#and yes the center stitches are uneven

[queerhawkeyes]

first time wet blocking something other than socks--not sure if it is supposed to be this big but it doesn't fully fit on my mats!

and here's how much yarn I had left:

definitely made the right choice to end the last section a few rows early--kitchen scale said 0 grams.

new shawl. I frogged the lace weight one--I think that would look better in a top down construction as well. yarn is malabrigo mechita in lotus.

[greaseonmymouth]

As you've asked for asks!:

Do you have any quick-and-dirty book/fic binding methods a terrified-of-failure novice could use to bang something out to get over the first collywobbling step of Actually Doing The Thing? (this may be something I've been meaning to ask for ages)

yes! I absolutely do! in my opinion the best quick-and-dirty bookbinding method is a no-glue pamphlet: you don't have to mess with glue or measuring or cutting anything, all you need is your text, some paper, a needle and thread. you can use the same needle to punch holes if you don't have an awl.

this is going to be a little long but that's because I'm going to write out some fairly detailed instructions for an A5 sized pamphlet. If you don't want detailed instructions and think you can glean the necessary info from photos, just skip to the photos! I've also linked tutorials.

for preparing the text to printing, in whatever software you use (word, libreoffice, gdocs, whatever) make sure your document is set to page size A5. make it look readable. then save as/export that document as a straight-paged PDF. now go to the bookbinder JS tool (https://momijizukamori.github.io/bookbinder-js/), and upload the PDF. source manipulation: none printer paper size: A4 display unit (you can ignore, or choose cm if it gives you anxiety that it automatically displays points) printer type: select single-sided or duplex accordingly* rotate paper: ignore flip on long side: check if you are printing duplex and if your duplex printer flips the paper on the long side page layout:  tick folio page scaling: original page positioning: centered ignore the rest flyfleaf: ignore signature format tick: standard signatures. in the length drop down, this depends on the type of pamphlet you are doing. for folio i generally find 4-5 pages per signature a comfortable thickness. if you have 6 whole A4 pages you can still do that as a single signature or you can split it into two signatures 3 pages each. wacky small layouts: ignore this signature info click the generate preview button to see what your PDF looks like imposed! I love this step especially when I'm doing quarto (A6) or octavo (A7) sized books generate output - click this to generate an imposed PDF

for A6 and A7 sized books the instructions are much the same, except for these you make sure the page size is A6 or A7 in your software, and then you choose quarto or octavo instead of folio. for signature length drop down I keep signature length to 1 for octavos typically and 2 for quartos, as this still refers to sheets of paper, and for octavo 1 sheet of A4 paper will turn into 4 smaller sheets in one signature once folded and cut.

*if you don't have a duplex printer you will have to manually turn the paper to print on the other side. I cannot be arsed with this so I bought a printer capable of duplex printing (I didn't have a printer anyway). if you already have a printer check what it can do as you might be surprised and go from there.

now to the pamphlets! you don't need a cover - I have one for the long stitch pamphlet but for the saddle stitch one I didn't bother and just made sure the first page had a title on it. you can always take a different piece of paper and print a cover on or or just use coloured cardstock and create a simple cover, but a cover is not necessary unless you're doing a long stitch pamphlet. all you need to do is to punch holes and start sewing. there are a few different stitch types below, I wouldn't say any of them are more difficult or easier than others, but they do look different so...pick one you like the look of and go from there?

pamphlet stitch (uneven number of holes) I haven't ever done a pamphlet stitch but here's a tutorial for how to do it: https://www.starpointestudio.com/simple-pamphlet-stitch-book-step-by-step/

saddle stitch (uneven number of holes) I realised that what I was thinking of as a pamphlet stitch is actually saddle stitch, as in this A7 pamphlet:

here's a tutorial for how to sew saddle stitch: https://www.bookbindingworkshopsg.com/saddle-stitch-bookbinding-tutorial/ here's a video tutorial: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWHkY5jOoqM (sealemon has a lot of bookbinding tutorials and I know many people who like her videos, I used her tutorial for coptic binding way back when I first made a book but I can't otherwise vouch for the quality as I haven't used her videos)

french link stitch (even number of holes) in this one I used french link stitch which I typically use for thicker textblocks that i'm not planning to use tapes with as the french link gives it some robustness, I used it here because I had never done it before and wanted to try it out. I am planning to take these stitches out and re-sew this pamphlet with a cover now that I've found a suitable piece of transformer fanart to use as a cover:

french link tutorial. it's quite long but it has a colour coded bit towards the end that shows how the thread is supposed to link which i find very helpful to visualise: https://www.handmadebooksandjournals.com/bindings/french-link-stitch-binding/

here's a video tutoral from DAS bookbinding (he is my go to for techniques and he has the most soothing Australian accent as well, though fair warning not all of his videos are for beginners): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4ZPdbaM-Ws

long stitch (even number of holes) for this one I used long stitch and I had a cover. this one is my favourite variation because I can make these pretty and simple covers and the stitch looks nice on the outside as well, so this one scratches the 'i want to make a book' itch for me.

here's a tutorial that also includes a how to on a cover that is different from my cover: https://lccprintmaking.myblog.arts.ac.uk/files/2020/06/Long-Stitch-Tutorial-A4.pdf DAS also has a video tutorial for long stitch but it's like three videos long, maybe watch it later :'D  here's one I haven't watched but seems decent: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XnignTL_wDQ

you can use saddle stitch for this kind of pamphlet as well, that's what I did for dozens of ships and hundreds of souls (https://ashmouthbooks.tumblr.com/post/681587080267202560).

I hope this helped!!

[jamiesfootball]

Grey

Thought I had a good bit for this week's word, then found out most of them are right smack dab near high climax moments or words I've shared before.

As such @jamietarttsnorthernattitude has given the go-ahead and reshare some previously shared snippets.

You're Gonna Go Far Kid

It hits Roy on the pitch in the middle of practice on a grey Tuesday. Weimar, his hell-bent angel of a striker, whips the ball from 30 meters back. Ball hits the net, she celebrates like the fucking hooligan she is, and Roy can barely choke out an excuse to the  attacking coach before he’s fleeing the pitch. He locks himself in the first supply closet he finds. He mourns. He goes home to Jamie. Jamie feeds him an aberration against God. Roy scarfs it down and chokes back the gratitude that Jamie’s still there, petulant and alive and scratching his fork against Roy’s plates while he eats, and not contemplating anything that would snuff that out of the world. Once upon a time, Roy couldn’t have said the same thing. But Jamie isn’t Roy. Roy is so grateful that Jamie isn’t Roy.

The Vacant House Behind Our Home

In the center of the field, where any one of the Greyhounds might step out and witness him, Jamie shucked off his shirt. Below lay the undershirt -- the undershirt that it turned out was not entirely void. Mostly void, but high on the middle of his chest was a patch of shirt that wasn't void at all. It was a grey; a light, watery grey spot that faded in uneven patches, save for a single line that cut through the grey space over his heart. No. Not a line. A drip.

The Leverage AU I'm Not Writing

"You can't cut it down that low or it'll have to grow up from the graft." Jamie yanked the big-scissors back from a deadened stalk. “Then you should’ve swapped me with Keeley,” he hissed. A while ago she'd been gagging over the comms. Her and Ted had a long debate--the kind Jamie would never get away with--about whether she actually had to clean the mark's bathroom as part of her reconnaissance. Yes, the tank was an excellent place to hide stolen jewels; no, she'd never found one there in her life. Jamie wondered if the housekeepers wore maid outfits. Keeley would look dead fit in a maid outfit. He'd look dead fit in a maid outfit. Anything would look better on him than the grey, stiff-collared maintenance uniform Beard had presented without comment. The earbuds made it sound like Roy was right behind him, whispering disapprovingly, "Keeley's on the inside so she can crack the safe when she finds it. And you're supposed to be keeping a lookout on the armed guards. Focus." The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Focus, he said. Like Jamie had the luxury of forgetting that not ten metres away stood a burly man armed with an assault rifle and a blind spot in the cameras. All Jamie had was a pair of big-scissors and a prickly old bastard in his ear. Honestly? He'd rather scrub the bathroom.

Gift Fic

If it weren't for the mud beneath their shoes, the English would pretend rain wasn't wet. If it weren't for the point differential, the Greyhounds would pretend Wembley didn’t happen. And if it was left up to Lasso, Jamie Tartt would never have tried to do a handstand on wet asphalt in the rain.

I Still Feel Like the Same Person I've Been

Jamie blinked blearily as light and shape solidified into light grey fabric with royal blue stitching. He swallowed. Awareness pooled into him at a steady trickle. His face pressed against the seat. The jacket bunched up around his shoulders, tucked all the way to his nose The warm stuffy heat of sleep behind his eyes. The coach wasn't moving. They were in Richmond. He'd slept the whole way to London. The blistering, mortifying heat of what the fuck. He didn't dare to move. The Greyhounds shuffled past him in agonizing silence. Jamie kept his face buried, didn't so much as twitch as he hid his face into the fabric, hoping that some-fucking-how they'd just walk on by. One by one the other men passed his seat at the front of the bus, that horrible, exposed feeling multiplying a hundred-fold with every step. Until there was one left. He felt pinned under the pressure of that gaze, laid bare and skinned alive under the weight of its judgement. He knew, logically, that he likely hadn't fooled it's owner, that the way his eyelids struggled to lay flat and the way his jaw clenched probably gave way the fact that he was just pretending to sleep. That didn't mean he'd back down. They stayed as they were, Jamie Tartt and Roy Kent, stuck in a stalemate to see who would crack and leave the bus first.

Oh God You're Gonna Get It (You Have Not Been Given Love)

Even though he'd just been over the other week, everything just seemed-- --bleaker. The cleaning service had been in, that could explain some of it -- the lack of hoodies and vests thrown about and the absence of trainers piled at the front door. No mugs. None of Roy's books with the spines bent worse than a Beckham goal. But everything else? Grey beige sad. Fucking lifeless, somehow worse than he remembered. A blank slate box -- not a place to store a person. The odor of cleaning products hung acrid and defensive, from the hallway through to the living room. Even the strip of grass out the windows didn't seem inviting anymore. Greenery taunting behind a pane of glass with nothing to beckon outside. Bushes clipped in perfunctory order. Outdoor seating; no sign any of it was ever used. At least the succulents on the table were holding up well. Maybe Roy could grab them. Would that fucking help? He seemed to enjoy the tour Phoebe gave him of the yard -- was he a plant person? Roy didn't know. Didn't seem likely, but then he hadn't thought to ask-- --fuck, he hadn't even thought to ask Jamie what he needed to grab from his house. He picked up one of the succulents. Weightless plastic. Free of dust and life. Fake. "Fuck," Roy breathed out. The house echoed back.

[karniss-bg3]

For Midwinter my Tav would give Kar’niss a fancy new hairbrush and one of those ugly Christmas sweaters (he thinks it’s both cute and funny)

Kar’niss ran his fingers through his freshly brushed hair now free of knots and tangles. He’d smile and hold up the hairbrush he’d just been gifted, the handle crafted of fine, sturdy wood and the bristles soft and dense. He collected his long locks into his fingers and used a hair tie to secure the now smooth strands into a loose ponytail.

“This is a very useful gift, thank you,” Kar’niss murmured. “But this sweater...is it truly a surface tradition?”

The garment, which Tav had helped the drider to put on, was the sweater of all time to be sure. A woolly abomination crafted by the most vile of devils, one would surmise. It was a miracle Tav had convinced Kar’niss to get near the eye sore much less wear it. Loud colors of forest green and scarlet red clashed in a patchwork union that screamed amateur stitching and design. A crude Midwinter tree was crocheted in the center of the chest with tiny, painted bells sewn into the design causing Kar’niss to jingle with every movement he made. Either side of the sad excuse for a tree were a pair of snowmen complete with uneven top hats, blackened coal for eyes, and smiles that were stitched so poorly they were lopsided and almost sinister in expression. It’s only saving grace was that it did provide some level of warmth to the wearer at the cost of being viewable from space. It had to make one wonder if Tav adored Kar’niss or if he wanted to test the limits of the driders patience.

Tav sat and watched his companion, balled fists nestled on either side of their face while elbows were propped firmly on the table below. A Cheshire grin stretched their lips near to their capacity, an amused twinkle glittering in his eye. “Oh yes, everyone is meant to wear something like this at least once. I think you look amazing.”

Kar’niss pressed his lips into a thin line with a sliver of doubt in his expression. Yet if this is what made Tav happy then who was he to argue? “As you say. It itches, though.” He scratched his claws over the front of the fabric with such force it made the inlay of bells jingle violently.

His companion chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t have to wear it for long, don’t worry.”

Satisfied with this promise, Kar’niss wandered over and lowered himself to sit on his belly opposite to Tav. There he would remain for the evening, content in sharing his company, even if he jingled all the way in the process.

[embroidery-pro]

Embroidery Design Disasters and How to Avoid Them

Stitching Serenity: Avoiding Embroidery Design Disasters Like a Pro

Embroidery machines offer a gateway to creative expression, transforming blank fabric into beautiful, personalized masterpieces. However, as with any artistic endeavor, the path to stitching perfection isn't always smooth. Don't despair, embroidery enthusiasts! By understanding common design disasters and their remedies, you can navigate the challenges and achieve flawless results. The Thread of Mishaps: Common Embroidery Design Disasters Birds Nesting, Threads Fraying: The dreaded bird's nest, a tangled mess of thread underneath the fabric, can leave you feeling defeated. Often caused by loose tension, ensure your top and bobbin threads are properly adjusted for the thread weight and fabric used. Additionally, clean and oil your machine regularly to prevent friction and thread breaks. Puckering and Warping: Uneven fabric tension results in unsightly puckering or warping. Invest in the right stabilizer for your fabric weight and technique. Use a hoop large enough to accommodate the entire design without stretching the fabric. Employ techniques like hoop floating for delicate fabrics or tearing away stabilizer in small sections for intricate designs. Skipping Stitches, Uneven Tension: When stitches skip or appear uneven, the culprit could be a blunt or damaged needle. Replace needles regularly, especially when working with metallic threads or thick fabrics. Ensure the needle is inserted correctly and check for thread tension imbalances. Sometimes, cleaning the machine's tension discs can also resolve the issue. Design Misalignment, Colors Off Track: Don't let your design go rogue! Double-check hoop placement before stitching and ensure the design is centered correctly. Verify that the chosen thread colors match your design software's palette. If using pre-wound bobbins, double-check the color before starting to avoid unpleasant surprises. Tearing Fabric, Stitch Penetration: Choosing the wrong needle size and type can lead to fabric tears, especially on delicate materials. Opt for sharper needles for thicker fabrics and ballpoint needles for knits. Adjust stitch density to avoid excessive penetration. Remember, less is often more when it comes to stitch count. Preventing the Unraveling: Proactive Tips for Seamless Stitching Test, Test, Test!: Before diving into your masterpiece, embroider a test swatch on similar fabric with the chosen stabilizer and threads. This allows you to fine-tune settings and troubleshoot potential issues before the real deal. Practice Makes Perfect: Hone your skills by starting with simple designs and gradually progressing to more complex ones. Mastering basic techniques like thread tension and hooping lays the foundation for successful advanced projects. Read the Manual (Yes, Seriously): While it might seem tedious, your machine's manual is a treasure trove of information. Understand the recommended needle types and thread weights for different fabrics and techniques. Learn about specific stabilizer requirements and how to adjust settings for various materials. Join the Embroidery Community: Online forums, social media groups, and local embroidery clubs offer a wealth of knowledge and support. Seek advice from experienced embroiderers, share your successes and challenges, and learn from others' experiences. Don't Fear the Undo Button: Embroidery software often allows you to undo mistakes or edit individual stitches. Don't hesitate to utilize these tools, especially when dealing with small errors. It's better to fix a minor issue digitally than risk a bigger mess on your fabric. Remember, embroidery is a journey, not a destination. Embrace the learning process, treat mistakes as opportunities to grow, and most importantly, have fun! With a little preparation, proactive measures, and a dash of patience, you'll be stitching stunning designs and avoiding disasters like a seasoned pro in no time. Happy embroidering!   Read the full article

[dyrewrites]

Weald and Wen - rage of the fallen

No sparklight greeted Faerai with its eerie glow as she entered the room Nona had indicated. The odd blue lamp hung in the center, from its uncomfortable chain, but it was dark and dim.

Yet light still shined, still lit the crowded space.

It pulsed, in myriad colors, from a shimmering figure that hovered in an uneven shape between the carved bone bed and stalkwood cabinet.

Faerai stood in the doorway, eyes locked to its unstable shape, unable to step closer as a beam of latelight’s purple gloom split through the braided stalkwood shutters of the room’s window. The wispy figure took a crisper shape in that light, a solide shape, a Fyrni shape and Faerai dropped to the floor as it wailed through her thoughts, LEAVE.

 But she could not answer it, could not obey, as the large round rug she fell to stole what breath she held. Flashes of Infae drove her snout into the soft white fur but there were no scents to take from it, and she sighed gratitude into its hairs. 

“Fi’un elleyr,” She whispered to her memories, touching a claw to her earring and the wisping figure gathered the gasps of Breath around it tighter and tighter to form a more solid shape. 

LEAVE, it repeated.

Fresh tears poured down the drying grooves of Faerai’s cheeks as she gazed up at the specter. Its shape, if sputtering along gasps of Breath, were familiar...known. And memories throbbed of round paws she once clasped and dragged through rough hewn halls, the thick waist she tackled, the short tails she yanked...the elegant fur she braided. 

The Fyrni’s eyes did not burn with the same fire they had when she breathed, but Faerai knew her as a friend and could not help but whimper, “H, Haeni...?”

The Breath-born specter twitched then, her eyes focused, and a gentler voice sang, Faerai?

“Yes, Haeni,” She breathed, “We are here.”

No! Faerai must go! Not safe here!

“We are safe, Haeni,” Faerai insisted, her warbled, “Not prey, but guest.”

“We were guest too!” Haeni’s voice, while shouted aloud, came as distant and quiet as a gentle breeze, “It is not safe. Auru are not safe!” She pulsed brighter then, her eyes flashing a solid yellow as her swirling form lit the walls.

“Haeni, calm,” Faerai urged, with voice and paws, “Safe or not, we are here and not leaving yet. Why is Haeni here?”

Haeni’s form stuttered as she waved a paw towards the bed, its blue-white bones gleaming in the light of her Breath, “None to Weave us, so we stay.”

Following her paw, Faerai pinched her eyes against more tears and focused on her friend alone, “How Haeni hunted? Younglings not leave Weald, not leave Shimmerwoods.”

“Sage sent all to City,” she answered, wavering as she did, “Breath-stitched and guarded. Have Elders and younglings and fledglings...but not matter. Auru see us.”

“Sage sent?” Faerai repeated, Papa sent? She fretted as Maeru’s dream bubbled, the memories and pain he shared swelling and melding with Haeni’s wafting grief.

“All wanted to help, to keep warren safe,” Haeni continued, her voice echoing in the tight room,“We came here for a ship...but lights in Auru warren burn shadows and sweet drinks drown stitching and make us sleep.”

“Sweet drinks taste of...fauri syrup?” Faerai asked as the remembered glow of the Mossheart cap shivered through her.

And Haeni’s wispy figure shivered with, her eyes unfocusing to loll in her misty head, “Fauri syrup the color of warm everglows. So sweet it was and the Auru Elder so kind...”

“Elder?” Faerai perked as she scooted closer to Haeni’s ghost, off the fur rug and onto the cold, pressed dirt. “Was Elder name of Nona?”

“Not know name,”Haeni’s eyes refocused on Faerai, hardening with a fierce stare so close to those of her living eyes that Faerai flinched, “Offer us safety, a place to sleep and sweet drinks. We wake up...outside our skin, here, with our parts carved and stitched into bed and blanket. We still feel our shadow but it is fading...as we all are fading...”

Faerai kept her eyes to the dirt, the wispy gasps of Breath she witnessed fluttering through the Rimlet flashing and burning in memory and blood, “All?”

“Long they wait, we wait,” Haeni echoed and her wisping head turned to the window, to the gloomy violets glittering through it, “We cry, we shout, we beg for Lady to see us, to take us but She not hear us.” Turning back, her eyes blinked, forcing invisible tears away as she whispered, “It hurts, Faerai...hurts to be...and not to be.”

“We will Weave Haeni, and all lost Fyrni,” Faerai told the dirt, voice firm and clear even as uncertainty prickled her skin.

Haeni flickered, “Faerai is Weaver?”

Clogging her claws with dirt, Faerai raked them through the floor as she met Haeni’s eyes, “We are.”

Haeni wisped then, in a gasp she vanished and Faerai’s ears twitched toward a click and tap growing in the hall behind her.

“Are you well, little one?” Nona asked from the doorway, “Sound carries well along these walls and I heard voices.”

“We are fine,” Faerai snarled.

“Oh, your sparklight is low,” Nona cooed, tapping her cane against the wall. The bulb burned brighter and she smiled, her teeth gleaming in its cold glow, “We’ve had some trouble with debris, but the sparklights keep them at bay. A corelamp in every room would fair better, of course, they can’t seem to stay whole in that light...but it’s been a bit harder to procure the right parts for those these past turns.”

“Debris,” Faerai asked from the floor, her eyes locked on the empty space Haeni yet occupied, hidden though she was.

“Leftovers, refuse, the unneeded and unwanted,” Nona offered, voice like syrup until she spat, “Trash.”

More dirt clogged Faerai’s claws as she tightened her grip in the floor and, easing her breath, she forced her voice to an even tone, “We can fix.”

“You can what?” Nona asked, leaning against the stalkwood dresser.

The Auru’s hunger was sharp in Faerai’s nose, and contempt soaked her voice as she explained, “Auru’s...trash. We will take it out.”

Nona eyed the empty space before she narrowed her gaze at Faerai, “You can rid us of the maddening visions?”

“We can,” Faerai said, with her teeth tight and her eyes down.

Pushing off the dresser, wide smile stretching her thin lips, Nona sighed, “Well, had I known bluefurs capable of such things, I wouldn’t have let that last group pass through so quickly.” 

“When,” Faerai snapped, spinning to face the eldery Auru.

And her glare shocked Nona back a step, stuttering her words, “A, A cycle or two past”

“And?” Faerai pressed, pushing Nona further into the hall.

“They...they appeared as a party of Auru fawns with a single adult to lead them,” She answered, “but I’d banned the eating of blueflesh when I took this shell, it, it causes madness in is, sings to us, and my herd is not yet clean of their addiction…so I put the bluefurs on a cheln.”

Closer Faerai stepped, the scent of the Auru’s fear begging her lips to spread, “How did Auru see through stitching?”

“Our sparklights,” Nona gasped, backing further. “Their shadows were darker than they ought to be, but that could have been the brighter heartlight that turn. But then the sparklights flared, it couldn’t have been more than a beat, but their disguise slipped and I saw them. Truly saw them.” Nona’s fear bled away then as she slid her eyes up and exhaled long and slow, “I’d never seen a live one up close before...out of their false fur.”

“And never will again,” Faerai growled as she shoved the Auru against the wall and stormed past her. Delgrij’s voice then sang as she entered and fled the larger room but she ignored it, glaring at every sparklight she passed. So many, she thought as she sought open air, air where her Song would carry further, would touch every scrap of Fyrni fur and chip of bone yet remaining in the Rimlet, too many…but we will Weave all. We must Weave all.

The center of the stone and cap pavillion was emptied and quiet as she arrived, but all too perfect for her needs. Jaw set, she searched its ceiling and found the apex of the dome. Bored through the sponge, and fit with clear, shimmering glass was a circular window that let all of the Heart’s light through; full and deep in gloomy violets beyond the storm.

Faerai glanced to the space her shadow should have blinked, should have rippled...and her confidence wavered. The sparklights of the Rimlet were dimmer, weaker than those of the monster’s tower, but still they sapped, still they bit. Still they stole her da from her.

No, she fought the worry, the dread, not need da. Breath is here, Lady is here, we are here. Song still sings, need only to join, She held the violet light of the Heart in her mind then, closed her eyes and listened. 

But, among the hollow shells and bloodied stones, the Song was a chaotic howl and she struggled to find melody in its chaos. It bubbled and bled in scattered notes through the Breath and though she hummed with it, chasing its fitful rhythm, her blood itched and her skin prickled, aching for a connection that refused to come. 

Ozma stuttered then, at her feet, without eyes to gaze or voice to soothe, it had nothing to offer its charge…but it had no need. The Speakers pulsing in Faerai’s Breath were enough, incensed as they were by the shared agony around them, they clawed from her throat in a rasped and throaty dirge. Ozma rippled and spiked with the unfettered rage of that sound, metling and bubbling as Faerai’s voice echoed with too many others to howl through the Rimlet…and into every open shell. 

The words themselves were buried, but the Breath of those lost to the blades and bellies of the Auru heard it still, and they rushed to add their voices to her chorus.

Gasps of Breath emanated from the stones and flowed in tattered streams from the shells to jitter and writhe towards a tormented Breath and a growled Song. They swirled around the young Weaver, building in color and speed, to form a fresh shell, a bright shell, a shell of pain, of anguish, of anger and hate. The Weaver’s Song shifted as they circled her, rising in pitch and deepening in timbre, until it broke into an echoed chorus. Lyrics flowed then, from the Weaver and the Speakers within her, and Sang above the aria of the moaning dead.

MYR, ELORAE UN FYNET HY 

OREL FYTAN HYUN, ELORAE, UN FYNET HY

The Fyrni Breath circling Faerai quickened, it pulsed and it shouted and she lost herself to it, to its rage, as she repeated the verse to Weave them through her Breath and into the Lady’s. But the ones already inside her wanted more than release for their dead, more than peace. They wanted vengeance and their voices howled with it, stretching their Breath further, to reclaim what the Auru had no right to take. 

MYR, ELORAE UN FYNET HY 

OREL FYTAN HYUN, ELORAE, UN FYNET HY

NEI FY HYUN

NEI FY HYUN EL FEN

NEI EL FEN

Auru voices shouted and screamed from the interior of every shell, adding their terror to the elegy as each speck of Fyrni blood, each shaft of bone, scrap of leather and tuft of stolen fur ignited.

The fires burned cold but the sound of their gathered horror curled Faerai’s lips high as the Breath within her moaned and the swirling lost around her pulsed. Breath-born specters took shape in that whirlwind of singing Breath, then brighter and brighter they pulsed, masking the Weaver at their center as the Auru outside of it wailed. All the colors of the Breath flashed before the whirlwind exploded in ice-white light to blind all around it.

And Faerai’s Song faded with that light, gasping with a choke as she collapsed to all fours onto the cold, stiff stone. 

Delgrij had her before she took her next breath, kneeling beside her as she laughed. But her laugh was devoid of mirth and he gaped at her, the fear in his eyes mirrored in the eyes of gathered Auru. Still he held her closer, petting the frazzled fur of her head as she fell limp and silent.

“What was,” Nona’s voice cut with the raised branch of Delgrij’s hand and though she snarled, she kept her distance and motioned for her her to do the same.

With Faerai cradled in his arms Delgrij shuffled back into Nona’s shell as the elderly Auru addressed the crowd in the singsong language of her herd. Inside that shell the blues of the sparklights were dimmer than they had been and Delgrij eyed the sleeping sprout as he made for the borrowed room. A room nearly empty–the fur rug, stalkwood cabinet and a puddle of bloodied down all that remained–and, after making the sprout as comfortable as he could, he left to confront their host.

[satanfemme]

[ID: a 7 panel black and white comic drawn in pen and depicting a conversation between jesus and doubting thomas. jesus is dressed in loose jeans and a t-shirt. thomas is dressed in a tank top with a binder visible underneath. both are middle aged men. panel 1: jesus’s torso as he lifts up his shirt. he has uneven top surgery scars cutting across his chest horizontally, nearly meeting in the center. the scars, including the scars around his nipples, are slightly stretched but still fresh with visible stitches in some places too. he has sparse chest hair centralized around his nipples and stomach. jesus says, “my bandages are off.” panel 2: thomas is crouching downwards to look at jesus’s chest closely. thomas looks impressed and says, “no way!” panel 3: thomas looks suddenly unsure, holding a finger up to his mouth. meanwhile jesus is in the process of taking his shirt the rest of the way off, momentarily obscuring his head. thomas asks, “are your drains gone too?” to which jesus replies, “yeah.” thomas asks, “can I touch?” jesus responds, “are your hands clean?” thomas says, “yeah”. panel 4: jesus pops his shirt off and holds it above his head. he’s now fully bare from the hips upwards and is smiling warmly. he answers thomas’s previous question saying, “then yes”. panel 5: an extreme close up of jesus’s torso. thomas’s left hand is placed flat to jesus’s right breast. thomas’s right hand is lightly touching jesus’s left breast with just the knuckles of his first finger. there is fabric from no specific source framing the side of jesus’s torso, and this panel is drawn in a slightly more detailed style than the previous.

panel 6 and 7: both drawn in even more detail and with more values than the last. these panels are placed directly next to each other, and are filled with more fabric that blurs the edges between the two drawings. although both panels are extreme close ups showing only jesus’s post-op chest and thomas’s hands touching it, panel 6 is clearly modeled after the oil painting “the incredulity of saint thomas” by matthias stom. and panel 7 is modeled after “the incredulity of saint thomas” painting by caravaggio. what was a side wound in the original oil paintings has been replaced by jesus’s healed surgery scars, and with thomas only touching the surface of jesus’s skin. there are three disembodied speech bubbles over these panels, reading as follows. 1: “hey, jesus?” 2: “yes?” 3: “I think I might want top surgery too.” End ID]

something about seeing other trans people, and realizing what’s possible for yourself too.

[sweetwritertanya]

Dressed Up For Halloween (Jungkook)

Summary: You have to work on Halloween and you go dressed as a character your boyfriend likes very much. You are not ready for how worked up he was once you got home.

Warnings: SMUT! There will be: erotic body touching, boob-job, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (be safe out there!), doggy-style, aftercare.

Word Count: 3181

The idea came to you early in the month, when you were working at the coffee shop your boyfriend and his friends always like to come to, being close to their company and discreet enough that they could enter in small groups without being recognized instantly. There was still the one or another who recognized them, but always manageable. As you came with a bunch of drinks that they ordered to their table, you realized they were planning a movie marathon to get them in the Halloween spirit. And amongst all the movies the group discussed about seeing, Jungkook was very fixated on watching one in particular, saying the name over and over until they agreed it was on the list: The Nightmare Before Christmas.

You made a mental note of it, kissed him on the head, to which he scrunched up his nose as cheeks grew pinker, and went back to do your job.

A quick order online, a trip to the shop to buy some fishnet tights and a new pair of black heel boots, and your outfit for this Halloween was all set up. Not only would your boyfriend appreciate it, it was a good choice for you to wear to your work place, since your boss as asked the employees at the coffee to wear a costume on the 31st, as a way to please costumers.

Halloween came around rather quickly and, much to your frustration, Jungkook actually had half of the day off. He was currently on the living room, playing games in the big screen tv. And, of course, you had the evening shift at the coffee shop, thus you wouldn’t be able to stay with him.

So, here you were, in the bedroom, putting on the colorful dress with mismatched patterns, the fishnets tights and the boots, letting your hair down to resemble the character the best it could, some elongating mascara for your eyelashes and a deep red lipstick. Apart from the blueish skin and all the stitches, you actually resembled her quite nicely. If they ever saw the movie, everyone would certainly recognize who you were.

You get out of the bedroom and into the living room, your boyfriend currently with his back to you, headphones on and focused on the busy screen in front of him while you walked behind the couch in the direction of the door.

“I’m leaving, Kookie. See you later tonight, okay?” you say goodbye with a resented voice.

“Hum? Oh, okay, I-” Jungkook takes off his headphones that fall around his neck as he turns to look at you.

You almost miss his reaction while you grab the coat from the closet at the entrance. The way those round bright eyes enlarge so greatly you can see the full ebony iris, a hint of recognition and astonishment behind that sparkle, how his lips fall apart in the tiniest of openings, straight and thick eyebrows raising up in his forehead. His body sits frozen in the couch, only really reacting when he sees you putting on your coat with a shy smile on your lips.

“You, huh…!” he gets up in a jump, letting go of the controller in his hands and coming to stand in front of you, eyes roaming up and down your voluptuous figure. “You’re dressed up as Sally. You dressed up for Halloween.”

“Yeah” you respond, flattered by the way his eyes keep lingering at you in interest. “My boss told us to bring our best outfit to work on the coffee shop. So, I’m going as Sally.”

“It’s so pretty” he murmurs, almost in a daze until he looks back at your eyes and corrects himself. “You look so pretty, Y/N. As always.”

You giggle at his compliment and lean in to give him a long peck on those uneven lips, adoring their warmth of softness against your own.

“Thank you, baby. I’ll be back before eleven at night” you inform as you step backwards and turn to go out the door.

“What, wait!”

Jungkook stops you by getting a hold of your hand, keeping you from opening the main door and instead you stand back in front of him, with raised eyebrows in surprise and confusion. You recognize the look of disappointment in his eyes, a slight pout already taking over his larger lower lips in the cutest of ways.

“You need to go? Like… Like right now? I only just saw you in your costume.”

“Well, I told you I had to work today, Kookie. And, yeah, I’ll admit I chose this costume because I knew you would like it, but that was before I knew I had to work the late shift” you explain.

But he is not really keen on letting you go and it shows when he effortlessly pulls you close by your hand despite your hefty weight, attaching his hands to your waist and back while his face gets hidden at the crook of your neck. His breath hits your skin as he speaks, creating goosebumps before he kisses it.

“I don’t want you to go. I wanna be the Jack to your Sally” he whines.

As he kisses up your neck and across your soft jaw, you struggle to remain focused and responsible, when in reality all you wanted was to ditch your work and stay home with him.

“Baby, I can’t. I need to go now, but I’ll be back. Just wait for me, okay? I’m all yours then” you assure him, sneaking past his arms with heated cheeks and chills down your spine.

“Promise?” he sulks, albeit letting you go as you open the door.

“Promise.”

He would hold you up to that promise.

As soon as you came back through the front door, barely closing it behind you, he jumps out of nowhere to hold you tight against his muscular arms. You yelp at the abruptness of it all, your purse falling out of your hands as his arms wrap around you like bindweeds, his lips regaining their position across the skin of your jaw and neck as if they never left.

“How was your day?” he asks in a whisper between the kisses at your pulse point, as if it was just a normal conversation.

It takes you a few solid seconds for you to get a grip and process what was happening, realizing he asked you a question you had yet to answer.

“It… It was fine, I think. What… what’s happening?” your confusion is more than evident in your voice as you regain your balance by holding on to Jungkook’s delightedly strong arms.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you since you left” he confesses, leaning back just to stare at your face while his cheeks and earlobes glow red. You find it so puzzling, how he could just jump on you like that and then be this shy when actually looking at you. It made your heart flip. “How pretty you looked. How I wished you would’ve stayed. I couldn’t focus, I didn’t even play my game, I was letting my team down so I logged off.”

“It’s… It’s just a cute Sally outfit, Kookie” you say, blinking as you keep your gaze on his, large hands still holding you close by your lower back.

“It just suits you so well. A-And not just your body! Your personality as well. I never realized it until today. You are my own little Sally who treats me as if I was the center of your world and I never got to show how much I thank you for it.”

You bite your bottom lip and tilt your head at him, wondering how a Halloween outfit could remind him of this, of how much you adored him. But you weren’t about to stop him, for sure.

“Well” you shrug, with a warm smile. “Show me, then.”

He giggles and you chuckle back until the sound dies out just a moment before your lips meet, engaging in caresses that have you standing on your feet and tremors run down your back while you lean in to him. He holds you close and tight, his hands roaming your curvaceous body and brushing over every inch they could, from your rolls to your fluffy bits, squeezing and folding.

You are melting into his touch, heart jumping out of your chest, when his tongue flicks at your top lip, requesting your permission. You gladly give him entrance as you open your mouth and allow him access to every single crevice, tongue twinning with yours making your shudder. He tastes like a spicy nectar that sets your whole body on fire, effortlessly doing so and instigating breathless moans from you when his lips close around your tongue and he sucks on it.

You throw your head back in order to breathe and he attacks your neck instead. You don’t even realize it, but he has taken off your coat, leaving you in the costume’s dress, and is slowly guiding you to the couch. Once your bum hits the back of the couch, your hands grasp at the solid item while his hands found themselves just underneath your breasts.

“As much as I love this dress, can I take it off now?” he questions, one hand already travelling around your back searching for the zipper.

“Yes, please” you authorize, breathless.

He unzips the long zipper at your back while you kiss at his beautiful neck, feeling beneath your lips as he swallows and sighs heavily. Once he does it, he brushes the sleeves down your shoulders and arms, the fabric of the dress gathering at your wide stomach. You stand in order to pull it the rest of the way down and Jungkook takes advantage of your distraction to pull his hoodie off his body in an elegant move.

When you throw the dress away, standing now only in your fishnets and black matching underwear, you look back at him to find him shirtless, strong sculptured muscles on display and your fingers twitch and inner muscles of your belly contract at the sight. Subconsciously, you lick your lips while he takes in your feminine shape, the way your body looked so incredibly soft and warm and welcoming.

“I really love your body, so much” he confesses in a breathy whisper. “Especially these.”

Jungkook’s hands attach themselves to the malleable fat of your breasts, cupping them and watching his fingers sinking in to the flesh, adoring the way he could barely hold them in the palm of his hands. Your back arches into his touch without your control and he begins teasing at your puckered peaks, brushing his thumbs on top of them and tweaking them as if tunning an old radio. You moaned and squirmed, this unbelievable tension forming deep down inside.

With hooded eyes, you follow the lines of his abdominal muscles down with your digits, adoring their hardness that contrasted so much with your softness. Reaching the edge of the sweatpants he was wearing, you can’t help but notice the line of his manhood, growing ever more noticeable.

“Let… Let me try something for you, baby” you decide, having an idea.

Taking hold of his wrists and bringing them down, you grab his shoulders and make him spin so he is the one against the back of the couch now. Slowly, you kiss his neck and descend down his heated body, taking in every shaking breath and gasp as you went. Soon you are on your knees, facing the tent that had formed on his pants. Pulling the sweatpants and boxers down to his ankles at the same time, you are met with his engorged and pulsing dick, crown pink and throbbing the more you looked at it.

“W-What are you- Ohh!”

Jungkook’s question is answered even before he finishes it, as you take hold of your breasts yourself and place them on either side of his cock, pressing into him. With curious eyes, you look up at him, only the tip of his cock peaking through your cleavage. He is blushed and buggy-eyed, breathing through his parted lips.

“Feels good?” you ask.

“Y-Yeah. Very much” he assured you.

And so, you continue with this new technique, getting a hold of it as you study his reactions. He liked when you pressed your tits together, smothering his cock in between them, and started to move them up and down repeatedly. The tip that rarely got to disappear into your cleavage seemed left out, so you took it upon yourself to lick at the little crown and, when you felt his legs shudder at that, you even began to suck and take it into your mouth the best you could, tongue swirling around it.

“A-Ahh… Y-Y/N, come here!”

He pulls your body up smoothly by your arms, squishing you into him as he kisses you deep and passionately, tasting himself on your tongue. He swirls you two around and, once more, you are the one against the back of the couch.

“Let me return the favor” he murmurs against your bruised lips.

Falling to his knees, you squeal as he begins leaving deep kisses alongside your tick thighs, hands caressing the sides of them as his head made its way in between them, kissing up the inner part. His fingers hook around the fishnets and the panties you were still wearing, pulling them off swiftly when you lift your rump to help him do so.

His strong hands grab you by the knees and push them apart, revealing your needy core to him. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to delve his head in, mouth coming in contact with your folds and tongue delving in between them, flicking the drenching silky-smooth flesh. Your body jolts at that first touch and you cry out, one hand of yours clawing at the couch while the other grasps at the fluffy hair on top of head. He starts moving his tongue, up and down your slit, swirling it around your hole and you can’t help it, you are pushing him in, wanting more and more. Your pussy is clenching under the amount of unbelievable tension that has formed, as if it was a giant knot that continuously has its strings being pulled, bound to crumble eventually.

Jungkook’s hands keep your thighs steady as they struggle to not suffocate him, your body resisting the urge to close them around his head. He keeps slurping on your juices and moving his face around in the most infuriatingly pleasurable way, making you moan and whimper out loud, his nose rubbing at that incredibly sensitive button every time he moved.

Your whole body felt like it was catching fire and you could feel your insides clenching around nothing as he tirelessly persisted. You wanted – no, you needed – more.

“Kook…! Jungkook, stop” you say, and he leans back to look up at you, dark blown-out eyes and red lips coated in your essence. “I want you, now, Jungkook.”

He smiles as he gets up, almost smugly, before asking you to turn around with a twist of his wrist. You place your forearms on the couch’s back to brace yourself and present your ass up to him, wiggling it as your legs kept creating some friction for your throbbing center. You mewl as Jungkook’s body bends over yours, his torso warming up your bare back and arms wrapped around your protruding stomach while his length rubbed against your slit.

“Ready?” he asks before kissing at the back of your shoulder.

“Yeah” you respond.

He enters you then, slowly inch by inch, as if savoring every moment, every feeling of your walls stretching out for him as he delved a bit deeper. When he reached balls deep, a tremor cursed through your body as his tip was placed against your cervix, the most stirring feeling cursing through your body and short-circuiting your brain.

You can tell he is trying to take it slow, kissing down your back as his hips thrusted back and forth in strong and deep movements, but not quick. It was still enough to have you gasping at every time he reached deep, the tension building leisurely. But once he finished kissing the skin of your back, standing back up and placing his hands on your wide hips, watching your skin jiggle every time he plunged into your tight pussy, the rhythm accelerated. And your hips started to move too, meeting him halfway as you raced to your end too.

“Ahh… Faster, Jungkook! Fast, baby, faster” you beg in a whiny voice, backing your hips up into his.

His answer, rather than words, ends up being a grunt and his subsiding actions. Jungkook leans back down above your chest only for his hands to come and squeeze at your hanging tits, while his hips snapped faster and faster against yours, his twitching shaft dragging against your walls persistently and stimulating all the right spots as it did so.

The sounds are lewd to say the least, your breathless moans and his grinding groans, the rapid sound of skin against skin and the squelching, revealing exactly how immensely drenched you were for him. Your back arches and you lean your head against the couch as you feel the edge approaching with each push of his cock against your cervix, crown finding that particular spot that made you an absolute mess.

Jungkook pinches and rubs at your nipples as he struggles to keep the human-defying quick thrusts, only to succumb to his own need and release his hot seed in several pumps into your core once he felt your walls collapsing impossibly tight around his cock, sucking him dry.

Both of you reach your climaxes at the same exact time, you crying out his name while he bit down on your shoulder and squeezed your tits so tightly you had to check the next day if he left marks. You felt his warm thick essence fill your womb as your body shook with the waves of absolute bliss crashing down on you. It took you both a while to regain control over your bodies.

Jungkook slips out and you hear him running out into the kitchen. You turn around in time to see him come back with a towel in his hand, a guilty expression on his bashful face.

“Sorry. Here, to clean up.”

He hands you the towel and you gently clean the juices running down your legs and the few drops already on the floor.

“No worries, I had every intention of taking a shower once I got home, anyway” you appease him.

Jungkook brings you in for a hug and kisses your temple before starting to gather the clothes thrown on the floor.

“Can I join?”

You chuckle.

“Of course.”

It was in the middle of a very relaxing shower that you hear him gasping loudly and, worried, you look back at him.

“What is it?”

“Oh no… After today, there is no way I can see The Nightmare Before Christmas with the guys ever again!”

[andsewingishalfthebattle]

I'm a new cosplayer and I want to do Kuma from Afro Samurai. I'm making the head out of paper machete (several layers) but I'm having a hard time wrapping the fabric around the head. My first attempt was the beach ball method, which came out uneven and the creases were very visible. What kind of fabric and technique should I use to getting tight fur look around a large round object? Thank you!

Hi, and welcome to the wonderful world of cosplay!

So if I'm understanding correctly, you already have the papier-mâché sphere to use as the support structure, and you're just having trouble with the fabric cover, yes?

There are really only two good options for making flat fabric into a spherical shape. One is to sew it in wedge-shaped sections like the parts of a beach ball, which it sounds like you've already tried. Generally the best way to keep the seams from showing with this method is to use a fabric that has a deeper pile (such as plush velvet or faux fur) that you can pick out from the stitching and fluff up to hide the seam lines, like so:

(photo from fabric.com)

Any fabric with a smooth surface is going to show seam lines to some degree. If your thread matches well, the fabric is pulled tight, and your seam allowances have been butterflied open and pressed flat, this may not show much from a few feet away; however, some types of fabric (especially thicker ones that compress when stitched) will still show indentations at the seams, no matter how careful you are.

The way to cover a sphere in fabric with fewer seams is to use a very stretchy fabric, which you can fit over the curve by brute force rather than geometry. With this method, you may want to glue the fabric down rather than just sewing it, so the pressure is distributed throughout the fabric instead of pulling on a single seam that might tear. You might also need to paint the base structure or double-layer the fabric to keep the papier-mâché layer from showing through, since stretching the fabric pulls the threads farther apart and can allow light to bounce through to the bottom layer (especially in flash photos).

With Kuma, there is a distinct demarcation right through the middle of the head, so you could use stretch fabric to cover two hemispheres and join them together in the center, since any indentation there will look intentional:

There is one additional method that may work depending on what material you're covering the sphere with. With some kinds of fabric, you can lay the material over the sphere, cut curved notches into it to create the geometry needed to wrap around, and then very neatly glue it down exactly edge-to-edge so that there's no overlap. This method works best with nonwoven fabrics like polyester fleece or thick felt that won't unravel if edges are left unfinished. It eliminates seam lines that would wrap all the way around the sphere and puts all the material on the same plane, so there are no lumps caused by overlapping layers. It does, however, require very careful cutting and gluing.

You can do this method in hemispheres, as well. The overall shape of the cut fabric will look something like this:

...with the edges of all the tabs lining up exactly as they wrap around the hemisphere.

Of course you can do this method with sewn darts, too (it's similar to the beach ball pattern), but then you have the same issue with seams showing.

I know there are a lot of cosplayers out there who have built similar designs for fursuits or mascot characters, so if anyone else wants to chip in with a good method or tutorial, feel free!

[sha-nwa]

Rating: General Audiences

Word count: 1072

Summary: 

If I wished myself a superpower I would make this moment last for hours

Or, Marinette deals with the fact that she will someday lose her memories, and Adrien is there to comfort her.

A/N: hi hello this is my very first fic!! based off the song photograph (cody fry). big thanks to @anna-scribbles, @chatnoirinette and @marikittynoir for hyping me up enough to post ily guys 🥺

Photograph

Marinette sat curled on the couch, knitting needles forgotten in her lap. Across the room, she watched Adrien play with his hair as he admired the sunset. After putting dinner in the oven, he’d gone back into their room to wrap himself in the duvet before settling on the window seat. The golden rays bounced off his face, making his skin glow and his eyes sparkle. Marinette used to wonder if he modeled subconsciously, but had learned that awe was a natural expression for him. He couldn’t help but soak up the beauty in everything he saw, and echo it back into the world. As quietly as she could, Marinette slid from her spot on the couch and snapped his picture.

The click shook Adrien from his daze. “Like what you see?” He smirked.

“Maybe,” she said, blush giving her away. She took the polaroid from the camera and began to fan it out. “Sometimes I just… Wanna keep these moments, you know?” She looked down. “Of us. Of our life, like this.”

Adrien stood and swept an arm out, bowing. “My lady?”

She took his hand as he spun her, laughter bubbling up in them both. He pulled her close and she wrapped her arms around his torso. They began to sway slowly in the center of the room, socked feet on shag rug. Adrien began humming into Marinette’s ear and she smiled-- they’d done this hundreds of times. At parties when they were fourteen, on rooftops at midnight to avoid saying goodbye, and in bedrooms on tiptoes as parents slept soundly. At this point, dancing with Adrien was second nature to Marinette. She wished she could remember every single time they’d danced together so she could replay the memories in her mind like old movies.

Memories seemed so precious these days-- since becoming guardian, Marinette knew she’d have to give all of them up someday. She knew every new memory she made had a shorter shelf life than the one before. Usually, it encouraged her to make the most of every day she had with the people she loved. But sometimes, the thought of giving up everything she had ever known was just too much to take in. Sometimes, it just hurt.

Marinette nuzzled her face into Adrien’s shoulder, trying to feel as much of him in this moment as she could. Trying to sear right now into her memory as deep as it would go. His heartbeat was steady. The way he held her was safe. He smelled like home.

She gripped him tighter.

Adrien nudged her forehead with his nose. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she nodded into his chest. “I just-- sometimes it feels like my life is flying by, and every moment I spend with you is also a moment I’ll one day have to give up, and sometimes I feel like I’d give anything just to freeze time for a little while. Just to keep you a little longer.” She swallowed, trying hard not to let her emotions get the best of her.

Adrien rubbed small circles into her back, and she felt the tension leave her body instantly. “Marinette, you will never have to give me up. I’m gonna be here the whole time. And we are going to live a whole life together before that day comes.”

“But that’s it, isn’t it?” She shook her head into his chest. “We’re going to have years together, and then I’m going to forget all of them. I don’t want to forget what it’s like to be in love with you,” there was a small wet spot on the front of Adrien’s shirt now.

He kept rubbing circles into Marinette’s back, and she sank further into his touch. She didn’t ever want to forget what it was like to be here with him, to love him. She didn’t want to forget falling for him at fourteen, fighting by his side, falling for him again, and building a life together. And she didn’t want to forget all the things that were to come-- the kids, creating the family Adrien never had, and growing old together. And after all that, she didn’t want to leave him to remember it alone, either.

“Marinette, do you remember the first scarf you ever made me?”

His question broke her from her thoughts. “Yes,” she laughed. “It was so awful. The stitches were super uneven, and it took me way longer than it should have. I think it was actually the first knitted piece I ever finished.”

“Yeah, and I loved it even more when I found out it was from you. But how many scarves have you made me since then?”

“Oh gosh. Fifty? Too many to count.”

“And if I asked you to make me one right now, how long would it take you?”

“Like two days, tops. I could do that now without even paying attention. I could do that and beat you at UMS at the same time.”

Laughing, he hugged her tighter. “Yes. You absolutely could. You have had so much practice knitting-- and beating me at UMS-- that your fingers can do it reflexively. They know how to create and play without your brain having to work at all.” He was quiet for a minute. “I think, after it happens, loving will be like that. Like muscle memory. You and I will have had so many years of loving each other, it’ll be like breathing. Even if your mind doesn’t have the memories to hold on to anymore, I think you’ll look at me and remember how to be in love.”

She looked up to see glistening eyes that matched her own. “Like breathing?”

“Yes, My Lady. Like breathing.”

Marinette rose on to her toes and pecked him on the lips. He kept his forehead pressed to hers, and Marinette thought how familiar it was to feel his breath on her face. Every time they kissed, every time they saved each other from an akuma, every time they danced. He was right-- loving him wasn’t something she had to remember how to do. Loving him was something she couldn’t stop if she tried.

“Chaton?”

“Yes, princess?”

“Will you remind me anyway? After it happens. Will you remind me what our life was like?”

Adrien took her hand and kissed it. “Yes, My Lady. I will never stop reminding you of the honor it has been to love you.”

[darter-blue]

For my Christmas prompt challenge with @martelldoran and @kalee60

Prompt: Mistletoe

Find it here on ao3

Bucky is not having the best time.

Objectively, looking back at some of his past experiences, this should be a cake walk. He can catalogue the following as evidence: He is not tied down. He is not under duress. He is not fighting for air. He does not have any kind of electrode, or electrical device strapped to or near his body. He is not being put into cryogenic storage. He has not been given a gun, a knife, and a mission to use those weapons to hurt, maim or kill.

He is not being hurt, maimed or killed.

And the big one, the kicker; he is not alone.

But. Therein lies the problem.

It’s true that Bucky craves company, the warmth of a body close by, the comforting sound of someone else's breathing, the weight of their presence in a room. But he can only handle one or two people at the best of times. At the worst of times, well, he can barely handle himself, it’s no good for anyone else to be near him.

And this, right now - well there have to be close to a hundred people in this room.

Admittedly it's a large room. Of course it is, it's Tony's tower. The room is open to the entire space of this floor, and split level. But still. It's loud and it's crowded, and the exits are compromised, and Bucky hates it. He hates it.

And Steve. Steve isn't here yet. He was supposed to be here an hour ago. He was supposed to be here to make an appearance, to be a team player, smile happily and accept Christmas gifts and drink the spiced wine and then rescue his old friend Bucky from the smothering effect of too many people and not enough air.

But he's not here. He's stuck at a press event for the Avengers, and has sent Bucky a text to say that he would be there soon, to please wait for him, that it had been too long since he's seen him and also he needs a good excuse to get out of the party early.

What better excuse is there than a broken down ex-assassin with proximity issues and a desperate need to get home to his (too) quiet, park slope apartment.

So. Bucky is stuck until Steve arrives.

He managed to get here on his own, though, so at least he can tick that box off his recovery list. Today he performed grown-up-human-being tasks. He has made polite conversation with people he doesn't know well enough to panic on, he's managed to keep down three out of three of the hors d'oeuvres he's picked from passing plates, and he's managed not to slip into staring his murder glare at anyone, not to scare the shit out of Tony's guests, or the wait staff, or the other Avengers. So he will be patting himself on the back tonight, perhaps he can look back and see the pain as being worth the sense of accomplishment.

Bucky is especially proud that he's managed to dress festively, as requested, in a dark green knitted sweater covered in tiny reindeer, a red knit cap to keep his head warm and red and white Christmas mittens that, despite his compulsion to do otherwise, he removed upon entering. Shortly before he sat down at the couch he quietly pulled into this corner. They are sitting next to him, folded, on the coffee table. Next to his eggnog and the helmet for his motorcycle.

Natasha has been swinging by his spot every twenty minutes to gauge his emotional state, and each time she looks more ready to pull him up and force him to mingle. So far Bucky’s face has persuaded her to avoid the inclination.

Someone finally does collapse into the seat next to him, but it's not Nat and it's not Steve. It's the kid, Wanda, with her long auburn hair and her big eyes and her haunted expression.

'Is it okay if I sit here?' she asks, looking over at Bucky, perched on the end of the cushion like she's ready to jump up at the slightest sign that Bucky doesn't want her there.

And though he’s terrible at talking to people (he remembers fleetingly, that he was good at it once) he can’t deny that the proximity, the rhythmic sound of her breathing, the heartbeat Bucky's enhanced ears can hear, nice and steady; it all serves as a balm for the excessive number of people shouting and laughing and eating around him.

'Sure, you can sit there,' Bucky answers, flicking his eyes up and down Wanda's outfit. Green, red and white striped stockings with a short red pinafore dress over a green long sleeved t-shirt. 'I like your outfit. Festive.'

'Oh,' she says, looking down at herself, 'Yes, well. This is my first ever Christmas, so I'm taking it very seriously.'

'Ah,' Bucky says, not wanting to poke too hard at the subject, lest she not wish to open up, 'It's my first Christmas for the last seventy years or so. I went a bit overboard with festive as well.'

'Are you holding up okay?' Wanda asks, a lilt to her accent, her head cocked slightly to one side. 'Did you need anything?'

'I'm okay,' Bucky lies, 'I'm just… laying low.'

'I can see that, ' Wanda smiles as she looks over the couch he stole away to hide on, 'But it's good that you're here.'

'Thanks, kid,' and he means it. There's few people in the world who can understand what it's like to live in Bucky's head. He's lucky that two of them happen to be here tonight, keeping an eye on him.

And of course now that Bucky has found someone to talk to, Steve finally arrives. When the way Bucky's eyes will seek him out, will track him, is made even more obvious by the fact that it stops him mid conversation. And though he's conscious that Wanda is watching him, Bucky can't help the laugh that escapes him at the sight of Steve in his "festive" outfit.

He has put zero thought into it, it's just his regular outfit, blue jeans and a too tight blue dress shirt, but with the addition of a headband with some kind of green and red decoration fastened to a wire, standing straight up over Steve's head.

And Bucky would be excusing himself to get up and go over to him, only it seems like suddenly every other guest at the party has had the same idea. Bucky knows that Steve is a favourite, that people flock to him. Bucky is well acquainted with the particular brand of magnetism that Steve has possessed his entire life. But this is different.

Every new person that greets Steve is reaching up to kiss him. Most people are pressing rosy Cheeks to Steve's and planting a kiss there. But every so often someone will bypass Steve's offered cheek and press their lips to his lips. Lips plump and pink and now accosted. Lips that Bucky has been staring at since Steve walked in the door. Lips that he's always had trouble looking away from.

But Bucky’s indecision is a moot point now. Steve has spotted him tucked away in the corner with Wanda and smiles. He says something low and serious to Sam, on Steve’s right, their heads bent forward and their shoulders touching. And then Steve laughs and looks up, claps Sam on the shoulder and makes a beeline for Bucky. Scattering people as he wades through them, singular target now in sight.

He gets three feet from Bucky and then pauses. Standing straight and looming over Bucky and Wanda. Looking between the two of them nervously.

'Hey Buck, sorry I'm so late.'

'It's no problem, Steve,’ Bucky says, nervous by proxy, ‘Wanda's been keeping me company.'

'That’s good, you look good. I love the sweater, where did you find it? Have you been shopping?'

Bucky has to admit, this level of nervousness is unusual even for Steve. 'No I made this,' he says, pulling at the knit, ‘I’ve been knitting as part of my therapy.’

'You made that, Buck?' Steve asks, strange half smile on his face.

'Yeah… it's a work in progress.' He dropped a few stitches, it's a little uneven at the neckline, but it fits and it's warm, so Bucky is happy with it.

'No, I love it.'

And Bucky doesn't like the fluttery feeling those words set off in his stomach. He tries to deflect. 'What about you?' Bucky asks.

'What about me?'

'What's with this terrible excuse for a festive outfit, some holly or whatever over your head?'

'Oh you mean the mistletoe?' And Steve eyes are darting away from Bucky, his feet are scuffing the ground.

'Ah,' Bucky says, suddenly understanding the rush to get to Steve so they could kiss him, 'You did that on purpose?' He only asks, because normally Steve hates to be kissed, or touched, or be the center of attention. Also it's fun to watch Steve blush. Always has been.

'Well, I mean. yes. It's festive! I ran out of time to implement my first plan, this was a back up.' Steve is getting more flustered with every word.

'It's cute,’ Bucky says, making light of it, worried Steve might spontaneously combust with this sudden onset of nerves, ‘And there are people lining up over there to actually kiss you. Seems like a good plan...'

'I didn't really... I mean I didn't want...' Steve can’t seem to find the words he's looking for, and Wanda looks between the two of them and stands up from her chair.

'I have to go find Maria, come and say goodbye to me before you head off, okay Bucky?' Wanda asks, already backing away from where Steve and Bucky are speaking.

'I will,' Bucky calls out after her, and she salutes him sloppily before turning away.

'Sweet kid,' Bucky says, looking up at Steve, 'So sorry, what's with the "kiss me" sign that you've decided to dress in for this party?'

'It's not a- Listen I hadn't exactly thought this through, okay?'

'Sure, that sounds just like you,' Bucky says with a laugh.

'I just wanted, I just thought, it might be nice to have an excuse to-' Steve cuts himself off by closing his mouth with a snap.

'An excuse to kiss somebody?' Bucky asks. And this time the laugh is fake. Because Bucky doesn't want to know who Steve has his eye on. Who Steve wants an excuse to kiss at this party. Stark knows a lot of pretty people. Although for a moment Bucky is frozen by the idea that it might be Sam. The two of them are close in a way that makes Bucky's heart hurt a little. But that's not his job any more. It's not his spot. He's not Captain America's right hand man. He doesn't have Steve's six. Sam has that now.

God he hopes it's not Sam.

(He likes Sam, he does, but he can’t ignore Sam. He would have front row seats to watch the whole thing unfold).

Whoever it is, Steve has gone bright red. It shouldn't be so fucking gorgeous, the red flush that creeps up into his cheeks, that spreads down his neck, out to his ears. His few freckles stand out starker against the flush and he looks younger. More innocent. More like the Stevie that Bucky still has patchy memories of, from before the war. Before Steve got big.

'G-ah,' Steve starts with a strangled cough, 'No it's... Well I mean yes but I...' Steve looks around, scanning the room and his eyes land back on Bucky, wide and terrified.

'Are they here, Steve?'

And Steve nods slowly, reluctantly.

'Do you need me to go with you?' He asks, like maybe Steve needs a wingman. Though god knows, from what Bucky remembers, he was never very good at it in the past (which was potentially deliberate on Bucky's part, if the emotions attached to those faded memories are anything to go by).

'No Bucky, I...'

'If you're chickening out you can always just take the thing off your head, Steve, no sense getting worked up about it.' It's criminal, the relief Bucky is feeling at the idea that Steve might not be able to go through with it.

' No Buck. I just - will you give me a second to figure this out,' Steve says, and he steps closer as he speaks, his words almost a plea, the way he's looking at Bucky.

And Bucky has to nod, because he never could deny Steve anything.

Steve steps closer still, right in front of where Bucky is sitting in his chair, and then drops to his knees in front of Bucky. Which... has Bucky raising an eyebrow. Has him moving forward in his seat to lean into Steve's space, find out why he's looking at Bucky like that.

When Steve reaches across with his big hands to take a hold of Bucky's and rest them on Bucky's knees, it's time for Bucky to start asking questions.

'Stevie, what is it?'

'It's you, Buck.'

'What's me?' Bucky asks, and the worry that he might have done something to warrant this bizarre behaviour is clear in Bucky's voice.

But Steve just smiles and shakes his head. 'Oh Buck,'  he says, leaning impossibly closer, 'It's for you . The mistletoe,' and Steve looks down, his ridiculous eyelashes fanning across his cheeks as he does, and then up again, to fix Bucky with that bright blue stare, 'The mistletoe is for you .'

Wait. What? Bucky has to process that. He has to take a moment to hold that thought in his mind and turn it around until it makes sense. The mistletoe is for Bucky?

'You want...' Bucky stares into Steve's eyes and now that he's looking for it, sees the same stress, the same fear in Steve's expression as he imagines can be seen on his own, 'You want to kiss me , Stevie?'

And Steve sighs a puff of air with relief. 'Yeah Buck, that's exactly what I want.'

And Bucky. Bucky doesn't wait a second longer. He shifts further forward and pulls Steve in sharply by their clasped hands. Steve lets go to catch himself on Bucky's shoulders, and Bucky lifts his free hand to cup it against Steve's cheek. 'Me too, Stevie,' Bucky says, sighing the words into Steve's lips, they're so close to touching, 'I want that too.' And he tilts his chin up to meet Steve's mouth, living out this moment he’s been dreaming of for too many lifetimes. He fits his lips to Steve's, opens into him, draws Steve in with the slight press of his tongue, sucks Steve's bottom lip in and bites down on it gently.

And Steve, Steve pushes back against Bucky. With a sudden rush of power he drives into him, pushes him back against the couch, crowds into him, uses all his bulk to slam Bucky into the cushions and kiss him with a ferocity that should scare Bucky but in fact does the opposite. Bucky can't do more than simply clutch at Steve, hold on by his fingertips as Steve attacks him. Open his mouth to Steve's lips and teeth and tongue.

It's not until they hear someone clearing their throat that Bucky remembers they're at Stark's party. Practically in the middle of a crowd of people.

They separate slowly, look up furtively, and it's Nat looking down at them. The rest of the guests seem to be turned away with feigned nonchalance.

'So ah, not that this isn't hot as fuck,' Nat says, smirk on her face and in her voice, 'But you might want to slow down before you start removing clothes. You don't want to show Tony up at his own party.'

'Fuck,' Steve says, pulling away just enough to Bucky to breathe beneath him, 'Shit, sorry Buck.'

'It's okay,' Bucky says, breathless, 'But ah,’ Bucky looks around and back up at Steve, who’s shirt buttons have been ripped open, the mistletoe knocked askew, hair sticking up everywhere, ‘Maybe we should get out of here.'

'Oh,' Steve says, his pupils blowing out wide at the idea of their leaving together, 'Oh, but I don't have a car. Sam drove me.'

'It's fine I've got my bike, it's just big enough for two,' Bucky says with a smile, and Steve smiles too, wide and joyful.

'Well go on then, Jesus,' Nat says, shaking her head at the and pointing over her shoulder, 'Get out of here, I can make your excuses with everyone for you.'

'Thanks Nat,' Steve says, standing up and pulling Bucky with him, leaning in to press a kiss to Nat's cheek, 'I owe you one.'

'You owe me many,' she says ominously. 'Hurry up before I change my mind.'

And they don't need to be told again. Steve pulls Bucky along behind him as they head for the elevators. Ignoring any and all curious faces.

'My place or yours?' Bucky asks as he presses the button for the garage.

'I don't care as long as it's with you,' Steve says, staring down at Bucky.

And Bucky can't do anything but stare back. And scream internally. And thank god that he didn't leave the party early.

Because this... This is everything Bucky wanted and more.

This might not really be his first Christmas. But it's his best. It's the best.

It's perfect.

[rosy-cheekx]

from the fluff prompts! 17: “come here, i need to hug you”

hehe this is not fluff. I wish I could say I was sorry but I'm not. (CW canon-typical body horror, Stranger content. There’s fluff at the end.)

-

Familiar Faces

Tim, Sasha, 1.5k

The woman in front of him was blonde, tall, high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. She was swearing a smart blazer, had pursed lips as she clutched files to her chest. Her hands were…wrong, somehow. He couldn't pinpoint what was off but Tim couldn't stop staring at them.

“Tim, you’re not quite looking yourself.” Sasha smiled at him, sweeping her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Maybe you should take the day off.”

Tim didn’t respond, not daring to take his eyes off her.

“You—?” He tried, though his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. The words came from his lips muffled, as if something was covering them. Without thinking about it, he raised a hand to his lips. His fingertips came away slick, skin that was not his own stifling the sensation on his face. Tim’s vision tunneled, zeroing in on the face of the woman who was Sasha, wasn’t Sasha? He wasn’t sure anymore.  Looking down, Tim saw his hands were slick tendon and bone, skin peeled away in neat strips, fingernails embedded in the fat that had once been underneath.

Tim felt his stomach churn. Eyes back on the woman that couldn’t be Sasha, Sasha wouldn’t do this, he saw a grin peeling her face apart, wider than a normal smile should be. The files in her hand were a mirror and she turned it to him, raising it so his shoulders aligned with her frame in the reflection.

Tim’s vision swam as he focused on what he saw in the mirror, something in him unable to look away. He was sure he was going to be sick, but there was something in him that forced him to look, see what had been done to him. To Danny. The stitches were clumsy, close together but clearly amateur, reminding him of his brief stint into embroidery. They were uneven around his jaw; Danny’s face had always been rounder than his. Blood was smeared down his chin, but it was impossible to tell whose it had been, once upon a time, especially since there was no other skin to compare it to. Of all the things, Tim was struck by how much tanner Danny’s face was than he had remembered.

“Tim?” The woman who Was Not Sasha asked from behind the mirror, and Tim watched his lips, Danny’s lips move in his reflection, straining against some of the stitches with each word. “You look quite peaky. Maybe some time off will do you some good, get you feeling like yourself again.”

Tim balled his raw hands into fists, forcing all his energy into moving his lips, tearing the stitches apart. Slowly, gummily, he parted his lips. “Fuck. You.”

--

“Tim. Tim, wake up.”

His eyes were open now, peering up at a bleary ceiling and about a third of Sasha’s face, dark curly hair hanging over most of it. He exhaled sharply and inelegantly shuffled into a seated position, checking his hands for a moment before rubbing them over his face. They came away wet but, as Tim was sure to check, for a different reason. The pair sat in silence for a moment, neither sure how to approach the situation.

“Are…you okay?” Sasha asked eventually, hand hovering between them, like cautioning a wounded animal. “You looked like you needed help.”

Tim bit back a breath, sucking on his lower lip as he contemplated what to say next. His eyes followed her hand, and yes, they looked normal now. The dream came back to him piecemeal, the woman who called herself Sasha and his hands and the mirror, all fragmented images whirling away too fast to form a comprehensive picture. Sasha’s eyes were big and brown, studying his face like a practiced therapist. Her hands had looked wrong because they had been missing her vitiligo, the pale spot that curved around her wrist and looked just like Germany. Her hair was in unbound curls, mussed from sleep and other bedtime activities, and she was tall but curvy; round and warm. Not the thin, angular woman from the dream, mirror held in front of her with such menace.

Tim was staring. Sasha’s brow was wrinkling. She was worried. He processed these facts in slow motion like his mind was moving through molasses, tongue thick with the taste of Danny’s blood on his lips.

Danny. Tim threw a hand to his mouth, feeling the smooth seam of his lips and skin that was his, the five o’clock shadow he really should have shaved this morning tickling his fingertips. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“I…I had a bad dream.” No shit, Sherlock. He fished for words, fingertips tracing the edges of his jawline, his temple, finding no clumsy seams to be torn off.

“You weren’t you. You were blonde a-and horrible and your voice was like…sandpaper.” Tim realized his hands were shaking when he felt the cool fingers of Sasha pressing on his own gently, steadying them.

“I was…me. But my skin was missing. A-and you were teasing me about something. You showed me a mirror. And I was…” Tim chewed on his lip. Biting it had always been a nervous habit but the reminder that they were his lips was comforting enough as well.

“They had put Danny’s face on mine.” The last words were a whisper, barely able to say it out loud before he felt a shudder rip through him and felt the wind knocked out of him once more. “I-I couldn’t look away.” He pulled his hand from underneath Sasha’s to wrap around the back of his neck. “It was...” He swallowed thickly. “It was hideous.”

Sasha, saint that she was, listened dutifully as Tim haltingly put together the information from his dream, nodding in silence but eyes full of tender patience and compassion. When he was done, the silent tears halted to sniffles and deliberately careful breaths, she drew a knee to her chest and pursed her lips.

“I’m so sorry, Tim. That sounds awful.” Hand out in a quick search of approval, she gently began to rub his back, slow circles in time with her breathes. “His anniversary is coming up, isn’t it?” Her voice was almost a whisper. He nodded.

“You know I’m me. I’m Sasha James, your best friend, the one you can count on to get you out of a scrape. I like Thai food and purple and sweets and you think I have a spot in the shape of Thailand on my back, which is why you think I like it so much.” She paused for a moment, eyeing him. “Helping or hurting?”

Tim nodded, barely eking out a whisper of ‘helping,’ and she continued. “Your name is Timothy Stoker. You work seven and a half feet away from me, but somehow you always find an excuse to scooch your chair closer. You like to be touched constantly except when you’re angry. You drink iced coffee year-round and think heist movies are the superior film.” She wrinkled her nose good-naturedly. “You like to be kissed in the spot between your eyebrows. I like to pretend your snoring bothers me. You like when I bring you a snack from the café because you like being remembered. I like to braid your hair when it gets shaggy. You’re allergic to peanuts. I’m allergic to red food dye.”

Her hand had slowed as she had rattled off facts about them both, a heavy warm weight resting behind his lungs. He focused on her words and breathing into her hand, letting the smoothness of her voice wash over his anxieties; the disturbing imagery not gone but filed away in a smaller, more manageable package.

“I think…I think we know each other too well,” he mumbled, managing a small smile.

“You take that back,” Sasha grinned, pressing a kiss to his temple. “No such thing. Now, what do you need from me? Tea? A distraction?”

“Come here,” Tim asked softly, eyes meeting hers. “I need to hug you.” I need to remember what’s real and solid; I need to feel you in my arms and know the you I saw back there was an imagination, a figment, a neuron gone fritzy. I need to know that they didn’t take you like they did him.

He didn’t say of that, but Sasha seemed to get the message. She pulled him gently into her, burying her face into his neck. Tim inhaled the scent of her shampoo, a soft pine scent mixed with lavender, and that was Sasha. He knew her from that smell. They balanced precariously between the pillows and their seated arrangement for who-knows-how-long, just taking in the silence and touch of someone else, grounding Tim to reality in waves until he felt firmly centered once more.

Sasha fell back to sleep eventually, still tangled in each other but more comfortable now. Instead of sleep, Tim studied Sasha’s face in the slow-rising daylight, the splashes of pink against her dark skin, the mole under her ear, the way her hair curled back on itself when it got long in a confusing pattern, the way her jaw rounded against her throat. This was his Sasha. He was sure of it. He would never forget her face again.

[divinewhimsy]

Ichor (DabixReader)

SO I’m trying my hand at this whole writing thing again. What better way than to start with some Dabi from MHA? Eh? Ehhhh? PleaseenjoyIdidmybest*sobs* 

Trigger warning: Blood, Swearing

Quirk: BloodType. Clarification; Your blood can boost quirks. Just one drop can give immeasurable strength and stamina to the one who devours it. It’s a gift as much as it is a curse. So long as you are consumed in some function you can give from even the driest of wells. But blood is always the strongest medium.

You use your quirk to help, to heal- unconditionally and without a bias. Which has worked out fine until you help a certain raven haired patchwork back to health. That’s probably where it all went wrong, if you’re being honest with yourself.

Part 2: X

Part 3: X

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Enjoy~!

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Your blood can boost quirks. Just one drop can give immeasurable strength and stamina to the one who devours it. It’s a gift as much as it is a curse. So long as you are consumed in some function you can give from even the driest of wells. 

But blood is always the strongest medium. 

It makes having a quirk almost as useful as not having one. Without others knowing about you or your gift, you’re just as helpless as the other civilians- if not more. If someone were to find out about your quirk and want to use it for themselves then kidnapping would be the least of your worries. 

So being a hero is out of the question. That doesn’t stop you from wanting to help others, though. You help- just in a more mundane way. And you don’t discriminate. Hero, Villain, bystander. Status in the world doesn’t matter. 

And with a quirk like yours, staying under the radar is a must. 

But where’s the fun in that? 

You dodge debris as it explodes from behind you, a battle between a hero and villain erupting back to the sky. Neither of them even noticed you hiding behind a half destroyed pillar of concrete. 

Good. 

You dash over the hill of rubble and slide down it quickly. Your heart is hammering rapidly in your chest with adrenaline. They’d just whisk you away if a hero caught you. If a villain did, though, death is the most probable. If not using you as a hostage. 

When you see the pool of red spilling from a smaller pile of rubble your stomach churns unpleasantly. It’s a hard truth to face when you realize you can’t save everyone. Sometimes you’re just too late. 

But not this time. 

You refuse to let this one die. 

Your small hands brush away what rubble you can and free the body beneath. It’s a man- covered in dust and stones from some kind of explosion. His skin is still sizzling with heat and you wince when you notice his burned skin. Yet...they had to have been from before. There’s no way those burns would look so old if they were new. Debris or not. 

Either way he’s losing blood too quickly. You free him and throw your satchel open, scrambling through it for bandages to treat his wounds. You could use a bit of blood- or just kiss him, probably. But he’s a stranger! 

‘And it might not be enough’, you sigh to yourself as your pant legs start to soak up some of his blood. 

Ugh. You hated using your quirk outside in the open. Normally you’d bring bags of excess blood with you but of course today of all days you forgot to pack some. 

That settles that then. You grab the scalpel in your satchel and let it hover over your wrist. You can do this. Sure, it hurts for a bit but your quirk heals the scars you make yourself. Like it knows deep down this is for someone else. 

You summon what’s left of your confidence and slice through your skin. Your eyes squeeze shut at the burning sensation that crawls through your arm and through your body. Each second is a hiss of you biting back cries and squeeze your wrist until the blood starts to spill out. It’s the teeth biting the inside of your mouth to keep the tears from falling. 

It doesn’t work, of course, but you try not to cry anyways. 

When you get enough of a flow going you press your wrist to the mans mouth forcefully. At first your blood only dribbles down into his mouth but after a moment his breathing starts to regulate. His lips twitch and latch onto your wrist painfully, drawing your blood into him greedily. When his wounds start to close up and stitch over themselves his tongue swipes along the cut hungrily but you’re able to pull your arm away with enough force. 

His eyes flutter open, his breathing hard as he gasps for air. 

You’re stunned by the color his eyes are. Two beautiful turquoise crystals sit in his skull. Two pieces of a brightly lit sea stare back at you. Even though he has scars and burns on multiple parts of his body- staples and pieces adorning them almost like medals- they don’t take away from his beauty. The innate charm and charisma that makes up his very body is intoxicating. 

You could sit and stare at him for hours. 

Until you realize he’s trying to talk to you. He waves a burning blue hand in your face and you blink back to reality. 

“Woah- Uh- Yes?” you swallow nervously. 

He doesn’t get another chance to speak, though. The battle above continues on and a massive shock wave plummets to the earth. Everything shakes and the rubble around the both of you threatens to crumble even more. 

“Move!” the dark haired stranger snaps and a blazing warm hand slaps down on your wrist as he yanks you to your feet. 

You stumble to keep hold of your satchel as he drags you along. 

You’re thankful for it as you watch what would have happened. 

You escaped just in time as the remainder of the  building that had fallen comes crashing down. A heavy block of metal and cement landing right where you two had just been. 

You almost just died. 

The rush is amazing. 

The stranger doesn’t stop to dwell on the adrenaline from the crash and continues running. His feet pelt against the uneven ground and you find your feet placing themselves underneath you as you fall into step behind him. 

You’re not sure if it’s the fact he just saved you or the fact you saved him that keeps you close to him. Or, you know, his hand grasping your wrist. Totally possible. 

Following him is a decision he made for you at the beginning of this and you’re just along for the ride. Wherever that may take you. 

Right now it’s looking like he’s taking you to an abandoned building only a block or so from the fighting behind you. The stranger shoulders the broken door aside and yanks you through the gap just as you feel the ground shake again and loud crashing noises somewhere in the center of the battle. 

Honestly, maybe you were a little scared. The adrenaline winding down as your eyes adjust to the darkness and then to the bright blue light as the man ignites his hand in blue flames. 

They’re just as blue as his eyes. It’s hypnotic, almost. They surge wildly between his fingers like a warning. A growl of a monster waking up slowly. 

“What the hell did you do to me?” he hisses and you flinch away from him out of habit. 

Ah, that’s right. You saved him with your blood. 

“I saved you.” you try to swallow the dryness in your throat away but it doesn’t work. 

The angry gaze he throws back your way doesn’t make his following silence any better. Does he not believe you? What more of an answer could you give?

“From dying.” you say stupidly and immediately wince as he takes a deep breath. 

He turns away from you and runs his free hand down his face. With a shake of his head he turns to survey the room and starts walking toward one of the back windows. He pries the rotting wood from over the glass and dusty, yellow light floods into the large- and ruined- room. 

You fiddle with your hands, anxiety crawling through every vein in your body as he stomps around in silence. You watch as he shifts through the remains of a couch and dresser, searching. 

“I-I can help.” you offer meekly. “What are you lookin for?” 

He pauses and lifts his eyes to yours sardonically. His hands drop the piece of wood in them and he turns on his feet quickly, stalking towards you at his full height.

And god is he taller than you realized. Or maybe it’s the fact he’s not saying anything. Or that you realize just how small you are in the grand scheme of things. 

No matter the reason, you know you’re prey. And the man before you is one hundred percent a born and bred predator. 

Dangerous doesn’t even cover the entirety of who he is. It’s spoken like secrets on late summer nights with humid heat rolling into the air around him. Volatile and unkempt savagery make up every bone in his body. The bored facade he wore before is a deadly snare to enrapture and mislead. 

“Help?” he echoes. “Whatever you did to me wasn’t help enough, hero?” 

Your lips tremble with a laugh you’re trying to fight back. You? A hero? Definitely not. Not when you laugh at the most inappropriate times- like right now.

When your giggle gets released from your lips he seethes. His eyes burn brighter with living flames held within, an inferno devouring you with every thought he has. 

“You really don’t want to mock me, princess.” he growls and you shake your head. 

“I’m not, I promise.” your giggles die down. “It’s just funny. I’m not a hero.” 

He squints his eyes, unease spreading through his gaze. 

“Really!” you assure. “I can’t be. I don’t have any of the training or certifications and I don’t want them. I just want to help people. So I snuck onto the battlefield and when I came across you I knew I had to do something. So I did what I do best and I gave you my blood-“ 

Uh oh. 

Oh no. 

You just said it. You told him. 

“Your blood?” he raises a brow suspiciously. 

Of course he would catch on to it. 

    You’re not getting out of this.

“Uhm, y-yes. It’s a part of my quirk.” you swallow nervously. “I can boost a body's system and quirk if they devour some of my blood. Or other substances...But blood is the strongest.” 

He looks at you incredulously but there’s a flicker of something that sets a fire of unease inside you as his lips twitch into a smirk. The scheming look in his eyes let’s you know something’s brewing inside his mind. 

“So you’re a support quirk.” he says quietly but his eyes don’t look a fraction below the wicked fury he held moments ago. The way they trace the outline of your body brings a shiver of heat up from your blood and to your skin. 

The devouring gaze is enough to let you know the devious thoughts the man is playing through his mind. 

“Whatever you’re thinking won’t work.” you say sternly and your brows furrow in annoyance. “It only works when I want it to.” 

“So you have control?” he sneers. “You couldn’t have studied and worked with it that extensively-“

He barely gets to finish his words before you grow impatient, your anger jutting out beneath the surface of your bones and into your blood. Into your very will. 

“I can take it away.” you hiss and he wobbles unsteadily. “Now that you have my blood I can decide if I let it remain or not. Don’t be ungrateful.” 

The surprise in his gaze is only temporary as he clutches his torso tightly. 

“Point taken.” he seethes, air hissing through his teeth as you only allow a little bit of the healing to trickle back. 

“You mistake me for weak but I’m not trapped here with you, villain. You’re trapped in here with me.” you growl and clench your fists at your side. 

His beautiful cyan eyes pour into your own gaze, his face as blank as it had been before. He’s used to controlling his own emotions. But with enough pain even the most emotionally trained individual loses control. 

You’re not that sadistic, though. You let him maintain some pride as he stands back up shakily. 

“Interesting.” 

“Our business is done.” you say, confidence filling your whole body. “I saved you, you saved me. So I’ll be on my way.” 

“And if I don’t let you go?” he chuckles darkly. “Blood or no, you’ve already boosted me. Do you think you can run in time? Or take back what you’ve given?” 

Maybe your bluff wasn’t as strong as it should have been. But you think you’ve been in more dangerous situations before. Probably. 

The way his eyes pierce through your soul is hauntingly terrifying. It’s as if he knows the boundaries of your quirk. The parts you haven’t learned to control yet. It’s not like you’ve ever had that many chances to. 

“It’s your life.” you huff. “I’ve let others die without a second thought. You’ll be no different.”

That’s a lie. You’ve given everyone at least a little hope. A drop enough to make the decision their own. Or decided by fate. But leaving someone to die purposefully? The guilt would gnaw at you until the day you died yourself. 

He weighs your words for a long moment. The silence is almost too heavy as you hold your ground, refusing to let your limbs shake with the fear you’re eating. 

“If you really wanted to hurt me,” you add. “Wouldn’t you have done so already? Or are you that afraid of this power surging through your veins? Of what I can do and what I can take?”

He glares as you force a smirk on your face. You’ve got him questioning himself now. Good. It’s buying you time. 

Time enough to slowly drain him down until he’s collapsing on the floor. It drains you like a humid day in the middle of summer with no air conditioning, your limbs and mind groggy beyond comprehension. But if you focus just enough, if you keep your goal at the front of your thoughts then maybe you’ll be able to subdue him. 

With a shaky breath he tries to wobble forward and falls to the floor. You gasp for air as he hits the ground, your body heavy with use of your quirk. 

You can’t control it for long. It whittles down your energy like a quickly sinking ship. Submerged in water and treading through it, thrashing about to maintain consciousness. It always wears you out. 

And now you have a very much unconscious stranger who knows your secret. And you’re stuck in an abandoned building with him while a battle continues outside. 

Carrying him is out of the question but you can’t leave him here. You need to tie him up so he can’t tell others about you. Or track you down. If others knew about your quirk and word got out it would be difficult to keep the little slice of peace you’ve carved for yourself intact. 

The only plan that comes to mind is to carry him, as much as your body aches at the thought. Maybe you can get to a road and catch a taxi and pass him off as a passed out drunk. It might be difficult but if others bought it…

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” a voice calls from the outside. “I’m here to help!” 

Help? A hero? Damn, someone must have seen you two run in here. 

“My hero saw some civilians run in here and told me to escort you to two to safety!” the voice continues and you glance at the strangers limp body. 

“Yes!” you call out before you can stop yourself. You quickly wrap some bandages around the strangers head and face and cling to his shoulder. The more it looks like you two were together the less questions this sidekick would have. 

And they might even help you get him to your apartment. 

The sidekick squeezes through the gap in the doorway in the front of the house and you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s a smaller woman with unruly dark hair sticking to the sweat on her forehead. She gives a small smile in response and glances from you to the man on the ground.

“Oh no! Was he hurt in the crossfire?” she frowns and steps closer. You steel your nerves. You have to look frightened but not outright afraid of her. She’s a hero, she’s supposed to make you feel relieved. Not scared. 

“Ah, yeah, a bit.” you mumble and glance down at him. “I’m a med student though so I patched him up. H-he was walking me home from class when this all happened.”

God you hope she believes you. Even as she surveys his wounds and the new bandages your heart thumps away in your chest with every passing breath. It looks believable, right? It has to. There’s no reason it shouldn’t. 

“You should still get him to the paramedics.” her brows bow with concern. “I can lead the way, follow me! Everything’s going to be okay!”

“Oh thank you!” you beam and she helps you hoist him up between the two of you. 

Every step is nerve wracking. The closer you get to the paramedics the more you panic. What do you tell her? Can you make an excuse for them not to look at him? He had to be a villain. He might be working with the one already battling the hero. If they recognize him and you admitted to being with him then you might get arrested… Ah, your stomach churns nauseatingly fast as you rack your brain for an idea- any idea. 

Your miracle comes in the form of a loud crash as the hero gets thrown to the ground only a few feet from the recovery zone. 

“Quickly, run!” the sidekick shouts and shoves the stranger onto your back. “You have to get out of here!” 

You nod and don’t fight the order, running with the others who had been waiting at the safe zone. It’s a crowd of chaos amongst the battle and it’s providing deliciously sporadic coverage for your escape. In the hustle to get away from the battle and with the sidekicks and heroes all busy you’re able to slip away into the alleyway and start hoofing it back home.

If only the man didn’t weigh so much. Where was he keeping all of it? He didn’t look that heavy standing! It had to be hidden in his dark jacket and pants somewhere or behind his distressed white v-neck shirt. He was packing a punch underneath the radar and you were more than glad to have avoided a close combat fight with him. Especially when his body was eerily warm. Unusually warm. Even with a boosted body and quirk from your blood his body temperature was beyond any normal humans. 

Was it part of his quirk, then? The blue flames that danced from his skin in searing and flickering fire? It must be. You’re sure it is. 

Almost. 

Yet...You’ve never experienced accidentally overpowering someone with your blood. Had you fed him too much and it flooded his system? Is that even a possibility? Maybe… Haven't you heard it said somewhere that it's possible to have ‘too much of a good thing’? If you gave him too much then it really did seem like you’d done something nefarious to him. 

No wonder he was suspicious. 

Regardless, you’d only tried to help. There’s nothing wrong with that. A helping hand, although eager and perhaps overbearing, is still a helping hand after all. 

You manage to drag him to your apartment without any incidents. Keeping mostly to the darker shadows of the evening you hurried as quickly as you could while carrying him. The sooner you got this stranger behind closed doors the better. You’re not sure how long he’s going to be passed out for. Even if you used your blood to put him in this resting state there was no way to tell how long he would be staying in it. 

You shovel him onto your couch with a wince and straighten your back. If you aren’t careful you might pass out yourself. Which would be really, really bad. You can’t put yourself in that position- especially with how he reacted towards the end. If he’s going to be violent then you need to be painfully prepared to deal with that. But how?

Tying him up will only give him kindling for that fire quirk of his. What would be a good way to make sure he stays put? Steel Wool around his wrists? No, that could melt, right? He’d just burn through any rope or cloth you used to bind his hands. Maybe if you got it wet first? It’d only delay the burning. Oh! You could put him in the shower! All that water would be sure to keep any flames out! 

As you glance down at the man on the couch you can’t imagine picking him back up. No shower, then. Which is good because the idea of putting someone in the shower- even if they’re fully clothed- makes you feel ridiculous. But what other option do you honestly have? 

You groan and shake your head. You’re an idiot. An absolutely stunningly naive idiot. Impulsive! Idiotic! The shame in your mind travels through your bones until you crouch on the ground and try to contain all the unruly emotion in your body. The wicked whips that arch out of your skin in invisible hands. They try to bind you down until you’re stuck there. Holding your throat tighter and tighter with every suffocatingly stupid replay of your day thus far. 

What are you even thinking? Bringing him here?? To where you live? What part of keeping everything underwraps did your stupid brain not understand?! How is bringing a villain to your very private and very unknown home a good idea?

You should have taken him somewhere else. Literally anywhere else. Or just moved entirely. Uprooted everything you have here and just booked it. Actually, that’s still an option. You can leave him here and just run right now. What’s holding you here? 

You glance at the man and heave a sigh out of your lungs. Fantasies will be nothing more than silly ideas. Appeasing them will bring you nowhere. Running will do nothing for you and you know that. Really, you do. Reality is just hard to accept and acting before you think is a common issue. But you can’t regret what you’ve done. Not yet when there’s still time to salvage what's left of this mess. Even if it feels like more than you can handle. 

Especially as the man starts to stir. 

Well shit. 

[brokenmimir]

A Desperate Prayer

White Rose Week 2020, Day 4: goddess AU

Ruby Rose is being chased by a terrible monster, when she prays for salvation. It probably works out better for her than for the goddess she unknowingly prayed to.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24700954

Ruby ran, slipping and sliding, scrambling across the uneven ground. She'd spent much of her childhood playing at the edges of the forest, even going deeper than the other children, deeper than was prudent, but she'd always been an adventurous girl, and despite the reports of Grimm in the wilderness, she'd never seen anything so dangerous herself. Running into a monster actually sounded like an exciting adventure to the peasant girl.

The truth of the Grimm was nothing like she'd imagined. The Beowolf was enormous, a hulking beast of black fur and white bone, looming larger than a man, with claws as sharp as swords and longer than knives. Even just one Beowolf had been far, far more of a threat than she could possibly handle, and she'd hoped to run back to town before the monster caught her.

Unfortunately, whether through malign intellect or poor luck, Ruby found herself continuously turned away from the town, until she was running ever deeper in the now sinister woods. No matter what she did she could neither lose the Beowolf, nor find a way back towards safety. As minutes passed and the stitch in her side grew, she slowly began to realize that her foolishness had caused her death.

Then the ground gave way beneath her, and she tumbled down into a chasm that she hadn't seen from above. When she finally slid to a stop, battered and bruised, she took a moment to appreciate the intertwined branches of the trees, which had done a marvelous job of holding a carpet of leaves in place, hiding the drop from her view.

While part of her hoped that the Beowolf would miss her, she suspected that it was more likely to fall down on top of her, and so despite her pain she staggered to her feet, looking around wildly, hoping to see something that could save her. With some surprise she saw a stone statue covered in ivy standing at the center of the chasm.

For some strange reason she felt drawn to it, and without even pausing to think she tore the ivy and other growths away, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the beautiful statue. It was of a goddess, one long lost to the people of Patch, but obviously once well loved, as the marble statue was the work of a devoted master. If the strange goddess resembled her sculpture then she was truly beautiful, and just looking at her took Ruby's breath away.

She came back to herself when she heard the scrape of the Beowolf moving above, and her eyes widened as she realized that she was caught. There was no way that she could climb out of the chasm without the Beowolf catching her, and she had no weapons to even attempt to fight back with. Suddenly struck with a feeling of wild desperation, she threw herself to her knees in front of the statue and clasped her hands in prayer.

“Oh… um, whoever you are?” Ruby breathed. “I've never seen you before, and I don't know your name, or if you're listening, or, uh, whatever. But you're really pretty, and I'm in so much trouble. If you're listening, then please, please, please save me. I know I'm just some nobody from Patch, but please, I promise to be really faithful and do what you want if I can live through this.”

For a moment nothing happened, and then a voice spoke, making Ruby almost jump out of her skin. “Hmph. That was a terrible prayer.”

“S-sorry,” Ruby gasped after looking around. “I didn't mean to be a bad prayer-person, but I'm really, really in trouble. Please, please help me.”

“And why should I help you if you don't even know who I am?”

“'Cause you're nice?”

“Meh,” the voice said. “My power isn't exactly infinite you know, since nobody worships me these days. Why should I spend what I do have saving you?”

“Because… because…” Ruby scrambled for a moment, trying to think of something, anything to convince the goddess, who she really hoped she wasn't hallucinating, to help her. There was a growl behind her, and a snapping sound as the Beowolf slashed apart some of the branches to reveal the chasm. “You don't have many worshippers, right? I'll worship you! I'll be the bestest worshipper ever! And- and I'll tell everyone about how great you are, and try to get them to worship you too! Please, your goddessness, please save me.”

“Weiss.”

“Huh?”

“My name, you dolt,” the voice snapped. “It's Weiss. And did you really mean that?”

The Beowolf jumped down with a crash, and only its sadistic desire to draw out her death was keeping her alive anymore. “Yes!"

“Swear yourself to me, mortal.”

“I, Ruby Rose, swear myself to Weiss!"

“Not exactly a classical ceremony, but I suppose beggars can't be choosers,” Weiss sighed. “Fine, then. I claim you, Ruby Rose, to be the new High Priestess of my Faith. Be appropriately awed.”

“Thanks! Um… what about the Beowolf?”

“The gods help those who help themselves,” Weiss sniffed. “But I suppose, as my new high priestess, I can lend you a bit of power. Picture a weapon.”

Ruby turned to face the Grimm, which was now mere feet away from her. Without anytime to think she pictured the first weapon that popped into her head, the tool that she'd used to harvest her father's farm each fall. In moments a large, red scythe, covered in strange runes, appeared in her hands.

“Ugh, a scythe?” Weiss grumbled. “Really?”

Before Ruby could reply the Beowolf lunged at her, and with a shout that was more panicked terror than bold war cry she swung the weapon, catching the monster in the side. From the stories she'd heard most weapons had great difficulty penetrating the thick, bony hide of a Grimm, but the scythe cut through it without pause, reaping the monster with no more difficulty than a stalk of wheat. It fell to the ground in two halves, and then swiftly disintegrated into black smoke.

“I- I did it!” Ruby shouted.

“So you did,” Weiss mused. “Hmm… well, it may have looked silly, but you swung it well. Congratulations on surviving.”

“Thanks!” Ruby said brightly, turning back to face the statue. “Um, uh… what now?”

“Now?” Weiss asked. “Well, I suppose I will need to teach you about my religion, so that you can spread my faith as promised, high priestess. And so you can properly follow the new faith you've sworn yourself to.”

“Oh, uh, right,” Ruby said sheepishly. “Uh… what exactly are you the goddess of?”

“Knowledge and the Written Word,” Weiss said proudly. “It was I who gave the gift of Literacy to mankind, so that they could record all the Knowledge of the World. As my priestess you must be wise and learned. I think, before we begin your religious education, we'll need to start with your mundane one. How many languages do you know? Four? Five?”

“Uh… this one?”

There was a long pause. “Tell me you're at least literate, and not some peasant bumpkin?”

Ruby chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head as her new goddess groaned in frustration.

[ladyideal]

Wedding Bells

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 2164

Warnings: mention of injury but fluff

Summary: requested by anon: Hello, may I request an Aragorn x female!ranger!reader fic or headcanons list? I’m not sure about how much detail you prefer but something along the lines of Aragorn realizing his love for the reader before the War of the Ring and him confessing while they’re in the Fellowship, and ultimately marrying her after the war. You’re welcome to change anything you’d like or add a bit more of a backstory. Thanks!

A/n: Ahh first lotr and it's Aragorn! This came out not bad for first request. Or normally first one always comes out a little stilted and awkward. Hope you like it, anon!

The church bells rang. 

Your arm linked through your father's, trembling slightly. Today was the day that you were going to marry your love, the new King of Gondor, Aragorn. Today was the day that you'd yearn for so long to happen. Today was the day that two became one.

"That's our signal," Your father gruffly spoke emotionally, as any father would be on the day his daughter would be wedded to another. "If only your mother was here to see you all grown up and pretty."

You blinked away tears as much as possible, doing your best to not mess up the light make up. In light of your mother's death so long ago, your father had taken down the shop he'd owned to take care of you. Everything you knew as a Ranger was from him. 

How to hunt, how to ride horses, how to fend for yourself, and ultimately how to be kind and love others. It was the way as a Ranger, he'd said, to protect Middle Earth from forces of evil. 

"I love you," You murmured, descending carefully down the stairs and towards the entrance. 

"I love you too, princess," Your father, your rock, your first love, squeezed your hand once more. Not for the first time, you wondered how you even got to this position.

Two Years Ago

If anyone asked, chasing after orcs was not a fun leisure pastime to spend your days. Chasing after orcs itself was not fun, especially when you were sporting an injury on your dominant arm. Cursing yourself for being so careless, you hunkered down under a grove of trees, and started a small fire. 

Dink!

Without thinking, you notched an arrow and aimed your bow towards the direction of the sound. 

"Show yourself!" You ordered into the silence. 

"What is a lady doing out here all alone?" A familiar voice spoke from the shadows, hands up and palms outward in surrender.

You gasped as the figure moved towards the fire light, slowly illuminating his features. With a grin, you lowered your bow. 

"I could ask the same to you," You sat back down on the uneven ground, patting the spot beside you. "Prince Aragorn."

"Am merely a Ranger, m'lady," The Ranger sat down in your offered spot, settling himself comfortably. The edges of his lips curled upwards, despite his efforts. "What brings you here, Y/N? Shouldn't you be back at Minas Tirith?"

"Orcs," You grumbled, checking on your stew you'd hastily threw together at the very last minute. "Been following them for a couple days now."

Silence.

Confused, you turned to him, only to find that his attention was drawn towards your still not dressed injury. Gently, his fingers ghosted on the bleed, and you winced. He gestured towards your arm, while breaking out his kit.

"I know what you're gonna say, Aragorn. You are careless, blah blah blah. The sword got me," You rolled your eyes. "I can stitch it up myself. Just lemme get this stew bubbling first."

"And make a mess of yourself again like last time?" He snorted, shaking his head as he worked. 

"It was just that one time!" You exclaimed, drawing a slight pout at him. "I'll be okay."

He was silent, focusing on the task in front. With your non injured arm, you fetched out two bowls and a ladle. By the time he was done, two bowls of piping hot stew sat in the center along with some leftover lembas bread. 

"Y/N," He addressed you, tightly tying the bandages together. "When I heard you were gone, I thought something had happened. I've tracked you for weeks, thinking the worst."

You handed him his helping of stew, glancing into his grey eyes. 

"And I realized that I missed having you by my side," He took your offering with a nod of thanks. "I'm coming along with you, Y/N. Lest you trip and fall on your own sword due to your clumsiness. "

"Aragorn!"

"No buts, m'lady," He started on his stew, all the while smirking at you.

You rolled your eyes at him.

He could get used to this bantering, he thought. You by his side was all he would ever need. 

You were greeted by the cheering people of Gondor, and two lines of saluting soldiers on either side. The magnificent, intricately carved, ceiling to floor doors were splayed widely. With a tentative smile, you entered the Great Hall.

Family and friends on both sides of the aisle stood up respectfully, all grins and happiness on their faces. Glancing ahead, you brightened up as Aragorn stepped out from a nearby door all dressed up.

Gone were his well known dark green cloak, and worn out leather boots. Instead, a pair of black boots, and black hose was kept. He also wore a sleeveless robe of red velvet, edged in gold. The three buttons of silver were engraved with a star. Another robe was added, black, made of leather and again edged with gold. 

It was fastened with claps made of silver. The robe held the device of Gondor, the White Tree surrounded by seven stars, detailed in silver. A finely made cloak of black was made to complete the outfit; and this was fastened to the outer robe by clasps of gold and silver. The winged silver crown sat on his curls, and his ring was proudly displayed.

He was impossibly handsome, much more than you'd ever seen.

It took your entire will and your father's steady hands that kept you sprinting towards the altar. You did your best to walk down the impossibly long aisle in the same beat as the musicians. You gave a small smile at your soon to be husband, quietly giggling at his amazed look at you.

"Absolutely not, Y/N!" Aragorn paced in front of you. "I can not allow you to join the Fellowship."

"Aragorn," You spoke, desperately keeping the annoyance out of your voice. "I can keep myself safe, thank you. I'm going with you whether you like it or not. Someone has to watch your back."

He had bickered again, but finally admitted defeat. As the Fellowship was formed and set off towards Mordor, he only wished that you would make it out safe and sound. 

It was three months in before the prince acted on his feelings. A sly smirk from the elf prince Legolas, a laughter from Gimli, and a fit of coughs from Gandalf was all it took for him to gather his wits and to speak with you.

Getting to his feet, he approached your cot.

"A word with you, Y/N?" Aragorn spoke. Looking perplexed, you took his offered hand and pulled yourself up.

"Where to?" You asked, confused. It was Legolas that had first watch tonight. Did the elf call you? Bringing you some distance away from the fire, he turned to you.

"Y/N, I-," He stopped, shaking his head. "It has occurred to me that I'm glad you came, despite putting yourself into so much danger. I realized that I need you by my side, and I just want to say that I lo-."

"I know, my love. I've known for awhile now," You interrupted the Ranger, pulling the dark green cloak off your back and placing it on your lap. "I know when you watch me behind my back, your soft lingering touches, your knowing smile that only I know of, and your everlasting need to drive me crazy. I know, Aragorn. I love you too."

"I can't deny that I know what lies ahead or how it'll end. What I can tell you is that my love for you has always been steady and true. I'm not a man who throws caution into the wind, but I'll do it if it means having you by my side till the end."

You scooched closer to him until practically your knees were touching his. He cupped your face with his hands, gazing adoringly into your eyes. 

"What do you say we take our chances together, Y/N?" He breathed, brushing your cheek with a calloused thumb. 

"I say yes," You crashed your lips onto his.

It almost felt like years before you finally met Aragorn at the front. With a sad smile, your father handed your hand into Aragorn's. He nodded once at your father before turning to you.

"Hi," You mouthed, grinning at your lover and King.

"Hello," He returned, equally grinning from one ear to another. 

The officiant started speaking, and you honestly did your best to stay attentive. Minutes in though, you shuffled your weight between your feet, eager to just be wed as husband and wife. Then be crowned queen, so you could tow Aragorn from all the pomp and flair, and return back to your room. 

In the meantime, all you could do was gaze around at the decorations fit for the royalty. Then at your family and friends. Prince Eomer was there, Prince Legolas beside him, Gimli, the hobbits, and even Gandalf sat in the second row. Honestly, you appreciated them all after so long on the road in the fight against Sauron.

"Aragorn!" You shouted from within the bottom level of Minas Tirith. "I'm coming with you!"

"Keep the women and children safe in the caves, Y/N!" Aragorn retorted. "I'll lead the men!"

You gave him a frown, but there wasn't any time to argue. Suddenly, you found him fiercely crushing your lips. You stayed like that before you were forced to break for air.

"I'll come back for you, m'lady," He growled. "And I'll marry you then and there."

"Come back to me in one piece first, Aragorn," you replied breathlessly. 

"Here," He got down onto one knee, and slid off his signature twin emerald snakes ring onto your left hand. "I swear to you, Y/N. You are my life, my soul, my sun. This is my promise to make you my wife. I will return for you, understand? Rohan will answer the call for help, and we will win once and for all."

You bit the bottom of your lip, scared and unsure. Gently, you placed one hand on the side of his face. Answering your unsaid plea, he nuzzled your palm, then turned it over to kiss your knuckles. You pulled him up again.

"Fight hard, Aragorn," You whispered. "I will wait."

This was the one time he was glad you didn't listen to his orders, and went out onto the battlefield to join the fight. At first, you'd bolster the archers along with Legolas and Gimli onto of the many castle levels. However as the orcs breached the defences, you found yourself pulling your sword out of its sheath and fighting for your life and for Middle Earth.

It was a red day, many lives were lost on both sides. You laid on the grass, surrounded by many dead Uruk-Hai, regrettably injured in so many ways. The sun was up, and the land bled red.

When the war was won, Aragorn's first thought went to you. As the women and children were allowed to leave the caves, he left them hastily when there was no sign of you.

"Any sign of a women?" He called out to the men dragging the dead to the side, and bringing in the injured.

"Why would a women be on the field?" One of his men answered him. 

He cursed as he stumbled around the field, half delirious in his quest of finding you. No, you couldn't be dead. He wouldn't allow it. 

"Sir! I've found her!" A distant voice called from a distance. 

Sprinting as fast as his legs could bring him and with dread coiling tightly in his stomach, Aragorn hoped- yearned for your safety and love. You were the only woman he loved, and will ever love. With you gone, would only destroy him. Upon reaching your broken body, he made a strangled sound and dropped to his knees.

"Y/N!" He cried, grabbing your thankfully still warm hand.

Your eyes fluttered open, and brightened up when they met his grey eyes. "Did we win?"

"We did," He nodded. "Now all you need to do is lay back and relax. The healers will have you patched up. Can you do that for me, my queen?"

"Anything for you, Aragorn."

"Will you, King Aragorn II Elessar Telcontar, take Lady Y/N Y/L/N as your lawful wife to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?"

"I do," His voice rang clear.

"And will you Lady Y/N Y/L/N, take King Aragorn ll Elessar Telecontar, as your lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?"

You caught his gaze, and smiled.

"I do."

Permanent Tags: @mournthewicked @asraime @cuddlememerrick(if you want to be tagged for a specific fandom or in general, please let me know!)

[happy-beeeps]

Stitches

Gif not my own!! Credits to the maker!

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x reader

Rating: PG 13, some violent references

WC: 1.8k

Summary: Reader has been working with Mando as a very inexperienced nurse/caretaker on the ship for sometime. When a too close call pushes her to her limit, they both confess their feelings for each other. Fluff ensues. Based on these prompts 27. “Jesus! What the hell, I thought you were dying!” and 31. “Don’t be alarmed. I’m going to kiss you.”

Warnings: Slight violence references, nothing gory but description of a blaster fight, other than that pure fluff!!!

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The child is going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it.

More often than not, however, you aren’t sure which child you mean; the 50-year-old infant currently placed along your lap, currently distracted by the little metal ball Mando unscrewed from a lever in the cockpit, or the Mandalorian himself. When he hired you as a caretaker for the child, what he hadn’t included was that the job description also entailed being a co-pilot, mediocre mechanic, and emergency trauma surgeon.

You had begged him time and time again to invest in a med-droid, after all, they were trained in medical emergencies and you were just an ex-farm girl who knew how to cauterize a wound after too many times falling off an Iriaz. The last time you had helped stitch a knife wound and asked for medical assistance he turned a masked face to you and gritted, “No. Droids.” Still, you were lucky he had never been in serious danger. Not just because you were by no means a healer, and the sight of blood still made you nauseous, but because you hated to admit that you had developed a big, fat, messy crush on the roguish space man who’s quarters you shared. Every small wound you stitched you would gain a new piece of him, and your heart never stopped fluttering when he would drop a piece of beskar to gain access to a new piece of tanned skin.

But now? Now you were feeling anything but fluttering in your chest. You had awoken a day and a half ago to Mando landing the ship rather abruptly on a desert system. You barely had time to register he was leaving when you woke up, much less get his action plan. Almost two days with no contact was unusual for Mando, he didn’t like to leave you, or the kid, alone for that long. You placed the child on the ground and watched as he waddled around, playing with anything he could get his hands on. You on the other hand were padding around the living quarters of the ship, desperately looking for something to clean, something to DO that didn’t involve thinking about him. Or where he was. Or if he was dead. The last thought sent a shiver through your body, and you pushed deep into the recesses of your mind and settled on showering and watching the child play some more.

Relief came in the form of the hatch jolting open with a loud hiss nearly an hour later. You were up in the cockpit with the kid, and you heard the staggered breathing coming out of his helmet and the uneven thud of his boots before he had even called you name.

“Y-Y/N! I n-need-” and then another labored breath echoing through his modulator. You quickly placed the kid in his pram and practically threw yourselves down the steps of the Razorcrest, watching as he toss discarded pieces of beskar around the ship. It smelled like fire, the seering stench of blaster fire making skin contact, you had only smelt it once before, and even then it was merely a graze on your shoulder when you had decided to accompany Mando into town one eventful evening.

“What happened to “stopping for supplies?”

“Rude traders. Wanted my beskar. Had to lose them before coming back here.” He said curtly, you could tell each word was forced out of his mouth.

You grabbed the med kit and watched as he sat in a heap in the corner. It felt weird to see him like this, so vulnerable and small. So weird, in fact, that you barely had time to register that his chest was fully exposed to you, tan skin with raised scars peaking out at all angels, black hair smeared across his chest and torso. The first thought you had was downright sinful. The second thought was that the blaster wound was large and way to centered on his abdomen to be painless. You busied yourself quickly with the med kit and tried to distract yourself from the sounds of his breathing trickling through the modulator, and the thought swirling through your head. “C’mon Y/N, you’ve done this before. Just because it’s bigger and smellier and more vital than ever before doesn’t make it any different.” You mumbled to yourself as you walked over. He straightened up as much as he could before you started to work and through his helmet you could hear him murmur “Is my doctor giving herself… A pep talk before she saves my life?” You laughed at his joke in spite of yourself, “Oh no, is the mandalorian really trying out humour now? I think we’ve truly gone too far, you can’t be saved.”

“Well, with you as my doctor, I didn’t know salvation was an option.”

Even through the modulator and the pain you could tell his remark was filled with nothing but light, his sense of humour never failed him. Gods be sure, if Mando could find some twisted humour in a moment, he was going to use it. You were applying the finishing touches to his bacta patch and sealing the wound, when you realized he hadn't answered any of your questions for the past few moments. Urgency shook your chest as you tapped his shoulder, “M-Mando? Mando?” After no response you tapped his helmet, hoping and praying that beskar echoed and he would wake up, “Oh gods Mando? Please don’t go, I swear to gods I can’t do this-” and you gestured to the ship and the sleeping child upstairs, “without you.” You choked, swallowing tears and tapping his shoulders aggressively. Finally, you heard a shaky breath come through the modulator, and your relieved sighs turned more and more into flustered ones when that breath turned into a husky laugh. “Sorry Y/N I guess I just got… lost in thought. Your medical skills certainly didn’t help bring me back any quicker,” he began, shifting into a more comfortable seated position. The bacta was already working, his mood and physicality had improved tremendously. Yours however, was dropping fast. “Jesus! What the hell, I thought you were dying!” you spat, standing up abruptly and spinning on your heel towards the ladder.

“Hey hey, now wait a minute-” he said, grabbing your wrist as you turned.

“Seriously Mando. I thought you were dead. That helmet needs a damn heart monitor, can’t ever tell when your eyes are open or closed.” You huffed, and his grip on your wrist tightened as he led you into a seated position between his outstretched legs. He let go of your wrist and his fingers lingered on the palm of your hand. The leather felt cool compared to the sheen of sweat that now coated your entire body. “Did you… Mean what you said?” He spoke, his voice cool through the robotic sound of his helmet.

“Mean what?”

“That you couldn’t do it… Without me?”

You sucked in your breath and looked everywhere but at him. Even out of the corner of your eye you could see the metallic visor staring at you, you just knew his eyes were burning through your skin.

“F-Forget it, please? I thought you were dying and I’m still very upset over your stupid joke.”

“Y/N. Did you?”

“Please Mando. Just drop it.”

“Did. You.” You looked up at him now, pulled your eyes out of your lap and into the visor of his helmet. Chest piece still discarded on the ground, you looked at him and his bare skin. Even in injury, this was a vulnerable state for him to be in. He had mentioned before it was never really “correct” for a Mandalorian to ever be seen without any piece of beskar, but here he was, exposed and open right in front of you. Before your confidence slipped you decided it was only fair to be vulnerable right back.

“Yes.” you whispered, eyes leaving his for just another moment and dropping back into your lap. Across you, you could feel his arms reach forward, and he grabbed your hips and scooted you on the floor close to him. His gloved hand made its way up to your cheek and you leaned into the gentle touch. He was never like this, sure he was soft with the kid, and always kind to you, but like this? With your skin so close to his and his hands wrapped around you so tight? This was new, and this was heaven. If you could ask the Gods you would tell them ‘take me now, I want to live in this moment forever. Don’t bother sending me anywhere else, I’ll stay here for all eternity thank you.’

“I just didn’t want you to think I was stupid. Or some silly romantic woman.” You breathed, and his hands fell back into yours. ‘I happen to like silly romantic women. Even if they always stitch me up crooked and push too hard on the bacta patches.” He chuckled, and you laughed in response before sighing and looking back up at him. His head cocked to the side, and you watched as he pressed a button on his wrist comm and plunged the ship into darkness.

“What are you doing?” You asked, you couldn’t see anything past the tip of your nose and the air felt sickly cold around you. Every light was off, every machine every control. You heard an unfamiliar hiss come from him, and when a heavy thud soon followed, you understood what had happened. His helmet was now among the pile of beskar growing at your feet. “I put the ship in stealth mode and low power. Don’t be alarmed. I’m going to kiss you.”

And boy did he follow through. Everything you thought before was a lie. This was heaven, no wait, this was BETTER than heaven. You dared the Gods to come up with something better than the feeling of his lips on yours, scruff chafing your upper lip and cheeks as he grabbed your waist pulling you in deeper. This was bliss, pure unadulterated bliss. He was soft and gentle and his breath on your neck felt like everything you had dreamed of. Maybe this was a reverse. Maybe you had actually died and this was all a dream? No, he felt too real, he tasted too real. Like sandalwood and metal and something you couldn’t quite place. He pulled away and you pressed your forehead against his, squeezing your eyes shut in case they had adjusted to the dark. “Mando?” you asked, laying your head in the crook of his neck, eyes still shut as you felt his hands weave into your y/h/c hair.

“Hmm?”

“That was the least threatening warning I’ve ever heard from a bounty hunter. You need to work on your pitch.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, pulling a finger across his torso letting you feel different scars along his chest, “and you need to work on your stitch.”