#and got stuck in the snow two feet out of the spot

[chaoticeddie]

snowed all day today 🙃✌️

[barleyo]

Roll of the Dice.

Armin Arlert X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: Heyyy I hope y'all enjoy this piece, sorry if it seems rushed! I got this idea after overhearing a few friends talking about D&D and I knew I needed to make something Armin related for it!

Tags: older brother! Eren, brother's best friend trope, semi-public sex, slightly perv! Armin, nerdy shit, loss of virginity, male sub (?), handjobs, cream pie, unprotected sex

"Eren, where are you going?" (Y/N) crept down the stairs, her socks padding her steps. "Goin' out?"

Her brother nodded. "It's game night," he reminded her quietly, keeping his voice hushed since it was rather late.

"God, is hanging out with your little nerd troupe all you do?" She made her way down the stairs completely and felt herself gravitate towards the door with him.

"Whatever," he sneered, rolling his eyes. "Are you coming with me tonight or not?"

"Well, who's gonna be there? You know how I feel about some of your acquaintances."

"Most of 'em are busy tonight, but, uh, Connie, Sasha, Jean, Mikasa--"

"Jean? Really?" (Y/N) grimaced a bit. He was one of his friends that she couldn't stand. "Who's hosting?"

"If you'd give me a second, I'd be able to answer." Eren grabbed his keys off of the hook and pocketed them after giving (Y/N) and annoyed look. "Armin's hosting tonight."

Every Saturday night, her brother and his friend group, who she found to be absolute geeks, would meet up at one of their houses to play D&D. She could never grasp the game, but she often stuck around to keep her brother company during the matches...

Or that's what she told herself. Really, deep down, she knew she tagged along for Eren's childhood friend, Armin. He was the biggest nerd out of the whole group, but she had always been attracted to him. Even as kids, she was stuck to him like white on snow, never daring to leave her side. Eren's other friends would tease (Y/N) for her clinginess to the blond boy, but oddly enough, it didn't bother either of them. Armin was always patient, and she was always grateful for that.

Sleepovers, birthday parties, play dates, and as they got older 'hang out sessions.' Whenever Armin was at their house, (Y/N) was sure to be close to him. It started off simply enough: asking him if she could play with them as children, inviting him to play tea party with her and her stuffed animals (which he couldn't turn down, no matter how much he wanted to), and asking him to push her on the swing. Over time, however, it progressed. Once they had all grown into teens, she took a sharp... romantic edge with him. She'd snuggle up to him on movies nights and hide her head in his neck when she was scared, anything to be close to him. 

"Alright, I'll come tonight," she said. She grabbed her shoes from their spot in front of the door and urged Eren with her hands to get going.

"Oh, glad you guys could make it! Come on in, everyone else is already here." 

Armin held his front door open for the two, giving his trademarked 'sweet, yet constantly nervous' looking smile. 

"Thanks, man." Eren stepped inside, walking through the foyer to get to the group while (Y/N) staggered behind a bit to speak to Armin.

He shut the door and stood with his feet loosely planted. "So, uh, (Y/N), I didn't see you last week for game night."

"Hah, sorry to give you the slip like that. What, were you waiting up for me?" She could see his face warming up a bit, and she loved every second of it.

"No-! I mean, not exactly. I just thought I'd see you, you know. I-It was an exciting match, you would've had fun."

She quirked a brow at him, crossing her arms. "I would've had fun watching you guys play?"

"Well, that's why you come, isn't it? Plus, you don't have to just watch. I can teach you how to play. If you'd like that, I mean. Just, uhm--"

"Guys, hurry up. Connie's getting restless," Eren called from the living room.

"Yeah, I don't have forever to kick it with you guys," Connie said, audibly crunching chips while he spoke.

"Please, what else do you have going on, Con?" 

The distinct bickering continued in the background while Armin turned back to face (Y/N). "That's our cue, I suppose."

"Finally." Eren was perched lazily on a beanbag chair near the coffee table where the board was set up. "Let's get this party started, eh, guys?"

A soft cheer came from everyone.

(Y/N) scanned the scene quickly. Armin, of course, was sitting in the floor at the head of the table, like he always did. It was the best seat in the house, in his opinion, and as the Dungeon Master, he got first choice of seats. 

Eren and Mikasa were already sitting together, and she didn't want to third-wheel them. She liked Connie and Sasha, and she wouldn't mind sitting with them both, but she really didn't feel like getting snack crumbs all over her throughout the game from her two messy friends.

That left Jean.

She didn't absolutely despise him, but his energy was always off. His hugs lasted too long, and he made weird comments towards the girls in the group. It seemed that she would have to toughen up and sit next to him for the night.

"Hey, (Y/N)?" Armin spoke from behind the Dungeon Master screen. "Would you want to sit with me tonight? That way you could see how to play."

Thank god for Armin, her little angel in disguise!

She immediately went over to him and took a seat on his lap, taking him a bit by surprise, but nobody in the group seemed to care much. She got herself comfortable and scanned over the various manuals and rules in the guide books in front of them both.

"Alright. Let's play!" (Y/N) said, giving a half-grin.

"The gang of orcs raise their weapons and challenge your troupe, how do you proceed--?" Armin's voice hitched in his throat.

(Y/N) began to mindlessly grind down on him, actually paying attention to the game in front of her for once. Armin was right, she was starting to enjoy it, but as she got lost in the game, her body started to act on its own.

"I grab my sword and raise it to the air, charging the monsters with my team following close behind."

"Eren, wait, we didn't agree on that," Connie whined, "I'm already injured from the last fight."

"Don't be such a pussy, you can tough it out."

"Stop bickering," Mikasa snapped at the two playfully, "you're both like two children."

"Armin, can you pass me the pretzels? Just slide the bowl over here, big dog." Sasha leaned forward over the table, ready to receive the large bowl of snacks.

He snorted at the name and obliged, pushing the bowl with his finger tips. However, as he pulled his arm back, he knocked his drink back onto not only his lap, but the girl on his lap.

"Shit! I'm so sorry, (Y/N)!" His voice was filled with sheer panic. "Shit, shit, shit, it's all over your shirt."

"It's fine, don't worry," she assured him. "Here, just take me to your room. I'll change into one of your shirts for the rest of the night and all will be forgiven, alright?"

He exhaled and nodded. She led him up the stairs to his room, walking through the halls like she knew the house like the back of her hand. 

"Here, you can go change in the bathroom," he spun around with a clean shirt in his arms, only to be met by (Y/N) already stripping. "Oh... or, I-I can leave!" He turned back around throwing his hands over his glasses and heading to the door.

"Armin," she said his name is her most sultry tone, "come back. Don't be shy." 

Her shirt and bra were long gone, leaving her bare chested in the cold room. Round buds caught Armin's attention, her pert nipples hardening at the air. 

"(Y/N), I don't think we should--"

"Then don't think. Don't think, and come here." She grabbed his hand and yanked him over to her. Wrapping her arms around his neck she leaned in close to his face and offered her lips to him. "I want this. Don't you?" She peered at him from behind her fluttering eyelashes, lips pouting. 

With that, he gave in. His kiss was eager, but precise and neat. It surprised her, most guys kissed as if they hee sex was the end goal: rushed and messy, letting their teeth clash against hers in the most unsexy way possible. But not Armin. Everything about him was tender and sweet. 

She wondered what it would take for him to get messy.

Breaking from the kiss, she pushed him to the corner of his bed. She fiddled with the zipper of his jeans and freed his leaking cock from his boxers.

"Wait, I want to make you feel good first," he protested, trying to flip the script and put her body under his.

"Hush. If you want me to feel good, you'll let me do what I wanna do, right?"

He slowly nodded as his face started to heat up. "R-right."

"Exactly. Now, do you like how this feels? When I use my hand like this?"

He felt her grab his length and give it a few teasing pumps, up and down, slow and firm. His cock kicked a bit in her palm.

"Please don't stop," Armin huffed, covering his mouth with his hand. It felt amazing, but he knew the walls in his house were thin; the others could hear them both if they were too loud.

She craned her neck over his lap as she stood in front of him. Thick, stretchy dribbled of spit connected with his tip. She smeared the spit and mixed it with his pre cum, rubbing her thumb around the thick head.

It was mean, she knew, but she had an idea. She crouched down to her knees and gave him a cheeky look. Her lips connected to his tip with a soft, sweet kiss. She gently opened her mouth to take his length, opening just enough for his tip. Hee tongue trailed around it, taking purchase specifically of a thick vein on the underside of his cock.

His pre cum left a glossy stain around her mouth and he shuddered at the view. He gripped the blanket under his and felt his cock twitch and fill her mouth, all too quickly.

"Oh my god," he whispered. "I didn't mean to do that so quickly, I'm sorry! I-it's just that you're so pretty and your mouth is so warm and wet," he explained while his face grew beet red. A gasp escaped his chest when she swallowed his cum, licking her lips and grinning.

"You're adorable." She removed her mouth from him with a pop. 

Armin grunted and his face visibly cringed. 'Adorable' wasn't what he was trying to go for, especially not during sex. "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You're so cute. I bet you're a virgin too, aren't you?" She cooed at him playfully, but it stung a bit.

He was, in fact, a virgin, but he felt the need to prove himself to her. He could cope with cumming early, that was relatively fine, but he knew how to pleasure a woman, and (Y/N) needed to know that he could. Porn and assorted hentai games had taught him well, he was just waiting for the chance to try out his moves.

"I'll show you what this virgin can do," he challenged. "Lay down, right here."

She took her place in the middle of his bed, laying flat on her back. "Like this?"

"Mm, stay still." He slotted himself between her legs on the bed. His hands made quick work of her shorts and panties, tossing them behind him into a crumpled pile on the floor. 

With his cock already sprung free, he moved his tip through her folds, collecting her slick over it. It was his turn to tease, his turn to make sure that she had more than her fill. And he knew exactly how, so he slid his length in to the hilt, bottoming out in her.

(Y/N) let her eyes squeeze shut. The initial sharpness of his thrust eventually eased into a soft wave of pleasure. 

"Hey, keep your eyes open, okay? I wanna see them. They're so pretty," he said, wiping the pricked tear from the corner of her eye. 

Armin's hips reeled back so he could start a steadier pace. He made short strokes, only pulling himself out of her halfway. When he pushed back into her cunt, he rutted into her, nudging his greedy cock into her most sensitive spot.

"You're so good at this, 's not fair. You-- oh, fuck!" Her legs started to wobble a bit, she could feel them starting to give out on her.

"You're so adorable," he mimicked her earlier words with a whisper, leaning down to her ear. He gave the lobe a nibble and traced his tongue around the shell of it.

Once her walls started to spasm around him intermittently, he knew he had her right on the edge of her orgasm.

"Are you gonna cum? I feel you clenching on me, you must be close." He tried to keep his voice steady, but the rasp in it gave away how close he also was. "Give it to me, (Y/N). You know you want to."

"Yes, I wanna cum so bad," she gasped sharply, gripping the fabric of his shirt. Her clenching started up again, but this time it was much more powerful. 

Armin hissed through his teeth, feeling the grip her cunt had around him. He couldn't pry himself out in time, and let his seed spill out, shooting deep into her. 

Neither of them moved for a moment. Armin was still inside, enjoying the thick, wet warmth. 

"You know, for a used-to-be-virgin, you fucked me real good, 'Min." (Y/N) shifted in the bed, turning to face the boy. She brushed a lock of his blond hair behind his ear and wiped at the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Ah, you think so? Maybe you should come over next week too, and we'll see if I can top my current high score."

[throneofsapphics]

your writing is absolutely scrumptious and i wish i could give you all the flowers in the world for it!

i’ve had “home” by catie turner stuck in my head and i was wondering if you could write an angsty-fluffy drabble for any tog/acotar poly couple, azriel, or rhysand along the lines of the song?

footprints in the snow. 

Cazriel x Reader

Summary: You, Cassian, and Azriel are in a long-distance relationship.

Warnings: light angst and fluff

A/N: aw you're so sweet, I appreciate you!! and thank you for introducing me to that song :)

The waiting wasn’t the worst part. That belonged to the stretches where you were left in the dark, unaware of when you’d see them again. Lost in a cycle. 

Uncertainty. Anticipation. Joy. Dread. 

You were each other's home. But … isn’t home supposed to be something familiar?

That’s what you wanted, for it to be familiar. It’s neither of your faults that you live in different courts, but you craved to come home to them each day, to fall asleep in their arms, to see them more than once or twice a month at most. Each time felt like you were re-acquainting yourself with their energy and presence. 

“When will I see you again?” You asked, glancing at the clock. Thirty minutes until they’d fly out. You were surprised you lasted this long without questioning them. 

“We don’t know,” Cassian looked apologetic. Trying your best to give him an understanding smile, you failed miserably - the tear gathering in the corner of your eyes betraying you. Of course, he noticed, and tugged you into his arms, into the warm embrace you craved so much. “I’m sorry,” he kissed your hair. 

Letters could be intercepted, codes could be cracked, and if they were spotted with you too frequently, if word got to the wrong people - it would put a target on your back. Despite everything, they were worth it. 

The familiar sound of footsteps crunching on the snow, and you flung the door open, the harsh winter breeze flying over you, snow pelting your skin - but you didn’t care. The dilemma of earlier was forgotten as two winged figures closed the distance, shielding you from the elements. Cassian slid his arms around your chest, lifting you off the ground and spinning you into the warmth. 

Laughter bubbling, head spinning, you squeezed your arms tightly around his neck, pressing kisses wherever you could reach. He had to bend down as your feet hit solid ground. If he hadn’t held onto you, you probably would’ve fallen right on your ass. 

Hands slid up your body to cup your face, and cold, slightly chapped lips pressed against your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw, and were warm by the time they finally met yours. A few seconds passed, and shadows pushed the two of you apart. 

“No patience,” you chided as Azriel slid between the two of you, wrapping his own arms around you - your feet thankfully on the ground. 

Calmer, but he held you just as tightly, kissed you with the same sense of longing, before the standard lecture came. At this point, it was a routine - maybe even a ritual. 

“We could’ve been anyone.” 

“Intruders wouldn’t have been so obvious,” you countered, grinning. 

Azriel glanced at the ceiling, like he was uttering a short prayer to the mother. 

“Dramatic,” you muttered. 

Reaching up to tilt his head back down, hazel eyes littered with amusement and exasperation stared back at you. 

“He’s right,” Cassian added. 

Azriel looked too smug, and maybe that’s why his shadows didn’t stop you from flicking his nose. 

Ducking out of his arms, you sprinted towards the kitchen, hand gripping the doorframe to whirl yourself around the corner, lips pressed tightly to hide laughter at Cassian’s snort and teasing in the background. 

Most likely, he let you past his defenses and out of his hold, but you’d take the win. Grabbing the small basket of muffins you’d bought in anticipation, having a good feeling about tonight, you slid them across the kitchen table. 

Sneaking a glance at the clock, you debated asking how long it would be this time. Refocusing your attention on the doorway, you studied them as they walked through. 

Relaxed shoulders, light in their eyes, and half smiles on their lips, you decided to hold off. 

Ruining this momentary peace wouldn’t be worth it. If you leaned into it enough, lost yourself enough, you almost believed you could make it last forever. 

[small-sinclair]

Snow and Rose

An idea by @violettelune

Reformed!Johnny Slaughter x fem!reader

Welcomed readers: @sup-im-blue

Tw: mention of blood and death, him being a dad, mainly his pov, just something fluffy, not prof-read

He woke up to another nightmare. Johnny dreamt that he found you dead in the sunflower field, your blood stained on his hands, lifeless eyes looking up. Then he heard his daughter crying in the distance. No matter how fast he ran towards her cries, he was never close enough. He was never there in time. It always ended with Nancy standing over the crib and a wicked smile on her face.

“Freed ya, Johnny. Now you can come home,” she would say. “Now you come back home. Come home.”

At his feet, barbed wire and chains wrapped around his legs and arms, pulling him to the ground. He felt roots sewing him to the wooden floor into front of his mother as he looked upon her and her smile. He felt chainsaw blades strangling him as he tried to scream your name, but sunflowers and daisies poured from his lips. His world filled with his victims, his deaths, and they all look at him with empty, lost eyes. He knew their names; how could he forget them? Then his eyes focus to the center and sees you and his child in a broken marble block, red tears falling from your eyes as you look on your child. He tastes your blood, your flesh between gasps and teeth. He hates this. He loves you. Stop. Stop it!

Wake up.

He would wake up in sweat, sometimes shutting, sometimes falling out of bed and pushing away from the bed and from you.

Tonight, however, he woke up with a start, breathing heavily, his dark eyes looking around like a scared wild animal. He looked down at your sleeping form then up at the cracked door leading into the hallway. He needed to check. Johnny just needed time check.

He got out of bed, put the blanket over your shoulder, and crept out of the room but something in his chest didn’t sit. He came back and kisses your head. “Be back, y/n,” he promised. “Keep my side warm.”

He may not be a hunter, but he still kept his talents. He can walk without noise, he can move without sound, and he can be hidden without being seen. Johnny uses that talent whenever his daughter is asleep when he comes home from a long day from the butchers. That’s why he got the job in Wisconsin; the butcher need another slaughter, and he’s good at it. Why waste a talent? He’s used to the blood, to the kill, but these are animals, not man. But he got the job to leave Texas. He swore to the stars he’ll never go back.

Johnny made that promise in a burned down church two years ago, and he stuck to it still.

He snuck out the room and down the hall to the open white door to the cotton candy pink room. He lets out a deep sigh as he came over the little white crib he built and looked down. Ophelia Rosemary Sawyer, his 5 week-year-old daughter, slept like a rock in a pink onesie with a bear in the center. Whatever fear he had, the nightmares, the shadows and ghosts— it all faded when he saw her sleeping in peace. Shes his rock, his world, his reason.

Ever so slowly, he lowered his hand and touched her head, and his heart fluttered when she moved into his hand. She’s not scared of him. As if she’s glass, he picks her up slowly and cradles her. He sneaks to the wooden rocking chair in the corner and rocks back and forth. The moonlight lit the room as the snow fell gently over the evergreens.

“Hey there, little sunshine,” he whispers. “Don’ worry. Daddy’s just needed ya.” He looks down at his world and rests his forehead against hers, kisses it, and holds her close. “I swear you’ll never be alone, ever. I love you… I’ll never not love ya.” Then he looks outside, stands up, and takes her to the window. “Look at ‘at, Ophelia,” he whispers in her small spot of brown hair, “it’s your first snow. So pretty an’ bright.” He looks out at the fields and forests, the farmlands and homes, and he thinks about the fireflies and waving weeds he left behind. “Daddy ain’t goin’ away, sunshine. I promise.”

He closes his eyes breathed out slowly. “Texas can keep the fireflies,” he looked down at his child, his blood and flesh, and his heart swelled, “I got my snow and rose.”

“Johnny?” Your voice was enough to make him jolt but he relaxed. “Why are you up? Is Ophelia okay?” You joined his side and looked down at your child. “I didn’t hear her.”

“Naw,” he answers, rocking on his heel, his eyes not leaving his child. “Sleepin’ like a lamb.”

You rested your head on his arm as he looked outside. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he said as he laid his head on top of yours.

“Is this your first snow?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Is it everything you’d imagined?”

He thought for a moment as he took in the land before him. He could imagine Ophelia and her friends running wild outside with sleds, building snowmen, having a snowball fight out back. He could see himself with you during a star filled night while the children sleep, slow dancing with you in the snow, kissing you sweetly while whispering praises. He thought about Texas and the heat, but he thought about you smiling while it snowed, his kids playing, and him giving you a cup of cocoa.

“Everything and more, moonbeam,” he whispers, meeting your eyes. He leans down and kisses you tenderly. “I love you, y/n.”

“And I love you, Johnny,” you said back. You looked back at the snow, and you both watched it fall over the moon lit snow.

[vivzzi]

ditto

part one , part two 

It’s 7:30 am. You sit in your empty classroom waiting for your lesson to start and with the absence of your classmates chatter your mind starts to think about what happened at the park two nights ago. since then you haven’t used the camera but you still carry it around with you in your bag as if it still has a need to be with you. 

You sit at the shared desk looking out onto the school yard seeing how the snow is slowly melting away. You wish it could’ve stayed longer. Slowly turning your head towards your bag on the ground near your feet you reach inside and take the camera out. Pressing the ‘on’ button ever so slightly,you look into the view finder. You point the camera towards Shuntaro’s side of the table but instead of seeing him in the view finder you see the same book he was reading last time laying on the desk. No longer human by Osamu Dazai. 

You freeze and shut the camera off again placing it in your bag. The bell hinting the start of the lesson pulls you out of your thoughts along with the students rushing in. 

The day came to an end pretty quickly. You walk towards the exit with the feeling of someone watching you from a distance. You turn around expecting to see someone but youre soon met with relief when no one is seen behind you. Once you reach the exit and walk towards the bike stands you have the same feeling as before but not wanting to turn around this time you ignore it. You reach your bike slowly pulling the heavy backpack away from your back to put inside the basket. Instead you see a bright pink book taking your bags spot. No longer human by Osamu Dazai. 

Looking at the book that lays in your basket you can see several bookmarks sticking out the edge of the book. You place your bag on top of it and ride home. No matter how far you got from the school you can still feel someones eyes on you, You suddenly press the brake on your bike slowly looking back to see no one. The sigh you let out sounds frustrated. You open the zip of your bag and pull out the camera. Once you turn it on you slowly turn it behind you, looking into the view finder as you do so. With the noticeable glitch basically taking over the screen youre able to see what the glitch is trying to hide. Shuntaro standing a couple of feet away from you with this bike by his side. Him look directly at you. 

You feel your heart skip a beat out of pure shock when you see him. 

“Why are you here?"

You manage to let out feeling the tears sitting at the bottom of your eyes. You shut off the camera and place it back in your bag. 

You sit on your bed looking at the book in your hand. It remains closed while you look at the side of it seeing all the bookmarks and notes sticking out. Noticing one note that has your name on it. You slowly open the page the note is stuck too. The one and only underlined quote catches your eye. 

“What uneasiness lies in being loved?” 

The same quote he told you about that one day. 

-

It’s now the end of graduation day and it’s been two years since you’ve used the camcorder. You left it in the past along with Shuntaro. While digging through your locker to empty it you found yourself holding the same book again. The same book from two years ago. The small smile on your face makes you think of all the times you and Shuntaro spent together before he disappeared. 

Once you gathered all your personal items from your locker you made your way home. You placed the box with all your belongings under your bed. While placing it under there you see another box. This time with things from you and Shuntaro’s time together. Photos you mostly took off you and shuntaro at school together, either holding hands or sitting close to each other during class. Random notes you would pass each other in class and a dusty camcorder. 

You slowly pick up the camera and examine it. Pulling out the SD card and going towards your laptop to insert it inside. A folder appears that contains 3 years worth of memories. You click on the first video 

The camera is showing you and Shuntaro walking through your school’s hallway. You took this video during your first year. In the video you and Shuntaro’s connected hands can be seen. 

“Why are you recording?” 

“Im making memories for us” 

“But wont we just remember the memories we made instead of relying on a camera to remind us?”

“No because what if i forget about you one day...or worse. you forget about me.” 

“I would never forget you” 

You continue to watch all the videos you filmed remembering all the times you spent with Shuntaro. But now you needed to move on especially since youre leaving for college for a fresh start. 

Shuntaro will always be remembered as your first love. 

AN: lmaoo last part.anyways i tried to make it sad but idek if its that sad. i rlly hope you guys enjoyed this and bc i finished writing this series i will be taking requests so please send some ( the characters i write for are on my masterlist ). thank you so much for all the support. i love uuu!!

<3 viv

[flowercrowngods]

of snow angels, ridiculousness, and the liberating breathlessness of falling in love with robin buckley

There's insistent knocking on the front door that draws Nancy's attention away from the book she's been sucked into for the last three hours.

"Coming!" she calls, moving the blanket from around her shoulders and rushing down the stairs. The knocking only gets more insistent and louder, and Nancy calls again, "I am coming, geez!"

If this is Mike who forgot his keys, again, she's going to ask Steve for the nail bat to whoop his ass like Erica has suggested a couple times already.

But when she opens the door, it's not Mike standing there. It's a very adorable, very excited-looking Robin, her hair and jacket covered in thick white snowflakes. When exactly it started snowing, Nancy doesn't know, but the streets are white.

And so is Robin.

Robin, who's grinning at her, swaying back and forth on her feet.

"It's snowing," is all she says, and Nancy wants to roll her eyes, because obviously, but all she can do is chuckle, feeling a bit breathless.

"Y-yeah, looks like it is, huh?"

"Snow, Nance!" Robin is laughing, her excited rocking almost turning into little jumps on the spot now, the same way Dustin does when he's overly enthused.

"It's winter, Robbie, that's bound to happen, you know?"

The nickname slips past her tongue before she can rein it in, and Nancy feels her cheeks heat up. She smiles, because that's what happens when Robin is there, and leans against the doorframe – partly to keep herself from reaching out and taking Robin's hand in hers like she's been longing to do.

It's crazy and Nancy doesn't really know what to do with it. This fluttering inside her chest, this inability to stop smiling, and – most importantly – this readiness to just follow Robin anywhere. Not just physically, but mentally. Robin's thoughts are all over the place most of the time, but still Nancy wants to follow them, wants to understand, wants to share with Robin the way she sees the world.

Nancy has always loved exploration and knowledge, has always valued facts and arguments and discourse and all those things that make stupid people roll their eyes in exasperation and impatience. But never Robin. She will engage with Nancy's hunger for knowledge, will support it, will spend hours in the library with her, smiling and bringing Nancy books upon books, even if they will stray from their original mission because Robin got excited over one thing or another, and then it's Nancy who indulges with a smile on her face.

They follow each other, and they do it with soft smiles, gentle massages if they've been stuck in one position too long, and patience. Curiosity. Trust.

It's new. It shouldn't work – and it didn't, in the beginning ­– but it does. Miraculously, wonderfully, it does. Miraculously, wonderfully, Robin's excitement sparks a giddiness in Nancy that she can only compensate by letting out a breathy laugh. 

That only makes Robin grin all the brighter, and Nancy feels dizzy with it.

"Come and make snow angels with me. Dingus is busy, he has betrayed me and I'll make him pay by making the mightiest of all snow angels! And you're gonna join me."

Nancy's cheeks are starting to ache from smiling so much, but still she keeps at it. She crosses her arms in front of her chest and inclines her head.

"Oh, am I now?"

"You are in fact, Lady Wheeler," Robin says in that voice of hers. That stupidly endearing voice. "You're going to put on your coat and that floofy pink wooly hat that Steve crocheted for you the other week, and you're gonna join me on this adventure."

They look at each other for a moment or two, the snow keeps falling, covering Robin in white flakes that look so good on her, that make her look so young, so carefree. So beautiful.

See, beautiful is not usually a word that Nancy associates with the other woman. Smart, yes. Adorable, infuriating, endearing, really fucking amazing, sure. But lately, Nancy has started to put beautiful up there on the shelf of Robin Words inside her mind.

Before she knows it, captivated by the ethereal beauty of Robin covered in snow, waiting patiently, the entirety of her absolutely breathtaking attention solely on Nancy, she reaches up and brushes a strand of Robin's hair back behind her ear.

"Uhm." 

The excitement and giddiness make way for something different and Nancy watches as Robin's face falls slightly. It does that sometimes when she looks at Nancy for a bit too long and Nancy looks back. When they share something personal that makes the air sizzle or heavy between them.

And every time Nancy forgets how to breathe.

"I'll be right back," she says, her voice no more than a whisper, before she whirls around and all but slams the door shut behind her. She leans against it for a second, catching her breath and clenching her eyes shut. "Get it together, Wheeler!" she hisses at herself.

But eventually she does grab her coat, puts on her new hat that Robin keeps commenting on, and grabs some matching woollen gloves. When she opens the door, Robin is still outside, but her grin has made way to a more tender smile. She's made no move to free her hair from the snow, and Nancy has to bite her tongue on the remark that she's gonna catch her death like that. Because snow looks too good on her, and Nancy apparently likes to watch now.

"Well, let's go then, Lady Buckley," she says and pulls the front door closed behind her.

Robin immediately offers her arm for Nancy to link with, which she promptly accepts.

"Oh, I'm no lady," she says, taking Nancy down her driveway and onto the street, leading her away from home. "I'm a knight who tricked the king in a game of wits. I'm gonna be head of the royal guard one day, actually."

Nancy smiles down at the white ground, her heart fluttering at Robin's antics. Of course she's a knight, not a lady, and of course she says it in such a matter-of-fact voice that there's not a hint of doubt to it.

"Let me guess, the king is Steve."

"Please," Robin scoffs. "The king is Erica, who's tricking the entire kingdom into believing Steve has any say here."

Nancy laughs at that and sobers only when Robin joins her. Sobers because it's quite breathtaking to see Robin joking and making up stories so easily, laughing in a manner so carefree it's liberating.

Robin is always liberating. Nancy has never met someone like her, has never felt like she does around Robin. Never dared. Never followed anyone as lightly as she does with her.

At night, when the hours on the clock aren't real anymore, stuck in the void between 2am and 5am, Nancy feels like she has uncovered one of life's great mysteries when she's with Robin. Or maybe Robin has discovered it simply by existing and being herself. By being Steve's soulmate.

But Nancy gets to witness it, gets to exist in Robin's orbit, gets to follow her wherever she leads, gets to explore and experience life through Robin's eyes and hands and words. There is always sense to her ramblings, and it's usually deeper than she lets on at first, but it always captures Nancy in a way that no one ever has before.

Like now, when Robin lets go of her arm and takes Nancy's gloved hand in hers, leading her down a trail and into the forest. She's sure that Robin isn't even entirely aware of how tight their grip is, but Nancy only laughs as she follows, hiding the way she squeezes Robin's hand by feigning a stumble here and there. Robin's grip is secure and unrelenting, and Nancy feels safe.

"We always used to go here when I was little, because my mother said that the angels are always in the woods more than around the houses, and so they'd find my snow angels better if they were here than in my backyard. Granted, that didn't stop me from essentially digging over our yard in my clumsy attempts at making snow angels first thing in the morning, but mother just left me to it and made hot choc– Oh shit!"

Robin stops abruptly and whirls around to Nancy, still not letting go of her hand.

"I should have made hot chocolate! Because we're gonna be freezing so hard when we're done. I'm so sorry, Nancy, next time I'm gonna bring hot chocolate!"

Next time. Nancy isn't even entirely sure what's gonna happen, but the thought of a next time makes her heart jump somehow. So she brings her hands up to Robin's shoulders and keeps her still.

"Next time," she says, smiling gently at the ball of nerves that is Sir Robin of Buckley, royal knight to the kingdom.

"Next time," Robin confirms and calms down. "Next time. Good, yes, perfect." She looks around at the untouched snow in the clearing they have reached and then looks back at Nancy with an almost manic grin. "Let's make some snow angels, Lady Wheeler."

"Sure," Nancy laughs, everything inside her tingling in the face of that look on Robin's face. "I'm guessing this is as good a time as any to tell you that I've honestly never made a snow angel before."

And Robin is gaping at her. Appalled, horrified, positively flabbergasted! Nancy wants to kiss it away, but all she does is turn away with what can only be called a giggle. Nancy Wheeler is not someone who giggles! She hasn't since sophomore year of high school! Leave it to Robin Buckley to resort her to all those confusing things again, but in a softer way than boys ever have.

Maybe that's what it's like to like a girl. Soft. Easy. Tentative and yet so sure. The air filled with a kiddy kind of patience and a patient kind of giddiness that makes you want to take her hand more than it makes you want to kiss her.

Maybe. She never asked. But it's definitely what it's like to like Robin Buckley. Maybe she's special like that, too.

"I'll show you how to make a snow angel, Nancy Elizabeth Wheeler the twenty-third, and if it's the last thing I do!" Robin declares, and Nancy sputters at the ridiculousness of the name. Robin only grins back, obviously proud of herself. God, Nancy wants to kiss her stupid and then do nothing but hug her in the snow.

And so Robin shows her. They lie down in the snow beside each other, their eyes meeting, their arms spread out. Robin reaches for her hand, linking their fingers slowly, oh so slowly that it sort of takes Nancy's breath away. She wants to learn. Not only how to make a snow angel, but also how to hold Robin's hand in a way that makes her feel safe, too. Warm. Wonderful. Giddy.

All those urgently soft things that Nancy is feeling right now.

Gently, slowly, Robin moves their linked hands up until they can't hold each other's eyes anymore, the sight obstructed by linked hands on glittering white powder. It's Nancy who moves their hands down, farther than where they started, all the way until they'd have to let go.

"Yeah," Robin rasps when they still again. "That's how you do it. You move your arms up and down to create the wings, and then your legs to make the dress."

Nancy smirks, moving their hands in the motion Robin suggested, her other arm joining in, but her legs still. "What if my angel is actually a royal knight who tricked the king and will be head of the royal guard one day?"

She's flirting. And even though Robin's cheeks are red from the cold, she could swear they flush even further.

"Knights can wear dresses, too."

"Mm-hm. This one feels better like this, though," Nancy argues, her smile softening. "They look better like that, too."

Robin hesitates for a second, her breath hitching, before she comes up to lean on one arm, hand still linked with Nancy's.

"Ridiculous angel, huh?"

Nancy feels dizzy with the way Robin looks at her, that heaviness back to her gaze, a certain importance that looks a lot like the urgent softness and soft urgency Nancy's been feeling since Robin came knocking on her door.

"Absolutely infuriating angel," she agrees, feeling rather breathless. "Ridiculous. Stubborn enough to turn entire worlds on their head, and endearing enough to get away with it."

Robin huffs, looking down for a moment as if in an attempt to hide her face. Nancy can't quite breathe or track her own mind, but that's fine because all she wants to focus on is Robin.

That's another wonderful feature about her. Nancy's mind is very loud very often, but not in the same way that Eddie's or Steve's or even Robin's are. It's loud with responsibility, with the need to control, to explore, to figure out, to solve.

Robin gets her to quiet down. Gets her to focus on something other than that.

Something less to do with Nancy Wheeler and the world, and everything to do with Robin Buckley and the universe. Life. In a different way than what can be captured and expressed with science and reason and words.

That was what's drawn Nancy in, and that's what's keeping her.

It's what makes her shift her hold on Robin's hand so they're holding onto each other more securely.

"What?" she's whispering when Robin doesn't move for a while, and it's quiet enough not to burst the bubble of heaviness they find themselves in.

"Nothing." Robin shakes her head and then lets herself fall forward into the snow, her head inches away from Nancy's. Their hands, still linked, are now resting on Robin's stomach. "The ridiculous angel is just a mess."

Nancy's heart is fluttering at Robin's proximity and her breathy voice so, so close. She turns lightly, lying on her side in the snow, her other hand landing between them. They're so close she can smell Robin's scent of laundry detergent, books, Steve and something much sweeter.

"How?" she asks, just as breathy as Robin.

There's a huff of breath and Nancy can see that Robin's eyes are closed. "Because the ridiculous angel is ridiculous enough that… that they can't stop thinking about… someone. And think that there might be something there. Something more. With that someone."

"Someone," Nancy says, smiling still, and Gods, she feels so inebriated with it. "Why's it ridiculous to like that someone?"

"It's not ridiculous to like that someone. It's a law of nature, actually, to like that someone. She's, like, the smartest, prettiest, most badass gir– someone out there. It's just ridiculous to think that they would like the angel back. It's ridiculous to think that they'd like how much the angel dreams about taking their hand and holding it as they kiss. How much the angel thinks about holding them. It's all the angel, the ridiculous, infuriating angel can think about. The angel is actually a crazy person, you see."

"I see," Nancy breathes, her smile so wide, so painful that she wonders briefly if it should at all be possible to smile so wide. But she does. Because Robin still has her eyes closed. Because Robin is a crazy person. And so is Nancy.

Crazy. Absolutely batshit. Gone for the angel.

"Robbie?"

"Yes?"

"Can you look at me?"

"Why?" She sounds like a toddler, her question more a refusal than a complaint, and it makes Nancy laugh. Crazy.

"Please?" And Nancy knows no one can resist her pouty voice. Robin herself has told her so.

It works. Robin opens those pretty eyes of hers and Nancy hopes that one day she'll get her breath back. They look at each other for a moment, two, three, and then Nancy moves her free hand up to Robin's cheek, gently stroking the hair back from her eyes.

And then she whispers, because she's still out of breath, because she doesn't want to spook Robin, and because she doesn't want to burst their bubble. She isn't ready yet for the world to hear. Only Robin. Only Robin. "None of that is ridiculous."

It takes a moment, but then understanding dawns in those eyes and Nancy is falling and falling and falling. That smile catches her, though.

"It's not?"

"It's not."

A beat. 

"Shit," Robin breathes, and then they're laughing again, leaning into each other with it until their foreheads are touching, the snow making way for every confession, every touch, every possibility.

"Nance," she whispers once they've calmed down again. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yeah."

And so they kiss in the embrace of the snow angels they've made, half covered by snow, secluded and safe from the world so ready to judge. It's just them. And Nancy finds that kissing Robin Buckley feels just as right as saving the world with her, just as right as following her into the library, into the forest, into the depths of her mind.

She never wants to stop.

written for @thefreakandthehair's spicy six winter fic challenge. the prompt: “I’ve honestly never made a snow angel before.” 🤍 thank you for creating this event/challenge! 🤍

[starry-eyesanddaydreams]

Day 23 for @deepperplexity 's Rickmas 2003.

December 23: Under the Tree

Sherriff of Nottingham x Reader

Just you and the George of Nottingham making out under a tree in the snow. Enjoy! ;)

Under the tree The forest was quiet and still, ou had taken aim at some pheasant in a small clearing ahead of you. Unfortunately, your cold fingers on the bow were unsteady and your shot flew wild, veering left into one of the trees. You were irritated at this. That was one of your best hunting arrows. You got off your horse and headed to the base of the tree, looking up through the thin branches to see your arrow, stuck halfway up into the trunk. Maybe you could climb up there, you thought, and you reached up to grasp one of the low branches. The thin branch quickly bent from your weight, jostling the tree enough to disturb the slow on the upper branches too. Snow rained down from the disturbed branches, pummelling you as you spluttered and covered your face with your arms. You were grumpily brushing the snow off your coat when you hear a deep chuckle. Looking up at the Sherriff of Nottingham approaching you, laughing gleefully at your state. “Oh sod off!” You snapped, ignoring him. His expression didn’t change at your tone or words. No one else would have spoken to him like that. Just as no one else would have laughed at you. But a husband and wife had certain liberties with each other. “Did you find your arrow?” He asked, swinging down easily from his horse. “Yes.” You grumbled, looking back up at the tree, “Halfway up this tree and the branches are to flimsy to climb.” You’d just have to give up on the arrow, such was the way of hunting. George walked steadily towards you, a mischievous look on his face. “The snow missed a spot.” You heard him say, and you turned your gaze from the tree back to your husband just in time for him to smush a handful of snow into your face. You spluttered and brushed the snow off your face. So he wanted to play, did he? You quickly reached to the calf deep slow to retaliate but he reacted first, grabbing you and toppling you both into the snowbank under the tree. You were on your back with George’s solid weight pinning you down. He gazed down at you, a mix of adoration and mischief in his eyes and smile. You couldn’t hold your look of mock indignation any longer and let out a giggle, relaxing under him. “Have I caught myself a snowbird?” George asked, admiring you and the way snowflakes still clung to your hair and dotted your skin, “Or a winter sprite?” He leant his head down and pressed soft kisses across your face, from your eyes to down your cheeks, just missing your lips and you knew he was doing that deliberately. You let out a little whimper of need and he grinned before giving in and kissing your lips, deeply and passionately. He broke the kiss and pulled back to look at you, his dark eyes filled with desire, “I could have you right here.” His dark, sultry voice was near irresistible, but now you were in the mood to play too. “It’s a little cold out here, isn’t it?” He was pressing kisses to you jaw again, “I’ll keep you warm.” He whispered against your skin. Your hands slipped down his sides, gripping his cloak and your knees shifted to either side of his hips. You shifted suddenly, flipping George onto his back while you straddled his waist. Planting your hands on either side of his head, you leant down and started kissing him, in a maddeningly slow way you knew drove him crazy and in a few moments would have him fumbling at your clothes and trying to flip you back over. You lifted your head and leant back a bit, admiring his rugged handsomeness for a moment…before shoving two handfuls of snow in his face and scrambling backwards to your feet.   You reached your horse and swung into the saddle just as George got to his feet, brushing the snow from his face. You took up your reigns, grinning widely, “First one back to the castle gets to be on top!” You called out before sending your horse at a run through the forest.

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

Trying something a little different, a little sexier, for this one. A day late in posting by work and Christmas prep happens. :)

[lesbian-deadpool]

The Staple of Christmas

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 1,036

Warnings: Fluff, grumpy Nat, usage of axe

Request: Nope.

Summary: The tree goes up on the 1st. Not ‘ifs’, ‘ands’ or ‘buts’ about it.

A/N: I know it’s not the 1st, but here it is anyway.

Ko-Fi

Commissions

(Not my pics)

---

The sky was as white as paper, showing off the winter season, even though snow had not graced your presence yet. -Soon though, if the weather reports had anything to say about it- And you were up early, driving across the upstate roads of New York, with a moody red-head by your side.

Natasha hadn't said a word to you since entering the car, not even thanking you when you had grabbed her favourite festive drink from the drive-through to warm her up in the cold morning. No. She didn't speak until you passed the third sign, showing your nearing destination.

'Carl's Chop Your Own Tree Farm'

'Five Miles'

"I can't believe you woke me up so early just to get a fucking Christmas tree," she grumbled, glaring at you with her side eye. Finishing off the last dregs of her drink, eyeing yours that sat in the cup holder between you.

Smiling at how well you knew the woman, you reached over, grabbing around the lip of the paper cup. But instead of drinking from it, you passed it off to the red-head, knowing that she would need warming up more than you when you stepped out into the cold morning in a few short minutes.

"Tis' the season, babe. Don't want all the good trees to get taken, do we?"

"It's too early in the month to even get a tree."

You had the same "argument" every year. Natasha would complain and make excuses while you stuck to your guns, winning out in the end. Which you expected it to only be because she couldn't bear to destroy your excitement, nor the tradition that had been with your family since before you could remember.

"It's the first, and you know what that means: Christmas tree day."

Natasha let out a soft groan, turning towards the passenger side window just as you pulled into the Christmas tree farm.

You knew she didn't truly feel as grumpy as she seemed, with how much she loved you, even if you dragged her out of bed at the butt-crack of dawn. Which is why you smiled towards the red-head, unbuckling yourself, moving to exit the car, as you spoke, "C'mon. You know how much you love to see me using an axe."

Her eyes snapped open with the sound of your door shutting. Green eyes followed you as you rounded the car to grab said axe from the boot.

That was all the instigation she needed before she jumped out of the vehicle herself, with what was once your warm beverage pulled to her chest.

"Shut up." Natasha glared when she spotted your smug look as you came towards her, throwing your arm around her shoulders, leading her to the entrance of the farm.

"But I didn't even say anything."

With a soft nudge against your ribs, she replied, "You didn't have to."

You were right.

Natasha did love the way you used an axe, letting her watch from feet away as your arms flexed with every swing.

But still... she didn't appreciate how smug you were about it.

With a bright smile, you turned towards her, panting with the tall tree now laying on the ground, only for the woman to roll her eyes and shake her head good-naturedly, trying to push away the smile pulling against her lips.

"You ready to head home and get this thing decorated?" you asked, gesturing to the fallen tree.

Smiling at you sweetly, Natasha responded, "You bet ya'."

You had complied with Natasha's wishes to wait until nightfall to decorate the tree with festive colours and turn lights.

Lit candles were the only light that doused the room, the warm glow setting the perfect atmosphere.

You remember when we got this?" Natasha asked from the place beside you, intently peering at the decoration hanging upon her fingertips, pulled up to her face.

It was an old-fashioned miniature rocking horse, wooden throughout, with two googly eyes where they normally would be.

"Remember it?" you chuckled, "I almost lost a finger for it when Yelena stuck those eyes on it... man, your sister is scary when someone tries to stop her jokes."

"I still don't know where she pulled that knife from." She shook her head, placing the ornament upon one of the full branches.

"Oh, you don't know? I distinctly remember you being the one to give her her Christmas present early, which was a custom knife holster."

Natasha blinked, shaking her head as she turned back to the boy full of decorations.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course, you don't." You smiled.

The red-head yelped when you hoisted her into the air, directing her to the very top of the tree, watching as she placed the star upon it.

You excitedly scooped up the remote once you set her down.

"You ready to turn the lights on?"

"You do the honours."

At her consent, sparkling white lights made the tree glow. Shining against the decorations.

Liho, who had been evaluating you and his human mother the whole time, from his designated chair. Sat up with intrigue, staring at the lights, plotting their murder behind his blown golden eyes.

With your arm around her shoulder, you pulled Natasha down with you to flop onto the comfortable sofa, pulling her into your side.

"I think we did well with the tree this year."

"Yeah, maybe next year I can have a bit more sleep before I'm forced to grab one."

"Maybe next year we could have a bauble that says 'Baby's First Christmas'," you countered, pointedly not looking at the woman when her attention was brought to you, jaw dropped in shock. Instead, you continued to peer at the tree.

"You want to have a baby with me?"

At that, you turned to look down at her lovingly. "I want everything with you."

Overcome with love for you, her hands rose, holding your cheeks between her palms, pulling you into a passionate kiss.

"I want everything with you, too," she mumbled against your lips.

"Then let's have everything together, baby."

And with that, you pulled Natasha into one of the many kisses you would continue to share that night.

---

Permanent Taglist: 

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro, @thelastavenger-3000, @mixed-fandom-mess, @wannabe-fic-reader, @vancityfire13, @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday, @007giu, @fayhar, @xxromanoffxx, @poptartpoppyy, @wlwfanfictionss, @diaryoflife, @pointconji, @readings-stuff, @tokyo-liv, @imadethisblogbecauseiamasimp, @natashaownsmyheart, @marrymemcgrath, @scorpiosloveletter, @idkevenfuckenknow, @wandanatfan, @izalesbean, @iblameitonclint, @bizarrealex, @lorsstar1st, @bak3rio, @heybitches-amirightbitches​, @lokisjuicyass, @marie-yt-blog, @mrswandaromanoff, @red1culous​

SFW Taglist: 

@peggycarter-steverogers, @natalia-quinzel, @stupendoussportspaperempath,

[icybluepenguin]

A Cozy Evening

Summary: A snowstorm is building up outside and you hunker down with Astarion, a fire, some cider, and your knitting. For the #BG3HolidayFluffle23 prompt "cozy"

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav(reader)

Tags: post-game, knitting, coziness, short utter domestic FLUFF

--

The snow was coming down fast enough to make it hard to see, thick clouds blocking the sun and making everything look flat and dim. 

You hurried down the last few streets, wishing you could wipe the snow from your face but not willing to put down your armful of baskets. 

“Oh my gosh!” you exhaled as you tumbled through your front door, muffled by your scarf.  “Boo was right about this storm!”  You put your baskets and packages on the dining table and stripped off your mittens and unwound your scarf and peeled off your powder-dusted cloak.  “Astarion?” 

That was odd, he usually welcomed you home with a light complaint about taking too long or a whine about the cat not loving him as much as you or some other ridiculousness.  He couldn't have gone out.  The sun was still up, although between the thick clouds and the heavy snow, it was hard to tell. 

You kicked off your boots, wiggling your very cold toes.  The shopping could wait to be put away, you wanted to get warm first. 

You had left Astarion sitting in his armchair by the fireplace with a book.  When you walked closer, you saw his book on the arm of the chair, but Astarion was nowhere to be seen.  And on the fur in front of the fire was a pile of blankets. 

“Astarion?” you asked in disbelief, poking the pile with your toe.  You could just see the tip of Astarion's ear as he lay facedown on the fur. 

“‘S warm,” he mumbled.  “Fell asleep.”

“Can't blame you there.”  The house was much colder than normal and Astarion loved being warm, even if this seemed a little extreme.  He must have had at least three blankets piled on him.   “Make space for me?”

With a groan, he rolled onto his side and moved the blankets so that you could sit down in front of him.  He started to curl around you, then hissed.  “You're cold.”

“Give me a minute, I just got home.  I was half snow monster by the time I got to the door.”  You'd gone out a few hours ago to get some last minute supplies for the storm, in case you were stuck inside for days.  Food and treats for you, healing potions and scrolls so Astarion could drink from you without worry, and a few new books, among other things. 

“Did Gorukk have anything good today?”  Astarion's voice was slow & deep with sleep. 

“Mm-hm.”  You wanted to stroke the tip of his ear, slightly flushed from the heat, but your fingers were still chilled.  “A history and two romances that looked decent.  I also got a guide to Zakhara, if we want to pretend we're somewhere warm.”

“I am somewhere warm.”

“You can't stay on the floor forever.”

“Watch me.”  He rolled back over onto his stomach with a small huff. 

You slowly got to your feet, but one of Astarion's hands snuck out to grab your ankle. 

“I'm just going to get some cider.  If we’re going to stay on the floor, I want to be cozy too.”  You extracted your foot from long pale fingers which then disappeared back into the mass of blankets.  Smiling, you gathered your baskets from the table and headed to the kitchen.  

As you put away the groceries, you found one of your other purchases tucked under them.  You stuck the package under your arm, then ladled out two steaming mugs of the cider you've had mulling on the stove all day. 

You set one mug down near Astarion's buried head and put the other in front of your spot, sitting cross-legged by his stomach.  With a sip of cider warming your throat, you tear off the paper wrapping of your purchase, revealing a big soft ball of yarn and a set of needles. 

It had been a while since you had knit anything, but you had seen the yarn and knew it was the perfect thing to do in a snowstorm.  You had fond memories of your father teaching you how to knit as you spent the days on his fishing boat, waiting for a catch. 

“What's that?” Astarion's head poked out of his burrow, no doubt attracted by the sound of the paper and hoping it was a surprise for him. 

“Just some yarn I picked up.”  You wove the yarn through your fingers and looped it over the needles in a quick, practiced motion.  You wondered if your hands would ever forget how to do this, it was as natural as breathing.  “I'm going to knit some warmer socks.”

Astarion watched with fascination.  The way your fingers darted to and fro, the smooth rhythm of it- it was a bit hypnotic. 

“I didn't know you could do that.”

“Hush, I’m counting.”  Satisfied you had cast on a decent number of stitches, you paused for some cider.  “Do you want to learn?”

“I… Yes.”  He sat up, pushing blankets out of the way. 

You held up your project.  “Hold the needles and the yarn like this,” you demonstrated, “Then, take this needle and slide it into the stitch over here.  Wrap the yarn around… pull it through and off.”

You handed him the needles, putting your hands on top of his to find the right grip.  “Good.  Now slip the needle in… Wrap around… Oh, you're good at this.” 

“You've seen me unlock chests harder than this, darling.”

“I've seen you blow them up too, so let's not get carried away,” you teased.  “I haven't taught you how to purl yet.”  

You were unsurprised when his fumbling beginner movements became sure and smooth within a few stitches.  The things this man could do with his hands…

His grip loosened on the needles as he became more comfortable, the yarn flowing smoothly from the ball to his dexterous fingers.  You smiled, cradling your mug in your hands.  You could watch him all night. 

“And this will become a sock?” 

“After a lot of knitting, yes.  And then you have to make the second one.”  You grimace dramatically.  “We used to carry our knitting everywhere, on the boats, in the pastures, walking to town.  Any moment your hands weren't busy was a chance to be knitting.”

“Perhaps a habit to get back into.  These needles could do considerable damage to someone's eye.”

You shook your head fondly.  “A friend of mine stabbed someone in the thigh with one.  It was horrific, it went in more than an inch.  I've used one to jimmy a lock more than once.”

His eyes lit up at that.  You looked up at the heavy snow swirling past your window, a small frown developing on your face.

“What are you thinking about?” Astarion asked.

You heaved a long sigh.  “I should have gotten more yarn.”

-

Master Post

[pearlywritings]

After the cold there is always warmth

synopsis: the December evening, that Diluc and twins spend outside playing in snow and then cuddling together in front of the fireplace.

pairing and characters: Diluc, his twin sons Rufus and Lucas, Diluc x fem!reader as a fact

tw: pure fluff, domestic moment, vision affects Diluc’s body temperature

word count: 2k+ words

author’s note: got inspired by thiiiiiis ✨✨

Family AU Masterlist

The headmaid of the Dawn Winery, the one members of the Ragnvindr's family trust the most, is a constant witness of many sweet familial moments shared between her masters, Archons, she often becomes a direct participant in those.

Today is not an exception. You, her lovely Lady, decided to go out with your friends and then stay for a sleepover at the house of one of them, something you haven't done in quite some time. Which meant your husband and two sons were left on their own and that, as it was proved on multiple occasions, sometimes leads to different kinds of predicaments, because boys know how to convince their dad to do mostly anything, even if it'll take them hours to accomplish. So before leaving you assigned a task to Adelinde - keeping an eye on your boys, so they don't get in trouble. Nothing new to the woman who practically raised Diluc and Kaeya years ago, moreso, she happily promised to look after the three redheads, sending you off with no worries to have.

The windows in the spacious building are huge, so, locating a man and two boys outside is not hard, besides, the fiery color of hair sticking from under their knitted hats is vibrant against the whiteness of the snow and it makes spotting them even easier.

She saw a lot: boys running around under the falling snow; them standing with heads thrown back trying to catch the snowflakes with their tongues stuck out before Diluc told them not to (they didn’t really listen, and tried to do it a few more times); small hands pressing snow into balls and throwing them at each other and at dad too, trying to drag him in a game, but quickly abandoning their attempts, because the snowball melted in his gloved hands the moment he tried to form it; how the little mischiefs jumped on Diluc and he (clearly pretending) fell in a snowbank, keeping two laughing and squealing boys on top of him; making replicas of Anemo Archon while lying in snow, with wings and stuff; how Diluc pretty often caught one of his sons to brush snow clinging to the clothes and check if any ended up under it. The last thing she saw them doing was the twins rolling balls to make a snowman.

Just when she puts a new log in a fireplace, a gust of cold air bursts through the front door, but quickly dies as it clicks shut. With a smile Adelinde turns around and hurries to assist the little troublemakers with their clothes, which, as she could easily predict, is practically soaked.

"How was your time outside, young masters?" she asks, as her fingers quickly work on the buttons of Rufus's fur coat.

"Great!" The older twin is grinning widely, nose and cheeks as red as the bulfinch's breast, with ruby eyes twinkling brightly and red hair a fluffy mess that makes him look like what Callie, Master Kaeya's daughter, calls both of them - a cherry.

His brother is no better in the department of the color, tugging off his mittens and stuffing them in his pockets.

"The snow melted under papa's feet when he stood in one place for long," it seems like he is very eager to share with the fact, handing the woman a hat he already dragged off of his head and letting her work on his coat as well.

"Oh, it did? How curious!" A soft chuckle and a quick glance at the 'culprit'. The man in question only sighs and points at the vision resting on his hip that wasn't visible under his own outer clothes.

"And he almost melted the snowman we were making!" Rufus suddenly complains, crossing his little arms and hmph-ing.

"I said I was sorry," Diluc mutters, putting the heavy boots on the carpet for staff to clean later, "I simply wanted to help with rolling the snow in bigger balls…"

Oh, it is such a rare sight for a man like the oldest Ragnvindr - an apologetic look on his face makes it hard to believe that this gentleman can destroy a group of Abyss mages in one go or gruffly tell off and kick the drunks out of his tavern late at night.

"Ruuuuu, don't be mad at dad!" Lucas grabs his brother's wrist and tugs on it to break the lock of crossed arms. "He meant good, you know that!"

"I am not mad!" Rufus protests, turning to look at his father. "And I forgave you, dad."

"Oh, thank you," Diluc exhales in exaggeration to show how relieved he is, pressing a hand to his chest to look more convincing. "I really appreciate it, firefly."

"Mhm!"

Finally undressed, the twins are sent off to their room where the two other maids will assist them, if needed, with changing into clothes they wear at home. Adelinde makes quick work of hanging coats, hats, scarfs and gloves to dry and turns to Diluc, who is in the middle or untying his hair.

"Maybe you should leave your vision at home, Master? I don't think it's dangerous near the winery, besides you always have an eye on the boys," she suggests lightly, reaching out for a towel and then offering it to the man.

"I gave it a thought actually…" he admits, throwing the fluffy fabric over his head. "I suppose you are right. It won't hurt to do so once in a while. Thank you for the fireplace, by the way, I am sure the boys will want to cuddle near it."

"Yes, you need it after two hours out there playing with the snow."

"It's been two hours? Time does fly by at a rapid speed when it’s Ru and Lu… Oh, can you make hot chocolate for them, please? They'll start asking for it the moment they come back down."

"Why of course, Master. With greatest pleasure."

When the sweet brew is ready, Adelinde doesn't forget to add marshmallows to Rufus's mug (Lucas still looks at them weirdly and refuses to try them) and returns to the living room. 

During the time she was busy, the twins got changed and their hair dried as well as possible and then brushed. Diluc is there already too, bare foot (and who is going to set an example for kids, sir?), clothes fresh and hair cascading down his back. Sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, the man cradles the bodies of his sons close to his chest, sharing the body heat to make it nice after so much time spent outside, in the middle of December no less.

"Thank you," Adelinde nods gently, carefully putting the small tray with both mugs on the floor near Diluc, and then, getting a non-verbal permission from her boss, leaves to get some personal things done before calling it a night.

The fire dances beautifully within its stone confines, licking and biting at the wood hungrily. Watching it makes the owner of the Dawn Winery slowly relax and clear his mind of all the unnecessary thoughts. Such a magnificent evening: he's home, the work is done, his sons are satisfied, and he genuinely hopes you are having a great time with your friends - you deserve a break and he was the one encouraging you to take it, - it's not easy to be the mother of two and the Lady of the house.

A content silence settles within the winery, leaving only the crack of burning wood and the rustling of clothes whenever the boys start fidgeting to change the position a little or cuddle even more into their dad, relishing in his warmth and how secure the firm embrace of his body feels.

"Papa…" Lucas calls in a tiny voice, the tune of sleepiness making itself clear. A big warm hand presses against the back of his head and massages the scalp, which leaves the boy borderline purring from pleasure.

"What is it, Lu?"

"Addie read us a book…" he starts, but quickly trails off, distracted by the fingers' ministrations.

"Yes, the book?"

"Oh, and… and there was a prince… and he saved a princess from a dragon… and then they married and had kids…"

Diluc hums, asking him to elaborate, all the while catching Rufus's hand - someone wanted to try and tickle his dad it seems. Too bad the man's reaction is immaculate. Instead it's the boy who bursts with giggles, being the one to be lightly tickled.

"So… did you save mama from a dragon too?"

"Did I save mama from a dragon? Why would you think so, baby?" There is a hint of surprise, but also amusement in Diluc's voice and he releases Rufus from under a tickling attack and pats his head gently instead.

"I heard how maids called you… um.. uncraned?"

"It's uncrowded!" Rufus exclaims, "Uncrowded!"

"Maybe..? But that you are king and mama is queen. Addie explained that prince and princess become king and queen later."

"So was there a dragon?" Straight to the point, so typical of your older son.

With a deep chuckle, all the way out of his broad chest, Diluc smiles and the fondness overtakes his features. If you were home to witness the sight, you'd surely want to kiss all over his beautiful, lovely, shining with adoration face, cradling those rosy cheeks in your palms and rubbing your nose against his.

"There was no dragon, I am afraid,” ‘only if you can call Kaeya one,’ he thinks amused, joking, of course, “but the story about how I met your mother is indeed interesting. One of my favorite stories, actually."

"But there is no dragon," judging by the tone Rufus is in disbelief. The look in his widened eyes proves it.

"And yet I love it. Would you like to hear?"

The twins whip their heads to face each other and, after a brief moment of exchanging gazes, look up at Diluc, excited.

"Yes!"

"Then grab your hot chocolate and make yourself comfortable. It'll be your bedtime story for today. Oh, careful, firefly," with the tips of his fingers he supports the mug's bottom when Lucas takes. Rufus meanwhile turns around, swings his legs to put them on both sides of Diluc's thigh and presses his back against the warm body behind. Only then the mug appears in his hands. The younger twin remains sitting the way he was, facing Diluc, now having a perfect view of his brother as well.

"Good, good. Now, where do I begin? Ah, yes… it all started, the day your mother…"

When later that evening Diluc is carrying his sleeping sons to the master's bedroom, having relived the memories of meeting and falling in love with the most amazing woman in the whole Teyvat and having shared this story with the most important beings in both his and your lives, he feels so utterly happy, heart filled with joy and yet unshown affection, that he catches himself thinking how alive he actually feels.

The days of biting chill are long forgotten, he is now surrounded by the heat of multiple emotions his family causes him to feel, and he is so glad he can return it both metaphorically and physically.

After all, after the cold there is always warmth, just as the sun rises after a dark night. And as Diluc pulls the covers over himself and the boys, his heart weeps with overwhelming glee, because his precious little flames attach themselves to his body immediately and the man is weak for them. He is convinced that if you were here, witnessing the scene, you'd comment something along the lines "looks like you are their personal heater now, Luc. You better expect them sneaking in our bed every night, now that they got the taste of winter cuddles properly" with fondness singing through your voice.

And you'd be absolutely right. And it’s not like Diluc Ragnvindr would ever complain about cuddles with his loved ones.

[hawkins-losers]

STRANGE-MAS DAY 2 | Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Summary: When crossing states to go home for the holidays, you and Steve get caught in a snowstorm

Word count: 1k

Request: Can I get snowed in and there’s only one bed with Steve and being Dustin's sister? Maybe they stop at a motel because the roads are closed. Please and thank you

A/N I usually don’t like overly cliché tropes, but this one is one of my favorites.

—

‘’Danger of a snowstorm. Stay inside until further notice,’’ the radio host warned its audience, but it was already too late. You and Steve were right in the middle of the snowstorm.

‘’We can’t see shit,’’ Steve stated, looking ahead and only seeing white.

You rolled your eyes. ‘’Thanks Sherlock. I didn’t see the snow.’’

Steve glared at you, sitting stiff in the driver's seat and gripping the steering wheel tightly. Right now wasn’t the time to play smart-ass, but you were stressed and you can’t control what comes out of your mouth when under stress.

You stuck your hands into your pockets to keep warm and prayed the snow would slow down…but it didn’t. The snow was falling more and more every hour and, combined with the icy roads, it wasn't a good mix.

‘’I think we should take the next exit and stop at a motel, stay until the snow calms—’’

You whipped your head in Steve’s direction, immediately opposing. ‘’We can’t. If I don’t make it home tonight, my mom will worry and you know how much of a worrier she is. Remember that time Dustin disappeared for two days? She was hysterically crying and thinking he had died when he had just forgot to call and tell her he was spending the weekend at Mike’s.’’

Your brother really was an idiot sometimes. He had come home and asked if someone died, sending your mom in another crying fit.

‘’It’s the middle of December and the next two states we have to cross are in a snowstorm, she’ll understand we got stuck in the snow.’’

You shook your head. ‘’No. She’ll jump to conclusions and think we got into an accident or froze to death on the highway. We can’t stop, Steve.’’

Steve sighed, driving past the exit. He didn’t want to worry Mrs. Henderson. ‘’Alright. I’ll try to make it.’’

Half an hour later, you spotted dreaded orange lights.

Your stomach sank. Oh no. This was not a good sign.

Steve stopped the car and rolled down his window, knowing what was coming.

''Sorry, Sir. The road is closed due to the weather,'' a policeman informed, a bright flashlight in his hand.

''That's understandable. Do you know when the road will open back up?'' Steve asked, wincing when the wind blew snowflakes right in his face through the opened window.

The man shook his head. ''Unfortunately, no. The lineup is immobilized as of now and will be until the snowstorm calms. You can turn around and try to get to the nearest motel I can’t promise there is still rooms left.''

''I understand. Thank you, Sir.'' Steve rolled the window back up, swatting at the snow that had slipped inside while it was open.

''I guess we’re stuck here until the snow dies down,’’ you sighed.

Steve turned to you, wishing he had something positive to tell you. ‘’Yeah… So, shall we go to the motel? We can try to ring your mom there so she knows where you are and doesn’t worry?''

You nodded.

You finally found the motel the policeman was talking about — it was a challenge with the snow — and Steve volunteered to go in and check if they had rooms left. The motel was one of those cheap ones that looked like they hadn't been renovated since the 1930s, but you didn’t have another choice. Hopefully the rooms have a heater and hot water. Your feet are freezing in your boots and your nose is so cold it’s numb.

‘’Good news,’’ Steve began when he returned, sitting back in the driver seat. ‘’They have a room left, but…’’

You gave him a look, expecting him to go on with the bad news. ‘’But?’’

‘’It only has one bed.’’

One bed was better than nothing, you told yourself. Besides, it was Steve. He’s taken you home to your dorm when drunk enough times to know he was a good guy.

After parking the car on the other end of the parking lot, you and Steve brought your bags inside the motel room. An horrid smell of cigarette enveloped you and stung your nose the second you stepped in.

You covered your mouth and nose with your hand. ‘’Hopefully the snow stops soon because this cigarette smell is disgusting.’’

Steve could only agree. He used to smoke so he was used to the smell, but this was nasty.

Luckily, there was a thermostat so you bumped it all the way to warm up. There was heat in Steve’s car, but these things never work properly. While the room warmed up, you took the phone and called your mom to let her know of your impromptu stop.

The whole situation in itself was frustrating and stressful. It's unknown how long you'll be stuck for. It could be hours or it could be days. You prayed it wouldn't be the latter. You would be missing Christmas with your family and, as much as your brother was a little shit sometimes, Christmas without him would be really sad.

Speaking to your mom brought tears to your eyes. You haven’t seen her since late August when you left for college. You missed her so much. You wiped them away, but Steve saw you and came to sit next to you on the bed.

‘’Shh. Don’t cry.’’ He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in a small hug. He knew he couldn’t fix Christmas, but he wanted to more than anything. ‘’We’re stuck here for Christmas eve, but I’ll try to make it for Christmas. Just…please don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.’’

It made you want to cry harder. Steve wasn’t the douchebag people thought he was. He wasn’t the façade that most people couldn’t see past. When you really get to know him, he's caring, protective and stupidly brave.

‘’The situation could’ve been worse. We could be in a ditch somewhere, the car getting more and more covered in snow because of the snowstorm and…and died there because no one would’ve seen us under all that snow.’’

You laughed softly. ‘’You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington,’’ you said, allowing yourself to absorb the comfort of his embrace.

Maybe Christmas Eve won’t be so bad. 

—

Taglist: @broadway-or-noway @violetsleftfist @thelaststraw3  @cursedandromedablack  @Slashersimpfor  @savagejane1   @wh0reforbucknasty   @eddiemunson-slut   @slvdsjjk  @hehehehannahthings  @dreamdancers-world  @eddiemunsonbby  @notbeforelong  @lexi-2004 @violetrainbow412-blog  @tatespillows  @alwayslexii  @lilygreennn   @milkiane  @imahomeslice  @bunnygrl16 @cwritesforfun @marauders3rawh0re  @your-mom21 @parkersmyth @voguesir @milkiane @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @lilygreennn @alexxavicry @charlie-chick  @wandamaximoffs-deadchild  @horrorstreet  @rmeddar123  @pastel-abyss-x @lil-tracys  @luvmybbies  @chloepricesgrafitimarker  @inluvweddiemunson @i-like-trains @kittenfrostt @simp-for-slasher @m-rae23 @kenzi-woycehoski @amberputh  @sea040561 @wayfaring----stranger @amberputh @starstruckspring @nluvwitheddiemunson @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @kiszkathecook @Original_babababoo @kittenfrostt @yourfavdummy @kenzi-woycehoski @violetsleftfist

Steve Harrington taglist: @dylanstilinskiposts  @captainbuckyyy12  @valevalentyne  @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie  @heizenka  @eddie_munsons_girlfriend @scarlet-kazuha @uhidklol-26 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @swiftbyul @Fandomfaeryreads @harrys-tittie  @tinfoilhat2719 @straycatarang @wayfaring----stranger @starstruckspring @fourlokiss @mi-amoree1111 @starshipsxx  @ghoulishlygrey @bubsonnobx  @truewdw1 @bubsonnobx @ohhrexella  @Dreamtiara  @pastelbabygirl19  @steves-robin @eddiemunsonbby  @evanstanwhore @bootlegmothman420   @courtmr  @nia-um   @strangermarvelgirl  @fandomloversvaries  @missmaxmayfield  @m1rkw00dpr1ncess  @Minksblog  @soph69420world @truewdw1  @crying-caro  @nancewheelersworld  @nluvwitheddiemunson @veniceb1tch88 @hcloangcls @ilovetaylorswift1 @steveharringtonsupremacy  @jusstdreaaming @buckyswhxre @tomspidertingle @thechoiceslookgrimm @bobafettsleftglove @princesseddie @yourfavdummy  @eddiescvmslvt  @slightlyvicked  

[2-sleepy-for-this]

That Squeezing Feeling

And just like that, it’s finally done! This was for the 2022 MCYT G/T Secret Santa ‘winter wonderland’ and my assignment was 🥁🥁

@deathemo !! :)

I hope you like it! The prompt was: g!naga tommy and surprise tinies are out in the snow, tommy has to carry them and gets some intrustive thoughts, especially about how fragile the tinies and just how easy it would be for him just to squish them. It ends with them comforting tommy and it turns into a big fluf

Tw: intrusive thoughts, squeezing, dehumanization, slight fear (I think that’s it?)

word count: 1.5k

Cold. That was what led to this. Tommy’s tail slithered over the fresh snow as his human family trailed next to him. As a Naga, you’d think he would be freezing right now, with stiff limbs and a slowed heart while he slept in his brumation period. But Tommy wasn’t like most Nagas. As the biggest man alive, he was able to block out the cold with his thick scales and stay nice and warm from his human half.

The snowstorm took them completely by surprise while the misfit family spent a day in a nice field Tommy had found. It was sunny and warm earlier in the day as Tommy basked in the sun, Tubbo convincing Ranboo to join him in climbing Tommy’s tail while Wilbur watched from a few feet away. The weather changed quickly after that and as the clouds rolled in and the wind picked up; they tried leaving to beat the storm home. This didn’t work as planned. Now all of them were stuck walking in the forest as more snow drifted down to taunt them.

“Guys, I’m tired,” Tubbo groaned. “Can you carry me the rest of the way, Toms?”

When Tommy looked over to make a snarky comment about laziness, he was met with the one thing he couldn’t say no to: Tubbo’s puppy eyes at full force. Tommy had to take a stuttering second to collect his thoughts from the sudden look. Tubbo used his puppy eyes occasionally, whenever he wanted something fast, or just to mess with people, but it caught Tommy off guard every time. 

Finally, he gave in with a sigh and scooped up Tubbo with no warning, earning a startled noise.

The four continued on their way through the Forest, one now getting a reluctant, free ride. Eventually, as Tommy was in a deep focus on moving forward, and the small life in his hands that felt so small, so fragile-

There was a sudden weight on his tail, and he stopped. Tommy’s first instinct was to curl around the thing and squeeze. 

But Tommy’s a big man and big men don’t live off of their instincts, not anymore, so he instead turned to look at it. There, sitting like a king on a scaled throne, was his older brother, Wilbur. He let out a sigh of relief, still riled up from the scare.

“Hey, warn a guy next time, why don’t ya,” Tommy scoffed, slightly annoyed, “and get off my tail!”

“If Tubbo gets a free ride, then I’m not walking. "

“…fine”

Tommy gave in. It made sense to just carry all of them, really. He was faster, after all. Besides, even an idiot could see the side eyes Ranboo was giving him, it’d be a lot easier if he just asked to be picked up though.

“What are you waiting for, Ranboo? Get up here,”

With only a small hesitation, Ranboo made his way up, claiming a spot next to Wilbur on Tommy’s red scales. Tommy started hopefully the way they came earlier, now with two more added passengers. But for some reason, that instinct of squeezing something stayed, even after calming down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a few minutes of Tommy slithering on the fresh snow when Wilbur and Ranboo moved from his tail to his hands, where Tubbo was sitting. Apparently, his human hands were much warmer than his scaled tail and none of them were dressed right for the cold weather to begin with.

With his friends held gently to his chest, blocking out the cold, the conversation lulled into a comfortable silence, letting their minds wander. Tommy’s mind especially had the tendency to wander far.

Every so often he would get this feeling, a sense of dread. It would only grow as his small family got closer to him. Most of the time it just stayed in the back of his mind, but right now he had nothing but the forest in front of him to concentrate on. 

Tommy could feel the slight shivers of his family against his chest as he tried his best to protect them from the cold. How do they survive anything being this small? He could hold all of them in his hands, no problem, he could do anything to them with ease. 

Suddenly, those instincts were back with one simple thought: squeeze them. 

Tommy felt horrified when he heard that, doing his best to shake the thought out of his head, but it wasn’t working. 

A human is just so so fragile, it wouldn’t take much for it to break.

Them. His family aren’t ‘it’s. What was he thinking? 

But imagine how satisfying it would be, the fear in their eyes. It’s been so long since he saw them like that. Their first meeting was so long ago and since then, they’d gotten used to him quickly.

Just a bit of fear wouldn’t hurt anyone. He’s a naga, he’s made to do a lot worse than scare these little creatures.

“Uh…toms?”

Wilbur’s voice echoed in his ears, snapping him out of his trance. What was happening again? They were going home, right? And he’s holding them- he’s holding them too tight-

Looking down at his family, he could see some uncertainty in their eyes. They would look much more worried if they could read his thoughts. But what he was petrified of was feeling his hold on them loosen as they took a collective gasp of air.

He was squeezing them. He was squeezing them. Not hard enough to hurt or even bruise, but it could have been if he zoned out any longer.

“What’s going on?” Ranboo said, concerned, but Tommy couldn’t miss the edges of fear in his voice. “A-Are you ok Tommy?”

“I.. yea, yea, I-I’m fine. Just tired from having to carry my lazy friends. "

He tried joking to change the subject. It mostly worked, as they gave him a few offended remarks before starting a new conversation. But Tommy couldn’t focus on what was being said. He had almost hurt his family.

He couldn’t help it when he stared at the surrounding snow, breaths coming in short and shaking.

They trust him so much and he wants to scare them..wants to hurt them. 

No, he doesn’t want that. It’s his stupid instincts that want him to throw away all the trust he knows he doesn’t deserve. He’s better than this! 

Looking in the distance, he can see a familiar cave opening and rushes the rest of the way inside, wanting to put the fragile lives in his hands down before something else happens.

“Finally, I thought we’d be stuck out there all night!” 

Tommy tried to laugh at Tubbo’s joke, but it came out forced. He had to get away from them.

He jumped as something cold stroked his scales

squeeze it

No! 

He looked to see Ranboo petting the side of his tail. He looked concerned. He found his other family members had similar expressions. 

“Tommy, you can tell us if something’s bothering you,” Ranboo said. “You know that, right?”

“Yea! We’re family, and that means you can tell us all your secrets. "

“What Tubbo means to say is, we care about you and if something’s wrong, we want to know. "

Wilbur sounded so sincere, they all did. Maybe he was just overreacting. With a sigh, Tommy tried opening up about everything that had happened that night.

“W-well, it’s nothing really, I mean not nothing nothing but also nothing to worry about, I promise. I'm just overreacting… it’s nothing serious but, ..every once in a while I get, uh. I-I getthesethoghtstohurtyouguyseventhoughIwouldntdothatbecauseyourmyfamilyand- “

“Woah, woah, woah calm down toms, it’s alright.” Wilbur tried reassuring, “just breath and try this again, slowly”

“… Sometimes I get thoughts that tell me to hurt you guys. I-I wouldn’t ever do it though! They just show up when I don’t want them to. And sometimes I get these instincts in the back of my mind telling me what to do… they just got really bad. I’m so sorry, please don’t leave. I promise I can learn to stop.”

The three humans on the floor seemed shocked as Tommy rambled. How had they never realized, of course, Tommy would have instincts like this. He’s a naga. Even though they’re close, it’s still ingrained in his head. 

It must be so hard for him to deal with all this alone.

They weren’t gonna let that happen anymore.

It took some time, but eventually, the humans got Tommy to calm down and told him they had no plans of leaving him. Never.

And as the commotion from the inside of the cave grew quiet, if a hiking human were to wander in past the brush hiding the entrance, they would see not a fearsome naga with its helpless victims, but a family held close together with trust.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ta-da! Hope you all enjoyed and I may start writing more after this ;)

[aristocratic-otter]

Thank you to @hushed-chorus, @prettygoododds, @confused-bi-queer, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @j-nipper-95, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @fatalfangirl, @artsyunderstudy, @palimpsessed, @rimeswithpurple, , @nightimedreamersghost, @dragoneggos, @annabellelux and @ileadacharmedlife for the tags over the last week and a half. I'm working my way slowly and steadily through your posts (and having a lot of fun with it!), but I wanted to post tonight, so I'm switching gears here.

Yay! Summer vacation has begun! To celebrate, here's my first WIP Wednesday in a while.

Segments below the cut

From my COBB (it's so soon, y'all!)

Shepard

We’ve reached the foot of an actual mediaeval looking tower. I stare up at it in awe for several seconds before realising that Simon hasn’t waited for me. I scurry to catch up. He’s mounting the first of what looks to be an endless spiralling staircase. I look around, but there’s no sign of an elevator. No ADA compliance in magedom, I guess. 

Even as I’m thinking that, on one landing, a boy in a wheelchair emerges from one of the many doors. I know it’s rude, but I can’t help but stare when he mutters a few words, waves his wand, and the stairs immediately smooth out to a gentle ramp. 

I guess they don’t need ADA compliance in the World of Mages. 

From my (still unnamed) Age of Sail AU

Simon and the cook spend their days cataloguing what’s left to us and writing out plans and routes on the deck boards with graphite sticks. They seem to think that if we’re lucky, the winds will push us into a shipping lane and another ship will just appear to rescue us.

I think they’re living in a fantasy world. I think we’re stuck here until the ship’s wounds prove too much for it and it falls apart. Or until the next storm tears us apart. Or until we run out of food or water and starve to death. 

Ha! Running out of water when we’re surrounded by leagues of the stuff. It’s what my tutor would call ‘the height of irony.’

Fuck, I never thought I’d miss that pinched old man. But I think if Professor Gerint showed up right now, I might hug him. If he showed up with a boat, at least. 

I try not to spend too much time thinking about how my parents just…left. How they didn’t wait for me to come back from under the deck. How my father didn’t leap up out of the lifeboat, desperate to find me.

How, in the end, my stepmother and the babe she carries were far more important than me.

From Snow Fox, my COTTA

It’s almost anticlimactic how easy it is to free the American officers on their march to Georgia. 

My men and I waited until the British column was passing through a dense part of the wood. Then the men I’d placed at strategic points on either side of (and behind) the line of British troops, fired their guns in the air on my signal (a high whistled ‘fee-bee’, the call of the chickadee). After the column froze, the Brits groping for their guns and looking frantically in ever direction, I rode out to face the commander at the front of the train. 

“Drop your weapons,” I said, mildly. “You’re surrounded.” At those words, my tiny band of men had switched positions by several feet each, and fired again from a new location. The British soldiers were practically cowering now, because each time I spoke, the guns fired again, from a new spot. It sounded like a thousand American soldiers were holding their tiny force in a giant fist, and all I’d need to do is to give a signal, and that fist would crush them. 

An impression we'd carefully planned out ahead of time, given that I’ve less than fifty men, and the British force has more than two hundred. 

The British leader looked at my gun pointed at his head, and listened to the gunfire and screams behind him, and surrendered without a shot fired.

From: To Heal a Broken Mind

Simon looks up and smiles tiredly at me when I approach. “Any luck?” he asks. 

I purse my lips. “Maybe…you’ve got a lesion in your left temporal. It may not mean anything, but it reminds me of something… I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I’m going to review my medical journal back copies tonight. 

Simon nods slowly. He doesn’t look particularly encouraged, but it’s not like there’s anything concrete yet. In silence, but hand in hand (what’s the point of hiding now?), we depart the hospital 

From Westward Son:

“You putting your oar in?” I tease. 

He shrugs and smiles. “Not really. I’m no use when it comes to survival skills, you know that. But…there may be folk who are. That’s what I was going to suggest.”

I’m puzzled. “You were going to suggest that we look for advice outside the train?” I look around at the sheer emptiness around us. Most trains that we’d gotten used to seeing gave up and stayed back at Fort Boise, or even at earlier stops. I’ve not seen anyone but us for days. 

“Not people you can see,” he says, with emphasis. 

“People we can’t see, but could help us,” I scowl. “Do you get a thrill from being mysterious, Shepard Love?”

He laughs. “No. But there are people…well, not precisely people, but beings, at least, in this area.” 

My breath catches. He means the fair folk. “Shepard, that’s too risky,” I say, my voice shrill enough to attract Simon’s eye from where he’s standing several feet away, brushing Agatha’s coat. 

From Saving Simon Snow:

Simon pulls back so abruptly that I’m dizzy. “Baz,” he says urgently, “do you still hate me?”

It takes me several seconds to recover my wits enough to understand the question. I’m still fighting the urge to pull his gifted mouth and tongue back to my neck when I realise what he’s asked me. 

My mouth opens and closes uselessly for a moment before I sigh. 

“Simon,” I croak, and then pause to clear my throat. “Simon, I never hated you.”

He goes still. “Never?” He stares at me. 

I shake my head. “Never. I pretended to hate you. It was what my family expected of me. What I expected of myself. But I never could quite manage it.”

He scowls a little. “You gave a damned good impression of it.” 

And a tiny tease from Raising Dragons (it's done, y'all! Fristi and I are making some final decisions, but it should post in the next few days!)

“Don’t laugh at me, you arsehole,” I whine. 

“But when will I ever laugh then?” he mocks me. He loves that line. And I love him, so I let him get away with it, every time. 

Tagging, for Sunday (or not, no pressure!):

@angelsfalling16; @bazzybelle, @bookish-bogwitch, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @erzbethluna, @frjsti, @fight-surrender, @giishu, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @jbrrring, @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists, @krisrix, @letraspal, @messofthejess, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, @mostlymaudlin, @nausikaaa, @onepintobean, @prettylightsbigcity, @raenestee, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @tea-brigade, @theearlgreymage, @twinkle-twinkle-up-above, @upuntil6am, @unfiltered-alice-liddle, @urban-sith, @whogaveyoupermission, @whatevertheweather, @yu-miou, @yeonjunenby, @yellobb-old, and everyone above!

[ego-osbourne]

A fic to be paired with this post. A bit of a long one, but one that I’m pretty happy about! Got to practice with a lot of new stuff. Hope you enjoy Ego getting their ass kicked… again >:)

The Deep Dive

Word Count: 7885

Status: Complete

TW: Body Horror, Prolonged Asphyxiation, Throat Injury, Violence/Battle, Mental Breaks, Lots of Eyes, Throwing Up, Coughing Blood

Summary: Ego is lured and attacked by Hermaeus Mora, and so has to seek out help while the rest of the Masquerade is unavailable.

———

“Alright, I’m headed out,” Ego said, slinging their bag over their shoulder. “Meet you guys in Winterhold, right?”

“Right, yes,” Erandur sighed. He pushed himself from his chair and stepped over to the Last, putting a comforting hand on their shoulder and he walked them to the door of the lodge. He called over to the opposite end of the room, “Your brother is leaving!”, getting the other three’s attention. Ancano gave his best smile (which was a slanted frown) as he waved them off, Serana gave a wave and told them, “Safe travels,” with a hint of knowing worry, and Miraak stood and meandered over, teasing, “You do know where you’re going, yes?”

“Yes, yes,” Ego waved him off, “Even if I get lost, I have the Rose. I can just summon him.” They referenced Sanguine.

“I really wish he’d walk you,” the priest said. “The Pale is dangerous enough without you traveling alone.”

“He must have big plans,” the First knowingly nudged the Last. Ego nudged him back with a half-frown behind the mask. “Don’t go speculating,” Ego told him.

“Hard not to.” He opened the door for them, chuckling, “Hard…”

“Miraak,” Erandur scolded. Ego shook their head with a grin, telling the First, “You’re terrible.” Erandur stuck by the door of the lodge as the Last stepped onto the porch. “Be safe, son,” the priest told them. Ego waved back as their feet hit the snow, “I will. See you in a day or two!” Erandur and Miraak waved them on, watching them walk out of Dawnstar before settling their worries with sighs and returning to the lodge to pack their things.

The night before, Sam Guevenne had asked Ego to meet him in a “special place” out in the Pale. He had marked Ego’s map, giving hints that there was a shrine to him there, and a warm spot nearby. He was strangely vague about it all and purposely distant, as if drawing Ego out. The group decided to split, agreeing to meet up in Winterhold a few days later and let Ego and Sam have their little date. There were barely any worries; Sam was a well-established member of the Masquerade and Ego was more than capable of traveling alone for a couple of hours.

As they went, Ego speculated what Sam’s little treat would be. There was no holiday as far as they knew. Sanguine’s summoning day was a week and a few days ago, but they figured this didn’t have much to do with it. In fact, they remembered Sam had said he would be busy for a while after his summoning day, cleaning up some messes and making good with some other Princes that may have been caught in the crossfire of his event. Maybe this little outing would mark his official return to the group.

Once out into the wilderness, Ego pulled their map from their bag and found the location. Sam had marked it with a thick black line, near a small wooded area in the Pale, close to the sea. Ego wasn’t sure they’d ever passed by that area before.

Their curious mind kept them entertained as a couple of hours passed. The sun halfway up in the sky and setting, and the usual chill of the Pale was magnified as the cloudy sky darkened. Ego itched to get to the location and be with Sam, who surely had a cozy spot to heat up in.

They spotted stacked rocks among a collection of trees up ahead. They checked their map—yes, this was the spot. They picked up the pace a bit, pushing into the trees and attempting to spot any sort of shrine or other man-made inventions. However, there was nothing other than stale memories of something that might have existed before, now covered by undisturbed snow and shaded in the setting sun’s waning light. Ego stood dumbly, wondering, Is this right? They felt warmth from worry invade their head, and they reached for the map in their bag.

Then, a familiar voice, “Ego?”

The Dragonborn turned to their left, finding Sam Guevenne stepping between the trees. Ego smiled beneath the mask, sighing, “There you are. I was wondering if I was in the right spot.”

“This is it,” he said, keeping his eyes down. Ego noted that he was only in his usual robes, which was far too underdressed for the area they were in. “Aren’t you freezing?” Ego teased.

He hesitated before answering, “I’m a Prince, I don’t worry about the cold.” His speech was slower than before and he seemed nervous. Ego met him with a comforting hand on his arm, asking, “Are you alright?” They knew him well enough to know when he was feeling off and when he was trying to hide it, but even his attempt to cover his emotions felt strange. The Prince in disguise bit his tongue, twisting his heel into the snow. “I’m alright, trust me.” Without making eye-contact, he gestured through the trees, toward the beach. “Should we go to our little spot?”

Ego lowered their brow, worried for their partner. His words felt forced. They slipped their arm under his, wrapping their limb around his back. “Sam, you can talk to me, you know? Not a whole lot scares me.” They tried to keep their tone light.

Sam didn’t answer, or even much look at them. He tried to pull them along, but didn’t put up much of a fight. Ego brought their other hand to his opposite shoulder, turning the Prince to look at them. His half-smile was incredibly forced, and he couldn’t maintain eye-contact. He was stiff, his body tense. A sinking feeling hit Ego’s gut. “You don’t have to talk…” they said lowly, “But you can ask me for help, you know? Do you need anything?”

“What could you do for a Prince?” he asked solemnly.

The phrase seemed familiar to them for some reason, but they couldn’t place it. They ignored it, offering, “Anything. Even just a hug.”

It was then that Sam’s eyes locked onto Ego’s through the mask. His expression flattened before he sighed through his nose and nodded. “Yes.”

Ego noted his speech pattern—it was very un-Sanguine-like. They worried about what might have happened between then and the last time they saw him to make him so distant. They weren’t sure how to get the information out of him—or if they even should—as they pulled Sam into a hug. They leaned into him, accepting his grasp and expecting a gentle squeeze… but his muscles were stiff and his arms were tight around them. Something rang in the back of Ego’s mind, but they ignored it. Ego inhaled, taking in odorless air…

No… That was wrong. Ego furrowed their brow, confused, knowing that they should have smelled vanilla on him. But there was nothing.

And his embrace… was cold. It was as cold as the air around them. There was no warmth or comfort, only stale air, shivering cold, and a dark worry that bled into their mind like ink.

Something inside of Ego told them that this wasn’t like Sam…

No, they thought, This isn’t Sam at all. A subconscious force told them to push him away and run, that they were in the embrace of something dangerous. They didn’t want to believe it, but they couldn’t shake the feeling.

They tried to remain calm, quietly ordering, “Sam, let go,” and hoping that maybe, just maybe, this was still Sanguine. They hoped that the feeling in their head was wrong and that they were worried for nothing.

But Sam’s arms only tightened around them.

“Let go,” Ego panicked, trying to push away from him. Everything about this screamed Not Sam, and the Dragonborn had trouble recognizing anything else other than the figure that held them. The world around was dark and senseless, and this facade of Sam Guevenne was all they could focus on. Ego dug their claws into his shoulders, shoving away, shouting, “Sam!”

The coldness enveloped them. Ego knew this feeling. They were plummeting into a cold ink of Oblivion.

“Get off!” they cried, electricity sparking at their fingers before they knew it. Lightning stabbed through Sam’s skin, electrifying his body and making him spasm. Ego knew that the shock so close to his head would damage him immensely, but their fear overwhelmed whatever benefit of doubt they harbored. Sam’s arms went limp for just a moment, giving Ego enough time to react and shove him away, lighting still springing from their metal claws. They watched him trip and fall onto his back, then lay still in the snow.

Ego’s senses came back to them all at once. They hadn’t realized they were panting so heavily until that moment. They felt cold sweat beneath their clothes, doubling the effects of the chilly air. A biting wind whipped through the trees, moving leaves and creating a light rustle. The sky had near-completely darkened, save for a royal-blue horizon.

Sam’s body laid motionless. His head was twisted over and facing away from Ego, with strands of hair covering his face. He was strangely pale. Strangely quiet. Strangely motionless…

Ego felt panic flood their entire body. The pit in their stomach twisted, now, making them jerk and scramble. “Sam. Sam,” they repeated, not sure who they were speaking to. They spoke to the body before them, terrified that they might have hurt or killed him—could they even kill a Prince?—but they also spoke to the air, hoping that somewhere out there was the real Sanguine, and that he heard them, and would appear at any minute. “Sam. Sam.”

The body didn’t move.

Ego’s hands began to tremble. They grabbed at the air by their sides, making fists at nothing, and stepping back. That wasn’t Sam, it couldn’t be Sam, and yet there he laid.

The weight of their backpack struck a sudden thought into their mind. “Right,” they hissed under their breath, forcing their eyes away from the body. The Rose, they remembered. The Dragonborn swung their bag from their shoulder and set it at their feet, forcibly pulling the staff from its fastenings. They reached for the rosebud to pluck away a petal and summon Sanguine.

When, suddenly, the staff was ripped out of their hands. The force was so strong that they fell forward as it left, tripping over their bag and landing in the snow. They pushed themself to their hands and knees, looking up to see a tentacle as black as night reaching from a tree as if it were a branch. It held the Rose, bringing it closer to other branches that morphed into tentacles. The ever-moving limbs stained the Rose black before snapping it in half, and then into fourths. Ego shouted, “No!” and jumped to their feet, but the Rose had already withered to a blackened-grey by the time the tentacles dropped its pieces to the ground.

The Dragonborn was struck with fear and dread. Something in their mind told them to look back at the body that they had left in the snow. Without much forethought, they did just that, and their perception of the world collapsed around them. All they recognized was the breton’s body, the woods around them impossible to sense. The body was twisting on itself and things writhed beneath its skin. Bloodless, the skull cracked open with a pop, and from it rose wet, bulbous tentacles. A similar thing happened all across the corpse, ink spilling from the open wounds and barbed tentacles rising from the carcass. “Dragonborn…”

Ego struck their head with the palm of their hand, forcing themself to look away from the Prince. They closed their eyes and the world returned to them, cold and unwelcoming. They scrambled and spun, unhooking their axe from their belt as they wove between the trees. Again, they felt something tell them to turn around, look, look at it, but they vehemently denied the urge. Instead, they Shouted, “Wuld… Nah Kest!” and dashed across the snowy plain. They weren’t sure what to do with the Rose gone and the Masquerade hours away—as well as any sort of civilization. So, they ran, “Wuld… Nah Kest!”, and ran, “Wuld… Nah Kest!”, until…

The Dragonborn was struck across the back, a bludgeoning bruise forming beneath their armor. They tumbled forward and rolled, managing to pick themself up with the momentum surprisingly well. They sensed him immediately behind them, and so barely aimed as they swung their axe back with a yelp. The blade cut into a mass of leathery, wet flesh, blacker than night and more infectious than a disease. The figure consumed their mind as they looked at it, and the ink of his body consumed the head of their axe. Ego found much difficulty while pulling it away, choosing next to throw their casting hand out to strike him with lightning. The towering body flinched and reformed where the lightning struck, and in retaliation he overpowered Ego with barbed tentacles. The Dragonborn was wrapped in boneless limbs, pinning their arms back as they were lifted from the ground and as ink seeped through their clothes. A low bass rumbled through their body, preventing them from hearing anything other than his voice. “How foolish…” Hermaeus Mora taunted.

Ego stared into golden eyes that swam beneath a faux hood, pushing against and misshaping each other as they flowed like a gelatinous paste, disappearing into indecipherable blackness where his form ended. The breton was lifted a dozen feet off the ground, nearly reaching eye-level with the Prince. Air was being squeezed from their lungs, and they knew they had to act quickly. They felt the Voice rise to the back of their throat, and they Shouted into his hooded eyes, “Yol… Toor Shul!”

Hermaeus was quick to shield his head with massive tentacles just before the bulk of the fire hit him. The tentacles burned and bubbled before reaching for Ego’s neck and subsequently revealing the Prince’s face once again. Ego inhaled to Shout once more, but the tentacles tightened themselves around their throat and prevented them from breathing. They tried to bring their hands to their neck to pull the tentacles away, but their limbs were stretched further out by Hermaeus. “Allow me to take care of this issue…” he said, leaning in closer as another tentacle rose to their face. Ego could barely twist their head away as the limb wormed underneath their mask, spreading cold ink over their chin and lips before forcing its way between their teeth. Ego felt extreme violation at this, finding it impossible to breathe as the wet mass snaked down their throat. He was preventing them from Shouting, they knew, but he did it in the most personal way possible. They clamped down on the tentacle, gagging already from the intrusion and the stale taste, but now was disgusted threefold as their teeth sliced through the sensation of leather and sponge. The chew wasn’t smooth, and the force of their jaw wasn’t enough to cut through a thick middle-piece of the tentacle. Their stomach flipped as the limb danced in their throat, and a terrible, expanding pain emanated in their chest as they breathed in ink.

Hermaeus wrapped a tentacle around their head, squeezing their jaw and causing them to bite through the tentacle, which severed it and allowed it to slide down their throat. He released their head and neck, letting the tendrils that held the breton fall to the ground and having Ego crash into the snow. They inhaled and exhaled sharply without pattern, drawing in the slightest of breaths—wet, stale, and infected. It hurt to breathe, and they could feel the tendril writhing like a fat worm in their throat, returning to the back of their mouth before divine down into their chest, then back up and down again. Their mask sat crooked on their face, and their armor bent with the tentacles that grabbed them. The Voice called for action, but Ego could barely find the air to stay conscious, let alone to Shout.

Hermaeus Mora moved through the snow, leaving a trail of disrupted black wherever he moved. Ego was being dragged along behind him, and they clawed at the ground with their free hand, though it did nothing to slow him down. Ego desperately tried to cough up the tentacle, but each inhale was ladened with ink and only pushed the tendril further down.

“Your incompetence amuses me, Dragonborn,” he said, his voice ringing out from every part of him. “Perhaps taking you as a Champion would be worth little beyond embarrassment.”

They thrashed and writhed, coughing up black mucus as snow and ink caked into the crevices in their hands. Their body was twisting at a painful angle, no comfort granted to them. Ego knew they’d never be able to escape on their own, and they couldn’t Shout for help, but another thought came to their mind: they could conjure something. Or rather, someone. Sanguine was out of the realm of options, the Rose still withered and broken far away in the snow, but Ego knew the summoning spell of a certain Dagon warrior…

Hoping Hermaeus wouldn’t negate the spell, and hoping that this wouldn’t backfire in more ways than one, they held their breath to focus, struggling to use their non-casting hand to remember the incantation. They drew half in the air, half in the snow; dark purple clouds emanated from their claws, sparking and crackling, appearing to succeed…

And then, the magic turned back on them, the summon failing. They gasped in surprise—which made them swallow down the tendril in their throat and blocked off all air—as sparking purple clouds climbed up their arm with immense speed and burned them through their clothes. They seized up and winced with great pain, cursing the conjuration burn, not knowing if it failed because of the Prince that held them or because of their own incompetence. Either way, the pain reminded them of just how bad this idea could turn out. Ego remembered the terrifying fight was that they had so long ago with the dremora, and the terrible night they instigated. They agreed to never be alone together again, but the situation was dire. Ego needed that daedra.

“I have searched for a long time for my artifacts. I believe I found one of them,” Hermaeus said, switching his grasp on the breton. “Do you remember what you did with it?” The question was rhetorical. He was bringing them closer to the ocean.

Ego didn’t quite register his words, already trying again to cast the summon. They could feel the flesh on their arm wrinkling and tearing from the conjuration burn, but they persisted. They weren’t sure if the dark spots they saw in their eyes were from Hermaeus’ influence or from their body giving up. With their last ounce of energy from a shallow breath, they tugged their casting arm free and used both hands to finish the incantation. Just as they completed the spell, they were yanked from the ground and forced to face the myriad of golden eyes; they never saw if the spell succeeded.

Hermaeus’ gaze trapped Ego’s, darkening the rest of the world so all they saw was black and gold. “You let it sink,” Hermaeus told them, his tone low with malice.

The tendril in Ego’s throat stilled, pushing open the tube to allow them to breathe. Ego gasped and coughed, enjoying the least bit of kindness that the Prince gave them. They had no strength to Shout or speak, however. The tentacles turned Ego’s gaze away from the daedra and toward the Sea of Ghosts; with their gaze off of Hermaeus, the breton could perceive the rest of the world, now. A night sky accentuated the thick darkness of a rainstorm some distance away from the beach. The waves were deep and black, moving with the wind, but Ego noticed a particular spot out in the waters that was completely still. That spot filled them with paranoia and called to them. It was then that Ego realized what Hermaeus was talking about.

The Masquerade had collected the Black Books, so very long ago, and upon realizing just how dangerous it was to keep them, they disposed of them in a number of different ways. Ego remembered one of the ways, when they and Miraak rode dragons and tossed a Book into the ocean while soaring overhead.

This part of the Ghost Sea was suddenly much more familiar. Though Ego had never set foot on this part of the beach before, they’d flown over it. And that still spot in the water signaled where a Black Book rested, calling from the depths.

Ego began to thrash, creating guttural noises of protest as the tendril squirmed in their throat again. “You let it sink…” Hermaeus repeated. “You should sink, now, and fetch it for me.”

Ego was turned back toward the Prince, weakening their will. “Resisting my call will only lead you to drown.” The tentacles squeezed tighter around them, bracing. “So, save yourself the trouble of death, and reach the bottom.” With that, the Daedric Prince swung his limbs and tossed Ego out into the sea. The Dragonborn flew through the air without control, the cold world returning to their senses, but in the worst way possible. They gasped to Shout but only choked, and in a moment their body was enveloped in blistering cold waters.

Freezing wetness flooded their armor and mask, blocking all sense of comfort. They inhaled but took in liquid, fighting against the water as they sank and reached for the dwindling light above. Their armor weighed them down, down, down, and their waning strength failed them. The Dragonborn sank, numbness corrupting their head, and blackness blanketing them.

They felt their consciousness begin to slip. Their heart pulsed in their chest, drumming against their ribs, as if begging for escape from the watery death that surrounded them. They had no strength left to fight the impossibly strong pull of the water.

…And then, another heartbeat. It pulsed all around them, slower and stronger than their own. It was warm and addictive, familiar and foreboding, pulling Ego down. The Dragonborn didn’t fight against it, wanting to be closer to this last sense of twisted comfort before death consumed them. Through the thickness of the water, a noise vibrated their chest, sounding like twisting, scraping metal and stone, or like a magical charm laying over the sky. An impossible noise found common in Apocrypha. An impossible noise produced by Black Books.

Ego’s body came to a stop upon reaching the sea floor. Their legs were in muck and sand, but their upper body rested on something more solid. A hum rang out from the object they rested on, and something in their mind told them to open their eyes. Look. Look.

Ego inhaled, taking in a breath of air. The tendril within opened their throat to breathe, and a bubble of air surrounded their body on the seafloor. Consciousness returned to them, and with it came awareness. They realized they were laying atop a Black Book, the twisted pull all-too familiar and extremely worrying. They could feel its pages, knowing it was open before them. They knew that if they opened their eyes, they would see its contents, and if they did that, they’d be captured and taken to Apocrypha.

They tightened their already-shut eyes, breathing through ink and strange air, fighting against the silent call to open your eyes, look, read the words. It was a snare, a siren’s call, and Ego had to battle with their own will to keep their eyes closed.

But the book was comforting. It was warm and dry, and the heartbeat pulse that it produced squeezed them like a hug. Surely, then accepting its call would promise even more comfort? The Dragonborn shoved those thoughts away, but they kept returning. It will be alright, they told themself, You made it this far. Just open your eyes. It is not a difficult task to do.

Ego tried to pull their hands away from the pages, but found it to be impossible. Their claws gripped the sides of the open Book, unable to be pried off. They felt tightness in their body and sweat began to form across their head and back, mixing with the wetness of the sea water and ink that soaked their clothes. They panted aloud, hissing through their teeth and clamping their eyes shut. “No, no…” they muttered, unable to defy Hermaeus Mora’s influence any other way.

Their lungs burned with pain, a similar feeling to when Ego was sick in the chest back in Solstheim. They searched for the call of the Voice, but there was no strength in their lungs. They began to pant, nervousness taxing the energy in their body. They had to get away from the Book, even if it meant returning to the icy waters. They couldn’t keep their eyes shut for much longer. But their hands were stuck, stuck, attached and wanting. Open your eyes, Dragonborn. Open your eyes.

Ego groaned aloud as they forced their body up and off of the Book. As they went, they lifted their arm, their hand still gripping the Book but lifting it a small bit from the muck of the sea floor. Ego fell back with weakness, but was struck with determination. They couldn’t let go of the Book, but they could manipulate it and move it—they could shut it. Open them, open them. Your eyes, open them.

Ego fought the call, but they could feel the muscles in their face weakening. The want to open their eyes and lay into the warmth of the book was tearing down their psyche. With every last ounce of their energy, they battled against the pull and shoved against the artifact to sit up. Their head hung low as they used the weight of their body to pull on their left arm, taking the Book with them. The Book itself felt no heavier than it had before, but it was as if they were fighting against something that pulled it the opposite way. The tendril in their throat balled up and blocked all air, discouraging Ego from continuing, but they fought anyway. The Black Book hummed a low note that vibrated their body, soothing and weakening them, before the vibrations turned to pins and needles all over their skin. The Dragonborn coughed and groaned, turning their head away from the Book as they finally opened their eyes. The cover of the Book passed the peak of its arch and fell shut, creating a small tremor in the air around them. Ego watched the dome of oxygen collapse; the water of the ocean slammed into them.

There was no warmth, no comfort, and no hope. Pressure strangled them and made their head ring. Air was completely unavailable. They still gripped the Black Book.

And then, tightness around their torso. Darkness swallowed their vision, and they weren’t able to see what had ahold of them, but they could guess by the impossible size and terrible chill that this was one of Hermaeus’ tentacles, grabbing them and dragging them quickly through the water. Liquid rushed by their ears like wind, and they could feel their senses being lost by the second. They weren’t sure if they were passing out or simply being influenced by the Prince. The only given grace was the waning pressure, the water feeling lighter around them as they were yanked back to shore. They subconsciously hugged the Book.

Through their lack of senses, they could still hear one thing: his voice. “Insolent mortal!” Their head broke the surface of the water as they were dragged through the sandy shore. They caught a glimpse of their surroundings: Hermaeus was a tall tower among a sea of writhing tendrils, growing ever-further outward like a hungry fire. They infected the snow and the sea, blackening all they touched. “Open the Book!”

Ego couldn’t grasp the thought of letting the Book go. Sand and muck caked into the layers of their armor. The tentacle removed itself and left them in the shallow water, waves pushing up over their head in pulses. The Prince slowly made his way towards them. He spoke, but the breton didn’t register his words. They were out of air.

Hermaeus Mora felt them slip and had the tendril in their throat open their lungs to take in more air. They were of no use to him if not conscious. Ego’s mind was quickly re-awakening itself as Hermaeus inserted tentacles between them and the Black Book. He curled the pages to open them, beckoning, “Wake, Dragonborn. Wake—”

Ego’s axe flew through the air and struck the Prince in the side of his perceived head, causing his form to spasm and jerk before the weapon was pushed away and fell into swimming ink. Hermaeus drew his attention away from Ego—who was slowly coming back into consciousness—and toward the direction from where the axe came from. At the edge of the mass of tendrils and ink was a dremora in personalized Dagon armor, having just thrown the axe. He sighed off the edge that made his body tingle with excitement, reaching over his shoulder to unfasten his warhammer from his back. “There, you oblivious fucker! Was wondering when you’d pay me any sort of attention!”

The Dragonborn, with a slightly clearer head, heard his voice. They lifted themself onto their knees with consciousness and looked to find the source. A short walk away stood Rakell—the summon they attempted earlier had succeeded. Ego wanted to laugh but felt the tendril be swallowed down again, and they struggled to even function much.

Hermaeus felt a tightening rage upon looking at the intrusion. The dremora was nothing more than a distraction to him, and one that would be taken care of shortly. Ego’s attempt at rescue would fail.

With an uncaring nature, Hermaeus turned back to the Dragonborn while sending barbed tentacles upon the dremora warrior. Rakell lifted his warhammer in a blocking position, knowing it wouldn’t do much, but having a trick up his sleeve. Fire sparked up his arms and shot from his fingers, mixing with a ward he casted to create a shield of fire. Hermaeus’ tentacles slammed into this ward, bubbling and boiling as Rakell was left untouched. The Prince was suddenly very aware of the dremora and reassessed how to deal with him.

Rakell gave him no time, however. The dremora spotted a grouping of tentacles going to grab onto Ego and acted. He threw his hand out and sent a fireball between Hermaeus and Ego, severing the majority of the tentacles and causing the Prince’s stature to deform. Before he could react, though, Rakell pulled the flames back and created a wall of fire. Smoke shielded the daedras’ views of each other, and the hungry flames ate away at the Prince’s flesh. Rakell stepped into the muck of ink, only to be near-tripped by small but strong tentacles grabbing onto his feet. They quickly worked their way into the cracks of his armor, sharpening themselves and attempting to stab through his layer of chain mail. Some of them succeeded, and Rakell quickly attempted to escape the terrain of tendrils. There was no way to get to Ego while they rested in Hermaeus’ grasp.

But he could bring them to him.

Ego knew Rakell was damned good at magicka, but they hadn’t seen a wild display from him like this. They knew they had to get to him, and so tried to fight against the inky limbs that surrounded them, but they were only tripped and pulled time and time again. The fire that burned between them and the Prince was dangerously close, and on the other side of the heat they could hear Hermaeus’ call. “Dragonborn!”

The tendril in their throat writhed as if it were panicking, cutting off most air from reaching their lungs. They clawed at their throat with one hand—as if it would do anything—while the other hand remained occupied with the Book, subconsciously keeping it under their arm. They scrambled to escape, heading for the edge of the area of tentacles in an effort to be free of their grasp, but it was no use. They could feel Hermaeus closing in around them.

And then, suddenly, they were being ripped away from him. They weren’t being pulled by a tentacle—in fact, nothing outwardly had ahold of them. They felt like their bones were being grabbed onto, and the power of the pull was enough to make their whole body tumble across the field of ink.

Rakell, at the edge of that field, had tucked his warhammer beneath his arm in order to use both hands to cast a powerful telekinesis spell. He remembered that Ego’s skeleton was made of metal—a perfect material to use the spell on. He targeted them and dragged them to him, expending lots of energy into doing so, but happy with his success. Tentacles attempted and failed to grab Ego as they were pulled along, and quickly enough Ego had tumbled right by Rakell’s feet. The dremora huffed a fatigued sigh as he recovered, reaching down to Ego. “Alright, alright,” he said, mostly to himself, harshly grabbing them by the arm.

Right as he did though, a particularly quick tentacle emerged from the growing flames that made up Hermaeus’ body. It slammed down onto Ego’s legs, wrapped around their waist, and barbed itself as it dragged them away. Hermaeus’ form had grown above the flames and was twice as incomprehensible as before. The tentacle in Ego’s throat suddenly took on a similar quality to the one around their legs—it became barbed, and it pierced the skin within their throat. Immense pain paired with a mix of blood and ink to create a horrible panic within Ego. They wanted to scream but couldn’t, and so desperately grabbed for Rakell.

The dremora did his best to hold onto their arm, uncaring about the damage it could do to them as he fought against the Prince’s strength. He knew he was no match for Hermaeus, though, and with quick hands he let go of Ego, took his warhammer, and chased them into the field of ink while swinging the weapon down over them. The head of the hammer narrowly missed their leg and bludgeoned the tentacle, severing it. Rakell launched another fireball at Hermaeus, making the field of tentacles around them flinch and coil in on themselves. The dremora grabbed the back of the Dragonborn’s armor and dragged them along as he lunged out of the mass of tentacles and onto white snow. Ego tumbled and choked.

Rakell tried to get Ego up on their feet, but their weak body didn’t allow them to run on their own. They tried to get his attention, hoping that he somehow knew that they couldn’t breathe, but Rakell was none the wiser. He swore aloud, sometimes cursing Ego’s name as he struggled to pull them along. He glanced back, seeing that they might have been just far enough to execute his next step, but he’d have to be quick. “Hold onto me, don’t fucking let go,” he barked at the Dragonborn, releasing his grasp to free a hand for an incantation.

Ego dropped nearly immediately, their legs trembling too much to allow them to stand on their own. They heard Rakell, though, and heeded his words, wrapping an arm around his leg and leaning against him. They did their best to cough or even get themselves to vomit in order to expel the tentacle, but nothing was working. Little slips of air every few seconds was all the grace that they were given.

Ego looked over their shoulder to where they left Hermaeus. His lanky form slowly reformed and each one of his golden eyes locked onto the two of them. The breton felt immense panic swell in their chest as he shot forward with a vigor. Ego hit the armored leg that they held, beckoning him to hurry, hurry.

Rakell was drawing an incantation in the air, and cursed at them when they hit him. “Stay still! Hold on!” Just as he finished speaking, he completed the spell and a portal opened in front of them. The dremora grabbed Ego by the back of their armor and threw them ahead of him. Rakell hopped through the gate just before a series of tentacles attempted to slam him into the ground. He threw his arm back and shut the portal, which caught an unlucky tendril in its wake and sliced clean through it, leaving a dead and writhing limb on the ground.

Ego was attempting to recover without air. The tentacle in their throat ceased to move and smoothed over, no longer barbed but still very stuck. When they were thrown, they lost their grip on the Black Book, and their body was sprawled across a hard, hot, rocky surface. They waved at Rakell, turning over to lay on their side as they pulled the mask off—they didn’t care who saw, they needed to cough this thing up.

The dremora caught their wave and looked down at their face, which was pale and desaturated. “Fucking gods,” he swore, leaning down and putting his hands over them. He was about to cast a healing spell when he realized they were choking and so lifted them up. There was no way his arms could push hard enough against their armor to help them, and he was afraid that there was too little time to pull off their chest piece, and so improvised. He supported most of their weight, holding them in place as he brought his knee up and struck them just below the sternum. Ego’s body jolted, their lungs pushing air up through their throat, but not enough to dislodge the tentacle. Again, Rakell forcibly kneed their midsection, stunning them and leaving a massive bruise just beneath their chest. Still, it wasn’t enough, and Ego felt as if they’d hack up their whole stomach at this point. The force of the pain scared them to Oblivion and back, and their mind was giving up on them. Rakell swore, annoyed, and slammed his knee into them again.

That time, it worked. The wounded muscles in Ego’s throat spasmed and forced the tendril up and out. The wet piece of meat fell from their lips and onto the ground, and the painful luxury of breath was given back to them. They couldn’t control the tremors in their voice, trailing their exhales with pained sounds akin to a dying animal. Rakell felt relief, then, as he pulled their back against him so they could support themself. Ego was barely strong enough to stand, and so relied entirely on Rakell to keep upright.

The Dragonborn’s throat was full of ink and blood. They brought a hand to their neck, attempting to spark a restoration spell, but the tight, magically-burned skin from their earlier-acquired conjuration burn seized in pain, preventing them from casting. They forced out, “Cut…”

Rakell heard them. “Where?”

They grabbed at their neck, blood bubbling up at the back of their throat as they breathed. The dremora could smell the blood on them, and reached his hands to their neck. Ego only slightly feared that his clawed gauntlets would strangle them, but Rakell refrained, casting a restoration spell. He wasn’t sure exactly where they were cut, and so offered a weak but broad healing incantation. Ego felt sharp pains as it worked into their throat, slowly closing the piercing wounds that caused them to bleed. They winced and flinched at each pang of healing, but finally began to relax. They assessed their surroundings.

Wherever they were, it definitely wasn’t Nirn. As pain influenced their mind less and less, they were able to sense the area around them; this was Oblivion, wrought with the deep bellow of a daedric realm. This wasn’t a realm that Ego had ever been to before, though. It was unlike the Myriad, which was cozy and whimsical, and it was unlike Apocrypha, which was damp and haunting. This realm was intensely hot and covered in a hue of fiery reds and oranges, and stark blacks. They were positioned on a flattened collection of rock faces, and surrounding them was dirt and grass that looked bleak and grey in the lighting. The entire sky was blanketed in dark, rolling clouds, illuminated with flashing red and golden lights that appeared like lightning. To their left was solid ground, cracked and traveled on, leading to a skinny path that trailed into a far-off area of lifted rocks and scattered collections of trees. Ahead of them was a drop with brooding golden light shining from far below, heat waves accompanying it. Far into the distance, Ego could spot a foggy silhouette of more mountainous rocks, though they appeared to be unnaturally placed, as if they’d been forcefully pulled from the ground.

These were the Deadlands.

Rakell felt a headache begin to form from his extreme overuse of magic in such a short amount of time. He dispelled the restoration and pushed Ego out in front of him, though held onto their shoulders. “Can you stand?”

Ego’s legs trembled and buckled, and they were led to the ground slowly. They sat on the dirt and rock, attempting to breathe through their nose, but needing more air than that. However, each inhale made them feel sick in the chest, and they coughed ink and blood into their hands. Rakell grimaced at the sound of their coughing, looking around to assess the area. As he did, he spotted the strange book that Ego had brought through the portal with them. He stepped over to it while strapping his warhammer to his back. “Do you need this thing?”

Ego finished a coughing fit before turning to look over their shoulder. Their eyes automatically landed on the Black Book, and a mixture of dread and wanting filled their being. “Get… Get rid of it…” they said quietly, wetness in their voice.

“Get rid of it?” Rakell echoed, “Destroy it?”

The Dragonborn turned their body, filled with sudden, wild energy. They tried to push themself up to stand, but their legs failed them, and they tripped forward and hit their chin on the rocks. Their weak body was being pulled toward the Book, but their mind was strong enough to resist. They barked in a garbled manner, “Get rid of it!”

Rakell frowned at their display, lifting the Book into his hands. Immediately, he felt a terribly cold force emanating from it; the magic that would have made him inclined to open it was dead in this realm, but he could sense how hungry this thing was. Ego cried, “Don’t open it!”

“I won’t, save your breath,” Rakell hissed, casually stepping past them with the artifact. He walked to the ledge ahead, gave the Black Book one last look, and tossed it over. It fell into a grand lava pit below, striking with much more gravity than it appeared to have. It tumbled over a hard surface, sprawling open, and immediately catching alight. The pages blackened and burned in a matter of seconds, and the cover curled in on itself as it was destroyed.

Ego felt a pull leave them, and they were free of a strange tightness in their chest. Relief flooded their mind, and they felt as if they could relax… at least somewhat, anyway. This realm of Oblivion wasn’t exactly comforting.

Rakell turned back to them, frowning beneath his helmet. He wanted to know what exactly he had just saved them from, and why they were in that situation at all. “What the fuck were you doing?”

Ego coughed again, laying on their back and leaving their arms sprawled on the ground. “Fucking… dying…” they begrudgingly answered, making the dremora huff.

“Where’s your party?”

“Winter—” they coughed, “…Winterhold.”

“Your Prince?” He stepped towards them.

The Dragonborn waved at him, as if to tell him to buzz off. They had another coughing fit, and struggled through their next words, “I can’t exactly— talk well.”

Rakell stood over them, thinking about how to handle their next steps. He looked up to the path, across the horizon, and back down at them. “Winterhold, you said?” He knelt down, picked up their mask, and put it in their hand. “I’m sure there’s a gate that will get us close.” He pulled on the front of their armor, making them sit up. “Put your mask on. Don’t speak to anyone.”

“What?”

Rakell lifted them into his arms, beginning forward. Ego didn’t very much like the position they were in, but there wasn’t a lot to do in protest. “There are other Kyn here,” he said. “To see something like you being here will piss them off.”

“Shit, are we going to— have to fight?”

“Hopefully not,” Rakell answered. “They should see my armor and fuck off. But there’s always a chance.” He glanced down at them, and they saw a glint of light hit his eyes as he did. “Stay out of any fighting. You’ll only get yourself more hurt like this.”

Ego sighed, uncomfortably shifting their weight in his grasp. They didn’t like being so close to him anymore, but they didn’t have much of a choice.

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” Rakell told them, annoyance in his tone.

“How— long until we’re there?”

“Depending on if the right gates are open, maybe a couple of hours. Maybe all day. Maybe three.”

“Gods…”

“I’ll make sure you don’t die. And I’ll see if there’s any… half-decent healers about. You’re sick with something I can’t fix.”

Ego rolled their eyes, “Shit, might as well take me to Dagon while you’re at it.”

“You’re already getting me in deep enough shit as it is,” Rakell growled, “I don’t need your comments.”

Ego was quiet after that, apart from the coughing fits. They tried a few times to walk, but to little avail at the start. Eventually, just before they reached a well-traveled path, Ego was able to find their footing and walk carefully alongside Rakell, holding onto his arm in the process. He gladly took the break from holding them, both to rest his arms and ease the tension between them. They weren’t exactly on trustworthy terms.

Ego thought about the earlier events. They weren’t sure how long Hermaeus had been masquerading like that for… To take on the visage of Sam Guevenne; how many times had he done that before? How often did Ego speak to Hermaeus when they thought they were speaking to Sanguine? How often did the Masquerade do the same? Further thoughts plagued their psyche. Was Sanguine alright? Was Hermaeus just donning a disguise, or had he forcibly taken Sanguine’s visage? Ego feared that the Prince of Fate may have seriously debilitated—or even killed—the Prince of Debauchery. But then they remembered the Rose. Hermaeus had snapped it before they could use it. They first thought of the action as a pure insult, but then they theorized that it could have been done with more of a purpose: if Sanguine truly was dead, then why would Hermaeus Mora have prevented Ego from using the Rose? It wouldn’t have mattered if they used it, in that case, and yet Mora was keen on ripping it away before they could use it to summon their Prince. It wasn’t much evidence to go off of, but it was better than letting themself mourn over a friend whose fate they didn’t know.

And what of the others? They worried about if Hermaeus had done anything to the rest of the Masquerade. They found it to be somewhat unlikely, given that the Prince seemed to single the Dragonborn out. Still, the possibility remained.

And Rakell… he must have been very confused, and maybe a bit shaken up. Truth be told, he was, but he didn’t show it. Ego could guess that summoning him to face a Daedric Prince on his own wasn’t exactly a challenge that he wanted. A Prince was just about one of the only things that could fully destroy a dremora. One wrong step, and Rakell’s six millennia would be put to a stark end.

And he did save them. He could have just warped back, Ego realized, but he didn’t. And, despite their worries, he was doing as much as he could to help now, it seemed.

“Thank you,” Ego finally said, tugging at his arm.

Rakell glanced back at them, then turned his head forward again. After this long without words, he didn’t expect the Dragonborn to say much of anything, let alone something that praised him. “Yeah,” was all he could muster at the moment. There were a few seconds of quiet before he echoed the same sentiment, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me enough to summon me again. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you after our… freak-out.”

Ego chuffed a laugh out of nervousness, which was followed by a coughing fit. Rakell slowed down for them to recover.

[womanlives]

a kiss on the brow — ( im slow af so pls,.. gendry hesitantly @ meera. hes totally shy afterwards, pretending that he means to do that well. ) ( it may came off a bit awkwardly )

They travel South.

They’re not — with the soldiers anymore. Not really. At the start they were. Daavos managed to secure them a pack mule (odd, Meera always thought, because she’s never been that important of a Lady) before they left Winterfell. And they’d been given a tent and supplies for the normal four-soldier grouping and left to their own devices, more or less.

They’d stuck to the rear, which had been Meera’s decision, because that’s where the provisions team had been, and she’d wanted to help fish and hunt and be useful in any way that didn’t involve killing another man. Besides. Good to have capable fighters keeping guard, right?

She thinks it all started when the mule got that limp a few days ago. A bruised hoof, Gendry’d said, and she’d been inclined to believe him, because there were no horses in the Neck. Not really. So they’d slowed their pace for the poor beast, and little by little, day by day, the rest of the army had crept out of sight.

They follow the tracks now: the fresh divots in the mud (snow’s melting! at long, at last!) of wagons, and beasts, and thousands of men who’ll probably never come home again. Sometimes Meera thinks about asking Gendry if he’d like to pick up the pace. Meera thinks about Gendry a lot more than she ought to, if she’s being honest. Like how relaxed his shoulders are now that the soldiers are all out of sight. Or how good he looks, now that he’s shed some of those ragged, winter-worn furs. Or how his jaw clenches when Daavos shows up to check in on them, just to make sure they’re still there.

Last time there’d been raised voices. She’d only heard the end of it because she makes herself scarce — knows, now, when she’s not wanted — but when Gendry is angry, his voice booms. Like thunder.

She’s starting to suspect why.

Right now, though, there’s no Daavos. Hasn’t been since the yelling. It’s been two days since they’ve seen another person, and honestly, Meera finds she doesn’t mind. She sits at the top of a hill that overlooks the small little clearing where they’ve set up camp. There’s a small pond with smaller fish, and the pack mule grazes happily next to it. Down below, Gendry finishes setting up the tent. He straightens, looks up, and waves. Meera waves back, then beckons him over.

And for a brief moment, as Meera watches him walk up the hill towards her, she thinks that maybe the world can be good again.

She levers herself to her feet when he gets close enough, making a face at him as her joints creak in protest. Her eyes meet his, light up with a smile, then flicker back over to the camp. “Your rabbit snares need work — ” soft, almost eaten up by the southern wind if it wasn’t for the playful undertone “ —  but the tent’s sturdy as ever. Thank you.” Meera nudges his shoulder with her own.

He grunts, once — his way of you’re welcome, or kindly feck off, m’Lady, or a mixture of the two — and they fall into a companionable sort of silence as they look at the little tent, and the little pack mule, and the little pond. Meera’s expression turns wistful. The silence grows expectant. Meera breathes in, then out. “About the mule.”

The mood shift is instantaneous. Gendry’s muscles go tight and his head snaps around and Meera doesn’t need to meet his gaze to know it’s blazing and focused and locked-in, the way it is when Daavos appears on the horizon — like clockwork, without fail — to harry him another day. Meera locks her fingers together, and twists.

“She’s tired. That’s a heavy load she’s carrying, and I think a few days’ rest would do her some good. And here’s a nice enough spot. Fresh water, lots of grass. Rabbit burrows nearby for us. We can figure out what to do after that.” Meera tries to keep her expression carefully neutral as she blinks up at Gendry, but the hope slips through, just like it always does, just like it always will. Does he know? Probably.

She’s a liar. This isn’t about the mule at all.

“Gendry?” Meera touches the back of his hand, because he’s just standing there, just staring at her. His brows are furrowed. Whatever he’s thinking about, he’s thinking about it hard. Meera feels her stomach drop. Maybe she got it wrong. Maybe he wants to stay with the soldiers after all. Her knuckles brush his. Are you in there? “What do you think?”

Nothing. Just scowling. Meera bites the edge of her lip, sighs, and looks back down at the camp. She opens her mouth to take it all back, to say it was a stupid idea. But before she gets the chance, Gendry moves. It’s hesitant and a little stilted, as if she’s somehow made of ice, and one wrong move will shatter her into bits. Meera lifts her head in confusion just in time to see Gendry lean in, pause, draw back, frown, then lean in again.

She feels it before she realizes it: a gentle pressure, almost painfully gentle, against her curls. Her eyes close at Gendry’s kiss, and her stomach flips, and her cheeks burn. There’s a moment of panic that doesn’t feel at all unpleasant. She suddenly feels like a newborn foal, all awkward angles and gangly limbs. Her hand lifts for his face, but it’s too late, she’s too late; he’s already pulling away. All she can do is watch as Gendry backpedals, straightens, and drops her gaze like hot coals.

“I — ” Except they’re both speaking at once, so it comes out a jumbled mess, so they both go silent again. There’s a pause that begs to be filled. Then Gendry lifts his head, nods, and takes off back down the hill. Meera watches him go wordlessly. One hand reaches up to touch her forehead. Funny how it feels like it’s on fire, but her skin’s smooth to the touch.

For a little while Meera stays up on that hill, trying to decipher what Gendry’d meant. Maybe that’d been his way of saying thank you, or I’m tired, or a mixture, and maybe something else, too. Eventually, inevitably, she follows him back to camp. Spends the rest of the day making snare traps, setting them up, settling in. They don’t talk about it. Life continues.

Except there’s a shine to her eyes, new and uncertain and earnest, that for the life of her she can’t seem to hide.  

[haradasaya]

OKAY LISTEN I’VE BEEN OUT OF TOWN I’M SO SORRY TO MY SECRET SANTA RECIPIENT

But it’s finally here. @reasyjones Merry Christmas from your terrible secret santa, and Happy New Year, Enjoy!!

Gavin & Freelancer

Freelancer sat on the floor near the window of their room, hot chocolate in their hands and blanket wrapped snugly around them. It had just recently begun to snow, the sky a beautifully light shade of gray as the little white spots drifted lazily to the ground. They’d loved snow for as long as they could remember, loving to catch them against their gloves and admire the unique shapes each one took. Snow Angels were a must each year, and so were snowmen. They’d had their obligatory snowball fight with the boys already, and they’d all gone ice skating together too. Gavin had promised them they’d get to do all the rest of the things they wanted tonight when he got home, but winter brought shorter days, and the sun was slowly cresting over the horizon behind all those clouds.

Freelancer wasn’t upset—not at all. They had plenty of time to do all the things they wanted since winter break had begun at the academy. They, Damien, and Huxley had just finished their exams, and all three needed some R & R to decompress after the past two weeks they’d all had. Even Lasko was glad to be done with everything.

They sipped their hot chocolate slowly, still piping hot from the kettle. They’d added caramel drizzle and marshmallows, the way they’d taught Gavin to—the superior way, they didn’t care what Damien said otherwise. Huxley had backed them up, and Lasko eventually warmed up to the idea, though he was more of a tea drinker at heart. Gavin… well. Gavin liked anything they liked. He was sickeningly sweet, just like their hot chocolate. And they loved him for it.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the snowfall against the cars and pavement below. Across the street, snow stuck to trees and bushes, to light poles and the playground in the distance. It built up slowly; you could come back in an hour and it would barely be an inch higher than before. After all, Dahlia wasn’t known for its snow. It was a miracle any had fallen at all, to be honest.

The sun had definitely set beyond the horizon by the time Gavin got home. The warm colored street lights had just flickered to life when he knocked on the door. They’d just risen to their feet when he pushed open the door. He looked at them wrapped in their thickest blanket, empty mug in hand, near the window where they could often be found. “Freelancer?”

“Hey Gav,” they said with a smile, walking over to him. “How was your day?”

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around their burrito of a body in that blanket. They placed their own arms around his shoulders, pulling his head closer and running gentle fingers through his hair. “It was fine. Lots of silly meetings for lots of silly reasons.”

“Hmm, sounds silly.” Freelancer teased, kissing his cheek. He laughed in response.

“Oh it certainly was.”

Their lips met in a gentle kiss, one that told of their longing, how they’d missed the other. Gavin and Freelancer were inseparable after all. They were practically magnetic. “I missed you.” Gavin confessed, whisper quiet.

“I missed you too.”

Gavin buried his face in the crook of their neck, inhaling their scent. He was content to just stay there, in their arms, for the rest of the night. Freelancer chuckled at him. “Don’t smell me please, I haven’t showered yet.”

Gavin laughed at that. “I don’t care. I like your musk.”

Freelancer rolled their eyes, scratching the back of his head. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“I know.” He said immediately, before turning his head and kissing their neck. Freelancer inhaled sharply. “But that’s one of the reasons you love me.”

Freelancer chuckled. “You’re right.”

The two of them stayed like that for some time, swaying slightly in the hold of their lover, who held them back just as tightly. Gavin shivered once, and Freelancer opened their arm to let him into the warmth of their blanket and body heat, but Gavin only smirked. “I have a better idea.”

They let him lead him out of their bedroom and into the living room, where the larger window to the outside was. He gently guided them over to the couch, before plopping down next to them, finally accepting some of their blanket and heat as they snuggled into each other. Freelancer rested their leg over Gavin’s, practically draping themselves over him. It was the quickest way to warm him up.

He kissed their forehead. “God, I missed you today. It doesn’t… technically,,, get cold in Aria. Pure magic and all that. But—today felt cold.”

He looks down at them. “Without you.”

Freelancer only chuckled. “You’re so sappy.”

“Only for you.” He laughed, kissing their nose, and then their lips. “But seriously, you’re my warmth, and I missed it today.”

Freelancer didn’t respond, only snuggling into his chest and wrapping a warm arm around his chest. The two watched the distant snowfall, and the approaching storm for a while. Freelancer’s playlist of old-timey Christmas tunes played softly in the background from the other room, and the whole house smelled like gingerbread, a gift from Lasko, who was apparently really into scented candles. It really couldn’t have been a more perfect night.

“Do you want dinner or anything soon?” Gavin asked after a while of just sitting there. They looked up at him.

“Nah, let’s just stay here a little longer. I missed holding you.”

“So you did miss me?” He asked, his own words light, like a joke.

They scoffed, and patted his chest. “Of course I did, you jerk. I never said I didn’t.”

Gavin only laughed at them, throwing his head back as if the joke was funny enough to warrant that kind of reaction. “My sneaky little deviant.”

They turned up to him. “I’m not sneaky, why are you teasing me so much?”

He looks into their eyes. “Because I can.”

Freelancer laughed at that, tossing their own head back and laughing as if his comment was that funny.

“I love you.” They said after a moment.

He smiled back at them. “I love you too, Deviant.”

And so they stayed like that, for a little while longer. Just sitting together, in each other's arms, until it was too dark to see anything outside anymore. Besides, by then they had plenty of other ways to keep warm.

Hux/Dames

“Hux, I don’t think we’re gonna be able to do this.”

Damien held his skates in front of him, hockey stick in the other hand and a defeated look on his face. Huxley was midway through lacing up his first skate, but they were watching the rink in front of them, where a group of hockey players were finishing up a game, and they weren’t playing nice.

“It’s alright Dames, we’re just here to have fun, no pressure at all—“ But as Huxley said it, two players, gripped to each other’s jersey’s, slammed heavily into the plastic barrier separating them from the ice. The thud made the whole section of people behind Huxley shrink away from it, and many were giving each other the same looks that Damien was giving Huxley.

Damien had mentioned once, casually, that he thought ice hockey was a really cool sport, and that it would have been cool to try it out. Huxley spent the next month scouring the internet for beginner Hockey lessons for adults, something casual and fun and hopefully something he’d enjoy while being able to get out a little stress. Huxley had been so excited when he found the tickets, but Damien was hesitant. He usually stuck to sports where he could practice by himself, just in case of some type of accident that made him reveal himself or his powers. But Hux had been so excited to show him the tickets he’d gotten him for Christmas that Damien couldn’t say no.

Huxley looked over at his boyfriend, and gestured for him to sit down by him. “It’ll be alright Dames. We’re just here to try it out. I know you said you might like it, and I thought it would be fun.”

Damien looked into his boyfriend's eyes. They were so sincere, and Damien wanted to believe him. “But if you ever feel like it’s too much, or if you want to go, then we can. I won't ask any questions, we’ll just go. Okay?”

Damien looked back out at the group of fully clad hockey players, at them moving in on the goal, and scoring, celebrating together. “Okay. Thank you Hux.”

When they all had their skates laced up, and the team was finished with their match, they welcomed all the participants onto the ice rink, and gathered them in a circle. The coach of the team, and a really tall, lanky guy beside him welcomed him to the group, and went through all the welcoming talk before turning the time over to the captain of the team. He went through a general list of the activities planned for the day, and then split everyone into groups to work on different drills. Huxley and Damien were in a group working on the hockey equivalent of ball handling, but with a puck and a stick.

Huxley struggled for a while, getting his puck under control while skating, but Damien got it with ease. Some of the team members there to help give pointers praised him for his talent, and Huxley joked that he’d done this before. Damien hadn’t, but he’d be damned if he didn’t succeed after everything Huxley did for him.

They switched drills, and practiced passing the pucks into a goal, getting further and further away each time. When everyone completed the drill, they had a little competition for who could make a goal from furthest away, and Huxley and Damien were the final two competitors. When Damien went to shoot his shot, Huxley poked his stick in the way, making his puck go in the wrong direction. Damien rounded on him, but he was just laughing, and it was so contagious that he couldn’t help but laugh too. Huxley ended up winning that game.

After all the drills were finished, and they were entering the final thirty minutes of the session, they split all the newcomers into teams, and played a simple—and non aggressive—game of hockey. Huxley and Damien were on two different teams, and Huxley was chosen as goalie for his size. The two goalies were given some gear to protect themselves, as the goal tended to be the roughest place on the whole rink.

When the game started, Damien went right for the puck, able to outmaneuver his opponents with ease. It came down to him and Huxley a few times, but Hux was able to keep him from scoring on multiple occasions. Damien did his best to keep his competitive edge at bay, using it to work harder, rather than getting angry, but when Huxley’s team scored on them with one minute left, he knew that he had to do something.

Damien had the puck, and was skating full speed at Huxley, when he lost control of the puck, and slipped on the ice. He collided with a padded Huxley, and the two went flying into the goal. Damien was immediately worried for Huxley, hoping he hadn’t hurt him when he landed on him, but Huxley was only laughing. He’d braced for Damien to fall, and had wrapped his arms around him to keep him from getting hurt. And Huxley was just laughing!

“Hux, are you alright? Why are you laughing?”

When Hux took off his helmet, hair falling in front of his face, cheeks pink from the warmth of the suit and the cold of the arena, Damien stared. He was so handsome, it made him blush. “Yeah, I’m fine babe, I just think it was a hilarious tactic to score on me after all this.”

Damien scrunched his eyebrows, before looking over at the goal beside them. The puck was sitting smugly just past the goal line from when Damien had tripped over it, and it had slid into the goal anyway.

Damien looked back. “I didn’t—“

But Huxley cut him off. “I know, that’s why I’m laughing.”

When Damien realized that his boyfriend wasn’t hurt, and the hilarity of the situation kicked in, he couldn’t help but laugh too. “I really didn’t mean to do that. I meant to beat you for real, not some trick.”

Huxley just smiled. “I know Dames. But hey, it worked! Good job.”

Damien smiled, and leaned in, pecking Huxley on the lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dames.”

“Hey, you two alright over there?” Someone called from the other side of the rink, and they quickly stood, going back to finishing the game.

Damien ended up winning.

Vincent/Lovely

Lovely woke Vincent with a soft kiss to his temple. “Wake up sleepy head, wake up. Santa came already.”

Vincent’s eyes shot open, but immediately closed again at the light in the room. “Lovely, what?”

Lovely only laughed. “You promised we could get up at midnight and open our gifts together, remember? Come on then, Santa brought your gifts already!”

Vincent reached for Lovely, grabbing them by their waist and pulling them towards him. He buried his face in their lap. “He brought me the one thing I wanted already.”

Lovely huffed, running a hand through his hair. “You sap. There’s gifts out there I want you to open, pleeeeeeeeease?”

Vincent nuzzled into their lap further. “Can’t we just wait until later? We should stay together in bed right now, it’s so cold out there.”

Lovely tried to move, but Vincent gripped onto them tighter. “Babe, you can’t even feel the cold, pleaseeeeeee get up. For meeeeeee?”

Lovely was so whiny, but not in an annoying way, just in a pleading way. Vincent knew he’d give in, but he wanted to stay with them just a little longer. “I’ll make you a deal. We lay in bed for another hour, and then we can get up and open gifts. How about that?”

“Or we can open gifts now, and then have the rest of the day to lay in bed together. Doesn’t that sound like a better deal?”

Vincent’s heat shot up. “Yeah, I like that idea better. Promise we can cuddle when we’re done?”

Lovely laughed at the whiplash of their boyfriends attitude, he really was like a little puppy. They got out of bed, Vincent made sure to wrap himself up in a warm blanket, and descended the stairs to where their tree was. William had gotten them a huge tree, and supplied all the decorations they’d need. The two of them had spent a night together putting up decorations and the ornaments they’d been given, and even after Lovely had insisted it didn’t matter how the tree looked, Vincent’s need for everything to be perfect for them kicked in and he reorganized the whole tree, putting each ornament at a perfect distance from the others, adding in ribbon and garland to spice it up. William knew his progeny so well.

The space below the tree was filled to the brim with gifts, presents wrapped so neatly with bows and wrapping paper in beautiful patterns and colors. Will had come over shortly after Vincent had fallen asleep and delivered so many of these gifts, Lovely had started calling him Santa by the third trip in. William had only laughed and wished them a Merry Christmas. They promised to visit later that day to thank him for the gifts, and to spend time together. He said that both Sam and his partner, and some of the other vampires in the clan would be there too, as a sort of Christmas morning breakfast as a clan. Lovely understood that to mean family breakfast, and it was mandatory.

Vincent hadn’t seen all the gifts Will had brought over, and the look on his face when he saw them all was gold. “You got all these gifts for me?”

“No, William brought most of them over earlier last night. Most are from him, but he said he brought Sam’s gift over too. The rest are from me.”

He looked into his partner’s eyes. “You didn’t have to do that.”

They smiled back. “I know. But I wanted to. You deserve it.”

Vincent leaned in and kissed them, before stepping through the piles of gifts, and beginning to separate them. They each opened one by one until all the gifts were opened, many of them containing clothes, or accessories that befitted Vincent’s expensive tastes. William really knew his progeny well, as every gift that Vincent opened elicited such an excited reaction from the vampire prince. It was adorable, and Lovely fell more in love with him as they grew in appreciation for how well his Maker took care of him too.

They’d saved their gifts for each other for the very end, which was clear by the fact that Lovely and Vincent’s wrapping job was nowhere near that of William’s. They laughed at that fact, knowing they’d have many more years to work on their gift wrapping skills.

Vincent had four gifts that Lovely had gotten him. The first was a new watch, one in a matte shade of black that he tended to wear often. The second was a matching bracelet set that they could wear together, the kind that magnetically links together when they held hands. The third was a jacket they thought he’d look good in, red and white and very expensive, (thank you William’s credit card). And the fourth was a new tablet set, including a portable keyboard, and a reading mode for his Kindle obsession. He loved all the gifts, and was so happy to receive them. They were all thought out and tailored to his wants. He loved them all the more.

Lovely had so many gifts from Vincent, but he wanted to make sure that he got them something special. He’d be able to buy Lovely anything they wanted all year long, for the rest of forever; so instead he got them something fitting of the occasion.

“A trip to Europe? Vincent, you didn’t.”

He nodded. “I did. And I made sure to plan all the events at night so that we could go to everything.”

Lovely looked at Vincent. It had always been a dream of theirs to go on a trip out of the country, and now they got to do it with the love of their life. “Thank you Vincent, this means so much to me, you have no idea.”

He smiled, kissing them on the lips. “Well, I have a bit of an idea.”

They laughed, and leaned into him, looking at their tickets and the itinerary for the trip. “I love you.”

He kissed their forehead. “I love you too, my Lovely.”

Sam/Darlin

There was less than ten minutes left until the new year. Sam tidied up the kitchen, while Darlin’ sat on the island beside him, watching him. They had out a bottle of champagne, something with minimal alcohol for the occasion, and two glasses for them. In the background, they had the radio tuned into some station that was currently counting down the final ten minutes of the year, waiting for those final moments before a new year started.

The two of them had been reminiscing of the year they’d spent together. It was this day, a year ago, that their whole world had gone to shit, which had led to them finally getting together, officially. Sam had been so nostalgic, Darlin was almost sick, not a fan of the sappy way Sam talked about them. They admired his ability to see the best of the past though, especially the good of this year. It had been a long year, and somehow also a short one.

“What’s one of your resolutions for the new year?” Sam asked, filling the silence. It hadn’t been a quiet evening all night, and those minutes of quiet had been odd too.

Darlin’ huffed. “I’m not really one for empty resolutions. If I’m gonna make a change in my life, I’m just gonna do it.”

Sam chuckled at their answer. It was so explicitly Darlin’. “Okay, but if you were going to, hypothetically, what would it be.”

Darlin’ huffed again, this one more of a chuckle than the last. “Well… If you’re gonna make me name one…”

Sam tossed his rag into the kitchen sink, and made his way over to them on the benches, taking his seat beside them. He placed a gentle hand on their leg, awaiting a response.

“I would probably, hypothetically, make something about the pack. Spending more time with everyone, or something like that. As if I don’t spend enough time with them as is.”

Sam nodded. “That’s a good one, Darlin’.”

They were quick to switch the question over to him. “And you, cowboy? What’s one of your resolutions for the new year?”

Sam thought for a moment. “Make sure I tell you that I love you every single day.”

Darlin’ laughed, tossing their head to the side. “You sap.”

“You love me though,” He chuckled, reaching over and opening up the bottle beside them. He poured them a full glass, and handed it to them. There was two minutes left, according to the clock on the wall, and the radio in the background confirmed it.

“I know you think all this is corny,” Sam said suddenly, pulling their attention back to him, “But it means a lot to me to get to spend this with you. To spend everyday with you, Darlin’. You have no idea what it means to me.”

Darlin’ looked into his eyes. “It means a lot to me too, Sam. I love you. And this past year with you has been the best year of my life.”

Sam looked back. He was grateful for the trust they had in him to be able to look into his eyes like that, after everything they’d been through. The radio in the other room sang one minute left, and the two stood with their drinks, and walked closer to the radio, so they could do the countdown together.

They held each other in their arms, swaying softly to the music and voices in the background, as the timer ticked down.

Sam lifted his glass. “To a new year. One full of happiness and love, for you and for us.”

Darlin’ tinked their against his. “To a new year of peace, and a whole lot of beer and sex.”

Sam laughed at that. Of course that’s what they’d want to cheer to. The people on the radio began their countdown at fifteen seconds, and then ten. Darlin’ and Sam stared into each other’s eyes as they counted down the new year, tinking their glasses together once more, before sipping their drinks. They were immediately discarded though at the better idea of a New Years kiss, given from lover to lover, as the first few seconds of the year ticked on before them.

To a new year. One of happiness, and one of fulfilled promises. Growth, prosperity, and love for all. Happy New Year!