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earthlybeam · 6 months ago

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🎄🎁Merry Christmas everyone🎉✨

✨🦌🍷 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵 🍷🦌✨

how would the elves react to this?

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Thranduil Version below. (reader/you are his lover). Featuring what I wrote below is: Building a Snowman (With a Twist), Snowball Fight, Sledging Adventure, Snow Angel.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

Building a Snowman(With a Twist):

𐂂 The frosty air nips at your skin as you stand in the center of the snow-covered clearing, the white world around you blanketed in a serene, almost magical stillness. The cold has wrapped itself around your limbs, but there’s a warmth between you and Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, that makes the chill seem distant. His regal presence, typically so composed and distant, has taken on an amusing edge today. The fact that he’s agreed to help you build a snowman—something so frivolous, so beneath him—was a minor miracle in itself, and you can’t help but feel a sense of victory. But even more than that, you feel a flicker of excitement at what’s to come. After all, you’ve never been one to shy away from pushing boundaries. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, watching as he meticulously shapes the snowman’s face, his slender fingers delicate despite the absurdity of the task. The precision with which he works is stunning; it’s as if every movement, every little indentation in the snow, is the result of years of skill and artistry, rather than the simple task of constructing a snow figure. There’s something so undeniably charming about the sight of Thranduil, the immortal Elven king, stooping down to carefully place each detail, his brow furrowed in concentration. And yet, there’s an unmistakable sense of discomfort in the air as well—a kind of forced patience that tells you, despite his grace, he’s not exactly thrilled by this whole “snowman” business. He’s humorlessly indulging you, yet a small spark of amusement lingers behind his icy blue eyes, betraying the fact that he’s not entirely unaffected by the absurdity of it all. His movements are careful and deliberate, his back straight and regal even as he bends to shape the face of the snowman. As he smooths the snow over its eyes, you can’t help but smile to yourself. You’ve already stacked the snowballs, the base and torso towering tall. Now, it’s up to him to add the final touches.

𐂂 And then it hits you. You can’t help but smirk, an idea forming in your mind—a little bit of mischief that will surely break the stoic mask he wears. While he’s focused on his snowman, you quietly reach into your pocket, pulling out a lone carrot. With playful precision, you move it from the typical position to a far more daring one—right at the snowman’s crotch. As you step back, a quiet chuckle bubbles up in your chest. You wait, watching as Thranduil takes a moment to step back and survey his creation. His posture remains straight, his expression still composed, but something shifts in the air. His eyes flick to the snowman, and the briefest flicker of disbelief flashes across his face. For a long moment, there’s only silence. The world seems to hold its breath as he stands frozen, his eyes scanning between the snowman and you, the carrot’s placement the only thing on his mind. And then, slowly, with the precision and grace of an Elven king, he crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head slightly, his lips quirking at the corners.

𐂂 “Well, well,” he drawls, his voice rich and smooth, like velvet, but with an unmistakable hint of amusement laced within. “I didn’t expect such… creativity from you.” He steps forward, his long, graceful strides taking him closer to the snowman, his gaze still locked on you. His movements are deliberate, measured, as if inspecting something of great importance, though the teasing light in his eyes makes it clear he’s well aware of the playful mischief you’ve injected into the moment. “A lowly snowman has become an object of much greater significance, I see.” Thranduil’s words are cutting, dry, and yet there’s an unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes, something playful hiding just behind his regal composure. He glances from the snowman to you, and then raises a single eyebrow. “Do I dare ask why you placed that there, my love?” His tone is laced with dry wit, but there’s a subtle warmth, a hint of something more intimate, in the way he addresses you. The usual icy distance of the Elven king is slipping, replaced by something more… personal. He steps closer, his presence now overwhelming, and you can feel your heartbeat quicken. His gaze is intense as he looks down at you, his eyes holding yours with a mix of challenge and amusement. You try to keep your composure, but the playful glint in his eye is impossible to ignore. You hold his gaze, trying to suppress the mischievous laughter that threatens to bubble up. “I thought it would add a bit of fun to the creation,” you say innocently, your voice light but laced with teasing.

𐂂 Thranduil steps closer still, the space between you two narrowing with each deliberate movement. His posture remains tall, commanding, but there’s a slight softness in his eyes now, a flicker of something far more playful than you’re accustomed to seeing from him. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, almost conspiratorial tone. There’s a deliciously teasing edge to his words, his voice like honey in your ear. “Perhaps next time, you’ll have me build a more… ‘appropriate’ snowman. Though…” He pauses, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes as he leans in just enough for his breath to warm your skin. “This one does have… character.” You inhale sharply, feeling a flutter of excitement rush through you. The closeness of his body, the heat of his breath against your ear, sends a shiver down your spine. The playful tension between you both has become almost palpable, the cold of the snow forgotten in the wake of his intensity. Thranduil pulls back just slightly, his gaze now fully locked onto yours. His eyes are smoldering with a depth of emotion you recognize all too well—intensity, desire, and an undeniable playfulness that promises more mischief. “Though I suspect,” he continues, his voice dropping even lower, his words now a soft murmur that sends a wave of warmth through your body, “you had more in mind than a simple snowman.” A rush of heat floods through you, contrasting sharply with the cold of the world around you. Thranduil’s presence is overwhelming, his teasing words laced with something far more enticing than the playful banter of a moment ago. “We could have stayed in the palace, you know,” he adds with a devilish grin, the suggestion in his words clear and unmistakable. “There are far more enjoyable activities we could be indulging in than building snowmen in the cold.”

𐂂 His breath is warm against your neck now, and you feel the heat of his closeness more than ever. The playful challenge in his eyes flickers with something deeper, something that makes your pulse quicken, as the snowflakes drift down around you like a soft blanket, the world feeling suddenly smaller, more intimate. Thranduil steps even closer now, the space between you two nearly nonexistent. His lips brush yours in a light, teasing kiss that makes your heart race. “But…” he murmurs against your lips, his voice still thick with teasing warmth, “I suppose a little snowman… has its charms too.”For a moment, the world around you two seems to fade. The snowman, the cold, and the laughter all seem distant in the wake of the heat rising between you. Thranduil’s hands settle lightly on your waist, pulling you closer, the intensity of the moment surging in waves. You’re both caught in the shared teasing, but it’s clear to you now that the game has shifted. Thranduil is never one to let something go lightly, and you wonder just how long he’ll keep up the playful teasing before sweeping you away to somewhere far more private, where the snowman and the cold are forgotten entirely.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Snowball Fight:

𐂂 The snow falls gently around you, a quiet blanket over the world, muffling the sounds of the forest. The trees loom tall and still, their branches heavy with the weight of winter’s chill. It’s a perfect winter day—cold enough to feel alive, yet not so biting that it’s uncomfortable. The world feels like it’s paused, holding its breath, and in this frozen moment, you and Thranduil are engaged in a battle of a different kind. A snowball fight. You glance across the distance, eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of Thranduil—so tall, so composed, his golden hair a stark contrast to the crisp white of the snow around him. He stands with a regal sort of stillness, the very picture of elegance even in the midst of what should be a playful, chaotic activity. His sharp blue eyes are fixed on you, his lips curling into a knowing smile, as if he already knows he has the upper hand. But there’s a challenge in his gaze—one that dares you to try your best. Thranduil may be a king, a warrior, and a master of countless skills, but you know there’s one thing he hasn’t mastered: losing.

𐂂 You waste no time, gathering a handful of snow and forming it into a snowball with the swiftness of a practiced hand. You throw it with everything you’ve got, the snowball hurtling through the air toward him with surprising speed. But Thranduil doesn’t even flinch. With the grace of an elf, he steps aside as if he’s seen it coming from the moment you started to form it. His movements are fluid, effortless. He’s quick, too quick for you to catch, and before you can even react, he retaliates with a snowball of his own. The shot is so precise, so perfectly aimed, that it hits you square in the chest, sending a jolt of cold straight through your coat. You gasp, a laugh escaping you even as you stagger back, trying to regain your balance. “Oh, you’re going to regret that,” you mutter under your breath, eyes narrowing as you quickly scramble to gather more snow. But Thranduil is already on the move, his eyes locked onto you, calculating your next move. You throw another snowball, but it’s almost as if he can see it coming from a mile away. With a quick sidestep and a graceful sweep of his arm, he dodges it effortlessly. You’re starting to realize that no matter how fast or how accurately you throw, it’s like playing a game of cat and mouse.

𐂂 He ducks and weaves, his movements fluid and easy, as if the world around him has slowed down just for him. His tall form moves with a predator’s precision, each step deliberate, each action purposeful. His elven grace shines through even in something as simple as this, making you feel like an amateur at best. You scramble again, trying to retreat behind a snowbank to gather more ammo. Your heart races, not from exertion, but from the sheer fun of the challenge. And then, just when you think you’ve found some semblance of safety, you hear the unmistakable whistle of air, the unmistakable sound of Thranduil’s snowball soaring through the air. Before you can even brace yourself, the snowball hits you square on the chest again, harder this time. You gasp, half-laughing, half-frustrated at how effortlessly he’s managing to outmaneuver you at every turn. The cold wetness of the snow sinks into your coat, and you give a dramatic groan, already plotting your next move. You’re not giving up yet. But then, in your haste, you misstep. Your foot sinks into a pile of snow, and for a split second, you lose your balance. You barely have time to react before your feet slip out from under you entirely, and with a gasp of surprise, you fall backward, your arms flailing in the air for any semblance of balance. But there’s nothing—just a sharp intake of breath as you tumble into someone’s arms.

𐂂 Thranduil’s arms, to be exact. His grip on you is firm and steady, and as you find yourself tangled in his embrace, you’re struck by how effortlessly he’s caught you. The way he holds you isn’t just out of necessity, though—it’s almost as if he’s waiting for you to fall. His body is warm against you, the cold air momentarily forgotten in the comfort of his hold. You can hear the faintest sound of his breath, steady and calm, even as you struggle to right yourself. “Seems you’re not as skilled at this as I thought,” Thranduil teases, his voice rich with amusement, a sly smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His sharp gaze, usually so calculated, softens in this moment—something playful, almost fond, flickering in his eyes. You glare at him playfully, trying to push yourself free, but his arms are unyielding, holding you close in the snow. The intensity of his eyes makes your heart flutter in a way that feels all too intimate, too real for something as lighthearted as a snowball fight. His face, usually so poised and composed, is now slightly disheveled from the fun. His golden hair is wild from the cold wind, strands falling loose around his face. For once, he looks… like just a man, not a king. And you catch that flicker of warmth in his gaze—the part of him that is soft, playful, that enjoys these moments with you, even if he doesn’t always show it.

𐂂 Before you can get too comfortable, another snowball sails through the air, striking you square in the hood of your coat. You squeal, caught off guard, and before you can retaliate, Thranduil’s laughter rings out—rich and deep, his usual kingly composure replaced with something lighter, more carefree. “Oh, now that was a hit!” he teases, his eyes dancing with delight as he watches your reaction. His laughter is infectious, and you can’t help but smile despite yourself, your cheeks burning with a mixture of cold and embarrassment. But Thranduil’s teasing doesn’t stop there. In one swift move, he reaches behind you, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he gathers a handful of snow. You gasp, surprised at the sudden chill as he shoves the snow down the back of your cloak, the cold seeping through the layers of your clothing. It’s a moment of playful mischief, one that sends a shiver down your spine, not from the cold, but from the way his touch lingers just a moment longer than necessary.

𐂂 His laughter echoes in the air, and you squirm in his grasp, trying to break free. “Oh, you think you can get away with that?” you challenge, your voice teasing, but there’s an underlying warmth there too—an intimacy that only he could bring out in you, even in the midst of such playful chaos. Thranduil leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “Oh, I think I’ve gained the upper hand now, my love.” You can feel the tension shift in the air as he brushes a few stray snowflakes from your cloak, his touch gentle and careful despite the playful moment. And then, before you can respond, his lips are on yours—soft, warm, and tender, a slow kiss that pulls you into the moment, that makes the cold winter air feel like nothing at all. The snow continues to fall around you, but in that instant, it’s only the two of you—locked in a kiss, in laughter, in warmth.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Sledging Adventure:

𐂂 The day is a rare one in Mirkwood, where the crisp winter air carries a bite, yet there’s a lightness to it, a playful quality that seems to infuse everything around you. The snow, pristine and untouched, stretches out before you like an open invitation to adventure. The trees, tall and ancient, are dusted with a fine layer of snow that sparkles in the pale sunlight, casting long, soft shadows across the forest floor. It’s the kind of day where laughter feels almost natural, a welcome break from the solemn weight of your everyday lives. But then there’s Thranduil. The regal king of Mirkwood stands beside you, tall and composed as ever, his cloak of deep greens and silvers cascading elegantly behind him. His features are sharp, his icy blue eyes scanning the landscape with a level of control that seems to extend beyond even his surroundings. His usual poise, that calm, sovereign bearing that commands respect, is present, as always. But today, it feels out of place. For all his elegance, the rigid posture and impeccable grooming don’t quite match the light-hearted potential of the moment. He’s too dignified for the antics that you have in mind.

𐂂 You glance up at him, a playful gleam in your eyes. The idea that’s been swirling in your mind takes shape, and you can’t help the teasing smile that tugs at your lips. “Thranduil,” you say, your voice light and full of mischief, “surely, you’re not too regal to try something as simple as sledging, are you?” His eyes flicker toward you, the icy blue depths narrowing slightly, calculating the challenge in your words. You can see the subtle play of amusement behind his composed expression. But for a moment, he doesn’t answer. Instead, he arches one eyebrow, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles, a look that’s part amusement and part skepticism. You can practically see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to reconcile the thought of a king, a master strategist, sliding down a hill on a humble wooden sled. “You would have me partake in such a… lowly activity?” he finally asks, his voice smooth as ever, yet there’s a teasing edge to it now. The glimmer of challenge in his eyes tells you that he’s not entirely opposed to the idea, but he’s certainly not about to let it be easy. You give him a mischievous grin, stepping closer, knowing that your words have struck a nerve. “I suppose if the King of Mirkwood can’t manage something as simple as this, then perhaps he’s not quite as agile as he’d like everyone to believe.”

𐂂 Thranduil’s gaze sharpens, the challenge in your words sparking something within him. His posture doesn’t falter—of course not—but you can see the shift in his demeanor, the subtle rise in the tension of his shoulders, the flicker of interest in his eyes. “Very well,” he says, the words clipped, his tone still regal but with the faintest hint of playful defiance. “If you believe I cannot master this, I shall show you otherwise.” The challenge has been issued. You can’t help but grin widely as you lead him toward the sled, the small wooden contraption barely visible beneath the thick layer of snow. You hand him the sled, a small, playful chuckle escaping your lips. He takes it with a level of care that would be more appropriate for a rare artifact, looking it over like it might suddenly bite him. His posture is as straight as ever as he prepares to sit, which only makes you laugh harder. “You might want to try relaxing a little,” you tease, stepping back and glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. “You know, just… let go of all that kingly dignity. It’s only a sled.” His lips twitch again, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. But he sits with a stiff elegance, as though he’s about to attend a royal court, not embark on an adventure down a snow-covered hill. For a moment, he looks utterly out of place—his regal robes and pristine appearance at odds with the simple joy of the activity.

𐂂 But before he can fully settle, you push off with a sudden burst of energy, the sled gaining speed as it careens down the hill. Thranduil’s expression shifts from cool indifference to something a little more… strained. You catch the glimmer of surprise in his eyes as the wind whips past, the cold biting at your face, and the excitement of the ride overtakes you both. You glance over at him, and for a brief moment, the proud king’s usual composure falters. His hair flies out behind him in a stream of gold, his normally perfect posture now entirely abandoned as he tries to hold onto the sled, his hands gripping it tightly. The contrast is striking—the powerful, regal king fighting to maintain control as the sled bucks beneath him, the laughter and adrenaline starting to chip away at his ice-cold demeanor. And then, just as you near the bottom of the hill, the sled lurches forward, careening over a hidden bump in the snow. Thranduil lets out a strangled sound—a mix between shock and disbelief—and before you can brace yourself, the sled tips, sending both of you flying into the snow in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

𐂂 For a brief, chaotic moment, everything is white—the snow, the air, the rush of movement—and then it all comes to a halt. Thranduil lies on his back, his cloak askew, his golden hair spilling around him like a halo of sunlight. His usually impeccable appearance is now disheveled, the formality of his usual demeanor lost in the wildness of the ride. For a second, there’s nothing but a stunned silence as he lies in the snow, his chest rising and falling with the sudden rush of breath. Then, as if on cue, Thranduil slowly pushes himself up, brushing snow off his royal cloak with an air of cool disinterest. He looks at you, his eyes narrowing just slightly, though there’s something else there—a warmth, an amusement that wasn’t there before. “I have to admit,” he says, his voice a smooth baritone, the usual frost replaced with something lighter, “I did not expect such an… exhilarating experience.”

𐂂 The words have barely left his lips when you, unable to contain the mischievous spark that lights up inside you, slide toward him, your feet shifting quickly beneath you as you dart forward. Before he can even react, you knock into him, sending him right back into the snow. The motion is swift and playful, and before Thranduil can regain his balance, he’s once again lying in the snow, his eyes wide with mock disbelief as he looks up at you. You grin down at him, your heart racing, feeling the cold snow beneath you but not caring at all. “Oh, I think I’ve defeated you quite easily,” you tease, your voice low with playful challenge. For a moment, Thranduil’s eyes darken, but it’s not anger. No, there’s something else in his gaze now—a glimmer of amusement, of something more. He’s not done. With a fluid motion, his arms reach for you, pulling you toward him in a swift, powerful movement, and suddenly, you’re both tangled in the snow again. His hands find your waist, his fingers brushing against your skin even through the layers of clothing. You both laugh, the cold air mixing with the warmth of your proximity.

𐂂 “Do you think you can defeat me so easily?” he teases, his voice rich with amusement, but there’s a deeper, more intimate edge to it now, his breath warm against your ear as he nuzzles you in the snow. You feel the heat rise in your chest as you both share a breathless laugh, the playful tension between you shifting. Thranduil leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, slow kiss that feels like the perfect blend of winter’s chill and the warmth of your shared moment. The snow around you no longer matters; the cold is forgotten as you melt into him, his hands gently cradling your face, his kiss deepening with a quiet intensity. In the quiet aftermath, as the snow continues to fall around you, it’s as if the world has faded away—leaving just the two of you, wrapped in the moment, the winter air filling your lungs, and the warmth between you growing with every heartbeat.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Snow Angel:

𐂂 The crisp winter air bites at your skin, yet there’s a strange warmth in the silence that surrounds the Mirkwood forest. The trees stand tall and majestic, their branches dusted with a thin layer of snow, their dark trunks rising like guardians against the pale sky. The world feels as though it’s been frozen in time, the forest holding its breath in reverence to the rare quiet. Snow stretches out before you like an untouched canvas, glistening under the pale winter sunlight that cuts through the trees in soft beams. Amidst all this, Thranduil stands beside you—regal, composed, as always. The Elven king, clad in his intricately embroidered cloak of deep greens and silvers, the faintest shimmer of frost caught on his silken garb, seems almost part of the winter landscape itself. His sharp, yet beautiful features catch the light, as do the icy blue depths of his eyes, which scan the surroundings with the same keen awareness that has made him a master of Mirkwood. Yet today, there is something different in his gaze, something softer, something that lingers on you. He’s here, beside you, in this moment, free from the weight of his crown, his throne, his duties. The air hums with a quiet magic, one that whispers of simpler joys. And you, in this peaceful moment, feel the pull to something even lighter, even more carefree. The world seems to have slowed down, just for you two.

𐂂 You watch Thranduil for a moment, the subtle grace in his every movement, the way he holds himself with effortless nobility. There’s no escaping the fact that he’s a king, not just in title but in essence, his every gesture exuding command and poise. And yet, there’s an intimacy in the air now, one that makes your heart race with anticipation. It’s the kind of moment that feels intimate, delicate—a quiet intimacy that only the two of you share. A playful idea stirs in your mind, one that stands in stark contrast to everything Thranduil represents. You smile to yourself, the glint of mischief twinkling in your eyes. Without a second thought, you turn to him, your words light and teasing, the excitement bubbling in your chest. “How about we make snow angels?” The suggestion floats between you, and for a moment, Thranduil doesn’t respond. His icy gaze flicks toward you, narrowing ever so slightly as he processes your words. His brow furrows in the briefest flash of confusion, as if trying to decipher the absurdity of the suggestion. Then, his lips twitch, a barely-there smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. But the amusement doesn’t quite reach his eyes—not yet. He’s still trying to understand why anyone—least of all someone as regal as he—would engage in something so simple. “Snow angels?” Thranduil repeats, his voice smooth and rich, dripping with disbelief. The way he says it makes it sound as though the very idea is foreign to him, as though it belongs to a far less serious world. His gaze flickers to the snow, then back to you, and you catch the faintest edge of disbelief, mixed with genuine curiosity. “Surely you jest. You must be joking,” he adds, his tone mocking but with a hint of intrigue beneath it.

𐂂 You can’t help but laugh at the incredulity in his voice. It’s so perfectly Thranduil—stoic, composed, caught off guard by something as innocent as making snow angels. The image of the King of Mirkwood laying in the snow, creating an angel in the most carefree of ways, is almost too much to fathom. And yet, there’s a part of you that’s determined to see it through. “It’s a simple winter tradition,” you explain, your voice light and coaxing, as you step a little closer to him. “You lie down in the snow, move your arms and legs, and make a shape—an angel.” You smile, your eyes meeting his with a gleam of playful challenge. “It’s relaxing and joyful, Thranduil. It’s one of my favorite things about winter.” His gaze softens for just a fraction of a second—there it is, that crack in his cool demeanor—but it quickly returns to its typical calculated calm. The corner of his mouth twitches into a sly smile, and there’s something in his eyes now, an unreadable gleam of both teasing amusement and curiosity. “You think,” he says, his voice smooth as ever, “that I, King of Mirkwood, should indulge in such… childlike behavior?” His voice drops, tinged with playful challenge, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk. The regal authority still lingers in his words, but beneath it, there’s an undeniable spark of interest. His eyes search yours, sharp and calculating, but with something warmer beneath, a glimmer of curiosity. He’s testing you, gauging your resolve, and yet you see something deeper—a quiet amusement, a willingness to humor you, just a little.

𐂂 You step closer, the space between you shrinking, your heart quickening with the proximity. You lock eyes, and without thinking, you reach up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. It’s brief, just a gentle touch of your lips to his cool skin, but it sends a rush of warmth through you. The moment your lips meet his skin, you feel him freeze for an instant—his breath catching, his sharp inhale betraying a sudden shift in his demeanor. His posture stiffens for the briefest of moments before he slowly exhales, a faint blush tinging his features. Pulling back just slightly, you catch his gaze again. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything—just watches you, his icy blue eyes unreadable, yet there’s something softer in them now, something warmer. The king has been momentarily disarmed, and you can see that he’s… considering it. You can feel the tension of the moment, and the air between you two feels charged with something unspoken. Finally, he smirks—just a little, enough for you to catch the amusement dancing at the corners of his lips. “Very well,” he murmurs, voice low and tinged with a teasing warmth. “I shall indulge your… ‘winter tradition,’’ he adds, the words wrapped in a teasing, half-mocking tone, but the glint in his eyes tells you everything you need to know. He’s not opposed to the idea. In fact, he’s intrigued. You can hardly contain your excitement. You smile widely, practically bouncing with joy as you take a small step back, giving him space. Thranduil sighs dramatically, his chest rising and falling with the motion, but the glimmer of amusement still lingers in his eyes. Then, with the same fluid grace he uses to navigate any royal affair, he lowers himself to the snow, his body moving with an almost otherworldly elegance.

𐂂 Even in something so simple, he moves like an artist, as though every motion is meticulously planned. His body glides into place in the snow with such precision it seems almost choreographed. He lies down with minimal sound, his back a picture of control and grace, his arms sweeping outward with deliberate care, his legs following in slow, measured arcs. His every movement speaks of a man who lives by the rhythm of his own perfection. You watch in silence, a smile tugging at your lips as you realize that his snow angel is not like yours. Yours is carefree, a chaotic tangle of limbs. But his is… almost too perfect. The arms are spread out with an artist’s precision, the legs following in symmetrical arcs. The final result is a work of art—sleek, symmetrical, and too refined to be anything but royal. It’s more of an insignia than an angel—a mark of his regal nature, even in something as simple as the snow. Thranduil rises with the same fluid grace, brushing the snow from his cloak, inspecting his work with an expression of self-satisfaction. He looks at the pristine, perfect angel and then back at you, a smug smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I believe this is the most refined snow angel ever made,” he says, his voice dripping with pride, his gaze never leaving his work. There’s a sense of accomplishment in his voice that matches the satisfaction of completing a masterpiece. You bite your lip, trying to hold back your laughter, but the sheer perfection of his creation makes it impossible. His angel is too controlled, too perfect—there’s something almost comical about it. You can’t help it. You step closer with a sly smile, your eyes glinting with mischief. Thranduil’s back is turned, his focus still on his pristine angel. That’s your opening. Without a second thought, you leap forward, diving straight into the center of his carefully crafted angel. You kick up the snow, completely ruining the symmetry, collapsing it into a messy, lopsided pile.

𐂂 Thranduil spins around, his eyes wide with disbelief, and for a moment, there’s a stunned silence. “What in the name of the Valar—” he begins, but before he can finish, you’re already laughing, scooping up a handful of fresh snow and shoving it into his face. The cold hits him, and he freezes—his regal features caught in shock as the snow drips down his face. Then, the world shifts. His eyes narrow, his lips curling into a slow smile as a dangerous glint enters his gaze. “You dare?” he asks, his voice low, rich with teasing challenge. Before you can even react, he’s on you, his movements swift and sure. His arms circle around you, pulling you into a playful but firm grapple, and in mere moments, you’re pinned beneath him in the snow. The cold bites at your skin, but Thranduil’s warmth is right there, his breath warm against your face as he hovers above you. His eyes gleam with mischief, but there’s a depth to them now, something playful and intimate. “I believe,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smirk, “this was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” His voice drops, and the teasing warmth is palpable. “You thought you could ruin my perfect angel and get away with it?” You laugh, your heart racing with the thrill of it all, but before you can say anything, he leans down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that is both gentle and commanding. The world around you fades into nothingness as the kiss deepens, and in that moment, you know that while his snow angel may have been perfect, nothing could ever compare to the warmth of this—this moment, this kiss, this beautiful chaos.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

#king thranduil #thranduil #thranduil x reader #thranduil supremacy #thranduil x you #thranduil headcanons #thranduil of mirkwood #thranduil oropherion #thranduil simps #elvenking thranduil #lord of the rings #the hobbit #lotr elves

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ghostmedia-dot-co · 8 months ago

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Ice breaker

(Meant to be platonic but could be romantic) ouaw krew x reader

Masculine reader

Horror and angst(reader death and resurrection, extreme elements)

(Also I spelled Kremys name wrong, ignore that, that literally didn’t even happen)

You walk into the room, the metal door slamming behind everyone. Everyone snapped their heads back, weirded out but not particularly shocked, only twig and Gricko gasped at the sudden loud bang. This house was a nightmare since you arrived, you all had been invited to a dinner party but, you had been locked into the house with the only way out being a hidden spell somewhere within the house. Looking around the current room, it was dusty and cold. There was an arm chair with a thick wooly blanket, a fire place, and a small coffee table with a glass of solid ice. You shivered slightly, still not use to the cold. Hootsie bumping my leg empathetically.

“Why would they put a lounge in the kitchen?” Gideon asked aloud, picking up the blanket before setting it back down.

Kremmy quickly agreed “I don’t know gid, this whole house is a fucking labyrinth. Shower under the stairs, fucking oven in the library, it don’t make no sense.”

You began to stutter and shiver “Why is it so cold?” The air nipping at your skin forming goose bumps.

You felt gricko bounce up next to you, patting your leg.

“It ain’t that cold, maybe a bit chilly.”

You watched as torbek clumsily looked around the room, you yawned loudly. The cold always made you so tired in the cold, feeling your eyelids begin to drop slightly. As everyone looked in the room, searching for a key to get out of the house. You and gricko stood next to the entrance door, your eyes taking in the room. It was an average lounge room, more narrow than long. The walls looked as if they were slowly decaying, the beautiful blue wall painting looked muddy and watered down somehow. The fireplace somehow still looked warm, despite the relative absence of life within the house. Finally your eyes flickered onto a beautiful jewelry box. Torbek waves gently at you as twig pointed at the same jewelry box. It looked like a renaissance painting, a beautiful pink garden complimented the white and gold of the box. Torbek picked up the small jewelry box, curious to know its contents. You blinked in confusion as before your eyes, a small string snapped from it. That’s when you heard the grating sound of the door on the other side begin to close. The metal began to slowly scrap as the door began to close and the sound of loud air filled our ears.

Everyone’s heads snapped as they began to realize what was happening, pausing only for a moment before kremy broke the silence.

“Oh fuck! Everyone scram hurry!” Kremy ordered, being so far back you looked at gricko and picked him up. Hootsie taking lead as she bounded to the door. One by one everyone filed out: frost, then twig and torbek, Gideon who threw Kremmy as quick as he could. Then it was just gricko and you. The door begin to get lower and lower, your legs they could with no luck. The world began to spin as you quickly realized you two weren’t going to make it. Realizing it was too late for you, as the door dropped too low for you to get through you dropped to your knees and slide gricko into the other room. Locking me alone in the room.

As the door slammed shut, you lay on the floor. Breathing heavy, you look up when to the door hearing the frantic banging on the other side. Shuffling closer, you began to bang back, feeling relieved and terrified at the same time. You curled against the door and scanned the room, looking for anything dangerous. Muffled voices just beyond reach, words you couldn’t even comprehend. It wasn’t until you heard something from within your own mind.

‘Can you hear me, are you there?’ Frosties voice rang clearly in your head.

“I-I’m here frostie, is everyone alright?” Shuffling to your feet you rise up slowly.

As you caught my breath you soon recognized the sound of air being pumped into the room was still there, and it was getting colder. You quickly found myself shivering harder than before.

‘Everyone is alright, are you alright? Is the room you’re in safe?’ Frostie questioned.

“It’s getting colder Frostie, I-i know I complain a lot about the cold but I think there’s cold air being pumped into the room.”

‘Do not panic, you’re going to be okay. Go find something to keep yourself covered. Look for anything that you could exit.’

You began to slowly do as told, picking up the blanket and looking around the room. The room was quite large, all the vents being high into the air. Chilling the room from top to bottom. You try and keep warm, rubbing hands together. Soon you had searched the entire room. Behind every bookcase, chair, and even the fire place. You looked up into the fire place, unsure and skeptical if there was even an opening, considering you never saw a chimney on the house. Maybe you could climb out, if you could shimmy your way up. The only thing you feared was how dark it looked. No light meant no exit. You sighed and just curled up in the fire place, wrapping the blanket around yourself and shivered. Until you heard the banging intensify as it quickly turned into rapid slamming.

‘Did you find anything? Gideon and torbek are trying to break the door down. Twig, Kremmy, and I are going to seeing if we can somehow unlock it.’

You squeaked out a small reply “No frost, it’s still getting colder. The air is pouring in fast, frostie I’m not made for this. I can’t withstand the cold like everyone else. I was made for the desert, I was made for sweltering heat not the cold.” You began to hyperventilate, feeling your heart beat quicken and pump within your own chest, panic consuming your mind.

‘Shhh, shhh it’s okay. We’re going to get you out, just stay calm. What ever you do, do not try and remove anything on your body. Try to get as many things on you, no matter how you think you feel.’

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You breathed out, the heat creating gaint puffs of air in the room. The pain soon seeping from your skin to within your flesh, piercing your arms and legs and your teeth chattered like a rattle.

‘When people experience hypothermia they tend to feel as if they’re hot and remove their clothes. So whatever you do, do not remove your clothes.’

You felt tears swelter in my eyes as the cold air prick your skin, the blanket doing nothing to soothe my ice touched skin. You shivered hard as the banging slowed down. Your heart sank when you heard what sounded to be like more air being blasted into the room, your heart beat quickens as I curl into myself.

‘Are you there? Answer me please’

“Am I going to die frostie?” I squeak out. “I think more air is being poured into the room. I-I can hear something.” The room began to feel darker and darker, my eyes felt heavy and I grew more and more tired.

‘N-no, don’t worry that’s just Gideon. He’s going to try and melt the door. Perhaps go closer to try and feel the heat from the fire.’

You began to crawl to the door, like a shivering baby. As you got closer the sounds of Gideon blasting the door become louder and clearer. Your arms gave out and you could only curl into a small little ball, vibrating and crying. Your heart beating out my chest as the sound of blood rushed to your head. You tried to steady your breath as the room became colder and colder, your hands and feet were becoming more and more numb as it seeped into your chest. You looked up at the vents and saw tiny icy crystals began to form around the vents. If only they could freeze over. Watching the ice creep out farther and farther from the vents, you felt hopeless.

You waited for what felt like hours, even though you could hear Gideon’s fire. The air was stealing all the precious heat away. Your eyelids felt like closing, as the coldness seep deeper and deeper into your flesh consuming you. As your eyes almost fully closed a sudden voice sprung into your head.

‘How are you feeling? The door is almost gone. Gideon is going to take a break and try going at it again.’ Frost projected, his voice making your heart beat.

“Frostie, I’m tired. I feel, warmer. I think I can feel Gideon’s fire. From this side now.” You murmured, the sudden realization making you slowly curl closer to the door.

As quickly as your body was cold, it suddenly became very warm. You were still shaking but it felt better. As the warmth of what you assumed to be the door seeped into your skin.

‘That’s good, that means maybe we’re making progress.’

As you lay your back against the door, you never realized that you couldn’t feel the heat coming from behind you, it felt as if your entire body was slowly being heated up. Ice like crystals soon encapsulated the entire room, freezing it over. You felt sweat dripping from your forehead, you felt uncomfortably hot now. Your eyes began to droop again.

“It’s really hot, I’m starting to sweat” you laughed, you slowly laid back down. Comfort pouring into your heart as you hummed quietly.

There was a long pause in silence, as your eyes fluttered back open. Heat began to pool around you as you felt hotter and hotter. You didn’t think about it too much. Just happy to be slowly warmed up, yet your feet and hands were still numb.

As you were peacefully breathing you heard frosts voice ring in your heard fretful and alarmed ‘Listen to me carefully, do not remove your clothes. Whatever you do keep that blanket on you.’

You smiled and blinked, confused and frightened by the serious tone. “I’m not a whore frostie, I know how to keep my clothes on.” You slurred giggling a little. “It’s starting to get hot in here, are you sure Gideon stopped? I’m gonna move from the door at least.”

Suddenly, you heard the sound of Gideon’s fire starting up again. You flinched from what you thought was the sudden heat burning your skin. Scampering away from the door. Panicked once again as you realized what was happening, the room wasn’t heating up. Gideon didn’t make progress, hypothermia was setting.

‘What ever you do, stay covered. Is there anything else you can use to keep yourself warm?’ The desperation in his voice was missed on your ears, you began to feel too tired to move and too tired to think. Only wanting to be out of the room as soon as possible. Ice crystals now nipping at your blanket.

“Frostie, I’m tired. I’m really tired, the room is covered in ice. I, I think I should just stay by the door. I feel so so tired.” Your eye lids began to fall again, as you curled on the floor. “Do you think I can go to sleep frostie? Maybe if I close my eyes I can wake up and everything will be fine. Right?” You whispered.

‘Yn, do not go to sleep please. Just stay awake for a few more minutes.’

He pleaded, your mind already slowly giving away.

The room became darker and darker. You watched as ice slowly crept toward you, until it touched your skin. Your eyelids became heavy and cumbersome. You could just rest for a while, everyone was safe. That’s all that mattered. Torbek, gricko, twig and gid, everyone was safe. You saved gricko, that’s all that mattered. You deserved a little rest, you’ll be okay. Even as frost desperately tried to keep you awake, knowing sleeping would only lower your body temperature. You slowly closed your eyes. His voice slowly fading into the background. You felt comforted by his voice no matter how terrified he screamed.

On the other side, frost looked up at the others. Terrified and frantically, there had to be a way to help you.

“What happened, is everything okay? Why are you making that face?” Kremmy questioned frost, the sound of the fire blasting drowned out his voice.

Frost gave Kremmy a look, it wasn’t good.

“Gideon, isn’t there anyways to hurry it up?” Kremmy pleaded, frantically pacing back and forth.

“I can only go so fucking hot! God dammit!” Gideon bellowed, completely and utterly frustrated and hopeless.

Torbek was curled in a small ball, weeping pitifully as Hootsie, twig, and gricko tried to comfort him.

“This is all torbeks fault, if only torbek hadn’t picked up that box.” He moaned out in a desperate bargain, if only he had done this, if only he didn’t do that.

“It’s not your fault torbek! He’s going to be a okay! Gideon will have him back out in no time!” Gricko tried desperately to sound optimistic.

Gideon felt the feeling of helplessness overcome him, Grickos words only made him feel shameful. Whatever he was doing wasn’t working, he wasn’t strong enough, his fire isn’t hot enough. The overwhelming anger of it all boiled inside him until he let out a frustrated scream, and began to wail on the door. Hot fire engulfing his fist, punch, after punch, after punch to the door. Leaving a bigger and bigger dent.

Kremmy, seeing the door finally give way stopped perked up and smiled. It looked as if it was going to break. Soon he began to cheer Gideon on, as the dent became deeper and bigger.

As you slipped into a deep sleep, you slowly found yourself sitting up. You looked around the room and saw everything. The ice growing thicker and heavier on the vent, the old fireplace, looking down, you saw yourself. Curled into the tightest little ball, slowly breathing. Tiny bits of ice slowly creeping up your blanket and skin.

You suddenly felt two cold hands slowly pull you up and away from your body.

“It’s time to go, little one. Your journey is over, it’s time to leave.” The voice was whispy and soft. It made you shiver.

Slowly looking up, you saw what you feared most in this situation

“Who are you?” You asked, even though you knew the answer.

“I’m here to protect you, you’re safe with me.” It whispered, its hood shrouding it in darkness.

Looking back at your body, you squirmed and tried to escape its grasps. Only to realize your body had stopped breathing. It lay limp on the floor, a peaceful dreaming face looked back at you.

“I can’t die. I can’t die yet. My friends, they need me. How will I protect them?” You pleaded frantically, as you wiggled and shuffled trying to get out.

“You don’t have to worry about them, you’re gone. You have to come with me. I will keep you safe.” It ordered

You cried out in desperation and despair, as you watched yourself being slowly pulled away from your still body. Your vibrant skin now dull and frost bitten, leaving your cheeks a now red hue while your skin slowly turns an ugly blue. You shook and pleaded with the angel of death, but it was an unrelenting force. A force which you fell powerless to.

As the angel slowly carried you, farther and farther away. The room grew to shades of gray, going lighter and lighter. The sounds of metal crashing to the floor was faint and dream like, too far to fully grasp. As you began to give in, the angels warm arms comforted you. Like the little match girl, you were finally warm again. It reminded you of the comforting feeling of home.

As the door crashed onto the floor, Gideon, frost, and Kremmy shoved into the room one trying to outrun the other. Gideon hoisted your body over his shoulder, he hissed at the pain of sudden frost and ice on his skin. As they all quickly shuffled out of the room.

“Alright, gid just hold him like that okay, get him warm. Gricko, can you maybe, I don’t know, check his pulse?” Kremmy began to order, spitting them out as fast as he could.

Gricko tried to do all he could to find any signs of life, stating you weren’t breathing. As he grabbed your wrist, his heart sank by how cold your arm was. Frost tried to gently rub any ice off of your body, removing the frozen blanket from your limp body as torbek stared at your lifeless figure in horror.

Gricko squeeze every pulse tightly, desperately trying to find any sign of life. Any sign that you were still save able.

“Maybe I could perform CPR, Gideon lay him on his back.” Gricko planned, quickly beginning chest compressions.

It hadn’t been that long. Maybe you just needed a little help, a little boost!

Frost and Kremmy looked at you, your blue face haunting their souls. You looked peaceful, frost thought. ‘If only I was able to keep you up a little longer’ he wondered.

As you were being carried away farther and farther, your life flashed and danced around your eyes. Beautiful lights filled your vision, as you danced at shows and wasted your life. You saw your greatest mistake repeated over and over and over. The horrors of your reality, your actions danced before you. Using cheap drugs to cope with the loss you caused. The angel stroked your head gently, pitiful.

Your eyes flickered and that’s when you saw something that made you smile, you saw your home. The first time you ever felt apart of something after your first love, the first time you felt human. After having your humanity stripped from you, after being treated like a wild animal. An object to admire and use, you felt like a creature to behold and loathe. No matter how kind Mr light was to you, what they’ve done for you brought back your humanity.

It was everyone together in twigs inn, a week after you met everyone. A week after you left the carnival to cure yourself of your inhumanity and shame. Everyone was happy and laughing. You were laying on top of Hootsie as twig gently brushed your now short hair. Gricko dancing with frost, all be it terribly but they looked adorable and hilarious. Gideon and torbek trying to fix a light bulb and Kremmy playing music. You had never felt more human, it was a home you never had. A home you never thought was possible.

The warm light shinning made you feel warmer than you’ve ever felt. It made deaths hands that much colder, as you found new strength and a new purpose you jerked up and out of the arms that held you. Falling to the ground you felt your self falling faster and faster until you realized you can’t hit the floor.

All you could hear was air rushing past your head as memories began to fly by, your life flashing and fluttering behind you over and over faster and faster. You screamed yet no sound came out, you cried yet nothing was heard. You grasped for something you couldn’t reach, you kept falling faster and faster, until you felt it.

The floor hit your body, you were thrown across the room. Your ghost like body, skidding across until your back hit the wall. You got up surprised to feel nothing at all, you looked for your body. Until you saw the door opened. Quickly rushing to your body you saw everyone gathered around. Quickly making way you squeezed past them, unnoticed.

Hearing Kremmy mutter something “he’s gone gricko, stop”

You reached down and touched your body.

You felt your body, your cold lifeless body. Slowly melted into your hands. Oozing into one another you felt them mix and combine, your spirit and your mud mix into one. Until you felt your heart beat, and Gricko pulled away. Everyone pulled away just as you had made it. All you saw was darkness, all you felt was the cold floor against your back as you waited to hear anything.

Fading in and out all you heard from within your mind was a gentle hiss “you win this time”

As your consciousness faded back in, you heard voices frantically speaking.

“He’s gone gricko, just stop”

“He can’t be gone, just lay him back on Gideon.”

“I don’t want his fuckin body on top of me, he’s dead.” Gideon snapped, staring down at you outraged and upset.

Gricko tried to plea before frost cut him off

“They’re right gricko, you need to stop this. He’s gone, let’s just take a quick break and figure out what to do next.”

“This is all torbeks fault, torbek is sorry, torbek is so so sorry.” Torbek wailed, before curling into your cold body. His scruffy fur tickling you.

“Shhh, you’re alright torbek. You didn’t know there was a trap, alright.”

Suddenly your body began to shiver, you were so so cold. Your skin felt frozen and blitzed. Shivering out of desperation for warmth. Desperately trying to find comfort and salvation. Feeling torbeks fur on your body as if it were a warm blanket. Torbek got up quickly, confused.

You mustered all of your strength to you could squeak out was a small “cold” too quiet to be heard. You heard the room instantly go silent.

Your sprawled body began to shake harder and harder, seeking warmth and comfort.

“Mr. Kremmy, do bodies usually move like that?” Torbek whispered.

“I-I’m not sure, Rigor mortis doesn’t usually happen so quickly or that violently.”

You heard them shuffle closer and closer to you, before you were once again surrounded by everyone.

“Holy shit! Can you hear us? Can you hear us?” You heard twigs voices call out.

Your eyelids fluttered open for a second as gricko grabbed your wrist and tried to get a pulse.

feeling him touch your vein made your skin crawl worse than the cold and you jerked your arm away from him, growling like an animal. Before you began to curl like a wilting flower. Whispers of disbelief and gasps of horror erupted within the group. Until Torbek broke the chain and grabbed you, wailing in relief and euphoria. He cried out squeezing your shivering form into his damp scruffy fur. Cheers began to erupt from the crew, gricko and Gideon squeezing you as frost tried to keep people from crushing you.

You curled into their arms, before falling asleep again. This time, no man met you on the other side of sleep. In fact nothing met you, it was a peaceful dreamless sleep. When you woke up, you were lying down as gricko attended to your frost bitten hands and feet.

He looked up at you sheepishly as he grabbed some bandages “oh good your awake!” He said as he began to take off your shoes “yeah, so, here’s the thing. I took a Quick Look at your feet and hands while you were asleep and we’re gonna have to amputate them. Now you’re awake though so, you better start drinking.” Gricko informed you, wrapping your bloodstained hands tightly.

Horror struck your heart like a sharp iced needle, contorting your face at the mere thought of loosing your arms and legs. Until you heard a chorus of snickers and giggling “just kidding! I’m gonna be making a banana paste to help with the frost bite, you’ll be fine in no time.” Gricko cackled, as he finished wrapping your hands. Frost gently stroked your hair.

“I’m glad to see you alive, yn. You had me scared when you told me you were going to sleep.” He smiled.

You smiled back at him, “don’t worry, I just get really tired when I’m cold. I don’t know why, but it happens. I’m pretty sure I did die though.”

Frosts eyebrows furrowed in confused and fright as you began to recount your experience with death, and how you it went. Twig brewing some nice warm tea for you. Everyone began to laugh and talk, as you were finally home and the night was filled with laughter, warm drinks, and banana paste on your toes.

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 8 months ago

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Find Her In The Springtime

Summary: Stripped of her powers, Icy feels cold for the first time.

Biting. She understands what they mean by that now.

She has stripped off her gloves some minutes ago and is already feeling the nip of the air. The cold has never bit her before. Maybe it has and she just hadn’t noticed before. Or perhaps its bite used to come with an entirely different sensation; a sharp and crystalline slash of power that works its way from her core outward and into the air around her. That, she realizes, is the difference; the cold no longer comes from the inside out but sinks from the outside in.

It takes her fingers first and then her toes. She heard that that is how it starts; with the smallest body parts. Her nose follows shortly after that. It is a tingle it first, just a small little tingle that she thinks nothing of. She doesn’t remember the cold ever having created a tingling sensation before. She doesn’t recall cold having any sensation at all aside from detecting the plummeting of the temperature. But this detection had always been much like acknowledging when 11:59 becomes 12:00. She doesn’t tingle, ache, or ail when she looks at the time. And she had never tingled, ached, or ailed when she noticed the temperature go from balmy to frosty. If there is a feeling that comes with this acknowledgement, it is a rush. A sense of exhilaration, but nothing in a physical sense.

And it dawns upon her… She has never felt cold before. Not cold as it is meant to be felt. Not cold as most others feel it.

She has used her powers for some twenty years but she has never once felt them as nature had intended them to be felt; sharp, harsh, and ruthless. As the tingling that has taken the entirety of her hands grows into a sting, she realizes, with substantial dread, that she doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like the cold.

But she will. She will grow to enjoy the cold. She will force her body to love it.

No matter how long she has to stand out here. No matter how red her hands grow. How swollen they get. She is an ice witch at her core. Her body will adjust.

It is when the stinging starts to feel more like having her cheeks slapped over and over again that the Winx girls and their headmistress urge her to come inside.

“Come inside now, dear.” The headmistress says. “You’re hurting yourself.”

This is a lie. She isn’t hurting herself. They have hurt her. They have taken what was hers. And they have turned it against her.

She won’t let them! She won’t let them steal her essence.

“I’ll get used to it!” She snaps.

The way that Faragonda bites her lower lip is not lost on Icy. And the witch resents the woman’s concern; the woman and the other headmasters had all had a hand in ripping her powers from her in the first place. Slowly, carefully, the headmistress informs her that, “that isn’t how it works.”

“It is!” Icy insists. She can withstand it. If she invites the cold back into herself, it will treat her well.

“You don’t have your powers to shield you.” As if she isn’t already plenty aware. “This weather will kill you before you can get used to it.”

“You should be wearing a coat!” Stella calls. “Or, at least, a pair of gloves.

But that would defeat the purpose. “I’ve never needed gloves before.”

“Because you have always had your magic, dear.” Faragonda presses. “Come inside now, what good will it do to freeze to death?”

She scoffs. The cold won’t kill her. It can’t. Can it? The tickle in her tummy tells her that, deep down, she knows the answer to that question.

“You aren’t going to readjust to the cold within a day.” Faragonda tells her.

So she’ll take it slow then. Build up a tolerance.

If Bloom can willpower her dragon fire back then Icy too can reclaim her powers by force. And she will. She swears it. She will.

.oOo.

The frigid breeze whipping at her eyes brings about a few involuntary tears that leave a frozen trail on her cheeks. A frozen trail that should not bother her in the slightest. But it does. It hurts quite terribly.

She is growing impatient. Days have turned to weeks and weeks turned into two months. Winter is nearing its end and her threshold for cold temperatures has barely expanded. In the first few days that she had stood in the cold, stripped of both her magic abilities and proper winter attire, she had lasted some 45 minutes and it wasn’t even that cold. 20 degrees and she couldn’t last even an hour. Pathetic.

Two months in and she can now last 50 minutes. Embarrassing.

She is something of a failure if she can’t withstand the cold at least a little longer than the average person. It is humiliating to see flower and nature fairies tolerate cold temperatures better than she.

Well she is done fussing with gloves and coats. Done dealing in increments. Today she is going to stand out here until her body does what she commands of it.

Her hands and cheeks are growing red with the cold and tingle unpleasantly. She knows—from years of causing it—that she had a mild case of frostbite coming on. If she persists in her refusal to cover her skin she will soon its full wrath and then go numb just like any other non-ice user.

She is on her 55th minute now. And it burns. Minute 55 burns. She didn’t realize that when the cold becomes frigid enough, it turns to fire. She finds that fire and ice truly aren’t so different at all after a certain threshold is crossed. Her skin reddens just as it tends to do when she spends more than ten unprotected minutes under direct sunlight. It starts to peel and blister. She has reached this level of frostbite before. Stage 2. The cold is still at the surface. But it will burrow deeper. That is its nature.

A stabbing pain that starts from her fingertips and radiates throughout her red and swollen palm. She grits her teeth. Ice crystals are beginning to form on her fingers. Crystals that she hasn’t conjured. Late stage 2.

Snowflakes cling to her lashes. And she is shivering now. Quite violently. But she won’t go inside, she absolutely refuses. She was an ice witch, this is supposed to be optimal weather.

“Icy, you’ve been out here for a long time.” Darcy comes to stand next to her.

“And I’ll be out here for even longer.” Icy folds her arms across her chest. She has no body heat left for bunching in on herself to have any effect. A good thing too. She isn’t supposed to have body heat. She never did when the magic was flowing through her veins. Nothing had been quite as unsettling as hearing Stormy comment, one evening, that her shoulder is actually quite warm to fall asleep against.

“Stormy lost her powers to but she isn’t standing outside in thunderstorms.”

“Thunderstorms are for springtime.” Icy refutes.

“Can you at least put a shirt on?” Darcy asks. “Usually people wait until the last stages of hypothermia to start taking their clothes off.”

“I know how hypothermia works, Darcy!” She snaps. “Just because I lost my powers doesn’t meant that I’ve lost my knowledgeability!”

“It was a joke. I didn’t mean…”

“Go away, Darcy.”

“But…I didn’t mean—”

“Go!”

She doesn’t want an audience for this. Not even a small one. She takes a seat on the snowy ground, her entire body ripples with pins and needles. Her entire body is a rather vivid shade of red.

She sits exposed to the merciless winter for 10 minutes more. And then 20. She can feel it slowly creeping its way in and growing. And that is the most unsettling of all, more than the burning and those sharp pangs. She can feel herself growing weaker. Can feel the cold burrowing beneath the surface of her skin and filling her very bones. Can feel herself dying.

They call for her to come inside again. But she refuses. She won’t leave this spot until her body accepts the cold once more.

“Foolish, stubborn woman.” She hears Griffin comment.

“Maybe she will listen to Stormy?” Faragona suggests.

She will not. She has decided that her body can either accept the cold tonight or succumb to it.

She can no longer move her fingers.

“Maybe we should let her have her powers back.” Bloom suggests.

.oOo.

She knows that she is reaching her end when the shivers subside and she ceases to feel. Her fingers are a blackish blue. Dead. Useless. Just like her.

“Let me warm you up, Icy.” Bloom offers softly.

“No.”

Flora holds Alfea’s main door slightly ajar and pokes her head through it. "You should really come inside now." The concern in her voice is wholly unveiled. And Icy is wholly unmoved by it. Juas as unmoved as she is by the look on the fairy's face.

She will die before she accepts that the ice no longer harmonizes with her. And from the looks of it, even Griffin seems unsettled, perhaps even distraught—apparently, despite everything, she doesn’t want to see Icy freeze herself solid either. She should have thought about that before she ripped away everything that made Icy who she was.

"Icy, please come inside before you get yourself killed." Faragonda urges again as though she hasn’t been suffering and slowly dying for months now. As if she hadn’t died the moment they took her magic from her.

To prove her persistency, she lays down, stretches herself out in the snow, feeling its cold gnawing at her bare back and thighs. She stares up at the sky as it coughs snowflakes down upon her. She lays long enough for those flakes to dust her face, breasts, and belly. And they keep falling. She will let them bury her.

It is still beautiful. Beautiful how the snow falls like crushed diamonds adding a twinkle of its own to the stars that it seems to fall from. Beautiful how pristinely it lays over the land in glistening rolling hills. How it clings to pine needles, extending their tips with translucent crystalline spikes. Beautiful in its engulfing silence. The way that it muffles the land around it so perfectly. How still it renders the world that it covers.

She draws a sharp breath, the chill that she inhales hits her throat in all of the wrong ways prompting a few harsh coughs. Her shiver resumes, not for the cold itself but for the realization that she simply cannot coexist with it any longer. That the winter has indeed fully and completely rejected her. It comes with a tightness in her chest, a feeling of suffocation.

A pair of arms slips under her shoulders.

"No!" Icy roars. Would have roared had she the energy to do so. What she manages is a strained mumble. "No, leave me here." It comes out as a slur that would have fallen on def ears anyhow. Already beaten down by the very element that had once made her strong, she hasn’t the energy to resist the arms that scoop her into them. She is so very drowsy. She thinks that maybe her mind isn’t all there. That it is cloudy. The cold makes her cloudy. Stormy would get a kick out of that.

"Thank you, Layla." She hears Faragonda mumble. "Bloom, a little warmth if you will."

"Let me go." She demands. Of course they don’t listen, there is no bite nor fury behind the command. Layla lays her down on one of several lounge sofas. Bloom is already hands glowing a soft orange. The fire fairy brings her hands to Icy's own blackened hands. Slowly the warmth radiates over her. And she resensts herself and her body that much more. Hates how readily her body welcomes and embraces the heat. How it craves that warmth.

She stops calling herself Icy. She stops answering to that name.

.oOo.

She stares at her hands, flexes the fingers that Griffin says that she is lucky to still have attached. That is all that she does these days. Stares. And she does so with hollow eyes. She doesn’t sleep. She doesn’t eat. She barely drinks. They should just let her go. Let her succumb. She hates the fairies anew. At least she has the nerve to call her actions what they are; evil. Those hypocrites still call stealing her powers from her a good thing. Perhaps it is for the greater good, or whatever, but they can’t even admit that their greater good involves destroying her. They are too scared to just outright kill her so they leave her to a fate worse than death. She thinks that they know that.

It is fine. It is just fine. She bids Darcy and Stormy wicked dreams and she steals away into the night. They don’t hear her go.

Tonight it is colder than it has been all winter. Window panes are completely frosted over and the walkway is a sheet of ice. Tonight the cold bites and snaps at her as soon as she steps out into it.

Tonight she has not come here to try to force her useless, cold intolerant body to embrace the winter. Tonight she has come to let the winter punish her for her weakness. Tonight she has come to and will let the snow blanket her.

The faeries can find her in the springtime.

It isn’t anything like she imagined it would be. Just like the first time her skin goes from pink and prickly to numb and blue-black. Just like the first time her shivers subside and movement becomes hard. Thinking becomes hard.

Unlike the last time her breathing grows shallow and slow. Labored. Unlike the last time her mind grows muddled. She tries to call upon her powers, but they don’t listen to her. There is an itch in her mind, a tickle that tells here that she is forgetting something. Her mind is working too slowly for her to put the pieces together.

Unlike the last time, the gravity of her decision begins to settle in.

Tonight she has set out to die. Tonight she learns that she is afraid of death.

.oOo.

She isn’t so lucky this time. She wakes up to bandaged hands and feet and a feeling as though something is terribly amiss. Something that she can’t place and doesn't place until the nurse comes in to change her bandages. She is glad that she is mostly alone when the last of them falls away to reveal one hand with only three fingers and another that is stained a dead black.

The sight of it makes her queasy. It is one thing to see the observe what the fury of frost can do when the end result is showcased on someone else’s body—she can marvel at it then. At the raw power. And another thing entirely to see how it disfigures her own body. She hadn’t thought it possible. Never in her life had she considered…

“We were able to salvage your right hand but the magic left staining…” They begin to inform her. But she can’t focus on it. She doesn’t care why her hand is still a death black. She doesn’t care why her other hand is missing fingers. She just cares that they are in the state that they are in.

She is ruined. Damaged. Broken in so many different ways.

The fairies have taken the cold from her. And the cold has taken her fingers and maybe her toes from her.

Her longing turns to resentment. And, in due time, her resentment to reluctance.

.oOo.

As Faragonda instructs her to lay down Icy gets the sense that she should be thrilled, Darcy and Stormy are. At best she feels nothing at all. She doesn’t feel much of anything these days. Cold, buries itself deep it numbs the skin from the surface to the bone and then it works its way in deeper still and numbs her emotions too.

Faragonda comes back with a tiny bottle, lavender in color, clover in shape, and crystal and magic in make. Within swirls a deep blue shimmery wisp that flashes silver when caught in the sunlight. It is, Icy realizes, a fairy variety of a vacuum. The headmistress uncorks the bottle and guides the magic swirling within towards Icy.

Icy who lays tense and still upon the bed. The magic hovers over her and she shudders. She thinks that it is supposed to feel sublime as her magic flows back into her. Ethereal as it fills her up. Fills that hollow place that had been left in its former vacancy. But she can only think of the way that the cold had so viciously consumed her. Had completely devoured her fingers and toes.

The chill of her returning magic crackles over her in the way ice creeps over a creek. Regardless of how it is supposed to feel, she cannot stop drawing comparisons to the night that she’d let herself succumb. It should feel, she thinks, exhilarating like plunging into glacial ocean waters. It should come with a burst of power, a feeling of invincibility.

It is nothing like that. Nothing like that at all. There is no sense of comfort nor empowerment when her magic slinks its way back into her. There is only dread. Dread as the frigid sensation envelopes the surface layers of her skin and slowly seeps its way deeper. Just as it had before it claimed her fingers. Slowly sinks bone deep and beyond. She waits for prickles and stabs and jabs that never come. She waits for that horrid, paradoxical burning sensation. And then she does. She swears that she does.

.oOo.

It isn’t anything that they have done wrong. The transfer of her magic back to her had been a success. Tests and scans come up negative for magic hindering illnesses. The same scans had shown that her body had readaped to her magic very readily, perhaps faster than average and her powers seemed quite eager to come back to her. They insist that, based upon the way that it had reacted to her, that her magic should be stronger than ever. They inform her that the problem is not external. She could have told them that.

It is her own mind, she is well aware of that. She swears that she wants her magic back. That she is thrilled to know that she is significantly stronger that she had been. But there is something in her mind, something deep down that does not.

The cold had rejected her and now she rejects it.

She wants new powers. Powers that she can use without finding herself back in a time that has already past, a day that has already come and gone at an hour that has already ticked away ages ago. A magic type that she hasn’t grown to loathe and dread all at once.

“What about the ice coffin? That was your favorite.” Stella says.

“That was always a more difficult spell.” She replies flatly.

“Well just conjure up a snowball or something.” Stormy shrugs.

Icy stares at her hands. Ugly, deformed, blackened hands. She flexes her remaining fingers.

She opens her mouth to say that she can’t but manages only a sigh. Pathetic. Ridiculous. She can at least try.

Reluctantly she stands up and extends an arm. She takes a breath and watches the magic slink down her arm, haloing it in a soft blue. Just as she always has, like watching one minute change to the next, she detects that shift in the air—that precise moment when warm becomes cool and cool becomes cold. This is usually as far as she gets.

After that, the ice begins to creep.

As it crawls across her arm her arm her breathing grows steadily uneven. She still feels it. It is all in her head but she still feels it. Still feels the cold. Still feels those white-hot teeth gnawing at her arm.

She shouldn’t feel cold the way that everybody else does. And she doesn’t as far as her nerves and pain receptors are concerned—doesn’t in the physical. But her mind…her mind is broken. Her mind sends phantom pain signals just as it sometimes allows her to feel limbs that are no longer there. “Fix me, Darcy.” She requests quietly as the magic dies on her palm. She swallows hard. She just wants to use her magic again. She just wants to be herself again.

“I can’t.”

“You have mind manipulation powers!”

“That I only know how to use to induce dread and fear. I can’t fix you but I can make you worse.”

She drops to her knees. Her hair falls over her shoulders and obscures her face. A good thing too; she is frustrated to tears. What kind of witch is scared of her own powers?

A foolish witch. The sort of witch who would be reckless and stupid enough to traumatize herself. She could laugh at that. She does laugh at that. A bitter, borderline hysterical laugh that has Darcy and Stormy exchanging looks.

Fucked up. She is fucked up and she can’t fix the way that she has broken herself. It’s a damn shame that she had never been able to break any of the Winx like this.

Her laughter dies away and with it her energy wanes. She slumps to the ground and nestles her cheek in the grass. Useless.

.oOo.

Spring has come and it has gone. Summer settles and then it rushes away for autumn to take its place. And then autumn too shows itself out with one final brisk gasp of wind. Icy watches the snow fall from Cloud Tower’s interior. She doesn’t know why she is here. She can’t use magic. She is basically the school’s pity project. She presses her forehead to the cool glass and shivers. She used to love this; the first snow. The sharp, pure air that only a winter night can bring. She liked to go outside, liked to climb to the roof and greet the snow like an old companion.

She hears the footsteps behind her but she doesn’t turn around. “Why don’t you join us?” Bloom offers. “Magix is hosting an ice skating party at Lake Roccaluce.”

She shouldn’t have left her door unlocked, especially knowing that the Winx girls, particularly Bloom, were about. It’s her own fault for assuming that Darcy and Stormy would tell the fairy to fuck off. “They hold that every year.” Icy mutters.

“And you didn’t go last year.” Bloom shrugs. “Are you really going to leave Darcy and Stormy to deal with me on their own.”

“They left me to deal with you alone.”

“Alright fine, I guess that we have to do this the hard way.”

“The hard wa—? What are you doing!?”

“I am going to carry you to Lake Roccaluce!”

“You can’t—”

“I did it before.” Bloom grins.

“Put me down, or I’ll…”

“Finally use your powers and kick my ass? I can’t wait.”

Icy’s face falls. And with it so does Bloom’s.

“I think that you just need to reconnect with your element. Ya know?” Bloom musters up a smile. “You need something that reminds you of why you like winter.”

It takes no effort at all to remember why she doesn’t. She only has to glance at her hands.

“I think that you still do.” Bloom says. “You just need a refresher. I’ll put you down if you promise to walk with me to Lake Roccaluce and go ice skating. You’ve always been good at that.”

She used to be good at a lot of things. She wants to be good at things again. She wants to enjoy things again.

She swallows. “Fine. I’ll go ice skating with you.”

“Great! I’m sure that Darcy and Stormy will be happy to see you there! I told them to meet us there and save us a cup of hot chocolate or two.”

“There better be two! I’m not sharing a mug with you.” Icy grumbles. She has already shared enough with the fairy; namely all of those embarrassing thoughts and feelings that she hadn’t been able to share with her sisters. She hates that Bloom makes it so easy. So comfortable.

“I promise that you’ll be using your ice magic again by the end of the night!”

“We’ll see, Bloom. We’ll see.”

#winx #winx club #winx icy #winx bloom #icy/bloom #blicy #winx darcy #winx stormy #winx trix #fanfiction

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missalicevalentine · 1 year ago

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A lil G/T writing snippet I did for fun!

The winter was frosty and Alice honestly was just glad she wasn't outside in the cold. That the cold wasn't nipping at her small toes or her tail wasn't frost bitten. The feeling of her long, elven ears freezing was the worst; and how her nose would turn bright pink. It was, if she was to put a word to it…uncomfortable, miserable and just hellish! She never liked the cold, at least not when it snowed. Rain was difficult enough, but the snow? Oh snow wanted her dead. It was like it knew she was alone out there, like it could wrap its filthy claws around her tiny body. But now, oh but now she wasn't outside. She was—wait, what was the word? The English word for this feeling of security? She couldn't remember…

Now she wasn't freezing her tail off or her teeth chattering. Whatever this ‘T-V’ was was playing loudly and the room was heated up by whatever that thing on the ceiling was. She sat quite comfortably next to her giant Friend. A person she couldn't communicate completely with. They spoke English and Alice, well she spoke her own language. She'd picked up bits and peices of English so far, like ‘food’ and their name, but most importantly ‘cat.’ she didn't like the cat, opting to call it a beast since it had more than once tried to get a hold of her. Still, as she sat next to her friend she wondered what went on in their mind. Why they had opted to let her live in the walls once they found her.

She was staring rather intently at them. Taking in all the horrific and giant features of their face. Her nose and brows knitted together as she studied This human and their short ears and tailless behind. They looked so…almost weird. Without a tail how did they balance? Or without long ears how did they listen for hawks or beast—cats? It seemed her friend noticed her staring, chuckling softly as they reached a hand out to grab her. Alice, well still hadn't exactly gotten use to the grabbing, the feeling of a hand grabbing her was almost, well, uncomfortable. She had tried to stand up in time to walk away but unfortunately for her they caught her with another laugh.

Alice tried to wriggle her way out of their grip but failed rather miserably as they brought their hand to their lap. Their second hand joining and cupping around Alice almost protectively.

“Warm?” They asked, their voice soft as of they were making sure not to startle her delicate ears.

Alice knew what that word meant! It was the word she was looking for! The snow pittered outside the window, freezing everything in it's path well she stayed inside, warm. It felt like a hug, like the worries or rats and cats, hawks and snakes didn't matter. That right now she was safe. Warm; Their hands curled a little more around Alice as they spoke words foreign to her own. A gentle nudge of their finger to get her response had her tilting her head back to meet their gaze. They big, intense and almost terrifying gaze. It would have been scary if she hadn't known how soft they were. They made her brownies and let her sleep and walk wherever! hell! They even made sure getting onto their counter top was easier for her. They were warm. They where this complete blanket of safety; a hand —quite literally— that kept her safe. A friend. A commander. Her clan. Her warm.

“Yes, Alice is, eh—warm.”

Thats my first time writing G/T! An example of how I write if there are anyone down to rp! (Specifically over 18 cause im an adult and don't rp with minors)

#g/t writing #g/t community #g/t #sfw g/t #giant/tiny #giant/tiny writing #rp request #roleplay partner finder #role play #please im desperate #giant x tiny #size difference #sfw #sfw genre #writing #ineffable idiots

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thedarkcknight · 7 months ago

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Day 6 Ghost Hunting on Christmas (Sam and Colby) Fem! Reader

Y/N's POV

The chill of winter nipped at my fingers, but I flexed them against the camera rig to keep the blood flowing. A blanket of snow covered the ground outside the abandoned mansion we were about to enter. The frosty breath of Sam and Colby puffed out into the air as they stood in front of me, their faces lit with excitement. Colby’s wide grin was infectious, his boundless energy making even the eerie atmosphere feel like a thrilling adventure.

I raised my hand and gave them a thumbs-up. “Cameras rolling,” I said, my voice steady despite the icy shiver running down my spine.

Colby’s grin widened as he turned to face the lens. “WHAT’S UP, GUYS? IT’S SAM AND COLBY!” he practically shouted, his enthusiasm contagious.

Sam chuckled, a bit more subdued but just as ready to dive in. He stepped forward, hands gesturing animatedly. “Alright, guys, today’s ghost hunt is a special one. It’s Christmas Day, and we’re investigating the old Harrington Mansion a place known for its tragic past and rumored hauntings. People say the spirits here don’t take kindly to visitors, so we’re gonna see if we can make contact tonight.”

I adjusted the focus, capturing every flicker of emotion on their faces as Sam laid out the plan. Despite their confident energy, the weight of the mansion’s dark history hung heavy in the air.

We stepped inside, the creak of the door echoing ominously. Shadows danced along the cracked walls, and the faint scent of mildew mixed with the distant memory of pine and cinnamon remnants of Christmases long forgotten.

As the investigation began, Sam and Colby moved through the house, whispering questions into the dimly lit rooms. The glow of their flashlights illuminated dusty furniture and cobwebbed corners, each beam a spotlight on the past.

Hours passed, and the cold seemed to deepen. My fingers felt stiff around the camera, but I held steady, capturing every tense moment. Sam and Colby were exploring what looked like an old study when it happened.

I felt it a light, fleeting touch on my shoulder. The sensation sent a jolt through me, and my heart skipped a beat. My grip faltered, and the camera wobbled precariously in my hands.

“Whoa, whoa!” I exclaimed, managing to steady the equipment just before it hit the ground. My breath came in quick gasps as I spun around, the lens catching nothing but empty air.

Sam and Colby turned sharply, their faces lit with concern and curiosity.

“What happened?” Sam asked, stepping closer. His eyes darted between me and the space behind me, scanning for anything unusual.

“I-I felt someone touch me,” I stammered, my voice shaky. “Right here on my shoulder. There’s no one there.”

Colby’s grin was gone, replaced by a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Seriously? Dude, you’re not messing with us, right?”

“Why would I mess with you?” I shot back, trying to steady my breathing. “It felt real. Like a hand.”

The tension in the room thickened. Sam pulled out the EMF meter and swept it in a slow arc around me. The device flickered to life, its lights dancing wildly as it emitted a shrill beep.

“Oh, man,” Colby muttered, his voice tinged with both awe and fear. “That’s crazy. It’s legit spiking right next to you.”

“Okay, okay, everyone stay calm,” Sam said, his tone measured but his excitement clear. “This could be our first real interaction of the night. Let’s see if we can communicate.”

I nodded, gripping the camera tighter. Despite the fear prickling at my skin, I couldn’t deny the thrill coursing through me. This was why we were here to capture the unexplainable.

As Sam and Colby began asking questions to the unseen presence, I steadied the camera, determined to keep rolling no matter what. The night wasn’t over, and I had a feeling it was about to get a whole lot more intense.

The air in the study felt heavier, colder, as Sam leaned toward the void where the EMF meter still flickers erratically. His voice was calm but firm, addressing whatever or whoever might be listening.

“If there’s someone here, can you give us another sign? Maybe touch our friend again or make a noise?”

The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the equipment and my own unsteady breathing. I kept the camera trained on Sam and Colby, the lens occasionally darting to the empty space around us, hoping to catch something, anything, on film.

Then, the faint sound of a creak broke through the silence. It came from behind me. My pulse spiked, and I turned instinctively, swinging the camera around. The lens caught the edge of an old rocking chair in the corner. It moved, just slightly, the rhythmic sway slow and deliberate, as though an invisible force had taken a seat.

“Holy crap,” Colby whispered, his voice barely audible. “Tell me you’re getting this.”

“I am,” I muttered, gripping the rig so tightly my knuckles ached.

Sam stepped toward the chair cautiously. “If that was you, can you do it again? Or maybe tell us your name?”

The room seemed to hold its breath. And then, as if responding, the chair stopped mid-rock and went still.

“Did you guys see that?” Colby hissed, looking between Sam and me.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “It just…stopped.”

Sam nodded, his face a mix of amazement and nerves. “Alright, we’re definitely not alone here.”

Before we could process further, the temperature dropped sharply, a wave of icy air brushing past me. The camera trembled in my hands not from my grip this time, but as if the cold itself was shaking it.

“Guys,” I choked out, stepping back instinctively. “Something’s not right—”

A loud bang cut me off, echoing through the room like a gunshot. We all jumped, spinning toward the sound. The study door had slammed shut on its own, the force rattling the walls.

“Okay, nope, nope!” Colby exclaimed, his bravado cracking as he stumbled back. “That’s too much!”

Sam, to his credit, kept his cool. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Let’s just regroup. It’s probably trying to communicate. Let’s not freak out.”

Too late. My heart was pounding in my chest, adrenaline surging through me as I kept the camera rolling. The lights on the EMF meter were going haywire now, almost screaming with activity.

“Alright, let’s not push it any further,” Sam said finally, his tone decisive. “We’ve got enough footage. Let’s get out of here before things escalate.”

Colby didn’t need convincing. He was already backing toward the door, though he paused to glance back at me. “You good? Can you keep filming?”

I nodded shakily, but the truth was, I wasn’t sure. My nerves were frayed, my body tingling with the phantom sensation of that touch. Still, I adjusted the focus and followed them, capturing their retreat.

As we exited the mansion, the snow outside felt like a lifeline, it was cold, biting but reassuringly real. Colby exhaled sharply, his breath misting in the night air as he laughed nervously. “Well, Merry freaking Christmas, huh?”

Sam managed a chuckle, his eyes bright despite the tension. “That was insane. Whatever’s in there…definitely didn’t want us hanging around.”

I lowered the camera, finally allowing myself to relax. The mansion loomed behind us, dark and unyielding, but we were out. Safe.

For now.

And as I watched Sam and Colby trade excited commentary about the night’s events, I couldn’t help but think about the touch on my shoulder, the chair moving on its own, and the door slamming shut. Whatever we encountered in the Harrington Mansion wasn’t just a story it was real.

And it wasn’t done with us yet.

As we made our way back to the van, the tension in the air slowly dissipated, replaced by the crunch of snow beneath our boots. The Harrington Mansion loomed in the distance, its shadowy frame still intimidating under the moonlight. Despite the chill, Sam and Colby were already slipping back into their usual energetic personas, the adrenaline of the investigation fueling their banter.

Once we were packed up, they stood side by side in front of the camera, their faces lit with excitement.

“Well, guys, that wraps up tonight’s insane Christmas ghost hunt!” Colby said, his grin back in full force. “We hope you enjoyed watching us nearly crap ourselves!”

Sam chuckled, giving him a playful shove. “Seriously, though, tonight was wild. We’ve done a lot of these investigations, but this one was something else. The activity we captured… I don’t even have words for it.”

Colby nodded, his expression turning serious for a moment. “We want to give a huge shoutout to our camera operator Y/N for sticking with us through all of that craziness.” He gestured toward me. “You were a champ tonight, even when stuff got real.”

I gave them a thumbs-up from behind the lens, managing a small smile despite the lingering unease.

“Alright, you guys know the drill,” Sam continued. “If you enjoyed this video, give it a like, subscribe, and turn on notifications so you don’t miss the next adventure.”

“And let us know in the comments where we should go next,” Colby added with a wink. “We’re always looking for new places to explore and new ways to scare the crap out of ourselves!”

With one last grin for the camera, they both leaned in. “We’ll see you next time!”

I gave them a signal that the recording was done and powered down the camera. The moment the red light blinked off, Sam turned to me, his face softening.

“Hey, you okay Y/N?” he asked, his tone quieter now, concerned.

I hesitated for a moment, still feeling the faint echo of that touch on my shoulder. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said finally, nodding. “It’s just… in the two years I’ve worked with you guys, I’ve never experienced anything like that. And we’ve been to some places where the spirits specifically say they like women.”

Colby raised his eyebrows, leaning against the van. “Seriously? You’ve never felt anything before? Not even in places like the Queen Mary or the Conjuring House?”

“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “Not like tonight. I mean, sure, I’ve heard noises, seen things move, but that touch it felt… personal. Like whoever or whatever it knew I was there. It didn’t feel random.”

Sam frowned, his brows knitting together. “That’s intense. Maybe it had something to do with the energy in that house. The history there… I mean, it’s possible someone was trying to make direct contact with you.”

Colby gave a low whistle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Man, I don’t know how you held it together. If that happened to me, I’d have bolted.”

I managed a weak laugh. “Trust me, I almost did. But I wasn’t about to drop the camera and ruin the footage.”

Sam smiled, giving my shoulder a reassuring pat. “You’re a rockstar. Honestly, tonight’s footage is gonna be amazing, thanks to you.”

Colby nodded in agreement. “Yeah, seriously. But if you start having weird dreams or feeling off, let us know, okay? We don’t mess around with stuff like that.”

I nodded, appreciating their concern. “Will do.”

As we drove away from the mansion, the icy wind whipping past the van, I stared out the window, the dark outline of the Harrington Mansion fading into the distance. Even with Sam and Colby’s reassuring words, a part of me couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been marked in some way—that whatever had touched me wasn’t done.

But for now, I was with Sam and Colby, safe and grounded in their presence. Whatever came next, I knew I wouldn’t face it alone.

#short story #christmas #sam and colby #sam golbach #colby brock #xplr

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simslegacy5083 · 9 months ago

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Today's (10/9/2024) Episode: Winterfest Interrupted

Their next stop after seeing Noemi’s folks was supposed to be a visit to Luigi’s family in Tomorang, but Scott texted him before they teleported.

“Seems like mom was going to host Winterfest outside in the courtyard, but it’s pouring down rain” he told Noemi “Kian was able to get us a big private room last minute at the Karaoke bar downtown where he likes to perform, so we’re all meeting there instead.”

“Sounds like fun” Noemi replied, “Let’s go!” A few minutes later they arrived in frosty San Myshuno.

In the hubbub of greeting his family, no one noticed Skye struggling to catch his breath again in the cold. Remembering that his dad had been right about the warm air making him feel better back at the center he kept quiet, trailing behind the others as they made their way inside.

After a big hug, Luigi’s step-mom led them to the private room where he could set up his portable bar and turn Yoshi loose to capture the moment.

Valentina asked Kian, an old hand with the karaoke system, to set up a duet for her and the birthday boy. “No problemo. Happy Birthday little dude!”

Skye had a really good time, belting out one of mom's favorite country songs at the top of his lungs and immediately begging Grandma to go again.

She glanced around at her smiling family. “Sure, but just one more than we need to give someone else a turn, OK?” She chuckled as he ran over to Uncle Kian to scroll through the huge list of songs for just the right next number. “Your boy is a treasure” she told Luigi as she grabbed a drink.

Unfortunately, their “private” room didn’t stay private for long! Shortly after all their planned guests arrived, several fans as well as one particularly sneaky paparazzi crashed the party. Luigi did his best to play nicely with the strangers, putting on his best PR friendly smile.

One unexpected guest was a familiar face. Bonnie walked in and settled down next to Noemi, who was hiding in a corner.

At her questioning look, their old friend explained. “Someone filmed you guys arriving and posted it in on SimTube. It’s a slow news day since most celebrities are at home with their families so Sim Star News was all over it. I happened to catch the segment during dinner and thought I’d stop by.”

Noemi sighed “Luigi LOVES the attention, but this fame business is a real pain. Hopefully, he can sign a few autographs and send them on their way.”

Noemi was right, Luigi was loving the attention. However, when his step-mom came up to tell him that Skye had ended their song early for fear of being “laughed at” by all the strangers, he quickly took steps to nip the impromptu meet and greet in the bud.

He wished his fans a “Happy Winterfest” while gently steering them to the door with some quick signatures. The paparazzi packed up her camera as the room emptied, although that didn’t save her from a mild tongue lashing. “Don’t you have anything better to do than interrupt my family’s holiday!?”

Unlike his nemesis, this photographer was at least contrite, offering a simple “Sorry, Mr. Lawbourne” before following his fans out the exit.

The family was just getting back into the swing of their party following the departure of their unwanted guests when Noemi’s phone buzzed with a much more pleasant interruption. “Honey!” she called “That was Denton. He said he wants us to come over and meet their new son.”

Luigi was a bit surprised to be getting a last-minute invite to meet Denton’s new kid on Winterfest, but he quickly thanked his mom for a lovely time before gathering his small family and walking the short distance to his cousin’s place just across the way.

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

#sims 4 #sims 4 challenge #sims 4 legacy #sims4 #sims 4 nsb #sims4nsbstraud #sims 4 not so berry #sims 4 let's play #sims 4 lets play #sims 4 gameplay

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ace-beef · 2 years ago

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Cornetto Secret Santa Gift!!

Eeeee it is here and I have made a gift for @albaharu!! The prompt of yours that I decided to go with was "Andy/Gary full angsty or slightly angsty xmas time after the apocalypse". This was super fun to write and I really hope you like it!! :3

'Christmas in the Apocalypse'

Gary tugged at his coat as he walked, trying to pull it further around him as the wind picked up. It was definitely winter, there was a particularly sharp and frosty bite to the morning air that nipped at his cheeks, the kind that you only get in winter. Gary grabbed at his sleeves, pulled up his collar, anything to try and stop the cold wind from gnawing at his skin. He may be free to do what he wants now, but at least before the apocalypse he had an insulated building with heating to go back to.

“You guys don’t feel this do you?” Gary said, glancing round at the blanks of his teenage friends behind him. The Blank Andy shrugged.

“Don’t think so.”

“What do you mean you ‘don’t think so’?” Gary puzzled, glancing round once more to look at the Blank Andy with a scrunched up face.

“Well, we know that it is cold but we can’t feel the cold,” Blank Andy explained, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, we know what sort of weather and temperature it is I guess so we can blend in with humans, but we don’t get affected by it,” Blank Oliver added.

“Wild… lucky bastards, wish I didn’t feel weather, “ Gary said. He heard a couple of chuckles from the blanks behind him.

The group were walking through a lightly wooded area of spindly trees that reached up towards the sky with their spindly fingers, leaves long gone and instead the trees had caught a few pieces of the scraps that endlessly floated around. Their feet loudly crunched through the debris that had made its way to the ground, occasionally one of their boots would step on one of the few leaves left from autumn, the last to fall from the trees. The fog and smoke that hung lazily in the air had barely gotten any lighter since the downfall of the Network, and Gary and his group could only see as far as a couple of trees in each direction, but for those still alive that had become the daily experience for the apocalypse.

“Wait, so like, can you get bothered by… wet?” Gary continued.

“Bothered by wet?” Blank Steven questioned, bewildered by the wording Gary had used.

“Yeah! So you can sense when something is wet right?” Gary said, and all of the blanks nodded. “Okay so does that bother you? Like can you feel the wet?”

Their chatter was loud, walking and talking casually as if they were confident that they probably weren’t going to encounter anyone else out in the wilderness. It became the kind of moment that Gary enjoyed the most, where the blanks seem to relax and behave a bit more like the people they were built to imitate. They laughed and made fun of Gary’s grammar, subconsciously taking a step away from the programming that the Network had built into them.

Suddenly, a loud commotion of squawking and rustling and wings flapping startled the group out of their conversation. Just ahead of them, a group of pheasants had erupted into the sky, startled by the presence of the Blank Musketeers. A little bit further from where they saw the pheasants, they heard a voice shout “fuck’s sake!” and footsteps quickly heading their way, but they couldn’t see the owner of the sounds through the fog until he appeared in front of them.

“Good job! I spent ages trying to find those and when I finally do you-” the man was yelling angrily as he strode over to the group, stopping abruptly when he saw who he was facing.

“Gary?”

Gary went bug-eyed as he processed who he was looking at. His mouth couldn’t help but tremble a little.

“Andy?” Gary had started pacing towards him.

“Oh my god, Gary,” Andy said. He only took a single step forwards, still not quite believing what he was seeing.

Gary broke into a run for the last few paces before colliding into a hug with Andy, firmly wrapping his arms around his best friend. Andy clung on just as tight, relieved to see that Gary was okay. The two stayed like that for a moment, relishing in the comfort of it, not wanting to let any of it go.

They separated and looked at each other, still trying to believe that it was real. Gary opened his mouth to say something, but before any words came out, Andy slapped him.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?” Gary exclaimed, holding his cheek with one hand.

“That was for scaring off my Christmas dinner, and you’re lucky it wasn’t my fist,” Andy replied, pointing at him. He hesitated, before saying “and it was partially for disappearing again.”

“Oh come on now, that wasn’t really my fault and you know it,” Gary protested.

“Yeah but you didn’t really make an effort to find me again, did you?” Andy said, pointedly. Gary looked away, his expression sheepish.

“Yeah, I could have tried harder with that I guess… I’m sorry man.”

Andy sighed. Gary sounded genuine with his apology, which is not something Andy had heard very often throughout their friendship. After a pause, Andy put a hand on Gary’s shoulder.

“You’re okay Gary, at least it seems like you’re alive and well,” Andy said. Gary then perked up pretty quickly, launching straight into conversation.

“You know what? I have been alive and well! I have been quite literally free to do what I want and when I want, it’s been pretty great,” Gary said cheerfully. Andy smiled warmly.

“That’s good to hear,” he replied. He looked round Gary’s shoulder at the blanks behind him; they hadn’t moved from when they were initially startled by the pheasants. “I see you’ve made some… friends?”

“What? Oh yeah! It’s you guys! So you could say I didn’t make some friends but instead gathered the old ones,” Gary chuckled. When he only got a very weak laugh from Andy, he continued, “okay well I found them, just wandering, and I thought, you know, let’s give them an adventure! It’s the boys! Plus it was getting kinda boring walking around by myself.” Gary let out another small chuckle, looking at Andy with a somewhat hopeful look, as if he wanted Andy to approve in some way.

“Fair enough. Are you guys having as much fun as we did?” Andy said with a smile. Gary laughed a little at the question.

“I mean, kinda? It feels like they have the same personalities at their core but it still feels like they have some weird, leftover behaviours and stuff from when the Network was still here,” Gary explained.

“Hm, that’s odd,” Andy hummed. “Well, it seems like you guys are having a good time, based on how you scared my pheasants off,” he said after a pause, an irritated tone rising in his voice. Gary once again looked a little sheepish.

“Yeah sorry about that… Why were you trying to hunt pheasants anyway?”

“For Christmas! I already said that you bellend,” Andy grumbled.

“Oh huh, I wasn’t listening to that bit,” Gary chuckled.

“No, you never do,” Andy sighed.

“So… pheasants! Bit fancy for a Christmas dinner innit? Even more so considering the state of the world,” Gary said in a mildly joking tone, gesturing to his surroundings.

“Well, I was trying to take anything I could find really,” Andy replied. He seemed rather dejected, tightening his lips and kicking at a few leaves on the floor.

“Yeah, makes sense.”

The two stood there for a few seconds, the air beginning to thicken with awkwardness between them as they ran out of things to talk about. They had so much they could catch up on, but neither of them were able to land on a topic. The blanks had just stayed where they were, waiting for some kind of instruction saying that it was okay to come forward, but they were starting to get restless and were muttering things to each other.

“Uh, how’s the wife?” Gary had finally found a topic. Andy’s face suddenly seemed to grow older with tiredness.

“We split up. Thought it was going to stay better but it didn’t,” he said gloomily, avoiding eye contact. Gary couldn’t help but smile. He tried to stop himself from grinning but he failed miserably. He also wasn’t entirely sure why that was his instinctual reaction, but he decided to ride with it anyway.

“Man, that sucks,” he said way too cheerfully. He continued to grin at Andy despite being met with daggers.

“Oi! That is not a thing to grin about you bastard!” Andy’s downcast expression tightened into one of frustration.

“Right right, of course, I’m sorry to hear that,” Gary said, clearing his throat and holding his hands up in apology. He straightened his face into a more neutral expression, but there was still a playful glint in his eye that he couldn’t hide.

Once he felt like Andy wasn’t going to assault him again, Gary said, “So um, Christmas dinner by yourself?”

“Huh?”

“Well you said that you were trying to get a pheasant for your Christmas dinner, so are you having it by yourself?” Gary was trying to keep his tone neutral. He really didn’t want to once again anger his old best friend and have them part on bad terms; he’d had enough of doing that.

“Oh, yeah, well I thought I might as well still try and enjoy myself, as it’s Christmas an’ all,” Andy answered, his frustration leaving him. He was tired of just always getting angry at Gary, even if the idiot deserved it. He didn’t want Gary to run away again.

“Fair enough.”

Once again there was a slightly awkward pause between the two old friends.

“You know, as you’re here now, and it has been a long time since we saw each other and an even longer time since we, well, ‘hung out’... fancy coming round to mine for Christmas? Help me get some new dinner on the way?” Andy said, trying to be nonchalant. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he felt nervous about asking. Maybe he was afraid Gary would leave again, maybe he was afraid that asking was a mistake and that Gary would fuck things up, as he had a habit of doing so. Either way, the question didn’t come out as easily as Andy expected it to.

“You know what Andy,” Gary said. A smile was slowly creeping up on his face as he looked at Andy with bright, excited eyes that had warmth radiating out of them. “I would absolutely love that!”

For the rest of the morning, the group gradually made their way back to where Andy was shacked up, occasionally stopping when they found some kind of animal that they deemed worthy of being their Christmas dinner. Most of their hunting attempts were unsuccessful, mainly because Gary didn’t seem to understand the element of surprise and Andy came very close to actually yelling at him. Eventually though, the group got very lucky and found a chicken that had clearly escaped from someone’s farm as Gary managed to scoop it up without much trouble. He then gloated about not needing to sneak up on animals to catch them, and Andy had then punched him playfully in the arm, which made Gary almost drop the live chicken and cause all of them to panic.

Conversation during this journey was light and pretty easy going. Andy managed to get to know the blanks, and even though it took him a little while to get used to the fact he was interacting with fake teenage versions of his school friends (and one of himself), he reached his house being able to joke with them on the same level that Gary could.

Andy’s house was a decently sized, makeshift hut. It was something that looked like it had been built by hand, with care, while using any sorts of materials and bits and pieces that could be found scavenging. This sort of house was fairly common since the Network left, but Andy’s was strangely home-y and well laid out. Gary was honestly unsurprised by this, he knew that Andy always had a good eye for organising and planning things out. He noticed a small patch a little distance from the house where Andy was growing a few different kinds of vegetables. Gary let out a small, amused exhale through his nose, admiring Andy’s dedication to a relatively healthy diet.

“Well, here we are. Home, sweet home,” Andy said after opening the door and leading the group into a surprisingly spacious main room. It contained a few rough wooden chairs and a rough wooden coffee table, all of which looked like they had been hand made. On the other side of the choppy coffee table there was a rather shabby, but still comfortable-looking sofa. It was a tired and washed out green colour, and it looked like it had been scratched by a thousand cats, but the cushions on it still appeared to be somewhat squishy. The hard, wooden floorboards had been covered with a tatty, patterned rug that had half of its tassels missing.

Gary raised his eyebrows and nodded in approval.

“Look at this Knightley! You’ve got a pretty sweet home base here,” he complimented. The blanks behind him also looked around and nodded their heads. They too seemed impressed with what Andy had built.

“Thanks! You guys can get comfortable in here if you’d like,” Andy said to the blanks, waving towards the sofa and chairs. Once the blanks started finding spots to sit, Andy turned to Gary and said, “A’ight, pass me that chicken and I’ll get it started.”

Gary made a noise of confirmation and handed the now dead chicken to Andy, holding it out with both hands. Once his hands were free, Gary’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Hang on, what do you have to cook it with?” he asked, placing a hand on his jaw thoughtfully.

“Ah, follow me out to the back,” Andy said, a knowing smile on his face. Gary raised an eyebrow and gestured with a hand towards Andy, indicating for him to lead the way.

From the large room they entered, they passed through a smaller room which seemed like it was some kind of kitchen or at least a food preparation area. It contained a large table that was in the same style as the chairs and the coffee table in the previous room; clearly this had also been hand made out of the same materials. In the centre of this table there was a rich, green plant of some kind, growing happily in a chipped and scuffed flower pot. A couple of white, leaf-shaped flowers grew from the foliage. There were rickety counters with cupboards that looked like they had been taken out of an actual house and just propped up onto the walls. Only a few of the cupboards had doors.

Andy continued to lead Gary through a back door and outside, where a few paces away from the door sat a rather impressive looking stone furnace. It was a very rough circular shape, built together out of random bricks and rocks, with an opening at the front for the food to go into and a small gap near the bottom for fuel to be put into. A couple of twigs poked out of the gap.

“Andy! This is amazing!” Gary exclaimed, spinning in a circle and stretching his arms out. “Did you build all of this?”

“Yeah I did! Well, me and, I guess my ex wife now, worked on it all together,” Andy explained, becoming a little pensive.

“Ah, so she left?” Gary asked tentatively. He fidgeted with the brim of his hat. Andy let out a sigh.

“Yeah. Just walked out and never came back.”

“Real shame, I’m sorry man. But also, honestly, her loss! Look at all of this cool stuff she left behind! In my opinion, you won,” Gary advised enthusiastically, looking at Andy with a confident stare. Andy seemed unsure at first, eyebrows knitted together, ready to get frustrated with Gary, but he just couldn’t. Eventually a small smile wormed its way onto his face and he felt his body relax. When Gary saw it, he grinned broadly.

“Don’t know why she would leave a cute thing like this,” Gary said as he turned round to face the hut. “I wouldn’t mind having a place like this to come back to every now and then.”

Andy felt a warmth in his cheeks.

“She always said it looked run down and ugly,” Andy said, exhaling sharply as if he was trying to blow out the sudden warmth in his face. Gary spun round to face Andy again, eyes wide and mouth open in a shocked expression.

“Really?? This is adorable! It feels so…” Gary hesitated, turning back to the hut and shaking his arms and hands in the air, trying to find the word he wanted.

“Crass?” Andy said, huffing out a short laugh.

“No!” Gary chided, flashing Andy with a disapproving scowl before returning to facing the hut.

“Well then what’s the word you’re looking for?” Andy asked tiredly.

“I dunno, it’ll come to me eventually,” Gary said, flopping his arms down at his sides and shuffling over to Andy. He pointed at the stone furnace. “So how does this work?”

For the next few minutes Andy showed Gary the whole process of preparing the chicken and cooking it in the stone furnace, even down to him explaining exactly how the furnace worked. Unfortunately for Andy’s patience, Gary never seemed to fully understand exactly how it worked.

“Wait, but how does the heat stay in? There’s all these holes in between the stones,” he puzzled, pointing at all of the spaces.

“I’ve explained this already Gary, it’s- you know what, never mind,” Andy sighed heavily, giving up on trying to get Gary to understand.

The pair of them stood up and left the furnace, deciding to walk back inside and see how the blanks were doing. Once they were back in the main room, they found the blanks just happily chatting away, and the pair of them lingered in the doorway, watching them. Both had affectionate, little smiles on their faces as they watched the four teenages talk in such an ordinary way, reminding them of their far away youth. Blank Ollie still had those short, snappy mannerisms as he spoke, Blank Steve still had that calm and relaxed posture, Blank Pete still fidgeted with the sleeves of his jumper, and Blank Andy still had that boisterous laugh and hearty grin.

“I can never get over how good the Network were at copying people,” Andy murmured thoughtfully, continuing to watch the blank teens. Gary let out a small chuckle.

“Yeah, but since they’ve been walking around with me, it’s like they’ve gradually become less how like the Network originally built them and have become more true to the, I guess, originals. As if the true personalities are coming out,” Gary mused quietly, also not wanting to look away from the conversation in front of them. Andy let out a thoughtful, but affectionate hum.

They continued to watch the blanks natter away for another minute or so, before Andy suddenly seemed to leap with an idea.

“Oh! Stay there, I’ve got an idea of something we can do while we wait for the chicken to cook,” Andy said, startling the blanks out of their bubble. They all turned to look at him.

“What? What is it?” Gary asked as Andy started to walk away from him into a different room that he hadn’t gone into yet. Andy skidded round to face Gary.

“Gary, you will like this, it’ll take you back to those Christmases we would have together with the boys,” he replied eagerly, before quickly heading off again.

“Do you know what he’s talking about?” Blank Oliver asked, looking at Gary.

“I don’t know, there was a lot of things we would do at Christmas,” Gary said, throwing his hands up into a shrug. He decided to sit with the others while they waited, so he perched down onto a space on the floor next to the coffee table, crossing his legs as best as he could in his scruffy jeans. Gary undid the strap for his sword and took it off, placing it among the other weapons that the blanks had put in a pile next to the sofa.

“Are you guys ready?” Andy suddenly came back carrying something under his arm. They all perked up. “Look what I’ve managed to get!”

“Fuckin’ hell Andy!” Gary exclaimed, eyes wide and a grin on his face.

All eyes in the room were focused on the box of Monopoly that Andy was now holding out in front of him.

“The real deal, I found it during one of my scavenging trips. It pretty much has everything still in it! Oh, well it is missing a few of the paper notes but that doesn’t impact the game too much. It is also missing a couple of the player pieces but that’s alright because I can always find other objects to replace them. Oh also I don’t think there’s any hotel pieces in here, but that doesn’t really matter because when have we ever got to having hotels?” Andy said before angling a laugh towards Gary.

“Yeah we always got into some kind of game-ending argument before we got to hotels,” Gary said, laughing.

So they set up the board and all of the money and all of the pieces out on the coffee table in the main room. Gary yelled dibs to be banker, but Andy quickly stamped out that notion and made it so that he was the banker; he claimed that Gary cheats when he’s allowed to be in that position. There was a slight squabble between Blank Steven and Gary about who should be the race car, but after a quick game of rock, paper, scissors, Gary got to be the race car and Blank Steven then picked to be the boat. Blank Oliver decided to be the thimble, Blank Peter wanted to be the dog, Blank Andy went for the cannon, and then Andy picked up the boot.

Luckily for Gary and Andy, part of the memories that the blanks had, was knowing how to play Monopoly, so they launched straight into the game. Gary got a strong start with properties, but by the end of the game ended up either having to sell them to others or mortgaged after making poor and impulsive choices with his money. Andy played it pretty safe and ended up having a decent few properties with houses on them, making him a contender to win but not indefinitely. Blank Steven went down a similar route as Gary, buying lots of property in the beginning and made Gary especially mad because he managed to get all of the green properties. However by the end of the game he wasn’t in the worst shape, but he definitely wasn’t winning with his lack of houses. Blank Peter never really got a chance to buy anything that good, with his unlucky dice rolls he missed out on a lot of stuff. He eventually managed to get a few properties that people didn’t want, like the browns, but it meant that he wasn’t in too bad of a position by the end of the game. Blank Oliver was in his element. He was making deals left and right, even being able to swindle Gary into selling some of his good properties to him, and by the end of the game he was the ultimate tycoon.

“Gary, you have to sell me that property or you’re out of the game!” Blank Oliver said, staring hard at him.

“No wait! Wait! I can get this back! If I just- fuck!” Gary was scrabbling through his things, desperately trying to find a way to pay the rent without losing.

“Oh fuck! How long has it been since we started?” Andy suddenly interjected.

“Probably a good few hours… why?” Blank Steven said.

“SHIT! Gary the chicken!” Andy yelled, startling Gary out of his desperate state.

“Huh? OH FUCK THE CHICKEN!”

In a flurry of cards and fake money, Andy and Gary clambered to their feet and scrambled through the kitchen and out of the back door to check on the stone furnace.

“Hm… anyway Steven, can I make you a deal?” Blank Oliver asked, turning to Blank Steven.

Smoke was pouring out of the stone furnace, much more thick, black smoke than there should have been. Andy grabbed a rag from the kitchen and flapped it about as Gary grabbed the emergency bucket of water from next to the furnace. He shoved the water into the fuel gap with some force, putting out the fire that had been cheerily crackling away for hours. Andy took the rag in both hands and frantically pulled out the chicken, only to find a shrivelled and charred lump. The chicken had been thoroughly burnt.

“Fuck…” Andy said quietly. The pair stood there staring sadly at the blackened blob; it still had wisps of smoke curling off of it.

“But I’ve been a good boy this year,” Gary said mournfully.

“The fuck do you mean?”

“It’s a lump of coal, and it’s Christmas Day,” Gary clarified, trying his best to conceal a laugh and keep the sombre tone. His lips were twitching, itching to burst into laughter.

Andy looked at Gary, not being able to believe that he made a stupid joke when all that they worked for had just, quite literally, gone up in flames. However, when he caught Gary’s eyes with his own, he had to start fighting back a laugh of his own.

“Gary. This is not a joking matter,” he said, looking back down at the chicken, trying his best not to splutter. He hoped that avoiding eye contact with Gary would help, but it didn’t, the laugh was still trying to escape and now stronger than before.

Andy took one last look at Gary, and the two erupted into waves of laughter. It took them a few minutes before they were able to calm down, clinging onto each other and tears streaming from their eyes.

“WHEW! Okay, fuckin’ hell,” Andy panted, finally being able to catch his breath.

“Alright… so what are we gonna do about the chicken?” Gary asked after he was able to breathe again. They both once again looked down at the burnt chicken.

“Ah fuck the chicken,” Andy said, before throwing the entire thing over his shoulder. The pair giggled together.

Andy and Gary stood there for a moment, looking out into the wilderness, contemplating things in silence, and just enjoying each others’ company. This was the most comfortable they had felt around each other in such a long time, they probably hadn’t felt this content with each other since the 90s… and it felt nice, really nice.

“Gary?” Andy decided to break the silence, turning his head to his best friend.

“What’s up Knightley?”

“Did you mean what you said earlier?”

“About what?”

“You know, the thing you said, about how you wouldn’t mind having a place like this to come back to.” Andy had shifted his gaze back to the vast wilderness in front of him, missing the warm smile creeping up Gary’s face.

“Oh yeah!” Gary said, bouncing a little on his toes as he looked at his boots. “Yeah I meant it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

Andy felt that sudden warmth in his cheeks again, although it was more toasty than the last time. He glanced at Gary at the same time Gary glanced at him, and both of them quickly diverted their eyes to something else in their surroundings.

“Well, since it is just me here now, it gets pretty lonely out here, by myself. So I was thinking, if you wanted to pop back here every now and then, well you’re more than welcome. You can use it as a sort of, home base,” Andy said, once again struggling to get through his words a little.

“I mean, I do really like it, and I have been wandering around for a long time… it would be nice to rest and just, stick to one place for a bit,” Gary replied, sniffing sharply and fidgeting with the buttons on his coat.

“Yeah! You’re allowed to stay, you can stay for as long or as little as you want really.”

“Nice! Um, thanks Andy,” Gary said, finally looking at Andy once more. Andy looked back at him.

“It’s no problem.”

The two stood there for a few moments of silence more, but this time not wanting to look away. This was the first bit of real connection that they had felt since… well, an even longer time ago. It felt so, so, refreshing.

“QUAINT!” Gary suddenly blurted out, causing Andy to jump.

“Wh-what’s this about?” Andy stammered, bewildered.

“The word that I was trying to remember earlier! When I was describing your- well I guess now our hut. It was the word ‘quaint’!” Gary babbled.

“Oh! I see… yeah I guess that word works,” Andy said indifferently.

“You guess?? I thought it was a great word!” Gary argued.

“Meh. Also, I’m sorry, it’s ‘our hut’ now?” Andy barked playfully.

“Yeah! Isn’t that what you were just saying?”

“I guess so but you jumped on that and got comfortable with it very quickly!”

“Sooooo what you’re saying is that I’m not wrong?”

“Shut the fuck up Gary King, you prick,” Andy scoffed, a huge grin on his face.

“You shut the fuck up Andy Knightely, you twat,” Gary retorted, with a grin just as big.

#this has been In The Works for like a hot minute #I hope it's okay though!!#I honestly wanted to write the whole Monopoly scene out properly but I also didn't want to make this too long lmao #it's already at almost 5k #also tempted to post to ao3 if people are cool with that #the cornetto trilogy #cornetto trilogy #the world's end #the world's end movie #gary king #andy knightley #beef writes #beef speaks #cornettosecretsanta2023 #cornetto secret santa 2023

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self-shipping-doll13 · 7 months ago

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#1 - First Snowfall

December Prompts

Wc: 335

The frigid morning air bit at my skin as I helped Ivar don his thick fur-lined cloak, the heavy wool smelling of lanolin and sheep. Ivar, smelling of Ivar, of home.

His fingers, rough with calluses, brushed mine as he gripped the fabric, pulling it close around him. The cloak was dark, nearly black, with a clasp of hammered silver at the throat that glinted in the pale Winter light slanting through the window slats.

“I’ll be back before nightfall,” he promised, thumb rubbing my lip as he cupped my jaw, holding it like something beloved, precious. “Wait for me.”

“Always,” I told him, putting my hand over his.

Ivar leaned in, capturing my lips in a swift, fierce kiss that stole away my breaths. Then he turned, moving towards the door on his iron-tipped crutch.

His war chariot awaited outside, the driving mare snorting plumes of frosty breath, harnesses jingling as jerky-hard faced scouts readied the rigging.

My own fur cloak was white wolf, the pelt soft and trapping heat against my body, the ruff of it tickling my face like some sinuous beast was wrapped around it.

I met Ivar’s cold blue gaze one last time—softening only for me, then forming once more into harsh ice as he cracked the embellished leather reins. He galloped off into the rising mist, his scouts in tow. By then the snow was already beginning to fall in fat, lazy flakes. Swirling, flurrying, tumbling whiteness.

I turned my face up to the sky, letting the first few crystals settle on my lashes and melt against my cheeks. The cold nipped at my nose and fingertips, but I relished the last sight of him in warm-blooded flesh, knowing he would be riding out into danger, into whatever threat that loomed on the horizon, a fleeting vision as dark as snow-choked skies...

I shivered, my teeth clattering in the cold, and turned back to the Great Hall, my boots crunching in the thin layer of snow that already blanketed the ground.

Dividers by @/fireflygraphics

#⛏️🪢

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aphroditestummyrolls · 2 years ago

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Hey! Could you do a snippet from the engagement series? I loved the last post you made about that one :D

I am LOVING all the people asking for the engagement series— I’m having a blast with it ❤️ here’s a little bit of a longer chunk, because I got carried away.

The first nip of autumn could be felt on the night air over Ketterdam— the breeze was crisp and light. The steep roofs and crumbling gables of the Barrel rolled out before them. It was its own type of beauty, even with no stars and the clouds of city smog leaving a soft purple haze in the streets below. Street lamps glowed amber and gold, the light catching on Jesper’s profile as he looked out over the city.

It was their city. Their home. Even now, with a fancy estate on the other side of town with their portrait over the mantle, and a mercher black suit hanging on Wylan’s side of the wardrobe.

The Crow Club was home.

“Kruge for your thoughts?”

Jes sighed out a long breath, frosty with the cold, but his smile was genuine the moment he heard his voice, and he turned to Wylan. “Just thinking.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” He chuckled, stepping in closer.

Jesper leaned against the stone ledge of the roof and watched him watching him, his eyes a warm flare of streetlamp gold and gunmetal grey. His hands were tucked into his trouser pockets, shoulders drawn in a little. He shrugged.

“Getting a little air, I suppose.”

Wylan hummed, noticing he’d not put on his jacket and his hair was curly and wild, free of his hat.

“Maybe a little more than you ought to— aren’t you cold?”

He was answered with a familiar, knowing smirk that simmered in his chest as soon as he saw it. Jesper took his hands from his pockets only to reach out for Wylan. “Why don’t you keep me warm, then?”

Wylan let himself be reeled in, happy to be pressed flush to his lover’s chest and smell the bright, woodsy smell of his cologne. Feel that heart beating against his own. He couldn’t have helped his grin if he tried, and why would he?

In an optimal position, he nuzzled the tip of his cold, rosy nose into the crook of Jesper’s collar, soothing it with a kiss when he got a squirm in response.

He kept the touch of his lips lush and soft, suffusing heat all the way up his throat to the underside of his jaw. Jesper hummed, with head tilted back and his broad hands resting heavily around the small of Wylan’s back. He simply let Wylan do what he liked, just enjoyed the moment. His short, fluttery eyelashes brushed the very tops of his cheekbones with his eyes shut, closed blissfully, with a smile on his face.

Saints, he was the most beautiful thing Wylan had ever seen.

In his own pocket, the simple band of engraved gold felt like it was about to burn a hole in his trousers.

He kissed Jesper one more time, just for good measure. He needed it. He cupped his cheeks with his hands, and held him there, just to warm up the chilled skin. As he rolled up to his tip toes, he tilted Jes’s face down to do the job properly, pressing their lips together until he could taste the hint of Kaelish whiskey still on his tongue.

Those hands smoothed across his back, under his jacket to grip the fabric of his shirt.

They didn’t stop until they had to. Until the calls and cries and laughter of the Barrel had faded to nothing but their heartbeats in their ears.

It was more feeling than sound, when Jesper broke the hush. His lips still brushed his cheek, feather light, as he said the words. “I really have been, y’know— thinking, that is.”

Wylan pulled back enough to see him plainly, fixing his eyes on him like there was something he needed to study in his face.

“Hm,” Jepser’s fingers were fiddling absently with his braces against his back, and there was something tense in the corners of his eyes. They made his smile look tight. Nervous. “What have you been thinking about, then?”

“You.” He was smiling, he was looking over Wylan’s face like he was trying to commit him to memory. “Us.”

He thought about the ring in his pocket again, looking at the golden halo of lamplight outlining his lover’s curls. And the smile on his perfect lips, and the nervous fidget of his hands.

“Oh?”

Thanks for playing! If you like this, or want to know more, feel free to hit up my inbox, or keep playing ❤️❤️

#wesper #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #six of crows #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone netflix #ask games #thanks for playing!

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wigs-company · 2 years ago

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3 Women's Coats You Need For A Winter Wardrobe Upgrade

As winter's frosty breath begins to weave its way through the city streets, there's no denying the need for a wardrobe upgrade that not only keeps you warm but also makes a statement.

So, let’s step into the world of fashion-forward winter essentials, where 3 iconic women’s coats are poised to transform your seasonal style.

Buckle up as we embark on a journey to discover the allure of faux fur, the edgy sophistication of leather, and the wild charm of animal print winter coats for womens.

Women’s Coats: Faux Fur Fantasy

Women’s coats that elevate your winter wardrobe

When winter winds start to nip at your nose, it's time to cozy up in the plush embrace of a faux fur coat. This wardrobe essential isn't just about warmth; it's a fashion statement that radiates luxury and sophistication.

Imagine strolling through the city, wrapped in the ethereal softness of a faux fur coat like the Touched with Jewels Faux-Fur Coat by LUXE, with each step turning heads and eliciting envy.

The beauty of the faux fur women’s winter coat lies not only in its undeniable warmth but also in its versatility. Whether heading to a glamorous evening event or adding a touch of opulence to your everyday street style, the faux fur coat effortlessly elevates any ensemble.

Pair it with jeans and ankle boots for a casual chic look, or throw it over your favorite cocktail dress for an evening of unforgettable elegance.

Women’s Coats: Leather Love

Women’s coats you’re sure to fall in love with

For those who crave a bit of edge in women’s winter coats, the leather coat is the ultimate game-changer. This timeless piece transcends trends, embodying an enduring sense of cool.

Whether you go for a classic black biker jacket or a statement-making cape coat like Make a Statement Faux-Leather Cape by Studio EY, leather exudes an effortless sense of rebellion that resonates with the modern woman.

Picture yourself striding through the city streets, the rhythmic tap of your boots or booties mirroring the beat of your confident heart. The leather coat isn't just an outer layer; it's a second skin that empowers you to face the winter chill head-on.

Women’s Coats: Animal Instinct

For the bold and daring, animal print women's coats are a must-have to unleash your inner wild child. From leopard spots to zebra stripes, these coats are not for the faint of heart.

Embrace the untamed allure of the animal kingdom and make a fierce statement wherever you go. The beauty of the animal print coat lies in its ability to transform any outfit into a show-stopping ensemble.

Layer it over monochrome outfits for an instant pop of drama, or mix and match it with other prints for a bold and eclectic look that's uniquely yours.

Wrapping Up

Escape the monotony of winter fashion with the perfect women’s coats that promise to transform the cold season into your most stylish one yet.

From the luxurious warmth of faux fur to the rebellious charm of leather and the wild allure of animal prints, these three women’s coats keep you warm and guarantee you stand out in any crowd.

Why settle for ordinary when you can transform winter into your very own runway? Elevate your wardrobe with the exceptional collection of stunning women’s coats from Especially Yours®. With Especially Yours®, make every moment in the cold a fashion-forward masterpiece.

Ready to elevate your wardrobe with chic women's coats? Explore the latest styles in the blog Fall Fashion Essentials: 5 Perfect Coats For Your Wardrobe.

#Women's Coats #Womens Winter Coats #Especially Yours

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catra-writes · 2 years ago

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a fierce blizzard

The world was white as paper, covered in sheet after sheet of non-stop snowfall as the fierce blizzard continued to rampage on the mountain side. The snowflakes fell like tiny delicate dancing fairies, but the wind vigorously whipped them about and nipped its cold frosty touch on the exposed skin of any who dared venture outdoors.

One lonely man had dared. He wondered alone on a path long since covered by the heavy snowfall. He was wrapped in cloth just barely keeping the chills away from his old bones. His frost bitten nose peaked out over his old worn wool scarf and his cheeks rosy red from the harsh cold winds.

The old wonderer tugged on his cotton coat as he lifted a heavy booted-foot out of the snow and stomped it back down in front of him, then doing the same with the other. The tail ends of his scarf whipped behind him as he did his best to keep from being blown away by the angry winter's storm.

He glanced up ahead of him, one fingerless-gloved hand atop his head to hold his cap down. Short wisps of grey and white hairs slipped out from under his hat and whipped around in the wind frantically. His tired eyes looked about, squinting to see clearer in the storm.

Off to the side in the distance he spotted a cabin, sitting nicely in the snow. A warm orange glow peaking through its only visible window next to a door with the blinds drawn. 'They must have a good fire going' he thought as he caught sight of their chimney blowing deep grey smoke.

The old traveler pushed on towards the cabin, in hopes he could get a place to rest for a short while. Perhaps until the storm calmed itself If the tenants were kind enough. 'Perhaps even a spot of hot tea and a bite to eat too!'

With a head full of warm thoughts, the old man tracked forth, making his way to the door of the cabin with sturdy steps and plenty of determination. Whether they let him in or not, the man would not let this storm keep him from reaching his goal.

Soon enough, he was at the cabin's entrance and placing his knuckles to the hard wood a few times in a rhythmless knock. 'Sounds like oak wood. Looks like it too' he though to himself as he waited for an answer.

The door's handle wiggled slightly before turning, meaning the owner was unlocking the door. When it opened, a blast of warmth hit the man as if welcoming him whereas the cold outside immediately made the woman now standing in front of him shiver.

"Oh my" she said at both the cold wind and the sight of him. "Wh-" she stopped herself from finishing what she was going to say, glancing at him quickly as the wind momentarily lifted his coat, and shut the door so rudely in his face. The sound of the lock and a second latch could be heard from the other side. 'How terribly rude of her.'

No matter. The old man, though he never even got a word out to her, turned away from the woman and her cabin and continued back down his path from before. The warmth he had felt for that moment only fueled his determination more. Not one doubt entered this man's mind about reaching his goal.

Trudging on with heavy steps and wind in his face, the man tightened the straps of the bag on his back and crossed his arms over his chest. He marched through the snow without stopping. Glancing up at the path ahead, he once again saw a cabin.

Though this time a bit bigger and on the opposite side of the path. He learned from the last encounter not to get his hopes up too high, but still had hope they would let him in for a few measly minutes at least.

When he had reached the door of this cabin and given it a few good knocks, he took note of the wood's noise. 'Birch wood. Like the outer wall's logs' he thought. The light curtains on the other side lifted at the bottom to reveal what appeared to be a small child's face peeking at him.

It was more than likely a curious young boy standing on the tips of his toes, But the boy then left the door, perhaps to get his parents or care taker to answer. The old man waited until her heard the boys voice from inside. "Grams! There's a beggar man out in the cold! He looks scary!" The boy shouted. The old woman was possibly half deaf or on the top floor.

The man chuckled at the young lad finding him intimidating. Children found most strangers intimidating usually. "Leave him out there and come have supper, Johnny!" An old woman's voice responded to the boy, making the man frown.

It seemed like he wouldn't be getting to rest his feet just yet. So the beggar man continued on through the storm still. Not letting his willing courage falter, for he was surely brave for even daring to venture outdoors in this storm for so long.

He lifted his foot and place it in front of the other, repeating the pattern of walking through the icy compact snow. The man kept his pace, not going too fast for he might run out of energy too quickly and end up stuck in the snow! Nor did he move too slowly, for he did not want to waste time out in the cold and fall ill.

Once more the old beggar looked up ahead and found a cabin right in front of him, the door only a mere few feet away. He knew this cabin, surely the artist that owned it was here and willing to let him in! It was made of cedar wood, his friend had told him that.

The old man remembered his friend, the artist, fondly. They had said he was welcome to visit when they were around. So caring a friend they were! The old man smiled under his scarf as he stepped closer to the door of the cedar wood cabin.

He hit his cold nimble knuckles against the surface of the burgundy coloured door and waited for a response. He waited a few minutes, listening for any noise inside. Though all he could hear was the sound of the wind whistling and howling in his numb ears.

He knocked again, waiting still. Perhaps the artist hadn't heard him the first time? Or perhaps they were taking a nap. Maybe the storm was too loud to hear any knocking-so he tried the doorbell. He heard it chime a few times, then it went silent.

Again he waited, just a few more minutes... and a few more. Then right there a thought had occurred to the old beggar. A thought that made him frown deeply, pulling his coat on tighter and refusing a shiver from his body as he rubbed his arms.

'Oh that's right...' thought the beggar man. 'That was a few years back they had said that. Besides they only come here around summer or fall when it's nicer and prettier' summer and fall were lovely seasons, it's only right for an artist to love such colourful times.

The old beggar man turned from the door and back onto his path. He still had somewhere to go. Somewhere else to be. He had planned this whole time to get there. As he marched onward, the cold nipped at him again and again.

The wind seemed to have picked up as he moved further on along the mountain side. It was possible he was nearing the center, the eye of the storm. It was calmer there but near hell around it.

The wind quickly snatched up his hat, tossing it around until it disappeared behind him in the white abyss the world seemed to have become. His head was now very cold, his hair was thin and short. His hair offered very little to warm him or protect him.

The man ducked his head and tugged his scarf over his nose as an effort to protect himself from the nasty gusts of aggressive wind. There was no point in going back just to look for an old worn cap buried under snow. So he kept on going.

The further he went the harder the storm pushed back. Snow fell from the mountain but by bit as if the weather were trying to bury him, filling his boots and freezing his toes. Still he walked on as best he could.

The wind got stronger and made him wobble side to side with each step but he never steered from his course. Despite the pushing and shoving from winters biting breath, the old man kept on. He did not see any cabins ahead when he looked up this time.

Perhaps the storm had hidden them and they were too far too see from where he was. Maybe there were none left on his path. Perhaps it ended with the artist's cabin.

All he could see now were big heavy snowflakes flying around in swirls and random patternless falls. Of course he could see outlines and branches of trees, though most were to dreadfully covered in snow they practically blended in with the white abyss of a world he was now in.

It was almost scary, this winter wonderland the old man had gotten himself into. His vision was almost flooded with white, white and nothing but white. Except for the slowly darkening blue of the sky. The sun was hidden behind the clouds so it was far too difficult to see but it's light is always there.

Well. Was. Now that it was surely going down he could see that it had gotten much later than he anticipated. It was harder to see in the dark which meant it would be harder to move too. He hadn't brought a light, he didn't think he'd need it when he was coming. Oh and wolves, what about them? He hoped they wouldn't come after him in the dark, the storm might be his only protection against them.

The old man was tired and cold. He was hungry too, he hadn't been able to stop for lunch. He must have been walking for hours and hadn't realized. He was too focused on his goals to notice but now his stomach was growling for food. His mouth had gotten dry though he never once opened it while he was out here.

His legs ached for a break from the walking in heavy snow and cold winds. His whole body felt numb, bones now chilled by the storm's grip. His fingers cried for warmth as the gloves he had on no longer did anything for him.

Oh how the old man wished someone had let him in, let him rest by a fire with tea and food. He wished the grandmother and her boy Johnny had invited him for supper, he wished his friend were around to keep him company.

But no, he had been left out in the terrible weather. His head pounded and eyes watered. He felt dizzy and stopped walking, planting his wobbly knees in the snow and shivering. They had slammed the door in his face, ignored him, forgotten him.

He regretted very deeply being out here in the first place. He regretted the choice he made. He should have checked the weather beforehand, prepared himself better. He thought himself a fool, taking up such a nonsense goal. It's was selfish of him to think and expect such things of those people too.

The man felt like giving up right there. He thought of letting the storm have him like it seemed to want. Maybe those wolves would find him in the morning. He had no one to blame for his misfortune but himself after all.

All that determination had evaporated. Whatever had kept him going blew away in the cold wind with his old hat like dust. Now he was feeling as terrible as the weather acted. He'd surely fallen ill now. Sitting there with little to no hope, the old man looked up once more. You could imagine how surprised he was to see a small light off in the distance. 'Oh great' he thought with vile sarcasm. 'I'm seeing things now, going mad!'

The little light got bigger and bigger, brighter and brighter. It was getting closer! In the back of his mind he knew he wasn't going crazy, he was even praying it was help! Then he heard the sound of sliding, and dogs-why as it got closer he saw it! It was a dog sled headed straight for him! This was no figment of imagination from his desperate mind, this was real!

"Hello there!" Said the dogs owner after telling them to stop, pulling up right next to the man. "What are you doing out here in the cold? And at such a horrid time too! Come on get on the sleigh, we'll take you back to the cabin do you can warm up. No one should be out here at this time all alone" they told him, helping him up and into the bed of the sleigh.

"T-thank you!" Said the old man as he shivered. He laid down under the sled's fur blanket.

"You're very welcome, sir!" They said in return, voice a bit muffled my their own scarf and the noise of the wind. They said a word or two to the dogs who pulled the sleigh and rushed off back up where they came, moving quickly. The old man nodded of biting suddenly woke to one of the dogs giving his face a short lick.

"Oops, sorry. She's the friendliest one." Said a young lady as she picked up the dog and set her aside. She was wearing a big blue winter jacket but clearly she was a bit small for it. Her fathers perhaps?

Her face was very familiar to him. Dark eyes, light tan skin, dark hair. He couldn't remember where he had seen her though. "Let's head inside. It's much warmer there and I'll even get a fire going" she offered with a smile.

She must be the one who had found him in the snow, she had taken her scarf off was all that was different. She held out her hand to help him up and he took it gratefully, standing with her help. The two of them and the dogs quickly got inside. The storm had seemed to calm down though. "We're in the eye of the storm, it should pick back up soon" the young lady told him.

She gestured to a chair and he took a seat, taking off his bag and setting it down next to him. He took of his scarf as well. "What's your name, sir?" Asked she.

"Percy. Percy Montgomery" the old man smiled at her. "And how about you, miss?" Percy asked in return, taking off his worn gloves as she started the fire in the chimney's fireplace.

"My name is Mary. Mary Susans" She smiled back, taking off her coat and setting it over his shoulders to warm him up faster. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Percy." She said politely.

"It's very nice to meet you too, Miss Mary" he nodded. Her last name sounded as familiar as her face looked. It was very odd and almost alarming. Had old age taken his memory already?

There was a bit of quiet as Mary went into the kitchen. "Do you like earl grey tea, Percy?" She asked, pulling out mugs and starting a kettle of water to boil.

"I don't mind it" he answered, rubbing his hands together. He smiled as the dogs came over, sniffed at him then either sat near him or walked off to perch themselves on a cushion in the corner. Their bed, he guessed.

Soon Mary came back and handed him a mug full of hot tea and sat in a chair next to him by the fire. "There's a spot of honey in it, that should make you feel better." She told him.

"Thank you, you're very kind Mary." He told her, taking a sip of the tea which quickly warmed his chilled bones. It was delicious and just what he needed right then.

"And you're very polite for an assassin" she chuckled. "I mean, I'm assuming that's what the weapon under your coat is for." Percy's eyes widened. Of course! How could he have forgotten what his goal really was! That's why she seemed so familiar!

"You're not very good at hiding it. I bet whomever hired you forgot to tell you, my father died late last year in a storm just like this one." She informed.

"Yes...they did fail to tell me" he admitted. "But they also told me to rid of any remnants of his family." Percy said sadly.

"I'm the only one left. But, why do you sound sad Percy?" Mary wondered, carefully sipping her tea.

"I should be asking you why you're so kind to me. You know who I am and what I am to do yet you don't seem frightened in the slightest." Percy pointed out.

"It's rather lonely here. The dogs are nice company sure, but the people here are really...well they don't like associating with potential danger I'll say that much" she chuckled. "And besides, if you are going to kill me, I see no reason to be rude to you. I might as well go out having been nice and had pleasant company first, don't you think?" She smiled. Her smile was genuine, want and innocent. It touched his heart.

"It is a nice thought" he agreed. "You have a heart of gold Mary." He told her. "But I won't be killing you miss Susans." Percy shook his head and sipped his tea again.

"No? And why not?" She asked curiously. "Weren't you paid to? Isn't it what you do as an assassins'?" She looked at him with confused eyes.

"I should be retiring already. Besides, someone needs to look after the pups here." He chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm old if you haven't noticed. I don't think my employers even cared if I succeeded, to be fully honest with you. I'm not much good at my job anymore, I see that very clearly now."

They smiled at each other. "Well then friend. Would you like to stay and keep me company till the storm is over? There's plenty of room here for a guest and it looks like it will last quite a while. " Marry offered, raising her mug as a gesture to the darkening world outside the window.

"That would be lovely, dear friend" Percy nodded, leaning back in his seat and relaxing. As did she. The two sat happily enjoying one another's company in safety, sheltered from the fierce Blizzard that raged outside on the mountain.

#writing blog #personal writing blog #original character #catra saves #descriptive writing #catra writes #creative writing #original writing #original fiction #original works #short story #original short story #my short stories #my story #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr

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bugwolfsstuff · 2 years ago

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Castor

Castor squealed as his world was enveloped in snow. Slipping down the back of his coat. Nipping, biting his skin like frosty teeth.

He scowled at his twin brother first, who was shamelessly clutching his sides with laughter. Then Annabeth, who at least had the decency to try to hide her merriment by pulling her grey scarf up over her face. And Larry. Luke. Whatever his name was grinned like a Cheshire cat. That big dumb scar he got on his equally dumb quest curled around his face like the smiles on the twin's dad's comedy masks.

Castor opened his mouth to say something. But the snow had managed to get into his pants, which made it very hard to think of a remark.

So, instead of saying something intelligent and witty, he shrieked —In a very dignified way!

And ran in the direction of Camp Half-Blood. A trail of snow slipping from his coat in his wake like a frozen bridal trail.

His twin, Annabeth and Larry-Luke, laughed behind him as he ran quicker than Bassanio when he heard Antonio couldn't pay his debt to Shylock in The Merchant of Venice.

He knew the way to the camp like the back of his hand. The way the snowy pavement slowly turned to an icy dirt road. The way houses became sparse as farmland began.

He turned right, and a snow-covered Half-Blood Hill came into view, the mist melting away from it like a veil, revealing the green landscape below as he got closer.

Snow turned to green grass as he ran past the border. Turning a corner, he slammed into someone. Sending a fizzy wave of cola splashing over both of them.

"Sorry!" he yelled to the person, not stopping or looking back.

"CASTOR CHARDONNAY, GET BACK HERE!" his dad screamed. His leopard print shirt gaining a new cola pattern.

Castor ran a little bit faster. He was going to be so dead later.

Breathless from running, he burst into Cabin 12, Pollux following close behind, still laughing. Castor was too busy tearing the winter clothes off himself to care.

Pollux's laughter quickly stopped when Castor's wet, cold coat got thrown on his bunk —Right, smack in the middle of his mattress. And to add salt to the wound, Castor wrapped himself in Pollux's blanket.

"Hey!" Pollux protested.

"That's what you get for laughing at my misery!" Castor replied, holding the blanket tighter.

"It was funny! And you're so dramatic!"

"It was not!" Castor knew he couldn't argue with the second part.

Pollux stomped to their bed and threw Castor's clothes on the floor. Grimacing at the now wet patch on his mattress.

Castor smirked, "That's what you get for not taking my PAIN seriously!"

Pollux rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Pain? It was just a bit of snow! You're so dramatic. You're basically a walking Shakespeare play."

Castor dramatically draped Pollux's blanket over his shoulders like a cape, "Indeed, dear twin, forsooth and verily, I am the thespian of Camp Half-Blood!"

"Do you know what half of those words mean?"

Castor bit his lip and wrapped the blanket back around him. They knew each other too well. He didn't know; he read them in a book and thought they sounded smart. "....Yeah?"

Pollux rolled his eyes, but he didn't say anything about it. Instead, his attention turned to some grape vines growing around the cabin.

The vine leaves twisted under his gaze.

"Pollux... did you forget something?" Castor asked. He knew his brother well enough to know when he forgot something. Mostly because he did the same thing when he forgot things.

"Nope," Pollux answered.

He returned to fidgeting with the grape vines, and their cabin was quiet for a minute, apart from the rustling leaves.

Pollux turned to him, "Oh wait!"

Castor smiled. He knew Pollux so well. "You did forget something, didn't you?"

His twin nodded excitedly, "While you were busy—"

"—Being attacked," Castor interrupted. Rolling his eyes at his twin's glare. "Sorry, carry on."

"Thank you, Castor, how kind of you."

"I know, right?" Castor said. He wasn't done with his revenge. His twin shall rue the day he decided to laugh at him.

Pollux rolled his eyes again before continuing, "Anyways, while you were busy being a baby. Annabeth told me how she doesn't celebrate Christmas. Which got me thinking—"

"That must have been very hard for you".

Pollux rolled his eyes again, "Ha ha, very funny. But I was thinking. We should get Annabeth a Christmas present."

Castor didn't have an insult for that one. It was actually a good idea.

Pollux smirked. Castor didn't need words to know that that smirk meant: "Ha ha, see? I have good ideas. Sometimes!".

"So...What do you have in mind?" he asked.

Pollux grinned, bouncing on his heels.

"You're gonna love it!"

Castor was already starting to disagree.

Part 2 of 7

VineOwls Christmas

Pollux's Pov

Pollux felt like he was in a fairyland. Bright blue, red, yellow, and white lights flashed around him and his twin like a kaleidoscope. Snow covered everything, like a crystal wonderland. It was just a (Probably) mortal village decorated for Christmas. But it looked so pretty.

Luke Castellan, a son of Hermes, chuckled behind them. "Haven't you ever seen Christmas lights before?".

"We have, Larry. They're just pretty." Pollux replied, though he didn't think Luke heard him over the scarf.

"Not that you'd know anything about prettiness," Pollux's twin brother, Castor, said.

Castor always made it clear if he disliked someone by making sarcastic remarks or insults.

And Pollux liked to be sneaky, like being passive-aggressive or tripping someone while they're carrying something with a vine.

To put it mildly, neither he nor Castor liked Luke Castellan. Sure, there was nothing wrong with the guy. He was nice enough to them. He doesn't talk badly about their dad like the other campers (at least Pollux has never heard him do). But since he came back from his quest, there was a feeling at the back of Pollux's mind, like a gut feeling, that gets stronger by the day.

"Hey, wait up!" Annabeth called from down the street. Her blonde curls bouncing under her grey woolly hat like a halo as she ran to catch up.

Annabeth had been him and Castor's friend since —well, not since they met her. In fact, they were kinda very mean to her when they first met when they were eight. But they're ten now! They've matured now and become best friends.

He even made space on the sidewalk for her.

"The Christmas lights are so pretty," she said, walking between them, Castor on her right, Pollux on the left.

"Yeah," Pollux said.

"Can you believe what Leonard quoth to us?" Castor said, putting an annoying amount of emphasis on quoth.

Annabeth giggled. "It's Luke, Cast. And what did he quoth to you?"

Pollux sighed, "Don't encourage him, Owlbrain."

Castor discovered Shakespeare a week ago, and he's been hyper-fixated on it ever since. And Pollux isn't sure how much longer he can take hearing about symbolism in Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the night before he starts thinking he's in a Shakespearean tragedy himself.

"O, speak to me no more. These words like daggers enter my ears." Castor annoyingly grinned as he quoted Hamlet. He turned to Annabeth, "Lenny here," He gestured to Luke, "thinks we've never seen Christmas lights before".

Luke put his hands up in defence, "Hey, I was just saying, you guys seemed so amazed by the lights; it's like you haven't seen Christmas before".

"Probably 'cause me and Cass don't celebrate Christmas," Pollux said.

"Dad has beef with Jesus," Castor explained, scooping up snow in his gloved hand.

"And Mom's relatives come over around Christmas, and Dad says they're a bunch of—"

"Pollux," Chiron chided, rolling up behind them in his wheelchair, "Language. And Castor put that snowball down."

Castor stared at Chiron. The snowball he was about to throw at Luke dropped to the pavement. "I wasn't going to do anything!"

"I don't celebrate Christmas either, though not because of that," Annabeth said.

"Then why?" Pollux asked, kicking a ball of snow as he walked.

Annabeth hesitated, "...Because of how it's about family and how great it is. And since I ran away from my 'family'. It's kinda a sore subject."

"Oh," is all he said.

It was all he could say; one of the only downsides to having your godly parent at camp was that you'll never understand your fellow campers.

Annabeth laughed, "Guess neither of us are getting Christmas presents this year."

Pollux giggled. "Yeah," he said.

But he was lying. He had already made up his mind.

Annabeth was getting a Christmas present.

A laugh rang out, and Pollux heard Chiron say, "Don't."

He and Annabeth whipped their heads around to see what was going on.

Luke was standing behind Castor, who had lagged behind and was too distracted by a red robin nearby to see the giant ball of snow Luke had looming over his head.

Pollux scooped up some snow, and Annabeth did the same.

"Cassie, look out!" he yelled, throwing a snowball as hard as he could at Luke's chest. Unfortunately, Pollux was never much good at being a marksman, and instead of hitting the much bigger son of Hermes, he hit the much smaller Castor's left arm.

Annabeth on the other hand, was a better shot than him...unfortunately, not better by much.

Her snowball sailed over Castor's head and past Luke's chest.

Hitting him in the armpit.

Luke dropped the snowball in mild shock...directly onto Castor's head.

'Whoopsie' was all that went through Pollux's head.

Part 1 of 7

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