds us that they had to build more or less where the rocks were, and the rocks were where the wind kept the snow from accumulating.  They had brought a snow knife to cut snow blocks, Inuit-fashion, but there was no such snow to be had; it was all ice.  And I had an additional insight, thanks to my midnight hike up Arrival Heights: 

 The igloo is built just off the crest of the ridge, exactly like where I was standing when I felt no wind on Arrival Heights.  They would have been very familiar with that ridgeline and had almost certainly observed the same phenomenon, so if they had to pick a spot on a desolate windswept hill, that was, in the circumstances, one of the better ones to pick.  There was a short blizzard their first night back from the Emperors, but aside from the drift blowing through the gaps in the rocks it didn't concern them much; they just had the bad timing to meet a monstrous storm shortly after. I have never heard or felt or seen a wind like this, Cherry wrote, even after having experienced the ferociously windy second winter at Cape Evans, where they feared the hut might blow down, I wondered why it did not carry away the earth. [283]  They had anticipated the wind in the construction of the hut, and the pyramid tent had amply proven its ability to stand up to blizzards in its years of Antarctic service; it was the suction that threw them a curve ball.  When the roof blew into ribbons, it was still firmly anchored in the walls, and even 108 years later, it's still there. 

 The storm first hit on Friday, 21 July; by Monday it was beginning to abate enough that they could speak to each other without too much difficulty.  They hadn't eaten for two days, but the first thing they did was go look for the tent.  When that proved fruitless, they returned and cooked a meal with the tent floorcloth stretched between their heads.  The cooker was full of penguin feathers, burnt blubber, and dirt, but the smell of it was better than anything on earth. 

 When the midday twilight returned, they had another search for the tent.  I followed Bill down the slope.  We could find nothing.  But, as we searched, we heard a shout somewhere below and to the right. They slid down the snow slope and fetched up where Bowers had discovered the tent, which must have closed like an umbrella when sucked off its moorings, and, with so much less surface area, dropped out of the sky only a few hundred yards away.  Our lives had been taken away and given back to us.   

We were so thankful we said nothing. 

If the tent went again we were going with it.  We made our way back up the slope with it, carrying it solemnly and reverently, precious as though it were something not quite of the earth.  And we dug it in as tent was never dug in before ... [284-5] 

 I have read Cherry's account of the Winter Journey several times, 'blind' as it were – in my head, Cape Crozier was a chaotic jumble of ice and rock with no shape I could deduce from the writing.  Unlike the landmarks of McMurdo Sound, and even the Beardmore to some extent, there were no historical photos of the theatre for this action; a few closeups of the igloo appear at the end of Mark Gatiss' 2007 docudrama, but they give no context in respect to the landscape.  This was why it was vitally important I stand there myself.  The moment I realised that ambition, I knew it was more valuable than I could ever have pitched in a grant proposal.  The tiered foothills of Mt Terror to the east, the back of the Knoll, the strip of blue sea visible from the igloo, the 'porcelain teacup' of the hollow between here and there, and most profoundly, how the igloo hangs off the edge of nowhere on this exposed finger of land.  In the midst of a blizzard, with howling drift on all sides as well as above and below, it would be a tiny mote of solidity suspended in the vast blank nothing. 

  My companions must have been a little confused by my behaviour.  I hardly took any photos of the igloo.  It was interesting, for sure, but the state it's in now would not help me much, to draw it how it was then.  I took a lot of photos of the surroundings, but on two sides it was blowing mist so that didn't take very long.  Mostly what I did was sit with my back against a sill of rock near the igloo and just stare and stare and stare.  I wanted to memorize everything – not just where things were, but the wind, the silvery gleam on the snow, the feeling of being utterly at the extremity of all things.  It's one thing to read Cherry's memories, and boggle at the experience; it's quite another to stand where they were made, and be able to measure your own experience against theirs.  Standing there in the light, I could see it dark. Their blizzard would have been blowing twice as hard as the wind that could have knocked me over.  Riding behind Cherry's eyes, memory viewed through the lens of grief and nostalgia, his companions fill the frame, so one does not get a proper sense of how extremely tiny they all were in this vast howling nothing.  And, of course, they had only themselves to get them home, not a waiting helicopter. 

 We had another meal, and we wanted it; and as the good hoosh ran down into our feet and hands, and up into our cheeks and ears and brains, we discussed what we would do next.  Birdie was all for another go at the Emperor penguins.  Dear Birdie, he would never admit that he was beaten – I don't know that he ever really was! … There could really be no common-sense doubt: we had to go back … [285]  They packed what they could that night and got what sleep they could in their horrible icy bags.  The next morning it looked like it was going to start blizzing again; they loaded the camp onto one of the sledges and stashed  in a corner of the igloo what they didn't want or need to take back, along with the other sledge, and set off into a rising wind.  After only a mile or so the weather forced them to camp, and Birdie tied a line from the apex of the tent around the outside of his bag where he slept: if the tent went he was going too. [287] 

  The journey back was still cold, but only hauling one sledge, they made much better time.  The men were exhausted, however, and their equipment suffering from their ordeals, so it didn't afford as much comfort or protection as it had on the way out.  But they were on their way home, and justifiably confident of getting there. 

 It was the helicopter that called time on my visit to Cape Crozier.  The anemometer had clocked 38 knots at one point and nothing looked likely to improve.  In the interest of fuel efficiency, the machine was a nimble fibreglass damselfly, not built to withstand this sort of onslaught, and our pilot was worried for his craft.  So my coordinator came and told me it was time to go.  The trek back was definitely windier than it had been when we arrived, and it felt longer, too, though that may have been because I had my head down, focusing on my footing, rather than looking at lichen and petrified wood.  We piled onto the waiting machine and with no undue delay were back in the air. One last wide loop around Igloo Spur, then we rode the wind seaward, and the igloo on the edge of nowhere vanished in the mist behind. 

  It is extraordinary how often angels and fools do the same thing in this life, and I have never been able to settle which we were on this journey. [273] 

  I understand why they did what they did, and made the decisions they made in context, but I have not let go of that impression that they were completely insane.  I've done pretty crazy things for an abstract goal, and while sleep-deprived, so on one hand I hesitate to judge.  On the other, a tiny unrepresentative sample of the extremity they endured beggars belief that they didn't start the trek home the minute they'd got the eggs, if not a lot sooner.  Surely they noticed that it was horrible?   

  But who is the more foolish here?  They threw themselves into the worst Antarctica had to offer in pursuit of knowledge, which could only be acquired this way.  They may not have known how bad it was going to be, but they knew it would be pretty bad, and went anyway, because they determined it to be worthwhile. 

  We, on the other hand, were only there because they had been there. 

  Correction: I was there because they had been there.  The others would not have been there except for me. 

  So who is the bigger fool? 

*All quotes in this post are from The Worst Journey in the World by Apsley Cherry-Garrard, with corresponding page numbers, except this one, which his from his introduction to Edward Wilson of the Antarctic, p.xiv 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #368

“whatever doesn’t kill you, is gonna leave a scar”

Have you ever bought a YouTuber’s merch? My favorite shirt is the Day of the Dead design by Cloak, which is Markiplier's and jacksepticeye's clothing brand. Mom's friend/former co-worker also got me a Ninja Sex Party shirt because she knew I liked them. There are SO MANY YouTubers I wanna support by buying shirts. Do you think oatmeal tastes better when made with water or milk? Milk, 110%. Have you ever left a note in a library book? No. What time of day do you prefer to wash your hair? Morning. Has anyone ever spread lies about you? Yes. Have you ever taken a photograph with a celebrity? If so, did it turn out the way you wanted, or do you wish you could retake it? No. If you could move out of your home country permanently, would you? If so, where would you go? If it didn't mean being so very far from my family, I would love to move to Canada. Is there a celebrity that everyone else seems to love, but you find totally overrated? Why is it that you don’t like them? I legit don't know who's considered currently popular, and I especially don't know who they are as people. If you could volunteer for any charity, which one would you choose? Do you think it’s more important to help humans, or are animal and environmental charities equally important? Something relating to animals, and I think they're both equally important. Do you prefer holidays where you relax, or actually do things? I like a mix. Something chill, but you still do some stuff as a family. Do you think that after we die our spirit is still alive? Yes. Has anybody ever told you that you could be a model? Someone has mistaken me for a model in a picture I once took. It was one of the most flattering things I've ever heard, haha. Do you use different kinds of moisturizer for different body parts? ie. hand lotion for your hands, face cream for your face. Or do you just use one moisturizer for all body parts? Yes. Have you ever felt like you were someone’s rebound? No. Has anybody ever broken up with you over something really pathetic? What was it? Have you ever been dumped in a disrespectful way? (eg. through text, through a friend..) I have 100% been dumped in a very cowardly and disrespectful way; after dating Jason for nearly four years and being very serious, he broke up with me very abruptly over Facebook Messenger. His reason was valid, but at the same time, he NEVER talked to me about it. Apparently my depression was dragging him down. If he'd fucking communicated it, I would have explored new treatment options so goddamn fast. But no, he decided to snap his fingers and disappear. That's exactly WHY it was so traumatic, I think: it was so unexpected and sudden. Did you have a lot of role models as a kid? Animal enthusiasts like Steve Irwin and Jeff Corwin for sure. Do you feel like anyone looks up to you? Why or why not? God no. I'm just... not someone to aspire to be like. What was the last thing you found offensive? I'm not sure. Who is the nicest person you know? My mom. Do you feel safe in your country? I feel safe in NC, rather. Like I don't expect an atom bomb or terrorist attack or something in this obscure area. In the U.S.A. itself, sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. America is definitely not loved by every other country. Do you feel safe where you live? Not in this city, no. Have you been falsely diagnosed with something by a bad doctor? Yup. Did y'all know I apparently have ADHD? I know, shocking. Have you ever had a doctor refuse to treat you? No. Name the strangest game you’ve ever played (video game or real game): The first Silent Hill, probably. It took a lot of reading to get it. Do you know anyone who has been struck by lightning before? No. Which cartoon character would you want to keep as a pet? Does Stitch count? Or a Pokemon. Do you like marshmallows? Yes. What is your favorite flavor of candy cane? I really like the Jolly Rancher candy canes, I think they are? Have you ever fostered an animal? No. Do you still take hot showers when it’s hot out? Not as hot, but not cold except on very extreme occasions. When writing $ sign, do you draw one line through the S or two? Two. What animal have you always wanted as a pet but couldn’t have? I'm thankful that my parents were pretty open-minded to what pets I really wanted, but one I was never allowed to have was a ferret because of how messy and smelly they are. List three people you’ve had crushes on: Jason, Sara, and Sebastian were probably my biggest crushes. Have you ever thrown up from cramps? No, but god have I felt close. List three people you had a hard time forgiving. Jason, Colleen, and my dad. Who is the most spiritual person you know? Probably my sister's mother-in-law. Would you ever start a vlog? God no, I'd bore people to tears. Are your dreams coming true yet? I mean, I guess in some ways with my mental health. In my deepest depression, what I have now was a dream, even though current me is very discontent with it. Most of my dreams, though? No. Do you struggle with depression? I've been diagnosed with severe depression since 7th grade. Are you haunted by your past? A few things won't leave me alone. What medical conditions do you have? Just a lot. There are even more that are up for debate. I've talked about my diagnosed conditions enough. Do you use a Magic Bullet? No. What does your apron look like? I don’t have one. What are your favorite spicy foods? Hot Cheetos, Takis, hot wings, jalapeno pizza... Man, I love spicy food. Which do you like better: being an adult or being a kid? Being a kid. Were you excited to be a teenager on your thirteenth birthday? I had very mixed feelings. Did you feel insecure in high school? Shit, I still do. Would you ever be friends with someone who was suicidal? What the FUCK is this question? No fucking shit I would be. Someone being suicidal in no way affects who they are as a person. Who was the biggest bully in high school? I don't think there really was one. What was your favorite class in high school? Art. Would you rather have a daughter or a son? If I wanted kids, a daughter. Have you ever written to an advice columnist? No. Have you ever had a doctor not believe what you told him? Maybe? I did however have an employee at the ER the first time I went try to pry out of me that my self-mutilation was for attention, and it wasn't until I insisted about a dozen times that it wasn't that he believed me. It's odd looking back that I got REALLY attached to him during that stay, knowing now that it was absolutely horrible and extremely unhelpful for him to do that. If you’re female, would you feel uncomfortable having a male gynecologist? I would absolutely refuse to have a male one. Do you like Lisa Frank? Yeah, like can you talk about aesthetic. What gives you nightmares? Boy, I wish I could tell you, given how much I have them. Were you ever hospitalized as a child? No. Did you get senior pictures taken? No. What color is your bicycle? I don’t have one. Did you ever have to take home a fake baby in health class? No, thank fuck. Would you rather wear ivory or white on your wedding day? What color will your bridesmaids wear? I'd rather wear black. I think red will be the bridesmaids' color. Would you rather have a swimming pool or trampoline? I want a swimming pool so damn badly so I could exercise my legs without worrying about sweating, and I can stop and rest whenever I want, unlike going walking or something. I don't think my knees could handle a trampoline. Do you think babies are cute? Some, sure. But a lot, not really. Do you dream about the future a lot? Yeah. Do you think about your past a lot? Way too frequently. How good are you at living in the moment? I'm trying to get better at it. Have you ever questioned God’s existence? Yeah. Vanilla frosting or chocolate? Chocolate. What’s your favorite foreign cuisine? I've actually been exploring Italian pasta lately. I'm not a big fan of foreign food that I've tried, though. Have you ever moved to another state? No. Did you do anything productive today? No. .-. Can you say the alphabet backwards? No, actually. Do you like flowers? Of course; does anyone not? Have you ever thought you were gonna die? I didn't care if I did or didn't. What kind of mood are you in today? I was honestly really depressed through most of it. Just health stuff was really getting to me. I just woke up from what was honestly like a four-hour nap and I feel all right, I guess. What are you craving right now? I REALLY want Domino's jalapeno pizza. Is there anyone you would seriously punch right now if you had the chance? No. What is worse, physical or emotional pain? Definitely emotional. Have you ever walked in on somebody doing something… questionable? When Dad still lived with us, I think he might have been watching... you know... on TV when I came into my parents' room for something. Idk for sure though. I didn't ask, and I don't want to know. If you were to make videos on YouTube, what would they be of? Oh god, idk. I don't want to make any. What I'd have most fun with would be reptile education, but I 1.) have literally one snake, 2.) am not extremely educated on a good number of them and don't want to be misleading, and 3.) I would run outta content fast. So, leave it to Snake Discovery, haha. Posting pictures of yourself in a bathing suit on the internet - ok or not? Yes, it's okay????? If you're talking about me personally though, you won't see me dead in a bathing suit picture. Do you typically laugh when somebody falls down? No, I gasp and see if they're okay. What is the most disturbing movie you’ve ever watched? Paranormal Entity. The ending is... a lot. Your opinion of Katy Perry, please? I like a couple of her songs. If you could say anything to your Mom right now… what would it be? "Thank you for absolutely everything."

[onlytaylor]

Drarry + Facing Demons and Finding Family

Tw: mentions of symptoms of depression, anxiety, ptsd, and child abuse. All are resolved with a happy ending.

Draco Malfoy walks the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, and it’s different now. The way it had bustled with a vibrant vivacity in his younger years is long gone now, replaced by the mediocrities that come with running errands and making stops for work. It had been repaired, for the most part, after the war, but something about the shadows of buildings that used to be constructed just a little bit different haunts Malfoy in his steps.

He turns to glance over his shoulder when the sound of a child laughing fills the spaces between bustling bodies and adult feet. A familiar tuft of blue hair comes dashing forward, and Draco feels a momentary reprieve from his own hollow dissonance. His face lights up as the boy throws his arms around his neck, crying “Cousin Draco! What are you doing here?”

And behind the vivacious grin is the humble one of Harry Potter, the boy who really did end up saving the world. Draco doesn’t hate him; how could he? If it weren’t for the testimony of the man standing there now casually in his Muggle plaid shirt and ripped-up jeans, Draco wouldn’t be walking these streets.

“Malfoy,” he puts his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth a bit on his feet. “What sort of business are you up to these days?”

“Oh, just... dropping off a package for the boss. You know.” He shrugs, suddenly vacant. His momentary reprieve shrinks into a daunting reality.

“Wanna come get ice cream with us?” Teddy’s toothy grin eats at the edges of his impending monotony.

“Oh, well, I wasn’t-“ he starts, but Harry Potter has stepped his foot forward.

“No, please. If you’re not too busy, we’d love to catch up. Teddy misses you.” And, allowing the package to feel a bit lighter in his coat pocket, Draco turns on one heel and heads to the parlor with them both.

***

Having Teddy Lupin run through his life is like chasing a tiny piece of dynamite. You never know just when it will explode, and when you’ve got it in your fingers it seems to roll invariably to the floor. Draco’s been waiting now for quite some time for his own destruction, but his regularly timed meetings with Harry (wow- really on a first name basis now) and his cousin had brightened his steps countably.

It seemed that the sparking fire may just never come.

***

Draco Malfoy doesn’t visit Malfoy manor, and its empty rooms are surely hung with cob webs and dust mites and other small creatures that have made it home. The stone exterior is beginning to succumb to a green vine that twists its way up the foundation, and apparently small children dare each other to knock on the door of the “Death Eater House.”

Draco doesn’t have to visit Malfoy Manor to know which ghosts roam its halls, apparitions of tortured souls and the results of his own mistakes. If only he’d stood up to his father. If only he’d run. If only...

Draco swallows, once, then twice, before straightening his stare ahead. Harry’s coming over soon, and this time Teddy is at the Burrow. They’ve never hung out like this, quite alone and unsupervised by Teddy’s string of home-made knock knock jokes. He’s not sure why, but he’s nervous.

***

After the war, Draco had considered himself a work-in-progress. He’d ventured through the stages of grief, mourning his losses and wishing he could change the past. He’d also picked himself up off of the floor, vowing to start new. None of this was easy. Panic followed him around every corner, but around every corner was the reassuring laugh of Teddy; smile of Harry. If he’s honest with himself, he’ll admit their great assistance in his own healing.

But that doesn’t stop the nightmares. Or the constant feeling of dread. And when Draco Malfoy is alone, his guilt consumes him. Why hadn’t he done the right thing? Why hadn’t he stood up to his father?

***

When Draco was eight, he’d drawn a portrait of his family. It was an assignment by his private tutor, a sort of busy-work while she prepared more practice for magical theory. He’d drawn them, stoic and cold, using shades of gray and black to fill in the spaces between them. They didn’t touch, didn’t love. Lucius told him that artists didn’t make any money in the Wizarding World. Draco ripped up the drawing and threw it in the rubbish bin.

***

When Draco’s lease on his London apartment is near its end, Harry finds him with a nervous twitch of his lips.

“You know, Draco, you don’t have to move into another building. I know you hate your neighbors because they remind you of your family. Our flat is large enough for a third member.”

Draco had almost immediately rejected- his first instinct was to scoff at any such attempts at pity. But Teddy’s eyes had met his, bright and foretelling- and his pleas almost melted Draco’s shoes to the asphalt.

“If you really want me to,” Draco smiles, “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

***

Draco hadn’t realized that his ghosts would follow him here. But as he watches the shadows dance upon the walls of his very own room, he knows he’s not dreaming. It’s his father, reminding him that he will never be good enough.

It’s his mother, watching with irrefutable silence.

It’s himself, pointing a wand at Dumbledore. Leaving with Snape. And abandoning his dreams to follow in his father’s foot steps.

It’s a portrait of Draco’s family, stone cold and frozen against the frosted window pane.

He doesn’t realize he’s screaming.

Not until the door is thrown open, and Harry’s there, sporting nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a concerned purse of his lips.

He’s on the bed, and now Draco is crying. Yelling. Laughing hysterically. Because he’s fucking insane, sitting in a bed half-naked with Harry Potter and telling himself to shut his fucking mouth before Teddy wakes up.

But Harry is gentle. He wraps his arms around his shoulders and whispers “I know. But it’s not true. None of it is real.”

And Draco sobs, without really knowing how to stop, and Harry’s skin is warm against his own. It’s the first time he’s ever really felt whole.

Hours pass, though the clock reads otherwise. And Draco tells him that he needs to go back to bed. That they’ve both got work in the morning, and Teddy is visiting Andromeda...

But, no, Harry whispers, this is more important. You are more important. When had their relationship morphed into this... whatever this is?

Draco Malfoy allows himself to be held, and it is surprisingly wonderful.

***

Working for the ministry is like working in one of those Muggle cubicles. He should be grateful for the opportunity, but Draco hates his job. His boss is monstrous, a poised figure that reminds him far too much of his father.

He gets a bit panicky when requests are made, unable to say no. Draco Malfoy never thought he’d become a push over, but his inherent desire to please, to win, to have a second chance is tumultuous.

He doesn’t know how to live without it.

***

Teddy is spending the night at the Burrow, and Draco and Harry are doing their usual dance of washing and putting away the dishes.

“Fancy a movie?” Harry asks, and something soft flutters in Draco’s chest.

“Sure.”

***

It’s midnight when Draco feels the gentle presence of Harry slumped against his shoulder, his quiet snores a rhythm that he begins to memorize.

He doesn’t move, and the stillness is what allows him to feel the sporadic twitches that begin to ripple through Harry’s body.

“No, no,” he murmurs, “Please, no. Hermione... Cruciatus...”

Draco freezes, and he immediately understands the inner workings of Harry’s psyche.

He was there when his aunt Bella inflicted near irreparable damage to Hermione Granger. He didn’t stand up. He didn’t stop her.

There’s a tightness in his chest, and it fluctuates with his heart rate. Harry is having a nightmare, and it’s all his fault.

“You’ll never make up for what you’ve done,” he hears his father say, and the words are a gun to his head.

“Harry,” he whispers, desperately running his fingers along the side of his arm to calm him. If he couldn’t go back, the least he could do is aid his sleep.

Harry settles, and Draco breathes a sigh of relief. His father is laughing at him.

Ghostly shadows dance along the walls, flickering in the dim light of the TV. The world seems to grow around him, and he is infintismal.

His palms are sweaty as the guilt settles, rotting a hole in his stomach. And then there’s a whisper, a subtle word that shifts everything: “Draco.”

He glances at Harry’s face twice to make sure he’s not imagining the slight tug at the corner of his mouth. He said Draco’s name. And, from the depths of his slumber, he’s smiling.

Draco’s eyes are prickly, and he’s not sure why there are tears surfacing at such an inopportune moment. Perhaps he’s gone completely insane... or maybe...

“Not your father, Draco... amazing... need you... love you...”

A light seems to dissipate the shadows, which morph and expand into unidentifiable shapes before they slowly vanish. Draco’s hands are still clammy, but his mind is on overdrive.

The Savior of the Wizarding World is dreaming about him. Believes in him. Maybe, even...loves him?

And the remaining shadows come crashing down, spirits that find rest in redemption. If Harry Potter, with his stupid scar, and his stupid broomstick, could think highly of Draco Malfoy, the ex-death eater... maybe he could forgive himself.

Maybe... and then there are images flashing through his mind. Of stone family drawings and cruel and unjust punishment.

Of the desire to please, so much, that if his father pointed a wand at his throat he’d beg for forgiveness. Of pretending to have dignity for so long that he’d lost his own along the way.

And then, another sleepy rasp from Potter: “not your fault...”

And something snaps inside him.

“Not my fault,” he repeats, barely audible, yet it rattles an earthquake that cracks the floor. The ground faults, and everything he’s ever know crumbles before him.

“You are pathetic.” The voice of his father shakes the walls, breaks the foundation. Rips open the fortress of his solitude, jagged lines coursing through his very being and down to his core.

There’s a wand at his throat.

Harry isn’t here. Here, it’s a Malfoy’s paradise, and Draco’s skin crawls at the realistic image of his father before him. He’s so fucking life-like, the drawl of his criticism dripping with the poison of a basilisk. He’s smiling, and that hurts. It’s malicious.

But then, another whisper. A distant proclamation that rings through the periphery of his hearing. “Draco... always... good enough...”

Fuck. Harry?

“Good enough,” he repeats, the syllables a solid reality, just like the man before him. And, in a sudden fit of realization, Draco realizes the epitome of his salvation.

“You’re not real,” he says, and the words are a bit shaky as they permeate the air. His father’s face twists into something unreadable, a cross between a scowl and utter shock.

“You’re not real.” The wand lowers. His brow narrows.

“You were never real. My father is in Azkaban. You are just the ghost of what he did to me.”

His hands are drifting into the atmosphere, like grains of sand dissipating toward the floor. His expression morphs into utter fear, and, for once, Draco feels powerful.

It was never about defeating him. He could have dualed his fractured subconscious for years, constantly bettering himself, only to fall again. And the wand would always be pointed at his throat

But Harry, Harry said he was good enough. And he can hear the distant titter of Teddy’s amusement, the padding of his socks as they bounce along the hardwood floor of their flat. Of their home.

Harry cares. Loves. And so Draco must love himself.

“You could never kill me,” he says to the air, as the whisp of Lucius Malfoy’s presence fades into nothing. “It was just me, all along. Hurting myself because you trained me to. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fucking fault.”

There’s a sudden whoosh, and the room is spinning. And then it’s not. And Draco Malfoy is sitting next to a blissfully sleeping Harry Potter in a London flat.

The movie is over, and all that remains of the last few minutes is a line of scrolling credits.

The shadows, they’re gone. And somehow, Draco is no longer haunted. The house is peaceful, and a serenity seems to fill it’s every crevice, binding the cracks that once cleaved the walls. He pulls Harry closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Taking a risk he’d never had the confidence to execute.

Harry smiles, stirring a bit before turning his green gaze upward. “That’s nice,” he says, and Draco chuckles.

“Yeah, it is, hm?”

“Hey Draco?”

He doesn’t reply, but meets that vibrant stare of his with irrefutable honesty.

“Thanks for being a part of our family.”

“Family?” The word nervously slips his lips. He’s never done this before.

Harry nods. “You, me, and Teddy.”

His eyes are prickly again, and he swallows a hard lump in the back of his throat. “I love the sound of that. Of family.”

“Good. Because I’ll hex you if you go anywhere. Old habits do die hard, you know.”

Draco laughs, hearty. Whole. Harry snuggles into his shoulder, falling asleep lightly as he thoughtfully plans his next project.

***

The next day, Teddy enters to find Draco drawing a picture of his family at the kitchen table.

“Whatcha doin’?” He asks curiously, hopping onto Draco’s lap as he sketches.

The picture before them is a family, a blonde, a brunette, and a tuft or blue hair between them. There are no spaces, no empty holes between their bodies, and the sky is a vibrant array of purples and oranges.

“Let’s hang it on the fridge!” Teddy exclaims, grasping it and running to attach it to the front of the surface.

Draco eyes the picture smiling, and it is the best he’s ever felt.

[midnightmoonkiss]

I was told by your wonderful wife, birds-have-teeth that you were in need for some asks/requests. How about Izuku and S/O on their wedding day?

She truly is a wonderful wife 🥺💜

Ahh! I dont usually take requests, but this was just too cute to pass up!

I hope you don’t mind that these are headcanons!

Izuku Midoriya X Reader

Wedding Day.

Category: fluff

——————————

First of all! I think their wedding would be set sometime in spring. The time of year where it’s not too hot and not too cool, just after all the leaves and flowers bloom. I mean think about it, Sakura petals flowing in the wind on your wedding day? What a dream.

It sounds crazy, but I always imagined Izuku as the type of person to want to have their wedding outside.. Kind of like- in a garden? Or a forest? You know that the wedding Bella and Edward had in the forest? Kind of like that! Except surrounded by flowers!

Flowers like.. Magnolia, forget-me-nots, tulips, and of course - sakura! Or, well, Cherry blossoms~ Just! Flowers that really brighten up the secluded space. You’d need seclusion, after all, especially since you are marrying the number one hero.

Wouldnt it be so cute to be married under a willow tree, a brilliant white arch covered in white roses and vines standing above you both? Ackk vines.. So beautiful. Oh! Maybe there’s even a little rock pathway down the aisle?

The air is fresh.. Because you’re in the countryside! Maybe even in the mountains. Somewhere where a little babbling brook is not too far behind the trees, its soft bubbling noises relaxing the party-goers. 

Speaking of! Wouldnt a little plant themed engagement ring be the cutest? Something like this! 

Wedding ring.. Well you both have to pick that out dont you?

The wedding day is obviously going to be the most important day for both of you! But also, nerve-wracking as hell. Im positive Izuku has probably freaked out five times since he woke up at 6AM. Maybe a mental breakdown. Yknow. 

He’s a sensitive guy! And he’s terrified! Nono, he doesnt have cold feet. He wants to marry you! He cannot imagine his life without you in it, but God is he absolutely terrified that you might be the one leaving him at the altar.

Not that he doesnt have faith in you! It’s just.. His insecurities and anxieties taking over him. Even after all these years of unconditional love, he still cant help but feel you deserve someone way better than him. And he fears one day you’ll wake up and realize that as well.

But you’d have to be absolutely crazy to even think about doing that, huh?

So yeah. Wedding day morning is filled with Izuku’s best man - Shoto - trying to calm the sporadic man down, bringing Toshi and his mom in to aid as well. He may have thrown up. Who’s to say.

You, on the otherhand, are having a great morning. You’re bouncing with excitement! Ready and oh-so impatiently waiting to marry the man of your dreams in the most scenic area you could find. It truly was a catch! A relatively cheap place - the majority of your funds were spent on food and flowers. You can get pretty good deals on wedding dresses if you’re marrying the number one hero, apparently. So long as they get to display one of your wedding photos.

Hell, it’d help a local business boom, and who wouldnt want that? You got a discount on your bridesmaids dresses as well~

A dream.

But the start time was quickly approaching. Tick-tock!

Soon enough, the both of you are ready to start a new chapter of your lives together.

The scene is set! Your husband-to-be stand beneath arch drenched in morning dew, light breaking through the trees reflecting on each little droplet and showering the little patch where your wedding was being held in brilliant lights 

It honestly looked magical, straight out of a fairy tale. Hell, you were about to marry your prince, after all

God this wedding is like every outdoorsy kid’s dream

The piano starts up once the player gets the queue that everyone is ready.

Your friends walk down the aisle first in pairs, bridesmaids with bridesmen, silky gowns flowing in the gentle spring breeze

Soon enough the flower girl trots happily down the aisle, throwing Sakura petals every which way with a happy little smile on her face, dress as white as snow and a little pink belt. 

It was truly a miracle no one tripped on the rocks yet.

Once everyone was in their place, a traditional wedding song began to play. 

Showtime.

Izuku swore he saw an angel the moment those vines swayed to reveal you.

A sunbeam hit you from behind, its golden glow cascading down your body.

Tears formed in his eyes as he watched, paralyzed, as you walked down, heels clicking against the floor

The biggest, goofiest smile cracked onto his face, eyes connecting with yours. All was going to be alright. He had nothing to fear.

He’d probably openly sob while stating his vows, hands trembling as they hold onto yours.. It’d probably be something along the lines of.. “Ever since the day I met you, i’ve become a better man. You helped me grow into who I am today. You guided me towards the path that would lead me to happiness with your loving embrace, with every word of endearment you’d whisper to me, and with love as a whole. I always wondered what it’d feel like to be loved like this, and now that I have it, and that I have you, I don’t ever want to let go of it. Because you’re it, princess. You’re the love of my life, my one and only, my soulmate, and so much more. Every day we’re apart I always think of you. You keep me going. Without you, I wouldn’t be me.”

Something cheesy, yknow! Somethin sweeter than candy corn. <3 what a sap. 

He may have had to wipe his tears a few times… cough.

Surprisingly though, his hands are super steady when he slides that ring on.

A shaky yet firm “I do,” green eyes now a shimmering viridescent as he stares at you with the purest form of love swirling in his gaze.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

His hand reaches up, delicately placing itself on your cheek. He cant help but take this moment in, condemning your smiling, angelic face to memory, the flashes of photos being taken completely ignored as he slowly leans in. 

His lips are softer than they had ever been in that moment, the kiss itself so sugary sweet - the embodiment of innocence and passion. Love.

Eyes fluttering closed, he cant help but kiss you over and over again, each one making both your smiles grow larger until giggles erupt between the two of you.

Oh boy. He had lipstick smudged all over his lips. He couldnt care less, though. Pulling you close to his body, he smiled cheekily over at the photographer for a photo.

HE’S YOUR HUSBAND NOW! IZUKU IS YOUR HUSBAND! Praise the lords. (Y/N) Midoriya has a nice ring to it, doesnt it?

Inko welcomes you to the Mrs. Midoriya family with a hug.

The rest of the day was filled with you and Izuku being stuck together like glue, surrounded by friends and family.

The wedding photos would be filled with you two standing in a meadow, sun raining brilliantly down on the two newlyweds.

ackk just.. sakura petals flying in the wind~ how pretty. Maybe one even lands in your hair and he gets to pluck it out. <3

He’s the happiest he’s ever been.

Hell, he’s sure this is what being high felt like. 

He cant stop smiling! He’s just so so cute.

Of course, a few goofy photos have to take place! Maybe Uravity uses her quirk to make it look like the number one hero is floating away whilst you ‘run’ to try and get him.

There was even one where he and his bridesmen wear parts of their hero costumes to show off a bit. Like Deku wears his hood, Shoto wears his.. Bracelets and backback..? Stuff like that! Truly it’s a weird fuckin photo. But so so dorky and so them.

His favorite photo is definitely the one where he has you sitting on his arm as he flexes. Yep. He turned into a bit of a show off. Could you blame him? Haha.

At night is when the real fun begins. Mainly because of the party! Lanterns are set up everywhere, and due to being so far from the city- the stars are shining in the sky! Much more than youre used to.

Izuku took a dance course, unbeknownst to you (Shoto and Bakugou were forced to join him- talk about chaotic!), so that first dance together is honestly breathtaking. He’s so gentle with you, leading the way and twirling you around.

May or may not have bawled when you danced with Toshinori. 

CUTTING THE C AKE. OKAY OKAY.

It’d probably be forest themed. Green and white blending beautifully together, maybe even a little frosting stream cascading down the side. Hand made models of you and Izuku stood proudly at the top. I guess the flavor would be something you both chose together?

He loves touching your soft hands so holding that knife together is awesome for him.

Oh yea. After the perfect photo is taken, he definitely smears frosting on your cheek - just so he has an excuse to lick it off.

Sticky!

You both leave in a black limo, a “Just Married!” sign placed on the back.

Ahh. honeymoon time.

It’s going to be a long night,

Mainly because..

Well. Traveling- and.. Y’know (;

All in all! It starts off as stressful, and ends in the sweetest way possible.

[kittydemon9000]

Soooooooooooooooo, for those that remember, there was a post a while back about how fanfiction writers, specifically for Ninjago, are basically members of the Cloud Kingdom. Well, my brain took that and ran.

I wrote this with permission from @boom-fanfic-a-latta, @fangirl-616, and @grungekitty-77(Mod Ivy from @ Blursed-Ninjago-Ideas) If any of you three want me to remove this fic at any time I will, no questions asked.

———————————

I looked around in confusion. One second I was writing, and the next, I was somehow standing on clouds in a weird tan robe.

“Hello?” I called out, looking around. “Is anyone out there?” There was no answer. I hesitantly stepped forward. My feet didn’t sink, so I kept walking. No use staying put.

“Could this be a dream?” I found myself filling the oppressive silence. I shook my head. “Probably not. I never dream. And when I do, it’s certainly not…..”

My voice trailed off as I looked around again. Usually, clouds made me feel at ease, but I could feel my panic rising with each second. There wasn’t anyone or anything as far as I could see.

“Positive! Stay positive.” I muttered to myself, walking a bit faster. “This is either a dream or a sick joke. After all, what are the chances I’m actually-”

My breath hitched as I tripped on a bit of cloud. I fell forward and landed face first in the…… "ground.” The soft and fluffy should’ve calmed me down, but it just made me angrier.

“-llo-” I heard the words. I shot up from the ground. “-ny one-”

The words were faint and barely audible, but they were there.

“HEY!” I yelled out, running in the direction of the voice. “I’M OVER HERE!”

“Hello?” a different voice called out this time, but it came from the same direction as the first one.

“I think they’re this way!” A third voice yelled.

I rounded a corner of cloud and crashed straight into another person. They let out an “oof!” as we collided and tumbled to the floor. Two more figures rounded the corner and narrowly avoided tripping over the pile of limbs we’d become.

“Ivy!” The person I recognized as the first voice spoke. They helped “Ivy” to their feet while the other one helped me.

The four of us stood in silence for a few seconds, none of us sure what to say. I took this moment to take a good look at them.

They were wearing the same non-description robes I was, as well as the same plain tan boots. But their faces were the most interesting, or rather the lack thereof.

Instead of a face, they each seemed to have a mask, but with no visible eyeholes. First had a strange brown flower looking one, second had a picture of a blue falcon, I think, while Ivy had one similar to an ivy vine.

The three seemed to share a “look,” or I guessed since, again, no face.

“So, who are you?” Second finally asked.

“I’m-“ I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice cut off. I was…..my name was….

I couldn’t remember.

I couldn’t remember my name.

In fact, now that I was thinking about it, I couldn’t remember much at all.

Everything but my stories were gone.

No faint whisper, no left behind shard, not even a loose thread.

Just, gone.

“Well, shit.” Ivy cursed aloud. “You too then.”

“I…” I shook my head, snapping myself out of my daze. “Wait, who are you? Where are we?!?”

“No clue, to both questions,” Ivy said, crossing their arms in what I guessed was frustration.

“All any of us remember is waking up here,” First said, letting out a sigh, kicking a small bit of cloud up. “At first I thought it was a dream, but now….”

“Not so much.” Second finished. “But, we might as well get introduced. I’m Falcon, flower mask is Mint, and ivy mask is Ivy.”

“Wait, what?" I questioned. "I mean, Ivy and Falcon make sense, but Mint?”

“Don’t think too hard about it. We needed something to call her, and Flower was too…..generic.” Ivy said.

“So, Snowflake, are you certain you don’t remember anything?” Mint asked.

I shook my head but froze. “Wait….Snowflake?”

“Your mask.” Ivy motioned to hers. I reached up to feel, but when I brushed my fingers, I could clearly feel my glasses, mouth, and nose.

“I don’t have a-”

“Another thing about this place.” Ivy cut off. “You can’t feel, see or remove your own mask. Annoying as hell, but we can’t do anything about it.”

“Well, I’m vetoing Snowflake,” I said, crossing my arms. “What’s my mask?”

“A snowflake,” Falcon answered.

“Hm.” I thought for a second. Snowdrift? Just Snow? Ice? No, none of those fit.

“How about Frost?” Mint suggested. I nodded thoughtfully.

“I like it.”

“Okay, now that that’s been handled, what now?” Ivy asked, look around as if something was going to appear.

“Well,” Mint started pacing. “So far we have three things we know. None of us remember anything before this, we have nonremovable masks that could possibly be hiding our identities, and the clouds we appear to be walking on are solid, so I doubt we are in any danger of falling, or at least in the immediate area. It’s possible this is a puzzle room where we have to find a way out, or we were sent here for a reason.”

“Wait, I do remember something,” I said aloud. Mint’s head snapped up in my direction and I could feel the other two’s gaze on me.

“Well, what is it?” Ivy asked. I rubbed my arm anxiously.

“Well…..I remember my stories.” I said.

“Your stories?” Falcon asked. I nodded.

“The little fantasies I made up in my head. I don’t remember making them, or what inspired them in the first place, but I remember them.”

The others were silent for a second before Falcon started nodding.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Same here,” Ivy added.

Mint nodded again. “Alright then, so we remember our stories. That could be important.

“I think we should look around. Try to find anything that could give us more information.” Mint continued. “And we should probably stay together. We don’t know how big this place is, or if we’re the only ones here.”

“Alright.” We all agreed and set off into the clouds. —————- It had been several days since we’d started. The only reason we knew was because of the watch I apparently had on my wrist that could track the time and date(November 10th). It wasn’t super fancy, but definitely sturdy and I found myself playing with the adjuster more often than not.

Falcon and Ivy didn’t have anything, but Mint had found a notepad and pen in her pocket. Which, she was quickly filling with the “rules” of this place. When I looked over her shoulder, I also saw a few quick doodles. Right now, she was writing down the new rule we’d figured out.

Rule 4: Time passes, but we don’t feel hungry, thirsty, tired, or need to go to the bathroom. There also doesn’t seem to be a “night”

On one hand, it was fortunate since we hadn’t found any food or water. But on the other, it made our walking much more boring. There wasn’t much we could talk about since, you know, amnesia. But, eventually, we’d started sharing our stories, which was fun.

Mint was starting to think this could be a sort of afterlife, which I was starting to believe. Nothing else made much sense.

At least, until we found the thing.

It looked like a giant bowl, one big enough for all four of us to sit in it with room to spare. There was also this weird podium next to it with writing. We could barely read it, but we were guessing it said “Dreams to Reality” which was strange, but nothing else really stood out.

Until Mint dropped her notebook in.

The bowl seemed to spark to life, filling up almost immediately with a strange gold and white liquid. Tiny golden sparkles hovered above the pool that twinkled and shone, adding to the pool’s ethereal look.

The podium glowed for a few seconds, new writing revealing itself.

“To the four who arrive in this place,” Falcon started reading. “If you are reading this, that means I’ve succeeded. The world as you used to know it is gone and has a chance to start again….”

We all quieted for a second, sharing an uneasy glance. What?

Ivy continued.

“I’ve created the place you see before you like a do-over. You four were chosen to reshape the world. With the power of the Creation Pool, you four and only you four will be able to create whatever you please.”

I leaned over and read the last bit.

“I have no way of preventing you from using this for evil, but I implore you to use it for good. As an incentive, as long as you create, you will be immortal. But be warned, should you not, your deaths will be imminent…..”

We all took a step back from the pool and sat down. That was…...a lot to take in.

“Sooooooo……” Mint started.

“So,” I responded. “What now?”

We all sat in silence. None of us had any ideas.

“I think we should do what the podium says,” I said. “I mean, there’s apparently nothing left but us and this place. I say we give it a shot.”

“But what if it’s a lie,” Ivy said. I shrugged.

“Then it’s a lie.” I countered. “I can’t see how we could be hurting anyone. We’d just be creating.”

“I’m with Ivy,” Falcon said. “We don’t know anything about what this is or where we are.”

“Mint?” I asked, turning my head. They were silent for a moment.

“Well…..” they started. “There are good points on both sides. So how about a compromise!”

“What kind of compromise?” Ivy wondered.

“Well, you heard the writing. If we don’t, we’ll die. So I say we keep it pure fantasy. If this is some kind of ploy against people, they wouldn’t be able to use, let’s say, merpeople or fairies. And, if this is real, we won’t be dooming the universe to remain empty and dead for the rest of eternity.”

We all sat in silence once again.

“I’ll take it,” I said. I looked to Falcon and Ivy, who seemed to be deep in thought.

“Alright.”

“Sure.”

“Great!” Mint responded, standing up. She ran to the podium. The rest of us quickly got up and crowded around the podium with her.

“What should we do first?” Falcon asked.

“Well, if we really are making a world, I think we should avoid technology for now. It wouldn’t make sense if we’re making a world from scratch.” I added.

“Good idea,” Falcon added. “And maybe we could make this starting world pretty black and white, like an obvious good and an obvious bad. It'll help us keep track.”

The pool glowed at our orders, and a small piece came up. Much to our awe, it flattened and grew until a table-like piece was in front of us. There was a craggy line going down the middle, separating the two sides.

“So, still keeping it simple, how about instead of good and evil, it’s creation and destruction? That way if they are real, it gives them chances to grow and expand, but still keeps it easy to tell the two apart. Besides, I don’t think it’s possible for someone to be 100% evil. There’s always a reason.” Mint added.

The map rippled again, this time two people stood on each side. One was the same gold and white as the map while the other was pitch black with hints of purple.

“But do they have to be human though? I mean, we’re making a new world, we might as well make it interesting.” Ivy added. The two figures lost their shape and became blobs, floating, and waiting for orders.

“What if the creation species was a dragon!” I exclaimed. I couldn’t remember what they were, but something about the word felt special and perfect. The others looked at me weird, clearly also not remembering what a dragon was.

The light one slowly took shape. It grew and changed, a long neck that went up the front and an even longer tail at the back. It had strong front and back legs with large talons with wicked sharp claws on the ends. A pair of long, straight horns came from its head as well as a pair of fangs protruding up from the lower jaw. On the back of its lizard-like body was a pair of massive, bat-like wings with small spines running down its spine.

It was perfect.

I was practically vibrating with excitement while Ivy let out a whistle and Falcon let out a quiet “wow.”

“Well, since we’ve figured out the creation beings, now what about the destruction ones?” Mint asked, turning our attention to the darker blob.

“Maybe some sort of spirit? Or a demon?” Ivy suggested.

“Oooooo, good idea,” Mint said. “Maybe an…..Oni?”

“What the hell is an Oni?” Ivy asked. Mint shrugged.

“I don’t know. The word just kinda….popped in my head I guess.”

This time, the dark blob started changing. At first, it looked like a human, but then it’s torso started growing. A second pair of arms grew from the extra space, and a pair of curved horns sprouted from its head. Its face grew wider and more muscular with a massive jaw and a terrifying pair of upward facing fangs. A tall staff appeared in its hands, looking a lot like someone had twisted vines together and frozen them in place.

With the newly named Oni and Dragon, the map glowed brightly. The four of us shielded our eyes from the light show, and when we looked back, the figures were gone.

“What happened?” Falcon asked. As if on command, the map rippled.

Tiny spires and cracks appeared with almost impossible levels of detail. Mountains rose and valleys were formed, along with the tiny forms of Oni and Dragon on far opposite ends of the map.

“Amazing.” We all whispered.

“What should we name it?” Mint asked. We thought again.

“Well, since it’s our first creation,” I started. “How about….

The First Realm

—Thousands of Years Later—

The ninja were frankly exhausted. Their meeting with the Cloud Kingdom had gone as well as expected, which wasn’t very. The journey up the Wailing Alps and going through the Blind Man’s Eye also hadn’t helped.

I mean, seriously, they’d protected the Sword of Sanctuary for years now, did they really think they couldn’t be trusted with it?

They were currently being led to a room where they could stay the night. Well, night in Ninjago. There wasn’t a night cycle in the Cloud Kingdom, which didn’t make much sense, but, different realm, different rules.

“Woah!” Jay exclaimed, breaking off from the group. “What’s this?”

The ninja cast a tired glance his way, only for their fatigue to be replaced by awe and wonder.

“Ah yes, that’s our shrine to the First Four.”

The shrine was a beautiful statue of four robed figures. The marble was beautifully carved, clearly done by a master sculptor, with accents of gold around certain parts. There was enough detail that the ninja could’ve sworn they were real people and not unliving stone. They were gathered close together, each one placing a hand on a scroll facing toward them, and on the scroll seemed to be a crest of sorts. It was a carving of a snowflake inside a flower with a pair of wings behind it and ivy wrapping around.

“The First Four? Who are they?” Zane asked, taking snapshots of the statue.

Their guide laughed. “Why, they are the creators of everything you see before you.”

“What, but I thought the First Spinjitzu Master-” Kai started but was cut off.

“The First Spinjitzu Master may have created Ninjago, but the First Four are the ones who created him. They created the First Realm, and were the first writers of fate.”

“So, are they gods or something?” Nya asked. The guide shook his head.

“Oh, no no no no, they were not. They were just as human as you and me. They did have a longer life span due to their hand in creation, but were by no means immortal, or even invincible.”

“So, what’s their story then?” Lloyd asked. The guide cleared his throat.

“As I said before, the First Four existed long before you and me. No one, not even them, knows why they were here. But then they found the Pool of Creation.”

“The Pool of what now?” Cole asked. The guide looked slightly peeved at the interruption but continued nonetheless.

“The golden pool you see before you. The First Four and only the First Four were able to use it to create the world as you know it. Once they did, they started writing fate. No one is quite sure how they did it, but their practices are how we are able to do what we do today.

“Once some of the first residents of Ninjago heard of a quartet who could control fate itself, many attempted to reach the Cloud Kingdom, but few succeeded. The ones who did make it, however, were greeted with open arms by the four. They took an oath that they would remain in the Cloud Kingdom and learn their ways, and eventually, they began writing fate alongside the First Four.

“But, even then, the First Four controlled the most important parts of fate. What wars would be fought and who would win, what species would rise in power and eventually, the fate of the world.”

“Wait, are you saying they wrote the Prophecy of the Green Ninja?!?” Lloyd demanded.

“Yes, they did. Unfortunately, that was their last contribution. Keep in mind, they’d been alive since before the beginning. They were tens of thousands of years old. It only made sense that they wanted to rest at last.”

A moment of silence blanketed over them.

The guide suddenly clapped his hands, slightly startling the ninja.

“Well, we’ve spent enough time here. I’m supposed to be taking you to your room. This way, this way.”

———————

Edit: ALSO, I drew the emblem because I thought it would look nice, you can find it here