#elf but green and grumpy

[spikulec]

This is Ario, a member of a species called Verdin. Verdin are human-sized species, tho they tend to be slimmer and less muscular than men. Their skin is green, gray or yellow-ish, sometimes covered in stripes. The most characteristic things about Verdin are their leaf-shaped ears and VERY pointy teeth. Verdins' preferable food is bugs, and they use those to bite through the rough shells. . Verdin are one of the two most normal-looking original species in the whole setting, crafted for those of my players, who do not want to play anything too outlandish. At first I based them on the wood elves, hence the color, but then (as with everything in this project) I moved away from the idea and ended up with Verdin . Ario is a cynical, dry man, who spends his time patrolling the borders between Gaol and the Empire. He collects bounties in the Gaol villages, living from job to job. Once he sets his mind on a task, he cannot be turned away from his target. People say that even death can't stop the lone rider from pursuing his hunt. Ario bears many scars from his previous encounters, and each one tells a story of a opponent who tried taking him down.

[lay-z]

💚 Day 18 – Ghost in the streets, Grinch in the sheets

A continuation of Days 2 (Quaint) and 10 (Santa Soap –), which means it’s set in the same universe!

Synopsis: Lots of firsts have happened between you and Simon over the past year. This time, it’s the first Christmas you’re going to spend together, and because it’s your favourite season, you want to make it extra special for your grumpy boyfriend.

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x fem!Reader

Warnings/Info: NSFW, 18+ | military!Reader; fluff; humour; cussing; domesticity; established relationship; overstimulation; breeding kink; Simon is an intense lover in general, I guess.

Word count: 2.2k

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

Simon does what he does best.

He observes, with a steaming cuppa in his hand, – a personalized cup you’d gifted him for his birthday this year, – leaning against the doorframe with his brows drawn together, forehead creasing as if he’s trying to solve a mystery.

But he’s just observing you, his girlfriend slash love of his life, sitting on the living room carpet next to the unnecessarily large Christmas tree, which you made him put up for you, untangling a long string of fairy lights with nimble fingers.

The bloody tree takes up way too much space; makes too much dirt, too, as he keeps finding its deep green needles everywhere after carrying it inside your shared apartment for you. A bloody waste of space and money.

It smells nice, though, he can give you that.

He takes a slow sip of his tea, smacks his lips before he speaks up. “Explain to me again, how watchin’ somethin’ die and wither away slowly in yer home is considered a nice tradition.”

“Simon–“ The exasperated sigh that is torn from your throat as you tilt your head back is enough to make him crack a pleased smile. If there is something he secretly enjoys more than anything, it’s teasing you long enough to have you make all those cute noises for him.

“Bunny, I truly am tryin’ to help here, but I have low elf-esteem,” he says dryly, lifting his cup up to his lips once more to gently blow on the hot liquid. “I’m worried ‘bout bein’ sleighed ‘ere.”

“Oh, hell, no! Not the Christmas puns, Simon!” You drop your hands into your lap, clutching the fairy lights as you glare at him from across the living room.

Simon cackles in rare delight, enjoying your over-exaggerated reaction immensely.

“One more?”

You huff and shrug, already focused on untangling the Christmas lights. “Will you implode if you don’t get them out?”

He sips on his tea, dark eyes twinkling with mirth, “Aye, I might, and ya don’t want tha’, do ya?”

“No,” you grumble, “I suppose not. I still need my big, thick man for cuffing season.”

His chest rumbles at your playful praise. As if you could ever get rid of him again. He takes a few deliberate steps into the room. “What carol do they sing in a Mental Hospital?”

You sigh deeply, rolling your eyes before gazing up at him with a frown. He knows you love his dad jokes, though. “I don’t know, but I’m sure you do, Riley.”

Simon snorts. “Do you hear what I hear.”

The way you blink up at him dumbly, face dropping in feigned disappointment, has his stomach fluttering. “Not good?” You shake your head slowly. “Terrible, actually.”

He hums and the corners of his mouth twitch as he lifts his cuppa up to his lips again. “Another?”

“Simon.”

Over the next few days of leave leading up to the dreaded holiday, the flat slowly but surely turns into some sort of winter wonderland under your care.

And while Simon keeps huffing and muttering in mock disdain like the Grinch with each colourful ornament you put on the Christmas tree and with each tray of gingerbread cookies you bake, he’s absolutely smitten by it and the way you’re actively trying to make him participate in the traditions you share with him from your upbringing.

He never really participated in any holiday, let alone Christmas traditions with his own family as a child. There was no money left for a nice tree or presents or groceries for a nice dinner. Sure, his wonderful mother had tried her best, always, for him and his brother’s sake, but with his awful father in the picture, nothing good had ever lasted long. Simon never had a chance to be part of traditions and he simply convinced himself that he doesn’t care for those anyway.

He starts caring about it all for you, though, because Christmas seems important to you. And whatever is important to you ultimately turns out to be important to him, too. Yes, he’s that devoted when it comes to you.

Bloody hell, he even stopped smoking, because you’d stopped, too. Perhaps not completely, but he’s turned it down – a lot.

Simon finds you in the master bedroom, a place he’s come to learn to appreciate since you two moved in together a few months ago. He can hear you singing “Last Christmas” to yourself softly as he sneaks up on you while you’re sitting on the floor, – always on the floor for whatever reason, – while the only thing visible is the crown of your head peeking over the side of the large box spring bed. He can clearly hear the cutting of scissors followed by the crinkling of paper, which leads him to assume that you’re wrapping presents again.

Before you and him had become official, his bedroom barely looked like someone was living in it. He had to sleep with a light on and spent most nights tossing and turning until his body was exhausted enough to fall asleep while his mind kept racing.

Nowadays, the bedroom looks alive, personal and homely. His sleeping schedule has improved, you practically demand to keep his balls empty and his belly full at all times if possible and his nightmares are less frequent – less violent, too. He’s almost too scared to even think it, afraid some higher beings could view it as an opportunity to fuck him up all over again, but Simon is happier than he’s ever been.

“Wot’s tha’? Presents? F’whom?”

The way you jolt and scramble on the carpet like a frantic, tiny rodent as soon as he speaks up with his gravelly baritone voice, has him crack a boyish smile, and he watches as you try to hide whatever it is you’re trying to wrap in colourful paper by throwing your whole body on top of it like a dragon hoarding its treasure.

Goofy woman. His goofy woman, though.

“Don’t look! Don’t look, Simon!” You whine as you blindly reach for a large shopping bag to cover the stuff that’s still unwrapped haphazardly while Simon snorts in amusement, eyebrows raised as he keeps watching you struggle.

He doesn’t care for presents; would rather not have you get him anything, actually, because he already feels like you’re doing way too much for him, being too good. Simon is absolutely satisfied with having you wake up in his arms every lazy Sunday or even when you’re on ops together, when he sneaks into your cot for a secret cuddle session while Soap or Gaz are on guard duty. Having you in his life like this is everything he could’ve ever wished for.

He did buy you a bunch of presents, though. They’re still hidden in his office on base; an array of stuff you’ve mentioned liking or wanting to buy over the course of the year. Bloody hell, he almost bought you a German Shepherd puppy, like your first dog, the one you’d told him about some night a long while ago on guard duty, but Price managed to talk him out of it. Someday, though.

“I’m not even lookin’,” he chuckles, rounding the bed to approach you, “c’mere a moment.”

And before you can protest, Simon wraps both arms around your midriff and yanks your body off the ground with a playful growl while you squeal and flail a little, knowing fully well what he’s about to do.

“N-No–!” You shriek and laugh when Simon throws you on the bed effortlessly and watches you bounce on the mattress before he’s on the bed in a split-second, wrestling you onto your back while you stop putting up a fight, knowing fully well how easily he can manhandle you anyway.

“Gotta put more bite into it, bunny,” he taunts with mirth gleaming in his obsidian eyes while he pins your wrists above your head with one mammoth hand, “You’re an easy target.” He clicks his tongue mockingly, shaking his head.

Your chest is rising and falling with deep breaths as you gaze up at him. “Only for you, though.”

“Aye,” he agrees, leaning down while his free hand slips beneath your sweater to tickle your stomach, “only f’me, bunny.”

Simon keeps his focus on the steady, harsh thud, thud, thud, thud of the headboard knocking against the bedroom wall instead of the keening, breathy moans you’re making underneath him. He must concentrate on anything but you. Otherwise, he would’ve shot his prodigious load into the condom right after rolling the bloody thing down to the base of his cock and slowly sinking into your welcoming, warm cunt.

Meanwhile, you’re meekly pawing at his sweat-slicked chest, flexing shoulders and bunching biceps, needing to feel more of him while he’s already covering your body with his massive frame; fucking you in a steady, sensual rhythm while he’s got you folded up in a mating press.

Your legs are shaking, your mind already scrambled and gooey, as Simon keeps making you cum on his cock, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of your body, unable to even writhe beneath him from overstimulation as he keeps you pinned to the mattress. You can feel how your syrupy slick is gushing and dripping down your ass crack and onto the bed sheets while his cock keeps stretching and rutting into your fluttering walls.

“C’mon, bunny, one more f’me, yeah? Be my good girl, gimme one more.” His voice is so rough yet honeyed and soothing in your ear; it makes your skin pebble with goose flesh, your nipples peak almost painfully as his scarred chest brushes over them with each deep grind of his powerful hips, your sopping, gummy walls rippling around his fat cock when another climax starts building up low and intense in your belly.

“Come with me,” you whine with hiccupping breath as your nails dig into his biceps and the muscles in your legs start burning with the ongoing stretch. “Fuck, pleeease–!”

Simon snarls at your desperate plea and swallows your whorish sounds by crushing his lips on yours in a passionate, sloppy kiss as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, determined to feel you cum around his cock one more time before his own release crashes over him.

The steady thud, thud, thud turns into a louder, more rapid thudthudhuthudthudthud as he grunts and moans roughly against your lips; breaths mingling and saliva mixing as he fucks you into the mattress until it feels like he’s in your guts, choking your throat as you’re chanting his name; head tipped back against the pillows, baring your throat to him, and as the feral dog he is, he bites down, sucks your sweaty skin into his mouth with a guttural groan until he feels your pussy gripping his throbbing cock like a vice, rippling and convulsing with your orgasm.

That’s when Simon lets go and thrusts his prick so far into your perfect cunt that, in the back of his rotten mind, he’s sure it would’ve been a hole in one if it wasn’t for the bloody latex he’s wearing, when he finally pumps his cum into the rubber with several long throbs.

His massive body is trembling with the intensity of his release as he licks and laps along the length of your throat, soothing his bite mark and his own need to burrow himself inside your body as the urge to be as close to you as physically possible is slowly overtaking his senses again.

“Love you, bunny,” he murmurs against your skin, still grinding his softening cock into your pliant pussy while you go limp in his embrace, “I love you.”

Your eyes have fluttered closed in bliss as you take it all and relish his ministrations; always so soft and needy afterwards for a brute like him. It makes your heart swell and burst with love and devotion. You cup his face and pull him up to your lips; nuzzling your nose against his, and giving his lips a chaste kiss before tucking his face into the crook of your neck. His chest rumbles and vibrates against yours as he releases your legs from his grip and lets you stretch them out with a slight wince of yours.

Despite his size, he slumps down on you like a weighted blanket. “How much does Santa pay for parking?” he murmurs into your ear, his voice so gruff, the words are barely audible.

“You can’t be serious right now.” Your eyes crack open and you turn your face to glance at him, but his eyes are closed, his lips pursed as if he’s holding back a smirk. You huff through your nose; he’s never looked more handsome.

“Nothing, it's on the house.”

[taygra5shaon]

@hellothisisangle , thanks you for giving us the template for this! and thanks you @kawareo for giving me the idea to do this (saw your version with Strike, and I love it, so, thanks)

It's a bit of a interesting concept to make, so, when I saw this challenge, I couldn't resist, so there they are!

first of all, as you see, green and red are HUGE part of all of version of Jacq (because I love those color). the colors topical of the races are a bit off, because Bhaal know shit about them.

His background doesn't change, he is raised by a human woman and a hobgoblin for 6 years until the cult take him back. he still became a druid after the tadpole (part of my canon), but the classes before it are differents.

His personality doesn't change a lot, but there are parts of it that got more prominent depending on the race.

here we go:

Lolth-sworn Drow: (cleric of the death domain) similar to his tiefling form, he is a pretty big guy, his skin is a weird shade of green, very different from the others drows. he's a bit more calm and suave than the original version.

Forest Gnome: (ranger gloom stalker) this little guy he's the most composed of them all, and the most malicious. He is quite tall for a gnome, but all version of Jacq are quite bigger than the normal, so is to be expected.

Ghit: (monk of the way of the shadow) this little shit is sassy, and is not afraid to show it. as a ghit raised in Baldur's Gate, a lot of people were curious about him, but this version of Jacq is an isolationist, he just disappeared when people got to close (the society of brillants wanted to study him, but it didn't go well).

Human: (paladin oathbreaker) oh, he was a paladin of Bhaal, before the tadpole, and after that, without even knowing, became a oathbreaker because he is nice with people. he is like the original version, even if a bit more grumpy.

Orc: (sorcerer draconic bloodline) same as the original version, but more chill. he is a mountain of an half orc, really intimidating but nice guy inside.

High Elf: (bard of the college of swords ) ohhhh, he is charming as hell this guy, and a bit arrogant. he prefer the violin and the arp as instruments, and he is a good dancer. he is the least bigger of them all, but he is freaking tall and creepy.

Mountain Dwarf: (rogue assassin) found it funny that he is a REAL cannibal, because is a dwarf who eat others dwarfs , lol. he is a proud little guy, who stab people just because. Gale go crazy because of that.

Black and green Dragonborn: (barbarian berserker) should I explain how this motherfucker is a big intimidating machine of death ? the biggest Dragonborn in circulation, he can transform in a real dragon if he want, and he bite. it became a competition with Astarion for how many people they bite.... he is very intelligent despite been barbarian.

so, here we are.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

I'm loving your grumpy!logan and wade's sister! reader plot bunny so much! I'm eating every crumb of them you give me!

You sat at your laptop, listening to the rain outside and Trigger gnawing on his bone. It should be easy. You have the outline ready and you know what you want to say. The story you need to tell. But now you can't picture the pretty Elf prince for this series.

He's gone. His cool sea-glass green eyes and slender hands and night black skin. The one that so many people have been salivating over. Instead, all you could think about was flannel shirts used to tie you to the bed and strong, calloused hands making you shiver. Brown eyes that mocked and teased but made you fee so fae at the same time.

"Ugh." You slam your laptop closed and scrub your hands over your face. Your hand is throbbing and so is your cunt and it's just not productive.

Trigger stopped chewing and regarded you with his head cocked, tail swishing, "Yeah, yeah. You cretin. We'll take a hotdog break," you sigh. "Let me get my coat."

___________

"Weird."

"What?" Logan grumbled, taking a sip of his whiskey.

"You heard from Y/N?" Wade asked, frowning. "It's been like three days since dinner."

"She's probably busy."

"Peanut, she always checks in," Wade huffed. "It's dangerous out there-"

"And she's an adult," Logan shrugged, "With a big fucking dog."

Wade glared at him, "You didn't say something shitty, did you?"

"I fixed her fucking hand," Logan scoffed, "And promised not to stab you in the head."

"Be nice to her," Wade warned. "And don't try to fuck-"

"Not my type."

"Sure. The living embodiment of human goodness wrapped in a cute little introvert and your crusty old ass isn't gonna go nuts for her." Wade rolled his eyes. "I'm telling you right now, you try it and it's gonna be ugly."

"Listen dipshit," Logan growled, "I don't want her. "

"Watching you-"

"Watch yourself," Logan groused throwing back the rest of his drink and picking up his jacket. Fuck if he was ever going to talk to you again if Wade was gonna act like you were a fucking unicorn.

[softpascalito]

Here cums Santa Claus - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Jackson needs a Santa Claus - and Joel is the perfect fit. Getting to have you on his lap is just a bonus.

aka

The one where Joel is dressed up as Santa Claus and you get to ride him.

Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader WC: 1800 Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Christmas Smut, Penis In Vagina Sex, Unsafe Sex, Established Relationship, Costumes, Lap Sex, Riding, Rough Sex, Creampie, Female Reader, No use of y/n, Alcohol (one glass of whiskey), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Joel Miller as Santa Claus, Age Difference (not specified) Read on AO3 full advent calendar (updated daily)

notes: pun intended. this is smut. beware.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

“Is that all of them?”

You try to keep yourself from giggling as you take in the grumpy face of the man beside you. It's half hidden by the fluffy, white fake-beard that's already starting to come off at the edges. His salt-and-pepper hair is hidden by a white and red Christmas hat, matching the rest of his Santa Claus Outfit. It's a little improvised, put together from what you could find in the small clothing selection that Jackson uses to make sure there's enough to go around.

You're still not quite sure how you managed to talk him into this: Dressing up and letting each and every kid in Jackson climb onto the chair and tell him their wishes. The first time he stepped out of his room after changing, you could barely hold it together, the way he looked like the most  miserable Santa Claus you've ever seen, pouting even under his fake beard.

But when the first child comes in and practically storms into his arms, you see the way he changes, a version of him you've rarely been witness to before. He's amazing with the kids, even maneuvering around the more difficult wishes with a smile and a joke that makes them laugh.

Now that you're alone, a small groan leaves Joel's mouth as he gets up, glaring at you and one hand reaches out to pull you a little closer, the green skirt that comes with your own Christmas Elf outfit giving him a way to steer your body towards him. When you're flush against him, his gloved hand gently squeezes your thigh, inching upwards.

“You're supposed to be Santa Claus, not some pervy old man touching his elves,” you mutter as you take in his gaze that has somehow shifted to one a lot more mischievous than it was a minute ago.

“Santa is a hard-working man. I'm sure he is allowed some fun once the kids are gone,” Joel smirks, a low grumble vibrating in his throat as he gives your thigh another squeeze before letting go.

You can practically feel Joel staring at your legs as you hurry back to your house, the red tights under your skirt doing almost nothing to protect you from the cold.

Joel grunts as he kicks off his snowy boots and makes a beeline for the whiskey, sinking into his favorite armchair by the fireplace as he pours himself a glass.

“You want a drink?” He calls through the house and smiles to himself when yell back, “Dying to have one.”

Joel's smile widens a little more when you reappear in the doorway a moment later, carrying a small plate with cookies and placing them on the small table in front of him, muttering “Maybe this stupid outfit has its upsides.”

He hands you your whiskey and you let your glass linger in the air for a few seconds, gently toasting with Joel before you take a few sips.

You're more than aware that the gaze Joel had earlier is back and he shamelessly lets his eyes roam over your body, taking in the way the outfit frames your curves just perfectly. He will never be caught saying it out loud but seeing what you'd wear as his helper if he were to agree to be Santa- it affected his decision more than a little bit.

“They were all really happy, you know? The kids,” you say gently, reaching for a cookie and eating it in one bite.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Joel mumbles, softening a bit. It brought back memories of Christmas before the Outbreak for him as well. His gaze is still on you when he nudges your knee a little, “You didn't get your turn.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks, immediately catching up on what he is asking for, “I may be a littler younger than you but I'm not a child anymore.” Joel chuckles softly, taking another sip from his whiskey as he watches you, waiting.

His legs are slightly spread, his broad thighs catching your gaze and with a small sigh you give in, lowering yourself onto his left leg, “Fine.”

“Now, what would you like for Christmas?” Joel asks, his deep voice lower than it was before. You're still naive enough to think that that's all he's trying to do, possibly coax out some wish that he can fulfill for you. It's absolutely not what he’s trying to do.

“Let’s see- a new dress would be nice. Or some coffee,” you answer truthfully and Joel nods. His gaze is focused on his whiskey, the way he balances it on one and you on the other leg, “Anything else?”

You shake your head no as he puts his glass away and reaches for you instead, hand sneaking up your thigh like it had done earlier. A small breath of surprise leaves your throat as you feel his fingers inching over your skin, painfully slowly traveling into the direction of your core.

“And you've been a good girl this year, hm?” He mutters. You open your mouth to reply- when the tips of his fingers finally reach your crotch and despite the tights you're wearing being non-see-through, he knows your body well enough to find your favorite spot instantly. His finger flies over it, teasing you with a gentle, calculated touch and whatever answer you would've given turns into a whiny moan instead.

Joel smirks a little as he sees your body reacting and he uses his free hand to grope your breast, the thin fabric of your costume leaving practically nothing to the imagination.

Your own hands begin wandering as well, cupping his face before you realize he's still wearing that stupid fake beard. A little rougher than you intend, you rip it off. Joel doesn't mind. It only stings for a moment- until your lips are on his, pressing your tongue against his lips eagerly.

“Fuck, Joel-” you whisper when you come up for air, already out of breath. He just grunts slightly, the smirk returning to his face.

“Think you can be a good girl for me now?” He mumbles, focused on twisting your nipples through your shirt and you whimper, nodding at his question.

Maybe you’d make it to the bedroom for once, if you both weren’t so fucking impatient.

Joel is hard in his pants, the erection creating a more than visible bulge on the velvety, red fabric and you massage him gently, fingers ghosting over his cock as you clench down on nothing at the thought of having him fill you up.

The hand on your breast leaves to join the other one between your thighs and in one swift motion, Joel rips your tights apart, growling like an animal as he is met with the sight of your already dripping cunt.

“You're so wet already, darlin’,” he praises, sliding one finger through your folds, “Fucking killed me to see you in that skirt and not be able to do anything about it.”

Your hands almost automatically fly to his belt, your body already shaking with the need to feel him inside of you, to have him as close as he possibly can. Joel pushes his pants down with one hand, just far enough for him to pull his cock out.

He's already fully hard, an indication that he wasn't lying about the way he felt about your skirt. It only makes you more eager.

“Can I ride you?” You ask breathlessly, running your finger down his veiny cock and gently cupping his balls below.

“Fuck, you have to ask?” Joel mutters, chuckling a little at that. He helps you change your position so that you’re hovering above him, his hands placed firmly on your hips for support.

You both groan in unison as you lower yourself onto him, his dick sliding into you with little resistance. It's perfect. You can feel the way his skin brushes against yours inside of you, pushing itself further inside until you're fully seated.

“Taking me so well, darlin’,” Joel whispers, running his hands up and down your sides as he waits for you to adjust to the intrusion. It's a lot, he knows that much, but you've reassured him time and time again that it's the good kind of a lot.

His lips find your throat, nibbling softly on the skin he can reach, occasionally sucking on it and eliciting a few sharp gasps from you. You both simultaneously begin to move, finding a shared rhythm. You bouncing up and down while he moves below you, pistoning himself further into your depths.

“ ‘tis all I need for Christmas,” he breathes, pulling you down onto him with a little more force. “Just need this sweet pussy around my cock, squeezing me so goddamn tight-”

He knows you're already close by the way your muscles are becoming more tense with each thrust, the pleasure that's building in your stomach physically mirrored in them. There's a small sting on the back of his head as you carelessly push his Christmas hat off to bury your fingers in his hair and pull on it, matching his pace.

“Fuck, feels like it’s already Christmas-” You agree, your voice shaking with the way he’s fucking into you. Joel licks a stripe up your neck, “Gonna be a good girl now and come for me?”

Your answer turns into a drawn-out moan as you feel Joel hitting your cervix and a few moments later, you're clenching down on him like your life depends on it, muscles seemingly drawing his cock in further and further.

It feels delicious, the way your body so clearly wants him, wants the one thing that he can give you and Joel fucks you through your orgasm as he too feels himself tipping over the edge. Your walls are painted with ropes of white cum as he finishes inside of you, his arms wrapping themselves around your body to pull you in closer.

His head is buried in your chest as you both slowly come down from your high, your fingers and nose in his hair. He feels the way your breath goes fast on his skin, sighing softly, so content with the way you are so impossibly entangled.

“I love you.”

It's quiet, so quiet that you almost don't hear him. The pleasure that was in your stomach a few moments ago appears again, this time in your chest. You pull Joel a little closer, feeling him soften inside of you as you place a gentle kiss on his head.

“I love you too.”

notes: if you liked this, please consider leaving a little comment or reblogging, it makes me grin just like joel <3

[jerzwriter]

It's Christmastime - and Ethan is thoroughly unimpressed. Luckily, he has Kaycee to turn that around - but can she make it happen?

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Kaycee MacClennan (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 1,411 Summary: See above.

A/N: Participating in @choicesholidays winter event - New Traditions - they have a few in here! :) Also, @choicesdecember2024, I think Miracle is the best match! lol

The line felt like it stretched the entire length of the mall, accompanied by all the annoyances that came with it: frazzled parents, sugared-up kids, and the occasional beleaguered adult questioning their life choices. It didn’t take long to determine what group a tall, scowling doctor with his arms crossed in front of his chest belonged to. Ethan Ramsey was firmly in the last group, and Kaycee couldn’t have been more amused.

He should have expected this, she thought; after all, this was their second Christmas together, and he had already survived year one at her side. She smiled at him, the picture of holiday cheer in her red sweater adorned with tiny reindeer. That sweater wasn’t a split-second decision. No, Kaycee had taken months to find the perfect design and purchased two, one for each of them. Ethan was wearing his, too. It would be visible if he took off his leather jacket, but he had made it clear before they left his condo... he was NOT taking off his leather jacket.

Kaycee’s eyes were full of mischief as she gently nudged him with her elbow. “You’re awfully quiet today,” she said with a slight smile.

Ethan let out an exasperated sigh. “You dragged me here against my will. Can’t you just enjoy my silent suffering?”

Chuckling, she stepped closer and leaned into his side. “Stop it, grumpy! You enjoy this, too! You’re just too much of a curmudgeonly old man to admit it!”

He arched an eyebrow, looking at her with a frown. “Negative,” he deadpanned.

“Yes, you absolutely are!” Kaycee insisted. “You’re so lucky to have me here to fix all this bah-humbug of yours! Besides... remember what I promised you later... if  you’re a good sport.”

His demeanor seemed to change on a dime, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. He leaned in close and whispered so only she could hear him. “I seem to remember a promise that involved scanty red lingerie and mistletoe. Can you remind me of the other details again? It might make this whole experience a little more bearable?”

“Sorry, babe,” she answered with amusement. “There will be no reward until we finish the task at hand, and your chances are better if you do it with a smile on your face.”

The line continued to shuffle forward at an excruciatingly slow pace, and though he tried to contain it, Ethan’s grumbling continued. “This is ridiculous.” “You realize we’re adults, Kaycee.” “We really don’t belong here.”

She bit her lip to refrain from laughing, her amusement growing with each mumbled complaint. She peeked ahead and saw it wouldn’t be much longer; the jolly man in red was getting closer with every step. “Stop it, Ethan! You know I’m right about this.”

“Right? Right about what?”

“That this is going to be fun. Admit it—deep down, you’re excited.”

Ethan snorted. “The only thing I’m excited about is how you’ll be repaying me later.”

She looked up at him with a smirk and playfully punched his arm. “If you keep torturing me here, I may just renege on my promise!”

Ethan looked stricken. “You wouldn’t!”

Kaycee didn’t get a chance to answer as they finally reached the front of the line, where an overly excited elf dressed in green and red tights greeted them with an almost eerie smile. “Hi there! Are we going for the basic photo package or the deluxe? The deluxe comes with extra prints, digital downloads, and even a festive frame!”

Before Ethan could say a word, Kaycee jumped in. “Deluxe, please. I want as many prints as possible to send to all our friends and family.”

Ethan’s eyes went wide. “That was not part of the deal,” he protested.

Kaycee remained the picture of holiday bliss when she smiled at his side. “Ethan, but it’s Santa!”

How had he ended up here? He was almost forty. He should be home with a glass of spiked eggnog by the fireplace. He ran a hand down his face and grumbled. “This is absolutely absurd.”

He was about to complain more when a tiny voice from behind interrupted him. Ethan felt the little hand tugging at his jacket just before the words hit his ear. “Mister, are you saying you don’t believe in Santa Claus?”

Ethan froze, turning to find a little boy of no more than six staring up at him. His wide eyes were filled with innocence, almost begging Ethan to offer a reassuring response. Ethan glanced at the boy and then at his parents, standing behind him. They watched with an amused expression as they waited for his reply.

Ethan hadn’t asked for it, but in that moment, memories from his own childhood rose to the surface. When he was about this boy’s age, he would spend his whole year compiling lists for Santa, three to be exact. One was a compilation of all the good things he had done, and the second was confessions of the not-so-good stuff. That one had an attachment with explanations and how he attempted to atone.   Then, there was his Christmas wish list. Each year, when he wrote it, he was sure he wouldn’t receive most of the things he asked for. He might have been young, but he was smart enough to know his family was struggling. He could tell when his Mom put an extra sweater on him instead of turning up the heat, when his dad insisted on taking extra shifts even though he was tired, and when his parents would put a few items back before they checked out at the grocery store. He was young but bright, and he knew.

Yet, every Christmas morning, it seemed like a miracle took place. He had no idea how it happened, but most, if not all, that he wished for would be wrapped beautifully under the family Christmas tree. Back then, he took that as proof positive that Santa was real. There was no other way. He hadn’t thought about that for years, but standing before this little boy, he could feel the emotion welling inside.

There was magic during the holiday season. It didn’t come from mythical creatures in red suits or tiny reindeer – but from the people who loved us the most. It came from parents who worked hard to create that magic, including his own parents, who did without themselves just to see the look in his eyes on Christmas day.

It came in the form of the beautiful woman beaming at his side. The one who knew him better than he knew himself and was not about to let him spend the rest of his days thinking wonder and hope were something that had died long ago. She insisted they had a place in his grown-up life, and looking at her now, it was apparent, the message was received.

He knelt down to the child’s level, his voice soft and tender, his eyes warm. “Of course I believe in Santa Claus. Santa is all about the magic of the holiday season. And you know what? That magic is real. One hundred percent real.”

The boy’s eyes sparkled with his reply. “Really? You mean it!”

Ethan nodded, wrapping his arm around Kaycee, who was beaming up at him with so much affection it made his chest tighten. “Really. It’s all around us – it’s surrounding you and me.”

The boy grinned as he turned and hugged his parent’s knees, and Ethan met the gaze of the woman he loved. “YOU are all the magic I need,” he murmured placing a kiss atop her head. “Thank you for reminding me of who I used to be.”

Kaycee’s eyes filled with tears as she held him tight, he didn’t know it, but he had just given her the greatest gift of all.

“Uhm, so... the pictures?” The now irritated elf asked.

“You heard the lady,” Ethan stated. “The deluxe package, in fact, make it two!”

Before they stepped into the winter wonderland that served as a backdrop to Santa’s throne, Ethan turned to Kaycee once more. “Merry Christmas, baby,” he said with a smile she’d cherish for all time.

“Merry Christmas, Ethan,” she whispered back.

Ethan took her hand and led her down the candy cane-trimmed path toward Santa, knowing precisely what he’d say when the jolly man asked him what he wanted for Christmas. He already had his gift, and she was standing by his side.

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[eclecticprincecollector]

The reactions

What happens after you reveal your gender (Female elf! yuu)

Leona Kingscholar:

Shock, the magic yuu used was strong enough to fool his dorm.

Embarrassment, he treated a woman the way he did and even let others under his command do so. ( chill you didn't know)

Confusions, he didn't want to spend time thinking about his preferences in partners ( congratulations you were the grumpy lions Bi awakening)

"You little minx, don't think I'm going to let you get away Scott free for ruining my sleep." he rasped into your ear, so close, you could feel his heartbeat it was so fast.

Malleus Draconia:

Shock 2.0, that is some strong magic child of the forest ( this is elf!yuu)

Hurt, did you not trust him? did he scare you? did you not feel safe?

Intrigue, Child of the forest you have his full attention now.

" Whether you like it or not, my dearest, you are under my protection now, so there is no need to change who you are" he declares as he ties a pretty emerald green ribbon around your neck, letting his fingers linger, for just a little too long.

[spideyanakin]

STOP UR BEING SO RUDE RN !!!

no but then I feel like I live for the angst now.

this might b more of a regulus x reader? But how would reg’s death happen? Would he have the reader putting some common sense into him or would he just still go and betray Voldemort?

- 💟

ahhh im so sorry (idk if I am)!!! brilliant question you ask.

all I think about now - masterlist

summary - malfoy + slytherin! reader, reader learning about regulus's death. hints of reg x reader

warnings - major character death, this is just angst m sorry, ft. kreature

a/n - I'm so sorry, I woke up today and chose violence.

You woke up in a cold sweat, lost in a haze of sleep and dreamy mist.

Your heart was beating out of your chest as you came back to reality. This time it wasn't the crying newborn screaming for your attention, or Kreature promptly deciding to move the furniture around in the early hours of morning.

No. It was the horrid nightmare that had iced your bones and blood, waking you up with a strangled scream stuck to your vocal chords.

In a instant of panic, pain squeezing at your heart, you reached by your side, arm stretching only for your hand to find nothing but cold soft silk.

Suddenly you were reminded that your husband wasn’t here. He had been gone for days now, and no one knew, or would even tell you where he was. Even Kreature had disappeared with him, leaving you and your son to an empty house.

Lucius had begged you to come and join them at the manor, but you insisted some time alone in those trying times would do you good.

But as the cold air from your opened window grazed your sweaty skin, and your eyes blinked to find the memories of your nightmare, you suddenly regretted the loneliness.

You shivered, placing the silk nightgown you had hooked to the bedpost upon your shoulders. With careful movements you passed the nursery, you sighed with relief when you saw Perseus’s steady breaths.

The clock had struck four, if he decided to keep to his usual wake times, he wouldn’t open his eyes for another two hours or so.

Your shoulders seemed to relax as you padded towards the kitchen, relighting the fire with a flick of your wand as you mindlessly went to grab a teapot.

You tried to relish in the warmth of the fire as you waited for your tea to brew, but the flames wouldn’t remove the cold feeling from your bones that started picking at your gut.

You closed your eyes but it did nothing to soothe your nerves.

Lightings of green, waves, a storm, rocks, a lake black as the night sky, Inferi.

Regulus.

His stormy eyes shinning with fear, terror and pain.

A very loud sound of glass and porcelain shattering made you jump from your chair. Your eyes shot open, and suddenly Perseus’s cry rang through Grimaud place.

Your heart thumped in your chest, wand at the ready as you paced out of the kitchen.

You abruptly stopped when you saw the wooden cabinet with the very very old and very very precious china Walburga was so proud about shattered across the floor—Kreature panicking as he sidestepped the shards and glass to get to you.

Your heart raced to your ears as you saw the change in his demeanor. The once grumpy house elf was alight with fear, anger and panic all at once. His tired eyes were shot wide open, and his ears perked up. He was holding onto a locket that seemed too large for his hands, the chain twisted in his wrist, afraid he would lose it.

"Kreature, where is my husband?"

"Master is- master is-"

And suddenly you knew that your dream hadn’t been a dream. The horrible reality settled in.

"Master Regulus is dead, Mistress."

[erikailustra]

Continuing the posts about my OCs - 02 of 03

-- Caerisia Lunagrove (she/her, they/them) --

Night-Elf, Archdruid of the Silk (of a circle created by me, which venerates Aessina and Lady Sathrah, that I turned into a Wild Goddess), a Soulcaller (a druid capable of summoning mighty nature spirits). Caerisia is my non-binary "magical girl", my cheerful OC with a tragic past, innocent-looking but badass!

-- Verannor Moonsword (he/him)--

Night-Elf, Death Knight, affiliated with the Knights of the Ebon Blade and a faction of my creation called Winter's Envoys (which involves a little group of Green Dragons and Ardenweald). Verannor is one of my favorite types of character: the grumpy boy with a heart of gold + my favorite type of magic power — ice + the final touch of the flowing scarf.

[mini-minish]

m9 pirate + essek joins earlier + speedrun any% au 🏝

disclaimer these are just sillies for fun bc i wanted more pirate times please don't think too much about plot divergences; feel free to add your own ideas in the mix!

spoilers for the mighty nein

• fjord becomes a captain earlier

• caleb escapes the prision earlier

• while on the run and covered in tears and mud, he meets beauregard in one of her many cobalt soul escapes

• a lone half-orc captain with a cursed sword but no ship or crew walks into a bar, sees two anxious looking humans in the corner: a scrawny woman with a grumpy face and a scrawnier ginger with a towel to his recently broken nose

• seems easy enough.

• girls night!!! they steal their first boat

• rule #1 of stealing methods of transportation is that you should watch out for blue tieflings stowaways trying to get as far away from a recent problem as possible

• back on land they loose beau (got got by the soul ☝️😔), caleb gets locked up in a shady storage while looking for her and there he meets nott the brave

• fjord's first response upon seeing a goblin following his navigator is to pull the sword on it

• nott's first response upon seeing some green dude shove a sword in her face is to pull her crossbow at him

• they look up and down for beau, but she finds her way back to them eventually

• still, they'll need more hands if they want to keep their totally legally owned ship afloat

• still on land, The Circus Plot happens and they acquire two more crew members 🎉

• molly loves the ocean, yasha likes the wind

• all of them like to go up to the crow's nest and bother caleb, nott more than the others; eventually he stops hiding up there so much

• yasha starts getting anxious about her unfinished business at the same time jester stars getting anxious about their clothes not being pirate-y enough

• they lose their first ship (of pristine papers as long as you don't look at them in the light) and have to travel on land until they manage to borrow a new one without asking it's owner and with promises of never returning it

• they also lose molly :(

• but they get caduceus :) who's not very keen on being in a boat for long periods of time but he'll adjust

• one thing he'll have in common with the cat

• fjord has a problem: The Voices in his head telling him to get back on the water

• jester has a conundrum: they got all of these nice, proper pirate outfits but now they have no ship

• love wins

• she did get frumpkin his very own little coat

• in the night, as the mighty nein crew wispers around two pushed together inn tables, a cloaked figure approaches upon hearing they are in need of help

• dezran, or dez, for short, for friends, an inconspicuous sun elf from, you know, around these parts, who is in dire need of work and oh would your captain be so kind to-

• insight checks fly around the pushed together inn tables

• but all of them know each of them is running from something or someone, and not all of them have a destination in mind, so really it's not like they're going to ask.

• plus nott thinks she saw a really nice boat on the dock with it's lights all out

• welcome aboard!

• cue the guy running from stealing things having to steal things

• cue a disguised drow's inventory slots full of the strongest sunscreen balm he could find this side of the continent

• maybe caduceus or jester finds out first, around when ess- dez, for friends, got a little too reckless and a little too hurt some time or other

• but the wildmother shows caduceus a lonely star when he asks, and artagan hasn't been paying attention, and anyways that's dez, that's right, their friend who has been nothing but helpful and fun, if a little skittish depending on the weather, and who always tries jester's pastries

• besides, far from him being the only person with a fake identity at the function. he's not that special.

• when fjord and beau find out, they're suspicious, but they won't make him walk the plank. there's protocol for that.

• yasha is not one to question someone running from their past

• when nott the brave finds out, she doesn't ask what he really looks like

• when caleb widogast finds out, during a siege on the ship, he grabs essek's arm and sees the drow underneath the disguise, and wants to know who are you, but circumstances are that later, they'll talk about this later.

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐟

˗ˏˋ𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ˗

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 —grumpy!erik johnson x sunshine!nanny!reader 𝐰𝐜 — 1.1k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — in erik's absence, his nanny takes over staging the family's elf on the shelf in order to keep the magic alive for his children. results are... questionable.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — i'm unhealthily attached to this made-up family send help

˗ˏˋ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ˗

JOSIE JOHNSON is thoroughly unimpressed by her Elf.

“Snow angels? In sprinkles? Groundbreaking.”

Dissatisfaction narrows her gray-blue eyes as she stands in front of the kitchen island.

Bernard, the Johnson family’s special scout from the North Pole, is lying limp against the marble countertop in a pool of red and green. The sugary spillage is low-effort at best, especially compared to his iPad drive-in movie yesterday and the miniature golf course the day before that.

Dumping a container of cheap sprinkles—and not even the expensive variety with confetti shapes and edible glitter—wasn’t going to cut it.

Someone was going to have to do better.

“Uh-oh! Looks like Bernard had a wild night,” Erik Johnson, her father, announces as he pads in from the dining room.

If he thinks he’s being subtle, he’s doing a terrible job. His daughter can see straight through him; his voice goes all sorts of wonky when he has a secret.

And his dye-stained fingertips aren’t doing him any favors, either.

“Wild for who? A first grader?”

Josie was in second grade now. She is far too smart to fall for his poor acting and, evidently, much too cool to bother with humoring him.

Erik cocks his head to the side. His kid could be snarky, but she typically postponed doling out remarks until the afternoon. Or until he’s had his second helping of caffeine.

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, he thinks to himself.

Aloud, though, he opts for a simple joke. “Well, I think it was wild. Do I look like a first grader to you?”

He sets his coffee mug beside the espresso machine and puffs out his chest like a peacock. Erik’s already 6’4 without trying, so when he raises both hands and lefts onto his tip-toes for emphasis, his head nearly brushes the ceiling. He’s grinning, wide and bright.

He expects his daughter to giggle at his antics like she did when she was younger or, at the very least, crack a reluctant smile out of second-hand embarrassment.

She does neither.

Rather than pearly teeth, Erik’s met with the whites of her eyes. If Josie had rolled them any harder, they'd have gotten stuck facing the wrong way. That’s what her older brother, Reese, told her whenever she did it.

The irony of the repeated red-lettered phrase "Be Nice!" on the white background of her Grinch-themed pajamas isn’t lost on him.

“Josephine Johnson, I thought I made myself clear the last time we talked about this; you do not roll your eyes at me. Or anyone, for that matter. It’s very rude,” he reprimands sternly. “What’s gotten into you?”

Josie crosses her arms, unphased, and fixes him with an unwavering glare. She could do this all day if need be.

“What’d she do this time?” Reese asks through a yawn as he strolls into the kitchen.

You, the family’s live-in nanny, are not far behind. You’re rubbing the sleep from the corners of your tired eyes when Josie darts to your side.

She looks up at you expectantly, eyes wide and pleading. Silently, they beg for you to agree to whatever she’s planning to say next.

“Can you be in charge of it again? Please, please, please?” she asks, so sweetly she might give herself a cavity.

Josie tugs on your arm to drive home her adolescent anguish when you aren’t instantly compliant.

Panic fizzles in your chest. There was no way she knew, right?

She couldn’t. No way. You were still a few years off from the dicey reveal. No one in her grade had spilled the beans yet, and the adults in her life were content to keep up the ruse.

Surely, she meant as the Elf’s supervisor or an assistant.

Wrong.

“Bernard looks so much cooler whenever Dad lets you set up his pranks instead of doing it himself. See? Look how lazy he was this time,” Josie explains while tugging you over to the scene of the crime. “All he did was spill my sprinkles all over the counter and set my Elf on top of the mess. Like, could it get any lamer than that? He’s probably all sticky now, and he’ll have to stay that way because he’d drown in the washing machine!” 

“No, I didn’t,” Erik says a little too quickly, tone noticeably defensive. “Bernard—who is perfectly fine and not sticky at all, for the record—must’ve been way too tired when he got back from visiting Santa last night to do anything else. He didn’t even bother making it hard for you to find him this morning. I’d do something “lame” too if I spent the entire night flying home from far, far away.”

Bernard wasn't the only member of their household who spent the night up in the inky sky; Erik had been in an entirely different country only four hours ago. And, instead of going straight to bed like his body urged him, he spent an hour arranging the stupid little Elf into what he thought was a fun scenario for his daughter to find the following morning.

Now, he wishes he had just left Bernard on the mantle.

He blames you. They wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t introduced her to the concept. Fuck your quirky childhood tradition. All it'd caused were problems.

“I’m not a baby anymore. I know Bernard isn’t actually one of Santa’s elves!” Josie shouts, growing angry.

Reese mumbles something to the effect of “Could’ve fooled me…” under his breath, and Josie’s face pinches with frustration.

Like the miniature teenager she’s rapidly morphing into, the youngest Johnson massages the fold between her eyebrows. Then, her outburst matures into an accusation. “I know you’ve been hiding him this whole time.”

Erik balks at the allegation.

Irritated, she continues, “I’ve been sneaking down to watch you do it since I was, like, five years old. It's not my fault you aren't very observant. Or that your footsteps sound like an elephant’s. But I don’t care about that. I don't care that I know, but I do care how much effort you put into it.”

Josie clutches your hand in hers and smiles. She could get away with murder with the deep dimples indented on either side of her mouth —and she knows it, too.

She also knows flattery can get her wherever she wants. “Which is why I want you to take over again. You did such a good job while he was away. The goldfish in the paper pond was super cute, and you even made sure he was watching my favorite movie at the drive-in!" 

“Fine, you know what? You’re right,” Erik confesses, conceding to his eight-year-old with a toss of his hands. “And if it really matters that much, I’ll never touch the Elf again. Okay? I give up full control and responsibility.”

Josie positively beams. She always got her way eventually.

“So, how did you even figure it out, anyway?” Reese asks.

The question is garbled; he couldn’t wait until his mouth wasn’t full of Lucky Charms to make his inquiry.

“How could I not?” Josie retorts. Her facial expression is equal parts annoyance and ridicule. Reese’s eyes loop. His little sister clarifies with a huff, “Obviously, he isn’t a real elf, Reese. Santa needs all the help he can get to make sure everyone on the Nice List gets exactly what they asked for every year. Why would he send an actual elf, who should be building a bike or sewing a teddy bear, to spy on me for weeks?”

Fair point, you think to yourself.

“Wait a minute... If you knew he wasn’t real the entire time, why did you let us keep hiding him?” Erik asks, a quizzical dent in his forehead. 

Josie perks up, apparently thrilled to clue them in on the motivation behind her feigned ignorance. “Mrs. Thornton says even adults need a creative outlet because it makes them happier. Especially when they’re grouchy. Clearly, you’re the exception, Daddy.”

Reese honks, sending milk across the room from his nostrils.

Your sudden amusement is muffled by your free hand.

If it were humanly possible, there would be steam billowing from Erik’s crimson ears.

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[soft--dragon]

Loosen Up

So recently I finished Vox Machina and if you haven't seen I highly recommend it!! SUCH a good show oh my lord. Can't wait for the third season to drop :D

You can view the relationships however you like, I don't mind ^^ (except Vex and Vax, they're siblings, don't be weird :/)

Word Count: 3,138

Warnings: Kinda spoils a plot line in season one but nothing major ^^

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

It isn’t a secret that Percy is a bit of a stick in the mud.

Rarely did he let his walls down and simply be. Too caught up in his world of smoking guns and exploding inventions. A lifetime of heartache shutting his heart away in a cast iron keep that very few had a key to access. This also meant emotions such as joy, love, and contentment were rare to be exposed from behind those defensive gates.

That was before Vox Machina. 

A chaotic, rambunctious group of outcast individuals working with the skills they had to make it through another day. A ragtag family doing its best to survive in a world that would spit at their feet and tell them to fuck off. 

However, this family knew how to tell the world right back to fuck off too. 

Percy honestly couldn’t imagine his life with these people a few years ago, but now he simply could not fathom a reality without them. Tight-knit and stupid and loving, never faulting in their care. It was something Percy told himself to never take for granted, no matter how much they tested his patience. 

Much like tonight, where he was being subjected to the most irritating forces known to man: Vex and Vax when they were on the hunt for entertainment.

Percy is sitting near the fire, sketchbook in hand with rough charcoal drawings of new inventions scattering the pages. Vex and Vax have boxed him in by sitting on either side, peering at his notes and asking such incomprehensibly odd questions Percy wanted to know who the hell tutored these two monsters.

Honestly Vax, why would a pistol need a compartment for snacks? 

It took almost fifteen minutes before Percy's patience gave in and the notebook snapped shut with a dull thud. “Are you two quite finished?” Percy demands, staring at the duo with a narrow gaze. 

Vex grins, raising a hand in surrender. “We’re curious about your new inventions, love. Is there something wrong with that?”

Percy huffs, tucking his book into the folds of his jacket that is laid not too far from the flames, warming up for the night ahead. “Only when you keep badgering me to make a glove that turns whatever it touches into gold.”

“It would be quite helpful, dear.”

“And far out of my current capabilities, I’m not a wizard.”

“Oh, give yourself some credit, Freddy,” Vax grins. “Grow a beard and I’d say you’re plenty wizard-like. With your lifespan, you’ll need a cane before you know it, and it could act as your staff.”

Percy glares at him under half-lidded eyes. “Thank you, Vax’ildan,” he says sarcastically. “Remind me that I will die much sooner than the rest of you, just what I needed to hear tonight.”

Vex snickers, gently bumping his shoulder with her own so those green eyes look at her. “Oh come on, we’re just messing with you, Percival. What’s got you so grumpy this time?”

Percy gave her a mildly incredulous look. “I’m not grumpy.”

“He says while glaring, and with a bitter tone of voice,” Vax murmurs with a grin. 

Percy shoots him a dry look which the male elf only laughs at. “See? That’s exactly what I mean, man!”

Vex’ahlia laughs, dropping her arms over her bent legs and cocking her head to the side. “What is it gonna take to make you loosen up, Percy?”

“A good bottle of wine, some peace and quiet, and a book.”

“We have two silver to our name and a bear,” Vax counters. “Can’t quite match your aristocrat taste, but Trinket tells great stories.”

Trinket, nestled comfortably at the edge of the cave where the other party members are conversing, does not indicate that he knows, nor cares that his owners are talking about him. Percy envied that damn bear, able to go to sleep and easily block out the surrounding sounds. What a dream life. 

“Trinket is busy sleeping,” Percy tells them, “his stories will have to wait.”

Vex isn’t dissuaded by Percy’s bristling attitude, instead leaning more into his personal space just because she can. “Darling,” she says, “We just want to help you relax, is this such a big ask?”

“...Yes.”

“Aeugh, the drama of this man,” Vax chuckles through an exasperated breath, elbowing Percy’s side gently. 

The white-haired human flinches away from the contact with a start, his hand shooting down to rub the area. “Yes, yes, you’ve stated I am a dramatic piece of shit more than once, Vax. I believe your point is made.” 

The twins aren’t listening to Percy’s grumbles. The second he flinched, they’d locked eyes, a conversation played out with expression alone.

Vex narrows her gaze. Hurt?

No. Healed by Pike from the last mission.

Just startled, then? 

Seemed more than that. He knew we were right there.

So what are you thinking? 

Perhaps…

Vex perks a brow at her brother when his expression suddenly brightens in some kind of realization. Her eyes flit over to Percy who was unaware of their silent musings, still resolutely crossing his arms with a scowl that the fire did not deserve to be subjected to. She looks back to her sibling who is grinning now. Vax gives a small flex of his fingers, his eyebrows jumping up and down. Understanding hits Vex and her smile turns evil, nodding minutely. They wink at each other, the excitement for a game making them giddy though they contained it. Couldn’t let Percy catch on too early after all. 

“Percy~” Vex coos in her sultry voice, not missing the slight twitch in his face from her tone. The sight makes her all the more eager to extract the plan she and her brother had silently communicated. She lifts her fingernails to her eyes to examine them. “You sure we can’t convince you to loosen up at least a little?”

There was a scoff. “I’d like to see you try,” Percy muttered.

Oh excellent, an invitation. 

“Well, if the man insists, Stubby, who are we to ignore him?” Vax leaps for the opportunity with a grin that’s all charm and Cheshire-like. 

“I agree,” Vex smirks. “Shall we?”

Simultaneously, the two half-elves grab one of Percy’s wrists each and fling him onto his back, his arms being pinned by his head. A startled yelp leaps out of the human, the sudden gravity shift leaving him to stare up at the pair of matching grins. He tugs at his arms. They won’t budge. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Percy asks, bewildered and slightly on edge. 

“You said we could try and loosen you up,” Vex answers.

“By wrestling me to the dirt and pinning me down?” 

“Oh no, we just had to get you in a better position, dear heart,” Vax smirks.

“A better pos- for what?” 

The bemused and exasperated question only delights his captors further, and this is where Percival Fredrickson de Rolo the Third realizes a very fatal error. He had been encouraging the chaotic force that was the Elf Twins. He'd practically been asking for trouble. This realization only sinks in further when Vax’s free hand comes down to rest on Percy’s clothed stomach.

“Percy, you wouldn’t happen to be ticklish would you?” 

Oh.

Oh gods, no.

Memories spring to Percy’s mind of laughing himself hoarse while dogpiled under his siblings from the silly battles. The sensations scuttling everywhere, unstoppable and unbearable. His realization shows up in his face in the form of a pink flush and the beginnings of a wobbly grin that he desperately tries to keep under control.

“Oh, I see a smile trying to come out there!” Vex leers keenly, lowering her own hands to wiggle her fingers close to Percy’s side, delighting in his immediate response to wriggle away despite his efforts to seem indifferent to his dilemma. 

“V-Vex, this is ludicrous-” Percy splutters, his grin becoming wider by the second, his resolution foiled from years of inexperience in this game. 

“So you are ticklish, then?” Vax questions, his fingers gently pressing from where they are resting atop Percy’s lean stomach. 

The flinch and sharp intake of breath was answering enough. Percy’s ears were starting to burn from the attention, torn between wanting to wrench away and escape this playful teasing, or staying and trying to muscle through in a show of defiance. 

“I’m- it’s been a very long time since someone has tried,” Percy answers stiffly. 

The way the twins lit up made him cringe back, instantly knowing that was the worst thing he could’ve said.

“Well now we have to tickle you,” Vex exclaims like her word is law. Though, with her role in the group, it may as well be. 

Percy is most definitely blushing now. It was honestly adorable. “N-No you don’t!” He protests, his boots now shuffling into the dirt in hopes of dislodging his sudden capture. “I’m not even tihicklish!” Damn it.

“Was that a laugh?” Vax coos, delighting in a sound so rare from Percy who barely even grins on a good day. Percy is doing his best to try and become an ostrich with how far he’s turning his flushed face into the ground, stumbling refusals not quite managing to leave his lips coherently. 

“Why my dear brother, I think it was,” Vex chuckles. ‘Shall we see what else we can pull from our resident sour puss?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Electricity crackles through Percy’s sides and stomach in a split second, a strangled sound being pulled from a forgotten section of his vocal cords. His whole body instantly jack-knifes, legs trying to pull to his stomach to protect the sensitive areas suddenly under attack. Stubbornness makes him clamp his lips shut and bite his tongue, not wanting to give the twins the satisfaction of hearing him laugh again. He refused.

“Hmm, seems we’ve got a stubborn one in our hands, Vex,” tuts Vax, his fingers probing up and down Percy’s ribcage, noting every flinch and muffled grunt let out by the human. 

“Oh don’t worry, he’ll crack eventually.” Her eyes meet Percy’s and her smile makes his stomach twist in anticipation. She winks. “They all do.”

Her hand starts to slink down to his hip bones and- Nope. Nope. Nope. Not gonna happen, he’d rather get possessed by a demon again. Percy’s struggling kicks up, trying to find momentum with his legs to dislodge the grip pinning his wrists to the cave floor, still fighting not to crack as Vax’s fingers deftly squeeze his sides. He almost manages to heave himself to sit up, but a well-placed scratch at his lower back sends him crashing back down. His legs fly up to his stomach again, desperate to protect some part of his sensitive body while his chest shakes with restrained laughter. 

“Uh uh, not yet mister, we’re not done with you until you laugh~” says Vex, her hand dropping to lightly scuttle behind Percy’s knee that was right beside her.

Percy yelps, immediately kicking his legs back out, and scrunches into himself in a fast motion. The reaction made the twins pause, and he knew he was royally screwed. 

“Interesting, he might be like you. I think the gentler stuff works better on him,” Vex says to her brother, her hand dropping to Percy’s hips once more and scuttling her nails featherlight across the man’s skin.

“NoHAHaha!” Percy protests, his yelp swimming between stolen laughter that tries vainly to escape his throat, his head being tossed back against the floor as his body tries to do an emergency lockdown on his vocal cords. 

“Brilliant, sister,” Vax chuckles, and before Percy can prepare himself, he spiders his claws up along Percy’s stretched torso with a softened touch.  

Immediately, Percy sputters, and the dam finally cracks. “S-Shihihihit! Vehehex! Vahahax! Ohoho gohohod!” Percy gasps out through fits of boyish laughter, a sound so out of character for the gunslinger that it takes the twins aback in surprise.

His cheeks are flushed a rosy pink, standing out against his pale complexion and white hair. A wide, mirthful smile cracked out against his brooding face, nose scrunching in a way that couldn’t be described as anything but endearing. His body didn’t know whether to fight or fold, the long-forgotten instinct of childhood leaving him withering and laughing from the soft fingertips spidering along sensitive skin.

“Well, how about that,” Vax murmured, something gentle in his voice despite the mean wiggling of his nails on a particularly sensitive rib. “He can laugh.”

“Oh much more than that, dear brother,” Vex smiled fondly. “He isn’t grumpy now.”

Experimentally, her fingers swirl up Percy’s unprotected ribs to dance gently under his arm to see if it would have much effect. Oh, and it does. Percy practically squeals. High-pitched and panicked and childlike, his struggles for his pinned arms make a reappearance as the sensitive hollows are attacked by softly brushing nails. 

“Nononononohohoho VEHEehehex!” He pleads, scuffing the heels of his shoes into the floor in a half-baked bid for relief. “Fuhuhucks sahahake!” 

“That is utterly adorable,” Vax laughs, his own hand coming up to stroke deftly down Percy’s arm from wrist to armpit in a maddening pattern of soft touch. The strokes only elicit more half-bitten squeals and squeaks of protest, most noises swallowed up or blended into Percy’s laughter.

He knew he should feel embarrassed, his pride shattered into pieces from a few measly fingers and well-picked words to crack his defenses, but Percy couldn’t recall a time he’d last been in the middle of a play fight such as this. The sensations are foreign but not forgotten, too much and yet not enough at the same time. It was a conflicting state of escape or endure.

However, when Vax slipped a hand under his buttoned shirt to ghost gentle nails on his bare lower back, he was pretty sure his body got struck by lightning. 

“VAHAHAX! OHOHOhoho mihihy gohohod plehehehease! P-PLEHEhehehease!”” 

Vex and Vax pause in their movements and watch with awed amusement as Percy laughs himself mad from the briefest touch to his back, his full-bodied laughter quickly melting down into rich, honey-sweet giggles that shake his entire body. It didn’t seem real, that a sound so adorably childish could come from Percy’s mouth, and yet here he was, half curled on the ground, giggling up a storm. 

Vex and Vax share a fond, endeared smile and let go of Percy’s wrists, leaning away so he could have space to collect himself. The human wheezes through his tumbling giggles, his arms shifting to wrap around his middle as he slowly calms down. His eyes, which had been tightly closed, flutter open to show mirthful tears at the edges.

“F-Fuhucking hehehell,” he gasps, “I thohought I wahas gohohing to dihie.”

“Oh relax, we like you too much to kill you,” Vex snickers, offering her hand to Percy. She has to hold back a snort when he flinches mildly at her fingers, eyeing them distrustfully. “We’re done,” she promises.

After a suspicious look, Percy grasps her hand and allows her to tug him into a sitting position. One of his arms is still wrapped protectively around his stomach, his hand reaching far enough to rub that damn spot Vax had tickled for three seconds which caused him to fall apart. 

“Remind me to never piss you off,” Percy rasps, taking off his glasses to rub the tears in his eyes away.

Vax leans over to his supplies to snatch up his water skin, offering it to Percy who took it gratefully. “So,” Vax starts, watching Percy drink water like he hadn’t had it in years. “Soft touch and bad back, huh?”

Percy almost chokes. With a rough swallow, he recorks the water skin and clears his throat, stubbornly not looking at either of the twins. “Like I said, it’s been a long time. I didn’t think I still even was… well, you know.”

“What? Ticklish?’

Vex’s gentle tease makes Percy’s face burn for what felt like the millionth time that evening. He shoves his glasses back on his face despite the heat in his cheeks making them fog up mildly. The reaction makes the twins chuckle.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, Percy dear,” Vex soothes, an arm wrapping around his shoulders and rubbing gently at the nape of his neck - tension knotting the area from hours of leaning over a workbench while inventing. Percy winced at the attention, both from the anticipation of another attack and the ache of his tense muscles. 

“It’s embarrassing,” Percy grumbles without much heat, sounding like a petulant kid. “My siblings always ganged up on me because of it.”

“You have a nice laugh, I can see why they would,” Vax hums, tucking his water skin back into his nearby cloak.

The surprised look on Percy’s face almost made Vex tackle him back to the floor and tickle him again just so he could hear how precious his laugh was. She held herself back though, he’d had enough for tonight anyway. He hadn’t been tickled in years, he’d need to be introduced back to the game slowly. Tonight was an excellent first lesson. 

“So, Percy’s ticklish then?”

The sudden voice made the trio jump and look up to the other side of the cave where the rest of Vox Machina were watching them with grins. Scanlan, who’d asked the question, chuckled at the human’s sudden flush. “Yeah no, we saw the whole thing, de Rolo. Don’t expect this to be the last time, that was cute as fuck.”

Grog chuckled deeply. “Very cute,” he agreed in that rumbling voice of his. Pike, who was sat atop his shoulder nodded enthusiastically in agreement. 

“Had no idea you could laugh like that, Perce,” she chirped, glancing at Keyleth who giggled softly. 

“It was quite sweet,” the Air Ashari tacked on.

Percy stared at the group of people he called family, his eyelid twitching slightly and cheeks flushed a rosy pink. His gloved hands come up to press over his face, knocking his head into his bent knees, wishing the floor would just cave in and murder him quickly. 

“Aww, I think we’re embarrassing him,” Vax cooed, his hand resting atop Percy’s head and gently ruffling his hair in a brotherly fashion. “It’s alright, Giggles, you know we do it out of love.”

“F’ck off and die,” came the muffled grumble buried into Percy’s hands.

The twins cackled, pleased that they not only thoroughly shattered Percy’s indifferent demeanor, but got him flustered beyond repair from simple, playful affection and loving words. They were gonna have fun with this new information. It was their right as a family to carry on the de Rolo tradition of making Percival Fredrickson de Rolo the Third laugh, they wouldn’t let Percy’s late siblings down on that front.

[dawnsarchive]

At Your Service - Chapter 3

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Fandom: The Hobbit (Movie)

Pairing: Fili/Reader/Kili

Reader: AFAB

Style: Multi-Chapter (Around 4000 Words a Chapter)

Rating: Mature

Content Warning: N/A

Summary:

They shouldn't trust you. You wouldn't trust you if you experienced what they did. You know things you shouldn't - you know names, places, and events that hadn't even happened yet and something dumped you in a strange forest, face-to-face with a trio of trolls and a company of armed strangers.

Stuck in the middle of a king's quest to reclaim Erebor, you're now navigating a world both familiar and foreign at the same time. Not to mention the growing tension between two brothers who are far too invested in your presence amongst the group. Every step toward the Lonely Mountain is a choice you're making but are you important enough to rewrite a story that already has an ending?

Can you choose between the two Durin brothers? Do you even need to?

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A rather lucky benefit that came from travelling with a wizard is they have a tendency to know all kinds of strange people, both those of great importance and those far less so. And, in the case of Rivendell, Gandalf knew somebody of considerable importance indeed for Elrond was a mighty ruler with twilight hair and starlit eyes that flickered too-knowingly over your company of dwarves and a hobbit.

Though the dwarves appeared quite wary – likely due to foul blood from histories you had never been told – you didn’t complain with the promise of food on the air. The rumbling in your stomach had only grown since the morning’s activity.

A great feast was laid out beneath a canopy of trees with branches so tall and arched they resembled a cathedral ceiling. Crystal pitchers of springwater steeped with rose sat beside delicate bowls of flower-petal salads and laced herb bread. Vegetables you couldn’t name had been laid out, their taste earthy and light.

Music drifted like mist through the air and the elves drifted by as though floating.

You could almost believe them to be timeless with their ageless, ethereal beauty. Part of you wanted to learn the language just so you could tell what gentle words they whispered to each other as they glanced at your company.

And though the food was hardly something to protest in your mind, few of your companions seemed pleased with the distinct lack of meat on offer.

“Try it. Just a mouthful.”

“I don’t like green food.”

You giggled quietly to yourself and enjoyed some of the herbed breads, served with a whipped cheese and honey that bore a strange resemblance to the ricotta you remembered from home. You were content to just watch the elves as they strolled around, curious and enthralled by them.

“Awfully snobby lot,” Dori said when your gaze moved away from them eventually.

His comment earned him quite a stern expression from one of the elves playing their harps and you couldn’t help a small laugh.

The wine tasted like berries in the early autumn – tart, crisp, and dangerously unlike alcohol. You swirled your glass and smiled at the grey-haired dwarf. Eternally pessimistic and with his hair braided tightly, he carried the type of grumpiness you associated with old men who had put up with too many children.

“I could say the same about dwarves and their great arrogance,” you said, your tongue slightly boldened by the wine.

But your comment didn’t offend and Dori nodded in agreement. “Aye but that is well-earned arrogance.”

“I’ve never met elf nor dwarf before so I can’t speak to either,” you admitted.

What was thought of the race of men if dwarves were arrogant and elves to be snobbish? Had you even met somebody of your own race yet or did Gandalf count as something more than? Something mystical and great.

“Sounds like you’ve been rather sheltered,” Kíli said from further down the table and you turned your attention to him, curious.

“How so?”

His comfortable grin put you at ease that his tone held no judgement. You weren’t sure this topic was particularly safe – for you didn’t know how much of your knowledge about this world at all would remain – but you saw no reason to stop the conversation entirely. Not yet, at least.

“You look like you’ve travelled but you’ve never even met a dwarf before?”

“It’s hardly that surprising,” you said. “Seeing somebody in passing is not the same as meeting them after all and though I have heard many tales of elves, I have never been in these parts of the world.”

Kíli shrugged. “Guess so,” he said and he turned his attention to one of the nearby harp-players who waltzed around in white robes long enough to sweep the floor and yet miraculously clean despite that. He caught the elf’s eye and winked before he looked away to see you and several others watching him.

“Can't say I fancy elf maids myself. Too thin,” he defended himself. “They're all high cheekbones and creamy skin. Not enough facial hair for me. Although... That one there's not bad."

You glanced at the harp player and then back at him with a raised eyebrow while Dwalin spoke what all of you were thinking.

“That’s not an elf maid?”

The roars of laughter did not help the red blush that spread over the young prince’s cheeks and he rapidly turned his attention back to the table and his meal of mainly leaves.

Handsome though he was, you appreciated knowing the wink that had flustered you momentarily in the cave had been nothing special. Rather it seemed that Kíli had a tendency towards casual flirtation. It was good to keep in mind, you told yourself – you still knew far too little about what your role in this story was.

They had visited the elves before. Your interruptions hadn’t changed much at all – only made the party slightly less exhausted by the time they arrived in Rivendell. Was it so set in stone? Destined to always end the same way?

In that case, you had to be cautious until you knew more.

You glanced toward Elrond, who was examining the elven swords that had been found in the cave. Perhaps he may know more. You could ask for a moment of his time but the thought of doing so… it sat uncomfortably in your chest.

What if your memories faded when you asked? What little information you had was fragmented and you knew less still of your past. You remembered your world but the information would be useless if he knew nothing of it at all.

You relented the thought and went back to your berries.

You were the worst king of prophet – one that forgot about the future the second you stopped thinking about it.

Something you did ask about though was the necklace, once you remembered it existed in your pocket. The elves should know their own symbols and indeed, the first one you asked provided you with an answer immediately.

“The symbol is meant to bring good luck,” she said in a voice so soft it may be carried away by the breeze.

A true elf maid – unlike Kíli’s focus earlier – she was stunning. Her dark hair was pushed back from her face by a silver circlet and her eyes shone greener than the brightest emerald. You could think her younger than you for how ageless her skin was but she had outlived your lifespan many times over as that was the nature of elves.

She played her harp with a delicate, enviable touch. Her fingers brushed the strings and it spun the most entrancing of tunes.

“Nothing more?” you asked.

“No. A few may give such a symbol to a family member at the beginning of a new century to celebrate rebirth but it’s nothing unique. You can wear it if you wish – perhaps it will bring you luck in your journeys.”

You thanked her but the disappointment soured your mood.

It had been a potential clue. The rock in the cave that bore a symbol identical to this one had provided you with memories of the future – scenes that you knew from a screen and not from your own eyes. Though now as you thought back to them, they fluttered anxiously at the corners of your mind.

Night settled over the valley when you were full of good food and comfortable in the mystical atmosphere of Rivendell.

Though you tied the necklace around your neck, soon the concerns slipped through your mind as you ventured away from the great dining table to explore different corners of Rivendell.

While the dwarves celebrated their good fortune, you found a garden not too far from the party.

Moonlight dressed the buildings in a luxurious silver dress. The flowers here did not wilt without sun but rather, they bloomed greatly beneath the blanket of stars. Enormous white moonflowers lit the flower beds and sweet blue honeysuckles gave the night air a delicate taste. The music still swept around you, carried from the hall alongside raucous laughter.

You wandered through the lush grass, your eyes turned to the night sky – painted in purples by the stars – and wondered if this could be real.

A firefly larger than your palm flew past your face and you watched it with a small laugh you couldn’t stop. How were you to believe that this wasn’t a dream when such things existed?

This world carried magic in her lungs. She breathed adventure and promised a life filled with danger and thrill in equal measures. It was comfortable here but still, whenever you looked too deeply, something felt off. You knew there was a fountain nearby but unless you stopped and listened to it, you couldn’t hear how the water splashed against the marble. You knew things that you shouldn’t and it ruined the exploration.

You paused to think about it but before you had much time, you heard footsteps in the grass behind you.

It seemed you were getting used to the dwarves for this time, Fíli didn’t startle you with his approach and you turned to face him with a greeting smile.

“Hiding from the rest?” he asked.

“They can be a little loud,” you admitted. “I wanted to enjoy some of the tranquility of Rivendell.”

The revelry was not contained entirely in the hall and it seemed the elves had greatly underestimated a dwarf’s ability to drink. You had watched the free-flowing wine and wondered how long it would take before the entire city ran dry. Surely it wouldn’t take much time at all with twelve dwarves.

Well, eleven, for both the king of the dwarves and the king of the elves had disappeared as evening arrived. You had pondered briefly as to why but with a night so beautiful as this, you couldn’t waste too much of your time thinking about what they may discuss.

It must have been something of great importance but it wasn’t for you to concern yourself about.

Fíli didn’t appear to have allowed himself to get too lost in the wine as he stood stable before you, his hair the slightest bit disheveled from where his brother had been hanging off his shoulders earlier.

“You should be careful about wandering too far off,” he said. “You don’t know what may lurk in these forests. Or are you confident enough in your letter opener?”

You laughed though, in truth, you had barely thought of it. You forgot for a moment that there were parts of this world that posed you far greater threat than the fireflies or the night flowers did. Monsters hunted your party and their danger was doubly so for you with little experience wielding a blade.

But you felt you couldn’t admit such a thing too openly.

You rested your hand on the hilt of your blade. “Perhaps I could have handled a mouse or maybe even a fox should it have tried to take my possessions. I wouldn’t know as I have never tried before.”

The wine loosened your tongue and gave you more confidence than you should have in stating truthful facts. You had hoped to keep a façade of competence but the words slipped free before you could stop them and Fíli appeared unsurprised.

“If you don’t know how to wield a blade, you shouldn’t carry one.”

You feigned offence in your expression. “And how do you know that I don’t know how to wield one. I might even be a greater fighter than you.”

The corner of his lip twitched as though calling your bluff. “If you want to claim things like that, you’d have to prove it.”

You knew you shouldn’t take such a challenge. The dwarves who had joined their king had done so because they were confident in their skills with either weapons or knowledge. It made sense for the prince, out of all there aside from perhaps Thorin himself, to be skilled with a sword.

Even in your memories, the closest thing you had wielded in battle was a broomstick against cobwebs.

But his confidence was contagious and the wine in your veins sang sweetly and you were caught up in all the magic of this world. It was an intoxicating mix of adrenaline. A dangerous one too for it made you smirk in response.

“I couldn’t use a real blade to attack the prince of Erebor,” you said. “Somebody might get hurt.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” he said with a deep chuckle that made you instantly regret taking this challenge. “Hit with the flat of the blade and you’ll leave bruises not cuts.”

You rolled your eyes but he drew a sword from a sheath on his belt and just stared at you, expectantly. He didn’t even take a stance or anything. The blade was held so lightly in his hand that it appeared as though it may slip to the ground at any moment. It was far too arrogant to not make you hesitate.

This was not a fight you were going to win even though he had had more to drink than you.

But you had no plans to back down now.

Your own sword felt unnatural in your grasp. It was a little too long and a little too clunky and you tried to imitate how he held his own though the darkness made it difficult to see.

The lamps that stood through the garden were gorgeous creations of elegantly forged silver, delicate in their faint white glow, but they provided far too dim of a light. For while elves could see well enough with only the moonlight as a guide, you were decidedly not an elf.

And you realised as you looked at Fíli whose eyes appeared to have the slightest glint to them – not unlike those of a cat – dwarves shared at least one trait with the elves for lowlight meant little to them either.

You made the first move for fear of him growing impatient. The swing was wild but as you made it, something in your muscle memory adjusted. Your shoulder muscles tensed as though they remembered how to do this and the feeling stumbled you.

He parried your blade with ease but you cared little for the embarrassment of it – instead confused as you stared at your own blade.

Fíli raised an eyebrow at you now that you’d stopped. “Should I take this as a surrender?”

Your gaze snapped to him, defiant and momentarily, you left the confusing memories behind. “I can barely see,” you defended. “It’s hardly fair.”

“Unfortunate.”

But he didn’t lower his blade.

Your hold on the weapon was still inexperienced and unpracticed but as you adjusted it between your palms, you found the right position for your palms. It wasn’t a natural grip, but a learned one. You knew how to do this. Not well but enough.

You feinted a swing to his left and lunged low instead. Your clumsy swing from earlier had made him comfortable and though he blocked, the flat of your blade smacked hard against the outside of his thigh. The triumph and excitement of landing a blow was short-lived as this time he didn’t give you a second to celebrate.

You barely blocked his return swing. He was far stronger than you and you felt it though he was clearly holding back some of his hits.

Fíli might be young but he still had too much experience for his swings to be so slow and simple. On an actual battlefield, you would have no chance of guessing his movements as you did now.

But every blow you parried made your arm muscles scream alongside the clash of metal for his strength alone nearly broke your block.

And you were tiring far quicker than he was.

You needed a moment to think so you did the best you could and the next blow that came, you stepped closer and locked the blades between you. The hilts of the swords skidded against each other and he momentarily paused, allowing you a brief reprieve of breath in this stance.

“You’re clumsy with a weapon,” he said, his voice unfairly steady. “Being able to fight a mouse is generous.”

There was no mockery to his tone and you couldn’t find it in yourself to be annoyed at such a comment. Your veins buzzed with the thrill of a sparring match – even one as unfairly weighted as this. “It’d be enough to keep me alive,” you said. “And I’ve landed at least one hit on you.”

“I had to allow you one.”

“Liar.”

His eyes gleamed; their hazel flickered with sparks at your inflammatory words. “If I wanted to, I could put you on your back in a second. Your movements are far too predictable.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” you teased.

In the brief startle caused by your words, you felt his pressure relent from the blade lock enough to give you an opportunity. You twisted his blade down, ducked and smacked the flat of your sword against his ribs before you darted back a few steps to regain some distance.

The move had pushed you a bit hard though and you could feel the sweat on your brow as you watched Fíli through cautious eyes. A strand of hair kept falling into your face but you made no move to wipe it away.

“Two,” you said in a braggard’s tone.

He recovered from confusion with a shake of his head and pushed one of his braids back into place over his shoulder. Then, with simple flexed movements you couldn’t even see, he stepped closer to you, deflected your attempted blow, and swept your legs from beneath you in a second.

Your back hit the ground with a thud and even as you tried to recognise what happened, he loomed over you, the point of his sword nestled between your collarbones.

“Maybe we should ask the elves for a wooden training sword,” he said.

You rolled your eyes at the tease and allowed your weapon to fall from your hand, raising your palms in mock surrender. “I still managed to hold my own,” you defended.

“The second one was dirty fighting,” he said.

You shrugged. “Doesn’t make it any less of a hit.”

He sheathed his blade and shook his head, humoured. He held out a hand and pulled you to your feet, his grin arrogant and you had something to say – opened your mouth to speak but something on your chest burned.

And with it, memories wrapped around you as they had in the cave before.

Fíli stood in a great stone battle tower and beyond the windows, great mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, capped with icy peaks. The screen it played on stopped for a second, skipped, and then showed great piles of gold – so tall they could swallow an entire dragon whole.

You saw him in a forest, not unlike the one you were in now, with massive pines and even larger spiders but this time, the screen faded. The memory of observing turned into more than that, morphed into something you felt.

You felt the wall against your back, felt the way his gaze asked for permission as his lips brushed against your own.

You startled out of the memory like falling from the sky. Your head spun in circles rapidly, bounced as though it was a yo-yo pulled tight on a string. It took everything in you not to jerk your hand out of Fíli’s grip as you tried to figure out what those memories were.

“Everything alright?” he asked and let you go. “That necklace is glowing.”

You reached up and snatched the necklace off. As it pulled free, so did the strange spinning of the world, The symbol on the front’s slight luminescence faded in your palm and the red that crept to your cheeks was not from exhaustion nor embarrassment alone.

What had that been?

The last memory had been different from so many before. It hadn’t been filmed on a camera with wide shots and loud music. It had been quiet. Personal. And far more real than any of the others had been.  

Fíli’s concern was growing and you hurried to find another topic so as to not think about what had happened in that thought. So as to not be distracted by it.

“Maybe I should have taken that dagger from you,” you said with a smooth smile. “I could have gotten a third hit on your ankles.”

He chuckled, the sound low and striking. It rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest but you could see his concern had not fully faded. “I’m not entirely sure you wouldn’t hurt yourself with it but here.”

He pulled the blade from inside his tunic and held it out to you.

You took it gingerly. The curved silver glowed faintly in the moonlight, barely the size of your palm and yet still sharp enough to deal decent damage. It looked like it had been cleaned too – the metal of the blade freshly polished.

“Thank you,” you said.

It was difficult to hide your awkwardness now. The dwarven prince though seemed to realise that something was wrong and turned away to return to the company whose songs had grown louder and more off-tune since you’d last focused on them.

“Maybe now you can keep those thieving mice away,” he said over his shoulder and you couldn’t help but smile.

You picked up your blade from where it lay amongst the grass. It felt clumsy in your hands now without the thrill of the sparring match to push your muscles into memory. You clutched it like a child holding a stick in a forest – something to play tag with your friends with rather than fight as a warrior.

You swung it once, twice, but each swing felt leaden and wild. The feeling didn’t return and so you sheathed the blade and took a deep, steady breath.

Whatever those memories may be, you’d deal with them later. The necklace must have been what brought them back, much like the rock in the cave had done. You needed to speak to Gandalf about this perhaps. Or even Elrond himself, should you get over your fear of embarrassment for he must know something more than it being a good luck charm.

You looked toward the windows of the building the royal had disappeared into earlier but the eyes that watched from behind the glass were not elven. Thorin Oakenshield didn’t break his gaze and try as you might, you couldn’t stop yourself from cowering beneath it as though you had done something wrong.

⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆♡⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hi hi hi! I saw your other posts and I luv them sm. Can I request Jio and Flor with a farmer who has a nice singing voice and sings often to fill the air (like laufeys voice just for reference. really cool and relaxing) THANK YOU HAVE A GREAT DAY!

Thanks for the ask and kind words, dear anon! And have a great day to you too! 😊🫰

_________________________________________

Jio:

Doesn't Farmer realise that when the most beautiful voice in the whole world comes out of their mouths, even the aggressive spirits of Ridge Forest bow to the melody and settle down, slowly staggering, lulled by the beauty and majesty of the song? Did it not occur to them that the elves who lived long ago, famed for their love of the beautiful and the fine art, had the most talented singers and bards, but even their skill cannot compare to Farmer's? Jio, on the other hand, sees it all and notices it all.

It's rather atypical for him - to miss days, when he should be resting from his patrol in the forest and meditating in the ninja house. It's even more unusual to head out into the village in broad daylight. But it is there that the grumpy elf has a chance to catch Farmer fishing, where they sit in their favourite spot and quietly hum a tune to themselves while Jio hid on the roof of the nearest house. Farmer had been a friend to him for a long time, but Jio caught himself thinking that it would be ridiculous to ask them to sing for him so directly like that. So he took a semi-reclining position on the roof, listening to the beautiful song and the sounds of nature that reminded him so much of home...

Flor:

Even high up in the mountains, the heat in Ridgeside Village was unbearable, and the sun was so hot you could fry eggs without a stove. So instead of the usual bench in the main square, Flor chose the soft grass and the cool shade from the leaves of a tree. The girl's emerald eyes were fully focused on the psychology book she wanted to read in the fresh air and away from the noisy tourists in the Log Cabin hotel.

Flor didn't immediately realise how the rustling of the green leaves was now intertwined with a beautiful melody she had never heard before. The red-haired girl had been unable to read the sentence for a minute, and her eyes began to search for the source of the song. And that source turned out to be a jumping with joy Farmer, who were running back and forth with a whole basket of fresh fruit straight from the Community Greenhouse. She felt such joy and peace that she laid the book in her lap, closed her eyes, and listened to the song and sounds around. Until the singing became very loud, and, opening her eyes, Flor was startled by Farmer's tall figure, who smiled and handed Flor a couple of fresh apples.

[prouddisneykid]

AU Character Intro

( this js says who my og characters are! This is a Moana au, and takes place after the second movie so Moana is a Demi goddess :3 all characters from the second movie are here - greek mythology is in this bc of my ocs - some if not most will be introduced in later fics )

1

Full Name: Melody

Nicknames: Mel, Melly, Melo, DD, Didi, Kip,

Apperence: Dark skin, light teal eyes, long dark brunette hair tied in an updo (4 ft long and basically moana or loto’s hair color), teal bodice with ocean designs, pointy like elf ears, ocean blue scales, semi transparent ocean blue fins

Age: 17 / 1700

Personality: bubbly, energetic, fast, jumpy, caring

Height: 5’6

Species: Mermaid Demigoddess / Fish-Blood / mermaid, Demigoddess, human

Fun Facts abt this oc: Daughter of Poseidon, has adhd, has slight autism, has dyslexia, clingy, she likes staying up with Loto to watch her build even when she’s tired, surprisingly good fighter

2

Full Name: Myra

Nicknames: Mymy, Rara, Little bear, grumpy face, snuggle bug, hug bug

Apperence: Dark skin, dark blue green eyes, long dark brunette hair tied in an updo (3’5 ft long and basically moana or loto’s hair color), ocean blue bodice with ocean designs, pointy like elf ears, teal blue scales, semi transparent light blue fins, usual stern or emotionless facial expression, rarely (basically never) smiles

Age: 13 / 1300

Personality: guarded, independent, loyal, quiet, stern

Height: 5’3

Species: Mermaid Demigoddess / Fish-Blood / mermaid, Demigoddess, human

Fun Facts abt this oc: Daughter of Poseidon, has adhd, has dyslexia, shes actually very clingy but she’ll never admit it, kind of an insomiac (she doesn’t have insomnia) sense she has a few sleeping troubles, good fighter, has trust issues, if you pull her into a hug she’ll have trouble wanting to pull away depending on who you are, very strong

I can’t draw so yeahhhh, I’ll probably make more oc’s as I make fics :3

[ouatnextgen]

these are some stock images i found that are giving christmas cygnet scholar! 😁

Adorable! That last one is so cute, I had to write a drabble for it <3

Thanks for sending these!

(drabble under the cut)

Christmas in Storybrooke was always...a bit different from what the movies said small town Christmases were like.

That doesn't mean they didn't try, though.

They didn't have a mall, or...any place really, where kids could meet and take pictures with 'Santa,' so every year they'd doll up an old abandoned farm house and dub it 'Santa's Workshop.' They'd hire in some older guy to play Santa--it almost always ended up being Gepetto--and manage to convince the local youth on Christmas break to be hired on as his elves.

Hence, why Hope and Gideon were in their current predicament.

Usually, to gain Christmas present money, Hope would shovel driveways and sidewalks for her elderly and/or lazy neighbors.

But it was December 20th, and it had not snowed a single inch.

Desperate, Hope had taken the Santa's Workshop job, and convinced her best friend/ secret boyfriend to do it with her.

Gideon was always good at saving money, so he didn't necessarily need to take the job. But he never could say no to Hope.

Which was how he ended up in a scratchy green tunic, ill-fitting green tights, and a stupid hat with giant plastic elf ears attached to the sides.

"I'm telling you, Gid. We need to come up with our elfsonas." He and Hope had been tasked with sweeping up the pine needles under the large Christmas tree, which was a never ending battle between sticky, sappy pine needles and the worst broom known to man.

"Hmm. Well, what's a good elfsona name?" Gideon smirked and leaned his chin against the broom handle. Even in an abhorrently colored green dress and plastic elf ears, Hope still managed to look beautiful.

"Tinsel McSleigh?"

"Jingle Holidayson." Gideon offered.

"Mary Christmas...but spelled M-A-R-Y."

"Pepper M. Int."

"Frosty the Elfman."

"Buddy the Elf, but not that one."

A shadow suddenly fell over the Christmas tree. "Elves. Quick yapping and get back to work." Gretel, who'd been hired on as 'head elf,' was standing there with her hands on her hips, looking grumpy.

"Sorry, Gretel." They both chimed, and giggled a little bashfully.

As soon as Gretel walked away, the conversation recommenced. Just quieter.

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

After a grueling six hours of sweeping pine needles, herding small children through long lines, and wrapping prop presents, the two teens were more than excited to ditch their 'elfsonas' and leave.

"Freedom!" Hope lifted her arms and spun around. "Until tomorrow, at least. Aw, man..."

Gideon chuckled, lightly tossing his arm around her shoulder. "Think of the paycheck, Hope."

"Eyes on the prize." She agreed, squinting up at the sky. "It looks like it's gonna snow."

Gideon looked up as well. Sure enough, the clouds had that...look to them, like something was gonna happen. "Let's hope it at least snows in time for Christmas."

"Bet you $5 of my elf money that it'll be too cold for snow." She shivered, snuggling closer to Gideon. "'Cause that's just our luck."

"Actually, that's a common misconception. Snow can occur at any cold temperature, it's the humidity of an area that determines how much snowfall-"

Hope reached up and gently grabbed Gideon's cheek. "Hey, Gid?"

"Uh...yeah?" He blushed.

"I'm gonna kiss you now."

So she did, cupping his cheek in her cold hand.

The kiss was chaste and short, but Hope always had a way of leaving Gideon breathless no matter what.

"What ever happened to surprising our parents with us at Christmas dinner?" He asked, moving his arm around her middle like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Hope shrugged, mischief dancing in her blue eyes. "They won't find out. Watch." She kissed him again, this time using her hand to block their connected lips from view. "Foolproof."

They pulled away from each other, grinning like idiots in love. And that's when they noticed the change in weather.

"Hey! It's snowing!" Hope held out her hand, catching a fat snowflake on her palm.

Gideon chuckled. "Wow. It's like our kiss made it snow, or something."

"I mean...stranger things have happened in this town." Hope cocked her head, genuinely considering the possibility.

"Sure. Let's go with that. It's not just nature." He took her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Let's go home. I seem to remember you promising me a Mario Kart rematch."

She smirked, competitive side flaring. "Ready for me to win again, you mean?"

"You wish!"

The two of them continued to bicker, all the way home.