#<3 thank you for a very fun prompt

[corviiids]

fic prompt: light in a final day of the yotsuba arc timeloop where he loses and regains his kira memories every day (but retains awareness of the loop).

It's not until the fifth time around that Light slips up and answers the question before L's asked it.

L is staring at him.

Light clears his throat. "Sugars," he says. "Right? You were just picking up the bowl."

"Right," says L after a short pause, though his hand is nowhere near the sugar bowl. He plucks two cubes out with his fingers and plops them into Light's coffee, just like he'd asked. "I always forget how intuitive Light-kun is."

Those cold black eyes don't leave him for some time. Light stares at his hands, trying not to think about the yawning hole in his memory. Over the past five Thursday the 28th of Octobers, it's only grown deeper.

--

The traffic officer dies every time. Light's tried to stop it, but there's little he can do. He doesn't know the fellow's name to call ahead on the radio. He's never stuck around long enough for the investigation to complete, so he's never seen the man's ID. The day always resets before then.

He does, at least, manage to prevent his father from being shot. It's Wedy instead. The next time around, Light closes his eyes to his father's pained shout.

On one occasion, Higuchi dies before they can arrest him. L takes up his--

--something. Something. Something, and. They reclaim something from Higuchi every time they get him. It's small enough to fit in L's hands and every time someone touches it they scream. Something. Each time they reach the helicopter, Light reaches across L and plucks the thing out of L's limp hands, and then his memory goes white and the fourth day of the week begins again. It's the thing Kira uses to kill, it's the only important thing he's learned. Why can't Light remember what it is?

On that one Thursday, Light shouts a new instruction and Higuchi shoots himself in the head before anyone can comply. L takes up the something as Higuchi's body bleeds out. Light tugs it from his hands and his memory whites. With the white comes something else: panic, the likes of which Light had never felt, sickness somewhere deep and coiling. He wakes up on Thursday the 28th of October with the heavy weight of a damning failure resting in his gut.

But it's morning again. The sun warms L's pale, sleeping face and lights up the dark blood vessels under his eyes. Light swallows down a gag.

--

"You've been agitated today," L comments.

It's lonely not having a confidant. It's isolating. Light has thought about telling his father, but their relationship isn't confessional like that. He's thought about telling Ryuk, or even Misa, or Aizawa. But then, anyone he told, L would hear it too.

Light isn't sure why he's keeping the loop from L. He has nothing to hide from L. No reason to hide from L. The two of them, after all, are going to catch Kira.

"Did Light-kun--"

"I slept fine," says Light.

L's expression doesn't change. "I was going to ask if you had any questions for me," he says.

That isn't true. "Oh, sorry," says Light. "No, I'm good."

Each time the white fades and he wakes, L is the first thing he sees. Some remnant of the night before draws back hissing from his sleeping face like grease from soap. Light will watch him sleep until the revulsion eases, until it fades, and L's eyes open wide again. The man never blinks. The skin on his eyelids is thin. Light will not get to see them again until they sleep, so while L sleeps, Light watches him and tries to forget everything L had asked of him the day before, and fails.

--

Higuchi enters the office and takes out Matsui's CV. He pulls out a pen and writes the name down, then he leaves. Light is forgetting something.

"It has something to do with the name," he says desperately, casting about. "Something to do with the way he wrote down that name."

L looks at him strangely. "We know that, Light-kun," he says almost gently.

"No," Light says, frustrated. There's something. Something. Deep in the recesses of his memory, there's something he can't find, something that will lead them to Kira. Higuchi wrote Matsui's name and all the tension left his body.

In the helicopter, he snatches at the something like a vulture at dead flesh and the world goes white again.

--

What if, wonders a small voice. What if he didn't pick it up? What if, whatever the something is, Light left it in L's hands? Perhaps the dark would stay dark and Light might be permitted to see his next Friday. It's worth a try, at least. It's worth a shot. The cuffs slap onto Higuchi's wrists and Light lunges for the thing in L's hands once more.

[nebulacloudz]

Happy @fyeahghosttrick Ghost Swap season everyone! \o/ Took a swing at a prompt from @levitanias about Cabs and Yom parallels, although I'll admit that I read "spotless and pure with his white coat" and my mind immediately dropped this image in my lap... cannot deny the beauty of the red and white symbolism...

[Image description: digital art of Cabanela and Yomiel from Ghost Trick. Their hands are covered in blood as they grapple, with Cabanela clutching Yomiel by the wrists to hold Yomiel back. Cabanela is gritting his teeth, looking horrified, but Yomiel has a devious grin. They're floating in a gray, void-like space, as streams of blood drip sideways off of Yomiel's red suit and onto Cabanela’s white coat, staining it. End ID.]

[thedeadthree]

-ˋˏ .·:·. ⊱ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐛𝐲 @pavus — day one: 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

— 𝐈𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐑 . 𝐕𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐃𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀 . 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐒. 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐒.

— 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (mutuals can opt in/out via 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 <3):

@loriane-elmuerto, @carrionsflower, @auricfog, @girliefailure, @sunsofdawn

@risingsh0t, @griffin-wood, @lilywatt, @full---ofstarlight, @grapecaseschoices

@tommyarashikage, @shadowsofrose, @shadowglens, @weisshaupts, @queennymeria

@deadrlngers, @d-esmond, @courtana, @gothimp, @wlwaerith

@unholymilf, @aezyrraeshh, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @shellibisshe, @florbelles

@celticwoman, @neonshrike, @cloudofbutterflies92, @adelaidedrubman, @carlosoliveiraa

@pinkfey, @spookyrares, @yharnams, @aceghosts, @confidentandgood

@theelderhazelnut, @leviiackrman, @ellierenae, @anoras, @lavampira

@dialdrunk, @full---ofstarlight, @imogenkol

[wanderingchocolateeclair]

maybe edgejeanist with one as a ghost?

Absolutely :]

It's always fun to make one of them a ghost, and i couldn't choose who to draw lol so have both <3

(ask game thing im doing, please feel free to send me things always :D)

[enjoythesilentworld]

I can’t believe I almost missed the chance to ask you to write smth. That’s what I get for having a busy tumblr dash. Anyway. “Join me” as a prompt pls? 💜

hello my darling Lia. you know i'd write anything you asked me to. for today, here's a (not) little ficlet in which Simon neglects to read the fine print and somehow it actually turns out really well for him.

💜enjoy xx

Alone in a foreign country, Simon must find a stranger to join him on the romantic couples food tour he’s accidentally booked. (a 2.3k strangers to lovers, fake dating, speed-run of an AU) if you see this again for day 2 of simon's month dont worry bout it

Simon curses under his breath as the confirmation email comes in.

So, he’d booked the food tour a little quickly, possibly without reading all the fine print. He can’t even blame a language barrier because he’s in Spain and, thanks to his mamá, his Spanish is really better than his English.

The solo-travel thing had been a bit of a last-minute decision. Spurred by the post university graduation crisis of, ‘Oh Fuck What Am I Doing With My Life?’ whichled twenty-somethings around the globe to grab a backpack and buy a one-way plane ticket. Simon’s decision was also encouraged by the fact that he’d woken up one day and realized he was in a toxic relationship, quickly packing his bags and saying Hejdå to a two-year relationship. He’s only about three weeks into the whole self-discovery shtick, but it seems to be going well so far. He enjoys the independence of it all. Not that he’s not independent at home — in fact, he’s been a little bit too much of an adult since he was 10 — but more so that he doesn’t have to worry about anyone else. Simon goes to museums when he wants to, stays for as little or as much time as he wants. He eats when he wants, goes to shows he likes, and doesn’t spend every second of every day worrying about everyone else. (Of course, he’s called his mama and sister nearly every day since he left, but he’s working on it.) He also, apparently, incorrectly books guided food tours that are actually romantic couples excursions. 

Glancing around the nearly empty breakfast room at his hostel, he chews on his options. One is to show up to this tour alone and look like a dumb tourist. Two is to find someone willing to go on it with him.

There’s a pair of British girls in the corner, giggling over their plates of breakfast. Simon recognizes them from the stand-up comedy show the hostel had organized the night before; they’d been attached at the hip the whole night. Slim chance of separating them. Crowding around the cereal bar is a group of American guys who all look like fraternity brothers. If Simon remembers correctly, he’d overheard some vile words from them in the bar last night, and so he’s is not too keen on participating in any sort of tour with any of them, romantic or not.

The only other person in the room is sitting a few seats down at the communal table: a very good-looking man with light auburn hair and high cheek bones. His long fingers, nails painted a deep purple, hold up a book with one hand and gingerly lift a coffee cup to his lips with the other. He’s dressed quite casually, in an un-done button up over a tank-top and baggy trousers, but somehow makes it look refined. Simon noticed him yesterday afternoon in the hostel café, noticed the way the man’s eyes tracked Simon from across the room.

His pretty brown eyes are no longer locked on the pages of the book, but have found Simon again and caught him staring. Simon forces himself to hold his ground and smiles, glancing down at the book title. It’s by a Swedish author, he realizes, and a gay Swedish author at that.

Gesturing with his head, Simon asks, “Is it good?”

The pretty man places his coffee cup down clumsily. “Yeah, it’s one of my favorites.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“I’ve read it a million times,” he says, closing the book. “I’m Wille.” 

The light blush on his cheeks is endearing.

“Simon.”

Wille smiles softly and nods, “Trevligt.”

He’s polite and looks suspiciously rich to be in this hostel, but his eyes are kind and has a rainbow pin on his tote bag so, before Wille can say anything else, Simon slides one chair closer.

“Are you doing anything today, Wille?”

Wille moves to the chair across from Simon. “Nope.”

Simon props his head on both his hands and gazes at this beautiful stranger, wondering why he didn’t speak to him the day before. “Would you like to join me on a romantic food tour around Barcelona?”

Wille quirks an eyebrow, then mirrors Simon’s position. “I would love to.”

The tour doesn’t begin for a few hours, so they sit and chat while the breakfast room fills up around them. Wille laughs when Simon explains how he’s gotten himself into this situation, and the sound sets little sparks bursting in Simon’s chest. What luck he’s had this morning.

Simon learns that Wille is also at the beginning of a self-discovery trip, running away from a family legacy and a desk job he desperately did not want. He also learns that Wille is incredibly funny and quite flirty, though whenever Simon starts flirting back he becomes incredibly flustered. His stare, though, is the thing that gets Simon the most. Wille looks at him so intently, gaze flitting between Simon’s eyes and his mouth, listening to every word and seemingly staring directly into Simon’s soul. It would be troubling if he wasn’t so goddamn beautiful.

The conversation flows so easily between them that Simon, so wrapped up in Wille’s laugh and crooked teeth, almost forgets they have somewhere to be.

They walk quickly through the streets of Barcelona together, heading towards the café at which they’re meant to meet the rest of their tour group. Wille’s fingers brush against Simon’s a few times, though his voice never falters, so Simon isn’t sure if it’s just him that feels the jolt of electricity each time.

“You said this is a romantic food tour?” Wille asks, reaching out to pull Simon out of the way of a passing cart.

The city is bustling with life around them, the sun shining hot between the buildings, people hanging off balconies, chatting with neighbors or stringing up laundry to dry. It’s absolutely beautiful, and somehow it seems a bit more colorful than it had the day before.

“Yes.”

“Is it going to be obvious that you and I just met?” he says, letting Simon go ahead of him to squeeze through the crowd, staying close, with a hand hovering over Simon’s lower back.

“Well,” Simon muses, “we could make it a bit of a game. If you’re down.”

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Wille’s eyes light up with mischief. “I’m down. What kind of game?”

Simon chuckles and shrugs, checking his phone to make sure they’re still headed in the right direction. “We could pretend to be a couple. You know, really put on a show.”

“That sounds very, very fun, Simon.”

For the last ten or so minutes of their walk, they establish some basic rules. They’ll hold hands and gaze lovingly in each other’s eyes and ramble to anyone who asks about their beautiful love story. The goal is to one-up every other couple there by acting sickeningly in love. By the time they make it to the café, only a few minutes late, they’re holding onto each other and cackling at the increasingly ridiculous ‘meet-cute’ ideas they’ve come up with.

There are three other couples in the tour: one looks like a very young newly-wed couple, another is a pair of middle-aged ladies, and the third is a pretentious-looking, older couple who already look fed up with everyone else. As the tour-guide starts on their spiel, Wille wraps a tender arm around Simon, pulling him close and whispering jokes into his ear, somehow making them look more like a couple than even the newly-weds.

They sit down to start, and Wille lets Simon order for them off the selected menu. They feed each other bites of tomato toast and gently wipe crumbs from each other’s cheeks, all the while giggling to each other and only half-listening to the explanations of the food. It also seems they’ve unintentionally started a competition with the other young couple of who-can-look-more-in-love. When Wille hands Simon a napkin before he can even ask to wipe up his splashed juice, the man of the other couple tries to lovingly whisper something in his wife’s ear but gets brushed off as she’s too busy listening intently to the tour guide. When Simon holds out a forkful of potato omelette for Wille, the man tries to do the same, but his wife shakes her head, smiling, and fondly pats his cheek then turns back to her own plate.

As they move through the next few stops — a restaurant, a food cart, and an open-air market — he and Wille fall even further into their ‘game’. There’s plenty of very intentional touches and exchanged loving glances, but Wille also asks Simon about himself. About his family and his dreams and where he’s going next. Simon learns even more about Wille’s obsession with frogs and his love for lakes and his passion for writing. The rest of the tour group fades away, and things between them start to feel a little less like a game and a little more real. The prolonged eye contact becomes less playful and more loaded. The lingering touches become less out of competition and more out of some deep urge. Simon’s eyes flick more often down to Wille’s lips, watching him lick cream off his fingers or clean gazpacho off his spoon.

Maybe it’s the wine, but as they head to their last stop of the day, hand in hand, trailing behind the group, Simon finds himself hoping Wille isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. He’d made a few friends over the past few weeks, but it always seemed to work out that when he was having a great time, the person would be leaving the very next day, heading off to some new country or heading back home.

Wille grins over at him and points out a pretty sculpture, mumbling something smart about the artist and looking absolutely ethereal in the light of the early evening with his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. Maybe it isn’t just the wine.

Their final destination is small tapas place on the beach. Simon and Wille have given up any pretense of listening to the tour guide or of playing their little game. Instead, they sit close at their table and chat about their favorite memories growing up and tell embarrassing stories. Simon, as he’s done at every place, translates every bit of Spanish on the menu and giggles helplessly as he corrects Wille’s pronunciation. They share a plate of pulpo and split a liter of sangria and it’s one of the most perfect days Simon’s ever experienced.

“I’m really glad I misread that website,” Simon says, fiddling with his fingers. When he glances up, he finds Wille grinning at him. He takes Simon’s hand.

“Me too.”

After the tour concludes and their guide bids they all farewell, their group mostly scatters. But, Wille and Simon stay at their table, finishing off their pitcher and becoming increasingly rowdy with their jokes. After a few annoyed looks from their waiter, they collect their things and stumble down to the beach. Simon jumps onto Wille’s back, laughing loudly and savoring the feeling of Wille’s strong hands wrapped securely around his legs. Wille wades out into the shallow water of the beach, and Simon yelps when he pretends to nearly drop them both into the cool water.

Eventually, Wille lets him down but takes his hand instead, and they walk down the sand, talking about the food tour and realizing that they maybe didn’t pay attention at all.

There’s a warm buzz in Simon’s body, making him giddy and calm all at once. When they make it to a small concrete pier, Wille pulls him out to the edge of it and they stand, arms wrapped around each other, staring out at the Mediterranean.

Simon sigh happily. “Beautiful.”

“Yeah. Very,” Wille says breathlessly, and Simon looks up to see Wille staring down at him. He smacks Wille’s chest playfully.

“You’re an idiot, Wille.”

Wille laughs, “I’m being serious!”

“Sure,” Simon hums, turning back to the water, biting back a smile.

“Hey.” He turns back again and Wille’s face has sobered, and he’s now gazing down at Simon with that same intense stare. “You are beautiful, Simon. You’re also funny and kind and— I had a really, really great time today.”

He squirms slightly at the force of the words, the conviction in Wille’s tone, but can’t help but let his eyes flicker down to Wille’s lips. He’s so close and looks so pretty in the cool lighting of the twilight evening and Simon’s never thought it could be possible to fall for someone like this, this hard, in one day.

“Me, too,” Simon whispers. Then, “Wille?”

“Yes?”

“Can I—”

Wille nods, gasping, “Yes,” before Simon can even finish his sentence and then they’re both rushing forward.

Finally, after thinking about it nearly all day, Wille’s lips connect with his. He tastes like fruity wine and olives and something so Wille, and Simon melts into his arms, coming up onto his tiptoes to press further into him. Wille’s hair is soft under his fingertips and though they’ve basically been touching all day, this is different and overwhelming and everything.

When they break apart, giggling into each other, the lights have come on along the paved pathway by the beach.

“Maybe we should head back?” Wille suggests, looking just as much like he doesn’t want to head back as Simon feels. But, it’s getting late and he’s also starting to feel tired from all the wine and walking, so Simon nods and takes Wille’s hand again.

They trail slowly back through the streets, pausing occasionally to exchange a quick kiss, or to slip into an alcove and exchange a slightly longer one. By the time they make it back to their building, Simon’s limbs feel syrupy with sleep and his chest feels warm with the events of the day.

Two steps up the stairs to the front door of the hostel, Simon stops and turns.

“Where will you be tomorrow?” he asks, looking down at Wille.

Wille smiles. “Wherever you are.”

[bishicat]

if you're still doing the art meme prompts....50. putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up? i just adore how you draw these moments

Some unlucky apartment intruders oh-so-rudely interrupted a steamy moment between our two lovebirds

{art meme here ♡}

[emeraldgreaves]

45 or 55 for moira red 👀👀? both seem sort of,,,thematically consistent with them LMAO

have 500 words of moirared to break the word curse.

55. tracing the lines on the other’s hand

They’re in the library cramming, as one always finds themselves doing during finals week; him for Planar Theory, her for Anatomy and Mending. And she knows she’s going to fail it, keeps dreaming that she opens the test booklet and discovers the whole thing is in Magid, or it’s the wrong unit, or the paper turns into a swarm of bats and flies right into her face.

And Red is a little bit of a flirt—this is well-established, mostly with people who find her an adequate shoulder to cry on after the fact, though she hasn’t joined their ranks quite yet—but even with how casual and unassuming he is about it, he’s never done so with her.

He asks what she’s studying, and she tells him it’s the parts of the hand, though at this point it’s reduced to flipping through her endless stacks of index cards and wishing for a proper diagram. And he says well, you could just show me, and holds out one of his hands.

She takes it, and it’s still unmarked, tan skin not yet scarred and callused from a decade’s worth of discovery, though someday it will be. She points to each segment in turn—distal, medial, and proximal phalanges, and anatomy doesn’t sound too far from an incantation as she lists them out, flipping over to his palm. And yet they’re not wholly blank. Here is the silvery-white slash of a scar across the spiderwebbed creases of his palm. Here is the mottled ghost of a burn from the time he snatched up a spell scroll and discovered the protection the hard way. Here is the stray freckled nestled in the curve of his wrist. Here are the formerly scraped knuckles and shadowed arteries running alongside taut tendon lines, the entire history of his exploration all in one place.

“If you want my opinion,” he says afterward, fingers still resting in hers, “I think you’re going to ace it.”

And she hadn’t expected him to pay attention—medical terminology is hard enough for Healers to memorize, let alone those studying an entirely different discipline that only happen to be in the same space —but seven years later they’re out for lunch again in the café. He’s through one and a half sandwiches, and she’s barely managed two sips of tea, but the conversation has always been the point of it, and she doesn't mind letting things settle. Somehow they’re on the topic of exams, the way they were half-killing themselves over knowledge but somehow in love with it all the same.

“I remember plenty,” he insists, the third variation on this particular theme.

“I’m not claiming you were completely oblivious,” she says. “Simply that you had plenty of your own projects to consider.”

And she always knows when something has caught his interest; a little light flares up in his eyes, and he leans forward, suddenly regarding you like you’re the most engaging thing in the world. “Really,” he says lightly. “Try me.”

He holds out a hand. After a moment she extends hers across the table. He takes it, turns it over carefully like she’s one of his precious artifacts, then bows his head and recites distal, medial, proximal--

“All right,” she says afterward, “maybe you do remember.” And he’d smiled at her over the rim of his teacup in a way that was familiar, and yet strangely not at all.

[tracybirds]

Another of the 30 Gentle Prompts fills :) So much fun! This is for @knyee who asked for 7 + Gordon. Thank you!

7. "Can I do your hair?"

The hospital wasn’t a new place, not when his family excelled at pushing the limits and breaking bones. Gordon was huddled in the little waiting room, jokingly called the Tracy Suite by the nurses for all the times they’d gathered there, holding out for news for someone or another.

Today it was Alan, a BMX trick gone wrong, with a broken arm and under observation for Gordon didn’t know what.

A hand gently laid on top of his, stilling its motion, and he started away.

“You’re tapping again,” said Virgil softly.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Gordon, pulling his sleeves down, over his twitching fingers.

His knee began to shake, the agitating, rhythmic tap he was trying –truly, really trying– to bring to an end filling the room.

“Gordon, go for a walk,” said Scott in exasperation.

He couldn’t do that either.

He couldn’t recall when the local hospital had grown to loom over him, the smell of antiseptic enough to make him want to crawl out of his skin.

Well, that wasn’t quite true.

He knew.

He’d never been back to that military hospital, but still it found him here in a hospital from a small, landlocked state a thousand miles from any ocean.

A muscle spasmed in his jaw as he held himself still, so intent on not moving, he hardly noticed the movement as someone slipped in the seat next to him.

“Hey, Gordon,” said Kayo.

He blinked, jerking his head around with a questioning look. She held her comm in her hand, the light of a paused holovid shining between them.

She offered him the comm and a half-smile. “Braid my hair for me?”

Gordon took the comm without a word and, with its guidance, began to section her hair, methodically moving over and under. It took time to find the necessary rhythm, but Kayo didn’t complain no matter how often he dropped pieces of her hair or tugged too tightly. When he finally reached the end, she took back the comm, scrolling through to another vid.

“I changed my mind, try this one.”

He knew what she was doing.

But the movement helped, and it was a compromise he could work with, over and over until a nurse walked in with his grandmother and the family all looked up, all hope and expectation.

“Alan’s fine, he’s doing well,” said Grandma Tracy with a smile. “He’ll be staying overnight and be discharged in the morning as long as no complications develop. You can see him one by one, and then I’m taking you all home.”

Scott and John both leapt up at once, arguing over first visitor rights, while Virgil leant back with a sigh.

“That’s great news, Grandma,” he said, and Gordon murmured his agreement.

Scott pushed John back into his seat and ran for the door and Gordon stifled a laugh at John’s scowl. Already he could breathe easier, the walls no longer seeming dark and close.

Alan would be fine.

He took the comm back from Kayo, and found another braid, something that seemed to sit on top of the model’s sleek head and cling to it at the same time.

“Can I do your hair again?” he asked.

She laughed and handed him another hair-tie.

“Try it with one on each side,” she said. “Bet you can’t get them to match.”

[emin-folly]

Art prompt: What happens when you give an Eobard a coffee?

Good question~! I like to think he can at least handle some, but no speedster ever truly escapes the power of coffee I thought it'd be fun to have it where, unlike other normal speedsters, users of the Negative Speed Force instead get the amplifies negative effects LOL

[beevean]

Prompt: Isaac, during the three years alone, having sometimes dreams about Dracula praising him and telling him he is better than Hector and how blind he was and things like that. :)

Despite all, I can't seem to get used to the loneliness of my existence. They say that time heals all wounds; then why does it feel like a finger prying its nails in them?

Day and night have lost meaning for me, for my sleep is short, infrequent, and plagued. Indeed, I am no longer sure what is reality and what is fantasy.

When I close my eyes, Hector is in front of me, he rips me apart with his sword and holds my heart with a cruel, doting smile on his face. When I open them, he's still here, with his glistening hair and eyes burning like ice and lovely face coated in blood.

Why wouldn’t you leave me alone, Hector…? You abandoned me to die, yet you keep following me, yet I can’t reach you. It’s not fair.

I cling onto my Chauve-Souris until my knuckles crack; the scent of old blood soothes me and grounds me. Hector is not with me. He will not kill me again. My spear is my one companion. Even my children won't answer to my call anymore.

Ah, if He could see me, his most dutiful servant... would He be disgusted with me? Oh, my Lord, please, in Your infinite mercy to the cursed creatures like I am, please forgive me for my failure, and allow me to atone for my gravest sin.

I shy away from the heat of the fire, the absence of cold.

He visits me, one day.

Good boy...

My heart thrums in my chest. His voice, deep as a chasm, shakes my very insides. My knees can only buckle under the weight of His immense power.

Isaac, my Isaac... my precious, beloved Isaac. My best Forgemaster. The most loyal. Only you understand me and my plight...

His hand is like the chill of the wind storming outside. It brings me new life; I hold on it, I am allowed to touch it, and it leaves shivers in its passage.

Forgive me, Isaac, for not appreciating you more. I've been blinded by Hector.

And how could I not? I had been blinded by Hector too. I had been deceived, manipulated, tricked, as much as You were. Disgusting creature not worth to drink sewage for the rest of its wretched existence. I will kill it and bring You its head on my spear, I promise it on my life.

I realize now, how wonderful of a weapon you've been to me.

There is still time, my Lord! I will bring You back, and You will rule on this unworthy scorched land!

Bloodied fangs peek from His beautiful smile, my blood given to Him. He's plump and healthy thanks to me and me alone: I will nourish him until there is nothing left of me.

I was born for this. I was put on this miserable world so that You could draw life and heat from me.

Yes, you were. Good boy, Isaac. You make me proud.

I wake up with damp cheeks.

I smile, passing my fingers on my new metal collar.

I felt the need to make one for himself. Not for protection, as no creature would ever come to harm me, the tamer of demons. But it is a honor, a declaration to the world that forced me into hiding. No more. I have a reason to exist, and that reason is Lord Dracula.

I wear the collar and chains with pride. The chains tickle my collarbones and my ribs, and the collar feels like a cold hand tight on my throat. They are comforting, a symbol that I belong somewhere, and that somewhere is at Lord Dracula’s side. As long as I wear them, I will never be alone again.

The ungrateful world may have moved on, but not me. Not me. I will always be with You, my Lord. I will make You proud.

[arecaceae175]

For the prompt game: salamander

“What is that?” Sky asked.

Wild held out the small creature cradled in his hands. “It’s a salamander!”

“But what is it?” Sky asked again. His hand was hovering near the creature as it squirmed in Wild’s hold.

“It’s kind of like a small, slimy lizard? They live mostly in water,” Wild explained. Sky nodded and continued to watch the creature with wide eyes.

Showing Sky new plants or animals from his Hyrule was on of Wild’s favorite things. Sky was always so entranced and he never lost an ounce of enthusiasm.

“Here, hold out your hands,” Wild said. Sky quickly complied, putting his hands flat with his pinkies touching.

“Are you sure I won’t hurt it?” Sky asked.

“You won’t hurt it. It’ll get away before you do. Cup your hands a little more- there, perfect. Ready?” Wild asked.

“Yes!” Sky answered without a second of hesitation.

Wild gently tilted his hands into Sky’s and the salamander scuttled into Sky’s hands. Sky gasped and smiled widely as he cupped his hands further around the salamander.

“You’re right, it’s so slimy!” Sky said with a laugh. Wild giggled along with him.

The salamander tried to crawl onto Sky’s arm and Sky jerked his hands to try to keep hold of it. The salamander got spooked and squirmed madly, and Sky lost his grip. The creature landed on the ground and very quickly ran back under the rocks in the stream.

“Oops,” Sky said. He was still smiling widely.

[skitskatdacat63]

Quick question, how old is Seb in the boy king au when they get married, I'm asking because I was rereading the fic & directors cut from September and you said he’s so obsessed with calling Seb little. Is Seb shorter than Nando or is Nando trying to feel a bit taller when actually he is a itty-bitty war criminal kitty? If Seb is shorter but still has time to grow how badly will Nando take it

Hello! This one is much easier to answer than your other one(You're really making me think deeply, thank you 🥺), so I think I can answer this pretty quickly(hopefully)

So you've probably noticed that I don't mention actual years too much which is just bcs the timeline is so vast and I've not decided on a lot 😭. But they basically have the same age gap as modern day, so I'd say they were born in 1681 and 1687 respectively(which matches up well enough with the real world history.) Irl, the war that I'm canon divergencing away from takes place 1701-1714, so stuff regarding when their coronation and marriage happens is somewhere in there. So I'd say Nando becomes king in like, 1705 and then they marry somewhere between then and 1710(when seb ideally becomes emperor??)

So to answer your actual question. Seb is def taller than Nando by the time they get married. But in that ficlet, Fernando is obsessed with calling Seb small because he wants to make himself feel bigger!! It's less about actual height and more about power dynamics. He's belittling him by literally calling him little! And it's also about Nando being older than him. Seb became a king as a boy(hence boy king), whereas Fernando became a king as an adult so he calls him little because he still sees him as that little boy king who is too young to have that amnt of power.

They first met pretty young, not knowing what their future would be like, and didn't really see each other for a while. And so until they meet again, when the marriage plans start happening, their perceptions are: Nando thinks of Seb as some little boy king, and Seb has a childish crush. So it's very odd for Nando to suddenly now meet this kid, all grown up, and he's now taller and even more powerful. So I think Nando still associates Seb with that image in his mind, thus calling him little all the time.

Conclusion: Fernando IS shorter, and he wears heels and calls Seb little all the time as a way to cope

[keeps-ache]

my nose is runny.. it's the end of the woooooorlldd

[kharonion]

37. Defy, whoever you want cause I'm also a fallout fan 😌

request a micro story × oc list

DEFY.

[this inadvertently turned into a sequel of this one 😂]

Charon is not known for disobeying orders. It comes second-nature to him now after decades knowing nothing else. So of course he's going to stay parked here in the too-small, uncomfortable chair right beside the gurney his partner rests on.

Please don't leave, Bear. Those words pierce his flaring nerves like a hot dagger... because those words were the last he'd heard.

And Charon isn't known to disobey.

At some point, he'd apparently not only dozed off... but had taken a tiny, frail hand into his own. Woken only by the scoff of a Paladin wandering in to check on the Elder's daughter. "Get out, zombie," he spits out.

So marks the one command Charon will readily defy. With a snap of his jaw—so loud it makes the cocky bastard jump—he roughly snarls, "I do not take orders from you."

[coldercreation]

New spoiler-mini up!

Chapter 19: Link / Alpha!Nat AU Excerpt - 567 words (E)

[oculusxcaro]

What are Khare's favourite dishes to prepare and why? Are there any dishes she would like to learn how to make?

Liking this post for a question ~

Khare's favourite dish to prepare is none other than the traditional fried breakfast! The American version of this meal is a little different from what she's used to back home, but it's so quick and easy to make that it's no big deal. Crispy bacon with sunny eggs? Pancakes with syrup and hash browns on the side? In they go, prepared how the customer likes though she often wishes she could add beans as a proper fried breakfast is supposed to have. She's picked up how to make a variety of meals since starting work at Pauli's Diner, many of them quick and easy so currently there aren't any dishes she'd like to learn ASAP unless it's a special request or for somebody she really cares about. Unfortunately her diet has become somewhat limited since her physiology mutated, leaving her unable to enjoy things she once used to.