#;fables {drabbles}

[multi-fandom-imagine]

🏕️ camping || Bigby Wolf ||

A/n: My love for Bigby has returned, so I had to write some dad!Bigby things

Bigby didn't do camping, he spent enough of his life time in the woods so why the fuck would he do it willingly.

But then you asked which in turn got the pups excited and he couldn't say no to them which in turn lead to him driving his shitty ass truck to some shitty ass camp ground in upstate New York.

Rolling his neck, he parked the truck as he barely had a chance to tell the kids to stay safe.

"Hey! Don't go far." Bigby shouted as all seven of them rushed out of truck as then ran off to the lake to play in. Shaking his head he turned to find you sleeping. Letting his fingers caress your cheek his gaze softened. He was so lucky to have you, his best friend, the one he loved. "Red, we're here."

Blinking sleep from your eyes, you let out a yawn then turned to smile at him. "Thank you for doing this." Leaning forward you pressed your lips into his for a gentle kiss.

Humming, Bigby gave you a smile shaking his head as he placed one last kiss to the top of your head.

"You don't need to thank me, I can't say no to you let alone the kids."

Stepping out of the truck you raised your arms above your head. "Well I'll go check on them, do you need help setting up?"

"I'm good, go have fun with the kids."

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Bigby glanced at the two tents. A smaller one for the kids than a much larger one a few feet away. He knew it was pointless though since he expected them to come to you half way in the night.

It was the choir of 'daddys' and 'dada' that snapped him out of his thoughts. Each of them jumping on his leg trying to knock him down.

"Come swim with us daddy!" One of them asked, she was already climbing up half way through his pant legs.

Grabbing her by the scruff he then set her down rubbing the bridge of his nose. "What did I say about shifting in public places."

Bigby looked over his children, half of them in their tiny wolf forms as the others stayed as normal humans.

"Don't." They chimed.

"So why-."

"Mommy said we could."

Letting out a grunt he then dropped his shoulders nodding his head. While it might be safe for them, he knew he had no chance to due to his size. "Come on let's go swimming...but do not leave my side."

"Yay!!!"

Catching his breath, Bigby sat next to you in one of the chairs as the kids continued to play and splash around in the lake. "How do they have so much energy?"

Snorting, you closed the book you were reading as your head then rested on his chest. "They are children Bigby."

Letting his arm wrap around your waist he then closed his eyes. "Not to mention they are part wolf."

Smiling you closed your eyes enjoying the sound of your husband's heart beat, of your children's laughter as you fell asleep.

You weren't quite sure how long you slept but it was night time, the sun long set as the kids were gathered around the campfire listing intensely to whatever story there was telling them.

"I see sleeping beauty is finally awake."

Shaking your head, you pulled your chair giving Bigby a look as one of the kids crawled into your lap.

"Please, don't stop on my account."

Giving you a grin, Bigby retuned to his story. Your gaze fixated on him.

While some of the people in fable town may still not trust Bigby, a few may still hate him. He had you and his children. The ones that mattered most.

He might be known as the Big Bad Wolf but to you he was your loving husband, an amazing father.

And nothing will ever change that.

[meg-noel-art]

Only ever Koko and Kyoshi brainrot ;;;--;;; Accompanying drabble by @foibles-fables linked above! <3

[orchid-and-bone]

Could I have a John x fem reader where the reader reacts to John winning (but still beat tf up) in a bar fight?

Thanks bestie <3

Eyyy of COURSE you can bestie?! I have been practicing writing John, and I may not be the best, but I think I'm confident in my abilities. I think. But here, have a fun, flirty little brawl with your man~

"Trouble" ||

John Marston x f!Reader

Length: 2.1k

Rating: Mature: Mentions of blood, fighting, language

How John ended up in this situation was honestly beyond him, it was just an innocent outing with you and him running some errands for the ranch, and yet he was getting fist after fist pounded into his face. 

After a long day of working, you could tell he was going stir-crazy. His old life was all about freedom and running around, doing things to bring in money or just getting to do as he pleased, but now? He was on a ranch, pretending to be someone he wasn’t to get by, and his trigger finger was beginning to itch. But to make you happy, to keep your heads low, and to survive, John had to behave and live as his persona for the time being. 

“So, Jim,” you said with a smirk, “maybe we should stop at a saloon since it’s getting dark, we could eat a decent meal, maybe stay in a hotel for the night. I’m tired,” you sighed and leaned your head against the man’s shoulder. 

John matched your sigh and flicked the reigns on the horses as he pulled them to the right, heading into Valentine's territory, which he hadn’t expected to be back here so soon. “I mean, it is a long way back, we could use the rest. And I am starvin’, could use something that isn’t a stew for once.” 

You both pulled the wagon off and made sure the horses were comfortable, hitched to a nearby post, and then John helped you down to the ground and smiled wide with his arm wrapped around your waist. “Well, let’s get inside, maybe we can get a bath before bed, too,” he said softly with a smirk. He pulled you along and walked beside you, looking around the town that felt so different from when he was last here. 

As you both entered the saloon, you definitely could tell that the environment was more lively, but you both tried to keep your wits about you as you ordered some food and sat in the corner, away from the rowdy group of people. The food was delicious and the conversation you shared was pleasant, as usual, but John couldn't shake the feeling that eyes kept falling on you both. He'd look away from you as he stopped mid-sentence to see one of the men staring at the both of you, but he tried to pay no mind, you were taking his attention. 

The food was finished and you both were feeling content, the party of people in the saloon only grew larger in number and louder in volume, so you both figured it was time to head out to the hotel for the evening. John allowed you to walk out first so he could follow behind you, but you had barely gotten several steps toward the door when one of the men stepped in front of your path, blocking you from the exit.

“Hey there now, y'all ain't plannin’ on comin’ over to celebrate with us?” 

“Sorry, friend, but we have other plans to attend to,” John answered firmly. 

The man just scoffed, the reek of booze was strong on his breath, it was a wonder he was still standing. “Aww c'mon, my friend over there is gettin’ married, you could have one drink to congratulate him!”

“Sorry sir, but we don't even know you,” you said sharply, stepping back from him, and bumping into John. You felt a bit more at ease since he was here.

“And? You ain't heard of makin’ friends?” The man chuckled and grabbed your arm, pulling you along toward the table. He then decided to yank your arm and attempt to pull you over toward the table, but John stepped up and grabbed his wrist hard. 

“We ain't interested, sir. My woman and I are heading out for the evenin’, so maybe next time you should use your brain and not touch a lady when she says no.” 

John pushed the man away so you both had room to leave, but some of the drunk’s friends decided to get involved. 

John stepped up protectively, his spine stiffened as his hand hovered over the knife that was holstered, hidden beneath his jacket. “Sir, you got till the count of three to back off and leave us alone,” he warned. 

There had been a taller man who stood up from the table and interjected, pushing his friend gently off to the side. “Are you threatenin’ us?” He snapped. 

“I ‘spose I am,” John retorted, holding his ground as he pushed you further behind him to shield you. 

Another of the man's friends stepped up and tried to land a surprise swing on John, but he pushed you out of the way and took the hook to his shoulder. After that, John was brawling with several of the men who ganged up on you both. The one in the red shirt had tried to grab John to put him in a headlock so his friends could take their turns wailing on him, but your John was fast. He elbowed Red and kicked his leg in, causing the man to fall flat on his face.

That was one down—three more to go.

“I ain’t been in a bar fight in a long time,” John commented as he had both arms up, ready to block any attacks if needed, “but I’d rather continue my night with my lady if you gentlemen don’t mind.”

The three other men all ignored him and each one tried to punch him at different intervals to throw him off, but somehow, John managed to throw one man into the other and watched as the two tumbled straight into a table. The others who occupied the saloon were standing back and vacating the building. The bartender just sighed and walked off, not wanting to be part of yet another brawl. That left you, standing on the stairs away from the tussle. 

The gunslinger looked back and you, making sure you were out of harm's way, then he got back to it. The two men who collided with the table were too drunk to stand, and all they did was stumble over one another. There was one left standing, and he was a little larger than the others. 

“Look, I can just leave, no reason you gotta get involved,” John said nonchalantly, his stance easing up a little.

The man just glared down at him and he scoffed at the offer. “You ruined my engagement celebration, mister, I don’t take so kind to that.”

John just sighed and lifted his hands again, balling them into fists. “Alright then, have it your way,” he replied.

The man took a fast step forward and swung his fist straight at John’s jaw, and if it weren’t for the speed, maybe John would have dodged it, instead, he got nicked against his chin, which still caught him enough to cause some pain. That was all the distraction the man needed to step in and lunge at John, his larger body barreled into him and tackled him to the floor.

You let out a yelp, terrified that the man was going to have a one-up on John, and all you could do was watch in fear as your hands gripped the railing in fear. 

The gunslinger was pinned onto the floor as the man above him threw punch after punch, landing a blow on his cheek, and almost breaking his nose at one point. John held up his arms to block and tried his best to use the strength from his legs to somehow get him to slip off, and he managed to throw the man off of him for a split second. He scrambled to find some balance, then rolled off to the side as the man recovered. 

“Give up yet?” John asked with a smirk on his face as he licked the blood from his split lip, the bruises on his face forming fast.

The man just yelled out in frustration and then John had him in a blind frenzy, which made any man messy in a fight. John ducked from the swing and swung his right arm quickly, the blow landed in the side of the man’s temple, stunning him momentarily. Then it was over, John was finally standing over him and landing punch after punch in the man’s face until he fell unconscious. The gunslinger released the man’s collar, allowing his body to fall slack onto the wooden floor. 

He looked up at you, panting to catch his breath as he straightened his posture. The people who occupied the saloon had all either hidden somewhere or run off, and there were just the two of you left with the pile of unconscious men scattered about on the floor. You waited a moment before hesitantly walking down the stairs to run into his arms, thankful he was alright despite being a little black and blue. 

“As always you’re my hero,” you chuckled and reached up to touch his face, wiping away a smear of blood from his lip. 

“And as always, we’re both gettin’ into trouble,” he replied gruffly.

You just scoffed. “We?” 

“Well yeah, you’re my accomplice, partner in crime, ain’t you?” He asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus you’re the one always gettin’ the attention,” John teased as he slipped his arm through yours. He pulled you along and threw a couple of bills onto the countertop, then escorted you outside and across the muddly way, leading you straight to the hotel. 

You both walked inside, the environment a complete flip from the saloon, and you were more at ease now, and even more thankful when you saw the list of services. The gentleman behind the counter stopped sweeping the floor and greeted you both with a kind smile.

“Howdy, how can I help y’all this evenin’?” He looked between the both of you with concern but didn’t voice them. 

Your eyes looked over at John with a smile and then back at the desk man. “One bath and one room, please.”

The man smiled and got everything situated for you both, you thanked him and paid, then pulled John up the stairs to the bath. He followed obediently and cracked his neck as he ascended the stairs with you, groaning.

“Sleepin’ is gonna be a bitch, I just know it,” he complained.

“Well if you behaved for five minutes you wouldn’t have to worry about it, would you?” You scolded playfully as you looked over your shoulder at him. “He got some good hits in, but not gonna lie, Mister Marston, you looked really good kickin’ his ass.” You flashed him a cheeky smile and continued to lead him to the bath. “You go get cleaned up, I’ll get the room ready.” 

You almost walked away, leaving him in front of the bath door, but his hand grabbed your wrist, and then he pulled you back toward him, falling into him as his arms wrapped around you. “Yeah? You think I looked good, huh?” He asked flirtatiously, pulling you close so his face was mere inches from yours. “Then why do you think you can just leave me here alone?” “John Marston, are you implyin’ I’m gonna join you in your bath?” You gasped, faux shock crossed your features. 

All he could do was smile, the raised edges of the scars across his face made his face look extra handsome, and the dim lighting in the hall only made you admire his face even more. “Nah, I’m declarin’ that you are, unless you don’t wanna?” His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you into the most tender kiss he could manage. 

When he pulled away, your eyes fluttered open and you just stared up at him with a lovestruck smile. “Well, when you put it that way…”

That was all the confirmation he needed, so he opened the door to the readied hot bath, pulling you in after him, and you couldn’t help but giggle as he closed the door behind you both. You sighed as he leaned your hands against his chest, just smiling up at him with that look.

“I know that look, what is it?” 

“Nothin’, you’re just trouble, John Marston,” you said softly, your hand cupped his cheek again, mindful of how gentle you had to be. “But I wouldn’t change it for the world, you know that, right?”

The man looked down at you and pulled you into another kiss, pulling away a moment later with that charming smile you were unable to resist, his hand reached up to brush your hair away from your face so he could see the light in those pretty eyes of yours. Just a minor setback to your shared evening, but John always had ways to make it up to you. 

[lineffability]

Kiss Roulette: 25. A kiss that's an accident <3

—but you poor dear, how much work you burden yourself with from a sense of guilt; I see you bent over your work, your neck bared, I'm standing behind you, but you don't know it—please don't be frightened if you feel my lips on the back of your neck, I didn't mean to kiss it, it's only love which can't be helped . . .

Franz Kafka · July 31, 1920, Letters to Milena (1952)

-;-;-;-

"It- it was an accident?"

"An accident? Crowley, dear, you-" Aziraphale wrung his hands, his face as red as Crowley's hair - as Crowley's face, too. They stood awkwardly, like startled deer, Crowley leaning backwards, Aziraphale tall as a statue risen from his desk chair. "You kissed me."

"Only on the neck," Crowley protested weakly, regretting the words immediately: they were an admission. Because of course Aziraphale was right - he had kissed him.

The thing was, both of them had only realized this after the kiss had been placed and left there, forlornly, while Crowley had drawn back in shock and bared his guilty, rogue lips.

Slowly, Crowley had blinked. Slowly, Aziraphale had turned his head.

Frantically, they had jolted into action - and frozen in it.

He had kissed him.

On that soft neck, the nape of it, where cloudy tufts of hair gave way to soft skin, and a little scrub, too, harder hair which had pressed against his lips, which had touched the angel ever so reverently.

Why had he done that?

Aziraphale had been deep in thought, concentrated on his work, but that was not it: he had looked guilty, repentant, with his head bowed so low and his tea not even touched, even though Crowley had taken care to keep it warm for him.

Aziraphale had not apologized for leaving. Crowley had not apologized for staying behind.

But here they were now, back together, feeling both wrong and so very right, and it was different.

Aziraphale showed his repentance even if he didn't voice it, choosing instead to throw himself into the task of averting the Second Coming. Crowley showed his regret even if he didn't voice it, staying close wordlessly, never leaving his side, ready to protect them both if need be.

But that's not the thing that was different - they'd drawn apart and then close again more times than humans could count, ever so hopeful about their inevitable togetherness. Even if this time had hurt more than ever before.

It had hurt more than ever before because it was different, afterwards.

Feelings had been voiced - lips touched - bodies shaken.

And then they had been thrown back together, and it had happened again. Just once more. Lips touched. The bodies shook differently, the second time, a soft trembling that gave way to tears no longer held back. Softer, gentler. They hadn't voiced any feelings that time, but they had kissed them.

And then they were back together: a team.

But they still hadn't spoken about it. Not the first kiss, not the second.

And now the third? Did it count? Crowley wanted to evaporate into a drain.

He'd just wanted to alleviate the pain, to take a little weight off the heavy, heavenly head. Aziraphale's skin tasted of ambrosia. Still of Heaven, not of him. Still an Archangel.

Never all his.

But Aziraphale smiled. There, before him, after he had thoughtlessly kissed his neck, Aziraphale was smiling at him through his embarrassment, and his wringing hands stilled as he took a step and placed them on Crowley's arms. His gaze was open, almost curious.

"Why did you do that?"

Crowley squirmed. "Don't- c'mon, do I have to- why?" He took a breath. "You know why."

"I do?"

"You do."

Aziraphale nodded slowly, once, a small smile still on his lips. He didn't press on. Instead, he moved his hands along Crowley's arms, upwards. They came to a rest on the nape of his neck.

"Will you do it again? In... in the future?"

"In the future?" Crowley's voice came out a little thin. Future sounds good. The future of the world we will save. Our future.

Aziraphale assented. "On the neck."

"Y- y..."

"Like this." Carefully, Aziraphale leaned forward, into him, and ghosted his lips across the nape of Crowley's neck. He heard him inhale.

Their lips hadn't even touched, this time, but Crowley trembled. Shook. Needed to voice it.

"I will. I will do it again."

"Good."

Aziraphale pulled back. He exhaled, shakily.

"I kissed you," Crowley admitted at last, if a little unnecessarily, and lifted his shoulders helplessly. "I didn't mean to, but it... it can't be helped. It's only..."

"Love?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that."

They kissed again, then: lips on lips, gently, contently, as if the world wasn't ending. Briefly, Crowley wondered if it counted as their third or fourth kiss, but decided it didn't really matter. He was feeling optimistic: he hoped he would lose count soon enough.

[mouse-drawings]

A false citizen OC! Their ref and another of my contributions to the BF OC collab.

A little horror-esque drabble under the cut!

You stumble your away through the Forsaken Lands alone and lost. The fog is dense and you can barely see one step ahead of you. You know there are monsters around you. One mimic spider has already gotten you. Your still bleeding wound is testament to that. It is also your timer.

Drop. Drop. Drips your life away. How long until you find help? How many times have you passed this giant shiny disk? Drop. Drop. Your time is running out.

Then. You hear it.

In the distance, through the fog, a horrified chorus asks, "Who's there?!"

You freeze.

There is a shadow in the fog. It doesn't look like a mimic. It doesn't look like anything you've had to run away from here. It doesn't look like anything you've seen at all.

"Stop!" The figure yells in a million voices. Or has all the lost hemolymph finally gotten to you?

The figure floats closer and you are too tired to run.

Its red head towers over you. You see no feet, but hear the buzz of way too many wings. Its face has eyes. They are hollow. Glowing yellow dots move behind them and where its mouth should be. It is looking at you. It feels like a thousand eyes look at you.

"Heeeelphhf..." It... They say with all of their being.

Their cloak moves. More eyes look at you. They reach out with billions of claws towards you.

"Oh, Venus..." You pray, though you know no god can hear you.

Drop. Drop. No longer will your hemolymph spill.

The Cryfly floats back to its home.

"VeeeEeeEeennnuuss.... Vennnuuus.... Venuss..." Its many voices repeat.

[villainsally]

Characters getting to see their younger selves is my favorite trope

[watercolorfreckles]

Of Oak and Sparrow

(Part 2 of The Girl Called Sparrow)

Sparrow returned to the fallen oak tree one final time.

To her, it was a skeleton. A creaking spine wrapped in an armor of bark that, in the end, wasn't strong enough to keep the true monsters at bay.

The sleeping hill was a graveyard beneath the weight of the tree that once crowned it.

Its branches reached toward the sky like bony fingers. The wind whispered through its foliage to pluck down the browning decay. Those same leaves crunched beneath the sole of her boot. She imagined her faerie's hair muting into an earthy brown to match it.

Sparrow traced the scars in the exposed wood. Each mark splitting the stump was an open wound. Its roots and its core were a bleeding heart, severed from the rest of its great height and graceful limbs.

In the tree rings, she saw his fingerprint. Her Kind Oak. The fae who'd held her heart in his hands and treated it with gentleness.

Her tears soaked into the wood's cracks and grooves, fingers tightening around the acorn that promised her a chance at a future.

The encroaching winter drained the life of the forest away. When Sparrow left her home, it felt as a hollow corpse.

She walked until her feet ached and her body swayed with exhaustion. She sank down against the cover of a mossy knoll, eyelids begging for rest. But it would be of poor manner not to acknowledge her hosts.

Sparrow picked three long strands of grass and weaved them into a ring, testing it on her own finger before sliding it off and tucking it into the knot of a tree.

She spoke aloud to any fae that might be near. Listening. Waiting. "I apologize for my intrusion. I am merely passing through, and am most grateful for your hospitality as I take a night's rest. I left you a gift in the hole of that tree. I hope you take no offense to my presence."

Shivering even beneath the thick wool of her cloak, she let her eyelids drop closed as the night swallowed her up.

Sparrow awoke to a pale sun and frost on her lashes. Her breath formed clouds in the morning chill. Scrubbing the sleep from her eyes, her hand slipped into her pocket, seeking the familiar comfort of her Oak's acorn.

Her heart lurched. She checked again. It wasn't there.

Straightening, she scrabbled through the crust of frost coating the ground around her, searching with a despair that made her dizzy. "No- Where--"

"Tell me, I am dreadfully curious, what is so valuable about this acorn?" spoke a voice like crushed velvet.

Sparrow jolted, swiveling around. Her breath caught.

Before her was a fae that glistened like a winter star. His eyes held the glint of cold steel. A knife's edge, harrowing and beautiful all at once. The gently falling snow avoided him in its path.

Pinched between his moon-pale fingers, was her acorn.

Sparrow's heart gave another awful tug.

She reached for it before she could stop herself. The acorn disappeared into the fae's fist as his lips lifted into a flash of pearly teeth. A little too sharp and a little too amused. Something about it reminded her of the maw of a hungry cat.

Sparrow swallowed. She dropped to her knees. "Forgive me. You startled me."

"Such a pretty gift," the faerie murmured. He lifted his other hand, the ring she'd offered up wrapped around his index finger. Surely he was mocking her. It looked terribly simple against the porcelain of his skin. "It is refreshing to meet a human who still knows the old ways. Are you going to answer my question or do I need to repeat myself?"

Sparrow's fingers twisted in her lap. Her blood ran cold. "I need that acorn to resurrect one who is dear to me."

The fae hummed, holding up the acorn again and glancing it over. "This is magik born of the fae wilds."

Her stare tracked his hand as if he were carelessly handling glass. "I have no knowledge of its origin. Only that the tree this acorn fell from was tethered to a fae who could not leave its shadow. The tree was cut down. I need to plant that acorn to give him renewed life."

The fae's smile was that of a predator toying with its prey because it found the creature's helplessness against it adorable. He crouched in front of her, nimbly balanced on the balls of his arched feet.

His head tilted. "Give me your name and I'll return your precious acorn to you."

"That, I cannot give you," Sparrow said softly. "My acorn is no use to me if I am too intoxicated by your sway to plant it."

"What difference does it make?" The fae's cadence was the crackling of a candle flame; the sparks that rain down from a shooting star. "Even if you plant the seed, years will pass before it grows tall enough to harbor your fae in its shadow; a great many years longer than if this were an ordinary acorn. Magik born of the faerie realm behaves as the fae wilds do. Time is of little consequence there. A moment is stretched for decades.

"Humans age in an instant. What will your dear one think of you when time creases your face and steals your youth? What will happen when you fall away to dust and your love is trapped alone in the confines of a shadow?"

It took the taste of metal in her mouth to realize she'd bitten down on her lip. Her insides swam.

Her mother's voice was clear in her head:

Do not make dealings with the fae.

Follow the rules of fae etiquette.

Do not owe anything to the fae. They will always collect.

But if he could magik a better way... If she could see her love again...

Sparrow forced the fear from her voice. Fae hated weakness, her mind screamed. "Will you make a deal with me?"

The faerie's wicked smile split further across his perfect face. "I was hoping you'd ask."

Look at meeee, i posted twice in a little over one week

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[patchwork-crow-writes]

71 - Off-Script

It's okay.... it's okay! I've been over this countless times before - read all the books, rehearsed all my lines... I'm good! I can do this! Just... step out into the big wide world, put on my biggest smile... it really is that simple! Literal child's play!!

So why... why am I struggling so much...?

Why don't they respond the way I was told they would? Why is it so... so hard to even look at them sometimes? A-and why is there this tightness in my chest, constricting my heart with every forced laugh and every unexpected turn?

The thing is, it... always works out. It never is as bad as I fear it will be. Sometimes it's even... fun? Yes, fun! Yet still the facade almost slips whenever she grabs me by the hand, or whenever they reach out to hug me, and I feel like I'm about to die because this wasn't in the script no-one told me this is what it'd be like-!!!

...but I can't ever - not ever, not even once! - let my performance slip. If... if they see me for what I really am, then it'll all be over, and I can't... I've g-got to be strong - I've got to be brave because I told them we're heroes, and heroes are brave and strong, aren't they? They don't let anything hurt them - especially not something as stupid and insignificant as this! I won't let them down... not for anything. Not even for myself.

Because the show must go on, no matter how far it goes off-script.

______________________________

The Dark Menagerie No. 71

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[timeturner-jay]

Drabble Requests: Open

Hey guys! I just wanted to give another head's up that my drabble requests are still open, for anyone who wants to send in a prompt or two (or five or more, go wild)! Just send me an ask with the name of a character and a one-word prompt, and I'll write a short drabble for them. (If you have multiple requests, please send one ask per prompt, for simplicity's sake!)

You can pick any character from the following fandoms:

Outer Wilds

Kirby

Hollow Knight

Bug Fables

Pokémon (games or manga)

Fire Emblem

Legend of Zelda/Linked Universe

Professor Layton

Critical Role

DC Comics (but mostly the Batfam, I know them best)

Doctor Who

The Moomins

Rise of the Guardians/Guardians of Childhood

Lord of the Rings

[shesadollette]

𓍊𓋼𓍊 Total chapters: 4

𖡼𖤣𖥧 Taglist: @raiha-storm65557, @linsyfelisyya

Ⱄⱄ. 𓆏 .ⱄⰔ

⊹ ࣪ ˖ II: The Curious Events ࣪ ˖

(➳ Chapter the First)

It then unfolded from there on. The peacock instructed her to tend to the ones who were going to knock on her gates that afternoon.

The time arrived when the gates were knocked by a few poor children begging for a penny or a grain of rice. For a moment, she thought of getting rid of them when she recalled the promise she had made with the pheasant.

At last with a heavy heart, she ordered her servants to cook simple yet satiating meals for their stomachs and also gave them several small bags of pennies that might suffice for the whole family.

‘They were just simple meals accompanied by several bags of pennies. It was nothing worth of importance,’ she reassured herself when she saw the tears of joy streaming down the children’s sooty cheeks; their innocent, wide grins; and their little voices as they thanked her over and over again.

An odd, warm, and fuzzy feeling suddenly began forming inside of her heart for the very first in a very long time. She dismissed it of course, calling it the euphoria of doing something quite opposing to her usual self.

By the evening, she strangely felt ridiculously hungry and shuffled to the pantry to grab something to fill her aching stomach. Upon entering the dining room, she was beyond aghast that her dining table was flooded with a grand banquet. Spices and other thick fragrances filled the room, silver plates and platters decorated the table with all of her favorite delicacies forming a pageantry. It had been a while since she had been cooked meals as such.

However, the kitchen was eerily silent as her servants were nowhere to be found; during dinner the heiress would always eat her fill and the leftovers would be given to her servants and only then they’d clean up the dishes. They’d always be away from the dining area around 6 o’clock to prepare for bed meaning that somebody or something must have cooked her all these unbeknownst to her and the servants. The peacock was nowhere to be found too, much less its trail of feathers. She found it incredibly strange and was undoubtedly dubious at first, but the rumbling of her stomach said otherwise and she began digging in.

Days passed and the peacock instructed her with yet another request: she was to donate and sell some of her belongings to the ones in need.

Of course she wanted to protest, she felt as if those belongings had been her lifelong property in the mansion; generations of family heirlooms being passed down from countless of wealthy figures before finally being inherited to her.

Yet again, she recalled the promise with the pheasant. She wanted pure happiness more than anything in the world. More than the temporary one those treasures brought her.

So she searched her vanity, her cupboard, and her chambers. Scattered piles of old boxes and chests being brought out and opened. High and low she and her servants searched every nook and cranny for old and unused jewelry, garments, and even considered selling her personal collection of perfumes and cosmetics that still have a potential value to be sold to the market or donated to others in need.

She then wrote to her distant relatives that she would be needing help in distributing some of the belongings to the local marketplace and charities: ‘The belongings I’ve given away ought to be enough to make a struggling family manage through. Nothing more, nothing less,’ she again reassured herself as she wrote word after word in the letters to her relatives.

Then came the day when she ordered some of her servants to send those letters, again that same feeling of euphoria overcame her and she dismissed it strongly and thoroughly.

In the evening, as she entered her chambers stretching and yawning widely about to lie down her eyes were blinded by the mountain of gold, jewelries, and other whatnots taking up half of the room.

She was stunned, however this time, she was certain there had been someone or something doing all of this for her. Before she could go through all of the possibilities, fatigue had conquered her mind and she flopped onto the bed and fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

The next morning, she immediately rushed to the garden after getting dressed and having breakfast, determined to confront her servants and unwillingly, her little pet bird about the strange events. As silly as it may sound, she hoped that it at least knew about who or whatever might have been the cause…

➳ Chapter the Third

[spid3r-trans]

i think i have an idea for my next fic

[rejectedfables]

once a cat asked his friends for yellow things, and his friends brought him a lemon, a squash, a flower, a coin, a sock, a bird, and a butterfly.

(The bird and butterfly escaped immediately)

the Cat put all the yellow things into a Box and Shook the box. He shook is REALLY HARD, and shook and shook and shook, and then dumped it onto his own head, and became an orange tabby

the cat lived happier and dumber ever after, the end

[mossarchives]

42, your HOK? (going WAY back hehehehehe)

CALL BACK WOW! Hopefully you did mean Fable,,, bc that's who I wrote!!

Static -- Minimall 

I have had it if I let myself go With my mind twisting erratic I might feel you through the static

--

Being dead is… cold. 

Fable is used to cold, she’s been cold since she was a brash young pirate who learned her limits the hard way. Having an ice coated soul gem as a heart made temperature something she didn’t often think of. It kept her nice and cool in the hot deserts of Hammerfell and let her run freely in the cold air up at Cloud Ruler Temple. 

Being dead is a different kind of cold, if she was even really dead. Her shattered gem-heart had suspended her somewhere between, frozen in time, life, and death. It takes some effort for her to pry the arrow free from the gap in her chest when she gets the strength to sit up, the head coming free coated in frost. Her dark skin has a blue sheen to it now, as if she was frostbitten, but if Fable squints she can see the distant trees through the skin of her arms.

It’s curious to her, being dead and alive at the same time. The people she passes on the way back to the city share the sentiment, hurrying past her on the street or staring at her from doorways. Her face and armor are familiar to them, but the spectral wisps of frost beneath her feet and the white glow to her eyes have made her untouchably foreign once again. 

Fable stops by Martin’s statue before she heads towards the docks, but she doesn’t look at the dragon itself. Instead she stands with one hand pressed against his leg and her eyes closed. She can pretend this way, pretend that he’s beside her if she concentrates on her memories hard enough. On the smell of paper, the sound of the fire crackling, the cadence of his laugh. 

Part of her had hoped that when death came for her it would reunite the two of them, somewhere in the beyond. Redguards and Imperials had different feelings regarding death, but her time in Cyrodiil had taught Fable that anything was possible, even crossing afterlifes. 

It seemed the world wasn’t done with her yet. Fable lets go of the statue and steps away, giving the dragon one last look before she turns towards the water. There was no reason for her not to return to the sea, even in her condition. It was where she belonged, and where she would always come back too. Besides, she needed time, information, and lots and lots of gold. If she has escaped death, maybe one day she can tug Martin to the other side with her. Tamriel is vast, and her time is now unlimited. 

If she could find a way to reach through that stinging membrane between the planes, she could bring him back to her.

[mrstrongest]

The Brown Fox Steals a Motorcycle and Has the Best Day of His Life

Does everybody know what a “drabble” is? No, it’s not something a basketball player does with the ball, or what a baby does with his mashed peas. It’s original meaning is to make wet and muddy. Think of my pant cuffs dragging on the ground when I’m out walking in the rain. Nowadays it refers to a story that’s exactly 100 words long. There are a lot of drabble challenges on the Medium platform.…

[grilledkatniss]

I'm so close to starting a segment here for these random bouts of artsy verses cause they scream for a place in the world and I don't know what to do with them.

[fablewritesnonsense]

God help me, we had the power turned off all weekend AND we were closed for memorial day. Today's gonna be hell. I'm just glad I had a LARGE cup of cold brew before I got it.