#precipice fic

[rinnysega]

Screaming crying throwing up this beautiful Christmas morning 😭😭😭

Thank you @sketchnwhatevr for this gift of Bruno and Gustavo! It’s been a joy meeting you this year and getting to know you more through mod work for the Encanto Big Bang ❤️ I’m looking forward to more adventures and memories with you in the new year!!

Now excuse me I have a case of the zoomies now 😭❤️ This is way better than a PlayStation!

[thepeanutbutterwizard]

Chapters: 9/? Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Stanford Pines & Stanley Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines & Stanford Pines & Stanley Pines, Wendy Corduroy & The Author | Original Stanford Pines, Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez & Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines & Grunkle Stan, abuelita ramirez & stanford pines Characters: The Author | Original Stanford Pines, Grunkle Stan | Stanley "Stanford" Pines, Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez, Wendy Corduroy, Bill Cipher, random hospital people who are never named Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, mental manipulation, Family Bonding, Hurt Grunkle Stan, Protective Grunkle Ford, Sad Mabel Pines, Sad Dipper Pines, sad soos, wendy gets mad at ford, but he deserved it at the time, Grunkle Ford Is A Jerk, a little bit, Everyone Needs A Hug, especially stan and ford, Bill Cipher Being Bill Cipher, Self-Esteem Issues, The Mindscape, Canon Divergence - The Stanchurian Candidate Summary:

Stan didn't hesitate to throw the election to save Dipper and Mabel. The Pines thought it was over when he pulled the kids to safety, but Gideon had other plans. Now, Ford has to step up, take care of his niece and nephew, and deal with his own feelings about his brother, and what will happen to them all now. Meanwhile, Bill isn't letting an opportunity like this go by without taking advantage of it.

...

CHAP 9 IS OUT

after like five years

[tinartss]

☀️🌱

[lazycreativity24-7]

Thank you for always leaving such wonderful comments on my fic - it really means a lot when readers discuss the little breadcrumbs and symbols I put in ☺️ thank you for always making my day ❤️

I’m glad my little rants make your day! 🥰

[mochalate]

"ghosts" ; postwar!levi/reader w/c: 700 ; fluff/angst

unlike levi, you're physically whole, but you seem to have lost some pieces of yourself too

“Do you want milk in your tea?” you ask, firing up the stove.

Levi pretends there isn’t a lump in his throat. “No.” 

He remembers you asking him this question before, in another life. One where the monsters didn’t only show up at night; where you knew what they looked like without him having to tell you. 

Where you remember he hates milk in his tea.

Levi fears he's being greedy, wishing for you to remember. He’s been doing nothing but wishing for the last few months— how long until the universe takes away everything it’s given him this time, like he’s a spoiled child having his playthings confiscated after a tantrum? 

He tries to be grateful. You survived that fall from the Founding Titan’s spines. Someone, somewhere had listened when he’d held your hand and prayed for you to wake up, to look at him just one more time, so he could apologise for not being there to catch you. He’d wanted nothing more than to hear you say his name again. So what if you'd ended up saying it like a question?

Levi watches you set his cup down in front of him, smiling. You’re always smiling now, far more than before. It makes him worry he’s being selfish, wanting you to get better. Wouldn’t he choose to forget too? All of the death and the destruction, from the underground to the coast of Marley; and the powerlessness to stop any of it?

He tries to tell himself he would, but he knows it’s a lie. What else did he have to show for all of it, if not for those memories?

“Have you remembered anything?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “I’m sorry, Levi.”

“Don’t apologise. You aren’t doing anything wrong.”

You bite your lip— just like you always did. That’s what gives him this devastating, soul-gouging hope, every day. How you’re still you. You still like sweet things more than salty ones, and your spoon still produces the same clinking melody when you stir the sugar into your tea. 

He allows the wound to reopen itself every morning after you ask to start sleeping next to him again, because he wakes up with your head tucked against his shoulder just like he remembers. He knows everything is still in there, buried somewhere inside your body; because on some nights, you cry and struggle in your sleep, running from things that won’t ever chase you anymore. 

Levi selfishly wakes you up, to ask you again and again if you remember, but you never do. 

Pieck had visited once, back from one of their peace-mongering trips. They weren’t working, she’d told him. She’d heard all about him from his brats in the 104th, and thought he would have some sage wisdom; or at least understand what it felt like to lose hope in something you believed in.

He couldn’t supply either of those things.

Pieck was smart, he’ll give her that. She had understood immediately. 

“I always felt,” she’d said, “that it was the worst thing in the world to not have any scars to show. But at least I could explain what was wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with her,” Levi had replied. It was true.

Pieck had hummed. “There’s definitely something wrong with you though, captain. Who thinks waking their wife up from a nightmare is selfish?”

It's selfish, because Levi feels like what he wakes you up into must be the real nightmare, lying next to a strange man who knows more about you than anyone else in the world.

"What's got you worried?" you ask him, shaking him out of his thoughts.

He's worried you'll realise he could just be a bad dream, if that's what you wanted. "I'm not worried."

"You're quiet."

"I'm always quiet."

You laugh. He realises your cup is already half-empty, and his is untouched.

"You're quiet, but not like this. Penny for your thoughts?"

You give him a smile that's as lovely as always, as lovely as it's always been. He knows he could fall in love with that smile as many times as it took. And when you reach for his hand, he wants to believe you'll allow him to, even if it's just for today.

Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed. :) check out my other stuff?

Divider @/cafekitsune

[gale-sized-hole]

So out of sorts is he, without Vissenta’s until-now omnipresence, that he’s unable to find solace in any of his usual distractions. Banished from the cookfire - apparently, even that is too much exertion in his condition, though he’d protest he’s in no real sort of condition at all - he’s been left to his books, and while those would normally suffice, he realizes that he’s grown used to steady companionship even as he’s copied scrolls of late, transcribing spells as his beloved reads gods knows what filth she’s managed to uncover even in the direst environs. “Well,” he says aloud to no one, though he can picture Vissenta looking up from her latest salacious acquisition, the color high in her cheeks and a glint of mischief in her gaze. “A few winks never did any harm.” But then, of course, he’s back to thinking about Vissenta, even when he settles in and shuts his eyes. He thinks of how she’d tease him right now, asking what spell he’s added to his own book before she starts to read hers aloud, the low, sultry smoke of her voice making even the most anatomically ludicrous scenarios sound deliciously appealing. Gods, but he’d like to hear her voice now; absurd, when he knows that he’ll hear her soon enough, but such is his apparently lovelorn state, even now.

Gale humps a pillow. That's it that's the fic.

[infinite-orangepeel]

a little flirty steddie excerpt from ch. 3 of my steve whump wip “take a slice” (the complete ch. should be posted tonight and i’m v proud of it !!)

*hint hint* steve won’t forget that ‘information’ any time soon

[shrekgogurt]

WE HAVE THE NEXT CHAPTER!!!!!!!!

[catty-words]

i am not finished writing the last chapter yet 🙃

[rinnysega]

THE PRECIPICE IS NOW COMPLETE

THE EPILOGUE HAS BEEN POSTED!

It’s been a wild ride you guys. Thank you for everything and wish me luck on my next writing journey 

[elveny]

✨What's a fic you've posted you wish you could breathe life into again and have people talking about it? (or simply a fic you wish got more credit)

From the Real Fic Writer Asks | Thank you!! ♥

(I was away for the weekend so I haven't been able to get to them before, thanks for your patience!)

That's a hard one!! 👀 I think most writers would love if literally any of their works got more credit / attention. I've narrowed it down to two fics: The Siren's Claim and Precipice of Change.

The Siren's Claim is my FFXIV mermaid AU (M-rated, 17.5k words, 5 chapters, Estinien x WoL). I'm really proud of the way I managed to weave in a mythology that's not overloading it but gives a background and general feel for the world. The story is concise and rich at the same time, with a general buildup that I think works really, really well. I hope once Mermay comes around again, people who read it boost it a bit :D

And then there's Precipice of Change. I cannot really fault people for not giving it a chance because it's LONG, but I still wish, more people would read it and love it. It's a DA2 AU that spans three works with a whole of nearly 600k words. So reading it is involved. Still, I am immensely proud of what @kunstpause and I achieved with that series, giving the events of DA2 a different weight and intensity than ingame, giving Cullen a character and redemption arc that makes him actually sympathetic and works well for DAI, giving all the characters the love they deserve. Our two protagonists are so immensely close to our heart, and I think you notice that.

[thebiggestnope]

Two Older Men Get Kinky (In a Sweet Way) - Part Two

NSFT. 18+. Minors scram. CW: Wall sex, rough sex, oral sex, anal sex, dirty talk, degradation kink, after care.

Two-part drabble inspired by The Ugliest Roses by @rinnysega, about the Rough Love AU (@lethalamigos) in which Jose and Chepe have left the Encanto. Left behind and brokenhearted, Gus and Bruno get together and build something beautiful. Gus belongs to @rinnysega, Chepe belongs to @papermachette, Jose belongs to @my-gunpowder. Contains spoilers for The Precipice by @rinnysega

Part One

--------- Gus might not have liked listening to Bruno recount his thirteenth birthday party, but it did, if nothing else, give him a lot of insight into his boyfriend’s psyche. 

He apologized – dios, how he apologized – but Bruno waved Gus’s words away. 

“I forgive you,” he said simply. “And anyway, it wasn’t entirely your fault.”

Gus buried his head in his hands. “I was such a shit.” he lamented.

“Sometimes,” Bruno agreed. “But so was I.”

“And now you like to be fucked against a wall all the time.”

“I like to be fucked rough,” corrected Bruno. “And you can’t pretend, after however many years with Chepe, that you don’t feel the same.”

Gus laughed. “We’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe,” said Bruno. “But trust me when I tell you that I know what I like. Now stop judging and get over here.”

It was Bruno’s turn to bottom that night. Their routine had evolved as summer began to slip into fall, and they’d begun to trade off topping each other, each of them learning to tap into a dominant side that they had either been long dormant (for Gus) or entirely undeveloped (for Bruno). 

These days, Bruno’s fingers on Gus’s shirt weren’t as gentle as they were a few weeks ago. He’d gotten the hang of tearing Gus’s clothes from him without hurting his leg, and he’d discovered that if he threw Gus’s ankle over his shoulder, he could ram into him fast enough to make Gus grip the sheets and shudder. He’d also learned how much Gus loved to be inside of Bruno’s mouth, thrusting up into his throat in a way that made Bruno feel sweaty and wrecked and aching with need.

But Gus was on top tonight. And after their conversation, Gus made a silent vow to give Bruno the pounding of a lifetime. “Against the wall?” he asked with a mischievous grin.

“Seems appropriate,” Bruno smirked. 

Bruno led the way, but Gus followed close behind and surprised him, spinning him around and pinning him with a fist in his ruana. 

Bruno’s eyes went wide and his breath quickened. Gus’s endurance had improved, and he held onto Bruno with ease, tossing his crutch aside and bracing his weight against him as he pulled down Bruno’s pants. Bruno’s cock was already standing at attention. 

“Already hard for me,” Gus growled as he kneed Bruno’s thighs apart. “You’re pathetic.”

“Ohh dios mio San Juan de la Cruz,” Bruno murmured as Gus held onto the stability bar with one hand and split Bruno open with the other.

“You scrawny little rat,” Gus spat at him, and Bruno gave a sinful mewl in response and lifted his leg, his body begging Gus to take him.

As usual, Bruno shut his eyes the moment Gus thrust inside of him, keeping them closed and moaning softly to himself as Gus rode him and brought him to the verge of insanity. 

 “Open your eyes for me,” said Gus when Bruno was on the edge, but it came out as less of a command, more of a plea. He wanted Bruno to look at him, to see him as he was, and not fantasize about the cocky teenager that everyone had wanted. He was a person no one wanted now. Almost no one, he thought hopefully.

Bruno, always so overwhelmed when they had sex like this, fluttered his lids open and met Gus’s gaze. He took in the green eyes he’d pictured so many times over the last four decades, the eyes that had been burned into the darkest, most private parts of his brain for so long, the eyes that were always watching him from Gus’s permanent place in Bruno’s imagination. With his eyes open, vulnerable and wrapped around this man he’d known his entire life, Bruno couldn’t stem the full force of his feelings. “I love you,” he blurted out.

Gus was taken off guard, but only for a moment. He knew he felt the same way; he’d known it for weeks. Probably, in some ways, for years. “I love you too,” he breathed. He thrust into him deeper, joining their bodies more completely. “Come for me, Brunita.

Bruno wrapped his arms around him, murmuring I-love-you-I-love-you over and over until they both went limp.

“It’s been such a long time since someone’s told me they loved me,” Gus confessed afterwards as they held each other in bed making weepy declarations.

“I guess I’ll have to say it all the time to make up for it,” promised Bruno.

Gus adjusted his glasses. They were streaked with tears. “You’re really okay? You don’t resent me, after what I did to you when you were thirteen?”

“I’ve gotten past it, I promise,” Bruno assured him. “We don’t need to dissect every underlying detail as to how it affects our sex life. I meant what I said earlier. At this point in my life, I know what I like. You might have been the first person to give me a taste of it, but you weren’t the last.”

Gus brushed his fingers over Bruno’s lips, then followed the line he’d traced with a kiss. “You don’t know that,” he said. “Maybe I’ll be the last after all.”

“Maybe,” mused Bruno. “Maybe.”

[miracle-sham]

A Precipice Fore and After; a Swarm of Demons Inbound.

| {MGI Civil War 3 Event} |

| {Demons, Sacrifice} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] |

———

| She was supposed to be a civilian. They were supposed to be gone. |

| After so long, Marinette's past had come back to haunt her. While her demons hunt her down, she must bear the burden she hadn't carried in years. |

| Word Count: 1,261 |

| Warnings/Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Demons, Martyrdom but without the actual death so much as metaphorical death, Demons, Call of the Void, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Tragedy, Bittersweet Ending. |

———

| A/N: Less then half an hour before the event deadline ends, I have managed to write this fic! I hope you enjoy reading! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. |

———

 Like the silence in the centre of a storm, or the aftermath of a bomb. A cacophony surrounding that couldn't be heard.

 The sky crackled and writhed like a butterfly crawling out of a cocoon. A sickly wretched purple that spread like an infection, consuming the pink and gold glittering sunset and leaving the world drenched in twilit shadows.

 Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the fires raging as cars and buses were overturned like dominos. Civilians and other heroes, both masked and unmasked, rushing for shelter or to save one another. At any other time, it would've been heartwarming, to see everyone working together to find shelter as tragedy descends, to know that people were trying their hardest to be there for others in a time of great need.

 And yet, somehow the bridge Marinette stood on held strong. Surprising seeing as the Gotham bridges were ever so frequently blown up or destroyed.

 Was this…?

 As she stood still, in the centre of the bridge, in a ring—the one place—that was clear of debris. Though not on the edge, she was making no attempts to move.

 She could see the others, screaming desperately, terror and concern etched into every fibre of their visible beings as they reached and called out to her. Begging for her to run, to hide, seek shelter, to survive. Swearing and yelling as she made no attempts to move. As devastated by her inaction as the world around them.

 But she was deaf to their pleas, their voices silenced by the thunderous pounding of her heart beat in her head and the whispers roaring in her ears.

 Because in the air, opposite the bridge, cradled between the skyscrapers of Bludhaven and Gotham, an army of shadow akumas—Hawkmoth's demonic army—began to spill from a blimp like putrid rotting blood.

 And here Marinette was stood. In the centre of the bridge, the only person to be facing them as the swarm began to advance towards the bridge.

 Both hero and civilian attacks glancing harmlessly off the encroaching horde. Useless against the demons. But hers wouldn't be.

 With a whisper in her mind, martyr, the weight of the earrings in her ears grew heavier with each breath, as she watched the demons draw closer and closer still.

 Glancing towards the churning black waves below, she breathed in deeply, not daring to shut her eyes even for a moment. Feeling as though the ground was going to swallow her up and drop her into the depths below.

 It was about to all come crashing down, the civilian life she'd spent so long building up from the ground with blood and tears. A nobody, newly moved into Gotham, who had somehow caught the attention of the Bats and Constantine shortly after, despite her best efforts. A civilian they sought for answers regarding the strange magic she couldn't help but exude, and the eclectic knowledge she had regarding both magic and mundane crimes around Gotham. A civilian they tried so hopelessly to protect whenever she got tangled up in their problems.

 She could practically hear the swears they were all muttering as she stood there, unmoving, like a lamb for slaughter, ready for the altar of an apathetic god of emotions.

 They must think she's terrified, frozen in fear.

 But that wasn't the case.

 This was her fault, her battle to fight, her mistake to fix.

 This was the call of the void.

 Ever so slowly, Marinette raised her right hand, as if reaching out towards the encroaching army.

 And who was she to not take heed of it.

 Twisting her hand slowly as if grasping something tangible instead of air. She clenched it into a fist in one quick violent motion.

 And let the power consume her.

 A flash of red and pink and white, bubbling and wrapping around her with its oh-so familiar magic.

 Marinette closed her.

 And Ladybug opened hers.

 It had been so long, since she had last been a vessel to the powers of the tiny goddess of luck and creation. Though rusty, she was not.

 She breathed deeply, staring still at the demons. With the flick of her hand, she did what she always did best; create in order to destroy. And with her counterpart's absence of life, it was up to her to balance it alone.

 The akumas, and Hawkmoth; Ladybug would not fail again.

 Not this time.

 Not again.

 With the flick of her wrist, the nearest demon imploded in a burst of white and pink, leaving naught but a trace behind.

 She took a step forwards—closer to the edge, closer to the demons—another flick, another gone.

 The sound around her became a sea of white noise. Distantly and detached, she could see out of the corner of her eye, someone she cared for reaching out towards, mouthing her name frantically like it was a prayer—like it would save her.

 Ladybug turned her attention back to the demons, she couldn't afford to make any mistakes again by losing focus so easily.

 She reached her hand out, as if to grab the air in front of her again, and clenched it. A huge swathe of demons in front of her hand all burst into pink and white sparkles that dissipated in the wind.

 Almost mockingly beautiful in dying embers of the day, like miniature sunsets of death.

 Hand gesture, after hand gesture, after hand gesture. She slaughtered her way through the swarm, preventing any from reaching the civilians upon the bridge with her.

 It wasn't a surprise, they weren't targeting the cities either side. After all, she wasn't there. She was here. On the bridge. Facing them down.

 They were here for her.

 And her vengeance would be swift.

 Another step closer to the edge, another step closer to the nightmare that hunted her.

 Slowly, she began to swing her yo-yo in her off-hand, gaining speed with each swing. Her plan was risky. But it would work, it had to. There would only be one chance, however, to pull it off.

 For if she failed, then Hawkmoth would become unstoppable. No, she couldn't let that happen.

 The void called, the abyssal waters below churned and raved like rabid dogs chomping at that bit.

 With every step, she took out more and more demons, though the onslaught was relentless.

 Once she reached the edge of the bridge, she turned around, to take one final glimpse of her friends, before the end.

 For Tikki.

 For Plagg.

 For Nooroo.

 She launched herself from the edge, like a diver—face to the sky.

 Plummeting, she reached her arm up as trying to grasp the sky.

 The demons lunged. Hurtling towards her like sharks to blood in the water.

 Ladybug breathed in deep. And as she exhaled, two great big hemelytra wings unfolded from her shoulder blades. Twisting midair so she could skim her free hand through the waves.

 Rocketing upwards, she carved her way through Hawkmoth's army, taking out every single demon on the way with her wings and yo-yo, until she hit the blimp.

 It exploded in an incandescent burst of red.

 When the light cleared, the blimp and every demon was gone.

 And in the glow of the rising moon, a girl in normal clothes fell from the sky.

———

 Constantine managed to safely catch her with a frantic spell. But it had been close.

 Her earrings had been missing when she awoke.

 And so were all her memories.

 But she was safe.

 And she was alive.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this very short little fic! Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are all much appreciated! And make sure to support the rest of my team’s fics if you enjoyed this! |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |

| However, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

| @maribat-get-in |

[callmewisteria]

writing Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys investigating Covenant for the Brotherhood is almost too fun

[mochalate]

"visions in red" ; levi/f!reader w/c: 1k; fluff

You remind Levi of a tea set he saw once, back in the underground markets.

It had been made of a fragile, pale pink porcelain, hand painted with roses; with gold patterns running along the mouth like the most delicate of lace. It had stood out on that shelf— amongst all that old, blackened copper and hardy cast iron.

That's what you look like now, holding on to your little brother's hand; wearing a blouse that's precisely that same shade of pink, with your embroidered skirts dangerously close to the filthy floorboards in the stables. Out of place.

"If you're busy, Captain, we can show ourselves around."

Levi looks up from the pristine leather of your boots, and finds himself fixed with the kind of soft smile he imagines people write obsessive poems about. The kind he's seen in paintings.

Pleasant, mysterious, coy; and entirely impersonal. A facade, a shield polished to a shine— for him to project whatever he likes on to it, and that gives nothing of substance away.

"Your father would throw us off his land if one of these beasts bites off the brat's hand. I'll stay."

It's a smile that reminds him of the way the shopkeeper had batted his hand away when he reached out to examine one of those tea cups. Something too exquisite for hands as unrefined as his to be allowed to touch.

You wear red a lot.

Levi isn't aware there are so many shades of it, until you start coming down to the stables every other day— hand in hand with the little boy— wearing all manner of roses, pinks, and scarlets.

"My father buys them for me," you tell Petra, when she compliments you on a skirt that looks like it's been dipped in grape wine. "Every time he goes to Trost."

You've brought fresh tomatoes from your estate— a thank you to the scouts for entertaining the presence of your brother, who adores their horses; so much larger and stronger than the ones on the nearby fields. He's abandoned the horses though, preferring instead to terrorize Oluo as he tries to nap in the shade of a tree.

Levi thinks it's about as good a use of Oluo's time, as it is his to be eating tomatoes with you and Petra; so he doesn't intervene.

"Should you be sitting in the grass like this?" Petra asks worriedly. "It must be—"

"It's alright. He buys me a lot."

From you, it's a statement of fact; not a subtle way to show off. He imagines not a lot of people can tell. But to him, it's refreshing that you don't tip toe around the fact that you are very, very, lucky; or try to pretend you understand the lives of those who aren't.

As he watches the rivulets of juice flowing down your fingers, and disappearing into your palms, he finds himself wondering if maybe, he can start to think of you when he sees red— the taste of tomatoes and strawberries, the softness of dyed cotton; rather than the iron and salt of blood.

"Would you like another one, Captain?" you ask, when you catch him looking. The smile you're wearing today isn't quite so shiny, now that you're more familiar with him. He likes it better.

He takes in all your reds— your clothes, the stains on your hands, the paint on your lips, the healthy flush on your cheeks— and thinks that he could.

You're wearing another rose coloured dress on the day you tell him you'll be gone soon. It's sunny and clear skied, and it doesn't help him blame the unease in his stomach on mud being tracked through the kitchens, by careless recruits who took it upon themselves to reclaim their childhoods by jumping in puddles.

"Is he a good man?" It's not the type of question he usually cares about. He doesn't want to know the answer.

You laugh. A shiny one, but it's been polished so thoroughly it's worn through; and he can see what's really there. "I wouldn't know. My father arranged this marriage."

Levi stops feeling uneasy about comparing you to a teacup, an item on a shelf to be picked up and perused, when he realises the horses pulling your family's carriage also wear red saddle blankets, bought and paid for by your father.

"Why can't you say no?" he asks, even though you never told him you wanted to.

You look at him in surprise. "I've... never said no to my father before."

"Being able to say no is a luxury," Levi tells you. "You're no stranger to those. Take advantage of it if you can."

You hum. "Do you think I should?"

"There's no point to it if you just do what I tell you to," Levi scoffs.

There's nothing shiny about the way you gently touch his elbow, and the way you can't meet his eyes. "I mean, do you want me to?"

The next time he sees you, it's the day you're supposed to leave.

You're wearing white.

You arrive on foot, alone. The bottom of the simple cotton dress is flecked with mud; as if you've trekked here through the two miles of fields between your house and the scouts' current camp.

It isn't refined at all, and even Levi can tell it isn't a wedding dress.

"Captain!" you call to him cheerfully, when you meet him under the tree. The only red he can see on you, is the blush on your cheeks.

You don't look like you're in any kind of hurry, and the brown-paper package in your hands is too messily wrapped to be a parting gift from a nobleman's daughter. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Sure, and I'm here already," you say, with a cheeky smile. "I told him no. My father understands. For now." You unwrap the string around the package, and show him a tin. "Tea leaves. From up North. I think you'll like them."

He reaches out for the tin, but you don't let go once he has his hands on it.

"I was hoping we could brew them together?"

You still remind him of that teacup; delicate and gold laced. But when he sees your hands next to his like this, fingers just short of touching, he thinks he could try reaching out, just to see what happens this time.

thank you for reading! please leave a like/reblog/comment; I would really appreciate it <3 (divider @/cafekitsune.)

"dreams in gold" ; a related fic

[gale-sized-hole]

Just Like A Prayer

Gale sucks toes. That's the fic. 1.7k words.

Excerpt:

It is not a plea behind Vissenta’s road-weary eyes when she watches Gale kneel before her - that is not her role, after all - but a promise, one that burns like the flames from the fireplace, as she rests one foot on Gale’s thigh. “Take your time,” she says, pressing her toe down, leaning back in her seat, shifting from the inscrutable goddess to the insouciant conqueror, one hand already idly toying with the laces of her breeches in another sinful promise. “I’ve been waiting for this all day.” The weight of her foot against the muscle of his thigh, rolling back from her toe to her heel in a fluid, rocking rhythm that he can perfectly imagine against his already-straining cock, coaxes a moan from Gale’s throat before he can properly gather his wits and words in fitting worship. “My love,” he says - always my love, nothing more, nothing less, because there is nothing greater, and all the rest are lesser - as he rests his hands on her upper calf, the worn, supple leather of her boots warm beneath his touch. “You could be carved in marble like this.”

read the rest on AO3!