#AND they’ve all worked with Halle Berry too

[pedroscurls]

I must have a type…

Pedro Pascal’s birthday is on April 2nd

Robert Downey Jr’s birthday is on April 4th

Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s birthday is on April 22nd

[mikhailwrites]

Keep your Sergeant happy / Ghost x Soap

Kinktober #18 - Cooking (from the SFW prompt list, made a bit NSFW)

Soap stares. Shocked out of his wit, which is almost unheard of. A confused “You… cook?” is the only response he’s capable of.

“I do. Been told I’m rather good at it, too,” Ghost adds, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Two weeks. Soap and Ghost are holed up in a safe house in the middle of nowhere for two weeks, and the Sergeant is seriously starting to lose it. They don’t even know if they’re really in danger; all Price told them was, “There’s been a leak; lay low, don’t return to the base until you hear from me”. It’s just their luck they’ve been out on a deployment to Germany when it happened.

They’ve been living off canned food and stashed MREs for too long, and Soap’s had just enough. He looks into the cupboard for the umpteenth time as if he doesn’t know what he’ll find there. More cans. “Ah swear Ah will throw up if I have tae eat one more canned meat.” Johnny groans, going through the stash in hopes of finding something else.

Ghost hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything encouraging or otherwise. Soap is sure his Lieutenant could live from berries and roots if it came to that. Or hunt a rabbit with his bare hands or something. He’s seen Ghost’s survival skills first-hand many times. Fuck, Soap would kill for a rabbit. Or a fish. Or anything other than a disgusting piece of pseudo-meat in the sleazy gravy. But there’s nothing else, and his stomach has been growling for over an hour.

By the third, slowly chewed bite, Soap is willing to call this shit worse than actual torture. Closing his eyes as he feeds himself another piece, Soap feels his face contort in a mixture of disgust and apprehension.

“You look like you’re about to die, Johnny,” Ghost says without a hint of emotion.

Soap sighs, putting the dreaded can away as he hopes the few bites would be enough to calm his stomach and give it at least an illusion of sustenance. “Might as well if I have to eat one more of these.”

Ghost chuckles, shaking his head slowly. “Any food is better than no food, trust me.”

Soap knows, truly, but that doesn’t mean he can’t bitch about it, does it?

“Tell you what, if you can manage two cans a day, I’ll cook something nice for you when we get back,” Ghost offers and… he sounds almost cheerful as he says it.

Soap stares. Shocked out of his wit, which is almost unheard of. A confused “You… cook?” is the only response he’s capable of.

“I do. Been told I’m rather good at it, too,” Ghost adds, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Only the sly glint in his eyes betrays the truth that he enjoys teasing Soap.

“What… uh… okay? Alright.” Soap stutters and reluctantly takes the half-eaten can.

Ghost nods his approval. “That’s the spirit, Johnny. So… what’d you like? And I swear to God, if you say haggis, you’re not gonna live it down.”

“Why? Ye cannae do haggis?” Soap teases but quickly reconsiders as Ghost turns to him fully, casually flipping a knife. “Alright, alright! I dinnae even like haggis, ye British twat! Tikka masala fine with ye?”

“Butter chicken it is,” Ghost agrees, hiding the knife away.

The following week is a blur. They get back, Price briefs them, and then they have to catch up on the piles of work that, somehow, could wait up until then but couldn’t wait any longer. Johnny was looking forward to returning home, but now that he’s home, it’s not as happy a reunion as he hoped.

Soap is just finishing up for the day, tired, apathetic and irritable. For the first time ever, he’s seriously considering taking a few days' leave. Ghost’s voice stops him as he reaches the door. “Soap, meet me at the mess hall at 2300.”

It’s a weird request at best, and Soap blinks a few times before he turns around. The Lieutenant doesn’t spare him a glance, still typing away on his keyboard. Maybe Soap didn’t hear right? “Come again?”

“Mess hall, 2300, be there,” Ghost repeats without any further explanation.

Soap nods, too tired to bother. “Sure.”

As a matter of fact, he’s too tired to ponder on it. Ghost tells him to be somewhere, Soap does it, easy as that—no thinking required.

The moment he steps into the mess hall, five minutes to eleven, he realises what’s going on. The smell of masala, garlic and turmeric is enough to make his mouth water immediately. He remembers Ghost’s promise now.

Entering the kitchen, he sees Ghost dressed in his usual black attire, with a white apron. The balaclava is tucked up on his nose because, obviously, he needs to smell and taste the sauce. Nobody would ever believe Soap if he told them.

“You were actually serious,” Johnny says as he leans against the counter, watching in astonishment as Ghost prepares the meal. No, not Ghost, it’s Simon now. And Simon’s moves in the kitchen are just as steady and well-practised Ghost’s on the battlefield.

Simon chuckles, stirring the sauce. “I was. Now, hand me the plates.”

Soap does, feeling a bit nostalgic. He used to help his maw in the kitchen when he was but a wee kid. He watches Simon fill the plates with rice, pouring a generous amount of sauce over it and adding a healthy amount of chicken on top. “Here you go, one chicken tikka masala.”

They sit at the table; it’s a bit weird being the only two people there, but Soap doesn’t mind. This feels nice. Unsure of what to expect, he scoops some rice with his fork, adding the sauce to it, before he tenderly tastes it.

“Holy shit,” Soap utters in disbelief, staring first into his plate, then at Simon, who looks very pleased with himself as he eats his own portion. “This is so good!”

“Thank you,” Simon smirks. “Told you I can cook.”

It’s true, but for some reason, Johnny really thought he was joking. Ghost. Cooking. And acing it, as he aces pretty much anything he does. On a closer inspection, it shouldn’t surprise him. Soap opts for not saying anything and just enjoying the amazing treat. When he tastes the chicken that was probably soaking in the marinating sauce for some time, he moans obscenely. The food is honestly much better than it has any right to be. So good, in fact, that it strips Soap of his brain-to-mouth filter. “If you’re at least half as good a lay as you are a cook, I wanna marry ye.”

Simon pauses, fork with another bite lifted halfway. His eyes are wide with surprise.

“Oh fuck…,” Soap breathes out as he realises not only what did he just say but to whom.

Simon smiles, one of his slightly scary, feral smiles. “Technically, this could count as a dinner.”

Soap is fighting the overwhelming mixture of confusion and panic. He has no clue what’s going on, but Simon doesn’t seem offended, which is good. In fact, he looks… intrigued. Okay, Soap can work with that. “You think me some easy lad, letting you have your way with me after just one dinner?”

“It’s a damn good dinner,” Simon shrugs. He watches Soap intently, and the intent is dark and hungry.

Johnny slides his foot under the table until it nudges against Simon’s. It’s a safe touch, nothing overt or inappropriate. “Aye, it is. Makes me want to ask about the dessert.”

Simon’s foot nudges him right back with more strength, forcing Soap to spread his legs a little. Bleedin’ Jesus, is this really happening? “I might have something… back in my room.”

Soap finishes his plate in a record time, feeling genuinely sorry because it was definitely good enough to savour. Maybe he could convince Ghost to cook for him again. He’s determined to try.

It’s a small miracle they make it to Ghost’s room without any incidents. The moment the doors close, however, Simon is already yanking the balaclava off, mashing their mouths together as he wrestles with Soap’s clothes.

Johnny helps with that and then promptly returns the favour, eager to touch every inch of exposed skin, to kiss and taste everything Simon offers. And he offers plenty. They kiss, and they rut against each other, desperately trying to relieve some of the tension. However, it’s not that easy because it has been building up for months. The banter, the flirting, the seemingly innocent touches. It all culminates right here, at this moment.

Johnny has no idea when exactly their dynamic shifts, but at one moment, Simon is kissing him, licking his way into Johnny’s mouth, and the next, it’s Johnny, pressing on, forcing Simon to take a step back, then another, until they get to the bed. He’s never imagined Ghost as anything other than pushy top, but it seems that he was wrong. Still, he needs to clarify. “You want me to…?”

“Yeah, Johnny, fuck me,” Simon says, almost painfully blunt but perfectly clear. Johnny pauses to take a deep breath.

“It’d be my absolute pleasure, Simon,” Johnny grins, pushing Ghost back, causing him to fall on the bed. Ghost could immediately turn the tables if he felt so inclined, and it turns Soap on. He gets Ghost to cook for him, he gets him to be manhandled, and he gets to fuck him. He might just be the luckiest lad in the whole fucking world.

It’s good, so good. Simon is far from passive; he wants Johnny, and what Simon wants, Simon gets. Slowing down and speeding up again, changing the angle ever so slightly, they work together in nearly perfect sync to prolong their pleasure. Despite their best efforts, it cannot last.

Johnny is the first to succumb, gasping, only barely managing to keep reasonably quiet as the sweet respite takes him. Simon is close behind, grunting and arching his back as he grinds against Soap.

They lay on the bed, side by side, sticky and messy, yet unable to do anything about it for the moment.

“I’m doomed. You are as good a fuck as you are a cook,” Johnny laughs, quiet and light, tracing invisible patterns on Simon’s skin.

“I’m not marrying you, Johnny,” Simon retorts in a tone just as light.

“You say that now, but wait until the second date.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

Mikhail knows many things. Some gleaned from books, some from experience, some from insight which few others comprehend. He is not old enough to speak authoritatively on when the mistletoe plant became associated with kisses, though he concurs with the historian who credit, or blame, the English for entwining it with their yuletide celebrations. There was something more mischievous when tradition dictated that each stolen поцелуй meant a berry plucked, and that when the branch was bare, frustrated lovers must keep their lips apart. A trend that has fallen from favor, as they are prone to do.

Beyond myth and modern wielding, what Mikhail appreciates most about the mistletoe is how it brims with life and gleams, even when the harsh frosts have stripped its brethren down to bark and shriveled twigs. During the long, dark nights, kine bustling over the city swaddled in scarves and hats drawn low, hunched against the chill, Beth alone shines bright. They carve out a sliver of the frostbitten evening between the hospital and her home. Beneath stark halogen lights and signs pointing the way to the ER, Mikhail greets his beloved sprite with a chaste kiss upon the hand. Less warm than usual, and Mikhail transfers the ink-black coat from his shoulders to hers. He does not need it, after all, no more than he would need to dangle a sprig of mistletoe to steal a kiss from Beth.

Though perhaps the kind he steals most should occur beneath the holly, with the berries of luscious red, as red as both their lips shall eventually be.

Berries for a Kiss || -

New York isn’t immune to the same crisis facing the nation, the forever shortage of nurses and an influx of patience, which leads to long waits and overwhelmed emergency rooms. There are still patients waiting hours in the sitting area and the hallways before being seen, and of course people like Beth who began her shift four hours earlier than she was scheduled, whereas the previous shift stayed four hours later than necessary, floaters being dragged in from other hospitals if they can be spared. Even the ambulance bays are having a hard time offloading critical patients. With the pending storm, they’ve had to divert to other care facilities and it’s still everything the medical community can do to try and wade through the work. By the time she was allowed to leave, there were a hundred and ninety-five people crammed into a sixty bed ER. The nicest word she could use is chaotic. The bitterly cold air helps clear her head a little, waking her up so she doesn’t feel like she’s a zombie. A moment later as she raises her eyes to the stark figure standing alone beneath the signage outside of her doors, whatever weight in guilt and concern is shed like an old skin and she all but glows in the too bright light when she realises it’s Mischa. Winter is beginning to edge out autumn as her favourite season because the longer, lingering nights mean that there is more time to spend with him without risk of nearing sun-sickness. He is as chill as the air that makes ghosts of her breath as he bestows the most courtly of greetings to her hand without stirring the air around it. She almost protests when he bundles her up in his own protection, fearing less that the cold climes might do him harm ~is it not better for him, all things considered? Not that she’s ever thought of him as a cadaver that belongs to one of the refrigerated drawers down in the morgue~ than his lack of it might draw attention. She’s come to understand he has something not unlike the Crone’s Cloak that grants him a certain sort of invisibility to the less discernible eye. Her home is empty by the time they reach her door, and they find themselves enveloped by warmth and darkness when she lets them in. She leaves her shoes at the door. Shucks the coat in the hall though the scarf is wrapped around his neck and she pulls him playfully toward her room. Her lips replace the cashmere at his throat before her door even fully closes. After all, what better way to give him the blush of life?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XVIII

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), trauma, some elements untagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The reader and Zemo try to figure out what’s next.

Note: I actually think we’re closer to an end then the beginning. My goal is to finish this before moving onto anything else but that might be my original stuff so I might take a little break after this series to figure that out! Your patience and following along has meant the world to me. <3

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

In the coming days, trunks were opened and stuffed with clothes, blankets, and miscellany. The servants did much of the work as when you were asked what to bring, you chose three plain dresses for you and several more outfits for Elina. Zemo tutted and ordered his staff to fill the chests.

There was no distinct urgency however as the horses were to be re-shoed before you set off and the baron seemed content to enjoy the summer sun with your daughter. He would sit with the two of you under the tree or take her on a walk of his sprawling green or dangle some ornament before her to reach for.

Your mind didn’t retreat from the prospect of your departure. He said a fortnight at longest, you had to leave before that. You worried about Elina and how she’d miss him and how she’d fare on the road. She was a healthy child but you couldn’t help but think of all that could go wrong.

The third day after the announcement of your looming trek, you sat on the balcony as Elina chewed on berries and Zemo sat with a book. The air was thick and damp from the heat but the sun was tamped out behind the gathering clouds. He wore his shirt untied at the top so that the fur of his chest peeked out and you wore a sleeveless cotton gown in a pale blue.

“Do you intend on negotiating? Truly?” you asked as your mind wandered.

He looked over the book and reached over to scoop up a slice of strawberry from Elina’s shirt and flicked it into the saucer, “what do you mean?”

“Are you going to try to seal the alliance they want or is it all a ruse?”

“My liege has given me leave to approach their proposal however I wish. If they present some benefits for us then yes, I should like to have peace but… they’ve not offered anything before that we couldn’t find elsewhere,” he shrugged and lowered the book, “are you concerned for them? The people who let you suffer as such?”

“It is still my homeland but that is not what I’m worried for. I wonder how long your patience can wear on,” you said.

“We have spoke on this, we both know--”

“Yes, I know, but… how long should I have left with my daughter?” you hissed.

“You think I mean to take you from her? Perhaps march you to your death?” he scowled.

“I know however this turns out, my place in it is perilous,” you retorted, “do not mock my fears.”

“I do not--” he took a breath and his sneer softened. He chuckled as he leaned forward, “you are stronger than before, you know that? You snap like a lioness. I thought you underestimated me but I see you only misjudge yourself.”

“You are vague with me so how can I trust--”

“I have seen you through your recovery, through a labour, and a life beyond that,” he said, “I only ask a little more for all that I’ve done.”

You sat back and cupped your chin. You looked at Elina, dark juices smeared around her lips. She was entirely undisturbed by the bickering of adults. You reached over and took her tiny, sticky hand. 

You thought of Lord Barnes and if you should face him again. The idea made your blood run cold. Would he hate you? Would he still want you? You did not doubt he would have some cruelty left for you but as you were, scarred and hobbled, would it be different? And if he discovered your daughter, what then?

“He can never know about her,” you said softly and cautiously looked at the baron, “please, he can’t--”

“If he ever sees her, he will only know her to be mine but I have no intent upon my daughter being near that brute in her lifetime,” he growled. No little baroness but ‘my daughter’. You smiled at Elina and she squeezed your finger.

“I am grateful for all you’ve done for her. I know you didn’t have to--” your eyes strayed beyond the railing as some distant movement flurried beneath the sun. You squinted and leaned on the arm of your chair as you tried to see the specks along the horizon.

Zemo followed your gaze and stood. He went to the golden scope he kept on the balcony and put his eye to it as he adjusted the sights. He tilted it and stood stalk straight as if he’d been struck. The scope bobbled and he steadied it.

“Get her to your rooms,” he said, “lock the door and don’t make a sound.”

“What? What is it?”

“They are early,” he hit his open hand with a fist, “the letter… it could not be. The king must’ve assumed and sent the party prematurely.” He went to Elina and lifted her. He kissed her cheek and waved you up to your feet, “go on, take her. Keep her quiet as you can. I will house them on a lower floor but they cannot suspect you, understood?”

“How do you--”

“The banner, it is all I can make out,” he said as he grabbed your cane and rushed you back through his cool chambers, “you will lock the door and I will have Ulrich keep watch over the corridor.”

“You didn’t see who it was?” you asked as he opened the door and thrust you out into the hallway.

“You will know when I know,” he assured, “keep your candles unlit and draw the curtains.”

“My lord--”

“I did not plan for this,” he said as he marched you down the hall. You tried not to stumble as he still had your cane and you only had him to keep you from falling, “my lady, I do fear you will not make it to the Creek as we planned.”

He stopped at your door and you hugged Elina as you leaned against the wall. She was entirely untroubled by the sudden upheaval, ever a happy baby. “My cane,” you pointed to his hand as he gripped the silver topper, “please?”

“Oh, I-- Yes,” he handed it to you then reached to open your door, “keep that close…” he said, “just in case.”

“We’ll be as quiet as we can,” you assured him as you held Elina against your hip and limped with your can into the dim chamber.

“I will have Tess secret up some food before their arrival but you do not come out for anyone but me. I will knock,” he tapped a pattern on the door, “like so.”

“Yes, my lord,” you squeezed Elina as the nerves stormed inside of you.

He sighed and gripped the door as he leaned on it, “I only have a few hours to hide the evidence of you and all we’ve done to see you off. Even so, they will not suspect anything unless they are fed crumbs, yes?”

“I understand, my lord,” you stiffened and forced back the panic, “we will see what comes and do as we must,” you swayed Elina as she began to fuss, “for her.”

“For her,” he repeated, “now I must go.”

He closed the door and you set Elina down on the rug with the mouse Tess had sewn for her. You went to the door and twisted the latch into place. You turned back to watch your daughter as she tossed the toy and giggled. She pushed herself up to her feet, more certain everytime she stood. The time was passing much too quick.

🏰

You tried to distract yourself by playing with Elina and keeping her quiet. You worried however, the few times she made noise, that you would blow it all. When Tess brought the food, it was easier as your daughter grew hungry and restless. Once she had a proper meal in her, she was ready to lay down. She dozed beside you on the bed as you listened to the activity below.

First, you heard the horses through the window and the rattling carts and carriages. The voices were too distant to discern above a muffle and you weren’t so foolish as to peek out, even from so high up. You calmed yourself by watching Elina sleep but you knew you would not rest that night.

The sun sunk further behind the clouds and the evening approached with a dullness which forewarned of storms. You flinched at every noise, even floors below, and waited and waited and waited.

You had faith in Zemo, he was a great pretender. It was that very quality which kept you wary of him for so long. 

When Elina stirred again, you quieted her cries with your tit but she wasn’t taking to your nipple as eagerly as before. It calmed her for a while but she was soon awake again. You let her explore the chamber but not far from you and kept her away from the clacking wooden blocks gifted her by the baron.

And then the knock came as the sky blackened and grey clouds rumbled above. The rhythm drew you to the latch and Zemo slipped through the door. He was quick to lock it again as you ambled without your cane, afraid to tap the floor too hard with it. Elina greeted him with a shrill cry but it was blanketed by the bluster of the rising chaos in the heavens.

“The storm will frighten her but it should also help hide her,” Zemo said plaintively, “I hope.”

“They are here and settled?” you asked.

“Yes, so they are,” he confirmed as he picked up Elina, “They are too concerned with themselves to worry about any dead women hidden above.”

He sat in the armchair as the girl played with his beard as she liked to do. He smiled and let her, poking out his tongue until she did the same. He bounced her on his lap and she gibbered noisily.

“They are floors down, you should be safe to exist but if she cries, you will have to be quick to quiet her,” he girded.

“Anyone we know?” you asked as you sat on the foot of the bed and rubbed your hip.

He was silent and kept his attention on Elina. He raised his hand and let her bend his fingers to her will. She grabbed onto his ring and twisted it around his knuckle.

“My lord, is there--”

“Yes,” he huffed at last. He kissed the child’s forehead and set her down to crawl across the carpet, though she didn’t go far before she was distracted by her stuffed mouse.

“Who is it?” you asked as you folded your hands.

He rubbed his forehead then pushed his head back, “it isn’t him,” he assured, “if they were callous enough to send him or he was fool enough to come, well, we wouldn’t be having this placid conversation.”

“Who?” you asked again.

“His dog, Lord Rogers,” Zemo spat, “I don’t know which is worse. The man was watching Melinda as a wolf would watch a deer. I don’t even know the girl has flowered yet and he would be sniffing at her skirts. Despicable.”

“Rogers?” you breathed and your chest knotted. 

A roll of thunder boomed at that very moment and made you gasp. Elina stopped playing and her lip began to quiver. You slid off the bed to your knees and went to her and gathered her up. You cooed and hushed her and she clung to the collar of your dress. You watched her face as the fear retreated and she turned to watch the window flash. The terror turned to curiosity in an instant.

“Ha, look how brave she is,” he snickered.

You nodded, speechless still. Your nose tingled and your eyes burned. You were so overcome at the idea of that man being so close. You recalled that day in the forest, your singular mistake, then the scene in the carriage, and that on the staircase when Zemo himself had kept you from his perversions.

“My lady?” he said, “you look unsettled.”

“Take her,” you murmured then cleared your throat, “please, take Elina.”

He got up and took her from your arms. You pulled yourself up by the bedpost and leaned against it, your grip tightened around the carved wood. Your chest pattered in time with the downpour against the castle walls. You shook as you felt the scar along your face and those that led down beneath your dress. It hadn’t just been Barnes.

“Lady?” Zemo got closer as Elina babbled.

“I… can’t breathe,” you said and turned to fall back onto your rear, the mattress dipping beneath you as your fingers clung to the post, “I can’t…”

‘A bird, a bird, high above the cloud…’ he began to sing as much to Elina as you, a tune in his own tongue, ‘a wing, a wing, flaps without a sound…’ he rocked the girl but kept his eyes on you, ‘an angel, an angel, looking down on me. A blessing, a blessing, cast upon the lea…’

He reached with one hand and drew you up to your feet. He let you lean against him as he embraced you against your daughter and kept swaying in time to his voice and the sudden onslaught of the storm, ‘a lady, a lady, spinning at her wheel. A mother, a mother, her will as strong as steel…”

You clung to his sleeve and buried your face against the thin cotton. He kept singing until Elina was quiet and the rattling of your bones stilled. You were embarrassed at the sudden emotion which overcame you and the dampness on your cheeks. He carefully sat you back down and shushed.

The rain continued but the thunder passed. He moved carefully to lay Elina in her cot and stood as you hid your face behind your hand.

“I’m…” you uttered.

“No, that man. I remember that day,” he sat beside you and gripped his knees, “I know what he would’ve done and I am wise enough to know it was not the first he’d touched you.”

“It was long ago,” you said, “I shouldn’t be so… frail.”

“You are...strong. You must stay strong for her,” he sniffed and touched your elbow, “but you feel it now.”

“Feel what?” you blinked at him.

“The longing… for vengeance?”

You stared into his dark eyes and your chest continued to twist. Your spine went rigid and your jaw clenched. “I do,” you nodded and looked over at your daughter, “I feel it so very deeply.”

[willowbleedsonpaper]

Ron was right

Theo Nott x Reader

W.C. : 3043

Requestd by @herstory-study​:  Ok I kid you not(t) another idea just popped into my head.. I hope you like it... the gist of it is Theo and the reader have that relationship where they are best friends but also dating but nobody can tell bc they’ve always been super close so I imagine like a bunch of pple (including the twins) have placed bets on whether or not they are dating and I just imagine one day they come back from a date and pple in the background are either groaning/cheering cause they got $ u can take it from there

A/N: I hope you like it, Puff! Feedbak and reblogs are very aprecciated. Happy reading.

*Not my GIF. Credit to the creator.*

It had been a quiet day the first time Theo noticed you. Grey clouds move fast in the evening sky, the light breeze comfortable for every student out in the courtyard to show their house pride and wear their scarves around their necks. His friends talked about the Golden trio and what had they done that week to ruin their mood. Nothing new really. Theo never added much to those conversations, what was the point of complaining about something when you could ignore it. He too was bothered by Potter and his friends adventures and misadventures, but Draco and his friends weren’t the target. But that was just the way Theo saw it.

“Wait until I write my father,” grumbled Draco, sitting in the middle of the bench where Theo had been sitting with Blaise. “ Potter is going to regret it.” he said with a huff.

Pansy arrived just a second after he ended rambling, rolling his eyes as she sat on the grass without a care about her robes. She gave a pleading look at the other boys as she cocked her head towards the Slytherin prince. When neither one of them said anything she scoffed glaring daggers at both before she smirked “Draco darling, Why don’t you tell Blaise and Theo here what Potter did. I’m sure they’d love to hear it.”

Blaise’s protest died down on his tongue when Theo shut his book close “No need.” he said, looking straight in Pansy’s eyes “We saw it all.” 

And it was true, it was hard to miss one of their disputes when they shouted at each other, standing at opposite extremes of the hall as the crowd gathered to witness the latest drama between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

“Doesn’t matter if they know.” Draco said desperately, leaning to rest his arms on his knees “I already have a plan for them to know their place. And plan B in case that one doesn’t work.”

“Maybe you should try plan D for dumbass.” 

They all turned around to the large tree, their gazes lowering to the base of it. There you sat, an annoyed look on your face as you straightened your robes and stood. Your movements were sharp, taking your bag on your shoulder as you stormed away from them, all of them in a state of shock to even try to stop you. 

 “Who does she think she is.” muttered Draco, already jumping to his feet when Theo placed a hand on his chest.

“Leave this one to me.” he said lowly, his eyes never leaving your form as you walked away. Draco hesitated but gave him a slow nod as he sat back down. 

Theo smiled triumphantly, hiding his face quickly so no one would see him and his true feelings. He took off and ran after you, keeping enough distance so you would walk away from the eyes of his friends. 

He kept running, your back facing him as he came to a halt. “Hey!” he yelled, your eyes glancing back at him as you picked up your pace. “Wait, stop.” he yelled again, catching up with you as he stopped in front of you. 

“What?” you said sharply, looking down at his hunched form as he breathed heavily. You raised an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over just your chest as you leaned back. “ Don’t tell me, Draco sent you to do his dirty work?”

“You…” he smiled, trying to keep in a laugh as he shook his head “You just called him a dumbass.”

You frowned, taking in the boy in front of you. Well kept brown hair, milky skin and the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen, his smile reaching his eyes as he stood to his full height. 

“Aren’t you his friend or something?” you asked confused.

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked around. “Even I can get annoyed at him.” 

You squinted your eyes, eyeing the boy before you looked up at him “Who are you?”   

He extended his hand with a smile, one you hesitantly took “Theodore Nott, but everyone calls me Theo.”

You raised both your eyebrows, shaking his hand with a nod “Right.” you said “Well, if you’re not here to avenge your friend…”

“I’m not.” he smiled as you mirrored his look.

“Maybe you’re not a dumbass.” you told him, staring into each other's eyes before you realized you had been in silence for too long “I’m going now.” you turned on your heel, resuming your walk to a more quiet zone where Slytherins weren’t complaining when his voice made you stop.

“You didn’t tell me your name!” 

You turned to see him with a smile, a glint in your eyes as you said “Goodbye, Theo.” He stared at you as you disappeared in the halls of the castle, breathing out a laugh as he returned to his friends.  

It was difficult to not think about you after that. Your two minute interaction had him wondering more about you, who you were, what did you like. He started to pay more attention to you after that. 

He thought getting your name wouldn’t have been a difficult task. He felt like the detective he read about when he was younger, sneaking in the middle of the night to behind his father’s back to read the muggle novel he got his hands on not a while ago, reading until his eyelids could barely stay open with only the moonlight to accompany him. He wanted to feel the rush of Sherlock Holmes, and he wanted you to be John Watson. But as he actually tried to get something about you without interacting with you he realized why everyone praised Holmes so much, it wasn’t an easy job.

You always seemed to be with someone, but in utter silence. Muttering a few words with the people around you as you always had something better to do. You were the mystery he couldn’t get out of his head, the thought that kept him up at night, the dream that had him drifting away as his friends talked. He wanted the honor of being your friend.

****************************************

You worked on your herbology research, a pile of dusty books at your left side as you read the one opened before you. Your study partner was someone gathering more information, probably found someone and got stuck in the chat. Nothing new, really. You were used to initiating the study date with your partner and ending it alone. 

You felt someone walking behind your back. Expecting to hear your partner’s voice, your head snapped up at the sound of someone else.

“So,” said Theo Nott, taking the chair next to yours with a proud smile on his face “How are you, Y/N?”

You dropped your quill on the table, tilting your head with a curious look “Who told you my name?” you asked.

“It’s written on your parchment.” he pointed towards your handwriting on the upper part of the paper. “I got to say, it was difficult. Not many people really know you, you're like a ghost in the castle.”

“Maybe to the people you asked, I am very well known here.” you said daringly, and he nodded. “Well you know my name, you can leave now.” You took your quill back up, following the line you were previously reading with your finger when the thudding sound against the table made you raise your head slowly with a glare. “What are you doing?”

“Homework.” he said simply, opening a book as he silently began to read. Not once looking back to you, not saying another until he finished. Taking his things inside and wishing you goodnight, leaving the library without another word. 

It became a routine after you realized he wouldn’t give up. He would always show up, sitting on the chair he did that first night and working on his homework. There were times when you would get there and he was already sitting, books scattered all over the table until he saw you, moving his things to make some space for you. He didn’t bother you, so you allowed it. His presence  warm and welcoming as you studied, you even helped each other sometimes.

A year had passed by since that night, and you didn’t realize when you started to think about him as a friend. The only person you actually felt comfortable calling  a friend. He had been there for your happy days, your rough days. He took genuine interest in you. Telling you about him and his life, sharing his candy and food as you walked through the castle side by side. He asked you about your life before Hogwarts, how was your childhood with a muggle parent. You told him all about your past school, how you lost your friends through the years as you never got to see them and you couldn’t explain your sudden change of school and life. Theo became your best friend and you couldn’t be more happy. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked you.

“I don’t know.” you shrugged, putting a raspberry in his hand as you ate one “Sleep sounds good.” you said with a smile and he laughed.

“Are you sleeping for two days straight?” he said in disbelief, and you scoffed hitting his face with another raspberry.

“Is that a challenge?” you dared, sticking you tongue out to him.

He scrunched his nose, catching the berries in his mouth until you stopped “Stop, your Gryffindor is showing.” he said with a fake look of disgust. You only laughed, shaking your head as you drifted back to his question.

“I’m not doing anything, then.” you commented, waiting to see what he had to say.

“Do you want to go to Hogsmeade?” he asked simply, your heart beating fast in your chest in both nervousness and excitement. But once you saw  the carefree look in his face your heart dropped. Why were you feeling that way?

“I don’t know.” you said, trying to put the hurricane of emotions inside you at ease “I’ve never seen the fun in going.”

“That’s because you’ve never been there with me.” he said with a smile, tilting his head with a sigh at the hesitance in your face “C’mon, Y/N. You’ve told me you have never been with your friends…”

“They’re not really my friends.” you corrected with your lips pursed “They hardly are the people I hang out with. They’re just there in a silent agreement of company.”

“Am I not your friend?” he asked and you knew you had already lost the small debate.

“You know you’re my best friend.” you said with a small smile, one he returned as he held your hand, a warm tickle in your hand where his skin touched yours. 

“Then it’s settled. I’ll go get you from your common room.” he said and you nodded, praying that the emotion flowing inside you was slipping in the look of your face.

Little did you know that Theo was feeling exactly the same. His stomach was doing flips inside of him as you smiled at him. He wanted so bad to tell you it was a date, that he had just asked you out on a date but you had just said it, that word that left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

You’re my best friend.

Maybe he had been in the beginning, but not anymore. Or maybe he was, but he didn’t want to be your best friend. 

Many had noticed how the Slytherin and the Y/H/H had grown closer over the past year. Theories of what was the core of their relationship were made. How did Theo Nott get close to you? Did you have a deal no one knew about. Where you friends, partners, lovers. No one knew, and neither did you. 

The weekend arrives and just as promised Theo walked you from your common room to Hogsmeade, hand in hand as you talked through the snowy streets full of students. 

You were oblivious to the crowded mess, talking inside a bubble no one could bother you. Not even the redhead pair that stared at you as you walked past them. 

"Are you seeing what my eyes are seeing, George?" 

"We wouldn't be twins if I wasn't, Freddie." 

*******************************

"MAKE YOUR BETS, MATES!" yelled George from the top of the table in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. 

"Our lovely Y/N."

“Friends"

"Or lovers."

"With none other than Theodore Nott." 

They said, finishing each other's sentences with the invisible link the pair shared, that invisible string that made them shout the exact same words at the end. They wore grins on their faces as more bets were placed. 

"What do you think, little brother?" asked George jumping form the table 

"Friends or lovers?" 

Ron rolled his eyes, turning to Harry who was already making his bet with a smile in his face. Ron scoffed "I don't care about snakes business. They can be whatever they want." he said bitterly. 

"Someone jealous?" taunted Fred as Ron turned with a red face to his brother. 

He angrily pulled some coins from his pocket, slamming them in Fred's hands as he muttered "Lovers." 

*******************************

You had the time of your life at Hogsmeade. Theo was right and you told him so when the sun started to set, a few stars shining on the sky as you walked back to the castle. He smiled, hugging you closely with genuine joy in his face as he promised to take you again on the next trip there. 

However the next day, the murmurs and eyes from everyone in your year followed you everywhere you went. 

You were never shy, but the constant attention had you on edge the entire day. Finding refuge in the far table of the library, hidden in between the shelves where the only source of light was if you had a candle with you. 

You stayed there until late, waiting until the library was practically dead, you doubted madame Pince was still there, but you could never know. You had made it to the end of the day. 

"What are you doing here?" Theo's shushed voice came from behind you, his eyebrows scrunched together as he sat next to you, closer than he usually did. 

"I'm hiding." you whispered. 

For a moment his stomach dropped at the thought that you might have been hiding from him, that he might have let something slip on your day together and you knew how he felt. But you started ranting about your day and the looks you received from everyone and he understood, he had gotten the same looks all day long. 

"Don't worry." he murmured, opening his arms for you and you leaned on his side. "Draco probably said something about you again. I'll talk to him later" he sighed and you chuckled. 

He looked down to you, a loving look in his eyes as you kept chuckling. How could someone be so breathtaking just by doing such mundane things like leaning against someone and talking? Since the first time he saw you he knew you were beautiful but, Merlin, now you were gorgeous. 

"He is never forgetting about that, is he?" you laughed. Staring at the table, you frowned when Theo didn't say anything. 

You turned your head up to him, finding him already looking back at you. You didn't realize when you had leaned so close to him, his breathing blowing softly against your face as you gazed into his eyes. The little flick in them waking up all the butterflies in your stomach as you could have sworn his eyes moved to your lips for a fraction of second. 

You froze, realizing what that could mean when you felt him lean closer to you, his eyes closing before someone cleared their throat behind you, making you jump apart from one another. 

"The library is about to close." said professor Snape, looking at you with a glare before he settled his eyes on Theo. "Take your friend with you Mr. Nott. Directly to your common rooms." he said painfully slow.

You both nodded, clumsily taking all your stuff as you walked around him and practically ran out of there. No one said anything, your eyes on the floor as he walked you to your common room. 

"I'm sorry." he said once at the door handing you your books, your hands brushing against one another, making the blush in your face deeper. 

"No, I… You don't have to apologize." you stuttered before the words left your mouth. 

Heavy silence settled again between both of you, the tension making your stomach turn as you wished your feet would move and get you out of there. Of course, they had other plans. 

Theo wished you goodnight in a mumble, turning around and walking away just as you dropped your books on the floor, calling his name. 

"Yeah?" he asked, never meeting your eyes. You felt your mouth go dry, your hold in his wrist loosening as you breathed heavily. You brought your hand up to his cheek, smiling as he leaned in. He had closed his eyes and you ran your thumb across his cheek bone, waiting until he looked back at you. You started to lean in, his eyes widening as he realized what you were doing. His smile widened, cupping your cheeks as he closed the space between the two of you in a soft kiss. His hands wandered to your waist, pulling you closer to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against yours with a smile that reached his eyes. 

"Remember when I told you I wanted you to be my Watson?" he breathed out with a smile "Well, I'm not so sure anymore."

You chuckled, moving to kiss his cheek as you rested your head on his shoulder "Funny, I always thought Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were lovers." you whispered in his ear. He smiled at you, kissing you once more. 

Completely unaware of the audience not so far away, hiding behind a wall with wide grins. "Ron was right." 

TAGS: @fanficflaneuse​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @lupins-sweater​ @accio-rogers​ @gloriousrebelrunaway​ @slytherinprincess03​ @not-today-anxiety​ @strawberriesonsummer​ @infinity1o1​ @haphazardhufflepuff​​ @deafgirltingz​

[wyverian-lady525]

Love your works!!! <3 can i ask for a story with Reverto and Cheval reuniting after the whole thing is over? I talked to Reverto when Cheval was in my party and he was super proud of him, like "Cheval, my man, is that you? Look at you, all tall and stuff!" So cute!! ToT

Yes! I thought that was adorable too!❤ and thank you!! I hope this isn’t too bad

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

All Tall and Stuff

You return to Lulucion with Cheval in tow. There, he and Reverto get to talk after all this time.

“Thanks for letting me stop here.” You told Cheval as you guys walked through the gates of Lulucion. 

“No problem. I might go say hi to Lilia while we’re here.” He said with a smile, and you nodded. Then you ran off to the marketplace where you were going to buy some berries. Cheval was left to go to the Guild on his own.

He wasn’t one for crowded places, so he kept his head down as he walked through the groups of Scriveners, leaving them to move around him. Cheval just wanted to say hi to Lilia and get it over with. Then he would wait for you by the gate. His plan was set in stone.

Then he bumped into someone.

“Cheval, my man, is that you?” The familiar voice caused him to look up, but not that far up, to see Reverto. Cheval blinked, stunned to see him, and Reverto just smirked.

“Look at you...All tall and stuff!” The hunter said while slapping him on the back, causing the younger man to stumble forward slightly.

“R-reverto?” Cheval finally stuttered out and Reverto gave him a crooked grin.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” He said while wrapping an arm around Cheval’s shoulders in a friendly manner. The rider was still stunned to see the hunter after all this time.

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Cheval said, and Reverto looked crestfallen. 

“Whaaaat? You mean I don’t look stronger to you?” He said while jokingly flexing his other arm, and Cheval shook his head with an amused smirk. Reverto then released Cheval from his grasp.

“So, what brings you here?” He asked while placing his hands on his hips.

“I just want to say hi to Lilia.” Cheval said while looking around for his friend. Reverto faked a look of offense.

“And not me?!” He looked flabbergasted while Cheval laughed slightly. To be honest, this was kind of awkward for him. He didn’t know the hunter as well as Lilia or you, even after all these years. They’ve just occasionally seen each other, but not had full-fledged conversations. 

“Sorry...” Cheval said while sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. Reverto laughed slightly.

“No bigge...although it did hurt my feelings a little.” Reverto mumbled that last part while looking away and folding his arms. A moment of silence passed with them both awkwardly standing there. Cheval didn’t know what to say or do.

“Gotta say, you got a much better light in your eye.” Reverto said proudly which made Cheval get all flustered.

“Thanks...I learned a lot from my mistakes...” He said while looking down at his shoes and kicking them against the carpet. Reverto just slapped him on the back again.

“Of course kiddo! I love to see my friends become better versions of themselves.” The hunter said in a serious tone which caused Cheval to feel all shy.

“We’re...friends?” Cheval had to ask. Reverto gave him a “duh” look before slinging an arm over his shoulders.

“Of course! And as your friend, I have to ask...” He leaned close to Cheval’s ear and whispered, “Got a girlfriend yet?” 

“I-I gotta go see Lilia!” Cheval stuttered with a blush while freeing himself from the hunter’s grasp and racing down the hall. Reverto’s laughter followed him like a shadow. Despite that, Cheval was glad that Reverto had called him a friend.

He’s glad he didn’t lose them all.

[lillian-lang]

Zutarians, I need some help...

Happy Zutara week, y’all! I’m Lil.

I’ve been working on my fic for...awhile now, and I’m at the point where everything’s kind of turned into word salad. I’d like to finish this thing, soon, but I need editors - badly. So, if you’re one of those folks who can write. (And particularly if you can write Katara or Zuko’s voice really well.) Please, please take a look. Friendly feedback is welcome!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25653406/chapters/62276836

And here’s an excerpt from a Zutara moment below the cut:

Katara looks out from high up in the north wing of the palace—reserved especially for the royal family and their guests. She can see across acres of bleak concrete pavement leading up to the palace gates and, behind them, the jagged volcano walls of the capital city rising in the distance. It isn’t a particularly comforting sight.

Fifty-six bacui berry, fifty-seven bacui berry, …she counts to herself. Until, finally, she reaches one hundred bacui berry, and turns away from the gray window, back towards Azula’s wide canopy bed. The princess’s mouth hangs open and a trickle of drool spills out, but otherwise, she looks better than she had an hour ago. Katara removes the last acupuncture needle from her wrist and places it onto a gauze pad, which she rolls up and hands to Zuko.

“These need to be sterilized in a white-hot flame for twenty minutes before they can be used again,” she instructs.

Zuko puts a hand up to the bundle. A flame appears at the center of his palm. “Do you want me to just—?”

“Sorry Zuko, but you’re not hot enough,” she says, without thinking.

The corners of his mouth flicker upward into the kind of smirk she hasn’t seen since his ponytail days.  Spirits, he’s infuriating, she thinks—grateful that her skin is dark enough to hide a blush. She removes the rest of her supplies from Azula’s bedside and takes a seat by the window, trying to ignore the burning sensation of Zuko’s eyes lingering on the back of her neck. She forces herself to concentrate on the little vials and instruments in her hand, but it’s no good. Everything is in the wrong place. She’ll have to take it all out again and repack it later.

“Katara,” he says, coming up beside her at the window. “Did you ever read Love Amongst the Dragons?”

Katara shoots him a wry smile. “No,” she says. “Funnily enough, we didn’t have a lot of fire nation epics in our village library.”

“Azula made fun of me, but I always liked it.” He smiles a little to himself, then points, drawing Katara’s attention to a spot on the grim horizon. “Do you see that mountain, there? The one that curves?”

Katara shivers, drawing a little closer to Zuko. “The one that looks like a claw?” she asks.

He nods. “I know, it’s scary, isn’t it? If you believe the old story, it’s the claw of the great dragon, himself. It’s where the name of the district comes from — Kaa Garr. Great Dragon. And, right there where the mountain turns in on itself…” he moves his finger up the pane a little so Katara can see a black spot in the distance, “is the prison where I’m keeping my father.”

Katara lets out a little involuntary gasp and presses her fingers to her mouth. Zuko looks down at her, a wry glint in his eye. “If you thought my sister’s arrangements were bad,” he says, “you should see his.”

“I’m sorry,” is all she can think to say.

“Don’t be,” he shrugs. “You know my father isn’t exactly a nice guy. I didn’t get this scar on my face from a training accident, you know?”

“I know,” Katara says, reaching up to touch the edges of his burned skin with the practiced hands of a healer.

In truth, they had never really talked about how he’d gotten his scar, but Katara had heard rumors going all the way back to her time in the Fire Nation with Toph, Sokka, and Aang. Zuko allows her fingers to wander over his scar for a moment, tracing the lines and folds on the puckered skin. He gets lost for a minute in the phantom sensation—wondering if he’s only imagining the gentle pressure. It’s so tender and intimate that his breath catches in his chest for fear that a sharp exhale might disturb the delicate balance between them. But then Azula flops over in bed, bringing Zuko back to himself. He clears his throat, and Katara’s hand drops to her side.

“It just makes me wonder if I should be trying to help my father…you know…the way you’re helping Azula.”

Katara tries not to let her emotions show on her face. She does not believe for one second that Ozai is entitled to the same treatment as his daughter, but she also believes that, ultimately, the decision is Zuko’s to make.

“Do you think your father deserves a second chance?” She asks, trying to keep her voice even.

“No!” he shouts, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. “That’s the problem, I don’t think he deserves it! But I can’t figure out why. I mean, he not that different from my sister, is he? But, every day, I felt guilty about Azula, and every day I’m grateful that my father is still locked up!”

Katara watches as Zuko paces back and forth across the antique carpet, winding himself up. “Then you came, and I feel better about Azula—I really do, Katara—but now I’m suddenly guilty about my father. I’m the fire lord, shouldn’t I at least be fair?”

“Zuko,” Katara says, holding out an arm to stop his pacing, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but when was the last time you had a bath? Or slept in a real bed?”

He blinks down at her, “Uh, it might have been a few days. Why?”

“I think,” she says, using her most soothing voice, “that all these big questions can wait for a day or two while you rest.”

He looks skeptical, but Katara insists: “Look at you, Zuko, you’re exhausted. I’m not saying that it won’t be difficult, but I promise it will all seem better in the m-morning.” As she says it, she stifles a yawn, and Katara suddenly realizes that she, too, is exhausted.

Noticing this, Zuko takes the medicine bag from her hand and, after checking all of Azula’s locks, leads her down the hall to her room. It’s hard to tell with Zuko, but he seems excited about something. The corners of his mouth keep twitching up, like he’s trying to hide a smile. The whole of the third-floor hallway smells like fresh paint, even though the hallways look the same as they’ve always been. It makes Katara’s head swim. When they arrive at what she assumes will be her bedroom here in the Fire Nation, Zuko throws open the door for her, and Katara gasps.

The room is in the style of the Fire Nation—a wooden chest for clothes, a low-slung writing table, and an imposing four poster bed, but the details are all Water Tribe. The walls are covered with bright blue paper depicting life in the poles. The furniture handles are all solid, gleaming mother of pearl. The bed is strewn with gigantic, fluffy pelts that could only have come from the south pole.

“What do you think?” Zuko asks, studying her face. “Is it too much? I had rooms made up for the Earth Kingdom and the Air Nation, too. I don’t want you to think I’m abusing your culture, but I do want my guests to feel welcome here. I know the Fire Nation royal palace isn’t anybody’s favorite place.” He winces, thinking about the terrible stain of his father’s legacy.

Katara considers Zuko kindly. He’s hovering just outside the room—neither in nor out. She realizes that she’s never felt more warmly towards the young fire lord.

“You’re a lot like your uncle, you know that?” she says, after a minute.

Katara watches as his guarded features break into a genuine smile. “Thanks,” he says, running his fingers along the edge of the doorframe. “You know I was hoping you or your brother would be the first ones to use this room.”

“You’re lucky it’s me! Sokka would be jumping on the bed, already.”

Zuko laughs, and Katara grins with pride. It’s not easy making Zuko laugh.

“I didn’t even ask!” He says, eagerly. “How is Sokka? And Aang?”

Now it’s Katara’s turn to look guarded. “Sokka’s fine,” she says, trying to keep her voice neutral. “He’s angry because he can’t go to Ba Sing Se without Appa…” Then, anticipating Zuko’s next question, Katara explains everything in a rush: “Aang left for Omashu. He got a letter from Bumi saying that the city was unstable, and he left me and Sokka behind.”

Zuko’s reaction is not what Katara expects. His eyebrow furrows, and he lets out a troubled groan, so sharp and low that Katara can almost feel the reverberations in his chest. “Katara…Bumi is dead. He died about a week ago. Didn’t Aang tell you?”

“Oh,” is all Katara can manage. She plops herself down at the end of the bed and looks up at Zuko, dazed. “No, Aang hasn’t written to me since he left for Omashu.” The admission earns her a sharp sideways glance, but she doesn’t notice. She’s too wrapped up in thoughts of the Earth King.

“What happened?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he admits, lowering himself down beside her on the bed. “The Fire Nation has…informants…in Omashu, but I haven’t heard from them in a few days.” The way he hesitates before the word ‘informants’ makes Katara wonder if he is uncomfortable having spies in the Earth Kingdom. Zuko had always preferred fair-play and transparency, even at his own expense.

“But you have suspicions,” she presses him.

He nods. “To tell you the truth, I’m glad Sokka’s not in Ba Sing Se right now.”

“Why not?” Katara gasps, “It’s not unstable, too, is it?”

“No,” he says, resting his head against the bedpost and letting his eyelids droop. “At least none of my advisors seem to think it is. I’m the one who has an issue. And it’s only a feeling, Katara…”

“Because of Kai Kozu?” she asks.

Zuko’s snaps to attention so quickly that he sprains his neck. “Where did you hear that name?” he growls.

“Bumi wrote about him in his letter to Aang,” Katara explains.

“Ah, that makes sense,” Zuko says, rubbing the sprain. “Kai Kozu used to keep a pretty low profile. Barely anyone outside the Earth Kingdom had ever heard of him… But lately he’s been moving more and more into the public eye. I don’t like it. He’s already got power in Kyoshi and Chin. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had plans for Omashu and Ba Sing Se, too.”

“Oh no! Zuko!” Katara’s hand flies to the reassuring carvings on her mother’s necklace, and she traces them apprehensively. “What about Toph and Suki? What about your uncle? Isn’t he still in the city?”

“I did write to them,” Zuko shrugs. “I asked them to stay here in the palace, but Toph and Suki are out in the country somewhere. I can’t reach them.”

“And your uncle?”

“Uncle doesn’t want to leave his tea shop. And besides…” Zuko blushes brick red, “I think he might have a lady friend in the city. He’s acting like a love-sick teenager.”

Katara watches as Zuko drags his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends. “You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?” she asks.

“I am,” he admits.

Katara leans back into the mountain of fluffy pillows and soft white furs, and closes her eyes—too tired to care that Zuko is still watching her. She says a silent prayer for Toph, Suki, and Iroh in Ba Sing Se, and thanks every spirit she can name for her father’s stubbornness. At least she knows Sokka is safe in the Southern Water Tribe—far, far away from the Earth Kingdom capital…

As she drifts off into sleep, she reaches out to feel Zuko’s warm body beside her—his chest rising and falling evenly. She draws a little closer, and he opens his arms wide to make room for her. She pillows her head in the crook of his arm and breathes in a scent like something out of a dream. In fact, she thinks it must have been a dream, because when she wakes up in the night he is gone, and the spot where she imagined he had lain is awash with moonlight.

[berrynarrybanana]

Deck the Halls - pt. 1

A/N: Ummmm.....so this is kind of like a Christmas fic, but it turned out very different than I expected it to. It’s more of a...wintery suspense type thing with an actual lengthy as fuck plot, but the romance is strong from the beginning. I tried to keep it in one post, but the word count is simply too much for me to put in one post. I plan on updating everything that I have so that you all can indulge in the story while I finish it up. I know that this might not be everyone’s cup of hot chocolate, but I hope that some of you enjoy it! I haven’t really done anything of this nature before, so I’m kind of nervous about the whole thing. I hope that you all had a wonderful holiday, and I can’t wait for us to ring in the new year together! I love you all loads! 

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: Mentions of death, violence, smut, fluff....other things i can’t remember at this moment? 

November 1

Harry is walking through the snow. 

The soft sound of snow crunching under his boots and the wind whipping around him is all that he can hear at first. He feels cold, but he’s been colder than this. His hand feels warm, though his hands are bare. He glances down, his eyes locking on an emerald green mitten. He feels the fingers in the mitten flex, gripping his hand tightly. He trails his eyes up the arm covered in a light green coat, freezing when he sees the curly tendrils of snow white hair draped over her shoulder. He knows instantly who it is, and he knows exactly how this dream will end. 

When his eyes finally land on rich, berry red lips, he feels his breath catch in his throat. He’s never seen her face before this. She’s usually drowning by the time he gets to the lake, already under the block of ice as the man with blue hair holds her under. He can’t help but stare, taking in the beautiful and ethereal features of her face. It’s almost as if she isn’t real at all, from the color of her skin to the pointed tips of her ears. The hair was strange, but he’d gotten used to the beyond platinum shade over the years. It wasn’t so shocking to him anymore. 

Harry turns his attention from the girl when he hears a twig snap, his gaze dropping to the snow covered floor of the forest they've been walking through. He wasn’t sure why they were walking in the woods, or where they were going, but he was happy to be spending time by her side. He was happy that he wasn’t watching her die for once, her beautiful face still full of life as her lips moved. She was talking, but he couldn’t hear a word that she said. All he could hear was the wind and the snow, a whistle and a crunch echoing in his ears as if he had winter sounds playing from a quality stereo. 

He hated that he couldn’t hear her.

He hated that he didn’t know where they were going. 

But suddenly, it all becomes clear. 

The lake. 

“Don’t.” Harry croaks out through chapped lips, squeezing her fingers in an attempt to get her attention. Her lips stop moving as he pulls her closer, but she offers him a sad smile. “We shouldn’t-”

“It’s alright.” He can finally hear her voice, the sound something akin to Christmas bells being softly run in the middle of the night. “We have to go.”

“You can hear me.” He breathes out, his eyes stinging due to the wind, and the inevitable tragedy that’s about to occur. “You can hear me and I can hear you.”

“I guess so.” She glances up, an amused smile curling the corners of her lips as she hums out. 

When she looks back down at Harry, he loses his breath. 

“What’s your name?” She asks, turning her back towards the lake, giving him her full attention.

“Harry.” He whispers the word, almost as if he’s afraid for anyone else to hear it. “I...who are you?” 

“I can’t tell you.” He watches her face fall, her expression going dismal. “But I want to.”

“You can tell me anything.” He moves closer, squeezing her fingers. “Talk to me, love.” 

“I can’t say it.” Her brows furrow in frustration. “It won’t come out, no matter how hard I try to say it.”

“Why is this happening to us?” He presses, moving his feet closer. “Why do you drown every single time? Why can’t I save you?”

“I don’t know.” She glances down, her cheeks losing their glow. “I wish that you could save me, Harry.”

“I’ll try harder this time.” He gulps, his throat tightening as tears threaten his eyes. “I’ll try harder to save you, I promise.”

“But you won’t save me.” She looks up, her own eyes glossed over with unshed tears. “It’s okay, Harry. It was meant to be this way.”

“No, I don’t believe it.” He shakes his head. “I can save you.”

She shakes her head, slowly backing away from him. 

“We have to go now.” She says softly, her feet carrying her towards the iced over lake. 

Harry notices a pair of skates dangling over her shoulders. 

“No, don’t go.” He reaches out for her, but she continues to move away. “Don’t leave me.”

“I have to.” She steps onto the ice, the soft cracking noises causing Harry’s eyes to grow wide with panic. “Save me, Harry.” 

And just like that, it’s all over.

November 2 Harry’s POV - Age 21 

Harry pushes the door to Paradise Records open, watching a few flakes of paint fall to the concrete stoop outside of his shop. He made a mental note to buy some paint to touch up the door before the holiday season started. 

He could feel the frustration creeping up his spine at the mere thought of Christmas, and it was times like these that he wished the world had sympathy for those who hated the holiday.  He hated to give into the global phenomenon, but it did bring in enough business and revenue to keep the shop afloat until the annual summer sale rolled around in June. 

He sipped at his bitter, black coffee, walking into the record store with a relieved sigh. This was truly his paradise where he escaped from the demons that haunted his mind. For a split second, he was finally at peace after the grueling nightmare he endured. That peace was quickly disturbed by the jingling of bells from the front door, causing Harry to frown as he turned on his heels. 

“Another beautiful day in paradise, eh boss!” Niall clapped his hand down on Harry’s shoulder on his way towards the checkout counter, causing Harry to bite back a whine of discomfort. “How are you today?”

There were knots in Harry’s shoulders causing him pain, and most of them were caused by the cheery Irish lad pushing behind the checkout counter.

“Good morning, Niall.” Harry turned towards the boy with a sarcastic smile. “Why are you always so bloody loud.”

 “You knew I was loud when ya’ hired me, I put it under my strengths on my job application.” Niall called out as he walked through the beaded curtain to the back office, whistling a tune that made Harry’s ears ache. 

“I didn’t know that you were a fucking foghorn, mate.” Harry hiked his leather bag higher up on his shoulder, fighting off a yawn as he followed slowly in Niall’s footsteps. 

“Did you have a long night?” Niall popped out from the beaded curtain, causing Harry to jump as he made it behind the counter. “You look exhausted.”

“Yeah, long night.” Harry grumbled, shutting the employee gate at the end of the counter. “You watch the front for a few hours, I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on.”

“Sure.” Niall nodded as Harry pushed through the curtain. “If you need anymore coffee, just let Mitch know. He’s stopping at Java Java before he comes in.”

Harry pulled out his phone, typing a quick text telling Mitch not to get Niall coffee. 

He didn’t need any more energy. 

He needed a proper nights rest.

Harry sat down at his desk, putting his coffee by his keyboard with a heavy sigh. 

There wasn’t enough espresso in the world to fix the aching in his head caused by the nightmare he had last night. In the sixteen years that he’d been having the recurring nightmare, he was never able to talk to her in the dream. He was still haunted by the beautiful sound of her voice when she spoke to him, but he was mostly haunted by the sound of her desperate pleas for help. But his feet were frozen solid to the ground as the man with ice blue hair held her under the water. He emerged from the cracks in the ice this time, pulling the girl under with him as she screamed for her life. Harry remembers screaming for her until his throat was sore, but when he woke up this morning, he felt fine. 

Harry brushed his palms over his face, inhaling sharply as he tried to push the image of her face from his mind. He didn’t need to spend the rest of his day thinking about her. He needed to get to work. There was a lot that he needed to do in preparation for Christmas. Every single year, parents and Uni students would come into Paradise Records and buy out his record players, and usually all of his Christmas albums. He’d already pre-ordered Christmas albums, but he needed to get in contact with the shipping company and the manufacturer to make sure they all arrived on time for the Christmas sale. 

“Hey boss,” Niall’s sudden shout made Harry flinch, muttering a curse under his breath at the Irish lad. “Gemma is here.”

“Tell her to come back.” Harry called back, reaching into his bag in search of his glasses with his left hand while he booted up his computer with his right hand. 

He hated wearing glasses, but Gemma bought them for him last Christmas when he opened the shop, insisting that they would improve the quality of his eyesight by blocking out the blue light in most devices. He did notice a slight difference in the quality of his vision after using them. 

“Look at you, a dapper young man in his glasses.” Gemma pushed Noah’s pram into Harry’s office, the toddler screeching out the second his eyes landed on his uncle. “Alright, young man, Mum isn’t superwoman. I can’t move that fast.”

“You have five seconds to hand me my nephew before I start screaming with him.” Harry teased, looking at Noah with a wide smile. “I’ve missed you, mate.”

“It’s been three days, not three months.” Gemma huffed out, unbuckling the straps on the pram until Noah was free of restraint. “Alright, you can stop your crying now dove, uncle knobhead is right here.” 

Harry scowled at his sister, leaning up to grab his nephew by the waist with ease.

“Harry.” Noah screeched, patting his palms against Harry’s cheeks. “Hi.”

“Hi, bubba.” Harry kissed over Noah’s face, causing him to giggle out as Gemma found a seat on the opposite side of Harry’s desk. “You know he’s not going to leave here without throwing a fit, right?”

“I know.” Gemma let out a breathy laugh laced with frustration. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry settled Noah in his lap, resting his hand on Noah’s lap so that he could entertain himself by playing with the rings on his uncle’s fingers. “What brings you by?”

“I just wanted to talk to you about Christmas.” Gemma said softly, watching Harry’s face change from curious to furious in two seconds flat. “I know, you still don’t feel ready to celebrate after Mum and Dad, but I think we should start easing back into it. Noah is getting older, and we’ve got friends who-”

“I’ll do it for Noah, but I don’t want to celebrate with other people.” Harry interrupted. “I still don’t get how can you be okay with it, Gemma? They died because of some stupid Christmas tradition.”

“So are we supposed to hate pancakes now?” She tossed her hands up with an eye roll. “You drive a bloody car, don’t you? The pancakes didn’t kill them, Harry. Some reckless driver knocked into their car.”

“It’s not-”

“You’re being childish, Harry.” Gemma snapped at her younger brother, shaking her head. “Christmas isn’t the thing that killed Mum and Dad. I know that it sucks, having the anniversary of their death on your favorite holiday, but you have to deal with this. You can’t keep pushing it off like this.”

“I can, and I will.” He said, clearing his throat as his sister shook her head. “I don’t want to be happy without them on such a terrible day, Gemma.”

“I really think you should talk to someone about this.” She sighed, brushing her palms over her thighs. “I think it would do you some good to work out the issues you have surrounding this whole thing. I’ve been talking to someone since it happened, and it’s really helped me cope.”

“I don’t need help.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, Gemma.”

“It’s not fine, and the fact that you don’t seem to realize that worries me the most.” She whispered. “You’re drowning in your own grief, and I can’t save you.”

Harry froze, his eyes snapping back to his sister. 

“What did you just say to me?” He asked her, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I said it’s like you’re drowning in your own grief.” She said slowly, tilting her head with narrowed eyes as Harry stared back at her like she’d stepped on his foot. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Because…..” He paused, licking over his bottom lip as he inhaled sharply, shaking his head. It was best not to mention the nightmares, or the girl. “Nothing.”

“There you go again.” She let out a bitter laugh, smacking her thighs. “You can’t keep everything bottled in forever, Harry.” 

But this, I should keep bottled in. 

“It seems to be working out alright.” Harry shrugged, searching for something to change the subject. “How are we on presents for little man this year? Did you get everything on your list?”

“Yeah, nearly.” Gemma mumbled, picking at a loose strand of thread on her scarf. “Niall has helped me get most of the shopping done when I’m at work. He’s truly a godsend, Harry. I’m so happy he lives close by, and that Noah loves him.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at his sister, previous suspicions about Niall and Gemma creeping back into his mind. He always knew there was something between the two, but he could never get a straight answer out of either of them on their feelings. Gemma swore that he was only a friend, and a good neighbor. Niall swore that he only hung around Gemma to hang out with Noah. Harry pressed his lips together, watching as Gemma’s cheeks turned pink, the soft color giving away their secrets in an instant. Normally, she was better at hiding it. 

“What?” She squeaked out, shifting in her chair.

“You slept with Niall, didn't you?” Harry said slowly, his eyes narrowing. “You finally bit the bullet and slept with him.”

“Harry, Noah is right there.” Gemma’s eyes grew wide. “Don’t say things like that in front of him!”

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Gemma! Who was watching Noah when you were getting it on with Niall of all people!” Harry asked, his brows lifting up towards his hairline. “Noah doesn’t know what that means, calm down.”

Gemma snapped her mouth shut, sinking in her chair. 

Harry wasn’t really mad, but he enjoyed teasing Gemma. 

Niall was a good guy. 

“My poor nephew.” Harry tutted, shaking his head before he pressed a kiss to the soft ginger hair on top of Noah’s head. “I’m so sorry, buddy. I’ll make sure to dock Niall’s pay to help out with the therapy you’re going to need when you’re older.” 

“Alright, we get it.” Gemma grumbled, crossing her arms with a frown. “I’m a terrible mother and a horrible sister.” 

“Hey.” Harry snapped, turning his attention back towards his sister with furrowed brows and a deep frown. “I never said that, and I never will. I’m only teasing you because you slept with fucking lucky charms out there, I’m not shaming you as a woman or a mother in anyway. You’re allowed to have fun, Gemma.”

“I know.” Her lips curved into a smile as her brother nodded, glancing at Noah as the toddler tried to pull off his Grateful Dead ring. It seemed to be his nephew’s favorite ring, and Harry couldn’t wait until Noah was old enough to wear it himself. “I’ve raised you well.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry rolled his eyes with a playful snort. “I just don’t want to hear about you and Niall’s sex life ever again, capiche?”

“Got it.” She nodded, trying not to smile. “He’s a really good guy, Harry, and I really like him a lot. I would also love it if he could spend Christmas with us.”

Realization dawned over Harry as he looked at his sister. 

So that’s what this is about. 

“You want him to spend Christmas with the three of us?” Harry asked. “Like, as a family?”

“We’re gonna ease Niall into it, but I think so.” She softly laughed. “Noah adores him, Harry, and quite frankly so do I.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, looking down at his nephew with hesitation. 

These two were all that he had left in the world, and bloody Niall was trying to take them away. 

But maybe she needed someone like Niall in her life to balance out all of the bad that loomed over her head. The Irishman was supportive, and positive no matter what situation he was in. He was loyal and kind to everyone he met, and he was honest, and genuinely the best at giving advice. Harry hated to admit it, but Niall was everything Harry used to be. He couldn’t be that positive influence that his sister and nephew needed anymore, but Niall could. 

So maybe he needed to let them move on. 

“Yeah.” Harry whispered. “I’ll think about it, okay?” 

“Okay.” Gemma smiled. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“I can’t believe-”

“Oh, actually-” Gemma held up her hand, interrupting Harry. “I am also asking that you won’t kill him when I leave.” 

“That’s asking a lot.” Harry blew out a breath, shaking his head. “I’m definitely allowed at least one punch, Gemma. My best mate slept with my sister, c’mon.”

“Please don’t punch him, he bruises like a peach.” Gemma groaned.

“How do you know that?” Harry’s brows lifted before they fell, a look of disgust washing over his face as Gemma pressed her lips together. “That’s fucking gross! I didn’t need to know that!”

“I’m sorry!” 

“Did you tell him?” Niall’s head poked into Harry’s office. “Did he call me his best mate a second ago?”

“I’m going to punch you.” Harry lifted his free hand, pointing at Niall. “You’re lucky I have Noah in my lap, mate.”

“But I bruise like a peach!” Niall looked at Gemma with wide eyes. “Did ya tell him, love?”

“I did.” She nodded, but she pursed her lips in defeat. “I can’t help you with this one, Ni.”

“Oh, for fucks sake.” Niall groaned. “I knew I should have taken those self defense classes with you Gem.”

Harry watched Niall sulk out of his office, Gemma glaring at Harry before she got up to follow her new loverboy. Harry rolled his eyes before glancing down to Noah. The toddler dropped his head back against Harry’s chest, lifting his uncle’s hand up to chew on one of his fingers with a sparkle in his eyes. 

“This is your fault, mate.” Harry said softly, not a stitch of malice in his voice. “I’m only agreeing to this because I love you more than anyone else in the world, and I expect you to change my nappies in return when I’m old, do you hear me?”

“Harry.” Noah gurgled out, a gummy smile melting Harry’s fake stern expression. “Harry, hi!”

“I love you.” Harry pressed soft kisses all over Noah’s face. “You’re my favorite human... even if you don’t have any teeth.”

November 3 Holland’s POV 

Holland felt like she was going to vomit as she walked through the halls of Santa’s workshop. 

As the elves watched her with judgmental, licorice colored eyes, her palms started to sweat, and her feet moved faster. Her father requested her for an urgent meeting, but Holland truly had no idea what it could be about. She hadn’t told anyone about her dreams, afraid that people would think she was crazy for having them. She was used to the dreams, but last night’s dream put her on edge. Something was different about the situation, and it wasn’t just the fact that she knew the boy’s name. 

For the first time since they started, she saw his face. 

She would admit without shame that she would die over and over again in her dream if it meant she could look at him. His hair was shoulder length and the strands curled up at the end. He had a beautiful set of candy pink lips that Holland wanted to taste with her own, and gorgeous jade eyes that were almost translucent. She spent most of her nightmare staring into them, trying to see into his soul as if it would help her find him. 

But it didn’t work. 

He was still just a stranger to her. 

A stranger named Harry.

As she approached her father’s office, she felt her palms become slicker than they were before as her heart pounded faster and faster in her chest. She reached down for the doorknob, turning it before she pushed the heavy wooden door open. She stopped in her tracks when she noticed the three, ominous figures standing off to the side of her father’s desk. The vibe that they gave off sent shivers down her spine as the little hairs on her arm stuck up to warn her of danger. 

“Come in.” Her father ushered her in, and Holland’s feet followed the command without hesitation. “Holland, I would like for you to meet the Council of Elders.”

“Hello.” Holland offered them a small wave, her body shrinking nervously as they glared back at her. 

Their dark robes were just as creepy as the large, wooden walking sticks they carried. 

“Young child.” One of the men spoke up, holding his hand out to her. “Give me your hand.”

Holland looked towards her father, afraid to take a stranger’s hand. 

“Go on, Holland.” Her father said. “Do as they ask, my dear. I promise that they won’t hurt you.”

Holland moved closer to the man with jet black hair, sliding her fingers into his palm. 

A shock greeted her senses, causing her to gasp and jump. 

“It’s alright.” The man whispered. “Close your eyes, show me what you see.”

When Holland obeyed his order, Holland thought of the lake.

Her entire dream played out in her head, almost as if it were on a television screen instead of in her mind. The closer they got towards the end, the harder Holland gripped the man’s hand in her own. The end was the part that she hated the most, the part that tore her apart. 

“Holland, baby, please breathe for me.” Harry’s palms brushed over her cheeks, tears streaming down his own as he tried to bring her back to life. “I need you to wake up, Holland! I need you.”

The dream finished with Holland on the ice, Harry sobbing into her neck. 

He did know her name. 

“My, my, my.” The man spoke, tutting his tongue. “It seems that I was right after all.”

“Right about what?” Holland whispered, blinking her eyes rapidly in attempts to clear the tears from her vision. “How did you know about my nightmares?”

“Because I rule them, my dear.” The man spoke. “I’m Morpheus, the god of dreams.”

“Oh.” She whispered, still in shock. “You make those happen?”’

“Most dreams are of my creation, but not yours.” He said. “Your nightmare is crafted at the hand of someone else, a master manipulator that has conned his way into using someone else’s magic.” 

“Morpheus, I would like to know what in the sleigh bells is going on with my daughter-”

“Kristopher, this is not your place.” The shortest of the three men hissed, his chubby cheeks turning red. 

“Now, now…” The only woman spoke up, a sly smirk on her black painted lips. “Erotes, Kristopher is merely concerned for his offspring.”

“If he was concerned about her well being, Ma’at, he would not have split her from the boy-”

“Erotes.” Morpheus drawled out. “He could not have known about the boy.

“He should have known.” Erotes turned back to Holland, offering her a soft smile. “To be parted from the other half of one’s soul is a pain I would not wish on my worst enemies. I sincerely apologize on behalf of myself for letting you be away from him for so long.”

“I don’t understand.” Holland looked from Erotes to Morpheus, her brow furrowed. “What does-”

“Things have changed, haven’t they?” The man hummed out as if Holland were a specimen that he was examining in a lab instead of a girl. 

“He knows my name.” She whispered. “And I know his name.”

“And you didn’t know it before.” The man narrowed his dark eyes, staring at her with a curious grin. “How is that, little elf?”

“I don’t know.” She tried to pull her hand back, but the man kept her fingers in a tight hold. “I just...I had the first dream when I was five, and it’s always been the same up until last week. It was all the same until suddenly I saw his face, clearer than it’s ever been before. I said his name like I’d known it all along and then….when I was drowning I saw him for the first time.”

Holland cleared her throat as it started to tighten, trying to regain her voice.

“You saw who did it.” The man spoke. “You know who it is that is trying to kill you both?”

“I do.” She nodded, licking over her lips nervously. “It’s Jack Frost.”

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Kris spoke up from his desk, his chair scraping across the wooden floor as he stood up. “What does Frost have to do with this?”

“The boy that you exposed yourself to as Santa sixteen years ago on Christmas night is your daughter’s other half.” Erotes said. “They are two souls created from the same star, the brightest star, and their love for each other has been tainted by your ignorance. The moment you laid eyes on the boy, you should have contacted me.”

“He reminded me of Holland, but I didn’t...” Kris said. “He had that same glow that she has in her eyes, I remember that much about him.”

“Their souls were forged from the ash of the Christmas star.” Morpheus said. “Other than you and your son, these two are the last people on earth with true Christmas spirit and it is their job as children of the Christmas star to instill that spirit into the souls of everyone they meet.”

“Jack Frost wishes to kill them both to absorb that power for a different use, of course.” Ma’at spoke up, drawing Holland’s eyes from Morpheus. “In the wrong hands, their power can be used for evil things.”

“When Frost kills them both, he will kill Christmas.” Erotes tutted. “We wouldn’t want that to happen, Kringle. The humans wouldn’t know what to do without Christmas, it would be horrible.”

“So what do we do?” Holland looked at Morpheus, swallowing around the lump in her throat as he looked down at her. 

“We must keep an eye on Jack Frost.” Morpheus spoke. “And you must find your soulmate. He has suffered great tragedy, and his Christmas spirit is nearly gone. You must save him, and restore his power if you wish to properly fight for your lives.”

“Both souls must be pure in order for you to fight Jack Frost and his twisted magic.” Ma’at said. 

“You must go to him, Holland.” Erotes said. “You must be by your beloved.” 

“I don’t have any clue how to survive in the real world.” She shook her head. “And I don’t know where to find him, or how I would even begin to restore his Christmas spirit. I’ve never been trained on that kind of thing.” 

“Look at me, Holland.” Morpheus snapped. “I have faith in your ability to do this without failing, but my faith in you is nothing if you don’t believe in yourself. Let that be the lesson you learn during this mission of yours.”

“Without Christmas, the rest of us will cease to exist.” Ma’at said. “The entire world of magic relies on you.”

“I will take you to him in six days time.” Erotes said. “He is in London.”

She swallowed, clenching her fingers into fists at her side. 

“Alright.” She said softly. “What do I need to do to prepare myself?”

“There is a book you must read.” Morpheus said. “I will send it to you as soon as I return to my own realm. You need to practice your Christmas magic, little elf.”

When Holland blinked, the council of elders was gone without a trace.

She turned around to her Father with wide eyes, her mouth open in shock. 

“What in the sugar plum just happened?” 

November 7 Harry’s POV

Harry felt like he was one gust of winter wind away from falling over. 

The lack of sleep was starting to catch up to him as the days grew shorter and the nights colder. 

Fighting off sleep to avoid the violent dreams that plagued his mind at night wasn’t helping, because no matter how hard he tried to fight it off with caffeine, or cold showers, he ended up falling into the ominous forest in his mind where he would inevitably watch the girl die the same way that she always did. But the blue haired man was getting bolder, taunting Harry with icy smirks and snide remarks. Harry could never retaliate with his feet frozen solid to the forest ground however. His eyes were always glued to the girl with snow white hair as she cried his name out, his heart breaking in his chest as he accepted the cruel fate bestowed upon them. 

She was fighting so hard to stay alive, and it killed Harry knowing that it was never enough. He spent a lot of time trying to convince himself that it was just a nightmare, something that the darkest parts of his brain conjured up to punish him. But with each passing night that he stared into the girls eyes, he started to think that he was wrong about that. His brain didn’t conjure this dream up at all, it was real. It made him feel insane, of course, thinking that some recurring dream with two strangers in it wasn’t a dream at all, but a reality. But he couldn’t shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was a premonition, not a figment of his imagination. 

That girl was real, and Harry cared for her. 

They weren’t just friends in the nightmares, they were lovers.

At this point, he was considering committing himself to an insane asylum so that he didn’t end up accidentally telling someone about these dreams. If he told anyone, they would surely look at him like he was loony, and he couldn’t really blame them. It was a weird situation, and he didn’t have anyone he could confide in. 

“Why do you look like you’re in pain?” Niall nudged Harry’s foot with his own, lifting his pint up to his lips as Harry snapped out of his thoughts. “You’ve been staring at the table for like, five solid minutes. Do you have heartburn or something?” 

“I don’t have heartburn, you prick.” Harry rolled his eyes, grabbing his own pint from the table before he tipped it back. “I’m still upset with you for sleeping with my sister.”

“Here it goes.” Mitch inhaled, trying not to laugh as he reached for his whiskey. “Styles, I don’t think talking about your sister’s sex life with your best mate, while your drunk, is a good idea.”

“Yeah, what Mitch said.” Niall shifted uncomfortable as Harry slapped on a fake scowl, sending it towards the blonde boy. “You’ve already threatened to punch me-”

“I’m still going to.” Harry said plainly. “Of all the women in the world, you had to pick my sister.”

“Mitchell, help me.” Niall whined, glancing over at the brunette with desperate eyes. “I don’t want to die tonight.”

“I don’t think that I can help you.” Mitch shrugged his shoulders, catching the wink Harry sent his way. “He might actually kill you.”

“I might.” Harry shrugged, sipping at his beer. “I might save it for a rainy day, who knows?”

“Jesus.” Niall scoffed, shaking his head. “I better call my Ma and tell her I love her then.”

“Niall, I’m kidding.” Harry laughed, shaking his head. “I’m happy for you both. I think you’re good for her, even if I hate to admit it.”

“Really?” Niall let out a sigh. “Because I really like her.” 

“I know that you do.” Harry nodded, sitting his pint glass on the table. “And I know that you love Noah just as much as you love her.”

“I really do.” Niall’s lips curved up in a secret smile. “They make me happy.” 

“And the end of the day, that’s all we can really ask for.” Harry shrugged his shoulders. "But I don't want to hear anymore about how you bruise like a peach or what you get up to in your spare time.” 

“That’s fair enough.” Niall nodded.

Harry lifted his pint glass, downing what was left before he stood up. 

“Where are you going?” Niall’s brows furrowed. “It’s still early!”

“I’ve got to open the shop tomorrow.” Harry reached for his jacket, sliding his arms in. “I don’t want to be late….or hungover.”

“I think you’ll already be hungover.” Mitch laughed. “I can open if you’d like me to, I don’t have any plans tomorrow.”

“Nah, you spend time working on those guitar skills, shredder.” Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets as he looked at Niall. “And you, treat my sister to breakfast or something you lowlife.”

“Will do.” Niall laughed, his cheeks turning pink. “We’ll drop something off for you with Noah?”

“I’d like that.” Harry mumbled, offering Niall a tight lipped smile. “Alright lads, you be good.”

“Same to you.” 

Harry waved at his friends before he made his way out of the pub. 

He walked towards the end of the street, looking both ways before he ran across. 

His building wasn’t far from the pub, but the wind whipping around made it feel like a twenty mile trek in the tundra. Harry was shivering by the time he made it into his building, his feet carrying him slowly through the lobby and towards the lift. He stepped in, using his elbow to press the button to his floor as his teeth started to chatter. The landlord was going to get an earful about the temperature inside the building tomorrow, Harry would make sure of it. 

He stepped off of the lift, fumbling his fingers around in his pocket until he made contact with his keys. He pulled them out, glancing down until he found the one that opened his flat. As he walked down the hall, his mind went back to the girl. He could almost smell her familiar scent in the air, berries and clove filling his senses with every step he took. He was sure one of the ladies that lived down his hall was burning a winter candle with the same scent. 

It was the only explanation. 

When he made it towards his door, he heard a soft gasp. 

He lifted his head up, his eyes growing wide as he saw the girl from his dreams standing right across the hall from his flat. She was staring at him, her pine colored eyes wide with disbelief and her berry red lips parted with shock. Her hair wasn’t as white as he remembered, more honey colored tones tied into the strands to compliment her skin. Harry stopped in his tracks, his heart slamming against his rib cage as she blinked rapidly, shaking her head as if she were trying to bring herself back into reality. 

Harry swallowed around the nerves in his throat as he took one step forward. 

Just as his foot landed on the ground, she fell to the floor. 

Harry felt like he lost all of the air in his lungs, vivid visions of her body falling through the ice playing through his mind. But this time, he could do something about it. He rushed forward, grabbing her arms with his palms to lift her up as her head lolled back. She was limp, her body heavy and warm in his hands. He was shocked by just how warm she was, her skin was usually ice cold by the time that he got to her. He felt the tears blurring his eyes as she lay there. 

“No, no.” He shook his head. “Get up!” 

Her eyes snapped open at that, the dark shade of green greeting Harry like a breath of fresh air. 

He was stone cold sober when he yanked her against his chest, holding her tight in his arms. 

“I can’t breathe.” She gasped out, her hands tapping his shoulders. “Harry?”

He pulled back, staring back into her eyes with pink cheeks. 

“How are you here?” He asked her, licking over his lips. 

“Um, I don’t really have an answer for any of it.” She cleared her throat, glancing away from his gaze with shy eyes. “I just kind of...ended up here?”

“Did you take a taxi or something?” He asked, confused when she laughed. “Do you live in London? Have you always lived in London?”

“To be honest with you, I think that I teleported here.” She said slowly, like she was unsure of the response he might have. “That might sound insane to you. I know you only ever see stuff like that in Dr. Who, but um, it’s kind of real?”

“You sound like a mad woman.” He whispered, his eyes flitting over the features of her face, taking it all in. “But for some reason, I believe you.”

“If you think that was mad, wait until we dive into the fun stuff.” She said softly, giving him a sympathetic smile. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here, if I’m being honest with you.”

Harry nodded, loosening his grip on her arms. 

“Do you have some place to stay?” He asked her. “Or do you plan on teleporting back to wherever you came from?”

“Um, that’s my flat.” She pointed to the door just next to them. “I’m staying there until...well, until I can go home.” 

Harry suddenly felt drunk again, his mind swirling with information as he let go of her. 

She sat up on her own, clearing her throat as she brushed her palms over her thighs. 

“I’m gonna get off of the floor now.” She said softly. “Is that okay?”

“Just promise me that you won’t faint again.” He felt his brows pull together in concern, panic flashing into his heart. “Please?”

“I will try not to.” Her laughter still sounded like bells. “Um, so, I know your name-”

“But I’ve never learned yours.” He finished for her, standing up before he offered his hands out to her. He pulled her up, pressing his hand against her hip when she stumbled. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good.” She offered him a smile, one that genuinely comforted him. “I’m Holland.” 

Holland. 

“Holland, baby, please breathe.” 

“I did know that.” He cleared his throat, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck as his cheeks grew warm. “I guess….I guess I forgot about that part of my dream.”

“Our dream.” She pressed her lips together, fighting off a smile. “I have the same one.”

“How do you know both of our dreams are the same?” He asked, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. “Maybe mine is different from yours.”

“I think I die in each version of the dream, Harry.” She said softly, trying not to laugh when his face paled. “But, I’m here now, in the flesh!” 

“But you’re going to die.” He said slowly, anger rising in his chest. “That’s not funny.”

“No, I’m not going to die.” She was firm with her response, holding her chin up proudly as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I refuse to die like that, it just won’t do.”

“I don’t think you can control it.” Harry said, his voice bleeding with frustration and disbelief. “You are a mad woman.”

“I’m not.” Her berry lips pushed out into a pout, and Harry nearly dropped to his knees. “I’m very smart, and extremely sane, Harry. I just….I happen to know things that you don’t!”

“Things like teleportation?” He asked, his brows lifting towards his hairline. “You look different, did you know that?” 

“No.” She said. “Why do I look different?”

“Your hair is normally white.” He lifted his hand, grabbing a few strands gently. “And your skin is normally like the snow.”

“I suppose it would be weird if I walked around London looking like that, eh?” She asked. “I can’t exactly be myself in this world.” 

Harry knew what that was like. 

“I think you’ll be just fine.” He whispered. “You’re still beautiful.”

“Well, I should probably go inside.” Holland said softly. “I’m quite knackered from all of that teleporting and stuff.” 

Harry felt panic start to rise in his chest again. 

She was leaving him. 

What if something happened to her while he was just across the hall?

He would never forgive himself. 

“You’re…” He felt his palms get sweaty. “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”

“I’m sure.” She nodded. “I’ve done a lot of research on this place, so I think I’ve got the hang of everything.”

“This place, as in the complex or this place, as in earth?”

“This place as in London.” She snorted. “I’m from Earth, gumdrop. I just come from a very small, remote island near the arctic.”

“Are you really from earth?” He let out a breathy chuckle. “Because I could have sworn you fell from heaven.”

Harry watched her cheeks glow like they did in the beginning of his dream. 

“You’re cheeky.” She said softly. “I learned what that means by watching Skins. By the way, those children should all be on the naughty list, they’re horrid.”

Harry froze, watching Holland as she shook her head. 

“You still believe in Santa?” He asked her softly, as if he were afraid he would startle her. 

“Oh, yeah.” Her eyes grew wide, but she was quick to look away. “Who doesn’t?”

“Most of the world.” He cleared his throat. “Most of us don’t even like Christmas.”

“Gumdrop, by the time I’m through with you, I’ll have you singing Christmas Carols with Santa himself.” 

“If there’s one thing you should know about me, Holland-” His voice was low as he spoke, frustration bubbling in his chest.. “It’s that I will never love Christmas or anything that has to do with that bloody holiday.”

He pulled his hand back, turning on his heel before he slipped his key into the lock. 

He could feel Holland’s eyes on his back, but after the comment he made, he needed a little time to cool down. Sure, Holland was someone that he had dreamed of meeting for most of his life, but he didn’t really know her as a person. He drew the line at Christmas with anyone, and she was no exception to his strict rule. He pushed into his flat, shutting the door behind him with his foot. Seconds later, he dropped his head against the door with a heavy sigh. 

“Maybe this is another dream.” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Wake up, Harry.” 

But when he opened his eyes, he was still standing in his apartment, and he could still smell the sweet scent of berry and clove. 

[queenxxxsupreme]

Your dad!witchers drabble was just *chef kiss*. Could please write how they would react throughout reader's pregnancy? It would warm my heart to see Eskel fussing over a heavily pregnant reader 😭😍

A/N: I am soooo going to have to do more Eskel x pregnant!reader!! 

Warning: pregnant reader, extreme fluff

Add yourself to my taglist here!! I’ve redone everything so unless you go to the link provided, you will no longer be tagged in any of my work. If you have any questions, please message me!

Lambert 

You shifted around. The sound of someone whispering was pulling you out of your sleep. You reached out to put your hand on Lambert but you found the pillows devoid of the witcher. 

You opened your eyes, rubbing the sleep from them. You could feel his hand, rough and cold, against your stomach. You looked down to see that he was lying further down in the bed, putting his face level with your stomach. His hand had slipped between your chemise and your stomach. His thumb stroked gentle circles into your stretched out abdomen. 

“Lambert?” You half whined, looking down at him. 

“Fuck off, bug. I’m having a conversation.”

You smacked the back of his head, giggling softly as he grabbed your hand before you could pull away. 

“She’s so mean to me.” He whispered, warm breath tickling your stomach. 

“What are you doing?” You pried your hand from his grip to brush your fingers through his dark hair. 

“Talking to the baby.”

“What are you telling them?”

“That you’re an asshole to me.”

“Lambert!”

“I’m kidding.” He chuckled. “Only a little.”

You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t help the smile that found its way to your lips. 

“I hope it’s a girl.” You told him. 

“I hope it isn’t.” He shifted up in the bed so that he was laying correctly with his head in the pillows. His golden eyes flickered up to you. He reached out to brush a piece of Y/H/C hair over your shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” You sighed gently, scooting closer to him to bury your face in his chest. “Maybe if someone didn't wake me up….” You teased. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. One of his arms slipped around you, his palm pressing against the small of your back. “Is your back still hurting?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. 

“M’sorry.” He mumbled, letting the words be muffled by your hair. 

You knew very well how guilty he felt that you were aching and hurting and in pain because you were pregnant. Sure he was rough around the edges and intimacy wasn’t his forte, but he knew when to be gentle and soft with you. He knew when all you needed was a kiss and a gentle hand rubbing whatever part of your body ached more. He wanted to take the pain away, to relieve you of the burden he deemed his doing. 

Little did he know that you didn’t view the pain as a burden. It came with being pregnant. It came with being a mother–and a new one at that. You were willing to bear the aches and pains until your baby was here. 

“Don’t be sorry.” You closed your eyes, melting further into his chest. “I’m going to be okay.”

“Just don’t like the idea of you hurting.” His thumb on your lower back began to trace little circles in the material of your chemise. 

“Aw, you’re so sweet.” 

He grumbled a string of curse words under his breath and started to pull away. 

“No! No, Lambert! I was joking!”

“Asshole.”

“You’re the asshole. You aren’t going anywhere.” Your fingers fisted the material of his shirt, forcing him to stay. 

“You’re the asshole.” He muttered, allowing you to settle back into his arms. 

“You better learn to watch your mouth when the baby comes.”

“Or what? Gonna spank me?”

“If you want.” You grinned, pulling your head from his chest to see the look on his face. 

“Fucking hell, bug.” He rolled his eyes, bringing his hand up to rub his face. 

“You’re the one who said it. Maybe we could try it-,” 

You squeaked as he pinched your backside. You smacked him in the chest, causing a deep chuckle to vibrate in his throat. 

“We aren’t trying anything that involves you spanking me.” He assured you.

“Damn.” You feigned disappointment with a frown on your lips. 

His eyes met yours. You found yourself gazing into his gold irises, lost in how stunning they were. 

“You’re going to be a great father.” You leaned up to kiss his scarred cheek. Your words were sincere and gentle, a reminder that you cared for him and you loved him. 

“You think so?”

“Mmmh. Maybe.” The tone in your voice changed to let him know you were teasing him. 

“Asshole.” He dipped his head down to catch your lips in a kiss. 

Eskel 

Eskel pushed the front door to the little cottage shut with his foot then moved to put the basket of produce from the market on the table. 

“Hey, doll? I’m back.” He called, glancing around the main room. There was no answer. “Y/N?”

His heart was the only one beating in the cottage. He was alone. Worried, the witcher began to move around the cottage, down the hall and into each room. You weren’t anywhere to be found. 

As he was returning to the main room, he picked up your scent, sweet and intoxicating lavender. He followed the scent trail out of the cottage and around to the backyard. 

Eskel found you sitting on your knees in the garden, pulling weeds away from the wheat. 

He approached the garden fence, spotting Lil Bleater on the other side of the fence, crying out because she couldn’t get into the garden to eat the herbs. 

Eskel whistled for the goat and she turned her head in his direction, bleating rather loudly. She kicked her back legs before trotting around the fence to his side. 

You looked up and spotted him. 

“How was today’s market?” You asked, beginning to stand to your feet. 

Eskel was beside you in a second, having jumped the fence, and offered you his arm as leverage. You gladly placed your hand upon his forearm, letting him help you to your feet. 

“Busy and crowded. You shouldn’t be out here when I’m not home.”

“Oh, Eskel. You worry too much.” You put your hand on his cheek, your thumb ghosting over the scarred corner of his lips. His eyes closed at the tender touch. You pressed a velvet kiss to his lips. “I’m just fine.”

You began to walk out of the garden. 

“But what if something happened?” He followed along right beside you, his hand on your lower back. “There could be a-a wild dog or someone looking for trouble. There’s plenty of people in town that don’t like me being here.”

“And they can answer to me if they’ve got a problem with it.” You assured him, though your words did more to worry him than to comfort him.

“No, no, they won’t. I don’t want you dealing with any of those assholes.” 

“Eskel, I’m just pregnant.”

“That’s my point.” He opened the door to the cottage for you but he never took his hand off of your back. “Y/N.” He stopped you just inside, his hand on your arm. “You’re pregnant with-with my child. If anything were to happen to you….” 

He trailed off, shaking his head. 

You could see all of his fears clouding his mind, reminding him that you weren’t immortal or even a witcher. You were human, and humans were fragile. 

“Eskel, I’m going to be okay.” You held his hand tightly then leaned up on your toes to place a velvet kiss on the scarred corner of his lips. “We are going to be okay.”

His hand found your ballooned stomach, scarred and calloused fingers spreading out to hold as much of you as he could. He pressed his forehead to yours, a heavy breath expelling from his lungs. 

“Just…. Just can’t lose you. Either of you.” 

“You won’t.” You brushed your hand over his chest, your fingers bumping into the medallion. “I love you, Eskel.”

He held his breath for a moment. Even after all these years, it was still difficult for him to hear those words directed at him, to have your kindness directed at him. His life felt so surreal like a dream he never wanted to wake up from. He was undeserving of you, of the joy and happiness you brought him. 

“Love you more.” He whispered, pulling away from you for a moment to kiss your forehead. 

Geralt 

“Has anyone seen Y/N?” Geralt asked as he approached the table Eskel and Lambert were at. Eskel was polishing his swords while Lambert kept himself occupied by talking. The young witcher was leaning back in his seat, balancing on two legs while he propped his boots up on the table. 

“She’s kinda hard to miss.” Lambert glanced up from the dagger in his hand. “Ya know.” He made a circle with his arms, symbolizing your extremely swollen and very pregnant stomach. “She’s huge.”

Eskel shook his head while Geralt easily knocked Lambert’s feet off of the table, causing the chair he was in to lose balance and him to fall backwards. 

“Ah! You bastard!” Lambert grunted. 

“Serves you right.” Eskel sighed. “Haven’t seen Y/N, Geralt.” 

“I didn’t mean anything by it!” Lambert stood to his feet and picked the chair up. “She’s just big, okay? Isn’t that an appropriate term for her condition?”

“I’m pregnant, Lambert, not sick with some disease.” You spoke as you crossed the room. A basket was in the crook of your elbow. 

“Oh, uh, hey, Y/N.” Lambert waved at you. You rolled your eyes, knowing he’d probably done or said something stupid by the sound of his voice. 

“Hi, Lambert. Thank you, again, for reminding me how big I’ve gotten.”

“Anytime.”

“Where’ve you been?” Geralt moved to your side, brows drawn together in concern. He took the basket from you. 

“I was out picking berries to make a pie or two.” You answered him. “Then I went down to the lake to clean them.”

“You left the keep without one of us?” Geralt’s eyes widened as he looked at you.

“I’ve done it plenty of times before. Put the basket down on the table, please.”

“But you weren’t pregnant any of those other times, Y/N. What if something had happened?”

“Nothing did, so it’s fine.” You insisted.

Geralt’s lips pressed together in a line as he watched you, wanting to go on and on and on about how dangerous it was and list all of the possible scenarios that would put you and his unborn child at risk.

As he watched you take the bowl of damp berries from the basket, he noticed a cut on your hand. It was fresh but had just stopped bleeding.

Without a word, he took your wrist in his hand and pulled your hand closer to his face so he could examine the wound.

“What happened?”

“Just a thorn from the bush.” You told him. “Geralt, I’m fine. We are fine.”

A hum vibrated in his chest. 

“Eskel, I think that wind storm last night messed up the enclosure for the goats.” You looked over to the witcher. “I’d mess with it but Lil Bleater can be an asshole. I don’t want her butting against my legs or something and knocking me over. My sense of balance is shit right now.”

“Wasn’t very good before the baby either.” Lambert said but you ignored him.

“You don’t need to be messing with anything right now, Y/N.” Eskel told you as he stood to his feet. “All you should be worried about is that baby.”

“Well, someone has to keep you boys in check.” You teased, smiling a little. “Thank you, Eskel.”

“Yeah, of course.” The witcher nodded. “Come on, Lambert.”

“What?”

“I’m sure I could use the extra hands.”

“She asked you to go, not me.”

“You’re going to get yourself into trouble if you stay in here.” Eskel warned. 

Lambert looked over to you and Geralt, opening his mouth as if he was about to say something that would prove Eskel right. Geralt was glaring at the young witcher, silently begging him to say something else that was offensive to you so that Geralt could throw something at his head. 

“Right. To the goats.” Lambert sighed, pushing himself to his feet.

“Prick.” Geralt muttered as he watched the two witchers leave.

“He means well, love.” You smiled.

“He’s always doing it though.”

“He’s been like that since I met him. He’s doing nothing wrong.” 

“Commenting on your size isn’t right.”

“Well, my dear witcher, not everyone has manners and common sense.” You reached up to cup his jaw, your thumb brushing across his stubbly skin. “Is Vesemir back yet?”

“I wasn’t aware he left.” Geralt took a seat at the table you stood at and watched you pick through the berries, pulling out any bad ones you accidentally picked. 

“He was making a trip to the village and I asked him to get me a few things for the pie. I can’t start it until he gets back.”

“You’ll be lucky if he’s back before sundown.” 

Vesemir had a reputation for taking too long when going to the village. There was an alchemy shop near the village and apparently the old witcher had made friends with the old shopkeeper decades ago. The two would talk and talk for days if they had it their way.

“Should’ve sent Eskel with him.” You sighed, deciding to take a seat next to Geralt. 

You didn’t realize how much you hurt until you sat down. Your ankles ached and there was a sharp pain in your knees. Your lower back had steadily been hurting all day but now as you sat on the uncomfortable wooden chair, the pain grew. 

Geralt noticed the way your eyes closed tightly and you leaned forward a little, one hand resting on your stomach while the other rested on your knee. 

“Are you okay, dove?”

“M’fine.” You opened your eyes and turned your head to him. “Just sore is all.”

“Did you walk all the way down to the lake?” Geralt placed his large hand on your back.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t going to manage getting on Roach.” You joked, but the White Wolf did not find the joke amusing. “Walking is good for me, Geralt.”

“What if something had happened while you were making the journey down there or even on your way back up? You know there are forktails in the mountains.”

“And bears and wolves and drowners.” You nodded. “But Geralt-,”

“If something had happened to you, how do you think that would’ve made me feel?” He cut you off, his voice devoid of any joking. When you looked away from him, he took hold of your chin and turned your head back towards him. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry.” You apologized quietly, eyes flickering down to his lips. “I’ll take someone with me next time.”

“There is no next time.” Geralt shook his head. “The terrain is too much for you. Your balance is complete shit right now and you trip over everything.”

You rolled your eyes at him, leaning against his arm. 

“If I tripped and fell down the mountain, I’d never stop. I’m the size of a boulder. I’d cause an avalanche.”

Geralt sighed, rubbing his eyes.

Taglist: @thefishmongersdaughterwrites @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @ayamenimthiriel @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway 

If your URL is in italics, it would not let me tag you :(

[aria-i-adagio]

Suntrap - Dragon Age Fanfiction

Chapter 42 of Where the Elfroot Grows. It's short and can stand alone, so I'm cross-posting the entirety to Tumblr.

Meanwhile...

Skyhold.

It has taken weeks to get here. Weeks of impossible terrain, and freezing temperatures, and thin air. Weeks of gorgeous blue sky, and dazzling white snow, and mountain views that stole the breath from Rhys’s lungs. But Solas’s promise kept a good number of the survivors from Haven going, and Mother Giselle rallied the rest. And they’ve arrived. Skyhold. A fortress that shouldn't exist because how could one build a castle in the sky?

Rhys has been scolded so many times for wasting his time building castles in the sky.

The place holds its breath waiting for them to enter through the gates that long ago fell open. Cullen orders the soldiers to spread out and search, but Rhys can't convince himself to hold back and wait for caution, not after the weeks of anticipation. He spins around with his chin tilted up and his hands held slightly out to his sides, surveying the high, mostly intact walls, the domineering circular keep, the long basilica married to its side, and then - with a laugh and a shout - he bolts up the sloping ground toward the second level of the courtyard, ignoring Dorian’s dismayed shout about unholy fools and how they’ll be the death of him.

Rhys for pauses a moment, enjoying the crunchy sounds of grass beneath his feet; he shouldn’t take his boots and socks off, but it’s an act of will not to. He waits for Solas and Dorian catch up with him before picking his way up the stairs to the basilica, exercising a little more restraint in case the old stones start to crumble beneath his feet. Falling into Haven’s forgotten catacombs had been an unpleasant experience. One he does not care to repeat.

Rhys pauses at the threshold of the basilica. “So, this is Skyhold.”

“Yes.” Solas stands to the side with his hands folded behind his back. “Abandoned and waiting for centuries now.”

“Is this one of the places you sought out to dream in?”

Solas’s smile is enigmatic. “Certainly it is a place where I will dream now. Go on.”

Vines hang over the doorway at the top of the narrow, crooked stairs. Rhys pushes them aside - Arbor Grace, he thinks, although it’s a bit hard to tell when the leaves are dead, dry, and crumbling in the cold. Behind them, an empty door frame opens into a long hall. Dorian catches the vines and holds them back, gesturing elegantly for Rhys to be the first to step inside.

Rhys holds his breath as he enters. Stone vaults support a soaring ceiling. The remnants of a carpet sprawl across the floor, rotted by time and scattered by animals. Colored light scatters through the room, flowing through a miraculously intact rose window opposite the door.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I thought you might appreciate it.” Solas lays a hand on the doorframe and strokes the stone with his thumb like one might the hand of an old friend.

Dorian follows them inside, claps his hands together, and blows on them. “And it’s out of the blighted wind.” He’s been despairing that he would suffer frostbite and lose an unsymmetric number of fingers since before they ran from Haven. In all fairness, it hadn’t been entirely theatrics on Dorian’s part. Rhys still wasn’t entirely sure how the rest had managed to evacuate with as many supplies as they did; he suspects it had something to do with Josie’s preternatural organizational skills. There had been sufficient heavy coats and blankets to go around, and if there weren’t technically enough tents for the group, no one complained much about sleeping piled close together in the few tents that they did have because it was too damned cold at night for anyone to sleep alone. Rhys can think of several fates worse than sharing space with a cranky not-actually-a-magister.

Solas chuckles. “I would not call the wind blighted, but yes, it is out of the wind. Go explore, Herald. I suggest the first door on your left.”

Rhys hops up and down, trying to get some feeling back in his toes before running off to see what else Skyhold contains. Not the defenses. Cassandra and Cullen are already inspecting the battlements, and it isn’t as if he would know anything about whether the keep could be fortified. But there are so many other aspects of any new place. Secrets. History. Rhys can feel the ghosts of years and years breathing around him, heavy and portentous. Curious. Apprehensive. Welcoming.

“Do you feel them too?”

“Yes.” Dorian looks around the echoing space and shivers again. “Some are old. Older than the stones of this place.”

Rhys hooks his arm through Dorian’s elbow. “Come on. Let’s see what else there is.”

Unoiled hinges protest loudly when they shove open the door Solas suggested. A tunnel passes through the thick stone wall and out onto a gallery running around three sides of an open yard. The space is entirely overgrown -a riot of unpruned trees and aggressive vines - but Rhys recognizes it for what it is immediately.

“A suntrap!” He lets go of Dorian and springs over a collapsed balustrade to land in the overgrownth. The temperature of the air in the yard is several degrees warmer than anything Rhys has experienced in weeks. Warm enough for plant life to remain active within this nook. Bits of greenery poke through dead grasses. Blackberries are taking over and creeping into the galleries - as one expects from an ornery vine. Hardy shrubs long ago abandoned whatever order they might have first been planted in and dot the space at disorganized intervals, and closer to the walls, where the heat will be best retained through the nights, Rhys can make out the shapes of fruit trees, gnarly with age.

He stomps down brambles as he makes his way back to the trees: apple and pears, cold-tolerant varieties, though he doesn’t recognize precisely which ones - or they may all be seedling after so much time untended - but they’re still bearing even in the cold of this altitude. He pulls the glove off his right hand and reaches up, gently touching the neck of a pear. It’s not quite ripe yet, but very, very close.

The weeds rustle behind him as Dorian picks his way over, stepping carefully to avoid catching his clothes on the thorny blackberries. “I don’t know what a suntrap is, but if it’s always this much warmer, I like it.”

“Look at how the walls are built. It’s open to the northwest to catch the sun during the day.” Rhys indicates the stones surrounding them, gesticulating with both hands. “All the stones warm up during the day and keep the plants from freezing at night. Other than a greenhouse, it’s the only way I know of to grow much of anything at this altitude.”

“Clever.”

“Yes!” Rhys had worked in suntraps before. The Circle in Ostwick used one to grow tenderer herbs and fruits from higher latitudes - Tevinter, mostly, even a few from Par Vollen. Nothing that heat-loving will grow here, of course, but the suntrap is a promising challenge. Rhys never tried to coax anything into life in a place so cold. “Once the ground is cleared, I think I can get all sorts of things to grow here. Add a cold frame or two, and...”

If nothing else he’ll be able to get root vegetables and greens going. The presence of healthy fruit trees suggests that at least some summer vegetables will make it - not at this time of year, of course, but there’s always next spring to experiment. He’ll need to choose the location well, possibly add some warming glyphs he wants anything semi-tropical like tomatoes. Tomatoes would be lovely.

Dorian catches at Rhys’s arm just below his elbow. “Hold on there. Let’s get a bit more settled before you go finding another way to get entirely covered in dirt.” He picks a stray leaf out of Rhys’s hair and tuts. “Look you’ve already gotten started.”

Rhys holds Dorian’s gaze as long as he can manage before there’s too much blood rushing to his cheeks to be passed off as an effect of the chill. He dips his chin and looks away, still smiling and probably looking like an absolute fool.

“I wonder if there’s a well in here. There has to be a water source - or several - in a fortress this size.” Rhys wanders toward the middle of the garden kicking aside the blackberry brambles. It’s a little late for berries - even this high up - but Rhys would still place a fairly high stake on his ability to find something edible in all this mess. He thinks he can see something that was once a domesticated brassica of some sort. It’s run wild over multiple generations of going to seed, but no one would be too picky at this point about cooked greens being a bit on the bitter side. They’re running low on food. Game had gotten scarcer as the altitude grew higher.

“I’m sure anyone who engineered something that’s lasted this long thought about water.”

Dorian's gloved hand finds his again, and Rhys turns into the contact. An indulgent smile crinkles Dorian’s eyes and turns up the corners of his currently-less-than-perfectly sharp mustache. Rhys reaches out his bare fingers and touches the stubble on Dorian's face, not even the frigid temperatures and weeks of travel on foot had convinced him to let a full beard grow in. Two days seems to be the maximum amount of time he could tolerate going without shaving. Rhys lets his thumb rest at the corner of Dorian's lips, half expecting him to pull away.

A shout echoes through the suntrap, bouncing off the stone walls. “Hey, Sparkles, Lucky - what did you find out here?”

Dorian tenses and turns, but into Rhys's hand, lips brushing across his palm before stepping aside and picking his way back to where Varric stands on the gallery. “The Herald has discovered some plants. Possibly dinner.”

Dammit.

Rhys huffs with annoyance. Then grins when his breath doesn’t immediately turn to frost.

[lordoftermites]

THE FOX & THE THORNBUSH

Part 2: made this one a flashback (and probably should do with part 1 as well) since I just finished reading A Visit to the Impossible Lands. We’ll just pretend I knew exactly what I was doing when I wrote it.

Pairing: Roiben x Kaye

Summary: A bit of G-rated fluff between Roiben and Kaye, because these two never have enough of that in their story and they fucking deserve it even if I gotta do it myself.

Part 1 here.

―――――――――

“Oh, come onnnn. Just try it,” Kaye says, nudging the paper cup nearer to his lips. Steam rises in lazy swirls to dissipate into the cool air of the brugh. It smells faintly of a berry Roiben thinks is familiar but can’t place, and even less like the coffee she promises it’s made of. “I mean, you liked the bacon and honey blend last week, and that was absolute garbage. This is the best one so far, I swear.”

Roiben inspects the cup in his hand, at the artwork representing Moon In A Cup—Kaye's coffee shop in the mortal world.

Printed on the side of the vessel is an intricate drawing of a tea cup. Its well is designed to look like the cap of a toadstool—a deep indigo, with silver speckles of varying size. Woven branches of spring-green thorn make up the handle. Inside the cup, on a wave of black coffee, floats a crescent moon. It seems to reflect the light of the hall, like a stolen sliver of moonlight. Just above that, as if drawn to the silver glow, a miniature green-winged moth hovers.

On the corner of the left wing is a letter H, written in a pastel pink flourish: Roiben takes a guess that Kaye must have finally managed to track down and enlist the talents of her favorite comic artist. Indeed, it’s fine work.

Kaye pushes the cup toward him again. “Would you stop looking at it like it might be poison and just take a fucking sip already? It’s going to get cold—and I’m not trying it until you do.”  Somehow, only she can make the avid impatience of a pixie an endearing trait. Roiben suspects he might have a small bias.

Although, her admission to not having tested the brew herself first is rather dubious.

Roiben raises a brow at her, but concedes with a small grin. “I was just admiring the new emblem,” he says, before taking a tentative sip of the still-actually-very-hot contents. It scalds the tip of his tongue, but to his surprise, it really is coffee. It’s light, and there’s a bitter, but pleasant aftertaste—something familiar.

The burnt spot on his tongue is beginning to dull, replaced by a slight tingling sensation that spreads upward. He frowns, contemplating. Kaye is watching him intensely, those moonless eyes of hers glittering with anticipation. She's very near to vibrating herself right off of the arm of his throne.

They’ve made it to her favorite part of the testing: having Roiben guess the flavors—and hidden tricks—of her new concoctions. He grins again: he was incorrect only once, and that had been for the simple fact he hadn’t known, at the time, what a Goo-Goo Cluster was.

“Ah,” he muses softly. “Rowan berry.” He smiles, and Kaye looks positively crestfallen. She huffs, but it’s a brief sulk; try as she might to be a sore loser, she inevitably cheers when Roiben chuckles and pulls her into his lap. He even takes another, longer sip of the coffee, to which her smile becomes full and genuine.

There are few things in his life that can warm the residual frost in his bones, and quite nearly all of them either begin or end with that smile.

He runs a finger across his lips. As he’d thought, it wasn’t just the coffee’s temperature prickling his mouth. While he’s had a brief education of what the berries might do, he’s not, until now, had to put that information to use. “A mortal safeguard from glamours when dried and strung,” Roiben says, “it seems it also contains much of the same dilutional properties when consumed by fey.”

Kaye frowns, so he elaborates, pointing to his mouth: “I can’t feel my tongue.” There’s the lightest slur in words there, a confirmation of mild insensibility.

The usual emerald green of Kaye’s cheeks have washed out to something closer to pistachio. Roiben’s laugh rings through the otherwise-stillness of the brugh, escaping him before he can help it; perhaps the berries offer a maddening effect as well. “And you said it wasn’t poisoned.”

“But... Ravus said!” Kaye exclaims, panicked and snatching the “poisoned” coffee from him. She looks at it as though it is an enemy, a vicious foe that must be slain in earnest. “Ravus said the berries are only poisonous if they’re eaten off the plant. And even then, you won’t like, die or anything—they just cause… stomach problems. He said, and I quote, ‘as long as they’re cooked, they’re one-hundred percent safe to eat.’” She huffs again, the forced air puffing her green cheeks, and sinks back against him with a sullen glare at the cup in her hands. “I was going to run a special—Free Biodegradable Necklace With Each Purchase—y’know, some rowan berries for the mortals that come into the shop.”

Roiben knows all too well the potion-maker would not have given Kaye information with the intent to deceive; for a start, of the meager list Roiben keeps for friends, Ravus has proven himself, far and away, a creature of honor and loyalty—self-exile notwithstanding. Moreover— and more importantly, Ravus now has the greater duty of being a father; no doubt he would be remiss in a few, finer details. Roiben is almost certain he would be, should such a day ever come (though he lingers not long at all on that thought and does not allow himself the further consideration of what touching Impossibility feels like).

He knows, too, that the rowan berry will do no more harm than it already has: as some mortals have adverse reactions to the pollen of flowers, the fey suffer something similar with rowan, with only a more... mystical variant. Should the berries be ingested, the ability to glamour by speech is thoroughly subdued, until the berries are expelled one way or another. Roiben had learned of its effect on their kind years back, when Ravus had been a lone, exiled alchemist beneath a bridge, and Roiben had been naught but a fool in a king’s costume, taking many an ill-advised risk to win an unwinnable war.

He had proffered sanctuary to the exiled fey in the city then—of which that asylum had extended to Ravus and his mortal lover. And now, their small child of clay and air, with her curls of flaming copper, aurelian eyes and horn-tipped ears, carried with her the protection of the Court of Termites in its entirety; from Unseelie borough to Seelie grove, the girl would be safe.

Roiben had not, neither then or now, forced fealty, and not for more than one night and one day had he requested the man’s aid in the plan he had used to thwart Silarial. A faerie sigh, Ravus had called that brief servitude. How on the mark that turn of phrase had been—Roiben is still not so sure he had taken a single breath at all that day.

“Fret not, little fox.” The private moniker brings Kaye’s ink-black eyes back up to him. Her brows are woven together in real worry. Roiben gives his consort a pitying look, and brushes a wild lock of deep-green hair from her face. “It’s…—ah, an allergic reaction, I believe mortals call it?” Kaye exhales a wavered breath of relief, before nodding affirmatively. He kisses her pout and smiles; she tastes of honey chapstick, and a phantom of roasted dandelion tea—his favorite.

“It’s very possible,” he says, taking back the newfound nemesis and holding it out for careful examination, “as it is rarely put to use by our like due to the nature of the thing, Ravus meant it’s only safe for human consumption, and likely did not think you would try it outright on your own monarch.” Roiben winks down at her, but she doesn’t seem to enjoy the joke.

“In any case—”

With a shocked gasp of dissent from Kaye, he grins, tips the cup to stinging lips, and drains it to the dregs.

“You were right: it’s much better than the bacon.”

He smiles at her—or, at least, he hopes he’s smiling. He can’t tell: his mouth has gone entirely numb.

[infinitevariety]

Stargazing

Crowley parks the Bentley at the far side of the empty car park, looking out over the sea. The sea is not what they are here to look at, but as he climbs out the driver’s seat Crowley glances out to the ocean, a mass of moving blackness with the light of the moon reflecting off the surface.

“It’s beautiful, even at night.”

Crowley turns to see Aziraphale, also out of the car and looking at the ocean.

“Not as beautiful as—”

“Me?” Aziraphale flashes Crowley a wide grin.

“I was going to say the stars, but neither of them hold a candle to your beauty, angel.”

Even in the moonlight Crowley can see the faint blush colouring Aziraphale’s cheeks. It’s accompanied by that small, pleased smiled that Crowley so loves.

“Come on, then,” says Crowley as he climbs up onto the roof of the Bentley.

From his new vantage point he sees the smile drop from Aziraphale’s face.

“What?”

“You’d rather lay on the floor of the car park? Or get a crick in your neck? Come on, I’ll help you up.” Crowley lowers an arm and offers his hand to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale looks between Crowley’s hand and face a couple of times before rolling his eyes and muttering, “This is ridiculous,” under his breath. But he grasps Crowley’s hand and allows himself to be hoisted onto the roof of the car.

They settle down, laying side by side. Just as Crowley’s head touches the metal of the car, he sits back up again.

“Almost forgot! Hang on a sec.”

Crowley leans the entire front half of his body over the edge and into the open diver’s side door. He reaches behind the seat and grabs what he’s after. Sitting back up on the roof he hands Aziraphale one of the pillows.

“Here you go, bit more comfortable for your head.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear.”

They both shove pillows under their heads and resume their flat positions, eyes looking up at the stars.

Crowley takes a deep breath and lets the sight astound him a new. It’s been a long time since he’s taken the time to really appreciate this whole other world, out there in the ether, that he helped to create.

They are quiet for a time. No sounds but the far away crashing of the waves below them and their quiet breathing. At some point their fingers brush and Aziraphale reaches for him. Crowley gladly weaves their fingers together and squeezes Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale squeezes back.

Eventually, Aziraphale speaks, softly into the quiet of the night.

“What was your plan?”

“Oh, this was it, really,” replies Crowley just as softly. “Pillows and stargazing. I’ve got some snacks, if you want them?”

He turns his head to see Aziraphale, who is shaking his.

“Not tonight, I meant—when you asked me to run away with you to Alpha Centauri. What was your plan?”

“Oh. Er.” Crowley’s mind races for something to say, but the embarrassing truth tumbles out on its own. “Even less of a plan than this, to be honest. Just… get us away, keep us safe. It was rubbish, really.”

“No,” Aziraphale rushes to assure him. “No, it wasn’t. It was lovely. A very romantic gesture, really.”

“Ngk,” says Crowley.

“I just wondered if you’d thought about what we’d do there. How… how being there, together, would work. Obviously there’s no music halls, theatres, or restaurants…”

“Yeah, no, thing is, erm…” Crowley trails off, suddenly feeling hot under the collar even as the cool night air ruffles his hair.

From the corner of his eye Crowley sees Aziraphale turn to look at him, face serious.

“Crowley, what did you do?”

“Nothing!” Crowley quickly affirms. Then he clarifies, “Nothing… recently, anyway.”

“Crowley!” At Aziraphale’s hard tone, Crowley turns to look at him fully. “What did you do?”

“It was so long ago—before all of this.” He motions to their surroundings—the car park, the sea, Earth. “It was back before the Fall, while I was working on the Alpha Centauri project.”

Aziraphale doesn’t speak, but make a motion to indicate Crowley should continue. Crowley sighs.

“I knew someone in ecology who was working on microrganisms for the Earth project. They’d been fucking around with microbial evolution, but of course She wasn’t interested in that. So I…”

Crowley pauses to buy time he knows he doesn’t have. He scratches his chin, clears his throat, looks anywhere by at Aziraphale.

“So you…” Aziraphale prompts.

“So I may have taken a few samples and chucked them on a few planets,” Crowley says in a rush.

“You didn’t!”

“I did! I meant to keep an eye on them, see what shook out, but then… you know.” Crowley lifts a finger and whistles, slowly getting lower in pitch as he drops his finger.

Aziraphale lifts a hand to cover his eyes, obviously astounded by the levels of Crowley’s recklessness.

“So yeah, it’s been thousands of years. I didn’t know what to plan for. Who knows what they’ve evolved into. I just knew there’d be some life out there we could’ve joined. They might even have gravlax with dill sauce and old books.”

Crowley stops talking, knowing he’s just rambling now.

Aziraphale uncovers his eyes and looks at Crowley. He rolls over on to his side, taking Crowley’s face in his hands. Aziraphale’s hands are warm, and Crowley relaxes into their hold.

“You are most absurd creature I have ever come across, and I love you dearly.”

Crowley smiles. “I love you too, angel.”

They resettle on their backs and look up at the stars. Crowley’s eyes feel heavy and he’s considering a short nap. His eyes close for only a few seconds before they shoot open again when Aziraphale speaks softly beside him.

“Of course now we have to go to Alpha Centauri and check up on your children.”

————————————————–

Written for the Summer Omens challenge that @thetunewillcome was hosting back in August. IDK. This is the last prompt, so I went a bit silly. Crowley ‘accidentally’ playing God to a world he hasn’t kept tabs on seems just about silly enough.

————————————————–

(Series on AO3) (Sand) (Ice Cream) (Burn) (Camp) (Grass) (Pride) (Bloom) (Sunset) (Freckles) (Sweat) (Festival) (Snooze) (Lavender) (Lightning) (Relax) (Garden) (Road Trip) (Berries) (Independence) (Solstice) (Trail) (Melting) (Firefly) (Petrichor) (Ice) (Dandelion) (Marshmallow) (Swim) (Fireworks)

[artificialqueens]

To Thaw Her Frozen Heart (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: Denali and Rosé are childhood best friends who love playing with Denali’s ice powers at night. After an accident, Rosé leaves and Denali learns to live without her. When they’re suddenly reunited, will they be able to recover what they lost, or will fate tear them apart again?

(A Frozen AU).

A/N: So I originally had an to do a Frozen AU with Branjie–but I came up with the idea while I was writing Royals, and the overall vibes were so similar that I buried it in my docs and never went back to it. I recently had the idea to do it with Rosnali instead, and I really hope you enjoy! Thank you so much to Writ for encouraging me to do this, helping me brainstorm, and betaing! I couldn’t have done this without them.

Please leave feedback if you’d like!

Title from Frozen Heart from Frozen.

—

“Nali, do you wanna build a snowman?”

Denali jumps out of bed at Rosie’s knock. She throws open the door and grins at her best friend. “Let’s go!”

They keep their voices down as they scamper over the polished floors. They should be in bed, but the portrait room has been their spot since forever, luring them in with high ceilings and big windows that are swallowed by moonlight.

Of all the things her and Rosie do together—chasing each other through the castle for a game of tag; picking fresh berries from the castle bushes and passing them back and forth until they both had purple lips; laughing and spinning around in dresses too big for them as they play dress-up with old clothes in the attic—this is their favorite. A winter wonderland just for them.

The doors open and Denali covers the floor in a blanket of snow. Denali’s parents don’t want her using her powers at all, and these nights are their secret. Denali knows Rosie will never tell, just like she’ll never tell that Denali broke the vase in the entrance hall and still sleeps with her stuffed wolf. Just like Denali will never tell that Rosie is the one who sneaks chocolates from the kitchen and checks under her bed for monsters. There was something sacred in their friendship, something they understood but couldn’t explain, a sense that they knew each other as well as themselves, and always would.

Tonight’s snowman smiles over them as they make snow angels, giggling and staring up at the paintings of kings and queens and explorers on the walls.

“Maybe when we’re grown-ups we can go on adventures and stuff,” Rosie says excitedly. “We can ride horses and fight monsters and—“

“And climb mountains! And swim in the oceans!” Maybe someone would make a painting of them. Denali would definitely smile for it, unlike the mean faces frowning around them.

“Yes!”

“What if you can climb a mountain now?” Denali asks. “I’ll make little ice mountains for you.”

Rosie jumps up and brushes the snow off her, her grin brighter than the moon as Denali lifts her off the ground with a small ice column. She makes another, a little taller, and Rosie leaps onto it. She jumps on them all, higher and higher, a brave adventurer.

“Rosie, slow down!” Denali shoots ice columns as fast as she can, but Rosie leaps for the next one just after her feet touch the last.

“Look how high I can jump!”

“Wait!”

Rosie jumps higher and farther than her other jumps—far past the column Denali had ready for her. Denali desperately shoots another ice blast, hoping it lands under Rosie’s feet–

But it doesn’t.

It hits Rosie instead, and she crashes to the floor with a thud that echoes through the room and every part of Denali’s heart.

Denali doesn’t breathe as she runs to where Rosie is crumpled on the floor, not moving.

“Rosie?” Denali shakes her shoulder gently, but she doesn’t wake up.

The snow had cushioned some of her fall, and Rosie doesn’t look hurt, not like that time she fell outside and scraped both her legs. But Rosie was so brave that she didn’t even cry that time, just sniffled a little when her mom cleaned her up.

She’s not crying now, but she’s not waking up or moving either, when she’s normally always in motion, laughing or dancing or singing. She looks so small. She’s a year older and a little taller than Denali, but now she looks tiny, like she’s always been the smaller one.

Her head slumps back, and Denali stares in shock. In Rosie’s soft red hair, there’s a streak of white. Denali’s never seen hair turn a different color like this, and it can’t be good.

“Hang on, Rosie. I’ll get my mom and dad.”

Slippers are pulled on and doors are slammed as Denali wakes her parents, then Rosie’s, since they’re the royal advisers and sleep next door.

Rosie is blinking awake when Denali leads them back in, her teeth chattering as she shivers in the snow. The snow. Denali’s heart sinks. Now her parents know what they’ve been doing, and she and Rosie will be in so much trouble, and what if they can’t be friends anymore? What if something bad happens to Rosie? Denali forces back the tears in her eyes.

“Rosé!” Rosie’s parents run to her, and Denali runs too, only to be held back by a hand on her shoulder.

“We talked about this, Denali,” her mother hisses. “These powers aren’t something you can play with. Rosie needs a healer, or she’ll freeze solid.”

Denali wants to protest, tell her mom that she’s careful and tonight was an accident, that she would never hurt Rosie on purpose, but she hears the echo of her mother’s words, hears Rosie’s parents whispering about how cold she is, and knows tonight is all her fault. Hot tears flood the collar of her pajamas.

“There’s a healer up north who can fix her,” Denali’s mom says to Rosie’s parents, calm and cool like the queen she is.

The whispers continue, too hushed for Denali to hear, but she knows they’re taking Rosie from her.

“What healer? Can I come?” Denali asks.

“No, Denali.”

“But—“

Her mother flashes her a stern look, and Denali quiets.

Rosie’s parents scoop her up and carry her out, and that’s the last time Denali sees her.

—

Denali watches the following years from her bedroom window.

Rosie and her parents move to another castle. Denali writes her letters, but she never gets a reply back, not a single word in Rosie’s loopy handwriting. Without Rosie, her powers fade for a while, tiny pricks of ice when she once made mountains, but when they return, it’s with the ferocity of an ice storm. She knows it’s worse when she’s missing Rosie, like when her birthday passes without their tradition of having tea in the rose garden, or when the lake freezes over and there’s no one to skate on it with. At those times, the ice digs into Denali’s heart and flows outward, tears freezing on her cheeks as everything around her frosts over.

She stays in her room all day, even takes meals there when she can’t stop freezing the table because a laughing redhead should be beside her, and ice covers her room like dust of a life unlived.

The castle remains shut, just Denali and her parents inside, so there’s no chance of her hurting someone while she spends her days inside, working on control.

Don’t miss her so much. You can visit her when you can control your powers, her parents instruct, slipping thick white gloves over her hands. Conceal it, don’t feel it.

So Denali conceals it. She takes all the memories with Rosie–the time she was stuck in bed with a cold and Denali read to her all day; snowy mornings warmed by hot chocolate and smiles; golden autumn days shining with leaves–buries them inside her heart, and lets it freeze over like the lake. She is the lake now, and everything she wants to feel is pushed underneath, sinking to the earth. A polished surface is all they’ll see of her.

By 18, she’s given up on the letters. By 19, she can spend a few hours outside her room without freezing everything.

By 21, the lakes of her heart are beyond thawing.

—

Denali can’t remember the last time so many people were in the castle. She hears the crowd’s distant hum, ecstatic voices streaming to the grand hall for her birthday feast, where she’s expected in five minutes. But she can’t go with her gloves on, and every time she peels them off her shaking hands, her fingertips freeze.

She takes a deep breath. She can do this. The gloves come off, and she’s normal. Just a normal princess about to see hundreds of people for the first time in fifteen years. The castle already feels too small, too crowded, too loud, with everyone inside, disturbing the silence that normally consumes things. She’s not even inside yet and she can see them staring at her, judging her, wondering why the castle was locked all these years. If she can’t control her powers, they’ll know why.

She strides out, icy blue dress rippling like water around her. There was a time when this was all she wanted. All those hours with Rosie, trying on dresses and imagining wearing them to balls, Denali glowing with the confidence of a princess and Rosie glowing with confidence that was all her own, title or not. Now, all Denali wants is to hide in her room.

The air flies out of Denali’s lungs when she sees a redhead in the crowd. It could be anyone in the world, she tells herself. She’s just seeing things because she’s stressed, and the ice pricking at her fingers proves it.

Though she used to dream of feasts and has missed countless ones over the years, this one is nothing special, nothing to make her regret missing the others. There are food and drinks, nobles and leaders, handshakes and small talk. Her parents do the talking; Denali just has to smile on occasion, a perfect princess, and even smiling is hard enough when she’s done so little of it the past years, her face a frozen mask. Not like the days when all it took was a smile from Rosie to make Denali smile too.

The dishes are cleared, and everyone walks to the ballroom for a night of dancing. Denali’s wondering if she can duck out early when there’s a tap on her shoulder.

“It’s really you,” the person says, and Denali turns and looks into eyes she’s never forgotten.

Rosie.

Denali doesn’t believe it at first. Maybe she doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to believe that her childhood best friend is a grown-up too. That their world of tea parties and dress-up and games is truly gone. Maybe it would be easier to believe if she and Rosie had grown up together like they should have, if she had watched Rosie grow taller, seen her face change into the person looking at her now.

And the person looking at her, though older, is completely, unmistakably Rosie. Denali would know her anywhere, even after all this time with Rosie only existing in her memory. The same soft, coppery hair with its streak of white, the same warm eyes that would light up in mischief, the same blinding smile unleashed without hesitation around Denali.

Denali falters. She doesn’t know how many times she imagined seeing Rosie again, rehearsing her words, but now she’s speechless. Where does she start? How did the healer fix her? Why didn’t she answer Denali’s letters? Does she hate Denali? Is Rosie still the same person who dreamt of adventure and liked honey on her bread?

“Rosie,” Denali breathes, and it’s somehow everything at once.

—

Denali takes Rosie to the portrait room. The faces on the wall are old friends, more welcoming than the ballroom crowd they’re avoiding.

They sit on the floor like they used to, and it’s so familiar that Denali can almost pretend the past 15 years didn’t happen. That they’ve never been apart.

“We used to come here all the time,” Rosie says. “I swear I’ve had dreams about this room.”

“You probably have. We basically lived in here,” Denali says. “Do you remember that time it rained all day and we had a picnic in here?”

“And we tried to make sandwiches but you dropped the stuff all over the kitchen–”

“And you tried to cook an apple over the fireplace and almost burned your arm,” Denali says, and then they’re both laughing, a sound that makes everything seem more real, less like a dream. She has Rosie back, and her heart is lighter than it’s been in years, beating strong with a new joy.

But then there’s a pause, and as much as Denali wants to tell stories all night, she needs to know what happened after Rosie left.

“How come you’re at the ball?” Denali asks.

“I was invited,” Rosie says. “I wouldn’t crash a party.”

“You would and you know it, Rosie,” Denali says.

“I always liked how you called me Rosie,” she says, eyes on the floor. “Everyone else calls me Rosé. That’s all I ever go by now.”

Denali swallows, wondering how else Rosie–Rosé–has changed, if there’s only a little of Rosie left in her. “Where do you live now? What happened after …” she can’t bring up the accident yet.

“What do you mean?” Rosé asks. “My parents got hired as advisers to the lord of Riverton, and that’s why we left. Your parents recommended them for it.”

Denali shakes her head. “You left because there was an accident. We were playing, and I hurt you by mistake, and I’m so sorry–”

“Accident?” Rosé bites her lip in confusion. “There wasn’t an accident.”

“Yes there was.”

“I don’t—I don’t remember that, Denali. I swear I don’t.” Her voice is sincere, and Denali already knows she’s telling the truth, because Rosé rubs her neck when she lies.

But how can she not remember? Denali can’t forget the sound of Rosé falling, how limp she was as Denali tried to wake her, how she was carried away without a goodbye. How it was all Denali’s fault.

“I wrote you letters,” Denali says, changing gears. “You never wrote back.”

“I never got letters from you!” Rosé’s eyes are wide. “I wrote you dozens of letters and never got anything back. Something’s wrong here.” She wrings her hands together, clearly stressed; Denali remembers how, anytime she was in a bad mood, Rosé would always ask how she was feeling and what she needed, a great communicator. This confusion must be eating her up, and Denali needs to fix it.

Clarity hits her like ice, and Denali knows who she needs to talk to.

Her parents.

—

In the ballroom, Denali’s parents are talking and laughing like nothing is wrong. Like they haven’t lied to Denali for most of her life. She doesn’t have an ounce of guilt as she pulls them into the hall, mind spinning with what to call them out on first.

“What’s this about, Denali?” her mother asks. “We’re in the middle of a ball for your birthday, if you didn’t notice–”

“You’ve been lying to me this whole time! You made Rosé and her parents leave, and you never sent my letters! And Rosé—she has no idea the accident happened! Did you block her memory or something?”

The queen sighs, sensing Denali’s anger too much to deny her. “We didn’t do it. Her parents did.”

“But how?” Denali knows it wasn’t a normal healer they took Rosé to, but could you really erase a memory?

“After the healer fixed her, Rosé was … upset. She was worried about you, kept yelling and asking for you. Nothing could calm her down. Her parents asked the healer to erase her memory of the accident and convince her that your powers were all her imagination. That way, she was calm, and she couldn’t tell anyone about your powers.” The queen’s voice is as calm as always, like she’s discussing business plans and not a lie that was kept from her daughter for fifteen years.

Rage and power rise in Denali’s chest, bumping against the layers of ice that always tamp her feelings down. She can’t imagine how scared Rosé must have been, waking up in some strange healer’s place, how her first instinct—look for Denali—couldn’t help her. Of course she was upset, and yet the main concern wasn’t how to help her, but how to keep her quiet. “They had no right to do that to her!”

“They really did think it would help her, Denali. They didn’t want her suffering from the memory her whole life.”

For a second, Denali wonders if it’s worse to take someone’s memory away, or let them suffer from it. Rosé’s parents thought they were helping her. Had Denali’s parents considered offering her that same mercy? Or did they think suffering would turn her into the princess she needed to be?

“And the letters? You never sent them, did you?”

“No,” her mother says. “We worried you would be in danger if word of your powers got out. We all decided it was best to separate you two. Then you could control yourself without her to distract you, and Rosé could go on thinking she imagined your powers. No one would know or get hurt. We invited her today since you’re in control.”

“You lied to me! My whole life, you lied to me. You took my best friend away and just left me in my room!” Denali shakes with rage, the heat of her anger blocking out the dull coldness tingling in her hands. For the past fifteen years, she’s blamed herself. Blamed herself for missing with her ice, for hurting Rosé, for being the reason she had to leave. But now it’s different. She and Rosé didn’t just lose years of friendship and memories—it was stolen from them.

“Denali.”

The words are a warning, one Denali can’t listen to. Not when everything was taken from her, when she spent so long locked inside this castle, blame and anger and loneliness heaped on shoulders too young to bear it, while the people with the power to ease the burden looked the other way.

Power courses through her, and the first ice blast destroys the ballroom doors. The second freezes the walls and sends people running, screaming and shoving others out of the way. Denali hears her parents warning her to stop, but it’s so far beyond her control that her hands don’t feel like they belong to her. Her heart pounds so fast it hurts, the ache growing sharper with her gasps for breath. She can’t stop the ice from pouring out of her hands, creeping along walls and floors while people run—

“Hey, Denali, it’s all right.”

It’s Rosé, of course, fearless and calming as ever. Denali’s port in a storm, helping her even when others ran. Denali sees the shape of her, the pink dress trailing down her body, but everything else is blurred. She faintly hears people calling for her arrest, calling her a monster.

Monster.

It rings through her ears, sharp as a knife. She has a sudden view of the people huddled in the corners, terror on their faces, and she falters. This isn’t what she wanted.

“I–I’m not a monster, I—“ Denali tries to breathe, to stop shaking. It’s all too much–the mass of people, the ear-splitting shouts, the burning stares. Everything’s closing in, and the ice around her isn’t an attack anymore. It’s protection.

“Breathe, Denali,” Rosé soothes.

She tries, but the royal guard is approaching as the crowd shouts for them to take her away. One raises his sword, dangerously close to Rosé. If he swings at Denali, Rosé will be in the crossfire, and Denali doesn’t hesitate to send an ice blast to stop him. Only—

Only he pushes Rosé in front of him, and the blast hits her in the chest.

Denali is six years old again, watching helplessly as Rosé gasps. Ice explodes around her, driving back the crowd and giving Denali space to finally breathe. By the time her vision clears, another streak of Rosé’s hair is snowy white, and her knees are wobbling. “Rosie? Are you—“

“I knew your powers were real,” Rosé says weakly, and she faints into Denali’s arms.

—-

Denali doesn’t hesitate. She changes her clothes, packs a bag, and slings Rosé into the carriage with her.

She escapes the crowd calling her a monster, leaves her parents to smooth things over, and sets off with a rumpled map of the north, grateful to have Wintervale behind her. The world outside is cold and crisp, wind biting at the carriage, and Denali sucks in every bit of air she can get, savoring the freedom despite the worry of Rosé’s shivering body beside her. Everything is swirling like a blizzard inside her–the anger, the worry, the fear, the determination. It’s more than she’s felt since she was six, more than she’s had reason to feel since she was six, and each emotion strains against a chest that doesn’t know how to hold so much.

She doesn’t know what will happen now that her secret is out, now that half the kingdom is afraid of her, but she doesn’t care. She can’t care, because she has to get Rosé to the healer. She can’t allow herself to feel anything else until Rosé is healed, shoving away emotions she doesn’t have room for. Despite how fast the horses are going, the north is so vast it feels like they’re barely moving.

“Are you warm enough?” Denali asks, biting her lip in stress. She had wrapped Rosé in two blankets and slipped extra thick gloves over her own hands, for protection as much as for warmth. Each layer is a barrier between them, another thing preventing Denali’s touch from freezing Rosé, because Denali can’t trust herself.

“Yes.” Rosé looks at her, bright eyes sizing her up. “Don’t make that face, Denali. I know that face. This isn’t your fault.”

“But I hurt you!”

“It was an accident. Please don’t blame yourself. I don’t blame you at all. I mean it.”

Denali doesn’t have it in her to argue. It wasn’t that her parents explicitly blamed her for everything; they just didn’t stop her from blaming herself. Never granted her the gentle kindness that comes through in every word Rosé says. Rosé is not only stopping Denali from blaming herself, but giving her the grace and permission to forgive herself too. And maybe Denali can.

“Denali?”

“Yes?”

“This happened before. That’s what you said in the portrait room.” It’s not a question, and Denali wonders if her powers jogged something in Rosé’s memory.

“It did,” Denali says. The lie ends with her. “One time when we were kids, I was making ice mountains for you to climb. You jumped too far, though, and I tried–I tried to catch you, but I hit you instead. My parents and your parents took you to this healer–the one we’re going to now–and they stopped the ice from hurting you. But my mother said you were upset and your parents had the healer erase the accident from your memory.”

Rosé nods. There’s only a little recognition in her face, and Denali wonders what it’s like to not remember such a big event in your life, to just have it erased. To have to trust that what Denali is telling her is true. “I remember some parts,” Rosé says. “I remember the healer’s cabin, how you could see the mountains from her window. I wanted to show you, but you weren’t there and I started crying. I … I remember asking to see you, but everyone said no. I thought you might be in trouble so I told them it wasn’t your fault, that it was an accident, but no one would listen. The healer did some spell, and I fell asleep, and when I woke up, we were in Riverton.” Rosé shakes her head bitterly. “I’d have dreams about your powers, and they felt so real, but I thought I made it up—“

“It’s okay.” Denali wants to pat her knee, soothe her the way Rosé would if the positions were reversed, but she can’t. Not with the danger her hands carry.

Rosé just nods.

“I’m sorry,” Denali says. “I’m sorry about then and I’m sorry about now.”

“Well, I forgive you. Then and now.” Despite the slight pain clouding her eyes, despite the wind whipping around, Rosé flashes her brilliant smile. “Hey, it looks like we got our adventure after all.”

Denali smiles too.

—

They stop for the night when the snow hits. Huge snowflakes flutter down like pieces of clouds, stark against the pitch-black sky. Denali can’t see well between the snow and the dark, and even though she wants to push on, Rosé has been silent and half-asleep the past hour, the ice undoubtedly weakening her joyful, talkative self, and Denali knows she needs to rest.

She pulls the carriage into a valley of pine trees.

“Rosie, we’re stopping for the night,” she says softly.

Rosé nods faintly, and Denali looks at her with a pang of guilt. More white streaks through her hair like a mountain pass and her face is just as pale, each movement stiff and wracked with shivers. She reaches out to help Rosé into the back of the carriage, then stops abruptly, frozen with fear.

“You can touch me,” Rosé says.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Again, Denali thinks but doesn’t add.

“You won’t hurt me,” Rosé says. But she climbs out herself.

The back of the carriage is just big enough to sleep in, and Denali presses herself against the side, leaving as much room as possible between them.

“T–take one of my blankets,” Rosé says. She’s curled up as tight as she can to stay warm, and Denali curses herself for not grabbing more blankets in her rush.

“Don’t need it.” Denali’s barely noticed the cold. Her heart’s already frozen anyway, how much colder could she get?

“Tell me if you do,” Rosé says quietly.

Denali nods, but she knows she won’t, just like she won’t sleep tonight. She can’t trust herself with the release of sleep, can’t risk bumping into Rosé and hurting her.

Rosé blinks sluggishly, trying to ward off the sleep fogging her eyes.

“Rosie, get some sleep,” Denali says.

“I’m not leaving you alone. Not like last time.” There’s a firmness in her voice Denali wouldn’t have thought possible, and she doesn’t argue.

“I almost forgot,” Rosé continues. “I have a present for you.”

“You didn’t have to—“

“I missed all your birthdays, Denali.”

“I missed all yours, too.”

“Well, I guess I have a bunch of presents from you to look forward to,” Rosé teases cheerfully. “You know I love presents.”

Denali smirks. “You do.”

“Anyway, here’s yours.” Rosé removes one arm from her blankets, hissing when the cold hits, and extends a box to Denali.

Inside is a necklace with a tiny snowflake charm, and Denali immediately clasps it around her neck.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it, Rosie. Thank you.”

Rosé coughs. “Denali, I know you might not like your powers, but they’re–they’re beautiful. Like–”

“Like me?” Denali interrupts, cutting off the swell of her heart before it grows too big, breaks through the ice.

“I would’ve said like me.” Rosé laughs. “But like you too.”

Denali smiles, grateful it’s too dark for Rosé to see her blushing cheeks.

“Do you–do you remember that night it was raining?” Rosé asks with a yawn. “And we looked at the stars?”

“Of course I do.” Denali knows Rosé should sleep, but she’s doing this to spare Denali from being alone, and it’s the most kindness she’s been shown in over a decade. So Denali plays along, retracing the night rain lashed at the windows and kept her awake, how she went to Rosé’s room and found her awake too, and they sat by the window while Rosé told stories about the stars until they fell asleep tangled together on the window seat.

“I used to look at the stars in Riverton. They were never as pretty as they were from Wintervale. But I always hoped you were looking at them too.” Rosé smiles, and Denali thinks some of her heart melts.

“I was.” Even if they were apart, Denali knows they were at least seeing the same stars, like their souls were calling out to each other. Denali tells Rosé the stories Rosé once told her, soothing her with tales of heroes earning their places in the sky, of the beauty in each star, until Rosé finally gives into her exhaustion and falls asleep.

Denali pulls off her long coat and throws it over Rosé, sleep allowing Rosé to take a favor she would never accept if she was awake.

Rosé seems so much younger in her sleep; looking at her now, the world silent except for her gentle breathing, Denali feels like she’s coming apart at the seams, because right now, she’s not seeing Rosé; she’s seeing Rosie, the girl she cared for more than anything else. And just like that, everything she’s kept inside all day–all her life–is rising to the surface, and the ice isn’t enough to contain it anymore.

It was easier to control things when they were apart, when Denali was alone in her room with no one to talk to. She learned to be comfortable with solitude, with the cold. At first, she childishly believed the promise her parents kept stringing along, fantasizing about visiting Rosé one day and striking up a game of tag even if they were too old. But as she got older, she knew it was just a fantasy, and it made things easier. She could control her feelings when there was nothing to cause them, dry tinders without a spark. There was no Rosé to tell jokes and burst into song and make Denali smile and laugh. Denali only had as much joy as she could bring herself, and staring at the same walls every day didn’t bring much. There was nothing to make her lose control.

But now Rosé is back, when Denali never thought she would be, and so are the feelings Denali pushed down so deep she thought they were beyond recovering. She was barely prepared to see people in the castle today, and ending the night with Rosé was the last thing she expected. Her heart is wrung out like a sponge, unused to such feeling after years of faintly beating–the joy of seeing Rosé’s smile again, the familiarity of the freckles dusting her shoulders, the relief of knowing Rosé still understands her, is still her friend. The hope that after all this, Rosé can stay for good.

If Denali doesn’t lose her first.

She knows it was an accident, that she didn’t mean to do it. But it still happened, and Denali provided the weapon. The old ache rises in her, the pain attached to the memory of hurting someone as good and kind as Rosé, someone so close to her, practically part of her. She’s more than Denali’s best friend—she’s a tie to her past, a time before the sadness. Proof and hope that the happiness that painted their days can color the world again.

She touches the necklace at her throat. Your powers are beautiful, Rosé said. Maybe she’s right. Maybe just because her powers are cold and sharp at times doesn’t mean they always have to be. When they were kids, Denali’s powers brought them such joy. Maybe she can have that again. With Rosé. Because she’s going to make it, and they’ll be friends after this. Denali knows it.

Rosé sighs in her sleep, and it sounds like Nali, Denali’s heart tugging again as she pretends it’s the wind. A piece of hair falls over Rosé’s face, and as much as Denali wants to tuck it behind her ear, she resists. Once Rosé is healed and Denali is in control, not shaken with both the joy of getting Rosé back and the fear of losing her all over again, then Denali can touch her. She hides her hands behind her back and watches over Rosé until the morning sun sets her hair alight and shines through the cracks in Denali’s heart.

—

Rosé can barely move the next morning. Denali catches her tiny winces, likely from how sore and stiff she is after all the shivering and clenching of her muscles. Denali’s hands hover behind her, a silent offer of help that she’s afraid to give and that Rosé probably won’t ask for, not wanting Denali to worry about her. Rosé only manages a few bites of the apple Denali packed, offering the rest to Denali, and, after Denali refuses, to the horses, who gobble it up.

“We’ll be there soon, I promise,” Denali says.

Rosé nods, and Denali convinces herself the bluish tinge to Rosé’s lips is just a trick of the light, nudging the horses to go faster. They move through blinding snow and towering mountains, the whole world a page from the storybooks they used to read. She’ll be okay, Denali tells herself. Because if this is a story, it deserves a happy ending.

The horses dip into a valley, a small cottage tucked between the trees. Mountains loom in the background, and Denali knows this is the place. She feels at peace here somehow. Like the mountains will keep her safe, a cocoon around her.

“I kn–knew you you’d like it here,” Rosé says.

“I really do.”

“Shall we?” Rosé offers a shaky arm to Denali, and Denali pretends not to see how hurt Rosé is when she won’t take it. She knows how important touch is to Rosé, their childhood painted with Rosé grabbing her hand as they ran across the land, arms wrapping around her in a hug, all Rosé’s way of showing she was there. A language the two of them spoke that Denali no longer knows the words to.

The cabin door swings open after Denali knocks, and her heart soars at the fire crackling in the fireplace. Rosé collapses in front of it, soaking up the first warmth she’s had in a day, the warmth any human besides Denali could give her.

“You again.” A person emerges from the corner of the cottage, and for all the old healers in the stories, this woman is young, with pale skin and blonde hair.

“You remember her?” Denali asks.

“I do.” The blonde nods severely. “My name is Brooke, by the way.” She bustles about and wraps another blanket around Rosé, and Denali burns with jealousy at someone who can touch so easily, so mindlessly.

“Can you help her?” Denali asks desperately.

Brooke shakes her head.

“You didn’t even try!”

“I can sense what’s wrong with her, and I can’t fix it. I’m sorry.”

“But you fixed her before!”

Brooke sighs. “I was only fixing her head back then. But now the ice is too close to her heart, and that’s much harder to fix. The only thing that can save her is an act of true love.”

Denali shakes her head frantically. She can’t have come all this way just to be told the answer is unobtainable. “Isn’t there anything else that can fix her? Something I can actually find? I mean, I can’t just buy true love! What about a potion or something–”

“There’s nothing else. I’m sorry.” Brooke pauses. “I can tell you two things. The first is that you won’t have to look far to help her. The second is that you shouldn’t run from your feelings.”

Denali clenches her jaw. She came here to help Rosé, not have some woman she’s known for three minutes tell her what to do. “And if I don’t find it, she’ll–” Denali knows, because her mother had told her what would happen all those years ago. But knowing and accepting are two different things.

“She’ll freeze solid,” Brooke confirms, and Denali thinks maybe this won’t have a happy ending after all.

—

“W–what do we do now?” Rosé asks, hands on her knees. The walk to the carriage winded her, and each wheezing breath pierces Denali’s heart.

“I don’t know.” Denali doesn’t even know what to say. All this time she had a plan that couldn’t go wrong, a purpose to push her along and keep her focused. Now the plan is shot and her purpose has nothing to direct it. She can barely look away from how pale Rosé is, the blue of her lips unable to be explained away anymore, ice crystals clinging to her hair. “I guess … I guess we go back to the castle. See if someone there can help.” It sounds good, but it’s just an empty promise. Denali knows there won’t be any cure beyond what Brooke told her, and the lie is just as much for her benefit as Rosé’s.

Rosé nods, like she knows it’s a lie but doesn’t want to call Denali a liar. “Do you think we have time to do something first?”

Denali doesn’t, but Rosé smiles hopefully, and Denali can’t deny her anything. “What is it?”

“Do you want to build a snowman?”

—

Denali looks down at her gloves. This whole time, they’ve been her armor, but in reverse–not to protect her, but to protect Rosé. Rosé can’t really be in worse shape than she’s in, but what if Denali accidentally speeds up the freezing, takes away whatever Rosé has left?

“You don’t have to use your powers,” Rosé says, like she’s reading her mind. “We’ll do it by hand. Not all of us are magic, you know.” Rosé laughs, and Denali knows she’s using every ounce of strength she has to do this, to be cheerful and have fun with Denali, and she won’t let her down.

“Let’s do it,” Denali says.

They build up the snow like they’re kids again, and Denali wants to stay inside this moment forever, a living snow globe, reliving it again and again with every shake. The snow clinging to Rosé’s eyelashes catching the sun and bathing her whole face in golden light. The smiles and laughs that come so easily Denali doesn’t have to think about them. The snow soft and bright and beautiful around them, an old friend welcoming them home.

But the snowglobe shatters when Rosé is hit with a burst of cold so bad it makes her whimper and curl into herself, and Denali knows they don’t have any time to waste in getting to the carriage.

“Denali?” Rosé’s voice is almost enough to stop Denali’s heart. “Denali, I can’t feel my legs.”

Denali turns around. A layer of solid ice covers Rosé’s boots and creeps toward her knees.

“No!” No, no, no. Denali runs to her, and before she stops herself, Rosé is in her arms. Denali holds her tight, squeezing her waist and lowering her gently to the ground. Denali curses herself and her stupid powers, wishing so badly she could take the ice away, take the pain away. All she can do is create more ice, create more cold and pain. “No, no, Rosie, please.”

“Shhh,” Rosè whispers, one shaking hand resting on Denali’s arm. “It’s okay.”

Denali lets out a strangled laugh, because Rosé is the one freezing over and Denali should be comforting her, not the other way around, but Rosé just can’t bear to see anyone hurting.

Rosé strokes Denali’s arm with her thumb, and this, more than anything, makes Denali truly sob. Because all this time, Denali’s been afraid to touch Rosé, been afraid of herself, but Rosé has never been afraid of her, not once in her life, and the gentle touch is a reminder that she never will be. A reminder that Denali doesn’t have to be afraid of herself either.

“I’m sorry, Rosie, I’m so sorry. Pl–please don’t go, please.”

Rosé hisses in a shaky breath as the ice hits her thighs. “Nali …”

“I just got you back, I can’t lose you again.” Denali can barely get the words past the lump in her throat. Hot tears roll down to her jacket, the only bit of warmth she’ll probably have again. She can feel how cold Rosé is even through their layers, but she doesn’t let go. She can’t let go. She couldn’t give Rosé the touch she desperately wanted all this time, but she’s giving it to her now, and nothing can make her stop.

“Denali.” Rosé coughs sharply, looking up at Denali with glassy eyes. “Denali, I–I love you. I love you so much. Is it okay if I kiss you before–”

Denali leans down and presses their lips together. Rosé is shaking uncontrollably but Denali holds her steady, keeps her together. Her own heart is pounding and she can feel Rosé’s through her lips, a sign that she’s still alive, still has some warmth coursing through her. Her lips carry the chill of a blizzard but are still soft beneath Denali’s, soft and loving and caressing her own the gentle way Rosé herself would.

When the lips beneath hers harden, Denali knows Rosie is gone.

She pulls herself away, forcing herself to look down at the woman in her arms. Rosé is frozen solid, an ice sculpture so real, so beautiful, that no human would ever be able to recreate it. Denali won’t let go of her, because beneath the ice is someone who was kissing her, breathing, living, just seconds ago, and to let her go would be to abandon her, to prove that Rosé really is gone.

“I’m sorry, Rosie.” Denali’s tears trail down over them both. “I’m sorry. You were–you were the best friend I ever had, and you make me–you make me so happy. Rosie, I love you. I love you, and I’m sorry I told you too late.”

The words feel right after she says them, like they’ve been looming beneath her ice for years, waiting to be let out. Denali’s loved her for a while, she realizes. Some part of her had always known, the part that would forever treasure Rosé and call out to her. Denali just had to let herself feel it. Every ounce of those feelings swell in her now, the love and devotion and affection she denied herself for so long. All she can do is hold Rosé and cry, wishing she had told her sooner, so that Rosé would have known she was loved before she was gone.

It takes Denali a while to notice that her cheeks are dry. Her mind struggles to process it, because she’s still crying, but she can’t feel the dampness on her cheeks.

She takes a breath, and she realizes Rosé is wiping her tears away.

“Please don’t cry,” Rosé whispers. “Look.” She carefully tips Denali’s head down to look at her, and instead of the frozen woman she expects to see, the ice is melting into the snow underneath.

Rosé is melting.

Her hair has returned to its brilliant soft red, even the old streak gone, like the wounds from their past have fully healed. The color is coming back to her cheeks, a smile coming with it.

“How are you–” She lowers a hand to Rosé’s face to test that she’s really here, but stops halfway. Rosé grabs her hand and rests it there herself, and Denali gives in, cupping Rosé’s cheek and feeling her warmth.

“I told you you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I love you,” Denali says.

“I love you too.”

An act of true love, Denali realizes. Just as her ice had frozen Rosé, it was her love that thawed her.

Denali leans down to kiss her again, and even though she knows they have to return home, that she has to fix the mess she left behind, she has Rosé in her arms, now and forever, and she’s never going to let go.

[risthebrave]

day 02; “knight”

free-form; knight harry, prince louis

happy birthday @brickredtoe (i hope you don’t mind historical aus dhjkd)

Harry settles in his post to the right of the door, nodding a greeting to the knight he’s replacing before he takes his leave along with the other guard.

He flicks a glance at Liam, his constant patrol partner, who’s stationed on the other side of the door, staring ahead stonily. Harry likes to think that he takes his duties seriously, even the tedious ones like guarding the prince’s quarters at night, but Liam is on a whole other level.

It took him only a few days to realize that any attempts at conversation would go ignored, the determination to remain completely on guard for the entirety of their shifts blatantly displayed in his solid stance and set expression. Harry finds it rather amusing considering this job has been assigned to them as the newest recruits to the castle garrison and hardly requires such an intense concentration, but he doesn’t dare say a word.

Time passes by slowly, but Harry stays silent, ignoring the feeling of his sword weighing down in its sheath and the itch grating at the nape of his neck. Scratching it would disrupt the still atmosphere they’ve created. Not to mention, tolerance and endurance are vital qualities a knight must master, so Harry ignores as best he can and tries to focus on anything else.

His eyes drift to the lanterns hung from the stone walls in intervals down the long corridor, flickering weakly. The pale glow from their candles do little to illuminate the hallway but Harry’s sight has long adapted to the darkness after years of training deep in the night.

Every hour, a patrol of four knights will pass across the corridor at the end of the hall, one of the many precautions taken by the king to ensure the safety of the castle and of the royal family. Harry is feeling the familiar stiffness in his neck and legs when they finally appear, symbolizing one hour completed of their five hour watch.

It’s also a sign for something else.

The telltale sound of a bolt sliding echoes in his ears and he tenses, biting his lip to suppress a small smile as the door creaks open.

Prince Louis peeks his head out of the door, immediately directing his gaze to Liam. Even so, Harry can see the flush coloring his cheeks and it ignites a familiar warmth inside him, fingers twitching around the hilt of his pollaxe and the urge to reach over and cup Louis’ chin so he can see those glorious blue eyes getting more difficult to resist.

“Sir Liam,” Louis murmurs in greeting. Liam breaks his rigid focus to bow to him, always the picture of perfect etiquette.

“Your Royal Highness,” Liam says, voice crisp and coated with respect.

Louis nods to acknowledge him, before finally turning to Harry. He moves slowly, lips quirked up at the side as he drags his gaze over Harry’s face and armor. “Sir Harry,” he says, voice soft and fond.

He has to bite his lip this time to tamp away the smile, struggling to maintain his cool. “Your Royal Highness,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t bow. Louis doesn’t want him to anyway.

They stare at each other for a minute and Harry memorizes the softness in Louis’ sparkling eyes, storing it in a safe of a thousand other glimpses that he can draw strength from in his most trying times. But mostly, he just admires.

The prince snaps out of it first, clearing his throat before saying the same words he always says. “I’m going to bed soon, and I’d like to request the presence of one of you gentlemen to keep watch until I fall asleep.”

Liam wouldn’t dare offer, so Harry proceeds with his usual, “I’d be honored, your highness,” and Louis smiles his usual pleased smile.

Instead of protesting or alerting one of their superiors, Liam just rolls his eyes and stays quiet, letting Harry leave without conflict like he’s been doing for the entire six months they’ve been seeing each other. He hasn’t said a word about it to anyone else either, allowing them to keep their secret. It’s why despite the lack of companionship in their rounds, Harry considers Liam to be someone kind and trustworthy.

The man doesn’t even falter when Harry breaks the number one rule that’s been instilled in him since he’s been knighted, and abandons his post.

He breaks away from the wall as Louis opens the door wider, making enough room for him to slip inside. Then he breaks the second most important rule that’s been instilled in him: he steps foot inside the prince’s private rooms.

Even though the prince gave him explicit permission to do so, it’s considered consequential. Knights aren’t meant to interact with the prince - aren’t meant to be the recipient of the prince’s affections either. But Harry cannot find it in himself to feel ashamed.

What he and Louis have, while forbidden, is something tender and honest. It doesn’t matter that he’s just a knight and Louis is the heir to the throne - none of it matters because they are in love.

So, he enters the room without hesitation, propping his pollaxe against the wall as Louis gently shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt back into place. Harry settles his hands on his hip, making him jump before sighing out and slumping back into Harry’s chest. They stand like that for a bit, and Harry inhales the sweet smell of berries in Louis’ soft hair, letting it relax him like it has every day.

It had been difficult abandoning his post the first few times when Louis suggested it, even when he reasoned with himself that it really is true that Louis is much safer in his arms than anywhere else. But half a year past, Harry has forgotten any of his grievances, content to savor every moment he has with the prince because their time is always finite.

One hour. One hour every night and a sprinkling of minutes between Harry’s jousting practice and Louis’ daily garden stroll is all they have, but Harry wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Louis eventually breaks away from his hold, humming to himself as he turns and tilts his head up to appraise Harry with a frown. “You look tired,” he notes.

“You know it’s rare that I get much sleep,” Harry says. Especially when you aren’t laying against my chest, hand pressed to my heart.

Huffing, Louis rolls his eyes. “They need to stop making you patrol for so long. You’d think Father would be wise enough to realize that he needs his men well-rested in case of an attack rather than half-dead.” He reaches up and thumbs at Harry’s dark under eyes and Harry catches his hand, sliding it up to circle Louis’ wrist and squeeze before letting go.

“Your father just wants to keep you safe,” Harry says, “and I want that too. If that means I have to stand guard outside your door for five hours every night, I’m glad to do it.”

“Four,” Louis corrects, “only four.”

Harry smiles because he’s right. The fifth hour - or rather, the second - belongs to them. Harry remembers when he resented the system in place that meant younger and less-senior knights were given the most brunt work - the monotonous jobs of keeping watch and patrolling. But now he’s grateful for them, because it’s what finally brought him Louis.

Like many knights in the kingdom, Harry spent all seven years of his apprenticeship from fourteen to twenty-one at the castle as a squire, assisting and learning and training. Though it was only when he received his official title as a knight that he’s been honored a place inside its walls, freed from the cramped apprenticeship dwellings far out on the grounds and given a bigger, though still gloomy, room alongside the rest of the garrison and personal guard.

It’s also the first time he had the pleasure of laying his eyes on the crown prince, but it wouldn’t be until he was tasked with the first rotation of guards for Louis’ quarters that Louis would lay his eyes on him in return.

Louis smiles softly at him now, flattening his small hands against the chest plate of his armor. He doesn’t have to wear his full set when he’s patrolling but the chest plate and leg plates remain, a layer of chain mail underneath them. He doesn’t have to wear his mask either though, which means he’s free to lean down and press his lips to the crown of Louis’ head.

Harry intertwines their fingers when Louis’ hand curls into his, squeezing. “I love you,” Louis whispers then, and Harry’s heart swells with the declaration.

“And I love you. My little prince,” he murmurs back, before ducking down to seal the words with a kiss.

december word prompt challenge 12/02/20

[hobeymakar]

Holiday | M. Barzal Imagine

Dedicated to my girl @softbarzal 

Author’s notes: This is based off the song Holiday by Little Mix. This is the first fic I’ve written in a long time and the first that I’ve ever posted on here, so please be kind to me

Word Count: 2,373

Warnings: Explicit language and brief sexual content, as well as alcohol use

-

Boy, have I told ya? I swear you put the sun up in my sky. When it’s cold, you pull me closer. So hot, it’s like the middle of July (July)

Melinda sees Mat's silhouette appear at the airport in Rio and she could literally cry from how much she's missed seeing him in person. It has been two months since she last saw him and she had been dying to see him again.

"Babe!" he smiles, and that's all it takes for her to run full speed towards him.

He drops his suitcase and she jumps right into his arms, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist. She feels the tears start to roll softly down her cheeks and she hates how emotional she gets after a long time without seeing him.

"Babe, don't cry," he murmurs into her neck, before peppering her face with kisses.

"I can't help it! I missed you!" she replies, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Well I'm here now, baby," he smiles.

She realizes they're in the middle of a crowded airport and jumps back down.

"Welcome to Brazil," she smiles, lacing her fingers with his, as she leads him towards the exit.

"I have a feeling I'm gonna really like it here," he smiles.

They exit the airport and are immediately hit with the humid, tropical air of Rio. They make their way to the car and Mat puts his suitcase in the back while she turns on the car and gets the A/C pumping. He climbs into the passenger seat and she hands him the aux. He plugs his phone into the aux and 20 Something by SZA starts blaring through the speakers, to no surprise.

They sing along to the song while they hold hands over the center console. After 15 minutes, they arrive at her house. She parks her car and he takes his suitcase out of the trunk. They walk up to the front entrance and she unlocks the front door.

"I'm home," she calls out in Portuguese.

They walk into the living room and see a soap opera playing on the TV. They hear footsteps coming down the hall and Melinda's mother appears.

"Hello, you must be Mathew. I'm Gisele," her mother smiles, bringing him into a hug.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he smiles back.

"The pleasure's all mine. Melinda has told me so much about you," she smiles.

"I hope only good things," he replies hopefully.

"Yes, only good things. You and Melinda will be staying in the guest house in the back. I assumed you two would want your privacy. If you need anything, don't be afraid to ask. Consider this your new home for the time being," she explains.

"Thank you," he nods.

Wanna have a little taste, so let me lay you down (Lay you). Nothing better than your skin on mine (Skin on mine). And I been looking for the feeling, looking all my life. Boy you give it to me every time

Melinda leads him toward the guest house in the back, so he can put his suitcase down. They enter the guest house and go straight into the bedroom. He puts the suitcase down and sits down on the bed. She climbs into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and straddling his waist.

"Hi," she breathes out, her lips inches away from his.

Before he gets a chance to say anything, she's kissing him, with an intensity that he's never felt before from her. He kisses back, trying to match her intensity, while she lays him down.

She breaks the kiss to lift her shirt up and he gets with the program right away, lifting her shirt up over her shoulders and head. He tosses it to the ground, not caring where it lands. He takes a look at her blue lacy bra and smiles.

"You're wearing my favorite color on you," he muses, flipping her over gently.

Before being able to make a response, he starts trailing kisses down her neck and chest, while his hands make their way around her back to the clasp of her bra. Just as he's starting to unclasp her bra, the sound of knocking on the door, grabs their attention.

"Lunch is ready, you two," her mother calls out, causing Melinda to groan.

Mat reluctantly gets up and wills his dick to go down from being half-hard in his shorts. Melinda puts her shirt on and suppresses the thoughts of wanting to kill her mom.

"Do we really have to go eat lunch with your mom?" he groans, pissed off that he got cock-blocked by his girlfriend's mom.

"Unfortunately we do. If we're not in the kitchen in five minutes, she'll break the door down and drag us into the kitchen by our ears. That woman doesn't play when it comes to that," she explains, causing him to grimace for a second.

After making themselves look decent, they leave the house and head back into the main house.

Can we make it all night? We don’t stop all up on my body babe, ooh. Touch me like a summer night, you feel like a holiday, ooh-ooh. Up all night, we don’t stop feel up on my body, babe. We’re just dancing the night away. Boy, you feel like a holiday.

So, I’mma let go. No one else in the world could ever come close to you, baby (Uh-uh). Close to you, baby (Uh-uh). We’re taking it slow. Whenever, wherever, we’re lasting forever my baby (Uh-uh). And you’re turning me on (Uh, uh-uh)

Later on in the evening, they arrive at the beach and see the party is in full swing. They walk over to the beach tents and Melinda starts looking for her friend.

After a few minutes, she finds her.

"Melinda!" her friends squeals, bringing her into a hug.

"This is my boyfriend, Mathew. Mathew, this is my friend, Alessandra," she introduces them.

Mat extends his hand for her to shake, but she brings him into a hug instead.

"Melinda has told me so much about you!" she gushes.

"Alessandra, can you come here please?!?" a voice from afar shouts.

"I'll be right back," she sighs, running off towards the guy.

Mat and Melinda greet a few more people they know before grabbing some drinks and making their way towards the music and all the people dancing.

The song Check by Kojo Funds Ft. RAYE comes on and her hips start moving to the afrobeat song. One of his hands goes to her waist as she sways against him. The DJ keeps playing more island jams like Confidence by RAYE ft. Maleek Berry, Finders Keepers by Mabel Ft. Kojo Funds, and Come Closer by Wizkid ft. Drake.

After a while, their drinks are empty and they've grown sweaty from all the dancing.

"Let's go for a swim!" she suggests.

"Okay," he shrugs.

She leads him towards a secluded area of the beach, near a bunch of palm trees and bushes and she takes her cover-up dress off and tosses it on the sand.

"Last one in the water is a rotten egg!" she announces, before running into the water.

Mat chuckles before taking off his shirt and running towards the water. He eventually catches up to her and she's chest deep under the water, while he's only waist deep in the water, due to his height. She jumps onto him, wrapping her arms and legs around him.

"You know now would be a perfect time to finish what we started earlier," she suggests, the liquor making her bolder than usual.

"I am not getting arrested for having sex on the beach," he replies, even though his dick is very much onboard with the idea.

"It's dark, everyone is at the party, and no one comes to this part of the beach anyway," she assures him.

He remains skeptical, but she starts kissing him, trying to get him onboard with the idea.

It works because minutes later, her bikini and his swim trunks are in her hands as he thrusts inside her. Luckily, there aren't many waves in the water, allowing them to remain coordinated enough to fuck in the water. After a few minutes, they both come and take a minute or so to catch their breaths, before putting their clothes back on and making their way back to the shore. 

Luckily at the party, there are beach towels and they grab some, drying their bodies off. They stay for a while, before deciding to head back home. They take an Uber back home and end up fucking some more, going at it well into the night.

Boy, have I told ya? You give it to me like no other guy. We got that heat, yeah, like the summer (Summer). And that’s why I’m so glad I made you mine

The next morning, she wakes up to feather-light kisses across her abdomen. She opens her eyes and sees Mat in between her legs.

"What are you doing?" she asks, still a little groggy from waking up.

"Trying to see if I can eat," he replies cheekily.

"Well, the food is in the kitchen," she teases.

"Well, what I wanna eat is right here," he replies, kissing her hip bone.

After 20 minutes, they're both laying side by side, out of breath.

"Fuck, we need to shower," he sighs.

"Save water and shower together?" she suggests.

"Of course," he smiles.

They shower together and manage to not fuck again in the shower. They get dressed and head into the main house for breakfast. Gisele and Mat start talking in French, which makes Melinda happy that they're getting along so well.

Right as they're finishing breakfast, they hear the front door to the house open and the sound of a male voice entering the house speaking rapid Portuguese.

Mat shoots Melinda a look and she informs him that it's her dad. Her father makes his way to the kitchen and greets Melinda and Gisele before stopping at Mat.

"Dad, this is Mathew, my boyfriend," she introduces them.

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Fernando. Melinda has told me about you," he smiles, shaking Mat's hand.

"How was your business trip, Dad?" Melinda asks, noticing how awkward the exchange between her dad and Mat was.

"It was good. I was able to see your brother while I was in Florida and he sent some gifts with me," he informs her.

His father hands them all their gifts and sits down to have some leftover breakfast.

"Do you kids have any plans today?" Gisele asks.

"We're renting a boat and going out on the water and we're doing some sight-seeing stuff too," she informs her mother.

"Sounds like fun," Gisele smiles back.

So, put your love on me, up on me. Oh, boy, I love it when you’re touching me, holding me. No way nobody put that thing on me, up on me, like you do. Feel like a holiday (Uh, uh-uh). You know that I want it babe (Uh, uh-uh)

After doing some sight-seeing and visiting nearby historical landmarks, they arrive at the dock and get on the boat. Luckily, Mat has his boating license, so they don't need to have a boating driver with them. They sail out to the ocean and pop open a bottle of champagne and take out food from their basket.

They talk about the upcoming season and the upcoming school year for Melinda at Columbia. They even talk about when they first met at the Brooklyn Mets game. She had been chosen for the half-court shot challenge and didn't make the shot. Mat thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and was determined to talk to her. He looked her up on Instagram and slid into her dms, not expecting a response. He never thought that one dm would lead them to where they are now over two years later. They started as friends and after a year of friendship, they got together.

After a while of reminiscing on great memories between them, they head back to the dock. They return the boat and Mat suggests they go for a walk on the beach, with Melinda not expecting anything from it.

They start walking down the beach and at one point Mat stops walking and takes something out of his pocket. She notices it's a white ring box and feels the air get sucked out of her lungs all at once.

"I know what you're thinking and it isn't what you think. This isn't an engagement ring, it's a promise. It's a promise that in the future, preferably after your graduate college, that I'm going to give you a real engagement ring and I'm going to marry you. I hope that's something you want because spending the rest of my life with you is all I want," he explains, while she remains speechless, covering her mouth with her hands.

Soft "oh my gods" fall out of her lips and tears start rolling softly down her cheeks as she's in shock over what's happening.

"So yes, is this what you want?" he asks nervously.

"Yes yes yes, a million times, yes!" she finally cries out.

He slides the ring on her finger and the tears of joy start flowing more freely.

"I'm so in love with you, baby," he smiles, kissing her.

"Me too, babe, me too," she replies, still not sure all of this is real, and not some type of fever dream.

That night, she posts a series of pictures of her and Mat on her Instagram with the caption "whenever, wherever, we're lasting forever my baby 🎶". Mat comments with "I love you forever and ever baby ❤". Mat's phone blows up with texts from teammates and friends asking if he proposed and Melinda's phone blows up with texts from the WAGs, friends, and family, asking if she's engaged now.

They decide to put their phones on Do Not Disturb for the night and spend the night in each other's arms, enjoying the rest of the time they have together before Mat heads back to New York for training camp.

[scmsdivinecultists]

A Day in the Department of Fuckery

Warnings: Occasional curse word and tons of crack.

Written by Admin Karebear

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

It was a peaceful morning within the palace of the heavens. Although powerful beings such as gods did not need sleep, many retired to their private rooms when the sun set and spent quiet time with their families or lovers. The sun was half-way above the horizon now, painting the endless sky a shade of beautiful orange. Most of the gods who lived in the palace had yet to leave their rooms and begin work, but unfortunately, duty called for some at this hour.

“Who the fuck thought this was a good idea?” Teresa complained, dragging her feet down the empty hallway.

“Zyglavis.” Kare replied, turning her head left so she could look at her companion. “Apparently he requested to have the meeting at this time.”

“Who the heck approved it?”

“The king.”

Teresa groaned. “Of course he did. Probably wants to see me suffer.”

Kare smirked. “Well, our job is to amuse him.”

Teresa, the Goddess of Equality, had long black hair, dark eyes and wore eyeglasses for style. She served as the minister for the Department of Fuckery. Kare, the Goddess of Peace, also wore a pair of glasses in front of her brown eyes, though her hair was berry purple and stopped on top of her shoulders. Kare was chosen as the vice-minister for the new department.

The Department of Fuckery was created not long ago by the King of the Heavens. His Highness felt that the palace had grown too dull and was growing quite bored of his old tricks. So, by creating a new department with some of the most chaotic goddesses in the heavens, the king had found a new way to toy with the gods in Wishes and Punishments.

Reaching the large door at the end of the hall, the goddesses went in. On the other side was a grand room held for meetings between all three departments. As expected, the minister and vice-minister of Punishments were already inside.

“Good morning gentlemen.” Kare greeted the men upon entry.

“Good morning.” Zyglavis replied.

Instead of using words, Scorpio replied with a nod, not thrilled about the early hour either. The women took their seats on their side of the circular table, Teresa’s eyes fixing into a glare pointed at Zyglavis. The ambiance of the room turned from quiet to awkward in a matter of minutes.

Finally, Zyglavis let out a sigh. “Lady Teresa, is there something you would like to say?”

If it were possible, Teresa’s glare grew colder. “Yeah. What’s the deal with holding the meeting at this ungodly hour?”

“Punishments has a large task to complete later today. This time was best for us.”

“Oh, so we’re working around your schedule-”

“Teresa.” Kare cut in, giving the Fuckery Minister a look.

Teresa huffed and crossed her arms, slouching back into her chair. Kare wasn’t usually this uptight, but when it came to work that woman didn’t didn’t make a habit of messing around.

The door opened once again, revealing the missing Minister and Vice-Minister of Wishes. Leon, unsurprisingly, looked annoyed while Karno wore a friendly, relaxed expression.

“You’re late.” Zyglavis snapped, his tone sharp and unforgiving.

“Yes, we’re sorry.” Karno apologized, taking a seat. “There were some... distractions this morning.”

Scorpio scoffed. “Figures.”

The corner of Leon’s mouth curled up. “Spent the night alone again, did you?”

Scorpio clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes. “Better then whatever disgusting woman you allowed into your bed.”

Kare bit her bottom lip and quickly clasped a hand over her mouth to hide her smile, trying to withhold the giggles bubbling in her chest. Teresa, on the other hand, burst into a fit of laughter, not caring when Leon’s glare shifted to her.

Zyglavis, who’s eyebrows furrowed another inch, cleared his throat. “It’s time to get started. Punishments doesn’t have the luxury of time the four of you do.”

“You wouldn’t be so behind if you got your problem children under control.” Leon said, a confident smirk tugging at his lips. “Perhaps you should transfer them to Fuckery. Seems like they’ll get more work done over there.”

Teresa wasn’t laughing anymore. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ichthys would fit in, honestly...” Kare muttered.

The Fuckery Minister turned to her Vice-Minister. “Ok, he would, but that’s not the point.”

Karno, seeing that the meeting was going no where, decided to take things into his own hands. “I see that everyone has a lot of energy this morning. We should be able to get through this rather quickly if we begin now.”

Kare nodded in agreement. “Every Department has a problem child and we shouldn’t leave them unattended for too long.”

‘Our entire department is nothing but problem children.’ Teresa thought.

“Fine. We’ll start.” Leon said, sliding a paper across the table in Teresa’s direction. “What the hell is this foreign language?”

“I was going to ask about that, too.” Zyglavis added. “It’s incomprehensible.”

Teresa lifted a brow and picked up the paper, reading the first few lines. “Dammit, Cupid.”

Kare glanced over. “Don’t tell me she-”

“Wrote in human slang again? Why yes, yes she did.”

“Oh boy.”

Teresa cleared her throat and began reading out loud. “This week, I would like to report that there had been an increased number of thots roaming the palace. I have reason to believe these thots were given an invitation to enter by either Leon, Teorus or Tauxolouve from the Department of Wishes, though there is also a possibility that Partheno from Punishments is involved. I can’t help but LOL at how shook some of these thots looked; can’t determine if they’ve been ghosted yet or not. These thots were trying to flex, but I threw hands with those extra goddesses. In the end, I got them to spill some tea, hit them with a ‘Bye, Felicia’, then yeeted their salty asses out the door. It was lit and I wish someone was there to see me snatch their weaves. I can’t help but ROFL at how highkey desperate these thots are to sleep with any of the gods listed above. Now I’m hangry.”

Now finished reading, Teresa looked up at the others. Everyone seated at the table, except for Kare, clearly were unable to process anything that had been said.

Kare broke the silence. “Basically, we’ve noticed a lot of goddess wandering the halls and have had to escort them out. Make sure your guys clean up after themselves.”

Scorpio clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing in rage. “That miget wrote all that garbage for a simple explanation like that?!”

“You say garbage, I say work or art.” Teresa said, folding the report. “Anything else we can translate for you?”

Karno nodded and placed a smaller paper in Kare’s hand. “This was attached to the front of the report.”

Kare read the note first in her head, then out loud. “Tell Aigo to report to my office for a pegging.” Her brows furrowred and she turned to her superior. “What’s pegging?”

Teresa shrugged. “First I’m hearing of it. She must have learned a new word. Did Aigo go see her?”

“Yeah. The way he jumped out of bed and ran, he must know what that term means.” Leon said.

Zyglavis, who usually had a face of stone, was looking away from everyone in attempt to hide his reddened cheeks. This failed, though, as Scorpio noticed right away.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Scorpio asked.

Zyglavis cleared his throat. “Nothing. I don’t see why we are wasting time translating this nonsense.”

Leon smirked. “Oh-ho, so Minister Ponytail does know what ‘pegging’ means.”

“If I did, I would have said so, rabid lion.”

The meeting continued. Gods had a very different sense of time then humans did, but even for the goddesses in Fuckery, time moved painfully slow. When it was finally over, Teresa and Kare returned to their department. Inside were more members of the Department of Fuckery, who had finally left their chambers. Moli, the Goddess of Domination and Maisey, the Goddess of Submission, were having a casual conversation on large couch. Curled up on a single chair was Kay, the Goddess of Innocence.

Moli was twirling a lock of long, red hair around her finger. Her green eyes were focused on Maisey, listening earnestly to her friend. Maisey had long hair that started brown, then faded into a deep shade of green that matched her eyes. Kay’s blue eyes were cast down to the book in her lap. Her hair was also red, but cut to her shoulders. All three were dressed in the Fuckery uniform, which resembled those belonging to Wishes and Punishments, just more of a femanine style. Each goddess in the department wore a velvet-red arm band.

“Thank god that’s over!” Teresa exclaimed, disrupting the quiet atmosphere. “Cupid, you coward! Where are you?”

“She’s in her office.” Moli said, pointing towards the back of the department.

Teresa huffed and stormed towards the office. Kare, choosing to stay behind, took a seat on the couch as well, near Kay’s chair.

“How was the meeting?” Kay asked.

“Chaotic, as always.” Kare replied, nodding towards the book in the red-head’s lap. “Whatcha’ reading?”

“A book from Earth. It’s called 50 Shades of Grey.”

“Sounds interesting. What’s it about?”

Kay’s cheeks turned pink as she shook her head. “You don’t wanna know.”

Kare was confused by the statement, but chose to let it go.

Moli reached over and tapped the vice-minister’s shoulder. “How was Zyg?”

The purple-haired goddess shrugged. “He didn’t seem any different then usual. Although, I’m a little worried he may be over-working himself...”

Maisey raised a brow. “What makes you say that?”

“His face flushed red in the middle of the meeting. If gods were capable of getting sick I would assume it was an illness, but he seemed, I don’t know, embarrassed?”

“Zyg? Embarrassed?” Kay asked, not believing her ears. “Impossible. Over what?”

“Cupid wrote something about ‘pegging’ in one of her notes and no one could figure out what it meant.”

Moli, who looked concerned a minute ago, was now smiling. She almost looked proud.

“Oh, I see.” Moli said, picking up her glass from the coffee table and taking a sip.

Moli and Maisey exchanged a look. Only they knew the reason behind Zyglavis’ embarrassment and who was the cause of it. Kare was about to ask, but Kay quickly shook her head as of saying ‘don’t’. So, once again, Kare was left in the dark.

Maisey downed the rest of her glass. “I gotta ask Hue for more wine. This is good shit.”

“I can’t believe how high your alcohol tolerance is.” Kay said. “Or that your drinking this early in the morning.”

Maisey shrugged. “Gotta get fucked up to fuck things up, right?”

“Preach!” Moli exclaimed, raising her glass in a toast before chugging the rest of it. “Hey, Kare, you want some?”

Kare thought about it. “I really shouldn- ah, screw it. Why not?”

“What about you, Kay?” Maisey asked.

Kay smiled but politely declined.

~

Teresa lifted her hand to knock on the door, but decided against and threw it open instead.

“Cupid, what the hell is this?” Teresa asked the department’s secretary, waving the report from earlier in her hand.

Cupid, who had been calmly writing at her desk, paused to look at the Minister. Cupid, the Goddess of Infatuation, was small but mighty. She had short brown hair and brown eyes that matched. Also in the room was Ruby. Ruby, the Goddess of Dreams, was the youngest in the department and acted as Fuckery’s messenger while training beneath the others. She had dark, medium length hair and gentle brown eyes.

“Ew, it’s you.” Cupid huffed. “That’s the report, you hooligan. Maybe if you stopped putting sugar on your lettuce you’d have figured that out.”

“Sugar on my- At least I don’t go after basic human white boys!” Teresa snapped back. “I knew what this was. Why all the slang? The gods couldn’t make any sense of it.”

“I was doing my job and made the meeting more entertaining.” Cupid smirked. “How ridiculous were their faces?”

Teresa laughed. “I’ve never seen Zyg look more confused in my life. Scorpio was kinda pissed, Leon was flat out confused and Karno was just like ‘oh, ok’. It was priceless.”

“Um, no one is going to get in trouble, right?” Ruby asked nervously. “Those meetings seem important, so...”

Teresa shook her head. “They’re important, yeah, but we’re the department of Fuckery; we’re supposed to mess a around. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be on the receiving end of the king’s boredom. That’s what Leon is for.”

“Ruby helped me with slang research.” Cupid said, patting the younger goddess’ head. “Good work.”

Ruby blushed. “T-Thank you.”

Teresa flashed Ruby a smile before turning back to Cupid. “By the way, what does ‘pegging’ mean? Leon and Karno want to know.”

Cupid laughed. “You don’t wanna know. Trust me. It will ruin you forever.”

“Nothing can ruin me more then the lot of you have.”

“Okay, you asked for it.” Cupid looked at Ruby. “Cover your ears for a minute.”

Ruby was confused, but did as told. Cupid approached Teresa and explained it to her quietly. When she finished, Teresa was frozen in place trying to process what she had just heard. Part of her wasn’t surprised, but at the same time, she was.

Teresa groaned. “Great. Now I have an image of you and Aigo-”

A voice suddenly shouted across the department. “Ladies! We have a problem!”

Teresa, Cupid and Ruby exchanged looks before racing into the main room where the others were. Kare, Moli, Maisey and Kay were still present, but one more goddess now stood amongst them. Bonnibell, the Goddess of Chaos, had a darker complexion then the others and was equally as beautiful with her curly dark hair and powerful eyes. In this moment, her eyes had a fire blazing behind them.

“B? What’s wrong?” Teresa asked.

“I caught a rat trying to sneak in here.” Bonnibell explained.

Ruby flinched. “A-A rat?”

“Poor thing must have lost it’s way.” Kay said. “We should release him outside.”

“Oh, it’s not that kind of rat.”

Bonnibell turned and headed out the door. The other goddesses were confused, but rushed after her, curious to see what their friend had caught.

Out in the hall, the goddesses found someone sitting on the floor, wrists and feet tied together. The god was wearing white clothing, had blonde hair and gold eyes. Everyone recognized him instantly.

“Teorus!” Kare exclaimed, eyes narrowing as her hands placed themselves on her hips. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Teorus laughed nervously. “I heard Fuckery was having some trouble with my goddesses, so I thought I would come guard the hallway. Can’t have anyone getting hurt, right?”

“Oh, so you’re the one who’s been letting all those thots in?” Cupid realized, crossing her arms.

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds mean.” Teorus snapped his fingers to free himself from the bonds and stood up. “If you ladies are thaaaat jealous, my door is always open. I’ll accept you all.”

None of the goddess laughed. In fact, they were all harshly glaring at him. Teorus seemed to realize what grave he had just dug for himself and took off down the hall.

“After him!” Teresa commanded.

The goddesses of Fuckery gave chase, racing through the palace after the blonde god. Teorus could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He was so focused on the women hunting him that he didn’t think to slow down before racing around the corner. As a result, he ran face first into someone. The impact sent Teorus falling onto his ass.

“Ow!” Teorus hissed.

Krioff glared down at him. “What did you do that for?”

“Ah! Krioff!” Teorus exclaimed, still on the floor. “You gotta help me! The girls in Fuckery are reaaally mad at me!”

Krioff looked past Teorus to the mob of enraged goddesses standing before him. “I can see that.”

Knowing better then to get involved, Krioff turned his back and started walking in the other direction.

Teorus’ heart sank. “You’re not gonna help me?!”

“No. See ya.” Krioff replied, not looking back.

The goddesses pounced. Moli and Maisey each took a leg and started dragging Teorus across the floor, heading back to the department. The others followed, ignoring Teorus’ pleas for mercy and forgiveness. The goddesses hauled him into Fuckery and closed the door. Teorus’ screams could no longer be heard echoing in the halls.

~~~~~~~

Minister Teresa: @teresa-yukibito

Vice-Ministed Karebear: @karebearotome

Cupid: @incurablecupidity

Moli: @john-bull-leun

Maisey: @voltage-supernatural-art

Kay: @jer-ich0

Bonnibell: @bonnisimpparker

Ruby: @currentlysleepy