#I'll probably put this on ao3

[paintedcrows]

Some Fords! (and Martin K Blackwood is also there)

[egginfroggin]

Good vibes and morale

Ford's chin is going to be the death of me

Actually, both of these characters are going to be the death of me. I love them. They make me ill

Mabel's right, by the way; good morale helps heal, and patient satisfaction (with care, etc.) is associated with improved patient outcomes. Mental and physical care are important for healing!

Thank you for poking! Take care! <3

(program: krita; time taken: about 4.5 hrs)

[erinwantstowrite]

Hihi! Will Itsy-Bitsy be on Ao3?? Please say yes I’m out here BAWLING over the small crumbs you gave us

hopefully at some point! i have to actually get around to finishing it so I don't leave everyone hanging when i do post it

[desertduality]

If you're able to or willing to, a little scene of Pearl taking care of Jellie in Ad Astra could be cool? :) Hope you're having a lovely day/night

I AM WILLING AND ABLE here it is :3

Word Count: 1191

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

There’s a bucket of salmon sitting at Pearl’s feet, and another thrashing at the other end of her line. She reels it in slowly, feels its movements grow more and more frantic as it fights to escape. Pearl, indifferent, watches the water ripple and splash as the salmon — hook through its bleeding mouth — is pulled from the water. She reaches for it with gloved hands, setting aside her fishing rod and deftly removing the hook from its skin. Its mouth is open. Fish don’t make much noise, when they die. 

It’s strange, really. Most everything else dies screaming. 

(“Could you take care of Jellie?” There’s a wild quality about Scar’s eyes that scares her. He’s desperate. He’s heartbroken. “She— she doesn’t like tuna, but salmon’s okay–”)

She leaves her fishing rod abandoned on the dock, shivering against the chill in the air as she turns back towards Scarland, picking up the bucket of writhing fish as she goes. It’s overcast today, in that way that tells her that it would be snowing, if Xisuma hadn’t disabled it. No one was much in the mood for a snow day. 

She jumps the turnstiles at the front of the park. They’d stopped working a few days ago, and Impulse has been too busy helping to build up their base of operations to come over and fix it. It’s not even been a week since they got back. Things keep breaking. Scar had been an essential cog in their machine, and nothing quite works the same without him. Nothing works at all, it feels like. They’re no closer to getting Scar back than they’d been at the start. Pearl has no new ideas, no dimensional know-how, no intricate knowledge of the Watcher’s aside from knowing what they are. She can’t help at all, really. Not in any way that matters.

But she has been given a task to do. So, she fishes. She jumps the turnstiles. She finds Jellie curled up on Scar’s pillow, tail twitching. 

Jellie’s ears flick towards her as she enters, eyes sliding open and tracking her as she crosses the room. Pearl greets her softly, setting the bucket down next to the furnace, coaxing a flame out of the coals and putting the salmon on the rack. Cats could eat it raw, she was sure, but Scar had always cooked it for her. She’s a lousy substitute, but she’s going to do her best. Jellie was the most important thing to Scar, and he’d asked her to—

Well, she’d been the only person left to ask, she supposed. 

(“No, Scar,” Pearl says, voice breaking as she pleads. “You’re gonna take care of her, okay? Because you’re going to come home. You are.”)

He’d been crying during that final fight. He had been breaking apart long before it, though, and Pearl had missed it. 

She pulls the salmon from the oven, tearing it into pieces and putting it on a plate, crossing the room to the bed. Jellie squints at her, whiskers twitching. Pearl pastes on a shaky smile, sitting at the foot of the bed and setting the plate down between them. The plate from yesterday is on the floor against the wall, untouched. She hadn’t eaten it. 

“Please,” Pearl says softly, hands twisted into the fabric of the blanket. “You— You gotta eat something, Jellie. I… I promised—”

Her voice breaks, and she snaps her jaw shut, mouth trembling and eyes stinging. Her breathing stutters in her lungs. Jellie watches her, chest rising and falling slowly, lethargically. She’s barely moved from the bed. It’s probably one of the only places that still smells like Scar.

She swallows against the lump in her throat, nudging the plate a little with a shaking hand. “You should eat it while it’s warm.”

Jellie blinks, and doesn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” Pearl says, chest aching as if a boulder were crushing it. Her voice cracks and wavers. “I’m not the one who’s supposed to— He should be here. I should have won, I— I’m sorry.”

(“Tell Cub I’m sorry,” Scar says, and Pearl can’t breathe, can’t think— “Tell everyone I’m sorry.”

“Wait—!”)

Scar isn’t here. Pearl can’t get Jellie to eat. He had said she liked salmon, hadn’t he? Had she gotten it wrong?

“You gotta eat,” Pearl begs, tears trailing silently down her face. “Just— Please—”

A heaving sob cuts her off, hair sticking to the tears on her cheeks as she curls in on herself, hand coming up to cover her mouth. The crushing hopelessness of the situation closes in on her like a vice, terrible grief rising in her throat, threatening to choke her. She remembers the moment the arrow had hit her. She remembers appearing back home, all of them but one, collapsing beneath the horror of realization. She remembers the look on Grian’s face, utterly indescribable in its agony. If she’d just won—

“Pearl?”

Pearl jumps hard, whipping her head around to face the intruder, eyes wild and face still wet with tears. 

It’s only Impulse, standing there with his toolbox in hand and dark, dark circles beneath a worried gaze. His hair is a mess. 

“The turnstiles are broken,” Pearl says hoarsely. 

Impulse just nods, slowly coming closer. “I’ll fix it.”

Pearl sniffs, wiping at her eyes as she turns back to Jellie. Impulse stands next to where she’s sitting on the bed, seeming at a loss for words. He looks exhausted. Pearl wonders what he came here for.

“She won’t eat,” Pearl says, looking down at the full plate of salmon. “She misses ‘im.”

“Yeah, that’s going around,” Impulse says sadly, shoulders slumping. He sets his toolbox down and reaches over to pet Jellie gently, hand trembling slightly as he scratches between her ears. His eyes flicker back to meet hers. “How about you? Have you eaten?”

Pearl huffs, breaking eye contact, and Impulse bends down to his toolbox, pulling out a bag with a sandwich in it. Pearl blinks at him, and he raises an eyebrow.

“I brought it for lunch, but I’m not that hungry, either,” Impulse says, voice deceptively casual as he opens the bag. “How ‘bout we split it?”

Pearl opens her mouth to decline, but Impulse’s hopeful eyes make her hesitate, and then sigh. She holds out her hand, and Impulse smiles cheekily, handing her half of the sandwich. She takes a bite. Ham and cheese. 

“Thank you,” Pearl says softly after another few bites. She looks at Impulse out of the corner of her eye, watching his sad eyes clash with his warm smile.

“We’ve got to take care of each other, right?” Impulse says, laying a comforting hand on her arm. “We can’t all be falling apart when Scar gets back.”

“You’re so sure,” Pearl says, sorrow choking her words.

“Not sure,” Impulse confesses quietly. “Just hopeful.”

The sound of someone gently chewing interrupts their conversation, and they both turn to find Jellie crouched by the plate of salmon, picking up another piece to eat. Tears of relief sting at Pearl’s eyes, and she laughs softly, deflating as the stress leaves her body. 

“Hopeful,” she says. “I can try that.”

[snkyou]

Drabble Prompt: Post-canon Levi, struggling with chronic pain and mourning his dead loved ones, being visited by his still alive loved ones

Anon, you knew how to talk pretty to me <3

hihi requests are still open btw

I feel like I gotta put a disclaimer or something lmao. So, the length of my drabble requests is usually something between 100-400 words. This request is just an incredibly unexpected exception. it just happened to fit into this idea I already had been thinking of, which was how the remaining 104th would ask Levi to be part of important events in their lives because well, they like the dude lmao, so expect that sort of one-shot soon. Additionally, since I kept reminding myself that this was supposed to be a drabble, I might have glossed over the chronic pain and mourning bits so I'm sorry about that ;;

that being said, 2.4k words of Levi and Gabi be upon ye <3

Now on Ao3!

The angry hissing of the kettle makes him flinch. It brings a loud ringing to his right ear. Instinctively, he places his right hand over it, and gives his ear a couple of gentle taps; it's more of a grounding gesture, a distraction from the buzzing. He usually keeps watch over the kettle, so that he can lower the heat just right before it gets a chance to scream at him. 

He realises then that he must have spaced out while waiting. It’s alright, he thinks. It’s been like that a lot, recently. He’s been like that. Lost in thought-- lost in time, if he allowed himself to be precise. The last days, weeks even, as the temperatures started to drop, blended into each other. There’s a little calendar on his bedside table, it had been a birthday gift from Armin – or had that been Mikasa’s? He isn’t sure, he had received an absurd number of presents from the kids last year, it had been hard to keep track of who gave him what and now the fact escaped him. Turning the pages of the little calendar, with its delicate botanical illustrations on each day, quickly became part of his morning routine, and so he was sure that time was passing at all. The stillness of the routine, he guesses, made him like this.

His vision blurs momentarily while he scoops the tea leaves into the teapot. He squints, trying to will his good eye to focus, but all he gets in return is a throb in his right eye. After putting the tea canister away, he presses the inner sides of his wrists to both eyes, placing just enough pressure to relieve the discomfort. When he opens his eyes again, he is pleased to find he can read the small print on the canister an arm’s length away. 

There’s a loud slam coming from the front of the house, followed by footsteps coming further into the house.

He quickly recognizes the heavy stomping as Gabi’s gait. She’s always been so loud.

Gabi crosses the arch into the small kitchen and dining area. 

“Don’t slam my doors,” he says as a greeting, slowly turning his head to his left side, trying to catch a glimpse of her in his periphery.

“Aye, aye,” the kid waves her hand, shoots him a teasing grin, “someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Levi hums in response but doesn’t say anything else. He busies himself with placing everything they need for their morning tea and coffee on a metal tray on the counter, which Gabi takes from him as soon as it’s ready and sets it on the table.

He grabs his cane from where he had hooked it on one of the kitchen drawers. He has been leaning against the counter, his right leg supporting most of his weight all this time. He braces himself for the sharp pain that will surely surge from his bad knee, through his left hip and up his spine. Cold mornings like this one and being still in one place for long will do that to him. It’s not so bad. It could be worse.

It takes 4 steps to get from the stove to his chair, which Gabi has already pulled out for him. It sits at an angle that allows him to easily slide down on it and rest his right elbow on top of the table, leaning back and against his good side.

“I have something that will cheer you up,” she holds a couple of envelopes in her hand and waves them at him, “You’ve got mail!”

He nods at her in acknowledgement but does not take his attention away from preparing his first batch of tea of the day. There’s a ritual to it, it almost feels like, and he doesn’t want to mess it up. Not when the ringing in his ear is still there, the building pressure in the upper back part of his eyeballs, and the cold air seeping into his bones through his thick jumper. Oh, how he needs a good cup of tea right now.

While Levi waits for it to steep, he grabs the papers that she had shoved in his face, squints his eyes at the first envelope and finds that he is unable to make out much of the handwriting. He brings it closer to his face, squints harder, steals a quick glance across the table and hopes Gabi isn’t paying him any mind, too preoccupied with choosing from the bag of pastries she brought with her. It is with an impassive expression that he hands the stack of envelopes back. 

“Read it for me.” A beat and then he adds, a little reluctant: “Please.”

He knows Gabi prefers coffee in the mornings, and black tea in the evenings, so he makes sure to have a fresh brew of the former whenever he knows she’s coming over; so, with shaky hands, Levi gets to prepare her cup of coffee. While he enjoys the aroma of it, he remains faithful to tea; at first, he thought he didn’t like it because he had butchered his first attempts at brewing it. But even after Onyankopon had taught him how to do it properly and he had enjoyed his cup, it didn’t bring the same comfort as tea. It just never hit the spot.

She shoots him a mischievous grin, “Oh, you sure? What if I read something personal, hm?” 

Levi just shakes his head, scoffing at the idea of Gabi finding his junk mail fascinating.

“Is this how I find out you have a secret lover you’re exchanging raunchy love letters with?” Gabi teases, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

He lets out a tired sigh and rolls his eyes, “just wanna be done with it, ” he stirs the milk into Gabi’s coffee, which now has turned into a cup of milk with coffee. “We have a lot to prepare for tonight.”

She clicks her tongue at him, but still rips the first envelope open, “Mr. Levi, your reading won’t improve if you keep doing that,” she jokingly scolds him.

Although Levi mentally recognises handing her and Falco stuff he couldn’t be bothered reading before, that’s not the case this time. He’ll let her think that for now, though, because he doesn’t want to mention the pressure building in the back of his bad eye, it’s not important and she, a kid, doesn’t need to know his newly found ailment of the week. He can see just fine around him right now. He can see Gabi’s big eyes and playful smile at the other side of the table, and that’s good enough; smaller details, he doesn’t feel he can do them, not without making himself go dizzy with a migraine.

Levi slides the cup of coffee to her and is pleased with himself when she approves of the colour of her drink.

“It’s from Armin,” she announces as she scans the letter. 

From this angle, the soft morning light illuminating her face and thanks to his faulty vision, Gabi’s image stirs his memory. His heart faintly constricts as he is reminded of the many times Hange read their research reports to him during breakfast in the mess hall before presenting them to Erwin. Levi always wondered how they could read so fast, sometimes he even doubted they were actually reading at all, their words barely being able to catch up with her eyes; he never asked about it, maybe reading came easy to them as numbers did to him.

A high-pitched squeal from Gabi startles him, bringing him back to the here and now.

“Oh… ohh, Mr. Levi,” she starts, her smile widening by the second “This is good news!”

Gabi makes a show of clearing her throat and then starts reading “Dear Captain, I hope this letter finds you well and in good health.” 

Levi can’t help but let a sardonic huff at the irony of the greetings but doesn’t let himself be bothered by it. He has written only a handful of personal letters throughout his life, and by now he knows it’s just something you’re supposed to say because jumping straight to the point isn’t acceptable, or so that’s what he had been told. 

Gabi continues reading Armin’s words to him. For the most part, it’s a standard letter coming from him: he asks Levi how he’s dealing with the changing of the seasons, how Gabi and Falco are faring, if business at the tea shop has been good, if there’s anything Levi needs that he can’t get in town so that Armin or the others can get it for him. He tells him a little about the country he’s writing from, he even includes a photograph. Then, after the expected pleasantries, Gabi can barely hold her excitement and starts reading faster, trying so hard not to trip over her words.

“If I’m being sincere, we would prefer to ask you in person,” Gabi stops for a second to look up at him from the paper, gauging for a reaction and finding nothing, she continues. 

Armin apologises for not being able to visit him before the holidays, Annie included, and so it is implied that he won’t be attending tonight’s reunion. 

Sometime during the last five years, the Alliance brats had decided to make showing up at Levi’s doorstep together once a year a sort of custom; the first time it happened was during an early winter, a blizzard had stopped them from leaving Levi’s until the next morning. It had been a really nice evening despite the awful weather, Levi remembers, after everyone pitched in one way or another, they all shared a simple but hearty meal together. It was Connie who jokingly said they should do it every year. The following year, Onyankopon, Gabi and Falco joined them. 

This year would be their fourth, and the first someone wouldn’t make it. That fact sits heavily in Levi’s chest, stealing the spotlight from his throbbing eye.

“...Annie and I have decided to get married. The both of us would like you to officiate our ceremony!” unable to contain her excitement, she tears her eyes away from the paper and looks at Levi. “Huh?! This is good news! What’s with the constipated face?!”

That doesn’t sound right. It figures that Annie and Armin would be the first to marry; in a way, he is happy for them, they clearly care for each other. No, that part is easy to understand. Their union is logical to anyone who knows the couple. What Levi can’t figure out is why they are asking him such a thing.

He clears his throat, assumes it’s been 3 minutes and his tea is ready to be poured and so he distracts himself with that.

When he doesn’t answer Gabi, she picks up where she left off. 

He isn’t… well, he isn’t that close to either of them. He’s sure Annie must have other relatives that could step in his stead. Maybe a brother, a cousin. Even Jean or Reiner would be better options than Levi. He isn’t good with words or people like they are, he couldn’t possibly give them a speech about something foreign to him as it is that kind of love, that’s what people expect, right? His title of Captain is obsolete in this new world, so it can’t be that either. Hell, he has never been to a fucking wedding. 

Just… why him?

As expected, Armin doesn’t really go into the details of their choice but does let Levi know they do not expect a fast answer and that they do not want him to feel pressured to accept it, despite how much it would mean to them if he did. Armin asks if there’s anything in particular that he would like for his birthday, as it is a month away, and closes the letter by saying he looks forward to seeing him and everyone then.

When the letter is closed and put back into its envelope, silence falls around them. For a moment the only sound that can be heard is the clinking of tableware as Levi places the teacup back on its saucer.

It bothers him, that he knows he will be letting Armin down by refusing something that any other well-adapted person would consider an honour. But the thought of embarrassing him and himself, because he gave an awkward, most likely insensitive, speech, mortifies him. No, he can’t put them and their guests through that. He will find a way to make it up to the couple, maybe he can… he doesn’t know yet, but he will come up with something.

As he finishes his first cup, Levi realises that at some point while he was lost in thought, the ringing in his ear has subsided and now it’s back to that muffled, cotton-in-ear sensation he’s used to and he doesn’t feel his eyeball pulsating anymore. Glancing at Gabi, he notices she is trying really hard not to say something, her brow furrowed as she takes a sip of her own drink, followed by a big bite of her pastry. Flakes stick to the corner of her mouth and for once it doesn’t disgust him. Instead, it makes his lips twitch as if going into a smile.

“I can help you... if you want,” she says eventually, sounding uncharacteristically careful and small of her.

Levi quirks an eyebrow “Help? with what?” 

She shrugs, “How to… tell them you don’t want to,” she avoids looking at him for the first time, finding the flakes on her plate more interesting. She shrugs again and tilts her head to the side, a thin line of a smile appearing on her face. “...or prepare for the ceremony.”

Not unlike many times before, Gabi’s words render him speechless, if only for a moment. He spares his tea a glance and he thinks: it’s bold of her to be so upfront about offering her help to him, and had it been any other morning, one where he couldn’t think past the constant ache in his body, he would’ve chewed her head off for simply trying to help him because he himself doesn’t know how to accept that kindness.

This kid is trying her best and he can’t help but feel somewhat proud of that.

“You have shit on your face. Here,” he points to where the flakes would sit on his own face and picks his refilled teacup back up.

Gabi quickly wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, getting most of the flakes off. Levi gives her a thumbs-up with his free hand.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally concedes and tries to ignore the little happy dance she does in her seat.

This time, when the amber liquid touches his lips, it’s remarkably sweeter than before.

[mythmagicetc]

is this the end of all the endings?

rating: T

chapters: 1/1 (3k words)

summary:

"You don’t know that’s what I was gonna say!”

“Was it?”

Eddie sighs. “Yeah.”

Buck laughs, less at the conversation and more at the defeated twist of Eddie’s mouth. “Can’t get anything past me, Diaz.”

Leaning against the counter, he finishes placing their dinner order. When he glances up, Eddie is smiling, but there’s almost a wince hidden there, some ironic joke that Buck doesn’t get.

“Right.” Eddie takes a sip of his beer. “Um, speaking of. I actually had something I thought I should tell you. No,” he looks down, shakes his head a bit, “something I wanted to tell you. Something I wanted you to know.”

____

or: On a normal evening, Eddie comes out. Buck can't say that it doesn't change anything between them. At first, he can barely say anything at all.

[sleepysoapbubble]

Small little fic thingy, first time posting to tumblr one of these!!!!

CW : domestic/child abuse mentions but it's all in the past

Ghost doesn't know how to be forgiven. 

As a child, he watched his mother prostrate herself at his father's feet while she screamed and sobbed her apologies.

His father had beaten her anyways, until she was black and blue and limping. Still, she always smiled at little Simon and Tommy, and told them it was okay, that she knew that their father still loved all of them in his own way. 

So Simon learned to equate forgiveness with begging and crying and blood. Things he was simply too proud to do. 

Until he met Johnny. 

He'd become quite attached to the sergeant, and Ghost had gotten distracted just enough to where Johnny had gotten hurt. (It wasn't his fault, but that certainly wasn't going to stop Ghost from blaming himself.) 

The second that Johnny was released from medical, Ghost barged into his room and dropped to his knees, just as he'd watched his mother do so many times before. He was begging, pleading, for forgiveness, and while Johnny initially looked shocked, Ghost wasn't surprised when Johnny suddenly looked furious. He'd seen this play out many times before, and if Johnny wanted to hit him, he'd let him, as many times as he wanted. Bleed as much blood as was owed. 

He didn't flinch when Johnny started yelling, he'd take that too. For a second, he's just a kid again, the anticipation of his father's raised fist coiling tight in his gut. What causes him to pause are the tears, hot and angry, streaming down Johnny's cheeks. It leaves Ghost floundering and dumbfounded, still as stone in his confusion. He moves suddenly with a jerk, trembling hands hovering over the fists Johnny has clenched at his side.

“Johnny, I -”

Johnny's voice cracks with emotion. “Do ye really think I'd be anything like yer father?”

Ghost had forgotten he'd told him about that, late some night in a safe house in the middle of nowhere. Neither of them able to sleep, they'd simply talked in the darkness the entire night, spilling secrets that Ghost thought he'd never tell anyone. But, with Johnny, he found a lot of things easier that he hadn't before. 

Ghost is on his feet and pulling Johnny into a crushing hug before he can think, all but babbling as horror bubbles in his throat, choking him. “Of course not! Never! I just, I messed up, it's all my fault you're hurt, and I - I, I don't know how -.”

There's a thump on his chest as Johnny smacks him, trying to push back to look at him. His eyebrows are furrowed so deeply, Ghost wants nothing more than to press his thumb over them to smooth them out. 

“Ye think I got hurt ‘cause of ye?” Soap asks softly, evidently hurt. 

“Well, yeah, if I hadn't been distracted -.”

Johnny is quick to hush him. “That wasn't yee fault. In fact, if ye didn't have my six, I'd probably be a lot worse off.”

“But, I -.”

“Oh, Si.” Johnny sighs, pulling Simon down into a hug. “Si, yer alright. We're okay. I'm okay. It wasn't yer fault.”

Ghost's grip tightens, breath hitching as his chest squeezes with something he's unfamiliar with. He doesn't even realize he's crying into the crook of his neck until Johnny is stroking his hair and gently shushing him. “Ye don't need ta be asking fer forgiveness, especially not when ye didn't do anything wrong.” Johnny pulls back to wipe Simon's tears away with his thumbs, kissing first one cheek, and then the other. “Besides, the only thing ye need to ask forgiveness fer is bein’ a pain in my arse.”

Ghost can't help but chuckle, even if it's a bit broken right now, but Johnny smiles all the same. “There's my love.” He murmurs, kissing him with a grin on his face. 

“I love you, Johnny.” 

“Love you too, Si.”

[v88sy]

Every night, when the day is gone and the world is finally silent, Tommy crawls into bed, cocooning himself in a shroud of blankets as if that action alone would keep out the harsh reality of his world. He slides his eyes shut and tries to quiet his thoughts, but he knows better by now. It's only been a couple weeks, and his mind still loops through the sounds of Evan's anguished cries bouncing off the concrete walls of the stark hallway.

In the few measly hours that he actually manages to fall under the grip of sleep, the sharp noise cruely follows. It echoes and reverberates through the corners of his dreams. He thanks a God that he doesn't even believe in that he's never managed to jostle Evan with the countless times he's jolted himself awake.

Maybe he should talk to someone, not that it would change anything.

Bobby would still be gone, and Evan would still be broken, trying to pretend that he's not.

No, this is something that Tommy had to keep locked away until...until he doesn't know when.

[kalied0skull]

twas the night before ficmas, when all thru the house

you could hear arcade squeaking and rolling around, just like a mouse.

[thatartiststudios]

01.

Ficlet requested by @tategaminu! Yes, I'm well aware this is probably longer than a ficlet. Don't ask where all the extra words came from, even I don't know

The night was quiet, save for the soft rustling of the sheets as Callum shifted slightly to get comfortable. Rayla lay beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, a contented sigh escaping her lips as his fingers gently traced circles on her stomach. She was sitting up slightly, the glow of the moon filtering through the window, casting a gentle light on them.

Little Rian, their unborn son, was being quite active that night. Rayla could feel the tiny movements, the little kicks and nudges that made her smile. Callum’s hand followed each movement, his touch soothing and tender.

“He’s really active tonight,” Callum murmured, his voice filled with wonder.

Rayla smiled, her eyes fluttering shut as she relaxed into his embrace. “Yeah, he’s giving me quite the workout,” she teased softly, her words laced with warmth.

Callum chuckled, his gaze fixed on her stomach, watching in awe as Rian moved. “I still can’t believe this is real,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Rayla opened her eyes, tilting her head to look up at him. “It is,” she assured him gently, her hand covering his, pressing his palm more firmly against her. “He’s our son, Callum. And he’s perfect.”

Callum’s eyes softened as he looked down at her, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. “You’re perfect, too,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

Rayla laughed softly, her breath tickling his neck. “You’re such a sap,” she teased, but her voice was filled with affection.

Callum grinned, his lips brushing against her temple. “Only for you,” he murmured, his voice full of love.

They stayed like that for a while, just enjoying the quiet moments, the warmth of each other’s presence, and the tiny, miraculous life growing between them. Callum’s fingers continued their gentle dance on Rayla’s stomach, soothing both her and their little one until the movements slowed and Rian settled down.

“Thank you,” Rayla whispered after a while, her voice barely audible.

“For what?” Callum asked, his thumb brushing over her skin in slow, comforting strokes.

“For this,” she said, her hand still resting on his. “For being here. For loving me.”

Callum’s heart filled with the depth of his feelings for her. “I’ll always be here, Rayla,” he promised, his voice unwavering. “Always.”

—

The dim light of the nursery cast a soft glow as Rayla sat on the edge of Rian’s bed, her fingers gently brushing through his white hair, which was already showing signs of the tiny blue horns that would someday match hers. Stella, ever the loyal cuddlemonkey, was already curled up beside the little halfling, her eyes drooping as she nestled closer.

Rayla smiled down at the two of them, her heart full as she began to sing a lullaby, her voice soft and soothing. It was the same lullaby she had sung to Stella many times, the same one her parents had sung to her when she was little. But tonight, she sang in Elvish, the ancient language of her people, the words flowing from her lips like a gentle breeze.

“Ged tha ‘n t-adhar dorch’ an nochd,

Tha mi ‘n soills’ air do shon, a ghràidh.

Tha a’ ghealach nas motha na a solas,

tha mi faisg; tha mo ghaol an seo.”

The melody was soft and lilting, each note carrying a promise of comfort and love. As Rayla sang, she watched Rian’s eyelids grow heavy, his little hand clutching Stella’s fur as he drifted closer to sleep. Stella, too, was lulled by the gentle song, her small body relaxing fully against Rian’s side.

Unbeknownst to Rayla, Callum had quietly finished his task of blowing out the candles downstairs and had come to the nursery, drawn by the sound of her voice. He leaned against the doorway, his heart swelling with love as he watched her. Just when he thought he couldn’t fall any more in love with her, Rayla always managed to surprise him.

Rayla’s song tapered off into a soft hum, and when she was sure both Rian and Stella were asleep, she carefully laid them down, pulling the blanket up to their chins. She pressed a gentle kiss to Rian’s forehead, then to Stella’s, before standing up.

Callum moved towards her, wrapping his arm around her waist from behind. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice a soft murmur in her ear. “You sound like an angel, love.”

A coy smile tugged at Rayla’s lips as she leaned into his embrace. “You’re such a sap, you know that?”

Callum just chuckled, his breath warm against her skin. “It’s true,” he said softly, tightening his hold on her.

Rayla sighed contentedly, letting herself relax fully in his arms. “I suppose I can’t argue with that,” she teased, tilting her head back to look up at him.

He met her gaze with a playful smile, his eyes twinkling with affection. “And I don’t mind one bit,” he added, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

Rayla rolled her eyes, but her smile never wavered. “You’re impossible.”

“Only because I love you so much,” Callum replied, his tone sincere as he brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Rayla’s expression softened, her heart swelling with love for the man she had chosen to spend her life with. “I love you too, Callum,” she whispered, turning in his arms so she could face him fully.

Callum’s hands slid to rest on her hips as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the love, all the gratitude he felt for the life they had built together. When they finally pulled apart, they stood there for a moment, foreheads touching, just breathing in each other’s presence.

“We’re so lucky,” Callum said softly, his voice full of emotion.

Rayla nodded, her eyes shining as she looked into his. “Yeah, we are.”

[sunsetofdoom]

but I cannot come in unless you dream of me

"I would enter your sleep if I could, and guard you there, and slay the thing that hounds you, as I would if it had the courage to face me in fair daylight. But I cannot come in unless you dream of me..." -Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn

-

Blitz’s knee rattled against the wobbly side of the barstool, tapping his leg compulsively as he scanned the dim bar. Everybody was fucking obnoxious, was the problem. Girls with judgy laughs, smug jocks, arrogant hipsters with their post-post-irony bullshit. Everybody copying the last trend, but really making fun of it, because they were soo over it, actually. What he wouldn’t give for Stolas’ full-throated fucking sincerity, sometimes. Maybe he was cringe, but he didn’t have the dead-eyed ‘look how cool I am’ syndrome that infested this fucking shithole like a plague.

He tapped his fingers against his phone laying facedown on the bar. If he flipped it over, he’d just have to look at the fucking weather app announcing the full moon, and the ghost of Stolas’ cancellation text lurking in his notifications.

“-and she just thinks she’s soooo,” some woman drawled, and Blitz’s eye twitched at the thought of talking to her for long enough to get his dick in her mouth and shut her the fuck up. That was a no.

“Better than workin’, though, innit,” said some guy, and Blitz leaned over, trying to figure out who. The accent was familiar. Not Stolas’, but the imps that worked for him all seemed to have that low-class, ‘allo guvnor’ shit going on. When Blitz exchanged two words with them, at least. Which he tried not to.

“You still workin’ at the Palace like your dear old Dad did, Reg?”

“Nah,” ‘Reg’ said, and Blitz caught him as he spoke- short-horned imp about Moxxie’s size, hair slicked back like he thought he was cool. Clearly dying a slow death of Hipster Prick disease. “Got to be too much for me. Pay sounded alright but there en’t enough money in the world to put up with those rich fucks.”

“Oh, tell us the good shit, Reg,” the girl at the table gushed, obviously thirsty for his shrimp dick. “Nick hasn’t heard your stories, ooh, Nick, they’re sooo funny-”

“You never came out with us,” Reg said, pointedly.

“Hard enough to when you don’t work two rings away,” Nick put in, and Blitz could have yelled at them to get on with the stupid story, because it was his only excuse not to find somebody to fuck in the nasty ass bathroom.

“Tell ‘im about the prince, Reg,” the girl begged, and Blitz slouched deliberately to look like he wasn’t listening. His nerves tingled.

“Oh, just a sad sack, it’s the wife that’s a real piece of work,” Reg said, sounding worldly and uninterested. “D’you know I once watched her smash a vase worth more than my mum’s house? Just hucked it overhand like a shot-put. Horrifying.”

Blitz filed this away. Like most mistresses, he had a looming blank space in his brain labeled The Wife, and he thought about her as little as possible with an angry, guiltless nausea.

“Why!?”

“Oh, her shit husband opened his mouth, what else?”

Stomach tying itself into a knot, Blitz reminded himself that he didn’t actually know who they were talking about. Maybe he was hallucinating Stolas in places where he wasn’t, like letting his name slip while fucking somebody else.

“Prince Stolas says the word divorce and she gets an extra health bar and a choir starts singing in Latin,” Reg continued, so there went that theory.

“This isn’t even my final form,” smirked the other fucking idiot.

“That’s, like, so derivative,” the girl snorted, and Blitz took a second to imagine shooting them, except then he wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop on horrible stories about his sad fuckbuddy.

The bartender cruised by, giving him a hard look, and Blitz flicked two fingers at him for another drink. The first one was pretty much a prop that he’d intended to ditch on his way to Bonetown, but apparently that wasn’t happening because this place was full of miserable assholes. The second would be something to nurse while he tracked this stupid conversation. Blitz took a drink. He tried not to drink when he was pissed off. This felt like a special fucking occasion.

“What was the worst, Reg?” 

“Oh, fuck’s sake,” Reg sighed, leaning back in his chair until two legs were off the ground, and Blitz wanted to shove him over. “Gotta be- right, I come in when I’m s’pose to, end of the night, clean up after the gentry are in bed, except this one’s on the bloody floor, right? Demon prince dead drunk on the fancy rug. So I scarper.”

The other guy cracked up, booing him and throwing a crumpled-up napkin. “Coward!”

“Oi! Shut up! I was right to! The wife comes in screamin’ her bloody head off about what a fuckup he is, winds up, kicks him in the stomach-”

Blitz choked on his drink. He swallowed frantically, eyes watering.

“-and what’s he do, cover his head? No! Rolls over and throws up everywhere, she’s still screaming bloody murder, only thing out of his plastered mouth is not to let the kid hear, she smashes a vase next to his head and leaves. And there’s me behind the curtains, stuck there until he peels all ten miles of himself up off the floor and fucks off, and I have to clean up the sick and all the bloody shards-”

The other two ghouls at the table with him were fucking laughing, and Blitz hadn’t come with his usual kit but he wasn’t unarmed, either; he could throw his knife and give this little dickhead some new holes to fuck. He toyed with it, but what would be the point. Instead, he took another drink, trying to wash down the taste of bile at the back of his throat.

“Really. Surprised the miserable fuck hasn’t slit his wrists in his fancy fucking bathtub,” Reg shuddered mockingly. “I en’t gonna be cleaning it up when he does.”

“Good on you for quitting, Reg.”

“Oh, I didn’t quit. Got caught stealing the silver.”

And then they were laughing again. Blitz chugged his drink and tried to drown them out.

They stopped talking about Stolas after that, even though Blitz listened in on them long enough to want to blow their fucking brains out. Or maybe his. Somebody’s. Drink number three went down numbly, and then the group of fucking idiots left. Blitz stayed hunched over at the bar, drinking more than he’d planned to because it was better than thinking. He brushed off the couple of people who tried to talk to him, because his dick was so out of commission it may as well have been in another universe.

A notification on his phone snapped him out of the tunnel-vision haze, and it wasn’t anything, some fucking app trying to get him to open it; but it pulled up the fucking weather app with its little moon icon, which he stared at for a solid minute before opening the rideshare one, because he definitely wasn’t okay to drive home.

The guy’s car pulled up in the parking lot, and Blitz shook his coat to make sure he still had his keys (he’d get the van in the morning, or better yet make Moxxie do it) and got in. “There’s a puke bucket back there if you need it,” the guy said, and then proceeded to ignore him for the twenty minute drive.

That was fine by Blitz, who was still silently processing. Half-formed thought glopped around in his mostly-drunk brain like a lava lamp, putting disparate images together. Stolas, quietly uncomfortable as he stated one of his only limits was being hit in the face. Stolas, cringing and apologizing over and over with a rictus grin. My knight in shining armor, come to rescue me! That empty fucking house. Wine bottles stashed in weird places, the bedroom, the bathroom. Stolas sinking into the pretense of affection in Blitz’s subpar aftercare with starved desperation.

It’s like drowning, Stolas had said once, nonsensically, stuck in a subspace haze. Not just once, actually. Over and over, rolling it around. Feels like drowning. Like drowning.

C’mere and lemme give you mouth-to-mouth, then, Blitz had leered at the time, which made Stolas do that high-as-balls giggle that reached into Blitz’s chest and twanged a discordant note on his out-of-tune heartstrings.

At home, he hung up his keys and paced back and forth in front of the couch a couple times, tail lashing, full of manic energy that had nowhere to go. He flipped his phone over and over in his hands, tossing it in the air and catching it, seeing how many times he could do it before it fell. He wasn’t stupid, the juggling game was an excuse to keep him from opening the fucking thing, from making whatever stupid decision was lurking in his impulse-ridden brain.

Giving up, Blitz took off his coat and threw it in the general direction of the chair, tugging off his shirt and pants until he flopped down face first on the couch, took his horns in his hands, and groaned.

Not letting himself think about it long enough to realize it was a bad idea, Blitz grabbed for his phone, opened it, and texted Stolas.

u ok?

He slammed it facedown on the cushions, face heating up. Stupid. Stupid. Fucking stupid idiot. He made a policy of not texting first. He was gonna get back three six-paragraph texts that would take forever to decipher and when he did would tell him nothing except that Stolas was a double-texting asshole who ate dictionaries for breakfast.

The wife wound back and kicked him- Fuck, Blitz wished he’d killed that fucking kid. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so awful now.

His phone buzzed.

I’m perfectly hale, thank you so much for asking, Blitz. I do appreciate that. Perhaps tomorrow we could meet up for coffee and complete our requisite trade of my grimoire? You can have it back straight away, I don’t mean to keep you from your important work

Blitz squinted. He could smell the avoidance on that bird.

Thot u wre sick ?

Typing bubble. No typing bubble. Typing bubble again. Blitz gnawed on the inside of his cheek.

I was unwell this afternoon, but I feel much btter now. Thank you for thinking of me <3

It took a second, and then another message dinged:

*better.

Squinting again, Blitz looked at it hard. Stolas didn’t make typos.

Blaming it on the drinks, Blitz closed his eyes while he typed, like not seeing it would mean he wasn't really sending it.

r u lkie fr ok

He opened his eyes. Looked at it. Thunked his head down on the sofa again.

Surprised the miserable fuck hasn’t slit his wrists in his fancy fucking bathtub. Except he couldn’t, because they’d played with knives before and nothing actually broke Stolas’ unbreakable immortal shell. He was untouchable. Un-hurt-able.

Right?

Determinedly, Blitz swallowed hard and followed up. Another rule broken: No fucking double-texting.

i worie abt u smtms

He tossed his phone onto the floor, crossed his arms under his head, and tried to go the fuck to sleep.

The next morning, he got up, nursed his stupid fucking four-drink hangover because being thirty-five sucked absolute ball sack, and got dressed for work. He didn't find his phone until he was almost fifteen minutes late, and going to be later since he'd have to walk; it had ended up wedged under the bean bag chair.

He opened it. A text message from Stolas waited there. 2am, almost an hour after he'd sent his, which was a record- Stolas usually responded instantly, like he had nothing better to do than wait by the phone.

Everything will be okay.

Somehow, Blitz thought as he slipped his phone in his pocket, that didn't make him feel better at all.

[erinwantstowrite]

Speaking of your new and improved canon: what is the story behind Tony being somewhat chill with Bucky? Is he actually?

started writing LoF when i was being nostalgic for 2012 where the Avengers Tower fics were at its height of writing so in my world there is no divorce arc. I have no idea how to elaborate on that other than Tony having Peter around changed shit up because having a kid changes your world perspective a lot

[nyoomerr]

i love your alpha bingge fic so much! it's great to see an exploration of how to him, shen yuan is the same thing that binghe is for shen yuan in svsss where because they're "from a different world," with different rules, it makes it okay to let go of some of their preconceived expectations of a relationship. truly a perfect fit for each other. excited to maybe see it on ao3!!! <3

thank you! alpha bingge who either exhibits stereotypically omegan traits or who would just outright prefer being an omega is so important to me... alpha/omega is a genre that sits practically parallel to stallion novels so it's another way to just very loudly yell about how miserable bingge is as a stallion protagonist and how he'll never reach his happy ending by upholding to the conventions of his genre and - /gets shot for trying to seriously analyze an omegaverse AU

[rorydrawsandwrites]

Can you link your ao3 i had no clue you had one

Yeah sure

Be warned though that it's all pretty old stories in there and they're kind of crinnnge

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Delightful Distraction

A genderswapped FluffyNight drabble to celebrate reaching 300 followers! This was briefly looked over & written in two sittings! Happy reading!

Ccino hums quietly to the music that's playing in the otherwise quiet café & picks up the dirty dishes of the table that had just left, leaving the building free of customers for the time being.

Carrying the plates carefully with both hands, she walks into the back where the kitchen is & deposits the dirty dishes into the sink, already filled with plates from earlier in the day.

Ccino debates with herself for a moment before grabbing a pair of dish washing gloves from nearby & slipping them on. She might as well take advantage of the lack of customers & get a head start on washing up.

Scrubbing away at a dirty cup, Ccino's unaware of a presence approaching her from behind until there are suddenly arms wrapped around her waist, causing her to jump & tighten her grip on the mug in her hand in surprise.

Looking over her shoulder, Ccino glares at the grinning face behind her, huffing in annoyance. "Was that really necessary?" Nightmare lets out a quiet chuckle as she tightens her hold around Ccino, resting her head on the other's shoulder.

"No, but it was funny." She mumbles softly in response to the question, pressing a soft kiss against Ccino's neck in apology. "Will you ever find it in yourself to forgive me?"

Ccino rolls her eyelights & sighs with a shake of her skull, unable to keep the smile off of her face as she turns back to face the sink. "I don't know, what will you do to make it up to me?"

Nightmare hums as she thinks, grin softening into a smile as she tries to come up with a satisfying reply. "I could always make dinner for us tonight?"

Ccino stands straight & pulls away from Nightmare's hold slightly to look at her, a look of panic on her face as she frantically tries to backtrack. "N-No, it's fine! No further apology needed, I'm good!"

Nightmare huffs with a pout, reluctantly pulling away & taking a step back from the other. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

Ccino pauses to take off the gloves she's wearing before turning to face Nightmare fully. "Honey, you know I love you," she takes the other's hands into hers, squeezing them softly as she meets Nightmare's gaze & continues speaking, "but your cooking could use some work."

Nightmare frowns as if she's upset, but shrugs after a moment as a smile forms on her face again. "Yeah, that's fair." She squeezes Ccino's hands in return, leaning in & pressing a chaste kiss against the other's teeth.

Ccino hums as she goes to kiss Nightmare again, unsatisfied with how short the last one was, only to jump at the sound of the bell hanging in front of the door ringing & signaling the presence of a customer.

She pulls away in a panic, adjusting her apron with a light blush on her face as she walks away from Nightmare & back out to the actual café area, calling out to the customer. "Just a moment!"

Nightmare watches as Ccino walks away with a pout, tentacles drooping in disappointment as she hears her begin to take the customer's order. She had hoped to have Ccino's attention for longer, but that clearly wasn't going to happen.

Nightmare looks over at the dirty dishes that she had distracted Ccino from, sighing & grabbing the gloves that the other had been using. She may as well help her darling out a little since she had distracted her.

[loquaciousquark]

From @maybethings and @blackestnight: wallflower

From @compels and anonymous: daffodil-flavored spider flower

Wallflower: fidelity in misfortune or adversity

Daffodil: new beginnings

Spider flower: elope with me

And you thought the last fill was indulgent. Have some utterly unrelenting sap, and then an argument, and then more sap. 5800 words.

--

Gradually, over the course of several minutes, Tav became aware of the fact that she was happy.

Only a handful of times in her memory had she recognized the contentment as it happened. Mostly the realization had come only with idle retrospection—tendays, months, years later—and with a bitter nostalgia that it had all slipped by so easily, without her noticing.

Not this time, though. This time, with Astarion’s cool arms twined around her shoulders, her head tucked firmly against his chest, and their limbs tangled up in both luxurious satin sheets and afterglow, Tav was happy and she knew it.

Gods. Lliira herself would struggle to match this joy, surely. Tav trailed her fingers idly up Astarion’s arm, then cupped his cheek as she kissed the underside of his chin. He gave a drowsy, questioning hum, tightened his arms around her, and buried his nose in her hair with a frank fondness that nearly finished her off altogether.

Tav grappled with her own instinct to succumb, to lay her head back down against his chest and let his shallow, steady breathing carry her off to sleep. The question won, but barely. “Astarion?”

“Hmm?”

Even his voice was relaxed. She felt like she’d chucked a rock at a window to watch it shatter. “Never mind. I’ll go to sleep.”

Astarion’s laugh was a quiet rumble in his throat. “It’s rude to tease if you don’t mean to follow through, darling. Out with it.”

“Oh, hells.”

Tav sat up beside him. The loss of contact was almost painful, but the curiosity was stronger still, and he didn’t seem to mind when she ran her fingers through his hair and tucked a curl behind his ear, only hummed and leaned into the touch. Such a simple affection. Such an honest, simple—

“I enjoyed today,” she said instead, ruthlessly crushing the sentiment. “From start to finish. I had a wonderful time with you.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. I wasn’t sure this morning, when—well, you know—”

“When the door to the bath gave way?” His red eyes flashed with amusement, and Tav groaned. Even now heat rushed to her throat at the memory. A perfectly innocent morning tryst in their room’s private adjoining bath, dawnlight spilling over them both amid the smell of cardamom and jasmine—and the room’s very locked door yielding to a housemaid’s key, followed immediately by the housemaid herself with a stack of laundered towels. Tav didn’t know which of them had been more shocked, though the fact that Tav had nearly drowned herself out of humiliation put the betting odds firmly in her corner. Astarion, of course, had found the whole thing hilarious, even sitting naked in a soapy copper tub.

“Yes, you bastard,” Tav said, covering his eyes with her fingers. “You horrible man. Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’ll laugh at you whenever I like,” Astarion said archly, pulling her hand from his eyes, but his mouth as he kissed her fingertips was gentle. “Besides, you had your little revenge, didn’t you? Your own private prayer to Helm, right in the middle of that lovely expensive market.”

“Hoar, you blaspheming tosser.”

“I don’t care in the slightest.” He pushed up on one elbow to kiss her, very brief and very light, just as her own fingers had been as they’d dipped into his pockets that morning, exchanging every gem and jewel he’d lifted from the shop’s cases for pebbles and bits of broken shell. His face as they’d left the shop—preening pride replaced in an instant with utter indignance—had made her laugh hard enough she’d cried. “I’ll have my own revenge, you know,” he purred. “Try and stop me.”

“Never,” she said against his mouth. He laughed again, then flopped back to the tasseled pillow, one arm thrown carelessly above his head.

Gods, how beautiful he was like this. Happy, sated, boneless as a sack of meal. She could drink in the sight of him for a thousand years and still be thirsty at the end of it.

“You’re staring, darling.”

“I love you,” she said, as if in explanation, and felt him give the little shiver he always did when she said she loved him and meant it. “You were the most handsome man in the room tonight, you know. Not that you need me to tell you.”

“I think I’d like you to tell me anyway.”

The words were breezy, but she could hear the faint, tremulous thread of uncertainty beneath. Even Sune’s woven sash couldn’t contain how much she loved him. She wanted to curl over him like a bird, wings spread wide as she could to keep him from all harm. Not that he’d tolerate that sort of glossy protection; he’d just as soon take a hissing, clawed swipe at her himself if she tried. Instead Tav kissed his forehead, then the tip of his nose, and pushed up from the bed.

His voice was outraged. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Just give me a minute, would you?” Tav stretched, took brief advantage of the silver ewer on the bedside table to clean herself off, and strode over to the quietly crackling hearth.

The fireplace was beautiful, the mantle ornate and elegant, as was the rest of their rented room. The finest suite of the finest lodging-house in the glittering city of Athkatla, decked crown to baseboard in brass and cloth-of-gold and carved oak polished to a mirror shine. Three servants had spirited away their belongings into drawers and wardrobes within minutes of their arrival; two more waited below-stairs, ready for the whim of the bellpull beside the bed. The great window on the west wall, heavy curtains drawn now with night, overlooked the shining bay, which had teemed in the sun this afternoon with merchant-ships flying flags dyed rich as gemstones.

And here, thrown with thoughtless grace over the back of the damask armchair set before the fire, was Astarion’s suit from their evening gala. It was one of her favorites: black worsted wool with gold peacocks stitched over the breast and back, gold piping on the sleeves and belt, more black and gold stitchwork accenting the long, lean cut of his trousers. He’d worn the sapphires she’d given him at his throat and on his fingers, alongside the ring from Avernus which he never removed, and when she’d seen him come from the bathing room fully dressed, idly adjusting a cufflink just so, her mouth had gone dry as the Skyfire Wastes.

Gods, she was flushing now at the memory alone. Tav plucked the trousers from the chair and folded them, along with the starched, ruffled white shirt he’d worn beneath the coat, and set them both atop the gilt table nearby. The jacket itself she slipped over her own shoulders in a moment of fancy. The sleeves were long enough to drown her hands past the fingertips; the hem landed halfway down her thighs. The brass toggles glanced coolly against her bare chest and stomach, like stones skipping down a stream. She turned to Astarion, arms spread. “I don’t think it has the same effect, do you?”

“No, my sweet,” Astarion said slowly, but his eyes had sharpened to a piercing, avid stare, dangerous and hungry as a blade. “I can’t say it’s the same at all.”

Her stomach lurched wonderfully, and a frisson of that same desire from only an hour ago began to coil again in her blood. But she had a point, gods damn, and instead Tav scooped up her own forgotten dress from the floor beside the chair, busying herself with brushing away the dust from the deep cerulean silk, straightening the beautiful lace netting at the wide collar, at the cuffs of the long sleeves. A thousand pearl buttons down the back, and Astarion’s elegant fingers trembling, trembling, as he feverishly worked them open before the fireplace…

“The silk’s already crushed, darling. No need to maim it further.”

Tav laughed, the reverie broken, and eased her grip on the gown. “I told you I didn’t know how to care for such expensive things. I should have hung it up right away.”

The fire in his eyes had tempered, the lust banked to something more patient and smoldering. He propped his head on his hand as he watched her. “And deprive the laundresses of their sole joy and purpose? No, pet, I think your time was much better spent.” He licked his lips lasciviously. “Perhaps I could remind you again. Right now.”

“Do you remember that woman from the party?” Tav said instead, returning the dress to its padded hanger, shutting it away in a wardrobe carved with foxes and hunting dogs. “The one with the silver feathers in her hair, and the necklace made of ropes of rubies?”

His look flickered with surprise, but he only raised a brow. “I suppose she left a vague impression. Painted nails, a very tacky sort of fur stole. A general air of grasping desperation. This is whom you’ve been pondering so acutely all evening?”

“Yes. No. Not all evening.” Tav rolled up her too-long sleeves and went to the sideboard. She poured herself a glass of burgundy wine from a crystal decanter, took a sip, and leaned against the back of the armchair. “She was the richest woman in the room. Did you know that? She could buy every gem in the Diamond Dragon twice over without denting her fortune in the slightest. She practically holds court at the Shadowgates House, even though her mother was only a minor marchioness from the Lathkule family.”

“How suddenly you’ve acquired all this information.”

“The duke from Tarm was very drunk and very eager to share.” She took another sip of wine, considering him. “She fell in love with you the moment you walked through the door.”

“Did she?” Ah, there was the badly hidden triumph. He ran his fingers through his curls with absent flair. “Well! Perhaps her taste isn’t beyond redemption.”

“You didn’t notice? She stared at you all night, along with her little flock of gauzy geese. They might have had fishing lines hooked to their noses for how they followed you the whole evening.”

“No, my dear, I can’t say I did.” His expression was at once gloating and aggrieved. “This delightful little tidbit came to you from your Tarmian duke as well, I suppose?”

“No.” Tav was now hiding behind her wineglass like a coward, and she knew it. “She told me that part herself. Right before she offered me fifteen thousand gold danters to leave you and never show my face in Athkatla again.”

All the mirth drained from his expression like she’d opened a tap. He fell carefully, precisely still; his tone went sharp as flint. “Oh? Is that so?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“And what did you say, my love?”

“I said that I’d sooner drink from a Luskan gutter than consider something so despicable. I said if she ever spoke to either of us again I’d have her face plastered on every public placard from here to the Gate with her direct address and a golden promise to the first person to pinch her jewel-case.” Tav gave a crooked smile. “I wanted to tell her that she was now banned from our duchy, only I couldn’t remember where we’d said we were from.”

“Selgaunt, darling. Sembia.” His eyes glittered dangerously. “And then?”

“And then I stole two of her ruby chains and hid them in the pudding, and I slit the lacings of her gown so that it would all come loose the next time she danced.”

“That explains the flurry of organza during the second gavotte. I did wonder. Come here.”

Her heart in her throat, Tav set down the wineglass and went. Astarion pushed aside the satin sheets and sat up on the edge of the bed as she approached, and as soon as she was within reach he grasped the collar of her borrowed jacket and pulled her down into a kiss.

It was a searching kiss, a question she didn’t know quite how to answer. She tried anyway, cupping his face in both hands, curling her shoulders into him, lingering as long as she could in every touch. His hands gentled on her collar, then slid beneath it to twine around the back of her neck.

Eventually, slowly, he pulled away. Tav blinked dazedly, trying to force the world back into focus, and when she found Astarion’s face again she was surprised to see only a thoughtful appraisal there. His thumb stroked up the line of her throat, bumping over the small divots left among her freckles from many quiet evenings, then down again.

“Astarion? What is it?”

“Fifteen thousand gold danters,” he said slowly, that eyebrow rising once more.

“By all the pride of Memnor,” she sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be smug.”

“Oh? Shouldn’t I be?” He laughed and slid his hands down to loop around her waist beneath the jacket. “To think, the greediest little wretch I’ve ever known still manages to prize my heart above enough coin to buy a small nation. Darling, it’s gratifying, truly.”

“Oh,” she said, momentarily disarmed. She’d expected him to be pleased the woman had offered the sum in the first place, not that Tav had loved him enough to reject it. “Astarion, did you—you can’t have thought for a single moment I’d have taken the money.”

“Of course not. I’m worth at least twice that.”

By all the living gods. He was lying.

Her vision went white, and she yanked away from him like he’d burst into flame. “You bastard. You utter wanker. How dare you think I’d have considered fifteen thousand—thirty thousand—a million gold danters! She could have offered me the keys to all the vaults of Evereska and I would have laughed in her face.”

“For suggesting you needed keys, I’d have laughed right along with you.”

“Shut up. How dare you think there might ever be a price to be put on what we—what we’ve managed, against all odds—” Tav whirled away, arms crossed tight over her chest, gaze darting blindly over the settee, the crystal decanter, the plush hand-dyed rug. She ran out of things to look at and spun back to Astarion, livid. “You bloody—horrible man. Oh, you awful—not even she made me this angry when she asked. I wanted to laugh when she said it. Because the moment she did I looked over at you, and you smiled at me, and I could tell just from looking that you were—that you were happy to see me—really, honestly happy, and I thought—”

“Tavish—”

“Don’t speak. Don’t you dare say a word.” He looked seriously alarmed now, half-risen from the bed, but Tav was too angry to stop. “She asked me how much it would take for me to leave my husband. And in all the confusion of what she wanted I didn’t even question it—didn’t even consider it wasn’t really true. I forgot how much was the party mask and how much was real. She didn’t know the marriage was pretense and for a few minutes, neither did I.”

“Tav, darling—”

“And then when I did realize—when I remembered it was all a farce and that you weren’t really—” She raked her fingers through her hair, dislodging the knot she’d tied, and wound it back up in a frenzy. “Today was so wonderful, Astarion. All of it. The stupid incident in the bath and walking with you through the market district and stealing your lifts and every single second of that awful party. Not because of what we did—but because it was all with you. She asked me to leave my husband and my first thought wasn’t ‘I haven’t got one,’ it was ‘nothing could make me leave him.’ And then when I remembered it wasn’t real, I was shocked by how much I felt—how much I wanted—”

Ilmater’s rack, what she wouldn’t give for the ceiling to crash down around her. Astarion was watching her with wide eyes, lips parted enough she could see the tips of his fangs; his hands were clenched in the sheets. Oh, gods, what a fool she was making of herself, but the words refused to be still. “I love you, you stupid berk. I love you. Every moment I spend with you makes me happy. Even right now, when I’d like to throw you right out the window into the bay—there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be. Not for any number of danters, not for every diamond in Amn. I don’t want to be your wife as a lie to get into a ball; I want to be your wife so that the next time someone tries to buy you away from me, I can introduce his teeth to the back of his skull.”

Astarion gave a sudden, hollow sigh. She’d heard it before. It was the sound he made in battle when someone struck the air from his lungs without warning, when he’d failed to anticipate a blow.

Damn and damn and damn. What was she doing? Astarion stared at her as if she’d lost every last part of her mind, his shoulders stone-stiff against her wrath, blank shock painted across his features. His eyebrows had climbed so high they’d nearly disappeared behind the white curls.

Tav’s courage failed like a withered spell. She went back to the sideboard and refilled her wineglass with shaking hands—for the price they were charging a nonexistent duchess, she supposed it had to be excellent—and threw it back in two gulps. Perhaps she had lost her mind. She’d certainly lost her tongue, a lifetime of professional silence capsizing wholesale against some hurt feelings and a little annoyance.

At last she heard him rise, then a whispering shift of silk as he pulled on the ornate dressing gown the servants had laid out for him. She filled her wineglass a third time, but his pale, graceful fingers plucked it from her hand before she could drink. She didn’t fight the theft, but neither was she strong enough to face him; she took a few aimless steps towards the fire instead, her toes sinking into the rich carpet, and wrapped Astarion’s jacket more tightly around her.

The sound of the water lapping against the seawall below them roared like thunder; the fire in the hearth snapped like a whip. She clenched her jaw, trying desperately to keep the waver from her voice. “Astarion. Do you really think I’m that craven?”

“Oh? Is the penitent finally permitted to address the bench?”

He was closer than she’d thought. “You’ve never been penitent in your life.”

“It’s exhausting to always be right. One occasionally must try something new.” He came around the chair to stand between her and the fire, the dressing gown’s quilted lapels pulled snug to his throat, his face carefully blank. His shoulders were thrown back, Tav realized, as if steeling himself for a fight. “I don’t think it’s unfair to suggest you have a particular relationship with the common coin. An avaricious one, I mean, and one that occasionally borders on gluttony.”

She wanted to drink something very badly, but he was still holding her wineglass. “Ouch.”

“Don’t misunderstand me; it’s part of your charm. I’m certainly familiar with insatiable appetites, and if nothing else, it makes holiday shopping for you quite simple.” He hesitated. “But to suggest you would permit your—hunger, shall we say—to overpower the affection I know you hold for me—well. It was an unworthy thought. Unkind of me, and certainly unfair to you.”

“More than affection,” Tav mumbled. She pressed her lips together until the prickling behind her eyes faded. “Astarion, I would never.”

“I know,” he said, and if she didn’t know better she would think he was flustered. “But the doubt does creep in every now and then, even for someone this magnificent. So you can imagine that when a perfectly straightforward scolding transfigures itself into one’s lover suggesting a very unexpected—a rather—not necessarily unwelcome—ah.”

He was flustered. And tongue-tied as a schoolboy, that awful impassive mask fracturing under the weight of consternation.

She swallowed. “You think I’m mad.”

“Only in some ways.”

“I suppose it does sound insane when I say it out loud. I don’t know if you—I mean, I’d never once thought about it before—before you. Ever. It always seemed like a thing that only happened to people who owned houses and went out to work every morning and complained about the cost of bread always going up. But then you came along and changed everything about what I thought could be real—” A humiliated laugh slipped out. “Listen, just—just forget the whole thing, all right? I won’t bring it up again. I won’t—”

He took a quick, irritated step forward. “My love, would you kindly shut up? I don’t have marriage proposed to me every day. I’d like to seriously consider it.”

He’d like to—oh.

Oh.

Tav took a stunned, shaky breath. “Well, think out loud then. I don’t propose it very often myself.”

“One hopes not.” He drained the wineglass and set it aside. His voice was pensive, unsteady; he hadn’t fed in almost a day, but his high cheekbones were flushed pink. “I do wonder, though—why now?”

Heart of the Firehair, he meant it. He wasn’t shutting her out; he wasn’t taking flight into the nearest alley. The words tumbled out like a dam had shattered. “Because—gods! Because that awful woman came after you tonight and I wanted to throttle her for trying, no matter how much money she had or how many nobles were watching. Because we’ve been traveling together for months at this point, and if I haven’t stopped loving you by now, I never will. You complain incessantly. You steal my scents. You take all the bedcovers every night and I have to fight you to get them back. You don’t even sleep.”

“Darling, I had no idea you held me in such esteem.”

She batted away his sarcasm. “I wouldn’t change a moment of it, Astarion. Not a single moment. Every gripe, every time I wake up with cold feet, every time I have to steal back something of mine from your pack—it’s all—they’re like jewels to me. Every one of them. I keep—I’ve been hoarding them up like treasures, and it’s not enough, it’s never—I only ever want more. More of the memories. More of you, no matter how much I have already. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.”

Astarion had gone very still. The firelight caught in his red eyes and flickered there; she thought he had stopped breathing. Hesitantly, she closed the distance and took his hands, and she was relieved when his grip instantly tightened.

“Every time I think I’ve begun to understand you,” Astarion started, then trailed off. He looked down, and Tav watched him run his thumb over the ring she had brought him from Avernus, the ring that shielded him from the blinding sun. “My dear, you amaze me. And you tolerate the worst of me, which is rather more impressive.”

“Your worst is still miles better than some people’s best.”

“Let’s not exaggerate for the sake of adoration,” he said, but there was a warmth there that sparked a painful, fragile hope. “You know, I never considered holy matrimony for myself. Not seriously. Oh, I had it offered a few times over the decades, and I suggested it myself here and there as part of a lure, but it only takes a few dozen lovers disappearing into Cazador’s dungeons for the idea to become simply part of the stage dressing.”

Her instinct was to deflect, to retract the idea altogether, but his expression—curious, thoughtful, no fear at all—silenced her. “I’m afraid to admit, darling, that was true even for you. My first friend in two centuries; the first lover in my memory I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying more than once. It simply never crossed my mind.”

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. His eyes softened considerably, and she realized he was breathing again. “I’m beginning to believe that may have been a mistake on my part,” he continued. “In fact, the lapse may have been unforgiveable.”

A thrill jolted through her. “Astarion…”

“It’s only very recently that I’ve permitted myself to imagine a future, you know. Any future at all, much less one with you in it.” His fingers slid along her wrist beneath the jacket’s overlong sleeves, and she realized he was searching for the old, faded marks of his own teeth. “But now that you’ve raised the possibility, I must confess the thought of a little formal acknowledgement of our arrangement—well, it might not be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Her hands were shaking. She felt like she was about to race into some great battle, her pulse thundering beneath her skin. “Oh, hells. Just say it straight out, would you?”

Astarion laughed. “I’m already terribly fond of the world knowing you’re mine,” he said, and then he smiled. It was a sweet, sincere smile, without any artifice at all, and his voice grew husky and tender. “And frankly, my love, when it comes down to it, I think I quite like the idea of being yours.”

The entire room seemed to dip underwater. All sound grew abruptly muffled—the hearth, the bay, even Astarion’s voice—and she clung to his cool hands as the only real thing in the world. Gradually, her own heartbeat began to thud again in her ears—very fast, very loud—and from the growing satisfaction on his face, Astarion could hear it too.

Tav forced herself to clear her throat. “You—you don’t have to decide right away. You could take some time, think it over.”

“My dear, I’m the first to admit I’m guilty of a great many things, but excessive planning is not one of them.” He draped her hands over his own shoulders, and Tav leaned into the embrace with a shudder of relief. The quilted lapels of his dressing gown were silky as sin against her cheek. “After two centuries of slavery, I hadn’t thought there were any surprises in the world left for me. I knew exactly what eternity looked like, and I couldn’t say I was excited at the prospect.”

His chin came to rest atop her head. “But you changed all that. You came and shattered every lock holding me down, even when the doors had been rusted shut so long I’d forgotten they were there. You didn’t just show me the possibility of a new world, you walked right into it beside me, and you refused to let me bring any of my chains with me on the way.”

Goldheart’s grace. He held her lightly, but Tav felt weightless as a bird, as if one strong breeze might carry her wholly off her feet. Her voice hardly sounded like her own. “You’re giving me a lot of credit for things you did yourself.”

“Don’t interrupt. You told me once that I was part of every future you could dream up for yourself. I’m trying to say that for some months now, I’ve had precisely the same notion about you.” He pulled back to look her in the eyes, and Tav realized with a shock that he was nervous. “You’re it, my darling. For better or worse.”

“Astarion,” Tav sighed, dizzy with joy, and she traced her thumbs over his beautiful cheekbones. “I love you so much more than fifteen thousand gold danters.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, oh, you louse. I wouldn’t give you up if Selûne herself spread the heavens at my feet.”

He laughed, but his arms tightened around her. “I rather like hearing that.”

“I mean it. If you ever again think for a single second that I’d simply trade you away, I’ll shave off every pomaded hair on your head. Eyebrows included.”

He made a noise of disgust, but when she twined her arms back around his neck, his smile squeezed Tav’s heart like a vise. She’d done that. She’d made him so happy he couldn’t hide it, had put that look of unvarnished, shining elation in his eyes. And if she had her way—if Tymora could spare them a single scrap of luck—she’d put it there again, and again and again, beyond counting, for the rest of her life.

His voice was low, rich. “Kiss me, darling.”

“Yes,” Tav gasped, and she surged up to his mouth.

Of course. Of course. Now she understood what he’d been searching for earlier, what her heart had fumbled to say. I’m here for good. Forever, for as long as you’ll have me. I’d have thrown her in the punchbowl if I’d thought we could get away after.

The kiss grew hot, her urgency flooding through every touch. He cradled her face like he was afraid to break her, but his fangs were sharp and pricking carelessly, and she didn’t care, she didn’t care. She loved his fangs and his temper and his complaints and every part of his bruised, scarred heart. He’d let her take it from him despite the pain, let her cup it in the cage of her fingers and hold it close, let her learn to keep it safe from all the world.

It will always be you. I will always, always, always choose you.

Astarion broke away, breathing hard. His palm rested along her throat, pressed to the hammer of her heartbeat. Tav laid her hand over his and couldn’t tell who trembled more.

“How lucky I am. The handsomest man I’ve ever seen, the most beautiful person in the room.” She hesitated, then blazed forward. “Mine for good.”

“For good, for bad, and for all the fun parts between.” He rested his forehead against hers and shut his eyes. “My lovely, foolish, perfect idiot. Impossible fortune may have finally found one of us, but I promise it wasn’t you.”

Her heart brimmed full enough to burst. She kissed him again instead, as tender as she knew how to make it. He made a soft, fervent, wanting noise as he pressed eagerly back against her, and she felt the moment settle itself like stained glass, beautiful and enduring, in the deepest part of her heart.

Yes. She’d make sure this moment stayed. This one would never slip away.

“I don’t have a ring yet,” she said at last against his mouth. “I’ll get one soon. Perhaps I’ll even pay for it.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Between your Reithwin scavenging and your little field trip to Avernus, it is decidedly my turn. Besides,” he added with faint uncertainty, “I think I’d rather like to do this properly. To have something made for you—only for you. Something that’s as beautiful as you are.”

“Astarion!”

“Oh, I quite mean it. If I failed to notice that covetous harpy at the gala tonight, it was because my attention was wholly absorbed by you. You were as brilliant as the sun, my dear, and lovelier than a waterfall of roses. I could hardly bear to look away.”

“Sune’s holy laurels,” Tav gasped, and she clutched at her chest. “You can’t just say things like that. You’ll kill me stone dead.”

His smile was smug and perfect. “You’ll have to get used to it, I’m afraid. You have a lifetime to try. And if you’re still not acclimated by the end of it—well! You’ll simply have to live forever.”

Tav brushed a wayward curl from his eyes. He let her, and she lingered, running her fingers through his velvet-soft hair. “I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

“And I ought not have doubted. I sincerely apologize.” He turned his head and kissed her fingertips. “There. Such a sturdy foundation for our future laid already.”

“You idiot,” Tav sighed, but his hands were playing now at the hem of her borrowed jacket, and his crimson eyes had taken on an unmistakable glint. All the ornate luxury of their suite seemed to vanish at once, save the enormous crown-canopy bed and its tousled satin sheets. His hands climbed further, his mouth dipping to her throat, and she gave a breathless laugh. “We’ll have to watch the time.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“I overheard the house staff after dinner tonight. They’re bringing the bill first thing in the morning.”

“Darling, I can’t say I care in the slightest.” His fangs scraped over her pulse-point, and she shuddered. “Perhaps we’ll sneak out before they arrive. Perhaps we won’t. Perhaps you’ll talk them down with that silver tongue of yours—or perhaps we’ll simply pay what they ask, hm? It might be a novel experience.”

The happiness was so bright she could hardly speak. How stupid that she had thought the day wonderful before, when it had only been the palest candle. His voice was fiercely warm, blatantly affectionate, and his hands sliding the black jacket from her shoulders were gentle enough to give her goosebumps.

Astarion, who could kill a man with a knife at sixty paces and complain about a chipped nail after; Astarion, who’d fought with her and for her from the moment they’d met, who loved her and would make a ring for her and marry her. Who trusted her, enough to kill the doubt for good.

She took his face in her hands. “I’ll never pay full price,” she breathed.

He laughed, delighted, and kissed her. His strong, graceful fingers slid between hers, taking her hand as surely as he’d stolen her heart, as surely as he’d given her his own in its place: the most perfect treasure she could imagine, no matter its cold stillness. Like a dream, the question that had started all this—the question she’d never actually asked—floated back through her mind. I had a wonderful time with you today. And you, Astarion? Did you, with me?

He tugged her down to the bed in a cloud of satin sheets. The answer burst through every stroke of his fingers, every careful brush of his lips. Yes, he said, yes, yes, and she gave herself up to the joy.

—

end.