#canon compliant one-shot

[amethystheart2421]

I forgot to share my first fic of the year! 😱

It was a (late) entry to a holiday gift exchange because I am an unorganized mess. But here it is!! Just a fun little full moon adventure with a werewolf and a dog and maybe some other magical beasts and a little bit of danger.

[compacflt]

wip wednesday: "there's only one bed" except it's actually "there's only one hotel room" and it's washington d.c. in 1986 and they actually hate each other

[notsocooljess]

something small

Katniss and Peeta exchange surprise gifts on a cozy Christmas morning.

“Spiked eggnog?” Peeta asked.

“This early?” Katniss responded with a grimace.

“Why the face? It’s your favorite.”

“Not at nine in the morning.”

“That’s not what you said last year,” Peeta chuckled, but he put the pitcher away and set a kettle of water on the stove instead.

Christmas celebrations came about after the war, when New Panem hired historians to look up traditions from the past to help bring morale back to the nation. It took a few years to really take hold – frivolous gifts had never been big in the districts, where money had always been better spent on items needed to survive.

But, in time they learned that gifts were not the only thing people loved about the holiday. Coming together over great food, drink, and dance with neighbors had always been loved here. What harm is caused by celebrating old traditions with those you love? With well over a decade since the war ended, people were faring far better than the previous generation could have hoped for, so the cause for celebration had firmly planted its place in society once again.

So, now on the day, they bake and sing and dine and drink. The past few years, Delly, Thom, their two boys, and Haymitch have stopped by in the evening to eat a feast Peeta spent hours cooking up while Katniss pretended to help and nibbled on the scraps. The mornings, however, are reserved for the two of them. Lounging about, playing games, and reliving memories, both happy and sad.

Katniss straightened out a bow on their tree while Peeta attended to the whistling kettle. When they first set up a tree years ago, she wasn’t sure how she felt about cutting it down just for decoration. She hated damaging her woods. She remembered how Peeta had begged her to have it inside and finally convinced her by telling her they would cut the tree apart for firewood after the holiday, and she chuckled at the memory.

A hand waving in front of her face made her jump back.

“Whoa!” Peeta exclaimed, taking a step back to avoid spilling the contents of the steaming mugs in his hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Did you hear me calling you?” Peeta asked, and Katniss shook her head. “Peppermint or cinnamon tea?”

She plucked the peppermint tea from his hand and went over to sit on their couch. Peeta was not far behind her with his mug in one hand and a tray of speculoos cookies they baked together in the other. He placed the tray in front of them and sat beside her, and Katniss tucked her cold feet under his warm flannel-clad thigh.

He took a sip of his tea and looked at her, his eyebrow arched as his mug made its way to and from his lips. He looked at her like he was waiting for her to confess something.

“What?” Katniss asked defensively.

“You feeling okay? I don’t think I’ve ever snuck up on you in my life.”

Katniss dipped her cookie in her tea and swirled it around. Bits of cookie broke off as it became saturated, spinning in the mini whirlpool inside her mug. This morning, her stomach didn’t seem open to much more than the tea.

She forced a smile and said, “I’m fine. Just thinking.” And she really was just thinking, but Peeta nodded in response as if he knew what she meant. Almost all the time he did, but she doubted he did right now.

They sat in the silence of thought and memory. Snow was flurrying outside, a calm before the heavy storm that was supposed to come later in the week. Katniss was thinking, yes, but she didn’t want Peeta to think it was over something sad. She wanted to make sure their day was full of joy with their found family.

She drank from her mug and gave a content sigh, catching Peeta’s attention as she laid her head against the back of the couch. He mimicked her movements, and smiled at her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said to her, and even with years and years of getting compliments like these from Peeta, Katniss still wasn’t used to how casually he was able to say it, and she felt heat rush her cheeks as she smiled back at him.

Looking at him in their home, happy and healthy and hers, she felt a sudden wave of emotion start to overtake her. Again, she didn’t want Peeta to think she was sad, quite the contrary, and she needed to change the topic before he became worried.

“So remind me of our menu tonight?”

Peeta went on to describe the feast he had planned, which Katniss was already familiar with since she had helped gather much of the items. Roasted duck, brussel sprouts, mashed potatoes. Cheese buns and spinach pastries. Too many cookies and apple pie. Normally, Katniss’s mouth would be watering just from the conversation. Currently, the only thing that sounded appetizing was the cheese buns.

“Well if we’re gonna feed the town tonight, shouldn’t we get started?” Katniss asked.

“Soon, but not yet,” Peeta responded. “First,” Peeta started, and he leaned over the side of the couch, “I want to give you this,” he finished, presenting Katniss with a small box. She looked at him with surprise.

“It’s just something small, but…” his voice trailed off as he bit his bottom lip, suppressing a smile.

They’d never been Christmas gift givers. A calm morning off from the bakery and a break from hunting were usually how they celebrated. Small gifts on the day-to-day just helped further cement their love for one another, and for Katniss and Peeta, grand gestures had always come off the most sincere when they were unexpected. Of course, since they did not typically give gifts on Christmas, Katniss supposed this would now be considered unexpected.

Peeta placed the small box in her hands, perfectly wrapped by his skilled hands. When Katniss opened the box, she found a gold ring, expertly shaped to look like a primrose flower with a small diamond in the center. She gasped, and tears brimmed her eyes almost immediately, but she couldn’t take them away from the ring.

Since she couldn’t speak, Peeta filled the silence. “It just hit fifteen years, and I thought this would be a good way to remember her. I reached out to Effie, and she got me in touch with someone Cinna and Portia used to work with. I sent her probably fifty sketches of my idea. I was so nervous she wouldn’t be able to do it how I envisioned it, but I should’ve known that if she worked with Cinna and Portia, she’d be able to do practically anything.”

So, Peeta got her a gift, and not a gift he just went and bought. He designed it. With Cinna and Portia and Prim in mind. Any words she could come up with right now would not be enough.

With Katniss choked up, Peeta’s anxious words continued like an endlessly flowing river. “And I know we toasted so long ago, but we never really did the ring thing, and I never even really asked you if that was something you wanted because it's always been such a Capitol thing, but then I thought maybe you felt like you were missing out on it. I also thought a ring might be the easiest piece of jewelry because it’s small and it won’t get caught in your hair like a necklace would, and you can still use your bow with it since I had a probably very impractical thought that a bracelet could get in the way of that and you’d get hurt somehow.”

Katniss looked up and met his blue eyes, which were wide with anxiety and observing her every move.

“Do you like it?” Peeta finally asked, eyes searching her face as if the answer would be written there.

An idea hit her before she could properly respond. “I’ll be right back,” Katniss blurted out suddenly, and jumped from the couch, darting up the stairs.

If her brain hadn’t been in such a fog these past few days, she would have made sure to stay behind briefly to tell Peeta how much she loved it. She would’ve told him how wonderful and thoughtful this gift was, how hopeful this gift made her feel. At the very least, she would’ve warned him that she wasn’t running away because she was sad, thinking of hurtful memories from their past. But in her current state, once she remembered something, she needed to act on it before she lost the idea entirely.

Not that her gift to him was ever something she could forget. She was just going to wait to tell him. She wanted to make a special moment for it so it could be perfect, at a time when she felt more ready for it. But, she knew if it was her and Peeta, it would be perfect either way.

When she bolted back down the stairs, winded and smiling with her hands behind her back, Peeta presented her with a smile of his own, eyes still wide with confusion and shock and now joy to match her own.

“I have something small for you, too,” Katniss said. She stood in front of him on the couch and placed her gift to him, clumsily wrapped in only tissue paper, in his hands.

Peeta shot her another curious look before tearing the paper away. His eyes went wide when he saw what was in his hands.

“Katniss?” Peeta breathed, her name bearing a question, an answer, a lifeline. “Is this real?”

She barely gave him a nod before he jumped off the couch, laughing and sweeping her into his arms, kissing her face anywhere he could, tears now brimming both of their eyes. Because in his hand he clutched the greatest gift of all: a small plastic test clearly adorned with a dark blue plus sign.

[mischievousmoony]

𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞

⟢ regulus black x gn!reader ⟢ you walked in on your best friend wielding an ancient dark magic, and you discovered just how far gone he really was ⊹ 1.4k ⟢ warnings/tags: angst, no comfort, no happy ending, childhood bsf!regulus, pureblood!reader, regulus is mean/threatening, unrequited love if you squint, vaguely references regulus' parents being terrible, and readers parents being terrible to a house elf

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Regulus knelt on the cold stone before an ancient, leather-bound book, its rune-covered pages yellowed with age. He was whispering a steady stream of strange incantations. The air around him was thick with tension, humming softly with a dark energy. As his voice grew bolder, black, smoky tendrils unfurled from the pages, writhing and twisting as if they were alive. The air grew colder as the tendrils coiled toward him, stopping just short of his rigid figure.

"Regulus!" your voice cut through the air like a plea. The tendrils retreated as Regulus lost focus, his head snapping up at the sound of your voice. They dwindled into a small cloud of smoke, swirling above the pages, as if waiting for their next command.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as his gaze met yours. His hollow eyes sent chills down your spine as you watched him rise slowly to his feet. His movements seemed foreign, and a tight pit begins to form in your stomach.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, his words sharp as knives, striking you straight in your heart.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing an even tone as you counter with a question of your own. "What is this?" you asked, raising your fist, the crumpled page of parchment clenched tightly in your hand. A letter from Regulus—a single page of heartless goodbyes.

Regulus' gaze flashed to the letter only for a single second, almost like he couldn't bear to look at it for any longer. "If you've read it, then you already know everything you need to know," he said, his voice steady but edged with something unreadable.

You scoffed in disbelief. "You tell me– no. You write me a letter that says you never want to see me again with no explanation. And you just want me to accept it? You're not even going to give me a reason? You're not even going to look me in the eye and say it to my face!?" Your voice rose as the pent up anger for what he did bubbled over, a rush of frustration and betrayal flooding your chest, and you found yourself throwing a bitter insult in his face because of it. "Are you really that much of a coward?"

Regulus' nostrils flared at your words. "A coward?" he repeated in a sinister whisper that made your blood run cold. "Perhaps I just didn't want to waste any more time on a filthy little blood traitor like yourself."

Hurt and confusion contorted your features. Your mouth opened to respond, but only a strangled, helpless sound escaped your throat. You had never heard Regulus speak in that way. It was as if the person you once knew had vanished, replaced by someone entirely different—someone cruel.

"You're a disgrace," Regulus continued, seizing your silence as an opportunity to drive the knife in deeper. "To your honor, your family… to me. Why would I waste another second on you?"

"You don't sound like yourself," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, thick with disbelief.

"Perhaps you never truly knew me," Regulus said, staring you down with cold indifference.

You found this claim ridiculous. Laughable, even. No one knew him like you did, not his family, not his housemates—only you.

"No. No," you insisted. "I know you, Regulus Black. And you're troubled, yes. But you're not—you're not this!" Your voice cracked as you threw your arms up, gesturing to the cold, distant person he had turned into.

"You're kind," you continued, standing firm. "Kinder than people give you credit for because of how you keep to yourself. I remember when we were kids, when I came to you crying after my parents struck our house elf. Any other kid—any other wizard would have laughed in my face. But you? You came back to my house with me and helped me make sure he was okay." You paused, struggling to keep your emotions in check, "You were always that way—always kind, even when your parents… even when they weren’t."

"Stop," Regulus commanded in a low, almost dangerous tone. But you weren't intimidated by the threatening mask he was desperately trying to wear.

Your heart ached as you looked at him, unable to see anyone but the childhood friend who had always shown you love and warmth—even as he stood here looking at you so coldly. "You loved your parents, even when they were broken, even when they were wrong," you said softly. "But you would never, never be like them. The Regulus I know... the Regulus I love–"

"Shut up!" he bellowed, raising his wand in a threatening stance. But despite the fury in his voice, he hesitated, unwilling to point it directly at you.

A sad smile took form on your face. With a small shake of your head, you told him, "I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be," he replied, his voice dark, filled with something like a warning barely concealed.

Regulus began walking towards you, stepping over the book where black tendrils once again seeped past the pages, slithering across the stone floor like serpents.

"I'm giving you the chance to leave," he said, pausing a few paces away from you, his wand held low in front of him. "Leave now and never look back."

Regulus expected you to turn and run, but instead, you did the last thing he’d ever imagined: you stepped forward, meeting him in the middle.

"You're not gonna hurt me, Regulus," you said, your voice steady but gentle, a hint of vulnerability beneath the confidence. Your gaze never wavered from his, as if to show how much you truly believed in him.

"Is that something you'd bet your life on?"

You didn't miss the way Regulus' grip on his wand faltered as he spoke.

In a sudden sweep, you had your hand wrapped around his forearm and had forced his hand upward, driving the tip of his wand into the soft underside of your chin.

"What are you going to do?" you whispered.

Regulus’ gaze slowly drifted from your eyes to the hand gripping his forearm. You followed his stare, seeing his eyes linger on the bunched-up sleeve, where tattooed skin was peeking out from beneath the hem.

"No..." you breathed, feeling as if your world had just shattered in a single second. You looked up, searching his eyes desperately, hoping for some trace of the kind boy you once knew—a spark, a flicker, anything to prove he was still there.

But Regulus remained motionless, unashamed of what you'd discovered. His gaze only hardened the longer you looked. At the sight of tears brimming in your eyes, he pressed his wand harder against your skin, the tendrils—humming with dark magic—beginning to coil up his legs.

You dropped his arm, pushing it away with a force that sent you tripping backwards.

"What happened to you?" you gasped, tears finally spilling from your eyes. You didn't expect an answer, you didn't know if you wanted one anymore. You dropped the crumpled letter at his feet and ran, not allowing him the chance to give you one.

The moment you were out of sight, Regulus dropped his wand to the ground with a clatter, falling to his knees after it. He reached for it desperately as the smoky tendrils continue their slow climb of his body, overtaking him.

The tips of his fingers grazed his wand, pushing it close enough for him to get a grip on it again. In a weak voice, he muttered the proper incantations to banish the tendrils to the book they came from.

Regulus fully collapsed as soon as the tendrils had released him. He couldn't keep track of how long he had laid there, alone, on the cold stone floor with his eyes trained on the wrinkled parchment he had filled with lies.

His head was pounding from the overwhelming pressure of the dark magic he had wielded for far too long. His skin burned where the tendrils had a hold of him, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache spreading through his chest.

The look on your face would haunt him forever, he was sure of it. His heart ached with a raw, unrelenting pain, torn apart by the knowledge that he had to break your heart to protect you from the path he was following.

He expected that he'd die restlessly one day, knowing he'd forever be a monster of his former self in your mind. But he hoped part of him would find peace, knowing you'd be safe from the darkness he must bear.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[dragonerd8224]

New Year’s kiss: A Nevermore oneshot

idk man I felt like it ok?

—

“Annabel, what’s wrong?” Prospero asked, his voice quiet and careful not to ring through the halls of the Academy.

“Nothing, love,” Annabel lied. “Just dreams, memories, memories of dreams…” In her mind’s eye she kept seeing a moment. A moment that never happened. Or maybe it did. She didn’t quite remember. She couldn’t stop remembering the toll of a bell, the joyous shouts, the unexpected feeling on her lips.

It had felt so wrong, but so right.

“The year is drawing to a close, isn’t it?” Prospero whispered.

“I’m not sure how, but I know that you are correct.” Annabel mused. “Do you think the Deans will initiate any festivities?”

Prospero shook his head. “It’s unlikely, and besides, it doesn’t matter. A ball would only take away our focus.”

“Yes, I agree,” Annabel replied. She nearly said something else: It would never be as good as that night. A night that may never have happened.

That night, spent with her dearest friend, who offered to kiss her when the clock struck midnight. She remembered the words, unsure if she had ever heard them or only dreamed them. “Better me than some boring man who you barely know, yes?”

And Lenore had been right. It was better. Much better.

—

“It’s December thirty-first.” Lenore spoke with a certainty that surprised even herself. She didn’t know how, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Duke nodded, standing next to her and looking out at the water. “Indeed it is.” He turned to her, a small smile on his face. “Do you remember anything about how you celebrated the New Year in life?”

Lenore was lucky she didn’t gasp. When he had said that, memories began to flow into her head. They felt more like fantasies than anything. Memories of fantasies, thoughts that stuck with her but were never real.

She had put her lips on Annabel Lee’s. She had kissed that woman. And she enjoyed it.

Looking back, Lenore wasn’t sure if she wanted the memories to be real or not. Was the idea too good to be true? Was she a little bit… scared of Annabel deep down? She didn’t know what she felt.

She finally opened her mouth and responded to Duke: “No, nothing special that I can remember.” It was a lie, a blatant lie. If her New Years Kiss with Annabel was real, then there was no way that ‘nothing special’ happened in any of the New Years Days in her life. But she wasn’t ready to tell him about all that.

She couldn’t forget the scene that night, regardless of whether it was a dream or not. Her and Annabel, sitting together, looking out a window as they waited for the bell to toll, signaling the coming of a new year. Lenore had quietly, uncertainly, asked if she could kiss Annabel when the clock struck midnight. Annabel had never really kissed anyone before that moment, and Lenore believed that it would be better to kiss her than her future husband who she likely wouldn’t care for.

And when the clock struck midnight and the bell rang, Lenore Vandernacht and Annabel Lee Whitlock had put their lips on each other’s, creating a memory that felt too fantastical to be true.

[lemonsprite]

𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝𝐬 || 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐖𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧

Summary: Wade discusses his next target his mercenary gig has assigned him, Peter doesn’t quite agree Word Count: 1.5K Warnings: Crude language (Its Deadpool guy c’mon) A/N: this is based off the comic book series of spider-man/deadpool!!!

“Now webs don’t be mad at me…” Pouted Wade, his feet dangling over the side of the building they were currently sitting on top of. “But I need your help with something…”

“What Wade?” Peter asked, not even looking up from his foil wrapped burrito. He shuddered. “I’m not helping you manscape again.”

“You know how you work for Parker industries?”

Peter chuckled inwardly to himself. ‘Work for Parker Industries’ was certainly a way you could view it. If it wouldn’t completely destroy his secret identity he would’ve told Wade by now he was the CEO and founder, but Peter bit his tongue, knowing it would do more harm than good for the merc to know such knowledge.

“Yeah…?” Peter continued, not liking where this conversation was heading as he took another bite of his dinner, his mask shifting slightly so he could take a bigger chunk of burrito-y goodness.

“Can you help me kill the CEO?”

Peter choked on his burrito, coughing furiously as he attempted to clear his lung of the salsa he just inhaled.

“You want me to kill me- My boss?!” He asked, catching himself before he could prematurely spill the beans on his true identity.

“I knew you’d be mad!” Pouted Wade, dramatically leaning towards Peter. “I know you don’t agree with my thoughts on Peter Parker but I’ve just been given some crazy mad evidence to show you how right I am in my feelings!”

Peter stared at Wade silently, trying to decipher if what he’d heard was all true. ‘Evidence’? What ‘Evidence’? Last Peter checked he hadn’t been up to any devilishly fiendish activities.

“What exactly has…” Peter cleared his throat. “Mr. Parker done?”

Wade revealed a small USB from somewhere inside his suit (Peter didn’t want to think too hard about it) and waved it in front of Peter’s face.

“According to some very reliable sources-“

“Who are those sources Wade?” Asked peter, raising a dubious eyebrow.

“Very reliable.” Tsked Wade, booping Peter on the nose with the USB. “Now be quiet and let me monologue baby boy.”

Deadpool cleared his throat, and gestured to the nearby Parker Industries skyscraper. “according to my sources… Peter Parker’s newest technology- his web ware- has a component to control those who wears it thought’s…”

“Mind control man…” Wade gasped, waving his hands in front of an unamused Peter to get his point across. “Mind controoooolll……..” He whispered.

“So you’re going to kill him because your sources-“

“Very reliable.” Interjected Wade.

“Told you he’s plotting to control the minds of the entire populous of New York?”

“Now are you on my side?” Asked Wade, rolling over on to his stomach and kicking his legs back and forth like a little school girl.

“No Wade.” Deadpanned Peter, crushing the burrito’s foil in his hands and throwing it into a nearby trash can on the buildings roof.

“Peter wouldn’t do something like that…” He added, looking over at his skyscraper, trying to decipher if Wade really had reason to believe Parker Industries would commit such a crime.

Wade scoffed, obviously annoyed that Peter couldn’t see his side of the argument. Why was he being so defensive over his billionaire boss who like all scumbag CEO rich men would toss him aside? Spider-man was only a low level worker at Parker Industries shouldn’t he also rally against his boss like all red-blooded Americans…? Unless he’s already being mind controlled… OMG is spider-man evil right now…

Deadpool glanced over at Spider-man suspiciously, making a mental note to keep a closer eye on him.

Peter sighed, realizing that this argument would go no where like it always did.

“Look Wade, patrols over I’m going home.” Peter said, standing up and pulling his mask back over his face. “Don’t follow me or I’ll websling your foot to your skull.”

Wade watched Peter sling off into the distance, a frown etched onto his face.

Welp if Spidey wouldn’t help him, he’d just have to do it himself… And knowing Parker Industries that might be a tad bit hard.

Wade did his best impression of a cartoon robber, sneakily crawling his way up a large crystalline apartment complex in Brooklyn and using his tippy toes to stealth across the roof.

According to his very reliable resources this was the current home address of one Peter Parker- and if the two katanas and approximately thirty two other small weapons strapped to his body had anything to say- tonight was the night he died.

Using his best form of lock picking (using a muffler on one of his pistols and shooting the door until it opened), Wade made his way inside of the apartment complex, sheathing his pistol and carefully descending the long stair case.

The night was dead silent, a pleasant surprise when living in the big apple.

‘Must come with residing in the fanciest of fucking apartments.’ thought Wade to himself as he continued, avoiding any step that might creek under his weight. ‘Another reason to hate Parker- he was richer than Wade.’

After six whole flights and a good cardio workout, Deadpool was standing in front of the door to Peter Parker’s apartment.

This time he’d be more classy, using some of his high tech tools (courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D) Wade was able to unlock the doors fifty locks in record time! (An hour spent sitting outside the front door and praying none of his neighbors decided to get a midnight snack from the local connivence store.)

Peter Parker’s apartment was surprisingly messy. Clothes were strewn out in piles and dishes were left in unclean piles dirtying up the sink.

Wade scoffed, if he wasn’t here to kill the guy he might’ve done the fellow a good deed and wiped down his counters.

The door to Parker’s room was left wide open, as well as a nearby window.

Wade kicked himself for not checking the perimeter more closely.

Shedding a quick tear for all the time lost breaking into this joint and with a convenient get away nearby, Deadpool glanced over Parker’s bedroom briefly, noticing the fluffy brown haired demon of a man peacefully sleeping in a messy bed.

Near the night stand laid an unsuspecting duffel bag.

Uh oh- Wade was familiar with this one.

Was it new villainous technology? Money he got from dubious origins? Human remains? Deadpool didn’t know, but he’d be damned if he didn’t find out.

“What we got here Parker…” he whispered aloud to himself as he pried open the duffel bag only for his eyes to land on a little red and blue spandex number he could recognize in his sleep.

“Spidey…?” Gasped Wade, looking confusedly at the suit discarded in the bag.

“Wade…?” came a gruff half asleep voice from behind him.

Deadpool moved on instinct, throwing a small dagger towards the voice without thinking before turning around.

Peter Parker was staring wide eyed at Wade. His body leaning to the left after he dodged the knife Deadpool had thrown.

The man who was now only in boxers Deadpool realized, glanced incredulously at the dagger sticking out of his wall, inches from his head.

Peter looked from Deadpool to the suit in his hands before sighing and shooting a web from his wrist to flick on the light switch, bathing the room in annoying brightness.

“You’re… no…” fumbled Deadpool, a disbelieving laugh pushing past his lips.

“Yeah…” smirked Peter, scratching at the back of my neck.

“But the technology! The evil plans!” Fumbled Wade, trying to tuck the spider suit into his back pocket for later and non erotic reasons. Peter gave him a look and shot another string of web at Wade to pull the suit back towards him.

“That’s why I want to know who your sources are and who’s been using my tech for their own gain.” Frowned Peter, grabbing some nearby sweatpants and pulling them over his boxers (much to wades displeasure).

“Sorry baby boy- can’t get past the fact you’re fucking Peter Parker.” Wade practically shouted.

“Look Wade… can this wait till morning?” Asked Peter, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “It’s four AM and I have to be up at six for a board meeting.”

“Holy Shit! You have board meetings!” Laughed Deadpool, who might’ve gone insane at this point if he wasn’t already.

Peter frowned at him.

“Wade if you let me go back to sleep I’ll let you sleep on my couch and eat my strawberry cream cheese toaster strudels in the morning.”

Like someone had pulled a switch in the enigmatic mind of Deadpool - he gave Peter a cheerful smile and snuck back towards the door.

“Sleep tight baby boy I’ll be here in the morning!” He flourished, kicking his leg in the air in a way that would make a ballet teacher have an aneurysm and flicking off the light switch with his steel toed boot.

With the room bathed once more in darkness, Peter’s tranquility was short lived as Wade pressed a gentle mask covered kiss to his temple and pirouetted out the exit.

Peter knew that come tomorrow, Wade and him would have to have a long chat but for now he was content to go back to sleep.

And for the rest of his days- Peter would ignore the little side of him that wished Wade had done more than a little goodnight kiss.

Chapter two coming soon omg *vine boom sound effects in quick succession of each other*

[starmocha]

why are you breaking my heart at 9 am devs when will you let me heal why are you dragging me back into the pit of despairs

[eryiss]

Fraxus Week 2024 - Day 2: Sports & Competition

Description: Laxus had known there would be changes in the guild, and in his team, when he got back from exile. What he hadn’t expected was Freed getting involved in the guild's weird competitions. What he really didn’t expect was Freed competing shirtless, and looking jaw-droppingly sexy while doing it

Note: Day two, again hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. This really is just Laxus going wild for Freed. Sue me. He’s hot, and I like to project onto Laxus.

Link: Ao3

To See Him Ruffled

In the year – or was it technically eight years now? – that Laxus had been out of the guild, obviously a lot was going to have changed. That would have been true even if they hadn't been trapped on the island and the wold went on ticking around them. Changes were something he had known to expect.

What he hadn't expected was how two different changed would mingle into him having to deal with Freed shirtless, sweaty, and sexy as all hell.

First, there was guild culture. Fairy Tail liked to talk about how close and friendly they were, but it had always been a big place and not everyone knew each other. But as members had started to walk away and leave for other guilds, those who remained had evidentially rallied together and gotten close. There were more events, more get togethers, and more focus on community. After everyone trapped on Tenrou had returned, that community had expanded, and the events had increased tenfold.

Second: Freed. Before, Freed had been the very personification of stoicism. He had a darkness behind his eyes, an underlying ferocity. That wasn't gone, as such. There was just more to him now. Like the darkness and the demon were a barrier, and he'd let it down, but was ready to bring it back when he needed it.

Both of those things were fine. Good. Great. The guild was reestablishing its roots, and Freed was growing into his skin in a way he hadn't been able to before. So yeah; all good.

The thing was, though, that they'd merged together to make something… troubling.

Apparently was of the new traditions was the 'Adaption Knockout'. Any member of the guild who wanted to participate would be faced with a day of random challenges wherein their ability to tackle situations were tested. It ranged from solving riddles, to setting up tents in a rainstorm, to performing spectacles of human exercion.

The Freed that Laxus had known when they were younger would have turned his nose up at it. But now, he had said it would be a good way to test his skills and hone his mind.

So, Laxus was now watching from the sidelines as Freed stretched. His coat and his shirt were on the ground, getting muddy and crumpled, while Freed's strong, firm, wonderful back flexed with the effort of his stretching. His shoulder blades were so pronounced, with skin stretching tight over them. He had a few scars, even a few whip marks that Laxus knew he had no business asking about but desperately wanted to know about anyway. It was a back for a strong, working man who had dealt with the crap life threw at him, and bit back with vigour.

Freed never used to take his shirt off. Never. He rarely removed his coat.

He'd been hiding a body like this for so long? Selfish asshole.

What the hell was Laxus thinking?

When Freed turned around during a waist rotation, Laxus wasn't thinking anything at all. How had he never seen Freed's abs before? They were rippling and tight and goddamn mesmerising. Freed wasn't the kind to aim for a body-builder physique like Laxus; he had that swimmer's build. The type you might miss when he was clothed but would get your mouth watering the second that he wasn't.

Damn his nipples were perfect. Laxus could imagine pinching and sucking and biting them, to see what the once reserved Freed would do. Bite back? Pin him down? Spank him?

"Come on man!" Gajeel snapped, sitting on the bleachers beside him. Laxus looked around and was met with a glare. "You wanna screw him, we get it. You really gotta smell like it though?"

Laxus blanched. He hadn't been around other Dragon Slayers for a while. He'd forgotten they had the same heightened senses. Dammit.

Through either luck or coincide, Laxus was saved from having to respond to that when the whistle blew, and the obstacle course race began. Freed shot forward, with the other contestants of course, and began to climb the rope to get to the raised platform. His arms ripples and his thighs clenched, and Laxus had to take the bleachers in a dead-white grip to control himself. He ignored Gajeel's damn snort.

Laxus only had eyes on Freed, and as he zip-lined down back onto the ground, he felt his throat dry up. The man's stomach was clenched, and every single part of him looked intense and tight and lickable.

"And, our first competitors are getting towards the axe wielding portion of the game," Bickslow, who had somehow swindled his way into being commentator for the day, said into the microphone. "Our daring guildmates will be tasked in cutting a felled tree into firewood, and then has to throw the axe into a target fifteen feet away. Tough, and very sexy too."

Seriously, who had let Bickslow get hold of a microphone?

He wasn't wrong though. Seeing Freed yank out the axe from the tree stump that it was bashed into without breaking pace was as sexy as anything Laxus had seen. Then to see him going to town on the tree, cutting it up fast and sharp and so damn skilfully set Laxus' body on fire. If he smelt of his attraction before, it must be a damn stench now.

"And that's Freed taking the lead after hitting the target," Bickslow crowned. "And I think I speak for all of us when I say, 'Daddy may I?'"

Laxus turned to glare at Bickslow, only to see him grinning back with his tongue out. Apparently Gajeel wasn't the only one who knew Laxus might not be thinking entirely purely. Slightly cowed, Laxus looked back to the race, to see Freed laughing and shaking his head slightly as he ran towards the next part of the course.

It was nice that Freed was laughing more. He deserved to laugh. Life had given him a crappy hand, and it was right that things were turning around in his favour.

"God your pathetic," Gajeel growled. "You're acting like he hung the goddamn moon."

"Like you wouldn't be doin' the same if it was your girl doing it," Laxus snapped.

Gajeel looked caught out, then annoyed, then vengeful. He crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. "Least I don't have competition."

Laxus frowned, not knowing what that meant. Gajeel looked past him with purpose to the rest of the crowd, all of whom were watching the race. Watching Freed, he realised belatedly, and there were quite a few flushed faces, sharp whispers and scandalous giggling. Why the hell had the guild allowed random members of the public to watch? Yeah, the guild needed money, but they didn't need to sell Freed out to a crowd filled with perverts.

What the hell had they done to look at Freed's flexing… fuck, he was flexing. There was a rubble moving section and Freed was hefting a large part of a demolished wall, and his entire body looked powerful and tested and too sexy for words. His back. His shoulders. His neck!

Why did they get to see Freed like this? Laxus was the one who knew him!

But he couldn't say any of that to Gajeel. So, he huffed and grunted, "Guess my guy's hotter than your girl."

"The hell did you just-"

Had he just called Freed his guy? He had, hadn't he. He didn't have a claim on Freed. He didn't. But he had more of a claim on him than anyone else, and if anyone deserved to be worshipping the man's body – did he want to worship him? – then it was Laxus.

Okay, he really needed to leave. It had to be the sun making him lose his mind.

It was certainly the sun giving Freed that beautiful, sweat slicked sheen.

"And with his storming lead, Freed is approaching the plunge pool. I think we're all looking forward to seeing how he handles this," Bickslow said.

Freed actually halted as he climbed the ladder, turned to look at Bickslow and yelled, "Next year, consider a cold shower before you start."

Maybe Laxus would benefit from a cold shower.

"Only saying what we're all thinking, Baby."

The fact that even Bickslow calling Freed baby, something he did to basically everyone he had ever met, had Laxus feeling jealousy roiling inside of him was a problem. Yes, Freed was basically sex on legs at this point. Yes, Dragon Slayers apparently had a predisposition for jealousy. Yes, Laxus wasn't so horned up and pathetic that he'd actually do anything about it. But still, it was a problem he was even thinking it.

He needed to leave. He would calm down, get his head on straight, and deal with this explosion of lust he was feeling when he was back to his self.

Just as he stood up to leave, a splash rebounded around the space, and Laxus turned to see Freed had jumped from a raised platform into a deep pool of crisp clean water. Crisp clean water he was climbing out of, shirtless and soaked and practically a siren that sang directly for Laxus' soul.

Water rolled down his chest, over his abs, and down the waistband of his pants which clung to him sinfully. He ran a hand through hid sodden hair and brushed it out of his face, his human and demon eye equally sinful as he rolled his shoulders and caught his breath, chest rising and falling and taunting Laxus.

Holy shit.

Silently, absently, and resolutely ignoring Gajeel's manic laughing at his expense, he sat down again. He could get his head on straight later. Maybe he was making a mistake, but this was too good to miss.

"And just so you know," Gajeel whispered lowly. "Looks like he's getting into the final round. You know what the final round is?"

"Don't care."

"Mud wrestling."

Laxus' grip on the bleacher got so tight he splintered it. Gajeel just laughed.

Once the final round was over, and Laxus had lost all sense of any sanity he'd ever previously had, Freed approached him. He was drenched head to toe in mud, still shirtless, and was grinning as if entirely content with the situation.

What the hell had happened to Freed, exactly?

Laxus was glad of it, whatever it was. Seeing Freed let loose and without the anxieties and holdbacks that had made him his previously reserved self was wonderful, but this was so far form the Freed he had known it was like night and day. To Laxus, who had only known this version of Freed for a few weeks, it was like a switch had been flipped and suddenly Freed was the man he was always meant to be.

He was so sexy like it, too. Not just because he had a good body – a really good body – or that he was caked in mud in a way that weirdly worked for Laxus. No. Freed had an easy confidence, and a cockiness that had always been there, but seemed more lighthearted now. Previously, they'd spent time laughing at their guildmates in a way not entirely kind. Now, it felt like Freed would make those jokes about himself only.

Laxus wanted to kiss him. Right here, right now. To hell with the consequences.

"I didn't expect you to come," Freed said in greeting. Had he not known Laxus was there? And to think Laxus had been entirely hypnotised by him.

"You're my teammate. I should support you," Laxus grumbled, glancing around to see if Gajeel was close enough to make a comment. He wasn't.

"You should apply next year. It's quite fun. Definitely gets the blood pumping," Freed grinned, rolling out his arm and flicking his now heavy hair out from his eyes.

Laxus had to look at him. His arm was troubling him, and he wasn't hiding it, which was frankly a miracle. Many a time before the harvest festival, Freed had decided to hide his injuries as if they were something to be ashamed of. There had been knife wounds he'd refused to admit to. To Laxus' shame, he hadn't all together cared. He'd thought that it was Freed's business, and he could handle himself.

Then there was the mud. The Freed he had known was spotless and without blemish, going so far as to cast illusion spells if something was wrong with his outfit. Now he simply stood there, like some kind of a swamp monster, and didn't seem to have a care in the world. He was ruffled and messed and gleeful in it.

He'd changed so much, and it looked so good on him. Laxus wondered if he could ever change so much. Maybe he needed a push.

"Yeah. I will," he said.

"You will?" Freed asked, a little shocked, but then grinned. "You'll really enjoy it."

"Sure I will," Laxus nodded slightly. He'd probably agree to anything Freed said in the moment.

"I should warn you, though," Freed continued. "I intend to win next year, so you'll have heavy competition."

"Obviously," Laxus grunted. As if Freed had ever not been one step away from putting Laxus on his ass. Just because Laxus might not have admitted to it before, it didn't mean he'd never known it. "Second place ain't bad, though. You did well."

"I suppose. I think third would have been preferable, honestly."

Laxus frowned. "Why?"

"There's something of a tradition between the final two competitors. A wager wherein whoever comes second has to perform a demand of the winner. A dare, essentially, of which I am now burdened to adhere to."

Well, that was one thing that hadn't changed. Freed got weirdly eloquent and verbose when annoyed. Laxus had to grin. "What's Loke makin' you do?"

Freed glanced at the man who had bested him, who was surrounded by Lucy, his fellow celestial spirits, and a few of the other competitors. He didn't look half as good shirtless and covered in mud as Freed did. "I'm his personal butler for a full week. Any demand he has, I have to without complaint."

Laxus snorted. "Sounds awful."

"I expect it will be," Freed chuckled, and the fact he was taking it in such good faith had Laxus grinning. He wanted to push Freed into the grass, pin him down, and drive him to distraction. "I don't think my ego will handle it."

"Nah, something that big can handle anything."

"My ego, Laxus. Not yours."

"Asshole," Laxus grinned. "Hope he makes you squirm. Gives you some stupid uniform or something."

"Funny you should mention that," Freed chuckled. "He actually sent me to change into my 'uniform' now. I just happened to see you before I snuck off."

"Is it bad?" Laxus teased.

"It's… exactly what a man like him would want in a butler."

"He gonna yell at you if you keep talking to me?"

"It's a bet, Laxus, not an employment contract," Freed laughed, and ran a hand through his muddy hair after it fell over his head. He reached down to the hair tie and pulled it out, swapping his hair into a messy ponytail. Laxus might not have ever seen so much of Freed's neck as he had in that moment. "Even if I was on a time limit, I wouldn't have reached it. He told me to change in the bathroom, but there's no real point. I might as well do it here."

"In front of-"

Laxus cut himself off when he saw Freed bending down and unbuckling his belt. He could do nothing but gape as Freed pulled down his pants and stepped out of them, standing just in his muddy boots, and his very tight – sinfully tight – boxer briefs. Laxus, in the brief second that he let himself look, could see everything. He quickly looked up

"What're you doing?"

"For the next week, I am to wear nothing but my boxers. Well, that and," he reached back into his pants pocket, letting them drop to the floor once he was done. He reached behind his neck, and Laxus swallowed at the sight. "A bow tie."

So. Freed was standing barely over a foot away in boxers tight enough to show off veins, and in a bow tie. Right. That was manageable. Laxus could deal with that. He didn't want to pin him against the nearest wall at all.

"A full week, huh?" He asked, voice hoarse.

"Yes, I'm afraid you'll have to get used to me looking like this for a while."

"Right."

"And flirting, too," Freed said with a blasé tone that might have Laxus falling to his knees.

"Flirting?"

"Loke's demand. I am to flirt constantly and shamelessly. I should probably start doing that, actually. I can imagine that he'd come up with a demeaning task to put me in my place, or some such nonsense," Freed laughed. He then stood tall, changed his posture, and looked up at Laxus from under his lashes. Laxus' spine snapped straight when Freed all but purred. "Is there anything I can do to please you, sir?"

Okay.

Right.

That was his limit.

That was the step too far.

Laxus let lightning cover him, transformed into it entirely, and shot off into the sky, ignoring the resounding sound of Gajeel's cackling, and missing Freed's self-satisfied smirk.

[vamphorica]

uhm I saw ur posts ab being able to send writing requests in the asks sooo mabye sum matsulight? If ur cool w/ it obvi no pressure!!

i have never written matsulight – i don't think i had even really considered it as a ship until now – but i wrote this on the bus back from work, and it was really fun!

i hope you enjoy ♡

mist

Touta Matsuda/Light Yagami | 1.3k words | ⚣

Rating: General Audiences

Fandoms: Death Note (Anime & Manga)

Tags: One Shot, Death Note Second Arc, Romance, Secret Relationship, Minor Conflict, Canon Compliant, Pining, SFW, Unresolved Ending

"Sayu will never marry a cop." Soichiro declared, his arms folded tightly against his chest as his wife hummed in approval behind him. Matsuda's gaze hurriedly met Light's, who sat on the sofa with Misa clinging onto his arm. His composure was relaxed, no visible sense of agitation to this rather tired charade the family would enact under the assumption that Matsuda's interests lay in courting their daughter.

"I haven't even asked her out yet..." Matsuda replied with a breezy laugh that accented his anxiety. Sayu stood close, smiling in a sympathetic reassurance that further contributed to his embarrassment as his fingers clawed at his knees. He wanted to rip himself apart, release something internal as a means to escape this interrogation.

"Well, I think Matsuda is cute!" Sayu chirped. Matsuda felt the heat rise to his cheeks in pure embarrassment, squirming under the weight of an unexpected compliment.

"Really? I think you are too, Sayu!" He wasn't lying – the youngest Yagami was incredibly pretty, the certain elegance to her features reminding Matsuda of her brother's graceful charms. They had both been blessed with a beauty that felt almost alien in comparison to a man like himself, painfully average and self-aware of the fact. Even had he been handsome enough for Sayu, she was far too young for him, and his priority lay elsewhere.

The priority in question spoke up suddenly, "I think it is time I escort Matsuda to the station, he will be late getting home, otherwise." Light disengaged from Misa, his gaze still trained on Matsuda as he stood up. His expression betrayed no emotion that Matsuda could discern, and he too arose from the chair he sat upon, bowing towards Mr and Mrs Yagami. With a prompting nod from Light, the two left the room, shuffling into their shoes before opening the front door to walk out onto the quiet residential street.

It was raining and Light opened up the umbrella he had grabbed on the way out, prepared as always. Matsuda shivered, huddling close to Light as he tilted the umbrella so as to cover their heads. Matsuda hadn't anticipated how dark it had now become, and the streetlights emanated golden haloes leading down the winding road towards the station. Everything had a softness to it, from the houses to the pavement kerb, the rain dampening the sharper edges. It felt like a dream.

"I'm sorry." Matsuda sighed as the two of them began to walk, his shoulders falling as he acknowledged the tension in his back. Light turned his head, raising an eyebrow in curiosity - what for? "I didn't mean to talk to your sister in that way, I guess I just panicked."

"It's best my father assumes it is Sayu that you are pursuing, just as he believes Misa and I are committed to one another. My sister would not genuinely consider you as a potential partner, rest assured." While Light had probably intended the last comment to be reassuring, it still bruised Matsuda's ego. He grabbed his chest, mouthing 'ouch' as he pretended to stumble forward. Light rolled his eyes and continued walking, prompting Matsuda to follow beside him closely. He wished he could link his arm through Light's as he had seen Misa do so many times.

"What about you, Light? Do you see me as a potential partner?" Matsuda admitted he was being a little forward, but their affair had been a rather discreet and tightly maintained thing for some months now. Light had a tendency to schedule his life strictly, with no spontaneity afforded to his daily activities, whether they be for work or pleasure. Matsuda had begged Light to come out drinking with him in the small gay bar that he frequented regularly, but Light seemed almost baffled by the prospect of a date in such a place. He was straight-edge to a fault, and no amount of light teasing from Matsuda convinced Light to break his sobriety in the promise of a good time.

Sighing, Light replied, "Matsuda, you know we can't be public about this. The circumstances we find ourselves in are not forgiving to our situation, and we must be careful to ensure that we don't risk exposing ourselves."

"But you do love me, right?"

Light stopped. The street was approaching a dead end, and the station was to the immediate left. They had little time together before Soichiro would begin growing concerned as to the amount of time Light had spent away from the family home. It had been years since L's interrogation of his son and Misa, but he still maintained some semblance of paranoia that Light was well aware of. It could turn ugly if Light allowed it to fester, and his public display of apathy towards Matsuda would hardly serve to excuse the fact that the two spent more time together than they were expected to.

"Do you need to hear me say it? You know how I feel, I shouldn't have to spell it out for you."

"I want to hear you say it." Matsuda replied, gently, "I need some validation, is that too much to ask for?" Matsuda did wonder if at times he was being ridiculous, if he should simply be grateful for Light's affections, no matter how brief and distant they seemed, and stop expecting so much from him.

The two stood beneath the umbrella, raindrops sliding down the surface. Light placed a hand beneath Matsuda's face, tilting it upwards so he could look into the other's soft brown eyes. He was one of the only men who still believed in Light's innocence, who defended him as others grew suspicious. Perhaps like many others who admired Light, it was this which attracted him, the devotion, but in Matsuda he also found a normality he had been craving. A sense of stability that, however temporary, Light desired to such an extent that he was willing to be honest for once.

"I do love you, Matsuda." Light replied before he leaned in, his lips finding Matsuda's, and he held him in the warmth of the kiss, the rain quiet and the streetlights growing dimmer, as if to afford them privacy in this intimate moment. Matsuda let out a deep exhale through his nose, his eyes closed as he allowed his hands to take hold of Light's hips. There was a humidity to the back of his neck where his collar sat, flustered by this unusual public declaration of love from Light. Matsuda already knew this would be an opportunity he might never have again with Light, and moaned softly against the other's lips in appreciation.

Indeed, Light pulled away, the chill of the evening returning as the two shifted apart, the magic of the night broken as the rain returned to its heavy fall and the streetlights once again became brighter against the blackness of the night. Matsuda trembled as he looked towards the station nearby.

"You best be going now, Matsuda." Light's hand still gripped the umbrella handle without showing any intention of walking alongside Matsuda any further to see him off. Stepping out from beneath the umbrella and into the rain, Matsuda pulled his jacket tight across his chest as he jogged to the building, making his way to the entrance before turning around to see Light had already walked away.

Matsuda knew this was the way it had to be, for Light to return to his perfectly curated world. He would return to Misa, but he and Matsuda would steal glances at one another every few moments when in the office together, careful that Soichiro didn't catch them doing so. Maybe Matsuda could anticipate a hurried embrace in the bathroom stalls if Light felt as though such an effort was possible to execute, but it would realistically be a matter of weeks before Matsuda could expect Light to pay him any meaningful attention.

Drenched, Matsuda tried not to focus on the discomfort of his wet shirt clinging to his back, frozen needles inserted across his skin. Maybe comfort was something to be earned, and he was lucky to even have Light's attention, much less his time. When the Kira case was over, he thought as he stared up at the train timetable, he and Light could be together properly. He had to hold onto that hope at the very least.

[hannahhook7744]

My Wife Is Dead (And So Is A Part of Me);

Summary: We see a glimpse of Prince Christopher Charming’s reaction to his wife's death. But we don't see what he's thinking.

Trigger Warnings: Grief, denial, spousal/parent deaf, mention of ill children, etc.

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

There were many moments that Prince Christopher Rupert Windermere Vladimir Carl Alexander François Reginald Lancelot Herman Gregory James Charming (or Kit, as he much preferred these days) could pinpoint as the worst moment of his life. 

The day his son came home flinching at even the mere mention of his ex-girlfriend after the Queen of Mean incident.

The day he found out what kind of things his son got up to in highschool.

The day his mother died. 

The day his father died. 

The day he and Ella found out they both had fertility issues. 

The day they found out their little miracle, Chloe, had a heart condition.

But none of them were compared to what the royal was currently feeling as he stared at his wife’s shattered heels. 

The very heels that had led him to her. 

The heels that his Ella never let out of her sight—which could only mean one thing. One very horrible thing. 

He couldn't hold back the…fear? Anger? Horror? Grief? Repulsion? “What have you done?” 

Bridget—no, not Bridget. 

(This vile woman wasn't sweet, fun loving Bridget who wouldn't hurt a fly. This woman was a monster and an imposter in her skin, wearing her face and claiming her name. 

A name she didn't deserve.

Bridget was dead and Uliana's crew had killed her. Creating a monster out of the soulless husk that remained—creating The Queen of Hearts). 

The Queen of Hearts just smiled smugly down at him. Completely unrecognizable to anyone who had previously known her. “Not so funny now, am I?”

Charming swallowed, refusing to take his eyes off of the shattered shoes that his wife had loved so much. Knowing already what had happened to Ella but not wanting to believe it. 

Not wanting to believe that his wife's former best friend had actually killed her over a stupid, awful prank that had happened years ago that neither he or she had any involvement in. 

“No. What… no…”

Ella couldn't be dead. 

Not by Bridg—the Queen of Hearts’ hand.  

Not so soon. 

Not when he still needed her. 

Not when Chloe and Chad were still so young and still needed her. 

The Queen just cackled at him. As if she had told the funniest joke in the world. As if she hadn't just murdered one of only people who'd stood by her in highschool when she'd had no friends and didn't get along with her family.

“No! No!”

Chloe's heart wouldn't be able to take this.

Chad wouldn't be able to take this in general. 

Ella couldn't be gone. 

She couldn't.

She was too young to be gone already. She hasn't done all of the things she had wanted to do to change the world for the better. 

It wasn't fair. 

Ella didn't deserve to go out like this. 

The dark haired man didn't even try to bite back his tears as he tried to collect the broken pieces of the love of his life’s shoes—the shoes his daughter and son had loved to hear stories about. The shoes she wore almost daily. The shoes she'd been wearing when they'd met Chad before he'd become their son. 

All while the wicked Queen of Hearts continued to cackle. Uncaring that she had shattered his heart along with Ella—her best friend–’s shoes. 

Uncaring that she'd made him feel more helpless than he'd ever felt in his whole life.

She truly wasn't Bridget anymore.

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

As the Queen's guards dragged him away to be with the rest of the hostages, Christopher could only hope that the Queen of Hearts would be stopped before either of his children could befall the same fate as their mother.

(The same fate he and everyone else in school would likely face). 

[hopelessfandomfreak]

agatha all along has awoken me from my writing slumber. send me some agatha x rio prompts, I don’t write smut but I’m up for basically anything else that piques my interest

[theknightmarket]

I feel kinda bad for writing so much angst (I’m in the middle of making a plot for Actor, so this is coming up for obvious reasons) but I also really like making things canon-compliant, and the lore is incredibly tragic in and of itself. I still want to write happy things, don’t get me wrong, and I love writing for the egos, no matter where they come from! But there are things like this scenario, which takes place pre-poker night, that have to turn out a certain way. In this case, Actor still has to plot the murder of one of his childhood friends, and no happy man does that - and one of the major complications with trying to write for the Who Killed Markiplier characters is that the event they appear in is inherently angsty (case in point, one of the things I wrote in my sketch is ‘It’s cute because it’s going to get worse :D’). I could write a fic about how the love being there didn’t change anything but it still mattered, but that would still be a sad fic! The only way I can think of to make it less painful is to set it years before the events of WKM - like in Engagement Party - but if I do that too much, I feel like the one-shots have wasted potential because I could explore the effect of the events within the concept of the fics…

It’s a very difficult balancing act.

[notsocooljess]

Muscle Memory

Rating: T

Words: 4.3k

Summary:

After the war, Peeta uses his muscle memory to help him come back to the person he used to be. Finding himself means finding her along the way.

Read it here :)

[anexcellentshot]

save you from your sorrow - oneshot (AO3)

Summary: Vi helps Caitlyn cope with the aftermath of the battle.

Pairing: Caitlyn/Vi (Arcane)

Chapter: 1/1

WC: 1,330

Rating: General

Tags: Canon-compliant, depression, survivor guilt, suicidal thoughts, oneshot, angst, hurt/comfort

[whorcruxes]

Whumptober

this is my first entry for @ouatprompts whumptober <3

day 6: shocking sunday

‘magic with a cost’

(or it could also fit day 26’s painful transformation/loss of autonomy/control but shhh im impatient while simultaneously also being a procrastinator)

Read on AO3

Would You Still Love Me?

Killian pressed another kiss to Emma’s skin, pouting as he posed his question.

“But would you still love me were I a worm love?” 

Emma laughed, popping another piece of popcorn into her mouth as the movie continued to play in the background, detached from their conversation as it kept chugging along in its cheesy dialogue. 

“Yes, Killian, I’d still love you if you suddenly shrunk and transformed into a wriggly bug.” She ruffled her hands through his dark hair, unable to resist the temptation. “I’d turn myself into one to be with you and we’d be a happy little worm family.”

Killian glared at her, protectively curving his hand around her stomach. “Not with the babe you wouldn’t.” 

“Alright.” 

“Thank you for listening to your dashing rapscallion of a husband for once Swan.” Killian grinned, waggling his brows up at her from his spot on her lap. It had always been one of his favourite spots but its sentimentality had grown considerably in the last few months. 

“Whoa babe.” Emma warned. “I’d hunt your worm ass down and force you to come back. You’re not getting away that easily.” 

“I’d very much enjoy that love. Hunt me down whenever you wish.” 

Killian propped himself up to give Emma a sound kiss and then lowered back down into her lap. As he pressed his lips to her stomach to where their daughter rested, a roaring wave of light shot through them and out across Storybrooke. 

Her heart plunged down her throat. The weight of her husband had simply just vanished. 

“Killian?!” Emma shrieked in horror and scrambled up in the bed as fast as her stomach would allow. 

He was. 

He was a worm. 

But he wasn’t so shocked as she. 

He didn’t have space to hold that shock. His eyes screamed in terror as they shrunk into nothing. The blinding light scalded his photoreceptor cells and he yelled until his throat was hoarse. But his efforts were futile, no sound ricocheted out of his vocal chords out into the void he was now in. 

Writhing forward, his muscles pitched his head down into the folds of sheets that were now mountains to his tiny form. His gizzard, full and content before, was now demanding more organic matter to shovel into it. 

His mind didn’t retain much at that moment, but it was full of fear for his Swan’s reaction. She must be terrified and absolutely distraught and that was simply unacceptable in his worm brain. He struggled forward again, trying to grasp a good hold on the bed around him as he suffocated in the cloud of fabric that had become vast oceans and peaks. 

He had been down one hand before in his human form, but relying on hydraulics and the segmented quality of his body instead of three very moveable limbs was agony. 

With no sense of where or how it happened, his body was disconnected from the ground and in sudden freefall as air angrily whipped around him. The twists and turns discombobulated him. He had no connection to sight. To his hearing. 

All he felt was the vibrations of a large being moving back and forth above him. He was in its hold, held prisoner to the whims of the sky. 

But then he plopped down onto a smooth surface. It was unlike the skin that surrounded his own body, but it was nice and warm, sending tickles through him as it swayed underneath. He would be content to lie here until the rest of his days. 

But that would not be. 

He was once again transferred elsewhere. The dirt was nice and moist against his drying skin but he missed the lovely warmth of the hand he had been held safely in before. It was more familiar to him. 

But it did not return. He had no sense of time as a worm. He wouldn’t be able to comprehend it. But he dug and he dug, gorging himself on the matter around him and coating his body in dirt. He compacted himself further and further into the soil until his head smacked against something hard and rebounded. His path changed and changed and changed as his head smacked the same thing over and over again. He could not escape the soil and he could not escape the prison he was in. He could not escape his body. 

The sadness overwhelmed his small body with no outlet for it to be released. It built and built inside him as he trudged forwards with no end in sight. No tears came and he feared he would explode with the longing and grief. He convulsed, seizing as he swam through the soil. 

But wait, he felt those warm hands pluck him out once more, pulling him closer and closer to that feeling he had longed for but could not name. 

And his photoreceptor cells exploded into eyes and his segmented body burst into arms and legs and structured organs once more. 

The first sight with his returned human eyes was blurry with tears, from all the accumulated feelings and pain his worm body could not process before. But he knew who it was even with the way the sight was a blurry watercolour before him. With a gasp he fell to his knees, hugging the owner of the warmth that was his saving grace in his most distressing form. 

“Emma.” 

[starinthemeadow]

me trying to choose which WIP to write