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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

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December Contest Submission #8: Scintillating

words: ca. 4500 setting: mAU lemon: yes cw: alcohol consumption, nipple play, some swearing, not vegan-friendly decor

Condensation coiled past her lips, fogging her vision and drawing her eyes up to the spattering of stars above them. For a moment, Elsa forgot all about the reason that had brought them here in the first place, stopping in her tracks to gaze up in wonderment. A smile drew itself slowly across her lips as she fell into the beauty of the cold, distant lights cast down on the frozen, snow-shrouded wilderness around them. She tilted her head and the whitish grey faux-fur trim of her midnight blue winter jacket brushed softly against her cheek as she tried recognizing the constellations above her.

“Anna.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it had been so quiet around them but for the shuffling of their boots through snow that Elsa knew her younger sister wouldn’t have had to strain to hear her name. She tore her gaze away from the firmament to find Anna had already cued into the night’s glory overhead, and her heart swelled at the awestruck delight on the freckled face she held so dear. Freckles she couldn’t help but note had the same chaotic harmony as the stars they admired. They were rivalled only by the twinkle of mirth in Anna’s eyes and Elsa’s breath hitched as her eyes ran over the soft, beautiful lines of her cheekbones, her jawline, her throat, her nose, her mouth… Elsa averted her eyes from the delicately pink lips, exhaling shakily. Virtue of habit.

“I hope we get enough clear skies while we’re here, I could be out every night.”

Anna’s eyes went wide with apprehension and it was all Elsa could do to bite back a smirk, thinking of how expressive her sister was. ‘Don’t you dare make me choose between stargazing and standing around in -32°C weather’

“Yeah well, I’m not sure I could be, if it’s as cold as it is now.”

Elsa chuckled, her words having simply confirmed what her eyes had already communicated.

“Aw c’mon,” she teased gently. “I’ll keep you warm.”

“At this rate you’re going to have to light me on fire if you don’t want me to freeze before we make it to the chalet. Besides, you’re going to like the master bedroom.”

She shook her head wordlessly at the hyperbole, considering that while granted, the snow was knee deep, they were only a couple of footfalls away from the front steps. The house loomed darkly, melding into the thicket of pine trees behind it, but for the fairy lights that caused the snow beneath them to scintillate with prismatic pastels, each individual snowflake detaching itself from the rest this way. It was the sort of small wonders that gave Elsa reason to look forward to winter each year.

Readjusting her backpack, Elsa gave one last effort hoisting herself out of the snow to climb up the front porch and immediately began digging for the key that’d sunk to the bottom of her pocket. After a moment of struggling, feeling for it through her gloves, she pulled it out triumphantly and unlocked the front door. She bared her hands and dropped her backpack, blindly feeling for a light switch. When she finally did, her eyes fluttered in adjusting to the brightness. The interior was shockingly well-curated, the very definition of rustic chic between the wood, the stone, the plaid, the sheepskin, furs etc. A touch of charm and magic came by the way of understated yet elegant seasonal decorations. Mistletoe, cedar wreaths, holly, pine garlands accented by silver, red and blue ornaments. Logs and kindling were set up in the fireplace, ready to be set alight.

It was nothing short of a miracle that they’d even been able to book this on such short notice. Honestly, she had no idea where and how Anna had managed to find this rental, but it was proving to blow up her expectations at every turn. Granted, when her sister had announced that they would need to drive roughly 7 and a half hours to get here, Elsa’s excitement had been mitigated, at best. Yet she also knew that its remoteness was likely what made the destination so affordable. And more importantly, now that they were here she understood there was a great deal of comfort in putting that much distance between them and their apartment in Ottawa, along with their roommates and friends. For the first time in years, it was just the two of them.

The thought brought back into focus the main reason they’d even decided to get away for the winter holidays to spend them with each other.

They had a lot to talk about.

Elsa glanced back, checking up on Anna who was pulling the toboggan they’d cleverly brought along to more easily transport all of their things from the car. She noted the unsteady grip and sought to deliver her from the icy wind.

“Why don’t you go get the fire started? I’ll get the rest of the stuff inside.”

The younger woman didn’t need to be asked twice, dropping the toboggan’s cord and hurriedly shuffling through the snow, running up towards the warmth of the house. Elsa half expected her to immediately disappear inside, but that was something Anna had no intentions of doing without first stopping to throw her arms around her older sister. Caught off guard, Elsa did not immediately respond, but after a few moments had passed, she hesitantly brought her hands up to embrace her waist.

“Thank you,” Anna whispered, her lips tickling against her ear.

Elsa shuddered, and it wasn’t from the cold.

✧✧✧

It had taken some time for the chalet to warm up properly after Anna had gotten the fire going, but that had suited them just fine. Elsa had fixed them up some hot chocolate, with a healthy splash of Bailey’s and a hint of peppermint, crowned with marshmallows. She’d glanced down, gaze softened by tender affection as Anna had curled up against her on the couch, strands of red tickling Elsa’s collarbone as their beverages had heated them up from the inside out. The cold outside was soon forgotten as the flames had roared up, hot air cradling their faces in conjunction with the heavy blanket they’d drawn up over themselves.

Elsa’s mind had soon grown restless however, the initial serenity engineered by the enchantment of their new setting dissipating as her thoughts had raced back to the conversation they’d kept on hold for exactly eighteen days (she’d kept count). Shackled by habit she’d wanted to slide her hand down to rest on Anna’s waist, fingertips seeking the hem of her sweater, but she’d taken forever before actually deciding to make a move.

At the time she’d found it easier to simply talk about the future than the present, telling Anna that they would need to set a reminder for the following day to try and witness the Great Conjunction between Saturn and Jupiter, which would this year occur on the Winter Solstice. She’d blushed sheepishly when Anna had pointed out that lack of light pollution was yet another reason she’d wanted to venture so far from what most people would commonly regard as civilization, knowing and understanding how beautifully rare it was to be alive for such a celestial event.

The as of yet unspoken words had continued to tighten her throat, preventing her from bringing up the subject she was so anxious to broach, but was terrifyingly paralyzed by. It hadn’t been until their drinks were close to done (without counting the occasional topping off with more coffee liqueur) that Elsa’s tongue finally decided to cooperate with her brain. Eighteen days had been far too long to chew on their last exchange about the matter at hand, overthinking, overanalyzing, second guessing everything that had been said.

By now, she felt pretty warm and she allowed the blanket to slide off her a little more, unzipping her hoodie, skin gently glowing with the flickering, crackling of the fire.

“Anna, I…”

She felt her sister shift slightly, likely looking up at her. Elsa wetted her lips nervously, knowing she had her full attention.

“We…”

The struggle was real, but she was glad there wasn’t any interjection coming. She made a mental note to thank Anna for her patience later.

“Firstly I’m sorry I cut you off so abruptly when we talked about… this, a few weeks ago.”

Perhaps it was a calculated nonchalance on her part but on the other hand she figured it would just sound strange to actually say ‘eighteen days ago’ out loud.

“And I hope,” she continued. “That you understand what I meant when I said that we needed to talk this out some more, I wouldn’t want you to think I didn’t feel the same way.”

There was a slight loss of body heat as Anna sat up a little straighter. It was brief, however, as she felt a hand gently grasp the side of her face, tilting her head down towards her sister.

“Elsa. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not, you deserve clarity, I-“

“Elsa.”

Her lips fell heavy and she stopped talking, looking down at the dark intensity in Anna’s gaze.

“You think too much. And gods, I’m Twenty-five, not Fifteen. I know I’ll always be your ‘baby sis’ - oh yeah, I’ve seen your caller ID listing - but I’m not a naive, innocent little girl anymore. I understand.”

Elsa dared to lean slightly into the touch on her face, her gaze softening. She felt a thumb brush gently against the edge of her cheekbone and managed a smile.

“What do you understand?”

“I understand that you’re scared. Hell, I am fucking terrified. I understand that I want you in ways I shouldn’t, love you in ways beyond my mandate as your little sister. I understood with every kiss, every lingering touch we shared that night that you felt the same way. I also understand why you pulled away after I kissed your neck, because I know you, Elsa. I know you don’t trust yourself, I know you have so carefully crafted an armour and delicately cultivated a self-possessed facade to protect yourself from the world. And I also understand what it would mean for us, for our lives if one of our roommates or friends were to discover the truth. And I know it must have felt like torture for you to be so hyper vigilant about the way you spoke to me, the way you looked at me, the way you touched me and the restraint you exerted. I could feel the fucking fire coming off of you. So I understand why you said what you said - you were buying time, and I understand why you acted the way you did - you were protecting us both.”

Her eyebrows had risen and she stared at Anna, completely bewildered at what she was hearing. Though she was ordinarily loquacious, her sister was seldom ever so brutally to the point. More than that, she realized this meant Anna somehow knew about the feelings Elsa had harboured for her for quite some time. She wondered how long, worried that if Anna had noticed, others might have seen the crack in her tower of ice.

“You knew?”

That’s all she could manage and she felt ridiculous, knowing she was normally well-spoken and articulate, though one might have noted it was only when the situation pertained to matters impersonal, relative to herself. Her mouth felt dry and her gaze wandered briefly away from Anna’s eyes, to the crown of dampness forming at her temples from the heat that now enveloped them both, inside out. As much as Elsa appreciated the crisp, unforgiving sharpness of cold winter air, she knew Anna was likely very happy to be sweating indoors instead.

“I didn’t say anything because I knew being the big gay lesbian you are, you needed some time to process and a safe space to say your piece… but do you really think I begged you to drive 8 hours north into the sticks just so we could talk?”

Elsa’s mind went into overdrive as she tried to comprehend what Anna was saying. It seemed as though her brain was yet again trying to overanalyze, overthink what she was being told.

“What do you mean?”

She tensed up a little as she heard Anna’s exasperated sigh. Any doubts she had previously held however, were dissipated the moment she felt a thumb trace the curve of her lower lip, followed by a soft, delicate mouth pressing against hers in its wake.

Oh.

Her heart was now beating so hard she could feel it in her throat. The kiss electrified her body, lighting it up with a fire she’d never quite felt before and the sparks lingered on her lips. Even if her head had been clear and focused in the moment, she wouldn’t have been able to recall any previous incidence of the single act of kissing, sending heat and lightning in the pit of her lower belly. She’d had chemistry, good chemistry with other people even but nothing like this. There was no way the Bailey’s alone could be blamed for it and that thought both enthralled and terrified her. The hand she’d kept at Anna’s waist slid up the sweater, under her shirt, finding the velvety dew of her skin pleasant to her fingertips. How long had it been since she’d first realized she craved and longed to touch her sister in this way? How long had it been since fear had guided and controlled her every movement, shackling her most human needs and impulses to touch, to hug, to nuzzle the person she held dearest in this world? How long had it been since the guilt began to gnaw at her? How long had it been now since the constant mental self-flagellation, driven by self-loathing had overtaken her identity and so twisted and tainted her self-perception? How long had it been since she’d completely choked out any trace of spontaneity within her, for fear it might one day betray the repulsive, repugnant truth she’d come to believe represented her? How long had she allowed it to take over her life until it tainted every one of her interactions? Too long. Far too long. She didn’t know that the damage would ever be undone. But, here under the cast of the fire’s warm glow, for the first time in forever, her mind flirted with the idea of self-forgiveness.

For the first time in forever, she could allow herself to be free.

On some level it hadn’t fully sunk in yet, and even as she finally allowed this sort of contact, the habit of caution kept her gestures on a tight, controlled reign, not quite ready yet to forget herself. Fear and guilt were, after all, powerful enemies, bridling her every impulse even now as sharp sparks jolted through her nervous system, crackling from her lips combined to Anna’s.

It was a fortunate thing that Anna knew what she wanted though, and was determined to get it. Unbeknownst to Elsa, she too had been sitting on this obsessive craving for a fruit so forbidden she had to plan an entire holiday to finally get a taste. Elsa’s breath was shallow as she watched her lean back to tug her sweater off, discarding it to the floor hurriedly. Her nipples were visible under the fabric of her tank top and Elsa thought she might choke as she noticed them. Desire gnawed at the chains of self control. Sanity was packing its bags, ready to vacate the premises when she felt fingernails lightly scratching at her jaw line, flirting with the tender skin of her throat. Fear and guilt were beginning to lose their grip, inch by inch and by the time Anna was brushing up her thigh against Elsa’s side, they were out of sight and out of mind.

Finally, Elsa left the safe harbour of her mouth, lips kissing up the line of her jaw to her earlobe where she gently nipped, down the curve of her neck - all to the delight of Anna, who’s gentle mewling sent heated flames of need licking at the core of Elsa’s lower belly. Her timidity almost completely vanished, she pushed Anna back down on the couch, shifting so that she was now laying on top of her, and she lapped her tongue softly at the base of her throat. She felt Anna’s body arch beneath her and where the alcohol might have left them fairly tipsy, she was now tasting what it felt like to be drunk on power.

Unfortunately, the couch was fairly narrow and their hips bumped uncomfortably. She even tried to set a foot down on the floor to steady herself as she captured Anna’s lips and ran a hand ravenously along her side, but she quickly realized that the position would only lead to cramping and disappointment.

She looked around, one hand subconsciously pressing down on Anna’s sternum as if to ensure she would not go anywhere (as if Anna had any desire whatsoever to be anywhere else in the world at that precise moment). Her eyes lingered briefly on the fire and the lush reindeer skin rug by it, considering her options briefly. She smirked to herself but decided that they would have more opportunities and occasions for her to claim Anna by the fire.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just- what do you say we take this to the bedroom?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

✧✧✧

They’d had thrown as many more logs as they could possibly fit into the fire place, knowing the chances of either of them getting up in the night to keep it going were slim to inexistent. They’d paused only briefly once more to taste each other, touch each other in ways they’d, prior to that moment, barely dared think of, shamefully hidden in the darkest hours of the night. Hurriedly, they’d ran up the stairs, Anna having playfully lured Elsa into giving chase up to the master room, their clothes discarded erratically along the way, as they paused only to catch one another, fumbling with clasps and zippers, struggling with waistbands, insatiable in their kissing.

Inhibitions had retained a thin veil only long enough for her to notice the glorious, star-gazing window right in perfect view of the bed. Anna had been right about her liking the master bedroom. She did not linger on the thought however, her eyes drawn back to Anna’s features illuminated by the beams of moonlight flooding through the windows, an ethereal halo now wrapping around her features, lending her another worldly beauty. Overwhelmed and overthrown, it was like seeing her for the first time, again and she thought her heart might burst open with Anna pulling her down on top of her, the warmth of her skin immediately radiating towards Elsa.

She found herself hungrily kissing Anna, gaining in confidence with each passing second as she nipped and suckled softly at her lower lip. She smiled against her as she heard the little squeal of surprise this produced. Nails scratched over the nape of her neck, digging into her shoulders, and her sister’s smooth, bare thigh locked around her hip pressing her down against her pelvic bone, which elicited a gasp from the both of them. Elsa slid her tongue just past Anna’s lips whom promptly suckled it in, causing her to moan, and her body subconsciously rocked against hers.

Her hand slid down the side of Anna’s body, the tremor in her fingertips belying the nervous eagerness crackling hotly in every single one of her cells. The sensation of Anna’s warm, dewy skin against her own set her nerves alight with fire and she had to pull away from the kiss momentarily to check whether she were actually still breathing.

Another jolt of arousal shot down from her spine to her loins as Anna looked up at her, skin flushed and feverish, eyes come hither as she felt her hand coming up to tease one of her breasts. Elsa’s body tensed and her breath hitched, realizing just how strained her nipples had gotten, and how sensitive they were as a result. Her lips fell open as her younger sister teased it, sending sparks of pleasure radiating throughout her body, especially between her thighs. She shifted again slightly, her hip and upper thigh now pressing firmly against Anna’s radiating core. The heated dampness she felt against her skin was enough to cause a rush of wetness between Elsa’s own legs and she reached down again, her mouth seeking Anna’s neck. She kissed her at first gently, then intermingled with nips until she couldn’t resist the temptation anymore, following the thrumming of her pulse against her lips, and began to suckle at the skin, growling as she left her mark. It was something a little possessive, a little territorial, and on a primal level Elsa liked the thought of having visibly claimed what she deemed to be hers and if the way Anna mewled and gasped were any indication it seem she enjoyed it too. Given the nature of their relationship, they had to take full advantage now then, before any trace of it lingered and remained visible upon returning to their lives back in Ottawa.

Anna arched her body beneath her, causing friction in between their legs, as she began to subconsciously rock up against her. The hand she had been using to tease her nipple cupped the breast more fully, squeezing and massaging ever so gently. Elsa let out a little growl in response to this, and left a trail of love bites on her way down to a pert, rosy breast. She ghosted feathery kisses around the taut nipple, enjoying the feel of the divinely soft skin against her lips, spurred on by the sweet little mewls her younger sister echoed in answer.

By now, Elsa was humping softly against Anna’s thigh, feeling a blush creep up her neck at the realization of her own arousal. It was further compounded by the feeling of Anna’s wetness against her own thigh, as well as the nails now scratching up her shoulders, leaving scarlet trails on the nape of her neck. She hissed in a mixture of pain and pleasure flexing her thigh and rolling her hips a little more firmly. It was enough to coax her into giving a flick of her tongue over Anna’s nipple who inhaled sharply, and tangled her dainty fingers into the base of Elsa’s messy, platinum braid. Encouraged by this, she glanced up past the trail of darkly, well defined love bites she’d left, to find Anna’s head tossed invitingly to the side, eyes tightly shut in pleasure. It was enough to convince her to capture the aching nipple between her lips giving it an experimental suck.

Again, she shuddered and rolled her hips as she felt Anna arch her back up against her, and grip in her hair tightening further, which in turn provided a swell of confidence for her. Her lower belly clenched and she suckled a little harder, moaning as she felt the hard peak against the flat of her tongue. Hunger raged and she pressed more fully into any in every way she possibly could. Fire coursed through her when Anna briefly glanced back at her, eyes feverish and glassy, dark with desire, panting with her lips parted as she whispered her name.

“Elsa…”

Fuck - how was she so gloriously, ravishingly beautiful? How was this woman here with her, like this, offering the toned, perfect lines and curves of her body and the exquisitely harmonious features of her face? Elsa feasted her eyes, her senses, her fingertips, her skin, her touch. Her ears, her taste and even right down to her scent, as if she were afraid any moment now, this might all slip away. As if, she were afraid Anna would realize her mistake, realize that Elsa weren’t deserving of her. And in turn, it pushed her to be a more attentive, devoted partner in the discovery and exploration of her body, with the sole, fixed goal of bringing Anna to heights yet undiscovered.

Her hand reached down to caress the curve of Anna’s ass, squeezing and massaging it for a moment before lightly scratching up her hip, her waist, the side of her rib cage, then trailing along her arm, seeking out her hand. She laced her fingers into her sister’s gently, yet firmly pinning back down against the mattress, as her mouth switched from suckling, to worrying the nipple between her teeth. Anna’s breathing turned ragged as the hand still entangled in Elsa’s hair gripped tighter, nails digging into her scalp, and her heated, dripping pussy now humped up desperately against Elsa’s tensed, flexed thigh.

“More,” Anna whimpered desperately, which promptly caused Elsa’s free hand to find her other breast, fingers rolling the nipple between them. She felt her buck, which gave a pleasantly firm rub against her own, swollen, eager sex and her thigh twitched involuntarily, and squeezed Anna’s hand even as she kept it pinned against the bed.

They were close, she could feel it as much in Anna’s body as in her own. The buildup was coming to a head, and she gave one last heated lick before kissing and nipping her way back up the trail of love bites, up her throat, to the curve of her neck, to her earlobe which she kissed almost reverently, before nipping as she whispered in a husky, breathless voice. “I love you Anna.”

This seemed to do it for Anna, whom she could feel now desperately humping her leg, likely guided by reflex and instinct more than intent. She moaned loudly and turned her head seeking Elsa’s mouth blindly, wanting to feel all of her, give herself to her entirely, as her orgasm set her whole body alight, like fire raging through her blood, heat blooming from her belly and pooling wetly against her older sister’s skin.

With their breasts now pressed together, nipples brushing against nipples, digging into skin, and the intoxicating sensation of the power she’d just had over Anna, Elsa finally lost the battle with her self-restraint, her inhibitions discarded with no regard for dignity. She squeezed Anna’s thigh between her own, her belly painfully taut as she built up to her own perfect storm. It was her turn to moan in pleasure as Anna whimpered and mewled through her after shocks, looking up at her in earnest adoration.

“I love you too, Elsa so much.”

Light and heat blinded her for a moment as her body went still, her climax thrashing through her with an intensity she never guessed possible. Her heart raced and her pulse deafened her before she finally dropped her face into the nook of Anna’s neck, kissing it tenderly through ragged breaths.

The hand previously at Anna’s breast reached up to stroke her ember-coloured hair tenderly, smiling as she heard her giggle. As she recovered slowly, body still lightly trembling, she finally lifted her head up to share tender, lingering kisses, basking in their afterglow. She could’ve sworn she heard her younger sister purring but perhaps the stars in her head hadn’t cleared yet. Anna’s lips briefly left hers to kiss the corner of her mouth, up to her ear, whispering:

“I can’t wait for you to taste me.”

A surge of heat, and suddenly Elsa knew there was beauty in warmth too.

#elsanna #submission #december 2020 contest #prompt: warmth #lemon #cw: alcohol #cw: alcohol consumption

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usuknetwork · 6 years

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USUK Christmas Countdown 2017: December 25 #1

Title: Somewhere Only We Know Day 13: Christmas Day Summary: Every Christmas, Alfred returns to a clearing in the forest near his parents’ farm where he meets with a strange and sad ghost to whom he feels a deep connection. Rating: T Warning: Hurt/Comfort, Mention of death, Some cursing

(Written by: @not-aph-england and Art by: @chunruu )

[ ALFRED, AGE 2 ]

At first, Alfred remembered everything. He remembered every moment, but mostly the anxiety, the pain, the screams, Arthur…

Arthur. Arthur. Arthur. Arthur.

But then everything faded slowly, with the pain lingering and making him cry, cry his eyes out, his memories out.

Someone would hold him close when he was crying, and it’d feel weird and wrong but it also safe and warm and he’d calm down.

Then even the pain faded away. He forgot everything except Arthur. Arthur crying and screaming and then nothing else.

[ ALFRED, AGE 3 ]

Alfred only knew he liked to watch cartoons and run after the chicken and Santa because he brought lots of gifts. He felt happy. If asked, he’d jump happily and hold up three fat little fingers and grin brightly. That was he. Three years old. He was not a baby. He was mommy’s big boy. He got a dog for his birthday. His name was Jack. Alfred chose the name because he was a big boy. Sure he had nightmares sometimes and he’d wake up screaming and crying and in pain, but that was not his fault.

“You’re okay, honey, mommy’s here. Mommy’s got you,” his mommy would hug him and squeeze him against her chest.

“Sorry sorry sorry,” Alfred would sob. He didn’t know why he was sorry.

“It’s not your fault, honey. It’s just a nightmare.”

Something in the back of his mind would tell him she was wrong, but he didn’t know why so he never said it.

[ ALFRED, AGE 4 ]

There was something in the woods calling for him. Almost not at all during Summer, but stronger and stronger as Christmas drew nearer. Alfred loved Christmas. There were lots of candies and lights and it was shiny and pretty. And there was Santa. And then there was the growing anxiety he couldn’t understand just yet.

That Christmas night he sat by the window looking to the woods less than half a mile away and he cried.

He didn’t know why.

He sobbed loudly, his chest aching.

“What’s wrong, chap?” his dad asked.

Alfred did not know what was wrong.

“It’s wrong,” he said.

“What is?”

“Everything.”

There was a brief silence before his dad turned to the kitchen and called for his mommy. Alfred was hugged and spoiled and he was still crying when he fell asleep.

[ ALFRED, AGE 5 ]

Whenever Alfred got too agitated, his chest hurt.

His crayon broke while he was drawing one afternoon, and as he stared at the purple broken crayon, he felt angry. Angry and sad because it was his and now it was broken and he could still draw with it, but it was not the same.

So he ripped the paper and threw the other crayons all away because none of them were purple.

His chest started to hurt really bad. He called for mommy and she came running, and she held him and asked what was wrong. He held tight to his own shirt before his mommy pulled his hands away to look at his chest. She didn’t see anything wrong, just the spades-like birthmark in the middle of his chest. It was purple and small.

“I’m angry,” he told his mommy as he cried.

“Why, honey?”

“My purple broke.”

“We can get you another one. No need to be angry.”

They could get a new one but it wouldn’t be the same. He wanted his purple back. So he cried.

[ ALFRED, AGE 6 ]

That year Alfred got a chess set for Christmas/Birthday. He had seen someone playing it on the TV earlier that year and he cried out in excitement, pointing to the TV and saying that he wanted one. So his parents gave him one.

He loved it.

At first he had no idea how to move the pieces and he was initially confused by all the rules, but his dad was really patient and taught him everything.

Alfred quickly learned something very important: it was game over if the King died, but the Queen was the most powerful.

He loved the Queen. He did most of his moves with it, and if he lost it he’d give up on the match even if he still had most of his pieces.

“I can’t play with no Queen. He’s the more important!” he’d sniff.

His dad would smile lovingly, “You can still play, Al. And I’ve told you, we use she for the word queen.”

Alfred would shake his head.

“No, my Queen is he and I love him and I can’t play more if I lose him,” he’d say and then he’d set the pieces in place for a new match.

[ ALFRED, AGE 7 ]

Alfred woke up really early that Christmas morning and went to sit by the window in his room. From there he could see the woods. The sun was still hidden and there was snow everywhere. Alfred sat there for a long time, a growing anxiety in his chest, something calling him to the woods. He always had that feeling ever since he could remember, but it grew stronger every year. That year it was so strong he took a deep breath, put on a jacket and boots and his scarf and a hat and went downstairs with a flashlight in hand.

He walked to the woods.

It was so cold and he wasn’t sure where he was going. He had never went to the woods alone. He had only went there with his dad a couple times to get firewood.

Yet there was something soothing calling him. He walked aimlessly, his small feet sinking in the snow and leaving a trail for him to follow on his way back. The sun was coming out and everything looked grey and still.

He reached a small clearing.

There were a few fallen logs almost entirely covered in snow. He waved his flashlight around and caught a glimpse of something, so he flashed it back.

There was someone. It was almost not there, almost too transparent. Alfred knew the name of that: a ghost.

He was afraid of ghosts but that one wasn’t frightening.

The ghost turned when Alfred stepped forward, and Alfred watched his very very green eyes go wide as he stared at Alfred.

He was the most beautiful thing Alfred had ever seen, even if he was so so pale and translucent and a ghost.

Alfred decided his name was Arthur. He didn’t know why.

Arthur fell to his knees. He seemed to be crying but Alfred wasn’t sure.

He said something. Alfred couldn’t hear it.

“I can’t hear you,” he said.

Arthur covered his mouth and looked down for a moment. Then he said something else as he got up and walked to Alfred.

He didn’t leave a snow trail. It was like he wasn’t even there.

He kneeled down again, this time right in front of Alfred. He was talking again, his mouth moving very fast but completely silent.

Alfred simply stared deep into his green green eyes. They looked like jewelry. Something precious. Something to protect.

Arthur reached to touch Alfred’s cheek. He was shaking so much.

His hand passed right through it.

Then Alfred tried to touch the ghost as well, but the same happened.

The ghost was crying and talking.

“I can’t hear you,” Alfred said again. That was making him sad. He wanted to cry. “Can you hear me?”

The ghost nodded.

And then he started to become more and more translucent to the point Alfred could barely see him.

“Don’t go,” he begged.

But the ghost was already gone.

[ ALFRED, AGE 8 ]

Alfred knew it without having to check it: the ghost would only be back next Christmas.

He didn’t know how he knew. He just did. Somehow he also knew it had something to do with the sun coming out, that the light would send the ghost away, so he put on his alarm to go off at four in the morning, so he’d have more time to be with the ghost.

He was really curious about him. He had thought about him during the whole year.

He had made drawings of the ghost: a pale face on top of a purple and white cloak.

“Who is that?” his mommy had asked many times.

“Arthur,” he had answered many times.

“And who is that?”

“A ghost.”

His mommy didn’t seem happy about it. Especially when Alfred told her he had met Arthur in the woods. She made Alfred promise he would never, ever, ever go back into the woods.

Alfred promised because he had to, but he would be going there anyway.

He needed to see the ghost again.

He got out of his bed as soon as he alarm went off, and less than five minutes later he was running to the woods, flashlight in hand.

The ghost was there when he arrived and Alfred smiled proudly. The ghost smiled too. He was holding a large piece of paper and he held it to Alfred. Alfred thought it was smart of the ghost since Alfred couldn’t hear him, however…

“I can’t read that,” Alfred said. The paper had lots of weird symbols on it, like the error symbols that would show in a computer sometimes. Alfred didn’t know what they meant.

“What do you want to tell me? Is it important?”

A nod.

“That sucks. I wish I could hear you. Are you a ghost?”

A shake of head. Alfred blinked.

“Then what are you?”

The ghost shrugged.

Alfred sat in a cold, cold log and hugged himself, watching the ghost.

He had so many questions and most of them couldn’t be answered with yes or no.

But since he had no choice he focused on the ones that could.

“You come here every Christmas?”

An hesitant yes.

“You know what Christmas is? It’s my favorite holiday.”

No.

“Aw, it’s like when Santa comes and brings gifts! It’s so cool. Last year I got a chess set. I love chess. Do you like chess?”

Yes.

“Cool! Next year I’ll bring it over so we can play. This is very boring. And cold. Aren’t you cold?”

No. The ghost wrapped himself in his cloak. Alfred smiled.

“Can I call you Arthur?”

The ghost blinked. He looked sad. He nodded.

“Cool. My name’s Alfred! Nice to meet you!”

The ghost nodded.

Alfred made many other questions. He was really excited about Arthur.

There was only so much he could ask with yes and no questions, though, and he was running out of ideas.

He asked if Arthur liked horses (yes), apples (yes), pineapple (no), chicken (he didn’t seem to know what they were). Then the sun was coming up and he was disappearing.

“I see you next year!” Alfred said. Arthur waved goodbye. There was something very very sad in his eyes.

It made Alfred’s chest hurt.

[ ALFRED, AGE 9 ]

They played chess that year.

Alfred took his sledge and placed a few things there. His chess set, a blanket, some snacks, some drawings he’d made of Arthur that he wanted to show him, the camera he’d got for his last Birthday with all the cool pictures he’d taken. He dragged the sledge all the way to the clearing at 2:30 AM with a flashlight in hand.

It was so cold.

So cold.

They sat in logs and Alfred showed Arthur all his things (Arthur seemed really confused and intrigued by the camera and the pictures in it) and Arthur smiled and nodded at him and it was very heartwarming.

Then they played chess. They sat next to each other with Alfred wrapped in his blanket. Alfred was the black pieces. He’d make his move, then Arthur would point to what he wanted to move and where, and Alfred would move the piece for him.

He was a great chess player.

They played four matches and Alfred was not even close to winning any of them.

“I won a chess tournament this year. But you’re so good, it’s unfair! I will train really hard and I’ll defeat you next year!”

Arthur just smiled at that.

Alfred then asked for them to take a picture. But when he looked at it later it was not him and Arthur, it was just him.

It was just him smiling on his own in the dark woods with snow all around him.

[ ALFRED, AGE 10 ]

Alfred took the two chess trophies he won that year to prove Arthur how good he was in chess. Still he lost all the three matches they played.

Then he showed all his new pictures and explained each one of them even though there were more than one hundred different pictures. He just wanted Arthur to know about his life.

“I wish you could tell me about your life,” Alfred said.

Arthur nodded. He looked sad.

[ ALFRED, AGE 11 ]

That year the heating system broke and Alfred’s room wouldn’t heat up, so his parents bought a space heater for it. So that Christmas, Alfred took the heater with him. He placed it on his sledge and took the portable generator from the shed. Then he went to see Arthur.

Arthur watched him with curiosity as he turned the heater on and sat right in front of it, warming up his gloved hands.

“You don’t have those where you live?” Alfred asked.

Arthur shook his head.

“Can you feel the heat?”

Arthur nodded.

“That’s unfair. I wish I could feel you too.”

Arthur smiled sadly.

Alfred took the new nintendo he had got earlier that year and showed Arthur his favorite game. He played until dawn.

[ ALFRED, AGE 12 ]

“What were you doing in the woods with a generator and a heater, Alfred?” his dad asked.

“You promised you wouldn’t go back there!” his mom yelled.

“I went to see Arthur,” Alfred said.

“Y-you’re too old for imaginary friends, Alfred! This has to stop!”

“He’s not imaginary! He’s real!”

“He’s not real. It’s all in your head!”

“No! No, no, he’s real!” Alfred cried.

“Go to your room. Think about the danger you were in, going alone to the woods in the middle of the night…”

His parents were really angry about it.

During the whole year, they tried to convince Alfred Arthur was not real. He didn’t show up in pictures, Alfred couldn’t touch him, hear him or see what he’d write. He was just an imaginary friend because Alfred didn’t have many real friends other than the farm animals. That’s what his parents said.

It made Alfred’s chest hurt.

It was a terrible year.

That Christmas Even when Alfred went to bed, his parents locked his bedroom door.

“It’s for your own good,” they said.

Alfred didn’t say anything.

Around 3AM Alfred got dressed, took his flashlight and climbed down his window. There was so much snow, he almost fell from the roof at least three times.

He ran to the clearing. He run like his parents were running after him, and when he reached the clearing and saw Arthur there, he cried.

He sobbed.

He sat down on a wet log and he covered his eyes and sobbed, tugging his own jacket because it hurt, his chest hurt so much.

Arthur was walking around him, trying to get his attention. Alfred raised two very blue and very sad eyes and looked at Arthur.

“Are you real?” he asked.

Arthur nodded.

“My parents say you’re not real. Are you real?”

Arthur nodded again, his lips sealed together in a thin line.

“Please take me away with you. It hurts,” Alfred said, pressing his hand against his chest. Arthur sat in the snow in front of him and looked down. Then he moved his hands around each other and created a small ball of light. It changed colors. White, yellow, green.

Alfred sat there and stared, tears running down his cheeks.

“Make it purple,” he asked.

Arthur did.

The purple light against Arthur’s sad face made the pain grow stronger. Alfred kept staring at it for a long time.

[ ALFRED, AGE 13 ]

Arthur didn’t appear in photos. So Alfred focused himself in improving his drawing skills that year. He wanted to be able to draw Arthur in so much detail that his parents would have to believe him about Arthur being real.

He drew as much as he could. He practised and practised. He failed a lot and he cried in frustration when things didn’t go as he had planned. But he pushed forward because Alfred Jones never gave up.

By Christmas his drawings were pretty good. His parents were proud of it though they always looked at each other whenever Alfred drew himself in the woods with Arthur.

“Why don’t you try drawing something else, honey?” they’d say.

“I want to draw Arthur,” Alfred would answer.

They locked his door again that year.

Alfred went out the window.

He took his drawing supplies and he asked Arthur to make the magic light again and sit still, so Alfred sat in front of him and made a drawing of his face.

The eyes were kinda lopsided and the eyebrows turned out bigger than they actually were (though they were fairly big already), but it was good. Arthur frowned and pointed to his eyebrows and shook his head, but he was smiling and that meant he liked it.

[ ALFRED, AGE 14 ]

Alfred’s parents didn’t like the drawing as much. Alfred was proud of the freckles and lips and hair, but his parents took the paper from him. His mother almost ripped it. His father stopped her.

“This can’t go on! This can’t! This has to stop!” she yelled.

She made Alfred go see a therapist. She showed her the drawing and talked as if Alfred was crazy. Alfred refused to say a single word. He refused to cooperate. He refused to look at his mother when she yelled at him and cried at him and begged him to be normal.

It hurt.

That Christmas Eve while they were having supper in a tense silence Alfred simple got up, went to his room to take his flashlight and put on his hoodie and scarf.

“Where do you think you’re going?” his mother asked.

“To the woods be crazy with my imaginary friend,” he said, then ran away.

Arthur seemed surprised to see him so early.

Alfred took the phone he had got last year and snapped a few pictures of himself with Arthur behind him.

There was only him in the camera and in the pictures. So he drew a stick figure behind him with purple.

Then he sat down and cried.

“My parents think I’m crazy,” he said, “I’m starting to think I am. And then I see you… and I know you’re real… I’m so confused…”

Arthur tried to speak. Alfred couldn’t hear him.

[ ALFRED, AGE 15 ]

Alfred was feeling really angry that year.

So he turned to sports.

He started to play football every Saturday, and to go for jogs with Jack everyday. He worked really hard in the farm, and he aced PE, Geography and Maths at school. He had some friends there, some people he talked about Art and games and sports.

When at home he played a lot of video games and watched a lot of documentaries and he never ever spoke to his parents about Arthur again. When he came back from the woods the previous year his parents tried to yell at him, but he simply walked away and pretended they weren’t there.

They stopped talking about Arthur and they seemed happy Alfred had moved on from that.

That year they invited his mother’s sister over for Christmas. They all cooked together and Alfred helped his father fix the living room TV.

“So, Alfred, do you have any girlfriends yet? A young man like yourself must have a lot of girls going after you, huh?” his aunt asked during supper.

Alfred was in no mood for that. He had heard his parents whispering to each other earlier, wondering whether Alfred would try to go out to the woods again.

“I’m gay,” he said.

His aunt choked on her peas.

“Oh, uh… well… uh, good for you, honey. A-and, uh.... How about, uh, University? Where you’re thinking about studying?”

“I don’t want to go to Uni. I want to take care of the farm.”

Both his aunt and his mother seemed stunned at that.

Alfred got up.

“Where are you going?” his father asked, getting up as well.

“Where do you think?” Alfred said.

“Al, we can’t let you…” his mother started, but Alfred just rolled his eyes and left.

Arthur was waiting for him as always.

[ ALFRED, AGE 16 ]

“We’re going to New York to your aunt’s house for Christmas this year,” his mother announced proudly December 22.

“We’re what?!” Alfred said.

“New York. We’re going there for Christmas. It’ll be good for us.”

“I’m not going,” Alfred answered.

“Yes, you are. We are leaving today. You are going to put some clothes in your bag, and you’re getting into the car and we’re going to drive away. It will be good for you. It’s about time, Alfred.”

Alfred yelled. He yelled and he screamed and he tried his best to convince his parents to stay. But to no avail.

His father held his arm really tight and forced him to get into the car.

Both his chest and his arm hurt for hours and hours.

He felt anxious and depressed and angry. He refused to eat supper and he refused to open his gifts. He just sat in a corner and fidgeted with his phone.

“You’ll thank us for this later. You can’t see it now but you’ll see it eventually,” his mother said in their way back.

Alfred didn’t answer.

[ ALFRED, AGE 17 ]

They’d go to New York again that year.

Alfred knew that before his parents even told him.

So a few days before the day they’d leave, he went to the clearing to leave a message for Arthur, to let him know Alfred was okay, but…

He couldn’t find it.

He walked the same path he always walked, but he couldn’t find it. It was like it wasn’t there. Like it wasn’t real.

Alfred kneeled in the snow in the woods and felt his body shivering, his breathing fast. Was he really crazy?

He couldn’t think straight. His chest hurt too much.

Was he crazy?

Was he crazy or did the clearing also only appeared for Christmas? It didn’t make any sense.

Nothing made sense. He wanted to scream.

He didn’t complain at all that year. He talked to his relatives and he ate and he smiled and pretended everything was normal.

Christmas came and went and Alfred kept feeling anxious, like something was missing.

It was all wrong.

[ ALFRED, AGE 18 ]

“I’m not going this year,” Alfred told his parents.

They had a fight. An ugly one. There was a lot of yelling, his mother was crying. She kept saying, “You’re ours, ours!”

“You adopted me and I’m your son but I’m my own! I’ll be eighteen in two days! You can’t control me forever! Fuck, okay, I might be fucking crazy, but just let me go to the fucking woods once a fucking year, will you? I’m not hurting anyone!” Alfred yelled back.

“You’re hurting us!” his mother said.

“And you’re hurting me!” Alfred cried back, “I do everything for you guys. Every thing. I’m a good son, I do my chores, I never complain about them. All I want is to go to the woods once a year. Just once! I’m doing my best and I know it’s weird and I know I’m not perfect but I just… I’m doing my best…”

His parents decided not to go to New York.

Alfred didn’t talk to them at all until Christmas, and when he left that Christmas Eve his mother was hugging his father and mumbling something and crying.

Alfred followed his path and he almost hoped there wouldn’t be anything at the end of it but there it was.

The clearing.

And Arthur.

He was so sad. His eyes went wide when he saw Alfred. He covered his mouth and then he started to yell. No sound came out of his mouth.

Alfred chuckled and cried. He walked to Arthur and tried to press their foreheads together but he couldn’t because Arthur wasn’t really there, so he just… stood really close to him, staring really deep into his eyes.

He explained he had had to go somewhere else for Christmas the past two years, and Arthur sighed. He talked again and even though Alfred couldn’t hear him, he had a feeling he knew what he meant. I thought I had lost you.

Alfred felt the same.

“What are you?” he asked Arthur when it was almost dawn. “Why can’t I find this place when it’s not Christmas? Why are you here? Why?”

Arthur looked down and sighed and disappeared.

[ ALFRED, AGE 19 ]

That year Alfred used his sledge again. He took the portable generator, his heater, some boxes. His parents watched him as he took snacks from the cupboards and didn’t say anything. He left before supper.

He had finished high school. He was not a child anymore. He could do whatever he wanted.

So he went to the clearing and he set up the generator and the heater and put a Christmas playlist to play on his phone.

Arthur sat in a log as Alfred took a bunch of Christmas lights from the boxes and started to put them all around the clearing.

“We’re having a proper Christmas this year,” Alfred said. He plugged the lights in the generator and they blinked lazily in whites and reds and blues and greens. Arthur stared in awe and then smiled sweetly to Alfred.

They played chess.

Alfred won for the very first time.

He ate snacks and described what they tasted like to Arthur.

He showed Arthur his new drawings. They were excellent drawings.

Alfred sung along the lyrics.

Dawn came and Arthur went.

Alfred sat there alone for a long time.

“I love him,” he told himself.

[ ALFRED, AGE 20 ]

Alfred put the lights up again that year.

He sat with Arthur and as they played chess he stopped and sighed and took the tears from the corner of his eyes.

“I think about you all the time,” he confessed, “I don’t understand what you are or why you’re here and it hurts so much.”

He looked up and Arthur was looking down. “You look exactly the same. You never change,” he thought out loud, “Ever since I was a child, you look the same, like you don’t age. Why?”

Arthur sighed. He said something.

Alfred sighed.

“Are you really not a ghost?”

Arthur shook his head.

“How old are you?”

Arthur shrugged.

“I’m twenty. You’re older?”

A nod.

“Twenty-one?”

A shake.

“Twenty-two?” no “Three?” no “Four?” no “Five?” yes. “You’re twenty-five. Okay. For how long?”

Arthur sighed.

He held both his hands up showing all his fingers.

“Ten years?” Arthur closed his hands and opened them again. “Twenty?” Arthur nodded. “You’ve been twenty-five for twenty years. I’m twenty… is… is it my fault? That you don’t age?”

Arthur smiled sadly.

Alfred knew somehow that it was a yes.

Nothing made sense.

He closed his eyes and let out a long, frustrated sigh.

[ ALFRED, AGE 21 ]

Alfred ran to the woods. He held the clock so tight in his hand that it hurt. His chest hurt.

Earlier that day his parents called him for a talk. They said it was important. They looked really nervous and sad. They gave him a blue cloth that was being used to wrap a clock. It was ticking. It was gold and shaped like the Spades card symbol.

He stared at his parents as they explained.

“We didn’t adopt you,” his mother said, “We found you. We found you in a clearing in the woods… we can’t have children. I’m infertile. We prayed and we prayed for a baby, and then we found you… you were our Christmas Miracle… and you were there, small and crying… holding this clock… it… it has a name written in it… So we named you that…” Alfred saw it at the back of the clock: Ælfred. There were tears falling down his cheeks but he couldn’t understand why.

“Whatever it is that is in that clearing, we know it has some connection with you, and we were so afraid it would take you away from us, you’re… you’re our baby.”

“All those years, you lied to me,” Alfred said quietly. His chest hurt. He didn’t understand. He was so confused.

His mother nodded.

“It was selfish of us, but we couldn’t just risk losing you. We love you too much,” his father said.

“But… we are hurting you, Al. we can see that. How sad you look… so… I know… something tells me that if you go today, you’re not coming back, and it scares me, but I know we can’t keep you from it. You’re an adult now. We’ll miss you. We know we’re not the best parents, but… we tried our best.”

Alfred hugged them for a long time. And then he ran.

Arthur was already there.

“Arthur!” he shouted. Arthur turned to him and Alfred stopped, out of breath, and held up the clock, “What is this?”

Arthur walked to him wide-eyed and placed his hand on top of the clock. Only he actually touched it. He touched the clock and then Alfred’s hand and for the first time, they were touching.

And everything came back to Alfred. His body shivered and goosebumps went down his whole body.

He remembered.

He remembered the war. His kingdom was under attack. He held his clock against Arthur’s forehead and whispered a spell on him: a spell for him to be untouchable, unchangeable. Protected. And then Arthur would do the same for him because as long as both of them were alive, so would Spades be.

Only when Arthur was placing the spell on him, the hall doors were opened suddenly with a loud bang and an arrow flew in their direction.

It stopped in Alfred’s chest.

Arthur screamed.

Finish the spell! Alfred yelled back at him. Arthur was scared and shaking. They were surrounded. Alfred would die.

Alfred held his clock and whispered to himself and his magic combined with Arthur’s. Because he was dying, the spell wouldn’t work on him. So he needed to be frozen somewhere for a bit because as long as he lived the spell he put on Arthur wouldn’t fade. So he would survive. So Spades would survive.

A crack was opened in space.

Alfred looked deep into Arthur’s eyes. I won’t die, he promised. And then he was gone. Arthur was screaming at him. Something must’ve not gone as it should.

And now he remembered and his Queen was in front of him.

His eyes were watery and he held Arthur’s shoulders tight.

“My queen,” he said.

Arthur sobbed. He wrapped his arms around Alfred.

“You remembered. You remember!” he said, “Every anniversary of your going away… the crack would reopen… I did everything I could but… I needed your magic also… but you weren’t there and then you were… but you were a child… and you couldn’t… couldn’t hear me…” he took a deep breath and parted the hug to look at Alfred’s eyes, “We couldn’t pick a new King because the Clock said you were still with us… I’m so glad…” he hesitantly touched Alfred’s cheek. He was shaking.

“Arthur, the war…” Alfred asked. Arthur shook his head.

“The war is long gone. We won it fifteen years ago,” he smiled. Alfred smiled too.

“Let’s go home,” he said. Arthur nodded enthusiastically. They held hands, the clock between their hands, and as they did the crack was visibly open and they walked through it.

And then they were home. The castle’ halls greeted them and Alfred smiled nostalgically.

Everything was falling into place. He looked to the snowy woods as the crack was closing. He smiled sadly, but he was happy to be back home.

“Christmas,” Arthur said, and Alfred turned to look at him, “We need to have Christmas here now too.”

Alfred smiled and nodded. His head hurt because of all the memories fighting each other in his brain. But he was home. He was fine. He was with his Queen. After so many years… they were together again.

“Merry Christmas, my Queen,” he said to Arthur, kissing his lips.

“Yes,” Arthur smiled to him, touching their foreheads for real this time. “Merry Christmas, my King.”

#usuk #ukus #usukxmascountdown #day 13 #aph america #aph england #cardverse

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