#seiya writes

[seiya-starsniper]

"I love your smile" with dreamling from the gentle prompts

Hello I am 8 million years later answering this anon, sorry for the delay, I hope you enjoy it!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Also available on AO3

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It’s the kind of perfect spring day that the poets used to write about. Cool in the morning and warm, but not hot by mid-afternoon. There are sparse clouds in the sky, and the air is fragrant with the smell of flowers, of new life, of new beginnings. The fact that this perfect spring day also falls on a Saturday means that Hob Gadling is out with his camera, photographing every leaf, every small creature, happy couple, and passing vehicle that catches his attention.

And of course, his boyfriend.

It may be a beautiful and warm spring day, but Dream Endless is dressed like it's still the middle of winter; black jeans and black Doc Martens paired with a black tee and black pea coat to complete the ensemble. Hob had managed to talk him out of wearing the black scarf, at least. He knew Dream ran cold even in the summer, but the scarf would have definitely been too warm for today. In contrast, Hob is out in just a plain white t-shirt, cargo shorts and sneakers, and he’s certain that the two of them must strike their own kind of picture walking side by side through the park. Perhaps he’ll ask someone to snap a photo of them on his phone later.  

Right now though, Hob’s having too much fun taking photos of Dream. Dream feeding the ducks with the small bag of seeds he’d brought along for just this purpose, Dream stopping to admire the various sculptures scattered throughout the park, Dream stopping to re-lace his boots. 

“You take far too many photos of me,” Dream tells Hob eventually, rolling his eyes as he stands back up.

“What can I say?” Hob laughs, snapping another photo of Dream’s unamused face. “I love your smile.”

“Hob,” Dream says, leveling a flat stare at him. Hob continues to click away. “I am not smiling in any of the photos you’ve taken.” 

He’s right, but only by a technicality. Dream hasn’t smiled once while looking at Hob’s camera. But the ones where he isn’t paying attention to Hob’s lens, well. That was a different story. But Dream didn’t need to know that right now. Later in the day, maybe. 

“I know this may be hard to believe since it ruins that whole tortured poet look you’ve got going on,” Hob quips back at his boyfriend, amusement clear in his tone. “But you do smile.” He says it like he’s sharing a secret, and Dream looks at him in disbelief, before he sighs in exasperation. It's a fond exasperation though, Hob’s learned to tell over the years.   

“Come. We are missing the goslings. We must catch them before they swim away,” Dream says, grabbing Hob by the hand and forcing him to put the camera down to rest around his neck. They walk over to where the geese and their recently hatched chicks are idling, and Dream approaches them slowly, kneeling and eventually sitting on a patch of dry grass closest to the pond’s edge. The geese eye him warily at first, but then Dream pulls out some seeds from his pocket, scattering them away from his person and sitting still as a statue while they slowly approach him.

Hob stays back away from where Dream is sitting; geese seem to hate him for some reason, but Dream has yet to meet a bird that doesn’t instantly take to him. It’s one of the things that Hob had noticed about the other man. 

They’d met a little over two years ago in this very park, and Hob had been enraptured by Dream feeding the pigeons. He’d only meant to snap one or two photos of the strange goth man, but then one of the pigeons had flown up onto Dream’s shoulder and cooed happily as the man fed it straight from his hand. Dream’s smile had been small, but absolutely radiant in that moment. Hob fell in love at first sight. 

Dream, decidedly, had not. He thought Hob to be a nuisance, had thrown a fit about having his photo taken without his knowledge or permission when Hob approached him. Hob had promised to not post any of the photos anywhere, and even offered to delete all of them if Dream saw them and really hated them that much. It would’ve killed Hob to delete such stunning photos, but he would’ve done it. 

Luckily for him, Dream had softened when Hob had shown him the photos, then demanded Hob print them for him for free.  Hob agreed, and then, because he had absolutely no self control around beautiful people, had asked Dream if he’d let Hob buy him dinner as an additional apology. Dream turned him down, and then also refused to give Hob his name when asked. Hob was hopelessly charmed.

After bringing the other man the agreed upon photos a week later, Hob promised not to photograph him if they ever ran into each other again. Dream looked at Hob like he didn’t believe the other man, but Hob kept his word, and for a time they maintained a pleasant, but distant acquaintance whenever they happened upon one another on days when the weather was nice.

It was Dream, surprisingly, who decided to approach Hob with a rather lucrative offer a few months later.

“I’m interested,” Dream had told him.

“In me?” Hob asked, surprised and flattered all at once. 

“In your photography experience,” Dream clarified, though his cheeks had pinked at Hob’s words. “My sibling is getting married in a few months and they have yet to find a photographer they like.”

“Well, I can give you my website so you can show them my portfolio—” 

“They’ve already seen it,” Dream interrupted him, blushing all the way from the tip of his nose down to his neck. “I—they wanted me to ask you if you’d shoot for their wedding. Personally.”

The rest, they say, is history. Hob hasn’t stopped photographing Dream ever since—with permission, of course.

In the present, Hob watches Dream’s patience and gentle tenacity pay off. The goslings eventually crowd around him and chirp happily, while the parental (Mother? Father? Hob can’t tell) goose angrily hisses at every other passing person who gets too close. They seemed to have claimed Dream as one of their own. 

Hob’s camera clicks away until he hears a low warning beep signifying that his memory card is full. 

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have taken that 25 minute video of Dream feeding the crows the other day. But well, they’d all crowded around him and he’d looked so happy. The crows looked happy too, probably because Dream may as well look like them. It was cinematic art, and Hob would not be convinced otherwise. 

When Dream eventually runs out of seeds, he bows his head and holds out his empty hands, a universal sign for the end of their interaction. The geese seem to realize quickly he will no longer feed them, and so they wander off into the nearby lake, the babies eagerly and awkwardly following their parent on tiny legs still unused to traveling by land. Hob waits until they’re all safely in the water before he takes a seat next to Dream. 

“Have you finally tired of photographing my face?” Dream asks before resting his head on Hob’s shoulder. 

“Never,” Hob answers with a small laugh. “I ran out of memory.”

Dream lets out a dramatic sigh. “Finally.”

“Oh hush, you,” Hob replies, jostling Dream with his shoulder. The other man groans at having been disturbed, and Hob takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around Dream’s shoulder, before planting a kiss to his hair. 

“Show me?” Dream asks, reaching for Hob’s camera. “I want to see just what it is you find so fascinating about watching me feed waterfowl.”

Hob chuckles.

“Everything, love,” he answers honestly as he pulls up the photos for them to review on his camera’s tiny screen. “Absolutely everything.”

[hirayaea]

xavier is just casually saying things like this in the office

tara for sure is squealing somewhere in the background

meanwhile, someone nero mutters, “some of us are single, you know…”

/

xavier doesn’t deny allegations when asked if you’re together

in fact, this man is so sly he fans the flames on purpose, but when you ask him about it he just goes: “hmmm? I told them we’re partners”

/

the next day, a “no flirting” sign is posted in the office

xavier is clueless, “who was flirting?” he asks, as he brings you a cup of iced coffee and mixes the gum syrup in front of you, drinking a bit of it himself before handing it to you

“we should share one coffee cup so there’s less trash”, he says, oblivious that tara is still giggling and the other men in the office want to shake him

/

somehow a sign also ends up at jeremiah’s flower shop

xavier asks where are the signs coming from???

jeremiah shrugs, “I don’t know about the one in your office, but I‘ve had that one for years”

/

source: memoria - fluffy trap

[abyssalcryptid]

Untitled Portrait of a Man (I Want to Obliterate Me) by @seiya-starsniper

“You know, when a beautiful man asks me to get naked in his apartment, he’s usually naked with me,” Hob purrs, winking from his position on Dream’s dark green chaise lounge chair.

Dream rolls his eyes from behind his sketchbook and doesn’t rise to the taunt. If he presses his charcoal too hard into the paper as he continues to draw, Hob doesn’t need to know.

Hob laughs at Dream’s silence and leans backwards to rest on the chaise’s armrest, running a free hand through his long, wavy hair. The movement arches his back, and Dream presses his knees tightly together, trying desperately to ignore the painful erection he’s been harboring for over two hours now. Dream cannot deny that Hob is beautiful, it’s the reason they’re in this situation after all.

Dream had stumbled across Hob completely by accident when he saw the other from across the quad, playing volleyball with some other students. Dream liked people-watching on the grassy lawn, the constant whirl of activity gave him far more inspiration for his art than the bored models in his art classes. The volleyball game in particular had been an excellent way for Dream to study movement and muscle tension as the men ran back and forth along the sand covered court.

Then Hob removed his shirt midway through the game, and Dream promptly forgot about the rest of the game. He instead became singularly focused on the broad set of Hob’s shoulders, in the flex of his pectoral muscles each time he reached to return the ball over the net. Hob’s chest is also covered in thick dark hair, clearly soaked through with proof of Hob’s exertion.

Dream does not remember much of what happened once the game was over, he only knew that he had a singular goal of committing the man’s body to paper, and then eventually to a full painting. Before he knew it, he had approached Hob once the man had said his goodbyes to his friends, and from there they had arranged for Hob to come to Dream’s apartment and pose for him.

What Dream hadn’t been prepared for, however, was the excessive amount of flirting and innuendo coming out of Hob’s mouth. Dream has been uncomfortably hot in his own skin despite the air conditioning being at full blast, and Hob keeps wagging his eyebrows at him, and inviting Dream to join him on the chaise.

Dream will not be deterred. He is a professional, damnit, and he will act like one, even if Hob refuses to return the same courtesy.

[seiya234]

She didn't ever have much time to herself.

And that was okay! Mabel Pines was not made for being alone! Mabel existed through both her boundless self-confidence, and the reflection of her light back onto her from other people!

Oof. That sounded a little vain. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't.

Mabel had never been good at introspection. She just was.

And what she was was a manic pixie nightmare woman thing. What she was was the sister of a demon, niece of a conman and a mad scientist, wife of the hottest librarian in the Pacific Northwest. She was a Friend of the Forest, she knew Things Man Was Not Meant To Know, had Dabbled in Darque Majicks, and Other Things That Required Capital Letters.

And then the triplets had been born.

And like, she loved them more than life itself, more than Henry, more than Dipper, more than anything. And they had very prosaic needs, such as diaper changes, snuggles, and milk. But it was surprisingly easy to roll them into the chaos that was life in Gravity Falls.

Probably because they had never known anything different, she mused.

So things went on like that for a few years until it came time to enroll them in school.

There was the wild world of magic and demons and extended family that the triplets lived in with her.

But now there was also this little world they went to for a few hours every day, with it's own rules and little dramas that Mabel wasn't privy to.

And now Mabel was sitting in a overstuffed little gym, watching the kids with the rest of their Pre-K class shout-sing to Jingle Bells, and shake a bell bracelet out of time. Mabel had managed to get their Hanukkah sweaters on right before they left but apparently the Pines were the only one to miss the memo that the kids should have been wearing Santa hats too.

Her babies, who were no longer babies, but kids, towered over all the other kids in their class, and Hank was definitely picking his nose in front of everyone, and Willow was almost certainly just opening and closing her mouth because she forgot the words and Acacia somehow had elbowed her way into the very front and it was so very normal-

And she was crying. Her kids had begun to leave the little world that her and Henry, Dipper and Stan, had made for them, and obviously it would be a long time before they grew up but-

This was a world where she was Mrs. Pines, where the teacher gave her a dirty look when she burped pixie dust at the PTA meeting, where Mabel didn't quite belong...

But the teachers loved her kids, and the triplets were happy here.

Mabel didn't understand this world. And she didn't have to. It was okay. Just like it was okay that her kids were growing up. Kids were supposed to do that.

She just didn't think it would hurt this much.

[kykyonthemoon]

⋆ Home ⋆ Ao3 ⋆ Twitter ⋆

Heart Hunters (Character x Reader)

ʚ Multi-character

⋆ Soothing ⋆ Fuzzy Antlers ⋆ The Hurts ⋆ Moonlit ⋆ How to function your very tall boyfriend ⋆ Red Stains ⋆ An Unexpected Dinner ⋆ How to babysit a wounded little Hunter ⋆ How to take care of your on-period girlfriend ⋆ Nightmares

ʚ Moments with Xavier

⋆ Fluffy Trapped ⋆ Your Little Secret ⋆ Fireflies

ʚ Moments with Rafayel

⋆ Where The Ocean Whispers (Rafayel's Day) ⋆ In His Eyes

ʚ Moments with Zayne

⋆ Blue Ribbon

ʚ Moments with Caleb

⋆ A Surprise Visit

⋆ Limerence

⋆ Dream 9451 (Rafayel x OC)

⋆ Random thoughts

⋆ Theories

⋆ Terms ⋆ Ask box ⋆

CLOSED UNTIL LATE MAY

⋆ Heart Hunters (ongoing)

[thrudgelmir2333]

Lance's Role Chapter 90 is out! - Celebrating 2 MILLION words! \owo

FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6740034/90/Lance-s-Role AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41976798/chapters/131055517 Wordcount: 28.5k Just look at that, two whole million. And it only took 8 years of work lol Summary:

Saint Aquarius Malta returns to the Golden Zodiac after the difficult previous day of mediating the situation between the Mariners and Serpens Azrael. Capricorn Kirin, young Shura's Master, greets him and is told of the terrible situation brewing in the Pact of Seven which could plunge Sanctuary into war. Meanwhile, after discovering their feelings for one another, Atlae and Marianne take their decision to be together while they still can to her father. Boarding the Chrysaor once more, Atlae sails down the Red Sea and then to Somalia with Krishna and Caça, whereupon they meet the Master of Andromeda Island, Saint Cepheus. Aquila Daese, the oldest of the two solo survivors of Aries Azrael's purge of the Zodiac Knights, happens to be stationed in Africa at Sagittarius Priam's service and is instructed to board the Chrysaor to stealthily make her way to Shamballa. Her mission? To investigate the recent unexpected activity of none other than Azrael himself, whose travel to Néa Delphi to instill doubt in Arthur Solo about the Muvian's intentions has caught the eye of all those who thought him forever confined in his fortress of solitude.

Preview:

[terresdebrume]

"We are not gods," Aphrodite says, sweet boyish smile turning into something untouchable. "We can't create something from nothing. When I create my garden, I look at what I have to work with, first."

Deathmask blinks, frowning despite himself. Aphrodite's grin turns impish again, like he's about to suggest some sort of prank for them to pull on the rest of the Sanctuary.

"I'm pretty," he says, almost teasing. "People think that's the same as meek and docile, like a flower they can pluck."

Cosmos burns between them, and from the ground a flower blooms, soft red and impossible to identify.

"But you're not meek," Deathmask says.

It is a rare day, when he compliments Aphrodite outright, and it shows in the way the boy smiles—wide and crinkly around the eyes, like a gift just landed on his lap. He tilts his head, looking at Deathmask with enough fondness to kill, and in the ground the rose grows thorns harder than diamond.

"I told you. I don't create from nothing. Now try it."

Deathmask doesn't know how to create. Not like Aphrodite was taught—the things he shows his victims aren't meant to stay in the waking world: they go up in smoke, lingering only as much as nightmares do. Aphrodite's roses, much like half of the vegetables of his gardens, stay and bloom and ripen when left alone to their devices.

It's a gift Anchise—naive, still, clinging foolishly to an illusion of the world—used to envy more than almost any other. But today Deathmask watches Aphrodite make something real out of something true, and knows with desperate certainty that he can never do the same.

It doesn't matter. Aphrodite's roses are his: they are memorable and as beautiful as they are terrible, and that's why he's known for them. Deathmask creates nightmares the world has seldom seen, and steals faces to put on his walls and make something fearsome out of something scared—but what is the point of using truth?

No one here would notice another grave.

(He does not ask Aphrodite for lessons again.)

[nayadefenix]

IT'S OFFICIAL PEOPLE, IT WAS DENIED AT AO3 I DIDN'T RECEIVE AN INVITATION NOT MY EMAIL. I SIGNED UP AND THE DATE WAS UNTIL 08/28. I THANK THOSE WHO VOTED BUT IT SEEMS THAT A BRAZILIAN LATIN AMERICAN IS NOT WELCOME IN A FOREIGN FADOM.🫤

THANKS FOR THE HELP, BUT I MUST SEE MY DRAWINGS THE ARTS TO SEE WHAT'S WRONG THANKS.🥺

[princesandromeda]

so the pining is very much mutual now😬 and we're only at the beginning of chapter three of seven… 7k words in total. we're not doing too bad.

[ID: Screenshot of a Google text document with the following text:

"Hyoga had been the only kid at the orphanage to never call him creepy, to never laugh at his awful attempts at repeating the lines in Russian that Natassia tried to feed him; it had probably been the language barrier at first, but the truth was… Hyoga was one of the most compassionate human beings Shun had ever known. He was so in tune with emotions, both his own and the others’.

If we come back from this alive, he told himself, as he squashed the urge to caress Hyoga’s hair, I’ll tell him for sure. And I’ll let him talk to his mother, however many times he asks me.

By the twelfth hour, he had fallen asleep, his head on top of Hyoga’s and without ever noticing that so much time had passed with him just staring at his friend's sleep."

/end ID]

[seiya-starsniper]

#23 for the soft fic prompt meme!

23. Waking Up - Ahhhhhhhh I love writing waking up scenes 💖 Thanks for sending this one in!

Soft Fics Prompt Meme

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It is a rare thing for Dream to be present when a lover wakes from their time spent in his realm.

Nada had run from him when she woke after their first (only) night together. Alianora had never woken from sleep before she passed, and Calliope…

Calliope found his presence too unsettling after a time. She told him the difference between his Dreaming and Waking form were too different, too jarring for her to find comfort in and so she requested he stop being present whenever she awoke. Dream had not thought being denied this intimacy would hurt him so, and yet soon after the request, their relationship had begun to unravel and never recovered. 

Dream assumes much will be the same with Hob, eventually. That Hob will one day open his eyes and flinch away from him, his mind unable to reconcile the different facets of him between dreaming and waking.

Today is not that day.

Today, Hob, still asleep, presses himself chest to chest with Dream, nuzzles into his neck and inhales, as if trying to parse the scent of the Endless. Dream does not believe he has a scent here in the Waking, but Hob tells him otherwise. He says Dream smells of ozone and petrichor, of old books and the sea after a storm. It is a relaxing scent, he says, and the immortal uses it as an excuse to insist Dream stay with him until he falls asleep, and be there when he wakes in the morning, even if Dream cannot stay the whole night.

Some nights, Dream does stay the whole night, just to watch Hob go through the different stages of sleep until he dreams. It is a small indulgence, but one he would not trade for anything in the world.

As Hob continues to shift in his sleep, Dream feels the immortal’s mind slowly begin to drift between the Dreaming and the Waking. Dream finds himself holding breath he does not need, bracing himself for the moment when Hob’s consciousness flickers to life, when those warm brown eyes open and recognition slowly but surely dawns across his lover’s face.

Today, like every other day Hob has woken beside Dream, he greets him with the most brilliant smile the Endless has ever seen. Like every other day, it causes a stutter in his chest that Dream can only identify as love, it is love sitting there in the space between their shared breaths.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Hob greets him, before leaning in for a kiss.

“Good morning, beloved,” Dream replies, chasing the remnants of Hob’s dreams on his lips.

As they continue to lay together, their mouths brushing lazily in the morning light of Hob’s flat, Dream thinks if this is the last morning Hob wakes and perceives him like this, it will be enough. It is already more mornings that Calliope had ever allowed him, and it is more than enough.

But then days turn into weeks that then turn into months and before Dream realizes it, five human years have gone by in the blink of an eye. And yet, Hob still craves his presence before he sleeps, and right as he wakes. 

“You are a marvel, dear heart,” Dream tells him one morning, running his fingers through Hob’s hair.

“Why’s that?” Hob asks, a pleased hum escaping his lips as he leans into Dream’s touch.

“Because,” Dream says, kissing his forehead gently, “you love me. All of me.”

“I do,” Hob replies, resolute. “Always.”

[horn-of-leo]

[hirayaea]

times xavier said he was the best choice (cause he is)

first

second

xavier likes doing this thing where he corners us into thinking he’s the best choice… because he is

it ties into his possessiveness desire to be who mc needs at any point in time—but what I like about xav is that he’s never forceful about it

he’s expressed his desire (and jealousy) several times across cards but he rarely expects mc to cater to him when he does; he just says or does these things cause they are his honest emotions, and he leaves mc to choose how to react accordingly

I usually dislike jealousy as a trope but xavier has made it work really well so far, because even though he’s pouty sometimes, he’s still respectful and honestly that goes a long way

until he inevitably kills jeremiah that is… justice for jemmy

/

don’t worry Seiya!!! I’m choosing you, always ☆( ´▽｀)

/

source: main story & memoria - romantic afternoon

[romana-colasour]

Some quick Seiya/Shun because I’ve been in a drawing mood lately ^^

Here’s some art of my fic “Mutual Pining™️: The Fic” or as it’s officially called “Necesito Tiempo”. If you like mutual pining and can read Spanish you should give it a read, it’s good I promise.

Back to the piece, I really like drawing them in period accurate clothes, it’s very fun! I imagine they’re in their 20s or something here so I went ahead and gave them 90s clothes.

Special thanks to Didsss and Michael for the constellation stamps.

Image description in alt text.

[asukawamikuru]

Random Day at the Sanctuary #1

Saga : *places a laptop on Shion's desk* this is a laptop, I'll show you how to use this thing.

Shion, 200+ years old : No, I'm not interested.

Saga : It'll be much convenient....you can send emails and type documents....

Shion : It's too complicated! I prefer paper and ink.... *stares at the laptop reluctantly*

Saga : I've set it up for Google Assistant. Just give it a command.

Shion, to the laptop : GET LOST!!

[seiya234]

henry was no stranger to anger, he thought as he weeded his garden.

there was the anger of his father. the anger of being the youngest in a large family and a million perceived slights, real or otherwise. the anger of wanting to be a big man or at least a bigger man, but corduroys chopping trees were a dime a dozen in oregon, and dad had not just eight siblings, but twelve uncles on the corduroy side, seventy two first cousins, and god knew how many second cousins or first cousins once removed.

arnold tried to fill the world by being a Man, a Big Man, and when he didn't get the respect he thought that he deserved well.... he was angry.

his mother was angry as well, though it took him a little more time to figure that out. she would of course, never, ever, ever admit it because of course, it wasn't what good church going god fearing ladies felt but-

rita was blazingly angry at her family, at the world she grew up in that clipped her wings and denied her opportunities at every turn. but because part of her was forever nine and in a dark basement (henry wished he didn't know about that anecdote) she was also, equally, angry at herself for having desires, for wanting something more than what she had. she was angry, and rather than ride that anger to do something useful, she used it to manipulate and control the one person she could instead.

so yes. anger.

henry wasn't scared of his parents any more- there would always be a frisson of fear, yes, but the majority of that fear had dissipated knowing that he was gone, he was free, and they weren't chasing after him.

but henry feared the anger. he feared it because it was very much there- he had his mother's quick temper, the depths of his father's rage.

he feared his anger because he controlled it, constantly, all the time, at every waking moment. first because he had to, as a small child, in order to survive, and then for fear of what it had become all those years pushed down deep inside of him.

the anger was useful, he had to admit- it was the fire that kept him alive, the fire that enabled him to escape.

he... he didn't think he would end up like his parents. at least, he was doing his absolute best to not be like them.

but the anger scared him. it's intensity. it's depth.

it's ceaselessness.

but he had it under control. he had it under control because he was always under control, had been from his earliest memories, and would continue to be so until he died if he had any say about it. he had it under control because henry wasn't an idiot, he was almost seven foot tall and in pretty good shape for approaching middle age, he could do some pretty serious damage and that was unconscionable to him.

then the woodsman happened.

recently, henry found himself spending all of his free time in the garden.

partially, it was because becoming some weird tree deer monster thing meant that he was basically the plant whisperer. he didn't just have a green thumb any more, but a green body. sure the roots of the plants would twine around his fingers and try and sink into his skin, but he learned how to gently shoo them away while he worked.

the vegetables were going to be the best harvest he had ever had in his life, he could tell that much.

but the other part, the bigger part, was that henry's control was slipping.

it was easy when he was just... henry pines. tall and strong, but nothing else going on there. he could control his anger, control his emotions just. fine.

but there was power crackling under his skin now, power that made his heart race and his skin run hot, power that was still changing his body in a million imperceptible ways even though the woodsman had only happened twice-

(twice for now)

his body wasn't recognizable as his own, any more.

more frightening than that, his body was no longer under his complete control. inside of him was a being that ran on pure emotion, pure anger. no rationality whatsoever.

the woodsman's motives were pure, henry supposed. but there was no leash, no control.

no knowing what would happen.

and that uncertainty? it terrified him.

so henry spent as long as he could in his garden, where nothing bad happened, and everything remained under his control

[arialerendeair]

Okay SO - this was made by @seiya-starsniper about my Titanic AU, that is FINALLY finished, and tops out as my second longest fic I’ve ever written solo.  Because I am RIDICULOUS like that. 

The worst part of this - IT’S SO ACCURATE.  IT’S LONGER THAN THE OTHER 7 BINGO FILLS I’VE DONE ALL TOGETHER.  IT’S 120,000 WORDS. 

But it’s SO DAMN GOOD I CAN’T COMPLAIN ABOUT IT. 

Four sex scenes, one iceberg, one shooting, Endless Family DRAMA, one really solid punch to the jaw, several dramatic not-love confessions followed by a very PROPER love confession,so much pining it should be listed three times, and all the Single Dad Dream feels you could EVER want...

I present, the Titanic AU, the monster that would not stop.