#Dawn’s ficlets

[wildelydawn]

Aaaaaa did I almost not trick or treat you???

my dearest Faye, you get a whole ficlet (that was a writing exercise with @shou-jpeg but I’ve moderately cleaned up, I am so sorry djdkdkd)

-

“Come on, come on, hurry up!”

“I’m trying! I didn’t think Khum Kim knew how to set up an electronic safe. This is so much harder to crack into than I thought.”

“Ugh! Have you learned nothing?!” Tankhun shoves Arm aside and looks closely at the safe in his youngest brother’s bedroom. “It’s either something to do with the child or with himself.”

“Khun, if we type in the wrong password, there is no telling what could happen.” Arm pushes up his glasses. “This is Khun Kim we are dealing with.”

Tankhun folds his arms. “I know, that is why you should try the child’s birthday-”

A sound. 

Arm goes pale.

“Fuck! They’re home! What did I tell you!?”

“They’re supposed to be at the studio all afternoon-”

“Useless!” Tankhun yanks Arm towards Kim’s living room. If he knows anything about his brother, it’s that the brat takes far too long to unlace his Doc Martens, so if they’re lucky-

“Quick! Hide behind the sofa!”

They sneak behind the black leather just before Porchay bursts into the living room.

Tankhun sees his brother throw up his hands. “You’re being unreasonable-” 

“I’m unreasonable?!” 

Arm and Tankhun exchange a look. The younger Kittisawat is not happy.

“You say you’re gonna go every week, and guess what? You’re still here!” 

There’s a clattering sound that makes Arm nearly jump out of his skin. “Fucking alright then! I’ll leave! Is that what you want?”

“Yes! Please, for God’s sake, yes! Go find someone else that can do this, because I can’t.”

The door slams. 

What could they have possibly been arguing about? They only moved in together a few weeks-

“What the hell are you two doing behind the couch?”

Porchay’s icy voice makes the hairs on the back of Arm’s neck stand straight up before he does. “Khun Porchay!”

“Arm. Tan-” 

“Ohh! My baby!!” Tankhun instantly sweeps Porchay into his arms, pressing his annoyed face into his chest. “What did he do to you!?”

“Did you hear all of that?”

“I did! Don’t you worry! I’ll set him straight!” Tankhun huffs angrily. “The nerve!”

“Isn’t he so stubborn! Why is he asking me to help him find a replacement! And bring him here!”

Tankhun immediately pulls Porchay away. “Are you serious?”

“I am!”

Tankhun immediately crashes Porchay back into his chest. “NOOO, my sweet baby, you don’t EVER have to do that. Kim can find his own replacement! On his own! Nothing could ever replace how beautiful, wonderful, adorable-”

“And it’s not even my apartment!” Porchay yells into Tankhun’s oversized coat. 

“I’ll buy you a new house! With whatever you need!” Tankhun sounds like he’s on the brink of tears.

“No,” Porchay groans. “I’m done! We’ve been looking for days, and I’m exhausted.”

“You’ve been looking!?”

The door swings open and a very annoyed Kim walks in. “Okay, so I just spent $4500-”

Tankhun walks right up to him, and before Arm can even blink, the eldest Theerapanyakun smacks the youngest right across the face.

The room is dead quiet as Kim’s face slowly turns back to face the scene in his apartment. There’s a bright red mark across his face.

Kim calmly exhales. “Khun? What are you doing here?”

“How dare you try to replace PORCHAY! How dare you try to make him find your next slut to play with!? Have you no decency!?” Tankhun is shrill and shouting and everyone is utterly gobsmacked.

“Wait, what-”

Tankhun grabs Porchay by the arm and yanks him forward. “This man has put up with your narcissistic bullshit for so long. All for what? For this! To be replaced at the drop of a hat?” Tankhun grabs Kim by the collar of his shirt, releasing a bewildered Porchay behind. “You are a disgusting, vile, piece of shit!” Tankhun’s hand then goes to Kim’s throat, walking him up against the wall.

“Khun!” Porchay’s wail cuts him off.

“Yes, my dear?” Tankhun replies, hand still on Kim’s throat, voice eerily calm.

“Let him go! What the hell are you doing!?”

“What you won’t! No one can replace you, Porchay, you are-”

“Khun! Oh my god, let him go! We’re talking about replacing his grand piano! We need a crane and team to scale this 20 story building, but Kim keeps fucking slacking on finding someone!”

Somehow, the room is more silent than before.

“Oh.”

[hanafubukki]

Summary: You meet Princess Leah.

OT3 Masterlist

When you first meet Princess Leah, you understood why Dawn fell in love with her in your timeline.

Her laugh was as gentle as chiming bells. Her smile a welcoming to a comforting home. Kindness radiated off her.

Lilia was right.

Leah is different from Meleanor. She was soft spoken and tactful in her movements. She might not have the strength of knights and faes, but she exuded grace and protection rivaling even the majesty of any fae or human.

You feel a sort of healing in her presence.

“Thank you. This path to peace between humans and fae won’t be easy.”

Leah held your hand, “I’m glad we have you to help us. I’m happy they have you to love them.”

You can’t help it. How was she be related to Henrik?

“If only Henrick wasn’t the way he is.” She sighed.

Lilia was right; Leah is nothing like Meleanor.

They were opposites.

But he’s also wrong.

“If he wasn’t so paranoid, I’d have poisoned him by now.”

Princess Leah’s eyes shown fortitude and courage.

Faes and humans aren’t different.

They would always protect their loved ones at any cost.

You couldn’t help the smile and laughter that came from you. You could just imagine the faces Dawn and Lilia would make if they were here.

The princess joins you in merriment.

Was thinking about Princess Leah recently and this came to mind. Leah and Meleanor are different but they are the same too.

I wanted to show that here a bit. While Meleanor is a strong and stubborn princess loved by her people, Leah was known for her kindness and gentle demeanor.

But kindness and gentleness does not mean weakness. We have seen in canon she was ready to sacrifice herself for Silver. She tended to the troops when they were injured.

Two princesses alike and yet different. Very much loved by their people.

I feel sometimes people forget that kindness/gentleness is a type of strength. One of the strongest in fact. It’s easy to be mean. It takes strength to be kind. 💞🫶

The poisoning was in part inspired by Sally in Nightmare Before Christmas. 😂

[searchingforserendipity25]

times happened when aredhel escaped the confines of eöl's dominion, moving through the briars and the moss-faced oaks, long enough to find a slant in the high canopy.

a small fault, a breach; a fir eaten through with termites, dying slowly as it slowly slouched to death.

it was enough. arien was greedy for even a glimpse - her upturned face, her mouth open hungrily, her arms raised up. only a few instants, of course, before the mists rose; but o, arien did not relent.

arien had gathered the dew of laurelin, and lived as flame beyond smothering; and in times long past had loved the white lady of the noldor many times.

she loved her still. if it was an indulgence, then she was foolish; if it was pity, she made it a gift.

aredhel had lit a great fire in her honour, there where the helcaraxe met the northern lands, loose grass and kindling and her own braids for fuel, and around it danced as once she had danced arm-in-arm with arien, in vána's gardens, and around the two trees of valinor.

she, fingolfin's daughter, had hunted a great elk, and fed its heart to the fire; she had jumped three times over the leaping flames, and laughed, and with her burned palms praised arien's flames and fires, the fire that was arien herself.

how was arien not to love her?

nan elmoth had its own will, and its own master. it pressed her out, again and again.

through black boughs and clinging shadows, she had pressed on. in the dark; in a place shrouded from her gaze, where parasitical mushrooms grew atop one another, and many birds lived and died flying only inside the cage of its tall, tall branches.

arien sought her out in the places where she was not loved. where melian's power lingered still, twisted and altered, streams of sunlight intruded.

arien did not relent. she might never conquer this place, but anar her vessel rose, day after day. its work was the unmaking of darkness, and darkness existed well beyond morgoth's fortress.

and it was well worth the effort of many fruitless dawns, for when she did succeed.

a hundred kisses she pressed to her cheeks, when riding fast as the wind aredhel broke the siege of nan elmoth; a dozen times she burned her cheeks with eager welcome, and laid a warm breeze like a warm palm upon her son's squinting, frowning brow.

they buried aredhel in the sunlight. a high noon, relentless against gondolin's white walls, sinking greedy through ar-feiniel's white tomb of marble. not a thousand dawns could have warmed it through - not all of arien's might have pressed again the warmth upon aredhel's cold mouth.

it was a day of strange flaring lights, like comets in sunlight. the poets claimed, not falsely, that high above, beyond the heavens, arien wept.

[frogyjones-writes]

General info:

I'll only do requests that interest me this is something I do for fun in my free time so you might get an answer awhile after a submission :]

Most likely to get through headcanons/short prompts done first!

Characters I write for:

Don't be afraid to ask for a character from the same Fandom however! I'm just better with these guy's characterization :]

The Last of Us: Ellie Williams, Dina, Abby Anderson

Dead By Daylight: The Trapper (Evan MacMillan), The Nurse (Sally Smithson), Ghost Face (Danny Johnson), The Huntress (Anna), The Pig (Amanda Young), The Plauge (Adiris), The Onryō (Sadako Yamamura)

Silent Hill: Lisa Garland, Maria, Mary Shepard-Sunderland, James Sunderland, Angela Orosco, Harry Mason

Misc: Sadako Yamamura (ringu), Selene (underworld), Carol Aird (Carol),

Resident Evil: Alcina Dimitrescu, Bela Dimitrescu, Cassandra Dimitrescu, Daniela Dimitrescu, Donna Beneviento, Jill Valentine, Claire redfield (games/movies), Alice Abernathy (movies), Rebecca Chambers, Helena Harper

The Quarry: Emma Mountebank, Abigail Blyg, Kaitlyn Ka, Laura Kearney, Max Brinley, Nick Furcillio, Jacob Custos, Dylan Leviny, Ryan Erzahler

Until Dawn: Sam Giddings, Ashley Brown, Emily Davis, Jessica Riley

Life is Strange: Maxine "Max" Caufield, Chloe Price, Rachel Amber, Kate Marsh, Victoria Chase, Dana Ward

Tomb Raider: Lara Croft (better with the survivor series), Sam

Saw: Amanda Young, Adam Faulkner Stanheight, Lynn Denlon

(More to be added later!)

Do's:

Character x Reader, Character x Character, Some OC X Characters, Polyships, LGBTQ+

Heavy angst/sensitive topics

AUs and alternative settings

Accept headcanon requests for multiple characters

Dont's:

NSFW (suggestive stuff is fine but I'm not writing smut)

Incestual/pedophilic ships (yes this includes adoptive family or parental/sibling figures don't test me)

Any dead dove sort of shit

General NoNo's

Writing examples

[bennysblabbering]

Alleyway Rendezvous

Kinktober: "Sex Pollen" || Tomura Shigaraki x reader

contents: villain!reader, desperation, semi-public sex, clothed sex, hair pulling, dirty talk

words: 0.9k

g/n afab reader

↓ Ficlet below the cut ↓

A pink haze fills the air as the enemy runs off, middle finger up as he shoots you one last look with his tongue out. A simple petty gang had blocked your way, all of which you and your boss had taken care of swiftly- save for one who managed to slip through your grasp. The two of you cough and wheeze, the sickeningly sweet cotton candy-like scent filling your lungs. You start to walk quickly, any possible direction to get away from the fog- clearly the effect of the surviving enemy’s quirk as a means to get away. You had no clue what this would do to your body; it could cause asphyxiation, hallucinations, or worse. You both had to get away and get away fast.

“Y/N…”

Shigaraki’s voice comes out forced and weak, completely unlike the assertive man you were used to. You turn to see him leaning against the wall for support, his normally intense red eyes glazed over, looking up at you as he takes in labored breaths. Looking at him in this state makes it dawn on you what that quirk had done, because it was starting to take hold of you too.

It’s an aphrodisiac.

It almost felt like you were put under a spell and were magnetized to each other. You couldn’t resist the intense temptation running rampant through your body, especially now that you looked down and noticed the tent in the other man’s pants.

In an instant, your faces are plastered to each other, your mouths messily connecting and the generous saliva spreading across your lips and cheeks. Your hands wander around and across each other’s bodies as he firmly presses you against the wall, hooking your knee under his arm and hiking it around his hip. Eagerly he grinds himself onto you, his face lowering to place needy and wet kisses along your neck. You sigh in satisfaction, wrapping your arms around his back and grinding back with just as much fervor.

“Fuck, boss…this shit’s really potent…”

“I know, I know, I know. God, I’m so fucking horny, holy shit. I need to fuck you, right now.”

You nod, pulling your bottoms down just to your knees before turning around and bending over, spreading your already soaked folds to be penetrated by the villain. Immediately he unbuttons his pants, freeing his painfully hard cock, throbbing endlessly from the desperation to be inside you. He places one hand on your hip sans pointer finger, the other hand lining himself up and sliding in with a hiss. Both of you screw your eyes shut with a long moan, the satisfaction of the penetration clouding your minds. 

He wastes no time to see if you’ve accommodated to his length before he starts up at a brutal pace, the loud slaps of your combining thighs amplified from the reverb of the alley walls. Your eyes glass over and drool falls from your lips as he aggressively shoves his hips back and forth, fucking into you like it was the last thing he’d ever do. Helplessly you whimper repeatedly, the pure pleasure of being railed by your horny leader completely taking over your mind. 

“Shit, Y/N…this pretty pussy feels so fucking good…”

“Y-yeah? You feel f-fucking amazing, the way y-your cock stretches me…”

“Fuckin’ love how tight you are. Feels like you were made to take my dick.”

“Haaah…uh-huh…”

You nod as he continues to relentlessly bully his cock into your cunt, slipping effortlessly in and out of your slick walls, the red and swollen head kissing your cervix on every thrust. A slender hand reaches up to your hair, pulling on it while he keeps up his relentless rhythm. 

“You fuckin’ like being railed like a slut, don’t you? You like when I fuckin’ pound your hole like this?”

You can only mewl in response, the pure force of his frenzied hips driving you to insanity. “Uh-huh….”

He chuckles, growling as he reaches down to place a finger on your clit; a digit capable of so much violence and power, placed on the sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing it back and forth with just as much passion as the rest of his body.

“If you wanna be a good little whore, you’re gonna listen to me. This is an order, got it?”

You nod weakly, wanting nothing more than to be obedient for your commanding and intimidating boss. You can already feel yourself building to a climax, when his final word sends your body over the edge.

“Cum.”

Your knees buckle and you cry out as your cunt clenches, a pure numbness washing over you as you roll your eyes back and release all over Shigaraki’s cock, still drilling into you and fucking you through your orgasm. You can tell he’s close too by the way he’s groaning and his hips eventually still, spilling ropes of hot cum into you. The two of you ride out your intense highs for a few moments, his arms caging you and both of your connected bodies rocking back and forth.

After the hazy climax subsides, the effects of the quirk fade away, the both of you breathing deeper as he pulls out of you, his seed starting to drip from your abused hole. You stand up with shaking legs, pulling up your pants and grimacing at the uncomfortable sensation of putting on underwear with a wet and messy undercarriage. 

“Didn’t know you could fuck like that, boss. We’ll have to do that again.”

He huffs, tucking his softening cock away with a smirk. “Absolutely.”

for some reason i just did not have a ton of muse today, im so sorry!!! i hope its still enjoyable anyway. humbly apologizing to my shigaraki fucker readers.

[kcsplace]

Jake loves the tattoos that adorn Bradley's body.

The origami birds that take flight across his shoulder-blades. A goose, a swan, with a rooster gazing up at them.

The stark lines of the missing man formation of four F-14's, three shooting across his chest, with the fourth arcing up to rest over his heart.

No matter how many times Jake's fingers trace the aged lines of the B-25 Mitchell that rests in the crook of his elbow, Bradley won't explain the choice, only murmurs about it being his first, and that he is going to have it covered up.

He never does.

But Jake's favourite, the one his fingers can't stay away from, is the little incomplete hangman figure he comes home with after his last deployment. Five months they spent apart. Five months new ink has been carried on Bradley's hip without Jake's knowledge and investigation. Five months where the spot Jake's hand rests as they settle to sleep has had seven empty spaces for letters. Five months Bradley has waited to play, Sharpie in hand.

Counting the dashes, and even taking note of them being split into groups of 5 and 2, Jake still has to try his callsign first.

"H"

"Not your callsign you egotistical shit." Bradley added a frown on the blank face.

"A"

_A___ __

"J"

"Nope."

"K"

"Are you using your name now?"

"Yes."

"No.

A leg and two eyes added to the tattoo later, Jake is staring more intently at Bradley's hip than he has at any Bandit and then it dawns on him.

MA__Y M_

The smile that stretches across his face hurts. It aches in the best way as he looks up at Bradley, the other pilot's gaze intent on him and not the artwork.

"Yes."

"That's not a letter."

"Still my answer."

Plucking the pen from Bradley's unresisting fingers, Jake fills in the missing Rs and the Y, before adding a big YES across Bradley's lower belly.

Casey's Top Gun Ficlets Casey's Icemav Ficlets Casey's Hangster Ficlets

[esther-dot]

when long night falls 6k

Appearances can be deceiving, and Jon is not yet used to discerning truths from lies. Her hair is brown enough, even in the candlelight, where Sansa’s was red. Ygritte was kissed by fire, as was Sansa. Neither had been lucky.

All That We Forgot 16k by @rumaan

The Wall has fallen, the North has fled south, and Stannis Baratheon sends a delegation to the Vale of Arryn, the last untouched region of Westeros to seek their aid against the Others. A delegation that includes Lord Commander Snow. What will this mean for Alayne Stone?

The Thawing of Winter 100k by @jade-masquerade

Sansa knew Jon married her—married Alayne—for the Vale, or maybe, because of his past, he saw her as a fellow bastard and meant to raise her up the same as his people did for him, how they chose Lord Eddard’s sole surviving son as King in the North. But when she looked at him, she saw nothing of the sort in his eyes, only a flash of desire, the way a man ought to look at his wife, before he steadied his gaze. If this was truly wrong, she wondered, then why did the gods let it feel so right? corresponding moodboard by @the-lords-kiss corresponding moodboard by @sunbeamsandmoonrays corresponding gif by @readingisloving

Came Down the Mountain 12k by @darkmagyk

Alayne Stone makes a name for herself during the Long Night by feeding the troops of the army of the living. But after the Dawn Breaks, her father takes to back up to the Eyrie, even as she hears that a new Stark has taken Winterfell, a young Lord named Brandon. But whatever Petyr Baelish had planned for her must change with Daenerys Targrayen flies up to them on dragon back with a offer the woman who is Sansa Stark is desperate to refuse. corresponding moodboard by @the-lords-kiss

maybe everything that dies, some day comes back 1k orphaned

Following his resurrection, Jon leads a retinue of men to gather supplies and new recruits where they can find them. He doesn’t expect to find anything else along the way — that is, until they reach the Vale, where the echoes of harp strings can be heard in the middle of the night, and a bastard girl in the Eyrie strikes a chord within Jon he thought to be long vanished.

You lied to me ficlet by @justadram

“You lied to me,” Jon pants, swinging his legs over the side of her narrow bed and sinking his head into his hands.

Stone and Snow 1k by @jonsastan

“My daughter, Alayne Stone.” Petyr Baelish’s voice exuded charm and submission. The Dragon Queen did not seem impressed. Alayne dipped into a low curtsy, focusing her eyes on the Queen’s small feet. Such mighty ambition walked through the world on such tiny feet. “Your grace.” She murmured. The Queen looked at her for a long moment, longer than royalty looked at a bastard. “You’re a pretty little bird.” Still a bird. Alayne thought before scolding herself. Not before, only now. You were never a little bird in a gilded cage. You are bastard born and bastard brave.

cover your eyes (do i feel right, darling?) 12k @majicmarker

Jon Snow’s arrival at the Vale is met with trepidation and intrigue; after all, what could this bastard-come-prince want in this far-off corner of his kingdom? But Jon has heard the whispers that the Eyrie’s prized beauty is not a bastard of Littlefinger’s at all, but the daughter of Winterfell—and Jon means to steal her away.

Underneath, All Along ficlet by @myrish-lace-love

Jon steals Sansa from the Vale, but for reasons of her own, she'd like to stay Alayne a little longer. Alayne, after all, can wish for the company of her handsome traveling companion at night.

Alayne AU 4k by @sunbeamsandmoonrays

A girl in grey on a dying horse the stranger may be, but she was not his sister. The Red Woman gave him a false prophecy…and false hope, it seemed. So why was he still transfixed? corresponding moodboard

frostfire ficlet by @zoyaalinas

jon and alayne at the eyrie. vale au. post parentage reveal.

Who am I darling, to you? ficlets 1, 2 by @blackholeofprocrastination

When Jon’s is sent to treat with the Lords of the Vale, he finds someone unexpected on the weirwood throne.

as i stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge 12k

Jon travels to the Vale to find allies in the fight against the army of the dead.

godless 3k by @charmtion

Alayne. He tastes the word. Lets it roll on his tongue like a plum-stone, the scraps of flesh still sweet on it.

Lies/Luck 1k by @phosphorescent-naidheachd

“Have we met before?” he asked, the words leaving his lips before he could think them through.

My Maid of Stone 11k WIP by @cappymightwrite

It was a near windless half-hour of waiting. Of only her cloak and hair occasionally moving, her body as rooted as a tree. Later she would remember this day mostly as metals. Silver of the valley. Iron of the rocks and the clouds. Zinc of the evening storm in its full fury. Rare gold of the sky as it chose now to break open. Her silence matched her stillness, until at last, there, out of the mist: marching men. * Or, a newly crowned King in the North comes to the Gates of the Moon, unaware of what he will find there…

if i can't relate to you anymore, then who am i related to? 13k by @jonsaslove

Alayne watches him. She knows. In her bones she knows. But her mouth doesn’t let her form the words. Her mind doesn’t let her consciously acknowledge it. Because it cannot be, it can never be. If she lets herself accept the startling truth she can't unknow it, and then every carefully crafted facade will come crashing down. Because the man is Jon Snow. And Jon Snow can’t know that she is Sansa Stark. (Because she’s not. She’s Alayne Stone. And somehow that’s more dangerous). -- Or; Jon comes to the Eyrie. Alayne remembers.

Stone and Snow 1k by @alemoncakelife

Jon Snow meets Alayne Stone corresponding edit

Family Ties 2k by @framboise-fics

Her husband had her father thrown out of the Moon Door. Her husband is her brother. Her brother is her cousin. Daughter, sister, cousin, wife. Who is she supposed to be? She will let her husband tell her, she supposes.

what one finds in the snow 1k by @amymel86

The Eyrie is perhaps the most peculiar castle Jon has visited as Lord Commander, nestled high in the Mountains of the Moon, surrounded by nothing but air, craggy rocks and soaring birds.

I Remember (I Remember) 1k by @hilarychuff

“That’s pretty,” Jon says, and her heart thumps hard in her chest.

What Lies Beneath Her Skin 100k by @chispas-and-broken-bindings

Sansa Stark returns to a fractured North for the first time since traveling south as a young child to be fostered by her Aunt Lysa in King's Landing. Stannis Baratheon's troops have broken against the walls of Winterfell, starved and weakened by the relentless northern storms - their King's fate unknown. Roose Bolton lies dead within Winterfell's walls as his bastard, Ramsey Snow dances a bloody minuet with Jon Snow, the half-brother whom she has never met, and his rag-tag band of wildlings in the northern woods. Petyr promises that it's time for a true Stark to return and bring these mongrels to heel, with the might of the Vale behind her. Yet, the girl does not feel like a true Stark, nor does she know how to break free from Littlefinger's claws. A chance encounter sets her on course to Jon Snow's war camp, where disguised as Alayne, she helps the resurrected King-in-the-North unite the North and become Sansa Stark once again.

Rosemary (For Remembrance) 7k by @orangeflavoryawp

“’My daughter, Alayne Stone,’ Baelish repeats, motioning toward her, almost daring in his tone. Jon’s eyes slip back to Sansa’s.” - Jon and Sansa. What winter means in a world that teaches them to forget.

King Jon & Alayne ficlets 1, 2 by @vivilove-jonsa

“Jon would never harm me.” “How can you know that, sweetling?  Years have passed since you last saw one another.  You’re not the girl you were when you left Winterfell no more than he is the boy you knew…and I wasn’t aware you were ever that close to begin with.”

Buried under with my desires 2k by @captainbee89

Post resurrected Jon is sent to the vale to get an allegiance on Stannis' behalf. While there, he discovers a long lost part of his past, and maybe his future.

Art: Have we met before?, A familiar face, More beautiful than me? by @leulahart, Reflections of Aemon and Naerys, Should two bastards hookup or what? by @jonsawilldanceanon, The Bastard and the Lord Commander by @palominojacoby ,The Lord Commander and the bastard of the Vale, Alayne and Jon by @amunetmana, Alayne and Jon by @melinaillustrations, Alayne by @songofaurora If he calls me his daughter one more time... by @asoiastarks , Alayne Stone by knightmarescape

Edits: Charm Him. Entrance Him. Bewitch Him. Stone & Snow by @theirwinterfell, Stone was a bastard's name i'm alayne, i must remain alayne because she's stronger by @countessmaryarostova, Jon x Alayne by @paloma-nevada, Jon rides to the Vale by @lunaathorne , Oh it would be so sweet to see him by @whiteraven0001

Gifsets: May I wear your favor? by @alaynestcnes, The Brooding Bastards by @jonstarks, Jon x Alayne, Sansa loved to dance..., A Ghost wolf... by @thewindsofwolves, She had not thought of Jon in ages by @akarena, Oh it would be so sweet, Sansa Stark went up the mountain by @kitnjon, Alayne & Jon by @paloma-nevada , I am a bastard now just like him... But of course that could never be by @bericdondarrion , It sounds like a wolf by @fromtheboundlesssea , A ghost wolf by @kummittelemaanninja , Alayne Stone and Jon Snow parallels by @jonsansasource

Shout out to the post where the Jon x Alayne ship name was declared to be Jolayne (And I suppose that makes this medieval version of Jolene pertinent!)

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON SIX - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE -SALTY TEENS - POST CANON - RICKON LIVES

[thrumugnyr]

My @acotargiftexchange gift for @witch-and-her-witcher: Secret lovers Tamlin and Rhysand

Big thanks go out to Santa helper @highlordofkrypton, who graciously offered to contribute a little ficlet for the piece as well~! You can read it under the cut:

Meet me when the spirit blossoms bloom

The stars fall from the sky, sneaky little droplets under the cover of Night. They slip through the crack of Tamlin’s window, dancing across his sheets with their tails entwined like held hands. The bright baubles play, forgetting their missive for a brief moment of joy. The littlest one tumbles, bumping right into the young lord’s chin. It scrambles over his lips and wiggles under his nose until its a—ah—

“Achoo!”

Tamlin wakes with a surprise. He looks at the lights, and they pass on the message with great theatrics. He scoops them into his arms, and carries them to the window sill where they may watch, or leave. Whatever they please. He dresses swiftly, faster than the anxious beat of his heart.

I shouldn’t. I can’t allow this to continue.

And yet, his fingers fly across the buttons of his shirt, buttoning them with swift ease. His body thrums with eagerness. Each thump in his chest speaks his truth: I want to see him, I want to see him, I want to see him. Tamlin scoops up the stars as he leaps onto the sill, gently tossing them into the sky. They have a duty now, too, to watch over them and warn them of danger. With each escape, Tamlin cannot help but expect the sound of the alarms, of the furious steps of his brothers and of his name twisted into that of a traitor’s, but it never comes. One day, it will, but he takes today for himself and gifts it to the one who summons him.

Tamlin slips out of his father’s court and flies the rest of the way, trusting his great tawny wings to carry him where he needs to go. Past Summer, past Winter and over the Middle. If these Lords sense his trespassing, they say nothing.

I have to tell him. I have to be strong for both of us.

The meadow in Dawn is one of many safe spaces where duty, tradition and expectation cannot find them. It is a quiet place shielded by trees where alabaster flowers bloom. Their cores are not of colourful pollen, but of tiny little wisps, little spirits of neither human nor faerie nature. The wisps keep their secret, and Tamlin will be eternally grateful to them.

There is no choice to make, only something he must do. Love or life. He cannot love if one of them is dead. By ending this, he is protecting both of them. He is making sure that his beauty, his wonder and his charm carry on somewhere in this damned world, even if it’s not with Tamlin. 

He will change lives. He has already changed mine.

It’s different in his presence. Rhysand brings the moon and the stars with him, his personal guard while the rest of the nation slumbers. A dashing smile blooms on his handsome features, growing wider and wider at the sight of Tamlin. His joy is clear on his face, and the flush on his cheeks is a matching pair to Tamlin’s.

“Rhysand,” Tamlin breathes.

“Darling,” Rhysand hums, reaching for him.

“Wait—”

The words get caught in his throat as he sees the elation in Rhysand’s face falter. The smile slips away, replaced with worry and… sadness.

“What is it?” Rhysand asks, just a whisper, as if he can still prevent the moment from shattering.

I can’t do it.

Tamlin closes his eyes, shaking his head. He exhales, and leans in close. “I think… I think I’m in love with you.”

Rhysand chuckles in relief. He bumps his head against Tamlin’s, mindful of his antlers. “I thought you were going to say something else. I love you too.”

There’s a sorrow in Rhysand’s eyes that never quite leaves, no matter how fine he appears. He knows what Tamlin was going to say. The end is coming, sooner or later, but not now. Not if Rhysand can help it.

Just one more day.

One more day by the spirit blossoms.

[bxnnywrites]

hiya!! im the anon that told you abt requests being closed, im glad i could help you out!!

i saw you headcanon danny as demiromantic and im very curious, what would it be like if danny had romantic feelings for a survivor reader? how would those feelings develop? i’m not demi myself so i’m rlly curious about the process of it!!

oh anon you have no idea how excited i am to answer this

*clears throat*

🫀 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 🫀

TW :: Obsessive behavior, stalking, violence, general Danny Warnings

Authors Notes :: This uh...kinda turned into a ficlet. Oops!!! I've just thought of this scenario a LOT so I had a lot to say-

Anyways!! Hope you enjoy <3 (also this isn't proof read, we die like men)

It took a really long time for him to realize it, or maybe just for the emotions to develop. He wasn't sure.

You had appeared months ago, or whatever the equivalent was in the realms. Time wasn't exactly an easy concept to pin down here.

For a long time you were just another survivor, someone his knife sliced through with delicate ease. Someone to hunt and kill, that was his job, and entity if he didn't love every fucking second of it.

He liked to stalk his victims, both in and out of trials. Especially the new ones, he loved to see what made them tick. What really fucking scared them.

So he was keeping an eye on you, taking his usual notes, keeping an ear out for anything to use against you later.

But it started to develop into something a bit...more than that.

Suddenly he noticed his notes becoming less about what you feared and more about what you liked.

The way you smiled, how you laughed at Ash's jokes, the way you bit your knuckles when you were worried. The way your eyes lit up when seeing your friends and fuck he wanted to see your eyes light up for him like that.

He shook it off, had to shake it off. It got in the way of what he did. What even was this feeling?

Sure he had flings before he was taken, but he never really had feelings for them. It was part of the game, part of his job. Something to keep him low on the radar. That's all.

Was that what this was then? What it felt like to properly fall in love?

He hated it.

He hated every feeling, he hated the way your smile made his chest light up. He hated how distracted he was, so fucking distracted.

He hated you.

He couldn't stop thinking of you.

Quit laughing at Ash's stupid fucking jokes they aren't even that fucking funny.

More scribbling, more anger, why did you have to appear here? Was it some sort of taunt by the entity? Some kind of damn punishment? Fuck you and fuck whatever feelings you gave him.

For a long time it was like that, if you were in a trial with him you were the first hooked. You were too much of a distraction to his work.

And maybe he loved the feeling of holding you like this but fuck he wouldn't admit that.

------

Eventually you got fucking tired of it.

Every damn trial he would tunnel in on you and only you. Wouldn't focus on anyone else while you were around.

You realized quickly killers couldn't truly kill you. You felt it, every last agonizing slice into your flesh, every bruise, every broken bone, but you would just wake up at the fire at the end.

And you needed to figure out what the fuck his issue was.

Your fellow survivors tried very hard to convince you out of it, but they understood being pissed about it. So in the end, no one stopped you.

So there you were, in front of Autohaven Wreckers. A few survivors tipped you off that Ghostface liked to hang out around this area. Beats you as to why, the place stank of burning rubber and old oil. It made your stomach turn, but you entered nonetheless.

As you walked through the old junkyard, it dawned on you, you didn't really have a plan. You had done this mainly on a whim, annoyed at constantly being targeted and harassed by the white faced freak. Where were you even supposed to look? What if the Wraith saw you? This was fucking stup-

Before you could react a leather gloved hand covered your mouth, pulling you back as the cold steel of a sharp blade touched your throat.

"You scream and this is going into your fucking back, got it?" The voice was husky in your ear, unfamiliar. It made you realize you had never heard Ghostface speak before. So you nod, and he make an approving noise before releasing you. You run a hand over your throat where his knife had bit into it, leaving a light red line against it.

"So," He spoke again, letting you turn to him finally to confirm your suspicions. There he was, the Ghostface in the flesh, mask and all. "What do I owe the pleasure, Doll?"

"Well," You started, feeling your anger bubble up in you again. "For fucking starters, I have some damn questions for you, asshole."

Oh he loved when you spoke like that, some real final girl trope shit.

"Ooo, questions for the killer?" He cooed, leaning against a nearby car and watching you intently. "Brave of ya, Doll. I like it."

"Oh fucking can it, you damned halloween drop out!" You spat, and though you couldn't see it under his mask, your words had him grinning ear to ear. He loved when you were angry like this. "Why the fuck do you keep tunneling me, huh?! Every fucking trial we have you steamroll me and kill me as quick as possible. It's fucking bullshit, dude!"

He laughs a bit, removing his leather glove and using his knife to pick the dirt from under his nails.

"I dunno what you're talkin bout, babe." He says nonchalantly. "You're mad because what, I'm killing you during trials? Come on, that's my job-"

"Bullshit, this is more than that and you know it!" You seethe, god if you knew you wouldn't die you'd punch him. "What's your fucking damage? Hell, I've heard stories about other trials, you're even fucking friendly with some of the survivors sometimes! What the fuck did I ever do to you?!"

His eye twitches.

"Like I said, I'm just doing my fucking job. Now if you would just-"

"NO YOU AREN'T!" You shout at him and he's on you in an instant, hand over your mouth and you can see his eyes through his mask. A deep red brown and angry.

"Listen here you stupid bitch, one more outburst like that and I'm gutting you like a fucking fish, understand?" He snaps, his grip on your face almost bruising. Fear grips you again and you nod. He sighs, letting you go again with an unspoken warning that he would follow through if you got loud like that again.

"Look, it's fucking...it's complicated." He mumbled, looking almost shy as he played with one of the ghostly strips of fabric attached to his outfit. "You're just...you're a fucking distraction. Every trial I'm in with you it's hard to fucking focus, and I have a fucking job to do god damn it." He grumbles. You almost feel bad for him, almost.

"What, and that's my problem?" You snap in return.

"Yeah, it fucking is." He snaps in return, starting to pace back and forth. "I have work to do, people to kill, fear to harvest, the whole nine fucking yards. But you," He points, "You get in the fucking way, you make me lose track, you make me...you...fuck, you make me feel something, OK?"

You blink dumbly at him, finally speechless, and he continues.

"I get this stupid fucking feeling in my stomach and it makes me fucking twitchy. It makes my damn mind race and I can't tell if it's because I want to fucking dissect you or..." He trails off.

"...Or?" You question.

"I don't know!" He snaps, growling a bit as he continues pacing. "I haven't fucking felt like this before, I didn't think I fucking could. I just..." He takes a breath, looking back at you. "I need you to stop."

Your mouth hangs open, shocked by his...confession? If you could call it that.

"What?" You question again.

"Stop! Stop making me feel...whatever the fuck this is!" He snaps again, and even though you can't see his eyes anymore, you can feel the frustration wafting off him.

"How the fuck am I supposed to do that?!" You snap in return, annoyance rising in you as well. "It's not my fault you have a...a fucking crush on me or something!"

"Yes it is, it's absolutely your fault!" He throws his arms up, almost like an annoyed toddler. "It's your fault because you have this soft fucking face and this pretty laugh and that stupid fucking smile! You have these fucking eyes that light up whenever you get to talking about what you love, and fuck I just wish for once that was ME and-" He cuts himself off with a growl, kicking a nearby stack of tired and knocking them down. "It's bullshit, you're bullshit, it's all fucking bullshit!"

You're left speechless until he finally looks at you again.

"There, you happy? Now could you fucking make it stop?!" He breathes out, his eyes just barely visible through the black mesh of his mask.

"I...Well...fuck uh..." You mumble, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "I...don't think I can do that? I mean..."

"Fuck, yeah, course you can't." He grumbles, fidgeting with the fabric strips of his costume again. "I just...this is a stupid, distracting fucking feeling and I hate it."

"Well...I mean..." You take a breath, not really sure how to approach the situation. "Maybe we could like...I dunno...start over?"

He looks at you, and you swear he thinks you're insane.

"Start over?" He questions, "The fuck you mean start over?"

"Like, I dunno. Figure shit out from the beginning, like...get to know each other or something?" You say awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck.

"...Are you fucking crazy?" He questions, and yeah, you expected that. "Like, hello, earth to Dollface, I've killed you dozens of times now. I have murdered your friends in front of you." He snaps his fingers, impressive considering he's still wearing his gloves. "Like sure, sounds nice and all, but how the fuck do you expect to just start over? Hi, what's up, the names Ghostface. Wanna get stabbed?"

"Don't be a fucking dickhead." You snap in response and huff, "Look, I don't know what you want me to do about...whatever this shit is," You motion to him vaguely. "Like I dunno dude, you need a good therapist or something?"

"Fuck you." He growls.

"Yeah, whatever." You breath out. "Look, I don't care what you do, but I'm sick of you pulling bullshit during trials because of...whatever your feelings are. So you either talk to me about it and we get it sorted, or I start making offerings to the entity to make your job even harder than I apparently already am." You cross your arms and look him up and down before sighing. "I'm heading back to camp, if you want to fucking talk-"

"Wait," He grabs your arm and you stop, looking back at him before he sighs. "OK maybe...maybe you're right. Maybe we can like, try that? I dunno."

You smile at him, sighing in relief.

"Good, I prefer that." You turn to him, extending a hand and telling him your name proper, even though he already knows it. "Nice to meet you, Ghostface."

He stares at your hand for a second, but slowly, he takes it.

"...Ghostface is fine for now." He mumbles, shaking it awkwardly. "So...uh...how do we do this?"

"Well...what kinds of movies did you like? Before you got taken."

His eyes light up, and suddenly he's on a kick. Rambling happily about his favorite horror movies while you listen.

Things get better after that.

Rather than being targeted, you're more often than not spared during trials.

Of course people get suspicious though, so you have to cut a small deal with him to either spare all of you during trials or kill everyone including you.

He's not personally a fan of the second option, so he ends up sparing your little party whenever you're involved.

You two get closer and you start to have your own feelings for him in return.

Eventually he tells you his real name. Danny, it rolls off your tongue nicely.

He's nervous at first, but eventually his smooth charm comes back and it's rare for him to not leave you flustered and blushing when you two talk.

When you finally get the courage to tell him your feelings, you swear he's on cloud nine. immediately talking about how happy he's going to make you and how he'll make sure no one in this fucking realm ever touches you.

You have to talk him down from that, knowing that your other survivors would hate you if you were the only exception during trials. And while he says "fuck em" you know you can't have him as your only friend in the realm, as much as part of him would love that.

But it's nice, he treats you like royalty. Like you're his entire world.

It might not be a real happy ending, but it's probably the closest you'll get in this hellhole.

And that's good enough for the both of you.

[wildelydawn]

Trick or treat🎃

Ahh!! Hello friend, and thank you! I come here offering you what I call “KimChay Bleak Office AU,” which is really just a spin on Old Fashion Cupcake. :)

-

When they leave the cafe, Kim feels around his pockets. “I need a smoke,” he murmurs.

“Didn’t I tell you that those will kill you?”

“You did,” Kim says, fishing out the packet and zippo from his jacket pocket. “I just like it too much.”

Before Kim can light up, Chay says, “For every week you don’t smoke, I’ll cook you your favorite meal.”

Kim laughs. “What? No way. I can’t quit like that.”

“Fine. You can use one of those pens.”

“Pens? You mean a vape?”

“Yeah, like the nicotine version or a patch. Use one of those for a week, and I’ll cook you whatever meal you want.”

“Every day?”

“I said your favorite meal.”

Kim hums to himself before sticking out his hand. “Alright. Deal.”

Chay shakes it, but not without narrowing his eyes first. “Better not catch you smelling like smoke.”

Kim pockets his zippo. “You won’t.”

-

Send me a trick or treat about one of my WIPS! 🎃

[necrotic-nephilim]

au - tim sneaking out of jason's room one night at the manor and accidentally locking eyes with dick who is sneaking out of bruce's room at the exact same time, breakfast is very awkward the next morning

(i did think of having it be jason instead of tim but honestly jason has 0 shame and even less issue outing himself if it means fucking with bruce and, to a lesser extent, dick)

i'm cackling I love these types of things so much. they're so silly. sometimes we deserve mindless crack for these ships. have a *very* low effort ficlet bc this just makes me snort, enjoy <3

Dick closed Bruce's door as quietly as he could. Usually, he didn't have to sneak around when he slept with Bruce. But the temporary room Bruce had given Jason in the manor was just down the hall, and Dick didn't feel like looking Jason in the eye if he walked out of Bruce's bedroom in the morning at the wrong time.

Just because he was pretty sure Jason knew, didn't mean he needed confirmation and confrontation.

Dick had almost caved to staying in bed with Bruce when Bruce tried to pull him back down, but he kept some level of wits about him, prying Bruce's arm off of him and giving him a final kiss on the cheek before heading for the door.

The one thing Dick did allow himself, though, was wearing one of Bruce's shirts instead of his own. It was a size too large on him but smelled safe and comforting. Dick breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the door latched silently. He let go of the handle, turning around to creep off to his own bedroom in another wing.

And found himself staring at another figure.

With all of the lights off and only faint moonlight streaming through the windows, Dick couldn't tell who it was, at first. His reaction was embarrassing no matter who it was, jumping nearly a foot backward and clutching a hand over his chest.

He was a goddamn vigilante. This was just embarrassing.

The other person wasn't nearly as shocked as Dick, but they stood perfectly still, staring with wide eyes that faintly reflected what little light illuminated their face. Dick squinted, leaning forward to see who it was.

"Tim?" Dick hissed, trying to keep his voice to a whisper. Bruce had fallen asleep and if Dick woke him up now, he was never going to get the stubborn bastard back to bed.

Tim, still looking like a deer in headlights, just blinked at Dick.

"What are you doing up this late?" Dick asked. They'd all agreed to take tonight's patrol off, letting Babs, Helena, Dinah, and Zinda handle it in exchange for tackling the massive human trafficking ring in the morning with fresh eyes and cleared heads. The job was the only thing that had gotten Jason to agree to work with them in the first place. Bruce barely managed to strong-arm Jason into sleeping in the manor, with a decent amount of guilting from Alfred.

Jason, who was in the room only a few feet away from Dick. The room that Tim's hand was resting on the doorknob of.

"That's Jason's room," Dick said slowly.

Tim just nodded. "I know." He wasn't whispering like Dick was, but his tone remained impossible to read.

He just saw Dick walk out of Bruce's room. Had he put it together? It was Tim, after all. if he hadn't yet, Dick assumed he only had a couple minutes before it dawned on Tim.

"What were you doing in Jason's room?" Dick frowned. If he focused on Tim, it could keep the focus off of him for as long as possible. Dick tried to ignore how fast his heart was beating.

Tim's expression was hard to make out in the dark. "We were talking about the case." Still, his tone remained entirely neutral.

Too neutral, for Tim.

"At two am?"

"Well, what were you doing?" Tim huffed slightly when he said it, folding his arms over his chest.

He was shirtless, Dick just realized.

Shirtless and coming out of Jason's room.

"I was-" Dick stumbled over his words, choking as he tried to come up with an alibi. "We were talking about the-"

"I already used that excuse, pick your own," Tim deadpanned. Dick was pretty sure he also rolled his eyes. "I've known about you and Bruce for years, you know. You don't have to pretend."

The noise that came out of Dick's throat was almost as mortifying as the realization that not only did Jason likely know, but so did Tim.

"It... okay it has not been years," Dick's face was hot and he was glad it was too dark for Tim to see his blush. "I mean- it's been a while but not years-"

"Whatever you say." Tim shrugged, sounding unconvinced. "There have been feelings between you two for years, close enough for me."

If Dick died, right here, in this hallway in front of Bruce's door, he hoped the cause of death would be put down as homicide instead of natural causes. Because every word from Tim's mouth made another piece of Dick die inside, just a little.

"It's none of your business either way." Dick tried to stand up straight to sound more in control of the situation, clearing his throat.

"Trust me, I don't want it to be my business."

Dick would've laughed, if this was happening to anyone but him.

"What about... you and Jason?" Dick asked carefully.

Tim shifted on his feet. "What about it? I told you, we were talking about the case."

"Right." It was Dick's turn to roll his eyes. "In his bedroom, at two am, without your shirt?"

Tim stared at Dick for a long, torturous moment. A moment that made Dick agree with Tim, about not wanting to know any sordid details.

"I'm going to bed," Tim said suddenly, turning away from Dick. "Goodnight."

Dick had a thousand more questions he wanted to ask. How Tim and Jason even got together, when it happened. Last Dick knew, they could barely stand to be in the same room.

But Tim was walking away at an alarmingly brisk pace and Dick just sighed. He was too tired and mortified about his own secrets to chase Tim down for an impromptu interrogation that would just end up embarrassing them both more.

Maybe it was best for Dick's sanity if he didn't know the specifics.

Dick didn't consider how awkward it would be until he was standing in the kitchen, staring at Jason bent over a cup of coffee.

Did Jason know Dick knew? It didn't seem like he did, but he had always had a good poker face.

When Tim ambled into the kitchen and grabbed overnight oats from the fridge, he didn't even look at Dick. He seemed to be pointedly avoiding it, sitting as far away from Dick as he could at the oversized dining room table.

All while Dick couldn't seem to stop staring.

"Your cereal is going to get soggy," Jason muttered, and it took Dick a moment to realize Jason was talking to him. "At least eat it before trying to explode my head with your mind, or whatever your staring problem is."

"I'm not-" Dick stuttered. he shut himself up with a mouthful of cereal when Cass gave him an odd look.

Would she be able to figure it out just from his body language?

Dick had never fully understood the lengths her ability to read people could go. he looked away from her and stared at a random spot on the table, trying to eat at a normal pace.

Bruce was the last to wander into the kitchen. He squeezed Dick's shoulder as he walked by, making Dick jump. It was an innocent enough touch that no one would question, but all Dick could think about was the brief look from Tim before he quickly averted his eyes again.

The silence around the table was going to eat Dick alive. He started eating cereal faster.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Jason broke the tension, throwing his head back and slamming an empty mug down onto the table. "Everyone knows you two are fucking, alright?" He gestured between Dick and Bruce. "Stop being so goddamn weird about it, you're acting like there's a bomb in the room."

Bruce choked on his coffee. "Jason." He tried to sound reprimanding, but his voice was a few octaves too high.

Dick threw his hands in the air. "I knew you knew about that, but I didn't know about you and Tim until last night so excuse me for feeling a little awkward."

"You didn't know about what?" Bruce nearly yelled, spinning around to face Jason.

"Damnit, Dick!" Tim groaned, putting his head in his hands.

Jason just scoffed, pointing a fork at Bruce. "Oh don't even give me that self-righteous bullshit-"

Their argument went back and forth while Tim just rubbed his temples, muttering to himself and glaring at Dick.

Worst of all, Dick was pretty sure Cass was giggling next to him under her covered mouth.

Dick just sighed and ducked his head, dutifully waiting for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

So much for his breakfast.

[likeshipsonthesea]

you make me

bucktommy ficlet. had a convo about love. had some feelings. gave them to buck. enjoy~

The entire loft is soaked in the hazy blue light of pre-morning. Buck can hear the mechanical thrum of garbage collectors, a handful of singing birds, quiet but steady breathing. His body is sore, from work and then from Tommy, a satisfying reminder of a yesterday well spent. Everything is warm and soft like Saturday morning, even though he's fairly sure it's Tuesday.

The clock on his bedside table tells him it's much too early to get up for a Tuesday, so he turns over to get comfortable and ends up face to face with Tommy's sleep-slacked expression.

Buck watches him in that way that's only creepy if you're not in love. Takes note of his eyelashes resting against the tops of his cheeks, his lips shadowed by the slant of his nose, how the dawning daylight catches on the angles of his face. He wants to touch, but not enough to disturb the serenity of sleep on his boyfriend's face.

Eddie tells him he says that a lot. My boyfriend. "We all know his name," Eddie says, tone harsh but a creeping smirk giving away the joke.

When Buck brought it up with Dr. Copeland, she asked him why he thinks he says it so much, but it was towards the end of their session so they didn't really get into it. Buck thinks it's probably something to do with his self-image problems, or maybe his abandonment issues? Dr. Copeland's better with the answers than he is.

Calling him Tommy is fine, but saying my boyfriend says my meatless lasagna needs more starch just reminds Buck that Tommy's his and, even more novel, Buck is Tommy's.

Buck likes being Tommy's boyfriend.

Tommy's boyfriend knows Tommy's coffee order, and drops it off along with a savory treat for him at the start of a long shift. Tommy's boyfriend always knows exactly where Tommy left his blue-light glasses and grabs them before they head to bed so Tommy can read another chapter of the cheesy historical fiction novel on his tablet. Tommy's boyfriend is the one Tommy goes to after a hard shift, to talk to or hug or just sit in the same room with until the rest of the world is less heavy.

As Tommy's boyfriend, Buck is still all the things he was before--firefighter, brother, friend--but knowing there's someone who trusts him enough to sleep beside him and let him stare at their face like a creeper in the early hours of the morning--there's this unfathomable freedom to it.

It's like--if Tommy loves him, he must be worthy of it. It's a truth and a prophecy, self-fulfilling. It's this ever-turning cycle that bolsters Buck to be the best version of himself, and none of it feels like work because it's all tangled up with joy.

"How long have you been staring at me?"

Buck startles out of his internal monologue to find Tommy's left eye open. The right is buried in his pillow along with the lifted corner of his mouth.

"Probably a little too long," Buck admits, staring fixedly at that corner of Tommy's mouth.

Tommy's lips part to release a sigh before settling into a smile. "Evan. Go back to sleep."

"In a minute."

Tommy shifts closer on the pillow, his nose nudging Buck's, his morning breath awful and his eyes so close Buck thinks their eyelashes might tangle. "You worked a 24-hour shift yesterday. You need to sleep. You can stare at me tomorrow."

"Promise?"

Tommy brushes their lips together. "Promise."

Buck finds Tommy's hand between them and laces their fingers together. "Alright," he says, settling back into the mattress and letting his eyes shut as he brings their hands to his sternum. "Tomorrow."

[syndrossi]

Regnal AU, Chapter 2 (Pt 1)

I wouldn't call 2.8K a full chapter, but it's the first two scenes of chapter two anyway! For those who need a refresher, Regnal AU is where Daemon and Rhea conceive the twins on their consummation night, aka teen-dad!Daemon + overly-involved!Baelon + dealing-with-it!Rhea. The first chapter can be found in Resonant Side Stories and Ficlets.

x~x~x

The three days of travel to and then back from King’s Landing were a singular torment. Ordinarily, riding Vhagar was one of the few pleasures Baelon still found in the world, everything else mired in grey and duty. But this flight had been fraught with nerves, the first mission he had undertaken in a long time that had kept his heart racing throughout: fetching dragon eggs for the twins’ cradle.

He had barely greeted his father and mother, pausing on his return from the Dragonpit only to accept the blanket that Gael had shyly offered, one she had embroidered herself for the new babe. He made his apologies to Viserys, who had wandered over to the yard to bid him welcome and ask after Daemon’s twins, hastening to secure the dragon egg cradles he had brought from the Pit in Vhagar’s saddlebags.

A servant ran to him, braving his dragon’s half-lidded gaze, to deliver a basket of bread and cured meats for his return journey, and then Baelon was off, not one hour after arriving.

They were healthy enough when I left, he reminded himself for perhaps the hundredth time. Aemon’s wails were powerful enough to wake the castle, and Jon—it felt too strange to call his grandson by his own name—was constantly wriggling, trying to take in the world around him. But they were yet so fragile. For all his assurances to Daemon, he knew that babes born small and early faced far crueller odds than those born closer to their time.

A pair of dragon eggs will protect them. It was no mere superstition. Accounts as far back as Aenar himself detailed the benefits of an early bond with a dragon, or even just proximity to a dragon egg. For both hatchling and infant, in fact. It had not saved little Aegon, but he had been sicklier after the difficult birth.

Alyssa, my love. Baelon gripped his saddle, steadying himself against the lurch of his heart that could still upend him when he thought of her. In his dreams, she held Jon in her arms, laughing with abandon at his surly expression and comparing it to Daemon’s as a babe. And Aemon was beside her, conversing quietly with his namesake, the intensity of his focus undiminished, even when turned upon an infant.

Baelon’s grip tightened, and he was grateful for the unrelenting roar of wind in his face that carried off tears as fast as they could fall. Such dreams were hard to wake from. And when he did, it was even harder to rise to greet another day without them.

The farms and orchards of the Crownlands beneath them gave way to the mist-shrouded hills that formed Crackclaw Point. He had pushed Vhagar to exhaustion over the past two days, covering ground that ordinarily would have been done in three, so he set her down as they approached Rook’s Rest, where Lord Staunton readily gathered the plumpest sheep from his farmers to sate Vhagar’s hunger.

Baelon kept the rest short, allowing them both six hours of sleep before setting out before dawn. They had another twelve hard hours ahead of them—or so he thought. Vhagar, aware of his urgency, shaved several hours from that. It was just nearing noon when Runestone came into view at the edge of the horizon, and when they had landed at last, he laid both hands on Vhagar’s snout, her heavy breaths stirring his hair.

“Thank you,” he said, staring into her bright green eyes. “I do not yet have enough hatchlings born of my hatchlings to spare.”

The enclosure that had been built for Caraxes was too small for Vhagar, but its keeper assured him that a hearty meal of sheep would be secured for his dragon. That was enough reassurance for him to grab the dragon egg cradle from her saddlebags and take off up the hill toward the castle. The fear he had barely held at bay for the ride wormed its way into his heart at last.

What if the babes had sickened since he had gone? Little Jon—or Baelon, as his father had negotiated in exchange for the dragon eggs—was the larger of the twins, his lungs hale. Aemon was smaller and quieter, save for the occasional wail in Daemon’s arms.

The gods cannot be so cruel to take him from me twice. But he had thought the same after losing Alyssa and their babe, that the gods would not visit such sorrow on him again.

Daemon came to greet him in the yard, and Baelon’s tension eased at his untroubled expression. “I did not think Vhagar had such speed in her,” his son said, sounding impressed. He shook his head then. “Did you not sleep at all?”

“I can sleep easily once the eggs are in their cradle,” Baelon said, surrendering the heavy chest to him with relief. It was difficult to say which had borne the greater strain throughout the three days’ ride: his thighs or his arms. “Where are they?”

“They are in the nursery now. Come.”

x~x~x

Baelon all but collapsed into the chair that Daemon had dragged beside the twins’ cradle, feet giving out midway through seating himself. Lady Rhea had joined the small convoy to the nursery, and promptly ordered a meal be brought for him from the kitchens, but his dizziness steadied as he gazed upon his sleeping grandsons. Jon’s hand was curled around the cloth of his brother’s sleeve, his frown intense even in sleep, while Aemon was the very image of serenity.

In his relief, everything else that he had battled back surged to the surface, and he found himself doubled over in his chair, a half choked sob giving way to a trembling laugh while Daemon looked on with widened eyes.

“I am fine,” he said after a moment, once he had ridden out the wave of emotion. He brushed at his cheeks, then held his hands out. “The eggs.”

Daemon undid the latches on the dragon cradle, flipping the lid open to reveal the two eggs nestled within its cushioned interior. One was a deep burgundy with bands of black and gold streaking across it, and the other was charcoal black with large swathes of smoky grey and silver. Baleon had chosen them himself: one from an old clutch of Vhagar’s, and one from Silverwing’s.

“They are beautiful,” Daemon said, holding each up in the light in wonder.

His good-daughter, ordinarily stoic and composed, looked no less awed, and Baelon beckoned her closer. She reached out hesitantly, feeling the surface of each egg. “Whose is whose?”

“That is for the hatchlings to decide,” Baelon said.

Daemon handed him the burgundy first, and then Baelon was faced with the dilemma of finding space in a cradle built for a single babe but tasked with holding two. He ended up gently shifting the infants higher up so that the eggs could be placed at their feet, and both woke at his touch, foreheads furrowing as they squinted at him.

He gave their faces a stroke, one and then the other. They were so small that even the knuckle of his forefinger seemed to dwarf their soft cheeks. “I have brought a gift for you from your great-grandsire.” Alertness seemed to enter their eyes after a few blinks, and he smiled. “Dragon eggs, to keep you safe.”

Baelon took the second egg from Daemon and parted the twins enough so that it could be placed between them. Their pudgy hands patted at its scaled surface, with happy little grunts emerging from Aemon’s side of the dragon egg. Jon’s flailing study was quieter, his intense brow furrow back as his lilac-grey eyes stared at the egg, before his head turned back toward Baelon, almost in question.

Baelon leaned in close, kissing his forehead and cheeks, and resigning himself to a single cheek kiss for Aemon, who was still entranced by the egg.

“How are they?” he asked.

There was good color in their cheeks. Jon’s breathing sounded slightly congested, but that was not entirely unusual for newborn babes. Daemon’s nostrils had whistled fiercely for a period of four weeks, which Alyssa had found hilarious, calling him her little tea kettle.

“They remain healthy,” Rhea said. “Maester Therbold examined them just this morning. They have gained nearly half a pound over the week.”

They looked just as tiny to Baelon as when he had first held them, fresh from the womb, weighing barely five pounds each. He picked Jon up, cradling him in his arms as he tried to gauge whether he was truly larger. Once they have reached ten pounds, Baelon decided, then the worst of the threat is past.

Weight gain was far more important than weight itself, he knew. He had seen his little brothers succumb within their first year, as had his Aegon. Healthy lungs and healthy suckling were the mark of a babe who would live to see his first name day.

“You must drink heartily of your nurse’s breast,” he murmured to Jon, whose gaze turned cross-eyed as it tried to focus on the finger Baelon brought to trace the line of his tiny nose. “And see that your brother does the same.”

Aemon was more reluctant to be parted from the dragon eggs, expressing his affront with wailing that he usually reserved for Daemon first thing in the morning, but Baelon rocked him until it subsided, promising he would not be parted from their eggs for long.

“It is my father’s command that the eggs be under guard at all hours,” he said, glancing up at Rhea. “He requested that only your most trusted knights be tasked with the duty.”

She frowned. “There are none more honorable than knights of the Vale, my lord.”

“It is not their honor that the king would question,” Baelon said, well-accustomed to creatively interpreting his father’s sentiments. “Only their seasoning. Some will be more experienced than others, and those are who he seeks.”

“Very well,” Rhea said, her ruffled feathers soothed, “I know who I would appoint to the task.”

They are both of them so prideful, Baelon thought, not for the first time. It was partly why they had clashed early on, he suspected, though Daemon’s simmering resentment of the match had not helped matters. He glanced at his son, who still looked a bit lost on how to occupy himself in the nursery.

Daemon’s youth did not help matters either. He had grown up on tales of Aegon’s Conquest, of his grandfather’s heroic struggles against Maegor, of their family’s bloody quarrels with the Faith. He saw Baelon as a hero, as he had Aemon, and longed for the glory they had achieved on dragonback against the foes of the Crown. As proud as he was, he desired more to be worthy of such pride.

He is too young to understand that often such opportunities arise all on their own, and can bring sorrow as easily as accolades.

Baelon focused his gaze back on the twins, until the clench in his jaw had relaxed. They were watching him intently, Aemon with that concern so like his brother’s. He had always known when Baelon was upset, often before he did. They are such bright little flames, my son’s babes.

He let himself sink deeper into his chair, lulled by its comfort and their warmth, fatigue settling in until the door opened, at which point he straightened to alertness, but it was merely a servant bearing hot bread and cold cuts of meat, alongside a vegetable-laden soup. Baelon reluctantly surrendered the twins to their parents, one apiece, and took his meal.

“They are sweet babes,” Rhea said, smiling down at Aemon who smiled back at her.

“That must be your doing,” Baelon said, casting an amused look at his son. “Daemon was the loudest babe the Red Keep has heard. ‘Riotously upset with the world,’ is how my father described him.”

“I cannot imagine,” Rhea murmured, with a sly glance of her own toward Daemon.

Rather than bristle at the slight, Daemon merely shook his head at Jon. “Rest assured, I shall never tell such unkind tales of your infancy.”

Such was a great relief to Jon, judging by the smell that rose afterward, and Daemon quickly raised him up out of his lap, holding him up by the armpits to stern admonitions from both Baelon and Rhea until he adjusted his grip to support his head.

The nurse was summoned to change his linens, and then Aemon’s shortly after, and Baelon shared what little conversation he had managed in his short time at the Red Keep. Rhea seemed less than pleased at the king’s interference with Jon’s name, mollified only slightly by Baelon’s suggestion that they call him by “Jon” to reduce confusion, whatever his recorded name might be.

“I shall call him both,” Daemon said stubbornly. “Baelon is his name.”

Rhea’s expression turned to alarm upon learning that he had invited his mother and sister to visit as they liked, since the babes were too young themselves to travel. “I shall need notice of their arrival,” she insisted. “So that Runestone may extend a proper welcome to our queen.”

Her feelings on the king considering a tourney for their first name day, should their health continue to prove hearty, seemed mixed. Baelon did not blame her. He doubted she had realized how extensive the Crown’s interference would be once she bore sons. After Aemon’s death without a male heir, their father was eager to demonstrate the stability of Baelon’s succession to the realm: two sons, and two grandsons.

His father would be content to let the twins spend their first year in Runestone. But as for the second—he doubtless would insist that they be brought to King’s Landing along with the dragon eggs, if they had not yet hatched. For a proud lady of a proud house, to have control wrested away of her own heirs would likely rankle.

That is a matter for my mother to address, as this match was her own doing. Even the outcome was the intended one: a scion of House Targaryen eventually in control of a powerful holding in the Vale.

But that was a trouble for another day, and far less of an issue if Viserys and Aemma had a son of their own. Baelon rubbed at his heavy eyes. If that is even possible. His father’s pressure for more heirs had meant that Aemma had been made a mother too young. The Grand Maester himself had admitted that such could complicate future births, even setting aside the miscarriages since.

Childbirth has not been kind to our house.

“You look awful,” Daemon informed him, ever the diplomat. “You should take some rest.”

Baelon nodded, too tired to argue. “I shall sleep here, in the nursery.”

His son and good-daughter exchanged a look, but did not protest. Rhea merely sent for the blankets to be replaced, and his pillow brought from his guest chamber. By then, his grandsons had been cleaned and changed and given yet another meal that had left them just as sleepy.

“They were as hungry as ever, my prince,” the wetnurse assured him when he asked about the feeding.

A troubling thought occurred to him. “Is there enough milk for two? Is another nurse needed?”

“There is plenty of milk to nurse them until full, my prince.”

The twins seemed content enough, Jon letting out a soft burp before being transferred back to his cradle. The egg between them was moved to the bottom of the cradle, beside the other, and the babes nestled against one another as their faces went soft with sleep.

The dragon eggs will protect them. Baelon gave them each another kiss, then grabbed his grown son to kiss his own cheek. “Go, take a ride on Caraxes.”

His son’s expression turned furtive. “I did not—”

“I know you have not ridden him since my departure.” His son’s dragon had fixed him with the baleful look he had worn whenever Aemon had neglected him for a few days. “Go. Vhagar and I are here to protect them in your absence.” He nodded toward Rhea. “As are your wife and her knights.”

Daemon brightened, the serious expression he had worn too often since the twins’ birth lifting. “I shall see you after your nap with the babes, then.” It was Baelon’s turn for a kiss to the cheek, and then, after a moment of hesitation, Rhea’s.

Baelon settled gratefully into the softness of the bed, satisfied with the quality of the feather mattress. Their nurse should be in comfort, after all, to provide them the best care. Hopefully she did not begrudge him a few hours’ use of her bed.

He closed his eyes, and let Jon’s snuffling snores carry him away to oblivion.

[uiharu-and-company]

Lena discovers she is part alien once she’s finally old enough to reach her species age of sexual maturity. Just a ficlet now but should I write more?

XXXXXX

It’s a usual Monday morning when Lena wakes up alone in her penthouse at the crack of dawn. What’s unusual is that Lena feels a weird pressure on her tailbone. Curiously, she sits up and lifts the bedsheets to look at her legs.

Holy shit.

Lena has a tail. A tail that was definitely not there yesterday and she definitely should not have. She should probably call Kara. But also, I have a tail!?

For a moment, Lena simply stares dumbfounded at her new limb. It is long and slender, covered in shiny green scales. Then she wonders if she can control it. So Lena focuses on the strange addition, commanding it to move even just an inch. She probably should have focused more on what she wanted the tail to do because suddenly it flys up and hits her in the face.

“Hey!” Lena exclaims angrily at the tail, even if she was technically the one who hit herself in the face. Intrigued, Lena notes that even though she has acquired a tail, her brain does not seem to have the muscle memory to control it. She focuses again on the tail and imagines her muscles relaxing. Slowly, the tail sags and then falls back onto her bed away from her face.

With shaking hands Lena reaches towards the tail (her tail?) and picks it up with both hands. The base of the tail closer to her tailbone is thick and several inches wide, but as it moves away from the base it becomes thin like a lizard’s tail. The scales are cool and smooth in her palms. The tail has weight to it. Lena can feel the muscle underneath if she pushes down on the scaled flesh. Moving her up closer to the tip of the tail, she experimentally rubs the tail tip to see if it feels different to the rest.

“Ah!” Lena gasps. As soon as she rubs the end she gets a shot of surprising pleasure to her groin. She drops the tail from her hands like it’s on fire and scoots up the bed as if she can get away from it. Which she quickly realizes she can’t, since the tail is attached to her.

With her mind moving at a mile a minute, Lena quickly takes stock of her current situation. It’s Monday morning in National City and she has woken up with a prehensile tail. She has no idea where it came from and judging by how it felt, she has a vague idea of its uses.

It is definitely time to call kara.

Thoroughly confused and annoyed, Lena throws her legs over the edge of the bed to stand up. Only to be met with another shock because the floor underneath her feels wrong. She should be standing on her pristine hardwood floors, but the sensation under her feet is rough and grainy. Lena looks down at the floor to confirm that yes, that is her hardwood floor she’s standing on. So why does it suddenly feel so weird?

Lena stands still next to her bed as she takes stock of her physical sensations. She had been too preoccupied with the tail to notice earlier, but her silk nightgown feels different against her skin. Almost as if she can feel each individual fiber. She glances down at her hands to notice her nails have become sharper and grown two inches. How she didn’t notice they’d change when she had used them just a second ago was boggling. But then again, she was rather preoccupied with the tail at that moment. Concern began to tickle at the back of Lena's mind. Were these all the changes she had experienced, or were there more?

Carefully, while trying to ignore the strange new sensation of the floor on her feet, Lena walked over to her full body mirror. The tail hung limply against her body, as she did not know how to move it while she was walking. She was hesitant to look up into the reflective glass. What if she had become some kind of hideous monster overnight? With agonizing slowness she raised her head and took herself in.

The first things she noticed were the things she had already accounted for. She had a long scaled tail and her finger and toenails had gotten longer and sharper. Aside from the ‘claws’ she had now acquired, her arms and legs looked fine. She drew her gaze up to her shoulder and saw that they had a small smattering of scales similar in color to the ones on her tail. Then with a growing sense of fear she looked at her face. To Lena’s immense relief, she had kept her beautiful features. Her cheekbones had a small bit of scales like her shoulders had. But what really struck her was that her eyes had changed. She still had her heterochromia that Kara loved to gush over, but her pupils had become thin slits like that of a cat.

Perhaps it was a little bit vain that Lena's first reaction to her new form was to thank whatever gods existed above that she had not become a hideous abomination. However, the question of why she now looked like a human-lizard hybrid still hung in the air. Tearing her gaze away from the mirror, Lena awkwardly walked back to her nightstand while dragging her limp tail behind her. Her hands once again shaking as she reached for her smartphone and dialed a number she now knew by heart.

“Kara,” Lena said, “This is Lena and I really need your help.”

[burningcheese-merchant]

BurningCheese Ficlet for y'all

I'm planning to take a break from AO3 for a little while, because I wrote 4 fics in 4 days and my head hurts. (I don't usually write anything this fast, but when I'm truly inspired, I'm a man on a fucking mission lol)

Here's a relatively short fic for you guys to enjoy while I'm gone. It's wholesome (for once). Hope whoever reads it enjoys it, whether they like this ship or not

Post-canon (technically), Burning Spice is no longer a threat to anyone, he's just an asshole who's down bad

"Hm? Golden Cheese eyed the envelope being handed to her critically. "And this is...?"

"For you," Burning Spice said. "It is a romantic holiday today, is it not? Is this not what couples do for one another in celebration?" "I don't recall us ever being a couple, Mr. Burning Spice," Golden Cheese muttered, crossing her arms and giving him a look. "So I'm not sure what possesses you to want to celebrate a day not meant for either of us." "You possess me, my little thief. That is all the motivation I need." He returned her look of annoyance with a look of cool confidence, giving her a flirtatious smile. "Regardless, why do you shun a heartfelt gift? Are gestures of admiration such as these not what you like to receive from others?"

"They are," Golden Cheese said, "But I can't imagine whatever you've brought to me being 'heartfelt'. In fact, I didn't realize that word even existed within your vocabulary before today." He chuckled at her little jab, much to her own furthered annoyance. "You wound me, pretty bird. Why do you judge me for my appearance? Why don't you read this and see for yourself what I am capable of?" "It's hardly your appearance. I've encountered far more brutish beings than you who turned out to be bigger sweethearts than Pure Vanilla." She sighed. "But... fine, very well. If you went to this trouble, I suppose I can entertain it this once." "Yes... please do, my little thief." His smile grew bigger. "Entertain me."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but otherwise did nothing to challenge him further and took the envelope into her hands. It was surprisingly fancy; adorned with intricate little patterns that she recognized to be commonplace in Wild Spice artistry. When she opened it, the smell of spice reached her nose, causing her to sneeze. Burning Spice chuckled again, and she shot him a disapproving glare. He gave her a look of endearment, his eyes twinkling with mirth and mischief. He did not speak, but he did not need to; she knew exactly what he meant by that face, for he'd given it to her before, along with the words meant to describe it. You're so adorable when you sneeze.

Not wanting to encourage this sentiment any further, she turned her attention back to the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. A pale reddish-orange, scented with nutmeg and tumeric. The words were written with black ink - in quite good handwriting, much to her surprise. A very quick skim told her it was a poem. She brought her eyes back to the very top and started again, reading it diligently, word for word:

"You flaunt your beauty in the rose, your glory in the dawn, Your sweetness in the nightingale, your whiteness in the swan. You haunt my waking like a dream, my slumber like a moon, Pervade me like a musky scent, possess me like a tune. Yet, when I crave of you, my sweet, one tender moment's grace, You cry, 'I sit behind the veil, I cannot show my face'. Shall any foolish veil divide my longing from my bliss? Shall any fragile curtain hide your beauty from my kiss? What is this war of thee and me? Give o'er the wanton strife. You are the heart within my heart, the life within my life."

Golden Cheese's mouth hung slightly agape by the time she finished, her face hot and cheeks flushed so red that she was certain it could be seen even all the way back home. "Burning Spice," she began. "I..." "You...?" he asked back, clearly enjoying the look on her face far too much. She stood silent for a moment longer before she collected herself. "It's... this is lovely," she said. "I don't know what to say. I... I truly did not think you were ever capable of something like this." "That's alright, pretty bird. Your eyes say enough." Oh, if only that blasted smile of his would fall away already. It was making her feel even stranger. "You and your people aren't the only ones with silver tongues in your mouths."

She hadn't been insulting the Wild Spices earlier, she had been insulting him - but even so, she had no choice but to admit her folly. "Fair enough," she said. "I was wrong to judge you so harshly. If I may gift you with something in return, it's with me saying that this would fit in among the works of my own kingdom's finest poets." "Would it, now? Such high praise, coming from you," Burning Spice purred. "But I'm afraid I'd rather you gift me with something else." "Oh?" She tilted her head at him. "And what would that be?" He answered her by coming closer, closer, until they stood toe to toe and his face was not so far from hers anymore. "I think you know," he said. He cupped her chin. "Or shall you let a veil divide us any longer?"

At this, Golden Cheese said nothing. She only let him tilt her head up gently, and her eyes flutter shut, as he leaned down and captured her lips with his own. Burning Spice kissed her sweetly, tenderly - so unlike what she expected of him, such a feeling and taste she never thought she'd find within spice like his. He licked at her lips, soft but still forceful enough to be noticed, politely asking for entry - and she obliged him, parting her lips and sighing into their kiss as his tongue slipped into her mouth and caressed her own. She felt a hand touch hers, rough fingers ghost against her skin, and she obliged him again, taking his hand into her own and lacing their fingers together. When they parted, he lingered there for a little while longer, their now half-lidded eyes locked and foreheads touching. The fire that always burned so bright in his eyes was now brought down to a smolder, reminding her more of the warmth of a fireplace than a scorching inferno. She could still feel his breath, taste it: hot and spicy, a shock to her senses. But... it wasn't so bad. It wasn't bad at all, actually. ...But he didn't need to know that. She'd fed his ego enough for one day.

"My little golden thief," he purred. "I thank you. Your gift is as lovely as mine." "...You're welcome," she murmured. "But... don't expect any more like it." "I won't," he said, that familiar sharp-toothed smile creeping back across his face, "Just the same as you expected me to give you something crude and mediocre." Her eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up in surprise, both at his words and the little jab hidden behind them. She opened her mouth to retort - but he cut her off before she could by kissing her again. Lightning fast, but still hot and rough, stealing the breath from her lungs. When he pulled back, that godforsaken grin came back in full force, stretching from ear to ear. "See?" he asked playfully. She chose not to respond this time, instead only huffing at him. Such audacity need not be dignified in such a manner. (And it wasn't because she had no real rebuttal to give him. Really. Honest.)

He gave her hand a squeeze before letting it go and stepping back again, giving her back her personal space. "Well, then," he said. "I shall give you one last gift by allowing you to enjoy the rest of this day on your own terms." "How kind of you, Burning Spice," Golden Cheese said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Once again, you surprise me with your words and actions." "Golden Cheese..." He turned his back and peeked at her from over his shoulder, his eyes burning bright once again. "I intend to keep surprising you as many times as you'll allow." With that said, he turned and began walking away. She watched him leave with her arms crossed, staring daggers at the back of his head as he left. Finally, she was free. No more of his nonsense; she can bask in light and peace again.

And yet, his parting words still rang in her ears. "I intend to keep surprising you as many times as you'll allow." Just where did he get this brazenness from? Wherever he cultivated it, she wanted the earth salted and burned. After everything that's happened, after her granting him a goddess's mercy by allowing him to continue existing in her life after all was said and done, and he repays her with this never-ending foolishness? Well, she could commend his stubbornness, if nothing else. But this time was a step too far. This was the first Valentine's Day gift she's ever received from him, and it shall be the last. Next time, she will turn him away without remorse. Won't she?

She turned her eyes back to the paper in her hand. To the beautiful envelope that had housed it. To the poem inscribed on the page, that serenaded her without making a single sound. Golden Cheese, against her own better judgment, brought the poem back closer to her face and read it a second time. When she finished, she tucked it back into the envelope - carefully, so it wouldn't tear. And then she sighed. ...No. No, she won't.

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

The poem here is "Humayun to Zobeida" from the poetry collection "The Golden Threshold" (bet you know why I chose a poem from there lol), all written by Indian poet Sarojini Naidu. Please check it out if/when you can, her works are lovely and you can read them for free online (also a lot of the poems give me BurningCheese feels, especially "To the God of Pain")

Y'all let me know if you enjoyed this, I thought of a sequel and I'll write and post it if you want

[frozenjokes]

deeply infatuated with them. so much so that you guys can have the full ficlet as a treat. And yeah he wears that dumb fuck lab coat to bed of course he does. he’s also a socks in bed wearer and if you don’t think so we will be dualing at dawn.

zombiecleo and the worst found family in the world vvv

Ow. Ow.

Mosquitos, deer flies, horse flies, bugs, Cub was being ravaged by bugs, he really hadn’t considered the bugs when he’d started this journey. In the Wisconsin northwoods you breathed them, all sorts, but the deer flies were his worst enemies, drawing blood even through the thick layers of.. well, moss didn’t feel like an accurate descriptor. It looked a little like moss, like life had reached toward the sky and captured the stars, brilliant and twinkling and everything good. But moss didn’t have teeth. Sculk did. Cub liked that about it. Whether it hurt more or less than the flies, that was up for debate, but the sculk was consistent, familiar, everywhere, and the flies were in his way.

But with all the bugs, there was some reprieve. Afterall, another source of food meant less of those teeth under Cub’s skin. Less pain, though, somehow, he still managed to miss it.

Sculk was alien. It was not supposed to be here. But it wanted to be.

Sculk was a parasite. So was Cub.

Ow- Fucking- stupid ass dumbass fucking-

Cub jolted awake with a screech, being shaken- dragged out of bed, the monster on his neck- he was falling, a bear- a black bear had got him, he was being dragged through the woods by a black bear- fuck- what bear was it you where you were supposed to play dead? Cub had thought the brown bear, there weren’t brown bears in Wisconsin- He tried anyway.

He realized the floor was not dirt. The paws awkwardly dragging him along weren’t black or brown. Momentarily stunned, he heard Cleo cackle through the darkness.

“Scar- Scar! What are you doing? Wait- No no- No! Scar!”

Cub had the wind knocked out of him as his kidnapper attempted to jump onto Cleo’s bed, his stomach slamming into the mattress before he was unceremoniously dragged all the way up over a howling Cleo. Briefly Cub was released, to which he cautiously began to move until the sheets were pulled so hard underneath him that he fell off balance, only to be grabbed by the throat, then shoved head first underneath.

Cub needed a second to breathe, utterly shocked he was still alive. Then a large weight fell on top of him, and breathing became a little harder. The weight began to purr.

“Scar.” Cleo gasped, sounding just as shaken as Cub felt, though not nearly as dazed. The purring ceased briefly, then began again, Cleo’s bewilderment remaining unanswered. “What- Why?” they tried again, which Scar seemed more receptive to.

“Easier to watch when you’re close together. This is better. Efficient. Safer.”

“We- We don’t need to be watched, Scar. We are safe. This room is safe. There is literally nothing in here that can hurt us.”

“That RenKing is awfully suspicious. It’s watching me.”

“He’s not on! He can not turn on by himself, we are fine.”

“What else lurks in the shadows, Cleo? You never know, you never know. One minute you’re safe, the next minute a hawk has swooped out of nowhere and grabbed your kitten, you gotta be careful, you gotta sleep together. It’s the best way to do it, it’s the best way.”

“I can not argue with you about this right now. Is Cub even alive?”

“He’s wriggling.” Cub was indeed wriggling. He wasn’t even uncomfortable per se, there was something deeply mollifying about having a large weight directly on your back, and he slept face down anyway, so this wasn’t a huge issue. Just adjusting.

“Let him go, Scar.”

Cub was a little offended by the implication that he could not get Scar off by himself- Scar was at least half his weight! “I’m fine.”

“He’s fine,” Scar parroted.

Cleo sighed, long and strained. She said no more. With enough passage of time, Cub stopped going to sleep in his own bed, since no amount of arguing was going to stop Scar from dragging him out of it every night. Though, out of all of Scar’s disruptive quirks, this was not something Cub minded all too much. He liked Cleo’s company, though he was relatively certain Cleo did not enjoy sleeping in a full bed nearly as much. Well, Cub definitely took up more room, but it wasn’t like she had slept alone since Scar had invited himself to sleep at their feet anyway.. then their legs.. then their stomach.. then their chest. Maybe this was always the next step. Cub wouldn’t be surprised if Scar had been planning it from the start. Oh well. No skin off his back.

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