#thaw!soot

[ifievertoldyou]

me when characters who are never treated normally because of their defense mechanisms finally meet someone able to see through their uncaring masks. me when characters would do anything for that one person who sees them and not just some object or evil monster or perfect deity

[utahlive]

bitch your house get flooded or something???

Thank you for the call! It got pretty cold this year in Circleville!

[transcript below]

Caller Aro-throughyourchest:

bitch your house get flooded or something???

Wilbur Soot:

No, it just rained a lot. and the snow thawed

[strangelittlestories]

If that year’s winter had not been cold enough to crack the air, or if it had not overstayed its welcome like a troublesome relative, then the village never would have called upon the woman with all the skulls.

But the warmth came late and, worse, when it did it brought the sickly sweet smell of blight on the wind. The people tried to hope it away, but it clung in their nostrils, the ghost of future hunger pains.

When spring finally limped into view, the first long-term crops emerged shrunken and sickly. Barely thawed earth was dug up to reveal blackened roots beneath. The farmers toiled to get their first plantings of the spring in the earth, but a second snap of frost killed their progress and many of the seeds.

So, with a hard and hungry year promised, Evelyn (the village librarian) volunteered to make the journey to the Tower of Skulls and Soot.

Evelyn was no fool. She took all reasonable precautions. She brought gifts: a small jar of her own baby teeth, saved by her parents in case she ever saw such desperate times; and a parcel of old poetry books that no-one ever checked out as they were long past the fashion. 

She took protection too: from beneath the library’s floorboards she excavated the Quiet Stone, a worn piece of marble that resonated with all the silent moments of revery that echoed above it. With it, she could take any place she travelled to into a library. She also brought a knife (because some people didn’t respect libraries).

When she reached the tower, she was struck by its strange appearance; the impossibly elongated femurs and humeruses of its pillars; the lightning blackened spire; the hanging baskets of death-pale flowers. Inside herself, she noticed a new feeling squirm at the sight and it was … not unpleasant. She gulped and raised a hand to the jawbone knocker on the front door.

The door creaked open, revealing a light and airy corridor - totally empty. Most people would have asked, in a similar situation: well, who opened the door? Evelyn was left wondering: how on earth does a hinge made of cartilage creak?

Soft whispers coming from nowhere and everywhere guided Evelyn through the hallways and winding stairs (mostly made of stone, but with some bone accents). The way was lit by skulls mounted on the walls, with small patches of glowing fungus growing from their mouths. Eventually, the gentle susurrus guided her to a solar near the top of the tower. 

Evelyn had never been in a solar before, but had read descriptions in books and had always thought they sounded most elegant and sophisticated. She was glad to see she was correct, as this room was spacious but not gaping, well appointed but not gaudy, and comfortable but not too cosy. It was filled by crisp morning sunlight that spilled through a huge window that took up the entirety of the east wall.

Sitting by the fireplace was the lady with all the skulls. She rested on a chair with a frame built from the skeleton of some fierce and hunched creature, but filled in with plentiful soft cushions. She wore a sleek robe of pure white; it looked soft.

“Greetings, fell mistress. I bring you a gift of-” Evelyn began confidently, before tripping over the final step.

The jar of teeth went flying from her hands and shattered on the floor. Molars and broken glass covered the floor.

“Well, that’s certainly an improvement on pitchforks and flaming torches.” The lady’s lip twitched almost imperceptibly. “But your aim certainly needs work.”

She flicked a finger in the direction of the teeth, which transformed immediately into a dozen tiny creatures that began to gobble up the glass. They were like a cross between cats, ferrets and tiny dragons. The shards went crunch in their teeth (Evelyn’s *teeth* had *teeth*).

“I, uh, also brought poetry.” Evelyn held out the books. “It’s quite old, I’m afraid. But I like it.”

“A poorly flung tooth grenade *and* classic poetry?” An eyebrow was arched. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to assassinate me or court me.”

Evelyn blushed.

“If I might ask-”

The lady waved a hand.

“I already know what’s on your mind. And yes, I will raise your village’s crops from the dead.”

“Actually,” Evelyn continued to blush, “I was going to ask you where you got those robes. People in towers - especially with so many skulls - always seem to have robes. And I’m sure no-one nearby makes them. At least, not ones so fine as that.”

The lady looked at Evelyn properly for the first time. Once more, Evelyn felt that strange squirming sensation and again realised that she didn’t mind it.

“I keep a small colony of zombie silkworms. They’re picky eaters, mind, but they do make the most delicate threads.” She paused, noticing something in Evelyn’s eyes. “I could gift you some, if you like.”

“Um…”

“Now come on, let’s get to your village before they think I’ve eaten you or harvested your clavicle or some nonsense.” She rose. “I swear, folks may think all the skulls are a *bit much*, but … when the killing winter comes, they remember they need a necromancer.”

---

With thanks to Character of the Month member Ellie Williams for the character of Evelyn.

Want to join the Character of the Month club and suggest character pitches for my stories? Support me at £10/month on Ko-Fi! https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[alexanderwesker]

Character profile for my c!Wilbur

Took me some but here you have the character profile for my character, as promised in this post. Name: "Wilbur" Agathus Soot (in Basic[English in my Shattered!Verse]); Hilbert Agathus (in Ancient) Species: Nephilim(Half-Angel; Half-Godling of Death) Age: 36-ish (not counting the time spent in the Sky Gods' Games); 43 (in tHAW) Eye Colour: Dark Hazel Brown (but it mostly looks whiskey coloured because of the magic in his blood) Height: 192cm (6'2 ft) Description: Because of his height, he seems very lanky, making him look deceptively fragile. But he is actually quite well built because of all the training he has undergone under his father, Philza. Wil is pretty pale, almost pasty, no matter how much sun he gets, and has a semi-permanent tired look in his eyes. His hair is dark auburn making them look brown in almost all lighting but direct light where the copper highlights are more evident, he keeps them long enough to tie a low, short ponytail at the back of his head. He has scars all over his body, mostly focused on his chest and arms from the constant fighting against the monsters of the night(mobs), and a jagged scar on his back, that he got during the L'Manberg War, that still hurts to this day. He has very sharp canines because of his non-human heritage, though they sharpen only when he is particularly furious, worried or feeling protective. Relationships: Philza Soot, Angel of Death: Father(alive) Lady Death: Mother(alive) Theseus "Tommy" Philip Soot: Younger Brother(alive) Technoblade, God of War and Bloodshed: Family Friend, Uncle (alive) Fundy Soot: Son (alive) Sally Soot: Wife (dead) Personality: Wil has a good head on his shoulders, quick in thinking and ready to act. He's good at planning around stuff, though he tends to use his planning also as a way to escape reality when he doesn't want to deal with his emotions. Not very in contact with his emotions because of his father's teachings, which is a problem to him as he feels things stronger than most people do. He's also selfless to a fault, always trying to do best for the people he cares about, no matter what that costs him.

[escapeaddict]

@lady-adventuress ok so my gift was originally going to be a multichapter fic set in an alternate universe but it wouldn't have been finished on time

anyway, here's the first chapter

Yesterday's Innovation is Tomorrow's Tradition

The kingdom of Ever After was a paradise of progress, a haven of order, a beacon of hope and a pillar of stability. The benevolent royal family ruled with strict compassion and a firm guiding hand, a stern affection behind every action taken by the Grimms over the two centuries since they rose into power.

Destiny, the capital city as of two hundred years ago, was a marvel of technology. The pristinely white palace and the pastel mansions of nobility stretched towers and spires into the sky, a bustling market district spilled chaotically across the streets like explosions of paint, and train tracks from all over the kingdom wound their way to the city. Gardens were carefully cultivated, dirigibles hung in the sky, and halls of stained glass windows and faceted chandeliers served as meeting places during the nobility’s social season.

The slums, meanwhile, were covered in soot and choked by smoke, factories chewing up workers during the day and spitting them back out to sleep in their pitiful shacks by night. To them, coal was hacking coughs and aching lungs, steam was scalding heat and dampened air, and nuts and bolts were things to be handled with care for the gain of those richer than them, lest they be forced to cover their cost from their own wages.

Here, in Destiny, the paths and futures of different, yet oddly similar girls were about to cross, some for the first time. Unbeknownst to them, they were going to implement changes to the very shape and nature of their country. Forever.

After.

Apple White, daughter of the childless king’s only ward, led a blessed life. She woke each morning to the pleasing chimes emerging from the beaks of clockwork birds, their inner workings of springs and gears laid bare to see within their delicate wire frames. An automated table would slide smoothly into her room, halting at the end of its tracks beside her bed, bearing hot tea and warm confections. After her morning refreshments, a maid would enter with a wheeled mannequin wearing an outfit chosen in advance for the day’s events, and help the honorary princess with the tricky buckles and finicky laces of her finery after brushing her blond hair to shiny perfection.

And then, unless beholden to prior obligations, the girl was free to do as she chose.

On this particular day, as the chill of winter thawed from the air, she was called upon to meet with his majesty, King Milton, regarding the upcoming social season. She curtsied respectfully as she sashayed onto the balcony where he and her mother were waiting to speak with her over a light brunch, and awaited a spoken invitation to sit in her seat.

“Sit down, dear,” the king said, the frown lines at the corners of his lips and eyes lightening a margin. “We have matters of importance to discuss.”

“I will convey myself with the utmost dignity in front of all visiting nobility,” she assured him as she sat, anticipating a conversation regarding proper conduct.

“Do not assume to know my thoughts, child,” Milton said. “I have faith enough in your diplomacy. The matter at hand may require a differing set of skills, as you would have known had you listened to me until the completion of my statement.”

Stung, Apple dropped her eyes, but not before seeing her mother hide a crimson smirk with a tilt of her teacup.

“This year, Raven Queen is returning to Destiny at last,” the king said. “Her family has not shown its face since the imprisonment and subsequent execution of its treacherous matriarch, but the girl is sixteen as of November, and somehow has found a sponsor. She is to be presented this very year.”

Apple’s fingers twitched, and vague memories of a laughing child with inky hair and eyes so blue they were practically violet filled her mind.

“We don’t want her causing a scene,” Snow White said serenely, setting down her teacup with a clink. “And you are childhood acquaintances. It would not be remiss of you in the eyes of society to reconnect with an old, ah, ‘friend’.”

“The girl is in prime position to hurt her prospects beyond repair,” the king said. “Not to mention her chances of dragging those easily led down with her. I believe she could use a calming presence and slight monitoring to get her through the social season without mishap. Which is why you will be presented as well.”

The sun kept shining, the breeze kept blowing, the world kept turning, and Apple froze, heart like a block of ice in her chest.

“I don’t turn sixteen until May,” she said after the pause in conversation had stretched on just a little too long. “It’s not proper.”

“No one expects you to actually be married this year,” Snow said. “It is known how useful of a bargaining chip you are.”

“It is tradition for a princess to not be presented until she is eighteen,” Apple said, sudden desperation pushing her to continue the debate. “In order to ensure that a political alliance with a foreign country is not necessary before she is to be married.”

“But you have some leeway,” Milton said with warning in his voice. “As daughter of my ward, you occupy a unique position. Princess enough that any nobleman worth his gold would crave the influence of taking your hand, yet not royal enough that it would shock the senses if you were presented earlier than expected. And I do not believe our relations with our neighbors are unsteady enough to require further negotiations as of yet.”

“And if there is a courter I cannot refuse without jeopardizing the kingdom’s internal peace?” Apple asked, defeated.

“Then I suppose you will have to do your duty, my girl,” the king briefly rested his hand on Apple’s. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Apple responded immediately. “Always.”

“Then believe me when I say that you are up to this task.”

Backed into a corner, all she could do was nod.

Cerise Hood dropped the last trunk onto the floor of the entrance hall with a relieved air, signaling to the footman that he could take it, too, to the carriages. As she turned away, the daughter of her employer caught her eye.

“Thank you,” Raven said. “And thank you for coming with me.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Cerise said, adjusting the red kerchief covering her head. “I have never been to Destiny before.”

Raven grimaced, no doubt thinking of the execution of her mother, as well as the imprisonment of her double-crossing accomplice, who had been long rumored to be Cerise’s father. Or perhaps she was merely contemplating the reception she could expect to receive in the capital as the daughter of the noblewoman who had succeeded in assassinating the king’s brother.

“This trip will be fun,” Cerise said, ignoring the various elephants in the room. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll wind up getting hitched.”

Raven cringed, then blew a raspberry, causing Cerise to let out a bark of laughter.

“Raven!” the voice of the girl’s father called out.

“I have to go,” Raven said reluctantly. “It’s annoying that we can’t ride in the same carriage.”

“It is what it is,” Cerise shrugged. “Let my boss know I’ll be there in a moment.”

Inclining her head, Raven exited the country house belonging to the Queen family, leaving behind her friend, the bastard child of one of the kitchen workers.

Cerise briefly shut her eyes and took a bracing breath.

She had ensured that she would be accompanying the Queens on their trip (she would have done so anyway, for Raven’s sake) just as she had ensured she would become Raven’s maid (despite her friend’s protests), and now Giles would have further instructions awaiting her upon her arrival at Destiny. The capital was going to be a much more difficult environment in which to gather information and recruit sympathizers to the cause, and she knew she had no idea how difficult it would truly be. She just had to be ready for not being ready.

Exhaling slowly, Cerise opened her eyes and walked out into the early spring sunshine as if without a care in the world.

Raven Queen sighed, lightly brushing the skirt of her purple dress, which flared out from a low pointed waist thanks to multiple layered petticoats. Her black hair, void of the purple ribbons she was planning to weave into it for the formal occasions waiting for her later in the day, was knotted tightly at the back of her head. A lacy parasol and an equally lacy bonnet were easily accessible in preparation for a morning walk among the grounds, should the mood strike her. Forgoing footwear, she padded through the halls on stockinged feet, stone floor pleasantly warm due to a system of pipes and heated water.

The house in Destiny was both eerily familiar and comfortingly strange to Raven, who hadn’t stepped foot in it since the tender age of nine. Here, Mira Queen had planned to poison the heir to the throne. Here, she had been dragged away in chains, cursing the huntsman who’d betrayed her.

Here, Raven had seen her mother for the last time before her sentenced death.

She could still make her way to the kitchen, as it turned out, memory not failing her in that regard, but the kitchen looked all wrong compared to her recollections. The angles and the sizes of all the tables and pantries were different than she remembered, and inexplicably tears fought to leave her eyes.

“Blackbird,” the cook noticed her. “Planning on getting the worm?”

“It’s not that early, is it?” Raven asked.

“Early enough that you’re not leaving this kitchen until we get something in your stomach,” the cook said. “Breakfast isn’t for another two hours.”

And as the cook fussed over her, something in Raven unclenched, as if her bones settled into place, and she smiled, breathing in the familiar scent of spices and herbs that always pervaded the kitchen.

She was home.

Knightley adjusted his sleeves and smoothed out the lapels of his frock coat. He tucked his pocket watch into his waistcoat pocket (he was surely going to miss important information from the evening’s ball at the Beauty’s, which started in less than an hour), and he gathered himself to knock on the locked door in front of him.

A few heartbeats passed until the locking mechanism began to click.

“We’re closed,” said the man who cracked open the door, squinting at him.

“Can the musical chair change its tone,” Knightley said in a low voice, “when the tablet of granite is inscribed with a bone?”

The old carpenter peered at him a moment longer, before spitting on the cobblestones and turning around, leaving the door open. He followed him inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. Winding their way through the shop, the man led him between displays of furniture and carvings, through the back where they weaved around blocks of wood and scattered tools while sawdust kicked up by their feet swirled at their ankles, and down a trapdoor to the basement. On their way, Knightley saw a man closely resembling the carpenter, no doubt his son, carefully whittling something in his large hands, but he had not looked up as they passed. In the basement the carpenter turned to Knightley, gesturing at a pile of crates tucked in the back behind barrels and sacks of various foodstuffs.

“My granddaughter’s about your age, mister,” the old man said. “Her name is Cedar. And she’s as good as dead if you muck this up, do you understand me?”

“Yessir,” Knightley straightened his back.

“Pah,” the carpenter said disparagingly, then marched back up the stairs without a word.

Knightley rolled his eyes, but moved aside the deceptively heavy crates without comment, revealing a round door in the wall, small and low to the ground. He crawled into the passageway it concealed, wrinkling his nose as he traversed above and beneath protruding corners of pipes full of water and steam. At the end of his crawl he hit another door. He knocked with no hesitation.

This time the words were allowed to be a bit more treasonous, as they were out of the public’s earshot.

“The king who sings with pages of sky fears too much the dawn that rises with lies,” Knightley said.

The door opened.

“So nice to meet you in person, Master Knightley,” said the man known to him only as Fenris, though he recognized Duke Badwolf from prior events.

“Likewise, y- sir,” he replied, biting down the instinctive usage of ‘your grace’.

He reached into his coat and the duke tensed, hand hovering at the hilt of his dagger, but Knightley merely retrieved a collection of notes secured in a large nondescript envelope he’d tucked away in an inner pocket.

“Information on the families you requested, sir,” he said, handing it over. “The Charmings, the O’Hairs, and several others.”

The duke didn’t acknowledge his defensive reaction, simply dropping his right hand back to his side as he accepted the envelope with his left. He skimmed through its contents, then looked up at Knightley with a grin that showed far too many teeth to be anything other than predatory.

“We already have a recruiter as her maid,” Badwolf said, “but get us what you can on Raven Queen.”

Knightley took that to mean that his work was satisfactory.

Briar Beauty, who’d turned sixteen the previous August, hung on the outskirts of the party she’d helped her parents arrange, pouting at the fact that not one gentleman had asked her to be their first dance of the night. Instead two separate crowds had formed around Apple White and Raven Queen, until the former politely made her excuses and the latter was whisked off to the dance floor.

Apple was making her way across the room to Briar, no doubt to chastise her about showing such an unbecoming face in public, but Briar opted to ignore her friend until she couldn’t anymore. She shifted her gaze to Raven instead, envy spiking through her at the attention the girl was getting, when she caught sight of a flash of dark blue fabric. Briar’s stomach twisted at the color that was becoming increasingly familiar, as its wearer’s dresses varied in design instead of in shade.

The wearer being Faybelle Thorn, daughter of the diplomat from Faerie, land of heathens, where they decried the progress of coal and steam. She danced in the arms of a young gentleman, footsteps light with a nimble grace, and sported a smug smile on her pointy face.

Briar’s mother had been kidnapped by Faerie in her youth, when the seas between the two kingdoms were still tumultuous.

In fact, the mastermind behind the ransom plot was none other than Faybelle’s very own mother.

Briar failed to notice Apple gliding into place at her side until the princess murmured in her ear for her to breathe and relax.

“I don’t understand how you get along with her,” Briar said, not taking her eyes off the infuriating girl. “You’re polar opposites.”

“We have an understanding,” Apple corrected. “We share similar ideals in many ways, but we are not friends, I can assure you of that. So stop glaring.”

“I’m not jealous of her,” Briar grumbled. “And I’m offended that you’d even insinuate such a thing.”

She shot the girl another dirty look.

“For heaven’s sake,” Apple said, “your families aren’t even feuding, so drop the vendetta.”

Just then, Faybelle caught Briar’s eye and winked, the smug vixen.

Cheeks burning, Briar jerked her head to the side, on time to see a flustered Darling Charming, who had been among those presented in the morning, arrive noticeably late.

An earl, who had previously vied for Apple’s attention, made his way over to the stunningly pretty girl, and Apple scowled.

“You have more than enough potential suitors, honey,” Briar said. “That one’s no big loss at his age. And you accuse me of being jealous.”

Apple appeared to be struggling with what to say, a confused furrow to her brow, and in the end she simply settled on a long drawn-out sigh.

“Please excuse me,” she said, sidestepping her hypocrisy completely, “I should reacquaint myself with Raven, it’s been several years since we last spoke.”

“Fine,” Briar said with a joking bitterness. “Enjoy debuting without your best friend by your side, ingrate.”

She flashed Apple a grin as she swept away in a faux-offended cloud of pink fabric.

Apple, after getting waylaid by Daring Charming, who, at nearly seventeen, was free to enjoy himself during the season with no marital pressure placed upon him, managed to make her way to Raven’s vicinity before the girl was yanked away into another dance. Raven spotted her and paled to a gaunt gray, knuckles whitening as she gripped the fabric of her skirt tightly.

“Raven!” Apple smiled. “It has been ever so long. I must say that it is wonderful to see you again.”

“It is?” Raven said, visibly startled by Apple’s welcoming attitude, but at least she unclenched her fists.

“Of course,” said Duchess Swan, a daughter of minor nobility, as she sidled up to them mid-waltz. “You’re really refreshing our memory as to why loyalty to the king pays off. Why, it’s as if you had left Destiny only yesterday.”

Apple opened her mouth to chastise her, but the graceful girl had already glided away, twirling in the arms of her dance partner.

Several seconds of silence strung along.

“Please excuse her,” Apple said. “She doesn’t speak for us all.”

“Doesn’t she?” Raven asked, eyeing the waltzing pairs subtly stealing looks at the two girls.

“Well, I, for one, am honestly pleased to see you,” Apple said. “Shall we?”

She indicated the refreshment tables with a lazy wave, in the hopes that food and drink would lower the other’s guard.

“Very well,” Raven said cautiously, starting towards the wine glasses.

They arrived by them in utter silence.

Well, that just wouldn’t do.

“Taking the bull by the horns,” Apple said. “I’m afraid I can no longer predict your reactions to mentions of delicate topics, and one is hanging over us quite obviously.”

Raven said nothing.

“I wish I knew you as well as I used to,” Apple whispered, her mother berating her in her mind for the truth in her words. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

“My bluntness hasn’t changed,” Raven finally said, picking up a flute of champagne with her thumb and middle finger with a carelessness contradicted by her trembling hands. “So I’ll state this question simply. Do you want to reconnect even though my mother killed your, well, basically, great uncle, and tried to do the same to your mother?”

Taking the bull by the horns indeed.

“Raven, you were nine,” Apple said, dismayed. “No one, and I mean no one, should ever think you’re guilty because of blood relation.”

“I know that, don’t worry,” Raven smiled faintly, the rippling surface of the burgundy liquid in her glass smoothing. “I just wanted to get that out of the way, because you’d be shocked at how many people disagree.”

“Do you,” Apple’s voice was small. “Do you resent me for your mother’s fate?”

She hadn’t meant to ask that.

“You’re no more at fault for that than I am for the assassination attempts,” Raven touched her fingertips to Apple’s wrist. “I never once blamed you, not in all my years of isolation in the countryside.”

Apple’s lips parted, and she completely forgot her betters’ instructions not to get emotionally invested in their relationship.

“Can we start over?” she blurted out.

“And pretend we never stole oranges from the cook?” Raven asked. “Forget that we dropped a bucket of snow on Dexter Charming, or that we muddied our clothes countless times running outside in the rain?”

Her tone was melancholy as she recalled those events that had seemed so joyful when they occurred.

“Not as a blank slate,” Apple said, fumbling for the right words. “More as a renewal of our bond, a shared goal of making new memories without the past weighing them down. Like you said, I want to reconnect ‘even though’.”

Raven looked away for a moment, contemplatively quiet. She then turned to gaze decisively into Apple’s eyes, which betrayed unintentional sincerity. 

“I would be honored to get to know you again,” Raven said.

Cerise, devoid of her eye-catching kerchief and with soot smudging her distinctive lock of white hair, crouched on the spindly limbs of a pomegranate tree on the edge of the Beauty estate. The threadbare branches didn’t provide much cover, but as long as her movements remained slow and steady, the night and her drab garments would be all the concealment she needed.

There was just one snag in this planned rendezvous. A man was wandering ever closer to her in his meandering path across the gardens, clearly enjoying his peaceful solitude. He soon paused to contemplate the starry sky only a few feet from Cerise’s hiding spot.

The moonlight reflected off the colorless locks in his otherwise dark brown hair as he lingered, and Cerise was giving herself a moment to lament her failed mission when he spoke.

“Hello, Redcap.”

“Fenris,” she breathed.

Damn it all, of all the rotten luck, a nobleman was her contact in the city.

How was she supposed to discreetly interact with him as a maid?

“Status?” he inquired.

“Secure,” she said, brain in turmoil.

“And that of your target?”

“My friend, you mean,” she corrected instinctively.

“Redcap,” he growled.

“Uncompromised as of yet, sir,” Cerise muttered. “I’ll have a clearer picture after tonight’s events.”

“Good,” Fenris said. “I expect a report on the corvid’s account of the evening by tomorrow night.”

“Understood,” she said. “Further instructions?”

“Pending,” he said. “But nudge her away from the fruit, they seemed to be getting along earlier, and if she befriends her we might just lose our greatest potential asset to the serpent and her gilded tongue.”

One second she was listening attentively to Apple’s tales of misadventures with Briar, the next Raven’s childhood friend stood stiff and mute, face blank but for that hated artificial smile Raven remembered from before.

Which meant that one specific person was nearby.

She reluctantly pivoted and came face-to-face with the heir to the throne.

“Raven, darling,” Snow White beamed. “It’s delightful to have a representative of the Queen family at our dear social season once more. Your presence has been sorely missed since your father’s unfortunate vanishing act.”

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” Raven said, shoving down the anger curling in her gut.

“Tell me, my dear,” Snow said with a flash of her pearly teeth. “What prompted this return?”

“Well, Lady Charming was kind enough to recall my similarity in age to her own children,” Raven said. “She reached out about sponsoring me.”

Snow’s eyes were quite cold in contrast to the warmth of her curved lips.

“I was under the impression that you were the one to reach out initially,” she said. “It was quite generous of Lady Charming to risk her reputation in such a way. With her scant schedule, I can understand how she had the presence of mind to write to you before me, but it’s a shame that I hadn’t realized that she was your only option, not your first choice. Your return could have been facilitated as a symbol of peace between our families had I only thought things through. And I could have spared other sponsors from the controversy.”

“Queenie is handling any backlash just fine,” Raven said without blinking, as if she called marchionesses by their first name on a regular basis.

“Marvelous,” Snow said. “I do hope it remains that way.”

“I believe in her ability to handle surprise obstacles,” Raven said.

“Such confidence in your sponsor is commendable,” Snow said. “But do not let it blind you. Reality is often harsh.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Raven sipped her drink. “But one does not need the support of another to stand up for oneself.”

“Then I’ll leave you in your own capable hands,” Snow said. “I have so much catching up to do with Queenie, I haven’t checked in on her family in far too long.”

Raven watched as the woman walked away and mentally apologized to the Charmings for loosing the heir apparent on them, no matter how unintentionally.

Darling thanked the Redford boy for the dance, and he bowed gallantly over her hand, pressing his lips to the back of her wrist. She took short, quick steps beneath the voluminous skirt of her gown, which translated into a flowing movement to onlookers, and went in search of water for her dry mouth, only to stop in her tracks.

Her twin brother was engaged in conversation with Snow White, and it was not going well.

“I suppose I always thought she was intriguing,” Dexter looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“I can’t help but notice you’re not one of the ones asking her to dance,” Snow said. “Nervous?”

“I don’t really know her,” Dexter, bless him, looked legitimately confused. “Why would I?”

“Status,” Snow shrugged. “Scandal. Romance. There must be a reason Queenie’s sticking her neck out for an outcast.”

Dexter’s eyes darted around nervously, then landed on his sister, wordlessly begging for help.

“Dex!” Darling rushed forward to clutch his sleeve, ending up between him and Snow. “I didn’t get to talk to you today!”

She pouted up at him.

“Maybe you should get better at keeping track of time,” he said, but softened the statement with a grin.

Snow cleared her throat.

“Oh my,” Darling said, letting go of Dexter’s arm. “I didn’t notice you, I apologize.”

Snow gave herself a lightning quick once over as if to double-check that her opulent jewelry and blinding white gown remained intact, and Darling resisted the urge to grin.

“I do hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important,” she continued.

“Important?” Snow gave a tinkling laugh. “Not at all! I was merely saying my hellos to your brother.”

“It’s sweet of you to try and assuage my worries,” Darling said. “But I know the wellbeing of those around you is one of your top priorities, and I am deeply sorry for interrupting the way I did.

“I do care very much,” Snow said. “For those dear to me.”

Darling dropped the pretense of misunderstanding the badly hidden insults.

“Then I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from them,” she said, gesturing away from herself.

Snow narrowed her eyes, but gave her a tight smile.

“I do hope to speak to you soon, Darling,” she said in lieu of a farewell.

The siblings watched her retreating form until she was out of earshot.

“Did you have to antagonize her?” Dexter asked.

“Did she have to imply that you were worth less to her than the dirt on her soles?” Darling shot back.

“I don’t even know what she was trying to get from me,” Dexter said, wisely not pursuing that argument.

“An admission that it was your idea to have Mom sponsor Raven,” she said.

“But it wasn’t,” he said. “It would take a lot of subtle manipulation to convince Mom to do anything we thought up.”

And, oh, didn’t Darling know that all too well.

Having snuck out to the garden the night of the ball for some air, as she was wont to do after a night of overzealous wine-drinking, Briar had found that someone had been in the tree she liked to perch on. Said someone had been none too gentle, as could be seen by the snapped twigs and crushed leaves, not to mention they had left a muddy footprint on the bark. Oh, they had been relatively subtle signs, but Briar knew that tree like the palm of her hand, with all its little scars and blemishes. And she wanted answers.

Or maybe she was bored and nursing a slight headache, but that was beside the point.

Her money would have been on Darling, if not for the fact that the girl’s mother had kept an eagle eye on her daughter from the moment they stepped into the foyer, and for the fact that she’d eliminated invited guests from her list of suspects.

“Only Badwolf was in that area,” the nervous footman she’d questioned told her. “And he never even touched any tree.”

Needless to say, the trail more or less ended there.

Briar sighed despondently, hunched up in her vantage point that doubled as the scene of the crime, when her eye caught on a scrap of fabric caught on a branch, edges ragged and obviously torn.

Assessing the cloth with practiced expertise, Briar was pretty sure it originated in the Darkwood.

The Queens had sent spies to last night’s ball.

[shivunin]

First Touch

Merry Christmas @scribbledquillz! I said it at greater length on AO3, but thank you so much for sharing your Revka with me. This is but a fragment of a much greater and lovelier whole, but I'm glad to share it anyway. Here's to our girls being absolute fools over each other for another year!!

(Warden/Warden/Zevran | 4,083 Words | No warnings | AO3 Link)

Summary: Denerim's alienage is a dangerous place without friends, as Tabris learns when she is young. It is fortunate, then, that someone reaches out of the alley shadows and snatches her from danger when she needs it most.

“If only I could recollect it, such  A day of days! I let it come and go  As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;  It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;  If only now I could recall that touch,  First touch of hand in hand—Did one but know!” —Christina Rossetti, “Monna Innominata”

Later, Arianwen would not remember what the fight was about. 

It didn’t matter, really. She fought with the other children in the alienage constantly, over any cause they could dredge up. Oh, she’d admit readily enough that she’d thrown her fair share of first punches, but they were sparse in comparison to every hurt.

She didn’t remember what started that fight, but she did remember how she felt. One of her teeth had been lost three or four alleyways ago, her hair had been torn from the braid her mama’d wound it into that morning, and her bottom lip was swollen and achy. The breath burned in her lungs with every pump of her legs and her pursuers were gaining on her. It was only a matter of time before they caught up. And then—

Quick hands reached out of the darkness and yanked her bodily into a hidden alcove. Whoever had found her, their grip was strong around her wrist and then her upper arm. Wen opened her mouth to protest or bite (she hadn’t decided which), but her captor clapped a hand over her mouth before she could yell. 

“Quiet,” a low voice hissed. “’Less you want them to catch you. Do you?” 

Wen stopped struggling, but every aching muscle stayed braced. This could be a trick, a trap. Nobody had ever bothered before, but then they’d never knocked her teeth out before, either. There was a first for everything. 

The feet that’d been following her neared their hiding place and thundered past. Wen closed her eyes and counted: three, four… Her captor would have lifted her hand and moved away to check, but Wen shook her head. They waited there in tense silence, both of them breathing shallowly, Wen’s split lip stinging worse every second there was a sweaty hand pressed to it. 

At long last, a final pair of feet dashed past. Wen waited one second, then another, and sagged back against soot-smeared bricks. Her captor—savior?— stepped back at last and surreptitiously wiped her hand on her trousers.

“Thanks,” Wen said, drawing the back of her wrist across her mouth. Not good enough; her tongue still tasted copper-hot. She turned her head and spat, then gathered her sleeve and did her best to clear her face of blood and tears alike. 

The other girl had stepped back into the dim light of the afternoon. It settled gently over the neat braids of her hair, the warm brown of her skin and the sharp points of her ears. An elf, then. One about her age, though Arianwen did not think they’d met before. Odd, that; it was hard to find any corner of this warren that didn’t already bear the mark of her feet. And yet, here—a girl she’d never seen before, a part of the alley she’d never hidden inside before now. 

“What’d you do?” the girl asked, tilting her head. She was holding something—a satchel, Wen thought. Someone had carefully embroidered little plants into it to hide a long rip in the fabric. 

Wen shrugged in response and ran a hand along her jaw, feeling for the hole where her tooth had been. 

“Must’ve been bad,” the girl said, eyeing Wen’s jaw. 

“It doesn’t take much,” Wen said, and stretched her chin to one side, then the other before offering her hand. “Wen. Arianwen, I mean. Thanks. They would’ve caught me.”

“Could’ve still gotten away,” the girl said, peering down at her hand, “‘fore they caught you. Made it to the market, least”

“Probably not,” Wen said, and thought about taking her hand back if it was going to go on hanging in the air. Before she could, the girl reached out a hand, scarred at the knuckles, and took hers. 

“Revka,” she said, and squeezed once. She was turning away before Wen could squeeze back, peering into the shadows of the alleyway beyond. “They’re gone.”

“Good,” Wen said, and squeezed past to look in both directions. 

“See you,” Revka said, edging away. “Don’t get caught.” 

Wen watched her for a moment, if only a moment. Odd—but odd things happened to her all the time. She turned to the bricks beside her and foot a handhold, then a space for her bare feet. When she glanced down again to check for any watchers, the girl had already vanished. Wen shrugged inwardly and went on climbing. She was quicker on the roofs than the others; they surely wouldn’t catch her if she made it up there.

Whoever the girl had been, Wen was certain they wouldn’t find each other twice. 

|

“Tired?” Revka’s voice was low in her ear. 

Wen roused herself and straightened, blinking at the ruined wall beyond them for a moment before registering the sunset properly. It was a wash of purples, lavender and gold already giving way to lilac and indigo. Soon, it would all be dark. 

“Never tired,” she informed her oldest and dearest friend, yawning wide enough that her jaw cracked. “Not me.” 

Revka huffed and nudged her aside. Wen rearranged her old coat so they’d both fit beneath and rested her head on her friend’s shoulder. 

“Sleeping with one eye open?” Rev asked. 

“Mmm,” Wen agreed. 

In fact, she’d been here since she’d fought with her father sometime in the early afternoon. She’d planned to leave and find something else to do, but the allure of this particular hideout—Revka’s first, and then theirs together—could not be underestimated. She hadn’t slept the night before, too restless to tuck herself in with the sounds of Shianni and her father breathing softly in the night. Something was coming. She could feel it like tiny thorns catching on her skin, like the distant lightning gathering in stormclouds at sea. Something was coming, something bad, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

But right now—she could feel Rev’s chest rise and fall with her breath, could hear the steady drum of her pulse in her throat. Wen’s coat hadn’t been worth much to keep the cold off alone, but she was warm from ear to toe now. 

“Everything alright?” she asked Rev, half-dozing. Her friend shifted under her and Wen wrapped an arm over her waist to hold her still. 

“Fine,” Rev said, her voice creaky. “Fine. Looking for you.”

“You found me,” Wen said, and opened her eyes enough to watch the last of the light fade from the clouds overhead. A thought struck her, and she turned her head to peer at Rev through the evening’s shadows. 

“How long has it been?” she asked, trying to remember. A dash through the alleyway, blood on her chin, a hand reaching out from the shadows…

“Since?”

“Since you grabbed me in that alley.”

Rev snorted and shifted again, but this time she gathered Wen closer. 

“Ten years?” Wen went on, trying to think. “Fourteen?” 

“Thirteen,” Rev said after a moment. “Somewhere near that.”

Wen hummed again and closed her eyes. She was tired, she decided. Not just weary. Tired. Tired of keeping her head down, tired of holding herself taut and careful and still as a rabbit under brush. She was restless enough to want to get away from this place. 

The two of them had talked about it more than once—running off to somewhere new. Kirkwall. Amaranthine. Redcliffe. Anywhere had to be better than here, where the ghosts of their mothers haunted them both. It was all just idle fancy; Wen knew that. Rev’d never leave her brother behind, and they had no way of keeping him properly safe between the two of them. Whatever Wen had known of fighting had gone to rust like a blade left in the rain. Her ma would be ashamed to see it. She was sure of it. But Ma had been a fighter, and Wen was not. 

“Why?” Rev asked, her voice reaching out to drag Wen from her thoughts. 

“Why what?”

“Why’d you ask?” 

“Oh,” Wen pressed her lips together. “I’ve known you longer than I haven’t.”

“Yeah?” Rev’s head moved—thinking. She was always thinking when her chin tilted like that. 

“Sure. I was twelve then, I think. Feels like forever ago.” 

“Forever,” Rev echoed quietly. Her hand brushed back and forth over Wen’s shoulder. “Can’t remember not knowing you.”

That same unease gripped her again, like cobwebs against her skin or the prickle of hair at her neck when she knew someone was watching. Wen sat up abruptly, throwing the coat off of both of them in the motion, and the cool night air gripped her in its greedy hands. 

“We’re—Rev. Listen.”

“What’s—” Rev began, but stopped abruptly when Wen turned and seized her hands. They were callused and worn, scarred as ever, and Wen thought she must know them better than she knew her own. Rev blinked at her, frowning, but Wen was already speaking again. 

“We’ll stay together, won’t we?” 

“What d’you—”

“Promise me. Whatever happens, it’s me and you. Right?” 

“’Course, Wen,” Rev said fiercely, and: “Here.” 

She wrapped her arms around Wen so tightly that Wen couldn’t see anything but the threadbare fabric at Rev’s shoulder. How annoying this fear was, all the worse for its namelessness. She could not even explain it to herself, except that something was changing and change had never been kind to her. The two of them had lost so much: three parents between them, every belief that the world had been kind, and through all of it they’d still had each other. Whatever was coming—if it was bad…the worst thing she could think of was losing the few people she had left. 

Wen closed her eyes tight and tried to will the world to stay just like this, imperfect and cold as it was, for a little while longer. Whatever it needed to be so she could keep holding on to her dearest friend—whatever she had to do to make that happen, she would do it. 

Nothing could stop her. She wouldn’t let it.

Revka held her tight for a very long time, the two of them swaying in the dust-ridden old warehouse, far above the alienage. Before she let go at last, she spoke again. 

“Me and you,” she said. “Promise you, Wen. Always together.” 

|

The early strokes of sunset shone brilliant off the fields beyond Vigil’s Keep. Wen watched the light go, feet dangling over the vast empty space beneath, and waited. 

“Aha—caught at last,” a low voice announced, and she glanced up when Zevran landed on the stone beside her. The upper wall was thick enough to sit on, but it made for a narrow landing space. She was not surprised that he’d made it, but she was surprised he’d found her so quickly. 

“Brooding again?” he asked, and clicked his tongue against his teeth while he bent to sit beside her. “You worry so, mi vida. She will be home soon enough.”

“Of course she will,” Wen said, but her eyes drifted back to the road. It twisted and turned on the way to the Keep, obscuring any visitors with its hills and fences and shadows. Revka had been due back the day before yesterday, and yet she was still gone. 

Of course, clearing the nearby caverns of darkspawn was not without its hazards, but it wasn’t as if the two of them hadn’t faced worse before. They’d been due back yesterday, but Wen had been expecting them for days and she was growing impatient. 

“If we fetch her back,” Zevran said, nudging her side with his elbow, “she will be delighted. ‘Arianwen,’ she will say, ‘I am terribly glad you have come to interrupt my mission. I was lonely, given that I only have a dozen of our best fighters with me.’ We should go now. Come—I will pack our bags.”

“Hush,” Wen said, and leaned against him. “She doesn’t sound like that.”

“Mmm,” Zevran said, skepticism thick in his voice, but he turned his head to kiss her cheek.

“I wasn’t going to chase after her,” Wen said after a moment, her voice quiet. 

“I never said that you would,” he told her. 

Wen sighed, picked up a rock from the wall beside her, and dropped it. The two of them watched it skip off the lower part of the wall and skid off down hill below. They were still watching it when the first call rose up from the gate. 

“Warden-Commander’s back!” 

“Rev,” Arianwen said, flowing to her feet. She hesitated for only a moment, muscles taut, and looked at Zevran. 

“Go, go,” he said, laughing and levering himself to his feet. “I will be right behind.”

She needed no more encouragement than that. Wen turned and ran. 

There were many secret ways in the castle. Some she had found, some had been shown to her by Nate, and others she had made for herself. She took a combination of these now, swinging down rafters and dashing through secret corridors. The whole expedition still hadn’t made it through the gates by the time Arianwen made it there herself, but she could pick Revka out of the crowd in an instant. Could’ve picked her out of a far larger crowd in seconds, probably, so familiar was her shape to Wen. 

She didn’t call out as she made her way down the last of the stairs, the wind dragging her hair loose from its careful braid. She didn’t need to. One of the other Wardens saw her coming and moved out of the way. The others followed suit, laughing or passing coin back and forth as she came. Wen paid them no mind, though she knew this sort of thing sometimes made her Revka uncomfortable. Let them make their bets. She’d already won the only ones worth anything. 

Revka was the last one to notice her, it seemed, for she turned from handing someone a report just as Wen reached her. There was only enough time for her to throw out her hands and Wen was there, nearly unbalancing them both. 

“It’s been weeks,” she said, the accusation plain in her voice, and turned her head to catch Revka’s mouth with hers before Revka could answer. 

She must have split her lip somewhere; Wen could taste blood on her tongue. Likely, there would be other bruises and cuts, and Revka would pretend she was perfectly fine right until she sat for too long and couldn’t stand again. Whatever had happened, Wen didn’t especially care. Revka was back, and she wouldn’t have to wait anymore, and that was enough. 

She pulled herself away at last, when she could no longer ignore the hoots and shouts of their fellow Wardens, but they quieted somewhat when Revka glared at them. 

“ ‘S enough of that,” she said sharply. “Lot of you, get yourselves inside and clean off before you give someone the Taint.” 

There was more grumbling, the requisite ribald jokes, but the rest of the ranks split off to unload their gear and make their way to the baths. Zevran strolled up as the last of them vanished into the Keep, and Revka brightened at the sight of him. 

“There you are,” she said. 

“Here I am,” he agreed, and leaned forward to kiss each of her cheeks. “Ah, the torments endured since you were gone. The sobbing, the gnashing of teeth, the constant pacing and wondering when you would return…”

Wen scowled at him. Zevran winked before he wound up the joke, pressing a hand to his chest. 

“And that was just our Arianwen.”

“Rude,” Wen muttered, but moved out of his way so he could embrace their lover, too. 

“Ah, but you enjoy it,” Zevran said, tipping Revka’s chin up to press a kiss to her mouth. He looped an arm behind her back and caught Wen’s hand, their fingers tangling together easily. He must have seen what she had, which was that Revka was favoring her left leg. 

“‘M—” Rev began, but the other two did not let her finish. 

“Fine,” Wen said with emphasis, casting a look over Revka’s shoulder at Zevran. 

“Really,” he went on, his voice taking on the lilt of Revka’s. “Way you two fuss—”

“Can take care of myself,” they finished together, and Wen lifted a brow at Revka. 

“Right,” she said, tilting her chin up. “So—fuss, then. You’ll carry me up the stairs.”

“With pleasure,” Zevran said, and the three of them made their way to their quarters. 

There was a certain amount of official business managed along the way. They stopped more than once so Revka could sign something or send someone off with the more pressing news. Wen grew increasingly impatient with these interruptions, eventually glaring so balefully at the messengers that they gave up on approaching at all. I was a relief when Wen finally shut the bedroom door behind them and slid the lock home.

“Commanders,” Wen informed Revka as she was sat on the bench before the bath, “are supposed to send other people off for the dangerous work.”

Curls of steam lifted from the washtub—Zevran must have paused to send someone here and draw it for them. 

“Can’t send you on every mission away,” Rev said, and made a soft noise of pain when Wen began to tug her leathers off. 

“Let us leave the bickering for later, yes?” Zevran asked. He’d rolled his sleeves up to test the water. As soon as Revka was stripped of her bloodstained armor, he helped her to her feet and into the sweet-smelling bath.  

“How we missed you,” he said fondly, and crouched beside the tub when she’d settled herself into the water. Wen folded her arms and looked at the two of them, relief warring with irritation in her chest. 

“Sounded like it,” Revka said, and peered at Wen through half-closed eyes. “Planning to sulk?” 

“Yes,” Wen said, but moved close enough to take Revka’s hand. It was wet with flower-scented water, pleasantly warm with the heat of her body, and dear to her beyond words. 

Wen unfolded Revka’s fingers carefully and pressed her lips to the very center of the palm, deeply lined and marked with old scars. She held it still there for a moment, closing her eyes, and listened to the soft murmur of her lovers. Whenever one of them was away, something lay tense under her skin, its teeth bared and back up. The fear tucked itself away now, quiescent in the knowledge of their safety. 

Home had come back to her at last. 

She marked it in the laughing undertone of Zevran’s voice, in the way Revka’s hand lifted to stroke Wen’s hair absently. Home was only in this room when all three of them were, too, but she always knew it when she felt it again. She would sleep like the dead tonight and be glad of it—though not, perhaps, as glad as Zevran would be, for he’d borne the worst of her restlessness this past week. 

As if he knew what she was thinking, Zevran glanced at her across the bathtub and winked. 

“The bed is a better place to rest, if we may pry you from the water.”

“I’m ’wake,” Rev murmured, giving every appearance of the opposite. Wen snorted and rolled to her feet, snagging the drying sheet from the bench. 

“C’mon,” she said, and held the unfolded cloth out to Revka. 

Revka rose, yawning, but only with Zevran’s help. She’d done something to her hip, Wen thought. There was a bruise there, stretching from the swell of her upper thigh to her lowermost rib. In the end, she had to stand still while Arianwen ran the cloth over her body. 

“Bed,” Wen said, more statement than question. Revka tried—she did—to pull away, but she only managed to lean back for a moment before she pressed her face into Wen’s neck instead. 

“There’s letters…” she began, but the rest of the sentence was stolen by her yawn. 

“So you can sleep on your desk instead?” Wen asked, and bent to slip a hand behind Revka’s knees. “C’mon. You can scribble plenty in the morning.” 

And she would be doing just that; they both knew it. There wouldn’t be any stopping her. Rev put her hands around Wen’s neck and sighed. 

“Stubborn,” she muttered, but it sounded more like an endearment than a condemnation. Wen wrapped her arms more tightly around Revka’s waist, savoring the weight and warmth of her. She stepped over loose pairs of boots and the pillows they’d left on the floor last night to deposit her in the bed. Rev shifted only enough to tuck her legs beneath the blanket and move to the center. That would be convenient—neither Wen nor Zevran would have to decide which of them got to sleep wrapped around her. It was a reassurance they both needed tonight, and one they’d both get. 

Wen shed her clothing a moment after Zevran and turned to put out the lamps. Only the fire in the hearth was left, warming the room as it shared its glow. She made her way to the bed by its light, surreptitiously checking the door and other exits. All secure, as it should be. 

The sheets were still cool against her bare skin when she slipped beneath them, but she warmed quickly when she found the others.

“There you are,” Rev murmured, moving her arm out of the way. 

As she had a hundred—no, a thousand—times before, Wen let her head rest on Revka’s shoulder. Zevran’s hand found hers in the dark, his thumb stroking the back of Wen’s knuckles. Rev sighed, contented, and turned her head to kiss first Wen, then Zevran on the forehead. 

“Missed you, too,” she said, her voice thick with sleep. Wen squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe around the thickness in her throat. 

There was so much wrong with the world. They’d seen too many awful things, the two of them. It seemed impossible that they’d landed here, of all places: safe, much of their horrible pasts set behind them at last. They’d taken the Joining cup together, their lips brushing against each other while the bitter taste of blood filled their mouths. They’d fought their way through Ferelden together, too, and they’d killed the Archdemon with both of their hands on a single sword. 

Somehow—and this was stranger to Wen than the rest had been—they’d found new love together, too, in each other and in another. She’d never once known what she was looking for, but Revka had found her anyway. Over and over again, she’d reached out and pulled Wen to safety. It only seemed right that they’d found peace together, too. 

Zevran’s hand tightened on hers. Wen picked her head up to look at him, catching the gleam of gold in his eyes almost at once. He didn’t say anything—wouldn’t want to wake their sleeping love, just as she wouldn’t want to—but she could see the reflection of her own feelings in his eyes. 

Relief. 

It was a relief to be together every time, no matter how long they’d been doing it. How incredible, how unbelievable it was to know that tomorrow there would still be more of this. 

Wen squeezed his hand in turn and set her head back down, breathing as Revka did until her own thoughts began to slow. She wouldn’t remember what she was thinking when she woke again. This didn’t worry her—thinking was overrated, she’d always thought—but for a moment, just before she dropped off, she remembered hands reaching out from the darkness to snatch her to safety. She remembered the burn of a split lip, the ache in her legs from running, and the relief of being still for a moment with someone who did not mean her harm. 

When she woke, she would not remember. That was fine. They’d left those girls far behind, years and leagues away, but they’d found each other again and again. 

Whatever came next—they’d do that together, too.

[cinnnam0nngir16]

Birthday

I had grown to hate birthdays. 

Every year, my birthday carved deep into my skin like a brutal curse; each was a filthy imprint that constantly nagged me to be better, grow up, and change. I strolled along the edge of childhood, tip-toeing on the thin wall between innocence and maturity. 

My eighteenth birthday struck me like a lightning bolt. It was a basket of stones that fell onto my feet while I shrieked and burnt at the stake of womanhood. It watched as I collapsed to the ground and melted into a smear of soot. With my birthday came insomnia, a demon that fed on my memories at night. I watched my room grow into a giant casket, swallowing me entirely. 

I felt claustrophobic as hell. But the problem wasn’t my room; it was me. I felt claustrophobic in my own body. 

So I descended into a frantic search for an answer. An answer within myself: why I sulked and loathed birthdays. I wondered what it was in me that made me restless and cynical. It wasn't until the day I read the line “The past beats inside me like a second heart” in a book called The Sea. I knew what it was then. It was my past that held me terribly tight. 

On my thirteenth birthday, my parents drove me to the restaurant where we used to celebrate my birthdays. We drove around the neighbourhood and past my old house. The entire suburb unfolded like a picture book through the car's rear window; nostalgia stirred the sour air -- I thought I must have rebounded to the beginning of my life. Some memories tasted bitter; they thawed like dark chocolate on my tongue. Streets, buildings, faces I couldn’t forget. Everything once engraved in my bones had grown into new flesh that I knew I couldn’t tear away again. 

I hadn’t gone back since the winter I turned ten. When I was younger, I had always wondered what it meant when my friends talked so excitedly about “when we grow up”. What did it mean to grow up? Was it a slow and gradual process of gaining more consciousness each day? Or was there a day when I reached a specific age and suddenly became more reasonable and practical – like I was rebranded overnight into a new identity? Would people start to perceive me differently? Would I be a stranger to myself? All I knew was that being an adult meant I shouldn’t dwell too much on the past. But I found that I couldn’t -- because the tender memories had begun to crumble and distort into glimpses of darkness. A feeling of betrayal was swelling up inside me; I was devastated. 

In my restless dreams, I was in that house again. I walked through the door and down the wooden stairs to my piano. Distant clinks of my nails touching the keys echoed in the hallway's silence. Light flickered through my half-closed bedroom door on the other side of the corridor. As I stepped inside, hoping for a wisp of familiarity to welcome me in its warm embrace, I winced, aghast at its emptiness. The coldness made me shiver. The bare mattress stared at me in an eerie liveliness. I wanted to tear my skin off and stitch a bandage around the bed to fix the sadness of it. 

The furniture in the room was a collection of white bones that resurfaced after many years. The desk was dusty, without scattered pens, without a lamp, but with a million dents and cuts. At last, I saw my window; the view was a smear of green and blue. I realised what this house meant to me as I stood frozen -- a cage. A cage that once imprisoned me and now came to haunt me as I grew older. It trapped my memories even now, after all these years. Whenever I attempted to flee and run to the future, my yearnings for what I once had clouded my vision, tugged my hair and dragged me backwards.

I woke up drenched in sweat and tears. It was the betrayal of my memories. The past I was always so fond of, memories I so often savoured, a perfect childhood, they shattered into a million fragments that dug painfully into my skin. For the years I had lived there, nothing was left behind but emptiness and my endless confusion as a child. When I left, the room was clean. Someone had rearranged the furniture; there was no linen on the bed, no books on the shelf, and no warmth lingering on the window’s stool. The past was a distant continent, a memory that hung over my head, and a nightmare that sent me to the Underworld. The house had become a void that happiness and new memories could not fill. Slowly, it grew larger and started to take up my entire body. 

I never said a proper goodbye to that house; perhaps I didn’t understand that it did not belong to me forever. I never bid farewell to my childhood. 

As I finally connected the dots between my childhood and the pain of becoming an adult, I navigated a way out of the labyrinth of living; whether living in the moment, the past or the future, it was to forgive and forget. When we were born, our bodies were empty. We made memories along the way, bitter or sweet, that stayed with us as we grew older. But sometimes, some of us lost ourselves because memories could be heavy and weigh us down. And when we let them take up our entire body, we run out of the space reserved for the future. So now, whenever the light dimmed, and I felt my sense of hope slipping away, whenever my hands started to get clammy from fear for the future, I would envision the void in my body. I would acknowledge the bits that represented who I was in the past and make more space for all the new lives I could have in the future.

[ancestorsalive]

“The debilitated old house in the city, wrapped in its mantle of soot, and leaning heavily on the crutches that had partaken of its decay and worn out with it, never knew a healthy or a cheerful interval, let what would betide. If the sun ever touched it, it was but with a ray, and that was gone in half an hour; if the moonlight ever fell upon it, it was only to put a few patches on its doleful cloak, and make it look more wretched. The stars, to be sure, coldly watched it when the nights and the smoke were clear enough; and all bad weather stood by it with a rare fidelity. You should alike find rain, hail, frost, and thaw lingering in that dismal enclosure when they had vanished from other places; and as to snow, you should see it there for weeks, long after it had changed from yellow to black, slowly weeping away its grimy life. The place had no other adherents. As to street noises, the rumbling of wheels in the lane merely rushed in at the gateway in going past, and rushed out again: making the listening Mistress Affery feel as if she were deaf, and recovered the sense of hearing by instantaneous flashes.” ~ “Little Dorrit" Charles Dickens - 1855

[theplottdump]

Chief: That'll be the last of em' Ma'am.

Director Argent: Exemplary work Chief Lee. It is refreshing to see the Del Sol Boys and Girls Club in Blue doing something useful for once.

Chief Lee: Director Argent- Ma'am, I - Argent: That will be all for now Chief. Thank you.

M: Look at you all- covered head to designer combat boot toe in soot like little deco orphans! Did I miss the party? And more importantly did anyone bring me anything fun to play with?

Sean: Does Dick's frozen CAS pistol count? Or maybe the souped up Simray that froze it solid in the first place?

Dick: Better work fast though, I think it's starting to thaw out.

[undertale-writing-times]

Even if their names are different AUs, they all in the same world and either work together or against each other.

Poketale- Vape(he has a Lapras) Soots(He has a Arcanine)

Pokefell- Shade(he has a Sylveon) Fraye(He has a Purugly)

Pokeswap- Glyede(He has a Haxorus) Thaw(He has a Froslass)

Pokehorror- Trace(he has a Claydol) Psy(They have a Hatterene)

Pokelust- Fabe(He has a Florges) Clover(he has a Leavanny)

Outerpoke- Xinto(He has a Togekiss) Dune(He has a Gothitelle)

Pokekiller- Slash(He has a shiny Doublade)

Pokedust- Grant(He has a Runerigus)

Pokedream- Vyle(He has Darkrai) Rise(He has Cresselia)

These guys are open for questions! If you want to know about their AU by the way, just ask :)

[ifievertoldyou]

i drew the he!

you can read thaw here ^^

[safyresky]

Crystal Springs Chapter 21: Jacqueline's Cat

aka, Two Weeks Later, is up and at em, right here! Give it a read, give it a review, have a blast and a half!

For those who've recently joined the tag, hi! Allow me to introduce to you my The Santa Clause 3-specific fic, Crystal Springs! If you're in the mood for some funky gen fic, featuring our beloved icy blorbo Jack Frost and a redemption arc of sorts, with a cast of absolutely unhinged OCs, I'd highly recommend giving Crystal Springs a chance! Here's a summary for you all to eat up:

"It's been nearly a year since Jack's thaw and things...could be better, admittedly. It seems, that as the year has gone on and he's improved his relationship with Santa and the whole of Elfsburg, his powers have taken a hit. December's just around the corner, and his powers are just short of being gone.

This wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that Jack's powers are the only reason that Elfsburg, the Workshop, and the North Pole are able to exist safely, tucked away under the Dome. With his powers gone, the winter magic that keeps the Dome sturdy and dishing out proper quantities of Christmas magic, is running hot and out of control. It's melting, and the North Pole is getting warm.

Unable to hide his power loss any longer, an intervention is held by the Council and Jack admits that he lacks the Frost. But thankfully, there is a solution: enacting the Legate Law, summoning the sprite next-in-line for the title of Jack Frost.

There's just one problem: Jack's Legate is his younger sister, Jacqueline, who he has not seen or talked to since he nearly killed her dead almost fourteen hundred years ago. Out of options, with no other possible solution in their sights, they do it, bringing Jack and the sister he hurt so many years ago back together once more, in the hopes that together, they can get Jack's powers back and stop the Deliquesce.

Unfortunately, the Frosts have never been very lucky. Soon after her arrival, Jacqueline starts experiencing some unexpected blackouts, with unintended consequences. With Jack's powers hanging in the balance, and Jacqueline on the fritz, the pair decide to head back home to Crystal Springs, bringing Jack face to face with the rest of his family...and an ancient threat waiting for their moment to strike, their carefully laid plans finally coming full circle. Seems like saving Christmas may be a little bit...complicated this year.

This fic is my baby. Originally posted in 2012/13, it was finished in 2014/15, rewritten in 2017, and then again starting in 2020. We're still working through the 2020 version NOW, hence why you see these random updates in the tags, but not on ff.net. (CS is not posted to ao3 as of yet, but I'll get to it one of these days! )

Piqued your interest? SCHWEET! Have some links.

PROLOGUE (skipable tbh, will be better once Frostmas is finished) CHAPTER 1 (good starting point, would recommend)

Not vibing it? Cool cool cool, go ahead and click that J key and head on down your dash to something you do vibe!

All caught up on CS 202X? Then onto the main event!

What's 🆕 In Chapter 21?

AXED the ENTIRE lost journals/here's what we learnt at the Dream Spire bit with the cold front, given that I took those events and spread them about the previous two chapters, Chapter 19: The Man with a Plan, and Chapter 20: Freedom, both of which were updated December 4th! (icymi) :)

Probably should've updated this one along with the other two, but I neglected to read ahead/totally forgot about the cold front preamble while Fino is fighting for his life under the bed lol, so here we are! Hopefully it didn't uh. Cause confusion for readers not on tumblr lmao

PREAMBLE ASIDE, WHAT'S GOING ON THIS CHAPTER?

🆕 Sibling fluff!

🆕 Blinter fluff!

🆕 CS lore!

🆕 Fiera's doing hot girl soot! (literally)

BETTER focus on the fam helping the cold front figure shit out re: blackouts and power shortages!

NEW Scott/Carol banter because Carol deserves to get a few digs at Scott!

WORD COUNT F A C T S: 2014 -> 4,440k 2017 -> 7,866k 2022-> 15,431k :O

I think last week's angst really spurred me on to finish this chapter. Please accept my humble offering of the main timeline where all the frosts are alive and thawed and nobody is dead, I swear. And as usual, if you find yourself enjoying it, do drop me a line! Send a review my way! Throw a reblog out there! I like to hear what people think! I will talk about these blorbos for DAYS.

[xtrememetalstx]

Choosing the Right Weather-Resistant Chimney Cap: A Homeowner's Guide

Why You Need a Chimney Cap

A chimney cap might seem like a small addition, but it plays a big role in your home’s safety. It prevents rain, snow, and debris from entering your chimney, keeping moisture from damaging the structure. In addition, a chimney cap acts as a barrier against animals like birds, squirrels, and raccoons that may try to nest inside the chimney. For homes in regions with heavy rainfall or snowfall, weather-resistant chimney caps are particularly essential. They can help prevent the freezing and thawing cycle that can cause bricks and mortar to deteriorate over time.

Material Matters: Which One Is Right?

Chimney caps come in a variety of materials, each with its own set of benefits and drawbacks:

Stainless Steel: Durable and resistant to rust, stainless steel caps are ideal for wet climates. They offer long-lasting protection against rain, snow, and other weather conditions. Plus, they are easy to maintain and install. Although they might be slightly more expensive, their longevity makes them worth the investment.

Copper: If you're looking for a chimney cap that combines function and style, copper is a great option. It’s highly durable and develops an attractive patina over time. While copper is also weather-resistant, it tends to be more expensive than other materials.

Aluminum: Lightweight and affordable, aluminum chimney caps are a common choice. However, they don’t offer the same level of durability as stainless steel or copper and are less resistant to extreme weather conditions.

Galvanized Steel: This is a more affordable option, but it doesn't have the same durability as stainless steel or copper. Galvanized steel caps are prone to rust and will need replacing more frequently if exposed to harsh weather conditions.

Proper Ventilation: An Often Overlooked Feature

Caps come in different designs, and each offers varying levels of airflow. Some caps are designed to promote updrafts, while others focus more on preventing downdrafts. Ensuring the chimney is properly ventilated will help prevent smoke and harmful gases from entering your home. Certain caps have mesh screens that help filter debris while allowing air to pass freely. Be cautious, though. If the mesh is too fine, it can become clogged with soot or creosote, requiring frequent cleaning. Look for a cap with a balance of protection and ventilation to maintain an efficient chimney system.

Finding Your Perfect Chimney Cap

A well-chosen chimney cap can offer much-needed protection from heavy rain, strong winds, or curious wildlife. Choose a material that suits your climate, ensure proper fit and ventilation, and commit to regular maintenance to keep your chimney functioning smoothly. Investing in the right cap now will save you from future headaches, so take your time, do your research, and make an informed decision.

[somethingwretcheddjhdnffn]

The old tune lures you out of the black basin you call home only for you to crawl back with frostbite. The burnt kettle on the stove whistles notes of love to you. It tells you it will thaw you back to life. It invites you to live in a burning house and sleep soundly in the smoke. To be soft the way ash is. While you long for the window, for the wind to take it anywhere but there.

But that is a lying man’s dream. The soot blackens every basin I wash my hands in. The fire never stops calling. I never stop feeling cold unless there is crackling in my ears. So I get up and close the window. I go back to sleep on the pyre.

If my burning warms your palms then lay them on me. Turn the coals gently at least. That girl you saw in the wind could never have been me.

[alexanderwesker]

hi hello :D i just remembered that your ask box existed, and i’ve had some little curiosities on my mind for a while, so i figured i’d stop by and ask them here :] 

so the topic that’s been on my mind recently has been the sky gods and their games.

obviously it's been established that the gods’ games are inspired from wilbur’s challenge videos, like the lava rising challenge, him being forced to perpetually drown that one time, the moles, etc, etc. but is mcc also one of their games? like. was that game with parkour and archery that charlie noticed a reference to mcc or was it just a random archery game? bc it’d make a lot of sense if mcc Was a Game there, considering scott is one of the sky gods and all, but i just wanted to make sure ^_^

follow-up to if mcc is in their Games, what is it like? like how are teams assigned? is there an equivalent of a live audience at all (other than the sky gods)? is there a hall of fame, and if so what’s it like? do they still win in teams, and if so how does that work, like, do the winning teams just get split up after and sent to other Games afterwards or something? and was soot a part of those games too, or was he only in the challenge video ones in this universe?

more of a general question about the Games, but how many people are kidnapped a year(?) to become playthings in it? and what's the kidnapping process like? do they just Wake Up there kinda like how the ccs do when they're sent here by the gods (which would open some very interesting implications)? and does everyone get kidnapped at once, or gradually over time?

which Game, in your opinion, do you think would be the worst one to have to play?

also pertaining to the Games, how accurate to the real thing was las nevadas' version of the lava rising game, like, appearance-wise? and how Was it a thing, like, did quackity use illusion runes to make the fake lava, and if so, are they any different from the ones you’d put on a person, or was it something else that did that illusion? and i know people wouldn't actually Die if they lost, but would there be any other consequences they'd have to face for losing? like enál choosing to torment them more or something?

ok, that's all the questions i have written down, but i'll let you know if i come up with any others !! and thank you, as always, for writing!!! ^_^

Hey! ^^ Sorry for having taken so long to answer, I forgot the incomplete answer in my drafts and couldn't find the ask again because of that. ^^" Now to answer your questions: 1. MCC is one of the Sky Gods' games, and since Scott is one of the fairer between the Sky Gods, his Games have more structure and he usually does give the rewards he promised without tricks, or at least not as many as the rest of the Sky Gods. 2. The Game version of the MCC is pretty similar to how it is in our world, just way less fun for the participants, since failing means death or being trapped in the Sky Gods' Games longer. As for the Teams they are chosen according to what the Gods think would be the most entertaining combination of people. (That's why they always paired Wilbur and Schlatt in the same Games cause they were entertained by their interaction) Or based on how much they think the 'team members' will egg each other on in losing themselves to the Madness of the Games. Agathus participated to that version of the MCC too, as the Sky Gods' favourite plaything. 3. As for how many people the Sky Gods kidnap, it depends. If they have enough playthings that have not bored them yet, they may take only a few hundreds, the numbers though rise, when they are at their most bored. The people taken by the Gods kind of just wake up in their realm, like the CCs do in both AToL and tHAW. They get taken gradually, but in groups. 4. Oh, that's a good question. Personally, I would find the Mole Game to be the most horrible, but that is because I have a fear of being buried alive and also claustrophobia. So that game specifically is terrifying for me. But in general I would say either the Sunpocalypse or the ever raising lava ones since there is no real escape to either of them. (And in the Shattered!Verse you can't escape to the Nether, since it's entrance is impossible from the Sky Gods' realm). 5. The recreations of the Games' in Las Nevadas are pretty close to the real thing, without the death and torment from the Gods' of course. Quackity did use illusion runes to create the illusion of the raising lava(and feather falling for when people fell from the platforms to not get hurt), they are different from the ones you would use on a person because of the way they are written, as they are less layered, and also they need only one infusion of magic instead of a constant one that you would need for the one on a person. Luckily because the games of the Eternal Day festival are just a simulation and a 'celebration' for the Gods, there isn't really a punishment for losing. As they lean more in the Game aspect of the Sky Gods than the Madness one.

Thank you for your ask, and sorry again for taking so long to answer ^^ Hope the answer satisfies you, and feel free to ask more if you have more questions!! ^D^

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

To Thaw a Frozen Heart

by writer_royalty

The castle was quiet, as snow began to softly blanket the windowsills that looked out on the surrounding fjords and mountains. The sky’s usual ebony appearance was clouded by a white sheet as soft flakes danced down with the breeze. Everyone was asleep, the castle still as a winter storm passed through, revealing a perfect playground for young children in the village to play in the following day. A young boy, a prince, and his older brother lay in the same bed in the same room, the youngest unable to sleep. He sat awake while his brother, Wilbur, lay within the soft and woolen sheets, nestled comfortably and snoring softly. The blonde, Tommy, quietly sat up out of bed, so he wouldn’t awaken Wilbur. The young prince went to the window and admired the snowflakes as they swirled and clung to the windows, each white speck a bespoke and unique pattern, before they melted against the stained glass.

Or; a crimeboys frozen au because I realized just how crimeboys coded frozen actually is.

Words: 4045, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Minecraft (Video Game)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen

Characters: Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson | Philza, Kristin Rosales Watson, Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)

Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Kristin Rosales Watson & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Kristin Rosales Watson & Phil Watson | Philza, Kristin Rosales Watson/Phil Watson

Additional Tags: The Writer's Block Minecraft Championships 2023 (Video Blogging RPF), The Writer's Block MCC Aqua Axolotls, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Frozen (Disney Movies) Fusion, Wilbur Soot Has Powers, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Youngest Sibling TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Prince Wilbur Soot, Prince TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), King Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Queen Kristin Rosales Watson, References to Frozen (Disney Movies), it is a frozen au after all, Hurt/Comfort, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit-centric, Phil Watson is Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit's Parent, Other Additional Tags to Be Added