#Thank you so much for the prompt!

[jon-withnoh]

Another one for Danbea: 💘

“Danvers,” she called. “Danvers, wait!”

Finally, Rebecca’s maid turned, eyes widening with surprise when she realised who had followed her into the narrow servants’ passage. Danvers bowed her head. 

“Mrs Lacy. How can I help?”

The question stopped her short. She had not thought beyond catching up with Danvers. Though if she was being honest with herself, she had not thought at all. 

“I… I wanted to speak with you for a moment. If you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all.” 

Emboldened, Beatrice took a step towards her. Danvers was wearing her usual uniform, her hair pulled back into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. In the rush of the evening’s festivities, a few strands of hair had come loose and were now tucked behind Danvers’ ear. Beatrice had never seen anything more lovely. 

“I wanted to thank you for your help the other night,” Beatrice said. There was a slight tremor in her voice. “If I could, I would try and steal you away, but Rebecca would never forgive me.”

“Mrs Lacy…” 

“It’s alright.” Beatrice gave her a slight smile. “I won’t come between the two of you. Only…”

She glanced up and down the shadowy corridor. They were alone. Beatrice raised her hand to Danvers’ face, cupping it gently around her jaw. Even in the low light, she could see Danvers’ face flush. She leaned in slowly, carefully, bracing herself for the moment Danvers would push her away. The moment did not come. 

Beatrice kissed her, gasping when Danvers’ hand came to her waist, pulling her in. She drew out the kiss as long as she could, pressed closed to Danvers in the dark corridor, her muscles tense. If anyone were to walk in — if anyone saw… With a strangled sound of longing, Beatrice pulled back.

“I needed to do that,” she whispered. “Just this once.”

Prompt: mutual pining/dared to kiss

[dolores-hazy]

I spent the day waiting for a text back. He responded 26 hours later. Said work was crazy but he's been online on instagram every hour today (I checked because I missed him) In these 26 hours I convinced myself it's over and I won't date for a few months once he has the guts to be honest about cutting ties :) I don't know. He met my parents and they love him. But I don't know if I do. How do you make a poem out of this mess?

Markedly out of touch

Enmeshed meddling parents

Bestowing their blessing

Mind and heart undisciplined

Messy without further reflection

Do I want what I think I want

Because it's expected I should?

Or is my desire there too

Somewhere beneath the rubble?

Bubble up to the surface, truth

Guide me intently through tension

Fit to be tied, tired of fumbling

Feeling like a bumbleheaded fool

Perhaps I'm waiting for permission

But there's freedom in stumbling

Without always seeking forgiveness

[kingsroad]

title: wish upon the stars (they won't save you)

ship: arthur dayne x omc, house harlaw. plot: just as rhaegar thought that prophecy guided his actions with lyanna stark and the birth of his third child, prophecy laid turmoil at arthur dayne's feet, as well. after crossing the sunset sea on his brother's ship without issue, the harlaw boy watches as the brightwater begins taking on water not far from the arbor's shores. the captain, unwilling to turn around, begins to set his teeth against his crew. by the time they reach starfall, there is nothing left to save — no seaworthy ship, no crew. and as he drowned, the harlaw boy dreamed of wolves with bloodied fur. his savior was none other than the sword of the morning, but valyrian steel would not save his life or save his silver prince.

[desertfangs]

Lestat/Daniel

"I had a dream last night, Daniel, and you just so happened to be in it," Lestat said.

This went to a predictably naughty place. I'm thinking about continuing this but I'd need to do so on AO3 with an explicit tag. If that's something anyone would like to see, let me know. Otherwise, I'm sure your imaginations are as good as Daniel's. ;)

“I had a dream last night, Daniel, and you just so happened to be in it,” Lestat said. 

Daniel opened one eye. Lestat was kneeling on the bed beside him in the place where Armand usually slept. He wore jeans and a t-shirt and his blond hair was flying loose around his tanned face. His blue-gray eyes looked down at him in a penetrating, intense way that made Daniel flush. He closed his eye and pressed his face deeper into the pillow. 

“Oh yeah, and what were we doing in this dream of yours?” 

Lestat grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

Daniel shifted onto his back and glared up at him. “You’re the one who woke me up to give me this breaking news.” 

Daniel was held under by the sun longer than most of the others, with the exception of Louis, and he’d awoken to an empty bed, promptly drifting back into a mortal sleep when he did. Sometimes he liked to sleep an extra hour, particularly in Armand’s bed. He always bought the softest sheets. 

He sat up, the sheet falling from his chest, realizing as he did that he wasn’t wearing anything at all. Some nights he put on pajamas but last night he and Armand had… opted not to. He ran his fingers nervously through his ashen hair. 

Lestat gave an appreciative look to his bare chest. “I don’t know if I should say. It was quite… risqué.” 

Daniel rolled his eyes. Lestat was perched on the bed and Daniel was naked under a sheet. He could handle whatever Lestat dreamt about. “Try me.” 

Lestat’s eyebrows flew up. He leaned close so that Daniel could feel his breath on his neck and smell the spiciness of his cologne. “Is that an invitation?” 

Daniel swallowed, heat rising in his neck and cheeks. He hadn’t fed yet so there wasn’t much blood in him but even still the thought of Lestat’s fangs in his neck made him want to grab Lestat and wrestle him down against the mattress. Instead, Daniel pushed him back out of his personal bubble. 

“Just tell me.” 

Lestat beamed. “Well, were driving across the country. Your maker was there insisting we find a different car and then the tire blew out. So you had to fix it. You were the only one who knew how.” 

Daniel stared him. “Fascinating. You know Armand can change a tire. Can’t you?” 

Lestat waved a hand, signaling that it was unimportant. “The tire couldn’t be fixed so we found an abandoned farmhouse to stay at during the day. You insisted we needed to clean up, so you pulled me into the shower with you.” Lestat trailed a finger down Daniel’s chin, light and gentle, leaving a trail across his face. “The things I did to you against the tile.” 

Heat shot through Daniel and his mouth went dry. Lestat wasn’t even giving details but he could picture it well enough: his hands soaping up Lestat’s taught, tan body, Lestat pushing him against the cool tile as the water ran over them, Lestat’s lips on his throat. He thought of the oversized shower in the bathroom only feet away and all the things they could do in there. 

Lestat leaned back and then climbed off the bed, backing up as if he was going to head for the door. “Well, I just thought you should know.” 

Daniel threw a pillow at him. “You’re an asshole.” 

“Quite a thing to say when I just shared something so personal.” Lestat caught the pillow and set it neatly on the bed, which was more aggravating than just throwing it back. 

Daniel rolled his eyes again. Lestat headed for the door. “Where are you going? Aren’t Armand and Louis out at the opera?” That had been their plan, anyhow, which was why Daniel had opted to stay in bed for a bit. 

“As you may recall, I am the esteemed leader of our kind and I have business to attend to,” Lestat said, squaring his shoulders and looking down his nose at Daniel in the haughtiest manner he could manage. It might have been more chiding if it wasn’t so damn sexy. 

“Really, what business?” Daniel asked, scratching at his chin where his stubble used to grow. 

Lestat glared harder, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m sure there’s business. I just need to get back into my email. And call Marius.” 

Daniel snorted. Armand had taught Lestat how to keep his internet accounts secure by using obscenely long passwords. He’d done the same for Daniel when he’d moved back into Trinity Gate, making him change everything so a long string of nonsense. But Lestat had missed the lesson on how to use the password keeper, and thus was always getting locked out of his email. 

Daniel picked up his phone from the nightstand. “Tell you what. I’ll call Marius right now and tell him you’re taking the night off.”

Lestat’s face dropped. “You wouldn’t.” 

The truth was, Lestat had been blowing off work and ignoring Marius’ calls for the past three nights. Daniel knew because Marius kept calling and texting him instead, demanding he put Lestat on the phone. Lestat managed to mysteriously disappear whenever that happened.  

“Hey, I’m just trying to help out a friend.” Daniel smiled. “You’ve been working too hard. I should let him know you need a night to yourself.” 

Lestat pounced. Daniel didn’t expect it, but he should have. Living with Armand should have taught him better.

Lestat was on top of him in seconds, reaching for the phone. Daniel tried to keep it out of his reach but Lestat was fast and strong and soon he was straddling Daniel and pinning him to the mattress, the weight him hard and heavy. His fingers closed around Daniel’s and the phone and he plucked it out of his grasp. He held it aloft victoriously, laughing. 

Lestat shook with laughter on top of him and Daniel became keenly aware of how naked he was and how there was only a sheet between them. Lestat either heard his thoughts or realized the same thing because that winning grin of his spread across his face. He tossed Daniel’s phone behind him and it made a thunk when it landed somewhere on the carpet. 

Lestat’s fingers danced on the sheet over Daniel’s abdomen. His breath hitched. His cheeks burned. “I thought your maker bought everyone those designer pajamas from Italy.”

“Will you get off me?” Daniel demanded, trying to sound annoyed instead of desperate to have him to do the opposite. 

Lestat leaned down close to his face and stroked his cheek. Daniel sucked in a breath his dead lungs didn’t need. “I certainly could.” He bent down closer and put his lips right up to Daniel’s lips, so close he could feel them there, but stopped short of touching them to Daniel’s. A whine escaped Daniel’s lips, unbidden, and Lestat smiled, the movement brushing against him. 

Lestat’s tongue slid into his mouth, warm and tentative. Daniel kissed him back desperately, hands digging into his hair to pull him closer. Fangs nicked his tongue and electricity exploded in Daniel’s mouth, his vision going white as the little droplets of blood shot through him. When Lestat pulled back, he was panting and Daniel’s chest heaved as his dead heart pounded, veins tight with a lack of blood. 

Daniel threaded his fingers deeper in Lestat’s hair and pulled him back down, kissing him again. His tongue moved against Lestat’s with ferocious need. Lestat made a noise that was low and primal, his fingernails digging into Daniel’s shoulder until they pierced his skin. The pain jolted him, heightening the pleasure of their mouths moving together.

When they broke apart again, Lestat leaned back, a wicked gleam in his eye as he looked down at Daniel. “It just occurred to me that since we have the house to ourselves, you can make my dream come true.” 

Just occurred to him. Right.

Daniel smirked. “You want me to teach you how to change a flat tire?”

Lestat laughed. “Much as I’ve love to see you greasy and sweating with the effort, I think we can make better use of the shower, non?” 

Daniel’s pulse raced and he nodded. 

Lestat beamed. He climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Daniel hesitated for a only moment, trying to calm his excitement, before he got up and followed him in. 

[residentdormouse]

"drink me" with Glen (and other(s)) ? 😊

💖💖 Thank you so much for the Prompt! 💖💖

So, @impuretale had a headcanon about Glen and Stu fishing, and it's just kind of lived in my head since. And what's fishing without beer. So here we are. AO3 linked if its preferred reading platform.

'Fish On'

Fandom: the Stand

Characters: Glen Bateman, Stu Redman

Words: 1,275

(Original Prompt Post)

Faint ripples emerged on the water’s surface as tiny insects began to accumulate along the slowly drifting fishing line. Burnt oranges and reds reflected in the clear blue stream, and a scattered canopy of green lined the river banks allowing patches of light to coat the protruding rocks. If he had his paints, there was no doubt in Glen’s mind that this would all be captured on a canvas. Unfortunately, circumstances as they were, he could only sit back and bask in the imagery, hoping to commit as much to memory as he could.

With a palette in his mind, he partitioned off the blank space. Colorful blends of warm hues in the sky would come first, followed by the downward reflection into the waves. Tree trunks placed along the edges and then obstructed with thick patches of dark green. Lighter shades speckled on top and yellow touches scarcely lining the outer edges to highlight the dying light.

Full concentration set on the process, the snapping twigs, the crunch of fallen leaves, the meandering footsteps, they all went unnoticed until they were directly beside him.

"Dozin’ off there, old timer?"

"Yeah, alright, fuck you too, Texas. Man can’t enjoy a peaceful night of fishing with a beer or two?"

Discussion of the beverage reminded Glen of its presence, and he took a sip from the open container sitting next to him. There was no need to look up, he knew his comment landed its mark when Stu’s laughter broke through the silence.

“Can’t imagine you’re catchin’ anything if you gotta splash around every time you need a new drink.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong; a smartass, but not wrong. Only a few more swallows and he’d be back in the river grabbing another can from where he strategically placed them in the river. But they had enough food, and beer was better cold.

"Ah, Hell. You know how it is. Old habits and all that. Ain’t broke–"

"Don’t fix it. Yeah, I know that one. Where'd you even get that?"

"Never leave home without it.” The quip earned him chuckle, and he followed up with an animated motion towards the case. A silent offer for him to help himself, and Stu didn’t refuse. “Grabbed a pack on the last stock up. Saving it for some down time, and hey, what do you know…"

Once he had taken a can for himself, Stu held up another in an offer of his own. Without any reason to suspect an objection, he gave the drink a light underhand toss, which Glen thankfully didn’t have to reach far to catch. Little favors.

While Stu made his way back, Glen looked out onto the river. His line had ventured farther down the way, and he gave a few quick turns on the reel to bring it back into view.

Not that it did much good.

Once Harold offered to start up the fire for the evening, Glen took his leave from the group. Grabbed his beer, a pole, and a folding camp chair, before heading down to try his luck. That had to be an hour ago. At least. Aside from a slightly growing buzz, he hadn’t caught a damn thing. No bites. No lost bait. Not even a nibble.

Another few cranks of the reel, and his attention turned back to Stu. “Ah, well, it never was about the fish anyway, although I wouldn’t turn them down if they came, mind you.” With the final drop gone, he set his empty can down and cracked into the new one. “No. May not seem like it, but sometimes, you have to set aside some time to just ‘be’. Even now. Hell, especially now. Time that you can just sit down, have a beer, watch the sunset. Shoot the shit with some enjoyable company.” He shot a smirk to Stu at this, and it was promptly returned. “Enjoy all that life has to offer. You don’t, and well, you end up losing sight of it all. If you can’t enjoy the little things, then what the hell are we still here for? Why are we doing it?”

“Ain’t gonna hear any arguments from me.” Swishing the liquid around in the can, Stu kept his eyes downcast in observation for a moment. It was a solemn tone despite the joking nature that was natural between them now. Something was on his mind, and he was clearly working up to it. “So, Fran is pregnant. Case you were wondering. Not sure she’s telling that yet, but since you somehow already knew.”

His hesitance now made sense; wasn’t exactly an easy topic. Their dreams. His dreams. Truth be told, he still wasn’t sure what to think of the matter. Seeing Fran with his own eyes. In person. Awake. That was enough to firmly shake whatever resolve he had left, not that he had all that much left after the Mother Abagail discovery. Somehow, unbelievable as it was, he saw her. Saw a future her. Clear as day.

"You have anymore of those… whatever you want to call 'em?"

"Psychic visions?” If his mocking tone didn’t give away his skepticism, his animated gestures sure would have. “No. No, none of that. None worth reminiscing about, that is. Not sure if I should be concerned about that or, well…"

As uncharacteristic as it was, he left the thought trail. Sure, he had no problem talking, common knowledge there, but he also knew when thought was required. And this development… this needed a fair deal of thought. And alcohol.

He took another sip from his beer as Stu picked up where he left off.

“Worse things, I suppose. Could be dreamin’ of our friend…”

No further clarification followed, but Glen didn’t need it. Their boogeyman. The dark man. Whatever ridiculous title they stuck to him, it didn't matter. Stu was right; there were, in fact, worse things. At least his mind was clear from him. For now.

"Yeah, I'll drink to that."

Accompanying the comment, Glen raised his can once more with a tip towards his companion before taking another drink. After a shake of his head, Stu followed suit with a laugh.

"Have a feelin’ it doesn't take much for you to find a reason."

"Well, you got me there." And the air was clear once more. With the atmosphere shift, Glen had no problem picking back up with the banter. “But I’d venture to guess you’re the same way.”

Another laugh. Another drink in concession. More astute observations about the need to enjoy the simplistic things in life. But with the fading light now falling far below the horizon, Glen began to pack up his space.

“Lost cause here, I’d say. Fire sounds more promising, don’t you think?”

“Think you may be on to something.”

Empty cans were folded up into the chair, and Glen was thankful to have the extra set of hands. Without prompt, Stu went back into the river for the remainder of their drinks, and Glen began to reel in his line. Began and abruptly stopped.

“Goddamnit. Stu, you mind? Think I got a snag.”

“Think you got a fish.”

“What?”

And as soon as the question arose, Stu pulled out his line to reveal a fairly large catfish flopping around on the end, removing any doubt of his claim.

“Well, I’ll be. Guess we’re not going back empty handed.”

“Thought it wasn’t about the fish.”

“Yeah, but my stomach could put in a counter argument. C’mon.”

And with that, the pair headed back to the camp for the night, good omens, a good buzz, and a fairly decent catch in tow.

[thieving-magpiexhunting-tiger]

Noticing trauma #21

The Head of a Criminal

Jim is having a bad day. Sebastian finds him and attempts to make it all better.

[thewatercolours]

Uh hey here’s my King’s Quest fic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41017731

Royal Guard Number One was really the only person in Daventry who worried about thieves. He really seemed to think his two swords were the only things standing between the town and a complete bandit ransack. The way the townsfolk left their doors open, even at night or when they were out, was a longstanding source of frustration. He had once paid out of pocket for a “Lot’s Make Daventry Locked for Everyone!” poster campaign. He’d walked straight into everyone’s kitchens and parlours to hang the posters, without knocking. Everyone grumbled and called him a snoopy housebreaker, and no one started locking their doors.

So it was all he could do to keep from running to the ramparts and crying, “Told you so,” when the rash of robberies hit.

At first it was just pumpkins from the patch south of town, and fruit off the royal trees. Surely just hungry animals, the people said. They picked through my trash too. Yeah, they made a mess of mine too, greedy beggars. Badgers, most likely. I had to get a trap from Chester and Muriel. Funny though. Didn’t think badgers liked pumpkins. Wouldn’ta thought they could carry them off, either. Hm – yeah. That is odd. Maybe they ate them on the spot. All those pumpkins in one night? Maaaaybe. Rummest thing I ever heard of. We’ve had badgers forever, and they’ve never done this.

“I woulda thought the fruit would be safe at least,” Number Two muttered. “I always sleep with the fruit picker under my pillow, just in case.”

“In case what?” Number One sneered.

“Emergencies. You know.”

“You don’t think it’s possible the fruit was picked without the picker?”

“It’s a thought.”

They had to discard the animal theory altogether once it turned into shop robberies.

Wente didn’t like to make a fuss over someone taking a shelf’s worth of bread. The poor souls probably needed it, he reasoned. If only they’d felt comfortable enough to some in and talk it over with him first. He might have been able to do them more good than just the bread. Bramble had to talk him out of hanging a sign on the door that read, “Criminals welcome – free hugs.”

Most of the odds and ends taken from the Hobblepots’ apothecary weren’t of much consequence, but eternal flame lanterns in good condition were valuable, and the theft sent them into a snit. She and Chester both claimed that of course they were intelligent enough to lock their doors, but that they assumed the other was too, and that was perhaps assuming too much. The quarrel died down once Muriel ordered a four-key chromium lock and Chester got some mantis jerky in him, but it was all very upsetting. They never tired of telling Amaya, who hadn’t been hit yet, to be on her guard and order a lock too.”

“No need,” said Amaya, fingering the blade she’d just finished embellishing. “I want ‘em to come in. If I’m gonna stay up all night on their account, I better get a decent chance to bash ‘em.”

[elmaxjunkie]

Elmax prompt: Teenage rebellion. Sneaking out, shoplifting, tagging etc. just nothing malicious

Oh yes. This is going on the prompt list for sure.

[storyknitter]

Pyrrhic

The Star Chaser, en route to Odessen from Nathema 25 ATC

The constant beep of the kolto tank faded into and out of Vassanna’s ear as she skimmed the reports from Aygo and her other advisors, new information arriving in a constant drip.

Five lost aboard the Sprout, who didn’t make it to the escape pods in time. Eight gone from the Archer, another dozen missing from 152-B. A heavy sigh slipped from her lips. At least most were able to escape the destroyed ships in time, but stars, so much loss.

Another ping from Aygo drew her attention.

Sanna sighed once more, shifting a few names from the “missing” list to “killed in action.” Stars above, she hated this.

Dropping her datapad to the small table next to her, she hung her head in her hands. The tank’s beeping drew her attention again and she gazed up at the man floating within, tears blurring her vision.

“I guess you did it, huh?” she murmured. “Figured it out on your own, out-spied them, took down the ‘bad guys’ from within.” Her thoughts drifted to the datapad beside her, with its lists of dead and missing weighing heavy on her chest. A memory from a few hours ago twisted her heart: Theron giving her a small smile, despite his pain, before his eyes closed and he slumped against the wall, his Force-signature flickering dangerously low.

Don’t die, not yet.

“It’s too much. We won, but it doesn’t feel like it.”

Sanna wasn’t sure why she was expecting a response from the kolto tank, but instead of reassuring her, the steady beeping reminded her of everything lost.

[jimmypesto]

How to choose from all those awesome prompts?? Hm. Obviously you don't have to do all of these, pick your favorite or whatever, BUT:

Zina + 1, 12, 13, 20, 24, 26, 29, or 34.

Zeke and Tina, prompt 34: things you whispered in my ear

Zeke and Tina had been dating for four months now, and Tina was still mentally smacking herself every day for taking so long to see him as a viable option. Zeke was sweet and attentive even four months in, and things still felt new and exciting while also comforting and un-stressful.

Tonight was Friday, their standard date night, something Tina looked forward to every week. Her entire family was out of the house for the evening, and she and Zeke had elected to stay in together. Her parents were at the restaurant supply store, Gene was at drama club practice, and Rudy and Louise were at his mom’s house working on a science project.

This meant Zeke and Tina had the living room to themselves, and they had already gotten comfortable. Zeke wrapped his arm around her, and she pulled her feet onto the couch to snuggle against him. A bowl of popcorn sat on the coffee table in front of them.

“You excited to show me your movie, T-bird?” Her boyfriend asked with a grin.

Tina nodded, distracted by setting up the outdated DVD player and by the thoughts swirling in her head. She was showing him Stable of Dreams, a.k.a her favorite horse movie of all time. It was romantic and slightly erotic, and it was about horses. In Tina’s opinion, those were all the ingredients necessary to make a movie perfect.

She really hoped Zeke liked it. She knew she was probably too old for it, and it was maybe a little cheesy, but watching it made her happy every time. She didn’t see any harm in that.

When she was dating Jimmy Jr., he didn’t even bother pretending to enjoy the things she was interested in. In fact, sometimes he even showed outward disdain for them. Zeke was the total opposite. If something made Tina happy, then it made him happy by association. He texted her blurry pictures of horses each time he passed a farm, and he was happy to sit with her in silence as she finished a diary entry.

Still, there was something weirdly nerve wracking about sharing something she loved so much with him. She ran the risk of ruining it for himself if he laughed her or responded negatively.

Tina leaned into Zeke, her head resting on his chest. The sound of his heart beating was soothing, and he gently squeezed her shoulder in a silent hello. As the opening credits to the movie began, Tina smiled at the familiar intro music.

She kept smiling at as the first scene began, and she and Zeke watched in silence. As the movie continued, she noticed Zeke laughing at all the right parts. He asked her questions periodically, giving her excuses to gush.

“What kind of horse is that one, T?” He whispered at one point, as a baby Palomino ambled out of its stable.

Tina was thrilled. He wasn’t making fun of her! And he was clearly paying close attention. As simple as it was, the gesture touched her. If this was a compatibility test, Zeke was passing with flying colors.

“Damn, girl.” He whispered during a quieter scene. “This movie is good!”

Tina could’ve jumped for joy. She felt a sense of accomplishment at his enjoyment, like she’d shown him a new part of herself instead of just a movie she watched when she was sad.

“Really?” She asked, the smile evident in her voice. “You think so?”

“Hell yeah!” Zeke replied, his voice still hushed. “I’m hooked!”

She felt him kiss the top of her head, and her small smile grew into a grin. Finally. Someone to watch horse movies with.

[durotoswrites]

Hi, I absolutely love your work, it's always so beautiful and full of personality and emotions. A Shy Newcomer is 100% without a doubt one of the best fics I've ever been blessed to run across 💖

I was wondering if I could suggest number 7. Fake relationship au from the short au fic list? I was thinking Claire and Gray for the characters 🙂

Ohmigosh, thank you so much for reading! I'm so glad you enjoy my stories and your praise has me all emotional. I am so grateful to my readers, and I appreciate you taking the time to read my works. <3 T^T

I was so stumped on this for the longest time, but this evening, it just wrote itself! I hope you enjoy! <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35454550

[philtstone]

Would LOVE sarahbucky with touching 47 elbow touch if you feel so led :)

technically part of this verse. also, veeery technically could pass for the "secret relationship" prompt for sarahbucky month

Bucky is toting an over-laden armful of fold out chairs towards the back door of the Delacroix community center’s kitchen when he overhears Sarah and John Bartlet in the heat of friendly-exasperated conversation.

“What about that fella Big Nate knew at the post office?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh well now come on, Sarah. He’s a handsome guy, he’s got all sorts of looks. Marly said he’s got all sorts of women after him too.”

“He looks like a spooked gazelle every time Anette brings baby Nina ‘round. You forgot about my kids, John?”

Bucky's never officially met John Bartlet before, but he's one of those people in this town that seem to have known the Wilsons since grade school -- homegrown history, respected community institution, that sort of thing. John's a doctor, of medicine, which most everyone knows and more respect, as he is the good sort to boot. His wife Marlene teaches piano lessons to anyone interested and runs the foodbank.

Delacroix's a funny sort of place like that. There's a sense of knowing that goes back for families and families, like the town is more the handful of people keeping it going than anything else -- but, also, it has been through so much in the last two decades that it's a an ad hoc patchwork, its folks entirely new. Between Katrina and the Blip, half the population here has appeared, disappeared, and reappeared, and still, through all of that, people think they know all of each other's business.

Well. Usually, they do. But Sarah declared last month that if Sam and Ms. Gloria and the neighborhood kids had to know they were sleepin' together, fine, only that was where she drew the line. Everyone else would have to figure it all out on their lonesome.

Bucky pauses against the brick of the kitchen parking lot entrance and bites his lip, shoulder primed against the doorjamb, unsure of where the conversation is going.

“Alright," John is saying, "alright, well, we can think of someone else –”

“I told you," says Sarah. "I am not interested in dating right now.”

Bucky supposes this is accurate; she’s interested in the easy normalcy of the Wilsons’ new morning breakfast routine, and figuring out how to give him brain-melting massages, and developing all sorts of habits that involve perching herself in Bucky’s lap when there’s a shortage of chairs in the backyard porch.

Which is pretty much always.

Still – Sarah is brilliant and competent and beautiful. He’s been vaguely aware of the fact that she’s definitely one of the community’s more eligible single women since maybe the second day he knew her.

“It’s been years, honey. You gotta get out there again.”

“I do not,” Sarah says, with such a prim tone and inflection that, in spite of himself, Bucky bites back a snort. “I am fine where I am.”

“Well now, don’t have to be so defensive,” John says, warm-toned. “No shame in wanting a man, and Sarah, we’ve known each other years. I know you do.”

“It’s – I’m – you know, things are different,” Sarah says.

Bucky shifts the chairs in his arms and presses the toe of his boot into the ground. She and her brother are the same in this -- utterly shit at pretending to be anything they’re not.

Still ...

“I know – I know, I got one for you. You know Lakeith is back in Delacroix?”

“Lakeith?” comes Sarah’s voice. “Lakeith Johnson? From middle school?”

“He’s in business now! Pretty well off, last I heard.”

“John, you are embarrassing me again."

"I'm not -- I am trying my best here! Miss Cathy, thank goodness." A second set of footsteps sounds against the center's waxed laminate. They are distinctly slippered and nearly as old as Bucky is. "You'd know better than anyone. Don't you think our Sarah here could do with a new man?"

"John --" Sarah groans.

"Man?" comes Miss Cathy Jay's reedy, high-pitched voice. "Whadd'ya mean, man?"

"I mean, for Sarah. You know any handsome widowers comin' through town?"

"She don't need a man," Miss Cathy says.

"Thank you --"

"She got one."

"What?"

"What?"

"What-what," says Miss Cathy. "She livin' in sin with that young man in her house. Sam's boy."

Bucky’s forehead drops down against the cool metal of the fold-out chairs. He thinks he’s groaning. Is he groaning? Or maybe that’s a laugh. He can practically hear John’s stunned silence.

"Oh, Lord," Sarah says.

Bucky supposes that this is as good a time to enter the building as any, so he does.

"Well don't look so flustered," Miss Cathy is saying. "I said it as a fact, not a judgement. Pull it together, Sarah Bernadette, you’re grown.” Which is surely because Sarah has seen Bucky materialize, chair-laden – choked on her laugh – correctly assumed he heard the whole thing – and buried her face in both hands. In contrast, Miss Cathy’s wrinkled face lights up when she spots him. “Now here he is, too -- you got my chairs, honey? I hope your ears ain’t burnin’."

Bucky clears his throat. He sidesteps around John, who is by the mini-fridge in his slacks and shirt, shaking his mystified head, and Miss Cathy, who has taken it upon herself to start searching the donation boxes on the table for paper plates -- presumably he will be asked to carry these as well -- and makes his way around the kitchenette. Sarah is standing closest to the kitchen exit, by her trusty crock pot. He squeezes himself in beside her. Their elbows bump. Bucky pokes his head around his stack of chairs and says, warm-faced,

"I got your chairs Miss C. You want 'em here or out front?"

"You're plenty strong, you can take 'em out front," Miss Cathy tells him. She turns back to John. "I don't remember you bein' this strong when you were young, John."

Sarah cracks.

She lets out the world’s most endearing yelp before she dissolves into hooting laughter, half sinking down against the old cabinets with her arms wrapped around herself. Meanwhile, John opens and closes his mouth a few times, spluttering. Bucky thinks he looks a little like a computer's buffering screen. That’s an expression people use ... right?

“Oh, I’m sorry, John,” Sarah is saying, “I should’ve told you.”

But she looks more contrite than truly embarrassed.

Something small and unnoticed in Bucky’s chest, that is still not entirely convinced he hasn’t stumbled headlong into an elaborate dream, loosens.

He stands there with his chairs and stares, grinning down at her, like an idiot. Sarah looks back at him, gasping.

"Hi, Sar," Bucky says. “Uh, hey, Dr. Bartlet.”

"Hey, sweetness," says Sarah. Her eyes are sparkling.

Miss Cathy crows, loudly, into the hubbub:

“This ain’t news! We got a picnic to run! Now hurry on along wi’ my chairs!”

Bucky does, cheeks aching with his grin.

[burtonized]

prompt: san broke up w/ reader out of frustration (like it wasn't intentional?) but reader had enough and left san and met woo

song: sorry im not sorry - monsta x

→ hi its my first time to send a request :>

You couldn’t do it anymore.



It had happened too many times now, too often, and you were tired of the game, tired of constantly plummeting back into the nightmare your life was slowly becoming.


The entire situation had once again been blown out of proportion, something insignificant becoming something that was far too significant to ignore. There was no way around it anymore, no matter how hard you tried. Something between you and San had broken, something that had once been so strong and beautiful.


But frustration always ebbed at the surface these days, tinting your views and words, tinting situations that had once been, but would never be again.


Tears slid down your cheeks as you vividly remembered the most recent fight, the sole reason why you had escaped the house and found yourself walking in the pouring rain, the world around you seemingly crying with you.


“Go then,” San had yelled, a heartbroken pain edged into his cat-like features you had always found so pretty. “Go, and don’t come back.”


You had begged, because you always begged, knowing he never meant those words. But they hurt, as they always did, and they left your heart in a fragile stage, the cracks growing each time it happened.


And then he had whispered those words through his own frustrated tears, ripping your heart apart, leaving you to bleed in the loss of a love that once was, but would never be.


“I never want to see you again.”


The words repeated themselves in your head as you walked through the deserted city, your coat clinging to your skin as the rain drenched it.


Perhaps, you thought through the haze of emotions that plagued your heart in soul, perhaps you should heed his words, just this once, and never return. You loved him, as you had loved him for years. But even you knew the love between you two had become toxic, something that didn’t quite work like it used to.


And frankly, you were tired… So tired.


“Hey, little light, what are you doing out here in the rain?”


You looked up, startled by the voice you didn’t recognize. Beside you stood a boy, his dark hair long and wavy as it framed his face, a mole underneath his left eye, his body shielded from the rain by the gigantic umbrella he was carrying.


You couldn’t help but look at the man in front of you, frowning as you tried to form an answer that was polite, yet wouldn’t give away the mess that was your life.


But the stranger frowned then, concern overtaking his features, and he moved forward, holding the umbrella so it was shielding you from the rain too. Tentatively, he moved a hand to your cheek, wiping away the droplets of rain and tears.


“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle, and something in you broke, something that had been trying so hard to keep everything together.


It broke, and with it broke the dam that had kept the tears from flowing freely.


“I’m sorry,” you muttered through your tears, “I don’t know why a stranger asking me if I’m okay is making me cry even more.”


The stranger smiled then. “Wooyoung.”


“What?”


“My name’s Wooyoung. Now I’m not a stranger anymore. If you want, you can tell me what’s bothering you. I might not be able to give you advice, but it might help getting it off your chest.”


You looked at the stranger, at Wooyoung, and found nothing but friendly warmth and comfort in his face. Perhaps it was insanity, perhaps it was something else, but you found yourself telling everything, from the moment you and San fell in love, to the moment everything started to fall apart.


Wooyoung listened, holding his umbrella to shield the both of you from the slowly dying rain, always attentive, never interrupting you.


It wasn’t until you heaved a particularly loud sob, after you had told him everything, that he caressed your cheek once more.


“Seems like you already know what to do, little light.”


You opened your mouth to answer, to tell him you were scared and didn’t know, but your phone ringing the ringtone you knew so well made you close your mouth instantly.


Wooyoung smiled knowingly. “That’s him, isn’t it?” You could only nod. “Go on, take the call. I’ll be here for you.”


And somehow, the promise of comfort from a man you had just met, gave you enough courage to grab your phone and take the call.


“Babe, I’m so sorry,” came San’s instant voice, apologies rolling off his tongue like they always did. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it.”


“I know,” you sighed. “I know, San, but I can’t do this anymore.”


“What do you mean?”


“Sorry, I’m not sorry,” you breathed, almost choking on the words. But you looked up, right into the warmth and comforting eyes of a stranger who somehow didn’t feel like a stranger at all, and all of a sudden, you knew he was right. You did know what to do. And as you took a shaky breath, you uttered the words you never thought you would say: “You’re never gonna see me again.”

[terracyte]

hmmm, how about sokka putting a flower in zuko's hair? blease <333

so my immediate thought was fire lily,,and then flog naw by @oldpotatoe

this is post-flwogb (when the "it gets better" kicks in) because having it be pre-flwogb would hurt way too much

[i.d. a colored digital drawing of zuko and sokka from atla. sokka sits in zuko's lap, one arm around his shoulders and the other tucking a fire lily into zuko's hair. zuko smiles up at sokka with the world's most lovesick smile. the white text against the mint background says "a fire lily for my fire lily!" end i.d.]

[thequibblah]

Yay! Prompts! I've waited to make sure you were really accepting them this time haha - It’s pouring rain outside the club and we’re both drunk, but there’s only one taxi cab left for the night.

icymi

[hawkeish]

3. You made me a Christmas playlist but it’s just Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas is you”. I can’t tell if you’re hitting on me or if it’s a joke --- for (you know it) Carver/Merrill :D

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS PROMPT IT IS FANTASTIC, here’s 1400 words of modern Carver/Merrill fluff written for @dadrunkwriting because I have no restraint and too much time <3 I hope you like it!

no CWs, but there’s some swearing (I promise my Hawke siblings love each other, in a brutal way!)

also my modern Merrill’s a postgrad studing Art History & Cultural Studies - repairing the eluvian is her research project.

read on AO3 if you want!

It’s the evening before everything shuts down for Satinalia, and it’s started to snow.

Which would be nice, if only Carver wasn’t stuck outside Merrill’s door, trying not to break a magical mirror which possesses far too many poky bits as it pokes right into his side. Fingers numb with cold, he’s too busy fumbling with the ridiculous amount of keys she gave him to appreciate the beauty of the Alienage in Firstfall. Bedecked with wreaths, shining baubles and flickering garlands of lights, the vhenadahl is like something from a fairy-tale, dusted with a gentle sigh of snow.

Snow, lights, whatever. Any other night, Carver might let himself be enchanted. But right now, he has one priority—get the damn mirror into the damn apartment without breaking it even more.

And yet here he is, falling at the first hurdle: locked out, with Merrill’s most precious possession leaning on him at an angle that’s making him nervous. It’s not exactly going well. But it needs to go well. He promised he’d get the eluvian - carefully swaddled in some enchanted cloth to “protect him”, whatever that means - from her studio at the Viscount’s College of Art back to her Lowtown home in one piece. If he doesn’t, he’s not sure what might happen. He doesn’t want to know what might happen. Her degree? Ruined. A vital piece of her people’s history? Lost. And as for Merrill herself?

She’d probably never speak to him again, and shit, he can’t think of much worse—

Click.

The random key he’s shoved in the lock twists, and the door swings open before him.

“Thank the fucking Maker,” he mumbles, then picks up the mirror and barrels into Merrill’s tiny home.

Merrill’s flat is much like Merrill. As in, modest, pretty, and filled with a frankly terrifying amount of knowledge. There are small cairns of books dotted between potted plants and thrifted armchairs, alongside art prints leaned up against walls and notebooks littering her paint-flecked desk. Though she doesn’t celebrate Satinalia, there are a couple of decorations over the tiny fireplace, too. And—is that spice he can smell?

As Carver carefully sets down the eluvian by the window in the corner like she’d instructed, he catches sight of something in his peripheral vision. Two steaming cups of wine-dark liquid set on the coffee table by the fire, and beside them, a neatly-folded note.

Curiosity gets the better of him. Carver wanders over and gingerly picks up the paper, a frown puckering his brow as he unfurls it.

C. Merrill’s handwriting is pin-point neat. I just wanted to say - I do really appreciate you doing this for me. Creators, there’s no chance I could lift that thing on my own! You really are my chevalier in shining armour. I’ll send you a little something to say thanks. M x

That x does something strange to him; a small chill runs up his spine, and Carver puts the note back down in a fluster. Just as he does, the phone in his pocket vibrates. Still frowning, he pulls it out, then squints at the text that’s screaming up at him from the too-bright screen.

alright dickhead! hope you’re having a lovely day of being a burden on society! did you get the message?

Carver doesn’t need to read the sender’s name to know it’s from his sister.

Go back to making shit coffee for people who’ll never sleep with you, he types. And what message?

Surely Ri wouldn’t mean the note. Why would she know about the note? As far as he can tell, Merrill only asked him for help after Aveline and Fenris made some excuse about being far too busy washing their hair, or dancing round their townhouse full of half-decayed corpses, or whatever the fuck it is that they get up to instead of being friendly, helpful people.

Carver wasn’t the first choice. He never is. Which is fine. Totally fine. He’s used to it. Knowing he’s never a first thought definitely doesn’t itch at the back of his mind, or keep him up at night—

“Maker’s breath,” he scolds himself, trying to focus back on his phone.

And then, just as he presses send, another notification pops up. Unknown number; something in him tells him to tap anyway. When he does, a little jolt of static runs through him, warm and fuzzy and disgustingly sweet.

For you, the new message reads. To say thanks. I knew I wouldn’t need to ask anyone else. You’re all I need for Satinalia. Enjoy! <3

Below it, there’s a link to a playlist. A playlist which, he notices, contains about twenty versions of the same song, All I Want For Satinalia Is You. One’s in Elven. One’s a country version with, inexplicably, some late-night TV host caterwauling over the chorus. One’s by some Orlesian crooner called Michel de Bublé. There’s even one that’s just someone playing the recorder extremely badly over a muffled backing track.

It’s an…interesting mix. As he skips through the songs, though, he can’t help but smile. Whoever this truly ridiculous playlist was meant for is a lucky person. It certainly wasn’t for him.

At least, that’s what he thinks, until he taps back onto his messages app.

Then, his heart does a weird twist in his chest, and the phone suddenly feels like a searing hot coal in his hands. Because, in bold, in the small gap above the text where the sender’s name usually lies, there’s a small line that makes his pulse skip every time his eyes trail over it.

Could this be: Merrill Alerion

Carver nearly drops his phone.

This is a joke, right? It has to be a joke. Carver feels slightly seasick. Quicker than he knew his fingers could work, he’s sent a crappy screenshot to Marian.

This???????

A few seconds pass.

Ri replies with a voice message. The voice message is a long, horrible, joyous screech.

Fuck, Carver thinks. “Fuck!” Carver says, and stuffs his phone back into his pocket.

His heart’s going wild, now; his palms are sweatier than they’ve maybe ever been. The mulled wine suddenly seems like a very good idea: he takes one in each hand, trying to convince himself he doesn’t fucking hate star anise. Time to chug—

Halfway through his first glass, there’s two light knocks at the door.

Carver freezes, glass still at his lips. Then, he realises that in his haste to get the mirror in, he’s left the door open. Panic spears through him, until he remembers that he’s a six-foot-stupid ex-farmer and could definitely take on a burglar. And that burglars probably don’t knock.

Still, this is Kirkwall. Better to be safe than sorry. Carver holds his breath as he sets the glasses down as quietly as he can and starts towards the door. He’s not punched anyone in a while. Maybe the anxiety coursing round his body from that text will finally give him a decent right hook. Maybe if he catches someone trying to steal Merrill’s stuff, it’ll add to the whole chevalier-in-shining-armour thing. Maybe—

A gentle gust of wind flutters through the apartment, and the door swings open, just as Carver’s barely steps away.

When he sees who’s behind the door, he makes a tiny squealing noise that instantly makes him want to cease existing. Rosy-cheeked and smiling, Merrill stands before him. Flecks of snow are caught in her dark hair and on the chunky knitted scarf wrapped around her neck, and her eyes are glittering beneath the Satinalia lights strung up on the street outside. It’s as if she’s haloed, glowing, a beacon against the dark winter’s night.

She looks beautiful.

“Merrill,” he breathes. “I thought you were...”

“Studying?” She’s smiling, and he feels a bit dizzy. “I was. But I finished - just in time, I think! Did you get the message?”

“Uh—the playlist?” he offers. “Yeah.”

“But did you get the message?” she asks again, a grin tugging at the edges of her lips.

Carver frowns. There was a message to get? “I—what?”

“Creators,” Merrill says, half-laughing, glancing up at something above him, then back down. When her gaze locks with his, he feels his heart flutter. “Hawke said making you a playlist would be very smooth. I’m not sure I’m ever very smooth. I guess I’ll not trust your sister again.”

“Smooth?” he echoes, like an idiot.

Then, he remembers what’s hanging above her door. A sprig of mistletoe, tied up with a neat red bow.

Merrill answers him with a laugh, and a kiss, and Carver thinks oh.