#maybe I’ll continue this writing prompt in the future

[sparkletastic-cookiedough]

It became a bit of a habit to talk to Danny.

The family had come together and created a bit of a shrine to the lost- Martha and Thomas Wayne, John and Mary Grayson, Catherine Todd, Janet Drake, Falafel the Spider, and many other faces. At the center of it all was Danny.

Danny, a brother they had never known. Damian loved him. Together, the family told stories of their lost ones. Together, they stopped ignoring the pain and started to move on.

It wasn’t an easy process. Dick couldn’t look at the pictures of his parents for weeks at first. Tim had complicated feelings about his mother. Bruce would brood until his kids dragged him out of it.

After a while, they got into the habit of sending a prayer to their lost ones, and occasionally a prayer to Danny.

After all, Danny would hear them.

—/—\—

Danny was patrolling the edges of the zone, idly listening to the conversation one of Damian’s brothers were having with his grave.

“I hope my parents are happy in the afterlife. Maybe you know them… not that every ghost knows eachother, but it would be real neat if my family got along in the afterlife. All of my family.”

Danny stopped. There wasn’t anything major he had to deal with today. Maybe it would be nice to meet his extended family.

-//-\\-

Dick opened the glowing letter addressed to him.

Hey there,

I’m bad at writing letters. Sorry in advance.

I met your parents. They taught me how to do flips and stuff. It took a while to find them, cause the infinite realms are infinite.

They’re very proud of you! They don’t know all the details about your life, but word travels around. They know you were Robin, they know how you saved people for years, and they know they love you.

They’re still acrobats too. They teach young ghosts how to fly effectively. They’re not strong, but they’re fast and slippery. Enclose the space, and target large areas. It’s nearly impossible if you use precision shots, believe me I tried. Frostbite says theyre spirits of the autumn wind. Makes sense. Sometimes they smell like pumpkin spice. Usually they Echo the circus.

I performed with them last week. They’re really impressive. It’s kinda fun to choreograph stuff ahead of time, rather than come up with plans on the spot. They got to perform with some of my friends! People really enjoyed our show. I left you the poster.

So yeah, your parents are happy.

Please tell your family not to bother me this week. I’m very busy with things. Ghost things. Important ghost things.

- Danny

Dick unrolled the poster. Bold font in a language he didn’t understand was written all over. In the center was Danny, his hands glowing green, and a menacing smile across his face.

Around it in panels were other acts: a rabbit man magician pulling a skeleton out of a hat, a guitarist with flaming hair, a genie, a teen on a motorcycle, a girl covered in tattoos, a man pulling a flaming sword out of his mouth, and an army of ghost clowns.

And, in the last corner, were two smiling figures zipping through the air- two faces that Dick recognized. The flying Graysons.

It wasn’t supposed to be a secret.

If you died while with the league, you will no longer be acknowledged to have existed, especially if you died during a mission. A disappointment will not be remembered.

The bats and birds don’t like speaking about the people they have lost, so they don’t. If someone ask about the dead, they will tell the person they don’t talk about that.

So how was Damian supposed to know that he should have told his father about his dead brother?

[rottingghosty]

The Realms PR | DC X DP Part 2

this isn’t as good in my thoughts because writing as bruce??? really hard. how am i supposed to write a paranoid man if i am the most chillest person i can be… anyway heres your part 2 food of this au, not sure if i’ll continue writing more parts? depends on how i feel.

errors are made and sorry the the lackluster performance this might be

if you want to use my prompt please give me credits thank you

☁️☁️☁️☁️

Danny very much prefers to have nobody intervene on his business as the vigilante of Amity Park. He’s essentially called dibs on it if you consider the fact that the entire town is basically his metaphorical grave since it’s his haunt and he did die to make the portal to the Ghost Zone open. He very much ignores that specific can of worms because that’s a heavy topic that he won’t ever talk about because Spectra really ruined his own outlook on professionals. Jazz will most likely want to open that can but that’s for future Danny.

Where was he? Oh yeah.

Danny very much likes being a solo hero with his friends and sister aiding when they can. He very much dislikes the fact that people have been trying to enter his haunt without permission. Does he know why people who tried to pass through Amity Park suddenly find themselves back at where the welcome sign is? No. Is he going to ask? Also no because it allows the residents and himself privacy even when he’s got the GIW on his tail or even his own parents.

He’s not going to rebuke this gift especially with his influx of fame. Which reminds Danny that he needs to post a new tweet, maybe a video of Cujo playing with the kids in the park from a few days ago? He figures people would be more interested if they knew a ghost dog existed. Maybe he can include one of Ember’s concerts or something.

Man he has so many videos to post and such little time to do so, but he thinks Sam and Tucker are having fun being his PR team with the way Sam had a manic gleam in her eyes when Lois Lane and Clark Kent sent her a message of twitter asking for an interview. All while Tucker basically going giddy at Red Robin and Oracle trying to get through the firewall that’s blocking Amity Park from eyes being too close for all their comforts.

Bruce Wayne stared intently at the video before him, it was only thirty seconds but it was thirty seconds enough to cause him to tighten his grip on the arm rests of his chair in the Batcave. His blue eyes staring down at the figure in the video as it replayed on loop. His shoulders tense and bunched up as he inhaled sharply at the frame that happened ten seconds in.

Because right there, staring up at the camera looked too much like Jason. It looked too much like his boy, his son that he had lost when Jason was only fifteen. Normally he would’ve brushed it off but it was the way that it then shifted into Dick, Steph, Tim and then Damian—

Ancient of Hope is what Phantom had called them, the embodiment of hope and how its form switched to what people believed in. Apparently it looked so much like the Robins of Gotham because Gotham was— is the biggest source of hope there is. Yet, this was an unknown.

Bruce couldn’t trust a word that Phantom said, ghosts are an unknown. Trying to get Constantine to talk about it was a struggle itself, the equivalent of trying to pull teeth out because the man was equally as stubborn as Bruce and it was even worse when the man had cursed up a storm when they had a meeting about Phantom’s first videos.

Ghosts are a variable in an equation that Bruce is trying to solve but he simply can’t force his way into solving it, not when this whole thing has turned into a diplomatic nightmare with the fact that Oa has started pressuring the US government about the mistreatment of the Infinite Realms beings.

The Justice League Dark even adding in the pressure— Deadman being one of the more outspoken members as he explained as much as he knew about the Infinite Realms despite not quite qualifying as one of their residents but still considered as one in an odd way. Constantine grumbling about as he came and went, saying how the Ghost Investigation Ward could’ve started a war or destroyed everyone.

Clark and Lane were writing up articles, having conversations with the PR Team of Phantom— two teenagers who were involved heavily and considered ambassadors to the Realms because of their connection to Phantom.

Phantom who is the High King. Phantom who doesn’t want his subjects hunted anymore and took a peaceful route instead of simply declaring war.

Bruce takes a heavier breath, jaw clenched as he watched the video loop one more time before the closed the tab to look more into the GIW and their backers, eyes narrowing in two names.

Vladimir Masters and Lex Luthor.

[lynnie-ee]

Inktober Day 3; Regrets.

╰┈➤"A relationship with Vil was all you could ever dream of, perfect and loving, but it seems like he doesn't want that anymore. Either way, he'll have to deal with the consequences of it; at some point, you had to move on, didn't you?."

╰►Gender neutral reader, oneshot, 1.6k words.

╰►Note: The prompts are based on words I found interesting and then I put them on a roulette to decide when I would write about them, lol. English is not my first language, so please let me know if there are any grammatical mistakes <3. Not proof read, I haven't written in a long time, so I apologise if anything is out of character.

╰►Masterlist / Inktober Masterlist.

⤿

⤿

Loving Vil was like staring at the moon on a starry night. Beautiful, elegant, gracefully glimmering above anything or anyone, surrounded by stars but never being outshined by them. A gentle light that kept them on the right path, and that took care of them tenderly.

But cold, nevertheless. Distant, stern, perfect; a chill running down their spine when they were in his presence, as if they weren’t worthy of admiring him so closely.

The Prefect was well aware of their own flaws, as they were sometimes clumsy, sometimes impulsive, and sometimes too tired at night to worry about a night routine. Seemingly out of place next to Vil, the personification of magnificence, always sharp and confident.

Even so, (Y/n) was able to discover a new side of him, something that wasn’t possible to see through movie premieres and Magicam posts.

They got close after VDC; with the entire situation of his overblot and all of his issues, the Prefect offered their support to him one day, casually offering to listen to him if he ever needed it.

At first, Vil didn’t reach them, but then, on a bad day, he unconsciously walked all the way to Ramshackle. The housewarden of Pomefiore realised that (Y/n)’s kindness was genuine; they hadn’t been in his world for long, they didn’t realise the amount of power and success he had, and instead they saw him for himself. Maybe that was what encouraged him to pursue them in more ways than he intended at first.

He found himself falling in the arms of a magicless human, grasping every new part of them he got to know and cherish each of the sincere compliments they gave him with adoration and care. Holding them close, kissing their worries away, making sure they were healthy and content.

They were doing good, together.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

No matter how much (Y/n) tried to find him, there was always an invisible wall between them.

“We should break up.”

“…What?”

“We won’t work out; you know it as well as me.”

It all started a few days ago. A call from his manager, asking him if he planned to reveal his relationship at some point. Actors with partners lose popularity. They lose roles more often. They lose followers. It usually lasted for a few months, of course, but could Vil risk his downfall? Shouldn’t it be more difficult for him to ever think about leaving the Prefect? Shouldn’t he feel a pang on his chest at the mere thought of not waking up next to them? Shouldn’t he be able to picture himself sharing a future with them?

‘Perhaps this is just a silly romance that will forgotten in a few years. They’ll come back to their world and I’ll continue working as diligently as always.’

“I don’t understand.” The Prefect muttered, looking into Vil’s eyes, searching for doubt or hesitation, a wave of sadness invading them when they found none of it. They felt dizzy, the air of Vil’s room suffocating them as his words settled in their mind.

“It’ll be the best, for the both of us.” The housewarden stated, his words sharp but his voice compassionate. “You have always trusted me, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” They replied immediately.

“Then trust me on this, too.” Vil replied, one of his hands cupping the cheeks of the Prefect. “Let’s be honest, we’re both tired-“

“I’m not.”

“(Y/n).”

“I love you.” They muttered, their voice breaking. Vil was wonderful, supportive, patient, someone they couldn’t image themselves living without, at least in that world where they had no one else. When did they lose him…? “Don’t you love me too?”

“Perhaps that’s not enough for us.”

“It can be, Vil, just let me in. Let me understand you.”

Vil observed them briefly, (Y/n) standing before him as a complete mess that he didn’t find himself capable of fixing. He didn’t have time to play around, nor to introduce them into his world. He had decisions to make.

“I’m not sure you’ll be able to. We’re…different.”

“Are you saying I’m not enough?”

“I’m saying we may be better on our own.”

The Ramshackle student removed his hand from their face, now standing to gaze into his eyes, his message clear in their mind as they realised Vil just didn’t want to deal with them anymore. They weren’t some kind of famous singer or a wealthy artist, they were just themselves. And Vil was Vil.

‘It was bound to happen, at some point’, they thought to reassure themselves.

“I’m not going to beg you for anything else, then.” They stated as firmly as they could, even if the tears on their cheeks could indicate something else. “But I love you sincerely, and you won’t find that easily. I hope you can find what you’re looking for by yourself.”

“I wish you well, (Y/n).”

“I don’t believe in your words anymore, Vil.”

⤿

⤿

Loving (Y/n) used to be like a bright morning on a sunny day. Warm, inviting, tender towards anyone who could turn towards them, never rejecting the opportunity of lending a hand to whoever needed it. A gentle light that kept him away from the darkest days.

Suffocating, at times, making him wish for the night to arrive just to find solace in the familiar cold.

He believed it’d be more comfortable, going back to his usual starry nights where he shined as brightly as always. The memories of his time with the Prefect going away in no time.

Except that it never happened.

He found himself waking up and looking around for them. At night, he kept in mind to remind the Prefect to clean their face and take care of their skin, only for him to remember that they weren’t staying with him anymore. At school, he didn’t have anyone to hold hands when no one else was looking. At work, he received multiple compliments about his efforts and looks, but none as sincere as (Y/n)’s words.

And (Y/n) seemed to have disappeared from every place he was in.

They were still in Night Raven College, of course, but no matter how much he looked for them or how many times he asked Epel about them, they seemed to do an excellent job at avoiding him.

“You were the one who did this, don’t go after them now.” The first-year replied to him on a particularly stressful day.

He couldn’t believe it; Him? Missing someone he took out of his life by himself? Wishing to be with a person who didn’t belong to this world? Who couldn’t understand him- No, who he didn’t allow to understand him?

Then the holidays began. He went back home, and worked as usual, doing campaigns and assisting events, as glamorous as always, never showing his pain.

“I heard you got the role of the main character for your next role! That’s amazing, you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” An older actress congratulated him in the middle of a charity party, as she seemed to be the best person to spend time amongst so many wealthy people and royals.

“Indeed. I’m very grateful to have this opportunity.” He answered politely.

“I’m excited to see how it’ll turn out- Oh, isn’t that the Prince of Sunset Savana? I haven’t seen him at an event in years.”

“What?”

Vil turned around, easily spotting Leona among so many people, but his attention was soon dragged to something else, or rather, someone else. Someone who walked along him, hand in hand. Someone who used to hold his hand before.

“(Y/n)…” He mumbled unconsciously.

They looked stunning, but it wasn’t as if they were ever bad-looking in the first place. They looked happy, peaceful even when they were surrounded by strangers who seemed as curious as him to know what was his relationship with the prince.

Perhaps Leona’s arm around their waist calmed down in such an unknown environment for them. Or maybe it was the words he whispered in their ear when they seemed to get uncomfortable.

Vil couldn’t even imagine that Leona could be attentive to someone else, but there he was, looking at (Y/n) with love, taking great pride in presenting them as his partner to anyone that asked him, no matter who was it.

“Prince Leona! It’s been so long, how have you been?” The actress that accompanied him asked the beastman as soon as they approached.

“I’ve been doing great, as you can see.” He replied, proudly holding (Y/n)’s hand.

“It’s so nice to know you have found such a beautiful partner, what’s your name, darling?”

“My name is (Y/n), is such a pleasure to meet you.”

“I can say the same! Vil, Leona is your classmate, right? Have you met his partner before?” The woman asked innocently, oblivious to Vil’s irritated mood, even though he tried to mask it.

“Well, we-“

“We meet briefly at Night Raven College, but we’re not really close.” (Y/n) interrupted, as Leona grinned quietly next to them. “And it’s been a nice conversation, but it’s getting quite late, isn’t it?”

“Do you want to leave?” Asked Leona with his regular tone, but even Vil was able to catch a certain fondness that was unusual in him.

“Yes, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course, Herbivore, let’s go home.”

“Goodbye then.” The Prefect spoke politely, gazing for the last time at him, his eyes now more confident than the last time he was able to look at them. “I hope you’re doing well, Vil.”

‘Well, perhaps I’m still stuck in the role of the villain, after all.'

⤿

⤿

[marigold-hills]

june 5: gold | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 412

PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART • FIRST PART

Remus is rendered in golds and in shadows. The light of the moon comes through the window but doesn’t touch him here, the oil lamp stronger in the night with its soft, diffused glow. It sets Remus’ curls alight, reflects in his eyes – sharper and more yellow with the coming full moon.

Sirius throws caution to the wind. It’s only possible because it’s 2am and nights like this tend themselves to hazy conversations with words which couldn’t be said in the morning.

You’re my home, Sirius thinks a nonsensical thought and out loud says: “I want to keep you close.”

Remus’ hand pressed into his skin, held immobile by a tight grip Sirius can’t release.

“I want to keep you safe,” Sirius continues, and he knows that the words are true and that they are an explanation for the tattoo, but it’s not the full truth. Is it? No, he feels that somewhere else, like a blind spot in his mind. Frustrated with the need to scratch it into forefront and scared of what he would reveal.

“You do keep me safe, Sirius,” Remus says because he always knows how to soothe. “And if you want me close, I’ll be there. I’m not going anywhere.”

Moony has fingers made for holding quills and wands, a voice for speaking ancient words. Now he holds Sirius, fingers over heart, and his words are a balm.

“Really?”

“Of course, Pads. You know that. Anything for you. You didn’t have to tattoo a wolf symbol on yourself to bind me to you.”

Something unlocks. Is that what he’d been doing? He’s well aware of the end of the year fast approaching and with it the last of times they’ll live together like this – sure they’ve all agreed to share a flat after Hogwarts, but Sirius isn’t naïve. He knows life gets in the way of all plans. Maybe that was what it was, a desperate attempt to keep Moony with him, in any form, in any way.

“And you don’t mind?”

“Mind? Pads, how could I mind. I feel the same way.”

Yes, he thinks, but also not quite, not enough. It should be a relief – it is a relief that Remus, Moony, his Moony feels the same about the situation, but the part of Sirius he doesn’t like to think about (the part he thinks is the Black family madness) cries out more.

Behind them there is a click of a door opening, then footsteps.

NOTES:

This is part 5!

This is a bit shorter than usual which I am sorry for, but I’m also pretty sure it’s worse than usual which I’m *more* sorry for. I got made redundant today (and on maternity leave, too!) so feeling a bit meh about life. I’ll probably come back and revisit it at some point in the future.

Remus is always golden when I write him - skin and hair and mind etc - so this was a nice prompt to get.

@moon-girl88 @digital-kam @tealeavesandtrash @sweetstarryskies @alltoounwellll @hunnybeemarie @hoje--aqui

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged in next parts)

[cissyenthusiast010155]

19, 35, and 48 please? I don’t know if I can choose multiple prompts, so hopefully that’s okay (if not, just 19 please). I’m thinking Larissa x reader. Maybe they’ve been together for a little while, but they haven’t really ventured into a more kinky/bdsm side of their relationship yet even though they’ve discussed it. Larissa’s worried about being more dominant because she’s afraid she’ll make R uncomfortable, even though R has repeatedly said she won’t be uncomfortable. Anyway, R starts teasing Larissa and trying to bait her into dominating the absolute fuck out of her. Like, R will say things like “I get it, maybe it’s just too hard for you. Topping can be difficult, it requires a certain type of person”. Stuff like that. R’s a bit of a switch so she has experience with both sides, which makes it even more annoying for Larissa. Finally she snaps, and smut ensues in Larissa’s office. R makes Larissa work for it though, not immediately just going submissive (she keeps talking back, etc). Larissa does put her in her place though. Lots and lots of degradation please (and then Larissa makes fun of reader for getting off on being degraded). Maybe instead of a Mommy/Mistress kink, R calls Larissa Miss Weems or Principal Weems. Anyway, sorry, this is so long. Lots of degradation, maybe bondage if you feel like it, Larissa definitely being rougher with Reader. Really, add whatever kinks you want, I really like your writing so you can’t really go wrong.

If you don’t want to write this, or you’re not comfortable with it, please don’t worry about it!! ❤️

Put You in Your Place ~Dom!Larissa Weems xFem Switch!Brat!Reader

Summary— Read anon request. Anon Response— Hi hi anon! I would love to write this!! Thank you for your request. Hope you Enjoy! ♥️♥️

Mommy… Master List

Request & Prompt-List

#19. “I swear to god I’ll fuck the brattyness out of you till you can’t walk…”

#35. “Fuck. You did not just do that.”

#48. “Watch your mouth...”

Warnings: NSFW, smut, fingering, light oral sex, implied smut, teasing, taunting, dom/sub interactions, degradation, degradation kink, bratting, pussy slapping, spanking, clit stimulation, implied future smut, etc.

Enjoy (;

“Hey I get it, maybe it’s just too hard for you. Topping can be difficult, it requires a certain type of person…” you teased Larissa.

Your words made Larissa look up from the book she was reading and give you a glare.

She had been tolerating these teasing comments from you ever since you two had talked about wanting to spice up your sex lives, ever since Larissa had admitted to wanting to dominate you. But she was nervous and cautious. Larissa didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

“I’m a switch you know, I understand, I have some experience on both sides. Maybe you’re just not a top…” you hummed tauntingly.

Larissa had to admit, your commments were starting to get under her skin. You being a switch and naturally bratty didn’t help. No, it only made her more annoyed and close to snapping. But she kept her impulses to herself for now.

What Larissa really wanted was to drag you to her lap and make you behave… And that was only the beginning of what she wanted to do to you…

“Watch your mouth...” was all Larissa said in a strained tone of annoyance.

You smirked. It was working.

“You know you told me that you wanted to be more dominant, ‘Rissa, so why not just bend me over your desk…?” You ignored the woman’s warning, continuing your taunting.

Larissa strongly resisted the urge to roll her eyes at you or to groan. Instead she sighed deeply.

“But of course I wouldn’t make it easy for you. I mean, could you even top me…?”

She turned the page in her book, her hold on the book tightening in annoyance and frustration.

You weren’t going to let this go. You wanted to push Larissa as far as she could go. You wanted her to snap and dominate you. Fuck you silly.

You were close to getting your wish…

“Behave or I swear to god I’ll fuck the brattyness out of you till you can’t walk…” Larissa gritted out.

You wiggled teasingly in your seat.

“I’d like to see you try…”

At this, Larissa growled. Full on growled. You had never heard sounds like that come from the poised woman. It sent sparks of electricity straight to your core.

But you weren’t giving up that easily. You stood up from your seat and sauntered over to where Larissa was sitting at her desk. You then sat down in her lap, straddling her left thigh. You then rolled your hips, letting out a leud groan in the woman’s ear. Larissa watched your every move intently. You rolled your hips a second time, letting out another leud groan.

“Fuck.” Larissa breathed out slowly, “You did not just do that.”

You bit your lip and grinned.

“I did… What are you gonna do about it…?” You taunted the woman.

Larissa growled again. Louder and lower this time. Something about it wiped the grin right off your face. Maybe you had bitten off more than you could chew…

Before you could do anything else, Larissa had lifted you by the scruff of your neck with ease, she’d spun you around, and had slammed you over the desk, bending over for her. Her hand held you firmly against the desk, your tits and faced squished.

Your heart raced and your breathing was off. You shook your ass at the woman in a teasing manner. You expected her to smack it as punishment, but she didn’t.

Instead you only felt her one hand on your back firmly. And then her other hand opening your legs wide. You heard a little shuffling off feet, before a sudden warmth against your thigh. You squirmed as Larissa licked a trail of her warmth up your inner thigh.

“Stay still.” She growled, stopping for a moment to command you, before continuing your torture.

You started to sweat. As she held you dimly against her desk, her tongue began to slowly unravel you. But again, you wouldn't give in that easy.

"I expect an answer when I give you an order…" she warily growled.

"Yes mommy…" you teasingly replied.

You gasped and cried out as Larissa hit your clothed cunt with her hand with a sharp smack.

She hit your pussy at least ten more times, leaving you shaking and fighting the desperate urge to squirm.

"It's Principal Weems or Miss Weems to you…" Larissa lustfully growled.

“Yes Miss Weems…” you groaned in a sing-song tone.

“Unless I ask you something, you are to stay silent and motionless. Understand?”

“Mhmmmm, whatever you say, Miss Weems…” you said while rolling your eyes.

She smacked your cunt five more times. This all was proving extra difficult as her tongue snaked its way to your core.

Eventually, it got to your clothed clit. Larissa’s cold fingers hooked your underwear aside with ease, before her hot mouth fully encaptured your clit and sucked.

“AhhhHhhhhHhhH—!!” You whimpered.

But your sound was met with Larissa’s mouth quickly retracting. Then followed by another hard smack to your cunt.

You bit your lip to stifle the whimper you were itching to let out. The smacks were starting to add up.

“Fuck you!!” You spat.

Larissa chuckled. She removed your pants from your body with ease. Then she smacked your ass. And hard. You were sure it would leave a mark.

“Say it again and I won’t stop until you’re crying…” Larissa growled darkly.

You couldn’t help yourself, instinctively sticking your ass high up in the air for the woman. Larissa chuckled and quirked her eyebrow.

“Oh do you like the idea of that…? You like to be spanked?” She taunted.

You nodded desperately.

“Love it Miss Weems…!!”

So she smacked your ass again. You squirmed and whimpered lightly.

“Silence, slut.”

You gasped at her choice pet name. And Larissa noticed. She leaned forward, her mouth right by the shell of your ear.

“I’m going to spank you like the little whore you are, and you are not going to make a sound… Right, pretty slut?”

You nodded.

“Yes Miss Weems…” you whimpered.

Larissa grinned at your words. And she proceeded to smack your ass raw. She truly didn’t stop until you were crying and begging for her to stop. And what she said while she spanked you, it made you the most wet that you’d ever been. You’d never heard such degrading speech.

Eventually, Larissa finally relented and got back on her knees. Latching her mouth onto your clit once more. Her free hands fingers teased your entrance too. Before giving in and giving you what you so desperately wanted, Larissa couldn’t resist the urge to fuck with you some more. Her fingers continued to tease your clit and entrance as she stood back up and placed her mouth by your ear.

“You’re such a desperately wet, slut… Need to be fucked and put in your place so badly… don’t you…?” Larissa taunted with a growl at the end.

“Mhmmmmm, miss weems p-please need it so bad…!” You whimpered desperately.

Your body was shaking and tear stains were across your face. You were sweating and in pure, tortuous bliss.

“You like it when I call you a slut, huh…? Like it when I call you out for being the whore you know you are…?”

You nodded vigorously, your cunt fluttering desperately around nothing.

“Tell me what you want, slut.” Larissa rasped in your ear.

“W-want to be full, stuffed all the way, Miss Weems… Please fill me up!! I’m your slut, stuff me full…!!” You begged the woman.

“Hmmmm… You’ve earned one finger, stupid slut…” Larissa hummed, roughly thrusting one finger inside you.

You bit your lip hard to contain the whimper that wanted to escape. And while her one finger was already heaven, you needed one stuffed full. You needed more. And she knew it.

“What’s the problem little whore…? Not enough for your massive cunt…?”

You nodded harshly with tears forming once more.

“More MORE please God more Miss Weems!!”

Your hands were now desperately fisting the sheets of the bed for some semblance of control and desperation.

“Beg, little slut… Beg me.”

You would have kept fighting the woman… if it wasn’t so easy to just give in… so you did. You crumbled. And gave the woman what she wanted… You submitted and begged.

Larissa Weems Masterlist

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Down to the Meadow

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 3

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pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: swearing, descriptions of depression, descriptions of violence/gore (canon typical), more of Frank being concerned about what reader is eating (very vague ED references)

a/n: AHHHHH I AM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE! A huge thank you to the anon who reminded me that it was Monday LOL. I am so glad that someone else enjoys this story because I love writing it. This chapter delves into Franks trauma and mental state and I hope you all enjoy!

w/c: 5.5k

The dream evolved after the first iteration. Each time he closed his eyes, a new horror cemented itself into the sentient nightmare that was slowly consuming his entire life. 

As with the first dream, it started with you joining Maria in his standard nightmares. Your beautiful figure sitting on the carousel alongside his late wife and kids as those assholes gunned you down. A patch of red slowly spreading across your pretty white dress as your smile morphed into a face of horror. 

The weird thing was, his subconscious laced the nightmares with gorgeous, peaceful images of you. Like his mind was desperately trying to remind him that good things are easily ruined. 

You pulling cookies out of the oven. Then, you being blown to bits in front of him in the field. You laughing at a joke he didn’t mean to make. Followed quickly by your screams as the life drains from your face. 

You picking flowers in a sun kissed field, before a large black mass overtakes you, swallowing you whole. 

Though his resting mind was eager to pry him away from you, to spare you a terrible fate, his waking mind was yearning to let him wrap himself around your finger. The fine line he was treading started to look more like a noose—and he was weaving it himself. 

A cold, squishy object nudged Frank’s outstretched hand deliberately. Groaning, the Marine retracted his hand into the cocoon of sheets he had created in his uneasy sleep. A pitiful whine shattered the early morning silence and sent a white-hot strike of pain through his skull. 

Pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes, his throat twisted in a silent cry of pain. Prying his eyes open, he was blinded by the daylight, searing an imprint into his eyelids. 

Nausea burned in his gut as he contemplated opening his eyes again. He wanted nothing more than to lie here and rot all day, but Max clearly needed to go out. The thought of bringing Max outside the apartment right now was enough to make a gag rise in his throat. An idea rattled around in his skull, the pain of his hangover too intense for him to even remember that Frank Castle never asked for help unless he was on his death bed. Braving the sun’s unintentional inferno, he let his eyes slide open again. 

A hiss of pain escaped his lips and he drew a hand up to block the rays as best he could while he took in his surroundings. He had fallen asleep on his couch after making a mess of his apartment, but his phone sat prominently displayed on the coffee table amid a smattering of empty bottles. Grasping it for dear life, he sent a message as quickly as possible before shutting it off and letting his head fall back to the pillows. 

Frank: I hate to ask this but could you take Max out for me? I’ve got a bad headache. 

A vibration let him know that you’d responded, prompt as always. 

You: I’m sorry you’re not feeling well ☹️ I’ll be right over. 

Breathing deeply, Frank heaved himself off the couch, stumbling to the door to unlock it before retreating to his created sanctuary. 

Frank: You can let yourself in. Door’s open. 

Drifting in and out of a painful consciousness, Frank hazily remembered the door opening, a cool hand on his face, the same gentle palm offering him some extra strength painkillers and a glass of water, before all signs of other life disappeared from his apartment. 

When he woke again, you were returning with Max in tow—your ethereal form outlined by a halo of golden light as you crouched in front of him. Frank was vexed by the sight of the skirt of your beautiful dress pooling on the floor.

“Hey, big guy. Feeling any better?” Your voice was soft as your dainty fingers stroked his arm with a featherlight touch. 

Frank grunted in affirmation, not trusting himself to look at your dazzling eyes and risk seeing honest concern. There was no way his fatigue riddled mind could resist you, it was too dangerous. 

You gave him a small smile. “Well I took Max for a walk to and around Central Park, so he should be a happy camper for a while. Did you want me to stay?” 

Blood rushed to Frank’s ears. This is exactly what he was afraid of. Do not say yes. Do not say yes. Do not— “Please.” His voice cracked around the word, making him cringe. You fucking asshole. You piece of shit. 

“Hey, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but tell it to quiet down. It doesn’t seem to be helping.” Your knuckles brushed over his cheek and he leaned into the touch, weakening your worried frown. 

“I just…I ain’t good company, sunshine. I shouldn’t let you stay, I can’t ask that of you.” Your pinched expression intensified as you listened to his deep grumble crack on the pet name he used for you. Cupping his cheek tenderly, a small smile slipped through as you reassured him. 

“You don’t need to be good company for me to enjoy being with you, Frank.” You shuffled closer to the couch, hand moving to scratch lightly at his scalp which made him groan in appreciation, eyes falling closed. 

Frank sighed, a strong sense of guilt ballooning in his chest “I don’t deserve you.” 

“Oh stop. You deserve to be happy. Whatever and whoever helps you get there, yah?” Your voice was definitive, almost stern, which made the corners of his lips twitch up in a smirk. 

“So bossy.” He murmured, his smirk growing as you gave his hair a small tug in retaliation.

“Can I sit?” You jerked your head to his couch and he nodded, sitting up to make room for you.

Ignoring his desire to let you care for him, he rested his arms across the back of the couch. The ghost of your body heat dancing over his exposed skin in an almost comforting waltz. It wasn’t a great placebo for your gentle touches, but it would have to do. 

You were quiet for a moment, worriedly glancing around the apartment. Empty beer and liquor bottles littered the coffee table. While you wouldn’t dare call Frank’s place “messy,” your rigid, grouchy neighbor was never less than meticulous. He’d mentioned his military background to you once, which would explain his precision and attention to detail. And that was why the litter seemed so out of place, you supposed. 

Preoccupied with brainstorming a way to assist, Frank nearly made you jump when he broke the silence. 

“Sorry I ain’t much fun.” 

You chuckled, poking his shoulder. “I already told you, tough guy, you don’t have to be fun. You can sleep more if you want.” 

“Nah.” Frank’s face contorted with a grimace making you giggle.

“Ok, have you eaten yet?” You tilted your head at him, darling smile persisting even though his place was a mess and he was a disaster. His doubt began churning again. She deserves better. Send her away. 

Frank just shook his head, both to clear it of the whirling thoughts and to answer your question, so you continued. “How does an incredibly greasy burger sound?”

The Marine groaned, “Like fuckin’ heaven.” 

Giggling, you took his hand. “I know a good diner not far from here. Join me for lunch?” 

“Sounds like a plan, sunshine.” Frank allowed you to pull him from the couch, appreciative that you took care not to jostle him too much. Armed with more painkillers and a pair of sunglasses, the two of you headed out for a meal. 

The amount of care you took, in the short walk between his apartment and your destination, to ensure his comfort on the bustling NYC streets was honestly outrageous. How someone could give two shits about a man that massacred people without trying was beyond him, but he was grateful nonetheless. Keeping a tender hold of his hand, you led him around the other New Yorkers with immense grace, your sweet face bright with a smile the entire time. Thinking it would be best for his pounding head, you refrained from making conversation, simply turning around to grin at him every once in a while. 

As you reached the diner, you pulled open the door for him before his outstretched free hand could touch the handle. Frank was always so chivalrous around you, it was time for him to get a taste of his own medicine. Smiling sweetly, you bit back a laugh at his narrowing eyes as he skeptically accepted your action. 

“Thanks, sunshine.” 

“Why of course, sweetheart.” You coated your voice with honey and Frank grumbled, furrow above his brow deepening. Bringing his calloused hand up to your lips, you placed a kiss on his knuckles before brushing over them with your thumb. “Relax, Frank. Let someone else care for you this time, hmm?” 

The tension on his face ebbed before evaporating. Poking his cheek, that was now dusted with a rosy blush, you giggled, pulling him towards an empty booth. 

Sitting across from you, Frank slid his sunglasses off to fully appreciate your appearance today while you read over the laminated menu. Dolled up in one of your signature floral sundresses, your hair was styled differently—pulled away from your face, revealing more of you to him. Natural light poured in from the window framing your booth, highlighting your slender hands and neckline that plunged deeper than normal. Frank found his eyes tracing the line of fabric down into the valley of your visible cleavage until your sudden movement spooked him from the trance. 

���Ooooo the red onion and goat cheese burger looks good. That must be new or I would have tried it before. What are you going to get?” You beamed at him, blissfully unaware of the way his thoughts lingered on your skin. Stuck in his own head, he wondered if your melodic voice would respond to his touches the way he wished it would. What would you sound like if he ran a hand over your thighs? Would you get louder once it became his tongue?

“Frank?” You took hold of his arm that was resting on the dull plastic table, startling him. Your pretty brow pinched, eyes running over his face for any sign of distress. “Are you ok? Is it too loud or bright in here?” 

“I’m a’right, sunshine. Jus’ lookin’ at ya, is all.” He grumbled, picking up his own menu as heat rushed to your face. 

“Oh, well, er—everything is good, so whatever you choose will be, um, good.” You stumbled through the sentence, trying not to dwell on Frank’s consistent compliments. 

A waitress eventually approached the two of you to take your order. Taking your cues from Frank, you ordered a strawberry milkshake with your burger while he requested a chocolate one—Frank seemed more than pleased about the addition to your meal and you weren’t quite sure why. 

While waiting for your food, you and Frank were looking out at the flow of people through the window beside you. You happily commented on their outfits, and what jobs you thought they held. Though it was clear you were being overly goofy to lighten his mood, he encouraged it—asking you to describe their personality and voice along with their job. 

Letting your lilting tone wash over him, he focused on the way your fingers fit so perfectly in his. Your thumb continued drawing patterns across his knuckles, even though your focus was outside. 

While you were giving a ridiculous impression of a man in a full suit that clearly thought he was tough shit, Frank felt a confession bubbling up in his throat. 

“Friday is my daughter's birthday. She would have been 18.”

“Oh, Frank…” The devastation in his statement made emotion well up in your own chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thought I owed ya an explanation. F’r the mess.” His hand circled towards himself lamely. 

“You don’t owe me anything. Not one single thing, sweetheart. I’m here for whatever you need, explanation or not.” You squeezed his hand again, looking at him with concern, but not pity. 

“I meant what I said earlier. You deserve better.” Keeping his eyes downcast, his heart plunged when your fingers stilled over the back of his hand before slipping out of his hold entirely. 

Closing his eyes in disappointment, he assumed he’d rightfully lost your support until he felt a burst of heat settle against his side as you wrapped him in an embrace. Your hand buried itself in his hair and he let you pull him into your neck. 

“You are exactly the kind of man I deserve, Frank. You’re allowed to grieve, and, honestly, if you showed no emotion that would be a huge red flag. It’s ok to struggle and it’s ok to ask for help. I am always always a door away if you need company or someone to talk to. I know I tend to dominate the conversation, but I have been told that I’m occasionally a good listener.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, stroking over the spot of impact gently when he subconsciously leaned into the contact. 

“I don’t doubt it, sunshine.” He idled in your hold before drawing back, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he moved away. “Her name was Lisa. She, um, she died in a shootout. Along with my wife and son.” 

Before he could continue, your waitress returned to your table. Thanking her briefly for the food, you positioned Frank’s food in front of him, picking up a fry. Watching you turn to him expectantly, he found himself telling you everything. For the first time in his life, he understood why Red felt so strongly about his religion. Confessing his sins to you lifted a burden that he had lived with for so long, he had previously assumed it was a permanent piece of him. He’d found a new altar to kneel at, and he wouldn’t give that up, he couldn’t. 

He talked for what felt like hours. Telling you about Maria, their meeting, their love, their marriage. He told you about Lisa and Frankie, how he felt like he had failed Frankie more so than anyone else because of the responsibility he’d unknowingly placed on the boy’s shoulders. While he didn’t go into detail about their deaths, he spoke about things that had haunted him silently. The pieces of his relationships with his wife and children that he kept so close to his chest, Curtis didn’t even know about them. 

By the time he’d picked his plate clean, he was exhausted. Revealing his fears to you was relieving, but it took so much energy. Running a palm over his face roughly, he drained the last of his milkshake. 

“I’m sorry, sunshine. That was…a lot.” 

“Don’t be sorry. I appreciate you trusting me with this.” Your words were genuine. “Let me finish my burger and then we can go home.” 

His heart fluttered at the small implication that his apartment was your home as well. You may not have intended it, but it’s warmed his chest nonetheless. As you worked your way through the rest of your food, you remained tucked into Frank’s side with his arm around your shoulders. 

Letting his arm fall to your waist, he stroked a thumb over your hip gently, making you smile. Popping the last bit of sandwich into your mouth, you fell more firmly into his hold. Studying his face with a small smile, you brushed a few strands of hair off of his face, eyes landing on his lips for a moment before you looked away. 

Flagging down your waitress, you started to hand over your card but Frank’s large hand settled over yours. Passing the waitress his card instead, his lips twitched in a tiny smile. 

“I got this one, sunshine. Could she get the rest of that shake to go?” 

You grinned at him, pressing another kiss to his cheek. 

Frank was sure he hadn’t smiled this much in years. The pair of you traipsed along the city streets, under the impression that the sunlight would do you both some good. Of course, he’d needed to persuade you and your adorably furrowed brow that his headache had faded and could withstand the bright lights and urban ambiance. You’d once again woven your fingers with his as you ambled along, this time threading your arms together too. The heat of your skin pressed to his was a drug unlike any other. He was infuriatingly drunk on you and his heart refused to do anything about it. 

Because it was you, with your brilliant smile and silvery laugh. He’d been constructing walls around himself for years, and you’d strode up with a basket of pastries, walking straight into his life and tidying it up like you had always been there. 

Stuck in his own mind, Frank failed to see the teenager sprinting down the sidewalk. His growing daydream of you cementing yourself into his life was shattered as your hand was abruptly tugged from his grasp, your body falling to the cement under the weight of the gangly teen who’d toppled you. 

“Oh gosh, are you alright, ma’am? I am so sorry! I didn’t see—“ 

“The hell?” Frank snapped at the kid, who turned white as a sheet as he stared up at the towering man. 

Kneeling beside you, Frank felt his heart constrict seeing the crimson-tinged scrapes on your elbows, small trickles of blood spreading from them across your pristine skin. Not to mention, your beautiful dress was splattered with the remnants of your milkshake, the styrofoam crushed against your chest. 

Snarling, Frank turned back to the boy, still crouched beside you, arm outstretched so you could pull yourself up. “Jesus, did ya even look where you were goin’? Or did ya just feel like injuring her and ruining her pretty dress.” 

The kid’s adams apple bobbed as he gulped in terror, wide eyes watching Frank’s movements as he backed away in surrender. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been paying attention.” 

“Yah. Ya should’ve. Fat lot of good that does us now, though.” Frank spoke tersely, feeling a hand rest on his bicep. 

Sitting up, you gave him a pointed look before smiling at the teen. “It’s quite alright, I just got scraped up, is all. Don’t worry about him, he’s a little protective. Are you ok?” 

Only you would be able to experience a mess like that and worry about the idiot that caused it. The kid nodded, breathlessly running his hands through curly, brown hair. 

“I’m fine, ma’am. I am so sorry, again, did you need help—“ Bravely (or stupidly), the boy stepped towards you with an arm held out, offering to help you up. Fists clenching, a low growl left Frank, scaring the kid back into his senses. 

“Sorry, er, have a good day!” The kid chirped fearfully, dashing away. You giggled, craning your neck to watch him disappear into the masses. Grabbing Frank’s hand with your own sugar-stained fingers, you allowed him to help you stand, brushing a knuckle over his cheek when you saw his fierce scowl. 

“I’m ok, tough guy. He didn’t mean it.” Giving him an earnest look, you withdrew your hand from his face, giggling when he slid forward on his toes to follow the warmth of your touch. Gently sliding your palm against his nape, you scratched at his hair—earning a deep, pleased rumble from him—and tugged him back into a moderate pace. “I would love to get this dress washed so it doesn’t stain, though. Let’s get home.”

Tense scowl easing, Frank gratefully let you guide him back to your building. 

“Frank, really, I’m ok! You don’t need to—“ You pleaded, watching the man pace around his apartment, grabbing various first aid supplies to tend to your shallow wounds. 

Frank ignored your bargaining tone, shuffling through his depleted kits for the supplies he sought.  Armed with bandages, saline, and cotton pads, he kneeled before your seated form on his couch. “Course I don’t need to. I want to. That bother ya?”

Sitting before him in a cotton shirt and pajama pants, he felt his heart clench as he studied your soft figure. You shook your head at his inquiry, looking at him with eyes filled with an unrecognizable emotion. Had he upset you? Was he being too pushy?

“No, it’s just…” You trailed off, eyes avoiding his own as you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. His stomach tightened, waiting for you to reveal that he’d pushed you away, but the sentiment never came. “I don’t want to be any trouble, Frankie.” 

Oh. Oh. It’s not defensiveness, it’s doubt. Guilt. He’d been so wrapped up in his own insecurities that he had forgotten you were fully capable of falling prey to your own. Setting the supplies aside, he took your hands, looking firmly into your eyes. 

“Ain’t no trouble. Not to me. Not when it’s you.” His words were honest and the short, strangled gasp that escaped you told him you weren’t expecting it. A hint of a smile ghosted over your lips, making his mouth twitch in tandem. 

Silently, he pushed up your sleeve and rotated your arm to expose the torn skin. Dampening a cotton pad with saline, he swiped over the injury as tenderly as he could, terrified of seeing you wince. Holding still, you smiled at him, free hand coming to rub circles over his back as he worked. 

Focusing his eyes intently on the wound, he ignored the growing warmth in his chest, expanding with your continued touches. Though he was staring at your ravaged skin, his thoughts were elsewhere—leading him to put too much pressure on the wound. Your hand gave a barely noticeable twitch of pain, but he cursed his existence anyway. 

“Shit, ‘m sorry darlin’.” Loosening his hold on you, he bandaged up the shallow cuts. You just smiled at him, tracing a finger over his chin. 

“No need to be sorry, Frankie. Thanks for taking care of me.” He blushed, grumbling out a dismissive response and returning to his work. 

Though the day had already worn him out, long strings of words spilled out his mouth. Stories pulled from him by your sheer magnetism. You gave reassuring touches and encouraging nods as he once again told you everything. How he’d been a trouble maker as a kid and ended up enlisting, the brotherhood he’d found in Curtis and Billy. There was no way your perceptive eyes missed the flinch he gave when mentioning his former best friend, so he moved on quickly. He spoke about coming home to Maria and the kids, dealing with the shenanigans of two elementary schoolers while struggling with PTSD, the way he’d grown to appreciate the quiet and the way he hated it now. 

While you were more than comfortable carrying a conversation, he’d never found more solace in letting someone listen to him. You remained quiet, but present enough to stoke the embers of his energy as he rambled, squeezing his arm when he stuttered and smiling softly at the anecdotes. With a sigh, he placed the final bandage on your skin and pulled your sleeve to cover it. You were silent for a moment, studying the fabric of your top before his doubt got the better of him. 

“I’m sorry, you can leave if you want. I didn’t mean—“ 

“Oh Frank,” Chuckling softly, you pulled him into a hug. While the gesture was unexpected, he was overwhelmed with gratitude as he melted into the embrace. Pulling back slightly, you pressed your forehead to his. “What on earth gave you the impression that I didn’t want to be here with you?” 

Snorting at his own lack of control over his fears, he nudged his marred, crooked nose against your pristine one. “Wanted to give you a route to escape, is all.” 

“Don’t want one.” You whispered, growing breathless as he ran his fingers along the soft skin of your cheeks. 

The two of you sat there, slowly melding together, for what felt like hours. A cloud of hesitation and want steadily growing around both of you as you desperately sorted out whether or not to make a move. Before either of you could act on your desires, a shrill alarm rung out—startling you so intensely you shrieked, nearly toppling off the couch. 

“Shit, sorry, honey that’s me.” Large thumbs fumbling over the screen of his crappy phone, he shut off the horrific noise and chucked the device across the coffee table. “You ok?” 

You were panting, on the edge of giggles at your clumsiness, but you nodded. “Something wrong?” 

“No, sunshine, nothin’ like that. My friend, Curt, he’s hostin’ group today. Asked me to come.” Frank wallowed in the disappointment of the ruined moment, cursing his own rotten luck for pushing you away. 

“Oh, I can get out of your hair. Sorry to keep you!” Standing from the couch, you made to straighten the fabric bunched around your waist but a hand shot out to wrap around your wrist. 

“It’s not for a couple a’ hours, if you wanna stay.” Frank’s dark eyes flitted over your face, scanning for any sign of required affection. Luckily, it didn’t take long for you to break into your signature dazzling smile and perch on the edge of his seat, practically sitting in his lap. 

“Course I’ll stay. I could make something for you to bring, if you’d like?” 

“Somethin’ like those addictive cookies?” Frank asked, raising a brow teasingly. 

Leaning in close, your murmur danced across his chin as you grinned up at him. “Tell you what, I’ll teach you the recipe, then you can bring them whenever you’d like. You have to be careful though, these are dangerous secrets I’m revealing to you, sir.”

Frank laughed, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ll take ‘em to the grave, sunshine.” 

Scrolling through your phone, you sighed as you switched apps yet again. Nothing was holding your attention and the boredom of it all was eating you alive. 

Biting your lip hopefully, you flicked your screen to your message inbox, heart sinking when you saw there were no new messages. 

You’d spent damn near 8 hours with Frank, yet you couldn’t help but mourn his absence this evening. It was well-known both to you and your loved ones that you were quick to get attached to people, especially if they were brooding or lonely. Leo always referred to this as your “penchant for strays” given your obsession with pitbulls and black cats in addition to society’s lone wolves. But there was so much more to Frank than his soft grumpiness. 

Frank was sweet and protective, and his actions were proof that cared for you deeply despite only knowing you a few weeks. Your face felt clammy just thinking about the way he patched up your minor scrapes earlier today. You wondered if his tender first aid skills were developed during his short time with his wife and children. 

It was no surprise to learn about Frank’s tragic backstory. Though you had done your best to keep his life private, you’d managed to piece together the key points of his service, his loss, and his downfall. Your conversations today had simply filled the gaps, and fueled your existing desire to learn more about him. 

Despite your unassuming, feminine nature, you couldn’t help but empathize with Frank and his violent past. His actions didn’t scare you, revenge was something you’d dealt with intimately throughout your life, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful that so many dangerous individuals were no longer around to terrorize your beloved city. 

Learning more about his past had only drawn you to Frank even more, as if learning about each segment of his being only strengthened the invisible current that washed you repeatedly against his rocky cliff side. His violence wasn’t unnerving to you, simply more evidence that this man was exactly as passionate as you’d interpreted him to be. 

“The Punisher” they called him. The name was brutal, absolute. It wasn’t the image of the vigilante that you’d settled on. Yours was complicated, human. Just a man who loved his family so deeply that he was willing to bring hell to the people who took them away. His journey was one you couldn’t fathom, yet you understood. 

So you continued to pursue a friendship, maybe allowing it to blossom past traditional platonic boundaries, but how could you resist. Spending time with him meant time flying past, sharing bubbling laughs and stupid jokes with a man who looked at you like you hung the moon. When Frank was with you, his attention was deliberate and profound. He was focused on you and only you, even when surrounded by a myriad of other people and stimuli. You basked in the intensity of his gaze, letting it warm you from the inside out like a bright flame on a dark night. Did the world really expect you to not stoke those embers? 

As if your thoughts had summoned him, the unique text tone you’d assigned to Frank’s number sounded, igniting a bright smile on your face. 

Frank: You might have created a problem for me, sunshine. These guys want me to bring cookies every week now. 

You: All good things come at a price, sweetheart. Did you really think that you didn’t need to sell a piece of your soul to make cookies that good?

Frank: Pretty evil of you not to warn me. I’m starting to think this was your plan all along. 

You: Damn! You found me out. What can I do to make it up to you?

Frank: Do me a favor? 

You: What’s the favor?

A firm knock on your door startled you, making you drop your phone. Tilting your head quizzically, you shuffled over to peek out the peephole, grinning when you saw who had knocked. Pulling the door open, a very stern looking Frank—contrasted by the wiggling, excited pitbull at his feet—stood before you. 

“Hey there, sweethearts! C'mon in!” Beckoning the pair into your apartment, you led them to the couch, happily letting Max jump into your lap. 

“You’re spoilin’ him. He’s gonna think any furniture is fair game.” Frank’s gruff voice held a tinge of amusement but his face held a whirlwind of emotions you couldn’t quite decipher. Clearly, he was avoiding something. 

“He’s the bestest boy, Frankie! He deserves to sit on the couch with me!” Squishing the pit’s face, you gave Max a kiss before looking at Frank expectantly. “Sooo…you needed a favor?” 

Looking away from you, Frank sighed, rubbing at his nape. “Yah, shit, I hate to ask this, sunshine. I, uh, I was hopin’ you’d be willin’ to watch Max for a few days for me?” 

Your heart pounded, body flooding with concern, and slight excitement. “Of course, Frank. Everything ok?” 

He nodded, slouching forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, still refusing to make eye contact. “Yah, just a business trip, nothin’ crazy. I just wasn’t expectin’ it and couldn’t get him into his usual place. If you don’t wanna do it—“

“Frank,” You placed your hand on his forearm, stroking his skin softly as you tried to encourage him to relax. “Of course I’ll watch him. That’s not an issue. I’m just worried about you is all.” 

Frank snorted quietly, letting you take his hand and pressing a delicate kiss to your knuckles. “No need to worry, sunshine. I can handle myself.”

Sliding out from under Max, you strode over to the broad man on your couch and knelt before him, taking his other hand. “Never said you couldn’t, sweetheart—but I’m going to worry about you anyway. Anybody going with you on this job?” 

“Nah, just me. Why, you gettin’ jealous on me, darlin’?” Frank smirked at you and you shoved his knee, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest at the new nickname. 

“You wish, Castiglione. I’m cool as a cucumber.” Mirroring his tender affection, you pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Just don’t want you to forget about me while you’re out galavanting, is all.” 

“Don’t think that’s possible, sunshine. I can’t stop thinkin’ about ya.” Frank murmured, finally meeting your eyes. The two of you hovered mere inches apart, tension growing around you in a thick fog before Frank cleared his throat, dissipating it. 

“Anyway, I can leave a key with ya, if that’s not too weird…” 

“Yah, yah.” You let go of his hands, standing up to brush off your dress. “That works, Frankie. When do you leave?” 

“Well, uh, now. If you’re truly ok watching Max?” 

“I’d be honored. Just…promise me you’ll drive safe, sweetheart.” 

Frank’s gaze was fervent, drawing you in and pushing everything else away.

“I promise, sunshine.” 

Thank you for reading!! Comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated!

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[apomaro-mellow]

Two in the Bush 6

Part 5

Eddie was pretty gung-ho about the shower preparations while Billy seemed mostly ambivalent to it, which was expected. Eddie was really excitable while it was rare to see Billy get pumped for anything outside of the typical alpha stuff. Belatedly, Steve realized he should have put that on his list of things for Billy to work on and wondered how he could get him to do it.

“We gotta get this!”, Eddie came from a rack of clothes and held up a black onesie with a flaming guitar on it.

“Where did you even find that?”, Steve asked, stopping the cart.

“From the super badass baby section”, Eddie said as he tossed it into the cart.

There was no way in hell Steve was letting his baby wear that. Babies should wear soft things in bright colors with cute characters. But at least Eddie was thinking about what his future pup would wear. A stark contrast to Billy, who looked like a kid being dragged around, glowering, arms crossed.

“Isn’t the point of a baby shower that people buy this stuff for us?”

“They will, but we should get a few things ourselves”, Steve said.

“Yeah and no one’s gonna buy this for us!”, Eddie held up a little baby beanie with soft felt horns on top.

“Seriously, where are you finding this stuff?”, Steve asked, shaking his head but unable to hide the smile on his face. 

Billy watched the two of them go back and forth over what a pup should and shouldn’t wear and despite it being an argument, neither seemed particularly upset or frustrated with the other. They almost seemed like they were having fun. Billy had been stuck on it for the rest of the shopping. They brought it back to Steve’s place and for now, kept the clothes in what would eventually be the nursery.

“Yeah, I can see my vision now”, Eddie said, hands on his hips as he looked around. “We’ll put the mural on this wall, I’m thinking a dragon in flight over a village. Over there’s where we’ll have the speakers and tape deck. Nothin’ puts a baby to sleep like some Megadeth.”

“I know you’re joking. But it’s still a no”, Steve deadpanned. “I’m gonna order a pizza. Maybe between the two of you, you guys can figure out some real nursery decor.”

He walked out, leaving the two alphas alone. Eddie continued to survey the room. So far, it only had a dresser. The crib was still in Steve’s room for now.

“How do you do that?”, Billy asked, although it sounded like he did so through gritted teeth.

“Hm? Do what?”, Eddie asked back.

“You disagree with him, argue with him but it’s never-you never escalate or blow up at each other. Are you just playing a game? Is that foreplay to you guys?”

Eddie chuckled and shook his head. “If you think that’s foreplay, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hey, hey, sorry dude, look, that was a legit question, right?” Eddie held his hands up. “It’s not really arguing it’s like…bickering, you know?”

“No I don’t.” Billy crossed his arms, prompting Eddie to elaborate.

Eddie leaned against the dresser. “It’s like, I’ll say things that I know will annoy him, but not make him mad. And it’s fun to watch him get worked up, isn’t it?”

It was fun to get Steve worked up. Made the sex good too. But Billy had never argued just for the fun of it. How was Eddie able to do it so easily? Eddie could see something warring inside of Billy and decided to throw him a bone.

“Look, it’s not hard. The next time something comes up, just neg him a little”, Eddie suggested.

“Hey, you guys want breadsticks with the pizza?”, Steve called out.

“Breadsticks fucking suck”, Billy replied.

Eddie’s face fell into his palms. He might need to write out instructions for this guy.

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

Billy got another chance when he was to tag along with Steve for his next appointment. It would have been all three of them, but Eddie had cars to work on. He and Billy had talked beforehand and Billy had written down Eddie’s points on a napkin to keep himself straight.

Don’t attack him directly

Annoy, not anger

Have fun with it

“Why are there all these rules?”, Billy questioned.

“They’re unspoken, but important”, Eddie had said.

He’d never felt this nervous when it came to Steve before. He was easy. Get him riled up a bit, fuck, rinse and repeat. But a pup was potential to be something new. And he didn’t want to lose Steve just because he couldn’t get with the program and evolve.

“Are you okay?”, Steve asked as they entered the clinic.

Billy had gotten pretty good at hiding his scent thanks to his childhood, so he must have slipped for Steve to be able to tell he was bothered by something. He shrugged before remembering him being emotionally stunted was a sticking point for Steve.

“Just wondering how you plan to let down Munson when we found out it’s not his.”

Well, Rome wasn’t built in a day after all.

Steve rolled his eyes. “So sure it’s yours, huh?”

Eddie’s words echoed in Billy’s head. “Sometimes, he’ll give you a real easy in. Something like a challenge. Go ahead and take it.”

Was that it? Was that an in? Should he take it? What should he say? Billy wondered if he could take the napkin out of his pocket without Steve noticing. Had it been too long for him to respond? It felt like he’d spaced out for too long. Steve’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to say something else, Billy inwardly panicking, when a nurse called Steve’s name.

They stood and Billy only felt half saved. Steve definitely noticed his pause. And the fact that Billy had yet to answer. They got set up in the room and the doctor did most of the talking, checking in on Steve’s health. Steve was just barely two months in, so they weren’t doing an ultrasound just yet. 

Steve replied to all the doctor’s questions and Billy felt completely useless and out of his depth. He kept his mouth shut for the duration of the appointment, even as they left and got back into his car. But Steve couldn’t keep up with the odd silent treatment anymore.

“Look, are you upset about what I said earlier?”

“What?”

“Because I know it’s probably a sore spot for an alpha to have some other guy ‘challenging his claim’”, Steve used air quotes and rolled his eyes but pressed on. “But I didn’t mean it like-well, we don’t know for sure whose it is, but I shouldn’t throw it in your face like that.”

Well, it wasn’t quite an in, but it was kind of an out, wasn’t it? It was better than admitting what was really on his mind anyway. So he took the easiest escape route.

“I was kinda serious. If it’s mine, how are you gonna tell Eddie?”

Steve sighed and looked out the window. “I won’t know what I’m going to say until we find out.”

Billy wanted to press for more. It felt like there was more that Steve wanted to say. But meeting up with Max reminded Billy that one of his problems was pushing too hard and too far. If Steve wanted to play it close to the chest for now, he’d let him. Their little nugget was barely a pile of beans right now. Besides, it gave Billy some time to think about how little he knew going into the clinic today.

After dropping Steve off and getting back home, he called up Eddie.

“You’ve reached the Munson residence, home of a future baby daddy.”

“You’re answering the phone like that?”, Billy snorted.

“Hargrove! I trust the visit went well?”

“Yeah, I guess.” The doctor and Steve seemed happy enough about it. But that reminded him of the idea he got on the drive home and what he could do about how he’d felt today. Something that both he and Eddie had to do.

“How much do you know about pregnancy?”, Billy asked, leaning against the wall next to his phone.

“Uh, peen goes in hole and pup pops out? Swollen ankles and weird late night cravings? ….Tender titties!”

“We’re going to the library”, Billy decided.

Part 7

[operative-arrow]

Hi! 7 or 17 for the Rook Thorne prompts, if you want !

Going to activate my trap card and gently blend the two, kinda. Because it came to me. But also I’m writing on a little rum so maybe it doesn’t line up just the way I think it does.

“Okay, what did you mean, there were two of them?” Irini leans her great axe against the table and sits down as Varric returned to the table with three mugs. Sliding one to Irini, who grabs it eagerly, and one to Harding’s empty spot to await her arrival, Varric grins as he sits as well. Kicking his feet up on the table, and seemingly oblivious to the look the bartender shoots him, Varric grins. “If Blondie was telling the truth.” He lifts his mug, grunting as the warden bangs hers into it with typical warden strength, and a few precious drops are wasted to the table. He takes a draught of his ale before continuing. “And frankly, I have no idea why he would have been lying,” Leaning back, he makes an uncertain gesture. “about this, anyway..”  “But sure enough. When Blondie was with the Queen-Warden in Fereldan, they came across a big, intelligent darkspawn that could talk, tried to reason with them, and had grand plans for the future.” The pair took a drink. Varric hid the dismay at finding that Irini had already finished the mug. Warden fortitude, he thought. Didn’t count. Or else he really was getting too old for this shit. He cocked a brow at Irini, freezing her hand halfway to Lace’s mug. Irini smiled sheepishly. “She isn’t here now. It’ll go bad. Warm up. I’ll get her a new one.” Varric chuckles as the Vint snatches the drink and regards him with interest. “Those all seem like how you described Corypheus, yes… But how do you know?” Varric takes his feet off the table and leans in conspiratorially. “Some of the details line up. And for the rest, you just have to read between the lines. If Corypheus is what happened to one magister, and there were others…” He shrugs, taking another long drink. When he finishes he clanks the mug down and shoots her a shit-eating grin, if an earnest one.  “And honestly, kid? I don’t think anyone knows anything. We’re all telling the best stories we can.”

[lonesome-witching]

A Future With You

Now that the booping is over, how unfortunate that is, I can continue my scheduled prompts. This one is a time travel, annoyance to lovers ronance au that I didn't know I needed until my fingers slipped and I started writing it. If I had more time this would have been longer, but it's already over 3,400 words long, so I hope you enjoy!

Do you have any prompts yourself? Or do you want to dive into what I wrote before? You can read my previous prompts or send me some new ones.

“So, what exactly does this do?” Robin asked, pulling at a string that stuck out of the metal construction.

“Don’t touch that!” Dustin shouted. Robin put her hands up. “It’s a time machine. It can take you back in time.”

“Does it work?”

Dustin pulled up his shoulders. “I haven’t tested it. It should, but it’s hard to find definitive proof without going back yourself.”

“Can you go to the future too?”

“Theoretically yes. But you shouldn’t.”

Robin frowned. She was already thinking of going to a time where she could be herself. It seemed silly to not check out the future. “Why not?”

“You know the past. We’ve all been told about it time and time again. So, we know what is supposed to happen and we can make sure it happens. The effects of going to the past are minimal. But we have no idea what the future will bring. Seeing that and then coming back can seriously alter everything. One minor detail can create a snowball effect that destroys the world,” Dustin mimicked an explosion. “so, going to the future is not a good idea.”

“Got it,” Robin sighed. “No going to better times.”

“Are you saying you want to try it?”

“Sure, I’ve got nothing keeping me here.” Robin stepped into the metal construction. She doubted it would really work. It didn’t look like much. She’d just amuse Dustin so Steve wouldn’t yell at her and then she’d move on with her life. Next time she wouldn’t ask Dustin what he was up to.

“When do you want to go to, Robin?”

“Quick question, how will I get back?”

“Ah, of course. You’ll need this.” Dustin handed over a tiny black box.

“How does this work?” Robin turned the box over in her hands.

“Just press the button when you want to return to 1986 and it will take you back. Now, when do you want to go to?”

“1024, take me back as far as you can.”

“Alright, have fun.” Dustin pushed some buttons and turned a lever.

And then everything changed. Reality folded in on itself and Robin was in the middle of it. A kaleidoscope of colors around her with nothing to hold onto and so much to look at. Maybe she should have screamed. Maybe she should have worried about death and pain and suffering. But she just looked at the reds and yellows and blues and then she closed her eyes.

She collided with the pavement of an empty road. Nearly empty road. She was still catching her breath when a girl started talking to her.

“Are you alright? What were you trying to do? Kill yourself?”

Robin pushed herself upright on her elbows. “What are you talking about?” Her eyes caught the woman that was talking to her. She was crouching down next to Robin, her hair straight and long, falling down her shoulders. She had deep blue eyes and a sharp jawline. She was gorgeous.

“You just jumped out of that window, or something. You fell from high up. God, you must have broken something.”

“What year is it?”

“What year?” The girl looked puzzled. “You probably have a concussion. It’s 2024. April. Come on, I’ll get you to a hospital.” She was already pulling Robin up to her feet.

“It’s alright, I’m alright. My name is Robin. Robin Buckley.”

“Nice to meet you.” The girl gave her a tightlipped smile.

“What’s your name?” Robin asked. She allowed the girl to drag her away.

“Nancy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Nancy.”

Nancy didn’t respond. She just kept walking towards an old fashioned station wagon. It wasn’t the type of car Robin had expected for the girl. Nancy looked like the type of girl who drove something smaller.

“I assure you I’m fine, Nancy. You don’t have to take me to a doctor.”

“You fell from God knows how high, I’m not taking any chances. The last thing I need is for someone else to die on my watch,” Nancy said with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Someone else?”

Nancy opened the car door on the passenger side, motioning Robin to get in. On her part, Robin merely nodded her head, saluted, and sat down on the car seat.

“How old is this car? 1983?” Robin joked. She had seen similar cars all around Hawkins. Back in 1986.

“It’s old. I got it second hand. It was cheap,” Nancy responded harshly.

“Did I come off mean or condescending or something?” Robin asked, fully turning in her seat to look at Nancy.

“No,” Nancy said, shaking her head, tightlipped smile on her face that screamed she was lying.

“Right. Sorry, it’s just you seem annoyed. You don’t know me very well. I don’t really have a filter or a strong grasp of social cues. So, if I say something that upsets you just know that I know it’s a flaw. Believe me, my mother reminds me daily.” She was rambling. Robin was rambling to this complete stranger who was so so pretty.

“Got it,” Nancy replied, quickly glancing over.

“Okay,” Robin stretched out the word. She felt uncomfortable. Nancy clearly didn’t want her here. She felt in her pocket for the black box. It was still there, right where she had left it. She looked out the window.

She should press the button, disappear back to her own time. Dustin had sent her in the wrong direction anyway. She shouldn’t even be here. But then her eyes caught on two girls walking down the street, holding hands. The one on the left leaned in to give the other girl a kiss on the cheek.

“Is that normal?” She pointed out the window.

Nancy looked over with a frown on her face. “You don’t think that’s normal?”

Robin groaned softly. “That depends on what you’re asking.”

“What are you asking?” Nancy was getting more and more agitated by the moment. Or at least by each word that came out of Robin’s mouth.

“I think there is nothing wrong with two women loving each other.”

“But you don’t want to see it?”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is? What are you asking?”

Robin cleared her throat. “I’m asking if it’s normal for them to be so— so open about it. Is it normal for them to hold hands in public?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Where I’m from it isn’t.”

“And where are you from?” Nancy asked. For the first time she sounded more curious than irritated.

“I’m from Indiana.”

“We’re in Indiana.”

“Right, of course we are, I’m from a small town though,” Robin stammered out.

“Smaller than Hawkins?”

“We’re in Hawkins?” None of the buildings had looked familiar. It may have been 40 years since she lived in this town, but buildings were meant to last longer than 40 years.

“Yes, we are. Are you sure you don’t have a concussion? Or temporary amnesia?”

Nancy turned the car on to main street. Robin vaguely recognized where Melvald’s used to be.

“Where’s the Hawk? Or Family Video?” Robin sat up straighter. Melvald’s having closed down wasn’t that big of a shocker, but the movie theater and Family video were the places to be in 1986.

Nancy stopped the car in the middle of the road. Just slamming the brakes out of nowhere. She turned towards Robin with nothing less than a scowl. “The Hawk closed down five years ago, and Family Video didn’t make it past 2003. So, either you are playing a prank on me, or you have a lot of explaining to do, Robin.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I’m actually from 1986 and that I travelled here via a homemade time machine a friend of mine made?”

“Prove it.”

“Alright, ask me anything you want to know about the past.”

“What?” Nancy frowned. “No, just show me your driver’s license or something.”

“I don’t have a driver’s license.”

“Why don’t you have a driver’s license?”

“Because I’m poor.”

“Of course, very convenient.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t say it really is,” Robin started. She saw the glare in Nancy’s eyes and stopped midsentence. “Oh, but I do have my Family Video card.” Robin pulled her wallet out of her pocket, retrieving the small rectangle and handing it over. “It has my name, date of birth and a picture.”

Nancy looked it over. Holding the card next to Robin’s face. “You’re from 1986,” Nancy stated defeated, handing back the card.

“Yeah, I am.”

“And you travelled here via a homemade time machine a friend of yours made.”

“Exactly. That went so much easier than it does in the movies.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“It’s even funnier when you take into account I really wasn’t allowed to go to the future. He was meant to send me into the past. But well, something went wrong and now here I am.”

“Funny? You think this is funny?” Nancy asked, sinking into her seat.

“A little bit.”

“A time traveler in my car.”

Robin smiled, hoping to convey some sense of kindness. The last thing she wanted was to come off threatening.

Nancy sighed loudly. “Alright, alright, we’ll figure this out.” She started the car up again and continued her route. “I’ll take you to my place for the time being until we figure out how to send you back.”

Robin’s hand reached for the black box. “Right, send me back,” she muttered. Nancy seemed to be muttering to herself, something Robin couldn’t properly hear.

Maple street looked exactly as it had in 1986. As if it had just gotten stuck in time. The house Nancy stopped in front of was one Robin recognized. She and her mom had visited it while it was up for sale. Of course, they couldn’t afford it. An old married couple ended up moving in.

“We’ll go around to the back. That way my mom won’t see you. We’ll sneak up the stairs. You are going to hide out in my bedroom for as long as we can keep you there. If it takes too long to figure this out, we might have to move you, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Robin saluted. Again. She felt like an idiot. Nancy led her around the house and up the stairs to her room. The entire room was very pink. Not how Robin remembered it. The walls were pink, the sheets were pink, there was a Tom Cruise poster.

“You have a Tom Cruise poster?” Robin laughed, walking towards it.

“That’s old.”

“Of course.” She walked around the room, trying to become accustomed to her new living quarters. There was a pink jewelry box on the dresser. When Robin opened it, she came face to face with a small, twirling ballerina. “There’s a tiny ballerina in here,” she said, delighted.

“Can you not touch everything?”

Robin put the jewelry box back down. Instead, she fell down on the bed. On those damned pink sheets. “Your room is very pink.”

“Perceptive.”

“You don’t seem to like me very much.”

Nancy didn’t respond. Her back was turned towards Robin. So, she couldn’t even read her expression. Not that she otherwise would have been able to make much of it.

“If you don’t like me, why are you helping me?” Robin asked, pulling a stuffed rabbit against her chest.

She was met with nothing but silence.

“Is it because of what you said earlier?”

“What did I say earlier?” Nancy’s shoulders tensed.

“That you wouldn’t have someone else die on your watch.” Robin toyed with the rabbit a little bit. “Who else died?”

“Is that any of your business?”

“I’m sorry, I just— I guess I’m just trying to understand.”

Nancy turned around, her eyes carried a sadness that hadn’t been there before. “My best friend died. Three years ago.”

“And you blame yourself?”

“It was my fault.”

“How so?”

“She drove me to a party, and I was too busy chatting up boys to realize something was going on. She crashed into a tree while she was driving home. Without me, because I left her there.”

“That sounds like you made a mistake you couldn’t have known was one.”

“What?”

“Well, you couldn’t have possibly known that leaving your friend at the party would result in her dying. So, while it sounds like you made a mistake, it barely is one. It definitely doesn’t sound like you killed someone to me.”

“It’s my fault she was even there.”

“My grandpa died of a heart attack.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Nancy asked. She was looking at Robin with an unreadable expression.

“I’m going somewhere, I promise. So, my grandpa died of a heart attack. He had been visiting me and my parents for a couple of days. It was his 80th birthday and my mom wanted to celebrate big. So, we had this big party for him, and all was swell. He was supposed to leave two days later. But he ended up missing his train, he only ever traveled by train. Anyway, I didn’t know he hadn’t left. So, I had invited this girl over. We were sort of seeing each other. We were sitting on the couch, making out, when my grandpa came in. He was so shocked that his granddaughter was a lesbian that he died on the spot.”

“That almost sounds like a joke.”

“Wish it was. It happened last year. Or well, last year for me. 1985.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks. But do you think I killed him?”

Nancy shook her head. “No, you couldn’t have known he would come in. And you definitely couldn��t have known that he would have a heart attack and die.”

“Exactly, and you couldn’t have known your friend with drive into a tree. You didn’t kill anyone, Nance.”

“No one has ever said that to me,” Nancy confessed, looking down at her feet with a small smile.

“Well, maybe that’s why I was accidentally send here. To convince you that you did nothing wrong. You were just being a teenage girl, Nance. You’re allowed to be a teenage girl.”

“Are you hungry?” Nancy jumped up from her seat and left the room before Robin could reply.

Robin turned to the rabbit in her hands. “You think she’s warming up to me, bud?” She moved the head of the toy in a nodding movement. “Yeah, I think so too.”

-

“Robin?” Nancy asked from her spot on the bed.

It was the middle of the night. Robin lay on the floor of the room on a pile of blankets. Her back would not forgive her for this any time soon.

“Yes?”

“Are you comfortable down there?”

Robin laughed softly. “Not particularly. But I’ll make do.”

“I was just thinking, this bed is big enough for the both of us.”

“You really are warming up to me then?”

“What?” Nancy sat up, her head and shoulders becoming visible to Robin.

“Nothing, just something between me and your rabbit.”

Nancy grabbed the toy. “Are you and Mr. Rabbit gossiping about me?”

“We wouldn’t dare. Mr. Rabbit was just comforting me. I thought you hated me, Nancy. I was so down in the dumps because of it. But Mr. Rabbit assured me you were warming up to me. Now I see that he did not lie,” Robin spoke dramatically. It reminded her of an audition she once did for a play at school.

“You’re an idiot, Robin Buckley,” Nancy said. The words didn’t quite surprise Robin, but the fondness in Nancy’s tone was shocking. “Come up here?”

Robin crawled to her feet and stumbled to the bed. “Thanks for all of this, Nance.”

“Anytime, Robin.”

-

When Robin next opened her eyes, Nancy lay half on top of her. The pressure felt surprisingly nice. The other girl looked peaceful in her sleep. Not a single wrinkle on that beautiful face. Robin could feel her breath on her neck, right where Nancy’s face was nuzzled closer to her.

“Are you staring?” Nancy said a few moments later. Her eyes still closed.

“Just a little.”

“Did you sleep alright?” Nancy finally opened her eyes, instantly untangling herself from Robin.

“I slept very well. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

“Yeah, me too.”

There was a soft blush on Nancy’s cheeks. Robin wondered if her own face matched.

“So, back to business. We need to find a way to get you back to 1986.”

Robin cleared her throat. “I need to confess something.”

“Oh?”

“We don’t need to find a way to get me back. I have a way to get me back.”

“Oh,” Nancy looked away. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

“Because I wanted a break from 1986. Because here I wouldn’t have to hide who I am. Because you are really pretty.”

“I’m really pretty?”

“Yes, you are, Nance,” Robin confirmed with a hint of amusement.

“And that contributed to you wanting to stay?”

“To be fair, that was the main reason. I knew that if I went back, I’d never get to see you again. It’s going to be hard to never see you again.”

“What if you stay?” Nancy asked hesitantly. Her fingers were toying with the sheets.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Me being here would probably change the future, mess everything up. For you most of all.”

“Well, it already has. You fall from the sky, hit your head, and become the only person in my life to listen to me. You’ve set the bar so high for everyone else. And even if you leave right now, I’ll always know you were here. And I’ll forever keep thinking about what could have been if you had stayed.”

“Five minutes ago, you wanted to send me back,” Robin joked. Or at least she tried to joke. She wasn’t sure what to do. She thought of Steve, of Dustin, of her parents. They’d all be worried sick if she didn’t return.

She thought of Nancy. Of herself. She wondered if she could ever be happy in her own time. How long would it take for her to get this far? Would she ever get this far? She didn’t know her own future yet. Maybe if she went back, she’d just be going back to die. But if she stayed, if she stopped hanging on to time, she could be whatever she wanted to be. She could be happy.

“Am I asking too much? I’m totally asking too much. God, you’ve literally told me you were seeing someone. Now I’m asking you to abandon everything to start a life with a girl you barely know who is clearly filled with trauma in a time you’ve never lived in before. That is beyond too much to ask. Just forget I said anything.”

Robin got off the bed, she pulled the black box out of het jacket pocket and held it in her hand. “If I push this button, it’s supposed to take me back to 1986, back to the moment I left,” Robin explained. “But if you are serious about asking me to stay… God, Nance, if you’re being serious right now, I don’t think I can press this button.”

Nancy bit her bottom lip. Staring from Robin to the black box and back.

“Are you serious?”

“You should press the button. There are people waiting for you.”

“Nance, are you serious?”

Nancy nodded her head. “But you can’t stay. You got a girl waiting for you back in 1986.”

Robin frowned. “No, I don’t.”

“But you said—”

“Oh, her? No, we ended things shortly after my grandpa died. Something like that does put a relationship in jeopardy. And her ex-boyfriend returned to town, and she went to him.”

“And your family?”

“And what about me?”

“What about you?”

“I want to stay, Nance. I want to stay with this girl I barely know, who is clearly filled with trauma. And I really want to get to know her. And I really would like to kiss her too.”

Nancy stood up from the bed. “That thing takes you back to the moment you left?”

“It should, if it even works.”

“Okay,” Nancy said, crossing the room and pressing her lips against Robin’s. The kiss was magical, everything Robin had ever dreamed off. And then she felt Nancy’s hand around her own, grabbing the black box and pushing the button.

Robin wanted to shout, wanted to start crying, wanted to go back. But when she opened her eyes, she stared into Nancy’s confused gaze.

Nancy pressed the button again, but nothing happened. “I thought this would take you back?”

“I guess it doesn’t work,” Robin said with a bright smile. “You are stuck with me, Nance.”

The edges of Nancy’s lips curled up. “Thank God,” she whispered before throwing her arms around Robin and pulling her back in.

[thebroccolination]

POLL FOR THE FUTURE OF MY THAI BL FANWORK WEEKS

Soooooo ever since 2020, I’ve been hosting weeklong fanwork events on Twitter for various Thai BL pairings (WinTeam, KongArt, KawiPi, PeteKao, etc.). Over time, I narrowed them down, only organizing two annual events that were getting the highest participation from fan creators: KongArt Week and WinTeam Week.

Thing is, Twitter just feels very hostile and much emptier nowadays. Maybe it’s the post-Elon atmosphere with people leaving the platform or just engaging more cautiously with it. But KongArt Week is next month and the next WinTeam Week is in October, and I’ve been thinking about mainly hosting my events over here.

I just don’t know who’d actually participate.

Using KongArt Week as an example, creators get seven days of prompts in four categories: one-word, alternate universe, R-18 (explicit), and dialogue. It’s a fairly standard fanwork event format, no real surprises.

Here’s the list for the upcoming KongArt Week from August 13-20:

Now, KongArt Week saw a huge drop in participation last year while Be My Favorite was airing, so I may not continue it at all if next month’s participation is the same or lower. I’d love to keep doing it, but I may have to accept that people’s interest in KongArt is finally fading. [kicks rock with much sadness to mournful violin music]

But WinTeam Week has always had a lot of Japanese fans participating, and very few if any of them seem to be on Tumblr, so I’ll always keep it going on Twitter as long as they’re enjoying it. ♡

I just see Tumblr as much more welcoming and in line with the fandom joy I remember from when I first became a fan of these series. I hold these events to foster community, so I hope to keep doing them.

Please reblog far and wide to get the biggest sample size possible!

[autumnslance]

(@driftward) SURPRISE! Downtime funtime! Intimacy prompts, 11. Sharing secrets with Iyna, 29. Kisses when they're mad with C'oretta, 49. Caring for them when they're ill with Dark, 15. Talking with Aeryn... and maybe one you wish someone would've asked for but didn't.

More of these from earlier this summer. In case we need a reminder that @driftward is a menace here are several prompts below the cut, and I maybe shamelessly borrowed her Zoissette Vauban, and @erickgage's Erick Gage, for 2 of them.

--

11. Sharing secrets with Iyna

“You know the worst thing?” Valdeaulin said, staring up at the shadowed ceiling. “I don’t want to kill him anymore.”

Iyna paused in her search for her clothes. Not the strangest post-coital conversation she had ever had, picking up where they had left off in their pre-bedroom argument. She went back to fishing for her stockings. “Could you, though, if you had to?”

She sensed his frown behind her. “Yes,” he finally replied, certain. “But I don’t think the bastard’s going to give me a reason to anymore. I don’t…want there to be a reason anymore.”

Iyna considered that, nodding once. “And that feels wrong, somehow?”

“Isn’t it?” He turned to his side, head propped on his hand, watching her collect her clothes.

“You’re telling me this because part of you hopes I’ll agree,” Iyna said gently. “You know I don’t like him, and still harbor hate for…everything. And you want your guilty feelings validated.”

Valdeaulin scowled in response.

“I can’t give you what you’re asking, Val. Because you’re making better progress than I am, concerning the changes in our world. The empire’s fall. The Black Wolf’s change of coat.”

He sighed and flopped onto his back again. “Perhaps I just needed to hear it.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. It wouldn’t be the first time he had asked for her blunt opinion. She balled the bundle of her clothes under an arm, her boots hanging from her fingers, and headed for the wash while he continued contemplating.

--

29. Kisses when they're mad with C'oretta

When Zosisette’s lips went very thin and her frame stiffened, C’oretta knew she was in big trouble. Zoissette’s demeanor had shifted in a way that made the lab feel like midwinter on the highest peak of Abalathia’s Spine.

Which was far too cold for Ul’dahn Sun Seekers.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened if the calculations were slightly off?”

“Yes of course that would be bad but they weren’t because I—”

“Never! Show! Your! Work!” She didn’t yell and that was actually the worst part, the way the elezen sharply emphasized each word despite being so very quiet.

“No I know I don’t and I know it’s a problem we’ve talked about it before and I mean to fix it honest but I get distracted and anyway it’s all so obvious I really don’t know how anyone could mix up the levels the balance is—”

“C’oretta,” Zoissette sighed.

Oh this was so bad. Even Violet was hiding, peeking from behind the bench, snout snuffling as she looked from one to the other. If C’oretta got barred from the lab—again—that would suck for however long it lasted thanks to no work to do but also Violet would be sad because of lack of treats so there was really only one thing for it.

C’oretta sighed too. “OK I will sit down right now and write everything down even though it’s already too late I know that but I should have done it to begin with and we can avoid this in the future.”

“There’s also the matter of cleaning up this mess.”

“Of course I’ll do that first and then write it all down and you will hold me to it because you’re the best and really what else are we going to do today thanks to my carelessness!”

Zoissette’s brows drew in briefly, noting the shift but not sure what to make of it as she nodded, some of the ice thawing. “Right, well, glad that you’ve acknowledged—”

And now for the cherry. It didn’t matter that the other woman was over two fulms taller. “Of course and you’re the best Zoissette thanks so much for being a friend and teacher!” and C’oretta bounced up, managed a kiss on each of Zoissette’s cheeks, before bounding toward the closet for the safety and cleaning gear while her comrade stood and blinked in stunned confusion.

C’oretta was in the clear for another bell at least.

She really did need to start writing things down though cuz maybe some of this wasn’t so obvious to everyone else…

--

49. Caring for them when they're ill with Dark

It had been a long time since she had to clean up after Erick like this. Before, it would have been due to overdrinking and a hangover. Today, however…

“I’m not hungry,” he grumped, a bit of whine to his voice.

“It’s soup,” Dark said flatly. “And I will pour it down your throat if I must.”

He narrowed his eyes from where he sat propped in bed. She knew he believed her. “I can’t keep anything down.”

“Nothing solid, but you need hydration and nutrients. It’s an old recipe, meant for upset stomachs.”

“I want Meya,” he flopped back against his pillows, eyes to the ceiling. “She has a much better bedside manner.”

“Among other things,” Dark replied dryly, satisfied by the little smile that played on his lips. “But she’s not here, so drink your soup.”

He sighed, long-suffering, but finally complied, making a face as she sat, arms crossed, ensuring he finished the mug of broth, slowly.

After a nap, she held his hair and cleaned him up when he heaved into a ready bucket again, and then bullied him into a cup of tea before helping him to the commode.

She stayed all night, leaning back in an armchair, ready to respond when he needed help through every messy function this particularly nasty bug put him through, until his fever broke in the pre-dawn hours.

It was closer to mid-afternoon before he woke, ate a bowl of vegetable soup with toast, and sighed, feeling mostly like a person again, if in need of a shower.

So did Dark for that matter, bleary-eyed herself, but satisfied he was well enough to manage that on his own, getting up to leave as he collected what he needed to clean himself.

“Thanks, Dark,” he said quietly, not quite looking.

“Any time,” she replied, just as quiet, before slipping out.

--

15. Talking with Aeryn…

“So it’s pretty serious then,” Rashae said casually as she joined her sister on the roof. Radz-at-Han’s colors gleamed and lights sparkled on as the sun fell behind the Giantsgall Mountains.

Aeryn sighed, fiddling with the bracelet on her left wrist as they sat on the wall, legs dangling like when they were girls. “Yes,” she admitted. “We’re not quite…ready, for…”

Rashae raised a brow. “No? You live together, share a bed—don’t try to play innocent with me—what else is there? It seems simple—”

“Easy for you to say,” Aeryn snapped, then sucked in a breath and shook her head. “I’m sorry, it’s just…it’s not that easy. For either of us. For many reasons.”

“Reasons you have neglected to mention in those letters?” Rashae asked, watching over the city, unaffected by Aeryn’s outburst.

“I told you everything in my letters,” Aeryn said, still contrite. “Just…not every detail.”

Rashae smiled. “I long ago figured that out. Especially as my children have gotten old enough for the same trick. I never wanted to push your privacy, and was happy to give what advice I could. I couldn’t even imagine some of what you described, and how you must have felt. Must still feel.”

“We’re working on it,” Aeryn said. “And we’ll get there. In our time, at our pace. We need to sort of…ease into it, I suppose.”

“My impetuous, impatient little sister, taking her time and consideration with something? It must be very important,” Rashae answered, not quite teasing. Her hand rested on Aeryn’s and squeezed. “And it will be worth it.”

“I like to think so.”

“Papa likes Thancred. So do Kai and Mirvah. Even the Grandmothers. And he of course won the children over quite easily.”

“He is a charmer,” Aeryn said, warmth filling her. She glanced at Rashae. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’ve liked him for years,” she answered blithely. “Your descriptions, your sketches, all brought him to life. It was obvious how he made you feel, even when—especially when—you were upset about things with him.”

Aeryn let out a breath she had been holding.

“My husband still thinks he’s a rake.”

Aeryn laughed. “Well. He’s not entirely wrong, though Thancred’s rakish days are behind him.” She leaned over, resting her head on Rashae’s shoulder. Rashae’s head tilted against hers. “Please don’t let the Grandmothers plan a giant wedding for me.”

“Heavens forfend,” Rashae answered, giving Aeryn’s hand another squeeze. “With everything you’ve done and everyone you know, the guest list would be obscene and frankly impossible. If anything, you should elope and we sort it out later.”

“Take after your example?” Aeryn grinned.

“For different reasons, of course, but as I still breathe, you can rest assured forgiveness works far better than permission. And you don’t have to deal with Nani Shaila, even.”

Aeryn shivered. “I’ll have to leave an offering for her memory, lest she haunt me anyway.”

“That would be safest,” Rashae agreed.

The heat of the day lingered, the humidity and their closeness causing a drop of perspiration to slide down Aeryn’s spine. But she didn’t want to move, didn’t want to lose this closeness, the familiarity of Rashae’s scent and touch filling a years-long craving Aeryn had pushed so far down she’d nearly forgotten it. Her elder step-sister had always been a comfort and shelter, one Aeryn had missed terribly. One she had needed so many times, but all she could do was write.

“I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.” Her vision blurred as a stinging heat that had nothing to do with Thavnair’s weather filled her face.

“You’re here now,” Rashae said, wrapping her arms around Aeryn. “And when you’ve finished this latest adventure, when you and your man finally define your future together…I’ll still be here, when you need me. But it would be nice to have more than letters a tad more frequently.”

Aeryn tried to laugh sheepishly, but it came out as a sob. Years of adventures, of triumph and hardship, crashed into her at once.

Her sister held her, stroking her hair, singing gently, as the crescent moon rose overhead.

--

and maybe one you wish someone would've asked for but didn't.

(None of the others really pinged for the FF14 crew, but just for you, how about something from the original story and prompt 59 “a height difference”…)

They continued to walk, some of the garden beds held by low, broad retaining walls of smooth stone, giving Mevan an idea. August blinked as she stepped away from him, lifting her skirts just enough to bound to the top of the low wall. “Be careful—”

“I am,” Mevan said, smiling. “I’m still not as tall as you while up here!”

The top of her head was even with his eyeline now. He chuckled, shaking his head. “I see. Certainly a new perspective.” He kept hold of her hand, more to keep her steady. She kept hold of her skirt with her other, carefully walking along the top of the stone.

“Sometimes that’s what’s needed,” she said, remembering the times teachers in Zenith had repeated the words.

“Any insights from your new perspective?” August asked dryly.

“The ground is very far away and normal sized things seem much smaller,” Mevan answered.

He huffed out an almost sheepish laugh, looking away in that shy manner she was starting to recognize. “It does not seem so to me, but I am used to my height.”

“Maybe you should walk on your knees for a while.”

“I hardly think that would be useful.”

She shrugged. “You’re so used to being large, when was the last time you felt small?”

He was quiet for a moment, enough to make her peer at him. “You might be surprised,” he finally replied. Then shook his head, looking off to the side—his embarrassed expression. “Nevermind”

“No, I won’t,” she said. “I want to know. Was someone cruel?”

“Why, would you curse them?” he asked.

Mevan tossed her hair. “Maybe!” she declared. As he peered at her, she shook her head. “That’s a superstition, told by the fearful. Though I’m afraid I must admit there are nasty moments where I almost wish I could curse someone.”

“I can scarce imagine you in such a state.”

“I have my moments. But you’re trying to deflect.”

He frowned. “I said nevermind.”

She stopped, making him pause too. “Neither of us want this,” she said. “But if we must go through with it, we ought to talk to one another. Even about difficult things.”

He glowered at her. She pulled her hand away so she could put both on her hips, lifting her chin and meeting his piercing amber gaze—even if his expression made her want to leap off the wall and flee. It wasn’t that he was trying to frighten her; more that was just his typical fierce scowl. But she was a Spark of Zenith, and had studied under those who could change reality at their whims. One soldier, even if he was a fearsome giant of a man, was not going to intimidate her.

Especially if she did end up married to him.

They spent a rather long time like that, before August ground his jaw, then sighed, shoulders shrugging downward. He looked away again. “You are a stubborn witch, aren’t you?”

“And your brother wasn’t wrong to call you a stubborn bear,” she countered. “So perhaps we are well matched in that regard.”

“Hrmph.” He held out his hand again. She considered for a moment, then took it as they resumed walking, Mevan still upon the retaining wall. “I try to keep my own counsel,” August said finally. “To avoid others noticing how…awkward I can be, in most situations.”

“You haven’t struck me as awkward,” she replied.

“It’s kind of you to say so. And I have…practiced, quite a bit. But often, my size and voice and ability to command covers much.”

“I see,” she said. “That’s why you dislike large groups of people, then? Afraid they might notice?”

“I don’t fear them,” he said testily. “But I do not wish to embarrass my House by merely speaking incorrectly, according to arbitrary rules that constantly shift. And they are simply too much; too many smells, too many sounds. It’s grating.”

“Easy to feel trapped by it all,” she said, empathizing; it must be even worse when larger than anyone else, and easily seen.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Week 2 - Dreams

And here is the last chapter for Week 2.

I hope you've enjoyed this little excursion into a book I write about less than the others :D

Prompt: Dreams

Pairing: Faramir x Éowyn, Boromir x OC

Words: 2 030

Warnings: Kisses, plans for the future, goodbyes

After this very first excursion on horseback, Boromir understood his brother’s reticence to pick up the phone and establish contact with the outside world a little better.

His little cabin, the surrounding woods, and the absolute peace that filled their days were far too seductive and pleasant to willingly disrupt this fragile dream of peace by inviting in the trials and tribulations of reality.

On the second day since his impromptu arrival, Boromir nevertheless strolled out of the house resolutely under the pretence of getting some fresh air.

Instead, he called their father to learn who owned the rustic cabin in which they currently resided.

"You couldn’t have found another place—a hotel maybe—to play pretend in?” Denethor grunted, evidently still deeply displeased with Boromir’s sudden departure.

“No, I like it,” Boromir replied staunchly. “It reminds me of our childhood. I’ve not spent much time alone with my brother in the last years, and I relish the opportunity to learn about his experiences and discoveries.”

Even as he spoke those words, he realised how dangerously provocative it was to contradict his father, but—drawing strength from the last few hours—he stood his ground.

“As you’ve asked,” Denethor went on in a cold, undeniably cruel tone. “It is I who own the cabin. I cannot readily remember now whether it has been a gift or an impulsive purchase made in my tender youth, but it is mine.”

“Good,” Boromir replied calmly, wilfully ignoring his father’s attempts at getting a rise out of him. “Faramir seems very happy out here, and—had you not admitted that it is part of the family holdings anyway—I’d have offered to buy it from whoever holds the deeds.”

When Denethor didn’t reply, Boromir continued suavely. “I can, of course, still do so. Do you want me to make you an offer?”

“No,” Denethor barked. “You shall do no such thing. I cannot fathom what enjoyment you might possibly draw from a dilapidated hut in the middle of nowhere.”

Acutely aware of his father’s guileful ways, Boromir bit back the hot, hasty retort burning on his tongue—it would have been immensely imprudent to let slip any hint to Drea before he’d learned more about the charming woman he’d only just met the previous day.

“Faramir’s healing well—already, he’s moving more freely, and I dare hope that he might recover completely.”

“And to what is that miraculous change due?” Denethor hissed suspiciously.

“He’s…riding,” Boromir replied hesitantly. He was wracking his brains for a way to cut short this tiresome conversation when he saw Drea and Éowyn walking up the path, carrying a big basket of firewood and an icebox between them.

“I’m ever so sorry, Father,” Boromir said hastily, “but there are visitors at the door I must attend to. I’ll call you back soon. Bye!”

Before Denethor could protest or ask where his seemingly all but healed brother was, the retired soldier had clicked away the call and hastened towards the approaching ladies.

“Ah, Boromir,” Drea exclaimed in an adorably breathless voice that made him feel like a proper hero for relieving them of their various burdens and walking them up to the cabin. “I was hoping you’d be in.”

Not knowing where else he would go, Boromir gave a small shrug that made the muscles in his shoulders bunch in a way that drew even Drea’s polite gaze inexorably.

“If my baby brother keeps getting visits from charming young women, I have to stand by—as a chaperone, so to say,” he joked.

At once, Éowyn turned around and looked at him sharply. “Did that coquettish thing from the ice cream parlour stop by?”

Eyes widening, Boromir realised that he’d committed a faux pas and was quick to backpedal. “Not to my knowledge,” he said hastily. “I meant you ladies.”

His clumsy attempt at flattery made the adventurous horsewoman throw her head back with hearty, unguarded laughter. “I’m many a thing, Boromir, but I hardly think that one would call me particularly charming.”

“A grievous oversight and mistake,” Boromir muttered as he heaved their supplies up the steps to the patio. “May I ask what it is you’re planning for tonight?”

“This old shack has a marvellous fireplace in the back garden,” Éowyn explained with self-assured resolve. “And I thought you might enjoy a good, old-fashioned barbecue.”

Her eyes were gleaming with something that made Boromir’s stomach clench nervously—she knew, he thought instinctively before chiding himself for being so foolish. How could the woman know anything she’d not been explicitly told?

Then again, Faramir was convinced that the wonderful horse farm down the road was a magical place of miraculous healing.

“That’s kind of you,” he said feebly and rapped his knuckles against the doorframe to warn his brother of the imminent ambush.

“Oh, hello!” Faramir appeared, a beatific smile on his sun-tanned, relaxed face. “I didn’t know that we had planned something for today.”

He and his brother had a habit of sitting in comfortable silence while nursing oversized mugs of steaming tea, and—while he enjoyed the age-old, soothing intimacy—Faramir was looking forward to a livelier evening.

When the fire was lit and lovingly marinated slabs of meat sizzled on the old, sturdy metal frame affixed over it, Faramir leaned back in his rickety garden chair with a deep sigh.

“You look better,” Éowyn commented dryly.

“Well, thank you, I guess,” he replied, feigning vexation. “I don’t want to know what you thought of me when first we met then.”

As if to be contrary on principle, Éowyn held his gaze and licked her lips slowly.

“I thought that you were too handsome to look this tired and sad. Your posture was that of a doter, but your expression reminded me of a lost child. It was…heartbreaking.”

To Faramir’s shock, Drea nodded emphatically.

“Well,” he chuckled uncomfortably. “In that case, I must thank you for being so generous and welcoming to so pitiful a wretch.”

“Nonsense,” Drea said calmly. “We’ve all gone through rough patches. I’m just glad you seem more like yourself these days—you look…content.”

“I am,” Faramir exclaimed, staring into the dancing flames. “I wish I could stay here forever.”

A low, shivering sigh passed his lips, and Boromir nearly jumped out of his chair with eagerness—he’d always protected and defended his brother, and it filled him with pride and happiness to be able to do so once more.

“You can,” he said just a smidgen louder than was necessary. “We own this place, which means that you can stay here for as long as you’d like.”

Blinking up at his brother, his role model, his eternal hero, Faramir looked like the very picture of incomprehension. “What do you mean?”

“Father owns this place. It’s just like him to send you off to one of his secret holdings—mayhap, he’d hoped that you’d renovate the cabin for him. Who knows? Either way, am I not right in surmising that you don’t plan on returning to active duty?”

Faramir averted his gaze—he’d always claimed that he’d go back to the armed forces once he’d healed up, but then his recovery had been stalled and delayed for so long that nobody truly expected him to be hale enough ever again.

“You don’t have to,” Boromir said fervently. “You’ve worked so hard on getting better, there’s no need to risk and squander it all. The war is over, and you deserve to reap the fruits of your labour.”

“But father…”

“His dreams are not yours, we both know it, so I forbid you to ruin your life to please one who will never be satisfied.”

“What about you?” Faramir recognised the signs of valiant self-sacrifice in the way his brother’s mouth tightened into a hard line and his eyes became flinty with determination.

“I shall return to the city,” Boromir sighed, holding up a hand to stop the flood of remonstrations and pleas burning on Faramir’s soft lips. “It’s where I belong! I shall take my place at Father’s side and keep him in line.”

His fiery gaze mellowed progressively. “And every so often, I shall flee the grinding machinery to come out here and have beers and barbecues with my little brother and…” He threw a questioning glance at Éowyn.

“You’ll always be welcome,” she said, touching two fingers to her brow. “You’ll find us either here or on the ranch, but I think you suspected as much already. Either way, swing by whenever you like, grab a horse, and heal.”

Boromir nodded gratefully while Faramir stared at the beautiful woman with unconcealed confusion and raw hope.

“Don’t be a fool, Faramir,” Éowyn laughed. “Even you must have realised by now that you’re meant to be here. If you want that, of course.”

“I do,” he whispered insistently, afraid of the magnitude of his own desires. “Oh, how I want that.”

“And if your father expels you from his hut, you simply come over to our place,” she added resolutely and winked.

“Is that…Is that the kind of invitation I think it might be?” Faramir squeaked.

“I’m a horse breeder, Faramir. No need to play coy with me,” she guffawed and boxed him in the rips tenderly. “Just…don’t dither too long. I think I’ve shown admirable restraint and composure, but even my patience will run out at some point.”

“Will do!” Faramir gave back in the clear, sharp delivery of one used to taking orders and fulfilling them to the letter.

“As for you,” Boromir said, turning to Drea. “If you ever feel inclined to return to the urban wilderness and find yourself in need of a job, give me a call. My father is a cantankerous, old fool, but I have the creeping suspicion that you’d know just how to take him.”

“I’m good with stuffy people,” Drea agreed with quiet dignity. “I’m a hard worker, but…”

“When it gets too much…” Boromir promised. Emboldened by all his most cherished dreams being so close he could almost taste them on his tongue, he took her hand. “When you need a break, you send me a memo and we’ll take the company car to come out here. Deal?”

Squeezing his massive paw in her dainty hand, she nodded. “Deal.”

Thus it was decided and so it was done.

In time, Faramir found the courage to linger after the filling even if slightly tasteless and exceedingly heavy dinners Éowyn was wont to prepare.

Éomer, understanding when he was not wanted, gave him another nod—friendlier and tinged with reluctant admiration now—before retiring to his own quarters in one of the sprawling annexes of the main building.

“Your brother has called,” Éowyn said casually as she handed her houseguest a dripping wet plate to dry.

“Oh? He’s called you?”

“Not exactly,” she giggled. “He’s called Drea. Apparently, he’s not only organised a job interview for her but also claimed that he’d found the perfect apartment for her.”

Faramir, who was certain that this mysterious flat was another one of their father’s multiple holdings merely smirked—he’d been right in his initial assessment that Boromir would take an instant liking to the delicate damsel.

“So, Drea is leaving us?” he asked, surprised at the earnest regret welling up in him.

“It’s time,” Éowyn replied kindly. “I suspect that we will see more of her before long. Don’t you?”

Nodding, he stepped back so she could sling her wet, warm hands around his torso and squeeze the irrational sadness out of his hale, strong body.

“Someone else has called, though. I wondered…” she murmured into the space between his shoulder blades.

“Yes, dear?”

“Maybe, if it’s not too much to ask, you might give the young lady a few riding lessons on Frieda? That horse is besotted with you!”

“The horse, hmmm?” he teased.

“I won’t win a fistfight against those hooves,” she sighed dramatically. “The farrier was here only yesterday. I know when I’m beaten.”

Turning around, Faramir kissed her slowly and tenderly dragged a wonderfully calloused thumb along her sharp cheekbone in a loving caress. “You’re my favourite,” he hummed conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Frieda, though.”

@fellowshipofthefics

-> Masterlist

[alfgifu]

Fic analysis 11. Both a plan and a schedule

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48101221

Word count: 2,823

Chapters: 1

First posted: 24th June 2023

Summary: 

Kip Mdang has qualified as an accountant, said his farewells to the firm that trained him, and is setting up for himself in a tiny office behind the Gorjo City waterfront.

He has the job he always wanted to support the life of the tanà he always intended to be. His family and friends are proud of him, his girlfriend Ghilly is just waiting for him to propose... everything is going according to plan, and everything is on schedule.

There is no reason for him to feel the slightest bit of reserve, of wistfulness about his situation.

Response to elīkabeha's fic prompt:

Kip is quietly getting on with being an accountant tanà in the mould of Uncle Lazo. He's got his schedule. He's got his plan. Then crow crimes came out of nowhere...

NOTE: I have no plans at the moment to continue this story but would be delighted if anybody else wanted to do something with it. N+1 as the good folks say.

How and why this came about

I was bored and in bed with a fever and asked if anybody had any prompts. I knew that I didn’t have capacity to pick up another big fic (I was still wrapping up Hands to the wheel and had recently started Tenebra) but I had fun sketching this out. 

What worked and what didn’t

The balance of Kip’s memories, uncertainty about his presence, and excitement for the future ended up about right, with the sense of something that had been missed working through all of them. That’s much easier to do of course when your readers will almost all know the other way the story could have gone! Still, I’m pleased with how it came out.

I’m also pleased with the sibling banter between Kip and Vinyë. This was the first time I’d written a sibling dynamic and it flowed.

What I learned from writing it

The new thing here was bringing together the worldbuilding for the AU with the character study of a young Kip who missed his call to adventure. I definitely stretched some characterisation muscles in the process, and came back to them in different ways in various AUs written after this.

Thinking around the Gorjo City memories and dynamics also fed into later fics set there (particularly the second half of Tenebra).

I learned the Welsh word and concept hiraeth, which somebody mentioned in a comment – longing, yearning, nostalgia for a past or a home that you don’t or can’t quite know.

I also learned that, alas, posting an idea in the hopes that other people will write the story you have in mind seldom works. It seems unlikely that I’ll come back to this one now (although never say never I suppose!) If I did, the shenanigans that would ensue would involve the Astandalan army coming looking for their missing emperor. The Mdangs all rally around. Ghilly gets at least one heroic moment. I’m entirely sure where it goes from there and I don’t plan to risk finding out until I have a lot of spare time. Maybe when I retire…

[faelune-home]

FFXIVWrite 2024 #24: Bar

(A/n: I'll be honest, this is maybe a flimsier connection to the prompt than I would've liked. :'D I mainly wanted to write this AU continuation and didn't know when I'd be able to. Then this prompt came up and I had a bemoaning moment that this one would've been perfect for the Inn introduction, which reminded me I wanted to make this one the next step in the introduction stories.

I probably could've just skipped ahead to the evening to actually set it at the Inn bar, but I really want to get through the actual proper introductions...even if the AU isn't the priority compared to the role quest works. But as it is, I've written it now and there's probably some tenuous connections to the prompt, but so be it.

It's Tataru the general store owner, kinda covering the grounds of both FoM's actual general store but also kinda Balor's "shady, but highly connected merchant" role as a 2-in-1.

Word count: 960)

The first thing Fhara heard when they entered the general store was a lot of huffing and puffing and heaving, and a grumble partly muffled by the shelves the voice was lost in.

“Good gods, maybe I do need some extra hands in here. Even just to restock and mind the shelves then I can stay at the desk and not have to lug this around all the time.”

“Do you need some assistance Tataru?” Minfilia called out, already looking concerned. A curious squeak sounded out, and the sound of rushing footsteps until a little lalafellin woman with purple hair rounded the corner into full view.

“Minfilia, hello!” she smiled, offering a curtsy, then rushing around the main checkout desk and popping up over the countertop. “No need for that, I was just taking inventory. Just a pain to drag around the step ladder, but the work has to be done.”

“I’m sure we could get someone to help out if you need it,” Minfilia offered, but Tataru shook her head and gave the desk a firm smack with her hand.

“Not at all! It’s easy to gripe when I’m in the middle of it, but the job gets done and I don’t need to worry about it. And besides, who’s even on hand to help out, everyone’s busied up with their own worries, especially with the town in the straits it's in.”

Minfilia barely got to respond as Tataru spied her companion and already continued on her own spiel, a perfectly professional smile spreading on her face.

“And this is the newcomer you mentioned, yes? I know Minfilia was here a few days ago preparing your welcoming gift, all the spare tools and the new seeds. I do hope they suit you for your work.”

“I haven’t gotten to use them yet, but I’m expecting the best,” Fhara bowed, already blown away at the woman’s speed, “I’m Fhara, by the way.”

“Tataru, as you’ve probably already learned. If you need anything else in future, furniture, resources, any more seeds - we get the seasonal crops in as the year goes by - you come here. And I’ll sell your produce as well.”

Fhara blinked, definitely having a moment with all the information. Minfilia could sense it too, shaking her head bemused at it all.

“I still don’t know how you manage to keep connected and sell your goods outside the valley, since you yourself even pointed out that we’re all struggling at the moment. But it’s been a great boon to have you keeping us afloat like this, my friend.”

Tataru’s smile seemed to shift from its polite front to a warmer one at Minfilia’s address. She gave another curtsy atop her step.

“Oh, anything to help out. Business is business of course, but for our little home here, I’ll do what I can.”

Then turning back to Fhara, she added, “And I do mean that first part. Business is business, and I know you’ve just moved here, but I can’t be doing any freebies. The welcoming gift is an exception for Minfilia’s sake, but anything else, I’ll need your gil for it. But I assure you, I keep my prices fair.”

“You’ll be fighting Thancred for some of the produce, he’s already staked his claim for the inn’s menu,” Minfilia chuckled, while Fhara had turned her eye to look over the shelves and what was available. She was already trying to fight back a grimace at the price of some of the things - this was a fair deal? She didn’t want to say anything while in Tataru’s presence though, and simply made a note that she’d probably have to sell a lot just to be able to afford enough seeds to fill a field at a later date.

“Speaking of the inn,” Tataru started, eying up Fhara again, “You’ll be there tonight won’t you? It’s all good fun when everyone gets together. And I can’t think of a better way to meet everyone in one go.”

“Well, we’ll be trying to go around the town to see some people before tonight, but we’ll still come along,” Minfilia said, turning to Fhara, who nodded her agreement.

“It’s been mentioned so much, I’m a little bit nervous now.”

“Don’t be! No-one bites…well, a few cups in and deeper into the night things might get a bit loud and rowdy, but I’ve never seen a punch get thrown. Anything gets too out of hand, Thancred puts a quick stop to it. Oh and Ryne’s getting quite good at being a firm hand with the crowds as well now, bless her.”

Minfilia chuckled again at Tataru’s statement.

“Well, we should head off again, we’ve got much to do before tonight,” she said, casting a glance at the wall clock, “If you’re sure you don’t need an extra hand before we leave though? It would go quicker with the three of us than just yourself.”

Tataru had once again hopped off her counter tool and rounded the front desk, already shooing the two the the door.

“No no, off you pop! I’ll manage just fine. And again, you need anything at all,” even if I don’t have it, I’ll get it for you, no exceptions. We can talk fees depending on the commission.” Fhara nervously chuckled and matched Tataru’s chipper little farewell wave as the door closed between them.

“I’m beginning to worry I might not be able to afford what she’s offering,” she sighed. Minfilia wrapped her arm around Fhara’s and gently pulled her along the street, deeper into the town.

“Oh come now, Tataru’s hardly unreasonable. But let’s get a move on, we still have people to visit and much to see before we can all have a round at the bar tonight.”

[emilarry]

How to Keep Fic Fests Organized

A lot of us love writing for fic fests, but when we join multiple at once, it can get a little overwhelming! Here are some tips are tricks I use to make things a bit more manageable! (I write fan fiction for One Direction, but most of these tips can be helpful for any fest!) (AND some of these tips can come in handy for organizing multiple WIPs even if they aren’t for fests!)

I hope you find this list useful!

Follow @1dficfests

This blog keeps track of everything fest related, including deadlines, upcoming fests, and which fests are open for prompts or signups! There is a running list of fest info in the pinned post, and they also reblog important posts from fest blogs.

Make a draft of fest blogs

One thing I just came up with that's super helpful is making a Tumblr draft and tagging the fest blogs that I want to be able to quickly get to. That way, whenever I want to double check a schedule, ask a question, or check on anything else, I can just go to my drafts where the URL is right there and I don’t have to remember it or hunt it down.

Use a countdown app

This has been a lifesaver for me. I keep track of when fics are due, when signups for future fests open, when submitted fics are due to post, any fest related dates! There are lots of countdown apps, but this is the one that I use:

Use a to-do list app

This is great for keeping track of the different steps to writing a fic, and I’ll sometimes also use it for WIPs that are not part of a fest. The app that I use is great because you can have tasks within tasks, so under “start writing,” I can check off when I finish chapter 1, chapter 2, etc. You can also use this feature to check off scenes from your outline! But there are many to-do apps out there, and they all have different features that might be helpful to you!

Make a Discord server for your fics

I haven’t started actually using this technique yet, but it definitely has potential! I set up a server just for me to keep track of fics. Each category is a different fic, and each category has different channels related to that fic. In the photos are some of the categories that I chose, but the possibilities are endless. You could have channels for different characters, places, scenes, all kinds of stuff! You can also make a category for writing resources, tips and tricks, lists of betas, and anything else writing related! In the second pic below, I made a category with channels for the fest I am running, so this tip isn't limited to just fests you join!

Create a due-date calendar

This is great if you like to see schedules visually. I like to put together a calendar and highlight due dates so that I can quickly see how many fics I have due in a month. Sometimes I’ll also throw in the dates that I have fics scheduled to be posted. For this one, I found a picture of a calendar on Google and used the app Phonto to add everything, but there are lots of picture editing programs where you could do this.

Create a schedule calendar

This one feels funny to include because I didn't really end up utilizing it, but maybe it will help someone else! When I was trying to finish five fics in seven weeks, I put together a schedule to help organize my time and when I wanted to work on which fics. I chose to organize it into separate chunks per fic, but you could do a different fic every day or adapt it in a different way that works for you!

So that's all my tips and tricks! I hope you are able to try some of these and make things a bit easier for yourself so that we can continue to enjoy writing! Thanks for reading, and if you could give this post a reblog, that would be awesome!

[bagerfluff]

Caring Call

Older Takaishi Takeru x Male Reader

Prompt - "Have you eaten?"

Takeru groaned as he picked up the phone.

“Yes?” He asked, trying to hide his displeasure. He had finally gotten into a nice flow, he had started writing just for someone to call him.

Takeru was more mad then he should have been, even Takeru knew that.

But Takeru needed to practice writing, he wanted to write in the future. But with all the work he had to do it was hard to find time.

Takeru was either at school, doing homework, or resting. “Whoa, you good Takeru”, you said.

Takeru immediately relaxed when he heard your voice. “I was just checking in, you good?” You asked over the phone.

Takeru could hear pencil scribbles in the background. “I’m fine, just started writing before you interrupted me”, Takeru scowled.

“Oooh, whatcha writing?” You asked, choosing to ignore Takeru’s attitude.

“I don’t even know, only got a few sentences down”, Takeru explained.

Takeru looked down at the sentences, it was just a few sentences describing a room. Takeru had no idea where it was going to go.

“Well, a few are better than none, and I’ll read it once it is done”, you said. Takeru smiled, you sounded so happy.

You didn’t even know what Takeru was writing, and you were excited to read it, like it was the best book in the world.

It was quiet after that, but Takeru could still hear the pencil scribbles in the background. “What are you doing?” Takeru asked.

Takeru leaned back against his seat. Stretching his legs under his desk, he should stand up and walk around the room.

“Just some homework”, you muttered, tapping your pencil against the table.

“So, why’d you call?” Takeru asked, not that Takeru was complaining. Takeru was happy to hear from you, especially since you and Takeru haven’t been able to hang out in a while.

School was keeping you two apart, Takeru didn’t mind school, but tell him that school was keeping him from his boyfriend.

And suddenly Takeru hated it. You two hung out at school, but that was different from hanging out after school, all alone.

“I told you, wanted to check in on you”, you said, jolting Takeru out of his thoughts.

It was quiet on your side now, you had probably stopped working on your homework.

“You said at school that you only had a little work to do, so I figured that you’d try to do some writing, but you get weird when you write”, you said, picking your pencil back up and continuing your writing.

Weird?

What was weird about Takeru’s writing. Well, Takeru’s writing wasn’t weird, Takeru got weird when he was writing.

Takeru didn’t really know what you were talking about.

Takeru loved writing, it felt like Takeru was in a different world when he was writing.

That Takeru could forget about the troubles of his life, just for a bit. “What’s weird?” Takeru asked, leaning back up and resting on his desk.

“You get weird”, you mumbled.

Takeru could tell that you weren’t really paying attention to him, which made Takeru madder than it should have.

“You forget everything but writing. You focus so much you forget to take a break, get up, eat, drink, sleep, and just about everything else”, you muttered.

Takeru’s eyes widened, does he do that? Takeru doesn’t think he does that.

Takeru opened his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. “Speaking of that”, you put down your pencil.

“Have you eaten?”, You asked.

Takeru closed his mouth, no, he hasn’t. Takeru had a drink when he got home but he doesn’t remember having dinner.

Takeru immediately started his homework and once he finished he sat down to start writing.

His mother also wasn’t home, out on some trip for some journal she writes for.

So, no, Takeru has not eaten yet.

Takeru scowled and stayed quiet. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of being right.

“So you have not”, you mused, accentuating each word. Takeru swore you did it just to spite him.

“Okay, so maybe I haven’t yet but I was about to”, Takeru lied. Takeru did feel a little bad about lying, but he felt like he had to.

You were busy, you had work to do but here you were, calling Takeru because you were worried about him.

It did make Takeru’s heart flutter. You were busy yet called Takeru just out of worry. It was a little infuriating.

Takeru could take care of himself, he was in high school.

He didn’t need anyone to take care of him, Takeru was doing basically since his parents split.

With his mother working all the time to care for him it was all Takeru could do. He had to.

“You are a bad lier Takeru”, you said over the phone. “I’m not lying”, Takeru said, voice a little higher.

“You are, I know you Takeru, you were not about to eat, you’ve probably been sitting at your desk for the past three hours”, you said.

It was two, Takeru thought.

“You need to eat Takeru, I worry about you”, you said, care seeping into your voice with every word.

Takeru got up from his chair and walked out of his room. He could feel his legs ache as he walked.

His feet were almost asleep, but Takeru made it to the kitchen. “You don’t need to”, Takeru said, it sounded rude.

Takeru didn’t mean for that to happen. It just made him feel weird. Takeru’s never really had anyone care for him.

He knew people did, his parents were able to stand each other for Takeru and Yamato.

Yamato cared for him too, and so did everyone else. It was just different though, he’s never had anyone care for him in a long time.

After the divorce Takeru had to care for himself. With his mother working to keep food on the table and a roof over his head, Takeru was left to himself.

He had to get himself up in the morning, feed himself, and bathe himself. It wasn’t that hard, when Takeru thought about it.

Sure, the others were there when Takeru fell, they helped him up. They were there for the Digital World, and so were you.

It was just different. Takeru was used to doing the little things all by himself, the mundane things.

Like feeding himself, so having someone remind him too, made Takeru feel weird.

“You good Takeru?” You asked and Takeru hummed once he was snapped out of his thoughts by you.

“You’ve been quiet for a while, but I can hear you making food”, you said.

Takeru looked down and saw a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. He didn’t remember making it, but it was there.

Takeru didn’t realize how lost in his thoughts he was, and how he’s made oatmeal so many times that he can do it without even thinking about it.

Takeru picked up a bowl and started eating. It was soggy, and plain, but Takeru didn’t realize how hungry he was.

So Takeru finished the bowl within minutes. Takeru then placed the bowl in the sink and leaned back against the counter.

“You good?” You asked again and Takeru nodded before realizing you couldn’t see him.

“I’m fine”, Takeru said.

“Do you not remember what I said about you and lying?” You asked and Takeru sighed. “Just”, Takeru started.

He didn’t know what to say, what was he supposed to say.

“I just never had anyone care for me like you do”, Takeru said and he heard you hum.

Takeru leaned up, grabbing his phone so he could hold it. Partly because he wanted to hold it so it was like he was holding you, and because his neck was hurting from tilting it.

“I always took care of myself, when it came to everyday things like eating and bathing I did that, it was my job”, Takeru closed his eyes.

When he talked about it, he realized how sad that was. Takeru felt sorry for his younger self.

“Then, we become boyfriends and you call me and ask me if I’ve eaten, like a mother”, Takeru said.

Takeru wanted to say more, say how it made his stomach turn with fear and love.

How his face turned to a scowl yet his face also flushed a pink color. “Well, I’m not a mother”, you said.

“But I am your boyfriend, it’s my job to care, even about the little things”, you said.

Takeru could tell you were smiling on the other end of the phone. Takeru smiled slightly, “yeah”, he whispered.

“So I’ll call you whenever I want to make sure you’re alright, I’ll even call you later today to make sure you get sleep. You look like a zombie”, you teased the final sentence.

Takeru could see the smirk on your face. Takeru leaned off the counter and walked back to his bedroom.

Takeru looked at his desk. He could hang up, go back to writing and maybe get something before he went to bed.

Takeru shook his head and sat on his bed. “You saying I look ugly?” Takeru asked accusingly.

He leaned back, falling back against his bed, head resting on the edge of his pillow.

“A pretty zombie”, you teased, causing Takeru’s cheeks to turn pink.

“Yeah Y/n?” Takeru said, voice a little fearful. “Yes Takeru?” You said back. “Can you, stay?” Takeru asked.

Takeru finally felt nice. Takeru was stressed before you called him, he needed to write something but he also needed to study for school.

But when you called him, and filled his chest with butterflies with your care, it made Takeru relaxed.

Takeru realized just how tired he was, he was about to fall asleep right now. “Sure Takeru, anything for you, I love you”, you said.

When you didn’t hear anything back you pulled the phone away from your ear. You were still connected, “Takeru?” You said again.

You heard quite snoring.

You smiled lovingly, imagining Takeru asleep on his bed, phone still resting in his grasp.

You wish you were there to see Takeru, he was pretty when he was asleep. “Goodnight, Takeru”, you said.

You looked back down at your paper, placing your phone on your desk and going back to your homework. 

Call still connected.