#imagine seeing that thing galloping towards you head-on

[synthaphone]

i suspect they cut the 3rd stage of the manectric line for being incredibly stupid looking, but i think they should have kept it, exactly like that with no revisions. dog that got stuck in its one of its owners shirts and is trying to act like it wants to be there and can leave at any time

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — CHILDE x FEM READER

You think you’re being quiet. You’re not. Alternatively: when you can’t make yourself cum on your own, your roommate steps in. 

wc — 1.4k

tags — mdni, mild degradation, Childe is a little condescending, corruption kink, pussy spanking, mild dacryphilia

You’re horny. 

For the past twenty minutes, all you have been able to think about is getting stuffed full of cock until you can feel it in your throat. You’re biting your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling your fingers swipe uselessly around your clit again. That tantalizing buzz of mind numbing pleasure is just out of reach as your fingers can’t manage to find the bundle of nerves that make you sing like the pretty songbird you are. 

If Childe was here, he would’ve been able to make you cum in seconds. You savor the imagined scene: him, in front of you, clad in only the dark jeans you saw him leave the house in this morning. His shirt is tossed somewhere in the room so you can see every scar cutting across his broad shoulders and toned stomach. 

Childe, you moan feverishly - in your head. He’s home, after all, just a room away, and you don’t want to break the tentative friendship you’ve just barely established. You’ve wanted Childe since you’ve met him, but you’ve only just gotten to the bare minimum of being friendly roommates. You can’t ruin everything now. 

No matter how much you want to push him down on the sofa you picked out together and ride him until your knees give out, you know the important if delayed gratification. Things like this take time. 

Your eyes roll back in your head again, thinking of his pale stomach, as white as a shark’s underbelly. You want to bite it. You want to leave a mark on him in a perfect imitation of your teeth. Just the idea of parading him around with the imprint of your canines imbedded in his flesh, proclaiming him as yours, makes you a little hotter under the collar. 

It’s hard to stifle the little gasp you let out as your fingers brush over your clit, sending sparks skittering through your bloodstream. His fingers would be so much thicker and longer, you think as you lick your lips. He could fill you up the way you wanted, the way you needed. Instead, you content yourself with the first slow press of your fingers into yourself when- 

The door flies open. You yelp and snatch the blankets over your naked body. 

“Ever heard of knocking?” You snap, using anger to cover up your embarrassment. Your heart gallops in your chest, both out of fear and desire. Underneath the thin blankets covering your body, your core drools onto sheets. Interrupting you had led to an unplanned edge, and now you’re desperate to get back to cumming. 

“Look at this,” Childe commands, hand waving towards his pants. He’s visibly hard, his cock straining the plaid fabric of his pajama bottoms. 

“What the fuck?” 

“Don’t give me that,” he snarls, advancing towards you with little shame. He’s too bold for that, always has been. Childe wouldn’t know embarrassment if it struck him in the face. It was one of things you liked about him. You wish he would have a little more shame now. 

“Take responsibility for what you’ve done,” he says, tearing the sheets away from you. 

“What have I done?” 

“Oh, are we playing innocent?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Enough is enough,” he grits out through a tick in his jaw. You’ve never seen him so irked - not angry, but annoyed. 

Horny. 

“I’m sick of you rubbing your clit all night and not being able to get off. How do you not know how to fuck yourself by now?”

“I-“

He’s not done. “I can hear you through the walls, you little minx, writhing and moaning and begging to be taken care of. You know how many times I had to secretly jack off cause of you? No more.” 

You’ve never seen this domineering side of him before. 

He grabs you by the waist and yanks you up so he can situate himself behind you. In a second, you find yourself trapped between his legs, walls on either side of you. His chest presses against your back. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your ear when he speaks, so low and soft your stomach tumbles into aching anticipation. 

“I’m going to show you how to make yourself cum. You’re going to learn take it like the good girl I know you can be for me. Deal?”

You shudder against him, trying to drag his hand towards your cunt already. You’re ready for it. You can practically feel the blunt pleasure of his calloused finger tips against your clit, but instead he holds himself steady. He’s not even trying but he outmatches your efforts. 

“Oh, you sweet dumb thing,” he coos. “I haven’t even started and you can’t use your words?”

“Please,” you whimper, tasting blood from your teeth digging into your lip. “I need you.” 

When he first pets at your clit, the sensation is so overwhelming your head knocks back, resting against his shoulder. Your body jerks rigidly as if electrified, hands pawing at his thighs. He laughs at you, a little mean and a little adoring. 

With one hand, he carefully spreads your cunt apart so you’re on full display. When you squirm, mildly humiliated and hot and desperate, his other hand comes down on your cunt. The pain is so good it makes your brain go numb with pleasure. He tightens his hold on you, pulls you closer as his hand lands on your dripping pussy again. 

Deliriously, you wonder if there’ll be a next time. If he’ll let you bend over his lap and present your ass to be spanked next, lovingly tortured by those beautiful, veiny hands. He grabs your chin and draws your attention back to him. 

“Baby,” he coos, “watch carefully.” 

The two of you watch as he presses one thick finger into you. His thumb traces small circles around your clit, keeping you ready for more, but not quite there yet. You whimper, heart in your throat. It’s only been around thirty minutes, but you feel like it’s been hours. You’re as desperate as a cat in heat. It’s all you can do not to grind down on his hand, even as he slowly scissors you open when he adds a second finger. 

“Look at that, pretty,” he murmurs softly. “You really needed this, huh?” 

You turn your tear stained face into his neck, feeling too naked, your body stripped down to nothing more than nerve endings. It’s hot and humiliating and you want him to keep calling you sweet names as he makes you watch him fuck you with his fingers. 

He indulges you for a second, nuzzling his nose against your hair as you whimper against his neck, eyes closed so your senses boil down to nothing more than the smell and feel of him. The wet sound of your cunt, echoes in your ears as he pushes you slowly but surely towards a precipice that once scared you. 

You could never reach it on your own, always pulling away before you got there. It felt like too much, but it frustrates you to no end. Unintentionally edging yourself left you so pent up you’re nothing but pliant in Childe’s arms as every circle of his fingers tightens the tense coil in your stomach until it’s ready to snap at any moment. 

“Open your eyes,” he commands, and you listen. 

You’d do anything he’d tell you to, at the moment. 

“Good girl,” he croons. “Fuck, look at you. How badly did you need this?” 

You whine, unresponsive, and clutch onto him. Childe feels a surge of a complicated mix of protectiveness and the desire to corrupt you. He wants to treat you gently. He wants to fuck you up. You’ve never been so clingy in the past, and he loves it, his sweet girl begging for him with actions and not words as you press yourself against him. 

You’re starting to hit the point you normally pull away. It’s getting too intense. You’re scared of what’ll happen when the coil of white hot pleasure in your stomach finally snaps. It feels like Childe is punishing you, unrelenting as he plays with your clit. Your legs start to close when he forces them back open effortlessly.

“Too much,” you whine, hands gripping onto his shoulders for dear life. “Too good, I can’t, so good.” 

“All this while you’re grinding on me like a little slut? I know you can take it, baby. Come on, give me a show.” 

He doesn’t even need to ask. When you finally hit the first orgasm you’ve had in a long time, your mouth drops open and your head tilts back in a silent scream, resting on his shoulder. You tighten up so much Childe can barely move as he tries to fuck you through your orgasm. You’re babbling nonsense as you cum. He only stops petting your pretty pussy when your legs twitch from overstimulation. You slump against him, exhausted. 

Post nut clarity hits like a truck. 

“So.”

“So,” you return. “This is awkward.” 

You’re slowly returning to your senses, squirming between his legs. A hand on your hip steadies you, prevents you from moving. 

“It’s only awkward if you make it awkward,” he says. “I’m going to order us pizza. What toppings?” 

[arioloyal]

Yayy you're taking requests now!! If I may, can you write one where Baldwin's health improves and every woman wants to try their luck with him. But he remains loyal to the one who was with him all the time.

I love it that the fandom is growing have more talented writers so thanks in advance 💕💕

Hi!. Thank you for your words♡. To be honest, the fandom activity has decreased recently, so I decided to start writing by myself. Although it doesn't get enough notice, I will try my best. I hope you like it💖

(King baldwin iv x reader oneshot)

Warning: mention of d×eath and blood, leprosy

[Persia empire- 1181]

...About 3 months had passed since my father's death and the time did not help. Millions of thoughts passed through my head every day. Did he die because of the heavy burden of my sins? Is this God's punishment?

This morning at sunrise I kissed my mother's hand and set off. I always heard from pilgrims who had returned that Jerusalem is the best place to ask for forgiveness.

I jumped on my black horse and galloped forward. My mother's tired face flashed in my mind like lightning for a moment and then went off. I knew she was worried about me, but honestly, I didn't saw any reason for her to worry. As far as I know, we should worry about those who are moving away from God and love, not those who are always moving quickly towards love and destiny.

I didn't know what was waiting for me in Jerusalem. But I was ready to embrace any destiny the holy land had for me. Even with all the difficulties and sorrows.

...the night before leaving home, I opened the windows of my room all the way. The smell of darkness filled the room. I sat under the flickering light of the candles while looking at a large mirror. I braided my hair, cleaning my skin and put the red robe and turban by my bed.

When I was done, I checked my face. It had become more tender and beautiful. I had nothing left from the past. Just for now, I was ready forever.

I went to my mother's room and asked her to pray for me. When she saw my new face, she said: "I see that your journey has changed you, even though it hasn't started yet.

I said: "Love is a journey. The traveler of this journey, whether she wants it or not, will change from head to toe. There is no one who goes this way and doesn't change."

My mother smiled faintly and called me. Then she gave me a wooden box. Inside the box were three things: a mirror with a silver frame, an embroidered silk handkerchief, and a crystal little glass.

:"These will help you on your journey. Whenever you need, use these. If you ever feel ugly and lose your self-confidence, this mirror will show you the beauty inside you. whenever You feel that have no credibility and you are alone, this silk handkerchief reminds you that the most important thing is the purity of heart and soul and that medicine inside the glass, which is very rare, can heal any wounds."

After I caressed these three things. I thanked my mother, kissed her hand and walked towards destiny...

[Jerusalem- 1183]

About two years have passed since I arrived in the Holy Land. I didn't even imagine that I would be able to stay here for so long, and that was thanks to the royal court, who let me in as an advisor and mentor. I would be lying if I said that all of them liked me. Lord Lusignan and his followers looked at me as a witch who has bewitched and trapped the king.

I talked day and night with the leper king, that wandering ghost of the palace who has not sat at the dinner table with his knights for years. He always challenged me mentally, which of course was not easy, but his peaceful nature was always behind his beautiful calming voice, which made me more fascinated by him day by day.

But I only came here to seek forgiveness from God, not anything else...

Fate took me to another place that I did not even imagine. I gave him all the contents of the box. Those three valuable things. I used that ointment in the glass for his wounds. That box was destined to have another owner.

it worked...

After weeks, the purulent wounds and infections dried up. i think he was feeling better

:"Gather all your strength. God will make better things for you," I said as I bandaged his arms.

:"God, doesn't know me." His eyes never stopped staring at me and even penetrated to my bones.

- : "Yes, but I do."...

The news of the King's recovery spread across borders and seas and reached Damascus, Syria, France and England. Almost every day, the nobles and their daughters came from far away to congratulate the king and presented him with all kinds of gifts. But they were surprisingly rejected by Baldwin iv.

:"... Right now, all these gifts should be sold to the merchants, only that small fund will remain. From the cost of selling these, grains should be prepared for the people."

Tiberias asked with a surprised expression: "Is there any problem, my lord?"

:"No...by the way, where is lady y/n?"

....

Tiberias's face closed like an iron door. The question that he was afraid of was finally asked...

:"Tiberias?!

- :"Lady y/n ...honestly.. she's not here anymore. She's gone." Words tumbled out of his mouth like incoherent puzzles.

:"What do you mean she's gone?"

Baldwin's breathing became heavier and his voice more frightening. After staring at the box for a few moments, he broke the silence again.

:"Take the letter that I'm writing to her and bring y/n back to me anyway. If necessary, search this land from stone to stone. Bring her to me. I'm begging you..."

...I had reached Damascus and decided to stay in the caravanserai temporarily tonight. I shouldn't have forgotten my goal and stayed in a place where I don't belong. But I am nervous at the thought of Baldwin's concern, but I don't think that there is any need for my presence, while those beautiful and noble girls are hanging around him.

:" Please don't forget your turn y/n!"

- :" Oh, I'm sorry. Yes..." I looked at the chess board. I used to play chess there with one of my old friends. The more I looked, the more I saw that I had no choice but to get closer to Checkmate. With a bold move, I moved my queen forward.

It was at that moment that I felt a shadow above me. I recognized him.

:"it's Nice to see you again, Tiberias.

I said without looking up from the chess board. He wasn't a man who wanted to talk indirectly or make excuses, but I honestly didn't expect him to find me so soon.

:"Please come back. He makes so many excuses. He asked me to look for you everywhere. I couldn't lie to him that you were gone forever and I couldn't find you. But anyway...

He asked me to give you this letter."

I glanced at the scroll that Tiberias had pulled out from under his black cloak and handed to me. I accepted it and started reading:

"...the beauty of Jerusalem, my ruler, my padishah, my sultana, my y/n.

I wish now that instead of the smell of blood and dirt, I could smell your beautiful hair to revive this half-dead body. You are the light of my dark nights. I desperately ask you to come back to me for the last time.

I inevitably marched to the border of Kerak to prevent a w*ar. I am alone and the fear of losing Jerusalem does not leave me, but the fear of losing you is much worse than that. I still hope that you will come back and heal the wounds of my heart and soul like before."

("Baldwin iv of Jerusalem")

[sheriffgrimes-archerdixon]

Request: hi! I know this is a long shot but could you please do a quiet place: day one imagine between Eric and reader??? I don’t mind what happens! Thank you. I hope this is okay to ask!!

A/n: thank you so much for the request! This isn’t linked to the actual events of the films so no spoilers for anyone who sees it! Enjoy!!(:

One last hug

One finger was lifted to Eric’s lips his eyes wide as he stared at you, you had just stepped on a shard of glass and were now facing the consequences. About fifty of these crawling alien things making you want to run. But Eric kept one finger to his lips his other hand extended out towards you to ensure you wouldn’t run. As you stared at him and he stared at you a flash of recognition crossed across his features. This wasn’t your day. Nor was it his. You had both survived for an exhausting 1500 days at that point, and now, it seemed these aliens were finally going to get you.

His breathing was heavy, chest rising and falling before his hand extended out to stop you slowly turned his slender fingers stretched out towards you “come here.” He whispered, a reassuring look in his eyes as the prowling monsters chittered and growled as they got closer, trying to sniff the both of you out. You hurried towards him, the glass crunching underneath your feet as you grabbed onto his hand before your arms tightly embraced around his neck holding onto him like your life depended on it— which, thinking about it, it did. Your breathing was heavy and shaky eyes filling with tears as his arms snaked around your waist gripping onto you. He was the one facing all the monsters getting closer and closer, his fingers curling into your T-shirt as he saw the cruel monsters get closer and closer their claws crushing glass underneath their feet and he breathed heavily. You could sense that he was looking at them— looking at his death coming straight at him and so in a comforting manner you lifted a hand to caress against his hair, running your fingers through the soft dry mess of dishevelled hair

“Eric listen to me,” you soon whispered feeling the way he trembled but didn’t dare let go of you, “shh..” he tried to whisper his adams apple bobbing up and down as he struggled to contain his sobs “breathe… Eric…” he watched as the monsters grew closer and closer until they were only a few steps away his grip on you tightening “Eric close your eyes.” You gently coaxed the man and he let out a strangled sob, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “I’ve got you. Just keep your eyes closed.” You heard the chittering in your ear as you could practically feel it’s sharp teeth digging into your skin, but, seemingly the monster didn’t instantly attack….

You and Eric shared one last hug together, expecting it all to go dark. Expecting to die a cruel death just like the poor people whom had been killed by these monsters… but, nothing happened, the monsters didn’t attack. Instead their chittering grew louder as the sound of helicopters grew close Eric’s breathing growing heavy “Eric..” you whispered frightened, the man lifting a hand to press over your mouth silencing you as the helicopters grew closer the loud sound

“Survivors head to the dock. A boat will pick up any remaining survivors. The attackers cannot swim. I repeat survivors head to the dock.”

The voice spoke through the PA system of the helicopter and before you knew it you had pushed Eric down holding onto him tightly as the monsters instinctively followed the loud noises of the helicopters the rumbling of the helicopters making the monsters gallop past, snarling and growling, you burying your face into Eric’s chest as you both panted you gripping onto him repeatedly begging whoever was up in the sky at that point to just have mercy…

Your breathing remained heavy as the monsters continued to pass until seemingly all the monsters had fled, pursuing after the helicopters. You breathed heavily before pulling away looking at Eric who looked horrified but still he didn’t speak, instead he looked behind your shoulder the final chittering one another monster making your blood run cold, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks as your body began trembling, a distraught look on Eric’s face as the monster got closer to the both of you, before Eric opened his arms wide for you, pulling you into a tight hug as he stared up at the beast, listening to you as you sobbed babbling out terrified whimpers of how you loved him knowing it was the last thing you’d both hear….

He breathed heavily tears in his eyes before he forced you to gently look into his eyes the monsters hot breath fanning over the both of you. “Close your eyes.” He whispered with a reassuring smile, as he closed his eyes just as you did, as you both embraced each other desperately… darkness encasing the both of you, embraced in one another’s arms, forever.

I hope this is okay. Sorry it’s sad): I’ll make a happier one if it’s requested!!

[shadowsingerofnight]

So um, to be honest I don’t know what this is. It was on a whim, written in one go so don’t take it too seriously lol

It was inspired by this post right here, by @dawntoducks

Hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of the door slamming shut brought Elain back to reality.

Standing in the middle of the sitting-room, she glanced to the window, to the city beyond. Velaris was in full bloom, children running and laughing just outside. She could even spot some kites flying this and that way, guided by tiny, giggling kids.

She had always thought kites to belong in fairytales, somehow never considered actually playing with one. She marvelled at them.

She kept watching- stalling, as one little girl accidentally bumped into the big magnolia tree outside the gate and let go of the slim thread she was holding. A cry sounded, the girl immediately getting up and jumping towards the sky. Desperately trying to reach high, high, higher- like the hurt didn’t matter, like she just wanted to get back what she had lost. But it was too late.

Elain blinked. Once. Twice.

Her heart began racing, the rhythm akin a horse’s gallop. Frantic, but with purpose.

It was always like that, her soul recognising a song she sometimes could faintly hear herself. A poem that had existed within her since the dawn of time, somehow.

“Are you okay?”

Somewhere among the blooming trees…

Elain had never heard a voice like that. Not when she was human, not after. Non since she had heard his for the first time. A voice so stark and yet warm. So deep and yet melodious.

She could feel it, tingling on her skin.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, still not looking at him.

Outside, on a magic wind, the girl’s kite flew right back in her arms. Elain smiled faintly.

“I… felt something,” he replied. “Like you were calling for me.”

She was? Honestly, it wouldn’t have surprised her. Elain still didn’t quite understand how this whole thing worked. But could he actually feel when she was thinking about him?

It was quite a lot.

“That’s why I thought you were in danger.” He went on, “I assumed it was the only way you could call for help.” His tone was low, steady. Like he didn’t want to scare her away.

Because I know it wouldn’t be me you’d call if you could help it.

She hated that he didn’t understand. She hated that she could not bring herself to tell him the truth, how his smile was the first thing she saw in the morning. That his laugh sounded in her ears with every step she took. That his hands were what she imagined when she… Red stained her cheeks.

She hadn’t yet looked at him, but she could just see his head dip to the side as if wondering what she was thinking about. Or rather, was she really thinking about what he suspected?

At the top of the tallest mountain…

“Elain,” he whispered and then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Elain furrowed her brows, but her chin remained dipped.

He sighed unevenly and then spat, voice higher, “I’m sorry the Cauldron made me your mate. I’m sorry I’m so abhorrent you can’t even look at me. Just tell me you’re fine and I’ll go.” His arms slackened at his sides. Defeated.

Elain’s head snapped towards him then. Her eyes met one of russet and one of gold, like the brightest of suns on a fall day. She saw the tears first, the same ones she could feel marking her own cheeks.

In the depths of all the seas…

“You-,” she sniffed. “You stupid, stupid prick.”

She saw his eyes widen the instant she closed the distance between them and pointed an accusatory finger to his chest.

“You know nothing!” She yelled. Actually yelled.

Elain wiped some of the tears away, but they kept coming like an overflowing river. Feelings buried so deep came afloat.

“Don’t you understand I can’t look at you?” She demanded more than asked.

“How can you not see I’m burning?” Her index finger kept poking his chest of its own volition while his face had paled alarmingly. He was looking down at her, tears glistening in the light.

On a journey so certain…

“You think I don’t feel anything”? Elain sniffed again. “Well, you’re so terribly wrong! I feel so much every time I look at you, I don’t know what to do.” Words were flowing and she didn’t even have to think them.

“You live with me every second of every day. You render me useless every time I think of you because all I want is to touch you and kiss you and hold you and never let go.”

He caught her wrist and flattened her hand above his heart. It was beating so fast.

“I want you, Lucien.” She could feel him tremble underneath her palm, just when he closed his eyes as to savour her words. “I just don’t want to burn you.”

Lucien smiled, so sweet and wicked at the same time, eyes so full of hope she cursed herself for not telling him sooner. “Didn’t you hear?” He whispered, his breath caressing her neck. “I’m the Lord of Flames.”

I search for light and I find you.

[fandom-puff]

A Doe Among Lions

Chapter 1: The Hand’s Tourney

A Doe Among Lions masterlist

ROBERT

How he hated Lannisters.

They were all much of a muchness: self-righteous and proud and green-eyed and blonde.

It was as though his wife followed him everywhere he went, although he did not actually know (nor care) where she was half the time. But her kin were everywhere. Her uncle’s lad, Lancel, poured his wine. Though the boy snivelled and shook at his booming voice, Robert could see the hatred glinting in those eyes. When Jaime Lannister minded his door while he ate and drank and shat and whored, he knew those emerald eyes that were twinned with his wife’s narrowed in distaste. Tywin’s eyes were icier than all of the North combined, but at least he had the good grace to keep to Casterly Rock.

But Seven Hells was Cersei the worst. Oh, she smiled and laughed and said all the right things, but by the gods was she cold. Colder than any northern bride ever would have been- his Lyanna was warm as they came, summer incarnate, with flowers weaved through her hair like a nymph. Cersei was easy enough on the eyes, but her regal beauty and her hard glare would never compare to his sweet winter rose.

He had decided very early on into his reign that emeralds were his least favourite gem.

At least his pavilion was separate to hers, and with Ned Stark by his side, the trumpets sounding and the banners snapping in the wind it was like the good days again. He had always said that his great antlered helm was far lighter than the crown he now wore.

It took little to make Ned Stark relent to this tourney; that frozen old wolf knew that the King’s word was law. And so the stands and the pavilions were erected; the aurochs were slayed and dressed and salted for the feasts; Dornish and Arbor wine was rolled in by the barrel; and the nobles and knights and commons all flooded to the Capital in preparation for the Hand’s Tourney.

“This tourney has naught to do with me,” Ned had protested weakly.

“I named you my Hand, it has everything to do with you,” Robert had responded, slapping his friend jovially on the back. When Ned changed tack and began fretting about coin, Robert had waved him off. “Littlefinger will find the copper, he always does,” he said easily.

Ned had grumbled that a tourney this grand would cost gold, but Robert simply laughed and said “Littlefinger finds his ways. This is how the Southron lords do it, Ned- best get used to it.”

—

He had taken his seat in the royal stand, waved his hand at the commons who called his name and called for the gods to bless him, and had his snivelling cupbearer pour his wine.

His eyes roved over the crowds, squinting for a flash of white scale armour. “Barristan,” he called, and the captain of his guard leaned closer.

“Your Grace?”

“Who have you set to guard my sister today. I would not have her alone with this many strangers about,”

Ser Barristan nodded. “‘Tis Ser Jaime’s turn this morn, your Grace, and I shall man his place once he takes his turn at the joust,” the king grunted, and Barristan nodded into the distance. “I see them there, your Grace, with the Queen and Prince Joffrey,”

Robert squinted, and sure enough there was a gaggle of colour, bookended by the white armour of Jaime Lannister and the dull mail of the Hound. The Prince had a fondness for Lannister’s dog, but Clegane was fearsome enough that people gave him a wide berth, so Robert permitted him to mind the boy. He spied Balon Swann a few paces from the group; no doubt he was minding the queen.

Cersei leant her golden head towards Helaena, and the younger woman tilted her head back. Robert fancied he could imagine the sound of her pleasant laughter as she tittered at the Queen’s remark. He pressed his lips together; he misliked the thought of Cersei influencing his sister, and he could almost picture her gilded claws piercing the girl’s shoulders under the guise of sisterly guidance.

When his queen joined him at the royal stands, their children ushered behind her, he kissed the ring at her finger as she sat down. She smiled pleasantly at the commons who called for her, just as Robert had, but he could see the lack of warmth in her eyes. He grunted, looking away from his bride. “And where is my sister?” He called to nobody in particular.

“She is with Uncle Renly, father, and Uncle Jaime,” said Myrcella. He nodded in acknowledgement to the Princess, before his youngest son spoke up.

“And with Lord Littlefinger,” he said. “We wanted to stay with them but our Lady Aunt said we must join you, father,”

“Lord Baelish, Tommen,” corrected Cersei. “And Helaena is quite right. You are the remain in the royal stands unless commanded otherwise. Look, now, they’re starting,” her voice was drowned out by a blast from the trumpets as Jory Cassel and Horas Redwyne readied their steeds.

—

RENLY

“Stand down, Lannister. I shall mind my sister from hereout,”

Helaena touched the green velvet of his sleeve lightly. “You know Ser Jaime cannot, brother. Robert has commanded he guard me,” she said gently.

Renly smirked at his sister, looking down at her. “And when have you ever paid any mind to what Robert commands, sister?”

Helaena suppressed a pretty smile. “There are many strangers at court for the tourney,” she said, “it would look bad for the king’s own sister to disobey him- and even worse for his own Master of Laws to do the same,” she added sternly, though her blue eyes glinted with mischief.

Renly grinned at his sister. He so enjoyed when she came to court- she made such a pleasant change from sour old Stannis. It was like their days at Storm’s End, in the lull between Robert’s Rebellion and Renly being made Lord of Storm’s End. They looked the most alike of all their siblings, and for much of their childhood it was easy to muddle the pair up. But now Renly was tall and broad where Helaena was shorter. Her hair had grown to her waist, while his remained at his shoulders- but the shade was the same: black as night and glossy like silk. Robert had said once that Helaena seemed to have stolen all of Stannis’s hair; Renly had roared with laughter, while Stannis had pursed his lips together.

“Will you be entering the lists, brother?” Helaena asked. “Ser Jaime and the other white knights have,”

Renly smirked easily. “Of course,” he said. “Though not until later on,” he said. “Can I count on your favour?” He asked, grinning as he nudged her. Helaena let out a laugh.

“Indeed not,” she smirked. “My favour is reserved for someone with a chance of winning,” she teased.

Renly pressed a hand to his heart. “You wound me, sweet sister,” he said, all theatrics. “And who, pray, do you intend to bestow that pretty kerchief upon?”

Helaena sighed, feigning wistfulness. “Oh, only the most gallant knight here,” she said solemnly. “Mayhaps Ser Jaime or Ser Barristan. Or one of Lord Stark’s northmen, they seem most honourable- and it is the Hand’s Tourney, not the Big Headed Brothers’ Tourney after all,” she added slyly. Behind them, Jaime Lannister snorted, his mouth pressed determinedly into a thin line, and Littlefinger let out a bark of laughter.

“Well met, my lady,” he said with an easy smirk.

Renly placed his hand on the sleeve of Helaena’s pale blue gown. He was not keen for his sister to be in Littlefinger’s company. Helaena smiled pleasantly.

“You are most kind, Lord Baelish,” she said pleasantly. “Oh- they’re beginning,” she said, standing on tip toe to peer down to where Cassel and Redwyne were bowing to Robert.

Renly watched with interest, smirking as Robert waved them away- he was sure he heard him call for them to “have at it, already.”

He leant towards Baelish. “What say you, Baelish. Twenty dragons on Redwyne? I doubt they get much jousting done at Winterfell,”

Baelish smirked. “Aye, I’ll take your wager,” he said with a nod. Within moments, the stands were full of murmurs and calls for various bets. Renly felt secure with his wager on Horas Redwyne- especially as he cantered past in his gleaming armour and his shield emblazoned with the clustered grapes of House Redwyne- and began agreeing on various other bets with those around him.

“Fifty dragons on the Northman!” Helaena called. The lords around her looked at her bemusedly.

“Are you quite certain, my lady?” One elder lord said.

“Sister, you do not have fifty dragons to wager- and I certainly won’t be lending you them,” Renly hissed in her ear, his hand at her elbow.

Helaena shook him off. “If I lose the wager, the winner may have my ring,” she said, holding up her hand, where a gleaming ring of silver and sapphires adorned her slender finger. A lordling below her eyed the ring hungrily; another peered over Renly’s shoulder as the clear blue stones caught the light.

“Done,” said Lord Baelish after a beat. Helaena smiled genially and accepted his handshake.

“You have already agreed to a bet against the Northman,” Renly protested.

Baelish merely shrugged. “If the Northman loses, then I get twenty dragons from you, my lord. If Redwyne loses… well I shall be twenty dragons poorer… but I shall have a fine ring worth double,”

Their discussion was drowned out by the blast of trumpets and the roar of the crowd and the thunder of hooves- and soon the thud of Horas Redwyne hitting the dirt silenced them all. Renly grumbled as he rifled through his coin purse, handing out the winnings to those around him, catching his sister’s triumphant smirk as she replaced her ring. “Not a word,” he said to her, though his smile broke easily when she let out a giggle. “Perhaps I shall have you broker my deals from now on, sister,”

Helaena laughed aloud. “Not a chance,” she told him, accepting the coin pouch Baelish had passed her. “I shan’t bet on every tilt,” she added sensibly.

“Ah, but you will bet on mine, I guarantee,”

“Naturally,” she quipped. “I’ve already bet with Robert,” she added, nudging him playfully.

The day wore on as more and more nobles and hedgeknights took to the field. The youngest Baratheon siblings shouted their support for their favourites and bickered over who they thought the victor would be. There was rather a game of musical knights when it came to be Ser Jaime’s turn in the field; Ser Barristan came to stand guard as Lannister unhorsed two men, and swapped back to do the same. Then it came for Barristan and Jaime to tilt, with Balon Swann blustering over while they jousted.

When young Hugh of the Vale was killed by Ser Gregor the Mountain, the colour drained from Helaena’s face as she stared at the pool of blood surrounding the young boy, and it took several more tilts for her to regain the spirit of the day. “D’you want to retire?” Renly murmured to her, but she shook her head and waved him away, plastering a smile on her face. Likely she did not want Robert to catch a glimpse and see that something was amiss; Renly was of the belief that Robert would keep her in a gilded cage if she allowed it.

“No,” she said bravely, looking up at him. “I must see your joust,” she insisted. Renly nodded and squeezed her hand. He kissed her sweetly on the forehead, before retiring to his pavilion to don his green enameled armour and golden antlered helm.

Renly’s joust was a failure; he fell to the Hound on the first tilt, a tine from his helm snapping with a terrifying crack that the crowd took for bones. Despite being the loser, however, the commons still cheered for him. When he returned to the stand, Helaena smacked his chest, the slap dulled by the velvet of his doublet. “Hey, now!” He said, grabbing for her wrist. “Clegane has already bruised my arse, sister. I won’t have you doing for my chest,”

Helaena frowned. “You frightened me, you fool,” she chastised. “And you lost me a barrel of my favourite summerwine,” Renly roared with laughter, and soon Helaena’s lips tugged into a begrudging smile. “From now on I shall bet against you,” she declared, but that only made Renly laugh harder, and the two sibling sat back down to watch the remainder of the day’s tilts.

The Knight of Flowers rode onto the field to cries of adoration from the crowd, his cape of a thousand roses streaming behind him, his polished armour gleaming in the sun. Helm in hand, he plucked a white rose from his cape and held it out to Helaena. As they spoke the usual courtesies of knights and high ladies, Loras’s brown eyes flicked to Renly’s, the two exchanging a secret smile before Loras cantered off.

His Knight of Flowers rode gallantly, and was soon declared a finalist alongside the Kingslayer, the Hound, and the Mountain That Rides, but the sun was setting and Robert decreed that the final would be on the morrow, before the archery contest and the mêlee.

“Come, brother,” Helaena murmured, drawing his attention away from the Tyrell boy’s streaming cloak of blooms and his enameled armour, and the ladies and girls with romance in their hearts swooning over him. “We must away to the feast,”

Arm in arm, the youngest Baratheon siblings began the walk from the tourney grounds to the feast, where a huge table had been laid out beneath the sunset. The air was perfumed by the smell of roasting meat and vegetables, of fresh seafood, of summer wine and plump fruit, and filled with mirth and celebration and plenty.

Already, Robert seemed to be in his cups, roaring with laughter at every jape, calling for his cup to be refilled by the minute, and for his friends’ cups too. Renly and Helaena took their places once the usual formalities had been spoken.

“Have you enjoyed the day thus far, brother?” Helaena said to Robert, who incline his head.

“Aye, especially when Renly was knocked onto his arse!” Robert said, his face already ruddy.

Helaena smiled politely, and rested her hand on Renly’s arm. “I have already had words with our brother,” she said, feigning seriousness. “And I shall have that barrel put aside for your next visit to Storm’s End. Perhaps we can share it- none for Renly,”

Renly chuckled at his sister’s teasing. “That’s fine, sister, I wouldn’t drink that piss you enjoy so much of you paid me!”

The three laughed, and the feast progressed. Joff was playing the perfect Prince with the eldest Stark girl, it seemed, despite all that bother with wolves and butcher’s boys on the Kingsroad. Ned Stark still looked out of place, even at his own tourney feast. The queen’s face was ice as well as her husband grew louder and louder, boasting of his prowess and his intention to put it to use in the mêlee. “Perhaps that is unwise, your Grace,” the queen said in a form voice. “I would not wish to see you injured,”

The laughter around them stopped, and the air soured alongside Robert’s mood. “I will,” he said stubbornly, waving for his cupbearer to refill his cup. Renly sat straighter, and he saw Jaime Lannister and Ned Stark do the same. Helaena opened her mouth to speak, reaching to take Robert’s hand, but he brushed off her sweet, mollifying words and her gentle touch as though she were but a butterfly.

“You will not,” the queen insisted, setting down her wine cup. “I forbid it,”

“NO!” Robert boomed, and silence fell across the full length of the table. “You do not command me, woman. I say I shall ride, so I shall ride!”

Face drained of blood and green eyes glinting with silent fury, the queen stood from the table and stalked away. Cross words were exchanged between King and Kingsguard, and Jaime Lannister was knocked to the floor. It seemed besting Lannisters was the only thing that could sweeten Robert’s mood, but the feast was called to an end all the same.

Helaena sighed and stood. “Come,” she said to Renly. “You can escort be back,”

Renly smirked, mentally replaying the moment the Kingslayer hit the dirt. “And if I want to stay here and drink and feast and whore?”

“Then I shall make my own way back,” Helaena said with a shrug. “It is dark out, brother, but it makes no difference to me,”

“Certainly not,” Renly said, standing and offering his arm, which Helaena took with a triumphant smirk.

“Do you truly care for my safety and honour on these dark roads, Renly, or do you fear our brothers’ fury so?” She teased. Renly rolled his eyes.

“Oh hush, you conniving wench,” he said, but he grinned at the mischief in her eyes, leading her back to the castle and safely to her apartments, his cloak brushing over young Loras Tyrell’s legs as he went.

I hope you are enjoying this story thus far! The first few chapters lay the groundwork, but the action shall truly begin soon… we just need rid of Robert…

[dreaamerwrites]

[ ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS ]

couple: son heungmin x female reader rating: PG-13 request: "Son Heung-Min imagine about spending Christmas with Sonny? Like decorating the house together, cooking and just holiday themed fluff" tags: established couple, kissing, Christmas festivities, mentions about being "naked" but no one is actually naked LOL, brief talks about "the future", just 5.3k of holiday fluff LOL enjoy! notes: please enjoy some fluff on christmas eve lol. also at one point in the story, i've included a little link to a funny surprise (marked by an asterisk). please click if you want to spread some more joy in your life! :) enjoy!

/

It was born three weeks ago. This tiny nugget of an idea – barely anything there; no weight, just sleepy thinking and a glimmer of hope.

Three weeks ago, you had been curled up on your couch with Heungmin, sleepy and soft in his arms as an old movie played on the TV screen. He had still been running on Qatar time then and the only thing playing at that hour was a claymation stop-motion Rudolph film. You had already tuned it out by then, focused only on the steady rise and fall of his chest as you dozed off when – suddenly –

“I’ve never really had a Christmas like that.”

You had blinked your eyes open blearily. His gaze was focused on the TV screen. 

Claymation Rudolph was galloping throughout a fully dressed and decorated house, knocking over strings of tinsel and popcorn and cranberries. Through your sleep-drunk eyes, you could see a claymation tree. Stockings by the fireplace. Claymation presents wrapped in festive paper and bows. 

You had bumped your nose under Heungmin’s chin. 

(A tiny little nugget of an idea…)

“Never?” You had repeated after him, voice thick with sleep. 

Heungmin had shifted in his seat, looking away from the movie to smile down at you instead, expression unbearably soft. 

“Never,” he had laughed, giving you a tight squeeze that you could still feel if you thought about it hard enough now. He had laughed as he had straightened up afterwards that night too. “Now let’s get you to bed.”

(A tiny, teeny idea that was beginning to take shape, take root, blooming into a tiny, teeny snowflower…)

“Never ever?” You had asked again, sleepily allowing Heungmin to pull you to your feet. Never ever.

The rest of the night had been a sleepy haze after that – you’re sure he must’ve led you upstairs at some point – but one thing still stood out.

The idea was there. The idea had taken root. 

Just sleepy thinking and a glimmer of hope.

/

“You’re gonna do what?”

Daniel’s voice is incredulous on the other end of the line; you can practically feel his disapproval and disbelief through your earbuds themselves. 

You frown, grabbing another bag of gift bows from the shelf and tossing them into your shopping cart. You don’t appreciate his tone of voice. 

“I’m going to give Heungmin a traditional Christmas!”

“...You’re gonna do what????”

“I’m not repeating myself AGAIN, Daniel,” you groan, wheeling your cart around to head back towards the decorations aisle. You would need another box of lights. “Can you please just tell me if you approve of the menu I sent you or not?”

Daniel sighs a deep, suffering kind of sigh.

You huff again. 

“Love, you know I adore you,” Daniel finally replies, voice careful but firm. “But I, in good consciousness as one of Heungmin’s trained dieticians, cannot allow you to cook anything for him. List or no list.”

“Daniel!” You whine, stopping in your tracks – only to have three carts behind you nearly crash into one another at the abrupt halt. One woman knocks over a display of marshmallows. You grimace and offer her an apologetic smile before trying to wheel away once more.

“And you can try asking any of the nutritionists on the team, they will all agree,” Daniel continues as you flag a left into an abandoned paper towels aisle. “You are not allowed to cook him anything.”

“But I chose a menu that would fit his dietary restrictions,” you try again, unhappy. 

Daniel does not budge. 

“It’s not his dietary restrictions that I’m worried about, love,” Daniel tuts. “It’s you. You’re a fire hazard. You should be written into his insurance policy.”

“I take great offense to that, I hope you know,” you retort back.

“I know,” he replies dryly without missing a beat. “And you’re still not allowed to cook for him.”

There’s a finality in his voice that you know better than to argue with. That doesn’t mean you need to like it though. 

You huff childishly. Daniel merely laughs. 

“Look, I think it’s absolutely wonderful that you want to throw Heungmin a traditional Christmas. I am certain he will love it and have a blast,” Daniel says, voice much more encouraging now. “Why don’t you order food for him instead. There’s more to Christmas than just a homecooked meal, love!”

You stare down at your shopping cart, overflowing with Christmas decorations, cookie cutters, ornaments, and bows. You have no idea. 

“I know, I know,” you finally concede with a sigh. “I just wanted to do everything with him.”

“Trust me, darling,” Daniel suddenly laughs on the other end of the line. “I’m sure you have plenty of activities planned for him. Focus your energy on those activities – not ones that will give him food poisoning. Or a second-degree burn. Or both–”

“HANGING UP ON YOU NOW, GOODBYE!”

/

You can hear his keys jangling at the front entrance and you rush to open the door before he can. 

You open the door a crack, just wide enough to stick your head out. 

“Welcome home!”

Heungmin stares at you in confusion, keys still in his hand. He’s dressed casually, fresh off of practice, hair still slightly damp from a recent shower, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. His brow furrows when you clearly make no further moves to open the door any wider. 

“Thank… you?” he replies cautiously, eyeing you. You channel your inner Daniel and do not budge. 

“So,” you begin awkwardly. “I did a thing.”

Heungmin’s furrowed brow only deepens. 

“A thing,” he repeats after you. You nod energetically. 

“It’s nothing bad. I promise.”

A pause, and then: 

“...Are you naked?” Heungmin asks finally. 

“Wh–what??” You nearly choke on your own tongue, coughing in surprise. Heungmin takes the moment when he sees it, immediately jamming one foot into the crack in the door and forcing it open with his leg in one fell swoop. 

You’re still sputtering as you step back, allowing him to open the door as wide as it’ll go, fully revealing your flat inside:

The entire apartment is filled to the brim with boxes and bags of overflowing Christmas decorations and gifts. You had started to hang a few garlands but had given up – Heungmin’s height would help with that later �� and you had positioned the tree already in the corner of the room. A fake fire was roaring to life on the TV screen. Glitter and tinsel covered nearly every surface. Boxes of every kind of cookie available to man covered your dining room table. 

Heungmin stands in your doorway, confused expression morphing into one of complete surprise. 

“What… is all of this?”

You shut the door behind him, finally recovering from the naked comment, your cheeks already flushed as you let him inside. 

“Well, a few weeks ago you said you’d never had a… a real traditional Christmas,” you mumble, tucking your hair behind your ear defensively. Your hand comes away with glitter on it too. You hide it behind your back nervously. Heungmin is still looking at you expectantly. “I know you’ve devoted your whole life to football. Your childhood, your family, your life. All of your memories revolve around football.”

Heungmin’s gaze, which had been rapidly scanning the entire winter wonderland surrounding him, slowly stops and lands on you instead. You blush even deeper now with his eyes on you. You don’t look away though. You could never look away from him.

“I wanted to give you a new memory,” you explain quietly. Heungmin outstretches his arms to you and you fall into him immediately, like two magnets drawn together. You fit into his open arms easily, your own wrapping around his waist as you tilt your head up to look at him. He continues to look down at you with a strange, awestruck kind of softness. “I wanted to give you a traditional Christmas memory. That’s all.”

“This is all for me?” he asks softly, arms warm around you. He smells of his soap and cologne and you shiver as the scent wraps around you too. 

“Yes,” you whisper. “This is all for you.”

The smile he gives you in return is so bright and so full of love that you feel beyond thankful to even be here to witness it. 

Everything is for you.

“Now let’s go! We have a full night ahead of us!!”

You return his smile with one of your own, untangling from him only to grab his hand instead. He lets you, laughing as you drag him along.

“Lead the way!”

/

“First, we change.”

You push a pile of clothes into Heungmin’s arms. He doesn’t even bother looking at the clothes, merely smiling down at you instead. 

“I’m guessing I have no say in this?”

“Smart man,” you grin widely, giving his butt a pat when he turns to shuffle towards your bedroom. This only makes him pause though, as he levels you with a look.

“You aren’t coming with me?”

“And miss the grand reveal?” you shake your head, giving his butt another purposeful pat. “Nope. No way. Now go!”

He wrinkles his nose at you but makes a move on without much complaint otherwise. As he changes, you quickly throw on your own outfit in the bathroom. You’re just tying the drawstring into a bow when you hear him calling from you just outside the door. 

“Coming!” you yell, throwing the door open to pop out as well. 

He stands in front of you and you stand in front of him.

The two of you stare at each other – in exact matching pajamas – red reindeer bottoms and a hideous red and green knit holiday sweater, complete with little bells sewn into the front. 

To say that Heungmin falls over laughing* is an understatement. 

He erupts with laughter at the sight of you – the volume only rising when you, very intentionally, flick one of the bells sewn over your middle. His face is pink with laughter as he clutches at his stomach and you let the happy, happy sound fuel you forward. 

“Onto the next!!!”

/

“Now it’s time for the tree,” you say firmly. 

Heungmin stares at the huge balsam fir that takes up nearly half of the living room. 

“How did you even get this in here?” he asks, eyeing the tree up and down. It’s easily over 2 meters tall. 

“I dragged it in here,” you shrug, opening a box of Christmas lights to begin unraveling. You hand Heungmin one end and gesture for him to begin dressing the tree. He awkwardly unravels the tangle of lights and begins to drape it around the tree with wide, uneven W’s. You hold back a laugh but let him continue, trying your best to mask it. 

He doesn't buy it.

“Are you laughing at me!” he exclaims, giving you a pointed look as he makes another ugly loop around the tree with the lights. 

“No!” you stifle a laugh, feigning nonchalance. Heungmin merely sniffs at you for a moment before continuing his merry way, resuming his ugly draping of lights around the tree. 

“It’s not my fault if this comes out ugly,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’ve never done this before. I get a free pass.”

This stops your laughter. You look at him curiously.

You had known you were going to be giving him his first traditional Christmas – but… never done this before?

“You never decorated a tree before?” you ask curiously, reaching for a box of ornaments. “Your family had a Christmas tree before though, right?”

Heungmin shrugs, having reached the end of his line of Christmas lights. He reaches for another box – this time in a mismatched shade – blinking rainbow lights shining up at you when he plugs it into the end of where he had left off. 

“You know my dad. He hates clutter. He always has,” he laughs wryly. “My family never had a Christmas tree.”

Oh. Heungmin’s father was one of the strictest humans you had ever come across. Razor sharp and unimaginably disciplined. The stony faced man had gone through hell and back to care for his son. You knew Heungmin had attributed almost all of his success to his father and you knew that they loved each other in the very fiercest way. 

But, you realize, while he is the father who dragged Heungmin to the very top of Mount Everest with his bare hands – he is not the father who would allow Heungmin to have a Christmas mess in his living room or a crooked, ugly Christmas tree in the foyer. 

You hold out a box of ornaments to Heungmin suddenly. It’s a box of varying plastic penguins dressed in Christmas sweaters. 

“You get a free pass,” you say very seriously, in full agreement now. 

Heungmin raises an amused brow at you. You nod down at the ornaments in your hands, motioning for him to take it once he’s finished with the lights. 

“Thanks–”

“...You can make this tree as ugly as you want and I won’t say a word.”

“HEY!”

/

An hour later, your tree is finished. It tilts very heavily to the left, thanks to the copious amount of lights Heungmin has hung there, but besides that you think it’s pretty respectable! It’s covered in a myriad of ornaments, ranging from the Christmas penguins to classic red and green balls and pinecones. 

For the hour following, Heungmin has also been stringing up all the garlands you had given up on before he came over, carefully fastening them to the ceilings, the doorways, the cabinets – anywhere you ask. 

As the second hour comes to an end, Heungmin wipes the sweat from his brow and gives you a very pointed look. 

“I���m starting to think that this is less for me and more for your decorating needs instead,” he teases. 

“Oh no, you got me,” you tease right back, opening your arms to him. He makes a face as he falls forward, pretending to grumble as he presses a kiss into your glitter-strewn hair. You take a moment to stroke at his back, following the dip of his spine right down the middle, the muscles in his back shifting and moving at the touch. 

“But look how pretty it is now,” you murmur, pressing your cheek to his chest. You stare at the handiwork that the two of you have put together.

The tree seems to glimmer even brighter, as if it knows you two are looking, and the mismatched lights and hodgepodge of ornaments all look perfect. They all look as if they belong.

“Not bad for my first tree, eh?” Heungmin gives your side a little nudge. 

“Not bad at all,” you agree with a small smile, nuzzling closer. “I think we’re just about done with decorating actually.”

This causes him to pause. He pulls back to give you a wary look.

“Just about? I thought we were done! You said the popcorn tinsel was the last thing!”

You wave him off, slipping out of his arms to hunt down the box you had set aside earlier, before his arrival. 

“It’s one teensy tiny thing. I promise it won’t be hard. I can even be the one who hangs it up!”

He looks unconvinced, waiting where you had left him, still aglow with the warm light of the Christmas tree. You roll your eyes as you walk back over, the last box in your hands.

“See, it’s so small that it fits in here,” you say reassuringly. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Heungmin continues to tease, crossing his arms over his chest. “Open it. Let’s see what’s inside.”

With a flourish, you open the gift lid – to reveal a sprig of mistletoe sitting in a bed of cotton. A small red bow is tied to the end. You lift it up by the hook hanging off the end of it and dangle it in front of Heungmin pointedly. 

“See! Last thing!”

Heungmin’s expression transforms from teasing to curious immediately. He stares at the little sprig in confusion.

“Is this a part of the tree? Is this special?”

You tilt your head at him curiously. 

“You don’t know what this is?”

He shakes his head.

Of course. 

Suddenly, you feel slightly shy. With pink cheeks, you shuffle over to the hallway archway, reaching up on your tippy toes, trying to hook it onto the awning. Heungmin immediately steps forward, grabbing it and hooking it for you, one arm around your waist as he loops it easily right in the center of the archway.

“Is it something special? Is this another Christmas thing?”

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip absently. Once the mistletoe is hanging securely, he wraps both arms around you to hold you properly, clearly waiting for an explanation. 

You flush under his expectant gaze. 

“It’s a… very well-known tradition. It’s called – Christmas mistletoe,” you force yourself to keep his gaze, looking up into his curious, happy eyes. “When two people walk through a doorway and find mistletoe above them, they’re supposed to…”

“Supposed to…?” Heungmin prompts. “Say Merry Christmas?”

You don’t bother with an answer at first.

Instead, you stand back up on your tippy toes and lean forward, pressing one hand to his muscled chest for leverage and the other carefully cupping his cheek as you press a soft kiss to his lips. The kiss is chaste, barely there, sweet and innocent in its own way – as if you haven’t kissed a million times before. 

When you pull back, you’re pink from head to toe and Heungmin’s eyes are closed, lips still pursed, as if waiting for another. 

You lick your lips, stifling a laugh. 

“They’re supposed to kiss.”

Heungmin’s eyes slowly open at this. 

“Anytime… two people walk under the mistletoe, they’re supposed to kiss?” he confirms one more time, gaze more focused on your lips than your eyes now. You grow even pinker in the cheeks, if possible. 

“Yes.”

Suddenly, Heungmin pulls you even closer, arms circling your waist, pulling you in so close until you’re flush against him. You shiver, full body, at the touch. This only makes him sigh, pleased, as he nudges his nose against yours, breath warm against your cheek.

“I think I prefer this over the tree,” Heungmin murmurs. “Next year can we just have a house full of mistletoe instead?”

“Are you saying you don’t appreciate all of our hard work here?” you tease, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. His hands travel down from your waist to the band of your reindeer pajama bottoms, thumbing at the fabric with purpose. 

He stops at your joke though and pulls back just enough so that you can see his face, open and honest and true.

“No, I appreciate all of this,” he replies seriously – so seriously that you aren’t sure if you should melt or laugh. “I appreciate all of this so much.”

“Oh sweetheart,” you can’t help but say, voice softening. “I know. I know you do.”

He wraps his arms around you once more, grip tight and secure. 

“I’ve never had someone who wanted to give me a memory like this before. No friends who would think to do this. Not my family, either,” he murmurs. “I love them. So much. But they aren’t like this. They aren’t like you.”

“Like me?”

Heungmin nods, gaze never leaving yours. 

“You’re full of light. So full of light. You make every moment bright.”

Something tugs at your heart, so pure and real. This is a precious, happy moment, a voice seems to say in the very back of your mind. Hold onto this. Remember this. 

“I’m not always full of light. I’m human too, you know. With bad days and cranky moments, just like anyone else. But…” You burrow in closer, holding on tight. “You make it easy to feel bright again.”

You make it so easy to be happy.

/

It takes a very long time to drag Heungmin away from the mistletoe. You make a mental note to buy a few more to hang up – if he doesn’t beat you to it, that is. 

Next, is time in the kitchen. 

Heungmin stares down at the dining room table. Amidst all the cookie tins on the table is your entire holiday meal spread for him…

Printed out on paper, with bright color ink. 

He stares at the pictures of food arranged neatly on the table. 

He stares at you in confusion after.

“Daniel told me I’m not allowed to cook for you,” you sniff, crossing your arms over your chest. “So I ordered dinner. We’ll have steak. It should be here in an hour.”

Heungmin keeps a straight face.

For one second, and then another…

By the third, he’s erupted into laughter again, nearly laughing so hard that tears form in his eyes as he reaches for you with one hand and reaches for the picture of mashed potatoes you’d printed out haphazardly. He misses both and nearly falls over, grabbing onto the back of one of your dining room chairs for leverage. 

“It’s not funny!” You whine, taking a purposeful swipe at his ankle with your slippered foot. 

He nods, still hiccuping with laughter, as he reaches for you, attempting to give you a comforting hug that means very little when he’s laughing so incessantly. 

“I know, I know, sweetheart,” he chokes out, rubbing his face into your hair, his laughter vibrating right down from your head to your fingers and toes. You try not to let your pout fall away with all your might. “It’s okay, you know I love steak. I’m excited.”

You finally relent, starting to raise your arms up to hug him back when he reaches into his pocket with one hand to grab his phone. You look at him curiously as he keeps one arm looped around your hips and the other tapping on his phone. 

“What are you doing?”

“Texting Daniel to tell him thanks for saving my life.”

“SON HEUNGMIN–”

/

The two of you decorate cookies as you wait for the food to arrive. 

You choose two gingerbread men while Heungmin works on an entire gingerbread house alone instead. 

After drawing on frosting buttons for one, you add a dollop of frosting to your index finger to taste for yourself. 

Heungmin pretends not to notice.

“I will not let you seduce me away from this house, I’m creating a masterpiece,” he says suddenly, voice firm. 

“What did I do?” you ask as innocently as you can. You stare back at him, finger in your mouth, the frosting sweet on your tongue. 

He clicks his tongue at you disapprovingly.

“First you greet the door naked and now–”

You sputter at this, choking on the icing. 

“I was not naked!!”

“Well, you should’ve been!” 

“What even IS this argument?” you shake your head, exasperated, reaching for a napkin to wipe your finger off. Heungmin merely grins, expertly tossing a gumdrop at you with infuriating precision. It hits you right in the cheek and you groan, brushing the sugar off your cheek with a huff. 

“You love me,” he teases, grinning at you from behind his gingerbread house. You roll your eyes, standing up to walk over to his side of the dining table, bracing one arm over the back of his chair and pressing your side into his arm. One arm automatically reaches for you, as if on instinct. He pulls you into his lap and you slide in easily, perching on one muscled thigh as he presents his gingerbread house to you.

“Look,” he says proudly, gesturing to his confectionary masterpiece. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

He’s decorated the house to the fullest extent, using every packet and tube of icing you had and adding every kind of candy humanly possible. You’re not sure how the gingerbread house is still standing. It really should’ve collapsed from the weight of all the candies hanging off of it. 

He points excitedly at the little garden he’s created out of marshmallows. 

“Look, they’ll be able to grow treats too.”

You can’t help but laugh, resting your cheek against his shoulder as he points next to the huge chunks of blue cotton candy along the border of his cookieboard.

“I made a moat.”

He’s right, you really do love this man. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, nuzzling in closer. 

“It’s beautiful,” you agree, pressing a kiss onto his neck as you snuggle in. Heungmin’s arms are strong when they wrap around you. 

“Are you done with your gingerbread people?”

“I am,” you nod, wishing you had brought over your tube of frosting. It would’ve been so sweet. Would’ve tasted nicer off of Heungmin’s neck too. 

(Maybe he was right. Maybe you should’ve been naked. Oops.)

“Did you name them yet?” Heungmin asks, stroking your back soothingly. 

“No, not yet,” you hum, licking the sugar off your lips thoughtfully. “Do you want to name the gingerbread kids?”

“Nope,” Heungmin responds immediately. “I have two names but I’m not giving them to the gingerbread people.”

You give his shoulders a squeeze. 

“Why not?”

“Because,” you can’t see his expression from where you’re perched, face pressed into his warm neck instead, but you can practically picture his haughty expression. “I’m saving them.”

“For someone else’s gingerbread kids?” you wrinkle your nose, taking a purposeful bite at his neck, teeth grazing the junction right where his neck meets his shoulders, huffing. 

“No! I’m saving them for our kids!”

If record scratches could play in real life, it’d be super loud right now.

You pull back suddenly, looking at Heungmin startled.

“What?”

“I have two names that I’ve always really liked and I’m going to save them until we have our own kids,” he repeats, expression unchanged. He continues to rub at your back absently, as if he hasn’t just said something huge and unexpected. 

“You… think about things like that?” you ask carefully. Maybe it’s the sugar in your system – or maybe it’s Heungmin wrapped around you like this, sugary sweet, the entire apartment smelling of his cologne and pine and cinnamon. 

He shrugs. Too casually.

Finally he ventures a glance at you. Meets your eyes with a well-rehearsed expression that’s been schooled into neutrality. Feigns nonchalance. 

“You don’t?” he asks offhandedly. 

“I…” 

You blink, stunned, your brain short-circuiting. 

Definitely too much sugar.

He saves you from yourself. 

“It’s okay if you don’t,” he nods. “I know it’s not anytime soon for us. I know we have a long way to go. I just… I like thinking about my future. I like setting goals and envisioning where I want to end up. I like… I like thinking about you.” 

Your brain slowly catches up. Your phone is buzzing on the table – food delivery is here, probably – and you know this isn’t the most romantic moment, and yet it seems incredibly romantic all the same. 

You lean your weight into him, curled up in his lap as you trace the lines of his neck as you find the words, slowly but surely.

“I think about it too,” you whisper. “I like thinking about my future with you too.”

The smile he gifts you in return is unbearably soft, the relief clear in his face. 

I want everything with you.

/

“So we did the matching jumpers, decorated a tree, decorated the entire flat, made gingerbread masterpieces, watched three Christmas movies…” Heungmin ticks off each item on his fingers in thought. 

You both are sprawled out on the couch, incredibly full and warm, the last credits of Elf playing in the background. You know you ought to get up and clean up the plates from your takeaway dinner, but you can’t bring yourself to move just yet. You merely stay where you are, legs thrown over his lap, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your ankles. 

“I think I’m so full I might die,” you murmur, curling in closer. 

His hand drifts up from your ankle to your thigh and then to your stomach, his hand so big that it nearly covers your entire middle. He begins to rub soothing circles there instead. You try very hard not to melt right into the couch. 

“Had an awesome Daniel-approved dinner. Baked cookies for my team,” Heungmin continues, humming. He’s running out of fingers to count on. It makes you feel so warm and happy inside. “Oh and can’t forget mistletoe – I learned what mistletoe was!”

You nod in agreement, smiling at him with a sleepy, sated smile. 

“Did we miss anything?” you ask yourself absently, staring at his side profile, studying the slope of his nose and the shape of his mouth. You reach up to trace his bottom lip gently. He presses a kiss to your finger.

“I don’t think so,” he murmurs right back. “You did everything for me. You made all the memories for me.”

“Did you enjoy your first traditional Christmas?”

He reaches up to grab your hand, capturing it in his own. He pulls it towards him, pressing another kiss to your knuckles, then to your wrist. After, he simply holds your hand against his cheek and stares right back at you instead. His face is warm, probably from the food and the warmth of your apartment. You hope your skin is cool against his skin. You hope it brings him comfort, you hope it brings him peace.

You hope you can always do those things for him. 

“I did,” he whispers, rubbing the back of your hand against his cheek. “This was a perfect Christmas.”

“I didn’t even give you your gift yet,” you whisper back, letting him hold your gaze for as long as he wants. The two of you cannot look away. 

“I don’t need a gift anymore,” he says honestly, eyes so intent on yours. They’re filled with so much love that you think you might burst. You are the tilting Christmas tree, decked out to the fullest with all the love and light and warmth Heungmin could ever find and gather in the world. You are alight with his heart for you. “You’ve already given me so much. You always do.”

You pretend to huff but it’s not very convincing. It’s difficult to look unhappy when this man loves you so much. 

“I’m still giving you one. You’ll get it tomorrow – on actual Christmas day.” 

He merely shrugs at this. 

(Maybe he feels as full and warm and satisfied as you do. Maybe he can see that same amount of love in your eyes, the way you feel them in his. Maybe he’s filled to the brim, a tilting Christmas tree too, bursting at the seams with the love you have for him. Maybe.)

“You can, but this has still been enough,” he replies simply. “I will never forget this Christmas.”

You pull your hand free from his so that you can press your hand to his cheek instead, cradling it in your hand gently. 

“You could, you know. You could forget this one,” you say back. 

He raises a brow. 

Your smile back is meaningful. 

“Because I’m going to be here for next Christmas too. And the one after that. And all the ones after that one,” you promise softly. He stills under your touch, eyes shining with laughter and warmth as he searches your face. You hope he finds your sincerity there. You hope he can feel just how true those words are. “I’ll be there each Christmas. We’ll make happy memories at each one.”

He pulls you flush against him at this and you aren’t even uncomfortable from your full stomach anymore. Instead, all you are is warm, comfortable, and loved. So, so loved. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs into your ear, nosing at your hair, your jaw. His lips graze your cheek and you want to engrave the feeling and the sound and the warmth into your memory forever. “You are my happiest memory.”

/

I don't want a lot for Christmas There is just one thing I need I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree I just want you for my own More than you could ever know Make my wish come true All I want for Christmas is you

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 3: Til the Cows Come Home

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)

You woke up the next morning at three thirty, got dressed and walked into the kitchen where James was already drinking a cup of coffee. You headed straight to the coffee pot.

"I'm not sure if I should say good morning or tell you you look like shit," he says.

You flip him the middle finger as you filled a travel mug full of coffee and he laughs.

You turned to face him, your hair neatly braided in a French braid. You were dressed in jeans under a pair of chaps, with a light blue tank top peeking out from under a matching plaid shirt. The colors accentuated the crystal blue of your eyes. Taking a sip of your coffee, you let out a contented sigh. "That hit the spot."

James laughed. "Let's go saddle the horses."

You followed him out to the barn.

You were checking the straps on your horse when you heard the sound of a horse galloping up the driveway and you turned to look.

James looked to. "I wonder who that is?"

As the rider drew nearer, you recognized the figure on the horse to be your ex, Jake Seresin. He spotted you, redirected his horse in your direction, and came to a halt when he reached you. "Y/N."

"Jake," you responded and shot James a glare.

James cleared his throat. "I have to go check on the rest of the guys," he stated, then turned and walked away with his horse.

As James moved between you and Jake, Jake dismounted from his horse and walked towards you.

"It's nice to see you. You look good," Jake remarked.

"You too," you replied honestly. It was hard not to notice his muscular arms and body even under his jeans and red plaid short-sleeved shirt. That wasn't the Jake you remembered from ten years ago.

"When did you get here?"

"The other night. I stayed in a hotel and then got here yesterday."

"Oh," Jake said, looking a bit puzzled. "I stopped by yesterday, but James didn't mention you were here."

"I'm sure he didn't, just like he didn't tell me you stopped by."

There was a brief pause, a palpable tension between the two of you. Then, Jake spoke up again. "Look, Y/N, I know things didn't end well between us. But I wanted to offer my condolences. Losing your mom... that's never easy."

"Thanks." Just then, your cell phone rang in your back pocket. You retrieved it, glanced at the caller ID, and then turned to Jake. "I have to take this. Excuse me." You headed towards the entrance of the barn, ensuring Jake couldn't overhear your conversation. "Hey," you answered the phone.

"Hey, babe. How are you doing?" a male voice said.

"I'm doing good."

"How's your brother?"

"He's doing good too."

"It's quiet around here without you."

"I bet."

"When you coming home?"

"I don't know. It's the end of summer and we have to get the cattle in. The funeral is this weekend and I'm sure the reading of the Will, so maybe Wednesday? It all depends."

"Well, I just called to check on you."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Everyone gather round!" James yelled.

"Look, Sean. I have to go. I'll call you later."

"Okay. Love you."

"Yeah," you replied, ending the call. You walked back over to your horse while Jake observed you intently.

"Everything okay?" Jake asks, concerned.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

You rode in line behind the other cowboys as you made your way to where the cattle were located. Suddenly, Jake rode up alongside you.

"Y/N. Can we talk?"

You glanced at him. Realizing the boyish features you had once fallen for years ago had matured into the countenance of a man. Before you stood the person you had once loved with a profound intensity.

"What's on your mind?"

"I think we need to talk about that night."

You let out a sigh. "Jake, that was ten years ago."

"And not a day has passed where I haven't thought about it... about you."

You locked eyes with him, those familiar green orbs that had a way of melting your heart. They were filled with mischief and love, just like they used to be. Your heart ached.

"I'm sure you felt the same way," he added.

Of course you did. You were on your second engagement since Jake.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "I did."

Jake continued, his gaze unwavering. "Y/N, I know we've both moved on, but I never got the chance to properly apologize. For everything."

Have you? You swallowed, the past suddenly rushing back. "Jake, we were both young... We both made mistakes."

"That doesn't mean I shouldn't have done things differently. I should have fought for you. I should have been there for you."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of emotions swirling within you. It was a lot to process.

"And if you did, you wouldn't be doing what you're doing now."

"Do you even know what I do?"

"Honestly, no. I mean, James mentioned you're some kind of pilot."

He smiled. "I'm a naval aviator in the Navy."

You thought about it a second. "Wait a minute, you're...?"

"I'm a fighter pilot. I've got two confirmed kills under my belt."

You looked at him, shocked. "Wow."

"What about you? What are you doing?"

"I do search and rescue in Alaska."

"You moved to Alaska?"

"I did."

"Wow. How you liking it?"

"I like it there. Quiet and rustic. I've learned a lot."

"I bet."

You noticed James waving to you. "James is trying to get my attention. It was good catching up with you," you said, before turning your horse and riding towards James.

You rode up to James. "What's up?"

"I see you and Jake are talking like old friends."

You glare at him. "Why didn't you tell me he stopped by yesterday?"

He looked at you. "I didn't think you would care."

You didn't answer.

"He's changed, Y/N."

"Yeah, well, so have I."

"I didn't say you didn't." There was a brief pause. "You can tell he still cares about you."

You looked at James, frustration and confusion swirling within you. "What are you trying to say, James?"

"I'm saying that maybe it's not too late for you two. People change, Y/N. And sometimes, second chances can be worth it."

You glanced back at Jake, who was sharing a laugh with one of the cowboys. He must have sensed your gaze because he turned in your direction, giving a nod and a warm smile. Your heart ached at the thought of revisiting old wounds, but a part of you couldn't help but wonder… maybe James was right.

Your group located the head of cattle that needed to be brought back to the ranch and skillfully herded them along. Every now and then, you noticed Jake stealing glances in your direction. The one time your eyes met, he offered a smile and a nod, acknowledging your presence. It made you feel like you did when you were dating years ago.

It was well into the evening by the time you returned to the ranch, and Jake rode up alongside you.

"Thanks for letting me tag along," he said.

You turned to him. "Why don't you stay for dinner? It's getting late, and I can drive you back after we eat. You can board your horse here."

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"You wouldn't be, and you never have before," you assured him. "Besides, when was the last time you had a dinner cooked by Griff?"

He grinned. "You make a good point."

You dismounted from your horse, Jake followed suit and the two of you walked towards the barn.

"It seems like you haven't forgotten how to ride, " Jake states.

"Nope. We use horses in Alaska."

"Oh, really?" he asks as the two of you walk into the barn with your horses.

"Yeah. Depending on the situation."

"Sounds like you like the job."

"I do," you affirmed. You secured your horse outside its stall, and Jake mirrored your actions with his own, placing his horse in a stall across from yours. It was a routine the two of you had performed many times in years past. "What about you?"

Jake smiled. "I love it. Being so high in the air and the G forces. It's great."

You unsaddled your horse and Jake did the same. Then the two of you started rubbing your horses down. When you got done, you placed your horses in their respective stalls, gave them some oats and feed, secured the stall door and you met Jake in the middle of the walkway.

Just then you heard some music.

"I'm going to clean up. I'll meet you by the barbeque."

Jake smiled. "Sounds good."

[musical-chan]

Father of Time Chapter 17: Just Another Thing We Lost In The Fire

The next morning was sunny but with a chill in the air that spoke of the coming winter.  Link took full advantage of the warm breakfast at the inn, eating as many helpings as he could fit in his stomach.  As they left, he spared at glance back towards the temple with a little sigh.  "You didn't want to stay for a bit? So you could, I dunno, hang out with your brother some more?"

"If it wasn't so late in the season, perhaps.  It will only get colder from here and, even after we see Mother Din, we have a long way to reach the last Spring."

"Are you going to be able to see him again?"

Deity tousled his son's hair affectionately as they reached the top of the town and prepared to ride the horses once again. "Of course.  Now that we both know, we will search each other out. It is in our nature to Protect together when the need arises."

Link nodded and swung back up on Epona's back. The horse whinnied and tossed her head, eager to be off on such a nice day and the boy was content to let her gallop off into the grass. He had mailed off his letters to Malon and Zelda that morning, had a good breakfast, was able to wash up a little and felt the most rested he had in weeks.  Honestly, it was a good day.  Link was better able to enjoy the sights as they rode down further into what Deity had called Akkala.  They passed farms in the distance and he could see a town down in a hollow to their west. They did not pass any monsters that day and Link knew that Oceans had spoke true about protecting the coast. This land felt much the same as Hyrule did with the Fierce Deity around.  By evening, more clouds had blown in off the ocean and the pair set up their shelter for the first time.

"Well, the sun was nice while it lasted."  Link crouched by the firewood, draining through his magic in an attempt to dry the wood out enough to light. The steady stream of fire eventually took hold and he cheered at the tenuous flame. 

"You will wish for the rain when we get to Eldin."

"Bet you I won't."  Link grinned and plopped the pot into the fire. "I've had enough wet to last me a lifetime, I swear."  He was getting better at camp cooking and carefully portioned out rice into the pot. It was nice to have any sort of grain again; he had been getting tired of the meat and wild greens they had scrounged up the last week or so.  "How long is it going to take, dad?  To get to the Spring?"

"Perhaps a week, maybe two if the weather grows unruly."

"Man, it's a shame the Song of Storms doesn't stop the rain. That would have been handy."

In the end, it took just over a week to travel across the rolling grasslands and scattered trees.  It was a beautiful land and Link thought he might have actually enjoyed visiting it more if it wasn't for the rain that seemed to fall every other day.  At least they had something to sleep under and he was getting much better at drying out wood that seemed perpetually damp so they could have some sort of fire.  And they had one more night in an inn, a few days out from the village that housed the priestesses for Din's Spring.  The town they stopped in was pleasant, a farming village with an amazing array of produce. They even had carrots that the boy bought to give Epona as a treat. And then bought twice that number for Luna so she wouldn't get jealous. 

Soon they would be at the volcano and Link tried to imagine what meeting the second Goddess would be like.

(Read the Rest on AO3!)

[savebatsfromscratch]

No.14 Dragonbreath

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50826493

Words: 1,059

Cws: Threat of drowning, frozen water, torture

Notes: The part before the “I’ll Never Give Up Fighting, You Witch,” scene, I guess, never leaves my head. This isn’t fully accurate to it, of course, I was just making stuff up on vague memories. I highly recommend the original book over this fic, this is just a pale imitation of an incredible series.

Prompt: No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.” Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

Hiccup didn’t even try to wriggle in his bonds. He didn’t need to try to get out to know that he couldn’t, especially not with half his body too sore to move. And, as a cruel bonus, the only unchained people in the room were Alvin’s Men who would gladly kill him if he got a chance to escape. Based on the hatred glowing in their eyes, if the dragon rebellion was not about to come to a close, it could have been all they had been training to do these past months.

All he could do was hope that Plan B was going to work. This hope, however, was pretty weak given how little time had gone into planning this mission, let ALONE Plan B.

That, at least, was evident in the position he found himself in.

It was clear that he had not thought about what he was getting himself into for nearly long enough, let alone a way out if something like this happened. 

But he was here, and she was here, and none of the promised King's Lost Things were here, and Hiccup was wrapped like a little present in thick metal chains that he doubted even Alivn himself could have broken out of. 

Hiccup was totally trapped, and his only hope at escape lay in the messily put together Plan B. He couldn't talk his way out of this, Alvin was already trying to argue why they should kill him immediately. He couldn't fight his way out, even if he wasn't chained up, his fighting arm was limp as crushed Nanodragon at his side. ...and Hiccup wasn't very good at much else, was he.

“Alvin my dear,“ the witch's awful whisper barely held back excitement as she scuttled around the room, ”Aren't you excited to see him drown?“

”I am, mother,“ muttered Alvin, nervously fiddling with his sword attachment, ”I just think we should kill him now to get it over with, you know how he is...“

”Pish posh,“ the witch cackled, ”he's just a BOY, and a very young one at that...“ she made a face at Hiccup, “it shouldn't take very long to break him,”

She galloped towards Hiccup, and he had to try very hard not to squirm away from her metal fingernails, even though he knew he could not be poisoned by them. 

“We're going to dunk you in that cold water there,” the witch purred, gesturing to a trapdoor that opened into the frigid winter ocean, “and when we pull you out, you're going to tell us the location of your mother's base, right?”

Hiccup could already imagine the pain of the frozen ocean, having fallen in once as a young child, but he tried not to let his terror show on his face as he shook his head no.

The witch's expression soured, and she scuttled backwards back to Alvin. Clearly, she thought that Hiccup was going to break, and, to be completely honest, Hiccup wasn't so sure he could disagree with her.

The chain began to pull him towards the hatch, slowly and painfully as Hiccup tried to fight his rising panic. So long as Plan B was getting followed through on, this whole thing should be survivable. (But, as he had realized before, the likelihood of that happening was one to zero, even with the months that he had spent perfecting his team's communication and collaboration skills.)

He wanted nothing more than to dig his fingers into the wooden floor of the boat, but the chains kept his arms in place. 

He looked up at the rows and rows of Dragonmarkers in the cages, each holding a solemn dull to their eyes, as if they had all already decided that he would break. The witch was right after all, he was just a BOY, and a particularly young one at that, what could he possibly do against the freezing, Winterflesher filled, waters of the archipelago?

He wasn't really all that impressive to look at, after all.

Hiccup was only a couple of feet away from the edge now, but his mind stretched milliseconds into minutes as he tried to look brave. If Plan B didn't work...

He glanced back at the opening and watched as a Winterflesher leaped a few inches out of the water, its shining white teeth glowing like little daggers in its mouth. 

Hiccup swallowed and did his best to square his shoulders.

If Plan B didn't work, he was going to have more to worry about than drowning or freezing to death. He'd seen Winterfleshers tear apart a fully grown deer in seconds before, and, as far as anyone in that room could tell, Hiccup was more comparable to a baby deer than an adult. There was no way he could stand a chance against those things.

One more foot.

One more inch.

Just a little more...

Hiccup felt himself tipping over into the hatch, and he only just managed to swallow in a breath before he hit the water.

The shock of it took a beat to hit him, and for that brief moment, all he could process was the incredible darkness of the water that surrounded him. 

And then the cold hit.

It took all of the strength he had not to let out his meager supply of air right then. (And even with his efforts, he managed to inhale a little through his nose anyway.)

It hurt so bad.

The ocean was so cold it almost felt like swimming in a pool of molten lava, and trust him, he'd gotten pretty close to that experience a couple of times.

He squeezed his eyes shut as salt began to burn them. (Or maybe it was so he didn't see the Winterfleshers that were getting over their surprise that someone had been thrown into the middle of them.)

He braced for the feeling of their teeth on his unprotected skin, but so far, nothing was happening.

He braced a little harder, but nothing happened.

Hiccup felt the brush of a familiar dragon on his side, and his frozen body seemed to warm up in relief. Plan B was a go. So, as Hiccup hung limp in the water, he opened his mouth to that dragonbreath that was filling his lungs. So long as he survived the cold, he could do this.

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: current PARTIES: @vanoincidence & @mortemoppetere LOCATION: a grocery store! SUMMARY: emilio and van go grocery shopping and everything is really normal. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

They were out of hot sauce. Again. It was Emilio’s fault this time, though he’d never admit it. The latest bottle had been yet another victim in the long-standing tradition of the slayer growing frustrated at the wrong moment. In this case, a burned batch of macaroni led to Emilio gripping the glass bottle a little too tightly, which in turn led to a very predictable explosion of glass shards that he was left sweeping up in a quiet panic. So, they were out of hot sauce. Whatever. It was a fucking thing, it happened to everyone, it was fine. He could just go to the store and get more, along with everything else on the list Teddy had left hanging on the fridge.

Why Van had decided to tag along for the ride, he wasn’t entirely sure.

“I am not buying you a candy,” he warned, yanking a shopping cart free from the jumble by the door. “You are a lot without sugar. I won’t add to that. We are only here for hot sauce. And…” He squinted at Teddy’s list. “What the fuck is chicken jello? Is that supposed to be chicken and jello? What are they using jello for?” He stuffed the list into his pocket. They’d figure it out. 

Turning to Van, he sighed. “We are in and out,” he told her sternly. “No playing at the little machine with the stuffed dogs in the glass. We get what we came for, and then we go. Okay? I will leave you here if you try to make it take longer.” He wouldn’t. “Just find the…”

The doors to the grocery store opened. Emilio froze. There was a giant slide ending in a gaping black hole in the floor. There were horses galloping through the aisles and running people over. A fan blew a miniature tornado around the floor. Emilio turned to Van. “How badly do you think Teddy needs chicken jello?”

—

Van had just been leaving after seeing Wynne when she saw Emilio heading to the store. She had nothing else going on, and being alone meant more than she could deal with these days, and after their newfound respect for one another, who better than to spend her time with? He hadn’t explicitly said no when she asked, and hadn’t stopped her from following him, so it was allowed, or so she deluded herself into thinking. 

She padded towards the store after him, rolling her eyes at his comment about not buying her candy. “I can like, totally buy my own candy.” She didn’t want to, though. By the end of this trip, she’d slip a bag of gummies into the shopping cart and by then, it’d be too late for Emilio to say no. Maybe. Van made a face at Emilio’s question. “They have some good ideas, and then there’s stuff like that, and I really can’t defend them. I don’t know.” The idea of chicken jell-o made her squeamish. Maybe it was for a spell? No, that didn’t make sense. 

Van sighed, rolling her eyes. “You’re just mad you can’t ever win prizes, aren’t you?” She had spent the better half of her elementary years at that machine, and it showed. She was a pro. “I don’t even have any quarters, anyway.” The doors opened, and Van’s hand shot out to stop the cart from proceeding further inside. She looked towards Emilio, eyebrows pulled together. “Um. Hopefully not at all? Maybe we can figure out a way to make nature’s jell-o or something.” 

“I think they will totally understand. Hopefully.” Teddy was an understanding person! Van couldn’t imagine them getting up in arms about jell-o. But before she could try and urge Emilio back out of the store, a serpentine shape slithered from between boxes of oatmeal, the jelly-like eyes stopping her in her tracks. “Is that a gummy snake? Five footer? I thought they didn’t sell those–” It unhinged its jaws, jelly tongue and jelly teeth in full view, before making a move to devour either her or Emilio whole. 

—

“Then buy your own candy.” She wouldn’t. Emilio knew Van’s play here, knew that she was definitely going to try to weasel her way into free candy before the shopping trip had finished. And Emilio, ever the strongest soldier, would deny her no matter how much she whined. He made a pact with himself now, prepared to steel himself against her inevitable pleading. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford to buy Van candy. It was the principle of the thing, was all. You buy a kid candy once, and she’ll ask a thousand times over. Kids had long memories when it came to things like that.

He snorted as Van, at the very least, agreed with him on the chicken jello. “They probably want to cook some big meal with it,” he warned. Teddy often had… interesting ideas about food combinations. Emilio wasn’t sure he had any right to question them, given his tendency to forget eating altogether for days at a time, but if Van agreed with him on this point, he figured it was a good question to ask. (Though, it was Van, still. Maybe he shouldn’t put too much stock in her.)

“I’ve never tried it. I would win prizes if I wanted to. It doesn’t look very hard.” Not nearly as hard as taking care of… whatever was going on in here. Emilio had half a mind to ask Van if she was responsible for this, eyes darting to the hole in the ground, but it looked different than what she normally caused. Less eldritch horror, more… cartoonish. “What is nature’s jello?” 

She was right, though. Teddy would definitely understand once they explained the situation. Emilio prepared to back out of the store, but the arrival of a giant snake interrupted the motion. He was just about to comment something dry and utterly unhelpful when the creature made a lunge towards both him and Van. Emilio rushed forward with the cart, shoving it into the snake’s mouth and tugging Van along with him instinctively. The snake chewed on the metal. Behind them, a creature with white fur and an unsettling grin scampered in, scribbling over the door with a paintbrush. When it pulled back, the door was gone. Emilio grunted in irritation. “Okay,” he said. “Looks like we’re… finding another exit.” The snake spit out the cart. “Quickly.” 

—

“Maybe I will,” Van challenged with a sneer that had little to no heart in it. They both knew that she had no plans of actually buying her own candy. She thought that was pretty obvious, and by the way Emilio looked at her, she knew it was obvious to him, too. The more time they spent together, the more he learned her tricks, but in turn, she learned his, too. It was weird, going from being perpetually annoyed by somebody to instead finding a level of understanding with them. Nearly losing both Wynne and Nora had done a number on them both, and with Teddy’s absence, there weren’t many others to turn to. Still, she was like, super annoyed by him and she let out a huff as if to exaggerate that fact. 

“I don’t think chicken and jell-o should ever be combined. Like, sure, maybe chicken stock is jelly-like when you refrigerate it, but I can’t imagine just eating that.” Her grandma had done that a lot with soup stocks, and it was always frustrating when she’d open a container of pudding to find jellied stock instead. One time, she hadn’t been paying attention and had taken a spoonful. It wasn’t nearly as good as when it was warm and not jellied. She cried a lot that night, scraping her tongue with her toothbrush to get rid of the taste. 

“I think you should try it. You’ll see how not-easy it is sometimes.” She hoped the machine would prove her right and Emilio wrong. If god were real, he would do this for her, she was sure of it. But they bypassed the machine and the longing in Van’s heart to click around on the big red button was subdued by Emilio’s question. “Um, bones. Probably. Yeah.” Gelatin was made with bones, right? Regan probably knew. She tucked away the question for later, still mesmerized by what was laid out before her. 

It was thanks to Emilio’s quick thinking that Van didn’t become a snack for the jelly monster. The cart was crushed between the monster’s jaws, and as Van felt herself being pulled backward towards the door, it vanished, just as a little creature scampered away. Van gulped, pushing herself to keep the anxiety at bay. The exercises she’d been doing with Teddy had to work, and she thought that the ring around her finger should, too. It should keep everything at bay. The great Melting didn’t need to happen, nor did a portal! They could do this without her doing those things! 

“This way!” Van grabbed Emilio’s sleeve, dragging him towards an aisle that was seemingly empty of any art. Except, as they got closer, the floor dropped beneath them. Van crashed down onto something soft, but the momentum was enough to knock the air out of her lungs. It took her a moment to understand where they were. “Are these– balloons?!” She looked around them, eyes growing wide as she took in the number of balloons that were reaching the ceiling. There were a plethora of different kinds, both plastic and foil. She could see her haphazard reflection in a GET WELL SOON balloon, and she refused to be a part of a situation where somebody would gift her one. “We–” She frantically looked around for Emilio, noticing he was more than a few balloons away. “How do we get down!? Do we pop them?! EMILIO, HOW HIGH UP ARE WE?!” 

—

“Great,” Emilio replied, knowing as well as she did that it wasn’t going to happen. He used to think he’d never understand her. The first day he met her, in the woods with the goo she swore was cheese and the desperation to keep her from eating it, he’d decided that she was the sort of person he’d never fully get. It hadn’t been something that bothered him, largely because he didn’t get most people. He hadn’t understood Teddy at first, either. Most days, he still didn’t understand himself. Not getting people was fine. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with it.

But… as time went on, he found he’d understood Van more and more, just as he had with Teddy. It was slow going, and often times she still left him puzzled, but he knew more than he used to. He didn’t think he’d ever be an expert — he wasn’t sure anyone was — but he knew enough. He knew she wouldn’t buy her own candy, he knew she’d beg him to get her some when they were done here. He knew he’d probably do it, because the way she made her eyes big and sad reminded him a little too much of something he’d lost a long time ago. He knew she’d be insufferable about it, too. That was the worst part.

He also knew Teddy well enough to snort, to put up a poor imitation of them by making his voice a pitch higher and attempting an accent that sounded more like a California surfer than anything close to his partner’s actual voice: “It’s good for you, Em,” he mimicked, smile tugging at the edges of his lips. “You haven’t even tried it, come on. At least take a bite.” He turned to Van, expression deadpan. “You’re right. We are not getting the jello. Especially not if there are bones.” 

Of course… they might end up getting nothing at all, with the way things were looking. The store was in disarray, and Emilio wouldn’t have known where to find chicken jello even if the aisles weren’t wobbling like the floor was made of rubber. Emilio managed to save them both from a giant snake, but they lost their exit in the process. And weren’t there other, bigger things to worry about? He let Van tug him along, away from the snake still pulling the shopping cart from its teeth.

He kept up with her as best he could, trailing along behind and grimacing a little more with each aisle they passed. That one was full of cartoonish looking bees in the middle of a court session. The one beside it had turned into a bright pink river with a frog floating atop a medicine cup. Finally, there was one that seemed normal enough, but stepping into it found them falling, Emilio scrambling for any kind of traction he could get. When the world stopped spinning, they were on the ceiling, balloons all around them. Emilio tried shifting closer to Van, but he felt a little unsteady. “Ceilings are high,” he said, looking down to the floor and trying to measure. “Maybe… six meters?” He grimaced, looking back to Van. “How do we get down? You come to these stores more than I do.”

—

“I don’t know meters!” Van rolled to the side, grabbing the balloon tightly so that she wouldn’t slide off. It seemed sturdy enough, but did she really know anything about this place? “You think all stores are like this!?” She gave him a look of desperation and disbelief. Why did he think this was normal? Or rather, did he think this was normal? “I wouldn’t take you to a store like this on purpose! You’d complain the entire time!” 

Van wiggled around, hopeful that the balloon she was sitting on would somehow float closer to Emilio. It did not. She reached out a hand, fingers ghosting through the air in an attempt to try and grab the tip of his shoe. She let out a huff, already annoyed by the constant squeaking beneath her with every move she made. She looked around them, hopeful that maybe they could propel themselves down the foil strings attached to the bottom of the balloons. 

Unfortunately, the large looking animated bee had other plans. It buzzed dangerously close, stinger fashioned like a needle as it began to pop every balloon, getting closer to the ones that she and Emilio were on. “I hate this town! There, I said it. I know too much, and I’m like, positive that it’s punishing me for knowing too much!” The bee was only getting closer despite Van’s hatred, and she turned to try and launch herself at Emilio’s balloon, it popped beneath her with the help of the bee’s stinger. She fell for what felt like an eternity, until the feeling of being submerged enveloped her. 

It was jell-o. 

“Emilio!?” Van called out, not certain if he was still above her, or somewhere in the hideous green, too. 

—

“Then learn them!” Frustration clung to him as he tried to convert the measurements in his mind despite the fact that it didn’t matter, anyway. What difference did it make the exact distance between them and the floor? The only important thing was that they were too high to guarantee a safe fall. “You do things that make me complain all the time,” he pointed out. “You were — The cheese!” It seemed worth mentioning their first meeting now, the way it had offered a quiet glimpse into the sort of person Van was. Of course she’d do something just to make him complain.

But… maybe that wasn’t the point right now. Maybe they had far bigger things to worry about, like the animated bee in the long, white wig currently flying towards their balloons, stinger out. Emilio cursed, scrambling to try to reach Van to see if he could pull her closer to the shelves before the bee found them, but it was a hopeless cause. The bee was too fast, and the shelves too far. 

The pop of the balloon seemed to echo as he grasped at thin air. He swore he paused in the empty space for a moment before falling, like one of those fucking cartoons Teddy sometimes put on for background noise. Bracing himself, he prepared for an uncomfortable landing on the hard tile floor, but instead, his fall was broken by something… squishy. Emilio half swam, half scrambled to the surface of something not quite liquid, but not quite solid, either. When he burst through, Van was already at the surface, calling out.

“I hate this town, too,” he ground out, rubbing the green substance from his eyes. It took him a moment to understand what it was. “This is not chicken jello. Is it?” Should they taste it to see? Or…

Something brushed his leg from beneath him, and he kicked instinctively. Whatever it was moved away, and a moment later, a bright blue fin broke the surface of the jello, circling the pair. Emilio clenched his hands into tight fist. “There is a shark in the jello.”

—

Van’s arms flailed out at her sides as she tried her best to push towards what looked like the edge of the jello. If she could climb up onto the shelves, then maybe– 

Emilio emerged from below, and she turned around to look at him, desperation (and jello) twisting her features. It was probably a good thing that something like this hadn’t happened to her before she accepted that magic was real. If it had, she might not have ever come back from it. Van kicked her feet, wiggling around until she got her other arm free. Finally, she reached out for Emilio’s hand, hopeful he’d have an easier time making his way towards her than the other way around. 

“I don’t see any chickens, no.” It smelled like citrus, and while she thought maybe eating her way through the jell-o would be the way to go, the idea made her stomach gargle in horror. 

“There’s a what?” Van’s eyes grew large, round as saucers as she took in the fin that circled them. She looked up towards one of the shelves she was closest to, seeing the creature who had the paint brush tail. “Hey! A shark is like, totally not cool! How is it even swimming in the jell-o so easily!” Suddenly, the creature extended the brush through the air, quickly and efficiently drawing what looked like hocks of fish before they fell from the sky, hitting her square on the head. “Oh. Ew. Ew. Ew!” Van closed her eyes as her hands moved around her face, trying to get rid of the fish that had landed on her. only, as her hand swiped them, she realized they were… plastic? Opening one eye, she observed the plastic, only to be faced with the face of the shark as it got closer from beneath the jell-o. Quickly, she chucked the plastic towards the opposite end, watching as the shark quickly made a beeline for it. 

It parted the jell-o, devouring the plastic fish, and Van noticed that the shark, too, was made of plastic. “I hate it here, I hate it here, I hate it here,” Van cried out as she wriggled around in an attempt to get closer to the shelf. Finally, she was able to grab on. Her other hand was still outstretched to Emilio. “I can try and yank– EMILIO, WATCH OUT!” The shark was barreling towards him, and Van tried desperately to will her magic to do something, but nothing happened. It was stagnant. 

—

Reaching out, Emilio grabbed Van by the arm and used the connection to pull himself through the jello, closer to her. Whatever the hell was going on, he got the feeling that sticking together might be the only shot they had at making it out of this in one piece. One disgusting, jello covered piece, but still. He wanted to keep an eye on the kid, even if she got on his nerves more often than not. She deserved that.

With the distance between them significantly smaller now, Emilio focused his attention on that fin circling the pair. “A shark,” he repeated. “There’s a fucking shark in the fucking jello, I —” The damn paintbrush creature was back, and Emilio shot it a glare. He knew that it was the thing responsible for all this, knew it had something to do with that tail it had used to remove the damn door. The chaos seemed to suggest it was some kind of fae, but he didn’t know if killing it would end the strange scenario they found themselves trapped inside. “Got lots of knives I could use to chop that tail off, pinche pedazo de m—” Before he could finish the insult, fish were raining down on Van’s head. Emilio made a face, leaning away from her, but… the fish were plastic? Somehow, it only made things seem stranger. 

If nothing else, the fish provided sufficient bait with which to distract the shark. Emilio watched as its head — also plastic — parted the jello to snap at the fish Van had thrown. It provided Van enough time to exit the jello, and Emilio felt some relief as he reached for her arm again. 

Of course, relief went out the window at her warning.

He turned to see the plastic shark closing in on him and, almost without thinking, swung a fist in its direction. The shark slammed into his knuckles, its nose collapsing almost comically in on itself as it was squished down, flattening its plastic face. The shark seemed to pause in mid air for a moment before falling back down onto the jello and sinking slowly beneath the surface. Emilio watched it disappear, turning back to Van after a moment. “We have to get out of here,” he announced, grabbing her arm and hoisting himself from the jello. “I’m going to lose my mind if we do not get out of here.”

—

Van wasn’t sure what she expected, but she knew that she should’ve guessed Emilio would punch the shark instead of trying to get away from it, or even trying to use the plastic fish snacks to his disposal. Emilio punching the shark square in the face was the least strange thing to happen here today and she knew it. 

At his insistence, she gave a quick nod, desperately looking around them as she pulled herself further up the shelf. Cans of green peas and corn fell into the jello, making a disgusting PLOP as they did so. She turned to watch them sink deeper into the green. Would things go back to normal if they left? Was this all some strange dream? Was the creature with the paint brush tail behind it all? Van had so many questions, and even if she asked them, she figured Emilio wouldn’t have the answer. He seemed just as confused as her. 

Finally at the top of the shelf (and out of breath), Van looked over to the other side of the aisle. It was… fine? Except for a hopscotch chalk drawing. It reminded her of Rosie’s drawings in front of Vic’s home. She looked over the edge of the shelf she was on top of and looked down at Emilio as he began to make his way up. “There’s a hop scotch thing over here. I think we should um, probably start from the beginning? I have a feeling if we start from the middle we’ll get in trouble.” She didn’t know if that was the creature’s rules, but she remembered being livid when her dad would interrupt her own drawings on the driveway of their home. Of how she would yell at him about not starting at the beginning, and how it didn’t count. Maybe that was like this. “We need to start over there.” She pointed towards the beginning of the hop scotch. She slowly got to her feet, staying surprisingly steady as she slunk towards the opposite end, accidentally knocking over extra canned goods as she went. 

—

Van climbed the shelf, and Emilio had little choice but to follow. The last thing he wanted was to lose sight of her in the chaos. So far, everything had been relatively harmless, but he knew how quickly the tides could change. The next time they fell from the ceiling, there might not be a lake of jello to catch them. The next time a shark came chomping for their limbs, they might not have plastic fish with which to ward it off. Even in a situation like this one — ridiculous and cartoonish in the way physics seemed to operate — Emilio couldn’t help but imagine worst case scenarios playing out, couldn’t help but pinpoint on every place where things could have gone terribly wrong.

Climbing the shelves was easier than it should have been; for whatever reason, things seemed to be lighter here than they were outside the store, and Emilio himself was included in that. With one hand over the next, he pulled himself higher and higher, keeping a watchful eye on both Van and the ground below them while also doing a few periodic scans for the creature with the paintbrush tail. He was positive that that thing was behind all this, even if he didn’t know how to stop it.

He got to the top shelf just a moment after Van, pulling himself over and doing a quick sweep of the store. The half they’d traversed so far was a mess of chaos, but the other side of the aisle looked… relatively normal aside from a strange drawing of boxes filled with numbers. Emilio squinted at it, confusion pinching at his features. “Hop… scotch?” There was no scotch in the aisle as far as he could see; it didn’t even seem to have beverages of any kind on the shelves. Van seemed to understand what the numbers meant, at least, claiming that they needed to start ‘at the beginning’ and pointing with her hand at the starting line. “Okay,” Emilio agreed, deciding to trust her. What choice did he have? “You… go first.” If he watched her, he’d probably pick up on whatever it was he needed to do. 

Getting to his feet, he followed her towards the opposite end of the aisle, adrenaline thrumming through his veins. When they got to what she deemed the beginning, they climbed down into the aisle, and he motioned for Van to go ahead and do whatever it was a person did to make ‘hop scotch’ happen.

—

Van nodded, “hop scotch.” Even though her father wasn’t there, she could see him, arms outstretched at the end of the lane. One foot, Vanessa! Two feet! Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth as the memory crashed ashore, but she couldn’t panic now, couldn’t follow that memory into what happened next– how her mother came out to yell at her for playing instead of doing her homework. How an argument would kindle between her parents and Van would be left sneaking inside, closing her bedroom door quietly behind her. If she got lost in that memory, then they’d never get out of here. Surely, the magic would pull one over on the ring around her finger and something bad would happen. So Van needed to keep her head in the game. 

She climbed down the other side of the shelf, grimacing in pain as her hands ran along the sharp edges of the plastic. It reminded her of when she’d been in a different store with Debbie, and how things had exploded around them as they crashed against one another in an effort to evade the glint of the knife. “You don’t know how to do this, do you?” She turned to look at Emilio as he climbed down the shelf. Van watched him for a moment, knowing that now probably wasn’t the time to poke fun, either. But god, did she want to. Part of her wanted to make him go first, just to see how badly he’d screw it up, but what would happen if he did? Would the ground swallow them whole? Would she finally experience what it was like to be one of the many individuals she’d sent below? 

She took a deep breath before she looked back towards the hop scotch, then she began. One foot, two feet, hop, hop. It went diagonal, and then in a circle, and Van did her very best to not stumble. She wondered if Emilio would be okay with his knee. She hoped so. She stood at the end that said FINISH, too afraid to actually step over that line in case something happened where she’d be separated from him. So she waited. “You can go now! Just like, take it slow! You’re old, so I get it, it might be hard for you!” 

—

She repeated the word like repeating it made it mean something, and Emilio stubbornly refused to ask the question clinging to his mind. Van, he thought, must have known that the syllables were utterly meaningless to him, must have understood that what she was saying made little sense. She’d either explain it, or he’d pick up on it by watching whatever she did. Either way, he wouldn’t have to cop to the fact that the plastic shark swimming at him through jello made more sense than the chalk drawing on the ground.

But, of course, Van couldn’t let it go without asking. Emilio grumbled under his breath as she raised the question, throwing his hands up in a frustrated shrug. “Why would I know how to do this? It is squares on the floor. I don’t even know what this is.” He settled onto the floor beside her, frustration making the pain in his knee a more distant thing even if only for a moment. He hadn’t been counting on this much physical activity at the grocery store; he had a feeling he’d be paying for it later, when the adrenaline of the moment died down a little more. He gestured wordlessly for Van to go before crossing his arms over his chest, jaw clenched tightly in irritation. Whatever this was, he could only hope it ended soon.

He watched as Van… jumped from box to box, going between standing on one leg to standing on two and alternating as she did so. Realizing that he would need to mimic this in order to make it to where she was, he sighed. Yeah. This was going to suck. He wondered what would happen if his knee gave out beneath him and sent him sprawling. Would the paintbrush creature erase him the same way it had the door? Would the shark grow legs and walk over to sink its teeth into his throat? Or would an empty pit like the one at the front of the store open beneath him and swallow him whole? Emilio wasn’t sure he wanted to find out the answer, dread at the possibility of fates far worse than a simple death clawing mindlessly at his throat. 

Hopscotch. Sure. He could do that.

He grit his teeth as Van called back to him, hating every ounce of uncertainty. Two feet. Hop onto the good leg. Two feet again. A hop onto the bad leg sent a blinding wave of pain over his head, and he stumbled into the next position on trembling legs, barely standing. He moved forward like this slowly, spending as little time on the bad leg as he could and waiting for the pain to pass each time he got off of it. By the time he made it to where Van stood, a sheen layer of sweat covered his brow, his breath trembling and his legs shaking. His bad leg held no weight at all now, hanging from his hips like a lifeless thing. “Let’s get this done,” he ground out through clenched teeth, grabbing Van’s arm and gently tugging her forward so that they both stepped on the finish line at the same time. 

The moment their feet hit the ground, the vast aisles of the store faded around them, and they were in a room. On one wall, a large picture window overlooked the floor they’d just been on; Emilio remembered seeing it from the shelves with the words Manager’s Office scrawled over it. In front of them sat a large wooden desk, the paintbrush-tailed creature sitting in a leather chair behind it. Emilio groaned, tired and irritated and ready to fight. He pulled out an iron knife, driving it into the table between him and the creature. “Cut the shit,” he ordered, “or I cut the tail.”

—

Emilio followed suit, and Van felt a pang of guilt as she watched the pain flash across his face. How many times had he mentioned his bad leg? Maybe they should’ve found another way, or maybe they should’ve climbed over the second shelf, but based on the buzzing sounds coming from the other side, she wasn’t sure that would’ve gone over well, either. She waited with baited breath, flinching slightly every time Emilio stumbled over so slightly, narrowly stepping over the carefully drawn lines. 

Finally, he stood next to her, and she turned to him, ready to say something, but Emilio was pulling her forward. Suddenly, their surroundings dissipated. There were no longer shelves with canned goods on either side of them. The floor was blank, void of the colorful chalk drawings. Instead, they had come face to face with the creature that was clearly responsible for all of this. Van frowned, heart skipping a beat. What did they mean if they were in front of it now? Her magic buzzed beneath her fingertips, but went otherwise unused. The ring that was twisted around her finger kept it at bay, and she felt it necessary. What if this was the last step? What if unleashing it meant something worse would happen? 

Van stood next to Emilio, taking a small step so that she was slightly tucked behind him. He moved forward, producing a knife that was now lodged into the desk the creature stood at. It reminded her of Nora’s knife– the one her friend had taught her how to practice with. It reminded her of Jade’s arsenal, too. Van blanched, but with a shaky voice she managed to stammer out, “yeah, what he said!” She bit the inside of her cheek, finally tearing her gaze away from the knife. 

She didn’t really want to see this thing die, even if it made their trip to the grocery store miserable, but would Emilio listen to her? Van took a small step forward, “we can just like, go! Nobody has to get hurt, especially not us, ‘cause like, he’s old and he’s probably already on his last days and I’ve got a long life ahead of me, you know?” Emilio wasn’t really that old, but maybe the beastly figure would find humor in her words. “And like, I’d really just rather not die to a plastic shark, you know? Or um, anything else that you might… be able to paint.” The creature looked at her blankly, and it was then that Van realized its pupils were different sizes. She wasn’t sure what that meant, if anything, but it was a detail she was sure would haunt her after the fact.

She looked to Emilio, ready to open her mouth, but suddenly, the creature was getting up from the seat, bounding towards them. It drew a circle around them with its tail, and then waved– it had waved, right? Van opened her mouth to ask Emilio if he had seen it, but a shriek came out instead as the floor disappeared beneath her. She closed her eyes tightly, only opening them as darkness enclosed. 

They were in the parking lot. They were out of the store. There was canned goods, candy, and jell-o everywhere surrounding them, but it looked real not like what was outside. She got to her feet, helping Emilio up, too. “Um, we’re out? I think? Right?” She touched the car next to her, and indeed it felt nothing like the objects inside. “I hate this place, can we please go? I’m going to like, only order groceries from now on, I think.” She paused, eyeing the jello on the ground before grabbing handfuls, stuffing them into her pockets. “For Teddy. Now we go?” 

—

She wanted to say something. He could see it on her face, could feel the concern radiating off her in waves, and he hated it. He hated the ache in his knee and the way he knew it would lock up later, just as soon as the adrenaline was gone. He hated the fact that she knew he was in pain, hated the fact that it wasn’t a thing he could hide. He hated the feeling of weakness that came with the shitty, damaged limb, hated knowing that it was probably at least a little his fault that it was this bad, hated that it was a reminder he couldn’t escape. Van wanted to say something, and Emilio hated it. So he interrupted whatever words had been aching to escape her lips, tugged her forward instead. 

There were bigger problems here than his bad leg. There were more things to worry about than the way he probably wouldn’t be able to get off the damn couch later, because in order for that to be a problem to begin with, they had to make it back to the couch first. They had to get out of this stupid store, and the only way Emilio knew how to do that — they only way Emilio knew how to do anything — was with a knife and a threat that wasn’t nearly as empty as Van probably wanted it to be.

The creature, whatever it was, didn’t seem very afraid of him. It looked at him with an expression that was impossible to read, looked at Van as she piped in. In any other situation, he probably would have laughed at the way she worded her plea. Jokes made at his expense, when they were like that, were among his favorite jokes to make. There were few things Emilio found funnier than his own looming mortality, much to the dismay of most of the people around him. It was a little funnier to hear the joke come from someone else, too… but he’d only laugh about it later. They needed to get out of the store first.

Glancing over to Van, he made a face. “Right,” he agreed. “We don’t want to hurt you.” It was a lie. Emilio did want to hurt the little… whatever it was. For the jello, for the shark, and definitely for whatever the fuck ‘hop scotch’ was. (He was still a little disappointed that there hadn’t been any scotch involved.) “Just show us to the door, and we’ll be on our…”

He trailed off as the thing moved forward, tensing and placing himself subconsciously in front of Van. It drew something at their feet, then took a step back and wriggled its strange fingers, and Emilio had just enough time to grip Van and take half a step forward before the ground disappeared beneath his feet. His stomach bottomed out, and the world went dark in a way his enhanced vision couldn’t quite cut through. The feeling of freefall tugged at his gut for a second, maybe two, and then it was finished. The world flickered back into place, and he was outside. He turned, confirming that Van was outside with him, then slumped his shoulders just a little. 

“We’re out,” he confirmed, glancing around to confirm it. A multitude of strange items surrounded them: jello, small figurines, a paintbrush. Spotting a cheap knee brace among the piles, he rolled his eyes. “Man, fuck that guy,” he griped, arms crossed over his chest. Van got to her feet, and Emilio let her help him up, too… but not before swiping a bag full of gummy candy from one of the piles. He thrust it towards her without looking, mouth set in a stubborn line that seemed to warn her not to mention it. “Yeah,” he agreed with a curt nod. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. And next time, we send Teddy to do the grocery shopping.” 

They’d probably love something like this. 

(Asshole.)

[benjiscorner]

Good Mourning, Deer - a short story of grief

I see the deer before she sees me. I approach from behind. She hears me with terrified clarity, and the rapid breaths fluttering in her belly quicken as I step closer. I crush leaves and twigs, dead things, forgotten things, to get to the deer—another thing this forest will soon forget. 

“Not forgotten,” Dorian says to my muttering; I had not realized I was speaking aloud. “This dead foliage decomposes and feeds the trees, and the trees feed your lungs, and thus we’re alive to forget about the leaves in the first place.”

“What do you think she makes of the foliage?” I ask dryly. 

“It’s her whole life.”

“And her death.” I circle around her until she can see my face. I squat down and regard the Amanita phalloides near her resting head—its rigid cap vibrant against the brown and aching forest floor, ashen with torn leaves. The gills shrivel towards me in agony, curling around her bite marks. Its spotted pattern: pure white against blood red.

They both hurt each other and now they both lie down in defeat. 

I tentatively extend my arm, fingers relaxed and curled towards my palm. She doesn’t move her body, but her midnight eyes frantically roll around like she’s trying to escape her own skull, run from here, dart away from what she has done, away from my confusing pity. I imagine she used to gallop elegantly, hopping over roots and diving under branches like threading a needle with her dainty pin-legs. 

“What shall we do with her?” Dorian asks. He’s in front of me, on the other side of the deer, standing straight with his hands clasped behind his back, how he stands when he wants to feel in control. But there is nothing to control here. The deer will die. 

“What is there to do?”

“Bury her?”

“That seems unnatural. Deer don’t bury each other. She’s not a human.” 

“No, but you’re attached to her in a human way. Would it not, then, be a sign of respect to send her off in a way that we find respectable?” Dorian’s eyes fan over her body. “Or shall we take her and turn her into pillows and rugs and portion her meat—”

“How could you say that?” I snap. 

His cool eyes meet mine. “That is simply the alternate human way.” 

“Ha. No, that’s not quite it—the human way is to shoot her and take her head to mount on a wall, and leave the rest of her here, desecrated.” 

“Forgotten, as you say.”

“No,” I say quickly. “No, I won’t soon forget her.” 

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Will you?”

“No, I don’t think so.” 

Her eyes have relaxed, round and oblique, and she watches my hand, distilled, confused. I stroke her forehead and her feverish heat sears into my palm. The warmth seeps into my skin and away from her. I watch closely because every twitch of her ear and huff of warm, sweet-smelling breath will soon be lost and irreplaceable, and there will be too much pressure to recall it perfectly, so I will remember her essence, the pointless cruelty of the exchange between her and the Amanita phalloides, and her huge, wet eyes, black as night as night dawns upon her, like death invaded her head and welled up to her eyes, and if I did as Dorian said and took her home to eat I would cut into her and blackness would spill out, it would spill all over me, and then I wouldn’t remember her breath or her fur or anything at all. 

“No,” I whisper, “it wouldn’t be right to take her. We don’t own her.”

“Besides,” Dorian says, “I doubt you’d want to eat a poisoned deer.” 

I sigh. “You miss the point.”

“I understand the point. But there are many points to be made. One is that you wouldn’t eat a poisoned deer. Another is that you wouldn’t eat this particular deer at all.” Dorian kneels down and pets her back as I pet her head. Slow, long strokes of his palm until her breathing is shallow and sparse. 

“I am glad that she won’t die alone,” Dorian utters, surprising me. He waits a moment. “If this is how it feels… I am glad we’ll have each other.” 

I’m moved. “What if I die before you?”

He plucks the mushroom and holds it before his eye, twirling it curiously. “Perhaps I would consume my own Amanita phalloides.” 

I sit in the intensity of his statement. “Is it strange that I think I will still remember her at that time? Even if I’m senile…”

“You won’t forget,” he agrees.

I glance at her still eyes, her unmoving sternum, her cheek resting against the leaves that are now burned into my memory. With my two fingers I cast her eyelids over the death that glistens there. 

“I don’t believe that she knew me in any capacity, yet I wish she did,” I say oddly. 

Dorian stands and regards her, then me, with keen and observant eyes. “I believe she did. You are the last thing she ever saw; you are all that she knows. Kindness is all that she knows.”

“All that she knew.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “And it is all that you will remember of this day.” 

We leave her there.

She will sink into the ground, soak up into the roots and help unfurl new leaves in the trees, and one day I will breathe her in.

Will I smell her sweetness? Will I simply know? Or will she linger, unknown, every day from the moment she is released in the tree’s satisfied sigh, as she circulates through our houseplants and ourselves, until she is on every surface with which we are familiar? Until she has intimately understood my blood and my lungs; until she is the icy huff from my nose on a January morning and the smoke from Dorian’s cigarette; until I gasp her in and sigh her out a hundred times? Will I know? 

Dorian says it does not matter, and I think I know what he means. 

It does not matter. 

I will not forget either way.

[o-lanterns]

Short sweet little scene between Caleb and Evelyn I've been bouncing around my head for a while. idk here have it.

Caleb's eyes shot open at the last moment and he stumbled backward. His cheeks burned. They had been so close. Only the tiniest bit closer and they would have...

Evelyn reaches out. "Oh! I'm so sorry. I thought you wanted- it's okay if you don't."

"I did. I did want to kiss you. Very much so." Caleb avoids her eyes, wringing his hands.

"Then what's wrong?"

The heat in his face spread to his ears. "I can't... I can't kiss a woman I'm not married to. It's not right."

Evelyn tilts her head both in curiosity and amusement, snorting out a laugh. "Says who?"

Caleb sighs. "You know..." He looks up toward the stars. They were different here, though. He had learned a few constellations by now.

"Ohh. Right, your thing... Really? Wow, what isn't he against?"

He's quiet for a moment. "What about the Titan?"

"...What about the Titan?"

"What does it think about what you do?"

Evelyn only looks more confused. "It doesn't think anything, Caleb. It's dead. If there's anything left going on in that skull it sure hasn't let anyone know about it." She smiles. "I'd imagine a voice coming out of something that big would be pret-ty loud, eh?"

"But you said it created all of this."

"Well, indirectly. It's the reason we're alive and the source of our magic, but nobody gets to choose what grows up out of their corpse. It just happens."

Caleb stirs his thoughts. "Hm. I suppose you're right."

"I hope that wasn't your way of asking me to marry you, by the way. Not that I'm opposed, just that you could do it with a little more flair."

"What?! No, I-" Caleb sputters. "Although I'm not opposed eith- either- but-" Oh he is only digging himself into this hole deeper. Compose yourself, man!

He takes a deep breath. "I can't stay here, Ev. It's amazing and I'm glad I got to see it, but... I don't belong here. You know that."

She looks up. "Because of him?"

"No. Not just that. I can't leave Philip. I'm all he has."

"Then bring him here, too! You said it yourself, he's just as miserable there."

"No, no. He- he wouldn't understand. He's been suspicious lately, with my visits getting longer. He's going to figure it out- maybe he already has- and he'll tell the townsfolk and-" Caleb's breath catches in his throat and he leans back against the tree, head in his hands. "Ohhh. What have I gotten into..."

Evelyn runs her fingers through his hair and speaks softly. "Hey. Let's not make tonight about decisions. Just... Take a step back. Enjoy this time we have right now. I love you. If you leave tomorrow and never come back... I'll miss you, sure. But I'll live. You don't make a choice for anyone but your sake. Alright?"

He pulls his hands away from his face, looking up at her. Nobody had ever cared what he wanted. In this one life he's got, he had lived only according to what others expected. What did he want?

He shakily finds her hand with his, lacing them together easily. Perfectly. His other hand reaches up to trace her cheek, heart galloping. He wanted to kiss her.

So he did.

[memoriapraeteritorumbonorum]

Your requests are open :D

May I please request something fluffy with Tyelko? Ooh something romantic, mayhaps? And clichè... like getting caught in the rain. Perhaps during a hunting trip, the weather turned unexpectedly. It's sunny, bright, and blue, to suddenly thunder crashing and rain pouring so hard they can't see very far in front of them and they run for cover under the biggest, tallest tree they can find

Maybe they kiss idk 👀

Thank you in advance if you decide to write this! And thanks for taking the time to read my request :)

Tasarë - Celegorm x reader

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: Reader and Tyelko get caught in an unexpected downpour when out in the forest.

Tags: Fluff!!!

Author’s note: All aboard the simp train. I really enjoyed writing this one, hope you like it anon!🍃✨

-

It had been well in the afternoon when he had asked you to join him on his trip into the forest, to show you a deer and its fawn.

You had always thought his trips were exclusively about hunting and bringing home some sort of trophy, that was why you never really found interest in joining him whenever he rode out. 

Today, however, there was a certain urgency in his voice, a glimmer in his silver eyes when he had asked you. You had simply felt compelled to come along. And so you had found yourselves riding on your horses, racing each other to the forest, cheering and laughing all the while. For some reason you felt like your energy had rubbed off on your horse, for it seemed to gallop with a certain step that was new to you — and for the first time, you felt excited to be going on this trip with him, venturing into the unknown.

When you reached the forest, he told you to get off your horse and follow him by foot instead to not disturb the fawn. You snuck up to a small hidden clearing and crouched down behind a log of wood, waiting for the fawn to show itself. Time passed slowly, but you didn’t mind. Leaning on his shoulder, you closed your eyes and just relished in his company, listening to the birds singing their songs in the distance. Until he nudged you and silently gestured towards the clearing, bringing a finger up to his lips to remind you not to make a sound. Your eyes fell on a deer carefully entering the clearing, sniffing around the high grass. It was when the fawn emerged slowly from its hiding place, stepping outside of the tall grass and brought its dark nose to meet its mother’s, when they widened, never having witnessed something like this before. The small display of affection warmed your heart and you turned your head to your right, meeting Tyelko’s loving gaze, a small smile on his lips. You’d never seen him like this before, for some reason you had never thought he’d sit and just watch nature like his younger brothers would, an unfamiliar serenity written all over his handsome face. He was always so proud when it came to his hunting trips. To see him so silent, with a tenderness in his eyes that only you would be on the receiving end of, made you feel fuzzy inside, as this was a newfound perspective for you to see your lover. You knew hunting required patience and inner calm, but for some reason, you had always imagined his hunts to be full of adrenaline, speed and weapons — things you weren’t necessarily fond of. The overall observational aspect of it seemed to have slipped from your mind completely.

Your head found its way back onto Celegorm’s hard shoulder, snuggling into him like the fawn into its mother’s copper fur. You didn't know how long you sat like this, enjoying the sunlight in this quiet green sanctuary, hidden away from his estate and all the stress and errands that came with being there. You could see how liberating it was to ride out and come back when the sun was about to set. Him and his brothers were free spirits, bound to Yavanna and the beauty of her creations, always longing to be held in her embrace, to be caressed by the aromas of her flowers in full bloom, smiling at every living creature that passed them by. You felt honored to be able to witness him in his true form, in sync with the flora and fauna around him, applying the knowledge his surroundings and Oromë the Forester had taught him whenever he would dwell in these woods. Both of you seemed to be so engrossed in the wholesome interaction that was taking place in front of you that you didn’t notice the dark clouds that were beginning to creep up above you, not until they inevitably blocked the sunlight that had been streaming down on you mere seconds ago. What had started off as a few drops falling from the sky, had quickly turned into what felt like waterfalls being unleashed from above. Never before had you experienced a weather change more abruptly than this — it was like poor Nienna had suddenly been plagued by a particularly tortured soul so much that Manwë himself had felt it darken his mood, resulting in this sudden change of scenery mixed with her desperate tears raining down on you. The fawn and its mother had disappeared in the blink of an eye, but you couldn’t care less. Your head was tilted towards the sky, mouth agape, releasing a surprised yell: 

"Holy!" 

Next to you, Celegorm started laughing at your exclamation. The sound seemed far away, growing more and more mellow with every second as the rain began pouring harder and harder. 

It didn’t take long for the water to seep through your linen dress, having it stick to your body like a second skin.

Feeling his hand clasp itself around yours, you turned to look at your lover.

"Let’s get out of here!" He yelled, his rich voice struggling to keep up with the noise around you. 

And so, you ran out of the clearing. You noticed how Celegorm kept pushing you behind his back so you wouldn’t run into a tree. By now, the rain had become so much that it was impairing your vision ahead. Your eyes found themselves glued to his back, more specifically the impressive muscles and shoulder blades that protruded more than ever because of his shirt sticking to his skin like your dress did to yours. 

Celegorm had always been the strongest out of his brothers, evidently bulkier in size. You hadn’t thought that was even possible when you had first met his brothers — they all were so intimidatingly tall and strong, you feared they could snap anyone in half like a twig if they got on their bad side. But your silver haired ellon seemed to somehow have inherited an even more athletic build. He could probably run right through a tree and not feel a thing, you thought, smirking to yourself.

"This is insane!" You heard him call out, followed by hysterical laughter. What a wild child he was, constantly chasing the thrill Mother Nature offered him, running through these woods as if he knew them like the back of his hand. He gradually slowed down after a few moments of seemingly not so aimless running, when the silhouette of a tall willow emerged in front of you. It was an old one, having grown so very high you thought Yavanna herself could sit in its crown, watching over the entirety of this magic forest right now, giggling at the two little people who had come to seek refuge underneath her majestic tree. 

You carefully stepped underneath the willow’s hanging branches — some of them so long they were touching the very ground you were walking on. You had always believed willows to be the most affectionate trees. Their branches would play with the winds in the softest motions, and yet always make sure to let the earth know how much they cherished her by caressing her so lovingly.

You now seemed to be shielded from the noise of the rain pouring outside of these branches. Apart from one or the other drop that would still land on your heads, you seemed to have made it to safety after all. 

Drawing your attention to your company, you wished there was a way to capture the image in front of you for all of eternity.

He looked unreal. Ethereal. His usually long and silky silver tresses now messy and grey-looking, some of them hanging in front of his eyes, drops falling from where they covered his face. His eyes seemed to glimmer more radiantly than ever — it was like the rain reflected in them, for they looked like melted silver swirling around in circles, drawing you in. His skin appeared paler than usual because of his now darker hair, the wetness having brought out his cool undertones. If you didn’t know any better you would say he was made out of porcelain, painted so intricately. You wondered how much time Eru Illúvatar had put into creating him, for each and every part of him was perfect, otherworldly, so incredibly beautiful it took your breath away in a heartbeat.

His hand came up to run itself through his wet hair, pushing it back over his head, giving you an even better view of his glowing complexion and pointy ears that were now poking out left and right. You remembered how he had once told you about how his brothers used to tease him for having bigger ears than the rest of the family, which had always left him a bit insecure about putting his hair up or wearing it in braids that would expose his ears. However now, all you could see was the most divine being ever to have been created, each part of him looking so intentionally placed and formed to have this exact effect on anyone happening to gaze upon him. 

You were snapped out of your daze when he cocked his head to the side and sheepishly grinned at you. 

"You really do wear you heart on your sleeve, love," he chuckled, looking down at you fondly. 

And in this moment, lightning stroke, illuminating the space behind him so piercingly, bathing his silhouette in white light and Valar, you swore you were seeing stars. 

His countenance — the fairest in all of Arda. 

"Oh," all air had left your lungs. You were shamelessly mesmerized, completely at his mercy, once and for all. 

"Eru… Tyelkormo, you are a vision…"

The hand that had laid in his until now came up to his face, your index finger ghosting over his wet cheek, the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows, eyelids that were momentarily closed because of the proximity of your finger, his full lips. 

You kissed him. You kissed him and poured your entire capacity to love into it like the rain had poured itself onto you moments ago. And he kissed you back with that same passion, that same desire and longing that never seemed to be quenched, no matter how close you were to each other, no matter how tightly you held onto one another.

Neither of you seemed to notice the thunder roaring above you, louder than Huan could ever growl. Too swept away were you both, losing yourselves in the intensity of this kiss, hidden away underneath Yavanna’s watchful eye, sweet whispers and declarations of love falling from your lips like prayers — like the rain drops that fell from the sky. And it was then, when all sense of time had been lost, that Nienna seemed to find solace in the honeyed words that were uttered underneath that ancient tree. Her tears ceased to cloud her vision entirely when Manwë dried her cheeks with the sunlight which was beginning to stream down onto Arda again, timidly peaking through the willow’s branches and falling onto your faces at last.

And so, this tree became much more than a shelter. It was months after this magical afternoon that your Tyelko presented you with a silver band to be worn on your right index finger, which he had crafted with the help of his closest sibling the smith — a band as silver as his eyes when you had stood underneath that willow, its branches delicately engraved into the entire length of it in a filigree display of a love as tender and raw as these very branches caressing the earth and sky alike, wrapping themselves around your finger to lock in this love, like they did when you sought shelter between them on that fateful day. It was more than a shelter. It was a beacon of unconditional devotion, cosy togetherness.

A promise — forever.

[just-here-for-the-moment]

The Escape

This grew out of an unhinged convo that @deadhumourist and I had over DMs ages ago. Now that it’s wintertime and very cold where I am, I decided to write it up for her. Hope the rest of you enjoy it as well!

Word count: 1400

Rating: Mature, 18+ only (no minors)

Outline: Old West AU? Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x You (race-neutral, blank slate female reader insert; no racial description, no physical description, no name, no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: Yearning and anticipation on both sides; mentions of Jack rescuing you and helping you to escape from some kind of vague danger; Jack affectionately nicknames you “Bluebonnet”; mutual lusty pining; both characters imagining “what if”; mentions and imaginings of sex acts; cranking up the heat on this wintry day

***

The mustang’s hooves clop slowly across the hard ground as Jack guides you to safety through the barren forest. The dry, frozen air of mid-winter makes the sound seem louder than it is, echoing off nearby trees and bouncing back to your ears.

Your focus shifts as your heart rate slows. The adrenaline from Jack scooping you up onto his horse has dribbled out of your veins, bleeding into a numb calmness as he puts distance between you and your hard circumstances.

Your hand aches, clutching at the rough, wool saddle blanket that Jack had wrapped around you both, ordering you to keep it closed for warmth as his rough breath warmed your ear. The sharp, direct order had cut through your fear and you had followed his directions to the letter. You kept the blanket closed over your sternum tightly. An hour into the journey and your fingers were aching, but you refused to let go. You wanted Jack to be proud of you for following his order, for keeping his arms warm and his hands free so that he could steer properly. You wanted to be smart and useful to him.

You tried to ignore the gentle rocking of his thighs against yours where they cupped you, holding you steady on his mount. After everything, you are shocked that your mind is wandering to such lusty images, and you attempt to chastise yourself out of thinking about such things…but the rough denim of his pants conceals a bulge that rocks gently against your ass with every step the horse takes.

For his part, Jack is fighting lusty thoughts of his own. As his breath slows and the horse’s gallop changes to a saunter, Jack tries to ignore the soft curves of your hips under your long winter skirts, and the summery scent of your perfume… delectable notes of lily of the valley and rose that waft up from the heat of your body and tickle his nose. 

It makes him want to find a safe haven, some little culvert or cabin where he can build a fire and put the thick, warm blanket to better use, perhaps as a bed where he can take you gently and show you what good love is supposed to be… if you’ll have him. Maybe after what you’ve been through, he shouldn’t be thinking such things, but the rage that flared in his gut at seeing you in need of rescue has boiled down to a simmer, and he needs to let off steam one way or another. 

He clears his throat and reassures you, “Won’t be much longer now, Bluebonnet.”

“Why do you call me that?” 

“Your scarf,” he brings his left hand gently up to your face and tugs affectionately on the fabric that you’ve wrapped over your head and knotted under your chin, hoping to keep some warmth around your ears. 

“You were wearing this the first day I saw you. Same color as a field full of Texas bluebonnets.” Then, as if that’s all that needs to be said, he trails off into silence. 

You reach back in your mind and try to remember that day, but the time and distance from that moment make things fuzzy. You remember cradling your hard-won harvest of berries in your scarf, tied around your waist like an apron as you emerged from the edge of the forest. And on the road were Jack and another man riding toward town, the sun beating down on the brims of their hats, shadows obscuring their faces. 

If you had been prescient of everything that would transpire between that moment and now, you’re not sure if you would have done things any differently. 

It all ended up with you here, feeling the warmth of Jack’s body against your back, the muscles of his thighs as they tense and squeeze against yours. He’s more relaxed than when the first lengths of galloping put distance between you and that terrible town, but his breath still comes in heavy sighs, and you can tell he’s holding something back. 

“S’that all it was? The color?” You chide yourself internally for sounding hard, ungrateful for the compliment in how he compared you to a pretty sight from his home state. 

You hear Jack’s breath hitch, and then his voice comes deeper, tickling down your neck in warm puffs and up your spine in electric zig zags. “And your strength.”

You think that’s all he’s going to say, but then Jack surprises you, adding, “They go to seed, dig themselves into the dirt in th’ autumn… they grow best in hard soil, rocky places… they bide their time, gettin’ strong all winter, an’ in springtime they bloom blue and pretty and soft… whole waves of ‘em, far as the eye can see.” 

He ends it there, and your mind reels. 

This man sees you… you wonder at that, and your normally quick tongue is stunned into silence as your brain picks over all the golden threads he’s just revealed. You follow the words with your mind, chasing them around in your brain as the horse slows, then stops. 

There’s a clearing just ahead, and Jack turns the mustang slightly sideways, assessing whether it’s safe or dangerous before he approaches any further. His breath comes hot and hard against your ear through the thin material of your scarf, and you fight a whine when his left arm grips you tight around your middle. 

His hand drifts down to your left hip, and he squeezes you hard: a silent message to keep still as he shifts, perhaps making moves to dismount. You want to squirm and rub yourself against the saddle, give yourself friction and action to combat the heavy silence and the frozen air. Your heart is beating so hard you want to faint. 

You breathe in a slow drag through your nose, and that makes it worse. You can smell frost and leather and the living animal underneath you, and layered in with everything is him… smoky, manly soap and fresh sweat and his morning coffee. You turn your face away from the clearing and tuck your ear against his shoulder, and lean into the comforting warmth of Jack as he guards you and protects you. 

Jack watches the clearing and sees a slight movement and he freezes, his massive hand grips your hip harder, and you forget yourself long enough that a small, “Mmh,” escapes your lips before you stuff it back down. 

Your bitten-off moan coincides with Jack’s realization that the movement is a deer, seeking leaves where none have been for weeks, and he relaxes with a chuckle. His laugh vibrates through his chest, pressed against your back, and you exhale a sigh of relief. 

Jack’s distraction subsides and a puzzle piece falls into place. Your noise, that mewl when he gripped your hip through your skirts, and the slight shift of your hips… Jack knows what desire looks like and sounds like from a woman, and he’s happy he hasn’t been nursing a one-sided infatuation. The minute he gets you to safety he’s finding the softest bed and the warmest fire, and he’s going to make sure you don’t have to muffle those noises. He wants them all, just for himself, and he’s damned if he’ll let you hide them from him again. 

You turn as far around as you can and lift your eyes to look at Jack, and when your eyes meet you can’t breathe all over again. 

Jack’s deep brown eyes are boring into you intently, and you wonder if he’s thinking about the same things you are… how all you want to do is nuzzle the tip of your nose into the little hollow just under his earlobe and trail it up to his sideburns, because you know that that's where a man smells the most like himself. You want to brush your lips over the stubble that's dusted over the curve of his jaw, feel the contrast of it against your soft lips… press a kiss into the skin of his throat and feel his heartbeat as it moves blood through his jugular before you flick the tip of your tongue out to taste the salt of his skin… but you can’t, because you're still fleeing everything that he's rescued you from. 

You’re grateful for that, but you're so desperately aroused and so tired from running that all you want to do is turn and sit sideways across his lap, snuggle into him for warmth and safety and let him hold you and fuck you until you fall asleep. 

The moment passes, and Jack flicks his eyes toward the clearing before prompting the horse with his heels. 

“Won’t be far now, Bluebonnet, I promise.”

You turn your face toward the future, and let Jack guide you there. 

***

[waltwhitmansbeard]

go on, claim my heart: chapter five

see my masterpost for what came before this. inspired by @romeoandjulietyouwish's medieval au.

Vex is alternating between packing her gear for the journey ahead and barking out orders to her lieutenant, a young human man clearly trying not to seem overwhelmed as he frantically scribbles down everything she's telling him. It is difficult for her to decide what equipment might be useful for the expedition, but then, that's what happens when you charge off half-cocked toward unknown but certain danger. She pauses and takes a deep breath. She knows exactly why they're leaving as hurriedly as they are, and even though she herself would rather they take some time to plan, to strategize, to research, it is not her child who was so cruelly snatched from her bed in the middle of the night, and so she must defer to her brother.

Vax. All these years together, all the terrible things they have faced, and she has never seen him so desolate, so broken. Her brother has allowed such little joy into his life, has thought himself unworthy of it, but in these past two years with Keyleth and the few precious months he's had with their child, Vex has watched him blossom into a man of delight, of exultation, of bliss. When he holds Vilya, Vex swears he must be looking into the realm of the gods, so consumed by wonder and reverence is he. She feels a yearning tug in her own belly whenever Vax trips over his words in an attempt to wax poetic about his baby girl, and each time she and Percy leave an evening spent at the cottage fawning over her niece, she finds it difficult to meet his eye, wondering if his mind is racing in the same circles as hers.

Now, though, she feels nothing but fear regarding the idea of children of her own, for the notion that an infant could be plucked so easily from her home is nothing short of terrifying. Vex adores her little niece, and each time she thinks about what could be happening to her at this very moment, it is as if a red-hot iron poker has been skewered into her chest. So she hurries, ready to charge forth into the wide world without any real course of action, because that is what one does for family.

Her orders to her lieutenant are interrupted by rapidly approaching horse hooves. She shoves her head out of her office in the northern guard tower and sees a familiar horse galloping from the direction of the stables. She rushes down to the ground floor and spills out of the guard tower just Vax pulls Simon to a halt in front of her. "Why are you already on your horse?" she asks. "I understand the need for urgency, brother, but you must let us prepare ourselves for the journey."

"Keyleth left," he grits out. "I'm going after her."

Vex blinks, shocked. "Left? What do you mean left?"

"I mean she asked to go with us and when her father and I told her it was not a wise idea, she took off on Minxie on her own. I have no idea if she has supplies or even the faintest notion of where she's going."

Vex has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling. It is endlessly foolish, of course, for a princess with no survival skills to abscond from the castle on her own, particularly in her current emotional state, and yet Vex cannot help but feel proud of Keyleth for not taking no for an answer. She cannot imagine a world in which her own blood is put in such acute danger and she is forced to stay behind while others go out to save the day. Vex has watched Keyleth take to motherhood like a duck to water, and she sees, beneath the delicate royal sensibilities and the general naïveté about the world, a simmering fire, a savage ferocity that Vex has witnessed in many a bear while their young are nearby. She understands her brother's concern, of course, for Keyleth's safety, but one thing she cannot understand is his surprise. Of course she stole away to go find her baby; that anyone could expect anything less of her is the true surprise.

"Go," she says, seeing the pack already on his back. "The rest of us will catch up. We'll bring extra supplies, just in case."

"She won't need supplies," Vax argues. "As soon as I find her I'm sending her right back here."

Vex sighs, then reaches up to place a hand on her brother's leg. "Vax...perhaps having her with us will not be the trouble you imagine it to be. She will stop at nothing to bring Vilya home, which to me is an asset, not a liability."

Vax looks down at her with a mixture of shock and betrayal. "You would have me risk my wife's life so easily?"

"I would have you remember that your wife is incredibly capable, as she has demonstrated on multiple occasions, and she is a person who ought to decide for herself what risks are worth incurring in the name of saving her child."

They glare at each other, each willing the other to see sense, before Vax lets out a frustrated huff. "I'm leaving. The rest of you come when you can." Then he snaps Simon's reins, and Vex watches them tear off toward the road out of Zephrah with a sigh.

.

In a lifetime marked by some truly, fantastically reckless decisions, this, far and away, must be the most reckless Keyleth has ever made. She is bent low over Minxie's mane, the hood of her plain, dark cloak pulled up to shadow her face from anyone she might encounter on the road. She managed to throw together one satchel of food in the brief time she had to collect herself, and she's grateful for all of the late-night escapades down into the kitchens for snacks that colored her childhood, giving her the precise expertise needed to get in and out unseen. She has no camping gear, no spare clothing, no weapons save one of Vax's daggers left in her chambers in the castle. For the first time in her life, she is outside the bounds of Zephrah without an escort, and she has only a vague idea about which direction to travel.

But the gods be damned if Vax thinks she's going to stay behind in their empty house while everyone else takes action to bring Vilya home. Doesn't he understand? Doesn't he remember? Keyleth had been so sure that she was not going to survive Vilya's birth, but never once did it cross her mind not to go through with it. She has been prepared since she first learned of their child's existence to give up everything for her, a clarity of purpose that she has never had in relation to her someday ascension to the throne. She is a mother, and to ask her to stay back while her baby is in danger is like asking the sun to move eastward across the sky.

She pushes Minxie as hard as she dares, knowing that her favorite horse is accustomed to casual rides through the countryside as opposed to hard road travel. It is about four days' ride to Syngorn, as Keyleth well knows, and another week past that to Whitestone. Keyleth's plan, such as it is, is to stop in Syngorn and request supplies from the High Warden. She has to imagine that after all of the commotion and tension of her last trip to the city-state, her presence will not be celebrated, exactly, but she cannot believe that they will turn a friendly royal away in a time of such great crisis. If they do, however, Keyleth hopes she has learned enough from Vax to steal what she needs to press on toward Whitestone.

A bit past midday, she stops in a heavily forested stretch of the road, taking Minxie a ways into the trees and tying her up behind a large oak to keep her from being too visible. Keyleth grabs just an apple from her sack, trying to conserve as much food as possible, and lets her horse munch on the low flora as she eats it. She's anxious to get back on the road again, knowing each minute stretches the distance between herself and Vilya. When she's down to the core of the apple, she remembers something she did once at the base of the cherry tree next to the cottage, back when her pregnancy nausea was such that she could hardly gain enough sustenance to support both herself and the baby. She chews on her lip, wondering if the delay is worth the risk, but more information is always better than less, so she sits on the crunchy, cold forest floor with her back to the oak, places her palms down to the soil, and closes her eyes.

It feels like the wind, whatever this strange nature magic is. It ripples up and down her arms as though something tiny were blowing on the fine hairs there, and she must resist the urge to shudder. She focuses on this wind, sending it out, further and further from her body, until it is whipping through the nearly bare tree branches and swirling out around the leaves, both falling and fallen. She senses every skittering thing, every prowler in the underbrush, and focuses on finding something small, something soft, something with a heartbeat as familiar to her as her own name.

The winds shift, pulling her attention to the northeast—toward Whitestone. She cannot be certain—not with this magic that she understands so little—but she somehow still trusts this base instinct in her body: her child is somewhere to the northeast, and for the moment, still alive. Keyleth's eyes flutter open with her first smile since this horrible day began. She's on the right path.

She scrambles back onto Minxie and drives forward, eager to close as much distance before nightfall as possible. Her legs start to cramp up fairly soon; she has never ridden at such an intense pace for so long. She is fatiguing much more quickly than she had hoped, and by the time the sun is dipping beneath the horizon, she's hanging on for dear life. She pulls Minxie off the road near some rocky outcroppings, which are tall enough to hide the horse, and then she has a decision to make. It is well into autumn now, and with the sun nearly gone from the sky, the air is chilling rapidly. She desperately wants to start a fire, but the last thing she needs is to draw attention to herself. She feeds some oats to Minxie and then a bread roll to herself, hungrier than she can ever remember being, hemming and hawing as the sun dips lower and lower until it is finally set and Keyleth is bathed in darkness.

Tired as she is, she has enough rage simmering beneath the surface to summon to her hand a small flicker of flame, and she uses this light to extract the single blanket she'd managed to stow away in her hasty escape from Zephrah. She rolls it out on the softest patch of soil she can find and uses her riding cloak as a second blanket on top. When she is all settled for what she knows will be the most unrestful sleep of her life, she closes her eyes, only to snap them open again when she hears a sound that makes her heart leap in fear: rapidly approaching horse hooves. All too familiar with the bandits that patrol this stretch of road, she quickly clenches her fist to snuff out the flame in it and lies there, heart racing as the threatening hooves get closer and closer in the dark.