#warmth for cold nights

[nobeerreviews]

Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories.

-- Deborah Kerr

(Längenfeld, Austria)

[ace-no-isha]

i miss luffy. the concept of freedom embodied as a person makes me grieve my life a little LMFAO. he is everything to me. he is my dreams as a person. completely free and changing the world. everything i want to be so bad. i adore him. he is a thousand suns to me in his brilliance. id burn the world down for a hug from him. i would do unspeakable things for a taste of the freedom he lives. i miss him. i wish i could reread one piece for the first time again. the joy and grief and anger of that story all over again that makes me feel alive. i want to feel alive like luffy does. stubborn in his place on this earth because he’s got dreams that are worth everything, but also completely content with dying in the process of reaching his dream. and yet still, he refuses to die because it means he can’t protect the ones he loves. he will shave off years of his life if it buys you a second more. he is so fucking selfless in his selfish way of living. he is my everything.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

I haven't known how to exactly phrase this so I've held off, though I'd like to try now! The Lights Off AU brings me some sort of.. Strange comfort? Strange reassurance? About the whole "Hey yeah, everything you know is not real, actually!" Which, at least for us, as a DID System is just.. the norm? False memories of a media or a very obviously different 'world' are something that are just in our head. (Not delusions, we are aware they are fabricated. But we're also aware that they felt real to us.) So to have a piece of media where people also go through that, being a system or not? It's... Strangely comforting to know that you aren't the only person on the world who could feel that way, even if it's just a fictional story. I hope none of this is weird or too strange! I'm not sure how much/if you know about DID (not to mention the stigma) so I'd rather try to explain the more confusing terms as short as I can. There's a lot more I could say as well, but I don't want this to drag on too much or be too complex about this explaination. I hope you're doing well for yourself Bog! :]

sorry it took me so long to get to this! longer asks need more thought and time and energy, and i admit it got a little Buried under other asks!

i know a bit about DID - not nearly enough to say that i know what I'm talking about, but i've made sure to do research to better understand it!

but anyway i'm glad i could give that to you, even in a small way! that's the whole purpose of fiction, i think - to bring people comfort and catharsis and validation through viewing the self in the other, however unintentional it may be! i hope this silly little au continues to provide that - and i hope that if i ever write a fic for it, it does the experience justice <3

[pocketgalaxies]

"you don't have to know what love is, nobody does. but–"

"love is pain."

[asoiafreadthru]

A Game of Thrones, Jon III

Inside, Jon hung sword and scabbard from a hook in the stone wall, ignoring the others around him.

Methodically, he began to strip off his mail, leather, and sweat-soaked woolens.

Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the long room, but Jon found himself shivering.

The chill was always with him here. In a few years he would forget what it felt like to be warm.

The weariness came on him suddenly, as he donned the roughspun blacks that were their everyday wear.

He sat on a bench, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings on his cloak.

So cold, he thought, remembering the warm halls of Winterfell, where the hot waters ran through the walls like blood through a man’s body.

There was scant warmth to be found in Castle Black; the walls were cold here, and the people colder.

No one had told him the Night’s Watch would be like this; no one except Tyrion Lannister. The dwarf had given him the truth on the road north, but by then it had been too late.

[thebleedingeffect]

I'm dunking my head in the sauce <- sauce is french lessons

[wereh0gz]

Super Sonic: burning hot, shining bright like the sun itself and flying as fast as a shooting star. His demeanor is light and free, yet he moves with purpose. His light is bright and blinding, but his warmth nurtures life around him, makes flowers bloom at his feet and causes people's hearts to race. His smile beams and brings hope to anyone who lays his eyes upon it. He is the embodiment of positivity and hope, a beacon of light in the darkness of despair.

Dark Sonic: frigid and dark like the emptiness of space. Silent and statuesque, he moves rigidly, yet so quickly the naked eye can't follow. He drains the light and warmth and life around him and leaves nothing but cold air and death in his wake. His face is blank, his eyes pure, white nothingness that inspires fear upon any who lay their eyes upon him. The beacon of hope has been snuffed out, he has become one with the darkness itself.

[littleplantfreak]

temp goes under 70 degrees? time to turn on the heated blankie

[lily-ohfally]

HaurcheWol / WolChefant week day 3: Chivalry

I don't suppose this is the first thing that comes to mind when Chivalry is brought up, but it's all the little gestures of his that makes me fall over and over again.

[coldbrewnette]

Ik it’s cold out when my father sleeps in the bed w my mom lmao

[ms-hells-bells]

His name is squilliam. Say hi squilliam.

[eoinmcgonigal]

09: Bill/Johnny

Sloowly getting through @almost-a-class-act 's wonderful prompts! This one is: Character A has just moved in and it's Character B's turn to tell the new neighbour the neighbourhood's dark secret…

Now, I've set this in rural Scotland. I've given Bill the appropriate language, but I have zero idea how to actually spell it. It's one of the stupidest things I've ever written, but no, I'm not taking it back. Bill Fraser is a teuchter now (for this fic at least).

War is Helloween

-

He’s seen him before. In the darkness of the countryside, folk illuminated only by the built-up bonfire, the occasional sweeps of torches, and the sparkers the children run around squealing with, Bill finds himself looking towards the stranger. It’s hard not to notice newcomers around here, and especially not ones so handsome they turn heads wherever they go. The blond hardly seems like he belongs amongst countryfolk and farmers, but he’s ended up at the fireworks display on the brae all the same. Bill first saw him two days ago in the village shop, where he was with a young woman, a babe in her arms. His sister, the gossip says. Bill’s already heard the older folk muttering about it, wondering where the husband is, and what the brother is doing here. He’s sure he’ll hear all the news the next time he goes to the Fife Arms, whether he wants to or not.

He can’t deny feeling curious, though. Not much changes around here—not usually for the better, at any rate. Besides, the man is good-looking. Johnny Cooper. There’s something about him that catches Bill’s eye, and makes him half want to go over.

He doesn’t, though. Johnny is surrounded by some of the farmers’ wives, and is gratefully accepting bonfire toffee. Bill’s mouth is still sweet with the rare joy of it, Jenny Grant’s recipe as good as he remembers from childhood. It’s as warming to him as the bright fire that’s been built to last, and he’ll try to get another few pieces off of her before he heads back home.

Until then, he stands in the cold November night, waiting. A few friends and folk have drifted by, stopping to chat, offering him a beer, and he nods and listens to the words they have to say, contributing here and there. He finds himself standing in a loose group of men, their attention turning towards the pitch dark beyond the fall of the firelight when a faint torchlight flickers there. Johnny is still on the other side of the little gathering when the fireworks begin. Bill looks away from him, to enjoy the display. It’s nothing like the big, fancy ones he sees on the telly. He wonders what Johnny makes of it. If he likes it here, or if he thinks as little of this place and its people as townfolk usually do, the way of life too small and simple to be worth noticing in their opinion. Plenty outsiders have bulldozed in and then drifted away again, not taking to the lifestyle, or simply missing the glittering lights and apparently comfort of bustle.

Bill likes it here, though. It’s home. He watches the fireworks light up the darkness, and feels something ancient and primal tug at his heart. You can’t feel this anywhere else, he thinks as a chill breeze stirs around the little gathering.

When the last firework is spent, all that’s left is the warmth of the fire, and the people around it. Bill soaks it up, lingering as people start drifting home—the folks with younger kids first, then others following. He snags some more of Jenny’s bonfire toffee, and sees that Johnny is just drifting from the circle of firelight. There’s a set to his shoulders, a sense of purpose about him that makes Bill’s blood run cold.

Half running, he catches up with the man. “Oi!” he calls out.

Jumping, Johnny turns around, laughing. “You scared me!” He’s grinning, the distant fireglow softly picking out the features of his face.

“Far ye gaun?”

A blank look. Bill gestures out at the darkness.

“Yer car? Far’s it at?”

“Oh!” Understanding dawns on Johnny’s face, his smile softening but not fading. “My sister has it. I was going to walk.”

“Tae the village?”

“Um, yes?”

The cold feeling in Bill’s blood grows more profound. “Ye cannae dae that,” he warns.

“No?” Johnny looks around, out into the darkness. “I mean, it’s only two and a half miles?”

Bill shakes his head. “Ye’ll no mak it.”

“Um,” Johnny breathes. He’s not smiling any more. “But I came—”

“Ah’ll gi ye a lift,” Bill insists. “Or, if ye rither, ony ae the fowk here wull gi ye a lift. Just dinnae wauk it an yer ain, aye?”

“O–okay?”

The distant, warm glow of the fire is reflected in the blond’s wide eyes, and Bill suspects that, while he might have got the gist, he’s a bit dazed. Another chill curl of wind swirls around them, and they both shiver.

That seems to decide it. Relenting, Johnny moves closer to Bill. “Where’s your car?”

Bill points back towards the other side of the gathering. “Mandy’ll be glad tae tak ye, if ye’d rither.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m good.” After a few paces, Bill hears a shift in fabric, and a hand is drawn out of a pocket and offered to him. “I’m Johnny, by the way.”

“Aye, Ah ken,” Bill nods. It’s an awkward angle to shake someone’s hand at, the gesture out of place here. He lets it happen, though, giving Johnny a brief, firm squeeze of a handshake. Johnny’s hands are cold, but there’s a warmth that transfers to Bill at the touch. Stickiness too. They’ve both had toffee. It’s the reason Bill hasn’t pulled his glove back on.

He pulls them on now, knowing it’ll be cold for the first few minutes, until the car heats up. There’s a heavy jacket on the passenger’s seat, which he pulls out of the way as soon as he gets in, the wellies in the footwell joining the jacket on the back seat.

Johnny looks so out of place as he gets in, the harsh interior light of Bill’s car making him look pale. He’s probably cold, Bill realises.

“Ye cauld?”

Rubbing his hands against his thighs, Johnny nods. Bill pulls the jacket forward again, offering it over.

“Hae a shottie o this till the heatin kicks in.”

“Thank you.”

They fall into silence as the light dims and Bill starts the engine. He rolls slowly out onto the single track road that winds its way down the brae and towards the village. They’re near to the planted forest of Norwegian pine when Johnny finally speaks again.

“What’s wrong with walking?”

The headlights fall strangely on the pines for a moment, and Bill watches the shadows shift. “Naebody wauks atween the braes an the village this tid o year.”

In the pause, Bill tries to work out how to explain what people usually figure out, if they move here early enough in the year, or if they have any sense.

“Why not?”

It’s best to keep it simple. “Fowk disappear.”

“They get lost? Isn’t there only one road?”

There is, and it follows the contours of the land, the fall and rise and then fall again down into the village. They are clear of the trees now, and in the gully that curves to the left, is a burn. It’s impossible to see in the dark—the headlights don’t peer down over the edge. “Aye,” Bill has to agree. “Bit thare’s mae tae it then that.”

Beneath Bill’s jacket, Johnny shifts, shivering. Bill reaches out to turn the heat up.

“I’m fine,” Johnny insists. “I just… don’t get it.”

“Dae ye wint tae?”

“I guess?”

They’re one bend away from being within sight of the village, and Bill feels like he can speak easier when he sees the warm glow of the streetlights. He doesn’t need to ask where Johnny lives. Everyone knows.

“Thare’s simmat oot there, simmat auld.”

“Something?” Bill catches the crease of worry lining Johnny’s brow. “Like… an animal?”

“No quite. Hiv ye nae feelt it?”

“No?”

They turn into the lane that leads quickest to Johnny’s home. From the tone of his voice, the uncertainty wavering in it, Bill suspects that Johnny has felt it.

“What is it?”

Bill doesn’t quite know how to answer that. As he pulls up, he leaves the engine running, heat starting to spill enthusiastically into the car. The light from the streetlamps has a different quality to it than the firelight, but, as uneasy as he looks, Johnny still looks handsome. Beautiful, even. It’s warmth like that that keeps the cold and the darkness from taking over everything.

“The lan.”

Johnny blinks. “The land?”

“Aye, this place. Atween the noo an Februar, it’s hungert fae wairmth. Dinnae wauk ootae the village aifter dark.”

“Seriously?” In the safety of warmth and light, scepticism steals over Johnny.

“Aye. Ask aebody,” Bill promises. “Fa telt ye tae come up the braes oniehoo?”

“Um… Mitch? Mitchel?”

“Eejit,” Bill mutters. He can believe that Mitchel forgot to make sure Johnny was getting there and back safely, although he’s of no mind to let the man get away with it when Bill sees him next.

Johnny is toying with the collar of Bill’s jacket. “So this wasn’t some elaborate ploy to get me alone?”

“Elaborate?” Bill echoes. “No, Ah wantit tae mak sure ye got hame safe.”

“I was joking,” Johnny smiles, and Bill realises that maybe he was, but perhaps he wasn’t. He lets out a breath, not sure what to say.

As his jacket is offered back to him, Bill takes it mutely, looking at Johnny’s hands, then up at the beautiful but utterly unprepared young man.

“Thank you, um…”

Bill waits as the silence drags on.

“You didn’t tell me your name.”

Oh. Right. “Bill,” he supplies, aware of the way his cheeks have started to flush. It’s annoying, and he reaches out to turn the heating down. “Ah mean it,” he impresses on Johnny. “Ye haftae stay safe.”

“I will,” Johnny says, with what feels like the right amount of sincerity.

“Good,” Bill nods.

“Thank you, Bill.”

Johnny already said that, but it’s nice to hear it again.

“Good night.”

“Nicht,” Bill answers.

Reaching for the door handle, Johnny goes still. “Um…” he turns around again, his mood tentative. “What was that sweet stuff?”

“The bonfire toffee?”

“I think so. I’ve not had it before. Do you know the recipe?”

Bill does not, but he knows where it’s written down in the old cookbook that used to be his grandmothers. “No, but Ah can get it fae ye.”

“I’d like that, thank you.”

“Nae bither.”

When Johnny smiles again, Bill gets the feeling that Johnny would be quite happy to linger here a while longer. He’d be happy if he did. All that lies ahead of Bill is the dark drive home.

“See you soon?” Johnny seems to hope.

Bill nods. “Aye.”

With a bright smile that brings something of the sun to the night, Johnny goes.

Bill isn’t entirely sure if Johnny will pay heed to the warning or dismiss it as nonsense, but what he does know is that the long winter ahead is going to be much easier to bear if he has a chance of seeing that beautiful smile again.

[adharastarlight]

James "I'll be your summer sun forever" Potter and Regulus "I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm" Black

[lesbianweed]

thrilled beyond words to report that it's no longer 89 degrees in my room. it's at 78 now and while that's not perfect it's infinitely better than yesterday

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Inigo loves Archie so much it kills him inside :’)