#maybe even some painting to firelight

[blorbosexterminator]

Noo I was so looking forward seeing the twins again for the Berlermo Blockbuster I thought they would win 😭 😭 😭 But they will return another time, right? No pressure, I just miss them and happy for every opportunity to read about them even if just as cameos like the toy aliens in Roccinan's fic 😆

The twins sadly couldn't hold up against the allure of period drama gay quiet tragedies with three lines of dialogue total.

But yes! They absolutely will. I was working on the sequel and the Swan's Symphony just came up and pushed it aside to no fault of my own haha but the sequel, whenever it'll appear, is certainly one of my main WIPs and will see the light one day. The Swan's Symphony just greedily stole all my attention, and because both of them happen to occur through the framework of heists, it's difficult for me to write two heists without wanting to die LMFAO.

But I miss the twins just the same (and so, so happy to know that you still like and want more of them! Truly!) and since the Swan's Symphony will probably not be over soon, I might collect the small scenes and write more of them that I have in mind, that occur between the twins being 10-11 in the original and 17 in the sequel. The 7 years in between leave me some good space to write little fun stories of their everyday lives, holidays, small heists, and general shenanigans haha.

The Toy Story cameos were incredible. It killed me the moment they appeared and imprinted on Martín. That's exactly what he deserved!

[rippersz]

𝙎𝙞𝙭 𝙄𝙣𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨

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(Alcina Dimitrescu and Larissa Weems Have A Conversation) (Flirty; Gay Panic; Potential Romance?) (L.W.’s POV) (Lady D is slightly OOC)

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“Thank you again, Principal Weems, for accepting my daughters. I understand you had to pull a few strings, and for that I am eternally grateful. Let’s just hope they don’t give you any issues, hm?” And a glass of red wine is then brought up to burgundy lips; prompting a hum, a sip, and finally a slow lick along white teeth.

Larissa allows herself to watch, entranced for but a moment, before she’s clearing her throat and giving the woman a polite smile.

“It was no trouble at all, Ms. Dimitrescu. And I’m sure the girls will have plenty of opportunities to flourish. I’m only glad you came before the semester started- otherwise it would have been cutting it finely,” she mused, maintaining a professional tone as best she could while her clasped hands trembled within her lap.

Something about the woman on the other side of her desk, sitting in a chair much too small, was setting Larissa on edge. Aside from the obvious prestige of her name and status, the very displacement- the shift of air- that happened when she walked into a room was astounding. The Principal felt it earlier, only in passing and for a moment, before the three rascals that accompanied her stole most of the attention away.

But here, in the flickering light of the fire and the darkness of the evening, it’s just her and Alcina Dimitrescu. Mother of three, esteemed vintner and business owner, royalty to some extent, and ex jazz musician. Larissa has some of her records in her quarters, but she won’t tell her that. Maybe one day, if they grow closer, but such thoughts are merely the wishes of a lonely woman. Desires with no basis and dreams with no end. Alcina Dimitrescu is exactly her type, yes, and she enjoys her wine, yes, and she finds her marvelously beautiful, yes, but that doesn’t matter. She has to maintain professionalism. She cannot allow the woman to see the effect she has (even though the constant smirk she wears tells Larissa that she most definitely already knows).

“Oh you have no idea how lucky I feel,” comes the deep purr of her tone. “The girls had been bugging me about Nevermore for ages. Only about a month ago did I actually start my research. And I’m glad I did.” Larissa certainly isn’t hallucinating then as sharp grey eyes slowly travel over her upper body. Roaming from her broad shoulders to her bust.

The room suddenly feels very warm. And her dress feels very restricting. But she ignores it.

Professional, professional, professional.

Even though there is nothing professional about Alcina Dimitrescu’s disposition. Oh no. The only thing that exists there is pure desire. Like the deep passionate idea of sex everyone has in their minds - except in the form of a human being. Or a… well she isn’t actually sure what she is. To the average person, at first glance, they may just assume she’s a well put-together tall woman - but Larissa is not a naive, simple woman. She has grown up around outcasts. Give her a test about outcast history, behavior, types, culture, origins, and she will pass with flying colors. Keen eyes notice the signs, the appearance, the behavior, and the things they do to cover it all up.

Like the skin.

It’s beautiful skin. Flawless skin. But painted white, when it’s actually grey. She can see it slightly- so slightly- beneath the makeup near her temple. Where beautiful bouncy black curls meet a pale forehead. She can see the smallest patch of grey. Gargoyle, is her first thought. But when she sees the teeth- stark white and normal, aside from the knife-sharp cuspids that shine in the firelight- she thinks Vampire. But then the hands… She was wearing gloves, but at some point had discarded them into her purse and is now lounging in the chair, holding her wine glass in such a delicate way that Larissa begins to envy the fucking thing. Light skin fades from the huge space of a feminine palm into the dark as midnight color of long slim fingers. They cradle the belly of the glass with a gentle touch - and Larissa catches sight of the nails. Painted black. Sharper than the average ‘accessory’. Like they’re… meant to be dangerous.

She doesn’t say anything about it though. Gargoyle, Vampire, whatever other creature, she would never ask them what their ‘type’ is. For adults with such peculiarities, it’s just not common to do so. Not to mention she’s the Principal of Nevermore Academy - and must set a good example.

…Even though there are no children present… and she is morbidly curious.

Doesn’t matter!

Nope. Not at all.

The beauty, the aura, the mystique of the woman before her will just have to remain a mystery. Even if Larissa has never seen a creature so sublime. With that silky dark hair… and those finely arched brows… and those red lips… and that soft jaw that can become oh so sharp with just a small tense of the muscles… and that nose… and those lashes… and those eyes. They swallow her whole. If she thinks she herself is intimidating, she’s wrong. Because Alcina Dimitrescu is waist-deep in the very meaning. With her sharp, easy languid smile. And her matured laugh lines. And her deep chuckles. And her stature. Broad-shouldered, muscular, with a very curvaceous and blessed figure, soft belly, and long legs. Long legs. Long fucking legs.

When she opened the door, Larissa nearly fainted.

Students and adults alike have a difficult enough job meeting her eyes. A woman standing at 6’3”, about 6’4” in kitten heels, is a thing to marvel at in the outcast and normie worlds. But the implications and awe of it all just astounds her. There are plenty of tall women in existence! Alcina Dimitrescu being one of them. Standing at 6’9”. Probably taller in the stilettos she’s wearing. 6 entire inches between them. She’s never met someone so… big. She had to control her reaction immediately, lest she be forever viewed as one of those people that can’t help but ogle. And how embarrassing that would be.

Even though there’s. Six. Inches. In. Difference.

It’s like they’re on opposite sides of the spectrum. Larissa is tall, but modest about it. She wears a low heel, she gives herself an everyday any-event style of makeup, she wears a light floral perfume, she keeps her hair short and pinned up, she stays neat and she wears work-appropriate dresses and she is still perfectly fashion forward. But ‘Ms. Dimitrescu’ is a different story. Is a bold story. Is an intoxicating story. She wears a high heel, and gives herself dark eyes, accentuates the god-given lashes, paints her lips blood red; and she wears a smoky roll-on scent that smells like spice and jasmine and white musk, and she keeps her short dark hair pulled into a tight 1950’s messy pin-curl kind of look, and she stays perfect while wearing tight grey button downs tucked into high waisted slacks. A feminine type of power suit that isn’t a power suit at all but still commands a room simply because she was just born that way.

It’s infuriatingly distracting.

Larissa has to look down at her lap so she can conjure up a proper response for the woman in front of her - who is still staring.

I think she has a habit, the Principal thinks to herself.

“As am I,” she coughs out, despising the telling husk to her words. “We are always looking for new outcasts at Nevermore. It helps us grow as a school, as a population, as a place of freedom and excitement. Do you know the estimated time of your daughters’ stay?” It wasn’t settled upon before - and Larissa needs something to distract her from the small appreciative sips Ms. Dimitrescu takes from her wine.

“That’s a very good question, Principal,” and a playful tinge slips into that naturally gorgeous expression, “Can they stay with you forever? Lord knows Mother needs a break.” And then she winks, and her red lips part into a smile, and then she takes her eyes elsewhere while Larissa quickly shifts her skin from a burning pink back into the natural peachy pale.

All she can think to do is let out a forced laugh paired with (what she hopes is) a smooth smile.

“As much as I wish they could,” Larissa breathes and puts her hands from her lap back onto the surface of the desk, “that is unfortunately unrealistic. Certain students do have that opportunity, yes, but we always encourage the young ones to get out a bit and see the world. It’s scary at first, but we also tell them that Nevermore will always be here. Should they want to come back, of course.” Is she rambling? Maybe. But her company doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems quite interested. Very interested.

Staring into her bloody soul like she’s been doing since day one. Larissa’s half tempted to ask her if there’s something wrong, but she figures it’s just the way the woman is. Intense.

“I see. Well. I suppose for now, the girls will stay for the standard four years - and if there’s more to discuss down the line, we will simply cross that bridge when we come to it. Does that sound amenable to you, Principal?” Ms. Dimitrescu tilts her head, still carrying an air of arrogant amusement as she strings Larissa along.

“It sounds perfect, yes,” and if her voice dips a little in the middle of her sentence then so what?

Ms. Dimitrescu seems to enjoy it as a slow grin spreads across her cheeks. Deepening her beautiful laugh lines while she smiles with all teeth. It’s nearly embarrassing how quickly Larissa’s eyes snap to the large canines. She’s explored vampiric anatomy before - in her Nevermore days - but this is something different. This woman doesn’t seem like anything she’s seen before, and only a person with an inquisitive mind can’t help but desire more. More like a feel, maybe. Like a touch. The brush of one finger pad along the very sharp tip of one tooth. Or the flick of a sensitive tongue. Or the feeling of them skating along her neck. Or-

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

Larissa blinks.

What?

Before she can say anything, and disagree, and tell her she most certainly does mind, the woman somehow already has a quellazaire tucked between her fingers. The wine glass now sits on the desk, on a coaster, and the lit end of a cigarette is already sparkling with the glow of burning embers. It’s brought up to red lips. Pressed and held. Then taken away while the taller woman slowly tips her head back and releases a deep chest-shaking groan. The smoke curls into the air like fingers around a woman’s waist, and Larissa is utterly speechless.

“I- uh-”

That beautiful head lifts itself, and she quickly notices the challenge weaseling around through the other woman’s gaze. A veil of smoke now separates them. But that doesn’t stop her from sniffing and licking her lips and adjusting herself in her seat - right before she sets down the law.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t do that Ms. Dimitrescu. This is still a public building, a school no less, and we want to set a good example for the students.” She silently congratulates herself on her courage. Right before it’s tugged away.

“Oh?” The other woman straightens up, her back arching in a way that makes Larissa wish she could skate her fingers along the beautiful curve it makes. “I wasn’t aware there were students present. Are you somehow able to see things I’m not, Principal Weems?”

It’s a small shot of playful mockery that makes her heart rate speed up- and for a second there she thinks she sees grey eyes shooting down to her chest, like she can hear the change in rhythm, before quickly meeting her gaze again.

Larissa plasters on her most obviously placating smile while she tilts her head. If there’s one thing that pisses her off, it’s a blatant disregard for respect. Alcina Dimitrescu may be older, and more prestigious, but this is Larissa Weems’s turf. One must bow to the king they visit.

“No, Ms. Dimitrescu, unfortunately I haven’t been gifted with that particular ability,” she speaks as clearly as she can, letting the passive aggression in her words flow out from behind smiling white teeth. “But I do know that I’m not fond of inhaling second-hand smoke. And should a student walk in at this hour, I can’t imagine they’d appreciate the assault on the senses either.” Her eyebrows quirk up, silently daring the woman to fight back. Just see what happens.

But her show of authority doesn’t anger Ms. Dimitrescu in the way she thought it would. It, instead, just makes her red lips twitch while she takes her second and last inhale - before taking the cigarette out of its long holder and… burning it. Twisting it to ash. On the sensitive skin of her hand. Between the knuckles of her index and middle fingers. Creating a slow circle. Smushing it to a weird tobacco-y pulp.

Larissa’s lips part in shock.

When the ruined cigarette is pulled away, not even a mark is left. Just a small smudge of ash that Ms. Dimitrescu wipes off with her thumb.

So certainly not human. And not a Gargoyle. And not a Vampire.

She swallows, unable to speak a single word while the woman puts her quellazaire away and stands up to her full height - towering over the desk for a moment - before she’s turning around and strutting over to the fireplace. Her hips sway as she goes, and her hair bounces lightly against the base of her neck, and the mixed smell of her spiced perfume and cigarette smoke floats into Larissa’s eager lungs and honestly, she wants nothing more than to trail after her and put her hands on those strong shoulders and push her onto the sofa and demand that this woman tell her who she thinks she is. Walking around her office as if she owns the place. Pouring hubris and carrying the kind of confidence only a rich woman can have… Like Larissa isn’t doing her a favor. Like Larissa didn’t have to bargain with the board to allow the Dimitrescu children into Nevermore. Homeschooled girls with the kind of peculiarities that can only stem from faraway villages; rough in their play and sharp in their minds. Just like their mother. Whose wine every single board member drinks.

Whose wine Larissa drinks.

But that’s also something she won’t tell her.

The wine in Ms. Dimitrescu’s glass, anyway, is one Larissa had to pull out from her own liquor cabinet; after she offered a drink to the other woman, thinking she knew she meant water or sparkling cider. But she didn’t. Or she didn’t care. And once she put the bottle and the crystal glass on the desk, she instantly took the initiative and poured herself a wonderfully hefty helping of a young Zinfandel. To a regular person, that amount of wine had in such a short period of time (their session is supposed to be 45 minutes but Larissa knows it’s run over) would definitely leave them drunk without any preamble. Of course, Ms. Dimitrescu is something distinctly inhuman, and her figure is probably quite heavy with all of that muscle… and curves… and the way her belly pushes against the waistband of her slacks ever ever so slightly… and she may have eaten earlier in the day and-

Why on Earth am I thinking about this?

Larissa has to keep herself from rolling her eyes.

A confident, slightly egotistical, insanely intelligent pretty woman steps into her office and drinks some of her wine and stares into her very being and suddenly she’s unable to control herself? She lived with Morticia Addams for nearly four years! Whatever training and self-discipline she gained from that experience has just flown out the window in the face of- of- of whatever the fuck Alcina Dimitrescu is?! No. Nonsense. Unacceptable. Her professionalism still remains. The woman can push the boundaries, but she cannot take Larissa’s dignity and jurisdiction. Even if she looks unnaturally attractive standing by the fire and lazily throwing her cigarette away into the flames.

Even if her eyes, for just a moment, flash a violent gold.

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When worlds collide !! I may do other parts of this; or little one-shots with this pairing. So let me know what you think? Thank you, darlings. - Rip x

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Tags (Keep in mind Tumblr doesn't let me tag certain accounts): @oddball21 @kaymariesworld @bloommushroom @readingtheentrails @thegoddamnfeels @theonefairygodmother @theflashesoflove @sweetderacine @opalthefrog @gwensfreak @shyladyfan @erablaise-blog @bellatrixsbrat @sunnyanon @emilynissangtr @lex13cm @sugipla @hasthebaconinhispants @deongocrazy @nocteangelus15 @eveymay @one-pining-queer @azu-zu @niceminipotato @hopelessly-sapphic @barbarasstar @enchantressb @syrenacrainn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @scarlettssub @ladysdraga @willisnotmental @gela123 @h-doodles @zillahofviolets-bayolet @weemssapphic @the-bearr @amateurwritescm

[mollysunder]

Is Ekko Trying to Reaffirm His Identity as a Firelight?

I find it very interesting that Jinx's monkey tag was engraved into Ekko's loc. Obviously, it's a sign that the Ekko-Jinx team up is real! But the placement of Jinx's tag may hint at something else more concerning for next season.

The monkey tag is where Ekko's Firelight symbol should be. And when we zoom out we see Ekko reapplying his face paint of the Firelight hourglass onto his face while holding back angry tears in his eyes.

Bare with me! Where there should be a symbol of his community, instead is Jinx. The fact that Ekko has to angrily reapply his face paint likely means his face was recently bare or the hourglass wasn't well distinguished the most identifying marker on him would be something related to Jinx.

I think this could mean for a portion of the season (not sure how long) Ekko's alliance with Jinx might take precedence over his affiliation with the Firelights.

Bare with me! Next season will most certainly be chaotic as the hunt for Jinx starts and her notoriety rises in Zaun. In the confusion and tension we know Caitlyn could have her eyes on the Firelights as a resource that they she could utilize to find Jinx. What opinions can we expect from the Firelights?

Despite everything that's happened between Jinx and the Firelights (and yes, that includes the killings), would they actually cooperate with Piltover to have her captured? Would it end the occupation? Would it mean that Caitlyn and Ambessa would continuously use them as a resource to rat on other Zaunites? Do some of the Firelights even hate Jinx enough to betray their principles? Do some of them respect Jinx for firing on the council?

These are all questions that can easily devolve into a schism for the Firelights. Or maybe we skip all of that and Ambessa's forces raid the tree hideout and the Firelights are scattered across Zaun. Either way Ekko ends up separated and he and Jinx may be in need of allies just as much as she is. It was even hinted at in the art book cover.

At the bottom Jinx of the green art book meant to represent Jinx drawing from Ekko's perspective she wrote, "Lost the Firelights". That's not a phrase that should be significant to Jinx. Silco's dead. Shimmer production is being cracked down on. There's no reason for her to attack them anymore, and she never chased them in the first place, they came to Jinx and her traps. It's about Ekko!

Could the poster represent a moment where after teaming up with Jinx, Ekko must return to build his community that fractured under Piltover's occupation?

[soupandsorcery]

"Astarion and I had a conversation about you once," Ciro says, seemingly apropos of nothing. They're stoking the fire higher in the hearth to ward away the chill in the air. Astarion is in the bath, which he'd promptly claimed for the next 'hour--no, two. Actually, just come check that I haven't drowned if you don't see me before bed'. Gale is sitting on the bed, making a face at the way it squeaks, even though the three of them have stayed in much worse places than this.

"Do I want to know?" Gale asks, and Ciro can feel him watching them. They've grown to learn the differences between the way Gale and Astarion look at them, though they both manage to convey their own hungry sort of awe with just their eyes.

Ciro smiles and feeds another small, neatly split log into the fireplace. "It wasn't bad. It was complimentary even. For Astarion."

"Oh, I'm sure that was interesting. Tell me."

The bed squeaks, and Ciro turns to see Gale lounging. He's shucked off his outer robe, and is just in a tunic and pants. For a man who looks so good in finery, Ciro thinks they might like him best when he's dressed down and comfortable. He looks more approachable then. More touchable.

"It was a little while after he bit me for the first time," Ciro explains. "And he was saying that after tasting me, he was wondering what the rest of our group might taste like. I think he compared you to a fine, well aged brandy."

Gale's eyebrows lift and something sparks in his eyes. It's curiosity, the same light he gets when he's about to spend the next few hours buried in books, chasing down some obscure spell or reference.

"Really?" he asks. "That is high praise from Astarion."

"I told you." Ciro smiles and comes to join him on the bed. It's going to be a tight fit for the three of them, but when the inn keeper offered them two rooms to divide up, they'd quickly declined. "I agreed that you'd probably taste very good."

Gale's cheeks go pink, and Ciro laughs softly. For a man who can weave erotic magic like no one they've ever met before, sometimes the simplest things make him blush. And maybe that makes sense. Maybe Gale has spent so much time with the grand and the ethereal that the small and mundane still manage to catch him off guard.

It bodes well for Ciro then, small and mundane as they are.

"What is it like?" Gale asks, sitting up on his elbows. "When he bites you?"

"It hurts," Ciro answers truthfully. "But that part is over quick. Then it just feels sort of...warm. Woozy. But Astarion always makes it a seduction. You know how he is." Gale nods. "He's good at distracting me from the pain of it and making it into something more tender."

Gale's eyes are very warm now, lit by the firelight and the heat of his curiosity and desire. "What does he do?" he murmurs. "Paint me a picture."

"That's not my thing." Of the three of them, Ciro is the worst with words, but they try anyway. "He kisses the spot where he bites me, and his hands wander. I don't really think about the pain when he's stroking me...you know."

Now their cheeks are on fire, a splash of red across their pink skin. Gale is still gazing at them intently, like he's expecting more, and Ciro feels the heat from the fire and the thump thump thump of their heart.

"Words are all well and good, Gale darling," a drawling voice interrupts them. "But they're no comparison to the richness of experience. Wouldn't you agree?"

Astarion emerges from the separate bathing area, draped in nothing but low slung pants. His pale skin glistens in the firelight, and his hair is damp and even curlier from the steam. He looks like a treat, but then, he always does.

He catches Ciro looking and smiles, small and tender, before winking at them.

"You ah-- You might have a point," Gale says, clearing his throat. "And I have been thinking about it."

"Really?" Astarion's eyebrows climb up his forehead. "I...didn't think you were interested."

"I wasn't. At first. Not that I'm opposed to you feeding yourself, of course, but Ciro had it well covered, and. Well, I'll admit I was being a bit of a baby about the pain aspect of it. But Ciro makes it sound very intriguing. And I've seen the way they look when you're finished with them."

"How I look? How do I look?" Ciro asks, glancing between the two of them.

"Soft, sleepy," Gale says at the same time Astarion purrs, "Ruined."

It's enough to make them blush darker, and then groan, falling face first into one of the pillows on the bed. "You're the worst," they mumble.

"Which of us are you talking to?" Astarion wants to know.

"Take your pick."

He chuckles, a low, rolling sound that does things to Ciro's body and their heart. It's not fair that he's so casually attractive. Or that Ciro is so easily flustered.

"Leave them alone," Gale says fondly.

"Alright, I'll turn my attention back to you then," Astarion replies. "Are you actually interested in seeing what it's like? I won't be offended if it's more of an...idle curiosity."

Gale is quiet for a moment, and Ciro can practically hear him thinking. "I suppose I should try it, shouldn't I? I can hardly be involved with a vampire without letting a little blood every now and then, right?"

"Well, you could. It's hardly a requirement. But I won't deny that I am still ravenously curious to find out what you taste like."

Ciro snorts into the pillow at the word choice and gets poked in the side for their trouble. Their men and their drama.

"We'll call it an experiment, shall we?" Gale declares. "I'll try it, and if I don't like it, no harm, no foul."

"No harm, no foul," Astarion agrees. "I should have done this better when it was my first time with Ciro. You won't be offended if I make this a little more romantic for our dear Gale, will you, pet?"

Ciro sits up and finds Astarion looking at them intently. It's an honest question, they realize, from the way Astarion looks at them and the little furrow of anxiety between his brows.

"I won't be offended," they promise him. "You've more than made up for it."

Astarion smiles, reaching for Ciro's hand to kiss the back of it before sweeping around the room. He grabs one of the chairs from the little side table and puts it near the fire, then stands in the center of their rented room with his hands on his hips. His eyes flick back to Ciro, and a smile plays around his lips.

"Could I trouble you to help me?" he asks. "Gale isn't as...familiar with pain as you are. It might help if he had a distraction." There's a mischievous glint to his eyes, and he picks up one of the pillows from the bed and lays it in front of the chair.

Ciro catches on to Astarion's meaning before Gale does, and they smile, sliding off the bed. They kiss Astarion's cheek, leaning into him for a moment. "I can be distracting," they murmur.

"You certainly can."

"I--oh," Gale says, finally catching on.

"Indeed. Come sit," Astarion drawls, gesturing to the chair.

Gale practically scrambles to obey, sitting down in the chair, legs spread. Ciro slides in gracefully, sinking down to their knees on the pillow. It's clear that Gale is nervous, from the way he's shifting and his eyes darting back and forth. Ciro can't pretend they didn't feel the same when they did this for the first time, but they've all come a long way since then.

"Breathe," they murmur to Gale. They slide their hands up his thighs, fingers massaging the muscles there. "We'll take care of you."

"Yes," Astarion agrees, moving in behind the chair. His long, elegant fingers slide over Gale's shoulders and down to his chest. "You are ours to look after."

"Alright." Gale takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, and his posture relaxes. He sits back in the chair and tips his head back to regard Astarion. "I'm ready."

"Hm, not yet, I think," Astarion murmurs. "Ciro?"

That's their cue. With an ease borne of practice, Ciro walks their fingers up Gale's thighs even more and starts unlacing his pants. Gale lifts his hips enough that Ciro can drag the garment down, freeing Gale's cock. He's already on his way to being hard, but it never does take much to get Gale going when the two of them are involved.

Ciro glances to Astarion, to make sure he's comfortable with this amount of sexual contact happening right in front of him. It comes and goes these days, and sometimes he wants to be involved, while sometimes he'd rather not be in the room at all. But now there's a honeyed warmth to his eyes, and a slow, pleased smile tucked into the corners of his mouth.

He catches Ciro looking and inclines his head a little, in answer to the silent question.

"Focus on me," Ciro murmurs to Gale, one hand wrapping around his cock to stroke it slowly.

Gale's eyes are riveted on Ciro as he sucks in a deep breath, hips already bucking minutely up into Ciro's touch. Ciro grazes his thumb over the head of Gale's cock, gathering the growing wetness from the tip to spread down as he keeps working him up.

Astarion keeps his hands on Gale too, fingers dipping under the open collar of his shirt, dancing over his collarbones.

"Ciro's beautiful on their knees, don't you think?" Astarion purrs into Gale's ear. It must have an effect because Gale's dick twitches in Ciro's hand. "So very eager and obedient. So ready to please you. To please us both."

There's so much promise in that tone of voice, and it catches Ciro up in it too, making them swallow hard.

"Perhaps we'll both indulge in how good you must taste tonight," Astarion says, and Ciro dips their head to lick a hot stripe up Gale's cock.

"Ah," Gale moans. His hands are wrapped around the arms of the chair, a white knuckled grip as Ciro and Astarion work him up between them.

"Yes, very good," Astarion continues, and Ciro doesn't know which one of them he's praising. They suppose it doesn't really matter.

They ease their mouth over the head of Gale's cock and then take him all the way down to the root. Not having a gag reflex has come in handy many a time with their lovers, especially Gale, who is surprisingly well endowed.

They hold it there for a moment, taking in the feeling of Gale in their mouth, the way the head of him hits the back of their throat, the way they can feel the tension climbing in his body.

Then they pull off, sucking in a gasp of air before going back to it.

Astarion just waits. Watches. Occasionally offers praise in his low, seduction edged voice. When Ciro glances up, they can tell that Astarion is thumbing Gale's nipple under his shirt, and that Gale is sprawled in the chair, almost boneless with pleasure.

"If you keep this up--" Gale chokes out. "I am not likely to--ah! I'm not likely to last."

"That is the goal," Astarion says. He sounds a bit breathless now, but is otherwise composed. Ciro knows that if they looked into his eyes there would be a million different emotions in them, but they focus on their task, sucking Gale down and swirling their tongue around the head of his cock.

He leaks a salty drip, which Ciro laps up eagerly, letting themself get lost in it. Gale's little moans of pleasure are almost musical, and Ciro knows from experience that he's beautiful when he falls apart.

He's close now, Ciro can taste it, and apparently Astarion can too because he chooses that moment to bite him. Ciro hears his voice, a low, "Breathe, love," and then Gale's gasping sharply.

Ciro looks up, but it's not pain on Gale's face. At least not entirely. He looks like he's in a harsh sort of ecstasy, sharp and brutal, but like he's enjoying every second of it. His body arches a bit, and Astarion keeps a hold of him, not letting him buck too hard.

He's learned, from his time feeding on Ciro, how to really refine this art. How to walk the line between pain and pleasure, and wait for the moment when the two can blend together beautifully.

Gale's there now, wrapped up in it, and Ciro has just enough time to pull back a bit before Gale comes undone, coming hard in their mouth.

Ciro works him through it, licking him clean before they pull off. Astarion pulls away a moment later, dragging his tongue over the small drips of blood that have spilled down Gale's neck. He presses a kiss, tender and soft, to Gale's neck, and then lets out a pleased sigh.

"Well?" Ciro asks, sitting back on their heels. "Was it everything you expected?"

Astarion smiles, and he almost looks drunk with it. "And more, darling. We were right, all that time ago. He's positively exquisite."

"I'm flattered," Gale says. "And spent."

"It's a very good look for you," Astarion tells him.

Between the three of them, they manage to bank the fire and move their way to bed in various states of undress. By an unspoken agreement, Gale gets the middle, and Astarion and Ciro curl up on either side of him. It is a tight fit, but Ciro has never complained about having to huddle close with these two.

It's several minutes later when Astarion speaks again. "Was that...was it alright?"

Gale chuckles and turns his head to kiss the tip of Astarion's nose. "'Alright' doesn't do it justice in the least. That was an experience. One I would be happy to repeat, if you're all willing."

"Count me in," Ciro murmurs sleepily.

"I suppose I could be convinced," Astarion replies, and he sounds very pleased behind the flippant words.

"Then it's settled."

Like so many things between the three of them, it comes down to a conversation and mutual agreement, and Ciro smiles, happy and eager to see where life leads them next.

[hannahssimblr]

In the evening we bike to the shop to buy firelighters. Jen says she likes the idea of a bonfire while we eat our barbeque food, even though the only time one has even been lit at the beach house is when my dad did it, all the while ranting on about how he learned everything he knew about fire in the boy scouts, and how if I had an iota of discipline or self control I might have benefitted from them before the local pack expelled me for being a shithead.

He was right. I reluctantly accept it as Jen and I approach the materials for making fire. Nobody has ever told me about the difference between briquettes and coal, what firelighters actually look like and exactly where peat plays into all of this. I know nothing about how to do manly things, and only ever figured out how to pitch a tent after subtly watching Shane do it the first time he and I went camping in the woods. 

In contrast, my father has shot an actual gun. He and his brothers hunted deer, game and wild pigs in the hills around their family farmhouse in Redding California. As they loaded up their rifles and zipped up their jackets they would say things to me about how I’d be coming with them someday, as though was some sort of honour, something to strive for, but by the time I was big enough to kill pheasants I was already five thousand miles away drawing comics on printer paper. My soft hands were meant for art.

“You grab the firelighters,” I tell Jen, and take a swerve towards the magazine stand so that I can peruse something in my comfort zone. There’s a small selection of artsy magazines, and I flip one open. 

“Um, do you think we should buy gasoline or something?” She stands chewing on her lip. 

“Probably not, right? That seems dangerous.”

“Should we ask someone?” 

“What? No.” Embarrassing.

I pretend to be engrossed in an article so that I don’t have to help, but while I'm there, an ad catches my eye, “Hey,” I call out to Jen, “would you want to go to an exhibition this weekend?”

“What kind?”

“Art.”

“Yeah, what kind?”

I turn the page to her so that she can see it, “contemporary,” and her eyes narrow at the images of weird sculptures made of bits of scrap metal, canvases with random splatters of paint dripping off the bottom, colour bleeding onto the floor.

“Hm. See, that’s the kind of weird art I don’t get.”

“It’s not about the art specifically, it’s about us doing something fun together.”

“And that’s in Dublin?”

“Yes.”

She smirks in a self satisfied way, “You’re bored,” she stops a passing customer to ask him if he knows what firelighters are, and if so, what does the box look like.

He shows her, and while she’s picking up the last two packets I come to stand with her, not helping, because now I'm more interested in selling this new idea to her. “It’ll be fun! How nice would it be to have a change of scenery? Get back to the city where stuff is actually happening, maybe go to that ice cream place you like.”

I’m certain this will sway her, but she pulls a face, “There’s loads of ice cream here, and the only reason you think nothing is happening on the beach is because you’re deliberately not doing anything.”

“Is it so bad that I want to have a day out with you?”

“No, I suppose not, but...” She wrinkles her nose “Fine. I don't want to be cynical. Do you think I’m cynical?”

“Yeah a bit.” I pay for the firelighters. As we exit the shop into the lingering light of the evening I admit to her, “I’m trying to cheer myself up, I just think I should make the most of the time I have left.”

She laughs, “It sounds like you’re terminally ill. You’re moving. So what? I’ll still talk to you all the time.”

“Yeah but I really want to savour these last few weeks. Will you come to the gallery?” I grip her arm and pretend to die, letting my knees buckle under me to really sell it, “...before it’s too late?”

“God, yes, fucking hell,” she groans, “I’ll come. I’ll do whatever you want for the rest of the summer, right?”

I throw an arm around her, “Thanks Jen.”

“Yeah, manipulator.”

“Takes one to know one,” I say cheerily, and we unlock our bikes and head towards home.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[bichletmepickaname]

I was re watching the arcane teaser trailer to do a personal breakdown about it when I came to this part and it made me wonder. Whose hand is that?

I doubt there following after jinx doing it as that is associated with vi, and I don’t believe she is in the best regards with her.

It can’t be jinxed because it looks way different and it doesn’t have the painted nails or gloves. Or even the finger like in that one poster. It does come up while Sevika is talking about jinx being a “symbol”. But my question is, who would know about that other then Ekko, some of the firelights that jinx didn’t kill, vi or Caitlyn. That moment wasn’t very public I don’t think. Maybe it could’ve been some of the firelights but why would they see jinx as a positive symbol of she’s killed so many of there people.

And I doubt there following after jinx doing it as that is associated with vi, and I don’t believe she is in the best place with her.

There’s also this quick moment where this is shown off. But my question still stands how is this a known thing. I don’t think vi would’ve painted it as she probably doesn’t see jinx as that great symbol. But who else could have. there is a SLIM chance it’s ekko because of his hair thingy having jinx’s writing on it. But other than that I fall blank, who else knows about this?

I was thinking sevika possibly could’ve painted it because she’s the one taking about how kind is a symbol. But that falls flat because Sevika doesn’t know about that moment either. And there is no evidence anywhere that she is particularly good at art.

I dunno I might be looking too deep into this 🧍

[mightymizora]

Fics list

Hello! I've had a huge influx of new followers and I'm gonna plug my fics, again, sorry long term followers but you know the drill here.

Most of my fics are M or E rated. I would advise reading the tags before diving in, especially for anything involving the Chosen of the Dead Three, as I tend to acknowledge the themes in the writing of The Dark Urge in my work. This is not an exhaustive list! There's some other pairings and things to discover if you like my style!

If you came here because of Manva...

There is a whole series of fics about Manva and Enver Gortash called A Jewelled and Bloody Hand, and a few non Gortash fics, but if I had to pick 3 fics about Manva, they would be...

The Portrait, in which a pre-canon artist gets a commission from Lord Gortash to paint his paramour.

Monster, Mine, and exploration of Gortash and Manva through the former's obsession with finding the legendary Slayer.

Blood and Bone, Bone and Blood which is a Ketheric-centred piece on their first meeting.

If you want more Gortash...

I can't stop thinking about him. I wrote Don't Lose Hope about his childhood in the Hells, I'm writing Clever Boy about him when he is older looking to negotiate his way out through Haarlep, The Library in which he visit's Ffion in Elminster's Library for some R&R, and even a bit of Default Durgetash in Night Eater. There will be more.

If you're all about Gale...

I love him, he's my very favourite. My main longfic, Breath and Rosewater, is a Gale x Tav (my darling Glimmergris, a Deep Gnome Bard.) I also have a bunch of fics around them that sit outside of this: Out of Body and Respite that take place during the game, and Practised Hands and Firelight take place after (and are way more smutty.) More Gale is planned, but with Lae'zel and with Shadowheart.

If you're a romantic who likes a rarepair...

I am obsessed with Jaheira and Halsin. The First Leaf on the Tree After Winter is probably my favourite of my BG3 fics, and if you only read one, maybe make it this.

Also if you're into Dragon Age and Pillars of Eternity, there's more to find too!

[masterqwertster]

For the Loads of Snuggles and Hugs list, could I request "gently wiping tears from the other's face", with Ashton and FCG?

Snuggles and Hugs Prompt

Once Ashton has their meager little camp between that fucking silver mine and Evishi set up, his dinner slowly cooking over the fire, he beckons the little automaton closer to the rock he’s made a seat out of.

 Fresh Cut Grass wobbles over from where they’d posted up at the edge of Ashton’s bed roll. There’s a distant air to them, like they’re not quite all there in the moment.

“All right, let’s get you cleaned up,” Ashton brusquely announces, wielding a cooking pot full of water and an old rag.

“...Cleaned up?” Fresh Cut Grass hesitantly asks.

“Yeah. Probably should have done this earlier, to be honest. But I figured it might be better to get away from that mess first,” Ashton absently explains, gently pulling the automaton in closer.

“O-okay,” they assent, left hand fingers nervously tugging at the unresponsive fingers of their right hand.

“I mean, unless you want to keep the blood from your friends as a paint job…?” Ashton awkwardly offers. It would definitely be… a look, that’s for sure. Certainly not one Ashton would entertain for himself, but to each their fucking own, you know?

“Wha-! No, no. I don’t– I don’t want that,” the little automaton denies, more life to him than he’s really had since they buried his companions. 

“Okay,” Ashton curtly nods.

The genasi removes the sling he’d put Fresh Cut Grass’s non-functional arm in so it won’t get wet, guiding the limp arm down to hang at the automaton’s side. Then he pours about half of the pot out over their head, letting the water clear what it can without a good scrub.

“Tell me if I’m scrubbing too hard, okay?” Ashton instructs Fresh Cut Grass as they dip the rag into the remaining water. 

They get an absent nod in reply. One that sends droplets of water streaking down his face. 

It’s instinct that has Ashton reaching forward to cradle that metallic face, his thumb gently swiping a drop sliding down from Fresh Cut Grass’s working eye. 

Just like people wipe away another’s tears.

Automatons can’t cry. Ashton knows that. But unlike any other automaton he’s seen, Fresh Cut Grass has feelings. And right now? Right now the little fella is sad as hell. They buried their friends’ rotting, mangled corpses that they’d had to stare at for days only a few hours ago. Who wouldn’t be sad enough to cry from shit like that?

Unfortunately, Ashton is absolute fucking shit at being comforting. They’re too rough, too blunt, too much of an asshole. Not soft at all, not like they used to be, once upon a time. 

Yet they’re all the automaton has got at the moment.

It was bringing forth that forcefully buried piece of Ashton that liked to get attached to people and things like the world’s biggest fucking idiot. That fucking stupid piece of them wanted to be soft, be comforting, even though they’re absolute shit at it. 

And Ashton should not indulge it. There’s no use in being soft. It just shows people where to put the fucking knife later. Just hurts all the more when they fucking leave Ashton, just like they always do.

So maybe Ashton uses a little more force than he needs to clear away the crusty dried blood on Fresh Cut Grass’s faceplate. If he does, the automaton doesn’t protest it. And Ashton works his way down the beaten yellow chassis, clearing away the dark, rust red stains of carnage. His hands unconsciously gentling the further into the silent process he gets.

“Alright, lemme get some fresh water for one last rinse, and then I think we’re done,” Ashton declares, dumping the pot of now-somewhat grimy water out behind them.

It takes no time at all to refill the pot and return. Ashton upends the whole thing over Fresh Cut Grass’s head once more, streaks of water running down the now clean steel and sparkling in the firelight.

“Looking good,” Ashton compliments as they check for any spots they might have missed.

“Th-thank you,” the little automaton trembles as they jerkily nod their head.

Once more, water drips from his eye lenses like tears.

Something in Ashton cracks, and he knows he’s not going to be able to leave this little robit alone. Ever.

“Hey, hey. It’s going to be alright,” they softly whisper, cupping FCG’s face with both hands, thumbing away more tears and pressing their forehead to his. 

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

[soopersara]

Solstice

Zutara Week 2023: Day 2

Read it on AO3 | @zutaraweek

After her mother dies, the Southern Tribe's celebrations lose some of their appeal for Katara. But the spirits still have something to show her.

On the longest night of the year, it’s said, the spirits paint messages in the sky.

Katara can’t believe that. In all her years watching ribbons of color dancing through the air, she’s seen nothing of the kind. The aurora casts rainbows over the snow, and the lights, the music, the dancing that carry through the interminable night seem magic enough for her.

Katara, after all, is nearly ten years old. Surely now she is too old to believe a story just because Gran-Gran tells it well.

Surely in a world where mothers can die, there can be no magic.

⁂

She isn’t supposed to take the canoe out tonight. The solstice festival begins early tomorrow, and if she ventures too far now, Gran-Gran says, the spirits might take her away.

Katara knows that isn’t true. Even if the stories were real, the spirits would have no quarrel with her.  No, at midwinter, it’s the winds and the ice that Gran-Gran fears.

But Katara is a waterbender, and with Dad at war and Sokka not yet returned from hunting, someone needs to collect the lobster-clams from their traps.

Under the light of a growing aurora, Katara pushes the canoe from shore.

⁂

The village is behind her. Katara knows the ice fields well enough that she can’t be lost so close to home.

Still, faint firelight flickers ahead, and she steers the canoe into the bank.

“Hello? Is somebody lost?”

No answer comes at first, but when she climbs from her canoe and rounds an icy spire, she finds a boy huddled close by a small, sputtering flame. His clothes are thin and dark, not remotely suited to the cold, and yet he seems okay.

His eyes meet hers, and her feet refuse to move.

“Oh. I guess I did hear someone.”

⁂

“My name is Katara.”

“I’m Zuko.”

Wrapped in the spare furs from the bottom of her canoe, he looks smaller than he did at first. Or maybe she just thinks that because now, the red of his clothes is hidden.

“How did you get here without freezing?”

Zuko shrugs. “I don’t think I did. I went to bed, and when I opened my eyes again—there was snow everywhere.”

The spirits, she thinks, but still, she can’t believe it. They’re supposed to write messages in the sky, not kidnap firebending boys.

“Well, then—maybe you should come home with me.”

⁂

“Why are you out here alone?”

It’s hard not to stare at him as they sit face to face. And under the intensity of his eyes, it’s even harder to lie.

“Someone had to empty the lobster-clam traps.”

“Liar.”

She scowls at him, but this time, her tongue betrays her. “I don’t want to go to the solstice festival.”

“How come?”

“Because it’s no fun without my mom.”

By the way that Zuko looks at her, she thinks he understands. His hands are cold when they find hers, but he doesn’t seem to care. “Maybe you don’t have to go.”

⁂

Side by side, they lie at the bottom of the canoe, drifting as ribbons of pink and green skate across the sky.

“Do you have any idea how I got here?” Zuko asks her.

She finds that she can’t lie to him. “Probably the spirits. They’re supposed to send us messages on the solstice. Just—usually not people.”

“Oh. So—do you think I’ll go back home when the sun rises?”

Katara looks his way. “The sun won’t rise for a few more weeks.”

To her surprise, Zuko smiles. “Good. I don’t think I’m ready to go back home yet.”

[e-wills-afterhours]

Vetrnaetr, Chapter 7

A/N: Another new chapter of Vetrnaetr! Sure, it's been like...a year. That's fine. It's fine. Everything is fine. I feel like I've lost my touch a little--but it is fine.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Hiccstrid, Affairs AU

Start from the very beginning here.

-----

Of all the wild animals one could domesticate, dragons had to rank among the best in terms of versatility, companionship, and absolute undeniable badassery. The near-exclusiveness Berk enjoyed with the beasts was a thing of envy--and a secret closely guarded lest they welcomed war upon their island. A small, rather reclusive tribe of Norsemen with an army of obedient dragons at their disposal would raise a few eyebrows and undermine regional stability. They would be a threat to squash. Berk's greatest asset could easily be its undoing, should it inspire a covetousness in their enemies and fair-weather allies--and Chief Stoick considered all their alliances to be tenuous and conditional at best.

Astrid was glad that the threads of fate sought fit to place her on Berk. Her life, a mess though it was at the moment, was made rich by Hooligan culture now steeped in a fierce love of dragons. Once, the flapping of great, leathery wings and overhead shadows brought fear and death. Now, she hardly noticed a low-flying Gronckle, and dodged the Terrible Terrors that scurried underfoot with practiced ease. Berk used to be a place painted with ash and flames--but as the sun rose high over the island, her village seemed vibrant with colorful dragons at every turn.

Stormfly's unwavering loyalty was a great comfort amid the chaos of holiday busyness and faltering relationships. Astrid could not imagine life without her dragon, though such a life was all she had known a few short years ago.

But that was a whole different world that was slipping from memory, like the last vestiges of a nightmare broken up by the bright, new day.

Morning flights, evening flights. They still cleansed the soul, a respite for the mentally and emotionally laden.

The chill in the air, high among the clouds, was nearly intolerable. Astrid's teeth chattered and she shivered beneath her thick layers of wool and furs. Her fingers were numb in seconds, but her dragon's cries of delight were worth it as they took to the sky. Stormfly was nearly sing-song as she rolled over the waves and glided on the air currents, spotted wings outstretched like a great, scaly gull. In a couple of months, the dragons would leave Berk during their annual migration to warmer climates to breed. Astrid could not blame them. When winter was in full swing, she wished to join them. Instead, she counted down the days until they returned.

Astrid closed her eyes, breathing deeply, lungs filling up with icy salt air. It stung a little, but it was more freeing than the smoke from the hearth and sewing by firelight under her mother's critical eye. Indeed, flying in the bitter cold and biting wind was preferable to cooking under scrutiny, hoping to earn passable marks and an afternoon's reprieve from mandatory lessons in domesticity. For some reason, her mother seemed to suffer the delusion that she could fix her relationship woes with a hearty stew and needlepoint. Maybe perfecting her homemaking to the same degree as her combat skills would make her irresistible--a wife to be desired.

How laughable, when she did not want to be solely valued for such things.

"Go, Stormfly! Go!" she shouted, nudging her dragon into a sharp dive., the rush of frigid wind drowning out her thoughts.

Thunderdrums could be seen just below the surface, their spots peeking in and out of the tide, drawing ever closer. Such reckless flight and freedom sustained the troubled heart--Hiccup has shown her that. Astrid whooped, tears streaming from wind-battered eyes as they rushed toward the waves below.

Sometimes, she wondered what might happen if her dragon did not pull up at the last moment, skimming the white caps with her claws. If they kept diving, plunging into the depths, might they puncture the veil and end up somewhere else; a place where she could chart her own future without everyone else's input? She supposed such a place was for dreams: the impractical desires of youth that eventually crossed over into fond memories of a still wild and untamed imagination, before things like responsibility and duty beat it into submission.

She closed her eyes, sitting up in the saddle. With outstretched arms, it felt like she was flying, fast and low, and far away.

Peace. Finally, she was at some small semblance of peace...

"HELP!" came a scream over the roar of the ocean, piercing her reverie.

Astrid pulled back on her dragon's reins, and Stormfly came to an abrupt stop, hovering in midair as she glanced around wildly.

"HELLO?" she called back, reaching for her axe. Maybe, just maybe, she could put it to use for the first time in ages.

But she saw no one else among the stacks, other than the plump grey seals sunning themselves on the rocks scattered at the bases. The only answer she received was the squawk of the coastal birds going about their business, riding the air currents.

To her right was an inlet, cliffs sharply rising on either side of the mouth Agmundr's Sound. She and her father would take many camping trips there in her childhood, where she first learned to fish and to sail. Now it was a popular location for Berk's youth to spend an afternoon on the beach, away from their parents and responsibilities. It was also a fine place to strip down to one's undergarments and ride the Scauldrons that nested there in the summer, when the water was warmer, and the days were long.

The desperate scream echoed through the air once more, and this time, Astrid was certain the source was somewhere inside Agmundr's Sound.

She steered her dragon into the deep, broad divide that Odin cleaved out of Ymir when he fashioned Berk and all the world to his liking. Stormfly flew low as they searched the length of the sound, her reflection keeping pace on the gentler waters below. Fir trees lined the cliffside, but nothing stood out. All she could hear in the distance was the call of Berk's resident Timberjacks.

Maybe she had imagined someone calling for help? Perhaps stress was getting to her? She was about to call off her search, resigned to the notion she had misheard--when there, on the shore where the two cliffs diminished into rolling hills and met, she saw a great scar in the earth. At its end, was a familiar black dragon--and Astrid's heart skipped a beat. Toothless stirred up all kind of feelings by association, and she could not leave him in distress.

Stormfly landed gracefully on the beach, taking care to avoid the deep trench that had been gouged there from a rough landing. The black dragon's rider--the mystery screamer--also became apparent. Fishlegs sputtered, brushing the cold, damp sand from his cloak while Toothless growled at him--one did not need to speak dragon to understand the gist of the Night Fury's frustrations, and what he wished to communicate.

"I'm sorry!" Fishlegs pleaded with the dragon. Toothless was not the least bit sympathetic, turning his back to him in an indignant huff.

"Are you alright?" Astrid asked, dismounting.

Fishlegs gave a start. He had been too busy arguing with the disgruntled Night Fury to notice her arrival.

"Astrid!" he exclaimed, face brightening at once.

He trudged over to her, trying to shake the remaining sand from his clothes.

"Maybe you can talk some sense into him," Fishlegs whispered, jerking his thumb in Toothless's direction.

Astrid surveyed the scene: filthy clothes, a great plowing of the earth, and one bent tailfin.

"Did you crash?" she asked, though it was plain.

"It's not my fault!" Fishlegs cried. He hurried over to the Night Fury and pointed emphatically at the complex flying apparatus. "I mean, what?"

Astrid folded her arms beneath her cloak. "Didn't Hiccup leave you instructions on how to work it?"

"He did," Fishlegs replied, pouting. "They made a lot more sense on paper."

Astrid frowned and walked around Toothless, examining the intricate feat of seemingly impossible engineering that Hiccup made appear effortless. Toothless flashed her a gummy smile, tongue lolling out the side of his wide mouth. He began to wiggle with anticipation as she circled him.

"I don't think you've busted it beyond repair," she said, and Fishlegs breathed an audible sigh of relief. "But I'm not the expert in these things," she added.

His face faltered. "You're not going to tell Hiccup, are you? He'll be so mad!"

Astrid crouched down to hold up the tail fin, the most medial piece of ribbing bent at an odd angle. "Somehow, I think he'll notice," she replied flatly.

Fishlegs groaned, gripping his short, choppy hair. "He's never going to trust me with Toothless again!"

Astrid stood up, hands on her hips. "Don't take it personally. He doesn't trust anybody with Toothless. Not really."

"He trusts you."

Astrid remembered the days when Hiccup was still healing from his duel with Stefnir, arm in a sling. He offered her his good hand and brought her over to an impatient Night Fury in his complete rig. She had been confused; Hiccup had agreed not to fly until he was sufficiently mended--but he stepped aside so she could climb into the saddle instead. With patience and calm, he taught her each position of the tailfin until she could shift gears fluidly.

Then, he took large steps back as Toothless unfurled his wings, and said, "I trust you."

It must have been killing him inside to let go and grant her access to the final, most personal part of himself--but he exuded nothing but warmth, looking at her astride his dragon like she held his world together.

"He did trust me," she muttered to Fishlegs.

"He does," he corrected with an encouraging smile.

Outside of Toothless and Astrid, Fishlegs was Hiccup's closest friend. Perhaps he had found time to confide in the other boy between talk of dragons.

Astrid shook her head, heavy with self-pity. "Well, I've gone a made a mess of things, haven't I?"

Fishlegs was nodding along until pinned in her gaze. His eyes widened, and shifting awkwardly he said, "Oh! That wasn't rhetorical?"

She sighed. "Never mind. It's not anything I don't already know."

They stood in a heavy silence with the dragons considering them. puzzled. Fishlegs looked pained, like he had something to say, burning his throat, but something held it in. Or he wanted to vomit. Honestly, the expression was about the same.

Astrid waved her hand, dismissing the thought on the tip of his tongue. If some secret lingered there, entrusted to him by Hiccup, then she did not want him to be tempted into betraying that trust. Fishlegs was a good friend, but it did not take much to pry confessions from him--and Hiccup was already frustrated with her, plenty enough.

"Tell you what: I think Toothless can still manage to get home, though it won't be fast or with flourish. I will fly him for you, if you agree to fly Stormfly back to Berk for me," she said, patting the Night Fury.

"Thank you!" he practically cried with relief.

Even Toothless perked up at the prospect of flying with someone competent.

Stormfly crouched down and Fishlegs clambered up into the saddle. He struggled for only a moment, used to a dragon much closer to the ground. Astrid mounted Toothless and hooked her foot beneath the connecting peg for Hiccup's prosthesis. While it was built for him alone to operate smoothly, she could manage by flexing her foot to pull the peg up into position or rest her foot atop it to press it down. By no means was it a fluid process. She could not shift gears in that seamless way only Hiccup could--but she managed. At any rate, she was adept enough to fly Toothless safely home from Agmundr's Sound.

Stromfly stretched out her wings, ready to push off from the beach, but Fishlegs hesitated.

"For what it's worth," he began, "I've never known Hiccup to be happier than when you two are together. And--"

"Thank you, Fishlegs," Astrid interjected, "But you don't have to--"

"It will work out for you. It has to." He paused for a beat, then added, "I think he loves you too much. He doesn't talk about anyone else the same way."

Astrid did not say anything. Her eyes stung, and she told herself it was simply the cold wind channeled through the sound that also tossed her loose hair about. Fishlegs smiled, looking pleased with himself, as if his words alone would set things right.

"Just put Stormfly back in her stall, please."

"You got it!" Fishlegs replied, and Astrid watched him take off above the frosted trees.

She did not think it possible, but her heart ached all the more.

------

Hiccup was overjoyed to be leaving Helgafell at last. He had grown weary of snow, rock, and bare trees. As miserable as the journey home would be, captive on a boat with nothing to look at but his burly tribesmen and a vast expanse of rolling gray sea, each hour would bring him closer to home, to his own bed, belongings, to Toothless--and to Astrid.

The words of her letter, and that implicit ultimatum of hers, were branded on the forefront of his mind. He was a flurry of emotion to match the winter storm that blew in that morning as they packed up. No one asked, but he had to seem more distracted than usual. As he helped load their ship, he was equal part angry, anxious, and lovesick. He wanted to see Astrid, but dreaded the confrontation it would bring. He wanted to resolve their issues, but feared the implosion of their relationship if he said the wrong thing--and lately, it seemed every word he uttered was the wrong thing. He wanted to make her happy, get back what they had worked so hard for, but he did not know how to be anything other than himself; it was quite the conundrum.

"That's the last of it," Stoick declared, as the small crate of their rations was carried onboard. "Are you ready?"

Hiccup nodded, stepping onto the gently rocking ship.

As the rest of the crew followed behind him, he took one last glance out at Helgafell. The frosted temple towered above the dwindling tents. With camps being dismantled left and right, the island looked even smaller than it had before. The mysterious volva wandered among the stragglers, offering them any herbs and psychedelic fungi that might make the journey home more bearable.

Hiccup would've purchased the bunch if it could erase his memory the trip and the things he had learned. He could still smell the blood of the sacrificial animals and hear the resigned groan of dragon before it died. The distant stare of the volva haunted him when he closed his eyes.

They shoved off, and he felt a weight lifted. From the moment he had set foot on Helgafell, there had been an oppressive and ominous energy, as if he was one faux pas, one misstep from bringing hostilities on Berk. He played his part, the dutiful heir. While the island began to fade in the distance, shrouded again in fog and snow, Hiccup's heart was burdened by the realization that he would continue to play the part until it became the reality of him.

He sighed, leaning on his elbows set upon the starboard gunwale. Their ship ploughed through the waves, and he watched the sea ebb and flow, beating against the hull before exploding into briny mist. The deck creaked beneath familiar footfalls approaching him from behind, trying to be softer than their capacity.

Stoick cleared his throat, but it was unnecessary.

"With the wind on our side, we might see Berk half-a-day earlier than planned," he said, large hands coming to rest on the same faded red gunwale supporting his son in his best attempt to appear casual.

"That would be nice. Lots to do before Vetrnaetr kicks off, I guess?" Hiccup replied.

He pretended it was not so amusing to see his father's impressive red beard dancing about in the wind, catching snowflakes.

"There is, but I suppose Spitelout has seen to most of the preparations."

Hiccup nodded and the two of them gazed out at the ocean, churning and reflecting the dreary sky as if one might bleed into the other. His father was watching him out of the corner of his eye as he so often did.

"I know you did not enjoy the trip," Stoick spoke up after a very pregnant pause.

"Maybe it was all the talk of funding wars through trade or watching that dragon die such a pointless death for the sake of a man's ego that did it."

"I hope you realize how important it was all the same."

Hiccup straightened up, wrapping his cloak more tightly around his body.

He merely answered, "Yeah."

'"The world is a lot bigger and more complicated than you realize," Stoick said, patting him. on the shoulder.

Hiccup scoffed. "Bigger, I knew. Complicated? I think I already knew that too. But I didn't know how ugly 'complicated' could be. I am naiver than I thought. Or maybe I just convinced myself it would always be someone else's problem."

Stoick considered him, brow heavy with pity. "There is more to being the chief and keeping your people safe and provided for than what can be taught on Berk alone."

Hiccup sighed, and gave another, "Yeah."

Stoick gripped his shoulder turning him until they made eye contact. "You are the future, Hiccup. All of Berk's hopes rest on you. I know that you are up for the task."

Hiccup only ever shrank under his father's lofty expectations. That unearned, unrelenting pride shone down upon him was uncomfortable, and he was meant to carry it without complaint, without faltering. He could not meet his father's glowing stare.

Glancing down at the deck, he muttered. "I wish I was as sure as you."

Stoick did not waver. "There will come a day when you will be."

Hiccup had to turn away, and gaze back out at the ocean. he assumed his previous position, leaning thoughtfully against the gunwale.

He responded with a noncommittal, "Mm."

As Stoick walked away, satisfied with his final word on the matter, Hiccup reached into his cloak and took out the pendant he bought on Helgafell. He turned the cold metal over in his hands, studying the dragon there. The more he looked it over, the more he was certain the extra set of wings was not just the error of an unskilled craftsman.

"What kind of dragon are you?" he murmured, tracing over the image with his thumb.

-----

Sneaky returned home in the middle of the night. He was unscathed, as Astrid knew he would be. Hiccup would never have let any harm befall the little blue dragon, no matter how hostile toward dragons Helagfell might be. Perhaps it was a good thing she was only half awake to greet Sneaky, or the full weight of the notion that her lover had read her letter would have crushed her. She fell back asleep, Terrible Terror curled against her side, while vaguely aware of the uncomfortable squirm in her gut.

The next morning brought with it the full realization that an argument was heading her way, sailing home in two days' time. She tried to stay busy to stifle the dread. Maybe there would come the favorable resolution Fishlegs promised--but she did not want to suffer the heartache and pain to earn it. Hiccup was not often angry. Even rarer still was his fleeting foul moods directed at her. She's rather take a dozen blows to the gut than see those green eyes of his glare back at her with bitterness.

The prospect was enough to drive her mad, and she needed a steady stream of distraction.

She spent the next couple of days alternating between flying Stormfly in the mornings and flying Toothless in the evenings; Gobber straightened out the bent metal rod of Toothless's fin in no time at all. She did not mind caring for the two dragons, because it was a valid excuse to keep her out of the house, her mind of more pleasant things. Nobody questioned her with the Night Fury. In fact, the whispers and sidelong glances decreased when she was with her boyfriend's dragon. Astrid caring for Toothless seemed to be more right with the world than leaving him in the care of Fishlegs. To be close to the Night Fury was to be as close to Hiccup as she could get in his absence. Toothless also seemed fond of the arrangement, nothing but smiles and boundless energy for her. She wondered if he would put in a good word for her with Hiccup.

But alas, when she was not with a dragon, her mother kept her occupied with chores. That afternoon, she was hanging the laundry in near the hearth to dry as her mother boiled carrots, potatoes, and onions for the lamb her father was roasting over the fire behind the house. Meat could not be left unattended for long, lest Terrible Terrors make off with it. Sneaky was particularly skilled in this brand of thievery. Her father always had some choice words.

She had just poked her head outside to check on the lamb roast at her mother's behest, when a long, low, horn bellowed over the village.

"Chief Stoick is back!" she heard people call out. "They've all come back from Helgafell!"

Astrid froze. She met her father's eye. He stared back at her, knowingly.

With a small nod of his head, he told her, "Go on."

She spun on her heel and took off toward the docks, heart racing. Her cloak was left hanging on its peg by the door, but she did not notice the cold. People stood, waving at the ship as it pulled in, and Astrid weaved around them. She stopped short of running out ahead, slowing down to remain among the first row of onlookers.

Spitelout was there to catch the thick ropes thrown over the side. He and Silent Sven worked together to secure the mooring. Gobber and a couple of other able-bodied men received the items that were being unloaded and handed off to them: tents and the remaining rations, most likely. Perhaps even some exotic goods procured by trade?

Astrid imagined what might be found at Helgafell frozen shores: furs, metals, weapons, and wines--all things could promise a fun time during a harsh Norse winter.

Then Stoick disembarked, followed by Hiccup, and all daydreaming evaporated. Spitelout and Gobber pushed themselves to the forefront of the crowd and engaged the Chief in talk of festival preparations at once--what had already been accomplished and what was left to do. Hiccup had barely taken a step before he was rushed by a group of children: the newest of dragon-riders from that year's Selection ceremony--all excitedly shouting over each other about tricks they had learned, and new skills acquired. Hiccup smiled as they tugged on his cloak and his hands, all vying for his attention.

"Wow, really?" he said above the noise, to no particular child. "You'll have to show me."

The gaggle of his adoring, miniature fans all continued to talk at him unintelligibly, until someone called out," Night Fury!"

The mob of small dragon riders scattered with shrieks as a big black, scaly mass tackled Hiccup flat, onto the dock. Stoick, Spitelout, and Gobber reflexively stepped aside without as much as a hitch in their conversation. Toothless was all wiggles and aggressive nuzzling as Hiccup tried to sit up and catch the breath knocked out of him.

"Toothless! Toothless! Stop!" he insisted between laughs, trying to push the enthusiastic dragon out of his face, if only for a moment to collect himself. "For Odin's sake!"

As he sat up, the dragon let out a groan and rolled onto his back, exposing his belly. The children giggled at his antics.

"Oh! Is this why you missed me?" Hiccup teased, scratching Toothless's throat before moving over his chest. He adopted a tone reminiscent of how one might speak to a baby. "This is really why you missed me, huh?"

Toothless's tongue flopped out of the corner of his mouth and one of his hind legs kicked in delight.

"He really did miss you," Astrid spoke up, finally. She smiled despite their fighting. Her boyfriend's relationship with his dragon was endearing and infectious.

Hiccup glanced up, startled. His face faltered, and he scrambled to his feet. "Astrid! I, uh...I didn't see you there."

"Well, it is kind of hard to see anything else when Toothless demands attention."

He wouldn't meet her gaze. "Yeah. Right."

The uncomfortable silence that settled between them was disturbed only by a few sparse snow flurries, and the creak of the dock beneath Toothless as the dragon rolled onto his feet.

"I got your letter." Hiccup said, and Astrid felt the anxious twist in her gut. His Night Fury nudged him in the elbow, demanding his attention.

Facing him had not been so agonizing since that night on Dragon Island when they both were at their limit and had nothing to lose--that argument had a desirable ending. Perhaps, with the proper time and free of distractions, they might go two-for-two.

"Look," she began; and now she was the one who could not quite look him in the eye, "We need to talk. Badly. We've been open with each other before, and--"

"Are you guys fighting?" one of the children spoke up, loud and insistent.

Astrid gave a small start; she forgot they were there and desperately wished they weren't. Now, she was all too aware of the many eyes on them both, with rapt attention for a conflict they could not possibly understand. She frowned, and seized the rude child's helmet from his head, flinging it down the dock so he had to chase after it.

"Heeey!" some of the other kids obnoxiously cried.

When Astrid turned back to Hiccup, smug, he had already climbed into his saddle. Toothless unfurled his wings.

"Hiccup, wait!" she pleaded.

But he either had not heard her over the rush of his dragon taking flight, or at that moment, mending the hurt was not his priority. Either possibility left her standing there, watching her boyfriend and his dragon disappear into the low-hanging, dreary clouds as if she had not sought him out at all. The children wandered off, disappointed and suddenly uninterested in whatever transpired between lovers--boring and unknown things the future held for them too, but far beyond their capacity to care.

The wind picked up and the delicate snowflakes tumbled and twirled with renewed fervor. A shiver rattled Astrid down to her bones, and she held tightly to herself, painfully aware of just had cold it had become.

[empty-cryptid]

Hello! I'm Energycat on AO3. (Currently on hiatus)

At the moment I'm mostly writing Encanto fanfiction and planning some One Piece stuff.

What I'm currently working on*:

Tiny Tio, Big world

When Bruno wakes up to discover he's even smaller than usual, he has to figure out how to navigate the world from a rat's point of view. And he doesn't even get the advantages of being a rat! This gives a whole other meaning to the nickname Tiny Tío.

Debut and Renew Series

(Part 1) Tio: Bruno meets his sobrinos for the first time. (Part 2) Still Tio: Bruno meets his sobrinos a second time.

12 Hours Til Sunrise

What if when Bruno, Antonio, and Mirabel climb out of the wall from behind the painting, they don't end up in the right place? Listen for the tolling bell, for after the clock strikes 12, the sun will rise. (Encantober 2023)

a series of little things

Some little stories about the life of the Madrigals. (Slice of life <1000 words) I take requests for these!

*I am not including collabs because I don't want to put any pressure on my co-writers.

My encanto oc:

Margarita Valentine

Short stories involving Señora Valentine while she's the Encanto's librarian (and maybe a little of her mysterious past if she's willing to share her adventures) *Chapters in this one will be posted out of order to keep the timeline in order*

Some completed stories:

Defeating expectation and other extraordinary acts

Bruno knows what he can do. Probably. Everyone else thinks they know what he can do. Mirabel probably has the most accurate opinion of the bunch. Everyone will be surprised. (Bruno is coaxed by the kids to show off some parkour and some of the residents of Encanto aren't happy to have him back among them after ten years.)

Healing Memories

A collection of completed one-shots with the themes of healing and memories.

Made with Love

Bruno's relationship with food after leaving the walls and after he's recovered a year later. We support a healthy pancita around here.

Madremonte's Garden and the Wakos' Cave

The triplets decide to rekindle a tradition they had before Bruno hid in the walls. Taking a hike to a special place for some sibling bonding sounds like a wonderful idea now that Bruno has returned, Casita is reborn, and the family is healing nicely. (This is my EBB story)

Fables by Firelight

Camilo decides to get all the grandkids (plus Bruno and Mariano) to gather around a fire to tell spooky stories in the dark.

And many more...

Profile avatar picrew link

(#writing resources) tag for writing help/advice I reblog

[katenewmanwrites]

Salty Summer - Bonfire

Warnings: Emotional Conflict and Alcohol Consumption

As I make their way towards the bonfire, already ablaze on the shore. The air is filled with the scent of smoke and salt, the laughter of my friends mixing with the distant sound of the ocean. I can't help but feel a slight tension building in my chest as I spot Xavier. His presence always seems to bring out the worst in me, and I can already feel my cheeks heating up at the thought of having to endure another one of his stupid jokes.

I take a deep breath and try to compose myself, focusing on the warmth of the fire and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Xavier's gaze meets mine briefly before he turns back to his conversation with Ollie, the light from the fire painting his features in gold and bronze. I can feel my heart racing as I try to calm my nerves, my palms growing sweaty.

I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush, but I can't help but feel it starting to spread up my neck. I take another deep breath and try to focus on something, anything else. I grab a drink from the cooler next to me, trying to quell my nerves. The taste of the Mojito is sweet and refreshing, but it doesn't seem to help.

"Hey, Addie," Mia says, her voice cutting through the noise around us. I look up, grateful for the distraction. "You seem a bit…tense tonight." She raises an eyebrow, her expression curious.

"Xavier just drove me crazy today is all," I reply with a forced laugh, hoping to make it sound more casual than it feels. "He just has this way of getting under my skin."

Mia nods understandingly, her brown eyes sparkling in the firelight. "I know what you mean. He can be a bit…much sometimes." She takes a sip of her drink.

"Right?" I say, "How does he have so much energy?" I ask, more to myself than to Mia. "It's like he's got an unending supply of it or something." I laugh nervously, feeling my cheeks heat up.

Mia glances at me, furrowing slightly. "You know," she says thoughtfully, "sometimes I think he's just trying to impress you."

"What, no, why would he be doing that?" I reply, trying to play it cool. My voice sounds too high-pitched and uncertain even to my own ears.

Mia raises an eyebrow. "Well, maybe he likes you." She pauses, considering her words carefully. "Or maybe he's just trying to win you over." She takes another sip of her drink, her expression thoughtful.

"Oh," I reply, feeling the rose blush. "I mean…" My heart feels like it's racing out of my chest. I can't believe she just said that. I take a deep breath and try to steady my nerves. Stupid Xavier and his stupid hair that falls into place so perfectly. I need to get a grip.

"Uh, you know what? I think I'm going to take a walk along the beach." Mia nods sympathetically, understanding my need for some alone time.

Without another word, I make my way towards the shoreline, feeling the cool sand beneath my feet. The ocean air calms my nerves, but doesn't help much with the racing of my heart. I can't believe Mia just said that. Does she know something I don't? Am I just oblivious?

The moonlight paints the waves in shades of blue and silver, and I find myself staring at them, lost in thought. I can't help but wonder how I feel about Xavier. Yes, he's annoying, and he gets under my skin, but there's something about him that makes me…feel something. Is it the way his eyes light up when he talks about surfing? Or the way he laughs at his own jokes?

Speak of the devil. There he is, standing a few feet away from me, silhouetted against the moonlit waves. Without saying a word, he comes to stand beside me, our shoulders almost touching. I can feel his presence, the heat emanating from his body. It's intoxicating.

"You know, you're really quite beautiful when you're lost in thought," he says softly, making me jump slightly. His voice is deep, almost raspy, and I can't help but feel red hot flush down my neck.

"I…thank you?" I manage to stammer out, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. He chuckles, the sound warm and inviting.

"I mean it," he insists, turning his head slightly to look at me. "Everybody wants you…" His voice trails off, and I can feel his gaze lingering on my face. My heart skips a beat as I wonder what he means by that.

"Yeah right," I mumble, trying to play it cool. "You're just saying that."

"No, really," he insists, stepping closer. "Have you not see how Ethan and Caleb look at you?" I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. "Oh, come on. I've seen it. They can't help but stare. And then there's me…" His voice trails off.

I try to keep my composure, to focus on the waves crashing against the shore. But it's hard when he's standing so close. "I-I don't care." I stummer, "They only like me because I'm pretty, not because of anything that matters."

He smirks, and it's infuriating. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong." He leans in, so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. "They like you because you're pretty. I like you because you're smart, caring, and strong."

I don't know how to respond to that. His words confuse me, and my heart flutters in my chest. "You hardly even know me," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the waves.

"I've learnt enough the last two weeks." He pauses, searching my eyes, and I realize I'm staring back at him. "I've seen how you are with the your friends, how you treat everyone equally, how you make sure everyone feels included." His hand finds mine, and his thumb gently traces circles on my skin. "I've seen the way you handle challenges head on."

My heart skips a beat as his hand touches mine, and I can't help but think of the night before, when we danced. How his touch made me feel like I was flying. But I've learnt that falling feels like flying… until you hit the ground.

I try to pull my hand away, but it's as if my body has betrayed me. I want to tell him that I'm not interested. That I don't like falling for him. But the words catch in my throat, and all that comes out is a weak, "I…"

"It's alright Adelaide," he whispers, using my full name for the first time. "You don't have to feel the same way. I'm just being honest. And I hope you know that I mean it when I say that I like you for you."

"The problem is I do, Xavier," I confess, meeting his gaze. "I like you too. A lot. And that scares me. Because… because I don't want to get hurt again." The words spill out before I can stop them, but it's like a weight has been lifted off my chest.

He studies me for a moment, his eyes searching mine. Then, slowly, he nods. "I understand that, Addie. what if we take it slow?" He pauses, "if that's what you want."

My heart skips a beat at his words. Take it slow? Is he serious? I want to believe him, but I'm afraid of being hurt again. I want this, but I don't want to lose myself in it. I want him, but I don't want to trust some guy that ends up hurting me again.

My heart skips a beat at his words. Take it slow? Is he serious? "I think it might be too late for that, Xavier," I say, trying to sound confident. "I already care about you."

He smiles at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Then let's just… be," he says softly. "Let's see where this goes, but let's take it one day at a time. Okay?"

"Okay," I breathe, relieved. "Okay, let's just be." I feel the weight of the world lift from my shoulders, and I can't help but smile at him.

Xavier grins back, and it lights up his whole face. He takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. The touch sends electricity through my body, making my heart race even faster. I lean in, closing the small space between us and pressing my lips to his. The kiss is gentle at first, but then grows more passionate. His hand finds its way around my waist, pulling me even closer as we stand there under the stars.

The sound of laughter from the bonfire finally breaks through our bubble, and we pull away, gasping for air. I feel a rush of heat to my cheeks, and I can't help but wonder if I'm blushing. Xavier's eyes meet mine, searching, and I'm suddenly aware of how close we are. He looks so familiar, but at the same time, I feel like I'm seeing him in a whole new light.

"We should go back to the bonfire," I say, taking a step away from him. "Everyone's probably wondering where we are."

Xavier nods, his eyes still locked on mine. "Yeah, probably." He takes a deep breath, before offering me his hand. "Shall we?"

As we walk back to the bonfire, our fingers intertwined, I can't help but feel a sense of both anticipation and nervousness. The night has taken an unexpected turn, and I'm not entirely sure what it means for us. But as we approach the warm glow of the fire, I find myself hoping that whatever it is, it's good.

[greenlightbulbonawire]

Misfits (yeah like the Arcane song)

XLV.

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Summary: From the dark musty cell of Stillwater all the way to the very base of Firelights, but where to from there? Guess you'll just have to let fate lead you.

Author's note: Here's another chapter for yall, Also, props to anyone who actually made it to this chapter and waits for me to post more. It's still crazy to me that actuall people are reading my work T-T. Love you and hope you have a good day!! (also i didnt proof read this so if theres any spelling mistakes and shi lmk and im sorry in advance lol)

Fourty fourth chapter

Masterlist

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Your eyes peeled open as the dawn of the day came, at first you were slightly confused as to where you were and then you remembered. You looked around, taking in Ekko’s empty room when something wriggled behind you. The boy's hands were snug around your waist and you felt his forehead against your back. Red slowly found its way onto your cheeks again and you could only hope that he was still asleep and wouldn't wake up as you carefully detached his arms from your body. You quietly got up and picked up your hoverboard, the first sun rays of the day started seeping into his room through a small window on the sleeping boy's door. It creaked as you opened it and you froze up, turning your head to look at his unconscious body, but he stayed asleep.

When you finally left his room and silently walked to the edge of his balcony, you swung your legs over it and started up your device, hopping on it and flying towards the entrance to the hideout. You had a certain destination in mind, but before you could go there, you had to go buy something, oh right, money, okay, let's head back to your room and take it maybe, that’d be great. Changing into your usual working outfit wasn’t in the question right now, as it was dirtied up from the junkyard, so even your beloved cloak was unusable at that moment. You grabbed the money and the dirty clothes, stopping by a washing room before you left. The cold stone pressed against your body was enough to fully wake you up and you pushed at it with all your might, until finally it gave in and moved away, creating a small gap for you to slip through into the sewer system, surrounding the Firelights’ hideout.

THe low hum coming off the machine and its weak neon green glow filled the empty tunnels while you took a familiar route. You shot up through a grate hole, its cover kicked away by you some time ago and laying a few paces away. The device shot up as you hopped off and fell into your arms, you had to carry it this time, your cloak being left in the washing room, but compared to the metal piece from yesterday, it was nothing. You left the little dead alleyway and walked into a bigger, more alive street, searching for a food stand. It took a little while but you finally spotted one and quickly made your way over. A smile painted your lips as you spotted a wooden box full of a particularly sweet fruit. You reached into the box to pull out one, but your hand was slapped away by an older man with orange curly hair.

“You want something, you pay for it.” The man stated and folded his arms, giving you a skeptical look, and then a familiar voice echoed from the back of the stand. “A customer?” “Felix?” “[Reader]? Oh it is you! Hi!” The boy came forward and turned to the older man and then he turned to you again. “I see you’ve met my dad.” He chuckled and shook his head, the older man sighed and retrieved into an opened door of the building the stand was built against while mumbling something to himself. “That’s your dad?” “Yeah man, don’t mind him, he’s just wary, that’s all.” “Oh no, it’s fine, I get it, but if you’ll forgive me, I’m in a little hurry, I just wanted to buy two of these.” You pointed to the box you were eyeing a few seconds ago. Felix nodded and reached over the counter of the stand, grabbing a pair of the fruit, throwing them into a paper bag and handing them to you. You paid for them and got on your way again.

It wasn’t long until you reached your desired destination, an empty street, filled with dust and remnants of past life, at night illuminated by a big billboard and its white light. You got greeted by a loud shriek and a dark smudge slamming into you, pushing you off your hoverboard and onto the ground as it licked your face with its split tongue. “Fae! Stop that!” Any attempts at fighting back were absolutely useless and all you could do was wait until your pet salamander was done with greeting you. Fae finally stepped off your body and ran in circles around you, making little happy sounds. “I know, I know, you missed me, I missed you too.” Your arm disappeared into the paper bag and pulled out the fruit, dangling it in the air until Fae noticed it. She stopped running around and tilted her head.

“Can you sit Fae?” You asked her and she sat down politely, wrapping her tail around her legs. “That’s a good girl! Come here!” The salamander broke into a little run and you threw the fruit in the air, she leaped and caught it with her mouth, letting out a murrow, seemingly pleased with herself. You sat down onto the ground and pulled out the second fruit, beginning to eat it as Fae slowly lied down next to you, as if you two were sharing a meal. She finished her piece in a few swift bites, obviously, she was like three times your size at the end of the day, and looked at you with puppy eyes, begging for more. You rolled your eyes and chuckled softly, taking one last bite and giving the rest to her.

[megarywrites]

find the word

tagged by @thewriteflame and I'll tag......... @pinespittinink @daisywords @zmwrites @coarsely @at-thezenith and your words will be stagger, stoic, straight, and strong.

my words were rush, rule, rage, and reflect and I'll be pulling them from what I have rewritten so far of Parts I and II of the second draft of Seafoam.

rush - from Part II: Split, Chapter 12, "Ugly Truths"

The moons’ light sliced through the shadows, cool and as calming as the sound of the rush of the incoming sea. Squinting, I stepped into the patch of light streaming in from the first of the windows lining the wall, and headed down, taking care to try to steady my breathing with each passing step.  Had he—the Diamo…and the captain, I suppose—genuinely expected me to just…let him touch me? Without warning? Or provocation? Or, had I perhaps done something that made him think…No, nothing. I had done nothing.  Why had he thought that that was an acceptable thing to do to someone?  Had he no daughter nor wife?

rule - from Part II: Split, Chapter 10, "The Haven of the Gods"

Stretching far above, a dizzying dapple of colored light from the sun shining through the stained glass towers and turrets. The shimmering dust caught in the sunlight streaming through the vast expanse of glass was iridescent as it filtered gently down. Candle-lit chandeliers lined the beams criss-crossing over the benches filing the atrium.  All around, more candles flickered in the many indents carved in the marble walls and the bowls of water beneath them caught their glittering light and projected them in ribbons inside the indents. Elaborately carved panels of the same red wood as the doors and the beams filled the spaces between the depressions, showing an even more extensive history of how our religion Isotrei came to rule our land, compared to the simple, thin beams at the latridom back home. Even from here, I could pick out the depiction of Isolios, Tiegira, and Vaceli’s benevolence as they helped our ancestors with their crops back when the gods used to walk among us—before Nyari ruined everything with her wanton selfishness. Gold accented the carvings emanating from every iteration of Isolios himself, who seemed to be shown in every single display around the auditorium.  And, below, the floors framing the center aisle was made of the same marble as the walls and the steps outside, but the center aisle itself…the floor was made of glass as a window to look into the rushing Smara—the green, enchanted river of legend.

rage(d) - from Part I: Tremor, Chapter 6, "Sealed Fate"

The storm did keep us inside, just like I thought it would. It raged against our shutters for two days, and I braved the wind and rain to get some buckets from Ma’s potion shed to collect the rainwater that seeped into our home. We stayed wrapped up in our blankets and cushions, sitting as close as we could to the fire while Ma worked on her embroidery in the flickering firelight while I leaned against the hearth, using it as my counter as I made Ma’s flower crown.

reflect(ion) - from Part I: Tremor, Chapter 1, "Homecoming"

Glimpses into other lives—of the baker and his daughter preparing the next day’s wares, or arguments unfolding, of fathers entertaining their children while their wives were preparing supper—flashed before my eyes as I glanced through the windows of the passing homes. Then, further in, the darkened shop windows showed only my fleeting reflection.  A sweeping beam of light drew my gaze up to the tallest tower of Psari’s latridom, and I stopped in my tracks to watch it revolve over the land before it shone back out at the sea. The latridom was lit from within as well. For what, I wasn’t quite sure. Maybe the Stoli were preparing for tomorrow’s service, but… My attention drifted to the three circular stained glass windows adorning the face of the ancient house of worship with a bright kaleidoscope of colors against the gloom of the night.  They painted the surrounding mist and the wet cobblestones in gleaming reds, pinks, blues, yellows, greens, and purples. My skin and clothes, too, as soon as I stepped into its light.

[the-pen-pot]

Fangirling for chapter 39

However, before any of them could utter a word, Lady Mellifor stepped forward, her gaze shrewd. 'I witnessed no sorcery,' she declared. 'I saw nothing more than a desperate man attempt to assassinate Camelot's Prince Regent. You do not deserve the mercy that you have been shown. The gallows are too good for you!'

'Your lies are the pathetic excuses of someone seeking to escape the consequences of their actions,' Sir Geoffrey added, his old voice resonant in the echoing dungeon. 'Consequences that are well-deserved.'

So, they know Merlin did indeed use magic there or Merlin somehow 'blinded' them to it? Oh, but I guess with the conversation between Arthur and Sir Geoffrey later they DO know about magic but don't mind it! (My reading comprehension is still there but slower.) Good that he has other supporters!

'I've made him forget. I didn't want him lurking in the shadows, waiting for the chance to stab us in the back. He will carry his guilt and his punishment, but he won't recall the details. He will go in peace, and he won't bother Camelot again.' He hitched his shoulders in a shrug, an almost-apology. 'Mordred's not the only one who can meddle with people's minds. I don't like doing it, but if it keeps Arthur safe…'

Well yes, it is creepy to know he can mess with people's mind. But it's for Arthur and if it's for him then I don't think there is nothing Merlin would do for him. Total devotion. It's a good thing Merlin is on their side because OMG he would be a terrifying villain with all those powers. 😲

'No. Not yet. I'll tell him once Vernell has gone. How he handles this is important to the court. People will remember it for years to come. It's essential that Arthur appears completely genuine. This way, he doesn't have to hide anything from the council.'

'Instead, you take on the burden.'

Merlin huffed a mirthless laugh. 'I'm used to it,' he promised.

See, evidence of his total devotion. But we've seen that clearly in previous chapers. I mean, he literarly would take on Arthur's pain (and his friends's pain).

(And I think if Arthur was able to, he would also take on Merlin's pain. Maybe Merlin doesn't fully believe that yet. )

There was a moment of hesitation, and Merlin felt the memory of the previous night at the inn paint the air with its veils. Perhaps it was unwise to offer to touch Arthur, even in his capacity as servant and healer, but there were some things Merlin could not sacrifice. He could reluctantly bow to the common sense of setting aside the desire Arthur stirred in him, but he refused to keep his distance. It might be better for his sanity, but it would be catastrophic for the friendship that flourished between them.

😍😍😍😍 I was glad when Arthur said yes. He can't stop being close to Merlin either. 😍😍😍😍

When he turned around, it was to find Arthur standing behind him, close enough to touch. His chest was still bare, bronzed by the firelight, and Arthur's gaze carried an intensity that made Merlin's heart race.

'What?'

Arthur reached out, his fingers hesitating a scant half-inch away before he traced a line along Merlin's collarbone. 'There was one here, from that same tavern brawl.' His right hand dropped, bolder now, to curve around the dip of Merlin's waist. 'Three deep slices here, from when you saved Lancelot from being gutted by a manticore by putting yourself in harm's way.'

I can see this in my mind like a movie (and in that movie they kiss,🤣🤣🤣🤣 )

This story is making my vacation week extra fun.

I am so glad it's making your vacation week extra fun, lovely, and that it's movie-evocative in your head! I'm so close to finishing off posting Hiraeth on AO3 at last. It's kinda epic!

[vastaya-simp]

Fluff time with Arcane men [Silco, Ekko, Scar]

The finals on taxation law are killing me, so the only thing I wish is to cuddle some fictional men as much as I want....

Silco - breakfast "dates"

This man is busy.

Like half if not most of the Zaun is under his attentive gaze and the only time you get him alone is more or less free - before the day actually starts. Surprisingly not peeved at all for a person who went to bed at 3 am at best. It’s also too early for Jinx or Sevica to join on the meal so usually just you two.

Despite his position, is actually quite a gentleman who pours you the drinks and passes you things that are out of your reach, while softly chatting about something. Prefers you to not talk about business - it’s too early for that so usually if you talking to him listening. If you get embarrassed or shy about rambling too much he’ll gently remind you that he enjoyed hearing your voice - a good distraction from Zaun problems.

From time to time, you find a bowl of specific type of fruits you love the most or maybe even your favourite dessert. Though if you ask him directly, he refuses to acknowledge any contribution from his part.

Scar - searching for constellations

As a chirean, Scar grew up knowing close to nothing about stars, constellations or astronomical stuff in general.

You on the other hand enjoyed star watching and knew thing or two from books your elderly relatives have showed you when you were still a child. Not forgetting and sharing a little bit of this knowledge brought you warm memories.

It all started with you spending all the free time you could master in the hospital wing - painting walls with a special glow-in-the-dark paint. Sick kids and injured firelights stuck there liked the stories you’ve told them while painting as well as the legends of different constellations you've remembered from your childhood. A few times the vastaya dropped by. And even though he argument his visits with his daughter being easier to handle when she heard you voice and stories, you hoped that he enjoyed them as well.

One evening, after you were not needed anywhere and most of the firelights got relaxed around the Sanctuary, he mentioned you to follow him and get on his board.

Any time spend with your favourite vastaya was precious to you though the last thing you’ve expected was to actually get on the roofs of the Zaun highest buildings not far from the home. Especially for stargazing.

Nevertheless, soon enough you’ve found yourself tucked into the man’s embrace from behind, covered with some blanket, he fished out of his bag with a thermos flask filled with hot tea. And after a while you were animatedly retelling the stories of the stars while the chirean basked in your closeness.

Ekko - watching the sunrise

Ekko is a busy man, as are you and the most of the Sanctuary adults. So there isn’t much time for dates, no money. Mostly it’s small hugs here and there, good luck kisses before the mission, soft touches on-the-way and cuddling each other to sleep.

Though from time to time, after the successful raid you two get on the highest rooftop near the Home-Tree to spend some time alone.

Just like now, you’ve just returned from the mission, the adrenaline is still pumping in your blood veins and it’s impossible to try sleeping right away. Others are either in their rooms licking up the scratches or chatting quietly in the roots of the tree. No losses tonight so the mood is light.

So you two climb to the top of the Tree to hide from the prying eyes and cuddle into each others sides while facing the horizon and enjoying the last rays of the setting sun as well as the bits of warmth before the night chill fills the city.