#a wild ficlet appeared!

[ficklecat]

And I’m taken, woah, oh

By the madness

And the tripping

And the touching

—

Kakashi watches him sleep.

He is - for once - so still, so quiet sans the deep-breath snores and gentle sleeping mumbles that escape his familiar lips. Kakashi watches and breathes alongside him, presses his flat palm on the hair of his chest, lets his fingertips sink into the malleable heat of his pectorals, pulse aflutter against his skin.

Kakashi imagines sliding in under that skin, sinking into him, slotting their bones together like fitted wooden pegs, an ancient belonging he feels so deep inside him his body burns with its knowledge.

Gai stirs ever so gently and Kakashi is frozen, quiet, still, watching as he adjusts and settles again, limbs and muscles sheathed beneath scarred flash that he knows so well he can map it in his mind. Even without the Sharingan, Kakashi’s memory is unyielding. He lets his gaze dance across the sprawl of his body, hardly illuminated in the moonlight, stripes from his windows and curtains painting pale silver glow across his chest, legs, face.

Kakashi commits these details to memory, etches them deep between the folds of his mind like initials on tree bark - the way Gai’s dark hair is mussed yet shining still, the way his high cheekbones are cut by shadows in the dark, his full lips barely parted, his bright eyes closed and flickering behind his eyelids.

Kakashi breathes again, slides his open palm down to the dusting of dark hair across his belly. He traces little shapes, lines of scarring, letters and characters and smiles as he sees Gai’s flesh jump and twitch, feels the goosebumps rise across his skin. He moves his fingertips up, draws a heart at his chest, slides across to wrap his arm around him and nestles closer.

Gai smells of heat. Charcoal smoldering, burning wood, spiced aromatics, peppery enough to make Kakashi’s nose wiggle a bit. He presses the tip of it to Gai’s temple, nuzzles, inhales. He lets the scent crackle like firewood up into his head and feels its sparks and cinders behind his eyes. He lets it warm him all the way down to his toes, lets his body fold in and around him like he’s huddled for warmth and Gai is the only source.

Kakashi has known no peace such as this.

He knows no other sense of calm and solitude as these nights beside his burning beacon, his Polaris, the only love deep enough to have dug a wellspring where a cavern once was in his heart. It flows now, so free and full, its waters sparkling and rushing to fill his eyes with the immensity of his devotion, and he has to take a sharp breath in to keep it at bay. This comes so easy now, being so moved even to tears in the face of this certainty, the overwhelm of desire and affection that pulses in him right up alongside the beat of his heart, like a murmur he can hear with every breath, a stutter he can feel with every touch.

This had taken time. Patience. Yearning. Pain. It had taken death and back. But to admit to this need had been his greatest feat, his most profound accomplishment, a legacy more than any he’d leave - to relinquish to the terrible thrill of loving this man. And it had taken even more to allow it to move him this way, to allow it to settle inside him and burn and burn and burn until the waters of his own heart allowed it to simmer pleasantly, Gai’s heat to his cooling, Gai’s fire to his wet and withered soul.

They’re older now. Changed and changing. Imprinted on each other’s lives so well and clear Kakashi has a hard time recalling a time without him, despite his impeccable memory. It doesn’t matter, either way. His presence in his life and heart were as natural as the breath he was born with and the last one he’ll take in this life.

Kakashi leans a bit to press a kiss to his temple. He lets his lips linger to feel Gai’s steady pulse on them, drifts on the rhythm like he’s bobbing on the sea.

He knows no love as deep as this one.

He feels it in his veins, feels the ache of it inside his chest, the desire to be closer until they’re no longer separate things.

Kakashi watches him sleep until his own eyelids grow heavy.

He lets them close, breathes and sighs, and lets Gai’s warmth bring him to the morning.

[after-the-end-times]

We'll always have (more than) Paris

Different Meeting Tedependent AU where Ted had planned a trip to Paris for him, Michelle, and Henry, but before he can tell her she hands him divorce papers.

But after so many months of researching places to go and things to do and food to eat he finds he still wants to go. So, he and Henry go to Paris without Michelle.

They're wandering toward the base of the Eiffel Tower when a little girl darts past him giggling and screeching that ear splitting high pitched happy screech kids that age can so easily hit.

A few moments later a harried looking man with amazingly white streaked hair trot-runs past him, trying to catch up to her without full out sprinting.

But Ted knows how toddlers can be when they're in that darting away phase and she's not going to stop until she's scooped up.

He also knows no parent actually wants to look like they can't get their child back without yelling or running, so he turns to Henry,

"Hey Henry, why don't run up past that little kid there? Get her to chase you and get her back to her dad, hm?"

Henry doesn't need to be told twice and takes off, dashing past the man and then the little girl.

Ted speeds up his walking pace to tap the man on the shoulder.

"Excuse me! Er- Excusez moi! Uh parlez um- inglese? My son's gonna bring her back, don't worry! Toddlers love nothing more than chasing big kids!"

Ted tries to make himself look as encouraging and friendly as possible in case the man doesn't understand him. The man had turned to look at Ted at his shoulder tap so Ted finally got to see that magnificent hair up close.

"Oh! Uh yes, thank you. Though he might have his work cut out for him, she hasn't been a very good listener today, I'm afraid," He looks back to the kids who are giggling and zig-zagging around the green, before turning back to Ted looking slightly bewildered, "And I'm sorry, was that supposed to be French earlier? I think there might've been some Spanish in there."

Ted huffs out a laugh and puts his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, I tried to learn some French on that owl app before we came here, but three years of high school Spanish keeps slipping through instead," He nods toward Henry, "He's actually taken to it a lot quicker. Probably cause it's like it's just another game on his tablet."

He holds out his hand, "Ah right, Ted Lasso. That's Henry out there."

The man gives him a bemused look and takes it, "Trent Crimm. And she's Darcy"

"Well, nice to meet you Trent Crimm," He nods toward where Henry and Darcy have flopped down on the grass, breathing hard, "Looks like someone's been tuckered out."

"Well, thank you for that. Fortunately, our hotel isn't far and it's just about time for a nap," He starts toward the kids, before pausing and turning to Ted, "Have a good vacation Mr. Lasso. You should make sure to visit Musée d'Orsay, they have a little art scavenger hunt Henry might enjoy."

"Thanks for the tip. And please. Ted." He smiles at Trent.

"Ted." Trent holds his gaze a moment longer, a faint flush spreading across his cheeks, before glancing away. He turns and calls out, "Darcy! Come on! It's time to go!"

Henry and Darcy sit up and clamber to their feet. Darcy races over to Trent, slamming into his calves, "Daddy! Can Henry come picnic with us?"

"No darling, we're done picnicking for today. And I'm sure Henry's dad has plans for them."

"T'morrow?" She gazes up at Trent with glistening eyes.

Ted wouldn't wish those big crocodile tears on anyone, let alone his new friend.

"Well hey there, little Miss Darcy!" He bends down to address her where she's still wrapped around Trent's legs and she turns her eyes toward Ted, "You guys have been picnicking? That's fun! Henry and I love a good picnic! We'd love to join you sometime!"

He stands up to look at Trent, smiling gently at him "If that's alright with you?"

Trent blinks a couple times up at him, a slow smile over taking his face, "We'd love for you to join us." He pauses and breaths out a laugh as he glances away, "But tomorrow we actually have plans. To visit the Musée d'Orsay, in fact."

Ted smiles wide as he realizes, "Why Trent! And here I just heard a great recommendation for the Musée d'Orsay! And an art scavenger hunt, I believe?"

He glances over at where Henry's attempting to do cartwheels in the grass. Darcy notices as well and abandons Trent's legs to run over and start somersaulting alongside him.

Ted's smile softens as he tilts his head to the side and looks at Trent from under his lashes, "I'm almost sorry I messed up our "Accidentally running into each other for the second time" meet-cute, but at least now we can spend the whole time together! Then grab lunch afterwards? Besides, art scavenger hunts are much more fun with more people, everyone knows that."

Trent smiles up at Ted, "Well, if everyone knows that. Who am I to disagree?"

For a moment they gaze into each other's eyes, picturing the rest of their time in Paris; Visiting museums and tourist spots together, meeting at cafes for breakfast, finally making it to the top of the Eiffel Tower, ice cream along the Seine, Henry gaining a Darcy shadow, Ted and Trent spending their every moment learning about each other and falling in love faster than either thought was possible.

But for now, Ted and Henry walk Trent and Darcy back to their hotel for nap time. And as Ted looks at Henry skipping ahead of them while Darcy chatters on and he feels Trent's sliding his hand into his own, he suddenly knows they're going to have so much more than Paris

~fin~

post scripts: Before their flight, Ted got an email and was offered the Richmond coaching job, but hadn't thought much of it. He's definitely going to accept it now. Michelle always wanted to travel and move abroad, but Ted never wanted to leave Kansas. She studied abroad in London and would actually love the opportunity to move there with Henry and Ted (but not with Ted) Trent is overwhelmed when Ted tells him he was one of the deciding factors for Ted accepting the Richmond coaching position. He never imagined someone could ever love him so much they'd move across the ocean for him. It takes time, but he finally starts to believe it

[adrift-in-thyme]

Sleepiness

Read on Ao3

- Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist

- Summary: After Al admits how hard the sleepless nights are, Ed takes it upon himself to keep him company. But that proves a rather difficult task

- No warnings apply

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

It’s quiet in the room. Peaceful. Treacherous.

Ed glares at the page before him, purposefully ignoring the way that the words blur and smear. Usually, he would welcome the unusual calm. But not tonight. Tonight he can’t fall prey to the way it soothes his soul, or blankets him like a plush comforter, or makes the world a bit softer, a bit more distant in a pleasant sort of way…

A yawn pushes past his stubbornly closed lips, bringing tears to his eyes.

“It’s late, brother,” Al says, softly, as though reluctant to break the stillness. “Shouldn’t you get to sleep?”

Another yawn follows the first, this one so wide Ed has no choice but to let it out. His eyes slip closed and beg to remain that way. He wrenches them back open.

“I’m not going to sleep tonight.”

Al cocks his head. “But why not? You need your rest.”

Ed shrugs and the movement seems as difficult as moving a mountain. Stupid body, betraying him in such a way.

“You said the nights are the worst, right?” He gives his brother a small grin. “Well, I don’t want you to have to spend them alone anymore. I’m gonna stay up with you.”

Al blinks, then sets down his book. He holds up his hands as if in surrender. “You don’t have to! Even if you sleep I won’t be alone. Not really.”

That’s a lie if he ever saw one. But Ed decides not to call him on it…directly, at least.

“Yeah, well, company is always better when they’re conscious. Besides, I’ve pulled all-nighters before, haven’t I? I’ll be fine.”

He looks at Al. Al looks back. Doubt radiates off of him in waves.

Instantly, a glare sours Ed’s expression. He shoves a finger in Al’s direction. “Hey! You’re doubting me aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

“No, no! It’s just…” Al shifts, nervously. “You barely ever make it through all-nighters. You sleep…a lot.”

“I do not!” Ed pushes himself up off the couch, hands on his hips. “Look, I’m gonna stay up with you all night, okay? Whether you like it or not.”

“Okay,” Al acquiesces. “But don’t worry if you fall asleep.”

Ed snatches up a blanket and flops down beside his brother, reclining on his armor. “I won’t.”

That promise proves rather difficult to keep. The hands of the clock crawl across the face, moving from eleven to eleven-thirty to twelve. And with every passing moment Ed’s eyelids grow heavier.

His book has long since stopped making sense. Logical thought seems impossible anymore. Thoughts bounce dazedly around his brain – of warm beds and soft sheets and nights where he can rest undisturbed. 

His eyes droop and slide shut. 

“Brother?” 

He jolts out of the near-sleep he had fallen into, bringing a hand roughly across his eyes.

“I’m awake!”

Al moves to put an arm around him and Ed slumps into the half-hug, ignoring the way the armor pokes. 

“I am grateful for you trying,” Al says, softly. The words drift by like aimless fish and Ed has to snatch at them to try and make them make sense. “You need your sleep, though, to keep up your strength. Just think! When we get our bodies back I can sleep as much as I want! But until then, why don’t you sleep for both of us?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Ed mumbles, grouchily. But he has to admit the idea does sound rather nice. 

Sleeping for two people means getting even more sleep, right?

His eyes slip closed once more, body growing immeasurably heavy. If he tried to get up right now, he doesn’t think that he could manage it. 

“I’m still gonna try,” he says, words slurred by incoming slumber and the way his cheek is pressed against a rather sharp plate of armor. “Don’t want you to be…”

“I’m not alone,” Al says, as he trails off, grasping for the thoughts that dart mischievously out of his reach. “You’re here with me, aren’t you?”

A slightly loopy smile lifts Ed’s lips. “Guess so.”

“So, go to sleep.”

Ed shifts, rearranging so that he is a bit more comfortable. It’s a little difficult given his armored pillow. But he’ll make do. He is nearly gone, anyway, book fallen from his hand, eyes closed, body limp. He is falling headlong into the embrace of sleep. This is a battle he can’t win.

Damn it.

He had really wanted to.

Someday, though, someday soon he will win the war. Al will have his body back and he will be able to sleep all he wants. Ed will make sure of that.

(And he’ll be able to eat too, and feel the wind and rain and sun, and the coarse prickles of grass beneath his feet, the unyielding firmness of pressed earth. And when Ed hugs him or curls up beside him, instead of the hollow ring of empty armor…he will be able to hear a heartbeat.)

He sighs. Yes, someday soon.

For now, however, for now…he guesses he is forced to surrender. Just this once.

“Fine. But don’t go ordering your big brother around,” he gripes. But there is no heat in it. Only the thickness of near-sleep.

Al only chuckles and holds him a bit closer. “Good night, brother.”

“...and thank you.”

[purrpickle]

@hedafr, I agree. Sam wanted so much to be forgiven, but also halfway expected not to be after all, no matter how much she wanted it and how much it would hurt her. But she was also prepared to fight for it and keep trying until Mon forgave her, no matter what she had to do. Also... You inspired this. :D Takes place during Ep 9.

*

Lady Sam was still shaking when she wrapped her arms around her.

Pushing into her, chin over her shoulder, Mon tightened her grip around her own arms, squeezing Lady Sam as hard as she could manage. Lady Sam had always fit so perfectly against her, and this was no exception, her lover's body curved into her as she bent over slightly to encircle her shoulders, her own chin on Mon's left shoulder. Mon could hear the unsteadiness of her breathing as she buried herself into her, and she pulled her even closer, needing the contact as much as Lady Sam did.

"I missed you..." Lady Sam swallowed, tightening her grip around her, her head tilting up and back to brush her lips along Mon's neck, Mon hiccuping as the kiss tingled, leaving heat glowing its way through her. Frowning, Lady Sam pushed herself back, left hand cupping her cheek as she studied her intently, "No, no, don't cry."

"I'm not crying," Mon refuted shyly, a flush rising on her cheeks as she met her lover's searching gaze, hands sliding down to rest on the small of her back.

"No?" Lady Sam asked as a tear trailed down Mon's cheek, her fingers already brushing it away as Mon's eyelashes fluttered. She lifted it, as if giving it as evidence before her. "So what's this?"

Smiling, Mon shook her head, after a second moving her chin forward, dark gaze meeting Lady Sam's as she pressed her lips to her knuckles. She pulled back, smiling widely. "It's me being so happy that you still love me."

Lady Sam inhaled, eyes widening momentarily, before she nodded and moved her hand forward again, brushing her knuckles along Mon's cheek. She searched her gaze. "Mon. Loving you," she licked her lips, "Is all I know how to do."

Staring up at her, Mon choked out a sudden sob, closing her eyes and surging forward, pressing her overflowing eyes to Lady Sam's shoulder as her lover wrapped her arms back around her.

It her turn to shake, Lady Sam's hand stroking along the back of her neck and scratching at her scalp, Mon buried herself into her, breathed her in, and promised herself that, no matter what she had to do, she was never going to lose this ever again.

[direwombat]

How about Praise Kink for Syb and Jacob for the NSFW ficlet?

f;lajd ok so this one is technically eight sentences, but you know what? this is more in line with the rules of this particular prompt game than the other one, so it'll have to do lmao

It all started with “Good, cull the herd.”

Four simple words that made a shiver crawl down her spine and her cunt clench -- four simple words that made her realize that she’d do anything to hear that voice praise her again. 

“Not bad,” he’d said after she’d wrestled him to the ground, but that wasn’t enough. She needed to please him. 

So she fought harder and harder, kicking and biting and scratching at his eyes until she drew blood. But it wasn’t until she was pinned beneath him, feeling him move inside her as she cried out into the otherwise quiet night that he gave her the praise she desperately needed.

“Good girl,” he grunted. “Good fucking girl.”

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy, Rowena MacLeod Additional Tags: Not Finale Compliant, Fix-It, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester Summary:

A concept for the Supernatural finale that never was.

[rustingcat]

“So… how's the risotto?” Lena asked from behind her glass of overly expensive red wine. The quiet between them felt palpable despite the hums of conversation of the restaurant around them.

“Eh, good. Good.” Kara nodded with half a smile as she shoved another spoonful in her mouth to prove her point.

It was far from convincing, and Lena knew it wasn't about the food. “Alright, why does it feel…”

“Weird?” Kara finished her sentence with a small chuckle as she swallowed her bite.

“Yeah.” Lena smiled. At least it wasn't just her that felt that way. “It wasn't like that last time.” She signed and put down her glass.

“To be fair, last time we didn’t realise it was a date,” Kara pointed out.

“Is this what we should do then? Pretend like it's not a date?” Lena asked with a hint of worry in her voice. They only just made the big step. She didn't want things to return to the way they were.

“I don't know, I kinda like holding your hand.” Kara gave Lena’s hand a small squeeze while flashing her a warm smile.

“To be fair we did that before we decided to give this whole dating thing a try.” Lena visibly relaxed, giving kara a small smile in return.

“I also don't want to stop telling you how smart and beautiful you are.” Kara continued, basking in the rosy colour that appeared on Lena’s cheeks.

“Well, you did that before too, if I remember correctly.” Lena bit her lip in an attempt to suppress her growing smile. It was amazing how fast Kara can make her relax.

“Your memory is as amazing as you are, so I doubt it could betray you now.”

“Kara Davners, are you flirting with me?” Lena raised a sharp eyebrow as she took a sip of her wine.

“Should I stop?”

“Don't you dare.”

The silence that followed wasn't awkward anymore, it was warm and calming with the joy of something new.

“Then are you from tennessee? Cause you're the only ten I see.” Kara finished with a wink and an over confident smirk.

“Oh dear lord! No.”

“You don't like that one? I have more.”

Lena chuckled. God, she loved that woman. “Just eat your risotto, darling.”

Hand in hand, Lena and Kara exited the restaurant into the cool evening breeze of the city. Kara didn’t even ask before wrapping her blazer around Lena’s shoulder who smiled gratefully in response.

“Such a gentlewoman,” Lena remarked.

“I try,” Kara shrugged and captured Lena’s hand once more with her own.

“Well, this is me.” Lena bit her lip as the couple made it to her building’s entrance.

“Shall I walk you to your door?”

“If you insist.”

“I am a gentlewoman after all.”

They greeted Bill the doorman on their way up who wished them a nice evening with a smile.

They stopped again once they reached Lena’s door.

“So, a date or not a date?” Lena asked with a small smirk.

“Date, definitely a date.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I really want to kiss you right now.”

Lena answered by cupping Kara’s face and connecting their lips. It was wild to her how much she craved it already. They only kissed once before, and it was already one of her favourite things in this world. Their tongues connected and Lena let out a small whimper as heat consumed her entire body in seconds.

“Would you like to come in?” Lena asked breathlessly while Kara moved l to kiss her neck.

“I thought it was a third date kind of thing?” Kara smirked, whispering her words into her ear.

“Would coffee and whatever in my fridge work for a third date then?” Lena bit her lip while eyeing Kara’s swallowed kissable lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it would.” Kara barely nodded before crashing their lips back together.

They stumbled into Lena’s apartment deeply consumed by one another.

They never got to make that coffee.

Well, not until the morning after.

You can also find this on AO3

Huge thanks to @sssammich for pushing me out of my comfort zone to come up with this ficlet! Thank you for your help, darling♥️

[tixdixl]

Rule 153 - TWST Ficlet

Words: 3300

Characters: Wén Xiáng, Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Riddle Rosehearts, Gia Yugo [ @ramshacklerumble ]

CW: Descriptions of dissociation and memory loss

The sound of turning pages accompanied the murmur of studious whispers. Steam rose from their collective teacups as the smell of peppermint and lemongrass wafted in the air. As the two of spades took a sip of his tea, the Scarabia freshman leaned over his textbook. His finger dragged across the page as he pointed at the text. Xiáng had been explaining the linear progression from one of their homework assignments for Deuce, who seemed to be going up against his personal weaknesses and disabilities as they reared their ugly heads. He barely noticed the porcelain clink against metal as the ace of hearts stirred his tea with a need to fidget. 

“This is so boring…” groaned Ace, “why do we even need to learn this stuff anyway?”

Xiáng glanced up from the textbook, catching a glimpse of the frustration written all over the card soldier’s face. 

“Dunno,” he answered with a shrug, before resuming his explanation to Deuce.

From across the table, he heard the grumble of disapproval before the ace of hearts interrupted him again, “No, because actually- I’ve never once used the pythagorean theorem outside of school. So then why do teachers act like we need to learn it if it's meaningless? This is no different than a normal school. If I knew college would be like this-”

“What?” came the soft, yet tremoring voice of the Heartslabyul housewarden, “You’d never have come?”

His voice had this quality that could shake mountains. Even when he didn’t raise his voice, he spoke like every deliberate word commanded a space. Few times had Xiáng actually heard the softness of volume actually match a softness of tone. Moreover, Xiáng doubted he had the capacity to truly be soft.

“H-Housewarden Rosehearts!” both card soldiers sounded like they’d been spooked, prepared to be roasted alive.

“Hi Riddle,” piped up the Ramshackle Prefect, who had been largely silent this entire time.

“Good to see you, Gia,” Riddle offered them a smile. A flicker of warmth entered his being as he acknowledged the prefect, before a wave of frigidity overcame his disposition. His gaze resembled wild fire as he reverted it towards Ace. Xiáng couldn’t stop his passive contented smile from falling as he continued, “Don’t tell me you’re planning on skipping, or are you considering quitting altogether?”

“What?” Ace growled, “No- I just don’t get why we have to do this stupid assignment. It’s not like it’s going to help us at all.”

Xiáng and Deuce exchanged a look. They had all collectively just recovered from Riddle’s Overblot. Riddle had stated that he would work on himself and his rigidity. But also, there was a truth that Ace had said some pretty horrific things aimed at Riddle; they both had said things, and truthfully, since he didn’t live in Heartslabyul and wasn’t there when the events unfolded, the Scarabia freshman couldn’t tell to what extent either of them meant it. To what extent they resented each other. And truthfully, he hadn’t even considered it until the two of them shared a look. The thought hadn’t occurred to him that heads could roll until the housewarden had spoken up. 

“Have you considered that perhaps you have to learn the foundations before you can apply them?” Riddle challenged him, his ire seeming to lessen slightly- a feat Xiáng couldn’t recall witnessing before. 

He blinked, glancing over at Ace to witness the shift in his expression. His brows furrowed, and the slightest bit of a pout threatened to appear on his face. His scarlet eyes, devoid of empathy, grew colder.

“Foundations, my ass,” Ace growled, “it’s just an excuse to have us do busy work.”

With a condescending smirk immediately rushing to his face, the housewarden placed a hand on top of the stack of grimoires seated firmly at the corner of the table. He leaned closer to the card soldier, his face only a foot away from the other’s. 

“Then why is it you can’t already enchant a broom to autonomously sweep the space without your presence?” the housewarden taunted him, “If it's so easy, why haven’t I seen you using that charm during your daily duties?”

“...just get a Roomba,” the prefect piped up once again. 

Everyone collectively froze. Various expressions of confusion littered the room as the collective turned their gazes to the prefect. The prefect, who had not looked up a single time during this entire exchange, seemed to realize what was happening without seeing it. They raised their head with a completely blank, almost vacant expression - almost akin to Xiáng’s - washed over their face. 

“...does it for you,” they explained in monotone, “No magic needed.”

“Riiiight…” Ace coughed, disbelief radiating off his posture. 

Xiáng immediately reverted his attention to the Heartslabyul students. Realizing he would have to wait for them to finish before he could continue, he slumped back into his seat, no longer leaning over Deuce’s textbook. 

“I never said it was easy,” Ace retorted, scrunching up his face at the housewarden, “Just that I didn’t understand what linear progressions had to do with magic.”

“Would you believe that magic, like science, is mathematical?” the sneer grew ever so largely on Riddle’s face.

“I’m gonna hurl,” the card soldier slumped further into his seat.

Across the table, color drained from the fact of the two of spades. As if hope itself were air, the spades soldier deflated further in his seat. The Scarabia student attempted to offer him the slightest bit of consolation as he placed a hand on his shoulder. They both then perked up just a tad as they caught movement in their periphery. Pulling a seat from across the common room, the housewarden pulled up a seat beside the struggling freshmen. 

“What’re you doing?” Xiáng asked genuinely.

“Assisting you all,” the housewarden replied with the smallest of smiles, “It’s my responsibility to ensure that every one in my dorm is able to succeed academically. Ace’s lamentations aside, it looks like your little study group could genuinely use some help.”

“It’s mainly me…” Deuce admitted, nervousness and shame creeping into his posture, “I’m just not getting this sequence right.”

The housewarden glanced up at the Scarabia student, “I take it you’ve been explaining things to him, Wén Xiáng?”

As the housewarden addressed him, Xiáng felt a bead of sweat emerge on his brow. He offered Riddle a nervous smile as he replied, “Trying to anyway.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“I only really understand this method the way that our instructor presented it?” he stated, unsure of himself, “And somewhere around the movement from step 2 to step 3 has Deuce here all stumped.” 

“Let me see…”

Riddle gently took the book from Xiáng’s hands. As he watched the moment of his eyes, sweeping over the pages with a speed unparalleled, he felt himself almost zone out momentarily. Time and focus seemed to completely slip away from him until the moment Riddle gently cleared his throat. 

“Hey, Ace,” the housewarden asked quietly, “Would you mind pouring me a cup of tea?” 

“Sure, is peppermint fine?” Ace asked nonchalantly.

That question seemed to tear Riddle out of his concentration. He paused, slowly raising his head and looking Ace in the eye. Xiáng blinked. Instantly, he felt confused by the expression on Riddle’s face. He wouldn’t have described the expression as cross necessarily. The twitch in his brow almost preparing for the switch to flip. But why?

“Is it herbal?” Riddle asked, his tone a twinge darker than before.

“It’s peppermint and lemongrass,” Xiáng explained, confusion dripping from his words, “It’s a green tea.” 

A brief pause fell between them as a rose tint began to flush the housewarden’s cheeks.

“...is that… bad?” 

“...Boys,” Riddle addressed Ace and Deuce directly, “Want to explain to me why you didn’t educate the outsider on Rule 153?”

The confusion on the Scarabia student’s face immediately dissolved into a blank stare, devoid of any emotion. 

Rules… the silly Heartslabyul rules that he honestly forgot existed. And whenever anyone reminded him that they existed, he not only found himself punished for his ignorance, but when the rule was explained, he found that the rules were… at their core, arbitrary. The sorts of rules he expected the upper courts would use simply to control the average common folk. And worse, while Riddle Rosehearts could run around playing pretend, pretending to be the ruler of a non-existent kingdom and punish those who slighted him with fake beheadings, Xiáng for once recalled the treatment of those back home. Not quite beheadings, but the cruel reality that the imperial courts cared little for the wellbeing of those from his home. 

It took little time dwelling on the line of thought before he felt a small surge of magical energy, like a sharp, swift zap of electricity, traveling from his head down his spine. Certainly, this wasn’t the worst reaction his curse had inflicted in recent years. However, the quickness of which it reacted caught him completely off guard. A throbbing sensation in his eye and in his head tore him away very abruptly from his line of thought. Whatever conclusions he had been drawing, whatever dots he had connected, all of it had been knocked away. Like a leak in a dam, his attention now stolen away to try and alleviate the discomfort.

He grew stiff, trying to hide the sensation from those around him. They seemed too engaged in Riddle’s rant about the rule to notice. Then again… he wasn’t watching. And the words coming out of Riddle’s mouth had momentarily resembled the sound of a voice reverberating down a tube. 

“It is your responsibility to know and abide by the rules,” Riddle snapped, “Even if he is in Scarabia, he is a guest in our house, which means he abides by our rules.”

Xiáng blinked. His body relaxed slightly as he attempted to loosen his limbs. His eyes drifted toward the cross housewarden, though the right side of his vision had grown blurry and difficult to see.

“Sorry- what’s Rule 153?” Xiáng asked, interrupting the rant. He didn't intend to fully admit his disconnection with the moment, and yet, he genuinely didn’t know and likely had missed it being outlined. 

With brows furrowed, the housewarden’s eyes pierced through Xiáng’s head like nails in a coffin. He seemed to study the Scarabia student briefly before his brow twitched, relaxing subtly. Clearly the housewarden interpreted his blank expression and genuineness in his tone as they were, rather than insubordination. 

“Rule 153: The only tea you may drink in the evenings is herbal tea,” the housewarden stated matter-of-factly. 

“...and who does this rule benefit?” Xiáng asked in a monotone.

Riddle blinked, his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“To whom does this rule benefit?” he repeated himself, “I would expect that the aims would benefit the drinker, but in reality, it makes no difference on your health what type of tea you drink. Caffeine intake aside, all of them vary in their beneficial effects. So if the rule pertains nothing to the drinker, who does it benefit? What purpose does it serve?”

In the blur of his vision, he swore he saw the prefect raise their head from their book. And simultaneously, the two card soldiers exchanged a look.

“The Laws benefit those who serve the Queen,” the housewarden stated with full sincerity, “The Queen was always right, and it is our duty to uphold her traditions.”

“So the benefit then has nothing to do with the tea itself,” he remained monotone, “Rather, the benefit to the tea drinkers is remaining in the queen’s favor. Am I mistaken?”

“But of course!” Riddle gleamed, “The Queen’s ways are the only ways! Those who fail to oblige will lose their heads!”

“And what if the Queen’s ways are unjust…?” 

“What do you mean?” the housewarden snapped, his frustration slowly beginning to grow like a strangle weed to a flower bed, “The Queen’s ways are just. By keeping rigid order and making sure those who fall out of line are prevented from creating trouble.”

The Scarabia student paused. The mild throbbing in his eye a painful reminder not to let himself get wound up. As he drew in a deep breath, he cleared his mind a moment. Clearly, the conversation failed to make any progress. A brick wall would have moved sooner than their discussion, like a dog chasing its own tail. 

Opening his eyes once more, the Scarabia student picked up his cup of tea. A few fragments of leaves floated in a lull across the top of the murky liquid. Its aroma nevertheless potent as it had become lukewarm. As he took a sip, the flavor felt reminiscent of an elastic band to skin. Obviously, he had yet to fully recover. And yet despite this, the flavor seemed to bring him back to center. As much as any roller coaster would, he felt the exhaustion creep in. 

Once he had carefully placed his tea cup back on its saucer, his gaze returned to Riddle, who had been expectantly waiting for a response. 

“Let’s back up a bit, shall we?” Xiáng offered, deceptively handing the housewarden an olive branch as he smiled gently, “I want to understand what you mean by ‘the Queen’s ways being just’. Can you lay out for me how the system works?”

“Naturally!” Riddle exclaimed, his condescension drenching his words like a towel that’d been dropped into a sink. The housewarden glanced at the card soldiers, “And you both would do well to pay attention.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

He cleared his throat, “The Queen’s Laws have been written in permanent ink since as far back as evidence goes of her reign as one of the Seven. Each of these laws were representative of the culture and the needs of the Queen at the time. Citizens and guests, much like the Curious Girl, were expected to know and uphold these laws at all times- and ignorance was not permissible as an excuse.

“When a law was broken under the watchful eye of the Queen and her Card Soldiers, a trial would often not be deemed necessary unless requested by the defendant. After all, if the Queen saw it herself, there would be no question as to whether or not a law was broken. And by this understanding, many were sent to beheadings on the spot. 

“But in the case a trial had been demanded by the defendant, the defendant would be sworn onto the stand and several members of the community would be brought forth to testify. The jury, while present to take notes, often played no role in the determination of the case. This was of course because the verdict came after the sentence. Of course, the King had an opportunity to request witnesses, evidence, or even offer his own opinions. But when it came down to the sentence, the Queen always had the say- the only say, and the final say.” 

“So… if I understand correctly, the legal system functions solely based on the decisions and perspective of the Queen, regardless of the evidence, testimony, or actual innocence of the defendant?” The Scarabia student asked before bringing the tea to his lips again.

“That is correct,” answered the housewarden with a smile.

“Then, if the trial has nothing to do with justice, and everything to do with keeping ‘order’ and satisfying the Queen’s whims, how does this constitute a just legal system, with laws that are designed to benefit the people?” asked Xiáng, unwavering in his smile and his tone, “Wouldn’t it be inaccurate, or worse, dishonest, to account the system as such?”

The break in the conversation felt like glass shattering against stone. The color from Riddle’s face drained, as his eyes grew wide. He expected Riddle to fly off the handle in a rage. To sit there, call him insolent. Even go so far as to collar him again. And yet… despite this expectation, Riddle did nothing of the sort. Sure, he stared with an expression of undeniable disbelief but he didn’t immediately scream. He didn’t immediately set fire to the place. Instead, a slow, quiet, almost resistant breath entered his nostrils. His eyes flitted around like a fly, between staring Xiáng in the eye and the teacup in his hand. Another breath entered his lungs before he paused fully. He lowered the textbook in his hands to the table. With a clear attempt to pull himself together, he clamped his eyes shut. His hands wove together with a gesture of regathering composure. 

“Well…” he finally said, opening his eyes, “I suppose if we are to use ‘justice’ by its dictionary definition, in which ‘justice’ is defined by upholding and behaving based on what is morally right and fair, and respectful to the people…”

He paused, clearly fighting with himself.

“Then by the logic you have proposed, and the definitions therein, no. It is not a “Just” system.”

The housewarden then smiled, a mixture of genuineness and cocky attitude, “but it is orderly though, by the circumstances, cultures, and needs of the era.”

The opposing freshman held up his hands, as if to indicate backing off. 

“For sure,” Xiáng agreed, “I never intended to deny that. She absolutely kept things orderly and lawful.”

“...to your point though,” Riddle cleared his throat, “I do have to wonder… what does justice have to do with keeping people in line?”

The freshman hadn’t fully expected to be hit with the same sort of energy that he was dishing out, especially not by the infamous “Rose Red Tyrant” himself. After the times he’d spent seeing Riddle while studying with his classmates, however, he had come to expect a wit and a keen eye for dissecting the things he faced academically. He had reason to suspect that Riddle probably handled himself in similar fashion when it came to other students too. So… on second thought, maybe he should have expected this.

“Where I come from, people are most willing to agree and comply when they don’t have to question if they’re going to die tomorrow… when they know where their next meal is coming from…” he stated, “People tend to be afraid of what they don’t understand, and resistant to what they don’t know...”

He lost his train of thought. The thoughts in his head felt scrambled, but he hoped that what he could convey made enough sense to answer Riddle’s question. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he rubbed his eye. And as he looked back at the housewarden, he noticed an internal struggle occurring behind those usually piercing eyes. 

“Well… even if we don’t agree,” the housewarden side stepped his comment, as if to avoid diving any deeper into that, “I do ask that you try to follow the Rules as you are made aware of them. If nothing else to respect the traditions and culture of our dorm.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ace commented with a groan, “Like he’s aware of literally anything— OW!”

Deuce swatted at the other card soldier, in defense of their friend. 

“Be respectful to our guest,” Riddle chastised him, “At the very least, he’s offered to help study with you, which is welcoming enough. Which– we have carried this on for far too long. We’re collectively getting distracted.”

“...and whose fault is that?” Ace grumbled.

The housewarden shot him a glare, as the Scarabia freshman chuckled lightly from across the table. Flipping to the next page in the textbook, Riddle resumed his explanation, as he began to demonstrate a different method of problem solving for their assignment. None of their heads rolled. And… for once, Riddle’s presence overall felt far more helpful than detrimental. Maybe he was starting to change, even if he was kicking and screaming internally the entire time.

~~~

Tag list: @ramshacklerumble @rainesol @elenauaurs @starry-night-rose @boopshoops

@cyanide-latte @blithesharem @inmateofthemind @theleechyskrunkly @thehollowwriter

@lumdays @twstinginthewind @the-trinket-witch

Lmk if you want added/removed

[strangerthingssteddiebrainrot]

A little ficlet I was just inspired to write at 1am lol

Listen

Despite dating a rockstar, Steve was a pretty private person. Whenever he went with Eddie and the boys on tour, he'd wear sunglasses regardless of the actual weather conditions. Sometimes even a hat if he was really done with nosy reporters trying to figure out what his connection to Corroded Coffins lead singer was.

But it's been a long time since '89 when the band first took off and in the glorious year of 1999 they were finally outed by a reporter disguised as a waiter at the restaurant they were eating at and got a picture of them kissing if the corner of the private booth they were hiding in. Sales and the band's popularity took a hit sure, but so many new fans, freaks and outcasts and people just like them filled the void that they actually bounced back with more popularity than ever before. So Eddie and Steve agreed to do an interview on a daytime talk show, set the record straight and talk about themselves and their relationship openly for the first time. They talked about how high school cliques nearly kept them apart, but the spring break of '86, for all its tragedy and death and near death, brought them together and they worked hard to stay together. A true love story if there ever was one. It was freeing actually, finally being able to be open and Out, and if their love helped people, that was just a bonus.

Which is how no one, not even Eddie or the band knew about Steve's voice. He'd never been a singer, too insecure and beaten down to trust that he was actually good at something besides swinging a bat (and an ax, and Molotov cocktails). It was something he was working on, but change doesn't happen overnight and even now, in his early thirties, he still had never revealed his hidden talent to anyone other than Robin. And like, it's not like she ever said anything either! They sang sometimes back when they lived in each other's back pocket and she never said he was good, so he just assumed he was not terrible! Maybe the fact that she had a crush on Tammy Thompson and her 'muppet giving birth' singing should have been a clue. Steve just thought love made you blind.

So when, during the encore performance of Corroded Coffins latest show, Eddie gestures to him to come on stage, Steve tried to refuse at first. He waved him off laughing, but Eddie was persistent and the crowd caught on, chanting his name to come onstage. So he gave in, and god did he stick out like a sore thumb, light washed Levi's with a navy Henley, glasses on cause he had a migraine the day before from squinting at everything, it the crowd still cheered when he appeared, Eddie smiled at him all dimples and the guys gave an exaggerated slow clap at finally getting him onstage.

Eddie took his hand, the other one still holding his mike, and the band started up a cover of Tainted Love, one of the few songs that both Eddie and Steve agreed kicked ass. Maybe the lyrics didn't really reflect how they feel for each other, but watching Eddie sing to Steve, there was no doubt the man was very much in love. And when he held up the mike to Steve on the second chorus, Steve couldn't help but sing.

And oh, how Eddie's face dropped into open mouth shock, Steve had to catch his hand to keep the mike level. A quick glance showed the rest of the boys looked just as shocked, the music only continuing by pure muscle memory. Steve almost stopped singing, panicked that he was ruining the show with his voice, but the crowd was going wild and he could see the cameras flashing, and Eddie, Eddie was coming in close, the chorus over and he leaned in to Steve's ear and shouted, "don't stop!" So he didn't. And they finished the song together and thank god it was the last song in their set. So when Eddie pulled away and gave his goodbye with the rest of the band, Steve quickly walked offstage and headed to the green room, heart pounding a mile a minute.

It wasn't too long before the rest of the band piled in, and Eddie ran right to him, grabbing his face and kissing him hard.

Finally pulling away after too short a time, Eddie beamed at him. "How the fuck did I not know that you can sing?!"

Mind still a little scrambled from the kiss, Steve took a moment to answer. "Huh?"

Not the most eloquent, but he was still reeling from the loss of those lips against his own.

"Yeah man, when Ed said he was gonna pull you on stage, not gonna lie, I thought you were gonna sound awful." Garath said, earning a smack on the head from Jeff and Martin (unnamed freak).

"Not how I would've put it, but, I thought there was a reason you never sang with us before. So yeah, that was an unexpected surprise." Jeff smoothed over, knowing that so sometimes Steve's insecurities got the better if him, having mediated several fights between him and Eddie in the past.

"Holy shit baby, you were so good! I almost didn't remember to sing cause I was too busy falling even more in love with the most perfect man on earth!" Eddie gushed, gently shaking Steve by his shoulders.

"Cute, but also, get a room guys." Martin laughed. "But seriously Steve, you have a good voice. I don't know why we've been hiring background singers for some of our songs when we could've just had you do it instead."

"Oh, well, I-I don't know. I never thought I was a good singer yeah? Not for like, performing? I just wanted to kinda, ride the high of tonight, if that makes sense." Steve said, blushing and a little overwhelmed at the attention, but trying to embrace it and take the genuine compliments he was getting (something he struggled to do on a daily basis, neglectful parents having left their mark).

"First of all, bite me Martin," throwing his band mate the finger, Eddie was still beaming which softened the blow, the others laughing at him. "and second, Stevie, baby, you sound amazing! Light, but still raspy and sexy as hell." Giving him a peck on the cheek, Eddie whispered in his ear. "Gonna sing for me later big boy? In bed maybe?"

And what could Steve say to that? So he just pulled Eddie in for more kisses, deepening them regardless of the guys complaining.

The next day, the picture that was making waves in the music community was of Steve singing into the mike, Eddie looking at him with starts in his eyes and his face completely lovestruck.

@steddieassheg0es @oakenorcrist

[burningcheese-merchant]

BurningCheese Ficlet for y'all

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[snarky-wallflower]

Guided To His Place

Word Count: 1584 AO3 Inspired by my friend @its-short-for-jackalope's art, which can be found here! Also by my friend @midnightnautilus, whose ficlet can be found here. I found Samuel's arc truly beautiful, and as much as I'm devastated he's gone? I wanted to write my own send off to him, as someone who deeply related to him. I hope you all enjoy it.

Samuel Stratford lies in the grass, the softness of it comforting his back. It's twilight, sweet and true all around him. A peace settles in him, as he looks up at the stars. Shining, brilliant and bright, reminders of home. The stars are familiar, even in this strange place. Shining starlight, up in the sky once more. This place, the end. The place he appeared, once he awakened from his final choice.

He's wandered throughout it as much as he can - recognizing the Paper Stand, the Township, even the Ellen Austin and Lincoln Island. Places he loved, places he made an impact. A place where his story unfolded, now a place for him to walk and discover.

Their echoes.  Now, he rests. It's a strange sensation, being alone. He doesn't know if he'll ever grow used to it. He spots familiarity up in that glimmering cacophony of stars, and feels his shoulders relax. He glows the same as those stars now, golden and warm against the cool night. 

Above him is the Sagitta. Rose, Samuel, Margaret and John. The closest he has come to seeing his friends, his sister. Those stars Rose had named after the four of them, up in the sky. Separated, unable to reunite. Above him, the Satellite, shining out protectively into the dark. A guiding light home. That beauty he laid so many bricks to help create, helping to bring people home.

It's not the true stars or Satellite, of course. But it's still a reminder that his friends are out there, finding their way. He thinks that's still something real, in a way.

A cloak of grief and love covers his heart, as a lump forms in his throat. It's a strange mixture, those feelings, yet they still hold true. He's cried so much since he made his choice. Even now, they start to softly drip down his cheeks, as he thinks of teasing Rose at the Paper Stand, quietly talking with John about the weight of a legacy, of rejoicing with Margaret as she turned that wood to gold, so incredibly proud of her. Masterpieces of memories, fortunate to have ever have made them. They fill him with pride and fondness, rippling through his veins like that starlight across the sky, the love he holds tight to his chest.

John, the man who started as an icon, who became someone Samuel could speak to about his fears of not being enough. Who understood Samuel when he said he still had so far to go. Who Samuel watched choose creativity, becoming more wild and free.

Margaret, his friend, that one who enchanted him with what lived inside her. Her quiet resolve, her determination to find her answers, her own kind of masterpiece. One who he found trust with again, who forgave him for what he had done. Who he spoke and spoke with, trying to build back that original connection once more. Helping her find her way. 

Rose, the one he would have been lost without. The one person Samuel thinks he knows better than he knows himself. The bravest, the best person he knows. Her sheer resolve to make her own legacy, to accomplish whatever she set her mind to. The first person he ever dreamed with, who was the one who reached out with him to find a world that was more than this. 

Memories are what he has in this after, and he thinks of them often. Living in the echoes he made with those he loved so dearly.

There's a peace in his choice, though. Samuel knows it was the only choice he ever could have made. His friends will go on without him. His life was worth them getting to live, to continue their journeys. He acted like the man in his dreams, accomplished great things in the end. There is no greater thing he could have done than make sure that the family he built in brick carried on. 

But, still... "I miss you." His voice is quiet. He misses them so badly that it aches. He could write and write and write, and it would still never come close to capturing the loss that he carries with him now.

But they must go on without him. This is what sacrifice means. It's a sacrifice he cannot ever bring himself to regret. Not when it means that those he loves--John, Margaret, Rose--live on. He did this for them. He would do this for them over and over. He wasn't afraid at the end, no longer needed direction. He knew what needed to happen. In no universe would he have held back from what needed to be done. He saved them, making his final impact.  "I love you." It's easy, to say those words. Reliving those memories, that started all with his notebook. Those connections--those people he holds so dear. His hand reaches out to the stars. Connecting the four of them with his finger, holding their memories and stories in his mind. He's always been a storyteller, after all--that certainly will not stop now. He tells their stories, if only to himself. A fond smile crosses his face, as he feels warm air swoop across his face. He can almost picture them beside him--but only just. 

The world is silent.

It's only Samuel and the stars, at the end of infinity.

A quiet sigh leaves Samuel's mouth, feeling that kaleidoscope of stars all around.

This is a moment, all his own.

Then, a buzz, just above him. He draws his head up, to see an intricately carved box, humming with its own sort of blue-green glow. It's mahogany, the buttons and knobs near the top standing proud and strong. It's near his height, mere inches shorter. He lets out a laugh, recognizing the radio--for that is what she's called--that first and only other being here. He moves to get a better look at her, the other storyteller here. He'd like to call her a peer.  MAIA.  Elation and fear runs through him, as he realises what's happening. "Oh." She does not often call. There's only one reason she's come to his side. "It's time, isn't it?" MAIA lets out a short buzz. An affirmation.  Samuel breathes in. Breathes out. He gets to his feet, feeling the grass shift around him. He rolls back his shoulders, steadying himself.

Once on his feet, he places a hand on MAIA's top.  "Take me there?"  

She lets out another buzz, and-- In a flash, Samuel's no longer in the grass. Instead, he stands in a small room. Marigold-yellow wallpaper covers every wall. A green, plush chair is in one side of the room, with MAIA now rests next to that chair. On her top, now, a vase of roses. Soft blue carpet covers the floor, as a small table holds issues of what he knows to be the Sun. He picks one up and idly flips through it, laughing at the words he wrote with Rose in what feels like so long ago. His journal, a recreation of it, sits besides one of those issues. Trinkets, some he thinks Rose would have loved, strewn across the room.

MAIA starts to hum, a signal. She's picking up on the next story to share.  He's almost nervous.

But why should he be?

They know where to find me. 

Samuel feels a swell of pride, of trust in his friends.  There's agony in no longer being there for them, of course. He thinks he will always feel that pain. There is a part of him that is terrified to listen, to hear exactly what his choice did to his family. That is terrified to hear Rose's grief, the final Stratford still on Earth. His sister, without him. 

But they will persevere.

They always have, and he knows they are strong enough to keep on moving. Margaret, with her quiet inner strength and belief. John with his understanding of the weight of a legacy. Rose, who has survived so much already, his sister who he knows better than anyone else. His harbour in a storm, who will now live on without him. She has people other than him to lean on now, and he prays that will be enough.  They will be enough for each other. They have each other, even without him. They've built their family - and Samuel knows that it will hold fast against the shadows ahead. 

He had always been the storyteller before. The one who wanted so badly to convert passion to action. But now? 

"Tell me how it ends?" 

MAIA buzzes, a unspoken of course. So, Samuel settles in, sitting in the comfortable chair beside her. He can feel warmth exuding from him, something ghostly and true. He leans in, placing his hand on his cheek.  "Rose, Margaret, John..." he muses, "l know you can do this. You're capable of everything. You were worth the world. Protect each other, for me?" He knows they cannot hear him. But he says it anyways, keeping them in his heart. Speaking out to the stars.

A voice starts to play through MAIA's speaker, the blue-golden glow shining across the room, a mixture of Samuel and MAIA's combined light. A sweet tune sounds off before it, a opening of a curtain. Their stories go on, even without him. Samuel smiles.  He's ready. "Somewhere between the comforts of the familiar and the precipice of the unknown, an orchestra performs a score written in stardust..."

[crowleysgirl56]

Wildest dreams wishes for Good Omens Season 3 which will probably not come true but I can still hope hey!

Number 36.

I think it’s safe to say that in order to prevent the end of the world in season 3, Crowley and Aziraphale are going to perform one great big giant miracle (one that is certainly not a tiny insignificant half miracle), together, so big it’ll probably blow out the Lazari chart. But what miracle exactly would that be, and more importantly how will it be performed? Then it struck me. Crowley’s crank shaft.

He used it to kickstart the Pillars of Creation. It then became the last remaining piece of the Bentley in season 1, which he held in one hand, and Adam’s hand on the other, in defiance against Satan. You can’t tell me it won’t play another significant role in season 3.

My vision/prediction/absolutely wild hope is that as the world is falling apart around them, the destruction is coming from the book of life. It lies open with complicated and glowing gear like symbols pouring out of it, whilst the earth crumbles and burns. Aziraphale realises that to reverse what’s happening they have to turn the celestial gears back. But how can they possibly do that?! Crowley will then pull the crank shaft from the inside of his jacket, and slam it into the middle of the book, just like he did with the scroll in the beginning of episode 1 in season 2 (see above gif). He and Aziraphale will place their hands on the crank and then together, will turn it backwards until all the destruction is reversed.

I will eventually write a proper ficlet of this scene, but was so excited I needed to get the idea out there now.

Tell me what you think? Do you think the crank shaft will appear again? And do you like the idea of Crowley and Aziraphale using it together?

[andtheywerefootballers]

WIRTZIALA University AU ficlet!

prompt by @disastrouscarrots

Word Count: 681

Synopsis: University AU in which Jamal's an architecture major whose biggest enemy is math and Flo happens to be his math tutor.

A/N: Idk how it works abroad, so putting a lil context just in case, but next to some lectures you have tutorials (Tutorium) where a tutor (sometimes a fellow student in an advanced semester) teaches the course. And @disastrouscarrots told me Flo slayed his math exams during hs so 💅. Flo doesn't have to be a math major to teach the course btw, ig just be in a math-involving major (engineering, cs, ...your headcanons can go wild here).

(ficlet below cut)

Jamal stares back at the weather app, then switches to his messages. Leroy isn't answering. The hallway is mostly empty with some steps echoing from afar. He stands before the seminar door: First one to show up like an overeager, innocent freshman. 

Leroy promised to tag along for their first math tutorial, he knows Jamal's a lost case who stopped going to the math lecture after the first week. He quit the 500 pages powerpoints filled with confusing equations, a professor who's supposed to speak German, but talks in mathematical lingo and theoretical messes and decided to have a mental breakdown at home rather than in a lecture hall instead. 

So. Leroy knows Jamal needs both academic and mental support after being betrayed by the fact that he has to take a theoretical math class.  For architecture. Like, huh? He didn't sign up for engineering, or administration or whatever. He signed up for architecture: construction, design, creativity…not exactly numbers. The uni counseling didn't brief him on this. 

He hears the door fall shut across the hall, glancing up in hope but finds only a handful of students he doesn't recognize. Coming towards him. Straight in his direction. There's a guy leading the group in front. He has a bag slung over his shoulder, wears baggy jeans and an oversized dress shirt. Silver rings flash around his fingers, a denim chain dangles from his waistband. Appears to be a chill dude. Judging by his short, slightly disheveled ash blonde to brown hair and darting eyes, he seems as lost as Jamal feels. 

Maybe he can bond over their fashionable sense of style and shared hatred over maths… because man doesn't look motivated but quite in the motions.  Quite I don't want to be here, but I have to be. Because I also have to practice this exasperating nerve-wracking subject called maths. Then the stranger meets his eyes— Jamal's heart stumbles and he quickly averts his gaze back at his phone. At Leroy's incoming, 'Sorry, won't make it.'

He doesn't roll his eyes. No. It's fine. Maybe Jamal can make a friend today instead. 

And then the guy passes him by and pulls out keys and unlocks the door, the door to the seminar room, like he's some teacher, like-

he's the teaching assistant, the tutor. 

It swooshes in his mind, any remaining thoughts flying away. He feels stupid for reasons he can't really put into words. And then he feels embarrassed, the back of his neck heating up as he realizes this is the guy who will try to teach you and see you're made of straw and empty space. He peeks down the hall, the urge to run away, hide, pay Leroy to take his math exam overbearingly strong. But then he mentally slaps himself, inhales, rolls his shoulders and braces himself for a challenge. Walks through the door to a medium-sized classroom with tables and chairs arranged in an U-form.  He takes a seat by the side, not immediately at the front, not too far at the back. Just right for an incognito plan to talk and interact as little as possible. 

But his classmates ruin his plan because they sit in groups at the end of the U, or parallel to him and he curses and wishes Leroy was here after all. Because now he's sitting on his own, sticking out like a sore thumb. And he feels the tutor's eyes on him. 

He introduces himself as Florian but he's fine being addressed as Flo as he's "only a semester above you guys, so no need to be formal and all." 

He takes his time to talk, mumbling and correcting himself a lot of times, sometimes fiddling with the hem of his shirt, biting his lips. It's…a little endearing. He's scatterbrained but clear when answering questions, even though there are a grand total of like two being asked for the whole lesson. 

From an outside perspective, Jamal may seem focused: furrowed brows, nodding along, taking notes. 

The notes in question are only doodles though, and his eyes are not following equations, but something else. 

[breannasfluff]

Tbh I think a ficlet of a Poe trying to possess Eldritch Wild and then promptly getting its mind broken would be par for the course, but anything like that happening to the chain is a big no-no I feel, we don’t want the chain hurt just the enemies

Poes vary from era to era. Wind’s however, are decidedly the worst. They have a nasty habit of possession which, aside from making it hard to fight, is miserable on multiple levels. To have one’s movements controlled; to raise a weapon against their fellow heroes? More than one of the Chain still has nightmares from their encounters.

It’s better if the poes possess Wind, in his opinion. He dealt with it on his journey, so knows what to expect. While he struggles to be respected as a fellow hero, the truth is he’s small enough that fighting against him isn’t as much of a strain as, say, Time.

The rest of the group disagree with Wind throwing himself in the path of the poes, but he’s not going to stop. If he can save them this pain, he will.

When a poe appears, it’s instinct for Wind to push to the front of the group and grab its attention. What isn’t expected is for the poe to bypass him and zero in on Wild.

“No!”

It’s too late, the poe sinking into the newest hero’s skin. The group watches, wary, because fighting against him doesn’t bode well.

Wild stands and stares in the middle distance, unmoving.

“Champion?” Wind tries, edging a little closer. “You good?”

The wind picks up around Wild and the nearby water is blown into frothy peaks. Energy rolls across his skin; unseen, but still felt.

“This spirit is lost,” Wild says, and there’s an eerie echo under his words. “It seeks destruction and pain. We will not permit such a creature to continue.”

The Champion shivers—or maybe ripples—and the poe is forcefully ejected. It gives a cry and runs.

Wind’s never seen one act…scared, before.

Wild follows it with a measured pace, then stretches out a hand. The air shimmers and twists around the poe. Lightning crackles and bites, tearing away small pieces. The poe’s cry shrills higher and higher, until Wind claps his hands over his ears in an attempt to block the sound.

Then with a pop, the poe vanishes. Wild claps his hands and turns back to the group. “Ready to go?”

Wind shivers and presses closer to Sky.

[ultimate-shipper-trash-blog]

Pt 1.5 of my little one-shot ficlet (maybe turning into a series)

The last time Lydia saw her dad she was four years old.

Everyone knew the story of Steve Harrington. Rich athlete turned good guy, left his family for a bunch of randoms he met around town. Eventually moving out of town with the town freak, if you asked around you got a different reason why.

If you asked Lydia you'd hear that her parents were in love. Still are since her Pa never moved on.

Lydia only remembers a soft smile, hair that resembles her own, and can sometimes still feel the warmth in his hug.

When Lydia was five years old Steve Harrington loses his battle with Vecna but succeeds killing the fucker once and for all. He's a hero. His family has lost a member.

When Lydia is 25 she is surrounded by her family, commonly referred to as the party, on her wedding day. She stares into the mirror, seeing a reflection of her father staring back at her.

"I wish he was here" she states

"We all do, you know I miss him more than anything in the world" her Pa lays his hand on her shoulder, tears welling in his eyes, a streak of gray is seen across his wild hair.

----------

Then Lydia wakes up on a couch.

She doesn't know what to do. She doesn't even know much about the Upside Down. But she does know how it played out. She knows the steps. She knows she wants to see her dad again. So she does. She can hear him from outside the door complaining about something.

"Steve, you have a visitor" she can hear her Aunt Robin whispering, trying to remain calm.

"In the back room...?"

Lydia gasps. She hasn't heard his voice in so long she forgot what it sounds like. Tears well in her eyes, her body shaking.

"You can't miss her...she's the one in white"

"...right"

The door slowly opens up revealing the face she's seen haunting her her entire life. The face she dreamed of seeing again.

"Hello?" He asks quietly, taking in her appearance, shocked "I don't know who put you up to this but-oompf"

He's knocked down, Lydia's arms wrapped around him as she sobs, laughter escaping through. She pulls off of him slightly taking in his shocked expression, the way his eyes softened just a bit when he sees her.

"Are you ok ma'am?"

Ma'am? Ma'am right ok, she's older than her dad that's fine that's totally cool ok ok ok.

"Ma'am?"

"RIGHT!" she clears her throat "right. Yeah I'm fine. Sorry about" she gestures to their current position "all this"

She doesn't think he's blinked once.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" He sounds worried.

"This is gonna be a long story."

------

Author's note:

See the thing w time travel is that you do one thing it changes everything right? So obviously she can't just flat out say "hey I'm your kid btw you're in a relationship with a guy you just met 6 months ago blah blah you died period." So my brain is trying to figure out how to do the rest in a polite fashion. Think about sitting someone down and explaining "Hey you're my surrogate" too. I'm deciding whether to go the surrogacy route or the adoption route.Obviously, next step would be to bring in her Pa and the party yay!

Let me know if you like this! I love interactions :)

[limerental]

ficletvember 2024 - day 1

it's my fifth ficlet month! I'll be writing a little fic every day of November again this year and once again, these will mostly be witcher related of any and all canons.

starting off the month strong with a yennskier(/geralt) modern au

Fleeing emotional upheaval, a regretful and nostalgic Yennefer waits backstage for popstar Jaskier to finish his concert of the night-- just the way she used to.

One impulsive midday flight away from the last gasps of a fading dream, Yennefer found herself waiting in the wings of a great performance hall, swathed in refracting light and sound.

A cross-armed security guard stood beside her in the alcove beyond the stage. Even with the call she'd made to his handler, Vespula, before takeoff, she'd had trouble talking her way in backstage.

Had had to scroll through grainy photos on social media feeds to point to for proof, suffering the humiliation of his security's blank looks, pitying frowns.

Though she'd said she would, Yennefer hadn't visited this whole tour, even months since the first show. Too busy, she'd said, when he called some nights. Maybe when Ciri's home from break. Maybe after the holidays. Maybe–

From hundreds of miles away his voice crooned and then softened, phone tucked between her ear and the pillows, the master bedroom as cold and empty as it always was now. If he were there, he wouldn't stand for it. He'd make them talk through the cold distance that had grown between them.

Geralt snored down the hall in the guest room, feeling further away than Jaskier did.

His last tour, when they both were freshly on the outs with Geralt and thought themselves better for it, she'd surprised him often enough that his whole team knew to expect her. She'd slip in through some backdoor, shake off small talk with his wardrobe and makeup crew and lie in wait to pounce after the last encore.

Fresh from the euphoric high of performance, Jaskier was always a living furnace, sweat-slick and dripping glitter, Yennefer's grip on his body possessive and consuming. He could cavort across stage, seduce millions with his vapid pop songs and the thrust of his hips, but afterward, she beckoned and he tripped over himself to get to her and they kissed like lovers torn apart and reuniting after far too long.

They kissed like that every night, brazen and thorough, unconcerned who saw.

She ended up with her own security detail, the fans beginning to recognize her, to seethe with jealousy in Instagram comments, wishing they were her.

Cameras caught their heated embraces and their nights out afterward at fine dining and VIP clubs. Photos of the pair were smeared across the front cover of gossip rags. Kissing in sleek evening wear, in the rain beyond nightclubs, in the backseat of cars.

And then, eventually, it had come out that international popstar Jaskier's mysterious raven-haired paramour was a married woman who lived in the quaint countryside and had a teenaged daughter and a doting husband at home, and the whole thing had blown up into the affair of the decade, several high-profile appearances needed to explain the whole thing away.

“No, you see,” said Jaskier, the fool wholly in his element in the midst of spinning a story about his life-long friendship with Geralt, how he had hated her intrusion into his life until he hadn't at all. “Yen and I have some fun. Rarely safe and sane but consensual on all fronts. But Geralt and Yennefer? Those two are destined to be together.”

The stage lights swung in a blinding arc, and the crowd's roar crescendoed. Only a song or two left and then security said he'd slip back this corridor and take a waiting car to the hotel. These days, he turned in early most nights, they said. Don't keep him up too late, he has appearances first thing tomorrow.

As if it had been Yennefer alone who was the impetus behind the sleepless, wild nights from years ago, as if he wouldn't have found someone else to drag along into the spotlight if not her.

These days, they were used to being small, vital parts of one another's lives, to sharing only moments, to knowing their lives unfolded beyond the times they reunited again. Never wholly separate but inevitably apart.

That had always felt good and right. To know Jaskier missed them well enough, loved them dearly, fit neatly back into the family every time, but did not covet the life Geralt and Yennefer had built together. That he had chosen his path apart from that domestic bliss and did not have to feel jilted, unwanted, or secondary.

Waiting in the wings as the last song gave to shouts and applause, Yennefer felt very small.

He didn't see her at first, the shadowed alcove off stage full dark after the blaze of the stage. Only when security stopped him by the arm, stalling his animated flounce down the corridor, did he see her there and grin and throw back his head with laughter.

Glitter on his cheekbones caught the scant light and fuck-- he was beautiful, all popstar surreal and larger than life.

In a breath, he noticed something off in her expression and sombered at once, crowding close to hold her in his arms without asking a single thing.

Clutching him with her fingers caught in his sweat-damp collar, Yennefer thought of the sheaf of legal papers left on the kitchen island beside a vase of flowers from the garden, thought of the empty drawers she'd found upstairs, the quiet of the house closing in around her.

She thought how's that for destined? Destined to slowly dwindle to nothing.

The woman she had been years ago, the one who had kissed him breathless in the wings most nights, would have hurled sharp accusations his way, crafted to cut. If he had stayed with them, then maybe– If he had thought to take his head out of the clouds and join them in that life then–

The skin of Jaskier's neck smelled of sweat and was so warm it burned Yennefer's forehead as she swayed into him and wept.

She had no one to blame but her own misplaced hope.

(And days later, when Geralt found them cocooned together in the hotel room, she did not shout the angry, hurt things that she wanted to, that she would have, and simply took him, meek and apologetic, into their arms.)