#600 words

[rockingrobin69]

red-eye

Harry got home a little after two in the morning, bleary-eyed, mouth bitter with the taste of airport canned-air and mints. Rolled the suitcase as quietly as he could, probably making a racket: two in the morning, and he was dizzy-tired, all emptied out from the long layover, and the two-hour wait on the runway, and the taxi ride he absolutely insisted on when his flight was delayed yet again.

Gently, gently opening the door, which creaked so loud the whole world had to have heard. Sneaking inside his own apartment: Draco would be fast asleep, would need to be up at half-five tomorrow for work. Harry’s chest squeezed at the thought, Draco all wrapped up in their duvet, rumpled and sleep-warm, and—

On the sofa, all twisted in between the cushions, arresting and lovely and still in his fancy trousers. With his mobile clenched in his fist. His neck’s going to kill him, and Harry forgot how to breathe.

“Darling,” barely able to swallow the grin. “Draco. Darling.”

“Hmm?” long eyelashes blinking. “Harry? What’s the—fuck, I fell asleep?” grumbling himself up into sitting, flushed and so, so, sweet. “I was going to stay up.” Frowning. “I was going to pick you up!”

“Sorry,” laughing, wrapping an arm around him, trailing kisses down his nose, cheek, neck. Draco’s scent, warm and lemony and familiar, intoxicating. “Silly creature. You have work in the morning.”

“I haven’t seen you in ten days,” Draco yawned into his neck. “Did you bring me anything.”

Still laughing, “Of course. C’mon, let’s get you to bed. It’s so late and you’re—darling, come on.”

To Draco’s grey eyes blinking up at him all sparkling with delight. “Gift first. You know the rules, Potter.” There was a mark on his cheek from where he rested it on his wrist. Harry felt lightheaded with it, a rush of fizzy, scorching affection.

“All right, but don’t get your hopes up. It’s truly a small one this time.”

Leaning away for his case with Draco hanging on to him, smile so thick it hurt his face. “You’re not making it easier,” mumbled into his hair, and a kiss on top of his head, irresistible. “Here, darling.” From the front zip pocket he produced the tiny stone, dark grey with a thin white vein crossing it. “From an actual river this time. I woke up at five the last day of the conference and hiked up the hill.”

“You’re mad,” Draco said, but his smile gleamed. “It’s hideous. I love it.”

“I’m the mad one,” herding him up and then down the corridor, “it’s three in the morning, you absolute knobhead. You’ve no time to sleep.”

“What a tragedy,” Draco said, then turned to pull on Harry’s tie, to pull him closer. “Suppose you’ll have to find a way to keep me up.”

Harry was knackered. He hadn’t slept well in ten days and the flight, and the delay, and the layover. In his own bedroom, with the sheets that smelled like heaven, with the soft light and, god, his bed, his real actual bed, so inviting and so—looked at Draco, felt this warmth sizzling in his belly and growing only warmer.

“Suppose so,” he conceded with a grin, and kissed him again.

It’s been ten days. The plant on the cabinet grew at least three new leaves. Harry missed this place so badly he was sick with it: now, with his partner in his arms, with his back muscles screaming and a no-sleep headache—now he was happy enough to melt. Did, a little, in Draco’s arms.

Home.

(For flufftober day 23. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

[startanewdream]

#21 - Lock, for @jilymicrofics

Rated T because of Teenagers.

For the fifth time, James rolled his eyes.

"I don't fancy her," he said. He'd repeated that sentence so many times, that James was almost believing in it; unfortunately, neither of his friends seemed to be buying it. "Why would I? She—she annoys me. She's friends with Snivellus. She isn't even that pretty."

Two truths, one big fat lie (with that lustrous dark red hair, green eyes that dazzled him, and a killer smile, Evans was the definition of pretty for James), but it seemed almost enough to impress his friends.

Then Sirius shook his head. "Prongs—you get all flushed when she's around."

"Maybe it's the reflection of her hair."

"You've been drawing sketches of her," added Peter.

"That—I'm an artist, I cannot choose who inspires me!"

"And you call her name in your... sleep."

James glared at Remus, who looked away hastily, but his friend didn't take back his words.

"It was just a random dream," he insisted.

It had not been random at all, but rather a continuation of the thoughts he'd entertained before sleeping—taking her to a flight above the Quidditch field, saying something smart that would make her laugh, impressing her with a daring dive, and when they landed on the grounds... now his dreams had been far more sensorial than his imagination. He could guess exactly how he had called her name then.

"Look," he said, almost desperate. He couldn't control how he felt about Lily Evans, but he could control what he told his friends, all of whom knew that he would never get a shot with Evans—she despised him. "You are all delusional."

Sirius exchanged a look with Remus and Peter before turning back to James. "So, you are telling me that if Evans harboured deep feelings for you—if she came marching here now and snogged you fully in front of everyone—you would just ignore it?"

For a moment, James relapsed, and he imagined Lily Evans throwing her arms around him, and kissing him right on the mouth. He was nearly sighing, but then he saw the knowing look on Sirius' face.

"It would be hard to ignore it," he said dignifiedly.

"He's got a point," laughed Peter.

"Oh, there is a better way of finding out anyway." Sirius grinned. "Evans is just around the corner." He waved his hand. "HEY, EV—"

James raised his wand at once. "Langlock!"

Sirius looked mortified at him, suddenly unable to speak, his tongue locked on the roof of his mouth. James threw him a victorious smile that vanished as soon as he realised that Evans had joined them anyway.

His gaze met hers before he looked away quickly, his face flushing.

"Potter," she called, sounding annoyed. "No spells on the corridors, you know it."

James glanced back at her, keeping his gaze at some point on her forehead, trying to avoid her green eyes. "I won't do it again, Evans," he said earnestly.

She stared at him, probably trying to figure out if he was joking or not; when James didn't say anything, she glanced at Sirius, still pointing furiously to his mouth.

"Won't you lift the jinx?"

"No spells on the corridors, remember?"

She almost chuckled. "I like Black more when he is quiet anyway," she mumbled, low enough so only he could hear it; then Evans winked and left with her friends.

James watched her go with a sigh. When he turned back, Sirius had his arms crossed, still unable to talk, but spotting a smirk that said too much in James' opinion.

"Oh, shut up."

[frankthesnek]

Unspoken

McShep, Rated G, first kiss, fluff, getting together

Post shrine. Because Rodney running to John's room meant more to both of them than they admitted. And they both knew it. (inspired by this post from @johnsheppard-assshaker)

John sat at his desk, staring at the cursor blinking on his screen. Mission reports sucked. Mission reports detailing the near death and stupidly risky brain surgery of your best friend? Those sucked ten times worse. He already couldn't get the images out of his head. Rodney's dazed expressions and awkward movements as his body and mind were stolen from him. Taking a deep breath, he looked to the ceiling, staring at the light there until dots danced across his vision in an attempt to chase away the thoughts.

A swift rapping came at his door and he shut his eyes, rubbing his palms into them in an effort to correct his vision. "Come in," he hollered.

It was Rodney. Alive and well, granted very tired looking and with a bandage still across his forehead. "Uh, hi."

"Hey," John greeted back and stood walking around to be next to his friend. "She released you? I hadn't heard."

The scientist humed softly, not quite meeting John's eye as his hand drifted up to lightly touch said bandage. He seemed off–nervous but not in the panicky way his nerves normally presented.

"Everything okay?" John prodded shifting closer and thinking the door closed.

"I, uh, this is awkward," Rodney started and cleared his throat. "About when I was sick, I remember a lot of what happened actually, and about that night…"

John swallowed tightly as a lump settled in his throat, choking him off. Yeah, he remembered too. Was trying really hard not to. It hurt, it hurt too much.

Rodney rushing to his room, pounding on his door, bursting in and holding onto him like he–John–was the only anchor left to his sanity. How frantic Rodney had been about waking up without him there. The unspoken things that had passed between them in that short conversation, that had hung high and loft above them as they sipped beer together under the stars.The evening hard and touching, intimate and depressing all at once.

"What about it?" John made himself say and he knew it came out tight and froggy.

"I'm sorry for how I acted, for running here and– I mean because that was ridiculous, right? Acting like that, like you were–" he drifted off, the last few words being spoken softer, sadder as he lost momentum.

"No," John rebuffed quickly, taking a half step closer. He wanted to reach out to grip Rodney's shoulders just like he had that night. Wanted to say so many of those unspoken things, but he didn't know how.

Rodney met his eyes, and John knew he didn't have to say anything. He couldn't pretend like things hadn't shifted between them, and if the soft nearly pleading look in Rodney's eyes was any give away he couldn't either. So John did it–did what he'd wanted to that night and held back because Rodney had been sick and vulnerable, and it wouldn't have been fair.

Dipping in to kiss the other man was easy for multiple reasons. One because he was already so close; and two, because Rodney didn't put up a fight. Stood there and let it happen, meeting him halfway, head subtly inclining to John as he moved.

"Did I say something I don't remember that night?" Rodney asked when they parted. His tone was thoughtful, and John got the impression that he was asking himself the question more than anything.

"No," John supplied, bringing his hands up to hold Rodney like he had that night. Hands on his shoulders squeezing with reassuring and possessive fingers. "You didn’t have to say it."

"Maybe I want to," Rodney said back, but those were the last words said for some time as John pulled him in for another long deserved, well overdue kiss.

[sukoshininja]

Alone

It took Keith a moment to realize he was still alive.

Consciousness came back slowly. He didn't know where he was. Or why he was so cold.

He tried moving his fingers but realized he couldn't feel them. He started to open his eyes, but it was like they were glued shut. Was he on his back or on his front? For all he knew he was floating out in space, untethered.

That would make the most sense. He didn't remember what happened, he just knew it was something bad. He couldn't feel anything, but something told him that if he could feel he would be in a whole lot of pain.

He remained limp as awareness came back. More cold. And yes, a lot of pain. And a concerning amount of numbness. He struggled to remember how he had gotten here. They were on a mission. Yeah. something about a mission.

He sat up, bringing his hand to his eyes and rubbing them hard. He was able to open his eyes now. He looked at his palm. Ah, that was the reason he couldn't open them before. They had been frozen shut. He watched the ice melt into his gloves until his hair blew into his face. The wind blew more snow into his face, it felt like needles.

Keith looked around at the vast expanse of untouched white. It was night. How long had he been here? And where was here?

Right, the mission. They were transporting refugees, had them all loaded up into a cargo ship and were bringing them to safety. That safety had something to do with small moons.

He looked down at himself. His red armor had saved him from freezing to death, buried as he was, halfway covered in snow. His helmet was still on, but the glass had shattered all around him. His left arm hung limply at his side. The pain was growing, the more he paid attention to it. No bones sticking out though, Keith probably had the armor to thank for that too. 

He turned on his comm, and listened to the static for a moment before shakily asking, "What happened?"

No response. Only the soft howling of the wind. 

He moved to stand. Oh it was bad. It was really bad. But he managed to get two feet underneath him as he wobblily straightened. At least gravity seemed to have less pull here. He didn't think he'd have made it to his feet otherwise. 

"Anybody?" He tried again as he spun slowly, looking for some kind of landmark. 

Oh no. The snowy plain extended for miles in all directions. He took an experimental step forward. And another. He picked a random direction and made off in a straight line.

He wouldn't be able to keep this up for long. But he had to keep moving.

It was coming back to him. There was an ambush, the ship cargo ship they were on had taken a hit. He remembered he had been hiding behind Hunk, who was eagerly talking to one of the refugees about their dining culture when he flung off his feet and into the ceiling. The details were fuzzy after that. The whole ship must have gone down. Eventually, he'd find someone else. 

After what felt like years, he looked back, to make sure he hadn't veered off course. The light swirling snow had started to fill his tracks, but the drippy trail of blood he left in his wake stood out brightly against the snow. He hadn't even realized he was bleeding. 

"Please," Keith begged desperately. "Is anybody alive out there?"

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

my whumptober masterlist

[monachopsis7209]

‘I Love You’

8th august prompt: tattoo by @jegulus-microfic

600 words

tw: off-screen character death, depression(?), angst, somewhat canon timeline

james was just about to pick up the television remote when he heard an ear piercing scream from sirius. he rushed into the room the other man was in. he was rereading a letter in his hands while hot tears continuously spilled from his eyes has he just stood there trying to make sense of it.

‘what’s wrong?’ james asked. it can’t be anything related to regulus, right? it just can’t. regulus was safe at the black manor, at least that was what he said in the last letter from a week ago.

no reply from the older black brother. james asked once again, this time more worriedly. still not a single word was uttered from sirius, just tear after tear, sob after sob. james finally took the parchment out of sirius’s hand and read it. james couldn’t comprehend what he was reading. no, the letter can’t be real. his friends are probably playing a prank on the two of them. then it hit him, they’re no longer teenagers in school having prank wars, they’re in the middle of a real one that’s taking away so many innocent lives.

“i’m sorry. i am so sorry. if you are reading this letter, that means i’m no longer alive and kreacher sent this to you. i am sorry sirius, i should have been braver and followed you when you asked me to. and james, what more can i say other than ‘i love you’. when i told back in 6th grade that i would die for you, i didn’t think there would ever be a time i would need to. since voldemort has gained power, i’ve fought every day to stay alive but this is time, i have to die, i died to protect you. neither of you can come after me, ok? don’t come looking for me, cuz you’ll only reach your death, and the world isn’t ready for you to leave them, especially with voldemort still in power. so please, continue fighting, fight for me, please.

- r.a.b.”

james sulked for weeks on end. sirius had remus to comfort him, who did james have? it was supposed to be regulus, his regulus, now he had no one. lily came at least once a week, usually with food, to cheer james up. sirius and remus came every other day since they lived in the apartment opposite him. but what could they do? they couldn’t bring his beloved reggie back to him. not a single person could. james doubted that even merlin could bring regulus back to him.

3 months later…

james was doing better, still grieving, but doing better. he decided he wasn’t going to let regulus’s sacrifice go to waste, he continued helping the order. he continued fighting voldemort and the death eaters. he’d met barty twice after losing regulus, both times neither of them could attack each other, the memory of regulus still fresh.

james had kept the letter, the one that brought word of his lover’s death. he kept it and read it so often he’d already had the words memorised. he decided to get the words ‘i love you’ tattooed onto his ring finger, where the wedding ring would usually sit. he brought the letter as a reference, he wanted it to be in reggie’s tidy scrawl.

the last thought james had before death took him was that he would finally be reunited with regulus in the afterlife, after suffering for 2 years without him. he would finally be able to feel regulus against his skin, to be loved by and to love regulus with all his heart.

[ewinofthelake]

Slumping against her, he didn't seem to understand what was happening. What had happened. Until–

"You found me," he murmured as – incredulous and strained and so vulnerable – he focused on her.

A Man and a Girl and a Drabble update! Chapter 49: Roses and Rain

[starchaserdreams]

James stopped in his tracks. 

He and Sirius had just finished their meeting with Moody at the Ministry. They’d been on their way out. They weren’t far at all from the fireplaces from which they would floo back home. 

And yet he had stopped. 

And yet he couldn’t move. 

Because here, clear across the room, standing alone, was Regulus. 

And he was staring straight back at James. 

They hadn’t seen each other since James had left Hogwarts, not once. They’d barely seen each other at all in James’ final year. 

The two years that they’d spent together, all of those secret, blessed moments, had been hidden away in James’ memory. Never gone entirely, but repressed as much as possible, to dull the pain. 

But he was here. 

He’d seen the moment Regulus saw him. Saw him do the double take and stop short. 

Sirius hadn’t noticed and had kept walking, but James hadn’t had the bandwidth to stop him. 

He only had eyes for Regulus.

James couldn’t break the spell Regulus had over him. 

Not magical, no. And not cruel either. 

It was the same ache he’d always had, ever since their break up. Ever since Regulus had chosen the Dark Lord over James. 

That wasn’t how Regulus had phrased it of course. It wasn’t even how he’d intended it. But it was how it had felt. 

James had given him every chance to get out, had offered help to him at every turn, but he had never wanted to listen.

Sirius noticed eventually.

“James. James.”

But James still couldn’t force himself to look away.

“James, we have to get out of here.”

From the tone of his voice, James could tell that Sirius knew exactly who he was looking at, knew why he had stopped. 

“He’s a fucking Death Eater.”

James finally turned away. “I know that, don’t you think I fucking know that?”

Sirius punched his shoulder. “Then act like it.”

Sirius put a hand on James’ back and forcefully pushed him forward. 

James knew he would have to go, knew he couldn’t stay. The years and distance between them were too great to breach now. 

But he couldn’t resist one more glance back. 

And Regulus was still looking at him, still staring like he couldn’t believe his eyes. 

-

Regulus stayed stock still for a long time after James left. 

He hadn’t thought he���d ever see him again. 

Hadn’t thought he’d have to face him in person. 

They hadn’t spoken a word, but he’d felt like all of his sins were on display, all of his crimes laid out for James to know, and to judge.

He’d known it would hurt, the moment he saw him again. 

And he knew that it would hurt for a long time, now that the wound had been reopened. 

Regulus steeled himself. 

He had to meet with Lucius Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange, and they could sense weakness from a mile away and would pounce like sharks if they got the sense that there was blood to be devoured. 

He hid his ghosts away in the back of his mind, saving this memory of James to dream of later. 

The dream that Regulus could have been the one with him, the one escaping by Floo. 

It was never his lot. 

Once Sirius had escaped his birthright, there was never a world in which Regulus could too. 

But he could dream. 

He could dream of James, and of the seaside, like they used to imagine together.

Not now, but later. 

Now, he closed off his emotions, schooled his features, and walked further into the ministry, further into his destiny.

[sammialex]

Babel

The grey, pebbled wool of your oldest sweater slips down over your hands as you type, words flowing out of your fingers and across the keys of your computer. Live and let live, you plead into the void. Vitriol spits back at you. Naive, the kind ones say. Idiot, say the rude. Traitor, say the rest.

You close the computer with a soft click, and spots burst in front of your eyelids as you press the heels of your palms into hollow sockets. Darkness has crept into the room while you were absorbed in the screen's blue brightness, and shadows loom from potted plants, various towering stacks of papers and books, and furniture that is cozy in the light of day.

No one listens. Every day you put out another letter to the editor. You write another blog. You post another picture. Every day you turn on the news and see another disaster, another shooting, another suicide, another law called FREE that will only limit freedom.

It's enough to turn someone to drastic action, you muse, and you're joking, really, you are, but some tiny part of you wonders what that drastic action would even look like. If the pen is not mightier than the sword, and surely it isn't if none of the articles and posts and memes make any sort of difference. If the sword is not mightier than the pen, and surely it isn't, if all of this violence can be caused or calmed by a word from the right person.

You don't have an answer.

The stairs creak beneath your feet, slow shuffling steps carrying you higher, closer to your bed. A slice of silvery moonlight through the window crosses your pillow, and you lean against the sill, just looking out at the sky. Stars struggle to peek through the light pollution from the nearby city, and you strain to see the brightest—there, Orion's belt. The hunter. There, his faithful dog, forever at his heels.

They watch over the sky, proud and sure, chests thrown out and blazing. Do they fear for us? You wonder. Do they know how much less we look to the sky, how hard it is to see them if we glance up? Do they resent our cynicism as it grows, generation after generation, scoffing at gods while looking to the false idols who live among us?

Perhaps they are unsurprised, watching another cycle of struggle and loss. You remember a quote you once heard, that the Earth is littered with the ruins of empires who believed they were eternal. You think of the boneyard your home is built on, the blood that was spilled to make room for your life.

The curtain grates over the rod as you close it with a sharp jerk, plunging the room into darkness. What would it take, you wonder as you crawl into your warm bed and feel guilty that you have one at all. What would it take, for humanity to stop acting the ouroboros, wrapped around and eating itself alive? Have we always been this way? Or did we climb too high, a species of Babel, meant to tear itself apart at the seams?

Your head hits the pillow, cool sheets against your cheek. Your eyelashes drag against the fabric as you blink once, twice, and then leave them closed.

What would it take, you wonder. You see how easy it would be to turn to violence, to let this helpless rage seep into action, to try and grab something, anything with two hands and do something people would have to acknowledge. You know how useless it is, that your name would be lost to the next one, and the next, day after day as the violence continues to mount, endlessly escalating.

Your sleep is uneasy.

The sun rises. Another day.

also posted on ao3 here.

[rockingrobin69]

Routine

“Harry, wait, you’ve—your bloody jacket,” stopped him at the doorway with a roll of his eyes, this long-suffering look that failed to hide a smile. “Getting a little forgetful in our old age?”

“Shut up,” Harry laughed, deliriously fond. “I wouldn’t have to rush out if someone didn’t take so long in the bathroom.”

“Did you believe all this happens naturally?” shaking his long, lovely hair in emphasis. Harry, who’d seen this trick a thousand times before, drank the sight hungrily: Harry, who’d seen Draco when he just woke up this morning, knew the statement for the rubbish it was.

“Cute. You’re stalling, and I’m going to be late.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “Not exactly holding you here by the tie, am I.”

Disappointedly: “Hmm. I suppose not.” Rectifying immediately with a step closer, arms wrapping around Draco; inhaling deep the sharp smell of his aftershave, of his fancy face cream Harry still occasionally had to lick.

“Now who’s stalling,” but his voice was soft, punctuated with tiny kisses to his jaw. “Harry. You’ll be late. And you’ve got that lecture today, the one you kept droning on and on about.”

While he had one arm around Harry’s shoulders, a hand threading through his hair. “It’s only, I’m a little entangled here. See, I’ve got this partner who keeps insisting he’s not clingy.”

“Surely he’s not. Did you consider the fact you’re extremely touchable? And besides that he’s maybe a bit gone for you, and cannot be blamed. Not so early in the morning. What? Stop looking at me like that, you started it, and I wouldn’t take so long to wake up if you hadn’t insisted on staying up late last night, with your,” stopped to laugh, croaky and loud in Harry’s ear, to shake his head with his eyes all grey.

A burst of it in his chest, star-bright. “You love me,” Harry said, stupidly, helplessly happy.

“Shock and awe.”

“You love me,” grinning like a fool, crushing Draco closer by the hips, peppering his face with kisses: “you really do.”

“Every bloody morning,” but he was laughing too. “You’re a ridiculous man, Harry Potter.”

“And you still love me.”

Draco, in his arms, dramatic and fidgety. “And yet I somehow still do.”

“Darling,” giddy with it, rubbing his nose against Draco’s cold one. “You’re freezing. You should get back inside, get some sleep.”

“I would, only there’s this brute who won’t let me go.”

The thought of him back in bed, wrapped under a warm duvet was slightly devastating. Trying for a brave smile, “Well, did you consider you’re very touchable.”

“Am I? That’s news to me.”

A huff, and affection tearing through him, impossibly tight: “Right, okay,” forcing his hands away, his legs a step back. “I really have to go.”

“Wait,” Draco said, forehead crinkling, “aren’t you forgetting something?”

“You already brought me my jacket.”

“Fuck your jacket. Something actually important.”

“Oh!” sweeping him in his arms once again, delighting in the way his head tilted up, expectantly, for a kiss. In delivering one at a time, deliberate. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Draco allowed this for a moment longer, then pushed Harry away, flushed and awfully dear. “All right, off you go. Did you know you’re an utter sap.”

“Only for you.”

The long-suffering look. “Oh, the things one is willing to put up with.” But he stayed there, bracing a bare shoulder against the doorway, and it was morning-cold outside, and he couldn’t really hide the smile.

“Yes, poor you,” Harry said, and kissed him again just because.  

(Flufftober day 3. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

[idontcareaboutspoilers]

The pounding of the drums drowned out the pounding of their heart as they were pushed towards the den- towards the waiting mouth of the dragon that filled the entire cavern with its body. Skeletons and loose bones scattered the ground around them, adding to the nerves. They were about to be one of those skeletons, a pile on the floor to scare the next sacrifice. The town elders stood behind them, a wall of men and women and creatures hellbent on making sure the dragon didn't raze the city they had spent generations building.

They clutched the pendant around their neck- a bronze dragon skull they had worn since they were a child and held their breath as they decided into the maw of the beast.

Then, all was quiet.

The drums stopped. The murmur of people ceased. The hum of life like cicadas covering the trees dulled to a whisper.

And they were alive.

Something...blocked their vision, though. They were inside something. Something small enough that they couldn't stretch their legs or arms, and had to curl up into a tight ball to keep comfortable.

They kicked at the...thing around them.

Thunk

Thunk

It was thin. Like old wall paneling that had been sanded down over the years. They reared back- as much as they could, and with what strength they had remaining, kicked the wall.

And it cracked.

It cracked and they came rushing out in a wave of...goo. When the wave subsided and they stopped moving, they got to breathe properly for the first time in what felt like years.

"A new hatchling." A voice boomed above them. Not human. Not monstrous. Nothing like they had ever heard.

"A new hatchling!" A shrill voice, somewhere above them.

Something landed behind them, sending wind rushing over them. "And what is your name, little one?"

They were trying to process what was going on- their eyesight was so blurry they could barely make out the shapes in front of them, much less tell these people what their name was.

Wiping their eyes, they finally got a good look at where they were. The cave was familiar. The piles of bones and skeletons were far too familiar. The dragons were...also very familiar.

What wasn't familiar, though, was themselves. They looked down and instead of the cracked and calloused hands they were used to, they saw claws. And scales. And the distinct markings that were only known to be on dragons near the city.

"Am I...?"

The dragon in front of them chuckled, "Yes, you are." It spoke so casually, as if it had had this conversation a thousand times before. "Welcome to the den, hatching. Now, what is your name?"

"Gillis. I think. I...I was human. I am human. Where...What am I? Am I one of you?"

"Yes. You are. That is the agreement we struck with your cities leader long ago. Did they not inform you of that?"

"You don't burn the town down...and you get new dragons?"

"Yes." The dragon crouched down, its head resting on the floor in front of Gillis. "Welcome to the world, little one. You have much to learn."

Gillis was still trying to process the fact that they now had claws. And wings. And a tail that was surprisingly heavy. And the fact that they were now a dragon. But, with how kind the others seemed, maybe they had a shot at coming out alive.

They looked up at the dragon in front of them, and puffed their chest like a kitten trying to act intimidating. They stretched their wings, foreign muscles contracting and stretching, yet somehow a comforting feeling. "I am ready to start my new life, beast."

Resigned to your fate as a sacrificial offering to the dragon, the last thing you expected after being eaten was to then be reborn as a hatchling.

[steveseddie]

coffee and contemplation

for the @steddiemicrofic prompt “dress, 350 words” | rated: t | cw: none | tags: pre-relationship, steve pov, good uncle wayne, he wants eddie to be happy and stop pining

Steve slips out of bed quietly. Eddie stirs but after nuzzling into Steve’s pillow, he falls back asleep.

Smiling softly, Steve dresses in yesterday’s clothes thinking he’ll need to go home and change before work, or Robin will be insufferable.

Not wanting to wake Wayne either, he tiptoes down the hall—

And finds him at the kitchen table, sipping coffee.

“Um, good morning.”

“Mornin’. Going somewhere?”

“Just work, sir.”

“Got time for some coffee?”

Steve checks his watch. Not really, he thinks but whatever. “Sure.”

“Help yourself.”

So Steve does, joining him at the table with a Garfield mug.

After a long silence, Wayne speaks, “Listen, kid, you don’t gotta sneak outta here, I got no problem with you spending the night. What you two get up to in there ain’t my business.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Mr. Munson, we’re not—”

“Only ‘cause my boy is too chicken to do anything. Ed is as brave as they come, but he’s got a soft heart. It’s up to you to make a move ‘s what I’m saying.” He stands up, clasping Steve’s shoulder. “Just do this old man a favor and make it soon?”

Stunned, Steve nods just as Eddie saunters in.

“Mornin’, old— Stevie?” Noticing Steve’s spooked expression, Eddie’s smile falls. “Wayne, what did you say to him?” He asks, but Wayne’s already gone.

He turns to Steve. “Whatever he said, I’m sorry. You okay?”

“Just thinking,” Steve says, finding his voice. “Um, do you wanna go out tonight? Like on a date.”

Eddie squeaks. “What did Wayne say?”

“He suggested I make a move—”

“Oh God,” Eddie whines, covering his face. “That’s fucking embarrassing. He knows it’s not like that—”

“It can be, Eddie, I want it to be.”

“Oh.”

“So will you let me take you out?”

“Y-yeah.”

Grinning, Steve leans in— only to be stopped by a hand on his chest.

“Sweetheart, I wanna kiss you stupid more than anything but I won’t do it with morning breath and my uncle eavesdropping.”

Steve snorts. “Tonight then.”

“Tonight.”

“Bye, Eds.” Then louder, “bye Mr. Munson!”

“Call me Wayne, son!”

[ennard-is-near]

>Be me

> Just moved to neighborhood in Hurricane, Utah

>At a welcome party thrown for me

>Party is fun

>party suddenly stops and neighbors say they have to tell me something

>what?

>they give me a heads up about Michael.

>I ask what the deal is

>he’s not dangerous, you’ll know him when you see him. He’s just Michael.

>confused.png

>Few months later

>see a literal decaying body walking down the street.

>it’s just Michael.

[sukoshininja]

Alone Pt.2

<- Part 1

"Hey."

As broken as the connection was with static, despite how different he sounded from his usual cheerful self, Keith would know that voice anywhere.

"Lance!" he responded urgently. " Where are you? Are you alright? Who else is with you?"

The line was quiet for a moment before Lance answered quietly, "I don't know. Somewhere cold."

Keith waited a moment to see if he would answer the other questions. But Lance was mum on that front. At least he sounded like he was in the same general area, it was cold as fuck here. 

"What do you see?" Keith asked, not that he had anymore sense of direction since he had pulled himself up and started walking. It was getting lighter; the day cycle should be starting soon. Maybe he'd be able to see a little bit farther then.

"There's not much here," Lance admitted. "Just snow."

Great. They were no closer to finding each other. But at least Keith wasn't the only one who had survived. 

"Hey Keith?"

"Hm?"

 "I'm hurt."

Keith pressed his palm a little harder where he had been holding it at his side. The bleeding had slowed, but it was still leaking out between his fingers. "How bad?"

"Real bad."

Shit. 

"Don't move, I'll come find you."

"How?"

"I don't know! I just will!" Keith picked up his pace. For all he knew he was traveling farther away from Lance, but he didn't have much choice. He couldn't stay there. 

Lance didn't respond and the line was quiet. It was getting even lighter now. Keith could indeed see farther now. He paused and spun in a circle, scanning the horizon. Nothing.

"Who else?" Lance asked, the rest of his question left unsaid. 

Keith gritted his teeth. "So far, just you."

He tried not to think about it. About what had happened to the others. He couldn't. Right now he just had to focus on finding Lance.

"Hey, if I don't--"

"No," Keith cut him off. "I'm going to find you. We're getting out of here."

Lance took his time responding, causing Keith's heart to drop. When he did speak, he sounded unsure, his voice trembling. "I've been hurt before. But not like this."

Dammit!

Keith dropped to his knees, his own legs shaking from exertion. He muted his mic and cried out in frustration. He took a few deep breaths while trying to hold back tears.

"I don't want to die alone." Lance could be insecure and vulnerable, but Keith had never heard him sound so broken, so terribly scared. 

"You're not alone. I'm here," Keith was back on his feet. He swayed a bit, unused to the low gravity. But he would be damned if he didn't at least try to get to Lance's side before he drew his last breath.

"Thanks, mullet." Lance attempted to laugh. It sounded wet and ended in coughing. "Ah, this is not how I wanted it to be, you know?"

"It's not your fault."

"I know. I just tried to do the right thing and look where that got me," Lance took what sounded like a painful breath. "Funny how that works."

"You've changed so many lives for the better. You've helped free planets -- systems. You've done so much good."

"If you get out of this, can you get a message to my family?"

Keith had to mute his mic again.

"Tell them...not a day went by when I didn't think about them."

"Yeah," Keith had to choke back a sob.

Lance wasn't very chatty after that. Keith would check in every now and again, to make sure he was still there, and Lance would respond, weaker each time. Until finally:

"It was great knowing you, partner."

"Lance?"

"Lance!"

"LANCE!!!"

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

My Whumptober Masterlist

[irisbaggins]

In rewatching the season, I'm noticing how clever Aabria and Brennan were in crafting Tula's story. How well thought out everything was.

Specifically, the bear. It's been mentioned so many times before, but with the context of the completed season, I cannot help but be in awe at the skilful storytelling at display here. The way in which the Blue is described to appear wrong only in reference to Tula and her heart, the way in which Tula talks about curiosity and and having experienced knowing someone who died because of it. Of how Aabria describes to Izzy how Tula looks when she heals the bear, of how Aabria specifically points out that Tula recognises the commonalities between herself and the bear. These breadcrumbs that mean little in the beginning, that tell everything at the end. It's amazing, stunning, masterful storytelling. I am in awe.

[garou-art]

⭐

A lil' angsty, mushy, something-or-other fan comic

Super quick and far from perfect, but this was fun to play with rough lines and colour coded text. I love Kingdom Hearts with my whole being, but boy, this was a fun challenge to write stunted and cheesy dialogue while trying to remain in-character.

Basically, I've been thinking a lot about how Riku had been such a prick growing up, and how despite changing his actions he hasn't ever truly apologized to the folks he hurt. I imagine that after his self-reflection and grievances, he would travel to each world to personally apologize. Also he has cuff earrings.

Also, I'm equal parts proud and ashamed, that the only references I needed were the collars of Riku's younger selves - everything else was from memory

[bizarrelittlemew]

me when i outline