#the northern passage fic

[sebastianswallows]

The Little Death — 1. Captive of your desires

— PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Bene Gesserit!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: A Bene Gesserit gets left behind in the Arrakeen palace. When Feyd becomes the Planetary Governor, he finds her there in hiding. The Harkonnens don't traditionally keep them as truthsayers or concubines like other Houses do, but Feyd might have a use for her. After all, he's never had a Bene Gesserit of his own before.

— WARNINGS: choking and death threats

— WORDCOUNT: 2.2k

— A/N: I couldn't resist. I had to write more for him. Reader, I love him. This fic might go a little wild, because I want to play into this naughty boy's love for pain. Expect some subby Feyd, some inkpies, generally a messed up dynamic with an equally messed up reader. Hope you enjoy, my lovelies! 🖤

Seek freedom and become captive of your desires. Seek discipline and find your liberty. — Bene Gesserit Coda

House Harkonnen fell upon Arrakis like a hammer — with a deafening crash and destructive reverberation. After the palace was ransacked and the most important figures murdered, their bodies piled high and set alight, the stragglers were hunted through the streets and homes of Arrakeen. There was a week of slaughter. By the end, nothing moved. All spice production had ceased. Then the violence left the city and spread out into the desert, and the whole hemisphere of the planet was captured.

Arrakeen sat near the northern pole, on thick bedrock surrounded by natural fortifications that protected it from worm attacks. It was a difficult place to escape from. Those who remained were understood to be loyal to the Harkonnens, or at least indifferent to who held the power. The Atreides rule had been brief enough to not have garnered that many supporters. Only the rumour of their goodness and grace had been planted, and the Harkonnens returned before those could take root.

There can be said to have been a second Harkonnen takeover once Feyd-Rautha arrived. The Baron’s youngest nephew. Word was spread — or rather, been carefully planted — that he was the kinder, gentler of the Harkonnen brothers. The people greeted him like a saviour. Inside the palace, the atmosphere was more subdued.

It was a stark contrast to the transition from when Rabban came to power. No mass killings, no ransacking of rooms, just an orderly takeover through which the cold and calculating presence of Feyd-Rautha flowed. Furniture was rearranged. Staff was brought in from Giedi Prime. Brand new equipment arrived, especially for the spice harvesters.

The message was clear. The new planetary governor was thorough and exacting. Most of those in the palace breathed a sigh of relief, but there was at least one breath that stuttered.

She was there at his arrival, watching from a distance together with the throng of Arrakeen locals, Fremen and others, who gathered to see the procession. It was early in the morning, just before sunrise. He walked differently than other Harkonnen she’d seen. Rabban stomped through like a bull. The servants grovelled. The Baron was so fat he had to be suspended in the air. But this one, this one strolled through with confidence. Sleek and slender, he was beautiful in an inhuman way. That much she could make out from a distance.

He struck out at Fremen sietches on his very first day, using artillery fire and on-the-ground troops. An old way of doing things, but effective. It painted the new governor as precise, determined, and strangely honourable, and then word spread around the palace that he’d struck his own brother to the ground and made him kiss his feet. The word ‘humiliation’ was uttered. The news sewed a sliver of hope in the hearts of the longsuffering palace staff.

She had evaded close contact with the Harkonnens until then. It only made sense, as she was in hiding, slipping through the cracks of their negligence until she could procure safe passage off-planet, but that was getting more difficult by the day. What they lacked in caution, they made up for in paranoia, and all comings and goings were kept behind esoteric layers of bureaucracy. She was in the process of making contact with a smuggler when Feyd-Rautha gained governorship of the planet, and all her hopes were dashed.

It was the evening of his second day on the planet when she was called. The servant that summoned her looked at her like she was an apparition — which, in a way, she was. She had managed to remain undetected, keeping herself busy, staying out of sight, acting like she was meant to be there. She’d become part of the scenery and could dispel suspicion if anyone got too close. Her Bene Gesserit training was good for that if nothing else. But there was no escaping this. Somebody had finally found her and knew exactly where she was.

She followed the servant — a heavily armed pasty-white figure, crooked and willowy — to the chamber door of what she knew to be the largest office of the governor. He opened it for her, pushed her in, and locked the door behind her.

Like a tiny sun, a glowglobe floated through the room, its light falling on the smooth black surfaces of the furniture and the pale stone of the walls. She folded her hands before her, hidden by the long sleeves of her dress, and followed what the light revealed. The room was large and windowless, stripped bare of any useless item. The table was empty, the chairs were in their place, and upon the plinths set in the corners, no potted plants or works of art stood. Only one thing moved there, together with the light. Feyd-Rautha paced slowly, quietly, on the other side of the room.

“My lord na-Baron,” she said in a smooth and submissive voice. Her knees bent in a slight curtsy — respectful, but not too much. “You summoned me.”

She wore a garb that didn’t belong to any particular function. The long black dress would have fit just as well in the kitchens as in the cleaning staff, and the head covering was suited for the Arrakis weather, worn by any female. All of those with hair, anyway. The light material bent around her, giving her a slightly oval shape, soft and harmless. But when she looked up and caught the na-Baron’s gaze, he would have seen a sharper look there than that of any servant.

His eyes were cunning too. They looked upon her knowingly and with amusement, a strange manner for a Harkonnen.

“Who are you?” he asked with a playful squint.

His voice scratched across her skin like kitten claws. He didn’t sound the way he looked, and she admitted it surprised her. His tone, nevertheless, was gentle. Deceitfully kind. He could kill me in an instant, she thought, and take pleasure from it.

“My lord, I —”

“You were not on Rabban’s stafflist. I know that, because he didn’t have one. And you’re not on mine, because I didn’t ask for you. We have as of today an account of all the palace workers, but the list comes up with one extra room unaccounted for.”

Nights in Arrakeen were cold, but her skin just turned colder. What rotten luck, to be in the palace right when they decided to actually investigate who worked there and did what. It’s my own fault, she said to herself. I relied on their incompetence for far too long. Now I pay the price. So be it.

“I have been a servant in this palace for many years, my lord na-Baron,” she said with a slow bow of her head. “And I wish to serve you as well.”

“Is that so?” he purred, coming closer. His steps were lazy, but the pace was measured. He had more control over his body than his playful swagger let on. “Many years, you say? You worked for the Atreides, then?”

“And for Count Fenring before them.”

He stopped. She looked up at him from underneath her lashes and smiled in quiet satisfaction. Lady Fenring was a skilled Bene Gesserit sister and had lived in Arrakeen with her husband for many years before the Atreides decided on it for their capital. She was the most logical choice as a secret envoy to the Harkonnen heir. And if Feyd-Rautha met her, it could only mean one thing.

Uroshnor, she thought. He’s likely been imprinted with the usual prana-bindu phrase. It would stun him, if only for a moment. But long enough… It didn’t provide her a means of escape, but it gave her hope. It gave her room for manoeuvre.

“I am not a spy,” she said, straightening her back.

“Of course, a spy would say that.”

“You may test me in any way you wish,” she said with a playful chuckle.

Feyd’s eyes darkened at her proposition, a smile bending his full lips as he stepped closer. Oh, he could think of many ways to test her…

“What are you, then?” he asked, his voice scratching low and close as he stopped close enough to touch.

She could see now that his eyes were a clear blue. Not the sort of blue brought on by long-term spice exposure, that dark electric shade, but blue like water, like the sky, like a shard of ice. His jawline was firm — that of a biter. But his lips were pillow-soft and curled around the edges in a smile that wouldn’t go away. Lips made for laughing, made for kissing, made for love. He’s such a delicate boy. The thought ran through her mind before she realised.

“I served the Lady Fenring as a housekeeper,” she said.

“Lies.”

“My lord?”

“You’re one of them, aren’t you? A damn witch.”

She remained completely still, her eyes locked on his. He was trying to dominate her with a hard incessant glare, but she held his gaze merely for the pleasure of it. What a comforting colour they were on such a harsh planet… No matter the malice behind them.

“You’re a Bene Gesserit. I’ve met your kind before,” he continued, looking down her body in a cruel, suggestive way. “You hold yourselves the way no other women do.”

“Perpans not like Harkonnen women.”

He chuckled, the sound scraping up his slender neck. “All women in the known universe are the same, given the right circumstances.”

“But not the Bene Gesserit.”

“Yes, not you,” he sighed, head tilting as if his mind was trying to escape a painful memory.

His eyes stayed upon her figure, trailing down the contours of her dress. Then he reached out a hand and touched it, his fingers tracing a silky pleat so lightly that it barely moved. She felt it still, the slight disturbance his caresses caused, but willed her body to stay motionless. There was no trace of aggression in him now.

“Why are you still here?” he asked.

“You have not dismissed me, my lord na-Baron.”

He chuckled faintly. “I mean on Arrakis.”

“I wish to remain in the palace.”

“Why?”

“The deserts are harsh.”

“Many prefer that to serving a Harkonnen.”

“One master is as good as another.”

“I’m sure it must’ve felt like that to you,” he said, looking her in the eye again. His fingers left her dress and went to rest upon the hilt of a dagger at his belt. “So I take it you were one of Lady Fenring’s servants. A… fellow sister, would you call it?”

“I was part of her staff, yes.”

“And you didn’t leave with her and the Count when the Atreides came?”

“I remained behind to assist with training their staff,” she said with a bow of her head. Even now she retained a certain respect for that dead House.

“And Lady Fenring,” he hissed, the name dripping from his mouth like poison, “she never wanted to retrieve you?”

“I believe they think me dead.”

“Yes, she is not the sentimental sort,” he chuckled, and his cold gaze caught hers.

A dangerous thought was taking root behind those eyes, she could see it germinating. She waited, reading his body, scanning the minute changes in his expression, and tried to determine what went on behind that pallid mask.

There was envy there, and regret, and longing. The Harkonnens never kept Bene Gesserit truthsayers, nor were there any among the Baron’s concubines — all of them were young boys anyway. They were unique among the Great Houses in that way, and although she knew that Feyd’s mother had been a Bene Gesserit herself, he probably didn’t know what it was like to be raised by one. Why else would he be looking at her now as if he wanted to peel her clothes away, and then her skin, and reach toward her heart and grab it?

“How can I help my na-Baron?” she asked, her voice a whisper, her gaze a caress.

“By not getting above yourself,” he rasped with the air of slapping her offer away.

Her heart stuttered in her chest and she bowed her head to hide her terror. Did I read him wrongly? she thought to herself. I must not fear.

“House Harkonnen has no use for witches,” said Feyd.

She felt his strong hand grip her shoulder, slipping past the veil to curl around her neck. He stayed there, holding her in a half-choke just firm enough to feel her heartbeat in the palm of his hand.

“I ought to kill you,” he said sweetly, “and feed you to my darlings.”

Her lips parted, swelling slightly, and she felt her face go pale. The little death takes on a whole new meaning, she thought with grim amusement.

“But I do want to know one thing…”

“Yes, my na-Baron?” she asked in a shaky voice.

He breathed in sharply at the sound of it. He liked it. When she looked up into his eyes again, the grip around her throat felt not so much murderous anymore as it did greedy, possessive.

“I want to know… Do you have one of those pain boxes too?”

[iwritesongfics]

Worship

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Martell! Reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Smut

Word count: 1,138

A/N: Not proof-read, written on Evernote as a short, self-indulgent fic after being randomly inspired.

***

You stood leaning alone on the wall during your sister’s betrothal feast, watching the revelry around you with bored eyes. These Northerners do not know how to feast like the Dornish, you thought.

“Hello to you, Princess Martell,” Prince Daemon approached you with a sly grin. He lifted his goblet to take a drink. “Enjoying the celebrations, I hope? Your father was kind enough to provide Dornish summerwines for the occasion.”

You raised your own goblet to the prince as if to toast him. “Immensely, my prince,” you reply with a sarcastic grin.

Daemon took another sip of his wine, taking time to appreciate its taste.

“But you must tell me, what is a Dornish princess doing to keep herself occupied?” Daemon gives you a look with his brow raised, knowing there was no chance in hell you weren’t up for some mischief.

You shrugged provocatively at him. “I don’t know, your grace, what is there to do in the Red Keep?” You look at him with impish eyes.

"I’ll admit, there’s not much to do,” Daemon said as he finished his wine, placing the goblet on the floor. “Maybe I can lend a hand to help you entertain yourself?” He couldn’t help but smirk as he looked at you – he was always a sucker for mischievous women, and he has always wondered how Dornish women were. “Perhaps a little tour of the Red Keep, perhaps?”

You look like you were seriously pondering his offer. “A private tour of the Red Keep with the majestic Prince Daemon, how could I possibly say no?”

Daemon rose with a smile as he held out his hand to you in a gentlemanly way, only the way he looked at you with his lilac eyes betrayed his intentions.

A roguish smirk played on his lips, and he led you out of the hall without a word, and you followed him giggling with excitement at the thought of a shared secret adventure.

Daemon led you down several passages and down a long staircase. He took a moment to make sure you weren’t being followed before leading you through a door with a symbol of the seven-pointed star. With a mischievous smile Daemon entered, and as you followed, you found yourself in the sept. Daemon walked to the center of the room and turned to face you.

“Prince Daemon, you say as he faces you, his lust-filled face illuminated by flickering candlelight. “Have you brought me down here to pray?”

“Only for a moment,” The prince stepped in front of you and placed his hands on your waist, before closing his eyes and bowing, his forehead touching yours.

“Seven who are one,” He began to say in a prayerful voice.

“In your name we pray,” He opened his eyes and placed a hand on your cheek.

"Mother have mercy,” he whispered before kissing your lips.

You returned his kiss hungrily, pulling at his shirt to bring him closer to you.

“Daemon,” you gasp in his mouth. “This is absolutely sacrilegious.”

“Then I hope the seven forgive me,” He looked into her eyes with desire as he took a handful of your hair and pulled you closer to him. “What’s the worst they can do to us?”

“Don’t tempt the gods, my prince,” You say with as much seriousness as you can muster, then you pressed kisses from his jaw down to his neck.

“Oh, I intend to tempt them,” he chuckled as you kissed his neck, his grip tight on your hair.

“Which god do you intend to tempt, my prince?” you replied as you slowly untied your corset in front of him.

"The Mother, perhaps," he teased.

You laughed at his reply. "Do I look like the Mother to you?" You drop your corset on the ground, and proceeds to untie your outer skirt.

"The Maiden then," he rasps out, suddenly kneeling in front of you to help you with your skirt. Now just in your shift, he moves to raise the fabric up. "Let me worship you, my Maiden," he says, licking a stripe up your slit.

You gasp at the sudden contact and felt your knees buckle as his mouth found your bud. Daemon places his arms around your thighs to steady them and you let your head roll back with pleasure. Daemon slips two fingers in your core and continued his ministrations with his mouth and hand until your pleasure peaked.

Daemon, being uncharacteristically gentle, laid you on the ground with your clothes cushioning your body. You were already so wet and trembling with anticipation and desire.

"Princess, are you okay?" You nodded and pulled him for a sloppy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

"Take me, please," you begged, and Daemon's eyes darkened with desire. He trains the fat head of his cock in front of your entrance and entered slowly, feeling the drag of his member in your walls. He starts thrusting and bottoming out and you wrap your legs around his waist to give him access to a better angle.

"Please, please, please," you chanted as if in prayer as he continued to fuck you hard. He reaches between your legs and rubs your sensitive clit as he continues to thrust inside you mercilessly. "Daemon, I-!" you gasped as you came again, he suddenly gripped your throat as you came and felt your walls tighten around him. He groaned and the pace of his thrusts became more erratic until he gave a final push of his hips and came inside you.

You nestled in his arms tiredly, and he kissed your forehead as you murmured words to him he could hardly hear. Daemon thought you could have a few moments to yourself until you had to go back to the hall for the feast.

*** A few hours later

Daemon stirred as the sound of footsteps caught him off-guard for a moment, and he opened his eyes to see a septa walking in.

Before she could speak and alert the guards, the prince placed a finger on his mouth, signalling her to stay silent.

He nudged you awake gently. "Morning, my sweet," he whispered.

"Good morning, my prince," You yawned and stretched... and saw the septa. "Good morning, Septa Unella," she adds sheepishly.

The septa looked at the pair with a look of pure disgust. "Your royal highnesses, this is not proper behavior in the sept," She turned without waiting for a response, "You both should go to your chambers before anyone else finds you!"

You exchanged a look with Daemon as the septa stormed off. Once you were sure that she was out of earshot, you burst into a peal of laughter.

Daemon joined you in a fit of laughter, and you took the moment the septa gave you and made your way out of the sept with no one the wiser.

[christinesficrecs]

do you have any stiles who is pregnant with derek’s pup or pups? no surrogacy pls. :)

Oh my goodness! I promised you fics! And then life happened! So glad you didn't give up on me. ❤️

let’s see where this thing goes by EvanesDust | 5.4K | Explicit

When Derek moved to Beacon Hills on a whim, he never expected to see Stiles again. He certainly never expected to find out that he was a father, and after a rocky start, he never thought that they’d be a family. But six months later, Stiles and Derek have moved in together and are raising their son, Jake.

They’ve planned for the future, but after Stiles reminisces about his pregnancy, Derek realizes he doesn’t know if Stiles wants more kids.

The answer is yes.

…or the one where Stiles and Derek are parents and discuss having more kids. Featuring fluff and smut, with a side of breeding kink.

Desperate Measures by SylvieW | 25.1K | Mature

Alone and away from his pack on an international business trip, Derek finds company in a local omega. He didn't realize that Stiles' desperation--and the outdated laws of his country--would turn their one night stand into so much more.

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“Oh my god!” Stiles hissed, his back colliding with the door. “Oh my god! I slept with my boss, oh my god. I'm a walking cliché!”

It was supposed to be a one night stand. No complications, no feelings, no baggage. But then a missed doctor's appointment in his childhood comes back to haunt him and Stiles is left with a lot more than one very good night.

if it's meant to be, it'll be by DeancebraArt, EvanesDust | 27.5K | Explicit

Following a chance encounter with an irresistible and alluring omega, Derek wakes up in bed alone, with no way to contact the man he met the night before. Over the course of the next year, Derek finds himself wondering: how can he miss someone he doesn’t even know? And, more importantly, how can he find him again?

After a one-night stand with a mysterious alpha werewolf leaves Stiles pregnant, he resigns himself to raising his child as a single parent. It’s not until the man he’s been pining over for the last year shows up at his doorstep, does he realize there might actually be something more complicated than raising a child on his own: love.

You Plus One by Unloyal_Olio | 8.8K | Explicit

Stiles didn’t beat around the bush. “Can werewolves get man-pregnant?”

Deaton dropped the cat he was holding.

You'll Grow Into Your Skin by crossroadswrite | 11.8K

“So funny story,” Stiles winces, “Remember when I joked you couldn’t get me pregnant?”

Derek nods his head. He remembers pretty much everything from that day.

“Right,” Stiles bobs his head, stops himself and does a little ta-da gesture towards Jacy, “Surprise?”

(Once in a) Blue Moon by clarkoholic, skywardsmiles | 60K | Explicit

Stiles and Derek are getting along, but they’re not a family, and they’re sure as hell not mates. Christ, they’re basically just two stupid guys who happened to get pregnant because of a full moon and sheer dumb luck.

The Lighthouse Keeper by tugela54 | 75K | Explicit

On a rural island just off Alaska’s northern Inside Passage, stands a centuries old lighthouse - the perfect sanctuary for its keeper to hide when the moon is full, to burn and rage through its cycle with the townsfolk being none the wiser.

But then a new resident comes to Beacon Harbour – a bright-eyed young student chasing an elusive whale species – and all of a sudden those thick stone walls seem paper thin…

Like the Sun Holds the Moon by IAmAVeronica | 118.1K | Explicit

Stiles is an omega, and he's supposed to be obedient. He's supposed to mate with the stranger chosen for him and quietly disappear. He's not supposed to talk to alphas, or have sex, or fall in love. Then he meets Derek Hale. Obedience was always overrated, anyway.

My Life is not a Horror Movie, Derek by DiscontentedWinter | 38.9K | Explicit

Stiles keeps dreaming of people in robes with knives. With chanting. In Latin. And he mentioned the knives, right? That can't be good.

monday i can fall apart but by friday i'm in love by tryslora | 5.6K | Mature

It's just past five in the morning and Stiles is barely awake, wearing only sleep pants that hang low below his pregnant belly, and he can't get the damned brand new jar of decaf coffee open. But he has a neighbor, and he's too tired to think that waking someone else up at this hour might not be the best (or politest) of ideas.

[lollygaggingloser]

Guts (part 1)

A VAT7K Mini-fic

Hugo and Yong get separated from the group and have to make their way through a Labyrinth.

"Do ya think Varian and Nuru are okay?”

“Probably.”

“Do ya think they’re lost like us?”

“We’re not lost, Yong. We’re…finding our way out of here.”

“…it sure feels like we’re lost.”

Hugo had to keep himself from groaning at Yong. The two of them had not only managed to get separated from their party but found themselves in the middle of a labyrinth of some sort. Initially, it was supposed to be a shortcut for their group to take towards the next city in their journey for the Eternal library.

“Shortcut my ass,” Hugo mumbled.

“Huh?…did you say something?” Yong asked, looking up at him. 

“No,” the blonde replied curtly. “And hey- keep up! You don’t want to get left behind, do you?”

Yong quickened his pace, staying close to Hugo at the threat of being split up. When the group had first learned about the labyrinth, they were informed it was a secret technological passage that could cut their travel time to a week instead of the two months it would take to go around the northern mountain ranges. Finding the secret passage was easy and so was entering it, but finding their way out was proving to be a nearly impossible task. The maze consisted of multiple hallways and rooms with one door to enter in through and two to three doors to exit. But no matter how many doors they went through, there was no telling how far they were in the maze. Even worse, there were instances that one of the halls/rooms they would access was one they’d gone through earlier in their trek. 

They had tried drawing out a map, leaving marks on hallways and rooms they’ve visited, and using their tools to navigate the maze, but the team couldn’t figure out how to progress further. The entire place was aggravating and slowly driving them crazy.

At this point, Hugo could feel the insanity of the maze getting to him now that it was just him and Yong. But he couldn’t lose his nerve. Not yet.

Instead, he focused on the path ahead, an L-shaped hallway that led to another automated door. The door swooshed open as the two approached it, showing another hallway up ahead with the similar wall colors and tile flooring. Unfazed, as this had to be the 100th door they’ve walked through, the blonde stepped through, making sure the shorty behind him was close. After they stepped through the doorway, it closed behind them with a clicking sound.

“Varian? Nuru?” Yong called out ahead, hoping they were close by. No answer. The older teen could see his companion being more disheartened at the possibility of never reuniting with Varian and Nuru again. He could understand why Yong was so concerned about finding them, since he was the reason why they got separated in the first place.

At some point in the party’s venture through the secret passage, Yong had gone up too far ahead of them. When the kid stepped through one of the doorways, it began to close before the others could go through. Hugo, quick on his feet, managed to slide through the doorway before it shut, but when the two tried to go back, the automatic door was locked. Hugo and Yong struggled to reopen it as it clicked for half a minute before unlocking again. Still, when they looked through the reopened door, the previous hallway had changed completely, and Varian and Nuru were nowhere to be seen. The two had called out for Varian and Nuru, but there was no response, and Hugo concluded that each pathway was soundproof. From this point on, he and Yong were on their own. 

“Come on, maybe they’re close by,” Hugo tried to encourage him, but even he couldn’t muster a hopeful tone strong enough to cheer Yong up. After another 5 doors, Yong started to trail behind again.

“Hugo..,” he whined. “I’m not feeling so good.”

The engineer looked back to see his teammate looking worse for wear. He wasn’t sure if the kid was sick or just tired from the constant walking, but he looked pale and ready to puke. While he would prefer for them to keep moving forward, he figured the small break would give him the chance to think of another plan other than roaming blindly.

“Come on, Sparks, let’s take 5,” Hugo suggested, walking back to where Yong was before sitting on the floor. Yong plopped down next to him, relieved to get a bit of rest. The blond removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes a little before putting them back on. He placed his hands in his pockets, feeling whatever items he had in them that could be useful. He felt his lockpick tools, a pocket knife, compass, and broken pieces of his old mechanical mouse he kept for sentimental value. He didn’t have any water or food on him to give to Yong; their rations being held by Varian’s donkey, Prometheus, when they entered the passage. Yong carried a small satchel with him, but all he had in it was his firework powders and materials. Hugo hoped that they could find their way out, or at least rejoin Varian and Nuru again before either of them started to get hungry or thirsty.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were so sudden, Hugo twitched in surprise at Yong’s apology. 

“I didn’t mean to get us lost,” the kid continued. “And I don’t mean to hold ya back either.”

“You’re not holding me back,” the teen interrupted him. He was not going to have a kid feeling guilty over a situation Hugo himself couldn’t get them out of.  “And it’s okay. If I had to choose someone from the gang to get lost with, I’d prefer it be you.”

“…Really?” 

“Yep.”

“Even over Varian?”

Hugo scoffed, not understanding why Yong would think he’d prefer being stuck with that goody-goody alchemist.

“Especially over Varian,” he promised. “Being lost with him would definitely drive me nuts.”

“I don’t know,” Yong chimed in. “I think both of ya would actually get along, and even find an answer to this maze.”

Hugo stared at Yong with a raised eyebrow.

“Well…,” Yong corrected. “Maybe after you two finished fighting on who got who lost. Plus, you like him, don’t ya?”

Hugo nearly choked on air.

“W-what?! No! Why would you think I like him?” the blonde sputtered. Yong gave him a puzzled look at his response.

“Well, because we’re all friends,” Yong responded honestly. “As friends, we gotta like each other at least a little bit.”

Embarrassment settled on Hugo’s face, realizing he mistook Yong’s meaning of ‘like’.

“We’re not friends,” he sighed. Instantly, he noticed Yong looked rather hurt by his words. “I mean-…What I meant to say is we’re teammates. It’s different. You don’t have to like your teammates. And I do not like Varian. Or Nuru.”

“…or me?”

“…I didn’t say that,” Hugo spoke softly. “Honestly, I think you’re the only teammate I like. I guess.”

That was enough for Yong, who gave Hugo a small smile.

“Well, I like you too Hugo,” Yong stated. “And if you’d like. We can be teammates and friends.”

“Heh…maybe,” he mumbled, taken aback by the offer. Hugo wasn't in their group to make friends. On the contrary, he was only using them to find the eternal library as his boss, Donella, ordered him to. It would be best for him to not create any sort of attachment to these nerds. Still, it puzzled him to know the genuine offer of friendship could stir up these feelings in him.

“Anyway,” Yong continued. “I’m sure you and Varian would have solved this maze together a lot quicker.”

Hugo considered Yong’s words but shook his head. Hugo could tell that if he was lost with Varian, they’d spend more time bickering on whose idea was best than navigating this hellscape. “I think you’re wrong. I think you and I could solve this maze before Varian and even Nuru could. They may have the advantage of all their experience from experiments and research during their time as a fancy princess and royal engineer, but we got something better.”

“Better?”

Hugo smirked, proud of himself that the kid’s complexion became less pale as took interest in his words. “We have intuition. Guts! That’s something no amount of studying can get you. You’re just born with it.”

“And ya think I have guts?”  

“Are you kidding me?!” Hugo scoffed. “You have loads of guts! How many times have you almost blown yourself up just this past week?”

“16-no…17 times,” Yong answered. “But that’s cause I keep failing- “

Hugo cut Yong off and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders, making sure he was looking straight at him.

“But you don’t give up,” he explained. “You take what you learned from your failures, and you try again. Even if the next try can be just as dangerous, you still do it. The science you study is hazardous and for someone to practice it everyday requires guts of steel like yours.”

Yong’s lips curved into a wide smile, touched at the compliment. With his eyebrows straightened and eyes lit up with determination, Yong no longer looked ill. “You’re right! I do have guts!” The kid got up off the ground, standing proudly and ready to take another shot at getting through the labyrinth. “And we’re gonna find our way outta here.”

Hugo grinned as Yong held out a hand to him to help him up. He took the kid’s hand in his, being pulled back up to his feet.

“So Sparks, what does your gut say?” Hugo asked as they walked toward the choice of 3 doors, one straight ahead, one on their left, and one on their right. His ally closed his eyes to focus. For half a second, Yong’s complexion seemed to blanch again.

“My gut feels dizzy,” the shorty confessed, smiling a little sheepishly when he opened his eyes. “Like we’ve been going in circles.”

Hugo chuckled at first at his friend’s answer but suddenly froze, his body stiffening.

“Hugo? What’s wrong?”

“…that’s it.”

“What’s it?”

“I think you’re right Yong, we are going in circles!” Hugo beamed, reaching back into his pockets.

Yong gave Hugo a confused expression. “And that’s a good thing, why?”

Hugo took out the compass in his pocket, taking note that they were currently facing west. He grabbed Yong’s hand and stepped through the door straight ahead. The blonde continued to stare at his compass as the door closed behind them with the clicking noises starting. Slowly, but surely, the arrow on the compass gently nudged until they were facing north, although neither had turned directions. Once the clicking sound coming from the door stopped, the arrow remained still.

“These individual pathways are slowly rotating,” deduced Hugo. “Every time we enter a new room or path, the doors lock, and we’re being turned around. That’s why we’ve been so lost and why we’ve ended up in rooms and pathways we took before. You figured out the problem, Sparks!”

Yong laughed as Hugo placed his hand on top of his head and messed up his black hair.

“Well, it was my gut that found out the problem.”

“But now that we know what the problem is, we can find our way out.”

The two moved along, and Hugo found a pattern on how many times the pathways turned clockwise and counterclockwise, using the compass. The two of them figured that as long as they stayed heading northward, through each doorway, there wouldn’t be a chance they’d end up in the rooms and halls they were in before. 

Finally, the two entered a room that was very different from the rest of the maze. The walls were covered with light up panels, all shining a gentle yellow color. The only three panels that were lit differently were a red one in the center of the low ceiling that hung above them, a green panel at the bottom of the right-side wall, and a blue panel that blinked and traveled across the left-side wall in an indiscernible pattern.

In the center of the room was a red control console. Hugo walked up to the console as Yong investigated the wall panels. There were a small number of controls on the panel, but the issue was he couldn’t decipher what each control did. 

“I think this is Varian and Nuru,” Yong piped up, looking at the blue blinking panel that slowly traveled along the yellow lit wall. He ran over to Hugo and pointed at the red panel in the ceiling. “And we’re here!”

“Which probably means our exit is the green light there,” Hugo suggested. “Now to find out how to get Varian and Nuru here and get us all out.”

The older teen looked closely at the switches and buttons, trying to determine which ones looked more worn out and pressed. They mustn’t have been the only people to use this secret passage before, so those who have taken this route before them would have left some remnants of their actions.

“Hey Sparks, you got any charcoal powder on you?”

“Yeah!” Yong exclaimed, reaching into his satchel to pull out the black powder. Hugo gently sprinkled the charcoal across the panel before softly blowing it away. The dust remained on three of the controls, sticking onto the oils left on them by previous travelers.

“Now…which control to try first…” Hugo mumbled. 

Yong looked at the panel before looking up at Hugo. “…what does your gut say?”

Hugo grinned at Yong before proceeding to push down on a blue button that opened all doors in the labyrinth. Next, he pulled down one of the switches which stopped all pathways and rooms from rotating. Lastly, he pressed on the green button to his right. Panels from the red light on the ceiling to the green one on the wall turned green, making a pathway from the control room to the exit, lighting up the matching rooms in a greenish hue.

“Ha! Just as I predicted,” Hugo smugly stated. “See Sparks? We solved this maze our way.”

“With our guts!” Yong cheered, raising his fists in the air. The kids’ excitement was contagious, and Hugo raised his fists as well in victory, chanting ‘Guts! Guts! Guts!’ with Yong. He was sure they looked silly, celebrating their victory, but he had to admit it was fun basking in their success. Eventually the two settled down and decided to go back and find Varian and Nuru. As Hugo turned to look at the panel once more, something caught his eye.

Surprisingly, one of the buttons that wasn’t lit up before was now blinking orange. The older teen peered down and took a closer look, seeing that there was a faint bit of charcoal powder on it that he hadn’t noticed before. 

“Hey, hold up Shorty,” he called as Yong was about to walk away. “I think we forgot something.”

The kid turned to look at the panel, seeing the blinking light as well.

“Huh…what do ya think it does?”

“I don’t know…”

Whatever this button was, it was pressed before, so it was needed...right? Hugo moved his finger to press down on it but paused for a split second. Something felt off. Hugo couldn’t understand why they would need to press on any more controls now that they had a path out of the labyrinth.

Still, maybe he was overthinking this. Maybe the button would reset the maze. And if so, the two of them could just open the pathway again with the panel. Hugo waived away his concerns and proceeded to press the button. The two heard a click and turned to the right-side wall to see a secret panel open. The blonde made his way towards opening, peering in to see a secret hall. The entry was narrow, allowing only one person to go in at a time. 

“Hugo?” Yong called, still back at the panel. “What is it?”

“Looks like another pathway,” Hugo answered, walking into the entrance. As he took another step, his face slammed into something hard. The teen hissed in pain, holding his nose and realizing the pathway was fake. It was an optical illusion to look like a hall. Hugo had fallen for the stupid trick and had walked face first into a wall of a small room, not a hallway. “What the-“

“Hugo!” Yong cried out in warning, rushing forward toward him. Whatever Yong was trying to warn him about, he was too late.

Hugo yelped out in pain again as the panel behind him shut quickly, scraping his shoulder blade. Suddenly, everything went dark. Hugo turned around to see he was now trapped in a narrow, suffocating, pitch black chamber.

To be continued.

Part two here.

[presidenthades]

I am doing very minor revisions of Daemon’s Handbook (mostly formatting and continuity errors), and I wanted to do some behind-the-scenes commentary before too much time passes and I forget my original thoughts. Here’s Chapter 11!

(Note that these commentaries aren’t canon to the verse until/unless the author writes them into the series. I might change my mind on a few points later, but these are the thoughts I had while writing.)

In my early outline, the big scandal in the last chapter was supposed to be Luce and Aemond getting caught in flagrante by somebody aligned to Otto (the servants’ passages scene in Chapter 9 didn’t happen in this version). I was writing it as a parallel to the Episode 4 brothel scene, so I was going to have it take place in the city somewhere, and there was going to be a lot of drama with Luce and Aemond being forcibly separated while Daemon searches for Luce. But the pacing was off and the necessary sequence of events was too contrived, so we got the version that currently exists in the fic.

I kept wondering if it was plausible Clement Celtigar to be stupid enough to unwittingly act as Otto’s lackey. I decided the answer is yes. I try not to character bash, but the Celtigars make it too easy. 😭 Seriously, read about them on the ASOIAF wiki (and look at Edwell and Bartimos’s pages).

I imagine that Otto pretended to be more familiar with Rhaenyra’s side of the family than he actually is, and he dropped some hints (without outright saying it, because like Daemon thinks in this chapter, young men want to believe they come up with their own ideas) that Luce favors Clement, and that she enjoys visiting the library late at night. Then Otto had the note forged in Aemond’s handwriting and left it for Luce. I’m sure this scheme was a lot smoother and sneakier than my bullet points can convey.

I picked the library as the setting so I could play with the trope in a lot of Aemond/OC fanfics (which I really enjoy! But I also enjoy flipping tropes) where Aemond and his love interest rendezvous in the library.

ASOIAF has names for hours of the day (eg hour of ghosts), but GRRM hasn’t revealed all the names. So I extrapolated names for all 24 hours of the day. “Hour of the cat” in the forged note is 11PM.

I spent a while debating how badly Luce injures Clement. I considered making it a lot more grievous (with a knife involved, as a redux of Driftmark), but that would have drastically darkened the story’s tone and changed the fallout from the event. So Clement gets away with a bit of testicular torsion, which Dr Google tells me *can* be serious if not quickly given medical treatment.

Bartimos comes close to calling Luce a whore. If he said it, Daemon would probably have given him the Episode 8 Vaemond treatment. Again, that would’ve been a very dark tonal shift, so Barty stays quiet.

Clement wants 8 sons and 2 daughters because a crab (his house sigil) has ten legs total, two of them being pincers. But Luce doesn’t care about the symbolism, and she ain’t having that many kids.

Normally Luce would have sneaked off alone to meet Aemond in the library. But she brings Rhaena because the argument with Daemon is still fresh, and she’s smarting from his (reasonably accurate) accusation that she doesn’t think enough with her upper brain. So in a strange way, Daemon’s diatribe benefited Luce because if she’d gone alone, there wouldn’t be any witnesses to defend her.

Daemon’s snooping around the girls’ letters is also proving to be surprisingly helpful several years later! If he hasn’t read Aemond’s letters to Luce, Daemon wouldn’t notice the handwriting discrepancy.

Daemon spends the entire fic paranoid about Hightower schemes, and he’s FINALLY right! He finally gets validation! 😂 But he also has zero evidence, literally just gut feelings and vibes.

Baela has been having a great time with Cregan Stark (who canonically has a thing for bisexual tomboys). The Northerners are staying around longer than most wedding guests because the distance is so far, so Baela has plenty of time to keep seducing him. By the time Cregan leaves, I imagine he’s going to make an offer to Baela, but she’s going to put him off for a while longer; she’ll *probably* accept him eventually, but she’s not sure Moondancer will like the cold.

After Daemon confronts Aemond, Aemond goes to the Tower of the Hand to confront Otto. I’m not sure what exactly they say to each other, but afterwards, Aemond tears his room apart looking for the present he planned to give Luce three years ago. I don’t know where he eventually finds it, but it’s probably a laughably obvious spot he totally overlooks at first.

Jace has already been setting up a gossip/whisper network in the Red Keep, so she’s able to hear first thing the next morning about the library incident.

I like Paddy Considine’s take that Viserys *does* have the “blood of the dragon,” he just forces himself to control his temper because he’s trying to be a good king. Also, when he’s a walking corpse in Episode 8, he has the wherewithal to draw his dagger and threaten to cut out Vaemond’s tongue. Viserys would 100% call for Clement to be gelded and gossipers to be silenced. So, for once, Viserys strongly approves of Daemon’s violent streak. 😇

I spent a while debating Clement’s punishment. He kissed Luce when she didn’t want it, which, for most girls, would unfortunately be swept under the rug since he’s the heir to a notable house. But things are different with the royal family. Luce doesn’t want an unnecessarily cruel punishment; she was friendly with Clement until recently, and in Chapter 7, she’s restraining Aemond from violence against Ulf. Even though she’s quick to defend herself by any means necessary, she’s by no means a sadist. She was also deeply affected when Aemond lost his eye (which she partially blames herself for), which leads to her resisting punishments that involve maiming.

Jace also advocates for less violence, but not because she’s a softie. She prefers the diplomatic route, which is harder if you’re trigger-happy to forcibly amputate your vassals. But she knows a monarch has to make hard decisions sometimes, and she’s willing to do what it takes. For example, if Clement had done worse than kiss Luce, Jace *would* want him to be gelded, and she’d have no qualms about it.

Helaena did not have a vision or prophecy about Aemond and the book. She just saw him panicking in his room and figured out what he was up to, because she’s his sister and she knows him. 😂 And because she knows him (and Luce) so well, she can deduce they’re probably going to patch things up, so she packs his bags for him.

No God’s Eye duel in this verse, but I couldn’t resist slipping in a reference about Luce jumping into Vhagar’s saddle 😭

ASOIAF book readers can probably deduce what Joff’s candle is. And that’s all I’m gonna say about it until we get Joff’s POV. 👀

Joff kisses Daeron’s cheek purely to distract Daemon from asking more questions about the candle. Daeron is now very confused. I like to imagine he runs off to Jace and Aegon’s room screaming “Aegon, Joff kissed me, what do I do????” But Jace and Aegon are newlyweds so Aegon isn’t going to appreciate Daeron’s interruption 😂😂😂

That’s it for the Handbook commentaries! Fingers crossed that I have an update this weekend about my next fic in this AU-verse. 🤞

[smallraindrops-blog]

The Eros of May

WMFTD!Y/N x Hypnos

Wordcount: 300

Summary: Told in snapshots. There is a beautiful man with sleepy golden eyes, warm skin kissed by the sun and the lingering days of spring.

Warnings: no beta

notes: a writing challenge for myself, I took two different challenges and mashed them together. Credit to this post and this post and their creator for making these challenges.

To find the rest, use ‘The Eros of May’ tag please.

Also I swear i am working on other fics. Northern Star had grown into a monster.

Homecoming

The potted basil was still on the same spot by the door. It had grown comically large now, marking the passage of time with new leaves. 

You stopped next to it, noticing a new pot next to it. There were some bright green sprouts peeking out of the damp soil. Your foolish heart took it as an omen, that maybe it wasn’t too late.

The letter was safely tucked away in the suitcase inside the rented car. The letter that finally made you confess to your parents that you left your heart in Greece, with a gorgeous, silly man who named a beach house a ‘Lake House’ of all things.

It finally had been the thing to push you to buy expensive, redeye tickets without a plan, you just needed to get back to him. 

Please. Please. Don’t let it be too late.

On the weather worn door, with the radiant colors of a Mediterranean sunrise coming behind you, you knocked twice. Then again after a heartbeat. For an eternity or maybe a handful of a moment, you waited then you heard footsteps. 

When the door opened, your heart stopped. 

It was clear you woke him up, his hair was loose and spilling everywhere, red lines on his cheeks. He was wearing the shirt you bought for him at the farmer’s market. The sleepy gold of his eyes was like a morning haze, dreamy and unreal.

He was completely perfect and you wondered how you could have walked away.

”Am I still asleep?” Hypnos asked, his voice wobbly. You shook your head but he still didn't move closer.

“I got your letter.” You said in a rush, wanting to reach for him. “I- I bought tickets- there is going be paperwork later but I just needed to see to you and-”

You didn’t finish what you were going to say, the speech you wrote in your head was gone the moment Hypnos slammed himself in your chest, his arms holding on your waist. 

There was no hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him and held him flush against you. You kissed the top of his head, lingering there with your eyes closed.

Home. Your heart repeated with each beat. Home

“Next time, don’t leave.” Hypnos said, his tearful words muffled.

”I won’t.” You promised, tightened your arms around him. 

[buttertheflame]

They say that fanfiction is all stanning. But has anyone stanned the source material to the point of getting distracted from writing fanfiction?

You know what I mean, bookworms? Just to give you a window into my oscillating thoughts: If my guy Jon Snow has returned to the Wall post-ADWD with his betrothed Daenerys Targaryen, yeah I'm gonna stan what came before and make shit up like crazy. The struggle is real! I love the romance of these ‘soulmates’ but I also love everything that makes asoiaf what it is. (Within reason.)

If I stan too much, I write slow-going passages like this:

Jon’s heart felt full as he left her side, his mind brimming with thoughts of their eventful morning so far.  My love, where do we go from here? He knew where he was going, at the least. He would find Samwell in the Flint Barracks. In the three days they’d been at Castle Black, both men had yet to break from meetings to tend to personal interactions. With the increasing days among the Watch, it became more strange to think of himself and Sam as former members of the order. He’d expected the feeling even before they’d left Winterfell, yet as he walked across the courtyard and felt the gazes of a few dozen black brothers upon his back, it shook him all the same. 

Yet another feeling warred within Jon Snow. On the right step he’d sense the men. On the left step he’d sense Daenerys. Her attention and love thrilled him, as like it had only one other time. On Dragonstone. Their home.

But if I hold back on the stanning, I write meatier passages like this:

It was hard to say if anyone took offense enough to the executioner’s blade hanging above them, for as often as the Northern lords, free folk and warriors large and small came up to the dais to present themselves, did the displays of fealty reassure her of Jon's leadership. Strikingly, the free folk never kneeled, but they did offer gifts, the most sobering of which were a pair of bearskin boots given to Queen Daenerys by a group of spearwives.  

She took them graciously and wondered if the wise men would believe the gesture had given King Jon’s uncertain frown a rosy flush. That he was charmed enough to tell her a tale of the hunter who’d fashioned them was welcomed with her whole heart. As she listened to him describe the father of two who fell to the Others at the event many had come to call the Passing Through the Ice, she wondered if the scribes of history would tell of this pair, the last he ever made. And as Jon sort of sat and looked at her for a long time, she wondered if they would believe she was hopelessly lost for him, as well.

So it's coming! If anyone has read "A Long Way Home" and is waiting for the next fic in the series, I'd like to get Chapter 1 up before House of the Dragon comes out in June. (Because of the competition, you see, from their very same Team Black forebearers.) That's the goal, anyway!

[imonabeaut]

A Drive Through The Northwest Passage

(Part2)

Here's the second part of the Disco Elysium x Twin Peaks fanfic I'm doing. Check out part 1 here:

BTW, what do yall think the name of the fic should be? The title is supposed to just be the chapter name, so leave your suggestions below.

(Twin Peaks spoilers)

"So Kim, who are we working with?"

Kim kitsuragi: Kim picks up his notes and begins re-reading them wordlessly.

Espirit de corps: He knows them by heart at this point. But he's the type to always double check.

Empathy: He doesn't trust his memory, his writing is like a personal window to the past.

Inland empire: Until he peers through it is both set in stone and uncertain.

Kim kitsuragi: "Special agent Dale Cooper, FBI, he's the federal agent assigned to the case."

Espirit de corps: A man is hanging upside down by his feet in a hotel room. He talks to a tape recorder.

Dale Cooper: "Diane, 6:18 a.m., Room 315. Great Northern Hotel up here in Twin Peaks."

Espirit de corps: He talks about mundane things, you aren't sure if anyone is or will listen. He dismounts himself from the hanging contraption and continues speaking.

Dale Cooper: "Diane, it seems the Laura Palmer case has spurred quick action from the bureau. The discovery of what seems to be cocaine in laura Palmer's diary has been reported as a lead into an ongoing international smuggling operation. Apparently a pair of detectives from overseas have been investigating drug trafficking in the us-canada border and they've been dispatched from Seattle all the way out here to twin peaks."

Espirit de corps: He stops the recording.

Kim kitsuragi: "we'll also be working with local law enforcement, we should visit the sheriff's station as soon as we get there. He should also point us to some local accommodations."

-

-

Dale Cooper: Cooper sits in the conference room of the sheriff's department, sitting opposite to sheriff Truman.

"Harry, I just got off a call with Albert Rosenfeld. He's a forensics expert and will be assisting the investigation. When he arrives tomorrow he'll do an autopsy on the body of Laura Palmer."

Harry Truman: "Callin' in the cavalry, huh?"

He takes a moment to smile before continuing.

"So, why are we waiting to talk with Mike and Bobby"

Dale Cooper: "That's because the cavalry is coming in double, Harry."

Harry Truman: "What do you mean, Coop?"

Lucy Morgan: The intercom blasts the conference room with feedback.

"Agent cooper, Sherrif Truman. Lieutenant Kitsuragi and Lieutenant Du Bois are here to see you."

Dale Cooper: "That's our cue!"

[artficlly]

lady of the ghosts [chapter 6]

After a great plague ravages your city, you are looking to marry to secure safety for your people. With a war finally ending, the nearby kingdoms are looking to celebrate. King James "Bucky" Barnes decides to continue his family's tradition of hosting a courting season. A medieval courting marvel AU.

Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader

Warnings: death, mention of dead body, anxiety, doubt, discussion of funerals, mentions of sexism, angst, tension, FLUFF, lovebites, steve is cocky, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: heres a short n sweet one for ya <3 the funeral is coming up next chapter, are you ready??? i think if i start writing smaller chapters i might be able to get them out more frequently instead of the 10k+ monster this chapter was supposed to be. also i've put this fic onto ao3 (same name and username - pls leave some kudos to help boost) please enjoy and let me know what you think, reblogs and likes appreciated! as always, not proof read - sorry for any typos

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

Before the Stormfall Mountain’s Pass had been created, Faliene had been impenetrable. The city was only accessible by the frigid Northern Ocean, and few dared to challenge her depths. All those years ago, men feared the gods and what may have lurked under the surface. The children of Neume harnessed the wind and waves, so her inky depths spared them. The same could not be said for the others. The pass had been a success, but it was also the beginning of the end. Her secrets and spirit were lost to the passage of time, devoured by Haiford the moment her underbelly was revealed. The fall was inevitable.

The pass had fallen into disrepair since you last traveled it, with entire sections of the path swallowed by snow and ice. You had been a child back then, ushered from inn to carriage day after day as you and your mother had escaped the plague-ridden city. You wondered if the mountains remembered you as you remembered them. Did your footprints remain buried deep under layers of snow? Or had they been washed away in the thaw as quickly as a wave over sand? 

You had never thought you would see those thick blankets of snow again, your breath was constant and loud as the thin air burned your lungs. How many years have you dreamed of this pass? Your fingers and toes numb as you barreled through the blizzard, reaching and screaming for that distant city. How many years has it been since you last saw Faliene in all her glory? As excited as you were to be reunited with your home, apprehension clawed at your gut. 

Would your people remember you? Would they accept you – their lady, who had spent half her childhood coddled away in Haiford Capital while they starved? Would they hate you or forgive you? You had spent so long fighting and trying to return; would you even recognize Faliene anymore? You had been stripped of so many things – a mother, a home, a culture – did you even know how to be a part of your own heritage, your legacy? So many questions clawed at your mind that your stomach would ache at night as you lay awake contemplating the vastness of it all. 

With stiff hands, you wrapped your fur cloak closer around your body, your eyes straining against the bitter wind that blew polar air straight to your core. Around you, thick flakes of snow floated, a layer of ice clinging to your eyelashes and exposed hair. In the distance, you could make out the warm orange candlelight of the inn; in the time you had been gone, the sky had darkened dramatically. You were not afraid of the cold or the dark, and you relished the opportunity to breathe in the frosty night sky. 

So many years you had spent cooped up. What would be a nightmare for most would be freedom for you. 

Due to King Harrison not having the foresight to hire a Falienean guide, it fell to you to scout the barely-used path. Although inexperienced, you had not failed so far. Following your intuition and fuzzy memories, you were able to locate the paths long buried under months of snow. In the evenings, while the others sheltered in the inns and boardhouses throughout the pass, you would scout ahead to ensure the path was safe to follow.

Thankfully, due to the many families that still braved living in the mountains, most of the main path remained relatively intact. The families were mainly farmers raising mountain goats and sheep, offering board for travelers and traders for extra income. And much to your rising concern, many of the families didn’t recognize you as their lady until you introduced yourself. 

Once dismounted, you quickly settled your horse in the small stable attached to the inn. Due to navigational convenience and your growing resentment of being cooped up in a carriage, you had mostly traveled on horseback. The first days between Haiford Capital and the mountains, you would have nightmares of being trapped inside a coffin – like your mothers – clawing your nails bloody on the wood. When you would finally rip off the lid of the coffin, you would find yourself in a carriage, the horses charging at a neck-breaking speed. 

As you passed the carriages tucked away beside the stables, you frowned. One for King Harrison, Peggy, and Michael. The other for your mother in her coffin. Although you were nearly two weeks into your journey, her body would show no signs of decomposition. The mountains would have frozen her solid, her body like a porcelain doll. 

Once inside the inn, you quickly ascended the stairs to the upper level. Although you were freezing and craving a warm drink, the idea of fighting past the Haifordian guard that crowded the kitchen stove sounded exhausting. Shrugging off your cloak, jacket, and hat, you reached the room you shared with Peggy. With such a small inn and a large traveling party, it was easier for certain groups to sleep in the same room. Both you and Peggy being unmarried women meant you were paired together, while some of the Haifordian guards were cramming more than six men into a room. 

Your hand paused over the doorknob, a sound from the other side catching you off guard. You were so busy contemplating how best to dry your damp clothing that you nearly missed it. Leaning your ear closer to the door, you roll your eyes in irritation. The sound of Peggy giggling carried through the wood, a familiar male voice spoke low words you couldn’t quite make out. 

Steve. With a huff, you step away from the door. Both of them had been playing a risky game the entire trip, regularly visiting each other's rooms. The wrong person would eventually learn about them, it was only a matter of time. 

You hesitate in the hallway. They had never visited so late into the evening before; normally Peggy was preparing for or already in bed by the time you came back from your scouting missions. Traveling through thick snow was as hard as expected, exhausting even for those tucked into the carriages. It wasn’t unusual for the party to be in bed straight after an early supper. 

You were half tempted to barge in and interrupt them; you were tired from a long day on horseback. You still didn’t feel like braving the kitchen and sitting outside and waiting would be highly suspicious. Lingering in the hallway for a few more minutes, you grumble a few unsavory words under your breath before trying to find your next best options. James. 

To the surprise of everyone but you, James had canceled the season. He had also insisted on traveling with the first party – your party – to Faliene. Another party was a few days behind yours, made up of Galantian and Asgardian guards, a group of the Galantian court, and Asgardian royalty. You had a sneaking suspicion that while half of them were there to show their respect, the others were there to see a Falienean funeral firsthand. Due to the rituals and traditions involved, Falienean funerals were frequently regarded as barbaric spectacles. 

You waver outside James’ room. Despite him traveling with your party, the two of you had barely spoken since the library. You suspected he was trying to draw attention away from the both of you, but his presence mustered up enough rumors with the Haifordian guard. Most of your conversations were spent with Steve. When he wasn’t bluntly flirting with Peggy, he would be complaining about the growing cold, much to your mockery and amusement. You were unsure of how he would cope with the chill of Faliene; the Stormfall Mountains were cold, but nothing in comparison to the chill that blew in off the northern sea. 

Chewing your lip, you finally gave in and rapped your knuckles lightly against the door. With your breath held, you wait, wondering if he even heard the knock at all. You might have missed him downstairs, or maybe he had already fallen asleep–

The door suddenly swung open, startling you as you took a step back. James stood in the doorway, an equally surprised expression flashing across his features momentarily. It wasn’t just the expression that hinted at his shock at your presence, but also the fact that he was shirtless. You hug your discarded clothing closer to your chest. You tried to keep your eyes anywhere but his bare skin, your mouth growing dry as you struggled to find words to explain your sudden presence at his door. 

Now no longer covered, you could get a better look at his tattooed arm, with swirling blue ink patterning his entire left arm and shoulder. A large, raised scar ran across his shoulder joint, nearly entirely encircling the flesh. The scar was ghostly white and gnarled like the roots of a tree. It looked impossible – the type of scar someone shouldn’t have survived. But the ink decorating his skin told a story you already knew. Magic. Magic had saved his arm and, most likely, his life. So many denied its existence when it stood so blatantly in front of them. 

Swallowing hard, you glance upward to meet his gaze. You couldn’t ignore the smirk that tugged at his lips, his right side now leaning against the doorframe as he eyed you with a silent satisfaction. 

“Can I come in?” You abruptly say, suddenly remembering how to speak. James’ chuckles lowly at you before motioning you inside. 

Still flustered, you quickly duck past his muscled form, peeling off your gloves as you stand in the center of the room with a quiet huff. James’ still snickers at you as he closes the door. 

“You knocked so quietly, I thought I was hearing things.” He says this while you continue to refuse to look at him. Instead, your gaze falls on the room around you; it is nearly identical to yours. Two beds are layered with furs and blankets, one for him and one for Steve. A sheepskin rug thrown over the wooden floors. On the other side of the room is a roaring fireplace, with two seats positioned in front of it. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.” You mutter, squeezing your hand into a fist as you try to regain feeling in your numb fingers. 

“Peggy and Steve?” He asks, the floorboards creaking softly under his weight as he inches closer to where you stand. 

“They’re going to get caught–” You begin to grumble but cut yourself off as you realize how close James has grown. Your breath catches in your throat as he reaches out, a single tattooed finger twirling around a damp strand of your hair. 

“You’re soaking.” His voice cuts into the abrupt silence, but your focus is on the closeness of his body rather than the state of your clothes and hair. “Come, sit by the fire.”

You wordlessly oblige, allowing him to lead you to one of the seats. In the low light, James’ muscles and veins are illuminated by the orange glow of the fire. Peeling off another damp layer, James takes your previously discarded clothing and lines it in front of the fireplace to dry. 

“The snow must have melted.” You mutter, remembering the snowflakes and ice that had clung to your clothes and hair before you came inside. James hums in reply, running a hand through his hair as he looks down at you, ensuring you are settled before finally pulling on a shirt. You sigh through your nose, half in relief and half in disappointment. 

A comfortable silence falls as he takes a seat across from you. You could feel his gaze watching as you quietly unlaced your seal-leather snow boots. The leather was more successful at keeping out the creeping wetness and dampness of the snow. Without the blubber to insulate the cold, your toes felt frozen beneath your thick, woolen socks.

During the weeks of travel, you had found yourself hoping for a moment alone like this to talk after so much silence had passed between the both of you. Nearly daily, when you weren’t consumed by anxieties for the quickly approaching future, you would think back to that moment in the library and what you would say once you were alone. 

Now that you were here, you were near speechless. 

As you twisted the rings on your fingers, you recounted all of the questions and thoughts that had lingered in your mind for so long – so many conversations you wished to have with the King in front of you. You were unsure where to start. 

“Why does Steve call you Bucky?” You ask, breaking the stillness. You mentally curse yourself at the bluntness of the question. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask the heavy questions: ‘Why did you come?’ or ‘What will become of us once this funeral is over?’. To your surprise, a gentle look crosses his face, and you lean back into your seat. 

“It’s just a nickname I had as a child, I suppose there's some familiarity to it.” He replies with a light chuckle, running his hand up through his hair again as if in thought. You keep an intense gaze on him, distracted by the movement.

“I thought there was going to be a dramatic story.” You admit lightheartedly, finally breaking your stare. Maybe something soft and lighthearted was the way to start, to ease yourself back into the familiarity of conversation. You had spent so long silent; your jaw clenched as you rode through the snow each day. It was a wonder you even remembered how to form words and that your mouth hadn’t become frozen shut. 

“No. I was always Bucky or Buck, and Steve was Stevie sometimes.” 

“Stevie? That’s too cute for that brute.” You mutter, and James’ gives you a lopsided grin.

“I think it was because of Becca. She would call me Jamie sometimes, so naturally Steve was Stevie.” He explains, though there is a twinge of sadness in his tone. Your gut squeezes, an anxious reminder of the past and the grief attached to it.

“I wish I had been able to meet her.” Your words are gentle and slow, almost hesitant. 

James stared long and hard into the fire for a time. “Becca? Well…she could be a mean, spoiled brat sometimes.” 

You could sense the deflection in his words and tone. You had noticed that he rarely spoke of Rebecca, and when he did, it pained him. He rarely went beyond the surface, never talking of their relationship beyond the fact that they were siblings. You could understand not wanting to revisit such memories. You often treated the memories of your father in similar ways, holding them close to your chest as secrets only you could know. 

“I think that is just the way with siblings. At least, that is what Peggy has told me.” You offer, lightheartedly. 

“I think she’s right. As much of a brat as Becca could be, I still loved her.” A dark look comes over his face, and you watch as he clenches and unclenches his fist before speaking once more. “What were your nicknames?”

You don’t push the subject of Rebecca further, instead latching onto his latter question. “I never had any.”

“None? Really?” He asked in surprise. 

You take a moment to think back and remember the warm, fuzzy memories of your childhood. You could remember running rampant through the halls of Fort Faliene, peeling off your stockings to wade in the waters near the dock. You could remember sitting on your father's desk, legs swinging through the air as you watched him organize his bookshelf, a half-played chess game abandoned nearby. 

“My father used to call me a wild cat, or his little wild cat, like the snow leopards that live deeper in the mountains. It’s ironic to think back on now, considering the leopards are called Ghosts of the Mountain.” You hum in thought, that warm, fuzzy feeling replaced with something bitter in your chest as your mind moves closer to recent history. Your nails tap against the wooden arm of the chair. 

“And then the endearing names turned to cruel ones, words to belittle me because of my gender and my culture. They called my mother the Lady of the Ghosts before me. She always shouldered it so easily, she would call me her Little Ghost.”

“Little Ghost?” James questioned you, his voice low as if he did not wish to interrupt your sudden openness. 

“It was because the Haifordian’s said I was like a little ghost when we first left Faliene.” A sad smile plays across your lips as you recount the memory. “I was barely fourteen, my father was dead, and my home was ripped from me. When I couldn’t sleep in that terrible castle, I would wander the halls and gardens. The maids would go to my mother in the morning and say, ‘Your little ghost was wandering the halls again’, expecting her to reprimand me. My mother would just laugh at them and say, ‘She is a ghost, what do you expect?’–

“Sometimes she would join me at night. We would look at the moon and the stars in the garden. When the moon was visible, she would say, ‘Tonight is a high tide, the men will be bringing in the hauls’, as if we were still there, walking along the docks. That was before she got sick, of course… By the time I was sixteen, she was bedridden and had entirely forgotten who I was. That’s when I became the Lady of the Ghosts, not just the little ghost that haunted the halls of the Haifordian court.” 

The silence that follows your words is deafening, with James watching you with a soft expression as you sigh sharply and lean back further into your seat. 

“You carry a piece of her with you everywhere, then.” James speaks, his voice gentle. Your eyes flutter upward, surprised. “Every time your enemies mock you with those names, they are breathing life into her legacy. Your legacy.” 

The wave of emotion that rolled over your body at his words was indescribable. You had felt fondness toward others before, but never to this degree. Your heart thumped in your chest as you swallowed hard, leaning forward in your seat. How could he take such a melancholic, painful memory and turn it into something of beauty? How could he take the anxiety clawing at your chest and simply replace it with calm?

Your hand reached out to grasp his, causing a fuzzy feeling in your gut and skull as you tried to figure out the words to say. Nothing came, nothing you could quite describe or express. Desire tingled across your skin as you contemplated clambering into his lap, allowing him to embrace you like he had in the library. Just you and him, his arms sheltering you from reality. 

“James I–” You start, and his gaze is intense as he watches you creep closer. But as quickly as the moment began, it abruptly stopped. Your body jolted back involuntarily in fright as the door to the room slammed open. 

You gaped as Steve walked in with a shit-eating grin, the exposed skin of his neck and collarbones dotted with quickly bruising love bites. James visibly deflates beside you, a tense breath leaving his nose sharply as he avoids eye contact with you. You try to ignore the hurt that squeezes your chest at that sight, instead turning your attention to a smug Steve.

“Steve!” You scold, clambering to your feet. “You are so lucky we have to dress heavy with the snow! If King Harrison caught you, he would have you head–” 

“Y/N, relax. It’s fine, no one saw us.” Steve reassures you, almost immediately stealing your seat in front of the fire. You roll your eyes, slapping him on the shoulder as you shimmy past to pick up your clothing from in front of the fire. 

James remains silent, locked in an intense stare with Steve as you hand your still damp clothing over your arm. Steve glances between the two of you with a quizzical yet knowing stare. You watch on in confusion as the two men seem to have a silent conversation with their eyes, James shaking his head at the blond. You reach down and collect your boots with a huff, deciding to exit the room before the sting of James’ sudden snub sets in. 

“I am going to bed.” You say, noting James’ reluctance to catch your eye.

“Sweet dreams.” Steve hums, an even wider smile spreading across his face, watching as if he knew something you didn’t. All you can muster is a scoff, closing the door behind you without looking back. 

taglist| @liter4ti @just-someone11 @champagnejoker @scooobies @queerqueenlynn @roryhaarts @fanfictionjunkie1112 @themotherof10 @diaries-of-a-hopelessromantic

[historia-gloria]

Hi!! I'd love to hear about The injury of finally knowing you ^^

Hi hi, of course! So this is my current long fic for the Dead Boy Detective Agency, a 5+1 thing:

He flicks open Identifying Magical Beings and heads to the index, cross-referencing effect on ghosts, grave dweller and disappearance. When that doesn’t turn up anything, he tries just effect on ghosts and disappearance. As he flicks through the book, he’s aware of Charles fidgeting with the bat in front of him, uneasy. He's lucky that there are so few supernatural creatures that are able to impact ghosts, it's a very short list to go through. Omphalotum Nidiformis? No, that wouldn't cause any of the sounds that Alexander had heard. Forest Elemental? No, the area is too built up for something like that to flourish. Kelpie? They're not really far enough north for a kelpie, nor is there water big enough for one. Which only leaves… “Charles, I think I may have found the issue.” The other ghost is at his side in a second, peering over his shoulder. “I mean, that doesn’t look like a nice doggy.” He sighs, looking over at the entry for Barghest. Edwin rolls his eyes. “That is a barghest, or monstrous hound,” he says, drily. “They are apparently common in Northern England, but also…” He points to a passage on the page, which Charles automatically reads aloud. “‘The barghest, like other spiritual beings, can interact with ghosts. It has been said that their bite will cause enough pain to dispel a ghost from existence.’ Well, shit.” “Quite,” says Edwin again, feeling a pit of dread settle in his stomach. Most ghosts cannot withstand pain, they've seen it destroy a fair number in their line of work. Edwin is more accustomed to pain than others but Charles? Well, that's a different story.

So this is chapter four (here are the other three chapters aha - https://archiveofourown.org/works/56741068/chapters/144244183 ) and basically it is Edwin realising that Charles is so pretty in different situations and the one time he tells him! In this one, Edwin gets hurt and has a hazy wow he's pretty whilst almost badly injured moment aha

Thanks so much for asking!!

[vakarians-babe]

Well, now I'm curious about you! If you had to choose 5 things you've written as a "crash course" to your writing personality, which would you choose? C:

damn ok i guess the downside of coming up with an ask is that you might have to answer it too 😶 lemme think lemme think

Whither thou goest (LOTRO, f/f, 829 words, rated T) This fic has all aspects of my personality. Tolkien, a healthy dose of tragedy, chivalric romance, and a throughline repetition. I think it might be the shortest possible blurb to get an idea of what and how I like to write.

2. This thing between us. (The Northern Passage, nb/m pre-relationship, 4.8k words, rated M) This fic is a little older and I would love to go back and edit it (I was trying some things with interplay of past and present and I think the different tenses get a lil iffy and I could do better now) but it was an exercise in writing a character that belongs to a friend and getting their inner dialogue--which we don't get to see much of in TNP--to roughly match up. But I still think of this as one of my landmark fics.

3. Lipstick (Mass Effect, nb/m pre-relationship, 1.3k words, rated T) One of the first times I tried a more...poetry inspired? Approach to temporality. I still really love this one. I think the pining stage of romances is tied with tragic endings for my favorite to explore in text. Which is why this one has both.

4. Frail Hope (BG3, f/m, 1.3k words, rated T) Primarily an exploration of all the places I wish the game had let us go in terms of the very obvious trauma the characters are put through, this fic is also a sort of reversal to my other Wyllbhla fic where Dearbhla comforts Wyll.

5. The Lions of House Cousland (DA:O, general and f/m, 253k words, rated M) Okay, maybe not a crash course in the strictest sense, but this fic is...me. Lol. It's an Origins rewrite, yes, but it's also a love letter to my faith and to the friend who introduced me to it (ily Jas 💗). An exploration of grief and horror and duty and guilt and family, I can't *not* put this fic on the list.

If you liked this, consider passing along the question to some of your favorite authors! 💗 If you had to pick 5 fics you’ve written to make a “crash course” and sum up your writing personality, which would they be?

[esssteee]

Writing Patterns

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there’s a pattern!

tagged by @goatsandgangsters, thank you!!! <3

Let’s do this again, somewhere more comfortable.

He appears at first on a cold, pale dawn: a youthful lad requesting―demanding―safe passage, a lone shadow stark against the snow-painted Hedjut scenery of the north, his destination that of the more hospitable lands of southern Fjerda.

He doesn’t know when it started.

Fear.

“Nikolai Alexandrovich, what are you doing not being dressed yet?”

Winds are howling.

The sun has begun a slow descent for a time now, the air losing its warm quality, or as warm as it can be for northern Ravka’s early autumn.

At first, there is confusion.

A cough distracts him, followed by some loud nose-blowing.

At the twilight of his seventeen years, Nikolai comes back from the crucible that is the frontline, bloodied and cast in a new darkness adding age to what are otherwise a fresh face and a youthful mind.

Tagging: @inahandful-of-dust, @greensaplinggrace, @yletylyf, @aloveforjaneausten, @iamstartraveller776, if some of you want to try your hand at it!

[polutrope]

Headcanons for Maglor. I cannot let you go unasked about him 🥰

For this ask game!

Sexuality headcanon: Romantically gay but he'll have sex with anyone he vibes with.

Gender headcanon: cismale, gender non-conforming.

A ship: Daeron. I'll allow my blog and AO3 to elaborate on this one.

BROTP A Gen relationship: Maedhros (I guess that's literally a brotp). Their relationship is so tragic and fucked up at the end.

A NOTP: His Wife. This comes from four words of one footnote on an essay called 'Of Dwarves and Men' and it doesn't say anything about gender - only that he was 'wed' (yes, yes we know what Tolkien meant but it doesn't say). It's fine, he can have a wife (I've even given him one for the sake of comedy), I appreciate textual ghost character development, I'm just salty about this little footnote becoming so ingrained in the fandom consciousness and 'was wed' becoming 'wife'.

soo...

A rarepairing: Glorfindel. After reading a couple great third/fourth-age fics on this ship I thought, "okay, but what if they were together pre-Darkening? What if Glorfindel was Maglor's 'canonical spouse'?" And now that's my headcanon for his spouse. They are the most insufferably attractive and touchy-feely couple in Valinor and then shit goes down (as you may have heard) and Glorfindel officially dumps him - it's been a long time coming - at Mithrim. Nicely. But also righteously.

A random headcanon: It's canon that Fëanor started 'noting the differences' between dialects of northern Sindarin before he died, and (from a footnote to the same passage in Shibboleth of Fëanor) that Maglor ("who was an poet") took an interest in linguistics... so my headcanon is that Maglor finishes or tries to finish Fëanor's work after he dies. Sometimes he calls in sick to being King Regent because he's obsessively poring over grammar as a coping mechanism and Caranthir has to go tell everyone Maglor isn't coming to council today because he's working on his book and Celegorm kicks over a chair.

General opinion: He is unfathomably alluring and fascinating to me. A man of contradictions and complications. Perceptive but susceptible to self-delusion; compassionate and empathetic but alarmingly willing to use those powers to manipulate and persuade; confident and courageous but plagued by doubt and guilt; simultaneously a creator of terror and beauty. I love him your honour.

[redjacketficrecs]

tenderness grows

leavethebes

Summary: Nolan wouldn’t say that landing a job as the Philadelphia Flyers’ psychotic and probably clinically insane mascot was a childhood dream of his. Maybe tangentially: playing pond hockey in –30°C weather and pretending to be Sidney Crosby is practically a rite of passage when you grow up in Manitoba. That, and experiencing the distinct displeasure that is thousands of mosquitoes sucking your blood out when your father drags you on a father-son camping trip into the backwoods of the northern Canadian Prairies.

Recommendation: Really fun Nolpat/TK romance where TK is a Flyer and Patty isn’t. Because Patty is Gritty. Great dialogue and Philly feels very real. There’s a chaotic nature to this fic that just. Really works for it. It's hard to describe but it’s good. It’s also lowkey about how you can love a place and love a place and it might not love you back (except in the ways that they do). And there’s an excellent phone sex scene.

[northerngoshawk]

I posted 1,561 times in 2022

That's 827 more posts than 2021!

226 posts created (14%)

1,335 posts reblogged (86%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@northerngoshawk

@chocomd

@flameohotwife

@itsmoonpeaches

@thinkingisadangerouspastime

I tagged 1,380 of my posts in 2022

Only 12% of my posts had no tags

#self rb - 348 posts

#that's my queue - 197 posts

#northern answers - 131 posts

#northern asks - 102 posts

#flameohotwife - 97 posts

#chocomd - 86 posts

#northern speaks - 84 posts

#aang - 61 posts

#itsmoonpeaches - 59 posts

#that's my q - 57 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#but it must be amazing to be able to write a fic that changes so many people's minds about a character and/or fill a hole in the fandom

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

where we’re meant to be

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Katara and Aang were captured. They escape, and this is how they did it. Complete with fluff. Rated T due to implied violence/torture. Oneshot.

She flinched as a wave of heat rippled through the air, searing her skin. She could hear the raging inferno racing towards them from behind, and in the corner of her eye she could just make out flames licking the walls. When she inhaled, she got a lungful of hot air and smoke and coughed, the raggedness grating heavily in her chest. Over the roaring fire, she could just make out the shouts of the guards as they scrambled to find their missing prisoners.

Keep going, she told herself. Don't stop. Don't let them catch you.

(don't let them take him)

Her breaths came in short, harsh pants as she hauled the unconscious form alongside her. His head flopped like a doll's with every jerking step she took, his body limp and heavy, warmth dribbling from his skin onto hers. If she didn't hear the ragged inhales right next to her ear, didn't feel the puffs of breath that stirred against her skin, she would've thought he was dead.

(he almost did die)

Don't think about it. Don't think. Just go.

Read more on AO3 or FFN

41 notes - Posted May 14, 2022

#4

see the sky and sea (and remember me)

V. soul (灵魂)

Story Summary: Sixteen-year-old Katara was about to partake in the most important ceremony of her life: a rite of passage through the human world as a dolphin. But then everything goes horribly wrong, and a boy sacrifices himself to save her. She brings him back to life with magic, but at costs not even she could've imagined. AU based upon the movie 大鱼海棠. Multi-chapter.  

Chapter Summary:

Just as Adlartok, Katara, and Sokka were growing in their own ways, so too were the storms plaguing the land. Downpours that once rarely lasted past two days could sustain themselves for weeks at a time. The rolling thunder booming overhead increased in intensity, and the roiling storm clouds had darkened to a near black that worried even the White Lotus. During one such stormy day, Katara had dashed towards her room after an onslaught of freezing rain disrupted practice with her mom. Automatically, she went for the spot where she usually Adlartok: a niche she carved out herself, placed down on the ground and behind the door so that when someone walked in, it would hide him. She got to her hands and knees and eagerly pulled out the bucket. But when she peered into it, all she saw was water. No. Panic slammed into her chest, knocking the air from her lungs. No. - When Adlartok goes missing, Katara and Sokka embark on a rescue mission.

read more on ao3 or ffn

52 notes - Posted July 23, 2022

#3

The screenshots are real though so yeah if y’all are gonna go defending a liar then wow

Tell you and that artist you reblogged from- if Ian was “Federally Unrecognized” then how could the live action cast him without knowing and thinking he wasn’t indigenous? He lied ok

61 notes - Posted January 17, 2022

#2

Aang-centric & Katara-centric Fic Masterpost

See the full post

147 notes - Posted February 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Let’s talk about Katara.

Let’s talk about Katara, who had been born to a culture already decimated by the war and bloodshed and violence, who had been born the last waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe because the Fire Nation took them all.

Let’s talk about Katara, who had to watch her mother die to protect her, who had to watch her father leave with every man left in the tribe - and with him, many of those who were keeping the Southern Water Tribe’s cultures and traditions alive.

Let’s talk about Katara, who had to watch her own brother become obsessed with surviving and fighting, who pushed again and again and again to teach the younger children how to fight, until all that the tribe’s culture became is fighting and surviving.

Let’s talk about Katara, who had forgotten (and how everyone had forgotten) what it means to have fun until Aang arrives (“Don't you see? Aang's brought us something we haven't had in a long time: fun.���) because the war took that from her and her tribe and all they remember is how to fight and survive.

709 notes - Posted June 2, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[true--north]

For the ao3 wrapped game No 3 & 29 please 💫

Link to the game

Thanks for the ask ❄🌻

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

I think, it is Love Spell for Kristanna Halloween (the one with dark!Anna and a love potion). I consider it the best thing I have written for this fandom.

Your favourite passage

I just like my headcanon that Kristoff still composes music(it's from my Queen Rita fic, The past is in the past, written before the Polar Nights)

"Kristoff, do you hear?" Anna whispered excitedly. "This organ grinder, he's playing your song–"The Way of the Northern Lights"!"

"Did I really become famous?" Kristoff smiled wryly. "But I didn't get a krone for it."

Anna giggled and jokingly pushed him in the side. "It's your own choice."

Sometimes he released notes of his own composition under the pseudonym "Mountain Spirit". Some of his songs became quite popular, and many in Arendelle wondered who this mysterious musician was. The opinions of the townspeople were usually divided on the fact that it was either Oaken or General Mattias, which served as the occasion for numerous jokes in the narrow circle, when Kristoff threatened to write some saccharine silly song about a shepherd and shepherdess and thereby compromise Mattias.