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faeriekit · 16 days

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Snow Day

SO IT TURNS OUT @tourettesdog also had a far-frozen based Phic Phight prompt so here's a sister fic of Snowdrift Sanctuary from yesterday okay please and thank you

Tundra peeked around the pillar of ice. Again.

The human was still there.

…Tundra peeked left. Tundra peeked right. No one else had seen them yet.

The human, in a big coat and big boots was squatting in the snow, drawing shapes Tundra couldn’t make out with their finger.

Tundra’s tail wagged. Well. He didn’t have a very long tail, so he mostly butt-wiggled. There’d never been a human at the Far Frozen before!! Tundra had heard of humans — he’d seen depictions and heard stories, sure. But now a human was here. And they lived here.

That was so cool.

So, maybe Tundra wanted to say hi! So what? Mama had said that he should be nice to the human, since they needed help and shelter that the Chief would provide, but they were also new and interesting and they hardly ever had anyone stay with them who wasn’t a yeti ever!! Maybe they’d let Tundra play with them while they were here?

So Tundra got down on his haunches. He crawled over the snowbank, wriggling as he went, taking advantage of his coat that blended into the terrain.

The human didn’t see him at all.

Tundra bared his teeth in a play grin, eyes squinting, tongue caught between his teeth. The human was so close. He crouched down as far as he could. He waited until the human wasn’t looking.

Tundra pounced.

And then there was a flash of green burning through the air, hot and bright and loud. Tundra startled.

He landed in the snow, dazed and off-balance. He could feel a hot spot in his fur—putting his paw to it, Tundra could feel where his fur was burnt to singed ends, the tips of each hair bulbous with char.

There was a steaming hole in the snow behind him.

…Oh.

“HOLY SH—are you okay?? Did I hurt you?? I’m sorry!!” someone shouted. Someone gently turned Tundra’s head, careful not to move him too harshly or too quickly. “Is your head okay? Are you bleeding? Is—“

“…Cool.” Tundra muttered, eyes still stuck to the hole in the snow. That was so strong. Even Avalanche wasn’t that strong, and she beat everyone in the tournament last season. No wonder the chief was in charge of the human ghost, even if there were lots of adults willing to help.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” the human apologized again, hands on their flat, pink face. Huh. Their hair was white now. When did that happen? “Usually when ghosts sneak up on me, they’re, uh… they’re not usually playing.”

Tundra looked at the human’s flat face and frowned. They got attacked? For real, and not for playing? “That’s mean. I hope you got them.”

The human made a strangled noise. Super weird! “Yeah…yeah. I did.”

“Good,” Tundra decided, back straightening straight up. The human was about as tall as he was, but humans were smaller in general. They were probably older. “If anyone attacks you now, you should get the Chief to eat them, and then they won’t attack you anymore.”

The human made another choked noise. Tundra assumed it was a laugh. He grinned back, pleased with the response, and wriggled back upright. “I’m Tundra! Mama says that you’re older than me even though we’re just as tall as each other! Are you a boy human, or a girl human? Or neither? Or both?!”

“…I’m a boy,” the human said, voice weak. Tundra peered in close at him, trying to see if he’d been injured too, but no; he looked fine, and he got his black hair back too.

“Cool,” said Tunda. “So am I. Arctic is too, but he’s big already, so he doesn’t want to play all the time. Do you like hunting?”

“I’ve…never hunted before.”

Not ever? Tundra gasped. “We can play chase, then, and then the chief can teach you how to hunt! And then we can hunt together!” Tundra scrambled to his feet, excited. “Do you want to stalk Avalanche with me?! She always throws me off, and then we can wrestle!”

The human hesitated.

“Or,” Tundra amended, because the human was still kind of small, “You can watch me stalk Avalanche, and watch us wrestle, and then I can teach you to stalk the chief so that you can wrestle with someone you know is safe.”

The human snorted, the fur cuff from his sleeve hiding his face. “I don’t know…isn’t he busy? You know, being the chief and all…””

“You’re supposed to wrestle your parents,” Tundra assured him, chest fur puffing up with pride. “I used to chew on Mama’s ears all the time when I was a cub. Now Avalanche and Arctic and everyone else can wrestle with me because they’re big enough to know how to stop playing before they squash me flat.”

The human laughed, openly and brightly, and it sounded nice.

Tundra stood so that could he could launch himself back towards the settled part of their little patch of the Infinite Realms. “Come on!!” he shouted, more than eager to play. “Last one there doesn’t get any fish eyes!”

There was a moment of silence—and then they were both rolling in the snow, the human having decided to launch into him!! This was great!! Tundra whooped, feigning bites and wriggling while the human pushed him further into the depths of the snow. The human’s grin was kind of wide and weird without a muzzle, but that wasn’t his fault, and he was having fun!! And so was Tundra!!

And the human-ghost could fly, and Tundra couldn’t, so chasing after him was super fun. They made it all the way back to the settlement in no time flat, dodging other kith and kin—

And running into Mama and Chief Advisor Pritla on accident was worth how much trouble he got into later.

Whoops!

#phic phight 2024 #phic phight #faer fic #danny phantom #far frozen #I needed a yeti to look down at Danny and be like 'this is a best friend' and I needed Danny to look up and go 'this is...legit a baby'#no frostbite this time though check the previous instead #whoah did you know danny phantom was trending today you guys no way /j #no I am still not over the greenland shark nor fish eyes together we can COME TOGETHER AND APPRECIATE CULTURE SPECIFIC DELICACIES #HOLD MY HAND. WE WILL FIND WORLD PEACE. TOGETHER

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zarla-s · 3 months

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More holiday requests! Some Ace Attorney ones this year which are fun, I haven't drawn PW stuff in ages, haha. Some of these are from an Ace Attorney/Frozen crossover that i finished writing years ago and still haven't POSTED IT'S DONE WHY AM I LIKE THIS i just need to sit down and finish editing it one of these days

The last one is from a very disturbing Matt/Juan (well, more like the doomed love square of 2-4 with Adrian/Matt/Juan/Celeste) psychological horrorshow I wrote a long time ago during a pretty dark time in my life, as you can probably guess from the shot, haha. Definitely not for children or the faint of heart.

[patreon]

#ace attorney #pokemon #brain's froze #z art #athena cykes #apollo justice #klavier gavin #kristoph gavin #toxtricity #matt engarde #juan corrida #shoe #i really need to reread the frozen fic and try and get back into that headspace again #it's just been sitting there mocking me for ages #god it's 90k+ i didn't even notice until just now #i was possessed by a demon

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shadebloopnik · 13 days

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Angelic Alastor AU

"Al!"

The angel turned to the voice and the sound of flapping wings just in time to see the two Archangels land behind him. The smaller of the two- with porcelain skin, rosy cheeks and an otherworldly beauty, bounded towards him full of energy. Golden eyes peered up at him as he spoke.

"Just finished with our spar, and Michael said he loved the hat! I told you it was a good idea!", Lucifer spoke, deep chuckles seeming to brighten the area by its mere presence. He punctuated his words by adjusting the top hat on his head, replacing the usual golden crown, a prideful smile on his face.

"Your brothers clearly love you too much.", Alastor snipes before facing the taller angel, and giving a polite bow. "Your Highness."

Michael gives a solemn nod, adorning a small soft smile. "Always good to see you, Altruist. I had ample time before my next meeting, so I figured I'd accompany my brother on his way to your little appointment."

Michael bore nearly identical features to his younger brother, possessing the same blonde locks, white skin, and golden eyes, albeit being considerably taller. What he lacked, falling a bit behind Lucifer's beauty, he made up for with his dignified grace, a regal authority that rivalled no other. He reminded Alastor of a frozen tundra amidst the plans for the creation of life, as precise as every detail on each snowflake.

"Very well that you did, your Grace, as your brother appears to need it quite a lot."

"It was ONE time! And your directions were very unclear!"

"I fail to see how 'meet me at the gates' translates to 'circle the entirety of heaven for 3 hours', my friend."

"There are a lot of gates in heaven! No matter! They just finished constructing the new nebula! We gotta check it out Alastor! Come on!", Lucifer said, practically bouncing on his feet in excitement and circling the other in flight before dashing off in a burst of speed.

Michael let out a rare chuckle as Alastor sighed in seeming annoyance.

"Always so sprightly, makes me wonder how you keep up with it all, Altruist.", the Archangel spoke, stepping to stand beside the red eyed angel.

"Trust me Sire, its tempting not to follow.", Alastor replied, deadpan as he set his gaze to the direction the Morningstar set off on. Left alone with the other Archangel, without Lucifer with him, Alastor couldn't help but feel a bit insecure. Shuffling his mismatch wings, he subtly moved the upper white set to cover the red and black wings below, his hold on his cane, tightening ever so slightly, though not enough for Michael to notice.

Michael smiled, finding no offense whatsoever from Alastor's words and the casualty of his jabs towards Lucifer. Despite his words, Michael could see the fondness Alastor possessed for the shorter angel, clear as day. Alastor was powerful, only ranking below the Archangels themselves in sheer strength, and would be of higher standing if not for his reclusive nature.

He always wore a smile wherever he went, but it was different for Lucifer, softer, fuller. Alastor shied away from any interaction with his angelic kind, but fully welcomes Lucifer's presence, seeking it, even. It was without a doubt that Alastor cared for his younger brother, his loyalty and selflessness when it came to the younger angel was palpable, fitting of his title, and for that, he had Michael's complete and utter respect.

"But you will, you always do.", Michael turned to face the angel, golden eyes meeting peculiar red. "Its why I trust you with his life."

Its a bit ridiculous perhaps, considering Lucifer was far more powerful than Alastor could ever be, but in the end, it mattered little. Alastor held his brother's heart, and Michael could guess it rang true vice versa.

Alastor's smile froze on his face, his sharp tongue silent as he gazed into the Archangel. A bout of silence passed, broken only by the Morningstar barreling back into Alastor at high speed.

"Alastor come on slow-wings! Hah! Get it? Slow? Wings? Come on, its hilarious, lets goooo!!", Lucifer bounced, gripping at the taller angel's arm, making a show of pulling him along. Evidently he didn't use much force, seeing as how Alastor wasn't immediately carried off, but it was enough to drag the angel rather quickly still.

"Later Michael!", the star spoke with a cheerful wave, before speeding off, dragging a squawking Alastor behind him as the other hastily flapped his mismatched wings, as he struggled to keep up.

Michael smiled at the scene, before turning to leave for his meeting.

Protect his heart, Alastor, it's all I ask of you.

_________________________

The wind roughly brushed the trees around them, as 3 pairs wings fluttered to land, every flap bringing forth powerful gusts. Michael surveyed the area as he went down to Earth, a mossy swamp littered with fireflies, blues and greens seeming to glow under the night sky. He wrenched his eyes down. He couldn't bear to look at a star right now, not after....

He shook the thought away, marching to look for the angel he was looking for. He'd been searching for hours, burning through the whole day. Alastor truly was a recluse, he was impossible to locate when he didn't want to be found. This was the last place he didn't look yet. They'd let Alastor design these swamps, letting him have at least a little hand in the creation of Earth despite his numerous refusals.

There at the edge, he could see him, standing at the edge of the water, mismatched wings cocooning him, the white set covering his entirety until his black wings were nearly out of sight.

"Altruist."

Alastor remained silent, his back to the Archangel. It was perhaps the most disrespectful thing Alastor's ever done to him, what with all his usual obsession with propriety.

"Altruist.", he called again, voice growing desperate, frustrated.

Still, there was no answer.

Michael clenched his teeth, the day's proceedings catching up to him, leaving him with far, far too many emotions.

"Alastor-"

"Don't."

Alastor's voice was cold, an icy tone that rivalled his own. It made Michael angry, frustrated and bitter. Can't Alastor see that he's hurting too? That he's also grieving?

"I lost him too, Alastor."

His voice was filled with emotion he wouldn't dare name. He had to be strong and steady for his brothers, for the rest of heaven. Im front of Alastor though? In matters regarding Lucifer? There was no one Michael could relate to more.

So why can't Alastor see? Did he think this was easy for Michael?! He lost his brother too! He's not the only one suffering!

But deep inside, Michael knew. It wasn't the same. He knew how deep the bond between Alastor and Lucifer ran, perhaps deeper than he ever had with his brother.

Michael's heart was already given to Heaven as a whole, but Alastor's only belonged to one.

"Tell me Michael, whose life did you entrust to me, again?", Michael felt ice crawl up his spine, his heart growing heavier with each word. Alastor spun around, unfurling his wings to face the Archangel. His crimson eyes were redder than usual.

"How, pray tell, am I supposed to do what you asked, when you cast down the one I was supposed to protect? Tell me how can I protect him from the fiery pits you all threw him into? How, am I supposed to GO ON WITHOUT-!"

'Without them', he almost said. No, he couldn't be reckless, couldn't let his emotions get the better. They couldn't know about his own relations with Lilith, he promised the two he'd stay safe. No matter how much it ached, he couldn't go against them.

Michael furrowed his brows in understanding, letting the accusations wash over him. If it were anyone else, he'd have already smote them down for the audacity, but this was Alastor. This was the angel who held his brother's heart; angry and emotional and dreadfully loyal to the star even now. If anything, in respect for his brother, he could endure this.

Schooling his expression, he'd gaze back at the fuming angel before him, his face a blank slate.

"Lucifer's actions were reckless and destructive, with severe consequences. His reckless disobedience, his affiliation with the first woman, its shattering the very foundation of order we worked so hard to maintain. Such crimes cannot go unpunished."

His voice was cold, adopting the mask of a ruthless prince. Right now, he wasn't a brother, he was Michael, Sword of Justice, Protector of Heaven. He had to learn to separate each title, it was the only way to ensure he did his role right. He can't be a brother right now. He won't, not for this.

He wishes it made it hurt less.

As emotionally compromised as he was, Alastor couldn't mask the pain in his face as he squeezed his eyes shut at Michael's tone, knowing he was now speaking to a soldier, not a friend. The sight of it almost made Michael want to break down the mask. Almost. Not nearly enough to actually do so. He was able to bear casting down his own brother, this was nothing.

The thought sent another pang to his heart, and he pushed it to the back of his mind.

"I love him too..", his voice was low, resigned, all energy leaving him as he looked away from the angel before him. Michael was so so tired. "It had to be done."

The swaying of the leaves and the buzz of nearby fireflies were the only things breaking the deafening silence. Now that he thought about it, didn't Lucifer help make these? Little bursts of light flying amidst a darkened swamp...

Why must everything hurt Michael today?

He heard the other take a deep breath, and turned to see the other adopt a smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Thank you for your visit, your Highness. You may take your leave now."

Alastor always smiled, even when he didn't mean it, but none of those ever felt as wrong as this one.

"Alas-"

Michael cut off his own words at the other's glare. Alastor's eyes glowed a deep red, his sclera giving its own crimson glow. His glowing wings seemed to curl closer around him. All this while still keeping on that damned smile. It was uncomfortable. It served little to intimidate someone as powerful as Michael, but this wasn't about power.

He's never seen Alastor look so broken.

He may be set apart from the other angels, but he always looked so happy with Lucifer.

......but Lucifer isn't here anymore, is he?

Suppressing a sigh, Michael kept his voice level. ".....Altruist."

Alastor's smile only seemed to widen, contrasting with how his wings curled tighter around himself in a cocoon.

"I wish to be alone. Now.", the deceptively cheerful tone made Michael sick.

Without another word Michael turned around. There was no fixing this. Alastor looked as though a single action would cause him to flee. If Michael didn't take his leave, he'd have left anyway. All Alastor wanted was Lucifer, and Lucifer was condemned in Hell. There's nothing he could do.

As he spread out his wings, he took one last glance at Alastor's smiling face, before taking off, ignoring the muffled sounds of sobbing he left in his wake.

It was the last time he's ever seen Alastor smile.

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rudeflower · 9 months

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jamie tartt's surprisingly soft house

Hello my Apple+ trial ends in 14 minutes and I used my last screencaping seconds to make this post

SO when I watched through every time we went to Jamie's house (which I think was only 4 times, but see above I don't have time to check rn)

I was blown away by how much it clashed with Jamie's personal aesthetic. He actually describes it as "zippers, hoods or graffiti...where is the graffiti?"

Not in your house babe

Aside from some touches like lamps shaped like firearms, the house is all light colors, clean lines, candles, flowers and soft unique white lights. Bb keeps his mirror in front of the well maintained modest garden so he can look at two forms of beauty at once

It was weird and felt like a product of lack of thought going into the house aside from some weird lamps untillllllll

We go to his mom and stepdad's house back on the council estate and it's soft and gentle. The house feels like a secret world, white unique white lights, and floral paintings. It's so safe, this young man who has been on guard and masking for three seasons melts into safety.

His unusually soft gentle house is bringing the safety of home down to London with him. I have a theory that he bought this house thinking his mom and even Simon could come visit or even move in. He probably has tried to buy her a house more than once--huge ones, beautiful ones with big windows, but Georgie just wanted him to buy the council house for her, she's made a good home there. Still, Jamie chooses where and how to live just in case she decides to come move in. Maybe can't admit that the maintained garden, the floral paintings are for him too.

#if you want a less gentle theory on why Georgie doesn't have any pics of Jamie as a teenager #and why the bedroom looks frozen at about fifth grade #I'VE GOT IT #ted lasso #jamie tartt #georgie tartt #stepdad simon who deserves miles of fic

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1-800-iluvhockey · 1 year

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it's never over - l.hughes

----

2:22 seconds remained on the clock, the third period is headed to the end. heart is racing, nerves and stakes are too high. every michigan fan is on the edge of their seat; they know that their team can do this, y/n knows that luke can do it. holding onto her hand tightly, ellen watches with y/n as luke skates down the ice trying everything he can to block shots.

"cmon, I know you got it in you. michigan magic." y/n whispers, ellen's hand grips tighter when she sees the shot go in, the shot that luke barely missed. now it's 4-2, and only about 1:45 left. a commercial break pauses the game but doesn't break the tension on the ice.

"ellen---" y/n says in almost a whisper as they see luke skate back to the bench, trashcan in hand, head covered. "it's okay, he is doing it because he is nervous, probably didn't drink enough water -- that boy." ellen reassures y/n as she watches her boyfriend struggle through this third period.

"yeah, it is just hard watching it. nothing that I can do but sit here and ---" y/n's voice wavers and ellen brings her closer.

"it's okay honey, you're here and this is what matters. family matters, every hockey player wants their family in the stands to make them proud. luke needs you, he needs us here for him. you sitting here is doing more than enough for him. look." ellen calmed y/n as she got her attention back to the ice.

her boyfriend skates to the faceoff, looking up in the crowd for a split moment to try and find her. she waves, and he nods -- a short and sweet moment, just enough to know that she is there for him and that he knows she is right there when she needs him.

the music signals that the break is ending and the puck is to be in play, and all the emotions are back again.

----

luke knows how this goes, as he has been here before in this exact game spot, the year before. he knows the heartbreak, the struggle, the grief he is going to endure in the next few minutes when he hears that buzzer.

but two things were different this year; it was the end but it was truly the beginning --- because it is never over. y/n's sweet voice plays in his head as he gets ready to face off, he thinks of her singing this song in his car, praising (screaming obnoxiously to the classic rock) of her favorite jeff buckley song --- lover, you should've come over. he imagines her voice saying "it's never over" in his head, as he has done the whole game to keep him going.

in reality, after that buzzer hits -- his time at umich is over; but his hockey career is truly beginning. so yes, the grief and sadness he is probably going to endure after this whistle blows will be one of the hardest things of his life --- but it is different; he has his y/n to lean on.

----

the whistle blows and the remaining seconds of the period play out; ports is out of the goal, and michigan does everything they can to stop quinnipiac from scoring an empty netter. a player steals the puck back which causes luke to go after him, eddy gets in net ready to play makeshift goalie. y/n's breath hitches as she knows that the quinnipiac player will score as luke hooks him and eddy has an opening.

boom.

5-2 quinnipiac, nail in the metaphorical hockey coffin. a sigh comes from jim as he sees luke talking with the ref, defeated. luke got a penalty for hooking, meaning quinnipiac was on a powerplay for the rest of the game. he looked defeated while entering the penalty box, which caused jim, ellen & y/n to look at each other, knowing how their boy was going to really feel.

"I made a bet with jack that he wouldn't break his stick this year -- let's hope I win." y/n kindheartedly joked as jim laughed. "that penalty might have set him off so I wouldn't be surprised if jack won the bet, y/n."

"I have faith that he won't beat himself up too badly this year, he has a pretty amazing girl to lean on and now a new career start. y/n?" ellen questions at the end, causing y/n to get confused. "yes?"

"you're ready for jersey right?" ellen asked as y/n looks at her like she has grown 3 heads.

"ellen, I am not going with him --- no way." she says questionably. her and luke talked about it but it was never a plan.

"y/n, you two have known each other for years, I know that you guys finally started dating last year -- but I know luke wants you in jersey." ellen tells her as jim agrees.

----

the buzzer goes off which causes the conversation to be dropped as everyone rises out of their seats. half of the arena is full of cheerful quinnipiac and minnesota fans -- while the others are in denial about their seasons ending.

making their way to the locker room, y/n gets a glimpse of dylan, mackie and luke on the ice. defeat, just a look of sadness and shock on their faces. dylan looks and sees y/n in the tunnel, and just shakes his head. y/n reciprocates it but in a more "you did your best" type of head nod.

y/n and some of the families watched from the tunnel as the boys shook hands with each other. the boys led themselves back to the locker room, feeling the pain of the national title slip from their fingers once again. one of the last players off of michigan's side of the ice was indeed, a deflated luke hughes.

----

walking with his head down, helmet in hand --- luke couldn't even see who was waiting for him as he headed to the locker room. he just went to her, he could smell her perfume from a mile away. she opened her arms to her as he buried his neck into her shoulder. he didn't care who saw, he never did. he just cried, letting out the defeat into y/n's shoulder.

"it's never over baby, you still got a whole career left. I am so proud of you." y/n whispered into his neck as he nodded. his arms held her tighter as the shock factor went away. he was done with college hockey.

college hockey brought him some of his best friends/teammates and gave him the courage to finally ask y/n out on a date. without college hockey, he wouldn't be who he was today, and that's why his emotions are even higher than he would have thought.

after a few minutes, he pulled away and got a good look at his girl. his beautiful girlfriend was wearing his favorite maize jersey, looking like a total angel in this moment. she looked like she cried a few minutes ago, giving her the extra glowy effect. he was too lucky to have the best family, girlfriend, and career he could have.

grabbing her hands, he put them on his shoulders. "y/n, will you come with me? to new jersey?" he asked her softly as he watched as her eyes pooled with tears. she turns to look behind her, to find his parents looking at her, ellen nods and then she turns to him.

"always, wherever you go --- I want to come with you. I love you." she says, kissing him softly.

"good, I was hoping you didn't say no." luke says as they walk over to his parents, hand in hand.

he wasn't okay, but he knew that the grief was temporary.

michigan would always be there for him. it is home, well, a home. home was really where y/n was. all he wanted was to be with her and play hockey, but those michigan memories will be with him; those were the forever type of memories. as the university of michigan, yost arena, hockey house, and all of those friends, teammates, and memories were going to last forever. he also couldn't forget about those michigan summers, those summers on the lake with his friends and family are going to be something he can't wait for in the off-season.

forever type of memories.

they would never go away; even if it was over.

#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #umich imagines #frozen four #1-800-iluvhockey fic #1-800-iluvhockey

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maryxherie · 9 months

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i re-watched frozen 2 yesterday

#elsamaren #honeymaren #elsa #frozen 2 #elsa x honeymaren #i’m insane #frozen fanart #i need more fics of them #help #elsa fanart #honeymaren fanart #fanart #digitla art

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viennajoell · 1 year

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Falling asleep on top of Luke Hughes!!

Luke and I had just gotten back from celebrating his first NHL game with some of the other players.

Jack went off into his room so did Luke to change while I stayed on the couch and put on a movie.

Luke comes out of his room wearing nothing but sweatpants.

“Jesus” I say checking him out. “Like what you see?” He smirks. “Mhm” I hum still staring. He plops down on the couch and pulls me into his lap. I’m now on top of him with my arms wrapped around his neck and he’s rubbing my back.

“I’m tired” I say against his neck. “Go to sleep I’m not going anywhere” he says before kissing my forehead. I hum contentedly and close my eyes.

#umich hockey #luke hughes #mark estapa #adam fantilli #ethan edwards #jack hughes #luca fantilli #dylan duke #frozen four #gavin brindley #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fic

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serenescribe · 5 months

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Bit of an odd request but I was listening to a bit of music and I was hit by an idea-

Idk if you know the tale of the Snow Queen, but essentially snow queens powerful ice mirror shatters, all but two pieces are recovered. One shard lands in a boys eye making him turn icey and Queen snatched him up.

However consider- Snow King Silver dragging a “mortal” who has a piece of something that was his. Unaware said “mortal” is actually a fae whose intrigued by this King’s combination of harshness yet tenderness.

the snow prince Twisted Wonderland | 3.9k Summary: A mysterious spell afflicts one Lilia Vanrouge, encasing his heart in frigid cold. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51960883

FREED FROM UNI, I AM! I actually had this written for a while, but put off posting it to save it for a more appropiate season. I really love Snow Queen retellings and AUs, so this was a LOT of fun to write! Thank you, Olive! :D

(An aside: There are extremely minor spoilers for TWST CH7 in here; they're all under the cut and mentioned in passing. If you're trying to avoid every little detail of CH7, I'd suggest passing up on this!)

In the heat of a sweltering summer that sweeps Briar Valley like a storm, Lilia feels a prick of something sharp enter his eyes.

It happens so fast, so swiftly, that had Lilia not been one of the fair folk, he likely would not have noticed it at all. If he were a human, for example, with their sluggish reflexes and oblivious tendencies, lacking a natural affinity for magic in comparison to the fae, Lilia would have chalked up the prick in his eye to a stray lash falling in, rubbing around until he feels as though he’s flicked it out before moving on with his day.

But Lilia is not human. He is fae.

He knows, at once, despite trying and failing to dig out whatever it is that has entered his eye, that it is not a stray lash or a speck of dust. There is a strange magic emanating off of the tiny sharp splinter, an aura he picks up on in an instant. It’s peculiar, the way it makes him shudder as he brushes against it, the sensation likened to the cold of a dead winter. It is unlike anything he has ever felt before.

But gradually, Lilia has to put a pause on his efforts. He is out on a journey to meet with humans for talks of peace, for their centuries-long wars are slowly crawling to an end. His soldiers look at him in concern, clicking their tongues as they ask him, “General, are you alright? Do we need to stop for a while?”

“I am fine,” Lilia says, waving his hand in dismissal. “I simply got something in my eye, is all.”

It is not wrong to say that, for it is not a lie at all. But Lilia knows as well as anyone else that the strange prick of magic infesting his eye warrants further inspection.

Later, he tells himself, as they continue on with their journey on horseback, for the stalemate in their war has allowed for easier travel through ways of steed.

Time ticks by, the lazy heat of summer dipping into the beginnings of a chilly autumn. But despite the changing seasons, the months that have passed since that fateful summer day, Lilia comes no closer to discovering what it is that ails him so deeply.

He is not oblivious to the changes occurring to him; quite the opposite, in fact. Lilia has carried about him a strange self-awareness about his shifting attitude, only realising the differences in how he’s been acting when he reflects on the changes in hindsight. He’s never exactly been the pinnacle of warmth, and especially not after his beloved friends died, but he’s always held a fondness in his heart for the few he opens up to — namely his second in command, Baul Zigvolt, and the young heir to the throne and son of his deceased friend, Malleus Draconia.

But now?

Lilia stifles a sigh as he reminisces, trudging through the gardens of the castle. The leaves are shifting to warm hues, leaves fluttering in shades of vermillion red and golden yellow, and the fallen leaves give a satisfying crunch when his boots stomp into them.

He exhales, twisting his lips as he raises his head up to the world around him. It looks as it always has, Lilia knows that well. And yet… something about it has felt different since that day.

Everything has begun to feel… boring. Banal and bland at best, wickedly ugly at worst. The crunch of the leaves irritates his ears, the drought of the autumn air makes his nose feel too sore. He turns his nose up at the food the castle staff serve, wrinkling his nose at the pungent smell of a dish he used to love, and he turns down whoever offers him a mug of beer, the foam that guzzles over the rim leaving his hands sticky and gross.

Lilia knows he’s changing. It’s not just his emotions, but also in the way he sees the world — everything is so intimately different in the worst way, and every waking hour he spends feels like a chore, an obligation he drags himself through. Where he used to spend time with Baul and his fellow men, or with Malleus most of all, being the one to raise him since he hatched, he now spends it all… alone.

But knowing something logically is different from knowing it emotionally. There are only so many apologies he can force out with his insincere tongue, schooling his expression into a facsimile of sincere regret. At the end of the day — of each day — Lilia truly feels nothing at all except the vacant void of a howling gelidity, frostbite nipping through his very veins.

At the very least, his men have respected this change, regardless of how perplexed they seem to be. Baul had pulled him aside once or twice to ask if he was feeling fine, but had he not been so preoccupied with his daughter’s sudden interest in the Valley’s newest dentist, a peculiar human who’d chosen to move here, of all places, he would have surely pressed the matter further.

On the other hand…

“Lilia!”

He sucks in a breath at the sound of that familiar voice. Once, it had lightened his heart to be greeted to such a cry upon returning to the castle from one of his many campaigns. But now?

“Hello, Malleus,” Lilia greets, making a deliberate effort to soften his voice as he turns to greet the young prince. Malleus has grown a great deal since he first hatched, now towering slightly above Lilia. Still, the boy has an inclination for continuing to call out to him childishly — something that had endeared Lilia in times past, but now only serves to irritate him by no fault of Malleus at all. “Is there something you require of me?”

“Not require, per se,” Malleus answers, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He toys with the chain of his cloak with one hand. “I was merely hoping that you could spare the time to join me today for some tea. It has been quite a while, after all. I understand you’ve been busy as of late, but you do not appear to have anything on today, so I thought—”

“You’re rambling again.” Abruptly, Malleus’ mouth snaps shut. Lilia winces internally at his misstep; why had he interrupted the prince like that, in so cold a tone? He sighs. “Apologies. I have been under… a great deal of stress recently.”

“It is no matter, Lilia.”

Well that’s good, at least, Lilia thinks. Averting his gaze, he says, “Unfortunately, I do not believe I can join you today.”

A pause.

“Truly?” He hears it, the surprise in Malleus’ voice, mixing in with a forlorn misery. “I was certain that you had nothing to do today, given your schedule…”

“I—” Pressing his lips together, Lilia thinks before he says, rather stiffly, “It is true that I may not have anything on. But I would like some time to myself if you would be so kind, my prince.”

Ah, another slip up of his. To refer to Malleus by his title rather than his name… the gap between them only widens, and the only reason why Lilia worries about it is because he fears that he may go too far, say the wrong thing when it’s far too late to take anything back. But what’s done is done; Lilia raises his head in time to see Malleus recoil, hurt glimmering in those chartreuse eyes of his.

If Lilia stays longer… will he continue to mess up so miserably?

Before Malleus can speak, Lilia cuts in. “If there is nothing else that requires my attention,” he says, “I would like to return to my walk. Good day, Malleus. Give my regards to the queen.”

And, abruptly, he turns on his heels and leaves.

Oh, Lilia knows that Malleus is displeased. He knows it because, within mere moments, there is a gentle flutter of snow wafting down from the skies. He raises his head, blinking up at the fluttering snowflakes — so delicate and fragile, a byproduct of the prince’s tumultuous emotions, his magic far too powerful for him to properly handle when his emotions explode past his limits.

And yet, when he sets his eyes upon the swirling snow, Lilia feels…

Something.

He raises a hand, watching a snowflake land on his finger — so tiny, so delicate, an eight-pointed speck weaved into such an elegant pattern. It melts almost instantly against the warm flush of his skin — and yet, Lilia is transfixed, mouth parting slightly as he steps back, watching as the snow begins to flurry down faster and faster, cascading through the skies. How long has it been since he’d felt anything other than such apathy, such revulsion, such irritation and disgust? Now, Lilia only feels a sense of childlike wonder.

When was the last time he stopped to stare at the snow as it fell? He cannot remember. Has he ever stopped to observe it like this? Or had war stripped away such inconsequential pastimes from his life?

Lilia does not know how long he wanders around, watching the snowflakes dance until he goes numb, so numb with the cold. He only knows that his fingers are frozen and his lips are blue when he finally returns to the castle in a daze, barely cognisant of the way his entire body is battered, pushed past the natural limitations of his faerie strength.

Winter crashes into Briar Valley like an enemy ambush, a sudden attack spurned from the shadows of nothingness. It is the worst winter they have had in an eternity, everyone says, peering outside the frost-tinted windows as they bask within the toasty walls of the castle grounds; the fire-spells keep everyone warm for as long as they stay inside.

With the thick layers of snow barring any method of safe travel, the ongoing talks of their peace treaties with the humans have been temporarily suspended — more for the children of men’s sakes than that of the fae. If she so willed it, Queen Maleficia could wash away the snow with a flick of her wrist, but such matters, in her opinion, are trivial; nature is not something to be fixed at an instant, so why should she expend her energy for such things?

So during those days, cooped up within the castle walls with little to do, Lilia winds up lounging in the cushioned nook of a window, a little alcove tucked away in a winding tower towards the murky corners of the castle. Few fae ever roam here, save for a scant few servants pattering about cleaning the dusty hallways, and Lilia spends many languid hours with his head pressed against the cool glass, so intensely transfixed on the dancing snowflakes outside.

They are beautiful. Perhaps they are the last bits of perfection he shall ever witness in his life.

He has found no information about the shard that pricked his eye, nor has he found any sort of cure. Lilia has spent many a month searching, sifting through the treasure trove of books in the castle’s library to no avail. He had, at one point, considered going to the queen and telling her of his predicament — “In the month of summer, I believe a magical spell of some kind has afflicted my eye.” — but his own apathy stops him every time; there is simply no point in dragging others into this matter, not because Lilia does not wish to trouble them, but because, try as he might, the larger part of him just doesn’t care.

So, with his head pressed against the cold glass, Lilia closes his eyes and sighs.

The winter solstice is approaching, the longest night of the year. As nocturnal fae, creatures of the night, it is a joyous cause for celebration for their kind. Despite the blizzard that rages across the Valley night and day, many servants, guardsmen, people of their kingdom have been looking forward to the events; the castle town shall be open to all, shielded from the elements. All fae, young and old, can look forward to a night of dancing and festivities, dining on the finest food at the banquets, and celebrating the longevity of the night.

In years past, Lilia would have looked forward to it. But now, like everything else in his life, he feels nothing at all.

“Lilia? Are you here?”

He stifles a groan at the sound of Malleus’ voice. Again and again, the boy continues to scour for him, to seek him out and spend time with him. Lilia tries to indulge him, he really does! But each occasion spent together, needing to force himself to fake sincerity the whole way through — “Oh yes, Malleus, I would like to try the new blend of tea! Thank you kindly for the offer. How is your grandmother doing? I heard she has spent some time with you as of late—”

He can’t stand it. He can’t. It gets harder and harder with each passing day, the chill that permeates his skin sinking deeper and deeper, turning his heart into one carved of ice. His eye prickles with pain whenever he grits his teeth in a false smile; across the table from him, the young prince looks detestable, a selfish beast with far too much time, uncaring of what his servants are subjected to in their indulgence of him.

So he avoids him. As soon as Lilia hears him, he flicks his wrist, a swell of magic surrounding him. Bat-formed, Lilia takes to the rafters, huddling away in the corners of the ceiling as he listens to Malleus come and go. It is only when he hears that familiar voice fading away that he dares to leave, flapping his little wings as he makes a break for another isolated corner of the labyrinthian castle.

The day of the winter solstice arrives, and with it comes the worst blizzard the valley has ever seen.

Cold winds lash against the fortifications of the castle, howling and rattling. Snow crashes from the sky, piling higher and higher upon the dead ground. And yet the castle is alight with the buzz of festivities — the many servants bustle about, wrapping up the last of their preparations, ensuring the banquet is ready with food for all, that the decor floats about in place, that the spells wrapping the castle and its town in a bubble of warmth remain solidly intact.

Throughout the day, Lilia sticks to the shadows, hovering out of sight. Today he feels… he doesn’t know how to describe it. Cold and dead as usual, his heart no longer the warm, affectionate thing it was before — but beneath the thick layers of apathy, there is something nestled beneath: the barest twitch of a muscle, a flutter of something. Lilia finds himself distracted with it the entire day as he meanders about, waiting for the clock to tick to a point when the festivities can start.

And when they do begin, the many residents of the valley teleporting into the castle en masse… Oh, how does Lilia even begin to describe them? Laughter rings freely, the merry melody of music from a string band sweeping the air as dancers circle across the floor. Wine glasses clink as people toast to prosperity and magic, hoping to see the weather ease up soon, and even the queen herself is out and about, walking amidst the crowd, a smile on her face as she mingles with the few faeries bold enough to approach her.

But Lilia—

He feels nothing watching all this. Nothing at all.

And yet… there is something else. That peculiar emotion buried underneath… it sings to him, calls to him, as though someone’s voice were tugging at a string. It only strengthens as the night goes on, likened to an unbearable itch; it is the first blissful thing he has felt in what feels like an eternity, and Lilia—

He misses it. He misses being able to love, to feel something other than apathy at best, and all these horrible, miserable emotions at worst — a repugnance, a rage, an irascibility that sparks every time someone tries to converse with him. Lilia misses being able to love freely, his heart softening as he grows older, brought on by the loss he’s experienced, and the love he mustered up to be able to raise Malleus into the man he is today.

So who can blame him for slipping off, for finding a way out of the castle grounds? Lilia answers the call, sneaking past guards who are far too drunk on wine, laughing and shouting as they play games at their stations. He does not bother with whisking up thick clothes for himself; Lilia merely plunges into the blizzard, battered at once by shrieking winds and a pelting of snow against his face, of a storm so deadly chilling that it would ravage even the strongest of faes.

And yet, he does not feel cold.

He grits his teeth as he presses on, dragging his legs through the thick boughs of snow. Lilia knows not how long it takes for him to trudge, only that it feels like forever — but he knows he is getting somewhere, because with each step he takes, the tugging in his chest grows and grows, the intensity of the emotion exciting him for the first time in months.

Is this the answer to his ailment?

Is there a cure tucked within the heart of the storm?

Lilia takes one step, and then another. He takes a third, and—

All at once, everything stops.

The wind dies away. The blizzard softens to a gentle snowfall. Little flakes of snow dance through the air as Lilia walks forward, head turning to and fro. How peculiar this is! He raises a hand, watching a flake fall into the open palm of his hand and rest there, and it is only the sound of hooves clumping against snow that snaps him out of his reverie.

Lilia turns his head, and sees a child.

A boy, who gazes at him with wide eyes that reflect the northern lights — auroras of shifting veins tinted shades of pink, purple, and blue, lights that Lilia has only gotten the chance to see once during a journey across the world. His hair sweeps across his forehead, locks of the purest silver as though spun from the nighttime stars, streaked with white like the pristine paleness of snow. He sits on a white stag, ice-spun crystals hanging from its glacial antlers, and around him is a fur-lined cloak and hood that swallows him whole, far too big for his tiny body.

Lilia’s breathing hitches—

Because the boy before him is the most beautiful thing he has seen in a long time.

“Hello,” the boy says after a while, a glimmering curiosity in those wide eyes of his. His mount trots forward, bringing him closer. “I’ve never seen you before,” he says, looking at Lilia closely.

At that, Lilia laughs. “I could say the same to you, little one.” He rests a hand on his hips, relishing in the joy, the curiosity, the emotions that flood him in full force; it has been so long! “It is a rare sight to see a young boy riding a stag in a storm like this.”

The boy’s face falls, and Lilia feels… worried. Did he upset him somehow? “I’ve been trying to stop the storm for a while now,” the boy explains, auroral eyes flicking to the storm that rages outside the bubble they’re within, continuing to ravage the valley to no end. “B-but it’s my first time really trying such a thing, and I don’t… really know how.”

Ah, Lilia thinks, finally coming to understand. A lost child. A boy with power over the very elements itself, who can control the season of cold and snow. And yet, who would place such responsibility upon a child, one so very young? He feels the fervent urge to lean in and coddle him, to reassure him that it’s alright, you’re trying your very best, I can help you if you just let me.

And why shouldn’t he do such a thing?

“I can help you, if you would like.”

In a flash, those pupils lock on him. “Would you?” the boy breathes. “I-I wouldn’t want to trouble you, mister—”

“It’s no trouble at all!” Lilia insists, stepping forward with a beaming smile on his face. He reaches out for the stag, feeling the beast nuzzle against the palm of his hand as he strokes it gently. Why should he return to the castle, to that unyielding, endless void of apathy and misery? Here, with the boy with eyes like the auroras and hair like the stars, Lilia feels something — the warm glow of parental affection, already growing so attached to such a young child.

“Then…” the boy mumbles, “would you come with me?”

Lilia only smiles. “Of course.”

And as he clambers onto the back of the steed, he asks, before they leave, one final question: “Pray tell, little one, what is your name?”

“My name?” the boy echoes, furrowing his brows. “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Lilia arches an eyebrow. What kind of a lonely life must this boy live, if he has not even considered his lack of a name? “Then would you mind if I gave you one?” he offers. Oh, it is such an incredibly forward move to suggest such a thing, with how important names are to his kind. But already, he is attached, his very soul bound to this child who gazes at him in wonder at the possibility of wielding his own name.

And the boy nods.

“Silver,” Lilia says, the name coming to him at once. Like the shine of the gleaming moon, the glitter of the stars, the wispy fall of the snow around them. Love blooms in his chest, the warmth cradling his very soul; Lilia curls his arms around the boy, his body so cold even through the chilling fabric of his cloak, pulling him against his chest into a hug. “That shall be your name.”

“Silver,” the boy echoes, testing it out on his tongue. He tilts his head back, a small smile gracing his rounded cheeks as he looks up at Lilia. “Thank you, mister. Could I ask what your name is?”

“It is Lilia, dear one,” he croons, relinquishing his name without a second thought. The two of them are bonded in mere moments, Lilia filled with a fulfilment he has not felt since that prick of a shard entered his eye.

There is nothing left for him here. That is what he tells himself as Silver leads them away, commanding his steed to take off into a prancing gallop, bursting from the tranquil heart of the storm into the raging blizzard, whisking them back to their home.

(Lilia fails to notice the figure that bursts through the clearing, chartreuse eyes widening in horror as a mouth parts to scream his name. He does not notice the horned boy who shivers in the cold, eyes wide as the wind whips at his long hair, watching the stag prance away, the boy who leads it ripping his guardian away from his grasp.)

#twst #twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #twst silver #my writing tag #writing requests #twst fanfiction #twst writing #uhh i'm gonna start moving my fics to ao3 in the future so. rip tumblr drabbles tag? aha #need to do housekeeping when i have the energy...#anyways hi i'm listening to a 3 hour video of 50+ languages of let it go from frozen while prepping all this #help me :')

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dutchessofcaladan · 24 days

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Might post my first fic here...

I'm pretty on the fence about it but I might work up the courage to post it. It's a Ghostbusters sequel set a few years after Frozen Empire. The MC is an OC I created for Afterlife and Frozen Empire. Her name's Alexis Venkman (Peter's daughter).

Here's a description:

"When the spirit of Sumerian sorceress Ahassunu, daughter of Vigo, possesses Alexis, the Ghostbusters must band together to determine the fate of the world"

Anyway, I might post it, I might chicken out and it'll never see the light of day.

Who knows...

#ghostbusters #ray stantz #ghostbusters frozen empire #peter venkman #winston zeddemore #writers on tumblr #possible fic #ghostbusters x reader #ghostbusters fandom #janine melnitz #possible louis tully #dana barrett #trevor spengler #phoebe spengler #callie spengler #gary grooberson #lars pinfield #self insert

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lynzine · 2 years

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The Avatar’s Hobby

Avatar Aang was widely considered the greatest Avatar in the past millennia. At just twelve years old he prevented the genocide of his people, stymied all out war between the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation, and somehow stripped the Fire Lord behind these attempted atrocities of his bending. He did not remove Sozin’s family from power, despite the corruption. He watched them carefully. He had a solid grasp of all of the elements before even meeting his teachers. Aang was dedicated to peace and the sanctity of life. There was just one eccentricity that gave people pause…

The matchmaking.

Admittedly, it took years for anyone to notice but over the decades it became clear that Avatar Aang was pushing certain couples together. Most notably in the Fire Nation, when he introduced Crown Prince Azulon to his future wife, Ilah; but it was happening all over the world. He helped a woman escape the Northern Water Tribe to the South and attended her wedding after insistently guiding her to a particular Tribe with a specific young man who stammered and blushed and happily yielded to her in every matter. He supplemented a young Earth Kingdom merchant’s income so he could buy a marriage to a noblewoman. He helped a pair of peasants elope. He encouraged romance between specific members of the Northern Water Tribe’s most respected families.

He happily, sometimes desperately, meddled with seemingly random families all over the world. It was strange, but it was just a quirk. If he wanted to matchmake between preserving world peace and protecting humanity from the Spirit World, it wasn’t like it was hurting anyone.

Crown Prince Iroh reconsidered this widely held belief when the Avatar quite insistently arranged a marriage between his younger brother and Lady Ursa, granddaughter of the previous Avatar, Roku. Iroh and Aang had always gotten along. Aang, already an old man at his birth, had taught him Pai Sho and taken him on trips around the world. He was almost like his uncle. While the kind old Avatar had tried to treat Ozai the same way, Iroh had always sensed profound wariness in the Avatar when dealing with his younger brother, a wariness he tried to mask with his usual cheer and jokes. So why was Avatar Aang so determined to ensure that Ozai would marry Lady Ursa?

A similar issue was plaguing Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe. No matter who he brought home, Avatar Aang seemed to disapprove. It was like his honorary uncle was looking for someone specific. If Aang had tried to push the young man to break up with someone Hakoda never would have acquiesced. But the old man just stared at him with his girlfriend so mournfully, as if he was going to begin sobbing, that Hakoda would eventually end the relationship.

The relief on the Avatar’s face always made him feel like he’d done the right thing.

The day that he introduced Aang to Kya and saw his face light up was the day Hakoda knew that he’d found the one. He’d found the woman that he was going to marry.

In the Earth Kingdom an assorted handful of merchants and nobles accepted the Avatar’s betrothal suggestions. It was good business to be favored by the Avatar.

Avatar Aang arrived the night before Lady Ursa went into labor. The old man was apparently more frantic than the rest of the family. Iroh made a dozen pots of tea in an attempt to calm the old airbender.

When an attendant emerged from the room Aang was the first on his feet. “Is he alright?” He demanded sharply. Iroh blinked and wondered how he knew the baby was a boy.

“Yes, he is. Quite healthy for a child born so close to midnight.” The woman answered, holding the new nobleborn at a professional distance from her. Aang stepped forward, and before any other member of the family had a chance, he took the baby into his arms. Iroh raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glace with his father. Both Fire Lord and Prince decided to say nothing of this curious breach of conduct and courtesy.

Aang trembled, clutching the tiny newborn blinking up at him with two whole golden eyes. “You’re here.” He whispered. “You’re really here…” The baby fussed as tears fell on his head. “I missed you so much, Zuko.”

The Avatar greeted the Princess of the Northern Water Tribe as well, directing her parents to the sacred oasis when she was born too early and without a sound. He even plead with the Moon Spirit himself to aid the child. The Princess woke with hair like the moon and a grateful Avatar gathering her into his arms.

Avatar Aang was seen mourning on Kyoshi Island. He went to the home of every new or expecting family before he donned the colors of grief and left the island teary eyed. Saying only that he’d lost her.

Avatar Aang was at the birth of both of Hakoda and Kya’s children. Somehow, more joyful than the parents themselves.

The Beifongs had not expected the baby to be blind. Avatar Aang assured them that she would be more powerful than any other person he had ever known.

Aang sat on edge of the Southern Air Temple, surrounded by children from every nation. Their parents might not like Aang’s impromptu field trips for them, but he couldn’t resist sometimes. Whether it was to train with badgermoles, to fly with dragons, to see new wonders, or simply to light candles for the only one he’d failed… the only one whose lineage he hadn’t known. Aang might be over a century old, but he would always need his friends. It had taken decades, but his family was as complete as it was going to be.

Zuko and Sokka argued over which of them was taller. Yue braided Katara’s hair. And Toph used earthbending to lift herself above them all, laughing manically as she did.

Sky bison passed, carrying young monks and nuns to new adventures. And even with the ever present ache of Suki’s loss… Aang was happy.

#Ficlet #Random Time Travel Fic #Aang #Aang loves his friends #And will manipulate GENERATIONS of people to get them back.#Suki didn't make it.#I'm SO SORRY you guys!#I just knew that one of them couldn't and I could imagine so many ways for Suki to end up on that Island!#time travel #Aang goes back to before he was frozen in ice and has to make a choice.#Not edited #Not my favorite #but kinda wanted to post.#So... here it is.

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faeriekit · 8 days

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Frozen Out

Another phic phight fill, another day; this one's for @akela-nakamura. No one is allowed to say anything about my need for Far Frozen fics.

(Sister fics are Snow Day and Snowdrift Sanctuary)

Breakfast comes, and breakfast goes. Frostbite cooked last night, so it’s leftover soup.

There’s some kind of bird meat in it that Danny’s vaguely aware of, and a root vegetable that’s basically a hardy onion. The grain in it is a wild rice that’s virtually identical to the one in the human world, supposedly; Danny never had wild rice while he was eating at his parents’ house, though, so it’s new to him.

It’s interesting how it cracks and breaks apart on his tongue. The food’s different here, but the Far Frozen has food that mostly matches human cuisine in far climates. Sure, it’s made of ghost birds and ghost vegetables and ghost grains, but they’re at least recognizable as sea birds, vegetation, and grain. It’s not weird for him to eat food that looked like food.

If Danny had moved in with Princess Dorathea the way she’d offered, he’d be eating ghosts that looked like people.

Yeah. This is better.

Danny likes his soup. It’s reheated on the stovetop so that it’s warm.

His bowl goes beside the door— he’ll scrape the dishes in the snow later— and goes for his coat and boots. There’s gloves that Neuschnee, Tundra’s mom, knitted for him, on tiny needles that would have been hard for him to manipulate even without her huge clawed hands.

They’re very warm. They have little green and blue stripes and little blue snowflakes spun on yeti-fur yarn. He likes them a lot.

Danny leaves the warm interior of the cave, takes a big breath, and wanders out towards the center of the settlement.

There are lots of occupied caves in the Far Frozen. Some of them are constructed in ice, but many are formed from natural rock— or whatever passes as ‘natural’ in the Infinite Realms. Early history of yeti society is rocky; there’s apparently debate as to whether the yetis found the land while wandering the zone, whether the land spawned the people to occupy it as a deterrent against wanderers and interlopers, or whether they all came into being together.

“Aren’t you immortal? Or, you know…long-lived? Long-dead?” Danny had asked, confused. “Weren’t you here the whole time?”

“Yes,” Frostbite had agreed easily.

“So…shouldn’t you remember?”

“There are theories about that as well,” Frostbite had pointed out, amused with Danny’s frustration. “As it is, we do not.”

So. There’s that.

That being said, Danny knows there’s a lot of history; Arctic can recite cycles of songs for five hundred seasons back, and he’s not over a hundred years old.

Probably.

Danny stops beside a snow drift and scratches his head through his thick hood. Is Arctic a hundred years old?

…Anyway, Danny continues, trucking onwards, if he is, he has to adjust his worldview on teenage yetis. If he’s not, then that means that Danny’s right about part two of his plan, which includes the vague idea that a society of yetis with an advanced medical techniques and application probably has a library somewhere.

Or. You know. So he hopes. Man, if they pass down the entirety of their medical knowledge through oral tradition, Danny’s going to be screwed. Either way, he’s just in time to wander into Pritla’s glacial alcove before they’re finished with their own breakfast— a fish, apparently, devoured by sharp teeth and a huge maw.

“Morning,” Danny greets, because he’s polite that way. He knows Pritla knows he’s here. Everyone so far has made fun of how loudly he walks.

“Good morning, Phantom,” Pritla greets back, blue tongue licking bits of fish out from between huge fangs. Danny’s human right now, but for some reason, using his human name is culturally weird to them. It must be less intuitive, or something. It’s not like they can’t recognize him either way. “Is there something you’re missing?”

“No, thank you.” Last time he was here, it was because Jazz had sent over his workbooks and worksheets with pencils and no sharpener. Once the tips had snapped, it had all been over. “Is there a library?”

Pritla’s furry eyebrows rise up over his brow ridge. “Did you expect there not to be one?”

Danny’s nose squishes. “No. I assumed there is one. I just don’t know where it would be.”

The yeti’s eyes roll up to the ceiling; honestly, Danny knows that they do hard work for Frostbite, but they’re kind of annoying. “Have you tried downstairs?”

“...Downwhat,” says Danny.

So. It turns out. Far Frozen goes down.

Like, there’s a hole in the ice, and it goes down— down long steps carved straight out of the ice, into blue-glowing tunnels woven with streams of rock and salt.

“...Huh,” Danny observes. “Down.”

“Indeed,” Prita rumbles. The yeti turns, their bulk and form imposing as they head back up the stairs. “Everything is etched into the walls; feel free to make any copies of the writings you find. The farther down you go, the newer the writing becomes.”

“Thank you!” Danny hollers back, finally feeling some sense of burgeoning accomplishment. He’s almost there; all he has to do is take something impressive down, and get it copied onto something portable. He has old blank scrap paper stuck into his pockets. This should be easy. He feels very confident in reading into the yetis’ written cultural knowledge…

…And then notices that it’s written in an entirely different syllabary.

Right. Danny wants to bang his head on the ice wall. Universally spoken ghost language, entirely different societal interpretation. Shoot.

Interpreting this will take him ages.

Still, Danny settles in; there’s no rush. He wasn’t supposed to have lessons today, since Tundra caught a wheeze and now he’s being all whiny about it, so he has all the time until dinner to copy and to get some graphite rubbings off the wall.

Danny pulls up one of the carved stools, sits his butt down, and writes.

“Frostbite?”

Frostbite looks down. Danny smashes his face into the yeti’s fur; it’s hardly even a blow to his guardian, and it’s apparently instinctual for cubs to do something similar anyway. So. It’s a very affectionate gesture, even if it feels like playing rough to Danny.

And Danny gets petted by a giant yeti hand. There are many advantages to living in the Far Frozen.

Frostbite rumbles something, but Danny can’t actually hear him through the fur. He pokes his head out to get a listen.

“—Good day?”

“Mmhmm.” It had been productive, anyway. “I saw the library.”

“The hall of records?” Frostbites ask, his voice a gentle rumble. Danny leans into the sound. “Ambitious of you. Did you learn anything new?”

Danny had. So he talks about the loss of the rainy seasons for snowy ones and The Year That It Rained Upwards, and about drifting too far against the edge of the Infinite Realms until they smashed into another kingdom and were forced to fight. He talks about the process of washing starlight moss until it becomes food instead of vegetation, and he talks about what it says about birthing traditions, and what it means to be Never-borne in a people that had probably never once lived in the human world.

Or maybe they had? There were some theories downstairs that speculated that they were the ghosts of real Yetis. Danny hadn’t known what to think. He’d taken the notes down anyway, because…well…what if they are? What if they’re all that’s left of the human world’s yeti population: ectoplasmic imprints and non-living beings??

Frostbite knows everything Danny tells him about. Obviously. He was there for almost everything, too. But he lets Danny ramble on in a way that his parents never had, letting Danny explain his own history to him with new eyes and new words. It’s cathartic. Danny clings to Frostbite’s fur as the yeti walks around their living space, skinning and deboning Sky Whale meat to add to tonight’s meal. An adolescent human really weighs nothing to him. It’s so funny.

“I am glad to know that you are able to take advantage of the histories,” Frostbite rumbles. Danny preens. “What encouraged you to seek them out?”

Danny goes quiet.

Frostbite looks over his shoulder to look at Danny, but lets Danny resolve his silence on his own terms.

“...I wanted to see. If.” Danny licks his lips. Frostbite hums, showing that he’s listening. “If…if there’s records of a real ghost society, with its own language and culture and everything…they’ve gotta listen, right?”

The round knife in Frostbite’s hand stills.

“They always say that…that ghosts are just pretending, that there’s nothing to ghost consciousness, that there’s nothing to anyone’s existence in the afterlife. But there’s records.” Danny’s throat tightens. “There’s known history. There’s language and a syllabary and…and there’s political conflict and agriculture and advanced medical care and weather charts. That has to be enough proof. If I show it to them, then they should be able to see.”

The knife gets set down. Frostbite wipes his hands on a towel. Danny can’t see his face.

“It’s gotta be enough,” Danny tries again. His throat hurts. His eyes itch. But he thinks he could be right. “So if I show it to them, and they see it, and they see how far back the knowledge goes, and how careful everyone is to take care of each other and how nice everyone is and how good, and…and…”

Frostbite’s hug is soft, and warm. It’s amazing, and it’s not his Dad’s. Danny’s Dad is never going to hug him again.

Danny cries.

“Oh, little one,” Frostbite hums, and his face looks just as pained as Danny feels. “Little Phantom, it’s not safe for you to return to them, even to drop off records. If they had wanted to know more of the Infinite Realms, they would have tried to search them. I do not think that they are willing to listen, and I am too afraid to risk your health to see if they would change their minds when confronted with evidence.”

He sobs. “But, but,” Danny cries, his throat torn with emotion. The hug pins his arms so his sides, so he just ends up snotting into his guardian’s fur. “...But I need them.”

“I know, little one.”

“They loved me,” Danny cries, because he knows that it had been true— that, once upon a time, there had been a family made of Jazz, Danny, Mom, and Dad. “They… Frostbite, I miss them so bad!”

Frostbite’s arms tighten. He lowers himself to the ground, until Danny is in a nest of yeti fur and pain and devastation and little else.

“I know, little one,” Frostbite says, because there’s no other reassurance he can give.

“I won’t… They’ll never want to see me again!”

“...I am so sorry,” Frostbite murmurs, endlessly patient with him. His ears are pulled back, his eyes taut with stress.

He can’t help it. He breaks down.

Danny clings. He cries— long, and loud, because pretending that he had a home to go back to had only worked until it stopped. He wants to go home. He wants to pretend to be all-human again.

He’ll never go home. He’ll never pretend to be all-human again.

He’ll do his lessons and Jazz will ferry his schoolwork to and from Casper High but he’ll never live with her again— never do his homework on her bed, never watch Dr. Phil with her on the couch, never eat lazy breakfasts with her or spend nights wondering if she’d come home safe from her date.

Sam and Tucker can visit, but they’ll never be able to stay; every trip will be stolen, surreptitious, since they don’t have a reason to be in his house anymore. No more Tucker and Sam gaming nights. No more trips to catch dinner together at the Nasty Burger.

No more Ops Center. No more house.

No more of Danny’s bedroom.

Because otherwise, Mom and Dad would know. And they would get him.

Mom and Dad don’t love him anymore. And…that’s the end of it.

So Danny cries himself out. Wipes off his nose with his undershirt sleeve. Resolves to get over himself. It hurts, because everything hurts, but there’s still life to be lived, kind of. Probably.

Presumably.

He doesn’t let go of Frostbite, though, who doesn’t let go of him; so Danny ends up eating his rare Sky Whale stew on a furry throne made of guardian yeti, blearily shoving food in his mouth until his stomach stops cramping.

Frostbite puts him back into his coat, one arm at a time. Frostbite carries him out of their cave, even though it’s usually time for a bright night’s nap after dinner. Whatever. Danny doesn't have the energy to ask what’s happening to him.

In the end, though, Danny does recognize Tundra’s Mom’s glacial ice cavern, since no one else has such carefully carved walls.

Frostbite doesn’t ask, and Neuschnee doesn’t disrupt; she sits, calm, carving a soapstone block, as Danny gets laid down on their woven carpet.

Danny blinks.

Frostbite goes, and comes back— and Neuschnee smiles wryly as Tundra gets placed down beside Danny, fast asleep and dreaming of cars.

Danny’s never been in such a huge, furry cuddle pile before, but as Frostbite lays down, his huge shoulder pushing him into Tundra’s smaller form in a cascade of ghost dominoes…

It’s nice.

Danny will never have back what he had, but he has this.

…That can be enough. Right?

Danny doesn’t know the answer for sure, but he falls asleep still thinking about it, the scrape of knife on stone all that he can hear.

…Sure. This can be enough for now.

#everyone say BOOHOO!#phic phight 2024 #phic phight #danny phantom #far frozen #frostbite #shhhhh it's FINE I'm VERY NORMAL about this burgeoning au #faer fic #whoops almost forgot to sign my work #this is part of my “frostbite is a good Dad” agenda

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