#february ficlet challenge

[inexplicifics]

Deerly Beloved, a modern AU ficlet in which Eskel meets a white deer!

[siderealdei]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: Jango Fett, Obi-Wan Kenobi Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting Series: Part 4 of February Ficlet Challenge 2025, Part 3 of soulmate cravings Summary:

Jango has been chasing the hints of his soulmate's meals across the galaxy for close to ten years.

[mokaisathome]

Day 17 of the 2025 February Ficlet Challenge: map / oath

   What’s in a ring?

   To begin with, three months worth of salary… Scratch that, only a single month would suffice – given his position as Kalim’s right arm, one month was enough to buy anything he wanted. He had spent most of his free time looking at catalogs lately, telling Kalim that he was observing trends to know what the Al-Asim corporation should invest in when it came to the jewelry side of their business, but really, his full attention was on rings and nothing else. The ones he finally chose were simple, nothing as lavish as most of what Kalim usually wore but that simplicity was why it’d be more striking to any casual observer. A golden band mimicking a snake holding a jewel – onyx for Kalim’s ring, ruby for Jamil’s – in his maw. Perfect.

   What’s in a ring?

   Obviously, feelings. You didn’t give a ring to just anyone. In his whole life, Jamil only gifted these to two people. One was Najma for her most recent birthday as she wanted a pair of trendy sun and moon rings – “Jamil. Gift.” was the message she sent him alongside a link to an online shop – and the second was, of course, Kalim. From a plastic toy ring to one made with flowers, he remembered every occasion he gave Kalim one. Now, his feelings weren’t as innocent or cute as when he was a child, heavier to an incomparable degree, but the way his heart annoyingly fluttered when thinking about Kalim was the same. All the small and big emotions he couldn’t convey with words or actions were surely conveyed by these small rings.

   What’s in a ring?

   Finally, words. Jamil was good at talking – getting people where he wanted them to thanks to well-turned sentences, having them sign contracts because he let slip a few praises, making them beg for their lives with a single word… There wasn’t anything to worry about when it came to this step. Kalim wouldn’t refuse him. Jamil just needed to talk clearly to him, something he’d learned to do back in their student days. That was easy.

“Jamil? You’ve been standing there for a while… Do you need something?”

   Easy.

“Jamil?”

   Jamil was good at this, especially when it came to Kalim. Handling him was a second nature.

“Should I call the doctor?”

   Instead of a reply, Jamil turned on his heels and left Kalim’s office, ignoring the panicked “Jamil?!” behind him.

   What’s in a ring?

   Perhaps a little more vulnerability than what Jamil was used to.

[deathbyglamour01]

February Ficlet Challenge 2025

Day 3: “nonverbal communication”

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Characters: Dipper, Stan

Ships: N/A

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 280

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62768353

Dipper rocked forward and back in his bed, soothing himself. He had on his noise cancelling headphones and he gripped each side to give his hands something to do. His favorite book sat in his lap and he scanned over the pages for what felt like the millionth time, allowing the familiar words to comfort him. 

He was brought out of his zone by the attic door creaking open. The headphones muffled the sound enough for it to not hurt, and he looked up to see who was there. Grunkle Stan stood at the threshold, eyes scanning to asses the situation. When he met Dipper's eye, Dipper managed to give him a small, hesitant smile. Stan returned the smile, signing 'come in' with a questioning expression. After a moment, Dipper nodded, and Stan entered, sitting on the edge of his bed. Stan signed 'talk?' and Dipper pointed to him and nodded, then pointed to himself and shook his head. Stan nodded and smiled.

"You good?" Dipper shrugged. "Well, better than earlier at least?" He nodded. He was still shaky from his previous meltdown, but feeling considerably better. "Good." After a moment, Dipper uncrossed his legs and wormed his way over to his grunkle, ignoring his raised eyebrow and making himself a spot against his side, half in his lap. Stan snorted and patted him on the shoulder with the arm that wrapped loosely around him.

Hesitantly, Dipper flashed the sign for 'I love you' and Stan very obviously tried to play it cool. He wasn't affected at all, what're you talking about? He was fine! He returned the sign and gave Dipper a noogie leaving him giggling in Stan's arms.

[flowers-of-io]

for as long as the world lasts, her failure lives

FFC day 1: "Survive" | Read on Ao3

Outside, a battle is raging.

Petra is a commander, and she does what commanders do. She walks the bulwark, inspects the entrenchments and patrol outposts, talks to the soldiers and the wounded and the mourning. She analyses statistics and skims over field reports. She signs burial documents and kneels at the coffins, and always remembers to write to the families.

She can be a commander. She has been in charge before, for far longer than she’d ever thought she could have been; she has her Corsairs, and now her young Coven, these bright-eyed girls so brilliant and brave and devoted it puts her own faith to shame. She is still a Wrath, even if temporarily unmoored from its own source. See, this is the thing about commanding: it is never a solitary endeavour, there is always someone above whose will you’re carrying forth, a force commanding the commander. The chain is just shorter. A commander with no one above them is a ruler, not a commander. And Petra could never be a ruler. Not if she can help it.

She takes comfort, however small, in the fact she at least has enough self awareness to admit that. She is not a ruler, she has never desired to be one, and it would altogether be an abject catastrophe were she ever to willingly reach for queenship. Even when she became regent, it was mainly courteous pray-pretend; there were Illyn and the Paladins, there was Variks, there were the Guardians and their confusing politics tangling her up. Safeguards preventing her from acting foolish.

But now Illyn is dead and the Paladins have retreated after the Queen had revealed herself, because Petra had been right all along and they are ashamed to have questioned her faith. And Petra has doomed this City, and the responsibility for that is hers to bear, proudly and alone, as befit of a queen.

(Sometimes she wonders how much of a ruler’s decision that was, and how much a commander’s. It had been Mara who had told her to have Riven slain. But Mara is not here to watch her Corsairs fight and bleed and die—and so Petra will accept her part as the bearer of this decision and its consequences, and she will not revolt against it.)

(It would be blasphemy, regardless, on top of being pointless. Wrath doesn’t question the source of its own existence. It just burns.)

Mara visits her in dreams, every now and then. At least Petra hopes it is her; she hopes it is really Mara’s hand that touches her cheek, and Mara’s voice telling her words of bravery, Mara’s scent and the tenderness of her skin. Weariness and distance have curbed her shame over these thoughts. What before seemed sacrilegious now only feels like respite, a breath after a long dive. Sometimes, sometimes—she dares not admit this even to herself, most days—she feels almost entitled to it, to this peace that overcomes her at the thought of her Queen. Has she not suffered and survived enough? Hasn’t she earned rest, praise, some recognition for her sacrifices?

(This, too, is blasphemy—and a fallacy, at that. Petra is not a ruler. She lives to serve, always, and only.)

Variks told her that once; that she lives her life in self-imposed slavery, and that this is her gravest weakness. Rich, coming from him. She couldn’t tell how sincere he was being, but then honesty had been a scarce asset between the two of them for the longest time. They’d spent years dancing around one another in odd orbits: stepping on each other's toes, setting up traps, pushing buttons. It took a lifetime for the trust to build. Funny, how he only needed one moment to destroy it.

She finds herself thinking of him more often, these days. That is not to say she has ceased to hate him; he still killed her people, she still wants him dead. But she thinks she is starting to understand. What would she have done, she wonders, were she in the service of a Kell (a different Kell, she catches herself, not her Queen, though even in such an outlandish fantasy, could there ever be a world where she did not serve her Queen?), and her people were broken and scattered and tearing each other apart with no one to lead them? Would she take up this mantle on her own accord? Would she betray the enemy she had been serving?

(Were they even enemies? Eliksni and Awoken, Awoken and Variks, Variks and her? Their fates might have collided in the wake of a double betrayal, but she had grown to trust him. She had grown to call him a friend.)

(What had Variks grown to call her? Who did he really betray when he opened the Prison?)

Some nights—those that Mara doesn’t visit her on—Petra lies wide awake for hours in a crumple of pillows linens. Other people come to her, then. Faces of the Corsairs she has lost, Uldren’s eyes, Illyn’s scream as Riven tore her body and mind apart. Whispering of the wind that sounds like the chatter echoing in the great coven hall on Amethyst. The smell of the Prison, rust and burning enamel and ether drifting through the air in wisps.

In the morning, there are scout reports on her desk for her to skim through and letters of condolence waiting to be signed. She waits for the roar of explosions to pass, so that the table shaking does not spill the ink.

Outside, a battle.

[searchingforserendipity25]

Plentiful as Sand is Plentiful. LoTR. on ao3.

There was for many years an hourglass upon Elrond’s desk, a tall ivory-and-glass thing from sunken Númenor. 

As a little child Estel liked to turn it and turn it, and would sit for hours upon his foster father’s lap following the mother-of-pearl etchings on the handle with his fingertips and watching the sand shift softly. 

For a time it was too heavy for his small wrists to turn; but Elrond with his keen hearing would know when the last grains came with an end, and knew when to turn it without lifting his eyes from his papers.

 Elrond had given it for him to hold, when he told him the truth of his name: Aragon, son of Arathorn, heir to Isildur’s line and Isildur’s grim failure. 

“Yet also to the courage of his people, and their skill,” Elrond told him. “Your forefather it was who made this time piece as a gift to me. From the glass-rooms of Armenelos it came, the last of Isildur’s works of beauty. It has been of good use to me, and good memory; I give it to you, that you should remember him with gratitude, as well as bitterness.”

“Yet bitter is it what you say to me,” said Estel, who was Aragorn. He was startled still, and yet not surprised entirely; for the blood of kings ran in him, and had at times left an uneasy premonition upon him. 

Still he would have remained been Estel, and no lost kingdom’s wayward heir; least of all in this century, this Age of the world, with an evil reckoning brewing in the distance. 

He turned the hourglass in his hands; a Mannish means of counting time, not to be found in other elvish kingdoms, but common enough in the house of Elrond Peredhel. “Keep it, Master Elrond. I cannot have it as my own, ere I am Isildur’s heir truly. These hurrying moments that are my lifetime shall be a heavy load to carry, I judge, and my course too rough for such a delicate thing.”

“Then keep it I shall, until you wish to reclaim it, or your score of years are run to their course,” said Elrond; and laid upon Estel’s shoulder the heavy comfort of his healer’s hands, which he felt for a time like a yoke as well as a kindness. 

It rested between a tall orchid Celebrían had found once in her expeditions in the wilds of Ennor, a narrow and tall and very orange creature, the last of its kind on these shore - and on the other side was his pile of used quills, which he tended to keep until they were worn through into stumps, too blunt to be sharpened.

He used it little, after that day; but at times Arwen his daughter came, and stood by the chair where Aragorn had sat with bent shoulders to her his name. 

Her fingers, long broideress fingers, touched the waves and leviathans Isildur had carved, with careful deliberation, in the last days of his youth, the dying of his empire. Her eyes grew clouded, then; not with the memory of the past, but her own designs, a future seen with the force of her want. Her own lord of man, his dear face not like any other’s; her own cities crowded with the smell of stone dust and salt.

She left it there, warmed by her skin, and went away from it but for rare and secret visits; but Elrond at times looked heavily upon it, as once he had not. 

That was another Age of the world. There is now an hourglass amidst Tar-Elessar’s instruments - behind the inkwell of Gondorin silver, besides the whittling of an eagle in flight his eldest daughter has wrought him. 

Many gifts have been to him, the king well-returned; but none quite as ancient. Elessar turns it in his hands, when a heavy ruling keeps him at work long into the night; Isildur’s hourglass, grown light with the strength of his manhood, feels always a little terrible to hold.

[swanmaids]

“Shepherds’ delight,” Maedhros remarked, watching the Sun set over the plains from Himring’s ramparts. 

Finally alone with Fingon, Maedhros had been mostly quiet after spending all day speaking with various allies – debating, strategizing, reassuring. This was the first thing he’d said for several minutes, talking over the pleasant quiet of the birdsong above them and the sentries below, and Fingon could not make sense of it. 

“Hmm?” 

“‘Red sky at night; shepherds' delight.’ It is a saying - one that Bór claims originates with his folk; many of them raise sheep. When the sky glows red at dusk, the following day will be fair.” 

“I see. So you’re longing for a shepherd’s life? I must say it’s a bit late in the day to be considering such a drastic change in fortunes, but I do concede that sheep are probably easier to wrangle than some of our relatives.” 

Maedhros elbowed him in the ribs. “And Maglor says I’m too literal,” he laughed. “But Fingon, don’t you see it? It seems to me that just as when the first Sun rose to greet your father’s coming into Middle Earth, this is another sign. We will have our victory – and our vengeance too.”

Fingon swallowed. His lover had never been one to put great stock in portents; and he thought it more likely that Maedhros was convinced in the success of his venture not because of the colour of the sky the night the Union had finalised their battle plans, but because he needed to be. The idea that they might fail was too terrible to be borne. 

But he was not unmoved by Maedhros’ speech – quite the opposite. Fingon burned too for vengeance against their shared enemy. If victory required putting faith in meteorological phenomena that he understood nothing of, then he would do it. 

“I think you are right, beloved – when the day comes, we will win it. I will return west swiftly, and make my people ready until then.” Then he smiled. “And once we have won, you can trade your sword for a shepherd’s crook. You can tend to all the sheep you want –”

Laughing, Maedhros shut him up with a kiss.

[leaderpinhead]

Leona - Checkmate

Prompt: Only One Bed

“I know we just had to prove ourselves worthy to grace you with our gross herbivore presence, but now we have another issue.”

Leona snorted but otherwise pretended not to hear her. He used the excuse of being in the bathroom. Just like his sister-in-law, Yuu had no issues with continuing to nag him. “Do you think ignoring me will make the problem go away? I have enough experience to tell you life doesn’t work that way.”

Leona clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. When they drifted back down to the mirror, he caught the reflection of the prefect and her pet in the bedroom behind him. Grim circled in and out of the room from the balcony like he couldn’t get over the view of the dorm. The prefect stood at the foot of the bed with her hands propped on her hips and her gaze steadfastly fixed in the direction of the bathroom. Her brown eyes met his in the mirror without hesitation.

Leona quickly glanced away. Not because he was intimidated, but because he had inadvertently dropped the brush he held. Yes, that was his excuse.

“You’re the one who insisted on staying here,” Leona snapped. He tossed the brush onto the counter and prowled around the large bathroom. He moved out of the view of the mirror and tossed a towel onto the floor just because he felt like it.

“Now I see why your room is such a mess. I almost feel sorry for Ruggie having to clean up after you, but then I remember he benefits from it just as much as you do.”

Nagging—why were all women of every species such experienced naggers? “If you have a problem, why don’t you go room with the puppy?”

“I’d prefer Jack, but you know why that isn’t possible.”

Leona huffed, but he didn’t argue on the point. He did understand why. He might have made her fight to earn the right to room with him while Azul manipulated his contracts, but he had known letting her room anywhere else in the dorm wasn’t an option. He’d heard the whispers circulating the dorm as more and more students realized the prefect was a girl in disguise.

He was quick to put those other boys in their places, especially when the whispers made even his stomach churn.

Ruggie’s snickers reminded Leona of the hyena’s presence outside the bathroom. “You three have fun figuring that all out. I’ll be back to see who still alive in the morning. Shyeheehee.”

Leona’s ears flicked when Jack mumbled a farewell too. He heard the obvious click of the bedroom door. Soft shuffling signaled the prefect and Grim moving around his room. Leona fiddled with the tubes and containers he found on the sink counter. His nose wrinkled when he picked up one container. Why the hell had Ruggie bought him a warthog scented candle?

“If you’re planning on spending the night in your bathtub, then I guess our problem isn’t as big as I thought it was.”

Leona grumbled and tossed the offensive smelling candle into the wastebasket. He sighed when he caught the prefect still glowering at him in the mirror. Clicking his tongue again, Leona ambled out of the bathroom. He tipped his chin back and scowled down at the prefect. “You should learn to show some gratitude. I could’ve sent you straight back to your dorm to deal with Azul’s lackeys.”

Yuu’s chin tipped back to meet his gaze. His eyes narrowed. Did she think she could intimidate him? He might—on occasion—bow to his sister-in-law's nagging just to get her off his back, but he certainly wasn’t about to do the same for a little herbivore.

The prefect tipped her head without breaking his gaze. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have thanked you. Your benevolence is second only to Azul’s. After all, had you not given me—a magicless little girl with only her monster companion—the opportunity to fight a group of thugs who used magic more than their fists, I would not only be sleeping in front of the statues on Main Street tonight.” Yuu paused to show him the bandage wrapped around her elbow. “I would also have never earned this new battle scar.”

Leona rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “Battle scar? It was barely a scrape. You wouldn’t even have that bandage if Howl hadn’t been so dramatic about an infection.”

What he didn’t say was that he was actually impressed by their victory. Yuu had an almost uncanny instinct when it came to dodging magical attacks, not to mention the dexterity to perform the dodges. Grim’s offense was grudgingly impressive too, but his lack of focus would be his downfall. If Yuu hadn’t snapped at him to focus on one boy before moving to the next, they wouldn’t have won the duel. Leona hadn’t given them any handicaps either. Two of the boys were sophomores and the other a junior, meaning they had more experience than the average freshman when it came to a magical duel.

None of which he was about to admit to her.

“The point is that my scar has made me an official badass.” Yuu pointed at the bedding Jack had thrown down in the corner of the room. “As a badass, I refuse to sleep on the floor.”

Leona pointed at the couch sitting in front of the balcony. “Then take the sofa.”

“That sofa is barely long enough to fit Grim. Do you want me to suffer a hunchback?”

“It would add to your badass image.”

“It would also hinder me as I run around campus cleaning up all of your messes.”

Leona snorted. He ambled across the room to stand on the opposite side of the bed from Yuu. He relaxed his posture, and while he didn’t exactly match hers—hands on her hips and chin held high—he made it clear he wasn’t backing down. “My messes? Last I checked, you’re in this situation because your own little friends made a mess, and then you decided to throw yourself into the fire.”

“And as punishment, I frequently remind my friends of their bad decisions. Grim?” Grim made a noise from the balcony. “The sea anemone on your head makes you look dumb. Like a midget unicorn but without the badass part.”

Leona bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking at Grim’s howling displeasure. He took the prefect’s distraction as an opportunity to flop down into the center of his bed. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. “Your problems aren’t mine. Just be grateful I’ve given you a place to stay.”

He was on the very edge of sleep when Yuu chimed, “You know, Cheka wouldn’t be very happy to hear his uncle made his fiancé sleep on the floor.”

Leona cracked open one eye. The prefect still hovered next to the bed, her eyes now wide to mimic some type of innocence. His tail agitatedly flicked to the side. “Seriously? You’re trying to play that card again? The brat has no idea about what he writes in his letters. I doubt he even knows what the word fiancé means.”

“Sade says she’s very excited to one day welcome me into your family.”

Leona’s tail flicked harder. Of course, his sister-in-law was communicating with the prefect too. Sade had probably adopted the girl already. She probably told the prefect to make his school life even more inconvenient too.

“I wonder what she would say about you making me sleep on the floor now,” Yuu continued. She did a little spin and took one step in the direction of the bedding on the floor. “How very uncouth for the son of a king. Making a poor little girl sleep on the hard floor while he sprawls across a bed that could easily fit three people his size. And her son is being so heavily influenced by such a role model? I’m sure she’ll be absolutely thankful when I tell her—.”

With a tiny growl, Leona rolled over to lay on the edge of the bed. He took one of his pillows and plopped it down in the middle of the bed. He turned his back to her and glared out at the balcony. “Stay on your side of the bed.”

Yuu hummed with satisfaction. Leona’s ears flicked as he listened to her drag the blankets and pillows over to the bed. His tail twitched when the mattress jostled to accommodate the new weight beside him. After the prefect called for Grim to join her, Leona made a point of reaching for the light switch on the wall next to his bed. His two temporary roommates continued to wiggle and mutter in the dark. He didn’t close his eyes until the wiggling and mumbling stopped and Grim’s snores started.

“Leona?” Leona emitted a tiny growl. He was starting to question ever entertaining Jack on the prefect’s current living conditions. “Thanks. For real this time. You’re not that bad when you’re not throwing a temper tantrum.”

Leona grabbed one of the pillows beneath his head and whipped it behind him. Yuu yipped when the pillow connected. Leona tucked the pillow back into place and ignored Grim’s yowls about being caught up in “their feud.” “Shut up already and let me sleep.”

Yuu couldn’t stand him having the last word, so she threw one of her pillows at him. More wiggling ensued, and Grim mumbled his complaints before his snores started again. Leona closed his eyes, but for once, sleep didn’t immediately come to him. His ears flicked in the prefect’s direction.

With a quiet huff, he carefully shifted onto his back. With the help of the soft moonlight drifting in through the open windows, Leona could easily see Yuu quietly staring up at the ceiling. Grim slept curled up on her chest, and her breathing had slowed to match the monster’s, though it still wasn’t enough to simulate a natural sleep.

Leona dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers encountering a flicking ear. “If you weren’t planning on sleeping, then what was the point of fighting over the bed?”

“I just wanted to see if Sade was right,” Yuu answered without hesitation. She kept her voice barely above a whisper. “Apparently, you’ve never told her no.”

“Because if I ever did, she wouldn’t stop nagging me.”

“I think deep down, you’re just a big cuddly kitten.”

Leona clicked his tongue. His tail flicked across the pillow barrier between them. “A big cuddly kitten? You have no sense of self-preservation, do you?”

“Well, I could’ve attempted stabbing Floyd in the eye with a pencil and kicking Jade in the shin, but a tiny voice in the back of my head reminded me I didn’t necessarily want to leave the campus the same way I arrived.”

Leona snorted to cover an aborted chuckle. He obnoxiously yawned. His tail flicked back and forth from his side to hers. “How do you expect me to get a decent night’s sleep while sleeping next to a mouth breather?”

“Sorry, but I’m still mastering the art of breathing through my ears.”

Leona flicked his tail hard enough to brush against her arm. “Smartass.”

“Better than being a dumbass, but mediocre compared to badass.” She fell silent, but her shuffling made Leona’s ears flick. Her quiet sigh was inevitable. “Sorry. Aside from the change in scenery, I tend to have a hard time falling asleep most nights. I don’t actually mind sleeping on the ground if it’s too disruptive for you.”

The desire to snap at her to do just that died on his tongue the moment he imagined the disappointed glare from his sister-in-law. With a loud sigh, Leona rolled off the edge of the bed. He clicked on the small lamp on his desk. He glowered down at the bed. Yuu squinted back at him, Grim now tucked up against her hip. Leona made a show of kicking out the chair beneath his desk and flopped into it. The prefect leaned up just enough to keep squinting at him from above the pillows.

He shoved the chessboard on his desk towards the corner closest to the bed. He arranged the black and white chess pieces on their respective sides. “You prefer white or black?”

Yuu didn’t miss a beat when she climbed over the pillow barrier to sit on the edge of the bed. She twirled the board around, so the black pieces were on her side. “Do you normally give people the option?”

“It’s a courtesy,” Leona drawled. He slouched into his chair and balanced his elbow on the desk to give his cheek a resting place on his knuckles. “A show of good sportsmanship.”

Yuu snorted. She twirled the board again to regain possession of the white pieces. “Because you're so good at showing sportsmanship-like behavior.”

“I’m not above kicking you out of the bed if you annoy me too much.”

Yuu hummed. She spun the board a few times before letting it rest at an angle where both sides were somehow equally stuck between them. Her head slightly tilted. “I don’t know how to play chess.”

Leona released a loud sigh. He pushed the corner of the board until he gained possession of the white pieces. His ears flicked when he picked up the faint noise of the rowdier students trickling in from the dorms below. “Watch closely then because I’m not about to have a three-hour tutor session with you.”

They were on their fourth game when Yuu began picking up how each piece moved, which wasn’t too bad since each game only took Leona four moves to win. He still beat her with the same four moves for the next three games, but her frustration over him casually checkmating her king made her a quick learner. The next time they reset the board, she moved her knight to intersect his opening pawn. He still won, but she at least lasted three more moves.

By the time Yuu began to yawn in earnest, Leona was begrudgingly enjoying himself. She had become braver with her queen and had attempted several times to use it like some martyr-like sacrifice to somehow checkmate his king. Her strategies were laughable as a beginner, but they were just odd enough to make her less predictable than a veteran. She’d come close to checkmating him once but hadn’t even realized it. He wasn’t about to casually offer her the information either.

On her next turn, she stared at the board long enough with drooping eyelids that Leona couldn’t help saying, “Just give me your king, so we can go to sleep.”

Her eyes snapped up to his. The soft light of the lamp made the golden freckles hidden in her brown irises flicker. “Never.”

Leona firmly checkmated her in the next two moves. She squinted down at the board while he fluidly stood. He reached above his head in a long stretch. “You’re done. Now get on your side so I can finally sleep.”

Yuu huffed, but she complied with his demand with minimum fuss. Leona watched her stretch out on her side of the pillow barrier without bothering Grim, who had somehow wiggled his way down to the foot of the bed. She snuggled up under the extra blanket until only her nose was visible. Her posture, even hidden under the blanket, was much more relaxed than it had been earlier, and her annoying mouth breathing didn’t sound as obnoxious.

Leona quickly flopped onto the bed when he realized he had been staring too long.

“Good night,” Yuu yawned. Her voice was muffled because of the blanket, but he easily detected the slurred cadence of her words like she was already on the verge of sleep. “Chess’s s’more tiring than walking ‘round the campus. You’ll have to play me again. ‘Cause I’m gonna get good ‘nough to beat you.”

Leona snorted and clicked off the lamp. A comfortably dry breeze from the window loosened the suddenly stifling air in the room. “We’ll see about that.”

“Gonna take your queen.”

“It’s the king you have to checkmate.” Leona waited for her snarky comment. He peeked over the pillow when none came. Yuu slept curled on her side facing him. Her mouth was parted, and a gentle snore escaped with each breath she took. Leona huffed and dropped his head on the pillow. He closed his eyes. “Annoying little mouth breather.”

He wouldn’t admit to waking up once in the middle of the night when he couldn’t detect her snoring. He huffed in mild amusement when he found she had somehow flipped herself around and had her face buried in Grim’s belly. He flopped back onto his pillow and didn’t wake up again he until heard Ruggie whining about morning practice.

[imogenegomi]

Day one of the February Ficlet Challenge! ✅

[snowberriesromanoff]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Hawkeye (TV 2021), Black Widow (Movie 2021) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Yelena Belova/Kate Bishop, Yelena Belova & Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, Kate Bishop & Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine Characters: Yelena Belova, Kate Bishop, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine Additional Tags: Collars, Explosives, Blackmail, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Hurt Kate Bishop, Hurt Yelena Belova, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Kate Bishop Loves Yelena Belova, Yelena Belova Loves Kate Bishop, Demisexual Yelena Belova, Lesbian Yelena Belova, Lesbian Kate Bishop, No Lesbians Die, Chains, Suspension, Kink Negotiation, Trust Kink, creepy valentina allegra de fontaine, Possessive Behavior, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Bondage, noncon not between main pairing, Protective Yelena Belova, POV Yelena Belova, BAMF Yelena Belova, Awkward Kate Bishop, Kate Bishop Is Not Okay, Angst with a Happy Ending, Febuwhump 2025, Femslash February, hero hardships bingo, February Ficlet Challenge, except it got really long, Established Relationship, Relationship Negotiation, Mild Smut, Golden retriever Kate bishop, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Bottom Kate Bishop, Top Yelena Belova, Sexual Tension, Tension, Sexy, NSFW, Government Agencies, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Heavy Angst, High Stakes Series: Part 2 of writing challenge fics Summary:

Valentina brings Kate in as incentive for Yelena, Yelena has to find a way to get both of them out safely while negotiating new developments in their relationship

Writing challenges under the cut

@femslash-february bingo: chains, "do you regret it?", suspension 

@febuwhump holding back tears

@multifandom-flash marvel bingo 

Kate Bishop: wealthy heiress, bitch slap, hot blooded

Yelena Belova: lady swears-a-lot, knight in sour armor, you have got to be kidding me 

@herohardshipsbingo government interference, loved ones being used against you 

@februaryficletchallenge trapped, "everyone comfortable"

[ilovevewritingfanfic]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: เชือกป่าน | Between Us (Thailand TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Team Teerayu Siriyothin/Win Phawin Wanichakarnjonkul Characters: Win Phawin Wanichakarnjonkul, Team Teerayu Siriyothin Additional Tags: Waiting, Yearning, and he never came back Series: Part 20 of February Ficlet Challenge 2025 Summary:

“It’s a souvenir of love” The words left his mouth before he could even register them.

[inexplicifics]

Captured by the Empire, Eskel and Lambert refuse to let the arena defeat them.

[februaryficletchallenge]

February Ficlet Challenge 2024: 24/7!

Welcome back! After having gotten an amazing 496 fics in 2023, we will be running another ficlet challenge in 2024!

This year's theme, because it is our seventh ficlet challenge and is in the year 2024, will be 24/7. There will be two prompts every day, of which one will have something to do with the concept of time.

The basic outline of the Ficlet Challenge remains the same, though you are welcome to modify any or all of these guidelines to better suit your writing style or your available spoons:

Make a list of 29 (!) pairings for which you want to write, one per day.

Check this Tumblr every day in February for a new set of prompts; you can write for either or both of the provided concepts!

Write a fic of at least 200 words, using the next pairing on your list - for hard mode, write it and post it the same day you see the prompt!

Post the fic to this collection on AO3. It will remain open until the end of the year, so don't worry if you don't finish all your fics in February.

Rejoice!

We hope you will enjoy this year's set of prompts, and look forward to seeing what you write!

[mokaisathome]

Day 1 of February Ficlet Challenge 2025

Prompt: "Buckle up" + Survive

AO3

   The fact Jamil was used to this kind of situation was a testament to how much time he spent with Kalim. Too much time actually. If it weren’t for work… But he’d save the complaints for later – preferably when there weren’t any assassins around trying to kill them. Keeping a hand pressed against Kalim’s mouth, he peeked out of the alley they’d been hiding in for the past few minutes.

   The sounds of the local fair drowned out everything and the colorful lights of the surrounding attractions blinded him – Jamil couldn’t make out anything except the sharp pain in his cheek where a stray magic attack grazed him earlier. If Kalim hadn’t begged him for help to sneak out of the palace to go into town to play, none of this would have happened… He shook his head. Complaints could be addressed later. For now, they just needed an escape route. A muffled mumble came from Kalim, but Jamil ignored it in favor of thinking of a strategy.

   Running wasn’t an option when the opponents were (from what he observed) adults and the Al-Asim residence was on the other side of town anyway – it was already a miracle that nobody targeted them on the bus they rode to come here – so he needed to think about something else. The bus? Involving bystanders was a no-no. The tram a few streets over was out for the same reason. Staying in hiding for a while was tempting, but it was already late and people would start going home soon – knowing Kalim, he’d get lost in the crowd even if they held hands.

   The only thing left to try was his Unique Magic though he never used it against so many enemies, especially when moving. For the second time, Kalim talked, uncomprehensible sounds becoming even more unintelligible as Jamil pushed his palm harder against his lips. He put them into this mess, he should now just shut up and let Jamil do his work. As he peeked out of the alley again, pain surged through his foot and he let go of Kalim in shock.

“What are you–”

“Jamil,” Kalim said in a hushed tone, his voice more serious than usual. “The Magical Wheel over here is free.”

   His master pointed to a nearby vehicle, resting against the railway seemingly without its driver around. They exchanged looks and nodded in unison. It wasn’t really stealing when they’d borrow it for a few hours at most, and it was a life-or-death situation. Anybody would understand, with or without mind control.

“I’ll buy them a new one,” Kalim affirmed as he scurried toward the Magical Wheel behind Jamil. “Or ten. Ten sounds good.”

“Sure.”

“Can you drive it?”

“Of course.”

“I knew I could count on you!”

   Jamil watched races on TV with his father and played a driving game at a friend’s house once. It’d be fine. Without hesitating, he jumped on it and Kalim followed suit, his arms wrapped around Jamil’s waist. As he poured magical power into the engine through his hands, the Magical Wheel roared.

“Buckle up, Kalim!”

“Yeah!”

   Racing through the city while avoiding others as best as he could, Jamil found himself smiling slightly as Kalim chattered about mindless observations. It could’ve gone worse surely.

[deathbyglamour01]

February Ficlet Challenge 2025

Day 1: “survive”

Fandom: Sonic (live action universe)

Characters: Sonic, Knuckles, Tails, mentioned Tom and Maddie

Ships: N/A

Warnings: hospitals, vague discussions of death/injury

Word Count: 248

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62706391

The waiting room was agony. 

Sonic so desperately wanted, needed, to know how Tom was doing, but there was nothing he could do. He was confined to the stupid little room that reeked of sadness and desperation and there was nothing he could do about it. 

He sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair with Knuckles and Tails on either side of him. Tails leaned against him, trying to comfort him— and possibly himself —but all of Sonic's thoughts were focused on Tom.

How bad was it? Would he make it? Was he even alive right now? Sonic should have never let him go alone. He could have prevented this, if only he'd stayed by Tom's side. He—

Knuckles' gloved paw patted him a little too hard on the back and he startled, looking over to his brother.

"You must breathe, hedgehog." Sonic hadn't even realized he was panting, breath's coming too fast and heart hammering. He did his best to suck in a deep breath. "The Donut Lord will be okay."

"You don't know that," Sonic muttered darkly. He felt paws grip his right arm and looked over to see Tails looking up at him, something akin to fear in his eyes. Sonic felt guilt churn in his stomach. He maneuvered the arm Tails was holding to pat the fox on the head. "Sorry. It'll be okay. Tom will be okay."

He had to be. He had to survive.

He hoped Maddie would be back with news soon.

[searchingforserendipity25]

Diplomatic Concerns. (russingon, on ao3).

When they did at last come together, it did not feel like an inevitability to Maedhros. Far easier it was to believe - to contrive - ways in which they might betray themselves, and allow their understanding to betray their people.

This, they both agreed, could not be permitted. Maedhros would have loved Fingon less, if he had been willing to brave the storm of opposition and defiance their open courtship would cause.

His people had cause, just cause to stand against it; and Maedhros had his own brothers and vassals to rule over, in less official fashion, without the benefit of official authority to put them in place if it prove needed.

They pledged their troth under the stars, a wordless promise with no bitter oath to mar it; and thereafter took the greatest care and discretion that none guessed at it.

-

It was some effort, Maedhros admitted, if only in their very secretive correspondence, written on hidden wink in the back of their official missives.

His mouth ached, his arms felt emptier - poetry, he found, spoke to him beyond the pleasure of precise meter and rhyme.

It was absurd; it was dangerous. Always he kept Fingon swept from his mind, lest some of his heart bleed through enough to be perceived; and always it was work, to keep Fingon out of the forefront of his thinking.

And it was mortifying, too. To be infatuated, to have a joy to hide, to know himself cherished and desired - he could not have bourne it to be known, not easily.

It was only some consolation to know Fingon found his pining ardor very pleasing, being that he was at too great a distance to do much with that. As a matter of fact, it made it all the more torturous.

This lasted all through the first fortnight of the autumn summit.

Maglor looked at him indulgently. “How many horses can Fingon possibly need? Nay, not at all. You must give him the best foal, and rear it by your hand, and drape it in Fingon’s raiment and colours, and teach it the signals he favours. Quality, not merely quantity! Do you hear me wasting breath on too many love songs? There must be a measure, by which things are made precious.” 

“You were song-wed by proxy fashion to an ascetic zither-master you knew from correspondence only, and met thrice every ten yéni,” Maedhros told him. 

Maglor shrugged. “Once every ten yéni was enough. It made the anticipation all the sweeter.” 

Maedhros raised all three colts to perfect training. If some of his braids were chewed away, and much of the fur of his best coats, then at least Fingon was suitably impressed.

-

None guesses at our affections, Maedhros amended on his next letter, besides Maglor, and his silence is our boon. Fingon was swift to tease him for that - and in truth he had barely bothered to hide it from Maglor.

There was little use; therefore he worried little. All the rest of his brothers held their own domains, were occupied with their duties - if it became pressing, he could always invent a new task to distract their tracks.

He had forgotten Caranthir. Caranthir never needed to be given new directions; if anything, he excelled at taking attentive initiative, especially on matters of international commerce.

“I,” Maedhros said. “Have never offered any thing, to lord or vassal, besides gifts of friendship, and diplomacy, and cunning morsels of what might attained with a better trade arrangement.” 

“Explain to me how Fingon’s newest gem-crown counts as a diplomatic expense,” Caranthir demanded.

-

Besides Caranthir and Maglor, none noticed. 

The next time they met - a well-prepared hunting retreat, and the anticipation did have a certain strain of pleasure in it - it was only some time after the first enthusiastic greetings that they found time and patience to speak at lenght about their dealings, those small or great matters they had not trusted even to set to hidden writing.

 "Did you -”

"I told none. Besides those who know."

“Are you entirely certain. Amras and Amrod keep sending me cured meats? Excellent sausages for my table, and lovely truffles. For some reason; they did not last year.”

"They are not poisoned," Maedhros assured automatically. Then hesitated. "They do like to experiment with spices and certain powders, however."

"I noticed," Fingon said, mouth curved. It was a lovely smile, better for being not amused; Maedhros suffered the rather stupid instinct to kiss his cheek. "Around the time the sugared mushrooms caused an apparition of a great mammoth grazing upon my father's head as we sat in public Council. It appeared purple to my eyes, the mammoth; also my father."

Maedhros had suffered great torments of the flesh and spirit; the image made him wince with genuine feeling. Fingolfin kept a very eclectic conjunction of lords near him, Sindar and Noldor and Avari, all of them clever, cunning, far-seeing people with an unhappy habit of keeping a wide awareness to every stray thought that they might fish out slyly round them on a wide range of space. It made Maedhros feel unusually warmly towards his straightforward, stone-silent dwarves and the fierce, scarred, closed minds that came to serve Himring. 

"You need to string them up from a high tower," Maedhros concluded. "You shall have their apologies in a season."

"Need is a strong word," said Fingon. But his mouth was twitching, more genuinely.

Through the place where their spirits pressed together he passed on the faint, kaleidoscopic memories of that afternoon - Maedhros had stifle his own crinkling eyes. It was impossible not to admit Fingolfin did look rather fetching in tints of purple; and the mammoth was very realistic.

"If you want them to redeem themselves, have them send more next year. I would rather have enjoyed them in privacy. Lalwen thought it was very amusing. Eventually; she stole the rest of the bounty, and left me none at all, which was very like her and rather a disappointment. If your brothers are found wandering the wilds naked and intoxicated, you shall find no way to prove it was her work."

"They will enjoy it too much." Maedhros thought of when the twins's nonsense had been joyful, once. And involved less paperwork. The worst of it was that they likely thought it a good gift.The twins had ever liked Fingon well enough, as much as they liked anyone outside their enclosing understanding.

Fingon turned around, with that sweeping grace that made him deadly. In a moment he had rolled them over. His hands dug into the loam around Maedhros's head; his legs tangled in him, pressing down, delicious.

There you are, he thought, directly at Maedhros. No distance at all, and his laughing mind dizzying like a windfall, a sweeping rush. You stay away too often, Russandol, even here.

"Let them," he said, voice low and warm, close enough Maedhros could feel it thrum in his own throat. He was so very warm. Maedhros's whole body felt alive under him, as if he were fresh from a battle; as if it could feel alive and joyful with no violence. "I mean to enjoy myself with a clear mind. I mean to recall you perfectly while we are apart."

-

Maedhros, rather wisely, he thought, kept any commissioned tokens away from familiar forges.

It was a marvel, the inspiration which which Curufin could contrive as an insult. In this he truly was Fëanor's heir.

I will not have any of our Father's house be known for offering substandard works, he wrote, a stiff note of parchment atop a casket.

Inside the casket was a treasure - elf-made emeralds, and rubies, fine gleaming garnets that caught the golden light from the candles and would assuredly shine beauteously strung around golden ribbons, and on the chained earrings Fingon favoured.

 Keep those Dwarven pieces away from Fingolfin and his ilk, lest he rethink our work agreements. Have you lost your sense, along with your shame? Findekáno's not the least suited to Belegost's blue-steel and sapphires, they wash him out terribly, I do not know how Fingolfin can be so tasteless in his heraldry as not to consider it.

-

Maedhros recalled a time when his brother at least pretended to attend to elvish mores, those small contrivances of decent conduct. Such as pretending at ignorance. Pretending at ignorance had been a good habit, one Huan's master remembered these days merely when it was convenient for him.

Celegorm only looked at him in a flat vulpine fashion, nostrils flaring. Worse than a smirk, worse than mischief. Maedhros had seen it turned on others often enough; he could not say he enjoyed the very unpleasant awareness with which it remind everyone of all the passionate embraces they may or may not have indulged in the wild, where a little bird might carry gossip, or a finicky squirrel pass on mockery.

It also made him rethink the wisdom of wearing Fingon's undershirt under his tunic.

"Not a word," he ordered.

Celegorm only whistled in wolf-like fashion and darted away from his swing.

The next time Fingon dared him for a swim after a lengthy ride up the hills of Barad Eithel, Maedhros quite ruined the romance of it all by insisting on raising a tarp-and-leather tent beforehand.

-

Huan had the good grace to wait until they passed each other on an empty corridor before stopping to block his path.

Oromë's hunting hound looked at him with those terribly knowing dark eyes and let out a soft snorting sound. It was not a very approving woof; a little mournful, perhaps. Maedhros did not speak Hound.

"Do not you start also," Maedhros said. His tone held little effort, as it ever did in these cases.

He had to fight the instinct to cross his arms. He refused to be easily biddable or intimidated. As a matter of principle; he had few of those, and it tended to be better to keep to those he did maintain.

Woof-woof, said Huan.

"We are all Doomed regardless," argued Maedhros.

A sniff, rather pointed. A little charming, perhaps - none of his brothers had offered, so far.

"It is very generous of you to offer," Maedhros said. "No biting will be necessary. I would rather Fingon whole as he may."

Huan licked his bad arm. Shifting ears, which, in all honesty, were insulting. 

"I am not letting myself be carried off as a mate to establish a new collective dynamic as pertaining previous intra-community competitions," Maedhros said, rather stiffly. "No, not though I was stolen from the Enemy for that purpose."

Maedhros did not speak Hound, as such; but Huan and him understood each other a little. If anyone was going to look at him with the knowledge that Maedhros would have let himself be carried off as a prize, and possibly did not dislike the notion, he would rather it was him.

"I will bring you some of that good hind meat from Dor-Lómin," he conceded, eager to bribe him away.

Huan's dog-grin finally widened. Maedhros, relieved to be free from evaluation, scratched his chin until his wagging tail was thumping the carpet. Some relatives, he thought, were harder to please than others.

-

"We have failed at every avenue," Maedhros concluded, as displeased as he could stand to be just then. "Let this be not a sign of our joined efforts to come!"

Fingon was rather less moved at their failure than Maedhros would have expected. Possibly that was the effort of the long ride to the fortress, and their - reunion. Maedhros did not want him alarmed and on his feet, as such; but he did eye his complacence a little.

"Brothers are not Balrogs. It could be worse," Fingon said, very confidently.

Maedhros lifted his head from Fingon's chest. His own eyes were growing half-lidded; his muscles too felt weary, suffused still with satisfaction. Himring's walls, warm within like a living body, rumbled faintly with the noise of their gaseous pipes. He was warm, and sated, and all in all quite in accord with the form of the world, at least for the foreseeable candle-mark.

It was only that he had not trusted messengers to pass on the news; and he had felt an urgency to share the state of affairs with Fingon for months. They had determined to be fully discreet.

"How?"

"Turgon and Aredhel might return," Fingon said promptly. His voice showed he had considered the matter at great length, and was very amused by the way Maedhros went still against him. "And be less generous with their blindness than the rest of my - our kin."

"They might not have noticed. Your father has not."

Fingon lifted himself on his elbow, and looked at him, a little pityingly.

"Beloved," he said. "Whom do you think invented the art of invisible writing?"