#solemn blizzards

[snowfallenlavender]

ok but like

i always imagine something like this with my famililal f/os a lot

#snowyspeaks #snowybrainrots #platonic f/o #familial f/o #peach monkey #shotgun shell #screenplay #lotus blossoms #i need a hero #basketball pro #jewel bat #hammer in pink #ice cream lady #cream cheese #hollyberry flowers #solemn blizzards

[barren-heart]

From Panera Bread You Came, To Panera Bread You Shall Return.

Guillermo's been working at Panera Bread for about a week now. Luckily, his old manager agreed to give him his old job back.

A Nandermo first kiss one-shot

Blood and violence. Hurt/comfort. Somewhat Christmas-themed. No death. Post-s5. Nandor/Guillermo.

Author’s note: I wanted to write in script format, but got too lazy tbh and I also wanted to keep some of the thoughts and feelings of the characters. Canon compliant for the most part.

Bright lights flicker in a near-empty Panera. The lampposts outside are lit, as snow drifts towards the ground in thick piles.

In the lobby, Guillermo mops the floor. He’s focusing on a spill of broccoli cheddar soup that accidentally fell off the table as he was cleaning. He sees the cameras and waves them in.

“So, yeah,” Guillermo says. He sits at a table, camera facing. His title reads, Former Familiar and Bodyguard. Panera Bread Employee. “You can probably tell that I’m no longer working for Nandor and the vampires. I moved out about a week ago, I guess.”

A flashback to Guillermo cleaning up his room at the Vampire Residence. He takes his suitcases and the vampire portrait of him and Nandor. The room is just as empty as when he moved in.

“It was just getting a bit, you know, sad,” Guillermo continues. “Not being a vampire anymore, I just didn’t really feel like I could go back to being a familiar. So,” he pauses, “I left.”

A cut back to Guillermo looking at Nandor’s closed coffin as he lays a letter on the table. A moment later, a cut to Nandor picking up the letter as his face grows solemn.

“I’m trying to find my purpose in this world now.” Guillermo smiles. “There’s so…so many possibilities of who I can be. I have my whole life ahead of me. But, searching for your next passion doesn’t really pay the bills. So, in the meantime, I got my old job back at Panera. So that’s…that’s good.”

The documentary crew flashes edits of Guillermo performing various duties inside of Panera. Kids run into tables, knocking food onto the floor. Loud customers shout at him as Guillermo tries to remain calm.

When the camera cuts back to Guillermo’s talking head, his smile fades. “Can’t believe this time, last week I was mopping up blood in the Fancy Room, and now I’m mopping up soup.” He laughs. “Crazy how things could change so quickly.”

“Guillermo?” A man behind the counter says. “Do you mind taking the trash out?”

Guillermo stands, ending the talking head segment. “Yeah. I can do that. Sorry.”

“Oh no, take your time,” The man says smiling to the cameras. “I’m sorry, did I come off as a bit aggressive there? I’ve been working on not sounding too demanding, you know? I learned that from the Being a Better Boss self-help book I read last summer.”

“You’re good, Chris.” Guillermo laughs to himself. His boss has no idea the orders he was given as a familiar. “I’ll take it out now.”

“Okay, be careful out there,” Chris says. “It’s looking like a blizzard. Haven’t seen snow like this since when I was a kid in Vermont.”

The camera follows Guillermo as he grabs his coat and scarf. The cold is much harsher with the wind.

He drags the rather heavy bags of trash out the back door. He can barely see as he lifts the trash bags into the dumpster. It was nothing like the human bodies he would bag daily for the vampires. Come to think of it, taking a whiff outside, maybe there is rotten flesh in there?

“Guillermo, is that you?” A voice calls out.

Guillermo immediately recognizes the voice. It’s his master, or ex-master now? He left the vampire residence so suddenly that he wasn’t really sure anymore.

Out of the shadows, Nandor appears. His hair disheveled and cape covered in snow. Almost like he’d been there for hours.

Guillermo meets him under a streetlight. “Have you been waiting here for me?”

“Yes. Not long, though. Maybe two…or three hours?”

“Three-three hours?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you while you worked,” Nandor says. “So, I waited here until you were done.” Nandor points to a body slumped against the wall of the building. “I had a light snack while I waited.”

“That would explain the rotten corpse smell…” Guillermo whispers to the camera.

"I like what you've done with the place." Nandor observes the scenery. "Very twinkly lights."

“Oh, no that’s the…you know…” Guillermo stops, knowing well he shouldn’t say Christmas in front of Nandor. His voice lowers to a whisper, “Holiday lights.”

“Your roommates must be so festive. So very human and not vampires at all.” There’s a smile on Nandor’s face, but it’s absent of joy. If Nandor could tell the truth, it’s painful that Guillermo left again, this time to be with humans.

“Uh, yeah. They…they are human.” Guillermo says. "Do you think I live here?"

"Well, now that you don't live with us anymore, I thought you would move in where you work."

"Actually," Guillermo says, his eyes on the snowy ground beneath him. "I live with my mom now."

"Oh, Silvia?" Nandor genuinely smiles. He enjoyed Guillermo's mothers’ company the last time he saw her. So kind and full of energy. And so many photos of Guillermo. "How is she?"

"She's doing-" Guillermo begins to say. “Wait. How did you find me? I never said I was going to work here.”

“I thought you would return to something familiar. Just seemed like something all humans do. I flew around to all the Paneras in the area, until I saw you in the window. I came to congratulate you on your new job.”

Guillermo smiles to himself. “Oh, I thought you’d be upset that I left.”

“I’m not upset. I actually think that it’s okay.”

A cut to talking heads of Nandor in his room. “Am I happy with Guillermo for leaving? Of course not. But, I’m not upset. Little rascal is probably thinking about apologizing right now. He’s probably on his way home. What, it’s been, like, just a few days?”

Someone talks offscreen.

“A week?” Nandor says.“Really? Oh. Maybe I should try and find him, then?”

When the camera cuts back, Nandor says, “I know you were looking to find some greater purpose and you’ve found it here at…The Panera Bread.”

Nandor gives a quick look to the camera.

“Uh, yeah,” Guillermo says. “Well, it’s-it’s temporary. I, uh, don’t really have much of a work history with 14 years working as a familiar. Uh, my old boss is actually still working here and got me my job back.”

“That asshole?” Nandor says, remembering the guy was such a dick. “Yes, I remember. Fucking guy.”

“He’s actually pretty cool now. Mellowed out a lot.��

“Oh?” Nandor says. “That’s-that’s great that you have such a mellow boss. Really…cool.”

A moment of silence passes between them.

“How’s the gang?” Guillermo says, wistful. “I miss them.”

“They’re, you know. Moving on. Doing lots of things. With stuff. Vampire stuff.”

Guillermo feels a pang in his heart. He shouldn’t expect a heartfelt plea to come back, especially with how sudden he left. It still feels like it was the right thing to do in the moment.

The sound of a door opens behind them. It’s Guillermo’s manager, Chris.

“Hey, just checking to see if you died.” He sniffs around. “Almost smells like someone died.”

Chris takes in the dead body. “Hey, what the fuck is that?!”

Nandor approaches Chris. “You will not remember seeing the dead body on the ground and will go back inside and finish your duties for the night.”

Before finishing his hypnosis, Nandor adds, “And you will give Guillermo a raise in pay.”

“Yeah, everything looks good,” Chris says, leaving. “I’ll see you inside. And hey, you’re getting a raise on your next check there, buddy.”

Once Chris is inside, Guillermo says, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I kinda did, though. Didn’t want him to remember the dead body there,” Nandor says whispering as if someone could overhear.

“I meant the raise part,” Guillermo says.

“Oh.” Nandor continues in a normal tone, “You deserve it. I know how hard you work. And how important it is to tell someone that you appreciate what they do for you. I want to wish you well in your new position. And I’m sure you will do just great.”

“Thank you, mast-” Guillermo stops. “Um, Nandor.”

Nandor doesn’t comment on the change of title. “Of course.”

“I should probably get back inside,” Guillermo says. “Fly safe. It’s really snowy out here.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Guillermo turns towards the camera, away from Nandor. A few tears well up in his eyes.

“Oh, Guillermo?” Nandor says. “One last thing.”

Guillermo faces him again, sniffing his tears back. “Yeah?”

Nandor steps closer. He reaches inside his cape, and pulls out a dozen of flattened red roses. “I forgot to give you these.”

“Flowers?” Guillermo sniffs them. A few are wilted, and some petals fall to the ground.

“Sorry. They were alive when I picked them.”

“Wait. You picked them? It’s the middle of winter.”

“Yes. I picked them from a nice grave I found while flying.”

“A grave?” Guillermo eyes go wide.

“Yes,” Nandor continues earnestly. “I saw them lying there and I thought of you.”

“You did?”

Nandor continues, “And I wanted to tell you that…I’ve missed you.”

“Really?” Guillermo swallows. “I’ve missed you, too. I’m sorry for leaving. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay. I really wanted to stay. I just don’t know if I belong there anymore.”

“You do belong there, Guillermo. You were more than just my familiar, but my greatest companion. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Marwa’s wedding scene plays and then we cut back to Guillermo. The camera zooms in on his face. He grins, now realizing. “Maybe you don’t have to think about that.”

“What do you-“ But Nandor doesn’t finish as he notices Guillermo leaning in towards him. Nandor mimics him, leaning in as their lips finally meet. His hand brushes along Guillermo’s neck and down his coat. He wraps his arms around Guillermo’s waist.

A familiar feeling of heat creeps up Guillermo’s chest and into his throat. The hairs on his arms raise as he wraps his hands around Nandor’s shoulders.

A voice stirring breaks them apart.

“What was that?” Guillermo says.

The body against the wall moves. “Ughh. Is there anyone there?”

Guillermo eyes Nandor. “I thought you said he was dead?”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Nandor says. “I just had a little snack. I don’t think I drained him enough.”

“Hey there,” Guillermo says approaching the body. “I can help you. Are you okay?”

The man, probably in his 40’s, slowly stands while gripping onto the wall. “Yeah, I think-” He slips on a puddle of his own blood, his head hitting against the wall as he falls with a thud to the ground. He doesn’t move.

Guillermo covers his mouth in shock.

“I think he’s dead now,” Nandor says. He kneels beside him. “Little man, are you alive?”

Nothing.

Nandor rolls him over. “Maybe we let the snow cover him up?”

Guillermo sighs. “I’ll get a trash bag.”

When Guillermo comes back, they both toss the man into the dumpster.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Nandor starts, “that was the guy yelling at you earlier. I could see it through the window. He said some bad things about you as he left.”

Guillermo smiles to both Nandor and the cameras. “I think we should leave before any cops show up.”

“Good idea.” Nandor reaches his hand out to Guillermo. “Can I fly you home? I’m sure Silvia is worried about you.”

Guillermo puts his hand in Nandor’s. “How about our place instead?”

#a quick holiday ish inspired one shot #I know I know I’m a bit late for Christmas #I’ve never worked at Panera so don’t hate my inaccuracies #😭 #what we do in the shadows #WWDITS #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #nandermo #wwdits fic

[alexanderlightweight]

Writing Wednesday, so I know you just posted it but I just really love the neiphline being something Other-ish. But the one where Alec is cold and bleeds like ice and can summon weapons. I'm a sucker for reading how people react, so with Alec just casually talking about it with Magnus' friends. How would they react? Or maeby just more of Magnus finding out how different they are

hey! cold Alec and meeting Cat. i hope you enjoy! thank you for the lovely prompt

mention of self-harm for use in a medical magical treatment

lumine

-

Cat snaps out her hands, magically trying to bring the temperature of the room down.

Weather magic, however, is tricky enough without a magical fever fighting every magical attempt to cool the room and she’s not sure her patients — young warlock children — will be able to survive until elemental stones can be found and transported.

The request itself will need to be processed and the sickness struck too quickly, ravaged too quickly for her messages to get there in time.

“Cat—” Magnus calls and she curses under her breath. It would be one thing if her patients were adults, but Magnus hates to see the suffering of children and she struggles to get her breathing under control, so that he won’t see how affected she is.

It doesn’t work, he knows the minute he sees her and then he’s helping hold her up.

“The fever is growing stronger the more I try to save them.” She admits quietly, feeling weak and exhausted, “if I could just get the room cool enough, I could save them.”

Magnus tightens his grip around her, and she hopes he’s not going to try to summon a blizzard.  This is one of the few diseases that warlocks can’t fight against, and that magic only makes worse.

“I’ll be right back.” Magnus tells her and he’s upset, angrier but less hurt than she would have expected. “Children—” she hears him say through the open door, the other words blurry as she tries to figure out what to attempt next.

Then Magnus comes back in, a tall shadowhunter with him who is looking around with a solemn, stoic expression.

“Can you, do it?” Magnus asks and he’s terse and he’s no longer angry, or at least not visible, but Cat can tell he’s furious with himself for some reason. She wonders just what he’s asking for, to be this upset.

“I can.” The shadowhunter says and then, to Cat’s shock he steps closer to Magnus and cup’s Magnus face and the solemn, stern features melt into softness. “You need to leave, before I try anything."

“No!” Magnus spits out, furious like a cat whose had a cub stolen. “Alexander, I will not be going home."

“You asked me for a favor.” Magnus’ Alexander — because it’s the only explanation for this — “now I’m stating my price. You will go back to your lair and stay there until your friend messages you.”

“That is the price you’re making me pay?” Magnus asks and there is a cold, furious note to his voice. “I will not forget this, Alexander. Do you understand that? If you ask this of me, you will pay a price in return.”

“Okay—” his shadowhunter says and then he leans close and brushes his lips to the corner of Magnus’ mouth. Magnus is staying as still as he can and, with a quick glare at nothing, he grabs his hunter by the shirt and kisses him, deeply.

“Message me Cat, the instant he’s done.” And the way he says it isn’t a demand, but a plea and she nod, because while she doesn’t understand what’s going on she can see that it’s hurting him in a way she hates to witness.

Magnus is gone and then his hunter sighs and walks away from the children before he looks at her and draws a small adamas dagger.

Cat readies magic, wary despite trusting Magnus and he nods and then he’s cutting himself open.

Cat realizes that she’s never seen a nephilim bleed this much or so close before and it’s with curiosity that she watches him activate two runes and then slit a vein.

It’s with a calm, detached clarity that he begins to drain the very blood from his veins and lets it fall as he walks around the room. Every so often, the runes work too well, and the wound seals and he reopens it.

He’s pale and sweating by the time the floor is coated in blood and Cat’s breath is crystallizing.

The stark heat of the room has been fading and Cat stopped using magic the moment she realized that the more she fed the heat the more blood he needed to spill.

It's stunning and horrifying and she realizes just why Magnus was so upset.

She’s not going to betray Magnus by sending his boy back a husk and so she stops him, when he tiredly goes to open up his veins a fifth time.

“It’s fine now. It worked.” She tells him, not sure what else to say.

She already messaged Magnus and now she’s waiting, keeping an eye on her patients and Magnus’ hunter.

Before his Alexander can respond to her, Magnus is there, nodding to her and snatching his boy around the waist and dragging him back to his lair.

Cat blinks at the empty space where both men are gone and looks around the crisp, cold room and carefully she steps out across the frozen mirror of blood.

#writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #lumine writes #magnus bane #alec lightwood #catarina loss #my fics #my fanfics #my ficlets #shadowhunters #malec #shadowhunters au

[nervoushottee]

IMPORTANT: This blog is 18+ MDNI!! If you don’t have age on your blog then I will block it.

*Inbox and messages are always open!*

Joel Miller

Series:

Flaws and All: You and Joel get caught in a blizzard while traveling. Cooped up in a cabin that is a bit of a fixer upper, the two of you learn how to grow with one another. In the process of waiting out the blizzard, you both have no choice but to accept each other, flaws and all. And maybe, just maybe find more in each other than just a travel partner. Will be Explicit in future chapters

A Solemn Promise: Joel thought he had lost it all. That the cruel bitter world had taken away his heart and soul piece by piece until there was nothing left. Everything he cared so deeply for gone. Turning him into a complicated man with a complicated heart. But when he has to travel across the country with a young girl and his girlfriend that he thought was dead. Maybe, just maybe his broken heart and soul can mend.

Oneshot

A Shot of Whiskey: (Explicit) You didn't think Joel would take you up on your offer. But here you were getting fucked in the bathroom stall of the bar.

Lucien Flores

Oneshot:

Kill the Lights: (Explicit) Lucien Flores is your older brother's bestfriend and to you he was always off limits and vice versa. Until one night that changes... (insipred by the song "De Selby part 2 by Hozier")

Frankie "Catfish" Morales

Series:

Good Trouble: You and the Miller brothers have known each other since childhood. But the years go by and time moves on and the three of you are grown up. But what happens when they come home to visit and the two friends they bring along with them catch your eye?? (Frankie/Santiago/Reader)

Santiago "Pope" Garcia

Series:

Good Trouble: You and the Miller brothers have known each other since childhood. But the years go by and time moves on and the three of you are grown up. But what happens when they come home to visit and the two friends they bring along with them catch your eye?? (Frankie/Santiago/Reader)

Steve Harrington

Series:

The Summer Before: You and the gang decide to take a trip together before you all go your separate ways after summer is over. You’re excited for a reset away from Hawkins. Away from your problems and responsibilities. But one of the problems that you can’t seem to find the answer to went with you and it’s Steve Harrington. Conversations about old times and second chances wasn’t something you really planned on doing but here you are.  The days will be light and warm. Trips to the lake and burgers on the grill. The nights will feel long filled with laughter, beers, unwanted truths and tattoos you won’t remember getting the next day. Secrets will be spilled and tears will be shed.  A last hooray at the end of the summer while everyone was still together.  This should be fun. Right?

Oneshot:

Take Care: Steve wakes up from a nightmare that scares him a lot more than usual. The two of you frantically decide in the middle of night to get out of Hawkins. Even if it’s just for a little while.

Go For It: Steve has been your “movie guy” at Family Video for a while now. Little does he know that the main reason you’ve been buying these movies is to flirt with him and just maybe ask him out…

Illicit Affairs: You wish you were enough for Steve, but he will always want Nancy. (inspired by "Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift")

Steddie

Oneshot:

This or That: (Explicit) You can't seem to figure out what you like better between Steve and Eddie.

Series

Folklore: In which nervoushottee creates a series of fanfics insipred by the songs from Folklore by Taylor Swift

dividers by @saradika

#steve harrington #joel miller #steve harrington fic #joel miller x reader #frankie morales fanfiction #santiago garcia fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #joel miller fanfic #nervoushotteechats #steddie x reader imagine #steve and eddie #lucien flores x reader

[potuzzz]

Ukra8ne zelensky easter sunday mayochup operation blizzard beastmode sexpest siegfried de la norte abdominal ordinance achieved tragic habsgate receding placental waste pastelgoth wordsalad earn keep create talk talmboutit cybergoth cryptological zoological entomological no scratch that etymological sundance sunroom goober gooseberry tripod attachment gunblr proana mesotheliomic mesopotamesque keter vault igoresque level accent achieved short-term memoryloss DACA feinstein sherbert chrome achievement God's Child Lamb of Fruit Bane of Suffering treacle tart ninja vortex kawasaki kowalski cartographological imbued post-hoc nostradamus analysis cache shipping container swamplands blueheart mandate bloodline erasure sextonic solemn retard flutter bread-and-butter sickle-cell triglycericidal solution 3:1 nonsense cleanup follow-through industrial-grade HBO (help a brotha out) fast ophthalmological dragon erasure archive feint plunge hug-sullen edward cullen scissorhead sza magnate daisy-sown low-strength proselytized polyfiber fandom eggbutch obama-romney misfired seizure spray cleat-wired fender telecaster sophist improvised fragmentation shortrib particleboard adrenal decay ribosomalogical terraced brenda shortorder orderform formulaic laila lacrosse cross-stitch stitchwork workforce force withdrawal 9mm gecko spray achievers united

[katy-133]

What's so funny to me about the whole "Medic vs Mercy" thing is that, if you try to look at it with a non-biased mindset, both characters could have worked and been very well-received. When you get right down to it, they are both one-sentence character archetypes (Medic is "a mad scientist" and Mercy is "an angel taken human form").

It's just that Medic was given additional nuance, because as you play Team Fortress 2, you learn about the contradictions to his character:

The medi gun he invented was originally designed to be a weapon but accidentally healed people instead, so he rolled with it.

He treats his fellow teammates as both his found family, and also as his own personal science experiments.

Lost his medical licence because he stole a patient's skeleton.

Was at least 18 years old during WWII and possibly fled his hometown to either join the Allies or avoid being drafted in Germany (his WWII paraphernalia helmet is of German shape, but is white, not grey-green, and uses Geneva Convention/red cross iconography).

Stole his teammates' souls by surgically removing their hearts (hearts are souls in the TF2 universe) and placing them inside himself, but we later find out that he did this to cheat the Devil by preventing him from taking any of them.

Was given a marble bust of Hippocrates with the Solemn Vow engraved on it ("Do No Harm"), but ends up using it as a bludgeoning weapon, thereby breaking his vow in the most ironic way possible.

Loves taking care of birds and has a pet dove named Archimedes, whom he can recognise amongst all the other doves.

Mercy is seemingly "what you see is what you get." An angelic doctor who aims to heal others and felt hesitation in joining the war. She is exactly as advertised.

The fandom found potential nuance to her character when they found dialogue between her and Reaper that implies she helped create him (specifically the exchange, M: "What happened to you?" R: "You tell me, Doctor."). The twist that she possibly created one of the more evil-aligned characters in the game could have helped expand her character, but the devs reacted by saying that the bark lines are not canon, essentially shutting down the conversation, and eventually giving Reaper a different backstory. I have no idea why the devs wouldn't just lean into it, even if it wasn't their initial idea. It was a concept that could have potentially made the fans more invested with Mercy (which is something you want if you're running an MMO) and would give them a starting point for giving players scraps of new lore to keep themselves fed between game updates. It's like Overwatch 2 is allergic to money (but then again, Activision Blizzard isn't known for listening--there's a reason they are referred to as "the Devil's publisher").

In conclusion, Medic became the more contradictory, developed character, and the fandom loves him for it.

Medic can be both this:

*Meet the Medic's choir introduction plays*

And also this:

*Rocket Jump Waltz plays*

And I think that's neat.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #character development #storytelling #my text #WWII #cw: blood #video games

[lellarps]

closed starter to @rowan-revelry

Flying over those oak, snowy woods, and then heading to the horizon like a falcon. Pretending to target the horizon, but never really getting there. The cold, the rush. The wild.

His wings, at some point, sooner than he'd like to admit, did hurt, unused to the environment. But in all honesty, it was merely a breeze compared to the emptiness that accompanied him; the restlessness, the tumult inside from leaving a mate, and the safety of their intimacy.

But it... served its purpose.

In a way.

It brought a somewhat better pace to his heartbeat, to his mind.

Still pained, yes.

And he was still aware of how a terrible idea it was for him to accompany her.

But his head was somewhat... sober. Solemn. Two hours after his departure, when the blizzard was somewhat settled, Axis found his Queen and the entourage once again. He landed with an intended and resounding thud, bringing some looks to his form; flinches, even. His wings were wide before tucking them back.

Such a big, powerful, and (hardly did they know) unbound figure. Yet, he gracefully bowed to his Queen. If he hadn't glamoured his own smell, they'd also be able to smell what had happened earlier, and they'd certainly be terrified— for a Fey willing to mate held quite a distinctive smell, a dangerous one, that implied how territorial and protective it was likely to be.

And oh, if a Faerie about to mate wasn't the most terrifying thing to outsiders...

"Your Majesty" he said, his voice steadier than it had been before, calmer. Strangely so. "May I have a word, before we proceed?"

#axis and tara #axis' story #i hope this is alright! #i'm laughing my ass of tho bc i had been writing 'comission' instead of entourage #its a damn false cognate w my mother language sdfjskdlj

[jorvikpov]

Tonight, the island is dark.

These days, in fact, it is almost always dark. The sun barely rises anymore, only just peeking above the horizon at midday. It is a quiet, solemn season, a long wait for the winter solstice to pass and the days to begin getting brighter. This winter, they say, is different from all the rest: it is too cold, and too uneasy. There are whispers in the villages that something strange is afoot: some say they have found footsteps leading nowhere in otherwise untouched snow far too soon after a blizzard, and others tell tales of strange silhouettes or unseen, yet strongly felt, presences in the woods just before the storm started growing, almost as if something was there, conjuring forth the wind and snow. All such haunting stories are forgotten in the peaceful hours, when a deep, blinding white blanket lies over the island, so wondrous and bright and sparkling it almost makes up for the many missed hours of daylight—but in the long, cold, raging nights, grandparents will gather their grandchildren around the fireplaces, telling cautionary tales of snow and magic alike.

In a small, seaside village on Jorvik’s western coast, the Tuesday night is following its usual routine. The lit candles around the streets are beginning to burn out, storeowners finally packing away their wares or locking up for the day, children tucking into bed and adults sitting by their windows with a book, the evening paper, or simply each other as company. Many will flinch and open their curtains as a bright light shines through; upon finding its origin, they will draw the curtains shut, return to their business, though perhaps in a different room, and never speak of the sight that met them. In many years, the few children who snuck a peek at the strange occurrence may tell their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of the lonely, cold winter night that the sun rose, if only for a moment.

Atop a hill overlooking a quaint fishing village, you glow with the light of something—someone—long gone; it is powerful and bright beyond your comprehension, and yet perfectly within your reach. In front of you, a small, strangely metallic apple hangs loosely on a branch that seems almost to reach towards you; the apple reflects your light, colouring the world a deep, blinding gold. Around you, just out of the light’s reach, are dozens of green, glowing eyes. They watch you, and they wait. For what, you do not care to find out. You take the apple, and you tell your horse—quick nudge to its sides, quick click of the tongue—to run.

#sso #ssoblr #star stable #star stable online #jorvikpov #told you I was actually back for real :]

[cryptid-killjoy]

Pixie Hollow Day 1

Willem was ready for his big adventure back to the Nevers with Nelly. Will would set out after Fat Tuesday. Smalls was invited along this time as a first and he would be very strict about when there had to be silence. Game face was on when he was in pirate mode. He heard the lost boys were gone, but he knew the Nevers as a dangerous place and would was going to approach it as such. He didn’t trust the land as much as he didn’t trust the lost boys. Oh, there would be silly moments and ungraceful moments because that was this pair, but survival in the Nevers was life or death. He wasn’t ready for his final adventure no matter how awfully great that one may be. 

He would be heart-stricken when he saw the storm Delta spoke of. This was a blizzard beyond Rudolf’s nose to brighten. Even his wings’ glow was hardly a lantern in the thick of it. He’d lived here all his life. The dragon was right. This was not normal, not natural. Something was wrong. 

The small band would trek their way through wind and freeze, through hills, and banks up to their knees, their thighs. He’d fly them free when needed, but the force of the wind oft knocked them back to the ground. Every route was a challenge physically. The wind make it impossible to fly it all. It would go on for days with campfire nights to keep them warm till they’d finally would breach the infamous lands of Pixie Hollow. 

He almost missed it at first. His eyes didn’t quite catch it. It was Nelly who was more the right size that pointed it out. It looked like a large forest department store in the trees, only maybe more like the style of cottages. Yes, a sweet cottage tree city built for dolls. Willem’s mind would see it as a doll house world, but it was simply pixies. Once you saw it, you saw it. There really were tiny doors on trees. Everything was so little Willem worried quickly how he was going to relate to these people once he found one. These were supposed to be his people. He suddenly felt like a giant. 

There was something else that was giant there though. There in the center of a circle of trees that seemed to make the grand entrance to Pixie Hollow was a glass coffin very similar to what was known in the tale of Snow White. There were arches of ivy growing over the corners in some attempt to either hide or be decorative. It was very ornate with blooms and was intricately well kept. Nelly flew right over it and put her hands over her mouth in a gasp. Willem had a feeling he knew who he was going to see if he walked upon it. 

Was it weird when he took the steps up to see his old nemesis encased in glass and flowers it finally dawned on him who Figaro reminded him of? It was Pan. It was Peter Pan all along. Maybe it was an odd thing to think as he pulled his bandanna off his head in a solemn move of respect, but after all the games they had played together this was who she reminded him of the most.

He was an elder boy, but a boy that would never grow up, right on the verge of growing up, but absolutely never would, absolutely refused. He remembered his words. “No one’s going to catch me and make me a man.” It was a battle between him and young Willem who was made to be a man since the day he could toddle and hold his father’s hook. 

Being ace didn’t make Smalls a child, but not all ace people acted as immaturely about it as she did. She had a different personality than most and that’s where this sudden comparison came to mind. Her maturity level never lasted. Even when something serious was happening she couldn’t sustain it. It wasn’t her sexuality that did that. It was something else. But, here was Pan, a boy that would never pass that gap either. The boy who wouldn’t grow up. Figaro was growing up in the body, but in the mind all she wanted to do was have fun. Pan didn’t grow up in the body anymore, and all he ever wanted to do was have fun too, and don’t even talk to him about sex. Squick. Their reactions were the same, like a child’s. The comparisons were suddenly so similar it astounded Will. Befriending Figaro was almost like getting to befriend the boy he was never allowed to because of his father, he always saw having fun, a little jealous of, while he had to work, work, work. What a world. 

It made Willem smile as he made it to the glass and looked in. He wasn’t decaying. He looked in ageless repose, but he wasn’t breathing, no fog on the inside of the glass. Willem rubbed on the outside just to double check. He was almost like a doll put away in a box. 

That’s what finally set off alarm bells in the hollow. A flutter of wings started to appear from all sides checking out the strangers. Willem put up his hands instantly to show they meant no harm. Nelly flew to his shoulder. His wings were already out just from needing the light to guide them along the way. So, they were looking at him in serious curiosity and caution. He had pixie wings, but he clearly wasn’t from there. This never happened in the Nevers. There was only the Nevers as far as Pixie Hollow knew. They weren’t the sort to go adventuring around the world. 

A fae approached and looked at the ready. She grew to Willem’s height. He had no idea they could do that. Well, he did. He knew they must have for his mother and his father to get together, or at least he assumed, but he’d never seen it in person. He noticed her ears right away. They were pointed unlike his. All he could think was if he noticed hers she was noticing his. His wings were out. He was so busy seeing all the subtle differences now that a person can’t catch if they’re lucky enough to see a pixie in the first place in garden or by a lake. He could see it in their fingers too, their eyes, even her wings. He wondered how much of it was individual and how much was because he wasn’t full fae. His curiosity was getting the better of him and he found himself staring. He wanted to ask, but he knew this wasn’t the time. 

She told him he didn’t belong here. This was a sacred place. He needed to state his business or leave. 

Okay, back up was coming. That pointy eared fucker looked like he meant business. Boy, no one better call that one light in the boot heels for being a fairy. Wings and pointy ears or not he looked like he could knock someone’s block off. Willem needed to shake his head back into reality and open his mouth. 

Will quickly stood up to calm things down and announced himself. He made it known Delta sent him even though that felt like a cop out because he was born and bred in the Nevers. Still, with all the changes in Feral he knew this was relevant now.  

Then what looked to be a fairy queen grew their size and stepped up and the others stepped back. She was someone special. He could tell by how the others acted. Delta’s name might have gotten this queen to reveal herself, but she still had questions. 

“And what is it about you that makes Delta think you’re up for this task?” 

The male was pumped enough to speak out of turn and ask, “Yes, who are you, halfling?” There was connotation in that moniker too, insinuation he couldn’t be of relevance here. 

The queen put up her arm to coax him back and made a hiss sound. 

Nelly flew off Will’s shoulder and buzzed straight towards the guy and if it wasn’t for Will’s natural reflex that reached up and caught her by the cloth of her bum, with her fists still duking it out in the air, she’d have chosen violence, the feisty, little, frog legged, bugger of a dolly. Smalls had probably been rubbing off on her a bit too. She was already built for it. 

That one really got under Will’s skin after all he’d been through with humans, with the witches, magic kind in general, hiding who he was, just all of it. Delta chose him to help. He trudged all the fucking way here in the God damn snow to help and this is his greeting? He took a step back. He took a deep breath. He looked around at all the little wings fluttering and at Figaro. He could see Nelly’s shimmer on his shoulder. He thought about who he was for a second. He thought about his name changes and the very question just seriously got under his skin. This was the one time he finally couldn’t take it. 

He hiked his very pirate shaped boot up on the edge of that glass coffin at the seal. He put down his pack right in the snow. His wings gave a flutter and he cracked his neck. 

“I’m Wild Will... Son of Captain Hook and Dusty Maroon. You know Dusty Maroon, don’t you?” He gave his wings another flutter so a little extra pixie dust would be emphasized. 

That wiped every pixie’s face of expression whether small or grown. The small ones all landed as if the news was too much to bear and keep in the air. 

“Tinker Bell’s child?” 

“Yeah, actually why don’t you call me Mr. BellHook. I think that’ll suit me just fine. I’m in a formal mood. We should all show good form, you see. We barely know each other.” 

Ohhh, Hook’s sassy dramatics were coming out now. Nelly was marching back and forth across the glass top as he spoke with her arms cross nodding her head like so take that like every word was a mic drop. 

The queenly looking fae actually tilted her head in a bow. “As we should, Mr. BellHook. As we should. Thank you for gracing us with your presence, for I am Queen Clarion.” 

Good form was given and so was a name Will combined and made up on the spot out of spite and boiling blood. This leader received it well and Willem was welcomed with treated respect after that. There were still pixies that were cautious. So many were terrified of Hook, but there was not a pixie that didn’t know Tinker Bell’s connection with Pan - not a pixie except for the halfling that walked up so disturbed now with a chip on his shoulder. His dream of walking into this place was spoiled in all under two minutes by the same old bullshit. His walls were building and he almost didn’t care by the time the royal tried to sit him down to talk things out and to smooth things over with their only hope for the Nevers. 

He could see it in all their little eyes. He’d done it now announcing himself like that. The fear. There was a tiny part of him that wanted to shout “I don’t believe in fairies” just to make them stop, but he wasn’t actually that mean. He was still thinking about it. He was still angry. He wanted to tear the big guy’s ears off. Halfling. Bah. It was in his tone. He’d show him boot heels. He’d pull a blade right out of his and use it. He was having terrible thoughts. This is why he liked the walls with Hansel. People sucked and the walls were just easier.

Willem decided he didn’t want to have anymore discussions that night. He was point of fact fed up, but also fucking tired. So, to keep up his formality he’d say he was tired from his travels and he’d had quite enough for one day. He and his companions needed rest and accommodations. Anything else could wait. 

Queen Clarion would tell him they’d be happy to provide and Willem would try to turn it down because he’d have to explain he couldn’t shrink like them and to call it a glitch of being part human. Then everyone would get a sly expression on their face. 

“Faith and trust, Mr. BellHook. Faith and trust and a little bit of pixie dust go a long way. We’ll guide you through this. Oh, Nutmeg. Nutmeg do be a dear.” 

Then Queen Clarion would assign a younger fae to be Willem’s host and get them settled in for the night. 

“Just follow me. I’ll show you the way.” 

The way. Willem rolled his eyes feeling like he was in an episode of The Mandalorian not sure how walking towards a tree with doors a couple inches tall was going to do any good. He wasn’t sure what happened, but by the time his steps reached the doorway he fit. He didn’t do it himself. That was for sure. She looked back him with this sly little smirk as the group followed behind her small enough to fit in their fine luxury accommodations for the night. 

She’d show them around the bathroom, bedrooms, a whole mini apartment, like a hotel suite, very cottage-like though, very bed and breakfast with the style, very fitting with the nature themes. There would be a wood burning stove, hot water, a kettle, the whole bit. Everything would be made out of parts of nature, like acorn mugs in the cupboard, lovely tumbled stones as flatware. 

“If you need anything just pull the bell.” She tugged on a little bell that was on the wall attached to a string that ran out the door. “I’ll be back with a warm supper and hot drinks soon, Mr. BellHook.” 

“Um, you can, you can call me Will- Willem. I mean if I’m calling you Nutmeg. Seems only fair.” 

“As you wish.” Then she’d head out and Willem would close the door and lean and against and Nelly would fly up to his face and cross her arms tapping her big thwappy webbed foot in the air. “Way to hold your ground, sucker.” She just shook her head at him. “You are so predictable.” 

“Nutmeg’s a cute name though, right?” 

 She stuck her dagger at the end of his double pierced nose. “Don’t.”

#willem head canon #head canon #I'm assuming figaro came with him #if not ignore figaro references #if so feel free to add to it #and let it be a scene #or more head canon

[telvannibugmusk]

Gamers couldn't handle Sombra being 30 so blizzard made a solemn vow to never create another female character over the age of 27

[snowfallenlavender]

tfw when your sibling f/os are, two screen demons, a literal demon, the third lotus prince, and 3 aliens, your mom f/o is a queen who is flawed. and when your dad f/os are literally the Monkey King himself and a king with issues.

and you only have two human brothers.

#snowyspeaks #snowythoughts #platonic f/o #familial f/o #hammer in pink #jewel bat #cream cheese #ice cream lady #screenplay #shotgun shell #peach monkey #lotus blossoms #i need a hero #basketball pro #hollyberry flowers #solemn blizzards

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 8

(Ch. 7), (Ch. 6), (Ch. 5) (Ch. 4), (Ch. 3), (Ch. 2), (Ch. 1)

Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: Alix (Codename: Juliette) and Nixon (Codename: Édouard) hunt for a Gestapo informer masquerading as a Resistance fighter. Will they sniff out the rat in time or will the collaborator complete their objective of seeing the Carentan faction eliminated? WARNINGS: The usual war + espionage stuff Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere

Contemporary: June 10th, 1944. Saint-Hilaire-Petitville, France.

Alix had seriously underestimated the amount of waiting around that came with being an OSS operative.

“Thérèse, this is Juliette,” she stated for the third time into the handheld transceiver, doing her best to enunciate clearly so her French wouldn’t be scrambled by the radio. “Do you read me? Verify status. Over.”

Silence.

Alix chewed on her bottom lip nervously. It didn’t usually take this long to clear a dead drop and lateness in espionage never boded well. 

The Resistance fighter in question, codenamed Thérèse, was a new trigger but she had been trained well by the group, especially on such short notice. After a string of recent arrests, she was the only member of the on-the-ground surveillance team left.

Fortunately, the trigger position wasn’t too difficult: scope out potential sabotage locations, report on potential targets, and pick up any info that was dropped off in locations near her designated watch zone. Thérèse was a “pavement artist”– it was her job to blend in with the scenery and she was damn good at it. 

While she waited for their contact to answer, Alix took the opportunity to subtly survey the flat and its occupants from the cluttered desk. Resting an elbow on top of one of Henri's many medical textbooks, she leaned her head on her hand as she quietly took note of the scene.

Everyone was spread out across the small bedroom, each of the Resistance members staking an unspoken claim to their particular section.

Their 20 year old courier, codenamed Camille, was stretched out on the far side of the bed, dozing off after 48 hours straight of helping Alix organize supplies for the front lines. For someone perpetually in motion, seeing her nearly still was as jarring and unnatural as a blizzard in the middle of summer. 

Pacing by the boarded-up window like a restless ghost was Henri who had been thrust into the position of impromptu leader out of necessity. The quick work of the informer– whoever he or she was– had resulted in the recent capture and arrest of four founding members just the week before Alix's arrival, crippling the faction's leadership and momentarily disrupting their operations.

 After the arrest of the former leader, a Jewish teenager from Coutances codenamed Toulouse, Henri had seniority so despite his initial reluctance to take the spotlight, he did eventually assume the role.

He was a pre-med student who had just turned 21 but carried himself with the solemnity of a man twice his age. He never complained but the ever-present dark circles under his eyes had become so deep as of late that they had begun to look like bruises.

Their resident bombmaker (or “Bang-Bang Boy” as the guys at HQ jokingly referred to them) was a schoolboy of about 16, codenamed Edgar, who was sitting in the chair opposite Alix, leafing through the latest issue of Défense de la France, a popular underground newspaper the Resistance had been distributing.

Gaunt with a lank flap of ash-blond hair and a sickly, almost anemic pallor, it was easy to see why no one would suspect him of being a saboteur for the Resistance– he looked as though a sudden breeze might strike him dead. 

Jean-Pierre, their bagman, sat cross-legged on the closest side of the bed, lazily whistling the best part of "Sing Sing Sing" as he checked his watch again for the millionth time.

A fisherman’s son from Calais who had fled to Carentan at 19 after his family were killed, he was one of the newer Resistance members but also one of the most effective. Jean-Pierre had a sort of breezy charm about him which was a necessity for a bag-man. It allowed him to quickly ingratiate himself with the local authorities, bribing them for information and in many cases, for their silence as well.

Despite his generally easy-going nature, JP could be brash at times; he and Alix had quickly bonded over their shared tendency toward recklessness and a passion for Benny Goodman records.

Like her, he also wanted to be as involved in every mission he could. If he wasn't in the field bribing officials, he was helping to plan operations, forge documents, mark maps, whatever was needed. Having been rejected by the French army for having severe asthma, JP told her he was sick of feeling helpless, a feeling Alix knew all too well.

Sitting around, waiting for her targets to arrive in the Kill Zone made her feel helpless too. It’d already been almost a week since D-Day and she had yet to go on a single assassination operation.

Instead, she was relegated to planning acts of sabotage and organizing supplies for the front lines, a fact that was eating away at her like a poison.

All the smatterings of gunfire in the distance, the explosions and the roar of tanks nearby, all the screaming and crying and bleeding and dying, and she wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop it.

Her boyfriend, her best friends, and thousands of others were out there risking their lives and she was stuck inside with a radio and a map. It was beyond maddening. 

In selling out four founding members of the Carentan Resistance just a week shy of Alix's arrival, the Gestapo's mole --whoever he or she was-- had essentially upended every pre-planned operation in the OSS playbook and made it virtually impossible for her to do her job as planned.

She couldn't complete her assassination ops without Resistance support and her contact -- who she'd spent months building a cover and rapport with through correspondence-- had already been arrested and was most likely enduring unimaginable horrors at the hands of the Gestapo. He was French, Jewish, and a Resistance leader: there was no way the Nazis would interrogate him without employing incomprehensible methods of torture designed to maximize his pain, regardless of what he said or did.

Alix felt her throat beginning to burn at the thought of her ally's suffering and she squeezed her eyes shut before any tears could surface.

Whenever I find the mole who sold him out, she vowed silently as she clenched her fist and tried to steady her breathing. I'm going to rip them limb from limb.

Suddenly, the transceiver on the desk crackled to life again and her eyes shot open.

“Juliette, this is Thérèse. Drop cleared. Dry-cleaning now. Out.” 

From the window, Henri exhaled audibly, his shoulders relaxing in his relief. 

One part complete.

"Took her long enough," Camille mumbled without even opening her eyes.

"See, what did I tell you?" Jean-Pierre prodded as he fiddled with the much-larger radio set Alix had brought them earlier in the week. "Thérèse was being followed. Why else would she be trying to evade a tail after the pick-up?"  

“Gee, I don’t know,” Camille muttered bitterly, sitting up with her back against the wooden headboard. “Maybe because she’s lying?” 

"Here we go again," Alix grumbled and Henri just sighed.

Camille's outbursts didn't usually end well.

"And why would she be lying, Camille?" Jean-Pierre asked in a monotonous voice of exaggerated tolerance, his expression pinched. “Do remind us. I don't think you've said it in the last 30 minutes."

"Don't patronize me, JP, you know why!" Camille's voice rose to a fever pitch. "It's because she's the fucking mole!"

Alix's eyebrows shot up to the ceiling and in front of her, Edgar slammed his newspaper shut so quickly that the front page ripped. 

“She’s my sister," he retorted incredulously. "She's not the mole!” 

“And how would you know, little one?” Camille shot back, her green eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Perhaps it’s you!” 

“We’re twins!” Edgar burst out with a surprising amount of aggression given his frail appearance, his French coming out so quickly that Alix could barely understand him. “We share everything! I would know if she was!”

“Camille,” Alix said measuredly, trying her best to be diplomatic. “We know how much Toulouse meant to you, but-” 

"You don't know anything, Juliette," Camille snapped, rounding on her. "You have barely been here a week! How do we even know we can trust you?! Toulouse trusted you and now he's-"  

The words died in her throat.

Alix clenched her jaw, forcing down her rising rage.

Camille's running on 48 hours of no sleep, she reminded herself, lighting a cigarette to help cool her down.

And her boyfriend is probably being brutalized right now, if he's not already dead, because he was betrayed by someone he knew. She's just looking for someone to blame. How would you feel if you lost Joe like that?

"You've seen my bona fides," she stated tersely after taking a long drag. "You've seen every document. You've spoken to my case officer. You've read the letters-- seen the code. You know I'm clean." 

"Jules has no reason to lie," JP chimed in, aiming a nod of support to Alix. "She has no motive." 

"Thank you-" Alix said with a small huff of irritation and a There-You-Have-It gesture but JP wasn't done.

"But you know who does…?" 

He swiveled his head toward Henri with an accusatory glare. 

It was an allegation so audacious that it took a second for it to fully set in. 

"Me?" Henri took a step back, brown eyes wide. "You must be joking!"

But no one was laughing.  

"You did say your parents were Party members once…" Edgar mused, suddenly eyeing their leader with a newfound suspicion.

"I've never hidden that," the older boy replied evenly, meeting his gaze with a calm defiance. "I despise them and everything they stand for. That’s no secret.”

“Why're you always shortchanging me then?” Jean-Pierre demanded as he got to his feet. 

Henri’s brows furrowed in confusion. 

"What on Earth are you on about?" 

"Oh don't play stupid, Henri," Jean-Pierre scoffed, crossing his arms contemptuously. "It doesn't suit you." 

"If you have something to say, then say it," Henri challenged, nearly bellowing. It was the loudest Alix had ever heard him speak and she jumped at the sound.

"Very well," Jean-Pierre sighed, sounding almost reluctant as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.  

"I've tried to cover for you this long because I like you, Henri, but you leave me no choice. You barely give me enough money for me to do my job! How am I supposed to bribe officials for valuable intel with barely enough money to feed a rat?"

"If there's not much, it's because we don't have a lot left after expenses," Henri contested angrily. "Sabotage materials aren't cheap, you know!" 

"Or you're skimming off the top," Jean-Pierre prodded, giving his nose a quick scratch.

"My God," Henri marveled with a hollow laugh. "All my money goes to the Resistance or to my studies! If I was stealing from our funds, do you honestly think I would still be living in a place like this?" 

He gestured to the tiny run-down flat they were in and Alix certainly saw his point.

With its yellowing wallpaper already dog-eared and peeling, the ever-present drip…drip…drip of the faucet, and the faint smell of mildew, she couldn't imagine living in a place like that unless it was an absolute necessity but Jean-Pierre clearly wasn't convinced.

"Perhaps it's not even about the money," he posited, his startlingly gray eyes blazing. "Perhaps it's just about sabotaging us so you can help out your degenerate parents!" 

"You take that back," Henri growled but with a shout of "Traitor", Jean-Pierre swung at the older boy, leading to an immediate scuffle on the carpet. 

Alix swore in French and stubbed her cigarette out quickly before springing into action.

Apparently today, "aiding the Resistance" meant keeping the members from killing each other.

Edgar didn't move from his chair, busying himself with a homemade pencil fuse instead, while Alix and Camille rushed to separate the two boys. 

Camille grabbed a panting Henri by the back of his heavy wool sweater and hauled him off of his assailant just as Alix managed to drag JP to his feet and wrench his arms behind his back, effectively restraining him despite his irate protestations. 

The agent was about to cuss them both soundly for engaging in such idiocy without a speck of proof, when a loud clatter down the hall quieted her instantly.

Instinct took over and before she knew it, she was standing in the bedroom doorway, revolver at the ready with Jean-Pierre behind her, his own handgun loaded as well.

While the pair waited with bated breath, Henri scrambled to disassemble the larger clandestine radio, Camille raced to stash the smaller handheld one, and Edgar began shoving as many contraband newspapers under the chair cushion and mattress as he could.

With a silent signal to JP, Alix crept soundlessly out the door and he followed in her footsteps down the hall, when they both lowered their weapons with a collective sigh of relief. 

It was Thérèse, still clad in her school clothes: a rumpled wool sweater too large for her frame, loafers, and a gingham skirt, making her look even younger than her 16 years. 

She never gets to be a child, Alix thought sadly as the girl gave them a small wave. Now she’s a soldier. 

“Good to see you, Thérèse,” Jean-Pierre proclaimed with a wide smile as the three headed back into the cramped bedroom of Henri’s tiny flat.

Once they entered again and locked the door, Edgar rushed to embrace his twin sister, the two chattering back and forth in rapid-fire French.

“You had us worried,” Henri chided the girl gently as she took a seat. “Was there something wrong with the initial drop?” 

Thérèse shook her head emphatically, causing the black ribbon to slowly slip out of her hair. 

“Not at all,” she replied as she turned the ribbon over in her hand. “The drop itself was fine but there was a point when I suspected I was being tailed. So I dry-cleaned for a little bit. You know, to keep from being spotted.” 

She and Alix exchanged furtive giggles.

It was a common joke in the intelligence community because trying to lose someone following you was known as “dry-cleaning”.

Lewis Nixon had taught the joke to Alix during her training as a way to remember the term and when Alix first arrived at the Resistance, she had taught it to Thérèse as well because she was on the main surveillance team. 

“Who did you think was tailing you?” Alix asked, sobering quickly.

Enemy intelligence already had one mole in the Carentan faction of the Resistance. If they were starting to pick out Resistance members on the street too, their jobs had just become a lot more dangerous.

 Thérèse shrugged before delicately nudging her wire-rimmed spectacles further up her nose. 

“I’m not sure exactly,” she divulged as she began to gingerly remove a lengthy strip of paper that had been carefully concealed inside the ribbon. “Perhaps it was just me being paranoid but I felt as though I was being watched so I took precautions, just to be sure.” 

Once she had removed the hidden note, she passed it over to Alix who squinted at it. It was badly crumpled, the creases so deep that she had to iron it out on her leg to be able to make out the writing on it, which was in script so cramped that it took her multiple tries to figure out what it said. 

Goddamn it, Nix, she scolded him in her head, making a mental note to repeat it later over the radio when they next had contact. Your handwriting is atrocious. Didn’t they ever teach you to write legibly at Yale?

She skipped to the postscript first. He had promised to keep her updated...

“DJS all accounted for. You’re welcome.” 

Don, Joe, and Skip were safe. Thank God.

“It’s from Édouard,” she announced to the rest of the group as she scanned the document for the actual contents.

Nixon’s codename was the French version of Edward, a not-so-subtle reference to the famous Edward Teach also known as Blackbeard. 

Very clever, Lieutenant, she thought, inwardly rolling her eyes.

“It looks like the Oberleutnant is arriving early,” she summarized.

“He’ll be passing through here in the next couple days on the way to Carentan. We should be able to catch him by nightfall the night after next, if all goes according to plan." 

But of course, things never did. 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Contemporary: June 12th, 1944. Saint-Hilaire-Petitville, France.

“Édouard, this is Juliette. We have a visual. Requesting permission to engage. Over.” 

Alix drummed her fingers impatiently against her thigh as she awaited her handler’s response.

Any day now, Nix. 

Peering through the stained curtains, she had a perfect view of her target: Oberleutnant Walter Hahn, who was chatting idly to a couple soldiers across the way, blissfully unaware that he was being watched by a team of Resistance assassins.

All Alix had to do was slip out the door, "accidentally" bump into Hahn as he made his exit, flirt a little bit, get him alone, and then it was going to be auf wiedersehen and good riddance to the Nazi bastard. 

Technically, Hahn wasn't supposed to be her problem until that night but it appeared that he and his men had arrived even further ahead of schedule than planned.

And who was Alix to question fate?  

It would be dangerous, no doubt. They would be in broad daylight and Alix’s training specified that she was to wait until nightfall, when her identity was easier to conceal.

But she was restless, growing more and more frustrated with her own inaction as the days went by. She was tired of planning, of smuggling supplies, of being safe while her loved ones were out there somewhere, fighting and dying. Like a tiger trapped in a cage, she wanted out. She wanted to do something. She wanted to help.

But she also knew that it only took one person in the immediate area remembering her face or clothing to have the entire Gestapo out looking for her. But she wanted to help! And besides, such a risky mission might take the mole, whoever he or she was, by surprise. 

“Édouard, this is Juliette,” she repeated, overenunciating her French to be sure she’d be understood. “We have a visual. Repeat: We have a visual. Requesting permission to engage. Over.”

She didn’t have to wait long that time.

Nixon’s response was swift and predictable.

“Negative, Jules. Too risky. Over.” 

Alix sighed in frustration, the crackles echoing across the line. 

"Apologies," Henri said with a sympathetic shrug. "But you heard the man." 

By the mirror, Camille stopped brushing her short-cropped brown hair to check her watch. 

"It won't be that much longer," she assured Alix. "Only a couple more hours." 

"By then it could be too late," Jean-Pierre countered, echoing Alix's own thoughts. "They could've moved on to Carentan. She should go now." 

Henri balked at the suggestion.

"And risk exposing the whole operation, are you mad?!"

"It is a gamble," Jean-Pierre conceded. "But it could pay off." 

"Or, most likely, it could blow up in our faces and get us all killed." Camille shook her head.

"I vote no, and I know Edgar and Thérèse would say the same if they were not blowing up bridges right now.”

“If Toulouse were here-” JP countered but Camille cut him off instantly.

“Well he isn’t!” Her voice quavered and Alix instantly averted her gaze. 

Her stomach flip-flopped with anxiety; she felt like she was intruding on a private moment of grief. She’d never been fortunate enough to meet Toulouse personally before his arrest but from their written correspondence in the weeks before her arrival, he’d seemed like an unusually bright and courageous person and she had looked forward to working with him. 

It felt strange in a way, to grieve the loss of a person she’d never officially met. A part of her felt like she didn’t have a right to feel sorrow over it. After all, she didn’t even know his real name and he hadn’t known hers.

Toulouse was to be her main contact in France; they had been tasked by the OSS to establish a trail of fake correspondence before her arrival, knowing without a doubt that all postcards and letters would be monitored by the Nazi authorities. Since the Nazi takeover, identification and alibis were meticulously investigated so every cover had to be a deep one.

 

“Dear Jules,” one of her favorite letters read.

“Mother is pleased to hear you may come to visit us! She's already planning a party of sorts– you know how she is. My girlfriend is very much looking forward to your arrival too! She's been very curious to meet my favourite cousin! Also, she's quite the musician and is dying to hear you play something when you arrive! Perhaps some Rachmaninoff– I’ve always been partial to Piano Concerto No. 2, myself. We are in desperate need of some music here. Regardless, I’m certain you two will get along wonderfully. I hope to propose to her soon, whenever this damn war (and more importantly, her father) will let me. I had hoped her little brother Gilles would be able to meet you as planned but he and some of his schoolmates have recently fallen ill and some are already in hospital. Hopefully it doesn't come to that for him or I fear we all may catch it. Anyway, I’ve got to be off now. Shabbos preparations wait for no one! 

All the best, 

Your favourite (and only) cousin, 

Toulouse 

PS. Enclosed is a photograph of Voltaire, who also sends his best (and a hairball, for good measure)."

A seemingly innocuous letter, just two cousins conversing about an upcoming family get-together. 

Certainly not an OSS agent and her Resistance contact discussing an upcoming sabotage attempt, the arrest of a Resistance member, a request for a clandestine radio to send further reports, and that the leader suspected more arrests might follow.

But despite every line being coded, Toulouse had still managed to slip some of his sunny personality in-between. He reminded Alix a lot of Skip in that way: ever an optimist, even in the darkest of times. She wished she could've had the chance to introduce the two. She knew they would've been good friends.

The best covers were made of partial truths and their faked correspondences had been no different. The photo of Voltaire, Toulouse's pensive-looking Persian cat, had been real as were his feelings for Camille. 

According to Thérèse, when Pascal's flat was raided and the arrests had been made, Toulouse had actually been carrying the engagement ring he'd hoped to give Camille in his pocket. 

Alix couldn't even begin to fathom the agony that Camille must live with every day knowing how close the pair of them had been to happiness. If God forbid that ever happened to her and Joe, Alix knew she would lose her mind. 

“Toulouse isn’t here,” Camille repeated, clasping her trembling hands in her lap in a futile attempt to still them. “The Gestapo have him. So it doesn’t matter what he would’ve done.”  

No one spoke for a moment, her words hanging in the air like a death knell, before Henri broke the silence in his usual understated way.

"Well as leader, my say is final and I say you’re waiting until nightfall. Sorry, Jules."

With that, he turned back to his work, manning the larger radio and quickly tapping out signals as Camille scribbled down codes via headset, monitoring the progress of nearby skirmishes. 

“You don’t have to listen to them, you know,” Jean-Pierre whispered out of the corner of his mouth as he began measuring out the coordinates on his end of the map spread out in front of them. “You work with us, not for us, yes? You don’t take orders from them.”

Alix checked her notes before stretching an arm out halfway on her side of the map and deftly marking the coordinates of another supply drop zone.

“I know," she acknowledged as she returned to her notes.

 "But I'm required to take orders from my handler and he said to wait too.”

Jean-Pierre barked a low laugh. 

“Perhaps it is different with you Americans but in France, we do not need nursemaids to look after our operatives. We have common sense." 

“Oh fuck off," Alix quipped as she reached around him to steal a pushpin from his pile. “Maybe Édouard is right in this case, okay?” 

Jean-Pierre made a skeptical noise in the back of his throat.

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

It took all of Alix’s self-control not to elbow him in the ribcage.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

About thirty minutes went by uneventfully before JP set his pencil down.

"Finally," he remarked with a dramatic wipe of his brow. "All finished."

He took a surreptitious glance at his watch which Alix thought was unusual but she dismissed it.

"Now if you all will excuse me, I'm going to grab a glass of water. I'm parched."

Henri nodded in the direction of the kitchen, hardly looking up from his work.

"You know where everything is."

"Don't get lost," Alix joked and JP flashed her a quick grin.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Gesturing to a sheet of paper by his side of the map, he noted, "By the way, Jules, could you be a lamb and double-check my coordinates while I'm gone? The notes are over there. Wouldn't want any supplies getting misplaced on my account."

After the door closed behind him, Alix reached over to pick up the sheet of paper, a frown appearing on her face as she tried in vain to make out the slightly-smudged numbering.

She squinted, held it up to the light, and even turned it upside down for a new angle but to no avail. It still looked like chicken-scratch. It wasn’t worse than Nixon’s cramped script, which nearly had letters written on top of each other at some points, but it certainly came close. 

After a final, futile attempt, Alix resignedly glanced over to the desk in the corner where Camille and Henri were hunched, still working with the larger radio.

There was nothing she hated more than admitting she couldn’t do something but she had work to do. 

"Camille, can you come look at this real quick?" she asked, swallowing her pride and holding up the paper for her to inspect. "I can't make heads or tails of this line." 

The French girl let out a reluctant sigh, as though helping Alix was the world’s biggest inconvenience, but she still put down the headset and got up, with the air of a martyr. Just as she reached the table, Alix passed the paper over to her, accidentally knocking a pen to the floor with her sleeve. 

This is why they should let me wear civvies in my off-time too, she thought in annoyance as she rolled up the sleeves of her uniform. These uniforms are just too damn big.

She had just crouched to retrieve the pen when all of a sudden, the window shattered and Camille came crashing down onto the carpet beside her, green eyes wide with shock.

Clutching a hand to her chest, scarlet was starting to stain her shirt, pouring like paint through her fingers and Alix felt her own blood run cold. Leaping into action, she began to stifle the bleeding as best she could with her hands as a scream of warning ripped from her throat to the others: 

"Sniper!"

#I wonder who the informer is...🤔🤔🤔 #Cliffhanger [jazz hands lol] #suspense #thriller #spy thriller #Band of Brothers #BoB #Band of Brothers fandom #Band of Brothers fanfiction #Band of Brothers fanfic #espionage thriller #Band of Brothers imagine #spy fic #HBO War #HBO War Band of Brothers #betrayal #angst #HBO War fanfiction #HBO War fandom #Carentan #Lewis Nixon #OC x Joe Liebgott #OC x Canon #French Resistance #WW2 fanfic #mywork #FireOnFire #FOFChapters

[beatrixblog]

The Endless Blizzard

TW ! body horror, death

I had a dream about this and thought i’d make it. What if frost queen cookie attacked the soldiers of the dark cacao kingdom? What if it all went horribly wrong? By the way this does include my cursed dark cacao au but  this does NOT i repeat does NOT take place before or at the same time as my  bearer of the curse post this takes place like a few months after

Dark Cacao Cookie awoke sitting hurled against a withered tree, the blizzard raging Admist the past chaos. He gazed up to see the many disembodied limbs sticking up from underneath the thick layers of snow, and the horrid stench of strawberry jam emanating from the corpses. He knew that this was once, his army. But what happened? He flinched, staring horrified at the destruction. Immediately his expression turned solemn, because he knew as his duty as King he had to carry on, despite the tradgedy. One particular hand that stuck out had the sleeve of a familiar black and white robe. ``Caramel Arrow Cookie..!`` He gasped softly, picking her Unconscious body up from under the snow. He placed his hand on her chest. ``She Still Has A Pulse..Shes Still Alive.`` He removed his cape, placing it around her as he sat her against the withered tree. Walking over to one of the corpses, he spotted a vial of healing medicine glowing from the pocket of the deceased healer. He picked it up, walking back to where Caramel Arrow Cookie lay. He slowly opened her mouth and poured the medicine in, hoping she would wake up soon enough. He sat next to her Unconscious body, just waiting…yet the curse was growing impatient, clawing at his countenance. He Couldn’t lose control..not now. He picked up his sword, gripping it tightly as he checked for any remaining survivors. He must have found about 2.. because his expression turned melancholy as he picked up the survivors. Luckily.. one of the two was one of the other watchers, and one was Crunchy Chip Cookie. The wolf squadron must have been decimated by the snowstorm. He laid them next to Caramel Arrow, trying to recall how this occurred…thats right. They were marching off to battle, to go battle the licorice sea which once more which constantly threatened their existence..when the blizzard all of a sudden swept us off our feet and decimated the rest of our army in an avalanche. But that wasn’t normal…was it something? Or someone?

He suddenly thought he heard something...the voice of Dark Choco Cookie.. which had constantly been bothering him every since he left..but this time it was more persistent.``Son?`` He called out weakly, his voice wheezy and raspy from the painful cold. He was too pained to think clearly, so he had no choice.  The snowstorm seemed to grow harsher as he walked towards the dark figure. He kept walking…however seemed to find no one was there. The pain must have made him hallucinate. He began to tremble, clenching his fists in vexation. Gripping his sword tightly, he collapsed nearby the tree, feeling himself succumbing to his sorrow. He felt his heart begin to pound, with every beat increasing in speed. He held his head in his hands, as thick tears ran down his face. He wiped his tears, getting up. Yet he found it was hard to stand because of his injuries. He grunted as he sat back down, figuring he should wait to regain his strength before continuing. The others must have waken up by now.

He stared at the pearl white sky among the blizzard..something about it was oddly..alluring. The blizzard had calmed down slightly.. Yet something still felt wrong. He winced, holding his wound in pain. He stared down at it, confused as it began to heal. ``Hm..? What The..`` He clutched his weapon. He felt his heart racing as his head began to throb. He grunted in discomfort..as his eyes narrowed. ``Oh No- Not..Hrgh…Again…!`` He gripped his arm, feeling the discomfort turn to pain… and the pain turn to agony. Falling to his knees, he suddenly hurled over, grovelling against the snow. A thick black mist began to form around him, as the tips of his hair became smoke like. His vision became murky and bleek, as if it was being tainted. He gripped onto the tree, trying to get up with the little strength he had. Yet another surge of pain made his grip on his sword loosen, and made him collapse once more. His hands began to violently contort, straining against the fabric of his gloves. Just in time, and just barely, he removed his gloves, noticing the tips of his fingers faded into black, this.. darkness spreading across his hand. ``Uuurgh….What..Why..Now!?`` He gripped his wrist, his grunts and groans becoming more guttural. More agony seared through his body like fire…he screamed, his cries of pain becoming strained. It was now harder to talk, for his mouth had started to melt. He could only cry or scream. He banged his fist on the floor in frustration, his claw now fully formed with the knuckles protruding from the rest of the hand towards him like razors. ``Hhh..Rrrrrgh…Ca..nnt…M..move…`` Whilst he screamed in agony, his pained voice started to become more screech like and monstrous, akin to a demon. His dough had also began to darken, his form now almost ghost like. As his legs and forearms began to break away into the same mist-like smoke, he could only growl in pain, his eyes became white with rage, and the beast’s mouth had Disappeared. His crown had now become dismembered, only the spikes of it floating like crystals around its head. Grunting, a muffled cracking sound emitted from its body, as it  quadrupled in size to about 50 ft tall.

#Cookie Run Kingdom #Cookie Run AU #cursed dark cacao au #Berserk dark cacao #beserk dark cacao #Frost queen cookie #Dark cacao cookie #caramel arrow cookie #crunchy chip cookie #dark choco cookie

[gnomeyflamingo]

After deciding on a name, Brielle has herself checked again.

Dr B. Townie: “You’re 7cm dilated! Almost there! Are you excited?”

Brielle: “... Not really.”

Dr B. Townie: “I am. I love births. The pain. The gore. The risk of death.” *dreamy sigh*

Brielle has secluded herself, away from the worryingly sadistic doctor and is still feeling really sad. She tries to bounce the pain away and Alejandro is giving her some space by taking a nap on a hospital bench.

Brielle goes for a solemn walk in the blizzard outside and through the staff-only research lab. It’s been a long thirteen-sim hours of labouring.

Dr B. Townie: “You’re fully dilated! We're getting to the good part. The really painful part.”

Brielle: “Okay. I’m going to talk to a different doctor now because you scare me.”

Dr B. Townie: “Aw but I wanted to witness your suffering..."

Alejandro: “Okay I’m here for you and still sharing your sadness.”

Dr C. Townie: “Hi there I’m Dr-”

Brielle: “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Brielle: “AHHHHHHHHH WATCHER LET IT END!”

Dr C. Townie: “Keep pushing, I can see the head-”

Brielle: “ARGHHHHHHHH WHY, WHY GNOMES WHY?!”

Alejandro: “You're doing great. You're amazing, you got this Brielle!"

Dr C. Townie: "Here’s baby!”

Brielle: “Oh, oh hello there little man. Welcome to the world.”

Alejandro: “By the Watcher, he’s so beautiful!”

Brielle: “He... has so many teeth. Is that normal?”

Dr. C Townie: “Yes object babies are like that. Congratulations!”

Alejandro: “We are parents now. We have a baby! You did it! Are we still naming him Atreo?”

Brielle: “Yes, Atreo Atherstone. And he’s gorgeous. If he defeats his future sibling, he’ll break so many hearts.”

Alejandro: “...Uh?”

Brielle: “Sorry, so tired. Hold him please.”

Alejandro: “Hi there Atreo. It’s me, your papi and I love you so much already.”

Atreo: *pure disgust*

Alejandro: “You look hungry, here have a pocket inventory bottle. That's better, isn't it?”

And here we are, back home with our new baby/possible heir, Atreo and his birth certificate. Everyone is soon fast asleep, recovering from this long and hectic day.

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#ALGN1 BIRTH #ts4 #sims #ts4 story #sims 4 story #sims legacy #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 #gnomey flamingo's legacy #Atherstone Legacy Gen1 #simblr #ts4 simblr #ALGN1P3P11

[mythriteshah]

The Regalia’s Magnum Opus - Blessed by Winter

Winter.

That one word alone brings with it a myriad of concepts.  To some, it is the passing of life and a solemn end to the Autumn season.  To others, it is a time of reflection and solitude - an epoch of rumination as the year draws to a close, preparing ourselves for what's to come.   And to others still, it heralds a natural cleansing of the realm, as the frigid snows and chilling gusts wipe clean land's slate for the arrival of its distant yet equally-beautiful sibling known only as Spring.  All this and more culminates with the newest echelon of haute couture that will sweep across Etheirys like a blizzard of katabatic proportions.

This... is the Himvat Gallery.

Created wholly through Lord Thiji’s latest permutation of Mythril, cloth, and solvent, this clothing line is unlike the previous, for these masterful pieces of attire were made solely for the adventuring public.  In a manner to rival Mistress Tataru’s Boutique, the Higuri Regalia has, for the first time ever, established a special fashion edition for the Disciples of War, Magic, Hand, and Land. Naturally, this constitutes a large number of outfits - the largest in any line ever released by the Regalia. 

Each set of gear – known colloquially as “Artifact Armor” by adventurers – are made in the colors of House Higuri: ice blue, silver white, and lavender violet, but are completely dyeable to the wearer’s desires.   Thanks to the Himvat materials invented by the Diamond Sultan – “Himvat” meaning “Wintry” in the Thavnairian tongue - these ensembles have a natural affinity for Ice-aspected aether, but can be comfortably worn by any individual of any aetherial signature.  These “Warriors of Frost” would have an innate advantage in the warmer climes and Winter months, as they are kept safe from the blazing light of Azeyma’s rays or kept warm during a Coerthan blizzard respectively.

Opening the catalogue’s  contents, you would find a picture of the Diamond Sultan on the very first page, and a foreword on the other, undoubtedly by the aforementioned merchant-lord of fashion…

“Greetings, reader.  I am Thiji sor Higuri, Diamond Sultan of the Higuri Regalia.   Beyond this page lies the Power in Beauty Catalogue’s Himvat Gallery - created entirely from my own genius and mastery over Winter.  If you have the drive and the will to achieve new heights of fashion, we humbly welcome you to browse.”

“Unlike the previous clothing lines leading up to this one, the anti-glamour enchantment I place upon those who desire to wear the Regalia’s exquisite ensembles in a non-combat setting will not be offered here.  Since this is the first fashion line oriented towards combat, you are free to utilize the artifact armor at your own leisure, and forge your own legend as you continue contributing to Etheirys’ safety and well-being.  Be advised, however, that these exclusive materials will only be used for the creation of attire shown in this line, making them far more expensive than any other item thus far showcased.”

“And the best part?  No need to perform a series of silly quests to attain or otherwise make these sets dye-able.” 

“As always, you may send all commission requests to either myself, Treasurer Susuna, or any of my Head Secretaries if you are interested in receiving enlightenment.”

“Now, seeker of fashion - when you are prepared, you may turn this page, and  learn why the Regalia’s motto is ‘Where There is Power in Beauty.’“  -Thiji Higuri

(Starting several days after this post, and every several days thereafter, a new set of attire or accessories will be showcased.  This will simulate the turning of a  page whilst giving each piece ample time to be appreciated.)

#thiji higuri #Higuri Regalia #pib catalogue #Himvat Gallery #winter #winter is coming #lalafell #lalafell master race #ff14 FFXIV #FFXIV #ffxiv rp #fashion #high fashion #haute couture #ffxiv fashion #thavnairian #radz at han #thavnair #ice #beautiful #lalashell #ffxiv balmung #balmung rp

[divinedushmon]

title: no shortage of sordid, no protest from me (1.1k)

tags: implied one-sided attraction, ambiguous relationship, pinning arlecchino

When the hands that searched sleepily the sheets of cotton came up empty it wasn’t hard after a brisk search to find her out in the cold that tempted kisses of frostbites at the tips of their fingers. Arlecchino was expecting her to see her right as she was, on her knees sitting atop the muddy-snowy-wet grass like a puppet with strings cut. She stared right at the mountain that swallowed most of the snow. She welcomed the first storm in her own way.

Arlecchino slid the door slightly to shield herself, and asked, “Are you going to come back inside any time soon?”

“Join me!” Columbina didn’t look back, there was high-pitched excitement in her voice. Arlecchino sighed and readied herself for a futile attempt, opening the door wider. The winds were strong, it stung. “There might be a blizzard com-”

Her neck turned. This time she said firm and low, “Join me, котенок” She smiled.

Arlecchino left the door open to grab the coat that was still on the floor from last night, as well as hers from the chair nearby. The coat was lazily thrown over to stop the worst of icy winds, walked over, and did the same to Columbina. She got a small almost unnoticeable flinch for her efforts. You know she doesn’t really get cold, you do such unnecessary things, you are so stu-

She got tugged down abruptly by the hand, by a finger and when she was done hissing at her snow, done brushing her knees off, done adjusting to the grossness of cold water under her she saw what a brilliant shade of amber the sky was. The mountains and close-to-death trees hid the rising sun but no amount of snow could hide the bright skies set alight. Maybe sometimes, it can do you good to sit and breathe. There were only so few moments to spare.

And then the quietest thud. A weight against her arm. Arlecchino bit her lip-because there was no smile, felt cold air against her quickly warming cheeks, and listened to the slew of words she couldn’t pretend to care about. Hahaha, Then how come you remember all of it?

“So the Boar princess had to go-

-the pup could have-

-after all, it’s supposed be-”

The words came and went to her, blended along the breeze. Arlecchino could hear some, some were unspilled, some too quiet, some too loud. Arlecchino was sleepy, Arlecchino was steadying herself with one hand because they shouldn’t stray anywhere else. Arlecchino wanted to swallow the swell of her throat down. Arlecchino wanted fresh images of cherry lips, purple bloomed skin and sounds of her pathetic begging to get erased. Arlecchino was tired and she was freezing and all too warm. She knew Columbina didn’t mind if she wasn’t listening. She tried to still.

Maybe they sat there for a few minutes, maybe an hour, maybe a few. It had gotten quiet around some time and her shoulders heavier, Arlecchino didn’t know when. Pins and needles pricked her almost frozen skin, knees and ankles stretched and numb. Time to end this- Her hand hovered over Columbina’s skin, meaning to tap or shake her awake. We need to get back inside- The hand stayed there. It will storm soon- The hand was having trouble choosing how to wake her up- Yes that is it. She looked relaxed with her mouth slightly open, eyes unmasked. I am not staring.

“Boo!” Arlecchino felt her heart run, just like that open eyes stared back. Arlecchino hesitantly backed her hand away and- She caught her hand, with both. They were so cold. She held her hand and put it against her cheek. She moved, she rubbed against the palm as if she could smear imagined powdered colors all over her.

She giggled.

Arlecchino indulged her.

She always would.

That’s how she comes to know her taste in a back alley, that’s how she finds herself washing clotted blood off her hair. That’s precisely how she wakes up in a soiled cold bed, and then a lapful of Columbina sitting out at the beginnings of a snowstorm. Finds herself muttering solemn prayers at her feet. That’s how she always finds herself smiling and then acid hits at the back of her throat like a drink downed too fast.

Finds herself buried knee-deep in tar and doesn’t struggle.

If honey-like tacky hands, heavy air that smells like grease, and a tiny bit of metal or bleach were to turn into a person Arlecchino was sure it would be her. But that very presence always surrounded her like a stale smell, the stale smell of home after you have been away a while. The kind that’s suffocating but finally lets you sag your shoulders.

Sometimes the sizzling heat and spark through your flesh that makes you run in the face of death.

Arlecchino drew her hand back from the sudden pain from a bite that could very well draw blood. She was feeling anger rise at the loud cackles that came from Columbina, more so at the fact that she stood up, still laughing, spun around in the snow, way way far than Arlecchino’s lap. Arlecchino also got up, and drew her coat around her tighter. “Let’s go in, Columbina”

Columbina shook her head. Arlecchino stood them confused, cold, wet, and possibly smeared with mud. Columbina skipped to her, Arlecchino’s eyes following her and then falling right in front of her. She was irritated, cold, and slightly bitter and Columbina looked like she had one big secret to share. She motioned her to bend down and -of course- she did. Columbina gripped her jaw between a thumb and a finger harshly and -of course- Arlecchino couldn’t struggle.

“You have such a pretty face, Милая моя.” Perhaps it was getting warmer outside now- Columbina frowned genuinely. “It’s such a mystery that you can’t find a lover.” No, it was still quite cold.

“I believe it is my personality.” Arlecchino truly found it amusing, maybe the looks of scrutiny on Columbina’s face were funny. She strained a smile, and tried prying off the grip but it got tighter.

“Hmm, it seems so.” A kiss to the cheek. “I have to go, I’ll come by to play later” just like that, she went, Coat dragging the mud. She stared at her silhouette, arms crossed in a futile attempt to shield herself- The damage was done years ago- long after it was gone. At least now it was easier to get back inside.

To a home that wouldn’t smell like her again for months to come.

#fanfic #genshin impact #genshin #arlecchino #columbina #fatui #harbingers #oneshot #the knave #damselette