#;; Crack the Tome { drabble }

[donatellawritings]

I just came across ur page and omggggg??? I'm literally in love. I was wondering if you could do a head cannon of Rafe with a latina reader who sings or plays soccer, tome su tiempo mamas 😻💕🎀

te quierooooo <3 fyi, i suck at headcanons so i hope you like this little drabble! i may have gotten carried away lol

you were constantly singing, i mean, whether it’d be humming along to the music that flowed from your speaker, or belting out lyrics in the shower — you were singing a song whenever you’d gotten the chance. and the best part about it? rafe loved every moment of it. sure, there were times where’d be having a rough day and could do without it, but he was never outright mean about it. truth be told, hearing the spanish words slide off of your tongue made him want you, perched on his lap, like the good girl you are, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

you were in the middle of singing a kali uchis song while rafe sat at his desk, struggling to focus on properly counting the stack of blue dollar bills that rested in the palm of his large hand, “hey, mama - d’you want to hold off on the singing while i count this?” he’d call out from his seat, before resuming his silent counting.

“sorry,” you winced, biting down into the fat of your bottom lip as you swallowed down your embarrassment, deciding to distract yourself by forcing your attention on the neatly displayed bookcase before you.

rafe was quick to finish his silent task, before sighing as he leaned back into his seat, his legs spread deliciously as he watched you adjust books that were already stood upright. he knew his words got to you easily, you didn’t deal well with correction, you always took it to the heart. so, he decided he’d continue watching you: looking to see if you’d crack.

you decided to stand on your tippy toes, your legs a bit wobbly from rafe having you fucked flush against the wall, just twenty minutes prior. you’d thrown on one of his shirts, the curve of your plush ass straining against the thin fabric as you reached your arm towards the one book that stood just a tad bit crooked. rafe couldn’t help but rub his lips with the side of his index finger, holding back a laugh as you became a bit too engrossed in the bookcase.

deciding to put you out of your misery, rafe let out an obnoxious huff of air, “come here, baby,” he caved, moving his chair away from the desk, giving you the space to climb onto his inviting lap.

you were quick to oblige, approaching rafe with a subtle pout on your lips as you curled into his side, your head resting on his shoulder, his hand softly tapping against the side of your hip. meanwhile, you toyed with his other hand, a lingering sense of embarrassment still bubbling in your stomach as you compared your hand size with rafe.

rafe was all too familiar with your anxious ways, so he decided to humor you about the song that you were singing along to, “so, what was that song that you were singing, earlier?” he questioned, sliding his fingers through yours, bringing his free hand to the back of your neck, guiding you to look up at him.

“la luna enamorada — it’s a kali uchis song,” you spoke, your eyes locked directly on rafe’s as he nodded with his mouth slightly opened. you were the first to break the eye contact, a blush creeping to your cheeks.

rafe presses his lips to the top of your hair, lightly bouncing his knee, “y’should teach me what all of that means,” he taps the side of your neck, commanding your full attention.

you gasped excitedly, sitting up straight in rafe’s lap, “oh my god, and then we can just start talking shit about people in spanish and they won’t even know,” you spewed quickly, laying your hand on his firm chest.

rafe quickly checked-out from your eager ramble, his eyes focused on the hem of his shirt that bunched up around your lower waist. his eyes now hung low as he took in the sight of the thin black thong that was almost entirely enveloped by your ass. the bounce in rafe’s knee now ceased as you turned to face him with a joyous smile.

“okay, so we can start with the basics, y’know-” you were quickly cut off by rafe pulling you to lay back against his chest, his hand now lightly wrapping around your throat.

“tell me that you love me,” he sighed, his hand that was once interlocked with yours now sliding underneath the seamless fabric of your thong. you let out a shaky breath, the overflow of excitement that coursed through your veins, now turning into an adrenaline that hummed through you.

rafe’s warm hand began to tighten around your throat, “te quiero,” you muttered, your hardened nipples now straining against his shirt as he massaged deep circles into your swollen clit.

“tell me that you belong to me,” rafe coaxed, continuing to massage your clit, his voice now an octave lower as he kissed the side of your face, a wet and noisy kiss.

you strained your neck to look up into his bright blue eyes, through your curled lashes, softly nodding as you struggled to find the right words, “t-te pertenezco a ti,” you forced out, a moan escaping from your throat as rafe’s fingers slid into your tight and wet hole.

rafe smiled down at you, mimicking your slacked jaw as he fit the entirety of his two fingers inside of you, “oh shit,” he laughed, bringing his hand from your throat, down to your hip, holding you still as you attempted to roll your hips, desperately needy for any kind of friction.

“rafe, plea-”

rafe shook his head, his fingers tensing inside of you as he leaned his forehead against your head, “tell me to fuck you, mama.”

“cógeme, te necesito.” you whined obediently, slightly shifting your hips, just to feel something. rafe decided he’d let you slide, considering how good and willing you’d been today. plus, his cock was already strained against his khaki slacks, eager to be freed and plunged into the deepest parts of you.

“y’such a good fucking girl,” he praised, pulling your face in for a disgusting sloppy kiss, his wet and warm tongue fighting against yours as he slid his lengthy ringed fingers in and out of you.

[pininghermit]

Right Infront of My Salad?

Request: @dreamtogether2000 I was only doing it because I was curious but then I got Obsessed?! Please this with gn reader is everything I love! Go Buck Wild.

AN: First of all what a pick. Second of all, thank you for requesting this. I love writing crack fics especially this one was awesome. I hope you like it. We shall name this the Tropesvania Event- feel free to request

Genre: Fluff

Pairing(s): Adrian Tepes x GN Reader

Summary: Obsessed-gn-drabble

“They are, to put it mildly…” Lisa cringed, glancing into the camera, “obsessed with each other.”

“They’ve lost it. Whatever this is, it’s worse than anything unholy,” Dracula deadpanned, his tone dripping with the resignation of a centuries-old vampire.

Somehow, it had come to this: Dracula and Lisa, dragged onto Dr. Phil, seated stiffly next to their son, Adrian, and you. The root of the chaos.

Yet, the elephant in the room remained unaddressed. And riding triumphantly atop that elephant, entwined as if nothing else in the world existed, were Lisa and Dracula’s beloved son and you.

It had all started innocently enough, during the honeymoon phase of dating. At first, Lisa had found it endearing. Adrian gushing about you had been a breath of fresh air.

Every detail about your smile, your laugh, your favorite book had been recounted with an enthusiasm so pure it melted even Dracula’s icy heart.

Lisa had helped Adrian pick out the right outfits, thoughtful gifts, and conversation topics to avoid awkward silences. Dracula had joined in too, bemused by the adorable mess his son had become under the spell of young love.

Then, they met you.

From the moment of that first introduction, you had stormed into Castle Dracula like a burst of spring sunlight, your chaotic energy scattering the stoic gothic gloom.

Supper, once a quiet affair for three, transformed into a nightly event for four. The castle seemed warmer, brighter—alive. Though neither parent would admit it, there were moments they almost welcomed the change.

It was as if the wintery gloom of their home had been replace with fistfuls of spring shoved up ever nook of the castle.

But young love is nothing if not overwhelming.

Catching the two of you making out had been amusing at first, Dracula turning a delicate shade of crimson and retreating with an indignant swoosh of his cape.

But the charm wore thin quickly. After exactly twenty-three incidents of stumbling upon you in her lab, Lisa’s patience finally snapped.

And yet, here you were.

“I love you,” you giggled, nestled against Adrian, your hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate, the matching rings on your fingers glinting in the firelight.

Across the room, Lisa and Dracula watched from the couch, their expressions somewhere between weariness and acceptance, as Adrian’s face lit up to match yours. “I love you more,” he replied earnestly, leaning in closer.

“Noooo,” you drawled, sticking your tongue out at him playfully. “I love you more.”

Adrian pressed a kiss to your cheek, his golden eyes brimming with adoration. “I love you more than anything.”

Lisa saw Dracula’s face turn a distinct shade of green. Whether it was from the sweetness of the hot chocolate or the relentless PDA, she couldn’t say.

The count excused himself abruptly, clearing his throat as both parents caught sight of Adrian’s hand slipping under the blanket.

A single day. Adrian had been gone for one day to retrieve an ancient tome.

It had been an ordeal pulling him away, his golden eyes darting anxiously between you and the door as he nodded solemnly to your endless instructions about his health. To Lisa’s surprise, you had smiled and sent him off with a merry wave.

It unsettled both parents when you slammed the door shut immediately afterward only for your composure to crumble into pieces.

“I miss him,” you whimpered, staring forlornly at the cracks in the stone floor. “However shall I endure this?” you sobbed, burying your face in your arms.

For hours, you parked yourself by the door, refusing to move, before embarking on a grieving tour of the castle. Every room bore witness to your dramatic laments as you sprawled across tables, sighed mournfully in hallways, and flopped listlessly onto chairs.

Lisa and Dracula followed at a safe distance, watching in silent horror. By the end of the day, Lisa questioned her son’s doting nature, and Dracula could only mutter, “I'm too old for this Lisa.”

When Adrian finally returned, all hell broke loose.

You bolted toward him the moment the doors opened, nearly tripping over the carpet in your haste to reach him. Lisa and Dracula stood frozen in place, watching the soap opera that Castle Dracula had somehow become unfold before their eyes.

But it wasn’t the excessively affectionate reunion that left them speechless. It wasn’t even your tearful declarations of love or Adrian’s matching intensity.

It was the bold black ink scrawled across Adrian’s arm.

Your name. Permanently tattooed, proud and unashamed.

The sight left the family in stunned silence, each member processing the revelation in their own way.

For Lisa, it was an emotional breakdown, complete with head-in-hands groaning. For Dracula, it was a mental and spiritual crisis, punctuated by a mumbled, “By all the dark powers… what has he done?”

Meanwhile, the happy couple remained blissfully unaware of the chaos swirling around them, lost in a world that consisted of only each other.

Castle Dracula would never be the same again.

[halfmoth-halfman]

karma is a cat purring in my lap

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: very minor spoilers for designer dress, mention of animal death, a cat with a vendetta Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: oop the cat drabble got a little longer than i expected but oh well i had fun with it

The cat is a wretched creature made of a vicious hatred that could rival only the Devil himself.

A spiteful little thing so eager to sink its fangs into every inch of flesh it sees, and Price has to wonder how Roach got it into the manor in the first place.

They try to lure it out from the corner it’s tucked itself into, try to coax it from where it lounges just atop one of the massive bookshelves, but every attempt is met with hisses and swipes of those streets-sharpened claws. When the cat decides it’s finally had enough, it resorts to slinking across the higher shelves and knocking off the thickest books it can find. The heavy tomes land with a loud thud every time until one falls onto Soap’s face and blood bursts from his nose.

They let it be after that, resigned to allowing it to nest atop that bookshelf where it watches them almost smugly. 

Rudy tries to tempt it away at the end of the day, shaking a bowl of freshly filleted fish and ground meats in the cat’s direction. The cat watches him, tail swishing back and forth against the spines of the books it’s perched upon, but it never moves.

Rudy gives up after half an hour, leaving the bowl behind in a frustrated and defeated huff. 

Roach checks on it the next morning to find the bowl empty, curiously looking around the room for any sign of their tiny intruder. It isn’t long until he spots the meat-smeared paw-prints trailing into the kitchen, and when he follows them—

—Roach has never seen such a mess, bits of food smeared across the table, the chairs, even the windows. It’ll take forever to clean properly, and Roach wonders if the cat actually ate any of the food before it turned the dining room into a meat-based Jackson Pollock painting.

A small chirp catches his ear, and he turns to find the cat sitting in the doorway, head tilted, paws licked clean, and whiskers twitching. It chirps again, almost like it’s…laughing at him? Surely it couldn’t—

Roach takes a step forward and the cat turns to run with lightning speed, taking its place back atop its books.

From there, the cat’s behavior only worsens.

It only acts at night when everyone is asleep, picking its targets at random; a suspicious display of intelligence that sets the house on edge.

Ghost is its first victim, waking up early in the morning to find his bedroom door cracked open and his collection of masks lying in shreds on the floor. He storms through the manor searching for the culprit in a blazing fury only to find the cat lying in front of the fireplace in Price’s office on a bed of shredded cloth. The cat darts away the moment Ghost catches it, evading him with surprising nimbleness to disappear into the manor. 

Alex is a repeat target, much to his frustration. It’s following him, he thinks, but every time he checks his surroundings there’s no sign of it. Yet it somehow always manages to appear whenever Alex decides to eat, knocking something over to distract the man only to take a swipe at his plate the moment Alex looks away. Alex cleans five meals from the dining room rug before he goes to Price.

The cat never stops in its journey of torment. It chews König’s socks and boots until they’re deformed and soggy, sneaks into Price’s closet to tear at his clothes, steals Valeria’s jewelry to hide it in the houseplants, and screams at the top of its little lungs outside Alejandro’s room at random hours in the night. 

They have to do something, but they can’t get the cat to leave. It outsmarts them at every turn, disappearing into crevices of the manor they never knew were there. 

Price doesn’t care how it’s handled, whether they choose to let the cat live or get rid of it another way. He gives his people free rein to deal with it how they see fit with only one exception: keep the cat away from Canary. 

Their relationship is so precarious already, and he wants her only focus to be on recovering. The last thing she needs is this tiny demon to ruin her clothes or destroy her meals. 

The next day is spent with a manhunt for the cat. 

They search every corner of the manor, leaving no stone unturned and no room unchecked. Every inch of the manor grounds is scoured in search of the hellion, but the cat seems to have disappeared. There’s a small murmur of disappointment, but mostly relief as they conclude that the cat must’ve finally tired of them and run off.

Price finally relaxes the tension from his shoulders, weaving through the manor halls to check on Canary. 

He’s never been a cat person, and this kind of nonsense is exactly why. If he’d had his way they would’ve taken that damned cat and–

“Are you warm enough?” Canary’s soft voice drifts out of her room, a light, happy tone that Price hasn’t heard from her in so long. 

Her door is slightly open, and Price inches toward the gap to peer inside. He’s careful not to make too much noise and startle her, not wanting to disturb her in any way. Not if she’s having a good day. 

He’ll just check on her, and then he’ll leave. 

“Oh, what a big stretch!” Canary coos. 

Price nearly trips in his steps, catching himself at the last minute. 

Who is she talking to–

Oh. 

When he peeks inside, he spots Canary in bed, lying on her side to face the door. She’d see him easily if she were to look up, but she’s too preoccupied with the cat sprawled on its back in front of her. Legs in the air, it bats softly at her wiggling fingers as she pokes and rubs its belly. 

The cat rolls onto its stomach, lazily crawling up the bed until it reaches Canary’s face and gives her a gentle lick on the nose. 

Canary laughs softly, and it’s the best thing Price has heard in months. He’s craved that sound for so long, begging every higher power for her to find something to bring her joy again. 

Canary shifts to lay on her back, the cat immediately curling up on her chest and nestling its head under her chin. She softly strokes along its head, a gentle smile gracing her face. 

Price lets out a small, contented hum just quiet enough for Canary not to hear, but the cat’s ears twitch. Those wide, watchful eyes snap open, staring straight into his soul. 

He’s never seen a cat glare before, but he’s certain he has now. It looks downright threatening, daring him to come closer and disturb their little sanctuary. 

He understands now. This isn’t some random stray that decided to make the manor their home. This is the answer to his late-night prayers, his pleas for Canary to be happy once again. She’s been handed a new friend, a creature to give her the affection and comfort she so desperately needs, but they have been delivered a harbinger of retribution. Canary is too healed to try and give them the karma they deserve, but this cat has proudly taken up the job for her. 

Somewhere in the world, a finger's just curled down into the palm of a monkey's paw.

Canary shifts, a small wince as she moves her head too quickly and the bandages catch. 

The cat purrs loudly, nuzzling as far into her as it can, and Canary’s wince slowly turns to that stunning smile Price has missed so much. 

Price has never been a cat person, and will probably never settle with the future havoc this cat is sure to wreak, but if that possessed creature is able to bring Canary even a small amount of solace? 

He’s willing to try.

[papasbaseball]

Library Wingman (Cardinal Copia x GN!Reader fluff) drabble

Dragging this over from Twitter dot com so my Ghumblr ghesties get some food too.

"Cardinal can I help you with something?"

Today was the 4th time he'd been in that week, a new record. Unlike the previous times, today a ghoul was in tow with him.

"Eh, yes. Just these books, thank you." Placing the books down, his hands busy themselves with straightening cassock and biretta, pulling at his already straightened sleeves.

The ghoul behind him, you thought to be Swiss, leans over to whisper something to the cardinal. Copia looks up from his sleeves, eyes going wide at Swiss's murmurs. Pulling the ghoul down to his level, he cups a hand to the side of his face, whispering back something.

"Was there anything I could help you find today? I know I'm somewhat new here but I actually know the library pretty well," you say. The whispering set you on edge, and you hoped the cardinal wasn't dissatisfied with your job performance. How could you mess up checking out books?

"No, just these books thank you."

You go back to scanning the books when you hear the clothed thump of Swiss smacking Copia's arm. Copia jolts and squints at Swiss, trying to silently communicate something with those gloved hands of his.

Swiss huffs, pointing a finger at Copia. "If you don't ask them out I will."

"Ask who out?" you say, scanning another book.

Copia offers a nervous smile, looking as pale as a page in a new book upon the shelves. "Sibling," he starts, voice cracking in perhaps anxiety, "I was wondering if you'd like to... if you'd like to have lunch with me." He shuts his eyes in anticipation of your reply, but gets Swiss's words instead.

"Lunch? What are you? A lawyer? Ask them to dinner, for fucks sake."

Copia's shoulders sag as he looks up at Swiss.

Your heart twinged at the sight of the dejected cardinal. "I like both lunch and dinner."

"Really?" Copia straightens, grinning happily this time.

"Do you want to meet in the narthex at noon? That's when my lunch break is."

"Yes! Of course! I'll see you then!" He skitters gleefully towards the exit, not looking back.

"Uh, cardinal?" You call after him.

He quickly pivots, pressing his palms to his cassock. "Yes?"

"You forgot your ghoul and your books."

He hurries back, gathering up the tomes in his arms, apologies written on his face. "Come on ghoul!" He calls back, again dashing for the doors.

"I have a name you know!" Swiss calls after him.

[caelum-wittebane]

‘Here Comes A Thought’

Pairing: Philip Wittebane x Y/N

Summary: Y/N is a system or struggling with panic attacks. They experience a particularly distressing episode, and Philip is there to comfort them.

Note: The events of this drabble take place after Philip and Y/N return to the human realm, so they’ll be referring to him as Philip instead of Belos. They see it as a way to highlight his human nature, the fact that he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone else anymore, plus it’s a tender gesture to show that they’re close. This is based on my own experience as a system, but I hope that it helps y’all too!

The small room felt like a cage, its four walls seemingly closing in as Y/N lay in bed, their chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. They feebly clutched the sheets with their trembling hands, their eyes vacant and distant. Philip sat beside them, his hand gently resting on theirs, his eyes filled with concern.

“Y/N,” Philip muttered. “I’m here, I’m right here…”

They looked up at him, their eyes wide with anxiety. “Philip, it hurts,” they whispered, their voice barely audible. “My heart... it feels like it's going to explode.”

Philip swallowed hard, his mind racing through the limited knowledge he had about their condition. He had studied countless tomes of dark magic, faced unimaginable horrors, yet this was something he struggled to confront. But he pushed his fear aside. His partner needed him.

Philip gently placed his hand on their chest, feeling the frantic beat of their heart beneath his palm. “Focus on my voice,” he said, his tone steady and calm. “You’re not alone, I’m with you… You’re safe.”

They nodded, their breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Philip leaned closer, his other hand brushing their hair back from their damp forehead. “Breathe with me, Y/N. In and out, nice and slow.”

He began to take deep, deliberate breaths, his hand rising and falling on their chest in a slow, controlled rhythm. Y/N’s eyes locked onto his, and at first, they struggled to match his pace. Gradually, their breaths began to sync with his, the frantic rhythm of their heart starting to slow.

“That’s it,” Philip murmured. “Just like that. You’re doing great, dear.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes, spilling over and tracing lines down their cheeks. “I was so scared,” they admitted, their voice cracking with emotion. “I thought... I thought I was dying.”

Philip’s heart ached at their words. He shifted to sit on the couch beside them, pulling them gently into his arms. “You’re not dying,” he assured them, his fingers gently carding through their hair. “You’re strong, Y/N. Stronger than you know… And I’m here, I won't let anything happen to you.”

Minutes stretched into an hour, and finally, Y/N’s breathing evened out, their body relaxing against his. Philip felt their grip on him loosen slightly, and he shifted just enough to look at their face.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked, his voice gentle.

Y/N took a shaky breath, their eyes meeting his with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. “Better,” they said. “Still a little weak, but... better.”

Philip nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Good, rest now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N nestled closer, their head resting on his shoulder. “Thank you, Philip,” they murmured, their voice drowsy. “I don’t know what I’d do without you…”

His smile softened, and he pressed a tender kiss to the top of their head. “You won’t have to find out,” he promised. “I’m here. Always.”

As they drifted off to sleep, Philip held them close, his mind already planning how he would prepare himself better for the next time. Because there would be a next time, and he would be ready. For them, he would be ready for anything.

[lilac-vapor]

drabble #1

Rating: T

Word Count: 549

Pairing: Sebastian/Ominis

A/N: Was going to make a whole one-shot, but then I only cared to write the good bits

Slender fingers catch and hook each water droplet trickling down Sebastian’s chest. His heart is fluttering like a snidget, Ominis can feel it. A cold wind whips through the cavern, rippling the currents in the spring, and Ominis, goosebumps etching across his skin, burrows into his oldest friend. Arms, strong and protective and littered with scars only Ominis knows the stories behind, wrap snugly around him.

“It’s freezing in here,” Ominis whispers, words lathering their way along collarbones and shoulders.

Sebastian dips his head down, lips curling around the shell of a red-tinged ear, and replies, “Then come closer.”

Ominis is positively radiant amidst the moonlight peaking through the cracks and fissures, like some ethereal being sent to deliver unto Sebastian. With all the books, all the tomes, all the waxing poetic and brazen declarations of love and loyalty, he can’t possibly articulate how Ominis makes him feel inside. He wants to kneel before this man, pledge his life and his death, trail such devotions up the length of his ivory arms and seal it with lips unto lips.

It’s unfathomable because he also wants to grasp him by his impeccably knotted tie and smother him with tongue and teeth in front of the whole school. Secret him away to the Undercroft so he can rip it all off him and have him then and there. Over and over and over again, spent.

“I love you”

Ominis’ head shoots up, brilliant eyes searching for Sebastian. “You love me?”

“I love you” His back is so smooth compared to his rough, calloused palms. Sebastian links their foreheads, closing his eyes tightly. “I love you, Ominis.”

Hands, delicate and careful and forever good, caress Sebastian’s cheeks. “Then kiss me if you speak true,” Ominis demands.

And though Sebastian tries to be gentle, he simply cannot help his inhibitions. Ominis’ lips taste like a future he never thought possible and his tongue is a promise of peace and love and all the things that go in between. Then Ominis whimpers, a vibration sent straight to Sebastian’s core, and Sebastian knows that he is absolutely besotted.

[iluvwerewolves]

when i close my eyes (monprom/oc/sona drabble)

just an idea i had late tnight while procrastinating hacking a robot(), words under the cut

In the chilled breeze of the early fall, Fallon Sprite sat at a picnic table, argyle blue sweater pulled around his shoulders. Outside of the Spooky Academy men's locker rooms, he stood his ground against the quiet after-hours of the school, the place all but abandoned by most scholars and troublemakers alike. He sat with his computer out and glasses on, reading through an old, archived text. Lines and lines of barely discernible Latin or German or Italian somehow made sense to him moreso than anything else; he'd found comfort in old tomes of bygone knowledge.

As he motioned to adjust the rounded spectacles, the doors to the locker room swung open as a group of a few members from the Wolfpack poured out, some other species of monsters filtering through the grey metal doors too. The water fae's eyes traveled to the doors, tracking the faces of each that stepped out, waiting for the one. Person after person. Arthur, the grey skinned, red-haired one followed by his cousin, the wrong cousin, the ever-upbeat Scott. the two were talking about something menial, maybe sports, maybe video games. Yet, the two were not the werewolves he was searching for.

Finally, as a few other monsters filtered through, the brown hair of the man who he was searching for was insight. Wearing a denim jacket and a white shirt, he looked around for a second, before waving to the half-nymph. Fallon waved back him, cracking a smile on his face as the large werewolf bounded up to him.

"Hey there, bro! I hope ya weren't waiting too long." He smiled, tail wagging.

"No worries. I kept myself busy," Fallon said, mentioning his computer. He picked it up and began to put it back inside of his satchel. "What am I helping you study today?"

"Oh! I was kinda...hoping we could go over potions again. I'm still not doing well with that class." Freddy brought a hand to the back of his neck.

Fallon hopped up from sitting down. "Sounds like a plan then," he softly smiled at Freddy. The two had been sharing a class for the semester as of late. Freddy's older brother, Scott, had introduced the two of them. When Scott found out from Fallon that he was also in potions, he practically dragged over Freddy who was struggling with that class. They had gotten closer in the weeks following. "My place or yours?"

Freddy rose an eyebrow for a second, thinking. "Does mine sound alright?" The tall werewolf grinned, fangs showing. Freddy had been enjoying the time the two spent together, loving Fallon's company. A nice break from the testosterone junkie family of his, the water fairy was laid-back, calm, and smart. That last factor helped Freddy a lot during his academic career. The Wolfpack's house, their den, wasn't too far from school, and Fallon secretly liked going there as living alone for a couple years had made him notice the hum of silence all too well. Plus, he liked Freddy's room. It smelled like him, comforting, kinda like a wet dog, the forest, and a little sweaty. Fallon nodded as the two of them began walking to Freddy's red truck, they exchanged small talk. The grey skinned fairy hopped in the passenger seat as the werewolf turned the key, hearing the car sputter and shake, groaning alive.

Fallon looked over at Freddy with a look he didn't know he had, one of peace and kindness. Freddy was warm and happy, loud and boisterous. Something that Fallon wasn't. He was happy, sure, but he found himself often quiet, reserved, content living life on the side. Freddy was a rock to him, the werewolf dragged him back into reality when he was up in his own head.

Freddy smiled at Fallon with a grin he used for everyone, but with a hidden intimate nature behind it. Fallon was cool and mysterious, quiet and observant. The small man was always thinking about something, and Freddy wanted to know what was on his mind. Fallon was the most interesting thing to him, like a new chew toy or a new scent flitting in during a boring class.

The two young men spent the night together, studying until late. Fallon had dinner with the Wolfpack, talking to Grandma Howl about the new things in his life, while Freddy messed around with his brothers. The two went to Freddy's room, where they began to study together. Freddy was questioned by Fallon, flashcards, mnemonics, and mind games casting the information in the plaster of the mind. The moon rose above the trees, high above the land below. That grey sea of sleep beckoned louder and louder as the lamplight was the only source of the day. The two called it a night, and Freddy offered to the smaller man to stay the night. Fallon said he'd sleep on the floor, Freddy said he would, and they traded back and forth until Freddy let Fallon sleep in his bed, sharing it as friends do. Nothing more, no matter how much either of them laid mere inches from each other wishing to bridge the gap that felt miles long, to close the void that separated dreams from matter, mind from reality. No matter how badly, how much the aperture between them threatened to fade away like smoke, how the chill of the falling seasons became apparent, how the silence of the room became a roar, they would not cross that bridge yet. Not yet.

[maligknightsthorns]

If You Can’t Buy Malig Knight Home Made Is Fine

dark flier mastery drabble

The skies were Camilla’s home. Castle Krakenberg was a hole in the ground, a dizzying tower turned upside down climbing into the earth instead of towards the sky. 

The cloud’s mist baptized her with every pass she made. She was one with the wind and the storm. 

The beauty of Garreg Mach was that there were towering spires to soar to, to stand upon and gaze at the endless forests and plains and farm lands surrounding the school with the clouds mere inches from her finger tips. 

But Garreg Mach did not have malig knights. Not yet at least… As far as Camilla knew, she was the only one. It was odd to combine flying, with an axe and magic, apparently. It was a graceful and deadly combination. She could soar above her enemies, dive bombing them to take them by surprise. She could easily take out mages with the strength and bite of her axe, and heavily armored units would melt to her poisonous magic. She could easily return to the skies, soaring far out of reach as quickly as she appeared. 

So far, the school had seen no use in the class. Students were free to use magic and weapons as they wished, so long as they passed the requirements to enter a class. There was too much overlap between the malig knights and other classes they had told her.

She was determined to prove them wrong.

She climbed the skies on Barbie, wind whipping her hair and clouds dousing her face. She climbed higher, towards the sun and stars, before turning Barbie towards the ground. Together they dove, faster than any bolt any archer could dream of releasing. The dark magic crackled at the tips of her fingers, growing in the palm of her hand as they grew closer and closer to the ground until...

CRACK

She released the magic and pulled Barbie up to climb the skies again. She had gotten so close to the ground that her magic had left it jagged and cracked from it’s force. Clods of earth sprung up, dashing against Barbie’s scales and soaring across Camilla’s exposed skin. Back into the clouds, allowing herself to be cleansed by their cold water drops. She guided Barbie to glide down, as smoothly as a fish cut through the water. 

Barbie waited for Camilla to touch down and remove her equipment before flopping down onto her side. She had more than earned a good belly rub from Camilla. The eldest princess of Nohr scratched her beloved wyvern’s belly, cooing and praising her and earning happy purrs and chirps in return. 

Camilla retired that evening to her office, tomes stacked against the wall. She wasn’t as scholarly as Leo. Leo was smart, a genius beyond his years and time. But Camilla had learned magic herself. She didn’t understand it like Leo did, and in the beginning her dragon blood did a lot of the heavy lifting. But she was powerful with a spell book, and magic required constant learning and relearning. Leo could do any magic he wanted, could learn anything he wanted. Camilla stuck to the magic she knew, seeking to understand it the best she could.

The tome she was working through was one of the few that covered dark magic, dark magic as Fodlan called it. In Nohr, to Camilla, it was just magic. The library at Garreg Mach kept a list of those who were interested in such subjects, no doubt keeping them under closer watch. Camilla would give them something to watch… If she could decipher the words in the book…

“The world is made up of small things constantly in motion. They moved about, bouncing off each other at all times. They are made up of the smallest things, the most basic elements. Not the primitive elements of fire, water, earth, and air, but of equal but opposite elements that are attracted to each other and repelled by itself. In the center of these things is the “positive” matter, and in organized rings around it are the “negative matter.”” Camilla circled a few phrases in the book before making notes in her journal. Positive matter, negative matter, organized matter… So far so simple… 

“This spell will require an immense output of energy. It will force you to tear apart the positive matter from the negative matter.” Camilla wondered how that could be… Earlier the book had mentioned that these things were made up of mostly empty space, so how could she split such a thing? A thing she could not see, could not touch… 

Another free day, more time with Barbie. She was determined to teach herself this spell. As Barbie soared higher and higher into the clouds, Camilla closed her eyes. Each droplet of water from the clouds was made up of this positive and negative matter… billions of this matter in one droplet. She tore off her glove and reached out to touch the clouds they passed through, the dew gathering onto her fingertips. A small, delicate drop of water, filled with the positive and negative matter she wanted to rip apart.

She guided Barbie towards the ground. The drops of water danced on her finger tips. As Barbie glided towards the ground, Camilla focused harder on the positive and negative matter on her finger tips. She closed her eyes, dark magic crackling alongside the drops of water.

BOOM

Camilla was thrown from Barbie from the force of the blast, landing hard on the ground. Her ears rang and her head shook as she pushed herself up to examine the damage. A small hole, just big enough for a bolt, lined up in the trees in a straight line farther than her eye could see. Barbie appeared, nuzzling her. She was grateful that Barbie was ok. This new spell was powerful… It left her and her beloved wyvern battered and bruised. It threw them off course, knocking them from their home in the skies. This spell could be dangerous. 

But from the skies it could be unstopable… if she could control it. If she could do more… It could be devastating. 

With a groan, Camilla led Barbie back to the monastary grounds. Her body ached from the inpact, and Barbie was acting sore as well. She made sure to give her beloved wyvern extra treats before retiring to her office.

On her desk was a letter, another denial of her request to add malig knight as a path for the students. “However,” the note read at the bottom…

“However, due to your experiance with magic and flight, we see no reason not to grant you access to the dark flier class. While this is not the same as the malig knight you’ve described, we encourage you to continue working with both magic and axework from your position in the skies. Perhaps, in the future, we may find a place for this class which you are so passionate for.”

Camilla smiled at the letter. It was a step. They gave her an inch, she was prepared to fly the mile. 

[lungs-and-gills]

find the word tag game!

@writinglittlebeasts tagged @joyful-soul-collector which is my main, to find the words deep, trouble, probably, and fall! Very exciting, lets crack in:

Deep (I've used it 60 times....which I guess makes sense considering it's the Literal Ocean but still lol. Here I chose #14)

“I’m gonna need you to stop looking at me like that,” Tatum said, glaring at Art. Art blinked, and rearranged his face into what he hoped was a more neutral one. 

“I--Sorry, it’s just… I didn’t think you killed people,” Art said, feeling stupid as the words left his mouth. 

“We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” Tatum said dully. “We’d be dead ten times over.”

In that moment, Art saw a horrible darkness in Tatum’s eyes, somehow deeper and more terrifying than he’d seen before. Tatum had absolutely no remorse for killing. He didn’t care in the slightest. 

It was only when he looked at Loch that the darkness faded.

Trouble (only 3 times! Here's #2)

“But… that doesn’t make sense,” Tatum said, trying to wrap his head around it. “Having dark skin doesn’t do anything to them, it’s not hurting anybody--”

“It’s less about whether Seven’s skin offended them or something, and more about how Seven’s skin color made it easier to hurt them. Like I said, people don’t care as much about people with dark skin, and that includes people like the police. People hurt and kill and kidnap and do all kinds of horrible shit to people with dark skin, people like Seven, people like me, because they know they won’t get in trouble for it,” Art said, now looking angry. Anger looked odd on Art’s face, he never usually saw Art angry. 

But it made sense. Just thinking about the fact that apparently, people thought of Art like this as well was enough to make Tatum’s blood boil.

Probably (#34/36)

“Maybe they were hidey spikes. Like the Hug Fish.”

“The Hug Fish?” Art said with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yeah!” Loch said, his eyes turning bright. “Tay says they can hide their whole body, like a octopus! Right, Tay?”

Tatum smirked and nodded. 

“…do you mean cuttlefish?” Art said with a small laugh. But Loch frowned at him as he took another bite. 

“No, pretty sure it’s Hug Fish. But Tay says if we ever see one then we probably can’t hug it. Hug Fish only hug fish.”

“Do they now?” Art said, now clearly trying to keep a straight face for Loch. 

“Yep.”

“Well, that’s good to know.”

Fall (#23/28)

He took it hesitantly, staring at the strip of meat with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. Not that it didn’t look delicious, it did, he was more disgusted with the fact that he wanted it so badly. Eventually he sat up fully, and after an encouraging look from Tatum, took a bite. 

It was the most amazing thing he ever tasted. The fish seemed to fall apart in his teeth, the texture not at all the slimy, odd feeling he remembered from having fish as a child. The thing that surprised him the most though was--

“It’s sweet!” Art exclaimed. Tatum laughed at the look on his face, cutting him another piece with his knife. 

“Yes, these ones are sweet. Different parts kinda change on the sweetness, I usually like the tail more on these ones, it’s not as sweet as the head and fins.”

“What do the fins taste like?” Art said. Tatum cut one off and handed it to him. When Art ate it he nearly choked. It tasted like he’d just eaten a spoonful of molasses. “Oh god--jesus, good thing we don’t eat the heads, I don’t think I could handle more than a couple fins.” Tatum just smiled and handed him another piece.

Well that was fun! So for everyone I tag, and anyone who wants to in general, I want you to find tired, weapon, red, and pierce.

No pressure tags: @lukey-the-pup @betwixtbeasts @tracle0 @polyaubergine @albatris @sarah-sandwich-writes @leave-her-a-tome @lettersandinkstains @thel3tterm @musicofglassandwords @snarky-drabbles

[ainyan]

😤 Bring on the angst. I'm here for it

Here, have the opening to one of my drabble smut-fics that actually starts off pretty angsty. Actually, it stays pretty angsty for a pretty good long time. XD

Under the cut for length:

You are my pillar of strength.

Words spoken so long ago by Minfilia. She who had been the Scions’ strength had turned to the Warrior of Light to be the rock upon which she could lean when she found her own will sorely tested. And so Kal'istae had become that pillar, unfaltering, unflagging, even in the face of absolute despair.

And when the Scions were riven of their own pillar, she stepped in to fill the gap. So while the world around her crumbled, she held fast, held firm, and her companions drew upon her strength and persevered.

Never counting the cost to her.

But all costs must be paid. All bills must come due.

And the one to pay is often the one who can least afford it.

~*~*~*~*~

Thancred stared at the book before him, but the words refused to resolve into anything remotely understandable. The letters swam off the page, twisting and spinning until he slammed the tome shut with a soft growl, reaching up to rub at his eyes. Urianger started, blinking, and stared at the gunbreaker. “Art thou aright, my friend?” he asked softly, brow beetling as he studied the hyur’s pinched expression.

“I think I’m just tired,” Thancred admitted, swiping his hand over his eyes before pushing himself upright. His spine cracked as he straightened and he grimaced. “Not one word.”

The elezen gave a faint smile. “Given how long thou hast been in that position, ‘tis clear such exclamations are due to poor posture, and not thy advanced age.” At Thancred’s dour glare, his smile deepened. “Perhaps thou shouldst take a stroll, or engage in some exercise.”

The gunbreaker rubbed at the back of his neck. “Maybe,” he murmured, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Something - no,” he said, his hand falling to his side. “Something isn’t right. Something is very wrong. Urianger.”

The elezen’s smile dropped away as he rose slowly to his feet. “Aye. I feel it, too.”

The door to the Respite slammed open, and Alisaie and Y’shtola came running out. “Something is happening,” the sorceress declared, while the red mage didn’t even bother with words, her sword drawn, her focus balanced above her palm.

From the Solar came the sound of pounding feet and clanking mail, then Alphinaud and Estinien came running in, followed by a grim-faced G’raha Tia. As the senior Scions gathered in the common room, many of the more junior members looked on, puzzled and not a little alarmed. Ignoring them, Thancred reached out to take up his gunblade from where it leaned against the wall, sliding it onto his back. “Do we have any idea what is going on?”

G’raha Tia grimaced. “Nothing clear; just a sense of wrongness, of something dire occurring. We all feel it then?” He glanced around the circle, his eyes brushing over the faces of his fellow scions. “Wait.”

“Where’s Kal'istae?” Thancred asked at the same moment, his voice sharp, almost cracking as he turned towards the Respite.

Alisaie shook her head. “Not here. She hasn’t been here in some time,” she added, her tone accusatory as she glared at the gunbreaker. “Doesn’t anyone ever notice how rarely she comes home any more?”

The gunbreaker’s gloves creaked as his hands fisted, and the look he turned on the red mage was pure irritation. “As a matter of fact,” he replied evenly, “I do.”

“As do I,” G’raha Tia murmured, stroking a hand down his staff as he frowned at the floor. “I presume she is busy cleaning up after Zenos and Fandaniel, as is ever the case these days. Wearing herself to nothing…” He trailed off, biting his lip.

Alisaie and Thancred exchanged a long look, and the gunbreaker relaxed his hands. “It can’t be helped. Once we know what is going on, we can call her through the linkpearl. Y’shtola,” he added, turning towards the miqo’te, “is there a spell you can - ugh!”

The sorceress exclaimed in alarm as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. G’raha Tia groaned and fell to his knees, one hand raised to his forehead. The other Scions stared in shock at the pair.

Alphinaud’s linkpearl sounded. He lifted a trembling hand to his ear. “Tell me,” he said softly. He listened, his breath rasping in his throat, and finally his hand fell away, dark blue eyes gazing into nothing. At his side, his sister finally sheathed her sword, reaching out to grab his arm and shake it.

“Well?” she demanded. “What is it?”

Estinien knelt next to G’raha Tia, drawing off one of his gauntlets to touch the miqo’te’s forehead. “He’s burning up,” he said softly, puzzled.

Urianger reached out to brush his finger over Thancred’s face. “He is too. Alphinaud. What didst they say?”

The summoner blinked, staring blankly at the floor. Finally, he shook his head, sense returning to his face. “I - that was Ser Aymeric. It’s… It’s Kali. She… she collapsed while visiting Ishgard. They can’t wake her.” He looked up, his face white. “He thinks she may be dying.”

Send me an emoji for a snippet from one of my works!

Thank you for the ask!

[waltwhitmansbeard]

Hi again, it's-a me. I genuinely hope you don't feel too much pressure to just chunk out drabbles and fics like a machine, yaknoe? Only as long as you're still enjoying yourself.

So no pressure, just had a thought about #28 with platonic soulmates Caleb and Nott/Veth?

28. Reassurance in the form of food/movies/games, forcing them to take a second away and relax with you. lol, i very much appreciate your concern. i do wanna make sure i'm answering asks as promptly as i can, but don't worry, i don't write when i can't. :)

Veth bangs on the door to the cottage, glaring at the cheerful if slightly overgrown green beans below the front windows. "CALEB!" She bangs harder, and she can feel her fist getting sore. "Open the FUCKING door!"

She keeps up her violent knocking, even when one of Caleb's neighbors peeks her head out her own front door, clearly concerned. "Mind your business!" Veth snaps, and the head disappears, wide-eyed and affronted. The door in front of Veth remains obstinately closed.

With a frustrated sigh, she roots around in the pocket of her dress until she can extract a thin coil of copper wire. She twists it angrily between her short fingers, then points in the direction of the house. "You will open this door and you will let me in or so help me I will light these fucking beans on fire!" She pauses. "Reply to this message, now!"

She seethes, staring at the wood of the door, gripping the wire for dear life, until finally, finally, it creaks open, and a bloodshot, baggy eye appears in the crack. "Veth." Caleb's voice sounds like he's been gargling glass. "You are not in Nicodranas."

"Cleverest wizard in a generation," Veth snarks, shoving her foot in the door to prevent him from closing it. "We thought you were dead. You're lucky it's just me and not a SWAT team from the Cobalt Soul."

"No, I am alive." The door swings open just an inch more, and what Veth can see of Caleb is bedraggled, like a cat dunked in tub and hung to dry on the line. Veth's seen enough of his sleep deprivation to know it's been a minimum of three days since he's gotten any shut-eye—and if she had to guess, it's been that long since he's eaten, too.

"Move." Without waiting for him to do so, she shoves her way inside, and fuck, this cottage smells like ass. Every single horizontal surface is covered with parchment and leather-bound tomes, and there are cats running around, not ones from his arcane tower, but strays.

"You live like this?" Veth says, stunned by the piles of dirty clothes and the utter lack of natural light.

Caleb rubs the back of his head, clearly embarrassed. "No. Well—ja, okay, sometimes, but only when I am working."

"When are you not working?"

Caleb ignores the question, collecting some papers together into something resembling a pile so that there is a space on his little sofa for Veth to sit. "I appreciate your visit and your concern, Veth, but I am fine. I apologize for ignoring Jester's messages—"

"Oh forget a Cobalt task force, Jester wanted to sic all of Darktow on you."

"Yes, well, it is unnecessary. I was deep in..." He gestures around him broadly. "...well, this."

Veth pokes at a piece of paper, upon which she sees some arcane writing that is far beyond her meager talents. "What is this?" She claps her hands together. "You know what? No. Never mind. I don't care and it doesn't matter." She spins around and stalks into the kitchen. "I am making you food, and you are going to eat it even though Yeza is the cook in the family, and then you are going to sleep, and I swear to the gods if you wake up before this time tomorrow, I'm drugging you."

"Veth..."

She whips around to glare daggers at him. "Food. Sleep. That is the end of the conversation."

Caleb smiles sheepishly and settles on the spot he'd cleared on the couch, watching Veth over the back of it as she grumbles through cleaning enough of the kitchen off so she can start cooking. She's annoyed to be sure, but someone's gotta look after the idiot, and if she has to threaten Yussa Errenis into teleporting her all the way to Rexxentrum to do it, well, a small price to pay to make sure her boy doesn't work himself to death.

[mrfancyfoot]

Patchwork Plots

Chapter 8 - Aspect of Fox -

NSFW/Explicit Series | An indulgent, often humorous drabble series for my merry little band of murder-hobos led by someone with little sense of self-preservation. | Astarion/f!humanAvatar/Halsin | AO3 Link

Warnings: None

A spell tome.

.

Was it normal to find something like this in a random abandoned house?

Keenly interested, Evie cracked it open immediately and began reading.  As she scanned the first page, an odd sensation fell upon her- not quite a voice in her head nor was it like the effect of the tadpoles, but a knowing, an imparting.  And then…a question?

It would impart a set of skills…for a price.

What was the price?

To prominently and proudly wear a feature of the forest creature from which the skills were gifted.

.

.

.

And that was how she - perhaps overly - enthusiastically ended up with a fox tail, canine hearing, heightened reflexes and dexterity, charm immunity, and permanent eyeliner.

Swish, swish, swish…

The spell could be undone by the book at any time.

Or it could be, if it hadn't gone up in a pillar of flames after it left her hands for the five seconds she took to sling her bag from her shoulder during Karlach's wrathful spin about the cabin.

Oh, well…

[cheesus-doodles]

Family

another short drabble on Muggle!Reader's adventures in Hogwarts - sorry yall i know i promised yan plato toman but my brain just got super super stuck on it, so i will be attempting to do a drop on both friday and saturday instead! meanwhile please do enjoy this short drabble~

‎

Recommended Readings: Sorting Ceremony

Masterlist

tw: yandere

‎

"What a pretty little thing." You didn't think it was directed at you at first. Coming out of the blue from behind you, where just moments ago had been a completely deserted corridor, you nearly jumped out of your skin when a hand grabbed your shoulder.

The dry draft rattled old, rusty hinges as you spun around, the afternoon sunlight filtering through old castle windows casting thin beams of light that illuminated otherwise dark corridors. And it was on the bleach blond hair and tan skin of a boy dressed in robes you had never seen before that the light fell onto, his striking orchid eyes already locked squarely onto yours.

"Don't ignore me." Releasing his grip on your shoulders, you had instantly back-pedalled a few steps, the click of your shoes against the stone floor resounding several times before your back hit the wall, delicate fingers tightening around the tomes in your arms. Like a deer caught in headlights, you had only managed to hold eye contact with him for the merest of moments, just long enough for him to glimpse the surprise in your eyes before your gaze dropped once more. Definitely shy, Izana mused to himself, noting the shaking of your arm that had visibly intensified as he took a step forward, his shadow overcasting you against the light of day.

"Mikey said I shouldn't talk to strangers." Came your reply from under your breath, the softest whisper Izana had ever heard. If you weren't already face to face with him, your gentle voice might have been mistaken for just the whistling of the breeze, the same one that seeped in through cracks in the window sills, bringing in the fresh, cold mountain air. Meek, was another word that he mentally added to his list.

"Can't speak to your own cousin?" One finger gently slipped under your chin was all he needed to lift your face to meet his, even though your gaze still seemed fixated on a imaginary speck on the floor. "Izana, of the Sano family."

And that was all it took to have your doe eyes flicker up to him, widening even as your cute little lips dropping into an o. You even stopped shaking in your boots for a moment, though that quickly resumed once you had processed the new information. So Mikey never told you about his family, it seemed. About him.

"I - " Your mouth continued to form words even though you never spoke any, your mind churning as hard as your stomach. What should you do?

It was one of the big no-nos - Mikey had outright forbid you from ever telling anyone else that you weren't actually related to him. Not that you would, of course, the consequences of being caught as a Muggle in Hogwarts of all places too great. But here you were, trapped between your self-proclaimed cousin and a hard place. You could feel the tears already starting to well up, your knuckles turning white around your books. What to do?

"I know." Thumb delicately tracing your bottom lip, the fear in your quaking eyes was a refreshing look for Izana. You didn't fear him - not in the way that the others did at least. Far from it, the only thing you were afraid was of him exposing you for what you were.

Shy, meek and innocent. Mikey really found the perfect little pet.

"Hands off, Izana." The blast of red from behind him that barely missed his head indicated that his time was up, the magic jingling his earrings before splashing harmlessly against the wall behind you.

The toss of your hair that caught and glimmered in the sun as you immediately fled his grip for the safety of Mikey's arms looked almost like a halo. A small smirk found its way onto Izana's usually blank face as he watched you bury your face into the younger Sano's robes, Mikey's dull black eyes meeting his gaze easily, wand loosely held in hand. A clear threat, one that he didn't feel like dealing with at the moment. There would be better opportunities for those, after all.

"Be seeing you around, Mikey." The swirl of his Durmstrang robes signalled the end of his little encounter like a silent bell, Izana leaving in the opposing direction, hands lightly locked behind his back.

You were too adorable for your own good, was his assessment, the Sano family magic still tingling in his blood as he rounded the corner and out of sight from you. Would you clutch desperately on to his robes like you did to Mikey's once he broke you? Would your shining eyes still hold that innocence that he saw glistening in its depths?

The tanned boy could only wonder to himself, as he broke out into the light of the blazing afternoon sun from the shadows of Hogwarts centuries-old corridors, what kind of look your quaking eyes would hold once he got his hands on you.

[hobidreams]

may 1861.

here, the world vanishes and you are unafraid to dream, to want.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: fluff! words: 1.2k contains: historical au, teenage!yoongi, literally just cute stuff

moonlit throne index. this is drabble ten. start from the beginning?

You knock three times, three short raps, then push open the door to the crown prince’s private library. Sunlight invades the room unabashedly through the intricate window design, bathing the entire space in the warmth of a spring pleasantly acquiescing to summer. You inhale the scent of the aged wooden bookshelves and the worn paper they house. You feel yourself finally relax, having worked all the morning away.

At first, with the silence, you think you’re alone. You try to brush off the disappointment as you wander among the shelving, trying to decide what you will study today. You’ve just pulled a collection of herb properties off the rack when there’s a rustling, a crisp page turned with a careful hand.

“You’re back again?”

The drawl is only reserved for especially lazy times and it seems today is one of them as you peer through the newly-made book hole to find the prince lounging comfortably on the seat beneath the window. He shifts back when you make brief eye contact, drawing in the socked feet on the bench to make room.

“Yes, seja-jeonha. I’m back.”

It’s been three months since he gave you permission to access this normally off-limits space, as you mentioned needing more books to study with in conversation with Eunuch Kim. The first time you came had been profusely awkward: two bodies sitting stiffly across the room, too acutely aware of possibly being scrutinized by the other person to get anything done. But you tried again. And again. Soon, you were stealing away to the library whenever it was possible, if only for half an hour. It gradually became natural for you to share the widest seat, where the most sunshine reached (to ease the strain on your eyes, he reasoned). It didn’t take long after that before you were both ditching your rigid shoes, facing each other while he brought his knees up and you crossed your ankles, taking care that your chima skirt covered anything inappropriate.

Why he still insists on acting as if he’s surprised that you’re here, you don’t know. But you’re happy to play along if it means these afternoons keep going.

“Table,” he says, not even looking up from his book.

“Pardon?”

“Table.”

Okay… Still holding the text you picked up earlier, you shuffle to the desk on the other side of the room and gasp.

“Oh, this is— No…!” You abandon the herbs tome. You struggle to keep your fingers delicate through the excitement as you reach for the new book next to it, one you’ve been wanting to read for so long but could never find for its scarcity. You’d gushed about it to the prince just last week, about how it combines folk stories and myths with factual information of flower species from all across the country. “Seja-jeonha! Did you find this? How did you manage such a thing!”

“No, I didn’t. It arrived with the other books yesterday by chance.”

You don’t quite believe him as you clutch the book close to your chest in glee, practically dancing on your way to the bench. “Thank you,” you say, taking a seat on the spot you’ve started considering yours.

“It was not me,” he insists.

“Thank you so much.” You wiggle slightly, settling in with a wide smile as you watch him refocus on his reading harder, even though you both know he hasn’t turned the page in quite a few minutes.

Even as you peel open the cover of the precious text though, there’s something that captures your attention a bit more. It’s the way the sun has shifted, rays falling differently onto Yoongi’s face to kiss the pale skin beneath his sleepy eyes before scattering out across his cheeks. How the light dapples across the nose that occasionally scrunches in irritation at the countless dust particles floating around, haloing him in a golden glow that you wish you could capture in your memory for safekeeping (and later revisiting, when you inevitably feel the twinge of yearning).

Seeing this view... you think. You want. You wish for this moment to go on for a lifetime. Such desires have never been so startlingly intense and the thought alone is a terrifying one as soon as it slips into your mind but the feeling, the feeling settles in your heart like it has always been there, steadily beating away just beneath your skin.

Yoongi looks up and you snap your head away to the side so hard your neck cracks.

Your face heats with the embarrassment at being caught and you insist on pretending you were looking out the window at the garden, the multicolors bursting into vivacity. You hadn’t noticed the violet flowers coming in but now they seem to be on their way to full blossom, and the sight tugs a smile to your lips. The lotus too, beginning their cycle to beautify the pavilion even more. You’ll ask mother to take you on a walk through the garden soon, under guise of plant care.

“Books are for reading, you know.”

“Huh? Oh. I’m sorry.” It’s an automatic apology, but you know he doesn’t mean it by the gentle half-smile, half-scowl on his face. “It’s just that the pavilion is my favorite. I can’t help admiring it.”

“Why? It’s practically falling apart.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful.”

He hums a noncommittal noise.

You let the subject drop, finally turning to your reading. It’s usually how these days go. Part of you has always wondered if he remembers these brief, but precious words you exchange before the silence takes over; the weighted book sitting in your lap seems to be all the proof you need. So, you sit back. Enjoy this brief respite from reality with dreams quietly blooming in your chest.

“What are you thinking so hard about? You’ll get wrinkles that way.” Later that night, facing you beneath her blankets, mother shakes a hand free to tap you on the forehead.

“Nothing much…” But you can’t stop the sliver of giddiness that runs through you when you think of today and that wonderful book. “I just… I think that I might like someone a lot.” The other L-word feels too big, too heavy to be used right now, even if it’s the right one.

“Oh?” To your great relief, mother knows better than to ask the identity of this mystery person. Just smiles with a fondness that makes you feel even more fuzzy inside. “Are you going to tell them?”

“I don’t think so. But that’s fine. It wouldn’t make a difference either way.” From the very beginning, you’ve known that the distance between you is too vast to ever be breached. To not fall would have been the most painless, but in hindsight, impossible. If concealing the truth will allow you to be close to him, then maybe that will be enough for someone like you.

Mother rolls onto her back. “It’s your choice.” She shuts her eyes. Just as you think she’s drifted off, she says, “just remember that you are always deserving of love. No matter what.”

You think about those words for a long time until you finally fall asleep.

a/n: we’ve made it to drabble 10! phew. & there is so much more to come. if you’re enjoying the series, i’d love to hear your thoughts on it so far ♡♡ your support keeps me going!

[antique-romantic]

here are some more to choose from~

18 for geto & haibara 62 for dazai & anyone 64 for gojo & nanamin

oh i did all three haha All below the cut for ~spoilers~

Prompt list

cw: suicidal ideation on the second drabble

#18: “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Suguru Geto prided himself on his ability to not sleep through things- ever since the first time he'd seen a curse crawl out of his closet, he had trained his body to be vigilant even while he slept, and his reaction time to sound was even the envy of Satoru Gojo. So when he heard the sound of footsteps just outside his door, he was alert, grabbing a nearby book as a temporary weapon. If it were just Satoru playing a dumb prank, the book wouldn't hurt anyway, and if the threat were real, well, he had his curses to back him up.

There was a hesitant knock on the door, and Suguru lowered the book slightly, running a hand through his messy hair. No prank, but it could still be Satoru, in which case he was going to catch hell for waking him up. He opened the door to see Yu Haibara standing, ever-present smile falsely painted across his face.

"Haibara," he said softly, setting the book down on his desk. "Thought it might be Satoru," he added as Haibara looked with curiosity towards the tome. "It's late. Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Nanami isn't back yet," Haibara said, not hesitating to get into the issue. Unlike himself and Satoru and the mentioned blonde, Haibara had no issue with laying emotions bare, though it was usually excitement. "This was his first solo mission, and they said he'd be back by eight, but it's…" he looked at the digital alarm clock by Suguru's bed, "one now. What if something bad happened?" Suguru felt his earlier irritation at being awoken fade with sympathy for his usually optimistic junior.

"Come on in," he said, swinging the door open fully. "I'll sit with you until he gets back."

--

#62: “Do you have a ride home?”

Dazai perched on the edge of the bridge, dangling his feet over the drop, rain soaking into the already-bloodstained bandages wrapped around his arms and face. A thin line of snot ran down as his face as he sniffled, wiping his face with the sleeve of his too-big coat.

The glare of headlights approached from the side, and he ignored them until they stopped, casting their rain-dispersed light over his objectively pathetic form. Whoever the Port Mafia sent, he was intent on ignoring them, maybe even jumping into the cold water below to show them a thing or two.

"Do you have a ride home?" Dazai looked up, finally cracking a small smile as Oda stood by the idling vehicle. "Because I sure hope you weren't planning on letting the current take you back to the headquarters." The teen lifted himself up, the allure of the water suddenly less appealing than the warmth that no doubt was present in Oda's car.

"I suppose, if you're offering," he said, trying to pass his thanks off as aloofness. "I'll take a ride."

"Good, because I don't particularly care for standing out in the rain contemplating things," he said, patting Dazai on the uninjured shoulder comfortingly before they both slid into the car, leaving the downpour behind.

--

#64: “What happened back there?”

"What happened back there?" Satoru teased, leaning the full weight of his body onto Nanami's shoulder, ignoring how his junior tensed under the contact and tried to extract himself from the situation without wrinkling his suit or letting Gojo know it was intentional. "She was cute."

"She was asking for directions," Nanami said, keeping his gaze direct, ignoring how the blindfolded sorcerer continued to invade his personal space, a conversation they'd had at least a hundred times and would have to be had once more it seemed. "Since it seemed like she didn't speak much Japanese, and I know a decent bit of English, I figured it would be polite of me to help her."

"Was she a tourist? Transplant? Did you get her number? Do you want me to go give her your number?" Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply.

"I want you to do no such thing."

"Aw come on, Nanami, when was your last date, even?" Nanami adjusted his tie, preparing for yet another annoying conversation about his personal life. He supposed they would need to have another one later about how it was none of his business, but for now, there was no getting rid of him, as they had a mission to accomplish, so he simply wanted to end it as quickly as possible.

"Last Friday. I went to a lovely cafe and we had coffee and cake." Gojo laughed, that kind of full-body laugh he had whenever he found something incredibly entertaining, and Nanami scowled.

"Oh my god, that's bullshit!" he said between catching breaths. "You were with Ino! He was interviewing you! That's not a date!" Nanami flushed, tugging his suitjacket at the bottom edge as Gojo flung an arm around his shoulder.

"It could have been," Nanami argued.

"Yeah, but it wasn't! That's my point, Nanami. Handsome guy like you should be booked solid for months!" He pulled Nanami closer, poking a long finger into Nanami's cheek. "So let me take you out."

"I'd rather not."

"Aw come on! I really know how to turn on the romance. Plus, I'm loaded." Nanami stared at Gojo, frowning.

"This is wildly inappropriate."

"Aw come on, I'm not asking you for sex- just a little date! Between friends."

"And you're paying?" Even though Gojo's eyes were covered, Nanami could swear he saw a glitter in them as Nanami sighed and relented.

"Of course! I'm a gentleman, after all."

"You're anything but," he said with a small smile as Gojo began listing off expensive restaurants and potential nights, their pace matched as they walked along the street.

[thelostbarovianroyals]

You are a Dusk Elf.

Drabble for my Curse of Strahd campaign. Featuring Scout Crelmer.

You are a Dusk Elf. Even while the members of the Order sat together in the crowded dining room of the Blue Water Inn, the words from Zarovich’s chamberlain still rang in her ears. How in Sehanine’s name had some bastard dug himself under her skin in such a short conversation? Not even one that amounted to much more than her own wriggling indignance bursting off her tongue. You are a Dusk Elf. What did that utter tzarafar know of her? Or of them? Nothing. They were Foundlings of the Crelmer Clan. Wood Elves among the fierce Dragonborn. It would have been impossible for them to have come from Barovia. Not if it took such efforts to get in and now would take a fucking miracle to get out... Another puzzle for you to crack, Zin-carla. 

The soft, bemused smile that might have seemed permanently fixed on her lips was absent. Her companions were drowning their own troubles quite well with what Urwin had to offer them. She - She had barely touched the first pour given to her. Something about it must have pulled her brother’s attention off the lovely Ireena. Dorinn leaned over to whisper how she looked as if she had swallowed a damn frog. The somewhat sour expression she wore, staring into the depths of her cup as if the taste of the wine had been the thing to offend her. He barely believed her when she tried to wave him off - merely tired. The drink was fine. More than fine. Really. She was fine. “Leave me alone, Malai. Go dote on Ireena before I think of stealing her away.” “Ha. Not this time, Riika!” That got her to at least chuckle, pushing her brother away with one hand towards the dark-haired human woman. Dorinn made a rather rude gesture in response before taking up the impressive basket the Innkeeper prepared. He looked so… happy. Despite the whole Barovia of their situation. It was a good thing. A great thing if they were able to all leave this cursed place - which seemed to only be possible with the Death of von Zarovich. The exact thing to pull her focus away from dwelling too long on delusions from an old Elf. Assumedly old Elf… Not that it was so easy to tell at times even within their own people. His face flashed in her mind. He was handsome. Nearly as grief stricken as it was awed while he looked at her. Why- Why did that make her squirm so much? She should not be so struck by - by anyone under the thumb of von Zarovich. She was not struck! Just made somewhat uneasy. Her fingers dug into the bartop before she snagged her bag into her lap. Both the Cockroach’s pathetic scribblings and the Sehanine Moonbow tome were unceremoniously dropped in front of herself. Kseniya let herself get lost in trying to find something that would be useful among the self-aggrandizing bile, but whatever use they had for it had been wrung out of the pages. Save for what looked like spells. Not of much use to her. Perhaps Ulstra might be interested– The Brat - Ah, no - Victor Vallakovich appeared from what seemed like nowhere, interrupting her thoughts with a drunken ramble. Scout peered around to see that the rest of the party had scattered to the corners of Vallaki, leaving just the two of them. Poor kid. Hadn’t Trevor promised to look after Victor so they could have a few drinks together? Whatever. She was not going to spend her afternoon, chasing down the rest. He seemed to be explaining why he wanted to sit with her. It was fine. Really. She could do with the company. In fact, he could look over the von Zarovich writings for those spells she was sure that she had seen in the pages. The book of Sehanine was calling for her attention. 

Where in the world had Frankenstein found such a shabby little book? Not like writings from that particular Order were rare in any way, but there was something different about the book. It was not bound by a press or machine as many were in Faerun nowadays in the larger cities. She could tell it was handmade from the stitching along the spine. The sigil was finely worked too with rather clear reverence. Charred leather warped the book as a whole but otherwise, completely intact. Whoever had tried to burn it, failed rather miserably… Probably meant that the content was worth the saving. Perhaps he had snagged it on a venture out to Candlekeep. Though it meant he would have a way to spirit books out of the Scholars’ archives. Something to ask him about once they were back in the Silverguard Manor - if he managed to stay alive that long. Scout took a sip from her cup as she cracked open the cover - almost hesitant to look at it right off. There was a funny sort of flip in her chest when the writing was not in Elvish as she first expected. Common. Well, Barovian Common but she could read it. The writer was using it as if practicing it for the first few entries then using the language in earnest. A few more entries later, it became rather apparent that she was a young Priestess of Sehanine. . . here in Barovia. At least - that is how it came across in her writings. Her struggles during her training. Speaking with the Goddess in either her Trances or through something else. Directly? Doing the impossible seemed to make the writer ecstatic. The writing clearly was not as neat. There was also a strange comfort in noting how infrequent Zarovich was mentioned. Never directly in name but a few leading sentences were not hard to understand. Whatever he called himself at the time had little impact upon their daily lives. Nearly as if he was not there at all. Good to know not everyone’s life in Barovia had been so oppressed under his claws. Kseniya flipped back through the pages. Crease forming in her brow as she read through the entries again. How she writes about her people and their home felt familiar somehow. The voice was almost whispering in her ear. Warm, if somewhat sad, and comforting. Something clutched hard at her chest as she resumed to the later pages. The Priestess started to mention a man by the name of Kasimir who was the leader of- of the Dusk Elves. That piercing sensation only seemed to deepen in Kseniya’s heart. The woman described her feelings for him. Giddy even. Lines were spent detailing how their relationship blossomed into a marriage of such deep friendship. Happiness once again seemed to creep its way into Barovia for a time. The entries were longer apart as she spent time with her Husband, helping him look after their people. There was some manner of trouble with Kasimir’s sister. She thought herself in love with Strahd. Priestess seemed to think she was merely in love with his power. Worry hung in the words. Tension was beginning to bubble over and then the entries became scattered. She was scared. Easy enough to see that in the quick scribbles or nearly unintelligible drawings. Prayers to Sehanine for her husband as he had been far too rash in his grief. Something was coming for them now. There was no stopping it. A few shaken prayers for herself to find strength to tell Kas that she was - she was pregnant. Terrified of what might be brought down on their heads. Terrified of her husband.The last was only a set of what seemed to be equations. Or a diagram of something… with a name scrawled towards the back. Scout couldn’t tell what it all said. She could not really see much of anything anymore. Not from the heat that filled her face or from the tears welling in her eyes that threatened to drop. The Priestess was their Mother. That was her name in ink. Anya Velikovna. Not of Nowhere. Of Barovia. Of the Dusk Elves. Her heart felt as if it stopped beating. Rahadin had not lied to her at all. She had not imagined that pained look on his expression as they spoke. There was no deception. The Crelmers were Dusk Elves. Scout could do nothing more than stare at that last blank page. Unable to think beyond it. Barely breathing as her mind screamed wildly. Not until Victor broke her trance - took her back to his home so she might be away from the noise of the Inn. She had hardly noticed it. Really. It was fine. Fine. Though once she was sitting alone in the attic with a cup of tea and a blanket around herself, it felt less fine. Far - far less fine. She wanted Dorinn. Idiot was probably wooing Ireena rather thoroughly somewhere in the woods… Which was good for him. Less so for herself. Kseniya just wanted to hold his hand while the world stopped shifting so drastically or her chest stopped aching. Lucky bastard was having a fantastic afternoon. Ignorant of the fact that their Elven Mother, Anya, was a Dusk Elf priestess in Barovia who escaped - escaped what exactly? Zarovich’s wrath if she could recall anything that had been said to them about the Elves on the edge of the lake. Other than the all too obvious similarities. Her hands tugged the musty smelling blanket tighter to herself, leaning hard against the wall. At least that felt solid enough to ground her back to Toril… If that was even where they were anymore. Rahadin was right…                                 You are a Dusk Elf.                                                               He was right. The bastard had seemingly waited for her to find him out in the town square. He spoke with such a weight she could not be sure that he wasn’t about to fall on to his knees. It unsettled her so deeply then and now - it only made her head hurt worse. Why in the fuck would he have helped her in any way at all? Other than that guilt which seemed to pull him into the ground. The honesty he had given with no expectation between them was unnerving... As were Rahadin’s eyes. Clever, sad things that nearly reminded her of a Wolf staring back– She was not thinking about that. Attractive as he might have been, it would not make her forget whose sigil he carried. It irked her all over again but not as drastically as she had felt in the town square. Ready to act or grab him if she was less aware of that Gods awful sound that seemed to hang on him like an aura. Perhaps that is why she had let her words fly with visceral hurt. Just like Cirith used to do when anyone looked at her Hatchlings sideways. Such a wild instinct to protect herself from the truth. One that felt glaring now. No Wood Elf had ever looked like them. Jarlaxle would joke that they were his Bastards if anyone cared to ask about the golden eyed siblings. Half-Drow and Half-Wood Elf. Why would anyone question it in the North? Certainly not any soul in Luskan. Folks never questioned too much there if they knew what was healthy for them. That led her into thinking about the rest of his words. Rahadin. His warning. She should stay away from the Dusk Elf encampment near the Lake. It would be where she no doubt would find Kasimir. The man who helped to sire them and possibly doom their Mother. There was no urge to seek him out. She had enough of Fathers before they had traveled the Mists. Druuchas had been the best sort and Jarlaxle, the worst. It only left the chance to be a disappointment which, given what advice Rahadin had entreated her with - seemed the most likely occurrence. Numbness settled in as she fell into something of a daze. Scout knew she could not stay here, hiding from the mists that consumed Barovia... but for the quiet evening that lay before her - she would.