#it's been slowly percolating in the back of my head

[sk1fanfiction]

guess who finally got her act together and started writing sorting swap au properly

[stottlemorgan]

A Coffeeless Morning┃ Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader (Smut 18+) Summary: You’re blessed burdened by salacious dreams of Arthur. It muddles your communication with him in your waking life. Tags: NSFW Smut (18+! MDNI), it’s all dreams and fruity figurative language in this part but - kissing, p in v, dirty talk, just smutty smut Word count: 1,537 Author’s note: My hormones wrote this lmao. I wanted to write some erotic poetic bullshit. Who better to be my muse than our gorgeous cowboy? Might do a second part where they actually get together?? Wrote this as a palette cleanser and for self indulgence in between writing requests (Don’chu worry, I’m writin’ away over here! If you’ve requested something, it’ll be done, I won’t leave you hangin’). The italicised text is the dreams/memories of dreams, I hope it's easy to read I didn't know how else to format it!

Ao3 Link

Cocooned by a sweltering warmth. Muscles braiding tightly with an unrelenting ache. The suffocating aroma of sweat mingling with soap. The spice of rum lingering amidst saliva, further igniting flushed skin. Bodies writhing hotly, sinuously with need. Palms pawing at soft flesh with greed. Teeth sinking into tissue gluttonously. Limbs entangled, bound by a glowing fever, by sticky skin. A rhythmic thrum pulsing up and through you again and again as all lucidity flits away into a wanton brume. Twin symphonies playing fevorously against one another. A call and response of keening strings, of groaning brass, of pounding drums. Winding and rising together in harmony before crashing down in a blissful discordant relief.

“Oh, Arthur–”

You wake to your body tingling with desire, your breaths laboured. Soft hues of lilac and cornflower blue tint the canvas of your tent, the early spring morning a stark contrast to the concupiscence of your dreams. A hand gingerly comes to cover your parted lips, incredulity slowly dripping through your abdomen, but doing little to quench the broiling heat. Your hand moves to splay over your chest, your heart ramming against your ribcage. 

“Good Lord…” You whisper.

You push your blanket off and rise from your cot, taking a breath, a moment. You grab your shawl and wrap it around your shoulders before walking to the small mirror balanced on a table adjacent to your cot. Your gaze catches on the rosy blush blotching your cheeks and chest. You then recognise the faint sheen to your skin, the pricking soft hairs along your arms, and lastly the sensation of your hardened nipples moving against the cotton of your chemise. With a sigh, you quickly tame your mussed hair to a less embarrassing state before stepping out of your tent into the quiet early morning in search of coffee and something to distract you. Keeping your shawl tightly wrapped around your shoulders, you pad your way to the campfire, taking stock of who is awake as you go.

Miss Grimshaw is sitting by her tent, embroidering. Pearson is just starting to stir in his bedroll. Mary Beth is already up reading, her back against a nearby tree. Molly is curled up alone at the edge of camp amidst the thicket, facing out towards the mountains. Uncle is snoring loudly behind Pearson’s wagon, to which you shake your head and smile. When you reach the campfire, you pick up the coffee percolator and a tin cup before your attention is caught by the absolute state of Reverend Swanson sprawled out on his bedroll in his filthy union suit, a bottle upside down in one hand, amber liquid dripping from the lip and bleeding into the dirt. You wince and force your attention back down to the coffee as footfall overtakes the soothing crackle of the campfire.

“Mornin’.”

You freeze up whether you want to or not, and your casual hold on the coffee percolator becomes more of a clutch. You feel as though a cool breeze has just blown through camp and would have sworn that your shawl had been swept away were you not currently feeling the itch of the wool.

“You gonna hog the whole pot?”

Arthur moves in closer behind you and leans around to get a look at your face, an eyebrow raised in amusement, the scent of shaving soap and peaches greeting you. You’re momentarily unable to process his words. A pleading ache surges from your tongue down through your stomach and plunges into your core, mirroring the trail of your gaze from Arthur’s glinting blue eyes to his lips as he presses them together to the broadness of his shoulders as he leans over you. You find yourself famished. You wonder whether your pupils have dilated like that of a starving cat, whether he can sense your blood boiling, your inebriating need for him. You feel your features slacken, your eyes widening as your gaze meets his.

Large hands groping their way up your stomach, callused fingertips travelling a plush landscape, some dipping into the sensitive areas between your ribs and some pushing into your mouth. Your vision is a desperate haze, your body that of an obscenely randy zealot, seeking every solid inch of Arthur that you can handle. The hair on Arthur’s thighs tickles your own as he kneels upright on his cot with you seated in his lap, leaning back against his chest, thighs spread open atop his. He lays sloppy kisses against the nape of your neck and uses the hand on your waist to steady you as he continues to leisurely slide his cock to the hilt inside of you. A garbled moan escapes your throat and Arthur’s fingers curl in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, his fingers and the heel of his palm bracketing your chin, holding you agape,

“Ain’chu a prize, darlin’.” He strains between kisses.

You blink, mortified by the tauntings of your psyche as your present vision of Arthur is overlaid with smutty flashes of carnal fantasies. Arthur is still looking down at you expectantly, his eyes darting between you and the percolator. Your voice comes out choked,

“Oh– Mornin’, Arthur.”

“Arthur– My God– Arthur–”

“Feel good, pretty lady?”

With an awkward shaky sigh, you avert your gaze from his and clumsily hold the percolator out to him, almost shoving it into his chest. Arthur squints at you as he takes the percolator into his hand and pours himself a coffee.

“You okay?” He asks, making his way around you and putting the percolator back on the floor, “You gettin’ sick or somethin’? You’re all…” He gestures with his now free hand to his face vaguely, bringing attention to your blushing chest and cheeks.

“Look’achu, blushin’ like a rose.”

“I– I don’t know, maybe. C– could be.” You press a palm to your burning chest.

Arthur slurps his coffee, stepping away to sit on the log by the campfire, seemingly unaware of much else other than your flushed skin and awkward demeanour.

“Well, let me know if you’re in need’a anythin’. Maybe coolin’ off in the river’d do you some good.” He offers gently, scuffing a boot heel into the dirt. The alluring image of his tough hands caressing your river soaked skin strives to overthrow any coherent thought.

By God, you’re in need of something.

“Thank you, Arthur–” The words come out rushed, breathless. He looks you up and down and his attention only serves to make your spine curve. Your chest pushes out in a heaving sigh and Arthur’s gaze snags on the sight before he trains it back onto your face with a soft smile.

“S’my pleasure, miss.” He gives a nod, the brim of his hat obscuring his eyes, leaving you gawking at his mouth as he licks his lips and sips his coffee. Your mind slips a rung lower into filth, the stem of your brain abuzz with a blinding yen to have him touch you.

A wolfish grin. Teeth glinting under lantern light, grazing the curve of your breast. Warm breaths draw the soft hairs on your skin towards Arthur as the gentle wet sounds of his kisses on your skin siphon the sweetest shuddering sighs from your parted lips. The pads of his thick fingers trace down the sides of your arms before he laces them between your own fingers, bringing your joined hands to rest either side of your head on the bed. He follows them upwards, his hips settling between your thighs, his nose brushing yours.

“That’s a mighty pretty song you’re singin’ for me, darlin’.”

Each syrupy thought sticks to the peripheries of your sight, enveloping Arthur innocently sitting holding his coffee, still glancing up at you from beneath the brim of his hat as you stand stiff as a pole. The soft blues of the spring morning begin to warp as embarrassment floods through your limbs that have long been rivering with lust.

“Christ–” You hiss, a stumble in your step as you move away. Arthur pauses with the cup resting against his lower lip as he watches you and his brow raises, a cocktail of curiosity and amusement stirring in the pit of his stomach. As he takes a breath to speak, you nod and blink gauchely, causing whatever he was about to say to fall into a broken stutter.

“Mornin’ t’you, Arthur.” You say quietly, turning towards your tent, your bare feet clumsily thumping into the dirt.

“I’ll see you later, then.” He calls out after you before snorting and shaking his head. Quickly pushing through the flap of your tent, you shiver, letting out a frustrated groan.

Lord, did you need something. Anything. Arthur.

You clench your fists and look down as one of them constricts further around the handle of the tin cup you’ve been gripping almost painfully. You stare into the cup, void of steaming hot liquid, a teasing reflection of your own lack of fulfilment. With a huff, you concede to the concept of a coffeeless morning before throwing the cup onto your cot and heading to the small dresser across the tent to ready yourself for the day.

Maybe cooling off in the river would in fact help.

[himluv]

A Burst of Courage (a dash of luck)

Chapter 31 of Say My Name (Say it Twice) is here! In which Lucanis wakes up with Rook in his bed...

Read it on AO3

Sounds of movement in the kitchen woke Lucanis. His room was completely dark, the candles burnt out, and for a long moment he felt adrift. He was warm and rested, his face pressed between Embria’s shoulder blades. He knew it was her from the smoky-sweet scent of her hair brushed against his face. She was warm and soft and felt so right snuggled up against him that he thought he might never get out of bed again. 

And for those few bleary moments, there were no gods. No demons. Not even Crows. There was only warmth, the slow thud of their heartbeats, and the deep, easy rhythm of her breathing. 

Lucanis stilled as his mind cleared. Embria was in his bed. Pressed against him with his arm around her waist. From how rested he felt, and the noise in the kitchen, they’d slept through the night, just like this. 

It was the most intimate thing he’d ever done with a person that didn’t culminate in their death. And it was the best night’s sleep he’d had in years. 

He never wanted to leave that bed, but now that he was awake, he knew he couldn’t stay. He would fidget and overthink and inevitably wake her. The last thing he ever wanted to do was disrupt Embria’s peace. 

So, carefully, he climbed off the cot and lit a single candle on the table near the foot of the bed. In silence, Lucanis put on his boots and waistcoat, clipped his lapel pins in place, and then took up the bucket from its spot on the floor. Rook never moved, her breathing still deep and even. 

Slowly, quietly, Lucanis stepped out into the dining hall and eased the door shut behind him. Bellara was in the kitchen mindlessly staring at the tea kettle on the stove. He didn’t look at her as he climbed the stairs to the side balcony and emptied the bucket over the railing. Then he headed back to the kitchen to wash it. 

Bellara was still there, blowing at a steaming cup of tea. One of the more floral varieties from the smell of it. 

“Hey, Lucanis,” she said. 

“Bellara.” He set the bucket in the wash basin to let it soak. 

“How’s Rook?” She asked.

“She’s still sleeping.” He turned and made for the percolator. He needed coffee. Bellara watched him go, her eyes taking in his somewhat rumpled appearance. 

“Wait,” she said, following him across the dining hall. 

Lucanis sighed, but said nothing.

“‘Sleeping’ as in, sleeping in your room?”

He poured several scoops of coffee beans into his mortar and attacked them with the pestle. His silence had no effect on Bellara. 

“As in, your bed?!”

“Mierda,” he said. “Keep your voice down.” He glanced at the pantry and then back to her. 

“Oh! Right.” She winced. “Sorry.” She leaned one hip against the itch and grinned. “So… if Rook was in your bed, where did you sleep last night?”

He said nothing as he scooped the fresh grounds into the percolator. 

Bellara gasped. “Lucanis!”

“She asked me to,” he said, defensively. “Should I have told her ’no’?”

“I would be so mad if you had,” she said. “So, what happened?”

He scowled at her. “Nothing happened,” he said. “Davrin practically drugged her.” He poured water into its proper chamber and took comfort in the spitting, gurgling hiss that soon followed. “I put her to bed,” he said. “She asked me to stay, so I did.”

“And nothing happened?” Her eyes were bright and a slight blush tinged her cheeks. Maker, she was more excited about it than he was. 

“We slept, Bellara.” He frowned. “And she vomited.”

Her face shifted, eyes shining and lip quivering – as if she’d been presented with something cute. Like a kitten, or a baby snake. “You took care of her?”

“Of course.”

She sighed. “It’s so romantic!”

Lucanis didn’t entirely disagree, but he could hardly tell Bellara that. She was bad enough as it was. “Nothing about vomit is romantic,” he said. 

She scrunched her nose in disgust. “Well, no. But the rest of it is!”

He shook his head, but let the matter drop. For a moment, there was quiet, the only sound the drip and gurgle of the percolator. Soon, the aroma of coffee filled the room and any irritation Lucanis still felt melted away as he poured a cup for himself and Rook. 

He gave Bellara a sharp look as he took up the cups. “Not a word of this, to anyone.”

She grimaced. “Not even Neve?”

“Especially not Neve,” he said. “You two are worse gossips than Noa and Neri.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, fine.” 

Rook! Spite crowed, his head turning to stare at the door to the pantry. 

So, she was awake, then. Lucanis entered the room slowly, expecting that she might be getting dressed – he didn’t want to surprise her. But the room was still mostly dark, only a few more candles lit and Rook sat up on the cot, the blanket wrapped firmly around her waist to cover her legs. She held her face in one hand and didn’t look up as he closed the door behind him. 

Something was wrong.

Spite bounded toward her, sniffing all around her. Rook is. Scared? Worried! The demon glared at Lucanis. About you?!

Lucanis bit back a sigh. When wasn’t she worried about him? He went to her, and held out her cup of coffee. “Good morning,” he said. His voice was soft and light. No judgment, no anger. As far as he was concerned, the night had been a success, except for the impairment and nausea. 

She groaned, but took the cup. “Good morning,” she mumbled. Still, she did not look at him. 

For a moment, he just stood before her, unsure if he’d be welcome on the cot. But then, he figured, it was his cot. So, he sat beside her, careful to keep a little distance between their thighs

“How are you feeling?” He asked after she’d had a sip of coffee. 

“Fine,” she said. 

“Embria.”

She sighed. “I feel better,” she said. She shook her head. “By the Void, I am so sorry, Lucanis.”

He frowned. “For what?”

She glared at him, but it was a toothless thing. She was embarrassed, and worried he might be upset. “This,” she said, gesturing to her legs still concealed beneath the blanket. “This is not ’slow’.”

He did his best not to laugh. “Rook,” he said. “I may be inexperienced, but I have seen people nude before.” They were usually targets – it’s remarkably easy to kill someone in the bath – but, she didn’t need to know that. 

She looked down into her coffee, one hand picking at the cuticles of the other where they met around the cup. Her voice was so, so small when she said, “this isn’t what you wanted.”

Mierda. She was always so worried about him. “Embria,” he said, but she refused to meet his gaze. “Please, look at me.” His voice was hardly more than a whisper.

She turned then, her crystal grace eyes pained, but clear. 

“What I want is to be with you,” he said. “However I can.” He brushed her hair behind one ear and cupped her cheek in his palm. She leaned her face into his touch and his heart jolted at the tenderness. With a burst of courage, Lucanis swept his thumb across her lower lip. 

“While I wish Davrin hadn’t poisoned you,” he said, mostly joking. “I very much enjoyed taking care of you.” 

Where the heat in his voice came from, he did not know, but as he watched her gaze go from troubled to molten, he did not regret it. This close Rook could not hide the shiver that rippled up her spine. Her lips parted around a hitched breath, and mierda, his thumb was still on her mouth. 

They were sitting in his dimly lit room, on his rickety and unforgiving cot. Her hair and clothes were mussed from sleep, but her slightly rumpled appearance only added to the heat thudding through him. No one else got to see her like this.

Lucanis licked his lips and, again, traced his thumb along the swell of her bottom lip. “Embria,” he whispered. The air between them was so warm, the aroma of coffee and melting wax suffusing the room. When he was with her, everything was warm – he felt impervious to the icy fear he’d known for the last year. For that alone, he could kiss her.

Could? Spite hissed. No! No could. DO! Kiss. Rook!

“Lucanis,” she whispered. His name shivered on her breath and it was the final push he needed.

He swept his thumb along her mouth, memorizing the velvety softness of her lips against the dagger-roughened pad of this thumb. Then he gently tilted her face up to his. He closed his eyes, his blood thrumming through him. 

This was happening. He was finally going to kiss Rook.

And then she stopped, turning to press her mouth to his palm instead. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his hand.

He blinked at her. “Embria?”

Rook. STOPPED?! Spite dragged his hands down his face. WHY?!

Her face was red with embarrassment as she offered him an apologetic smile. “I refuse to let our first kiss be with vomit mouth,” she said. 

Mierda, was that what she was worried about? He shook his head once, running his thumb across her cheek. “I don’t care.” Besides, she’d already had some water and coffee since then.

“I do,” she said. “It would be all I could think about.” She grimaced. “I don’t want to think about that when I kiss you.”

He sighed, but nodded. He didn’t want that either. And, she’d been so patient with him that he could hardly be the one to push.

Spite seethed in the corner nearest the door, grumbling to himself about ‘stupid mortals’.

Lucanis snorted and Rook gave him a curious look. He rolled his eyes. “Spite is upset at us.”

She laughed, and it was such a bright sound that Lucanis couldn’t help but smile. “I’m sorry, Spite,” she said, glancing around the room. “Remember what I told you? Mortals take time.”

The demon perked up as she spoke to him, then rushed over to Lucanis. 

“Taking too long!” Spite said. “So much. WANT!”

“Mierda,” Lucanis said and shook his head. 

Rook took his hand. “It won’t be much longer.”

Spite grumbled, but didn’t retreat back to the corner. 

As he looked at her, Lucanis felt like he carried the sun behind his sternum. If he thought about it too long, he’d say something foolish. Something he couldn’t take back. So, instead, he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a reverent kiss there. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked. 

“Void, yes,” she said. “I’m starving!”

He grinned. “I’ll start breakfast while you get dressed.”

“All right,” she said, squeezing his hand one more time before releasing him. 

As Lucanis left the room, he imagined countless mornings just like this. Rested, Rook in his bed, and breakfast to be made and shared. He had never wanted something so badly in his life, and, at least for this one day, he had it. 

After all Lucanis had suffered, perhaps his luck was finally changing.

[practically-an-x-man]

Scars (Eris character study)

Summary:

I'm still burning like a tire fire deep down inside Oh, I'm burning like a tire fire and I don't know why Was I born with a hole in my heart

A fatal fault at the start Tell me it's inevitable that I end up with scars

Or, in which Eris becomes a mentor and is faced with the memory of their own upbringing

Word Count: 5.1k

Tags: Emotional angst, violence, strong language, character study, backstory, title from a Crane Wives song

Crossposted on AO3

____

“I need a favor.” 

“Do I look like the kind of person who gives out favors?” Eris shot back, vaguely surprised that DuBois would present such an idea. He knew them better than that. Maybe he thought they’d softened in the wake of Corto Maltese. 

If that was true at all, it wasn’t true for him. Eris was and would always be a creature of armor and thorns. There was only one man on Earth she’d soften for, and even that came in spilled blood and saltwater tears.

DuBois failed to respond at first, and Eris nearly thought he’d dropped the issue. That would be smart, he thought. He’d have better luck tossing a bottled wish into the ocean, or stepping into a fairy ring and asking his favor of the Unseelie Court.

Then one heavy hand dropped onto Eris’ shoulder, squeezing firmly enough to make his shoulder ache. It wasn’t quite to keep him in place - no man was truly strong enough for that - but perhaps to convey the intensity of emotion he couldn’t otherwise express.

“It’s my daughter.”

That, of all things, did give Eris pause. Much as Rick was the chink in their own armor… they knew Tyla was the chink in his. The sole person on the planet he’d bend for, bleed for, give his life for. 

This must have been serious.

“And?”

“I want you to train her. Teach her how to defend herself.”

The thought was so ludicrous that Eris audibly scoffed, and ignored the way it made DuBois’ face darken. 

“No, you don’t.” he said, rubbing idly at the rough scars across his hands and wrists, “Your daughter’s, what, sixteen? Give ‘er a can of mace. Put her in Muay Thai. I am not a teacher, Robert. What I could give her isn’t what she needs.”

“You don’t understand.” DuBois replied, and suddenly jerked Eris towards him until she could feel his breath on her neck. His voice fell to a hushed sort of growl, a tone often devoted to secrets and contraband. “Waller is not happy about that drive. And you know how she is with revenge. She’s already sent two cons to my ex-wife’s place. Metahumans. Lucky my daughter don’t live with her mother anymore. And lucky I was there to take care of things. But she’ll find Tyla soon enough, and she’ll do it when she knows I’m not there. You think Muay Thai and pepper spray’s gonna cut it against Waller’s metas?”

“You’d rather put her in the ring with me? You don’t think she’d be worse off?” Eris shot right back, “Train her yourself.”

“She could use some discipline. And you’re the most unkillable fucker I know.”

“I can’t make her heal like I can. That’s not how it works.”

Doubt colored DuBois’ face. They supposed that was fair. After all, with Corto Maltese only six weeks past and Rick already up and walking (slowly, perhaps, but walking nonetheless), rumors had begun to percolate in Eris’ wake. Thus was the price they paid. They’d certainly paid much worse, and for much less.

But he seemed to realize can’t instead meant won’t, or something similar, and he simply shook his head. 

“Just teach ‘er to survive. That’s what she needs. She won’t listen to me, Flag’s in no shape for it, and I dunno anyone else who’s got what I need.” he said, and for the first time Eris heard a ribbon of real desperation under his voice. It gave them pause. It gave them… consideration. 

DuBois sealed the deal.

“This is my daughter’s life we’re talking about. Isn’t this what your people do? Train women to be Amazons?”

“I have not been an Amazon in a very long time.” Eris hissed, “Themyscira does not want me.”

Finally he shrugged DuBois’ hand off of his shoulder and took a large step back, looking the taller man in the eyes. DuBois didn’t break. He never did. 

“But I will keep your daughter alive.”

____

“Adamantia!”

The sudden sweep of a blade. The spurt of blood from her flesh, shining dark like Amazonian wine as it fell to the sand. In reflex, her fingers opened and her training blade fell with it.

The skin knit together far faster than it should have, and left behind it the first of many scars. She would come to realize it had been a necessary wound. She had drawn first blood in a battle that should not have had blood at all, and with it some beast had awoken deep inside her. If not for the wound, and for the arms that grabbed her tight and wrestled her back from her battered opponent, that beast might have raged unchecked. 

Even young, barely into her training, she knew this was not the way of the Amazons. This was not the honor and discipline they trained her for. This was not the warrior’s code they instilled in her. 

But she took to the blood like a shark, and she couldn’t stop herself.

She refused food on that night, and escaped from her bedroom window once the moon had risen. It was only on the farthest reaches of Themyscira, the rocky cliffs bleached by the endless spray of the ocean, that those new sparks in her chest finally quieted. Even still, she remembered the feel of blood against her fingertips, the satisfying impact of her wooden staff against soft flesh, the vicious joy of victory. She remembered the thrill of the battle, like lightning dancing all across her skin, like any minute her feet would simply lift off the ground and she’d fly, weightless and unstoppable. 

Amazons fought for honor, for valor, for justice. Battle was an obligation, a duty, a burden that fell heavy upon their shoulders. Scars were stories, but they were rarely stories of pride.

There on the cliffs, she looked upon her first scar and she did feel pride. Even untrained and clumsy, it had taken a grown warrior to pull her from the battle. In time, she would only grow stronger. She could be Themyscira’s bravest warrior, the one most fit to shoulder their pains. She could grow to make her sisters proud.

Or the beast could rise up and she could raze it all to the ground. 

Perhaps she had gained two scars on that day. A mark on the flesh, and a hole in her heart that would never mend.

____

“I’m no teacher. His daughter’s better off with someone else.” Eris hissed, “Anyone else.”

“You’ve taught me.” Rick protested, his eyes on her even as his hands shuffled a deck of cards. The game had long since dissolved, but the cards provided some escape from the restlessness that his recovery had sparked in him. He managed a half-hour walk every day, sometimes more, but this was painfully little compared to his usual routines. “Taught me plenty. The, ah- what was it? The lamsat almawt? ‘N plenty else. Kept me alive.”

“You are a grown man and a soldier. She is a child.”

“Older n’ you were when you started, right?”

“Comparably. But time moves differently on Themyscira. And the traditions are…”

“Different?”

“Ingrained,” Eris finished, “I was a warrior raised by a creed of fellow warriors. The world I knew saw battle as honor, as necessity, and there was no higher status than one who could not be cut down. This world, this- this time, it doesn’t operate that way. The culture I was raised in would crush Tyla.”

“You’re so sure that’s true?” Rick, nearly as much of a contrarian as Eris himself, replied, “DuBois said she’s pretty hardcore.”

“He told me she was ditzy. His words.” she said, “Besides, hardcore might have stood up to my own mentors, but it doesn’t stand up to me. My own people could not stand up to me.”

She found her fingers dancing across her own skin as she spoke, tracing staggered scars until they finally came to the very first. The very oldest. It had been a part of her so long that it was no longer raised or textured, and was barely even a slash of color against her darker skin, but she knew exactly the path it took all the same. 

“My first battle- not even a battle, just a children’s sparring session with wooden hafts in place of true swords- they had to cut me away from my opponent. My blood was spilled, and I was dragged away by force. Over nothing more than a… a scuffle.” 

Eris abruptly jerked his hand away from the scar, as if burned by the touch, and curled his fingers into the hem of his tunic to keep them from creeping back to it. 

“And you know what I’ve become since then.”

Rick was silent for a beat too long. Eris turned and found his eyes on them, following the paths of so many scars across their skin- and yet lingering on one, the same one Eris had lingered on merely a moment before. They couldn’t begin to guess his thoughts. They weren’t sure they wanted to.

“So does DuBois.” Rick finally said, “Still asked you to train her. Doubt he’d trust most people to do that.”

“Trust, or desperation?”

“Probably both.” he said, with a careful shrug, “But he still could’ve asked someone else.”

“I am not. A teacher.”

Their traitorous fingers had found their way back to that scar. The realization, or perhaps the touch itself, made their skin prickle unpleasantly. Eris again snatched their hand away, but not before Rick had drawn a conclusion of his own. 

“You’re afraid you’d hurt her.”

“When have I been afraid of anything?”

Rick shifted on the bed, biting down a faint wince as he did, and fixed Eris with eyes that were a hair too intense for the smile he tried to offer them. 

“I’m not the person to ask, doll. I’ve got a real answer for you and I know you don’t want to hear it.”

Eris just huffed and shook their head, refusing to call his bluff- because they knew it wasn’t really a bluff. Much as she was loath to admit it, Rick had seen her afraid. He’d seen the battles that grew too close for comfort, the moments of desperation, even the rarer times of mundane fear. He knew more of their heart than anyone else, and that meant he’d grown awfully good at creeping past that shell.

Hell, the scar on his chest was a mark of her fear. Eris had scrawled their emotions on his heart - it was the only reason he was still alive. Much as he didn’t regret his decision, would never regret his decision… rarely did he ever let his emotions go so candidly.

“Why not give ‘er a day? One lesson. Just to see how it goes. If it’s shit… then we’ll know. Tell DuBois to find someone else. But if it’s not, then…” Rick trailed off and gave him another low shrug, “Anyway, I’ll go with you. Just in case.”

“Please, what could you do about it?” Eris fired back, eager for the chance to recover control of the conversation. In case the words weren’t enough, she leaned over the bed and prodded Rick just an inch above the new scar on his chest - not enough to hurt, not enough to cause damage, but plenty a reminder of the state he was in.

“I’m not saying I’d fight you.” Rick said, “Just saying I’d…. y’know, step in.”

His words struck true, and Eris recoiled before she could stop herself. He understood what Rick was implying, of course. Just as much as he understood that it might not work. 

Of course, Eris didn’t want to hurt DuBois’ daughter. That was why he’d fought hard to refuse such an offer, and continued to refuse it as the concept continued. And of course, they certainly didn’t want to hurt Rick, least of all when he was still healing, still vulnerable. Rick knew that much, and perhaps that was more than most.

But he didn’t understand that spark within them. He didn’t understand how much effort it took to keep that beast muzzled. He didn’t understand that there was a fire raging deep inside, a fire fueled by blood and pain.

He had been safe from Eris’ blades for years now, and he knew it. At the very least, he’d been safe from her conscious cunning, her focused ferocity. He knew she’d never hurt him by her own hand, in her right mind, of her own choice. 

He didn’t know that might not be enough.

They’d have to be careful, then. Very careful. That spark would have to remain contained, for fear of Eris doing something he’d regret. 

This would not be like the sparring bouts of his youth. He would not make the same mistake. He would not let that weakness win, when the stakes were so high.

____

She prowled into the mess hall like a lioness back from the hunt, and for the first time she understood the meaning of her name. 

Adamantia. The unbreakable. The unconquerable. While her sisters were bruised and limping, hunched over their bowls and wincing at new wounds, she was the pinnacle of health. She’d had pains, yes, but they vanished in wake of the battle. There came that electric thrill again, the instant mending of her wounds, the feeling that she’d conquer the entire world in one fell swoop. The sensation was addictive. For all the bruises, all the blood, the sidelong glances they now threw her way, she couldn’t get enough. 

Whispers trailed her as she crossed the room. Daggered eyes were thrown her way with every step. Somehow their rage only sharpened her senses further, until her skin felt charged with lightning.

With every skirmish, the hurricane beneath her flesh only continued to grow and roil. A part of her, as she collected her evening meal with its stew and spiced bread, wanted simply to dive across the serving table and claw at the first person in her way. She wanted to start a fight. She wanted to feel that thrill again.

It wasn’t quite rage. What she felt… it wasn’t anger. These were her sisters, her cousins, the women who raised her. It wasn’t that she wanted to hurt them. Or… to hurt anyone. 

But it was a need for something, as primal as water and food and air, and she hadn’t yet found a way to fill that need that didn’t end in blood and pain. She’d suffocate under its absence, or starvation would make her desperate.

Either way, she knew she’d never be without it again, whatever it was that festered within her.

Her sisters did not want her at their tables. They turned their backs as she approached, and some even hunched over their bowls as if they feared their meals snatched or poisoned by her hand. Knuckles grew white around their cutlery - for those that did not simply eat with their hands, which was most - in preparation of yet another fight.

So she turned, brought her meal away and prepared for another night spent alone. It was not the first, and she knew it would not be the last. There would be quite a many lonely nights in her future. 

As she scoured the halls for a place of relative peace, she passed a cluster of the warriors who trained her. Something within her spoke to keep quiet, to slip by undetected, and so she ducked low and crept through the shadows, allowing her smaller form to be hidden by the weathered walls and potted greenery around her. 

“I am worried we gave her the wrong name.”

“Adamantia?”

She froze in place when she heard her name. Something in her knew what came next would scorch her, scorn her, and she prayed her limbs would take her onward before she heard it. But she couldn’t move. 

“Yes.”

“Seems fitting enough. She has not yet been conquered in a fight. I’ve begun to wonder if she ever will. She takes to it quickly. She will be a great warrior.”

Her chest swelled with pride, and she allowed herself a hidden smile. It wasn’t quite like the skin-prickling electricity that came from the fight itself, like fruit in place of a candied treat, but it was close enough. 

Yet her pride withered in the moment that followed. 

“Or a great plague. You have seen her in her training. She simply does not know when to stop, and no lesson will teach her. The battles feed her- she revels in it. She walks away with no wounds. Her anger cleanses her when it should caution her. I worry…”

There came a great sigh. It sounded like a woman’s last breath. From her hidden post, she wondered how she knew that sound without ever having heard it. Perhaps the battle was in her blood, as they said. Perhaps it would never escape her. 

“I worry we have not raised an Amazon, but strife itself. I worry another god has descended to us, and if we allow her to rage unchecked… she will leave our home barren.”

What she first felt was protest, bubbling up from deep below. It covered what else should have been there, the fear and the heartbreak, and this was painful as much as it was a relief. It spared her the deeper thoughts, the prickle of tears or any other unpleasant responses, and yet it felt… wrong. It made her fingers twitch and her body thrum, itching for a fight she did not want. 

It wasn’t anger, she wanted to say. She loved her sisters. The blood on their faces, the betrayal in their eyes… that hurt her like it would anyone else. Her body may have reveled in the fight, healed her wounds and sprung her onwards, but her heart did not. 

She did not want to be a plague. She did not want to ruin her home.

“You want to pull her from training?”

“I think we must. She is strong enough as a child. If she learns what she is capable of, there will be nothing to stop her. If we don’t stop this now, there will be no restraint on Themyscira powerful enough to hold her.”

“But if the gods have indeed sent us…” The name could not seem to draw itself past her mentor’s lips. Even so, she knew what it would be. She had been taught the stories of the gods since the day she was made awake to this world. There came a second sigh, though this one the firm breath of a woman ready for battle. “They must have done so for a reason. Perhaps we have a great storm coming… perhaps her skills in battle are meant to be utilized. If we refuse to train her, and that storm comes to us, Themyscira will die anyway. You know none of our girls have been easy to raise. She is more of a challenge than most, but… it is awfully early to call her a plague.”

“Very well, Hippolyta. If you want so badly to train her, you train her yourself. But I would not have the others hurt for her lack of control. What she grows into is your responsibility.”

Footsteps arose and swept past her hiding spot, and she hunched low for fear of being spotted. Even once all the sounds had faded, she waited through moments of true silence until she was sure she was alone. Balancing her meal carefully between her hands, she crept out from the shadows…

And found herself face-to-face with her mentor.

“We will start tomorrow, Adamantia. On the limestone cliffs.”

She was far too stunned to respond, having greatly overestimated her capacity for stealth compared to her mentor. 

Hippolyta spoke to her in the same way she always had, with not a word towards the conversation that had just taken place. Only one thing betrayed her inner thoughts. 

That was the last time she’d been called by that name. 

From sunrise on, she was strife.

____

“Keep your body in line.” Eris instructed. It came out as more of a snap, but after the first week of training, Tyla had learned not to flinch. “You’re making too many unnecessary movements. Keep your arms in.”

“I’m a dancer. It’s how I balance.”

“Bully for you,” they drawled, “But now you’re a fighter. And fighters keep their arms in. Unless you’d like to pay discount rates on manicures from now on.”

Tyla rolled her eyes, but made a show of tightening up her posture. The past week had granted her bruises aplenty, deep purple against her brown skin. She’d complained ceaselessly over the first three days, before finally realizing those complaints fell on deaf ears. Even Rick refused to coddle her - he hadn’t gone quite as military as Eris had, or as much as they expected given his history with the Squad, but he’d still presented himself as a brick wall against her whining.

The girl was knocked off her feet time and time again. Each time, she got back up. Each time, she lasted a moment or two longer. Each time, her form grew better, and her motions more intentional, and her expression changed from irritation to dedication.

Eris had not yet felt that beast begin to stir. Perhaps his body had learned what made a real fight and what didn’t. Perhaps even his instincts did not see Tyla as a threat. Perhaps, over a thousand years after it had sparked to life, he’d finally learned the restraint his own mentors feared he’d never have. 

She’d still become what they’d feared. She’d left before she could ruin Themyscira, but she’d caused more than her share of destruction in this world all the same. If her home ever opened its doors to her again, she knew she’d only be met with the same guarded, fearful expressions that had sent her off.

But they’d learned restraint. At least on some level.

“Have you ever met Wonder Woman?” Tyla asked, the words difficult to make out past her labored breaths. Eris responded with a vicious sweep of her bo, intending to knock the wind out of her, but Tyla reacted quickly enough to block the strike. Better than the first few times. Eris would give her that much. It wasn’t enough to survive one of Waller’s desperate metahumans, but it was a start. 

“Fighters don’t chatter either.”

“You chatter.” That remark came not from Tyla but from Rick, who was watching from the sidelines with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked better today, a bit more color in his face and a bit more brightness in his eyes, and Eris wondered briefly whether that was the sunny day or the sparring session. If he’d given his regeneration to Rick, at least in some part, had he also given a piece of that spark? Was he stronger for watching the fight, even when Eris’ own sense told him it was hardly a fight at all?

“I have done this for a thousand years. I’ve earned my chatter.”

 Maybe it was the banter Rick drew today’s strength from, and not the sparring. If that was true, he hardly needed Eris’ spark for that. That was how he’d always been.

“But do you know her?” Tyla persisted, even as it earned her a fresh volley of blows. These she did not all succeed in blocking, but she at least remained on her feet.

“‘Do I know her?’ and ‘have I met her?’ are two very different questions.”

“You grew up together, right? She’s, like, your sister?”

“No. She came after. They did not let me near her when she was young, and by the time she grew old enough to begin her training, I had already left.” Eris obliged her with that much of a response, something of a reward for remaining on her feet this long, then gave Tyla a brisk shake of their head, “We’ve had sparse interactions since then. Enough chatter.”

Tyla worked up the bravado for a strike of her own; weak and easily parried, but at least better than remaining strictly on the defensive. She had potential, Eris thought. She’d never be the world’s strongest warrior by any means, but she might just keep herself alive. With the proper training, of course, and the proper tenacity.

“Who trained you?”

“A warrior named Hippolyta.”

“Was she your mother?”

“I have no mother.” Eris responded, but the words left something of a bitter taste in his mouth. He tried again. “She was my mentor. Among others. That’s the closest I had. My people are not born to mothers.”

“Then how were you born?”

“From the clay. My soul was imbued to me by the gods.” she said, vaguely aware that she was revealing too much but choosing not to stop herself now. If nothing else, she could name it a distraction, an attempt to waver Tyla’s focus. “Many are given the souls of the battered and mistreated, so that they could find the honor and strength they’d lost. I was given… something else.”

From the corner of their eye, they were aware that Rick’s posture had shifted. He’d leaned in, as if to catch the words, and his expression was curious in a way that Eris had only rarely seen. They shrugged it off. They’d assumed, from all his work with metahumans, that he’d heard the legends of how the Amazons were born. But maybe he hadn’t. Or maybe he was just surprised to hear the story from her own lips.

“What else?”

There was the line Eris would not cross. He’d already let the conversation go on too long. If Tyla truly wanted to know, she would guess it from his name.

Once again, Eris swept his student’s feet out from under her, and she hit the packed earth beneath her with a grunt. This time, the determination on her face had faded into pure exhaustion, and she did not move to stand back up.

“I’m done. I can’t do this.”

Eris tensed for barely a millisecond, finding a way to play this. For all Tyla’s whining, all her endless complaints and distractions, this was the first she’d outright thrown in the towel. That showed some level of tenacity, but it wasn’t enough. She still could hardly hold her own in even the simplest sparring match. 

Then their posture loosened. Eris dropped his own bo and listened to it clatter against the girl’s own fallen weapon, then extended a hand in offering.

“I’ll give you ten minutes.”

Tyla reached for her hand- and, with a flash of sudden silver, snatched it right back to her chest. 

The cut was clean and shallow, more symbolic than anything. A clean slash across the palm, an offering in blood. Eris flicked the blood off his blade, a slender dagger hardly as long as his pinky finger, and briskly returned it to its hiding place amidst his folds of clothing. Without bending down, he rolled his bo onto the opposite foot and kicked it up to his hands. 

“The only way you decide a fight is done is when you win it.” she hissed, brandishing her weapon, “You think your enemy will let you take a break? You think you can pick and choose your battles in this life?”

“You cut me.”

“Waller’s metahumans would do worse. Will do worse. They will not give you a break, they will not give you a truce, and they will not care that you’re a child. Waller has bombs in their heads, and they’re the kind of people who will always put their own lives before anyone else’s.” Eris snarled, “So you put your life first. You do not get to choose what life puts you through. Your only job on this Earth is to survive it. Do you understand?”

For the first time since the training began, that fire again rose in the back of Eris’ chest. She could sense Tyla’s hatred with her, her determination to succeed reborn in a new and crueler form, and steely sparks flashed across Eris’ skin in response to it. A part of them was wary, concerned that a true battle might grow unchecked, but this was a smaller part than he expected. 

It was Hippolyta’s voice that he spoke. That gave him strength - an inward strength, one he seldom found within himself.

“Do you understand?”

Tyla nodded. 

It wasn’t enough. 

“Your father asked me to train you because he wants you to survive.” Eris continued, “He asked the embodiment of conflict to teach your prissy ass to fight because the only thing he cares about is for you to survive. So you will survive. The only option you have is to survive. You do not get to quit a fight because you’re tired or you’re hurt or you want to take a break. The only fight that exists is a fight for survival, and that is a fight you do not quit. Do you understand?”

Tyla’s eyes dropped, her posture hunched around her bleeding hand. From the blurred edge of his vision, Eris saw Rick take a half-step closer. They held up a hand, and he froze. This was no lapse in control. This was a lesson that needed teaching. It was a lesson that couldn’t be taught without a little spilled blood. 

“I understand.” the girl finally mumbled, still refusing to meet Eris’ eyes. 

“We go again. We aren’t finished until the sun touches the ground, or I do.”

Tyla nodded once again. This time there was acceptance in the gesture, and the same glimmer of fiery drive simmering beneath the surface. That fire was what she needed, more than any techniques or weapons. The raw skills would allow her to hold her own, in time. The fire was what would turn the tides. 

Eris extended the same hand to her, a thin pale ribbon of a scar nearly hidden against the lines of his palm.

Tyla took a deep breath, apparently granting herself one more moment of rest. Eris decided to allow her that much. They’d consider it a small mercy, for the purposes of training. 

She twisted abruptly, raising a storm of dust and kicking at his knees so suddenly Eris felt something pop. He toppled, out of surprise more than pain, and Tyla was on her feet in the time it took him to reset his knee and return to his own. She had failed to retrieve her weapon, but her fists were raised high and her eyes were steely. 

It was a start.

[threepandas]

hi, please feel free to ignore this, however I have been reading your stories and they fill me with complete an utter joy.

but I do have an idea just percolating in my head.

I love, love, love the of an MC who KNOWS what their family is capable of, and so they set up someone else to take the fall. another for the rest of the family to obsesse over and slowly begin to cut ties and make themselves disappear.

and they make it work, it works well even. they got out they have a job and a life, everything that they've seen about their family indicates that they aren't interested in them, then thing start going missing in their home, things have shifted, have been moved out of place. the few friends that they have managed to make start to distance themselve from them. and then THEY show back up.

and honey they just wanted to see how you were doing? they insist.

but it's wrong, because where is your sacrifice? aren't they suppose to be the Beloved one? what happened?

then your back in your ancestral family home and there they sit. like a deity on their thone.

"There you are, Sweet One," they sigh cuping your face with a smile, "the familys not compete without you."

I could see it? But it's just a touch too Real™ for it to vibe with me? But! And this is important! That's just my taste. Wanted to share it cause it IS a good idea and others probably would enjoy it.

My way of doing such a set up would be a Survival At All Costs Reader. Like the coyote that chews its own leg off to escape. Cause hoooooohoholy shit, is she in a bad situation. And she KNOWS it.

So she's gotta GO.

It's literally not paranoid, if they ARE out to get you.

That cup not where she left it? Literally ANYTHING gone from her home? Grab her go bag and GO. Take her lockbox of funds, shove it in. Escape through the fucking sewers. Run and run and never stop running.

How the FUCK do they keep finding her? WHY do they keep finding her? Like smiling demons. Living up to humanity's legacy of persistence predators. To them? She's being SILLY. Having her youthful "go and be independent, find yourself" thing that all young adults do. But really... isn't this going a bit far? Some of these places aren't SAFE dear!

And you forgot to TELL us that you moved!

So forgetful~

Just? Think a pack of wolves hunting a gazelle. The horror that "nowhere is safe". Not even the ends of the earth. Can you kill them? Your own family? It's the only way to truely escape. You're outnumbered. They "love you" and it feels like burning slowly. Aren't you TIRED? Don't you want to STOP? Go home?

You could rest.

This all could end.

Just let them love you.

They're Family.

[amethystina]

If you had to put Yohan and Gaon in a parallel universe, what would it be? Bcs I've been thinking about how would they be in a zombie apocalypse scenario (it's definitely very angst)

I can think of several and my brain tends to let the ideas percolate at the back of my mind whether I want them to or not x'D So, at random, it'll present me with fully formed stories complete with a complex plot and everything that's been slowly pieced together while I wasn't looking.

Admittedly, I haven't thought of a Zombie AU, though, probably because I don't like the doom and gloom of it (she says while having written a 100k Zombie AU for another fandom where one of the main characters is a literal zombie x'D ).

ANYWAY. Here are some ideas that have been living in my brain rent-free for a while:

Soulmate AU:

While everybody believes in soulmates, not everyone is lucky enough to dream of their fated other half. Yo Han does, however. They start during his teenage years, as is customary, and he can't say he's surprised when it's Isaac's familiar face he sees. He's quite relieved, in all honesty, since he'd much rather have a platonic soulmate than a romantic one. It's less messy that way.

Fate proves him wrong the day Isaac dies in that godforsaken fire and Yo Han devotes the rest of his life to avenging his soulmate's death. That seems to be the only way to fill the void inside of him.

But then, just as Yo Han is getting ready to set his ten-year plan in motion, everything gets thrown on its head.

He meets Kim Ga On.

Suddenly, Yo Han isn't sure who he's seeing in his dreams. Is it Isaac or this young, idealistic judge — who Yo Han soon realises has been sent to spy on him? And, even if it is Kim Ga On he's dreaming about, does that truly change anything? Everything has already been set in motion and, soulmate or not, Yo Han wants revenge for what happened to his brother.

And what's to say that Kim Ga On — so brilliant and righteous — would even want Yo Han as his soulmate? His despise for Yo Han is evident so, clearly, fate must have made a mistake this time.

Someone that pure could never love a monster like him.

(Ga On dreams, too, and they're always the same. He never sees his soulmate's face, only roaring flames and a crumbling building. Ga On assumes that means his soulmate is dead. Why else would he find himself trapped inside that burning inferno every time he dreams? Surely he would have seen something else by then if the person was still alive?

Not once does it cross his mind that, maybe, his soulmate just needs to find a reason to start living again...)

___

Black Knight AU:

Joining a group of rebel refugees wasn't so much a choice for Ga On as a necessity. He hates to see the suffering around him, people dying from lack of oxygen and food, their numbers dwindling by the day.

Ga On wants a better future for all of them and he'll fight tooth and nail to get it — even if that means tearing down the old world order and demanding a new one.

Fortunately for the rebels, they have someone on the inside helping them. Ga On has never met this person — known only as the Benefactor — but it's clear that he must be from the core district. Only someone at the very top would have the kind of power and influence that the Benefactor does, providing the rebels with information and supplies through the network of deliverymen and military personnel at his disposal. Ga On doesn't know why someone at the core district would want to bring down the very system that keeps him rich, but Ga On will take whatever help he can get.

And then — as if Ga On doesn't already have enough to deal with — things get complicated the day the rebels intercept what they think is a supply delivery but turns out to be a travel convoy. And the man at its centre is clearly from the core district judging by his pristine suit and flawless appearance. Usually, that would make him a valuable hostage, but there's something different about this man.

Not only does he not seem the least bit afraid to find himself in the midst of a group of armed refugee rebels, but he also fixates on Ga On in a way that's downright unsettling. Ga On doesn't understand why.

Nor does he understand why he keeps feeling an inexplicable and wholly inappropriate pull towards the man. Ga On knows absolutely nothing about him aside from the fact that he's clearly very rich, unnervingly intelligent and, as it soon turns out, incredibly dangerous. How can Ga On be attracted to someone so ruthless and selfish?

The only core district dweller Ga On feels even the slightest bit of respect for is the Benefactor and this Kang Yo Han is the polar opposite. Ga On shouldn't feel drawn to him.

And yet, against better knowledge, he does.

And it feels more like a question of when he'll succumb, rather than if.

(This story has everything! Rebels! Eating of the rich! Delicious identity porn! Explosions! Elijah calling Ga On literal trash that Yo Han dragged in from the gutter!

... it would probably also be pretty long so let's hope I don't succumb to the urge to write it)

___

Historical Vampire AU:

After Ga On's parents die, he fully expects to end up on the streets and starve to death. Fortunately for him, a local scholar takes him on as an apprentice instead, teaching him how to read and write.

He feels incredibly indebted to Scholar Min and so, many years later, when Ga On is asked to accept a position as assistant to a rich but mysterious lord just outside the city, he of course does so. The position is a mere cover, however. In actuality, Ga On will be spying on Kang Yo Han in hopes of finding out if he's secretly supporting the uprising that's brewing in their region.

More than once, Scholar Min tells Ga On that he must be careful — that the mission is incredibly dangerous. But it's not until he actually arrives at Lord Kang's estate that Ga On understands why Scholar Min kept repeating all those dire warnings.

Not only is Kang Yo Han aloof and deeply unsettling — his gaze filled with something that could only be described as hunger whenever he looks at Ga On — but he doesn't seem to eat, rarely sleeps, and never ventures outside during the day. Only once darkness falls does he leave the estate and, sometimes, he doesn't return until just before dawn.

Before long, Ga On begins to wonder if Kang Yo Han isn't just involved in the uprising, but might also be the cause for the dead bodies that have been found strewn around the city the past couple of months.

And, somehow, Ga On has to find proof to support his theory — preferably without becoming a target himself.

(A.k.a. if you thought Ga On's neck kink in Who Holds the Devil was bad? Think again, bitches)

___

Aside from these, there are also the two parallel universe stories I have already started: Gravitational Pull which is basically meant to be a series of one-shots that divert from the original canon by changing one small detail in each installment. And then The Devil's Due which is a Different First Meeting AU where they meet when Ga On is still a teenager and that throws everything out of order (because Yo Han accidentally kickstarts Ga On's gay awakening a lot sooner than usual and, after that, all bets are off)

So yeah. I could probably think of several more but let's stop here for now xD

(And don't ask me why I chose to write these ideas as if they're fanfic summaries because they definitely aren't fanfics yet)

[cheshire-castle-library]

Joining Snippet Sunday!

Everyone thank @tracle0 for the brilliant idea! (And reblog their post while you're at it!!)

But it was also that 72 hours that made ignoring things I didn't want to deal with sound like a normal idea, instead of questioning whether the station was about to cave in, or - more relevantly - if I had company.

I turned down the last corridor to the "surface access lift".  Caught something in the corner of my eye, glanced half-heartedly and shrugged.  More rattling, but really what didn't in Earth Central.  The "up" button was already lit on the lift panel, which was less the gravlift it should have been, and more so an elevator system some extremely driven agents managed to "procure" the night before a local hotel demolition, sometime in the 80's.  My head slowly started questioning, through the murk of exhaustion, as the elevator made its sharp, echoing 'ding'.  The sound set my sluggish nervous system on fire, hair on end, banishing any thoughts that tried to form as the florescent light poured out of the elevator into the dark hallway, illuminating me and the flood of dust and lint in the air as I stood somewhat dumbly before it.  The dawning anxiety you get when you realize you're dreaming washed over me as I squinted into the light.  Slow thoughts percolating poorly through exhausted synapses and pseudo-cells, as I tried to either decide I'd already passed out and was dreaming, or if what I'd seen was real.

The elevator door shut without anything leaving the car, my eyes still locked on where the 4-or-so foot tall figure stood behind the door.  Was it even a figure?  A street sign?  A diamond-shaped head on a stick-like body with a single eye seated off-center of the face that managed to blink at me once before the door shut between us.

Another moment passed with me squinting at the elevator door.  "Autex, proximity bio scan."  My voice echoed back to me metallically off the deck plating of the dark, empty hallway.

["Attention: Insufficient Host Intracellular Energy."]

"Shit."

The interface voice of the Autex slurred in my head as it read off a litany of diagnostics and repairs it was initiating on my body, as my consciousness fell out of my grasps, and my body fell to the ground.  Half-thought questions about the blinking street sign, the Autex, and my impending concussion floated lazily in the dimming murk between my eyes.

"Belvedere Thurston, you are Summoned by the Triumvirate of Founders," a voice like tar and leather echoed in the hallways, and the last thing I saw, squinting through fading vision, was a "Road Work Ahead" sign with a mustache and one, off-center, eye leaning over me.

[legendary-pink-dot]

WIP Wednesday

Look at me, finally posting something! 🙌

Here's a snippet of a WIP that's been percolating for longer than usual because I haven't been in any sort of proper writing headspace for awhile. It'll come back eventually. 🤷‍♀️

Featuring Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia x female reader, with Frankie directing the action. In this snippet they're just warming up to each other, there's no hardcore action yet.

This snippet is dedicated to my brain twin and Partner in Frankie/Santi Delusions @for-a-longlongtime . Much love to you 💜

Last weekend in this room, Frankie had been reserved; not shy, but respectful. Waiting for you and Santi to tell him, show him, help him figure out how he should fit between you.

Not this time. Frankie pauses in the doorway, folds his arms, and fixes you both with his firmest stare.

“Get on the bed. Take each other’s clothes off. All of ‘em and go slow so I can watch.” That’s the crisp, gruff Francisco Morales poetry you love to hear. You can't help but grab Santi’s hand and squeeze it excitedly, biting your lip to keep in a squeal. Santi says nothing, but you can feel his body heat radiating out in waves beside you, his anticipation clearly building too.

Frankie watches in something bordering amusement as you and Santiago follow his orders and start to put on a coy couple’s strip show for him.

You slide behind Santi, grasp the hem of his shirt, and make eye contact with Frankie as you pull Santi's T-shirt up and off, but Frankie's eyes leave yours within a heartbeat to take in Santi's naked chest. A sight he's seen hundreds of times during their years as friends and comrades without any meaning attached to it, but you know that tonight, it's different: it's on display purely for Frankie's enjoyment, and you can tell it's having an effect on him, his fingers twitching like they ache to stretch out and touch.

You grab Santi's earlobe between your teeth as you snake a hand up his chest and capture a nipple between the web of your fingers, sliding and clutching around the nub, rustling against the hairs on his chest, his moans vibrating all the way up from his throat and into your teeth on his ear.

"Mmmm. He likes that," you whisper, locking eyes with Frankie. It's a hint, an order, a helpful tip. You can see the gears moving in Frankie's head as he files away this useful information.

"Yeah. Nice. Okay." He shifts in the doorway, not giving anything away yet, but you can see his cock is already fully hard and straining against the zipper of his jeans. "Keep going. I said everything off."

"Yes sir." Santi finally speaks and it's got a sarcastic edge, but he obeys all the same. He slowly unzips his jeans and rises to his knees, letting you slide your hands down and up those thighs you love so much, the right quad the most perfectly raised ridge of muscle to ride your clit against. In fact, you'd done just that a few hours before he asked if you wanted to invite Frankie over tonight.

[missamyrisa2]

I hope you're having a lovely day! I'm usually the one doing the writing for others, so I'm excited to give someone a prompt of my own. 😊

I am a curvy switch, and I'd love a scenario of revenge tickles between the two of us. I don't mind who goes first, but I'd like it to be focused on breasts and armpits if you don't mind.

Thank you for all your amazing words!

Sooo first of all, I am sorry this one has been ~percolating~ for a little while. I'm a fan of yours so you'll have to excuse how long it took for my giddiness to settle~<3 Thank you sooo much for your kind words and I hope you enjoy~<3

I've left you a card by the door ~ on opening it, a tiny fluffy feather falls out. Coochie cooo I'm coming for youuu is in elegant looping romantic letters, with a little sketch of a feather parade, all marching to a diagram of your underarms~ You'll try to prepare for it, try to trick your body into thinking it has some sort of resistance. Ooh, your arms will stay clamped down as much as they can thinking that chamber of secrets is firmly sealed. But then the texts start. Little buzzies appearing on your phone. Does it tickle more if someone laughs with you? Asking for a friend. The feather emojis buzz in and interrupt your afternoon. Fun fact: you're ticklish. I smirk from across the room, and let you watch as I take a snap of my wiggling fingers ~ and send it to you.

You expect me to sneak up, expect maybe an attack from the front. Instead I try a new game. "Come on, tickle me. You know you wanna. Look, my belly is all exposed right now. I have a croooop top onnn!" I gesture to my long sleeved purple top with a generous crop over my tummy. I strike a sassy pose with a leg out, totally exposed coming out my tiny shorts. "Look at this knee~ you can squeeze it. It's highly squeezable. Or maybe you're a hips girl today~ I think oooh, yes, look at those hips just peeking out of my beltline!" I throw my arms up behind my head and slyly look down to each side. "Tickle check on two underarms?" You know it's bait, you know exactly what I'm doing. But you can't help yourself. Those fingers are twitching, itchy, poised to push back to the taunts. I grin and nod at you, snickering through a completely terrible impression. "Go ahead, I am defenseless. Strike me down with all your tickles, and your journey to the feathery side will be complete!"

Oooh but bait it is, because while your fingers score a few giggles on my exposed underarms, I am totally warmed up and ready to dance. We wiggle in each others' armpits for a moment, exchanging tickles and giggles mutually, but very quickly the tide starts to turn. I came to win it ~ My secret weapon fires, I lean in and start kissing at your neck as my fingers massage your underarms earnestly. We're starting to tumble ~ the fall will determine the winner and I may have completely planned it all ~ I'm on top now, smiling down pinning your arms up as my legs scoot forward to assist. "Looks like you lost again~" The punishment for your fall is swift and endless ~ my fingers take their time, tracing the outward rims of your armpits, exploring slowly inward, digging for the best giggle zones. I taunt you with my hair, leaning in to let that curtain of silky softness caress your blushing neck and face. "Tickle tickle sweet Lady ~ oooh you're such a tough tough cookie huh? I bet you can just push me off and escape these tickles can't ya? No? Oooh so closee ~ sooo close ~ but nooope~"

Once I have your arms nice and uselessly weak, I scoot back and start stripping away your top. "Now, now, don't try to fight it. If you would juuust cooperate with me~ ahh, there we are~" I toss your upper garment over my shoulder, pin you back down and survey the tickly giggly twitchy lands. "Mmmmhm. Just as I thought. Tickle spots." I trace upwards, testing your sides and each rib with little wigglies. Reaching to one side for conveniently placed feathers, I start testing your sideboobs, fanning them with the broad side of each quill. "Riiight along here too. Tickle? Tickle tickle tickle? Don't try to fight it. That's just gonna make it worse~"

I feather your bouncy chest, working on the sides and tracing in and downwards to explore all the delightful curves. "Mmmhm. Ticklish sideboobs. And ooh, ticklish underboobs too~" The quills work upwards and start encircling your areolas. "And ticklish...I guess this is just boob huh?" The tips trace the nippular areas carefully, my tongue poked out in concentration as I study every reaction. "Boobie boobie boobie~ are you my ticklish boobie girl? Mmm? Yeahhh. Just shake me off already. Look! My tummy is so twitchy ~ and my buttons are so easy to get." I lean in and dart my tongue along your chest, lightly swirling it in circles over each soft mound. "But oooh, you seem to be occupied at the moment huh?"

As my lips brush on each swelling cookie my thumbs glide upwards, tracing from sideboob to underarms and start rubbing earnestly. I don't even have you pinned now, just keeping you pressed down with tickles and teases alone~ I occasionally switch, moving up to kiss from breast to ribs to underarms, nuzzling and loving on your armpits while my fingers rapidly stroke the nipples ~ and then kiss back along your collar down to lightly lightly graze my lips on each button while my fingers walk upwards and dance in those sensitive crevices again ~ before they all join together so your sideboobs can be vigorously tickled with index fingers while the bouncing nipples are followed by tickly kisses~ "Coochie coochie coooo~" I taunt through all your growing giggles~

And so the dance goes until I have you completely melted. Which means it's time to bring you back from the fuzzies with a little vibratory stimulation ~ the bullet massager clicks on and I smirk wickedly, grasping a breast with one hand and taking the buzzing toy down to go visit allll those hot spots I discovered. "Buzzy buzzy booooo my boooobie girl~" Each breast gets a thorough treatment, that vibey tool going along every bit of skin before taking a little vacay up to the tickly caves, encircling around the armpit and diving into the middle while I kiss and kiss and licky licky on your taunted nipply~

"Awwwe did it tickle just so bad? Sooo good? Yeahh?" I taunt, sitting over your belly, hands on my hips. "I'll make it sporting for you now, I'll only use this one ~ tiny ~ solitary ~ finger~ and we'll see if you can get away~ or maybe you won't want to~" My index finger wiggles slowly, and descends on a path to your nipple ~ there it circles and wriggles and strokes under my snickers and grins ~ and we'll just see how you do~~<3

[cali-forlorn-yeah]

Christmas Eve

{My original work, hastily typed just now. My original MC with 7th year HL characters and locations. Happy Christmas Eve!}

“Ominis!”

It was late September. The metal gate of the Undercroft rattled and squeaked its way open ahead of the voice that boomed through the corridor leading to it. Inside the space he usually thought of as as his sanctuary, Ominis was working on homework. The booming voice in question, the one damaging the calm Ominis had been enjoying, belonged to his best friend Sebastian.

Ominis grimaced and looked toward the doorway, waiting for whatever crazy idea was about to be expressed with conviction. “Yes, Sebastian,” he called, confirming his presence.

Entering the spacious room, Sebastian smiled broadly, seeing his friend. “Ominis… good. I was hoping to find you.” Sebastian unceremoniously climbed onto the over-stuffed sofa, sitting on the arm rest at the opposite end from Ominis. “Is there anyone else here?”

Ominis slowly shook his head. “Just us and the mice.”

“I need your help,” Sebastian admitted with a growing smile.

“Usually,” Ominis replied in his dry humor.

“I want to get Maggie a Christmas present,” Sebastian said, ignoring Ominis’ quip.

“You’re a little early,” Ominis observed.

“I know. I want to get her something really good. I need ideas.”

“Well, you could get her something she enjoys,” Ominis started, leaning back some on the sofa. “She really likes the swan feather quills. You could get one etched with silver. It would be elegant and unique. She would know you put some thought into it.”

“Eh, I got her a set of new nibs back on her birthday.”

“What did you get her last year?” Ominis asks, thinking.

“Quills.”

“And the year before?”

Sebastian grimaced almost painfully. “I… kind of… called her ignorant.”

Ominis turned his sightless eyes to his friend, an incredulous expression obvious on his face. “You are an idiot.”

Sebastian’s grimace deepened. “We were both going through so much, and all the stress, and I was frustrated, and… .” He hung his head in shame. “I was an idiot. But that’s why this year, I want to really wow her. She means a lot to me, and I want her to know how much I care about her. Om… I need your help.” Sebastian melted into a seat on the sofa where his feet had just been.

“You could put together a basket of her favourite indulgences, like sweets from Honeydukes and teas from Steepley & Sons.”

A hum percolated through Sebastian’s throat.

“What about a special item from Gladrags? Something that compliments her eyes, or will keep her warm through the winter? Or maybe it could be something that you both enjoy or have in common.”

“Something about both of us? That’s brilliant.” Sebastian abruptly stood. “I know just what... Thanks Om. I got to go talk to Sirona about earning some money.”

Every weekend after that, Sebastian had to either work a little earlier or a little later at the Three Broomsticks. Sometimes it interrupted the spontaneity that Maggie attempted with him. She would suggest going for a flight on Caligo and Highwing, or swimming in the hot spring they’d found on one of their adventures, or visiting the wild thestral den. But every weekend, he had something that cut their adventures short or out entirely.

Maggie tried to be understanding. Sebastian didn’t give her much to be understanding about, though. He only told her that Sirona had him doing extra work.

Sebastian didn’t enjoy keeping information from Maggie. He wasn’t lying or being deceptive. But, how else does one go about trying to plan a surprise if the recipient knew anything about it? He tried to diffuse Maggie’s disappointment, though, promising scheduled adventures around the extra work.

As the weeks rolled on, Maggie suggested adventures less and less. It felt more like Sebastian was too busy, and maybe he was only humoring her and didn’t really want to spend so much time together, anymore… .

The week before Christmas, Maggie and Ominis hung out in the music room. Sebastian was off working, and the weather was a little too bleak for doing anything outside. Ominis played the piano, no particular tune, just whatever came to mind. He started to play a Christmas tune, but abruptly stopped when he heard a distinct sound a few feet away.

“Magdalena, are you alright?” he asked gently.  “You sound… like you’re crying.”

Maggie sniffled, approaching her friend and sat next to him on the piano bench. “I wrote a song, and I wanted to perform it for Sebastian for Christmas.”

“Well, that’s wonderful,” Ominis replied happily.

“I don’t think I’ll get to do it, though.”

“Why not?”

“He’s too busy. He doesn’t even hang out with you, Ominis. It’s like he’s trying to avoid us.”

Ominis frowns. “I spend far too much time with him whether I want to or not. We share a dorm room. We always have. He’s in almost all of my classes, and he insists on conferring with me on our notes the night before we have tests.” He takes a breath, sensing the weight of Maggie’s words. “It’s just temporary,” Ominis offers gently. “You’ll see. He’ll be back to annoying you at every turn before you know it.”

Maggie tried to stay patient, but when the last day of classes ends and she sought Sebastian out to suggest doing something fun before Christmas, he’s nowhere to be found. Frustrated, she sent him an owl.

“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I thought maybe we could spend it together, since we’ll both be staying at school. Ice skating, sledding, snowball fights, hot cocoa? I miss you.”

Maggie was pleasantly surprised when she received Sebastian’s signature origami paper owl, charmed to fly until it landed in her hand. Inside was his reply: “Love to! Meet me at 3B’s in the morning. … PS: Miss you, too.”

The next morning, Maggie dressed warmly and headed to Hogsmeade. The town was beautiful, festive, and waking with excitement on Christmas Eve. Shop owners and townsfolk greeted everyone cheerfully. It put Maggie in such a festive mood by the time she reached the Three Broomsticks. Before she reached the door, though, Sebastian came out, carrying an old wooden box. He smiled widely, seeing Maggie approach, and gave her a one-armed hug.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Sebastian,” she greeted.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Mags,” he returned.

“What have you got?” she asked about the box.

Sebastian grimaced. “A very important delivery.”

“What? I thought you would be done working.”

Sebastian looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. It’s the last one. It’s really important.”

“Where do you need to deliver it to?” Maggie asked.

“A little town south of here, about an hour away.”

“Really? Sirona’s got you running all over the highlands on Christmas Eve, now?” She started to step past Sebastian, to go give Sirona a piece of her mind. But Sebastian stopped her.

“Nah, it’s for an old guy that needed a favor. I just couldn’t say no to him. Go with me, we can still spend the time together. I’ll fly us there so it won’t take that long.”

Reluctantly, Maggie agreed. Holding on tightly behind him, they fly off on Sebastian’s broom.

Maggie is so glad that Sebastian is always so warm. Even with her layers, she thought she might freeze if not for his warmth. “It’s really beautiful from up here,” she mused, though, watching the snow-covered countryside roll along beneath them.

Sebastian smiled. He pulled her a little closer, tucking her arms under his and her hands into his coat pocket. “Certainly not something you could see any old day of the year,” he agrees. “Oh, uh… I forgot to mention that the town we’re heading to is a muggle town, so we have to land and walk to the destination. But I have the address, and it’s supposed to be easy to find.”

After awhile of flying, that’s exactly what they did. Maggie’s eyes were bright as stars and her cheeks as red as cherries when they landed. “I haven’t been among only muggles since before I started at school,” she confessed to him. “Look at how prettily they’ve decorated their town!”

Sebastian held her close as they walk along, trying to keep her warm enough in one arm while he carried the wooden box in the other. He smiled down at Maggie as she delightedly pointed out mundanities in shop windows and along the main street. The far end of town was less shiny, with older buildings and less-to-no decorations in the streets.

“Are we still going the right way?” Maggie asked curiously. Despite Sebastian’s attempt to keep her warm, she’s cold. She can’t wait to head back to Hogsmeade and have something warm.

“This is the street,” Sebastian confirmed.

A few more blocks down, though, he stopped walking, looking at the numbers on the buildings with a very perplexed expression on his face.

“Holy crickets, are we lost?” Maggie asked. She’s not sure whether to laugh or cry.

A very plain-looking brick building lined the next block on one side. There was a plain white wooden door that looked like a main entrance, and a boy’s face watched them from a window near the door. Sebastian waved to the boy and pointed to the box. “Looking for Mary Graham’s house,” he said. “I’ve a delivery.”

The boy rolled his eyes and disappeared from the window.

“What’s the address?” Maggie asked quietly. “Maybe this Mary Graham is a tenant.”

Sebastian removed a crumpled paper from his pocket. The address matched their location, and it simply said ‘Mary Grahams house’.

The white wooden door slowly opened and the boy peaked out. “Mary Grahams, here,” he said. “Come in. I’ll show ya.” The boy turned into the dark depths of the building and Sebastian smiled at Maggie.

“Do me a favor, and just go along with me on this.” Wordless and wandless, he changed the look of their outfits by the time they stepped into the light inside.

Maggie shot him a look. Under their coats, they both now had red & green Christmas elf outfits on. Additionally, the wooden box Sebastian had been carrying transformed into a large and bulging velvet sack.

“You don’t look anything like a Santa Claus,” the boy that opened the door said dryly.

“You don’t look anything like Mary Grahams,” Sebastian retorted.

The boy stared for just a second, then turned toward a side room where the din of many young voices was buzzing.

Maggie grabbed Sebastian’s arm before he started to follow the boy into the side room. A strange feeling tickled along her spine. “What is this? What are you doing?”

Sebastian’s smile was a mix of excitement and nerves. “A favor.”

“Welcome to Mary Grahams House,” a middle-aged woman greeted, smiling widely. “We were sad to hear that Father Christmas had to take one of the reindeer to the vet,” she said with a subtle backward nod of her head. “But we are so grateful to have two of his helpers come visit the children, anyway. This way. The children are all in the great room.”

Maggie’s hands were shaking. She forced Sebastian to look at her. Her voice choked in her throat. She could barely whisper the words. “An orphanage, Seb?”

The look on his face was… indescribable. “It’s Christmas Eve, Mags. We both know what this is like without parents. Let’s just make some innocent magic for these kids.”

She was about to cry when the woman announced their arrival to the children, and the room before them erupted with cheers. Sebastian pulled her along into the room and they both were greeted with little voices wishing them Happy Christmas.

The afternoon kept them busy entertaining the children. They decorated cookies, told stories, and handed out presents. Maggie was surprised at how excited each child was to receive a gift. Before she knew it, it was time for them to go.

The boy that led them into the building now led them out. He stopped in the doorway, hanging on the knob. He looked at both Maggie and Sebastian. “You both did better than the old guy they had last year. He never had good gifts for the kids. Guess you got your community service sticker for this, huh?”

“You know, Robby,” Sebastian said with a frown. “We still have a gift for you.”

“How’d you know my name?” the boy asked.

Sebastian half turned to Maggie with a wink. “We’re magic elves.”

Maggie smiled at them both. But then she watched as Sebastian reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his charmed paper origami owls. He blew on it, and it took flight, circling the boy’s head.

“Catch it quick,” Sebastian whispered excitedly.

Not believing his eyes, Robby jumped up and caught the paper bird between his hands. When he looked back, Sebastian and Maggie had disappeared.

Concealed under the Disillusionment Charm just a few feet away, the two teens watched the boy’s eyes widen, and then his mouth, and then he opened his hands to find not the origami owl but a pocket-sized RC race car. The boy was stunned. But he took a deep breath and yelled into the chilling evening air “Thank you!” and rushed inside.

Maggie said nothing. She was cold. She was tired. She was overwhelmed. She silently clung to Sebastian the whole ride back to Hogwarts. They took the school’s floo flame network to the DADA tower and then made their way down the Undercroft.

Sebastian had hoped Maggie would have said something. He was cold and tired and overwhelmed, too. But it felt so good to give the kids some fun for a couple of hours, even if it somehow bothered Maggie. He didn’t know why she was quiet, but he hoped it wan’t because he’d been an idiot, again.

There was a decorated tree with wrapped presents under it in the Undercroft, and Ominis’ piano off to one side. The table they frequently studied at had lit candles and dishes ready for a meal. But Sebastian walked past all that as if it wasn’t there. He built a wonderful fire in the hearth and made them some hot cocoa while Maggie sat on the over-stuffed sofa to warm up.

“That was amazing, Sebastian,” Maggie finally spoke. “I wanted to tell you that before, but every time I started to, I ... I started to cry.” Her voice cracked and she sniffled.

Sebastian sat next to her on the sofa and gently reached up to brush his thumb across her cheek. He smiled softly. “I wanted to give you something really special,” he said lowly.  “Ominis suggested something that would be special to us both. The first thing that crossed my mind was how we’re both orphans. Then I got to thinking about all that, and… well….”

She stopped his words with a kiss. Above them, a soft tiny bell twinkled as mistletoe magically appeared. Maggie laughed softly, followed by Sebastian.

“Happy Christmas Eve, Mags.”

“Happy Christmas Eve, Sebastian.”

[maeday1551]

Fic snippet

Already posted on twitter but sharing here too as motivation for me to finish it. The haladriel brainrot is real. I am resorting to writing to work on my emotions about it all. :D

This is a snippet from a Five Things fic I have had percolating in my brain for years now. Five Times They Met at the Door and One Time They Didn't. This is from a middle chapter.

+ + + + +

"How goes the quest for peace?"

For a moment, he could mistake it for the echo of a memory but the sound was oddly distorted— heard as if he were underwater and the speaker just above the surface. The voice mocked him, even more than it had when she'd first spoken the words.

"Galadriel."

He could not help the smirk that lifted his expression. He could not hold back his enjoyment of her, even in this low moment.

He could sense her at the periphery of his vision, disappearing if he looked too close. He let his vision unfocus and could then pick out the shape of her. Dainty steps, her elegance effortless, as she slowly set about circling him for once. Her figure was clothed in a plain white dress, her hair bound, plaited in a crown around her head. The Commander, going into battle. He could not see her face and it chaffed.

She spoke no more but he knew she was still there, waiting. She came no closer, but he could feel the edges of her pressing against his mind. A strange sensation, for once, normally she was pulling from his grasp. He had missed her.

"Did you find yourself reminiscing over your better days?" He asked, gesturing at the Numenorean jail cell. It could have been the same cell she had been led to, all those years ago, but some things had changed. Torn down, the statues of his brethren. Torn down, simple comforts extended even to prisoners. There would be no mercy given here, the walls said. Only retribution and the taste of despair.

She still did not speak. He let his thoughts rake against her mind, brought close to his by her own will. It felt like touching a reflection in the water, his expectation diverted. She had gotten better at this, it seemed. Who had taught her, he wondered?

"I will tell them to keep a cell ready for you. They are so easily agitated, you know. Fearful of all, but especially of their betters. The Valar. The elves. Who knows where their ships may sail, in their quest to test their own mettle."

Again, her voice echoed to him, the sound of distant waves crashing and her tones tumbling as if flung from a tempest. "Are you threatening me from a jail cell, Sauron?"

He couldn't help it, perhaps he was tired. He flinched at the name and knew she could see it. Perhaps he'd let his guard down too far, especially around her. She had a way of making him desire that. The moniker was vexing at the best of times but worse somehow for the way she spit out the word. He could feel her satisfaction at seeing his distaste but he was starting to see her more clearly now. He did not turn his face towards her, lest she pull away again.

He willed his voice to be even. Mild. "I have never threatened you."

"Lies." She hissed, and at last she was in front of him, her voice clear of the sea and her eyes ablaze and piercing him to his depths. For a moment, she resembled the drowned maiden, highlighted by lightning and hair drenched and tussled by wind and sea—but after a moment her figure resolved back to only Galadriel, angry and scowling at him. The only thing missing was a dagger.

He merely smiled at her.

"There you are."

+ + + + +

[blackjackkent]

I may be away camping right now but the BG3 feels do not stop. Quick drabble-y fic-y thing that mostly percolated during the long drive out here. :D Set immediately after the fight in Grymforge in my current (first) playthrough.

----

"C'mon, Soldier. Wake up," Karlach says gently. Her hands fall to her side as the Revivify scroll, its incantation spent, drifts to dust in the stinking, boiling air of Grymforge. "We're not done yet. You've got to come back."

Hector's battered body lies unmoving on the blood-spattered stone floor. A little ways away, Shadowheart crouches next to Gale's equally still form, struggling to work her way through the words of another scroll as the necrotic aura of his death swirls around her. 

"I can feel them," the dark cleric gasps out as she completes the spell and staggers backwards out of the choking cloud. "The absence of them, I mean."

Karlach nods absently. "Yeah. Me too." 

Normally, she is only vaguely aware of the strange bond the tadpoles have forged between the minds of their little group. But it's always there, and there is a ragged hole in the tapestry of their mixed thoughts where the monk and the wizard have been ripped from it. Gale's ever-meandering, ever-preoccupied ramble of ponderings and observations is silent. And even more distinctly, the sturdy pillar of Hector's determination and fear, intertwined in equal measure, has vanished. 

It's surprising, unsettling, how empty she feels without it. Hector stood between her and Wyll's blade; he saw the good in her at once and spoke up for it. He is always afraid but he masters it and fights forward anyway. He is the common thread holding them all together, determined to draw them to do right even through all the misery and confusion. 

She watches the pale gold of the Revivify spell slowly drifting over his body, working its way across burned and broken skin. "Wake up, Hec," she mutters again. "Don't make us do this without you."

For a long, strained moment, it seems as if the spell has halted, has failed - and then Hector's body convulses around a ragged breath inward. His gray eyes flicker halfway open, squinting up at Karlach in blank confusion. 

She feels herself relax, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and a grin flashes onto her face, bright with relief. "There he is. Morning, Soldier."

Most of the time, deaths in Zariel's army were left where they fell. As the general's pet, however, Karlach has been subject to a few revivifications; she knows what he is going through. 

To be revived is a process almost as traumatic as the death that preceded it. It is like being wrapped in a thick blanket, buried in the deepest, most soothing slumber… and then having it ripped away, the hammer blow of reality striking into your chest and demanding, breathe! And with the breath comes pain, and fear, and everything you were feeling when you died multiplied by tenfold, along with the creeping bitter sense of mortality like some beast's teeth wrapped around your throat. 

Death, in truth, is much simpler than life. Death is silence and peace. Life… is everything else. Perhaps she does him no favors in reviving him. 

Perhaps she does it more for herself. 

She can see him flinch away for a moment, a panicked roll of the head, staring blindly around and seeking instinctively to struggle back into the darkness. But the spell is implacable. There is no going back, not yet. 

"You're all right," she said softly. "Take a moment." 

She wishes she could help him, take one of his hands or touch his shoulder, ground him back in himself. But the engine in her chest is burning hot as all the hells, mixing with the humid oven of the air around them. To touch him in his current state might very well kill him again. 

So she just watches as he struggles back to consciousness. Slowly the panic fades, replaced by numb recognition, then miserable exhaustion. His eyes find hers and stay fixed there for a long moment. 

Then he draws another breath, steadier this time. Seeing her smile, he struggles to muster one in response, but it looks more like a grimace as it twists the burn along his cheek, the rip in the skin of his jaw. 

"You must feel right at home here," he groans out hoarsely. "So… bloody hot."

"Too at home, really," she answers dryly. "Sooner we're out of here, the better, if you ask me."

The breath catches in his throat in a hacking cough. "Did we… did we do it? Is it over?" 

"It's over." She nods. "Nere is dead. All the dwarves too. The gnomes are safe." Her grin twitches, a flash of the gallows humor of the battlefield. "Thought we lost you and Gale too for a moment, but all's well, as they say, yeah?" 

She's trying to elicit another attempt at a smile, to help bring him back and push the dead haunted look out of his eyes. Instead, she realizes that he has started to tremble violently, his eyes squeezing shut and head turning away from her. His breath starts to come faster, his chest jolting with each struggling inhale. Tears squeeze out from under his eyelids, mixing with the sweat and dirt and blood caking his skin. 

"Damn it…" he whispers brokenly. "So many dead. I keep thinking, perhaps this time we will find allies, perhaps this time there will be no violence, perhaps this time I will do it right, mend the rifts, find the right words to say…" 

Karlach frowns with some alarm. Hector has often seemed worried, troubled, but this is altogether uncharacteristic. 

"They were slavers," she says uncertainly. "Cruel bastards. We didn't want to be their allies."

He struggles around another shaky breath. His fingers flex, looking for some purchase and stability that isn't there. "But I didn't want to kill them," he whispers. "I didn't want to kill anyone. Right from the start…" A pause, then even more softly, almost ashamed, "There must have been a way to convince them to leave. To stop the slaughter, the cruelty…" 

Karlach shakes her head slightly. "Some people're just monsters, I think, Soldier," she says quietly. "No way round it."

He's silent a long time, the ragged breaths beginning to slow again as the panic and grief expend themselves. "You call me that," he finally mutters, not looking at her. "But I don't think I much live up to it. I don't want to fight. I don't want to kill, I don't want to die. I don't want to be here at all." He opens his eyes and looks up at her with a pathos that makes her heart twist unexpectedly in her chest. "I just want to go home…but there's so much blood in the way…" 

She is struck once again by the sudden urge to touch him, squeeze his hand in reassurance, in solidarity. She can see his fingers twitching as if to reach out to her, too - but he knows as well as she does the danger of that. 

All she has to comfort him are words. "If you think no soldier's ever felt that way… you're far wrong," she says gently, after considering in silence for a moment. "I know I never fought 'cos I liked it. Only 'cos it seemed like sometime it might be over. And I wanted to be alive to come out the other side."

As she speaks, she can see him start to further calm, the soft slow rhythm of her voice giving his breathing and heartbeat something to measure themselves by. His eyes have opened again, his gaze holding onto her like a lifeline in a storm. 

"I can't remember anything," he mutters after a while. "Of the… of death, I mean. Selune…surely she was waiting for me. But why can't I remember…"

She shifts from her kneeling posture to sit next to him. In lieu of being able to pat his shoulder, her fingers brush repetitively over the grooves of the stone floor. "You'd know more about that than I would," she says. "But… 'f you ask me, there's things we en't… meant to hold onto and still be alive. Doesn't mean it en't there, yeah? Still waiting. She'll still be there. When you're ready."

He hesitates, then nods. Some of the tension goes out of him and he sags against the floor bonelessly. "We should… make camp," he mumbles. "Rest. Where are the others? You said Gale--" 

"Gale's fine," she says soothingly. Out of the corner of her eye she can see the wizard has sat up and is holding forth to a weary-looking Shadowheart while gesticulating with his ribbon-wrapped pouch in one hand. "And we'll make camp. You rest here, all right?" 

As she starts to pull away, he reaches out a hand towards her hesitantly. His fingertips stop just shy of brushing her wrist. Both of them freeze and she finds herself unable to look away from him, from the gesture not quite completed. 

"Thank you," he whispers. "For being here. For bringing me back."

The engine in her chest gives an unsettling whir, and the temperature between them abruptly climbs by several degrees. She swallows, tries to grin carelessly again and finds the expression harder to muster this time. 

"More of us the merrier, right?" she says, deliberately light. "Wouldn't be the same without you." Before he can respond, before she can let herself think too much about this oddly charged moment, she turns away with a snap and stands up. "Just rest, Soldier. I'll see to camp."

[duskwoodgirl4life]

Chapter 6

Jake stayed the night in my bed. It was like he had never left. We felt so familiar with each other we just lay next to each other and talked for a while before we both fell asleep. I woke up before Jake so I went and made some coffee for the both of us. While the coffee was percolating I got into the shower letting the bot water wash over me. Just as I wrapped the towel around me Jake knocked on the bathroom door. "It's okay Jake you can come in" the door slowly opened and in came Jake he had a slightly swollen nose and some bruising under his eyes. "Morning MC have you got any painkillers? My head's banging" I smiled at him and went towards the bathroom cabinet and grabbed the painkillers for him. "Here you go take two of these and your head will soon stop hurting. I'm making some coffee. Do you want some?"

Jake took the painkillers with a glass of water he walked over to me and kissed me lightly on the cheek. "Thank you MC, I'd love some coffee" I go make some coffee Jake is quick to follow me I can't help but smile. But then a thought hits me: what am I doing? Are Jake and I just falling back into our old habits? Can this ever work again? Should we even try again? I don't know if I can just be friends with him. Lost in my own thoughts Jake comes up behind me and knocks me out of my thoughts. "You okay MC? You look a little lost" I turn around and face Jake. "MC, what are we doing? Are we getting back together! Do you want to give us another go?" I was completely taken back by what he said, the shock was written all over my face.

"I don't know Jake I thought about it I really have but I don't know I love you that hasn't changed. Is going back to how we were really the best way" I saw all the emotion drain from Jake's face. I didn't want to hurt him, I really didn't but is it a good idea to give things another go? Or should I just let him be with Emma. Maybe he could learn to love her. "Jake I really do care for you my feelings towards you haven't changed. I just don't know if getting back together is the right thing to do" Jake comes closer towards me pressing his forehead against mine. "One last goodbye kiss" before I could respond his lips had crashed down onto mine. His hands roaming all over my body I felt everything inside me crumble. All the walls I'd put up to try and stay strong just came tumbling down.

I watch as Jake leaves my apartment tears start to roll down my cheek. My heart felt like it had been broken into a million pieces. I had to try and stay strong letting Jake go was the right thing to do.

Jake's POV

As I walk back home I can still taste MC in my lips. I can smell her scent all over me, I know the reason why she's done what she's done. Is it a choice I'm happy with? No, I wanted to give us another go. I understand why she has done it. Maybe getting back together would have opened up old wounds. Wounds that need to stay closed. My future with Emma is still unclear. I do like her but I don't love her not in the way she loves me. My heart belongs to MC I think deep down it always will do.

As I'm walking back home my phone buzzes my heart skips a beat at the thought of it being MC. But disappointment soon hits when I see that it's Emma that's texting me.

Emma: Hey babe do you wanna meet up tonight you could come round to mine and I can cook us dinner xx

Jake: Hey, I can't tonight I've got plans with my sisters

Emma: please babe, I really want to see you

Jake: I can't I'm sorry but I can come round on Friday night and spend the night if you want ❤️

Emma: I can't be mad at you I can't wait for Friday babe I love you xx

Jake: I love you to xx

I put the phone back in my pocket and I got a feeling of absolute dread wash over me. Why did I just tell her I love her? Sure I like her but not like that. I guess it's the only way I can move on from MC. I have to at least give whatever this is with Emma a chance. At least by Friday the bruising on my face will be gone. I can't risk having her find out plus I can't stand it when she starts fussing around me.

It had been a full week since I last saw or spoke to Jake. My heart still ached for him so badly. I was starting to think if I had done the right thing but tonight I am going out with Jessy. We are going to the aurora for drinks. She's on a mission to help me move on from Jake. I must admit I have been looking forward to going out tonight. I haven't been out in a while. I notice the time and I go to take a shower. I let the hot water hit me. My thoughts soon drift back to Jake and the time they both showered together. It was very hot and steamy between us. He had me bent in ways I never thought possible.

I snap myself back to reality and finish my shower, once I finish I grab a towel and wrap it around me and go into the bedroom. I picked out my sexiest outfit and my killer heels. I go for a smokey eye look with winged eyeliner. I put on my darkest red lipstick and get ready to go. I get to the aurora a few minutes before Jessy is due to arrive. I spot Phil at the bar changing over a bottle of Jack Daniels. "Hey Mr aurora, long time no see" I watch Phil look up and his face lights up as he watches me walk towards him. "Hey beautiful, where have you been hiding that sexy body of yours" I know people say flattery doesn't get you anywhere but tonight I'm going to allow that.

"I've been getting over an ex but I'm all good now" I knew Phil knew who I was talking about and his smile could only get bigger. Phil is attractive. I know he's a major player with women but tonight I just want to have a good time flirting with Phil and just forget about my past. As I watch Phil pour be a double jack Daniels I feel a hand touch my shoulder a spin around and see Jessy standing behind me with a big smile on her face. "Hey MC, it's so good to see you, you look hot as hell tonight girl" Jessy's words make me smile and a warm feeling spreads throughout my body. "Jessy! It's so good to see you I've missed you" are arms wrap around each other and we hug each other tight. Phil hands us both a shot on the house that we both down in one quickly followed by many more.

We decide to hit the dance floor dancing to nearly every song that comes on, we are both having such an awesome time we dance and flirt with men. As the night starts to come to an end Jessy goes home with a very cute guy and I stay behind. I can't take my eyes off Phil. We have been flirting with each other most of the night. I know everyone keeps warning me about Phil but right now in this moment I don't care what the others say or think. "Hey need a hand clearing up" Phil turns around and smiles at me Incan see him looking at me up and down. "Tell you what, why don't you come up to the apartment and we can have a drink together?"

I watch as Phil walks over to me and kisses me softly on the lips, his lips taste like cigarettes and mint chewing gum. We part our lips ever so slightly I see a glint in Phil's eyes, a look I've never seen before. "Take me up stairs Phil" are the only words spoken between us that night. Our clothes come flying off as we get up to his apartment, our lips only parting to take Phil's t-shirt off. The next morning I woke up to the smell of coffee. I can't help but smile. I get up out of Phil's bed and put on his t-shirt letting it cover my panties. "Hey beautiful, I've just made some coffee. Would you like a cup?" I walk over to where Phil is standing and stand on my tip toes and wrap my arms around him and kiss him. I feel his hands grab hold of my arse and squeeze it.

"I'd love a cup of coffee babe it smells amazing" I watch Phil pour me a cup of coffee and hand it to me. "I know you're probably not looking for anything serious but I was hoping we could have some fun" at first I was taken back by what Phil said but it's something I've been wanting to say. "I am very much up for having some fun" I pull Phil closer towards me and kiss him this time he tastes like cigarettes and coffee. I end up spending the whole day with Phil until he has to go open up the bar. I tell him I will see him later once I've been home and gotten changed.

[astrabear]

I've been tagged by @flawlessassholes and @raedear to share the first lines of my WIPs. I have three that I think of as "actually in progress" and one that I haven't added to in over a year but that's still percolating in my head and will absolutely be returned to one day.

Unlike the others, who adapted to developments slowly, Quỳnh had been hit with modern amenities all at once: electricity, indoor plumbing, recorded music, moving pictures, cars and airplanes. The internet. Chocolate. [This is from my huge epic 5+1 wip. I'm pretty sure I've shared the actual first line before, so this is the first line of the chapter currently being edited.]

Nicolò and Yusuf looked at the piles of fabric in front of them, looked at each other, and looked back at the fabric, with expressions of deep trepidation. [one of my Fandom Trumps Hate fics]

Copley offered to find them accommodations, both comfortable and safe, where they could rest and Andy could heal. [my other Fandom Trumps Hate fic]

The package was small, heavy for its size, and addressed to “Sebastian the Book” in unfamiliar handwriting. [a sequel/second chapter for Finders Keepers, because I really want to dig more into Booker's rectocraniotomy process]

I'm tagging @werebearbearbar (because I know at least one of the things you're working on and I'm impatient), @beepbeepsan (because there is life outside of Sad Italian), and @isabellehemlock (because you're active in multiple fandoms and I want to know what you're up to).

[casspurrjoybell-17]

HEART'S FATE - CHAPTER 56

*Warning Adult Content*

Snatched from the jaws of oblivion by a soft embrace, Skylar West drifts in a place of quiet stillness and peace.

He has little sense of time or of where he ends and where the sea begins.

He is the currents and the tides, the measureless deeps, the vast blue wilderness and the ruffled waves above.

An immensity fills him and Skylar inhabits his body as the ocean inhabits him, a universe in a drop of water and a drop of water in the sea.

At last, awareness returns and Skylar comes back to himself enough to register the sensation of water moving against his skin and of the gentle squeeze of the serpentine coils that cradle him.

Slowly, as if the knowledge is percolating through a filter or falling like gentle rain, he remembers who he is and understands it is the Nagi, Shanti, who holds him and that she has saved him from the deep.

Opening his eyes, he sees that they float freely in clear blue sun-lanced water surrounded by schools of little fish.

Usually, such fish would be frightened of something as large and predatory-looking as a giant snake but Shanti exudes an aura of peace and many creatures are drawn to her presence.

A giant ray glides overhead, momentarily casting them in shadow and a group of turtles circle them, watching with bright, curious eyes.

A tiger shark swims past in tranquility and a cloud of jellies dance beneath them in a gently pulsating ring.

'It is not I but you, to whom they are drawn,' Shanti says, reading Skylar's mind and speaking inside his head simultaneously. 'The sea calls to its own.'

Roused to full awareness by the sound of her voice, Skylar winces in pain.

His head throbs and as the sense of peace and stillness fades, fear and urgency return.

"Martin..." Skylar stirs weakly and coughs.

A thin trail of blood swirls in the water and sparkles dance before his eyes.

Shanti's hold on him tightens, keeping him in place.

'Be still a while yet, my friend,' she says, her enormous jewel-scaled head weaving back and forth hypnotically before my eyes. 'You sank to a great depth and I could not reach you before some damage had been done. A minute longer and I would have been too late. The sea will heal you but you must give it time.'

"I don't... have time," he gasps.

Pain lances his chest but his head feels clearer by the second and a little of his strength returns.

"Please. I have to get to Martin and find my mother's statue before it's too late."

Shanti blinks bright black eyes at him and bows her head.

Her coils loosen and Skylar floats free.

As he does, he sees that he has changed a little.

His tail fin is longer than he remembers, the scales a bright, iridescent blue and his hair is longer as well.

Webbing stretches between his fingers and scales like natural arm-guards cover his skin to the elbow.

Lifting his hands to the sides of his head, he feels that his ears have become pointed and fanlike, enhancing his ability to hear and overall his entire body feels larger and more powerful than before.

"What happened to me?"

'You embraced the sea,' Shanti says. 'You gave yourself up and she gave back to you the full potential of your power. It is the only reason, aside from myself, that you are alive.'

Skylar contemplates the implications of this for a moment.

His father wasn't able to leave the sea once he'd accepted the gift of his mer-form.

Whether or not he shall, remains to be seen.

What matters now is finding Martin and getting him to safety.

"I'm alive," Skylar says. "That's enough and I have you to thank for it. How did you know we needed your help anyway?"

'The wolf-boy. The one who walks in dreams. He said that he saw his father in distress, imprisoned in some dark place. Fortunately, his uncles knew better than to dismiss his words as the mere nightmare imaginings of a child and summoned me. I attempted to locate Martin first but he was unreachable within the protective barrier. Next, I tried to find you and emerged from my portal just in time to see you vanish below, swallowed by the eternal shadow of the deep.'

"Where are we now?" Skylar asks, attempting to get his bearings.

Nothing surrounds them but the blue of the open sea.

'A safe distance from Thassos,' Shanti says. 'I retreated here to give you time to heal.'

"Can you take us back?"

'Yes. Although I cannot accompany you within the barrier unless you wish for me to break it.'

Skylar considers her words.

"Send me to Martin," he says. "As close to him as you can get outside the palace. We'll go from there."

She nods her gigantic head and closes her eyes, then blinks them open again in a snaky expression of surprise.

'He is no longer within the barrier. He is outside of it.'

"That's impossible. That would mean he's..."

'In the open sea. We must hurry.'

She uncoils the length of her body and begins to swim in a slow circle just below Skylar, like a living ouroboros, her head overlapping her tail.

The center of the circle shimmers like a mirror reflecting the sunlight from above.

Then it turns smooth as glass and the portal opens.

'Go now,' Shanti says. 'I will be right behind you.'

Turning head over tail, Skylar swims straight down and through the circle.

He feels a change in pressure and water temperature but it is not so drastic as the first time he traveled via magic Nagi door and it isn't painful.

He blinks and find himself floating above the kelp forest beyond the palace walls, the expanse of algae waving like a plain of grass in the gentle currents.

Above him, the disk of the light shines like the moon and then shatters like a reflection on still water disturbed by a tossed stone as Shanti's serpentine head emerges from its center, followed by the length of her body.

She swims down and draws alongside Skylar, her head level with his.

"Where is he?" he asks, scanning the open expanse. "This can't be right."

'This is as close as...'

A horrific shriek interrupts her and Skylar spins and glimpses figures in the distance.

The sound of a Mer-folk war cry is as terrifying as it is unforgettable and he recognizes Anemone's voice.

Without hesitation, he whips his tail and accelerate towards the sound.

Several of the figures break off and flee before Anemone's cry, while two disappear into the kelp forest as if in pursuit of something Skylar can't see.

Of the figures that remain, Skylar recognizes one by her flaming red hair and one by her golden helm, his sisters, Anemone and Natalis.

They lock in battle but despite her fearsome voice, Anemone is no warrior and Natalis quickly gains the upper hand or more precisely, a chokehold.

As Anemone goes limp, Skylar releases his own Voice in a shout of fury that makes the sea ring and Natalis drops their sister and turns with a look of shock that would be comical in other circumstances.

She recovers herself with admiral swiftness, however and her look of shock is replaced by one of startling hate.

"It's the traitor," she screams, pointing at me and drawing the attention of her guards. "He's escaped somehow. Kill him."

Her quartet of guards turn on me but the looks of shock then terror on their faces can't be accounted for Skylar's own appearance, Shanti, he understands, has appeared at his back.

The guards scatter and flee.

Natalis alone holds her position, for which Skylar must give her respect.

She may have murdered their father, condemned their mother to a stony imprisonment and tried to kill him but she is nothing if not fearless.

"You have friends in high places, I see," she says, as Shanti slowly circles the two of them. "I have underestimated you, brother."

"Where is Martin?"

She smirks triumphantly.

"If you have to ask, then you already know. He is dead."

"No," Skylar shakes his head at her. "You're lying. You..." he breaks off as a light bursts from below them, the ground shattering and exploding upwards in a sphere as if a bomb had gone off underwater.

The sea trembles.

Shanti coils about Skylar protectively and even Natalis retreats.

Something rises from beneath, amid a cloud of shimmering bubbles, glorious and terrifying, beautiful and sublime.

The Queen of the Sea, awakened at last.

Her face is lovely, her hair interwoven with streaks of green, purple and blue and her form is beguiling perfection.

In her arms, she holds another, whose motionless body makes Skylar's heart stall with dread.

His mother and the man he loves more than his own life.

Skylar starts to swim towards her, Natalis lifts her spear, Shanti's coils constrict.

Then The Queen of the Sea looks up and fixes her son with a stare like green fire.

"STOP."

The word drops from her lips and time itself seems to freeze. 

[mariacallous]

My not-so-healthy Jewish food resolution for 2020 sounds simple: Eat more blintzes. But, as with the best blintzes, it’s a little more complex than this simple statement. 

My grandmother, Mama Pearl, was 99 when she passed away last February. She was my baking buddy and Crisco guru. She taught me to make apple pie when I still had to stand on a stool to reach the counter, and I’m now the keeper of her index box full of sweet recipes for everything from Passover apple fritters to pecan chocolate pie. 

One thing I never learned to make, though: her blueberry blintzes. 

No restaurant, diner, Jewish food emporium, or synagogue has ever served me a blintz that looked like Mama Pearl’s. The dough was so thin it was nearly transparent, and the whole blueberries in the filling — never jam — pushed up almost to the point of breaking through. Forget any tightly folded blankets of barely filled dough, these looked more like children’s sharp elbows poking up under the sheets.

How do I remember what they look like so clearly? I’ve got the last one in my freezer. She made it as part of a batch in the summer of 2018, and I held on to it thinking I’d wait until she made more. Now I’m too emotionally attached to either eat it or throw it away. The only thing I can think to do is to master her recipe and create more to keep the “one” company, so I don’t have to continuously check to make sure no one has eaten it or defrosted my freezer in the night.

But how to go about making a blintz that’s mostly a memory?

To the recipe box I go. Only, there’s no recipe here, and I’m not really surprised. A blintz is the kind of instinctual comfort food women of her generation made simply by the memories in their hands.

So, to the internet I head, but as with my restaurant quest, I can only find “fresh blueberries” that have been cooked down into jam. 

Then my mom saves the day with a recipe she wrote down by watching over my grandmother’s shoulder, and it’s exactly how I remember it.

I head back to my own kitchen and pull out my frozen keepsake, which I’ve been too emotional to do before now. The blueberries have shriveled from being in the deep freeze for two years, and there’s a layer of frost on one side that nearly brings me to tears. 

In fact, everything about my New Year’s blintz project makes me verklempt. I don’t want to be the only holder of the last blintz, what I truly desire is impossible: for my grandmother to make me a cup of coffee from her 50-year-old percolator and ask me to take out the garden furniture while she fries up her sweet summer specialty.

But a funny thing happens as I pour and swirl the batter in the frying pan: My own hand memories start to kick in. I can picture mama in the kitchen, and I know I’m going too slowly. The only way to get a thin, lacy blini is to make the pan hotter, pull it away from the heat quicker, and swirl it more deftly, like she did. 

In the end, my pancakes are a bit thick, but my blueberries are lemony and delicious, bursting with flavor and still whole.

The first batch was good, but there’s room for improvement. And that, I think, is the best part of having a New Year’s resolution to eat more blintzes: I still have the whole year to get it right. 

Note: You can freeze these blintzes once they’ve been prepared (see Step 7). When you’re ready to eat them, defrost, then fry them on all sides in butter in a nonstick pan until golden.