#like i feel like it's not long enough but it might just be the mutton chops

[n4c9s]

Tequila sunset or something like that

[popjunkie42]

Painted Blind - Chapter One

Amazing commission done by the brilliant, beautiful and talented @witchlingsandwyverns!!! (thank you I love you!!!)

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste: And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. -William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

What Feyre Archeron wants is simple: enough food, gold and safety to take care of her family. But when a terrifying fae beast crosses the wall and enters the human lands, she finds that simple, safe life slipping out of reach.

Part one of an ACOTAR re-telling inspired by the Greek myth of Psyche and Eros.

Read on AO3

Thank you to @witch-and-her-witcher and @rosanna-writer for the beta reads and encouragement. I have been working on this for a long time...over a year...and the support has been amazing!

It's here! I haven't built it up too much or anything and am now nervous! Don't look at me!

I hope you enjoy...this will be a journey <3 Snippet of chapter one under the cut!

Unhappy the land that is in need of heroes.

-Bertolt Brecht, Galileo

Woodsmoke and stale ale hung heavy in the air as I gently shut the back door to the tavern.

The noise of the place hit me like a jolt. I was used to the twilight quiet of the forest, and the cold and empty winter streets outside. The deep boom of men’s laughter and shouts, the clatter of the kitchen, the drowned out sounds of a fiddle in the corner. Wood groaned under my feet, the floor sticky and worn as I edged around the walls in the shadows, angling towards the roaring fireplace.

This was not a place for young women like me. Certainly not my first choice of accommodations for the night. The brazen, lingering stares running up and down my body reminded me of that every step of the way. But the heat of the fire along with the surrounding warm bodies was worth it when I began to feel the tips of my fingers again.

Ten minutes ago I had been elbows-deep in blood and entrails, the squelching sound drowned out by the laughter and warm light of the tavern behind me as I worked. One dunk of my bloody hands into a frozen bucket of water to wash off made me rethink any fearful self preservation I might have had left.

Survival was like that. Blurring the edges of what should be a simple, safe decision.

But I wasn’t making cautious decisions these days. Outside, chill winds whipped up the fresh frozen snow and threw it against anything in its path. My cheeks smarted and burned with it even now. The cold had taken the easy prey and then the difficult prey, and now I was forced deeper and deeper into the woods every night to find something, anything for my family.

My fingers and toes started to ache as the frozen digits warmed back to life, tingling with pain. I knew the barkeep’s goodwill would only last so long once he saw me and knew I wouldn’t be purchasing anything. Even if the growling of my stomach battled the sounds in this loud room, as the smells of fresh bread and ale and mutton wafted through the room amidst the more unpleasant scents.

But it wouldn’t do to leave the deer unattended for long, not when there were desperate men and other predators just as hungry as me and attracted to the scent of blood. I had more of the deer to skin, and it would be hours until the dawn sun touches this place.

Cracked skin, split nails, a cramp in my stomach. Usually that was all I had to show for my nights buried in snow up to my knees or huddled in bare tree branches. But tonight, at dusk, luck was with me and I had taken a deer as it crept towards the half frozen river.

It had walked directly under my tree and straight ahead of me, presented like a ready gift from some long forgotten god. I was so weak with cold and hunger my hands shook as I readied my bow. But my arrow hit true.

Still, the deer had been larger than I could usually handle. I spent too much time with my feet buried in new snow, making a rough bower, then gutting it and finally taking the head before it was light enough for me to carry back in slippery sprints.

My body was screaming with exhaustion by the time I spotted the low night lights of the village. But there was nowhere in our family’s small cabin to keep a bleeding body. Certainly not if my sisters had anything to say about it.

More eyes shot to me as a glass smashed and I jolted like a spooked rabbit. I rubbed life back into my hands, trying to calm my nerves. Now that I wasn’t shivering and fighting the cold, exhaustion threatened to set deep in my bones. It was almost two o’clock in the morning. Nesta and Elain would be fast asleep, cuddled together for warmth in our shared bed.

The anger in me burned, like the bitter nettle tea Elain brewed to keep our stomachs warm in between meals.

Two men had been watching me, talking low and close to one another for too long. I wove between bodies and chairs to find another spot further away from their gaze.

My life was always like this, for as long as we had been in the cabin. Forced out of our richly appointed manor by my father’s debtors, the old place now just a dreamy blur in the fading memories of my childhood.

The days were never dull, that was for certain. I ricocheted between life and death, forest and hearth, starvation and sustenance. I walked the woodland paths that fed and sheltered me, forests that held monsters or the stark winter seasons of starvation. Poisons and fanged beasts and untrustworthy men. Fruit and herbs, glistening springs, growth and life and death. Three pathways: death, bare survival, or thriving life, all converging to a crossroads, and sometimes I ran so quickly between them I got whiplash.

Sometimes, in the twilight hours between sleep and waking, I remembered when it wasn’t always so. I remembered a childhood filled with dresses and lavish meals and even stolen cookies with petal pink icing that smeared all over my face. I couldn’t recall, now, the last time I tasted sugar. Or had days on end with a full belly, without a care in my heart. That life was over now, and this new one demanded sacrifices. Like drawing the attention of unsavory drunk men in order to stay warm enough to bring breakfast to my family.

My eyes cast over the crowd. I wasn’t entirely alone. Isaac Hale was here, with his father and brothers, doing an excellent job of ignoring me completely. Old Hobb, at least, had given me a tip of his floppy felt cap from his station at the bar, several tankards in tonight. He had already reached the next stage of his drunkenness and would doubtless start a fight or an oddly unslurred lecture soon.

I didn’t mind - I had been subject to many of those lectures, and sometimes found them helpful. The old hunter was one of the few men in the village who had ever shown me kindness, catching me some years back when he caught me slicing through the intestines of my rabbits as I tried to skin them.

The cold, snow-burned skin on my cheeks was now hot and burning on my face as my blood ran warmer, waking from its sluggish sleep.

If I was lucky tonight, Isaac would continue to ignore me and the rest of the bar would be too drunk to notice or remember me. And if they did focus on me too long, I had been practicing since I was fifteen - the stance I had, one that was quiet but not small. Forcing the tiredness from my face the best I could, setting my jaw and keeping my hunting knife in easy reach.

I wouldn’t be prey tonight. I was the hunter. And if anyone chose to test me, my hunger and desperation would only make me more fierce.

At least, that’s what I told myself, to keep from breaking apart.

Just as I was thinking about moving back into the cold to finish my butchering, the front door of the tavern swung open with a blast of cold wind.

And silence fell.

Read the rest on AO3

[narcissosbythepool]

Continuing GhostPrice fighter AU (crossposting from my twitter again)

Part 1 here

Cw: mild violence, mentions of substance abuse, suggestive language, some trauma foreshadowing

*

It's the aftermath of a completely pointless and insignificant win that changes Ghost's entire life.

"Hey."

Ghost doesn't look up from where he's brooding. His ribs are sore, he's bleeding from his brow, and he's not in the mood for a chat now.

Someone steps in front of him and he frowns. Who the fuck is this?

"What do you want?" he finally grumbles and looks up.

He's somewhat surprised at the person stood in front of him. He expected some young guy trying to provoke him after his fight, but it's an older man (late 30s? Early 40s? Older than himself, either way) with some truly impressive mutton chops.

"Wondering if you'd like to learn to win by fighting better rather than just outlasting your opponent."

Ghost gives him an unimpressed look.

"Why do you care? I keep winning, don't I?"

The man smiles. It's not a kind smile – it's a challenging one, like Ghost is a grumpy teen throwing a tantrum.

"You can do better. I would like to see it happen."

Ghost's kneejerk reaction is to tell the guy to fuck off. He's just some wannabe-fighter. He looks like an idiot in the beanie and windbreaker.

But something in the way he carries himself catches his eye. It's confident, but not in a cocky way like the guys that sometimes show up to try to rile him up.

He looks tough. Toughened. Learned.

"And you think you can teach me?"

"I know I can."

"You taught before?"

The man's lips twitch in amusement. "I've done my share."

"So why'd your student quit?"

This makes the man laugh out loud.

"I see you're a bit of a challenge. Want to drop by the gym and do a couple rounds?"

Ghost raises a brow.

"That's not a euphemism. I do actually own a gym."

He should say no. He really should.

Maybe this guy's a creep. A serial killer. Maybe he sucks at fighting. Maybe he's all talk.

But maybe. Maybe there really is a gym. Ghost has been haunting his own life for so long that it doesn't feel like his own anymore.

He'll take the lifeline.

"Fine."

Worst case scenario he doesn't have to worry about rent anymore.

There is a gym.

It's after hours but Price ("John Price, former fighter, I own a gym with my friend") lets them in with his keys and punches in the security codes before opening the door for Ghost to step in. The gym is not particularly special but it's clean, and a set of dull cement stairs lead them to the basement where a ring is waiting for them.

Ghost starts getting a little excited, now, his blood pumping heavy in his ears. This man, John Price, might be the real deal – Ghost was polite enough not to google him on the walk here, but he'll put it on his to-do list at once.

"This is where the magic happens," Price says, walking to the ring and then leaning on the ropes, watching the mat wistfully.

"I see you're missing the mat already."

"You're a cheeky one, aren't you?"

"You have no idea."

Price finally takes him to the changing room.

"You ready for another round?"

"Right now?"

"That's why I'm asking."

Ghost really wants to wipe that smirk off his face.

"I'm ready. Are you?"

Price replies by unzipping his jacket and underneath is a tight, dark green tshirt that shows off his toned physique and Ghost's mouth goes dry, the embers of irritation turning into a flame of yearning – of attraction, of excitement for a challenge, and from the glint in Price's eyes, he's taken note of the fire that now devours Ghost.

Price hands his ass to him in the ring.

Ghost is stronger ("you hit like a fucking freight train") but Price is better, knows the strategy to beating an opponent bigger and heavier than him, and the fight ends with both of them bruised, Ghost held down on the mat by Price, until he taps out.

"Please teach me," he asks politely, lying on his stomach, trying to heave air back into his lungs. Price detaches himself from Ghost and sits down on the floor next to him, wiping off sweat from his brow.

"What's your real name, son?"

Ghost swallows.

"Simon. Simon Riley."

"So, Riley," Price starts.

Ghost bristles at that a bit.

"I'd rather you not call me that."

Price looks at him over his shoulder.

"Simon? Or Ghost?"

"Simon's fine."

"Simon then." Price smiles cheekily. "You'll call me 'coach' or 'sir', is that clear?"

The demand of authority makes Ghost's guts stir with some mix of arousal and amusement. Price probably likes to feel important.

He wonders if Price would let Ghost call him sir in bed.

"Alright, Simon. I need you to stop smoking. And drinking."

Ghost feels a flare of irritation.

"I don't drink." His tone is definite, raw on the edges.

"...Alright. Hm. Now, no judgement here but. Do you do any other drugs?"

"..."

"No need to glare at me. If you don't, good. If you do, quit them. Then I'll coach you."

"Those are the requirements?"

"Those are the requirements."

"So when can I start?"

Price smiles, and this time the teasing edge is no longer there, just a warm and open smile that makes Ghost feel a little flustered.

"Right now works. Simon."

"Yes, sir?"

Price's smile turns into a wicked grin.

"Cooldown."

[vraisetzen]

Hiya V! How’re you? Hope you’re well! 💛

Out of curiosity, who are your top ten favorite ‘Demon Slayer’ characters and why? I’m really curious!

Thanks! Xxx

Hi Anon! I'm doing well, thank you!

This is a really good question! I've never really thought about my top ten KnY characters before because I love all of them, but if I absolutely have to single out ten of them, with a few underrated ones:

Kokushibo: Need I say more? Or rather, in the immortal words of Jane Austen, if I loved him less, I might be able to talk about him more. His unearthly beauty, his appreciation for talent and skill no matter who he fought, his envy for Yoriichi's gifts, his fear of his legacy being forgotten — all at odds with what is ultimately his all-too human desire to be seen and appreciated for his own skills. Kokushibo has done many unforgivable things in his long, long life — things which not even I can excuse nor downplay — but he is also an immensely complex and compelling individual fraught with at once the ugliest and most beautiful parts of humanity.

Muzan: I have read many manga series over the years, but seldom have I seen an antagonist as single-minded as Kibutsuji Muzan. Certainly, there are better written villains out there, with greater depth and harsher backstories, but the simplicity of Muzan's aims — to conquer the sun and become a perfect being — stands out in a sea of moustache-twiddling foes with schemes to take over the world. That he was born to comfort at a time of Japan's culture epoch, who saw nothing wrong with dirtying his aristocratic hands to kill a lowly doctor; that he did not mind subsisting on humans, but could not tolerate the idea of sitting in the shade whilst other languished in the sun; that he created demons as a tool for his objectives but ultimately saw them more as a hindrance — he is truly a man for himself. As he said in the final battle, was it not enough for the rest of you lot to still be alive? He is not trying to rule over the world, mind you — and even if one were to be so unlucky as to cross paths with him, it was, well, because they were down on their luck. He does not wish to play God, for he does not even care about these lowly mortals; this is truly his world, and we are all just living in it.

Douma: Douma IS brat, y'all. I have always loved unsympathetic villains as much as sympathetic ones, and the second Upper Moon is no exception. Make no mistake, there is nothing redeemable about Douma — he is a cult leader who takes pride in objectifying women as nothing but sustenance. I adore the moment when the light in his dazzling eyes shut off after Kanao calls him out his act. Yet, unlike other delightful sociopathic villains (Tsukiyama Shū from Tokyo Ghoul comes to mind), Douma never fully crosses the line into camp, as in the case of Gyokki; in his mind, he is as sincere as he can be, and he comes across as someone who truly enjoys being a demon and the benefits that come with it. In that sense, he is delightful to watch and even more delightful to hate, and I wished we saw him riling up the other Upper Moons more.

Nakime: In a different world, Nakime would be the perfect protagonist of a psychological thriller/slasher film a la Black Swan. Killing her husband was one thing, but finding the trembling of her fingers post-murder so musically inspiring that she did it again and again — this was a level of artistry that not even Gyokko could fathom in his wildest imaginations.

Rengoku Shinjurō: Reader, I can fix him — was the first thing I thought of when we saw Shinjurō properly for the first time. He is an interesting comparison against Uzui — both of them are retired Hashira, yet the former did not so much as leave a trailing blaze as he fell from grace. How useless must he have felt by the time of Rengoku Gaiden — losing his wife, disgracing his family's name? Likewise, he was no doubt feeling like a mutton dressed as a lamb when Uzui and Himejima joined the ranks of the Hashira. Though his abusive treatment of his children are reprehensible, they also stem from a deeply seated place of mid-life crisis, insecurity, and self-hatred.

Urokodaki Sakonji: There is a wonderful art from Chapter 90 which depicts Urokodaki carving two wooden dolls of Tanjiro and Nesuko — it moves me in a strange way that I cannot put properly into words, only that it encapsulates Urokodaki's compassion, empathy, and kindness in a manner that sets him apart from the typical elder mentor that we see in other shōnen works.

Kanroji Mitsuri: If we are talking about relatable characters, then there is no one I see myself in more than Mitsuri. Though I may not have her generous heart and endless capacity for kindness and love, I understand her struggle of not feeling like a good enough young lady of marriageable age. Her dyeing her hair, eating less and suppressing her naturally bubbly self in a bid to be more likeable — haven't we all been there? Truly, if there was someone in the entirety of KnY to whom I aspire, it would be Mitsuri.

Uzui Tengen: Though he may resent the Shrek comparison (or own it; it's tough to determine Uzui's actual taste when he brushes so close to being trailer trash), Uzui has layers — his flamboyant exterior belies a true concern for his wives and young charges, and if I may repeat myself once more: it is only when he is the most quiet (sneaking up on the shop owner to demand the whereabouts of Zenitsu, feeding Hinatsuru the antidote, giving Suma and Makio head pats) that he is the most himself. His inclination for all things shiny and extravagant is not merely an expression of himself after escaping from his family, it is also a way for him to cloak his true feelings of care — just as a true shinobi would.

Ubuyashiki Amane: There is so little we know of her besides that she was a shrine maiden, but her actions speak volumes. Her arranged marriage to Ubuyashiki could have left her resentful for it was tantamount to an arranged widowhood, but she nonetheless loved and took care of her young husband, and stayed firmly by his side till the very end. The anime does a stunning depiction of this through the eyecatch of her holding his bandaged, disease hand; and that close-up of her impassive face as the explosives set off around the estate, engulfing her and her husband in flames — she has always known what she was signing up for. A lesser person might have left, or ended their life, but Amane stayed true till the very last moment.

The magistrate who sentenced Hantengu: A true underrated favourite, so hear me out on this one; I think this man is easily one of the most righteous of the entire KnY series. He reminds me so much of the real-life historical figure, Ōoka Echizen (played to perfection by Katō Gō in the 1971 series of the same name, but this is a rabbit hole I shan't force on anyone...), who not only exposed Hantengu's lies, but also saw through that pitiful blind man act and gave him a proper sentence. In a kinder world, he could have adopted Daki and Gyutaro; or delivered justice for Akaza — but that is an AU for another time.

xoxo, V ♥️

[newtonsheffield]

Ok, but now I want to see a little school reunion for Anthony and Josie where people find out they're now related and they run into the girl he dated and she had a crush on.

Oh imagine

The confused looks when they arrive together because sure, they weren't enemies (Though Josie still describes Anthony as her nemesis to this day) but no one thought they would be hanging out a decade later.

"Oh my god, you guys still hang out? That's so sweet!" Stacey Ambrose practically squeals as they arrive, Anthony smiling politely while Josie doesn't even try to stop herself from rolling her eyes a little.

"It's forced, Stacey."Josie said nudging Anthony in the ribs.

"Don't say it's forced in that tone." Anthony sighed. "We're friends."

"We literally hadn't spoken in nine years until you started pining after my girlfriend's sister like a sad puppy!"

"I didn't know she was your girlfriend's sister!" Anthony hissed, "How many times?!"

"Hi, I'm the girlfriend." Edwina cleared her throat, smiling at a startled looking Stacey, tugging on Josie's hand.

"I'm the sister." Kate sighed, "Is it an open bar situation or-? I'll figure it out."

Anthony had thought it might be bad enough, that he had to stand here, while Kate discovered his Polo club pictures where he'd decided to grow the mutton chops he can now see were a complete mistake as Kate takes a selfie beside the picture on the wall, and then he hears her voice.

"Anthony Bridgerton?"

He could have groaned.

"Amanda, Hi." He tried to smile at her, as she tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder, his heart hammering in his chest as Kate bristled against him when the woman leaned in, brushing her lips against his cheek.

"God it's been the longest time!"

Anthony wrapped his arm tighter around Kate's waist, tugging her closer to his chest. "Yeah, I guess it has been."

"and oh my god! Josie Bagwell!"

anthony could swear he heard Josie's sharp intake of breath as she mumbled, "Hi, Amanda."

"God are you still the smartest person in every room?"

"I don't-"

"She is." Anthony had never seen Edwina's smile so tight, her eyes flicking over Amanda a little sharply. Even as Amanda's eyes widened.

"You're Edwina Sharma! I saw you perform last week, you were incredible. Holy Shit, are you here with someone?"

Edwina looked at her, a little incredulously, her eyes flicking down to Josie's arm around her waist. "Yeah, my fiancée."

"Oh my god, where is he? Is it Sebastian-?"

"It's the person whose arms around her waist would be my bet." Kate said a little bemusedly, sharing a startled look with her sister.

"Yeah I'd probably put money on that." Anthony agreed.

Amanda's eyes widened, "Josie are you gay?"

Josie blinked back at her, her brow furrowed. "I... No I just thought I'd marry a woman to see what the fuss was about."

"You were always funny." Amanda sighed, ignoring the way Edwina not so subtly brushed her hand from where it had landed on Josie's arm. "And you two are still good friends, That's so sweet! And Anthony! Whose this?"

"Kate. This is my fiancée." Anthony said quickly. "Kate's actually Edwina's sister."

She seemed to balk at that, her eyes widening as she took in the ink running down Kate's arms. "Fuck, no kidding. Well... I better be going. So great to catch up, we should go for drinks."

Anthony watched her scurry off, clearly desperate to share the gossip she'd learned, her head about to explode.

"So that's your high school girlfriend hey?"

Anthony sighed at Kate's tone, the smirk on her lips. "Yep."

"That's the girl you had a crush on?" Edwina seemed more bemused than anything.

"I like pretty girls I don't have an excuse other than that." Josie sighed. "She used to let me do her homework for her. Didn't matter because she was in love with Anthony and apparently didn't even know I was into girls anyway."

Anthony clicked his tongue, "If it makes you feel any better she broke up with me at my Dad's wake because I'd been So sad recently."

"A lucky escape then." Josie mused. "Think she's telling everyone we're living in some sort of commune as sister wives?"

"Probably, but I don't really give a fuck." Anthony said, and really, it was true.

But that didn't stop him from pinning his reunion polaroid, marked in Kate's hand with My Wife's got more ink than a ballpoint pen right next to Josie's that said Guess what everyone? We aren't gal pals! We're gay!

[lericekrispie]

Worldbuilding on Fauna

This was supposed to be a Vyncent headcannon list, but I ended up just talking about Fauna instead. Enjoy!

I tried to do some very surface level research into what Asian decent Vyncent could be based off, and the closest I found that matched was Mongolia. All my research is very shallow, please don't take my word as law, but from what I've gathered is that they are from a cold climate, with rich traditions. They are traditionally nomadic, have extensive and rich cultures in arts, music, and dance. They have unique architecture called a yurt. They had woodcarving, metalworking, embroidery, and weaving. Men and women both wore skirts and pants. They had meat like mutton, and beef, and herded sheep, goats and yaks. They had horse racing, wrestling, and archery. The games they played were chess and checkers, dominos, rock paper scissors, and puzzles.

Deriving from this, I believe that Vync-

likes music without lyrics, because English is his second language and it's hard to keep up, and most of his music back home was mostly instrumental anyways

wears gender non-conforming clothes

used to help herd animals while the older adults hunted. He knows how watch a flock, and has also sat in fields for long times just staying alert. B/c of this, his stake out abilities are top notch. He can disassociate like a pro and probably has ADHD. (head empty fr fr)

is really good at traditional board games, and always wins. He also likes puzzles, even if he is stupid sometimes and has to get help. He likes fidget toys. He likes video games as well, but because he grew up without technology he is horrendous at them. He still loves games and puzzles though so he still tries. Will and Dakota try to help him with some video games, but Vync likes the single player games the most bc he doesn't feel left in the dust when playing with his friends.

can tell when clothing is cheap and of bad material/craftsmen ship, and because of such he has a picky taste in quality. (his preferred fashion is maximalism and weird-core) (He has sensory issues fr fr)

Also, he lives on a floating island. We didn't see a horrible lot of worldbuilding b/c the world building was... well, destroyed in an apocalypse. I wanted to expand a little on that as well. What I think would be cool and good worldbuilding is if every Great is from a different island, and each island as a different climate/elf species.

Remember, all floating islands are flavored to be close in culture to a general overview of Mongolia culture, or in cannon, some East Asian culture.

The Lush Island

Vyncent comes from an island that is more traditional. It's smaller, and the communities are like tight knit families. Their climate gets very cold in the winter, so the weird fae-magical elf evolution would be the small predator animals that people sometimes draw for Vync as a headcannon. Small predator animals include cats, foxes, small predator birds, and sometimes dogs. It helps to be adapted to traverse in the snow, as they have two seasons, 'Dormant' and 'Bloom', basically Winter and Spring. Their Blooms is very abundant and full of festivals and celebrations, with long sunny days that could be disrupted by powerful storms. Dormant is even more brutal and dangerous, and what they prepare for during Bloom, so that they have stored food to survive the freeze. The traditional way of life has been very well preserved, that a lot of old techniques of artisans that would have been lost to time have been preserved. They have expert woodcarvers, metal workers, embroidery and weaving. Vyncent's sword was made on his island, and is part of why it's so powerful.

The Convergence Island

Strider is a rouge, wears a cloak, is mysterious and brooding. Strider would come from a island that has a larger community, because then there would be a reason for crime/stealing and or being a vigilante. The community would have to be large enough that there is animosity, so his island might be known as the 'City' island. This would be a market intersection, like Riptide's 'All-Port'. There is a strong Tribal Government there, with a clear Chief rather than just local figureheads and Respect for Elders. There is hoarding from the rich and people trying to build their lives from the ground up. Think ' The American Dream'. It's mostly a scam, but sometimes if your lucky you can make it big. Because of the city the island is a melting pot of multiple different elf evolutions, but the native's to the island have evolved to fit a more lavish, modern life, growing very tall, slim, and frail. They speak softer and less rushed, are often physically weaker, and have features for social evolution and not survival evolution (think classical faries and fae, with big buggy eyes and eyelashes, high cheekbones, slender faces, shimmery skin, slender soft hands, long hair and well kept hygiene.)

The Sunlight Island

Alphonz is the paladin. He wears a lot of heavy armor, so I believe his island would also metalworkers, the main suppliers of such. They are also a very religious community, with religious leaders controlling the tides rather than political. Their island would be the highest up, to be the closest to whatever the equivalent of 'heaven' would be. Of course, the evolution of the highest island would be wings, but most wings are made for gliding rather than flying because of body mass and energy and whatnot. Because of this, most people from this island can find jobs elsewhere as messengers. These people often get around to other islands eventually in their lives, and are known to be wanderers. They are closest to the sun so they have very thick eyelashes and undereye markings to protect them from the sunlight, and the darkest skin. They have a lot of intense flowers and foliage because the closeness to the sun. Their waterfalls from the top of their island run into the other islands below.

The Sunken Island

Min is a mage, and uses a lot of water themed magic. Because of this, I believe Min's island would be more like a bowl full of water, and most of the people would live in underwater domes, or on small floating islands. The people who live here would have evolved to be semi-aquatic, with features like frogs, dragonflies, fish, and such. Their island would be abundant with a fishing culture and magic, with huge coral structures and beautiful vibrant colors. The island would also be more traditional, much like Vyncent's.

The Badland Island

Ram is our beloved gunslinger, so obviously his island would be like the wild west. Enough said. Think riding horses, saloons, outlaws and sheriffs. The evolutions would be close to hooved creatures, like goats, antelope, deer, rams, horses, things like satyrs and centaurs. Because of the harsh and vast amount of lands these elves need to travel, these evolutions save time and their feet as they traverse the difficult terrain.

The Wildlands Island

Chungus is a the barbarian, very strong and almost a gentle giant. I believe this island would be very much so like Vyncent's, but much harder to live in, in terms of monsters. I think Vyncent's island would have more difficult natural weather and disasters, while Chungus would face a lot more monsters and ruffians. Because of this, the elven evolution would be to match monsters strength a take form of large predator animals, like wolves, cougars, bears, and such, while Vyncent's island would only need to evolve to smaller predator animals for hunting, such as foxes and cats and such. (Chungus would be a bear.)

The Hellfire Island

Finally, Grayson. Grayson is described as having Dragon armor, so why not just go all the way and say the elven evolution is dragon-like. This island would be the hardest to live on, full of flames and lava, basically like a floating volcano. This island would be closest to the surface, and speaking of surface-

Surface

The idea of the surface is that it is basically hell. It's where the lich comes from, it's full of hell fire, screaming damned, zombies and undead and such. The closeness to the surface dictate how dangerous your island is. The position of your island means a lot.

From Top to Bottom

The Sunlight Island -Is reaping the rewards of lush wildlife, but has to deal with extreme weather, sun, and temperatures.

The Sunken Island -is practically unaffected by weather and monsters because they live mostly underwater. Very peaceful. Uninhabitable by people who are not native.

The Convergence Island -In the top middle. The monsters here are the people. Have to deal with extreme weather.

The Lush Island -Reaps the rewards of lush wildlife, has to deal with extreme weather and temperatures, as well as some monsters.

The Wildlands Island -Deals less with weather and temperature, but more with monsters.

The Badland Island -as we get closer to 'hell' basically, the weather get's dry-er and hot-er. There isn't extreme storms, but instead harsh constant heat. Has to deal with monsters, as well as elven criminals. Most intelligent monsters and criminals set up bases here. The largest landmass. (we can never truly escape Texas)

The Hellfire Island -A step up from 'hell'. Has to deal with monsters all day long. The people here are built from blood and spit, metal and nails. Life expectancy is short here, but the people take pride in being the first line of defense for the other islands, are often talented warriors who hunt monsters to allow the rest of the islands to prosper.

It's hard to get to island to island. Sometimes you can because of your adaptations, sometimes you can find a way to safely fall to a lower island. Sometimes you can find a mage who can transport you. It is more common to go down than up. That's why Vyncent's dad was so impressive.

Father Sol

Father Sol was the leader of the group. With this worldbuilding, I think it would be cool if he embarked on a mission to build a party that could defend against a brewing monster from the Surface, The Lich and his forces. So Father Sol went from island to island, searching for the most powerful person from each to make a party. This alone is a feat, for traversing islands is very difficult, most only go to one once in their lives, and most of the time it's a permeant move. You often don't return. It's no wonder The Greats are well known, doing something such as what they did, going from island to island, even without the stories of their deeds and just the feat of traveling islands alone is something to behold and would be talked and gossiped about until they were legends. But on top of that were the adventures they had on each island, of Father Sol having to earn the trust and respect of each powerful warrior for them to join the party. I can already image in the classic Dnd shenanigans, battles, and hero adventures they would have. And to have them fail at the very end.

And all of this we never get to see because it get's destroyed. By the very monsters The Greats gathered to fight against. They lost. They weren't strong enough.

Now. Imagine, Vyncent has to make a choice between staying between Prime and Fauna. He chooses Prime, for his friends. His life is there right now, that's what he tells himself. He can always go back. He has unfinished business on Prime.

What he doesn't say is the pain that is in his heart, looking at his home that once used to be lush and full of life, full of smiles and memories, destroyed. Seeing his people broken and torn by the worst possible thing that could have happened to them. To see his people go from living in community villages full of flowers and celebration to hiding underground like rats. It hurts. It's painful to look at all the despair and pain. Knowing that things probably wouldn't go back to normal, at least in his lifetime.

He's a coward when he stays in Prime. He's not strong enough to go back. He wishes he was. But he isn't.

[elkenbulwark]

Eve hummed a little as she snuggled against Birvor's frame, actually doing quite a good job of not talking too much for once, making sure he was relaxed after everything that had happened today. There had been a fight, and he'd gone into a rage, and some words had been said between him and his brother, but here he was, letting her stay with him for the night after also letting her try to work the knots out of him while he huffed a little. It had taken a lot of convincing on her part to get him to let her stay in the first place, but it had worked, and she buried her face into the crook of his neck, placing a gentle kiss there.

"You know, it might ruin the fact that I've been QUIET and you're trying to sleep," Eve murmured, pressing another tender kiss to his skin, "but I thought that you should know as you nod off...that I love you..."

At this point, a fight was was a normal way to end an evening around camp. He'd been getting better at curbing the stung emotions just enough to avoid them boiling over into a full on rage, but even he had his limits some days. Well, nights in this case- when the cooling balm of evening was just an extra layer of convincing for him to let the boiled blood spill over and warm him through instead of scald by default.

He wasn't even sure why she allowed him to toss up tent with her after all the havoc he'd caused up to the moment where a spell incantation branded along his brow was made use of to drop him to the ground where he could spend the next throes of his rage face first in the dirt and tearing up the grass and dandelions with his tusks until his eyes stopped glowing like embers and enough sense returned to him to cast a spent look at her over his shoulder as if wondering why she was still hovering and not off tending to the mess he made like all the others. Unsure though he was, he didn't feel like questioning her logic (or lack thereof) to hold him with her arms instead of a hold person spell, feeling a tad more calm with this version than the one that had pinned him earlier.

Exhausted from his less than team-oriented activities, it wasn't long before his eyes were drooping under the weight of a demand for sleep and the recharging of his battery from the sudden drop in blood pressure that came from having too much surging through his veins all at once and then nothing even more suddenly. As her humming lulled him deeper into the dark, he thought he heard her murmuring something, and with a sleepy snort he pressed his head in to her chest where she could keep her fiddling grip on his hair. "-love...ewe?" He repeated with a huff against her collarbone, rooting his tusks along the edges fondly as he settled in. "...fer mutton?"

[evermorehqs]

CATCHING MY BREATH, STARING OUT AN OPEN WINDOW

Jack Frost is based on Jack from Rise of the Guardians. He is a 25 year old/immortal spirit, full-time nanny, and uses he/him pronouns. He has the power of ice, wind and joy manipulation. Jack is portrayed by Jan Luis Castellanos and he is open.

CATCHING MY DEATH, AND I COULDN’T BE SURE

When his eyes opened in Evermore, the first thing Jack saw was the moon. It felt fitting considering that was what he saw when he first woke up as...well, Jack. The familiar feeling of disorientation lasted only a few moments before curiosity over took him. A new adventure awaited in this place. He could remember his life from before, the antics and tricks were a part of him, flowing through his veins and nothing could change that, but his focus was on the present and the future. Though things were different here, elements remained the same. The most important of which was fun. It didn’t matter where or when you were, fun was always the thing that saved you. Levity and joy - things that Jack knew well and brought to everyone he could. But he had to be careful as his hands, though warm in his intention, were often cold as well. It wasn’t just fun he could control but ice, snow and wind, everything needed for a horrible storm. Being an immortal spirit had it’s upsides and downsides but one good thing about being around so long was that Jack discovered what was important and why he was given this gift - it was to help kids, to protect them from danger and darkness however he could. The threat of the boogeyman might have lessened but that didn’t mean that his job was any different here. Kids were often drawn to his playful nature and parents were more than happy to hire him to babysit or stop by and help watch them for awhile and soon enough it turned into a full time job. Some people say that the kids he nannies for like him so much because he’s basically an immature kid himself but Jack takes it as a compliment. He liked getting into trouble, anyone can see that, but he knows when to draw the line for the sake of those kids safety. As soon as he’s off the clock though, all the rules go out the window.

I HAD A FEELING SO PECULIAR

❀ James Bennett: There’s an overwhelming feeling of protection between Jack and Jamie, bringing them close together as friends. No matter what happens, the other never seems to lose hope and Jack knows he can turn to him when times look bleak. ❀ Fallon Osborne: Her gentle nature makes the aura around Fallon soft and there’s an appeal to remaining that way in a world that could be so cold. In his world of ice, it’s comforting to find someone who sees the softness in the snow. ❀ Tiffany Mutton: Jack isn’t sure if he’s ever met someone so uptight and competitive. There doesn’t seem to be anything Tiffany wouldn’t do to win and he was drawn right in to try and help her relax. Not everything had to be so serious.

THAT THIS PAIN WOULD BE FOR EVERMORE

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #556

Top Ten Couples Costume Ideas for Halloween

Well, it’s that time of the year again! Time to hang up flimsy plastic spiders, Sellotape spooky messages to the door, and spend the GDP of a small Eastern European nation on Haribo and Cadbury’s Heroes. It’s Halloween!

I do love a bit of Halloween, mostly because I like any excuse to dress up. Unfortunately I don’t really get much of an excuse to dress up nowadays. My kids do: they get to do the whole trick-or-treating thing. But I don’t get invited to many Halloween parties, and I always worry that walking around with my kids whilst dressed as one of the weird Nazi demons from American Werewolf in London might feel like it was trying a bit too hard. Or maybe I’m too self-conscious. Who knows?

In my day – by which, I mean, when I was a kid – Halloween was already very popular, but nowhere near what it is now. We’d all dress up, of course, but generally speaking in very cheap vinyl capes and plastic masks, looking like a parade of tiny Draclears. Today’s costumes are much more elaborate and, in many cases, genuinely very good. Kids also, I think, like to put in the effort to make their costumes individual; my eldest is crafting her own Death costume this year (by which I mean the Grim Reaper, not Death of the Endless or anything; she’s not quite got round to Sandman just yet). And often People will want to complain about the Americanisation of Halloween, of us importing what is on some level a colonial interpretation of a pagan holiday. But sod that, it’s cool to dress up, sweets taste nice, and carving pumpkins is fun. But one of the big things that’s happened as time has moved on and, I’d argue, the influence of America has grown, is that it’s more common for people to dress up as stuff that’s not scary.

Halloween was always a ghosts-and-goblins, spooky kind of thing. This is reflected in most media: Halloween specials are creepy and kooky affairs. Films from The Nightmare Before Christmas to Hocus Pocus to Casper to The Addams Family all hew very closely to stereotypical depictions of all things grisly and macabre. But what’s probably the earliest representation of “American Halloween” that I came across also illustrates the desire to just dress up as whatever you want which is becoming more prevalent over here too: I mean, of course, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial. The famous Halloween scene there has cowboys and Yodas and, well, terrorists in amongst the ghouls and zombies and everything else. All of pop culture, all of human history, is fair game now it seems. And that’s been the biggest import over the last thirty years I’d say; dressing up as something Not Scary.

With this in mind, I present some ideas for those still young enough or cool enough or popular enough or awake enough to be invited to a Halloween party. Ideas that aren’t necessarily scary or creepy or ghoulish. But costumes that would be fun! And what’s even more fun than just plain old dressing up is dressing up in pairs. Matching costumes! How cool is that? I did this once, funnily enough; not for Halloween, though, we were just invited to a costume party. My now-wife and I went as Robin Hood and Maid Marian. I walked through Newcastle town centre in tights. At night. I got cat-called by a bunch of Geordie women. I survived, and despite not having had the opportunity to get dolled up in something ridiculous since, it’s not put me off. I’ve been thinking long and hard about what else it’d be amusing to dress as. Which is what I present to you now! A bunch of suggestions of costumes for couples with a better social life than me. I mean, it’s gotta be more original than Gomez and Morticia, right?

Farmer Hoggett and Babe from Babe: one person wears mutton chops, wellies, and a flat cap; the other, presumably, a pink onesie. The romantic connotations of it are best left unexplored, however. That’ll do, pig.

Max Shreck and the Ice Princess from Batman Returns: whilst they don’t really have that much direct contact in the film, who could resist an excuse to dress up as Christopher Walken, with his crazy hair and lush coats? Meanwhile, the Princess could have a bloodied batarang sticking out of her chest. Now let’s go bring joy to the masses!

Anthony Hopkins’ Corky and Fats the dummy from Magic: look, there has to be some horror here, and what’s creepier than a ventriloquist’s dummy? Channelling pre-Lambs Hopkins, with his dowdy jumpers and dodgy hair, is possibly easier than looking like a terrifying and possibly possessed wooden puppet.

Lord Flashheart and “Bob” from Blackadder II: who wouldn’t want to dress as Rik Mayall? All pelvic thrusts and entendres that are less doubled than halved (I think that’s how it works, right? Anyway, he’s filthy). Bob – aka Kate – is a funny recurring character who blurs gender lines, and this episode ends with her in britches and Flashheart in a dress. Perfect!

Gonzo and Camilla the Chicken from The Muppets: sometimes you have to offer up a proper couple for the romantics among us, and what could be more romantic than a hook-nosed alien-weirdo-whatever and his chicken bride? Just don’t ask if he’s a leg or a breast man.

Cat and the fish-headed lady from Red Dwarf: veering into the realms of the needs-a-bit-of-explanation, one person is Danny John Jules’ Cat – hopefully recognisable – and the other is the mermaid he hooks up with in the episode “Better Than Life”, who’s human on the bottom half and fish on the top half, because that makes more sense. Best not to think too hard about it.

Nanny Plum and the Wise Old Elf from Ben and Holly’s Little Kingdom: couple goals! Pre-school’s favourite bickering pair of old-timers are back, making a triumphant return to my Top Ten lists after, well, ages, basically. No tricks or jokes here, just a dry, sarcastic fairy and an exasperated elf. Try not to make a jelly flood.

Jacques and Mindy from The Simpsons: okay, so this might be getting too niche. Jacques was Marge’s bowling instructor, Mindy worked with Homer at the power plant; both were set up as temptation for our heroes, but – of course – nothing can ever really come between Homer and Marge. So what better, for Halloween, than a couple cosplaying as a pair of adulterous temptresses?

The Tenth Doctor and the Fourteenth Doctor from Doctor Who: spoiler alert? I guess? If you’ve somehow managed to avoid the news being, well, everywhere. All you need is a brown suit and a blue suit and two different pairs of Converse, and you’re good to (I don’t want to) go! What?!

Arcee and Daniel Witwicky from The Transformers: it’s not a list if it’s not got a Transformer somewhere, and short of doing actual couples or, like, Blackrock and Circuit Breaker (Google them), what about this – a romantic couple comprised of a big pink robot lady and the small boy who turns into her head? Actually, y’know what; this one’s too creepy even for me. Maybe stick with Powerglide and Astoria.

[babtest]

Let’s go, Sunless Sea Locations rated by how good they’d be to visit for a holiday.

Wither: No answers, only questions. Probably annoying, but also in a way I personaly would enjoy for a week or two. I like wordgames and Professor Layton so we can chill. 7/10

Polytherme: “Drink beer that wails from cups that sob. If you like that sort of thing.” I really don’t. Not malicious, but the ethical implications are stomach ache inducing.  2/10

Chapel of Light: There’s this old clip of Nathan Fillion (i think) talking about always going snorkeling with a buddy and a knife, and when you see a shark you take your knife and stab your buddy. This is just a fun little Nathan Fillion anecdote that has nothing to do with the Chapel of Light, which is a wonderful place to visit filled with welcming people. 10/10

Mutton Island: Do you feel lucky? Things shake out different every time i visit. Maybe just go during Fruits of the Zee Festival. ???/10

Khans Heart/Glory/Shadow: No fun in going where you’re not welcome. 0/10

Shepherd’s Isle: Kefir, friendly people,Yarn enough to knit sweaters for every bearded villager on this Island. The dream you only see in commercials for irish bbutter. 10/10

Pigmote Island: Only fun if  you have a savior complex and your ideal holiday is people constantly coming to you with very serious problems. 3/10

Frostfound: The people are nice, the aesthetics are solid, but I don’t like the cold. 4/10

Gaider’s Mourn: Only bring what you don’t mind losing and you’ll be fine. Pirates are still hot, right? 7/10

The Uttershroom: Bleak. Depressing. Only for shroom enthusiasts and poverty-tourists. 2/10.

Mangrove College: Uni deadlines got you down? Academic life is not what it you thought it would be? You think Shrek had the right idea? Mangrove College might be the Commune for you! Minus points for the locals taking a long time to warm up to people,think of it less as a holiday and more of a trial-run for a possible future lifestyle. 7/10

The Giant Geode: The Sun The Sun The sun The Sun The Sun The sunthesunthesun 🌞/10

Nuncio: Are you the kind of person who’d pay to go on an archeological dig? then this is for you. Otherwise not recommended. People are generaly pleasant. 5/10

Hunter’s Keep: More of a daytrip destination but THE spot for all you gothic WLW out there. 8/10

Venderbright: This is more from Fallen London, but you _know_ the dead party. Not my thing, but if you want to go on a weeklong bender with people who never have to stop, this is it. 7/10

Saviours Rock: No. No thank you. No thank you very much. Back off. -10/10

[risukadarlin]

[dear♥vocalist evolve] vol. 2: joshua - track one

1; like the moonlight

listen along・masterpost

                                                                                           ✿

Right then. Cheers!

It’s good!

Thanks.

I didn’t realise waiting for the results of the Survival Wars would make me this anxious.

They decided the results right away after the last Survival, so I never felt like this until now.

But I’m really glad.

I can release a new song and the Devils seem really happy.

Really?

Then, just so you know, I plan to make this song completely different from other Brave Child songs.

Yes, look forward to it.

The truth is I’ve actually finished most of the planning.

I was thinking about my own so I’m ready, whenever the results are announced.

I’ve already got the sheet music and the studio ready.

Ah, I have to call the support members before that.

Yes, I wanted to work with the members that worked with me last festival again.

They’ve been working with me continuously since my last single.

We all get on really well.

You’re right.

The mood is always really good when I work with those guys.

And they’re all really talented.

But, well…

It depends on the schedule, I guess.

Oh? Speak of the devil.

Yes, it’s the guitarist.

Sorry, is it okay if I take this?

I’ll finish quickly.

Hello?

News travels fast, huh?

But thank you.

I’m actually celebrating right now.

For the new Survival.

Yes, I want to start as soon as I can.

By the way, what’s your schedule like right now?

I wanted to ask for your support this time too.

Really?! Great!

I’ll mail you the details tomorrow.

I’ll talk to you later.

Thank you for calling!

Yes, the guitarist will, at least.

I’ll message the other members when I get home.

That’s right.

I’m sure it’ll go well if it’s with them.

They’re only support members but…

They don’t feel like strangers, they feel like friends.

They don’t just follow my orders.

I can tell they’re enjoying making music for Brave Child as members and as professional musicians.

Their performance at the festival was amazing too, right?

I’m really hungry all of a sudden.

This isn’t enough; is it okay if I order more?

Then I’ll just order everything I see.

You said that nothing here tastes bad, no matter what you order.

Ah, by You I mean the vocalist from Jet Rat Fury.

He’s doing the Survival with me.

Oh, how does this sound?

Coconut prawns.

It looks good.

Oh and let’s get this skewer too.

You’ll have some too, right?

Beef, chicken or mutton, which do you want?

Excuse me!

Can we order?

                                                                                           ✿

Yes, yes, yes.

Thank you!

That was really nice of you to say.

Right, I’ll be in contact again later.

Let’s do our best this time too!

The bassist and the drummer are joining too!

Yes! I’m really happy!

One of them even said they’d prioritise this because they love Brave Child’s songs!

You’re so right.

I have to treasure them.

So that I can work with them as long as possible…

That’s…

I wonder.

It’s not like I didn’t think about it.

I really thought about it last CR Festival.

Most of the other bands have had the same members for ages, after all.

They all have an emotional attachment to their bands; they’ve overcome so many hardships together and were finally able to stand on stage.

Having fixed members like that really is nice.

But I can’t just decide something like that on my own.

They’re all freelance and unrestrained right now.

And they each have other jobs.

It might only be going so well because they are support members.

It’s fine.

I chose to do it this way.

I plan to do this single the same way.

It’s not easy to join a specific band when you’re free like that.

It can change the rest of your life, after all.

It’s obvious.

And I don’t want to put pressure on them now they’ve decided to support me this time too.

Let’s stop talking about this.

More importantly, look outside the window!

The moon is out.

You come too.

It’s really pretty.

The moon’s really bright tonight, isn’t it?

And… It's so round.

Looking at the moon has always made me think of you.

Yes, I’m not really sure why.

Maybe it’s because this gentle light is just like you.

It’s not too bright I can’t see, like the sun.

It’s just a little reserved.

But it’s still so bright.

I think that’s why I was so happy to see the moon when I was in LA too.

It made me feel like I wasn’t alone.

You’ve given me way much more than you realise.

It’s thanks to you that I can still do music now.

I have to hurry up and give you something back, don’t I?

I’m going to work hard on this new song with that in mind.

I want to see you happy, after all.

Yes. Wait for it - the new music I make for Brave Child.

[orleans-jester]

@ Sherwood

Summer enjoyed going to Sherwood, even if it was sometimes by herself because the craving to go came during the day when River couldn’t walk by her side, or when the other Laveaus were busy with their own thing. She liked to walk around and imagine different things that were going to happen at her wedding. She’d sometimes stop to have a chat with Arthur about different mythologies and Arthurian tales that she grew up with,. She liked stopping in to see the horses and watch them ride, so magnificent with their long manes flowing. She liked the smell of roasting meat too, when she went near the stalls that sold the big turkey and mutton legs. She could usually be spotted chewing on one of those, long dress and bright blonde hair, just going about her day alone, smiling at everyone that she walked past, spreading the positivity that she was feeling.

But she felt a rather negative presence there one day, and she followed it. Curiosity might have killed the cat but it only intrigued the werewolf. She might have learned that she couldn’t save everyone, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t try to find a way to brighten someone’s day and then move on. She was getting a lot better at not getting attached too, was better able to do her thing and then move on, just glad of a good deed and not looking back. Find balance between the savage and the summer.

She kept an open mind, no expectations of who it was going to be that she was going to see, but she wasn’t expecting it to be Zero, the boy with the white-blonde hair who had been there with Hades when he turned River. So maybe he wasn’t inner circle but - he had to be in some kind of circle?

“Hey Zero,” She said, approaching, a second turkey leg that she was saving to eat after the one she had gone halfway through in her other hand, outstretched. “I thought I was hungry enough for two but guess not. Want to help make sure this doesn’t go waste?” It was a lie - she could easily have eaten the second one as well, but it seemed a good ice breaker. 

[elsanna-shenanigans]

June Contest Submission #8: A Real Howler in July

Words: ca. 5,500

Setting: modern AU

Lemon: no

CW: none

Was there anything worse than inclement weather?

Anna didn’t think so.

Not at this very moment anyway, buried nearly up to the waist in snow as she was. She hefted her ski pole out of the drift behind her with a grunt and plunged it haphazardly into the snow ahead of her. The screaming winds cut through her hard shell jacket like it was made of tissue paper and Anna’s body locked up while trying to shiver violently at the same time. Slush had gotten into the boots a size too big for her, squelching against her socks in an icy, soggy mess. The forest of dark pines offered scant protection against the swirling flurries that obscured her vision in a confetti of white. 

Snow, in July.

That was supposed to be a joke, just something people said— not a real thing. Wasn’t it? Anna was just grateful she’d chanced upon that bizarre store in the middle of the woods, otherwise she’d be doing this in jean shorts and a tank top. 

Oaken’s Trading Post (and Sauna)— that’s what the sign had said. It looked like any other cabin, but inside was a shop, sure enough. Anna had been greeted by a large man behind the counter in a thick wool sweater, suspenders, and an impressive mutton chop-mustache combo. This was the titular Oaken. 

The big, tall Norwegian in the loud sweater had given her a funny look when Anna explained why she was there and who she’d rented her cabin from. “Kristoff did not say anything when you booked those dates?” 

Wait, he knew this would happen?! What the hell!

Anna shook her head, failing to repress a full-body shiver as the heat of the shop started to thaw her out. Oaken clucked his tongue. “I swear, that boy. If it is not ice he is very clueless. I told him, ja? I told him he should not put his place on the line for strangers to use.”

Anna pressed her lips together, fighting a smile at the term “on the line”. She eyed the brick of a monitor behind the register that looked like it might be a gateway computer, and wondered if he still had dial-up. Or internet, period. 

Oaken caught her looking and shook his head. “No service up here now, phone or computer.” 

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any winter appropriate clothing here?”

Oaken gave her a wry look and gestured to the back of the shop. Their “winter” selection looked very sad indeed. “Not many tourists come to the mountain. Even those in the town stay away in July,” he said as Anna surveyed her options in disappointment. 

Well, fine. It wasn’t ideal, but Anna wasn’t about to give up. She slapped her wallet down on the counter. “Whatever you got? I’ll take it.” 

The sum total of what Oaken had was a bright fuchsia hard shell jacket, boots in a size 9 (she was a size 8), blue ski pants, gloves, a wool hat, and five pairs of long underwear. She took it all. 

Anna looked longingly at the sauna as he was ringing her up, but she couldn’t risk losing daylight. She settled for taking some extra time in the toasty changing room, putting on three pairs of long underwear (she couldn’t get the last two on without going up a size), and every other article of clothing that would fit under her new jacket. Everything else was shoved into her backpack. 

Oaken kindly lent her his own ski poles, the caveat being that she return them on her way back. 

Anna stood on the deck, looking out at the frozen landscape. She didn’t have much experience with this kind of weather, but that wasn’t going to stop her. One thing Anna wasn’t, was a quitter. She was going to find this damn cabin if it was the last thing she did.

What started as heavy snowfall soon escalated into a full blizzard. Anna kept herself going by composing a strongly worded review for Kristoff’s Airbnb in her head, one that got more acerbic with each step.

So. Here she was: three hours from Oaken’s, slush in her boots, pushing her way forward by kicking through the drift she’d sunk down. Anna could practically feel the blood freezing in her veins, suffocating the vital warmth that kept her functioning. She’d been seeing the markers Kristoff said would be there, but each one was taking longer to find.   

Anna unstuck her foot from the snow and took a giant step, pitching forward heavily. That was a mistake. The drift crumbled beneath her and she went down, tumbling head over heels through a sloping copse of trees until she rolled to a stop in a small clearing. Face first, of course. 

Weakly she pushed herself up, casting about for the ski poles. They had landed close by, and as she fumbled for them something caught her eye: a warm contrast against the frigid, grey landscape. There, at the edge of the clearing, was an honest to god cabin, with smoke puffing from the chimney and brightly lit windows shining like a beacon against the dark. 

She’d made it. 

Anna stumbled towards it, the tantalizing promise of warmth so close it made her whole body ache. The wind surged around her the closer she got, forcing Anna to swerve into it just to stay upright. She struggled up the stairs; leaning heavily on her poles. Leveraging herself onto the porch, she shuffled to the door, practically collapsing against it.  

It was locked. No key under the mat where there should’ve been. Seriously? Anna let the ski pole dangle from her wrist as she raised her fist and brought it down heavily on the door. “Is anyone in there?” She called out. “Please I just need to get out of the storm!”

She couldn’t hear anything over the wind and no one came to the door. 

Anna knocked again. 

Nothing. 

Anna continued knocking, and the blizzard grew stronger, as if it took personal offense to her presence. 

There had to be someone in there— Anna was pounding on the door now. “Please open up! I promise I’m not a murderer or anything!” She winced. Great sell Anna, that definitely won’t creep them out, because real murderers never say that. “Please, I’m supposed to be staying in Kristoff’s cabin and this is the only one around, and I’m really going to freeze out here if you don’t—”

The door swung open and Anna almost toppled to the floor. She grabbed for her ski pole and braced it against the deck. A waft of warm air curled around her exposed face and Anna looked up to see who had come to the door. 

Woah.

Okay so a model was using the cabin. Cool. Neat. 

The woman who stood there looked like the poster child for Nordic beauty, with long, braided platinum hair and shocking blue eyes. She was dressed surprisingly light (or so Anna thought) in an oversized, cable knit sweater and black leggings, no socks. Anna guessed she was about her age, maybe a little older—possibly mid to late twenties. 

The wind gave another disembodied wail, and Anna gestured inside. “Um, can I…?” 

The woman stared at her, but after a beat stepped aside silently to allow her in. 

Anna breathed a thank you as she trekked inside, basking with unspeakable relief in the heat and abrupt stillness from the absence of raging wind and snow. She turned around to find the other woman watching her from the door, leaning her back against it with one hand clasped around the knob. “So…who are you?”

“I believe I should be the one asking you that.”

The woman had a point, though Anna still wasn’t entirely sure whether or not this was the cabin she’d rented from Kristoff, and maybe he’d double booked it or something. She wouldn’t put it past him.  

“Sorry— yeah, I’m Anna.” She gave her a big smile, but her companion remained poker-faced. “I rented a cabin from a guy named Kristoff Bjorgman, on Airbnb? He, uh, never mentioned I should expect snow, which seems like a pretty big oversight, all things considered.” She looked pointedly out the window. 

The woman closed her eyes at that and sighed. 

“I take it you know him?”

“Yes.” 

“So…is this not his cabin then?”

“It is not.” 

“Okay…” 

The woman gave Anna a wide berth as she moved away from the door to the nearest window, peering out at the squall. 

“You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t be here.” 

“Well, yeah, of course I shouldn’t. I should be in my own cabin, the one I rented,” Anna said lightly, watching her reluctant hostess wring her hands. She seemed unduly nervous, even allowing that she’d been intruded upon by a stranger in the middle of nowhere. 

“Could I…? I mean,” Anna let out a nervous little laugh, “you’re not going to make me go out in that and try to find my way in the dark right?” 

She looked at Anna as if seeing her for the first time. The wind screamed, rattling the windows in their frames. “No… of course not.” She swallowed visibly. “I’ll…,” she gazed around the cabin as if it were the first time she was seeing that too, like Anna’s presence had thrown her whole life out of orbit and everything she knew was now foreign. 

She took Anna in from head to toe— in all of her frozen, slowly melting glory. A trickle of thawed snow slipped down the back of Anna’s neck and she shuddered. 

“You need to get warm,”she said gravely. 

“Yes please,” Anna exhaled gratefully. “Um, sorry I still don’t know your name.” 

“My name is Elsa.” She gestured over her shoulder. “I’ll run you a bath. You can leave your boots and jacket by the door.” With that, she was off down a hallway and out of sight. 

“Thank you!” Anna called after her, quickly shedding her outer layers. Well, this wasn’t the worst development in the world. 

Anna let out a dreamy sigh and sank lower in the tub. Steam drifted in lazy tendrils from the surface of the water and her eyelids were getting heavy. Before she fell asleep, Anna dragged herself from the bath and stuffed herself into her last two pairs of long thermal underwear. Elsa had graciously provided her a cable knit sweater and fleece joggers. 

She came out of the bathroom and wandered into the living room just as Elsa finished tucking a sheet into the couch. She stacked an enormous pile of blankets on the cushions. “I would give you the bed, but I think you need the fire more. Hopefully it’s comfortable enough.” She looked up and stopped at the sight of Anna. 

Anna ran a hand through her damp hair, suddenly nervous under Elsa’s attention. “I know, I look a little different when I’m not rocking the half-frozen rat look.”

Elsa’s lips curled faintly. “It’s not a bad different. And you’re not the worst half-frozen specimen I’ve seen.” 

Anna chuckled. “Glad to hear it.” She collapsed onto the couch, sinking into the nest of blankets. Her body was utterly exhausted, but the physical exertion coupled with the muscle memory of getting warm after so much cold left her tingling pleasantly down to her bones. “Oh that’s nice.”

“There’s some hot chocolate, if you’d like.” Elsa indicated the steaming mug on the coffee table. 

Anna almost lunged for it. She took a careful sip, and burned her tongue anyway. “Oh, you’re an angel.” For being so reticent to let Anna stay, Elsa was incredibly hospitable. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Elsa said. She turned to go but hesitated. “He really put his cabin on Airbnb?”

“Mhmm,” Anna hummed the affirmative as she took another gulp, watching Elsa’s face. 

Elsa shook her head and murmured something that sounded like he should know better. “Perhaps he confused the dates.”

Again with the dates. It was starting to give her an inkling, like she’d wandered into an episode of the twilight zone. Her host was half way out of the room when Anna popped her head over the back of the couch. “Elsa?”

She turned back. “Yes?” 

“Thank you, seriously. If I hadn’t found your cabin and you hadn’t let me in… I don’t know what would have happened.”

A look Anna couldn’t interpret passed over Elsa’s face. She nodded once. “Goodnight Anna. Sleep well.”

“Night,” Anna said to Elsa’s retreating back.

*

Elsa barely slept, too anxious and distressed by the foreign presence in her living room. There shouldn’t be anyone on this mountain right now, let alone someone a handful of meters away in her cabin. The night of tossing and turning, of pacing, had only made it worse and she was completely unsurprised, yet bitterly disappointed the next morning when she came into the kitchen and found the window half obstructed by snow. There was nothing she could do at this point to mitigate the storm. 

They were trapped. 

Elsa had no idea if Anna could survive the cold that was coming.

One coffee later Anna stumbled in, tousled and groggy. Elsa set a fresh filter in the carafe. “Good morning.” 

“Is it?” Anna mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She’d draped herself in a blanket, only her face peaking out. The effect was quite endearing, a little childlike, and Elsa reminded herself sharply that Anna was still a stranger, and her situation could soon be perilous. 

“Well, you didn’t murder me in my sleep, so I think it could be worse.”

Anna cocked her head in confusion. 

“You shouted yesterday while you were trying to knock my door down that you were not ‘a murderer or anything’,” Elsa clarified, pouring a steaming kettle over the coffee grounds. 

Anna laughed sheepishly. “You heard that huh?” 

Elsa allowed herself a small smile. “I did.” 

“Well it’s true, I’m not.” She grinned, but it slipped off her face when she saw the window. “Oh my god, all that is from last night?” 

Elsa clenched her jaw as Anna moved closer to it, gaping out over the white barricade to the sky furiously hurling snow. “Still coming down too…”

“Yes,” Elsa said tightly, pouring muesli into two bowls. “We won’t be able to leave the cabin until the storm is over.”

Anna sighed and sat down heavily in her chair. “There goes my deposit.”

*

After breakfast they gravitated towards separate activities. Anna returned to the nest of blankets on the couch and checked her phone, which was dwindling at 5% battery. When she asked about charging it Elsa informed her there was no electricity; the cabin was only equipped with a propane tank to heat the water, and power the stove and the fridge. 

They were roughing it…sort of. 

Elsa checked the cabin meticulously, fixing blankets over the windows for insulation, cataloguing her supplies, and lighting candles on practically every available surface. 

It was quite cozy, and Anna was happy to doze intermittently while her body recovered from lingering jet lag and her frozen hike. 

Conversation between them was sparse, but Anna put it down to Elsa’s clear anxiety over the state of things and decided not to take it personally. 

—

Anna shuffled into the kitchen the next morning, wrapping Elsa’s thick wool cardigan across her chest, over the borrowed sweater. She stopped. 

“Weren’t there five chairs here yesterday?”

“Hmm?” Elsa murmured absently while layering peppered salami on a tray next to a neat row of jarlsburg slices. Anna noticed she made sure to put the pickled herring with dill in a separate bowl; it turned out Anna was not a fan. 

“The chairs,” Anna pointed to the empty side of the table. “Are we …missing some?” 

Elsa glanced up at the breakfast nook as she plated a handful of rye slices. She turned to check on the potatoes boiling on the stove, brushing her hands on her apron. “I’m using them elsewhere.”

Anna shrugged and went to set the table. They only needed two after all. 

By midday, Anna was getting a little antsy. 

“If the snow wasn’t so high— and there wasn’t a raging blizzard, obviously— we could be building snowmen right now,” Anna said wistfully, holding aside the blanket to gaze out at the narrow strip of murky white sky. Only a few inches remained between the drift and the top of the window.

“I know!” Anna spun around. “Do you have any paper and something to draw with?”

Elsa looked baffled by the request, but retrieved a notebook and a couple of pencils for her. Anna tore out some blank pages, waving Elsa to sit down across from her. “Okay, so since we can’t go outside and build real snowmen, we can at least make some this way.” Elsa glanced from the paper to Anna, looking unconvinced. Anna shrugged. “We have to pass the time somehow right?”

“Alright.” 

It took some doing at first; Elsa kept getting lost in the middle distance while she tapped her pencil anxiously against the table. With enough prodding from Anna though, she got into it and by the time dinner rolled around they had a small army of 2D snow people. 

Anna’s second favorite was a delightfully monstrous snow creature Elsa had sketched with precise strokes and deft shading. Her first was undeniably goofy but charming; squat and awkwardly shaped, with big eyes and a bucktoothed grin. That one they’d made together, with Elsa illustrating while Anna directed her and offered suggestions.  

They named him Olaf and Anna thought he was perfect.

After dinner they sat by the fire, sipping mulled wine Elsa heated for them on the stove. Anna was grateful for the added warmth and the pleasant buzz. 

“It’s just so crazy you guys have a blizzard in July,” Anna said suddenly, voicing the thought that had been a constant, giant question mark. “Every year! What even is that?”

Elsa set her glass aside and leaned back in the chair, cradling her arms across her stomach. “It’s just something that happens here. Though, if it has to happen I think July is probably the best time.”

“How could summer be the right time for snow?”

Elsa shifted and bit her lip. “We already have harsh winters here, a snowstorm like this on top of that would be even more dangerous. Better one briefly interrupts July and then everyone has the rest of summer to enjoy, don’t you think?”

Anna could admit that sort of made sense. Still, it wasn’t any less weird. 

—

On day three Anna was up to three sweaters, a blanket, and two pairs of sweat pants. Elsa was down to a fitted henley and jeans. She was beginning to wonder if Elsa would give her the last shirt off her back if it came to it, and that mental image got Anna flustered enough to feel like shedding layers instead of adding them. 

She amused herself by exploring the cabin— at least, the areas that weren’t private. Elsa had a few intriguing nicknacks, but what captured Anna’s attention were the two bookcases next to the fireplace. Books of all kinds lined the shelves; in English, Norwegian, and other languages she couldn’t place. There were novels, and textbooks, and books so old she didn’t dare touch them. 

Later, after Elsa had finished her bath, Anna persuaded her to read from one with a deep blue cover and silver leaf embossing. It was clear by the illustrations they were fairytales, though she couldn’t understand any of them. Anna quickly discovered she could listen to the smooth lilt of Elsa’s mother tongue forever, but before long her eyes had closed and the soft norwegian story trailed off with her consciousness. 

When she woke, Elsa was still curled up in the armchair, reading silently. Anna stretched and plodded over to the fireplace. She grabbed the fire iron and prodded at the remaining wood, making sure it was all lit. One of the logs cracked and split in a pop of sparks, and something beneath it caught her eye. Anna leaned closer; it was oddly smooth and cylindrical, and just there was an intricately carved pattern like—  

The chairs in the kitchen. 

So that’s where they went.

Clearly Elsa had some strange immunity to the cold, and she hadn’t bothered to stockpile more wood for herself even though she new the storm was coming.

She’d been burning her own furniture to keep Anna warm. 

Anna looked over at the woman, still completely absorbed by the book in her lap. Another small piece of the enigmatic puzzle that was Elsa fell into place; one that made Anna’s chest feel tight, and warm, and a little achy. 

Elsa glanced up then and noticed her staring. She blinked. “What?”

Anna cleared her throat and stood up, brushing her hands on the back of her pants. It felt important to let Elsa have this secret. She put on a reassuring smile. “Nothing. Can I make you some hot chocolate?”

Elsa smiled. “Yes, please.”

That night Elsa actually joined Anna on the couch, curling into the opposite corner while they started their second glass of mulled wine.

“So why do you come up here all by yourself? And during weather like this, no less?” 

Elsa’s lips twisted in a way that was difficult to read. “I’m not bothered by the cold,” she said, confirming the obvious. “And I’m not always good at being around other people.” 

“You’re an introvert.” 

“Yes, but it’s more than that.” Elsa swirled the wine in her glass. “After a while the world gets too loud and I need to be alone, completely. I come here to get away and try to let go of all the things that build up. All the reasons I can’t be…normal.”

Anna leaned her head back into the cushions, tilting her face towards Elsa. “Normal is overrated, and there’s nothing wrong with needing space. You gotta get those feelings out somehow.” 

“Sometimes I think I feel too much.”

“Better than too little.” 

Elsa hummed noncommittally. Anna could feel her starting to withdraw, and searched for some way to hold on to this unexpectedly open side of Elsa. “I think that was my ex’s problem.” 

Elsa looked up. “Oh?” 

“Yup,” she said, popping her lips on the ‘p’. “Too shallow. Took me a year to figure it out, and that was only as he was leaving me. It was a great reminder of why I prefer dating women,” she muttered into her glass. 

She inhaled and continued past the bitterness. “It’s one of the reasons I made this trip actually— well that and the vet clinic where I work shutting down. A little hard to start your own practice in a big city that already has plenty. I guess I was feeling a little adrift, and my aunt and uncle always talked about showing me the place where they grew up, so I thought: why not? Though technically they’re from Fevik, not Arendal, but Fevik doesn’t have much to offer in the way of rentals.”

“Why would anyone leave you?” 

Dammit. She was hoping Elsa wouldn’t focus too closely on her love troubles. Anna chuckled humorlessly. “When he broke up with me he said, and I quote: ‘Anna, you’re great, but you’re just too much’.” 

She shrugged and took a liberal sip. It didn’t matter that Hans had casually flung her deepest insecurity in her face right before he walked out the door forever. Even if he hadn’t been the best partner, and she hadn’t been happy towards the end. 

It was fine. 

“You are a lot.” 

Elsa quickly reached for her hand when she saw the look of hurt Anna couldn’t hide, surprising them both. For a moment it seemed like she might pull away, but she squeezed Anna’s hand instead. “I didn’t say you were too much. You are a lot of a good thing.” Elsa withdrew her hand and cupped it around her wine glass, staring into the burgundy liquid. “Some people don’t deserve that,” she finished quietly.

It must have been the alcohol sloshing in her stomach and the fumes muddying her brain that made Anna say, into a silence suddenly heavy with nebulous meaning: “Why do I feel like we’re not just talking about my ex anymore?”

Elsa sucked in a breath, as if she hadn’t realized her words would be so revealing. She set her glass down on the coffee table then tucked her feet under her, grabbing a pillow and holding it to her chest while she picked at the fringe. 

Anna knew her brain had fully turned off her filter when her mouth continued to work, seemingly of its own volition. “Don’t you deserve good things Elsa?”

Elsa curled herself tighter around the pillow, her eyes seeking answers in the embers of their small fire. The cabin groaned as the storm surged around them. “I’m not sure I do,” she whispered. 

Anna felt her heart break, just a little, at that soft admission. 

“I think that’s bullshit.”

Elsa looked at her, startled. “You barely know me.” 

Anna thought of chair legs and hot chocolate, of warm baths and borrowed clothes— of how she’d never experienced so much cold in her life, and she’d never felt so warm either. The way Elsa humored her, not because Anna was a burden or an obligation, but because she seemed to actually enjoy her company. “I think I know enough. And I’m sure anyone would be fantastically lucky to have you in their life. I know I am.” 

“Why?”

“Well, for starters you saved me from freezing to death out there.”

Elsa shook her head. “You wouldn’t have been in danger of that if I—” she clamped her lips shut. 

“If you what?”

“If I… had checked with Kristoff before he listed his cabin.”

Anna frowned. “That’s hardly your fault, Elsa. It was his mistake. Besides it’s not like you can control the weather.”

Elsa flinched. A thread pulled free from the pillow; she laid it carefully on the arm of the couch. “No… I suppose I can’t.”

“Hey.” Anna extended her leg across the couch and nudged the bottom of her foot against Elsa’s. “I’ve always wanted to experience getting snowed in. I’m glad it was with you.” 

Elsa’s smile was bittersweet. 

But still there, and Anna took that as a win.

*

They finished the rest of their wine in companionable silence as the fire burned down and the night grew deeper. Elsa got up to take the empty glasses to the kitchen. 

“We’re out of wood.” 

“What?” Elsa spun slowly to see Anna squatting by the fireplace. There was nothing left but ash. Elsa had been so distracted by Anna, the wine, and the conversation, that she’d forgotten to find more to salvage, and she’d left Anna without a source of heat. 

This was what happened when Elsa wasn’t careful, when she wasn’t in control of herself — 

“We should sleep together.”

Elsa nearly dropped the glasses.

“What?” 

“Oh my g— n-no! Not like that!” Anna flushed scarlet. “I meant like, for warmth.” She pulled her blanket around herself and looked everywhere but at Elsa. 

Elsa’s pulse slowed a fraction, and she tried to ignore the unexpected whisper of heat low in her stomach. It dissipated instantly when she registered what Anna was suggesting. “Anna, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I’m not…I…I run quite cold, I’d probably make it worse—”

“Then I’ll just have to warm you up.” Anna stopped, her face burning again. “I meant like— oh whatever, you know what I mean.” She came and liberated the glasses from Elsa, setting them in the kitchen sink. Elsa protested weakly as Anna grabbed her hand and marched towards the bedroom, but it seemed she remained powerless to the force of nature that was Anna. 

“Wait.” She tugged on Anna’s hand. “Let me at least get the blankets.”

While Anna got ready, Elsa layered back all the bedding she’d stripped away that first night, grateful Anna hadn’t commented on the fact that she’d been sleeping with nothing but a fitted sheet.

When Anna returned she quickly flung herself under the covers; Elsa climbed in reluctantly on the other side, staying as close to the edge as possible. After a minute Anna pushed the covers down and looked over at her. 

“Okay, I’m not saying you have to spoon me, but it’s going to be a little difficult to share heat from way over there.” 

Elsa bit her lip and slid closer, heart pounding. She felt like Anna was asking her to hand over a live grenade. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this close to anyone. 

“Liiittle closer,” Anna coaxed. Elsa got as close as she dared, still leaving about 20 centimeters of space between them. She drew up the covers more securely, trying to insulate Anna against the cold, against her. As she tucked another blanket around them, her hand brushed Anna’s arm.

Anna shivered. “Geez you’re cold.” She latched onto her wrist before Elsa could react, pulling her closer. “You must be freezing,” she muttered, running her palm back and forth over Elsa’s forearm. 

Elsa was frozen; her whole body had gone rigid, while her heart had leaped into her throat. Anna had pulled her closer as if that would bring them heat, and now she was worried about Elsa being warm enough. The irony was excruciating. But Anna’s grip was strong, and Elsa felt a twisted flair of hope; that perhaps, just this once, she might be capable of more than cold. 

Anna shuffled back drowsily into her arms and Elsa held her breath, waiting for the worst. Minutes went by and nothing happened; Anna sank into the pillow with a sigh, still holding onto her. Tentatively, Elsa began to relax, as fragile hope turned to wonder. 

Anna hadn’t turned away.  

At every turn Anna had been reaching out, even when Elsa was reserved, or anxious, or closed off. Anna kept drawing her out, kept intriguing and surprising her. 

Anna had felt the cold, her cold, and she reached for Elsa anyway. 

In that moment it didn’t matter that Anna wasn’t aware of the whole truth— yet, because after the last few days with this woman, Elsa was confident that Anna wouldn’t have done a thing differently.   

The last thing Elsa knew was a soft snore, and the feel of Anna against her, and then she knew nothing else.

—

The first thing Elsa became aware of, was warmth. Heavy warmth, and a body in her arms, and breath on her neck. She inhaled slowly, soaking in each incredible, hazy sensation. It took a few moments for Elsa’s brain to remember who was in bed with her, and who it was nuzzling closer with a sweet sigh. Her pulse jump started, and for once, not out of fear. It seemed Anna was fine—more than, in fact— and Elsa was greedy for every last moment before the inevitable. 

After a few minutes the spell broke as Anna stirred groggily, pressing her face into the pillow with a murmur. One eye opened and landed on Elsa. It grew wider when Anna realized just how close they were and she quickly disentangled herself, cheeks flushed bright red. “Oops, sorry, I uh, I can be a little clingy when I share a bed.” 

Elsa struggled with the near physical ache begging her to pull Anna back to her arms, a sensation as terrifying as it was foreign, as baffling as it was undeniable. “It’s alright,” she said softly, her own face feeling a little hot. 

She watched Anna hop out of bed and go to the window to throw open the curtains, seemingly more out of habit than anything else. 

Anna gasped. “No. Way. Elsa! You have to see this—you’re not gonna believe it!” 

Elsa frowned and joined her apprehensively at the window. She peered out, and lost her breath.

Nearly all the snow was gone. 

Only a thin layer remained on the ground, melting under the bright sunlight. Large swathes of grass were showing, triumphant and sparkling in the fading frost. 

Anna bumped her hip against Elsa’s. “Isn’t this great?! We can go outside! We can stock up on supplies, I can wear my clothes again— not that I don’t like yours— Oh, we could have a picnic! Kristoff said there was a lake nearby, I wonder if Oaken has a boat…“

Anna continued spouting ideas as she left the room, and Elsa registered distantly that all Anna’s haphazard plans involved her. The sharp little anxiety at the thought of having to say goodbye died before it could take root. 

Elsa remained at the window, dazed and transfixed by the landscape that had been altered so drastically overnight. 

Or perhaps, had been four days in the making. 

Anna rushed back in, finally having realized Elsa wasn’t following her. She grabbed Elsa by the hand and led her outside, where they came to a stop in the grass just past the porch. They stood, absorbing the sunlight, the gentle breeze and the birdsong. Anna still had ahold of her hand, and Elsa was content to keep it there for as long as she’d let her. 

The sun blazed forth from behind a passing cloud, and Anna shaded her eyes with her free hand. “It seems like that freak storm really has passed huh?”

A smile pulled at Elsa’s lips and she looked up into the vivid blue sky. “So it would seem.”

[oumaheroes]

Character Study P.2

Summary:

A character study of the softer moments between England and France. Part 2: France is followed home by an overworked England.     

Word Count: 4589

Characters: France, England, (FrUK)

Previous part can be found here.

.......

Despite the busy crowds and how tired he was, it did not take France long to realise that he was being followed home.

It was early evening. He had just left the hotel they were using as a location (battleground) for the latest UN meetings and was hoping to catch his favourite farmers’ market before they packed up and closed for the day. There were some things he’d been eyeing up for dinner that, now he’d set his mind on it, he knew he would be loath to change and if there was something France would never compromise on, it was ingredients. So, as soon as the last meeting of the day had ended, he packed up his things, bade his assistant and president a tired farewell, and hurried out of the door before anyone could grab him and ask him for something.

The meetings themselves were nothing fancy, just long national security and trade talks with government officials and other such persons, but which were thankfully being hosted in Paris. France did not like travelling about much these days, he’d done quite enough of that in previous centuries and he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was happy to enjoy a more relaxed lifestyle at a polite distance from politics. England might call it lazy, but France knew that his northern neighbour was just as old and content to stay at home in his own lands, left to his own devices and away from the angry, irritating buzz of politicians.

‘It’s not the same!’ England had lamented to him once only a decade ago, too drunk on good wine that was wasted on him for how quickly he drank it, ‘We don’t even really get to give our opinion anymore; we just sit there and then help do all the bloody admin whilst they argue about this that and the other. What’s the point? If they don’t want to listen to our advice or let us make decisions, leave us the fuck out of it.’

France had sighed at him and shook his head; not because he disagreed, but because when England felt like he was being patronised he’d puff up in a ruffled indignation that France found too funny not to risk his person provoking. England had sworn at him, as France knew he would, and the evening had ended up with them sprawled on top of each other at the bottom of France’s vineyards.

Thinking with a bitter happiness that there was only one more day of this tedium to go, France made great strides in removing himself from the premise, ducking and weaving his way through the pedestrian traffic and losing himself in the flow and thrum of his people as they made their way across town.

He hadn’t got very far, only managed to cross a road and turn down a right-hand street, when he noticed that he had acquired a shadow.

Many centuries of existence had given him a sixth sense for this sort of thing- a keen awareness of people who followed for too long, a feeling for eyes watching the back of his head. Even in peacetime his mind was sharp, alert for tiny movements that could indicate a potential threat and hooking his attention to make him zero in on certain behaviours, regardless of whether he wanted this additional mental fatigue or not. Such things were second nature to their kind. He hadn’t survived for this long by relaxing and blindly trusting those around him, after all. Nations could be brutal things, humans just as much, and the complacent among them never remained for long.

But this presence was familiar, a known gait and step that France had learnt to recognise the fastest, out of necessity as much as from repeated encounters.

France smiled to himself and slowed his pace.

England wasn’t trying to hide himself; Lord knew that when the man wanted to, he could simply disappear into a crowd and never been seen again. If England wanted to follow someone without them knowing, they simply wouldn’t know about it. MI6 didn’t have the reputation it did for nothing and England enjoyed, with a smug superiority that France often couldn’t stand, putting whatever talents and skills he’d worked out with them to use when the mood took him; presence undetected, footsteps light and soft, manner and bearing disguised and changed as quickly as if he were shedding clothes.

No, England wasn’t hiding himself or trying to remain unseen, but that didn’t mean that he would appreciate France drawing attention to the fact that he’d noticed him so soon. Let him think France was frequently oblivious, it always made for fun later.

Besides, France didn’t think now was the best time to push him.

He’d noticed that England had grown quieter the last few days, withdrawing more and more into tense silence as the week went on. There was something happening at home, he’d heard through his own ministers, something brewing that kept England working later and later, pushing himself more and more. He hadn’t had the chance to talk to England about it himself, hadn’t had the chance to talk to Arthur at all, but France had seen him grow steadily more stressed and taut, like a tightly wound string.

An impatient man anyway, England grew snappy when stressed, biting and prickly and quick to shout and vent his temper at whatever poor unsuspecting victim fumbled the small task he’d given them. After this though, if nothing changed, England would turn into a muted white noise, all tension wrapped and bound and condensed until you could feel it pulsating from him in palpable waves. All of his energy would go towards surviving what was happening and finishing whatever it was, and he’d go and go and go until either the source of the stress went away, or he’d collapse somewhere- a boneless puppet with cut strings.

The way things had been going, France wouldn’t be surprised if he were nearing the latter of the two and he’d been expecting England to seek him out eventually, for one reason or another.

France stopped at a crossing just as the light for pedestrians turned red, and he felt, rather than saw, England close the distance and approach him from behind. ‘You’ve left earlier than I expected.’ He said to him over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the cars. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d be out for another few hours at least, the way you’ve been working these last couple of days.’

England grunted but said nothing further, shuffling to stand closer to France to avoid an old lady and her grandchildren when they stepped too near to him.

France turned to look at him and, up this close, noticed the slight flush to his cheeks and the paleness to his face, eyes tired and drawn as they regardless the traffic. The day was not a terribly cold one, but England had burrowed himself deep into his coat, collar turned up high to cover his neck and hands tucked into his pockets.

France hmm’d and hooked an arm through England’s, pulling him closer. He didn’t shrug it off. ‘I’m going to the market before I go home.’ France informed him, because he knew that that was what England was planning on doing- follow France home and expect to be fed. (He would be, he always was).

He felt England shrug, a slight upward twitch to his shoulder. ‘That’s fine.’

The lights changed and the crowd around them moved forward, taking France and England with it. They followed the rush along for a while before France tugged them down an alleyway to break onto another street, smaller with cars parked on the pavements and less people around. They stuck to the side streets from then on, winding their way through the back alleys of Paris in a comfortable silence with France leading the way.

The market itself, when they eventually arrived, was a small one, tucked in a small cluster on the cobbles of a square, but the produce was fantastic and it was a local secret. France, as a local to all in his lands, adored it. ‘I was thinking of cassoulet for dinner’ he told England as he slipped his arm free to approach a stall for vegetables and other farm produce, eyeing up the selection of carrots. ‘You like that, yes?’ There was no answer, and France turned around to find him staring vacantly off at the next display. ‘Arthur.’

England blinked, coming back to himself, and turned to him. ‘What? Sorry…’ he frowned, ‘did you ask me something?’

France tutted at him. ‘Yes, but no matter, you weren’t going to get a choice anyway.’

England said nothing but turned away to stare at the table display again, a selection of cheeses France could tell he wasn’t really paying any attention to. France pursed his lips but let him go, purchasing the necessary onions, carrots, and tomatoes that he needed before hurrying England off to the next vendor, handing him the bag of vegetables to carry which he accepted without complaint.

After the butchers for sausages and mutton, France handed England the purchases and taking out his notebook from his pocket, checking that there was nothing else he needed whilst he was here. ‘Do you need anything?’ He asked, turning to England.

England shook his head and shivered, rearranging the bags on his arm. ‘No, thank you.’

France reached to take one from him, freeing up an arm, and drifted his hand down England’s coat to hold England’s own, buried in his pocket. He was displeased at how cold he found it and squeezed it tightly, pressing the pad of his thumb over England’s knuckles. There was a slight squeeze back, the smallest increase in pressure, but there was something, at least, and France let it go.

‘Come on then, before you lose one of my bags somewhere.’

.......

Back at home, France unlocked the door and pushed England inside first, closing the door behind them. ‘Go and take a shower, I’ll start dinner.’

England frowned at him, confused. ‘I don’t need a shower.’ He turned to make his way to the kitchen, bags in hand, but France caught him by the elbow and took them from him before stepping forwards and pressing a kiss to his temple. His skin there was just a touch too warm, but the rest of him felt chilled. ‘Go, you’re cold and it’ll help you relax.’

‘I don’t need to relax.’

France looked at him, unimpressed. ‘You need to relax; you’ve overworked yourself stupid again.’ He nudged him with his elbow. ‘I’ll not start cooking until you do.’

England managed a weak scowl at him but didn’t protest and shrugged off his coat before hanging it by the door. ‘Fine. If it makes you feel better.’

‘It will.’ France slipped his shoes off and rolled his eyes when England nudged them with his foot so that they sat straighter against the wall. ‘Go.’

After England had safely moved away in the direction of the bathroom and France could hear the comforting sound of his shower in use, he walked through his flat to the kitchen and set about getting things ready for dinner, collecting his knives (always the best quality, always sharp) and washing the vegetables before chopping them as needed. Before too long, he heard the hot water turn off and the bathroom door open, the one to his bedroom closing shortly after that. A while later, England emerged in the kitchen, slightly damp and dressed in some of France’s old clothes: baggy, large things that France couldn’t bear to throw away, even though he hardly ever wore them. Kept for times like this, maybe. For either one of them when they were needed.

Evidently, the shower had revived enough of England’s energy to allow him to dig about in the depths France’s wardrobe and drawers; he’d pulled on an old woollen jumper that he’d left behind the last time he’d visited France’s Paris flat, a frumpy looking thing with bobbled thread and stretched sleeves that fell past his hands to graze his fingertips.

‘What state have you left my bedroom in?’ France asked. He uncovered the white beans that he had left soaking the day before and regarded them seriously. They looked ready.

England moved past him to sit at the table, slow and sluggish, before leaning forward to bury his head in his arms, cheek cradled in the crook of his elbow. He sighed and shut his eyes. ‘It’s fine.’

‘I’m sure it is not, I tried to bury that hideous thing at the very bottom so it couldn’t be seen; every time I opened my wardrobe it quite ruined the overall look when I caught sight of it.’

England didn’t answer him. France filled the kettle up with water and flicked it on before grabbing a mug- a bulbous, large bottomed monstrosity that England had got him a few years ago to spite him for something or other. It was incredibly tacky but France found that it was growing on him most annoyingly.

He didn’t need to ask if England wanted tea, this would have been a pointless, silly question, and nor did he ask if England wanted the honey instead of sugar that he put in it. His voice had sounded ever so slightly hoarse, maybe from talking all week for hours on end, maybe not. Either way, England would not ask for anything that hinted or implied that he had some sort of physical weakness and France had learnt, over many frustrating years, that the best way to handle England like this was to simply not say anything and give him what he needed anyway. Asking whether he was feeling well would imply that you had noticed signs he was not, and would, for reasons France still did not even try to understand, make him more stubborn in pretending that there was nothing wrong at all.

Roundabout methods for a roundabout man.

‘I don’t know how you can possibly believe you have the right to insult Wales on his clothes when you own something like that; you’re lucky I didn’t mistake it for rags and throw it away.’

England made a sound that could have been a laugh. ‘This one is Scotland’s, actually.’ (1)

‘Well, all the more reason to be lucky, then. You should be grateful that I didn’t throw you to his ire.’

‘Yes, I do plenty enough of that myself without your assistance.’

England sounded almost fond and France allowed a smile, keeping his head turned away to focus on cubing the mutton. England’s relationship with his brothers has always been much like his own with England: stormy, rough, and quick to change but long lasting and durable, nonetheless. Some bonds do not need frequent, pretty words and kind acts to keep them strong. Sometimes, seeing someone fester at their ugly worst and choosing to keep them your life anyway was a greater sign of affection than anything else. What are sweet words and acts, to ones who live as long as they? Fleeting things, whispers that fade quickly into the long yawn of time. Years do not remember the small niceties; after centuries and millennia, you remembered who stayed, who came back, who didn’t take the shot that would have hurt the most. The ones who did take it, and then helped put you back together.

Sometimes, that was enough.

The kettle clicked itself off and France put the knife down, washing and drying his hands quickly before pouring the water in the mug and leaving the tea to steep. He glanced at the table. England was still hunched over, a curl of bent elbows and downturned eyes, and was wearing a slight frown as he squinted into his forearm. France couldn’t tell whether he was falling asleep or not, but he was very aware that England would not appreciate staying there if he was.

‘Your hair is still wet.’ He told him, pointedly.

England made an unhappy noise.

‘I won’t be looking after you, if you make yourself worse.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘I’m sure you think so.’ France stirred the tea, squeezing the tea bag against the side of the mug with a spoon before removing it. Adding the milk, he stirred it again and took it to the table, setting it down in front of England who looked up, finally. ‘But like I said, I’ll be leaving you here to die of the consequences regardless.’

‘Leave it.’ England’s voice was firm but his eyes were soft; a foolish contradiction.

He sat up and reached out to cup the terrible mug in both hands, letting the warmth bleed into them. He took a sip and, very briefly, his face opened to show small, innocent pleasure. France always loved to catch the fleeting instances England let softer emotions shine through- a bark of laughter when a joke caught him off guard, the times he looked at his younger family members when they were turned the other way, the mornings he sang to himself when he thought no one could hear.

England was often pointy lines and sharp smiles, hard looks and careful study; cold emotions cut into him with intentional strokes and built there as a wall to hide whatever was bubbling underneath. There were few occasions, few people, that could peel him away so completely that nationhood and age would melt away and that for a second, just one second, he could be anyone at all.

France tucked this moment away carefully in his mind, committing it to memory, and clicked on the stove.

.....

Dinner was mostly a one-sided affair. France watched England pick at the food, pushing bits of it around his plate and taking small, tentative bites.

France kept up the conversation the whole time, happy to fill the noise. Regardless of what he said to contrary, England enjoyed the sounds of something happening, of life continuing, just as much as he enjoyed silence and solitude. France had always felt that, when England was in less-than-ideal moods, maybe noise and distraction allowed his mind to finally switch off and tune out, to fade away in the buzz.

Maybe the silence prompted him to think too much.

After they’d finished eating, (or, France had finished eating and it became apparent that England had given up), France permitted England to pack up the leftovers into Tupperware before prodding him to the living room, where he pushed him down on the sofa and ignored his protests about how the dishes needed soaking.

‘Leave it for tonight, they’ll be fine.’

‘But-‘

France sat on one end of the sofa against the armrest and reached out to grab England around the waist, causing him to stop speaking in surprise. France pulled and twisted him close to sit flush against his chest, head coming to rest by France’s collarbone. ‘You are being a very bad guest, my dear, to not listen to the wishes of your host.’

England muttered something about France being a terrible host who didn’t deserve to be listened to in the first place, but stopped struggling to escape and leant against him, heavy. If anything, this quick concession to something France wanted him to do, especially when that something involved leaving a job half finished, was more alarming than comforting, and France reached up to bring a hand to feel his forehead, pushing back his fringe.

‘Look what you’ve done to yourself.’ He chided him, feeling stronger heat than before. Pushing England upright again, France felt under his sofa for the blanket he had thrown there the other day and grabbed it, before straightening back up to lay it across England and pull him down again. One he was settled, France tucked it up around his neck, making sure that he was fully covered, and burrowed his arms underneath to join him.

England rearranged himself slightly to fit more comfortably, slightly on his side with his head turned to rest on a cheek and nudging one of France’s knees to fit better against him, and let out a deep breath through his nose, slipping his eyes shut. Under the blanket, France felt him begin to run a cold hand over one of France’s arms that was resting on his middle, fingers brushing gently over his skin. ‘Thank you for dinner.’

France hmm’d, burying his nose in England’s now dry hair. He could smell his own shampoo that England had stolen but, underneath that, the familiar smell of England himself- an unnameable mix of things that could belong to no one else. ‘How strange to hear gratitude from your lips.’

England stopped stroking his arm to pinch it and France chuckled into his hair. ‘And now abuse of the host; my, how terrible.’ England huffed at him but resumed the less violent ministrations to his arm. France extracted the one currently at liberty to bring up to England’s head and card his fingers through his hair, tugging gently at the roots.

‘So, what has caused all of this?’

‘Caused all of what?’

‘You know full well what I’m talking about.’ The long hours, the bags under his eyes, the compressed strain that radiated from him in the way he held himself.

England was silent for a moment and France wondered, briefly, whether he shouldn’t have asked. But there were few things England was shy to talk about and few instances when talking about something didn’t help him, whether he was consciously aware of it or not.

England opened his eyes. ‘Nothing too disastrous, initially. Fraudulent claims have recently been made against a standing MP, but he’s involved in a lot of charity organisations and political campaigns.’ He shuffled to rest himself higher against France, tucking his forehead to lay more into the hollow of his neck. ‘The other day it all came to light at once and now things are quickly unravelling; everyone’s digging about to see how deep it all goes and how big the fall out is going to be.’

France made a sympathetic noise. ‘The joys of damage control.’

England hmm’d and brought out a hand to rub at his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. ‘Of course, I know the most about all of them, so I’m being hounded from all sides for information: contact names, dates, expense amounts, sources of income. Who else was involved, what else he’d been involved in, how many sectors are affected…’ He trailed off, weary, and France felt him shake his head. ‘And slap bang in the middle of UN talks about national security.’

‘You do have impeccable timing, as always.’

England tutted and fell silent. France avoided thinking about the specifics of what he’d said too much and instead forced himself to keep quiet. It was all too easy for his ears to prick up at that sort of thing and apply it to himself with cold, analytical detachment. How will this affect my economy? Was this man involved in anything that could influence French interests and policies? Will this fallout affect me? It was all too easy to demand a name from England and begin research into this himself. The urge to sift through French banking and trade agreements, international policies and French government ministers was strong- very strong. The numbers were right there behind his eyes, words caught on the tip of his tongue whilst national agreements bubbled in his chest. But he swallowed them back.

France liked to think of himself as very capable of detaching that part of himself, choosing to think of it as a job he could turn off and on, a choice he could make. He was always France, would always be France first and foremost, regardless of anything else. But also wanted to be Francis, just Francis, sometimes.

England ducked his head down to stifle a sneeze into his elbow.

France blessed him. ‘I cannot let you go to work tomorrow, you know, now that you’ve got to this point.’

England lifted his head up and put it once more against France, who resumed playing with his hair. ‘I’ve got to worse points.’

‘Just because you’re previously done something foolish, does not mean that you need to continue to do so.’ France countered.

‘There is only one day left.’

‘Ah yes, but it is the worst one. Russia is speaking, and you know full well how that’ll go.’

England, presumably thinking of how America would no doubt behave, groaned and twisted to lay more on his front. France rearranged the blanket around him. ‘I can’t leave my Prime Minister there to deal with it all, they need me to be there.’

‘They’re all grown-ups, they can handle themselves. Come on,’ France cajoled, lifting a hand to pick at a particularly large loose thread on Scotland’s missing jumper, upturned against England’s neck, ‘you’ve skipped meetings before. If I remember correctly, in the 1600’s you didn’t turn up to a single one that you were supposed to have with me.’

‘I was at sea.’ England replied, a smile in his voice.

‘You were, and if I remember more correctly, you were requested to return many times.’

England snorted and lifted his head up a little before letting it fall back on France’s chest with a soft thud. ‘That’s different.’

France continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘You missed so many meetings with me and my Kings that it was very hard to convince them that it wasn’t an intentional slight against them.’

‘It wasn’t, it was a slight against you.’

‘Well then,’ France bent forwards to kiss his forehead, ‘as you have already demonstrated that you have no qualms about missing meetings with me, that means you are quite capable of missing a meeting that I am hosting.’

England frowned, caught by his own logic. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘Who says so? I, who is the host, might I remind you, is actively encouraging your bad behaviour.’

England lifted his head to better look at him, shifting his weight onto a pointy elbow that was thankfully not pressing into France’s sternum. ‘So, you admit that it’s bad behaviour?’

‘Do you think it’s good behaviour to go to a meeting feverish?’ France countered easily.

‘I am hardly feverish.’

France reached out to press the back of his free hand against England’s too warm cheek and made only an unconvinced noise in response.

England moved his head and brought an arm out from under the blanket to bat France’s away from him. ‘I am hardly bedridden.’ He corrected, sounding somewhat petulant.

‘Is bedridden your standard for when to finally look after yourself?’

England ducked his head again and stifled another sneeze in reply.

‘Arthur.’

‘No, Francis.’

France pursed his lips. ‘Very well. I cannot stop you from making a stupid decision. As host, however, I am duty bound to inform the other attendees of your condition to ensure that they remain healthy.’

England sat up properly and turned to scowl at him, worst nightmare being threatened. People knowing. ‘You wouldn’t.’

France merely raised an eyebrow and gave a sly smile. They looked at each other for a moment, England searching for a bluff. Finding none, he shook his head and lay down again, arms coming to wind around and behind France’s back. ‘I’ll decide in the morning.’ He said, muffled against France’s chest.

France, extremely content that he’d won, tightened his arms around him. ‘Of course.’

....

AN:

I feel like I’m gonna be a busy bee for a while, so have something I wrote a while ago to tide me over whilst I potter about doing real life things.

The first part is a mirror to this second part, so to get the full effect I recommend going to read part one!

You all know I like my FrUK bitter and snarky and full of domestic banter, but I also really adore moments like this when they’re soft and let themselves show how they truly feel about each other. Theirs is a relationship that often needs no words and I love exploring about showing that quiet, consistent side to them, something hidden and tucked away behind a pat on the back or the brush of a hand.

I could go on and on and ON about my love for this pairing and these characters, but for now I shall leave it as this, my sappy ode to them both.

(1) I have the personal headcanon that England has quite an impressive collection of large jumpers that are not actually his. He has one of France’s too, an ugly thing that he bought in the 60’s and thought he threw away. It’s bright yellow.

Thanks for reading!

[writing-gifts]

here’s the 6th part of the incubus!doppio AU!

im gonna start posting this on ao3 too (with some editing in the earlier chapters so you can check that out if you wanna)

list of parts

@wasabi-mommy @mistabrainr0t @the-average-mastermind

--------

“OW! What the hell--why’d you bite me so hard for!?”

You try to move your leg but Mutton blocks your way. Letting out a sigh, you stand in place and look down at the cat.

“What? What is the problem?”

He moves behind you and presses his head against the back of your calf hard enough to affect your balance. When you move your leg forward to stop yourself from falling, Mutton walks towards the door.

“Do you want me to let you out? But you just got here.”

The cat looks at you for a moment before placing his front paws on the door and stretching upward towards the knob.

Shaking your head, you walk over to the door. “I’m gonna get that cat door for you one day, I swear.”

Once it’s open, Mutton quickly circles your legs and pushes his head against them like before.

“Okay, okay I’m going!”

You walk out and the feline takes a few steps towards the forest ahead before turning to look back. His multicolored eyes stay locked on yours and you purse your lips when you realize what he wants.

“I guess I'm following you….”

After locking and closing the door, you walk after the cat as he continues into the forest. You wonder what exactly he’s so desperate to show you. Was this even normal behavior for cats? You weren't sure but you did know that Mutton was a little more on the intelligent side. Sometimes you even felt like he could even understand you.

So you go along with it, following a distance behind through what seems like endless trees and brush and fanning random insects out of your face. Fortunately, the weather was cool enough that you weren't sweating too.

However, the longer you walk, the more you fear that you might be lost. Trying to find your way back on your own would definitely make it worse though.

Just when you think you need to take a break, a body of water appears in the distance through the opening of the trees. When you and Mutton finally exit the packed foliage, you see that you’ve been led to a lake sitting in a giant clearing in the forest.

You stare a bit amazed at the size and notice a cabin near it a distance away. Mutton doesn't stop long to let you marvel at the scene though and continues towards the lake. You catch up to him and the both of you walk alongside the water.

“So do you know the person in the cabin?” You assume that’s where you're headed.

You didn’t expect a response, but Mutton merps to acknowledge you. You hum and your gaze quickly finds itself back on the lake. It was vast, going on so far you could barely see where it ended. The sky and trees reflect on its surface clearly and the water’s so still you almost feel like you can jump into the clouds if you want to.

Once the two of you are closer, you see that the brick and wood cabin was partially sitting on the grassy land behind it and partially on the water. You had also underestimated the size. Perhaps more than one person lived here?

Mutton leads you around the side of the house and stops to sit next to the front door. He looks up at you expectedly so you reach out to knock.

Several seconds pass before you hear the door being unlocked and when it opens, a handsome man with a neat, dark bob is revealed.

Unsure of what to do, you give a quick greeting and go quiet afterward. You didn't plan what to say when the door was answered, you just knew Mutton wanted you to knock.

Said cat walks into view, rubbing against the man’s leg as he walks into the house.

At that moment, realization seems to cross the man's face and he smiles at you.

“You must be the neighbor,” he says.

“Neighbor?”

“The person who lives in the house outside the forest. I saw someone moved in but never came around to introduce myself.”

"Oh, I had no idea anyone lived out here."

"That’s pretty much the reason why I’m out here.” The man moves to make room so you can walk inside. “Would you like to come in?"

You're a little hesitant since you just met but Mutton had no issue with it apparently. And the cat had actively been prepared to attack Diavolo for you on multiple occasions.

The moment you pass the threshold, you’re instantly awed. When you thought of cabins, simple and small came to mind. This one was neatly organized but it didn't give the homely vibe you’d expect.

The monochromatic room was spacious and decorated with nice looking furniture and curtains. The living area consisted of a fireplace surrounded by comfortable looking couches, and the stone wall above it held shelves that were crammed full of old looking books, various expensive looking decor and bottles. And to the right, closer to the back of the room sat a sizable dining set.

However what mostly grabs your eye is the fish tanks that were embedded in the walls throughout the room. At first you wonder why he had so many, but when you look closer you realize that they were not, in fact, separate tanks but a giant aquarium partially hidden within the walls.

Was the whole house like this? What type of cabin was this?

While you wonder where all the fish are, something twinkles in the corner of your eye. You turn to see what it is, but there’s nothing there.

So I'm imagining things now...

“--drink?”

You turn your attention to the man. "Sorry what was that?"

“I asked if you wanted anything to drink?”

You cross your arms and shake your head. “No I’m good…so do you know why Mutton led me here?”

The cat currently sits on the top of the back of one of the white couches.

“I actually needed to discuss something important with you, but I should introduce myself first. I'm Bruno Bucciarati--you can refer to me as either--and I'm a witch.”

You’re immediately skeptical. It wasn't unheard of, obviously, but you couldn't just believe whatever anyone told you. Bruno doesn’t look bothered by your dubiousness though.

“You're smart enough to not trust blindly. That’s good.” The man puts a finger to his chin. “You have a leaf on your shoulder.”

Before you can reach up to brush it off the man plucks it off you. Then just as quickly as he picked it off, the small green leaf begins to glow and transforms into a full flower.

You stare shocked trying to find any way to explain what you just saw. It was no trick of the eye either as the leaf’s form changed right before you into a completely different thing.

The man--no witch holds out the white rose and you gently take it.

“I--wow I just keep running into supernatural beings or something.”

"This forest does seem to attract them," he says.

Interesting…

You roll the flower stem between your fingers. “I’m ____ by the way.Uh, I don't know if you call him Mutton too--" You tilt your head in the direction of the feline. “--but is he your familiar or something?”

“No, he’s just a cat that likes to wander the forest. However, my familiar's over there though if you’re interested."

You get closer to the tank the witch pointed out to observe and even though you weren't exactly showing it, you were actually really excited and interested by the fact that you just met a witch.

At first you don't see anything in the huge tank other than greenery and a rocky cave ornament in the corner. But then something pops its head out of the opening. An eel that also managed to match the color scheme of the room. It was mostly white and covered in black patterns with yellow sprinkled in. It comes out of its hiding spot and swims back and forth as if it were stretching out it’s long body. Then it turns to you when it realizes that you're intently watching through the glass.

Your smile at it’s somewhat funny face and tilt your head a bit. The eel responds by tilting its own head, as if curious by your action.

"Holy crap. This is actually pretty cool! Do they talk?" you ask.

“Not really.” Bruno's smile falters. “But surprisingly Mutton does.”

“Huh?” You snicker a bit thinking the witch is joking but see that there’s no sign that he is on his face.

You look over at the cat and he stares back unblinking before glancing at Bruno.

"....I thought we weren't going to tell them."

Your heart almost jumps into your throat. “W-What?”

Bruno hums. “I thought about it and decided there's no point keeping it secret any longer. The incubus already knows. So it would only be a matter of time before he said something."

You're still reeling from Mutton talking that you almost missed what Bruno said.

“Hold on...Wait. Incubus? Are you talking about Doppio?” you ask the witch.

“Yes.”

You squint confused. “He knew and he didn't say anything? How long ago did he find out?"

"About a week," Mutton says.

"It might have benefited him in some way but I'm not sure why he didn't say anything," Bruno adds.

You exhale, somehow already on the verge of irritation with...everyone. Doppio was usually open with you, but apparently he thought this was a good thing not to mention.

You stare at Mutton who looks at you like he usually did, as if this weren’t an issue. But that was far from the case for you. It wasn't explicitly said but you were sure he told Bruno things about you, and it left you disturbed.

“...Well is there anything else I should know about Mutton?”

"Well his name's not actually Mutton," Bruno says.

"It's Leone Abbacchio, but you can call me Abbacchio."

You grimace from the human sounding voice coming from the cat you had been cuddling practically since...since you moved here!

“Okay Abbacchio, I don't really want you snooping around my house anymore--

“That can be arranged,” Bruno interrupts. “Once we ‘exorcise’ that demon constantly visiting you.”

Your already furrowed brow deepens. Doppio wasn't possessing anything though. You weren't even sure he was capable of that.

“No, I don't want that!”

"Listen, it might seem like Doppio is harmless, but things can become dangerous if he grows too serious of an attachment to you. And if it makes you feel better, we won’t need to hurt him if he leaves quietly."

You weren't exactly sure what the witch meant by "dangerous" but his serious tone managed to spark some anxiety within you.

"I mean it would be natural for Doppio to get upset if I suddenly wanted him gone."

"He's not just talking about being upset." Abbacchio says, annoyance in his tone. "Doppio could literally keep you against your will if he wanted and there would be no way for Bruno to reverse it."

"All demons are naturally envious creatures and the way things are going between you two, it’s only a matter of time. And this doesn't even take into account the other demon." Bruno says.

Diavolo aside, you couldn't bring yourself to see Doppio in that light.

"But--"

The front door slams open and the temperature in the room seems to drop.

Doppio stomps in, his face flushed. Once he sees you he seems to relax slightly but his expression is still irate.

“I finally found you!” he exclaims.

Bruno raises a brow and turns to Abbacchio.

The cat's ears fold back in frustration. "I was sure I lost him."

The incubus walks up to you, stopping too close and grabbing your shoulders harshly. “Are you okay?”

“Doppio you're gripping me too tightly.” You push off his hands and wrap your arms around yourself to shield your body from the sudden chill that seemed to appear. “I’m fine….But they're talking about you being able to keep me? What does that exactly mean?”

You wanted to hear an explanation from the incubus himself. You trusted him not to lie to your face if you asked him straight on.

However, Doppio reacts strangely, as if he's afraid. He makes some space between the two of you and struggles to look at you. You try to catch his gaze again but he refuses to keep eye contact.

"It's…" He strains his fingers. "Well, you see, incubi and succubi can form a….c-connection with a weaker being if they’re close enough. Then they could technically stay together forever."

Abbacchio grunts, "Way to sugar coat it--"

“I wouldn’t do that to you though ____! I didn't even consider it! U-Unless you wanted to it would never happen and I know that you like your space…”

The incubus is the most stressed you've seen him.

Even though you were still upset you didn't like seeing him like this, so in an attempt to ease him, you try to smile. Unfortunately, it comes off pretty strained.

You take a moment to mull over what he said though and come to a conclusion pretty quickly. "Even though that was kind of vague...I think I understand. And honestly, I can't see you forcing me into that."

You'd never seen a cat roll their eyes until now.

"Typical human. They're a lost cause Bruno. Let's leave them to do what they want," Abbacchio says before stretching and laying down.

The witch looks disapprovingly at the cat. "You know I can't do that. Perhaps they actually were charmed. I could--"

"Sir," you say to get his attention. "I appreciate your concern, but I trust Doppio and I'd prefer if you didn't get in between the two of us."

Having to tell your almost neighbor you just met to buzz off even in a polite way wasn't what you were expecting to do today.

Bruno doesn’t look upset though. He's quiet, studying you with an unreadable expression but then he nods.

"I'm having Leone check up on you. If anything seems off I'm getting involved."

Your brows furrow slightly. Didn't you just explicitly say you didn't want Abbacchio snooping around your home anymore?

You want to argue more but the witch didn't leave room in his statement to negotiate. And even though you hate to admit it, keeping the supernatural out of your home wasn't exactly your strong suit. It pissed you off but you couldnt do anything about it. So you give a curt nod and immediately walk to the exit with Doppio following closely behind.

Once outside, you follow the incubus through the forest. There's a long, awkward stretch of silence between you two though.

Doppio tries to sneakily glance at you, which you of course you notice but you choose to ignore it. However, after the 50th one he finally decides to say something.

"____?"

You sigh, "What?"

He slows to a stop to turn and look at you properly but, again, he has trouble keeping eye contact.

"Are you mad?"

Maybe at first but now it had changed to more of a disappointed feeling.

"Not necessarily but you knew about Mutt--Abbacchio and didn't say anything to me. So I'm not exactly happy right now."

"I didn't but--"

You shake your head. "No Doppio. I'm too tired right now to understand whatever weird logic you formed in your head."

His mouth closes and the hurt on his face instantly makes you regret your choice of words. Maybe you shouldn't have said it like that but you really didn't feel like listening to excuses right now.

You look away from Doppio. "Let's just go, please."

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 24

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Lan QiRen’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23

Tomorrow comes too soon, and for Wei Ying, it comes with insistent and painful flicks to his ear.

He groans, his ribs aching, his head still throbbing lightly, warning him that the amount of sleep he had gotten is nowhere within the acceptable parameters. The next flick to his ear is particularly vicious, and he tries to swat it away, his face still buried in the blankets. His toes feel cramped. Shifting them does nothing but make his ankles ache. Is he still wearing boots? Why?

A vicious slap lands on his ear, propelling him upright.

“What--“

Nie HuaiSang is sitting up in bed, his arm strapped to his chest, the other hand half-raised, as if he intends to slap him again.

“A-Sang!”

Somewhere on the other side of the bed, Jiang Cheng groans in complaint. Wei Ying can see nothing of him but one purple shoulder and a tuft of hair. HuaiSang is still pale, but it looks as if he had taken care to arrange his sleeping robes, and comb his fingers through his hair before viciously slapping Wei Ying awake.

“How do you feel?” Wei Ying asks carefully.

“How do I feel?” A-Sang says incredulously, “How do I feel?”

Uh-oh, Wei Ying thinks.

“I feel like an arrow went through my shoulder,” he hisses, “I am in pain. I feel miserable, and hungry, and extremely fucking angry. How am I supposed to get dressed?”

“How-- what?”

“How am I supposed to get dressed with this thing on my arm?” A-Sang growls.

Jiang Cheng groans in complaint again. HuaiSang snatches a pillow, and whacks him three times in quick succession.

Jiang Chen is upright almost as quickly as Wei Ying had been, his hair an unholy mess, his expression murderous.

The moment he sees HuaiSang, his expression softens, and he opens his mouth.

“Do not ask him how he feels,” Wei Ying says quickly, and gets a pillow to his face for his efforts.

“Get up!” A-Sang snaps, “Both of you. I want breakfast. I want roast duck and wild herb salad, stir-fried spinach with dried shrimp, steamed lotus root with rice, steamed buns, and I better not see any of that minced pumpkin abomination in my buns either. I want them stuffed with mutton. And where is my tea? Is this the Emperor’s palace or a QiShan winehouse? Move!”

Wei Ying scrambles off the bed. He is still within the reach of the pillow, and does not think his head would tolerate another hit. Jiang Cheng is a little slower, tangling in his own robes, and the pillow catches him on the ear.

“I want Wen Qing to give me something for pain. I want all the Imperial seamstresses in this room in less than an hour, and they best be ready to work. You--“ he points the pillow at Wei Ying, “owe me an entire closet of robes. We will settle on the number, and then I will increase it, and you will not say a single word in complaint. Understood?”

“Yes,” Wei Ying says quickly.

“And you--!” he points the pillow at Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng is finally awake, and now fully cognizant of the situation.

“Tea!” he exclaims, “Worthless servants! Where is the tea?”

And then he escapes, leaving Wei Ying all alone with furious HuaiSang who looks as if he wants to be clutching a sword instead of the pillow.

“I want a palace,” A-Sang snarls, “of my own. And thirty servants, in addition to the five I have now.”

“Done,” Wei Ying says quickly.

A-Sang’s eyes narrow, “I want a title for A-Jue.”

“Fine.”

“And a three-day banquet thrown in my honor every year, until I am old and blind.”

“Done.”

HuaiSang grunts, and puts the pillow down.

Wei Ying waits a few moments, then shuffles a little closer.

“Can I sit down now? Or do you want to hit me again?”

“You may sit,” A-Sang says graciously, “I might hit you again anyway.”

Wei Ying feels that is an acceptable risk to take, and settles down on the step below the bed, where Jiang Cheng had spent the majority of the night.

“I assume you did not catch the assassin,” HuaiSang huffs, readjusting his robes.

“No. The arrow came from the East watchtower, but the assassin was gone by the time A-Cheng got there. He left two arrows behind. Perhaps he is not as skilled as we thought.”

“I should say,” HuaiSang says scornfully, “He has done a terrible job of trying to kill you.”

Wei Ying’s throat tightens. He will have waking nightmares of that arrow shifting a little more to the right, and he will deserve each one.

HuaiSang waves a hand in front of his face, “Stop that. I am not in the mood for your self-pity right now. Do we have any new information? At all?”

Aside from the fact that someone had tried to kill him in the view of every Sect in the cultivation world? Absolutely nothing. This had definitely not been an average assassination attempt. But the way in which it differs does not offer any clues.

“They were Lan Sect arrows,” Wei Ying says.

“Hm. I am not surprised. Anything else?”

“Lan QiRen,” Wei Ying says, “showed me a note that was waiting for them at the Peach Blossom Pavilion the night they arrived. The note said that the Young Masters are in danger, and that they should leave the Immortal Mountain.”

“Interesting. Do you have the note?”

Wei Ying has been keeping it in his sleeve, and he hands it over.

HuaiSang hesitates a moment, his fingers brushing over the dry blood prints Wei Ying had left on the paper. But he does not say anything about them, unfolding the note, and frowning at the characters.

“This was written by a child,” he says, his tone surprised.

“Or someone who has never really learned how to write,” Wei Ying counters.

“If we assume it is the same person,” A-Sang muses, “it is someone who is young, uneducated, but has a fair amount of spiritual power for their age. Probably someone who lacks confidence in that power as well. If this is a disciple, they have not been one for long.”

“It could be more than one person,” Wei Ying says.

“It does not matter,” A-Sang sniffs, folding up the note, “Assassinations are my domain. Mine and A-Cheng’s. You just go do-- whatever you need to be doing.”

He tucks the note in his own sleeve, and Wei Ying knows he will likely never see it again.

“You should not even be here right now,” HuaiSang says, frowning, “Was the archery competition postponed?”

“It was canceled,” Wei Ying says, “It seemed in poor taste, considering.”

“Hm,” HuaiSang says, “You should go to YiLing today, then.”

“What? Why?”

They have been planning Wei Ying’s Great Escape to YiLing for months now. How to hide his absence from the court. How to get by the main gate. How to disguise himself properly. How to enter the Immortal Mountain again without raising an alarm. It has become a frequent subject of their drunk planning, their schemes and ideas often spiraling into fantastical nonsense the more alcohol they consumed.

Yet, Wei Ying never truly believed that these ploys would ever come to fruition.

“Because,” HuaiSang says patiently, “We need to ascertain how closely the assassin is positioned to the throne. Obviously close enough that they had access to the palaces and the Imperial servants, but not close enough to have caught wind of your competition scheme. This is a perfect opportunity. Although, it will not be the great escape we planned.”

His face scrunches up in displeasure. As the mastermind of the Great Escape, he has taken pride in planning out the minutiae, and Wei Ying knows it must irk him to have to make adjustments.

“Some people will need to know. I will need YanLi’s assistance. Is A-Lin back yet? No, never mind,” he says, before Wei Ying can even open him mouth, “I think I can do without him. But the Lan Sect will definitely need to be informed. Actually, take Lan WangJi with you, and see if you can convince Lan XiChen can tag along, as a-- chaperone of some sort.”

“Wait a moment--“ Wei Ying splutters, but A-Sang is no longer paying attention to him.

“We must be able to trust the Nie Sect, at the very least. I need to speak to my brother first; only he can decide if Nie ZongHui can be trusted with the details of the plan. What time is it? Is it still mid-morning? I hate doing things on a tight schedule, you know. This is how mistakes are made. Where is my damn tea? Did A-Cheng get lost on the way to the kitchens?”

Wei Ying opens his mouth, and A-Sang waves a hand in front of his face again.

“We should have sent a message to QiShan sooner,” he snaps, “I despise making decisions based on flimsy and insufficient information. Well? You need be ready to leave by sundown. Go, speak to the Lan Sect, then come back. Did I not just say that we do not have a lot of time? Move!”

Before Wei Ying has a chance to respond, Wen Qing is sweeping into the room, and A-Sang is slumping dramatically against the blankets.

“Wen Qing,” he whines breathlessly, “I am in agony. Absolute agony. I cannot live with this pain. The room is spinning. Is it getting darker? Oh. Oh! I think I will faint again.”