#{ficlet: A Child's Understanding}

[azullumi]

trying different types of kissing with scaramouche?💔 like forehead, neck kisses, hand or anything at all....

“say yes to heaven” ; wanderer/scaramouche

summary — ultimately, he really does just want to be loved, behind the many layers of him to hide all that yearning and longing. but how can he say it when love, for him, was a synonym to forgiveness; alternatively, different kisses with him, with each one signifying a progressing relationship.

pairing — scaramouche/wanderer (w/ gender-neutral reader) ; could imagine this with either but i wrote this with wanderer in mind

tags — established relationship, fluff, a little bit of angst, not proofread, 1.1k ; ficlet

note — i needed an excuse to write a fic that is just all about kissing him and also comforting him (but still, i hope u like this nonnieee!!)

i. hand

You hold his hand and press small kisses on his knuckles, a little bit ticklish it was for him but he doesn’t retract. The feeling of it makes something in his chest ache with an unfamiliar sensation, and he knows it’s not his heart because he never had any.

You kiss the back of his hand, an intimate gesture, like devotion, like he was something—or someone—that should be adored.

“I am no god.” He was no deity to be worshiped so why are you so gentle to him? He wasn’t made of glass nor is he fragile; he was born from ashes of a burned home, he was carved out of war and winter storms and everything that you could ever pray against, he was a symphony composed of nothing but bad luck and conflicting melodies—he was not the kind people would choose to be around, much less adore.

And as if you bear a part of him in your mind, you understood what he was trying to say, could hear the questions that tormented him, could see the conflicted look on him as he looks at you with a gaze that seems to scrutinize your being when only he is looking for an answer. He tries to look for a crack, a gap in your expression, so that he can look through it and see what you’re really thinking.

“You don’t have to be one to be loved.” You press one last kiss on his hand just as you finished speaking, looking up to him. Indigo blue orbs met yours in a gentle gaze, eyes filled with affection only for the other to drown in. If he could put all that he was feeling, all that he was asking and seeking an answer to, into a simple word, it all condenses to: why?

“Do you still have doubts?” You ask, despite knowing the answer. He opens his mouth only to close it again, looking for the words that he should say but chose to be silent instead. And you smile—not a beaming grin nor a subtle paint on your features, but something gentle and comforting as if you’re assuring him: it’s okay, I understand you. I know you.

“You’re not unloveable.”

Loving him wasn’t the hardest thing to do, it came to you naturally as if breathing but the man thinks otherwise. A burnt child who loves the fire will only hear the fact that he is loveable, people just choose not to.

“How do you know that?” You know him well enough to hear the way his voice trembles at the effort to allow himself to be vulnerable. Long was the fall of the tall and formidable walls that he built around him.

“You’re not unloveable.” You repeat, taking hold of his fingers to kiss his hand once more. “Am I not enough proof of that?”

ii. forehead and cheeks

You cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead, an unspoken language of tenderness in which he took a long time to understand. When love and affection has finally been given to him after decades of yearning, he’s unsure of how to hold it in his hands—does he gently hold it with both? Every bit overwhelms him to the bone, the gratifying yet intense feeling seeps through his being and settles inside of him in a way that it slowly consumes the crevices of his mind, until all that is left of him is nothing but a starved man who only longs for the feeling of your skin against his own.

There was a flicker of warmth in his expression and he closed his eyes as he relished in your kindness, your hands cradling his cheeks with warmth that coaxed his entire existence, your lips pressing against his forehead softly. Then, you started to pepper his face with small kisses and the man could only surrender to your touch, a dance of vulnerability and intimacy as he crumbled into your hold.

No one has ever come this close to him (a closeness that was a stranger to the pages of his past, a tender note composed solely for him), no one and nothing.

You spoke, murmuring against his skin and close to his lips: “Sunshine.” Humor weaves through your tone, teasing the absurdity of the mismatched title and the man who wears it with subtle grace.

“Don’t call me that.” He snarks yet no bite. It’s ironically funny how you use that nickname on him despite him being the complete contrast of it; he stands as the living paradox of the word itself.

The sound of laughter bubbles up in your throat and you answer, “Why not? It suits you perfectly, don’t you think?”

What else should you call the man who grasps the warmth and tender light in his chest only the sun could give? To be with him was to sit in the autumn sunlight, to sleep in the comfort of your sheets when the rain patters against your window, to walk barefoot on the sand even if it feels like shards of glasses against your sole, to be with him was to simply exist; you’ve never met anyone who had the sun for a soul and he has never met anyone who had the stars in their eyes, and while you had the universe etched on the palm of your hands, he has your name engraved on his.

iii. lips

Your lips ghost against his own, albeit in a tantalizing manner, teasing and quite slow—but he wasn’t a patient man.

“Are you going to kiss me or what?” He whispers and you don't waver at his straightforwardness, having been used to this note. There was no hostility in his tone, just pure and raw desperation and desire to feel you.

You could imagine the eye roll he would give you had he not had his eyes closed at the moment, could imagine the frown on his expression while he spoke and could imagine it faltering soon when you finally kissed him, slow as if to savor the softness of his lips and how it reminds you of spring; he could not properly express the warmth on his chest at the thought of how you love him when he still tasted of heartache and war.

You part from him but remained close, foreheads pressed against one another, breathing heavily, and looking into each other’s eyes. You wanted to tell him that you will find him in every lifetime, but the silence between you two was enough to convey such strong affections that you could hear him respond: And I will love you in each one.

(And he somehow finds himself thinking at the same, this is what he deserves. He’d do these, these vulnerable moments where he lays himself bare for you to touch and hold even if you’ll see the scars and cracks on his skin, the falling and getting hurt despite the fear, the burning and constant searching for something, he’ll do it all over again—if it’s you.)

If someone were to ask him what forgiveness tastes like, he would utter your name—everything that he has ever longed for came in the form of you. And he fears that this longing will last forever even while you’re here, that this longing will grow even when he crumbles to dust, that this longing will outlive this body and weave life into the earth that swallows your existence.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[wileys-russo]

Girlfriend ficlet with Lucy pretty please 🩵🩵

girlfriend ficlet

"luce! we need to go or we'll be late man." you yelled out, rolling your eyes and tapping away at your phone. "aih alright alright, perfection takes time y'know?" your girlfriend finally joined you with a cocky smile.

"your confidence is as always, nauseating." you gagged, the taller girl chuckling and pulling you into a kiss. "i know you only act like ya hate it, when really it turns ya on baby." the defender mumbled into the kiss with a grin.

"sorry hang on-" you pulled away and again fake gagged. "such a child." lucy clicked her tongue and shook her head, shoving yours to the side. "ah! your perfection takes time? my hair takes longer, hands off the merchandise bronze." you warned wagging a finger at her.

"not the kind of merchandise you're slingin that i like to have my hands on anyway stanway." the brunette smiled with a wink, grabbing your bag for you. "didn't you just yell at me we were going to be late?" lucy teased holding her hand out which you accepted.

"hey its not me whose going to have issues with you being late." you chuckled, your dinner guest the one you knew would be causing problems if any.

your girlfriend retorting something back in spanish knowing you wouldn't understand you rolled your eyes and smacked her.

"we get it, you live in barcelona!"

~

"god man we said seven, its nearly seven thirty! not only do you corrupt me little sister but you're a bad influence on her time management lucy." georgia scowled the moment you arrived at the table.

"older sister! thank you very much." you pulled your younger sister into a hug as she stood to greet you. "older but smaller, big little sister!" georgia teased patting your head condescendingly. "don't you encourage her!" you warned your girlfriend with a sharp glare as she chuckled.

"gonna have to do a bit more than laughin at my jokes to get back into me good books here lucy." georgia warned, though you relaxed a little when she hugged the taller girl and all three of you sat down.

"its been a year now georgia, get over it." you rolled your eyes playfully, conversation flowing easily as you tucked yourself into lucys side despite the teasing from your sister.

"so, did you make a decision yet?" georgia asked only a half hour into the meal. "christ gee i haven't even had my entree yet! lay off man." you sighed, your contract with city due for renewal once again as you'd only signed on for one year extension.

you felt lucys fingers trace absentminded patterns on your shoulder, the brunette already knowing your answer and that georgia wasn't likely to take it all that well.

gratefully she didn't ask again, clearly picking up on the vibe that you weren't ready to talk about it and not wanting to ruin the time you did have together.

with a small hamstring strain you'd been ruled out of games and proper training for two weeks, so you'd flown to barcelona to see your girlfriend each weekend in between your rehab program.

conveniently barcelona had drawn bayern for their group stage of the uwcl and it almost seemed divine timing that you were actually able to watch, some of your teammates teasing that you were faking the injury to watch the match.

taking your seat the following afternoon you were wedged between lucys brother and mother, having already been absolutely berated by your sister over facetime earlier this morning for your outfit choice.

also ribbed by your older brothers who'd made the trip too you were grateful to be sat in the home section and away from their constant teasing you were bringing shame to the family in your bronze jersey.

the game started off with both teams coming out swinging, no goals conceded on either end by half time, lucy finding you and her family in the crowd and sending a grin and a wave in your direction.

your sister on the other hand caught your eye and flipped you the bird, something you were certain would be circulating twitter in a matter of hours.

you and lucy hadn't officially come out as dating but you also didn't shy away from 'soft launching' as leah had taught you it was called, and you allowed the rumour mill to circulate, no doubt in your mind your appearance here would only send it haywire.

the second half kicked off and from the very first touch it was apparent the barca girls had come out with a vengeance, bagging three goals in the first twenty minutes all with different scorers, your girlfriend assisting two of them.

the game finally ending with barcelona reigning supreme winning five to nil you were up on your feet as the stadium let out a thunderous cheer and the girls did their laps, a smile curling on your face watching your sister and girlfriend walk together, pushing one another around and joking with a grin.

after georgia had found out the two of you were dating she hadn't taken it well, getting over the initial shock and refusing to speak to either you or lucy for three whole weeks.

eventually leah and keira had gotten in her ear and spoken smacked some sense into her, reminding it was your life and your choice and your happiness, and she'd be a bad sister to stand in the way of that.

so to see them back to normal joking around and hugging flooded your body with relief, an immense weight off your shoulders of months of being the only connection between them, their new clubs meaning besides international duty they hardly saw one another.

eventually the crowd was dispersed leaving all the girls and their respective friends and families, you sat up on the barrier as lucy stood in between your legs, hands splayed across your thighs as you spoke with a few of her friends and teammates.

"so, am i wrong to hear we might have to see more of you soon chica?" mapi grinned as you pinched your girlfriends hip sharply and she winced. "maybe." you answered with a sly smile before grumbling in lucys ear about how she had a big mouth.

"you don't normally seem to mind my mouth though babe, especially when it serves you." the brunette mumbled back, stretching so her lips grazed your ear and she squeezed dangerously high up your leg as you blushed bright red and smacked her shoulder.

"well if that is true then maybe lucia will stop looking so miserable and going on and on about how much she misses you." alexia smiled, accent thick but you appreciated their efforts to speak english with you as a few of the girls laughed and lucy shot her a glare.

"we should go see my family luce, i think gee's done licking her wounds." you murmured as lucy nodded, turning her head to peck your lips and pushing herself up as mapi wolf whistled sending the two of you a wink.

you laughed as lucy rolled her eyes and helped you down, taking your hand as you waved the girls goodbye before the two of you crossed the pitch to where most of the bayern girls were spending time with their own families.

"well well well, the little traitor returns." sol grinned as you punched his shoulder and both you and lucy made the rounds greeting your family, keira also speaking with georgia a few feet away.

"just tryin out the colours before the big move then aih?" sol of course had to open his own big mouth right as georgia and keira returned, the blondes eyes widening at your brothers words.

"the what?" she sent you a glare as you smiled guiltily, sinking into lucys arms as she held you from behind, really using you as more of a human shield than trying to offer you any sort of comfort.

"surprise?" you smiled, biting your bottom lip as keira sighed and pinched her forehead and georgia let out a laugh. "so, barcelona then? officially?" she asked, scarily calm as you nodded.

"won't be announced until the summer, the contracts all but signed." you admitted as georgia nodded, seemingly processing as you started to relax a little assuming she was taking it better than you'd worried.

you were wrong.

"LUCY COME HERE I'M GONNA KILL YA AGAIN!"

[funnylittlelad]

birdsong - steddie ficlet (-1.5k)

That time Steve got hearing aids.

Steve has been pissing people off for weeks and he knows it. He just doesn’t know what to do about it. It gets to the point where Dustin snaps at him for never paying attention to them. Steve starts to consider just leaving the country and starting new somewhere else. Somewhere it doesn't matter if he can hear who’s talking to him because he can't understand them anyways. He always thought Italy could be nice. Instead of running, he just shows up less. Both literally and metaphorically.

He starts bailing on more hangouts, figuring he won't be able to hear everyone so what's the point. When he is there he participates less in the conversation. He only engages when he’s really sure he can hear, which isn't a lot. It's mostly one-on-one or one-on-two. He doesn't think anyone notices, but they do. Eddie most of all feels Steve’s absence even when he’s sitting right next to him. He’s noticed the anxious tension in him when they're in groups. He just isn't sure what to do. So, he sits with a Steve-sized ache in his chest. There’s a day when the ache becomes too much, though, and Eddie breaks.

Steve sits in his living room with everyone strewn about. Eddie is next to him like he usually is unless Robin was already at Steve’s first. The kids lay and sit on the rug around the coffee table. Robin is on the other side of Eddie. Nancy sits with her legs tucked under her in a big armchair. The sound of conversation and life flows around him like a pebble in a stream. His edges have been smoothed so the water can move effortlessly, never catching on his surface. He can feel that there are words in the air around him, but there are too many other things around those words. Too much background noise and laughter. He can’t dig through it all in time to figure out what anyone is saying. So, he just stays silent like he has been. 

“He’s not listening again,” Dustin says frustratedly. 

Eddie frowns and looks at Steve. The movement catches Steve’s attention. He turns to look at Eddie with a small smile. Then he notices that it's more than just Eddie’s eyes on him. His blood runs cold and his throat dries.

“What?” He asks cautiously, eyes flitting to everyone else before landing on Eddie.

“Be honest, can you hear us?” Eddie answers Steve’s question with his own.

“I-”

“Be honest,” Eddie warns.

“No,” Steve sighs, “most of the time I can't really. I mean, I can hear you, but I can't tell what you're saying. It all garbles together like I’m underwater or something.”

“I think it's time to go to the doctor, Stevie,” Eddie says softly.

Steve frowns, but nods. There's a nervous twist in his stomach at the thought. He agrees to make an appointment the following day. Eddie hangs behind after everyone else leaves for a little bit. He does this sometimes and Steve’s never complained. Steve’s never thought about complaining. There's no surprise when Eddie gently grabs his hand either. He does that sometimes too. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” Eddie asks. 

The question nearly makes Steve cry. He wants to cry so bad. He wants to cry because he misses being able to hear his friends. He wants to cry because he’s scared of what's going to happen to what's left of his hearing. He wants to cry because Eddie is standing here offering to go to his doctor’s appointment with him like he’s a child. Mostly, he wants to cry because he’s so fucking happy Eddie offered and he doesn't have to ask. Steve nods.

“Yeah, if you don't mind,” he answers with a slight waver in his voice. 

Eddie smiles all sticky and sweet at him. Steve silently wonders what he did to be worthy of a smile like that. 

“‘Course I don't mind. Just tell me when and where and I’m there,” Eddie promises.

And he was. Eddie drives Steve to the ENT on the morning of his appointment the next week. He sat in the waiting room until Steve was done, but the knowledge he was there was enough. It was the same thing when Steve was sent to the Audiologist two weeks later. Eddie sat in the waiting room patiently while Steve sat in a booth answering all sorts of questions and prompts. It doesn't really sink in until he sees Eddie stand from his chair. The knit of his brow tells Steve his face says it all.

“What’s the verdict?” Eddie asks. 

“They’ll let me know when to come in and be fitted for my hearing aids,” he sighs with a frown.

“That’s good!” Eddie smiles as they walk out of the office. 

“Good? Eds, I’m going to have hearing aids,” Steve scoffs.

“Yeah, which means you’ll, y’know, be able to hear,” Eddie points out. 

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Nope, no buts except yours in my van,” Eddie interrupts him and points to the passenger side as they approach the van.

Steve rolls his eyes with a small smile as he climbs in. 

“I just don’t feel like it's that bad,” he admits quietly as the van choked to a start.

“How bad did they say it was?” 

Steve remains silent for a beat as Eddie pulls out. He sighs and glances out the window at the building as they leave.

“I'm working with sixty percent of my hearing in one ear and seventy in the other,” he tells Eddie.

“Stevie,” Eddie breathes with a shake of his head, “If the doctors say these things will help you then they’re worth a shot. M’tired of you bailing out on things- yeah, I noticed.”

Steve’s face flushes at being caught like that. He exhales slowly and nods. 

“Okay,” he agrees, “I’ll give them a shot.”

A couple weeks later he’s called into the office for his hearing aids. Eddie is so quick to drop what he’s doing to go with him it nearly gives Steve whiplash. The sight of Eddie’s van pulling up gives a strange swooping sensation that he's grown used to around Eddie. The appointment itself takes around an hour. Then Steve is walking out fashioned with two white hearing aids hooked over his ears. His eyes are wide as they bounce to the television and then the clacking behind the desk. Eddie beams at him and stands. Steve looks beautiful so stunned. Hell, Eddie can admit that Steve just looks beautiful. 

“C’mon, Stevie, let’s go give’em a spin,” he says with a wolfish grin.

Steve laughs and nods. They don't get far, though. Once they step foot outside Steve comes to a halt. He makes a noise that's a cross between choking and a sob. Eddie’s hands fly to examine him for injury, but there is none. Steve’s lip wobbles, his face is blotchy and red, and his warm toffee eyes are trained on the tree a few feet away. Eddie’s mouth opens to ask, but then Steve’s eyes are on him like that. His eyes overflow with more emotion than Eddie knew a human could hold. 

“The birds,” Steve croaks. 

“What about’em?” Eddie’s brows furrow.

He glances accusingly at the little chirping finches in the tree. Steve chuckles wetly at the sight.

“I- I can hear them. It’s been so long- I didn't even realize,” Steve shakes his head, “I don’t know the last time I’ve actually heard the birds.”

Steve’s wonder-filled gaze turns back to the birds in question. He laughs again, heartier this time at the notion. He can hear birds. 

“Shit,” Eddie whispers to himself, “I’m so in love with you.”

At least he thought it was to himself. An hour ago it would have been to himself. Steve’s face whips around with huge eyes. His lips part slightly as he watches Eddie stunned. Eddie freezes, absolutely terrified. He’s so sure he just fucked it all up. 

“I can hear you too,” Steve whispers.

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat.

“Nah, pretty sure that was a bird too,” he attempts to joke it off. 

“I really hope not,” Steve frowns.

Eddie blinks hopefully.

“Really? Why?”

“Because I’m in love with you too.”

Safe to say, Steve is very happy he got hearing aids. 

Masterlist - beta read by @steveslilshorts

[esther-dot]

Sansa's Sworn Shield 3k by @kittykatknits

“You could play come into my castle with her, she likes that game,” Rickon offered helpfully. Jon desperately wants an evening alone with his wife. Unfortunately, Rickon is determined to protect his dear sister from Jon's less than honorable intentions. Challenged to yet another duel, and running out of champions, Jon decides to find another way to solve his problems so he can finally come into Sansa's castle.

The pursuit of non-bath time happiness 3k by @captainbee89

After Jon refuses Gendry's ask for Arya's hand, citing the fact Sansa was not yet betrothed, Rickon observes and, with the help of Shaggydog, Ghost and Arya, comes up with a plan to have Jon realise he should court Sansa himself. And if it were to result in Jon being less strict about bath times, that was totally coincidental!

Goodbye Means Going Away (And Going Away Means Forgetting) 2k by @vixleonard

Memory is unreliable. No one understands this better than Rickon Stark.

corresponding manip by @norrlands-nonsense

what this palace wants is release 26k WIP by @bravegentlestrong

When Sansa and Jon show up at Bear Island, Rickon is already there holding court as King in the North and planning a war with Lyanna Mormont. They look exactly like the parents who he lost. Once Jon and Sansa take over the whole ruling-the-kingdom thing, Lyanna and Rickon use their political capital to parent trap Jon and Sansa.

No Smooth Road 4k by @maybetwice

Jon and Sansa are in love. It ought to be as simple as that.

His King's Command ficlet by @vivilove-jonsa

“Sansa wants a babe. You should give her one.” Jon had been cleaning Longclaw but glances up at his king, his ten-years-old cousin, who is staring at him expectantly with his arms crossed.

Rickon's Refuge 1k by @vivilove-jonsa

On those nights, Rickon feels like a child of eight, not a man grown. On those nights, he seeks out Sansa, a tolerable replacement for the mother he lost, the one he barely remembers now, though that is not in his conscious thoughts.  She lets him lie in her bed.  She will stroke his hair softly and sing.  He's never told her but he likes that.  It makes him feel safe and loved and like he still has a mother who isn't a faded memory.   “Rickon? What are you doing in here?” He scowls at the deep voice even though he loves him. “What are you doing in here?!” he asks sharply in reply to Jon’s question, the petulance plain in his tone.

Marry Me In Some Old-Fashioned Way 2k by @blackholeofprocrastination

A misunderstanding with Rickon leads Jon to reconsider his future at Winterfell and his feelings towards its red-haired mistress.

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON SIX - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON - next time -> HISTORICAL: 1930S

[thursdayinspace]

i want a season 8 ficlet where scully gets *angry*. where she finds her words. where she tells mulder that she has been through *hell*, first searching for him, not knowing if he was alive, and then *burying him*, and all the while being pregnant with their child. and yes of course it's his, she really didn't think she had to explicitly tell him that, she was actually kind of shocked to realize he thought it could be anyone else's? and now he's back and yeah she understands it's hard for him, but it's hard for her too, everything she had to live through, the lingering grief, not knowing what will happen next -- is she going to raise this child on her own? because he sure acts like she will, and he will be a . . . what, a friend checking in with them every once in a while? she's willing to support him in whatever way he needs, but once again she has to swallow down her pain to put somebody else's first, she just wants to be seen, she just wants him to tell her where they fucking stand. if he wants out of their relationship, that's fine, but she's been through so much pain and grief, and she can't just sit around anymore waiting for him to deal with his trauma, because what about her own??? she needs support too, she needs to be allowed to have feelings and to have them taken seriously.

mulder has been through hell too. she acknowledges that. she will be there for him. but she needs to know in what capacity he wants her to be there for him, because clearly they're not a couple. and mulder hears her. and he lets her be angry. and one way or another, they will work it out. but scully gets to use her words. she gets to tell him "hey, i'm here too, and my life has been terrible and a waking nightmare these past few months and it would be nice if we could maybe not just brush that aside like it doesn't matter." i just want her to be able to put all her anger and pain out in the open for once, and i want her to be heard and understood.

i kind of want to write this fic but do i really need another project?

[the-cloudy-dreamer]

“And here we are! Mister Gadling if I may introduce you to the owner of this estate, Lord Morpheus Endelas?'' The portrait of a severe looking man hangs at the top of the staircase, with an ornate golden frame. It is the only thing occupying that wall. 

It looks lonely. 

“Lord Morpheus? So, if he is the owner of this estate, why is his sister the one rushing to sell it? Where is he?” Hob asks, confused.  

“Nobody really knows. He was quite the renowned painter at the time but went missing at the peak of his career months after his only son died in a tragic accident,” Mister Edwards explains. 

Hob’s heart clenches in sympathy, as if to lose one’s child seems horrible enough, but to be expected to carry on after such a loss seems unthinkable to him.

“Hold on, missing? Missing implies that he is still out there! Doesn't he get a say in what happens to his state? He could come back and rightfully unleash his wrath upon us for going through with this! Sir, you have to understand that if I am to take up this job offer I need to know I’m not risking my entire career and reputation over it.”

He feels perplexed “Wasn't anyone else concerned about this? How is picking apart a missing man’s home and selling all his worldly possessions to the highest bidder even considered acceptable? What was the Endelas family even thinking? The man lost his only child, surely he just needed some time away?” It didn't seem unreasonable to Hob. 

He didn’t like it. Something about this felt wrong.

“It is believed even by his own remaining family, that Lord Endelas killed himself. Saying he is missing is the polite way to not address the fact that no body was ever found! Even before his son’s death he was infamous for his melancholic moods and tendencies towards neglecting himself to the point of damaging his own health significantly. So I’m hardly asking you to do anything immoral here! You are a good man Mister Gadling, and if the thought of taking this job distresses you so much I will accept that and find someone else to do it, but Lady Endelas wants this to be done sooner rather than later and I think you are the best choice for it.”

Hob turns his attention back to the portrait and contemplates for a moment.

He truly did look lonely up there.

“I will give you my answer tomorrow morning, Mister Edwards,” he concludes. 

“That’s all I ask for Mister Gadling, for you to consider it. Thank you.” Edwards inclines his head and promptly turns around, heading back downstairs.

Hob looks helplessly at the portrait of Lord Morpheus, already knowing he will take the job come morning. 

Damn him and his bleeding heart.

---------------------------------------

Ta-dah! illustration that's part of my gothic romance dreamling AU for @dreamlingnation spooky event !! the prompt that inspired this was "cursed painting" the comic pages for the ficlet above are already in the works so stay tuned for that and more!

special thanks to @academicblorbo for helping me edit this, you are the best friend!

[cha-melodius]

For the snippet game: 💚 (magic kiss) for FirstPrince

Also can't wait to read the next chapter of the spy-soulmate au. You're a genius. What an au!

(I already did one magic kiss that you can find here, so here's a bit of a different version. thank you so much for your kind words, I hope you enjoy this little fairytale! read all the kiss ficlets)

Alex stumbles toward the edge of the lake, toward the rushes that gather there and the glimmering water beyond. He knows he’s dying, that’s not in question, but the animal instincts in his brain refuse to give up. He’s just so thirsty, and maybe if he gets a swallow of water, he’ll be able to gather enough strength to get to the village healer. Who will absolutely not be able to do anything for the wound currently stretching across his abdomen.

He’s so delirious, he doesn’t even realize who’s lake he’s approaching until he’s slumping to the soft, damp ground on the shore. His knees press into the mud as he shakily draws the clear water to his mouth over and over again, though it makes no difference to his thirst.

“Alex?” comes a familiar, musical voice. One that’s filled his ears and his dreams since he was a small child who ignored his family’s warnings not to go near the lake. He looks up into blue eyes as deep and clear as the lake itself, now wide and filled with fear as they take in Alex’s state. Henry comes closer and reaches out, pressing a hand to Alex’s wound. When he pulls it back, the bright red blood stands out starkly against skin so pale it’s almost translucent. “What happened?”

“Bandits,” Alex coughs. Normally, he’d be able to handle himself, but not when it’s ten against one. “I was coming home from the market and they got the drop on me.”

“Oh, darling,” Henry murmurs as he presses a gentle hand to Alex’s cheek. His long blond hair hangs wet over his shoulders and spreads into the lake, where it mingles with Alex’s blood in the water.

“Don’t suppose you can do anything?” Alex ventures, though he knows it’s a long shot. He shudders, curling in on himself. “‘M so cold.”

Henry bites his full, pink lip, a furrow appearing between his brows. “I could save your life in exchange for a kiss.”

Alex may have struck up an unexpected friendship with a water spirit, but that doesn’t mean he’s ignorant to their dangers. He smiles a little. “What’s the catch?”

“You’ll belong to me,” Henry says softly. “Forever.”

“Is that all?” Alex replies with a harsh, wet laugh. “Kiss me, sweetheart.”

“You don’t understand what you’re asking for,” Henry protests.

“I understand well enough.” Alex summons what’s left of his strength and reaches out for Henry, though he can’t manage to pull him any closer. His thumb presses to the inside of Henry’s wrist, but the only pulse that thrums there is his own, steadily weakening. “I already belong to you. Forever. Just kiss me. Please.”

Henry’s lips part as he stares at Alex in shocked disbelief, but then he’s moving, pulling Alex into the lake. The frigid water knocks the remaining air from Alex’s lungs and he has to fight against the survival instincts that tell him to fight Henry’s grasp, but Henry’s not dragging him down to drown him like all the stories warn. Henry’s holding him close to keep him safe, and when their lips finally meet, Alex feels warmth flood back into his body despite the coolness of Henry’s skin against his.

Alex chases his lips when Henry tries to pull away, kisses him longer and harder like he’s wanted to for so long, not because of Henry’s beauty but also his intelligence and his humor and his heart. Because Alex loves him, and has since the first day he met a young Henry by the lake, though it took him a while to realize it. For a moment Henry just lets himself be kissed, but then something seems to snap and he’s kissing Alex back just as fiercely, and the warmth grows between them until Alex realizes it’s not just him that’s warm—Henry is, too.

That finally makes Alex pull out of the kiss, frowning at the water spirit. “Henry, what…?”

In answer, Henry grabs his wrist and presses Alex’s palm over his chest to feel the steady thud of a heartbeat that wasn’t there before. 

“Magic is tricky,” he says with a little, cautious smile. “I belong to you too, love.”

[serenescribe]

I’ve been infected with the fever of Lilia’s bats adopting Silver as their non-bat pup, and it’s adorable! I suppose this is just me asking to see Lilia seeing his bats chitter and nuzzle Silver as a child or as a teenager. Whichever you prefer~!

[✐] ficlet frenzy

“Silver? Siiilver?”

No response. Lilia sighs, hands resting on his hips. Now where could his son be at this time of the day?

He’d just returned home after a trip to the market, and had called out Silver’s name in hopes of hearing a sleepy response and the soft pattering of feet before his son emerged at the front door. But today, he heard nothing.

And so Lilia had glanced around the house, leaving the groceries in the kitchen in favour of checking every nook and cranny of their little cottage. At the very least, he can still sense Silver’s presence somewhere, even if he can’t find him. Perhaps he’s playing a game of hide and seek? It’s a distinct possibility, Lilia supposes.

He comes up empty-handed until he tries the one room he had saved for last, for no reason outside of the fact that he can’t think of any explanation why Silver would be in there. With a flick of his wrist, the door to Lilia’s bedroom creaks open, the doorknob turning with the help of magic, and…

“Ah,” Lilia says, as he looks into his room.

He understands now why Silver couldn’t reply. Because Silver had been preoccupied.

Dozens of his bats — those sneaky little rascals! — surround Silver, chittering and flapping their wings at Lilia as he steps into the room. Lilia scoffs, rolling his eyes as he approaches the bed his son lays on. “Don’t give me that attitude,” he lectures, even as the bats huddle closer to the slumbering human boy, pressing against his neck and shoulders, clinging to his clothes and hair. Lilia squints, peering closer. “Did you cover his ears?!”

One of his bats — the largest of the group, and the boldest one, who always makes a habit of clinging to Silver even when Lilia chases the others off — squeaks out a response. Lilia folds his arms, lips twisting into a pout. “I told you, you cannot hoard him for yourself!” Another protesting whine. “‘Why not?’” Lilia echoes. “Oh, for the love of— we’ve been over this already! You can have your quality time with Silver, but you cannot hoard him like this! How heavy do you think you all are, hm, crowding him like that?”

The bats do not seem to care. Bastards, Lilia sulks, tapping his foot against the ground as they nuzzle into Silver, continuing to strategically cover his ears with the thin membrane of their wings in order to stop him from waking at the sound of his father’s voice.

Of course his pesky familiars don’t give a damn. They know the real reason why Lilia keeps fending them off — a deep-rooted jealousy that feels pathetically childish to admit, hidden under the guise of whatever excuse Lilia can think of on the spot.

“You win this time,” Lilia grumbles, throwing his hands up in defeat. “But mark my words, if you make Silver miss dinnertime again, I swear—”

The bats chirp back their protests, and Lilia’s voice pitches.

“You have no RIGHT to criticise my culinary skills when you can’t even COOK!”

[justafewsmallsteps]

Another quick art and ficlet for @kagomes-hanakotobamatsuri ! This one focused on Week 3, Fertility and I used the Yellow Rose (new beginnings) as my inspiration flower. I started writing this while I was pregnant 2 years ago, but didn’t get around to finishing it until now.

Title: Potatoes Word Count: 1113 Rating: T Pairing: Inukag Warnings: Pregnancy

Try as she might, Kagome couldn’t help the uncontrollable (and unreasonable) flood of negative emotions that came with her unfulfilled pregnancy craving.

Wacdonald’s, of all things. Of course she was craving one of the most unobtainable foods possible in Sengoku and one of the easiest to find in her modern Tokyo. 

She didn’t really feel regret at leaving the modern world behind, not with Inuyasha and a life of friends and nature to surround her, and yet… 

Kagome found herself seething in angry tears. Angry at her body, angry at her attitude, angry at life. While she was always an emotional person, this hormone-induced storm was driving her crazy. She felt everything stronger, and no amount of logic or sleep was pulling her out of it because when she really really thought about it, it was all so unfair. She was raging at the world for making her choose between one family and another. The past was her future, and the future was now her past. But why did she have to choose? Why couldn’t she have a child with the love of her life and introduce her baby to her mother and grandfather and brother? Her righteous sorrow and her selfish cravings swirled into an indistinguishable mass of feelings. One second there was joy, another pain, the next irrepressible annoyance. She was guilty that she felt this way, upset as a tantruming toddler over a greasy burger and salty fried potatoes. 

And ultimately she was sad to be so far from her mother. 

Her thoughts turned to her poor husband. 

Inuyasha had been very sweet since she’d gotten back, and her pregnancy ramped up his doting completely. From warming her bath, to fetching her the ripest fruits, to building her the most comfortable approximation of a mattress possible, she felt spoiled and grateful. But her pregnancy-addled brain and hormonal body had her feeling so at odds with her heart. She loved being here. She loved her friends and the family they found in each other. She loved Inuyasha. 

Yet she longed for the crepes at the Shinjuku station mall, ice cream from a stand, steak from the grocery store cooked at home… her mouth was practically a waterfall at the thought. But by far the biggest craving was a Wacdonald’s cheeseburger with extra cheese and a side of fries dipped in ketchup. Make that two sides of fries. She could cry thinking about it, which she knew was stupid. 

It didn’t help that so many things made her feel nauseous. She’d helped out with pregnant mothers before, giving them herbs to help, learning from Kaede the rough timeline. She’d given reassurances and her best empathy, but in the throes of morning sickness Kagome wished to strangle her past naivety—and as much as she adored Kaede, the woman never actually had to go through pregnancy. 

Sango helped the most, understanding her anger, giving practical advice to give her the slightest relief. After all, carrying the twins had been an ordeal.

But Kagome was tired of ginger root and plain rice. 

She was tired in general. It has been such a joy to find out she was pregnant, and the first few weeks were a breeze. Then the morning sickness kicked in and subsequently kicked her ass. Morning sickness. God, it was unending sickness. Any time of the day sickness! She huddled under her blanket, willing the fatigue and nausea away. 

Then Inuyasha emerged from the door with her requested pile of potatoes. His look was apprehensive. He wanted to help her in any way he could, knowing that his wife often repressed cries for her mother. 

“I scrubbed ‘em already, and the pan’s good to go.” 

“Thank you, Inuyasha.” 

“I’ll cut ‘em too. It’s supposed to be like sticks, right?” 

She nodded. “Not too thin though.” Her husband was really good with a knife. She might be envious of his skills if he wasn’t such a good partner. 

Before he could start chopping, she stopped him. “Wait! Maybe cubes are better. They’ll move around the pan more easily.” 

“‘Kay,” he replied easily. 

Kagome stifled a groan as she slowly got up. Inuyasha had set the pan to heat already, so all she had to do was add the oil. 

“This look alright?” Inuyasha asked, checking in with her about the size. 

“Those look good.” 

Something about the sound of him chopping away triggered something. Everything triggered some emotion or another—but the domestic simplicity of their lives came at her full force as she heard the rhythmic sounds of their knife hitting their wooden chopping block. 

“It’s wonderful,” she whimpered, tears gathering in her eyes. 

“Woah, woah!” The hanyou turned around in concern, his hand immediately at her back to try to comfort her.  “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she lifted her head and sobbed, unable to hold it back. “It’s just the hormones, but I do think you’re wonderful. I’m so lucky to have you!” she wailed. 

His entire being was on high alert since she got pregnant, and even though he knew emotional outbursts were bound to happen, he still went into overdrive trying to make sense of it and fix whatever he could. “T-thanks.” 

“Thank you for getting me potatoes so we could try making fries. I’m sorry I’m probably going to hate it or throw it up but it’s the closest thing I have to Wacdonald’s.” She wiped her face with her sleeve and sniffled. 

“I told you, woman, I’ll do anything I can. I’m sorry we don’t got wako’s or whatever here.” 

“I’m being unreasonable.”

“It’s normal. You know it is. I know it is. You shoulda seen Miroku while Sango was having her cravings. Damn near swindled every ingredient from every vendor in every town just to find something she couldn’t remember the name of.” 

Kagome gave a watery laugh. “That makes me feel better.” 

“We’ll make something good, and if you hate it and retch I’ll make you two something else.” 

‘Us two,’ Kagome thought in awe, placing her hand on her belly. “We appreciate you.” She sent him a smile and got on her tiptoes to kiss his jaw. 

“Yeah, yeah. If you’re done, I’m going to go finish cutting now,” he brushed off, trying to hide his blush as he turned around. 

“Okay, but we’re following you,” Kagome declared. As her husband resumed chopping the rest of the potatoes, she wrapped her arms around his middle and rested her cheek against his back. 

“I’m gonna be done in five seconds, you know.” 

“Go slower.” 

Inuyasha rolled his eyes, but the quick beat of the chopping slowed to a different, sweeter ballad, and Kagome hummed contentedly along.

[llondonfog]

God there's something that drives me crazy about it how Lilia and Malleus have been putting Silver to sleep for years using Meleanor's lullaby. You might have talked about it before but ugghhhhhhh as wild as she was, she obviously wanted to be an amazing mother for her kid, and now her caretaking is even reaching the baby of the man who killed her. They're everything they drive me nuts!!!!!

I actually don't think I've talked about the lullaby before!! I've written one little ficlet about Meleanor surviving and Lilia adopting Silver as one big happy family (which I should revisit honestly . . . I live for Auntie Mel who will melt the faces off anyone human or fae or Lilia who causes her precious godchild to cry <3) but I've not talked about the lullaby!!

In regards to Lilia, the usage of the lullaby speaks such volumes to me of how he's already accepted Silver as his son and how he's refused to let the past/Silver's heritage taint his view of this truly innocent child. Silver's father was the one to battle against Meleanor and strike that final blow that destroyed her— the knight would be rightfully responsible for not only potentially decimating a kingdom and leaving it leaderless, but for killing a mother before she ever got to see her son, killing a wife still searching for her husband, and directly killing one of (at the time) Lilia's only two loves in his life. It would not be absurd for Lilia to withhold the lullaby from Silver out of respect for Meleanor, knowing her disdain for the human race and the ties that Silver unfortunately shares to her demise.

But instead, he does not see (as much as he may struggle to accept this change in his heart) a prince of an enemy nation or the son of a murderer— he cradles the warm, heavy bundle in his arms close, breathes in the sweet scent of the spring, and feels that tiny heartbeat as it tries to sync up with his own breathing. That baby— that's his Silver. His child that he's blessed and named, his own son for all the cognitive dissonance he exhibits when he struggles to come to terms with how much he cares for, loves the boy. And what does a parent do to soothe a fretful child in need of comfort? They sing a lullaby.

(He thinks Meleanor would understand. Perhaps he even feels her singing through him to the child. And when Silver drowsily blinks his dawn-swept eyes up at his papa, Lilia can only poke his cheek with a smile, wondering if this little human would have been the one to tame the mighty dragon, just as he's softened this old bat's heart.)

For Malleus and Silver, ugh their relationship is so complex and special to me. We have two princes who would have been raised on opposite sides of the battlefield, and frankly, Silver would most likely have died before Malleus could even learn to speak the common tongue. Just like Lilia and Silver, these two should never have met, and yet here we have Mal, strolling around this dinky little cottage with a human babe cradled in his arms, trying his best to soothe its forlorn cries for its father with a distant memory. A prince caring for another little prince, unknowingly welcoming the son of the man who killed his mother into his heart with so much fierce devotion that he would stop the world to keep Silver's tears from falling (I fully believe Lilia would have walked unscathed out of NRC and none of this overblot would have happened the moment that it did regardless of Mal's stewing emotions— but when he saw Silver weeping, he was not going to allow this charade to continue any longer).

But this lullaby surviving for centuries past Meleanor, and how it will continue to survive when Malleus passes it on to his own children, and Silver to his, it gives Lilia a glimpse of the hope he wishes for the future. Between his beautiful child and his noble prince, perhaps they can accomplish what their fathers and mothers could not.

[steeb-stn]

Bad batch ficlet

So after @not-so-mundane-after-all’s most recent fic knocked me flat i was like ‘what if hunter got to hold omega as a baby’ and i was like ‘timey-wimey stuff could make that happen’ and just decided to go for it. Who needs plot. 400ish words of pure schmoop

also techs alive in this bc im in charge here and i said so

-

“Hunter.”

Hunter doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look away from the little face cradled in the crook of his elbow.

“Hunter. We have to go.”

Her face is so peaceful in sleep, her little eyelashes fluttering across cheeks flushed and soft with baby fat. They had decided it might be better to let her fall asleep before they left, but now that she has, Hunter can tell it will be no easier to tear himself away from her. 

It will be no easier for her, either. Either way, she won’t understand why he’s left her.

A gentle hand settles on his shoulder. A gesture of kindness, and a cruelty. He knows that Tech feels this parting keenly too, but he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand. 

He doesn’t understand how many times Hunter has daydreamed this very scenario. Most often when she was parted from him, during the awful months she was on Tantiss.

Lying in his bunk, trying to sleep and yearning for her, his mind would conjure up images of Omega as a small child, of sweet smiles and screaming laughter, of sweeping her up in his arms the way he had seen men on Pabu do with their young children. Of holding her little body safe in his arms and rocking her to sleep.

And somehow those dreams came true, and now he has to leave her. 

Impossible.

He hitches her up to his shoulder, careful to keep her neck supported, so he can kiss her forehead. He lets his lips linger on her temple, at the crown of her head. Lets her soft baby hairs tickle his lips as he sways gently from side to side.  Sees Tech out of the corner of his eye, shyly reaching out to stroke sunshine-colored curls.

Their Omega is waiting for them. He knows that. Their brave girl, so grown up, all gangly limbs and teenage attitude and burgeoning independence. His Omega who grew up here in this sterile lab, alone, with a scientist who didn’t know how to nurture a young human the way she deserved. Until he found her. And she still needs him. 

But how can he leave? How can he leave this baby to her lonely childhood?

Will she remember this? Is his Omega the same one he holds now in his arms? He doesn’t know. He has left the particulars of their predicament to Tech, divergent timelines and alternate universes and such.  It makes Hunter’s head hurt to think about it.

He only know that this is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

[starmocha]

calling your name Dawnbreaker/MC, implied Zayne/MC | 1506 words | AO3 The jasmine was about to blossom. A/N: I haven’t written anything in 2 years due to reasons, so lol IDK what I’m doing. I was also supposed to be working on a different LNDS ficlet, but Dawnbreaker called, so I answered, because I love him lots and want to give him the universe. Slight divergence from the end of the anecdote.

On a window sill, a small pot housing an unflowered jasmine plant was meticulously cared for as its owner waited for the first blossoms.

He saw the girl in his dreams again.

He did not dare utter her sweet name, let alone think it, for it caused him to ache and yearn for her, someone who would forever be beyond his reach across time and space.

He had gone on years and years, watching her from afar in his dreams. It felt so wrong, this feeling of voyeurism, forced to see the object of his affection with that other man, this being who shared his likeness and name, but they were not the same person.

While that other man lived freely, carrying the revered title of doctor, an angel on earth who saved countless lives with his scarred hands, he was his opposite.

He walked in shadows, evading police as he took numerous lives with his ice-cold hands. One could argue he was an angel of mercy, appearing to those who knew they were on the brink of losing the last remnants of their humanity. He himself saw nothing of the sort, only knowing he was shackled to this fate of walking the earth alone, bearing the burden of taking doomed lives to protect the still living. To some, he was the Grim Reaper, appearing in his dark clothes, expressionless, as he swiftly took the lives waiting for him. Others knew him as Dawnbreaker, the callous serial killer who left behind nothing of his victims to show that they ever existed.

He himself was just Zayne. The names, titles, and monikers bestowed upon him meant nothing to the young man, who had no one in his life to even call for him or remember him. He was used to silence, to the solitude, understanding that this was his fate.

He lived in purgatory, moving like clockwork and seeing neither joy nor sadness in this monotone world. When nightfall descended, he escaped to heaven where the girl was. Never alone, she was always happily side-by-side with the doctor. He stole glimpses of her smiles, pocketing them as if they were his and his alone. How pitiful of him, to relish in something that was not for him.

He learned not to care, to savor what little joy he was able to greedily take for himself. He lived this way for years, as a voyeur, a thief, an imposter.

When the day came the girl saw him within their dreamscape, he did not know how to react. He stilled, her words left him shaken inside:

“You…aren’t Dr. Zayne. Who are you?”

He didn’t know what to tell her. He didn’t know what to do in this moment. For as long as he could remember, she was always within reach in his dream ever since that fated night so long ago when he was a child. Now, she was here, in front of him, seeing him.

I can’t lose her. I can’t lose her. I can’t—

And then he felt an unfamiliar warmth on his cheek. Her hand caressed his face, memorizing the shape and feel of him that was near identical to the doctor, but perhaps in her eyes alone they were not.

“Why do you look so sad?”

He looked mildly surprised. He searched within him for words, for his voice, unprepared for this sudden moment of being able to speak with her at last. The seconds that felt like eternity to him ended with one simple phrase: “Do I?”

She nodded once and then she disappeared, and he awakened in a cold sweat.

She saw him. She touched him. She spoke to him.

What did it mean? He didn’t know, didn’t have an answer or theory to this new development.

He touched his cheek, her warmth still lingering. The only thing he knew was that he needed to see her again, hoping and praying that she wouldn’t disappear, that she would speak to him once more.

The next night, she appeared before him again, and just like the previous time, she saw him.

“What’s your name?”

He hesitated, but he answered her, “Zayne.”

She looked surprised, but she didn’t act on it. Instead, she smiled and introduced herself. He almost wanted to laugh in incredulous amusement at the situation, having known her name already from so long ago. He restrained his amusement, and he smiled back. “Pleased to meet you.”

They crossed path again, and again, and again. Each time, without hesitation, her eyes lighted with joy for him.

For him.

Him.

He didn’t dare to feel happiness, unsure if he was even deserving of such feelings. But he smiled. He greeted her smiles with his, feeling peace in the moments with her.

He wished he could dream forever, to always have her by his side until the end of time itself.

He no longer envied the doctor, no longer stole moments that were not his to take.

The dream world had changed, molding into bustling cities long ago full of parks, restaurants, and cafés for him to wander with her by his side, to create memories that were for just the two of them to share.

The smiles came naturally, his eyes focused only on her as she chatted and showed him things he did not know in his own world. He listened to her stories, hearing unfamiliar names of the people in her life, but he was engrossed nonetheless, holding onto her every word like a lifeline. When she mentioned the doctor, she paused, seemingly conflicted.

“Go on,” he urged her gently, being rewarded instantly with her kind smile. He didn’t remember the anecdotes she shared of the doctor. He had become too drunk on her voice, too enamored by her pure existence to even think lucidly anymore.

Oh, how he wished he could stay intoxicated, to always keep this feeling of euphoria within himself.

“Do you like chocolate?” she asked after slipping her hand into his coat pocket for warmth, being surprised when she brushed against a small chocolate square.

He himself was surprised to see the sweet treat, having forgotten he was the one who had placed it there in the first place. He pondered, unsure. He ate a lot of chocolate, not disliking it obviously, but he wondered if he could even describe it as his favorite thing to have. It had become more of a habit than anything else really.

“I do not dislike it,” he said after a moment of thought.

She smiled, seemingly understanding him, and unwrapped the little square, taking a delicate bite for herself. “If I have something sweet, I’d be happy, even if it was a bad day.”

He mulled over her words, thinking how it perfectly matched his own feelings.

“Are you tired?” he asked her as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

They found themselves sitting on a beach, watching a sunset. The sound of waves crashing gently upon the shore filled the silence. She shook her head, but her eyes closed. He gazed down at the top of her head, and he placed a kiss, pulling her closer into his embrace.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For being here…with me.”

His days remained the same, his tasks unchanging as always. The police records for Dawnbreaker had all mysteriously disappeared, leaving him to freely move about without interference. When dusk finally approached, he counted down the minutes to when sleep would come for him, and her as well.

In the world that they shared, he felt as if he had snuck into heaven, knowing this was something never for him to have. When she looked at him, gentle eyes full of delight and love, he knew he would bend time and space for her.

“Zayne…”

He leaned forth, her soft lips beckoned him to claim them as his, to steal away all of her sweet kisses for himself. Just as their lips were about to touch, he found himself alone in darkness.

The girl was gone.

He called out for her, searched for her within the empty space.

His feet pounded on the floor, echoing in the darkness, as he ran into the void. His heart raced, a cold dread stirred within him, as he found himself approaching a light at the end of the path. He touched against an invisible barrier, separating him and her once more.

He saw her, through the transparent wall, his beloved’s face was wracked with confusion and heartache. Her mouth formed his and the doctor’s name, but the person she sought was gone. In his place stood the doctor as he tried to console the hysterical girl, unable to fathom the cause of her tears and emotional distress, but at the same time, he was unwilling to let her hurt alone.

He watched, helpless, as another man embraced her, soothed her, loved her.

He closed his eyes.

He awoke to a sweet fragrance in his bedroom.

The jasmine had blossomed, and his heart broke.

[in-my-loki-feels]

🫲 Hand on lower back for Lokius 😊

This one got sad. 🥲 I hope you like it?

5. 🫲 Hand on lower back

At first, Loki resented the way Mobius’ hand always seemed to find its way to his back. As if he needed to be ushered around like a child. Mobius kept a respectful barrier of air between them in the beginning, but Loki could still feel its presence.  In Alabama, as they stepped out into the full fury of the storm, the thunder and lightning overhead reminded Loki of Thor. He hesitated as the group headed inside and felt a light touch at his back. It didn’t feel as patronizing this time, especially when Loki met Mobius’ gaze and saw understanding there.  After Lamentis, there was no hand at the back to help him along. He was marched after Mobius, a Minuteman on each side, not even trusted to follow under the threat of the Time Collar being used. He hadn’t realized he could miss such a simple gesture until then.  Even after they reconciled, and then found each other in the Void, Loki had thought there would be no more touches to guide him. Their paths were diverging—catastrophically, it turned out, as he finally found Mobius within the TVA Archives and Mobius looked at him without recognition and said, “Who are you? What’s your name?” However temporary that had been, the fear that had filled him as he fled was nearly swallowed by despair. It had been one thing to imagine never seeing Mobius again. It was another to be faced with a reality where he might never expect any sort of kindness from the man he’d come to call his friend, a man who meant more than Loki could even acknowledge to himself.  Being ripped from that time had been a relief, but nothing could compare to how it felt when he was dumped into a reality where Mobius knew him and reached for him without hesitation. He guided Loki out of the chaos of the war room to a quiet spot where they could talk and Loki finally felt hope again.  He hadn’t known how right he would be about their paths diverging until he’d lived countless centuries attempting to fix the unfixable. To find a solution that did not exist. More than once, he slipped back to a moment where he could find solace in that reassuring touch, to lean into it a little more than he had any of first time he’d lived them.  As Loki turned away from the window where his friends waited, bathed in green light, and looked up into a destiny he could have never foreseen, he thought of a warm hand on his back. A steadying hand, one that gave him the strength to go on. He tightened his grasp on the timelines and took the first step.

Prompts are here. Other ficlets here.

If it makes anyone feel better, just imagine this is a predecessor to this fic.

[maharlika]

spouse

a little arranged marriage halstarion ficlet for some folks over on the halstarion discord! tw for implied abuse, blood mention and miscarriage in this one. there's also mpreg.

—

Astarion tumbled off his husband with a satisfied sigh, sinking into the plush nest of feathers and fur, legs askew and thighs still trembling from exertion.

He watched, eyes half-lidded, as Halsin rose from the bed, then returned with a soft cloth and a wooden cup full of cold water, the latter of which he placed on the floor next to their bed. 

“Do you think it will take?” Astarion asked, as Halsin gently cleaned him. Always so gentle, Astarion’s bear of a husband. Mate, Halsin called him, though Astarion did not quite believe it. Would not quite believe it until the child was seeded in his womb, rooted deep enough to cast aside any doubts of his place by Halsin’s side. 

“It may or it may not,” Halsin said, seemingly indifferent to the possibility of siring a child. It had been baffling to Astarion the first time they’d consummated their union—it was baffling to him still, months into this endeavor. 

Astarion swallowed down his worries with a nod, and told himself this was enough for now: to be wed to a man who had not once struck him, who had never raised his voice at him, and who did not seem to consider him a mere broodmare, as his father had raised him to be. 

Still, fear lingered in his chest. If he could not bear Halsin a child, then he would be cast aside. Cazador would punish him for that, he was certain. But beyond that—losing Halsin would be a new sort of pain, one he had not anticipated, and one for which he had no one to blame but himself.

After all, it was his fault he had fallen in love.

—

Three months later, Astarion woke up to blood. 

As his head spun with terror, Astarion could only think of one thing: not Cazador’s ire, not the breaching of the marriage contract, not even the horror of returning to the cold, bitter palace he had been raised in.

No—as Astarion limped to the healer’s, blood trickling down his thighs, he could only think: Halsin will hate me for losing his child.

—

Astarion sat quietly as the healer spoke to his husband. He wondered if he could still call Halsin that at all, given how much of a failure he had been as his spouse. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, as Halsin approached his bedside. His hands were twisted together in deep anxiety on his lap, and he looked down at them as he continued, “I—I have no excuse. I’m sorry.”

“Astarion,” Halsin murmured. He placed one large hand on top of both of Astarion’s. “Why are you apologizing, my heart?”

“Why are you still calling me that?” Astarion asked, his head jerking up in surprise. He met Halsin’s confused and sorrowful gaze, and tears spilled down his cheeks as he blinked. His mouth trembled, and a sob burst from his chest before he could stop it. “I heard what the healer said—that I might not—that I might never—”

“It matters not,” Halsin said swiftly. “You are my heart, child or no, Astarion.”

“You can’t mean that!” Astarion cried, eyes squeezing tight. “I am useless to you now!”

Halsin’s hand stiffened atop his, and despite the silence, Astarion could feel his shock. Astarion had never raised his voice at him before, had never been anything but a charming, pliant vessel. 

He shuddered in fear and misery. Apologies would not save him now, he knew.

“Astarion, please look at me,” Halsin said. When Astarion did not obey, Halsin continued, “I am not so cruel to cast you aside for something so—so utterly beyond your control. When we were wed, I promised to care for you. I mean to keep my promise. There is nothing you could do that would make me stop.”

“I—but I—what am I for? If not to bear your young, to serve your House with my body—I don’t understand.”

“Is that what you think you're for? When I find the person who has put these awful thoughts into your head, I will tear them apart myself,” Halsin said, in a menacing tone that Astarion had never heard before. 

He shivered, not entirely displeased to hear it.

“Oh,” he whispered. “You truly…you truly mean to keep me?”

Halsin lifted Astarion’s limp hands to his lips and kissed his fingers, one by one. 

“Yes,” he said. "For as long as you would like to be kept."

Astarion nodded, his mind still reeling. This changed everything—and somehow, it changed nothing at all. Halsin still cared for him. Halsin still would not harm him. Halsin still did not care whether Astarion bore him a child or not. 

“Rest,” Halsin murmured, as Astarion listed sideways and crumpled against him, overwhelmed with relief. “I will be here when you wake. I will always be here, my heart.”

[closetcasefabray]

jesus saves (i spend)

i have been writing parts of an avatrice college au for two gd years now. the ideas & writing are scattered between here (one of the tags below should work), my whatsapp convos with @snowandwolves, on discord, my dinosaur laptop that crashes, & my email. it’s a fucking disaster but whatever so am i & not once in my life have i had my shit together so this is all unsurprising.

SO what i’m saying is, here’s the only part i have ‘formally’ written in fic form bc i posted that other ficlet. doing this made me almost throw my dino laptop & my phone out a window on several occasions—that’s why there isn’t more. but i just wanna share this.

more notes & rambles at the end.

//

You notice her because it's syllabus week of your freshman year, it's an 8 AM class, and you're fairly confident you're still drunk from the party you attended last night, but she raises her hand and correctly answers a question posed by your theology professor without hesitation. Your professor, Father Vincent, was likely hoping for a good guess at best, but there she is, exceeding expectations from the moment she speaks. You pickup on an accent, which you would find incredibly attractive if you weren't so thrown by her perfect and concise response, like a well-prepared speech is always readily accessible in the back of her mind—a girl with all the answers. A young woman, really. 

You, however, are not—you're just a girl. You're just a girl who shows up to her morning classes smelling like the bar or the house party from the night before, like the weed you started smoking almost immediately upon arriving to university during orientation week, like the cigarettes you smoke because it affords you a little more quiet outside and an excuse to borrow a lighter and talk to a cute boy or a pretty girl.

You're just a girl who technically died, existed in nothingness for a whole minute before being ripped back into a reality of blank ceilings and the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. You're just a girl strangers prayed for after they heard about the American child pulled from the wreckage. You're just a girl who didn't get any credit for teaching herself to stand again, to walk again—and if you’re being completely honest, you’re a girl who’s incredibly bitter that a god you never saw in that one minute got all the credit and none of the blame—for taking your mother from you, for taking years from you that had to be spent healing from god’s grace or lack thereof. 

You're just a girl who is tired of being told to look at her life as an expression of holiness, who thinks it is more so the consequence of indifferent stardust. But you still look for the beauty in that, in humanity and its flaws—these meaningless beings in a vast universe, creating and destroying their own little, myopic worlds on this spinning rock. Some will dream of poetry for their lovers, and some will dream of arsenals to level cities. You wonder how many lips were pressed together in a final kiss versus hands clasped together in prayer when fire fell from the sky in the name of God. You wonder what that says about faith.

You'd like to think if your mother could see you, she'd laugh at the irony because once you were baptized, she never took you to church. God finds a way, so you spent five miserable years in a Catholic orphanage before you were sent back to America. People said you were lucky to have two years in a foster family at your age, but it felt like living with strangers who were tasked with the minimum of keeping you alive. Then you were moved into a home for teen girls with a nun at the helm, and that’s where you actually felt fortunate for the first time in years. It was there that Mother Superion helped you with your studies and college applications. So here you are, tipping into a hangover in one of the oldest buildings on campus, learning theology from a priest.

But your mom would understand. (You don’t remember much of her, and you try not to think about that too deeply, or else you have to deal with the resulting ache that comes from reaching inside yourself for something that’s gone.) You have spliced together what you can recall into a short reel—you mom buckling into your car seat while humming a show tune, showing you how to fold a pizza slice and telling about a city famous for their pizza, and holding your hand in a museum in Spain, promising to take you to another big museum closer to home, the home you never saw again. So you promised yourself and the parts of her you carry that you’d make it here.

You would have had to pay almost full tuition if you wished to attend your reach, requiring immense debt, so you ended up at the school that offered you a ticket to the city and a hefty enough scholarship you could get through four years without requiring loans or a full-time job to afford it. (You first refused to use your mother’s death as a sob story in you application letter, but Mother Superion put her hand on yours and said, So rarely do these letters contain truth, but do not be afraid to tell yours. In telling your truth there is a sadness, yes—and I know you detest pity—but of all the things that have been taken from you, do not feel guilty for taking some of it back to live a better life.) You remember getting your acceptance letter, and looking up at the sky and flipping it off, praying whatever god hears you, No thanks to you!

But your bitterness temporarily takes a backseat in your mind as you look at your classmate, beautiful in the refracted light shining through the stained glass window, speaking so graciously of god you'd think Jesus were in the room, about to hand her his latest work. It's poetry, bordering on scripture in a new tongue, and you'd almost be a believer if it didn't sound as if she had repeated these words—practiced—enough times to believe them herself. You wonder what that says about her faith.

If the nuns at the orphanage had spoken the gospel as she does, maybe you'd be here for different reasons. You're fascinated.

Behold, you are beautiful…

//

i promise this fic gets lighter & has some silliness. so some notes/tangents:

this is 100% self-indulgence bc i heard ‘write what you know’ & ran with that shit. when i visited a friend at a state school in a college town i was so so confused bc it was just a diff campus culture entirely. then i was going to make this set in an ambiguous city, but i literally have saved places in google maps that would be great places to kiss someone sooooo you get NY avatrice.

likely setting this before instagram & smartphones bc i’m old/lazy & i can.

the title is from st. vincent who my friend introduced me to in college. “paris is burning” changed my brain chemistry & so i listened to her music on repeat for ages—“jesus saves, i spend” is on the same album.

father vincent will not be a bad man or evil professor. he will be as he was before adriel—a lost man who found himself through god & still a little broken but caring & devout.

also song of songs/song of solomon is like… the only part of the bible i fucked with in theology class so that’s the reference at the end. also another line used in another scene with JC, chanel, & ava written in v rough form. maybe will share that later.

this is meant to be a fic with a post-grad sequel as well. not much written of that but a lot of ideas everywhere.

once i figure out where i’m moving (hahahaha i’m so stressed), i’ll consider a ko-fi or something (i wish emails & names weren’t shown though). but mostly i will likely need a second job to save up for an actually good computer/macbook. once i have that i’ll be able to post on ao3.

anyway thanks for reading & being here :3

[cloudwhisper23]

Freddy’s trek to Parts and Service was interrupted briefly as Officer Vanessa tried to get his attention for the thirteenth time. “Freddy! Do you have a moment?”

“I was just on my way to Parts and Service, Officer Vanessa. Is there something you need help with?”

Frazzled, Vanessa nodded her head vigorously. “There’s two kids wandering around on their own.”

“I do not see how that concerns me. I believe you should communicate the issue to another member of staff-“

“No, you don’t understand. They’re not kids. Not human kids, anyway.”

“I don’t follow.”

“They’re…” Vanessa gestured vaguely. “Talking animals?”

Freddy frowned. “The suggestion you are making does not make any sense. I was under the impression that therianthropy was purely hypothetical, and it pertained specifically to cave drawings in France.”

“Glad to see you have an open mind,” Vanessa replied sarcastically.

“If you could just-“

“Come with me for a minute. You’ll believe it when you see it.” Vanessa turned and started walking.

The door to the security office flew open when Vanessa scanned her keycard. Freddy didn’t see much out of the ordinary, aside from the child-sized stuffed teddy bear on the floor. Or at least, he didn’t until the bear moved.

Freddy couldn’t help himself. He pressed himself down low, just in case the little bear was scared of him. Evidently, the bear cub was not afraid. He looked at Freddy, blinking sleepily.

“Are you…” he yawned. His little teeth poked out of his mouth, and Freddy felt a rush of affection surge over him. “Do I know you? Should I know you?” 

His amber eyes gleamed as they settled on Freddy’s face. Suddenly, the animatronic bear didn’t know what to do. “Officer Vanessa,” he started, but she had already quietly left the room. Off to worry about something else, he supposed.

Shaking his head, Freddy continued his focus on the bear cub. “My name is Freddy Fazbear. I am a performer slash entertainer for a company called Fazbear Entertainment. What is your name?”

The little bear blinked at him for a moment. “My name? I… I’m…” His ear twitched. “Gregory. My name is Gregory.”

“Well, Gregory, you seem to be a bit lost. I don’t see too many bears hanging around here normally.”

So, I did an art trade with @pixlokita here on tumblr. Since I've had block for several months now, I wrote a ficlet instead. Hope y'all enjoy it as much as they did!