#february fic prompts

[mispatchedgreens]

snow, day 6 of @radiantemperorweek

flesh of ice and bones of jade and a grief so deep it's unfathomable. a scene from @thestoriesthatweweave's fic 'a tapestry, unraveling'

[searchingforserendipity25]

Plentiful as Sand is Plentiful. LoTR. on ao3.

There was for many years an hourglass upon Elrond’s desk, a tall ivory-and-glass thing from sunken Númenor. 

As a little child Estel liked to turn it and turn it, and would sit for hours upon his foster father’s lap following the mother-of-pearl etchings on the handle with his fingertips and watching the sand shift softly. 

For a time it was too heavy for his small wrists to turn; but Elrond with his keen hearing would know when the last grains came with an end, and knew when to turn it without lifting his eyes from his papers.

 Elrond had given it for him to hold, when he told him the truth of his name: Aragon, son of Arathorn, heir to Isildur’s line and Isildur’s grim failure. 

“Yet also to the courage of his people, and their skill,” Elrond told him. “Your forefather it was who made this time piece as a gift to me. From the glass-rooms of Armenelos it came, the last of Isildur’s works of beauty. It has been of good use to me, and good memory; I give it to you, that you should remember him with gratitude, as well as bitterness.”

“Yet bitter is it what you say to me,” said Estel, who was Aragorn. He was startled still, and yet not surprised entirely; for the blood of kings ran in him, and had at times left an uneasy premonition upon him. 

Still he would have remained been Estel, and no lost kingdom’s wayward heir; least of all in this century, this Age of the world, with an evil reckoning brewing in the distance. 

He turned the hourglass in his hands; a Mannish means of counting time, not to be found in other elvish kingdoms, but common enough in the house of Elrond Peredhel. “Keep it, Master Elrond. I cannot have it as my own, ere I am Isildur’s heir truly. These hurrying moments that are my lifetime shall be a heavy load to carry, I judge, and my course too rough for such a delicate thing.”

“Then keep it I shall, until you wish to reclaim it, or your score of years are run to their course,” said Elrond; and laid upon Estel’s shoulder the heavy comfort of his healer’s hands, which he felt for a time like a yoke as well as a kindness. 

It rested between a tall orchid Celebrían had found once in her expeditions in the wilds of Ennor, a narrow and tall and very orange creature, the last of its kind on these shore - and on the other side was his pile of used quills, which he tended to keep until they were worn through into stumps, too blunt to be sharpened.

He used it little, after that day; but at times Arwen his daughter came, and stood by the chair where Aragorn had sat with bent shoulders to her his name. 

Her fingers, long broideress fingers, touched the waves and leviathans Isildur had carved, with careful deliberation, in the last days of his youth, the dying of his empire. Her eyes grew clouded, then; not with the memory of the past, but her own designs, a future seen with the force of her want. Her own lord of man, his dear face not like any other’s; her own cities crowded with the smell of stone dust and salt.

She left it there, warmed by her skin, and went away from it but for rare and secret visits; but Elrond at times looked heavily upon it, as once he had not. 

That was another Age of the world. There is now an hourglass amidst Tar-Elessar’s instruments - behind the inkwell of Gondorin silver, besides the whittling of an eagle in flight his eldest daughter has wrought him. 

Many gifts have been to him, the king well-returned; but none quite as ancient. Elessar turns it in his hands, when a heavy ruling keeps him at work long into the night; Isildur’s hourglass, grown light with the strength of his manhood, feels always a little terrible to hold.

[what-a-strange-creature--moved]

february writing challenge ‧₊˚✧

some romance-themed prompts for the month of love 💞

i. first date

ii. perfume

iii. slow dance

iv. hey jealousy - gin blossoms

v. look, don't touch

vi. "you're so pretty"

vii. a crumpled up letter

viii. a sharp chest pain

ix. kissing games

x. secrets

xi. best friend

xii. a kiss on the cheek

xiii. "i forgot how much i needed this"

xiv. valentine

xv. pick-up lines

xvi. whisper

xvii. "spell it out for me"

xviii. five more minutes

xix. the hardest part

xx. apricity

xxi. from where you are - lifehouse

xxii. a dying fire

xxiii. eurydice

xxiv. a handmade gift

xxv. "i've never seen you that angry before"

xxvi. kalopsia

xxvii. what doesn't kill me makes me want you more

xxviii. promposal

xxix. "close your eyes"

┈ bonus ʚ♡ɞ ‧₊

xxx. a pitch black room

xxxi. a single touch

xxxii. "so good"

[foxsoulart]

Tmnt February day 21! Prompt 'universe'

----

"Hey, do you think there are other universes with different versions of us out there?"

"It's highly possible, but traversing between them is incredibly difficult and highly improbable." Donnie looked up at his brother. "Why do you ask?"

Mikey shifted from foot to foot, looking not at all suspicious. "Oh yknow, no reason. I just thought it would be cool if we met our counterparts, yknow?"

Donnie sat up crossing his arms. "Sure, but like I said, that's highly unlikely."

Mikey nodded, agreeing a bit quick. "Yeah, totally....but in the slim chance that it could, would it be bad if we met?"

"No, despite all the films and such about it, meeting your alter universe self shouldn't have any problems."

"Cool cool cool. Sooooo....don't freak out then 'kay?"

He half turned behind him. "He's cool, you can come out."

---

Yup, leaving this at a cliffhanger. And no hint at which universes either, have fun

Have a blessed day/night!

[mammalsofaction]

You snuck your way right into my heart 🎶

Rating: T

Relationships: Perry the Platypus/Heinz Doofenshmirtz

Tags: Human!Perry, meet cute, Love Handel

Summary:

Red jacket, black shirt, glasses, brown hair. Abt ur height. Lost him about south centre of the standing crowd near the stage. “Red jacket, huh?” Heinz reads aloud, rubbing his prominent chin. He has a very angular face, Perry notes. A bit odd-looking, but not distasteful; like he’d been half-starved at some point as a child, and never really made much of that weight back. An acquired taste, if you were into that sort of thing. Perry wonders if he is into that sort of thing The Perryshmirtz meet cute that won't leave me alone

Read it on AO3

[gibuckaroo]

And Eddie thought if God knew how beautiful Buck looked in this light, how the sun He created kisses his shoulder and how the wind burrows itself through his hair—if God knew, if God has seen it, would he have told the bible it was wrong for a man to love another man?

[a-couple-of-notes]

why write something for a movie you unequivocally enjoy when you instead can write something for a movie that deeply frustrated you on so many levels that you cannot bear to watch it even for research purposes and which only fits the prompt in the most insane of metaphorical stretches?

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Open When...

FEBRUARY FICLETS #1

A/N: Happy February, everyone! (Yes, it' true, January is finally over!) For me, has historically been a month of writing slumps and creative blocks. In an effort to try to fight that this year, I am choosing a few prompts from this list and writing something short for them. I have no idea how many I’ll get to, but for now here’s a little Ezra to get things started. This is part of the Angelfish universe.

Prompt: love letter

Warnings: brief mention of accident and injury

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Long distance relationships are always tough, especially when the distance spans different planetary systems. But you still find a way to be there for Ezra without ever leaving your post on Lau.

The relentless hum and buzz of life at Bahkroma base was silenced as Ezra reached his bunk and slid the door shut.

What a day. He sighed, bringing his right hand up to the back of his neck. The smallest tilt of his head released an audible pop of tension that he felt beneath his fingers. What a Kevva-fucked day.

Though the potential for danger on the Green Moon was always high, most dig shifts went smoothly. Trek out to the site, fill the day’s aurelac quota, secure the gems and trek back to base. The terrain was rough, the chemicals used to coax the gems from the fleshy roots was caustic, and without a filter the air would kill a person in just a handful of cycles. But when protocol was followed and equipment maintained - as it always was when Ezra was leading an expedition - the job could be done with relative safety.

Of course, there were still plenty of ways that a dig could go awry.

That day, it happened to be an expired vial of chem left behind by some drifter whose body had long since been consumed by the mossy forest floor. Flesh decays, and the Green is always hungry for carrion. But inorganic material remains for far longer - roto scalpels and extraction forceps left to rust, containers of phaser becoming covered by growth, laying in wait like landmines to be struck open by a drill head or pickaxe. Unlike some of the substances used in filtration and cleaning that lost potency over time, phaser solution only became more volatile. More dangerous.

Which was why Frontier Mining Company had invested in top of the line scanning equipment that checked the ground for evidence of abandoned dig sites before crews were cleared to begin.

The scans came up clean, though. Ezra stepped away from the door and crossed the small space that somehow felt smaller since you’d left for your posting on Big Blue. Choosing what had always been your side, he sat on the edge of the bed and gripped the mattress. They were clean. We were cleared, and then-

He screwed his eyes shut against the memory of what happened next - the distinct sound of metal finding glass, the hiss and bubble of the leaked fluid reacting to the water in the plantlife it spilled onto, the stillness in the half second before the explosion, and the anguished screams that came through the comms in his helmet.

In the end, it could have been worse. No one was killed. Everyone had been knocked to the ground, a few people had been banged up a bit. But Danelo, one of the crewmen Ezra had known for as long as he’d known you, had been the unlucky bastard whose ax had hit the vial. He lost a hand to the blast. Ezra had responded quickly, grabbing a field kit and loading the foam gun to cream up the wound as best as he could until the team was able to get the injured man back to base for proper medical treatment, and that had likely saved him from the worst of the infection.

It was still a grizzly sight. He opened his eyes and they landed on the photo he kept tacked up on the wall - one of you in his arms on the covered porch of your floating apartment out on the Skiffs, the shockingly blue water shimmering in the sunlight and your smile directed at him and not the camera. The picture instantly helped to put him at ease if only just a little. I’m glad you weren’t here for that, Angelfish.

He was glad, even though his missing you ran deeper than the ocean you were stationed beneath, that you were no longer at risk of falling prey to any of the Green Moon’s hidden perils. Glad that what happened to Danelo would never happen to you. Glad that your day to day operations on The Dive were far more stable than the wild nature of Aurelac mining. Even though he ached to hold you, especially on days when just a tiny shift in circumstance could have made it impossible for him to hold you ever again, Ezra was beyond relieved that your days on the Green were through. And that my own up here are numbered.

But days like that - and several others - were exactly what you had prepared for the last time you were both on leave together. Because you think of everything, don’t you?

Reaching up to the shelf that was built into the wall above the bed, Ezra pulled down a string-wrapped bundle of letters. There were fifteen in total, each of them meant for different occasions. You’d sealed each letter with a drop of wax and labeled them with their intended purposes. Open when you score a big pull. Open when your stand is halfway through. Open when it’s your birthday. Some of them were still sealed, awaiting the right time as per your instructions. Others were already opened, their pages folded and refolded along creases made by your hands so he could read and reread them as needed. Open when you can’t sleep. Open when you need a laugh. He thumbed through the semi-wrinkled paper, fingers finding the one he was looking for and pulling it from the stack.

Open when it’s been a hard day.

That one was still crisp and unopened. Slipping the shoes from his feet, Ezra swung his legs up onto the bed and leaned back against the wall, and then he slipped his finger between the edges and tore them apart. So far, every single one of your letters had perfectly matched whatever reason he’d had for opening them. Each one was a reminder of exactly what he needed to hear, as though you were right there. And each one only proved what he’d known for years - that you loved him just as much as he loved you. Let’s see what you’ve got to say this time.

Like always, as he read he could hear the words in your voice, as close and clear as though you were there tucked against his chest.

Oh, my Ezra,

A hard day, prospector? I’m sorry, love. These are the days that I wish I was with you the most. Even if just to put my arms around you to give you a few minutes of relief. You make all my worst days more bearable and the fact that I'm so far away on one of yours is something that I would change in a heartbeat if I could. But since I can’t, this will have to do.

Do you remember that day on H4, back at the training facility, when you asked me to partner up with you for the Vezna excursion? I’m sure you do. It was our first experience on a fire planet and we were both nervous about it. What I never told you, though, was that earlier that day I was very seriously considering leaving the Frontier program altogether. I’d blown my Sector Six practice exam that morning and even though the field assessment was still a week away, I could already hear the gossip. I knew most of the other trainees didn’t want me there, didn’t think I could hack it. None of them were eager to be put on a crew with me, and I was really starting to doubt myself. Doubt my dreams. It was my hardest day of the 582 that we spent there.

But then you came along and you had that smile on your face and you said “Angelfish, there’s no one I’d rather walk through the flames with.” And even though you didn’t know it, that was exactly what I needed to hear. That you saw me as someone who was strong enough to do hard things, even things that made you nervous, too. You saw me as someone to depend on, even when I couldn’t see it for myself.

Ezra, I don’t know what happened today to make you open this letter in particular. But I do know that what you said to me that day? I feel the same. There is no one in this or any universe that I would rather walk through flames with, because I know that you can. I know that whatever struggles the day brought you won’t keep you down, because you’re stronger than anything that might try to stop you.

And do you remember what happened after the Vezna excursion? After we got back to H4 and passed Sector Six? Those ten days we spent in The Ephrate during semester break? I do. And I know you do, too.

I love you, Ezra. You’ll get through this hard time, and we’ll be together again soon. So soon.

He read your letter three times that night, running his fingers over the indentations made by your pen, tracing the lines and curves of the letters where you signed your name. You always ended each letter the same way - Your Angelfish - and each time he read those two words they filled him with a warmth he’d only ever felt when you were there beside him. You were his, and he was more yours than his own.

Flattening the letter over the center of his chest, Ezra turned his head to glance at the photo again. “You always know what to say, Angelfish.”

The reassurance that you believed in him - believed that he was capable of doing what was necessary to get through the hard days, whatever they bring - was the reason he was able to fall asleep that night.

But your mention of that long ago trip to The Ephrate? That was the reason for the things he dreamed about. And he couldn’t wait to be back on the Skiffs with you to tell you and show you that yes, he absolutely remembered those ten days.

.

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please feel free to let me know or you can fill out the form on my masterlist.    

Tag list: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @valkblue @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @cannedsoupsucks @tobealostwanderer r @paracosmenthusiast @gracie7209 @dihra-vesa @marauderskeeper @novemberrain221 @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @stevie75 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @Noisynightmarepoetry @Severin-proud

[merlinmicrofic]

February '24 Prompts

With the January Round now closed, it's time to announce the prompts for the round running from now, February 15th, till March 14th! The prompts for this round are:

1. Hunger/Hungry | 2. "Then go." | 3. Throne

For info on how this works, please check this post.

When posting to tumblr, please name ship/characters/gen relationship, the prompt(s) you're filling, and, if needed, rating + warnings (so, for example: "Fill for @merlinmicrofic prompt 'Hunger', Elyan/Leon, Explicit, MCD") at the top of your post!

Prompts can be interpreted loosely, although if you pick the dialogue prompt, the line should make an appearance!

Remember, your fic has to be 500 words or shorter! For an additional challenge, make it an exact drabble (100 words to the point!) When you post to tumblr, we'll check wordcounts with wordcount.com

Places/ways you can post: only to tumblr, to our AO3 collection, or to both. Whichever way you choose, do make sure to make a tumblr post of some kind and tag this blog directly, so that we can reblog it, and log it for the masterlist!

Prompt 3 was a submission by @0hheytherebigbadwolf, thank you so much! <3 Prompts can be submitted through the ask box (see here for more info), and one of the monthly prompts will be picked from those by random choice!

If you have any more questions that aren't answered by the posts linked in our pinned post, please don't hesitate to reach out.

Most importantly, have fun! I can't wait to see you dor the second round <3

[psychologeek]

Wild Hearts (pt 4)

Day 27: Clothing swap / Clone DAY 22: "you weren't meant to be there"

Part 1 Part 2 part 3

There's a baby in her arms. Jazz can feel her, but can't let herself look down.

There's (a clone, a daughter) in her arms, and explosion in the background and she's not sure what's happening or what's going on or -

Focus

There is a child in her arms, and Jazz need to focus right now, because that child needs her. No matter who she might be, the kid is helpless and hurt and Jazz can't freak out. Not yet. Not until they reach safety.

There's a kid in her arms and blood on her hands and her ears are still ringing and she can't really think-

But there's someone else who needs her first.

So she takes a deep breath. Lock the panic away in that box in the back of her mind, right with things like "being fifteen" or "The Incident" or-

She finally let herself look down, and look at the toddler in her arms.

She's so small, she thinks. How could they do that?

She reach the car she brought, hidden by nature and just a touch of ectoplasm.

There are clothes she can change into.

There are things she can do to-

(Erase every single memory, pretend it never happened.)

But there is a child in her arms, in a collar and white little straight jacket. There's a shivering toddler in her hands, covered with blood and ecto and things she doesn't want to think of. There's a baby she put on the back seat as she take of those cursed things and wipe the dirt off her little body, the best she could. Take the clean shirt she kept in the car and carefully dress the little one, covering scars and wounds and layers of pain.

There is a daughter that opens her eyes for the first time, and her lips shiver as she cry

"Mommy?"

(Like it? I have more mini-fics in this au. And full size fics on ao3. )

[calunalilly]

#6 + building ikea furniture :D

Welcome to day 8! A lovely ask from @rainbowscarf today, followed on beautifully from @katiedingo and going to IKEA!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53435032/chapters/135688330

[drarrymicrofic]

Happy Bubblegum Day 🍬!

Today's prompt, Candlelight, was sent in my @lqtraintracks! Thank you!

Happy Writing! Your Microfic Mods 📜✨

[searchingforserendipity25]

Diplomatic Concerns. (russingon, on ao3).

When they did at last come together, it did not feel like an inevitability to Maedhros. Far easier it was to believe - to contrive - ways in which they might betray themselves, and allow their understanding to betray their people.

This, they both agreed, could not be permitted. Maedhros would have loved Fingon less, if he had been willing to brave the storm of opposition and defiance their open courtship would cause.

His people had cause, just cause to stand against it; and Maedhros had his own brothers and vassals to rule over, in less official fashion, without the benefit of official authority to put them in place if it prove needed.

They pledged their troth under the stars, a wordless promise with no bitter oath to mar it; and thereafter took the greatest care and discretion that none guessed at it.

-

It was some effort, Maedhros admitted, if only in their very secretive correspondence, written on hidden wink in the back of their official missives.

His mouth ached, his arms felt emptier - poetry, he found, spoke to him beyond the pleasure of precise meter and rhyme.

It was absurd; it was dangerous. Always he kept Fingon swept from his mind, lest some of his heart bleed through enough to be perceived; and always it was work, to keep Fingon out of the forefront of his thinking.

And it was mortifying, too. To be infatuated, to have a joy to hide, to know himself cherished and desired - he could not have bourne it to be known, not easily.

It was only some consolation to know Fingon found his pining ardor very pleasing, being that he was at too great a distance to do much with that. As a matter of fact, it made it all the more torturous.

This lasted all through the first fortnight of the autumn summit.

Maglor looked at him indulgently. “How many horses can Fingon possibly need? Nay, not at all. You must give him the best foal, and rear it by your hand, and drape it in Fingon’s raiment and colours, and teach it the signals he favours. Quality, not merely quantity! Do you hear me wasting breath on too many love songs? There must be a measure, by which things are made precious.” 

“You were song-wed by proxy fashion to an ascetic zither-master you knew from correspondence only, and met thrice every ten yéni,” Maedhros told him. 

Maglor shrugged. “Once every ten yéni was enough. It made the anticipation all the sweeter.” 

Maedhros raised all three colts to perfect training. If some of his braids were chewed away, and much of the fur of his best coats, then at least Fingon was suitably impressed.

-

None guesses at our affections, Maedhros amended on his next letter, besides Maglor, and his silence is our boon. Fingon was swift to tease him for that - and in truth he had barely bothered to hide it from Maglor.

There was little use; therefore he worried little. All the rest of his brothers held their own domains, were occupied with their duties - if it became pressing, he could always invent a new task to distract their tracks.

He had forgotten Caranthir. Caranthir never needed to be given new directions; if anything, he excelled at taking attentive initiative, especially on matters of international commerce.

“I,” Maedhros said. “Have never offered any thing, to lord or vassal, besides gifts of friendship, and diplomacy, and cunning morsels of what might attained with a better trade arrangement.” 

“Explain to me how Fingon’s newest gem-crown counts as a diplomatic expense,” Caranthir demanded.

-

Besides Caranthir and Maglor, none noticed. 

The next time they met - a well-prepared hunting retreat, and the anticipation did have a certain strain of pleasure in it - it was only some time after the first enthusiastic greetings that they found time and patience to speak at lenght about their dealings, those small or great matters they had not trusted even to set to hidden writing.

 "Did you -”

"I told none. Besides those who know."

“Are you entirely certain. Amras and Amrod keep sending me cured meats? Excellent sausages for my table, and lovely truffles. For some reason; they did not last year.”

"They are not poisoned," Maedhros assured automatically. Then hesitated. "They do like to experiment with spices and certain powders, however."

"I noticed," Fingon said, mouth curved. It was a lovely smile, better for being not amused; Maedhros suffered the rather stupid instinct to kiss his cheek. "Around the time the sugared mushrooms caused an apparition of a great mammoth grazing upon my father's head as we sat in public Council. It appeared purple to my eyes, the mammoth; also my father."

Maedhros had suffered great torments of the flesh and spirit; the image made him wince with genuine feeling. Fingolfin kept a very eclectic conjunction of lords near him, Sindar and Noldor and Avari, all of them clever, cunning, far-seeing people with an unhappy habit of keeping a wide awareness to every stray thought that they might fish out slyly round them on a wide range of space. It made Maedhros feel unusually warmly towards his straightforward, stone-silent dwarves and the fierce, scarred, closed minds that came to serve Himring. 

"You need to string them up from a high tower," Maedhros concluded. "You shall have their apologies in a season."

"Need is a strong word," said Fingon. But his mouth was twitching, more genuinely.

Through the place where their spirits pressed together he passed on the faint, kaleidoscopic memories of that afternoon - Maedhros had stifle his own crinkling eyes. It was impossible not to admit Fingolfin did look rather fetching in tints of purple; and the mammoth was very realistic.

"If you want them to redeem themselves, have them send more next year. I would rather have enjoyed them in privacy. Lalwen thought it was very amusing. Eventually; she stole the rest of the bounty, and left me none at all, which was very like her and rather a disappointment. If your brothers are found wandering the wilds naked and intoxicated, you shall find no way to prove it was her work."

"They will enjoy it too much." Maedhros thought of when the twins's nonsense had been joyful, once. And involved less paperwork. The worst of it was that they likely thought it a good gift.The twins had ever liked Fingon well enough, as much as they liked anyone outside their enclosing understanding.

Fingon turned around, with that sweeping grace that made him deadly. In a moment he had rolled them over. His hands dug into the loam around Maedhros's head; his legs tangled in him, pressing down, delicious.

There you are, he thought, directly at Maedhros. No distance at all, and his laughing mind dizzying like a windfall, a sweeping rush. You stay away too often, Russandol, even here.

"Let them," he said, voice low and warm, close enough Maedhros could feel it thrum in his own throat. He was so very warm. Maedhros's whole body felt alive under him, as if he were fresh from a battle; as if it could feel alive and joyful with no violence. "I mean to enjoy myself with a clear mind. I mean to recall you perfectly while we are apart."

-

Maedhros, rather wisely, he thought, kept any commissioned tokens away from familiar forges.

It was a marvel, the inspiration which which Curufin could contrive as an insult. In this he truly was Fëanor's heir.

I will not have any of our Father's house be known for offering substandard works, he wrote, a stiff note of parchment atop a casket.

Inside the casket was a treasure - elf-made emeralds, and rubies, fine gleaming garnets that caught the golden light from the candles and would assuredly shine beauteously strung around golden ribbons, and on the chained earrings Fingon favoured.

 Keep those Dwarven pieces away from Fingolfin and his ilk, lest he rethink our work agreements. Have you lost your sense, along with your shame? Findekáno's not the least suited to Belegost's blue-steel and sapphires, they wash him out terribly, I do not know how Fingolfin can be so tasteless in his heraldry as not to consider it.

-

Maedhros recalled a time when his brother at least pretended to attend to elvish mores, those small contrivances of decent conduct. Such as pretending at ignorance. Pretending at ignorance had been a good habit, one Huan's master remembered these days merely when it was convenient for him.

Celegorm only looked at him in a flat vulpine fashion, nostrils flaring. Worse than a smirk, worse than mischief. Maedhros had seen it turned on others often enough; he could not say he enjoyed the very unpleasant awareness with which it remind everyone of all the passionate embraces they may or may not have indulged in the wild, where a little bird might carry gossip, or a finicky squirrel pass on mockery.

It also made him rethink the wisdom of wearing Fingon's undershirt under his tunic.

"Not a word," he ordered.

Celegorm only whistled in wolf-like fashion and darted away from his swing.

The next time Fingon dared him for a swim after a lengthy ride up the hills of Barad Eithel, Maedhros quite ruined the romance of it all by insisting on raising a tarp-and-leather tent beforehand.

-

Huan had the good grace to wait until they passed each other on an empty corridor before stopping to block his path.

Oromë's hunting hound looked at him with those terribly knowing dark eyes and let out a soft snorting sound. It was not a very approving woof; a little mournful, perhaps. Maedhros did not speak Hound.

"Do not you start also," Maedhros said. His tone held little effort, as it ever did in these cases.

He had to fight the instinct to cross his arms. He refused to be easily biddable or intimidated. As a matter of principle; he had few of those, and it tended to be better to keep to those he did maintain.

Woof-woof, said Huan.

"We are all Doomed regardless," argued Maedhros.

A sniff, rather pointed. A little charming, perhaps - none of his brothers had offered, so far.

"It is very generous of you to offer," Maedhros said. "No biting will be necessary. I would rather Fingon whole as he may."

Huan licked his bad arm. Shifting ears, which, in all honesty, were insulting. 

"I am not letting myself be carried off as a mate to establish a new collective dynamic as pertaining previous intra-community competitions," Maedhros said, rather stiffly. "No, not though I was stolen from the Enemy for that purpose."

Maedhros did not speak Hound, as such; but Huan and him understood each other a little. If anyone was going to look at him with the knowledge that Maedhros would have let himself be carried off as a prize, and possibly did not dislike the notion, he would rather it was him.

"I will bring you some of that good hind meat from Dor-Lómin," he conceded, eager to bribe him away.

Huan's dog-grin finally widened. Maedhros, relieved to be free from evaluation, scratched his chin until his wagging tail was thumping the carpet. Some relatives, he thought, were harder to please than others.

-

"We have failed at every avenue," Maedhros concluded, as displeased as he could stand to be just then. "Let this be not a sign of our joined efforts to come!"

Fingon was rather less moved at their failure than Maedhros would have expected. Possibly that was the effort of the long ride to the fortress, and their - reunion. Maedhros did not want him alarmed and on his feet, as such; but he did eye his complacence a little.

"Brothers are not Balrogs. It could be worse," Fingon said, very confidently.

Maedhros lifted his head from Fingon's chest. His own eyes were growing half-lidded; his muscles too felt weary, suffused still with satisfaction. Himring's walls, warm within like a living body, rumbled faintly with the noise of their gaseous pipes. He was warm, and sated, and all in all quite in accord with the form of the world, at least for the foreseeable candle-mark.

It was only that he had not trusted messengers to pass on the news; and he had felt an urgency to share the state of affairs with Fingon for months. They had determined to be fully discreet.

"How?"

"Turgon and Aredhel might return," Fingon said promptly. His voice showed he had considered the matter at great length, and was very amused by the way Maedhros went still against him. "And be less generous with their blindness than the rest of my - our kin."

"They might not have noticed. Your father has not."

Fingon lifted himself on his elbow, and looked at him, a little pityingly.

"Beloved," he said. "Whom do you think invented the art of invisible writing?"

[stetermonthlyprompts]

February 2024: Baking

[iboatedhere]

Alex keeps the letter from June in the front pocket of his coat, safe from the rain, mud, and blood, but all that is inevitable in war.

He doesn't read it as often as he'd like to; no time and no privacy. Still, he knows it word for word. The paper was worn thin and tearing at the folds, but when it was tucked away, close to his heart, he felt like he was wearing a suit of armor.

That could be what went wrong. He didn't have it to protect him.

The funny thing about getting shot is that Alex doesn't remember it happening.

One second, he's crouched down, firing at an enemy a hundred yards away somewhere in the middle of France, and the next, he's on his back, staring up at a blue sky while one of his buddies calls for a medic.

A bird flies overhead, and the constant click of a machine gun rattles his bones, hands on his shoulders dragging him back off the front line.

There's no pain.

That comes later.

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[tippenfunkaport]

Ink and Dandelions (Scorfuma Flower Shop and Tattoo Parlor AU)

Perfuma's having a very frustrating day filling a bouquet order for her ex when an intrusion from the tattoo parlor upstairs leads to a meeting with just the right energy. (Fluff, 896 words)

Read on AO3

I'm sure someone has done the flower shop / tattoo parlor AU thing with these two before but they are so prefect for it, I just HAD to.

I originally wrote this for Sheratober / Flufftober and completely forgot about it so now you get it for Femslash February / Fluffuary!