#Very pleasant in winter when it's cold and miserable

[cxpperhead]

While he wouldn't exactly call himself a collector, Copperhead has amassed quite a few teacups and is always looking for interesting additions to add to his hoard. Some of them were pilfered from his earliest victims as trophies of sorts but decided against continuing to steal them in the event that authorities would catch him someday and manage to link these missing cups to as of yet unsolved cases.

[shalotttower]

Fractalize (part 1)

Title: Fractalize

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Summary: Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness.

Word count: 3700+

Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female)

Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating a lot, morbid pondering, suicidal thoughts, explicit/triggering language/words, Reader's thoughts on possible sexual assault in future. Part 2

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Sometimes you stand in front of a mirror and try to picture yourself in another timeline. One where your life didn’t take this specific turn. You try to imagine a different setting, a different apartment - perhaps the one you had before Chrollo started moving you around like a luggage bag. Maybe living in a cottage by the sea or an old farmhouse. Someplace rural, peaceful. With a garden and fresh air, far away from the city noises.

It's difficult at first, your reflection keeps slipping through your mental fingers every time you think the image is set in place. But with practice it becomes easier, sort of, so you can now see yourself clearly as you brush your hair - not here.

A blue dress on, made for nights at parties with friends. Laughing until your stomach hurts and eyes become sore. Making silly faces over alcoholic beverages. Or you can wear your favourite jeans with a high waist and head out to the pub, the same one with crooked stools and a broken sign. Drink cheep bear, eat greasy peanuts from a little bowl, listen to some small band play unknown and unheard songs.

Leave intoxicated, and everything is too fast and vibrant and wonderful until you're back home.

It's your favourite pastime now: imagine, remake and slip.

Imagine. Remake. Slip.

You don't quite remember the last time you laughed, a month ago maybe. Maybe more. Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness, dull, cold, you would compare it to a winter plastered all over your insides, but it's almost colder than that. It freezes everything and turns it into icicles hanging off the roof.

Remake, slip.

You have new vocabulary now.

"Mm" - is for when he asks you if you like a dress or a top and it doesn't matter how you actually feel about it, because it's going to end up being worn anyway.

"Okay" - is for when Chrollo sets another fancy meal for you on a dinner table and "Eat, don't be shy".

"I'm not hungry" - doesn't work with him, even if it's the truth. You always eat what's put in front of you, that's the rule, because he's not above shoving the spoon into your mouth, so you spare yourself the tears and sobs that will probably come with that. It's so bizarre: how much effort he puts into keeping you alive when you're anything but.

"Whatever you want" - is for when he asks you something that requires a choice, between two or three options usually. He's not one for an extensive list.

"If you say so" - for everything else.

You used to delude yourself with the idea that if you managed to appear pleasant enough, pleasant-talking, pleasant-listening, smiling a bit here and there, it would gain you some privileges and perhaps a bit more freedom. It did. But never where it really mattered. Those little things were absolutely inconsequential in the grand scheme. Yes, you can have that sweater, dear. No, you can't have your own bed. Yes, you can come shopping with me, if you give me a kiss. No, you can't take walks without me holding your hand.

Yes this and no that.

Those moments were fragile and so very takeable that they didn't give you any sense of accomplishment, just a short respite and bitter aftertaste that made you feel pathetic.

Wasn't worth it.

***

"Do you like animals, dear?" Chrollo asks out of the blue one day. He's reading something on his tablet while you're curled up on the couch, watching TV.

It's a new series that's been on the major channels for a few weeks, a mystery drama about a girl who moves into a house she inherited from her grandfather. The picture provides a distraction enough to have you forgetting where you are for a brief period three times a week.

You pull the blanket higher. "I do."

He knows it.

The girl on the screen finds a mysterious box hidden in the attic. Perhaps there's something valuable inside. Or information about her grandpa; your fingers tug on a loose blanket thread without much thought.

"What kind?"

Or maybe it's just a time capsule with photos and postcards and random objects collected over the years.

Or-

You had a cat before he took you. A foster grey ragdoll with blue eyes who liked to rest on your belly and bump her head against your chin. You called her Miss Whiskerton and kissed her little nose, because she did act like a proper lady - poised, dignified and entirely too proud to eat food mixed with medicine. The worst enemy Miss Whiskerton has ever had in her cat life was the corner of your couch. When you weren't paying attention, she would dig her claws into the fabric and leave thin lines. You hope that someone took her in.

She probably thought you abandoned her.

"Cats."

Chrollo hums in acknowledgment and continues scrolling through whatever he's looking at - maybe news or auction listings, you don't know nor do you really care. You shift under the blanket, pulling your legs closer to your body.

"We can get one, if you'd like."

"No."

Your answer is immediate and short, without thinking. You know it, you know him by now - there's nothing Chrollo does out of spontaneous generosity, it always benefits him in some way. And you've studied him enough to figure that any pet would only be a tool to keep you tamed and compliant. Puppies make life better. Happier, lighter, with goofy smiling faces and wiggling tails. Cats make life better with soft purrs and paws stomping on your chest. They're too easy to love.

"Why not?" There's a sound of tablet set on a wooden surface.

The girl on the screen is trying to solve a combination lock on the box when the TV switches off and your little world of carefully shot scenes and scripted lines vanishes. You don't need to turn around to guess where's the remote.

She almost had it, but now you won't know what's inside until Thursday evening.

Your reflection stares back from the dead screen, blank-faced and with a blanket pulled up your nose. It tickles a bit. "Because I don't want one."

A chair creaks. "Why?"

You close your eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. This is tiring. Always probing, digging, pushing. Trying to find chinks in your armor, but all you're wearing is just a flimsy dress with thin straps and a blanket you wish could swallow you whole.

"Don't need it."

"You said you like animals," Chrollo sits next to you and places a hand on top of your covered legs. He squeezes your thigh and you stare ahead, wishing he would just leave you alone tonight.

"I do." Your fingers twitch under the blanket, nails scratching at the fabric.

Strange. Sometimes it feels like he understands perfectly that you want to be alone, have time for yourself and don't want his constant physical presence. At the same time Chrollo brushes this all aside like old tin foil wrappers - insignificant. He pulls the blanket down and you cling on it stubbornly for a few seconds before letting go. His thumb and index finger grasp your chin and turn your face towards him so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

There's such still intensity within him that made your skin crawl whenever he looked at you with this much focus and attention. You don't know what he saw there most times, it used to be fear or anger or sadness - right now it's none of these things. Everything inside you feels jammed and stiff.

"We should get a fish then," he continues, brushing hair out of your forehead. "You can watch it swim around, wouldn't that be nice?"

Chrollo talks to you like this sometimes, as if you're a child who needs to be convinced to eat veggies or take medicine. Like you're simple-minded and he's reasoning with you out of good will. It's sickening. You hate it.

"I don't want a pet," you repeat the words slowly. "If you're going to give me something only to take it away, then I don't want it."

His finger leisurely stroking your chin pauses at the edge of your bottom lip. Something flickers behind his eyes, it's barely noticeable but you've become good at catching those minuscule shifts. He smiles, yet there's nothing joyful about it. "Take it away? Why would I do that, dear?"

"Because that's what you do. Because that's how you are." You don't try to pull free from his hold, he'll only tighten it; not enough to hurt, no, he is too suave and polished for that - or wants to appear so - but enough for you to feel trapped under his palm.

There's something off about you, you can tell, but are not quite able to discern what or where. It sits in the very structure of your bones and eats away with ravenous appetite. An imbalance in the gut. Fever-warm body, cold fingers. Thoughts like potholes.

"And how am I exactly, according to you?" His voice is light, playful, a stark contrast to his eyes that study you with unnerving precision. Chrollo rarely loses his temper and never gets violent with you (yet, you correct yourself), but he has other ways of expressing displeasure, and they're petty, ugly and cold.

"Cruel," the word rolls off your tongue so effortlessly that almost frightens you; it's easy to tell the truth when you're this numb.

He looks taken aback for a split second, and the smile freezes. His hand stops midway to your hair. Then everything's gone.

Chrollo releases you and leans back into the cushions, almost thoughtful, like your observation is something that requires careful consideration.

"I suppose, it depends," he says finally.

"On what?"

"On how you choose to see things. Your perspective is bound to be biased, dear."

You don't respond.

To continue this conversation would be pointless and circular, like running on a treadmill, like everything else between you and Chrollo, really. He simply has too many answers to any possible argument, and no matter how convincing you manage to make them sound, he'll poke holes into each one. You don't want a fish. Or a cat. Or a dog, a bird, anything that moves and breathes and looks at you with big, trusting eyes.

Chrollo is cruel. Not in a way that's straightforward and brutal. Not in a way of someone who'd tear your limbs apart or rip off a fly's wing to see it wiggle. You have no doubt that he is capable of such a thing, but that would be uncouth. Cruelty in his case is a quieter, more delicate affair - in a way of a sculptor who'd chisel off everything unnecessary and unneeded, no matter the size or significance, to produce something entirely his.

His hands are soft, his voice is always composed, and he wears well tailored clothes. But the rest is sharp, clean and merciless.

"I think I'll go to bed," you say and push away the blanket.

"It's early."

"Mm."

He takes your hand just as you're about to slide off the sofa. Chrollo's always faster than you, always ahead and always observing, and that little realization while bitter is not so shocking anymore, more like another fact that you file away from your interactions.

You watch him. Wait.

"You're distraught," he says. "But you should know by now that there's no need for that."

Your hand remains in his grasp, limp and heavy.

"I don't enjoy seeing you upset, dear. Even more if you make false conclusions."

You turn to see the expression on his face - and there isn't one, at least not the type that most people would make. There are no frowning eyebrows, no clenched jaw that would indicate irritation, nothing like that.

"You're giving me too little credit," his tone is quiet as he runs his fingers up and down your wrist. "My intentions are not to hurt you. They are much, much sweeter than that."

"But you would," you say quietly and lean closer, ignoring the obvious implication behind his words. There is a hollow sensation inside of your head that prompts you to speak, everything is hollow - body and mind, heart, the space in your guts, your throat. "You would hurt me, if that's what you thought was necessary. Rip me apart and leave me deformed beyond repair, to fit into whatever framework you've laid, you would do that."

You're not being deliberately cryptic or fatalistic. These are your observations, based on a period of months spent together. They take root in no one being there for you anymore, in your phone which is long gone, in your closed accounts, your missing laptop and old clothes, the entire previous life in the city that has been discarded for something new. Chrollo was very methodical, you can give him that.

He doesn't listen, he studies your responses. Every single word. He has a talent for that, for absorbing everything about you while hardly ever letting you glimpse his interior - all that you know about him are tiny slivers which you picked up through living together, observation, accidental bits.

You expect him to contradict your statement, to offer a logical explanation why you're wrong, but instead Chrollo brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss against your knuckles. The touch is light and dry.

"You're not entirely wrong, dear," he says and moves closer until you can smell his aftershave, something fresh.

His proximity is uncomfortable, it always is and probably always will be.

"I'm right then," you say.

"No," he keeps your hand in his grasp. "But you're not entirely wrong either. That's what makes you interesting."

There's a strange kind of fondness in his voice, it's subtle, yet undeniably present. You've never felt less interesting in your life, in a dress with thin straps that's too fancy for a lazy day at home and your bare feet and tangled hair.

"If you say so," you respond and slowly tug your hand free. "I really want to sleep now."

You get up, and he lets you go without another proposition. The blanket falls off onto the sofa, and before you slip into the semi-darkness of the bedroom, he says,

"Not beyond repair. But I like to believe we can both agree it doesn't have to come to that."

***

The drive feels endless. Houses and streets blur in a mix of colors, shapes and people, which soon change to an empty highway with greenery on both sides. Trees and fields, tall grass swaying gently in the wind and rare cars passing you by. Chrollo's hand is resting on your leg; he hasn't moved it since the car started, but you choose to ignore it in favor of your regular pastime, the one that's made of imaginary worlds and places where the timeline stretches differently.

Mostly it's just you and the layout of your fake apartment.

Imagine, remake, slip. Repeat the steps until it becomes muscle memory.

You have this daydream on loop now. Wooden floor and wide windows, lots of sunlight. Books everywhere, comfy clothes and not a single skirt in your closet. A cup of tea with honey in the morning, and Miss Whiskerton curled into a soft grey ball on your lap. You feed her salmon in a shiny bowl, occasionally she catches a lizard outside and drops the tail on your doorstep as an offering, looking immensely proud of herself.

A smile slips on your face without meaning to, a wobbly thing; you promptly wipe it off.

It would be a crime to show such blatant joy. This fantasy has become so sweetly personal that every fiber of your being resists even acknowledging it in front of Chrollo. He can sense a stray happy thought from miles away, like a hound, and will never stop prodding until everything is raw and tender. You've learned to say less in his presence, especially if it's something that has you invested. Chrollo knows how to pick things apart.

You lean your cheek against the glass. This world would never happen, never in a million years, but dreaming doesn't hurt anyone, does it?

Your grandma, wearing an apron, sets a tray filled with fresh pastries on a table, because she's amazing like that. She fusses and worries and pretends to scold you. For not calling enough, for not coming sooner, for not eating well. For leaving.

"Dear."

You almost jump.

Chrollo's voice brings you back where his hand is heavy on your leg, you're wearing a dress above the knee and aren't allowed to use scissors or knives.

"Mm?"

"That frown of yours," he says, turning into a small road. The surroundings change again, it's quiet here, not a soul in sight. "It's been there for fifteen minutes now."

You sit up straight and move your hair out of your eyes. Chrollo's a perceptive one, so this is a reminder not to sink too deep around him, unless you absolutely need it.

"Was just thinking."

"You do it a lot lately," he states and looks at you from the corner of his eye.

True, but you have no intention to confirm it. First, he won't like the reason behind these thoughts. Second, he will dig and try to worm his way in. No. Most of what you've been fixating on, staring out of the window like a mindless drone, or reading and rereading pages that you barely grasped, would fail to create anything more complex in his heart than desire to pull it out.

For whatever twisted reason, Chrollo cares for your well-being, or, more precisely, your acceptance of his advances. Yet his way of caring isn't nurturing in any sense.

Chrollo's interest (you don't dare call it love) is crushing, too heavy to carry - he'll find what troubles you and "fix it" in way that will twist it into something pathetic. Something that shows how you have nothing else to cling on but him. You're not stupid enough to keep falling into this trap. Being a slow learner doesn't mean you don't learn at all.

He's done it before. He'll do it again. So you reply, "I haven't noticed."

His thumb rubs circles on your thigh; you press your shoulder against the car door as if hoping it might open. It doesn't, much to your disappointment.

"What was on your mind then?"

Something you shouldn't tell him, that's for sure. Chrollo's watching you, even if his eyes are trained on the road.

"Random stuff," you say. Half-truths, half-truths are safe. "A weird dream I had this morning."

If you bothered to look, you'd see a raised eyebrow and the faintest hint of amusement at the corners of his mouth. You don't.

"Tell me."

You hate when he does that.

"It was boring."

"I'm interested in anything that made you so pensive."

Chrollo likes conversations with you, even if they're short. You can tell that he does, or he wouldn't be trying to make you talk and getting subtly frustrated when you choose not to. It never shows outright, Chrollo is very gifted at keeping his calm exterior, but there are certain giveaways like the slight tightening of his hand, an emphasized "dear", a pause here, or a quiet exhale through the nose. You could make a list out of these.

If you ignore him, he gets quiet and handsy or petty enough to throw away the only dress you feel comfortable in. Stop bringing you new books. Take you to places you hate.

It's always the small things that kill you, not the big, dramatic ones. The devils in the details.

"There was a lizard," you begin, and he hums in response, prompting you to continue. "It was cute with brown spots and a tiny tail."

Lies weave themselves easily, intertwine with truths and turn it into something that resembles a story.

"It was sitting on my windowsill and I wanted to pet it. A cat came out of nowhere and almost ate it, then I woke up. It's a silly dream."

There. Nothing to dissect here, not that you can see. Just a nonsensical dream, filled with random happenings and strange emotions.

"And that's why you frowned for fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, I got sad."

Yes, you think. Yes, Chrollo. I frowned, because I care for the damn lizard that doesn't exist, an animal from a dream. A stupid musing, nothing special, a very mundane and simple thing, because people do have silly dreams sometimes, and it's not a crime. It's not a crime and has nothing to do with that fact that I have a whole dream world where I'm not with you in my head.

"How peculiar. You never struck me as the type to get upset over something like this."

"You never asked," you respond flatly and Chrollo's hand on your thigh moves an inch.

It brushes up, closer to where you really, really don't want it to be, so you squeeze his fingers hard and redirect them to the curve of your knee.

"True," he says after a pause, not sounding too bothered. A month ago you would've brushed his hand off completely, probably that's why. Chrollo is convinced that with enough patience and effort he'll be able to close that final barrier between you both. Time, coaxing, a dose or two of endearment, some carefully calculated touch - but you'd rather stick a knife through your ribs than have sex with him. Or his patience will simply run out and he'll rape you. You're not delusional. Not a fool. "Well, that can be fixed. I'll make sure to ask about your dreams more often, dear."

You lean back into the seat and stare ahead, this time without anything pleasant on your mind. Of course he will. Of course he'll take this as a sign to dig deeper and invade that small bit of solace, Chrollo can't simply co-exist. He wants it all.

"Mm," you say.

Your new vocabulary is such a handy thing.

[whumpshaped]

whumpiest winter song ever i said i'd write something inspired by it so here it is

tw implied noncon drugging, betrayal

"I really can't stay," Whumpee said apologetically. "I'm sorry. This evening has been so very nice–"

"But look outside, dear." Whumper stepped towards the window, pulling the curtains aside. "You can't leave during the heaviest snowfall."

Whumpee's eyes flickered to the all-white landscape, then back to Whumper's face. Really, they were doing a horrible job of pretending to be concerned instead of delighted at the prospect that their guest might have to stay the night. Had Whumpee been any less in love, they might've done a better job of pretending to be offended by that.

"I have to, I do. My parents will be worried if I stay too long." Despite saying that, Whumpee stayed motionless as Whumper let go of the curtain and walked up to them, taking both their hands in their own.

"Your hands are already so cold. You wouldn't last a moment out there." Whumper rubbed the skin gently, their eyes never leaving Whumpee's. "I'm sure they'd understand if you stayed for just one more drink. Just until the storm settled."

"I shouldn't," they whispered.

"But you must. It's really not your fault, I'll tell them that myself if I have to."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Whumpee quickly yanked their hands out of Whumper's hold, and they weren't sure whether the heat they felt was coming from the cosy fireplace or something else entirely. "There's no way I'll let you explain anything to them! It'd look even worse!"

Whumper gave them a soft smile, then gestured towards the empty wine glasses on the table. "So? One more?"

"No, no, I can't. I can't." They turned around before they could change their mind, quickly putting on their hat. "I'll just call a cab, it'll be fine."

Whumper was behind them in an instant, pulling the hat right off before they could've grabbed onto it. "Not in this weather. I doubt they're even working."

Whumpee tried to snatch the hat away from them, but Whumper stepped away, hiding it behind their back. "What will the neighbours think?" they asked with a half-hearted show of anxiety. "It's so late–"

"They're likely asleep by now," Whumper said smoothly. "Just one more. I'm sure the storm will go away soon. Hm?"

Whumpee sighed heavily. Well, there was no way around it, they supposed. The storm really did look bad... "Just one more."

Whumper lit up instantly. They threw the hat on the sofa and walked over to the table, grabbing Whumpee's glass first. "You should put on some records while I pour. No sense in spending this awful, miserable extra time in silence."

"Why not make my captivity as pleasant as possible..." Whumpee mumbled, giving in easier than they should've. They could hear the glasses clinking and the wine sloshing as they looked through the record collection, eventually deciding on something slow and... well, not romantic, not really, it was just... pleasant, they were pleasant tunes.

"Good choice," Whumper remarked, and Whumpee didn't have to look to know they were smiling. They turned around with an exasperated look, but they didn't fight it when Whumper handed them the glass.

"I'm being way too lenient." They took a sip, then went to sit down before they could've been cornered. Whumper followed suit, settling on the sofa a touch too close to them for it to be considered polite. "I should be saying no to all of this."

"Just to hurt my pride?"

"So I don't give you the wrong idea."

Whumper gave them a sly smile. "I think my ideas are fine, thank you."

Whumpee took another sip, bigger this time. This heat creeping up their neck and spreading across their cheeks had to be coming from the fire, or maybe the damn drink. "Goodness, I can't even imagine what my sister must be thinking. And my brother! Oh, he must be standing watch by the door."

"A terrifying thought," they cooed, shifting in their seat and mysteriously ending up a couple inches closer to them than previously.

"And my aunt, too... She will never let this go," they babbled on, emptying their glass right after. Whumper watched with the look of a cat that got the cream. "She'll tell everyone, she'll start rumours..."

"Why abstain if people are going to gossip anyway?" Whumper reached out, and Whumpee stupidly thought they might caress their face or run their fingers through their hair — instead they just took the glass, skin brushing against skin as their touch lingered.

"It's not abstaining," they huffed. Distantly, they noted how Whumper's glass of wine seemed entirely untouched. "That implies a level of desire, doesn't it?"

Once the glasses were out of the way and on the table, Whumper sat back, leaving barely any distance between the two of them. "And you don't want this at all, of course," they said sarcastically.

"Not one bit," Whumpee confirmed, their eyes darting to Whumper's lips as soon as they leaned in.

"I'm truly just horrible, then."

[madangel19]

hi bff i cant remember if u have reqs or anything open rn but i wld sell my soul for some sweet snowy cozy raindrop fluff

Sweet and cozy Raindrop fluff coming right up, boss!

Warnings: None, but there is some very brief implied spice

Word Count: 1110

The snow fell heavily outside, turning the church courtyard into a frozen winter wonderland. Siblings of sin, both young and old, were outside throwing snowballs at each other and having the time of their lives. Even some ghouls had joined them, pelting the older siblings with snowballs and making snow angels with the younger siblings.

Dewdrop took one look out the window and decided it was the perfect time to stay inside. There was no way he was going to go out in the cold when it was nice and cozy by the fire in one of the many living rooms. The books were ignored as he scrolled through his phone. He kept getting pictures from the ghoulettes with updates on what was going on outside. They kept asking him to come out, but he told them no each time. 

He only liked the snow when he was inside. It was pretty to look at, but he wasn’t going anywhere near it. He was better off bundled up inside, but it sucked being alone when most everyone was having fun outside. Sure, his beloved pack members would come back inside and he would warm them up if they asked, but being away from them for just a short period of time made him unhappy.

Dewdrop got another video of Cumulus being bombarded by neverending snowballs by Swiss and he grumbled, tossing it to the side and pulling his fuzzy blanket closer to him.

“Those snowballs would melt in my hands,” he grumbled, picking up a remote and turning the TV on. He might as well pass the time with a movie.

“Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you, Dew,” a familiar voice said from the doorway. 

Dewdrop perked up and turned his head to see Rain walking into the room. The water ghoul was bundled up in his comforter, looking beyond miserable, but upon seeing Dewdrop, the misery melted away into relief. 

“Hey. You slept in,” Dewdrop said, smirking as he scooted over to give the water ghoul space on the couch. 

Rain never slept in unless it was too cold. Whenever it got cold like this, the water ghoul would rarely ever leave his room unless it was to get food. Dewdrop could recall the many times he had to heat up the poor ghoul on many cold nights.

“It’s fucking cold and no one was in the den,” Rain grumbled as he went to sit next to Dewdrop.

“Yeah, most everyone is outside having fun,” Dewdrop replied, pulling the water ghoul closer to him. Rain sighed and cuddled close to him, keeping the comforter on top of them both as he wrapped his arms around Dewdrop’s middle. 

“So it’s just us two inside then?” Rain asked, adjusting himself so that he laid comfortably on top of Dewdrop. The fire ghoul grunted and laid back on the couch. The water ghoul was cool to the touch but after a few moments of being held, he warmed up. 

“Yup. Just us. I’m sure the rest of the pack will need warming up whenever they get inside,” Dewdrop said, running his fingers through Rain’s silvery hair. Still cool to the touch, but so pleasant to feel. The water ghoul purred happily, resting his head on his chest.

“They can lay by the fire. I’m not letting you go anytime soon,” Rain murmured, wrapping his tail around Dewdrop’s waist for good measure. 

There was no arguing with that. Dewdrop chuckled softly as he held the water ghoul close to his body. Having him here made him feel all the better. The others could play outside for as long as they wanted, but once they came asking to be warmed up, he was just going to direct them to the fireplace or they could help each other warm up.

“You gonna sleep over tonight, Dew? You know how cold it gets in the den when it snows,” Rain said, giving him a knowing look that made Dewdrop’s cheeks grow warm.

“You don’t have to ask me twice, babe. A sleepover sounds amazing,” he replied, pecking Rain on the cheek. The water ghoul sighed happily and nuzzled him back.

There was a notification from Dewdrop’s phone, but he ignored it. Another video of the ghoulettes losing at a snowball fight most likely. Instead, he grabbed the remote again and put on a random movie. Frozen. 

“How fitting,” Rain crowed.

“I’m not like Elsa. The cold bothers the fuck out of me,” Dewdrop replied, making the water ghoul laugh before getting comfortable in his arms and the nest of blankets again. 

“Is that Frozen I hear?” Copia asked no one in particular as he walked through one of the many hallways in the ministry. He had just come in from being outside and had gotten into a dry change of clothes. After making a visit to the kitchen where a large batch of hot chocolate was being made, he decided to walk around with his cup.

Most of the siblings and ghouls were still outside, but he noticed a few were missing. Rain and Dewdrop had to be somewhere in the ministry. Knowing them, they were probably curled up in front of a fire, but where they together?

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a familiar song from that Disney movie and he decided to investigate. Some younger siblings were probably watching it together. Joining them wouldn’t hurt.

He came across an open doorway where the music was coming from and the smell of a fire. He smiled and looked in, taking a sip from his hot chocolate. He paused when he saw the sight before him.

Dewdrop and Rain were cuddled up on the couch, fast asleep in each other’s arms. Rain was on top of Dewdrop, his head poking out from the comforter that engulfed them both. Dewdrop looked crushed, but there was a pleasant smile on his face. Both ghouls looked so comfortable as they slept together, their purrs drowning out the movie. It would be a grave mistake to interrupt them to let them know about the hot chocolate. 

“Ahh, how sweet,” Copia whispered. He wished he had his phone on him to take a picture of the ghouls, but he had left it with Sunshine who wanted to take pictures and videos when they were outside

He noticed the lights were still very bright in the room and he turned them off. The only light came from the fire that was slowly dying. Dewdrop could easily reignite whenever they woke up.

“Sogni d'oro. Sweet dreams, you two,” he said, turning to leave the ghouls alone.

[caffeineinducedbeing]

frostbound

---

It was a cold and bristly evening. Heavy flakes of snow hit the windowpanes before falling to the ground to join their companions, forming thick snowbanks, and covering the beautiful grounds of Redmont in luscious white clouds.

It was a truly wonderful time of the year.

To be inside where it's warm.

Cold weather had always agreed with Alyss, the hot sweaty environment that the summer offered was just too miserable to the courier. She preferred being comfortable in a warm cloak than sweating in the unrevealing clothing that her gender was expected to adorn.

Thankfully, during the summer months. She was usually at home with her husband; where she could wear whatever the hell she wanted with no commentary from him. Well, no insulting commentary anyway. But Will Treaty had an excellent command of the Araluen language and knew exactly how to use it to stimulate a reaction from his beautiful wife.

And that usually went exactly as planned.

But today, it was below freezing. So Alyss covered as much of her skin as possible, and then more on top of that. She felt like a ball of cloth, but she was warm. There's no fashion in the winter months anyway, sacrifices were made for comfort and no one gave two shits about it.

It just meant that at the end of a long workday, you had to put all of those layers back on, and then ride home. And although the ride was short-- just under half an hour, it felt like days when you were shivering beneath your coats and scarves, all your energy being forcefully sucked into the unproductive shivering that your body insists on subjecting you to.

Alyss stared out the massive window in her office, watching the snow fall, dreading what came next on her schedule and contemplating staying at the castle tonight. Will would presume that's what she was doing when she wasn't home within the hour, it wasn't uncommon for one of them to stay at Redmont when they had a late night, when the ride to the cabin seemed too tiresome.

They didn't like to do that though, neither of them slept as well without the other anymore, although the mutual dependency conflicted with their jobs. But that's how it was. Alyss felt safer with Will beside her, and Will slept more peacefully with Alyss beside him. Without either of those things, it wasn't the same.

That's why Alyss truly didn't want to not go home tonight, but the ride through the deepening snow seemed too detrimental. And who knows, maybe it would be too deep to ride through in the morning, and the project she was working on at the moment couldn't be postponed.

She would stay at Redmont for the night, Will would understand. Not that she ever doubted he would.

She could ask Arald for a guest suite, he would of course give it to her free of charge, he tended to spoil her like that; the advantages of being the Baron's surrogate daughter, she thought with an interior smile.

But it was already 8:30. She didn't want to bother the Baron. The next option was quite obvious.

She knocked on Halt and Pauline's door, patiently waiting for one of them to answer.

The door swung open with a creak, and revealed a very cheery-looking Pauline, "hello!" she cried, "come in dear, what a pleasant surprise."

Alyss stepped inside, her gratitude evident as she addressed Pauline, "I'm sorry for the impromptu visit. Would it be possible for me to stay here tonight? The snow is looking rather—" Her words trailed off as she locked eyes with her husband, who was seated on the couch with a mischievous grin

He stood as Alyss entered, playfulness dancing in his eyes. "Looks like we had the same idea."

Alyss suppressed the urge to reciprocate a smile.

"It looks like we did."

He took the bag from her hands, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek as he did so.

"Far too cold to endure horseback in this weather, hmm?"

"Mmhmm" she nodded at him, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and suspicion.

"You were meant to be working from home today, Will," she quipped.

Will looked back over at her, feigning confusion, "Was I?"

Alyss nodded back at him. A knowing glance passing between them.

Will shook his head, "Must have slipped my mind as I rode over," he responded with a wink as he crashed back on the couch with an air of nonchalance.

Alyss shook her head, exchanging a look with Halt that conveyed a shared exasperation.

"He follows you like a lost puppy, have you noticed that?" Halt remarked dryly, his voice laced with amusement.

Alyss chuckled, her gaze shifting back to Will.

"He does indeed." She agreed, slipping off her winter cloak. Will's casual demeanor couldn't hide the truth—his devotion to her was apparent in every glance and gesture.

She settled on the couch next to her husband, curling into his side naturally.

"But I wouldn't have it any other way."

[renlyslittlerose]

So my estranged grandfather passed away in the wee morning hours today. Seventeen years and one day since my Canadian grandfather died - which is very odd.

He wasn't what I would say was a good grandfather, nor a good father. He wasn't even a very good man. I started distancing myself from him around 2016, and was fully out of his life by 2018. He was verbally and emotionally abusive, enjoyed toying with people and their emotions, used people for his own personal gain, gaslit like it was his fucking job, and was generally neglectful to his duties as a father and a grandfather - especially to my sister and I. I can count on one hand the times he actually remembered my birthday when I was a kid, but even those moments were probably prompted by my mum or his girlfriend or his ex-wife.

But he had his moments, and I think I should say a few words about him and who he was.

He was born in a town in Hungary in 1935, near Lake Balaton. He was the youngest of the children, his brothers old enough to serve during WWII. During the war he talked about how he and his friends would go out to the abandoned battlefields and collect ammunition from the German and Soviet tanks, pile them in cow pastures, and set them off to scare the cows and other livestock. He said once school resumed after the war, a lot of kids came into class with missing fingers or even missing hands. He was lucky in that the only injury he received during his dumbass-ery was slicing his ass open on a destroyed German tank.

After the war he remained in the area, growing up with minimal education and helping run the household (his eldest brother had committed suicide shortly after the war was over). But in 1956, Hungary had their failed revolution in a desperate attempt to kick out the Soviet occupation. My grandfather wasn't part of the fighting, but he had enough sense to listen to one of the elders in the village who said that if they wanted to get the fuck out of Hungary and past the Iron Curtain, now was their time to run.

So he fled to Austria with some of his friends. They stayed in a refugee camp where he tried to learn basic English, before Canada accepted Hungarian refugees in 1958. So, along with some friends he'd made in the camp, he got on a boat and had a miserable trip across the Atlantic to the harbour of Halifax (he said that he could barely eat the entire trip because he was so sea sick). From there, he was put on a train that went across Canada, and he could get off on at any stop and just... start a new life.

It was, of course, the dead of winter when he and his friends arrived. Canada during the winter isn't pleasant - doubly so when you've come from the relatively mild Hungarian countryside. But one of his friends had family in Vancouver, and so he suggested they stay on the train all the way to the West Coast. Satisfied with this idea, my Papa agreed.

Only he made it as far as my home city in Alberta. You see, my city has this funky weather phenomena called a 'chinook.' Chinooks are when warm winds from the Pacific flow into the area and rush down the mountains and across the prairies, causing an inversion of air that rapidly warms up the city for a few days. We can go from -20C degree temperatures one day, to +15C the next. So when my Papa arrived in my city it was warm. Deceptively so. Ignoring his friend's suggestion they just continue on to Vancouver, my Papa decided to get off and start his new life.

The next day the train rolled out, and with it the freezing cold temperatures returned.

Despite it all he remained where he was. Life as a Hungarian refugee was tough. He knew very little English, and wasn't sure how to navigate life in a city that had developed past his home town in Hungary. He told me a story about trying to figure out how an automatic door worked, as well as trying to ask a store clerk where the bars of soap were, only to be taken to the canned soup aisle.

But as he learned English and adapted to Canada, he decided to sign up for architectural classes. He eventually got good enough at the gig that he became an expert in concrete as a building material, and helped to build one of the more iconic buildings in my city that is shaped like a saddle (which, if you know, you know).

In 1961, he and some fellow Hungarians decided to go to a dance at the local German-Canadian club where he met my German grandmother. She'd just moved to Canada, and had made the unfortunate decision to dance with the handsome Hungarian lad in the corner. Few months later she realized she was pregnant with my mum, and they got married before she gave birth.

Their marriage wasn't a happy one. But regardless, my Grandma had two more children with him before filing for divorce.

Growing up my Papa was always this strange, nebulous figure in my life. My sister and I were the eldest of the grandchildren, so we had to deal with his fumbled attempts at trying to be a grandfather when it was clear he didn't care. My mum would take us over to his house where they would argue the whole time, while my sister and I sat in the basement watching Jesus Christ Superstar on repeat. Gifts for birthdays usually came in the form of money, but I can remember the few times he actually bought me something. One time, he took me to the circus which ended up terrifing me because of the loud noises and bright lights. But instead of yelling at me or mocking me, he took me out of the show and bought me a teddy bear to sooth me. It was light brown with a white belly, with a yellow ribbon as a tie. I cherished that thing for a long time.

When I was old enough to carry a conversation, and he realized that I had an interest in ancient history like he did, we started chatting more. For a time it was fine. But then I realized that he liked to poke and prod and jab - liked to make people uncomfortable because it made him laugh. I would say something about my studies, and he would retort with something completely bigoted just to see me get flustered. I'll admit that I put up with it longer than I should have. The final straw was when I told him what my Masters studies would be on - how ancient Greek ideals on masculinity and male same-sex relations influenced the early German Gay Rights movement. His response was 'Good - show the world how your grandmother's people are a bunch of homos.'

He didn't believe what he was saying. He wasn't homophobic - unless he knew he could make it hurt. Which is almost worse, in a way.

After that I distanced myself. I didn't go to any family events he would be present at, and if I was forced to go I wouldn't speak with him. The last time I saw him was a few years ago when he was giving out cheques from his estate, under the assumption that he only had a few years left. I was surprised that I was even included, but then I realized that once again it was someone else in his life that had made sure I was looked after. This time it was my aunt.

I think the last thing I said to him was 'take care' or something along those lines. An impersonal greeting, one made out of social obligation more than anything.

I'm not sad about his passing, but I do worry about those who are left behind. My mother claims she doesn't care, but I know she still has lingering feelings - how could she not, he was her father, after all. My aunts are grieving terribly for a person that I never got to meet. Not really. My cousins who had a better relationship with him for the most part, are probably feeling the loss. And my sister, bless her, is worried for everyone else. His death will leave a crater in the family - one last 'fuck you' to his children, whom he loved to see fight over his affections and attention.

He had a lot of bad qualities, but some good as well. He was determined, he was curious, and he loved to learn. He was brave in the sense of leaving everything he knew behind just for a shot at something better. He had a good sense of humour (when he wasn't being a jerk), and I think deep down he did love his family. Just maybe not as much as he loved himself.

Nyugodjék békében Sandor 💕

[loserboyfriendrjl]

christmas day had to be one of regulus’ least favorite days. while people that merely pass in front of the high-arched windows of his house, are decorated in tinsel, gifts under their arms and laughter bouncing off the tall, old buildings, inside his house, it was miserable.

he was sitting outside, on one of the cold, marble benches in front of the fountain. the soil and the paved alleys were covered in a thin layer of snow, and the trees were heavy with its weight.

mere steps away from him, in the house, the preparations for the diner were almost done. the food was already ready to be set on the table, and the house was decorated with elegant silver, white, black and green flowers and ornaments, and the christmas tree towered in the dining room. the fire was burning, giving the room an eerie, golden glow.

the guests were arriving, too. regulus had politely welcomed his aunt and uncle, he had offered to take lucius and narcissa’s coats (his cousin had been very polite, and she had offered to sit down next to him, in order to help him through the usual discussions of the high-class, pureblooded society), and he had kissed bellatrix’s thin, gloved hand (he noticed the delicate details on her wedding ring, and he felt something that resembled pity towards her; they were chained to the same destiny, after all, were they not?).

however, after the usual light conversation between him and his guests, and the what was supposed to be reassuring, but awkward and slightly uncomfortable pat on the shoulder from him father (“you are acting like a proper gentleman now, regulus, and i expect you to continue as such.”), he had politely excused himself from the discussions and slipped through the door and into the garden.

recently, he did not have the time to appreciate the beauty of winter. in fact, it was his favourite season; the quiet, the peaceful white that covered everything around him, making for a picturesque sight. looking around himself, at the snow and the windows and at the cloudy sky, announcing snowing for the second time that day, regulus almost smiled. winter was truly, utterly beautiful.

he used to not be so bitter about christmas, either; it was more pleasant when, just days before, he would spend his birthday with sirius, and during the christmas dinner they would sneak into the kitchen and, when no one was looking, they would nick two of the smooth, velvety red cakes and sneak them into their room, the raspberry and white chocolate heavy on their tongues. they’d, quietly, sing carols and, for just a day, they would act like family. even if it was just the two of them.

now, sirius was probably spending christmas with the potters and with the extended family (by extended family, regulus now considered lily evans, now potter, it seemed, remus lupin, who was, as regulus had found out, sirius’ boyfriend, and all of their other idiotic friends.)

but regulus did not need sirius at all, actually. he did not celebrate his birthday at all that year, and he was going sit quietly at the table, occasionally exchanging thoughts about matters that did not have any significance to him with whoever he would have the displeasure of sitting next to, utterly numb and with a profound lack of interest, almost a routine of some sorts.

christmas was quiet without sirius and, for the first time ever, regulus black allowed the small, frail child in him to grieve for his brother.

[princess-tulip-writes]

I’m back

“Honestly, it feels like I’ve needed you my whole life. Like there was an empty piece of me that was just waiting for you. And now you’re finally here.”

Scratching his back gently when he can’t fall asleep

“I'll choose you. No matter how hard it is. No matter what people say. Every time, I'll choose you.”

I’m not leaving you. Not now, not ever

Slow dancing???! Like you’re alone there’s not even music maybe but just… slow dancing alone together

And again I’m such a sucker for Lucien but you can write for whoever you want of course <333

“such a nice evening, isn’t it?” you asked your mate, your attention looking out the large window that displayed the falling snow as it stuck to the dying grass and trees that surrounded your shared cottage.

even as you were gesturing to the scenery outside, lucien’s eyes couldn’t rip away from your glowing face, his heart full as your aura beamed at the sudden winter weather. his hand squeezed yours lightly, feet still swaying with yours as you both thought of different calming things.

“is it, my love.” he said. “a very nice evening indeed.”

he was referring to you, of course, his full focus was on adoring you in your blissful state. he was sure that later you’d want to play in the fresh snow, throwing balls of snow playfully at the youngest vanserra and eventually end up kissing underneath the winter stars by nightfall with icy lips.

you gasped in delight at the unexpected sight of a baby fox waddling in the snow past the nearest tree to the window, giving you a clear view of newly born mammal.

“lucie, look!” you exclaimed, pointing your conjoined hands to the fox in the snow, white powder coating it’s fur.

he hesitantly tore his gaze away for your excited face, a small smile on his face from the shared glee he felt through the bond.

“oh my, what a pleasant surprise that is, sweetheart.” he grinned, watching the small fox stumble over it’s own feet as it got used to the cold sensation of the snow; it’s first winter.

“it’s you.” you giggled, finally glancing at your mate to compare.

he scoffed, faking offense as he met your for the first firt time as you began dancing together.

the sudden eye contact caused a startling feeling of love fill in his chest and straight down the bond by accident, and shocking you as well.

your happy grin was replaced with a look of almost devastation, small falling off of your face and turning into a soft frown.

“oh, lucien.” you whispered, feeling the following sensation of insecurity from him as well.

“i don’t know what i did to deserve you, y/n. my life was so empty and miserable without you, and now… now everything is so bright and wonderful. my existence is actually worth something with you, i’m no longer the worthless brat of the autumn court, and i’m so grateful that the cauldron gave you to me, you were my missing piece, my love. you are so perfect and i have so many fl-“

“you are perfect, lucien. don’t ever think you aren’t because of the traumatic bullshit that happened to you. i wouldn’t want any other male in your place right now, in fact, the thought repulses me.” you correct, your voice stern. “i love you, and you’re my gift. with anyone else, i would be miserable.”

“you don’t have to say that, y/n. i know that if you had to choose between me or someone else, you’d pick the less damaged-“

“i would choose you. every time, no matter who. you’re everything to me, every little detail about you makes me life so much brighter and there is nothing that i would change about you other than the terrible treatment you have endured. that scar, that beautiful scar, is a part of you that drives me wild. you’re so brave and strong, i can’t think of any other male who would pull of something so traumatic with such beauty. the pigment even matches your gorgeous hair.” you smiled, enthusiasm dripping as you complimented your insecure mate.

his eyes bored into yours in utter disbelief, lips turning up into a small smile at your positive affirmation.

“come on, i’ll let you walk right out of that door if you wish to. you’ll take my heart with you, but i can’t watch you waste your life with someone so broken. you deserve someone who can give you more than me-“

you scoffed sadly, squeezing his hands as you felt his grip loosen, as if he was actually going to offer you to leave physically, not just hypothetically. but you wouldn’t, just as you had his, he had your heart entirely.

“i love you, lucien vanserra— nothing will change that. i’m not leaving— not now, not ever. i’m here, with you, forever.”

he choked back a sob, every wall breaking as his head hung low and rested on your shoulder while he cried in both joy and guilt.

“please, please— promise me that if you find yourself unhappy with me, you’ll leave. i can’t bare being the reason you are-“

“lucien, what aren’t you hearing?” you whispered, your lips placed against his soft hair as you spoke. “i love you, and i always will. sure, there will be times where we get pissed off at one another but we’ll always work it out. rough patches are common—“

“that’s not what i mean.”

you sighed softly, your heart breaking at how much doubt he has within himself. your mate, the strong, sexy male that you loved with your every fiber of your being, was so broken. you knew exactly why, and you kept in mind that those evil pieces of shit would get what was coming to then very soon. and you’d make sure that your face was the last they’d see.

“you could never make me unhappy—not that way, and never long term. i promise.”

that was the final word of the conversation, you’re both silent besides the soft sobs of your mate, soothing him through the powerful waves of emotion by giving him reassuring kisses to his temple and continued to sway you both.

his sobs died down soon enough, your sweater-clad shoulder wet with tears, not that you minded, as he repositioned his face to tuck in your neck, his lips grazing the sensitive skin.

“look, lucie;” you mumbled against his temple after your eyes drifted to the window once more, catching sight of the baby fox’s mother. “there’s it’s mommy.”

he sniffled, but lifted his head far enough so he could see. you grazed your thumb along his hand comfortingly, a way of telling him that everything was going to be okay.

lucien’s lips turned up into a smile once more, his face puffy and pink now, but nevertheless seemed happier.

“what a refreshing sight, my love.”

[irbcallmefynn]

Bit of a simple one here. Nauno simply spying a new target. Didn't spend all too long on it.

Yesterday I looked up if Avali could eat chocolate (did not find my answer btw) and noticed that planets in the habitable zone for humans would be unbearably hot for Avali. So it's time for me to bullshit an explanation for why Nauno isn't miserable or outright dead that will probably contradict things I've said or drawn before!

The temperature where Fynn Nauno and Euphi live is quite variable. In the winter it can get bitterly cold, and Nauno is all over that. Sometimes they might bring an icepack with them if it's a bit warmer out, like seen above. More often than not though, Nauno is completely fine in the winter.

In the summer? Forget it. This guy is not going anywhere in the summer. The AC in his room is very very strong (thanks to a little demon magic from Fynn), so it's basically a refrigerator in there (Fynn can't even walk in there without feeling sick). Fynn (with some help from Euphi) "borrowed" some chemistry equipment from a nearby school and use it to make their own dry ice. They then make "Dry Ice Packs" for Nauno, which help a lot! It's at least enough for him to go out and get lunch with Fynn during the summer.

For Fynn it's basically the opposite. Loves the summer, can't go outside during the winter. One time when visiting his mom (which he does every couple of years) he picked up a few loose stones from Hell and keeps them in his pockets during the winter. So at least his hands are nice and warm, so he won't collapse from the cold. He'll just be super uncomfortable.

Euphi doesn't really care much about the temperature. It's precipitation that bothers heart. Euphi can't walk outside at all without an umbrella if it's raining or snowing. It's not going to kill heart, but it is extremely unpleasant and painful (basically imagine sweating into an open wound. Not very pleasant is it?)

[murderballadeer]

there are a million posts on here about how summer is miserable and winter is wonderful and perfect and do i go onto those and comment "well i get really depressed in winter bc of how dark it is and it gets really cold where i live so going outside is unpleasant and also i have poor circulation in my hands and feet so my extremities get very cold so overall i like summer better even though sweating and mosquitoes are annoying"?? no i do not because i have a basic understanding of human etiquette so i just scroll past them and make my own post. and yet when i do so suddenly everyone wants to come into my comments section and go all "well i'm very sensitive to heat and i live in a place where it gets really hot and i have sensitive skin and and and" like not every post has to be relatable to you just keep scrolling if you don't agree with my subjective opinions about which seasons i personally find more pleasant than others

[pysoch]

More medic projection writing I am a raging inferno and winter is my fuel

~========~

I am unhappy.

There is a calendar above my door with a small red 'x', still reeking of alcoholic scent and prone to smearing. It lays drying along the number reading twelve. Above it is an ordeal of characters illustrated in a ridiculous situation with the year, 1958, off by five years. I know this because it is not Thursday as that twelve reads. Alas, I made do with the poor supplies I was given. It serves as a good distraction above my tattered cot that ought to have been replaced many seasons ago. In fact, it's the only thing I can keep my eyes on at this time of night.

I hear others through the thin wood walls throwing around a light atmosphere with one another. I'm well aware it is self sabotage to not lift myself up and throw myself in the midst of them and instead sit in a dark, dirty closet only able to fit myself if I scrunch up my knees just enough to where it's uncomfortable. Through the thin and cobweb-lined window I can see the outside brings fresh snow that will cover each bullet fired today and melt in spring to unearth them. Nature had a cycle like I do, which was a comforting tune to fade into. Both of us hide the ugly of our fall under layers of white. Fortunately, I'm not as easy to melt. It took very few times before I had taught himself comrades were temporary and family was burden. The one time I had gotten myself wrapped up in such things as relationships on this team ended in a horrific disaster of my mentality switching between euphoric pages and flipping to chapters of social dysphoria with internal loneliness. No matter how much I threw himself at opportunities to break down this little cage I fashioned myself in, there was no interception. I had given up once and for all.

Even doves brought no companionship anymore. A dear, tender place in my heart is reserved for those gorgeous breathing treasures. Yet they cannot talk to me. They cannot comfort me. I cannot feel a loving wing wrap around my back and tell me I am loved. What a twisted little thing that is. I've imagined that exact scenario more than there are veins in my wrist and yet it disgusts me like no poison can. Even now, my nose scrunches in disdain at such a foolish thought as affection. I'd be a liar if I were not to mention how this was tailored, too. It's a vicious turn of desiring such companionship and touch then being a snarling savage at the first cautious reach of a hand.

Yes, an animal describes it quite well. I must not bring myself to that metaphor again. Each hint of wild thought such as freeing myself of mankind and running through earth under my bare skin is almost an escape in itself. I always drift to being like a wolf, ears pinned and eyes narrowed while my tail makes waves in the wind and my paws scratch the ground with callused flesh. Near the end of my travels a crack splits the sky and fires through my skull until I'm a panting, miserable beast on this cold and unforgiving soil as the men who struck the clouds come to catch their prize. What joy it is to be praised like that! A worthy creature for taxidermy, or surely study! Yet when they sling me over their shoulders and throw me in a pit of rotting foxes, I know that it was only a dream. Such a fantasy is better kept deep within me, yes, yes. So is that far buried desire for death.

It all wraps back to what I crave like a starving man. Importance. I could have medallion after medallion tacked on my wall with silver nails and I'd still long to be strung up instead. Not a pleasant thing to most but to me, oh, what a blissful thought. Autopsies are envied by my cold eyes and unable to be executed by my hands. I become lost in the idea of our roles being turned and my own corpse having fingers pressed into it at every angle, admiring that I used to be a beating soul who strained each function of my weary vessel until they all collapsed. My body could be severed into pieces unidentifiable by man, yet if one person were to pick up the piece and let a flash of a memory dart their mind, I'd find my death a significant victory.

Death is as fleeting as life and just as permanent. That's what is brought to me when I hear a thud against the wall and feel a faint vibration in my head followed by the freshly post-pubescent voice laughing beyond reach. My paws stop running along those leaves, and they pause to hear that crack. None occur. Only the drift of that calendar page flitting up and down is heard, and the twelve now solidified in ink. My ears are still perked for the fire to reign through my skull, but the more I sit and wait, the less likely are the gamesmen to see me or raise their instruments against my flesh. I turn around and trudge quietly through the path where I came. Perhaps tonight death is not my savior, but my study. That bullet doesn't quite have the lead loaded deep in the chamber. I am alive.

And I am unhappy.

~=======~

(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

[snow-system-wol]

(We gave S'ria poor emotional reactions to the cold and severe winter weather is a trigger for him, I don't know how it took us this long to realize that he'd have seasonal depression.)

Ao3

It took far too long for S'ria to realize – he was pretty sure almost everyone figured out before he did.

In his defense, he'd had plenty of times to miss it. Limsa Lominsa had never had too extreme of a difference between seasons – it got pretty hot in the warm months, but not all too cold. The next winter (and another season besides) passed while he was in Ishgard, and he had been miserable the entire time he was living there regardless of time of year. He avoided normal winter weather for the following years too, with him traveling between different climates and continents that were experiencing different seasons. 

But now, he was living in Revenant’s Toll and the seasons mattered so much. Each one was strongly felt, from pleasant Springs to sweltering Summers to brisk Falls to… Winter. 

While some families had opted to return to Doma, many put down roots here instead, and so there were always a handful of children slightly underfoot. S'ria didn't mind them (and Menphina actively found them endearing). The first time that year it snowed, they were ecstatic about it, only to be rather crestfallen that it barely stuck on the ground.

The time after that, though, it built up a proper few ilms and they immediately rushed out to begin snowball fights. It took a lot of very stern lectures from their parents (and some Scions as well) to stop them from trying to use shields to sled down the hill by the lake – namely because there were too many things outside the walls that want to kill them. S'ria would have considered escorting them, if the hours of cold would not be so uncomfortable.

S'ria wanted to understand their excitement, but he just couldn't. He would have assumed it was just the difference between children and adults, but… well, several of the grown adults in the Scions seemed equally delighted. Some, mayhap, were looking forward to the holidays, but many were just very excited to see it snow.

S'ria thought it was just unpleasant, but it felt like an unkind response to others having fun. It was just… well, it was very cold, and it turned to wet slush, and if he crouched down his tail went into the frigid muck, and the way sound was muffled got eerie, and his bones hurt. He could have continued, there were more complaints than that.

It was a relief that he had no imminent duties, because that let him take a bit of a break.

He spent part of that day helping in the kitchen for the warmth of the stove, and the rest relaxing with hot cups of tea. The next saw him spending a lot of time near the oven, trying not to get in anyone's way, but didn't quite have the energy to be more than a slight help. The day after that a full blizzard rolled through town and S'ria spends much of the day curled up in bed where it was warm.

It wasn't until nearly a week of acting like this that G'raha and Alphinaud both knocked on his door together, and it certainly felt like an intervention. It was this visit, bringing him food and some gentle “are you all right?”s that made him realize – oh, there was a thing happening here, wasn't there?

Knowing didn't make the problem disappear, but at least it made it make sense and that was something. In some ways it was more frustrating, to know that his well-being crashing was from so mundane a reason, but it was something. And knowing did allow some attempts at solutions, even as much as it could get a bit trying at times.

Tataru tried to help, offering herbal remedies that S'ria occasionally tried, when the taste wasn't off-putting. (No matter how many health benefits some of those bitter little leaves had, he wasn't going to manage to drink that.) Thancred was quicker than usual to good-naturedly compliment his work, which was… equal parts sweet and odd. The twins and G'raha pestered him the most of anyone, insisting he got outside to catch what limited daylight the days would afford him, and bringing him warm food and company on the days that he couldn't quite manage that.

G'raha, in particular, tended to drop by the most – somehow bringing an additional blanket almost every time. S'ria was almost afraid to ask where he was finding them, at this point, but the pillow heap was starting to look more like a nest. While his bed was still more comfortable, there were definitely a few nights where G'raha and him were so comfortably buried in blankets that they both just slept there for the night.

They assured him that, if nothing else, this series of storms was like to run its course soon. It was nice to hear, though S'ria was considering spending next winter exclusively in warmer climes.

[paleclementine]

Happy Halloween! It feels like October 2nd was just yesterday. This month went by crazy fast. Today I am dressed up as Joe from Bladerunner 2049, which basically is just a long black coat, brown pants, boots, and that bandage he wears during the "you look lonely, I can fix that" scene. I really like it. Idk it makes me feel sooo like, cool. Like my internal is now external. I really do feel like that movie and it's nice to listen to that kind of music and walk around with a "bloody" bandage on my nose and have my coat flare out behind me in the creeping winter cold.

I didn't manage to write my Shakespeare essay but that's okay because he extended the deadline. For some fuckin reason. I have to get that done by Thursday. So I'm not doing it today, and probably not tomorrow. Most likely the day of. Because that's how I roll. Oh and I;m in British writers class (obviously) HOLY FUCK how many fucking times can the people in my class reference Jane Eyre in one day?? it's literally not in the curriculum people are just teacher's pets. and freaks. Um anyway, I lost my train of thought lmao. But on another note As I was walking through campus I noticed literally NO ONE was dressed up until you got closer to the English building. lmao. Someone as their OC (probably), someone as Kobeni, someone as scarlet witch. And a really ugly guy in my class dressed as Dazai who looks more like an extreeeemely hungover and ugly version of him. Very sloppy. Do not approve.

I posted a new chapter of my fanfic which yayyy but I haven't gotten as many projected hits as I thought or a single comment which is odd because there's always one user who comments very enthusiastically. Eh, whatever. People have shit going on. ANd no one is going to be reading fanfic near Halloween. Other than me, of course, bc I am reading a longfic about Avatar bc Anthony got me back into it.

So anyway. This weekend. Me and Anthony went to SLC and stayed at Amy's. We ate ramen and hung out at Amy's house Thursday. It was really pleasant :) Friday we... uhhh I don't think we did much until we went to the FNAF movie. I could write a whole dissertation about how much I hated that movie, but all that to say, it was a huge let down. And no Markiplier! Sat we hung out with Amy and went to "witchfest" which was really fun and more like a farmer's market than a hallloweeen festival but still fun. Sorry for typos I'm being quiet. After that we got hotpot which was BUSSS. I'm getting better at talking to Amy but I'm not sure why. Sunday we literally did nothing but watch IT and eat In N Out. We got burritos and left yesterday.

Yesterday. Oh boy, yesterday. I walked into my apartment to go into my room and got stopped at the door by Priya, who gave me that -kayla-english-madeline-hubbart STARE and said

"HAnnah! We haven't seen you in so long!" "oh! I've been gone all weekend. HAhaha. For halloweekend. Hhaha." "ohhhh did you go to the parties down there?" "*scoffs for some reason* no, haha, not at all." "You should hang out sometime!" "okay :)" "no seriously, you should hangout sometime." "I want to!" "Okay!" "Okay!" which, okay, I can see what you're thinking. Hannah, she was being so nice and inviting you to hang out with them! You don't know how girls work. She said it like a threat, or at least it felt like one.

Anyway, I go into my room, tidy it a little, check to see if I can do my laundry (for the first fucking time in three weeks. It''s full). Take out my room trash. Shower. All the while, hearing them in the living room. I want to document what Jimena said because I seriously think she is the least self-aware, miserable person I fucking know. "People always think I'm bisexual. But Im straight. Straight latinaaaaa! but when I'm drunk, I'll seriously make out with anyone. Even girls." like. holy fuck. How does she not realize how actually fucking (and I don't use this work lightly) RETARDED she sounds. Also, Stephen got a girlfriend (fatJay, who is not fat at all and Jimena is a cunt for calling her that) and Jimena bought mini pickles and said "hey guys! this is how big Stephen's penis is!" Yeah okay bitch who led him on and was a completely fucking mess----- okay, ranting about her is cathartic but pissing me off. So basically, they were really annoying and sang star spangled banner at the top of their lungs on a karaoke machine from Five Below and burped like Hailey does, so I pledged not to come out of my room until everyone had gone to bed. Which would have been fine.

If not for the migraine.

Always the fucking migraine. I holed myself away in actual anguish, waiting for them to go to bed, all the while watching depressive tiktoks (I redownloaded it) of landscapes with Silent Hill audios n shit. and I can't express how much I was suffering and for how long. My suffering and my migraine were what I remember most about the night, despite the details I shared about my roommates. everyone went to bed at 3am. I darted out to get some water. And my chickpeas. Anthony came over and brought my leftover burrito. I broke down in his arms. I seriously felt like i had knives on the right side of my face. He tucked me in and I fell asleep. At 5:30 am. Had a dream where someone was drilling peoples faces and realized it was my rommates with the blender and woke up 15 minutes before my alarm at 11:15. Got dressed. Blade runner. Went to class.

well, that was depressing. *zooms in camera like a millennial*

On a lighter note, today is me and Anthony's second anniversary. I have no Idea what we're going to do for that tomorrow or for Halloween today, but I really like being blade runner. It's fun. I want to make a tiktok of me in the mountains and post it later.

I'm so glad I met Anthony. I love him more than I can express. I want to write about him later. I will.

Later.

[jwgh]

Brown University's Ugliest Buildings

This is a lightly edited version of a Livejournal post I made on July 8, 2009. A dreamwidth version is up at https://jwgh.dreamwidth.org/561585.html .

My alma mater, Brown University, has a campus which has grown a fair amount over the years, and it has a variety of buildings in a variety of styles. The result could be described as a bit of a hodge-podge, but I kind of like the mixture, even though it means that not all of the buildings are very pleasant to look at.

Last weekend I decided to wander around campus and take pictures of the ugliest buildings, and the results can be found below. Historical facts about the buildings were generally taken from the Encyclopedia Brunoniana.

1964: The John D. Rockefeller, Jr. Library

This is generally one of the first buildings that comes to mind when Brown students think of ugly buildings. It was designed by Warner, Burns, Toan, and Lunde. Danforth W. Toan said of it, "In developing the exterior architectural design, we sought to match the modest monumentality of John Hay by developing a series of paired piers on the building perimeter which incorporate air conditioning risers with structural columns. The projection of these piers, along with the variations in the wall plane and fenestration, produce varying horizontal and vertical rhythms intended to reduce the building’s scale and reflect the interior functions. The cantilevering of the main floor, necessitated by the need for greater area, provides a strong horizontal band which hovers above the undulating terrain of College Hill." Since the John Hay library is a marble building in the English Renaissance style, and the John D. Rockefeller, Jr. library is a concrete monstrosity, I cannot agree that the architects were 100% successful in harmonizing with the older building's look. On the other hand, I do appreciate the use of the word 'fenestration'.

This library is generally called 'The Rock'. There is an urban legend that the Rockefeller family got wind of the library's nickname and asked that Brown's administration try to curtail its use, with the result that students took to calling it 'The John' until the Rockefellers realized they should have just left well enough alone.

One spring I decided to go barefoot all the time and I got away with it for a couple of months or so until I was kicked out of three separate buildings on the same day, at which point I decided it wasn't worth it and started wearing shoes again. I think the Rock was one of the three buildings I was evicted from. 1965: Barus & Holley

Barus & Holley was designed by Sherwood, Mills and Smith of Stamford. It was originally supposed to face Hope Street, but after East Side residents complained that they thought it would lower property values this was changed and it was instead built at a right angle to Hope Street. It is also largely concealed by trees, which is a good idea, although due to its size (it contains 300 rooms, including two large lecture halls) occasionally you will get an unexpected glimpse of it looming over a more attractive building, as here:

B&H is the home of the engineering department, and a friend of mine (a mechanical engineer) once mooned it. 1968: The Graduate Center

Designed by Shepley, Bulfinch, Richardson & Abbott.

I can only assume that the Grad Center was originally intended to house grad students, but when I went to Brown all the grad students lived off-campus and the Grad Center was largely inhabited by sophomores, along with the occasional miserable junior who had gotten a really bad number in the housing lottery. It has four separate towers (A, B, C, and D) linked by a fifth structure (tower E) which houses a snack bar, some ping pong tables, the Grad Center Bar, and a few other oddments.

My recollection is that the heating is all completely centralized, so that there were some rooms which were cold year-round and others where you had to have the windows open even in the dead of winter to make living in them at all bearable.

The main entrance to the towers was on the third floor, although I also seem to recall that as the Grad Center is on a hill the stories of the different towers didn't always match up the way I expected them to. 1971: The Sciences Library

My only entry not from the 60s. (Some would have also included the Center for Information Technology, which is right next to the Sciences Library, but those people are wrong, as I think the CIT is actually kind of neat.)

It was designed by Warner, Burns, Toan and Lunde, who you may recall had also designed the Rock seven years earlier. It's fourteen stories tall, and supposedly Playboy identified the thirteenth floor as a popular place to have sex.

After the CIT was built next to the SciLi there was a big wind tunnel effect between the two buildings, and at one point, when the revolving door in the SciLi was replaced with a cheaper, lighter model, the wind turned it into a mini turbine, causing the door to revolve faster and faster, until it hopped off of its axle and broke into a million pieces. I was attending Brown at the time but unfortunately did not get to witness this.

Since the SciLi is the tallest building in this part of Providence, the popular strategy of hiding ugly buildings behind trees doesn't work with it. For instance, here's the view from the main green:

On the upside, one spring members of Brown's Tech House put Christmas lights in all the windows on the south side of the building, hooked them up to a computer, and made it so you could play Tetris on the SciLi.

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Rest Your Weary Hands Part 2

Part 1

Requests are open

Warnings: Gambling problems and taking advantage of a working child. Mild medical gore.

1,956 words

Comment if you want to be tagged.

Queen Aslaug walks into your little Healers store with one request, help her son. Said to be blessed by the gods, you find your life becoming more and more intertwined with the young prince as you do your best to ease his pain. It will soon be apparent that outside forces have other ideas.

"Ivar, I know you hate it but we have to keep going." Aslaug was getting sick of this, Ivar would not listen to her, and it was making her life miserable.

"It hurts Mother!" his tone was distressed but you had been clear, and if the last week or two had anything to show, you knew what you were doing.

Aslaug took a deep breath, and remembered what you said

If it gets to the point where Ivar can't take it, leave the cream on his skin for 15 minutes, then go back.

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

"Is it still painful?" Aslaug was careful not to make Ivar feel weak.

"Not so much, it just feels hot." Thank the Gods.

It had been a few weeks since you had first started helping Ivar, you had yet to come and see him, telling her every time that you have very many orders to complete or that certain plants needed tending.

But it was coming up to winter, and the latest raid meant many of your customers were off looting, which meant no plants to care for and not enough people in need to justify being at the shop.

This time, you would come when she asked you.

"You are serving Ragnar's Sons now, why aren't you making more money?" Your Father was getting worse, he had started taking money right from the till.

"I told you Father, if I charge them more they'll find out and lock me away for stealing, and then you won't have any money." he seemed to take that, going into the back to get some bread you had made for your customers.

He spent the next ten minutes lazing around complaining. Then the Queen arrived.

One of her other Sons, Hvitserk was with her this time, he looked like he knew he was the prettiest thing in the room.

"Hello y/n." Your Father had changed in a heartbeat at The Queen's greeting.

"I don't believe we've met My Queen, I'm y/n's Father." his tone was kind and friendly.

She seemed unimpressed.

"No we haven't. No matter, winter is coming up and I will need your Daughter's services in person for the next few weeks."

Your Father looked like he was going to shove you out the door.

"Of course my Queen, she will be happy to help" you didn't look happy, but you knew your Father wouldn't give you the option.

"I will need to let people know where I'll be in case of an emergcy, I can't let other people get sick no matter who I'm treating."

The Queen seemed to be happy with that, then she was throwing a bag of coins at you.

Oh no

"I'll keep that safe for you until you get home y/n." Sure you will, you knew it would be all gone by the end of the week.

"Thank you Father, I'll close up before we leave, that way, you don't have to remember to cover anything if it starts to rain.

It had taken you about an hour to close up, Hvitserk was walking up to you as you locked the front door.

"You can ride on my horse if you like." What a smug ass.

"No thank you My Prince, I have my own horse."

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

The ride to Kattegat was pleasant, it wasn't cold enough yet to need to rush inside so you got to enjoy the changing countryside.

You spent your time talking with Aslaug and Hvitserk about your work, The Queen listened well and asked complex questions, Hvitserk on the other hand, less so.

"Can you cook too?"

"Yes My Prince."

He gestured to the sword hanging on your saddle.

"Do you know how to use that?" There was no malice or condescension in his voice.

"Yes, My Prince. I work in a store filled with exotic and intoxicating herbs and spices, I've been robbed more times that I can count." He looked almost worried.

"They've never managed to take anything, don't worry."

You couldn't see it, but Aslaug was smiling.

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

Kattegat was amazing, there was the constant bustle of people and the ocean breeze carried the smells of the town through the air in a swirl of salt.

"I imagine I'll be staying in the inn?"

Aslaug didn't even look at you.

"No, you will be staying in the servent nook in Ivar's room. I had it set up for you this morning, the bed is comfortable enough and I made sure you would have plenty of furs."

I sleep on the floor at home so that's an upgrade.

"That way you can tend to Ivar whenever he needs it."

"You know Lady y/n, Ivar's room is right next to mine. Maybe you can come in and rub my feet." Hvitserk was incorrigible, it didn't seem he meant anything nasty by it, he was just clueless.

"You wouldn't like that, I'd have to find something wrong if you wanted me to stay. Do you want me to find something wrong with you?"

"Come now Hvitserk, she's going to be busy with your Brother, you shouldn't bother her." The Queen didn't miss the subtle dig you made at her son.

Be grateful you're healthy.

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

"Clink slide, clink slide, clink slide, clink slide"

"Mother, are you back for your outting yet?"

You didn't have time to take in the Great Hall before you met Ivar which was a shame but he didn't stay long.

Ivar took one look at you and your trunk and turned and crawled away.

"I'm sorry, he can be a bit like that. He wasn't happy when I said you were coming for a visit." You could understand why, the last few weeks can't have been fun for him.

"It's ok My Queen, I'm sure he'll warm up."

The fact the Ivar didn't want you there made you question, why were you here?

"Why am I here if Ivar didn't request me?" You hoped you didn't sound accusatory.

"Ivar doesn't know what's best for him sometimes." the way she said it made you think she wasn't just talking about his legs.

*********

"Knock knock"

"Prince Ivar, I need to put my things away, may I come in?"

You hoped he would at least speak to you while you were here.

"No", you couldn't help him with this attitude, whether you understood it or not.

"That's ok, Prince Hvitserk offered me his room so I'll stay in there." The door was opened as you started to walk away.

You knew that would work.

"Fine, but don't bother me."

Ivar's room was nice, it was large enough that he could fit a four-person table and some chairs, there were trunks throughout the room and the floor was covered in more furs than normal.

"Mother has you in there" He gestured to the doorless doorway, through which was a small room with just a bed and a side table.

"Thank you My Prince."

The rest of the afternoon went well, and you managed to get Ivar to speak to you for more than a few sentences. Come dinner time, it seemed that you two would get along well.

"So you're Ivar's new nurse" You hadn't spent any time with Sigurd yet, he didn't come to the store like Ubbe and he didn't seem as charming as Hvitserk.

"Not really My Prince, I won't be staying here long so I don't think that qualifies me as Ivar's personal nurse."

Dinner was nice, it had been a long time since you had been able to sit down and eat a nice meal. Ivar didn't talk much and he spent most of his time glaring at you.

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

It was late now, you were getting ready for bed when Aslaug came in.

"I was hoping you could do Ivar's legs tonight?" Ivar looked pissed.

"Mother, no. She'll just do it wrong." You sensed he was very used to getting his way.

"Well we'll have to see then" You were surprised at her sternness.

Ivar was laying in bed by the time everyone was ready to start, he had the blanket thrown over him and he was staring at you like he was looking through you.

You had a feeling he didn't want you touching or seeing his legs but there were no other option.

You picked up some things from your corner and sat down at the edge of the bed with Aslaug.

"I was thinking of trying a liquid oil this time, it will be a bit more messy but I think it will be easier to use in the long run"

Aslaug nodded along as you explained what was in it and how it worked, when she went to pull the blankets back, Ivar flinched and held on.

"Permit me to be frank My Queen." she pursed her lips but didn't say no.

"Ivar, your legs will not be the worst thing I've seen, last week I had to treat a man whose legs were rotting off his body. Unless you have cocks growing out of your knees you can't shock me."

Ivar went bright red, and Aslaug tried her best to stifle a giggle fit.

"Can I start?" Ivar gave one short nod and you pulled the blankets back.

Ivar looked so scared and ashamed.

"Oh, this is nothing. If one were 'normal' legs and ten were the legs of a rotten corpse you're a four, you're not even in the top twenty worst things I've seen" Ivar visibly relaxed but he still looked so sad.

"Please no stories, miss y/n, I don't think my stomach could take it. You were grateful for The Queen's interruption.

"Please tell me if I hurt you My Prince, this time around is meant to feel nice"

You start slow, rubbing his calves in long sweeping motions, Ivar was getting more and more comfortable. The Queen was looking at your hands intently, as if you'd suddenly sprout knives from your fingers.

Then she was looking around and getting up.

"I think I'll leave you to it, you seem to be doing a good job" You looked at her like a dear about to be shot by a hunter.

"Whatever Ivar's feels comfortable with is ok with me." But Alsaug didn't give her son the option, she was walking out the door before he got a word in.

"Can we try something with you feet on the ground? I'd like to what your kness are like." Ivar hesitated for a moment but pushed himself up and used his arms to swing his legs over the edge of the bed.

"You're very strong Prince Ivar" you watched the muscles of his arms and back sift under his shirt.

That's a good sign

"Don't patronise me." his tone was short, he almost sounded a little hurt.

"I'm not, I can see how well built they are under your shirt. That's a good thing Ivar, it means you've already done some of the work yourself" you hoped you had soothed his worry a bit, judging by the way he was looking down at you, something you said had helped.

"Mother was right, you are beautiful." You felt the rush of blood to your face, you hoped he couldn't tell that you were flustered.

"Thank you, Prince Ivar, you're very sweet."

You spent the next twenty minutes feeling his knees and rubbing his legs, Ivar staring at you the whole time, it was as if he was trying to memorise every pore.

"Will that be all tonight, My Prince?" He gave you his hand to help you off the floor.

"Yes y/n, thank you."

"Great! Tomorrow the real work starts." Ivar's blue eyes went wide.

What the hell did you mean by that?

Part 3

I'm not really happy with this chapter, I tried to make their meeting feel more organic rather than dramatic

Tag list

@ladynightshade30 @katshuya @istorkyou @smears-and-spots @youbloodymadgenius @draculasbride-blog @profoundtyrantharmony @vikingsfranatic @hellie98 @localtrashopossum @polly-jayne

[e-wills-afterhours]

Unfinished

The rain started early that year—the icy sort of deluge that soaked through the skin to freeze the blood and sinew beneath it. Everything seemed wet, smelled wet; with a damp, earthiness that could be pleasant were it not so miserably cold. Winter was drawing ever closer. As the leaves changed, the birds migrated, and the game grew scarcer. The distant peaks behind the village, and the towering sea stacks before it, were obscured by the fog that settled in at summer’s end. Grass became dirt, which became persistent mud.

Berk was beginning its long slumber, but its Viking inhabitants still had more life left in them before the archipelago’s harsh winter came, forcing everyone indoors for most of the season. At its worst, the weather halted fishing expeditions, hunting parties, and all major construction projects. Trade would cease for as long as there were ice floes to keep ships at bay. Only the stubbornest Vikings would be found out and about when they had no need to be.

But that was weeks away yet. Mabon had just concluded and the last of the decorations were coming down. It was a quick turnaround between the minor festival and the much larger, significant Vetrnaetr.

A slight mist was a welcome break from the heavy rain of the early morning. Hiccup and Astrid chanced being outside, though there was a new band of dark clouds rolling in from the sea. The wind was picking up, but they walked close together, flanked by their dragons; and that offered some protection.

“Fishlegs says Gobber’s calling it ‘scale rot’, or something like that. Have you ever heard of it?” Astrid asked, inching closer to Hiccup as they trudged through the mud. She shivered, and they bumped shoulders, mud squelching beneath their feet.

Hiccup winced. Any other surface but dry, solid ground was a struggle for him. The mud gripped his prosthesis, and it took more effort to pull it free with each step. He didn’t complain though—he rarely ever did—but his uneven gait and unsteady pace were obvious; it had to be uncomfortable, at the very least, regardless of what he did or didn’t say about it.

He answered, “No, but I don’t pretend to know everything about dragon ailments.”

Astrid stopped in her tracks, playing it off as dramatic effect while giving him a moment to catch up. “Well, that’s a shocker.”

Hiccup laughed. “Hey now…”

She grinned, taking his hand to help him along, though she’d deny it if he asked; and she knew he never would.

“Seriously, though—that’s got to be half the dragons that have it,” she sighed.

A couple nights had passed since she ventured into the stables. She saw numerous beasts lying on the damp floor of their stalls with red, inflamed scale margins. The disease spread along their underbellies like a terrible rash. She felt itchy just looking at it, and checked Stormfly over at once, pleased that her Nadder did not appear to be afflicted.

“Well, did Fishlegs say what causes it?” Hiccup asked, brow furrowed.

Astrid shook her head. “He’s pretty distraught. Poor Meatlug’s miserable.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

Hiccup’s fingers curled tighter around her own. Even such a subtle gesture cut through the solemnity of their conversation.

He replied, “I don’t blame him. “Thankfully Toothless is in good health—aren’t you, bud?”

He stopped and turned toward his dragon, releasing Astrid’s hand to stroke both sides of the Night Fury’s wide jaw. She tried not to feel too disappointed. After all, there was no relationship with either of them where the dragons were not included. She accepted it, just like Hiccup was more than accepting of her dedication to Stormfly. There simply was no Hiccup without Toothless. When the Night Fury warbled, he smiled; and that smile was only reserved for the dragon, in whatever supernatural connection they shared.

She reached up and curled her arm around Stormfly’s neck, and the Nadder leaned into her. After all, she cared for her own dragon as much as Hiccup cared for Toothless—maybe.

Was such a thing even possible?

“I’d be beside myself if Stormfly was sick,” she told him.

Hiccup nodded, musing aloud more to himself than to her, “Maybe we can go down there tomorrow; see if we can figure out why the dragons are getting this ‘scale rot’ thing?”

“Mhm. Sounds like a plan. Right after my morning chores,” she replied. When Hiccup made a face, she joked, “Yes. Chores, Hiccup. Normal people have those.” She waved a flippant hand. “I mean, I know you’re exempt, being the son of the Chief and the Hero of Berk, and all that.”

Hiccup snorted. “What?” He turned back toward her, face flat. “Okay, no. First off, I’m not.”

“The son of the Chief?” Astrid suggested, finding great humor in his mounting exasperation.

“The Hero of Berk,” he corrected. “No. No, stop laughing—I am not.” A grin leaked through his would-be serious visage. “Secondly, I do have chores.”

She lightly elbowed him; she had to remember he was not particularly fond of typical Viking affection.

“Okay, flying Toothless doesn’t count.”

Hiccup was laughing then. “Astrid—"

But Thor saw fit to interrupt their conversation. The distant clouds had moved in above them, letting loose with an angry and urgent hailstorm. Several expletives rang out as their fellow tribesmen abandoned their tasks to run for cover. Their dragons seem to add their own colorful language as they extended their wings to protect their riders with roars of protest.

“Odin’s balls!” Astrid shouted over the roar of the hail.

“This way!” Hiccup replied, taking off before she had a chance to collect herself.

There was once a time he may have tried to lead her by the hand, thinking he was being noble. Now, he knew better than to try—at least until her agency was firmly embedded in his mind.

She followed under the canopy of Stormfly’s wings, letting her dragon guide her as she kept her head down—just on the off-chance Thor wanted to be particularly ornery with sideways gusts of hail.

Her Nadder followed Toothless right a storehouse—where the morning’s catch was hanging up, salted, waiting for the right weather conditions to be set out to dry. Astrid glanced up at the wide-eyed, slack-jaw cod, dangling with the barely perceptible sway of disturbed air currents.

“Nice!” she teased, still raising her voice above the torrent outside.

Hiccup swatted Toothless and shook his head, discouraging the dragon from eating any fish. The Night Fury sulked.

“I didn’t exactly have the time to scope out our accommodations, Milady!” he shouted back; the hail fell with increasing velocity.

Astrid smirked and settled into a corner, watching Hiccup look over Toothless’s wings for injuries. How gentle and concerned he was. And to think Hiccup was sometimes privately critical of the way Fishlegs doted on Meatlug.

There was a time when it just about drove her crazy. She had wondered once who he was apart from dragons.

In the first few days after the mayhem of the Red Death—before Hiccup had woken up—she had been intoxicated by the excitement of Berk's new dragon-friendly ways, and the awe over what the former village screw-up had done. Her admiration of him was immediate but short-lived. She had placed him on a pedestal back then, much to her embarrassment now—before she took a moment to stop, process it all, and think—and she had kissed him in front of everyone, leaving their relationship as a rather vague and open-ended assumption around Berk.

That had taken some foot-in-mouth conversations with Hiccup, to put them on a sound and level foundation—one on which they had to build a friendship, before any sort of something could emerge from it. The expectant inquires of their parents and friends had not been helpful.

Astrid had to work know Hiccup, and he had to work to know her. It was painfully obvious in those first days that they had only fancied shiny caricatures of each other—albeit Hiccup’s longings had existed for a while, and his fantasies of who he believed her to be were more firmly entrenched and harder to dispel. Reality wasn’t always as appealing; but through mutual respect, a fast friendship, and budding romantic attraction of its own painstaking cultivation, Astrid had come to find that what they had now, at seventeen, was better—much better. And genuine.

She finally knew who Hiccup was, with all his strengths and downright frustrating quirks. Her feelings for him ran deeper than the giddy and naïve infatuation with the first person who came along and dared to be different. Hiccup had, with effort, come to know and appreciate Astrid for who she really was: a separate and unique entity from the girl he had built up in his dreams. That girl was an unrealistic apparition she could never be, that he would never obtain; which hadn’t been fair to either of them.

Two Snoggletogs prior—the first with their dragons—had been the real turning point for them, when they had given up with pretense and fantasies, and were unchained from pedestals. Since those dynamics had clicked in place, their trajectory had been a sharp incline.

“I hope it stops soon,” he told her, limping toward a collection of barrels lined along the adjacent wall.

Astrid moved to help him, but Hiccup found such gestures every bit as infantilizing as his earlier attempts to treat her delicately had been.

He peeked beneath the lid of the barrels and the pungent stench of death and brine wafted up to meet them. Apparently, the dragons’ share of unsalted fish kept them company as well.

Hiccup replaced the lid with a simple, “Nope.”

He hobbled to a coiled pile of old mooring, sitting down with some difficulty; but just to be off his leg seemed relief enough. Astrid watched intently as he removed his prosthesis. He had recently upgraded it, still unsatisfied with the results. She wasn’t sure exactly what he thought was missing—then again, it was not a struggle with which she could empathize.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he replied without a breath, without looking up, just as he always did. He massaged the stump through his pantleg, and the muscle above it. “I needed to readjust.”

Truth be told, she admired Hiccup for his strength and silent resolve; how he wasn’t self-pitying of what others perceived as just another disadvantage to add to his list. He had laughed it off and once said, “I’m used to physical shortcomings, remember?” But Astrid had not found it quite so funny. She supposed if anyone could make light of somber things, he was particularly adept at that; he had practice. Over the past two years, Astrid had grown defensive of him. She decided it was prerogative as his girlfriend, though his perspective on the matter was best summed up as polite exasperation.

Two years could bring such change. She never expected that she could learn anything about morality and grit from Hiccup Haddock—but he also had developed the knack of proving others wrong about him. Recently, anyway. He was pleasant to be around—smart, witty, insightful—when he stopped trying to be someone he wasn’t. They had wasted years steeped in ignorance about one another: he wasn’t that insufferable, and she wasn’t that unapproachable. She appreciated the honesty and ease to their relationship now; it was comfortable and ripe for something she couldn’t yet articulate.

She crossed the short distance between them. The beating hail silenced her footfalls, and Hiccup didn’t notice she had moved until she was standing right in front of him. She heard the soft click of his prosthetic locking into place; his newest design didn’t require as many cumbersome fastenings.

His glanced up, merely curious. She didn’t make him jumpy anymore.

Without a word, she extended a hand. He took it and rose to his feet. Somehow, he had surpassed her by six inches. The height difference was most noticeable in the rare moments they stood so close to one another. But such moments were few and far between—at least in a manner where the air felt so charged.

At first, Astrid assumed Hiccup was maintaining appropriate distance between them out of respect and good manners, though he had not historically shown much concern for boundaries and propriety in almost every other regard—befriending a dragon being the most glaring example. But Astrid had begun to realize such proximity was a dangerous thing in recent weeks. More frequently, she was noticing Hiccup in the same ways she was certain he had noticed her for a while. She understood now that he was apprehensive. Something more powerful than common sense was at work on them.

He released her hand but didn’t step away. Their combined body heat turned the icy veneer on their skins to something warm and inviting. Astrid noticed the rate of his breathing: how it had quickened and almost synchronized with her own. She gazed up into that familiar face, growing ever stranger with each bit of childhood he shed; but it was a good kind of strange—a welcomed sort of different. He was making her feel things and have wants; the likes of which she had never felt and had been known to scoff at on occasion.

She wanted more where simple chaste kisses would no longer suffice.

“Is there any particular reason we’re standing this close, staring awkwardly at one another in total silence?” Hiccup asked, grinning.

Astrid blinked, giving herself a mental shake. She had been leaning in, eyes half-lidded, as her thoughts physically manifested themselves. A hot embarrassment prickled across her cheeks, but Hiccup didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

Trying to maintain some sort of face, she replied, “Shut up. I want to kiss you, dingus.”

She didn’t need to speak quite so loudly anymore. The hailstorm outside was lifting and for once, she wanted it to persist.

Hiccup quirked an eyebrow. And it was adorable enough to make matters worse. “Since when have you ever needed express permission to kiss m—?”

Astrid grasped him by the tunic, pulling him down to meet her as she rocked up on her toes. Their lips collided. Hiccup stiffened in surprise, and they teetered on the spot. Quickly, his hands found her waist, steadying them both—and he seemed frozen, like he expected the kiss to end as abruptly as all the others. But Astrid just closed her eyes, tilting her head to better match the contours of his mouth.

It felt good to finally scratch the itch.

She felt as though she had swallowed a dozen butterflies, all fighting to escape her stomach—but they were creatures of elation, with only a hint of self-doubt; not enough to deter her from savoring the touch and texture of her boyfriend’s lips beyond what a simple peck could satisfy. The kiss was slow, warm, and meandering. she took advantage of every moment she had to trace the shape of his mouth, and relish in the delight of him kissing back.

Hiccup reciprocated, albeit with palpable hesitation and unsure movements, refusing to deepen the kiss any further than what she allowed. He was passive. With gentle hands, he pulled her into him, doing nothing more than mirroring her own actions back to her. When she opened her mouth to drink him in, he did as well. As she brushed her lips over his, he waited for his opportunity to respond in kind. He was, from what she could tell, pleasantly receptive.

Astrid could feel his heart beating furiously against her chest where they pressed together, blending with the enthusiasm rattling within her own body—to the point where their pulses were just about indistinguishable. She had never been so invested in a single kiss, noting the taste and sensations of Hiccup’s mouth, mingled with the flavor of the early morning rain that clung to his upper lip.

The kiss was, in a word: hot. It was the first of its kind that they had shared. Hiccup was uncertain only in how aggressive he could be, and if Astrid didn’t set up boundaries, he had no sense of direction. Where could he take it, and where could he not? So, she had to succumb to reason—to those stern hands telling her to slow down, pull back, don’t rush, not yet, wait.

If she didn’t have a stopping point, was it fair to assume Hiccup did?

Better judgment screamed at her until she relented and broke away, though she hated to do it. Their lips parted with a soft sound, and he chased her for a fraction of an inch before he realized the kiss had ended. His eyes slowly opened from half-lidded, and she felt equally as intoxicated as he looked. They were still so close; and the cold, damp atmosphere could only intrude so much in the very cozy space they had created.

The corners of Hiccup’s lips twitched with the threat of a smile, but happy bemusement won out over giddiness.

“Why did you—? Wow.” He was breathless.

“Is that a good ‘wow’ or a bad ‘wow’?” Astrid murmured, regretting how insecure the words sounded as soon as she had uttered them. She folded her arms and they bumped his chest.

“It’s only bad if that’s the that’s the only one of those I get.”

Astrid snorted and they both started laughing, holding each other loosely while they touched foreheads, awash in the heady undertow of their nearness.

“I think the hail’s stopped,” Hiccup murmured. “It was a quick one.”

Indeed, the only rumbling that could be heard was their dragons’ combined breathing. Voices had returned to the village, emerging from their hiding places; which felt like miles away from inside their respite of hanging fish and musty rope.

“Mm. No rush though, right? Probably still wet as Hel out there,” Astrid whispered, leaning into him.

Hiccup grinned in anticipation. The tips of their noses brushed, and eyelids grew heavy again as their lips aligned.

Astrid could feel the warmth of his breath on her face—could practically taste him in the space between them…

“Wait. Wet?” Hiccup blurted out.

He abruptly turned away, face hardened in deep thought. Astrid mouth collided with his jaw, awkward and clumsy.

“Wha—?” She recoiled and snapped, “Hiccup!”

He turned back, gripping her by the shoulders and stooping a little so that they were level—she hated that he had to do that now. His eyes were wide and his face alight with that same boyish excitement that overcame him when anything had to do with—

“The dragons!” he exclaimed. “Astrid, that’s it!”

“What’s ‘it’?” she asked, admittedly intrigued, but plenty exasperated.

She rolled her eyes. He had already sidled past her for the door, followed by Toothless who was keeping pace with his rider’s hurried steps. Hiccup was speaking animatedly the entire time, but Astrid only caught a few words; she wasn’t really listening.

Her boyfriend could be frustrating, yes; distracted and preoccupied with his own interests above more pressing manners—but there was a draw to him: some sort of radiance that was either his sheer passion for things or the good heart he had, even if his methods were a little ill-advised at times.

He barely paused for a breath. “…And it’s just been raining so much—of course that has something to do with the scale rot! The dragons don’t typically nest in wet places. I can’t believe it took me so long to—oh, Thordammit.”

Hiccup glared down at his prothesis snared by the mud, as if the climate on Berk was a personal affront.

Astrid shook her head. “Hey, you!” she called, lingering in the storehouse for a moment; she peered at him through the open door, smiling. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied. Then he paused for a beat before resuming, “I really should tell Fishlegs. And Gobber. If we can be sure it’s the copious rainfall, maybe there’s an actual remedy…”

He carried on and Astrid followed along, stifling her amusement and nodding at appropriate intervals.

She hated unfinished business, after all—and he still owed her that second kiss.