#okay a bunch of new muses are here

[starstcff-z]

If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad.     independent multimuse, featuring muses from literature, sci-fi, marvel and other sources.    loved by odette.

[anthromimicry]

[fridgrave2-0]

I'm tired of pretending that I'm okay with ford being an absolute asshole towards fiddleford and basically abusing him.

first of all, yes, it's not ford's fault that he was manipulated (doubtful tbh) and abused by bill, but that doesn't give him the right to be a jerk who closes his eyes on his friend's deepest traumas. the traumas fiddleford got only because stanford completely ignored his warning and got fidds involved into bunch of shit. like his monster hunting which wasn't even the reason fiddleford went to gravity falls in the first place. he was there to help ford build the portal, not to be a part of ford's anomaly quest. and when fiddleford spoke out against it he was ignored because ford doesn't give a shit about anyone else but himself or his muse. fiddleford got traumatized physically and mentally so deeply that in the need to be able to sleep at night peacefully he completely destroyed his mind to the state that even bill was scared to be in there. and what stanford did? he (the one who couldn't care less about fidds warning him about gremoblin) critiqued fiddleford for using the memory gun and didn't even bother to apologize or say that he's sorry in the journal. god, what am I saying, he didn't even took fiddleford to the hospital after fiddleford feel from the sky through the roof of a fucking barn with a dozen of poisonous quills in his body AND A BROKEN ARM. ford described what happened to fidds in the journal, said he "took him home for a treatment" and the next two paragraphs on the other page is "good news the hyperdrive works" LIKE IS THAT THE ONLY THING YOU CARE ABOUT WHAT THE HELL??? "despite our fortune, I have become worried about my assistant... I myself have survived many monster attacks without trauma, but perhaps F is more sensitive that I realized". no shit sherlock, who would've imagine that seeing your worst nightmares and being poisoned can leave a mark on your mental state. sure it's just fiddleford, he's just overreacting because he's "sensitive"))) /src

ford was ignoring fiddleford's concerns all the fucking time that mcgucket was there with him, he took a superstitious and religious guy with anxiety into the forest with real ass monsters who's no one but ford is used to see. fiddleford was warning stanford about shifty and got kidnapped with his identity stolen by the shapeshifter because ford didn't listen. well, at least this time stanford had bothered to apologize for another traumatic event- ah no, next thing ford said is that when the portal is finished all the traumas fiddleford had been through were "worth it". ford just finds ways to make everything worse

we all know that fiddleford has an addictive personality and that the memory gun is the biggest example of that. what we don't talk enough about is that ford at some point decided that sleeping is for losers, but didn't stop at himself and made fiddleford drink 13 fucking cups of coffee, not allowing him to sleep, what in the future made fiddleford a caffeine addict. ford is not only an overworking idiot who gladly damages his own health, no! he wants fiddleford to be the same and quote "gets frustrated" when fiddleford cares not only about his own, but their both basic needs. fiddleford had to work on the portal, get in the trouble with monsters because of ford, but also babysit this manchild to prevent him collapsing from exhaustion (which is more impossible than building a giant portal into the multiverse)

and here we are, the portal testing. once again (and as always) fiddleford did warned ford about everything. fiddleford was working without breaks for days to make sure if the portal will work, and when he found the flaws, he wrote a whole fucking thesis paper, putting all ford's research into a solid work (not taking even smallest credit even tho he was the one to build the portal. when fiddleford had his own theory in the university, ford helped him to only proof that fidds wasn't going crazy by checking the calculations and ford bothered to take the credit for the whole theory, but fiddleford who was a part and a victim of this monumental theory of weirdness didn't took it because he unlike ford doesn't care only about fame). but what did stanford do? he assumed that fiddleford wanted to steal his fucking fame and backstab him. ford didn't even bother to look at something fiddleford was making for three days without resting to make sure that portal won't hurt anyone in the town and that ford won't end up with empty hand if the portal was indeed a lost cause. stanford coldly dismissed fiddleford like they weren't friends, said that he doesn't really waiting fiddleford for the test of the device that fiddleford did built, and even knowing that the portal was dangerous fiddleford chose to come for the test

and then fiddleford got in the portal and it was the biggest traumatic event for him. it was the breaking point for him from which he couldn't stop using the memory gun. it damaged him so much, that he turned from that bright 30-y.o. man into the familiar to us old man mcgucket in the span of two years. his life was ruined for another 30 years, a half of his life he was a mad lonely guy who lived in the junkyard. the man who could've become someone like steve jobs but much better if only he didn't go to help stanford. his family could've been full, tate could have his father. the incident with the portal was the moment of no return for fiddleford, and what did stanford do?

when fiddleford got sucked in the portal, he thought only about the success of his work, that for fidds it was "a remarkable opportunity to confirm or deny the theory" (which he already did with his pre-test research). he didn't think that it was dangerous on the other side, that the portal wouldn't just disintegrate fidds on atoms. and when stanford saw him speaking in a non-human way, shaking and twitching in shock like fiddleford did after the gremoblin incident, ford decided it was nothing. when fiddleford warned him about the apocalypse because he was in the portal and saw it with his own eyes, ford, as always, didn't listen. he didn't just not care about fidds' condition — he diminished everything fiddleford was feeling and everything he witnessed only because it didn't fit in ford's believes which were based just on bill's words (and for stanford it's not something new to belittle things related to fiddleford. he wasn't taking fidds' dream of creating a portable computer seriously, believing that his weirdness theory was much more important)

and after this, stanford insults fiddleford and his family in the journal. he says that he doesn't regret their partnership (it's not really a partnership if stanford didn't count fiddleford as an equal) and friendship breaking up. "to think I considered him a friend!" I doubt he ever did. stanford doesn't know shit about being a good friend (or even a decent person) to someone who sacrificed everything for him. who did put his life aside to be with ford, who cared enough to stay despite stanford again and again putting him in danger, constantly waving him away and feeling no remorse for that. fiddleford was breaking himself for this guy, he canonically was going through "I am nobody to ford if I don't build stuff for him" (and in the end this is exactly what happened). fiddleford didn't tell ford most of his fears and concerns because he didn't want to bother him. fidds was constantly scared and kept in inside because he wanted to be a "better partner". "if I have an anxiety, I will pop anxiety pills", "I'm gonna get through this". and then he didn't

fiddleford was abused by stanford. he was to stanford that ford was to bill, in some ways even worse. it's fucking wild that fiddleford did forgive ford after 30 years of a neverending madness nightmare with his mind being destroyed so much as like it was the earth in the times of the dinosaurs after being hit by the meteorite. fiddleford had lost literally everything, he wasn't even himself for a half of his life and still fidds found the strength to forgive someone who is responsible for it and who used him with regular emotional neglect. and you know what? fuck this. ford would never forgive bill and fiddleford had every right to stay mad at stanford. ford needed to be stuck in the portal to get his head out of the ass and by that time there were only crumbs of someone who fiddleford once was

fiddauthor and billford both are about abuse and toxic relationships. it's up to you what you like to ship, but we need to acknowledge the fact that fiddauthor isn't some fluffy healthy thing where both are happy. fiddleford was never happy and stanford didn't care about fiddleford and his feelings. they made each other worse and ford ruined fidds' life. THIS is the real fiddauthor

[misotsukiiyeooo]

Muse

Pairing: Bf! Mingyu x F! Reader

A/N: Reqs are always open!

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 2.6k

Synopsis: Mingyu just bought a new digital camera and he can't stop taking photos of you.

A harsh flash beaming at your face causes you to wake up. Rubbing your eyes, half asleep you see Mingyu standing above you holding a small digital camera. "Gyu...you woke me up." Grunting because your body aches Mingyu smiles excitedly. "I got a new camera! And what better way to check out the quality than to take a photo of my beautiful girlfriend?" Making you smile at the thought you're still pouting. "But you still woke me up..." He fixes your hair giggling."Baby, it's two o'clock anyways." "Ugh, I guess you're right." Getting out of bed and brushing your teeth, Mingyu comes over with his camera. "Look over here!" As soon as you look over, you're immediately blinded by the flash. "Mingyu! my eyes!!" He runs away as you just finish brushing your teeth, chasing him down while he simply giggles. Finally, he's out of breath giving you a chance to get him. Tackling him onto the sofa he yelps. "That's not fair! You only got me when I was out of breath!" He whines not liking the fact he got caught. "Gyu, you're way taller and faster than me. I had no choice but to take you down when you were tired." Laughing at his adorable pout, he flips you over, now hovering over you. Tickling your body then giving you millions of kisses. "Gyu! You're going to kill me!" Bursting of laughter he decides to stop. "I can't help it, I love you way too much." Kissing you once more before he gets up. "Should we go outside today?"

You both walk around, going into stores, buying tons of things then, trying on a bunch of clothing and jewelry. Every time you came out of the clothing booth Mingyu instantly took a photo. "Does this look nice?" You ask gaining a thumbs up from him with a huge smile. "This one looks amazing on you!" Smiling shyly you change into another outfit. "Okay, now what about this one?" Once again, he takes a photo than compliments how beautifully it looks on you. You're both officially beat with all this shopping. "Should we get something to eat?" You nod right away at the thought of delicious food, hugging your boyfriend's arms as you guys walk to the closest food shop.

Giggling at how some crumbs are on Mingyu's face, taking a napkin and cleaning it. You take a bite of your food you see a flash aimed toward you, causing you to look up. "Babe...you've been taking photos of me all day. Why is that? You already checked the quality in the morning and you should have more than enough photos of me already in there." You look at him curiously. "Well, I bought this camera solely to take photos of you." He looks at you, eyes glowing now. "Why?" You chuckle at his silliness. "Because you're my muse."

Taglist!!

[theemporium]

Oh what about sugar daddy!charles completely spoiling his girl and she just bursts into tears in the middle of a fancy shop cause she’s due on her period and all she wants is a lazy day with him

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

You didn’t mean to ruin the day.

It had been a while since you had seen Charles—around two weeks to be exact. Between meetings and factory days and races, he hadn’t been able to come see you. And because of your classes and assignments, he couldn’t fly you out to join him either.

It was tough. It really was. With the time differences and just how hectic both your schedules were, it was difficult to really sort out video calls or even phone calls that lasted longer than five minutes. All your interactions with the boy had been through texts or the bouquets of flowers he kept sending you, but it wasn’t enough.

It was him you wanted.

It was him you needed.

And then just last night you were hit with a wave of pain all over your body. Your back hurt, your muscles aches and the cramps stabbing into your lower abdomen just made you want to cry. You woke up that morning to your period and you were already so done with the day. You just wanted a simple day in as your body went through the worst symptoms.

But when Charles had finally landed and drove to your apartment to spend his break in between races with you, you didn’t have the heart to say anything to him. You didn’t have the heart to say no when he came barrelling through the door, so perked up and excited and ready to spoil his girl after almost two weeks of nothing.

So, you let him drag you out of the apartment. You let him pack you up in his fancy car with their new leather seats and drive into town. You let him drag you from shop to shop as he swiped his card like it was nothing more than a wave of a wand.

But this wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want him spending money on you or buying you a bunch of new things. You didn’t want him making you his own little model, trying on different dresses and shoes.

You just wanted a day in with him, cuddled up on the couch with his back pressed against your chest and his hands resting on your stomach as he held you through the worst of the cramps and pain. You just wanted to be pressed up against him as close as you could be.

You just wanted your Charles.

You didn’t even realise the tears had started falling until you felt warm hands encompassing your cheeks. Thumbs were gently wiping away the tears that ran down your cheeks and his face morphed into one of concern.

“Ma cherie,” he murmured in a soft voice, though his worry was evident. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? Do you not like this colour?”

But you shook your head, feeling the embarrassment wash over you for the scene you were throwing in the uptown boutique. You couldn’t help yourself as you wound your arms around him, nuzzling your face into his chest as an attempt to hide yourself.

“I don’t wanna be here,” you cried into his chest. “But you’re being so nice and I feel so bad, but everything hurts and I just wanna be at home with you. I’m sorry but—”

“Shhh, it’s okay, ma belle,” he hummed as his arms wrapped around you protectively, a kiss placed on the top of your head. “You should’ve said something. I just want you to be comfortable.”

You sniffled. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologise,” Charles told you before pulling back, smiling softly when he noticed the way you stared so helplessly at him. “We are gonna pack everything up here and head home. Maybe have a bath and order that Italian food you like, hm? How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” you confessed.

“Only the best for my girl,” he mused before pulling you closer. “Let’s go back home, cherie.”

.

[ginnsbaker]

Bulletproof (6/10)

Part Summary: It's three months after the attack on the compound and you lost your invincibility against bullets.

Chapter word count: 2.6k+ | Tags: Light Angst, Still UST, Still gay

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Next Part | Series Masterlist

-

The sound of the doorbell at “Café Lumière” reverberates around the room, your heart reacting before your head can even register it. It's the softest of sounds, but it pulls you like a siren's song. Every fiber of your being is acutely aware of that door, with both trepidation and hope hinging on its every swing.

Steam curls up from the frothing milk, whispering past your fingertips as they work on a delicate latte art. Your focus is unwavering, yet as the door chimes again, your heart skips. You risk a glance, your hope suspended for that split second, only to crash back down when it's not her.

Louisa's eyes, which have been watching you mischievously for some time now, find yours. 

“Clock's ticking,” she teases, nodding toward the ornate clock hanging precariously on the wall. “Not 3pm yet.”

You feign confusion, but your playful smirk gives you away. “What are you going on about?”

She grins knowingly. “Your weekly muse isn't due for another... oh, ten minutes or so?”

An exaggerated sigh escapes your lips, the warm notes of roasted beans surrounding you like a comforting embrace. 

“I'm not waiting for her, you know,” you say, though your voice lacks conviction.

Louisa smirks and pats your shoulder, “Sure, sure. Just give it time. She's never missed a Thursday, has she?”

As you're about to come up with a clever retort, a sharp sting on your finger draws your attention. You wince, looking down to see a thin, red line forming across your finger. Tearing the receipt from the register to hand to the awaiting customer, you’re slightly taken aback at how much the cut bleeds.

“Everything alright?” the customer asks, noticing the blood.

"Yeah, just a small paper cut," you dismiss, trying to downplay it. Grabbing a napkin, you press it against the cut, soaking up the crimson liquid.

Louisa's sharp eyes don't miss a beat. "Careful there. Those can be nasty," she comments, retrieving the first-aid kit from under the counter.

Louisa holds out a bandage, but you shake your head, not wanting to make a fuss over something so minor. “Really, I'm good,” you assure her.

A few seconds later, you open the napkin to check the cut. To your surprise, the skin seems perfectly whole, as if it had never been broken in the first place. You flex your finger, the earlier sting now a distant memory. “See? I'm fine,” you declare, shrugging.

Louisa tilts her head, narrowing her eyes in astonishment. “That healed incredibly fast. You sure you're okay?”

You chuckle, deciding to make light of the situation. “What can I say? Maybe I have superpowers.”

A soft clearing of the throat interrupts the moment. The customer, who you hadn't realized was keenly observing the entire exchange, raises an eyebrow. “Can I get some napkins, please?”

Flustered, you quickly hand a bunch over. “Of course, sorry about that.”

Louisa grins at you mischievously as the customer leaves, “Superpowers, huh? That's a new one.”

The doorbell rings out, pulling your attention instantly. You lift your gaze, hope surging momentarily, only to see the same customer making her way out. The door gently shuts behind them, the anticipation that had built up inside you deflating.

Louisa, noticing the brief flicker of disappointment in your eyes, nudges you playfully. “Don't look so down,” she says, her tone light and teasing. “She’ll be here. You know how punctual she is. Maybe she's just running a bit late today.”

You give a half-hearted chuckle. “Yeah, maybe.”

“I wonder though why she never gives her name,” Louisa muses.

“Hm?”

“You know, for the cup,” she clarifies.

You shrug. “Some people love their privacy, I guess.”

Hours seem to stretch endlessly, the weight of the clock's hands growing heavier with each passing minute. The crowd in the café starts to thin as evening nears. Although the store is open 24 hours a day, seven days a week, your shift only lasts until 8. And in the midst of the dwindling crowd, one spot remains unclaimed—the corner seat by the window, the one she always chooses. 

She is the sole reason you continue working here despite your persistent restlessness. Pouring coffee for hundreds of customers daily never truly satisfies you, even when some tip generously. There's an inexplicable nagging feeling, suggesting this isn't where you belong or what you should be doing.

Yet, what anchors you between the register and the espresso machine is the girl who comes in every Thursday, late in the afternoon, always punctually, sometimes a few minutes early. It's disconcerting and exhilarating, this sudden shift of your universe tilting on its axis. You've never been one to believe in love at first sight or fated connections, but there’s something in the way she holds herself, something in her gaze that tugs at strings you didn’t even know existed.

But even if you can write the sweetest song or the most evocative poem about every titillating thing about her, it’s just a crush.

A crush that will lead to nothing. Not because you've attempted to ask her out or because she's already spoken for.

It's because your very existence is shrouded in uncertainty.

The past few months have been a jumble of rehab appointments, therapy sessions, and sleepless nights trying to piece together fragments of memories that always seem just out of reach. Surviving that near-fatal crash was a miracle in itself, but the loss of your past—it took away a part of who you were. Or who you're supposed to be.

Every day, you grapple with an identity you don’t recognize, yearning for some semblance of the person you once were. A glance at the reflection in the coffee machine shows a face still unfamiliar. Eyes that hold stories you can’t read, a curve of a smile that feels out of place. When people share anecdotes from their past or talk about family and childhood, all you can offer is a nod, a practiced smile, and a tightness in your chest that never truly fades.

And how could you possibly burden her with this emptiness?

The small apartment you return to every evening, given by a private charity, is filled with borrowed things and a life that doesn't truly feel like yours. They said you had no family, no one waiting or weeping for your recovery. Your recovery was overseen by faceless benefactors who, for some reason, deemed you worthy of a second chance. Yet, every evening as you unlock your door, you wonder if you truly deserved it.

The beautiful woman who steps into the coffee shop every Thursday, with her air of confidence and those captivating eyes, deserves more than what you currently are. More than this fractured self, teetering on the edge of self-discovery and despair.

What could you possibly offer her? Nights filled with stories of... nothingness? Days shadowed by the fear of not knowing who stares back at you in the mirror? She deserves someone who is rooted in memories, with stories to tell. Not this fragmented existence you live. 

Perhaps it's safer this way, to admire her from a distance, to let her remain this source of hope and inspiration. A lighthouse guiding you through the stormiest nights. If you ever manage to find yourself again, then maybe, you'd take that chance. 

Glancing at the clock again, it's 7:45 PM. Still no sign of her.

Dejectedly, you remove your apron and prepare to leave.

-

Wanda Maximoff blends into the bustling streets, the hood of her jacket pulled low over her face and her boots echoing a muffled cadence on the pavement. Dressed in tight denim and a nondescript hooded jacket, she hardly resembled one of the most powerful Avengers.

She mumbles a silent curse under her breath, glancing at her watch. She's late—later than she's ever been—and she hates it. Thursdays at the cafe are her only remaining connection to you. 

She can see the cafe now, its warm light spilling out onto the street. She pushes the door and her eyes immediately scan the room, searching for that familiar face behind the counter. The disguise continues to work; to everyone, she’s just another customer. She doesn't draw the same attention here as she does in New York. 

It’s North Carolina after all, and the town they put you in cares more about art than superheroes.

Louisa's attempt at nonchalance is commendable but slightly betrayed by the quick tightening of her lips and the slight flutter in her eyes. “Good evening,” she begins, voice as steady as she can manage. “Can I get you the usual today?”

Wanda's gaze, sharp and unyielding, remains locked on Louisa's face. “Where's Y/N?” she asks tersely.

“I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't share information about our staff's schedules.”

She pauses, letting the words settle before adding, “If you're looking to see Y/N, perhaps you can drop by tomorrow between 2 pm and 8 pm.”

“Oh,” Wanda mutters softly. 

Vision, in his human disguise, comes up behind her.  “Wanda, we should go,” he murmurs, attempting discretion, but Louisa catches his words nonetheless.

Wanda hesitates, her posture rigid. “I needed to see them, Vis,” her voice is laced with a quiet desperation, a yearning for something—or someone—lost.

“I know,” he replies softly. “But they aren’t here. And we can always go back tomorrow.”

“I just have a feeling,” Wanda says. “Maybe this time, they’ll—”

“You’ve had that feeling for weeks now, but nothing has changed.” 

They've lowered their voices to whispers, forcing Louisa to strain her ears to catch the exchange between the two. Vision soon catches on to Louisa's subtle eavesdropping. Their conversation abruptly stops, and Wanda, a bit lost, looks up at him for an explanation. Vision subtly nods toward Louisa, signaling her presence.

Clearing his throat, Vision steps forward, deciding to divert attention. “A hibiscus tea, please,” he says.

Louisa, embarrassed at being indirectly called out, fumbles slightly before regaining her composure. “Of course. Name for the cup?”

“Victor,” Vision replies smoothly. With a nod, Louisa gets to work, while Vision takes a few steps to the side with Wanda, resuming their conversation in even lower tones. 

Louisa sneaks occasional glances while pretending to be engrossed in her work. The two stand slightly apart, their conversation seeming both intimate and tense. Wanda's fingers fidget, wringing her hands, her lips moving quickly. Vision responds with a calming gesture, fingers grazing her forearm.

The steamer hisses as Louisa finishes the hibiscus tea, her curiosity deepening.

Setting the cup on the counter, she clears her throat. “Order for Victor!”

No reaction.

With a little more force, she calls again, “Hibiscus tea for Victor!”

Again, no response.

The cafe grows impatient, a soft buzz of conversation fills the air, and a few customers shoot curious glances at the duo.

“Victor!” Louisa exclaims, this time with a touch of impatience.

At this, Vision finally turns, the gentle hum of their conversation breaking. He approaches the counter, his blue eyes apologetic. “I'm sorry,” he says, taking the cup from her hands. “Thank you, Louisa.”

Louisa simply nods, her gaze flitting between the pair. As they head towards the exit, she can't help but wonder about the nature of their relationship with you and what has them so concerned.

-

Three months ago

“You can’t do this to them.”

Wanda's voice crackles with anger and a hint of desperation, her collected demeanor fraying at the edges. The holographic projections of the globe, pinpointing potential locations and glimpses of Y/N's impending new life, bathe Wanda's face in a cold blue light, each flicker taunting her with the reality of your imminent departure.

Flashbacks flicker behind Wanda's eyes, pulling her into that harrowing moment. She feels you in her arms again, your life seeping away between her fingers. She's surrounded by dust-covered streets, crumbling buildings, and the deafening silence after the explosion. Your blood, vibrant and so, so red, pooling at the ground beneath you, staining Wanda’s shoes. She's paralyzed, every second stretching into an eternity, every breath a labor.

She was so slow, so clouded by fear. Why didn't she act faster? Why didn't she see the signs? Could she have saved you?

It was Steve's voice that brought her back to reality. “Wanda! We need to move!” She barely registered the panic in his voice, the way he swiftly and gently took you from her, laying you on a makeshift stretcher.

Every moment after that feels like an agonizing irony to Wanda. She knows grief and loss intimately, but this... this is an entirely different kind of pain. The trauma of watching you battle death is only overshadowed by the realization that while you might physically be here, mentally, the person who risked their life for her twice has disappeared.

In the quiet spaces of her heart, she acknowledges a truth she's been running from: she's spent so long building walls, so long pushing away the vulnerability that came with connecting deeply with someone, out of fear. Fear of loss, of pain, of being too raw and open. With you, those walls had started to crumble, brick by brick, but not fast enough.

She wishes she could go back, to relive those moments with the knowledge she has now. 

“You can't do this to them,” she murmurs again, the words more for herself than anyone else.

Steve stands across from her, hands on the table, his posture rigid yet his face betraying a deep sadness. “Wanda, it's not about what I want or what you want. It's protocol.”

Wanda's face contorts with anger, her voice rising, “Protocol? Y/N isn't some object to be managed! They have rights, feelings, memories—”

“Which they don't even remember!” Steve interjects, his rarely-seen frustration surfacing on this particular occasion.

“You can’t just... toss them into the world like they're yesterday's news, Steve,” Wanda hisses with barely-contained anger. They remain the lone figures in the meeting room after the team unanimously voted to craft a new identity for you, placing you in a secluded town, untouched by global news, let alone the cosmic battles waged galaxies away.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Wanda, it’s not about 'disposing' anyone. The protocol is clear. If a super loses their powers, they reintegrate. Y/N can't live in the compound because they no longer belong in this world of chaos and danger.”

“Because they're powerless?” Wanda’s eyes blaze. “Or because they're no longer of any use to the cause?”

“It’s not like that and you know it,” Steve says, stepping closer to Wanda and meeting her gaze. “Y/N has lost their memory, they don’t remember any of this—any of us. Keeping them here would only confuse and possibly hurt them.”

“They just sacrificed everything for me. And now you want to push them aside because it's convenient?”

“No,” Steve replies, “Because they’ve done enough. They’ve given enough. Don’t you think they’ve earned the right to a peaceful life? The privilege of normalcy?”

Her green eyes shimmer with unshed tears. “All I’m saying, Steve, is that they should have the choice. And right now, we’re taking that away from them.”

-

“Your girlfriend showed up last night.”

You whip your head around to look at Louisa so quickly, it feels like you might've given yourself whiplash.

“Come again?”

Louisa grins, tying her apron around her waist with a knowing smirk. “You heard me. Your Thursday regular? Gorgeous, and those piercing green eyes? She came by looking for you after you left.”

Your eyes widen, heart racing. “That doesn’t mean she’s my... girlfriend.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Louisa teases, leaning in closer. “She seemed pretty keen on finding you. Even asked for you by name. Speaking of which... guess who found out her name?”

Your mouth opens in surprise. “Y-You did?”

Louisa nods, a smirk on her lips. “Wanda. Her name’s Wanda.”

“Wanda,” you repeat, savoring the name as it slips from your lips.

Putting a name to such an unforgettable face changes everything. But like so many things that have recently unfolded, you just don’t know the significance of it yet.

[specialagentlokitty]

Snape x reader - back again

Snape x Reader - Severus meets the new muggle studies teacher his childhood best friend - @mxacegrey 💜

You were beyond excited when you were invited back to Hogwarts as a teacher, and as you sat at the head table smiling at all the students you couldn’t help but look at some of your former teachers happily.

“Ye sure are happy lass.” Hagrid laughed.

“I’ve missed this place!” You beamed.

“Well you’re stuck now.” He chuckled.

You grinned happily, and as you were being introduced to the school, there was a bunch of clapping and cheers especially from your old house table as you sat back down.

You looked around the teachers table as everyone ate but you couldn’t find who you were looking for so you carried on eating.

After dinner you went to explore your new classroom and set everything up.

You looked at how dusty it is and shook your head, waving your wand, casting a small spell and the cleaning supplies started to move on their own.

Smiling, you nodded and started to looked around the empty bookshelves, shaking your head at how empty they were.

“Disgusting, I need to bring some books in.” You mused.

“We have a whole library for books.”

You spun around and stared at the mysterious looking man who was standing in your doorway.

He stepped forward, and with the flick of his wand small blue orbs floated around the classrooms illuminating it some more.

You finally saw the face of the man who was standing in your doorway and a huge smile spread across your face as you realised who was there.

“Severus!”

You rushed forward and hugged him tightly and he awkwardly hugged you back.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be teaching here?” He asked.

You pulled away down the hug and beamed happily up at him.

“I didn’t know you were a teacher here Sev!”

He smiled a little at the nickname.

“Well unfortunately I am.”

“Well I’m here so it’s okay!”

He smiled a little, and nodded his head, settling in to help you start cleaning up the classroom as you told him about everything about what you had been doing since you last saw him.

Severus just stood there listening happily

[thetriumphantpanda]

congrats on 1k, angel!!! 💙 so soo proud of you!

whew okay, so the way i debated between wayyy too many things for your celebration because options 😵‍💫 but we're goin with mirror sex and breath play, ily ty

Bea, I love you. Thank you so much for your kind words - I'm grateful to call you a friend! And thank you so much for your request - mirror sex and breath play with Joel Miller coming right up. I hope you love it - it's a little different to what I'd normally go for, so I'm nervous to share it, but here we go!

Pairing | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count | 2k

Warnings | Explicit. 18+, Minors DNI. So, obviously we have breath play and mirror sex, there's some dirty talk, soft!Joel, some body insecurity from reader too.

Part of my 1k Smut Sensation Celebration - if you want in, check here for details - I’m accepting requests through July 15th.

You sigh as you take in your appearance in the bedroom mirror. There was no shying away from the fact that these past months in Jackson had changed your body. No longer scrounging for twenty-year-old cans of food or going days without eating just to make sure Ellie had enough. Here there was an abundance of everything. The warm stews from the mess hall, the fresh produce you cooked in your home, the barbecue food that would sometimes appear at The Tipsy Bison, it was all having an effect. 

You’d tried to ignore the pinching of your waistband all day, had even popped the button at lunchtime and not bothered to do it back up until you have to walk back home, but as you lifted the hem of your shirt, Joel’s shirt, you could see the red lines the material had made on your skin. Doubt started to fill your mind. He’d stuck around through thick and thin with you, been there on your darkest days, and you on his, had seen your body go through far more than gaining a little weight, and still never left, but this place was different. 

You couldn’t help but think about all the women here, captivated by the broad, mysterious new man who kept to himself. You heard them whispering in the bar about everything they’d like to do to him if only he’d give them a chance. Whether they noticed you listening in or not, it didn’t matter, you knew if Joel ever tired of you, he’d have the pick of the bunch. 

You can feel the tears building behind your eyes, willing yourself to swallow them down before you lose control, when you feel that familiar, strong pair of arms encircle your waist. Automatically you mold into his frame, letting him nuzzle into the crook of your neck, he’s an observant man though, he knows something is wrong. 

“What’s wrong, sugar?” You’ll never tire of that Southern drawl in your ear. 

“It’s stupid.” You mumble, trying to turn in his arms, he’s keeping you exactly where you are though. 

“Ain’t stupid if you’re upset,” He presses the softest of kisses to your cheek, “Tell me.” 

“Jeans don’t fit.” You murmur, hoping that he won’t force you to repeat it, forgetting that he is actually pretty deaf these days. 

“Huh?” Yep. Deaf as a doornail. 

“I said,” You clear your throat, tears threatening to spill again, “My jeans don’t fit anymore.” 

You can feel his breath exhaling deeply through his nostrils once he hears you, his arms bringing you closer, fitting tighter around your middle. 

“That ain’t a bad thing, baby,” He muses, kissing the soft skin behind your ear, “Mean’s you’re alive, mean’s we’re livin’, properly now.” 

“I know,” You whine, wriggling your body to try and get him to change the subject, “I just….” 

“Just what?” He’s kissing down your neck now, “You gotta tell me what’s wrong, baby, else I can’t help.” 

“Worried,” You sigh, mainly from frustration, but also from the sensation of his hot mouth on your skin, “Worried you won’t like me anymore.” 

He movement of his mouth stops dead, pulling away from you, but keeping his arm tight around your middle, “Did I just hear you right, baby?” He asks, “Worried I won’t like you anymore?” 

You nod silently, meeting his eyes in the mirror. He’s watching you intently in the reflection, taking one of his big palms from your middle to take your chin in his grip, “Look at yourself,” He commands, “You don’t see what I see?” 

“I guess not?” You shrug, not being able to shake your head through his grip on your chin. 

“Sugar,” He breathes, “I could never not want this face,” He’s let go of your chin and is instead trailing his fingers lightly over your cheeks, “The way your cheeks have gone plump, and that little dimple you get here,” He presses his finger right where he’s talking about, “Whenever you smile, you drive me crazy baby.” 

Then he’s letting his other arm drop from your middle, placing a hand on either of your shoulders, teasing his fingers lightly down the skin of your arms until your flesh is erupting in goosebumps, even through the material of his flannel that you’re wearing. Once he’s trailed his hands back up to your shoulders, he’s unbuttoning the shirt, slowly but surely, and then dragging it off your frame, leaving you in just your bra and jeans. 

This is the sight you hate. The way your tummy spills over the top of the waistband, the way the bra is definitely too small to comfortably do up in the back, causing little rolls of skin to spear, bunching around the material. 

“Stop thinkin’ and listen to me,” He murmurs, back at your ear now, hands reaching around you to cup your breasts through your bra, “Always loved these,” His hot mouth is back to pressing kisses on the skin behind your ear, “Ain’t ever gonna complain about them getting bigger.” He’s firm in his squeeze which has you tipping your head back, pushing your chest further into his palms, but he’s already moving on. 

His fingertips are gently running down your sides and over the curve of your waist, your body jolting when his touch borders on tickling, until he’s reaching around and undoing the button of your jeans and pulling the zipper down. There’s an instant relief, but you can see those damn red marks again. 

“You see this?” He’s looking at you in the mirror again, urging your eyes to look at his hands where they are on your hips, “My favourite place to rest my hands, when I’m grabbin’ you in the kitchen to move you outta the way, or helpin’ you bounce on my cock.” 

The utter filth mixed with the sweet sentiment have arousal pooling between your legs, you can already feel the need to rub your thighs together for a second of relief. You always wonders how he does this – takes the things you think are your biggest flaws and makes them seem so insignificant, but in the best way possible. 

His hands skin the waistband of your jeans, hands slipping beneath the denim to grip the globes of your ass, “Do I need to say anythin’ about this, baby?” He asks, “Think you know exactly what I think about this peach.” 

He’s right. You know it’s always been one of his favourite parts of you. The way his eyes would trail over you when you bent over when you were out on the road. The way he pulled at your hips to pull you closer into his body whenever he slept behind you. The way he would bring a hard palm down on the skin when he was fucking into you from behind or give it a playful swat whenever he walked past. The way he would grip onto it, much like he was now, when he would kiss you. He needn’t elaborate this time. 

He shucks your jeans and underwear down to your ankles, guiding you to step out of them, before he makes quick work of unclipping your bra. You’re fully naked now, a sight you don’t think you’ve seen from yourself in many years. You want to shy away from it, want to pick apart the scars across your body, the added weight to your thighs and stomach. But when Joel is stood behind you, looking into your eyes in the mirror like he just won the lottery, it all inconsequential. None of it matters anymore. Because he was right. This means you’re alive, and you’re happy. You’ve got the man you always wanted to worship the ground you walk on. So what if you needed to go to the outfitters tomorrow for a new pair of jeans?

You meet Joel’s eyes in the reflection, noticing how your own eyes darken with lust at the same time his do, “You’re wearing far too many clothes, Joel Miller.” You whisper, voice low and husky. 

You place a palm on the glass, leaning yourself forward. Your ass presses only momentarily into his crotch, before he’s pulling away and practically ripping his own clothes off. He’s naked and behind you in what feels like seconds. His calloused fingers are reaching around and slipping through your folds, dipping down to your entrance, where he finds you slick. 

“Mama…..” He breathes, the term of endearment making you blush, “So wet and ready for me.” 

“Always Joel.” You breathe as he brings those soaked fingers up to play with your clit.

You push yourself back into him, chasing his thick cock. You’re aching for him, always are. 

“Look at yourself,” He’s saying, “Watch yourself when I give you my cock.” 

You do exactly as he says, eyes on your own in the reflection as you feel him line himself up with your slick sex. 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life tellin’ you just how beautiful I think you are, sugar,” He says, hand resting at your throat as he slides his cock into your aching cunt, “Gonna love you regardless of how many new pairs of jeans you might need, you hear me?”

You don’t answer straight away, overwhelmed as always by the way he’s stretching you open as he works himself into your pussy to the hilt. You’d never watched yourself like this and it’s almost like you’re having an out of body experience. You know the girl in front of you, with her mouth hanging open and her eyes glazed over is you and you know the man grunting behind you with his cock finally sheathed in your cunt is Joel, but it doesn’t seem real somehow. 

“Gotta answer me baby,” He speaks as he draws his cock from you almost all the way, “Only gonna give it to you if you answer.” 

“Yes Joel…” You whine, and you’re rewarded with his cock slamming back into you. 

He sets that pace, one hand pressed firmly at your pussy, working at your clit, the other at the base of your throat where he squeezes every now and then. You’ve seen Joel in a thousand circumstances where he’s had his hand around someone’s throat before. None of them have ever ended well for the other party. He could snap you in half like a twig if he wanted, but the way he rests his hand, squeezing just enough to cut your air for seconds before he releases, does nothing but thrill you. It sends shocks down your spine, straight to your pussy. You can feel how wet you are, you can hear it as he stuffs you with his length. 

You can see him in the mirror, and the visual is obscene. His teeth sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, the way his eyes are focused on the place where you’re joined together. You’re reveling in watching his fingers work your clit and you can feel that telltale coil in your belly start to unravel.  

“Joel – fuck – don’t stop, I’m gonna….” 

“Watch yourself,” He demands again, squeezing the hand at your throat, tilting your chin ever-so-slightly so you’re watching, his fingers rub a few more times over your clit before you’re letting go, “See how fucking pretty you look when I make you come, baby?” 

There are no words at this point. Your legs are threatening to fail you, all you can feel is the way he’s hitting that sweet spot inside of you, repeatedly. All you can hear is his skin slapping against yours, your moans and groans combining. Then, just like he always does in this position, he’s pulling himself from your clenching walls and fisting his own cock. You hear him first, the low growl you’ve come to know and love, then you feel it, the warm ropes of cum spilling over the cheeks of your ass and dripping down your thighs. 

You’re both quiet for a moment, respectively trying to catch your breath, before he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and dragging you backwards to the bed. He throws you down on the sheets, a surprise yelp leaving your mouth. 

“Joel, the sheets!” You exclaim, “We just changed them, now they’re going to be covered.” 

“Don’t care,” He grumbles, dropping to his knees in front of you, dragging you forward by an ankle, “Wanna eat this perfect pussy, make you forget everything, so all you’ll know is my name and what this mouth feels like.”  

[kipsels]

Cross-Pollination

Dan Heng x Stelle

ft. Dan Feng

There is a great level of expertise required to safely navigate the galaxy. There were things like wormholes and neutron stars and black holes that skewed charted courses, plus a bunch of other things Stelle didn’t really understand.

But what she did know was that when Himeko and Mr Yang started talking about the nuances of the Astral Express’s flight through space, her brain started to go all fuzzy like it had been filled with the static sound of white noise.

She regretted not listening to them more, sure. But even if she had she doubted it could have explained this.

A man who looked suspiciously like Dan Heng was standing in her bedroom, casually perusing his surroundings like he belonged there. Except Stelle was pretty sure he wasn’t Dan Heng, and he definitely did not belong there.

“Who are you?” She blurted out, unable to comprehend the fact that there was a strange Vidyadhara man staring back at her.

“I see someone has decided to redecorate The Express,” He said in lieu of an answer.

“Uh? Wha-?” She intelligently replied, her jaw lost somewhere on the floor from the shock.

Some small part in the back of her mind that wasn’t paralysed by the strange situation politely pointed out that his regal clothing looked like that of a high elder. Except he also wasn’t Bailu.

At least, she didn’t think that was Bailu.

She watched as he combed the lengths of his black hair behind one pointed ear, a small smile lighting up his handsome features.

“You must be a new member of The Nameless,” He said as he approached, picking up her limp hand from where it hung by her side. “My name is Dan Feng, I'm the High Elder of the Xianzhou Luofu. And… Baiheng’s friend.”

Dan Feng… High Elder of the Xianzhou Luofu….

Huh!?

Stelle gaped at him as he bowed low before her, his lips brushing against the back of her knuckles. She’d barely recovered when he straightened, his bright aquamarine eyes idly perusing her from head to toe.

What in the ever living space-time continuum was happening right now?

“And what is your name, my fair lady?”

“Uhh… Dan Heng?” Stelle called out loudly.

Dan Feng blinked at her, his eyebrows raising in surprise, “Your… name is Dan Heng?”

“N-no my name is Stelle– Wait, no! What am I doing? DAN HENG!?”

“Stelle,” He mused, unfazed by her flustered cries, “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I am disappointed Baiheng has not seen fit to introduce us beforehand.”

Stelle stumbled backwards, Dan Feng’s grip on her hand the only thing keeping her upright. Her mind raced as it tried to reconcile the fact that Dan Heng’s predecessor was standing before her, very real and very alive.

And very forward.

“Your scent, it’s rather beguiling… I’d like to get better acquainted with it,” He purred, and a squeak escaped Stelle’s mouth.

“Dan Heeennng!?”

“It’s Dan Feng, my dear.” He pulled her closer, Stelle’s hands coming up to press up against his firm chest to keep him away.

“Stelle? Is everything okay? I thought I heard you calling my n–”

Dan Heng appeared in the doorway of her bedroom, his eyes bulging out of his head in shock.

“You did not tell me there was another Vidyadhara male aboard this ship,” Den Feng spoke tersely, his arm wrapping around her waist.

“Save me,” Stelle mouthed silently to Dan Heng, who looked like his sleep paralysis demons had come to life before him.

The analogy was probably not all that far off.

Dan Heng shook himself out of his stupor, his hands raised as he cautiously approached. “How is this even possible? How are you even here?”

“I am here at the invitation of The Nameless, while you are…”

Dan Feng seemed to pause, his eyes running over Dan Heng in consideration. Time seemed to slow as he registered the mirror image reflecting back at him, the youth in Dan Heng’s features unable to hide the truth.

“A temporal paradox…” Stelle heard the two of them mutter in unison.

“I did not think I would ever be presented with the opportunity to look my own reincarnation in the eye, but such blessed opportunities should not be overlooked,” Dan Feng continued, his head tilting to the side in curiosity.

“Tell me, boy. Did I find a solution to the Vidyadhara’s plight in my time?”

Dan Heng’s eyes hardened, barely biting back a scowl. Stelle's heart panged with sympathy, unable to stop herself from reaching out to him for comfort, only to be tugged back into place by her High Elder captor.

“It could cause irreparable damage to tell you the future, you know that,” He growled.

Dan Feng’s eyebrow quirked, “So I failed.”

Dan Heng screwed his mouth shut, opting to simply glare at Dan Feng in silence.

Stelle remained frozen in place by the bizarre reality of the situation while wishing she’d taken more time to learn about the laws of physics.

“And you? Have you continued my endeavour?”

“I am not the High Elder. It’s not my problem.” Dan Heng bit back.

Stelle flushed as she felt Dan Feng’s chest press against her back, his hands stroking down the length of her forearms before threading his fingers through her own. Her stomach fluttered as he nosed at her hairline, breathing in her scent like a fine perfume.

“Then, if you are not willing to fulfil your duty to the Vidyadhara and seek the longevity of the draconic bloodline, I shall do it for you.”

Stelle squeaked.

Dan Heng gasped.

And Dan Feng pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, faint laughter brushing against her skin.

-Fin-

[ckret2]

For those of you that still wanna try to meet my impossibly high standards for some reason, I'm still taking title suggestions but here's the updated criteria:

MANDATORY: must include the word Goldilocks, or a "Goldilocks" pun that's SO OBVIOUS it's nigh impossible to NOT hear it. If you have to stretch to hear it, it fails. If there's an unrelated word inserted between "gold" and "lock," fail.

MANDATORY: The Goldilocks reference must be about the Goldilocks principle, the Goldilocks zone, or something else like that and NOT about Bill or the fairy tale. If it's a Goldilocks & the Three Bears reference, automatic fail. If the word "Goldilocks" is being used to refer to Bill, Bill's appearance, Bill's name, Bill's ANYTHING, automatic fail.

"I don't feel like it should be mandatory. It wouldn't bother me if the title doesn't meet these criteria." It's not your title. Please don't send me asks like that, I didn't put those points up for negotiation.

Has to sound like it's about THIS fic. Think of a random different "human Bill's stuck in Gravity Falls and gets a redemption arc" fic. Could the title describe that fic just as well? It's out. Here's the general themes I've thought of if u wanna muse over them.

Bonus points if it's a funny/punny reference to some other phrase in a way that sounds like it would fit in as a Gravity Falls episode title; double major bonus points if the reference actually fits this fic.

The subjective points that still stand from the first criteria list: interesting enough to intrigue new readers; easy to remember (not too long/complicated); actually sounds like a title.

Short & snappy. If you read the title once, left for an hour, and tried to remember it, would you be likely to remember it word-for-word? Is it built in a way that facilitates being easy to remember (like, built on a common phrase or distinctive words)? Or are there a bunch of little prepositions & phrases that risk getting changed or getting their order swapped or left out?

Gotta be better at meeting these criteria than "Wasting Away Again in the Goldilocks Zone" is.

The rigid criteria list isn't to be a demanding dick; it's because I know y'all are nicely volunteering help and I don't want you to generously spend your time brainstorming helpful suggestions that I already know I wouldn't take. If you read all that and go "dang! I wanted to suggest something but I can't think of anything that fits," 1) i appreciate that you wanted to help and that's okay you're not obligated to send anything; and 2) you and i are in this boat together 🤝

Mainly I've still got my fingers crossed to the last minute that some stranger will come into my inbox like "lo, the gentle hand of the Greek Muse of Cartoon Fanfiction Titles has touched my mind, and like a prophet I pass this message on to you." Otherwise I don't expect much.

[raayllum]

bc @kradogsrats spoke it into existence and i'll never say no to a character being forced to make a terrible / difficult choice of what regrets they're willing to live with. tw for violence + mentioned forced amputation

The seas are choppier when they set sail, this time, a barrel of 'fresh' dark magic parts go spilling overboard when the crew is talking too excitedly about their new captives—Finnegrin curses and crushes one of the stray snake rattle tails that survived, just out of principle.

(He takes one and places it into his pocket for later, but is far more reluctant to take it out; he doesn't.)

His worse than usual mood sets Elmer on edge, and so when the Moonshadow elf girl gets rowdy, he backhands her in favour of picking her up. The smack echoes, the boy growling as he forces himself to his feet, lunging with an arms literally tied behind his back, but then Elmer is gripping her, forcing her to sit back down with a reddened cheek.

(She is dazed enough not to bite and slip the sliver of wood between her teeth.)

And here is how it goes.

"What's wrong with you people?" Finnegrin demands, and incredulous, Callum notes with a hint of satisfaction. "You bunch of barnacle brains all want to lose your hands?"

"I do not understand," Elmer says, voice deep and confused. "A hand will take weeks to regrow."

"No, buddy," Soren corrects. "It'll take way longer than that."

"See?" Callum staggers to his feet, heart beating fast—but confident, proud. They can win this. They can beat him. And until they do, he won't break them. "So long as we protect each other, so long as we love each other, you can never control us."

But Finnegrin doesn't turn back the way Callum thought he would, moving closer to the others still on their knees. "Charming," the pirate remarks, circling closer like a shark. The knife is clasped in one hand. "Really tugging on my heartstrings. Think I feel a good cry coming on."

He twirls the knife almost teasingly above Rayla's head as he walks on by, and Callum's stomach clenches.

"Love is the key to strength, hm? But no two loves are the same. I would know." Finnegrin stops walking behind Ezran, gave heavy and thoughtful and smug. His little brother looks even tinier in comparison. "Let's see which one you love the least."

"No—" Callum gasps, as the blade comes close, far too close to Ezran's throat. "You said the hand—"

"It's okay, Callum," Ezran says with the world's tiniest smile, but he's trembling. Putting on a brave face.

"Oh I meant it," Finnegrin says, waving the knife back over to Rayla almost experimentally. It goes against every instinct, but Callum tries to school his expression into something neutral. If he just gives nothing away, everyone will make it out alive, unscathed.

He can't show any sign of preference. He can't show any sign of worry.

He swallows hard, trying to remain impassive—stoic, neutral—as Finnegrin walks over to Villads and Soren, and it's easier, to stay calm. It's easier, and he hates that it is, but it is. Finnegrin frowns slightly, musing, examining Soren and Villads, and then his eyes fixate on Ezran.

"Everyone has a soft spot for the young ones, hm? Doesn't the king of Katolis have a brother? Bet he won't be pleased with you—"

"No!" Rayla juts her arms out in front of Ezran again. "Take my hand—"

Ezran tries to nudge her away, the welt on her cheek a bright red, but she's always been stronger than him. "Rayla, no—I'm the one who—"

"Deadwood, hold them both down," Finnegrin orders after a moment. The wooden giant goes to comply. "If the boy won't make a choice, and these two are so eager, we'll simply fulfil both their wishes."

Deadwood uses one hand to hold both of them in place on their knees, squirming and arms extended plainly, shoulders squeezed too tight for them to jerk around. The panic and anxiety roars to life like a tidal wave, Callum drowning in it as the knife hovers over Ezran's small slim wrist, the blade glinting, waiting, being brought back, and then—

"Wait!" Callum shouts.

The knife stops. Finnegrin straightens up, lips peeling back in a smirk.

Ezran looks at him with wide, fearful eyes, but Rayla is glaring like she already knows—or like she's asking, ordering for him to pick her over his brother, but Callum couldn't let her lose a hand when they were children and he still can't now.

He bows his head and then raises it slowly, because well—"I'll make a choice," he rasps, hating himself for it.

The easy one would be Villads, because he is a stranger and Callum will never see him again after this, but he is a stranger and didn't know what he was getting himself wrapped up in, and—

All he knows is that it can't be Ezran or Rayla.

When he looks up, Soren is already looking up at him, tears in his eyes and a deadened smile on his lips. Because Soren knows.

Soren has always known.

"Soren," Callum says at last. His eyes slide shut like the swinging of a death knell, opening back up in time as Soren raises a trembling hand to identify himself.

To his credit, the crownguard only screams a little as Finnegrin saws his hand off, and then binds the bloody stump poorly with a handkerchief. Rayla keeps Ezran held to her front to shield him from it.

Callum makes himself watch.

It's his first of many apologies.

[theashesofthefirststar]

Genuine question: why do people argue that Gale couldn’t have known Mystra during his adolescence?

I made a Reddit post a week back discussing the relationship between Gale and Mystra and merely the implication that she revealed herself to him at a young age set a bunch of people off for (insert lore related reasons here). The thread got way too big and overwhelming for me to keep reading through, but the gist of their arguments, I think, was that the timelines didn’t line up. Not a timeline given in game, but the timeline created by the preexisting canon.

Which, okay. I think bg3 values thematic clarity more than it does making a 1 to 1 replica of the 5e canon, but it had been a while since I played act 1, so, I thought, maybe I misremembered.

Well, I’ve been doing a new play through and I finally got to the part when Gale reveals the story behind his arcane hunger, and i guess I was expecting something more subtle, but it’s actually more explicit than I remember. Does Gale look at the camera and say “Mystra groomed me”? No, but the implication of what he does say is pretty damning.

{paraphrasing} “I was a child prodigy. That’s what caught Mystras attention. She revealed herself to me and became my teacher. Later, my muse. Later still, my lover”. I guess you could interpret it as her becoming his teacher when he was already an established wizard/adult, but that seems like a really overly generous reading. Like, bordering on bad faith, because the sentence is structured in a way that’s meant to imply cause and effect. ‘My talent as a child caused Mystra to pay attention to me, which had the effect of her becoming my teacher’.

I know that bg3 is supposed to follow the canon of 5e, but some people were arguing she couldn’t have revealed herself to him any earlier than five years ago because (insert more lore reasons here) and that just isn’t the vibe he’s giving at all. it’s more likely to me that they made tweaks to the timeline so that it worked within the individual stories they were trying to tell.

I get that dnd super fans are going to want to defend the integrity of this world that they love. That’s fair. But I’d rather judge characters and relationship dynamics based on the themes of a story than how perfectly they align with pre-established world building.

[liaromancewriter]

Stardust

Premise: Ethan and Cassie’s skating date plans go awry, but all hope is not lost.

Fandom: Open Heart/Choices Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 1,965 Day/Prompt: @12daysofchristmas Day 9 - “I like it out here. It’s peaceful.”

A/N: For @choicesholidays "Best Christmas Ever" prompt, @choicesprompts Holiday rewrite event: inspired by Virgin River's S5 Christmas special where Mel and Jack celebrate their first Christmas and make their own holiday traditions, including the ice skating scene. Also submitting to @choicesdecember2023 prompt "Christmas" and @choicesficwriterscreations Holiday event.

I'm using @choicesflashfics week 64, prompt 1 (in bold), and fluffy dialogue prompt 1 from Second Day of Gift-Giving by @creativepromptsforwriting. Tagging for reblog to @creativepromptfills.

Growing up in New England meant ice skating. One of Ethan Ramsey’s earliest memories was holding his father’s hand as they stepped onto an outdoor ice rink. Light snow fell around them like stardust, and he tilted his head back to catch a snowflake on his tongue.

His father taught him how to skate that night, gripping Ethan’s hand lightly and encouraging him to lean forward and alternately stroke and glide on the ice, letting the blades do the work.

He remembered his father’s deep laughter and his mother’s cheers from the sidelines as he let go of the hand keeping him tethered. Feeling the wind on his face and watching colors blur from the festive lights strung up around the rink, everything in little Ethan’s world was perfect at that moment.

Many years later, Ethan still loved to skate but didn’t have as much time for it. As head of diagnostics at Boston’s Edenbrook Hospital, his duties kept him much too busy. But something about the holidays made him nostalgic for simpler times.

“Earth to Ethan. Anyone there?” Cassie Valentine snapped her fingers in front of his face.

Ethan shook his head to clear the memories clouding his thoughts. “Sorry, I was miles away. What were we talking about?”

“Okay, that was some trip,” Cassie commented, giving him a strange look above the rim of her wine glass. “Holiday traditions from our childhood. You were telling me about skating with your parents, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Ethan said, feeling his face flush.

For a moment, he’d forgotten where he was. He glanced around his apartment and the holiday decorations they’d put up a few days ago, scratching the back of his head as he tried to collect his composure.

A Christmas tree stood in the corner against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay — the first one they bought and decorated together — tinsel and fairy lights winking against the dark. Presents had found their way underneath the tree at regular intervals in the last couple of weeks.

This was their first holiday together, technically second as a couple, but he’d been in Providence last year, and she’d been working. Somehow, without realizing it, he found himself in a relationship that was more serious than anything he’d ever had before.

What else would you call meeting each other’s families and planning together what presents to buy for their respective relatives?

“Do you still skate, or is that in the past?” Cassie mused, her legs curled up beneath her on the couch.

“Not as much as I’d like,” Ethan confessed, picking up the near-empty wine bottle to top up their glasses. “A few years ago, a bunch of us started getting together in the community center rink for ice hockey. Nothing formal, just pick up games to blow off steam.”

“Why am I only finding out about this now?” she said, somewhat disgruntled. “We’ve known each other for almost three years!”

Ethan rolled his eyes at her dramatic response. “Because I have other, more pleasurable things to say and do when you’re around. Besides, I had Naveen’s condition to occupy my mind that first year, and then my mother’s return and addiction last year. This is the first normal holiday season for both of us.”

“You have a point,” Cassie conceded with a regal nod before twisting in her seat to regard him thoughtfully. “I bet you’re a goalie. You’ve got the build for it.”

“You’d lose that bet.” Ethan raised an eyebrow in amusement. “I play center.”

She harrumphed and then tapped her index finger against her lips. “Remember how we talked about making our own holiday traditions when we decorated the tree last week? Let’s add skating to the list. The Boston Common Frog Pond rink is open for the season, and it always looks fun when I go running past it.”

“I’ve been, and it is fun,” Ethan said. “How about Friday? You’re working a double before that, so should be post-call, right?”

“It’s a date,” Cassie smiled, intertwining her fingers with his and nestling against him. “This is going to be the best Christmas season ever!”

When Friday came, Ethan was run off his feet. Herb, one of his oldest patients, had been admitted with an unknown infection. He spent the entire day running tests, frustrated when the results didn’t reveal anything useful.

Deciding to return to the beginning, he sat behind his desk, switched on the monitor and pulled up Herb’s medical history. He wasn’t leaving here until he figured this out.

“You’re still working?”

Ethan looked up at the intrusion, eyes unfocused, the screen’s glare reflecting off his reading glasses. Cassie stood inside the sliding glass doors, wearing a pink long-sleeved sweater beneath a puffy white vest and black jeans. A knitted cap with white and pink stripes sat atop her long blonde hair.

He wondered whether she coordinated her outfits or if it was an innate style. Maybe even both.

He noted the small duffel bag in her hand and cursed internally. He’d utterly forgotten their skating date, and judging by Cassie’s amused expression, she knew it, too.

“You’re important to me. And I want you to know that,” Ethan said, coming around from behind the desk to stand before her. He took her hand in his.

“I do know that, but thank you for telling me,” Cassie chuckled, lightly swinging their clasped hands before letting go. “What’s going on?”

Ethan quickly explained the situation, running frustrated fingers through his hair, his inability to solve the case coming through in the irritated tone of his voice. Before he knew it, he started brainstorming Herb’s condition with her, pulling up test results and walking her through his thought process.

Herb wasn’t the diagnostic team’s patient, but it helped to have someone he trusted from the team working with him.

“Could be GI. Have you considered….”

“…barium follow through?” he said, reading her thoughts as perfectly as she could his. He frowned as he tried to connect the dots to the other symptoms.

“I thought I saw something in his chart,” she said, nudging him out of the chair to take control of his keyboard, her eyes scanning the electronic medical records. “Aha, there it is. Small bowel obstruction, managed through a steroid protocol, so no biopsy was done to rule out Crohn’s or colitis.”

“Good catch,” Ethan said, reading over her shoulder. “I’ll put in orders for a barium test tomorrow. Nothing more we can do today.”

Her light floral scent drifted into his nostrils, and he sighed in disappointment. Date nights were already hard to organize with their erratic schedules. He couldn’t help but feel he’d wasted this one.

He turned the office chair around, placed his hands on either side of her and leaned in. “I’m sorry, Cassie. I not only messed up our plans tonight, but I pulled you into this after you’d already worked a double shift. I heard about the clusterfuck that was last night.”

“That would be an apt word to describe it,” she murmured. “Not sure how I got home this morning, but at least it was quiet in the apartment with everyone else on shift.”

“Still, tonight was supposed to be the start of another holiday tradition for us,” he insisted.

For the first time in forever, he resented work coming in the way of his personal life.

Cassie framed his face between her hands. “I’m here with you. I’m right where I belong. Doing what I’m good at with the man I love and one who taught me that patients come first.”

Ethan closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a slow, sweet kiss, thanking her for understanding with the promise of more to come. Cassie locked her hands behind his neck, and he tugged her out of the chair, reversing their positions without breaking the kiss.

They slowly drifted apart, foreheads touching. Cassie smiled softly, her fingers trailing down the side of his face. “Raincheck on our date?

Ethan checked his wristwatch and noted it was almost half past eight. Where had the last few hours gone?

“We could try to get to the Commons before the rink closes at nine,” he offered, mentally calculating the distance, traffic and parking situation.

“It’s okay,” Cassie said, getting off his lap and stretching her arms upward. “Another night. Besides, we’re doctors. Disrupted plans are par the course.”

“There are other rinks in Boston,” Ethan said, standing beside her. “Let me google what’s open. Tonight doesn’t have to be a total loss.”

“Actually,” Cassie said, taking her phone out and unlocking it. “Rafael’s old neighborhood has a small rink that’s open all night. He invited the Roomies there last year. It’s no Frog Pond, but it was nice. Let me text him.”

While she did that, Ethan tidied up his desk, closed out files and powered down his computer.

“Yes!” Cassie pumped one fist in the air. “It’s still around, and Raf is sending directions.”

An hour or so later, after stopping by his place to change and pick up skates, Ethan parked in the lot on the other side of the community park from where the rink was located. They walked hand in hand down the walkway, the soft glow of street lamps a welcome relief against the shadows around them.

The rink was small, as advertised, and empty, given the lateness of the hour. And yet Ethan liked it all the more for its relative privacy versus other public rinks.

“I like it out here. It’s peaceful,” Ethan commented as they sat on a bench and strapped on their skates.

“It’s popular with local families, so it can get busy early in the day,” Cassie explained, her voice muffled as she bent down to tighten her laces.

Ethan flicked the light switch, the red and green lights bright against the darkness. He stepped onto the rink, gliding effortlessly on the ice, feeling the familiar rush of wind rushing against his face.

“Whoops,” Cassie giggled behind him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking back to see her arms flailing before she caught her balance.

“I’m good,” she said, carefully holding herself still.

He laughed as recognition hit. For all Cassie’s bravado, she was not as comfortable on skates as she pretended to be.

“You think it’s funny?” She lifted her chin mulishly, spreading her legs wide and turning her skated feet inward.

“Yeah, I do,” Ethan smirked, skating in a loop around her.

He took her hand as she continued to struggle and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “Because I finally found something that Cassie Valentine isn’t good at.”

He grinned as Cassie pretended to be offended. She started to push against his arms, but her skates slipped, and she clung to him like a barnacle. Within seconds, they were both laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

“You figured me out,” she confessed, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes as she swallowed back her laughter.

She placed her gloved hands on his upper arms, her green eyes sparkling as they gazed into his. “I suck at skating. No matter how much I try, I will never be more than passable.”

Ethan brushed his hands down her arms and folded her hands in his. “Then it’s a good thing you have me to hold on to.”

He lowered his face as Cassie stretched on her toes, and their lips met in a kiss that chased the cold away. They looked up as snowflakes started to fall from the sky, sprinkling over them like stardust.

And under a starry, magical night with snow falling around them, Ethan looped Cassie’s arm through his and skated them expertly around the rink, making another holiday tradition just for them.

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

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @debbiechanclub

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate @zealouscanonindeer

[dreamersbcll]

I think I’m finally clean

- a piece for myself; an ode to one year sober

——————————————————————————

Sam didn’t know how to bring it up. It was the elephant in the room, the weight on her chest. The anxiety pressed down on her lungs, making breathing hard. The worst part is, it was good news that she couldn’t get out.

One year. One whole year of sobriety. No drugs, no drinks, no bars. Just walking the straight and narrow and keeping her nose clean.

It was the most exhaustive thing Sam had ever willingly done.

She knew this was a significant accomplishment- hell, a major victory- but she couldn’t quite believe it. None of it felt tangible or even remotely meaningful. Sam knows that she worked hard to achieve this. Why couldn’t she accept that she had done a good thing?

Perhaps it was the guilt. The hot shame that sat in her throat, burning holes each time she spoke the truth. Getting clean and sober was a good thing, especially since she did it for herself only. But good things weren’t in her favor. She had quite the track record for screwing up.

Yet despite all her efforts to self-sabotage, she was here, in a shitty folding chair in a dingy room, waiting to announce her anniversary to a bunch of strangers. In a way, it was poetic, Sam Carpenter, the sinner, confessing once again for her own personal crimes.

But everyone had their own demons and reasons to be, and Sam was just a tiny voice in a very large crowd.

That’s what she told herself anyway.

“Alright! Anyone else want to share?” chirped the chairperson. Sharon, maybe.

Sam holds her breath, willing everyone to stay quiet. She was bursting to share and needed to before she exploded into a million half-assed apologies and used bottle caps.

Thankfully, everyone heard her silent prayers and stayed quiet.

Clapping her hands together, Sharon spoke with hope. “Okay. Does anybody have an anniversary to celebrate?”

Immediately, Sam’s hand shot up, refusing to be ignored. Smiling, Sharon beckoned Sam to the podium.

Now, Sam Carpenter wasn’t a stranger to speaking to mirrors, and this crowd of people wasn’t any different. Reflected to Sam was her, all of her, in other bodies and life stories. Once an addict is always an addict, the addiction runs deep in their veins.

Breathing out, Sam began.

“Hi, I’m Sam. I’m one year clean today, and I'd like to share a story with you all,” she huskily said, her voice thick with emotion.

Her reflection nodded back to her, and so she began.

——

“Sammy.”

Looking up from her sketchbook, Sam raised an eyebrow at her little sister. Tara was lying across her feet, her little head on Sam’s ankles. Instead of playing with her toys or reading her big-girl chapter books, Tara was staring at the ceiling, her brow furrowed.

“What’s up, honey?” Sam mused, putting down her colored pencil.

Tara chewed on her lip, a worried frown on her face. Her baby sister was wise for her age, but even though Tara was a little too astute for a seven-year-old, she was still that—a child. Sam was constantly reminded that she was raising a sensitive child, even if she was quiet and careful.

Sam reached her arms out, beckoning Tara to her. Her little sister scrambled up, immediately crashing into Sam’s arms. She grunted a bit at the force Tara managed to construe but still held her little girl close.

“Oof. Hey baby. What’s going on? Are you okay?” she murmured, kissing her hair.

Her little sister just shuddered, eyes fluttering shut at the kiss. “Sammy, I don’t want to be like mommy,” she whimpered, wiggling deeper into Sam’s ribs.

Pausing, Sam let the words roll through her brain. This wasn’t the conversation she expected. She should’ve known Tara picks up on more than she realizes.

“Well, what do you mean, baby?”

Tara shrugged. “She’s mean. And loud. And when she drinks, she hurts us. I don’t wanna be mean. Will I be mean?”

As if all the oxygen was sucked from the room, Sam breathed deeply. Of course, Tara would pick up on Christina’s careless alcoholism. She was too intelligent and intuitive for her own good

Sam hummed. “No baby, you won’t be like her. You won’t be mean. You will be good, I know it,” she soothed, rubbing circles on Sam’s back.

Her little sister sniffled a bit. “Will you be mean like mommy?” she softly asked, her voice barely registering above a whisper.

Her body stiffened, her back ramrod straight. She was only twelve, but she knew her mom wasn’t any good. Christina was a liar and a cold-hearted manipulator. She didn’t care, and she took what she pleased, offering nothing in return. Sam would never be like her.

“No. I will not be mean like her. I won’t let myself or you follow her steps. Okay? I’ve got us. I promise,” she sharply said.

Tara jerkily nodded against Sam, holding onto fistfuls of Sam’s shirt as if she was about to fall off the face of the earth. Sam held back just as tight. She wouldn’t let herself or Tara fall off the wagon like Christina always did.

That’s what she told herself at twelve years old, anyway.

——

“And now, at twenty-two years old, I am proud to say that I am officially one year clean from substance abuse and alcohol. I am new, and I am alive.”

Sam cleared her throat, her vision blurring. She could feel her throat choke up, her skin flushed with incoming tears. It truthfully took everything in her not to ugly cry, but she promised herself to make it through this. So she would.

“And I am not my mother. I am better than her. I am clean; I am whole and alive,” she firmly said, refusing to let her voice waver.

It took a second, but the room burst in a round of applause; a few scattered congratulations and whoops could be heard among the noise. Sam released her grip from the podium, breathing in the feeling of success.

No. Hope.

That was an odd feeling. Hope. The fluttering bird in her chest gently asked to be freed and followed. The smell of budding spring flowers and cold winter days. It always followed her, a thin ribbon in the middle of her ribcage, holding her bones together.

Sam wasn’t used to leaning into the hope, the curiosity of what could be. But today, in a room full of people like herself, she could feel the warmth splash over her face, holding her like the sun after a long rain shower.

She was clean. She was whole. She was alive.

And she had forgiven herself for her past to build a stable future. One with someone she missed some deadly; the only other person she had fought to get clean for real.

Maybe, just maybe, one day, her sister could forgive her, too.

But for now, she was alive. That was enough.

[2024-grimoire-challenge]

Spring Equinox / Ostara

Let me preface by saying, even if you don't follow the wheel of the year, utilize the prompt here for whatever holiday you do celebrate, if you do! If you only recognize the equinoxes and solstices as days, use this prompt outline for those!

Next is Ostara, Circa March 20. Different cultures and spiritualities and different witches will celebrate or not celebrate this day. For those of us Pagans who do, here’s a bunch of posts. (None of these are mine, these are simply pages I’ve gathered from Tumblr at large to share here.All credit goes to the individuals who made the posts!)

Ostara Posts on Tumblr

Ostara Sounds/ Music

Ways to Celebrate

About Ostara/ Spring Equinox

Ostara

Spring Equinox/ Ostara

Celebrate

Outside Tumblr Sources

Wikipedia - Ostara & Spring Equinox

Celtic Connection

ThoguhtCo

History

Wild Hunt

These are just from a quick search. Take time to read, not only current writings and musings on the holiday and time of year, but look at historical texts and documentation of the holiday. That is where the truth of the season is.

The Prompt!

Okay! Make a new page, solely for Ostara/ Spring Equinox! 

Write out a description of the holiday. What is it? When is it? How is it traditionally celebrated? Why were things celebrated the way they were? What are the things that this holiday represents and stands for? This is the meat and potatoes of the holiday. Any and all bits of info aside from this are just the seasoning. Mine is a few small paragraphs about the holiday itself. 

Now make some lists. What are the colors used to decorate for this holiday? What are some incense/ oils/ candle scents that are commonly associated with this day? Gemstones? Herbs? Is there a moon phase or particular god/goddess associated with this holiday? What about animals? Flowers? Were there any traditional offerings left out on this holiday? And what foods were made on this day?

What are some of the activities you can do to celebrate this holiday? And what about magic and rituals. Are there any specific kinds of magic to perform on or around this day? Are there any poems or blessings associated with this holiday?

That’s a lot of info, I know. But now for the second part of the holiday prompt!

Make it your own!

Now, given all the information you’ve gathered, make your own small ritual to be performed on Ostara/ the Spring Equinox. To do this, I suggest a scrap paper to brainstorm on. Here’s some things to keep in mind and help write out your ritual. 

What is the theme/ purpose of the ritual? (Healing ritual? Cleansing? Renewal of intentions? Welcoming the light?)

What are the tools you’ll use and what is the purpose/ association it has? (candles, athame/ sacred blade, incense, gemstones etc)

What power(s) are you calling upon for the ritual and why? (elements, deities, sun/ moon, personal power, etc)

How do you set it up? Is there specific placement of the tools? Direction to face when calling the above powers? Do you cast a circle? Or do you simply light a candle and bow your head in a moment of silent prayer/ meditation?

Good Luck and Happy Crafting!

-Mod Hazel

[cloudcountry]

i've got you!

Genre/Tropes: No notable ones.

Summary: Kalim throws a party to celebrate your new relationship without considering the repercussions.

Author's Comments: I love him so much? If you couldn't tell this was more of a vent piece because I know he'd be great at comforting people and as someone with social anxiety!! Idk how I'd fare at one of his parties tbvh yikes /lh

~~~~~

“Could you come over to Scarabia later tonight?” Kalim asked, eyes shining as he grabbed your hands.

“Why? Do you want to study or something?” you asked, squeezing his hands as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

“No! I want to throw a party in honor of us getting together! I’ve liked you forever and I’m just so excited that this is finally happening! Like, I’m finally with you! I can hardly believe it!” he laughed loudly, pulling you into a hug that nearly broke your spine.

“Okay. You don’t invite too many people, okay?” you agreed, watching him nod enthusiastically with a stuttering heart.

“Of course! Thank you thank you thank you!” Kalim planted a big smooch right on your cheek before he ran into his next class, leaving you flustered in the middle of the hallway.

That’s how you ended up here, in the same Scarabia dining hall you’d been in many times before, this time with even more people now that your friends and the entire dorm were invited. You were having fun at first, especially with Kalim doting on you. Now that you were officially dating the Housewarden, Grim was spared the cracker treatment now that it had been passed onto you. Kalim kept passing dish after dish after dish for you to try, all with a beaming smile. They were all phenomenal, a true testament to how good Jamil’s cooking was. You were so anxious about coming to the party beforehand—so anxious, in fact, that’d you seriously considered not going in favor of staying back at Ramshackle Dorm. It was only when Kalim showed up to your dorm on his flying carpet, wearing his dorm uniform that you made up your mind. He was gentle and understanding as you explained your situation and why you weren’t exactly ready yet, even going so far as to ask if the party needed to be postponed.

“I could tell something was wrong when I saw you peeking out the window like that...usually you pull the curtain completely aside, but that time you were hiding most of your face. I’m glad it’s not because you’re in any danger though I wish you weren’t feeling anxious about this either.” he mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “I can help you get ready! I’m sure Jamil wouldn’t mind if we were a bit late.”

You were about to make a comment about how Jamil would probably be worried about him, but Kalim had already made up his mind.

“Yeah! Come on, I’ll help you get ready.” he yanked you into Ramshackle, rattling off a bunch of outfit ideas that you’d worn around him that he liked.

You just let him pull you along, your stomach twisting in knots as he put together outfits he thought you might like. Wracking your brain for the best possible outfits so you’d make a good first impression, you picked the one you like best and Kalim bolted out of the room to let you change. Once you were finished, he helped you with the jewelry you selected to go with the outfit, and even pinned a brilliant red flower pin in your hair. He kissed your cheek once he was done and then you were off.

You brushed your fingers over the flower pin, wondering how luxurious it was. Kalim had already spared no expense with this party of his, the decorations and food somehow more expensive looking than they’d ever been before. You knew his intentions were to make you feel important, but it only made you feel like you needed to act more proper. Did you put your form down wrong? When was the right time to eat? Did people think your posture was weird? No one was even paying attention to you besides Kalim, your friends, and Jamil as he occasionally exited the kitchen to make sure you were doing already.

You had a feeling he’d already picked up on most of your thoughts.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, setting down the refill you’d asked for.

Speak of the devil. You felt really guilty asking him for things, but he’d assured you that it was no problem. It’s what he was there for, he said. You wished you could hide away in the kitchen for a little while.

The room only seemed to be getting louder as Kalim stood up upon seeing your friends, rattling off some speech to them about how the two of you got together. Normally, you would have found this sweet, but the world was starting to spin around you at the added noise. He was holding your hand tightly and you could feel it getting sweaty, and it was only when you squeezed him tightly that he looked over at you. The conversation with your friends was immediately dropped upon seeing the expression on your face.

“I want to get away for a bit. Please.” you said, taking your hand out of his and sitting there awkwardly.

You hoped that didn’t offend him.

“Oh! Of course, would you like me to walk with you? I’ll take you to Jamil! The kitchen is nice and quiet so I think that would help.” he beamed, offering you his hand again when he stood up, “Nobody will even notice we’re gone, don’t worry. No one is looking at you.”

Relief surged through you at his reassurance. Once you were standing next to him, he placed his hand on your lower back and slowly pressed you in the right direction. His other hand had grabbed yours and was rubbing comforting circles on the burning skin.

You didn’t say anything until you made it out into the hall.

“I’m sorry.” you apologized almost immediately, “I’m sure you’ve put so much time and effort into this and it looked so beautiful but knowing it was all for me was a bit overwhelming. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be a little better next time.”

“What are you talking about? Even I get overwhelmed sometimes.” Kalim’s brow furrowed with worry, “So you don’t have to apologize, okay? I could tell you were nervous at Ramshackle so I’ve been keeping an eye on you, but I’m glad you told me.”

“Did...did you at least have fun?” you asked, unable to meet his gaze.

Am I fun to be around?

“Of course I had fun! I got to watch you try the desserts Jamil makes, and I got to see you eat a ton of dishes from my childhood, and you even tried my favorite coconut milk! I had a lot of fun with you.” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, patting your shoulder affectionately, “I’m happy you came here with me but you never have to. If it’s ever too intense, we can always hang out at Ramshackle. Or we can ride with Carpet! The possibilities are endless!”

You pulled him into your chest, hugging Kalim tightly. He hugged you back, giggling as he swayed on the spot.

“Thank you for telling me you were uncomfortable.” he murmured, kissing both of your cheeks with a smile, “Now let’s go check on Jamil! Once we’re done with that, I can take you into the sky and we can go to Ramshackle! I hope Grim will be happy to see me, maybe I should bring him some tuna...”

“You should.” you replied softly as Kalim began tugging you along again, nodding enthusiastically at your approval.

“One order of tuna and kisses for Grim and the Ramshackle Prefect!” he beamed, turning to face you once again.

Before you could ask what he was doing, Kalim kissed your forehead again.

“I’ve got you, Prefect. I’ll always catch you when you fall!”