#What to do if Your Ship Becomes Ice Bound and Everyone is Convinced There’s a Monster on Board

[thatsbelievable]

#What to do if Your Ship Becomes Ice Bound and Everyone is Convinced There’s a Monster on Board #tips #tricks #life hacks #helpful hints #advice #unreality

[ladyanput]

Clues to My Heart

 This is based off of a prompt I read from @thanks-captain-obvious back in December.

Thanks to @chocolate1721 and @2sunchild2 for finding all of my stupid mistakes.

---

Adrien didn’t know when he realized how cute Marinette was, but he came to realize that he was watching her a lot more than usual. He liked how when she was really deep into her designing zone, she stuck her tongue out in concentration. He adored how when she was getting nervous or embarrassed, she’d tug at one of her adorable pigtails. 

   

As soon as he entered the classroom that morning, Marinette was making her way down the steps. She tripped over her own foot and went tumbling forward, a look of horror washed over her face as she went plummeting. Adrien bolted forward and caught her in his arms, causing them to be nose to nose, gazing deep into each other’s eyes. Adrien couldn’t help but stare into her large, sapphire blue eyes staring back at him.

   

“Are you okay?” He breathed out, feeling his cheeks burn from embarrassment as he steadied her, then took a quick step back. “Good thing I was there to catch you.”

   

“Lucky me. Thank you, Adrien.” Marinette gave that warm, perfect smile before she picked up the pencil she had dropped and returned to her seat.

    “Marinette looks really cute today.” Adrien mumbled to himself in an almost dreamy tone, quickly catching both Alya and Nino’s attention. Before the model could say another word, the duo grabbed him and dragged him to the back of the class, while Marinette was lost in her drawing in her sketchbook while she waited for class to notice them leave. 

   

“You think she looks cute?” Alya pressed a hand to Adrien’s chest, giving him a stern look as her eyes watched his expression carefully. Then she saw the look he got on his face, the look she had seen on Marinette’s face for the past four years every time she thought, saw, or talked of Adrien. It was like seeing a little lovesick golden retriever and Alya wanted to laugh at the irony. But her eyes sparked with excitement at the thought of her ship finally, at long last, would come to life. “You need to tell her, Adrien.” 

   

“Wh-what? No, I can’t do that, she thinks we’re just friends!” Adrien squeaked, drawing the attention of their other classmates. Thank God Lila was off on another one of her ‘trips’ in Brazil or whatever. Rose suddenly ripped part of her shirt, making sure it was a decently sized one before she darted down to Marinette, tapping her shoulder. 

   

“Marinette, I ripped my favourite shirt! Do you have your sewing kit with you today?” Rose’s sweet voice took on a pleading tone as she grasped Marinette’s hand tightly, giving her a kind smile. 

   

“Oh, I should have it in my locker, but class will be starting soon…” Marinette trailed off, but when she saw the pleading look on Rose’s face, she let out a defeated sigh and got up. “Alright, I’ll go grab it right quick. You don’t mind telling Miss Bustier, right?”

   

“Don't worry, Mari, we’ll cover you!” Kim called out, having a plotting grin on his face as well. The entire class had that look in their eyes, thinking something they had been hoping for for so long would finally come to light.

   

When Marinette did leave the room, everyone swarmed around Adrien with big goofy grins on their faces.

   

“Marinette has had a crush on you for years, dude.” Kim wrapped an arm around Adrien’s shoulder, grinning like a fool as everyone else nodded in agreement. ‘We kept quiet about it out of respect, but since you feel the same way…”

   

Adrien’s mind felt like it was suddenly spinning. Marinette liked him back. Marinette liked him, Adrien Agreste, while he had thought she had hated being anywhere near him! And here he thought that she had been in love with Luka…

   

“Marinette is quite romantic at heart.” Alya’s voice pushed away his thoughts and made him refocus on the conversations going on wildly around him. The reporter’s eyes were full of mischief and Adrien could practically see the gears turning in her head, her grin growing more and more devious. “You should do a grand gesture, Adrien, something that will sweep her off her feet. Then when she accepts your confession, it will be like a fairytale!” 

   

“Like prince charming declaring his love for his princess.” Rose sighed dreamily and leaned into Juleka’s embrace, who kissed her forehead with a smile. “Oh Marinette would love that! She’s told all of us all of the things she’s wanted to do for you, Adrien, how many times she’s tried to confess…”

   

“How about a scavenger hunt?” Adrien blurted out, then felt his cheeks go rosy as he felt several eyes land on him, he gave a nervous smile as he ran his fingers through his hair. "You know, send her to places that were significant to her and I? Stuff like that?"

"That sounds pretty great, actually." Alix grinned as she thought it over before nodding. "Yeah, that'd kick ass."

With wide grins, the class began to plot the entire thing with a flustered, starry eyed Adrien.

…

They set it all up on Friday, so that if something went horribly wrong, they'd have the weekend to do damage control. Extra precautions never hurt anyone.

Alya managed to convince Marinette to clear her schedule for that evening, since she had a special game planned. Marinette, not wanting to turn her best friend down, wholeheartedly agreed. One afternoon never hurt anyway, she needed a bit of a break from everything that was going on.

As soon as the last class of the day ended, Alya handed the girl a piece of paper and told her to just follow the clues.

Marinette glanced down at the scrap of paper and carefully read the words.

'To where you have your secret Garden of inspiration, I often see your beautiful face light up in joy.'

Marinette's brows drew together at the wording of the note, then wracked her brain to where this 'garden of inspiration' could be. Then it hit her. The Trocadero.

She giggled as she made her way towards the location, curious at what kind of games Alya was playing. Her friend always came up with these random types of things on occasion, so she didn't look too much into it.

Marinette quickly arrived at the Trocadero, then smiled to herself as she made her through the crowd, enjoying the activity of people around her. She hadn't been here in months and she had missed it greatly.

"Excuse me, Miss Marinette?" The girl blinked and turned, seeing a tall, lanky looking woman stride up to her, holding a pink envelope. The woman grinned and tipped her tiny top hat as she held out the envelope. "I have your next clue."

"Oh, thank you." Marinette took the envelope and opened it, scanning the contents of what was written.

'While pyjamas were not the right thing to wear, so to say

Seeing that movie with you made my day.'

Marinette glanced heavenward, silently groaning at the state of these riddles. Alya certainly wasn't at her best today.

Besides, Marinette could think of only one movie she had seen in her pyjamas that wouldn't be appropriate, so she made her way to the cinema. While very glad she hadn't made many plans that evening, this scavenger hunt seemed to be taking her all over Paris. As soon as she saw the cinema in sight, she picked up the pace, 

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng?" A tall man wearing a suit strode over, holding out a familiar looking pink envelope. He gave her a jovial grin and bowed. "I hope you find your next location swiftly."

"Thank you very much." Marinette called out, then had to chuckle at the outfits these clue holders had to wear. Fancy suits and top hats were a bit much, how had Alya been able to pay for all of this?

'To where we first met, with gum on the seat

To think today, you make my heart skip a beat.'

"Tikki, I can't quite make this one out." Marinette sighed as she made her way down the street, Tikki poking her head out of Marinette's purse. "I think it means DuPont, I mean, that's where I first met Alya."

"Are you sure these are from Alya, Marinette? Maybe they're from someone else." Tikki smiled up at her chosen, having a fair idea who exactly these clues and this entire scheme was from, but she decided to keep quiet about it. It was best to simply let Marinette experience this on her own, have a bit of fun for once in a while.

So Marinette jogged her way towards DuPont, beaming as she reminisced in the memories. This was the starting place for everything in her life; her friends, her designing career, her backbone, and even becoming Ladybug.

This place was special to her. So imagine her surprise when she neared the front of the school and heard the sound of a bell. She stopped, and watched in surprise as Andre's ice cream cart made its way towards her, Andre having a huge smile on his face. He stopped right in front of Marinette, blocking her view of DuPont.

"Hello, my dear Marinette. It has been so long and look at you! Grown into a beautiful flower and who knows? Perhaps she will see her soulmate very soon" Andre said cheerfully, hugging the surprised girl, before giving her a long, calculated look. He had a gift, a gift of seeing one's soulmate. And Mr. Adrien Agreste had begged the man to be at the front of DuPont Françoise to give Marinette a serving of ice cream to show her who her soulmate was.

And who was Andre to get in the way of love? He had happily agreed, so eager to bring two souls together that were meant to be, bound by the red string of fate.

"Matcha for the eyes that makes your heart flutter, blackberry for his life cast in such chaos, and strawberry for the lips that makes you stutter." Andre said cheerily as he scooped up the ice cream, noting as the girl took out her phone and replying to a text, then happily handed it to Marinette, then patting her gently on the cheek. "I see great happiness for the two of you, for you both see each other with a love so true."

With that, Andre let her by, motioning her to the steps of DuPont. Marinette, considering just to go with it, took a taste of the delicious ice cream and went on her way, not before giving Andre a gracious thank you.

What she saw at the top of the steps of her old middle school was not what she had been expecting. She had been expecting Alya and a few of their friends with some weird prize or an explanation to all of this.

Instead there stood Adrien, holding a bouquet of roses and dressed dark khakis and a button up shirt. At the sight of her, his smile grew and his cheeks reddened, his excitement skyrocketing once he saw the colours of her ice cream. The rest of the class stood around him, looking eager as they took a few steps back as Marinette began to ascend the stairs.

"Adrien, were you the one behind all of this?" Marinette smiled at the blushing model, taking another spoonful of her ice cream, noting Alya recording them from the corner of her eye. "I have to say, that was a pretty impressive scavenger hunt you did. What's my prize?"

The words caused Adrien's blush to get worse and he began to fiddle with the bouquet, trying to get out the speech he had practiced over and over in his head.

“Marinette… I um… I’ve always thought of you as a friend, you know? But not just any friend, my best friend actually…You’re just…” He tightened his grip on the bouquet. “You’re just so amazing, and kind, and wonderful. You’re like an everyday Ladybug to us, always there to help, even when it’s for something really stupid. And you’re always there for me… I’ve been told you’ve done a few things for me that I’ve … I may have been too blind to notice. It uh, it took me until today to realize that you’re the most important person in my life. You’re the first one to really, truly understand me."

"Oh Adrien, that's so sweet. You're just as great, you're always so kind. That's what I love about you." Marinette smiled her brilliant smile and Adrien felt his heart thundering in his chest. Her words gave him courage and he puffed out his chest. 

Finally, he'd tell his Princess exactly how he felt.

Many of the girls squealed and hugged each other, while the guys gave Adrien thumbs-ups or fist bumped each other.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I- I am in l- love.."

The revving of an engine cut him off, making the entire class stare as an expensive looking motorcycle parked at the base of the school steps.

The tall figure on the bike got off and took off his helmet. Adrien met the most piercing pair of green eyes he had ever seen. The young man was handsome, with spiky black hair and a jawline that could certainly cut glass.

"Who is he?" Alya whispered to Nino as the guy set down his helmet and seemed to wave at the group, a smile crossing his handsome face. "Does anyone here know him?"

As everyone began to give their negatives, Adrien watched as Marinette's face lit up and she bolted down the stairs.

"Damian, you're here!" She cried as she launched herself into the guy -Damian's- arms, though was careful not to spill her ice cream. She giggled as he kissed her cheek, then kissed his in return. "I was afraid you wouldn't be able to find the place."

"You do give perfect directions, Angel, I was able to find it easily enough." The two of them shared a quick kiss and Adrien felt his heart drop to the floor and shatter.

"Marinette, who is this?" Alya piped up, carefully putting away her phone as she made her way down the steps, everyone else following suit.

"Oh, sorry Al, this is my boyfriend, Damian. He's visiting this week from America." Marinette beamed as Damian casually wrapped an arm around her waist. "I was going to introduce you all to him once we got him settled."

"You have a boyfriend?!" Adrien blurted out before he could stop himself, then flushed in embarrassment as Marinette and Damian focused their gazes on him, the former curious and the latter observant. "I mean, um, you've never mentioned him before…"

"Well, we met a few years ago, around our second year at DuPont actually, when I went away for the summer with my grandmother, and we kinda hit it off." Marinette explained happily, holding up her ice cream to allow Damian to have a taste.

The second year of their time at DuPont Françoise.

The very year he began to date Kagami in order to get over Ladybug.

Oh.

Oh no.

"Really? I thought you were still keeping your eye out for someone." Alya motioned towards Adrien with her eyes, only earning a small, though slightly tired smile from Marinette.

"Well I decided that you can't wait around for miracles to never happen." Marinette shrugged, and Damian met Adrien's gaze. Then he merely rose a brow and smirked a bit.

Those who acted too slowly lost the game.

"Anyway, that was a fun game, Adrien, I had a lot of fun. Now Damian and I have to get back to the bakery, Papa wanted to show him how to make the perfect palmier tonight to finally outclass Alfred's cooking." Marinette tossed the empty cone into the nearby trash, then caught the helmet that Damian tossed her. The couple shared another soft kiss before both got on the bike.

Marinette gave her friends one final wave before Damian drove off, leaving the class in stunned silence.

Adrien watched dejectedly as the girl he had fallen in love with drove off with her new boyfriend.

But he had seen the colours of her ice cream, that meant he was her soulmate.

That he wasn't too late, that maybe… He still had a chance with her?

Right?

---

Taglist: @vixen-uchiha @ravennightingaleandavatempus @crazylittlemunchkin @bee-wrecker @souleateralicestein @loysydark @kceedraws @realrandomposts @alienjoyful

#maribat #daminette #ml x dc #maridami

[howling-harpy]

A gift from the heart

Pairing: Malarkey & Skip Rating: G

Word count: 2520 Summary: Skip and Don have a day in Paris, and they are on an important quest. [ao3]

A/N: Happy birthday @lyselkatz! This is for you, I hope it’s to your liking.

*

Skip had clearly taken his pass to Paris with a plan in mind. “You have got to help me find the perfect present for her!” he begged as soon as Don walked up to meet him, his hands crossed in a prayer that was surely blasphemous. “What is she going to do with a present at this point?” Don argued back. “You’re shipping yourself back home soon enough.” His heart wasn’t in it, not really. He was arguing more for the sake of arguing, but it was true that they had this one afternoon off and their chances of success were pretty slim.

Paris was a great place to rest and pretend to work at an airplane exhibition, the city was nearly bursting with emotion and will to go back to peacetime, and any heartsick soldier was bound to find something good to send back home to his sweetheart. Don wasn’t sure if he was trying to talk his way out of a shopping trip, or was he simply relieved about Skip’s energy and how he displayed it despite the broken arm and cuts and bruises and drawing the banter out. “With that attitude you will be very unlucky in love!” Skip declared. “My mom said that men who think of themselves as the greatest of gifts will find themselves very lonely indeed, and I plan to make the most of this mortal life and make sure that my girl has nice things!” “Fine then, since you’re the romance expert out of the two of us,” Don gave in and finally allowed a grin to spread on his face. “But what would she like to have?” “That’s why I need help,” Skip said, raising a finger to make an important point. “I’m the romance expert, yes, but small gifts are not my area of expertise.” The thought both did and didn’t make sense, but Don was past arguing over the title of romance expert and instead tried to think of the kind of gifts girls liked. His idea of a good time was an ice cream date and listening to good music, but that was something you did in person, not wrap in brown paper and ship across an ocean. “Uh… Perhaps a good record?” Don said uncertainly. That was more like something he would have liked to unwrap himself and then be delighted about how well his girl knew him, but it was a thought. “Nah, I’d get you a record,” Skip said, nudging Don’s side with his elbow, and flashed him a knowing smile. “No, this has to be a Faye Tanner-gift. I can’t give her a Don Malarkey-gift.” Don shrugged, then gestured at the streets lined with shop windows all around them. “Maybe we should ask around?” If possible, Skip brightened up even more. He seemed to be almost trembling with excitement and ready to explore the city. “That’s great! But we need some places to hit. Make it a proper mission.” Don smiled indulgently. He had had enough of missions and objectives for a lifetime, but Skip was feeling as playful as ever and he knew it was a joke, so he allowed it. “Alright, fine,” he said, then paused to think. “Let’s think some things that she likes and what she’d like to get, and then think where we’ll find it.” “Oh yes. A guest for a true love’s gift! Onwards!” Don smiled for real then. That made it sound like an adventure in a jungle or perhaps across castles and fields and forests instead of an all too real endeavour in current time with real consequences. It almost felt like they could have been friends since they were children and run wild in the woods playing adventurers and wild children. Together, they took to the streets of Paris, Don leading the way as he sometimes knew where they were and where they were going. The list of things that Faye might have liked was growing slowly: Something distinctly European, something pretty or something sweet. Something pretty would have probably been their best bet, given both could recall a dozen times a girl back home had referenced European fashion or make up, but that was quickly becoming a dead end for them. Post-war Paris was many things and there was no doubt about fashion coming back, but right then it wasn’t exactly a priority. At least not at a reasonable price. There were shops open and some driftier places sold many mismatched piles of treasures Parisian ladies had no doubt emptied from their closets while trying to make the ends meet, but Skip and Don quickly realized they didn’t know enough to make a good judgement about them. “This is just… Not Faye!” Skip huffed as they strolled down the street after the fourth shop. “She is pretty and I think she wears cute clothes too, but it’s just… Not like this.” Don didn’t know about fashion either, just of what looked pretty to him, but looking at Skip and knowing him he could imagine Faye was probably not the beauty queen type. “Okay, forget about dresses and hats,” Don thought out loud. “How about a ribbon? Or a scarf? Or jewellery?” Skip thought it over, but then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. She doesn’t really do her hair, says it gets soaked and flops down anyway, so why bother.” “Okay, so something distinctly European then.” Aside from the airplane exhibition Don was consulting at, several other local cultural exhibits were also opening. Curators at Louvre had apparently cried when their looted treasures started to return in their collection from Germany, and museums and galleries had started to open again, even if only to clean and air the premises. It seemed people missed beauty in their lives, and Don couldn’t fault them on that. They all did. Still, the only thing sold at Louvre were postcards and other souvenirs. There was a certain charm to them, and perhaps sending some cool trinket home along with perhaps some photos and a letter with loving regards would do. Faye sounded like a girl who appreciated the personal touch and the thought more than anything material, so a breeze of culture from France might be the thing they were after. There were plenty of soldiers buzzing around the museum and the park, plenty of them apparently caught by the same idea, everyone trying to decide which artwork was the most suitable one to convey one’s feelings. Skip didn’t pay too much attention to anyone there, but Don had learned to recognize plenty of soldiers by their uniform, and a familiar one drew his attention right away. “Hey! Lieutenant!” Don called out as he recognized a familiar profile and a set of broad shoulders. “Do you know what’s the best gift for your lover?” Lipton jumped in surprise when he was spoken to and nearly dropped the stack of postcards depicting some old, cracked paintings of Roman soldiers. “My what?” he asked, immediately flustered. Skip giggled and skipped over to join them. “Not yours, sir,” he cackled, the entire idea absurd, “we’re trying to find something for Faye before I go home. She will feed me to her cats if I don’t send her a nice present beforehand.” “Oh,” Lipton said and cleared his throat, awkward and jittery on the spot. He set the postcards back to the holder and turned his back to the photographs of Roman generals and Greeks in aggressive military formations. “A wise choice,” Skip solemnly advised him with a heavy nod. “I don’t think any girl will like those. You ought to pick something more… Elegant! Beautiful! Something European.” Lipton smiled politely and shrugged. “Technically Roman Empire used to cover most of the continent what we now call Europe, and what we even consider Europe varies through history.” When Skip and Don just stared at him, he became flustered again. “I… Uh, I’ve been listening to some radio programs at night,” he explained. Skip laughed again. “Getting a history lecture is just about the most boring thing I can imagine doing in bed,” he chuckled, and Don joined in for the plain amusement of the mental image. Lipton lowered his eyes and blushed scarlet. “Well, to each their own,” he allowed diplomatically while swaying on the heels of his boots.   “Sure, sir,” Don said, then reeled them back on topic. “But the gift! Skip needs a gift for Faye.” “Oh, right,” Lipton said, visibly more at ease now that the attention was turning away from him. “Well… I don’t know Ms. Tanner, but you do, so you should use that. Whatever the gift is, the most important thing is that it makes her feel like you have listened to her and know what she likes.” “Uh-huh,” Skip said, and Don nodded along. It was a wise piece of advice, but not concrete enough to actually help them. Judging by Lipton’s smile, he realized exactly the same thing and shook his head at their impatience. Don was almost ready to appoint Lipton as the new romance expert if it wasn’t for his choice of Roman art and Greek pottery. Lipton sighed. “There’s a postcard of just about every European masterpiece here. Why don’t you look at those and pick one that makes you think of her?” Even though Lipton slipped away with a postcard depicting Marcus Crassus battling the rebel leader Spartacus, his advice was actually good, and Skip and Don started browsing the many pictures of various beautiful ladies and princesses and queens. They didn’t understand about the styles or periods but trusted their own eyes to tell what was really beautiful. Momentarily Skip was taken with a painting of a golden-haired woman wrestling a large book from a brown eagle with two heads, but even if beautiful she was too distressed, and the painting was too dramatic anyway. Eventually Skip picked up a postcard depicting a fairly modest painting of a girl dressed in simple clothes and a blue scarf on her head. She couldn’t have been more than ordinary, but the longer you looked at her gentle eyes and lips parted like in a half thought out question as she looked at you over her shoulder, the more convinced you became that she was by far not only the most beautiful but also the most intriguing of all women pictured there. “This one,” Skip said as he held the card. “She looks a bit like her too.” Still, having a simple postcard wasn’t a gift yet. It was a greeting, a simple souvenir, and it needed something more, so the quest went on. “What does she like?” Don asked Skip again as they strolled through the gardens outside of Louvre. “I think that based on all your tales of your bets and highjinks all I know is what she doesn’t like, and that’s you being an idiot.” Skip threw his head back and laughed. “Maybe so! Well, let’s see… Faye likes… Me. Cats. Baseball. Homemade pies. Milkshakes. Dancing. Pretty normal stuff, I’d say.” Just a normal girl, with normal interests, she seemed to be. Don was again at loss. It was a beautiful and hot summer day, and there was a small café on the street by the garden, and just the sight of it made them both feel suddenly thirsty and their sweet tooths ache. Mostly the café was serving coffee in tiny cups, but their display was also showing signs of revival as they served cakes, flaky pastries and chocolate treats. The prices were high and there wasn’t enough to fill the display completely, but what there was looked delicious and made with great care. They got two small éclairs because they looked nice in the window and the little sign in front of the tray had the word “chocolat” in it, and with their little treats they ventured back to the streets. Don was almost used to French baked goods after three weeks in Paris, but Skip savoured his from the very first bite. It was no wonder, the soft, fluffy dough alone was a treat, but the chocolate icing that cracked softly when you bit into the pastry was perfect, and from the face he made Don could tell that Skip hadn’t expected the cream filling. Skip chewed on the éclair slowly with his head tipped back towards the sun, and for a moment Don led him by the arm because he refused to look in front of him. “If only I could send something like this back to the States for her,” Skip sighed around a mouthful. “That would solve literally all my problems. Get a box of these or those little pink cookie things and that would be it. Too bad they wouldn’t make it to the States.” “You’re right, but maybe something else might,” Don said, his eyes already scanning for another shop. “Something sweet would do nicely.” They had to try a few shops for what they were looking for, but eventually Skip managed to find a metal tin filled with hard fruit toffees in candy wrappers. The candy itself wasn’t an extraordinary delicacy like fresh pastries were, but just as important was the beautiful tin they came in. It was like two gifts in one, European candy and a new decorative tin for buttons or letters or whatever Faye fancied. It was nearing evening, and Don had an early morning ahead of him and Skip had to report back to his commanding officer too, but the quest wasn’t yet done. “Don’t forget to wrap it up nicely too,” Don reminded Skip. “Sure, the postal office will put it in brown paper, but that’s not good enough for a gift for your girl. You got to at least find a ribbon to go under the boring paper and string so that she knows you’ve thought about it.” “Good point,” Skip said. “I’m sure I’ll find someone with a ribbon to trade – even something that doesn’t belong in some another dame’s underwear set. Thanks for the tip.” “Sure,” Don said. “Should I see you back to the station?” “No, that’s okay, I’ll find my own way,” Skip said. It was sensible that way. Don’s hotel was in the opposite direction and if he were to walk with Skip, he’d triple his own walk, and Skip knew it too and wouldn’t accept such a bother. Still it felt bad to part ways before they had to since things were uncertain, a discharge and a ticket home might come at a day’s notice, and then they wouldn’t see each other again. Not being able to say goodbye loomed over Don and kept him lingering. Skip seemed to sense it from him, because he smiled and reached to gently touch his arm. “Don’t worry, we’re headed in the same direction eventually. And when we get to the States, I’ll mail you the best present you can imagine.” Don was implored to smile, and despite the melancholy played along. “Really? What’s that?” Skip grinned bright as a summer sun, spread his arms and gestured at himself.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #mun ficci

[forkanna]

WARNING: Very N S F W. Includes sisterly incest, cunnilingus, anal play, tickling, foot worship, and as you probably expected... food kink.

Notes: HAPPY CORONATION DAY! I've been hanging onto this since I posted chapter 5 both because I wanted to make sure it was just right, and I thought it deserved to be released on an important day in the fandom's history: the date Elsa was crowned Queen of Arendelle in 1844. (We know this thanks to some smart cookies on Reddit haha)

So I know this should technically be from Elsa's POV if I continued to follow the convention I set up for myself, but I decided to keep writing it as Anna. It's been her story from the beginning and it should end as her story. Plus it's an epilogue, so it doesn't have to follow the rest of the fic's format! So there! AHAHAHAHA… I don't know, I'm tired.

And YES, this is the end. No sequels, no Epilogues-To-Epilogues; the MSB grand finale. I know a lot of you may have not seen my mention of an epilogue in the notes for last chapter, so hopefully you'll see this! If any of you want to continue Elsa and Anna's story in your own spinoff fanfics, be my guest (but please credit me); otherwise, I consider MSB to be at its natural ending. Hope you all enjoy the last slice!

In all seriousness, thanks to everyone who has waited this long for what is essentially a one-off smutty fic about D*sney sisters to be finished. I owe so much to this story; it changed my life in a very literal, very unexpected way. Elsa and Anna's true love thawed my jaded heart and encouraged me to keep writing, even when I was sank deep in the darkness of a miserable life, and to explore who I am in ways I never felt brave enough to do. I'm in such a better place now than when this began. It's been a pleasure being part of this fandom, and hopefully I will continue to enjoy it for a long time to come.

Until we meet again,

Jessex

[AO3] [WATTPAD] [QUOTEV]

                                                 EPILOGUE

                              Min Søsters Bursdagsmadrass: Anna

                                         ~ Five Months Later ~

Okay, okay, not quite five months have passed since we saved our kingdom from my sister's magic. Closer to four-and-a-half. But the time has flown by so much that it feels more like a week.

Kristoff and Sven came galloping up to the gates just as we were exiting. The ice boy was a lot less shocked that I was arm-in-arm with Elsa than I expected; probably because he pretty much already caught us in flagrante delicto before. He tried to offer congratulations, and I gave him a big hug to cut through all that awkwardness.

Olaf showed up not long after. Well, we came across a puddle that used to be Olaf; I'd know that carrot nose anywhere. Before I could start sobbing, Elsa calmly created a little ice-flurry and rebuilt him as easy as if she were breathing; he was disoriented, but didn't take long to be back to his cheerful self, hugging us and congratulating us on figuring out that we belonged together. That made sense the more I thought about it. Seriously, why wouldn't our snow-baby always know his parents should stay together?

Naturally, there were a few people who came to the levee that didn't condone our love. I wish I could say differently. Most of them were either too afraid to speak out against us — probably because my sister was some kind of ice witch, that tends to make even the bravest of men need a change of underwear — or they were genuinely happy we were happy, and summer was back. But one or two tried to shame us. Didn't go well, considering we were the monarchy and surrounded by supporters. More insisted we needed a king, at the very least for the purpose of heirs. I tried to tell them that Olaf was our heir, which got a lot of weird looks, but Elsa insisted that it was our decision if and when we crossed that bridge. I guess that's why she's the queen, right? I mean, can you imagine me as the queen of Arendelle? No way!

Hans was tried and convicted of treason against the kingdom. I didn't even go; I didn't want to look at him again if I could help it. But I watched from the castle walls with my sister as they led him away to a ship bound for the Southern Isles. We figured his family would make sure the sentence was severe if they wanted to maintain a good trade partnership with Arendelle. Plus, we wouldn't have to deal with him still being in our home. Win-win.

We also shipped old Weaseltown out. He can peacock-strut and backstab on his own turf.

Everything flew by a lot faster after those first few days. Kristoff was our new icemaster general — totally a real title, thank you — and Olaf's cheery presence got everyone used to the idea of magic. The people slowly grew to accept that their queen had a queen of her own. At first, we tried not to be too open with our relationship, but even though everybody thinks of me as the free spirit, it was Elsa who decided we should begin taking walks through the kingdom, hand-in-hand. At first, we got a few stinkeyes, but little by little, they saw we were happy, and not hurting anyone with our taboo love, and… it just became normal, I guess.

Which is fantastic! I mean, if they didn't I would have bought a whole collection of lutes to start smacking them with, but that didn't turn out to be necessary. Good thing; a co-queen shouldn't brawl with her subjects. Looks kinda bad.

As we hit the middle of December and the weather was turning colder without my sister's influence, I started scheming. We had enjoyed four wonderful months of getting to know each other all over again. Even though I'm basically a big ball of libido, somehow Elsa convinced me that we shouldn't just start banging each other's brains out every day. How dare she! But I have to admit, having that sex-free courtship time was somehow a magic all its own.

Because we were behind. By thirteen years. I found out just how well-read my sister was, since she had ploughed through book after book when she wasn't trying to practice controlling her magic. That was something we had in common, since I was often equally bored; it turned out we had read a lot of the same books, and we could compare our thoughts and feelings about them over many, many cups of tea. She never did start talking to paintings like I did, but when I introduced them to her, at least she was bemusedly giggling behind her hand instead of openly mocking me, or telling me I needed medical attention. And we went horseback riding, and swimming, ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. Started going through our parents' things at last, painful though it was. Learned about the kind of adults we had become since we last knew each other as children.

And kissed, sure. Just because we didn't start rolling around in the bed sheets right away didn't mean I was going to let us be complete prudes.

However… my sister's birthday was fast approaching, and I knew I had to do something big. Maybe in a literal sense. So the scheming turned to plotting, and the plotting turned to planning. And then the plans got put in motion leading up to her big day.

                                                      ~ o ~

"Alright, alright, Olaf! I'm going!"

"Sorry, Elsa, but there's no time to waste!" I could hear him replying to her from the other side of the door. I could just barely see her slippered feet and his snow stumps through the crack underneath. So weird doing that from the inside this time… "I guess. I've never had a birthday, but Anna told me this is your biggest one yet, and we got a schedule to keep!"

"Okay, little guy," she laughed at him easily. Even though I couldn't see, I could just picture her petting over his head. "Thank you."

"Yep! And oh, I was supposed to do something else, it was… yeeeessss! Anna told me I should 'get lost for the rest of the day'. So I guess my question is, does that mean until sundown? Or midnight? And how lost do I have to get? I can get lost just in this castle, it's so big, but she was pointing at the gates when she said it…"

"Tell you what. Why don't you go pay Kristoff and Sven a visit? That should be far enough."

"But I won't be lost if I know where I'm going," he told her in a patient tone, as if she were the one who was missing something instead.

"My mistake," she laughed fondly. "Just have a little adventure outside of the castle and we will see you in the morning."

"Okie-dokie! Have fun, don't do anything I wouldn't do! Or do, because you're not me, so you should be doing things I wouldn't do? Maybe? Especially if I'm going to be getting lost and you don't need to be lost. I don't know if that's exactly…"

He was still talking by the time his voice started to fade around the corner. The rest of the sentence was cut off by Elsa knocking on my door.

"Go away, Elsa," I called back at her in an exaggeratedly pouty tone.

"Anna," she sighed. "Yes, I know I was the one saying that to you for a decade of our lives, but this joke is starting to get a little old now."

"Whaaaaaat? No, I don't think so."

"It's officially old as of today. Now, may I come in, or will you be coming out?"

"Think we both already did that last part," I giggled. "Did you, um, prepare?"

"For the love of- yes! Though I don't know why, I let Gerda bathe me thoroughly, and now I am standing outside your door, scrubbed raw and regretting that I listened to her, because you are being a pain in the-"

She didn't finish that thought because I unlocked the door just then. But I didn't open it for her. I was too busy scampering across the floor of my chambers to stand by the bed, grinning from ear-to-ear like a loon. And don't judge, okay? I'd been planning this for a long time.

"Um…" The door creaked open, and one of her baby blues peered around the inside of the darkened room. The sun had already set, so it was only the moonlight and the single candle on my bedside table providing illumination. "A-Anna?"

"Please enter," I said in a pretentiously royal tone.

"Oh, your robe is like mine," she said with a small smile as she eased the door shut behind her.

"Yep! Silk, from the East! I mean, you fill yours out a little better — especially up top. But that's one of the gifts. And I figured, hey, might as well get one for me, too!"

Barely glancing down at the blue silk covering her sizable assets, she shook her head with a small laugh. "It's very nice, thank you. But I thought I told you I didn't want you to make a big deal about my birthday; we should be focused on the Yule festivities for the kingdo-"

"No, no, no," I teased her with a wave of my index finger, bouncing on my heels excitedly. "This is the first time in thirteen years I have been able to celebrate this with you. Give me this one, okay?"

"When can we stop saying the number thirteen and start really enjoying our lives again?"

"When it's been fourteen years. Now… can you take that robe off and hop up on the bed for me?"

Oh, that shrewd little smirk that blossomed on my sister's face. It was both breathtakingly beautiful and super sexy. She was all the time, anyway, but there were moments that it stood out a lot more. "Ahhhh. So that's what all this is about, is it? You think tonight we are going to break our courtship."

"Mmmmaybe. But even if we don't, I still want more with you tonight. If that's okay," I added hastily, fidgeting with my hands behind my back.

"I see." Elsa stepped forward to smooth her hands up and down the green silk covering my chest, teasing her fingernails over my neck. Definitely not making it any easier to stop my lady parts from launching a hostile takeover of my brain, I can tell you! "And… this is very important to you, isn't it?"

"Y-yeah." Clearing my throat, I said, "And I understand why courting was important to you. And it's been great! Really, I loved getting to know you all over again, and we have been having so much fun. But… maybe just a little playing tonight? Please?"

As she glared across into my eyes, I brought my thumb and forefinger up between our faces, half an inch apart. That was all it took to make her burst out laughing.

"That little, hmm?" she finally chuckled as my cheeks burned. "Okay. I assume once I am in position, you will tackle me on this bed?"

"Yeah. Well, not 'tackle', but I'll join you. I just want you to feel how soft it is first."

That got Elsa's eyebrows raising in slight surprise. "Soft, hm? Did you get yourself a new bed for my birthday?"

"I dunno, did I?" I gasped. Hoping my acting skills were at least good enough to hide how excited I was.

Not quite. But at least Elsa hadn't fully figured out my cunning scheme. She pointed at my face and hissed under her breath, "There had better not be anyone hiding in here."

"Hiding? Wait, why would I stick anybody else in here and then tell you to take off your clothes?"

"How should I know? Sometimes you have a really strange sense of humour, Anna."

"Not that strange! Surprise creepy people sounds plain old mean!" But before she could say anything else, I placed a hand over my heart and raised the other one. "I do hereby solemnly pledge that nobody is going to jump out of the wardrobe at you. Or anything else like that."

"Fine, I believe you," she laughed as she stepped from her slippers and let the silk fall from her shoulders, exposing her smooth, pale back. Even now that we had been going for walks and rides, she was still white as alabaster, despite the alternating tans and sunburns I had.

"Mmm…"

"Again, my birthday seems to be full of gifts for you," she accused playfully with a little glance over her shoulder at me as she approached the bed, moving to climb atop it. "Little pervAAAHHH?!"

SPLAT.

Nope, I definitely couldn't hold back anymore. I wrapped my arms around my middle and burst out into gales of laughter, shaking all over and trying my best not to fall down. "ELSA! Your face — you should see your face!"

"I'm- what is- ANNA!" my poor sister finally burst out as she slipped and slid everywhere, defiling all my hard work. "What is the meaning of this?! What IS this, where did- is this CAKE?!"

Cackling and bouncing up and down as I clapped my hands, I finally crowed, "YES! Isn't it incredible?! Doesn't it look just like my bed? I mean, it did before you jumped on it, but even still, the rest of it!"

God, she looked hilarious. I was laughing, but was doing my best not to actually point at Elsa while I did it. And anyone would have laughed; her face covered in so much chocolate and frosting, a huge chunk falling from her chin to splash onto her right breast even while she blinked at me in wonder. Never had our regal queen looked so un-regal.

"You… made… a bed-sized cake… just to play this prank on me." She scraped some of the frosting from her eyelids and flicked it away, turning slightly so she could kneel on the layers of confection. That only made me laugh so hard I snorted like a pig. "This is… I have no words. I literally have no words, I could never have anticipated this."

"Aww, don't be grumpy," I teased breathlessly as I got rid of my own robe, dropping it right next to hers. "Just because I got you good this time! You freaked out, it was the most amazing thing I've watched in my whole life!"

"Yes, well, the show is ov- Anna, what are you doing now? Don't tell me- are you going to jump into this cake with me?! That's insane!"

I hesitated. "Well… I was before you called it 'insane'…" But then I approached the edge of the bed, hands on my hips. No way was I going to chicken out that easily. "This wasn't just a prank. I really wanted to do this for you."

That finally got her to laugh, and when she started she found it hard to stop. I laughed with her, watching her slap her caked thigh a few times. But before I could join her on the bed, she suddenly breathed, "Insane… but beautiful. I've never seen a woman more lovely in the entire world."

My heart skipped over a beat, and I hoped she couldn't tell how hard my nipples were in the low light. "Ahhhhh, now you're just lying. We both know you own a mirror."

"Nice try," she laughed, biting her sugar-coated lip for a moment to weather my counter-compliment. Then she tilted her head slightly while asking, "Why? This is the strangest surprise I have ever received — and that includes that certain birthday of yours. But I can tell it means a lot to you, so could you help me…?"

Great. Now I had to actually face the music, and it was going to take a lot of exposing of feelings. So I took a deep breath before throwing my inhibitions to the wind... and letting my knees sink into the cake.

"That is so wrong," I groaned, feeling one of my eyes twitch.

"I know. But once you get used to it, it's… still wrong, but interesting." She was leaning slightly on one arm, moving her legs out to one side. Always so ladylike, even in a big mound of baked sweetness.

"So here it is," I sighed. "You and me, even when we were really little… chocolate was our soft spot. We could never resist it. And especially after my birthday, when we bonded over it again… I knew your birthday had to be something big, since I could finally celebrate it with you. Something that mattered to both of us. And fun! I thought fun was really important, too. Took me a while to figure out just how I wanted to do this, but once I had this idea, I just… I knew. This was the only thing that would be good enough."

Though she had been listening with a small smile, my last sentence wiped it away. Why? What did I say wrong? Her cake-slicked hand lifted to caress my cheek.

"Anna, anything would have been good enough. Even if this had turned out to be a normal bed, I would have been so happy. How much you spend, how much you plan these gifts, it's sweet but you don't have to go to so much trouble. Don't you know my favourite gift is you?"

My lips only got the chance to part very slightly — when she booped me. She booped my nose with frosting on that finger. The Queen of Arendelle, everybody.

"You little stinker." But her words kept me from retaliating. "You… you mean that, huh? That I'm enough?"

"I do." Her lips pecked mine. "You always have been. I'm just sorry I wasn't able to show you until these past few months. But now, I get to make up for lost time."

Sliding closer, I whispered, "Same here."

And that was as far as I could get before I was attacking her mouth. Elsa welcomed me gratefully, humming as she pulled my body closer. I knew she was getting cake all over me, but I had kind of resigned myself to that when I concocted this whole crazy scheme. Literally concocted.

Which was what she asked about next. "How long did this take to bake?"

"Oh, a couple of days. The trick was keeping the parts we already made fresh so they wouldn't spoil before we finished the rest of it. Kristoff helped me with that, grabbed me a few blocks of ice; normally I would ask you to do it with a little magic, but I mean, since it was a surprise for you that would have been pretty stupid."

"Yes, I suppose so," she giggled, rubbing her fingertips against each other experimentally. "Smooth frosting… buttercream?"

"Of course! And I wanted to add a bunch of berries, but then it wouldn't have looked like my bed, because I don't normally have a bunch of berries on it." While Elsa laughed again, I slipped my arms around her waist. "And yeah, I know you still think it's weird I wanted to be in a cake like this. Plus it's a big waste of food. But for just this one birthday, the first one since we reunited, I wanted to give you something so big it was literally all around us. Like we're part of the cake instead of just the other way around."

Her voice was so gentle and warm when she responded, "I believed you the first time, Anna. But thank you for elaborating. I love knowing how you think, how your mind works. My amazing, clever sister."

Again, we kissed, deeper and longer and with no inhibitions. We tried to restrain ourselves when we were out in public, of course, but alone in my room? Nobody looking over our shoulders? Free as wild horses.

By the time we came up for air, I was no longer the clean one because we had been rolling around in the cake-bed. Sure, I still felt guilty for putting the castle cooks through so much work just so we could wreck it, but at least Kristoff and I gave them a hand — and I gave them the day off once they were through. Anyway, basically the only places where chocolate and frosting hadn't accumulated multiple layers was our faces, because they were so close to each other that nothing could get in between them.

"Are we supposed to be eating any of this?" Elsa laughed, running her finger through some on my shoulder.

"Well, yeah. I wouldn't have done this if it was just for show; this might as well have been a big frosted mud pie." Then I held up…

"Anna, where could you possibly have been hiding that?!"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Elsa merely blinked at me for a few seconds until I caved. "Okay, I had it in my butt."

"What- that sounds incredibly painful!"

"No, no, I was just clenching my cheeks on the handle. Obviously! Like I used the handle outside your door that first time. Come on, do you really think anybody would stick the pointy part into anywhere that sensitive?"

"Well, it is you," she laughed as she reached for the fork. Our fork. "Though I suppose I admire the control you have over your muscles back there." Then she hesitated, her brow furrowing. I could figure out what was holding her back.

"I also took one of Gerda's very thorough baths," I informed her to put her fears at ease. Which made her finally take it with a slight shake of her head. "Oh — and I helped one of the servants mop the floor before we got started in here. Trust me, when I say you can eat off the floor, I really mean it this time."

"You really have thought of everything; such attention to detail. It's almost a little scary."

"Love makes you a little scary sometimes, I guess."

"I guess." Then she slid the fork through some of the cake that we hadn't already rolled in, bringing it up to my lips. "After you."

"Oh! Wait… you first, it's your birthday."

"Diving into it counted as me going first," she chuckled. "Besides, I tasted a little on your lips once they caught some from my lips. Go on." And since I had no argument against that, and she was looking at me with those bemused, insistent eyes, I took the bite into my mouth.

"Ohmyghob, ibzo goob!"

"Anna, manners." Which I could appreciate the irony, since there were very little manners involved in rolling around in a giant cake. Probably. Maybe they do that more often in Corona…

"You have GOT to try this," I gushed once I had swallowed, grabbing the fork and scooping up another big bite for my sister.

"Can't I have a different fork?" But I wasn't budging. And she knew how important that particular utensil was to the both of us. "Gerda bathed you the same way she bathed me, didn't she?"

"It was like standing in a geyser."

"Fine." She accepted her first proper bite. Her blue eyes slid closed in ecstasy as she hummed her approval, eventually nodding after she had chewed for a moment.

"Amazing, right?" All she did was nod, raising a hand to give the okay symbol. So I helped myself to another bite, clutching my hand to my chest as tears welled up in my eyes.

Seriously, it was that good. Best cake I ever had in my life, up to and including the one with my sister's extra frosting.

"Okay," Elsa panted a couple minutes later when we had eaten our fill for the moment. "I was teasing you before, but I take it all back; I do want to live here and sleep here."

"Surrounded by layers of chocolatey goodness?" I giggled as I flopped onto my back, spread eagle in piles of sweet perfection. It was like Heaven, or Valhalla or whatever you believe is the good afterlife.

"Exactly. Fun and function." I glanced over to see she was lying on her side, propped up on one elbow so she could look down at me with a smile full of so much affection that my heart skipped a beat. "So very you."

At first all I did was chuckle a little and smile up at her. But then when she leaned down to kiss my chest, I let my eyes fall closed as a little sigh escaped my lips. "Mmm…"

"You were after something like this, I believe?"

Opening my eyes again, I was just in time to see her tongue slide across the meat of my right breast, the one closest to her. The track of freckled skin she revealed by cutting through the chocolate confection gleamed from her saliva, and it was somehow both offensive and arousing at the same time.

"Y-yeah. Something like that." I cleared my throat and caressed along her back, through cake and hair. "But you don't have to. If that whole courting thing is so-"

"We can take a break," she interrupted with an impish smile. "One night, for both Yule and my birthday. And for you, because I know how hard it has been to keep your hands off me."

A blast of air exploded from my lungs as she licked again. "HAH! W-wow, somebody's conceited in here, and I think her name rhymes with… with, uh…"

"With what? Jelsa?"

"No, that's not a thing."

I was still trying to think of a rhyme for her name when she found my nipple, and my squeal blasted every thought out of both of our minds. My chest was a feast for my sister for the moment as my conscious thoughts faded, simply letting her enjoy me. Because I enjoyed it just as much. A few times, she hit the nerves just right that I twitched, digging my nails briefly into her back and making her hiss in response. Some extra added fun.

Then she started moving down my stomach. I knew where she was going; this wasn't our first time trying this particular activity. But the butterflies were as fresh as ever, and my thighs tried to trap her head there.

"Oh, not tonight?" she purred.

"Reflex," I panted shortly, trying not to laugh at the cake all over her face now. Because even though it was funny, it also wasn't… since she was about to go to town on me.

Oh, she did. She really, really did — and it blew my mind so much more this time, somehow. Maybe it was because for the past few months, I only had that fork handle for company in my bed. Being pent up and needy tends to make the release ten times stronger, you know.

"Elsa!" I whined after a few hours. Okay, it was probably a minute or two, but it felt like so long! "You're really… how did you… get this good?!"

By the time she came up for air to answer me, she was gripping my ass cheeks to hold my pelvis closer to her face. "You're worth trying my best for, Anna. And… I may have practiced on an ice-replica." When I laughed at that, a frosting-smeared eyebrow arched. "Ooh…"

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Your backside is so firm, and I felt it flexing in my hands. Powerful."

"Y-yeah, I exercise a lot. Could probably pick up a gold coin with it."

"Really?" I felt her poking around back there, and I clenched — again, reflex. "Wow. Do you think… you could squeeze this?"

Before I had any chance to ask a question or protest, I felt a finger sliding between my cheeks. What in the fjord was Elsa doing?! It felt wrong, and disturbing… and hot? Was it hot somehow?! Maybe, but only because it was her, and she had already been going down on me, I'm pretty sure; if anybody else had tried that, especially when I wasn't already chomping at the bit to get off, their hand would be kindling for the fireplace in the corner.

So don't let anybody tell you Elsa is a prude who would never do anything like that. That whole regal facade is just a smoke screen. She can get just as wild as me.

"Wow, your muscles really are strong," Elsa breathed in honest surprise, not just teasing me. "I'm impressed."

Freya, I tried so hard to hold it together. To control my reaction. But as she dragged her finger back from my crack, brushing the little forbidden spot that I had been trying not to think about, I shivered and let out a little moan. Dooming myself.

"Anna?"

"Yes! I m-mean, hello, yeah, you can… you can start back in on the goods now! Remember my goods? Right there in front of you?"

"No, wait. Did you enjoy…?" Probably trying to spare me some embarrassment, she didn't finish the sentence. Instead, she raised her frosting-covered finger and flexed it in my field of vision.

"Oh, did I really get cake in there, too? Sheeze, we've really been going crazy!"

My nervous laughter made it way too obvious I was just trying to distract my sister. Why was I so bad at that sometimes? She looked at me suspiciously for a moment, then glanced at the finger, then back at me.

"Anna-"

"Please, can we not-"

"Anna, it's okay. If you want me to leave that alone, I will; I was only asking how you felt about it. That's all."

Though her words didn't dial back my embarrassment, it soothed away the anxiety spike. "Oh. Well… no, I didn't mind that much. Not really. It's just because… like, after all you've been doing to my clit and tits, I'm kind of sensitive… everywhere. So it was pretty interesting, but I would never ask you to do it again! That's too big a favour!"

Elsa thought that over for a moment, and I finally started to relax. Then she kissed my inner thigh. "Just relax, my love. My Lord Anna." I groaned, thinking back to the coronation ball. Even though it all worked out okay. "I'll take care of you. And all you have to do is ask, and I will stop or change what I am doing. You can always talk to me, alright?"

"Okay," I said, completely relieved. My queen was so sweet to me, always taking care of me as much as she could. Making me feel safe.

Well, I did feel a little less safe when she started kissing closer to my behind. And then when I felt two thumbs pulling the cheeks apart, I wriggled all over and gasped out, "WHOA! Elsa, are you- you're not gonna-"

"Just going to try to get the cake in here," she laughed softly. "Unless you have objections."

Did I? The whole thing was too weird to have any objections. And while I was still trying to come up with one, I felt that wriggling tongue press somewhere I had never wanted or needed it to go. Was Elsa really doing this? She really didn't mind? We did enough wrong and taboo things already that this just seemed like one step too far! But the way she was going at my ass suggested she didn't agree.

And it was… different. Not good, not bad; just unsettling even while it was stimulating. When she was still at it a minute later with no signs of stopping, one of my hands started trailing the handle of that trusty fork down my stomach. Maybe, if I could take care of the main attraction, a little sideshow in the back room wouldn't be so bad.

"Mm?" she hummed, tongue still sliding over my taut skin. She must have seen my fingers moving, because she drew back with a chuckle. "Oh, did you need me to move along?"

"Y-yeah, Elsa, I… we could try that again later, but right now I'm…"

With a solemn nod, she went right back to going down on me. Who could complain about a girlfriend like that? Just takes care of my needs without any complaint. What an angel.

"Oh ffff- MMM!" Yeah, I had to scream into my hand to let out some of my energy. Luckily, it wasn't the one holding the fork or I might have stabbed myself in the face. A minute later, I gasped, "Elsa! I'm almost there! Almost there!"

My sister did not slow down until I actually was there. It felt like she had six tongues instead of two — which she might actually have been able to pull off if she used her ice powers, but I didn't feel her mouth get any colder. I came so hard and shook all over, and the whole time Elsa just held onto my hips and devoured me like I was the best cake she had ever tried. Which was probably how she felt.

Once my heat faded, she lowered me into the cake again and smirked. "That happened awfully quickly for someone who didn't like me playing with her a little lower than usual."

"Y-yeah! Well… you… let me get pent up for multiple months!"

"That is fair. I hope my apology was satisfactory."

Pretending to think real hard about it, I screwed up my face and tapped my chin. Elsa laughed. "Weeeeeelllllllllll… on one condition."

"What condition?" She started when I moved to pin her to the bed. "Oh!"

"This one." My chosen target was her neck. She shivered a little when I ran my tongue along it, enjoying the rich chocolate mixing with the light purity of her skin. I wanted to eat Elsa whole.

"Anna… you… make it hard to breathe."

"Elsa…"

"N-no, I… I'm really-!"

With a shock, I realized she meant the way my hand was pushing into the middle of her abdomen. "OH! Shit, Elsa, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" As she took a deep breath, I caressed her side. "Better? Man, I am just really dumb sometimes…"

Elsa pulled me down into her embrace. "We already covered that. You are not dumb. You have never been dumb."

"You sure? I mean, not that I'm trying to argue with you, but you keep saying that and then I keep doing dumb things."

"Because you're excited. I am, too; I've just had a lot more practice... controlling myself."

For good reason. But since she wasn't judging me, I pushed myself back up to begin devouring the cake covering her ribs and stomach. She giggled a couple of times, and I smiled at the way her abdominal muscles flexed under my lips, bumping up against my nose. I could have kept eating off her and exploring her for hours and never got bored. Not once.

"Mmhhh, this really is so good," I sighed as I got closer and closer to the finish line. "The cake, you… who could ask for more?"

"I'm glad you… approve." But I could tell she was nervous. Why? It's not like this was the first time we had done anything like this; just the first in a little while.

"Elsa?" She didn't answer right away. Watching her bite her lip and look anxious was cute, but I still prompted her, "Hey. You okay?"

"What? Oh… yes, I'm fine." My face must have looked extra unconvinced, because a second later, she relented. "I'm still a little afraid of losing control of my powers when I…"

"When you what? Oh, wait, you're- right, got it, you don't need to explain. But hey, even when you've done that before, all you did was give me a little extra blast of snow. I don't mind a cold cake."

Tittering the slightest amount, despite the fear in her eyes, she reached down to run her fingers through my sugar-matted fringe. "Neither of us do. And I know you're probably right, but I can't help but worry I will hurt you for a third time. I don't think I could take that."

"Me, either. But you won't. I hear you, I do, but I know you have a handle on this now. You've been doing so good! Nobody in Arendelle is scared of you anymore. So just… let me do the magic this time."

That was that. Even though she was still biting her lip, her brow still creased, she didn't protest further as I kissed the inside of her thigh, devouring the frosting I found there. But I still didn't like that she was wound up so tight. So I figured hey, why not try to loosen her up?

"So, if I get a couple of fingers in you and really start going to town… does that make this pound-cake?"

Oh, now she looked mad. I barely had enough time to register the movement before her foot was pushing into my face, trying to shove me off the bed entirely.

"Hey, whoa whoa, Elsa! Come on, I'm sorry!"

"Why don't I believe you?" she demanded in a would-be stern voice. The answer might have been because I was laughing up a storm. But I caught sight of her smile, which told me she was just trying to mess around with me. One of the many things I had been missing over the past thirteen years.

"Truce! I'll keep my corny jokes to myself if you don't shove me the rest of the way off this bed!" Really, I already had to whip one leg back and brace against the floor to keep from falling as it was. But she slowly began to relent. "Thank you."

"I ought to put my finger back in your 'fork holder' for that one," she grunted.

"It was one time! I don't go around carrying forks back there all the time, you know!"

"Actually, no, I don't know that. Because I never inspect the back of your dress when you are casually walking down the halls."

"You could, though…" As she just shook her head at me, I decided to get a little more playful.

"AH! Not my feet — don't bite my feet, you know how ticklish iyyyahahahhaaaa!"

Too late. My teeth were nibbling all over her chocolatey toes in retaliation for almost being knocked on my butt. The way she began kicking was extremely dangerous, but at least now my childhood memories were intact; I remembered learning by watching our father that you had to hold her leg steady when you tickled her, or you were asking for an eyeful of flailing heel.

"STOP!" she cackled. "I'm- I am about to ruin this cake! Anna!"

Right away, I broke off with a laugh. No matter how much fun I was having, it wasn't worth ruining an entire cake-bed by making her wet herself. "Okay, okay. Yellow frosting is as bad as yellow snow, I guess."

"You… monster!" But she was still laughing a little, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling in an attempt to regain her breath. Which looked like she had been doing something else.

Flawless. I was head over heels, alright.

"Sorry. But do you know how cute you are when you get tickled?"

Clearing her throat, she pushed up onto her elbows before answering me. "That is… because I didn't get to run around outside the way you did. Not after my ninth birthday. So my feet are…"

Oh. Well that was a sad reason for them to be extra sensitive. But I decided to simply kiss the one I had been attacking and say, "Perfect. You were gonna say 'perfect' right? Because that's the only answer I'm accepting right now."

Shaking her head a little at me, she let out an exasperated sigh that was followed by a small smile. "You're too kind to me."

"Nah. Just know you deserve the best."

Again, I kissed, and she hummed as her smile grew. When my lips parted to let my tongue slide between two of her toes, she rolled her eyes and pulled her foot away. "Fine, I get it, you love every inch of me."

"Glad we got that straightened out. Now, I have my eye on a couple of pastries… one sec."

Her hand raised up to rest on the back of my head when I attacked her chest. I figured she would probably appreciate having some time to recover before I went back between her thighs. The sounds floating out of her lungs were every bit as enthralling as if I had gone straight for the crux of her thighs, of course, but at least this way I could enjoy my cake a little longer.

"You are… so persistent." I switched to the other peak, my hand wrapping around the mountain below and kneading just enough to add pressure and pleasure without causing pain. "Mmmhh, and I almost want to ask if you have been practicing on someone else!"

"Maybe I made an ice-replica," I shot at her as I moved back down. Her grin was so huge. "Okay, I'm ready. Let's do this."

"You make it sound like you're about to go cliff-diving!" she laughed.

"Oh, I am. I'm about to dive down deep into your sound."

Elsa's lips parted, probably to reprimand me for another corny line. But all that came out was a moan when I pressed my mouth tightly against her soft folds through the frosting and chocolate. And I intended to clean every speck of that from her by the time I was finished.

My Elsa. My queen of snow and ice, grace and beauty and power. The only woman in the world. My mind and heart were full of desire for the goddess I was making writhe with my every teasing touch. And it wasn't just that she was the most beautiful girl in Arendelle, not that she had given me an orgasm so recently. This was about way more than repaying a debt or physical beauty; it was my sister. The one person who had always been a part of me, and who always will.

"A-Anna!" she gasped — well, she had been doing that for a couple of minutes, but this one was louder and stronger. Somehow, I just knew what she meant. "I'm… I'm still scared! I love you!"

I loved her, too. But I wanted to show her in some way besides slowing down to tell her with words. So I moved one hand from her hip to push our fork into hers, which had been clutching uselessly at another pile of birthday cake. And wow, did she respond! My hand was caught with the fork between our fingers, and it was such a tight grip that I felt like she would never let me go again.

Which did as much for me as I might have been doing for her.

There was more snow this time. Somehow, I had kind of expected that; I mean, when you tell an ice witch that she shouldn't hold back with her power, you're going to get more power. Makes sense, right? But even while I was still feeling her flesh pulse against my lips and tongue, her juices running down my chin, tiny pinpricks of cold were dusting my back in the spots that weren't covered by chocolate.

"Oh," I panted when I finally came up for air, satisfied that she no longer needed little licks for little aftershocks. "Snow! See? I told you everything would be fine. And this isn't even that bad!"

Though of course, we were both looking around at the winter wonderland filling the room. It was only a couple of inches deep, but spread over that large an area it still added up to a decent amount.

"It's… a lot," she panted. "But at least there aren't any… nothing dangerous."

Scoffing, I crawled up to lay my head on her shoulder, curling my entire body around hers as tightly as I could. Needing to be that close to her now. "Dangerous? You? Come on, you're a big pussycat."

"We both know… that's… a stretch." Finally, she cleared her throat and simply took in a couple of deep breaths so she wouldn't be so winded. Then she turned to look into my eyes with a smile full of afterglow and affection. "Thank you. For that, for all of this; for my perfect birthday night."

"Yeah. You got it. I'm always going to show you how much I love you, no matter how big I have to go to get the point across."

"Anna, you don't have to. I already know." We shared a firm kiss. Then she crinkled her nose. "Oh, that's… did you really enjoy me adding that to your cake? It's so strange."

"Maybe I wouldn't have if I didn't know what it was," I admitted with a giggle. "But knowing? Oh yeah. Totally hot."

"If you say so." Then she suddenly looked horrified. "Oh no — my lips have- you were kissing-"

"All I tasted was Sister-Queen and cake," I headed her off before she actually said it out loud. "Don't have to make it even more gross. Seriously, you didn't run away from my butt? I thought that would be a fate worse than death!"

"No, no," she reassured me, completely contented now that we had both enjoyed ourselves and could relax. "I wasn't lying for your benefit; it wasn't that bad. Especially when mixed with chocolate cake. Though I agree with you about my essence on this subject; probably wouldn't have enjoyed it not knowing what it is, or by itself. Well…"

Running my index fingertip in small circles on her stomach, I prompted, "Well?"

"I could try it by itself. Maybe. Someday."

"Go ahead. I won't… well, I might judge a little, but since we're already sisters who knock boots, it's not gonna hold a lot of water."

"Mmhmm. I suppose that's a valid point."

"Ohhhhh, I just wanna lay here forever!" I burst out as I curled even harder around Elsa, and she laughed again, nuzzling into my hair. "Though I do have another bath ready in the next chamber. I'm no doctor, but it's probably not the best idea for us to leave cake in some of the places we have cake right now."

Nodding, she whispered, "In a minute. This is so comfortable. Actually, I'm surprised we're not sinking all the way down to the floor."

"Oh — yeah, that's because we took a bed-sized wooden box and made the cake on top of that. Like, it's pretty much a bunch of little cakes smushed together in a grid pattern to make one huge sheet cake, and then we just put the icing all over it and down the sides with the right colours and patterns. So it looked like a real bed, with a quilt and all."

"Clever," she chuckled, scratching at my rib cage just enough to prompt a giggle from me before she stopped. "Really, I was flabbergasted at first, but now I really admire all the work you did for this. Because it turned out to be a lot of fun."

Her praise made my heart glow. "It did, didn't it? Chocolate cake slumber party. Go me."

We both fell into the kind of comfortable silence you can only have with family. Lover, sister, friend… Elsa was all of those things to me. And we had beaten all the odds and found our way back to each other, and we were alive, and our lives were wonderful. There wasn't much else I could ask for.

"I love you, my Anna," she breathed into my hair before rolling over to prop herself up on her elbow and look at me. I mirrored the gesture, gazing into her eyes.

"Love you, too, Majesty. And I always will."

Elsa kissed me hard and long, and held me close for such a long time that time itself ceased to hold meaning. Definitely not your run-of-the-mill anniversary of being born, but I finally knew: what we had? Different-good. The best kind of different a princess could ask for.

                                                      ~ Takk for Reisen ~

#Min Søster Bursdagskake #cake fic #min soster bursdagskake #forkanna writes #elsanna fanfiction #elsanna fandom #elsanna #jess the writer #the cake fic

[wykart]

Oneshot fic where I try to piece together Thirteen’s character post spyfall part 2, and extend the episode’s final scene. (read on ao3)

The Promise

She stands, bathed in blue, with three pairs of eyes boring holes into her back. Inquisitive eyes, reproachful, skeptical. Dissatisfied. She thinks that’s probably fair enough. 

Behind her, the ship puts on a pale imitation of its usual golden hue – which is partly her fault, because the strength of her anguish resonates within the temporal engines. The ship mourns with her. It had been her home too. 

She’s taken on more than she can handle; three humans – she hasn’t had to deal with that many at once in a long while. It’s exhausting, because behind her back, they talk. They conspire. They formulate attacks in the form of questions and furrowed brows. It’s her against them, and it has been for a while now. Her against them; how had it ever come to this? Friends or enemies? She’s always found it difficult to tell the difference. 

It would be easy, perhaps, to drop them back on Earth, waltz off with a grin and a lie through bared teeth, and never return. She’s done it before. 

But the promise she made claws at her, raging at her behind pale eyes. Eyebrows; with his lined face and harsh expression – easy to intimidate, with a face like that. Easy to lie.  She craves that mask of lines, that icy stare. Maybe if she still wore that face, they wouldn’t ask so many questions.

He wanted to die, old Eyebrows had, and she’s starting to think that maybe he had the right idea. “Be a Doctor,” She had promised, but she doesn’t feel like the Doctor anymore. It all just feels like a game. 

And what was the rest of the promise? Never be cruel, never be cowardly... oh, but she is a coward – she’s been afraid of the dark since she was a boy, and she’s been running for – how long? About three thousand years, half of her assures (more like four and a half billion, the other half answers). And – though this is harder to admit – she is cruel. She’s crueller, colder, older. Be a Doctor, but the Doctor is a lie. Now more than ever, she’s hiding behind a title. For the first time, stranded without her friends, marooned in history, the cruelty had boiled over, and she’d found that she was full of so much of it that it scared her, but she couldn’t stop it from spilling out. At least the Master knows he’s cruel, he revels in the fact. She is something worse, because she’s convinced herself that her cruelty is some sort of justice. Some sort of twisted kindness, because the rules of time are not hers, and she is just a traveller. Walking away, in Montgomery and the Punjab, leaving a young boy to burn and a horde of innocent creatures to starve, that was cruel, but it was necessary, because sometimes she loses. Because the rules of time were never hers. 

Wiping Ada’s mind should have shaken her, it should have reminded her of  pleading eyes and words of power; Donna, Clara, Bill. But it didn’t. (If you ever stop, I think the universe might just go cold). And what if I go cold, she asks no one, what happens to the universe then? 

Always try to be nice. This one, she has down to an art. She can’t remember ever being nicer. She’s bubbly and hopeful and sweet - at least, when her friends are around. When she’s putting on a show, because the Doctor is a lie. Even when she’s cruel, she’s sweet. She’s nice. All wicked smile and steely eyes, teasing. A trickster’s stare. It was fun, at first, the youth, the constant movement and chatter and quirky quips. It was fun, because they didn’t question her. She revelled in their awe and their reverence in a way that filled her with sour guilt. She kept herself mysterious, confident, infallible. Vague. She stuck to the rules, when her friends were around. No weapons, no interference. Hasn’t she already seen where breaking the rules can get her? She is just a traveler; not a god or a monster or an impossible hero. Not anymore. She’s holding herself in, but the shell is too small. Jagged edges of her past jut through the edges of her silhouette, so she keeps her friends distracted. She keeps them moving and she never stays for tea, because the quiet is when questions are asked, and linear time makes her head ache and her fingers twitch. She’s hooked on the adventure. The lie. (It is Clara, she answers an old question, weary, it is like an addiction). 

Never fail to be kind. But she was always failing. She’s told her friends who she is, using empty words robbed of their usual pride and significance. Her voice and her manner had been waspish, impatient. Cruel. (There, happy?). Their unending curiosity, their kindness, it grated against her in a way that told her she was becoming something awful. She holds them, her new best friends, at arm's reach, and never closer, because she knows what happens when she lets herself get too invested. 

Oh, and never tell anyone your name. Well, that’s one promise she can keep - because everyone who can understand the cadence of her true name is dead. Killed by the only other person who still knows it. She will never be able to tell anyone her name again. 

Laugh hard. She’s done all sorts of laughing.  Triumphant exclamations of wonder, because she’s just a traveller, and everything is new to these dark eyes, everything inspires hope. Belly-clutching, strained reels of laughter when her friends are cracking jokes. When they’re travelling, never stopping, never still. The real sort of laughter comes when she’s alone. Low, cruel chuckles to the enemy that roil in her gut, that make her feel alive. Wind whistling through newly spun blonde hair, cold air against new bared teeth, old tattered clothes hanging loose as she shed the one she was before. It was a good feeling, intimidating. Darkness biting through the nice. 

Run fast. She’s faster than ever. She’s running so fast that she can barely keep up with herself. Hands always moving, fixing, tweaking, tinkering. Mouth running off at a hundred miles an hour spouting tidbits and anecdotes that even she isn’t sure are truth or lie. That night on the train, she had hit the ground running, and hasn’t stopped since. Not until she’d taken a trip home, and she’s stopped dead in her tracks. All the adrenaline she’s been running off it gone, now. All she has is anger. 

Be kind. And that’s the most difficult part of all. Nice is just a show you put on to the people around you, and pretending is easy. Kindness is deeper, and difficult to fake. Difficult, especially, because she can feel him – the Master – in the back of her mind like an itch, gloating. The ghost of a laugh, bright and spitting and maniacal, because this is exactly what he wanted. Where he is, that dark, dead dimension, the walls are thin. He can see her. Exiled to an unknown dimension, foiled and hopeless and alone, he’s still won. Laughing. Gloating. (Why would it stop). He tore apart the life she’d been building, ripped away the veil to show a glimpse of her true face; to her friends, and to herself. And she hates him. She hates him so much she wants to scream. Who is he but a reminder that it can never, ever stop. The grief and the running, and her, growing colder by the moment. A snarl twists at her face. She’s all anger, prowling, body wracked with energy that makes her want to break something, break him. The thought only makes him laugh harder. 

“Doctor?” A voice that doesn’t come from inside her head. A voice without the bite of the telepathic. Simple, human. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s Yaz. The Doctor turns, blinking against the golden light of the console and its amber pillars. Graham and Ryan stand under its canopy, concern knotted through their features. Yaz is closer, because she’s the only one who’s brave enough. Her eyes are wide and dark and kind. The sort of kind she hasn’t been in a long while. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just tired, it’s been a long few days.” Five days, five planets. No trouble, just relaxing. She did it for them rather than herself, because her ideal vacation involved a lot more running and danger and mystery. Instead of sickly sweet ice cream and soft golden sands, she craved blood and ash, the slick oil and grease of weathered machines, the smell of fear and panic. The calm and emboldening feeling of being in charge, weaving together a solution, saving the day and bounding off on the next adventure. The past five days have been hell, because hell is quiet. Hell is being left to your own devices and thoughts and left to stew out in the sun like the the rocks baking on the shoreline by her faded luxury deck chair. Decaying. And all the while, his laughter, echoing inside her skull. 

“Doctor?” The voice tries again, impatient. 

“Hmm?” She murmurs, absently meandering back towards the console, looking for something to tinker with. Something to do with their hands to make herself look busy. Behind her back, she feels them shifting, casting glances at each other that speak a thousand words. Inwardly, she sighs. Friends or enemies? 

Graham is the first to venture forth. “Look, I, err, we” – he amends, and nods pass between her friends, still behind her back – “we’ve been meanin’ to ask you something.” Of course it’s him, the most skeptical. She sees the way he looks at her, the way he worries. It’s true that she prefers the company of the young, because the young haven’t yet had the chance to learn what old eyes look like. They don’t recognise those eyes in her. “Why are you travelling with us, I mean really…” Because you were there. You were human and you were there and I was lonely, she doesn’t say, because that would be cruel.

“Yeah, and who are you? We’ve tried asking’ so many times but you always dodge the question.” Ryan cuts across, emboldened. She turns around, away from the nothing she was doing with her hands. She stares at them and tries to look nice, but fails to look kind. 

“‘Cause we’re putting’ our metaphorical foot down, Doc,” Graham says, with a hint of a smile. Keeping it light. “We’ve been talkin’, and we think, if we’re gonna keep on travellin’ together, we should get to know who we’re travellin’ with.” There was a time when they wouldn’t have dared. They were so caught up in the adventure and so scared that it was going to end that they would never have asked her that question, not when she’d been so adamantly obvious about dodging it. They were afraid to lose her, but now, they know just how much power they hold. Her against them. They know she’s lonely, that she needs them just as much – maybe more – than they need her. Running from grief, from abandonment, from boredom. Human problems. Simple reasons. The other reason they are asking now is, she knows, because they’re afraid. She slipped up. All that time carefully calibrating the ultimate TARDIS experience; controlled, self-contained adventures, and never to those voluminous corners of the galaxy where the people knew her name; in reverence or in fear, because she’s just a traveller. Now they know that she can make mistakes, that she has a history, old enemies. It scares them, because they wanted, needed to believe that she was infallible. It made following her seemingly arbitrary and ever-shifting rules all too easy. Now, suddenly, travelling is difficult. Scary. Real.

“Not that we don’t want to keep on travellin’ with you,” Yaz assures her with that officer calm. “We just think we’re entitled to know a bit more, seein’ as you know us so well.”

“And I don’t mean some made up words that don’t mean anythin’ to us” Ryan says. Gallifrey, Kasterberous, Time Lord – what did any of that mean to them? Nothing, especially when her voice had been so cold, deflated, deflective. Trying to make them feel guilty for daring to ask. “I mean, why are you runnin’?” What a question... Of course, he doesn’t realise what he’s asking, the gravity of it. Boredom or exile or fear – or a mixture of all three. (And why, he asks, with his eyes, not his mouth, because he can’t quite articulate the feeling, why do we trust you?) It had been going so well. In her head, the Master laughs some more, and she doesn’t know whether he’s really there or if she’s imagining it. 

“And who were you before we met you?” Yaz asks, eyes softening, begging her. “Who were you before that night on the train?” It’s the final question that makes her muscles seize up and her eyes go cold. It’s what makes the anger bubble to the surface and the laugher break from background noise to a shrill cackling inside her head. She had been a white-haired scottsman, and she made a promise. A contract, and she’d broken every clause. 

“Why should I have to tell you?” She snaps. Maybe the ferocity should surprise her, but it doesn’t. Cruelty is becoming normal, for her, something that’s always lurking there, just below the surface. Yaz steps back from her stare, shocked. “I’m just a traveller, didn’t I already say, I’m nobody. Isn’t this enough for you?” she pleads, and he laughs. “Aren’t you having fun?” a different angle, because they can’t deny that. It’s been fun, it’s been lighthearted. It’s been good.  “Why can’t you just let me be this?” her voice comes in strangled, breaking gasps, because there isn’t just cruelty under the surface, there’s grief as well. “Why can’t you just let me leave it all behind?” The ship rages beneath her; lights flashing, sparks spitting, crystalline pillars spiralling with blue and harsh red. It casts them all in shadow. The remnants of her voice rings out in the hollow space, the ship whirring back into silence, echoing her, understanding her like none of her new friends ever will. 

In the silence, Graham hums, his mouth folded into a line. Ryan is staring at the ground, chest rising and falling with subsiding panic. Worse, though, is Yaz, because she’s staring right at her. There’s no fear in her eyes, just kindness and a twisted sort of satisfaction. Her face says ‘I was right,’ and in her cruellest moment yet, the Doctor hates her for it. 

“I’m sorry – I…” she knows what she has to do, and all her previous faces are looking at her in disdain. In disgust. Shut up, she swats their images away. They aren’t her, not anymore. The Doctor is a lie, and she is just a traveller. “Yaz, I’m really, really sorry,” she whispers, voice like silk. Beckoning. The girl can’t resist. 

“I know, it’s okay,” Yaz smiles, walking forwards. But the Doctor isn’t apologising for what she said, instead, she’s apologising for what she’s about to do, because she won’t get the chance after it’s done. More faces; Donna, Clara, Bill. Ada. She ignores them, and takes comfort in the cruelty of the act. 

The Doctor reaches out, and Yaz leans in to her touch, thinking that she’s offering comfort. The Doctor places outstretched fingers against her temple and searches her mind. As she sifts through her timeline, the act pressed into the space of a moment, it occurs to her that she could pick apart the strands of her memories and pluck out the parts that don’t fit. The doubts, the fear. The time she spent in that horrible dimension; lost and alone in the endless forest. She could make her better. The ship hums a dissonant note; a warning, and she realises that she isn’t quite that cruel. Not yet, anyway. She only takes the past minute. It’s barely a touch upon her mind, barely a dent, so she stays conscious. Yaz sways for a moment, dizzy, while the Doctor strides over to the two boys. They aren’t paying attention. They’re talking amongst themselves in low, harsh whispers. Behind her back. Her against them. 

There’s a moment when they notice her purposeful steps clanging against the metal floor, and they look up. They see her expression; flat and cold. Unyielding; and their eyes flash with fear. Graham opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, she raises both hands towards their heads. She takes Ryan in one hand and Graham in the other; outstretched arms reaching, the pads of her fingers running over the surface of their thoughts as their eyes brush closed. She could take back the memory of the Master, the panic on the plane, the bone-burrowing fear of being on the run - but she doesn’t. She thinks she will regret it later, when she’s grown a little colder still. 

In their moment of confusion, time rewinding, she takes her position at the top of the stairs. The blue light on her face feels right, it feels honest. She waits for their eyes to open and adjust, once again trained on her back, and she walks away before they can pose their carefully constructed questions. She leaves them standing under the fading gold of the console, sharing those transparent, conspiratorial glances, forming a new plan to get her cornered. Her against them. She makes a new promise, and the promise is this; they can never know. You are nobody. You are just a traveller. 

The Doctor is a lie, and they can never know. 

#doctor who #dw #my art #digital art #fanart #dark!13 #dark!thirteen #thirteenth doctor #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #dwfic #my writing #oneshot #angst #thasmin #yasmin khan #ryan sinclair #graham o'brien #dhawan!master #the master #the doctor #spyfall #dw spoiler

[keyofjetwolf]

Bonus Question Answers! (anime heat 1)

I asked a silly question! You gave me incredible answers. SO VERY MANY INCREDIBLE ANSWERS. Now, I present my favourites! 

If your answer is listed below, you’ve earned an entry in a random draw to win a GIFTENING liveblog OF YOUR CHOICE

—

Q: If you could drop any of the Senshi into another anime, who would you put where, and what happens next?

*  Just dropping Minako into Literally Any Anime and watch her try to fuck the hottest character(s) as chaotically as possible is always my idea of a good time. -- @commas-and-ampersands [Honestly, isn’t it a good time for all of us? Especially Minako.]

*  Probably any of them (but most likely Minako or Michiru) into Revolutionary Girl Utena for SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER and SPOILER SPOILER Doc SPOILER SPOILER reasons -- @dancinginredshoes  [FANTASTIC ANSWER THE DETAIL WAS DIVINE]

*  Mako would do very well as a character in Sweetness and Lightning. Befriend Kotori and Tsumugi and help them cook but sometimes having to suddenly jump out for 'half hour tops, be back soon, keep the heat down, don't let it burn' and leave our heroes alone to cook. They'd manage and receive another victory in cooking and then Mako would join them again and praise them on how they did such a good job. Inuzuka-sensei would be convinced that her 'stepping out' is a tactic to let them gain confidence in cooking. Little does he know she's a genuine Magic Girl. If Tsumugi accidentally found out she'd be over the moon but easily bribed to keep quiet on this most important secret of a Magic Girl.-- Daphne of the Lustrous Waters [Mako in Sweetness & Lightning was a popular -- and very correct -- choice, but your attention to detail set this above and beyond. Too good, too pure.]

*  I would absolutely put Haruka into the Ouran High School Host Club anime, and I will try to elaborate without undue spoilers. I would LOVE to see Haruka take those rich boys down a peg. As a gender nonconforming woman with a working class background who can A) navigate rich people nonsense via exposure through Michiru and B) take any of them in a fight (and I do mean ANY of them, Ouran fans, don't @me), Haruka would be a delightful addition. Watching Michiru or Rei would be a great second choice -- @goosebytrade  [The sum total of my knowledge of this anime is the opening theme by PGSM Naru, and something about smashing a vase. Still, I found that I, too, wanted all of these things, thank you.]

* Hotaru is my baby and she deserves a better life, I want to scoop her up and put her somewhere that she can make FRIENDS HER OWN AGE who won't mind that she's a baby goth. I will send her to magic school in Little Witch Academia, where she will become a quiet girl with huge amounts of power that she doesn't like to use for anything other than healing (her absolute weakest attack knocks down walls, it gets worse from there) and everyone wants to be teammates with. The other option is shipping her off to Princess Tutu land, but while having Ahiru's friends dragging her around with them would make her less lonely, I'm not sure it would make her life *better*! She'd probably make a good ballerina though, if she didn't get magically turned into a luna moth.  -- idleflower  [A better life for Hotaru! I also want this for her. Also, Hotaru being a tiny ballet luna moth is inspired.]

*  Jetty I love you and your bonus questions, but if I'm not mistaken you have not watched many anime which makes thinking of an answer to this that you will also fully understand a bit harder then you might think, that being said if Haruka was in Utena it would be very interesting. Haruka would very much like to be a prince like Utena, but I think she would have zero patience with Touga and his bulshit. With any of the men in the student concil's bulshit really  -- Lott  [I love all this, but laughed INTENSELY at your callout.]

*  Haruka in Fushigi Yuugi. I desperately want to read more of that. -- @madegeeky​  [CORRECT AND ACCURATE WE ALL WANT AND DESERVE MORE OF THIS]

*  I would love to see Rei in any generic popular shonen and see her wreck shit --Omni  [nodding, tears in eyes]

*  Haruka in Yuri on Ice. I just like the idea of her looking amazing and Right in a mens figure skating costume and then taking one step onto the ice and....well.  --Skirto  [Wonderful setup to the perfect conclusion, full marks.]

*  I reach for the Senshi Displacer 3000, knobs winking in tandem with the soft purr of machinery. There are a hundred knobs, a thousand, a hundred thousand, there are knobs spilling out across the floor as I am momentarily overcome by the infinite amount of Senshi on a limitless plane of existence. I shake my head. No. I know who my pick is. She deserves this. The knobs retreat, leaving behind only one. Or was there ever only one? This universe is fickle like that; I don't think about it for too long. I reach for the softly glowing dark red button, but my hand is stopped with a gentle but firm chop from a gloved hand. Pluto looks at me sternly and shakes her head. She still feels duty-bound to the door, I get that, but still I plead. "Are you sure, Setsuna? Don't you want like, a tiny break? To hang out with a tiny adorable kitten?" She wavers a little. After all, Chi IS an adorable kitten looking for a Sweet Home. Eventually she shakes her head. She already knows one Cutest Kitten in the World, and she has her sacred duty to the kingdom. I sigh in understanding, defeated. Maybe I'll see how well that Gundam anime does with Rei at the helm... -- @rhiorhino  [Glorious, start to finish. Loved the story, can’t wait for the sequel.]

—

I’ll be drawing for the bonus liveblog around the start of THE GIFTENING 2020 (currently looking to be Monday, 11 January 2021). Each bonus question is another chance to earn an entry, so keep those answers coming! I CAN ABSOLUTELY AND SHAMELESSLY BE BOUGHT.

#THE GIFTENING 2020 #THE GIFTENING 2020 admin shit #THE GIFTENING 2020 bonus q

[praeyrp]

Lore Update: Factions;

Our factions are largely player-made and open to anyone, both in joining and creation! Here on FS we adore groups that allow our members to tie their characters to as many other characters as they’d like! 

Below the cut are all our current standing factions; all of them are joinable by anyone and aren’t limited in numbers or opposition! 

Factions;

Black Market

Leader: Justin Warrin

About: A long standing institution the local black market is a splintered transplant from New York, moved and led by Justin Warrin. As with its much larger sister operation in New York the SF black market deals in anything that’s needed and can’t be obtained through legal means. With several headhunters in its ranks the black market can be contacted to obtain anything that’s desired, for a price. Strict in his rule the SF black market is a well oiled machine, dealing smaller scale goods and services through the like-owned bar My Father’s Place the bulk of its wares are housed off site and rotated through a series of warehouses as needed. The daily operations consist of; arms dealing, gambling, drug dealing, underground fighting, rare reagents & grimoires. The market also houses a brothel off-site & tied into the basement of the local strip club, Bottoms Up.

Joining:  joining ooc is loose and open, just contact Sarah! IC you'll need to prove your worth to the man in charge, but he's not all that picky so long as you do your job, you'll keep your head~

Syndicate

Leader: Demetrio Dimas

About: The Syndicate was founded in the early 1900's as a safe way for contract killers to be hired. A middle man so to speak, ensuring that client, and the contract killer never met, allowing safety and security on both sides. Clients are able to visit the various hotels around the globe, owned by Demetrio, to leave your job, and payment method and the Syndicate does the rest. Over the years they have breached out into more than just contract killing, handling organ harvesting and body disposal.

Joining:  The Syndicate reaches out to prospective contract killers, are watched in action before being given the key to the kingdom so to speak.

The Blood Alliance

Leader: Diego Cortez

About: Founded in the early 1980's, the Blood Alliance, or, known by most, the Cortez Cartel, quickly became one of the most feared cartels within Mexico, eventually spilling out into various locations outside of Mexico. As they became one of the biggest hands within international drug trafficking, money laundering and organized crime, shipping more cocaine into the Americas than any other cartel. They, themselves breached out appointing various Cartel Heads in various major cities to ensure that the flow or drugs and everything else they had their hands on, moved smoothly between the cities and Mexico. The Blood Alliance has their hands involved in everything, with information on various key members of the city and around the world, and holds strong ties with the Black Market.

Joining:  A ranked member often brings in lower members to do the dirty work of the cartel.

The People's Temple & The Order

Leader: Matthias Irbson & Morgan  Delvaux

About: The People's Temple has been a long standing fixture of faith within San Francisco, or at least it's congregation has. A popular place of worship for decades the little Catholic church burned down in an accidental fire eight years ago, leaving its Sunset district neighborhood and congregation without a place of worship. Five years later and several failed attempts to fund-raise by an old tired minister and an angel investor would wipe their deficit and then some, clean. A new temple was built a block from the old, re-branded, renamed, and within its walls its people and their faith in a new youthful minister, grew.

The Order consists of everyone who's either conscious of, or blindly willing to follow, the teachings of Morgan and Matthias (known to most as Judas, they don't question its symbolism) and their ministry. The main objective of the ministry is simply to gather willing souls for the end of days, something Matthias has convinced the order and via Morgan also the flock, is coming. The Order is just your run of the mill doomsday cult, masked behind the beautiful façade of a kind and giving temple of worship.

Joining:  the temple is free and open to everyone. The Order however requires you to prove yourself to Morgan firstly, and if that works in your favor, you'll meet Matthias. A few exceptions will be made but you need to have worth and benefit to them in order for them to consider you for their inner circle.

Legion: the hunter order;

Leader: The council (NPC) > Regent Lord (NPC)  

Creed:  Legion is a fraternal order with one collective purpose; the survival of humanity through purification.

About: Where most people believe this means a vast and swift punishment to everyone that falls within the crosshairs of their hatred, the actual goal of the Legion is not to eradicate everything personally, but rather to topple the pillars holding up the foundation and then watch it fall on its own. They’re not here to become the overarching villains, they’re simply here to help protect what they believe is sacred; humanity’s claim to this world. This order is ancient, spanning generations; an order that’s secretive, elaborate, and hidden behind the veil of politics and careful steps. Every esteemed house within their ranks will have a beneficial member in politics; a family must be of benefit to the Legion or they’ll be extracted, period.

Hunters, as they’re known the world over, are not people who wander this world and brashly kill what doesn’t fit within their view, rather they’re tactful and exceedingly careful in every step they take. Their agenda and every step taken is handed down by The Council to the Regent Lord and finally to the Commanders (heads of households) who then command the foot soldier. It’s these soldiers that see things enacted; the actual hunters.

Organization Hierarchy: The Council (NPC) > Regent Lord (NPC) > Commanders > Foot soldiers

Commanders:  the political heads of household; playable but will be monitored. Typically the parents or grandparents of the foot soldiers, they must have a political seat (local or national).

Foot Soldiers:   the majority of the Legion are foot soldiers and are comprised of well trained family members of the Commanders. They’ll always have been born into this life in some part though late bloomers are possible, this is a highly opinionated and bigoted order so this must be taken into account for the late-bloomers.

As with any organization, there are bound to be rebels and pushback, just keep in mind that everything that opposes or threatens is dealt with swiftly, severely and above all, silently. There is no margin for error within the Legion; anything that goes against the order or fails to benefit their cause, is plucked like a weed.

Joining: In order to join Legion you need to be either well trained and catch their eye to warrant an invitation (will be absorbed into a family and made one of their own), or from one of the esteemed houses that make up their higher orders. One can not simply join Legion. Copy cats and self-entitled (false) members do happen, and as with anything that opposes the Legion, are dealt with in due time.

#update #FS update #fuguestateRP #lore #factions

[hollowedrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, LISSA! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Frank Longbottom. While reading you app, I could not only see the ways in which Frank has developed so far, but what’s to come for his character. Not to mention, your in depth description of his relationship with Alice. Somehow, you made Frank and Alice feel like people I know in real life, not just text on a page. Truly, your app was impressive from start to finish, and if I had to point out specifics on why I loved your portrayal, I’d be writing an essay. 

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

OOC.

Name: Lissa

Age: Twenty-Two

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Timezone: PST

Activity: I currently work full-time, but on my days off I would be fairly active. If I had to assign it a numeric value, I’d say maybe a 6-7/10?

Are you applying for more than one character?: Not currently, but I’m certainly tempted to!

How do you feel about your character dying?: Although I’d be pained to see him go, if it served a purpose and was well thought out, which I’m sure it would be, I could be convinced.

Anything else?: Nope!

IC Details.

Full Name: Francis Theodore Longbottom, but please, for the love of Merlin, just call him Frank.

Francis: It’s an old family name that has been handed down from progenitor to progenitor like some sort of sacred relic. He’s been told it can be traced back to the age of Merlin, to age of knights and chivalry, predating even Hogwarts’ crumbling stone walls—his first name, just like his last, is a reminder of their austerity, their contribution to the world of magic and Frank certainly believes it’s ancient. Only two individuals in all the world are allowed to use his given name: the first being his dear old mother and the other is his beloved wife, Alice. Still, whenever they use it, he has a tendency to “not hear them”—whether it’s accidental or purposeful is up to your interpretation.

Theodore: Of his three given names, he hates this one the least—perhaps, it’s because he hears with this one the least. Nonetheless, its meaning is, “gift of God.” In the past, he’d remind Alice that’s exactly how he expected her to treat him, like he’s been sent from the heavens above. It’d be enough to elicit a laugh from her petal pink lips, but that was a lifetime ago; now all they seem to do is haunt each other.

Longbottom: It’s a name that he owes much to and although he does not revere it as others do, it does amuse him that the name “Longbottom,” in all its ridiculousness, is included on a document detailing the “Sacred Twenty-Eight.″ Still, Frank is proud to be just that, a Longbottom, but for reasons that differ from his peers. His lineage, established eons ago, placed him in the upper echelons of their society, but ultimately it was what forced him out in the end. Sometimes he wonders how the others were raised; how they could all be so different, but yet so alike. He always comes to the same conclusion: none of it matters, everyone bleeds red in the end.

Date of Birth: December 20th, 1956—Sagittarius (Generous, Idealistic, Enthusiastic)

Former Hogwarts House: Gryffindor—it’s expanded upon below, but I can say he was very nearly a Ravenclaw.

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Gender/Pronouns: Cisgender Male; He/Him

Face Claim Change: N/A

More.

How do you interpret this character’s personality? How will you play them? Include two weaknesses and two strengths.

These key traits are expounded upon below:

Positive: Determined, Intelligent, Noble, Passionate

Negative: Stubborn, Selfish, Mercurial, Vengeful

As a child, he was all consuming. Always active and fussy for attention, wailing throughout the night until he was blue. For him, it was all or nothing; Frank could never do anything in half-measures. First, it began with securing Augusta’s undivided attention, then it led to thumbing through all the books in his family’s library even though some tomes were denser than Rabastan Lestrange’s skull. Once he was done with that, Frank set his sights on the land surrounding their vast estate, exploring like a New World cartographer, set on leaving no stone unturned. In some respects, it was an innocuous trait, but at times it would overtake him. Let’s call it what it was: greed with, perhaps, a touch of selfishness.

While at Hogwarts he tried and sometimes failed to keep his voracity in check. He pursued each of his passions to completion. Only when Frank was quite literally at a loss, did he meet absolution. His orbit was thrown and his world was shaken by the girl with the eyes like warmed honey. Just as he was a taker, Alice was equal parts a giver—it could’ve gone wrong in so many ways, but oh how it didn’t. She checked his greed, made him expand beyond his selfishness. They would’ve been untouchable too, if things had panned out better—for awhile, in fact, they were untouchable. But the truth is, it won’t be the Death Eaters that get him at the end of it all—no, his hamartia is his greed, his need for more. If anyone will be his undoing, it will be himself. Frank demands answers, blood for blood, and always more, more, more. It will never be enough though—nothing will ever fill this wound that’s been left raw and festering.

He’d be the first to admit that up until this point, his life has certainly been charmed. It’d be easy to credit his triumphs to the Fates or Felix Felicis or whatever dictates good fortune in your mind, but ultimately Frank is responsible for success he has found in life. Even as a child, he would make calculated moves in an upward direction—blatantly pursuing his life’s goals with a kind of singularity that can only be described as unrelenting. This contrasts Alice quite nicely; through the years she has allowed herself to be defined by her passivity. She is pliant like clay, permitting others like her mother or even Moody to mold her into another and to direct her course. Frank, however, is rigid in his ways; from birth, he’s been the one helming the ship. This is due to his privileged upbringing; Frank has always been afforded his own choices and rarely were there ever true consequences to his actions.

The best example of this juxtaposition is what happens upon graduation. Alice allows herself to become an Auror after Moody’s intervention, which differs strikingly from Frank, who actively sought out the position for himself. After years of honing his craft while playing Wizard’s Chess, he believed it would be the next best move and most natural transition. He was right. Swiftly, he rose in the ranks, planning ambush after ambush, mapping out elaborate plans on the backs of old Ministry memos; first alone, then with Alice. There were, of course, the occasional missteps resulting in broken limbs (mainly his own) and bruised cheeks (mainly Kingsley’s), but his track record was solid and became much more refined after Alice joined him. At the core of it all, although Frank prides himself on being a skillful tactician—it’s Alice who has bested him before; it’s Alice who dissects him and sees beneath the carefully crafted veneer. However, it’s his drive and perseverance that guides them into the breach of war and out the other side.

This is also what divides them, however; Frank cannot face the consequences or the mistakes he’s made in the past. He cannot concede defeat and admit to his misgivings. For all his talk about pragmatism, his emotionality over his son’s death is what clouds his mind. He was so used to being able to see ahead, beyond the superficial, that a failure of this magnitude is unforgivable to him. For the boy that was constantly planning and plotting, making leaps and bounds to outwit his opponents; first on the chessboard, then on the battlefield—Frank cannot make sense of it all. Now, his dogged cleverness is set upon a new quest, he’s tracing out all the connections he missed and catching new ones, but the question is: is this paranoia or foresight? He’d be remiss to say that sometimes, now more than ever, the lines do blur a bit.

In truth, he’s poisoned by his need for retribution and he knows it. His recent thoughts and actions have been some of his greatest acts of sabotage, but instead of setting upon the evil that exists in the world, Frank has been undermining himself. Brick by brick, he pulls the foundation of his life apart, stubbornly clinging onto rationality and order in a time where the world is in disarray. He claims he needs answers for justice, to comprehend how it all went wrong, but the ones that truly know him know he’s lying. In actuality, Frank is a hypocrite—he is blinded by his emotions, lost in the tumult of rage and despair. In his misery, he’s abandoned her and with his own hollow eyes he sees how she looks at him like of all the loss she’s experienced, he’s the freshest wound. Frank has always been Alice’s touchstone, but now he is lost to her and the whole damn world. This is what happens when the young hero escapes childhood unscathed by the world; the first taste of tragedy begets madness. It is who he is though.

However, when all is said in done, Frank Longbottom is good. Although he comes from a background rife with privilege, he has always had an innate desire to help others whenever he can. It was his steadfast nobility that got him placed in Gryffindor as a young child and his tried and true bravery that finally led him to the Order. Although there are instances in which he falls short of the mark, Frank constantly strives to uphold his House traits. Lately, it’s been difficult, to say the least, but somewhere underneath all the bitterness and fury, he still wants to do the right thing. The rest of the Order members believe in him—it’s just he’s lost faith in himself.

How has the war affected this character, emotionally and otherwise?

In truth, the whole business of war had been easier before Neville. Life was just another game to him and with Alice by his side, there was no fear of losing. He collected Death Eaters like trophies, using stratagem he learned from playing Wizard’s Chess to ensnare them. Each capture of theirs served as a checkmate; each threat of retaliation echoed the petulant cries of a sore loser. Frank liked playing hero; he liked engaging in this act of rebellion against his blood. After all, what did he have to lose?

Once Neville was born however, his perspective shifted. He was no longer interested in the thrill of it all, but instead, he sought to make his young son proud of his father. It was then he noticed once unmasked, these enemies of his were characters that dotted his boyhood, friends of friends, and not just casualties of war, but also of his life’s story. It was perhaps a cautionary tale, that it was not nature that separated him from the others, but nurture. Even then though, Frank hadn’t learned his lesson. He didn’t take the betrayal seriously enough, not until he crossed into the Malfoy’s foyer and recognized the wand pointed inches away from his son’s forehead, thin lips speaking into existence Death and all the tragedy that came with Him. In a flash of green, life as he knew it ended and stupidly, Frank never saw it coming.

Now, quite frankly, he’s adrift—lost to Alice, the Order, and even to himself. In his grief, Frank has become unmoored, detached from reality, and living in a hell he has constructed with his own two hands. He is plagued by his willful ignorance, obsessed with the questions he holds himself accountable for: the who, the what, the why, and the where—but perhaps the greatest of all his questions, the one he can’t bear to answer is: how did he let this come to be?

Where does this character currently stand? With those who wish to hide in Godric’s Hollow until the war ends, with those who wish to rebuild the order and continue fighting the war, or on neither side? Why?

Frank is suspended somewhere between grief and madness, just one soft shove away from crossing that fine line into insanity. What happened that fateful day was more than just a tragedy, it was a trauma that is now etched into the very marrow of his bones. Everyday, the memory takes root and haunts him without provocation or any hope for repose. When Alice screams in the dead of the night, it mirrors the image he has of her and her pretty face, mouth agape as their child grows cold. In this, he doesn’t know how to comfort her or soothe her. He can offer no solace as he cannot find any himself. This boy who had grown used to having all the answers, used to having the world right at his fingertips, has collapsed in on himself like a star half-extinguished somewhere deep in the universe.

In truth, he’s just numb to the plight of others now. Frank is drowning in his sorrow, too self-involved to notice Alice’s suffering, too blinded by his need for vengeance, and too bent on forcing the world to finally make sense again. He will not divert from his course despite what the other members say. How can he let this go? How does he stop it from swallowing him whole? In these moments, he can’t imagine the future, much less build for it—not when it was already so deliberately snatched out of his grip. For now, he’s on his own side, his son’s side, and whether she believes it or not, he’s never not on Alice’s side.

How is Frank looking into the death of his son? Does he have any theories about what happened? Where did he get those theories?

Frank has always been a damn good Auror and although his world has tilted on its axis, this is a fact that hasn’t changed. If he’s honest, a fair number of his theories are more conspiratorial than founded in reason, fed by his voracious mind that knows no rest and knows no peace. It’s his futile attempt to make sense of the senseless, but nevertheless, with each deep dive he takes into the rabbit hole, the light around him dims.

The other handful of leads he’s chasing down do have some truth to them though. Some may say his interrogation tactics have gotten more aggressive, but their complaints fall on deaf ears. They showed him no mercy, so it’s only fair if he returns the favor.

Currently, his most favored theory is that there is a traitor in their midst—how else would his son have ended up there? It makes him wary of the other members, distrustful of their outreached hands. His suspicion nearly borders on paranoia, intensifying whenever he has a particularly sleepless night. Whoever it is, taunts him; they toy with him and leave him tortured by his own thoughts. Frank will persevere, however—there will be an end, he’s sure of it.

Extra.

If Iwere a _______, then I’d be _______.

If I were a season, I’d be summer, but not the days at the beginning that are filled with childish wonder and boyhood adventures—no, those days are long gone—I am midsummer, when the sun is seemingly always at its apex, beating down relentlessly, and the air is so languid and sweltering that it feels like the world is aflame.

If I were a time of day, I’d be late afternoon.

If I were a place, I’d be an empty shore, abandoned after the storm came and went.

If I were a type of weather, I’d be a cloudless sky.

If I were a scent, I’d be smoke dissipating in the breeze, fresh linen, and pine.

If I were a plant, I’d be English Ivy, unkept and unruly, invading the flora and fauna around me, bent on expansion and progress at whatever cost necessary.

If I were an element, I’d be fire.

If I were a color, I’d be slate grey.

If I were a song, I’d be “As It Was,” by Hozier.

If I were an item of clothing, I’d be a wrinkled white button-up, wearing at the seams from years of care and use, much-loved but in need of repair.

If I were an object, I’d be a pawn.I used to think of myself as the rook, capable and cunning, but in the end it was all a charade.

If I were one of the seven deadly sins, I’d be greed.It eats me whole and it eats me alive.

If I were one of the seven heavenly virtues, I’d be diligence.

If I were a god/goddess, I’d be Prometheus. For my defiance, Godhood has been stripped from me and all that remains is torment.

#hp rp #rp #marauders rp #lsrpg #roleplay #accepted

[gurguliare]

Anyway I finally finally finished the TM post-mortem so have one last rundown

Really loved: Signet’s stupid relics runway show, Ali describing the Mirage/Splice resolution as “the most amazing Gift of the Magi fuckup,” and, oddly, Keith’s reflections on anarchism, though idk if enough of that made it legibly into the season---which is one of the ways Gig was underserved, I guess.

I also enjoyed and appreciated the discussion of TM’s utopianism as monumental artistic challenge. I obviously have criticisms wrt execution and I disagree with some of their analysis of TM’s failures and shortcomings, but I thought everyone was refreshingly honest about the sheer scale of the task, in a way that I often missed during the series proper---when the tone sometimes tended more toward “we’ve set ‘depicting a utopia’ as our goal, and of course we share a coherent (static) vision of what that entails, and know exactly how to get from here to there.”

I was dissatisfied at best with the conversation about redemption vs rehabilitation. I might be more convinced by the distinction if Austin had ever stopped saying “sin”... which, among other things, helps to selectively blur together abuse and other forms of violence. (I’ve given up on even dreaming of a world in which FATT covers its ass better in re: Christian-centric, frankly Catholic-centric readings of both morality and faith, and maybe it’s for the best that they lack the wherewithal to mask that.) That said, I think it’s very striking that Even Gardner’s violence and militarism seems dealt with in-story almost exclusively as a form of trauma and a thing that happens to Even Gardner, while Fourteen’s history with Castlerose is discussed (up to the time of the finale) almost exclusively in terms of Sins Fourteen Committed. I’m not saying those framings are ~flipped, but the ratio does seem off. Even has a fuckton of choices at every step of the way and experiences basically no material repercussions or visible change of heart, other than “once there are no Advent people left I’ll stop targeting Advent.” He’s also, notably, “brought back from the edge” by a played-straight romantic relationship, for some reason. Fourteen has like... half of a narrative about turning bad habits and even obsolete ideas to constructive ends, and half a narrative about reclaiming agency once safely away from your abuser, even at the cost of losing access to huge swathes of your life... but it’s an arc that goes so unacknowledged or unseen by the other characters that it never connects back up to the idea that, well, bound up in the problem of rehabilitation is the problem of forgiveness---or if we don’t like that language, then acceptance. It’s never clear on what terms Fourteen is judged and reintegrated into their community, and how and where their self-image aligns with others’ view of them.

Which is very, very lonely, and raises huge questions for me about the whole issue of Fourteen as ~disability representation and specifically as a test case for what terminal illness might look like in a utopia. It is just not clear what anyone’s goals were, as far as showing Fourteen supported in a systemic way and not just on the level of relationships. It’s very odd. I’m still puzzled by Jack and Austin’s remarks on this, especially the focus on what Jack had or hadn’t done with Fourteen in play. Literally every NPC (who has a stance on the issue at all) responds to Fourteen with undisguised horror at their memory dysfunction---the most sympathetic version of this is a lecture about integrating assistive technology into their daily routine! and the least sympathetic is the point-blank statement that Fourteen not remembering who they’ve killed is worse than killing those people in the first place. Like, what the hell? That’s a vision of morality that is entirely premised on repentance, and on the idea that expiation for a crime only comes with appropriate helpings of guilt. And it never really receives an in-universe challenge.

It was also weird to me that Grand didn’t come up at all in that part of the discussion. But then again it seemed like no one wanted to comment seriously on Grand’s arc in general; maybe Art was making really sad faces on the call or something. It’s a shame though, since you’d think it would be a good opportunity to go on some bullshit about “salvation NOT through good works,” or rather, salvation definitely through good works but everyone feels a little weird about it. Three bombs? Three bombs?

Finally, it is important that I dissect all remarks on shipping. I was a little perturbed by the discussion of Fourteen/Tender; I thought Ali’s IC reasons were perfectly valid but I found Jack’s slightly suspect, because I don’t think, uh, “this person flirts all the time but is too busy dying to pursue new romantic projects” really jives---either with Fourteen’s profound, active engagement with others (more active and deeper engagement the longer the season went on) or with Jack’s stated goal of presenting a dying person who, without being embroiled in regret or bitterness in the face of death, still loves their life. Obviously I don’t think romantic relationships are a requirement for that, but the blanket statement that Fourteen is Not That Person gave me trouble. Also, I just don’t think you can drop the “platonic relationship representation is so important” line in there without a LOT more unpacking of the pros and cons of that---who are the characters involved in that relationship, and are they people for whom nonsexual relationships are a top-of-the-line representation deficit? Also, is nonsexual vs sexual really the paradigm you want to cleave to here, in a discussion of the chemistry between an internet goddess and a hunk of data?

I’m a hypocrite though bc when they got to echogrand and went on about how it was important that Echo’s arc not center on romance I was like RIGHT ON

...

Okay. One more thing. Janine shooting down Signet/Blueberry; I was fond of this, though I obviously do not care about her opinion and will continue to do what I want---I don’t like “parental” as the trajectory for a dynamic whose foundational moment is the younger weaker party saving the older, that doesn’t do it for me. Of course children can save their parents, but they shouldn’t have to, and that certainly shouldn’t be the pattern that defines the relationship. And for Signet and Blueberry I think it really is; Signet offers Blueberry apologies, Blueberry offers Signet things Signet actually needs. That’s not parental. Nevertheless, I was fond bc it made me think about what a wealth of fun mentorship dynamics this season offered otherwise---with Tender and Morning’s Observation, and Fourteen and Sho, there are these really precious internal movements, or moments of slippage, from distrust to empathy and from faith to disillusionment, that I treasured as real, organic, slippery pieces of character writing and of writing about growth... My favorite example of this is when Morning’s Observation is FURIOUS with Tender after the fucking... rooftop debacle early on in the Wind’s Poem arc. And then again, more seriously, later, after he’s been essentially abandoned and has to save the day by drawing on parts of himself he wanted to give up. That feels like a moment of roleswap between “guardian” and “child” that is presented as appropriately bittersweet, pivotal, and rupturing, and which therefore preserves the logic of the original relationship even as it expands it. And I also love Grand’s awkward interference there, haha... esp in the context of Grand managing to disappoint Morning separately later on, when by that point it’s lost most of its oomph just because Morning has learned not to have expectations of these fucking geniuses. Which is its own mixed result.

(I wish there had been a bit more followup with Morning in the finale, actually, I don’t think he really got resolution on some stuff and I think “happy at the Brink with his moms” is more avoidant copout than anything, though not implausible or unreasonable avoidance from a character perspective. But like, the fucking... part in the Feast of Patina where it becomes increasingly apparent, throughout Morning’s glad monologue, that he did, in fact, do many of the same things as Grand? He betrayed former allies for an enemy faction in the name of convenience! That’s not all Grand did, but it’s not nothing. And everyone has to fall back on “but the Advent Group are fascists! Morning didn’t turn coat and join fascists!” when it’s like, well, would he have, if they had offered him spaghetti?

Not that I think Morning’s and Grand’s choices are remotely equivalent. But it was a very funny parallel for them to try to wriggle out of on the fly, and I wish they hadn’t---I wish they’d leaned into Morning’s lingering doubts, which would if anything have served to highlight that he does have good reason to stay. It’s just that those reasons don’t cancel out the doubts.)

#friends at the table #twilight mirage #ok i said last but i already feel another post boiling up in me about some comparisons austin made between c/w and tm but #i think i'll save that #for another time.

[velvetcovered-brick]

What I Read This Week (July 2 to July 8)

All the ridiculous things I’ve read this week in the Yuri!!! on Ice fandom. 

Sweet as Sugar by glowine When Alphas present on their 19th birthday, they often go to a Sugarhouse of Omegas to manage the extreme symptoms of their presentation rut. Victor takes Alpha-to-be Yuri to Japan and convinces him to spend his birthday at Yutopia, where High Tier Sweet Katsuki “Eros” Yuuri takes patrons for impressive fees.

What Was Lost by AngstyFujoshi After a misunderstanding that destroyed their relationship, Yuri returns to Hasetsu to seek solace in his family and hide the most important secret from his Alpha. What will happen when years later a video of Yuri teaching a young child with silver hair how to skate goes viral?

empty spaces between stars by astudyinrose Victor gets just as drunk as Yuuri at the Sochi Banquet, and they disappear together after the dance-offs. They wake up the morning after with rings on their fingers, and pictures of them kissing after getting married the night before are all over the tabloids... but neither of them remembers a thing. They decide to stay married for a while for the sake of Victor's sponsorships, and in exchange, Victor coaches Yuuri through nationals...

Money Shot by Ashida So Yuuri waited, felt his heart edge back down from his throat as Victor let him catch his bearings, as he just sat and watched Yuuri calm down, patient even though the time he was paying for was ticking.“Strip for me, Yuuri.” came his first instructions in the lull of silence, the same words he always got, and this is how it always began.

Love and Glory by persephoneggsy After a competition, Phichit drags Yuuri out for a night of fun and debauchery at a gay nightclub. Rumor has it there’s an honest-to-god glory-hole there. Yuuri decides to check it out… and so does someone else.

Sugar High by arekushia, ryoseirui Yuuri Katsuki is a college student struggling to pay rent, tuition, and just about everything else. When he sets up an account for a sugar daddy dating app, he doesn't expect anything to come out of it. Instead, he meets Victor Nikiforov, and so begins their walk on the fine line between their physical relationship and something more.

Seriously, Fuck Titles by rosered00 Victor is six months pregnant and recently broken up. Chris is looking to fix that, and Yuuri is just looking to do his job. Or in other words, Victor is lonely and the love of his life struts into said life in fishnets and heels.

The Selection by Galloping_Monroe Returning home on the tail end of an injury that ends his dancing career, Yuri Katsuki is trying to find his future again. As a Five, he knows his options are limited, but when he finds an invitation to Crown Prince Victor Nikiforov's Selection, he is convinced by a friend to apply.He never thought he'd be Selected.When he is, he finds that his world is changed forever, and that the Crown Prince is not exactly what he'd expected.

"Be My Sex Coach, Victor!" by lucycamui Yuuri Katsuki has always been his own worst critic, and a series of unfortunate short-lived relationships has him convinced that he flubs things more in the bedroom than out on the ice. So, of course it would turn out that the ridiculously charming Russian he's matched with online is a pornstar.But perhaps, a 'professional opinion' is exactly what Yuuri needs...

Shared Gravity by phoenixwaller Yuri Katsuki doesn't advertise his alpha status, in fact he'd rather it be relatively unknown. He feels that he's never fit the stereotype, and is much happier blending into the background. However, much to his dismay, his alpha instincts are awakened one summer morning.At first he's angry, believing that his new coach, Victor Nikiforov, has brought back an omega in heat for a day of passion. But when he intrudes to order the couple to a safer location he learns the truth. Victor, the most decorated male figure skater ever, has his own secret.From there an inexplicable gravity grows between them, their shared secrets pulling them together in ways that both learn to cherish.

Closer, Still by sciencefictioness Katsuki Yuuri was an omega. He was unmated, unbonded, unmarked. Pure, unspoiled. The most delicious thing Viktor ever remembered breathing in.He could be ours, some feral, ancient part of Viktor growled. A part he hadn’t known existed, hadn’t thought omegas even possessed, but it roared inside all of a sudden as Yuuri lavished praises on him. ‘Your skating is amazing, your routines are flawless, you inspire me, you’re so perfect…’ Viktor couldn’t even process everything he was saying, not with his whole body going haywire. As Yuuri murmured out soft words into his chest, another part of Viktor that had always been quiet spoke up. Softer, but more insistent.Needier.We could be his, it whined, and hurt Viktor’s throat even in silence.

Of Dahlias and Deadlines by ingthing  All Victor wants is to get dahlias for Khloe and Brad's wedding in under 24 hours.Hope comes in the form of the little family florist in his neighborhood and the quiet smiles of one Katsuki Yuuri.The florist Yuuri and wedding planner Victor AU no one asked for but everyone needed!

To Follow Fate by storylip If finding your true mate were easy, then everyone would do it. For Yuuri, it would change his world forever. Omega!Yuuri, Alpha!Victor

Private Photos by phoenixwaller It started innocently enough - Yuri looked so amazing when flustered and aroused that Victor had to take a picture. Little did he know that it would eventually develop into a contest to see which of them could take the filthiest photo of the other.

My Sanctuary by Sophia96 Omegas are rare, almost extinct.Since they're so rare, the state have created a program to make sure that the few omegas will be properly taken care of.This means that the omegas who present, will be shipped away to an assigned alpha. Yuuri presented as an omega at seventeen. And by the help of his family and friends, he succeeded in keeping his secondary gender a secret.But when he unexpectedly runs out of scent blockers, he is forced to tell Victor, who will do whatever it takes to protect him.But Yuuri doesn't want to spend the rest of his life in hiding. He hates the way omegas are being treated and he will do all he can, to prove to the world what an omega is actually capable of.

boy next door by wingchestr In which Viktor buys way too much coffee from the cute barista at the coffeeshop on the corner, and Yuuri has a terrible crush that Viktor never, ever needs to know about, and somehow it all works out in the end.

Twingenuity by Caeseria Victor arrives in Hasetsu, completely unaware that Yuuri has an identical, overly affectionate, twin brother. The resulting temptation might actually kill him before he gets Yuuri to the GPF like he promised.

For the Camera by Noon30ish In which Yuuri becomes a pornstar and is 'training' under the one and only, the Living Legend, Vitya. Or the fic where, for Yuuri, sex comes first and love comes after.

Not Alone by DazzledGhosts Katsuki Yuuri has been training alongside Victor in St. Petersburg for a while. He has been so careful for no one to know that he's an omega. But while skating one day, Victor notices something different. What's that smell coming from Yuuri's neck? Without realizing it, he finds a scent suppressant patch on Yuuri's neck and curiosity wins the better of him. He tugs and is hit directly with that smell of cardamom and honeysuckle.Victor's never experienced a such a rut before. And all he knows is that he only wants Yuuri. Not because he's an omega, but because Yuuri is.... well, is Yuuri. And the Russian refuses to hurt him. To the point where he will bite and hurt himself in the place of marking the other unwillingly. But of course the younger skater is unaware to Victor's affections.Unaware to the desperate need and love of Victor Nikiforov.

A Study in Contrasts: Watercolor by topcatnikki Yuuri finds himself downcast after failing to place at the De Voss awards, back in Detroit after his disappointing debut to the art world he's surprised by a guest model for his watercolor seminar.

The Big Blog Adventures of Phichit Chulanont by SkyaraSnow, topcatnikki Yuuri Katsuki is a twenty three year old sass bucket who bit off more than he could chew in his choice housemate. Luckily he can turn to his favorite tumblr agony uncle for help!Phichit Chulanont may just have a deep dark secret, one which no one can ever know...

"OOC MY ASS!" by preciousbunnynoiz Yuuri secretly writes fanfiction, including Victor Nikiforov/Katsuki Yuuri fanfiction and some asshole keeps telling him he writes too OOC. Yuuri hates him so much

Bound to Please by paxton1976 By a small twist of Fate, Viktor and Yuuri meet in the Katsuki's secondhand bookstore 'Bound to Please'. Friendship comes fast as they offer something the other has never experienced before. As they strengthen and grow individually, they realize the other holds the pieces to make them whole.

The Confession by topcatnikki Restraint was a good thing. He’d tell himself those words a hundred times a day, a thousand as long as he could be near Yuuri. He knows he’s crumpling in on himself. He can’t help it.He can’t help much about himself around Yuuri, he’s brighter and happier than he has been in years. It shows in small touches and beaming smiles, in hugs and quiet moments when they’re both exhausted from training. Restraint was a good thing.

Shape of You by ViktorBunny Yuri is moving to St. Petersburg and Victor is far too excited to show him everything and spoil his Katsudon on his home turf.

who wants a run with the number one by verity A year ago, Victor would never have dared to do something like this. Yuuri would have flinched, pulled away, been convinced Victor was making fun of him. Now Yuuri just smiled and said, "Think about what? My husband coming to bed in a wig and flannel pajamas? No, I don't think I did."

all the ways I got to know by verity Victor used to glance in the windows of marque studios and look at the flash on the walls sometimes, with curiosity more than longing. What would it be like to feel someone else’s soul? There are songs about it on the radio. Romantic. In his actual life, it’s always Yakov saying, “get over yourself, get more sleep, stop daydreaming on the ice.” Or it was.

see you next level by verity Yuuri and Victor have been living together in Saint Petersburg for four months and three gold medals. Until last night, Victor thought Yuuri was pretty well settled in."I'm not taking a shot every time Michael Kors talks," Yuuri says, slumping down so far on the couch that his butt is at the edge of the cushion. Just looking at him makes Victor's back hurt. "We'll run out of vodka."Phichit says, "We're in Russia?" He is wearing sunglasses. Indoors.

we know the way each door swings open by verity Yuri smiles up at him, mischievous. "You were thinking too hard." He grinds up against Otabek, cock already half-hard beneath his sweatpants. "Don't be gentle with me. I can take it.""I know you can," says Otabek.

cinderella by verity Yuri tucks his face into his outflung arm. "I haven't done anything with anyone." Since it's Otabek, he doesn't have to explain. He can just look at the way the grass bends under his arm, trace his eyes down the blades into the shadow of his body. "You didn't tell me how it doesn't work. I want to know." Otabek sighs. "It doesn't fit."As if Yuri could resist that challenge.

My Sugar Daddy Can't Be a Mobster! by PockyofNyanyaland Student-athlete Yuuri Katsuki is struggling to balance his training, schoolwork, and expenses. When his roommate introduces him to the lucrative prospect of being a sugar baby, he meets Viktor Nikiforov, an enigmatic man whose pockets run deeper than the Mariana Trench. Viktor wants Yuri at any cost and Yuri is smitten enough to ignore the fact that there is indeed, a gun in Viktor’s pants.In the process of keeping Yuuri safe, his friends don’t notice their own benefactors’ oddities. For instance, Otabek has just signed his first exclusive contract to a teenager with an anger management problem and three body guards. Chris’s lawyer ‘daddy’ spends half his time spoiling Chris and the other half cheating the legal system. JJ’s sugar mama is as supportive as she is psychotic. Guang Hong’s boyfriend’s studio may be a front for illegal weapons trade. And Phichit?Well, Phichit may be their pimp.

#yuri on ice #yoi fanfic #yuri on ice fanfiction #yuri on ice fanfic #wirtw #what i read this week #wirtw july 2 to july 8

[rubybluewrites-blog]

chapter ii. chasing ghosts

Her heart stops the moment she lays eyes on him. The infamous Dark Lord of the Sith stands only a few feet away from her, and if she had the choice, she would have been paralyzed in fear. However, the Stormtroopers continue to march she and Leia forward. Padmé hesitates for a moment, but she is prodded back into movement by the trooper behind her.

Padmé does not like being afraid; it makes her feel weak, and she has never considered herself to be a weak woman. But it was difficult to control such a strong emotion like fear when she was in the presence of one of the darkest beings in the galaxy. Darth Vader—slayer of rebels, murderer of the innocent. She has only seen him in holograms, never in person. She has only heard stories; and she had hoped that they would just remain stories, never become a reality.

But there she is, standing before him.

Vader’s back is turned to her when they approach. He seems deep in discussion with one of his commanders, but he must sense them, or hear them, because he turns around once they are closer. His breathing is heavy and mechanical, distorted by his mask, just as Padmé’s fellow rebels had described to her.

He is a tall man, dressed in a dark suit with a cape. That infamous black mask covers his face, concealing all emotion. Vader has always been quite the mystery; no one knows who he was before he became Darth Vader, if he ever had a different identity. There are speculations as to why he wears the mask; some say that he is horribly disfigured, that he has no face at all, that it hides his true identity, and Padmé has even heard that he is not even a man, but just a droid programmed by the Emperor.

He appears to freeze when he sees them. Vader makes no move towards them, but rather, he waits for the Stormtroopers to bring Padmé and Leia closer. Once they are standing face to face, he still says nothing, does nothing. Padmé’s entire body has gone rigid and she feels as if she is made of ice; she wishes that he would just say something, anything, rather than leave her in suspense. She expected him to yell at them, chastise them for being rebels, demand information. But he just stands there.

If he was going to speak, Leia does it before he can get a word out.

“Darth Vader, only you could be so bold,” she remarks bravely. Padmé knows that Leia must be terrified on the inside, but she certainly hides it well. Her eyes are full of fire and hatred—a look Padmé had seen in Anakin’s eyes the last time she saw him on the blazing planet of Mustafar.

“Leia…” Padmé warns, but her daughter brushes her off. Darth Vader crosses his arms defensively; she wonders what is beneath that mask, if his features are stoic or full of rage. Padmé cannot tell if he is looking at her or at Leia, or perhaps switching between both. All she sees is herself reflected in his blank stare.

“The Imperial Senate will not sit still for this,” continues Leia, her voice much sterner now. “When they hear you’ve attacked a diplomatic—”

Darth Vader is quick to cut her off. “Don’t act so surprised, Your Highness,” he snaps. His voice is so harsh that it almost makes Padmé jump. She had heard that Vader spoke with a very mechanical voice, but it sounded so much crueler than she ever imagined. He truly is a menacing man—or machine, whatever he is.

“You weren’t on any mercy mission this time,” Darth Vader continues. “Several transmissions were beamed to this ship by rebel spies. I—”

Now it is Padmé’s turn to interject. “We didn’t receive any transmissions,” she asserts. Her heart beat jumps into acceleration as Vader’s head turns away from Leia and his gaze rests on her. “The Tantive IV is just a consular ship.”

Darth Vader goes utterly silent, save for the sound of his breathing. Leia looks at Padmé in confusion, but Padmé doesn’t break away her gaze from Vader. She waits for him to speak, but as the moments go by, she too becomes confused by his reaction. It is almost as if she shut him down with her words.

Growing impatient and even more anxious, Padmé speaks once more. “But I suppose attacking an innocent ship isn’t abnormal for someone as vile as you, Vader.”

He replies this time, his voice low. “This is no innocent ship… Amidala.”

“A-Amidala?” Padmé repeats. She tries to compose herself, but she doesn’t think that will save her if Vader knows who she is. “You must be mistaken—”

“There is no use lying to me,” he tells her. “I know who you are. So, you are a member of the Rebel Alliance, then?” Perhaps Padmé was imagining things, but Darth Vader’s voice seemed less harsh than it did before.

“We’re on a diplomatic mission to—” Padmé begins, but Vader cuts her off.

“Everyone on this ship has said the exact same thing,” he says. “But no one can tell me what happened to the plans the rebel spies sent here.”

“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leia retorts. “I’m a member of the Imperial Senate on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan.”

“You are part of the Rebel Alliance, and a traitor!” he retaliates. The anger and the harshness quickly returns to Vader’s voice at Leia’s words. “Take her away!”

The Stormtroopers begin to push Leia and Padmé towards the exit of the ship, but Vader stops them. “No,” he commands. “Take the princess away. Leave the other rebel here.”

“What?” Leia protests. Half of the Stormtroopers begin leading her away, while the other half remains flanking Padmé. She begins to struggle, but it isn’t to any avail, as she is outnumbered and her hands are bound. “No! Let me go! I’m not leaving her with him!”

Padmé moves to try to comfort her daughter, but she is held back by one of the Stormtroopers. “Leia—” but then her voice breaks. Where are they taking her daughter? To be tortured? To be killed? Any of those ideas made her feel absolutely sick.

“Padmé!” Leia yells, still struggling, but the Stormtroopers persist, leading her out the door into Darth Vader’s Star Destroyer, The Devastator.

Once her daughter disappears, Padmé turns back to Vader and scowls at him. “You have quite the nerve,” she ridicules him. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You seem more reasonable than the princess,” he tells her. “Perhaps you can be convinced to tell me the truth. I already know the Death Star plans were sent here. I already know this a rebel ship.”

“I don’t know anything about Death Star plans,” Padmé repeats the same thing she and Leia and every other passenger has already told him. “There’s a reason why you haven’t found them: they’re not here. We don’t have them.” Technically speaking, it wasn’t a lie. The plans should be safely on their way to Tatooine now, inside of R2-D2’s storage compartment.

Vader shakes his head. “Then where are they?” Once again, his voice has softened. He does not yell at her like he did to Leia, does not snap or retort.

“Even if I did know, I would never tell you,” Padmé says.

“Why? Because you’re a rebel?”

She doesn’t confirm or deny that fact, but she does say, “Because I hate you.” It isn’t a lie. She does hate Darth Vader—in fact, he, along with the Emperor, are the only people Padmé has truly hated. They are viler, crueler, and more heartless than the Separatists were. Vader is more brutal than Count Dooku ever was, and more so than Darth Maul, too. He murdered her husband, he helped Palpatine destroy the Republic that she loved so dearly. He has killed thousands of her allies, ripped apart innocent planets in the name of justice. Padmé has just met the man, but she has hated him for years. She has never truly come to grips with that until now, until she finally faced him.

“I’ll die before I tell you anything,” she tells him, her voice firm and certain.

“You are not going to be executed,” he replies calmly. She expected him to retaliate like he did to Leia before; Darth Vader, of all people, reacts calmly when she openly defies him? It was unbelievable. “I will continue this conversation later, but I have matters to attend to,” he tells Padmé.

Vader then turns his gaze upon the Stormtroopers. “I want her taken to one of the empty quarters on my floor,” he instructs them. Padmé furrows her brow in confusion. What?

“Not to a cell, sir?” questions one of the Stormtroopers.

“No,” he replies.

The commander that Vader was talking to earlier has been silent for a long time, so silent that Padmé didn’t really notice him. But now he pipes up, “She isn’t going to be… interrogated?”

At least Padmé isn’t the only one who is confused. It seems that her situation is different from other prisoners, and she thinks she knows why. There is a chance that Darth Vader could know about her relationship with Anakin. If they were Palpatine’s apprentices together, Anakin may have shared that information, or perhaps it slipped out somehow… Otherwise, she can’t think of another reason why Vader wouldn’t send her to a cell. But still, that didn’t explain why he doesn’t plan on interrogating her. Not that she is disappointed, especially since interrogation implies torture, she certainly finds it odd.

“I don’t want her harmed,” Darth Vader explains. “Next time you question my authority, I will not be so forgiving,” he threatens his men. “Now, do as I say.”

And they do; the Stormtroopers lead her away. Before Padmé disappears behind the exit, she casts one more curious glance at Darth Vader.

His heart stopped the moment he laid eyes on her. Padmé is alive—it was really her, after all these years. He doesn’t know how it is possible, but she was standing right in front of him only moments ago. Darth Vader has hardly felt anything but rage, hatred, and contempt for nearly twenty years. He has been hardened by his own brutality; he has allowed darkness to overgrow within him to the point that it has taken him over, completely corrupted every fiber of his being, right down to his soul.

But there’s something that blooms in that darkness now. He can feel it, an undeniable warmth in an ice-cold wasteland. It’s her—it’s Padmé.

Darth Vader didn’t know what to do. He had frozen when he first saw her; at first, he wasn’t sure if Padmé knew who he is, but it was confirmed to him that she didn’t once she called him vile. She regarded him as a complete stranger, as a monster.

He didn’t mind it when other rebels called him such names, but from Padmé, that was a low blow.

Vader is beyond shocked and dumbfounded that Padmé had spoken to him that way. But surely, if she knew that he was once Anakin Skywalker, she wouldn’t despise him so deeply. There is a part of him that enjoys her hatred, that relishes seeing anger on her—just not directed at him.

There is no doubt that Obi-Wan and the rebels have poisoned her mind. She must have been lied to, twisted into believing that he is something he’s not. She must have been lied to about what happened to Anakin, too, otherwise, she would have known who he is.

But he did notice something else during their conversation. Padmé was still wearing the japor snippet necklace he made for her when he was just a boy, indicating that she hasn’t quite let go of Anakin. If he approached her, revealed his true identity…

And then what? He ponders. The last time he saw Padmé… he doesn’t even want to think about that. He remembers all to well, the fires of Mustafar, Padmé’s pleas, her eyes watering with tears. Vader had believed that he killed her that day, but he was wrong. That fact changes everything—nineteen years of heavy guilt suddenly felt almost light as a feather, and most importantly, that the Emperor lied to him. Or perhaps he did truly believe that Padmé was dead… but even then, he still would have lied about him killing her in his anger. It simply does not add up to him, and it makes his blood boil with rage.

Vader turns and begins to walk down the main passageway, and his commander follows him. “My lord,” he says. “Holding the princess is dangerous. What if this gets out? It could generate sympathy for the Rebellion in the Senate.”

“I have traced the rebel spies to her,” Vader explains as they continue to walk. “Now she is my strongest link to finding their secret base.”

“She won’t tell you anything,” argues the commander. “You’ll just have to kill her.”

For once, he is unsure about executing this particular rebel. During his conversation with Padmé and the Princess of Alderaan, he could sense a deep connection between the two of them. Padmé would likely be livid with him if he killed Leia Organa.

After nineteen years, he still cares for his first and only love. If he took away someone she loves, not only would it pain her, but it would also have consequences for him. He doesn’t want to lose Padmé again, which means that he will have to convince her to join him… it would be quite the difficult task, knowing her, if he killed one of her cherished friends.

He has wanted to kill that insolent girl for years; she has been a thorn in his side for too far long. Princess Leia deserves to die for everything she has done to defy the Empire, but Padmé would not see it that way.

“Just leave it to me, commander,” orders Vader. “Send a distress signal, and then inform the Senate that all aboard were killed.”

The two of them are then stopped by another Imperial. “Lord Vader,” the man greets him. “The battle station’s plans are not aboard this ship, and no transmissions were made. An escape pod was jettisoned during the fighting, but no life forms were aboard.”

Droids, Vader thinks. Padmé and the princess are quite clever.

“They must have hidden the plans in the escape pod,” suggests Vader. He turns to the commander and orders, “Send a detachment down to retrieve them. See to it personally, Commander. There will be no one to stop us this time.”

“Yes, sir,” replies the commander. The other officer leaves, and they continue to walk. Vader expects the commander to stop following him, but he continues to linger. “My lord, I am curious.”

“Yes, Commander?” Vader decides to tolerate his inquiries, though his patience is beginning to run thin.

“What of the woman?” he pries. “The other rebel?”

“I will find out more about her,” replies Vader. He is careful with his words, not wanting to reveal his true relation to Padmé or his intentions with her. “I knew her in the days of the Old Republic. Interrogation methods won’t suffice for her… I have a different approach. I trust that you believe I am capable of doing what is necessary.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Leia paces anxiously in her cell. She already knows that she is being taken to the Death Star; her fate is practically sealed at this point. But Padmé… what is going happen to her? She wasn’t sent with Leia to the prison, and she hasn’t heard anyone walk through these hallways since she got here.

Maybe Padmé is already dead and she just doesn’t know it. Anything would be better than that possibility, but Leia can’t think of another one.

Is Vader torturing her right now? Is he choking the life out of her like he has done to so many others? Every time she tries to think of a different fate for Padmé, death is all she can come up with. It simply doesn’t make sense otherwise why Padmé hasn’t been brought to the prison like Leia.

She takes in a deep breath, but she just can’t steady herself. Not when the woman she has been thinking of as a mother for seven years might be dead.

Suddenly, Leia’s cell door opens, revealing the dark figure of Vader. He walks into her cell, the doors closing behind him as his arms fold across his chest.

She won’t let her fear show through. Not for the fear for herself, and not her fear for Padmé, either. She refuses to give Vader the satisfaction. “No torture device?” Leia remarks boldly. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Vader.”

“No torture device yet, Your Highness,” he replies coolly. “I am not here to discuss the location of the rebel base.”

“Then what are you here for?” she inquires, genuinely curious. Leia can’t think of any other reason that would bring Vader to her cell.

“What is your relationship to Padmé Amidala?” he asks her. “And answer me honestly, or I will return with a torture device. Or, better yet, I could save time and choke you until you tell me.”

Leia scowls at him, anger surging within her in a great wave of fire. “There’s nothing you can do to me that would make me betray Padmé.”

“That almost answers my question,” Vader gloats. “So, you care for her. Very deeply, I can sense, and now you’ve just confirmed it verbally. Now, describe to me, your exact relationship to her.”

She narrows her eyes. So, Padmé isn’t dead after all—relief washes over her, but it is short lived. She isn’t dead, but what does Vader want with her? What interest could he possibly have in her relationship to Padmé?

“Why do you care?” she tries to deflect the question rather than answer it.

“That is of no concern to you,” is all he says in response. “I am growing impatient, Your Highness.” He uses her royal title so sarcastically, so sourly, as if it is a cruel joke.

Leia says nothing. She has a bad feeling about this; anything she tells him could be used against her or Padmé, and the last thing she wants to do is put Padmé’s life in jeopardy, more than it already is.

So screw Vader, she decides. He won’t be getting anything out of her—not about Padmé, and not about the rebel base.

“Silence, then?” he growls. “Perhaps I could bring Padmé and the torture device into your cell, and demonstrate how exactly I’m going to torture you once we reach the Death Star.”

She shakes her head. Vader is already using her connection to Padmé against her, but she doesn’t take his words lightly. Darth Vader is not at all shy to violence, and Leia has no doubt that he may very well do exactly what he suggests he may do.

Vader can hurt Leia all he wants, but if he hurt Padmé…

“I—” she begins, but then her voice breaks off. Leia is uncertain of what to do. If all Vader wants is information about she and Padmé’s relationship, would it truly hurt the Rebel Alliance? If she gave in, would she be helping Padmé, or hurting her?

“You don’t need to hurt her,” Leia says. “Padmé is an innocent in all of this.”

“Explain,” he commands.

Leia slowly begins to formulate a plan in her mind, a plan that both gives Vader what he wants and could also help protect Padmé at the same time.

“She isn’t a rebel,” Leia lies. “Padmé was only with me on the mission because she’s… almost my step-mother, in a way.”

“Your step-mother?” he repeats. Vader’s tone is flatter than usual, but Leia cannot tell if it is simply lack of emotion or irritation. She can never read Vader, not with his mask covering his face.

“She took care of me after my mother died, and she and my father are together,” Leia explains.

Vader goes silent, but Leia sees his gloved hands curl into fists. After a few moments, he relaxes them, but she has a feeling that what she said did not go over well with him. She just hopes he doesn’t decide to hurt Padmé, as he had threatened before.

Tension continues to rise within Leia as the Sith Lord remains silent for several more moments. The sound of his mechanical breathing only makes Leia more conscious of how much time is passing. But rather than allow his rage to pool, Leia says, “Please, Darth Vader, Padmé was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Please don’t punish her for something she isn’t responsible for.” Pleading with an Imperial—that was new. But this is Padmé she is pleading for, not for her own life. She would never stoop that low for herself, but there is little she wouldn’t do for her mother figure.

She expects him to retort with some inflammatory remark, but instead, he is rather short with her. “You have provided me with sufficient information. That will be all.”

And with that, he just leaves. Leia sits alone in her cell, brows furrowed in confusion as she contemplates what exactly just happened.

#002 #padme amidala #darth vader #princess leia #star wars #leia organa