#and no fireplace. rehabilitation

[hollowsart]

Batman/Batsuit/Bruce redesign ft Alfred!!

SCI-FI/CYBERPUNK-ISH BATSUIT, HECK YEAH

also @muppetmimikyu​ wanted me to include the Penguin doodle

Some various info on this redesign under the cut!

====

Bruce Wayne is a very kind young man in his mid 30s, lives in a small cottage as Alfred had given up the mansion to charity after he had taken custody of Bruce and control of the estate after the passing of Bruce’s parents. Alfred taught Bruce everything he knows from cooking for himself, driving various vehicles, defending himself/fighting, to having the heart of gold that he does.

Bruce’s personality and way he presents himself is the true him, soft spoken, kindhearted, extremely casual and always wants the best for people. He also has quite the affinity for bats, always has since he was little. He even donates to and hosts many charity events in support of bats for any reason.

He’s also not really a playboy, but he’s definitely popular among men and women alike throughout Gotham. After all, he is Gotham’s most eligible bachelor! Wearing stylish country-ish clothing usually always in pastels, this really contrasts with his Batman persona wearing “high tech” dark clothing for his batsuit and all. As well, he wears special contacts when he’s Batman, otherwise he does need the glasses.

Due to the work he does with helping Alfred around the cottage, doing yard work and gardening on the weekends (he never lets anything get in the way of his gardening time with Alfred! It’s a very special father/son bonding time for him), etc etc, he’s gained a lot of muscle. Plus Alfred’s training definitely helped with his skills for combat and survival in almost any condition.

Bruce always tries whatever he can to help his rogues gallery to try to recover and rehabilitate and donates to many charities to help the citizens to recover as well from any damages done to them by the villains. taking on tasks to find cures for some of the villains to help them return back to a normal life, or coming in on occasion to try and help them to relieve whatever stress or anger that has set them up on such a path. It’s a long work in progress, but even if the villain relapses and goes on a spree across Gotham again, he’ll safely take them down and take them back.

Batman anonymously donates money regularly in helping Arkham stay in good conditions for the employees and the inmates themselves. He truly does care for Gotham as a whole, and that includes the bad guys.

@muppetmimikyu‘s in progress thoughts on the batcave + a tiny bit of lore:

I had the idea that the bat cave very much already existed as the land bruce lives on was owned by his father previously the cottage they lived in was also just there holiday home when he was a boy, his father was a mysterious fellow and always talked about changing gotham for the better. thought about something silly like a baby bat flying into bruce's window when was slowly moving into adulthood, nursing it back (much to alfred's amusement thinking it had rabies) it kept coming back to the window sitting there, bruce opens the window one night and the lil guy flies in frantically, course this makes bruce panic as he tries to catch it.

It ends up flying outside of the room, bruce still trying to catch it before he's in the living room, nearly knocks a bust of his father over except it dosnt fall it just opens something a hand scanner, the bat lands on it and keeps looking down at it, curiousty getting the better bruce does put his hand on it.

The machine speaks, telling bruce dna recognised before the fireplace shifts and opens, the bat flies in and bruce follows on to an elevator before going down, it's dark but as he steps off the whole place lights up, showing what his father had been working on before his passing, the elevator clicks before coming down again, the lil bat landing on bruce's head as he turns to see alfred who sighs "well you were going to find this sooner or later..."

[dreamrecorder]

Unique Strength

Genshin men with an amputee significant other who uses their vision as a prosthetic!!

Includes: Venti | Diluc | Kaeya | Albedo | Zhongli | Xiao | Baizhu | Childe

Reader can either be geo, cryo, or dendro- it' up to you- but why these three??? I just have an hc in my head that with solid geo or cryo you can control that stuff as artificial limb- and so can dendro!!! Althouuugh dendro is a bit of a special case- dendro, like you have to apply branches on your limb and those branches will grow and get their nourishment from your blood BUT ITS ALL FLUFF DONT WORRY

Venti

The moment he saw you play your string instrument- he fell in love

But when he saw your hands made of branches and littered with leaves- he fell for you even more so!!

Venti just loves how youre so dedicated to your craft- to the point of using your vision for artificial limbs!!!

When the two of you perform- he always makes sure that you get the spotlight bcos---

HelllllOoooO that's his s/o over there overcoming a disability!!!!!!!!!!

Diluc

He may be lowkey but Diluc worries for you Every Second-

Even if he knows you're not fragile- he cant help but worry

Whenever youre around in the mansion he will always make sure to have the fireplace out or else your cryo prosthetic might melt

Out for a stroll? Begone!!! Pyro slimes and those pyro flowers!! (I forgot the names of those flowers lmao)

In a battle? Diluc makes sure to end the battle swiftly without the use of his flames

Out on an adventure with the Traveler? He ABSOLUTELY forbids you taking any commissions relating to pyro

Ascension materials??? NAME DONT YOU DARE GO TO THAT PYRO REGISVINE OR ELSE-

Please please just beat up the cryo regisvine and not the pyro one or else diluc will have a heart attack

Kaeya

This man will always always! Brag about you!!!

Because who would have thought that a disabled person like you will make it to Cavalry Captain?!?!

Respect

Whenever he sees you teaching the recruits- his heart swells with pride

He can also tell how you also inspire those recruits bcos heck

The way they look at you with awe and respect

And when training is done- expect him to be at your side to check if any of your muscles are straining

And then and then he will give you a kiss to the forehead and say how amazing you are~

Albedo

Being an alchemist, of course he's familiar with the human anatomy and medications

But never once he encountered a person using their own vision for a prosthetic

Medicine!!! Orthotics!!!

This man will always look out for you partly bcos he wants to research about this too

He's not subtle about it- but you appreciate it nonetheless

Albedo will always remind you to put your padding before putting on your prosthetic

He will always be by your side whenever you're about to stand up just to make sure you dont fall

Then at the end of the day- when your prosthetic's off

He will always massage your amputated limb to make sure your blood flows well <3 also expect a small kiss on the limb after the massage <3

Zhongli

Mortals never fail to surprise me, Zhongli mused

He was just visiting Qingce village when he met you the first time

When he was given tea, he cant help but relish how soothing it is against his taste buds

It was perfectly brewed and he asked who was behind this masterful brew

You were then brought to him and his eyes instantly laid on your arms made out of geo

When introductions were done- the two of you went into smooth conversation about tea- and of course he does not miss to compliment your brew

When evening came- you told him it was time for you tend to the glaze lillies and this piques his curiosity all the more

Geo- it was a rough and sturdy element

But the way you handled that most fragile of flowers proved him wrong

He observed and admired how you caress the flowers so gently

You were so oblivious that your Archon fell in love with you that night <3

Xiao

Deep inside xiao is awed and inspired by your strength

Even if fate decided to have your limb cut off- you just flipped off destiny away and made your own prosthetic

You were just a mortal- but you denied your disability to control your life!!!

From his balcony- he can see you work fluidly through the customers of the inn-as if you're not disabled in the first place

With his keen sense of hearing, he can hear the awe and praise offered to your way about how you overcame your disability

In his heart- a small bud of pride blooms

That's my s/o

Baizhu

He didn't like the look in your face whenever you gaze sadly at the people walking freely in the harbor

At first he was hesitant, but if it will make you smile, he would do it

So- he did some research about prosthetics- even as far as requesting medical information from all over Teyvat

He did his research day and night he was so determined to have you smile again

The day came he told you his plans for your prosthetic

Oh how your smile returned to you melted his heart

He cannot fail this operation and failure is NOT an option

Operation SUCCESS!!!

The braches he made from his vision are now your prosthetics!!

Come rehabilitation- he will never fail you to give words of encouragement as you learned to walk each day

And Archons

Each day, your smile kept growing and growing until finally- you are walking

Childe

Similarly to the cryo husbando--

Childe will also !brag! about you!!!

The two of you know that you dont want to be pitied for your missing limb

And guess what did the recruits of the fatui do???

They snickered mocked pitied and laughed at you

Deep inside- Childe was seething

But!! He let you be with those fools

Hoo boy those recruits dont know whats coming

You offered them a battle, hand to hand combat, all against one

Next thing those newbies knew they were beaten thoroughly to a pulp by yours truly- you made sure to utilize your vision plus prosthetic against them thoroughly

Oh how Childe's also itching for a fight but your health comes first

As he observes for any muscle strain- Childe will not fail to give you words of praise bcos heck u deserve them

A/N: this prosthetic made from vision idea was bothering me for days now i had to write smth about it lmao

[terrence-silver]

How would old man Terry react if his partner dared to tease him? Say they're younger and they lovingly make fun of his outdated outfits and earring in old pictures from the eighties they see of him?

@atmostories

―

If only the me of then knew how loved he is now.

That's the first thought that crosses Terry's mind as he carefully observes your parted lips place a small kiss on the surface of the old photograph held between your fingers, slow enough as if not to leave a trace of hot breath, accidental saliva or the gentle, soft imprint of your mouth on the polaroid (not that he'd ever mind your marking there --- quite the opposite, he desires it), your lashes fluttering up, revealing a pair of fixated eyes meeting his own.

He's whipped out an old album.

Photos ranging anywhere from the early 70's and 80's.

All throughout the 90's, verging into present day.

Bits and pieces of the him you never met.

The him he wishes you knew.

Out of the bunch, you have a godawfully saccharine statement for each. Nice words. Kind comments. Complements. Remarking how fashionable he was. How statuesque. Imposing. Gorgeous. Dashing. Perpetually well-dressed, no matter the time period and the trends of the decade, or rather, decades you weren't even born in. How he was lovely to look at. How he was still all of those things now. Even as he holds back from rolling his eyes at some of the endearments, Terry's heart flutters in his chest, hide it as he may. He feels like a stiffened schoolgirl on a first date and it is, technically, quite a ridiculous sensation. He should be too old for this shit by now. He thought himself too dyed in the bone and too much of a self-proclaimed, rehabilitated realist by now to get butterflies in the gut --- yet, regardless, there is a sense of feeling good when you say encouraging things about him. Not that he needs any encouragement or positive reinforcement. There's something to it, though; one's past not being up for ridicule. The safety of that. The acceptance that has him quietly unhinged, like a feral animal desiring a pat and the needy, beguilingly bewildering, strange warmth of it. He could show you anything, he figures, and it would be accepted with sweetness. He wants more, he finds. More complements out of you. More praise. More flattery. He doesn't need it --- he knows, for lack of a better word, that he's hot shit, but he wants it. Wants your adoration. Craves it.

No less so when you reach a picture from 1985.

Terry's memory is stellar even now and he has recollection of it.

He remembers it like it was yesterday; beige blazer, crimson silk ascot.

He still had a penchant for diamond studded earrings back in those days.

Back when it was the very height of fashion, some odd thirty years ago.

-"Who's the handsomeness?"- You remark, with a precious chuckle.

-"You should introduce us."- You add, humorously, joking gently.

He can't help but smile at your teasing, dreamy stare as he reaches up to place his hand over your cheek, holding it there, feeling the heat of your blood searing beneath the palm of his hand. She loves you. She loves every part of you, old man. Past. Present. Future. His subconcience whispers, voices intermingled with the mellow cracking of the fireplace illuminating the seating lounge where you're sitting together, reminiscing over all the long years of his life. All the years you haven't been a part of. What a motherfucking tragedy that was. Shakespeare would've wrote about something like that, five centuries ago. Two lovers --- soulmates --- meant to be together, separated only by time and timing; one finding the other too late, the other, too early. They both spent too many hours on the wrong people. Hours that could've been far better spent on each other. Terry decides to never forgive those hours wasted on anyone who wasn't you. You could've been mine then and now, if only you were born sooner, or maybe, if I was born later. Maybe, if I knew where to find you, so I could collect you for myself on time and give the world a big fuck you. Terry muses internally, pondering on how he could've gotten in control of himself and all events and all possible outcomes, figuring, how even if he'd shown you a picture of his army days, you'd no doubt be charmed with that wimp. Complement his lanky, thin arms and curls and baby face or whatever bullshit. Why does part of him want you to?

-"Do you think he'd like me? The dashing earring wearing angel? I want it in my mouth."-

You prod, winking, flirting with him, holding the 80's polaroid, in slightly muted, faded colors with an odd flare to it compared to modern, more standardized, high-res pictures. Would the him of thirty years back like you? Like you!? Were you messing with him right now!? -"He'd love you. Adore you."- Terry barely waits for you to finish, impatience burning, grim in his delivery, nearly cutting you off as he says it, facing you directly, eye to eye, unable to look away as you plant a small smooch to this piece of his memories too, in an act of pure worship. You've been over an odd hundred pieces with him by now and you kissed each and every one, an odd eroticism to it. In theory, possibly the most non-erotic thing he could imagine, having done everything in the line-up of sexual exploits a man could possibly do in one long lifetime, but he never imagined watching a beautiful somebody that he loved love his past so acutely would virtually turn him on on the spot, like worlds colliding, each time your lip touches a remnant of the past, in a bizarre way, Terry, now an old man, hopes, that if a theoretical multiverse exists, that the him of the past feels the care you put out towards him, through some ripple in the fabric of space, here and now, enjoying the peaceful flame of the fireplace.

He knows how loved he is.

Terry concludes, once you reach an old picture.

Really old by now, nearly fifty years in the past --- how insane that felt.

Dated 1969, a simple military snap and there he is, the malnourished, skinny creature he used to be --- and your expression softens, like someone meeting an old friend or a family member. Dedicating a kiss to Twig too, as Terry feels his fingers curl into fists on his knees. He is loved. He thinks. And he has so seldom truly been loved by anyone. But, now, he is loved. You smooched a photo of his eighteen year old self. Cradling the memory between two palms like a treasured, fragile something, giggling at him. All Terry can continue doing is stare at you, unsure if he's ever felt a silent happiness greater then this in over six decades of being alive. To be seen and known and embraced for it.

[exclamaquest]

I would love to hear about your oc world

OKAY SO the main plot is set in a supernatural cafe called the Waystation in a fake town in like...upstate NY/Mass manned by two werewolves, Nick and Em (i named them before i had friends named both Nick and Em NFJCJDH). Nick's an architecture student and Em is a supernatural wildlife rehabilitator and mechanic (her garage is attached to the cafe).

It all starts when a woman in her mid20s with paper white skin and hair and red eyes drops off a weirdass 11 year old obsessed with true crime and is like. Hey guys! You are taking care of her now :) if you tell her she is a ghost you Will regret it :)

Said 11 year old is Maya Roth and she is a Handful. She's autistic about true crime + Nancy Drew and wants desperately to be a PI when she grows up. (She will not grow up.) She's got Problems Disorders and memory problems but she means well and for a while she's fine helping out around the tea shop and sleeping in a room in the attic that Nick fixes up for her (the shop is on the ground floor of an old house with an interesting history).

This changes when Maya's curiosity gets the better of her on a winter day when she's bored out of her mind and exploring parts of the attic she's not supposed to be in. She finds an old, disused fireplace, and pries the boards off to find a skeleton. Instead of freaking out, she decides this is a mystery she absolutely needs to solve right away, and enlists Nick and Em to help her.

The only problem is that it becomes evident that the body is an 11 year old girl who died in the mid-1940s and whose death was covered up neatly. It's clear that Maya can't be allowed to solve this particular case, but she's persistent, and it's a case that needs to be solved for a lot of things wrong with the town to be brought to light.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Petra & Martijn rehabilitated an old farm in Holland. Would you believe that this bright living room was where the pigs were kept? 

They saved the brick walls as much as they could.

It’s a very special home- they painted the beams black to contrast with the new white walls in the dining room, where there’s a fireplace and a nook for logs.

What is now the kitchen, is where the cows were kept. You can see the age of the beams.

Check out the ancient well-worn stairs that lead to the hay loft.

At the top, they put a pretty, fancy, railing.

This was actually where the hay was kept.

A hallway and rooms were constructed for bedrooms. 

This must’ve been some sort of storage room. Aside from building rooms, everything else was preserved. All the stone floors are the actual stable floors.

In the bathroom, as in other rooms, wooden cabinets and low doors were restored.

https://decoracion.facilisimo.com/rehabilitar-una-casa-de-campo-de-granja-a-hogar_1930963.html

[pillage-and-lute]

In All that I Have Done

Sad. I recommend listening to Arvo P ärt’s Spiegel im Spiegel while reading. Very, very sad, cannot stress this enough. Non-explicit major character death. (Happens of old age but still)

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

More than forty years after the fall of Cintra one Professor Pankratz put down his pen. In the last ten years his hands had lost some of their surety, but his quill didn’t shake when he put it down. 

He ran one hand down his face. His beard had started going silver just after he’d adopted the style, but both it and his hair were now fully steel grey, with not even a hint of their former color. He adjusted his spectacles, tweaked the fashionable, but less than flamboyant hem of his doublet, and began to read what he’d written.

The last will and testament of Professor Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. 

I am writing this, sure and sound of mind, if not of body, in the event of my death. For many years I had a living, de facto will, that is, who ever found me dead by the roadside could loot my body for what they wished. As I got older and my body forced my errant heart to settle down I realized that this could no longer be the case. I fear I have put this off much too long, but happily, it seems I was not too late.

To my remaining family, my baby brother Alfons and his wife Iwona, I leave the rights to my songs and other works, and the royalties to them. Have fun. Alfons, Iwona is a beautiful woman and I would have wooed her, but that you were so in love I couldn’t bring myself to steal her away. I write this with a chuckle, Iwona my dear, because if you’ll remember we met first, and I introduced you to my brother only after you’d hit me in the head with a frying pan for flirting. 

I have also set up a trust, a portion of the royalties will be funneled into it for your son, Mikolaj, although he is a strapping young man who may never need it because he is a fine craftsman, as these spectacles he made me can attest. With luck he may spend it on marriage, should he ever woo that baker lad who made those charming blackberry tarts.

To the grandson of my friend Priscilla, Gaj. You have just been born and are a wonder beyond belief. Your parents are lovely people and you are lucky to have them. They should feel lucky to read this since I fear I shall be long dead before you learn your letters. However; there are times I wish I had fathered children. There are also times I remember what those who do go through and am thankful I did not, but you are a miracle. In the hope that you are given the very best of education, I have put in a word with the university. Should you choose, you will have the best schooling the Continent can offer, free of charge, with the compliments of Oxenfurt. Just, when you are someday a raging young student, sloppy drunk on a night out, think of me, if you can think at all. 

As I have of late stayed in quarters provided for me by the university and their gracious staff, I shall relinquish it all in return, as well as whatever items are held within not listed here. There shall be money in the vase by the fireplace for my funeral, as well as a generous tip for the maids, who have been wonderful and kind to an often forgetful and frail old man who is too much in his feelings.

My wardrobe I leave to whoever wants it, apart from my best blue doublet. (The sky blue one, which brings out my eyes) I should hope to be buried in it.

And finally, to my dearest and truest friend, Geralt of Rivia I leave a note, a song, and a gift.

Jaskier once again scrubbed his hand over his face. His study held a chill, despite the fine summer day, or perhaps it was just him. He got cold so easily these days. His breath rattled a little as he took a deep breath and hauled himself out of his comfortable chair. Melitele’s great gorgeous thighs, but his knees ached today. Jaskier paused at the mirror to tease his hair into place, advancing years never having divested him of his style. He flashed a wink into the mirror and shoveled a little coal into the small fireplace. 

He settled again at his desk, a different paper in hand, separate from the will, and began to look it over. This letter held none of the fine penmanship of the other, instead the letters were blocky and easy to read, better for the eyes that may have gained much in a mutation but skipped lightly over letters and switched them about.

My dear Geralt, it read. In all that I have done, I have had but one masterpiece. Critics may disagree on my greatest work, but I know it exactly, and have since the day of it’s birth. My opus was not Toss a Coin, or even the rehabilitation of yours- and all witchers- reputations. My masterpiece was my relationship with you, a wonderful and awful secret masterpiece of the heart, mind, and soul.

I know you do not dally about with words, but lest you misunderstand this last, most important of missives, we must discuss them. The word awful is now so said as to mean the same as terrible, but this cannot be true at all. Terrible is that which inspires terror or creates fear. Awful, or aweful, if you will, is to inspire awe. To be full of it. Sometimes that awe is fearful, sometimes reverential, perhaps a condemnation and sometimes a blessing. You, my friend, inspire awe. And in me you inspired something much greater than that. In all my years, which are so few compared to yours, nothing has so inspired love in me, as you. It has been my life’s greatest blessing.

When this letter comes to you, regardless of how it comes, it means I am gone from this world. I fear it shall indeed be soon, but I do not fear death. Weep not for me, my friend, instead let me bury in this parchment what there is left for me to say.

More than forty years ago I asked you to come away with me. All these decades later I still dream that you would, yet, I understand why you did not, and why you pushed me away. I offered you my heart that day, but it was the heart of a being you would watch wither away, as I’ll admit I have done. You could not be my forever, knowing that I cannot also be yours. There is no apology, no tears, no explanation needed there. 

Indeed, even for casting me away I need no words, and you have always had few to give, my friend. You didn’t keep me away for long, after all. I am like a magnet, drawn to you. Even now I feel your pull, like the tide to the gentle lady moon, but I cannot follow. 

After the mountain we met up again and again, our lives orbiting eachvother like planets, but we never clung so close as those first twenty years. That is the fault of Dame Time, a tricky mistress, as she collected her dues for twenty years of hard travel and ill care on my body.

I wish I could have given you more of my years. I find I am angry, and yet not so. At once, I could have had more time beside you, had somehow things been otherwise, but I know I had more time with you than might have been, perhaps more than I could reasonably expect. Someone, some goddess, or Life, Time, Destiny, or Fate, gave me enough time to finish the masterpiece that is my love for you, and that is enough.

You read here the ramblings of an old man, but I shall burden you with a few more sentences. 

You may recognize the case to which this letter is attached. Inside is my lute, as given to me by Filavandrel. I wish you to have it. I know you have never been musically inclined, but to me this instrument means so much more than music. This is the physical being of us, and all that may entail. I hope that you keep it, and treasure it how you will. If ever there comes such a person that you wish to play it, for whatever reason, gift it to them, but I beg you, tell them to whom it belonged, and how it came to belong to you. 

And finally, I leave you with a few unsung verses that I feel someone ought to read.

To the edge of the world May this letter be born That it comfort and heals you Although it brings you to mourn

I wrote every song And traveled along For my faith in a witcher and my friend before all

I hope you be blessed and continue your quest To be a friend of humanity As I go to rest

That's our epic tale My champion prevailed Defeated every villain And continues the tale

Toss a coin to my witcher, O valley of plenty...

love, Jaskier.

Professor Pankratz carefully rolled up the parchment and slipped inside a waterproofed tube, tying it with a blue ribbon that would likely only be lost in the parcel’s travels. He did it anyway, then he trailed his fingers over the finest instrument he’d ever played. Hand tremors meant it had sat silent for many months, but he plucked a few, slightly out of tune strings in a familiar tune. Then he put Filavandrel’s lute away, slipping the note in it’s packaging into the outer pocket of the case.

There was a funny feeling, he felt as he sat back in his large desk chair, to completing your greatest work, but he knew at least one being would remember it forever. He took off his spectacles and leaned back in his chair, the fire in the grate convincing him to doze. His eyes slid shut, and Jaskier greeted eternity with open arms.

[harpyloon]

“ginny, i always want to sleep with you” // hinny

Pairing: Harry Potter x Ginny Weasley

W.C: 2.5k+

Summary: Harry Potter is always a blubbering mess when it comes to Ginerva Weasley.

Warnings: pure fluff! sprinkles of angsty angst, squint and you’ll find mentions of war/battle and death. everybody lives AU!

A/N: A fic written for the @harryandginuary Ginuary gift challenge. Happy Ginuary @/gins-potter​ 😍😍😍I hope you ENJOY!!!

Read on AO3

Harry didn't think this through.

After defeating the Dark Lord and winning a wizarding war, he assumed he'd never have to think about anything ever again—at least not for a while. But gazing at her small blinking dot for almost half a year on a rotten piece of parchment apparently made him delusional, because at the moment—months after the battle of Hogwarts—sitting in the kitchen at the Burrow, his longing stare almost bore a hole through Ginny Weasley's face.

His Ginny.

Wincing to himself, Harry prodded on the peas in his plate. His subconscious when it came to Ginny was his greatest enemy and his biggest embarrassment. If anyone even came close to guessing what kind of dreams he had when it came to her... well... He breathed away the flush threatening to creep up his neck.

"More peas, Harry dear?"

Mrs. Weasley peered at him from the head of the table, a frown on her freckled face, "You've hardly eaten anything. Don't think I've noticed how skinny you've been getting again. I'd be having a word with Alastor about your Auror training. Ever since he got back he's been more insufferable—"

Snatching the dish of treacle tart in front of him, Harry filled his plate with a slice.

"I'm up for dessert now actually, Mrs. Weasley, thanks."

This seemed to satisfy her well enough. "Well, I whipped that up just for you so eat up."

He felt a nudge on his knee as Ron leaned in to whisper once Mrs. Weasley was out of earshot, "Save me some, will you? She goes barmy when we touch your treacle tart."

Harry smiled and nodded. Meals at the Burrow he was used to but he knew he'd never get tired of. His Auror training held him back a ton of weekends in the past few months, and being home felt splendid. Of course, he was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but Harry hoped Mr. & Mrs. Weasley knew how grateful he was.

Risking a glance across the table once again, Harry saw Ginny serving herself second helpings of mash. Her favorite, Harry thought. He remembered her hating Madame Pudifoodt's Tea Shop for its lack of savory spreads, the one time they attempted a visit during his sixth year. It ended up turning into a laugh as she snorted at all the snogging instead of actually drinking tea.

"So this is your kind of place, huh?" Ginny teased as she sifted through the menu.

Harry blushed, "Er—you don't like it? I kind of reckoned girls like this place..."

He chuckled nervously as she gave him a pointed look.

"Really, Potter?"

Breathing out a sigh of relief, he snatched the menu away from her, already standing.

"Three Broomsticks then?"

He knew he'd buy her all the Butterbeers in the world for the smile he earned.

A foot prodded Harry back to the present.

"What, Ron?" he grumbled.

Ron frowned at him. "What'd you mean 'what'"?

"You just—"

Someone coughed loudly across from them.

Both turning, they saw Ginny heaving over her mash, a fist in her mouth. Fred was rubbing her back soothingly beside her.

Harry blinked. It was her. She kicked him.

"Alright there, Gin?" Fred mused. "I told you to take it easy on the potatoes, you crazy woman."

"Do the Harpies know what kind of stomach they'll be feeding once they sign you in?" said George. "I bet you they'll break a sweat once they find out your appetite."

Ginny threw George a withering look after downing a glass of water. "Don't jinx it, you idiot."

"Have you heard back yet, Gin?" Ron asked over a mouth full of pudding.

"More like they haven't heard from Ginny," chuckled Hermione.

All the Weasley brothers gaped. Even Harry.

"What?" sputtered George, "You're making the Holyhead Harpies wait?"

The youngest Weasley scoffed. "I'm not making anyone wait. I was just standing by for the holidays before I give a reply."

"Well, it's the holidays now."

Ginny rolled her eyes and Harry's gut clenched. The mad part of his brain loved it when she did that.

"I am well aware," she said, "If you all are so eager, does anyone want to take my place then?"

Her brothers merely grumbled while Hermione laughed. It's been the talk of the town for a while now, after Ginny received a letter from the Harpies a few months after the beginning of her seventh year. The whole house went completely ballistic, even Hogwarts as well—or so Harry heard.

It took a month to bury the dead from battle and a whole summer to rebuild Hogwarts from the rubble; the Ministry was still in the process of rehabilitation, and the whole wizarding community was yet to heal, licking the wounds that Voldemort left behind. Ginny's Quidditch scouting was the first good news they'd received in a long time.

He didn't get back together with Ginny after the war, and there was no reunion like he'd always imagined in those long nights without her, in search for the Horcruxes. It wasn't as if they both avoided it, there just wasn't any time—time to talk, time alone, time for anything. Everyone had their hands full following the battle, and when things started to fall back into place, they've simply slipped through each other's fingers; Ginny whisked away by the Hogwarts Express, and Harry to the Ministry to begin his training as an Auror.

He considered moving on, especially on days when he'd think about her roaming the halls of Hogwarts, her fiery red hair blazing after her. She'd find someone, he thought bitterly. If she hasn't already.

But they'd written to each other, sparingly, although they did still. Short snippets of their day, what they ate for breakfast, the new set of professors at school, Mad-Eye's torturous lessons; Harry was the first person outside the castle to find out about her Harpies letter.

He caught her eye from across the table and she raised a brow at him as if to say What, Potter?

Chuckling under his breath, Harry shook his head and tapped the bowl of uneaten mash beside his plate. He saved it for her.

Ginny's gaze landed on it and her face lit up. If Harry didn't know any better, her hair seemed to glow even redder. His imagination loved to exaggerate his visuals when it came to her.

He felt a tiny poke on his toe as if to warn him not to react violently—she gave him a look and he pursed his lips, looking back down at his peas and moving them around once again. Then slowly, an ankle wrapped itself around one of his own and rested there.

Harry exhaled slowly, willing his pulse to calm.

He was not over Ginny Weasley at all. Not one bit.

 ----------✿----------

Creeping quietly down the steps, Harry tried his best to avoid the noisy floorboards (that he still didn't memorize to save his life). His two best friends didn't mention anything, but he knew they wanted some alone time. And he certainly didn't want to be around once the candles dimmed and Ron and Hermione started making eyes at each other.

He was almost at the first landing when the door to his left creaked open.

"Hermione?"

"Sorry. It’s me."

Ginny opened the door wider, gazing up at Harry, her face bemused. She was dressed for bed. "They kicked you out already?"

Laughing quietly, he said, “You know they’d never. I volunteered.”

She smiled knowingly. “Of course you did. Well, come on in then.”

Harry stared at her retreating form, clearly confused.

In? In where? In her room? Just the two of them?

Ginny disappeared inside but the door remained open.

Should he knock and ask her what she meant? Should he just go inside? It's not like he hasn't before.

Suddenly, the most recent memory of Ginny's room flashed through his consciousness—his 17th birthday.

"Something to remember me by."

Harry's ears grew hot. He refused to let that specific recollection surface when he wasn't alone, or in the confines of his own quarters. It made his brain go fuzzy.

"Harry?" he heard Ginny's faint voice from inside, then footsteps. She appeared by the door once again. When she saw his face, her brows furrowed. "What happened?"

Harry attempted to clear his throat without sounding like a retching toad. "Er—I'm—" he was sure his face was now as red as her hair, "I was going to take the couch actually," he managed weakly.

"The couch," Ginny said flatly.

He swallowed. "Y-yeah. Downstairs."

The silence was deafening and it stretched on for minutes. Or at least that's what it felt like in Harry's rowdy head. He needed to meditate. Merlin. He was losing it.

Finally, she said, "Okay. Goodnight then."

She gave him a strained smile then quietly shut the door before he could reply.

Harry stood there, mouth hanging open slightly.

Ginny Weasley just invited him inside her bedroom and he refused. He refused. Of all the things in the world that made him a blubbering idiot, it was his best friend's little sister. He always seemed to be dumbfounded whenever she was in the vicinity of his space.

"Idiot," he muttered to himself as he descended the stairs, no longer bothering to mask his footsteps. "Idiot, idiot, idiot."

Harry sulked his way to the living room, his mood most definitely dismal. Girls were a nightmare. He had no idea how their brains ever worked and every time he felt like he finally had a grasp at a situation, he was suddenly ten steps back.

He waved his wand mindlessly over the Weasley's tweed couch and leaned by the fireplace as he watched it transform into a small sofa bed.

Would he wake anyone if he flooed Sirius at this hour? He knew his godfather would still be up at Grimmauld Place, and would doubtlessly jinx him between the eyes if he found out what Harry had just done.

"You're just like James," he heard Sirius' voice say in his head. He never seemed to let this fact go, even when he knew that Harry was well aware of how he was a spitting image of his father. Sirius especially loved to point this out when it came to matters about Ginny.

"Dad actually ended up with Mum didn't he, Sirius," Harry growled under his breath as he settled on his makeshift bed, patting his pillow down with more force than necessary. He was in the mood for a petty fight and he wished his godfather was around for one.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps thumping down the stairs. Harry jostled into a sleeping position at once and took off his glasses, planting himself still in the awful case that Mrs. Weasley found him huddled on their living room couch. She wouldn't have the heart to wake him would she? He didn't want her causing a scene with Ron and Hermione. Harry tried as best as he could to look as wasted as possible, even attempting at a snore.

The footsteps came nearer, and he felt them stop by the door of the living room. He tried to even his breathing.

"Really?"

His eyes shot open.

Sitting up suddenly, he found Ginny standing by the doorway, her arms crossed. Only the dim moonlight illuminated the room, and Harry had to squint before he remembered he took off his glasses. His hands fumbled as he perched them back on, his eyes meeting Ginny's vexed gaze.

"Ginny," he said lamely.

"Are you seeing someone?"

"What?"

Her hair glowed in the dark space, like a warm halo around her head.

"You heard me."

Harry's pulse seemed to be skyrocketing. "Seeing someone? I don— no. No. I'm not seeing anybody at all."

Ginny looked skeptical. "Right."

Almost tripping over his own slippers, Harry barely managed to scramble to his feet in front of the only girl who plagued his dreams. He wanted to embrace her. Could he do that? Was he allowed to, still?

"Ginerva," he was breathless. "You have no idea..." Harry tried to calm his racing heart. Just get the words out, idiot. "You have no idea how much I think about you."

Her eyes gave nothing away as she looked up at him, and only her crossed arms kept the space between them. Harry saw tendrils of her hair stir as he exhaled. He wanted to kiss her.

When she said nothing, he lifted his hand experimentally, waiting for her to flinch or back away. Not sensing rejection yet, Harry trailed his fingers through the wisps of hair by her ear. He could smell her. He held himself from inhaling too deeply.

"Different shampoo?" he murmured.

Ginny sniffed, "Mum tried a different witch brand."

"Hmmm. Jasmine was my favorite."

She rolled her eyes. "I know."

Harry threaded his fingers through her hair, brushing her scalp now, and Ginny leaned into his touch.

He smiled. "But I like this one too."

"We should just share shampoos."

"Good idea."

They were silent for a moment. Just listening to each other breathing while Harry combed his fingers through Ginny's soft hair. The ends were still damp, he noticed.

"I missed you," she said suddenly, quietly. Her eyes were roaming all over his face as if gauging his reaction.

"I missed you too."

"But you don't want to sleep with me."

Harry's cheeks turned pink in the dark as he breathed out a laughed. "Ginny, I always want to sleep with you."

"I meant sleep sleep, you perv!" she pinched his stomach.

Trying to stifle his chuckle so as not to wake the rest of the house, he drew her in, finally bracketing her in his arms. "Ah, well, I mean that too, I guess."

Ginny huffed but melted with his touch. "I will have you know that I've turned down suitors for you, Harry Potter. So if you won't stake your claim, then I'd better take one of them up on their offers."

Harry's gaze narrowed. "Will you, now?"

"Watch me. Apparently, I'm quite popular with the Hufflepuffs—"

He leaned in lightning-quick, aiming for her luscious mouth. She expected it because her eyes closed in instinct, waiting for him to seal the connection. But Harry hovered. He felt the feathered touch of her lips on his but he stayed there, eyes open—trailing over her closed lids, the bridge of her nose, and the aggressive spread of freckles over the expanse of her cheeks.

"May I kiss you?" he asked against her lips.

Ginny's eyes blinked open but she didn't pull away. "Since when have you started asking?"

Harry was glad they were so close that she wouldn't be able to see his neck flush. "Since I let you go once."

This time, she did pull away, but only a tiny fraction. Just enough for him to witness her wrinkle her nose. "So saving the world has made you a complete sap."

She was teasing.

He shrugged, but grinned sheepishly nonetheless, "For you, yeah. I always have been though, haven't I?"

Twirling her arms around his neck and brushing her fingers through his unruly hair, Ginny pressed herself against Harry fully, her face shining with emotion.

"Then snog the living daylights out of me, Harry Potter."

[capitainelevi]

Thank you for your ask!! ❤️❤️❤️

After the war, Levi doesn`t work due to his physical rehabilitation. Petra takes him to his sessions daily while also keeping a job as a shopkeeper. Even though they both have money left from the military, she feels odd about not working anymore, and Levi encourages her to look for a job. Petra is also secretly raising money for the teashop Levi always dreamt of.

Every time she comes home from work, Levi prepares dinner for her and runs her a bath. He especially enjoys washing her hair. Petra spends the rest of the evening on his lap until they both fall asleep in front of the fireplace.

Since the war ended, Levi`s sleep has been better, so Petra wakes up before him most mornings. She lays a kiss on his cheek before going downstairs to prepare breakfast for him. She has coffee while he has tea, and Levi helps her get ready to leave for work. On Sundays, they always have a lazy start of the day, spending most of the morning in bed cuddling.

Every Sunday, they go to the market for grocery shopping. Petra thought Levi might be bored of it, but he`s more passionate about it than she could ever be. He makes a plan ahead to make sure they don`t waste any time. Petra feels like she`s in the military all over again.

Half the time is allocated for buying tea and cleaning products, but Petra doesn`t mind. One afternoon at the teahouse, Levi tells Petra that the two of them could do a much better job at running one. Petra smiles and kisses him, and the next day, they start planning for it.

It takes them a few months to open it, but people are ecstatic about how elegant and clean the new teahouse looks. Older people especially love the cute, newlywed couple who runs it. They work side by side, with Levi preparing the tea and Petra serving customers. They have a few regular customers, and they even get a smile from Levi from time to time.

Most of their days are spent working at the teahouse, but every Saturday, they close earlier so they can get ready for date night. No matter how busy their life gets, they never want to lose the opportunity to spend time together. Levi still brings Petra a flower bouquet every time, and they mostly go to dinner and take a walk in the park after. Petra enjoys getting dolled up for him, and he doesn`t have any complaints about that.

They take time off for their birthdays and wedding anniversary, with one of them planning a surprise trip for the other. December is a busy month for them. For Levi`s birthday, Petra plans a trip to Marley, where they can tour all the popular teahouses. Levi takes Petra to a town by the seaside, her new favorite location. At the end of the year, they spend a few days with Petra`s father, and in their third year of marriage, Petra gifts her dad a box with a pair of knitted baby socks in it.

[chaoscommissioner]

Why do mental hospitals always resemble prisons in both design and (in some cases) treatment?

Can't there be a place that's ACTUALLY HELPFUL like a small live-in mental rehabilitation place? Where each patient gets their own cozy room and the staff will help them find better outlets for their stress like cooking or music or artwork or studying? With group therapy sessions in the great hall by the fireplace and therapy animals? Where patients aren't locked in their rooms and only allowed 'social time' when it suits the nurses, and instead the patients can go where they'd like as long as they let someone know where they'll be (so those who self-harm are still safe but not stressing about the lack of freedom)? Where the staff don't submit those they are supposed to be helping to forced isolation and work WITH their patients to figure out what medication/treatment route will work best for them since every individual is different and unique with their own individual needs? Why isn't this the norm???

[misssophiachase]

Thanks to the talented Nicole @romanoffsbite for this amazing cover (P.S. I miss you)

Synopsis: British Ambassador to the USA, Klaus Mikaelson, needs a babysitter to look after his daughter. Enter nanny, Caroline Forbes.

Read from the Start HERE

Only one chapter to go, thank you SO MUCH for reading everyone : ) 

Chapter 10: Carte Blanche

British Embassy, 3100 Massachusetts Avenue NW - (One month later)

“So, I think we’re all organised,” she assured them, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. “I don’t think delaying the ball has had any negative impact and all arrangements are still in place. Although, if the Thai and South African Ambassador cause any problems on my watch I swear to God I’ll...”

“Thank heavens for that,” Elijah offered, his sister sending him a thunderous look in response. “I mean I was concerned it’d start World War III if they had strong words over appetisers.”

“Who invited him?”

“Well, I suppose given this is my house, I’ll take responsibility for the invitation. He’s not funny, granted...” Klaus offered.

“He also has too many opinions,” Rebekah shot back without a beat.

“His name is Elijah, apparently you are related, go figure,” Kol teased, then noted her look of disdain. “Delaying the reception was the right thing to do given the circumstances, there is no way we’d be having any celebration if Enzo was…”

“Okay, point made,” Rebekah interrupted stoically, finally taking a seat. “We all know what happened, no need to rehash unnecessary details.”

Klaus knew she’d struggled for weeks but every time he’d offered comfort his sister had reacted exactly how he’d envisaged. The Mikaelsons weren’t so comfortable with feelings but given recent events it was causing more emotions than usual.

Enzo was one of his best friends and seeing him in intensive care was incredibly sobering and something he’d struggled to get out of his head since. His coma had stretched out for days, his survival not guaranteed until he came back to them, even if Rebekah wasn’t acting like it.

After being discharged from the hospital, he was rehabilitating at home. Darcy had insisted on visiting every day and Klaus knew it brightened his mood. Kol and Elijah had been regular visitors too but Rebekah had chosen to stay away throwing herself into work and rescheduling his welcome reception.

“So, you will attend with Caroline and…” she murmured, reading through her list.

“Excuse me?”

“I just assumed you’d be going together given you two are...”

“Rebekah clearly missed the memo,” Elijah offered quietly.

Read the rest on AO3 HERE

[belit0]

@tinypaperwhispers​

Heyy! I love your blog so much, can't believe you don't have more followers!:o I wanted to ask a request, I didn't even see it on tumblr anywhere ever so i hope you'll like it:)). Could you do Madasaku and Izusaku headcanons?👀 both sfw and n*-fw. (I saw you also write about Sakura besides the Uchiha - i love these pairings💟) Thankks!

Thank you, beautiful! My blog is relatively new, so I’m growing by baby steps :) thanks for your support!!🧙🏻‍♀️🖤✨

MadaSaku [SFW]

These two had trouble getting along at first, just like two thick skulls! We know Madara for his awful temper, but nobody talks about Sakura’s as much as they should.

Being such a strong and independent woman, this kunoichi could never comply with the stereotype that this Uchiha is used to frequent. Having such a dominant character, he enjoys subduing others.

But when his path impacts her, everything takes a turn. She is not someone who will easily carry out his orders like anyone else, and this presents a challenge, something that intrigues him.

How did they end up together? Let’s say that, after the war, Madara survived, but his chakra paths were destroyed with the rise of Kaguya, so it is decided that he is no longer a threat, that he can be valuable to the village. Thus begins his rehabilitation, which Sakura has to take care of.

Before they realize it, they are dancing before a fire that grows between them, and there is no way to avoid it.

The relationship is quite balanced. Sakura compensates for all the mental health that Madara does not have lmao. No, but seriously.

Before his intensity, she is calm. In the face of his anger, she is the peace. In front of his tyranny, she is patient. They say that the opposites attract each other, don’t they? The best example is this couple.

Madara is a broken man, but Sakura helps him to recompose his soul piece by piece, to learn to love again, to see life with hope one more time.

He doesn’t trust anyone but her, so it’s not uncommon that their activities as a couple are all indoors.

Reading together in front of the fireplace with some tea, team cooking, cleaning the house together, training in the garden.

Because he was always very cultured, it is not strange to see him write down his knowledge on scrolls, which she then reviews and expresses her opinion on the subject in a lively debate.

Very occasionally, Madara accompanies Sakura to her work. Feeling rejected by the eyes of others about his person, he locks himself in her office until she ends the day, like a frightened cat in the presence of humans.

IzuSaku [SFW]

I have a very crazy idea of how this couple could have been formed, pay attention. After the final fight with Madara, Hashirama is aware that he is alive. At the same time, Tobirama finishes creating Edo Tensei. Both brothers decide that the only one who can make Madara see reason is Izuna, therefore, they revive him, and without manipulating him, they allow him a complete resurrection (breaking the Jutsu, as well as Madara in the war). They ask him to bring his brother to his senses and Izuna seeks him out to show him that he has come back to life. When he finds him (let us suppose that Madara developed the Rinnegan ahead of time and not just before he died) he believes that he is being deceived, and without being able to handle his new power yet, he sends his younger brother into the future = IzuSaku.

The Uchiha is upset, really upset. The one who killed him has just brought him to life, his brother is suffering and now he is in who knows where. But his bad predisposition changes when a pink-haired young woman appears in his sight.

What a curious, adorable, beautiful, and well-intentioned person. Sakura, her name suits him. Such beautiful eyes.

She is frightened by the symbol on his back, and it helps him to determine his situation. Time travel, change of periods. What a lovely woman, definitely her clan did not exist in the original time of Izuna, otherwise, he would remember such gorgeous features.

She decides to help him, and hiding him in her house is when their bond becomes closer.

Sakura had only interacted with one Uchiha in her life, and suddenly she cannot believe how affective the one that is now with her is. Love 24/7, the intensity of this clan is real.

Surprise hugs from behind, tender kisses on the neck at any moment, caresses on the face, arms, thighs.

Something that Sakura enjoys a lot is to comb Izuna’s hair after he gets out of the shower, usually, he falls asleep lying on her after a long time.

After a difficult day, he welcomes her at home with a good massage session, having become an expert in reading her body expressions to detect her mood.

Izuna lends himself as a test subject in Sakura’s work, he finds it very amusing. He loves to receive as much of her attention as possible.

When the kunoichi is working on a new poison, the Uchiha loves to sit near her workplace and observe her movements, her concentration, the effectiveness of her creation.

If Sakura has a very tough time today, Izuna refrains to make some tea for her and to support her with his company.

She loves the face he makes when she brings him sweets, after leaving work. His appetite for sugar… he’s like a child.

MadaSaku [NS-FW]

Fire in the room.

The fact that Madara no longer has a chakra does not mean that he has lost his unequaled strength.

Oh, but wait… Sakura has hers too.

The constant struggle for who dominates who, which brings a very funny dynamic when it comes to intimacy.

Sakura enjoys deeply when Madara holds her strongly against any surface, demonstrating his desire and need to be the one who leads.

The situation eventually turns around when she is too hot to his touch, and subdues him to her strength, forcing him to stay under her control.

This arouses Madara even more, who appreciates having a woman by his side who knows what she wants and fights for it.

Their sexual dynamics are overwhelming and devastates everything. Several tables had to be replaced after Sakura’s back hit them.

Madara had to fix different holes that he made in various walls with his fists while he held Sakura’s hips on his shoulders and devoured her pussy without mercy. The tugs in his hair that she supplies him with on each occasion make him lose his mind, and holding her in the air at his mercy pushes him to the limit.

Purple and greenish bruises decorate his thighs when she pays special attention to his limb with her mouth. Every time the Uchiha rushes his hips towards her face trying to get deeper into her throat, the kunoichi squeezes his legs, making he slows down and groans in pain.

Of course her aftercare includes healing the rudeness imparted upon her lover.

IzuSaku [NS-FW]

Thanks to being the object of research for Sakura, she is highly aware of all the visual abilities that Izuna possesses. That Sasuke was her partner does not mean that she knew the true extent of the Sharingan, the same applying to Kakashi.

The room of both soon fills with highly exciting and kinky games, where she is subjected to numerous Genjutsus from him, destined to make her reach her maximum pleasure peak constantly.

Izuna loves to capture Sakura’s glance during different moments of the day, trapping her surprisingly in his world of passion, making her scream until her body trembles in an uncontrollable way.

When he brings her back to reality, he laughs maliciously at the exhausted expression of the kunoichi, and carries her to the bed in his arms, where they both rest.

If Sakura wants to take revenge, she avoids looking him in the eyes and takes advantage of any moment of distraction to use the clear benefit that her strength gives her.

Sitting on his lap on the sofa, getting into the shower with him and pinning him against a wall, straddling him when they are in bed.

Izuna cannot fight her Taijutsu, and because the kunoichi learned to avoid his glance, he has no way of escaping the torture.

All that remains is to submit to the fiery touches with which Sakura enjoys teasing him, feeling his cock squirm at every touch.

Anyway, both also love soft, delicate, and romantic sex. They alternate their encounters between uncontrolled, passionate situations, adding sweetness and delicacy.

Feeling Izuna’s light kisses travel all over her body is something that drives her crazy, and while he pays special attention to her nipples, leaving slight marks, she massages her clit at a slow pace.

Before the sassy image of Sakura touching herself under him, the Uchiha cannot avoid imitating her, and moves his hand slowly over his member while he continues paying special attention to his lover.

When their bodies finally unite, the heat is too much, and it does not take them long to finish both at the same time. Their nights are eternal when they take their time praising each other in this peaceful way.

[spacetrekked]

𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐘 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄 / @abysstared​ (spock)

Track 72: Solar Power - Lorde  (Solar Power)

𝐉𝐈𝐌 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐂𝐊, as the fireplace light cast warm light and shadows on his features. They’d been through so much, they’d come together and fallen apart so many times in so many ways --- at times he wondered why they kept going down this road when the universe seemed determined to divide them, but the answer was clear every time. The unshakeable and unwavering love he held for him. All he hoped, was that somehow after it all... through division, death, rebirth and rehabilition... after the adventure and trial, that perhaps Spock still held the same. His hand reached for Spock’s, gently brushing against his knuckles before holding it delicately. “ Forget all of thе tears that you've cried, it's ovеr now. ”  he said, hoping his meaning would be understood by the other. That the pain and hardship could end, all they had to do was let themselves be in love once more.

[lailyn]

Take My Breath Away Part 3 (Complete)

(TW: Paraysis, Angst, Sap so sticky it'll give you sticky eyes)

The first few weeks after Loki awakened from his month-long sleep were the hardest, on Loki and Stephen both. 

Stephen had anticipated hard times ahead, had even braced himself for the worst, but nothing could have prepared him for Loki's reaction upon discovering the true extent of his disabilities. 

Given the choice, he would rather face Loki's wrath than this complete and utter silence; if not for the despair in Loki's eyes every time he tried to move his legs and failed, Stephen would have thought Loki had slipped into a catatonic state.

Hell, catatonia would have been easier to handle than this stony muteness. If open communication had been scarce before, it was nonexistent now. 

If brought food, Loki would eat. In the absence of it, Loki would not ask.

Carrying him to the commode for daily toileting was solely Stephen's duty. That was the only good thing about Loki's muteness; the only evidence of his displeasure was a deep frown that began to leave permanent lines on Loki's face the thinner he got.

Loki did not ask if the paralysis was going to be temporary, and Stephen did not tell him that it was likely to be permanent. It was not important. 

Then suddenly, out of the blue, Loki began to speak. 

That night it rained heavily in New Asgard. Having bundled Loki up in his furs, Stephen settled down in front of the fireplace as was his routine; getting into bed with Loki still awake was unsettling, the way his sunken eyes would follow Stephen everywhere, saying everything and at the same time, nothing at all.

"Go home, Stephen," a voice, rough from disuse, pierced the silence, and he nearly fell out of his chair.

"Loki," he gasped, heart beating at a hundred miles per hour. 

"Go home," the pale figure on the bed repeated, before it closed its eyes and said nothing further till days later. 

Wong had paid them a visit, bringing news from the Sanctum and arms overflowing with gifts from Bruce and Tony.

All is well, his fellow Guardian assured him. Take as much time as you need. I've got your back. 

Stephen had never been more grateful for the very few people in his life he could call friends. 

*********************************

 

 "Who is Jonathan Pangborn?"

Stephen paused in the midst of upending the last scoop of protein powder into the tumbler and slowly raised his face with dread.

"Wong mentioned the name when he came to visit yesterday." 

"He...was a patient of mine.” Stephen closed the lid over the tumbler and gave it a good swirl before making his way back to the couch. “Well. Not really. I turned him away because his spinal cord was permanently damaged and there was nothing modern medicine could do."

He waited until Loki took his first sip of the liquid breakfast before speaking again. "The Ancient One got him walking again by teaching him how to manipulate dimensional energy to his advantage."

Loki did not raise his face, but the almost imperceptible spasm of his fingers as they tightened around the tumbler gave him away. 

"You do not approve?" he asked quietly. 

When Stephen did not answer promptly, Loki decided probing further was the only option left to him. He did not expect his boyfriend to be forthcoming to begin with, but Stephen’s reticence was wearing him thin nonetheless. 

“There has to be an explanation as to why you are refraining, when such treatment exists.”

Stephen sighed and raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Did Wong tell you how Jonathan Pangborn lost it all back and is now worse off than before?”

“Are the Masters of the Mystic Arts aware of just how little faith their Sorcerer Supreme has in their own métier?”

“The sorcerer who ripped the magic out of Pangborn and left him lying on the floor of his garage for days was a Master of the Mystic Arts,” Stephen retorted. 

Loki looked up in alarm.

“I will not have that happen to you,” Stephen vowed. “I will have you back on your feet and at your full strength even if it kills me. And I will do it my way.”

And that was the last time they ever spoke of Pangborn and the last time Loki doubted Stephen over some well-meaning but unsolicited advice.

*************************

 

 Stephen wiped Loki’s front first, suppressing the urge to count each rib as he worked his way down. The once toned, if not a little lean, torso had lost most of its musculature and as he followed the groove of Loki’s concave abdomen, the lump in Stephen’s throat grew. 

Before emotions could take over him and render him ineffective, Stephen moved on to Loki’s back. He lifted Loki’s hair off his neck and carefully wiped him down starting from the nape down to the base of Loki’s spine. 

He worried that he had been taking too long when he could sense Loki shivering; Stephen was just about to wrap a clean towel around his lover’s shoulders when he realised that Loki was weeping.

“Hey,” Stephen walked his knees across the tiles and crouched in front of Loki. He peered up anxiously. “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?”

Loki shook his head. He could hardly speak for the deluge of tears draining down the back of his throat from the futile effort of holding it all in. 

“This is beneath you,” he wept.

What could Stephen say when no words existed that could assuage the pain in both their hearts? What reassurances could he give that Loki would not find empty and invalidating?

He could not very well ignore Loki and say nothing, could he?

It was an impossible situation. Keeping silent was a crime in itself, as evidenced by Loki’s apocalyptic downward spiral into despair and self-loathing. 

“Just leave me,” Loki begged. 

Stephen shook his head. “No way.”

Of course anyone could perform this task. Any of Loki’s servants could. 

But would a servant be as gentle with Loki, as empathetic, as unconditional? 

Loki hung his head low, his hair falling over his face. "I will not have you debase yourself like this, Stephen."

Stephen combed Loki’s wet locks away with his fingers. 

"Do you remember the first Broadway show I took you to?" 

Loki nodded, his thin shoulders hitching with silent sobs. 

"Live in my house…" Stephen began to sing softly, quietly. "I'll be your shelter.." 

He pulled the towel off Loki's shoulders and over his head.

"Just pay me back in one thousand kisses…"

He dried Loki's face with the towel gently, "Be my lover, and I'll cover you…"

Loki's face crumpled, and because Stephen simply could not bear the sight of more tears, he grabbed the back of Loki’s head and pressed their foreheads together. 

“Don’t take this away from me, Loki. I need this.” 

He kissed Loki’s lips and cursed the salt he could taste on his tongue. “I need you.”

*************************

 

 “Stephen.”

“Hmm?” Stephen paused in the middle of flexing and extending Loki’s knee. They had skipped only a day of rehabilitative exercise and already the limb felt stiff and disjointed. 

He carefully placed Loki’s leg on his lap and turned his full attention to his lover, who had been staring at the ceiling for the past fifteen minutes. “What is it, Loki?”

“I don’t blame you,” Loki said. 

Stephen knew better than to ask as to what Loki was alluding to. There was no bigger elephant in the room, certainly not since Loki had fallen ill.

“It was my choice.”

The gentleness with which Loki delivered his acquittal was something Stephen was not expecting and it threw him for a loop; his rebuke came across brusque and sharp in response. “I shouldn’t have let you.”

“It was my choice,” Loki repeated adamantly. “I will not ask if you knew this was going to happen - "

"I didn't," Stephen insisted. "Loki, I swear, I didn't know."

"It doesn't matter," Loki said, his tone soft despite the flatness of his voice. "Given the choice, it is one that I would make, again and again."

“Even after everything?” Stephen demanded. “Honestly how can you care so little for yourself?”

“I am not sorry for what I did, Stephen,” Loki said stubbornly. “This is a necessary pain.”

"Why?" Something surged in Stephen and it felt too much like rage to be anything else. "Why do we have to be this?"

"Surely it doesn't surprise you anymore?" Loki sighed, closing his eyes.

He did not like seeing Stephen upset. It was not the first time Loki's self-sacrifice schema had driven a rift between them, and it would not be the last.

"It was just the flu, Loki."

His eyes still closed, Loki reached up a hand, relying on memory to brush his thumb along the high arc of Stephen's cheekbone. "It was not necessary for you."

Stephen's vision blurred but no matter how much he blinked, it would not clear. "Is that how you justify this?"

Loki's hand fell away but Stephen grabbed it on its way down and held it up again, palming it in place. If Loki would not see him cry, he could damn well feel the tears for himself. 

“Do you ever think about what it feels like for me, seeing you like this?" Stephen asked, his voice cracking. “It breaks my heart, Loki.”

Loki clawed the suede couch and pulled his upper body up with a strength he did not know he possessed. Just as he was about to fall backward from exertion he caught Stephen around the waist, and Stephen his back. 

They held each other in the awkward position for what felt like hours, neither pulling the other up or down, both suspended in perfect balance. 

“For that...I am truly sorry,” Loki whispered. “Forgive me.”

Stephen laid Loki back down on the couch again when the trembling became too tremulous to ignore. “I already did.”

He picked up Loki’s slim ankle and dotted feathery kisses up the bone-thin shin, “I always will.”

All of a sudden, Loki gasped and bucked violently.

“What is it?” Stephen asked, running his hands frantically all over Loki’s body, expecting to find some source of pain. Instead he saw awe and delight. 

“I can feel that,” Loki breathed out. 

“What?” Stephen asked, just as breathlessly. 

“Kiss me again,” Loki ordered. 

Holding Loki's foot aloft, Stephen pressed a kiss to the bony ankle, all the while keeping a doubtful eye on its owner. 

The enraptured expression on Loki's face was all the confirmation Stephen needed and before he could stop himself, he lunged. 

"What does this mean?" Loki pummelled Stephen with question after question. "Is this good or bad? Am I getting better? Stephen, what - "

But he could not complete his sentence for apparently simply embracing was not enough; the utterly speechless Stephen needed to kiss him too, this time on the lips.

"Oh, Loki," Stephen's merry laughter rang sweet and clear as bells, the sheer relief permeating every note. "Loki, Loki…"

 *************************

 

It did not take long for the news to spread. Either there was a hidden camera somewhere in the room streaming live feed to every mutual friend they knew, or Stephen's network of social contacts had now included Loki's brother.

Thor appeared not a day later, his guarded optimism cutting through the shadows like a beam of warm sunshine. 

"Is it true?" He boomed.

Loki maintained a straight face, tipping his chin in the direction of his wiggling toes.

Thor's nose flared as he visibly struggled to contain his emotions. 

Loki sighed and reluctantly stretched out an arm, finally taking pity on him. "Brother…"

Thor closed the last few yards to the couch in a sprint.

"I worried you," Loki murmured. 

"You fool," Thor said affectionately, accepting the unspoken apology by tightening his arms around his brother in a fierce embrace. "You didn't worry me one damn bit."

 *************************

 

“I can do it, Stephen.” Loki grabbed the glass from the tray with one hand and physically pushed Stephen backward with the other. “I’m not an invalid.”

Stephen warily watched Loki take a few gulps at once. 

"Hey, easy - " He was about to warn Loki to take it slow, when he was unceremoniously shot down with a scathing glare. 

“Say ‘easy’ one more time and I will smother you in your sleep.”

Stephen smiled. Loki’s threats were some of the most colourful he had heard in all his career. “Beats ripping my heart out and serving it to me still warm and beating.”

“That was yesterday,” Loki grumbled.

Some twenty minutes later, he proudly presented Stephen with a very empty glass. It was the first meal Loki had eaten in its entirety without coughing or choking, and Stephen could not contain his joy. 

“Stop kissing me!” Loki flailed amid the flurry of kisses Stephen was showering his face with. 

He must have been reduced to laughing, for never had he seen Stephen look so spellbound. "What?"

"You're beautiful." Misty-eyed, Stephen fingered the corner of Loki's mouth. "Never thought I'd hear you laugh again."

"It's a one-time thing," Loki said, but his facial muscles were starting to betray him again; now that he was regaining strength day by day, they were back to their mischievous selves, and Loki found himself quickly losing to their autonomy. 

"I can't stop smiling," Loki grumbled, "but this isn't me." 

"Sure." Stephen's own wistful smile widened into a grin. "I totally believe you."

 *************************

It was on a bright, sunny afternoon a few weeks later that Loki decided he was going to walk. 

"Outside," he requested. 

Despite making the fastest progress Stephen kept saying he had ever seen in a patient in all his years as a neurosurgeon, Loki had been far too embarrassed with his still-unsteady gait to venture beyond the confines of his bedroom.

"Are you sure?" Stephen asked quietly.

"Yes," Loki said with a calm confidence. "I am ready."

"Where would you like to go?"

"I want to be where people and noise are plenty."

Stephen laughed at the strangely-worded yet quintessentially Loki request. 

A New York minute later, they found themselves wading through the crowd at Times Square.

It was hardly the most relaxing stroll, but Loki had asked for chaos, and there was no place on earth more chaotic than the Big Apple.

The thought of Loki ambling slowly amid unapologetically impatient New Yorkers had worried him initially, but for some reason, people veered out of their path, parting around them without so much as a dirty look. 

Still, Stephen kept a steadying hand on the small of Loki's back. A powerful thing, force of habit. 

Before long, they reached the theatre district and Stephen's mind flew to the time when they first started seeing each other and how Loki would drag him to see a new play every chance he got. 

"Stephen, look." Loki's face lit up in multi-coloured lights from the billboard overhead. "Rent is showing again."

"Huh." Stephen could not believe his luck. "They must have revived it."

"Perhaps we should ask inside if they have last-minute tickets," Loki said slowly, trying to hide his excitement. "You...could ask nicely for a discount?"

When Stephen did not answer, Loki looked down to where Stephen had suddenly dropped to one knee.

"Stephen?"

"I'm just doing your laces," Stephen mumbled. 

Loki frowned. "But I'm wearing...loafers…"

His heart stopped.

"What is the meaning of this?" Loki whispered, every drop of blood draining from his face.

"Loki Odinson…"

Stephen's voice quaked but the hope in his eyes was as bright as the gleaming band in his hand. "Will you do me the honour of being my husband?"

Loki could not breathe, could not think -

What was happening to him?

"Come on, dude, just say yes!" A voice he had never heard before jolted him out of his stunned reverie.

Stephen was still staring up at him in earnest, and Loki had never seen a face as kind, eyes as gentle. 

A crowd had formed around them but in that moment, there was only him, and Stephen, and the promise of love everlasting and a 

"Thousand kisses," Loki vowed, tears quicky filling his eyes, "You...will take payment in kisses, yes?"

Stephen answered serenely, "Yes." 

"Then...yes." 

The crowd around them erupted in wild cheers as Stephen leaped to his feet and slipped the ring onto Loki's hand, which was shaking harder than Stephen's for once -

"A thousand sweet kisses," Stephen gloated and he leaned in to claim their first kiss as the newly betrothed. "Starting now."

[palettepainter]

Possible ship for Vagenza

I said I wasn’t gonna reveal the ship but I’m struggling to doodle out Vagenza so I figured why not get your thoughts and see what you all think about this ship? If no ones up for it I won’t bother finishing the doodle cuz Vagenz’s design is so awkward for me to draw

So the ship idea is Carrie x Vagenza, lets say Vagenza turned herself in because reformation was better then dying of starvation, here’s a small drabble I wrote out when I first thought of the ship a few hours ago (Carrie would be placed as Vagenza’s mentor if you will, to make sure she’s following rules and not trying to drink the blood of someone behind their backs)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vagenza is…..not happy about being made to live with a crash, frankly rude little country raised cowgirl wanna-be. She’s a queen vampire for crying out loud! The Peace Keepers decided that Vagenza spending some time with Carrie with some hard larbour would help her channel some of her anger, it didn’t. Vagenza is pretty weak without her powers (Salvia put a dampening spell on her powers for safety) and what’s worse is her blunt, bossy boots mentor Carrie can’t even hold a decent conversation without telling Vagenza to quit beig a drama queen! Carrie even has the nerve to spray her with water like some cat when she hisses, how dare she! Vagenza has decided that rehabilitation sucks and that the moment she gets her powers back she’s going to unleash wrath upon this wretched school and every teacher in it, Carrie being the first!

…Though, perhaps a tiny part of her can admit that it’s nice to have a cozy little house to live in. It feels..nice, knowing after a long day of work, she can curl up in an armchair by Carrie’s fireplace, no royal queenly duties to tend to. Vagenza’s sense of taste is pretty dull, having consumed mostly blood for her entire life, so being given a new thing to try each evening at dinner is nice, you got tired of the same taste of blood all the time. Perhaps Carrie is onto something when she tells Vaganza to just give a bed a try (Vagenza has never slept in a bed before, vampires being outcasted from Safe Haven don’t really have access to the same things Safe Haven citizens do), it is rather comfy. Vagenza eventually opening up and venting to Carrie about what happened all those years ago with her and Simon, Carrie meanwhile sitting there no knowing exactly what to say, but listens regardless. That was nice fo her

…Maybe this arrangement isn’t so bad, perhaps Carrie’s company isn’t entirely horrible

[theliterateape]

Quatrains Out of Synch - A notebook of four line poems

by Dana Jerman

I thought of

a good prompt:

Begin. Keep going. End.

3 parts. Like anything.

-

On my birthday

John Giorno only thought

of a poem,

but he didn’t write one.

-

A dance, a tic, a grin

sur le vif

in media res

on the spot.

-

Dad wants a new love

Bedtime in Trumpistan

He’s left his arms in the closet with

The Brass Ring Catcher’s Little Black Book.

-

Some Jazz, a tease

to Latin. Word of

the day after a 

storm: orphic.

-

Making some Christmas happen

A few cards thrown around

the green jacket

the white marshmallows.

-

Here, I rehabilitate

the failures of my imagination

opening tombs, to

let the light reclaim.

-

Can’t kick this headache

Sedentary living and beer

Meanwhile, time, busy

working its angry miracle.

-

A mantra for dessert:

Blush will catch up to you

While you wear black

and eat white cake.

-

Old soundtrack nostalgia

Not drunk but romantic

Furthest from rude

is this idiot smile.

-

The composite of

the town I grew up in-

Dreaming preloads it

with the same old young characters.

-

All of January

My nose draining

The cold like a knife.

Bright sun: weak star.

-

Every damn chance

in the whole world

that the people’s hero

is knocking on your door.

-

What has brought me here?

A healthy condemnation for school

Not much sense or care for too much money

And one true love.

-

Hours creep by

music playlists continue

chocolate before sandwhich

Busy without being busy at all.

-

Someday I’ll look back

on a holiday spent propped

in a bookstore with a fuzzy

sweater, whisky, and this soundtrack on repeat.

-

Paracinema:

up all night

too much popcorn-

no work tomorrow.

-

Alarm out, I brought

the dream with me:

A casino with the slots and seats

set impossibly high along the walls.

-

Remind me to wash

the windows

on the first

warm day.

-

Echoes of voices and music

From an unknown destination

Siren song on New

Years Day in Chicago.

-

‘Fighter’ rhymes

with ‘writer’

for a 

reason.

-

Found books

are a call to action

Last stand for

the invisible hand.

-

I wanted to call them “Tatters”

Couplets written after Harryette Mullen

Like: Shredded rainbow-

dried blood in a unicorn tooth.

-

Sore neck in the AM

Not a busy morning

put ginger on my toast

for the first time ever.

-

It would have been a perfect night

in front of that fireplace in the

house about to be sold. But my

companion and I had no words.

-

The mental eye

deep in hypnotic recall

all senses employed

time catapulting reverse.

-

Do not knock-

Do not open-

Tiny writer

is dreaming.

-

All that summer trip long

I only had Reader’s Digests.

But I read them anyway.

It was all I wanted to do.

-

A confession and mirror

Aware of the furniture hex

No clunky frame or hidden desires-

I despise rolltop desks.

-

My life, your life.

Most of our deus

ex machina will

remain forever invisible.

-

hey sweet thing- maybe

there can be a code name- a word

we can link to sexiness to trick it into being

happiness.

-

A smart case, Death.

hanging around the night

with its patient wits,

its cigarettes, its camera.

-

Steam became smoke

salt to the walks

mulled plum twilight

smoke became steam.

-

I bite away half

the chocolate just to

see what it is. It’s my

box, I do what I want.

-

Now, I have to take

up all those bad

decisions- every move

I would not make- and build the unlikeable character.

-

It really is the end

of era in here.

but it doesn’t feel that way

to me. Not yet.

-

Early train. Sun

coming. A magic fireball

swinging a fixed line

across thin bare trees.

-

Monday afternoon-

wine at work

while reading

an Italian poet.

-

Quiet neighborhood-

snow looms late afternoon

Hours so songless, only the

bus driver dares go thru them.

-

Still air

at bedside

candles in silent vigil

no unsoft thing is here.

-

Dust, rust, mold.

Mars rotting is my crotch’s

monthly waves knotting goodbye-

a color, a flavor, a wash.

-

In the windows facing out

of the lamplit cafe beyond fireplace

and bookshelf, my good man stands and smokes

his last pipe of the day, first of the night.

-

Pink salt sky.

All morning to twilight.

Late winter city hurled

toward evening on a blossom’s hue.

-

Today they cleared the

trees in the back.

lovely summer shade

now gone to make way for…

-

The dead music of jackhammers

begins next door

in the snow flurries

and grey.

-

Snow thin as an abstract wish-

Bundled passengers stop and start

warm jazz soundtrack ambience

to this well-lit retail saturday late afternoon.

-

New Years Day close

as a star, a dream.

I will bless the decade

and ask for nothing.

-

A seemingly

inquenchable thirst

for alcohol

and good music.

-

Cataclysm of ideas

groovy songs amid bad

is the band name

Fever Chart taken?

-

Today is the day I awaken to

the knowledge that some poets

must think space is as good

as the next word.

-

A plum color and

an old lable.

Deep in the glass the scent

of my grandparent’s cellar.

-

Making dinner

lots of lights on-

jazz calms me down

as the snowy day spins.

-

Editing his book

listening to jazz

craving sex and the next

good line.

-

Fill in the blank:

Drunk as a — (Lucian Freud)

in— (Goya’s studio)

looking for— (God).

-

Wilde’s hand

low at his side

turned to shape

the Paris breeze.

-

My back itching

in that same place

where my husband gets

a little obstinate blackhead.

-

The week my father died

I threw many books into the fire.

Under those nights, blue as a dream,

past become prologue again.

-

Newest in self-care technology

a coat hangar with brains-

HAID: Home Abortion

Interface Device.

-

Love was the crag in

the way of my

youthful need

for seeing.

-

Draw a flag

on a bill

and burn

two crimes.

-

The annoyance of

an old mistake

come true, and here,

with consequences.

-

Cardinal crashing against

ex-boyfriends bedroom window

the spirit of my future husband

come to liberate my misspent love.

-

Kid eats my apple

coughs into the air

eats some more

smiles, runs and neighs.

-

Spare papers and pens

bag of cheeze curls

B-sides on repeat

good free afternoon.

-

Sighways…

long straight roads

Billboards for places

you don’t want to go.

-

Mother will say “morbid”

When I admit to

wanting to be buried

in her wedding gown.

-

“Bring a torch,

Jeanette, Isabella.”

Holding back tears at

my xmas retail job.

-

Remember the night

we were so alone and

sad and bored that we

chased a firetruck until it disappeared over a hill?

-

Old Story: “He makes me unhappy,

but I love him.

What should I do

this time?”

-

I want 1989.

The best night of

that year in the honkey-tonk

bar that later got torn down.

-

Potato chips and

chocolate covered

anything help to

conspire comfortable magic.

-

East coast news.

I could smell the snow

coming toward the city

all day thru hi-clouds.

-

Echoes of construction-

At home the reverb

rattles my building,

my body, my teeth.

-

If I become a statistic

I’ll tell you

its worth it.

I’m not gonna live in fear.

[johannstutt413]

(requested by calligomiles)

“...Now, Sky, I’m not a relationship counselor,” the Doctor sighed, smoking a much-needed cigarette despite being in their office, “but you can’t possibly leave things like this.”

“I know that, Doctor, but what do I do?” Skyfire was smoking as well, just by herself, steadily burning a wooden armband which was steadily replenished by the energy she expended. It’d been a gift from Shaw to help her focus her nervous ignition and not burn through her wardrobe.

Rather than answer, they took a long drag. “Tell them.”

“Tell them?” The Feline glared at them. “Why would I do that, Doctor? Isn’t ignorance bliss? They’re both happy with things as they are-”

“They don’t know how things are at the moment, Sky. You’re dating Miss Shaw and FrostNova at the same time, engineering events so that neither is aware of the other’s position in your life, and you believe that’s acceptable?”

She sighed. “If I believed it was completely fair to both of them, I wouldn’t have come to you about it, but I didn’t expect you to react so poorly.”

“This sort of shit is a major concern for morale, and safety, I should add.” The Doctor shook his head. “Our fire chief and our rehabilitating recruit from Reunion...If you don’t tell them, Skyfire, I have an obligation to do so.”

“An obligation? What sort of obligation?”

A sigh. “A moral obligation.”

“...Then I suppose I have no choice, do I?” Skyfire stood up, her ring in a constant state of charcoal that created a cloud of ash when she moved her hand. “I will break their hearts at your request.”

“You really don’t want this to be your fault, do you? Despite being the only person here to blame?”

The Feline shook her head. “I’m not the only one, Doctor; blame them both for being so wonderful in completely different ways.” And with that, she walked out of the office.

An hour or so later, Shaw received a text from her girlfriend: “You have lunch free today, correct?”

“YesImfreeforlunch.” Her brain moved so fast she didn’t have time to write punctuation.

“Excellent. Could you meet me at the fountain in the Convalescence Garden?”

“Iwillbethere.” The Zalak smiled. A lunch date sounded nice after the morning she was having.

Around the same time, FrostNova was at an appointment with Dr. Kal’tsit when her phone began to ring. “I should take that.”

“We’re done here, anyway.” Her physician moved to leave the office. “You’re free to go when you’ve finished your call.”

“Thank you. Yes, love?”

There was a slight tremble to Skyfire’s voice. “Will you meet me at the fountain in the Convalescence Garden for lunch today?”

“I will.” Yelena frowned. “You sound distressed.”

“I’ll explain when I see you in person.”

The Cautus sighed. “Very well. Until then, darling.”

“Until then.” She didn’t hang up immediately. “Love you.”

“Likewise.” FrostNova hung up for her. It was strange for her to actually say she loved her...What did she have to tell her?

She had a few ideas, if she was honest with herself.

A couple hours later, two near-strangers met by the fountain in the Convalescence Garden. Shaw, who’d gotten there first, watched her curiously for a moment. “Meetingsomeonehere?”

“I am, yes. I suppose you are, too?” The Zalak nodded, and something clicked in Frosty’s mind. “Are you waiting for Skyfire?”

“YesImwaiting for- waithowdid youknowthat?”

The Cautus sighed. “Because I’m waiting for her as well, and now I think I know why.”

“...What?” It was the slowest she’d said a word since, well, as far as anyone had known her. Not that FrostNova had that context. “Whydidshe inviteyouhere Ithoughtthiswas goingtobeadate.”

“All she told me was that she needed to tell me something...I think she plans on coming clean with us about dating both of us at the same time.”

Shaw stared at this interloper for a moment before sighing. “Ithoughtsomething likethiswashappening butIdhoped Iwaswrong...Why?”

“I can take a guess, but I think we both want to hear it from her directly.” After a moment, the Zalak nodded, and Yelena approached the bench she was sitting on. “Do you mind if I sit with you while we wait?”

“Feelfree...IfeellikeI shouldbeangry atyoubutI don’tintheslightest.” She sighed, reaching into a bag and pulling out an apple.

FrostNova nodded as she drank from a thermos of her prescribed carrot-heavy veggie juice blend. “Oddly enough, I feel the same. Neither of us were terribly surprised, I supposed; her date schedule was oddly restrictive for someone in her position, and I remember how she tried to explain the Arts sink you gave her.”

“Thatwasfrombefore westarteddatingeven,” Shaw noted. “Ijustwantedher tostopburning everythingwhenshe gotflusteredbysomething. Howlonghaveyou beenseeingher?”

“Hmm...Three months now, I believe. She’s had the heat sink for two, so can I assume that’s when she started seeing you?”

The Zalak nodded. “Thatmakesme thehomewrecker Isuppose.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” the Cautus admitted. “I never expected her to stay with me; she’s far too like the fires she incinerates her enemies with in that regard - unbearably hot and prone to changing currents.”

“Didyouexpect tobesharingher withsomeonethough becauseIdidnt. Apple?” Shaw offered her an impressively green one from her lunch bag.

She smiled. “Thank you. To be honest, I entirely expected her to completely move on instead...Does this mean she has a harem? I remember one of the other long-term patients talking about the concept.”

“Isupposeitdoes.” The Zalak had seen anime before; she understood. “Areyouokaywiththat? HellamIokaywiththat?”

“Ah. I see you have already met.” Skyfire finally arrived, band crackling like a fireplace as she came from the opposite side of the fountain.

Yelena nodded. “As of a few minutes ago, yes. Why today, of all days?”

“I...Honestly? I went to see the Doctor for advice, because the deception has eaten away at me for some time, but I don’t want to give either of you up.” The Feline sighed. “They made it clear I had no other option. Well, I’d planned an appeal, but seeing as how you’re both aware of the situation already, you are free to judge me as you wish.”

“Willyourschedule bemoreopen nowthatyou wonthavetokeep thetwoofusseparate becausehonestly Idontmindsharing allthatmuch.”

FrostNova agreed. “Your other girlfriend - I’m Yelena, by the way.”

“Shaw.”

“Shaw seems like both a useful person to have around and a kind soul.” She held up her half-eaten apple as evidence. “If she has no qualms about sharing, neither do I; the fact you’ve stayed with me this long was surprising enough, frankly.”

Skyfire looked from one to the other, visibly overcome with this display of goodwill on her girlfriends’ parts. “I...you have no idea how happy I am to hear this.”

“Almostashappy asIamtonot havetogiveyouup tosomeoneelse evenifmeetingher Ikindofunderstand.”

“You two...” The Feline half-sprinted to them, hugging FrostNova and lifting Shaw out of her seat to spin around before setting her back down. “I don’t deserve either of you.”

The Cautus and Zalak shared a glance before shrugging. Yelena spoke for both of them. “Ultimately, it’s not about what you deserve, but what we want, and we want you, whatever that entails.”

“Justdontfind anothergirlfriendplease thiswillbe complicatedenough forjustthreelofus.” Saying this, she handed FrostNova another green apple.

“I can promise you, two is enough for me as well.” Skyfire looked at the bench, and they made space for her to sit between them. “I’ll also buy dinner tonight, as I didn’t have time to get lunch.”

Shaw and Yelena acknowledged this by setting their heads against her shoulders - partially because she was a walking space heater on a winter day - and the Feline basked in the insanely good fortune she’d been gifted with.