#fic: star-bright

[saiintvalentiine]

star-bright

Summary: Parrot is a lesser dragon who's looking for a wishing star to turn himself into a true dragon.

Notes: this is. hm. kinda weird even for me i think. if you've read requiescat, this premise is actually familiar to you, and you'll realize immediately how this is gonna end. unedited and hastily written to get it out of my system. divider.

Word count: 1,406

1 am

There's a clean impact crater in the field about three yards all around. There's a clear drag line through the grass heading north, where skyscrapers shine and the city coughs up smoke. It tapers off, but it's not hard to imagine that such a sight would be tempting to a falling wish.

Parrot has a wish to cash in, and stardust is easy to track.

2 am

Cities around here never sleep. It's part of Parrot's problem. He can't protect everything he wants, everyone he wants when he's this weak in a world this wide. Smoke billows out of the corners of his mouth, unthinking, unhappy, wings inert and senses dampened.

This wishing star is what will let him become what he was always meant to become.

He's been waiting to see one fall. They look like shooting stars, and there are plenty of those around, but a dragon can tell the difference. Even to a lesser one like him, they look brighter, tempting, more promising than the average star.

The trail this star has left behind is bright, sweet, lilac-tinted and sparkling. It weaves in and out of bars and tourist traps, between the bustling crowds and haggling merchants. Parrot is following, but just barely. It's trying to hide.

It knows its time is limited and is trying to extend it. How unfortunate for it that Parrot is the one who's going to find it.

3 am

The wishing star is eating a hot dog. Parrot is stunned when he finally catches up to it and it's at a hotdog stand. He honestly—

“ ‘s really good,” the star praises, smiling at the vendor.

“Can't believe you've never had a hotdog,” the vendor says wistfully.

“Crazy huh?”

The star finishes its meal, wiping its hands on a napkin. Its hair is dark with thin streaks of white, eyes violet and charming, and its skin deathly pale. It looks just like the old texts describe them— ethereal, impossible to look away from, delicious.

“There's a cart down that way that sells kebabs. You tell ‘em Vic sent ya, they'll make you my favorite.”

The star bounces up, brightens, and says, “I will! Thank you!”

“You have a safe night now,” the vendor calls out as the star walks off with a wave.

Parrot goes to follow, only to get his arm grabbed by the vendor.

“What's your problem?” Parrot snaps, shrugging out of his grip, the star getting further and further away.

“You leave that boy alone you fuckin’ pest, y’hear me?”

Parrot is— what the actual hell? He stares at the vendor, too baffled to respond for a moment.

“Don't think I didn't see you standin’ there leering,” the vendor continues. “It’s creeps like you makin’ this place impossible to live in. Fuck off.”

Oh god, this guy thinks Parrot is creeping on the star.

“I'm not doing anything wrong,” Parrot sputters out, stepping back and bumping into a passer-by. “I'm— I'm leaving!”

“Good riddance!”

Parrot scrambles off, flustered. He holds off on following the star’s trail until he's far out of the vendor’s sight.

4 am

It takes a little while longer, and Parrot spends way too long red in the face about it, but he eventually catches up to the wishing star again. This time, it's at a bar, which Parrot is deeply annoyed by. It's loud and smelly in here, but the irritated smoke that rises from his nose blends in with the eight people he sees smoking in here, so it's not all bad.

The star looks too sweet sitting at the bar. It's wearing a soft grey sweater and black slacks, with mismatched black and white boots. Despite that, the bartender is pouring it a drink with a big grin.

“This one has Midori in it,” she says over the music.

“Midori,” the star echoes. “Sounds delicious.”

“Oh it is!”

The star drinks from a cup with bright green liquid in it, and suddenly Parrot wonders how it's paying for this. Do stars descend with cash on hand? He's contemplating this as he edges closer and closer, shoulders being brushed here and there by other patrons. Someone brushes behind the star, and it turns at the resulting hasty apology. Parrot can tell the second it spots him in the corner of its vision— a hitched breath and a heavy hand slapping a wad of bills on the bartop are all Parrot gets before the star runs. It weaves so easily between people, like it's wafer thin, and the bartender yells after it. Parrot darts after it, tries to snatch its arm but fails as it bursts out of the bar and into the street.

Fine. If it wants to do this the hard way, Parrot isn't afraid of some hard work.

5 am

The goddamn star is still running and Parrot is running out of time. Wishing star luck piles up around it as it tries to escape, as it crashes into the arms of a wolf hybrid and a cat hybrid who accidentally block Parrot’s path, then it’s whisked a few feet away by a strange suit-wearing enderman when they trip into each other, then a different cat hybrid falls onto Parrot in a series of convoluted accidents that are only possible in fiction— at least Parrot thought they were only possible in fiction.

It doesn’t matter. Luck won’t be enough. Parrot will guarantee that.

6 am

Parrot finally catches the star. It’s racing back to the field it fell into, maybe trying to make it to the woods opposite of the city in an attempt to lose track of Parrot. But he’s sick of this game and he has to make this wish before dawn if he’s going to become who he was always meant to be, and that’s what pushes him to finally tackle the star down. Felled, it tries to scramble away, but Parrot catches its wrists between his talons and pins its squirming body down.

“Let go of me,” the star wheezes, ring-adorned fingers spasming wildly. “Let go of me!”

“Not until I get my wish,” Parrot snaps, breathing heavy, voice shot. He squeezes his hands and the star makes a choked noise.

“No, no no no, I’ll die if you do that, I’ll die!”

“I know that.”

“And you’re okay with that?!”

The star squirms, turning on its side to look up at Parrot. Its face is streaked with sweat and tears and dirt, but no blood; Parrot is sure these things don’t have mortal blood to bleed anyway, but he’s a little surprised it didn’t hurt itself on the way down. It just looks dirty now. Soiled.

“Fulfilling a wish costs the blood of the lamb.”

It tries again to wrench away from Parrot, but it won’t be able to get free. What Parrot wants is too much, too wide—

“I have a name, I’m a person,” the star begs. “I’m Wifies, I like— I like the color purple, I like Midori— at least, I think I do, I need more time, I could—”

“You are a wishing star, you aren’t a person! This is the point, getting caught and dying to a wish is the point of your existence!”

“Says who!” Wifies head drops down, voice wavering and wet. “Says who, the lesser dragons who use us? Of course you all think that’s all we’re good for! That’s what keeps you as lesser. If you can’t take it with your own hands, you’ll steal it from us.”

Wifies is heaving, pearlescent in the moonlight, and Parrot hates him.

“I have tried everything!” Parrot can’t control the way his voice rises, the way his mouth gets hot, the way his useless wings twitch on his back. “Everything to become better!”

“And you’ll kill me for it, because you’re a failure!”

“I wish,” Parrot is seeing red, he’s got to be precise with this, has to ignore the shuddering sobs beneath him. “I wish to become a true dragon.”

7 am

Parrot greets the dawn alone, no body, no heat, nothing beneath him.

He sits on his knees alone as the stars in the sky taper away to the sunlight. His wings unfurl to their full length, healthy and heavy, and he feels the potency in his throat, not just heat but flame flicking, flicking, flicking away in his gut. There isn’t even residue on his hands left.

Parrot greets the dawn alone.

[feroluce]

I've only recently started having my own thoughts about Emanator!Sampo and I think my favorite version of this is that he is technically an Emanator, it's just that he doesn't talk about it because Aha is a dick who only blesses people that don't want it and Sampo hates it here dkjxkdkdck

Aha blessed the Mourning Actors! A whole faction of people who have specifically made it their life's mission to resist Elation! THEY made a literal worm THEIR Emanator just to see if it would be accepted into the Genius Society! And when it wasn't, Aha just as easily killed it and tossed it aside! So I feel like there is a good possibility that Aha looked down at Sampo, this little oddball who doesn't seem to even like Epsilon or a lot of the Masked Fools and was like.

Hey.

You know what would be really really funny.

And I feel like being an Emanator wouldn't even be a plus for Sampo, because of how he operates. Sampo excels at blending in; he managed to smuggle himself onto a planet

that had been isolated for 700 years,

with only one (1) single city on it,

and going even further, he snuck himself into the Underground,

where the population is even more sparse,

and STILL. Not a single accusation of him being an alien! Not even after the Astral Express lands and proves that interstellar space travel is possible! Sampo is so thoroughly ingrained into Belobog that yeah, some people admit they don't know his origins, but none of it ever comes with the question of whether he actually is a Belobog native or not. Sampo knows exactly how to blend himself into his surroundings in the most subtle way possible. And being an Emanator, something far more powerful than any normal human or Pathstrider could ever hope to be, would only throw in a massive extra variable for him. Sampo would have to be so so careful to keep a lid on his Emanator traits, to keep up the appearance of being totally normal and average at all times. It doesn't help him at all.

And this part is pure indulgence, but I love taking Aha's closeness with mortals, and THEIR tendency to take human form, and twisting it into a case of THEM using Sampo as a vessel.

I want Aha to look at Sampo the same way all of us look at Sampo. A chew toy. A plaything. Something to shove through the meat grinder. Aha thinks Sampo is hilarious and a funny, silly little guy, and THEY want to put him in Situations just to see what he does. Sampo is not a fan.

This though, this is what makes Sampo so wildly entertaining as a vessel. Because Aha knows that Sampo does not want to be a vessel, does not even want to be an Emanator, and THEY find it SO much fun to watch the mental gymnastics he has to pull to convince himself he's ok with it, this is fine actually, because he's not exactly about to tell off a literal god. He doesn't feel like getting a smiting today, please and thank you.

Because squeezing yourself into a human vessel is so different than merely adopting a human disguise, there's already a human soul in there, it's kind of a tight fit. If Sampo doesn't make room, doesn't all but dissociate right out of his own body, it could cause. Consequences.

And so, Aha always gives a warning, just to watch him squirm.

It begins with the sound of bells.

Just little ones, at first. Small, clinking little sounds that could even be considered nice. Something almost gentle, like a wind chime in a pleasant breeze on a warm day. This is the signal for the countdown.

Sampo breathes in, breathes out. Makes himself as small as possible within his own body.

The bells rise and multiply, tinkling wind chimes give way to sleigh bells, to shopkeepers bells, the sound of something inevitable approaching, something entering.

Sampo breathes in, breathes out. Dilutes himself, weaker and weaker concentrations.

The bells rise and rise, multiply and multiply, celebration and tragedy resonating in the sound of church bells, ringing bright and loud, the sounds of weddings and funerals both the same.

Sampo breathes in, breathes out. Becomes like smoke, like vapor. Hollows himself out.

Empty, empty, empty until he echoes, like a bell, like something with the sole purpose of being shaken and rattled around, a thing to be struck, the sounds jarring and punched out and gasping and piercing the air, the lung, the eardrum.

Sampo breathes in.

Beaten he rings, bashed in he sings.

Aha breathes out.

[mugmegan]

Eraser and Mic alien designs for the Bright Stars fic! I like drawing animals actually and also designing characters so I was excited to try this

[lynariadne]

wdym I can’t reread my favourite PJO fanfic a dozen times and consider it canon ? Who’s gonna stop me ? Rick Riordan ?? He doesn’t even remember his own canon!

[jade-bright]

Star Wars!Sterek pt.3

Derek, after putting his armor and helmet back on, carried Stiles back to the Lycan and checked him for any visible injuries. Assuming the younger man was gonna be out for a while, he went about checking and fixing parts of the ship's vitals/mechanics he deemed necessary until he ultimately went to just watch over Stiles. Some hours later, sat across the cot Derek watched as he finally awoke...

Stiles: (stretching) Ughhh, (turns his head and jumps when he sees Derek) Ahh! Oh my Maker

Derek: (slightly amused but doesn't move or say anything) ...

Stiles: ... (waits a bit to see if he'll say anything) Are you okay? I didn't mess anything up did I?

Derek: ...

Derek: You're a jetii

Stiles: ...

Stiles: No. I'm force sensitive. (looks down at his hands and starts to fidget with them) My mom taught me, just like her dad taught her. He was the one who became a jedi, but he left to be with my grandmother

Derek: (a bit confused) ...How aren't you a jedi?

Stiles: (huffs a little laugh) For one? (gestures to his entire being) I don't have a lightsaber and I don't follow the traditional jedi mantra

Derek: What do you follow?

Stiles: (Shrugs) The same mantra my grandfather decided to follow after he married my grandmother, "Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force."

Derek: What does it mean?

Stiles: For me and my family? Freedom. We get to live and make choices same as any "ordinary" being, practice the ways of both the light and dark side... (squints and purses his lips) well... within reason, and you know (blushes), love and marry whoever we want...

Derek: (blushes under his helmet remembering that they are indeed married now) ...

Stiles: I know our getting together was veryyy... of convenience? Since, you know, you were dying and you've told me how important your Creed is and how much of a disgrace it is for a Mandalorian to break the Creed and I didn't mean to force your hand in this or in-

Derek: (abruptly takes off his helmet and puts it to the side)...

Stiles: -uhhhhh

Derek: (gulps what little saliva he has, takes a deep breath and stands) I willingly gave you my name, and have now willingly shown you my face, because you are clan, and if you'd be willing to continue the riduurok, I wish to at least give you the symbol of my family

Stiles: (a bit surprised and blinking, then smiles his mischief in his eyes) Okay, (stands) I'll follow through in our marriage, (takes a small step closer) on two conditions

Derek: Anything

Stiles: (smile widening) After this bounty, (takes another small step forward) we will return to Naboo and we'll have a small wedding that my dad will be able to attend

Derek: (smiles and laughs a little) Okay, and?

Stiles: (takes one last step towards Derek) I want several kisses from my husband, whenever I want

Derek: (eyes wrinkling from how much he's smiling and walks to finally close the distance between them, and wrap his hands around his waist to pull him flush against himself) Is that all cyar'ika?

Stiles: (pleased, raising his arms to place over his shoulders and rest his hands behind his neck) Mhmm~

*Stiles just taking his time and getting his fill on finally being able to stare into his partners eyes and take note of his other features like his thick brows and seemingly soft hair. Meanwhile, Derek's also enjoying being able to fully explore the depths of brown and gold in his riduur's eyes, but is mostly loving how he gets to finally hold him in such a loving manner.*

Stiles: Derek?

Derek: Hmm

Stiles: I want a kiss

Derek: As you wish cyar'ika

*The End*

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

[baeshijima]

3.2 PATCH NOTES !!

REDEEM CODES

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REDEEM HERE

BANNERS

phase one : castorice, fugue, jiaoqiu, acheron

phase two : anaxa, dr ratio

QUESTS

main story: through the petals in the land of repose

new mission type: finality (this specific quest for this update is a complementary piece to the penacony main storyline to fill in missing pieces - the inheritance war, a second storyline for the stellaron hunters, ipc, masked fools, and other factions + true ending of white night)

MAPS

styxia

dawncloud

EVENTS

seal slammers + pet reward "bubbles"

morning starlight

star rail world (2nd anniv event) + new 4* light cone

2 year anniv events

top-up bonus reset + rewards for certain amounts of oneiric shards

MISC

new boss: pollux

auto salvage function

"tidal bounty" update

"as i've written" update

concert

anniv animated short

FREE LIMITED RUAN MEI OR LUOCHA OR STANDARD CHARACTER (the tokens used are permanent but the limited characters will change, so u can either claim luocha or ruan mei during this period or save the tokens for possible future limited characters !!)

CUSTOMISABLE PITY POOL (choose up to 7 to be in the 50/50 loss pool; seele, blade, fu xuan in the first batch of possible limited to lose 50/50 to)

new limited light cones added to exchange shop (no time limit)

silver wolf, blade, kafka, jingliu will receive buffs

ANOTHER FREE UNKNOWN 5* THIS YEAR

animations to be included in future main storyline (kind of like hi3 ???)

new myriad celestias

POSSIBLE HINT TO MARCH AND DAN HENG NEW FORMS ????

[anghraine]

Speaking of "The City on the Edge of Forever," I've been thinking about how my femslash Spirk AU winds out through the canon TOS episodes, interacts with gender expectations of the show, etc, and am mentally organizing episodes by how drastically affected they'd be.

I'm also thinking of S'paak hiding her ears beneath a beanie in 1930 :P

[seventh-district]

Dying Star

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

- - - - - - -

Sam’s words have been weighing heavy on your mind ever since you discussed your shared future and the various forms it could take. You didn’t realize just how heavy they were until it all came spilling out of your tired mind on a late night spent together beneath the stars.

Pairing: Sam x Darlin' / Reader

Word Count: 4,053

Contains: [angst] [a dash of humor] [a hint of chubby!Sam bc i like 'em strong and soft] [crying] [cuddling (dub-con cuddles with Quinn in the past & consensual ones with Sam in the present)] [emotional hurt/comfort] [implied/referenced dub-con sex (nothing graphic) (in the past between Darlin' and Quinn to be specific) (refer to my Ao3 notes for further explanation)] [mentioned Quinn] [not quite Dissociation i guess but Darlin' does zone-out/get lost in thought more than once] [pet names (Darlin' (obvs.) and honey)] [Reader is Darlin'] [Sam wears a cowboy hat bc i said so] [some passive suicidality from Sam if you squint (hell, maybe you don't even have to squint)]

A/Ns: Well, well, well, here I am, the person who said they wouldn't write any Redactedverse fanfic. I recently felt a mighty need to expand upon the blurb I wrote in this post, and I'm braving my fandom anxiety by sharing it here. pls be nice 2 me abt it

Timeline-wise, this fic takes place sometime after the ‘Talking About the Future With Your Vampire Mate’ audio but sometime before their presumed eventual departure from the house that William gave Sam, given that they've already had the 'turning' discussion but are still on the same roof in this fic.

This is a songfic, inspired by and quoting verses from 3 songs. Those being:

‘Dying Star’ by Ashnikko feat. Ethel Cain

‘Fix What You Didn’t Break’ by Nate Smith

‘No Plan’ by Hozier

The roof of Sam’s house is far from a ‘cushy’ place to relax. But as you lie here next to him under the stars, a knowledge settles within you that you wouldn’t trade the rough shingles beneath you for the softest mattress in the world. Not if it meant there’d be anyone other than him lying next to you.

Some people might counter that it’s an easy thing for you to say, given the number of nights you’ve thrown a balled-up shirt onto one end of a worn-out couch and called it a bed. But some people don’t know you as well as they think they do.

You’ve known luxury. Quinn might’ve been just as content taking his fill on a seedy motel bed as he was wrapped in silks at a Hilton, but he knew how to play up the luxe when it served him to do so. And in the early days as he worked to lure you in, it did. Plush sheets and expensive drinks helped to soften the preordained blows and dull the imminent pain that your nights with him held.

Once you’d latched onto the bait though, he let the act drop one piece at a time, like props collapsing on a stage. After all, what was the point in all of those frivolities when you both knew what you really came to him for? It wasn’t to be wined and dined, it wasn’t to be dressed up and shown off, and it wasn’t even to be slowly stripped of it all, laid out across the rolling clouds of a pillowy mattress.

It was to be used. Tranced. Restrained. Bitten. Drank from. Choked. Hit. Edged. Denied. Made to writhe and whine and bleed and plead. Plead for more, for less, for nothing, for anything. Anything to quiet your mind and fill the ever-expanding void inside you where you suspect love was supposed to live.

That’s what you both really wanted.

At least, that’s what you told him you wanted.

That’s what you told yourself.

You only got what you asked for.

To your right, Sam stirs, stretching gently with a yawn. The soft noise he releases as he does so reminds you of where you are, and you trace back through your thoughts to find how you got so lost.

…Right. Luxury.

While your relationship with Quinn certainly changed over time, you never forgot what it felt like in the beginning. 

You remember nights laid next to him, body sore, mind quiet. Quinn’s idea of aftercare was lacking to say the least, but you had nothing better to compare it to at the time, and you’d take what you could get. At least your head felt empty, and the bed was soft. Exhaustion would pull you under soon enough.

The mattress, sheets, and pillows enveloping you were likely worth more than you even made that past month. ...Or several. You found that display of luxury hard to be impressed by though, when it wasn’t the type of comfort you’d been seeking.

As Quinn shifted in his presumed sleep, pulling you in tighter, you didn’t fight it. You found yourself unwilling to fight anything he did, like his mere presence was enough to drain the fight right out of you. You told yourself that you were okay with that. Because you wanted it.

Lying there with your head on his bare chest, you took a deep breath and told yourself that you liked the stench of cheap cologne, poorly masking the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. You silently told yourself that you liked everything. You liked the pain that he chased with hints of pleasure. You liked the loss of power, the way you couldn’t fight back if you wanted to once he looked you in the eyes. You liked all the things he said, no matter how much the truth might hurt.

He was right, you supposed. Your desires, the things you craved, the depravity that you so enjoyed, wasn’t normal. It was uncommon, unusual, and in the eyes of some, unfathomable. To possess such dark desires, there must be something truly broken inside you.

How lucky you were, to have found someone willing to indulge you. Someone that could give you everything you wanted, and be so kind as to keep it a secret too. He promised that word of the things he did to you, the things you let him do, would never get out. You remember the way he held your hand as he told you, falling for the guise of sincerity in his eyes. You remember his warm smile, and his razor sharp teeth.

You remember seeing that exact same smile on his face through one-way glass as he sat across from Sam and told him everything.

You stood in that room and thought back to those nights of luxury. To the feeling of his nails ghosting over the freshly healed punctures in your neck. To the way he held you against him. You remember laying there, lifeless, feeling like prey playing dead. Afraid to move, afraid to disturb him. But why? He hadn’t threatened you. He never told you that you had to stay. He never said that you couldn’t move, or pull away. So why did you feel that way?

As you stood, helplessly witnessing hours of his slander in that interrogation room, you understood. Your rose-tinted glasses had long since shattered, and you saw that smile for what it was. It was the smile of a man playing a dangerous game, brimming with satisfaction, thinking he’d won.

The radio near you begins to crackle, static obscuring the hosts voice as they announce the upcoming song. Sam doesn’t even open his eyes, just raises a hand and reaches out, blindly adjusting the antenna of the old device.

You’ve teased him for holding onto it for so long, as he is wont to do with damn near all of his possessions. But as you watch him deftly extend and angle the antenna with practiced care, the response he once gave you proves itself true once again.

“I don’t wanna replace it, Darlin’. It’s not broken. It just needs someone who knows how to make it sing again.”

The static clears, and music flows through the radio’s old speakers once more.

You watch Sam return his hand to its prior position beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow of his own. The way he’s lying has his hat pushed forward, and it’d be doing a damn good job of shielding his face from the sun if it weren’t somewhere around midnight at the moment. Still, it suits him somehow, despite its lack of any practicality. All he’s missing is a stalk of wheat between his teeth and a tree to lean against and he’d be the spitting image of the cowboy he swears he isn’t.

His other hand rests on the soft curve of his stomach, rising and falling again as he breathes. He’s the image of peace in moments like these, and you’re drawn to it like a moth to flame. Maybe one of these days you’ll find some of your own, but for now you’re more than content to bask in his.

As you admire him, he takes a slow, deep breath and you mirror it on instinct. The grounding practice helps you leave your mind and return to your body, if just for a moment. In doing so, you realize just how tense your ruminations have made you.

You relax your hands, releasing the blanket beneath you from your iron grip. You brush your palms over it, worried that you’ve torn the fabric once you realize that your nails had halfway shifted to claws. You don’t fret much over damage to your own possessions, but this blanket is Sam’s and you’d hate to ruin it. Though, you suppose he doesn’t prize it too much or he wouldn’t have laid it out here across the roof in the first place.

“If I buy somethin’ it’s because I wanna use it. Now quit frettin’ and get over here.” You recall what he told you earlier as he patted the blanket next to him in invitation, and you smile.

Doing a small stretch of your own, you release the tension in your shoulders, turning your attention back to the stars above you. For a while, you let the soft music wash over your tired mind.

“I asked him not to kill me politely. He drained my magic core, bottled up at the source. I washed up on the sea glass shores. I’m nobody's captive.”

In spite of your best efforts to relax, you’re still subconsciously futzing with the loose threads of the old blanket beneath you.

You’re made aware of it when Sam reaches a hand down, gently laying it over yours and effectively stilling your anxious motion.

“Burning like a dying star, invasive weeds rooted in my heart, set in a crooked trajectory. The journey here was hard, I was almost pulled apart. Trying to leave his orbit took what’s left of me.”

You flip your hand over beneath his so you can hold it properly, lacing your fingers together.

For reasons beyond your understanding, emotion tightens your throat, the threat of tears pooling in your eyes.

…You must be more tired than you thought.

As minutes pass and one song fades into another, your gaze dances across the blurry, scattered points of light in the dark sky.

“You were the star in the pitch black, shine the way on the way back. Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers.”

Sam’s always been so much better at identifying stars and finding constellations. But as the music plays, you begin to see one of your own.

“Picked up the towel that I threw in, took in a heart that was ruined. Showed me the past ain’t a tattoo, loved me even when you didn’t have to.”

“Sam.” You squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Hm?”

“I want you to look at something.” You swallow back the emotion that tries to seep into your voice, but it catches his attention all the same.

He leans up and lifts his hat from his head, setting it aside near the radio. He then reaches to turn a dial back, lowering the music’s volume to give you his full attention.

You release his hand, raising yours up as he turns back to face you. You don’t say anything at first, nearly too lost in your own mind to realize you need to actually voice your developing thoughts.

"What—what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Your hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in your line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above you. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow your less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', your pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along your exposed wrist where your sleeve had slipped back, he takes your hand in his again and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." You say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." You nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting you. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

You scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh. "No—no I mean—like... what's another name for it... Oh, it's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but you cut him off before he can start. "But no. No, this isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in your overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Your frown is audible in your voice as you latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at your over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, honey, I promise."

You huff, but begrudgingly shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention.”

Sam’s brow furrows as you continue to explain, realization setting in that you really are being serious.

“I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...And there you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places and people that I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, at Wonderworld, surrounded by the ghost of him. Your warmth, your presence, your aura—even with all of your walls up, you outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me home."

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand squeezes yours tight, his urgent tone pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

You look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, faint shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

You reach out, pulling him down into you. He falters for a moment at the sudden proximity, but quickly embraces you in turn. Burying your face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear your words, muffled against the thick flannel, but his hearing catches them just fine.

"Don't burn out too quickly. Please. I still need you here. I don't—I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

The words feel like a weight being lifted from your shoulders, but with it comes a flood of emotion they’d been holding back. You cry harder into him, and as much as it pains Sam to witness, he lets you feel it, for as long as you need.

Your fear of losing him manifests itself physically, nails curling and sharpening again. When he feels them prick his skin through the fabric of his shirt, he calls your name but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans further down into you, letting his weight ground you. “Darlin’, I am right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As you eventually cry yourself out, enough wherewithal returns to you to realize that you should probably release the poor man from your grasp, and the awkward position you pulled him into. When he pulls away enough to see your face, you notice a string of snot running from your nose to his shirt collar. Quickly batting it away out of embarrassment, you cringe, voice thick as you apologize. “Eugh, gross. Uh… sorry. About that.”

He shakes his head, laughing good-naturedly as you wipe at your nose with your jacket sleeve. “It’s completely fine, honey. After all, I’ve been covered in plenty of your, uh… various fluids before. When you come from my line of work, this is child’s play.”

He leans to his right, reaching back and pulling—of all things—a handkerchief from his jeans’ left back pocket. You laugh at his words, and at the sight, but with how congested you are it turns into more of a hacking cough than anything. Accepting his offering, you blow your nose into the black patterned fabric.

As soon as you can speak somewhat clearly, you can’t stop the teasing remark that slips out of you, gesturing with the wad of fabric in your hand. “You know, you really aren’t beating the cowboy allegations with stuff like this.”

He rolls his eyes but his soft smile remains. “It’s a practical thing to have on me, ‘allegations’ be damned.”

You shake your head with a smile of your own, but don’t disagree. As you’re visibly unsure what to do with the dirtied fabric, he takes it from you, setting it aside. “I’ll toss it in the wash when we go back inside. Along with my shirt, and…” He eyes you for a moment. “…that jacket of yours too, given how long you’ve probably been wearin’ it.”

Normally you’d argue that it hasn’t been that long, but come to think of it, you actually can’t recall when you last washed the thing.

Reaching up and rubbing your temples, you already regret your crying fit as a headache begins to set in. “Fuck, Sam... I’m sorry for… whatever that just was. I don’t know what came over me.”

His expression falls into something serious again. “You never need to apologize for feeling. And it certainly seems like… you needed to feel that.”

You nod quietly, but don’t elaborate, prompting him to question you gently. “Darlin’. What was that about? The—the askin’ me not to leave. Are you… afraid that I’m gonna leave you?”

You close your eyes, weighing out your response. “…Not in the sense that you’ll break up with me or something, no.”

His gaze narrows and his head tilts as he rolls your answer over in his mind. “If it ain’t that, then—” He remembers how you mentioned ‘forever’ and cuts himself off as the puzzle pieces start coming together. “Oh. …Oh, Darlin’, no.”

You open your eyes to watch as he shifts from leaning next to you, moving to sit up beside you. “Is this about what I told you, when we sat up here and had our uh… turning discussion?”

You hate to admit it, but you nod in confirmation. “…It’s your choice, Sam, and I never want to take that away from you. I shouldn’t have said what I just did, I—I don’t want to make you feel guilty, or like you have to stick around for my sake. But I’d be lying to you if I said it hasn’t been playing on my mind. The thought of you… leaving. Like that.”

He reaches up, running a hand through his hair. “I… think I maybe should’ve been a bit more clear, when I said that. Because I wasn’t talking about any time soon. I didn’t want to give you the false impression that I plan on sticking around for centuries, but… I also wasn’t trying to imply that I’ve got plans to do it next week either.”

You bolt upright, voice cracking. “Next week?! I sure as shit hope not!” You grab your head, pain flaring and suddenly dizzy from the quick shift in position.

He places a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “I’m not, honey, I’m not. Did you catch the rest of my sentence? I’ve got no plans to leave this world any time soon. I promise.”

You groan, head pounding. “I heard you, I did, I just—fuck, I don’t even wanna think about you leaving so soon. Here I am, stressing, thinking I’ve only got—I don’t know—some odd years left with you, and…” You sigh, trailing off.

Sam stays quiet for a minute, letting the crickets sing.

Eventually, he interrupts their chorus. “…Can I get closer to you?”

You nod. “…Please.”

He closes the gap between you, carefully wrapping a strong arm around your curled shoulders. “You’ve got way more than a couple years. I promise you that.” Your tension begins to ease a bit as he clarifies. “You… you’ve helped me find a life that I actually feel like livin’ again, for the first time in a long time. And I want to experience it with you for as long as I can.”

“…Really?” Your voice sounds so small, so unsure, so… unlike you when you question him that he wants to kick himself in his own ass for the role he unintentionally played in making you feel this way.

“Yes. Really. I mean—” His voice takes on an edge of humor. “If you decide to set your sights on the year 3,000…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. But as far as the 21st century is concerned? …I think I’d like to see it through. For as long as you’re there to see it with me.”

His words cause fresh tears to well up in your eyes, and you sniff in an attempt to hold them back. The sound catches his attention, and he leans forward, thumbing across your warm cheek. “…I’m makin’ you cry again…”

You shake your head, clearing your throat. “No—No, it’s okay. It’s good. They’re… they’re good. It’s… relief.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh of his own. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah.”

As you rest against each other, breathing in the cool night air, you nudge him with your shoulder. “Can we… lay back? For a bit?”

He squeezes your arm in gentle confirmation. “Of course.”

He twists and reaches back to straighten the wrinkled blanket beneath you, before laying out across it himself. The radio crackles as he turns the volume back up a bit. Watching him with tired eyes, you smile at the sight of him patting his chest in habitual invitation.

“Sit in and watch the sunlight fade. Honey, enjoy, it’s gettin’ late. There’s no plan. There’s no hand on the reign. As Mack explained, there will be darkness again.”

Curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest, you release a heavy sigh when his hand comes up to rest on your shoulder. As his fingers press rhythmically into the tense muscle beneath them, you breathe in his scent. Black coffee and wildflower honey… he smells like home.

“Your secret is safe with me, and if secrets were like seeds, when I’m lyin’ under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made.”

You reach your hand out across his broad chest, slipping beneath his open flannel and sliding down to rest on his waist. He sighs, relaxing further beneath your touch.

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. That’s how I know now that you understand.”

Yeah, you’ll take this over ‘luxury’ any damn day.

“There’s no plan. There’s no race to be run.”

Laying there with him, listening to the low hum of the radio, the moment grows so comfortable that you almost hesitate to break it.

“The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the song.”

“…Sam?” You whisper into the night.

His hand sweeps across your back before returning to your shoulder. “I’m here, Darlin’.”

“There’s no plan. There’s no kingdom to come.”

You smile. “I… I’d like to be there, to be here, to see it through with you, too.”

It takes him a moment to recall exactly what you’re referring to, but when it hits him he hums a low understanding tone, clearly pleased. “Then let’s see where it takes us, yeah?”

“But I’ll be your man if you got love to get done.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve got plenty a’ time.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my extensive notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. My Sam & Darlin' Playlist My Sam Playlist My Darlin' Playlist My Sam & Darlin' Moodboard My Sam Moodboard My Darlin' Moodboard Header Image Credit: Gage Smith on Unsplash

[saiintvalentiine]

i just realized something. it wasn't on purpose but in star-bright parrot never introduces himself so wifies dies to a nameless dragon. hm.

[mugmegan]

More sketches for Bright Stars fanfic! Eraser protecting his pet mèos, the two running and flying together and finally Hizashi preening like a bird along with me trying to figure out how his talon sheats function. All excuses to practice drawing their designs. I will draw kidnapped human Shinso next

[siravalondulac]

xiv. songs connect me to my people

a heart so golden, a sun so bright

asoiaf ff | fem!oc centric

summary: elle meets the people who worship her word count: 2119 warnings: none author's note: final part of the "brotherhood arc"

masterlist

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She had expected much and more when Beric Dondarrion had told her to follow him, but to be taken to a cave entrance on the side of a hill was not amongst that.

Thoros approached her with a piece of fabric, moving behind her to lay it over her eyes.

“Do you not trust me?” She winced as strands of her hair got pulled into the knot.

“Just a precaution.”

He laid a hand on her back and pushed her forward.

She hated, hated, hated losing her sight. Oberyn had tried to blindfold her during training a handful of times, and she had always ripped the fabric off after just a few minutes. She had been trapped in darkness before - she would not let it happen again.

But she played nice this time. At least there was some light soaking through to her eyes. Not that that made the steep descent any easier. She stumbled over roots and stones and bumps in the ground, and Thoros had to grab her waist to keep her from falling more than once.

“Didn't know the great Paladin would be so uneasy on her feet.”

She huffed. “Usually, I am able to see-”

The blindfold was suddenly removed from her eyes, revealing the enormous cave before her. Its walls and floors were covered by white roots, with a fire burning in its middle and colouring the ceiling above it black.

Yet more curiously, there were people here, and quite a lot at that. She saw men, women, and children, chattering, working, going about their day. It looked… peaceful.

“What is this place?”

“Welcome to Hollow Hill,” Beric said. “What started out as our base quickly transformed into a refuge for anyone who needed it. Stark, Lannister, Baratheon - all those names mean nothing here.”

“It is wonderful.” Her gaze wandered across the cave. “But I still do not understand why you brought me here.”

Beric smirked. “They sing your songs at night.”

“What?”

“That is how we learned of you,” Anguy, one of the Brotherhood's archers, said. “Thought you were a myth at first, but then people arrived who claimed to have met you personally.”

“At this point,” Beric continued, “your mere existence gives them hope.”

The news of her arrival had spread like wildfire amongst the people, and soon after, the singing had started. A woman had brought out a fiddle and another a lute - not that either of those could be heard above the plethora of voices.

She had never even heard of half of the songs, and yet she had also never felt this good. Dancing at festivities, singing with the people around her, with no manners or rules to tie her down. She could be around whomever she wanted and talk to whomever she wanted.

A frog had called for a celebration

Of the victory over his people

Little did he know

It would all turn sour

The moment he’d let go of his arrow

For a hero had arrived

Determined to end his rule of terror

No matter the cost

She entered the tourney

Unseen by all

And with her golden curls swaying about

She threw her dagger

And buried it into his heart

They sang her songs, just like Beric had said, each and every one that was known to these people. Putting her at the centre of attention - in more ways than one.

Perhaps she was taken

By the king's enemies

Dragons, Snakes, or even the Others

Perhaps she was mistaken

For a lone orphan child

And sent to one of the brothels

Songs about her disappearance had even reached Dorne while she had been living there. After an initial scare that this could mean she could be found, she had started to like them. A lot. She had memorised each and every line to every song about herself she had access to, and sung them loudly at festivities. Oberyn had loved it, Doran… not so much.

Yet the people also sang songs she did not know what to feel about.

He sits alone on a giant throne

Pretendin' he's the king

A little tyke who's rather like

A puppet on a string

Too late to be known as Joff’ the First

He's sure to be known as Joff’ the Worst

A pox on that phoney king of West’ros!

This was her brother they were singing about. Her brother whom they were insulting. Sure, she had not seen him in years, nor heard anything substantial about him - besides what little Jon had mentioned - but she could not forget their childhood. He had been her only friend in the Keep, that had to count for something. Yet now, as she heard what these people said about him…

She’d been away for too long.

Whatever. Didn’t matter. They were in King’s Landing, she was here.

“Who is that up there?” she asked Harwin, pointing towards a lone figure sitting far up on the roots.

“That’s Arya Stark of Winterfell.” He laughs at her shocked expression. “I know, I know. But I remember her from my own service to her father, so you can trust me on this.”

She stared at her. “I met her brother.”

Oh no, oh no - why had she said this? She couldn’t just mention Jon like that! And in such a simple sentence as well.

“Which one?”

Should she expand on this? She could just walk away, leaving Harwin deadly confused. But that was not who she was.

“Her- Her half-brother.”

“Ah, Jon Snow. I remember him. Fine young lad.”

She quickly left his presence, making her way over to the other side of the cave. Climbing the roots, she ignored Beric sitting on a throne-like chair in their midst (without fucking banners they said), and settled a short distance away from Arya. The girl stared at her in confusion.

“Harwin told me who you are,” she said. “I'm Elle.”

Arya studied her, likely evaluating whether she should run or stay.

“What happened to your face?”

“That?” She grazed her fingers over the wounds. Still not healed. “Animal attack. Nothing serious.”

“Did you kill it afterwards?”

“No. It was merely hurt, and lashed out at me. I freed it from its pain and sent it on its way.”

“I would have killed it.”

They fell into silence. Elle's gaze wandered across the cave, across all the dancing and singing figures, before settling on Arya again.

“Why are you not joining them?”

“Why should I?” She seemed almost offended. “I am a prisoner. Prisoners don’t dance.”

“Would you like to?”

“Yeah, sure. But that has never been my world, always only Sansa’s. I forced Jon to take lessons with us, so that I wasn’t so alone, but I don’t think I will ever fit into that.”

Thank the gods for Arya Stark.

“You look like him, you know?”

The girl suddenly went wide-eyed, whipping her head around to her. “Do you- Do you mean Jon? Have you met Jon? When? Where?”

Elle chuckled at her excitement. “I was at Castle Black before coming here, that’s when I saw him.”

“How was he? Did he talk about me?”

“He's doing well. We did not really get to talk much, so he only got to mention you.”

A lie. A blatant, faulty lie. But she didn't want to squander that hopeful look on the girl's face too much. Nor did she want to talk about him too much. She couldn’t talk about him too much, the pain of leaving him still too big.

“I wish I could see him again,” Arya said.

“Aye, me too.”

The girl stared at her again, and cocked her head. “Who are you exactly? Everyone seems to know you.”

“They don't, they just-” She laughed. “Have you heard of the Golden Paladin?”

“Yeah, I heard the Lannisters in Harrenhal talk about her… Wait, are you saying that's you?”

Elle nodded.

“With the way they talked about you I would have expected you to be more…”

“Evil?”

“Yeah.”

Elle pondered. “You were at Harrenhal?”

“Against my will,” she said as if in defence. “Me and my friends had been taken prisoner, and they forced us to serve them. Tywin Lannister took me as his cupbearer, and I was scared he was going to find me out, but I think he was too occupied with his generals.”

“Do you remember what they said about me specifically?”

“Not really. Just that you were a threat and needed to be dealt with.” She played around with the threads on her sleeve. “There was one man who said he was going to hunt you. That he - what was it? That he would use your love for the people against you.”

She looked at the festivities dispersed in the cave once again. All these people had already suffered so much through this pointless war - she could not bear to see them harmed. Attacking them to get to her… It was certainly the easiest way to get her to behave.

A group below them had struck up a song of their own. Elle tried to listen to the words, yet she couldn’t make them out.

“What are they singing?”

Arya scratched at the white bark beneath them. “Some song about wanting to go home but not being able to. It’s in the Old Tongue, that’s why you don’t understand it.”

Griechischer Wein ist so wie das Blut der Erde

Komm, schenk dir ein

Und wenn ich dann traurig werde, liegt es daran

Dass ich immer träume von daheim, du musst verzeih'n

Denn ich fühl' die Sehnsucht wieder, in dieser Stadt

Werd' ich immer nur ein Fremder sein und allein

She slowly made her way through the crowd. How they were still able to go about their singing at such a volume was a mystery to her.

Sitting towards a cave wall was Thoros, staring into a fire. She had seen him throughout the entire night singing and drinking (a mad priest was one thing, but a drunkard, mad priest?), and decided to join him by the small fire.

“I cannot see you in my flames,” Thoros said. “When I ask the lord to show me anything of you, all I see is a dark void.”

“Perhaps my gods shield me from yours.”

He laughed, and took a swig of his bottle. “You don't think much of R'hllor.”

“My gods have never betrayed me. I feel little need to abandon them at this time.”

Again, that quiet laugh. “You'll see. You'll see.”

A change in song. She was unfamiliar with the tune echoing throughout the cave, so she tried to listen closer. And she truly wished she hadn't.

It was not as with the Northern song, where she truly had not understood the words - this time, she understood each and every one. Yet she could not make sense of what they meant.

“What-” She had to swallow. “What are they singing about?”

“Huh?” Thoros looked up in confusion. “Oh, that? That's about the queen's affair with her twin brother.”

Her heart stopped.

“What?” she whispered.

“Haven't you heard? All the queen's children are bastards, born of incest. It's why Stannis and Renly think they have a claim to the throne.”

Bastards. Incest.

“Are you- Are you certain? This is a serious accusation.”

“Oh, yeah. I am. You only had to look at them. Not a drop of old Robert's blood inside those kids.”

Later on, once she had excused herself, she found a small pond in one of the tunnels. Putting up a torch beside it, she stared at herself.

Her hair was her mother’s - it was what she remembered her by. And if she truly concentrated on her memories, she could see how she had gotten her build from her as well. The king had been big and intimidating, her mother lithe and graceful. Just like her. And just like her uncle.

Only her eyes were her own.

The king had never cared about her, she had known that even before she had run away. He had looked the other way when she had talked, had preferred his drinks over her, had never once been concerned when she had gone exploring. Perhaps he had not wanted a daughter - he did pay at least a sliver of attention to Joffrey - or perhaps he had known deep down.

Her uncle had cared. A lot. He had been her constant companion, always encouraging her interests, the only one able to find her whenever she had disappeared into the city. He cared about her more than a normal uncle should.

Her mother’s necklace hung before her, the golden lion glinting in the water.

Jaime was her father.

She buried her face in her hands.

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[jade-bright]

Star Wars!Sterek pt.2

Stiles takes off any parts of the Mandalorian's armor he needs to in order to access his injuries, as well as his helmet. It was a definite shock to see such a gorgeous face under it, but then he sees the blood rolling down his face and goes back to taking care of the other man...

Stiles: (cleaning the wound on his side) sooo... any chance being married means I get to know your name now?

Derek: (goes a little pink hearing Stiles say they're married out loud and lets out a small amused huff while looking at Stiles, his riduur) Derek, Derek Hale

Stiles: (gives a small smile) Hmmm... (notes how deep the wound is, checks his pockets for bacta spray) ...fuck

Derek: What

Stiles: I don't have any bacta spray on me...

Derek: (thinking) ...if I press my cape against it, I can make it to the Lycan

Stiles: No. You're concussed and you'd probably pass out not even halfway back, then you'd die and I'd end up a widow not even an hour after we've married!!!

Derek: We don't have any other options Stiles!

Stiles: ...

*Claudia: It's a rare ability. But not impossible Mischief.*

Stiles: Actually...if you're okay with it. I want to try something.

Derek: ...What are you gonna do?

Stiles: I'm going to...try to heal your injuries... with the force.

Derek: ...

Stiles: I know about the history of Mandalorians and the Jedi's, so if you don't want me to... We'll do your plan.

Derek: he's a jetii?...

Derek: (looks at the younger man's face, sees how desperately Stiles wants to help Derek but never without his permission, never at the expense of doing something far out of his comfort zone. Not Stiles, who was respectful and curious about his culture, and never asked him to take off his helmet, until now when his life depended on it...)

Derek: (nods) Ok, I trust you

Stiles: (gives a small nod, takes a deep breath and puts one hand up to hover over Derek's side, the other over his head and closes his eyes)

Derek: (Looks down to try and see what he's doing. Inhales sharply seeing his skin knitting back together. Looks back up at Stiles)

Stiles: (Gritting his teeth, a bit of sweat beginning to form over his furrowed brows)

*Claudia: But, remember that like many things... it comes at a cost*

Stiles: (Gasps and opens his eyes)

Stiles: (heavily breathing, but notes that there's no more blood coming out and that the wound is closed)

Derek: (still in shock and just staring at Stiles) ...Stiles?

Stiles: I...I think -(looks up at Derek, unsure)- Don't panic when I pass out? (passes out).

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

[temporary-tats]

Next in my Band AU poster series... Sun Wukong, as seen in When the Stars Sing for Us! Stars available to read now on AO3 :] 🖤💛 Next Up: Neptune! Keep an eye out ;P

(My ko-fi and my links, should you wish!)

[billwidoll]

Happy Cigarette Day women 🚬

[lynariadne]

By far one of the best author’s note I have had the privilege of reading

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: There had been rumors of a Human who wasn’t performing well in fighting rings, constantly ignoring their lesser opponents and trying to go after the very loud, very violent crowd instead. Or Not only did Hizashi allow himself to be caught by the alien trafficking ring he and Shouta were trying to bring down, he's also stuck in a cell with a Deathworlder. It goes better than expected.

Author: @quenouillecroustillante