#im just happy i wrote it lol

[valeriianz]

blossoming romance prompts! Finding comfort in their scent

*arrives to the prompt several months late with starbucks* hey <3

Dream/Hob | Teen | for @dreamlingbingo adoptable square B1 "Hug Starved" | tags: human au, fluff, reunion, established relationship

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

The right side of the bed no longer smells like Hob.

Dream buries his face into the pillow, rubbing his nose into the plush, down feather filled material and inhales deeply, just to make sure–

He groans softly, unable to smell anything– turning his head with a frown and staring into the empty room. 

Hob was away on a business trip. And what was supposed to be a 5-day engagement turned into a full week, now going on ten days. Hob promised to be home “soon,” but had also shown excitement over the work he was doing, the connections he was making. This was a fantastic opportunity for Hob; he was due for a promotion and Dream knew the money would be good for both of them, for their future. They had been talking about moving, buying their own home, finally finding a place to make their own. The two of them…

But they’d never been separated this long before.

It feels foolish, becoming so upset over a mere 10 days. But even when they were friends, Dream and Hob were connected at the hip, their mutual friends often teasing them about dating long before either of them confessed their feelings for each other.

Dream pulls himself up from their bed, too large for a single person, and drags his feet to put on some tea, wrapping the blanket around himself like a cape.

Now they had been “officially” dating for nearly six months, and if their friends thought Dream and Hob were super glued together while they were “just friends…” well…

They tried not to be too obnoxious about it, the PDA. But Dream had always been a very physical lover, and Hob was nothing if not an enabler. He would allow Dream to crawl onto him during social events, happily making room for Dream on his lap without breaking conversation he might’ve been in. Encourage a drunken Dream pulling Hob into a sloppy kiss in full view of the bartender, strangers, and friends, manhandling Dream until they could stumble outside or into a bathroom.

People would brush it off as the two of them being in their “honeymoon phase,” but Dream knew this passion for Hob, the unending affection and love would never wane, so long as Hob also met him time and time again. 

Because it wasn’t just Dream initiating all the contact. Hob always had his hand in Dream’s, or on his shoulder, the small of his back, even just a light touch to indicate his presence. He loved sneaking kisses wherever he could reach on Dream– his cheek, his hand, his arms. He would stare at Dream from across the room, or sitting next to each other, like he couldn’t believe Dream was there at all. It was a heady experience, Dream finally meeting his match.

On his way to the kitchen, Dream pauses to eye the now monstrous pile of dirty laundry protruding out of the bathroom hamper– too forlorn to perform the most boring task that was washing and folding. He turns and steps fully into the bathroom, flicking the light on and staring down at the tall pile of clothes and, much like a cat on a counter, knocks the basket over.

Clothes cascade to the floor, all Dream’s, of course. But near the bottom of the hamper, Hob’s old clothes revealed themselves.

Feeling just a little silly, Dream abandons his mission that was tea, and digs through the clothing until he pulls out one of Hob’s favorite sweaters, dropping the blanket to yank it on– tugging the collar up to his nose and inhaling deeply– before diving back in and finding a pair of Hob’s flannel pajama bottoms.

—-----------------------------------

Hob slips his key in the lock, unable to bite back the huge smile that stretches across his face, as he turns the door knob and steps inside the apartment.

He knows Dream will be home, and armed with that knowledge, he quietly pushes the door open, peeking around before stepping inside. Hob had told Dream he’d be home “soon,” not elaborating any further, hoping to surprise his boyfriend with his arrival. His pulse thrummed happily under his skin, making Hob giddy as he carefully shrugged off his heavy backpack letting it fall on the couch while he toes off his shoes. He bites his tongue to call out for Dream, a flicker of worry at the emptiness of both the living room and kitchen, and checks the time on his phone. 

It’s 10am. Dream had been known to sleep in, especially on his off days. Hob makes his way to the bedroom, when the bathroom light catches his eye. And then, inevitably, the tangled mess of a boyfriend sitting on the floor, surrounded by dirty laundry.

Hob’s heart flutters in his rib cage at the image of Dream in what is clearly Hob’s old clothes, his smile growing as Dream’s head snaps up, his eyes widening comically and his jaw dropping at the sight of Hob. His raven black hair is a mess and the way his eyes appear puffy and slightly sunken in makes Hob’s chest cleave in.

“Surprise, love– whoa!”

Between one blink and the next, Dream was up and leaping into Hob’s arms, causing him to stumble back until his shoulders connected with a wall, arms circling tightly around Dream, holding him steady.

Hob laughs breathlessly, his heart soaring at the sudden weight and warmth of Dream surrounding him; legs crossed around his hips and arms coiling around Hob’s shoulders, his head tucked into Hob’s hairline.

Hob squeezes back, one arm around Dream’s back and the other under his butt to hold him steady, crushing their bodies together.

“Hey,” Hob whispers into Dream’s ear, his hand rubbing up and down Dream’s back. “I missed you, too.”

Dream’s head moves, nudging his nose further into Hob’s hair and sniffing deeply, the warm air tickling Hob and causing him to laugh gently.

“You okay?”

“I am better, now.” Dream’s voice rumbles against Hob’s skull. Hob sighs at the sound, so much better in person, so much clearer and beautiful than the endless phone calls they’d shared from the past near two weeks.

“You smell like me,” Hob smiles as he speaks, finally meeting Dream’s gaze as the other man pulls himself around to lay a kiss on Hob’s lips.

And it’s not just the smell of Hob’s stale sweat on the clothes, but Hob can also smell hints of his favorite cologne– something he only breaks out for special occasions– as well as whiffs of coconut from his shampoo.

“Mm…” Dream hums after several long, long seconds reacquainting himself with the inside of Hob’s mouth, making the other man pant deliriously. “Not enough, I think.”

Hob laughs again, breathless. His arms are beginning to strain from holding Dream up for this long, but the other man seems content in staying where he is, the blue of his eyes bright and inviting; so much more alive than through a phone screen. The idea of turning and pinning Dream to the wall, or even walking them to their bed, is very tempting right now. Hob hefts Dream just a little higher and the motion rocks Dream’s hips into his, causing Dream to touch their foreheads together with a small whine of pleasure.

“I need you inside me,” Dream purrs, his hands now on Hob’s face, pushing his hair back and brushing their lips together. “Like you promised.”

Hob had indeed promised, on one of their many explicit video calls, to show Dream how much he missed him… by staying in bed all day and surrounding Dream in his warmth, his touch, promising not an inch of Dream’s flesh to be forgotten by his lips and tongue and fingers. The memory of it is enough to send fire racing through Hob’s veins, the exhaustion from his flight banished and replaced by overwhelming want.

But then Hob feels more than hears Dream’s stomach give a low growl, both of them pausing comically as it passes.

Hob quirks an eyebrow.

“Have you had breakfast yet?”

The silence is answer enough, and Hob hums, carefully bringing one hand around to press his thumb to Dream’s bottom lip.

“Come on,” Hob turns and manages a few steps out of the bathroom before Dream finally gets with the program and unfolds himself from Hob, stepping carefully onto the floor. “You’re gonna need all the energy you can get today.”

Hob winks as he says it, grinning at the playful spark in Dream’s eyes.

[payasita]

can we hear more about carlos if you'd be so generous (genuine)

OH GLADLY. so ive mentioned hes the protag of a thing im making, so i wanted the broad strokes of his premise to be simple: he's a reaper! made to go up and bring souls to wherever the hell they go after death, ect ect. he was pretty good at it!

but the setting im writing here is a pretty standard "death but its a bureaucracy" type thing. something something small business growth, higher demand, things get streamlined, job title changes, ect

so he was Less Good at the desk job angle. but he worked at it! once again, he's one of the best!

is it what he was originally created to do? no. is it what he thought he'd be doing for eternity when he decided he found the most personal fulfillment in being good at what he does? not really. is it so drastically different that it's actually atrophying some facets of his personality a little? maybe. is he happy?

the important thing is, he's good at it!

[dynamimight]

"that's like if y/n said she loved me!"

you have no choice but to overhear the conversation happening between your favorite group of friends, which, of course, means you have no choice but to walk over and chime in. "i so would tell you i loved you!"

your friends give short greetings before kaminari sarcastically continues: "yeah, and you'd probably kiss and hug on him too!" he juts out his bottom lip, pouting as he condescends, "you're such a sweetheart!" the group laughs as you jokingly give them a squint and death stare before walking over to bakugou.

you grab the sides of his face from behind the couch where he sits, gently tipping his head back and giving a tight-lipped smile before you smother him with kisses. his whole face except for his lips is victim to your love-filled attack, and you give the final blow with one huge "mwah!" pressed to his cheek.

"told you i would," you say cheekily. he stares at you, a slow, grinch-like side grin overtaking his features. you smile brightly back at him before dipping down and hugging him. "i love you~! so so so much!" and you give him another loud kiss to his cheek so he smiles even harder.

you point at the others and say, "don't doubt me or my love. ever," with that same joking glare. kaminari raises his hands as if to surrender, and bakugou pulls you over the couch to fall next to him, pulling you under his arm to boast about just how much you love him over everyone else.

no one objects, of course - they know he's right.

[naffeclipse]

The original idea for Lack of Light came from a hare-brained concept of a very lucky (unlucky) Y/N who just happened to be set upon by three monstrous creatures (Sun, Moon, and Eclipse) in one night and somehow, after the initial freak out of the encounter(s) and after all of them wanting to carry off Y/N, ultimately deciding to stay (rent-free) in Y/N's apartment so Y/N bewilderedly puts them to work with domestic chores and goes to work during the day and comes back every night to a house of attention-hungry monsters who all want a piece of Y/N (after they've done their assigned tasks, of course.)

[chasing-the-persea]

Imagine Percy having a really rough day. His power, what he’s done, who he’s had to be to do those things, are weighing on him. Frankly, he scares himself. He doesn’t know how any sane person would want him around, much less around kids, especially as a counselor.

He puts on a brave face. Maybe if he looks happy no one will remember there’s a person behind that face who can’t look at himself in the mirror.

He doesn’t know how it happened; maybe he agreed to it when he was lost in his mind, putting on the “chill older counselor” face everyone expects, but he finds himself in the sand volleyball pit on the team of campers from the less populated cabins. The Demeter and Hermes cabin teamed up on the other side.

The game itself is a fog to Percy. The only breaks in his gloom come in the form of reminders: that’s only a volleyball (images of a giant hurling rocks at him flash in front of his eyes). they’re calling the ball (the sound of campers crying out for help in countless battles echo in his head). that’s just sand (the phantom touch of Gaia’s earth brush his legs)

Before he knows it his team is cheering: they won. He doesn’t know how–or if–he contributed any. He chastises himself. A good leader wouldn’t let themselves be distracted. Wouldn’t…his shoes are gone.

He could’ve swore they were right there? If he wasn’t so caught up with himself he would know where he put his shoes, that’s so stupid what would have happened if he was in battle and he got distracted, then it’d be on his head if another camper got killed again because of him, he shouldn’t have even played what was he thinking—

A Hermes kid was holding them up, taunting him, retaliating for their loss. He took one step towards them and they took two steps away. Their face was…playful? This was a prank. They’re pranking him. Don’t they know what he’s done, why their cabin is so empty now?

He took another step. This time the kid let out a excited laugh and ran a few feet away. This was a game. For fun. The kid knows but doesn’t care. They just want to have fun with an older counselor. camper. cousin. whatever the relation, they genuinely just want to mess with him.

But why would they—unless. Unless they aren’t afraid of him.

They see him as a leader, and like any other rotten kid, they want to tease whoever’s in charge. The kid is just being a kid, doing kid things. Like stealing someone's shoes and knowing they won't be hurt because of it. Because they believe Percy is good.

He tries to ignore the similarities on the kids face to one he knew so well, one he thought was good when he was the kids age.

I'm not Luke, he reminded himself. A tiny whisper in a corner of his mind hissed how are you any different?

He looked at the kid again, who was still holding out the shoes, attempting to lure him into a chase. The kid took a couple more steps away, grinning wildly as Percy’s face set in determination.

I’m going to be the person Luke needed, and the one he never was for me. We deserve better.

He sprinted after the Hermes kid, laughing lighter than he had in months.

[lovsome]

hii

[whispers-of-masser]

Dragon's Tongue

✧ Nebarra x human!LDB, ft. Xelzaz & Khash ✧ Fluff, minor angst; 1300+ words ♫ "You And I (Stripped)" - PVRIS ✒ Something short n sweet today, I'm feeling soft

Nebarra was loath to admit it to himself, and he'd die before ever saying it aloud, but the Rift really was beautiful. Nothing compared to Alinor, to be sure, but... all the gold reminded him of home. And when he passed by a small, isolated farm, he could almost see himself on its porch, see his brother leaning against the door.

The illusions were younger, happier versions of themselves. So much more innocent, faces bright with naivety, eyes shining with plans for the future.

And then he'd gone to war.

He'd lost... so much of himself, in the deserts of Hammerfell. They had scorched and burned him inside and out, slowly bleeding him dry with every comrade he saw fall. And all that, for what? For all the Altmer's supposed superiority, the campaign had failed on all fronts – Hammerfell's walls and people defied them, and Cyrodiil remained in power, weakened but still unbroken.

How could the Thalmor still strut about, arrogant to Aetherius and back, when they had failed so miserably? How could they look at the faces of the families whose children and lovers they'd sent to die and only tell them they'd "served their purpose"?

Nebarra couldn't.

He couldn't face them at all. Not even through pen and paper, leagues away from ever having to look them in the eyes, ever having to see the pain and loss in their gaze.

Where the Thalmor were heartless, he was a coward.

And he didn't know which was worse.

~~~

Night fell, and you called the group to halt, to make camp until dawn. Nebarra set up the tent as you argued with Xelzaz, trying to convince him that no, he shouldn't summon a flame atronach and then kill it for its fire salts, no matter how good it would make dinner taste. Khash merely looked on, muching on some clover she'd picked up somewhere.

At last though, you got Xelzaz to relent, though he asked you to gather some herbs in exchange, listing off the plants he wanted you to find.

"Ah... and take Nebarra with you."

The elf froze. Turned slowly towards the lizard. Demanded, "What? Why?"

"Two eyes are better than one," he shrugged, "and that much safer, as well. We don't know what's out there, and I'm pretty sure we passed a necromantic altar on our way here."

At that, you groaned, head rolling back like a teenager who'd just been told to do their chores. "Gods, not another one. Why do we always seem to run into those?"

"Luck of the Dragonborn? Anyway, off with you now – I have to get set up. Let's see, in whose pack did I leave my cooking pot...? Khash! Come help me with this!"

And just like that he walked off, leaving you and Nebarra alone by the campfire. A chuckle escaped you, and he glanced over to see you shaking your head. "I'm surprised he didn't tell us to hold hands, too, so we don't lose each other in the dark."

"Yeah, I'm not holding your hand," Nebarra snarked. And it was true. Absolutely true. Totally, one-hundred percent true.

"Oh wow, Nebs, that one almost hurt." Your soft laugh seemed to echo in his ears, his mind. "Come on, let's go – I don't suppose you heard any of the plants he wants?"

Blue and yellow mountain flowers, to restore and fortify. Purple for rejuvenation, and to give to Khash. Scaly pholiota for fiber and strengthening. Wild gourds and dragon's togue for flavour.

He snorted from behind his helm. "That would require paying attention to him."

"Should have known," you sighed. "Alright, listen up before I forget: blue, yellow, and purple mountain flowers, scaly pholiota, and dragon's tongue. And be careful with the purple mountain flowers, they're gifts for Khash. Oh, he also wants some wild gourds. Got it?"

"...Yeah, yeah. Let's just get going."

He definitely hadn't feigned ignorance just to hear your voice some more. Definitely not.

~~~

"Ah, back at last! Perfect," Xelzaz said, stirring something in a pot over the fire. "Now I can get the real meal started."

"Then what's this?" Nebarra demanded as Xelzaz handed him a bowl, in exchange for the plants the Altmer carried. Even through his gauntlets he could feel its warmth, and a rich, savory scent drifted up through the slits of his helmet.

"Something amazing, from the smell," you sighed, and Nebarra didn't have to look to know you were drooling.

"Just a little sometime to hold you over," the Argonian demurred, handing you a bowl as well. "Thought I'd experiment with some of the flora I've gathered thus far."

That gave Nebarra pause. "Wait – experiment? That's settled, I'm not eating this."

"If you don't want it–"

Your words were drowned out by Khash's eager shout of, "I'll eat it! I'll take your bowl!" She rushed over to him, red eyes trained on the food.

"Khash, you had your share," Xelzaz chided. "Any more and you won't have room for the rest of dinner."

"Yes, I will! I have room for anything you make."

"She's got a point," you laughed, and Nebarra slowly, wordlessly handed her the bowl.

"I'll go keep watch," he grumbled, turning away.

"Oh, don't be like that! Nebarra!" When he didn't respond, you sighed, calling after him, "Alright, go sulk! I'll make sure Xelzaz doesn't poison your share, though you kind of deserve it!"

His back still towards you, Nebarra raised his hand in a rude gesture, and your laughter rang through the night.

Some thirty minutes later, he heard footsteps approaching; he didn't need to turn to know it was you. Your tread was distinct from the others, weighted with determination and confidence, whereas Xelzaz's was soft and steady, and Khash's light and hesitant.

"Here. Eat." Despite the short words, your tone was gentle, and Nebarra looked over to see you holding a plate out towards him, laden with a slab of meat and wild berries to the side. "It's delicious, and unpoisoned."

"How would you know?" he sniffed, catching a whiff of the food in the process. It... did smell amazing. "Did you try it?"

"I did, actually. Stole some of your steak when Xelzaz wasn't looking. And since I'm still standing here pestering you, I guess that means it's clean."

Nebarra paused, eyes training on your face. Half of it was wreathed in shadow, only the gleam of your eyes visible; the other half was illuminated by the campfire, revealing the soft smile you wore.

You... had a nice smile.

And before he could stop himself, he mumbled, "You're not... pestering me."

Surprise flickered in your gaze – surprise, and something else. Something he told himself he didn't recognise, refused to recognise.

After a moment, you said softly, "That's... good to hear, then. Because I have something else for you, too." Reaching down with your free hand, you pulled something from your belt and held it out before him. "I saved one, 'cause it reminded me of you."

Nebarra stared. There, held gently between your fingers, was a dragon's tongue flower, petals open wide and colours vibrant in full bloom. "This... reminded you of me?"

"It's gold. Just like you."

"...You really do have trouble with your eyesight, don't you? These are orange."

"Eh, close enough." You shrugged, the smile never leaving your face.

Slowly, Nebarra reached out and, ignoring the plate of food, took the flower carefully, delicately from your grasp, cradling it in his palm. "...Am I supposed to say thank you?"

"You just did." As he raised a brow from the shadows of his helm, you set the plate on a nearby rock and tapped the gauntlet that held the flower. "You accepted it."

He couldn't deny it. "Think you got me all figured out then, huh?"

Something in your smile shifted, your gaze flickering. "No. Not yet, anyways. But... I think I'd like to." And with that, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him alone in the dark, stunned.

And that night, as he sat in the shadows of the campfire, he stared at the flower for a long, long time.

[lion-buddy]

i love putting a bunch of work into something and then getting self conscious and not wanting to share. someone tell my brain to shut up

[angelliite]

sometimes i randomly remember violet evergarden, and i hate the fact that gilbert didn't die

i love the idea of exploring what love means so much, but it feels so poorly done -- gilbert comes back, the love she was searching for was romantic, all the love she had for her friends doesn't matter as much bc she's just going to go live alone with gilbert on an island!!

like, sure the age gap stuff squicks me a bit, but it's the storytelling that bothers me so much more. like ppl say oh, it makes violet happy, why don't you want her to be happy and that is so stupid to me, she's a fictional character!!! the things that make her happy is what is written to make her happy, she could've just as easily found love in her friends and family. i don't even have an issue with her finding romantic love, but bc it was SPECIFICALLY gilbert, the one who caused her journey and made such a profound impact on her life who was able to answer what love meant, it felt like it downplayed all the other relationships she had made.

and also, continuing with that, it is stupid that gilbert himself came back to answer what "love" is, like sure violet may have come to that realization herself, but he confirmed it. love is messy and confusing, in my opinion, there's no real answer for what love is because its so different for everybody. it felt like the show was saying this one specific type of love is more important than any other type of love. it feels like such an oversimplification of love, which was really disappointing from what the premise of violet evergarden was originally about.

gilbert coming back also felt like it spat on the themes of grief. irl, when our loved ones pass away, we don't have that same hope that one day they'll come back and they can whisk us away and we can be together again. that "what could've been" is so much more painful than anything else. i don't care about a happy, sappy romantic meeting between the two after they accept their feelings for one another, i wanted violet to be able to stand strongly, knowing even if gilbert passed, he's still there, he's left such an impact on her life that she will live with him alongside her forever, and she will always love him no matter what, it doesn't matter what way.

i guess it was my own expectations that set me too high, but i used to really love violet evergarden. it really was extremely disappointing to me how it ended.

[grumpy-nyks]

The Fernweh Saga by @lacunafiction - Agnes edition

Who would have thought? 🤭

Agnes "Nes" Sigrún 🌑RO: James Corvin

Personality: sincerity // cautious // friendly // merciful Traits: heart // compliance // believer Past affinity: writing [horror stories] Primary ability: empathetic impressions Past susceptibility: receptive

☀️Fernweh: She never really thought about leaving Fernweh… It was her place, near her family and friend(s). She felt good there and assumed she’s gonna spend her whole life happily in this little town. Even if Fernweh brings back devastating memories, she’s curious about what’s happening in Fernweh now, in her true home. It’s always been her dream to work in Turn The Page, and during her ‘short’ stay in Fernweh, she started thinking about it again. Why not stay for longer…? She would love to carry on her grandfather’s work and bring his legacy justice. 

☀️Grandpa Jóhann: When she was young, she had an amazing relationship with her grandpa. They were completely honest with each other, and she loved him wholeheartedly. Some people thought that making her grandpa proud was her main hobby. She used to tell him all about her dreams that she had, which were always wild... and also about the nightmares… It took her by surprise when her grandpa, one of the most important people in her life, started being less involved. She was hurt and began to wonder if she had done something to cause the distance between them. His decision to move her out of Fernweh so quickly after this tragic event made a huge impact on her mental state. She needed time to cope and be with her closest ones, especially her grandpa...but after all she didn't blame him. She often heard that she looked exactly like her mother…like her grandpa's daughter... She assumed he could not look at her, without thinking about her... And she could not blame him for wanting to escape that pain. Agnes knew it was the best thing that her grandpa could do for him, and she accepted it, too eagerly. She always too eagerly took the blame for everything.

☀️Beckett Warrick: After what happened in Fernweh after James she had even more trouble interacting with other people and making new friends… However, Beckett was an exception. He was the first person who got to truly know her after the events in Fernweh. When she got the letter about her Grandpa, she considered hiding the truth from him, because she knew deep down that he would be there for her if she needed him… even if he would not particularly enjoy it. It's a good thing she’s such a bad liar… Her main concern is about Beckett’s well-being. She noticed that this 'little' trip made a huge impact on him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and it’s because of her that he–... She needs to make sure that nothing happens to her friend. And she will somehow manage to bring him back to his home.

☀️Reese Verner: They had an unconventional relationship. Reese saw her as a rival, while Agnes thought of him as a friend. She was confused about why Verner, someone of great importance, would even look at her see her as a rival. She knew there were better candidates for his games. She had only one question on her mind - “why?”. Despite Verner's playful teasing, Agnes always remained polite and friendly towards him, even when he attempted to push her boundaries. Girl knew how to keep her true feelings behind a warm smile she still does. If I can be completely honest… Agnes was rather shocked that Reese still remembered her… and was actually looking for her, which sounded so unbelievably. His concern for Milton's well-being made her see him in a slightly different light. Of course, she already knew Reese had a good heart, but his behaviour really touched her. Additionally, Agnes noticed that Reese and James’ relationship became stronger and deeper… It’s for the best. James deserves someone as dependable as Reese. He will always be there for James. 

☀️Sofia Dorran: Their bond was formed over a shared admiration for books and... the color blue. It may sound funny now, but these things became central to their lives and deepened their friendship. Sofia was the first person Agnes entrusted with her writing, and valued her honest feedback, knowing that Sofia would not make her feel bad if something needed improvement. They frequently borrowed books from each other's collections. Agnes yearned for the days when she and Sofia had reading sessions together, sipping on their favorite beverage. The only issue back then was when the book ended poorly or their library didn't have any new positions for them to read. She's willing to know how Sofia's taste toward books shifted (if shifted) and how she changed as a person. She's also extremely grateful because her grandfather received constant care from Sofia and her mother.

🌑James Corvin: …Do I really need to tell you that James was her first crush? And that she never found the courage to tell him so? maybe now will be the time? Agnes and James were always together, wherever one went the other followed. They were inseparable. Agnes even used to bake oatmeal cookies for James with her mother's help. They dreamed of their idyllic life together. As friends, obviously. Seeing him again after all those years was much harder than she anticipated. Agnes felt overwhelmed with stress from the moment she stepped out of her car. Every time she heard his surname, she unknowingly flinched. Her mind was full of questions about his well-being, life, and changes. She couldn't help but wonder if he would be happy to see her. …she did manage to hold his hand for a moment, I can consider it as a success

☀️Alex Corvin: Agnes has always looked up to Alex for their adventurous spirit and their willingness to embrace life to the fullest. She has always wanted to adopt a bit of Alex' wild side. Whenever they are around, boredom and dullness seem to disappear. They both share similar values and support each other's life goals. If I would say which person Agnes was the most willing to meet during her stay in Fernweh that would be Alex. She was confident in their friendliness towards everybody and was sure that their kindness had not wavered. Agnes was touched when she heard that Alex was looking after her grandfather's bookstore… It appears that Beckett has a new admirer, which Agnes wholeheartedly approves of.

☀️Mal: Agnes has a sense that Mal might be suspicious, but she is quite naive and doesn't believe that he could mean trouble. Although she is wary of him and finds him a little untrustworthy, Agnes believes in being kind to everyone, and she is willing to give Mal a chance, not judging him by her own impressions of him.

☀️Goldie: Agnes is grateful that her grandfather had a furry companion like Goldie, who probably managed to brighten his spirits. She fondly recalls how her grandfather would tell her stories when he once had a dog, when he was younger and how his eyes would light up with joy as he shared his story. Agnes is committed to taking excellent care of Goldie and ensuring her safety.

[valeriianz]

You are an obsession, you're my obsession Who do you want me to be to make you sleep with me?

“Hello, Hob,” a low, sultry, and achingly familiar voice speaks behind him, cutting through the heavy bass reverberating off the walls and straight through Hob’s chest, lighting him up.

Turning, Hob finds– who he’d been referring to as– his stranger behind him, close enough to reach out and touch. They’re in the middle of the dance floor, bodies packed and grinding all night, but somehow they’ve given them room now.

Hob was dreaming, he was aware of it almost immediately. He’s been thrown back into the 1980s, one of Hob’s favorite periods of the 20th century, and in a nightclub no less. The music loud enough to penetrate skin, feeling the twangy synth pop in his bones. Everyone around him dressed in every color of the rainbow, over accessorized in neon hoop earrings and bangles, leg warmers, windbreakers, and mesh patterns. 

Hob’s dreams often took him back in time, and he wondered what prompted this. Though as Hob often did in his dreams, instead of considering why, he simply indulged. The music wasn’t anything particular, perhaps nothing was actually playing and it was all in his head, but Hob had felt the push and pull of everyone around him and followed along like a buoy at sea.

And now, feeling drunk off the sticky sweet air in the room, Hob grins as he boldly steps into his stranger’s space and slips both arms around his middle, pulling so his skinny, pale, gorgeous friend is flush against him.

He’d been dancing with strangers all night, shadows with indeterminate faces, allowing them to trace patterns on his skin, grip his shoulders or tug on his shirt. Hob hadn’t been dancing or even hanging around loud bars or clubs in decades, maybe somewhere deep in his subconscious, he missed it. Missed the anonymity of it all, getting high off everyone else’s pleasure and succumbing to it. So it made sense, as Hob felt himself getting hot, his skin prickling, that his imagination would wander, drifting to his perfect stranger. The only constant in his life, and someone who frequented Hob’s dreams often, especially as their centennial meetings came around or passed.

Though this iteration of his friend appeared distinctly… solid. He was dressed in that long black coat and skinny jeans from their last meeting (where he’d apologized, apologized! And called Hob a friend), his black hair gently tousled as before.

Hob paid it no mind as his tongue finally became useful and spoke for him.

“Hello, stranger.” he tried his best to mimic his friend’s deep voice and giggled at himself, cataloging the twitch of amusement in his usual stony face.

“You were thinking about me.” He spoke again, choosing to not point out how Hob currently had his arms ensnared around him and swaying them back and forth. “In a place like this.”

His stranger cast his gaze about the room and Hob noticed, in the pulsing lights, his eyes were black, all the way to the sclera, not the crystal blue that Hob had become so acquainted with. It was startling, and as the strobe lights began to flicker, Hob watched his friend’s eyes shimmer as well, like stars dancing in the night sky.

“I’m always thinking about you,” Hob spoke, transfixed. He hadn’t meant to say that, but fuck it, this was a dream and he’d said and done much worse with his oldest friend, to this stranger, in the comfort of his own head. “Even if I don’t know your bloody name yet.”

Those piercing eyes focused back on Hob and he felt himself physically wobble, holding onto his friend now for support.

“Oh, I am aware.” Hob caught his breath at the genuine smile his friend gave him, much like the one in the New Inn just days ago. “But you do know my name, you must, in order to summon me like this.”

Hob huffed, impatient. His friend’s hands were still resolutely at his side, unmoving even as Hob squeezed and swayed with a little more force.

“Sure, Dream Stranger,” Hob’s arms eased up just enough to slot his hands against bony hips and pull, making him stagger forward. Hob smirked, elated at the absolute shock reflected in the man’s expression.

“Now get with the program,” Hob leaned in, touching his nose to his stranger’s, the slight gasp it caused going straight to Hob’s cock. “And put your hands on me.”

He didn’t pull away, which was good. This dream had been derailed long enough. And finally, finally Hob’s dream lifted his arms and surrounded Hob’s face in his hands.

Big hands, Hob realized as his entire body went still. Big fucking hands, with long fingers, cool to the touch, and slipping back into his hair. Hob felt like he’d been electrocuted, his face forced forward, pupils shaking as he met his stranger dead on, getting lost in the inky black atmosphere of his impalpable eyes.

“Ah,” Hob eloquently said, swallowing hard. “This is different.”

“Is it?” His stranger gave a smirk of his own, lips turning up sharp at the corners, like they could cut. “How do these dreams normally proceed?”

Slowly, like pieces fitting into a puzzle, understanding trickles in Hob’s brain and his eyes go wide, his heart stopping before kicking back up in double time.

“Oh, you’re– really here, aren’t you.” It’s not a question. Hob would feel more embarrassed about this if his ancient friend wasn’t holding him at eye level, scrutinizing in an obnoxiously amusing way.

“Yes.”

Hob wets his lips and doesn’t miss how the galaxy flicks down to watch the motion. “And your name is…”

“Dream.” His fingers tangle further into Hob’s hair, gripping it and causing Hob’s jaw to drop with a not-so-quiet groan.

He leans in close, cold lips brushing Hob’s jaw and making every hair stand on end. 

“I would appreciate it if you used it now, Hob Gadling.”

Hob’s eyes flutter shut, his fingers pressing on narrow hips hard enough to bruise. “Dream?”

“Mm…” Dream purrs, like a cat content, as he nuzzles his way up Hob’s neck to speak hotly in his ear. “Again.”

Hob gasps like the air has been ripped from him as Dream bites the top of his ear, sending a bolt of electricity down his spine and causing his hips to twitch involuntarily.

“Dream.” Hob tilts his head, exposing his neck as Dream’s lips drag along the stubble there, licking and nibbling as he goes. “Oh my god–”

“Again.” The demand is punctuated with one hand moving from Hob’s hair to his backside, groping roughly and setting Hob on fire as he feels the confined outline of Dream’s arousal press against his own straining erection.

“Fuck–” Hob releases Dream’s hips and holds onto his face instead, pulling it from his abused neck and forcing their mouths together.

The kiss is the most grounding Hob has ever felt, but also fleeting, delicate like a cloud. Hob holds on like Dream could vanish, melt into the floorboards or dissolve into a pile of sand– sand! God, Hob was an idiot.

Dream’s tongue invades Hob’s mouth like a cavalry, drowning Hob. Bites his bottom lip like a brand, a claim, drawing blood and making Hob shake with want. The dance floor suddenly becomes vacant, people vanishing, music filtering out like a volume knob had been turned down. Hob’s hands settle on Dream’s shoulders and push, walking them backwards until Dream’s back connects with a wall and Hob thrusts his entire body onto him. The impact forces a cough of surprise from Dream and Hob likes it, elated to elicit any kind of reaction from his friend.

“You make me crazy,” Hob bites out, pressing his own fingers against Dream’s throat and up into his silky soft hair, grabbing it and watching his friend to see how his eyes glint something hot and dangerous. “You know that?”

“Would you demonstrate it for me?” Dream’s lips curl, enticing and provoking, daring Hob to say yes. To take Dream apart and show him every fantasy he’s ever conjured up. To act on every impure thought Hob’s ever had, every fleeting glance or touch turned purposeful and laden with desire.

Hob would take Dream apart, if that’s what he wished. And here, in his dream, anything was possible, and Hob intended to keep him here as long as he could, letting Dream into his darkest whims and satisfactions. Perhaps he already knew, could feel it in Hob, the way Dream made him ache, the way he made him hunger. 

Slipping his fingers through Dream’s belt loops, Hob pulled as he rolled his hips, connecting their fronts and knocking his head back with the bolt of pleasure. Dream’s hands fisted into his shirt and held on as they met again and again.

“Hob–” Dream crooned, his mouth at his collarbone.

“Yes,” Hob finally answered, his head coming down to watch Dream, seduced by the exploding cosmos in his eyes. “I would show you everything.”

[too-young-to-fall-in-love]

Just Like Me

summary:

From the convenient timing to his inability to stop talking about Paris, talk of their relationship is inevitable. Still, the chasm between them remains. While Napoleon hopes to cross it, he knows he’s only good for making things worse.

Or, the ending events of Amor Magnus Doctor Est - Chapter Five, but from Napoleon’s perspective.

notes:

After reading Amor Magnus Doctor Est for the umpteenth time, I started thinking about how Napoleon would react to the events towards the end of chapter 5.

If you haven’t read the fic, PLEASE DO SO!! I PROMISE you will not regret it (although it may take over your entire life and influence your trip to Chicago, but that’s probably something that only happens to yours truly). However, you don’t have to read the original fic to understand this standalone.

excerpt:

The bitter cold runs its sharp tendrils up his spine and he can’t hold back a slight shiver. Even faced with Illya’s so-called inhuman warmth, it’s a force to be reckoned with. He knows he should move; that they either need to continue this walk or he needs to duck out. At the same time, nothing could convince him to move from this moment.

As if to root him to said moment, Illya’s arm wraps gently around his shoulders, pulling him minutely closer. He blames it on instinct, the way he immediately slides his arm behind Illya’s waist and leans closer. Illya is warm, he notes, his presence soothing and achingly familiar even if they’ve never shared a moment quite like this. He finds himself hoping it will last forever. A voice in his head is quick to retort that he doesn’t deserve it, though it sounds close enough to Victoria’s voice that he steadfastly ignores it.

“You really are warm, Peril,” he murmurs, blaming the sudden looseness of his tongue on the pitch blackness of the night sky and the way it seems to absorb his words, or perhaps the alcohol that really had no impact on him. He’s terrified, though, of the real reason: he feels safe here.

read more on ao3

inspired by Amor Magnus Doctor Est by @cha-melodius

[compacflt]

I just finished rereading Slider's oneshot and I loved it just as much as I always do. I was wondering if you had any thoughts on how the conversation between Ice and Cougar went at Ice's retirement ceremony. You gave us little snippets of it from Slider's point of view, but I'd love to hear more of it if you have thoughts on it you'd like to share.

this is such a kind ask. i have no idea

for the same reason there is no explicit reaction in ch 12 when ice first hears mav say i love you—i spent a good week low key trying to figure out whether a reaction was needed there—it’s such a potent powerful cocktail of so many wild & unfamiliar emotions that i don’t personally think i have the literary juice to even attempt to try to describe it

i also am allergic to writing ice or mav explicitly coming out to anyone because it gives me secondhand embarrassment for them. the idea of the commander of the pacific fleet having to psych himself up to awkwardly mumble “um i should’ve told you all this time … i think i…i think im gay” to his friend gives me the ick sorry he’s not fifteen years old. so he Could be doing the big lgbt rite of passage of emotionally apologizing and coming out to Cougar in that conversation. but he Could Also be doing the ‘im nearly sixty years old im not gonna bullshit you’ thing of simply saying: “you and I have been very shitty to each other in the past and i apologize for that in x,y,z way and you were right about me and maverick and we’re gonna make it official this summer and if you want to come we’d really love to have you & normalize diplomatic relations between us again, you’re a real great friend when you’re not being a massive fucking douche”

[veilkeeper]

why do i only ever wanna write fanfiction for small dead fandoms/pairings

not me looking at the <100 fics for my fave rarepair for an old as fuck video game and thinking "maybe its time to start that longfic"

not me looking at the <100 fics for all of boyfriend dungeon and thinking "idk man i have 37k worth of interconnected drabbles what if i-"

as it is everything ive posted on ao3 is like…. no one on earth is looking at this. i always write fic for fandoms like, at least 5 years after it had aaaaaany eyes on it. why do i do this.

[britneyshakespeare]

Oh my God. People are reblogging a poem I wrote and posted when I was 15 years old lol.

[moeblob]

Among many others? I like a fair amount of ships with Ferdinand and my indecision has led me to smooshing him into poly a few times? But I guess Bernadetta gets the honors to be drawn here since I got their end card in my first AM run and I love them both very, very much.

(if I had any more energy for FE I’d draw him and Sylvain, too, cause that’s one I don’t mention much but let the horse boys be horse boyfriends)