#(she helpfully provided the prompts)

[artsycervidae]

I wrote a short story for @eidolonshiva 's OC Fumiko, because her design is gorgeous and I couldn't stop thinking about her. I vibe heavily with deeply hurt and misguided characters and support women's wrongs.

General Content Warnings: Violence and gore (specifically: dismemberment, dragging, choking, and vivisecting), horror stings/tropes, graphic imagery, on-screen death, cannibalism, and toxic dynamics between the Shabana siblings and Fumiko.

It's under 5k words. Enjoy!

    "Fumiko," Daki pouted, holding her hand out. "Pass me the tanzashi pins." Her fingers flexed urgently. Without delay, Fumiko guided glinting gold accessories into the oiran's grasp.

     "Here you are, Warabihime Oiran," the attendant cooed obligingly. Using that professional alias always prompted the courtesan to don a little self-satisfied smile, and Fumiko's heart lightened a little. "It looks beautiful," she added when Daki turned her head to admire the structure of her bundled hairstyle. "Your client will be stunned speechless."

     "I know," Daki replied, sounding as though she didn't need to be told, though sweet words were the very reason the lesser demon was welcome to her space. She rose to her feet, and Fumiko needed no prompting; she too stood and plucked the black-and-white haori from its stand, gliding the fabric easily over the oiran's arms. Fumiko ensured the wrinkles were minimal by delicately straightening it across the back. A stray onyx lock was ready to spill from Daki's hair but Fumiko discreetly tucked it behind a pin, covering her tracks with a little smile over the oiran's shoulder. "All done. You look perfect."

     Daki watched through the reflection as her friend smoothed and straightened the silk sleeves. She 'helpfully' extended her arm suddenly, catching Fumiko by the ribs and startling the other demon. "Fumiko," she whined, sweetness lacing her voice, "How much do you know about Ukita Haru?"

     Fumiko froze, unexpectedly thrown back into a different time and place. Daki watched how her thick brows lifted, her full lips parting in a ghost of a gasp as the name struck a chord. Bringing up the past was a sensitive subject, but the lesser demon couldn't bring herself to deny Daki anything she asked for. Even if that meant reopening old wounds.

     "Not much, as he wasn't a fellow herbalist," Fumiko admitted. "But his family helped finance various apothecaries and pharmacies, specifically those specializing in natural remedies... I remember that. He is well-traveled across Japan. He'll make for engaging, intelligent company." 

     Pleased with the other's obedience, Daki went on. "I want to convince him to make Kyogoku House an exclusive customer," she revealed. "Likewise, I would like our tea house to give him special attention. His connections stretch across the country, and I'm sure that even if he doesn't have what I seek, he will be a useful asset. What do you think?" Her mouth curled at the corners, ambient eyes glinting with ambition. 

    Fumiko cleared her throat and ignored the tingling discomfort that danced up and down her body; the same crawling feeling that preceded long nights of terrible thoughts. Instead of addressing it, she clarified, "This is the new client, right? The one that used to frequent Tokito House." 

     Daki sighed heavily, like it taxed her to be reminded of droll preparations. "It is. Koinatsu only entertained him twice before, and I don't blame her. He honestly wasn't even worth the effort of stealing. He's so bland, and she's nearly at the prime of her beauty." But Daki would be patient-- Koinatsu's time would come. She was far too early in her career to be harvested now, as a girl like that could easily be an oiran one day... What mattered presently was the target. "Am I wasting my time with this man, or do you think he could provide valuable information? Does he know all there is about Japan's flora?"

     "I'm afraid I never met him personally," Fumiko said. It was an unfortunate convenience; she wanted to be helpful, but... she had a hard time as it was trying to put those things out of her mind. It was difficult enough to get through the night without seeing familiar shadows attached to total strangers. She swallowed down the idea of diving into the memories of sunnier days... it made her crave a smoke. "I'll think about it," she promised the oiran. "I suppose you could ask him such questions yourself during this meeting, and we can compare our thoughts on him. If he doesn't fulfill your expectations, you can simply command that he seek another woman for his appointments."

    Daki huffed, and for a moment Fumiko was prepared to launch into emergency protocol: if Gyutaro were rudely awakened to one of his little sister's meltdowns, his attitude would sour instantly and there would be hell to pay. Even the most helpful suggestion could be misinterpreted as bossing around, and Fumiko feared she had gotten too comfortable. "I hate that!" Daki whined instead. "I hate working to get a man to notice me, only to find out he's utterly useless. It's bad enough he's so plain, Fumiko! I swear, if he tells a single unfunny joke and expects me to laugh for him, I'll open his throat." She crossed her arms, rumpling her kimono layers and undoing all Fumiko's preening. This pouting was performative-- she expected further pampering.

     "Now now," Fumiko hummed pleasantly. "If you think nasty thoughts so early in your work, they're liable to spill out of your head and mouth." She rubbed Daki's back, pressing her sharp nails into the fabric for a comforting pressure. "You don't have to see him if you don't want to." Then she began to tidy Daki's clothes once more. "You're beautiful, sophisticated, educated, and classy. He is just a man, and to hang expectations on him is unfair from the start." With a playful smile, Fumiko teased, "You're completely out of his league." 

     The Upper Rank sighed and shook her head. "You're right. It has to be done, though I deserve so much better." Even with power in her hands, she was dragging her heels through the process of attaining his good graces. She had to tolerate it further. Just until she could find the sharpest knife to strike fear into his heart with, rather than rely on fickle affections. What she really wanted was reassurance that mere compliments couldn't provide. "Fumiko," she fussed again, using that helpless and needy tone that the kamuros often affected, "Stay, won't you? Wait outside for me if you like, but remain close in case something goes wrong. My big brother is still sleeping, and I can't bear to be alone if this all falls through." It was more that she had invested all her time and energy into this project, and she was ready to be done with it. She wanted the immediate gratification of success. If this was a dead end, she didn't want to undo all that work herself. Leave someone else to clean her messes.

     "Of course." No threats, no needling, no persuasion required. Fumiko clasped Daki's fair hands between hers, fondly smiling into the oiran's face. "If anything happens, I'll be there." This was what Daki especially loved about Fumiko: the lesser demon would do anything for her. Without Gyutaro around, there was nobody to scold Daki for taking the easy route and making others do her bidding. But even if he made an unexpected appearance, he couldn't bring himself to pitch a fit about Fumiko's doting obedience. It was her best quality, they both agreed.

    With Fumiko's support, Daki proceeded to meet with Ukita Haru, herbologist and nobleman. As promised, the lesser demon accompanied her as the oiran's attendant. Though she wasn't privy to their personal discussion, she was the one running orders from Warabihime to the rest of the house. Fumiko had learned her new role quickly. Working in a tea house was not so different from running a medical practice, though they had their own forms of customer service; both demanded comfort and cleanliness. She'd hoped that assisting Daki that night would keep her fretful mind distracted, saw no such luck. 

     After delivering the party's tea, she sat by the shoji door and slid it closed. The hallway was empty, if just for the time. Free of observers, Fumiko fled for a private moment. Back when she was freshly transformed, she would have had to find a balcony to scale like a lizard in order to reach her rooftop perch. Now that she was eating more than carrion, it was as simple as stepping from the ground up into the stars, landing gracefully on the shingles. Corpses were human meat all the same, but void of the most potent nutrient any demon needed: stolen life.

     She could vaguely hear the murmured discussion in the room below, as Daki had kindly thought to open the exterior door to the terrace. "What a beautiful night," she heard the oiran exclaim, establishing her motive plainly. But as she returned to her client, their voices blurred together. Fumiko settled comfortably and peered out over the district of glowing lights as she rolled up her sleeves. She wafted her fingers through the air, and her kiseru materialized into her palm. It had been a good idea to carry her incense ball on her person tonight; her hands shook as she packed the pipe. Once sparked, Fumiko took a steady pull from the wisteria-laced concoction, filling her lungs with toxic fumes. 

    Though her biology fought to cleanse itself of poisoning, it never worked quite the way it was supposed to. She closed her eyes, held the breath, then exhaled slowly, allowing her nerves to curl and dissipate like floral smoke. The voice downstairs wasn't all too unfamiliar. But she couldn't muster much beyond a name. "Ukita Haru," she repeated softly. Nothing of use resurfaced, only the memory of someone else's face: a man's dark hair, firm square jaw, and familiarly heavy brows... She shoved that image away, took another hit, and breathed it out. "Ukita... Haru." She tried to remember that name in context of 'work.'

     A sharper image came to her-- her father's hands shuffling aside business notes, moving to see how Fumiko weighed and crushed the ingredients to make a more potent and effective salve. She scrubbed the memory clean and took another pull, this one less steady as she would have liked. She sniffed and dabbed at her eye with her right hand-- she and Daki had spent much time on their makeup, and at least that awareness still stood out to her in this phantom grief. Her left hand tapped the kiseru empty of ashes over the street. She remembered how her dad sounded when he complimented her adaptation; how good it felt, when she saw him make those changes a permanent process.

     If only she could have been so useful all the time. What value was her knowledge of the natural world when it didn't fulfill the needs of those she admired most? Why was it that when Daki needed a simple answer, Fumiko couldn't bring herself to know it? Even as she tried her best, tried to pick through the shards of her old life for something to salvage... in the end, all she could do was sit, and smoke, and listen. It was, in a way, a relief that this was a failure: she could stop looking over her shoulder to what she couldn't go back to.

      She lost count as to how many times she lit her kiseru, only realizing this when she peered back into her incense ball and saw that her stash was down to fine powders. She ran her finger along the side to pinch out every last bit for one last smoke, and it was then she noticed the soft bruise-like coloration under her nails. She paused and rubbed her fingers closer to her eyes... the purple tinge remained. The exterior door slid closed with a snap, startling her. That was early-- or had she lost track of time? She quickly hid her smoking utensils, shook out her hair, and returned to the hallway; but in her haste, she had entirely forgotten to make herself presentable. Warabihime glided out of the room, a contemplative frown on her face at the sight of Fumiko's disheveled top.

     A heavy blanket of dread smothered the atmosphere of the hallway, even when Fumiko swiftly tucked her clothes into place. She had only seen Daki quietly furious this way during vicious arguments with her brother, when the barbs got personal-- she stole an angry glance into the room, daring to peek at the face of a man who dared displease the most beautiful woman in the district. He looked nothing like her father-- he was average all around. Daki had said it best: plain and bland. Fumiko fell into step behind the oiran to her private quarters. She ached for distraction from her rooftop musings, but dare not break the silence until her company did first. "Fumiko," Daki murmured, "a flower is like a woman. She cannot bloom beautifully without the appropriate sun and nutrients." This was not to be debated or discussed. It was the part they played when privacy wasn't assured, the wise and beautiful oiran teaching her pupil a valuable observation. Fumiko couldn't help but indulge the stronger demon.

     "Yes, Oiran."

     "The spider lily," she went on, as Fumiko paid rapt attention, "is especially like a woman. With delicate petals and stamen, it only blooms for a small window of time. When these flowers grow too close together in similar conditions, they compete for these resources and it lessens their beauty. Their survival becomes entangled. Which means the best way to ensure a perfect flower is to focus on the most promising, and nurture it to bloom."

     "Yes, Oiran." Fumiko threw all her presence into Daki's words. She was stronger than she used to be, thanks for these valuable learning lessons. It only made sense that she repay the favor, and the least she could do was nurture.

     "You see," Daki said, "A proper spider lily can only be at its most beautiful when it is worshipped. Ukita Haru said as much. Generous donations of both sunlight and water, more than other species of flora, and all the attention one could--" she noticed when Fumiko's brow twitched upward. The oiran halted in her tracks. "What is it?"

     "I'm sorry," Fumiko said, "I don't mean to interrupt. Did he... tell you that, in those words? About the sun and water?"

     "Yes. He did."

     Well then. A heat prickled at the back of Fumiko's neck, offended on behalf of Daki. "I'm afraid he's misled you, Oiran," she said, disguising the disgust broiling in her mind. She was no florist, but her familiarity with the lily's poisonous nature came from a life of knowledge and experience. "Bulbs rot in too much water. Areas of excessive rain will not help a spider lily thrive."

     They turned the corner, and Fumiko could feel Daki's shifting temperament, like energy in the air before a lightning strike. "I see," she answered slowly. "Regardless-- if an herbalist puts his focus on the less beautiful flower, then perhaps by early autumn, he'll be blessed with two beautiful blossoms. But if he fails, then he will only have dull, lifeless colors. A clump of weeds..."

     Fumiko blinked in surprise. "He rejected you?!" she hissed scathingly. Yes, Koinatsu was an incredible courtesan, but... for Warabihime to offer her time and company was inargubly an improvement! The oiran went out of her way for this man, and he decided he didn't want her? He lied to her, and then turned her away?!

     Daki sniffed as Fumiko opened the door to her room, and the stronger demon stepped inside before opening her arms. Fumiko moved to relieve Daki's shoulders of heavy fabric, but she found herself suddenly seized. She gasped in equal parts fear and pain-- the Upper Rank glared down at her ally, baring her teeth.

     "He's a fool!" Daki barked, her mood erupting once everything had been registered. She squeezed her eyes shut to clamp down bitter, shamed tears. "What does he know about lilies?! How dare he waste my time with meaningless words." And then, her voice pitched into a broken note. "How dare he give me inaccurate information! Me!" 

     Fumiko knew a hissy fit when she saw one. She held Daki in return, albeit with much more consideration and tenderness, nodding erratically to emphasize how much she understood. "I can't believe he mistreated you like this. I won't let it go unaddressed. What do you want to do, Daki?"

      The Kizuki's eyes snapped open, sparked alight with new bloodthirst-- her pupils contorted into their respective calligraphic forms. "Kill him!" Daki commanded. "Before he leaves the district. Kill him before he can even regret what a mistake he's made."

     All at once, Fumiko felt ill. She knew this was where the night would lead, but she had wanted it to happen all the same. The heady feeling reached a point of utter bliss. The back of her head cracked, her hair parting easily as a long, wet muscle swiped the air. "Yes, Oiran." And though she dreaded what lay ahead, Fumiko couldn't ignore the thrum of excitement that resonated in her intoxicated body. 

-----

     Ukita Haru wasn't happy with how that appointment ended. He hoped that after a long walk, he could clear his mind and return to bed feeling more assured. But no matter what he did, he couldn't help lingering in all his bad decisions.

     There was no denying it: he was in love with Koinatsu. He had found a woman who could very well be a future jewel oiran, but he had driven her away with selfish jealousy. She playfully said that if he wanted all her time to himself, he could ask her to marry him. He really ought to have. He should have fallen to his knees and promised her his whole life. But his pride had been tender, and he hated being called on his bluff. He hadn't been a gentleman with his words.

     It was a wonder that she didn't have him banned from her tea house altogether. But it had taken days of petulant pouting to see his good fortune. It felt like he woke up only then, in the throes of discussion with Warabihime Oiran from Kyogoku House, and realized what he had spoilt. As he answered Warabihime's questions about spider lily types and care, he found himself in Tokito House instead. When Warabihime gazed at him, he thought of looking into warmer, deeper eyes. When she laughed, he heard someone else's mirth. Here he was, the very definition of success... and he was unhappy. 

     He could have all the money, flowers, and women in Japan. But without Koinatsu, he may as well be destitute. 

     It wasn't Warabihime's fault. He made it clear that he had a lovely time with her. She was a beautiful woman with an intense aura around her-- too passionate for him, in fact. He didn't want future appointments. He had a lot of work to do, if it meant building trust with Koinatsu again, and he couldn't be distracted. 

     Haru walked away from the busier district streets, seeking a quiet refuge to simmer in his thoughts. He had to start by making it up to her-- no, first he would apologize. A letter. Would a gift seem too much like a bribe, or could its sincerity help drive his point across? No doubt, simply announcing his desire to marry Koinatsu would be the wrong move. He couldn't unload all that onto her just yet. 

    He took another turn and stopped midstep. A woman was directly in the center of the path. It struck him as unusual that she should be alone, and in the dark no less--

     'Ashinuke,' he realized suddenly. A runaway courtesan. She had to be-- he recognized her at least, and he tried to remember exactly where he had seen her before. Tokito? Kyogoku? Somehow, none of them seemed right... How could she have gotten so far away without anyone else noticing? 

     She slowly turned. Before he could get a proper look at her, she exhaled a long pillar of smoke. Though this obscured her face, he had the distinct feeling that she was watching him. He didn't want to get dragged into another tea house's troubles, so he pretended he hadn't seen her, continuing along his path. But when he came to the next turn, there she was again... not a similar woman. Not an illusion. It was her. She was right there, lifting a hibiscus-charmed pipe to her lips like before. This time, she faced him.

      Perhaps it was better to simply turn around the way he came. Though the stranger was just a woman, his skin crawled at the eery emptiness of the roads. He couldn't put it into words: he just had a gut feeling that he didn't want to be caught alone with her.

     As if reading his thoughts, she suddenly sprinted at him. Haru bolted, spinning around before immediately tripping backwards.

     Black sclera and full moon eyes stared him down-- he fell back on his ass, too frightened to even shout. His palms and rear stung with pain, and his wrist especially throbbed when all his weight teetered onto it-- his body was jerked by the throat in a semi-circle, snared by something powerful yet slippery like an oiled bicep. The woman exhaled and tapped her kiseru, the hibiscus dancing, mocking his tremorous gasps. She coyly glanced over her shoulder like she had just noticed his suffering. The more he choked, the more air escaped from his lungs. He clawed at what trapped him to no avail, his tongue lolling out between his teeth. "What?" She drawled, her mouth curling into a cruel smirk, "you don't like the chase anymore?" 

     Haru's vision had begun to blur as his hands pawed with futility at the air, at his throat. "... No?" she taunted. "What if I go easy on you?" She continued to speak, but all meaning to those noises left his mind. "She told me to make it quick. But I do hate such an unfair task. I'll give you a chance to escape." There was no comprehension in his darting eyes. Nothing in his brain but the deafening beat of his heart and screaming of his nerves. All of a sudden, he gasped and coughed-- he fell to his knees, heaving oxygen into his lungs. Saliva dribbled out of his mouth and all down his front, and he realized how nonsensical that was. It wasn't strictly his drool along his throat. His shoulders were nearly drenched with slick fluid.

"Five," she drawled, her thick eyelashes fluttering as she turned away from him. The pink appendage-- a tongue he saw-- leered at him from the back of her head. The gap it protruded from sneered rows of razor-sharp teeth.

     "Four," she said, and he knew he was looking at a futakuchi-onna, and that she was giving him a headstart. He turned and scrambled at the dirt, clambering to his feet as he wheezed. 

     "Three--"

      He drew in a sharp breath to scream for help. But when his other leg swung forward to catch his stride, he found himself collapsing, pain crashing down on him like a tsunami wave. It started with that leg. When he tried to push himself off the ground, his arm crunched and twisted out from beneath him, and he was flipped supine with a ferocious wrench. Then he was yanked sharply by his remaining leg, dragged house after house after house with his skull skipping off the path before his leg finally separated from his body. 

     It had taken three limbs too long before Haru truly understood what was happening, beyond the animalistic fear of death. She lied. She was toying with him. The tongue sprouting from the woman's occipital lobe held his leg in righteous victory, curling and constricting like a snake. Hot blood streamed out at an angle, dripping over her face-- no doubt ruining her makeup, though that was now just an inkling at the back of her mind.

      Her cheeks ached from her smile, blood and adrenaline coursing through her body like a completed current.

     Haru's leg folded and was lowered steadily behind the woman where it disappeared. The demon mouth devoured his flesh with a sickening grinding and cracking that Haru had never known before. In her hands, she held his remaining body parts. He began to scream. But she had taken him so far so quickly that there couldn't possibly be anyone nearby to hear or help. And those who had heard... they knew better than to acknowledge what haunted the dark.

     Fumiko relished the feast as much as the hunt-- her body was in complete control despite the distance of her overthinking mind. Content as a cat, stimulated and engaged with the challenge. Mortals could only live so long while bleeding out from three dismemberments, so she started by pinching the messiest arteries closed. Haru wailed like a baby, although she had spared him death by another few seconds perhaps.

     Since he was being so ungrateful, she decided to flay his body slowly, dermis layer after dermis layer. It kept him awake to bear witness as she picked him apart. He writhed and cried when her nails began to peel back fluffy fat and marbled meat. With the practiced knowledge of an anatomist, she dug right down to the most tender organs, the ones that wouldn't kill him immediately, at least. Already, his movements were becoming softer, sluggish little twitches and rabbit kicks of shock. The only noise in the air was the occasional wet smacking of Haru's full-body flails, and Fumiko's skull buzzing with opium, wisteria, and gore.

     "Well now," a familiar voice creaked, a hot breath puffing on the back of her neck. Fumiko froze, her demon mouth mid-chew, all too aware of the awful mess she was making. He couldn't have woken up earlier, when her makeup had been pristine and her mind had been whole? She lowered her eyes and lifted her sleeve to her face, trying to tidy the blood without being too obvious. "You look like you're enjoying yourself." 

     "Gyutaro," she uttered, shooting a look his way. His heavy-lidded eyes burned holes into hers, lips split into a wild grin. "Good evening. It's kind of you to," she swallowed unnoticably, "check on me." She suppressed her beating heart's wishes, even though she knew exactly where his mind went when it was just the two of them.

     Haru didn't count as being present, due to the fact he was now dead.

    "I heard that someone told my little sister she wasn't good enough for him. She was bawling so loud she could have woken the dead. Imagine my surprise when she said you were already defending her honor." And, after a pause, "You've been doing it again, haven't you?" He didn't sound too annoyed, but Fumiko got a chill anyway. She resisted the instinct to jump when she felt his hand on the other side of her face-- he had reached around her to smear his fingers along her still-bloodied cheek, keeping his face near enough that his teeth could rip out her esophagus. Not that it would end her life. But it made for a powerful reminder.

     "Yes," she admitted, stepping right onto the blatantly marked trap, tipping her face into his hand. There was no use in lying: it would only make him angrier. Her stomach tightened with fear and anticipation both, awaiting the punishment. 

     She was surprised when he only nodded. He was in a good mood. "I heard he tried to pull a fast one on her," he went on, "and that you shut that shit down." Another trap. He would nudge her those little congratulatory herrings before, and she learned not to rely on them. These games made her smarter, and she loved him for it. 

     "I did." Simple acceptance. If she tried to coax any further praise, it would be rescinded just as quickly. "What will you have me do with his body?" 

     "What's left of it you mean?" He corrected. Then his voice dipped into a warning. "You should really ask permission before you eat. What if I had thoughtfully brought you something?"

     "You're right. I'm sorry." It didn't matter if Daki would have allowed it, and probably would have preferred there be no discoverable body. Unless she was given that explicit order, the weaker demon had no defense to stand on. Fumiko needed to be more careful dancing the line between 'ambitious' and 'willful.' "I take full responsibility. How shall I make it up to you?"

     That was what he liked to hear-- and though she wouldn't have blamed him, or even minded if he'd taken his rage out on her, she practically melted when his fingers shifted along her cheekbone in a gentle pat. "Remember that for next time," he advised. It was perhaps the most pragmatic and merciful he was capable of being. "Now get back to the House. There's word of strangely-dressed men in the area," and his mouth quirked into a different smile. It was the one that changed his visage completely, and made Fumiko wish he would be returning home with her instead. "I might as well handle it, since she's already woken me up. Make sure she eats, and that the food locker is guarded, too." 

     "Of course, Gyutaro," Fumiko replied, not arguing when the true Kizuki left her side to hoist up the partial corpse. She didn't ask what he intended to do with it-- that was his prerogative, and she didn't have the authority to demand answers from him. Fumiko turned away and returned home, trailing bloodied footprints down the path, her thoughts occupied with the things she could do for Gyutaro and his sister: the only family she had left.

[jamespotterthefirst]

Satellite (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart, book 2 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1K Warning: None Prompt: �� 31. "thank you for being in my life" Premise: She comes to his aide when he is stuck unexpectedly babysitting his godson.

A/N: Thank you, anon, for sending this prompt. And I’m sorry it took so long! 

Lilac tried to push down the trepidation that resulted from standing at that one particular door on the fifth floor. The sliver of rationality that managed to peek through reminded her that it was just Ethan. There was nothing to be nervous about.

Except there was.

Lilac was supposed to be keeping her distance unless it was work-related. It was part of his carefully crafted "reset." Lovestruck, weak, and a little pathetic, she found any excuse to seek him out anyway. If she couldn't touch him, at least looking at him should suffice.

It was never enough though, no matter how diligently she engraved the details of his handsome face to her memory.

Breaking out of her reverie, she cleared her throat, knocking on the door.

“Busy,” was the brusque reply from inside.

“Sorry, Doctor Ramsey, I'll just come back later.”

“Rookie?”

“Yes?”

“Come in.”

Nothing could've prepared her for the sight that greeted her. Ethan's tall frame—impossible to miss in the empty office— stood by the window, his posture so rigid, Lilac was convinced it could break through bricks. And in his arms, looking out of place and angled quite awkwardly, was a baby.

When she recovered from her shock, she laughed. Ethan's helpless expression soured and it only made her laugh harder.

“I'm glad my predicament amuses you,” he said dryly.

“I'm sorry,” she offered, trying her best to reign in her laughter. When she regained her composure, she added, “You just look like you’re trying to hold a football.”

“I wouldn’t know how to hold one of those.”

“That's why I said trying.”

“Hrm.”

Biting back another wave of laughter, Lilac focused her attention on the rosy cheeked baby in his arms. Big, bright brown eyes glanced up at her curiously as she approached.

“Who’s this handsome little man?” she asked in a sing-song voice.

“Ethan Hudson,” Adult Ethan provided helpfully. “Alma is in Boston to finalize the sale of Dolores's house. She had a lot on her plate, as you can imagine. So I offered to help with the baby.”

“That's so nice of you, Ethan.”

With all humor gone, Lilac was unable to help the unbridled admiration in her voice. It caught his attention because those striking blue eyes fixed on her, paralyzing every limb in her body. A traitorous blush rose up her neck, burning hotter in the prolonged pause.

“Yes, well…” he said, tearing his eyes away from her at last. “Just don't tell anyone.”

Lilac recovered.

“You're worried people will find out you're a big softie deep down?”

“Terrified,” he returned without missing a beat. “It'll ruin my reputation.”

The baby's legs flailed in the air perched on Ethan's forearm as he was.

“It's a wonder you haven't dropped him.”

“You presume to be better at this?”

“I don't presume. I know I'm better.”

Lilac peered at the wiggling baby, tilted so awkwardly on Ethan's arm that the poor thing was probably unsure what to do. Little Hudson looked as though he was deciding that crying was the appropriate reaction because his tiny nose scrunched up. Ethan noticed too and raised his dark brows in alarm.

“You want to hold him like this,” Lilac explained calmly, gently taking the baby from his arms. With careful but swift maneuvers, she positioned Hudson securely in her arms. She bounced him slightly, eliciting a bright smile from him.

“Perfect. Problem solved,” Ethan declared, heading back toward his desk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Not a chance,” she said, blocking his path. “You're going to learn how to properly hold this child if it takes us all day.”

Ethan raised his brows at her, impressed.

“You'd make a formidable Attending.”

“Maybe I'll take your job someday,” she quipped. “Now, I'm going to give him back. Carefully turn him to face you, one forearm supporting his bottom and your free hand supporting his head. Got it?”

Ethan nodded and successfully followed her directions. The baby smiled widely at Ethan, taking advantage of the proximity to his face and smacking his tiny hands against his bearded jaw. The handsome doctor chuckled, swaying on his feet for the child’s benefit.

“This is nice,” Ethan commented after a while.

Lilac, for her part, forced herself to nod. The sight of the devastatingly handsome Doctor Ethan Ramsey with a baby was too much for her brain to properly process. Privately, she lamented the fact that he said children weren’t in the cards for him. He would have made an excellent father.

Ethan’s heavy gaze settled on her.  As he watched her, something glimmered behind the blue of his eyes. He watched her with as much intensity as he did on that balcony in Miami, right before he kissed her.

“Thank you,” he said at last. His lips parted as though he wished to add something else. When he didn't, Lilac nodded.

“Don't mention it.”

Hudson babbled loudly, as though offering his thanks too. Both doctors watched him as he happily bounced on Ethan’s arm, his tiny fingers playing with the ID badge perched on Ethan’s chest. Watching him healthy and happy made Lilac think of Dolores. She lived on in her son, her own infectious smile mirrored on the tiny face.

Before she could help it her gaze wandered up to Ethan. She froze when she realized he had been watching her quietly, that same unidentifiable look from before in his expression. Staring at those intense, piercing eyes felt like staring straight at the sun in that moment, and so Lilac glanced away.

“Thank you for being in my life.”

The words were like a whisper, so quiet that she almost missed them. And when she did recognize them, Lilac almost  believed he was speaking to his friend's son. Until she glanced up to find him staring directly at her.

“You've done so much for me this past year,” he continued. “I could never repay you.”

“You never have to.”

“I know.”

Something unfurled in the space between them as blue eyes held hers—something that had grown impossible to ignore in the last year, something that had taken root on the night they first watched over Dolores's son.

A tiny shriek of amusement broke the spell. Hudson had gotten hold of Ethan's stethoscope and brandished it over his head with gusto. Still dazed, Lilac laughed as she watched him.

“Looks like someone else is in the running for your job, Doctor Ramsey.”

“Hm,” he said, pulling his chin out of the crazed path of the spinning stethoscope. “His technique is sloppy, but marginally better than most interns these days.”

Notes: More fluff for you!

I decided to hold off on YBF because I’m not happy with it. It has been driving me insane, you guys. I have to finally admit to myself that I’m severely blocked. Thank you everyone for understanding.

Love you all!

[bittersweetbark]

Kinder Surprise egg mini fic

Count di Salvaress restrained his horse and pushed out a sigh of relief. "Ah, it's just you!" He looked down at Geralt and frowned. "What are you doing? Is that a shovel?"

"Digging a hole to make a nest," Geralt answered comprehensively.

"A nest? For Iocaste? She has her nest up there." Di Salvaress tipped his head into the direction of the hill top.

"Shriek!" Iocaste said from somewhere further away.

"Not for her. For those." Geralt emptied a sack full of eggs the size of small melons into the hole and started shovelling soil back to cover them.

"And those are...?" Di Salvaress' horse got nervous and Geralt gave it some axii and a carrot.

"Giant centipede eggs," Geralt provided helpfully.

"Of course." Di Salvaress nodded and then kind of exploded. "Why are you putting those things on my lands? Is that a joke? Don't you usually exterminate that vermin?"

Geralt leant on his shovel and made a gesture encompassing the surrounding territory. "Your lands are shit."

The count drew a shocked breath but had no time to start a tirade.

"Basilisks usually live off larger game and smaller predators, like wolves. You have nothing like that around anymore, only too many rabbits. Iocaste doesn't hunt those. Too small. They are bad for the soil. In a few years it will look very barren around here. Those centipedes eat rabbits and they're large enough Iocaste might get an occasional snack. What you really need is deer, though. I'm working on it. Then you won't have to provide her with cattle and travelling merchants anymore."

Di Salvaress stared.

"We'll call it 'park for endangered species'." Geralt was finished with his nest and stuffed the shovel into Roach's saddle bags in a way it almost resembled his swords on his back.

Di Salvaress shrugged helplessly. "For Iocaste."

"For Iocaste," Geralt aggreed, mounted Roach and clicked his tongue.

This is another contribution to the pan fandom prompt on Fediverse @fanprompt@a.gup.pe - it's not THAT "micro" and not really prompt related ("restrain") as I already had the concept in my notes. For all those modern AU biologist or vet Geralts. I made a pseud on Ao3 for those mini fics, it's "Antimini".

[fandomsnstuff]

Another short one, but this prompt had me stumped

@taznovembercelebration Plant or metal

-

The periodic banging of muscle on metal rings out through the cavern Taako finds himself in. He stands in the middle, wand held up to his lips, pensively considering the wall opposite him. From the entrance behind him, Lup walks up next to him. "What's, uh, what's going on here?"

"Well, there were very tough vines covering the door we needed to go through, so I did magic, and it's seems like-" the sound of Magnus v. Metal rings out again- "it seems like I turned them into an even thicker wall of steel."

"Right. So you volunteered Magnus for a concussion."

He holds up his hands, "I didn't do shit. He's choosing to give himself a concussion."

Lup calls out Magnus's name, and he turns to look at her, in position to go running at the wall again. She tells him to stop and he says, "but I'm almost through!"

"You're really not," Taako provides helpfully.

"The last thing we need is you knocking yourself out," Lup says.

Magnus stands up straight and crosses his arms. "Then what do you suggest we do?"

Lup scoffs. "Blow it up, obviously."

[p-artsypants]

Blurb #7

I'm going to try to share 70 blurbs from my WIPs and unfinished fics to celebrate reaching 70 posted fics! To help with this endeavor, please feel free to send me a word or a fandom you know I write for, and I'll share the blurb. IDK if I'll get 70 prompts, but let's try it! Send as many as you want!

“My lady,” Lady in waiting Nathalie announced, “the Kwami’s have arrived, and are ready to present their gifts.” “Oh!” Emilie tittered nervously. “Can they wait a moment? My husband has not yet arrived.” “Forgive me, my queen, but it is unwise to keep the Kwami waiting.” Emilie nodded in agreement. “Yes of course. Please, show them in.” Nathalie bowed, and disappeared through the main doors. A moment later, they flew open in a gust of wind, settling the crowd into silence. Two glittering orbs, one of red, and one of green danced into the room. The red came first, twirling and taking form into a young woman. Hair of the brightest and most vibrant red, fell to her shoulders in thick rivets. Dressed in a red dress befitting a dancer with black spots, with skirts that billowed and fluffed outwards. Ballet slippers adorned her feet, as ribbons danced up her legs. Two locks of hair stuck out away from her scalp, resembling antennae. “Your majesty,” she greeted in a curtesy. “My name is Tikki, and I am the Kwami of creation, the Ladybug.” “Honored to have you here, my lady.” Emilie bowed her head. Tikki folded her hands in front of her. “As you know, we kwami have been protecting the royal children for eons. Providing them safety and hope in desperate hours. Not but a few months ago, I chose my child. The Princess Marinette, of the Dupain kingdom, just on the other side of the forest. The very Marinette who is betrothed to your son, Adrien. It is unfortunate, but Marinette has already come into dire need. She is very ill, and her parents are very hesitant to leave her, or travel with her. I have come to represent them, and I give a gift in their stead.” Truth be told, Emilie had been so caught up in the whirlwind of the day, she hadn’t even noticed that the King and Queen weren’t there. “Thank you, Tikki. I understand their concern. Please, pass on my wishes for Princess Marinette’s health.” “Thank you, My Queen. Now, I will bestow my gift upon the Prince.” She approached the cradle, cooing at the sweet baby inside. “Sweet Prince, I give you the gift of love. So that you may be compassionate, kind, and gentle with all of those who know you. May your heart be tender, and forgiving. May your presence be a comfort for others, and your subjects in turn love you the same.” With a roll of her hand, some pink sparkles rained down on the babe, as he reached out for them. Tikki retreated, and gestured her companion on. Unlike her, the green orb crackled like thunder, and the kwami appeared in a bolt of lightning. He wore all black, with a thick cape that billowed behind him like a shadow. He wore a belt that extended behind him and dragged on the floor. Within his black hair, two cat-like ears poked out. He studied Emilie with piercing green eyes. Finally, he smiled at her with his fangs. “Greetings, your majesty. My name is Plagg, and I am the Kwami of Destruction, the Black cat. And I have chosen Adrien as my charge.” “Goodness!” Emilie covered her lips. “Destruction?” He snickered. “There is nothing to fear, my queen. My presence is not an ill omen. You would not be the first to assume so.” Emilie sighed. “Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to offend.” “It will take more than that to offend him.” Tikki added helpfully. Plagg glared at her. Then said, “If you’re quite done…I would like to bestow my gift upon the Prince.” Tikki gestured him on. With the poise of a cat, Plagg approached the cradle, and rolled up his sleeves. “Dear little babe, my gift to thee—“ He was cut off, however, but the side door slamming open.

---

I think I need to make these smaller or I'm going to run out before I get to 70. *checks list of WIPS* Well...I might.

[entrepy]

Prompt: team/friends bonding/game night playing blackjack, except whoever goes bust first gets a penalty truth or dare. Nat picks date every time and this one is no different. She’s dared to give someone a lap dance. Roll the roulette wheel of muses and pick who gets it! by @bokketo .

‘ Your dare is to perform a lap dance — on . . . ’ Sharon scans the group deliberately, moving from one face to another until she lands on Sam attempting to hide behind the neck of his beer. ‘ Sam ! ’ she says gleefully. 

Sam is the drunkest one out of the lot of them, and he’s still not drunk enough for this. These nights tend to get rowdy all on their own — with or without the consumption of alcohol, and Thor wasn’t present to fuel that side of the night. Sam’s been sticking to a healthy balance between truth and dare, unlike the rest of the bunch who were far less forthcoming with their truths and a little too eager for their dares. When Natasha’s turn comes around again, Sam thinks he’s safe for a little while longer. Another round to go at least, before he potentially loses his hand and is faced with the consequence. But this time — Natasha’s dare is double edged, and Sharon throws his name into the mix.

During one their earlier game nights they’d had to establish the rule that a dare was able to be forfeited if any personal boundaries were violated. This came after a game of spin the bottle had landed on one of the members of a rather well established couple in the group ( and Steve grew thunderous at the thought of anyone sneaking a kiss onto Bucky, whether it be a dare or not. ) Sam very well has the option to back out, and so does Natasha — but they don’t. And Sharon knew that, that conniving little — 

Natasha pours herself into his lap, settling warm and solid on his hips. There’s nowhere for his hands to go but on either side of his seat ( which was just weird ) or her waist, after someone ( Steve ) helpfully takes his drink away. Someone else turns up the music that’s been playing in the background, a dulcet rhythm and blues mix that provides the perfect temp for Natasha to start rolling her hips to, a hand placed on Sam’s shoulder to keep steady. Aware that his face was mere inches from her breasts, he tip his head up. Maybe God can help him. But then there are gentle fingers coaxing his head forward again, and Natasha smiles at him as she runs them over his cheek, and lips. Sam takes in a long, calculated breath, as his body reacts to their physical closeness. It would’ve been uncomfortable if not for the fact that this closeness is what he’s been craving for so long. He was too busy, too much of a gentleman ( or prude ) to even consider doing anything about it, though. The fact that Natasha was serving it up for him, right in his lap, makes it hard to think, let alone control certain reactions like blood flow. 

[awritingcaitlin]

air elementals and pyromancy don't mix

Babysitting an air elemental making sure he continued to send the signal that everything was okay back to Kaniel was not exactly what Zeh’ave’d had planned for her night, but there she was.

She needed to only touch the other air elemental, preventing him from dissipating. His hands were stuck in cuffs one of the Marines had so helpfully provided. She kept an arc of electricity between her fingertips. Air elementals may be good with lightning, but they were not immune to it.

She was beginning to wonder how long she would have to keep this job when Killian and a couple of mages came up to her. She couldn’t say she recognized either of the two mages. One of them had red hair, the other one looked like he might be the one married to the demonic astral but she wasn’t entirely sure.

“We’ll take him now,” Killian said. “It’s about time for him to tell Kaniel that this mission is complete.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” the air elemental, Zeh’ave never had gotten his name, spat.

“Mmm, tell that to my pyromancer friends,” Killian replied, unfazed.

“Do I need to stick around?” Zeh’ave asked.

“No need,” Killian said.

“Got it,” Zeh’ave said. She didn’t want to be around pyromancy.

-for @nosebleedclub's january writing prompt 9. pyromania

[ssminibang]

Suggested "The Sea" prompts for your convenience!

Not sure what to draw for the Senshi & Shitennou Reverse Mini Bang 2019? Well, lucky for you we have a heck of a lot of prompts!

By the way, sign ups for Artists and Authors will remain open until Sunday 31 March 2019! Just go to our blog and click on the useful links in the description for more information! (We’re not using links here because Tumblr won’t let the post appear in searches if we do 😭)

Beach volleyball

She sells seashells by the sea shore

"The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea." - Isak Dinesen

Sandcastles

Shipwreck, alternatively “Ship To Wreck” - Florence + The Machine

Lighthouse

Siren song

"But let there be spaces in your togetherness and let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another but make not a bond of love: let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." - Kahlil Gibran

Pirates, Buccaneers and Privateers, alternatively, Ching Shih (aka Cheng I Sao) 

(S)he's a shark!

Canon ball

“That figurehead on the prow is beautiful!”

Sports Illustrated, Swimsuit Edition

Unleash the Kraken!, alteratively, Legendary sea creatures/sea monsters

"A woman knows the face of the man she loves as a sailor knows the open sea." - Honore De Balzac

Moonlight skinny-dipping

Swimming with the dolphins

“Some people long for a life that is simple and planned / Tied with a ribbon / Some people won't sail the sea 'cause they're safer on land / To follow what's written / But I'd follow you to the great unknown / Off to a world we call our own.” - The Greatest Showman

Tropical vacation getaway

"A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor." - Franklin D. Roosevelt

Marooned

"I slathered on SPF 75 every hour, faithfully, and still cooked like an oversized fucking lobster."

Surfing

Palm trees

“A frog in a well does not know the great sea.” - Zhuangzi

The Spanish Armada

Message in a bottle

Thalassophobia

"Just keep swimming" - Finding Nemo

“Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” - Brian Hyland 

“Consider the subtleness of the sea; how its most dreaded creatures glide under water, unapparent for the most part, and treacherously hidden beneath the loveliest tints of azure. Consider also the devilish brilliance and beauty of many of its most remorseless tribes, as the dainty embellished shape of many species of sharks. Consider, once more, the universal cannibalism of the sea; all whose creatures prey upon each other, carrying on eternal war since the world began. Consider all this; and then turn to the green, gentle, and most docile earth; consider them both, the sea and the land; and do you not find a strange analogy to something in yourself? For as this appalling ocean surrounds the verdant land, so in the soul of man there lies one insular Tahiti, full of peace and joy, but encompassed by all the horrors of the half-known life. God keep thee! Push not off from that isle, thou canst never return!” - Herman Melville

"Only An Ocean Away” - Celtic Garden cover of Sarah Brightman

Sex On The Beach

Sea shanty, alternatively, “Cardiff Rose” - Roger McGuinn

The Age of Exploration

Tantallon Castle

Merpeople

Saint Emlo’s Fire

“Plenty more fish in the sea”

Namma, Mesopotamian goddess of the Cosmic Ocean.

Pearls

Stowaway

The long journey home

“A ship should not ride on a single anchor, nor life on a single hope” - Epictetus

Tying knots

"Time and tide wait for no man.” - Geoffrey Chaucer

"The whole business of love is to drown in the sea." - Rumi

Smuggling/trafficking

Beach glass and driftwood

“Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?" - Shakespeare

"His blue eyes were seas where sorrow sailed." - Dean Koontz

"Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink.” - Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Washed up ashore

“I need you like water in my lungs.”

Go with the flow

Creatures of the deep, alternatively, “With its untold depths, couldn't the sea keep alive such huge specimens of life from another age, this sea that never changes while the land masses undergo almost continuous alteration? Couldn't the heart of the ocean hide the last–remaining varieties of these titanic species, for whom years are centuries and centuries millennia?” - Jules Verne

You are my true north

With only the stars to guide us

The mournful cry of seagulls

“Yea, and if some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, / even so I will endure… / For already have I suffered full much, / and much have I toiled in perils of waves and war. / Let this be added to the tale of those.” - Homer

Cruise ship shenanigans

“Well, someone's feeling salty about something, hmm?”

“Join the navy, see the world!”

“In a sea of faces, I always look for yours."

"Missing you comes in waves, and tonight, I'm drowning."

Hidden depths

“It’s called ‘wayfinding’, Princess. It’s not just sails and knots, it’s seeing where you’re going in your mind. Knowing where you are by knowing where you’ve been.” - Moana

"I followed the waves to you." - Melissa Auf Der Maur

If you put a conch shell up to your ear, you can hear the sound of the ocean.

Drifting away

Interesting/creepy discoveries while scuba diving

"The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its close, soft embrace." - Kate Chopin

"The sea is as close as we come to another world." - Anne Stevenson

Storming the beach at Normandy

As faithful as the tides, alternatively, "Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away." - Sarah Kay

Feast of the Seven Fishes

“Heart of the Ocean" - Gaelic Storm

"This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, / Sails the unshadowed main,— / The venturous bark that flings / On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings / In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, / And coral reefs lie bare, / Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair." - Oliver Wendell Holmes

Sand between your toes, alternatively, Sitting under a big umbrella with sand between your toes and a trashy romance novel 

"Go jump off a cliff, preferably into shark-infested waters, asshole!"

“Uh, who is the ship named after, Captain?”

The palaces and treasures of the Dragon Kings (Chinese mythology see Journey to the West by Wu Cheng’en)

The Bermuda Triangle

The Four Winds and the Seven Seas

Between Scylla and Charybdis

"It was many and many a year ago /I n a kingdom by the sea..." - Edgar Allan Poe

Starfish and Sea Horses

Steampunk ocean travel

"Red Sky at night, Sailors delight; Red Sky in the morning, Sailors take warning."

Ship's cat

A hasty shipboard marriage, alternatively, "(S)he has a girl/guy in every port."

Ghost Ship

Shore Leave antics, alternatively, Yacht party

Quaint coastal towns

Ship in a bottle

The Lost City of Atlantis

View through the spyglass

"Come unto these yellow sands, / And then take hands / Curtsied when you have and kissed" - Shakespeare

Sea Noir: “There's not much to do on the open sea. Play cards and bet away your last dollar, the shirt off your back. Pray for good weather. Work, day in, day out. Sing it again, Sailor. Maybe this time, the gods will take mercy on us. Maybe someday, we'll make it home.”

May Day! May Day!

[ao3bronte]

🌈⚔️MARIGAMI HEADCANONS🌈🎀

They say opposites attract, and Marinette and Kagami really couldn’t be more different. Calm, cool and collected, Kagami considers herself to be a brewing storm on an even keel, sharp enough to strike but only when prompted. She’s precise with a sword and even more precise with her words. Vague expressions and underhanded motives have never suited her; Kagami is lightning on the mountain. Unmovable. Unshakable.

Marinette is just a mess. Silly, excitable, all over the place. A heart of gold and a body that seems to contort itself in ways the body simply shouldn’t. She trips over a speck of dust and lands on her head only to right herself a moment later, just in time to face plant into a door frame. Marinette sings and dances without thinking, applying herself to every worthy cause. She smiles and laughs openly and always sees the good in everyone.

Kagami can’t help but be suitably enamoured.

The fencer has never had time for friends, but the more time she spends with Marinette, the more she realises that she needs to start making time. Kagami’s mother, a woman she respects greatly, has always controlled how she spends her free time. Lately though, she doesn’t seem to mind Marinette’s presence and Kagami doesn’t question it. If Tomoe will allow her the odd get together with Marinette, she certainly won’t argue.

Marinette and Kagami spend most of their time together at cafés drinking Orangina and giggling at videos on TikTok. Kagami is only allowed to have pre-approved apps on her iPhone and the two of them love watching all of the silly videos huddled up on their favourite banquette in the corner. Marinette knows she likes #organizing on TikTok and saves the amazing ones to show Kagami while they wait for their order to arrive. It’s always the little things with Marinette that make Kagami appreciate their time together more than ever.

This week, Kagami proposes that they go for a bicycle ride down the banks of the Seine. She loves to do active things and Marinette has proven that, so long as she wears a helmet, the clumsy girl can actually stay on her bike without falling over. It should be a safe enough passtime, but Kagami packs a First Aid kit in her backpack just in case.

The spring breeze rushes through her hair as they fly down the banks together and Kagami smiles, just a little. The sound of Marinette’s laugh brings her enough joy that she can hardly tamper the urge to join her, except Kagami doesn’t really laugh very often. She wants to though. Marinette inspires her to try.

“This is the perfect spot!” Marinette exclaims, slowing down her bicycle just enough to hop off the seat and walk it down to a larger clearing. The shade of the trees has invited many Parisians to sit down and relax with a picnic basket and all at once, Kagami realises that this is what Marinette expects to do as well. Kagami has never had a picnic before. It will be a new experience.

“You’re going to love this!” Marinette beams, tugging a blanket and an insulated sack out of her back pack. “I brought croissants and gougères and some vegetarian quiche…” Marinette prattles on, pulling out one snack after another from her parents’ boulangerie patisserie. It’s a menagerie of food Kagami isn’t always allowed to indulge in and Kagami has certainly begun to appreciate why the French are so obsessed with butter.

“What are these?” Kagami asks once she’s sat down across from her friend. Marinette has managed to unpackage everything without dropping them, tossing them skywards or mashing them into her toes accidentally and Kagami is thankful for little miracles. “I’ve never seen them before.”

“These? Oh! These are new. One of my dad’s newest creations.” Marinette giggles and hands her the little carton. Inside are two small, pear shaped cookies with pink and green frosting on them. “He calls them his ‘Poires d’Amour’.”

Kagami raises her brow and takes the one closest to her. “Do they taste like pears?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried them. We get to be guinea pigs today!” Marinette plucks the other cookie from the bottom of the box and takes a generous bite. “Mmm! They’re pretty good! A lot better than his matcha and date macarons from last week.”

Kagami cringes at the combination and takes a bite of the cookie, chewing it thoughtfully. The pear taste is subtle, its flavour heightened only slightly by the essence in the green frosting. There is another flavour there though, one that reminds her of melon, and Kagami scrutinises the uneaten half of the cookie between her fingers in an attempt to figure it out on her own.

“It’s cactus pear.” Marinette provides helpfully a moment later, licking the rest of the frosting off her fingers. Kagami finds her gaze drawn to the carefree flicker of her tongue between her lips. “Weird, right? I’d never heard of it, but my dad always buys the weirdest stuff from the exotic grocer just down the road from us. Apparently, it’s some sort of pink fruit that…”

Kagami listens with half an ear as Marinette continues down another one of her tangents, always happy to fill the empty space between them with words and stories and whatever else comes to mind. Kagami appreciates and welcomes the sound of her voice and the shape of her words on her lips as they pour forth like a fountain, bathing her in a warmth of chatter that Kagami grew up without.

It’s the complete opposite of what she’s used to and Kagami has grown to love it.

[PART 2] >>

SEE ALL OF MY LGBTQ+ HEADCANONS HERE!

[keepingupwithpotters]

come swim in my ocean

For @efkgirldetective ‘s second week of summer of jily 🌊🌊🌊 with some minor wolfstar thrown in there

swimming with friends + today we're younger than we're ever gonna be (✨vibes✨)

Lily didn’t think they would actually do it.

Sure, it was a fun concept to joke about with your friends, but that’s all it was supposed to be — a dare everybody laughs at but does not try to execute.

She tries to gauge whether it’s too late to chicken out without losing her dignity. She can hear clothes hitting the sand as they’re thrown over carelessly between laughter.

Welp. No turning back now.

She realizes her mistake when she’s the only one left standing with clothes on.

“Well, c’mon Evans. This was your brilliant plan.”

“A plan that made me reevaluate all my previous assessments of you. Who knew Evans had it in her?” She can’t see his face in the dark, but she knows Sirius just winked at her.

She pathetically tries one more time to bring them back from this terrible decision. “You know, I’m starting to think this isn’t such a good idea after all.”

“Ah, come off it Lily,” Marlene yells from… somewhere. “What? You can talk the talk but won’t strip for the walk?”

“It’s not the skinny-dipping part that’s the problem,” she insists unconvincingly, “it’s the night part. The water is probably freezing right now.”

“I’m happy to do this with you again in the morning, Evans.” She tries to resist the usual urge of looking at James when he talks. “But if that’s your only excuse, the water is just fine.”

Peter helpfully flicks some water to Lily to prove James’ point.

Damn it. The water is actually rather nice.

Feeling ganged up on, she sighs deeply to show her displeasure with the turn of events, and starts to work on her clothes quickly. She won’t give them the satisfaction of turning her back while doing it though or acknowledge Mary’s loud whoop – which she shouted in the wrong direction.

Finally out of her last piece of clothing, she grabs the closest hand she can find, and tugs on it once before running into the water.

The loud splashing they make alerts the others to their new location. One by one they come into the sea, sometimes with shrieks and sometimes with swears.

Her companion laughs when the last two dark figures dip into the water as well, it was Remus after all, and turns to her general direction. “I gotta hand it to you, Lily. You’re really committed to cause maximum damage to James’ brain.”

Before Lily can answer him, they are interrupted by Sirius’ loud bellowing, “Wherefore art thou, Moony? Tell that red headed wench it’s not nice to steal my boyfriend for herself.”

“Tell it to the wench yourself,” Lily shouts back before realizing her mistake. Now located by the others, loud splashes fill her ear from everywhere as they all swim to their direction. She makes an honorable attempt to escape with Remus before giving up, not feeling ready for a swimming race with five people on their tail.

James and Sirius are the first ones to reach them, because of course they are, and she leaves Remus to his boyfriend before Sirius starts yelling more Shakespeare quotes. She is just about to swim towards Mary and Marlene to meet them halfway when a hand on her ankle stops her.

“You’re not cruel enough to leave me alone with them when they are naked, are you Evans?”

“Hate to break it to you but I’m very much naked as well, Potter,” she grins cheekily.

“Oh, believe me, I’m aware of that.”

She curses the new moon once more for although providing a very nice opportunity to look at the stars, doesn’t let her see James’ expression.

She can hear the girls catching up to them slowly with Peter not far behind. “Let me save you then, Potter. Are you up for a little swimming?”

Not waiting for his answer, which she can only guess is an enthusiastic nod, she starts to swim away from the upcoming party, knowing he’ll follow.

They are careful not to go deeper, only sideways, until they leave their friends’ earshot. With an unspoken agreement they stop, Lily finally allowing herself to gaze at the sky. She assumes that’s what James is doing too until he interrupts her thoughts.

“I’d hoped it would be brighter.”

She doesn’t answer him, her silence prompting James to explain himself. “The starlight, I mean. Don’t get me wrong, it's beautiful, but it’s not the scenery I want to be looking at right now.”

“Yeah, it’s jarring not to see your face when you’re speaking. Who knows how idiotic you actually look right now?”

James takes her right hand without speaking, bringing it to the edge of his brow. She doesn’t understand what he’s doing until he passes it over the slight lines of his forehead – he's letting her feel his facial expression.

Emboldened by his explicit permission, she lets her fingers rake through the hairs that have stuck on his forehead with water, combing them back with care. She follows the line of his brows, paying special attention to smooth the furrow in between. Her fingers fall dawn to his nose next, and it feels like his breathing had stopped a long time ago. She lovingly touches the cheekbones, wiping drops of water from them slowly. Careful not to skip a line, she trails the arch until she reaches his jaw, feeling it tense and ripple beneath her hand. When her thumb finally touches his lips, she finds them slightly open, just like how she envisioned, and she swears neither of them are breathing in that moment.

But Lily doesn’t want to stop there. She didn’t get James naked to touch his face. She lowers her hand.

If he had stopped breathing before, he certainly starts back when he gasps as her hand passes over his neck. She adds her other hand to grip both of his shoulders, their feet touching every once in a while as they try to stay afloat by just kicking them back and forward. That’s when she realizes James is not using his arms either, standing stock still, afraid to move.

Feeling bolder than ever, she glides her hand until she reaches his, placing it somewhere above her waist, sliding it upwards to encourage him. He practically chokes.

She goes back to outlining his collarbones with her fingers, feeling him shiver underneath her. Or is that her shivering when he slightly caresses the skin over her ribs? She doesn’t know where she ends and he starts under the water.

Which is why she doesn’t react immediately when she feels something touching her foot. A head emerges out of the sea, causing both of them to splash apart. She doesn’t see who it is, but the devilish voice tells her it’s Mary soon enough.

“Oi, lovebirds, pack it up. We’re going back to the house, and we’re leaving no man behind.”

More splashing comes behind Mary, causing all heads to turn that way. “Peter and I lost the water fight, pulling the metaphorical short stick in a sense.”

Peter finally reaches them, and they wait for him to stop his wheezing. “Sirius wanted me to tell you that he and Remus have dibs on the shower first because they are a superior couple who can keep it in their pants while swimming with friends.” An uncomfortable beat. “His words.”

They swim back to the shore soon after that, but she can still hear James grumbling about what pants as they make good use of their time waiting for their turn to shower.

[lizziethebibrid]

Finishing this ask:

ao3 link here

prompts list here

66. Do you know what you’re like when you’re drunk?

MG stumbled down the school corridors, thanking his vampire reflexes and strength for helping him out in his current predicament. He was still pretty amped up himself with finally getting a second to breathe, some time to relax after everything they had to go through that semester. It wasn’t often that they actually got time to themselves lately. Even if that was just to study and be normal - however normal they could be - students.

Having a party in the middle of a school week seemed like a good way to start.

“You know this, this is a whole other level,” a very drunk Ethan stated in awe from right next to him.

“What is?” MG humored the conversation as he tried to get him back to his room so he could pass out in peace.

“The school, the parties…” Ethan trailed off. “You know sometimes I just- I think I might miss being, like a normal person? But mostly I don’t? You know?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess. It’d be nice not having to drink blood to survive,” MG answered. He’d reconciled with being a vampire long ago, loved all the people he’d met because of it, but sometimes he couldn’t help but miss his human self. Imagine what it would have been like if he’d never turned.

“But you’re so awesome, dude!” Ethan insisted, falling further into MG’s side who struggled not to topple over. “I’ve always wanted to be like you. Even when I didn’t remember, I think I kind of did.”

MG couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t exactly the life he’d wanted for Ethan, but it was still kind of nice to have him with them at the school. Even more convenient that he hadn’t had to die in order to become part of the supernatural community. MG might have accepted vampirism into his life, but he wouldn’t exactly impose it on other people like that, especially not someone he really cared about.

They eventually reached Ethan’s room, MG managing to hold him up while also opening the door and dragging him inside. He let him fall on his bed where he spent a couple of seconds with his face smushed into the pillow before turning around to stare at the ceiling.

“I think- I might be drunk,” Ethan eventually concluded.

“I think your perception skills are on point,” MG said with a chuckle.

“My mom would kill me if she found out,” he sighed. “But I could probably tell her I also turn invisible now and that would distract her from the underage drinking.”

“I think you should refrain from any big, life altering decisions until you’re sober again,” MG helpfully provided, taking a seat on the foot of the bed. He just wanted to make sure everything was fine before he left.

“Yeah…” Ethan sighed. “You know,” he continued, sluggishly pushing himself up until he was sitting in front of MG. “I’m really, really sorry for lying to you.”

“Ethan, we talked about that. We’re cool,” MG tried to reassure him even though he was pretty sure he wouldn’t remember it the next day.

“I know, but that, like- It wasn’t cool. Not to you,” Ethan said. “I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

MG wasn’t sure what more he could say, he’d already forgiven him, had brought him back to the school, promised he would be there for him even if no one else would be. He’d come to really care for Ethan and he knew how easily mistakes were made sometimes.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Lizzie asked you not to say anything and I know it’s not always easy to tell her no.”

Ethan snorted, looking down at the covers. “I thought it might have been right. Letting her do this, not putting  everyone in danger.” And MG really knew he hadn’t meant to hurt him, but it’d still stung that he’d gone behind his back. He wasn’t lying when he said they were cool, but he just… Felt like they were in a different place now. Maybe that was just him. They were friends. They were still ‘fighting’ over Lizzie.

“Well, for the record, everyone  is safe now, so we don’t really have to worry,” he said.

“Right. And we’re all alive. Which is good. And we can go back to where we were before,” Ethan stated solemnly.

“Which is a good thing,” MG finished for him, a crease in his brow. “No more threats hanging over our heads.”

“No, that is- that’s great, really great. Great for us. But like- can we- we’re not where we should be,” Ethan stumbled over his words. MG was honestly not sure how he hadn’t passed out yet, but he was struggling to make sense and the least he could do was try and follow.

“I’m not sure I understand…” he said.

“We are not okay,” Ethan tried to explain again, his words slurring a bit. “Between us.”

“You mean about Lizzie?” MG once again tried to make sense.

“Lizzie’s not the issue, man,” he insisted. “She’s not- This whole thing, it doesn’t exist!”

Either MG was drunk too or Ethan was just not making any sense anymore. “What doesn’t exist?”

“This,” Ethan insisted once more. “The whole- love triangle thing.”

“Oh.” Realization finally hit. “Wait. You’re saying, you’re not into Lizzie?”

“I was. Must have been. I think. She’s great, but she’s just…” he trailed off, staring back at MG. “Not the one I’ve been thinking about.”

Oh.

And maybe this wasn’t the greatest time because Ethan was drunk out of his mind and it was highly possible he wouldn’t remember any of that tomorrow, but MG couldn’t help but hold on to his words. Drunk or not, he wasn’t lying to him right now.

“I haven’t really been thinking about her like that either,” he eventually said.

No one said anything for a few seconds until Ethan gave a little nod. “That is… good to know,” he said, tilting only slightly to the left.

MG really wanted to finish the conversation, but it was getting more and more evident that it wouldn’t be exactly possible at this state. They would definitely be able to get further when they were all sober and aware of their surroundings.

“I think it might be time to go to sleep,” MG said.

“Yeah, probably,” Ethan sighed as he fell back on his side, hugging a pillow against him. “Good night.”

MG was itching to say more, but he was pretty sure anything he did wouldn’t process right now. It wasn’t the right time.

“Good night,” he said instead. 

He had hope that Ethan would actually remember their conversation the next morning, that maybe he also possessed some supernatural instinct of overriding big amounts of alcohol. Then again if that were true, he probably wouldn’t be drunk tonight.

And so next morning after Ethan had stumbled his way to breakfast - much like most of the other students - and sat opposite of MG, whispering a hi and shielding his face from the light coming in from the windows, MG couldn’t help but blurt out, “Do you know what you’re like when you’re drunk?”

“Oh God,” Ethan muttered. “I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?”

“No, not stupid,” MG said. “You don’t remember?”

“It’ll come back to me, I just need a second,” Ethan answered with a sigh. “And lots of coffee.”

MG couldn’t help but smile once more. He could wait for a second.

[novelconcepts]

prompt from @alominific​: a snapshot from FWB ‘verse, in which everybody absolutely, without a doubt, knows what color Jamie’s eyes are

“Dani?” 

She raises her head, fingers sliding between the pages of her book to mark her place. “Yeah?”

“Got a weird question for you.” Jamie is leaning against the kitchen counter, frowning at her phone. Dani would best categorize her expression as gently perplexed--not the first time something on the internet has sparked such a look, though the inciting incident could be anything from an odd social media message to a truly bizarre animal photo. 

“Shoot,” Dani says, when it becomes apparent Jamie is lost in whatever has plucked up her puzzlement. “Though if it’s about the mating rituals of ducks again, I really don’t think I’m the person--”

“What color are my eyes?”

Not what I expected. “Um. Do you...not know?”

Jamie gesticulates with the phone as though it’s just insulted her family name, shaking her head. “No, look--stop laughing, there’s a goddamn debate raging over on my most recent photo. Which, honestly, how bored do you have to be? Eye color doesn’t spark debate.”

“Evidently, it does.” Dani grins. "Your fan club never ceases finding new ways to stay busy, huh?”

Jamie squints at her. “Are you stalling?”

“No!” Why stall? This is an easy question. Barely a question at all, really. A nice-straightforward-- “Your eyes are definitely--I mean, they’re--”

“You have to look?” Jamie sounds scandalized, squeezing her eyes shut and clapping her free hand over her face for good measure. “Jesus, Dani. You’ve only been starin’ into ‘em for a year.”

“No, it’s not--” Dani flops back in her chair, closing her own eyes and casting back. The memories spill over, neat as Saturday morning: Jamie, grinning from across the table; Jamie, glancing up in the supermarket; Jamie, gazing down at her in bed. 

Jamie, whose eyes are definitely, absolutely--

“Blue?” Dani asks hesitantly. Jamie makes an undignified noise. 

“That was a question. You just answered a question with a question.”

“Brown,” Dani says, with as much certainty as she can muster. “They’re definitely--”

"Brown?” Jamie sounds vaguely outraged. “You think they’re brown?”

“Well,” Dani says, a bit peevishly, “what color do you think my--”

“Blue.” Jamie doesn’t even wait for her to finish. Her mouth is working, the way it does when she’s trying desperately to hang on to a grumpy mood even as it’s slipping away. “Blue as a fuckin’ summer sky. Blue as the songs say. Blue as--”

“All right! Point made.” Dani leans over the kitchen table, book forgotten, hands reaching hopefully toward Jamie’s hunched frame. “C’mere, let me look. We’ll settle this.”

“Oh, settle it, will we?” Jamie grumbles. “Sure, right, you’re doin’ me a favor.”

Now she’s just being childish. Dani raises an eyebrow. 

“Would you say keeping the upper hand in this conversation is more important than sleeping in my bed tonight, or...?”

“Valid.” Tossing herself moodily into the next chair, Jamie shakes the hair from her face, leans in, opens her eyes comically wide. “Right. Settle it, then.”

Dani leans close.

Dani looks.

Dani keeps looking.

“Seriously?” Jamie blinks rapidly, scrubbing a hand across her face. “Practically half a goddamn hour, you still don’t have an answer?”

“They’re--” Dani makes a helpless gesture. “They’re--very pretty.”

“That is not,” Jamie says, clearly fighting a grin now, “what I asked.”

“So pretty,” Dani repeats. “Gorgeous, really. Best eyes I’ve ever--”

“Dani Clayton, do you legitimately not know what color my eyes are?”

“Well, they’re like a--I don’t know, a sunbeam.”

“A sunbeam,” Jamie repeats, like Dani has started speaking French mid-conversation. Dani winces.

“Sure. Beautiful. And, um. Unknowable.”

“This is ridiculous.” Jamie flips her phone in her hand, taps the screen several times. “We’re getting a professional opinion.”

“I’m not a professional opinion?”

“You just told me my eyes are sunbeams. All rights to a career as number one Jamie enthusiast have gone out the door for the foreseeable.” Jamie punches something on the screen and folds her arms on the table as the phone begins to ring. 

“So, who are you,” Dani begins, cutting herself off when a voice on the other end of the phone says pleasantly, “Wingrave residence, Mrs. Grose speaking.”

“Hannah,” Jamie sighs. “Dire question for you. What color would you say my eyes are?”

There is, Dani is amused to note, an extremely long beat of silence, after which Hannah’s voice--hesitant, and not the least bit formal now--pipes back up.

“Um...blue?”

“This is ridiculous,” Jamie repeats, sounding as though she has no idea how she’s ended up surrounded by such lunacy. “Ask Flora. Flora will know.”

“You’re outsourcing to the children now?” Dani is mildly insulted. 

A scuffling sound, as Hannah covers the phone and calls for the kids. Another, as tiny feet skitter over tile. Breathless, and no less excited for it, Flora’s voice filters through the speaker. 

“Jamie!”

“Flora,” Jamie says, narrowing her eyes at Dani with a grim little smile. “Important question for you. What color are my eyes?”

“Well,” Flora’s tiny voice comes back without missing a beat. “They’re definitely not blue--” Jamie makes a vindicated little motion in Dani’s direction at this. “--because Miles has blue eyes. And they’re definitely not brown, because mine are brown.” A pause, as Jamie leans back in her chair and smirks. “I think they’re...green.”

“Green,” Jamie repeats. Dani takes her by the chin, twisting her jaw left and right in an effort to coax the poor kitchen lighting to reveal hidden secrets. “You think so?”

“They’re not,” Dani mouths. Green, she feels, is a very straightforward color. Jamie’s are anything but straightforward.

“Yes,” Flora says with all the certainty of a child who rarely believes herself to be wrong. “Definitely. Except for the days when they’re not.”

“Oh,” says Jamie in a rather distant tone. “Well, clears it right up then, doesn’t it?”

“You’re welcome!” 

“Well.” Dani taps the table once. “That’s--who are you calling now?”

Jamie mutters something that sounds just a little too much like last hope for Dani to take seriously. She shakes her head. 

“I’m really starting to think--”

“Owen,” Jamie says, hefting the phone to her ear. “Oi. Quick question--no, everything’s fine. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell her. Okay. Look, question: you’ve been looking at my face for a while, yeah?” A pause, as Owen ostensibly agrees. “Great. What color are my eyes?”

Dani watches, amused, as the determination slowly drains from Jamie’s face. It is replaced by something very much like defeat, her head slumping onto her arms; by the time she’s saying, “Right. Uh huh. You really think so?”, her face is almost completely barricaded in the sleeve of her flannel. 

“He said blue, didn’t he?” Dani asks, when Jamie hangs up and slides her phone so forcefully across the table, it nearly spills onto the floor. “You know, there are many shades of--”

“Gray,” Jamie says into the hollow of her arm. “He seemed very sure they’re gray.”

“Gray is,” Dani says helpfully, “sort of like blue.”

Jamie makes a noise a little like a growl. Dani swallows the impulse to laugh.

“Jamie.”

“Mm.”

“You don’t actually know the answer, do you?”

Jamie raises her head, hilariously morose. “I honestly write a different fuckin’ answer on every form.”

The giggles are going to make it out of her, Dani recognizes; it’s just a matter of fending them off long enough to get Jamie grinning, too. “What, um. What does the fan club have to say about it?”

Without looking, Jamie fumbles for her phone. Takes a deep breath. Flicks it open.

“There is,” she says dryly, “a dead tie between gray, green, and fuck all knows, she’s hot.”

“That settles it, then.” Dani slips out of her chair, resting her chin gently on Jamie’s shoulder. “Next time you have to fill out a form, just write in fuck all, she’s hot, and you’re golden.”

Jamie snorts, dropping the phone and leaning back into the embrace. “Really think they’re pretty, at least?”

“None prettier.”

"Maybe I’ll just start putting that.” Jamie shakes her head. “Prettier than yours. Think that’d go over all right?”

“Think they’d stop arguing the minute they saw your face,” Dani says, and finds herself meaning it with no shame at all. Jamie turns, nuzzling into her hair. 

“You’re just saying that to distract from how you defaulted to brown.”

“Okay, literally everyone said a different color, you’re still going to tease me for brown?”

“Dani.” To punctuate the imminent point, Jamie widens her eyes again--as far as she can manage, at least, while dissolving into laughter. “Of all the fuckin’ colors. You picked the one I have never once seen in the mirror.”

“Well, someone wouldn’t let me look.” 

Still laughing, Jamie shifts in her seat, catches her around the waist, pulls her down into her lap. “You,” she says fondly, “are the smartest person I know. And, if I’m being honest, the love of my life.”

“And?” Her hands are warm, slipping under Dani’s shirt, her mouth soft on Dani’s neck. It’s almost pleasant enough to forget Jamie is about to say--

“And your observation skills are, and I mean this with boundless affection: non-existent. I mean. Brown?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Dani takes her face between gentle hands, gazing at her with all the seriousness she can muster. “Let me get this right. Your eyes are...a perfect green-gray-gold-hazel. In this light. Tomorrow, I’ll provide an update out in the sun.”

Jamie’s entire body is shuddering with laughter, her head falling forward until Dani releases and allows her to lean into her collar. “Best stick to pretty, I think.”

“I thought you’d say that. But if you want me to drop a comment tomorrow, resolving the issue once and for--” She cuts herself off with a shriek as Jamie stands abruptly, hoisting her with a sharp motion onto the table. “You’re about to pretend we never had this conversation, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Jamie says pleasantly, brushing a kiss against her lips. Her hands are sliding up Dani’s thighs, squeezing just hard enough to distract from the issue. “Unless you’d say keeping the upper hand is more important...”

Dani sees no reason to dignify this with a response. 

[shelby-love]

CONNOR RHODES

Metaphorical cheek inflammination.

Requested: yes

Prompts: none

Warning(s): /

Author's note: Wrote this from the top of my head. I hope it's to your satisfaction since I didn't really have any foundation to work with. xx

~

"Good morning Maggie," Connor chirped, walking into the ED with his arm slung around your shoulders. You smiled sheepishly at the smirking lady, focusing on matching his footing.

"Well look who's awfully cheerful on a Monday morning," She teased.

Chuckling, you allowed yourself to take a minute to talk with her. Connor was still dotting at your side by the time you made it to her, "He's been like this since that stunt he pulled in the OR last week." You informed her helpfully.

She furrowed her brows, "That whole ordeal with Ava? That takes guts."

"Eh," He shrugged, nuzzling his lips to your ear almost as if he can't stop himself. "It wasn't that hard."

You pointed to him, ignoring the warmth his lips provided, and mouthed 'See?'

Maggie wiggled her eyebrows and brushed you off, "Get out of here you love birds, and behave."

"When did we not?" Connor commented before you pulled him away.

Only once the two of you huddled up together in the comfort of the doctors lunge did you let the blood travel to your cheeks. "You're impossible."

Your man just chuckled, knowing that the biggest reason for his flirty behavior was his love for teasing you. The flushed look you get whenever he does something more than kiss you sweetly in public is his favorite thing on earth.

"You're so cute when you blush." He told you. The moment you rolled your eyes was the moment he started to laugh.

"Yeah, yeah laugh all you want."

"C'mon, I know you liked it." He drawled, brushing his hands against your forearms.

You just gave him a look. "We're not done yet."

Connor leaned in to give you a toe curling kiss before letting you go on with your day. He watched as you sashayed out into the ER, hands in your hair to fix it for a short second before disappearing behind a curtain.

He strode out after you, smiling from ear to ear.

And Maggie watched it all from the side, enjoying seeing the love you two shared for each other.

MASTERLIST

[meerkat-sims]

"You don't know who she is? Honestly, Tom! That's Evelyn Ward, the daughter of our host, Judith Ward. She's practically Del Sol Valley royalty, or at least she would be, if she ever left her mother's mansion. No-one quite knows why she's not allowed to leave - probably just that Judith needs to have the little princess trotted out at all these parties she throws. The young man with the unfortunate facial...expression? Oh, that's Al-something Volkov - he and his father are on loan from some agency over in Windenburg to act as security for poor Judith after that last break-in. Very dedicated to his job..."

"...Though there are rumours that's not all he's dedicated to..."

@shoobysims Couples Lookbook Challenge - Prompt 20: A Royal Affair. And yeah, that's Evelyn and Alexei's whole deal. Bodyguard/Royal romances are great, except when they lead to the deaths of the whole Jedi temple.

Dress by @rustys-cc, jewellery by @sentate, outfit by @satterlly, and sunglasses by @tamo-sim. Shoes are from VG. The gossipy couple who so helpfully provided us with all this exposition are Tom and June Shallow, recreated from TS3 by @nomorebadtownies.

[marjansmarwani]

I’m far away, but I am right there 

1.6k || ao3

While TK is fighting the wildfire Carlos does his best not to worry. Mostly, he fails. Fortunately for him, he has someone on his side too. ---- Missing moment (I'd like to think) from 2x03

A slightly belated gift for the wonderful @lonestarbabe! I originally was working on something completely different, but I wanted to give you something with some Mya. I hope you enjoy it 💕

Beta’d by @officereyes and title courtesy of @firefighterstrand 

----------------

The weeks-long battle against the San Angelo fire continues at this hour, with officials now saying the blaze has consumed more than 180,000 acres with less than 5% containment. 

They had the news on again. 

Carlos did his best to ignore it, willing himself to focus solely on his paperwork and nothing else. 

Response teams are exhausted, most of them having been in this fight for days now in dangerous and inhospitable conditions, grabbing what little rest they can, here on the front lines of this inferno. 

But it was hard when all his brain wanted to do was worry about TK. His boyfriend was 200 miles from home on the front lines of the worst wildfire in Texas history, and tidbits of information like that were not helpful in lessening his worry.

At first he told himself it would be fine, it would just be a day or two before they’d have the fires under control. But as one day stretched into several and then became a week, it became harder with each passing breath to not focus solely on this fear. He wondered if this is how his past boyfriends had felt about his job. Secretly he doubted it; not because of the lack of risks, but because of their lack of investment. But if they had ever felt even an inkling of this, he was sorry he had put them through that. 

Distantly someone made a smartass comment about the coverage and Carlos clenched his jaw in an effort to not bite their head off. He was writing with just a little bit more force than usual when the chair beside his desk was suddenly filled as his partner plopped down next to him, eyebrows raised: “you look like a walking tension headache.” 

“With observation skills like that it’s a wonder you haven’t made detective yet.” 

Mya raised an eyebrow at his tone and his words, “and so pleasant too.” 

Carlos put down his pen and sighed, running a hand down his face before turning to face her, “I’m sorry, I’m just a little…”

“Tense? Worried? Acting like a dick?” Mya provided helpfully. 

“Yes, yes, and I’m sorry,” Carlos replied, glancing over his shoulder at the news footage still running, “I just hate thinking about it. I hate that he’s facing that,” he gestured to news currently showing what seemed to be just acres of flames and a permanently smoke-filled sky, “and there’s nothing I can do about it.” 

Mya’s expression softened as she leaned closer, “I hate to break it to you Carlos, but you’re human. Those feelings come with the territory. Especially when you’re in love.” 

That caught Carlos’s attention. He had returned to his paperwork, but now he faltered in his writing, pen pausing on the form he was filling out, freezing before he slowly looked up to meet his partner’s knowing and marginally smug expression. He shook his head, “I’m not...I never said…” 

Now Mya scoffed, “Please. Like it’s not painfully obvious to everyone but the two of you.” 

She looked at him expectantly, but Carlos was quiet after her words and her knowing grin shifted into a frown, “That’s not a bad thing, Carlos. You two love each other. In most universes, we call that a good thing.”

Carlos was quiet again before he turned to look at her, “yeah, I know.”

She waited but he didn’t elaborate. “And?” she prompted, “I feel like there’s a but.” 

“But,” he agreed, “I just never really thought about it before, you know?” 

She still looked puzzled but when he glanced at the news again, something seemed to click in her mind: “You’ve never said it to him.” 

Carlos peeled his eyes away from the new footage to meet hers once again, “No,” he agreed quietly, “I haven’t.”    

“And now you’re doing your pessimist thing and wondering if maybe you won’t have the chance now.” 

“I am not a pessimist,” Carlos objected hotly before deflating, “but yes. I mean, Mya, he’s on the front lines of the worst wildfire in Texas history. And he’s an incredible danger magnet. I’m just…” 

“Worried,” Mya finished, and Carlos nodded. “Got any advice for that?” he asked in what he hoped was a joking tone, but judging by her expression, he failed. 

“Trust him.” 

He looked at her sharply and she shrugged, “What? You two are the type of couple I use to remind myself love does exist and it’s not all a con by the wedding industry. I don’t really think the universe will pull you two apart just yet. TK is good at what he does, don’t forget that.” 

“I know he is, but…” 

Mya scowled at him and picked up one of the paperclips on his desk to flick at him. He swatted it away and gave her a look of indignation, “what was that for?” 

“For being a pessimist again. Stop it. There’s no use dwelling on the worst. Have a little faith, Carlos.” 

“I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be the one telling me off for being a pessimist.”

“Neither did I, but here we are. I don’t like it either, so you better get out of this funk ASAP.” 

Carlos rolled his eyes but was distracted by the sound of his phone vibrating on his desk. Mya followed his gaze to it as he picked it up, “Is that him?” 

He shook his head as he read the message, frown deepening, “no, it’s his mom.” 

“You’re texting his mom? And you’re having doubts about your feelings for him?” 

“I never said I was having doubts about my feelings,” Carlos countered, “and it’s practical. He doesn’t get a lot of time to make calls so we keep each other updated when one of us hears from him.” 

“What does he have to say? Are they wrapping up?” 

“No,” Carlos said grimly, setting down his phone, “his dad is missing in action.” 

“What?”

“Apparently he was doing an aerial search and his helicopter went down, inside the active burn zone.”

“Shit.”

The two partners sat in silence for a few moments before Carlos finally asked the question echoing in his mind, “what are the chances TK doesn’t end up going after him, even though he was told to stand down?” 

“Little to none.” 

Carlos sighed, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose, “that’s what I thought.” 

“Hey,” Mya said bracingly, leaning forward, “don’t forget what we just said. Your boy’s smart and good at what he does. And he has something pretty special to come home to. He’s not going to do anything stupid. Well, nothing really stupid,” she amended when Carlos gave her a skeptical look, “he’s going to be fine, and back before you know it.” 

“I hope you’re right,” Carlos replied quietly, “you have no idea how much I hope you’re right.” 

Mya gave him a sad smile, leaning across his desk to place a comforting hand on his arm, “Lucky for you, I usually am.”

Despite everything, he smiled, “Yeah,” he agreed, “you usually are.” 

“I am so glad to know you have finally admitted my brilliance,” she quipped with a grin, “but that also means you should believe me when I say that it’s going to be fine. You just need to believe in him, and trust him.”

Carlos was quiet again for a few moments before he responded, voice thick with emotion, “I do,” he told her, “I do believe in him and trust him. More than anyone else.” 

“Then all that’s left for you to do is wait, and be ready to be there for him when he gets home.” 

Carlos turned his head, glancing at the news coverage again. It still looked like hell on earth, and he still hated the thought of TK anywhere near it, but Mya was right. About so many things. He did love TK, and he intended to tell him. But that would have to wait for when he came home, and Carlos would be ready for him. For whatever he needed. 

“Thank you,” he told Mya, “really.” 

Mya smiled at him: a sweet and sincere thing. She rose from the chair beside his desk, squeezing his arm as she moved away, “Anything for you two. I’m rooting for you, you know. Can’t have my favorite couple falling apart on my watch.” 

“Are you shipping us?”

“Who isn’t?” 

With that, she turned to leave and Carlos called after her, “Just wait until you find that someone. I am never going to give you a moment of peace so you’ll know exactly how it feels.” 

“That is a risk I am willing to take,” Mya called over her shoulder. 

Carlos rolled his eyes at her, still smiling at her antics until his gaze caught the phone in his hand once again and he could feel the fear rise up again. He knew Mya was right, TK was good at what he did. That didn’t quell the fear; the enormous weight of knowing someone you loved was in need of help that you couldn’t provide. It made him feel helpless, and Carlos Reyes did not like feeling helpless. 

Mya was right about something else too, he thought as he put his phone down and forced his focus back to the task at hand. His boyfriend would come back home. And when he did, he would need someone to lean on. Carlos fully intended to be that something, but until then he just needed to trust TK. 

In so many ways trust and love were the same thing; so as long as he loved him, he could trust him too.  

[witchersjaskier]

for the prompts, I am very very weak for anything related to outsider!pov...

“Do you promise not to stab anyone?”

“No.”

“Jaskier.”

“Don’t you ‘Jaskier” me, Geralt, it’s not my fault they’re all idiots and don’t deserve to live. They’re not using their brains anyway,” the bard snarls with a wild glint in his eyes.

Geralt just sighs deeply and tightens his hold on the other man. Yennefer is content with watching it all unfold but even she has to admit that she wasn’t expecting this when she redirected the spell.

Her reasoning was sound but faulty because of one simple unknown - Jaskier the bard. Yennefer doesn’t know him well and her opinion of him is pretty low but with every hour under the spell it’s rising quite quickly.

So far the bard has broken 3 chairs over people's head, tore a sorcerer's throat out with his teeth and stabbed 5 people before Geralt got there and pulled him away. None of them are dead but Yennefer wouldn't care either way, as they really are way too stupid to be alive.

“You can’t go around stabbing people,” Geralt sighs deeply, looking tired and done with everything.

Yennefer can’t relate, she’s having the time of her life watching a bard go absolutely rabid. She’s seen wild dogs less rabid than him.

“They can’t just insult you after you saved them, Geralt, that’s not how it is,” Jaskier insists.

“That’s how it always was.”

“Not with me here,” the bard almost growls, whipping out one dagger again.

Geralt is quick to grab it and make Jaskier hide it away again but they’re all aware that Jaskier just will stab someone again. The curse makes him lose control of himself in a fight and Yennefer never anticipated so much anger and spite in the bard’s colorfully-clad body.

Yennefer was sure that making the bard bear the brunt of the curse instead of Geralt, but now she’s rethinking that. She had no idea how much anger and murderous tendencies was hiding in that body.

“Lets just leave,” Geralt finally sighs, looking at the slowly setting sun.

“Absolutely not,” Yennefer quickly shuts it down. “I am quite tire and do not fancy sleeping on the ground again. That spell was powerful.”

“He will just kill everyone in this village,” Geralt states flatly.

“Not if they stop being stupid,” Jaskier helpfully provides with a sunny smile. He doesn’t look like a man capabke of murder but his green doublet is streaked with red and the steel of the dagger is glistening in the setting sun. He looks a bit deranged.

Yennefer is quite impressed.

“That will never happen,” she hears Geralt mutter under his breath but finally, they stumble back into the tavern.

The barkeeper looks a bit as if he wants to throw them out, but not many are stupid enough to say that to a sorceress, a Witcher and a man who just stabbed 5 people.

Soon enough they have wine and food, and Jaskier relaxes slowly, teasing Geralt and stealing food from his plate. Yennefer rolls her eyes at their love but she’s only pretending to be annoyed. They do fit together surprisingly well.

Their quiet evening is once again interrupted by some drunk man slamming his hands on the table next to Geralt. The Witcher just looks up at him, face stone-cold, and that only seems to make the man angrier.

He looks just about ready to start saying something, when a knife lodges itself in the table millimeters from the man’s finger. The tavern goes quiet again.

Yen turns to face the bard, already knowing the anger she’ll see there.

“I have another knife,” the bard informs everyone. “Next one goes straight through your hand. Think if you really want to speak now.”

The man stares at the knife for a few seconds before making a hasty exit, and the conversations pick up again. Geralt is glaring at Jaskier, though the bard seems completely unbothered, pulling the knife from the table with some difficulty.

“Don’t glare, Geralt, it really doesn’t impress me that much,” Jaskier chuckles. “Besides, I didn’t stab him so I don’t know why you’re angry. Learn to love yourself, my dear.”

Geralt just sighs again and goes back to his stew. Even the Witcher knows that some battles are not worth picking.