#ela's fics: Left Behind

[jazzsonly]

ʀᴜɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴇ.

pairing(s): nancy wheeler x blk!cheerleader!reader

warning(s): smut. fingering. making out. internalized homophobia. jason. very old fic of mines. reader highkey an asshole. not proofread. i’d consider this a wip tbh but eh.

summary: nancy wheeler is your fool.

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nancy’s eyes scanned you close as she leaned against her locker in a woeful manner. you in your cheer uniform, hand firmly on jason’s bicep as you loudly laughed at something she definitely knew wasn’t that funny. her stomach was stuck between disgust and anger. of course, somewhere they met in the middle, mixing together to make her nauseous.

just last night you were all over her, kissing her, fucking. telling her you loved her.

now? you acted as if she wasn't even a person—let alone a thought.

the way you walked past her, straight to Jason and his friends. the way you’d laughed like you'd never heard a joke in your life before. and there's no way Jason is that funny, at least to nancy he couldn’t be.

and why were you touching him that way? every girl knew holding onto a guy's bicep was a clear sign of flirting.

"you're staring pretty hard." nancy drew her far presence from you to robin, who spoke.

"i just spaced off.." an unconvincing lie rolls off the girls tongue as her eyes trailed back.

"been there. done that. she’s definitely not worth it."

immediately nancy's eyes snapped to robin.

what?

"you guys hooked up?"

“dated, actually, but in her book sure we hooked or maybe not at all." a bit of bitterness left in the girl’s tone (and maybe her heart too.)

a flat scoff came from nancy, imagining her girlfriend with another girl. bad enough she had to see you with Jason and endure your cruel-ness but to know you did it with robin too...

"come on, you should head to class. shouldn't be watching this."

nancy couldn't help it, she felt, for some reason that she needed to watch. jason holding onto your waist. the same way she did last night. she couldn't tear her eyes away, even with robin dragging her away she still watched.

even in class, even if you weren't in nancy's view you were clear in her mind. she knew you shared two classes with jason, ela and math. all she could think about was you might be doing. were you still holding on to his bicep, laughing? maybe his hands still around your waist and you on his lap this time.

did he steal a kiss from you? did you steal a kiss from him? did you enjoy? was that attention you got from him all you ever wanted?

it didn't matter now because the school day was over and long behind nancy—well physically, mentally it plagued nancy as she currently sat in her room alone, thinking maybe you were in your room with jason. but you weren't, you were at her bedroom door.

"hey sailor."

she jumped. What were you doing here?

"hey?"

"surprised to see me?" you step forward, closing the door behind you.

"your mom let me in."

"oh." was nancy could let out.

"you okay?" taking a close seat next to the girl.

"yea—yeah, l'm okay." nancy forced smiled with lying words.

you, being as clueless as you were smiled, leaning to kiss the wheeler, who barely kissed back.

"seriously,are you okay?"

she drops her shoulders, “just don't want to kiss right now—your lips could've been on jason's."

you roll your eyes. "nancy you know—”

"you being all over him is just cover up? yeah."

"you know i love you."

“yeah because love is acting like i'm not even a person. you walk right past me everyday. saying hi to me doesn't reveal that you're gay, you that right?”

you sigh, rolling your eyes again. in your mind you were thinking selfishly about these things. if you were lucky enough to be a cheerleader and popular as a black girl in the culture of the 80s, you wouldn't tear it all down just for love. robin being proof of this.

"nancy," you bring your hands up, swallowing cupping the girl’s face.

"i love you." you spoke so soft to her, the love and hurt pouring into her eyes from yours.

again, in your selfish mindset you'd do whatever for nancy to stay with you. don’t get it wrong, you did love her very much and you hated hurting her but you'd rather have her in hurt than not at all.

your lips seared onto hers and everything little thing you did to hurt her just today left her mind.

she loved when you were right here, in front of her—kissing her. you were her's in these moments. your lips on hers, right hand on her cheek and left on her bicep, not jason's.

nancy pulled you closer, forcing you to now straddle her as your lips mixed in high emotions. you were everything to her and she was almost everything to you.

"say it again. tell me you love me." she broke the kiss, you still on her lap and her hand caressing your cheek as she looked up at you with pleadful eyes.

"i love you." you looked directly in her eyes and told the truth—but how much?

satisfied, she pushed forward, kissing you harder and longer this time. her arms held firmly around her waist and your hands on either side of her, to you, perfect face.

"touch me." you hollowly whisper, barely pulling from the kiss.

that's all it took for nancy to flip you over, still holding you firmly. she kissed your cheek, your collarbone, down to your neck. she sucked and bit causing to hiss and moan with your hands messed in her hair.

her hands roamed over your body, touching you.

she was a beauty to you now more than ever. you already knew how much nancy loved you but when she was like this, when she had you like this you could undeniably feel her love. the passion in her touch, knowing she’d never leave you no matter how much shit you put her through.

she was down between you thighs, head under your cheer skirt as she kissed you thigh. your underwear already off as she had threw them to the side the minute you told her to ‘touch you.’

her thumb softly, but surely ran down you folds, collecting you wetness. you gasp at the touch of her, but you moan when her tongue came in contact with you.

flicking the bud of your clit while her pointer and middle pumped in and out you.

in these moments, you weren't thinking selfishly like you usually did. in these moments, it was just you and nancy—none of that other shit mattered.

"nance—”

“i know, baby. i know.”

she added a third finger, knowing you were close already.

"fuck—” the cussful moan fell from your lips as you leg shook lightly and you came undone.

you were panting in breaths.

nancy's head popped from under your skirt and she looked up at you as you looked down at her.

"i love you, nancy:

“i love you.”

━━━👩🏽‍💻

[james-is-not-here]

Venting

Imagining random shit to try and fall asleep when it full on hit me that I'm an age regresser...

Like I knew I wanted to be smaller so to speak and I wanted to be like a child but it finally hit me. Not only that, it hit me that I think I'm doing it to cope.

The last few years of my teen hood weren't that great. I lost my Papaw, lost my best friend. Then we were scammed out of a house and had to move in with my grandma and during the time at my grandma's I was experimenting and while doing so I kept secrets. I hid everything from my parents and at the same time someone in my family was going down a dark path, went to a shitty hospital for it which made the dark path even darker and my secrets were apart of that too, I started to feel safer at school rather than my own home.

Then I graduated, my family finally moved out of my grandma's house and slowly but surely the tiny thread I had connected to the family member started to weave itself back together but only now am I realizing that I didn't feel like being "small" until after all this happened.

I use to feel independent and could do things on my own but now? Now I'm scared. I'm scared that my art won't get me to where I want to be, I'm scared that I'll always be by myself and my friends will forget me, I'm now scared to be independent and this all happened after a graduated. I don't have a schedule to follow, I don't have anywhere to go, I don't have a set plan to follow anymore and now all I do is sit around and do random shit on my phone.

For crying out loud, I can't even finish a fucking request or stand alone fics. I start it but then I stop and I feel so shitty for leaving all of you hanging but I also appreciate that no one has hated on me for it, that you're still waiting and I'm sorry that it's taking me so long to get things out.

This started out as me realizing I want to be cared for and held and babied but now I realize just how fucking scared I've become. How Co-Dependent I've become all because I'm not at school anymore like seriously? What happened to the person that willingly auditioned for their first solo in band? What happened to person that helped create a club for their school? What happened to the person that literally offered their skills to a teacher to make posters? What happened to the person that would give more than 100% in school projects that included drawing something?

Why did I step back into my shell? Why did I go back to that shy person in the back of the class that stuttered and tripped over her words when put on the spot? Why did I go back when I was so high up?

My old ELA teacher, god I loved him. Student/Teacher love I mean. He, too, had ADHD and I didn't know that but when he told me I felt so seen. He helped me so much. He helped me understand better and he came up with "The Graph". I'm tearing up just thinking about him cause he was amazing. "The Graph" is what we referred to as my progress. I was to push to keep the graph going up, to not stop and keep it from going down.

Yeah, if I was to see that teacher again he wouldn't be happy that my graph is plummeting. He wouldn't be happy that my graph hasn't peaked in a year, almost two.

I just don't know what I'm doing wrong and I'm fucking scared. I don't know how to get back into the groove I had and I feel so left behind. I know I shouldn't compare myself to others but I feel so behind with all my friends in college or in the military. I know I work differently but I feel like I should be up there with them, I should be doing something beneficial rather than doing nothing. I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I'm even starting to doubt my art which I'm also scared of cause I'm so fucking good at what I do.

I just don't know what to do anymore.

[1helios1]

20 Questions for Writers

Tagged by @elavoria. Thanks! Am tagging anyone who wants to participate.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

18, so far

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

38,743

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I move around a lot, but Deathloop, Elden ring, Homeworld, Signalis, Fallout, TES, Warhammer 40k...

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I Feel Something Behind Me Like Your There (Signalis)

Devotion Undying (Elden Ring)

Descending Dreams (Morrowind)

Fall a Little Further (Elden Ring)

Identity. Duality. (Deathloop)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Always! The best part of sharing fic is getting to chat with people about it.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

That has got to be my Signalis fic...

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Fall a Little Further, but I will leave that as an exercise for the reader.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, usually not too explicit though. when I do I am aiming for vague, even dream like, sensuality.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Nope.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't believe so.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

No, but I do get a lot of help/advice from Ela! Thank you!

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Oh that is hard to say. Ariane/Elster certainly left a mark.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My technomage original story...I am so bad at plot though.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I don't know, but someone once told me they liked my dialogue.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plot. Moving a story from point A to Point B in a way that feels natural and coherent is like a magic trick to me.

Also titles

Also tenses

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I avoid it. I don't know any other languages and I wouldn't trust an auto translation, so if something needs to be said in a different language than that favored by the perspective character then I will just mention it in description.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Not sure, but the first fic I ever read and fell in love with was for Chrono Trigger, in the distant past before A03 was a thing.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Either Diverging Vectors, my series of Homeworld vignettes, or Devotion Undying, one of my Elden Ring fics.

[sun-daisies]

fic snippet | mcu | monsters of men

since ao3 is down for who knows how long I figured I’d dig through some abandoned wips and post some snippets of fics I love but never got to share. feel free to do this too - we can keep each other going until ao3 is back up and running!

Once upon a time, an American hero shielded the world from evil. 

Once upon a time, an iron soldier rose from certain death as a new man. 

Once upon a time, the god of thunder came to Earth. 

Once upon a time, a marksman joined the military.  

Once upon a time, a monster and an assassin chose a different path. 

Once upon a time, aliens rained down on New York and once upon a time, machines gained sentience and once upon a time, a Titan wiped out half of humanity and every single time, the heroes vanquished the bad guys. 

-

Stories don’t end where they should, wrapped up in a neat little bow, all loose ends tied up and everyone smiling happily together as they walk into the sunset. You want a happy ending. You want to watch the underdog rise to the occasion and achieve their destiny. You want glory and grandeur. You want something extraordinary. 

You want a band of larger than life champions coming together to save the world, and you want the happy ending. 

That’s not what happens. 

Once upon a time, a bunch of misfits, human at their core, made mistakes. Argued. Lost everything. 

Died. 

-

Natasha fights. She fights for freedom, she fights for justice, she fights for her family, she fights for the world. Maybe she fights for herself, too - maybe she wants to prove that there’s something good in her worth fighting for. 

(She’s tired of fighting.) 

But when the air chills and the ground is hundreds of feet below her, she doesn’t fight her own death. It’s as simple as letting go, and when it comes down to it, she can’t think of a reason to dig her heels in. 

(Somewhere across the universe, her sister screams until her throat is raw.) 

-

And Wanda died somewhere in Sokovia a couple decades prior, buried under the ashes of her childhood home. Or maybe she died in her Hydra cell. Or maybe she died fighting Ultron; at the Raft; at the hands of Thanos. 

(The stench of blood follows her everywhere she goes, the bodies trail behind her. And when she returns home, what does she have left?)

Regardless, she hides her grief behind laugh tracks and smiles for applause. She is nothing but a character pretending to be what they need her to be. Maybe someday she’ll get to write her own story.

- 

There’s a mournful stillness as Pepper sets a wreath of flowers adrift on the lake, crowned with Tony Stark’s own heart. His daughter watches with huge, watery eyes, and Pepper holds onto her like she might slip away at any moment. 

Perhaps they will drown in Tony’s absence. He saved the world, but the empty space he left in doing so is too great. He was a husband. A father. A friend. Iron Man. 

This is the fate of heroes - to fight, to lose, to die. They signed up for this. 

(None of us ever wanted this, Clint thinks bitterly.) 

- 

Peter still has that optimistic smile, hope glimmering in his eyes. He’s probably kinder than any of them have ever deserved, and surprisingly light on his feet for someone with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

His hands are tainted in blood long washed away and he’s surrounded by ghosts. He feels he’s lived a hundred years despite being gone for five. And all eyes are on him, watching, waiting to see what he does next. 

(He could never be Iron Man and he can barely be Spiderman but Peter Parker isn’t enough, either.)

He can still try. 

-

Once upon a time, the heroes sat around a table at a party, giddy and elated, making fun of each other the way that friends do. The world stops for a moment and they allow themselves the little luxuries for once. 

It won’t last. Aliens have rained down from the sky and they will come again. Sentient machines will rise and throw morality to the wind. Half of humanity will disintegrate, and five long years will elapse while they desperately claw for solutions. 

(It is inevitable.)

But let them have this. Before the next apocalypse, just let them have this. 

- 

And what is left in their wake? A great niece left to scrap together some semblance of a life in Madripoor. Communities of displaced refugees fighting tooth and nail for those left behind, forgotten. A man with a vibranium shield he’s not certain fits quite right on his back, a survivor of war desperate to atone for the sins he was forced to commit. 

You want to believe that Sam doesn’t look at the shield with a lump in his throat. You want to believe Bucky doesn’t cry when the lights go out, terrified to close his eyes. 

They do. 

-

Countless iterations of these stories exist across societies all over the world, but no one will ever know what really happened. Their names are thrown in the news and plastered on billboards, their likenesses on hoodies and action figures. A little boy will hold a plastic shield on Halloween and Bucky’s stomach will tie into knots. Wanda will be painted as a villain. Tony Stark, a martyr. 

History is a tale spun by the victors and watered down into easy, digestible facts. And by the time it reaches the youth whose story even is it anymore? Whose truth is told? 

-

To be a hero is to be a tragedy. 

Heroes die. They sacrifice. They suffer. They mourn. To be a hero is to be destined to lose, lose, lose, even when they’ve won - especially when they’ve won. And how can they live with themselves knowing that they’ve lost everything? Can you really blame them for letting go? For wanting to live in the past? For losing hope? 

Is it their duty, or a destiny we thrust on them? What do they want?

Pietro. Vision. Natasha. Tony. For better or for worse, they die. They can’t help it. They just die. 

[bobbin-buckley]

❤️- 5,4

🧡- Lesbian

💛-My Eyes

💚- Indiana (ikr)

💚- Yup! Two, Cat & Dog

💙- Yes. Three, younger twin sisters & an older brother

💜- Introverted, Independent, loyal, anxious, easily angered

💜- Writer

🖤-Video Games, Band/music, walking, drawing

🎂- September 4

🌙- Virgo, Moon

💉- No tattoos, just a lobe piercing

🚗- Not yet

✈️- Maggie Valley, NC / Glenn Arbor MI / Breckinridge, CO

🎤- Nope but I really want to

🎵- Maya Hawke, GNR, Metallica, Billie Eilish, Mother Mother, Prince, Fleetwood Mac, Girl in Red, Reneé Rapp, tons of others….

🎧- Too Much by Girl in Red

📺- Ahsoka Series

📝- Some ELA assignment 💀

🔐- Uhhhh….I’m a bit German?

🧟‍♀️- Been left behind

🔥- Meeting Skeet Ulrich

🍓- Anything pasta

🍅- Fish

🍊- Fall

🍋- Horror/Thriller (obviously)

🍐- Vada Cavell (we’re so similar it’s crazy)

🫐- Denver, Colorado

🍇- Gay (from my best friend)

🍒- ….Like at a young age? Cause that would be smearing my own blood on walls 💀 (long story)

🍌- Acting

💌- Bc I’m single

✏️- Not too long ago

🖇️- Uhhh…I haven’t been asked anything but I suppose about myself

📚- I get inspiration from other writers

📌- Better Woman (Jenna Ortega fic)

🔍- Jenna Ortega

🖊️- None! I don’t mind writing anything I love

💔- My Tara Carpenter series (I might wait on that srry)

❤️‍🔥- Literally any Jenna Ortega character or herself

🧚‍♀️- Tara Carpenter, Allison Reynolds, Ahsoka Tano

🪐- Ahsoka

🌝- Stranger Things

🌚- None I suppose

🌹- I’m down for writing breath play

🥀- Foot Fetish 💀

🌊- Uhh..BDSM?

❄️- Imagines

☔️- It’s Not Your Fault (Tara Carpenter series fic) by @persevereforahappyending 😘 (fav writer)

🍄-Probably change friendships

⭐️- Successful in band, I love band it’s my passion

-Depression, haven’t overcome it

🌺- Money, ya’ll money is money

🍀- I don’t have a comfort show but The Fallout is my comfort movie

(I really enjoyed this actually, I did all of them cause why not? 🤷🏻‍♀️

@xxsabitoxx

Get to Know Me!

This is just a fun little thing I’ve been wanting to do since the dawn of time but could never find a post to reblog that satisfied what I wanted. So I made this, feel free to reblog and use it yourself!

❤️ how tall are you?

🧡 what is your sexuality?

💛 what is your favorite feature on yourself?

💚 where are you from?

🩵 do you have any pets?

💙 do you have any siblings?

💜 describe yourself in five words or less!

🩷 dream job?

🖤 favorite hobbies outside of your blog

🎂 when is your birthday?

🌙 your zodiac (Sun, Moon, Rising)

💉do you have tattoos and/or piercings

🚗 can you drive?

✈️ favorite place you’ve traveled

🎤 have you been to a concert

🎵 favorite artists

🎧 last song you listened too

📺 last show you watched

📝 last thing you wrote

🔐 something no one would guess about you

🧟‍♀️ scariest thing that’s happened to you

🔥 craziest thing that’s ever happened to you

🍓 favorite food

🍅 least favorite food

🍊 favorite season?

🍋 favorite genre to read / watch / write

🍐 if you could make one character real, who would it be

🫐 some place you’d love to visit

🍇 a word your friends would use to describe you

🍒 what is your earliest memory

🍌 what is one talent you wish you had

💌 why did you start this blog?

✏️ when did you start writing fanfic

🖇️ what are your favorite asks to answer

📚 how do you come up with the fics you write

📌 what is the fic you’re know for

🔍 what character do you enjoy writing for the most

🖊️ what character do you not enjoy writing for

💔 is there a fic you wish you didn’t write

❤️‍🔥 what character do you simp for most often

🧚‍♀️ favorite characters of all time

🪐 favorite shows / series of all time

🌝 a show you would recommend to anyone

🌚 a show you’d tell people to stay away from

🌹 favorite kinks to write for

🥀 kinks you would never write for

🌊 a kink you would like to write but you think you’d be judged

❄️ full fics, imagines or head canons

☂️ your favorite fanfic from another writer

A couple of in depth questions!

🍄 what is something that’s happened in your life that you wish you could go back and change?

⭐️ what is one of your biggest accomplishments? Why is it so important to you?

🪻what is the toughest thing you had to go through, but can say you’ve successfully overcome?

🌺 what is the best gift someone has ever given you and why is it so important

🍀 what is your comfort show/series and why is it your comfort show? How has it helped you?

[swtorcompanionsgoofin]

:DDDDDD i got tagged by @sleepswithvillains​ for this (hi!!!  i love ur fics!!!!  and art!!! thank u for tagging me!!!)

I am Bad at tagging people so yeet if u see, and u want do, GO FOR IT, say i tagged u, even if u not in my fckn mutual circle idc have fun y’all.  I’m Here for creative content I’m out here like [slap slap slap on the metaphorical counter] show me ur shit i’m Vibing on it.  

S o.  I’ve got Two things.  I got an Art and a Words >:3

Art:

I’m drawin’ Corin (and also his boyfriend Kisu in that top one lol) bc I’m BIG NERD HOURS and my fckn looks-imperial-but-are-republic boys are Great.

Yeehaw.  

And here is WORDS from the next blip of Left Behind.

And just, just a shitload of worm imagery.  I was really into worms a few nights ago apparently, and that extended into the Absolutely Bonkers way I describe shit lmfao.  

Mita breathed, slow and steady, then groaned.

“Fuck.”

That… that could have gone better.  It also could have gone significantly worse, but when the metric is ‘die by extension of a horror of a monarchy designed to fry you from the inside out’ versus ‘hit the planet surface at Mach Whatever’, things not going ‘significantly worse’ feels a lot less like the relief it maybe should have, and more like you used a rocket launcher to open a can of worms, and now there’s worms everywhere in the worst possible way.

And being abandoned to the whims of gravity and a long fucking fall is a pretty decent sized can of worms.  Horrible worms.  Worms that explode on impact into even more worms.

To count some of those worms.  One:  he was stranded in the undercity of a planet after being ditched by the people he was working with to the one person in the galaxy most perfectly designed to fuck him completely sideways.  Two: he’d have to ditch the helmet and armor and everything, and quick, because no way in hell was this not going to be a dramatically distinctive look by the end of the day by the pure ‘fuck this guy’ of Vaylin alone.  Three: fucking ow.  Fucking Ow.  Hitting the pavement never felt so much like getting drop-kicked into a really fast hydraulic press.

He’d bruise, heavily, for absolute certain.  No doubt about it.  You don’t get to fall further downwards than you can see without picking up at least a little bit of the ‘stuffed in a meat grinder’ look.  Even heavily armored, and heavily reinforced on the inside.  That’s just now how mashing your skin into the ground at terminal velocity works.

[elaphaemourra]

Heads Up 7 Up Meme

Rules: share the last 7 sentences of your wip

I got tagged by like, 3 people in the last couple weeks for this, @semper-draca , @dragonheart-swtor , and @starknstarwars (LMFAO WHOOPS, sorry i’m only just getting around to it now, i am Bad at doing these even tho i love doing them.) 

So YEET, i’m trying very hard to figure out how to fckn, get Further in the fckn, Mita Gets Fckn LEFT on Zakuul fic, so here’s the blip of the next chapter of Left Behind

Mita’s having a Time basically

Thank fuck for metal skeleton re-enforcement and experimental technology.  Having a re-enforced, cybernetic-coated skeletal structure is clearly the best way to survive an ungodly plummet to the surface of a planet.  Fuck yeah.

Survival.

He lay, on the paved street of the undercity of Zakuul, without being flattened like a horrible, horrible chiss pancake.  Miracles.  Those might not be real, but at the very least Imperial Intelligence didn’t fuck around with their R&D department.

[the-hinky-panda]

The Tremont Tempest: Chapter 1

Author’s Note: So Chapter 1 was originally posted for the October Fic Fest 10/21: Lycanthropy. At the time I wasn’t sure if I was going to continue it or not so since I am, I went through and added a couple things to this version but nothing major has changed. I figured I would post this as I’m currently working on Chapter Two. 

Rating: PG (eventually Explicit)

Summary: With the decision to put Ricky and Sabo in prison for rape and Detective Muncy transferring to Manhattan SVU, Captain Mike Duarte needs a fresh start to take down BX9. That’s when you happen to call, the new Dean of Students at the Bronx River High School. 

X349 Bronx River High School 

Tremont Ave

Captain Mike Duarte is back to square one. 

Well, less that square one now that Muncy left the Bronx Gang Unit to pitch her hat in the ring with the Special Victims Unit, and he was down a detective. But since he finds himself back at the beginning of building a case against BX9, and eventually Oscar Papa, he decides to take a different approach this time. 

Family members of BX9 were getting him nowhere. They were either loyal and kept their mouths shut or they were scared and kept their mouths shut. Either way, no one is talking. Jilted girlfriends and baby mamas left high and dry with no support are more than happy to spill the dirt on their on again/off again paramours, but the information tends to be one sided and blown out of proportion. He had been thinking of finding a source he could tap that would be the most unbiased when the answer landed in his lap, or rather his hand.

You had called him, the new Dean of Students at the Bronx River High School in the middle of Tremont. A lion tamer reaching out from the lion’s den. 

How you got his number is a question he intends to ask as he approaches the pale yellow building that houses the Bronx River High School. He passes through the metal detectors, just the first lines of defense before having to check in with a front desk security guard behind bullet proof glass, and then buzzed through three metal doors. It’s easier to get into the 44th precinct where he works. 

You come out into the small waiting room to greet him, shaking his hand firmly and thanking him for coming on such short notice. He tries to hide his smile as he follows you down a narrow hallway to your office at the way you’re dressed: a nicely tailored gray suit with a pale pink blouse and a pair of beat up Converses. Your hair is dark and curly, only partially pulled back by a dark, glossy barrette. You’re practical and that gives him some hope that this might be a good place to start the rebuild of the case. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have much,” you motion to the mostly empty office. “This is my first year as a principal and I haven’t had a chance to set up my office yet.” 

“A desk, a couple of chairs, looks good to me.” 

You give him a tight smile and he notices the boxes stacked neatly under the window. Every single one of them is labeled in neat lettering, all in the upper right hand corner of the box. Fiction books. Nonfiction books. ELA 11. AP Lang. Decorations. 

“You were an English teacher?” He points the boxes behind you and you follow the motion. 

“Oh, yes. I was. For twelve years actually.” There’s another tight smile. “I got promoted this school year. Our previous Dean of Students retired early and when the position opened up, the head principal, Dr. Caban, really wanted me to take it. So,” you shrug, “I did.” 

He starts to ask why exactly you called when there’s a knock at the door. A tall, thin man in a nice suit and tie steps into the office. 

“Ah, speak of the devil,” you say. “Captain Duarte, this is Dr. Caban.” 

He shakes the principal’s hand. “I was just getting ready to ask why I was called in? Gangs don’t usually conduct business in schools. Gang members don’t typically even go to school.” 

“True, but we’ve been seeing an uptick in some tagging around the school.” Dr. Caban retreats back to the door. “This is more her thing, than mine. I personally don’t know how much help you can be, but she’s surprised me more than once with her approach on issues in the school. So, just let me know if you need anything, Captain.” 

Duarte watches Caban give you one last, briefly lingering look, that you fail to notice. It could simply be that you’re focused on arranging folders and papers on your desk and just miss it or it could be a one-sided thing. The more he studies your face, pretty in a natural, earthy way, the more he hopes it’s a one-sided thing with Caban. But then his brain catches up with those feelings, reminding him of all the reasons to not go down that road. His job is too dangerous and he can handle putting himself in danger but not another person. He can’t have another person’s blood on his hands. Not again. 

“Okay, Captain, this is why I called you.” You slide a couple pictures over to him. “Like Dr. Caban said, we are starting to see more and more graffiti pieces in the bathrooms, hallways, and classrooms. There was a big surge of BX9 tags after Sleep died and the other two members were charged with rape, but nothing happened per say in the school when it came to blatant gang activity.” 

He shuffles through the pictures. There were lots of BX9 tags, along with variations of honoring Sleep’s death, the most common one being “RIP Zzzz.” But then he sees a completely unfamiliar tag. “LCTRP” with two dog ears framing the top of the letters, one of the L and the other on the P. “What is this?” 

“This is what I need your help with.” You take a seat behind your desk. You’re sporting a smile that is verging on a laugh. “This is so ridiculous that I hope you don’t think I wasted your time with this. Because of the big surge of BX9’s tags, it’s started to encourage other wannabe gangs to pop up. Most have completely fizzled out but these guys, I’m afraid they’re going to get themselves hurt or worse if they keep up with this nonsense.” 

“So it’s a new gang?” 

You do laugh at that. “You could say that. They’re a bunch of Harry Potter fans trying to pass themselves off as gang members. LCTRP, which is clue one they’re not actually gang members because really, try spray painting that on a subway wall, which stands for ‘lycanthrope.’ They’re paying homage to Remus Lupin, a character from Harry Potter who was a werewolf.” You sadly shake your head. “Moony would not be impressed with this behavior.” 

He actually has to chuckle a bit at this as well even though most of what you said in reference to Harry Potter means nothing to him. “When book nerds go bad, huh?” 

“They can’t even really go bad. We found out about them when we caught one of them cleaning their own graffiti off the bathroom walls after school. He told me about the group but is refusing to give up the other members. That’s where you come in.” 

“You want me to find the rest of the group?” 

“Yes. Just scare them, though. I have a feeling these kids are just playing with something that they don’t actually understand. And with BX9 being so prevalent, I don’t want them to become cannon fodder.” 

“So why call me for a group of kids playing at being thugs?” 

Your good humor slips slightly. “Because I know you’ve been chasing BX9 for quite a while now. I was born and raised in the Bronx. I love this borough and will do anything I can to help improve it. I figure you wouldn’t be working in gangs if you didn’t feel the same way.”  

He nods and you continue. 

“Kids talk, have disciplinary and truancy issues, the parents have a lot of interaction with the principals here, it could be a good ground zero for you. Catch these kids at the recruitment stage. That way you can get names of the recruiters, work your way up through the ranks. And if you’re involved at the ground level of recruitment, numbers aren’t being added to BX9’s ranks. That is, if you want to approach it that way.” 

It’s a good offer, one that you’ve clearly thought about and rehearsed. This is important to you. Even if it doesn’t shake out, at least he has a connection in the Tremont neighborhood. “Alright. I’ll do it.” 

Your smile comes back. “Great! If you want, I can walk you down to our resource officer’s office and get you a security shirt. If he’s around, he can also get you set up with a radio and keys too. That’ll give you access to all areas in the school.” 

“Fantastic.” 

You both stand up and head out of the office. You stay a couple steps ahead of him, your pace brisk and confident. You nod to a couple kids along the way, tell a couple to go back to class. The kids act like they know you, have known you, for a while. They greet you, are respectful towards you, most even smile when they see you. He can see why Caban wanted you in the position of Dean, you already had established and positive relationships with the kids. You unlock the door to the security office and turn on the light. It’s the size of a cubicle, filled with monitors but no one is in there watching them. 

“Resource officer on break? With the rest of the security team?” 

You laugh shortly. “You’re funny. Our officer is shared between three other schools and our security team consists of two retired cops who are either golfing or taking a nap in the custodian’s closet. I was hoping someone would have been here but alas.” 

That’s a disaster waiting to happen. He makes a mental note to bring in a couple of his guys to also act as security officers around the school. If he’s going to stir the pot, he needs to make sure there’s going to be enough hands on deck to handle what’s going to come to the surface. You hand him a polo shirt with the school name embroidered on it along with a jacket with the same embroidery. 

“All the radios sit on chargers over there until someone heads out of the booth. Other than that, I would suggest you conceal carry your weapon for the time being.” 

“And should I wear stylish kicks like yours?” 

“When an all team call goes out on the radio, I’m running to the location. Can’t do that in heels.”

“So wear my running shoes.” 

“Yes,” you smile widely, “Wear your running shoes. I’ll have a badge, key cards and keys ready for you tomorrow morning.” 

You turn off the lights and hold the door open for him, locking it when it closes. “School starts at 7:15 so if you want to show up around 7 that should be good. We let out at 2:30. You do what you need to do and let me know if I can help in any way. I’ve taught just about every student here except for this year’s freshmen, and I’ve probably taught their older siblings in that case.” 

“Great. It’s nice to have some insider information.” 

“If you don’t have any questions for me, I’ll let you look around the school, get the layout down. Wear the security jacket though so no one reports a stranger wandering the halls. It’s pretty straightforward though: cafeteria back there, classrooms down the hallways. There are staircases in the middle of each wing and in the main lobby that lead to the second floor. The basement houses the gym, weight room, and pool.” 

He pulls the jacket on and stuffs the polo shirt into the pocket. “I do have one question for you. How did you get my number?” 

You give him a slightly confused look. “I just called the number on the back of your business card.” 

Back of his business card? “I think I would remember you if I had handed you a business card with my personal number on the back.” 

“Personal number?” 

“Yeah, you called my private cell phone line. I’m just wondering how you got that number?” Ever since he had worked undercover and Sleep and Ricky had found out where he lived, he always made sure to keep his information private. The Dean of Students at a high school having his personal cell number didn’t raise too much worry but if you had it, who else had it? 

You clench your jaw and cross your arms, clearly annoyed. “My friend gave it to me. She told me to call and have you come out to the school. I’m now wondering if your number wasn’t given to me by accident.” 

“Who’s your friend?” 

“Grace Muncy. We grew up in the same neighborhood, over by Little Italy here in the Bronx.” 

Muncy, of course. He knew she wouldn’t leave the gang unit high and dry. She knew how hard he took the DA’s decision to go with the rape charges and not pursue the route that could have lead to Oscar Papa’s arrest. She didn’t want to leave him completely empty handed and she didn’t.

She handed him you. He’s going to have to send her a box of cannoli’s for that. 

“Muncy doesn’t do anything by accident. Which also means, she must trust you a lot.” 

A touch of sadness comes into your eyes. “Yeah, I trust her quite a bit too. Her and her brother are good people. You know they’re moving, right?” 

“Yeah, I do.” He sighs. “But I know where she's going and the people she’s going to be working with. They’ll do right by her.” 

“They better.” 

He laughs quietly at the threatening tone in your statement. He absently wonders what an investigation would look like with you and Benson in the same room, both strong-minded women laser focused on an issue. “Well, I’m glad you called. I was running out of options of where to restart the investigation. So, thank you.” 

“Well, thank me after you deal with the wolf pack and your real investigation starts. I don’t know if it'll be worth your time, Captain.” 

“Mike.” 

“What?” 

“My name, it’s Mike.” 

You repeat his name, a habit most likely born of having to memorize so many student’s names. You tell him your name, to make it a fair exchange, before letting him have a run of the school. He watches you as you walk down the hallway back towards the office and nod to a student, who throws up his hands in defense, but you calmly point down the hallway and the kid reluctantly goes. Duarte continues to watch you and just as you turn the corner, the kid passes by him. 

“Don’t even, bro. She’s a ball buster for sure.” 

Duarte cracks half a smile. He does have a type, that’s for certain. “Yeah. What do you know about ball busters?” 

“Enough,” the kid mutters before going into the classroom two doors down. 

He’s going to have to send Muncy two boxes of cannolis.

[mrs-amber]

Damen's favorite holiday (spoiler alert: Laurent's ass involved)

This fic was originally written in brazilian portuguese by @damianoscurls, you can find it here! And now I'm translating it so that more people can read it too! 😊

We hope you like it!

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

The trip to Brazil had been long and extremely tiring, but it wasn’t enough to shake Auguste’s mood, who had dragged everyone halfway across the world after watching a report about the Brazilian Carnival on the TV. Once in Brazilian soil, he dragged his brother and friends to the street after, obviously, buying everything he thought was necessary. Laurent and Auguste were wearing blue matching tutus, no shirts, and glitter all through their skins; Damen wore no costumes because, as Laurent had said, people would want him even more if he tried anything more provocative than being shirtless; Nikandros wore a viking costume that consisted in a helmet and casual clothes; Nicaise was an angel; Jord and Aimeric were dressed as cop and prisoner; Ancel was a Playboy bunny and Vannes held a board where was written “não uso fantasia, apenas realizo” (which meant that she wouldn’t wear a carnival costume, but she still could make their fantasies come true).

Auguste had already planned everything and confirmed their attendance to one of the more full carnival blocks of the event, but fortunately people were well distributed. The music was so loud that even the ground quivered with it, a cheerful song talking about making out with someone’s sister was playing.

“Do you still remember what I taught you, Laurent?” Vannes asked him, needing to shout in his ear so she could be heard. He nodded.

“I remember too!” Nicaise meddled in. Damen looked at them with curiosity, without understanding anything. “Not of your business, Damianos.”

“Watch the way you talk to me, kid.”

“I brought drinks!” Auguste shouted, coming back to where they were with two trays with glasses. Each of them grabbed one, except for Nicaise, who still was too young to drink.

“What is this?” Laurent asked, assessing the color of the glass’ content.

“I have no idea,” Auguste answered, downing it all soon after and grabbing Nikandors by the belt loops in his shorts. “Nik, you stay there, I’m gonna dance.”

Nikandros didn’t even had time to react, Auguste was already dancing, now a song about nasty girls, with big butts, that were prepared. Nikandros felt his ears turning red with the sight of Auguste wiggling right in front of him, but that encouraged the rest of them to start having fun too.

"Hide that frustration, Nikandros." Laurent said when passing by them, Damen following right behind the blonde.

Nicaise mingled with the other teenagers, while Jord and Aimeric left to enjoy themselves and Ancel and Vannes, of course, went after some mouths to kiss. Laurent was getting more and more enthusiastic after drinking two gulps of that weird drink and Damen took the glass away from him as soon as he noticed. They were together, not very far from Auguste and Nikandros.

"Laurent, this song is about you" Damen said, smiling. Laurent stopped to pay attention to the lyrics.

A nova loira do tchan

É linda, deixa ela entrar

Tem sessenta de cintura

Que gostosura

105 de bundinha

Que bonitinha

1,70 de altura

The song talked about a blonde woman, she's beautiful, let her come in, with 60 cm of waist, how hot, 105 cm of ass, how cute, 1,70 m of height...

And there it went.

"105 of ass" he repeated, a quirked eyebrow in that teasing way he always did. "You'll see."

Damen could barely wait.

Laurent was moving his body slowly, as if testing his surroundings. Damen stayed tuned to his every move, following that beautiful hip with his gaze when, suddenly, he turned, hands on his knees and his ass moving in a way he had never seen before in his life. He turned his face for a few seconds and saw that Auguste was doing the same thing, as were most people around them. Was that wiggling?

Damen, hypnotized with Laurent, tried to pay attention to the song, noticing it spoke something about sitting, and Damen didn't see the point in it until he felt Laurent's ass brushing somewhere it wasn't supposed to, at least not in public, his head slightly turned, just enough for them to look each other in the eyes.

And Damen found out, in the best way possible, that Carnival is the best event on Earth.

[galaxybrunost505]

✨ my fics ✨

ONE-SHOTS:

trixie’s first christmas

Katya is an anxiety driven, Christmas loving and parent disappointing lesbian innocently waiting for her flight at the JFK, where she just happens to meet the weirdo of a lifetime with a career no one saw coming and a habit of lying compulsively, Trixie Mattel. Trixie convinces her that bringing her home as a girlfriend is a good idea. Katya has nothing to lose.

Lightly based on the tacky ass Christmas movie Love the Coopers.

AO3 // WATTPAD

chatterbox

Katya is trying hard to let go of her past but it's a bit hard when your ex invades your house looking for her lipstick.

AO3 // WATTPAD

beverly hills barbie

Katya tries to help her best friend, Trixie - for whom she is profoundly enamored - to fit in with their peers by inviting her to a party. It doesn't go as planned.

AO3 

CHAPTERED FICS:

a cactus and a lily find a common pot to grow

PROMPT: Person A is a drama teacher and has to set up the school play with the new art teacher, person B, who they think is a ginormous asshole and just a tiny bit cute

In other words, Trixie is an official good girl with a perfect life until Katya happens.

AO3 // WATTPAD

pen pal

Trixie and Katya are psychologically damaged teenagers who have trouble opening up to people. To solve that problem, their school counselors decide that they need a friend who understands them.

AO3 // WATTPAD

glow

In the present, Katya attends a wedding that stirs up many feelings she thought were dead and gone. In the past, she’s a dumb teenager who’s giving in to her heart despite how dangerous it may be.

In other words: What a beautiful wedding! What a beautiful wedding, yes, but what a shame - what a shame the poor bride’s ex-high school classmate with whom she had a thing with back then is here to revisit old and painful memories that should have been left behind long ago!

AO3 // WATTPAD

IN PORTUGUESE:

barbie jurerê internacional

Katya tenta ajudar sua amiga Trixie - por quem é profundamente apaixonada - a se enturmar com seus colegas levando ela a uma festa. Nada sai como planejado. 

WATTPAD

[bittysvalentines]

You Shine in What I Am / Mas Brilhas No Que Sou

From: @aceinhyperspace

To: @sailorsav

Fic Summary: When Whiskey turns 18 years old, he receives his Gift. But what is he supposed to do with Love? No Content Warnings. General tags: Gen (no pairing); Asexual Whiskey; Eric Bittle; Magic Au; Message: I was so happy to see that I got your gift! Your magic AUs are some of my favourite fics and when I saw that Asexual Whiskey is your jam, I just KNEW what I was going to be writing about. I hope you enjoy!!

Connor knew what love was long before he knew he was ace. It was six year olds holding hands and twelve year olds sneaking kisses because they wanted to be grown up. It was the women in movies, pining after men and demanding roses. It was his teammates in the locker room, talking about bases and the girls they wanted to hook up with after games.

Connor knew that love was something physical and scary and frankly, he wanted no part of it.

Thankfully as everyone in his grade crept closer to their 18th birthdays, the “plant boy” jokes wound down. There was much more interesting news as people got their letters.

“I can’t believe Lauren got metal-bending and I got nothing,” Adriana complained one day at lunch, sprawled on the floor of the hallway outside their 5th period class.

“You know the Guild doesn’t actually call it metal-bending.” Whiskey said into his sandwich.

Adriana rolled her eyes so violently, her head moved as well, dragging her tightly coiled hair across the linoleum. “Ugh, you nerd. That’s not the point. Pretty white girl, I wear bows even on days where there’s no football games, Lauren. She gets to manipulate metal, Connor Whisk. Me-tal.”

“We don’t get a choice, Adri. And frankly, I’ll be thrilled when I get my letter and the Guild tells me ‘Hey, Connor, you’re off the hook. Go play hockey and don’t worry about accidentally setting your college dorm room on fire with this super exciting new superpower you manifested.’”

“Give Peder a break. He’s doing much better now.”

“Yeah, whatever, Adri.”

That evening when he got home, his mother was already at the kitchen table, Skyping her sister in Brasil, hands elegantly shaping the lump of clay spinning on the wheel.

Connor loved watching his mother work- ancient techniques interacting seamlessly with her magic. Her deep brown hands skimmed the edges of the vase, feeling for form sleeping inside the unshapen material. She once told him that her Gift was so much more than moving dirt around. From the rock beds lining the back of their desert home to the red dust she could sweep away with the movement of her hand, Ana Maria Francisca da Silva Whisk saw potential. She saw the shape of things that had been and were meant to be.

“I think I always knew,” She told him a couple years ago, combing her fingers through his hair, loose and chestnut colored, like his father. “Your avô had a farm when I was little. He couldn’t keep me out of the animal pens! He and my mother would lose sight of me for a minute, and they’d find me pelado como Adão e Eva-

“Mãe!”

“-sitting in the middle of the pigs, covered head to toe in mud.” She laughed and laughed.

That day, Connor didn’t feel much like laughing.

“Mamãe?”

“Si, meu amor?”

“Do you see anything in me?”

“O que você quer dizer?” His mother stopped the wheel and looked directly at him. Her eyes were dark, warm.

“I guess…” He stopped, unsure of the words. “I guess I’m worried.”

“Your letter?”

“Sim.”

She took a deep breath, the fine grey dust covering her hands loosening, gently floating to the floor. “Is that it?”

“I don’t know. I’m just ready for highschool to be over. Jake decided to spend all of bio making uncreative jokes about cellular reproduction. And how my gift would be to clone myself.”

“Meu amor, when we spoke about you coming out, I did tell you to be prepared. People can be cruel.”

“Okay, but I thought you meant that about the bi part, not the ace part.”

A small smile flickered across his mother’s lips. Her hand reached out to touch his cheek gently. “I just want things to be easy for you.”

“Eu sei, mamãe.” Connor sighed. “I guess I wanted to know that I’ll be something more than the weird kid.”

“Meu filho. You are so much more than I can tell you. I get glimpses of the man you will be and can only be proud.”

“Ugh, gross mom.” Connor complained, his voice rising in pitch, swatting her hand away.   

“Ah! Sem graça! Deixe seu mãe dá amor quando ela pode. Amanhã você vai ficar uma homem grande!”  

“Mom!” He ran off, and his mother tossed bits of clay at his retreating back.  

-------

Connor had to fight to open his eyes the next morning.

His eighteenth birthday. The day he would receive his Gift.

His feet couldn’t even lift off the ground as he drug himself down the hall towards the kitchen.

Please don’t let it be clones. Please don’t let it be clones.

It wouldn’t be clones, Connor reasoned with himself. His whole family had natural gifts or no gifts at all. If he was lucky, maybe he’d be like his father and oldest sister, who got to live life normally. That way he could focus on hockey and school and not worry about things exploding like Peder. His oldest brother’s pyrokinesis was the coolest thing ever for approximately five minutes.

He stood in the doorway, the glass door separating the kitchen from the rest of the house an immovable barrier. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this.

“Meu amor, vem aqui,” his mother called gently from inside. Her black eyes, sometimes so disarming, were as soft as he ever had seen them. Using all of his strength, he turned the handle and stepped inside.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, his mother stepped forward and wrapped him in her arms. “Voce ‘sta pronto?”

“Nunca.”

“Whatever it is, you can always decline, okay? There is no shame in that.” Her chin rested gently on his shoulder. When had he gotten so much taller than her? She’d always been a towering figure in the family, carrying them through.

“Okay.”

She stepped back, pulling the letter from her work apron. He took it with trepidation, carefully tearing the seal and unfolding the heavy paper.

After a few moments, most of which the words on the page didn’t register, he spoke.

“I… I think... the Guild sent the wrong thing, Mamae.”

“They’re just messengers. You know they have no control over what manifests.” His mother responded, hands already buried in the clay lumped on the wheel of the kitchen nook. “Deixa eu ver.”

His mother’s hand left gray fingerprints on the paper, but she didn’t seem to notice as her eyes scanned the letter.

“Amor.”

“Yes, mom?”

“Nao, not you amor. Amor amor.”

“I think it’s a mistake.” Connor whispered. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Love magic.

For him.

Connor Whisk, asexual extraordinaire, whose longest relationship was with the Shane Doan jersey pinned lovingly to his bedroom wall.

Love magic.

“Connor Silva Whisk.” The letter gently thwapped across the back of his head. “I raised you better than that. Now, if you don’t want it, that’s your decision to make. But what can you do with love? That is a very stupid question.”

Fast forward six years and behold: Whiskey, collegiate hockey champion, in possession of a liberal arts degree, bartending license, and a certificate in business administration, still has no idea.

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

The day that Whiskey meets Eric Bittle, the lights go out.

No, seriously. The lights are actually out.

“I’m so sorry! That just, happens sometimes? I’m workin’ on it. Oh Lord. There is nothing worse than these delicate wire light bulbs, one short and they’re toast! I am so sorry. You know, they make LED versions of these now? Not that I’m telling you how to run your business but-”

Whiskey only stares at the man in front of him, blonde and tanned from the summer sun, already on his knees gingerly picking up shards of glass with his bare hands, words running at a thousand miles an hour.

Poetry, early readers, maybe a teacher? Needs something smoky to drink… whiskey… no, red wine. I have the perfect Zin in the back.

His quick scan of the other man’s desires only takes a second or two. His needs sit close to the surface, close enough that he was probably on his way to ask Whiskey himself.

“If you want to help, at least use a broom. I don’t need to clean up your blood too.” Whiskey says from behind the bar.

The young man freezes, hands already filled with glass. “Well, I suppose that would make much more sense.”

“Yeah, probably,” Whiskey says. He reaches out with a metal bucket. “Here.”

The glass clinks as it’s dropped into the bucket.

“I really am sorry about that. I’m Eric. Eric Bittle. I live up on the third floor. And uh, I have a gift for electricity. Well. Usually. Sometimes unfamiliar systems don’t react well to my emotions. Have you read that fantastic book by Derek Nurse? That’s what caused this whole mess in the first place.”

“Connor Whisk. People call me Whiskey.”

Somehow, even after their disaster of a first meeting, Eric becomes a staple of Whiskey’s bookstore-slash-bar. Most nights find Eric in the corner sofa, a glass of red wine in hand, grading papers for the kids he student teaches.

On a slow night, Whiskey sits next to him, reading through new releases he wants to stock.

Eric’s head hits the back of the sofa.

“Why can’t I just become an electrician?”

Whiskey snorts. “That’d be too predictable. Also, you clearly adore children. You’ll make a great teacher.”

“You’ve never seen me with a child in your life, Connor.” Eric groans.

“Trust me, I just know.”

Not that Whiskey was ever planning on telling him how.

------

The day that Whiskey meets Jack Zimmerman, the lights go off again.

This time metaphorically.

It’s a busy Wednesday night, which puts it right between a quiet Saturday and an overwhelming Monday. Ford and Tango from upstairs are arguing over a game of scrabble; Ransom laughs at them from above his post-rotation beer, hand on Holster’s knee. Dex and Bitty are finishing a diagram of the best way to rewire the bar lights to save energy while still providing ample lighting. Nurse helps stack chairs after his poetry reading. A couple other folks float in and out of the store, occasionally stopping to ask a question. And Whiskey is hovering around all of them, making sure everyone is satisfied.

The seating area is small, so when a stupidly handsome man wearing a godawful black tracksuit walks in, everyone notices.

Grad student… maybe? He’s here for history? Queer Theory? Well, he’ll get more of the latter, but he’ll see that out soon enough. No alcohol. I’ll make some tea in the back after I check in with everyone.

“Excuse me?” Eric leans forward, bridge of his nose crinkled in interest.

“What?” Whiskey asks, picking up the empty glasses on the low coffee table.

“You just started talking about Queer Theory and tea?” Eric says. “I wasn’t hallucinating was I?”

Dex shakes his head. “Nope, I heard it too.”

Whiskey’s stomach drops. “Uh, nothing, just restocking the shelves.”

“If you say so.” Eric is completely unconvinced, but is too polite to push the subject in public.

Yellow.

The echo of desire floats from among the shelves. The new customer’s hands rest on a book, the cover a bright canary, and Whiskey smiles.

With that, he leaves Eric to his drink to help the customers that are reclining against the bar.

About 5 minutes later, the customer had taken a seat at one of the couches in the reading corner, setting the book on the coffee table between him and Bitty.

“Do you mind?” Whiskey, hears him ask. Bittle’s face is flushed.

“Not at all! On second thought, let me move my mess so you don’t have to be competing with… whatever this book is-” Eric waves animatedly at the pile that had been forming in front of him.

Whiskey barely restrains himself from snorting.

Bittle hurriedly shoves his work into a stack and then escapes to the bar counter, “Good Lord, it’s a good thing that man dresses like a russian mobster because if he paired his face with nice clothes, it’d be over for the rest of us.

Ford, two seats down, snorts into her coffee mug.

“This is a small shop, Bits.” Whiskey laughs, “Careful with the volume.”

“Honey, this is New England. I travelled 3,000 miles to be unabashedly loud and gay. This is a queer bookstore for God’s sake.”

“You can say what you want, just know that the object of your unabashedness can probably hear you,” Whiskey says.

They look over to the man in the corner and sure enough, his eyes are on the both of them, a deep furrow in the middle. The intensity of his gaze and the concerned frown on his lips seem to indicate anger. But Connor feels something else.

It hadn’t been the book.

Oh.

OH.

Yellow.

It smells like Quebec in the summer (had he ever been to Quebec?), and feels like a long car trip, singing into the wind, stealing ears of corn from the farmer’s field, grilling it over a campfire at night. There is expensive whiskey and cheap beer on his lips, elation.

Yellow like the afternoon sun reflecting against the pond in winter. Blinding and exhilarating, flying with no sense of direction and no hope of stopping.

“You.” Whiskey whispers.

He can’t hear if Eric responds, his head still filled with desires not his own. It takes him another moment to come into the present, shaking his head subtly to remove the extra noise.

“Connor? Are you alright?” Eric says, gently laying a hand on his arm.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just caught up for a moment.”

“You sure?”

“Just a side effect. I try not to go that deeply but some people suck me in.”

“Oh I knew it! You are a telepath!” Eric whispers excitedly. “Did I tell you my PawPaw once-”

Whiskey cuts Eric off, running an embarrassed hand through his hair. “No, no. I definitely can’t read people’s minds. But, uhhh. I can see what they… love?”

Eric’s eyes widened. “My Lord.” There’s a reverent sparkle in them that Whiskey can’t explain. “You have a Love Gift. That’s something special. Much more special than electricity.”

Whiskey rolls his eyes. “Sure. Really special. I can’t do anything but tell what drink someone wants before they order.”

“It’s a real shame you think that way, Connor.” Eric shakes his head. “Well, now I know how you’ve managed to draw us all here like flies to a sty.”

“Isn’t it flies to honey-”

“Think about it. All of us were floating around, not from the same place or backgrounds. Some with gifts and many without, but now we’re here. Together. That’s because of you.”

Eric saunters back to the couch, oblivious to the distress rising in Whiskey’s chest.

“Hey, Ford. You mind watching front of house for a second?” Connor manages to say before he loses his breath completely, slipping into the back room before receiving a response.

The phone is clammy in his hands, but, like clockwork, she picks up on the second ring.

“Amor?”

“Mom.

“Que está acontecendo, filho? Você ‘tá no trabalho?”

“Mom, I did it again.”

There’s no sound on the other end of the phone for a brief moment. When his mother’s voice comes back on the line, he feels his breath release.

“Okay, I can talk now. Tell me everything.”

“Well, there’s a group of people that come to the store a lot. And I like them, mom. I like all of them. But Eric-”

“That’s the Southern boy, right?”

“Yes Mom, but Eric found out about my Gift today. And he said that everyone is here because of me. It’s my fault. It’s like college all over again.”

“Did he say he didn’t want to be there?”

“No but-”

“Did he say anything about being in love with you- romantically I mean.”

“No, that’s not-”

“Then this doesn’t sound anything like what happened back then.”

Connor takes a few deep breaths. “Mom, I don’t know what to do with this Gift,” he barely whispers into the phone.

A few more seconds pass.

“This may not be my place. You are a grown man now and can make your own decisions. But my love? You need to get your head out of your ass.”  

Whiskey stops, shocked. “What?”

The voice on the line is firm, like the earth she manipulates. “I am your mother. I would give you the world, make it kind and easy. But I can’t. You told me, all of seventeen shaking years old that you were bisexual and ace and I let you make the choice to tell others on your own. You received your Gift and kept it on your own. And then when you transferred out east and graduated and started your own business- you did that on your own too. If you want to live the rest of your life away from others, separated by your fear, that is a choice you also make on your own.”

A deep sigh breaks the tension across the line and when his mother speaks again, her tone is gentle.

“I am here for you now, whatever you need, but that won’t always be true. What happened in college was awful, amor. Love magic is a powerful, dangerous thing. But you are not that scared young boy anymore. You are building a new home with new people. And that requires you to love, filho. Love. Love yourself and others and let them love you too.”

Whiskey feels the wet lines running down his cheeks before he realizes he’s crying.

“Thank you mom. I love you.”

“Eu te amo também. Agora, faz uma decisão. E chama-me mais frequente, eu sinto falta da sua voz.”   

When Connor comes out of the back room a couple minutes later, he does so with his Gift wide open. And the hearts of the people in the space are so bright, he can’t even see the lights.

[fortisfiliae]

Somnium [Sirius Black x reader]

Part 1 of Filia’s celebration fic

A/n: So this is what your votes created! Thank you again and I hope you enjoy it! GIF is not mine.

Find the other parts on my Masterlist linked in my bio!

Summary: A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep, in dreams you will lose your heartaches, whatever you wish for, you keep (Cinderella)   

Warnings: curse words

Word count: 1.5k

A hand running through your hair, skin on bare skin, feet touching feet, you found yourself lying in bed, your eyes half closed, drowsy and complete. A white sheet covered your body, his fingers lightly tugging on it, as he dragged them from your neck, over your shoulder, down your arm to the soft fabric that wrapped itself around your chest like a cotton dress made just for this moment. This perfect moment.

You shuffled slowly and turned around to look at his face that studied yours for a moment before he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, a faint smile on his lips as he kept on staring into your eyes. Your hand met his cheek to run your fingers over his stubble. You had expected it to be spiky, but it felt like you touched nothing but air. It didn’t matter though, inside you were thriving with emotions, jubilant to have this moment, these hours of lying in bed together, sharing secrets, making memories.

“Why’re you grinning?”, Sirius asked with a raspy voice as he mirrored your featherbrained expression.

“Hmm, I don’t know”, you said. “Just thinking about stuff.”

“Stuff?”, he asked with a smirk.

“Happy stuff.”

“Thinking about me, huh?”

“Among other things, yeah”, you joked.

“Other things? How dare you”, he responded and pulled you closer to his chest, buried his head in the crook of your neck and held you tight while chuckling against your skin.

Again, his touch didn’t feel like much on the outside but made you almost lose your mind inside, your heart overflowing with joy.

“Did you do your homework?”, he asked, still nestling against your body.

“Yes. Did you?”

“Uh-huh. What about the ducks?”

“What ducks?”, you asked as you played with a strand of hair on the back of his head.

“The ducks on the river we’re going to see.”

“What are you talking about? What ducks are we gonna see?”, you asked again, thinking he might have gone crazy a minute ago.

“We’ll see them when we wake up.”

“Sirius, what-”

“You need to wake up.”

“You need to wake up, Y/N! Right now!”, a loud and high pitched voice, along with an abrupt push against your arm tore you out of your slumber and away from him.

When you opened your eyes you saw your dormmate Marlene McKinnon staring at you from above, frowning yet with a slight smirk on her lips.  “Finally”, she sighed. “You’re sleeping so deeply lately, it’s insane. Hurry, we’re almost late for class.”

You took a moment to realise what just happened as you sat up with an effort. It’s been a dream. Sirius and you. Merlin’s beard. Of course, it wasn’t real, you were just friends. But it felt so real. So good.

“Come on Ducky, will ya?”, Marlene ordered again. “McGonagall’s not going to go easy on us if we’re late again.”

“Yeah um, sorry. Thanks for waking me”, you mumbled, still confused and got up to go to the bathroom. “Hang on”, you said before entering. “What did you just call me?”

Lily laughed from the other side of the room as she finished making her bed, while Marlene sat down on her own next to Dorcas. 

“Oh, Ducky you mean?”, she asked. “That’s what you were talking about for the last minutes. Ducks.”

Shit. Since when did you talk in your sleep?

“Ducks, huh?”, you repeated, hoping you hadn’t said anything else out loud.

“Ducks and a bloke”, Lily said amusedly and folded her blanket. She grinned and started to ape: “Sirius, what about the ducks? What are you talking about?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if it had ducks and Sirius in it, it must have been a nightmare”, you mumbled before rushing into the bathroom.

The four of you reached the Transfiguration classroom only moments before the class would start, so you hurried to the back, where two desks in the penultimate row were unoccupied. Apparently nobody wanted to be in the risk zone close to the Marauders, who were sitting on two desks in the last row, so you took a seat next to Lily, right in front of James and Sirius, whereas Marlene and Dorcas sat down beside you and ahead of Remus and Peter.

While you tried to catch your breath from running, you heard the boys whispering behind you.  “Alright girls?”, James asked loud enough for you to hear before he cleared his throat quickly. 

Lily’s eyes squinted in annoyance for a second, but there still was a faint smile on her face when she turned around to answer: “Alright Potter.”

You turned around as well, to watch James’ face turning into an infatuated mix of confusion and amusement. He clearly hadn’t thought this through, but still enjoyed talking to Lily, even though it was quite painful to watch. While you tried to hold back your laughter, you caught a glimpse of Sirius, who was seemingly amused as well. His eyes went back and forth between the two as he chuckled at their banter before his gaze darted over to you. 

You felt exposed somehow and could feel a wave of blush surfacing all over your cheeks, ashamed of your dream and your subconscious thoughts about him, as if he knew about it simply by looking at you, so you just sent him a thin smile and turned back around quickly. This was real now, you were aware he didn’t know anything about your dream, but felt embarrassed, even if you hadn’t dreamed of him on purpose. Still, it felt like a strange kind of intrusion to visualize such intimate things without the other person’s approval - especially when you were nothing more than friends.

Your thoughts of self-flagellation were swiftly interrupted by Professor McGonagall, who walked into the classroom and started her Transfiguration lesson with a revision of last week’s curriculum.

While she arranged some tools on her desk, Lily leant in closer to you and whispered: “Can’t stand looking at him since tonight, huh?”

“Excuse me?”, you hissed and bumped your elbow lightly against her arm.

“I’m kidding”, she said and giggled.

“How do you even notice anything else when you’re making James’ head spin like a Quaffle?”, you asked so quietly, you weren’t sure if she heard you properly.

“I’m good at multitasking, you know. Just like you, when you’re talking while you sleep.”

“Merlin, Lily. Please stop”, you begged, both whiny and annoyed.

“Come on, I’m just teasing you. Don’t be mad”, she said.

“Please don’t tell anyone. Especially not Potter, or any of them.”

“I won’t, I promise”, Lily said and winked at you reassuringly before both of you looked to the front of the class where McGonagall started to explain the revision.

When the class had ended and everyone stood up, gathered their books and left the room for the next lesson, you turned around to check for Lily, who yet again was talking to James. You huffed jestingly and saw Sirius waiting for his mate as well when his gaze met yours once more. 

Sirius smiled, more with his eyes than his lips, but nevertheless not as awkward as you had done an hour ago. He took some steps towards you, so you held your books a little tighter, returned the gesture and mumbled: “Hey.”

“Hey”, he said. “So, wha-”

“Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew!”, McGonagall’s voice chimed through the half-empty room, along with a long sigh that attracted everyone’s attention. “I’d like a word with the four of you if you please. And would the rest leave the room and head to your next class.”

“Well, sorry about that”, Sirius whispered and grinned as he started to walk towards the Professor. “See you later then.”

James groaned and shuffled to the front as well, while you heard Remus’ and Peter’s discussion next to you. 

“Moony, what do you think we did?”, Peter whispered not as quietly as he thought.

“I... I don’t know. Shut up now and start moving.”

The Marauders came 10 minutes late for Charms with a handwritten excuse note from McGonagall. They all seemed tense, angry even, so no one dared to talk to them for the whole lesson.

You wondered what had happened - they were exhorted by teachers at least twice a week and all they usually did was to make a joke about it. They remained in their group of four for the rest of the day and gave some people strange looks while visibly tattling about them. 

Something must have really bothered them, but you didn’t want to provoke any more fuss, so you decided to ask them later in the common room, or maybe tomorrow. You certainly didn’t need any more drama today, what you needed was a good night’s sleep.

To be continued.

Find the other parts on my Masterlist linked in my bio!

Permanent tags: @geeksareunique @ren-ela @marauderskeeper @giggleberts @way-obsessed5 @oreofrappiewithblueberry @draqcnheartstrinq @dogfatherpads @whatisthisthingcalledlife @obscurilicious

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[tk-duveraun]

True Love

Part of a trade with @elalavella. I am... So sorry everyone. I really am. My hands were tied here. I had no choice. None at all. Sexually suggestive content.

The Herbert fic.

Ela loved herself and had no shortage of self-esteem. Even if she had, years of being with Fox and months of being married would have corrected it before that point. So Ela could admit to herself that she had a bad habit of whinging about her day at work and her particularly troublesome students. She loved them and would never say an unkind word to their adorable cherub faces, but Creators sometimes they made her tear out her hair.

Her loving, devoted, infinitely patient husband had no such habit. He left work at the hospital. When Fox got home, he was full of warm words and softer touches. After bad days, he would just cuddle up on the couch with her and watch television or listen to an audiobook while she marked papers next to him. He was perfect and while Ela never questioned whether or not she was good enough - she was, she was amazing - she was often thankful that he’d taken the time to see that.

So it was particularly startling when he threw the door open to their flat and didn’t even apologize when it hit the spider plant hanging from the ceiling behind it. His hair was more out of his braid than in it and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He did pick up Tanithil and kiss the cat’s head before being bitten on the nose, but he was still wildly out of sorts. Fox hugged Ela and kissed her first on the cheek and then on her mouth, but then he pulled back and howled with agitation.

Thankfully, Ela snickering behind her hand didn’t upset him any further because she could not have stopped it if she’d tried. He was lovely when he was full of life.

“How, how is it possible that humans have survived this long as a species? We certainly don’t deserve it. Not to be prejudiced, but I never run into these problems with any other race.” He howled again and tugged at his braid.

Ela only pulled her hand away from her mouth when she was sure that she wouldn’t burst into giggles. “What did they stick up their ass this time?”

“No, see, that’s funny. That, I can understand with the bizarre sex-shaming the Chantry does here in the South. No, no, Belovèd, you don’t understand.” Fox pulled off his tie in a few, vicious yanks and threw it on the floor, not even in the same direction as their bedroom and the laundry bin.

After a moment, Ela released her lip, but a laugh still bubbled up. She coughed to cover it. “That sounds terribly frustrating, love. What happened?”

“This idiot, this failure of society, evolution and humanity all, he stuck a lit firecracker down the front of his trousers!” Fox threw his hands in the air and shouted again. He pulled his shirt off so roughly that one of the buttons popped off and flew across the room to hit the window.

Torn between laughter and the desire to rub herself all over Fox - he looked wonderful in his undershirt and tailored trousers - Ela cleared her throat and took the middle road of simply stepping close and holding his arm. “You seem very upset. This isn’t the first teenage to blow his dick off.”

Fox rounded on her and grabbed her shoulders. “You don’t understand. He came in, came in to my hospital crying about what would he do without poor Stefan. A boy named Steven named his willie Stefan! And then blew it off!”

That did it. Ela burst out in laughter and pressed her face into his chest, but it did little to stifle the laughs. When he released her arms, she had to wipe tears from her eyes. “Dear, you sound so offended that he named his dick.”

“Yes! Who does that?”

Still giggling, Ela pulled back and looked up into her husband’s face. “It’s very common, dear. Boys think it adds gravitas to sex.” She ran both hands down his chest. “Really, it’s when they’re using their mouths for better things than words that makes it good.”

“Yes, I’m very tempted, but there’s no chance I can give you the pleasure you deserve right now. You don’t understand what-” Fox choked on the last word, too incensed to keep speaking.

Even though she knew there was no chance of demons crossing the Veil anymore or possessing anyone, that’s the only explanation Ela could think of for why she did what she did. She patted her darling husband’s crotch and said, “I don’t know. I think Herbert could be in for it.”

There was a moment, a single second of silence, and then Ela was laughing so hard she fell to her knees, gasping for breath between laughs. She looked up through the mirthful tears in her eyes and it only made her laugh harder. Fox was stricken with betrayal, his eyes wide and his hands held defensively over his trousers.

“No, you did not just-”

“Don’t be like that. I love Her-” She couldn’t speak for laughing. “I love Herbert. Oh Creators, I’m gonna piss myself.”

“It is not that funny and you are not-”

“Bert likes it.”

“Ela!”

She clutched at her chest as she laughed. It hurt, laughing so hard for so long, but she couldn’t stop. Fox would forgive her eventually, even if she would have to suffer through a week of exclusively Tevinter meals to make it up to him. He’d forgive her and forget it happened and they’d go back to married bliss.

Until she brought it up again.

Because she would.

[queen-archeron]

Thanksgiving

In honor of Thanksgiving, here’s a fluffy fic about the inner circle (feat. elriel specifically haha) Enjoy!!🍁❤️

Tagging: @the-bookish-soul @eternally-reading

Elain loved Thanksgiving.

It was an excuse for her to invite all of her friends over and decorate the whole townhouse. She had twenty recipes lined up on the counter and her hands were covered in flour as she made some fresh bread. There was only an hour left before everyone started to arrive, and she could feel sweat starting to form on her forehead—from stress or how quickly she was working, she didn’t know.

The oven started to beep, and Elain gasped, dropping the dough in her hands to look around for a towel. She was going to make the kitchen look like a winter wonderland with all the flour.

“Az!” She called, keeping her hands up in front of her to avoid making anymore of a mess. The smell of sugar cookies filled the air, and she was about to call his name again when she felt two strong arms wrap around her waist from behind.

“I leave for fifteen minutes, and come back to this?” He murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck. “You’re very neat aren’t you?”

Elain giggled, but turned in his arms and pointed at the oven. “There’s two trays with sugar cookies on them, and I need you to put them on the counter before they burn.”

Azriel chuckled and released her to grab an oven mitt. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled as she went back to her dough, kneading it until it was soft enough to place in a pan.

“Are they burned?” She asked as she heard Azriel set down the trays. He was silent and she turned around to see him chewing.

“Az! I only made two dozen, we need all of them!”

He shrugged and laughed at her expression. “I was just making sure they were good, which, they are.”

Elain pursed her lips, but he came over and kissed her nose. “This will all turn out amazing, Elain, just like everything you do.”

She smiled and leaned forward to press her lips against his, savoring his warmth. Her hands reached up and ruffled his hair, causing him to jerk away with a gasp. She leaned over and burst into laughter at his now white head of hair, and he tried to shake his head to get it out.

“You little…” He lunged forward and lifted her into the air, spinning her around until they were both a laughing mess.

Today would be a long, fun day.

~

“Come on, Rhys, it’s just the inner circle,” Feyre groaned, leaning against their bedroom wall as she waited for her mate to get dressed.

“I know,” he answered from where he stood in his closet. “But I need to look presentable. You said this was an important holiday for you, so I want it to feel that way.”

Feyre sighed and walked into his closet, her midnight blue dress trailing behind her. Rhys was shirtless as he looked through his suits, his brows furrowed. She came up beside him and rested a hand on his tattooed arm that matched her own.

“As long as you’re with me, today will be amazing,” she smiled, kissing his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her.

“I love you,” he whispered, resting his chin against the top of her head.

She stood there for a few more minutes, her arms wrapped around his waist, breathing in his scent, until she finally pulled away and nodded towards his clothes.

“That one,” she said, taking a nice black shirt off the hangar. Rhys smirked and took it from her, his eyes lighting up.

Feyre stepped outside and checked her hair in the mirror, fixing it so the curls draped over her shoulders. She wondered if Elain and Azriel would be ready when they arrived, and smiled at the thought of her older sister.

Elain and Azriel had been together for around a year and a half now, and seeing her so happy all the time made Feyre smile. Elain had always been quiet, never wanting to get involved in trouble, but when she met Az, something had changed. She got a spark in her eye that Feyre hadn’t seen before, and she would be forever thankful that Azriel made that happen.

Rhys stepped out of the closet, dressed from head to toe, and held out his arm for his High Lady. “Shall we?”

Feyre smirked and wrapped her arm around his, leaning into his comforting touch. If there was one thing she was thankful for, it was the happiness that Rhys had helped her find.

~

Nesta finished the final section of her hair and pinned her braid in place so it made a crown on her head. She could hear Cassian in the bathroom washing his hands, and she quickly smoothed down the front of her dress in the mirror.

Her mate walked out of the bathroom and smiled at her reflection. “You look beautiful.”

She blushed and turned towards him with a smirk. “You always say that.”

He walked forward and kissed her forehead gently, holding her waist so he could pull her closer. “I mean it every time I say it, Sweetheart.”

She brushed her lips against his and rested her head against his chest. “Do we have to go?”

“We promised we’d be there,” he chuckled, rubbing soothing circles along her back. “Besides, I think it’s time we give them the news.”

Nesta pulled away to take him in. She had once believed that no one could ever love her, or that she’d be too stubborn to allow it, but Cassian…he somehow found a way. After everything they’d been through, after the name calling and the teasing, they had found comfort in one another.

She smiled up at him, a smile so real and bright that she saw his eyes light up.

“You’re extraordinary,” he breathed, capturing her lips with his own, pulling her more fully against him. She let him have his moment, but quickly pulled away, pressing a finger to his lips.

“We both know that if we start we won’t stop, and we’re already late,” she teased.

Cassian rolled his eyes and took her hand in his. “You owe me when we get back.”

She gave him a playful shove, and they made their way outside.

~

Elain walked into the dining room with two platters of cookies and big grin on her face as she took in the people around her—her family.

Amren and Varian were murmuring lowly to each other, and Elain didn’t want to know about what as Amren bit her bottom lip and grinned. Mor was chatting away with Cassian, ignoring the death stare Nesta gave her every few minutes. Azriel was speaking to Feyre and Rhys, and every one was having a wonderful time.

“Time for dessert,” she announced, setting down the platters in the middle of the big table. Cassian licked his lips and grabbed four cookies, but Nesta hissed and slapped his hand, causing him to drop some.

“Other people would like to eat too, you pig,” she scowled, but he grabbed a cookie and shoved it in her mouth before she had time to react.

Everyone around the table laughed, including Elain as she took her seat next to Azriel. He rested a hand on her thigh and beamed.

“I told you it would be amazing.”

She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder, watching all of her friends enjoy the meal. Feyre was laughing at something Rhys said, and Amren was stuffing pieces of chocolate in her mouth, glancing around to make sure no one was looking. She caught Elain’s eye and grinned like a cat, making Elain chuckle.

Elain stood up from her chair and clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, I know this is cheesy, but since it’s Thanksgiving, I wanted to go around the table and let everyone say one thing they’re thankful for.”

Everyone sat up in their seats and grinned at her. “I’ll start,” she announced.

“I’m thankful for the kindness you all gave me when I first got to Velaris, and today as well. You’ve made my life so much better, so thank you,” Elain grinned, taking her seat again as everyone made aww sounds.

Azriel stood up next. “I’m thankful for the family I’ve made here. You guys took me in when no one else would,” he said, glancing at Rhys and Cassian. “And, of course, I wouldn’t be who I am today if it wasn’t for the Archeron sisters.”

Everyone chuckled, and Cassian pulled Nesta closer as she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Feyre stood up next and grabbed Rhys’s hand. “I’m thankful for each and every one of you, but I have to give my mate a special shout out,” she joked, squeezing his hand. “You made me feel alive again, when I thought it was impossible. You introduced me to these incredible people, and you made me happy. I could never thank you enough, Rhys.”

Rhys pulled her down for a kiss, and after a few moments everyone started to yell at them to get a room. Rhys kept Feyre in his lap as he spoke, glancing at everyone else seated around him.

“I’m thankful for Feyre, and privacy—“

Feyre jabbed him in the ribs and he chuckled. “I’m also thankful for Velaris, and this entire court. You guys have made it the best place in the world, so thank you for that.”

Mor stood up next and smiled. “I’m thankful for the friendships I’ve gained since Feyre arrived here. It’s been so wonderful to have all the Archeron sisters here.”

Amren stood up next and schooled a bored expression on her face, even though her eyes showed the opposite. “I’m thankful for all of you for making me realize there are kind people in the world. And I’m also thankful for jewelry.”

Varian coughed from beside her and she scowled but added, “And Varian.”

Varian told everyone that he was the same as Amren, minus the jewelry part of course, and it was Nesta’s turn to stand. Cassian stood with her and Elain caught a small smile on the commander’s face.

“I’m thankful for everyone here for putting up with my stubbornness all the time.” There was a laugh from around the room, and Nesta looked up at Cassian and grinned.

Cassian held Nesta by the waist and pulled her closer as he cleared his throat. “I’m thankful for my brothers, and the rest of the inner circle for making my life the best. And…” He trailed off and looked at his mate. “I’m also thankful for Nesta, my mate, my wife, my best friend, and the future mother of my child.”

Mor spit her wine across the table, all over the cookies, but no one payed any attention as they gasped.

“Nesta, are you…” Feyre started, and Nesta nodded her head with a smile on her face that Elain had never seen before. Nesta had never been a smiler, but now, her older sister looked like nothing could destroy the happiness piled up inside her.

“I’m pregnant,” Nesta announced, holding onto Cassian even tighter.

There were cheers and yells, and suddenly everyone in the room was crowding around the couple to congratulate them. Nesta had tears in her eyes, and she looked so un-Nesta-like that Elain had to watch her for a few moments to make sure it was still her sister.

Azriel came up behind her and smiled against her neck. “Looks like you’re going to be an aunt.”

She grinned and made sure no one was watching as she pulled Azriel towards the empty kitchen, pushing him into a corner to kiss him. His hands wrapped around her waist and she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, but Azriel pulled away before it got too heated.

“What’s that for?” His voice was low and it made her toes curl. She turned to make sure no one was watching and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Nesta isn’t the only one expecting a child,” she whispered in his ear.

Azriel froze for a few seconds, but quickly pulled away to grab her face in his hands. “Elain…”

She only nodded, and he released a dry sob and pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her neck as he held onto her for dear life. Tears streamed down her own cheeks and she held him so close that there was no space left between them.

“Are you…okay with this?” She asked with a trembling voice. Azriel pulled back and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips.

“I’m more than okay with it,” he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Elain, I—“

She cut him off with another kiss, and this time, he didn’t stop her. His wings wrapped around them to shield them from others, and she smiled against his lips as a vision appeared in her mind.

Elain continued smiling as she realized how thankful she truly was for the family that was still to come.

[swtorcompanionsgoofin]

Hi have a snippet bc now I'm Giggling

I am a fckn Wizard of Stupid Imagery and I'm very proud of how much dumbassery I can fit in 1 picture fjdjdjdj

[nsolyoi]

Chapters: 31/? Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont/Christophe Giacometti, Phichit Chulanont & Christophe Giacometti, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Hiroko/Katsuki Toshiya Characters: Katsuki Yuuri, Katsuki Yuuri's Family, Victor Nikiforov, Victor Nikiforov's Mother, Victor Nikiforov's Family, Victor Nikiforov's Brother, Yakov Feltsman, Yuri Plisetsky, Yuri Plisetsky's Family, Christophe Giacometti, Phichit Chulanont, Phichit Chulanont's Hamsters, Nishigori Yuuko, Nishigori Takeshi, Nishigori Triplets, Otabek Altin, Hiroshi (OG) Yuuri's Ex, Mrs. Bennet (OG), Makkachin (Yuri!!! on Ice), BluSkates(author can't resist inserting herself in fic), Janet (OG) figure skating coach, Leo de la Iglesia, Georgi Popovich Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Teachers, they live in America, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Christmas Fluff, Romance, Slow Burn, Massachusetts, Viktor teaches ELA, Yuuri teaches history, Age Swap, viktor is 23, Yuuri is 27, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Relationship(s) Summary:

Viktor Nicholas can't remember much from Russia. He knows he had a different name, he knows that his brother and father died, he knows that his mother never talked about it. Her dying instructions were that he always remember not to get too close to people and to move to a new location every four years, leaving no trace of himself behind. However, Viktor falls in love with his new teaching job, his new home, the town, and an especially cute history teacher, causing him to forget his mother's plan. Slowly memories of the past start to haunt him as he tries to build a new life with a potential boyfriend, and a long lost family he didn't know about.

Yuuri Katsuki is nursing a wounded heart after a horrible break up that left his bank account almost as empty as he was. He lost his apartment, his good name, half his money, and almost his job after the man that swept into his life blindsided him. Yuuri lives with his parents, focusing on teaching and rebuilding his life when a tall silver-haired man who seems to live in a fairy-tale, kept in a state of arrested development.